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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1deb42a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55377 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55377) diff --git a/old/55377-0.txt b/old/55377-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5e5156b..0000000 --- a/old/55377-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12808 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Pre-Raphaelite and other Poets, by Lafcadio Hearn - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Pre-Raphaelite and other Poets - -Author: Lafcadio Hearn - -Contributor: John Erskine - -Release Date: August 17, 2017 [EBook #55377] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRE-RAPHAELITE AND OTHER POETS *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodriguez and Marc D'Hooghe at -Free Literature (online soon in an extended version,also -linking to free sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, -educational materials,...) Images generously made available -by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - -PRE-RAPHAELITE - -AND OTHER POETS - -_lectures by_ - -LAFCADIO HEARN - -_Selected and Edited with an Introduction_ - -_by_ - -JOHN ERSKINE - -_Professor of English -Columbia University_ - -NEW YORK - -DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY - -1922 - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -This volume is issued in response to a demand from students of -literature for the best lectures of Lafcadio Hearn in a more accessible -form than the library editions in which they first appeared. It seemed -advisable to bring together these chapters from "Interpretations of -Literature," 1915, "Appreciations of Poetry," 1916, and "Life and -Literature," 1917, in order to provide under one cover--and let us -hope, in spite of the cost of printing, at a lower price--a fair -example of Hearn's critical felicity in the field of modern poetry, -where perhaps he was at his best. The choice of lectures has been -governed largely by the manuscripts available; the studies of Rossetti, -Swinburne, Browning, Morris, and Meredith are among the longest and -clearest of the texts; the lecture on Robert Bridges is one of those -kindling analyses which Hearn gave only when he was most happy, and -only of the writers he loved; the brief notes on Rossetti's prose and -on the "Shaving of Shagpat" were added as naturally complementing -the verse-writings of their respective authors; and the account of -Buchanan's ballad not only helps to round out a portrait of the modern -muse, but it also illustrates Hearn's keen recognition of a great note -in minor poets, and his ability to make us feel the greatness. - -Those who have not read the prefaces to the library editions of -Hearn's lectures should be reminded that he gave them before Japanese -students at the University of Tokyo, in the years between 1896 and -1902. He lectured without manuscript, and since he died before he had -the opportunity of formulating in writing for Western readers his -judgments of European literature, it is entirely to the devotion of his -students that we owe the present chapters. Out of consideration for -his audience, whose English was but recently acquired, Hearn lectured -slowly. Some dozen of his pupils were able, therefore, to write down -practically every word he said. After his death they presented the -manuscripts to Mrs. Hearn, who put them in the hands of her husband's -friend and literary executor, Mitchell McDonald, Pay Director U. S. N., -who in turn brought them to the present publishers. - -In editing these lectures for the volumes in which they first appeared, -I tried to make as few alterations as possible. Only those manuscripts -have been published which were fairly clear; all passages which were -so mangled as to call for a reconstruction of the text, I omitted, and -if the omission seemed to affect in any essential way what remained, -I rejected the whole lecture. No additions whatever were made to -the text; only the punctuation was made uniform, and the numerous -quotations verified. Undaunted by many misprints and many oversights -of my own in the citations of the four thick volumes, I have once more -verified the quotations in this present book, and dare hope that few -errors now survive. - -Allowing, therefore, for such mistakes as are incident to proofreading, -the reader will find here a close record of Hearn's daily instruction -to his Japanese class in English literature. The record is unique. -I never read these chapters without marvelling at their simplicity, -at the volume, if I may say so, of Hearn's critical faculty, and at -the integrity of his character. The simplicity of the lectures is -deceptive. The jaded book reviewer, coming, for example, on these -transparent summaries or paraphrases of verse just quoted, feels -that such repetitions may have aided the Japanese boys, but are -only encumbrances for the reader born to the command of the English -language. Against a judgment so shallow or so blind, I am somewhat put -on my guard by my own experience with Hearn's lectures; for having been -a student of the English language and a devoted lover of English poetry -all my life, I am glad to acknowledge that Hearn's simple paraphrases -of well-known poems have taught me truths about the poems which I never -learned from the poems themselves, nor from critics of poetry to whom -simplicity seems a fault. In editing these lectures of Hearn's, in -this and the other volumes, I have had occasion to read every chapter -many times, and I have read at least once the manuscripts which have -not been printed. Simple as each lecture seems, the mass effect of -them all, delivered day in and day out, on all the great themes of -Western literature, is nothing short of titanic. In criticism as well -as in creation, volume counts. To have a sound reasoned opinion of -one book is beyond the power of the average reader. To be expert in -all the writings of one author is to be a more than average critic. -To know all the writers in one period is to be an authority. But to -have so mature a knowledge of life and of art, so wide an outlook on -experience and so philosophic a control of it, as to find consistently -the meaning of any book, classic or modern, is to be among the few -great critics, the few in whom criticism is a function and not an -event. Hearn is, I believe, among the greatest of critics. It should -be remembered also that his many lectures, all illustrating this high -discrimination, were delivered in a foreign land, before a group of -young men who could understand only the general drift of them, and -with no likelihood, as it seemed, that they would ever come under the -review of Western readers. Yet day in and day out Hearn lectured at -Tokyo before his boys with the same care and with the same elevation of -spirit as though he had been addressing an audience at the Sorbonne or -at Oxford--or better, as though he had been the official instead of the -accidental spokesman for Western letters, and as though the whole East, -and not only his limited classroom, were hanging on his words. This -consecration to work done in obscurity is as rare in teaching as in -other human activities. Observing it on every page of Hearn's lectures, -I marvel at the integrity of his character. - -One is tempted to speak in detail of all the lectures in this book--of -the special merit of each, and of the relation of one to the other. It -will be sufficient, however, to say a word of the chapter on Rossetti, -which exhibits Hearn's method and his success. Rossetti usually -seems, even to his admirers, a poet of temperament and color, diffuse -temperament and exotic color; in so much sensuousness it has not been -easy for the casual critic to trace the intellectual fibre. But Hearn -observes that the plots of Rossetti's ballads, stripped somewhat -of their Rossetti decorations, are stirring plots, contrived by an -energetic mind. With this clue he undertakes to show us that Rossetti's -work is all of an intellectual architecture, however emotional the -surface of it may be. To read what Hearn says of the "Staff and Scrip," -and then to read the ballad, is to discover a new poem, with the -conviction besides that the poem is what Hearn discovered it to be. -If the reader of Rossetti thinks this praise of Hearn's chapter is -excessive, let him run over at his leisure all the other criticism of -Rossetti he can find. He will agree at last that here is criticism of -the first order--the criticism which opens our eyes to things in books, -and thereby to the things in life of which books are only the mirror. - -JOHN ERSKINE. - - - - CONTENTS - - INTRODUCTION - - CHAPTER I - STUDIES IN ROSSETTI - CHAPTER II - NOTE UPON ROSSETTI'S PROSE - CHAPTER III - STUDIES IN SWINBURNE - CHAPTER IV - STUDIES IN BROWNING - CHAPTER V - WILLIAM MORRIS - CHAPTER VI - THE POETRY OF GEORGE MEREDITH - CHAPTER VII - "THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT" - CHAPTER VIII - VIII A NOTE ON ROBERT BUCHANAN - CHAPTER IX - ROBERT BRIDGES - - INDEX - - - -PRE-RAPHAELITE - -AND OTHER POETS - - -CHAPTER I - - -STUDIES IN ROSSETTI - - -I - - -We must rank Dante Gabriel Rossetti as not inferior to Tennyson in -workmanship--therefore as occupying the very first rank in nineteenth -century poetry. He was not inferior to Tennyson either as a thinker, -but his thinking was in totally different directions. He had no -sympathy with the ideas of his own century; he lived and thought in -the Middle Ages; and while one of our very greatest English poets, he -takes a place apart, for he does not reflect the century at all. He -had the dramatic gift, but it was a gift in his case much more limited -than that of Browning. Altogether we can safely give him a place in the -first rank as a maker of poetry, but in all other respects we cannot -classify him in any way. He remains a unique figure in the Victorian -age, a figure such as may not reappear for hundreds of years to come. -It was as if a man of the thirteenth century had been reborn into the -nineteenth century, and, in spite of modern culture, had continued to -think and to feel very much as men felt and thought in the time of the -great Italian poet Dante. - -One reason for this extraordinary difference between himself and his -contemporaries was that Rossetti was not an Englishman but an Italian -by blood, religion, and feeling. In his verse we might expect to -find something that we cannot find in any other English poet; and -I think that we shall find it. The facts of his life--strange and -pathetic--need not occupy us now. You need only remember for the -present that he was a great painter before becoming a great poet, and -that his painting, like his poetry, was the painting of another century -than his own. Also it will be well to bear in mind that he detested -modern science and modern philosophy--which fact makes it all the more -remarkable that he uttered some great thoughts quite in harmony with -the most profound philosophy of the Orient. - -In studying the best of his poetry, it will be well for us to consider -it by groups, taking a few specimens from each group as examples of the -rest; since we shall not have time to read even a quarter of all his -production. Taking the very simplest of his work to begin with, I shall -make a selection from what I might call the symbolic group, for want -of a better name. I mean those poems which are parables, or symbolic -illustrations of deep truths--poems which seem childishly simple, but -are nevertheless very deep indeed. We may begin with a little piece -called "The Mirror." - - She knew it not,--most perfect pain - To learn: this too she knew not. Strife - For me, calm hers, as from the first. - 'Twas but another bubble burst - Upon the curdling draught of life,-- - My silent patience mine again. - - As who, of forms that crowd unknown - Within a distant mirror's shade, - Deems such an one himself, and makes - Some sign; but when the image shakes - No whit, he finds his thought betray'd, - And must seek elsewhere for his own. - -So far as the English goes, this verse is plain enough; but unless -you have met with the same idea in some other English writer, you -will find the meaning very obscure. The poet is speaking of a -universal, or almost universal, experience of misplaced love. A man -becomes passionately attached to a woman, who treats him with, cold -indifference. Finally the lover finds out his mistake; the woman -that he loved proves not to be what he imagined; she is not worthy -of his love. Then what was he in love with? With a shadow out of his -brain, with an imagination or ideal very pure and noble, but only an -imagination. Supposing that he was worshipping good qualities in a -noble woman, he deceived himself; the woman had no such qualities; they -existed only in his fancy. Thus he calls her his mirror, the human -being that seemed to be a reflection of all that was good in his own -heart. She never knows the truth as to why the man loved her and then -ceased to love her; he could not tell her, because it would have been -to her "most perfect pain to learn." - -A less obscure but equally beautiful symbolism, in another metre, is -"The Honeysuckle." - - I plucked a honeysuckle where - The hedge on high is quick with thorn, - And climbing for the prize, was torn, - And fouled my feet in quag-water; - And by the thorns and by the wind - The blossom that I took was thinn'd, - And yet I found it sweet and fair. - - Thence to a richer growth I came, - Where, nursed in mellow intercourse, - The honeysuckles sprang by cores, - Not harried like my single stem, - All virgin lamps of scent and dew. - So from my hand that first I, threw, - Yet plucked not any more of them. - -It often happens that a young man during his first struggle in life, -when all the world seems to be against him, meets with some poor girl -who love him. She is not educated as he has been; she is ignorant of -many things, and she has suffered herself a great deal of hardship, so -that although beautiful naturally and good-hearted, both her beauty -and her temper have been a little spoiled by the troubles of life. -The young man whom she loves is obliged to mix with a very poor and -vulgar class of people in order to become intimate with her. There are -plenty of rough common men who would like to get that girl; and the -young man has a good deal of trouble in winning her away from them. -With all her small faults she seems for the time very beautiful to her -lover, because he cannot get any finer woman while he remains poor. But -presently success comes to him, and he is able to enter a much higher -class of society, where he finds scores of beautiful girls, much more -accomplished than his poor sweetheart; and he becomes ashamed of her -and cruelly abandons her. But he does not marry any of the rich and -beautiful women. Perhaps he is tired of women; perhaps his heart has -been spoiled. The poet does not tell us why. He simply tells a story of -human ingratitude which is as old as the world. - -One more simple poem before we take up the larger and more complicated -pieces of the group. - - THE WOODSPURGE - - The wind flapped loose, the wind was still, - Shaken out dead from tree and hill: - I had walked on at the wind's will,-- - I sat now, for the wind was still. - - Between my knees my forehead was,-- - My lips, drawn in, said not Alas! - My hair was over in the grass, - My naked ears heard the day pass. - - My eyes, wide open, had the run - Of some ten weeds to fix upon; - Among those few, out of the sun, - The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one. - - From perfect grief there need not be - Wisdom or even memory: - One thing then learnt remains to me,-- - The woodspurge has a cup of three! - -The phenomenon here described by the poet is unconsciously familiar to -most of us. Any person who has suffered some very great pain, moral -pain, is apt to observe during that instant of suffering things which -he never observed before, or to notice details never noticed before -in common things. One reason is that at such a time sense-impressions -are stimulated to a strange degree by the increase of circulation, -while the eyes and ears remain automatically active only. Whoever -among you can remember the pain of losing a parent or beloved friend, -will probably remember with extraordinary vividness all kinds of -little things seen or heard at the time, such as the cry of a bird or -a cricket, the sound of the dripping of water, the form of a sunbeam -upon a wall, the shapes of shadows in a garden. The personage of -this poem often before saw the woodspurge, without noticing anything -particular about it; but in a moment of great sorrow observing the -plant, he learns for the first time the peculiar form of its flower. -In a wonderful novel by Henry Kingsley, called "Ravenshoe," there is -a very striking example of the same thing. A cavalry-soldier, waiting -in the saddle for the order to charge the enemy, observes on the back -of the soldier before him a grease-spot which looks exactly like the -map of Sweden, and begins to think that if the outline of Norway were -beside it, the upper part of the map would go over the shoulder of the -man. This fancy comes to him in a moment when he believes himself going -to certain death. - -Now we will take a longer poem, very celebrated, entitled "The Cloud -Confines." - - The day is dark and the night - To him that would search their heart; - No lips of cloud that will part - Nor morning song in the light: - - Only, gazing alone, - To him wild shadows are shown, - Deep under deep unknown, - And height above unknown height. - Still we say as we go,-- - "Strange to think by the way, - Whatever there is to know, - That shall we know one day." - - The Past is over and fled; - Named new, we name it the old; - Thereof some tale hath been told, - But no word comes from the dead; - Whether at all they be, - Or whether as bond or free, - _Or whether they too were we_, - Or by what spell they have sped. - Still we say as we go,-- - "Strange to think by the way, - Whatever there is to know, - That shall we know one day." - - What of the heart of hate - That beats in thy breast, O Time?-- - Red strife from the furthest prime, - And anguish of fierce debate; - War that shatters her slain, - And peace that grinds them as grain, - And eyes fixed ever in vain - On the pitiless eyes of Fate. - Still we say as we go,-- - "Strange to think by the way, - Whatever there is to know, - That shall we know one day." - - What of the heart of love - That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?-- - Thy kisses snatched 'neath the ban - Of fangs that mock them above; - Thy bells prolonged unto knells, - Thy hope that a breath dispels, - Thy bitter forlorn farewells - And the empty echoes thereof? - Still we say as we go,-- - "Strange to think by the way, - Whatever there is to know, - That shall we know one day." - - The sky leans dumb on the sea, - Aweary with all its wings; - And oh! the song the sea sings - Is dark everlastingly. - Our past is clean forgot, - Our present is and is not, - Our future's a sealed seedplot, - And what betwixt them are we? - We who say as we go,-- - "Strange to think by the way, - Whatever there is to know, - That shall we know one day." - -This dark poetry is very different from the optimism of Tennyson; -and we uncomfortably feel it to be much more true. In spite of all -its wonderful tenderness and caressing hopefulness, we feel that -Tennyson's poetry does not illuminate the sombre problems of life. But -Rossetti will not be found to be a pessimist. I shall presently show, -by examples, the difference between poetical pessimism and Rossetti's -thoughtful melancholy. He is simply communing with us about the -mystery of the universe--sadly enough, but always truthfully. We may -even suspect a slight mockery in the burthen of his poem: - - Whatever there is to know, - That shall we know one day. - -Suppose there is nothing to know? "Very well," the poet would answer, -"then we shall know nothing." Although by education and by ancestry -a Roman Catholic, Rossetti seems to have had just as little faith as -any of his great contemporaries; the artistic and emotional side of -Catholicism made strong appeal to his nature as an artist, but so far -as personal belief is concerned we may judge him by his own lines: - - Would God I knew there were a God to thank - When thanks rise in me! - -Nevertheless we have here no preacher of negation, but a sincere -doubter. We know nothing of the secret of the universe, the meaning -of its joy and pain and impermanency; we do not know anything of the -dead; we do not know the meaning of time or space or life. But just for -that reason there may be marvellous things to know. The dead do not -come back, but we do not know whether they could come back, nor even -the real meaning of death. Do we even know, he asks, whether the dead -were not ourselves? This thought, like the thought in the poem "Sudden -Light," is peculiar to Rossetti. You will find nothing of this thought -in any other Victorian poet of great rank--except, indeed, in some of -the work of O'Shaughnessy, who is now coming into a place of eminence -only second to that of the four great masters. - -Besides this remarkable line, which I have asked you to put in italics, -you should remember those two very splendid lines in the third stanza: - - War that shatters her slain, - And peace that grinds them as grain. - -These have become famous. The suggestion is that peace is more -cruel than war. In battle a man is dashed to pieces, and his pain -is immediately over. In the competition of civil life, the weak and -the stupid, no matter how good or moral they may be, are practically -crushed by the machinery of Western civilisation, as grain might be -crushed in a mill. - -In the last stanza of the composition you will doubtless have observed -the pathetic reference to the meaning of the song of the sea, -mysterious and awful beyond all other sounds of nature. Rossetti has -not failed to consider this sound, philosophically and emotionally, -in one of his most beautiful poems. And now I want to show you, by -illustration, the difference between a really pessimistic treatment -of a subject and Rossetti's treatment of it. Perhaps the very finest -example of pessimism in Victorian poetry is a sonnet by Lee-Hamilton, -on the subject of a sea-shell. You know that if you take a large -sea-shell of a particular form, and hold it close to your ear, you -will hear a sound like the sound of the surf, as if the ghost of the -sea were in the shell. Nearly all English children have the experience -of listening to the sound of the sea in a shell; it startles them -at first; but nobody tells them what the sound really is, for that -would spoil their surprise and delight. You must not tell a child that -there are no ghosts or fairies. Well, Rossetti and Lee-Hamilton wrote -about this sound of the sea in a shell--but how differently! Here is -Lee-Hamilton's composition: - - The hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood - On dusty shelves, when held against the ear - Proclaims its stormy parent; and we hear - The faint far murmur of the breaking flood. - We hear the sea. The sea? It is the blood - In our own veins, impetuous and near, - And pulses keeping pace with hope and fear, - And with our feelings' ever-shifting mood. - - Lo! in my heart I hear, as in a shell, - The murmur of a world beyond the grave, - Distinct, distinct, though faint and far it be. - Thou fool; this echo is a cheat as well,-- - The hum of earthly instincts; and we crave - A world unreal as the shell-heard sea. - -Of course this is a very fine poem, so far as the poetry is concerned. -But it is pessimism absolute. Its author, a brilliant graduate of -Oxford University, entered the English diplomatic service as a young -man, and in the middle of a promising career was attacked by a disease -of the spine which left him a hopeless invalid. We might say that he -had some reason to look at the world in a dark light. But such poetry -is not healthy. It is morbid. It means retrogression. It brings a sharp -truth to the mind with a painful shock, and leaves an after-impression -of gloom unspeakable. As I said before, we must not spoil the happiness -of children by telling them that there are no ghosts or fairies. So -we must not tell the humanity which believes in happiness after death -that there is no heaven. All progress is through faith and hope in -something. The measure of a poet is in the largeness of the thought -which he can apply to any subject, however trifling. Bearing this in -mind, let us now see how the same subject of the sea-shell appeals to -the thought of Rossetti. You will then perceive the difference between -pessimism and philosophical humanitarianism. - - THE SEA-LIMITS - - Consider the sea's listless chime: - Time's self it is, made audible,-- - The murmur of the earth's own shell. - Secret continuance sublime - Is the sea's end: our sight may pass - No furlong further. Since time was, - This sound hath told the lapse of time. - - No quiet, which is death's,--it hath - The mournfulness of ancient life, - Enduring always at dull strife. - As the world's heart of rest and wrath, - Its painful pulse is in the sands. - Last utterly, the whole sky stands, - Grey and not known, along its path. - - Listen alone beside the sea, - Listen alone among the woods; - Those voices of twin solitudes - Shall have one sound alike to thee: - Hark where the murmurs of thronged men - Surge and sink back and surge again,-- - Still the one voice of wave and tree. - - Gather a shell from the strown beach - And listen at its lips: they sigh - The same desire and mystery, - The echo of the whole sea's speech. - And all mankind is thus at heart - Not anything but what thou art: - And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each. - -In the last beautiful stanza we have a comparison as sublime as any -ever made by any poet--of the human heart, the human life, re-echoing -the murmur of the infinite Sea of Life. As the same sound of the sea -is heard in every shell, so in every human heart is the same ghostly -murmur of Universal Being. The sound of the sea, the sound of the -forest, the sound of men in cities, not only are the same to the ear, -but they tell the same story of pain. The sound of the sea is a sound -of perpetual strife, the sound of the woods in the wind is a sound of -ceaseless struggle, the tumult of a great city is also a tumult of -effort. In this sense all the three sounds are but one, and that one -is the sound of life everywhere. Life is pain, and therefore sadness. -The world itself is like a great shell full of this sound. But it is a -shell on the verge of the Infinite. The millions of suns, the millions -of planets and moons, are all of them but shells on the shore of the -everlasting sea of death and birth, and each would, if we could hear -it, convey to our ears and hearts the one same murmur of pain. This -is, to my thinking, a much vaster conception than anything to be found -in Tennyson; and such a poem as that of Lee-Hamilton dwindles into -nothingness beside it, for we have here all that man can know of our -relation to the universe, and the mystery of that universe brought -before us by a simile of incomparable sublimity. - -Before leaving this important class of poems, let me cite another -instance of the comparative nearness of Rossetti at times to Oriental -thought. It is the fifteenth of that wonderful set of sonnets entitled -the "House of Life." - - THE BIRTH-BOND - - Have you not noted, in some family - Where two were born of a first marriage-bed, - How still they own their gracious bond, though fed - And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee?-- - How to their father's children they shall be - In act and thought of one goodwill; but each - Shall for the other have, in silence speech, - And in a word complete community? - - Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it, love, - That among souls allied to mine was yet - One nearer kindred than life hinted of. - O born with me somewhere that men forget, - And though in years of sight and sound unmet, - Known for my soul's birth-partner well enough! - -This beautiful little thought of love is almost exactly the same as -that suggested in a well-known Japanese proverb about the relations -of a previous existence. We have here, in an English poet, who very -probably never read anything about Buddhism, the very idea of the -Buddhist _en._ The whole tendency of the poet's mind was toward larger -things than his early training had prepared him for. - -Yet it would be a mistake to suppose Rossetti a pure mystic; he was -too much of an artist for that. No one felt the sensuous charm of life -more keenly, nor the attraction of plastic beauty and grace. By way of -an interlude, we may turn for a time to his more sensuous poetry. It -is by this that he is best known; for you need not suppose that the -general English public understands such poems as those which we have -been examining. Keep in mind that there is a good deal of difference -between the adjectives "sensuous" and "sensual." The former has no evil -meaning; it refers only to sense-impression--to sensations visual, -auditory, tactile. The other adjective is more commonly used in a bad -sense. At one time an attempt was made to injure Rossetti by applying -it to his work; but all good critics have severely condemned that -attempt, and Rossetti must not be regarded as in any sense an immoral -poet. - - - -II - - -To the cultivated the very highest quality of emotional poetry is that -given by blending the artistically sensuous with the mystic. This very -rare quality colours the greater part of Rossetti's work. Perhaps one -may even say that it is never entirely absent. Only, the proportions -of the blending vary, like those mixtures of red and blue, crimson and -azure, which may give us either purple or violet of different shades -according to the wish of the dyer. The quality of mysticism dominates -in the symbolic poems; we might call those deep purple. The sensuous -element dominates in most of the ballads and narrative poems; we might -say that these have rather the tone of bright violet. But even in the -ballads there is a very great difference in the proportions of the two -qualities. The highest tone is in the "Blessed Damozel," and in the -beautiful narrative poem of the "Staff and Scrip"; while the lowest -tone is perhaps that of the ballad of "Eden Bower," which describes -the two passions of lust and hate at their greatest intensity. But -everything is beautifully finished as work, and unapproachably -exquisite, in feeling. I think the best example of what I have called -the violet style is the ballad of "Troy Town." - - Heavenborn Helen, Sparta's Queen, - (O _Troy Town!_) - Had two breasts of heavenly sheen, - The sun and moon of the heart's desire: - All Love's lordship lay between. - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - Helen knelt at Venus' shrine, - (O _Troy Town!_) - Saying, "A little gift is mine, - A little gift for a heart's desire. - Hear me speak and make me a sign! - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - "Look! I bring thee a carven cup; - (O _Troy Town!_) - See it here as I hold it up,-- - Shaped it is to the heart's desire, - Fit to fill when the gods would sup. - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - "It was moulded like my breast; - (O _Troy Town!_) - He that sees it may not rest, - Rest at all for his heart's desire. - O give ear to my heart's behest! - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - "See my breast, how like it is; - (O _Troy Town!_) - See it bare for the air to kiss! - Is the cup to thy heart's desire? - O for the breast, O make it his! - (_O Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - "Yea, for my bosom here I sue; - (_O Troy Town!_) - Thou must give it where 'tis due, - Give it there to the heart's desire. - Whom do I give my bosom to? - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - "Each twin breast is an apple sweet! - (O _Troy Town!_) - Once an apple stirred the beat - Of thy heart with the heart's desire:-- - Say, who brought it then to thy feet? - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - "They that claimed it then were three: - (O _Troy Town!_) - For thy sake two hearts did he - Make forlorn of the hearths desire. - Do for him as he did for thee! - (_O Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - "Mine are apples grown to the south, - (_O Troy Town!_) - Grown to taste in the days of drouth, - Taste and waste to the heart's desire: - Mine are apples meet for his mouth!" - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - Venus looked on Helen's gift, - (O _Troy Town!_) - Looked and smiled with subtle drift, - Saw the work of her heart's desire:-- - "There thou kneel'st for Love to lift!" - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - Venus looked in Helen's face, - (O _Troy Town!_) - Knew far off an hour and place, - And fire lit from the heart's desire; - Laughed and said, "Thy gift hath grace!" - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - Cupid looked on Helen's breast, - (O _Troy Town!_) - Saw the heart within its nest, - Saw the flame of the heart's desire,-- - Marked his arrow's burning crest. - (O _Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - Cupid took another dart, - (O _Troy Town!_) - Fledged it for another heart, - Winged the shaft with the heart's desire, - Drew the string, and said "Depart!" - (_O Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - - Paris turned upon his bed, - (_O Troy Town!_) - Turned upon his bed, and said, - Dead at heart with the heart's desire,-- - "O to clasp her golden head!" - (_O Troy's down!_ - _Tall Troy's on fire!_) - -This wonderful ballad, with its single and its double refrains, -represents Rossetti's nearest approach to earth, except the ballad of -"Eden Bower." Usually he seldom touches the ground, but moves at some -distance above it, just as one flies in dreams. But you will observe -that the mysticism here has almost vanished. There is just a little -ghostliness to remind you that the writer is no common singer, but a -poet able to give a thrill. The ghostliness is chiefly in the fact of -the supernatural elements involved; Helen with her warm breast we feel -to be a real woman, but Venus and love are phantoms, who speak and act -as figures in sleep. This is true art under the circumstances. We feel -nothing more human until we come to the last stanza; then we hear it in -the cry of Paris. But why do I say that this is high art to make the -gods as they are made here? The Greeks would have made Venus and Cupid -purely human. But Rossetti is not taking the Greek view of the subject -at all. He is taking the mediæval one. He is writing of Greek gods and -Greek legends as such subjects were felt by Chaucer and by the French -poets of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It would not be easy -to explain the mediæval tone of the poem to you; that would require a -comparison with the work of very much older poets. I only want now to -call your attention to the fact that even in a Greek subject of the -sensuous kind Rossetti always keeps the tone of the Middle Ages; and -that tone was mystical. - -Having given this beautiful example of the least mystical class of -Rossetti's light poems, let us pass at once to the most mystical. These -are in all respects, I am not afraid to say, far superior. The poem by -which Rossetti became first widely known and admired was "The Blessed -Damozel." This and a lovely narrative poem entitled "Staff and Scrip" -form the most exquisite examples of the poet's treatment of mystical -love. You should know both of them; but we shall first take "The -Blessed Damozel." - -This is the story of a woman in heaven, speaking of the man she loved -on earth. She is waiting for him. She watches every new soul that comes -to heaven, hoping that it may be the soul of her lover. While waiting -thus, she talks to herself about what she will do to make her lover -happy when he comes, how she will show him all the beautiful things in -heaven, and will introduce him to the holy saints and angels. That is -all. But it is very wonderful in its sweetness of simple pathos, and -in a peculiar, indescribable quaintness which is not of the nineteenth -century at all. It is of the Middle Ages, the Italian Middle Ages -before the time of Raphael. The heaven painted here is not the heaven -of modern Christianity--if modern Christianity can be said to have a -heaven; it is the heaven of Dante, a heaven almost as sharply defined -as if it were on earth. - - THE BLESSED DAMOZEL - - The blessed damozel leaned out - From the gold bar of Heaven; - Her eyes were deeper than the depth - Of waters stilled at even; - She had three lilies in her hand, - And the stars in her hair were seven. - -_Damozel_. This is only a quaint form of the same word which in modern -French signifies a young lady--demoiselle. The suggestion is not simply -that it is a maiden that speaks, but a maiden of noble blood. The idea -of the poet is exactly that of Dante in speaking of Beatrice. Seven is -the mystical number of Christianity. - - Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, - No wrought flowers did adorn, - But a white rose of Mary's gift, - For service meetly worn; - Her hair that lay along her back - Was yellow like ripe corn. - -_Clasp._ The ornamental fastening of the dress at the neck. "From -clasp to hem" thus signifies simply "from neck to feet," for the hem -of a garment means especially its lower edge. _Wrought-flowers_ here -means embroidered flowers. The dress has no ornament and no girdle; it -is a dress of the thirteenth century as to form; but it may interest -you to know that usually in religious pictures of angels and heavenly -souls (the French religious prints are incomparably the best) there is -no girdle, and the robe falls straight from neck to feet. _Service._ -The maiden in heaven becomes a servant of the Mother of God. But the -mediæval idea was that the daughter of a very noble house, entering -heaven, might be honoured by being taken into the service of Mary, just -as in this world one might be honoured by being taken into the personal -service of a queen or emperor. A white rose is worn as the badge or -mark of this distinction, because white is the symbol of chastity, and -Mary is especially the patron of chastity. In heaven also--the heaven -of Dante--the white rose has many symbolic significations. _Yellow._ -Compare "Elle est _blonde comme le blé._" (De Musset.) - - Herseemed she scarce had been a day - One of God's choristers; - The wonder was not yet quite gone - From that still look of hers; - Albeit, to them she left, her day - Had counted as ten years. - -_Herseemed._ This word is very unusual, even obsolete. Formerly -instead of saying "it seems to me," "it seems to him," English people -used to say meseems, him-seems, herseems. The word "meseems" is still -used, but only in the present, with rare exceptions. It is becoming -obsolete also. _Choristers._ Choir-singers. The daily duty of angels -and souls in heaven was supposed to be to sing the praises of God, just -as on earth hymns are sung in church. _Albeit._ An ancient form of -"although." - - (To one, it is ten years of years, - ...Yet now, and in this place, - Surely she leaned o'er me--her hair - Fell all about my face.... - Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves. - The whole year sets apace.) - -_Ten years of years._ That is, years composed not of three hundred -and sixty-five days, but of three hundred and sixty-five years. To -the lover on earth, deprived of his beloved by death, the time passes -slowly so that a day seems as long as a year. Sometimes he imagines -that he feels the dead bending over him--that he feels her hair falling -over his face. When he looks, he finds that it is only the leaves of -the trees that have been falling upon him; and he knows that the autumn -has come, and that the year is slowly dying. - - It was the rampart of God's house - That she was standing on; - By God built over the sheer depth - The which is Space begun; - So high, that looking downward thence - She scarce could see the sun. - -_Rampart_, you know, means part of a fortification; all the nobility -of the Middle Ages lived in castles or fortresses, and their idea of -heaven was necessarily the idea of a splendid castle. In the "Song -of Roland" we find the angels and the saints spoken of as knights -and ladies, and the language they use is the language of chivalry. -_Sheer depth_, straight down, perpendicularly, absolute. God's castle -overlooks, not a landscape, but space; the sun and the stars lie far -below. - - It lies in Heaven, across the flood - Of ether, as a bridge. - Beneath, the tides of day and night - With flame and darkness ridge - The void, as low as where this earth - Spins like a fretful midge. - - Around her, lovers, newly met - 'Mid deathless love's acclaims, - Spoke ever more among themselves - Their heart-remembered names; - And the souls mounting up to God - Went by her like thin flames. - -_Ether._ This is not the modern word, the scientific ether, but the -Greek and also mediæval ether, the most spiritual form of matter. The -house of God, or heaven, rests upon nothing, but stretches out like a -bridge over the ether itself. Far below something like enormous waves -seem to be soundlessly passing, light and dark. Even in heaven, and -throughout the universe, it was supposed in the Middle Ages that there -were successions of day and night independent of the sun. These are the -"tides" described. _Ridge the void_ means, make ridges or wave-like -lines in the ether of space. _Midge_ is used in English just as the -word _kobai_ is used in Japanese. Fretful midge, a midge that moves -very quickly as if fretted or frightened. - - And still she bowed herself and stooped - Out of the circling charm; - Until her bosom must have made - The bar she leaned on warm, - And the lilies lay as if asleep - Along her bended arm. - - -_Charm._ The circling charm is not merely the gold railing upon which -she leans, but the magical limits of heaven itself which holds the -souls back. She cannot pass beyond them. Otherwise her wish would take -her back to this world to watch by her living lover. But only the -angels, who are the messengers of heaven, can go beyond the boundaries. - - From the fixed place of Heaven she saw - Time like a pulse shake fierce - Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove - Within the gulf to pierce - Its path; and now she spoke as when - The stars sang in their spheres. - -_Shake._ Here in the sense of to beat like a heart or pulse. Heaven -about her is motionless, fixed; but looking down upon the universe she -sees a luminous motion, regular like a heart-beat; that is Time. _Its -path._ Her eyes tried to pierce a way or path for themselves through -space; that is, she made a desperate effort to see farther than she -could see. She is looking in vain for the coming of her lover. _Their -spheres._ This is an allusion to a Biblical verse, "when the morning -stars sang together." It was said that when the world was created the -stars sang for joy. - - The sun was gone now; the curled moon - Was like a little feather - Fluttering far down the gulf; and now - She spoke through the still weather. - Her voice was like the voice the stars - Had when they sang together. - - (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, - Strove not her accents there, - Fain to be hearkened? When those bells - Possessed the mid-day air, - Strove not her steps to reach my side - Down all the echoing stair?) - -_Stair._ We must suppose the lover to be in or near a church with a -steeple, or lofty bell tower. Outside he hears a bird singing; and in -the sweetness of its song he thinks that he hears the voice of the dead -girl speaking to him. Then, as the church bells send down to him great -sweet waves of sound from the tower, he imagines that he can hear, in -the volume of the sound, something like a whispering of robes and faint -steps as of a spirit trying to descend to his side. - - "I wish that he were come to me, - For he will come," she said. - "Have I not prayed in Heaven?--on earth, - Lord, Lord, has he not prayed? - Are not two prayers a perfect strength? - And shall I fell afraid? - -An allusion to a verse in the New Testament--"if two of you shall agree -on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done -for them." She is a little afraid that her lover may not get to heaven -after all, but she suddenly remembers this verse, and it gives her -encouragement. _Perfect strength_ means strength of prayer, the power -of the prayer to obtain what is prayed for. As she and he have both -been praying for reunion in heaven, and as Christ has promised that -whatever two people pray for, shall be granted, she feels consoled. - - "When round his head the aureole clings, - And he is clothed in white, - I'll take his hand and go with him - To the deep wells of light; - As unto a stream we will step down, - And bathe there in God's sight. - -The _aureole_ is the circle or disk of golden light round the head -of a saint. Sometimes it is called a "glory." In some respects the -aureole of Christian art much resembles that of Buddhist art, with this -exception, that some of the Oriental forms are much richer and more -elaborate. Three forms in Christian art are especially common--the -plain circle; the disk, like a moon or sun, usually made in art by -a solid plate of gilded material behind the head; the full "glory," -enshrining the whole figure. There is only one curious fact to which I -need further refer here; it is that the Holy Ghost in Christian art has -a glory of a special kind--the triangle. _White._ This is a reference -to the description of heaven in the paradise of St. John's vision, -where all the saints are represented in white garments. _Deep wells of -light._ Another reference to St. John's vision, Rev. XXII, 1--"And he -showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding -out of the throne of God." In the heaven of the Middle Ages, as in the -Buddhist paradise, we find also lakes and fountains of light, or of -liquid jewels. - - "We two will stand beside that shrine, - Occult, withheld, untrod, - Whose lamps are stirred continually - With prayer sent up to God; - And see our old prayers, granted, melt - Each like a little cloud. - -_Shrine._ The Holy of Holies, or innermost sanctuary of heaven, -imagined by mediæval faith as a sort of reserved chapel. But the -origin of the fancy will be explained in the next note. _Lamps._ See -again St. John's vision, Rev. IV, 5--"And there were seven lamps of -fire burning before the throne, which are the seven Spirits of God." -These mystical flames, representing special virtues and powers, would -be agitated according to the special virtues corresponding to them in -the ascending prayers of men. But now we come to another and stranger -thought. _A little cloud._ See again Rev. V, 8, in which reference is -made to "golden vials, full of incense, which are the prayers of the -saints." Here we see the evidence of a curious belief that prayers -in heaven actually become transformed into the substance of incense. -By the Talmudists it was said that they were turned into beautiful -flowers. Again, in Rev. VIII, 3, we have an allusion to this incense, -made of prayer, being burned in heaven--"And there was given unto him -much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints." -Now the poem can be better understood. The Blessed Damozel thinks -that her old prayers, that is to say, the prayers that she made on -earth, together with those of her lover, are in heaven in the shape -of incense. As long as prayer is not granted, it remains incense; -when granted it becomes perfume smoke and vanishes. Therefore she -says, "We shall see our old prayers, granted, melt each like a little -_cloud_"--that is, a cloud of smoke of incense. - - "We two will lie i' the shadow of - That living mystic tree - Within whose secret growth the Dove - Is sometimes felt to be, - While every leaf that His plumes touch - Saith His Name audibly. - -The heavenly tree of life is described in Rev. XXVII, 2, as bearing -twelve different kinds of fruit, one for each of the twelve months of -the year, while its leaves heal all diseases or troubles of any kind. -The Dove is the Holy Ghost, who is commonly represented in Christian -art by this bird, when he is not represented by a tongue or flame of -fire. Every time that a leaf touches the body of the Dove, we are told -that the leaf repeats the name of the Holy Ghost. In what language? -Probably in Latin, and the sound of the Latin name would be like the -sound of the motion of leaves, stirred by a wind: _Sanctus Spiritus._ - - "And I myself will teach to him, - I myself, lying so, - The songs I sing here; which his voice - Shall pause in, hushed and slow, - And find some knowledge at each pause, - Or some new thing to know." - - (Alas! we two, we two, thou say'st! - Yea, one wast thou with me - That once of old. But shall God lift - To endless unity - The soul whose likeness with thy soul - Was but its love for thee?) - -It is the lover who now speaks, commenting upon the imagined words -of the beloved in heaven. _Endless unity_ here has a double meaning, -signifying at once the mystical union of the soul with God, and the -reunion forever of lovers separated by death. The lover doubts whether -he can be found worthy to enter heaven, because his only likeness to -the beloved was in his love for her; that is to say, his merit was not -so much in being good as in loving good in another. - - "We two," she said, "will seek the groves - Where the lady Mary is, - With her fine handmaidens, whose names - Are five sweet symphonies, - Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, - Margaret, and Rosalys. - -Notice the mediæval method of speaking of the mother of God as "the -lady Mary"; such would have been the form of address for a princess -or queen in those times. So King Arthur's wife, in the old romance, -is called the lady Guinevere. _Symphonies_ here has only the simplest -meaning of a sweet sound, not of a combination of sounds; but the -use of the word nevertheless implies to a delicate ear that the five -names make harmony with each other. They are names of saints, but also -favourite names given to daughters of great families as Christian -names. The picture is simply that of the lady of a great castle, -surrounded by her waiting women, engaged in weaving and sewing. - - "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks - And foreheads garlanded; - Into the fine cloth white like flame - Weaving the golden thread, - To fashion the birth-robes for them - Who are just born, being dead. - -_With bound locks_ means only with the hair tied up, not flowing loose, -as was usual in figures of saints and angels. They are weaving garments -for new souls received into heaven, just as mothers might weave cloth -for a child soon to be born. The description of the luminous white -cloth might be compared with descriptions in Revelation. _Being dead._ -Christianity, like the Oriental religions, calls death a rebirth; but -the doctrinal idea is entirely different. You will remember that the -Greeks represented the soul under the form of a butterfly. Christianity -approaches the Greek fancy by considering the human body as a sort of -caterpillar, which enters the pupa-state at death; the soul is like -the butterfly leaving the chrysalis. So far everything is easy to -understand; but this rebirth of the soul is only half a rebirth in the -Christian sense. The body is also to be born again at a later day. At -present there are only souls in heaven; but after the judgment day the -same bodies which they used to have during life are to be given back -to them. Therefore Rossetti is not referring here to rebirth except -in the sense of spiritual rebirth, as Christ used it, in saying "Ye -must be born again"--that is, obtain new hearts, new feelings. What in -Oriental poetry would represent a fact of belief, here represents only -the symbol of a belief, a belief of a totally different kind. - - "He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: - Then will I lay my cheek - To his, and tell about our love, - Not once abashed or weak: - And the dear Mother will approve - My pride, and let me speak. - - "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, - To Him round whom all souls - Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads - Bowed with their aureoles: - And angels meeting us shall sing - To their citherns and citoles. - - "There will I ask of Christ the Lord - Thus much for him and me:-- - Only to live as once on earth - With Love, only to be, - As then awhile, forever now - Together, I and he." - -The Damozel's idea is that her lover will be ashamed and afraid to -speak to the mother of God when he is introduced to her; but she will -not be afraid to say how much she loves her lover, and she will cause -the lady Mary to bring them both into the presence of God himself, -identified here rather with the Son than with the Father. _Citherns and -citoles._ Both words are derived from the Latin _cithara_, a harp, and -both refer to long obsolete kinds of stringed instruments used during -the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries. - - She gazed and listened and then said, - Less sad of speech than mild,-- - "All this is when he comes." She ceased. - The light thrilled toward her, filled - With angels in strong level flight. - Her eyes prayed, and she smiled. - - (I saw her smile.) But soon their path - Was vague in distant spheres: - And then she cast her arms along - The golden barriers, - And laid her face between her hands, - And wept. (I heard her tears.) - -In these beautiful lines we are reminded of the special duty of angels, -from which they take their name, "messenger"--the duty of communicating -between earth and heaven and bringing the souls of the dead to -paradise. The Damozel, waiting and watching for her lover, imagines, -whenever she sees the angels coming from the direction of the human -world, that her lover may be coming with them. At last she sees a band -of angels flying straight toward her through the luminous ether, which -shivers and flashes before their coming. "Her eyes prayed," that is, -expressed the prayerful desire that it might be her beloved; and she -feels almost sure that it is. Then comes her disappointment, for the -angels pass out of sight in another direction, and she cries--even in -heaven. At least her lover imagines that he saw and heard her weeping. - -The use of the word Damozel needs a little more explanation, that you -may understand the great art with which the poem was arranged. The Old -French _damoisel_ (later _damoiseau_) signified a young lad of noble -birth or knightly parentage, employed in a noble house as page or -squire. Originally there was no feminine form; but afterwards the form -_damoselle_ came into use, signifying a young lady in the corresponding -capacity. Thus Rossetti in choosing the old English form _damozel_ -selected perhaps the only possible word which could exactly express the -position of the Damozel in heaven, as well as the mediæval conception -of that heaven. Our English word "damsel," so common in the Bible, is a -much later form than damozel. There was, however, a Middle English form -spelled almost like the form used by Rossetti, except that there was an -"s" instead of a "z." - -Now you will better see the meaning of Rossetti's mysticism. When you -make religion love, without ceasing to be religious, and make love -religion, without ceasing to be human and sensuous, in the good sense -of the word, then you have made a form of mysticism. The blending in -Rossetti is very remarkable, and has made this particular poem the most -famous thing which he wrote. We have here a picture of heaven, with -all its mysteries and splendours, suspended over an ocean of ether, -through which souls are passing like an upward showering of fire; and -all this is spiritual enough. But the Damozel, with her yellow hair, -and her bosom making warm what she leans upon, is very human; and her -thoughts are not of the immaterial kind. The suggestions about bathing -together, about embracing, cheek against cheek, and about being able -to love in heaven as on earth, have all the delightful innocence of -the Middle Ages, when the soul was thought of only as another body of -finer substance. Now it is altogether the human warmth of the poem that -makes its intense attraction. Rarely to-day can any Western poet write -satisfactorily about heavenly things, because we have lost the artless -feeling of the Middle Ages, and we cannot think of the old heaven as a -reality. In order to write such things, we should have to get back the -heart of our fathers; and Rossetti happened to be born with just such a -heart. He had probably little or no real faith in religion; but he was -able to understand exactly how religious people felt hundreds of years -ago. - -Let us now turn to a more earthly phase of the same tone of love which -appears in "The Blessed Damozel." Now it is the lover himself on earth -who is speaking, while contemplating the portrait of the dead woman -whom he loved. We shall only make extracts, on account of the extremely -elaborate and difficult structure of the poem. - - THE PORTRAIT - - This is her picture as she was: - It seems a thing to wonder on, - As though mine image in the glass - Should tarry when myself am gone. - I gaze until she seems to stir,-- - Until mine eyes almost aver - That now, even now, the sweet lips part - To breathe the words of the sweet heart:-- - And yet the earth is over her. - . . . . . . - Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears - The beating heart of Love's own breast,--Where - round the secret of all spheres - All angels lay their wings to rest,-- - How shall my soul stand rapt and awed. - When, by the new birth borne abroad - Throughout the music of the suns, - It enters in her soul at once - And knows the silence there for God! - -Here is the very highest form of mystical love; for love is identified -with God, and the reunion in heaven is a blending, not with a mere -fellow soul, but with the Supreme Being. By "silence" here you must -understand rest, heavenly peace. The closing stanza of the poem -contains one of the most beautiful images of comparison ever made in -any language. - - Here with her face doth memory sit - Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline, - Till other eyes shall look from it, - Eyes of the spirit's Palestine, - Even than the old gaze tenderer: - While hopes and aims long lost with her - Stand round her image side by side, - Like tombs of pilgrims that have died - About the Holy Sepulchre. - -What the poet means is this: "Now I sit, remembering the past, and -look at her face in the picture, as long as the light of day remains. -Presently, with twilight the stars will shine out like eyes in -heaven--heaven which is my Holy Land, because she is there. Those -stars will then seem to me even as her eyes, but more beautiful, more -loving than the living eyes. The hopes and the projects which I used to -entertain for her sake, and which died when she died--they come back -to mind, but like the graves ranged around the grave of Christ at -Jerusalem." The reference is of course to the great pilgrimages of the -Middle Ages made to Jerusalem. - -More than the artist speaks here; and if there be not strong faith, -there is at least beautiful hope. A more tender feeling could not be -combined with a greater pathos; but Rossetti often reaches the very -same supreme quality of sentiment, even in poems of a character closely -allied to romance. We can take "The Staff and Scrip" as an example of -mediæval story of the highest emotional quality. - - "Who rules these lands?" the Pilgrim said. - "Stranger, Queen Blanchelys." - "And who has thus harried them?" he said. - "It was Duke Luke did this; - God's ban be his!" - - The Pilgrim said, "Where is your house? - I'll rest there, with your will." - "You've but to climb these blackened boughs - And you'll see it over the hill, - For it burns still." - - "Which road, to seek your Queen?" said he. - "Nay, nay, but with some wound - You'll fly back hither, it may be, - And by your blood i' the ground - My place be found." - - "Friend, stay in peace. God keep your head, - And mine, where I will go; - For He is here and there," he said. - He passed the hillside, slow, - And stood below. - -So far the poem is so simple that no one could expect anything very -beautiful in the sequence. We only have a conversation between a -pilgrim from the Holy Land, returned to his native country (probably -mediæval France), and a peasant or yeoman belonging to the estate of -a certain Queen. We may suspect, however, from the conversation, that -the pilgrim is a knight or noble, and probably has been a crusader. He -sees that the country has been ravaged by some merciless enemy; and -the peasant tells him that it was Duke Luke. The peasant's house is -burning; he himself is hiding in terror of his life. But the pilgrim is -not afraid, and goes to see the Queen in spite of all warning. One can -imagine very well that the purpose of the Duke in thus making war upon -a woman was to force a marriage as well as to acquire territory. Now it -was the duty of a true knight to help any woman unjustly oppressed or -attacked; therefore the pilgrim's wish to see the Queen is prompted by -this sense of duty. Hereafter the poem has an entirely different tone. - - The Queen sat idle by her loom: - She heard the arras stir, - And looked up sadly: through the room - The sweetness sickened her - Of musk and myrrh. - - Her women, standing two and two, - In silence combed the fleece. - The Pilgrim said, "Peace be with you, - Lady"; and bent his knees. - She answered, "Peace." - - Her eyes were like the wave within; - Like water-reeds the poise - Of her soft body, dainty-thin; - And like the water's noise - Her plaintive voice. - -The naked walls of rooms during the Middle Ages were covered with -drapery or tapestry, on which figures were embroidered or woven. -_Arras_ was the name given to a kind of tapestry made at the town of -Arras in France. - - For him, the stream had never well'd - In desert tracts malign - So sweet; nor had he ever felt - So faint in the sunshine - Of Palestine. - - Right so, he knew that he saw weep - Each night through every dream - The Queen's own face, confused in sleep - With visages supreme - Not known to him. - -At this point the poem suddenly becomes mystical. It is not chance nor -will that has brought these two together, but some divine destiny. As -he sees the Queen's face for the first time with his eyes, he remembers -having seen the same face many times before in his dreams. And when he -saw it in dreams, it was also the face of a woman weeping; and there -were also other faces in the dream, not human but "supreme"--probably -angels or other heavenly beings. - - "Lady," he said, "your lands lie burnt - And waste: to meet your foe - All fear: this I have seen and learnt. - Say that it shall be so, - And I will go." - - She gazed at him. "Your cause is just, - For I have heard the same:" - He said: "God's strength shall be my trust. - Fall it to good or grame, - 'Tis in His name." - - "Sir, you are thanked. My cause is dead. - Why should you toil to break - A grave, and fall therein?" she said. - He did not pause but spake: - "For my vow's sake." - - "Can such vows be, Sir--to God's ear, - Not to God's will?" "My vow - Remains: God heard me there as here," - He said, with reverent brow, - "Both then and now." - - They gazed together, he and she, - The minute while he spoke; - And when he ceased, she suddenly - Looked round upon her folk - As though she woke. - - "Fight, Sir," she said; "my prayers in pain - Shall be your fellowship." - He whispered one among her train,-- - "To-morrow bid her keep - This staff and scrip." - -The scrip was a kind of wallet or bag carried by pilgrims. Now we -have a few sensuous touches, of the kind in which Rossetti excels all -other poets, because they always are kept within the extreme limits of -artistic taste. - - She sent him a sharp sword, whose belt - About his body there - As sweet as her own arms he felt. - He kissed its blade, all bare, - Instead of her. - - She sent him a green banner wrought - With one white lily stem, - To bind his lance with when he fought. - He writ upon the same - And kissed her name. - -"Wrought" here signifies embroidered with the design of the white -lily. Remember that the Queen's name is white lily (Blanchelys), and -the flower is her crest. It was the custom for every knight to have -fastened to his lance a small flag or pennon--also called sometimes -"pennant." - - She sent him a white shield, whereon - She bade that he should trace - His will. He blent fair hues that shone, - And in a golden space - He kissed her face. - -Being appointed by the Queen her knight, it would have been more -customary that she should tell him what design he should put upon his -shield--heraldic privileges coming from the sovereign only. But she -tells him generously that he may choose any design that he pleases. He -returns the courtesy very beautifully by painting the Queen's face on -the shield upon a background of gold, and kissing the image. By "space" -here must be understood a quarter, or compartment, of the shield, -according to the rules of heraldry. - - Born of the day that died, that eve - Now dying sank to rest; - As he, in likewise taking leave, - Once with a heaving breast - Looked to the west. - - And there the sunset skies unseal'd, - Like lands he never knew, - Beyond to-morrow's battle-field - Lay open out of view - To ride into. - -Here we have the suggestion of emotions known to us all, when looking -into a beautiful sunset sky in which there appeared to be landscapes -of gold and purple and other wonderful colours, like some glimpse of a -heavenly world. Notice the double suggestion of this verse. The knight, -having bidden the Queen good-bye, is riding home, looking, as he rides, -into the sunset and over the same plain where he must fight to-morrow. -Looking, he sees such landscapes--strangely beautiful, more beautiful -than anything in the real world. Then he thinks that heaven might be -like that. At the same time he has a premonition that he is going to be -killed the next day, and this thought comes to him: "Perhaps I shall -ride into that heaven to-morrow." - - Next day till dark the women pray'd; - Nor any might know there - How the fight went; the Queen has bade - That there do come to her - No messenger. - - The Queen is pale, her maidens ail; - And to the organ-tones - They sing but faintly, who sang well - The matin-orisons, - The lauds and nones. - -_Orison_ means a prayer; _matin_ has the same meaning as the French -word, spelled in the same way, for morning. Matin-orisons are morning -prayers, but special prayers belonging to the ancient church services -are intended; these prayers are still called matins. _Lauds_ is also -the name of special prayers of the Roman morning service; the word -properly means "praises." _Nones_ is the name of a third special kind -of prayers, intended to be repeated or sung at the ninth hour of the -morning--hence, nones. - - Lo, Father, is thine ear inclin'd, - And hath thine angel pass'd? - For these thy watchers now are blind - With vigil, and at last - Dizzy with fast. - - Weak now to them the voice o' the priest - As any trance affords; - And when each anthem failed and ceas'd, - It seemed that the last chords - Still sang the words. - -By _Father_ is here meant God--probably in the person of Christ. To -incline the ear means to listen. When this expression is used of God -it always means listening to prayer. In the second line angel has -the double signification of spirit and messenger, but especially the -latter. Why is the expression "at last" used here? It was the custom -when making special prayer both to remain without sleep, which was -called "keeping vigil" or watch, and to remain without food, or "to -fast." The evening has come and the women have not eaten anything all -day. At first they were too anxious to feel hungry, but _at last_ as -the night advances, they become too weak. - - "Oh, what is the light that shines so red? - 'Tis long since the sun set"; - Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid: - "'Twas dim but now, and yet - The light is great." - - Quoth the other: "'Tis our sight is dazed - That we see flame i' the air." - But the Queen held her brows and gazed, - And said, "It is the glare - Of torches there." - -_Held her brows_--that is, put her hand above her eyes so as to see -better by keeping off the light in the room. There is a very nice -suggestion here; the Queen hears and sees better than the young girls, -not simply because she has finer senses, or because she has more to -fear by the loss of her kingdom. It is the intensification of the -senses caused by love that makes her see and hear so well. - - "Oh what are the sounds that rise and spread? - All day it was so still;" - Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid: - "Unto the furthest hill - The air they fill." - - Quoth the other: "'Tis our sense is blurr'd - With all the chants gone by." - But the Queen held her breath and heard, - And said, "It is the cry - Of Victory." - - The first of all the rout was sound, - The next were dust and flame, - And then the horses shook the ground; - And in the thick of them - A still band came. - -I think that no poet in the world ever performed a greater feat than -this stanza, in which, and in three lines only, the whole effect of -the spectacle and sound of an army returning at night has been given. -We must suppose that the women have gone out to wait for the army. It -comes; but the night is dark, and they hear at first only the sound of -the coming, the tramp of black masses of men passing. Probably these -would be the light troops, archers and footmen. The lights are still -behind, with the cavalry. Then the first appearance is made in the -light of torches--foot soldiers still, covered with dust and carrying -lights with them. Then they feel the ground shake under the weight of -the feudal cavalry--the knights come. But where is the chief? No chief -is visible; but, surrounded by the mounted knights, there is a silent -company of men on foot carrying something. The Queen wants to know -what it is. It is covered with leaves and branches so that she cannot -see it. - - "Oh what do ye bring out of the fight, - Thus hid beneath these boughs?" - "Thy conquering guest returns to-night, - And yet shall not carouse, - Queen, in thy house." - -After a victory there was always in those days a great feast of -wine-drinking, or carousal. _To carouse_ means to take part in such -noisy festivity. When the Queen puts her question, she is kindly but -grimly answered, so that she knows the dead body of her knight must be -under the branches. But being a true woman and lover, her love conquers -her fear and pain; she must see him again, no matter how horribly his -body may have been wounded. - - "Uncover ye his face," she said. - "O changed in little space!" - She cried, "O pale that was so red! - O God, O God of grace! - Cover his face!" - - His sword was broken in his hand - Where he had kissed the blade. - "O soft steel that could not withstand! - O my hard heart unstayed, - That prayed and prayed!" - -Why does she call her heart hard? Because she naturally reproaches -herself with his death. _Unstayed_ means uncomforted, unsupported. -There is a suggestion that she prayed and prayed in vain because her -heart had suffered her to send that man to battle. - - His bloodied banner crossed his mouth - Where he had kissed her name. - "O east, and west, and north, and south, - Fair flew my web, for shame, - To guide Death's aim!" - - The tints were shredded from his shield - Where he had kissed her face. - "Oh, of all gifts that I could yield, - Death only keeps its place, - My gift and grace!" - -The expression "_my_ web" implies that the Queen had herself woven the -material of the flag. The word "web" is not now often used in modern -prose in this sense--we say texture, stuff, material instead. _A shred_ -especially means a small _torn_ piece. "To shred from" would therefore -mean to remove in small torn pieces--or, more simply expressed, to -scratch off, or rend away. Of course the rich thick painting upon the -shield is referred to. Repeated blows upon the surface would remove the -painting in small shreds. This is very pathetic when rightly studied. -She sees that all the presents she made to him, banner, sword, shield, -have been destroyed in the battle; and with bitter irony, the irony of -grief, she exclaims, "The only present I made him that could not be -taken back or broken was death. Death was my grace, my one kindness!" - - Then stepped a damsel to her side, - And spoke, and needs must weep; - "For his sake, lady, if he died, - He prayed of thee to keep - This staff and scrip." - - That night they hung above her bed, - Till morning wet with tears. - Year after year above her head - Her bed his token wears, - Five years, ten years. - - That night the passion of her grief - Shook them as there they hung - Each year the wind that shed the leaf - Shook them and in its tongue - A message flung. - - -We must suppose the Queen's bed to have been one of the great beds -used in the Middle Ages and long afterwards, with four great pillars -supporting a kind of little roof or ceiling above it, and also -supporting curtains, which would be drawn around the bed at night. The -staff and scrip and the token would have been hung to the ceiling, or -as the French call it _ciel_, of the bed; and therefore they might be -shaken by a passion of grief--because a woman sobbing in the bed would -shake the bed, and therefore anything hung to the awning above it. - - And once she woke with a clear mind - That letters writ to calm - Her soul lay in the scrip; to find - Only a torpid balm - And dust of palm. - -Sometimes when we are very unhappy, we dream that what we really wish -for has happened, and that the sorrow is taken away. And in such dreams -we are very sure that what we were dreaming is true. Then we wake up to -find the misery come back again. The Queen has been greatly sorrowing -for this man, and wishing she could have some news from his spirit, -some message from him. One night she dreams that somebody tells her, -"If you will open that scrip, you will find in it the message which you -want." Then she wakes up and finds only some palm-dust, and some balm -so old that it no longer has any perfume--but no letter. - - They shook far off with palace sport - When joust and dance were rife; - And the hunt shook them from the court; - For hers, in peace or strife, - Was a Queen's life. - - A Queen's death now: as now they shake - To gusts in chapel dim,-- - Hung where she sleeps, not seen to wake - (Carved lovely white and slim), - With them by him. - -It would be for her, as for any one in great sorrow, a consolation to -be alone with her grief. But this she cannot be, nor can she show her -grief to any one, because she is a Queen. Only when in her chamber, -at certain moments, can she think of the dead knight, and see the -staff and scrip shaking in their place, as the castle itself shakes to -the sound of the tournaments, dances, and the gathering of the great -hunting parties in the court below. - -In that age it was the custom when a knight died to carve an image of -him, lying asleep in his armour, and this image was laid upon his long -tomb. When his wife died, or the lady to whom he had been pledged, -she was represented as lying beside him, with her hands joined, as -if in prayer. You will see plenty of these figures upon old tombs -in England. Usually a nobleman was not buried in the main body of a -large church, but in a chapel--which is a kind of little side-church, -opening into the great church. Such is the case in many cathedrals; and -some cathedrals, like Westminster, have many chapels used as places -of burial and places of worship. On the altar in these little chapels -special services are performed for the souls of the dead buried in the -chapel. It is not uncommon to see, in such a chapel, some relics of the -dead suspended to the wall, such as a shield or a flag. In this poem, -by the Queen's own wish, the staff and scrip of the dead knight are -hung on the wall above her tomb, where they are sometimes shaken by the -wind. - - Stand up to-day, still armed, with her, - Good knight, before His brow - Who then as now was here and there, - Who had in mind thy vow - Then even as now. - - The lists are set in Heaven to-day, - The bright pavilions shine; - Fair hangs thy shield, and none gainsay; - The trumpets sound in sign - That she is thine. - - Not tithed with days' and years' decease - He pays thy wage He owed, - But with imperishable peace - Here in His own abode, - Thy jealous God. - -_Still armed_ refers to the representation of the dead knight in full -armour. Mediæval faith imagined the warrior armed in the spiritual -world as he was in this life; and the ghosts of dead knights used to -appear in armour. The general meaning of these stanzas is, "God now -gives you the reward which he owed to you; and unlike rewards given -to men in this world, your heavenly reward is not diminished by the -certainty that you cannot enjoy it except for a certain number of -days or years. God does not keep anything back out of his servants' -wages--no tithe or tenth. You will be with her forever." The adjective -"jealous" applied to God is a Hebrew use of the term; but it has here -a slightly different meaning. The idea is this, that Heaven is jealous -of human love when human love alone is a motive of duty. Therefore the -reward of duty need not be expected in this world but only in Heaven. - -Outside of the sonnets, which we must consider separately, I do not -know any more beautiful example of the mystical feeling of love in -Rossetti than this. It will not be necessary to search any further for -examples in this special direction; I think you will now perfectly -understand one of the peculiar qualities distinguishing Rossetti from -all the other Victorian poets--the mingling of religious with amatory -emotion in the highest form of which the language is capable. - - - -III - - -While we are discussing the ballads and shorter narrative poems, let us -now consider Rossetti simply as a story-teller, and see how wonderful -he is in some of those lighter productions in which he brought the -art of the refrain to a perfection which nobody else, except perhaps -Swinburne, has equalled. Among the ballads there is but one, "Stratton -Water," conceived altogether after the old English fashion; and this -has no refrain. I do not know that any higher praise can be given to -it than the simple statement that it is a perfect imitation of the -old ballad--at least so far as a perfect imitation is possible in the -nineteenth century. Should there be any criticism allowable, it could -be only this, that the tenderness and pathos are somewhat deeper, and -somewhat less rough in utterance, than we expect in a ballad of the -fourteenth or fifteenth century. Yet there is no stanza in it for which -some parallel might not be found in ballads of the old time. It is -nothing more than the story of a country girl seduced by a nobleman, -who nevertheless has no intention of being cruel or unfaithful. Just as -she is about to drown herself, or rather to let herself be drowned, he -rescues her from the danger, marries her in haste to save appearances, -and makes her his wife. There is nothing more of narrative, and no -narrative could be more simple. But as the great pains and great joys -of life are really in simple things, the simplest is capable of almost -infinite expansion when handled by a true artist. Certainly in English -poetry there is no ballad more beautiful than this; nor can we imagine -it possible to do anything more with so slight a theme. It contains -nothing, however, calling for elaborate explanation or comment; I need -only recommend you to read it and to feel it. - -It is otherwise in the case of such ballads as "Sister Helen" and -"The White Ship."--"The White Ship" is a little too long for full -reproduction in the lecture; but we can point out its special beauties. -"Sister Helen," although rather long also, we must study the whole -of, partly because it has become so very famous, and partly because -it deals with emotions and facts of the Middle Ages requiring careful -interpretation. Perhaps it is the best example of story telling in -the shorter pieces of Rossetti--not because its pictures are more -objectively vivid than the themes of the "White Ship," but because it -is more subjectively vivid, dealing with the extremes of human passion, -hate, love, revenge, and religious despair. All these are passions -peculiarly coloured by the age in which the story is supposed to -happen, the age of belief in magic, in ghosts, and in hell-fire. - -I think that in nearly all civilised countries, East and West, from -very old times there has been some belief in the kind of magic which -this poem describes. I have seen references to similar magic in -translations of Chinese books, and I imagine that it may have been -known in Japan. In India it is still practised. At one time or other -it was practised in every country of Europe. Indeed, it was only the -development of exact science that rendered such beliefs impossible. -During the Middle Ages they caused the misery of many thousands of -lives, and the fear born of them weighed upon men's minds like a -nightmare. - -This superstition in its simplest form was that if you wished to kill -a hated person, it was only necessary to make a small statue or image -of that person in wax, or some other soft material, and to place the -image before a fire, after having repeated certain formulas. As the -wax began to melt before the fire, the person represented by the image -would become sick and grow weaker and weaker, until with the complete -melting of the image, he would die. Sometimes when the image was made -of material other than wax, it was differently treated. Also it was a -custom to stick needles into such images, for the purpose of injuring -rather than of killing. By putting the needles into the place of the -eyes, for example, the person would be made blind; or by putting them -into the place of the ears, he might be rendered deaf. A needle stuck -into the place of the heart would cause death, slow or quick according -to the slowness with which the needle was forced in. - -But there were many penalties attaching to the exercise of such magic. -People convicted of having practised it were burned alive by law. -However, burning alive was not the worst consequence of the practice, -according to general belief; for the church taught that such a crime -was unpardonable, and that all guilty of it must go to hell for all -eternity. You might destroy your enemy by magic, but only at the -cost of your own soul. A soul for a life. And you must know that the -persons who did such things believed the magic was real, believed they -were killing, and believed they were condemned to lose their souls in -consequence. Can we conceive of hatred strong enough to satisfy itself -at this price? Certainly, there have been many examples in the history -of those courts in which trials for witchcraft were formerly held. - -Now we have the general idea behind this awful ballad. The speakers in -the story are only two, a young woman and her brother, a little boy. We -may suppose the girl to be twenty and the boy about five years old or -even younger. The girl is apparently of good family, for she appears -to be living in a castle of her own--at least a fortified dwelling of -some sort. We must also suppose her to be an orphan, for she avenges -herself--as one having no male relative to fight for her. She has been -seduced under promise of marriage; but before the marriage day, her -faithless lover marries another woman. Then she determines to destroy -his life by magic. While her man of wax is melting before the fire, -the parents, relatives, and newly-wedded bride of her victim come on -horseback to beg that she will forgive. But forgive she will not, and -he dies, and at the last his ghost actually enters the room. This is -the story. - -You will observe that the whole conversation is only between the girl -and this baby-brother. She talks to the child in child language, but -with a terrible meaning behind each simple word. She herself will not -answer the prayers of the relatives of the dying man; she makes the -little brother act as messenger. So all that is said in the poem is -said between the girl and the little boy. Even in the opening of the -ballad there is a terrible pathos in the presence of this little baby -brother. What does he know of horrible beliefs, hatred, lust, evil -passion of any sort? He only sees that his sister has made a kind of -wax-doll, and he thinks that it is a pretty doll, and would like to -play with it. But his sister, instead of giving him the doll, begins to -melt it before the fire, and he cannot understand why. - -One more preliminary observation. What is the meaning of the refrain? -This refrain, in italics, always represents the secret thought of the -girl, what she cannot say to the little brother, but what she thinks -and suffers. The references to Mary refer to the Virgin Mary of course, -but with the special mediæval sense. God would not forgive certain -sins; but, during the Middle Ages at least, the Virgin Mary, the mother -of God, was a refuge even for the despairing magician or witch. We -could not expect one practising witchcraft to call upon the name of -Christ. But the same person, in moments of intense pain, might very -naturally ejaculate the name of Mary. And now we can begin the poem. - - SISTER HELEN - - "Why did you melt your waxen man, - Sister Helen? - To-day is the third since you began." - "The time was long, yet the time ran, - Little brother." - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "But if you have done your work aright, - Sister Helen, - You'll let me play, for you said I might." - "Be very still in your play to-night, - Little brother." - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "You said it must melt ere vesper-bell, - Sister Helen; - If now it be molten, all is well." - "Even so,--nay, peace! you cannot tell, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day, - Sister Helen; - How like dead folk he has dropped away!" - "Nay now, of the dead what can you say, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "See, see, the sunken pile of wood, - Sister Helen, - Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!" - "Nay now, when looked you yet on blood, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore, - Sister Helen, - And I'll play without the gallery door." - "Aye, let me rest,--I'll lie on the floor, - Little brother." - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "Here high up in the balcony, - Sister Helen, - The moon flies face to face with me." - "Aye, look and say whatever you see, - Little brother." - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "Outside, it's merry in the wind's wake, - Sister Helen; - In the shaken trees the chill stars shake." - "Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "I hear a horse-tread, and I see, - Sister Helen, - Three horsemen that ride terribly." - "Little brother, whence come the three, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?_) - -In this last stanza the repetition of the words "little brother" -indicates intense eagerness. The girl has been expecting that the -result of her enchantments would force the relatives of her victim to -come and beg for mercy. The child's words therefore bring to her a -shock of excitement. - - "They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar, - Sister Helen, - And one draws nigh, but two are afar." - "Look, look, do you know them who they are, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Who should they he, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so fast, - Sister Helen, - For I know the white mane on the blast." - "The hour has come, has come at last, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -Those who come are knights, and the child can know them only by the -crest or by the horses; as they are very far he can distinguish only -the horses, but he knows the horse of Keith of Eastholm, because of its -white mane, floating in the wind. From this point the poem becomes very -terrible, because it shows us a play of terrible passion--passion all -the more terrible because it is that of a woman. - - "He has made a sign and called Halloo! - Sister Helen, - And he says that he would speak with you." - "Oh, tell him I fear the frozen dew - Little brother." - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "The wind is loud, but I hear him cry, - Sister Helen, - That Keith of Ewern's like to die." - "And he and thou, and thou and I, - Little brother," - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Three days ago, on his marriage-morn, - Sister Helen, - He sickened, and lies since then forlorn." - "For bridegroom's side is the bride a thorn, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -We now can surmise the story from the girl's own lips. There are wrongs -that a woman cannot forgive, unless she is of very weak character -indeed. But this woman is no weakling; she can kill, and laugh while -killing, because she is a daughter of warriors, and has been cruelly -injured. Notice the bitter mockery of every word she utters, especially -the exulting reference to the unhappy bride. We imagine that she might -be sorry for killing a man whom she once loved; but we may be perfectly -sure that she will feel no pity for the woman that he married. - - "Three days and nights he has lain abed, - Sister Helen, - And he prays in torment to be dead." - "The thing may chance, if he have prayed, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "But he has not ceased to cry to-day, - Sister Helen, - That you should take your curse away." - "_My_ prayer was heard,--he need but pray, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Shall God not hear, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "But he says till you take back your ban, - Sister Helen, - His soul would pass, yet never can." - "Nay then, shall I slay a living man, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "But he calls for ever on your name, - Sister Helen, - And says that he melts before a flame." - "My heart for his pleasure fared the same, - Little brother." - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Here's Keith of Westholm riding fast, - Sister Helen, - For I know the white plume on the blast." - "The hour, the sweet hour I forecast, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "He stops to speak, and he stills his horse, - Sister Helen, - But his words are drowned in the wind's course." - "Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "Oh, he says that Keith of Ewern's cry, - Sister Helen, - Is ever to see you ere he die." - "In all that his soul sees, there am I, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _The soul's one sight, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "He sends a ring and a broken coin, - Sister Helen, - And bids you mind the banks of Boyne." - "What else he broke will he ever join, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _No, never joined, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -It was a custom, and in some parts of England still is a custom, for -lovers not only to give each other rings, but also to divide something -between them--such as a coin or a ring, for pledge and remembrance. -Sometimes a ring would be cut in two, and each person would keep -one-half. Sometimes a thin coin, gold or silver money, was broken -into halves and each of the lovers would wear one-half round the neck -fastened to a string. Such pledges would be always recognised, and were -only to be sent back in time of terrible danger--in a matter of life -and death. There are many references to this custom in the old ballads. - - "He yields you these, and craves full fain, - Sister Helen, - You pardon him in his mortal pain." - "What else he took will he give again, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "He calls your name in an agony, - Sister Helen, - That even dead Love must weep to see." - "Hate, born of Love, is blind as he, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Love turned to hate, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Oh it's Keith of Keith now that rides fast, - Sister Helen, - For I know the white hair on the blast." - "The short, short hour will soon be past, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "He looks at me and he tries to speak, - Sister Helen, - But oh! his voice is sad and weak!" - "What here should the mighty Baron seek, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "Oh his son still cries, if you forgive, - Sister Helen, - The body dies, but the soul shall live." - "Fire shall forgive me as I forgive, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -This needs some explanation in reference to religious belief. The -witch, you will observe, has the power to destroy the soul as well -as the body, but on the condition of suffering the same loss herself. -Yet how can this be? It could happen thus: if the dying man could make -a confession before he dies, and sincerely repent of his sin before a -priest, his soul might be saved; but while he remains in the agony of -suffering caused by the enchantment, he cannot repent. Not to repent -means to go to Hell for ever and ever. If the woman would forgive him, -withdrawing the curse and pain for one instant, all might be well. But -she answers, "Fire shall forgive me as I forgive"--she means, "The fire -of Hell shall sooner forgive me when I go to Hell, than I shall forgive -him in this world." There will be other references to this horrible -belief later on. It was very common in the Middle Ages. - - "Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive, - Sister Helen, - To save his dear son's soul alive." - "Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -_Rive_ is seldom used now in prose, though we have "riven" very often. -To rive is to tear. The last line of this stanza is savage, for it -refers to the belief that the black fire of Hell preserves the body of -the damned person instead of consuming it. - - "He cries to you, kneeling in the road, - Sister Helen, - To go with him for the love of God!" - "The way is long to his son's abode, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "A lady's here, by a dark steed brought, - Sister Helen, - So darkly clad, I saw her not." - "See her now or never see aught, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What more to see, between Hell and Heaven?_) - -As the horse was black and the lady was all dressed in black, the -child could not at first notice either in the shadows of the road. On -announcing that he had seen her at last, the excitement of the sister -reaches its highest and wickedest; she says to him, "Nay, you will -never be able to see anything in this world, unless you can see that -woman's face and tell me all about it." For it is the other woman, who -has made forgiveness impossible; it is the other woman, the object of -her deepest hate. - - "Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair, - Sister Helen, - On the Lady of Ewern's golden hair." - "Blest hour of my power and her despair, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Hour blessed and bann'd, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow, - Sister Helen, - 'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago." - "One morn for pride, and three days for woe. - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Three days, three nights, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Her clasped hands stretch from her bending head, - Sister Helen; - With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed." - "What wedding-strains hath her bridal bed, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What strain but death's, between Hell and Heaven?_) - -You must remember that the word "strains" is, nearly always used in the -sense of musical tones, and that "wedding-strains" means the joyful -music played at a wedding. Thus the ferocity of Helen's mockery becomes -apparent, for it was upon the bridal night that the bridegroom was -first bewitched; and from the moment of his marriage, therefore, he has -been screaming in agony. - -The climax of hatred is in the next stanza. After that the tone begins -to reverse, and gradually passes away in the melancholy of eternal -despair. - - "She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon, - Sister Helen,-- - She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon." - "Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Her woe's dumb cry, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -To "gasp" means to open the mouth in the effort to get breath, as one -does in a fit of hysterics, or in time of great agony. "Gasps on the -moon" means that she gasps with her face turned up toward the moon. In -the last line we have the words "blithe tune" used in the same tone of -terrible irony as that with which the word "wedding-strain" was used in -the preceding stanza. "Blithe" means "merry." Helen is angry because -the other woman has fainted; having fainted, she has become for the -moment physically incapable of suffering. But Helen thinks that her -soul must be conscious and suffering as much as ever; therefore she -wishes that she could hear the suffering of the soul, since she cannot -longer hear the outcries of the body. - - "They've caught her to Westholm's saddle-bow, - Sister Helen, - And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow." - "Let it turn whiter than winter-snow, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Woe-withered gold, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -The allusion is to the physiological fact that intense moral pain, or -terrible fear, sometimes turns the hair of a young person suddenly -white. - - "O Sister Helen, you heard the bell, - Sister Helen! - More loud than the vesper-chime it fell." - "No vesper-chime, but a dying knell, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Alas, but I fear the heavy sound, - Sister Helen; - Is it in the sky or in the ground?" - "Say, have they turned their horses round, - Little brother?" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?_) - - "They have raised the old man from his knee, - Sister Helen, - And they ride in silence hastily." - "More fast the naked soul doth flee, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Flank to flank are the three steeds gone, - Sister Helen, - But the lady's dark steed goes alone." - "And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath flown, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill, - Sister Helen, - And weary sad they look by the hill." - "But he and I are sadder still, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "See, see, the wax has dropped from its place, - Sister Helen, - And the flames are winning up apace!" - "Yet here they burn but for a space, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!_) - - "Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd, - Sister Helen? - Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?" - "A soul that's lost as mine is lost, - Little brother!" - (_O Mother, Mary Mother_, - _Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!_) - -Notice how the action naturally dies off into despair. From the -beginning until very nearly the close, we had an uninterrupted -crescendo, as we should say in music--that is, a gradual -intensification of the passion expressed. With the stroke of the -death-bell the passion subsides. The revenge is satisfied, the -irreparable wrong is done to avenge a wrong, and with the entrance of -the ghost the whole consequence of the act begins to appear within the -soul of the actor. I know of nothing more terrible in literature than -this poem, as expressing certain phases of human feeling, and nothing -more intensely true. The probability or improbability of the incidents -is of no more consequence than is the unreality of the witch-belief. It -is enough that such beliefs once existed to make us know that the rest -is not only possible but certain. For a time we are really subjected to -the spell of a mediæval nightmare. - -As we have seen, the above poem is mainly a subjective study. As -an objective study, "The White Ship" shows us an equal degree of -power, appealing to the visual faculty. We cannot read it all, nor -is this necessary. A few examples will be sufficient. This ballad is -in distichs, and has a striking refrain. The story is founded upon -historical fact. The son and heir of the English king Henry I, together -with his sister and many knights and ladies, was drowned on a voyage -from France to England, and it is said that the king was never again -seen to smile after he had heard the news. Rossetti imagines the story -told by a survivor--a butcher employed on the ship, the lowest menial -on board. Such a man would naturally feel very differently toward the -prince from others of the train, and would criticise him honestly from -the standpoint of simple morality. - - Eighteen years till then he had seen, - And the devil's dues in him were eighteen. - -The peasant thus estimates the ruler who breaks the common laws of God -and man. Nevertheless he is just in his own way, and can appreciate -unselfishness even in a man whom he hates. - - He was a Prince of lust and pride; - He showed no grace till the hour he died. - . . . . . . . - God only knows where his soul did wake, - But I saw him die for his sister's sake. - -It is a simple mind of this sort that can best tell a tragical story; -and the butcher's story is about the most perfect thing imaginable of -its kind. Here also we have one admirable bit of subjective work, the -narration of the butcher's experience in the moment of drowning. I -suppose you all know that when one is just about to die, or in danger -of sudden death, the memory becomes extraordinarily vivid, and things -long forgotten flash into the mind as if painted by lightning, together -with voices of the past. - - I Berold was down in the sea; - Passing strange though the thing may be, - Of dreams then known I remember me. - -Not dreams in the sense of visions of sleep, but images of memory. - - Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand - When morning lights the sails to land: - - And blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam - When mothers call the children home: - - And high do the bells of Rouen beat - When the Body of Christ goes down the street. - - These things and the like were heard and shown - In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone; - - And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem, - And not these things, to be all a dream. - -In the moment after the sinking of the ship, under the water, the man -remembers what he most loved at home--mornings in a fishing village, -seeing the ships return; evenings in a like village, and the sound of -his own mother's voice calling him home, as when he was a little child -at play; then the old Norman city that he knew well, and the church -processions of Corpus Christi (Body of Christ), the great event of the -year for the poorer classes. Why he remembered such things at such a -time he cannot say; it seemed to him a very ghostly experience, but not -more ghostly than the sight of the sea and the moon when he rose again. - - The ship was gone and the crowd was gone, - And the deep shuddered and the moon shone; - - And in a strait grasp my arms did span - The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran; - And on it with me was another man. - - Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky, - We told our names, that man and I. - - "O I am Godefroy de l'Aigle hight, - And son I am to a belted knight." - - "And I am Berold the butcher's son, - Who slays the beasts in Rouen town." - -The touch here, fine as it is, is perfectly natural. The common butcher -finds himself not only for the moment in company with a nobleman, but -able to talk to him as a friend. There is no rank or wealth between sky -and sea--or, as a Japanese proverb says, "There is no king on the road -of death." The refrain of the ballad utters the same truth: - - _Lands are swayed by a King on a throne_, - _The sea hath no King but God alone._ - -Both in its realism and in its emotion this ballad is a great -masterpiece. It is much superior to "The King's Tragedy," also founded -upon history. "The King's Tragedy" seems to us a little strained; -perhaps the poet attempted too much. I shall not quote from it, but -will only recommend a reading of it to students of English literature -because of its relation to a very beautiful story--the story of the -courtship of James I of Scotland, and of how he came to write his poem -called "The King's Quhair." - -Another ballad demands some attention and explanation, though it is -not suitable for reading in the classroom. It is an expression of -passion--but not passion merely human; rather superhuman and evil. For -she who speaks in this poem is not a woman like "Sister Helen"; she is -a demon. - - Not a drop of her blood was human, - But she was made like a soft sweet woman. - -Perhaps the poet desired to show us here the extremest imaginative -force of hate and cruelty--not in a mortal being, because that would -repel us, but in an immortal being, in whom such emotion can only -inspire fear. Emotionally, the poet's conception is of the Middle -Ages, but the tradition is incomparably older; we can trace it back -to ancient Assyrian beliefs. Coming to us through Hebrew literature, -this strange story has inspired numberless European poets and painters, -besides the author of "Eden Bower." You should know the story, -because you will find a great many references to it in the different -literatures of Europe. - -Briefly, Lilith is the name of an evil spirit believed by the ancient -Jews and by other Oriental nations to cause nightmare. But she did -other things much more evil, and there were curious legends about her. -The Jews said that before the first woman, Eve, was created, Adam had -a demon wife by whom he became the father of many evil spirits. When -Eve was created and given to him in marriage, Lilith was necessarily -jealous, and resolved to avenge herself upon the whole human race. It -is even to-day the custom among Jews to make a charm against Lilith on -their marriage night; for Lilith is especially the enemy of brides. - -But the particular story about Lilith that mostly figures in poetry and -painting is this: If any young man sees Lilith, he must at once fall in -love with her, because she is much more beautiful than any human being; -and if he falls in love with her, he dies. After his death, if his body -is opened by the doctors, it will be found that a long golden hair, one -strand of woman's hair, is fastened round his heart. The particular -evil in which Lilith delights is the destruction of youth. - -In Rossetti's poem Lilith is represented only as declaring to her demon -lover, the Serpent, how she will avenge herself upon Adam and upon Eve. -The ideas are in one way extremely interesting; they represent the -most tragical and terrible form of jealousy--that jealousy written of -in the Bible as being like the very fires of Hell. We might say that -in Victorian verse this is the unique poem of jealousy, in a female -personification. For the male personification we must go to Robert -Browning. - -But there is a masterly phase of jealousy described in one of -Rossetti's modern poems, "A Last Confession." Here, however, the -jealousy is of the kind with which we can humanly sympathise; there -is nothing monstrous or distorted about it. The man has reason to -suspect unchastity, and he kills the woman on the instant. I should, -therefore, consider this poem rather as a simple and natural tragedy -than as a study of jealousy. It is to be remarked here that Rossetti -did not confine himself to mediæval or supernatural subjects. Three -of his very best poems are purely modern, belonging to the nineteenth -century. This "Last Confession," appropriately placed in Italy, is not -the most remarkable of the three, but it is very fine. I do not know -anything in even French literature to be compared with the pathos of -the murder scene, unless it be the terrible closing chapter of Prosper -Mérimée's "Carmen." The story of "Carmen" is also a confession; but -there is a great difference in the history of the tragedies. Carmen's -lover does not kill in a moment of passion. He kills only after having -done everything that a man could do in order to avoid killing. He -argues, prays, goes on his knees in supplication--all in vain. And -then we know that he must kill, that any man in the same terrible -situation must kill. He stabs her; then the two continue to look at -each other--she keeping her large black eyes fixed on the face of her -murderer, till suddenly they close, and she falls. No simpler fact -could occur in the history of an assassination; yet how marvellous the -power of that simple fact as the artist tells it. We always see those -eyes. In the case of Rossetti's murderer, the incidents of the tragedy -differ somewhat, because he is blind with passion at the moment that he -strikes, and does not see. When his vision clears again, he sees the -girl fall, and - - --her stiff bodice scooped the sand - Into her bosom. - -As long as he lived, he always saw that--the low stiff front of the -girl's dress with the sand and blood. In its way this description is -quite as terrible as the last chapter of "Carmen"; and it would be -difficult to say which victim of passion most excites our sympathies. -The other two poems of modern life to which I have referred are "The -Card-Dealer" and "Jenny." "The Card-Dealer" represents a singular -faculty on the poet's part of seeing ordinary facts in their largest -relations. In many European gambling houses of celebrity, the cards -used are dealt--that is, given to the players--by a beautiful woman, -usually a woman not of the virtuous kind. The poet, entering such a -place, watches the game for a time in silence, and utters his artistic -admiration of the beauty of the card-dealer, merely as he would admire -a costly picture or a statue of gold. Then suddenly comes to him the -thought that this woman, and the silent players, and the game, are -but symbols of eternal fact. The game is no longer to his eyes a mere -game of cards; it is the terrible game of Life, the struggle for -wealth and vain pleasures. The woman is no longer a woman, but Fate; -she plays the game of Death against Life, and those who play with her -must lose. However, the allusions in this poem would require for easy -understanding considerable familiarity with the terms of card-play and -the names of the cards. If you know these, I think you will find this -poem a very solemn and beautiful composition. - -Much more modern is "Jenny," a poem which greatly startled the public -when it was first published. People were inclined for the moment -to be shocked; then they studied and admired; finally they praised -unlimitedly, and the poem deserved all praise. But the subject was -a very daring one to put before a public so prudish as the English. -For Jenny is a prostitute. Nevertheless the prudish public gladly -accepted this wonderful psychological study, which no other poet of the -nineteenth century, except perhaps Browning, could have attempted. - -The plan of the poem is as follows: A young man, perhaps the poet -himself, finds at some public place of pleasure a woman of the town, -who pleases him, and he accompanies her to her residence. Although -the young man is perhaps imprudent in seeking the company of such a -person, he is only doing what tens of thousands of young men are apt -to do without thinking. He represents, we might say, youth in general. -But there is a difference between him and the average youth in one -respect--he thinks. On reaching the girl's room, he is already in -a thoughtful mood; and when she falls asleep upon his knees, tired -with the dancing and banqueting of the evening, he does not think of -awakening her. He begins to meditate. He looks about the room and -notices the various objects in it, simple enough in themselves, but -strangely significant by their relation to such a time and place--a -vase of flowers, a little clock ticking, a bird in a cage. The flowers -make him think of the symbolism of flowers--lilies they are, but faded. -Lilies, the symbol of purity, in Jenny's room! But once she herself -was a lily--now also morally faded. Then the clock, ticking out its -minutes, hours--what strange hours it has ticked out! He looks at the -sleeping girl again, but with infinite pity. She dreams; what is she -dreaming of? To wake her would be cruel, for in the interval of sleep -she forgets all the sorrows of the world. He thinks: - - For sometimes, were the truth confess'd, - You're thankful for a little rest,-- - Glad from the crush to rest within, - From the heart-sickness and the din - Where envy's voice at virtue's pitch - Mocks you because your gown is rich; - And from the pale girl's dumb rebuke, - Whose ill-clad grace and toil-worn look - Proclaims the strength that keeps her weak. - . . . . . . . - Is rest not sometimes sweet to you?-- - But most from the hatefulness of man, - Who spares not to end what he began, - Whose acts are ill and his speech ill, - Who, having used you at his will, - Thrusts you aside, as when I dine - I serve the dishes and the wine. - -Then he begins to think of the terrible life of the prostitute, what -it means, the hideous and cruel part of it, and the end of it. Here -let me say that the condition of such a woman in England is infinitely -worse than it is in many other countries; in no place is she treated -with such merciless cruelty by society. He asks himself why this -should be so--how can men find pleasure in cruelty to so beautiful and -simple-hearted a creature? Then, suddenly looking at her asleep, he -is struck by a terrible resemblance which she bears to the sweetest -woman that he knows, the girl perhaps that he would marry. Seen asleep, -the two girls look exactly the same. Each is young, graceful, and -beautiful; yet one is a girl adored by society for all that makes a -woman lovable, and the other is--what? These lines best explain the -thought: - - Just as another woman sleeps! - Enough to throw one's thoughts in heaps - Of doubt and horror,--what to say - Or think,--this awful secret sway, - The potter's power over the clay! - Of the same lump (it has been said) - For honour and dishonour made, - Two sister vessels. Here is one. - - My cousin Nell is fond of fun, - And fond of dress, and change, and praise, - So mere a woman in her ways: - And if her sweet eyes rich in youth - Are like her lips that tell the truth, - My cousin Nell is fond of love. - And she's the girl I'm proudest of. - Who does not prize her, guard her well? - The love of change, in cousin Nell, - Shall find the best and hold it dear: - The unconquered mirth turn quieter - Not through her own, through others' woe: - The conscious pride of beauty glow - Beside another's pride in her. - . . . . . . - Of the same lump (as it is said), - For honour and dishonour made, - Two sister vessels. Here is one. - It makes a goblin of the sun! - -For, judging by the two faces, the two characters were originally the -same. Yet how terrible the difference now. This woman likes what all -women like; his cousin, the girl he most loves in the world, has the -very same love of nice dresses, pleasures, praise. There is nothing -wrong in liking these things. But in the case of the prostitute all -pleasure must turn for her to ashes and bitterness. The pure girl will -have in this world all the pretty dresses and pleasures and love that -she can wish for; and will never have reason to feel unhappy except -when she hears of the unhappiness of somebody else. And it seems a -monstrous thing under heaven that such a different destiny should be -portioned out to beings at first so much alike as those two women. -Even to think of his cousin looking like her, gives him a shudder of -pain--not because he cruelly despises the sleeping girl, but because -he thinks of what might have happened to his own dearest, under other -chances of life. - -Yet again, who knows what may be in the future, any more than what has -been in the past? All this world is change. The fortunate of to-day may -be unfortunate in their descendants; the fortunate of long ago were -perhaps the ancestors of the miserable of to-day. And everything may in -the eternal order of change have to rise and sink alternately. Cousin -Nell is to-day a fortunate woman; he, the dreamer at the bed-side of -the nameless girl, is a fortunate man. But what might happen to their -children? He thinks again of the strange resemblance of the two women, -and murmurs: - - So pure,--so fall'n! How dare to think - Of the first common kindred link? - Yet, Jenny, till the world shall burn - It seems that all things take their turn; - And who shall say but this fair tree - May need, in changes that may be, - Your children's children's charity? - Scorned then, no doubt, as you are scorn'd! - Shall no man hold his pride forewarn'd - Till in the end, the Day of Days, - At Judgment, one of his own race, - As frail and lost as you, shall rise,-- - His daughter, with his mother's eyes? - -Then he begins to think more deeply on the great wrongs of this world, -the great misery caused by vice, the cruelty of lust in itself. The -ruined life of this girl represents but one fact of innumerable facts -of a like kind. Millions of beautiful and affectionate women have been, -and are being, and will be through all time to come, sacrificed in this -way to lust--selfish and foolish and cruel lust, that destroys mind and -body together. The mystery of the dark side of life comes to him in a -new way. He cannot explain it--who can explain the original meaning -of pain in this world? But he begins to get at least a new gleam of -truth--this great truth, that every one who seeks pleasure in the way -that he at first intended to seek it that night, adds a little to the -great sum of human misery. For vice exists only at the cost of misery. -The question is not, "Is it right for me or wrong for me to take what -is forbidden if I pay for it." The real question is, "Is it right -for me or wrong for me to help in any way to support that condition -of society which sacrifices lives, body, and soul, to cruelty and -selfishness." We all of us in youth think chiefly about right and wrong -in their immediate relations to ourselves and our friends. Only later -in life, after we have seen a great deal of the red of human pain, do -we begin to think of the consequences of an act in relation to the -happiness or unhappiness of humanity. - -Suddenly the morning comes as he is thinking thus. At once he ceases to -be the philosopher, and becomes again the gentleman of the world. The -girl's head is still upon his knees; he looks at the sleeping face, and -wonders whether any painter could have painted a face more beautiful. -But the beauty does not appeal to his senses in any passional way; it -only fills him with unspeakable compassion. He does not awake her, but -lifts her into a more comfortable position for sleeping, and leaves -beside her pillow a present of gold coins, and then steals away without -bidding her good-bye. The night has not given him pleasure, but pain -only--yet a pain that has made his heart more kindly and his thoughts -more wise than they had been before. - - - -IV - - -Our last lecture dealt with the shorter narrative poems of Rossetti, -including the ballads. There remain to be considered two other -narrative poems of a much more extended kind. They are quite unique in -English literature; and both of them deal with mediæval subjects. One, -again, is chiefly objective in its treatment; and the other chiefly -subjective--that is to say, psychological. One is a fragment, but -the most wonderful fragment of its kind in existence; more wonderful, -I think, than even the fragments of Coleridge, both as to volume and -finish. The other is complete, a story of magic and passion entitled -"Rose Mary." We may first deal with "Rose Mary," giving the general -plan of the poem, rather than extracts of any length; for this -narration cannot very well be illustrated by examples. We shall make -some quotations only in illustration of the finish and the beauty of -the work. - -The subject of "Rose Mary" was peculiarly adapted to Rossetti's genius. -In the Middle Ages there was a great belief in the virtue of jewels and -crystals of a precious kind. Belief in the magical power of rubies, -diamonds, emeralds, and opals was not confined either to Europe or -to modern civilisation; it had existed from great antiquity in the -Orient, and had been accepted by the Greeks and Romans. This belief -was perhaps forgotten after the destruction of the Roman Empire, for -a time at least, in Europe; but the Crusades revived it. Talismanic -stones were brought back from Palestine by many pilgrim-knights; and -as some of these were marked with Arabic characters, then supposed -by the ignorant to be characters of magic, supernatural legends were -invented to account for the history of not a few. Also there was a -certain magical use to which precious stones were put during the Middle -Ages, and to which they are still sometimes put in Oriental countries. -This is called crystallomancy. Crystallomancy is the art of seeing the -future in crystals, or glass, or transparent substances of jewels. The -same art can be practised even with ink--a drop of ink, held in the -hand, offering to the eye the same reflecting surface that a black -jewel would do. In Egypt, Arabia, Persia, and India divination is -still practised with ink. This is the same thing as crystallomancy. -Usually in those countries a young boy or a young girl is used by the -diviner. He mesmerises the boy or the girl, and bids him or her look -into the crystal or the ink-drop, as the case may be, and say what he -or she sees there. In this way, the future is supposed to be told. -Modern investigation has taught us how the whole thing is done, though -science has not been able yet to explain all that goes on in the mind -of the "subject." But in the Middle Ages, when the whole process was -absolutely mysterious, it was thought to be the work of spirits inside -the stone, or crystal, or ink-drop. And this is the superstition to -which Rossetti refers in his poem "Rose Mary." - -Now there is one more fact which must be explained in connection with -crystallomancy. It has always been thought that the "subject"--that is, -the boy or girl who looks into the stone, crystal, or ink-drop--must -be absolutely innocent. The "subject" must be virtuous. In the -Catholic Middle Ages the same idea took form especially in relation -to the chastity of the "subject." Chastity was, in those centuries, -considered a magical virtue. A maiden, it was thought, could play -with lions or tigers, and not be hurt by them. A maiden--and the word -was then used for both sexes, as it is sometimes used by Tennyson in -his Idylls--could see ghosts or spirits, and could be made use of for -purposes of crystallomancy even by a very wicked person. But should the -subject have been secretly guilty of any fault, then the power to see -would be impaired. The tragedy of Rossetti's poem turns upon this fact. - -In the poem a precious stone, of the description called beryl, is the -instrument of divination. This beryl is round, like a terrestrial -globe, and is supposed to be of the shape of the world. It is half -transparent, but there are cloudings inside of it. Hidden among these -cloudings are a number of evil spirits, who were enclosed in the jewel -by magic. These spirits make the future appear visible to any virtuous -person who looks into the stone; but they have power to deceive and to -injure any one coming to consult them who is not perfectly chaste. The -stone came from the East, and it was obtained only at the sacrifice of -the soul of the person who obtained it. Having been brought to England, -it became the property of a knightly family. This family consists only -of a widow and her daughter Rose Mary. The daughter is in a state of -great anxiety. She was to be married to a certain knight, who has not -kept his affectionate promises. The daughter and the mother both fear -that the knight may have been killed by some of his enemies. So they -resolve to consult the beryl-stone. The mother does not know that -her daughter has been too intimate with the absent knight. Believing -that Rose Mary is all purity, the mother makes her the subject of an -experiment in crystallomancy; and she looks into the beryl. - -First she sees an old man with a broom, sweeping away dust and cobwebs; -that is always the first thing seen. Then the inside of the beryl -becomes perfectly clear, and the girl can see the open country, and -the road along which her lover is expected to travel. And she sees -him too. But there are perhaps enemies waiting for him. The mother -tells her to look for those enemies. She looks; she sees the points of -lances, in a hiding place by a roadside, and there is the evidence of -what the lover has to fear in that direction. "Now look in the other -direction," says the mother. The girl does so, and sees the whole road -clearly, except in one place, in a valley. There she says that there is -a mist; and she cannot see under the mist. This surprises the mother, -and she takes away the beryl. The presence of the mist indicates that -Rose Mary has committed some sin. - -As a consequence the daughter confesses to the mother all that has -occurred. She is not severely blamed; she is only gently rebuked, -and forgiven with great love and tenderness. But it is probable that -the sin must be expiated. Both are afraid. Then the expiation comes. -The lover is killed by his enemies, and killed exactly on that part -of the road where the mist was in the image seen in the beryl-stone. -The mother goes to the dead knight's home, and examines the body. -Evidently the man had died fighting bravely. The woman at first is -all pity for him, as well as for her daughter. Suddenly she notices -something in the dead man's breast. She takes it out, and finds that -it is a package containing a love-letter, and a lock of hair. The hair -is bright gold--while the hair of Rose Mary is black. This makes the -mother suspicious, and she reads the letter. Then she no longer pities -but abhors the dead man; for the letter proves him to have had another -sweetheart, and that he had intended to betray Rose Mary. - -When the daughter learns of her lover's death, she suffers terribly; -but she makes sincere repentance for her fault, and then in her -mother's absence she determines to destroy the beryl-stone, as a -devilish thing. This is another way of committing suicide, because -whoever breaks the stone is certain to be killed by the enraged spirits -cast out of it. By one blow of a sword the stone is broken, and Rose -Mary atones for all her faults by death. This is the whole of the story. - -The extraordinary charm of the story is in its vividness--a vividness -perhaps without equal even in the best work of Tennyson (certainly -much finer than similar work in Coleridge), and in the attractive -characterisation of mother and daughter. There is this great difference -between the mediæval poems of Coleridge or Scott, and those of -Rossetti, that when you are reading "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" or -the wonderful "Christabel," you feel that you are reading a fairy-tale, -but when you read Rossetti you are looking at life and feeling human -passion. It is a great puzzle to critics how any man could make the -Middle Ages live as Rossetti did. One reason, I think, is that Rossetti -was a great painter as well as a great poet, and he studied the life of -the past in documents and in museums until it became to him as real as -the present. But we must also suppose that he inherited a great deal -of his peculiar power. This power never wearies. Although the romance -of Rose Mary is not very short, you do not get tired of wondering at -its beauty until you reach the end. It is divided into three parts, -which is a good thing for the student, as he can see the structure -of the composition at once. It is written in stanzas of five lines, -thus arranged--_a_, _a_, _b_, _b_, _b._ You would think this measure -monotonous, but it is not. I give two examples. The first is the -description of the magic jewel. - - The lady unbound her jewelled zone - And drew from her robe the Beryl-stone. - Shaped it was to a shadowy sphere,-- - World of our world, the sun's compeer, - That bears and buries the toiling year. - - With shuddering light 'twas stirred and strewn - Like the cloud-nest of the wading moon: - Freaked it was as the bubble's ball, - Rainbow-hued through a misty pall, - Like the middle light of the waterfall. - - Shadows dwelt in its teeming girth - Of the known and unknown things of earth; - The cloud above and the wave around,-- - The central fire at the sphere's heart bound, - Like doomsday prisoned underground. - -I feel quite sure that even Tennyson could not have done this. Only a -great painter, as well as a great observer, could have done it; and -the choice of words is astonishing in its exquisiteness. Most of them -have more than one meaning, and both meanings are equally implied by -their use. Take, for example, the word "shadowy"; it means cloudy and -it also means ghostly. Thus it is peculiarly appropriate to picture the -magic stone as full of moving shadows, themselves of ghostly character. -Or take the word "shuddering"; it means trembling with cold or fear, -and it means also a quick trembling, never a slow motion. Just such a -word might be used to describe the strange vibration of air-bubbles -enclosed in a volcanic crystal. But we have also the suggestion here of -a ghostly motion, a motion that gives a shiver of fear to the person -who sees it. Or take the word "freaked." "Freak" is commonly used to -signify a mischievous bit of play, a wild fancy. "Fancifully marked" -would be the exact meaning of "freaked" in the ordinary sense; but here -it is likewise appropriate as a description of the streams and streaks -of colour playing over the surface of a bubble without any apparent -law, as if they were made by some whimsical spirit. Now every verse -of the whole long poem is equally worthy of study for its astonishing -finish. I shall give a few more verses merely to show the application -of the same power to a description of pain. The girl has just been told -of her lover's murder; and the whole immediate consequence is told in -five lines. - - Once she sprang as the heifer springs - With the wolf's teeth at its red heart-strings: - First 'twas fire in her breast and brain, - And then scarce hers but the whole world's pain, - As she gave one shriek and sank again. - -The first two lines might give you an undignified image unless you -understood the position of the girl when she received the news. She -was kneeling at her mother's feet, with her mother's arms around her. -On being told the terrible thing, she tries to spring up, because of -the shock of the pain--just as a young heifer would leap when the -wolf had seized it from underneath. A wolf snaps at the belly of the -animal, close to the heart. Therefore the comparison is admirable. As -for the rest of the verse, any physician can confirm its accuracy. -The up-rush of blood at the instant of a great shock of pain feels -like a great sudden heat, burning up toward the head. And in such a -time one realises that certain forms of pain, moral pain, are larger -than oneself--too great to be borne. Psychologically, great moral pain -depends upon nervous development; and this nervous susceptibility to -pain is greater than would seem fitted to the compass of one life. -Moral pain can kill. It is said that in such times we feel not only our -own pain, but the pain of all those among our ancestors who suffered -in like manner. Thus, by inheritance, individual pain is more than -individual. At all events the fourth line of the stanza I have quoted -will appear astonishingly true to anybody who knows the greater forms -of mental suffering. - -Leaving this poem, which could not be too highly praised, we may turn -to "The Bride's Prelude," the greatest of the longer compositions, -therefore the greatest thing that Rossetti did. Unfortunately, perhaps, -it is unfinished. It is only a fragment; death overtook the writer -before he was able to complete it. Like "Rose Mary," it leads us back -to the Middle Ages. But here there is no magic, nothing ghostly, -nothing impossible; there is only truth, atrocious, terrible truth--a -tale of cruelty, treachery, and pain related by the victim. The victim -is a bride. She is just going to be married. But before her marriage, -she has a story to tell her sister--a story so sad and so frightful -that it requires strong nerves to read the thing without pain. - -We may suppose that the incident occurred in old France, or--though -I doubt it--in Norman England. The scenery and the names remind us -rather of Southern France. All the facts belong to the life of the -feudal aristocracy. We are among princes and princesses; great lords of -territory and great lords of battle are introduced to us, with their -secret sorrows and shames. Great ladies, too, open their hearts to us, -and prove so intensely human that it is very hard to believe the whole -story is a dream. It rather seems as if we had known all these people, -and that our lives had at some time been mingled with theirs. The -eldest daughter of one great house, very beautiful, and very innocent, -is taken advantage of by a retainer in the castle. She is foolish and -unable to imagine that any gentleman could intend to do her a wrong. -The retainer, on the other hand, is a very cunning villain. His real -purpose is to bring shame upon the daughter of the house. Why? Because, -as he is only a poor knight, he could not hope to marry into a princely -family. But if he can seduce one of the girls, then perhaps the family -will be only too glad to have him marry his victim, because that will -hide their shame. Evidently he has plotted for this. But his plans, and -everybody's plans, are affected by unexpected results of civil war. -His masters, being defeated in a great battle, have to retreat to the -mountains for a time; and then he deserts them in the basest manner. -Meantime the unhappy girl is found to be with child. Death was the -rule in those days for such a case--burning alive. Her brothers wish -to kill her. But her father interferes and saves her. It is decided -only that the child shall be taken from her--to be killed, probably. -Everybody is forbidden to speak of the matter. Some retainers who did -speak of it are hanged for an example. Presently, by another battle, -the family return into their old possessions, and enormously increase -their ancient power. When this happens the scoundrel that seduced -the daughter of the house and then deserted the family returns. Why -does he return? Now is the time to fulfil his purpose. He has become -a great soldier and a nobleman in his own right. Now he can ask for -that young lady in marriage, and they dare not refuse. If they refuse, -he can revenge himself by telling the story of her disgrace. If they -accept him as a son-in-law, they will also be obliged to make him very -powerful; and he will know how to take every advantage. The girl is not -consulted at all. Her business is to obey. She thinks that it would be -better to die than to marry the wicked man that had wronged her; but -she must obey and she is ordered to marry him. He cares nothing about -her; she is only the tool by which he wishes to win his way into power. -But, cunning as he is, the brothers of the girl are even more cunning. -They wish for the marriage only for the purpose of getting the man into -their hands, just for one moment. He shall marry her, but immediately -afterwards he shall disappear forever from the sight of men. The bride -does not know the purpose of her terrible brothers; she thinks they are -cruel to her when she tells her story, but they only wish to avenge -her, and they are much too prudent to tell her what they are going -to do. The poem does not go any further than the moment before the -marriage. The first part is quite finished; but the second part was -never written. - -The whole of this great composition is in verses of five lines, -curiously arranged. Rossetti adopts a different form of verse for -almost every one of his narrations. This is quite as unique a measure -in its way--that is, in nineteenth century poetry--as was the measure -of Tennyson's "In Memoriam" in elegiac poetry. Now we shall try to -illustrate the style of the poem. - - Against the haloed lattice-panes - The bridesmaid sunned her breast; - Then to the glass turned tall and free, - And braced and shifted daintily - Her loin-belt through her côte-hardie. - - The belt was silver, and the clasp - Of lozenged arm-bearings; - A world of mirrored tints minute - The rippling sunshine wrought into 't, - That flushed her hand and warmed her foot. - - At least an hour had Aloyse,-- - Her jewels in her hair,-- - Her white gown, as became a bride, - Quartered in silver at each side,-- - Sat thus aloof, as if to hide. - - Over her bosom, that lay still, - The vest was rich in grain, - With close pearls wholly overset: - Around her throat the fastenings met - Of chevesayle and mantelet. - -Absolutely real as this seems, we know that the details must have been -carefully studied in museums. Elsewhere, except perhaps in very old -pictures, these things no longer exist. There are no more loin-belts -of silver, no côte-hardies, no chevesayle or mantelet. I cannot -explain to you what they are without pictures--further than to say that -they were parts of the attire of a lady of rank about the thirteenth -and fourteenth centuries. Brides do not now have their white robes -"quartered in silver"--that is, figured with the family crest or arms. -Why silver instead of gold? Simply because of the rule that brides -should be all in white; therefore even the crest was worked in white -metal instead of gold. By the word vest, you must also understand an -ancient garment for women; the modern word signifies a garment worn -only by men. "Grain" is an old term for texture. The description of -the light playing on the belt-clasp of the bridesmaid, in the second -stanza, is a marvellous bit of work, the effect being given especially -by three words--"lozenged," "rippling," for the sunshine, and "minute," -for the separate flushes or sparklings thrown off from the surface. -But all is wonderful; this is painting with words exactly as a painter -paints with colours. Sounds are treated with the same wonderful -vividness: - - Although the lattice had dropped loose, - There was no wind; the heat - Being so at rest that Amelotte - Heard far beneath the plunge and float - Of a hound swimming in the moat. - - Some minutes since, two rooks had toiled - Home to the nests that crowned - Ancestral ash-trees. Through the glare - Beating again, they seemed to tear - With that thick caw the woof o' the air. - -One must have been in the tower of a castle to feel the full force of -the first stanza. The two girls are in a room perhaps one hundred and -fifty or two hundred feet above the water of the moat, so that except -in a time of extraordinary stillness they would not hear ordinary -sounds from so far below. And notice that the poet does not tell us -that this was because the air did not move; he says that the heat was -at rest. Very expressive--in great summer heat, without wind, the -air itself seems to our senses not air but fluid heat. And the same -impression of summer is given by the description of the two crows -flying to their nest and back again, and screaming as they fly. The -poet does not say that they flew; he says they toiled home--because -flying in that thick warm air is difficult for them. When they return -he uses another word, still more impressive; he says they beat again -through the glare. This makes you hear the heavy motion of the wings. -And he describes the crow as seeming to tear the air, because that air -is so heavy that it seems like a thing woven. - -Here is a strangely powerful stanza describing the difficulty of -speaking about a painful subject that for many years one has tried to -forget: - - Her thought, long stagnant, stirred by speech, - Gave her a sick recoil; - As, dip thy fingers through the green - That masks a pool,--where they have been - The naked depth is black between. - -Any of you who as boys have played about a castle moat, and stirred the -green water weeds covering the still water, must have remarked that -the water looks black as ink underneath. Of course it is not black in -itself; but the weeds keep out the sun, so that it seems black because -of the shadow. The poet's comparison has a terrible exactness here. -The mind is compared to stagnant water covered with water-weeds. Weeds -grow upon water in this way only when there has been no wind for a long -time, and no current. The condition of a mind that does not think, that -dares not think, is like stagnant water in this way. Memory becomes -covered up with other things, matters not relating to the past. - -Now we can take four stanzas from the scene of the secret family -meeting, after the shame has been confessed and is known. They are very -powerful. - - "Time crept. Upon a day at length - My kinsfolk sat with me: - That which they asked was bare and plain: - I answered: the whole bitter strain - Was again said, and heard again. - - "Fierce Raoul snatched his sword, and turned - The point against my breast. - I bared it, smiling: 'To the heart - Strike home,' I said; 'another dart - Wreaks hourly there a deadlier smart.' - - "'Twas then my sire struck down the sword, - And said, with shaken lips: - 'She from whom all of you receive - Your life, so smiled; and I forgive.' - Thus for my mother's sake, I live. - - "But I, a mother even as she, - Turned shuddering to the wall: - For I said: 'Great God! and what would I do, - When to the sword, with the thing I knew, - I offered not one life but two!'" - -This is now the most terrible part of the story; and it has a humanity -about it that almost makes us doubt. Fancy the situation. The daughter -of a prince unchaste with a common retainer. Now in princely families -chastity was of as much importance as physical strength and will; -it meant everything--honour, purity of race, the possibility of -alliance. And a great house is thus disgraced. We can sympathise -with the horrible mental suffering of the girl, but it is impossible -not to sympathise also even with the terrible brother that wishes to -kill her. He is right, she deserves death; but he is young, and cruel -because young. The father sorrows, and seeing the girl smiling, thinks -of the dead mother, and forgives. This is the only point at which we -feel inclined to lay down the book and ask questions. Would a father -in such a position have done this in those cruel ages? Would he have -allowed himself to pity?--or rather, could he have allowed himself to -pity? Tender-hearted men did not rule in those days. We have records of -husbands burning their wives, of fathers killing their sons. All we can -say is that an exception might have existed, just as Rossetti imagines. -Human nature was of course not different then from what it is now, -but it is quite certain that the gentle side of human nature seldom -displayed itself in the families of the feudal princes; a man who -was gentle could not rule. In Italy sons who did not show the ruling -character were apt to be killed or poisoned. One must understand that -feudal life was not much more moral than other life. - -I think we can here turn to another department of Rossetti's verse. -I only hope that the examples given from the "Bride's Prelude" will -interest you sufficiently to make you at a later day turn to this -wonderful poem for a careful study of its beauty and power. - -V - -When we come to the study of the lives of the Victorian poets, we shall -find that Rossetti's whole existence was governed by his passion for -one woman, whom he loved in a strange mystical way, with a love that -was half art (art in the good sense) and half idolatry. To him she -was much more than a woman; she was a divinity, an angel, a model for -all things beautiful. You know that he was a great painter, and in a -multitude of beautiful pictures he painted the face of this woman. He -composed his poems also in order to please her. He lost her within a -little more than a year after winning her, and this nearly killed him. -I may say that throughout all his poems, speaking in a general way, -there are references to this great love of his life; but there is one -portion of his work that we must consider as especially illustrating -it, and that is the "House of Life," a collection of more than one -hundred sonnets upon the subject of love and its kindred emotions. But -the love of which Rossetti sings is not the love of a young man for a -girl--not the love of youth and maid. It is married love carried to the -utmost degree of worship. You will think this a strange subject; and -I confess that it is. Very few men could be praised for touching such -a subject. Coventry Patmore, you know, was an exception. He made the -subject of his own courtship, wedding, and married life the subject of -his poetry, and he did it so nicely and so tenderly that his book had a -great success. But Rossetti did his work in an entirely different way, -which I must try to explain. - -Unlike Patmore, Rossetti did not openly declare that he took any -personal experience for the subject of his study; we only perceive, -through knowledge of his life, and through suggestions obtained from -other parts of his work, that personal love and personal loss were his -great inspiration. As a matter of fact, any man who sings about love -must draw upon his own personal experience of the passion. Every lover -thinks of love in his own way. But the value of a love poem is not -the personal part of it; the value of a love poem is according to the -degree in which it represents universal experience, or experience of a -very large kind. It must represent to some degree a general philosophy -of life. Even the commonest little love-song, such as a peasant might -sing in the streets of Tokyo, as he comes in from the country walking -beside his horse, will represent something of the philosophy of life -if it is a good and true composition, no matter how vulgar may be the -idiom of it. When we come to think about it, we shall find that all -great poetry is in this sense also philosophical poetry. - -Rossetti, as I have already shown you, was a true philosopher in -certain directions; and he applied his philosophical powers, as -well as his artistic powers, to his own experiences, so as to adapt -them to the uses of great poetry. He is never narrowly personal. And -his sonnets are really very wonderful compositions--not reflecting -universal experience so as to be universally understood, but reflecting -universal experience so as to be understood by cultivated minds only. -These productions are altogether above the range of the common mind; -they are extremely subtle and elaborate, both as to thought and as to -form. But their subject is not at all special. Rossetti had the idea -that every phase of happiness and sorrow belonging to married life, -from the hour of the wedding night to the hour of death, was worthy -of poetical treatment, because married life is related to the deepest -human emotions. And in the space of one hundred sonnets he treats every -phase. This series of sonnets is divided into two groups. The first -contains poems relating to the early conditions of love in marriage; -the second group treats especially of the more sorrowful aspects of a -married life--the trials of death, the pains of memory, and the hopes -and fears of reuniting after death. The second part does not, however, -contain all the sad pieces; there are very sad ones in the first group -of fifty-nine. We have already studied one of the first group, the -piece called "The Birth-Bond." There is another piece in this group, -the first of four sonnets, which is exquisite as a bit of fancy. It is -entitled "Willow-wood." - - I sat with Love upon a woodside well, - Leaning across the water, I and he; - Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me, - But touched his lute wherein was audible - - The certain secret thing he had to tell: - Only our mirrored eyes met silently - In the low wave; and that sound came to be - The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell. - - And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers; - And with his foot and with his wing-feathers - He swept the spring that watered my heart's drouth. - Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair, - And as I stooped, her own lips rising there - Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth. - -This is a dream of the dead woman loved. The lover finds himself seated -with the god of love, the little naked boy with wings, as the ancients -represented him, at the edge of a spring near the forest. He does -not look at the god of love, neither does the god look at him; they -were friends long ago, but now--what is the use? She is dead. By the -reflection in the water only he knows that Love is looking down, and -he does not wish to speak to him. But Love will not leave him alone. -He hears the tone of a musical instrument, and that music makes him -suddenly very sad, for it seems like the voice of the dead for whom -he mourns. It makes his tears fall into the water; and immediately, -magically, the reflection of the eyes of Love in the water become like -the eyes of the woman he loved. Then while he looks in wonder, the -little god stirs the surface of the water with wings and feet, and the -ripples become like the hair of the dead woman, and as the lover bends -down, her lips rise up through the water to kiss him. You may ask, what -does all this mean? Well, it means as much as any dream means; it is -all impossible, no doubt, but the impossible in dreams often makes us -very sad indeed--especially if the dead appear to come back in them. - -Another example of regret, very beautiful, is the sonnet numbered -ninety-one in this collection. It is called "Lost on Both Sides." - - As when two men have loved a woman well, - Each hating each, through Love's and Death's deceit; - Since not for either this stark marriage-sheet - And the long pauses of this wedding-bell; - Yet o'er her grave the night and day dispel - At last their feud forlorn, with cold and heat; - Nor other than dear friends to death may fleet - The two lives left that most of her can tell:-- - - So separate hopes, which in a soul had wooed - The one same Peace, strove with each other long, - And Peace before their faces perished since: - So through that soul, in restless brotherhood, - They roam together now, and wind among - Its bye-streets, knocking at the dusty inns. - -The comparison is of the hopes and aims of the artist to a couple -of men in love with the same woman--bitter enemies while she lives, -because of their natural rivalry, but loving each other after her -death, simply because each can understand better than anybody else -in the world the pain of the other. Afterward the men, once rivals, -passed all their time together, wandering about at night in search of -some quiet place, where they can sit down and drink and talk together. -In Rossetti's time such quiet places were not to be found in the main -streets, but in the little side streets called bye-streets. After -this explanation, the comparison should not be obscure. The artist who -loves does all his work with the thought of the woman that he loves -before him; his hope to win fame is that he may make her proud of him; -his aims are in all cases to please her. After he has lost her, these -hopes and aims, which might have been antagonists to each other in -former days, are now reconciled within him; her memory alone is now -the inspiration and the theme. I hope you will notice the curious and -exquisite value of certain words here: "Stark," meaning stiff, nearly -always refers to the rigidness of death; it is especially used of the -appearance and attitude of corpses, and its application in this poem -to the cover of the marriage bed is quite enough to convey the sense -of death without any more definite observation. Again the expression -"long pauses," referring to the sound of the church bells, makes us -understand that the bells are really ringing a funeral knell; for the -ringing of wedding bells ought to be quick and joyous. It might seem -a strange contradiction, this simile, but the poet has in his mind an -old expression about the death of a maiden: "She became the bride of -Death." Thus the effect is greatly intensified by the sombre irony of -the simile itself. - -We might extract a great many beauties from this wonderful collection -of sonnets; but time is precious, and we shall have room for only -another quotation or two. The following is one to which I should like -especially to invite your attention--not only because of its strange -charm, but also because of the curious legend which it recalls--a -legend which we have already studied: - -BODY'S BEAUTY - - Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told - (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,) - That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive, - And her enchanted hair was the first gold. - And still she sits, young while the earth is old, - And subtly of herself contemplative, - Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave, - Till heart and body and life are in its hold. - - The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where - Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent - And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? - Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went - Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent, - And round his heart one strangling golden hair. - -The reference to the rose and the poppy may need some explanation. The -rose has been for many centuries in Western countries a symbol of love; -and the poppy has been a symbol of death and sleep from the time of the -Greeks. It is from the seeds of the poppy that opium is extracted. The -Greeks did not know the use of opium; but they knew that the seeds of -the flower produced sleep, and might, in certain quantities, produce -death. We have the expression "poppied sleep" to express the sleep of -death. - -A final word must be said about Rossetti's genius as a translator. He -has given us, in one large volume, the most precious anthology of the -Italian poets of the Middle Ages that ever has been made--the poets of -the time of Dante, under the title of "Dante and his Circle." This -magnificent work would alone be sufficient to establish his supreme -excellence as a translator of poetry; but the material is mostly of -a sort that can appeal to scholars only. Rossetti is better known as -a translator through a very few short pieces translated from French -poets, chiefly. Such is the wonderful rendering of Villon's "Ballad of -Dead Ladies," beginning - - Tell me now in what hidden way is - Lady Flora, the lovely Roman? - Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais, - Neither of them the fairer woman? - Where is Echo, beheld of no man, - Only heard on river and mere,-- - She whose beauty was more than human?-- - But where are the snows of yester-year? - -Even Swinburne, when making his splendid translations from Villon, -refrained from attempting to translate this ballad, saying that no man -could surpass, even if he could equal, Rossetti's version. The burthen -is said to be especially successful as a rendering of the difficult -French refrain: - - _Mais où sont les neiges d'antan?_ - -You will find this matchless translation almost anywhere, so we need -not occupy the time further with it; but I doubt whether you have -noticed as yet other wonderful translations made by this master from -the French. Such is the song from Victor Hugo's drama "Les Burgraves"; -you will not forget Rossetti's translation after having once read it. - - Through the long winter the rough wind tears; - With their white garments the hills look wan. - Love on: who cares? - Who cares? Love on! - My mother is dead; God's patience wears; - It seems my chaplain will not have done! - Love on: who cares? - Who cares? Love on! - The Devil, hobbling up the stairs, - Comes for me with his ugly throng. - Love on: who cares? - Who cares? Love on. - -Another remarkable translation from the same drama is that of the song -beginning: - - In the time of the civil broils - Our swords are stubborn things. - A fig for all the cities! - A fig for all the kings! - -and ending: - - Right well we hold our own - With the brand and the iron rod. - A fig for Satan, Burgraves; - Burgraves, a fig for God! - -But even more wonderful Rossetti seems when we go back to the old -French, as in the translation which has been called "My Father's Close." - - Inside my father's close - (_Fly away O my heart away!_) - Sweet apple-blossom blows - _So sweet._ - - Three kings' daughters fair, - (_Fly away O my heart away!_) - They lie below it there - _So sweet!_ - -Now the Old French of the first stanza will show you the astonishing -faithfulness of the rendering: - - Au jardin de mon père, - (_Vole, mon cœur, vole!_) - Il y a un pommier doux, - _Tout doux._ - -Besides the small exquisite things, there are long translations from -mediæval writers, French and Italian, of wonderful beauty. Compare, -for example, the celebrated episode of Francesca da Rimini in Dante -(which Carlyle so beautifully called "a lily in the mouth of Hell"), -as translated by Byron, and as translated by Rossetti, and observe the -immeasurable superiority of the latter. It would be very pleasant, -if we had time, to examine Rossetti's translations more in detail; -but the year advances and we must turn to an even greater master of -verse--Swinburne. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -NOTE UPON ROSSETTI'S PROSE - - -As we are now studying Rossetti's poetry in other hours, you may be -interested in some discussion of the merits of his prose--for this is -still, so far as the great public are concerned, almost an unknown -topic. The best of the painters of his own school, and the most -delicate poet of the Victorian period, Rossetti might also have become -one of the greatest prose writers of the century if he had seriously -turned to prose. But ill-health and other circumstances prevented him -from doing much in this direction. What he did do, however, is so -remarkable that it deserves to be very carefully studied. I do not -refer to his critical essays. These are not very remarkable. I refer -only to his stories; and his stories are great because they happen to -have exactly the same kind of merit that distinguishes his poetry. They -might be compared with the stories of Poe; and yet they are entirely -different, with the difference distinguishing all Latin prose fiction -from English fiction. But there is certainly no other story writer, -except Poe, with whose work that of Rossetti can be at all classed. -They are ghostly stories--one of them a fragment, the other complete. -Only two--and the outline of the third. The fragment is not less worthy -of attention because it happens to be a fragment--like the poet's own -"Bride's Prelude," or Coleridge's "Christabel," or Poe's "Silence." The -trouble with all great fragments, and the proof of their greatness, is -that we cannot imagine what the real ending would have been; and this -puzzle only lends additional charm to the imaginative effect. Of the -two consecutive stories, it is the fragment which has the greater merit. - -The first story, called "Hand and Soul," has another interest besides -the interest of narrative. It contains the whole æsthetic creed of -Rossetti's school of painting,--a little philosophy of art that is well -worth studying. That is especially why I want to talk about it. The -so-called Pre-Raphaelite school of English painting, whereof Rossetti -was the recognized chief, were not altogether disciples of Ruskin. They -did not believe that art must have a religious impulse in order to be -great art; and they did not exactly support the antagonistic doctrine -of "Art for Art's Sake." They considered that absolute sincerity in -one's own conception of the beautiful, and wide toleration of all -æsthetic ideas, were axiomatic truths which it was necessary to accept -without reserve. They had no detestation for any school of art; they -practically banished prejudice from their little circle. I may add that -they were not indifferent to Japanese art, even at a time when it found -many enemies in London, and when the great Ruskin himself endeavoured -to help the prejudice against it. In that very time Rossetti was making -Japanese collections, and Burne-Jones and others were discovering new -methods by the help of this Eastern art. - -Now the story of "Hand and Soul" is, in a small way, a history of man's -experience with Painting. It is supposed to be the story of a real -picture. The picture is only the figure of a woman in a grey and green -dress, very beautiful. But whoever looks at that picture for a minute -or two, suddenly becomes afraid--afraid in exactly the same way that -he would be on seeing a ghost. The picture could not have been painted -from imagination; that figure must have been seen by somebody; and yet -it could not have been a living woman! Then what could have been the -real story of that picture? Did the artist see a ghost; or did he see -something supernatural? - -The answer to these questions is the following story. The artist who -painted that picture, four hundred years ago, was a young Italian of -immense genius, so passionately devoted to his art that he lived for -nothing else. At first he wished only to be the greatest painter of -his time; and that he became without much difficulty. He painted only -what he thought beautiful; and he painted beautiful faces that he saw -passing by in the street, and beautiful sunsets that he saw from his -window, and beautiful fancies that came into his mind. Everybody loved -his pictures; and princes made him great gifts of money. - -Then a sudden remorse came to this painter, who was at heart a -religious man. He said to himself: "Here, God has given me the power to -paint beautiful things; and I have been painting only those beautiful -things which please the senses of men. Therefore I have been doing -wrong. Henceforward I will paint only things which represent eternal -truth, the things of Heaven." - -After that he began to paint only religious and mystical pictures, and -pictures which common people could not understand at all. The people no -longer came to admire his work; the princes no longer paid him honour -or brought him gifts; and he became as one forgotten in the world. - -Moreover, he found himself losing his power as an artist. And then, to -crown all his misfortunes, some of his most famous pictures were ruined -one day by the extraordinary incident of a church fight; for two great -Italian clans between whom a feud existed, happened to meet in the -church porch, and a blow was struck and swords were drawn--and there -was such killing that the blood of the fighters was splashed upon the -paintings on the wall. - -When all these things had happened, the artist despaired. He became -weary of life, and thought of destroying himself. And while he was -thus thinking, there suddenly entered his room, without any sound, the -figure of a woman robed in green and grey; and she stood before him and -looked into his eyes. And as she looked into his eyes, an awe came upon -him such as he had never before known; and a great feeling of sadness -also came with the awe. But he could not speak, any more than a person -in a dream, who wants to cry out, and cannot make a sound. But the -woman spoke and said to him, "I am your own soul--that soul to whom you -have done so much wrong. And I have been allowed to come to you in this -form, only because you have never been of those men who make art merely -to win money. To win fame, however, you did not scruple; and that was -not altogether good, although it was not altogether bad. What was much -worse was the pride which turned you away from me--religious pride. -You wanted to do what God did not ask you to do--to work against your -own soul, and to cast away your love of beauty. Into me God placed the -desire of loveliness and the bliss of the charm of the world. Wherefore -then should you strive against His work? And what pride impelled you to -imagine that heaven needed the help of your art to teach men what is -good? When did God say to you, Friend, let me lean upon you, or I shall -fall down? No; it is by teaching men to seek and to love the beautiful -things in this beautiful world that you make their hearts better within -them--never by preaching to them with allegories that they cannot -understand; and because you have done this, you have been punished. Be -true to me, your own very soul; then you will do marvellous things. Now -paint a picture of me, just as I am, so that you may know that your -power of art is given back to you." - -So the artist painted a picture of his own soul in the likeness of a -woman clad in green and grey; and all who see that picture even to-day -feel at once a great fear and a great charm, and find it hard to -understand how mortal man could have painted it. - -That is the story of "Hand and Soul"; and it teaches a great deal of -everlasting truth. Assuredly the road to all artistic greatness is -the road of sincerity--truth to one's own emotional sense of what is -beautiful. And just to that degree in which the artist or poet allows -himself to be made insincere, either by desire of wealth and fame, or -by religious scruples, just to that extent he must fail. I have only -given a very slight outline of the tale; to give more might be to -spoil your pleasure of reading it. - -The second story will not seem to you quite so original as the first, -though, to English minds, it probably seems stranger. It is a story -of pre-existence. Now, a very curious fact is that this idea of -pre-existence, expressed by Rossetti in many passages of his verse, as -well as in his prose story, did not come to him from Eastern sources -at all. He never cared for, and perhaps never read, any Oriental -literature. His idea regarding re-birth and the memory of past lives -belongs rather to certain strangely imaginative works of mediæval -literature, than to anything else. Even to himself they appeared -novel--something dangerous to talk about. Unless you understand this, -you will not be able to account for the curious thrill of terror that -runs through "St. Agnes of Intercession." The writer writes as if he -were afraid of his own thought. - -The story begins with a little bit of autobiography, Rossetti telling -about his thoughts as a child, when he played at his father's knee on -winter evenings. Of course these memories did not appear as his own; -but as those of the painter supposed to tell the story. As a child this -painter was very fond of picture books. In the house there was one -picture book containing a picture of a saint--St. Agnes--which pleased -him in such a way that he could spend hours in contemplating it with -delight. But he did not know why. He grew up, was educated, became a -man and became a painter; and still he could not forget the charm of -the picture that had pleased him when a child. One day a young English -girl, a friend of his sister's, comes to the house on a visit. He -is greatly startled on seeing her, because her face is exactly like -the face of the saint in the picture book. He falls in love with her, -and they are engaged to be married. But before that time he paints -her portrait, and as her portrait happens to be the best work of the -kind that he ever did, he sends it to the Royal Academy to be put on -exhibition. Critics greatly praise the picture, but one of them remarks -that at Bologna in Italy there is a painting of St. Agnes that very -much resembles it. Upon this he goes to Italy to find the picture, and -does find it after a great deal of trouble. It is said to be the work -of a certain Angiolieri, who lived some four hundred years ago. Every -detail of the face proves to be exactly like that of the living face -which he painted in London. Being greatly startled by this discovery, -he examines the catalogue of paintings, which he bought at the door, -in order to find out whether there is anything else said in it about -the model from whom Angiolieri painted that St. Agnes. He cannot find -any information about the model; but he finds out that in another part -of the building there is a portrait of Angiolieri, painted by himself. -I think you know that many famous artists have painted portraits of -themselves. Greatly interested, he hurries to where the picture is -hanging, and finds, to his amazement, that the portrait of Angiolieri -is exactly like himself--the very image of him. Was it then possible -that, four hundred years before, he himself might have been Angiolieri, -and had painted that picture of St. Agnes? - -A fever seizes upon him, one of those fevers only too common in Italy. -While he is still under its influence, he dreams a dream. He is in a -picture gallery; and on the wall he sees Angiolieri's painting hanging -up; and there is a great crowd looking at it. In that crowd he sees his -betrothed, leaning upon the arm of another man. Then he feels angrily -jealous, and says to the strange man, tapping him on the shoulder, -"Sir, I am engaged to that lady!" Then the man turns round; and as he -turns round, his face proves to be the face of Angiolieri, and his -dress is the costume of four hundred years ago, and he says, "She is -not mine, good friend--but neither is she thine." As he speaks his face -falls in, like the face of a dead man, and becomes the face of a skull. -From this dream we can guess the conclusion which the author intended. - -On returning to England, when the painter attempted to speak of what -he had seen and learned, his family believed him insane, and forbade -him to speak on the subject any more. Also he was warned that should -he speak of it to his betrothed, the marriage would be broken off. -Accordingly, though he obeys, he is placed in a very unhappy position. -All about him there is the oppression of a mystery involving two lives; -and he cannot even try to solve it--cannot speak about it to the person -whom it most directly concerns.... And here the fragment breaks. - -If this admirable story had been finished, the result could not have -been more impressive than is this sudden interruption. We know that -Rossetti intended to make the betrothed girl also the victim of a -mysterious destiny; but he did not intend, it appears, to elucidate -the reason of the thing in detail. That would have indeed destroyed -the shadowy charm of the recital. While the causes of things remain -vague and mysterious, the pleasurable fear of the unknown remains -with the reader. But if you try to account for everything, at once -the illusion vanishes, and the art becomes dead. It seems to me that -Rossetti has given in this unfinished tale a very fine suggestion of -what use the old romances still are. It was by careful study of them, -combined with his great knowledge of art, that he was able to produce, -both in his poetry and in his prose, the exquisite charm of reality -in unreality. Reading either, you have the sensation of actually -seeing, touching, feeling, and yet you know that the whole thing is -practically impossible. No art of romance can rise higher than this. -And speaking of that soul-woman, whose portrait was painted in the -former story, reminds me of an incident in Taine's wonderful book "De -l'Intelligence," which is _à propos._ It is actually on record that a -French artist had the following curious hallucination: - -He was ill, from overwork perhaps, and opening his eyes after a -feverish sleep, he saw a beautiful lady seated at his bedside, with one -hand upon the bed cover, and he said to himself, "This is certainly an -illusion caused by my nervous condition. But how beautiful an illusion -it is! And how wonderfully luminous and delicate is that hand! If -I dared only put my hand where it is, I wonder what would happen. -Probably the whole thing would vanish at once, and I should lose the -pleasure of looking at it." - -Suddenly, as if answering his thought, a voice as clear as the voice -of a bird said to him, "I am not a shadow; and you can take my hand -and kiss it if you like." He did lift the lady's hand to his lips -and felt it, and then he entered into conversation with her. The -conversation continued until interrupted by the entrance of the doctor -attending the patient. This is the record of an extraordinary case of -double consciousness--the illusion and the reason working together in -such harmony that neither in the slightest degree disturbed the other. -Rossetti's figures, whether of the Middle Ages or of modern times, seem -also like the results of a double consciousness. We can touch them and -feel them, although they are ghosts. - -As I said before, he might have been one of the greatest of romantic -story tellers had he turned his attention in that direction and kept -his health. No better proof of this could be asked for than the -printed plans of several stories which he never had time to develop. -He collected the material from the study of Old French and Old Italian -poets chiefly; but that material, when thrown into the crucible of his -imagination, assumed totally novel and strange forms. I may tell you -the outline of one story by way of conclusion. It was a beautiful idea; -and it is a great regret that it could not have been executed in the -author's lifetime: - -One day a king and his favourite knight, while hunting in a forest, -visited the house of a woodcutter, or something of that kind, to ask -for water--both being very thirsty. The water was served to them by -a young girl of such extraordinary beauty that both the king and the -knight were greatly startled. The knight falls in love with the maid, -and afterwards asks the king's leave to woo her. But when he comes to -woo, he finds out that the maid has become enamoured of the king, whom -she does not know to be the king. She says that, unless she can marry -him she will never become a wife. The king therefore himself goes to -her to plead for his friend. "I cannot marry you," he says, "because -I am married already. But my friend, who loves you very much, is not -married; and if you will wed him I shall make him a baron and confer -upon him the gift of many castles." - -The young girl to please the king accepts the knight; a grand wedding -takes place at the king's castle; and the knight is made a great -noble, and is gifted with many rich estates. Then the king makes this -arrangement with the bride: "I will never visit you or allow you to -visit me, because we love each other too much. But, once every year, -when I go to hunt in the forest with your husband, you shall bring me a -cup of water, just as on the first day, when we saw you." - -After this the king saw her three times;--that is to say, in three -successive years she greeted him with the cup of water when he went -hunting. In the fourth year she died, leaving behind her a little -daughter. - -The sorrowing husband carefully brought up the little girl--or, at -least caused her to be carefully brought up; but he never presented her -to the king, or spoke of her, because the death of the mother was a -subject too painful for either of them to talk about. - -But when the girl was sixteen years old, she looked so exactly like -her mother, that the father was startled by the resemblance. And he -thought, "To-morrow I shall present her to the king." And to his -daughter he said, "To-morrow I am going to hunt with the king. When -we are on our way home, we shall stop at a little cottage in the -wood--the little cottage in which your mother used to live. Do you then -wait in the cottage, and when the king comes, bring him a cup of water, -just as your mother did." - -So next day the king and his baron approached the cottage after their -hunt; and the king was greatly astonished and moved by the apparition -of a young girl offering him a cup of water--so strangely did she -resemble the girl whom he had seen in the same place nearly twenty -years before. And as he took the cup from her hand, his heart went out -toward her, and he asked his companion, "Is this indeed the ghost of -her?--or another dear vision?" But before the companion could make any -answer--lo! another shadow stood between the king and the girl; and -none could have said which was which, so exactly each beautiful face -resembled the other--only the second apparition wore peasant clothes. -And she that wore the clothes of a peasant girl kissed the king as -he sat upon his horse, and disappeared. And the king immediately, on -receiving that kiss and returning it, fell forward and died. - -This is a vague, charming romance indeed, for some one to take up and -develop. Of course the figure in the peasant clothes is the spirit -of the mother of the girl. There are many pretty stories somewhat -resembling this in the old Japanese story books, but none quite the -same; and I venture to recommend anybody who understands the literary -value of such things to attempt a modified version of Rossetti's -outline in Japanese. Some things would, of course, have to be changed; -but no small changes would in the least affect the charm of the story -as a whole. - -In conclusion, I may observe that the object of this little lecture has -not been merely to interest you in the prose of Rossetti, but also to -quicken your interest in the subject of romance in general. Remember -that no matter how learned or how scientific the world may become, -romance can never die. No greater mistake could be made by the Japanese -student than that of despising the romantic element in the literature -of his own country. Recently I have been thinking very often that a -great deal might be done toward the development of later literature -by remodelling and reanimating the romance of the older centuries. I -believe that many young writers think chiefly about the possibility of -writing something entirely new. This is a great literary misfortune; -for the writing of something entirely new is scarcely possible for any -human being. The greatest Western writers have not become great by -trying to write what is new, but by writing over again in a much better -way, that which is old. Rossetti and Tennyson and scores of others made -the world richer simply by going back to the literature of a thousand -years ago, and giving it re-birth. Like everything else, even a good -story must die and be re-born hundreds of times before it shows the -highest possibilities of beauty. All literary history is a story of -re-birth--periods of death and restful forgetfulness alternating with -periods of resurrection and activity. In the domain of pure literature -nobody need ever be troubled for want of a subject. He has only to look -for something which has been dead for a very long time, and to give -that body a new soul. In romance it would be absurd to think about -despising a subject, because it is unscientific. Science has nothing -to do with pure romance or poetry, though it may enrich both. These are -emotional flowers; and what we can do for them is only to transplant -and cultivate them, much as roses or chrysanthemums are cultivated. -The original wild flower is very simple; but the clever gardener can -develop the simple blossom into a marvellous compound apparition, -displaying ten petals where the original could show but one. Now the -same horticultural process can be carried out with any good story -or poem or drama in Japan, just as readily as in any other country. -The romantic has nothing to gain from the new learning except in the -direction of pure art; the new learning, by enriching the language and -enlarging the imagination, makes it possible to express the ancient -beauty in a new and much more beautiful way. Tennyson might be quoted -in illustration. What is the difference between his two or three -hundred lines of wondrous poetry entitled "The Passing of Arthur," and -the earliest thirteenth or fourteenth century idea of the same mythical -event? The facts in either case are the same. But the language and -the imagery are a thousand times more forcible and more vivid in the -Victorian poet. Indeed, progress in belles-lettres is almost altogether -brought about by making old things conform to the imagination of -succeeding generations; and poesy, like the human race, of which it -represents the emotional spirit, must change its dress and the colour -of its dress as the world also changes. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -STUDIES IN SWINBURNE - - -A good modern critic has said that the resemblance between Shelley and -Algernon Charles Swinburne is of so astonishing a kind that it tempts -one to believe that Swinburne is Shelley in a new body, that the soul -of the drowned poet really came back to life again, and returned to -finish at Oxford University the studies interrupted by his expulsion at -the beginning of the century. The fancy is pretty; and it is supported -by a number of queer analogies. Swinburne, like Shelley, is well -born; like Shelley, he has been from his early days at Eton a furious -radical; like Shelley, he has always been an enemy of Christianity; and -like Shelley, he has also been an enemy of conventions and prejudices -of every description. At the beginning of the century Swinburne would -certainly have been treated just as Byron and Shelley were treated, but -times are changed to-day; the public has become more generous and more -sensible, and critics generally recognise Swinburne as the greatest -verse writer English literature produced. He will certainly have -justice done him after his death, if not during his life. - -If Swinburne were Shelley reborn, we should have to recognise that he -gained a good deal of wisdom from the experiences of his former life. -He is altogether an incomparably stronger character than Shelley. He -kept his radicalism for his poetry, and never in any manner outraged -the conventions of society in such matters as might relate to his -private life. He is also a far greater poet than Shelley--greater than -Tennyson, greater than Rossetti, greater than Browning, greater than -any other Englishman, not excepting Milton, in the mastery of verse. -He is also probably one of the greatest of scholars among the poets of -any country, writing poetry in English or French, in Greek and Latin. -For learning, there are certainly few among the poets of England who -would not have been obliged to bow before him. He is also the greatest -living English dramatist--I might as well say the greatest English -dramatist of the nineteenth century. Except the "Cenci" of Shelley, -there is no other great drama since 1800 to be placed beside the dramas -of Swinburne; and the "Prometheus Unbound" by Shelley is far surpassed -by Swinburne's Greek tragedy of "Atalanta in Calydon." Another feature -of Swinburne's genius is his critical capacity. He is a great critic; -so great that he has been able to make his enemies afraid of him, as -well as to help to distinction struggling young men of talent whose -work he admires. You will perceive what force there must be in the man. -Born in 1837, he has never ceased to produce poetry from the time of -his University days, and he still writes, with the result that the bulk -of his work probably exceeds the work of any other great poet of the -century. If he be indeed the reborn Shelley, it is certain that Shelley -has become a giant. - -I may have surprised you by saying that Swinburne is the greatest -of all our poets. But understand that I am speaking of poetry as -distinguished from prose, of poetry as rhythm and rhyme, as melody -and measure. By greatest of poets I mean the greatest master of -verse. If you were to ask me whether Swinburne has as great a quality -as Tennyson or as Rossetti or as Browning, either in the moral or -philosophical sense, I should say no. Greatest of all in the knowledge -and use of words, he is perhaps less than any of the three in the -higher emotional, moral, sympathetic, and philosophical qualities that -give poetry its charm for even those who know nothing about the art -of words. And of all the Victorian poets, Swinburne will be the least -useful to students of these literary classes. The extraordinary powers -that distinguish him are powers requiring not only a perfect knowledge -of English, but a perfect knowledge of those higher forms of literary -expression which are especially the outcome of classical study. -Swinburne's scholarship is one of the great obstacles to his being -understood by any who are not scholars themselves in the very same -direction; in this sense he would be, I think, quite as useless to you -as Milton in the matter of form. In value to you he would be far below -Milton in the matter of thought and sentiment. - -There are several ways of studying poetry. The greater number of people -who buy the books of poets, and who find pleasure in them, do not -know anything about the rules of verse. Out of one hundred thousand -Englishmen who read Tennyson, I doubt very much if one thousand know -the worth of his art. English University students, who have taken -a literary course, probably do understand very well; but a poet's -reputation and fortune are not made by scholars, but by the great mass -of half-educated people. They read for sentiment, for emotion, for -imagination; and they are quite satisfied with the pleasure given them -by the poet in this way. They are improving and educating themselves -when they read him, and for this it is not necessary that they should -know the methods, of his work, but only that they should know its -results. The educators of the great mass of any people in Europe are, -in this sense, the poets. - -The other way of studying a poet is the scholarly way, the critical -method (I do not mean the philosophical method; that is beside our -subject); we read a poet closely, carefully, observing every new and -unfamiliar word, every beautiful phrase and unaccustomed term, every -device of rhythm or rhyme, sound or colour that he has to give us. -Our capacity to study any poet in this way depends a good deal upon -literary habit and upon educational opportunity. By the first method -I doubt whether you could find much in Swinburne. He is like Shelley, -often without substance of any kind. By the second method we can do a -great deal with a choice of texts from his best work. I think it better -to state this clearly beforehand, so that you may not be disappointed, -failing to find in him the beautiful haunting thoughts that you can -find in Rossetti or in Tennyson or in Browning. - -Here I must digress a little. I must speak of the worst side of -Swinburne as well as of the best. The worst is nearly all in one book, -not a very large book, which made the greatest excitement in England -that had been made since the appearance of Byron's "Don Juan." It is -the greatest lyrical gift ever given to English literature, this -book; but it is also, in some respects, the most immoral book yet -written by an English poet. The work of Byron, at its worst, is pure -and innocent by comparison with the work of Swinburne in this book. It -is astonishing that the English public could have allowed the book to -exist. Probably it was forgiven on account of its beauty. Some years -ago, I remember, an excellent English review said, in speaking of a -certain French poem, that it was the most beautiful poem of its kind in -the French language, but that, unfortunately, the subject could not be -mentioned in print. Of course when there is a great beauty and great -voluptuousness at the same time, it is the former, not the latter, that -makes the greatness of the work. There must be something very good -to excuse the existence of the bad. Much of the work of Swinburne is -like that French poem, valuable for the beauty and condemnable for the -badness in it--and touching upon subjects which cannot be named at all. -Why he did this work we must try to understand without prejudice. - -First, as to the man himself. We must not suppose that a person is -necessarily immoral in his life because he happens to write something -which is immoral, any more than we should suppose a person whose -writings are extremely moral to be incapable of doing anything of -a vicious or foolish kind. Shelley, for example, is a very chaste -poet--there is not one improper line in the whole of his poetry; but -his life was decidedly unfortunate. Exactly the reverse happens in -the case of Swinburne, who has written thousands of immoral lines. -The fact is that many persons are apt to mistake artistic feeling -for vicious feeling, and a spirit of revolt against conventions for a -general hatred of moral law. I must ask you to try to put yourselves -for a moment in the place of a young student, such as Swinburne was -at the time of these writings, and try to imagine how he felt about -things. In every Western boy--indeed, I may say in every civilised -boy--there are several distinct periods, corresponding to the various -periods in the history of human progress. Both psychologically and -physiologically the history of the race is repeated in the history -of the individual. The child is a savage, without religion, without -tenderness, with a good deal of cruelty and cunning in his little soul. -He is this because the first faculties that are developed within him -are the faculties for self-preservation, the faculties of primitive -man. Then ideas of right and wrong and religious feelings are quickened -within him by home-training, and he becomes somewhat like the man -of the Middle Ages--he enters into his mediæval period. Then in the -course of his college studies he is gradually introduced to a knowledge -of the wonderful old Greek civilisation, civilisation socially and, -in some respects, even morally superior to anything in the existing -world; and he enters into the period of his Renaissance. If he be very -sensitive to beauty, if he have the æsthetic faculty largely developed, -there will almost certainly come upon him an enthusiastic love and -reverence for the old paganism, and a corresponding dislike of his -modern surroundings. This feeling may last only for a short time, or -it may change his whole life. One fact to observe is this, that it is -just about the time when a young man's passions are strongest that the -story of Greek life is suddenly expounded to him in the course of his -studies; and you must remember that the æsthetic faculty is primarily -based upon the sensuous life. Now in Swinburne's case we have an -abnormal æsthetic and scholarly faculty brought into contact with these -influences at a very early age; and the result must have been to that -young mind like the shock of an earth-quake. We must also imagine the -natural consequence of this enthusiasm in a violent reaction against -all literary, religious, or social conventions that endeavour to keep -the spirit of the old paganism hidden and suppressed within narrow -limits, as a dangerous thing. Finally we must suppose the natural -effect of opposition upon this mind, the effect of threats, sneers, or -prohibitions, like oil upon fire. For young Swinburne was, and still -is, a man of exceeding courage, incapable of fear of any sort. A great -idea suddenly came to him, and he resolved to put it into execution. -This idea was nothing less than to attempt to obtain for English -poetry the same liberty enjoyed by French poetry in recent times, to -attempt to obtain the right of absolute liberty of expression in all -directions, and to provoke the contest with such a bold stroke as never -had been dared before. The result was the book that has been so much -condemned. - -We cannot say that Swinburne was successful in this attempt at reform. -He attempted a little too much, and attempted it too soon. Even in -his own time the great French poet Charles Baudelaire was publicly -condemned in a French court for having written verse less daring than -Swinburne's. The great French novelist Flaubert also had to answer -in court for the production of a novel that is now thought to be very -innocent. It was only at a considerably later time that the French -poets obtained such liberty of expression as allowed of the excesses -of writers like Zola or of poets like Richepin. Altogether Swinburne's -fight was premature. He must now see that it was. But I should not like -to say that he was entirely wrong. The result of absolute liberty in -French literature gives us a good idea of what would be the result of -absolute liberty in English literature. Extravagances of immorality -were followed by extravagances of vulgarity as well, and after the -novelty of the thing was over a reaction set in, provoked by disgust -and national shame. Exactly the same thing would happen in England -after a brief period of vicious carnival; the English tide of opinion -would set in the contrary direction with immense force, and would bring -about such a tyrannical conservatism in letters as would signify, for -the time being, a serious check upon progress. As a matter of fact, we -cannot do in English literature what can be done in French literature. -Swinburne might, but there is only one Swinburne. The English language -is not perfect enough, not graceful and flexible enough, to admit -of elegant immorality; and the English character is not refined -enough. A Frenchman can say very daring things, very immoral things, -gracefully; an Englishman cannot. Only one Englishman has approached -the possibility; and that Englishman is Swinburne himself. - -I think you will now understand what Swinburne's purpose was, and be -able to judge of it. His mistakes were due not only to his youth but -also to his astonishing genius; for he could not then know how much -superior in ability he actually was to any other English poet. He -imagined that there were many who might do what he could do. The truth -is that hundreds of years may pass before another Englishman is born -capable of doing what Swinburne could do. Men of letters have long ago -forgiven him, because of this astonishing power. They say, "We know the -poems are improper, but we have nothing else like them, and English -literature cannot afford to lose them." The scholars have forgiven him, -because his worst faults are always scholarly; and a common person -cannot understand his worst allusions. Indeed, one must be much of a -classical scholar to comprehend what is most condemnable in the first -series of the "Poems and Ballads." Their extreme laxity will not be -perceived without elaborate explanation, and no one can venture to -explain--I do not mean in a university class room only, I mean even in -printed criticism. When this was attempted by the poet's enemies, he -was able to point out, with great effect, that the explanations were -much more immoral than the poems. - -Now in considering Swinburne's poetry in a short course of lectures, -I think it will be well to begin by explaining his philosophical -position; for every poet has a philosophy of his own. As I have -already said, there is less of this visible in Swinburne than in the -other Victorian poets, but the little there is has a particular and -beautiful interest, which we shall be able to illustrate in a series of -quotations. I am presuming a little in speaking about his philosophy -because there has been nothing of importance written about his -philosophy, nor has he himself ever made a plain statement of it. In -such a case I can only surmise, and you need not consider my opinion -as definitive. Swinburne is, like George Meredith, an evolutionist, -and he has something of the spiritual element in him which we notice -in Meredith as a philosopher--but always with this difference, that -Meredith makes evolution preach a moral law, and Swinburne does not. -But here we notice that Swinburne's evolution is something totally -different from Meredith's in its origin. I have said to you that -Meredith expresses evolutional philosophy according to Herbert Spencer; -I consider him the greatest of our philosophical poets for that very -reason. Swinburne does not appear to have felt the influence of Herbert -Spencer; he seems rather to reflect the opinions of Comte--especially -of Comte as interpreted by Lewes, and perhaps by Frederic Harrison. -He speaks of the Religion of Humanity, of the Divinity of Man, and of -other things which indicate the influence of Comte. Furthermore, I must -say, being myself a disciple of Spencer, that Swinburne's sociological -and radical opinions are quite incompatible with evolutional philosophy -as expounded by Spencer. Indeed, Swinburne's views about government, -about fraternity and equality, about liberty in all matters of -thought and action, are heresies for the strictly scientific mind. -The great thinkers of our century have exposed and overthrown the -old fallacies of the French revolutionary school as to the equality -of men and the meaning of liberty and fraternity. Swinburne still -champions, or appears to champion, some of the erroneous ideas of -Rousseau. Otherwise there is little fault to be found with his thoughts -concerning the ultimate nature of things, except in the deep melancholy -that always accompanies them. Meredith is a grand optimist. Swinburne -is something very like a pessimist. There is no joy and no hope in his -tone of speaking about the mystery of death; rather we find ourselves -listening to the tone of the ancient Roman Epicureans, in the time when -faith was dying, and when philosophy attempted, without success, to -establish a religion of duty founded upon pure ethics. - -An important test of any writer's metaphysical position is what he -believes about the soul. Swinburne's idea is very well expressed in the -prelude to his "Songs before Sunrise." A single stanza would be enough -in this case; but we shall give two, in order to show the pantheistic -side of the poet's faith. - - Because man's soul is man's God still, - What wind soever waft his will - Across the waves of day and night - To port or shipwreck, left or right, - By shores and shoals of good and ill; - And still its flame at mainmast height - Through the rent air that foam-flakes fill - Sustains the indomitable light - Whence only man hath strength to steer - Or helm to handle without fear. - - Save his own soul's light overhead, - None leads him, and none ever led, - Across birth's hidden harbour-bar, - Past youth where shoreward shallows are, - Through age that drives on toward the red - Vast void of sunset hailed from far. - To the equal waters of the dead; - Save his own soul he hath no star, - And sinks, except his own soul guide, - Helmless in middle turn of tide. - -This is a very plain statement not only that man has no god, and that -he makes his own gods, but that he never had a creator or a god of -any kind. He has no divine help, no one to pray to, no one to trust -except himself. So far this is in tolerable accord with the teaching -of the Buddha, "Be ye lights unto yourselves; seek no refuge but in -yourselves." But the question comes, What is man's soul? Is it divine? -Is it part of the universal soul, a supreme and infinite intelligence? -There is another meaning in the first line of the first stanza which I -quoted to you about man's soul being man's god. Some verses from the -wonderful poem called "On the Downs" will make the meaning plainer. - - "No light to lighten and no rod - To chasten men? Is there no God?" - So girt with anguish, iron-zoned, - Went my soul weeping as she trod - Between the men enthroned - And men that groaned. - - O fool, that for brute cries of wrong - Heard not the grey glad mother's song - Ring response from the hills and waves, - But heard harsh noises all day long - Of spirits that were slaves - And dwelt in graves. - . . . . . . . - With all her tongues of life and death, - With all her bloom and blood and breath, - From all years dead and all things done, - In the ear of man the mother saith, - "There is no God, O son, - If thou be none." - -This is the declaration of a belief in the divinity of man, a doctrine -well known to students of Comte. It is not altogether in disaccord with -Oriental philosophy; you must not suppose Swinburne to be speaking of -individual divinity, but of a universal divinity expressing itself in -human thought and feeling. His view of life is that the essential thing -is to live as excellently as possible, but we must not suppose that -excellence is used in the moral sense. Swinburne's idea of excellence -is the idea of completeness. His notions of right and wrong are not the -religious or the social notions of right and wrong. In this respect -he sometimes seems to think very much like the German philosopher -Nietzsche. Nevertheless he does tell us that the real spirit of -the universe is a spirit of love, a doctrine at which Huxley would -certainly have laughed. But it is beautiful doctrine in its way, even -if not true, and admirably suits the purposes of poetry. - -I think that I need not say much more here about Swinburne's -philosophy; you will understand that he is at once a pantheist and -an evolutionist, and that is sufficient for our purposes. But it is -necessary to remember this in order to understand many things in his -verse, and especially in order to understand some of his extraordinary -attitudes in condemning what most men respect, and in praising what -most men condemn. Remember also that his judgments, like those of -Nature, are never moral; they are not always the reverse, but they -are founded entirely upon æsthetic perception. Those who praise him -especially are men in revolt like himself. Therefore he praised Walt -Whitman, at a time when Walt Whitman was being condemned everywhere for -certain faults in his compositions; therefore he sang the praises of -Baudelaire, as none other had done before him (and here he is certainly -right); therefore he praised Théophile Gautier's "Mademoiselle de -Maupin," calling it "the golden book of spirit and sense"; therefore -also he wrote a sonnet praising Burton's translation of the Arabian -Nights, which made a great scandal in England because it translated all -the obscene passages which nobody else had ventured to put into English -or French. The æsthetic judgment in all these cases is correct, but I -will not venture to pronounce upon the moral judgment any further than -to say this, that Swinburne delights in courage, and that literary -courage in his eyes covers a multitude of sins. - -Not a few, however, of these daring songs of praise are among the most -wonderful triumphs of modern lyric verse. I should like, for example, -to quote to you the whole of his ode to Villon, but I fear that because -of its length, and the unfamiliarity of the subject, we cannot afford -the time. I will quote the closing stanza as a specimen of the rest, -and I am sure that you will see its beauty. - - Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire, - A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire; - Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame. - But from thy feet now death has washed the mire, - Love reads out first at head of all our quire, - Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name. - -Each stanza ends with this strange refrain of "sad bad glad mad," -adjectives which excellently express the changeful and extraordinary -character of that poor student of Paris with whose name modern French -literature properly begins. He lived a terrible and reckless life, -very nearly ending with the gallows; he was an associate at one time -of princes and bishops, at another time of thieves and prostitutes; he -would be one day a spendthrift, the next day a beggar or a prisoner; -and he sang of all these experiences as no man ever sang before or -since. Really Swinburne's praise in this case is not only just--it -represents the best possible estimate of the singer's faults and -virtues combined. - -To speak in detail of the great range of subjects chosen by Swinburne -is not possible within the limits of this lecture. I am going to make -selections from every part of his production, except the dramatic, as -well as I can, and the selections will be made with a view especially -to show you the music of his verse and the brilliance of his language. -Most of his poems are above the ordinary lyrical length rather than -below it, and I hope that you will not be disappointed if I do not -often give the whole of a poem, for the selections will contain, I am -sure, the best part of the poem. - -Being a descendant of great seamen, Swinburne had every reason to sing -of the sea; and he has sung of it better than any one else. A great -number of his poems are sea-poems, or poems containing descriptions of -the sea in all its moods, splendours, or terrors. Sun, sea, and wind -are favourite subjects with him, and I know of nothing in the whole -of his work finer than his description of the wind as the lover of -the sea. The verses I am going to quote are from a great composition -entitled "By the North Sea." The personal pronoun "he" in the first -line means the wind personified. - - The delight that he takes but in living - Is more than of all things that live: - For the world that has all things for giving - Has nothing so goodly to give: - But more than delight his desire is, - For the goal where his pinions would be - Is immortal as air or as fire is, - Immense as the sea. - - Though hence come the moan that he borrows - From darkness and depth of the night, - Though hence be the spring of his sorrows, - Hence too is the joy of his might; - The delight that his doom is for ever - To seek and desire and rejoice, - And the sense that eternity never - Shall silence his voice. - - That satiety never may stifle - Nor weariness ever estrange - Nor time be so strong as to rifle - Nor change be so great as to change - His gift that renews in the giving, - The joy that exalts him to be - Alone of all elements living - The lord of the sea. - - What is fire, that its flame should consume her? - More fierce than all fires are her waves: - What is earth, that its gulfs should entomb her? - More deep are her own than their graves. - Life shrinks from his pinions that cover - The darkness by thunders bedinned; - But she knows him, her lord and her lover, - The godhead of wind. - -This titanic personification of sea and wind is sublime, but Swinburne -has many other ways of personifying wind and sea, and sometimes the -element of tenderness and love is not wanting. Sometimes the sea is -addressed as a goddess, but more often she is addressed as a mother, -and some of the most exquisite forms of such address are found in poems -which have, properly speaking, nothing to do with the sea at all. A -good example is in the poem called "The Triumph of Time." The words are -supposed to be spoken by a person who is going to drown himself. - - O fair green-girdled mother of mine, - Sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain, - Thy sweet hard kisses are strong like wine, - Thy large embraces are keen like pain. - Save me and hide me with all thy waves, - Find me one grave of thy thousand graves, - Those pure cold populous graves of thine, - Wrought without hand in a world without stain. - -We shall also find great wonder and beauty in Swinburne's hymns to the -sun, which is also for him, as for the poets of old, a living god, and -which certainly is, in a scientific sense, the lord of all life within -this world. The best expression of this feeling is in a poem called -"Off Shore," describing sunrise over the sea, and the glory of light. - - Light, perfect and visible - Godhead of God! - God indivisible, - Lifts but his rod, - And the shadows are scattered in sunder, and darkness - is light at his nod. - - At the touch of his wand, - At the nod of his head - From the spaces beyond - Where the dawn hath her bed, - Earth, water, and air are transfigured, and rise as one - risen from the dead. - - He puts forth his hand, - And the mountains are thrilled - To the heart as they stand - In his presence, fulfilled - With his glory that utters his grace upon earth, and - her sorrows are stilled. - . . . . . . . . . - - As a kiss on my brow - Be the light of thy grace, - Be thy glance on me now - From the pride of thy place: - As the sign of a sire to a son be the light on my face - of thy face. - . . . . . . . . . - - Fair father of all - In thy ways that have trod, - That have risen at thy call, - That have thrilled at thy nod, - Arise, shine, lighten upon me, O sun that we see to - be God. - . . . . . . . . . - - - Be praised and adored of us - All in accord, - Father and lord of us - Always adored, - The slayer and the stayer and the harper, the light - of us all and our lord. - -Swinburne has no equal in enthusiastic celebration of the beauties of -sky and sea and wood, of light and clouds and waters, of sound and -perfume and blossoming. Indeed, one of his particular characteristics, -a characteristic very seldom found in English masterpieces, though -common in the best French work, is his art for describing odours--the -smell of morning and evening, scents of the seasons, scents also of -life. We shall have many opportunities to notice this characteristic of -Swinburne, even in his descriptions of human beauty. What the French -call the _parfum de jeunesse_ or odour of youth, the pleasant smell of -young bodies, the perfume that we notice, for example, in the hair of a -healthy child, is something which English writers very seldom venture -to treat of; but Swinburne has treated it quite as delicately at times -as a French poet could do, though sometimes a little extravagantly. You -must think of him as one whom no quality of beauty escapes, whether -of colour, odour, or motion; and as one who believes, I think rightly, -that whatever is in itself beautiful and natural is worthy of song. You -will be able to imagine, from what I have already quoted, how he feels -in the presence of wild nature. How he considers human beauty is a more -difficult matter to illustrate by quotation, at least by quotation -before a class. But I shall try to offer some illustrations from the -"Masque of Queen Bersabe." You all know what a masque is. The masque -in question is a perfect imitation, for the most part, of a mediæval -masque, both as to form and language. But there is one portion of it -which is mediæval only in tone, not in language, since there never -lived in the Middle Ages any man capable of writing such verse. It is -from this part that I want to quote. But I must first explain to you -that the name Bersabe is only a mediæval form of the Biblical name -Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, whom King David caused to be murdered. -It is an ugly story. The King committed adultery with Bathsheba; -then he ordered her husband to be put into the front rank during a -battle, in such a place that he must be killed. Afterwards the King -married Bathsheba; but the prophet Nathan heard of the wickedness, and -threatened the King with the punishment of God. This was the subject -of several mediæval religious plays, and Swinburne adopted it for an -imitation of such play. The first part of his conception is that at -the command of the prophet the ghosts of all the beautiful and wicked -queens who ever lived come before Bathsheba, to reproach her with her -sin, and to tell her how they had been punished in other time for -sins of the same kind. Each one speaks in turn; and though I cannot -quote all of what they said, I can quote enough to illustrate the -magnificence of the work. Each verse is a portrait in words, uttered by -the subject. - - CLEOPATRA - - I am the queen of Ethiope. - Love bade my kissing eyelids ope - That men beholding might praise love. - My hair was wonderful and curled; - My lips held fast the mouth o' the world - To spoil the strength and speech thereof. - The latter triumph in my breath - Bowed down the beaten brows of death, - Ashamed they had not wrath enough. - . . . . . . . . . - - AHOLAH - - I am the queen of Amalek. - There was no tender touch or fleck - To spoil my body or bared feet. - My words were soft like dulcimers, - And the first sweet of grape-flowers - Made each side of my bosom sweet. - My raiment was as tender fruit - Whose rind smells sweet of spice-tree root, - Bruised balm-blossom and budded wheat. - . . . . . . . . . - - SEMIRAMIS - - I am the queen Semiramis. - The whole world and the sea that is - In fashion like a chrysopras, - The noise of all men labouring, - The priest's mouth tired through thanksgiving, - The sound of love in the blood's pause, - The strength of love in the blood's beat, - All these were cast beneath my feet - And all found lesser than I was. - . . . . . . . . . - - PASITHEA - - I am the queen of Cypriotes. - Mine oarsmen, labouring with brown throats, - Sang of me many a tender thing. - My maidens, girdled loose and braced - With gold from bosom to white waist, - Praised me between their wool-combing. - All that praise Venus all night long - With lips like speech and lids like song - Praised me till song lost heart to sing. - . . . . . . . . . - - ALACIEL - - I am the queen Alaciel. - My mouth was like that moist gold cell - Whereout the thickest honey drips. - Mine eyes were as a grey-green sea; - The amorous blood that smote on me - Smote to my feet and finger-tips. - My throat was whiter than the dove, - Mine eyelids as the seals of love, - And as the doors of love my lips. - - ERIGONE - - I am the queen Erigone. - The wild wine shed as blood on me - Made my face brighter than a bride's. - My large lips had the old thirst of earth, - Mine arms the might of the old sea's girth - Bound round the whole world's iron sides. - Within mine eyes and in mine ears - Were music and the wine of tears, - And light, and thunder of the tides. - -So pass the strange phantoms of dead pride and lust and power, together -with many more of whom the descriptions are not less beautiful and -strange, though much less suitable for quotation. I have made the -citations somewhat long, but I have done so because they offer the -best possible illustration of two things peculiar to Swinburne, the -music and colour of his verse, and the peculiar mediæval tone which he -sometimes assumes in dealing with antique subjects. These descriptions -are quite unlike anything done by Tennyson, or indeed by any other -poet except Rossetti. They represent, in a certain way, what has been -called Pre-Raphaelitism in poetry. Swinburne was, with Rossetti, one of -the great forces of the new movement in literature. Observe that the -illustrations are chiefly made by comparisons--that the descriptions -are made by suggestion; there is no attempt to draw a clear sharp line, -nothing is described completely, but by some comparison or symbolism -in praise of a part, the whole figure is vaguely brought before the -imagination in a blaze of colour with strange accompaniment of melody. -For example, you will have noticed that no face is fully pictured; -you find only some praise of the eyes or the mouth, the throat or -the skin, but that is quite enough to bring to your fancy the entire -person. But there is another queer fact which you must be careful to -notice--namely, that no comparison is modern. The language and the -symbolism are Biblical or mediæval in every case. The European scholar -who had made a special study of the literature of the Middle Ages would -notice even more than this; he would notice that the whole tone is -not of the later but of the earlier Middle Ages, that the old miracle -plays, the old French romances, and the early Italian poets, have all -contributed something to this splendour of expression. It is modern art -in one sense, of course, but there is nothing modern about it except -the craftsmanship; the material is all quaint and strange, and gives us -the sensation of old tapestry or of the paintings that were painted in -Italy before the time of Raphael. - -Here I must say a word about the Pre-Raphaelite movement in nineteenth -century literature. To explain everything satisfactorily, I ought to -have pictures to show you; and that is unfortunately impossible. But I -think I can make a very easy explanation of the subject. First of all -you must be quite well aware that the literature of all countries seeks -for a majority of its subjects in the past. The everyday, the familiar, -does not attract us in the same way as that which is not familiar and -not of the present. Distance, whether of space or time, lends to things -a certain tone of beauty, just as mountains look more beautifully -blue the further away they happen to be. This seeking for beauty in -the past rather than in the present represents much of what is called -romanticism in any literature. - -Necessarily, even in this age of precise historical knowledge, the -past is for us less real than the present; time has spread mists of -many colours between it and us, so that we cannot be sure of details, -distances, depths, and heights. But in other generations the mists were -heavier, and the past was more of a fairy-land than now; it was more -pleasant also to think about, because the mysterious is attractive to -all of us, and men of letters delighted to write about it, because they -could give free play to the imagination. Such stories of the past as we -find even in what have been called historical novels, were called also, -and rightly called, romances--works of imagination rather than of fact. - -But still you may ask, why such words as romance and romantic? The -answer is that works of imagination, dealing with past events, were -first written in languages derived from the Latin, the Romance -languages; and at a very early time it became the custom to distinguish -work written in these modern tongues upon fanciful or heroic subjects, -by this name and quality. The romantic in the Middle Ages signified -especially the new literature of fancy as opposed to the old classical -literature. Remember, therefore, that this meaning is not yet -entirely lost, though it has undergone many modifications. "Romantic" -in literature still means "not classical," and it also suggests -imagination rather than fact, and the past rather than the present. - -When we say "mediæval" in speaking of nineteenth century poetry, we -mean of course nineteenth century literature having a romantic tone, -as well as reflecting, so far as imagination can, the spirit of the -Middle Ages. But what is the difference between the Pre-Raphaelite -and Mediæval? The time before Raphael, the Pre-Raphaelite period, -would necessarily have been mediæval. As a matter of fact, the term -Pre-Raphaelite does not have the wide general meaning usually given -to it. It is something of a technical term, belonging to art rather -than to literature, and first introduced into literature by a company -of painters. The Pre-Raphaelite painters, in the technical sense, -were a special group of modern painters, distinguished by particular -characteristics. - -So much being clear, I may say that there was a school of painting -before Raphael of a very realistic and remarkable kind. This school -came to existence a little after the true religious spirit of the -Middle Ages had begun to weaken. It sought the emotion of beauty as -well as the emotion of religion, but it did not yet feel the influence -of the Renaissance in a strong way; it was not Greek nor pagan. It -sought beauty in truth, studying ordinary men and women, flowers and -birds, scenery of nature or scenery of streets; and it used reality -for its model. It was much less romantic than the school that came -after it; but it was very great and very noble. With Raphael the -Greek feeling, the old pagan feeling for sensuous beauty, found full -expression, and this Renaissance tone changed the whole direction and -character of art. After Raphael the painters sought beauty before all -things; previously they had sought for truth and sentiment even before -beauty. Raphael set a fashion which influenced all arts after him -down to our own time; for centuries the older painters were neglected -and almost forgotten. Therefore Ruskin boldly declared that since -Raphael's death Western art had been upon the decline and that the -school of painters immediately before Raphael were greater than any who -came after him. Gradually within our own time a new taste came into -art-circles, a new love for the old forgotten masters of the fourteenth -and fifteenth centuries. It was discovered that they were, after all, -nearer to truth in many respects than the later painters; and then was -established, by Rossetti and others, a new school of painting called -the Pre-Raphaelite school. It sought truth to life as well as beauty, -and it endeavoured to mingle both with mystical emotion. - -At first this was a new movement in art only, or rather in painting -and drawing only, as distinguished from literary art. But literature -and painting and architecture and music are really all very closely -related, and a new literary movement also took place in harmony -with the new departure in painting. This was chiefly the work of -Rossetti, Swinburne, and William Morris. They tried to make poems and -to write stories according to the same æsthetic motives which seem -to have inspired the school of painters before Raphael. This is the -signification of the strange method and beauty of those quotations -which I have been giving to you from Swinburne's masque. They represent -very powerfully the Pre-Raphaelite feelings in English poetry. - -I know that this digression is somewhat long, but I believe that -it is of great importance; without knowing these facts, it would -be impossible for the student to understand many curious things -in Swinburne's manner. Throughout even his lighter poems we find -this curious habit of describing things in ways totally remote from -nineteenth century feeling, and nevertheless astonishingly effective. -Fancy such comparisons as these for a woman's beauty in the correct age -of Wordsworth: - - I said "she must be swift and white, - And subtly warm, and half perverse, - And sweet like sharp soft fruit to bite, - And like a snake's love lithe and fierce." - Men have guessed worse. - -Or take the following extraordinary description of a woman's name, -perhaps I had better say of the sensation given by the name Félise, -probably an abbreviation of Felicita, but by its spelling reminding one -very much of the Latin word _felis_, which means a cat: - - Like colors in the sea, like flowers, - Like a cat's splendid circled eyes - That wax and wane with love for hours, - Green as green flame, blue-grey like skies, - And soft like sighs. - -The third line refers to the curious phenomenon of the enlarging and -diminishing of the pupil in a cat's eye according to the decrease or -increase of light. It is said that you can tell the time of day by -looking at a cat's eyes. Now all these comparisons are in the highest -degree offences against classical feeling. The classical poet, even -the half-classical poet of the beginning of our own century, would -have told you that a woman must not be compared to a snake or a cat; -that you must not talk about her sweetness being like the sweetness of -fruit, or the charm of her presence being like the smell of perfume. -All such comparisons seemed monstrous, unnatural. If such a critic were -asked why one must not compare a woman to a snake or a cat, the critic -would probably answer, "Because a snake is a hateful reptile and a cat -is a hateful animal." What would Ruskin or Swinburne then say to the -critic? He would say simply, "Did you ever look at a snake? Did you -ever study a cat?" The classicist would soon be convicted of utter -ignorance about snakes and cats. He thought them hateful simply because -it was not fashionable to admire them a hundred years ago. But the -old poets of the early Middle Ages were not such fools. They had seen -snakes and admired them, because for any man who is not prejudiced, a -snake is a very beautiful creature, and its motions are as beautiful -as geometry. If you do not think this is true, I beg of you to watch -a snake, where its body can catch the light of the sun. Then there is -no more graceful or friendly or more attractively intelligent animal -than a cat. The common feeling about snakes and cats is not an artistic -one, nor even a true one; it is of ethical origin, and unjust. These -animals are not moral according to our notions; they seem cruel and -treacherous, and forgetting that they cannot be judged by our code -of morals, we have learned to speak of them contemptuously even from -the physical point of view. Well, this was not the way in the early -Middle Ages. People were less sensitive on the subject of cruelty -than they are to-day, and they could praise the beauty of snakes and -tigers and all fierce or cunning creatures of prey, because they could -admire the physical qualities without thinking of the moral ones. In -Pre-Raphaelite poetry there is an attempt to do the very same thing. -Swinburne does it more than any one else, perhaps even too much; but -there is a great and true principle of art behind this revolution. - -Now we can study Swinburne in some other moods. I want to show you the -splendour of his long verse, verse of fourteen and sixteen syllables, -of a form resurrected by him after centuries of neglect; and also verse -written in imitation of Greek and Roman measures with more success than -has attended similar efforts on the part of any other living poet. -But in the first example that I shall offer, you will find matter of -more interest than verse as verse. The poem is one of Swinburne's -greatest, and the subject is entirely novel. The poet attempts to -express the feeling of a Roman pagan, perhaps one of the last Epicurean -philosophers, living at the time when Christianity was first declared -the religion of the Empire, and despairing because of the destruction -of the older religion and the vanishing of the gods whom he loved. By -law Christianity has been made the state-religion, and it is forbidden -to worship the other gods; the old man haughtily refuses to become a -Christian, even after an impartial study of Christian doctrine; on the -contrary, he is so unhappy at the fate of the religion of his fathers -that he does not care to live any longer without his gods. And he -prays to the goddess of death to take him out of this world, from -which all the beauty and art, all the old loved customs and beliefs -are departing. We cannot read the whole "Hymn to Proserpine"; but we -shall read enough to illustrate the style and feeling of the whole. At -the head of the poem are the words _Vicisti_, _Galilæe!_--"Thou hast -conquered, O Galilean"--words uttered by the great Roman Emperor Julian -at the moment of his death in battle. Julian was the last Emperor -who tried to revive and purify the decaying Roman religion, and to -oppose the growth of Christianity. He was, therefore, the great enemy -of Christianity. His dying words were said to have been addressed to -Christ, when he felt himself dying, but it is not certain whether he -really ever uttered these words at all. - - I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love - hath an end; - Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and - befriend. - Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons - that laugh or that weep; - For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep. - Sweet is the treading of wine, and sweet the feet of the - dove: - But a goodlier gift is thine than foam of the grapes or love. - - After speaking to the goddess of death, he speaks thus - to Christ: - - Wilt thou yet take all, Galilean? but these thou shalt not - take, - The laurel, the palms and the paean, the breasts of the - nymphs in the brake; - Breasts more soft than a dove's, that tremble with tenderer - breath; - And all the wings of the Loves, and all the joy before - death; - All the feet of the hours that sound as a single lyre, - Dropped and deep in the flowers, with strings that flicker - like fire. - More than these wilt thou give, things fairer than all - these things? - Nay, for a little we live, and life hath mutable wings. - A little while and we die; shall life not thrive as it may? - For no man under the sky lives twice, outliving his day. - And grief is a grievous thing, and a man hath enough of - his tears: - Why should he labour, and bring fresh grief to blacken his - years? - Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown - grey from thy breath; - We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fulness - of death. - -Or, in other words, the pagan says: "O Christ, you would wish to -take everything from us, yet some things there are which you cannot -take: not the inspiration of the poet, nor the spirit of art, nor the -glory of heroism, nor the dreams of youth and love, nor the great and -gracious gifts of time--the beauty of the seasons, the splendour of -night and day. All these you cannot deprive us of, though you wish to; -and what is better than these? Can you give us anything more precious? -Assuredly you cannot. For these things are fitted to human life; and -what do we know about any other life? Life passes quickly; why should -we make it miserable with the evil dreams of a religion of sorrow? -Short enough is the time in which we have pleasure, and the world is -already full enough of pain; wherefore should we try to make ourselves -still more unhappy than we already are? Yet you have conquered; you -have destroyed the beauty of life; you have made the world seem grey -and old, that was so beautiful and eternally young. You have made us -drink the waters of forgetfulness and eat the food of death. For your -religion is a religion of death, not of life; you yourself and the -Christian gods are figures of death, not figures of life." - -And how does he think of this new divinity, Christ? As a Roman citizen -necessarily, and to a Roman citizen Christ was nothing more than a -vulgar, common criminal executed by Roman law in company with thieves -and murderers. Therefore he addresses such a divinity with scorn, even -in the hour of his triumph: - - O lips that the live blood faints in, the leavings of racks - and rods! - O ghastly glories of saints, dead limbs of gibbeted Gods! - Though all men abase them before you in spirit, and all - knees bend, - I kneel not neither adore you, but standing, look to the end! - -To understand the terrible bitterness of this scorn, it is necessary -for the student to remember that a Roman citizen could not be tortured -or flogged or gibbeted. Such punishments and penalties were reserved -for slaves and for barbarians. Therefore to a Roman the mere fact -of Christ's death and punishment--for he was tortured before being -crucified--was a subject for contempt; accordingly he speaks of such -a divinity as the "leavings of racks and rods"--that is, so much of -a man's body as might be left after the torturers and executioners -had finished with it. Should a Roman citizen kneel down and humble -himself before that? A little while, some thousands of years, perhaps, -Christianity may be a triumphant religion, but all religions must -die and pass away, one after another, and this new and detestable -religion, with its ugly gods, must also pass away. For although the -old Roman has studied too much philosophy to believe in all that his -fathers believed, he believes in a power that is greater than man and -gods and the universe itself, in the unknown power which gives life -and death, and makes perpetual change, and sweeps away everything -that man foolishly believes to be permanent. He gives to this law of -impermanency the name of the goddess of death, but the name makes -little difference; he has recognised the eternal law. Time will sweep -away Christianity itself, and his description of this mighty wave of -time is one of the finest passages in all his poetry: - - All delicate days and pleasant, all spirits and sorrows are - cast - Far out with the foam of the present that sweeps to the - surf of the past: - . . . . . . . . . - - Where, mighty with deepening sides, clad about with the - seas as with wings, - And impelled of invisible tides, and fulfilled of unspeakable - things, - White-eyed and poisonous-finned, shark-toothed and serpentine-curled, - Rolls, under the whitening wind of the future, the wave of - the world. - - The depths stand naked in sunder behind it, the storms flee - away; - In the hollow before it the thunder is taken and snared as - a prey; - In its sides is the north-wind bound; and its salt is of all - men's tears; - With light of ruins and sound of changes, and pulse of - years: - With travail of day after day, and with trouble of hour - upon hour; - And bitter as blood is the spray; and the crests are as fangs - that devour: - And its vapour and storm of its steam as the sighing of - spirits to be; - And its noise as the noise in a dream; and its depth as the - roots of the sea: - And the height of its heads as the height of the utmost stars - of the air: - And the ends of the earth at the might thereof tremble, and - time is made bare. - -When the poet calls this the wave of the world, you must not understand -world to mean our planet only, but the universe, the cosmos; and the -wave is the great wave of impermanency, including all forces of time -and death and life and pain. But why these terrible similes of white -eyes and poisonous things and shark's teeth, of blood and bitterness -and terror? Because the old philosopher dimly recognises the cruelty -of nature, the mercilessness of that awful law of change which, having -swept away his old gods, will just as certainly sweep away the new gods -that have appeared. Who can resist that mighty power, higher than the -stars, deeper than the depths, in whose motion even gods are but as -bubbles and foam? Assuredly not Christ and his new religion. Speaking -to the new gods the Roman cries: - - All ye as a wind shall go by, as a fire shall ye pass and be - past; - Ye are Gods, and behold, ye shall die, and the waves be - upon you at last. - . . . . . . . . . - - Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Galilean, thy dead shall go - down to thee dead. - -Here follows a beautiful picture of the contrast between the beauty of -the old gods and the uninviting aspect of the new. It is a comparison -between the Virgin Mary, mother of Christ, and Venus or Aphrodite, the -ancient goddess of love, born from the sea. For to the Roman mind the -Christian gods and saints wanted even the common charm of beauty and -tenderness. All the divinities of the old Greek world were beautiful -to look upon, and warmly human; but these strange new gods from Asia -seemed to be not even artistically endurable. Addressing Christ, he -continues: - - Of the maiden thy mother men sing as a goddess with grace - clad around; - Thou art throned where another was king; where another - was queen she is crowned. - Yea, once we had sight of another: but now she is queen, - say these. - Not as thine, not as thine was our mother, a blossom of - flowering seas, - Clothed around with the world's desire as with raiment and - fair as the foam, - And fleeter than kindled fire, and a goddess and mother of - Rome. - For thine came pale and a maiden, and sister to sorrow; - but ours, - Her deep hair heavily laden with odour and colour of - flowers, - White rose of the rose-white water, a silver splendour, a - flame, - Bent down unto us that besought her, and earth grew sweet - with her name. - For thine came weeping, a slave among slaves, and rejected; - but she - Came flushed from the full-flushed wave, and imperial, her - foot on the sea. - And the wonderful waters knew her, the winds and the - viewless ways, - And the roses grew rosier, and bluer the sea-blue stream - of the bays. - Ye are fallen, our lords, by what token? we wist that ye - should not fall. - Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than - ye all. - -Why, by what power, for what reason, should the old gods have passed -away? Even if one could not believe in them all, they were too -beautiful to pass away and be broken, as their statues were broken by -the early Christians in the rage of their ignorant and brutal zeal. -The triumph of Christianity meant much more than the introduction of a -new religion; it meant the destruction of priceless art and priceless -literature, it signified the victory of barbarism over culture and -refinement. Doubtless the change, like all great changes, was for -the better in some ways; but no lover of art and the refinements of -civilisation can read without regret the history of the iconoclasm in -which the Christian fanatics indulged when they got the government and -the law upon their side. It is this feeling of regret and horror that -the poet well expresses through the mouth of the Roman who cares no -more to live, because the gods and everything beautiful must pass away. -But there is one goddess still left for him, one whom the Christians -cannot break but who will at last break them and their religion, and -scatter them as dust--the goddess of death. To her he turns with a last -prayer: - - But I turn to her still, having seen she shall surely abide - in the end; - Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and - befriend. - O daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom - of birth, - I am also, I also, thy brother; I go as I came unto earth. - . . . . . . . . . - - Thou art more than the Gods who number the days of our - temporal breath; - - For these give labour and slumber, but thou, Proserpina, - death. - Therefore now at thy feet I abide for a season in silence. - I know - I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep; - even so. - For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a - span; - A little soul for a little bears up this corpse which is man. - So long I endure, no longer; and laugh not again, neither - weep. - For there is no God found stronger than death; and death - is a sleep. - -The third line from the end, "a little soul for a little," is a -translation from the philosopher Epictetus. It is the Epicurean -philosophy especially which speaks in this poetry. The address to the -goddess of death as the daughter of earth, cannot be understood without -some reference to Greek mythology. Proserpina was the daughter of the -goddess Ceres, whom the ancients termed the Holy Mother--queen of the -earth, but especially the goddess of fruitfulness and of harvests. -While playing in the fields as a young girl, Proserpina was seized -and carried away by the god of the dead, Hades or Pluto, to become -his wife. Everywhere her mother sought after her to no purpose; and -because of the grief of the goddess, the earth dried up, the harvests -failed, and all nature became desolate. Afterwards, finding that her -daughter had become the queen of the kingdom of the dead, Ceres agreed -that Proserpina should spend a part of every year with her husband, and -part of the year with her mother. To this arrangement the Greeks partly -attributed the origin of the seasons. - -Incidentally in the poem there is a very beautiful passage describing -the world of death, where no sun is, where the silence is more than -music, where the flowers are white and full of strange sleepy smell, -and where the sound of the speech of the dead is like the sound of -water heard far away, or a humming of bees-whither the old man prays -to go, to rest with his ancestors away from the light of the sun, and -to forget all the sorrow of this world and its changes. But I think -that you will do well to study this poem in detail by yourselves, -when opportunity allows. It happens to be one of the very few poems -in the first series of Swinburne's "Poems and Ballads" to which no -reasonable exception can be made; and it is without doubt one of the -very finest things that he has ever written. I could recommend this -for translation; there are many pieces in the same book which I could -not so recommend, notwithstanding their beauty. For instance, the poem -entitled "Hesperia," with its splendid beginning: - - Out of the golden remote wild west where the sea without - shore is, - Full of the sunset, and sad, if at all, with the fulness of joy. - -There is nothing more perfect in modern literature than the beginning -of this poem, which gives us an exact imitation in English words of the -sound of the Greek hexameter and pentameter. But much of this work is -too passionate and violent for even the most indulgent ears; and though -I think that you ought to study the beginning, I should never recommend -it for translation. - -The comparison of the wave in the hymn to Proserpina must have given -you an idea of Swinburne's power to deal with colossal images. I -know of few descriptions in any literature to be compared with that -picture of the wave; but Swinburne himself in another poem has given -us descriptions nearly as surprising, if not as beautiful. There is -a poem called "Thalassius," a kind of philosophical moral fable in -Greek form, that contains a surprise of this kind. The subject is a -young man's first experience with love. Walking in the meadows he sees -a pretty boy, or rather child, just able to walk--a delicious child, -tender as a flower, and apparently needing kindly care. So he takes the -child by the hand, wondering at his beauty; and he speaks to the child, -but never gets any reply except a smile. Suddenly, at a certain point -of the road the child begins to grow tall, to grow tremendous; his -stature reaches the sky, and in a terrible voice that shakes everything -like an earthquake, he announces that though he may be Love, he is also -Death, and that only the fool imagines him to be Love alone. There is -a bit both of old and of new philosophy in this; and I remarked when -reading it that in Indian mythology there is a similar representation -of this double attribute of divinity, love and death, creation and -destruction, represented by one personage. But we had better read the -scene which I have been trying to describe, the meeting with the child: - - That wellnigh wept for wonder that it smiled, - And was so feeble and fearful, with soft speech - The youth bespake him softly; but there fell - From the sweet lips no sweet word audible - That ear or thought might reach; - No sound to make the dim cold silence glad, - No breath to thaw the hard harsh air with heat, - Only the saddest smile of all things sweet, - Only the sweetest smile of all things sad. - - And so they went together one green way - Till April dying made free the world for May; - And on his guide suddenly Love's face turned, - And in his blind eyes burned - Hard light and heat of laughter; and like flame - That opens in a mountain's ravening mouth - To blear and sear the sunlight from the south, - His mute mouth opened, and his first word came; - "Knowest thou me now by name?" - And all his stature waxed immeasurable, - As of one shadowing heaven and lightening hell; - And statelier stood he than a tower that stands - And darkens with its darkness far-off sands - Whereon the sky leans red; - And with a voice that stilled the winds he said: - "I am he that was thy lord before thy birth, - I am he that is thy lord till thou turn earth; - I make the night more dark, and all the morrow - Dark as the night whose darkness was my breath: - O fool, my name is sorrow; - Thou fool, my name is death." - -By the term "darkness" in the third line from the end of the above -quotation, we must understand the darkness and mystery out of which -man comes into this world, and comes only to die. This monstrous -symbolism may need some explanation, before you see how very fine the -meaning is. Love, that is the attraction of sex to sex, with all its -emotions, heroisms, sacrifices, and nobilities, cannot be understood -by the young. To them, love is only the physical and the moral charm -of the being that is loved. In man the passion of love becomes noble -and specialised by the development in him of moral, æsthetic, and -other feelings that are purely human. But the attraction of sex, that -is behind all this, is a universal and terrible fact, a tremendous -mystery, whose ultimate nature no man knows or ever will know. Why? -Because if we knew the nature and origin of the forces that create, we -could understand the whole universe, and ourselves, and everything that -men now call mystery. But all that we certainly do know is this, that -we come into the world out of mystery and go out of the world again -back into mystery, and that no mortal man can explain the Whence, the -Why, or the Whither. The first sensations of love for another being -are perhaps the most delicious feelings known to men; the person loved -seems for the time to be more beautiful and good than any one else -in the world. This is what the poet means by describing the first -appearance of love as a beautiful, tender child, innocent and dumb. -But later in life the physical illusion passes away; then one learns -the relation of this seeming romance to the awful questions of life -and death. The girl beloved becomes the wife; then she becomes the -mother; but in becoming a mother, she enters into the very shadow of -death, sometimes never to return from it. Birth itself is an agony, -the greatest agony that humanity has to bear. We come into the world -through pains of the most deadly kind, and leave the world later on in -pain; and what all this means, we do not know. We are only certain that -the Greeks were not wrong in representing love as the brother of death. -The Oriental philosophers went further; they identified love with -death, making them one and the same. One cannot help thinking of the -Indian statue representing the creative power, holding in his hand the -symbol of life, but wearing around his neck a necklace of human skulls. - -The poem that introduces the first volume of Swinburne's poems, as -published in America, gave its name to the book, so that thousands of -English readers used to call the volume by the name of this poem, "Laus -Veneris," which means the praise of Venus. I do not think that there -is a more characteristic poem in all Swinburne's work; it is certainly -the most interesting version in any modern language of the old -mediæval story. Without understanding the story you could not possibly -understand the poem, and as the story has been famous for hundreds of -years, I shall first relate it. - -After Christianity had made laws forbidding people to worship the old -gods, it was believed that these gods still remained wandering about -like ghosts and tempting men to sin. One of these divinities especially -dreaded by the Christian priests, was Venus. Now in the Middle t Ages -there was a strange story about a knight called Tannhäuser, who, riding -home one evening, saw by the wayside a beautiful woman unclad, who -smiled at him, and induced him to follow her. He followed her to the -foot of a great mountain; the mountain opened like a door, and they -went in, and found a splendid palace under the mountain. The fairy -woman was Venus herself; and the knight lived with her for seven years. -At the end of the seven years he became afraid because of the sin which -he had committed; and he begged her, as Urashima begged the daughter -of the Dragon King, to let him return for a little time to the world -of men. She let him go; and he went to Rome. There he told his story -to different priests, and asked them to obtain for him the forgiveness -of God. But each of the priests made answer that the sin was so great -that nobody except the Pope of Rome could forgive it. Then the knight -went to the Pope. But when the Pope heard his confession, the Pope -said that there was no forgiveness possible for such a crime as that -of loving a demon. The Pope had a wooden staff in his hand, and he -said, "Sooner shall this dry stick burst into blossom than you obtain -God's pardon for such a sin." Then the knight, sorrowing greatly, -went back to the mountain and to Venus. After he had gone, the Pope -was astonished to see that the dry staff was covered with beautiful -flowers and leaves that had suddenly grown out of it, as a sign that -God was more merciful than his priests. At this the Pope became sorry -and afraid, and he sent out messengers to look for the knight. But no -man ever saw him again, for Venus kept him hidden in her palace under -the mountain. Swinburne found his version of the story in a quaint -French book published in 1530. He represents, not the incidents of the -story itself, but only the feelings of the knight after his return from -Rome. There is no more hope for him. His only consolation is his love -and worship for her; but this love and worship is mingled with fear -of hell and regret for his condition. Into the poem Swinburne has put -the whole spirit of revolt of which he and the Pre-Raphaelite school -were exponents. A few verses will show you the tone. The knight praises -Venus: - - Lo, this is she that was the world's delight; - The old grey years were parcels of her might; - The strewings of the ways wherein she trod - Were the twain seasons of the day and night. - - Lo, she was thus when her clear limbs enticed - All lips that now grow sad with kissing Christ, - Stained with blood fallen from the feet of God, - The feet and hands whereat our souls were priced. - - Alas, Lord, surely thou art great and fair. - But lo her wonderfully woven hair! - And thou didst heal us With thy piteous kiss; - But see now, Lord; her mouth is lovelier. - - She is right fair; what hath she done to thee? - Nay, fair Lord Christ, lift up thine eyes and see; - Had now thy mother such a lip--like this? - Thou knowest how sweet a thing it is to me. - -This calling upon God to admire Venus, this asking Christ whether his -mother was even half as beautiful as Venus, was to religious people -extremely shocking, of course. And still more shocking seemed the -confession in the latter part of the poem that the knight does not -care whether he has sinned or not, since, after all, he has been more -fortunate than any other man. This expression of exultation after -remorse appeared to reverent minds diabolical, the thought of a new -Satanic School. But really the poet was doing his work excellently, -so far as truth to nature was concerned; and these criticisms were as -ignorant as they were out of place. The real fault of the poem was -only a fault of youth, a too great sensuousness in its descriptive -passages. We might say that Swinburne himself was, during those years, -very much in the position of the knight Tannhäuser; he had gone back -to the worship of the old gods because they were more beautiful and -more joyous than the Christian gods; we may even say that he never -came back from the mountain of Venus. But all this poetry of the first -series was experimental; it was an expression of the Renaissance -feeling that visits the youth of every poet possessing a strong sense -of beauty. Before the emotions can be fully corrected by the intellect, -such poets are apt to offend the proprieties, and even to say things -which the most liberal philosopher would have to condemn. It was at -such a time that in another poem, "Dolores," Swinburne spoke of leaving - - The lilies and languors of virtue - For the raptures and roses of vice, - ---lines that immediately became famous. It was also at such a time that -he uttered the prayer to a pagan ideal: - - Come down and redeem us from virtue. - -But on the other hand, if all poets were to wait for the age of wisdom -before they began to sing, we should miss a thousand beautiful things -of which only youth is capable, wherefore it were best to forgive the -eccentricities for the sake of the incomparable merits. For example, in -the very poem from which these quotations have been made, we have such -splendid verses as these, referring to the worship of Venus in the time -of Nero: - - Dost thou dream, in a respite of slumber, - In a lull of the fires of thy life, - Of the days without name, without number, - When thy will stung the world into strife; - - When, a goddess, the pulse of thy passion - Smote kings as they revelled in Rome, - And they hailed thee re-risen, O Thalassian, - Foam-white, from the foam? - -Thalassian means the sea-born, derived from the Greek word Thalatta, -the sea. Here--Swinburne might be referring to the times of the -Triumvirate, when Cleopatra succeeded in bewitching the great captain -Cæsar and the great captain Antony, and set the world fighting for -her sake. Then we have a reference to the great games in Rome, the -splendour and the horror of the amphitheatre: - - On sands by the storm never shaken, - Nor wet from the washing of tides; - Nor by foam of the waves overtaken, - Nor winds that the thunder bestrides; - But red from the print of thy paces, - Made smooth for the world and its lords, - Ringed round with a flame of fair faces, - And splendid with swords. - -The floor of the amphitheatre was covered with sand, which absorbed the -blood of the combatants. But you will ask what had the games to da with -the goddess? All the Roman festivities of this kind were, to a certain -extent, considered as religious celebrations; they formed parts of -holiday ceremony. - - There the gladiator, pale for thy pleasure, - Drew bitter and perilous breath; - There torments laid hold on the treasure - Of limbs too delicious for death; - - When thy gardens were lit with live torches; - When the world was a steed for thy rein; - When the nations lay prone in thy porches, - Our Lady of Pain. - - When with flame all around him aspirant, - Stood flushed, as a harp-player stands, - The implacable beautiful tyrant, - Rose-crowned, having death in his hands; - And a sound as the sound of loud water - Smote far through the flight of the fires, - And mixed with the lightning of slaughter - A thunder of lyres. - -The reference here in the third, fourth, and fifth lines of the first -of the above stanzas is to the torture of the Christians by Nero in the -amphitheatre. By "limbs too delicious for death" the poet refers to the -torture of young girls. The "live torches" refers to Nero's cruelty in -having hundreds of Christians wrapped about with combustible material, -tied to lofty poles, and set on fire, to serve as torches during a -great festival which he gave in the gardens of his palace. The second -stanza represents him as the destroyer of Rome. It is said that he -secretly had the city set on fire in a dozen different places, in order -that he might be thereby enabled to imagine the scene of the burning of -Troy, as described by Homer. He wanted to write a poem about it; and -it is said that while the city was burning, he watched it from a high -place, at the same time composing and singing a poem on the spectacle. -The "flight of fires" refers of course to the spreading of fire through -Rome. The "lightning of slaughter" means the flashing of swords in -the work of killing, and is explained by the legend that Nero sent -soldiers to kill anybody who tried to put out the fire. Anything was -possible in the times of which Swinburne sings; for the world was then -governed by emperors who were not simply wicked but mad. But what I -wish to point out is that while a poet can write verses so splendid in -sound and colour as those that I have quoted, even such a composition -as "Dolores" must be preserved, with all its good and bad, among the -treasures of English verse. - -In spite of his radicalism in the matter of religion and of ethics, -the Bible has had no more devoted student than Swinburne; he has not -only appreciated all the beauties of its imagery and the strength -of its wonderful English, but he has used for the subjects of not a -few of his pieces, and his more daring pieces, Biblical subjects. -The extraordinary composition "Aholibah" was inspired by a study -of Ezekiel; unfortunately this is one of the pieces especially -inappropriate to the classroom. "A Litany" will suit our purpose -better. It consists of a number of Biblical prophecies, from Isaiah -and other books of the Old Testament, arranged into a kind of -dramatic chorus. God is made the chief speaker, and he is answered -by his people. This is a kind of imitation of a certain part of the -old church-service, in which one band of singers answers another, -such singing being called "antiphonal," and the different parts, -"antiphones." There is very little English verse written in the measure -which Swinburne has adopted for this study, and I hope that you will -notice the peculiar rhythmic force of the stanzas. We need quote only a -few. - - All the bright lights of heaven - I will make dark over thee; - One night shall be as seven - That its skirts may cover thee; - I will send on thy strong men a sword, - On thy remnant a rod: - Ye shall know that I am the Lord, - Saith the Lord God. - -And the people answer: - - All the bright lights of heaven - Thou hast made dark over us; - One night has been as seven, - That its skirt might cover us; - Thou hast sent on our strong men a sword, - On our remnant a rod; - We know that thou art the Lord, - O Lord our God. - -But this submission is not enough; for the Lord replies - - As the tresses and wings of the wind - Are scattered and shaken, - I will scatter all them that have sinned, - There shall none be taken; - As a sower that scattereth seed, - So will I scatter them; - As one breaketh and shattereth a reed, - I will break and shatter them. - -The antiphone is: - - As the wings and the locks of the wind - Are scattered and shaken, - Thou hast scattered all them that have sinned; - There was no man taken; - - As a sower that scattereth seed, - So hast thou scattered us; - As one breaketh and shattereth a reed, - Thou hast broken and shattered us. - -Observe that, simple as this versification looks, there is nothing more -difficult. With, the simplest possible words, the greatest possible -amount of sound and force is here obtained. There are many other -stanzas, and a noteworthy fact is that very few words of Latin origin -are used. Most of the words are Anglo-Saxon; perhaps that is why the -language is so sonorous and strong. But when the poet does use a word -of Latin origin, the result is simply splendid: - - Ye whom your lords loved well, - Putting silver and gold on you, - The inevitable hell - Shall surely take hold on you; - Your gold shall be for a token, - Your staff for a rod; - With the breaking of bands ye are broken, - Saith the Lord God. - -The use of the Latin adjective "inevitable" here gives an extraordinary -effect, the main accent of the line coming on the second syllable of -the word. But, as if to show his power, in the antiphonal response -the poet does not repeat this effect, but goes back to the simple -Anglo-Saxon with astonishing success: - - We whom the world loved well, - Laying silver and gold on us, - The kingdom of death and of hell - Riseth up to take hold on us; - - Our gold is turned to a token, - Our staff to a rod; - Yet shalt thou bind them up that were broken, - O Lord our God. - -Here the substitution of these much simpler words gives nearly as fine -an effect of sound and a grander effect of sense because of the grim -power of the words themselves. - -Besides studies in Biblical English, the poet has made a number of -studies in the Old Anglo-Saxon poets, most of whom were religious men -who liked sad and terrible subjects. In the poem entitled "After Death" -we have an example of this Anglo-Saxon feeling combined with the plain -strength of a later form of language, chiefly Middle English, with here -and there a very quaint use of grammar. It was common in Anglo-Saxon -poetry to depict the horrors of the grave. Here we have a dead man -talking to his own coffin, and the coffin answers him horribly: - - The four boards of the coffin lid - Heard all the dead man did. - . . . . . . . - - "I had fair coins red and white, - And my name was as great light; - - "I had fair clothes green and red, - And strong gold bound round my head. - - "But no meat comes in my mouth, - Now I fare as the worm doth; - - "And no gold binds in my hair, - Now I fare as the blind fare. - - "My live thews were of great strength, - Now am I waxen a span's length; - - "My live sides were full of lust, - Now are they dried with dust." - - The first board spake and said: - "Is it best eating flesh or bread?" - - The second answered it: - "Is wine or honey the more sweet?" - - The third board spake and said: - "Is red gold worth a girl's gold head?" - - The fourth made answer thus: - "All these things are as one with us." - - The dead man asked of them: - "Is the green land stained brown with flame? - - "Have they hewn my son for beasts to eat, - And my wife's body for beasts' meat? - - "Have they boiled my maid in a brass pan, - And built a gallows to hang my man?" - - The boards said to him: - "This is a lewd thing that ye deem. - - "Your wife has gotten a golden bed; - All the sheets are sewn with red. - - "Your son has gotten a coat of silk, - The sleeves are soft as curded milk. - - "Your maid has gotten a kirtle new, - All the skirt has braids of blue. - - "Your man has gotten both ring and glove, - Wrought well for eyes to love." - - The dead man answered thus: - "What good gift shall God give us?" - - The boards answered anon: - "Flesh to feed hell's worm upon." - -I doubt very much whether a more terrible effect could be produced -by any change of language. The poem is an excellent illustration of -the force of the Old English, without admixture of any sort. Do not -think that this is simple and easy work; perhaps no other living -man could have done it equally well. It is not only in these simple -forms, however, that Swinburne shows us the results of his Old English -studies. Two of the most celebrated among his early poems, "The Triumph -of Time" and the poem on the swallow, "Itylus," are imitations of very -old forms of English verse, though the language is luxurious and new. I -have already given you a quotation from the former poem, describing the -poet's love of the sea. I now cite a single stanza of "Itylus." - - Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow, - How can thine heart be full of the spring? - A thousand summers are over and dead. - What hast thou found in the spring to follow? - What hast thou found in thine heart to sing? - What wilt thou do when the summer is shed? - -Probably Swinburne found this measure in early Middle English poetry; -it was used by the old poet Hampole in his "Prick of Conscience." After -it had been forgotten for five hundred years, Swinburne brought it to -life again. Something very close to it forms the splendid and beautiful -chorus of "Atalanta in Calydon": - - When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, - The mother of months in meadow or plain - Fills the shadows and windy places - With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; - And the brown bright nightingale amorous - Is half assuaged for Itylus, - For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, - The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. - -Here as in all other cases, however, the poet has far surpassed his -model. The measures which he revived take new life only because of the -extraordinary charm which he has put into them. - -Passing suddenly from these lighter structures, let us observe the -great power which Swinburne manifests in another kind of revival, the -sixteen syllable line. This is not a modern measure at all. It was used -long ago, but was practically-abandoned and almost forgotten except -by scholars when Swinburne revived it. Nor has he revived it only in -one shape, but in a great many shapes, sometimes using single lines, -sometimes double, or again varying the accent so as to make four or -five different kinds of verse with the same number of syllables. The -poem "The Armada" is a rich example of this re-animation and variation -of the long dead form. In this poem Swinburne describes the god of -Spain as opposed to the god of England, and the most forceful lines are -those devoted to these conceptions. Observe the double rhymes. - - Ay, but _we_ that the wind and _sea_ gird round with shelter - of storms and _waves_, - Know not _him_ that ye worship, _grim_ as dreams that quicken - from dead men's _graves_: - God is _one_ with the sea, the _sun_, the land that nursed us, - the love that _saves._ - - Love whose _heart_ is in ours, and _part_ of all things noble - and all things _fair_: - Sweet and _free_ as the circling _sea_, sublime and kind as the - fostering _air_: - Pure of _shame_ as is England's _name_, whose crowns to come - are as crowns that _were._ - - Now we have, quite easily, a change in the measure. - We have sixteen syllables still, but the whole music is - changed. - - But the Lord of darkness, the God whose love is a flaming - fire, - The master whose mercy fulfils wide hell till its torturers - tire, - He shall surely have heed of his servants who serve him - for love, not hire. - -The double rhymes are not used here. Later on, after the English -victory and the storm, they are used again, for the purpose of -additional force. The address is to the Spaniards and to their gods. - - Lords of _night_, who would breathe your _blight_ on April's - morning and August's _noon_, - God your _Lord_, the condemned, the _abhorred_, sinks hell-ward, - smitten with deathlike _swoon_, - Death's own _dart_ in his hateful _heart_ now thrills, and night - shall receive him _soon._ - God the _Devil_, thy reign of _revel_ is here forever eclipsed - and _fled_; - God the _Liar_, everlasting _fire_ lays hold at last on thee, hand - and _head._ - -Page after page of constantly varying measures of this kind will be -found in the poem--a poem which notwithstanding its strong violence at -times, represents the power of the verse-maker better than almost any -other single piece in the work of his later years. - -From what extracts we have already made, I think you will see enough of -the value and beauty of Swinburne's diction to take in it such interest -as it really deserves. We might continue the study of this author for a -much longer time. But the year is waning, the third term, which is very -short, will soon be upon us; and I wish to turn with you next week to -the study of Browning. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -STUDIES IN BROWNING - - -Robert Browning very much reminds us in some respects of the American -thinker, Emerson. The main doctrine of Emerson is Individualism; -and this happens also to be the main doctrine of Browning. By -Individualism, Emerson and Browning mean self-cultivation. Both -thought that the highest possible duty of every man was to develop the -best powers of his mind and body to the utmost possible degree. Make -yourself strong--that, is the teaching. You are only a man, not a god; -therefore it is very likely that you will do many things which are -very wrong or very foolish. But whatever you do, even if it be wrong, -do it well--do it with all your strength. Even a strong sin may be -better than a cowardly virtue. Weakness is of all things the worst. -When we do wrong, experience soon, teaches us our mistake. And the -stronger the mistake has been, the more quickly will the experience -come which corrects and purifies. Now you understand what I mean by -Individualism--the cultivation by untiring exercise of all our best -faculties, and especially of the force and courage to act. - -This Individualism in Emerson was founded upon a vague Unitarian -pantheism. The same fact is true of Browning's system. According to -both thinkers, all of us are parts of one infinite life, and it is -by cultivating our powers that we can best serve the purpose of the -Infinite Mind. Leaving out the words "mind" and "purpose," which are -anthropomorphisms, this doctrine accords fairly well with evolutional -philosophy; and both writers were, to a certain degree, evolutionists. -But neither yielded much to the melancholy of nineteenth century doubt. -Both were optimists. We may say that Browning's philosophy is an -optimistic pantheism, inculcating effort as the very first and highest -duty of life. But Browning is not especially a philosophical poet. We -find his philosophy flashing out only at long intervals. Knowing this, -we know what he is likely to think under certain circumstances; but his -mission was of another special kind. - -His message to the world was that of an interpreter of life. His art -is, from first to last, a faithful reflection of human nature, the -human nature of hundreds of different characters, good and bad, but -in a large proportion of case's, decidedly bad. Why? Because, as a -great artist, Browning understood very well that you can draw quite as -good a moral from bad actions as from good ones, and his unconscious -purpose is always moral. Such art of picturing character, to be really -great, must be dramatic; and all of Browning's work is dramatic. He -does not say to us, "This man has such and such a character"; he makes -the man himself act and speak so as to show his nature. The second -fact, therefore, to remember about Browning is that artistically he is -a dramatic poet, whose subject is human nature. No other English poet -so closely resembled Shakespeare in this kind of representation as -Browning. - -There is one more remarkable fact about the poet. He always, or nearly -always, writes in the first person. Every one of his poems, with few -exceptions, is a soliloquy. It is not he who speaks, of course; it is -the "I" of some other person's soul. This kind of literary form is -called "monologue." Even the enormous poem of "The Ring and the Book" -is nothing but a gigantic collection of monologues, grouped and ordered -so as to produce one great dramatic effect. - -In the case of Browning, I shall not attempt much illustration by way -of texts, because a great deal of Browning's form could be not only of -no use to you, but would even be mischievous in its influence upon your -use of language. In Browning every rule of rhetoric, of arrangement, is -likely to be broken. The adjective is separated by vast distances from -the noun; the preposition is tumbled after the word to which it refers; -the verb is found at the end of a sentence of which it should have been -the first word. When Carlyle first read the poem called "Sordello," he -said that he could not tell whether "Sordello" was a man or a town or -a book. And the obscurity of "Sordello" is in some places so atrocious -that I do not think anybody in the world can unravel it. Now, most -of Browning's long poems are written in this amazing style. The text -is, therefore, not a good subject for literary study. But it is an -admirable subject for psychological study, emotional study, dramatic -study, and sometimes for philosophic study. Instead of giving extracts, -therefore, from very long poems, I shall give only a summary of the -meaning of the poem itself. If such summary should tempt you to the -terrible labour of studying the original, I am sure that you would be -very tired, but after the weariness, you would be very much surprised -and pleased. - -Providing, of course, that you would understand; and I very much -doubt whether you could understand. I doubt because I cannot always -understand it myself, no matter how hard I try. - -One reason is the suppression of words. Browning leaves out all the -articles, prepositions, and verbs that he can. I met some years ago -a Japanese scholar who had mastered almost every difficulty of the -English language except the articles and prepositions; he had never -been abroad long enough to acquire the habit of using them properly. -But it was his business to write many letters upon technical subjects, -and these letters were always perfectly correct, except for the -extraordinary fact that they contained no articles and very few -prepositions. Much of Browning's poetry reads just in that way. You -cannot say that there is anything wrong; but too much is left to the -imagination. Therefore he has been spoken of as writing in telegraph -language. - -Not to make Browning too formidable at first, let us begin with a few -of his lighter studies, in very simple verse. I will take as the first -example the poem called "A Light Woman." This is a polite word for -courtesan, "light" referring to the moral character. The story, told in -monologue, is the most ordinary story imaginable. It happens in every -great city of the world almost every day, among that class of young men -who play with fire. But there are two classes among these, the strong -and the weak. The strong take life as half a joke, a very pleasant -thing, and pass through many dangers unscathed simply because they -know that what they are doing is foolish; they never consider it in a -serious way. The other class of young men take life seriously. They are -foolish rather through affection and pity than through anything else. -They want a woman's love, and they foolishly ask it from women who -cannot love at all--not, at least, in ninety cases out of a hundred. -They get what seems to them affection, however, and this deludes them. -Then they become bewitched; and the result is much sorrow, perhaps -ruin, perhaps crime, perhaps suicide. In Browning's poem we have a -representative of each type. A strong man, strong in character, has a -young friend who has been fascinated by a woman of a dangerous class. -He says to himself, "My friend will be ruined; he is bewitched; it is -no use to talk to him. I will save him by taking that woman away from -him. I know the kind of man that she would like; she would like such a -man as I." And the rest of the cruel story is told in Browning's verses -too well to need further explanation. - - So far as our story approaches the end, - Which do you pity the most of us three?-- - My friend, or the mistress of my friend - With her wanton eyes, or me? - - My friend was already too good to lose, - And seemed in the way of improvement yet, - When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose, - And over him drew her net. - - When I saw him tangled in her toils, - A shame, said I, if she adds just him - To her nine-and-ninety other spoils, - The hundredth for a whim! - - And before my friend be wholly hers, - How easy to prove to him, I said, - An eagle's the game her pride prefers, - Though she snaps at a wren instead! - - So I gave her eyes my own eyes to take, - My hand sought hers as in earnest need, - And round she turned for my noble sake, - And gave me herself indeed. - - The eagle am I, with my fame in the world, - The wren is he, with his maiden face. - You look away, and your lip is curled? - Patience, a moment's space! - - For see, my friend goes shaking and white; - He eyes me as the basilisk: - I have turned, it appears, his day to night, - Eclipsing his sun's disk. - - And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief: - "Though I love her--that, he comprehends-- - One should master one's passions (love, in chief), - And be loyal to one's friends!" - - And she--she lies in my hand as tame - As a pear late basking over a wall; - Just a touch to try, and off it came; - 'Tis mine,--can I let it fall? - - With no mind to eat it, that's the worst! - Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist? - 'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst - When I gave its stalk a twist. - - And I,--what I seem to my friend, you see: - What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess: - What I seem to myself, do you ask of me? - No hero, I confess. - - 'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, - And matter enough to save one's own: - Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals - He played with for bits of stone! - - One likes to show the truth for the truth; - That the woman was light is very true: - But suppose she says,--Never mind that youth! - What wrong have I done to you? - - Well, anyhow, here the story stays, - So far at least as I understand; - And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays, - Here's a subject made to your hand! - -Now let us see how much there is to study in this simple-seeming poem. -It will give us an easy and an excellent example of the way in which -Browning must be read; and it will require at least an hour's chat to -explain properly. For, really, Browning never writes simply. - -Here we have a monologue. It is uttered to the poet by a young man with -whom he has been passing an hour in conversation. We can guess from -the story something about the young man; we can almost see him. We -know that he must be handsome, tall, graceful, and strong; and full of -that formidable coolness which the sense of great strength gives--great -strength of mind and will rather than of body, but probably both. Let -us hear him talk. "You see that friend of mine over there?" he says to -the poet. "He hates me now. When he looks at me his lips turn white. I -can't say that he is wrong to hate me, but really I wanted to do him a -service. He got fascinated by that woman of whom I was speaking; she -was playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse or with a bird before -killing it. Well, I thought to myself that my friend was in great -danger, and that it was better for me to try to save him. You see, he -is not the kind of man that a woman of that class could fancy; he is -too small, too feeble, too gentle; they like strong men only, men they -are afraid of. So, just for my friend's sake, I made love to her one -day, and she left him immediately and came to me. I have to take care -of her now, and I do not like the trouble at all. I never cared about -the woman herself; she is not the kind of woman that I admire; I did -all this only to save my friend. And my friend does not understand. He -thinks that I took the woman from him because I was in love with her; -he thinks it quite natural that I should love her (which I don't); but -he says that even in love a man ought to be true to his friends." - -At this point of the story the young man sees that the poet is -disgusted by what he has heard, but this does not embarrass him; he -is too strong a character to be embarrassed at all, and he resumes: -"Don't be impatient--I want to tell you the whole thing. You see, I -have destroyed all the happiness of my friend merely through my desire -to do him a service. He hates me, and he does not understand. He thinks -that I was moved by lust; and everybody else thinks the same thing. Of -course it is not true. But now there is another trouble. The woman does -not understand. She thinks that I was really in love with her; and I -must get rid of her as soon as I can. If I tell her that I made love -to her only in order to save my friend, she will say, 'What had that -to do with your treatment of me? I did not do you any harm; why should -you have amused yourself by trying to injure and to deceive me?' If she -says that, I don't know how I shall be able to answer. So it seems that -I have made a serious mistake; I have lost my friend, I have wantonly -wronged a woman whose only fault toward me was to love me, and I have -made for myself a bad reputation in society. People cannot understand -the truth of the thing." - -This is the language of the man, and he perhaps thinks that he is -telling the truth. But is he telling the truth? Does any man in this -world ever tell the exact truth about himself? Probably not. No man -really understands himself so well as to be able to tell the exact -truth about himself. It is possible that this man believes himself to -be speaking truthfully, but he is certainly telling a lie, a half-truth -only. We have his exact words, but the exact language of the speaker -in any one of Browning's monologues does not tell the truth; it only -suggests the truth. We must find out the real character of the person, -and the real facts of the case, from our own experience of human -nature. And to understand the real meaning behind this man's words, -you must ask yourselves whether you would believe such a story if it -were told to you in exactly the same way by some one whom you know. I -shall answer for you that you certainly would not. - -And now we come to the real meaning. The young man saw his friend -desperately in love with a woman who did not love that friend. The -woman was beautiful. Looking at her, he thought to himself, "How easily -I could take her away from my friend!" Then he thought to himself -that not only would this be a cause of enmity between himself and -his friend, but such an action would be severely judged by all his -acquaintances. Could he be justified? When a man wishes to do what is -wrong, he can nearly always invent a moral reason for doing it. So -this young man finds a moral reason. He says, "My friend is in danger; -therefore I will sacrifice myself for him. It will be quite gratifying -both to my pride and to my pleasure to take that woman from him; then I -shall tell everybody why I did it. My friend would like to kill me, of -course, but he is too weak to avenge himself." He follows this course, -and really tries to persuade himself that he is justified in following -it. When he says that he did not care for the woman, he only means that -he is now tired of her. He has indulged his lust and his vanity by the -most treacherous and brutal conduct; yet he tries to tell the world -that he is a moral man, a martyr, a calumniated person. Such is the -real meaning of his apology. - -Nevertheless we cannot altogether dislike this young man. He is selfish -and proud and not quite truthful, but these are faults of youth. On -the other hand we can feel that he is very gifted, very intelligent, -and very brave, and, what is still better, that he is ashamed of -himself. He has done wrong, and the very fact that he lies about what -he has done shows us that he is ashamed. He is not all bad. If he -does not tell us the whole truth, he tells a great deal of it; and we -feel that as he becomes older he will become better. He has abused -his power, and he feels sorry for having abused it; some day he will -probably become a very fine man. We feel this; and, curiously, we -like him better than we like the man whom he has wronged. We like him -because of his force; we despise the other man because of his weakness. -It would be a mistake to do this if we did not feel that the man who -has done wrong is really the better man of the two. What he has done is -not at all to be excused, but we believe that he will redeem his fault -later on. This type is an English or American type--perhaps it might be -a German type. There is nothing Latin about it. Its faults are of the -Northern race. - -But now let us take an unredeemable type, the purely bad, the -hopelessly wicked, a type not of the North this time, but purely -Latin. As the Latin races have been civilised for a very much longer -time than the Northern races, they have higher capacities in certain -directions. They are physically and emotionally much more attractive to -us. The beauty of an Italian or French or Spanish woman is incomparably -more delicate, more exquisite, than the beauty of the Northern women. -The social intelligence of the Italian or Spaniard or Frenchman is -something immeasurably superior to the same capacity in the Englishman, -the Scandinavian, or the German. The Latins have much less moral -stamina, but imaginatively, æsthetically, emotionally, they have -centuries of superiority. The Northern races were savages when these -were lords of the world. But the vices of civilisation are likely to -be developed in them to a degree impossible to the Northern character. -If their good qualities are older and finer than ours, so their bad -qualities will be older and stronger and deeper. At no time was the -worst side of man more terribly shown than during the Renaissance. -Here is an illustration. We know that for this man there is no hope; -the evil predominates in his nature to such an extent that we can see -nothing at all of the good except his fine sense of beauty. And even -this sense becomes a curse to him. - -MY LAST DUCHESS - - That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, - Looking as if she were alive. I call - That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands - Worked busily a day, and there she stands. - Will't please you sit and look at her? I said - "Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read - Strangers like you that pictured countenance, - The depth and passion of its earnest glance, - But to myself they turned (since none puts by - The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) - And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, - How such a glance came there; so, not the first - Are you to turn and ask thus. - -Let us paraphrase the above. It is a duke of Ferrara who speaks. -The person to whom he is speaking is a marriage-maker, a _nakodo_ -employed by the prince of a neighbouring state. For the duke wishes -to marry the daughter of that prince. When the match-maker comes, the -duke draws a curtain from a part of the wall of the room in which the -two men meet, and shows him, painted upon the wall, the picture of a -wonderfully beautiful woman. Then the duke says to the messenger: "That -is a picture of my last wife. It is a beautiful picture, is it not? -Well, it was painted by that wonderful monk, Frà Pandolf. I mention his -name on purpose, because everybody who sees that picture for the first -time wants to know why it is so beautiful, and would ask me questions -if they were not afraid. I have shown it to several other people; but -nobody, except myself, dares draw the curtain that covers it. Yes, Frà -Pandolf painted it all in one day; and the expression of the smiling -face still makes everybody wonder. You wonder; you want to know why -that woman looks so charming, so bewitching in the picture." - -Now listen to the explanation. It is worthy of the greatest of the -villains of Shakespeare: - - Sir, 'twas not - Her husband's presence only, called that spot - Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps - Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps - Over my lady's wrist too much," or, "Paint - Must never hope to reproduce the faint - Half-flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff - Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough - For calling up that spot of joy. She had - A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, - Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er - She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. - Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, - The dropping of the daylight in the West, - The bough of cherries some officious fool - Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule - She rode with round the terrace--all and each - Would draw from her alike the approving speech, - Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked - Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked - My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name - With anybody's gift. - -The explanation at least shows us the sweet and childish character -of the woman, which the speaker tries to describe as folly: "It was -not her gladness at seeing me, her husband, that made her smile so -beautifully, that brought the rosy dimple to her cheek. Probably the -painter said something to flatter her, and she smiled at him. She was -ready to smile at anything, at anybody, she was altogether too easily -pleased; she liked everything and everybody that she saw, and she took -a pleasure in looking at everything and at everybody. Nothing made any -difference to her. She would smile at the jewel which I gave her, but -she would also smile at the sunset, at a bunch of cherries, at her -mule, at anything or anybody. Any matter would bring the dimple to her -cheek, or the blush of joy. I do not blame her for thanking people, but -she had a way of thanking people that seemed to show that she was just -as much pleased by what a stranger did for her, as by the fact that -she had become the wife of a man like myself, head of a family nine -hundred years old." Notice how the speaker calls the man who gave his -wife a bough with cherries upon it "an officious fool." We can begin to -perceive what was the matter. He was insanely jealous of her, without -any cause; and she, poor little soul! did not know anything about it. -She was too innocent to know. The duke does not want anybody else to -know, either; he is trying to give quite a different explanation of -what happened: - - Who'd stoop to blame - This sort of trifling? Even had you skill - In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will - Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this - Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, - Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let - Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set - Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, - --E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose - Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, - Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without - Much the same smile? - -This means, "A man like me cannot afford to degrade himself by showing -what he feels under such circumstances; a man like me cannot say to a -woman, 'I am greatly vexed and pained when I see you smile at any one -except myself.' If I were to speak to her about the matter at all, she -might think I was jealous. Of course she would insult me by making -excuses, by saying that she did not know, which would be nothing less -than daring to oppose her judgment to mine. To speak about my feelings -in any case would require a skill in the use of language such as only -poets or such vulgar people possess. I am a prince, not a poet, and I -shall never disgrace myself by telling anybody, especially a woman, -that I do not like this or I do not like that. So I said nothing. -Perhaps you think that she did not smile when she saw me. That would be -a mistake; she always smiled when I passed. But she smiled at everybody -else in exactly the same way." He found the smile unbearable at last, -and the poet lets him tell us the rest in a very few words: - - This grew; I gave commands; - Then all smiles stopped together. - -In other words, he caused her to be killed; told somebody to cut her -throat, probably, or to give her a drink of poison, all without having -ever allowed her to know how or why he had been displeased with her. -And he is not a bit sorry. No, looking at the dead woman's picture, in -company with the marriage-maker, he coolly expresses his admiration -for it as a word of realistic art--as much as to say, "You can see -for yourself how beautiful she was; but that did not prevent me from -killing her." Listen to his atrocious chatter: - - There she stands - As if alive. Will't please you rise? Well meet - The company below, then. I repeat, - The Count your master's known munificence - Is ample warrant that no just pretence - Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; - Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed - At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go - Together down, sir.... Notice Neptune, though, - Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, - Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! - -Evidently both had seated themselves in front of the picture. The count -says, "Now she is as if alive; and we shall go downstairs together. -As for the matter of the new marriage, you can tell your master that -I am quite sure so generous a man will not make any objection to my -just demands for a dowry--though, of course, it is his daughter that -I principally want." Here the messenger bows, to allow the duke to go -first downstairs. He answers: "No, we can go down together this time." -On the way, probably at a turn of the grand staircase, the count points -to a fine bronze statue, representing the god of the sea, and asks the -man to admire it. That is all. - -This is a Renaissance character, and a very terrible one. But it is -also very complicated. We must think a little before we can even guess -the whole range and depth of this man's wickedness. Even then we can -only guess, because he lets us know only so much about him as he wishes -us to know. Every word that he says is carefully measured in its pride, -in its falsehood, in its cruelty, in its cunning. Just this much he -tells us: "I had a beautiful wife, but you must not think that I can -be influenced by beauty. Look at the picture of her. You would worship -a woman like that. But I cut her throat. Why did I do it? Just because -I did not like her way of smiling; she was too tender-hearted to love. -And I would do the same thing to-morrow to any one who displeased me. -Some people will think that I am jealous; let them think so. But you -had better tell the girl who now expects to become my wife what kind of -person I am." - -How much of this is the truth? Probably more than half. Undoubtedly -the man was jealous, and he wishes to deceive us in regard to the -whole extent of that jealousy. He has no shame or remorse for crime, -but he has shame of appearing to be weak. Jealousy is a weakness; -therefore he does not like to be suspected of being weak in that way. -He gives a strong suggestion, that he must not have future cause for -jealousy--nothing more. But the fact that he most wishes to have -understood is that his wife must be a wicked woman, a vulture among -vultures. He does not want a dove. And he hated his first wife much -more because she was good and gentle and loving, than because she -smiled at other people. You may ask, why should he hate a woman for -being good? The answer is simple. In the courts of such princes as the -Borgias, a good woman could only do mischief. She could not be used for -cunning and wicked purposes. She would have refused to poison a guest, -or to entice a man to make love to her only in order to get that man -killed; and as you will discover if you read the terrible history of -the Italian republics, all these things had to be done. Morality was -a hindrance to such men. Power remained only to cunning and strength; -all kind-heartedness was regarded as criminal weakness. When you have -become familiar with the real history of Ferrara, you will perceive the -terrible truth of this poem. - -The most unpleasant fact still remains to-be noticed. The wickedness of -this man is not a wickedness of ignorance. It is a wickedness of highly -cultivated intelligence. The man is an artist, a judge of beauty, a -connoisseur. To suppose that cultivation makes a naturally wicked -man better is a great educational mistake, as Herbert Spencer showed -long ago. Education does not make a man more moral; it may give him -power to be more immoral. Italian history furnishes us with the most -extraordinary illustrations of this fact. Some of the wickedest of the -Italian princes were great poets, great artists, great scholars, and -great patrons of learning. Among the monsters, we have, for example, -the terrible Malatesta of Rimini, whose life was given to us some years -ago by the French antiquarian Yriarte. He wrote the most delicate and -tender poetry, and he committed crimes so terrible that they cannot be -named. When he laid his hand, however lightly, upon a horse, the animal -began to tremble from head to foot. Yet he could love, and be the most -devoted of gallants. Again, you know the case of Benvenuto Cellini, a -splendid artist and an atrocious murderer, who actually tells us the -pleasure that he felt in killing. And there were the Borgias, all of -them, father, daughter, and brothers, who committed every crime and -never knew remorse, yet who were beautiful and gifted lovers of art -and poetry. So in this case Browning is true to life when he shows us -the duke pointing out the beauty of pictures and statues, even in the -same moment that he is uttering horrors. There is a strange mixture -of the extremes of the bad and of the good in the higher types of the -Italian race--a mingling that gives us much to think about in regard to -moral problems. Probably that is why a very large number of Browning's -studies are of the dark side of Italian character. - -Now we can take a lighter subject. It is not black, it is only gloomy, -and the interest of it will chiefly be found in the extraordinary moral -comment made by Browning. This is one of the few studies which is not -all written in the first person. It is called "The Statue and the -Bust." It is a tale or tradition of Florence. - -The legend is that a certain duke of Florence, by name Ferdinand, -attempted to captivate the young bride of a Florentine nobleman named -Riccardi. But Riccardi, a very keen man, observed what was going on; -and he said to his wife very quietly and firmly, "This is your room -in my house; you shall stay in this room and never leave it during -the rest of your life, never leave it until you are carried to the -graveyard." So she had to live in that room. But the duke, who was a -very handsome man, got a splendid bronze statue of himself on horseback -erected in the public street opposite the window of the lady's room, -so that she could always look at him. Then she had a bust of herself -made and placed above the window, so that the duke could see the bust -whenever he rode by. That is all the story--but not all the story as -Browning tells it. Browning tells us the secret thoughts and feelings -of the imprisoned wife and of the duke. At first the two intended to -run away together. It would have been an easy matter. The woman would -only have had to dress herself like a boy, and drop from the window, -and get help from the duke to reach his palace. The duke thought to -himself, "I can get this woman whenever I wish; but it will be better -to wait a little while; then we can manage to live as we please without -making too much trouble." So they both waited till they became old. -Then the woman called an artist and said: - - "Make me a face on the window there, - Waiting as ever, mute the while, - My love pass below in the square! - - "And let me think that it may beguile - Dreary days which the dead must spend - Down in their darkness under the aisle, - - "To say, 'What matters it at the end? - I did no more while my heart was warm - Than does that image, my pale-faced friend.'" - -She thinks to console herself a moment by saying, "What is life worth? -When I was young and beautiful and impulsive, I did no more harm or -good, no more right or wrong, than the bust that resembles me. It is a -comfort to think that I did nothing wrong." But is that enough? - - "Where is the use of the lip's red charm, - The heaven of hair, the pride of the brow, - And the blood that blues the inside arm-- - - "Unless we turn, as the soul knows how, - The earthly gift to an end divine? - A lady of clay is as good, I trow." - -Somehow or other she feels that it is no consolation not to have done -wrong. She wonders what was the use of being so beautiful, if she could -not make use of that beauty. The bust itself lived just as much as she -did. And all this is true; but she is nearer to living than the duke. -What does he say? - - "Set me on horseback here aloft, - Alive, as the crafty sculptor can, - - "In the very square I have crossed so oft: - That men may admire, when future suns - Shall touch the eyes to a purpose soft, - - "While the mouth and the brow stay brave in bronze-- - Admire and say, 'When he was alive - How he would take his pleasure once!'" - -Nothing else; he only wants to be admired after his death, to have -people say, looking at his statue, "What a splendid looking man he must -have been, how the women must have loved him!" And they both died, and -were buried in the church near where they lived; and the English poet -Browning went to that church, and heard the story, and thought about -it, and gives us the moral of it. It is a startling moral and needs -explanation. I think you will be shocked when you first hear it, but -you will not be shocked if you think about it. The following verses are -the poet's own reflections: - - So! While these wait the trump of doom, - How do their spirits pass, I wonder, - Nights and days in the narrow room? - - Still, I suppose, they sit and ponder - What a gift life was, ages ago, - Six steps out of the chapel yonder. - - Only they see not God, I know, - Nor all that chivalry of his, - The soldier-saints who, row on row, - - Burn upward each to his point of bliss-- - -He condemns them. Why? Because they did not do anything. Anything? You -do not mean to say that they ought to have committed adultery? - - I hear you reproach--"But delay was best, - For their end was a crime,"--Oh, a crime will do - As well, I reply, to serve for a test, - - As a virtue golden through and through, - Sufficient to vindicate itself - And prove its worth at a moment's view! - - Must a game be played for the sake of pelf? - . . . . . . . . - The true has no value beyond the sham: - As well the counter as coin, I submit, - When your table's a hat, and your prize, a dram. - - Stake your counter as boldly every whit, - Venture as warily, use the same skill, - Do your best, whether winning or losing it, - - If you choose to play!--is my principle. - Let a man contend to the uttermost - For his life's set prize, be it what it will! - - The counter our lovers staked was lost - As surely as if it were lawful coin; - And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost - - Is the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, - Though the end in sight was a vice, I say. - -In order to understand the full force of this strange ethical -philosophy, you must remember that the word "counter" is here a -gambling term; it is used for the round buttons or disks of bone or -ivory, not in themselves money, but representing money to be eventually -received or paid. Remembering this, we can simplify Browning; this is -what he says: - -"These people were the most contemptible of sinners; they deliberately -threw their lives away. They were afraid to commit a sin. To wish -to commit a sin and to be afraid to commit it, is much worse than -committing it. All their lives those two dreamed and purposed and -desired a sin; they wanted to commit adultery. If they had committed -the crime, there would have been some hope for them; there is always -hope for the persons who are not afraid. When a young man begins to -doubt what his parents and teachers tell him about virtue, it is -sometimes a good thing for him to test this teaching by disobeying it. -Human experience has proclaimed in all ages that theft and murder and -adultery and a few other things can never give good results. It is not -easy to explain the whole why and wherefore to a young person who is -both self-willed and ignorant. But let him try for himself what murder -means, or theft means, or adultery means, and after he has experienced -the consequences, he will begin to perceive what moral teaching -signifies. If he is not killed, or imprisoned for life, he will very -possibly become wise and good at a later time. Now in regard to those -two lovers, they wanted to have an experience; and the experience might -have been so valuable to them that it would have given them a new -soul--but they were afraid; they were criminals without profit; and -their great sin was that of being too cowardly to commit sin. Never -will God forgive such weakness as that!" Of course all great religions -teach that the man who wishes to do wrong does the wrong in wishing -as truly as if he did it with his body; there is only a difference -of degree. Now Browning goes a little further than such religious -teaching; he tells us that only wishing under certain circumstances may -be incomparably worse than doing, because the doing brings about its -punishment in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, and the punishment -becomes a moral lesson, forcing the sufferer to think about the moral -aspect of what he has done. That is why Browning says, "A sin will do -to serve for a test." But only to wish to do, and not do, leaves a -person in a state of inexperience. There is an old proverb, which is -quite true: "Any man can become rich who is willing to pay the price." -With equal truth it might be said, "You can do anything that you please -in this world, if you are willing to pay the price, but the price of -acts and thoughts is fixed by the Eternal Powers, and you must not try -to cheat them." - -Philosophers will tell you that our moral laws are not always perfect, -that man cannot make a perfect code invariably applicable to all times -and circumstances. This is true. But it is also true that there is a -higher morality than human codes, and when human law fails to give -justice, a larger law occasionally steps in to correct the failure. -Browning delights in giving us examples of this kind, extraordinary -moral situations, wrong by legal opinion, right by the larger law of -nature, which is sometimes divine. A startling story which he tells us, -entitled "Ivàn Ivànovitch," will show us how he treats such themes. -Ivàn, the hero of the story, is a wood-cutter, who works all day in -his native village, to support a large family. He is the most highly -respected of the young peasants, the strong man of the community, a -good father and a good husband. One day, while he is working out of -doors in the bitter cold, a sledge drawn by a maddened and dying horse -enters the village, with a half dead woman on it. The woman is the -wife of Ivàn's best friend, and she has come back alone, although she -had taken her three children with her on the homeward journey. Ivàn -helps her into the house, gives her something warm to drink, caresses -her, comforts her, and asks at last for her story. The sledge had been -pursued by wolves, and the wolves had eaten the three children, one -after another. Ivàn listens very carefully to the mother's relation of -how the three children were snatched out of the sledge by the wolves. -As soon as she has told every one in her own way, Ivàn takes his sharp -axe, and with one blow cuts the woman's head off. To the other peasants -he simply observes, "God told me to do that; I could not help it." Of -course Ivàn knew that the woman had lied. The wolves had not taken the -children away from her: she had dropped one child after another out of -the sledge in order to save her own miserable life. - -At the news of the murder, the authorities of the village all hurry -to the scene. There is the dead body without its head, and the blood -flowing, or rather crawling like a great red snake over the floor. The -lord of the village declares that Ivàn must be executed for this crime. -The Stàrosta, or head man, takes the same view of the situation. But, -just as Ivàn is about to be arrested, the old priest of the village, -the Pope as the peasants call him, a man more than a hundred years of -age, comes into the assembly and speaks. He is the only man who has a -word to say on behalf of Ivàn, but what he says is extraordinary in its -force and primitive wisdom. All of it would be too long to quote. I -give you only the conclusion, which immediately results in Ivàn's being -acquitted both by law and by public opinion. - - "A mother bears a child: perfection is complete - So far in such a birth. Enabled to repeat - The miracle of life,--herself was born so just - A type of womankind, that God sees fit to trust - Her with the holy task of giving life in turn. - . . . . . . . . . - How say you, should the hand God trusted with life's - torch - Kindled to light the word--aware of sparks that scorch, - Let fall the same? Forsooth, her flesh a fire-flake stings: - The mother drops the child! Among what monstrous - things - Shall she be classed?" - -Of course the old Pope is speaking from the Christian point of view -when he says that perfection is complete in a birth; he refers to the -orthodox belief that the soul of man is created a perfect thing of -its kind, a perfect spiritual entity, to be further made or marred by -its own acts and thoughts. The mother does not give birth only to a -body, but to a soul also, expressly made by God to fit that body. She -is allowed to repeat the miracle of creation thus far; as mother she -is creator, but only in trust. She has made the vessel of the soul; -her most sacred duty is to guard that little body from all harm. A -mother who would even let her child fall to escape pain herself would -be incomparably more ignoble than the most savage of animals. The rule -is that during motherhood even the animal-mother for the time being -becomes the ruling power; the male animal then allows her to have her -own way in all things. - - "Because of motherhood, each male - Yields to his partner place, sinks proudly in the scale: - His strength owned weakness, wit--folly, and courage-- - fear, - Beside the female proved male's mistress--only here. - The fox-dam, hunger-pined, will slay the felon sire - Who dares assault her whelp: the beaver, stretched on fire, - Will die without a groan: no pang avails to wrest - Her young from where they hide--her sanctuary breast. - What's here then? Answer me, thou dead one, as, I trow, - Standing at God's own bar, he bids thee answer now! - Thrice crowned wast thou--each crown of pride, a child-- - thy charge! - Where are they? Lost? Enough: no need that thou - enlarge - On how or why the loss: life left to utter 'lost' - Condemns itself beyond appeal. The soldier's post - Guards from the foe's attack the camp he sentinels: - That he no traitor proved, this and this only tells-- - Over the corpse of him trod foe to foe's success. - Yet--one by one thy crowns torn from thee--thou no less - To scare the world, shame God,--livedst! I hold he saw - The unexampled sin, ordained the novel law, - Whereof first instrument was first intelligence - Found loyal here. I hold that, failing human sense, - The very earth had oped, sky fallen, to efface - Humanity's new wrong, motherhood's first disgrace. - Earth oped not, neither fell the sky, for prompt was found - A man and man enough, head-sober and heart-sound, - Ready to hear God's voice, resolute to obey. - . . . . . . . . . - - I proclaim - Ivàn Ivànovitch God's servant!" - -On hearing this speech the peasantry are at once convinced; the Russian -lord orders the proclamation to be made that the murderer is forgiven, -and the head man of the village goes to Ivàn's house to bring the good -news. He expects to find Ivàn on his knees at prayer, very much afraid -of the police and coming punishment. But on opening the door the head -man finds Ivàn playing with his five children, and making for them a -toy-church out of little bits of wood. It has not even entered into the -mind of Ivàn that he did anything wrong. And when they tell him, "You -are free, you will not be punished," he answers them in surprise, "Why -should I not be free? Why should you talk of my not being punished?" To -this simple mind there is nothing to argue about. He has only done what -God told him to do, punished a crime against Nature. - -The story is a strange one; but not stranger than many to be found in -Browning. None of his moral teachings are at discord with any form -of true religion, yet they are mostly larger than the teachings of -any creed. Perhaps this is why he has never offended the religious -element even while preaching doctrines over its head. The higher -doctrines thus proclaimed might be anywhere accepted; they might be -also questioned; but no one would deny their beauty and power. We may -assume that Browning usually considers all incidents in their relation -to eternal law, not to one place or time, but to all places and to all -times, because the results of every act and thought are infinite. This -doctrine especially is quite in harmony with Oriental philosophy, even -when given such a Christian shape as it takes in the beautiful verses -of "Abt Vogler." - -Abt Vogler was a great musician, a great improviser. Here let me -explain the words "improvise" and "improvisation," as to some of -you they are likely to be unfamiliar, at least in the special sense -given to them in this connection. An improvisation in poetry means a -composition made instantly, without preparation, at request or upon -a sudden impulse. In Japanese literary history, I am told, there are -some very interesting examples of improvisation. For example, the -story of that poetess who, on being asked to compose a poem including -the mention of something square, something round, and something -triangular, wrote those celebrated lines about unfastening one corner -of a mosquito-curtain in order to look at the moon. Among Europeans -improvisation is now almost a lost art in poetry, except among the -Italians. Some Italian families still exist in which the art of -poetical improvisation has been cultivated for hundreds of years. But -in music it is otherwise. Improvisation in music is greatly cultivated -and esteemed. Most of our celebrated musicians have been great -improvisers. Those who heard such music would regret that it could not -be reproduced, not even by the musician himself. It was a beautiful -creation, forgotten as soon as made, because never written down. - -Now you know what Browning means by improvisation in his poem "Abt -Vogler." The musician has been improvising, and the music, made only -to be forgotten, is so beautiful that he himself bitterly regrets the -evanescence of it. We may quote a few of the verses in which this -regret is expressed; they are very fine and very strange, written in a -measure which I think you have never seen before. - - Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build, - Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work, - Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when - Solomon willed - Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk, - Man, brute, reptile, fly,--alien of end and of aim, - Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep - removed,-- - Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable - Name, - And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess - he loved! - -The musician is comparing the music that he makes to magical -architecture; he refers to the Mohammedan legends of Solomon. Solomon -knew all magic; and all men, animals, angels, and demons obeyed him. -God has ninety-nine names by which the faithful may speak of him, but -the hundredth name is secret, the Name ineffable. He who knows it can -do all things by the utterance of it. When Solomon pronounced it, -all the spirits of the air and of heaven and of hell would rush to -obey him. And if he wanted a palace or a city built, he had only to -order the spirits to build it, and they would build it immediately, -finishing everything between the rising and the setting of the sun. -That is the story which the musician refers to. He has the power of the -master-musician over sounds; but the sounds will not stay. - - Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of - mine, - This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned - to raise! - Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and - now combine, - Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his - praise! - And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to - hell, - Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things, - Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace - well, - Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs. - -The musician wishes that his architecture of sound could remain, as -remained the magical palace that Solomon made the spirits build to -please Queen Balkis. He remembers how beautiful his music was; he -remembers how the different classes of notes combined to make it, just -as the different classes of spirits combined to make the palace of -Solomon. There the deep notes, the bass chords, sank down thundering -like demon-spirits working to make the foundation in the very heart -of the earth. And the treble notes seemed to soar up like angels to -make the roof of gold, and to tip all the points of the building with -glorious fires of illumination. Truly the palace of sounds was built, -but it has vanished away like a mirage; the builder cannot reproduce -it. Why not? Well, because great composition of any kind is not merely -the work of man; it is an inspiration from God, and the mystery of such -inspired composition is manifested in music as it is manifested in no -other art. For the harmonies, the combinations of tones, are mysteries, -and must remain mysterious even for the musician himself. Who can -explain them? - - But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can, - Existent behind all laws, that made them, and lo, they - are! - And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to - man, - That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, - but a star. - Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is naught: - It is everywhere in the world--loud, soft, and all is said: - Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought: - And there! Ye have heard and seen: consider and bow - the head! - -But for the same reason that they are mysteries and cannot be -understood because they relate to the infinite, they are eternal. -That is the consolation. The musician need not regret that the music -composed in a moment of divine inspiration cannot be remembered; he -need not regret that it has been forgotten. Forgotten it is by the man -who made it; forgotten it is by the people who heard it; forgotten it -is therefore by all mankind. Nevertheless it is eternal, because the -Universal Soul that inspired it never forgets anything. I think that -the verse in which this beautiful thought is expressed--the verse that -contains the whole of Browning's religion, is the most beautiful thing -in all his work. But you must judge for yourselves: - - All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; - Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor - power - Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the - melodist - When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. - The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too - hard, - The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, - Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; - Enough that he heard it once; we shall hear it by and by. - -By the phrase "when eternity affirms the conception of an hour," the -poet means when we ourselves, in a future and higher state of being, -shall see the worth of our good acts and thoughts proved by the fact -that they survive along with us. Eternity affirms them--that is, -recognises them as worthy of immortality by suffering them to exist. -This line gives us the key to the philosophy of the rest. It is quite -in harmony with Buddhist philosophy. Browning holds that all good acts -and thoughts are eternal, whether men in this world remember them or -not. But what of the bad acts and thoughts? Are they also eternal? Not -in the same sense. Evil acts and thoughts do indeed exert an influence -reaching enormously into the future, but it is an influence that must -gradually wane, it is a Karma that must become exhausted. As for -regretting that nobody sees or knows the good that we do, that is very -foolish. The good will never die; it will be seen again--perhaps only -in millions of years, yet this should make no difference. To the dead -the time of a million years and the time of a moment may be quite the -same thing. - -But you must not suppose that Browning lives much in the regions of -abstract philosophy. He is human in the warmest way, and very much -alive to impressions of sense. Not even Swinburne is at times more -voluptuous, but the voluptuous in Browning is always natural and -healthy as well as artistic. I must quote to you some passages from the -wonderful little dramatic poem entitled "In a Gondola." You know that a -gondola is a peculiar kind of boat which in Venice takes the place of -carriages or vehicles of any kind. In the city of Venice there are no -streets to speak of, but canals only, so that people go from one place -to another only by boat. These boats or gondolas of Venice are not -altogether unlike some of the old-fashioned Japanese pleasure-boats; -they have a roof and windows and rooms, and it is possible to travel -in them without being seen by anybody. In the old days of Venice, many -secret meetings between lovers and many secret meetings of conspirators -were held in such boats. The poet is telling us of the secret meeting -of two lovers, at the risk of death, for if the man is seen he will -certainly be killed. At the end of the poem he actually is killed; the -moment he steps on shore he is stabbed, because he has been watched by -the spies of a political faction that hates him. But this is not the -essential part of the poem at all. The essential part of the poem is -the description, of the feelings and thoughts of these two people, -loving in the shadow of death; this is very beautiful and almost -painfully true to nature. We get also not a few glimpses of the old -life and luxury of Venice in the course of the narrative. As the boat -glides down the long canals, between the high ranges of marble palaces -rising from the water, the two watch the windows of the houses that -they know, and talk about what is going on inside. - - Past we glide, and past, and past! - What's that poor Agnese doing - Where they make the shutters fast? - Grey Zanobi's just a-wooing - To his couch the purchased bride: - Past we glide! - - Past we glide, and past, and past! - Why's the Pucci Palace flaring - Like a beacon to the blast? - Guests by hundreds, not one caring - If the dear host's neck were wried: - Past we glide! - -It is the man who is here looking and talking and criticising. The -woman is less curious; she is thinking only of love, and what she says -in reply has become famous in English literature; we might say that -this is the very best we have in what might be called the "literature -of kissing." - - The moth's kiss, first! - Kiss me as if you made believe - You were not sure, this eve, - How my face, your flower, had pursed - Its petals up; so, here and there - You brush it, till I grow aware - Who wants me, and wide ope I burst. - - The bee's kiss, now! - Kiss me as if you entered gay - My heart at some noonday, - A bud that dares not disallow - The claim, so all is rendered up, - And passively its shattered cup - Over your head to sleep I bow. - -Of course you know all about the relation of insects to flowers--how -moths, beetles, butterflies, and other little creatures, by entering -flowers in order to suck the honey, really act as fertilisers, carrying -the pollen from the male flower to the female flower. It is the use of -this fact from natural history that makes these verses so exquisite. -The woman's mouth is the flower; the lips of the man, the visiting -insect. "Moth" is the name which we give to night butterflies, that -visit flowers in the dark. What the woman says is this in substance: -"Kiss me with my mouth shut first, like a night moth coming to a -flower all shut up, and not knowing where the opening is." The second -comparison of the bee suggests another interesting fact in the relation -between insects and flowers. A bee or wasp, on finding it difficult -to enter a flower from the top, so as to get at the honey, will cut -open the side of the flower, and break its way in. The woman is asking -simply, "Now give me a rough kiss after the gentle one." All this is -mere play, of course, but by reason of the language used it rises far -above the merely trifling into the zones of supreme literary art. -Later on, we have another comparison, made by the man, which I think -very beautiful. The thought, the comparison itself, is not new; from -very ancient times it has been the custom of lovers to call the woman -they loved an angel. I fancy this custom is reflected in the amatory -literature of all countries; it exists even in Japanese poetry. But -really it does not matter whether a comparison be new or old; its value -depends upon the way that a poet utters it. Browning's lover says: - - Lie back; could thought of mine improve you? - From this shoulder let there spring - A wing; from this, another wing; - Wings, not legs and feet, shall move you! - Snow-white must they spring, to blend - With your flesh, but I intend - They shall deepen to the end, - Broader, into burning gold, - Till both wings crescent-wise enfold - Your perfect self, from 'neath your feet - To o'er your head, where, lo, they meet - As if a million sword-blades hurled - Defiance from you to the world! - -This is a picture painted after the manner of the Venetian school; we -seem to be looking at something created, by the brush of Titian or -Tintoretto. I am not sure that it will seem to you as beautiful as it -really is, for it is intended to appeal to the imagination of persons -who have actually seen the paintings of the Italian masters, or at -least engravings of them. Angels were frequently represented by those -great artists as clothed with their own wings, the wings, white below, -gold above, meeting over the head like two new moons joining their -shining tips. What the poet means by "sword-blades" are the long narrow -flashing feathers of the angel-wings, which, joined all together, look -like a cluster of sword-blades. But one must have seen the pictures of -the Italian masters to appreciate the skill of this drawing in words. -Here I may remind you that Dante, in his vision of Paradise, uses -colours of a very similar sort--blinding white and dazzling gold appear -in the wings of his angels also. - -The above examples of the merely artistic power of Browning will -suffice for the moment; great as he always is when he descends to -earth, he is most noteworthy in those other directions which I have -already pointed out, and which are chiefly psychological. I want to -give you more examples from the poems of the psychological kind, partly -because they are of universally recognised value in themselves, and -partly because it is these that make the distinction between Browning -and his great contemporaries. One of these pieces, now quoted through -the whole English-speaking world, is "A Grammarian's Funeral." This -poem is intended to give us the enthusiasm which the students of the -later Middle Ages felt for scholarship, the delight in learning which -revived shortly before the Renaissance. I suppose that many of you -recollect the first enthusiasm for Western studies in Japan; people -then studied too hard, tried to do even more than they could do. So -it was in Europe at the time of the revival of learning; men killed -themselves by overstudy. In this poem Browning makes us listen to the -song sung by a company of university students burying their dead -teacher; they are carrying him up to the top of a high mountain above -the mediæval city, there to let him sleep forever above the clouds and -above the vulgarities of mankind. The philosophy in it is very noble -and strong, though it be only the philosophy of young men. - - Let us begin and carry up this corpse, - Singing together. - Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes - Each in its tether - Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, - Cared-for till cock-crow: - Look out if yonder be not day again - Rimming the rock-row! - That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, - Rarer, intenser, - Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, - Chafes in the censer. - Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; - Seek we sepulture - On a tall mountain, citied to the top, - Crowded with culture! - All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels, - Clouds overcome it; - No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's - Circling its summit. - Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights; - Wait ye the warning? - Our low life was the level's and the night's; - He's for the morning. - Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, - 'Ware the beholders! - This is our master, famous, calm and dead, - Borne on our shoulders. - -Some little description will be necessary before we can go further with -the poem. It was dark, before daybreak, when the students assembled for -the funeral, and it is still rather dark when the funeral procession -starts up the mountain. This appears from the lines, "Look out if -yonder be not day again rimming the rock-row"--meaning, see if that is -not daylight up there at the top of the mountains. It is not full day, -but they can see, far up, the lights of the citadel. The poet wants -to give us the feeling of a fortified city of the Middle Ages. You -must understand that multitudes of cities, especially in France and -in Germany, were then built upon mountain tops, so that they could be -better fortified and defended against attack. Part of such a city would -be of course on sloping ground. But the very highest place was always -reserved, inside the city, for military purposes. Outside the city -were walls and ditches and towers. Inside the city there was a smaller -city or citadel, also surrounded by ditches and walls and towers, and -occupying the highest place possible. An enemy, after capturing the -city proper, would still have the citadel to capture, always a very -difficult military feat. Now you will understand better the suggestions -of immense height in the poem. The students are going up above the -citadel to bury their teacher. They say that the place is appropriate -because the air at that height is, like intellectual thought, cold and -pure and full of electricity, the symbol of mental energy and moral -effort. You may notice that the students are still somewhat rough in -their ways. It was a rough age; they do not intend to submit to any -interference on the way, nor even to any curiosity, so the ignorant -"beholders" are bidden to be very careful. - -At this point the poem gives us the students' account of their -teacher's life. They are singing a song about it, and you must -understand that all the lines in parentheses do not necessarily mean -interruptions of the narrative, though some of them do. A little -careful reading will make everything clear; then you will perceive how -very fine the spirit of the whole thing is. - - Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft, - Safe from the weather! - He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, - Singing together, - He was a man born with thy face and throat, - Lyric Apollo! - Long he lived nameless: how should Spring take note - Winter would follow? - Till lo! the little touch, and youth was gone! - Cramped and diminished, - Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon! - My dance is finished?" - No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain-side, - Make for the city!) - He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride - Over men's pity; - Left play for work, and grappled with the world - Bent on escaping: - "What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled? - Show me their shaping, - Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,-- - Give!"--So he gowned him, - Straight got by heart that book to its last page: - Learned, we found him. - -When his first students met him, they met him as a youthful and a -learned man; these latest students found him old, bald, scarcely -able to see--and yet he had not allowed himself any rest. In spite -of the fact that he felt death was coming, he continued to study day -and night, he read all the books then existing, and when he had read -them all, he said only, "Now I have got to the beginning of my real -studies. The material is in my hands; now I shall use it." Sickness or -health made no difference to him. This life he thought of only as the -commencement of eternity. - - He said, "What's Time? Leave Now for dogs and apes! - Man has Forever!" - Back to his books then; deeper drooped his head: - _Calculus_ racked him: - Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead: - _Tussis_ attacked him. - -In vain did his friends and pupils beg him to take a little rest, but -he never would; he said that he must learn everything he could before -dying. - - So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, - Ground he at grammar; - Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife: - While he could stammer - He settled _Hoti's_ business--let it be!-- - Properly based _Oun_-- - Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic _De_, - Dead from the waist down. - -"Hoti" is the Greek word "that"; "Oun" is the word "then," also "now"; -it has other kindred meanings. "De" has the meaning of "toward" when -enclitic; but there is another Greek word "de" meaning "but." The -reference in the poem is to the rule for distinguishing the Greek "de" -meaning "toward" from the Greek "de" meaning "but." "Calculus" is the -disease commonly called "stone in the bladder." "Tussis" is a cough. - -And now the singers have brought the body to the burial-place at the -top of the mountain, and their song ends with this glorious burst: - - Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place: - Hail to your purlieus, - All ye highfliers of the feathered race, - Swallows and curlews! - Here's the top-peak; the multitude below - Live, for they can, there; - This man decided not to Live but Know-- - Bury this man there? - Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, - Lightnings are loosened, - Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm, - Peace let the dew send! - Lofty designs must close in like effects: - Loftily lying, - Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, - Living and dying. - -We may turn from this fine poem without further comment to a piece -entitled "The Patriot." There is a bit, and a very bitter bit, of the -true philosophy of life in it. Nothing is so fickle, so uncertain, -so treacherous as popularity. Thousands of men who tried to get the -applause of the multitude, the love of the millions, and thought that -they had succeeded, found out at a later day how quickly that applause -could be turned into roars of hate, how quickly that seeming admiration -could be changed into scorn. This fact about the instability of human -favour is well known to every clear headed person who enters into what -is called the social struggle; but it is more often illustrated in -politics. The political aspect of the matter is the most remarkable, -and has therefore been chosen by Browning. I do not know to what -particular person he may be making reference--perhaps he was thinking -of Rienzi. But in all periods of history the fact has been about the -same. You will remember, no doubt, the case of Pericles in the history -of Athens, and of many others. You may remember also how the French -Revolution devoured its own children, how the men that were one day -almost worshipped by the people like gods, would be dragged to the -guillotine the day after. And even in the history of this country I -think you must remember not a few examples of how uncertain popular -favour must always be. In this case the victim speaks, some man who -once had been regarded as the saviour of the people, but who is now -regarded as their enemy, and who is going to be executed as a common -criminal, simply because he happened to be unfortunate. He remembers -the past, and contrasts it with the cruel present: - - It was roses, roses, all the way, - With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: - The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, - The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, - A year ago on this very day. - - The air broke into a mist with bells, - The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. - Had I said: "Good folk, mere noise repels-- - But give me your sun from yonder skies!" - They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" - -Here I may say that in Western countries from very ancient times it -has been the custom to cover with flowers the road along which some -great conqueror or other honoured person was to come. The ancients used -especially roses and myrtles, but even to-day it is often the custom to -throw flowers on the ground before the passing of a sovereign or other -great person. "Like mad" is an idiom used to express extreme action -of any sort; "to laugh like mad," would be to laugh unreasonably and -extravagantly. The reference to the apparent movement of the roofs of -the houses pictures the crowding of people on the house-tops to see -the hero, a custom still kept up. And the reference to the effect of -the bells as making "mist," indicates the excessive volume of sound; -for it is said that the firing of cannon or the making of any other -great noise will often cause rain to fall. The idea is that the people -rang the bells so hard that the rain fell, and these were what we call -"joy-bells." - -"If on that day of my triumph," he says, "I had asked them to give me -the sun, they would have answered out of their hearts, Certainly--and -what else?" Now it is very different indeed. - - Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun - To give it my loving friends to keep! - Nought man could do, have I left undone: - And you see my harvest, what I reap - This very day, now a year is run. - - There's nobody on the house-tops now-- - Just a palsied few at the windows set; - For the best of the sight is, all allow, - At the Shambles' Gate--or, better yet, - By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. - - I go in the rain, and, more than needs, - A rope cuts both my wrists behind; - And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, - For they fling, whoever has a mind, - Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. - -What he says is this: "I did not ask them for anything for myself; -it was I who wanted to give them the sun, or anything else that they -wished for. Every possible sacrifice that any man could make I made -for these people, and you see what my reward is to-day--just one year -from the time when they honoured and revered me. Nobody now stands on -the house tops to look at me; all have gone to the execution ground to -see me die, except a few old people who cannot walk, and who stay at -the windows to see me pass, with my hands tied behind my back. People -are throwing stones at me, and I think my face is bleeding." The last -allusion is to a very cruel custom only of late years abolished in -England by better police regulations. In the old times, when a prisoner -was being taken to the gallows, people would often strike him, or throw -stones at him as he went by, and nobody attempted to protect him. -To-day this is not done, simply because the police do not allow it, but -the natural cruelty of a mob is perhaps just as great as it ever was. - - Thus I entered, and thus I go! - In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. - "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe - Me?"--God might question; now instead, - 'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so. - -These are the man's last thoughts. "I came into this city a hero, as -I told you; now I am going out of it, to be executed like a vulgar -criminal. How much better would it have been if I had died on the day -when all the people were honouring me! I have heard that men have -fallen dead from joy in the middle of such a triumph as I then had. -But would it have been better if I had died happy like that? Perhaps -it would not. God is said to demand a strict account in the next World -from any human being who has been too happy in this. If I had died -that day, God might have said to me, You have had your reward from the -world; have you paid to me what you owed in love and duty? But now the -world kills me; it is from God only that I can hope for justice. He is -terrible, but I can trust him better than this people; I am safer with -him!" - -I am not sure what Browning refers to in speaking of those who have -been known to drop dead in the middle of a triumph. But perhaps he is -referring to the story of the Sicilian, Diagoras, which is one of the -most beautiful of all Greek stories, and is fortunately quite true. -Diagoras had been the greatest wrestler among the Greeks, the greatest -athlete of his time, and was loved and honoured by all men of Greek -blood. He had seven sons. When he was a very old man these seven sons -went to contend at the great Olympic games (if I remember correctly). -There were but seven prizes for all the feats of strength and skill; -and these seven prizes were all won by the seven sons of Diagoras--that -is to say, they had proved themselves the best men of the whole world -at that time, even the boy son winning the prize given only to boys. -Then the people demanded to know the name of the father of those young -men, and the sons lifted him upon their shoulders to show him to all -the people. The people shouted so that birds flying above them, fell -down; and the old man in the same moment died of joy, as he was thus -supported upon the shoulders of his sons. The Greeks said that this -was the happiest death that any man ever died. Perhaps Browning was -referring to this story; but I am not sure. - -Kings have sometimes been accused of ingratitude, but on the whole, -kings have shown more gratitude than mobs; a sovereign is apt to -remember that it is good policy to repay loyalty and to encourage -affection. Browning gives us a few magnificent specimens of loyal -feeling toward sovereigns, feeling which it is pleasant to know was not -repaid with ingratitude. I am referring to his "Cavalier Tunes," little -songs into which he has managed to put all the fiery love and devotion -of the English gentlemen who fought for the king against Cromwell and -his Puritans, and who fought, luckily for England, in vain at that -time. Right or wrong as we may think their cause, it is impossible -not to admire the feeling here expressed. I shall quote the second -song first. You must imagine that all these gentlemen are drinking the -health of the king, with songs and cheers, even at the time when the -king's cause seems hopeless. - - GIVE A ROUSE! - - King Charles, and who'll do him right now? - King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? - Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, - King Charles! - (_Single voice_) - Who gave me the goods that went since? - Who raised me the house that sank once? - Who helped me to gold I spent since? - Who found me in wine you drank once? - (_Chorus, answering_) - King Charles, and who'll do him right now? - King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? - Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, - King Charles! - (_Single voice_) - To whom used my hoy George quaff else, - By the old fool's side that begot him? - For whom did he cheer and laugh else, - While Noll's damned troopers shot him? - (_Chorus, answering_) - King Charles, and who'll do him right now? - King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? - Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, - King Charles! - -The father is reminding his friends of the brave death of his own son, -who died shouting for the king and laughing at his executioners. I do -not think that there is a more spirited song in English literature -than this. Perhaps you may observe that the measure in the third -stanza does not run smoothly like the measure of the other stanzas; it -hesitates a little. But this is a great stroke of art, for it indicates -the suppressed emotion of the father speaking of his dead son. The -other song, the first of the three given by Browning, represents the -feeling of an earlier time in the civil war, probably the time when -the aristocracy and gentry first gathered together to defend the king. -There is a splendid swing in it. Both songs are a little rough, because -the spirit of the age was rough; the finest gentleman used to swear -in those days, and to use words which we now consider rather violent. -I may remark, however, that even to-day in the upper ranks of the -English army and navy, something of the same scorn of conventions still -remains; generals and admirals will swear occasionally in battle, just -as these gentlemen of an older school swore as they advanced against -the Puritan armies. - - MARCHING ALONG - - Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, - Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing: - And, pressing a troop unable to stoop - And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, - Marched them along, fifty-score strong, - Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. - - God for King Charles! Pym and such carles - To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles! - Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup, - Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup - Till you're-- - (_Chorus_) Marching along, fifty-score strong, - Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. - - Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell - Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well! - England, good cheer! Rupert is near! - Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here, - (_Chorus_) Marching along, fifty-score strong, - Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. - - Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls - To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles! - Hold by the right, you double your might; - So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight, - (_Chorus_) March we along, fifty-score strong, - Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. - -The names in this poem are all of them great names of the Civil War. -Hampden, you know, was Parliamentary leader in the movement against -the king. He was killed in battle, and his place as leader was taken -by Pym. The other names are of members of the Long Parliament--except -Rupert. Rupert, or Prince Rupert, as he is more generally known, was -the leader of the Royal cavalry, one of the most brilliant cavalry -leaders of history. He was never beaten seriously until he met -Cromwell's Puritan cavalry. A reference may be necessary in regard to -Nottingham. There was no fight exactly at Nottingham; but it was at -Nottingham that the cavalry gathered round the king's standard before -the battle of Edgehill, near Banbury, a drawn battle, not decided -either way. - -So much for the references. As for the song itself, something remains -to be said. I think that the two songs are about the most spirited in -English literature. They are so for many reasons, especially because -of the fiery emotion which the poet has flung into them, and because -of their absolute truth to the feeling of the seventeenth century, -both as to form and as to tone. But I wonder whether any of you have -noticed what it is that gives such uncommon force to the verses. To a -great degree, it is the use of triple rhymes. In both songs the rhymes -are triple, while the measure is short, and the result is something of -that rough strength which characterises the old Northern poetry. For -instance: - - Hold by the _right_, you double your _might_, - So onward to Nottingham, fresh for the _fight._ - - King Charles, and who'll do him _right_ now? - King Charles, and who's ripe for _fight_ now? - Give a rouse: here's, in hell's _despite_ now, - King Charles! - -You see that very great effects may be produced by very simple means. -In "Marching Along," the "swing" or "lilt" is partly due to the fact -that the three rhymes follow each other not in regular but in irregular -succession, a rhymeless measure alternating between the second and the -third rhymes, as will be plainly seen if we write the verses in another -form: - - Kentish Sir _Byng_ - Stood for his _king_, - Bidding the crop-headed - Parliament _swing._ - -But I want to explain the spirit rather than the workmanship of -Browning; and I have turned aside here to the subject of measure only -because the instances happened to be very extraordinary. The beauty of -the work is really in the glow and strength of the loyal feeling that -peals through it. - -Do not suppose, however, that the poet picks out by preference the -noble or the attractive side of human feeling in any form of society, -for his subject. Quite the contrary. Most often he paints the ugly -side, even in speaking of kings and courts, nobles and princes. In the -splendid poem "Count Gismond," which I dictated last year, you may have -seen one very beautiful side of knightly character, but there were -horrible phases of human nature exhibited in the story. Browning made -the shadows very heavy, with the result that the lights appeared more -dazzling. Sometimes we have no lights--all is shadow, and sometimes -a shadow of hell. Such is the case in the horrible poem called "The -Laboratory," depicting the feelings of a jealous court-lady, as she -stands in the laboratory of a chemist who is selling her a poison with -which she intends to poison her rival in the favour of the king. The -story is laid in the time of Louis XIV, probably, when such things -did actually occur in France. A still blacker shadow, a still more -infernal picture of humanity's dark side, is "The Heretic's Tragedy," -portraying the wicked feelings of a superstitious person while -watching a heretic being burned alive. Another frightful thing is -"The Confessional," a story of the Inquisition in Spain, showing how -the inquisitors succeeded in seizing, convicting, and burning alive a -young man, by taking advantage of the innocence of his sweetheart, who -was made to betray him through confession without knowing it. Another -piece that is ugly psychologically, is "Cristina and Monaldeschi." -Cristina was a queen of Sweden, and one of the most learned women of -her time, but very masculine; she liked to wear men's clothes and to -follow the amusements of men. She abdicated her throne, merely in order -to feel more free in her habits. It is believed that she secretly -loved her private secretary, and that he was dishonourable enough -to tell other people of his relation to her. At all events, one day -she ordered him to come into her room, and after upbraiding him with -treachery to her, she had him killed in her presence. The fact shocked -Europe a great deal at the time. Browning tries to make us understand -Cristina's feeling, and he forces us to sympathise a little with her -anger. There are multitudes of poems of this class in Browning. He -wants us to know all the strange possibilities of the human soul, bad -or good, and he never hesitates because a subject may be shocking to -weak nerves. It is just because he does not care about public feeling, -ignorant public opinion, upon these matters, that he manages to give -us such exact truth; he is not afraid. For a little bit of truth thus -exemplified--this is not ugly--let us take a little piece entitled -"Which?" Here is another picture of the manners of the old French -court, a very corrupt court and very luxurious. You must read Taine's -"Ancien Régime" to understand what its morals were. But let us turn to -the little picture. Three great ladies are talking with a priest about -love--a fashionable priest, a priest of the old age, ready to make love -or to say mass just according as it suited his private interest. A very -good priest could scarcely have existed in the court; one had to be -very clever and very subtle to live there. The conversation of these -four persons gives us a hint of the feeling of the age. Only one woman -really seems to say what she thinks; and she says what she thinks only -because she is the most clever of the three. - - So, the three Court-ladies began - Their trial of who judged best - In esteeming the love of a man: - Who preferred with most reason was thereby confessed - Boy-Cupid's exemplary catcher and eager; - An Abbé crossed legs to decide on the wager. - - First the Duchesse: "Mine for me-- - Who were it but God's for Him, - And the King's for--who but he? - Both faithful and loyal, one grace more shall brim - His cup with perfection: a lady's true lover, - He holds--save his God and his king--none above her." - - "I require"--outspoke the Marquise-- - "Pure thoughts, ay, but also fine deeds: - Play the paladin must he, to please - My whim, and--to prove my knight's service exceeds - Your saint's and your loyalist's praying and kneeling-- - Show wounds, each wide mouth to my mercy appealing." - - Then the Comtesse: "My choice be a wretch, - Mere losel in body and soul, - Thrice accurst! What care I, so he stretch - Arms to me his sole saviour, love's ultimate goal, - Out of earth and men's noise--names of 'infidel,' 'traitor,' - Cast up at him? Crown me, crown's adjudicator!" - - And the Abbé uncrossed his legs, - Took snuff, a reflective pinch, - Broke silence: "The question begs - Much pondering ere I pronounce. Shall I flinch? - The love which to one and one only has reference - Seems terribly like what perhaps gains God's preference." - -The answer of the priest, giving the victory to the Comtesse, is -clever and double-edged. He probably knows everything that goes on -in the court: he knows how many lovers the Duchesse has had, and the -Marquise. He knows that their talk about religion and loyalty as the -perfections of man, are not quite sincere. Indeed, the Marquise is much -more sincere than the Duchesse; but if she were altogether sincere, she -would have recognised that her wish--her expressed wish, at least--must -appear as pure pride, not anything else. But the Comtesse tells a -bitter truth by pointing out that if it is a question of real love, the -place and station of the man can signify nothing at all; love should -be a thing of the heart, not a thing of rank and fashion. And the -priest, in supporting her claim and in saying that a true love can have -reference only to one person, really suggests to his audience, whose -love relations have doubtless been very numerous, what he thinks to be -the opinion of God on the subject. But "perhaps," as the priest utters -the word, is terrible irony. "Perhaps gains God's preference," means -"I know, of course, that in the society to which we belong, love only -for one's husband is not considered fashionable; yet the opinions of -God may not be the same as the opinions of our society. It would not be -polite of me to say directly that your opinions and God's opinions are -different, but I just hint it." It was a very queer age. Taine, in his -history of the time, tells a story about a nobleman who, on entering -his wife's room suddenly and finding her making love to another man, -took off his hat and saluted her, saying, "Oh, my dear, how can you be -so careless! Suppose it had not been your husband who opened the door!" -You must understand all this, to understand the mockery of the poem. -Then, again, you must understand the desire of the Comtesse even for -the love of a "wretch," a mere losel, as meaning that here is a woman -who deserves to be loved, but is not loved by her husband, and who has -learned that real love has a value in this world beyond all value of -rank or money or influence. - -If you ask me why I have talked so much about so short a poem, the -answer is that nearly all of Browning's short poems mean a great deal, -and force us to think and to talk about them. The reason is that the -characters in these poems are really alive; they impress us exactly -as living persons do, and excite our curiosity in precisely the same -way. Accordingly, notwithstanding their many faults of construction and -obscure English, they have something of the greatness of Shakespeare's -dramas. - -It is now time to turn to the study of the greatest of all Browning's -poems. Perhaps I should not call it a poem. It is rather an immense -poetic drama. As printed in this single volume it represents four -hundred and seventy-seven pages of closely printed small text. It is, -therefore, even considered as a dramatic composition, many times larger -than any true drama. But no true drama, except Shakespeare's, is more -real or more terrible. Besides, it is a purely psychological drama. -There is no scenery, no narrative in the ordinary sense. Everything is -related in the first person. The whole is divided into twelve parts, -each of which is a monologue. Nearly all of the monologues are spoken -by different persons. The first monologue is the author's own, in which -he tells us the meaning of the title and the story of the drama. - -It is a true story of Italian life in the seventeenth century, the -chief incident having really occurred in the year 1698. The poet one -day found in an old Italian book shop a little book for sale, which was -the history of a celebrated criminal trial. Besides the book, which -included the speeches of the lawyers on both sides, and the evidence -given before the court, there was a good deal of old manuscript--papers -probably prepared by some lawyer of the time in connection with the -case. Browning was able to buy the whole thing for eight pence; that -small sum furnished him with material for the most enormous poem in the -English language. When he read the facts of the trial, he said he could -actually see all the characters as plainly as if they were alive, and -could even hear them speak. He soon formed in his mind the plan for his -poem; but it was a peculiar plan. The plan is indicated by the title -of "The Ring and the Book." In Italy there is a great deal of beautiful -light gold work made--for rings especially, which looks so delicate -that at first sight you cannot understand how it was made. In a gold -ring there are leaves and flowers and fruits and insects, so lightly -made that even if you let the ring fall they would be injured and -destroyed. Gold is very soft. In order to cut the gold in this way, the -goldsmith uses a hard composition with which he covers the gold work, -and after the carving and engraving have been done, this composition is -melted off, so that only the pure gold is left, with all the work upon -it. Browning says that he made his book somewhat in the same way that -the Italian goldsmith makes his ring--by the use of an alloy. The facts -of history and of law represent the gold in this case, and the poet -mixes them with an alloy of imagination, emotion, sympathy, which helps -him to make the whole story into a perfectly rounded drama, a complete -circle, a Ring. This is the meaning of the title. - -I shall first tell you the story briefly, according to the historical -facts. About the year 1679 there was a family in Rome of the name -of Comparini. The family consisted only of husband and wife; but it -happened that the fact of their being without children proved a legal -obstacle in the way of obtaining some money which they greatly desired. -The wife, Violante, knew that her husband was too honest to wish to -cheat the law, so she determined to try to get the money without -letting him know her deceit in the matter. She pretended to have given -birth, unexpectedly, to a child, but the child had really been bought -from a woman of loose life--it was a very pretty female child, and was -called Francesca Pompilia. Little Pompilia was supposed to be the real -child of the Comparini; and the much desired money thus passed into -their hands. This is the first act of the tragedy. - -Pompilia grew up into a wonderfully beautiful girl; and when she -was thirteen years old, many people wished to marry her. Guido -Franceschini, Count of Arezzo, noticed the girl's beauty, and heard -that she was rich. He determined to marry her if possible, chiefly for -the sake of her money. He was a wicked old man, between fifty and sixty -years of age, ugly, cunning, and poor. But he had immense influence, -both among the nobility and among the church dignitaries, on account -of his family relations; and he was himself of high rank. The marriage -was negotiated successfully. Pompilia, a child of thirteen, could not -naturally have wished to marry this horrible old man, but she had been -taught to obey her parents as she obeyed Almighty God, and when she -was told to marry him she married him without one word of complaint. -By this marriage the wicked Count got into his hands all the property -of the Comparini family, but it had been promised that the parents of -the girl were to live in the palace of the Count, and to be taken care -of for the rest of their lives. Nevertheless, as soon as the Count had -everything in his hands, he turned the old parents out of his house, in -a state of absolute destitution; he had taken from them their daughter -and all their money, everything that they had in the world. This is the -second act of the tragedy. - -Naturally the Comparini family were very angry. The mother of the girl -was so angry that she told her husband all about the trick which she -had played in passing off Pompilia for her own child. Pompilia, you -know, was not her real child at all. This changed the legal aspect of -the matter. Old Comparini went to the Count and said, "You took our -money, and thought that you were taking our daughter. But you must -give back that money. The girl is not our daughter; the money does not -belong to her: it will have to be given back to the government that we -deceived." This is the third act of the tragedy. - -The Count was equal to the occasion. He understood the law; but he -understood it much better than the Comparini people. So long as he -kept Pompilia as his wife, he knew that he could keep the money. -If he divorced her, on the ground that she was of vulgar origin, -then he would have to give up the money. But this was not the only -alternative. There was a third possibility. If Pompilia committed -adultery, then he could either kill her or get rid of her and keep -the money notwithstanding. Pompilia was a weak child only thirteen -years old. He was a wicked and terrible man, with half a century of -experience, diabolical cunning, diabolical cruelty, and ferocious -determination. He would make her commit adultery. That would be the -simplest possible solution of the difficulty. But, strange to say, -this terrible man could not conquer that delicate child of thirteen. -First he tried to appeal to her passions, to excite her imagination -in an immoral way. But her heart was too pure to be corrupted. There -was in her no spur of lust. She was a simple good pure wife, too pure -for any wicked ideas to be planted in her mind. Then he tried force, -atrocious cruelty, horrible menace, always without letting her know -what he really intended. What he really intended was to force her to -run away from him. She could not run away except in the company of a -protector. If she ran away with a protector, then he could kill both -her and the man and claim that he had detected the two in adultery. -After having tortured the girl hideously, in every moral and immoral -way, he did succeed in getting her to ask for protection. She first -asked protection from priests and bishops. The priests and bishops were -afraid of the Count, and told her, like the cowards that they were, -that they could not help her. She wanted to become a nun. The nuns were -afraid of the Count, and refused her prayer. At last she did find one -priest, a brave man, who was willing to save her if possible. He said, -"You must run away with me, though it will look very bad; there is -no other way to help you." She ran away with him. Within twenty-four -hours the pair were overtaken by the Count and his company of armed -men. The opportunity to kill Pompilia and her "lover" had come; but the -so-called "lover," although only an honest poor priest, showed fight, -and protected Pompilia against the Count and all his followers. The -priest refused to surrender Pompilia except to the Church. The Church -arrested both. Pompilia was put into a convent for safe keeping. The -priest was tried for adultery, and acquitted. But he had done wrong by -breaking the law of the Church even for a good purpose; therefore he -was sentenced to banishment for a certain number of years. This is the -fourth act of the tragedy. - -The Count finds that all his plans have failed. He has not been able -to convict his wife of adultery, although he has been able to injure -her reputation in the opinion of the public. He cannot get rid of -her, and keep her money too, except by killing her. But she is in the -convent. While he is thinking what to do, another event happens which -upsets all his calculations. Pompilia gives birth to a child of which -he certainly is the father. The money question, the legal aspect of it, -is still more complicated by the birth of the child. At once the Count -determines to kill Pompilia and her parents, out of revenge. He knows -that on certain days she goes to visit her parents. He watches for -such an occasion, and with the help of some professional murderers, he -kills the Comparini, and stabs Pompilia twenty-two times with a dagger. -He imagined that this could be done so as to remain undiscovered; he -thought that the crime could not be proved upon him. But poor Pompilia -is very hard to kill. Although her slender body was thus stabbed -through and through by a powerful man, she did not die at once; her -wonderful youth kept her alive long enough to tell the police what had -happened. The Count and his hired murderers were arrested and thrown -into prison. This is the fifth act of the tragedy. - -It is one thing to find the author of a crime, and put him into -prison; it is a very different thing to convict and punish him. The -Count was very powerful with the army, with the nobility, with the -Church; everybody in his native city was more afraid of him than of -the devil. Nothing is so hard to get in this world as justice. The -Count's powerful friends and relations all united to defend him. Dukes -and great captains, cardinals and bishops and abbots and priests, -rich merchants, influential statesmen, all combined to secure his -acquittal. They obtained the services of great lawyers. They used -money and threats to corrupt witnesses or to terrify them. Yet there -was one thing necessary to secure his acquittal--evidence that the -deed, which he cannot deny, was justified by adultery. An attempt was -made to blacken the character of the murdered wife. But this evidence -was overthrown in the court, and the judges pronounced sentence of -death. Thereupon all the Count's friends made an appeal to the Pope; -the Pope can save the Count, if pressure be brought of a sufficient -sort upon his judgment. But the Pope happened to be a good man, and a -keen man. He examines the evidence. He sees the truth. He understands -the innocence and beauty of the character of the murdered Pompilia; -he comprehends also the innocence and the courage of the priest who -tried to defend her. He sends word to the prison that the Count must -be executed immediately. So justice is obtained, at least so far as -the punishment of murder can be called justice. But what becomes of -the money? The nuns of the convent in which Pompilia died, they get -the money by very discreditable means, and they keep it. The terrible -Franceschini family cannot try to get that money from the convent; for -the convent means the power of the Church; and the power of the Church -is even more terrible than the power of the Franceschini. Of course the -Pope knows nothing of this matter; the Pope is the finest character -in the whole story. Historically this Pope was Innocent XII, but his -character, as drawn in the study of Browning, is much more like the -character of one of his predecessors, Innocent XI. - -Now I have told you the story, or rather the history of the real -tragedy, which happened something more than two hundred years ago. You -can imagine how complicated the whole thing is, from the very short -summary which I have made. Now if you had to treat a story like this -dramatically, how would you do it? where would you begin? in what way -could you hope to make artistic order out of such confusion? The task -might have puzzled even Shakespeare. It puzzled Browning for more than -a year before he felt how the thing was possible to manage. When I tell -you the way in which he treated the whole material of the case, I think -you will perceive that only a genius could have thought of the way. - -As I have said, Browning divides his poem into twelve parts; and each -part is a monologue. I shall now give you in paragraphs as brief as -possible, the subject of each monologue. You had better follow the -order of the book, using Roman numerals at the beginning of each -paragraph, and putting the title of the book in Italic letters: - -I. _The Ring and the Book._ Interpretation of the title, and history of -the crime and the trial as told in the ancient legal documents. This -monologue represents the author's speaking only. - -II. _Half-Rome._ Public opinion is always divided upon any -extraordinary event. Browning here tries to give us one side of public -opinion in the year 1698, upon the Franceschini murder. The monologue -represents the ideas of a man of the society of that time. - -III. _The Other Half-Rome._ This monologue represents the contrary -opinion on the subject. But it is a curious fact that neither form of -public opinion even approaches the truth. Both sides are absolutely -mistaken, and very unjust to poor Pompilia. - -IV. _Tertium Quid_ (i.e., "a third somebody" or "party"). This opinion -is quite different from that of the two halves of Rome, but it is -equally far from the truth. - -V. _Count Guido Franceschini._ Notice that although the three forms -of opinion previously expressed all contradict each other, and all -are untrue, nevertheless every one of them seems true while you read -it. So does the story of Count Guido Franceschini, the murderer, in -his own defence. Although you have been prejudiced against him from -the beginning, when you first read his side of the story you cannot -help thinking that it is a very reasonable and very true story. He -says in substance that he made a great mistake in marrying so young a -girl, that she disliked him, that he did everything in his power to -obtain her affection and to make her happy, that she ran away from -his house with a monk, that even after that he was willing to make -every allowance for her, but that at last it was impossible for him, -without losing all self-respect, not to punish her crimes, and those of -her infamous parents. He makes an excellent speech, this Count Guido -Franceschini. - -VI. _Giuseppe Caponsacchi._ This is the good priest, the true loyal -man that tried to save Pompilia. He tells his story with perfect -truthfulness and simplicity, and you know that it is true. But at -the same time you feel that no one can believe it. The evidence is -against the priest. Although he is innocent, everybody laughs at his -protestations of innocence. - -VII. _Pompilia._ This is the most horrible part of the book. It is -a monologue by Pompilia telling of the cruelty and the atrocious -wickedness of her husband. It makes your blood run cold to read it, but -you know that nobody would believe that story in a court of justice. -It is too terrible, too unnatural. Those who hear it only think that -Pompilia is a very cunning wicked woman, trying to make people hate her -husband, in order to excuse her own adultery. - -VIII. _Dominus Hyocinthus de Archangelis_, _Pauperum Procurator._ The -speech of the lawyer for the defence, very cautious, very learned, very -cunning. It was in those days the custom to argue such cases partly in -Latin, and the papers were made out in Latin. "Dominus," "lord," was -the Latin title of lawyer. "Pauperum Procurator" means the advocate -or counsel of the poor; persons without money enough to procure legal -services in the ordinary way, might be furnished with a lawyer employed -by the state. - -IX. _Juris Doctor Johannes-Battista_, _Bottinius_, _&c._ The speech of -the lawyer on the other side, equally learned, equally cunning, and -equally cautious. The reader is forced to the conclusion that neither -of these lawyers really understands the truth of the case. Both are -telling untruth, and both are afraid of the truth. But you will notice -that the lawyer who should speak in favour of Pompilia really does her -more harm than the lawyer whose duty it is to speak against her. This -is the result of cowardice and self-interest on both sides. - -X. _The Pope._ A beautiful study of character. For the first time we -learn the truth in this tenth monologue, so that we feel it is all -there, and not to be mistaken by any one who hears it. - -XI. _Guido._ Horrible. The murderer's confession of his own character. - -XII. _The Booh and the Ring._ Conclusion, and moral commentary. - -I believe there is only part of this whole drama that has been -seriously called into question by critics--the last line of the -eleventh monologue, where Guido cries out, "Pompilia, will you let them -murder me?" The question is whether the poet is right in representing -this terrible man in such a passion of fear that he calls to his dead -wife to help him. Certainly it is a general rule that the man capable -of studied cruelty to women and children--to the weak, in short--is a -coward at heart. But there are exceptions to this rule, and a great -many remarkable Italian exceptions. Again many tribes of savages -contradict the rule, being at once brave and cruel. I think that the -criticism in this case may have been largely inspired by the history -of certain Italian families, who were cruel indeed, but ferociously -brave as well. However, Browning studied the facts for his characters -very closely, and he may be right in representing Guido as a coward. He -has been proved to be both treacherous and avaricious by the evidence -in the case, and although prudence may sometimes be mistaken for -cowardice, there were some facts brought out by witnesses that seem to -show the man to have been as much of a coward as he was a miser. - -Now observe the immense psychological work that this treatment of -the story involves--the study of nine or ten completely different -characters, no one of whom could resemble a character of the nineteenth -century, not at least in the matter of thought and speech. To create -these was almost as wonderful as to call the dead of two hundred years -ago out of their graves, a veritable necromancy. This work alone -would make the book a marvellous thing. But the book is more than -marvellous; it is in the highest degree philosophically instructive. -Almost anything that happens in this world is judged somewhat after -the fashion of the judgments delivered in "The Ring and the Book." -For example, let us suppose an episode in Tokyo to-day, rather than -an episode in Italy two hundred years ago, a case of killing. At -first when the mere fact of the killing is known, there is a great -curiosity as to the reason of it, and different newspapers publish -different stories about it, and different people who knew both parties -express different opinions as to the why and how. You may be sure that -none of these accounts is perfectly true--they could not be true, -because those from whom the accounts come have no perfect knowledge -of the antecedents of the crime. But presently the case comes before -the criminal court, with lawyers on both sides, to prosecute and -to defend. Each does his duty the very best he can, one trying to -convict, one trying to secure acquittal. But do these know the real -story from beginning to end? Probably not. It is very seldom indeed -that a lawyer can learn the inside, the psychological, history of a -crime. He learns only the naked facts, and he must theorise largely -from these facts. Finally the judge pronounces judgment. Does the judge -know all about the matter? Almost certainly not. His duty is fixed -by law in rigid lines, and he cannot depart from those lines; he can -sentence only according to the broad conclusions which he draws from -the facts. And after the whole thing is over, still the real secrets -of the two parties, of the criminal and the victim, remain forever -unknown in a majority of cases. Now what does this prove? It proves -that human judgment is necessarily very imperfect, and that nothing is -so difficult to learn as the absolute truth of motives and of feelings, -even when the truth of the facts is unquestionable. Browning's book -tells us more than this; it shows us that in some cases, where power -and crime are on one side, and poverty and virtue upon the other, the -chances against truth being able to make itself heard are just about a -thousand to one. Of course the world is a little better to-day than two -hundred years ago; murder is less common, justice is less corrupt. But -allowing for these things, the chances of a man persecuted by a rich -corporation, without reason, perhaps with monstrous cruelty, to obtain -even a hearing, would be scarcely better than those of Pompilia in the -story of "The Ring and the Book." - -So much for the teaching. There is more than teaching, however; there -are studies of character truly Shakespearian. Pompilia is quite as -sweet a woman as Shakespeare's Cordelia. Her sweetness is altogether -shown by a multitude of details, little words and thoughts and -feelings, that we find scattered through her account of her terrible -sufferings. The author never interrupts his speakers; he makes them -describe themselves. In the case of the Pope, we are brought into -the presence of a very superior intellect--one-sided, perhaps, but -immensely strong in the direction of moral judgment; the mind of -an old man whose entire life has been spent in the finest study of -human nature from an ethical point of view, of human nature in its -manifestations of good and evil. Nothing but this long experience helps -him to see exactly how matters stand. The evidence brought before -him is hopelessly confused, and where not confused, the facts are -against Pompilia and strongly in favour of the murderer. Moreover, the -murderer is powerful in the Church, with all the influence of clergy -and nobility upon his side. But the old man can see through the entire -plot; he cuts it open, gets to the heart of it, perceives everything -that was hidden. What is the lesson of his character? I think it is -this, that a pure nature obtains, simply by reason of its unselfishness -and purity, certain classes of perceptions that very cunning minds -never can obtain. Very cunning people are peculiarly apt to make false -judgments, because they are particularly in the habit of looking for -selfish motives. They judge other hearts by their own. A pure nature -does not do this; it considers the motive in the last rather than -the first place, preferring to judge kindly so long as the evidence -allows it. Intellectual training cannot always compensate for purity of -character. - -The studies of Guido himself, which are very horrible, are especially -studies of the man of the Renaissance. We have had other studies of -this kind in other poems of Browning, some of which I have already -quoted to you. But there is a special moral in this study of Guido, -the moral that a really wicked man must hate a really good woman, -simply for the reason that she is good. Then we have in the two -lawyers two pictures of conflicting selfish interests, of selfishness -and falsehood combined to defeat the truth, not because truth is -necessarily unpleasant to the lawyer, but because he wants to make -no enemies by exposing it. This is the way of the world to-day, and -although these men speak the language of the sixteenth or seventeenth -century, their feelings are those of the shrewd and selfish modern man -of society, the man who has no courage in the face of wrong, if his -pocket happens to be in danger. We like only three characters in the -whole drama--Pompilia, the Pope, and Caponsacchi. Yet there is nothing -very remarkable about Caponsacchi, except in the way of contrast. He is -the one character who, although his life and interests and reputation -are at stake, boldly risks everything simply for a generous impulse. -Happily he is not extraordinary; if he were, one would lose faith in so -terrible a world. Happily we know that wherever and whenever a great -wrong is done, there will always be a Caponsacchi to speak out and to -do all that is possible against it. But Caponsacchi is crushed; and -even the Pope is obliged to punish him for doing what is noble. This is -one of the moral problems of the composition. The man who wants to do -right, and cannot do right except by disobedience to law, may be loved -for doing right, but he must be punished nevertheless for breaking the -law. Does this mean that he is punished for doing right? I think we -should not look at it in that way. The truth is that the observance of -discipline must be insisted upon even in exceptional cases, because -it regards the happiness of millions. We cannot allow men to decide -for themselves when discipline should be broken. Caponsacchi is thus a -martyr in the cause of individual justice. He has to pay, justly, the -penalty of setting a dangerous example to thousands of others. But he -is not on that account less estimable and lovable, and even the Pope, -in punishing him, gives him words of warm praise. - -The consideration of this huge poem ought also to tempt some of you -at a later day to try some application of its method to some incident -of real life. I do not now mean in poetry, but in prose. If you know -enough about human nature to make the attempt, there is no better way -of telling a story. It was a pure invention on the part of Browning, -and we may call it a new method. But of course one must have a very -great power of reading character to be able to do anything of the same -kind. - -This is the most colossal attempt in psychology made by Browning, -but a large number of his longer poems are worked out in precisely -the same manner as single monologues. "The Bishop Orders his Tomb," -another Italian study, gives us all the ugly side of the Renaissance -character--its selfishness, lust, hypocrisy, and ambition, together -with that extraordinary sense of art which gave a certain greatness -even to very bad men. "Bishop Blougram's Apology" (which is said to -be a satire upon a famous English Cardinal) is quite modern, but it -is almost equally ugly. It shows us a very powerful mind arguing, -with irresistible logic and merciless cleverness, in an absolutely -unworthy cause. The bishop has heard a young free thinker observe -that the bishop could not believe the doctrines of the church, he -was too clever a bishop for that. So he calls the young man to him, -and utterly crushes him by a very clever lecture, in which he proves -that belief or unbelief are equally foolish, that right and wrong are -interchangeable, that black may be white or white black, that common -sense and a knowledge of the world represent the highest wisdom, and -that the free thinker is an absolute fool because he tells the world -that he is a free thinker. We know that the bishop is morally wrong -the whole way through, that every statement which he makes is wrong; -yet it would take a clever man to prove him wrong. The logic is too -well managed. Few psychological studies are comparable to this. "Mr. -Sludge, 'the Medium,'" said to be a satire upon the great Scottish -spiritualist and humbug, Home, shows us another kind of quackery; a man -who lives by imposture explains to us how he can practise imposture -with a good moral conscience, and under the belief that imposture is a -benefit to mankind. He talks so well that he obliges even the person -who has detected his imposture to lend him or give him a considerable -sum of money--in short, he can trick even those who know his trickery. -But see how different these beings are from each other, and how -different the studies of their character must necessarily prove. Yet -Browning seems never to find any difficulty in painting the mind of -a man, whether good or bad, whether of to-day or of the Middle Ages. -"Paracelsus," for example, is a mediæval character; Browning makes -him tell us the story of his researches into alchemy and magic, makes -him impart to us the secret ambition that once filled him, and the -consequences of disappointment and of failure. "Sordello," again, is -of the thirteenth century; you will find his name in the great poem -of Dante. Sordello was a poet and troubadour, who tried to succeed -socially and politically by the exercise of a brilliant talent, and -almost did succeed. Browning's poem on him is the whole story of a -human soul; only, it is the man himself who tells it. And the moral is -that suffering and sorrow bring wisdom. How various and how wonderful -is this range of character-study! Yet I have mentioned only a few out -of scores and scores of compositions. I cannot insist too much upon -this quality of versatility in Browning, this display of Shakespearian -power. In all Tennyson you will find scarcely more than twenty -really distinct characters; and some of these are but half drawn. In -Rossetti you will find scarcely more than half a dozen, mostly women. -In Swinburne there is no character whatever, except the poet's own, -outside of that grand singer's dramatic work. But in Browning there -are hundreds of distinct characters, and there is nothing at all vague -about them; they speak, they move, they act with real and not with -artificial life. Sometimes a character may occupy a hundred pages, -sometimes it may be drawn in half a dozen lines, but the drawing is -equally distinct and equally true. And there is scarcely any kind of -human nature of which we have no picture. Even the lowest type of -savage is drawn, the primitive savage, for "Caliban upon Setebos" gives -us the thoughts and feelings of such a savage about God--God being -figured in the savage mind, of course, as only a much stronger and -larger kind of savage, possessing magical power. - -In all his poems, as I said, Browning is essentially dramatic. Quite -rightly has he grouped several collections of short poems under -titles which suggest this fact, such as "Dramatic Idyls," "Dramatis -Personæ," "Men and Women." Sometimes the poet himself is the only -speaker and actor, giving us his own particular feelings of the moment; -but in the most noteworthy cases of this kind he is talking, not to -the reader, but to ghosts. For instance, "Parleyings with Certain -People of Importance in Their Day," are imaginary conversations which -Browning holds with the ghosts of men long dead--writers, philosophers, -statesmen, priests. It is in this collection that you will find the -remarkable verses on the great poem of Smart, which revived Smart's -work for modern readers after a hundred years of oblivion. I cannot -find time to tell you about the other personages of these imaginary -conversations; but I may mention that Mandeville is the subject of -a special conversation, and that you will find the whole germ of -Mandeville's philosophy in this composition. But let us turn to some -consideration of Browning's work in the true dramatic form--in plays, -tragedies or comedies, and in translations of plays from the Greek. - -It would require several lectures to give a summary of Browning's -plays; and they do not always represent his best genius. For it is a -curious fact that this man who, as a simple poet, was the greatest of -English dramatists after Shakespeare, was rarely quite successful when -he attempted the true dramatic form. He was great in the monologue; he -was not great upon the stage. Some of his plays were acted, such as -"Strafford" and "The Blot on the 'Scutcheon"; but they did not prove to -be worthy of great success. "In a Balcony," which could not be put upon -the stage at all, is much better; and perhaps it is better because it -consists only of two monologues, or rather of a conversation between -two persons; for the part taken by the other actors is altogether -insignificant. "The Return of the Druses" and "Luria," like Tennyson's -dramas, are excellent poetry, but they are not suited for the stage. -The best of all Browning's dramas, the only one that I really want -you to read, is "A Soul's Tragedy." I may say a word about the plot -of this. It is a story of friendship between two young men, patriots -and statesmen. In a political crisis one of the young men stabs a -political enemy, and has fled from the country. But before fleeing, he -trusts all his interests and his property to his friend, and asks the -friend also to take care of his betrothed. What does the friend do? -Exposed to great temptation, he betrays his trust. He sees a chance to -obtain political power by pretending to be the man who really stabbed -the politician on the other side--the tyrant of an hour. The people -acclaim him as their saviour, make him dictator. Then he goes further -in his treachery, by making love to his friend's sweetheart. At last -a Roman statesman, Ogniben, appears upon the scene, with power to -crush the revolution, or to do anything that he pleases. But Ogniben -is a terribly clever man, and he does not want bloodshed; he knows the -character of the new dictator, and determines to play with him, as a -cat with a mouse. First he flatters him enough to make him betray all -his weaknesses, his vanities, his fears. Then, at quite the unexpected -moment, he summons the young man who had run away, I mean the friend -betrayed, and brings him face to face with the treacherous dictator. -The result is of course a moral collapse; that is the real Soul's -Tragedy. I am giving only a thin skeleton of the plot. But you ought -to read this play, if only for the wonderful studies of character in -it, not the least remarkable of which is the awful Ogniben, far-seeing, -cunning beyond cunning, strong beyond force, who can unravel plots -with a single word and pierce all masks of hypocrisy with a single -glance; but whom you feel to be, in a large way, generous and kindly, -and so far as possible, just. I think not only that this is Browning's -greatest play, but that as a play it is psychologically superior to -anything else which has been done in Victorian drama. It is not fit for -the stage, and it is not even very great as poetry--indeed half of it -or more is prose, and rather eccentric prose; but it offers wonderful -examples of analytical power not surpassed in any other contemporary -poet or dramatist. - -About Browning's translations from the Greek poets, I scarcely know -what to say. Most critics of authority acknowledge that Browning -has made the most faithful metrical translation of the "Agamemnon" -of Æschylus. But they also declare that in spite of its exactness, -the Greek spirit and feeling have entirely vanished under Browning's -treatment. My own feeling about the matter is that you would do much -better to read the prose translation of Æschylus. Yet I could not -say this in regard to Browning's translation of the "Alkestis" of -Euripides, which you will find embodied in the text of "Balaustian's -Adventure." Balaustian is a Greek dancing girl. She is taken prisoner -with many Athenian people at the time of the disastrous Greek -expedition to Syracuse, which you must have read about in history. -To please her captors, she repeats for them the wonderful verses of -Euripides, by which they are so much affected that they pardon both her -and her companions. This incident is founded upon fact, and Browning -uses it very well to introduce his translation. Perhaps the genius of -Euripides was closer to the genius of Browning than that of Æschylus; -for this translation is incomparably better from an emotional point of -view than the other. It is very beautiful indeed; and even after having -read the Greek play in a good prose translation, I think that you would -find both pleasure and profit in reading Browning's verses. - -The important thing now for you to get clearly into your minds is one -general fact about this enormously various work of Browning. Suppose -somebody should ask you what is different in the work of Browning from -that of all other modern poets, what would you be able to answer? But -unless you can answer, the whole value of this lecture would be lost -upon you. Browning himself has excellently answered, in a little verse -which forms the prologue to the second series of the Dramatic Idyls. - - "You are sick, that's sure,"--they say: - "Sick of what?"--they disagree. - "'Tis the brain,"--thinks Doctor A; - "'Tis the heart,"--holds Doctor B. - "The liver--my life I'd lay!" - "The lungs!" "The lights!" - Ah me! - - So ignorant of man's whole - Of bodily organs plain to see-- - So sage and certain, frank and free, - About what's under lock and key-- - Man's soul! - -That is to say, even the wisest doctors cannot agree about the simple -fact of a man's sickness, notwithstanding the fact that they have -studied anatomy and physiology and osteology, and have examined every -part of the body. Yet, although the wisest men of science are obliged -to confess that they cannot tell you everything about the body, which -can be seen, even ignorant persons think that they know everything -about the soul of a man, which cannot be seen at all, and about the -mind of a man, to which only God himself has the key. Now all the -purpose of Browning's work and life has been to show people what a -very wonderful and complex and incomprehensible thing human character -is--therefore to show that the most needful of all study is the study -of human nature. He is especially the poet of character, the only -one who has taught us, since Shakespeare's time, what real men and -women are, how different each from every other, how unclassifiable -according to any general rule, how differently noble at their best, -how differently wicked at their worst, how altogether marvellous -and infinitely interesting. His mission has been the mission of a -great dramatic psychologist. And if anybody ever asks you what was -Robert Browning, you can answer that he was the great Poet of Human -Character--not of character of any one time or place or nation, but of -all times and places and peoples of which it was possible for him to -learn anything. - -Here we must close our little studies of Victorian poets--that is to -say, of the four great ones. I hope that you will be able to summarise -in your own mind the main characteristic of each, as I have tried to -indicate in the case of Browning. Remember Tennyson as the greatest -influence upon the language of his mother country, because of his -exquisiteness of workmanship and his choice of English subjects in -preference to all others. He is the most English of all the four. -Remember Rossetti as being altogether different in his personality and -feeling--a man of the Middle Ages born into the nineteenth century, and -in the nineteenth century still the poet of mediæval feeling. And think -of Swinburne--the greatest musician of all, the most perfect master of -form and sound in modern poetry--as an expounder of Neo-Paganism, of -another Renaissance in the world of literature. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -WILLIAM MORRIS - - -William Morris suffers by comparison with the more exquisite poets -of his own time and circle. Nevertheless he is quite great enough to -call for a special lecture. I am not sure whether I shall be able to -make you much interested in him; but I shall certainly try to give you -a clear idea of his position in English poetry as something entirely -distinct, and very curious. - -A few words first about the man himself--in more ways than one the -largest figure among the Romantics. He was the great spirit of the -Pre-Raphaelite coterie; he was the most prolific poet of the century; -and he was in all respects the nearest in his talent and sentiment to -Sir Walter Scott. All these reasons make it necessary to speak of him -at considerable length. - -He was born in 1834 and died in 1896, so that he is very recent in his -relation to English poetry. There was nothing extraordinary in the -incidents of his life at school or in his university career. In this -man the extraordinary gift was altogether of the mind. Without the -eccentricity of genius, he was also without the highest capacity of -genius; but in his life as well as in his poetry he was always correct -and always charming in a certain gentle and dreamy way. He had the -stature and strength of a giant, perfect health, and immense working -capacity, and did very well whatever he tried to do. Fortunately for -his inclinations, he was the son of a rich man and never knew want; -so that when he took to literature as a profession, he never had to -think about pleasing the public, nor to care how much money his books -might bring. After leaving Oxford University he devoted his life to -art and literature, becoming equally well known as a painter and a -poet. At a later day he established various businesses for an æsthetic -purpose. For example, he thought that the early Italian printers and -Venetian printers had done much better work and produced much more -wonderful books than any modern printer; and he founded a press for -the purpose of producing modern books in the same beautiful way. -Then he thought that a reform in the matter of house furniture was -possible. The furniture of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had -been good, solid, costly, and beautiful; but the later furniture had -become both cheap and ugly. Morris's artistic interests had led him to -study furniture a great deal; he became familiar with the furniture -of the Middle Ages, of the Elizabethan Age, and of later times, as -scarcely any man of the day had become. It occurred to him that the -best and most beautiful forms of mediæval and later furniture might be -reintroduced, if anybody would only take pains to manufacture them. The -ordinary manufacturers of furniture would not do this. Morris and a few -friends established a factory, and there designed and made furniture -equal to anything in the past. This undertaking was successful, and -it changed the whole fashion of English house furnishing. Only a -decorative artist like Morris would have been capable of imagining and -carrying out such a plan; and it was carried out so well that almost -every rich house in England now possesses some furniture designed by -him. - -Thus you will see that he must have been a very busy man, occupied -at once with poetry, with romance (for he wrote a great many prose -romances), with artistic printing, with house furniture, with -designs for windows of stained glass, and with designs for beautiful -tiling--also with a very considerable amount of work as a decorative -artist. All this would appear almost too much for any one person to -attempt. But it was rendered easy to Morris by the simple fact that -the whole of his various undertakings happened to be influenced by -exactly the same spirit and motive, the artistic feeling of the Middle -Ages, and of the period ending with the eighteenth century. Whether -Morris was making books of poetry or books of prose, whether he was -translating sagas from the Norse or writing stories in imitation of -the early French romances, whether he was casting Italian forms of -type for the making of beautiful books or designing furniture for -some English palace, whatever he was doing, he had but one thought, -one will--to reproduce the strange beauty of the Middle Ages. There -was almost nothing modern about the man. The whole of his writings, -comprising a great many volumes, contained scarcely ten pages having -any reference to modern things. Even the language that he used has been -correctly described by a great critic as eighteenth century English, -mixed with Scandinavian idioms and forms. Thus there were two men -among the Pre-Raphaelites who actually did not belong to their own -century--Rossetti and Morris. Both were painters as well as poets, and -though the former was the greater in both arts, the practical influence -of Morris counted for much more in changing English taste both in -literature and in æsthetics. - -We have chiefly to consider his writing, and, of that writing, -especially the poetry. As a poet I have already mentioned him as having -points of resemblance with Sir Walter Scott. But he also had even more -points of resemblance with Chaucer. He was like Scott in the singular -ease and joyous force of his creative talent. Scott could sit down -and write a romance in verse beautifully, correctly, without any more -difficulty than other men write prose. Byron, you know, used to write -his poetry straight off, without even taking the trouble to correct -it; as a consequence it is now becoming forgotten. But Scott took very -great trouble to make his verse quite correct, without trying to be -exquisite, and his verse will always count as good, stirring English -poetry. Morris had almost exactly the same talent, the talent that can -give you a three-volume story either in verse or prose, just as you -may prefer. And he wrote in verse on a scale that astonishes, a scale -exceeding that of any modern poet. To find his equal in production we -must go back to the poets of those romantic Middle Ages which he so -much loved, the poets who wrote vast epics or romances in thirty or -forty thousand lines. Eleven volumes of verse and fifteen volumes of -prose represent Morris's production; and the extraordinary thing is -that all his production is good. It does not reach the very highest -place in literature; no man could write so much and make his work of -the very highest class. But it is good as to form, good as to feeling, -much beyond mediocrity at all times; and sometimes it rises to a level -that is only a little below the first class. - -I am not going to give selections from his larger works, so I can only -mention here what the large works signify and how he is related to -Chaucer through one of them. The most successful, in a popular sense, -of all his poems is the "Earthly Paradise," originally published in -five volumes, now published in four--and the volumes are very thick. -This vast composition is much on the plan of the "Canterbury Tales"; -and Morris and Chaucer both followed the same method, and were filled -with the same sense of beauty. Both found in the legends of the Middle -Ages and in the myths of antiquity, material for their art in the shape -of stories; and as these stories had no inter-relation, belonging even -to widely different epochs of human civilisation, it was necessary -to imagine some general plan according to which all could be brought -harmoniously together, like jewels, upon a single tray. This plan of -uniting heterogeneous masses of fiction or legends into one artistic -circle was known to the East long before it was known in Europe; the -great Indian collections of stories, such as the Panchatantra and -the Kâth-sarit-sâgara, are perhaps the oldest examples; and the huge -Sanskrit epics show something of the same design, afterwards adopted -by Arabian and Persian story-tellers. But Chaucer was the first to -make the attempt with any success in English literature. His plan -was to have the stories told by pilgrims travelling on their way to -Canterbury, every man or woman of the company being obliged to tell one -or two stories. The plan was so good that it has been followed in our -own day; Longfellow's "Tales of a Wayside Inn" are constructed upon -precisely the same principle. But Chaucer made a plan so large that he -had not the strength nor the time to carry it to completion; Morris, -upon a scale nearly as large, brought his work to a happy conclusion -with the greatest ease. He makes a company of exiled warriors tell -the stories of a foreign court, as results of their experience or -knowledge obtained in many different countries. There are twenty-four -stories, twelve mediæval or romantic and twelve classical; and each -pair of these corresponds with one of the twelve months, the first -two stories being told in January, the second two in February, and so -forth. The division neatly partitions the great composition into twelve -books, with the regular prologues and epilogues added. The English -are not apt to trouble themselves to read very long poems these days; -but Morris was able actually to revive the mediæval taste for long -romances. Tens of thousands of his books were sold, notwithstanding -their costliness, and the result was altogether favourable for the new -development of romantic feeling, not only in literature, but in art -and decoration. One might suppose that such composition was enough -to occupy a lifetime, but Morris threw it off quite lightly and set -to work upon a variety of poetical undertakings nearly as large. He -translated Homer and Virgil into the same kind of flowery verse; and -he put the grand Scandinavian epic of Sigurd the Volsung into some of -the finest long-lined poetry produced in modern times. This epic seems -to me the better work of the two long productions by which Morris is -best known; later on some lines from it may be quoted. But Morris was -scarcely less attracted by Greek myths than by the old literature of -Scandinavia; and he also produced a long epic poem upon the story of -Jason and Medea, the story of the Golden Fleece. Nevertheless, I can -much better illustrate to you what Morris is in literature and what -his influence and his objects were, by means of his still earlier and -shorter poems. There are several volumes of these, now published in -more compact form under the titles of "Poems by the Way" and "Love -is Enough" and "The Defense of Guinevere." From the last, originally -dedicated to Rossetti, I will make some quotations that will show you -how Morris tried to revive the Middle Ages. - -One of the most remarkable things in the late Mr. Froude's charming -account of a voyage which he made to Norway, is his statement of a -sudden conviction that there came to him about the character of the -ancient Vikings. He felt assured, he said, that the modern Norwegian -and the ancient Norwegian were very much the same; that modern customs, -religion, and education had produced only differences of surface; and -that if we could go back against the stream of time to the age of the -sea kings, we should find that they were exactly like the men of to-day -in all that essentially belongs to race character. Now Morris, while -studying mediæval romances and loving them for their intrinsic curious -beauty, came to a very similar conclusion. It is true, he thought, that -the Middle Ages were much more cruel, more ignorant, more savage than -the ages before them or after them; but after all, the men and women of -those times must have felt about many things just like modern men and -women. Why should we not feel enough of this to study their fashions, -joys, and feelings under the peculiar conditions of their terrible -society? And this is what he did. You may say that, except for some -difference in the home speech, the talk of these people in the poems of -Morris is the talk of modern men and women. There is some difference as -to sentiment. But you cannot say that it is not natural, not likely; in -fact, the seeming pictures often have such force that you cannot forget -them. That is a test of truth. - -They are very brief pictures, like sudden glimpses caught during a -flash of lightning: a glimpse into an arena where two men are about -to fight to the death in presence of their king, according to the -code of the day; a knight riding through a flooded country in order -to take a castle by surprise; a woman driven to madness by the murder -of her lover; a woman at the stake about to be burned alive, when the -sound of the hoofs of the lover's horse is heard, as he gallops to her -rescue; ladies in the upper chamber of a castle, weaving and singing; -the capture of a robber and his vain pleading for life; also some fairy -tales of weird and sensuous beauty, told as people of the Middle Ages -must have felt them. To me one of the most powerful pictures is the -story of "The Haystack in the Floods." We are not told how the tragedy -began, nor how it ended; and this is great art to tell something -without beginning and without end, so well that the reader is always -thereafter wondering what the beginning was and what the end might have -been. The poem begins with the words: - - Had she come all the way for this - To part at last without a kiss? - Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain - That her own eyes might see him slain - Beside the haystack in the floods? - -We know from this only that the woman referred to is a woman of gentle -birth, accustomed to luxurious things, so that it was very difficult -for her to travel in rainy weather and cold, and that she thought it -was a great sacrifice on her part to do so even for a lover. If she -thought this, we have a right to suspect that she is a wanton--though -we are not quite sure about it. The description of her does not explain -anything further than the misery of the situation. - - Along the dripping leafless woods, - The stirrup touching either shoe, - She rode astride as troopers do; - With kirtle kilted to her knee, - To which the mud splashed wretchedly; - And the wet dripp'd from every tree - Upon her head and heavy hair, - And on her eyelids broad and fair; - The tears and rain ran down her face. - -The delicate woman has also the pain of being lonesome on her ride; for -the lover, the knight, cannot ride beside her, cannot comfort her; he -has to ride far ahead in order to see what danger may be in the road. -He is running away with her; perhaps he is a stranger in that country; -we shall presently see. - -Suddenly, nearby in the middle of a flooded place the enemy appears, a -treacherous knight who is the avowed lover of the woman and the enemy -of the man. She counts the number of spears with him--thirty spears, -and they have but ten. Fighting is of no use, the woman says, but -Robert (now we know for the first time the name of her companion) is -not afraid--believes that by courage and skill alone he can scatter the -hostile force, and bring his sweetheart over the river. She begs him -not to fight; her selfishness shows her character--it is not for him -she is afraid, but for herself. - - But, "O!" she said, - "My God! my God! I have to tread - The long way back without you; then - The court at Paris; those six men; - The gratings of the Chatelet;..." - -And worse than the gratings of the Chatelet is the stake; at which -she may be burned, or the river into which she may be thrown, if her -lover is killed; there is only one way to secure her own safety--that -is to accept the love of another man whom she hates, the wicked knight -Godmar, who is now in front of them with thirty spearsmen. Evidently -this is no warrior woman, no daughter of soldiers; she may love, but -like Cleopatra she is afraid of battle. Her lover Robert, like a man, -does not answer her tearful prayers, but gives the command to his men -to shout his war-cry, and boldly charges forward. Then, triple sorrow! -his men stand still; they refuse to fight against three times their -number, and in another moment Robert is in the power of his enemy, -disarmed and bound. Thereupon Godmar with a wicked smile observes to -the woman: - - "Now, Jehane, - Your lover's life is on the wane - So fast, that, if this very hour - You yield not as my paramour, - He will not see the rain leave off." - -He does more than threaten to kill her lover; he reminds her of what -he can further do to her. She has said that if he takes her into -his castle by force, she will kill either herself or him (we may -doubt whether she would really do either); and he wants a voluntary -submission. He talks to her about burning her alive; how would she like -that? And the ironical caressing tone of his language only makes it -more implacable. - - "Nay, if you do not my behest, - O Jehane! though I love you well," - Said Godmar, "would I fail to tell - All that I know?" "Foul lies," she said. - "Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head, - At Paris folks would deem them true! - Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you: - Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown! - Give us Jehane to burn or drown! - Eh!--gag me Robert!--sweet my friend, - This were indeed a piteous end - For those long fingers, and long feet, - And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet; - An end that few men would forget - That saw it. So, an hour yet: - Consider, Jehane, which to take - Of life or death!" - -She considers, or rather tries to consider, for she is almost too weary -to speak, and very quickly falls asleep in the rain on the wet hay. An -hour passes. When she is awakened, she only sighs like a tired child, -and answers, "I will not." Perhaps she could not believe that her enemy -and lover would do as he had threatened; and in spite of the risk of -further angering him, she approaches the prisoner and tries to kiss him -farewell. Immediately, - - With a start - Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart; - From Robert's throat he loosed the bands - Of silk and mail; with empty hands - Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw - The long bright blade without a flaw - Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand - In Robert's hair; she saw him bend - Back Robert's head; she saw him send - The thin steel down; the blow told well, - Right backward the knight Robert fell, - And moaned as dogs do, being half dead, - Unwittingly, as I deem: so then - Godmar turn'd grinning to his men, - Who ran, some five or six, and beat - His head to pieces at her feet. - -The knight groans involuntarily, in the death struggle only, and -probably the sound of his pain pleases Godmar, but in order to make -sure that he cannot recover again, he makes a sign to his followers to -finish the work of murder; so they beat in his skull--an ugly thing for -a woman to see done. There were rough-hearted men in those days who -could see a woman burned alive and laugh at her suffering. You have -read, I think, the terrible story about Black Fulk, who made a great -holiday on the occasion of burning his young wife alive, and took his -friends to see the show, himself putting on his best holiday attire. -This Godmar seems to be nearly as harsh a brute, judging from what he -next has to say. - - Then Godmar turn'd again and said: - "So, Jehane, the first fitte is read! - Take note, my lady, that your way - Lies backward to the Chatelet!" - She shook her head and gazed awhile - At her cold hands with rueful smile, - As though this thing had made her mad. - - This was the parting that they had - Beside the haystack in the floods. - -Notice the brutal use of the word "fitte" (often spelled fytte). This -was an old name for the divisions of a long poem, romance, or epic. -Later the Italian term "canto" was substituted for it. Godmar refers -to the woman's love as her romance, her poem: "Now the first canto of -our love-romance has been read--only the first, remember!" The second -fitte will be perhaps the burning of the woman when she is brought -back to the castle prison from which she fled. It all depends upon -circumstances. If she has really become mad, she may escape. The poem -ends here, leaving us in doubt about the rest. We can only imagine the -termination. I think that she has not really become mad, that she is -too selfish and weak to bear or even to feel the real emotional shock -of the thing; and that when they are half way to the prison she is -likely to yield to Godmar's will. If she does so, he will probably keep -her in his castle until he tires of her, and finds it expedient to end -her existence with as little scruple as he showed in killing Robert. -But, as an actual fact, it is difficult to be sure of anything, because -we know neither the beginning nor the end of the affair. We have only -a glimpse of the passion, suffering, selfishness, cruelty--then utter -darkness. And this method of merely glimpsing the story causes it to -leave a profound impression upon the imagination. Please do not forget -this, because it is the most important art in any kind of narrative -literature, whether of poetry or of prose. - -A second example of the same device is furnished by another terrible -poem called "The Judgment of God." The Judgment of God is an old name -for trial by single combat. It was a superstitious law, a foolish and -wicked law, but it served a purpose in the Middle Ages, and it afforded -an opportunity for many noble and courageous deeds. Browning took up -this subject in his stirring poem of "Count Gismond." The law was -this: when one knight was accused by another of some evil, cruel, or -treacherous act, he was allowed to challenge the man who brought the -charge against him to fight to the death--_à l'outrance_, as the old -term expressed it. The combat took place in the presence of the lord or -king and before a great assembly, according to fixed rules. If the man -who brought the charge lost the fight, then it was thought that he had -proved himself a liar. If the person accused won the battle, then he -was declared to be innocent. For it was thought that God would protect -the truth in such cases; and therefore these combats were called the -"judgment of God." Nevertheless you will perceive that a very skilful -knight might be able to kill a great number of accusers, and lawfully -"prove" himself innocent of a hundred crimes. That was a great defect -of the system. - -The "Judgment of God" is a monologue, quite as good in its way as many -of the short monologues of Browning. It is the knight against whom -accusation has been brought that tells us the feelings and impressions -of the moment that he enters the lists to fight. In this case we are -more moved to sympathy than in the former stories, because we know -that the man, whether otherwise bad or good, has saved a woman from -the stake, and killed the lords who were about to burn her. So we are -inclined to think of him as a hero. We have just one sudden vision of a -man's mind, as he stands in the face of death, with no sympathy about -him except that of his old father, who comes to give him advice about -fighting, because he is to be matched against a very skilful knight. - - "Swerve to the left, son Roger," he said, - "When you catch his eyes through the helmet-slit, - Swerve to the left, then out at his head, - And the Lord God give you joy of it!" - -The old man knows how to fight, has probably won many a battle, and -he has observed the way that the light is falling. So he tells his -son, "When you begin to fight, don't turn to the right--turn to the -left; then you will be able to see his eyes through the helmet, and -immediately that you see them, strike straight for his head, and may -God help you to kill him." He has just heard these words from his -father when the prologue begins. - - The blue owls on my father's hood - Were a little dimm'd, as I turned away; - This giving up of blood for blood - Will finish here somehow to-day. - - So when I walked from out the tent, - Their howling almost blinded me; - Yet for all that I was not bent - By any shame. Hard by, the sea - - Made a noise like the aspens where - We did that wrong, but now the place - Is very pleasant, and the air - Blows cool on any passer's face. - - And all the throng is gather'd now - Into the circle of these lists-- - Yea, howl out, butchers! tell me how - His hands were cut off at the wrists; - - And how Lord Roger bore his face - A league above his spear point, high - Above the owls, to that strong place - Among the waters--yea, yea, cry! - -The owls on the crest are the emblem of the family. The knight has -been waiting in his tent according to rule, until the signal is given; -and his father and his retainers probably helped to arm him there. He -feels no emotion except at the moment of bidding his father good-bye, -and then he knows that there are tears in his own eyes, because the owl -crest on his father's hood suddenly appears dim. Then, as the signal -is given, he walks out of the tent into the lists, only to hear a roar -of hatred and abuse go up from all the circles of seats. The friends -of the dead are evidently in great force, and he has no friend except -his father and his retainers. And they shout at him, his enemies, -telling him what he has done--how he cut off the hands of the knight -and cut off his head and carried it upon the top of a spear for three -miles, carried it above his own banner to his own castle. This was -indeed considered an unknightly thing in those days, for such was the -treatment given to common people in war, not to knights or men of rank. - -Then he sees the man with whom he must fight, waiting for him, all in -armour, with white linen over his arm, to indicate that he is fighting -for the cause of truth. At this Roger can very well laugh; and he -remarks that the face of the champion's lady looks even whiter than -the linen upon her lord's arm. She has reason, perhaps, to be afraid -for him. And though he has not much time for thinking, Roger remembers -his own beloved, waiting for him, remembers even how he first met her. -Addressing her in thought, he says: - - And these say: "No more now my knight, - Or God's knight any longer"--you - Being than they so much more white, - So much more pure and good and true, - - Will cling to me forever--there, - Is not that wrong turn'd right at last - Through all these years, and I wash'd clean? - Say, yea, Ellayne; the time is past, - - Since on that Christmas-day last year - Up to your feet the fire crept; - And the smoke through the brown leaves sere - Blinded your dear eyes that you wept; - - Was it not I that caught you then - And kiss'd you on the saddle-bow? - Did not the blue owl mark the men - Whose spears stood like the corn a-row? - -Evidently she has reason to love him and his house; did he not save -her from the fire?--did he not come with his spearmen and crush her -enemies, and take her away upon his horse to safety? And was not that -enough to atone for whatever other wrong he might have done? But he has -only a moment in which to think all this, for the trumpet is about to -sound for the fight, and there are other things to think about. One of -these is that his antagonist is a very good man, difficult to overcome; -the other is that there is danger for him even if he conquers, because -there are so many present who hate him. - - This Oliver is a right good knight, - And needs must beat me, as I fear, - Unless I catch him in the fight, - My father's crafty way--John, here! - - Bring up the men from the south gate, - To help me if I fall or win, - For even if I beat, their hate - Will grow to more than this mere grin. - -If the reader could imagine the result of the combat, the real effect -of the poem in its present form would be lost. No man can imagine -it. The challenged knight acknowledges his antagonist to be a better -man--indeed, he says that he can only hope to conquer him by the -cunning trick taught him by his old father. But the really dangerous -man never underrates the capacity of an enemy; and we may suspect that -the forces are at least even. So, as I have said, no man can guess -the result of the battle, and the reader is forced to keep wondering -what happened. He will always wonder, but he will never be able to -feel convinced. And to leave the mind of the reader thus interested -and unsatisfied is a great stroke of literary art. The same book -contains a number of mediæval pieces of the same sort, showing how very -unimportant it is whether you begin a story in the middle or whether -you leave it without an end. The greatest French story-tellers of -modern times have made almost popular the form of art in fiction to -which I refer. Take, for example, the late Guy de Maupassant, many of -whose short stories have, I am told, been translated into Japanese. -No one modern prose writer ever succeeded better in telling a story -without any beginning or without any end. Positively no beginning -and no end is necessary, in many cases; and remember, this method of -representing only the middle of things is exactly true to life. We -never see or hear of the whole of any incident that happens under our -eyes. We see only a fact, without knowing what caused it to come about, -and without knowing what will be the consequences of it. Outside of our -own homes we do not see much of other people's lives, and never the -whole of any one's life. - -Among other pieces in the book I should call your attention to "The -Little Tower," "Sir Peter Harpdon's End," "The Wind," "The Eve of -Crecy," "In Prison," and "The Blue Closet." They are very different in -idea, but I think that you will find them all extremely original. "The -Little Tower" has no beginning and no end. It only describes faithfully -the feelings of a knight riding over an inundated country, swimming his -horse along the side of bridges under water, and thinking to himself of -the joy of capturing an enemy's castle by surprise, killing the lord -and burning the lady. It is brutal in a certain way, but supremely -natural. The story of "Sir Peter Harpdon's End" is not a monologue; -it is a very dramatic narrative in which a number of men of different -character play their parts. It has no beginning, but the end is plainly -suggested--and this shows the tender side of human nature in the Middle -Ages. Sir Peter is brave, kindly, and true. Therefore, when he has his -enemy at his mercy, instead of killing him, he only cuts off his ears. -As a consequence he is afterwards himself destroyed; the obvious moral -of the narrative is that a merciful heart was a dangerous possession -in those times. The good men were easily trapped by playing upon their -feelings of pity or sympathy. "The Wind" represents the madness of a -very old knight, alone in his castle. The sound of the wind makes him -think of the voices of the dead whom he knew, and brings him back to -the memories of his youth, and of a woman that he loved. And at last -the ghosts of forgotten friends enter and glide about him. This has no -beginning and no end, and it remains very strongly impressed upon the -memory. We should like to know the story of that woman, the story of -the madness of the old man, but we shall never know. "The Eve of Crecy" -represents the state of mind of a young French knight just before the -fatal battle, when the flower of the French chivalry was destroyed by a -mere handful of English soldiers driven to bay. You may remember that -before the battle the English prepared themselves very thoroughly and -made fervent prayers to heaven for success. But the French spent the -night in carousing and jesting, never dreaming that they could lose the -fight. Here Morris shows, us one of the young noblemen thinking only -about his sweetheart, some girl of noble rank whom he hopes to win. -He is going to do great deeds the next day, then the king will smile -upon him, and he will not be afraid to ask the father of that girl to -permit him to become his son-in-law. And so the poem abruptly breaks -off. The end here we can guess--a corpse riddled with English arrows, -and trampled under the feet of thousands of horses. "In Prison," among -the others, represents the emotions of a knight confined in a mediæval -dungeon. "The Blue Closet" is a fantasy, a wild mediæval fairy tale, -put into a dramatic form that reminds one singularly of the later work -of Maeterlinck. It is, however, a noteworthy composition as poetry, and -attained immediate popularity among all those who looked for beauties -of colour and sound rather than reflections of life. - -Those notes will give you an idea of the variety of the book. And the -mediæval pieces are worth thinking about, if any of you should care -to attempt authorship in a similar direction, whether in poetry or in -prose. There was a period in Japanese feudalism, a period of constant -civil wars and baronial quarrels, which would have produced a very -similar condition of things to that described in certain of these -poems, and I even think that more startling effects could be produced -by a judicious handling of Japanese themes in the same way, that is, -without attempting any beginning or suggesting any end. - -But observe that I am not holding up these poems to you as great -masterpieces of verse. I mean only that they suggest how great -masterpieces might be made. And please to note especially one phase of -the art of them, its psychological quality. Morris was not so great -a psychologist as Browning, who came nearest to Shakespeare in this -respect of all English poets. But Morris has considerable ability in -this way, and the most striking effects in his short poems are produced -by making us understand the feelings of persons in particular moments -of pain or terror or heroic effort. For example, how natural and -horrible is the soliloquy of Guinevere in the long poem with which the -book opens. You know that Tennyson did not follow the original account -of Malory in regard to the more cruel episodes of the old story. He -felt repelled by such an incident as the preparations for burning the -queen alive. In the real story she is about to be burned when Lancelot -comes and saves her, not without killing half the knights present and -some of his own relations into the bargain. But Morris saw in this -episode an opportunity for psychological work, and took it, just as -Browning might have done. He makes the queen express her thought: - - ... "I know - I wondered how the fire, while I should stand, - And burn, against the heat, would quiver so, - Yards above my head." - -This startles, because it is true. The quotations which I gave you from -"The Haystack in the Floods" contain several passages of an equally -impressive sort. We can best revive the past in literature not by -trying to describe the details of custom and of costume then prevalent, -but by trying to express faithfully the feelings of people who lived -long ago. And this can be managed most effectively either by monologue -or dialogue. - -The only other collection of short poems written by Morris is now -compressed into a companion volume entitled "Poems by the Way." All -of it is later work, but it is not more successful than the youthful -productions which we have been considering. Nevertheless it excels -in greater variety. You have here dramatic pieces of several kinds, -ballads and translations of ballads, fairy tales and translations of -fairy tales, mediæval and Norse stories, and strangely mixed with these -a number of socialist poems--for Morris believed in the theories of -socialism, in the possibility of an ideal communism. - -The bulk of the pieces in the volume, however, are Scandinavian, and -the general tone of the book is Northern. Morris was a tremendous -worker in the interest of Scandinavian literature. He loved the -medievalism of the pagan Norse even more than the corresponding period -of the Christian and chivalrous South. He helped the work of those -great Oxford professors who brought out the Corpus Poeticum Boreale, -translating in conjunction with one of them several ancient Sagas. -And as a poet he did a great deal to quicken English interest in -Norse literature, as we shall see later on. In this book we have only -short pieces, but they are good, and a number of them have the value -of almost literal translations. As for the style, a good example is -furnished by the story of the killing of the Hallgerd (or Hallgerda) -by Hallbiorn the Strong. The story is taken from an old Icelandic -history, and is undoubtedly true. Hallbiorn wedded a daughter of a man -called Odd, on account of his odd character. She was very beautiful. -Her father insisted that Hallbiorn should spend the whole next season, -winter, with him, and said that he might take his bride away in the -spring for the summer. During the winter Hallgerda had a secret -intrigue with a blood relation called Snæbiorn. The husband did not -know, he only felt a little suspicious at times. When the summer came, -and he asked Hallgerda to go with him to the house which he had built -for her, she did not answer. He asked her twice, still she did not -answer. The third time she refused. Then he killed her. Then Snæbiorn, -her lover, attacked him, and after a terrible fight in which eight or -nine men were killed, Hallbiorn was cut down. Snæbiorn then left the -country vowing that he would never speak to man again, and settled -in Greenland, where he died. The incidents are not wonderful, but -the simple and terrible way in which they are told by the Icelandic -chronicle makes them appeal greatly to the imagination. And Morris -did justice to the style of the old Landnámabok, as it is called. The -following lines relate to the tragedy only: - - ... But Hallbiorn into the bower is gone - And there sat Hallgerd all alone. - She was not dight to go nor ride, - She had no joy of the summer-tide, - Silent she sat and combed her hair, - That fell all round about her there. - The slant beam lay upon her head - And gilt her golden locks to red. - He gazed at her with hungry eyes - And fluttering did his heart arise. - "Full hot," he said, "is the sun to-day, - And the snow is gone from the mountain-way, - The king-cup grows above the grass. - And through the wood do the thrushes pass." - Of all his words she hearkened none - But combed her hair amidst the sun. - "The laden beasts stand in the garth, - And their heads are turned to Helliskarth." - The sun was falling on her knee, - And she combed her gold hair silently. - "To-morrow great will be the cheer - At the Brother's Tongue by Whitewater." - From her folded lap the sunbeam slid; - She combed her hair, and the word she hid. - "Come, love; is the way so long and drear - From Whitewater to Whitewater?" - The sunbeam lay upon the floor; - She combed her hair and spake no more. - He drew her by the lily hand: - "I love thee better than all the land." - He drew her by the shoulders sweet, - "My threshold is but for thy feet." - He drew her by the yellow hair, - "Oh, why wert thou so deadly fair? - Oh, am I wedded to death?" he cried, - "Is the Dead-strand come to Whitewater side?" - -In order to know how terrible all this is, we must understand the -character of the Norse woman. Like the will of the man, her will is -iron; she cannot be broken, she cannot be made to bend, except by love, -and when she refuses to bend there is nothing to be done but to kill -her. All the facts stated here in rhymed verse are even more terrible -and more simple in the prose chronicle. Throughout Norse history we -repeatedly hear of women being killed under like circumstances. These -ferocious men would not beat or abuse their women; that would have -been no use. But they insisted upon being obeyed; to refuse obedience -was to court death. In the present true story, however, the refusal to -obey means much more than to court death; it means a bold confession -by the bride that she has loved and still loves another man than her -husband, and that is the reason of his sudden and terrible question, -"Oh, am I wedded to death? Is the Dead-strand come to this place?" The -Dead-strand or Corpse-strand was, in Norse mythology, the name of a -part of Hel, the region of the dead, the Hades of old Norse, so his -question really means, "Have the evil dead come here for us both?" for -good men and women did not go to the Dead-strand. Now hear her answer. -When he speaks at last, she sings in his face her secret lover's -favourite song, which is just the same thing as to say, "I am glad to -be killed for my lover's sake." And to kill a Norse woman meant, of -course, death for the man who slew her, for her kindred were bound to -avenge her. So she is defying him in every way. - - The sun was fading from the room, - But her eyes were bright in the change and the gloom, - "Sharp Sword," she sang,--"and death is sure, - But over all doth love endure." - She stood up shining in her place - And laughed beneath his deadly face. - Instead of the sunbeam gleamed a brand, - The hilts were hard in Hallbiorn's hand. - -The last line contains a phrase from old Northern war poetry. To say -that the hilt of a man's sword was hard in his hand, signifies that -he was a terrible swordsman, accustomed to mighty blows. But Morris -here makes a little departure from the original chronicle. He makes -Hallbiorn pass his sword through the woman's body. As a matter of -fact he did nothing of the kind; he simply cut her head off at a -single blow. Very dramatic, however, is his telling of the subsequent -flight of Hallbiorn, and the pursuit by Snæbiorn. Hallbiorn's men -are surprised at the fact that he does not hold his ground, for they -know nothing of what happened in the house, and one of them says, -"Where shall we sleep to-night?" Hallbiorn answers grimly, "Under the -ground." Then his retainers know for the first time that they are -going to be attacked. The attacking party consists of twelve men. -Hallbiorn's retainers urge their master to hasten forward; it is still -possible, they think, to escape. But he stops his horse and leaps down, -exclaiming: - - "Why should the supper of Odin wait? - Weary and chased I will not come - To the table of my father's home." - -That is a fine expression about the supper of Odin, referring to the -hope of every brave man to enter, at his death, into Valhalla, the -hall of Odin, and to sup with the gods. And to enter there one had to -be killed in battle. So you can see the fierce humour of Hallbiorn's -remark that he does not want to come late to the supper of the gods, -and to keep the feast waiting. Snæbiorn does not speak. Hallbiorn -only laughs. He kills five men; then one of his feet is cut off, but -he rushes forward upon the bleeding stump, and kills two more before -he is overpowered. It was a terribly savage world, the old Norse -world; but we like to read about it, and we cannot help loving the -splendid courage of the men and women who passed their lives among such -tragedies, fearing nothing but loss of honour. - -Several other Norse subjects have been treated by Morris with equal -success; and one is remarkable for the strange charm of a refrain used -in it, a refrain from the Norse. It is called "The King of Denmark's -Sons," and it is the story of a fratricide. King Gorm of Denmark had -two sons, Knut and Harald: - - Fair was Knut of face and limb, - As the breast of the Queen that suckled him; - But Harald was hot of hand and heart - As lips of lovers ere they part. - -In history Knut was called the beloved. All men loved him, he was the -heir; and the old king loved him so much that he one day said, "If any -one, man or woman, ever tells me that my son Knut is dead, that person -has spoken the word which sends him or her to Hel." But this great love -only made the younger brother jealous. Harald was a Viking; he voyaged -southward and eastward, ravaging coasts in the Mediterranean or -desolating provinces nearer home. His name was a terror in England at -one time. But his father never praised him as he praised his brother. -So one day at sea he attacked his brother, overcame all resistance, -and killed him. Then he went home and told his mother what had been -done. But who dare tell the King? The mother imagined a plan. During -the night she decked the palace hall all in black, taking away every -ornament. So in the morning, when the King entered the hall, he asked, -"Who has dared to do this?" the Queen answered, "We, the women of the -palace, have done it." "Then," said the King, "tell me that my son Knut -is dead!" "You yourself have said the word," the Queen made answer. And -therewith the old king died as he sat in his chair; and the wicked son -became king. This is the simple history, and Morris has not departed -from historic truth in his version of it. The refrain excellently suits -the ballad measure chosen; from the very first stanza, the tone of it -suggests all the tragedy that is going to follow. - - In Denmark gone is many a year, - _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_, - Two sons of Gorm the King there were, - _So grey is the sea when the day is done._ - -Sunrise symbolises happiness, joy; grey is the colour of melancholy; -and nothing is so lonesome, so sad looking, as the waste of the sea -when it turns to grey in the twilight. The refrain reminds one of a -famous line by an American poet, Bryant, who certainly never saw this -ballad: - - Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste. - -Besides the above Norse subjects, I might call your attention to the -following titles: "The Folk-Mote by the River," "Knight Aagen and -Maiden Else," "Hafbur and Signy," "The Raven and the King's Daughter." -All these are well worth reading. So are the purely fairy tales. -Northern fairy tales had a great charm for Morris. He chose them as -subjects, perhaps because he saw a way of putting into them a new -charm, a charm not suited for child readers, but attractive to the -adult public. I suppose you know that fairy tales, as written for -children, are written so as to appeal chiefly to the imagination, -and to those simple emotions of which children are capable. But -originally such stories were told for the amusement of grown up -people, and a great deal of love sentiment figures in some of them. -Morris, remembering this, took several charming stories and infused -them with a new artistic sensuousness, making love the motive and the -principal sentiment. In the other volume of which I spoke, the old -story of "Rapunzel" is treated in this way; in the volume now under -consideration we have the story "Goldilocks and Goldilocks." It is the -wildest, the most impossible kind of fairy tale (so, for that matter, -is Coleridge's "Christabel"), but he gave it a very human charm by -putting delightful little bits of human nature into it--such as the -passage where the enchanted maiden, who never saw a man before, meets -the handsome knight for the first time: - - But the very first step he made from the place - He met a maiden face to face. - - Face to face, and so close was she, - That their lips met soft and lovingly. - - Sweet-mouthed she was, and fair he wist; - And again in the darksome wood they kissed. - - Then first in the wood her voice he heard, - As sweet as the song of the summer bird. - - "O thou fair man with the golden head, - What is the name of thee?" she said. - - "My name is Goldilocks," said he, - "O sweet-breathed, what is the name of thee?" - - "O Goldilocks the Swain," she said, - "My name is Goldilocks the Maid." - - He spake, "Love me as I love thee, - And Goldilocks one flesh shall be." - - She said, "Fair man, I wot not how - Thou lovest, but I love thee now." - -And they go on talking together, like two children, in their eighteenth -century English--she full of wonder at the beauty of the stranger of -another sex, he full of loving pity for her supreme innocence. And -then all kinds of magical dangers and troubles come to separate them, -but love conquers all. The story is known by many children, but not as -Morris tells it. His principal purpose is to picture a character of -perfect innocence and perfect trust; and he does this so delightfully -that we cease to care whether the tale is a fairy one or not. It -stirs most agreeably something which is true in everybody's heart; we -love what is beautiful in the character of the child or the supremely -innocent young girl. - -As a single work in one key, the greatest production of Morris is the -"Story of Sigurd"; indeed, we might call it the masterpiece of the -poet, but for the fact that it is not original in the true sense. It -is little more than a magnificent translation in swinging verse of the -Volsunga Saga. But in more ways than one, it has become a literary work -of extreme importance. It was through this metrical version that the -Volsunga Saga first became known to English readers in a general way. -Since then we have had prose translations. - -I want to speak about this Saga, because the subject is of extreme -literary importance. To-day you can scarcely open a literary periodical -or any volume of essays on literary subjects without finding there some -reference to the famous Northern story. It is one version of an epic -which in various forms belongs to the whole Northern race; and one of -the forms best known is the Nibelungenlied of Germany. Through German -musical art the latter form of the story has in our own time become -universally known in all great cities of the West, for Wagner made it -the subject of a magnificent composition; the greatest of all modern -operas, dramatically at least, is certainly his musical presentation of -the epic cycle. - -A word now about the place of this story in European literature. -Mediæval Europe produced four great epics. Each of these represents the -beginning of a vast national literature. The great English epic is the -story of Beowulf, and I am sorry to say that it is not the best. The -great French epic is the story of Roland. The great Spanish epic is -the story of the Cid. And the great German epic is the Nibelungenlied -or Nibelunge Nôt, as it has also been called. Of these four the German -epic is the grandest. Its date is not exactly known. But the best -critics assert that it cannot be older than the middle of the twelfth -century, and not later than the middle of the thirteenth. Therefore the -date must be somewhat between 1150-1250. - -But the German epic is by no means the oldest form of the story. The -older forms are Norse. There are poetical fragments of the story to be -found in the ancient Scandinavian literature (you can find them in the -library in the Corpus Poeticum Boreale), and there is a splendid prose -version of the story in the old Icelandic--this is the Volsunga Saga, -from which Morris took his poetical materials. Between the versions of -the German and the North, there are great differences of narrative, -but perhaps not great differences of merit. If we could have the whole -of the old Norse epic, we should perhaps find it even grander than the -German. But only fragments have been preserved of the poetry, and we -can only imagine from the prose Saga how magnificent the lost poetry -may have been. And now a word about the story itself. - -When Herbert Spencer, some years ago, criticised certain English -translations issued by the Japanese department of education, he stated -that the story of the great swordsman Musashi was not a proper subject -for the admiration of the youth, because it is a story of vengeance. -He was speaking from the standpoint of ideal education, and from -that standpoint his criticism is not disputable. But ideal education, -in the present state of humanity, he himself would acknowledge to be -impossible. It is only something toward which we can all work a little, -slowly and patiently. In the meantime, the same objection made to the -story of Musashi might equally well be made to all the epic poems of -the Western world, and to nearly all the great romances of the past. To -begin with, the grand poems of Homer, both the Iliad and the Odyssey, -are epics of vengeance. The great story of King Arthur is a narrative -full of incidents of revenge and even of crime. We can scarcely mention -any great composition which is not full of vengeance, and which is not -also admired. But I wonder what could Mr. Spencer say of the Volsunga -Saga or the Nibelungenlied. For all stories of vengeance ever told, -whether in verse or prose, pale before the immense quarrel and cruelty -of these. They are terrible stories, and the Volsunga version is even -more terrible than the German. - -The story takes its name from the great family of the Volsung. It opens -with an account of the might and power of King Volsung, the heroism of -his sons and the beauty of his only daughter Signy. These rule in the -far North. After a time the King of the Goths in the South, hearing -of the wonderful beauty of Signy, asks for her hand in marriage, and -obtains it. He goes to the country of the Volsung to wed her, and -during the wedding he becomes jealous of the splendour and strength of -the Volsung family. When he takes his bride South with him there is an -evil purpose in his heart--the purpose to destroy the family of his -bride by treachery whenever opportunity offers. What follows does not -belong to the German story at all; it is only to be found in the Norse. - -Siggeir, the Gothic king, next year invites the King Volsung and his -sons to come South and pay him a visit. The sons of King Volsung -suspect treachery, and they advise their father not to go without a -great army. But the old king wants to see his daughter, and he thinks -that it would be showing fear to go with a great army, so he tells -his sons that they must go as invited, with only a small following. -They go. But the suspicion of the sons was justified by events. In -the middle of the festival of welcome, King Volsung and his party are -attacked by an immense force, and nearly all the followers of the king -are killed. The sons are taken prisoners and left in a wood tied to -trees for the wolves to devour. Only one escapes, Sigmund. He hides in -the forest and becomes a hunter, and dreams of vengeance. - -But the real avenger is Signy, the daughter of the dead King Volsung -and the wife of the murderer. Signy knows that her brother Sigmund -is alive. But that makes only two Volsungs; and two young people -alone cannot hope to destroy a king and an army. But Signy believes -that three can do it. Secretly she keeps her brother supplied with -provisions and weapons, and she resolves to raise up sons to avenge the -wrong. When her first son is born she begs to train him, and when he -is old enough to begin to learn what war means, she sends him to her -brother in the wood that he may teach the lad. - -Sigmund does not much like the boy. He thinks that he talks too much -to be really brave. He tests the lad's courage in different ways, -telling him, among other things, to bake and knead cake in which a -poisonous snake has been hidden. The boy is afraid of the snake. -Sigmund sends him back to Signy, saying that he will not do. - -Signy almost despairs. Must her sons be cowards because they have a -coward father? Suddenly a strange idea comes to her. "I shall do as -the Gods did in ancient times," she said; "only my brother can produce -such a child as I wish for, and I shall have a child by him." She goes -to a witch, who changes her body, transforms her so completely that -her brother can have no suspicion of what has taken place. Then by him -she has a son, Sinfiotli. When he is old enough she sends the boy to -Sigmund. - -Sigmund is astonished by the extraordinary fierceness and sullenness -of the child. "Is it possible," he wonders, "that my sister can have -such a child by her husband?" The boy scarcely speaks at all, but -does whatever he is told, and is afraid of nothing. Sigmund gives him -flour to knead and bake containing a poisonous snake. Instead of being -afraid of the serpent, the child breaks and crushes the creature in his -fingers and rolls the poisonous body in the flour, and makes the whole -thing into cakes. Sigmund is delighted. He sends word to his sister, -"This boy will do." - -The rest of this part of the story you can imagine. The boy grows up a -giant, and is trained in all arts by Sigmund. On a certain day these -two unexpectedly force their way into the palace of the King Siggeir, -slaughter his people and himself, and set fire to the palace. Thus -King Volsung is avenged. But Signy, after having told her brother the -story of Sinfiotli, goes back into the burning house of the king, and -voluntarily dies. She has done her duty, but she does not care to live -any longer. This ends the great episode of the Volsung Saga. - -The next part contains the story of the dragon Fafnir. Here we have no -more Sigmund. Sinfiotli has been poisoned, Sigmund has been killed in -battle. But there is still one child of the Volsung blood alive in the -world. This is Sigurd (the Siegfried of the German story). Sigurd is -kindly brought up by a foster father, a Viking, who teaches him all the -arts of seamanship and war. One of the teachers who helped the Viking -in the work is a strange old man called Regin, who much resembles the -Merlin of the story of King Arthur. Sigurd wants a sword, a magical -sword, that will not break in his hand; for he is so strong that common -swords are of no use to him. Regin alone knows the art. But he does -not wish to give Sigurd such art. He makes in succession a number of -swords. Sigurd takes each one of them and strikes the anvil with it, -whereupon the blade flies into pieces. He threatens Regin so terribly -that the latter at last is obliged to make the magical sword. When he -finishes, Sigurd strikes the anvil with the blade, and the anvil is -cut in two pieces. In the musical presentation of the story by Wagner, -the finest episode is this forging of the sword. If you ever see that -performed in a great theatre, you will not easily forget it. But in the -German story it is not Begin but the hero himself who makes the blade. -The anvil is placed upon the stage and all the forging is really done -there. When the anvil is cut in two, a flash as of lightning follows -the blade of the sword; the spectacle is very grand. - -But to return to the Volsung legend. Sigurd needs the sword in order -that he may perform great deeds in the world, and the first great, -deed that he wishes to perform is to secure a magical hoard of wealth, -belonging to the Dwarfs of the underworld and guarded by the terrible -dragon Fafnir. He goes with Regin to the place of the hoard, and -meets the dragon, and kills him. Regin then says to him, "Give me his -heart--cut it out and roast it." Sigurd obeys, cuts out the heart of -the dragon, and begins to roast it over the fire. But while roasting -it, some grease gets upon his fingers, and he licks it off with his -tongue. Immediately a wonderful thing happens--he can understand the -language of birds and animals. In the trees above him he hears the -birds speaking, and they give him warning that Regin intends to kill -him. Thereupon he kills Regin. This story of the dragon's heart is very -famous in European literature, and you will find many references to it -in the poetry and prose of to-day. - -The next part of the story is one of the finest--the meeting of Sigurd -and Brynhild, the first love episode. Brynhild is half human, half -divine. Though born among men, she had been taken to heaven by Odin -and made a Valkyria, one of the celestial virgins called the "Choosers -of the Slain." But for a fault which she committed she had been sent -back to earth again, to suffer pain and sorrow. In an enchanted -sleep she was left upon the summit of a mountain, and all about her -sleeping-place towered a wall of never-dying fire. "Only the man brave -enough to ride through the fire shall have this maiden"--so spake Odin. - -Sigurd rides through the fire, and the fire, although roaring like the -sea, does not hurt him, because he is brave. Entering the enchanted -circle, he there sees a human figure lying, all in golden armour not -made by any human smith. He tries to awake the sleeper, but cannot. -He tries to take off the armour, but he cannot unfasten it. Then he -takes his wonderful sword and cuts open the armour as easily as if it -were silk. Then he finds that the sleeper is a woman, more beautiful -than any woman of earth. She opens her eyes and looks at him. They -fall in love with each other, and pledge themselves to become man -and wife. Probably this part of the story is one of the sources from -which the beautiful fairy tale of the Sleeping Beauty came into our -child literature. But the idea is also found in very ancient Eastern -literature. - -The third part of the great story treats of the history of Brynhild -especially. Being a Valkyria, she has power to see much of the future; -she can foretell things in a dim way. She warns Sigurd that there is -danger for him if he should ever be untrue to her. Sigurd accepts the -warning in the noblest spirit. But the Fates are against him. He goes -upon a warlike expedition to the kingdom of Niblung in the North. The -Niblung family, after a great battle which Sigurd has helped them to -win, wish to adopt him as a son, and the beautiful daughter of the King -falls in love with him. Her father and her brothers wish Sigurd to -marry the girl, whose name is Gudrun. But Sigurd remembers his promise -to Brynhild. Then the wicked Queen Grimhild, the mother of Gudrun, -gives Sigurd a poisonous drink that causes him to forget the past; and -while he is under the influence of this magical drink he is persuaded -to marry Gudrun. - -But this is not the worst thing that he is obliged to do through the -magical arts of Grimhild. He is obliged to go to Brynhild, and persuade -her to become the wife of young Gunnar, the brother of Gudrun. He rides -through the fire again, and persuades Brynhild to become the wife -of Gunnar. She obeys his will, but the result is the destruction of -Sigurd and all concerned. For the two women presently begin to quarrel. -Brynhild loves Sigurd with a supernatural love, and he knows that he -has been deceived. Gudrun also loves Sigurd fiercely, and her jealousy -quickly perceives the secret affection of Brynhild. In short, the -result of the quarrel between the women is that the brothers of Gudrun -resolve to kill Sigurd while he sleeps. One of them stabs him in the -middle of night. Sigurd, awakening, throws his sword after the escaping -murderer with such force that the man is cut in two. But Sigurd dies of -his wound, and Brynhild then kills herself, and the two are burnt upon -the same funeral pyre. - -The last part of the story is the revenge of Gudrun, one of the most -terrible characters in all Northern stories. She lives only to avenge -Sigurd. On finding that her brothers have caused his murder, she curses -her house, her family, her people, and vows that they shall all suffer -for the wrong done her. Her brothers, who know her character, are -afraid, but there is a hope that time will make her heart more gentle. -At all events she cannot remain always a widow. Presently she is asked -for in marriage by Atli, king of the Goths. Her brothers wish for this -marriage, all except one, who is against it. Gudrun marries Atli. This -gives her power to plan her longed-for revenge. She persuades her -husband that the great treasures which Sigurd got by killing the dragon -are worth securing even at the cost of the lives of her brothers and -father. She does not lie to the King; she frankly tells him that she -hates her people, and he believes her. By treachery, all the Niblungs -are allured to Atli's hall. In the middle of the day of their arrival, -they are suddenly attacked. They make a great fight, but all their -followers are killed, and they themselves are taken prisoners--that is, -the brothers, the father having died before the occurrence. During the -fight Gudrun is present and the blood spurts upon her dress and hands, -but the expression of her face never changes. This is one of the most -awful scenes in the poem. - -When all the brothers are dead but two, Hogni and Gunnar, the King says -to Gunnar, "Give me the treasure of the Niblungs, and I will spare your -life." Gunnar answers: "I must first see the heart of my brother Hogni -cut out of his breast and laid upon a dish." The King's soldiers take -among the prisoners a tall man whom they imagine to be Hogni, but who -is really only a slave, and they cut out the man's heart and put it -upon a dish and bring it to Gunnar. Gunnar looks at it and laughs and -says, "That is not my brother's heart; see how it trembles--that is the -heart of a slave!" Then the soldiers kill the real Hogni and cut out -his heart and bring it upon a plate. This time Gunnar does not laugh. -He says, "That is really my brother's heart. It does not tremble. -Neither did it ever tremble in his breast when he was alive. There were -only two men in the world yesterday who knew where the treasure of the -Niblungs is hidden, my brother and myself. And now that my brother is -dead, I am the only one in the world who knows. See if you can make me -tell you. I shall never tell you." He is tortured and killed, but he -never tells. - -There is only one of the whole Niblung race still alive, Gudrun. She -has avenged her husband upon her own brothers, but that does not -satisfy her. By the strange and ferocious Northern code she must now -avenge her kindred, though they be her enemies, upon the stranger. -She has used Atli in order to destroy her brothers; but, after all, -they were her brothers and Atli only her husband. She sets fire to -the palace, kills Atli with her own hands, and then leaps into the -sea. Thus all the characters of the story meet with a tragic end. -There is no such story of vengeance in any other literature. Yet this -epic, or romance, is the greatest of mediæval compositions, and every -student ought to know something about it, either in its Scandinavian -or its German form. In the German form the character of Gudrun--she is -there called Kriemhild--is much less savage; and the German story is -altogether a more civilised expression of feeling. But any form of the -story (and there are several other forms besides those of which I have -spoken) shows the moving passion to be vengeance; and to return to the -subject of Mr. Spencer's criticism, we may say that there is no great -tale, Western or Eastern, in which this passion has no play. - -The values of the story are in the narration, in the descriptions -of battles, weapons, banquets, weddings, in the heroic emotions -often expressed in speeches or pledges, and in the few chapters of -profound tenderness strangely mingled among chapters dealing only with -atrocious and cruel passions; all these give perpetual literary worth -to the composition, and we cannot be tired of them. The subject was a -grand one for any English poet to take up, and Morris took it up in -a very worthy way. He has put the whole legend into anapestic verse -of sixteen syllables, a long swinging, irregular measure which has a -peculiar exultant effect upon the reader. To give an example of this -work is very difficult. Any part detached from the rest, loses by -detachment--for Morris, although a good poet, and a correct poet, and -a spiritual poet, is not an exquisite poet. He does not give to his -verses that supreme finish which we find in the compositions of the -greater Victorian poets. However, I shall attempt a few examples. I -thought at first of reading to you some passages regarding the forging -of the sword; but I gave up the idea on remembering how much better -Wagner has treated the same incident where the hero chants as he -strikes out the shape of the blade with his hammer, and at last, with -a mighty shout lifts up the blade and cuts the anvil in two. Perhaps a -better example of Morris's verse may be found in these lines: - - By the Earth that groweth and giveth, and by all the - Earth's increase - That is spent for Gods and man-folk, by the sun that - shines on these; - By the Salt-Sea-Flood that beareth the life and death of - men; - By the Heaven and Stars that change not, though Earth - die out again; - - . . . . . . . . . - - I hallow me to Odin for a leader of his host, - To do the deeds of the Highest, and never count the cost; - And I swear, that great-one shall show the day and - the deed, - I shall ask not why nor wherefore, but the sword's desire - shall speed: - And I swear to seek no quarrel, nor to swerve aside for - aught - Though the right and the left be blooming, and the straight - way wend to nought, - And I swear to abide and hearken the prayer of any thrall, - Though the war-torch be on the threshold and the foemen's - feet in the hall: - And I swear to sit on my throne in the guise of the kings - of the earth, - Though the anguish past amending, and the unheard woe - have birth: - And I swear to wend in my sorrow that none shall curse - mine eyes - For the scowl that quelleth beseeching, and the hate that - scorneth the wise. - So help me Earth and Heavens, and the Under-sky and - Seas, - And the Stars in their ordered houses, and the Norns that - order these! - And he drank of the cup of Promise, and fair as a star he - shone, - And all men rejoiced and wondered, and deemed Earth's - glory won. - -This will serve very well to show you the ringing spirit of the -measure. Here is an example of another kind taken from the pages -describing the first secret love of the maiden Gudrun for Sigurd. It is -true to human nature; the Northern woman is apt to be most cruel to the -man whom she loves most, and these few lines give us a dark suggestion -of the character of Gudrun long before the real woman reveals -herself--immensely passionate and immensely strong in self-control. - - But men say that howsoever all other folk of earth - Loved Sigmund's son rejoicing, and were bettered of their - mirth, - Yet ever the white-armed Gudrun, the dark haired Niblung - Maid, - From the barren heart of sorrow her love upon him laid; - He rejoiceth, and she droopeth; he speaks and hushed is - she; - He beholds the world's days coming, nought but Sigurd - may she see. - He is wise and her wisdom falters; he is kind, and harsh - and strange - Comes the voice from her bosom laden, and her woman's - mercies change. - He longs, and she sees his longing, and her heart grows - cold as a sword. - And her heart is the ravening fire, and the fretting sorrows' - hoard. - -A great deal is said in these lines by the use of suggestive words -and words of symbolism. Paraphrased these verses mean much more. "No -matter how much all other people showed their love and admiration for -Sigurd by making festival and public rejoicing, feeling happier and -better for having seen him, all their affection was as nothing to the -love that Gudrun secretly felt for him, out of her lonesome heart; and -great was her secret grief at the thought that he might not love her. -Then she acted with him after the manner of the woman resolved to win. -Whenever she saw him rejoice she became sad. Whenever he spoke to her, -she remained silent. Many things Sigurd knew--so wise he was that he -could see even the events of the future; but she saw nothing and knew -nothing thereafter except Sigurd, nor did she wish to see or to know -anything else. And when he showed himself wise, she acted as a foolish -child. And when he tried to be kind to her she answered him with a -strange and harsh voice, and suddenly became without pity. And at last -when he began to long for love, and she perceived it, then her heart -became cold as a sword. So was the soul of this woman in the time of -her passion--now like ravening fire, now again desolate with all the -sorrows that corrode and destroy." - -Because she sees still that love is not for her, the whole scene of -the courting--this is one of the cases where the maiden woos the man -without ever losing her dignity as a maiden--is of consummate skill, -showing Gudrun at one moment simple and sweet as a child, revealing -suddenly, at another time, the strange height and depth of her, many -things terrible in her, capable of the making or the ruin of a kingdom. - -I am not going to quote, but I hope that you will notice particularly -the fine scene of the death of Brynhild. There is a grand thought in -it. I did not tell you, in the brief epitome of the plot which I gave -you, about the second wooing of Brynhild. When Sigurd wooed her for -King Gunnar, he lay down beside her at night; but he placed his naked -sword between them. This episode is famous in Western literature. So -he brought her chaste to her bridegroom. And when afterwards Brynhild -kills herself, in order that she may be able to join him in the spirit -world, she shows her admiration of Sigurd's action by saying, "When you -put my dead body on the funeral pyre beside the dead body of Sigurd, -put his naked sword again between us, as it was put between us when he -wooed me long ago, for the sake of King Gunnar." The suicide chapter -is very grand. And the ending of the long tragedy has also a peculiar -grandeur, when Gudrun leaps into the sea. - - The sea-waves o'er her swept; - And their will is her will henceforward; and who knoweth - the deeps of the sea - And the wealth of the bed of Gudrun, and the days that - yet shall be? - -A finer simile could not be imagined than this sudden transformation of -a passionate woman's will into the vast motion and unimaginable depths -of the sea. The idea is, "Deep and wide was her soul like the sea; and -the strength of her and the depth of her are now the strength and depth -of the ocean; and who knows what her spirit may hereafter accomplish?" - -In concluding this little study of the romance, I may say that some of -its incidents are probably immortal because they contain perpetual -truth. I am not now speaking particularly of Morris's work, but only -of the legend of Sigurd. The studies in it of evil passions need not -demand our praise, but the stories of heroism, like that of the naked -sword laid between the man and the maid, will always seem to us grand. -Symbolically we may say that the wealth of the world is still guarded -by dragons as truly as in the story of Sigurd; formidable and difficult -to overcome are the powers opposing success in the struggle of life, -and the acquisition of the prize can be only for the hero, the strong -man mentally or morally. Again that strange fancy of Brynhild ringed -about in her magical sleep with a wall of living fire--I do not know -how it may seem to the far Eastern reader, but to the Western it is -the symbol of a real truth, that beauty, the object of human desire, -is still truly ringed about by fire, in the sense that the winner of -it must risk all possible dangers of body and soul before he succeeds. -Still in Northern countries the finest woman is for the best man; only -the hero can truly ride through the fire of the gods. - -I have said enough about the great poems of Morris; I do not think -that it will be necessary to say anything about "The Life and Death -of Jason." If you like his other work, probably you will like that -book also. But I think that the story of Jason is more charmingly -told by Charles Kingsley in his Greek fairy tale, and that Morris was -at his best, so far as long narrative poems are concerned, in Norse -subjects. I have already told you about his strong personal interest in -Norse literature, and about his work as a prose translator. In this -connection I may mention a queer fact. Morris, who claimed to have -Norse blood in his own veins, became so absorbed by the Norse subjects -that his character seems to have been changed in later life. He became -stark and grim like the old Vikings, even to his friends. But if he -offended in this wise, he certainly made up for the fault by that -tremendous energy which he appeared to absorb from the same source. No -man ever worked harder for romantic literature and romantic art, and -few men have made so deep an impression upon the æsthetic sentiments of -the English public. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -THE POETRY OF GEORGE MEREDITH - - -At the present time (1900) scarcely any English poet is more in vogue -than George Meredith. His popularity is comparatively new, but it is -founded upon solid excellence of a very extraordinary kind. George -Meredith is an exception to general rules--even to the rule that a -great poet is scarcely ever a great prose writer; for he was known -to the public as a novelist for half a century before he began to be -known as a poet. To-day he is so often quoted from, so often referred -to, that we cannot ignore him in the course of lectures upon English -literature. - -He is now nearly seventy-two years old, having been born in 1828. -He studied mostly in Germany, and studied law, but he had scarcely -left his university when he resolved to abandon law and devote his -life to literature. Returning to England he published his first book, -a volume of poems, in 1851. It attracted no notice at all. In 1856 -his next book appeared, called "The Shaving of Shagpat," a wonderful -fairy-tale, written in imitation of the Arabian Nights with Arabian -characters and scenery. It remains the best thing of the kind ever -done by any European writer, but the kind was not popular, and only -a few of the great poets and critics noticed what a wonderful book -it was. After that Meredith took up novel writing, studying English -life and character in an entirely new way. But he was not at first -able to attract much attention. His novels were too scholarly and too -psychological. Ten years from the date of his first volume of poems, -in 1862, he published another book of verses, entitled "Modern Love." -This attracted the notice of Swinburne, but of scarcely anybody else, -and Meredith went back to novel writing. Twenty years later, in 1883, a -third volume of poems appeared, "Poems and Lyrics of the Joy of Earth." -This book obtained some critical praise, but only the cultivated men -of letters appreciated it. More novels followed, and in 1887 and 1888 -appeared the last volumes of poems, "Ballads and Poems of Tragic Life," -and "A Reading of Earth." Since then Meredith has chiefly written -novels, but occasionally he writes poems. Success came to him only in -old age--within the last twenty years. It is not within the purpose of -this lecture to speak of his novels at all; we shall deal only with his -poetry. - -At the first sight of such poetry a good judge would naturally -exclaim, "How is it that I never heard of this wonderful poet before?" -But a further examination will easily furnish the reason. Meredith -is uncommonly difficult as well as uncommonly deep. He has the -obscurity of Browning, and yet a profundity exceeding Browning's; he -is essentially a psychological poet, but he is also an evolutional -philosopher, which Browning scarcely was. He did not study in Germany -for nothing, and he alone of all living Englishmen really expresses -the whole philosophy of the modern scientific age. Now such a man -necessarily found himself in a peculiar position. The older thinkers -of his own time could scarcely understand him; he was uttering new -thoughts, and uttering them often in a German rather than in an English -way. The younger thinkers of the period were still at school or in the -university when he began to express himself. His audience was therefore -extremely small at first. Now it is very large, and he is known as well -in France and Germany as at home, but we may say that he gave his whole -life for this success. - -A word now about his philosophy. Meredith is a thinker of the broadest -and most advanced type, but he is essentially optimistic--that is, he -considers all things as an evolutionist, but also as one who believes -that the tendency of the laws which govern the universe is toward the -highest possible good. He believes the world to be the best possible -world which man could desire, and he thinks that all the unhappiness -and folly of men is due only to ignorance and to weakness. He proclaims -that the world can give every joy and every pleasure possible to those -who are both wise and strong. Above all else he preaches the duty of -moral strength--the power to control our passions and impulses. He has, -however, very little compassion in him; he is a terribly stern teacher, -never pitying weakness, never forgiving ignorance. He never talks of -any theological God--not at least as a God to believe in; but you -get from all his poetry the general impression that he considers the -working of the universe divine. It will not be necessary to say more -here about his opinions, because we shall find them better expressed -in his poems than they could be in any attempt at a brief _résumé._ - -I think that it will be better to take some of his simpler poems first, -for study; indeed the longer ones are very difficult and would require -much explanation as well as paraphrasing. The shorter ones will better -serve the first purpose of showing you how different this man's poetry -is from that of any other English poet of the time. The first example -will be from "Ballads and Poems of Tragic Life." I need not explain -to you the meaning of the word "Tragic." But the tragedies in which -Meredith is interested are never tragedies of mere physical pain. There -may be some killing in them, but the shedding of blood does not mean -the tragedy. "King Harald's Trance" is a good illustration of this. - -Harald--a name common in Scandinavian history--we may suppose to be a -Norwegian Viking. The Vikings of old Norway were the most terrible men -that ever lived, but they were also among the grandest and noblest. -Their trade was war, their religion was war, their idea of happiness -after death was still war--eternal war in heaven, ghostly fighting -on the side of the gods. Such an idea of life requires many great -qualities as well as natural fearlessness and great physical strength. -These men had to learn from childhood not only how to fight, but how -to control their passions, for in fighting, you know that the man who -first gets angry is almost certain to get beaten. The Norse character -was above all things a character of great self-mastery, and the finer -qualities of it are those which have also made the finer qualities of -both the German and the English speaking races of the modern world. -It occurred to the poet Meredith to study such a character among its -ancient surroundings, and among the most trying possible circumstances. -What could break down such mighty strength? What could conquer such -iron hearts? We are going to see. - - I - - Sword in length a reaping-hook amain - Harald sheared his field, blood up to shank; - 'Mid the swathes of slain - First at moonrise drank. - - II - - Thereof hunger, as for meats the knife, - Pricked his ribs, in one sharp spur to reach - Home and his young wife, - By the sea-ford beach. - - III - - After battle keen to feed was he: - Smoking flesh the thresher washed down fast, - Like an angry sea - Ships from keel to mast. - - IV - - Name us glory, singer, name us pride - Matching Harald's in his deeds of strength; - Chiefs, wife, sword by side, - Foemen stretched their length! - - V - - Half a winter night the toasts hurrahed, - Crowned him, clothed him, trumpeted him high, - Till a wink he bade - Wife to chamber fly. - -Mightily Harald, as a reaper in a field of corn mows down the grain, -with his scythe-long sword moved down the enemy--standing in blood up -to his ankles. All day he slew, and when the battle was finished after -dark and the dead lay all about him, like the swathes of grain cut down -by reapers, then for the first time he was able to drink, as the moon -began to rise. - -Then the great effort and excitement of the battle left him hungry. His -hunger pricked him like a knife--impelled him to mount his horse and -gallop straight home at full speed to where his young wife was waiting -for news of him. - -He always ate prodigiously after fighting; to see him eating roast meat -and washing it down his great throat with drinks of ale after a battle, -made one think of the spectacle of a stormy sea swallowing ships. - -Then came the customary banqueting and singing and drinking. -Professional singers sang songs in praise of his fighting that day, -while he sat enthroned among his warriors, with his sword by his side, -and his young wife seated at his right hand. All his enemies were dead. - -For half the night the drinking and singing continued. Harald had to -sit there and hear himself praised, and drink whenever his own health -was drunk to--such was the custom. But when the strong men had begun -to show the influence of liquor too much, the king made a sign to his -wife to withdraw to her own room. When the warriors drank too much, it -was not a time for women to be present. - -This is the substance of the first part of the poem. Observe that -Harald is never spoken of as having been fatigued by his battle; -fighting only makes him hungry. This is a giant and probably a kindly -giant in his way; we see that he is fond of his young wife. But he -cannot retire from the banquet according to the custom of his people. -He must drink with everybody after the great victory. And he drinks so -much that he remains like a dead man for three days. Only after that, -his great strength is to be tried. - - VI - - Twice the sun had mounted, twice had sunk, - Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead; - Mountain on his trunk, - Ocean on his head. - - VII - - Clamped to couch, his fiery hearing sucked - Whispers that at heart made iron-clang; - Here fool-women clucked, - There men held harangue. - - VIII - - Burial to fit their lord of war, - They decreed him: hailed the kingling: ha! - Hateful! but this Thor - Failed a weak lamb's baa. - - IX - - King they hailed a branchlet, shaped to fare, - Weighted so, like quaking shingle-spume, - When his blood's own heir - Ripened in the womb! - -Twice the sun had risen and had set, yet Harald had not stirred. His -hearing returned; but he could not move, could not speak, could not -open his eyes. Upon his breast there seemed to be a weight like the -weight of a mountain keeping him down; above his head it seemed to him -that there was a whole ocean--in his head there was the sound of it. - -But soon other sounds came to his ears, as he lay upon his bed, as -if fixed to it with bands of iron. He heard whispers that made a -disturbance at his heart. He heard women cluttering like hens; he heard -also men making speeches. - -What were they making speeches about? About him. He heard them say that -he was dead; that he must be grandly buried like a great warrior and -king. And he heard them talk of the new king--rather, of the kingling. -Why did they appoint so weak a man to be king? How quickly he could -stop all that with a word. But although he had been as strong and -terrible as the God Thor, he could not now even make a noise like the -bleat of a lamb. - -Still he listened, he heard more. This king that was to be was only -very distantly related to him. Such a man never could have force of -will to rule the men of that country. He would have no more power than -sea foam on a beach of rocks. But why should a king have been elected -at all? Was not his own wife soon to become a mother? His child would -be a man fit to rule. While the child was still a child, the chiefs -could govern. Why did they elect that other? - -He is going to learn why--and this is the beginning of the terrible -part of the poem. - - X - - Still he heard, and doglike, hoglike, ran - Nose of hearing till his blind sight saw: - Woman stood with man, - Mouthing low, at paw. - - XI - - Woman, man, they mouthed; they spake a thing - Armed to split a mountain, sunder seas: - Still the frozen king - Lay and felt him freeze. - - XII - - Doglike, hoglike, horselike now he raced, - Riderless, in ghost across a ground - Flint of breast, blank-faced, - Past the fleshly bound. - -Still the King listened in his trance, and he listened until his -hearing acted for him as a dog acts for the hunter, or as a wild hog -acts, following the scents of the roots that he wants even under the -surface of the ground. Alone by his hearing he perceived what was -going on; his eyes could not see, but his mind saw even more clearly -than eyes. His young wife had been false to him; she was talking to -another man even there within his own house; they were kissing each -other, they were touching each other, they were speaking wickedness, -such wickedness as would have power to split a mountain or to separate -the waters of the sea--crime as would destroy the world. But he, the -giant they betrayed, the King they betrayed, the husband, he could not -move. Coldness of death is about him; he feels his blood freezing. O! -for the days when he could renew his strength in a moment merely by -filling his great lungs with the sea winds. "If I could only breathe -the sea wind for one second," he thinks, "then I could rise up." And -the ghost of him really seeks the shore of the sea, the flint-breasted -naked rocks of the beach--racing like a horse in order to get strength -from the sea wind to awaken the great inert body. When the ghost gets -in, then the King can wake. - - XIII - - Smell of brine his nostrils filled with might, - Nostrils quickened eyelids, eyelids hand; - Hand for sword at right - Groped, the great haft spanned. - - XIV - - Wonder struck to ice his people's eyes; - Him they saw, the prone upon the bier, - Sheer from backbone rise, - Sword uplifting peer. - - XV - - Sitting did he breathe against that blade, - Standing kiss it for that proof of life: - Strode, as netters wade, - Straightway to his wife. - -Here the scene has suddenly changed. We are on the sea shore. But you -will remember that in the last of the verses before paraphrased, we -were in the house, and the man imagined himself moving as a ghost on -the sea shore in search of strength. Before we paraphrase again, it is -necessary to understand this. First I must tell you that Meredith does -not believe in ghosts, and does not want us to imagine that the man's -spirit was really moving outside of his body. He has been describing -only the feeling and imagination of the warrior, in the state between -life and death. It was the custom to burn the dead body of a great -sea-king on the sea shore, and you must imagine that the body has been -carried down to the shore to be burnt. Then the smell of the sea really -revived him. And this explanation is further required by the fact that -later on, Harald is represented in full armour, with his helmet upon -his head and his sword laid by his side. It was a custom to burn the -warrior with his arms and armour. All we have been reading about the -ghost represents only what Harald felt, just before his awakening. Now -we will paraphrase: The smell of the sea came to him; he breathed the -sea wind, and, as he breathed it, it seemed to fill him with strength. -He opened his eyes, he saw; at once he felt at his right hand for his -sword, which he knew ought to be there. He felt the handle, grasped it. - -Then he sat up on the bier, and his men were utterly astonished, for -they had thought him dead; but lo! he had risen up straight to a -sitting posture. They stared motionless, as if their eyes had been -frozen. - -Sitting up, Harald still doubted whether he was really alive. He lifted -the blade of his sword to his lips, and breathed upon it. Seeing his -own breath on the great steel, he kissed the sword affectionately, out -of gratitude to find himself alive again. Then standing up he advanced -toward his wife--slowly, slowly,--as a fisherman or a bird catcher -advances, wading in water, against a current. - - XVI - - Her he eyed: his judgment was one word, - Foulbed!--and she fell; the blow clove two. - Fearful for the third, - All their breath indrew. - - XVII - - Morning danced along the waves to beach; - Dumb his chiefs fetched breath for what might hap, - Glassily on each - Stared the iron cap. - - XVIII - - Sudden, as it were a monster oak - Split to yield a limb by stress of heat, - Strained he, staggered, broke - Doubled at their feet. - -He looked upon her face, judged her guilt, expressed that judgment by -the single word "Adulteress"--and struck. His blow killed two, for she -was about to become a mother. Whom would he kill next? Who was the -guilty man? Evidently he was not there; or perhaps Harald did not know -yet who he was. Everybody waited in silent terror. - -The sun rose, sending his gold light dancing over the waves from -the East. And still the men stood there in silent fear. Harald said -nothing, did not move; but he looked at each man with a glassy stare, -with the look of one who does not find what he is waiting for. - -Then suddenly, like a great oak tree, too large to be cut with the ax -and therefore possible only to split by the use of fire, the giant -seemed to make a sudden effort, he moved, he staggered, he fell dead at -their feet. - -What is the deeper meaning of this terrible poem, founded upon an -historical fact? Simply that moral pain is much more powerful than -physical pain--that it is capable of breaking down any strength. Harald -could not be killed in battle under ordinary circumstances; fighting -could not even tire him, it only made him hungry and thirsty. No -physical excess could injure that body of iron. His vast eating and -drinking only gave him a heavy sleep. But when he was wounded in his -affections, by the treachery of the only being whom he could love and -trust, then his heart burst. He dies in the poem magnificently, even -like a moral hero, containing himself perfectly until death takes him -away. But the teaching of the story is very awful as well as very true. - -The remarkable thing to notice about this poetry is its compression, -a compression that only seems to make the colour more vivid and the -emotion more forceful. In order to paraphrase it intelligibly one must -use two or three times as many words as the poet uses. Browning has -the same strange power, and in many ways Meredith strongly resembles -Browning. But he is much more philosophical, as we see later on. - -Of ballads written in the true ballad form, there are not more than -three or four in the whole book, notwithstanding the title, "Ballads -and Poems." Another ballad more famous than that which I have quoted -is called "Archduchess Anne," a title which at once makes us think -of various episodes in Austrian history. It is a splendid piece of -psychological study, but less suitable for quotation than the poem on -King Harald, for it is very long. The object of the poet is to show -the consequences of a foolish act on the part of a person ruling the -destiny of a nation. Anne is practically a queen; and she is married. -But she takes a strong fancy to a handsome man among her courtiers, -Count Louis. In other words, she falls in love with him. He takes every -advantage of the situation, because he is both diplomatic and selfish. -The Archduchess rules her own cabinet; but the Count soon learns how -to rule her; consequently he gets all the power of the government into -his hands. And when he has done this, he shows his selfishness. She -immediately reassumes her power, and then there is a political quarrel. -The state is divided in two parties. Count Louis then does what no -gentleman under the circumstances could very well do, he marries a -young wife, and brings her to the court. Of course, when there is, or -has been, illegitimate love in high places, the fact can not be very -well concealed. Everybody knows it. The whole court knows that the -Queen has loved Count Louis, and that his marriage, and, above all, -the bringing of his wife to the court is a cruel insult. One of the -Queen's faithful servants, an old general, determines to avenge her -if he can ever get a chance. And the chance comes. Count Louis soon -afterwards incites a revolution, raises an army and advances to battle. -The old general meets him, captures him by a cunning trick, and writes -the Queen a letter, saying, "I have him." But the old general does not -quite understand a woman's heart. When a good woman--and by "good" I -mean especially affectionate--has once loved a man, it is scarcely -possible that anything could make her afterwards really hate him. There -was of course the extraordinary case of Christina of Sweden, who had -her lover stabbed to death before her eyes, but in such a case as that -we do not believe there was a real affection at any time. Anne is in a -very difficult position; she is very angry with the prisoner, but she -secretly loves him. How is she to answer the letter of her general? If -she says, "Do not kill him," the general will think that she is very -fond of him. If she says, "Kill him," the general will think that she -is revengeful and the whole world will think the same thing. If she -says, "Let him go free," that will only make the general despise her, -not to speak of all the political trouble that would follow. If she -says, "Send him to me that he may be imprisoned at once," that would -seem to the world as if she wished to make love to the prisoner by -force, to take him away from his wife. Whatever she does will seem in -some way wrong. She has placed herself in a false position to begin -with; and now she does not know what to do. What she really wishes is -a reconciliation with the man who has been so base to her, but she -dares not say that to the leader of her armies. Therefore she writes a -diplomatic letter to him, hoping that he can understand it. She says -that she does not want to be too severe; she speaks of religion, she -trusts that her general will know what to do. He determines that the -man shall die as quickly as possible. - - Her words he took; her nods and winks - Treated as woman's fog, - The man-dog for his mistress thinks, - Not less her faithful dog. - - She hugged a cloak old Kraken ripped; - Disguise to him he loathed. - --Your mercy, madam, shows you stripped, - While mine will keep your clothed. - -That is, the old soldier determined to act exactly upon the words -of the letter; as for suggestions, he refused to pay any attention -to them. "Women," he thought, "are too weak. She wants to hide her -feelings from me. And she Wants to be merciful. By law the man is a -traitor, and ought to be hanged. But I shall shoot him instead--give -him the death of a soldier, that is mercy enough. My mercy will hide -the Queen's shame; her mercy would proclaim that shame to the whole -world." So Count Louis is shot. Before this, however, the young wife -of Count Louis goes to the Archduchess to beg for her husband's life, -and this is a very touching part of the poem. Of course this innocent -young wife does not know what has happened in the past, and can not -know what pain her presence is giving. - - The Countess Louis from her head - Drew veil: "Great Lady, hear! - My husband deems you Justice dread, - I know you Mercy dear. - - "His error upon him may fall; - He will not breath a nay. - I am his helpless mate in all, - Except for grace to pray. - - "Perchance on me his choice inclined, - To give his House an heir; - I had not marriage with his mind, - His counsel could not share. - - "I brought no portion for his weal - But this one instinct true, - Which bids me in my weakness kneel, - Archduchess Anne, to you." - -Now you can see that every word here innocently uttered would seem to -the Archduchess very cunning or very stupid. Did the young wife know -the secret, then every word would be like turning a knife in the heart -of the Archduchess. And if she did not know, how horribly stupid she -must be to say what, seems so wicked. Therefore she is driven away at -once. But after she has gone, the Archduchess has to think about what -was said, and she feels that after all the young wife really did the -very best thing that a woman could have done to save her husband. - -Yet it is too late to save him. Presently the news comes that he has -been shot. And the result is a civil war; for the party of Count Louis -tries to avenge him. There is war also in the heart of the sovereign. -How unutterably she hates her faithful old general; yet she must trust -to him, for the kingdom is in danger. Pain and sorrow make Anne look -already like an old woman. When the war is over she treats her general -so ill that he is obliged to leave the country. By one fault, how much -unhappiness and destruction comes to pass--revolution, civil war, and -the ruin of many lives! And the poem ends with the quatrain often -quoted in other connections than the present: - - And she that helped to slay, yet bade - To spare the fated man, - Great were her errors, but she had - Great heart, Archduchess Anne. - -Of course, there is just a little bit of cruel irony in the statement, -for it obliges us to ask the question whether a great heart can -compensate for much foolishness, whether affection can excuse the -ruin of a government. I think that the poet here is quietly opposing -the moral of the beautiful old Bible story, about the woman forgiven -"because she loved much"-_quia multum amavit._ One would say that a -person holding the position of supreme ruler cannot be forgiven simply -because she loved much, although we may pity her with all our hearts. - -Pity is not a virtue with Meredith. He reminds us often of the old -Jesuit doctrine, that pity is akin to concupiscence. For example, -Meredith takes a ground strongly opposed to all romantic precedents -when he treats of the question of adultery. From the time of the Middle -Ages it was the custom of poets to represent unhappy wives secretly -in love with strangers, or to paint the tragedies arising from the -consequence of sexual jealousy. Even in all the versions of the story -of King Arthur, our sympathies are invoked on behalf of illegitimate -love,--even in Tennyson. We sympathise a good deal with Lancelot and -with Guinevere. In Dante, most religious of the old poets, we have -a striking example of this appeal to pity in the story of Francesca -da Rimini. And I need scarcely speak of various modern schools of -poetry who have imitated the poets of the Middle Ages in this respect. -Meredith takes the opposite view--represents the erring woman always -as culpable, and praises the act of killing her. He gives evolutional -reasons for this. For example, he takes an old Spanish love story, and -tells it over again in a new way. There is a beautiful young wife alone -at home. There is a terrible rascal of a husband, a fellow who spends -all his time in drinking, gambling, fighting, and making love to other -women. His wife gets tired of his neglect and his brutality and his -viciousness. If he does not love her, somebody else shall. So she gets -a secret lover, while her husband is away. This young man visits her. -Suddenly her husband returns, and now we leave Meredith to moralise -the situation. I think that you will find it both new and interesting. - - Thundered then her lord of thunders; - Burst the door, and flashing sword, - Loud disgorged the woman's title: - Condemnation in one word. - - Grand by righteous wrath transfigured, - Towers the husband who provides - In his person judge and witness, - Death's black doorkeeper besides! - . . . . . . . - - How though he hath squandered Honour! - High of Honour let him scold: - Gilding of the man's possession, - 'Tis the woman's coin of gold. - - She, inheriting from many - Bleeding mothers bleeding sense, - Feels 'twixt her and sharp-fanged nature - Honour first did plant the fence. - - Nature, that so shrieks for justice; - Honour's thirst, that blood will slake; - These are women's riddles, roughly - Mixed to write them saint or snake. - - Never nature cherished woman; - She throughout the sexes' war - Serves as temptress and betrayer, - Favouring man, the muscular. - . . . . . . . - - Hard the task: your prison-chamber - Widens not for lifted latch - Till the giant thews and sinews - Meet their Godlike overmatch. - - Read that riddle, scorning pity's - Tears, of cockatrices shed; - When the heart is vowed for freedom, - Captaincy it yields to head. - -The point upon which the poet here insists is the evolutional -signification of female virtue and of all that relates to it. Evidently -he does not believe that either men or women were very virtuous in the -beginning--not at all; their knowledge of right and wrong had to be -developed slowly through great sufferings in the course of thousands -of years. In order that the modern woman may be virtuous as she is, -millions of her ancestors must have suffered the experience that -teaches the social worth of female honour. And a woman who to-day -proves unfaithful to her marriage duty is sinning, not simply against -modern society, but against the whole experience, the whole modern -experience, of the human race. This would make the fault a great one, -of course, but would not the fault of the man be as great? By what -right, except the right of force, can he punish her, if he himself be -guilty of unfaithfulness? I am not sure what answer religion would give -to these questions. But Meredith answers immediately and clearly. The -fault of the woman is incomparably worse than the fault of the man. It -is worse in relation to the injury done to society, to morality, to -progress. Society is founded upon the family; the strength of society -to defend itself against the enemy, to accumulate wealth, and to find -happiness, depends upon the care and the love given to the children. -It is in proportion to the love and care given to the young that a -nation becomes strong. Now it is especially the mother's duty to look -after the interests of the young. This requires no argument. And a -sexual weakness upon her part means an injury done to the family in the -sense of its very life. The whole interest of society depends upon the -chastity and tenderness and moral force of its women. Moral weakness -once begun among the women of the people, the decline of that race -begins. So indeed perished the finest race that ever existed in this -world--the old Greek race. - -On the other hand, though unchastity on the part of the man be -certainly condemnable--from a purely moral point of view equally -condemnable--its consequences are not fraught with the same danger to -society, because they are not of a character to destroy the family. -Really the part of man in the great struggle of life is the part of -the fighter. The all important thing for the man is to be strong. If -he can be morally as well as physically strong, so much the better -for the race; but the all important thing is that he shall be able to -fight, to contend, to conquer. It is not through the man that the moral -progress of society is directly effected; it is through the woman and -the teaching of the young, it is through the tenderness and love of -the home--the only place where a man can rest from his constant battle -with the world. It is only in his own home that he can be as good -as he may wish to be. Every good home is a little nursing place of -morality, a little garden in which the plants of honour and truth and -courage and gentleness can be cultivated until they are strong enough -to bear the frosts and the cold winds of the great outside world. In -one generation home life may accomplish very little for the improvement -of a race, but in the course of thousands of years it accomplishes -everything. If men are kinder and wiser and better to-day than they -were thousands of years ago, it is because of the virtues which have -been cultivated in the family. Had the home of human history been a -struggle between men only, the result would have been very different -indeed, for competition and battle cultivate only the hard and fierce -and cunning side of character. Taking all these facts together, the -poet tells us very plainly that adultery is something which should -never be forgiven in a woman, however it might be forgiven in a man, -because the fault against human society is too great. And therefore he -has written this poem especially to condemn those old romances in which -illegitimate affection was the theme--in which, also, every effort was -made to excite the sympathy of the reader with the sin of the woman. -No sympathy has George Meredith; on the contrary, he praises the man -who kills, in the line where he speaks of the sword--where he says -that the good steel of the sword that killed was what every man ought -to be--hard and penetrating, hard and terrible to deal with social -wrong. It is very curious to compare this stern view of life with -the tenderness of Michelet, in his books entitled "L'Amour" and "Les -Femmes." Michelet actually says that in many cases the woman should be -forgiven. The two opposing kinds of views thus expressed by two great -men of different races do really suggest something of the difference of -character in the races. Both men are liberal thinkers, both men studied -the new philosophy. Yet how very antagonistic their teachings. - -I do not wish to give you too much of the moral side of Meredith at -one time, for fear that it should become tiresome. So before we take -up another philosophical poem, I should like to speak of a poem which -is only emotional and descriptive--a tremendous poem, and certainly -the greatest thing in verse that Meredith has composed. I mean "The -Nuptials of Attila." In some parts it is very hard reading. In other -parts it is unmatched in the splendour and strength of its verse. - -First we must say a few words about the subject chosen. Doubtless you -remember the apparition of Attila in Roman history. You have read how -he came from the East with his tempestuous cavalry and threatened to -destroy the whole of Western civilization. During his brief career -Attila probably wielded the greatest power that has ever been united -in the hands of one man. He controlled a larger portion of the earth's -surface than that to-day controlled by the Russians, and he might have -realized his dream of subduing all the West of Europe, had it not been -for one act of folly. That was his marriage to a young girl called -Ildico, whom he demanded from her parents against her will. On the -night of the wedding there was great drinking and feasting, and when -the King retired to the bridal chamber he had probably drunk to excess. -At all events he died suddenly in the night, through the bursting of -a blood-vessel; and his death saved Western civilisation. There was -not another leader in the vast army capable of keeping it together. -The host broke up. The chiefs returned to their several countries, and -the great empire of Attila melted away almost as suddenly as frost -disappears in the morning sun. What became of Ildico nobody knows. -It is the scene of the wedding night, and the scene of the morning -following, that the poet describes. - -First we have a few lines describing the power of Attila and the hunger -of his army for more war: - - Flat as to an eagle's eye, - Earth hung under Attila, - Sign for carnage gave he none. - In the peace of his disdain, - Sun and rain, and rain and sun, - Cherished men to wax again, - Crawl, and in their manner die. - On his people stood a frost. - Like the charger cut in stone, - Rearing stiff, the warrior host, - Which had life from him alone, - Craved the trumpet's eager note, - As the bridled earth the Spring. - Rusty was the trumpet's throat. - He let chief and prophet rave; - Venturous earth around him string - Threads of grass and slender rye, - Wave them, and untrampled wave. - O for the time when God did cry, - Eye and have, my Attila! - -You must remember that Attila was called the Scourge of God. So -terrible was the destruction that he wrought, that the Western world -of the fifth century thought that he had been sent by God to destroy -them as a punishment for sin. He himself accepted this name, and also -called himself the Hammer of the World. His own words, translated -into Latin, are said to have been "_Stella cadit, tellus fremit, en -ego Malleus Orbis_" (the star falls, the earth shudders; lo! I am the -hammer of the world). But why this peace? Why does not Attila continue -to destroy? - - Scorn of conquest filled like sleep - Him that drank of havoc deep - When the Green Cat pawed the globe: - When his horsemen from his bow - Shot in sheaves. - -This scorn of conquest was only induced by Attila's sudden love for -a woman. Perhaps the girl Ildico would rather have died than have -been given to Attila; but she had to obey the will and words of the -master, and there was no opportunity given her to express her likes -or dislikes--no opportunity even to kill herself, for she was well -watched. White as death she appeared in her wedding robes upon the -night of her awful marriage, and the wedding guests did not like to see -her looking so white. Why should she not have been glad? Why should she -not have blushed as a bride blushes? Some said that she loved another -man; some said that she was frightened; but nobody knew and nobody was -pleased, and the wedding ceremony went on. It was a strange banquet -that she had to attend, for these terrible men lived upon horse-back, -drank upon horse-back, ate upon horse-back. The wedding guests entered -the hall in all the panoply of war, all mounted upon their battle -steeds--not to sit down, but to ride furiously round the table. - - Round the banquet-table's load - Scores of iron horsemen rode; - Chosen warriors, keen and hard; - Grain of threshing battle-dints; - Attila's fierce body-guard, - Smelling war like fire in flints. - Grant them peace be fugitive! - Iron-capped and iron-heeled - Each against his fellow's shield - Smote the spear-head, shouting, Live - Attila! my Attila! - Eagle, eagle of our breed, - Eagle, beak the lamb, and feed! - Have her, and unleash us! live! - Attila! my Attila! - -Now to understand how fearful a scene this must have appeared to the -bride, you must understand that Ildico was a German girl of noble -family representing the highest refinement and delicacy of the old -civilisation. To have given her to these savage people was, of course, -a monstrous cruelty. She did not enjoy the wonderful displays of power -and barbaric luxury about her; she must have felt as one seated alone -in the midst of an earth-quake. - - Fair she seemed surpassingly; - Soft, yet vivid as the stream - Danube rolls in the moonbeam - Through rock barriers; but she smiled - Never, she sat cold as salt: - Open-mouthed as a young child - Wondering with a mind at fault. - Make the bed for Attila! - - Under the thin hoop of gold - Whence in waves her hair outrolled, - 'Twixt her brows the women saw - Shadows of a vulture's claw - Gript in flight; strange knots that sped - Closing and dissolving aye; - Such as wicked dreams betray - When pale dawn creeps o'er the bed. - They might show the common pang - Known to virgins, in whom dread - Hunts their bliss like famished hounds; - While the chiefs with roaring rounds - Tossed her to her lord, and sang - Praise of him whose hand was large, - Cheers for beauty brought to yield, - Chirrups of the trot afield, - Hurrahs of the battle-charge. - -Here we suffer with her, so plainly does the figure of the girl appear -before us, silent and white with little shadows of pain coming and -going upon her young forehead, while all about her shakes the ground -under the hoofs of the battle-horses, under the thunder roar of the -songs and the clashing of steel on steel. These roaring horsemen -are singing of other things than the past and the present; they -are clamouring for the future, for more war, more slaughter, more -destruction; they are shouting that even their horses are hungry for -war. - - Whisper it (the war signal), you sound a horn - To the grey beast in the stall! - Yea, he whinnies at a nod. - O, for sound of the trumpet-notes! - O, for the time when thunder-shod, - He that scarce can munch his oats, - Hung on the peaks, brooded aloof, - Champed the grain of the wrath of God, - Pressed a cloud on the cowering roof, - Snorted out of the blackness fire! - Scarlet broke the sky, and down, - Hammering West with print of his hoof, - He burst out of the bosom of ire, - Sharp as eyelight under thy frown, - Attila! my Attila! - - Ravaged cities rolling smoke - Thick on cornfields dry and black, - Wave his banners, bear his yoke. - Track the lightning, and you track - Attila. They moan: 'tis he! - Bleed: 'tis he! Beneath his foot - Leagues are deserts charred and mute; - Where he passed, there passed a sea. - Attila! my Attila! - -The splendid and terrible description of the war horse, the Tartar -horse, descending over the mountains into Europe, not frightened by -things of flesh and bone, but like a thunder-cloud descending upon -the cities below--reminds one of the description of Death in the -Apocalypse--"I saw a pale horse; and he that sat upon him was called -Death, and all hell followed after him." In the fifth century this -scriptural text was not forgotten; Attila was often compared, with very -good reason, to the rider of the pale horse. Where he conquered, there -was nothing left; the ground became a desert, a waste of death, dry -like the bed of a vanished sea. It is for another devastation, such -another ride, that the warriors are clamouring at the wedding feast. -But suddenly these men observe that Ildico never smiles, that she is -terribly white like a ghost, and they do not like this. - - Who breathed on the king cold breath? - Said a voice amid the host, - He is Death that weds a ghost, - Else a ghost that weds with Death? - -The barbarian idea of beauty is the red-faced, full-fleshed woman. They -see no beauty in the fair, pale girl; she seems to them like a phantom. -But Attila only laughs at the ominous exclamation; he knows that she is -beautiful, and he orders her to fulfil her part of the wedding ceremony -by pledging the guests in a cup of wine. - - Silent Ildico stood up. - King and chief to pledge her well, - Shocked sword sword and cup on cup, - Clamouring like a brazen bell. - Silent stepped the queenly slave. - Fair, by heaven! she was to meet - On a midnight, near a grave, - Flapping wide the winding sheet. - -The last three lines of course are ironical--they represent the -criticism of the warriors. Perhaps one may have said, "How beautiful -she is! How fair." "Pair!" observes another, "she might seem beautiful -in a graveyard at night, wrapped in a white shroud!" To the speaker, -such beauty as that is the beauty of the dead; there is something -sinister about it. He is hot all wrong; for in a little while the -mightiest king in the world will die in the woman's arms. It is time -for the bride to go to the bridal chamber; see how the women bow down -to her as she passes by, not because they love her, but because she has -become their queen! - - Death and she walked through the crowd, - Out beyond the flush of light. - Ceremonious women bowed - Following her; 'twas middle night. - . . . . . . . - -Attila remained. - -He remains, as the master of the feast, to speak a few last words to -his faithful chiefs, but even while talking to them he feels impatient -to visit his bride, not knowing that she is Death. - - . . . . . as a corse - Gathers vultures, in his brain - Images of her eyes and kiss - Plucked at the limbs that could remain - Loitering nigh the doors of bliss. - Make the bed for Attila! - -A more terrible comparison could not have been used than this of the -dead body attracting vultures. But the warriors want to talk to him -a little longer; they want a promise of war; they want to feel sure -that, after this wedding, the King will lead them again to battle. -They want to capture and sack Rome. And one of them cries out to the -King in Latin, "Lead us to Rome!" He answers, he pledges them in wine, -he promises that they shall have Rome to sack and burn; and they are -happy--they bid him farewell with roars of joy. In the morning he will -lead them to Rome, that is enough. - -In the morning what a tumult is in the camp, myriads and myriads of -squadrons of cavalry, assembling for battle, chanting, cheering, -roaring in the gladness of their expectation! But in the pavilion of -Attila all is still silent. The chiefs know that their king is seldom -late in rising; they are surprised that he does not appear. They make -jests about the charm of his new bride, but they do not dare to call -him, not for another hour, two hours, three hours, not until midday. At -midday the chiefs lose patience, but still all is silent. At last, and -only in the evening, after much calling in vain, they break in the door. - - 'Tis the room where thunder sleeps. - Frenzy, as a wave to shore - Surging, burst the silent door, - And drew back to awful deeps, - Breath beaten out, foam-white. Anew - Howled and pressed the ghastly crew, - Like storm-waters over rocks. - Attila! my Attila! - - One long shaft of sunset red - Laid a finger on the bed. - . . . . . . . - - Square along the couch and stark, - Like the sea-rejected thing - Sea-sucked white, behold their King. - Attila! my Attila! - -The King is dead! The warriors cannot believe it, do not want to -believe. They see, and are struck with horror also because of the -incalculable consequence of his death. But certainly he is dead. The -red light of the setting sun illuminates his bloodless body lying in a -pool of blood, for an artery burst. But what has become of Ildico--the -wife? - - Name us that - Huddled in the corner dark, - Humped and grinning like a cat, - Teeth for lips!--'tis she! she stares, - Glittering through her bristled hairs. - -There is something there, in a dark corner of the room--something -crouching like an animal, like a terrified cat, showing its teeth, -raising its back, as in the presence of an attacking dog. Is it an -animal? It is a woman, with her hair hanging down loose over her face, -a woman, laughing horribly, because she is mad. They can see her eyes -and her teeth glittering through her long hair. Did she kill him? Some -think she did; others know that she did not. Some wish to kill her; -cooler heads have resolved to defend her. - - Rend her! Pierce her to the hilt! - She is Murder: have her out! - What! this little fist, as big - As the southern summer fig! - She is Madness, none may doubt. - Death, who dares deny her guilt! - Death, who says his blood she spilt! - . . . . . . . - - Each at each, a crouching beast, - Glared, and quivered for the word, - Each at each, and all on that, - Humped and grinning like a cat. - Head bound with its bridal wreath. - . . . . . . . - - Death, who dares deny her guilt! - Death, who says his blood she spilt! - Traitor he who stands between! - Swift to hell, who harms the Queen! - She, the wild, contention's cause, - Combed her hair with quiet paws. - Make the bed for Attila! - -Notice the horror of the effect caused by the use of certain simple -words in these verses. The beautiful Ildico is no longer spoken of as -a woman, but as an insane animal or a thing. First we notice that "it" -and "its" have been substituted for "she" and "hers" or "her"; then -we have the word "paws," making a very horrible impression. The woman -is so mad that she knows nothing of her danger, knows nothing of what -has happened; through some old habit of womanly instinct, she tries -to arrange her poor tossed hair, but with her fingers, as a cat combs -itself with its paws. - -Then begins the mighty breaking of that tremendous army: First Attila -must be buried; and, according to custom, no one must know where the -King is buried. A party of slaves are ordered to make the grave; when -they have made it, they are killed and buried, in order that none -of them may be able to say to strangers where the corpse of Attila -reposes. It is not impossible, it is even probable that Ildico was -killed and buried with her king, for the barbarians were accustomed -to slaughter the attendants of a dead prince, and even his horses, in -order that he might have shadowy company and shadowy steeds in the -other world. But we do not know. History has nothing to say as to what -became of Ildico. The poem closes with a wonderful description of the -breaking up of the army, which is likened to the breaking up of the ice -in a great river at the approach of spring. - - Lo, upon a silent hour, - When the pitch of frost subsides, - Danube with a shout of power - Loosens his imprisoned tides: - Wide around the frighted plains - Shake to hear the riven chains, - Dreadfuller than heaven in wrath, - As he makes himself a path: - High leaps the ice-cracks, towering pile - Floes to bergs, and giant peers - Wrestle on a drifted isle; - Island on ice-island rears; - Dissolution battles fast: - Big the senseless Titans loom, - Through a mist of common doom - Striving which shall die the last: - Till a gentle-breathing morn - Frees the stream from bank to bank. - So the Empire built of scorn - Agonised, dissolved, and sank. - Of the queen no more was told - Than of leaf on Danube rolled. - Make the bed for Attila! - -I have said that this poem is emotional rather than didactic; yet -there is a moral suggestion in it, the suggestion of what one foolish -indulgence in lust may cause. For in the case of Attila, who had -already scores and scores of wives, the marriage with Ildico was a mere -piece of brutal indulgence and cruelty, and it proved his death. Then -again, of course, it was a good thing for the world that Attila died -when he did. It would seem as if nature tahes very good care that men -who are only brutal and cunning shall not be allowed to rule human life -for a great length of time. Their own passions or their own follies -eventually destroy them. - -There is yet another suggestion in the poem, which Meredith is very -fond of making, both in his novels and in his verse. He thinks that an -old man should never marry a young woman, no matter how great the merit -of the old man may be. Here and there will be many to disagree with -Meredith, and to quote such cases as that of the great French engineer, -De Lesseps, who married only when he was more than sixty years old, and -thereafter raised a very numerous family of remarkably fine children. -But in a general way, Meredith is probably right. He expounds his ideas -very clearly in a little poem called "The Last Contention." In this -"last contention" the poet addresses an old man who wants to marry a -young girl. He represents the mind of the man as that of a captain, -directing a ship, and the ship is the body, the constitution, the -physical part of the individual. With this explanation we may quote a -few verses of the poem. It is cruel; but it is very moral and perhaps -very just. - - Young captain of a crazy bark! - O tameless heart in battered frame! - Thy sailing orders have a mark, - And hers is not the name. - - For action all thine iron clanks - In cravings for a splendid prize; - Again to race or bump thy planks - With any flag that flies. - - Admires thee Nature with much pride; - She clasps thee for a gift of morn. - Till thou art set against the tide. - And then beware her scorn. - - This lady of the luting tongue, - The flash in darkness, billow's grace. - For thee the worship; for the young - In muscle the embrace. - - Soar on thy manhood clear for those - Whose toothless Winter claws at May, - And take her as the vein of rose - Athwart an evening grey. - -I have left out the most cruel verses; but these are significant -enough. The person addressed might be one of those old generals or -admirals who figure so often in the novels of Meredith, some brave old -man, with a great reputation for courage and skill and the arts of -courtesy. Such men may be able to win a young wife, rather by help of -their wealth, social position, and reputation than by real love. The -poet says that one should not try to do this. And he says that the man -who does it, or wishes to do it, is like a skilful captain who trusts -too much to his seamanship, forgetting that his vessel is in a state -of decay. The heart may be young enough, but that is not sufficient. -Nature seems to love and favour grand old men, but not if they do what -is not according to Nature's laws. Therefore if marriages between old -and young prove to be unfortunate, the fault is in most cases with the -old. The old man may admire, may reverence a beautiful young person; -but only as we admire a work of art, at a distance, or beautiful -colours in the sunset sky. Let me call your attention to the use of -the phrases "flash in darkness" and "billow's grace." The Greeks said -that life was like a flash between two darknesses--the darkness of the -mystery out of which we come, and the darkness of the mystery into -which we go. It is a very beautiful and a very profound comparison; the -poet here uses it especially in reference to the beautiful period of -youth, which is short. He suggests that an old man should have wisdom -enough to think of youth and of beauty as passing illusions. "Billow's -grace" is a very striking simile. The charm of movement in a graceful -person is something which no art can reproduce. It is beauty of motion, -and the instant that the motion stops, the charm is not. The beauty of -water, flowing water, is of this kind. Even while you admire the motion -of a wave, gilded by the sunlight, the wave has passed. - -And now we shall turn to a very important division of Meredith's -poems--those dealing with the philosophy of life as a whole. On this -subject most of the great English poets are apt to be a little didactic -in the religious sense. Meredith is also didactic--but not in a -religious sense. One peculiarity of his work is the total absence of -theological doctrine of any kind. He talks to you about the laws of the -universe, the laws of life, the laws of nature--never about the laws -of any God or any religion. When he does mention the word God or the -word religion, it is always in such a way that you feel he considers -such things only as symbols--useful symbols, perhaps, but symbols only. -I shall speak only of two remarkable poems of this kind. The first, -called "The Woods of Westermain," considers especially the struggle of -human life, and the duties of man in that struggle. The other poem, -entitled "Earth and Man," treats more largely of the problem of the -universe--the great mystery of the questions, Where do we come from? -Why do we exist? Whither are we going? Let us first take the "Woods of -Westermain." - -Why the poem should be called by the name of "The Woods of Westermain," -I am not able to tell you; but I think that the name contains a -suggestion about occidental life as contrasted with oriental life. -However, I am not sure, but, at all events, the subject of the poem -is not a real forest, but the forest of human existence, the place -in which the struggle of life goes on--therefore, in the true sense, -Nature. - -The great teaching of this poem is that Nature has given us powers and -senses not for pleasure, not for the obtaining of selfish enjoyment, -but for battle. All that we know at present about the reason of life -is summed up in that fact. The great natural duty of every man is to -fight, morally and physically, and though he has a perfect right to -enjoy himself, to seek pleasure at proper times and places, he must -never allow pleasure to interfere with the supreme duty of struggle in -battle; the first requisite, therefore, is courage, the first thing -necessary is never to be afraid. In the ancient fairy-tales of Europe, -we find many stories about enchanted forests, goblin forests. The -knight, the hero of the story, enters a great wood, which seems very -green and pleasant to the eye. As he lies down under a tree, however, -he sees strange shapes looking at him--shapes of fairies, shapes of -demons, shapes of giants. But he rides on, and they do not do him -any harm. After a while he arrives safely at his destination. Quite -otherwise in the case of the cowardly knight. When he finds himself -in the forest he becomes afraid, and terrible shapes rise up about -him, come close to him, at last attack him and tear him to pieces. -Now the forest of life is just like the enchanted forest of the old -fairy-tales. If you are afraid, you are destroyed. If you are not -afraid, all is bright and beautiful. - - Enter these enchanted woods, - You who dare. - Nothing harms beneath the leaves - More than waves a swimmer cleaves. - Toss your heart up with the lark, - Float at peace with mouse and worm, - Fair you fare. - - Only at a dread of dark - Quaver, and they quit their form: - Thousand eyeballs under hoods - Have you by the hair. - Enter these enchanted woods, - You who dare. - - Here the snake across your path - Stretches in his golden bath; - Mossy-footed squirrels leap - Soft as winnowing plumes of Sleep. - . . . . . . . - - Each has business of his own; - But should you distrust a tone, - Then beware! - Shudder all the haunted roods, - All the eyeballs under hoods - Shroud you in their glare. - -I am not sure that this imagery can appeal to you as it was intended to -appeal to the Western reader, because it partly depends for effect upon -the knowledge of the old fairy-tale pictures. In Western ghost stories -and fairy stories, goblins and other phantoms are usually represented -in long robes with hoods over their faces, and very big, wicked eyes. -That is why the poet speaks so often of the hoods and the eyeballs. The -meaning is that, in this world, just so soon as you begin to suspect -and to be afraid, everything really becomes to you terrible--even as in -the old fairy-tales a tree was only a tree to the sight of a brave man, -but to the cowardly man its roots became feet and its branches horrible -arms and claws, and its crest a goblin face. - -Then follows a wonderful description of wood life--the life of insect, -reptile, bird and little animals--the poet taking care to show how each -and all of these represent something of human life and moral truth. -But it is one of the most difficult poems in English literature to -read; and I shall not try to quote much from it. Enough to say that -the same lesson is taught all the way through the poem, the lesson of -what Nature means. She must not be thought of as a cruel Sphinx: she is -cruel only if you imagine her to be cruel. Nature will always be what -you think her to be. Think of her as beautiful and good; then she will -be good and beautiful for you. Think of her as cruel; then she will be -cruel to you. Do not think of her as pleasure; if you do, she will give -you pleasure, but she will destroy you at the same time. She is the -spirit and law of Eternal Struggle; and it is thus only that you should -think of her, as a divinity desiring you to be brave, active, generous, -ambitious. Above all things, you must not hate. Hate Nature, and you -are instantly destroyed. You must not allow even a thought of hate to -enter your mind. - - Hate, the shadow of a grain; - You are lost in Westermain: - Earthward swoops a vulture sun - Nighted upon carrion: - Straightway venom winecups shout - As to One whose eyes are out: - Flowers along the reeling floor - Drip henbane and hellebore; - Beauty, of her tresses shorn, - Shrieks as nature's maniac: - Hideousness on hoof and horn - Tumbles, yapping in her track: - Haggard Wisdom, stately once, - Leers fantastical and trips. - . . . . . . . - - Imp that dances, imp that flits, - Imp o' the demon-growing girl, - Maddest! whirl with imp o' the pits - Round you, and with them you whirl - Fast where pours the fountain--rout - Out of Him whose eyes are out. - -The foregoing must seem to you very difficult verse; and it is really -very difficult for the best English readers. But at the same time -it is very powerful; and I think that you ought to have at least -one example of the difficult side of Meredith. This is a picture--a -horrible picture, such as old artists used to make in the fifteenth or -sixteenth century to illustrate the temptations of a saint by devils, -or the terrors of a sinner about to die, and surrounded by ghastly -visions. Really if you hate Nature, the universe will at once for you -become what it seemed to the superstitious of the past ages and to the -disordered fancies of insane fanatics. The very sun itself will no -longer appear as a glorious star, but as a creature of prey, devouring -the dead. Perhaps the poet here wishes also to teach us that we must -not think too much about the ugly side of death as an appearance--the -corruption, the worms, the darkness of the grave. To think about -those things, as the monks of the Middle Ages did, is to hate Nature. -Everything seems foul to the man whose imagination is foul. Everything -which should be nourishing becomes poison, everything which should seem -beautiful becomes hideous. The reference to "One whose eyes are out," -is, you know, a reference to the old fashioned pictures of death, as a -goblin skeleton, seeing without eyes. In some frightful pictures death -was represented also as an eyeless corpse, out of which all kinds of -goblins, demons, and bad dreams were swarming, like maggots. Of course -such are the pictures referred to here by the poet. Believe in goblins -and devils, and you will see them; believe that all men are wicked, and -you will find them wicked; believe that Nature is evil, and Nature will -certainly destroy you, just as the demons in the mediæval story tore to -pieces the magician who had not learned the secret of making them obey. - -Very much more easy to understand are the stanzas upon "Earth and Man." -These attempt to explain the real problem of man's existence. The poet -represents the earth as a person, a mother, a nurse. But this mother, -this nurse, this divine person is not able to do everything for man. -She can give him life; she can feed him; but she cannot help him -otherwise, except upon the strange condition that he helps himself. She -makes him and embraces him, but that is all. Otherwise he must make his -own future, his own happiness or misery. - - For he is in the lists - Contentious with the elements, whose dower - First sprang him; for swift vultures to devour - If he desists. - - His breath of instant thirst - Is warning of a creature matched with strife, - To meet it as a bride, or let fall life - On life's accursed. - -That is, man in this world is like an athlete, or a warrior in the -lists--in the place of contests. With what must he contend? First of -all, he must contend with the very elements of nature, with the very -same forces which brought him into being, or as the poet says "sprang -him." And if he hesitates to fight with those forces, then quickly the -vultures of death seize upon him. The condition of his existence is -struggle. Even the first cry of the child, the cry of thirst for the -mother's milk, signifies that man is born to desire and to toil and to -contend. He must either meet the duty of struggle as gladly as he would -meet a bride, or he must acknowledge himself unfit to live, and cursed -by his own mother, Nature. Nature is not to be thought of as a mother -that pets her child and weeps over its small sorrows; no, she is a good -mother, but very rough, and she loves only the child that fights and -conquers. - -She has no pity upon him except as he fights and wins. She cannot do -certain things for him; she cannot develop his mind--he must do that -for himself. She makes him do it by pain, by terror, by punishing him -fearfully for his mistakes. By the consequence of mistakes only does -she teach him. She urges him forward by hunger and by fear, but there -is no mercy for him if he blunders. I want you to remember that the -poet is not speaking of the separate individual man, but of mankind and -of the history of the human race. According to modern science, man was -at the beginning nothing more than an animal; he has become what he is -through knowledge of suffering, and the poet describes his sufferings -in the beginning: - - By hunger sharply sped - To grasp at weapons ere he learns their use, - In each new ring he bears a giant's thews, - An infant's head. - - And ever that old task - Of reading what he is and whence he came, - Whither to go, finds wilder letters flame - Across her mask. - -That is to say, man first is impelled by hunger to use weapons, in -order to kill animals, and these weapons he at first must use very -clumsily. You must understand the word "ring" to mean an age or cycle. -The poet wishes to say that through many past ages in succession, man -had the strength of a giant, but his brain, his mind, was feeble and -foolish like that of a little child--not even a child in the common -meaning of the word, for the poet uses the term "infant," signifying -a child before it has yet learned how to speak. It is supposed that -primitive man had no developed languages. But, as time goes on, man -learns how to express thought by speech, and presently he begins to -think about himself--to wonder what he is, where he came from, and -where he is going. Then he invents religious theories to account for -his origin. But the mystery always remains. There are ancient stories -about a magical writing. When you looked at this writing, at first it -seemed to be in one language, and to have one meaning, but when you -looked at it a second time, the letters and the meaning had changed, -and every succeeding time that you looked at it, again it changed. Like -this magical writing is the mystery of Nature, of the Universe; so that -poet represents Nature as wearing a mask upon which such ever-changing -characters appear in letters of fire. No matter how much we learn -or theorise, the infinite riddle cannot be read. And one factor of -this terrible riddle is Death. Death of all things most puzzles and -terrifies man. He sometimes suspects that Nature herself is Death, and -purely evil. He began by worshipping her through fear, but his worship -did not change his destiny in the least. - - The thing that shudders most - Within him is the burden of his cry. - Seen of his dread, she is to his blank eye - The eyeless Ghost. - . . . . . . . - - Once worshipped Prime of Powers, - She still was the Implacable; as a beast, - She struck him down and dragged him from the feast - She crowned with flowers. - . . . . . . . - - He may entreat, aspire, - He may despair, and she has never heed. - She drinking his warm sweat will soothe his need, - Not his desire. - - She prompts him to rejoice, - Yet scares him on the threshold with the shroud. - He deems her cherishing of her best-endowed - A wanton's choice. - -If man thought of the spirit of Nature as the cruel spirit of death and -destruction, surely he had reason to do so in the time of his primitive -ignorance. Pleasure seemed to him of Nature--offered to him by Nature, -and yet to indulge it often brought upon him destruction. Joy seemed to -him natural, yet whenever he most rejoiced, the shadow of death would -appear somewhere near him. Always this Nature seemed to be putting out -temptations to joy and pleasure, only as a bird hunter scatters food -on the ground to attract birds into his snare. And again this Nature -would never listen to man's prayer. He found out that by working hard -he could obtain food enough to live upon; thus Nature seemed to allow -him the right of life, or as the poet says, "to soothe his needs"; but -never would she grant him his "desire," his prayer for supernatural -help. When it came to the matter of help, he found out that he must -help himself. But why was it, again, that the wicked and the cruel were -permitted to succeed and to become prosperous, while the good and the -gentle perished from the face of the earth? To ancient mankind this was -indeed a most terrible problem, a problem which has not been perfectly -solved even at this day. Was Nature a wanton--that is, a wicked woman, -preferring the evil characters, the murderer, the thief, the robber, to -the upright and just? Such was the question which millions of men must -have asked themselves in the past. Evidently the poet does not think -so; he calls the successful, "the best endowed." What does this mean? -It means that the choice of Nature in her favours, however immoral that -choice may seem to us, is really a choice of the best, according to -her judgment. You may say, if you like, that these or those successful -men are bad, that they have broken all moral rules, that they have -sinned against all the ethics of society, that they are scoundrels -who ought to be in prison. But Nature says, "No, those are my best -children. You may not like them, and doubtless they are not good to -your thinking, but they are very much more clever and much stronger -than you. I want my children to be cunning and to be strong." Are we to -suppose, therefore, that Nature wishes to cultivate only wicked cunning -and brutal strength? No, but cunning and strength are the foundations -upon which intellect and moral power are eventually built. It is like -the statement of Herbert Spencer, that the first thing necessary for -success in life is "to be a good animal." If you can be both a good -animal and a moral and kind person, so much the better. But while the -development is going on, the chances always are that Nature will favour -the animal man at the expense of the moral man who has no strength and -no cleverness. For those who have neither strength nor cunning must -disappear from the face of the earth. Nature does not want to help -weakness; she prefers strong wickedness to helpless goodness. And if we -reflect upon this, we shall find that the whole tendency is not to evil -but to good. It is by considering the past history of man that we can -learn how much he has gained through this cruel policy of Nature. - - . . . Thereof he has found - Firm roadway between lustfulness and pain; - Has half transferred the battle to his brain, - From bloody ground; - - He will not read her good, - Or wise, but with the passion Self obscures; - Through that old devil of the thousand lures, - Through that dense hood: - - Through terror, through distrust; - The greed to touch, to view, to have, to live; - Through all that makes of him a sensitive - Abhorring dust. - -Which means that, if we will really think about the matter from an -evolutional standpoint, we shall find that it has been through the -destruction of the weak that mankind has become strong. At first he -knew only desire, like an animal; his wants were only like those of -an animal. But gradually nobler desires came to him, because they were -forced upon him by his constant struggle against death. He learns that -one must be able to control one's desire as well as to fight against -other enemies. From the day man discovered that the greatest enemy was -Self, he became a higher being, he was no longer a mere animal. When -the poet speaks of him as "transferring the battle to his brain from -bloody ground," he means that the struggle of existence to-day has -become a battle of minds, instead of being, as it used to be, a trial -of mere physical strength. We must every one of us fight, but the fight -is now intellectual. Notwithstanding this progress, we are still very -stupid, for we try to explain the laws of the Universe according to -our little feeble conceptions of moral law. Or, as the poet says, we -insist on thinking about Nature "with the passion Self obscures"--with -that selfishness in our hearts which judges everything to be bad that -gives us pain. Until we can get rid of that selfishness, we shall never -understand Nature. - -Now the question is, shall we ever be able to understand Nature? I -shall let the poet answer that question in his own way. It is an -optimistic way, and it has the great merit of being quite different -from anything else written upon the subject by any English poet. - - But that the senses still - Usurp the station of their issue mind, - He would have burst the chrysalis of the blind: - As yet he will; - - As yet he will, she prays, - Yet will when his distempered devil of Self;-- - The glutton for her fruits, the wily elf - In shifting rays;-- - - That captain of the scorned; - The coveter of life in soul and shell, - The fratricide, the thief, the infidel, - The hoofed and horned;-- - - He singularly doomed - To what he execrates and writhes to shun;-- - WHEN FIRE HAS PASSED HIM VAPOUR TO THE SUN, - AND SUN RELUMED. - -Here we might well imagine that we were listening to a Buddhist, not -to an English poet, for the thought is altogether the thought of an -Oriental philosopher, though it happens also to be in accord with the -philosophy of Western science. The lines which I put in capital letters -seem to me the most remarkable and the most profound that any Western -poet has yet written about the future of mankind. Let us loosely -paraphrase the verses quoted: - -The end to which the senses of man have been created is the making of -Mind. If man were not blinded and deceived by his senses, he would know -what Nature is, because the divine sight, perhaps the infinite vision, -would be opened to him. But the time will come when he shall be able to -know and to see. - -What time? - -The time when the selfishness of man shall have ceased, when he shall -no longer think of life as given to him only for the pursuit of -pleasure; when he shall have learned that he must not desire to live -too much, and that the body is only the shell of the mind; when crime -and cruelty shall have become impossible--when this world shall have -come to an end. - -But when the world shall have come to an end, will there still be -man? Yes, in the poet's faith; for man is part of the eternal, and -the destruction of the universe cannot affect his destiny. It is not, -however, when this world shall have come to an end that man will know. -The earth will go back to the sun, out of which it came, and the sun -itself will burn out into ashes, and the universe will disappear, and -there will thereafter be another universe, with other suns and worlds, -and only then, after passing through the fires of the sun, perhaps of -many suns, will man obtain the supreme knowledge. Never in this world -can he become wise enough and good enough to be perfectly happy. But in -some future universe, under the light of some sun not yet existing, he -may become an almost perfect being. - -It may seem strange to you to hear such a prediction from an English -poet, though the thought of the poem is very ancient in Indian -philosophy. Yet Meredith did not reach this thought through the -study of any Oriental teaching. He obtained it from the evolutional -philosophy of the present century, adding, indeed, a little fancy of -his own, but nothing at all in antagonism to the opinions of science, -so far as fact is concerned. - -What is the teaching of science in regard to the future and the past of -the present universe? It is that in the course of enormous periods of -time this universe passes away into a nebulous condition, and out of -that condition is reformed again. Mathematically it has been calculated -that the forces regulating the universe must have in the past formed -the same kind of universes millions of times, and will do the same -thing in the future, millions of times. Every modern astronomer -recognizes the studies upon which these calculations are based. It is -certainly curious that when science tells us how the universe with its -hundreds of millions of suns, and its trillions of worlds, regularly -evolves and devolves alternately--it is curious, I repeat, that this -science is telling us the very same thing that Indian philosophers were -teaching thousands of years ago, before there was any science. They -taught that all worlds appear and disappear by turns in the infinite -void, and they compared these worlds to the shadows of the dream of -a god. When the Supreme awakens from his sleep, then all the worlds -disappear, because they were only the shapes of his dream. - -Herbert Spencer would not go quite so far as that. But he would -confirm Indian philosophy as to the apparition and disparition of the -universes. There is another point upon which any Western man of science -would also confirm the Oriental teaching--that the essence of life does -not cease and cannot cease with the destruction of our world. Only the -form dies. The forces that make life cannot die; they are the same -forces that spin the suns. Remember that I am not talking about a soul -or a ghost or anything of that kind; I am saying only that it is quite -scientific to believe that all the life which has been in this world -will be again in some future world, lighted by another sun. Meredith -suggests perhaps more than this--only suggests. Take his poem, -however, as it stands, and you will find it a very noble utterance -of optimism, inspiring ideas astonishingly like the ideas of Eastern -metaphysicians. - -I am going to conclude this lecture upon Meredith with one more example -of his philosophy of social life. It is a poem treating especially of -the questions of love and marriage, and it shows us how he looks at -matters which are much closer to us than problems about suns and souls -and universes. - -The name of the poem is "The Three Singers to Young Blood--that -is to say, the three voices of the world that speak to youth. In order -to understand this composition rightly, you must first know that in -Western countries generally and in England particularly, the most -important action of a man's early life is marriage. A man's marriage -is likely to decide, not only his future happiness or misery, but his -social position, his success in his profession, his ultimate place -even in politics, if he happens to enter the service of the state. I -am speaking of marriage among the upper classes, the educated classes, -the professional classes. Among the working people, the tradesmen and -mechanics, most of whom marry quite young, marriage has not very much -social significance. But among the moneyed classes it is all important, -and a mistake in choosing a wife may ruin the whole career of the most; -gifted and clever man. This is what Meredith has in mind, when he -speaks of the three voices that address youth. The first voice, simply -urges the young man to seek happiness by making a home for himself. -The second voice is that of society, of worldly wisdom and calculating -selfishness. The third voice is the voice of reckless passion, caring -nothing about consequences. Which of the three shall the young man -listen to? Let us hear the first voice. - - As the birds do, so do we, - Bill our mate, and choose our tree. - Swift to building work addressed, - Any straw will help a nest. - Mates are warm, and this is truth, - Glad the young that come of youth. - They have bloom i' the blood and sap - Chilling at no thunder-clap. - Man and woman on the thorn, - Trust not Earth, and have her scorn. - They who in her lead confide, - Wither me if they spread not wide! - Look for aid to little things, - You will get them quick as wings, - Thick as feathers; would you feed, - Take the leap that springs the need. - -In other words, the advice of this first voice is, Do not be afraid. -Choose your companion as the bird does; make a home for yourself; do -not be afraid to try, simply because you have no money. Do not wait -to become rich. If you know how to be contented with little, you will -find that you can make a small home very easily. A wife makes life more -comfortable, and the children of young parents are the strongest and -the happiest. Such children are healthy, and they grow up brave and -energetic. You must confide in Nature. Men and women who are afraid -to trust to Nature, because they happen to be poor, lose all chance -of ever finding real happiness. Nature turns from them in scorn. But -those who trust to Nature--how they increase and multiply and prosper! -Do not wait for somebody to help you. Watch for opportunities; and you -will find them, quickly, and in multitude. If you want anything in this -world, do not wait for it to come to you; spring for it, as the bird -springs from the tree to seize its food. - -There is nothing very bad about this advice, though it is opposed to -the rules of social success. The majority of young people act pretty -much in the way indicated, and it is interesting to observe in this -connection that both Mr. Galton and Mr. Spencer have declared that -if it were required to act otherwise, the consequences would be -very unfortunate for the nation. It is not from cautious and long -delayed marriages that a nation multiplies; on the contrary, it is -from improvident marriages by young people. Yet there is something to -be said on the other side of the question. No doubt a great deal of -unhappiness might be avoided if young men and women were somewhat less -rash than they now are about entering into marriage. - -But let us listen to the second voice. Each of the three speaks in -exactly the same number of lines--sixteen. - - Contemplate the rutted road; - Life is both a lure and goad. - Each to hold in measure just, - Trample appetite to dust. - Mark the fool and wanton spin: - Keep to harness as a skin. - Ere you follow nature's lead, - Of her powers in you have heed; - Else a shiverer you will find - You have challenged humankind. - Mates are chosen marketwise: - Coolest bargainer best buys. - Leap not, nor let leap the heart: - Trot your track, and drag your cart. - So your end may be in wool, - Honoured, and with manger full. - -This is the voice of worldly wisdom, of hard selfishness, and, I am -sorry to say, of cunning hypocrisy; but it sounds very sensible indeed, -and thousands of very successful men act upon the principles here laid -down. Let us paraphrase: - -Take a good look at the road of life--see how rough it is! Understand -that there are two opposite principles of life; there are things that -attract to danger, and there are powers that compel a man to make -the greatest effort of which his strength is capable. Consider all -pleasure as dangerous; if you want to be safe and sure, kill your -passions, and master all your desires. Observe how hard foolish people -and sensual people find life. Wrap yourself up in self-control, keep -always on your guard against pleasure, keep on distrust as a suit of -armour--no, rather as a skin, never to be taken off. Before you allow -yourself to follow any natural impulse, remember how dangerous natural -impulses are. Beware of Nature! Otherwise you will soon find out, with -trembling, that the whole world is against you, that human experience -is against you, that you have become an enemy of society. And as for -a wife, remember that you should choose a wife exactly as you would -buy a horse, or as you would make any business purchase. In business -bargaining, it is the man who keeps his temper the longest and conceals -his feelings the most cunningly, that gets the best article.. Never -allow an impulse to guide you. Never follow the guidance of your heart. -Life is hard, make up your mind to go steadily forward and bear your -burden, and if you will do this while you are young, you will become -comfortably rich when you get old, and will have the respect of society -and the enjoyment of everything good in this world. I have said that -this advice is very immoral, although it is in one way very sensible. - -I say that it is immoral only for this reason, that it tells people to -act sensibly, not for the love of what is good and true, but merely -for the sake of personal advantages. I cannot believe that a man is -good who lives virtuously only because he finds virtue a profitable -business. All this is pure selfishness, but there is no doubt that -a great many successful men live and act exactly according to these -principles. Now let us consider the third voice, the voice of mere -passion, esthetic passion, which is especially strong with generous -minds. It is not usually the dullard nor the hypocrite nor the egotist -who goes to his ruin by following the impulses of such a passion as -that here described. It is rather the man of the type of Byron, or -still more of the type of Shelley. It is against danger of this voice -that the artist and the poet must especially be on guard. - - O the rosy light! it fleets, - Dearer dying than all sweets. - That is life: it waves and goes; - Solely in that cherished Rose - Palpitates, or else 'tis death. - Call it love with all thy breath. - Love! it lingers: Love! it nears: - Love! O Love! the Rose appears, - Blushful, magic, reddening air. - Now the choice is on thee: dare! - Mortal seems the touch, but makes - Immortal the hand that takes. - Feel what sea within thee shames - Of its force all other claims, - Drowns them. Clasp! the world will be - Heavenly Rose to swelling sea. - -This will need a good deal of explanation, though I am sure that -you can feel the general meaning without any explanation. The poet -is making a reference to the rose of the alchemist's dream--the -strange old fairy-tale of the Rosicrucians. It was believed in the -Middle Ages and even later, that an Elixir of Life might be formed by -chemistry--that is to say, a magical drink that would make old men -young again, or prolong life through hundreds of years. It was said -that whenever this wonderful drink was made in a laboratory, there -would appear in the liquid the ghostly image of a luminous Rose. It -would take much too long to go into the history of this curious and -very poetical fancy. Suffice to say that the poet here uses the symbol -of the rose of the alchemist to signify life itself--the essence of -youth, and the essence of passion and the worship of beauty. Now we -can attempt to paraphrase: - -How wondrous beauty is! How wondrous life and love! Yet quickly these -must pass away. Of what worth is life without love? Better to love -and die quickly. The desire of the lover is, in its way, a desire -for sacrifice; he is willing to give his life a thousand times over -for the being he adores. He thinks that love is life, that there is -nothing else worth existing for. His passion gives new and strange -colour to all his thoughts, new intensity to all his senses; the world -becomes more beautiful for him. Even as if the colour of the sunlight -were changed, so do all things appear changed to the vision of the -man who is then bewitched. But, even during the bewitchment, he is -faintly conscious of duty, of right and wrong, of a voice within him -warning against dangers. He knows, he fears, but he will not heed. He -reasons against his conscience. Is not this attraction really divine? -She is only a woman, yet merely to touch her hand gives a shock, as -of something supernatural. Then the very strength of passion itself -makes it seem more natural. The poet compares it to a sea--the tide of -impulse could not be better described, because of its depth and force. -And always the urging of this passion is "Take her! Do not care! That -will be heaven for you!" - -The last stanza has a strange splendour, as well as a strange power; -reckless passion has never been more wonderfully described in sixteen -lines. And to which of the three voices does the poet give preference? -Not to any of them. He says that all of them are deficient in true -wisdom. The first he calls "liquid"--meaning sweet, like the cry of -a dove. But that does not mean that it is altogether commendable. The -second voice he calls a "caw"--meaning that it is dismal and harsh, -like the cry of a black crow. As for the last, he says only that it is -"the cry that knows not law!" By this he means that which suffers no -restraint, and which therefore is incomparably dangerous. Yet I suppose -that it is better than the caw. What the poet thinks is that the three -different voices united together, so that each makes harmony with the -others, so that the good which is in each could make accord--would be -"music of the sun!" - - Hark to the three. Chimed they in one, - Life were music of the sun. - Liquid first, and then the caw, - Then the cry that knows not law. - -This utterance is not nearly so common-place as we might think at first -reading. There is a great deal of deep philosophy in it. Meredith means -that all our impulses, all our passions, all our selfishness, and -even our revolts against law, have their value in the eternal order -of things. In a perfect man all these emotions and sentiments would -still exist, but they would exist only in such form that they would -beautifully counterbalance each other. But there is no such thing -as human perfection, and the individual is therefore very likely to -be dominated by selfishness if he acts cautiously, and dominated by -passion when he acts without judgment. - -I think I have quoted enough of Meredith to give you some notion -of his particular quality. At all events I hope that you may become -interested in him. He is especially the poet of scholars; the poet of -men of culture. Only a man of culture can really like him--just as only -a man long accustomed to good living can appreciate the best kinds of -wine. Give fine wine to a poor man accustomed only to drink coarse -spirits, and he will not care about it. So the common reader cannot -care about Meredith. He is what we call a "test-poet"--your culture, -your capacity to think and feel, is tested by your ability to like such -a poet. The question, "Do you like Meredith?" is now in English and -even in French literary circles, a test. But remember that Meredith has -great faults. If he did not have, he would rank at the very top of the -Victorian poets. But he has the fault of obscurity, like Browning, he -often tortures language into the most amazing forms, and he is about -the most difficult of all English poets to read. His early work is much -better than his later in this respect. But the difficulty of Meredith -is not only a difficulty of language. No one can understand him who -does not also understand the philosophical thought of the second half -of the nineteenth century. He is especially the poet of a particular -time, and for that reason it is very much to be regretted that he is -less clear than almost any literary artist of his period. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -"THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT" - - -I have spoken to you a great deal about the poetry of George Meredith, -but I have not yet found an opportunity to tell you about his having -written what I believe to be one of the greatest fables--certainly the -greatest fable imagined during the nineteenth century. I imagine also -that this fable will live, will even become a great classic,--after -all his novels have been forgotten. For his novels, great as they are, -deal almost entirely with contemporary pictures of highly complicated -English and Italian aristocratic society. They picture the mental and -moral fashions of a generation, and all such fashions quickly change. -But the great fable pictures something which is, which has been, and -which always will be in human nature; it touches the key of eternal -things, just as his poetry does--perhaps even better; for some of his -poetry is terribly obscure. Mr. Gosse has written a charming essay -upon the fable of which I am going to speak to you; but neither Mr. -Gosse nor anybody else has ever attempted to explain it. If the book -is less well known, less widely appreciated than it deserves, the fact -is partly owing to the want of critical interpretation. Even to Mr. -Gosse the book makes its appeal chiefly as a unique piece of literary -art. But how many people in conservative England either care for -literary art in itself, or are capable of estimating it? So long as -people think that such or such a book is only a fairy tale, they do not -trouble themselves much to read it. But prove to them that the fairy -tale is the emblem of a great moral fact, then it is different. The -wonderful stories of Andersen owe their popularity as much to the fact -that they teach moral fact, as to the fact that they please children. - -Meredith's book was not written to please children; there is perhaps -too much love-making in it for that. I do not even know whether it was -written for a particular purpose; I am inclined to think that there was -no particular purpose. Books written with a purpose generally fail. -Great moral stories are stories that have been written for art's sake. -Meredith took for model the manner of the Arabian story tellers. The -language, the comparisons, the poetry, the whole structure of his story -is in the style of the Arabian Nights. But as Mr. Gosse observes, the -Arabian Nights seem to us cold and pale beside it. You can not find in -the Arabian Nights a single page to compare with certain pages of "The -Shaving of Shagpat"; and this is all the more extraordinary because -the English book is written in a tone of extravagant humour. You feel -that the author is playing with the subject, as a juggler plays with -half a dozen balls at the same time, never letting one of them fall. -And yet he has done much better than the Orientals who took their -subject seriously. Even the title, the names of places or of persons, -are jokes,--though they look very much like Arabian or Persian names. -"Shagpat" is only the abbreviation of "shaggy pate," "pate" being an -old English word for head--so that the name means a very hairy and -rough looking head. When you begin to see jokes of this kind even in -the names, you may be inclined to think that the book is trifling. I -thought so myself before reading it; but now that I have read it at -least half a dozen times, and hope to read it many times more, I can -assure you that it is one of the most delightful books ever written, -and that it can not fail to please you. With this introduction, I shall -now begin to say something about the story itself, the fantastic plot -of it. - -Who is Shagpat? Shagpat is a clothing merchant and the favourite of -a king. Shagpat wears his hair very long, contrary to the custom -of Mohammedan countries, where all men shave their heads, with the -exception of one tuft on the top of the head, by which tuft, after -death, the true believer is to be lifted up by angels, and carried into -Paradise. Mohammedans are as careful about this tuft as the Chinese -are careful about their queues. How comes it that in a Mohammedan city -a true believer should thus wear his hair long? It is because in his -head there has been planted one magical hair taken out of the head of -a Djinn or Genie; and this hair, called the Identical, has the power -to make all men worship the person on whose head it grows. Therefore -it is that the king reverences this clothing merchant, and that all -the people bow down before him. Also an order is given that all men in -that country must wear their hair long in the same manner, and that no -barbers are to be allowed to exercise their trade in any of the cities. - -A barber, not knowing these regulations,--a barber of the name of -Shibli Bagarag--comes to the principal city and actually proposes to -shave Shagpat. He is at once seized by slaves, severely beaten, and -banished from the city. But outside the city he meets a horrible old -woman, so ugly that it pains him to look at her; and she tells him -that she can make his fortune for him if he will promise to marry her. -Although he is in a very unhappy condition, the idea of marrying so -hideous a woman terrifies him; nevertheless he plucks up courage and -promises. She asks him then to kiss her. He has to shut his eyes before -he can do that, but after he has done it she suddenly becomes young -and handsome. She is the daughter of the chief minister of the king, -and she is ugly only because of an enchantment cast upon her. This -enchantment has been caused by the power of Shagpat, who desired to -marry her. For her own sake and for the sake of the country and for the -sake of all the people, she says that it is necessary that the head of -Shagpat should be shaved. But to shave Shagpat requires extraordinary -powers--magical powers. For the magical hair in that man's head cannot -be cut by any ordinary instrument. If approached with a knife or a -razor, this hair suddenly develops tremendous power as of an electric -shock, hurling far away all who approach it. It is only a hair to all -appearances at ordinary times, but at extraordinary times it becomes -luminous, and stands up like a pillar of fire reaching to the stars. -And the daughter of the minister tells Bagarag that if he has courage -she can teach him the magic that shall help him to cut that hair,--to -shave the shaggy pate of Shagpat. - -I have gone into details this far only to give you a general idea of -the plan of the story. The greater part of the book deals with the -obstacles and dangers of Shagpat, and recounts, in the most wonderful -way, the struggle between the powers of magic used on both sides. For -Shagpat is defended against barbers by evil spirits who use black -magic; while Bagarag is assisted by his wife, and her knowledge of -white magic. In his embraces she has become the most beautiful woman in -the world, and the more he loves her the more beautiful she becomes. -But he is given to understand that he must lose her if his courage -fails in the fight against Shagpat. To tell you here how his courage -is tested, and how he triumphs over all tests, would only spoil your -pleasure in the story when you come to read it. Here I shall only say -that the grandest chapter in the part of the book recounting Bagarag's -adventures is the chapter on the Sword of Aklis, the magical sword with -which the head of Shagpat at last, is shaved. The imagining of this -sword is one of the most wonderful things in any literature; for all -the ancient descriptions of magical swords are dull and uninteresting -compared with the description of the sword of Aklis. It can only be -looked at by very strong eyes, so bright it is; it can be used as a -bridge from earth to sky; it can be made so long that in order to use -it one must look through a telescope; it can be made lighter than a -moon beam, or so heavy that no strength could lift it. I want to quote -to you a few sentences of the description of the sword, because this -description is very beautiful, and it will give you a good idea of -Meredith's coloured prose style. The passages which I am going to read -describe the first appearance of the sword to Bagarag, after he has -washed his eyes with magical water: - - His sight was strengthened to mark the glory of the Sword, where it - hangs in slings, a little way from the wall. ... Lo! the length - of it was as the length of crimson across the sea when the sun is - sideways on the wave, and it seemed full a mile long, the whole - blade sheening like an arrested lightning from the end to the hilt; - the hilt two large live serpents twined together, with eyes like - sombre jewels, and sparkling spotted skins, points of fire in their - folds, and reflections of the emerald and topaz and ruby stones, - studded in the blood-stained haft. Then the seven young men, sons - of Aklis, said to Shibli Bagarag,... "Grasp the handle of the - sword!" - - Now, he beheld the sword and the ripples of violet heat that - were breathing down it, and those two venomous serpents twining - together, and the size of it, its ponderousness; and to essay - lifting it appeared to him a madness, but he concealed his thought, - and ...went forward to it boldly, and piercing his right arm - between the twists of the serpents, grasped the jewelled haft. - Surely, the sword moved from the slings as if a giant had swayed - it! But what amazed him was the marvel of the blade, for its - sharpness was such that nothing stood in its way, and it slipped - through everything, as we pass through still water,--the stone - columns, blocks of granite by the walls, the walls of earth, and - the thick solidity of the ground beneath his feet. They bade him - say to the Sword, "Sleep!" and it was no longer than a knife - in the girdle. Likewise, they bade him hiss on the heads of the - serpents, and say, "Wake!" and while he held it lengthwise it shot - lengthening out. - -In fact, it lengthens across the world, if the owner so desires, to -kill an enemy thousands of miles away. With this wonderful sword at -last Shagpat is shaved. But notwithstanding the power of thousands of -good spirits who help the work, and the white magic of the beautiful -Noorna, the shaving is an awfully difficult thing to do. The chapter -describing it reads as magnificently as the description of the Judgment -Day, and you will wonder at the splendour of it. - -What does all this mean, you may well ask. What is the magical hair? -What is the sword? What is every impossible thing recounted in this -romance? Really the author himself gives us the clue, and therefore his -meaning ought to have been long ago clearly perceived. At the end of -the story is this clue, furnished by the words-- - - The Sons of Aklis were now released from the toil of sharpening - of the sword a half-cycle of years, to wander in delight on the - fair surface of the flowery earth, breathing its roses, wooing its - brides; for the mastery of an event lasteth among men the space of - one cycle of years, and after that a fresh illusion springeth to - befool mankind, and the Seven must expend the concluding half-cycle - in preparing the edge of the Sword for a new mastery. - -From this it is quite evident to anybody who has read the book that the -sword of Aklis is the sword of science,--the power of exact scientific -knowledge, wielded against error, superstition, humbug, and convention -of every injurious kind. - -Do not, however, imagine that this bit of interpretation interprets all -the story; you must read it more than once, and think about it a great -deal, in order to perceive the application of its thousand incidents -to real human nature. - -When Bagarag first, in his ignorance, offers to shave Shagpat, he has -no idea whatever of the powers arrayed against him. What he wants is -not at all in itself wrong; on the contrary it is in itself quite -right. But what is quite right in one set of social conditions may seem -to be quite wrong in another. Therefore the poor fellow is astonished -to discover that the whole nation is against him, that the king is -particularly offended with him, that all public opinion condemns him, -would refuse him even the right to live in its midst. Is not Bagarag -really the discoverer, the scientific man, the philosopher with a great -desire to benefit other men, discovering that his kind wish arouses -against him the laws of' the government, the anger of religions, and -all the prejudice of public opinion? Bagarag is the reformer who is -not allowed to reform anything,--threatened with death if he persists. -Reformers must be men of courage, and Bagarag has courage. But courage -is not enough to sustain the purpose of the philosopher, the reformer, -the man with new ethical or other truth to tell mankind. Much more than -courage is wanted--power. How is power to come? You remember about the -horrible old woman who asks Bagarag to kiss her, and when he kisses her -she becomes young and divinely beautiful. We may suppose that Noorna -really represents Science. Scientific study seems very ugly, very -difficult, very repellent at first sight, but if you have the courage -and the capacity to master it, if you can bravely kiss it, as Bagarag -kissed the old woman, it becomes the most delightful mistress; nor is -that all--it finds strange powers and forces for you. It can find for -you even a sword of Aklis. - -Now certain subjects are supposed to be beneath the dignity of literary -art; and some of the subjects in this extraordinary book might appear -to you too trivial for genius to busy itself with. The use of a barber -as hero is not at all inartistic; it is in strict accordance with -the methods of the Arabian story-tellers to make barbers, fishermen, -water-carriers, and other men of humble occupations, the leading -characters in a tale. But that the whole plot of the narrative should -turn upon the difficulty of cutting one hair; and that this single -hair should be given so great an importance in the history--this -might very well seem to you beneath the dignity of art--that is, -until you read the book. Yet the manner in which the fancy is worked -out thoroughly excuses such triviality. The symbol of the hair is -excellent. What is of less seeming importance than a hair? What is so -frail and light and worthless as a hair? Now to many reformers and -teachers the errors, social, moral, or religious, which they wish to -destroy really appear to have less value, less resistance than a hair. -But, as a great scientific teacher observed a few years ago, no man is -able to conceive the strength in error, the force of error, the power -of prejudice, until he has tried to attack it. Then all at once the -illusion, the lie, that seems frail as a hair, and even of less worth, -suddenly reveals itself as a terrible thing, reaching from Earth to -Sky, radiating electricity and lightning in every direction. Observe -in the course of modern European history what an enormous effort has -been required to destroy even very evident errors, injustices, or -illusions. Think of the hundreds of years of sturdy endeavour which -we needed before even a partial degree of religious freedom could be -obtained. Think of the astonishing fact that one hundred years ago the -man risked his life who found the courage to say that witchcraft was -an illusion. One might mention thousands of illustrations of the same -truth. No intellectual progress can be effected within conservative -countries by mere discovery, mere revelation of facts, nor by logic, -nor by eloquence, nor even by individual courage. The discovery is -ridiculed; the facts are denied; the logic is attacked; the eloquence -is met by greater eloquence on the side of untruth; the individual -courage is astounded, if not defeated, by the armies of the enemies -summoned against it. Progress, educational or otherwise, means hard -fighting, not for one lifetime only but for generations. You are well -aware how many generations have elapsed since the educational system -of the Middle Ages was acknowledged by all men of real intelligence as -inadequate to produce great results. One would have thought that the -mediæval fetish would have been thrown away in the nineteenth century, -at least. But it is positively true that in most English speaking -universities, even at the present time, a great deal of the machinery -of mediæval education remains, and there is scarcely any hope of having -it removed even within another hundred years. If you asked the wise -men of those universities what is the use of preserving certain forms -of study and certain formalities of practice that can only serve to -increase the obstacles to educational progress, they would answer you -truthfully that it is of no use at all, but they would also tell you -something about the difficulty that would attend any attempted change; -and you would be astonished to learn the extent and the immensity of -those difficulties. - -Now you will perceive that the single hair in our study actually -represents, perhaps, better than any more important object could do, -the real story of any social illusion, any great popular error. The -error seems so utterly absurd that you cannot understand how any man -in his senses can believe it, and yet men quite as intelligent as -yourselves, perhaps even more so, speak of it with respect. They speak -of it with respect simply because they perceive better than you do -what enormous power would be needed to destroy it. It appears to you -something so light that even a breath would blow it away forever, or -the touch of pain break it so easily that the breaking could not even -be felt. You think of wisdom crushing it as an elephant might crush a -fly, without knowing that the fly was there. But when you come to put -forth your strength against this error, this gossamer of illusion, you -will find that you might as well try to move a mountain with your hand. -You must have help: you must have friends to furnish you with the sword -of Aklis. Even with that mighty sword the cutting of the hair will -prove no easy job. - -Afterwards what happens? Why, exactly the same thing that happens -before. Men think that because the world has made one step forward in -their time, all illusions are presently going to fade away. This is -the greatest of social mistakes that a human being can possibly make. -The great sea of error immediately closes again behind the forms -that find strength to break out of it. It is just the same as before. -One illusion may indeed be eventually destroyed, but another illusion -quickly forms behind it. The real truth is that wisdom will be reached -when human individuals as well as human society shall have become -infinitely more perfect than they now are; and such perfection can -scarcely be brought about before another million of years at least. - -These are the main truths symbolised in this wonderful story. But while -you are reading the "Shaving of Shagpat," you need not consider the -moral meanings at all. You will think of them better after the reading. -Indeed, I imagine that the story will so interest you that you will not -be able to think of anything else until you have reached the end of it. -Then you find yourself sorry that it is not just a little bit longer. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -A NOTE ON ROBERT BUCHANAN - - -Among the minor poets of the Victorian period, Robert Buchanan cannot -be passed over unnoticed. A contemporary of all the great singers, he -seems to have been always a little isolated; I mean that he formed no -strong literary friendships within the great circle. Most great poets -must live to a certain extent in solitude; the man who can at once mix -freely in society and find time for the production of masterpieces is -a rare phenomenon. George Meredith is said to be such a person. But -Tennyson, Rossetti, Swinburne, Browning, Fitzgerald, were all very -reserved and retired men, though they had little circles of their own, -and a certain common sympathy. The case of Buchanan is different. -His aloofness from the rest has been, not the result of any literary -desire for quiet, but the result, on the contrary, of a strong spirit -of opposition. Not only did he have no real sympathy with the great -poets, but he represented in himself the very prejudices against which -they had to contend. Hard headed Scotchman as he was, he manifested in -his attitude to his brother poets a good deal of the peculiar, harsh -conservatism of which Scotchmen seemed to be particularly capable. -And he did himself immense injury in his younger days by an anonymous -attack upon the morals, or rather upon the moral tone, of such poets as -Rossetti and Swinburne. Swinburne's reply to this attack was terrible -and withering. That of Rossetti was very mild and gentle, but so -effective that English literary circles almost unanimously condemned -Buchanan, and attributed his attack to mere jealousy. I think the -attack was less due to jealousy than to character, to prejudice, to the -harshness of a mind insensible to particular forms of beauty. And for -more than twenty years Buchanan has suffered extremely from the results -of his own action. Thousands of people have ignored him and his books -simply because it was remembered that he gave wanton pain to Rossetti, -a poet much too sensitive to endure unjust criticism. I suppose that -for many years to come Buchanan will still be remembered in this light, -notwithstanding that he tried at a later day to make honourable amends -to the memory of Rossetti, by dedicating to him, with a beautiful -sonnet of apology, the definitive edition of his own works. - -But the time has now passed when Buchanan can be treated as an -indifferent figure in English literature. In spite of all disadvantages -he has been a successful poet, a successful novelist, and a very -considerable influence in the literature of criticism. Besides, he -has written at least one poem that will probably live as long as the -English language, and he has an originality quite apart and quite -extraordinary, though weaker than the originality of the greater -singers of his time. As to his personal history, little need to be -said. He was educated at Glasgow University, and his literary efforts -have always been somewhat coloured by Scotch sentiment, in spite of his -long life in literary London. - -Three volumes represent his poetical production. In these are -contained a remarkable variety of poems--narrative, mystical, -fantastic, classical, romantic, ranging from the simplest form of -ballad to the complex form of the sonnet and the ode. The narrative -poems would, I think, interest you least; they are gloomy studies of -human suffering, physical and moral, among the poor, and are not so -good as the work of Crabbe in the same direction. The mystical poems, -on the contrary, are of a very curious kind; for Buchanan actually -made a religious philosophy of his own, and put it into the form of -verse. It is a Christian mysticism, an extremely liberal Unitarianism -forming the basis of it; but the author's notions about the perpetual -order of things are all his own. He has, moreover, put these queer -fancies into a form of verse imitating the ancient Celtic poetry. We -shall afterward briefly consider the mystical poetry. But the great -production of Buchanan is a simple ballad, which you find very properly -placed at the beginning of his collected poems. This is a beautiful -and extraordinary thing, quite in accordance with the poet's peculiar -views of Christianity. It is called "The Ballad of Judas Iscariot." If -you know only this composition, you will know all that it is absolutely -necessary to know of Robert Buchanan. It is by this poem that his place -is marked in nineteenth century literature. - -Before we turn to the poem itself, I must explain to you something of -the legend of Judas Iscariot. You know, of course, that Judas was the -disciple of Christ who betrayed his master. He betrayed him for thirty -pieces of silver, according to the tradition; and he betrayed him with -a kiss, for he said to the soldiers whom he was guiding, "The man -whom I shall kiss is the man you want." So Judas went up to Christ, -and kissed his face; and then the soldiers seized Christ. From this -has come the proverbial phrase common to so many Western languages, a -"Judas-kiss." Afterwards Judas, being seized with remorse, is said to -have hanged himself; and there the Scriptural story ends. But in Church -legends the fate of Judas continued to be discussed in the Middle -Ages. As he was the betrayer of; a person whom the Church considered -to be God, it was deemed that he was necessarily the greatest of all -traitors; and as he had indirectly helped to bring about the death of -God, he was condemned as the greatest of all murderers. It was said -that in hell the very lowest place was given to Judas, and that his -tortures exceeded all other tortures. But once every year, it was said, -Judas could leave hell, and go out to cool himself upon the ice of the -Northern seas. That is the legend of the Middle Ages. - -Now Robert Buchanan perceived that the Church legends of the punishment -of Judas might be strongly questioned from a moral point of view. -Revenge is indeed in the spirit of the Old Testament; but revenge is -not exactly in the spirit of the teaching of Christ. The true question -as to the fate of Judas ought to be answered by supposing what Christ -himself would have wished in the matter. Would Christ have wished to -see his betrayer burning for ever in the fires of hell? Or would he -have shown to him some of that spirit manifested in his teachings, -"Do good unto them that hate you; forgive your enemies"? As a result -of thinking about the matter, Buchanan produced his ballad. All that -could be said against it from a religious point of view is that the -spirit of it is even more Christian than Christianity itself. From the -poetical point of view we must acknowledge it to be one of the grandest -ballads produced in the whole period of Victorian literature. You -will not find so exquisite a finish here as in some of the ballads of -Rossetti; but you will find a weirdness and a beauty and an emotional -power that make up for slenderness in workmanship. - -In order to understand the beginning of the ballad clearly, you should -know the particulars about another superstition concerning Judas. It is -said that all the elements refused to suffer the body to be committed -to them; fire would not burn it; water would not let it sink to rest; -every time it was buried, the earth would spew it out again. Man could -not bury that body, so the ghosts endeavoured to get rid of it. The -Field of Blood referred to in the ballad is the Aceldama of Scriptural -legend, the place where Judas hanged himself. - - 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot - Lay in the Field of Blood; - 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot - Beside the body stood. - - Black was the earth by night, - And black was the sky; - Black, black were the broken clouds, - Though the red Moon went by. - . . . . . . - Then the soul of Judas Iscariot - Did make a gentle moan-- - "I will bury underneath the ground - My flesh and blood and bone. - . . . . . . - "The stones of the field are sharp as steel, - And hard and bold, God wot; - And I must bear my body hence - Until I find a spot!" - - 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot - So grim, and gaunt, and grey, - Raised the body of Judas Iscariot - And carried it away. - - And as he bare it from the field - Its touch was cold as ice, - And the ivory teeth within the jaw - Rattled aloud, like dice. - -The use of the word "ivory" here has a double function; dice are -usually made of ivory; and the suggestion of whiteness heightens the -weird effect. - - As the soul of Judas Iscariot - Carried its load with pain, - The Eye of Heaven, like a lanthorn's eye, - Opened and shut again. - - Half he walk'd, and half he seemed - Lifted on the cold wind; - He did not turn, for chilly hands - Were pushing from behind. - - The first place that he came unto - It was the open wold, - And underneath were pricky whins, - And a wind that blew so cold. - - The next place that he came unto - It was a stagnant pool, - And when he threw the body in - It floated light as wool. - - He drew the body on his back, - And it was dripping chill, - And the next place he came unto - Was a Cross upon a hill. - - A Cross upon the windy hill, - And a Cross on either side, - Three skeletons that swing thereon, - Who had been crucified. - - And on the middle cross-bar sat - A white Dove slumbering; - Dim it sat in the dim light, - With its head beneath its wing. - - And underneath the middle Cross - A grave yawned wide and vast, - But the soul of Judas Iscariot - Shiver'd, and glided past. - -We are not told what this hill was, but every reader knows that Calvary -is meant, and the skeletons upon the crosses are those of Christ and -the two thieves crucified with him. The ghostly hand had pushed Judas -to the place of all places where he would have wished not to go. We -need not mind the traditional discrepancy suggested by the three -skeletons; as a matter of fact, the bodies of malefactors were not -commonly left upon the crosses long enough to become skeletons, and -of course the legend is that Christ's body was on the cross only for -a short time. But we may suppose that the whole description is of a -phantasm, purposely shaped to stir the remorse of Judas. The white -dove sleeping upon the middle cross suggests the soul of Christ, and -the great grave made below might have been prepared out of mercy for -the body of Judas. If the dove had awoke and spoken to him, would it -not have said, "You can put your body here, in my grave; nobody will -torment you"? But the soul of Judas cannot even think of daring to -approach the place of the crucifixion. - - The fourth place that he came unto, - It was the Brig of Dread, - And the great torrents rushing down - Were deep, and swift, and red. - - He dared not fling the body in - For fear of faces dim, - And arms were waved in the wild water - To thrust it back to him. - -There is here a poetical effect borrowed from sources having nothing -to do with the Judas tradition. In old Northern folklore there is the -legend of a River of Blood, in which all the blood ever shed in this -world continues to flow; and there is a reference to this river in the -old Scotch ballad of "Thomas the Rhymer." - - It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae light, - And they waded in red blude up to the knee, - For a' the blude that's shed on earth, - Rins through the springs o' that countrie. - -Judas leaves the dreadful bridge and continues his wanderings over the -mountain, through woods and through great desolate plains: - - For months and years, in grief and tears, - He walked the silent night; - Then the soul of Judas Iscariot - Perceived a far-off light. - - A far-off light across the waste, - As dim as dim might be, - That came and went like a lighthouse gleam - On a black night at sea. - - 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot - Crawled to the distant gleam; - And the rain came down, and the rain was blown - Against him with a scream. - . . . . . . . . . - - 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, - Strange, and sad, and tall, - Stood all alone at dead of night - Before a lighted hall. - - And the wold was white with snow, - And his foot-marks black and damp, - And the ghost of the silver Moon arose, - Holding her yellow lamp. - - And the icicles were on the eaves. - And the walls were deep with white, - And the shadows of the guests within - Passed on the window light. - - The shadows of the wedding guests - Did strangely come and go, - And the body of Judas Iscariot - Lay stretch'd along the snow. - -But only the body. The soul which has carried it does not lie down, -but runs round and round the lighted hall, where the wedding guests -are assembled. What wedding? What guests? This is the mystical banquet -told of in the parable of the New Testament; the bridegroom is Christ -himself; the guests are the twelve disciples, or rather, the eleven, -Judas himself having been once the twelfth. And the guests see the soul -of Judas looking in at the window. - - 'Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head, - And the lights burned bright and clear-- - "Oh, who is that," the Bridegroom said, - "Whose weary feet I hear?" - - 'Twas one look'd from the lighted hall, - And answered soft and slow, - "It is a wolf runs up and down - With a black track in the snow." - - The Bridegroom in his robe of white - Sat at the table-head-- - "Oh, who is that who moans without?" - The blessed Bridegroom said. - - 'Twas one looked from the lighted hall, - And answered fierce and low, - "'Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot - Gliding to and fro." - - 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot - Did hush itself and stand, - And saw the Bridegroom at the door - With a light in his hand. - - The Bridegroom stood in the open door, - And he was clad in white, - And far within the Lord's Supper - Was spread so long and bright. - - The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and looked, - And his face was bright to see-- - "What dost thou here at the Lord's Supper - With thy body's sins?" said he. - - 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, - Stood black, and sad, and bare-- - "I have wandered many nights and days; - There is no light elsewhere." - - 'Twas the wedding guests cried out within, - And their eyes were fierce and bright-- - "Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot - Away into the night!" - - The Bridegroom stood in the open door - And he waved hands still and slow, - And the third time that he waved his hands - The air was thick with snow. - - And of every flake of falling snow, - Before it touched the ground, - There came a dove, and a thousand doves - Made sweet sound. - - 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot - Floated away full fleet, - And the wings of the doves that bare it off - Were like its winding-sheet. - - 'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door, - And beckon'd, smiling sweet; - 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot - Stole in, and fell at his feet. - - "The Holy Supper is spread within, - And the many candles shine, - And I have waited long for thee - Before I poured the wine!" - -It would have been better, I think, to finish the ballad at this -stanza; there is one more, but it does not add at all to the effect of -what goes before. When the doves, emblems of divine love, have carried -away the sinful body, and the Master comes to the soul, smiling and -saying: "I have been waiting for you a long time, waiting for your -coming before I poured the wine"--there is nothing more to be said. We -do not want to hear any more; we know that the Eleven had again become -Twelve; we do not require to be told that the wine is poured out, or -that Judas repents his fault. The startling and beautiful thing is the -loving call and the welcome to the Divine Supper. You will find the -whole of this poem in the "Victorian Anthology," but I should advise -any person who might think of making a Japanese translation to drop -the final stanza and to leave out a few of the others, if his judgment -agrees with mine. - -Read this again to yourselves, and see how beautiful it is. The beauty -is chiefly in the central idea of forgiveness; but the workmanship of -this composition has also a very remarkable beauty, a Celtic beauty -of weirdness, such as we seldom find in a modern composition touching -religious tradition. It were interesting to know how the poet was able -to imagine such a piece of work. I think I can tell a little of the -secret. Only a man with a great knowledge and love of old ballads could -have written it. Having once decided upon the skeleton of the story, -he must have gone to his old Celtic literature and to old Northern -ballads for further inspiration. I have already suggested that the -ballad of "Thomas the Rhymer" was one source of his inspiration, with -its strange story of the River of Blood. Thomas was sitting under a -tree, the legend goes, when he saw a woman approaching so beautiful -that he thought she was an angel or the Virgin Mary, and he addressed -her on his knees. But she sat down beside him, and said, "I am no angel -nor saint; I am only a fairy. But if you think that I am so beautiful, -take care that you do not kiss me, for if you do, then I shall have -power over you." Thomas immediately did much more than kiss her, and he -therefore became her slave. She took him at once to fairy land, and on -their way they passed through strange wild countries, much like those -described in Robert Buchanan's ballad; they passed the River of Blood; -they passed dark trees laden with magical food; and they saw the road -that reaches Heaven and the road that reaches Hell. But Buchanan could -take only a few ideas from this poem. Other ideas I think were inspired -by a ballad of Goethe's, or at least by Sir Walter Scott's version of -it, "Frederick and Alice." Frederick is a handsome young soldier who -seduces a girl called Alice under promise of marriage, and then leaves -her. He rides to join the army in France. The girl becomes insane with -grief and shame; and the second day later she dies at four o'clock in -the morning. Meantime Frederick unexpectedly loses his way; the rest I -may best tell in the original weird form. The horse has been frightened -by the sound of a church bell striking the hour of four. - - Heard ye not the boding sound, - As the tongue of yonder tower, - Slowly, to the hills around, - Told the fourth, the fated hour? - - Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, - Yet no cause of dread appears; - Bristles high the rider's hair, - Struck with strange mysterious fears. - - Desperate, as his terrors rise, - In the steed the spur he hides; - From himself in vain he flies; - Anxious, restless, on he rides. - - Seven long days, and seven long nights, - Wild he wandered, woe the while! - Ceaseless care, and causeless fright, - Urge his footsteps many a mile. - - Dark the seventh sad night descends; - Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour; - While the deafening thunder lends - All the terrors of its roar. - -At the worst part of his dreary wandering over an unknown and gloomy -country, Frederick suddenly sees a light far away. This seems to him, -as it seemed in Buchanan's ballad to the soul of Judas, a light of -hope. He goes to the light, and finds himself in front of a vast and -ruinous looking church. Inside there is a light; he leaps down from his -horse, descends some steps, and enters the building. Suddenly all is -darkness again; he has to feel his way. - - Long drear vaults before him lie! - Glimmering lights are seen to glide!-- - "Blessed Mary, hear my cry! - Deign a sinner's steps to guide!" - - Often lost their quivering beam, - Still the lights move slow before, - Till they rest their ghastly gleam - Right against an iron door. - -He is really in the underground burial place of a church, in the vaults -of the dead, but he does not know it. He hears voices. - - Thundering voices from within, - Mixed with peals of laughter, rose; - As they fell, a solemn strain - Lent its wild and wondrous close! - - 'Midst the din, he seem'd to hear - Voice of friends, by death removed;-- - Well he knew that solemn air, - 'Twas the lay that Alice loved. - -Suddenly a great bell booms four times, and the iron door opens. He -sees within a strange banquet; the seats are coffins, the tables are -draped with black, and the dead are the guests. - - Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, - Ghastly smiling, points a seat; - All arose, with thundering sound; - All the expected stranger greet. - - High their meagre arms they wave, - Wild their notes of welcome swell; - "Welcome, traitor, to the grave! - Perjured, bid the light farewell!" - -I have given the greater part of this strange ballad because of its -intrinsic value and the celebrity of its German author. But the part -that may have inspired Buchanan is only the part concerning the -wandering over the black moor, the light seen in the distance, the -ghostly banquet of the dead, and the ruined vaults. A great poet would -have easily found in these details the suggestion which Buchanan found -for the wandering of Judas to the light and the unexpected vision of -the dead assembling to a banquet with him--but only this. The complete -transformation of the fancy, the transmutation of the purely horrible -into a ghostly beauty and tenderness, is the wonderful thing. After -all, this is the chief duty of the poet in this world, to discover -beauty even in the ugly, suggestions of beauty even in the cruel and -terrible. This Buchanan did once so very well that his work will never -be forgotten, but he received thereafter no equal inspiration, and the -"Ballad of Judas" remains, alone of its kind, his only real claim to -high distinction. - -The poetry of Robert Buchanan is not great enough as poetry to justify -many quotations, but as thinking it demands some attention. His -third volume is especially of interest in this respect, because it -contains a curious exposition of his religious idealism. Buchanan is a -mystic; there is no doubt that he has been very much influenced by the -mysticism of Blake. The whole of the poems collectively entitled "The -Devil's Mystics," must have been suggested by Blake's nomenclature. -This collection belongs to "The Book of Orm," which might have been -well called "The Book of Robert Buchanan." Orm ought to be a familiar -name to students of English literature, one of the old English books -also being called "The Ormulum," because it was written by a man named -Orm. Buchanan's Orm is represented to be an ancient Celt, who has -visions and dreams about the mystery of the universe, and who puts -these visions and dreams, which are Buchanan's, into old-fashioned -verse. - -The great Ernest Renan said in his "Dialogues Philosophiques" that if -everybody in the world who had thought much about the mystery of things -were to write down his ideas regarding the Infinite, some great truth -might be discovered or deduced from the result. Buchanan has tried -to follow this suggestion; for he has very boldly put down all his -thoughts about the world and man and God. As to results, however, I can -find nothing particularly original except two or three queer fancies, -none of which relates to the deeper riddles of being. In a preface in -verse, the author further tells us that when he speaks of God he does -not mean the Christian God or the God of India nor any particular God, -but only the all-including Spirit of Life. Be that as it may, we find -his imagery to be certainly borrowed from old Hebrew and old Christian -thinkers; here he has not fulfilled expectations. But the imagery is -used to express some ideas which I think you will find rather new--not -exactly philosophical ideas, but moral parables. - -One of these is a parable about the possible consequences of seeing or -knowing the divine power which is behind the shadows of things. Suppose -that there were an omnipotent God whom we could see; what would be the -consequences of seeing him? Orm discovered that the blue of the sky was -a blue veil drawn across Immensity to hide the face of God. One day, -in answer to prayer, God drew aside the blue veil. Then all mankind -were terrified because they saw, by day and by night, an awful face -looking down upon them out of the sky, the sleepless eyes of the face -seeming to watch each person constantly wherever he was. Did this make -men happy? Not at all. They became tired of life, finding themselves -perpetually watched; they covered their cities with roofs, and lived by -lamp light only, in order to avoid being looked at by the face, God. -This queer parable, recounted in the form of a dream, has a meaning -worth thinking about. The ultimate suggestion, of course, is that we do -not know and see many things because it would make us very unhappy to -know them. - -An equally curious parable, also related in the form of a dream, treats -of the consolations of death. What would become of mankind if there -were no death? I think you will remember that I told you how the young -poet William Watson took up the same subject a few years ago, in his -remarkable poem, "A Dream of Man." Watson's supposition is that men -became so wise, so scientific, that they were able to make themselves -immortal and to conquer death. But at last they became frightfully -unhappy, unutterably tired of life, and were obliged to beg God to give -them back death again. And God said to them, "You are happier than I -am. You can die; I cannot. The only happiness of existence is effort. -Now you can have your friend death back again." Buchanan's idea was -quite different from this. His poem is called "The Dream of the World -without Death." Men prayed to God that there might be no more death -or decay of the body; and the prayer was granted. People continued to -disappear from the world, but they did not die. They simply vanished, -when their time came, as ghosts. A child goes out to play in the field, -for example, and never comes back again; the mother finds only the -empty clothes of her darling. Or a peasant goes to the fields to work, -and his body is never seen again. People found that this was a much -worse condition of things than had been before. For the consolation -of knowledge, of certainty, was not given them. The dead body is a -certificate of death; nature uses corruption as a seal, an official -exhibit and proof of the certainty of death. But when there is no body, -no corpse, no possible sign, how horrible is the disappearance of -the persons we love. The mystery of it is a much worse pain than the -certain knowledge of death. Doubt is the worst form of torture. Well, -when mankind had this experience, they began to think, that, after all, -death was a beautiful and good thing, and they prayed most fervently -that they might again have the privilege of dying in the old way, of -putting the bodies of their dead into beautiful tombs, of being able to -visit the graves of their beloved from time to time. So God took pity -on them and gave them back death, and the poet sings his gratitude thus: - - And I cried, "O unseen Sender of Corruption, - I bless thee for the wonder of Thy mercy, - Which softeneth the mystery and the parting. - - "I bless Thee for the change and for the comfort, - The bloomless face, shut eyes, and waxen fingers,-- - For Sleeping, and for Silence, and Corruption." - -This idea is worth something, if only as a vivid teaching of the -necessity of things as they are. The two fantasies thus commented upon -are the most original things in the range of this mystical book. I -could not recommend any further reading or study of the poet, except -perhaps of his "Vision of the Man Accurst." But even this has not the -true stamp of originality; and only the "Ballad of Judas Iscariot" is -certain not to be soon forgotten. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -ROBERT BRIDGES - - -This poet, one of the greatest of the English minor poets of our -time, and represented in literature by a very considerable bulk of -work, happens to be one of the least known. He was never popular; -and even to-day, when recognition is coming to him slowly, almost -as slowly as it came to George Meredith, he is chiefly read by the -cultivated classes. There are several reasons for this. One is that -he is altogether an old-fashioned poet, writing with the feeling of -the eighteenth rather than of the nineteenth century, so that persons -in search of novelty are not likely to look at him. Then again he is -not a thinker, except at the rarest moments, not touched at all by the -scientific ideas of the nineteenth century. For that reason a great -many people, accustomed to look for philosophy in poetry, do not care -about his verse. I must confess that I myself should not have read -him, had it not been for a beautiful criticism of his work published -some five years ago. That tempted me to study him, with pleasant -results. But I then found a third reason for his unpopularity--want of -passion. When everything else is missing that attracts intellectual -attention to a poet, everything strange, novel, and philosophical, he -may still become popular if he has strong emotion, deep feeling. But -Robert Bridges has neither. He is somewhat cool, even when he is not -cold; his colours are never strong, though they are always natural; -and there is something faint about his music that makes you think of -the music of insects, of night crickets or locusts. You may therefore -begin to wonder that I should speak about him at all. If a poet has no -philosophy, no originality, and no passion, what can there be in him? -Well, a great deal. It is not necessary to be original in order to be -a poet; it is only necessary to say old things somewhat better than -they have been said before. Such a non-original poet of excellence may -be a great lover of nature; for nature has been described in a million -ways, and we are not tired of the descriptions. Again, the feeling -need not be very strong; it is not strong in Wordsworth, except at -moments. I think that the charm of Robert Bridges, who is especially -a nature-poet, lies in his love of quiet effects, pale colours, small -soft sounds, all the dreaminess and all the gentleness of still and -beautiful days. Some of us like strong sounds, blazing colours, heavy -scents of flowers and fruits; but some of us do not--we prefer rest and -coolness and quiet tones. And I think that to Japanese feeling Robert -Bridges ought to make an appeal. Much of his work makes me think of -the old Japanese colour prints of spring, summer, autumn, and winter -landscapes. He is particularly fond of painting these; perhaps half of -his poetry, certainly a third of it, deals with descriptions of the -seasons. There is nothing tropical in these descriptions, because they -are true to English landscape, the only landscape that he knows well. -Now there is a good deal in English landscape, in the colours of the -English seasons, that resembles what is familiar to us in the aspects -of Japanese nature. - -I cannot tell you very much about the poet himself; he has left his -personality out of the reach of public curiosity. I can only tell you -that he was born in 1844 and that he is a country doctor, which is very -interesting, for it is not often that a man can follow the busy duties -of a country physician and find time to make poetry. But Dr. Bridges -has been able to make two volumes of poetry which take very high rank; -and a whole school of minor poets has been classed under the head of -"Robert Bridges and his followers" in the new Encyclopedia of English -poets. - -I do not intend at once to tire you by quoting this poet's descriptions -of the seasons; I only want to interest you in him, and if I can do -that, you will be apt to read these descriptions for yourselves. I am -going to pick out bits, here and there, which seem to me beautiful in -themselves, independently of their subjects. Indeed, I think this is -the way that Robert Bridges wants us to read him. At the beginning of -Book IV, of the shorter poems (you will be interested to know that -most of his poems have no titles), he himself tells us what his whole -purpose is, in these pretty stanzas: - - I love all beauteous things, - I seek and adore them; - God hath no better praise, - And man in his hasty days - Is honored for them. - - I too will something make, - And joy in the making; - Although to-morrow it seem - Like the empty words of a dream - Remembered on waking. - -With this hint I have no hesitation in beginning this lecture on Robert -Bridges by picking out what seems to me almost the only philosophical -poem in the whole of his work. The philosophy is not very deep, but the -poem is haunting. - - EROS - - Why hast thou nothing in thy face? - Thou idol of the human race, - Thou tyrant of the human heart, - The flower of lovely youth that art; - Yea, and that standest in thy youth - An image of eternal Truth, - With thy exuberant flesh so fair, - That only Pheidias might compare, - Ere from his chaste marmoreal form - Time had decayed the colours warm; - Like to his gods in thy proud dress, - Thy starry sheen of nakedness. - - Surely thy body is thy mind, - For in thy face is nought to find, - Only thy soft unchristen'd smile - That shadows neither love nor guile, - But shameless will and power immense, - In secret sensuous innocence. - - O king of joy, what is thy thought? - I dream thou knowest it is nought, - And wouldst in darkness come, but thou - Makest the light where'er thou go. - Ah yet no victim of thy grace, - None who e'er longed for thy embrace, - Hath cared to look upon thy face. - -The divinity here described is not the infant but the more mature form -of the god of Love, Eros (from whose name is derived the adjective -"erotic," used in such terms as "erotic poetry"). This Eros was -represented as a beautiful naked boy about twelve or thirteen years -old. Several statues of him are among the most beautiful works of -Greek art. It is one of these statues that the poet refers to. And you -must understand his poem, first of all, as treating of physical love, -physical passion, as distinguished from love which belongs rather to -the mind and heart and which is alone real and enduring. There is -always a certain amount of delusion in physical attraction, in mere -bodily beauty; but about the deeper love, which is perfect friendship -between the sexes, there is no delusion, and it only grows with time. -Now the god Eros represented only the power of physical passion, the -charm of youth. Looking at the face of the beautiful statue, the poet -is startled by something which has been from ancient times noticed -by all critics of Greek art, but which appears to him strange in -another way--there is no expression in that face. It is beautiful, -but it is also impersonal. So the faces of all the Greek gods were -impersonal; they represented ideals, not realities. They were moved -neither by deep love nor by deep hate--not at least in the conception -of the artist and sculptor. They were above humanity, above affection, -therefore above pity. Here it is worth while to remark the contrast -between the highest Eastern ideals in sculpture and the highest Western -ideals. In the art of the Far East the Buddha is also impersonal; he -smiles, but the smile is of infinite pity, compassion, tenderness. -He represents a supreme ideal of virtue. Nevertheless he is, though -impersonal, warmly human for this very reason. The more beautiful Greek -divinity smiles deliciously, but there is no tenderness, no compassion, -no affection in that smile. It is not human; it is superhuman. Looking -at the features of a Greek Aphrodite, an Eros, a Dionysius, you feel -that they could smile with the same beautiful smile at the destruction -of the world. What does the smile mean? You are charmed by it, yet it -is mysterious, almost awful. It represents nothing but supreme content, -supreme happiness--not happiness in the spiritual sense of rest, but -happiness of perfect youth and innocence of pain. That is why there -is something terrible about it to the modern thinker. It is without -sympathy; it is only joy. - -Now you will see the poem in its inner meaning. Let us paraphrase it: - -"Why is there no expression in that divinely beautiful face of thine, -O fair god, who art forever worshipped by the race of men, forever -ruling the hearts of its youth without pity, without compassion! Thou -who art the perfect image of the loveliness of youth, and the symbol of -some eternal and universal law, so fair, so lovely that only the great -Greek sculptor Pheidias could represent thee in pure marble, thou white -as that marble itself, before time had faded the fresh colour with -which thy statue had been painted! Truly thou art as one of his gods -in the pride of thy nakedness--which becomes thee more than any robe, -being itself luminous, a light of stars. But why is there no expression -in thy face? - -"It must be that thy body represents thy mind. Yet thy mind is not -reflected in thy face like the mind of man. There I see only the -beautiful old pagan smile, the smile of the years before the Religion -of Sorrow came into this world. And that smile of thine shows neither -love nor hate nor shame, but power incalculable and the innocence of -sensuous pleasure. - -"Thou king of Joy, of what dost thou think? For thy face no-wise -betrays thy thought. Truly I believe thou dost not think of anything -which troubles the minds of sorrowing men; thou thinkest of nothing. -Thou art Joy, not thought. And I imagine that thou wouldst prefer not -to be seen by men, to come to them in darkness only, or invisibly, -as thou didst to Psyche in other years. But thou canst not remain -invisible, since thy body is made of light, and forever makes a great -shining about thee. For uncounted time thou hast moved the hearts of -millions of men and of women; all have known thy presence, felt thy -power. But none, even of those who most longed for thee, has ever -desired to look into thy beautiful face, because it is not the face of -humanity but of divinity, and because there is in it nothing of human -love." - -There is a good deal to think about in this poem, but to feel the -beauty of it you ought to have before your eyes, when studying it, a -good engraving of the statue. However, even without any illustration -you will easily perceive the moral of the thought in it, that beauty -and youth alone do not signify affection, nor even anything dear to the -inner nature of man. - -Now I shall turn to another part of the poet's work. Here is a little -verse about a grown man looking at the picture of himself when he was -a little child. I think that it is a very charming sonnet, and it will -give you something to think about. - - A man that sees by chance his picture, made - As once a child he was, handling some toy, - Will gaze to find his spirit within the boy, - Yet hath no secret with the soul portray'd: - He cannot think the simple thought which play'd - Upon those features then so frank and coy; - 'Tis his, yet oh! not his: and o'er the joy - His fatherly pity bends in tears dismay'd. - -There is indeed no topic which Robert Bridges has treated more -exquisitely and touchingly than certain phases of childhood, the poetry -of childhood, the purity of childhood, the pathos of childhood. I do -not think that any one except Patmore, and Patmore only in one poem, -"The Toys," has even approached him. Take this little poem for example, -on the death of a little boy. It is the father who is speaking. - - ON A DEAD CHILD - - Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, - With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! - Though cold and stark and bare, - The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. - - Thy mother's treasure wert thou;--alas! no longer - To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be - Thy father's pride;--ah, he - Must gather his faith together, and his strength make - stronger. - - To me, as I move thee now in the last duty, - Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond; - Startling my fancy fond - With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. - - Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it: - But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and - stiff; - Yet feels my hand as if - 'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it. - - So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing,-- - Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed;-- - Propping thy wise, sad head, - Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing. - - So quiet!--doth the change content thee?--Death, whither - hath he taken thee? - To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this? - The vision of which I miss, - Who weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and - awaken thee? - - Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us - To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark - Unwilling, alone we embark, - And the things we have seen and have known and have - heard of, fail us! - -You will see the exquisiteness of this more fully after a little -explanation. The father is performing the last duty to his little dead -son: washing the body with his own hands, closing the eyes, and placing -the little corpse in the coffin, rather than trust this work to any -less loving hands. The Western coffin, you must know, is long, and the -body is placed in it lying at full length as upon a bed, with a little -pillow to support the head. Then the hands are closed upon the heart -in the attitude of prayer. The poem describes more than the feelings -of a father, during these tender offices. As he turns the little body -to wash it, the small head changes its position now and then, and the -motion is so much like the pretty motions made by that little head -during life, that it is very difficult to believe there is now no life -there. In all modern English poetry there is nothing more touching than -the lines: - - Startling my fancy fond - With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. - -The word "freak" is incomparably beautiful in this line, for it has a -sense of playfulness; it means often a childish fancy or whim or pretty -mischievous action. The turning of the dead head seems so like the -motion of the living head in play. Then as the hands were washed by the -father, the relaxed muscles caused the opened fingers to close upon -the father's finger, just as in other days when the two walked about -together, the little boy's hands were too small to hold the great hands -of the father, and therefore clasped one finger only. Then observe the -very effective use of two most simple adjectives to picture the face -of the dead child--"wise" and "sad." Have you ever seen the face of a -dead child? If you have, you will remember how its calmness gives one -the suggestion of strange knowledge; the wise smile little, and fond -fancy for thousands of years has looked into the faces of the unsmiling -dead in search of some expression of supreme knowledge. Also there is -an expression of sadness in the face of death, even in the faces of -children asleep, although relaxation of muscles is the real explanation -of the fact. All these fancies are very powerfully presented in the -first five verses. - -In the last two verses the sincerity of grief uniquely shows itself. -"Where do you think the little life has gone?" the father asks. "Do you -want me to say that I think it has gone to a happier world than this, -to what you call Heaven? Ah, I must tell you the truth. I do not know; -I doubt, I fear. When a grief like this comes to us, all our religious -imaginations and hopes can serve us little." - -You must read that over and over again to know the beauty of it. Here -is another piece of very touching poetry about a boy, perhaps about the -same boy who afterward died. It will require some explanation, for it -is much deeper in a way than the previous piece. It is called "Pater -Filio," meaning "the father to the son." - - Sense with keenest edge unused, - Yet unsteel'd by scathing fire; - Lovely feet as yet unbruised - On the ways of dark desire; - Sweetest hope that lookest smiling - O'er the wilderness defiling! - - Why such beauty, to be blighted - By the swarm of foul destruction? - Why such innocence delighted, - When sin stalks to thy seduction? - All the litanies e'er chaunted - Shall not keep thy faith undaunted. - - . . . . . . - - Me too once unthinking Nature, - --Whence Love's timeless mockery took me,-- - Fashion'd so divine a creature, - Yea, and like a beast forsook me. - I forgave, but tell the measure - Of her crime in thee, my treasure. - -The father is suffering the great pain of fathers when he speaks thus, -the pain of fearing for the future of his child; and the mystery of -things oppresses him, as it oppresses everybody who knows what it is to -be afraid for the sake of another. He wonders at the beautiful fresh -senses of the boy, "yet unsteeled by scathing fire"--that is, not yet -hardened by experience of pain. He admires the beauty of the little -feet tottering happily about; but in the same moment dark thoughts -come to him, for he remembers how blood-stained those little feet must -yet become on the ways of the world, in the streets of cities, in the -struggle of life. And he delights in the smile of the child, full of -hope that knows nothing of the great foul wilderness of the world, in -which envy and malice and passions of many kinds make it difficult to -remain either good or hopeful. And he asks, "Why should a child be made -so beautiful, only to lose that beauty at a later day, through sickness -and grief and pain of a thousand kinds? Why should a child come -into the world so charmingly innocent and joyful, only to lose that -innocence and happiness later on through the encountering of passion -and temptation? Why should a child believe so deeply in the gods and in -human nature? Later on, no matter how much he grieves, the time will -come when that faith in the powers unseen must be sadly warped." - -And lastly the father remembers his own childhood, thinking, "I too was -once a divine little creature like that. Love, the eternal illusion, -brought me into the world, and Nature made me as innocent and trustful -as this little boy. Later on, however, the same Nature abandoned -me, like the animal that forsakes her young as soon as they grow a -little strong. I forgave Nature for that abandonment," the father -says, turning to the child, "but it is only when I look at you, my -treasure, that I understand how much I lost with the vanishing of my -own childhood." - -Nobody in the whole range of English literature has written anything -more tender than that. It is out of the poet's heart. - -One would expect, on reading delicacies of this kind, that the poet -would express himself not less beautifully than tenderly in regard -to woman. As a matter of fact, he certainly ranks next to Rossetti -as a love poet, even in point of workmanship. I am also inclined to -think, and I believe that critics will later recognise this, that his -feeling in regard to the deeper and nobler qualities of love can only -be compared to the work of Browning in the same direction. It has -not Browning's force, nor the occasional sturdiness that approaches -roughness. It is altogether softer and finer, and it has none of -Browning's eccentricities. A collection of sonnets, fifty-nine in -number, entitled "The Growth of Love" may very well be compared with -Rossetti's sonnet-sequence, "The House of Life." But it is altogether -unlike Rossetti's work; it deals with thought more than sensation, and -with joy more than sorrow. But before we give an example of these, let -me quote a little fancy of a very simple kind, that gives the character -of Robert Bridges as a love poet quite as well as any long or elaborate -poem could do. - - Long are the hours the sun is above, - But when evening comes I go home to my love. - - I'm away the daylight hours and more, - Yet she comes not down to open the door. - - She does not meet me upon the stair,-- - She sits in my chamber and waits for me there. - - As I enter the room she does not move; - I always walk straight up to my love; - - And she lets me take my wonted place - At her side, and gaze in her dear dear face. - - There as I sit, from her head thrown, back - Her hair falls straight in a shadow black. - - Aching and hot as my tired eyes be, - She is all that I wish to see. - - And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear. - She says all things that I wish to hear. - - Dusky and duskier grows the room, - Yet I see her best in the darker gloom. - - When the winter eves are early and cold, - The firelight hours are a dream of gold. - - And so I sit here night by night, - In rest and enjoyment of love's delight. - - But a knock at the door, a step on the stair - Will startle, alas, my love from her chair. - - If a stranger comes she will not stay: - At the first alarm she is off and away. - - And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne, - That I sit so much by myself alone. - -You feel the mystery of the thing beginning at the second stanza, but -not until you get to the sixth stanza do you begin to perceive it. This -is not a living woman, but a ghost. The whole poetry of the composition -is here. What does the poet mean? He has not told us anywhere, and it -is better that he should not have told us, because we can imagine so -many things, so many different circumstances, which the poem would -equally well illustrate. Were this the fancy of a young man, we might -say that the phantom love means the ideal wife, the unknown bride of -the future, the beautiful dream that every young man makes for himself -about a perfectly happy home. Again, we might suppose that the spirit -bride is not really related at all to love in the common-sense, but -figures or symbolises only the devotion of the poet to poetry, in which -case the spirit bride is art. But the poet is not a young man; he is -an old country doctor, coming home late every night from visiting his -patients, tired, weary, but with plenty of work to do in his private -study. Who, then, may be the shadowy woman with the long black hair -always waiting for him alone? Perhaps art, perhaps a memory, most -likely the memory of a dead wife, and we may even imagine, the mother -of the little boy about whose death the poet has so beautifully written -elsewhere. I do not pretend to explain; I do not want to explain; I -am only anxious to show you that this composition fulfils one of the -finest conditions of poetry, by its suggestiveness. It leaves many -questions to be answered in fancy, and all of them are beautiful. - -Let me now take a little piece about the singing of the nightingale. -I think you remember that I read to you, and commented upon Keats's -poem about the nightingale. That is the greatest English poem, the -most perfect, the most unapproachable of poems upon the nightingale. -And after that, only a very, very skilful poet dare write seriously -about the nightingale, for his work, if at all imperfect, must suffer -terribly by comparison with the verses of Keats. But Robert Bridges -has actually come very near to the height of Keats in a three stanza -poem upon the same subject. The treatment of the theme is curiously -different. The poem of Keats represents supreme delight, the delight -which is so great that it becomes sad. The poem of Bridges is slightly -dark. The mystery of the bird song is the fact that he chiefly -considers; and he considers it in a way that leaves you thinking a -long time after the reading of the verses. The suggestions of the -composition, however, can best be considered after we have read the -verses. - - NIGHTINGALES - - Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come, - And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom - Ye learn your song: - Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there, - Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air - Bloom the year long! - - Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams: - Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams, - A throe of the heart, - Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound, - No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound, - For all our art. - - Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men - We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then, - As night is withdrawn - From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of - May, - Dream, while the innumerable choir of day - Welcome the dawn. - -Other poets, following the popular notion that birds are happy when -they sing, often speak of the nightingale as an especially happy bird -because of the extraordinary sweetness of its song. The Greek poets -thought otherwise; to them it seemed that the song of the birds was -the cry of infinite sorrow and regret, and one of the most horrible -of all the Greek myths is the story of Philomela, transformed into a -nightingale. Matthew Arnold, you may remember, takes the Greek view. So -in a way does Robert Bridges, but there are other suggestions in his -verse, purely human. Paraphrased, the meaning is this (a man speaks -first): - -"When I listen to your song, I feel sure that the country from which -you come must be very beautiful; and very sweet the warbling music of -the stream, whose sound may have taught you how to sing. O how much -I wish that I could go to your wonderful world, your tropical world, -where summer never dies, and where flowers are all the year in bloom." -But the birds answer: "You are in error. Desolate is the country from -which we come; and in that country the mountains are naked and barren, -and the rivers are dried up. If we sing, it is because of the pain that -we feel in our hearts, the pain of great desire for happier things. -But that which we desire without knowing it by sight, that which we -hope for in vain, these are more beautiful than any song of ours can -express. Skilful we are, but not skilful enough to utter all that we -feel. At night we sing, trying to speak our secret of pain to men; but -when all the other birds awake and salute the sun with happy song, -while all the flowers open their leaves to the light, then we do not -sing, but dream on in silence and shadow." - -Is there not in this beautiful verse the suggestion of the condition of -the soul in the artist and the poet, in those whose works are beautiful -or seem beautiful, not because of joy, but because of pain--the pain of -larger knowledge and deeper perception? I think it is particularly this -that makes the superior beauty of the stanzas. You soon find yourself -thinking, not about the nightingale, but about the human heart and the -human soul. - -Here and there on almost every page of Bridges are to be found queer -little beauties, little things that reveal the personality of the -writer. Can you describe an April sky, and clouds in the sky, and the -light and the colour of the day, all in two lines? It is not an easy -thing to do; but there are two lines that seem to do it in a poem, -which is the sixth of the fourth book: - - On high the hot sun smiles, and banks of cloud uptower - In bulging heads that crowd for miles the dazzling South. - -Notice the phrase "bulging heads." Nothing is so difficult to describe -in words, as to form, than ordinary clouds, because the form is -indefinite. Yet the great rounding masses do dimly suggest giant heads, -not necessarily the heads of persons, much oftener heads of trees. The -word "bulging" means not only a swelling outwards but a soft baggy kind -of swelling. No other adjective in the English language could better -express the roundish form here alluded to. And we know that they are -white, simply by the poet's use of the word dazzling that completes -the picture. But there is more to notice; the poet has called these -clouds banks of cloud, and has spoken of them as crowding the sky for -miles. Remember that a bank of clouds always implies masses of cloud -joined together below. Now on a beautiful clear day you must have often -noticed in the sky that a clear space, straight as any line upon a map, -marks off the lower part of the cloud. Between the horizon and this -line there is only clear blue; then the clouds, all lined and joined -together at the bottom, are all rounded, bulgy at the top. This is what -the two lines which I have quoted picture to us. - -In the simplest fancies, however, the same truth to Nature is -observable, and comes to us in like surprises. Here is a little bit -about a new moon shining on the sea at night--the fourth poem in the -fourth book: - - She lightens on the comb - Of leaden waves, that roar - And thrust their hurried foam - Up on the dusky shore. - - Behind the Western bars - The shrouded day retreats, - And unperceived the stars - Steal to their sovran seats. - - And whiter grows the foam, - The small moon lightens more; - And as I turn me home, - My shadow walks before. - -You feel that this has been seen and felt, that it is not merely the -imagination of a man sitting down to manufacture poetry at his desk. -I imagine that you have not seen the word "comb" used of wave motion -very often, though it is now coming more and more into poetical use. -The comb of the wave is its crest, and the term is used just as we use -the word comb in speaking of the crest of a cock. But there is also -the verb "to comb"; and this refers especially to the curling over -of the crest of the wave, just before it breaks, when the appearance -of the crest-edge resembles that of wool being pulled through a comb -(_kushi_). Thus the word gives us two distinct and picturesque ideas, -whether used as noun or as adjective. Notice too the use of "leaden" -in relation to the colour of waves where not touched by moonlight; the -dull grey could not be better described by any other word. Also observe -that as night advances, though the sea becomes dark, the form appears -to become whiter and whiter. In a phosphorescent sea the foam lines -appear very beautiful in darkness. - -I shall quote but one more poem by Robert Bridges, choosing it merely -to illustrate how modern things appear to this charming dreamer of -old-fashioned dreams. One would think that he could not care much about -such matters as machinery, telegraphs, railroads, steamships. But he -has written a very fine sonnet about a steamship; and the curious thing -is that this poem appears in the middle of a collection of love poems: - - The fabled sea-snake, old Leviathan, - Or else what grisly beast of scaly chine - That champ'd the ocean-wrack and swash'd the brine, - Before the new and milder days of man, - Had never rib nor bray nor swingeing fan - Like his iron swimmer of the Clyde or Tyne, - Late-born of golden seed to breed a line - Of offspring swifter and more huge of plan. - - Straight is her going, for upon the sun - When once she hath look'd, her path and place are - plain; - With tireless speed she smiteth one by one - The shuddering seas and foams along the main; - And her eased breath, when her wild race is run, - Boars through her nostrils like a hurricane. - -While this is true to fact, it is also fine fancy; the only true way -in which the practical and mechanical can appeal to the poet is in the -sensation of life and power that it produces. - -I think we have read together enough of Robert Bridges to excite some -interest in such of his poetry as we have not read. But you will have -perceived that this poet is in his own way quite different from other -poets of the time, and that he cannot appeal to common-place minds. -His poetry is like fine old wine, mild, mellowed wine, that only the -delicate palate will be able to appreciate properly. - -THE END - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pre-Raphaelite and other Poets, by Lafcadio Hearn - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRE-RAPHAELITE AND OTHER POETS *** - -***** This file should be named 55377-0.txt or 55377-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/3/7/55377/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodriguez and Marc D'Hooghe at -Free Literature (online soon in an extended version,also -linking to free sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, -educational materials,...) 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Pre-Raphaelite and other Poets - -Author: Lafcadio Hearn - -Contributor: John Erskine - -Release Date: August 17, 2017 [EBook #55377] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRE-RAPHAELITE AND OTHER POETS *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodriguez and Marc D'Hooghe at -Free Literature (online soon in an extended version,also -linking to free sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, -educational materials,...) Images generously made available -by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>PRE-RAPHAELITE</h1> - -<h2>AND OTHER POETS</h2> - -<h3><i>lectures by</i></h3> - -<h2>LAFCADIO HEARN</h2> - -<h3><i>Selected and Edited with an Introduction</i></h3> - -<h3><i>by</i></h3> - -<h4>JOHN ERSKINE</h4> - -<h4><i>Professor of English<br /> -Columbia University</i></h4> - -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> - -<h5>DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</h5> - -<h5>1922</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></h4> - - -<p>This volume is issued in response to a demand from students of -literature for the best lectures of Lafcadio Hearn in a more accessible -form than the library editions in which they first appeared. It seemed -advisable to bring together these chapters from "Interpretations of -Literature," 1915, "Appreciations of Poetry," 1916, and "Life and -Literature," 1917, in order to provide under one cover—and let us -hope, in spite of the cost of printing, at a lower price—a fair -example of Hearn's critical felicity in the field of modern poetry, -where perhaps he was at his best. The choice of lectures has been -governed largely by the manuscripts available; the studies of Rossetti, -Swinburne, Browning, Morris, and Meredith are among the longest and -clearest of the texts; the lecture on Robert Bridges is one of those -kindling analyses which Hearn gave only when he was most happy, and -only of the writers he loved; the brief notes on Rossetti's prose and -on the "Shaving of Shagpat" were added as naturally complementing -the verse-writings of their respective authors; and the account of -Buchanan's ballad not only helps to round out a portrait of the modern -muse, but it also illustrates Hearn's keen recognition of a great note -in minor poets, and his ability to make us feel the greatness.</p> - -<p>Those who have not read the prefaces to the library editions of -Hearn's lectures should be reminded that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> he gave them before Japanese -students at the University of Tokyo, in the years between 1896 and -1902. He lectured without manuscript, and since he died before he had -the opportunity of formulating in writing for Western readers his -judgments of European literature, it is entirely to the devotion of his -students that we owe the present chapters. Out of consideration for -his audience, whose English was but recently acquired, Hearn lectured -slowly. Some dozen of his pupils were able, therefore, to write down -practically every word he said. After his death they presented the -manuscripts to Mrs. Hearn, who put them in the hands of her husband's -friend and literary executor, Mitchell McDonald, Pay Director U. S. N., -who in turn brought them to the present publishers.</p> - -<p>In editing these lectures for the volumes in which they first appeared, -I tried to make as few alterations as possible. Only those manuscripts -have been published which were fairly clear; all passages which were -so mangled as to call for a reconstruction of the text, I omitted, and -if the omission seemed to affect in any essential way what remained, -I rejected the whole lecture. No additions whatever were made to -the text; only the punctuation was made uniform, and the numerous -quotations verified. Undaunted by many misprints and many oversights -of my own in the citations of the four thick volumes, I have once more -verified the quotations in this present book, and dare hope that few -errors now survive.</p> - -<p>Allowing, therefore, for such mistakes as are incident to proofreading, -the reader will find here a close record of Hearn's daily instruction -to his Japanese<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> class in English literature. The record is unique. -I never read these chapters without marvelling at their simplicity, -at the volume, if I may say so, of Hearn's critical faculty, and at -the integrity of his character. The simplicity of the lectures is -deceptive. The jaded book reviewer, coming, for example, on these -transparent summaries or paraphrases of verse just quoted, feels -that such repetitions may have aided the Japanese boys, but are -only encumbrances for the reader born to the command of the English -language. Against a judgment so shallow or so blind, I am somewhat put -on my guard by my own experience with Hearn's lectures; for having been -a student of the English language and a devoted lover of English poetry -all my life, I am glad to acknowledge that Hearn's simple paraphrases -of well-known poems have taught me truths about the poems which I never -learned from the poems themselves, nor from critics of poetry to whom -simplicity seems a fault. In editing these lectures of Hearn's, in -this and the other volumes, I have had occasion to read every chapter -many times, and I have read at least once the manuscripts which have -not been printed. Simple as each lecture seems, the mass effect of -them all, delivered day in and day out, on all the great themes of -Western literature, is nothing short of titanic. In criticism as well -as in creation, volume counts. To have a sound reasoned opinion of -one book is beyond the power of the average reader. To be expert in -all the writings of one author is to be a more than average critic. -To know all the writers in one period is to be an authority. But to -have so mature a knowledge of life and of art, so wide an outlook on -experience and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> so philosophic a control of it, as to find consistently -the meaning of any book, classic or modern, is to be among the few -great critics, the few in whom criticism is a function and not an -event. Hearn is, I believe, among the greatest of critics. It should -be remembered also that his many lectures, all illustrating this high -discrimination, were delivered in a foreign land, before a group of -young men who could understand only the general drift of them, and -with no likelihood, as it seemed, that they would ever come under the -review of Western readers. Yet day in and day out Hearn lectured at -Tokyo before his boys with the same care and with the same elevation of -spirit as though he had been addressing an audience at the Sorbonne or -at Oxford—or better, as though he had been the official instead of the -accidental spokesman for Western letters, and as though the whole East, -and not only his limited classroom, were hanging on his words. This -consecration to work done in obscurity is as rare in teaching as in -other human activities. Observing it on every page of Hearn's lectures, -I marvel at the integrity of his character.</p> - -<p>One is tempted to speak in detail of all the lectures in this book—of -the special merit of each, and of the relation of one to the other. It -will be sufficient, however, to say a word of the chapter on Rossetti, -which exhibits Hearn's method and his success. Rossetti usually -seems, even to his admirers, a poet of temperament and color, diffuse -temperament and exotic color; in so much sensuousness it has not been -easy for the casual critic to trace the intellectual fibre. But Hearn -observes that the plots of Rossetti's ballads, stripped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> somewhat -of their Rossetti decorations, are stirring plots, contrived by an -energetic mind. With this clue he undertakes to show us that Rossetti's -work is all of an intellectual architecture, however emotional the -surface of it may be. To read what Hearn says of the "Staff and Scrip," -and then to read the ballad, is to discover a new poem, with the -conviction besides that the poem is what Hearn discovered it to be. -If the reader of Rossetti thinks this praise of Hearn's chapter is -excessive, let him run over at his leisure all the other criticism of -Rossetti he can find. He will agree at last that here is criticism of -the first order—the criticism which opens our eyes to things in books, -and thereby to the things in life of which books are only the mirror.</p> - -<p style="text-align: right; font-size: 0.8em;">JOHN ERSKINE.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h5>CONTENTS</h5> -<p class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -STUDIES IN ROSSETTI<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -NOTE UPON ROSSETTI'S PROSE<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -STUDIES IN SWINBURNE<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -STUDIES IN BROWNING<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> -WILLIAM MORRIS<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> -THE POETRY OF GEORGE MEREDITH<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> -"THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT"<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> -A NOTE ON ROBERT BUCHANAN<br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> -ROBERT BRIDGES<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#INDEX">INDEX</a><br /> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>PRE-RAPHAELITE</h3> - -<h4>AND OTHER POETS</h4> - - -<hr class="full" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h5> - - -<h4>STUDIES IN ROSSETTI</h4> - - -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>We must rank Dante Gabriel Rossetti as not inferior to Tennyson in -workmanship—therefore as occupying the very first rank in nineteenth -century poetry. He was not inferior to Tennyson either as a thinker, -but his thinking was in totally different directions. He had no -sympathy with the ideas of his own century; he lived and thought in -the Middle Ages; and while one of our very greatest English poets, he -takes a place apart, for he does not reflect the century at all. He -had the dramatic gift, but it was a gift in his case much more limited -than that of Browning. Altogether we can safely give him a place in the -first rank as a maker of poetry, but in all other respects we cannot -classify him in any way. He remains a unique figure in the Victorian -age, a figure such as may not reappear for hundreds of years to come. -It was as if a man of the thirteenth century had been reborn into the -nineteenth century, and, in spite of modern culture, had continued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> to -think and to feel very much as men felt and thought in the time of the -great Italian poet Dante.</p> - -<p>One reason for this extraordinary difference between himself and his -contemporaries was that Rossetti was not an Englishman but an Italian -by blood, religion, and feeling. In his verse we might expect to -find something that we cannot find in any other English poet; and -I think that we shall find it. The facts of his life—strange and -pathetic—need not occupy us now. You need only remember for the -present that he was a great painter before becoming a great poet, and -that his painting, like his poetry, was the painting of another century -than his own. Also it will be well to bear in mind that he detested -modern science and modern philosophy—which fact makes it all the more -remarkable that he uttered some great thoughts quite in harmony with -the most profound philosophy of the Orient.</p> - -<p>In studying the best of his poetry, it will be well for us to consider -it by groups, taking a few specimens from each group as examples of the -rest; since we shall not have time to read even a quarter of all his -production. Taking the very simplest of his work to begin with, I shall -make a selection from what I might call the symbolic group, for want -of a better name. I mean those poems which are parables, or symbolic -illustrations of deep truths—poems which seem childishly simple, but -are nevertheless very deep indeed. We may begin with a little piece -called "The Mirror."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -She knew it not,—most perfect pain<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To learn: this too she knew not. Strife</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">For me, calm hers, as from the first.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas but another bubble burst</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the curdling draught of life,—</span><br /> -My silent patience mine again.<br /> -<br /> -As who, of forms that crowd unknown<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within a distant mirror's shade,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Deems such an one himself, and makes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some sign; but when the image shakes</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No whit, he finds his thought betray'd,</span><br /> -And must seek elsewhere for his own.<br /> -</p> - -<p>So far as the English goes, this verse is plain enough; but unless -you have met with the same idea in some other English writer, you -will find the meaning very obscure. The poet is speaking of a -universal, or almost universal, experience of misplaced love. A man -becomes passionately attached to a woman, who treats him with, cold -indifference. Finally the lover finds out his mistake; the woman -that he loved proves not to be what he imagined; she is not worthy -of his love. Then what was he in love with? With a shadow out of his -brain, with an imagination or ideal very pure and noble, but only an -imagination. Supposing that he was worshipping good qualities in a -noble woman, he deceived himself; the woman had no such qualities; they -existed only in his fancy. Thus he calls her his mirror, the human -being that seemed to be a reflection of all that was good in his own -heart. She never knows the truth as to why the man loved her and then -ceased to love her; he could not tell her, because it would have been -to her "most perfect pain to learn."</p> - -<p>A less obscure but equally beautiful symbolism, in another metre, is -"The Honeysuckle."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I plucked a honeysuckle where<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hedge on high is quick with thorn,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And climbing for the prize, was torn,</span><br /> -And fouled my feet in quag-water;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by the thorns and by the wind</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blossom that I took was thinn'd,</span><br /> -And yet I found it sweet and fair.<br /> -<br /> -Thence to a richer growth I came,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where, nursed in mellow intercourse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The honeysuckles sprang by cores,</span><br /> -Not harried like my single stem,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All virgin lamps of scent and dew.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So from my hand that first I, threw,</span><br /> -Yet plucked not any more of them.<br /> -</p> - -<p>It often happens that a young man during his first struggle in life, -when all the world seems to be against him, meets with some poor girl -who love him. She is not educated as he has been; she is ignorant of -many things, and she has suffered herself a great deal of hardship, so -that although beautiful naturally and good-hearted, both her beauty -and her temper have been a little spoiled by the troubles of life. -The young man whom she loves is obliged to mix with a very poor and -vulgar class of people in order to become intimate with her. There are -plenty of rough common men who would like to get that girl; and the -young man has a good deal of trouble in winning her away from them. -With all her small faults she seems for the time very beautiful to her -lover, because he cannot get any finer woman while he remains poor. But -presently success comes to him, and he is able to enter a much higher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -class of society, where he finds scores of beautiful girls, much more -accomplished than his poor sweetheart; and he becomes ashamed of her -and cruelly abandons her. But he does not marry any of the rich and -beautiful women. Perhaps he is tired of women; perhaps his heart has -been spoiled. The poet does not tell us why. He simply tells a story of -human ingratitude which is as old as the world.</p> - -<p>One more simple poem before we take up the larger and more complicated -pieces of the group.</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">THE WOODSPURGE</span><br /> -<br /> -The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,<br /> -Shaken out dead from tree and hill:<br /> -I had walked on at the wind's will,—<br /> -I sat now, for the wind was still.<br /> -<br /> -Between my knees my forehead was,—<br /> -My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!<br /> -My hair was over in the grass,<br /> -My naked ears heard the day pass.<br /> -<br /> -My eyes, wide open, had the run<br /> -Of some ten weeds to fix upon;<br /> -Among those few, out of the sun,<br /> -The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one.<br /> -<br /> -From perfect grief there need not be<br /> -Wisdom or even memory:<br /> -One thing then learnt remains to me,—<br /> -The woodspurge has a cup of three!<br /> -</p> - -<p>The phenomenon here described by the poet is unconsciously familiar to -most of us. Any person who has suffered some very great pain, moral -pain, is apt to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> observe during that instant of suffering things which -he never observed before, or to notice details never noticed before -in common things. One reason is that at such a time sense-impressions -are stimulated to a strange degree by the increase of circulation, -while the eyes and ears remain automatically active only. Whoever -among you can remember the pain of losing a parent or beloved friend, -will probably remember with extraordinary vividness all kinds of -little things seen or heard at the time, such as the cry of a bird or -a cricket, the sound of the dripping of water, the form of a sunbeam -upon a wall, the shapes of shadows in a garden. The personage of -this poem often before saw the woodspurge, without noticing anything -particular about it; but in a moment of great sorrow observing the -plant, he learns for the first time the peculiar form of its flower. -In a wonderful novel by Henry Kingsley, called "Ravenshoe," there is -a very striking example of the same thing. A cavalry-soldier, waiting -in the saddle for the order to charge the enemy, observes on the back -of the soldier before him a grease-spot which looks exactly like the -map of Sweden, and begins to think that if the outline of Norway were -beside it, the upper part of the map would go over the shoulder of the -man. This fancy comes to him in a moment when he believes himself going -to certain death.</p> - -<p>Now we will take a longer poem, very celebrated, entitled "The Cloud -Confines."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The day is dark and the night<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To him that would search their heart;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No lips of cloud that will part</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>Nor morning song in the light:<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only, gazing alone,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To him wild shadows are shown,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep under deep unknown,</span><br /> -And height above unknown height.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still we say as we go,—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Strange to think by the way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever there is to know,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That shall we know one day."</span><br /> -<br /> -The Past is over and fled;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Named new, we name it the old;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thereof some tale hath been told,</span><br /> -But no word comes from the dead;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whether at all they be,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or whether as bond or free,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Or whether they too were we</i>,</span><br /> -Or by what spell they have sped.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still we say as we go,—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Strange to think by the way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever there is to know,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That shall we know one day."</span><br /> -<br /> -What of the heart of hate<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That beats in thy breast, O Time?—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Red strife from the furthest prime,</span><br /> -And anguish of fierce debate;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">War that shatters her slain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And peace that grinds them as grain,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And eyes fixed ever in vain</span><br /> -On the pitiless eyes of Fate.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still we say as we go,—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Strange to think by the way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever there is to know,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">That shall we know one day."</span><br /> -<br /> -What of the heart of love<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy kisses snatched 'neath the ban</span><br /> -Of fangs that mock them above;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy bells prolonged unto knells,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy hope that a breath dispels,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy bitter forlorn farewells</span><br /> -And the empty echoes thereof?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still we say as we go,—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Strange to think by the way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever there is to know,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That shall we know one day."</span><br /> -<br /> -The sky leans dumb on the sea,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Aweary with all its wings;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oh! the song the sea sings</span><br /> -Is dark everlastingly.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our past is clean forgot,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our present is and is not,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our future's a sealed seedplot,</span><br /> -And what betwixt them are we?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We who say as we go,—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Strange to think by the way,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever there is to know,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That shall we know one day."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>This dark poetry is very different from the optimism of Tennyson; -and we uncomfortably feel it to be much more true. In spite of all -its wonderful tenderness and caressing hopefulness, we feel that -Tennyson's poetry does not illuminate the sombre problems of life. But -Rossetti will not be found to be a pessimist. I shall presently show, -by examples, the difference between poetical pessimism and Rossetti's -thoughtful melancholy. He is simply communing with us about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -mystery of the universe—sadly enough, but always truthfully. We may -even suspect a slight mockery in the burthen of his poem:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Whatever there is to know,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shall we know one day.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Suppose there is nothing to know? "Very well," the poet would answer, -"then we shall know nothing." Although by education and by ancestry -a Roman Catholic, Rossetti seems to have had just as little faith as -any of his great contemporaries; the artistic and emotional side of -Catholicism made strong appeal to his nature as an artist, but so far -as personal belief is concerned we may judge him by his own lines:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Would God I knew there were a God to thank<br /> -When thanks rise in me!<br /> -</p> - -<p>Nevertheless we have here no preacher of negation, but a sincere -doubter. We know nothing of the secret of the universe, the meaning -of its joy and pain and impermanency; we do not know anything of the -dead; we do not know the meaning of time or space or life. But just for -that reason there may be marvellous things to know. The dead do not -come back, but we do not know whether they could come back, nor even -the real meaning of death. Do we even know, he asks, whether the dead -were not ourselves? This thought, like the thought in the poem "Sudden -Light," is peculiar to Rossetti. You will find nothing of this thought -in any other Victorian poet of great rank—except, indeed, in some of -the work of O'Shaughnessy, who is now coming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> into a place of eminence -only second to that of the four great masters.</p> - -<p>Besides this remarkable line, which I have asked you to put in italics, -you should remember those two very splendid lines in the third stanza:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -War that shatters her slain,<br /> -And peace that grinds them as grain.<br /> -</p> - -<p>These have become famous. The suggestion is that peace is more -cruel than war. In battle a man is dashed to pieces, and his pain -is immediately over. In the competition of civil life, the weak and -the stupid, no matter how good or moral they may be, are practically -crushed by the machinery of Western civilisation, as grain might be -crushed in a mill.</p> - -<p>In the last stanza of the composition you will doubtless have observed -the pathetic reference to the meaning of the song of the sea, -mysterious and awful beyond all other sounds of nature. Rossetti has -not failed to consider this sound, philosophically and emotionally, -in one of his most beautiful poems. And now I want to show you, by -illustration, the difference between a really pessimistic treatment -of a subject and Rossetti's treatment of it. Perhaps the very finest -example of pessimism in Victorian poetry is a sonnet by Lee-Hamilton, -on the subject of a sea-shell. You know that if you take a large -sea-shell of a particular form, and hold it close to your ear, you -will hear a sound like the sound of the surf, as if the ghost of the -sea were in the shell. Nearly all English children have the experience -of listening to the sound of the sea in a shell; it startles them -at first; but nobody tells them what the sound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> really is, for that -would spoil their surprise and delight. You must not tell a child that -there are no ghosts or fairies. Well, Rossetti and Lee-Hamilton wrote -about this sound of the sea in a shell—but how differently! Here is -Lee-Hamilton's composition:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood<br /> -On dusty shelves, when held against the ear<br /> -Proclaims its stormy parent; and we hear<br /> -The faint far murmur of the breaking flood.<br /> -We hear the sea. The sea? It is the blood<br /> -In our own veins, impetuous and near,<br /> -And pulses keeping pace with hope and fear,<br /> -And with our feelings' ever-shifting mood.<br /> -<br /> -Lo! in my heart I hear, as in a shell,<br /> -The murmur of a world beyond the grave,<br /> -Distinct, distinct, though faint and far it be.<br /> -Thou fool; this echo is a cheat as well,—<br /> -The hum of earthly instincts; and we crave<br /> -A world unreal as the shell-heard sea.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Of course this is a very fine poem, so far as the poetry is concerned. -But it is pessimism absolute. Its author, a brilliant graduate of -Oxford University, entered the English diplomatic service as a young -man, and in the middle of a promising career was attacked by a disease -of the spine which left him a hopeless invalid. We might say that he -had some reason to look at the world in a dark light. But such poetry -is not healthy. It is morbid. It means retrogression. It brings a sharp -truth to the mind with a painful shock, and leaves an after-impression -of gloom unspeakable. As I said before, we must not spoil the happiness -of children by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> telling them that there are no ghosts or fairies. So -we must not tell the humanity which believes in happiness after death -that there is no heaven. All progress is through faith and hope in -something. The measure of a poet is in the largeness of the thought -which he can apply to any subject, however trifling. Bearing this in -mind, let us now see how the same subject of the sea-shell appeals to -the thought of Rossetti. You will then perceive the difference between -pessimism and philosophical humanitarianism.</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">THE SEA-LIMITS</span><br /> -<br /> -Consider the sea's listless chime:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time's self it is, made audible,—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The murmur of the earth's own shell.</span><br /> -Secret continuance sublime<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the sea's end: our sight may pass</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No furlong further. Since time was,</span><br /> -This sound hath told the lapse of time.<br /> -<br /> -No quiet, which is death's,—it hath<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mournfulness of ancient life,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enduring always at dull strife.</span><br /> -As the world's heart of rest and wrath,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its painful pulse is in the sands.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last utterly, the whole sky stands,</span><br /> -Grey and not known, along its path.<br /> -<br /> -Listen alone beside the sea,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Listen alone among the woods;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those voices of twin solitudes</span><br /> -Shall have one sound alike to thee:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hark where the murmurs of thronged men</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surge and sink back and surge again,—</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>Still the one voice of wave and tree.<br /> -<br /> -Gather a shell from the strown beach<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And listen at its lips: they sigh</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The same desire and mystery,</span><br /> -The echo of the whole sea's speech.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all mankind is thus at heart</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not anything but what thou art:</span><br /> -And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the last beautiful stanza we have a comparison as sublime as any -ever made by any poet—of the human heart, the human life, re-echoing -the murmur of the infinite Sea of Life. As the same sound of the sea -is heard in every shell, so in every human heart is the same ghostly -murmur of Universal Being. The sound of the sea, the sound of the -forest, the sound of men in cities, not only are the same to the ear, -but they tell the same story of pain. The sound of the sea is a sound -of perpetual strife, the sound of the woods in the wind is a sound of -ceaseless struggle, the tumult of a great city is also a tumult of -effort. In this sense all the three sounds are but one, and that one -is the sound of life everywhere. Life is pain, and therefore sadness. -The world itself is like a great shell full of this sound. But it is a -shell on the verge of the Infinite. The millions of suns, the millions -of planets and moons, are all of them but shells on the shore of the -everlasting sea of death and birth, and each would, if we could hear -it, convey to our ears and hearts the one same murmur of pain. This -is, to my thinking, a much vaster conception than anything to be found -in Tennyson; and such a poem as that of Lee-Hamilton dwindles into -nothingness beside it, for we have here all that man can know of our -relation to the universe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> and the mystery of that universe brought -before us by a simile of incomparable sublimity.</p> - -<p>Before leaving this important class of poems, let me cite another -instance of the comparative nearness of Rossetti at times to Oriental -thought. It is the fifteenth of that wonderful set of sonnets entitled -the "House of Life."</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">THE BIRTH-BOND</span><br /> -<br /> -Have you not noted, in some family<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where two were born of a first marriage-bed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How still they own their gracious bond, though fed</span><br /> -And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee?—<br /> -How to their father's children they shall be<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In act and thought of one goodwill; but each</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall for the other have, in silence speech,</span><br /> -And in a word complete community?<br /> -<br /> -Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it, love,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That among souls allied to mine was yet</span><br /> -One nearer kindred than life hinted of.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O born with me somewhere that men forget,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And though in years of sight and sound unmet,</span><br /> -Known for my soul's birth-partner well enough!<br /> -</p> - -<p>This beautiful little thought of love is almost exactly the same as -that suggested in a well-known Japanese proverb about the relations -of a previous existence. We have here, in an English poet, who very -probably never read anything about Buddhism, the very idea of the -Buddhist <i>en.</i> The whole tendency of the poet's mind was toward larger -things than his early training had prepared him for.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yet it would be a mistake to suppose Rossetti a pure mystic; he was -too much of an artist for that. No one felt the sensuous charm of life -more keenly, nor the attraction of plastic beauty and grace. By way of -an interlude, we may turn for a time to his more sensuous poetry. It -is by this that he is best known; for you need not suppose that the -general English public understands such poems as those which we have -been examining. Keep in mind that there is a good deal of difference -between the adjectives "sensuous" and "sensual." The former has no evil -meaning; it refers only to sense-impression—to sensations visual, -auditory, tactile. The other adjective is more commonly used in a bad -sense. At one time an attempt was made to injure Rossetti by applying -it to his work; but all good critics have severely condemned that -attempt, and Rossetti must not be regarded as in any sense an immoral -poet.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>To the cultivated the very highest quality of emotional poetry is that -given by blending the artistically sensuous with the mystic. This very -rare quality colours the greater part of Rossetti's work. Perhaps one -may even say that it is never entirely absent. Only, the proportions -of the blending vary, like those mixtures of red and blue, crimson and -azure, which may give us either purple or violet of different shades -according to the wish of the dyer. The quality of mysticism dominates -in the symbolic poems; we might call those deep purple. The sensuous -element dominates in most of the ballads and narrative poems; we might -say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> that these have rather the tone of bright violet. But even in the -ballads there is a very great difference in the proportions of the two -qualities. The highest tone is in the "Blessed Damozel," and in the -beautiful narrative poem of the "Staff and Scrip"; while the lowest -tone is perhaps that of the ballad of "Eden Bower," which describes -the two passions of lust and hate at their greatest intensity. But -everything is beautifully finished as work, and unapproachably -exquisite, in feeling. I think the best example of what I have called -the violet style is the ballad of "Troy Town."</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Heavenborn Helen, Sparta's Queen,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Had two breasts of heavenly sheen,<br /> -The sun and moon of the heart's desire:<br /> -All Love's lordship lay between.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -Helen knelt at Venus' shrine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Saying, "A little gift is mine,<br /> -A little gift for a heart's desire.<br /> -Hear me speak and make me a sign!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -"Look! I bring thee a carven cup;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -See it here as I hold it up,—<br /> -Shaped it is to the heart's desire,<br /> -Fit to fill when the gods would sup.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -"It was moulded like my breast;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -He that sees it may not rest,<br /> -Rest at all for his heart's desire.<br /> -O give ear to my heart's behest!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -"See my breast, how like it is;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -See it bare for the air to kiss!<br /> -Is the cup to thy heart's desire?<br /> -O for the breast, O make it his!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>O Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -"Yea, for my bosom here I sue;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>O Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Thou must give it where 'tis due,<br /> -Give it there to the heart's desire.<br /> -Whom do I give my bosom to?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -"Each twin breast is an apple sweet!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Once an apple stirred the beat<br /> -Of thy heart with the heart's desire:—<br /> -Say, who brought it then to thy feet?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -"They that claimed it then were three:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -For thy sake two hearts did he<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>Make forlorn of the hearths desire.<br /> -Do for him as he did for thee!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>O Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -"Mine are apples grown to the south,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>O Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Grown to taste in the days of drouth,<br /> -Taste and waste to the heart's desire:<br /> -Mine are apples meet for his mouth!"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -Venus looked on Helen's gift,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Looked and smiled with subtle drift,<br /> -Saw the work of her heart's desire:—<br /> -"There thou kneel'st for Love to lift!"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -Venus looked in Helen's face,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Knew far off an hour and place,<br /> -And fire lit from the heart's desire;<br /> -Laughed and said, "Thy gift hath grace!"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -Cupid looked on Helen's breast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Saw the heart within its nest,<br /> -Saw the flame of the heart's desire,—<br /> -Marked his arrow's burning crest.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -Cupid took another dart,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(O <i>Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Fledged it for another heart,<br /> -Winged the shaft with the heart's desire,<br /> -Drew the string, and said "Depart!"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>O Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -<br /> -Paris turned upon his bed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>O Troy Town!</i>)</span><br /> -Turned upon his bed, and said,<br /> -Dead at heart with the heart's desire,—<br /> -"O to clasp her golden head!"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>O Troy's down!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Tall Troy's on fire!</i>)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>This wonderful ballad, with its single and its double refrains, -represents Rossetti's nearest approach to earth, except the ballad of -"Eden Bower." Usually he seldom touches the ground, but moves at some -distance above it, just as one flies in dreams. But you will observe -that the mysticism here has almost vanished. There is just a little -ghostliness to remind you that the writer is no common singer, but a -poet able to give a thrill. The ghostliness is chiefly in the fact of -the supernatural elements involved; Helen with her warm breast we feel -to be a real woman, but Venus and love are phantoms, who speak and act -as figures in sleep. This is true art under the circumstances. We feel -nothing more human until we come to the last stanza; then we hear it in -the cry of Paris. But why do I say that this is high art to make the -gods as they are made here? The Greeks would have made Venus and Cupid -purely human. But Rossetti is not taking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> the Greek view of the subject -at all. He is taking the mediæval one. He is writing of Greek gods and -Greek legends as such subjects were felt by Chaucer and by the French -poets of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. It would not be easy -to explain the mediæval tone of the poem to you; that would require a -comparison with the work of very much older poets. I only want now to -call your attention to the fact that even in a Greek subject of the -sensuous kind Rossetti always keeps the tone of the Middle Ages; and -that tone was mystical.</p> - -<p>Having given this beautiful example of the least mystical class of -Rossetti's light poems, let us pass at once to the most mystical. These -are in all respects, I am not afraid to say, far superior. The poem by -which Rossetti became first widely known and admired was "The Blessed -Damozel." This and a lovely narrative poem entitled "Staff and Scrip" -form the most exquisite examples of the poet's treatment of mystical -love. You should know both of them; but we shall first take "The -Blessed Damozel."</p> - -<p>This is the story of a woman in heaven, speaking of the man she loved -on earth. She is waiting for him. She watches every new soul that comes -to heaven, hoping that it may be the soul of her lover. While waiting -thus, she talks to herself about what she will do to make her lover -happy when he comes, how she will show him all the beautiful things in -heaven, and will introduce him to the holy saints and angels. That is -all. But it is very wonderful in its sweetness of simple pathos, and -in a peculiar, indescribable quaintness which is not of the nineteenth -century at all. It is of the Middle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> Ages, the Italian Middle Ages -before the time of Raphael. The heaven painted here is not the heaven -of modern Christianity—if modern Christianity can be said to have a -heaven; it is the heaven of Dante, a heaven almost as sharply defined -as if it were on earth.</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">THE BLESSED DAMOZEL</span><br /> -<br /> -The blessed damozel leaned out<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From the gold bar of Heaven;</span><br /> -Her eyes were deeper than the depth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of waters stilled at even;</span><br /> -She had three lilies in her hand,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the stars in her hair were seven.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Damozel</i>. This is only a quaint form of the same word which in modern -French signifies a young lady—demoiselle. The suggestion is not simply -that it is a maiden that speaks, but a maiden of noble blood. The idea -of the poet is exactly that of Dante in speaking of Beatrice. Seven is -the mystical number of Christianity.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No wrought flowers did adorn,</span><br /> -But a white rose of Mary's gift,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For service meetly worn;</span><br /> -Her hair that lay along her back<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was yellow like ripe corn.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Clasp.</i> The ornamental fastening of the dress at the neck. "From -clasp to hem" thus signifies simply "from neck to feet," for the hem -of a garment means especially its lower edge. <i>Wrought-flowers</i> here -means embroidered flowers. The dress has no ornament and no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> girdle; it -is a dress of the thirteenth century as to form; but it may interest -you to know that usually in religious pictures of angels and heavenly -souls (the French religious prints are incomparably the best) there is -no girdle, and the robe falls straight from neck to feet. <i>Service.</i> -The maiden in heaven becomes a servant of the Mother of God. But the -mediæval idea was that the daughter of a very noble house, entering -heaven, might be honoured by being taken into the service of Mary, just -as in this world one might be honoured by being taken into the personal -service of a queen or emperor. A white rose is worn as the badge or -mark of this distinction, because white is the symbol of chastity, and -Mary is especially the patron of chastity. In heaven also—the heaven -of Dante—the white rose has many symbolic significations. <i>Yellow.</i> -Compare "Elle est <i>blonde comme le blé.</i>" (De Musset.)</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Herseemed she scarce had been a day<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One of God's choristers;</span><br /> -The wonder was not yet quite gone<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From that still look of hers;</span><br /> -Albeit, to them she left, her day<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had counted as ten years.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Herseemed.</i> This word is very unusual, even obsolete. Formerly -instead of saying "it seems to me," "it seems to him," English people -used to say meseems, him-seems, herseems. The word "meseems" is still -used, but only in the present, with rare exceptions. It is becoming -obsolete also. <i>Choristers.</i> Choir-singers. The daily duty of angels -and souls in heaven was supposed to be to sing the praises of God, just -as on earth hymns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> are sung in church. <i>Albeit.</i> An ancient form of -"although."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -(To one, it is ten years of years,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">...Yet now, and in this place,</span><br /> -Surely she leaned o'er me—her hair<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fell all about my face....</span><br /> -Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The whole year sets apace.)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Ten years of years.</i> That is, years composed not of three hundred -and sixty-five days, but of three hundred and sixty-five years. To -the lover on earth, deprived of his beloved by death, the time passes -slowly so that a day seems as long as a year. Sometimes he imagines -that he feels the dead bending over him—that he feels her hair falling -over his face. When he looks, he finds that it is only the leaves of -the trees that have been falling upon him; and he knows that the autumn -has come, and that the year is slowly dying.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -It was the rampart of God's house<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she was standing on;</span><br /> -By God built over the sheer depth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The which is Space begun;</span><br /> -So high, that looking downward thence<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She scarce could see the sun.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Rampart</i>, you know, means part of a fortification; all the nobility -of the Middle Ages lived in castles or fortresses, and their idea of -heaven was necessarily the idea of a splendid castle. In the "Song -of Roland" we find the angels and the saints spoken of as knights -and ladies, and the language they use is the language of chivalry. -<i>Sheer depth</i>, straight down, perpendicularly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> absolute. God's castle -overlooks, not a landscape, but space; the sun and the stars lie far -below.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -It lies in Heaven, across the flood<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of ether, as a bridge.</span><br /> -Beneath, the tides of day and night<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With flame and darkness ridge</span><br /> -The void, as low as where this earth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spins like a fretful midge.</span><br /> -<br /> -Around her, lovers, newly met<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Mid deathless love's acclaims,</span><br /> -Spoke ever more among themselves<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their heart-remembered names;</span><br /> -And the souls mounting up to God<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went by her like thin flames.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Ether.</i> This is not the modern word, the scientific ether, but the -Greek and also mediæval ether, the most spiritual form of matter. The -house of God, or heaven, rests upon nothing, but stretches out like a -bridge over the ether itself. Far below something like enormous waves -seem to be soundlessly passing, light and dark. Even in heaven, and -throughout the universe, it was supposed in the Middle Ages that there -were successions of day and night independent of the sun. These are the -"tides" described. <i>Ridge the void</i> means, make ridges or wave-like -lines in the ether of space. <i>Midge</i> is used in English just as the -word <i>kobai</i> is used in Japanese. Fretful midge, a midge that moves -very quickly as if fretted or frightened.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -And still she bowed herself and stooped<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Out of the circling charm;</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>Until her bosom must have made<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bar she leaned on warm,</span><br /> -And the lilies lay as if asleep<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along her bended arm.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Charm.</i> The circling charm is not merely the gold railing upon which -she leans, but the magical limits of heaven itself which holds the -souls back. She cannot pass beyond them. Otherwise her wish would take -her back to this world to watch by her living lover. But only the -angels, who are the messengers of heaven, can go beyond the boundaries.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -From the fixed place of Heaven she saw<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time like a pulse shake fierce</span><br /> -Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the gulf to pierce</span><br /> -Its path; and now she spoke as when<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The stars sang in their spheres.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Shake.</i> Here in the sense of to beat like a heart or pulse. Heaven -about her is motionless, fixed; but looking down upon the universe she -sees a luminous motion, regular like a heart-beat; that is Time. <i>Its -path.</i> Her eyes tried to pierce a way or path for themselves through -space; that is, she made a desperate effort to see farther than she -could see. She is looking in vain for the coming of her lover. <i>Their -spheres.</i> This is an allusion to a Biblical verse, "when the morning -stars sang together." It was said that when the world was created the -stars sang for joy.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The sun was gone now; the curled moon<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was like a little feather</span><br /> -Fluttering far down the gulf; and now<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">She spoke through the still weather.</span><br /> -Her voice was like the voice the stars<br /> -Had when they sang together.<br /> -<br /> -(Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strove not her accents there,</span><br /> -Fain to be hearkened? When those bells<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Possessed the mid-day air,</span><br /> -Strove not her steps to reach my side<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down all the echoing stair?)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Stair.</i> We must suppose the lover to be in or near a church with a -steeple, or lofty bell tower. Outside he hears a bird singing; and in -the sweetness of its song he thinks that he hears the voice of the dead -girl speaking to him. Then, as the church bells send down to him great -sweet waves of sound from the tower, he imagines that he can hear, in -the volume of the sound, something like a whispering of robes and faint -steps as of a spirit trying to descend to his side.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"I wish that he were come to me,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he will come," she said.</span><br /> -"Have I not prayed in Heaven?—on earth,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord, Lord, has he not prayed?</span><br /> -Are not two prayers a perfect strength?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shall I fell afraid?</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>An allusion to a verse in the New Testament—"if two of you shall agree -on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done -for them." She is a little afraid that her lover may not get to heaven -after all, but she suddenly remembers this verse, and it gives her -encouragement. <i>Perfect strength</i> means strength of prayer, the power -of the prayer to obtain what is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> prayed for. As she and he have both -been praying for reunion in heaven, and as Christ has promised that -whatever two people pray for, shall be granted, she feels consoled.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"When round his head the aureole clings,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he is clothed in white,</span><br /> -I'll take his hand and go with him<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the deep wells of light;</span><br /> -As unto a stream we will step down,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bathe there in God's sight.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The <i>aureole</i> is the circle or disk of golden light round the head -of a saint. Sometimes it is called a "glory." In some respects the -aureole of Christian art much resembles that of Buddhist art, with this -exception, that some of the Oriental forms are much richer and more -elaborate. Three forms in Christian art are especially common—the -plain circle; the disk, like a moon or sun, usually made in art by -a solid plate of gilded material behind the head; the full "glory," -enshrining the whole figure. There is only one curious fact to which I -need further refer here; it is that the Holy Ghost in Christian art has -a glory of a special kind—the triangle. <i>White.</i> This is a reference -to the description of heaven in the paradise of St. John's vision, -where all the saints are represented in white garments. <i>Deep wells of -light.</i> Another reference to St. John's vision, Rev. XXII, 1—"And he -showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding -out of the throne of God." In the heaven of the Middle Ages, as in the -Buddhist paradise, we find also lakes and fountains of light, or of -liquid jewels.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"We two will stand beside that shrine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Occult, withheld, untrod,</span><br /> -Whose lamps are stirred continually<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With prayer sent up to God;</span><br /> -And see our old prayers, granted, melt<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each like a little cloud.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Shrine.</i> The Holy of Holies, or innermost sanctuary of heaven, -imagined by mediæval faith as a sort of reserved chapel. But the -origin of the fancy will be explained in the next note. <i>Lamps.</i> See -again St. John's vision, Rev. IV, 5—"And there were seven lamps of -fire burning before the throne, which are the seven Spirits of God." -These mystical flames, representing special virtues and powers, would -be agitated according to the special virtues corresponding to them in -the ascending prayers of men. But now we come to another and stranger -thought. <i>A little cloud.</i> See again Rev. V, 8, in which reference is -made to "golden vials, full of incense, which are the prayers of the -saints." Here we see the evidence of a curious belief that prayers -in heaven actually become transformed into the substance of incense. -By the Talmudists it was said that they were turned into beautiful -flowers. Again, in Rev. VIII, 3, we have an allusion to this incense, -made of prayer, being burned in heaven—"And there was given unto him -much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints." -Now the poem can be better understood. The Blessed Damozel thinks -that her old prayers, that is to say, the prayers that she made on -earth, together with those of her lover, are in heaven in the shape -of incense. As long as prayer is not granted, it remains incense; -when granted it becomes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> perfume smoke and vanishes. Therefore she -says, "We shall see our old prayers, granted, melt each like a little -<i>cloud</i>"—that is, a cloud of smoke of incense.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"We two will lie i' the shadow of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That living mystic tree</span><br /> -Within whose secret growth the Dove<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is sometimes felt to be,</span><br /> -While every leaf that His plumes touch<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saith His Name audibly.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The heavenly tree of life is described in Rev. XXVII, 2, as bearing -twelve different kinds of fruit, one for each of the twelve months of -the year, while its leaves heal all diseases or troubles of any kind. -The Dove is the Holy Ghost, who is commonly represented in Christian -art by this bird, when he is not represented by a tongue or flame of -fire. Every time that a leaf touches the body of the Dove, we are told -that the leaf repeats the name of the Holy Ghost. In what language? -Probably in Latin, and the sound of the Latin name would be like the -sound of the motion of leaves, stirred by a wind: <i>Sanctus Spiritus.</i></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"And I myself will teach to him,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I myself, lying so,</span><br /> -The songs I sing here; which his voice<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall pause in, hushed and slow,</span><br /> -And find some knowledge at each pause,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or some new thing to know."</span><br /> -<br /> -(Alas! we two, we two, thou say'st!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yea, one wast thou with me</span><br /> -That once of old. But shall God lift<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To endless unity</span><br /> -The soul whose likeness with thy soul<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was but its love for thee?)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>It is the lover who now speaks, commenting upon the imagined words -of the beloved in heaven. <i>Endless unity</i> here has a double meaning, -signifying at once the mystical union of the soul with God, and the -reunion forever of lovers separated by death. The lover doubts whether -he can be found worthy to enter heaven, because his only likeness to -the beloved was in his love for her; that is to say, his merit was not -so much in being good as in loving good in another.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"We two," she said, "will seek the groves<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the lady Mary is,</span><br /> -With her fine handmaidens, whose names<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are five sweet symphonies,</span><br /> -Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Margaret, and Rosalys.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Notice the mediæval method of speaking of the mother of God as "the -lady Mary"; such would have been the form of address for a princess -or queen in those times. So King Arthur's wife, in the old romance, -is called the lady Guinevere. <i>Symphonies</i> here has only the simplest -meaning of a sweet sound, not of a combination of sounds; but the -use of the word nevertheless implies to a delicate ear that the five -names make harmony with each other. They are names of saints, but also -favourite names given to daughters of great families as Christian -names. The picture is simply that of the lady of a great castle, -surrounded by her waiting women, engaged in weaving and sewing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Circlewise sit they, with bound locks<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And foreheads garlanded;</span><br /> -Into the fine cloth white like flame<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weaving the golden thread,</span><br /> -To fashion the birth-robes for them<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who are just born, being dead.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>With bound locks</i> means only with the hair tied up, not flowing loose, -as was usual in figures of saints and angels. They are weaving garments -for new souls received into heaven, just as mothers might weave cloth -for a child soon to be born. The description of the luminous white -cloth might be compared with descriptions in Revelation. <i>Being dead.</i> -Christianity, like the Oriental religions, calls death a rebirth; but -the doctrinal idea is entirely different. You will remember that the -Greeks represented the soul under the form of a butterfly. Christianity -approaches the Greek fancy by considering the human body as a sort of -caterpillar, which enters the pupa-state at death; the soul is like -the butterfly leaving the chrysalis. So far everything is easy to -understand; but this rebirth of the soul is only half a rebirth in the -Christian sense. The body is also to be born again at a later day. At -present there are only souls in heaven; but after the judgment day the -same bodies which they used to have during life are to be given back -to them. Therefore Rossetti is not referring here to rebirth except -in the sense of spiritual rebirth, as Christ used it, in saying "Ye -must be born again"—that is, obtain new hearts, new feelings. What in -Oriental poetry would represent a fact of belief, here represents only -the symbol of a belief, a belief of a totally different kind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"He shall fear, haply, and be dumb:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then will I lay my cheek</span><br /> -To his, and tell about our love,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not once abashed or weak:</span><br /> -And the dear Mother will approve<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My pride, and let me speak.</span><br /> -<br /> -"Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Him round whom all souls</span><br /> -Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bowed with their aureoles:</span><br /> -And angels meeting us shall sing<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To their citherns and citoles.</span><br /> -<br /> -"There will I ask of Christ the Lord<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus much for him and me:—</span><br /> -Only to live as once on earth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Love, only to be,</span><br /> -As then awhile, forever now<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Together, I and he."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The Damozel's idea is that her lover will be ashamed and afraid to -speak to the mother of God when he is introduced to her; but she will -not be afraid to say how much she loves her lover, and she will cause -the lady Mary to bring them both into the presence of God himself, -identified here rather with the Son than with the Father. <i>Citherns and -citoles.</i> Both words are derived from the Latin <i>cithara</i>, a harp, and -both refer to long obsolete kinds of stringed instruments used during -the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -She gazed and listened and then said,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Less sad of speech than mild,—</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>"All this is when he comes." She ceased.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The light thrilled toward her, filled</span><br /> -With angels in strong level flight.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her eyes prayed, and she smiled.</span><br /> -<br /> -(I saw her smile.) But soon their path<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was vague in distant spheres:</span><br /> -And then she cast her arms along<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The golden barriers,</span><br /> -And laid her face between her hands,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wept. (I heard her tears.)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>In these beautiful lines we are reminded of the special duty of angels, -from which they take their name, "messenger"—the duty of communicating -between earth and heaven and bringing the souls of the dead to -paradise. The Damozel, waiting and watching for her lover, imagines, -whenever she sees the angels coming from the direction of the human -world, that her lover may be coming with them. At last she sees a band -of angels flying straight toward her through the luminous ether, which -shivers and flashes before their coming. "Her eyes prayed," that is, -expressed the prayerful desire that it might be her beloved; and she -feels almost sure that it is. Then comes her disappointment, for the -angels pass out of sight in another direction, and she cries—even in -heaven. At least her lover imagines that he saw and heard her weeping.</p> - -<p>The use of the word Damozel needs a little more explanation, that you -may understand the great art with which the poem was arranged. The Old -French <i>damoisel</i> (later <i>damoiseau</i>) signified a young lad of noble -birth or knightly parentage, employed in a noble house as page or -squire. Originally there was no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> feminine form; but afterwards the form -<i>damoselle</i> came into use, signifying a young lady in the corresponding -capacity. Thus Rossetti in choosing the old English form <i>damozel</i> -selected perhaps the only possible word which could exactly express the -position of the Damozel in heaven, as well as the mediæval conception -of that heaven. Our English word "damsel," so common in the Bible, is a -much later form than damozel. There was, however, a Middle English form -spelled almost like the form used by Rossetti, except that there was an -"s" instead of a "z."</p> - -<p>Now you will better see the meaning of Rossetti's mysticism. When you -make religion love, without ceasing to be religious, and make love -religion, without ceasing to be human and sensuous, in the good sense -of the word, then you have made a form of mysticism. The blending in -Rossetti is very remarkable, and has made this particular poem the most -famous thing which he wrote. We have here a picture of heaven, with -all its mysteries and splendours, suspended over an ocean of ether, -through which souls are passing like an upward showering of fire; and -all this is spiritual enough. But the Damozel, with her yellow hair, -and her bosom making warm what she leans upon, is very human; and her -thoughts are not of the immaterial kind. The suggestions about bathing -together, about embracing, cheek against cheek, and about being able -to love in heaven as on earth, have all the delightful innocence of -the Middle Ages, when the soul was thought of only as another body of -finer substance. Now it is altogether the human warmth of the poem that -makes its intense attraction. Rarely to-day can any Western<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> poet write -satisfactorily about heavenly things, because we have lost the artless -feeling of the Middle Ages, and we cannot think of the old heaven as a -reality. In order to write such things, we should have to get back the -heart of our fathers; and Rossetti happened to be born with just such a -heart. He had probably little or no real faith in religion; but he was -able to understand exactly how religious people felt hundreds of years -ago.</p> - -<p>Let us now turn to a more earthly phase of the same tone of love which -appears in "The Blessed Damozel." Now it is the lover himself on earth -who is speaking, while contemplating the portrait of the dead woman -whom he loved. We shall only make extracts, on account of the extremely -elaborate and difficult structure of the poem.</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">THE PORTRAIT</span><br /> -<br /> -This is her picture as she was:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It seems a thing to wonder on,</span><br /> -As though mine image in the glass<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should tarry when myself am gone.</span><br /> -I gaze until she seems to stir,—<br /> -Until mine eyes almost aver<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That now, even now, the sweet lips part</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To breathe the words of the sweet heart:—</span><br /> -And yet the earth is over her.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">. . . . . .</span><br /> -Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The beating heart of Love's own breast,—Where</span><br /> -round the secret of all spheres<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">All angels lay their wings to rest,—</span><br /> -How shall my soul stand rapt and awed.<br /> -When, by the new birth borne abroad<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Throughout the music of the suns,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It enters in her soul at once</span><br /> -And knows the silence there for God!<br /> -</p> - -<p>Here is the very highest form of mystical love; for love is identified -with God, and the reunion in heaven is a blending, not with a mere -fellow soul, but with the Supreme Being. By "silence" here you must -understand rest, heavenly peace. The closing stanza of the poem -contains one of the most beautiful images of comparison ever made in -any language.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Here with her face doth memory sit<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,</span><br /> -Till other eyes shall look from it,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,</span><br /> -Even than the old gaze tenderer:<br /> -While hopes and aims long lost with her<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stand round her image side by side,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like tombs of pilgrims that have died</span><br /> -About the Holy Sepulchre.<br /> -</p> - -<p>What the poet means is this: "Now I sit, remembering the past, and -look at her face in the picture, as long as the light of day remains. -Presently, with twilight the stars will shine out like eyes in -heaven—heaven which is my Holy Land, because she is there. Those -stars will then seem to me even as her eyes, but more beautiful, more -loving than the living eyes. The hopes and the projects which I used to -entertain for her sake, and which died when she died—they come back -to mind, but like the graves ranged around the grave of Christ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> at -Jerusalem." The reference is of course to the great pilgrimages of the -Middle Ages made to Jerusalem.</p> - -<p>More than the artist speaks here; and if there be not strong faith, -there is at least beautiful hope. A more tender feeling could not be -combined with a greater pathos; but Rossetti often reaches the very -same supreme quality of sentiment, even in poems of a character closely -allied to romance. We can take "The Staff and Scrip" as an example of -mediæval story of the highest emotional quality.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Who rules these lands?" the Pilgrim said.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Stranger, Queen Blanchelys."</span><br /> -"And who has thus harried them?" he said.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"It was Duke Luke did this;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">God's ban be his!"</span><br /> -<br /> -The Pilgrim said, "Where is your house?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll rest there, with your will."</span><br /> -"You've but to climb these blackened boughs<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you'll see it over the hill,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For it burns still."</span><br /> -<br /> -"Which road, to seek your Queen?" said he.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Nay, nay, but with some wound</span><br /> -You'll fly back hither, it may be,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And by your blood i' the ground</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My place be found."</span><br /> -<br /> -"Friend, stay in peace. God keep your head,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mine, where I will go;</span><br /> -For He is here and there," he said.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He passed the hillside, slow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And stood below.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<p>So far the poem is so simple that no one could expect anything very -beautiful in the sequence. We only have a conversation between a -pilgrim from the Holy Land, returned to his native country (probably -mediæval France), and a peasant or yeoman belonging to the estate of -a certain Queen. We may suspect, however, from the conversation, that -the pilgrim is a knight or noble, and probably has been a crusader. He -sees that the country has been ravaged by some merciless enemy; and -the peasant tells him that it was Duke Luke. The peasant's house is -burning; he himself is hiding in terror of his life. But the pilgrim is -not afraid, and goes to see the Queen in spite of all warning. One can -imagine very well that the purpose of the Duke in thus making war upon -a woman was to force a marriage as well as to acquire territory. Now it -was the duty of a true knight to help any woman unjustly oppressed or -attacked; therefore the pilgrim's wish to see the Queen is prompted by -this sense of duty. Hereafter the poem has an entirely different tone.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The Queen sat idle by her loom:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She heard the arras stir,</span><br /> -And looked up sadly: through the room<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sweetness sickened her</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of musk and myrrh.</span><br /> -<br /> -Her women, standing two and two,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In silence combed the fleece.</span><br /> -The Pilgrim said, "Peace be with you,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady"; and bent his knees.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">She answered, "Peace."</span><br /> -<br /> -Her eyes were like the wave within;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like water-reeds the poise</span><br /> -Of her soft body, dainty-thin;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And like the water's noise</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Her plaintive voice.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The naked walls of rooms during the Middle Ages were covered with -drapery or tapestry, on which figures were embroidered or woven. -<i>Arras</i> was the name given to a kind of tapestry made at the town of -Arras in France.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -For him, the stream had never well'd<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In desert tracts malign</span><br /> -So sweet; nor had he ever felt<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So faint in the sunshine</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of Palestine.</span><br /> -<br /> -Right so, he knew that he saw weep<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each night through every dream</span><br /> -The Queen's own face, confused in sleep<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With visages supreme</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Not known to him.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>At this point the poem suddenly becomes mystical. It is not chance nor -will that has brought these two together, but some divine destiny. As -he sees the Queen's face for the first time with his eyes, he remembers -having seen the same face many times before in his dreams. And when he -saw it in dreams, it was also the face of a woman weeping; and there -were also other faces in the dream, not human but "supreme"—probably -angels or other heavenly beings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Lady," he said, "your lands lie burnt<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And waste: to meet your foe</span><br /> -All fear: this I have seen and learnt.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say that it shall be so,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And I will go."</span><br /> -<br /> -She gazed at him. "Your cause is just,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For I have heard the same:"</span><br /> -He said: "God's strength shall be my trust.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fall it to good or grame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">'Tis in His name."</span><br /> -<br /> -"Sir, you are thanked. My cause is dead.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why should you toil to break</span><br /> -A grave, and fall therein?" she said.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He did not pause but spake:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"For my vow's sake."</span><br /> -<br /> -"Can such vows be, Sir—to God's ear,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not to God's will?" "My vow</span><br /> -Remains: God heard me there as here,"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He said, with reverent brow,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Both then and now."</span><br /> -<br /> -They gazed together, he and she,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The minute while he spoke;</span><br /> -And when he ceased, she suddenly<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looked round upon her folk</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">As though she woke.</span><br /> -<br /> -"Fight, Sir," she said; "my prayers in pain<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall be your fellowship."</span><br /> -He whispered one among her train,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"To-morrow bid her keep</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">This staff and scrip."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<p>The scrip was a kind of wallet or bag carried by pilgrims. Now we -have a few sensuous touches, of the kind in which Rossetti excels all -other poets, because they always are kept within the extreme limits of -artistic taste.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -She sent him a sharp sword, whose belt<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">About his body there</span><br /> -As sweet as her own arms he felt.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He kissed its blade, all bare,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Instead of her.</span><br /> -<br /> -She sent him a green banner wrought<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With one white lily stem,</span><br /> -To bind his lance with when he fought.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He writ upon the same</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And kissed her name.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"Wrought" here signifies embroidered with the design of the white -lily. Remember that the Queen's name is white lily (Blanchelys), and -the flower is her crest. It was the custom for every knight to have -fastened to his lance a small flag or pennon—also called sometimes -"pennant."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -She sent him a white shield, whereon<br /> -She bade that he should trace<br /> -His will. He blent fair hues that shone,<br /> -And in a golden space<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">He kissed her face.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Being appointed by the Queen her knight, it would have been more -customary that she should tell him what design he should put upon his -shield—heraldic privileges coming from the sovereign only. But she -tells him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> generously that he may choose any design that he pleases. He -returns the courtesy very beautifully by painting the Queen's face on -the shield upon a background of gold, and kissing the image. By "space" -here must be understood a quarter, or compartment, of the shield, -according to the rules of heraldry.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Born of the day that died, that eve<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now dying sank to rest;</span><br /> -As he, in likewise taking leave,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once with a heaving breast</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Looked to the west.</span><br /> -<br /> -And there the sunset skies unseal'd,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like lands he never knew,</span><br /> -Beyond to-morrow's battle-field<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay open out of view</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To ride into.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here we have the suggestion of emotions known to us all, when looking -into a beautiful sunset sky in which there appeared to be landscapes -of gold and purple and other wonderful colours, like some glimpse of a -heavenly world. Notice the double suggestion of this verse. The knight, -having bidden the Queen good-bye, is riding home, looking, as he rides, -into the sunset and over the same plain where he must fight to-morrow. -Looking, he sees such landscapes—strangely beautiful, more beautiful -than anything in the real world. Then he thinks that heaven might be -like that. At the same time he has a premonition that he is going to be -killed the next day, and this thought comes to him: "Perhaps I shall -ride into that heaven to-morrow."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Next day till dark the women pray'd;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor any might know there</span><br /> -How the fight went; the Queen has bade<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That there do come to her</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No messenger.</span><br /> -<br /> -The Queen is pale, her maidens ail;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And to the organ-tones</span><br /> -They sing but faintly, who sang well<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The matin-orisons,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The lauds and nones.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Orison</i> means a prayer; <i>matin</i> has the same meaning as the French -word, spelled in the same way, for morning. Matin-orisons are morning -prayers, but special prayers belonging to the ancient church services -are intended; these prayers are still called matins. <i>Lauds</i> is also -the name of special prayers of the Roman morning service; the word -properly means "praises." <i>Nones</i> is the name of a third special kind -of prayers, intended to be repeated or sung at the ninth hour of the -morning—hence, nones.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Lo, Father, is thine ear inclin'd,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hath thine angel pass'd?</span><br /> -For these thy watchers now are blind<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With vigil, and at last</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Dizzy with fast.</span><br /> -<br /> -Weak now to them the voice o' the priest<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As any trance affords;</span><br /> -And when each anthem failed and ceas'd,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It seemed that the last chords</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Still sang the words.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> - -<p>By <i>Father</i> is here meant God—probably in the person of Christ. To -incline the ear means to listen. When this expression is used of God -it always means listening to prayer. In the second line angel has -the double signification of spirit and messenger, but especially the -latter. Why is the expression "at last" used here? It was the custom -when making special prayer both to remain without sleep, which was -called "keeping vigil" or watch, and to remain without food, or "to -fast." The evening has come and the women have not eaten anything all -day. At first they were too anxious to feel hungry, but <i>at last</i> as -the night advances, they become too weak.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Oh, what is the light that shines so red?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis long since the sun set";</span><br /> -Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'Twas dim but now, and yet</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The light is great."</span><br /> -<br /> -Quoth the other: "'Tis our sight is dazed<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we see flame i' the air."</span><br /> -But the Queen held her brows and gazed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, "It is the glare</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of torches there."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Held her brows</i>—that is, put her hand above her eyes so as to see -better by keeping off the light in the room. There is a very nice -suggestion here; the Queen hears and sees better than the young girls, -not simply because she has finer senses, or because she has more to -fear by the loss of her kingdom. It is the intensification of the -senses caused by love that makes her see and hear so well.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Oh what are the sounds that rise and spread?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All day it was so still;"</span><br /> -Quoth the youngest to the eldest maid:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Unto the furthest hill</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The air they fill."</span><br /> -<br /> -Quoth the other: "'Tis our sense is blurr'd<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all the chants gone by."</span><br /> -But the Queen held her breath and heard,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, "It is the cry</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of Victory."</span><br /> -<br /> -The first of all the rout was sound,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The next were dust and flame,</span><br /> -And then the horses shook the ground;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the thick of them</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A still band came.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I think that no poet in the world ever performed a greater feat than -this stanza, in which, and in three lines only, the whole effect of -the spectacle and sound of an army returning at night has been given. -We must suppose that the women have gone out to wait for the army. It -comes; but the night is dark, and they hear at first only the sound of -the coming, the tramp of black masses of men passing. Probably these -would be the light troops, archers and footmen. The lights are still -behind, with the cavalry. Then the first appearance is made in the -light of torches—foot soldiers still, covered with dust and carrying -lights with them. Then they feel the ground shake under the weight of -the feudal cavalry—the knights come. But where is the chief? No chief -is visible; but, surrounded by the mounted knights, there is a silent -company of men on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> foot carrying something. The Queen wants to know -what it is. It is covered with leaves and branches so that she cannot -see it.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Oh what do ye bring out of the fight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus hid beneath these boughs?"</span><br /> -"Thy conquering guest returns to-night,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yet shall not carouse,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Queen, in thy house."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>After a victory there was always in those days a great feast of -wine-drinking, or carousal. <i>To carouse</i> means to take part in such -noisy festivity. When the Queen puts her question, she is kindly but -grimly answered, so that she knows the dead body of her knight must be -under the branches. But being a true woman and lover, her love conquers -her fear and pain; she must see him again, no matter how horribly his -body may have been wounded.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Uncover ye his face," she said.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O changed in little space!"</span><br /> -She cried, "O pale that was so red!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O God, O God of grace!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Cover his face!"</span><br /> -<br /> -His sword was broken in his hand<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where he had kissed the blade.</span><br /> -"O soft steel that could not withstand!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O my hard heart unstayed,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">That prayed and prayed!"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Why does she call her heart hard? Because she naturally reproaches -herself with his death. <i>Unstayed</i> means uncomforted, unsupported. -There is a suggestion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> that she prayed and prayed in vain because her -heart had suffered her to send that man to battle.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -His bloodied banner crossed his mouth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where he had kissed her name.</span><br /> -"O east, and west, and north, and south,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair flew my web, for shame,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To guide Death's aim!"</span><br /> -<br /> -The tints were shredded from his shield<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where he had kissed her face.</span><br /> -"Oh, of all gifts that I could yield,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death only keeps its place,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">My gift and grace!"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The expression "<i>my</i> web" implies that the Queen had herself woven the -material of the flag. The word "web" is not now often used in modern -prose in this sense—we say texture, stuff, material instead. <i>A shred</i> -especially means a small <i>torn</i> piece. "To shred from" would therefore -mean to remove in small torn pieces—or, more simply expressed, to -scratch off, or rend away. Of course the rich thick painting upon the -shield is referred to. Repeated blows upon the surface would remove the -painting in small shreds. This is very pathetic when rightly studied. -She sees that all the presents she made to him, banner, sword, shield, -have been destroyed in the battle; and with bitter irony, the irony of -grief, she exclaims, "The only present I made him that could not be -taken back or broken was death. Death was my grace, my one kindness!"</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Then stepped a damsel to her side,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And spoke, and needs must weep;</span><br /> -"For his sake, lady, if he died,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He prayed of thee to keep</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">This staff and scrip."</span><br /> -<br /> -That night they hung above her bed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till morning wet with tears.</span><br /> -Year after year above her head<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her bed his token wears,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Five years, ten years.</span><br /> -<br /> -That night the passion of her grief<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shook them as there they hung</span><br /> -Each year the wind that shed the leaf<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shook them and in its tongue</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A message flung.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>We must suppose the Queen's bed to have been one of the great beds -used in the Middle Ages and long afterwards, with four great pillars -supporting a kind of little roof or ceiling above it, and also -supporting curtains, which would be drawn around the bed at night. The -staff and scrip and the token would have been hung to the ceiling, or -as the French call it <i>ciel</i>, of the bed; and therefore they might be -shaken by a passion of grief—because a woman sobbing in the bed would -shake the bed, and therefore anything hung to the awning above it.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -And once she woke with a clear mind<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That letters writ to calm</span><br /> -Her soul lay in the scrip; to find<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only a torpid balm</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And dust of palm.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Sometimes when we are very unhappy, we dream that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> what we really wish -for has happened, and that the sorrow is taken away. And in such dreams -we are very sure that what we were dreaming is true. Then we wake up to -find the misery come back again. The Queen has been greatly sorrowing -for this man, and wishing she could have some news from his spirit, -some message from him. One night she dreams that somebody tells her, -"If you will open that scrip, you will find in it the message which you -want." Then she wakes up and finds only some palm-dust, and some balm -so old that it no longer has any perfume—but no letter.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -They shook far off with palace sport<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When joust and dance were rife;</span><br /> -And the hunt shook them from the court;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For hers, in peace or strife,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Was a Queen's life.</span><br /> -<br /> -A Queen's death now: as now they shake<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To gusts in chapel dim,—</span><br /> -Hung where she sleeps, not seen to wake<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Carved lovely white and slim),</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With them by him.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>It would be for her, as for any one in great sorrow, a consolation to -be alone with her grief. But this she cannot be, nor can she show her -grief to any one, because she is a Queen. Only when in her chamber, -at certain moments, can she think of the dead knight, and see the -staff and scrip shaking in their place, as the castle itself shakes to -the sound of the tournaments, dances, and the gathering of the great -hunting parties in the court below.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> - -<p>In that age it was the custom when a knight died to carve an image of -him, lying asleep in his armour, and this image was laid upon his long -tomb. When his wife died, or the lady to whom he had been pledged, -she was represented as lying beside him, with her hands joined, as -if in prayer. You will see plenty of these figures upon old tombs -in England. Usually a nobleman was not buried in the main body of a -large church, but in a chapel—which is a kind of little side-church, -opening into the great church. Such is the case in many cathedrals; and -some cathedrals, like Westminster, have many chapels used as places -of burial and places of worship. On the altar in these little chapels -special services are performed for the souls of the dead buried in the -chapel. It is not uncommon to see, in such a chapel, some relics of the -dead suspended to the wall, such as a shield or a flag. In this poem, -by the Queen's own wish, the staff and scrip of the dead knight are -hung on the wall above her tomb, where they are sometimes shaken by the -wind.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Stand up to-day, still armed, with her,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Good knight, before His brow</span><br /> -Who then as now was here and there,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who had in mind thy vow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Then even as now.</span><br /> -<br /> -The lists are set in Heaven to-day,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bright pavilions shine;</span><br /> -Fair hangs thy shield, and none gainsay;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trumpets sound in sign</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">That she is thine.</span><br /> -<br /> -Not tithed with days' and years' decease<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He pays thy wage He owed,</span><br /> -But with imperishable peace<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here in His own abode,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Thy jealous God.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Still armed</i> refers to the representation of the dead knight in full -armour. Mediæval faith imagined the warrior armed in the spiritual -world as he was in this life; and the ghosts of dead knights used to -appear in armour. The general meaning of these stanzas is, "God now -gives you the reward which he owed to you; and unlike rewards given -to men in this world, your heavenly reward is not diminished by the -certainty that you cannot enjoy it except for a certain number of -days or years. God does not keep anything back out of his servants' -wages—no tithe or tenth. You will be with her forever." The adjective -"jealous" applied to God is a Hebrew use of the term; but it has here -a slightly different meaning. The idea is this, that Heaven is jealous -of human love when human love alone is a motive of duty. Therefore the -reward of duty need not be expected in this world but only in Heaven.</p> - -<p>Outside of the sonnets, which we must consider separately, I do not -know any more beautiful example of the mystical feeling of love in -Rossetti than this. It will not be necessary to search any further for -examples in this special direction; I think you will now perfectly -understand one of the peculiar qualities distinguishing Rossetti from -all the other Victorian poets—the mingling of religious with amatory -emotion in the highest form of which the language is capable.</p> - -<hr /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p>While we are discussing the ballads and shorter narrative poems, let us -now consider Rossetti simply as a story-teller, and see how wonderful -he is in some of those lighter productions in which he brought the -art of the refrain to a perfection which nobody else, except perhaps -Swinburne, has equalled. Among the ballads there is but one, "Stratton -Water," conceived altogether after the old English fashion; and this -has no refrain. I do not know that any higher praise can be given to -it than the simple statement that it is a perfect imitation of the -old ballad—at least so far as a perfect imitation is possible in the -nineteenth century. Should there be any criticism allowable, it could -be only this, that the tenderness and pathos are somewhat deeper, and -somewhat less rough in utterance, than we expect in a ballad of the -fourteenth or fifteenth century. Yet there is no stanza in it for which -some parallel might not be found in ballads of the old time. It is -nothing more than the story of a country girl seduced by a nobleman, -who nevertheless has no intention of being cruel or unfaithful. Just as -she is about to drown herself, or rather to let herself be drowned, he -rescues her from the danger, marries her in haste to save appearances, -and makes her his wife. There is nothing more of narrative, and no -narrative could be more simple. But as the great pains and great joys -of life are really in simple things, the simplest is capable of almost -infinite expansion when handled by a true artist. Certainly in English -poetry there is no ballad more beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> than this; nor can we imagine -it possible to do anything more with so slight a theme. It contains -nothing, however, calling for elaborate explanation or comment; I need -only recommend you to read it and to feel it.</p> - -<p>It is otherwise in the case of such ballads as "Sister Helen" and -"The White Ship."—"The White Ship" is a little too long for full -reproduction in the lecture; but we can point out its special beauties. -"Sister Helen," although rather long also, we must study the whole -of, partly because it has become so very famous, and partly because -it deals with emotions and facts of the Middle Ages requiring careful -interpretation. Perhaps it is the best example of story telling in -the shorter pieces of Rossetti—not because its pictures are more -objectively vivid than the themes of the "White Ship," but because it -is more subjectively vivid, dealing with the extremes of human passion, -hate, love, revenge, and religious despair. All these are passions -peculiarly coloured by the age in which the story is supposed to -happen, the age of belief in magic, in ghosts, and in hell-fire.</p> - -<p>I think that in nearly all civilised countries, East and West, from -very old times there has been some belief in the kind of magic which -this poem describes. I have seen references to similar magic in -translations of Chinese books, and I imagine that it may have been -known in Japan. In India it is still practised. At one time or other -it was practised in every country of Europe. Indeed, it was only the -development of exact science that rendered such beliefs impossible. -During the Middle Ages they caused the misery of many thousands<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> of -lives, and the fear born of them weighed upon men's minds like a -nightmare.</p> - -<p>This superstition in its simplest form was that if you wished to kill -a hated person, it was only necessary to make a small statue or image -of that person in wax, or some other soft material, and to place the -image before a fire, after having repeated certain formulas. As the -wax began to melt before the fire, the person represented by the image -would become sick and grow weaker and weaker, until with the complete -melting of the image, he would die. Sometimes when the image was made -of material other than wax, it was differently treated. Also it was a -custom to stick needles into such images, for the purpose of injuring -rather than of killing. By putting the needles into the place of the -eyes, for example, the person would be made blind; or by putting them -into the place of the ears, he might be rendered deaf. A needle stuck -into the place of the heart would cause death, slow or quick according -to the slowness with which the needle was forced in.</p> - -<p>But there were many penalties attaching to the exercise of such magic. -People convicted of having practised it were burned alive by law. -However, burning alive was not the worst consequence of the practice, -according to general belief; for the church taught that such a crime -was unpardonable, and that all guilty of it must go to hell for all -eternity. You might destroy your enemy by magic, but only at the -cost of your own soul. A soul for a life. And you must know that the -persons who did such things believed the magic was real, believed they -were killing, and believed they were condemned to lose their souls in -consequence. Can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> we conceive of hatred strong enough to satisfy itself -at this price? Certainly, there have been many examples in the history -of those courts in which trials for witchcraft were formerly held.</p> - -<p>Now we have the general idea behind this awful ballad. The speakers in -the story are only two, a young woman and her brother, a little boy. We -may suppose the girl to be twenty and the boy about five years old or -even younger. The girl is apparently of good family, for she appears -to be living in a castle of her own—at least a fortified dwelling of -some sort. We must also suppose her to be an orphan, for she avenges -herself—as one having no male relative to fight for her. She has been -seduced under promise of marriage; but before the marriage day, her -faithless lover marries another woman. Then she determines to destroy -his life by magic. While her man of wax is melting before the fire, -the parents, relatives, and newly-wedded bride of her victim come on -horseback to beg that she will forgive. But forgive she will not, and -he dies, and at the last his ghost actually enters the room. This is -the story.</p> - -<p>You will observe that the whole conversation is only between the girl -and this baby-brother. She talks to the child in child language, but -with a terrible meaning behind each simple word. She herself will not -answer the prayers of the relatives of the dying man; she makes the -little brother act as messenger. So all that is said in the poem is -said between the girl and the little boy. Even in the opening of the -ballad there is a terrible pathos in the presence of this little baby -brother. What does he know of horrible beliefs, hatred,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> lust, evil -passion of any sort? He only sees that his sister has made a kind of -wax-doll, and he thinks that it is a pretty doll, and would like to -play with it. But his sister, instead of giving him the doll, begins to -melt it before the fire, and he cannot understand why.</p> - -<p>One more preliminary observation. What is the meaning of the refrain? -This refrain, in italics, always represents the secret thought of the -girl, what she cannot say to the little brother, but what she thinks -and suffers. The references to Mary refer to the Virgin Mary of course, -but with the special mediæval sense. God would not forgive certain -sins; but, during the Middle Ages at least, the Virgin Mary, the mother -of God, was a refuge even for the despairing magician or witch. We -could not expect one practising witchcraft to call upon the name of -Christ. But the same person, in moments of intense pain, might very -naturally ejaculate the name of Mary. And now we can begin the poem.</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">SISTER HELEN</span><br /> -<br /> -"Why did you melt your waxen man,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sister Helen?</span><br /> -To-day is the third since you began."<br /> -"The time was long, yet the time ran,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"But if you have done your work aright,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>You'll let me play, for you said I might."<br /> -"Be very still in your play to-night,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen;</span><br /> -If now it be molten, all is well."<br /> -"Even so,—nay, peace! you cannot tell,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen;</span><br /> -How like dead folk he has dropped away!"<br /> -"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"See, see, the sunken pile of wood,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!"<br /> -"Nay now, when looked you yet on blood,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And I'll play without the gallery door."<br /> -"Aye, let me rest,—I'll lie on the floor,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span><i>What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Here high up in the balcony,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -The moon flies face to face with me."<br /> -"Aye, look and say whatever you see,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Outside, it's merry in the wind's wake,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen;</span><br /> -In the shaken trees the chill stars shake."<br /> -"Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"I hear a horse-tread, and I see,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -Three horsemen that ride terribly."<br /> -"Little brother, whence come the three,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>In this last stanza the repetition of the words "little brother" -indicates intense eagerness. The girl has been expecting that the -result of her enchantments would force the relatives of her victim to -come and beg for mercy. The child's words therefore bring to her a -shock of excitement.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>And one draws nigh, but two are afar."<br /> -"Look, look, do you know them who they are,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Who should they he, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so fast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -For I know the white mane on the blast."<br /> -"The hour has come, has come at last,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>Those who come are knights, and the child can know them only by the -crest or by the horses; as they are very far he can distinguish only -the horses, but he knows the horse of Keith of Eastholm, because of its -white mane, floating in the wind. From this point the poem becomes very -terrible, because it shows us a play of terrible passion—passion all -the more terrible because it is that of a woman.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"He has made a sign and called Halloo!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And he says that he would speak with you."<br /> -"Oh, tell him I fear the frozen dew<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"The wind is loud, but I hear him cry,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>That Keith of Ewern's like to die."<br /> -"And he and thou, and thou and I,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Little brother,"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Three days ago, on his marriage-morn,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -He sickened, and lies since then forlorn."<br /> -"For bridegroom's side is the bride a thorn,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>We now can surmise the story from the girl's own lips. There are wrongs -that a woman cannot forgive, unless she is of very weak character -indeed. But this woman is no weakling; she can kill, and laugh while -killing, because she is a daughter of warriors, and has been cruelly -injured. Notice the bitter mockery of every word she utters, especially -the exulting reference to the unhappy bride. We imagine that she might -be sorry for killing a man whom she once loved; but we may be perfectly -sure that she will feel no pity for the woman that he married.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Three days and nights he has lain abed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And he prays in torment to be dead."<br /> -"The thing may chance, if he have prayed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"But he has not ceased to cry to-day,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>That you should take your curse away."<br /> -"<i>My</i> prayer was heard,—he need but pray,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,></span><br /> -<i>Shall God not hear, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"But he says till you take back your ban,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -His soul would pass, yet never can."<br /> -"Nay then, shall I slay a living man,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"But he calls for ever on your name,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And says that he melts before a flame."<br /> -"My heart for his pleasure fared the same,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Here's Keith of Westholm riding fast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -For I know the white plume on the blast."<br /> -"The hour, the sweet hour I forecast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"He stops to speak, and he stills his horse,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -But his words are drowned in the wind's course."<br /> -"Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span><i>What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Oh, he says that Keith of Ewern's cry,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -Is ever to see you ere he die."<br /> -"In all that his soul sees, there am I,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>The soul's one sight, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"He sends a ring and a broken coin,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And bids you mind the banks of Boyne."<br /> -"What else he broke will he ever join,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>No, never joined, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>It was a custom, and in some parts of England still is a custom, for -lovers not only to give each other rings, but also to divide something -between them—such as a coin or a ring, for pledge and remembrance. -Sometimes a ring would be cut in two, and each person would keep -one-half. Sometimes a thin coin, gold or silver money, was broken -into halves and each of the lovers would wear one-half round the neck -fastened to a string. Such pledges would be always recognised, and were -only to be sent back in time of terrible danger—in a matter of life -and death. There are many references to this custom in the old ballads.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"He yields you these, and craves full fain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -You pardon him in his mortal pain."<br /> -"What else he took will he give again,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"He calls your name in an agony,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -That even dead Love must weep to see."<br /> -"Hate, born of Love, is blind as he,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Love turned to hate, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Oh it's Keith of Keith now that rides fast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -For I know the white hair on the blast."<br /> -"The short, short hour will soon be past,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"He looks at me and he tries to speak,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -But oh! his voice is sad and weak!"<br /> -"What here should the mighty Baron seek,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -The body dies, but the soul shall live."<br /> -"Fire shall forgive me as I forgive,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>This needs some explanation in reference to religious belief. The -witch, you will observe, has the power to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> destroy the soul as well -as the body, but on the condition of suffering the same loss herself. -Yet how can this be? It could happen thus: if the dying man could make -a confession before he dies, and sincerely repent of his sin before a -priest, his soul might be saved; but while he remains in the agony of -suffering caused by the enchantment, he cannot repent. Not to repent -means to go to Hell for ever and ever. If the woman would forgive him, -withdrawing the curse and pain for one instant, all might be well. But -she answers, "Fire shall forgive me as I forgive"—she means, "The fire -of Hell shall sooner forgive me when I go to Hell, than I shall forgive -him in this world." There will be other references to this horrible -belief later on. It was very common in the Middle Ages.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -To save his dear son's soul alive."<br /> -"Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Rive</i> is seldom used now in prose, though we have "riven" very often. -To rive is to tear. The last line of this stanza is savage, for it -refers to the belief that the black fire of Hell preserves the body of -the damned person instead of consuming it.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"He cries to you, kneeling in the road,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>To go with him for the love of God!"<br /> -"The way is long to his son's abode,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"A lady's here, by a dark steed brought,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -So darkly clad, I saw her not."<br /> -"See her now or never see aught,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>What more to see, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>As the horse was black and the lady was all dressed in black, the -child could not at first notice either in the shadows of the road. On -announcing that he had seen her at last, the excitement of the sister -reaches its highest and wickedest; she says to him, "Nay, you will -never be able to see anything in this world, unless you can see that -woman's face and tell me all about it." For it is the other woman, who -has made forgiveness impossible; it is the other woman, the object of -her deepest hate.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -On the Lady of Ewern's golden hair."<br /> -"Blest hour of my power and her despair,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Hour blessed and bann'd, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago."<br /> -"One morn for pride, and three days for woe.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Three days, three nights, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Her clasped hands stretch from her bending head,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen;</span><br /> -With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed."<br /> -"What wedding-strains hath her bridal bed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>What strain but death's, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>You must remember that the word "strains" is, nearly always used in the -sense of musical tones, and that "wedding-strains" means the joyful -music played at a wedding. Thus the ferocity of Helen's mockery becomes -apparent, for it was upon the bridal night that the bridegroom was -first bewitched; and from the moment of his marriage, therefore, he has -been screaming in agony.</p> - -<p>The climax of hatred is in the next stanza. After that the tone begins -to reverse, and gradually passes away in the melancholy of eternal -despair.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,—</span><br /> -She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon."<br /> -"Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Her woe's dumb cry, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>To "gasp" means to open the mouth in the effort to get breath, as one -does in a fit of hysterics, or in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> time of great agony. "Gasps on the -moon" means that she gasps with her face turned up toward the moon. In -the last line we have the words "blithe tune" used in the same tone of -terrible irony as that with which the word "wedding-strain" was used in -the preceding stanza. "Blithe" means "merry." Helen is angry because -the other woman has fainted; having fainted, she has become for the -moment physically incapable of suffering. But Helen thinks that her -soul must be conscious and suffering as much as ever; therefore she -wishes that she could hear the suffering of the soul, since she cannot -longer hear the outcries of the body.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"They've caught her to Westholm's saddle-bow,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow."<br /> -"Let it turn whiter than winter-snow,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Woe-withered gold, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>The allusion is to the physiological fact that intense moral pain, or -terrible fear, sometimes turns the hair of a young person suddenly -white.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"O Sister Helen, you heard the bell,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen!</span><br /> -More loud than the vesper-chime it fell."<br /> -"No vesper-chime, but a dying knell,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span><i>His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Alas, but I fear the heavy sound,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen;</span><br /> -Is it in the sky or in the ground?"<br /> -"Say, have they turned their horses round,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother?"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"They have raised the old man from his knee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And they ride in silence hastily."<br /> -"More fast the naked soul doth flee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Flank to flank are the three steeds gone,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -But the lady's dark steed goes alone."<br /> -"And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath flown,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -And weary sad they look by the hill."<br /> -"But he and I are sadder still,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>And the flames are winning up apace!"<br /> -"Yet here they burn but for a space,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -<br /> -"Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sister Helen?</span><br /> -Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?"<br /> -"A soul that's lost as mine is lost,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Little brother!"</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>O Mother, Mary Mother</i>,</span><br /> -<i>Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!</i>)<br /> -</p> - -<p>Notice how the action naturally dies off into despair. From the -beginning until very nearly the close, we had an uninterrupted -crescendo, as we should say in music—that is, a gradual -intensification of the passion expressed. With the stroke of the -death-bell the passion subsides. The revenge is satisfied, the -irreparable wrong is done to avenge a wrong, and with the entrance of -the ghost the whole consequence of the act begins to appear within the -soul of the actor. I know of nothing more terrible in literature than -this poem, as expressing certain phases of human feeling, and nothing -more intensely true. The probability or improbability of the incidents -is of no more consequence than is the unreality of the witch-belief. It -is enough that such beliefs once existed to make us know that the rest -is not only possible but certain. For a time we are really subjected to -the spell of a mediæval nightmare.</p> - -<p>As we have seen, the above poem is mainly a subjective study. As -an objective study, "The White Ship" shows us an equal degree of -power, appealing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> the visual faculty. We cannot read it all, nor -is this necessary. A few examples will be sufficient. This ballad is -in distichs, and has a striking refrain. The story is founded upon -historical fact. The son and heir of the English king Henry I, together -with his sister and many knights and ladies, was drowned on a voyage -from France to England, and it is said that the king was never again -seen to smile after he had heard the news. Rossetti imagines the story -told by a survivor—a butcher employed on the ship, the lowest menial -on board. Such a man would naturally feel very differently toward the -prince from others of the train, and would criticise him honestly from -the standpoint of simple morality.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Eighteen years till then he had seen,<br /> -And the devil's dues in him were eighteen.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The peasant thus estimates the ruler who breaks the common laws of God -and man. Nevertheless he is just in his own way, and can appreciate -unselfishness even in a man whom he hates.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -He was a Prince of lust and pride;<br /> -He showed no grace till the hour he died.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -God only knows where his soul did wake,<br /> -But I saw him die for his sister's sake.<br /> -</p> - -<p>It is a simple mind of this sort that can best tell a tragical story; -and the butcher's story is about the most perfect thing imaginable of -its kind. Here also we have one admirable bit of subjective work, the -narration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> of the butcher's experience in the moment of drowning. I -suppose you all know that when one is just about to die, or in danger -of sudden death, the memory becomes extraordinarily vivid, and things -long forgotten flash into the mind as if painted by lightning, together -with voices of the past.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I Berold was down in the sea;<br /> -Passing strange though the thing may be,<br /> -Of dreams then known I remember me.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Not dreams in the sense of visions of sleep, but images of memory.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand<br /> -When morning lights the sails to land:<br /> -<br /> -And blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam<br /> -When mothers call the children home:<br /> -<br /> -And high do the bells of Rouen beat<br /> -When the Body of Christ goes down the street.<br /> -<br /> -These things and the like were heard and shown<br /> -In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone;<br /> -<br /> -And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem,<br /> -And not these things, to be all a dream.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In the moment after the sinking of the ship, under the water, the man -remembers what he most loved at home—mornings in a fishing village, -seeing the ships return; evenings in a like village, and the sound of -his own mother's voice calling him home, as when he was a little child -at play; then the old Norman city that he knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> well, and the church -processions of Corpus Christi (Body of Christ), the great event of the -year for the poorer classes. Why he remembered such things at such a -time he cannot say; it seemed to him a very ghostly experience, but not -more ghostly than the sight of the sea and the moon when he rose again.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The ship was gone and the crowd was gone,<br /> -And the deep shuddered and the moon shone;<br /> -<br /> -And in a strait grasp my arms did span<br /> -The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran;<br /> -And on it with me was another man.<br /> -<br /> -Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky,<br /> -We told our names, that man and I.<br /> -<br /> -"O I am Godefroy de l'Aigle hight,<br /> -And son I am to a belted knight."<br /> -<br /> -"And I am Berold the butcher's son,<br /> -Who slays the beasts in Rouen town."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The touch here, fine as it is, is perfectly natural. The common butcher -finds himself not only for the moment in company with a nobleman, but -able to talk to him as a friend. There is no rank or wealth between sky -and sea—or, as a Japanese proverb says, "There is no king on the road -of death." The refrain of the ballad utters the same truth:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<i>Lands are swayed by a King on a throne</i>,<br /> -<i>The sea hath no King but God alone.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Both in its realism and in its emotion this ballad is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> a great -masterpiece. It is much superior to "The King's Tragedy," also founded -upon history. "The King's Tragedy" seems to us a little strained; -perhaps the poet attempted too much. I shall not quote from it, but -will only recommend a reading of it to students of English literature -because of its relation to a very beautiful story—the story of the -courtship of James I of Scotland, and of how he came to write his poem -called "The King's Quhair."</p> - -<p>Another ballad demands some attention and explanation, though it is -not suitable for reading in the classroom. It is an expression of -passion—but not passion merely human; rather superhuman and evil. For -she who speaks in this poem is not a woman like "Sister Helen"; she is -a demon.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Not a drop of her blood was human,<br /> -But she was made like a soft sweet woman.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Perhaps the poet desired to show us here the extremest imaginative -force of hate and cruelty—not in a mortal being, because that would -repel us, but in an immortal being, in whom such emotion can only -inspire fear. Emotionally, the poet's conception is of the Middle -Ages, but the tradition is incomparably older; we can trace it back -to ancient Assyrian beliefs. Coming to us through Hebrew literature, -this strange story has inspired numberless European poets and painters, -besides the author of "Eden Bower." You should know the story, -because you will find a great many references to it in the different -literatures of Europe.</p> - -<p>Briefly, Lilith is the name of an evil spirit believed by the ancient -Jews and by other Oriental nations to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> cause nightmare. But she did -other things much more evil, and there were curious legends about her. -The Jews said that before the first woman, Eve, was created, Adam had -a demon wife by whom he became the father of many evil spirits. When -Eve was created and given to him in marriage, Lilith was necessarily -jealous, and resolved to avenge herself upon the whole human race. It -is even to-day the custom among Jews to make a charm against Lilith on -their marriage night; for Lilith is especially the enemy of brides.</p> - -<p>But the particular story about Lilith that mostly figures in poetry and -painting is this: If any young man sees Lilith, he must at once fall in -love with her, because she is much more beautiful than any human being; -and if he falls in love with her, he dies. After his death, if his body -is opened by the doctors, it will be found that a long golden hair, one -strand of woman's hair, is fastened round his heart. The particular -evil in which Lilith delights is the destruction of youth.</p> - -<p>In Rossetti's poem Lilith is represented only as declaring to her demon -lover, the Serpent, how she will avenge herself upon Adam and upon Eve. -The ideas are in one way extremely interesting; they represent the -most tragical and terrible form of jealousy—that jealousy written of -in the Bible as being like the very fires of Hell. We might say that -in Victorian verse this is the unique poem of jealousy, in a female -personification. For the male personification we must go to Robert -Browning.</p> - -<p>But there is a masterly phase of jealousy described in one of -Rossetti's modern poems, "A Last Confession." Here, however, the -jealousy is of the kind with which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> we can humanly sympathise; there -is nothing monstrous or distorted about it. The man has reason to -suspect unchastity, and he kills the woman on the instant. I should, -therefore, consider this poem rather as a simple and natural tragedy -than as a study of jealousy. It is to be remarked here that Rossetti -did not confine himself to mediæval or supernatural subjects. Three -of his very best poems are purely modern, belonging to the nineteenth -century. This "Last Confession," appropriately placed in Italy, is not -the most remarkable of the three, but it is very fine. I do not know -anything in even French literature to be compared with the pathos of -the murder scene, unless it be the terrible closing chapter of Prosper -Mérimée's "Carmen." The story of "Carmen" is also a confession; but -there is a great difference in the history of the tragedies. Carmen's -lover does not kill in a moment of passion. He kills only after having -done everything that a man could do in order to avoid killing. He -argues, prays, goes on his knees in supplication—all in vain. And -then we know that he must kill, that any man in the same terrible -situation must kill. He stabs her; then the two continue to look at -each other—she keeping her large black eyes fixed on the face of her -murderer, till suddenly they close, and she falls. No simpler fact -could occur in the history of an assassination; yet how marvellous the -power of that simple fact as the artist tells it. We always see those -eyes. In the case of Rossetti's murderer, the incidents of the tragedy -differ somewhat, because he is blind with passion at the moment that he -strikes, and does not see. When his vision clears again, he sees the -girl fall, and</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -—her stiff bodice scooped the sand<br /> -Into her bosom.<br /> -</p> - -<p>As long as he lived, he always saw that—the low stiff front of the -girl's dress with the sand and blood. In its way this description is -quite as terrible as the last chapter of "Carmen"; and it would be -difficult to say which victim of passion most excites our sympathies. -The other two poems of modern life to which I have referred are "The -Card-Dealer" and "Jenny." "The Card-Dealer" represents a singular -faculty on the poet's part of seeing ordinary facts in their largest -relations. In many European gambling houses of celebrity, the cards -used are dealt—that is, given to the players—by a beautiful woman, -usually a woman not of the virtuous kind. The poet, entering such a -place, watches the game for a time in silence, and utters his artistic -admiration of the beauty of the card-dealer, merely as he would admire -a costly picture or a statue of gold. Then suddenly comes to him the -thought that this woman, and the silent players, and the game, are -but symbols of eternal fact. The game is no longer to his eyes a mere -game of cards; it is the terrible game of Life, the struggle for -wealth and vain pleasures. The woman is no longer a woman, but Fate; -she plays the game of Death against Life, and those who play with her -must lose. However, the allusions in this poem would require for easy -understanding considerable familiarity with the terms of card-play and -the names of the cards. If you know these, I think you will find this -poem a very solemn and beautiful composition.</p> - -<p>Much more modern is "Jenny," a poem which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> greatly startled the public -when it was first published. People were inclined for the moment -to be shocked; then they studied and admired; finally they praised -unlimitedly, and the poem deserved all praise. But the subject was -a very daring one to put before a public so prudish as the English. -For Jenny is a prostitute. Nevertheless the prudish public gladly -accepted this wonderful psychological study, which no other poet of the -nineteenth century, except perhaps Browning, could have attempted.</p> - -<p>The plan of the poem is as follows: A young man, perhaps the poet -himself, finds at some public place of pleasure a woman of the town, -who pleases him, and he accompanies her to her residence. Although -the young man is perhaps imprudent in seeking the company of such a -person, he is only doing what tens of thousands of young men are apt -to do without thinking. He represents, we might say, youth in general. -But there is a difference between him and the average youth in one -respect—he thinks. On reaching the girl's room, he is already in -a thoughtful mood; and when she falls asleep upon his knees, tired -with the dancing and banqueting of the evening, he does not think of -awakening her. He begins to meditate. He looks about the room and -notices the various objects in it, simple enough in themselves, but -strangely significant by their relation to such a time and place—a -vase of flowers, a little clock ticking, a bird in a cage. The flowers -make him think of the symbolism of flowers—lilies they are, but faded. -Lilies, the symbol of purity, in Jenny's room! But once she herself -was a lily—now also morally faded. Then the clock, ticking out its -minutes, hours—what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> strange hours it has ticked out! He looks at the -sleeping girl again, but with infinite pity. She dreams; what is she -dreaming of? To wake her would be cruel, for in the interval of sleep -she forgets all the sorrows of the world. He thinks:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -For sometimes, were the truth confess'd,<br /> -You're thankful for a little rest,—<br /> -Glad from the crush to rest within,<br /> -From the heart-sickness and the din<br /> -Where envy's voice at virtue's pitch<br /> -Mocks you because your gown is rich;<br /> -And from the pale girl's dumb rebuke,<br /> -Whose ill-clad grace and toil-worn look<br /> -Proclaims the strength that keeps her weak.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -Is rest not sometimes sweet to you?—<br /> -But most from the hatefulness of man,<br /> -Who spares not to end what he began,<br /> -Whose acts are ill and his speech ill,<br /> -Who, having used you at his will,<br /> -Thrusts you aside, as when I dine<br /> -I serve the dishes and the wine.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Then he begins to think of the terrible life of the prostitute, what -it means, the hideous and cruel part of it, and the end of it. Here -let me say that the condition of such a woman in England is infinitely -worse than it is in many other countries; in no place is she treated -with such merciless cruelty by society. He asks himself why this -should be so—how can men find pleasure in cruelty to so beautiful and -simple-hearted a creature? Then, suddenly looking at her asleep, he -is struck by a terrible resemblance which she bears to the sweetest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -woman that he knows, the girl perhaps that he would marry. Seen asleep, -the two girls look exactly the same. Each is young, graceful, and -beautiful; yet one is a girl adored by society for all that makes a -woman lovable, and the other is—what? These lines best explain the -thought:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Just as another woman sleeps!<br /> -Enough to throw one's thoughts in heaps<br /> -Of doubt and horror,—what to say<br /> -Or think,—this awful secret sway,<br /> -The potter's power over the clay!<br /> -Of the same lump (it has been said)<br /> -For honour and dishonour made,<br /> -Two sister vessels. Here is one.<br /> -<br /> -My cousin Nell is fond of fun,<br /> -And fond of dress, and change, and praise,<br /> -So mere a woman in her ways:<br /> -And if her sweet eyes rich in youth<br /> -Are like her lips that tell the truth,<br /> -My cousin Nell is fond of love.<br /> -And she's the girl I'm proudest of.<br /> -Who does not prize her, guard her well?<br /> -The love of change, in cousin Nell,<br /> -Shall find the best and hold it dear:<br /> -The unconquered mirth turn quieter<br /> -Not through her own, through others' woe:<br /> -The conscious pride of beauty glow<br /> -Beside another's pride in her.<br /> -. . . . . .<br /> -Of the same lump (as it is said),<br /> -For honour and dishonour made,<br /> -Two sister vessels. Here is one.<br /> -It makes a goblin of the sun!<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>For, judging by the two faces, the two characters were originally the -same. Yet how terrible the difference now. This woman likes what all -women like; his cousin, the girl he most loves in the world, has the -very same love of nice dresses, pleasures, praise. There is nothing -wrong in liking these things. But in the case of the prostitute all -pleasure must turn for her to ashes and bitterness. The pure girl will -have in this world all the pretty dresses and pleasures and love that -she can wish for; and will never have reason to feel unhappy except -when she hears of the unhappiness of somebody else. And it seems a -monstrous thing under heaven that such a different destiny should be -portioned out to beings at first so much alike as those two women. -Even to think of his cousin looking like her, gives him a shudder of -pain—not because he cruelly despises the sleeping girl, but because -he thinks of what might have happened to his own dearest, under other -chances of life.</p> - -<p>Yet again, who knows what may be in the future, any more than what has -been in the past? All this world is change. The fortunate of to-day may -be unfortunate in their descendants; the fortunate of long ago were -perhaps the ancestors of the miserable of to-day. And everything may in -the eternal order of change have to rise and sink alternately. Cousin -Nell is to-day a fortunate woman; he, the dreamer at the bed-side of -the nameless girl, is a fortunate man. But what might happen to their -children? He thinks again of the strange resemblance of the two women, -and murmurs:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -So pure,—so fall'n! How dare to think<br /> -Of the first common kindred link?<br /> -Yet, Jenny, till the world shall burn<br /> -It seems that all things take their turn;<br /> -And who shall say but this fair tree<br /> -May need, in changes that may be,<br /> -Your children's children's charity?<br /> -Scorned then, no doubt, as you are scorn'd!<br /> -Shall no man hold his pride forewarn'd<br /> -Till in the end, the Day of Days,<br /> -At Judgment, one of his own race,<br /> -As frail and lost as you, shall rise,—<br /> -His daughter, with his mother's eyes?<br /> -</p> - -<p>Then he begins to think more deeply on the great wrongs of this world, -the great misery caused by vice, the cruelty of lust in itself. The -ruined life of this girl represents but one fact of innumerable facts -of a like kind. Millions of beautiful and affectionate women have been, -and are being, and will be through all time to come, sacrificed in this -way to lust—selfish and foolish and cruel lust, that destroys mind and -body together. The mystery of the dark side of life comes to him in a -new way. He cannot explain it—who can explain the original meaning -of pain in this world? But he begins to get at least a new gleam of -truth—this great truth, that every one who seeks pleasure in the way -that he at first intended to seek it that night, adds a little to the -great sum of human misery. For vice exists only at the cost of misery. -The question is not, "Is it right for me or wrong for me to take what -is forbidden if I pay for it." The real question is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> "Is it right -for me or wrong for me to help in any way to support that condition -of society which sacrifices lives, body, and soul, to cruelty and -selfishness." We all of us in youth think chiefly about right and wrong -in their immediate relations to ourselves and our friends. Only later -in life, after we have seen a great deal of the red of human pain, do -we begin to think of the consequences of an act in relation to the -happiness or unhappiness of humanity.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the morning comes as he is thinking thus. At once he ceases to -be the philosopher, and becomes again the gentleman of the world. The -girl's head is still upon his knees; he looks at the sleeping face, and -wonders whether any painter could have painted a face more beautiful. -But the beauty does not appeal to his senses in any passional way; it -only fills him with unspeakable compassion. He does not awake her, but -lifts her into a more comfortable position for sleeping, and leaves -beside her pillow a present of gold coins, and then steals away without -bidding her good-bye. The night has not given him pleasure, but pain -only—yet a pain that has made his heart more kindly and his thoughts -more wise than they had been before.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Our last lecture dealt with the shorter narrative poems of Rossetti, -including the ballads. There remain to be considered two other -narrative poems of a much more extended kind. They are quite unique in -English literature; and both of them deal with mediæval subjects. One, -again, is chiefly objective in its treatment; and the other chiefly -subjective—that is to say, psychological.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> One is a fragment, but -the most wonderful fragment of its kind in existence; more wonderful, -I think, than even the fragments of Coleridge, both as to volume and -finish. The other is complete, a story of magic and passion entitled -"Rose Mary." We may first deal with "Rose Mary," giving the general -plan of the poem, rather than extracts of any length; for this -narration cannot very well be illustrated by examples. We shall make -some quotations only in illustration of the finish and the beauty of -the work.</p> - -<p>The subject of "Rose Mary" was peculiarly adapted to Rossetti's genius. -In the Middle Ages there was a great belief in the virtue of jewels and -crystals of a precious kind. Belief in the magical power of rubies, -diamonds, emeralds, and opals was not confined either to Europe or -to modern civilisation; it had existed from great antiquity in the -Orient, and had been accepted by the Greeks and Romans. This belief -was perhaps forgotten after the destruction of the Roman Empire, for -a time at least, in Europe; but the Crusades revived it. Talismanic -stones were brought back from Palestine by many pilgrim-knights; and -as some of these were marked with Arabic characters, then supposed -by the ignorant to be characters of magic, supernatural legends were -invented to account for the history of not a few. Also there was a -certain magical use to which precious stones were put during the Middle -Ages, and to which they are still sometimes put in Oriental countries. -This is called crystallomancy. Crystallomancy is the art of seeing the -future in crystals, or glass, or transparent substances of jewels. The -same art can be practised even with ink—a drop of ink, held in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -hand, offering to the eye the same reflecting surface that a black -jewel would do. In Egypt, Arabia, Persia, and India divination is -still practised with ink. This is the same thing as crystallomancy. -Usually in those countries a young boy or a young girl is used by the -diviner. He mesmerises the boy or the girl, and bids him or her look -into the crystal or the ink-drop, as the case may be, and say what he -or she sees there. In this way, the future is supposed to be told. -Modern investigation has taught us how the whole thing is done, though -science has not been able yet to explain all that goes on in the mind -of the "subject." But in the Middle Ages, when the whole process was -absolutely mysterious, it was thought to be the work of spirits inside -the stone, or crystal, or ink-drop. And this is the superstition to -which Rossetti refers in his poem "Rose Mary."</p> - -<p>Now there is one more fact which must be explained in connection with -crystallomancy. It has always been thought that the "subject"—that is, -the boy or girl who looks into the stone, crystal, or ink-drop—must -be absolutely innocent. The "subject" must be virtuous. In the -Catholic Middle Ages the same idea took form especially in relation -to the chastity of the "subject." Chastity was, in those centuries, -considered a magical virtue. A maiden, it was thought, could play -with lions or tigers, and not be hurt by them. A maiden—and the word -was then used for both sexes, as it is sometimes used by Tennyson in -his Idylls—could see ghosts or spirits, and could be made use of for -purposes of crystallomancy even by a very wicked person. But should the -subject have been secretly guilty of any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> fault, then the power to see -would be impaired. The tragedy of Rossetti's poem turns upon this fact.</p> - -<p>In the poem a precious stone, of the description called beryl, is the -instrument of divination. This beryl is round, like a terrestrial -globe, and is supposed to be of the shape of the world. It is half -transparent, but there are cloudings inside of it. Hidden among these -cloudings are a number of evil spirits, who were enclosed in the jewel -by magic. These spirits make the future appear visible to any virtuous -person who looks into the stone; but they have power to deceive and to -injure any one coming to consult them who is not perfectly chaste. The -stone came from the East, and it was obtained only at the sacrifice of -the soul of the person who obtained it. Having been brought to England, -it became the property of a knightly family. This family consists only -of a widow and her daughter Rose Mary. The daughter is in a state of -great anxiety. She was to be married to a certain knight, who has not -kept his affectionate promises. The daughter and the mother both fear -that the knight may have been killed by some of his enemies. So they -resolve to consult the beryl-stone. The mother does not know that -her daughter has been too intimate with the absent knight. Believing -that Rose Mary is all purity, the mother makes her the subject of an -experiment in crystallomancy; and she looks into the beryl.</p> - -<p>First she sees an old man with a broom, sweeping away dust and cobwebs; -that is always the first thing seen. Then the inside of the beryl -becomes perfectly clear, and the girl can see the open country, and -the road along which her lover is expected to travel. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> she sees -him too. But there are perhaps enemies waiting for him. The mother -tells her to look for those enemies. She looks; she sees the points of -lances, in a hiding place by a roadside, and there is the evidence of -what the lover has to fear in that direction. "Now look in the other -direction," says the mother. The girl does so, and sees the whole road -clearly, except in one place, in a valley. There she says that there is -a mist; and she cannot see under the mist. This surprises the mother, -and she takes away the beryl. The presence of the mist indicates that -Rose Mary has committed some sin.</p> - -<p>As a consequence the daughter confesses to the mother all that has -occurred. She is not severely blamed; she is only gently rebuked, -and forgiven with great love and tenderness. But it is probable that -the sin must be expiated. Both are afraid. Then the expiation comes. -The lover is killed by his enemies, and killed exactly on that part -of the road where the mist was in the image seen in the beryl-stone. -The mother goes to the dead knight's home, and examines the body. -Evidently the man had died fighting bravely. The woman at first is -all pity for him, as well as for her daughter. Suddenly she notices -something in the dead man's breast. She takes it out, and finds that -it is a package containing a love-letter, and a lock of hair. The hair -is bright gold—while the hair of Rose Mary is black. This makes the -mother suspicious, and she reads the letter. Then she no longer pities -but abhors the dead man; for the letter proves him to have had another -sweetheart, and that he had intended to betray Rose Mary.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> - -<p>When the daughter learns of her lover's death, she suffers terribly; -but she makes sincere repentance for her fault, and then in her -mother's absence she determines to destroy the beryl-stone, as a -devilish thing. This is another way of committing suicide, because -whoever breaks the stone is certain to be killed by the enraged spirits -cast out of it. By one blow of a sword the stone is broken, and Rose -Mary atones for all her faults by death. This is the whole of the story.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary charm of the story is in its vividness—a vividness -perhaps without equal even in the best work of Tennyson (certainly -much finer than similar work in Coleridge), and in the attractive -characterisation of mother and daughter. There is this great difference -between the mediæval poems of Coleridge or Scott, and those of -Rossetti, that when you are reading "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" or -the wonderful "Christabel," you feel that you are reading a fairy-tale, -but when you read Rossetti you are looking at life and feeling human -passion. It is a great puzzle to critics how any man could make the -Middle Ages live as Rossetti did. One reason, I think, is that Rossetti -was a great painter as well as a great poet, and he studied the life of -the past in documents and in museums until it became to him as real as -the present. But we must also suppose that he inherited a great deal -of his peculiar power. This power never wearies. Although the romance -of Rose Mary is not very short, you do not get tired of wondering at -its beauty until you reach the end. It is divided into three parts, -which is a good thing for the student, as he can see the structure -of the composition at once. It is written in stanzas of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> five lines, -thus arranged—<i>a</i>, <i>a</i>, <i>b</i>, <i>b</i>, <i>b.</i> You would think this measure -monotonous, but it is not. I give two examples. The first is the -description of the magic jewel.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The lady unbound her jewelled zone<br /> -And drew from her robe the Beryl-stone.<br /> -Shaped it was to a shadowy sphere,—<br /> -World of our world, the sun's compeer,<br /> -That bears and buries the toiling year.<br /> -<br /> -With shuddering light 'twas stirred and strewn<br /> -Like the cloud-nest of the wading moon:<br /> -Freaked it was as the bubble's ball,<br /> -Rainbow-hued through a misty pall,<br /> -Like the middle light of the waterfall.<br /> -<br /> -Shadows dwelt in its teeming girth<br /> -Of the known and unknown things of earth;<br /> -The cloud above and the wave around,—<br /> -The central fire at the sphere's heart bound,<br /> -Like doomsday prisoned underground.<br /> -</p> - -<p>I feel quite sure that even Tennyson could not have done this. Only a -great painter, as well as a great observer, could have done it; and -the choice of words is astonishing in its exquisiteness. Most of them -have more than one meaning, and both meanings are equally implied by -their use. Take, for example, the word "shadowy"; it means cloudy and -it also means ghostly. Thus it is peculiarly appropriate to picture the -magic stone as full of moving shadows, themselves of ghostly character. -Or take the word "shuddering"; it means trembling with cold or fear, -and it means also a quick trembling, never a slow motion. Just such a -word might be used<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> to describe the strange vibration of air-bubbles -enclosed in a volcanic crystal. But we have also the suggestion here of -a ghostly motion, a motion that gives a shiver of fear to the person -who sees it. Or take the word "freaked." "Freak" is commonly used to -signify a mischievous bit of play, a wild fancy. "Fancifully marked" -would be the exact meaning of "freaked" in the ordinary sense; but here -it is likewise appropriate as a description of the streams and streaks -of colour playing over the surface of a bubble without any apparent -law, as if they were made by some whimsical spirit. Now every verse -of the whole long poem is equally worthy of study for its astonishing -finish. I shall give a few more verses merely to show the application -of the same power to a description of pain. The girl has just been told -of her lover's murder; and the whole immediate consequence is told in -five lines.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Once she sprang as the heifer springs<br /> -With the wolf's teeth at its red heart-strings:<br /> -First 'twas fire in her breast and brain,<br /> -And then scarce hers but the whole world's pain,<br /> -As she gave one shriek and sank again.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The first two lines might give you an undignified image unless you -understood the position of the girl when she received the news. She -was kneeling at her mother's feet, with her mother's arms around her. -On being told the terrible thing, she tries to spring up, because of -the shock of the pain—just as a young heifer would leap when the -wolf had seized it from underneath. A wolf snaps at the belly of the -animal, close to the heart. Therefore the comparison is admirable. As -for the rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> of the verse, any physician can confirm its accuracy. -The up-rush of blood at the instant of a great shock of pain feels -like a great sudden heat, burning up toward the head. And in such a -time one realises that certain forms of pain, moral pain, are larger -than oneself—too great to be borne. Psychologically, great moral pain -depends upon nervous development; and this nervous susceptibility to -pain is greater than would seem fitted to the compass of one life. -Moral pain can kill. It is said that in such times we feel not only our -own pain, but the pain of all those among our ancestors who suffered -in like manner. Thus, by inheritance, individual pain is more than -individual. At all events the fourth line of the stanza I have quoted -will appear astonishingly true to anybody who knows the greater forms -of mental suffering.</p> - -<p>Leaving this poem, which could not be too highly praised, we may turn -to "The Bride's Prelude," the greatest of the longer compositions, -therefore the greatest thing that Rossetti did. Unfortunately, perhaps, -it is unfinished. It is only a fragment; death overtook the writer -before he was able to complete it. Like "Rose Mary," it leads us back -to the Middle Ages. But here there is no magic, nothing ghostly, -nothing impossible; there is only truth, atrocious, terrible truth—a -tale of cruelty, treachery, and pain related by the victim. The victim -is a bride. She is just going to be married. But before her marriage, -she has a story to tell her sister—a story so sad and so frightful -that it requires strong nerves to read the thing without pain.</p> - -<p>We may suppose that the incident occurred in old France, or—though -I doubt it—in Norman England.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> The scenery and the names remind us -rather of Southern France. All the facts belong to the life of the -feudal aristocracy. We are among princes and princesses; great lords of -territory and great lords of battle are introduced to us, with their -secret sorrows and shames. Great ladies, too, open their hearts to us, -and prove so intensely human that it is very hard to believe the whole -story is a dream. It rather seems as if we had known all these people, -and that our lives had at some time been mingled with theirs. The -eldest daughter of one great house, very beautiful, and very innocent, -is taken advantage of by a retainer in the castle. She is foolish and -unable to imagine that any gentleman could intend to do her a wrong. -The retainer, on the other hand, is a very cunning villain. His real -purpose is to bring shame upon the daughter of the house. Why? Because, -as he is only a poor knight, he could not hope to marry into a princely -family. But if he can seduce one of the girls, then perhaps the family -will be only too glad to have him marry his victim, because that will -hide their shame. Evidently he has plotted for this. But his plans, and -everybody's plans, are affected by unexpected results of civil war. -His masters, being defeated in a great battle, have to retreat to the -mountains for a time; and then he deserts them in the basest manner. -Meantime the unhappy girl is found to be with child. Death was the -rule in those days for such a case—burning alive. Her brothers wish -to kill her. But her father interferes and saves her. It is decided -only that the child shall be taken from her—to be killed, probably. -Everybody is forbidden to speak of the matter. Some retainers who did -speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> of it are hanged for an example. Presently, by another battle, -the family return into their old possessions, and enormously increase -their ancient power. When this happens the scoundrel that seduced -the daughter of the house and then deserted the family returns. Why -does he return? Now is the time to fulfil his purpose. He has become -a great soldier and a nobleman in his own right. Now he can ask for -that young lady in marriage, and they dare not refuse. If they refuse, -he can revenge himself by telling the story of her disgrace. If they -accept him as a son-in-law, they will also be obliged to make him very -powerful; and he will know how to take every advantage. The girl is not -consulted at all. Her business is to obey. She thinks that it would be -better to die than to marry the wicked man that had wronged her; but -she must obey and she is ordered to marry him. He cares nothing about -her; she is only the tool by which he wishes to win his way into power. -But, cunning as he is, the brothers of the girl are even more cunning. -They wish for the marriage only for the purpose of getting the man into -their hands, just for one moment. He shall marry her, but immediately -afterwards he shall disappear forever from the sight of men. The bride -does not know the purpose of her terrible brothers; she thinks they are -cruel to her when she tells her story, but they only wish to avenge -her, and they are much too prudent to tell her what they are going -to do. The poem does not go any further than the moment before the -marriage. The first part is quite finished; but the second part was -never written.</p> - -<p>The whole of this great composition is in verses of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> five lines, -curiously arranged. Rossetti adopts a different form of verse for -almost every one of his narrations. This is quite as unique a measure -in its way—that is, in nineteenth century poetry—as was the measure -of Tennyson's "In Memoriam" in elegiac poetry. Now we shall try to -illustrate the style of the poem.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Against the haloed lattice-panes<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bridesmaid sunned her breast;</span><br /> -Then to the glass turned tall and free,<br /> -And braced and shifted daintily<br /> -Her loin-belt through her côte-hardie.<br /> -<br /> -The belt was silver, and the clasp<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of lozenged arm-bearings;</span><br /> -A world of mirrored tints minute<br /> -The rippling sunshine wrought into 't,<br /> -That flushed her hand and warmed her foot.<br /> -<br /> -At least an hour had Aloyse,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her jewels in her hair,—</span><br /> -Her white gown, as became a bride,<br /> -Quartered in silver at each side,—<br /> -Sat thus aloof, as if to hide.<br /> -<br /> -Over her bosom, that lay still,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vest was rich in grain,</span><br /> -With close pearls wholly overset:<br /> -Around her throat the fastenings met<br /> -Of chevesayle and mantelet.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Absolutely real as this seems, we know that the details must have been -carefully studied in museums. Elsewhere, except perhaps in very old -pictures, these things no longer exist. There are no more loin-belts -of silver,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> no côte-hardies, no chevesayle or mantelet. I cannot -explain to you what they are without pictures—further than to say that -they were parts of the attire of a lady of rank about the thirteenth -and fourteenth centuries. Brides do not now have their white robes -"quartered in silver"—that is, figured with the family crest or arms. -Why silver instead of gold? Simply because of the rule that brides -should be all in white; therefore even the crest was worked in white -metal instead of gold. By the word vest, you must also understand an -ancient garment for women; the modern word signifies a garment worn -only by men. "Grain" is an old term for texture. The description of -the light playing on the belt-clasp of the bridesmaid, in the second -stanza, is a marvellous bit of work, the effect being given especially -by three words—"lozenged," "rippling," for the sunshine, and "minute," -for the separate flushes or sparklings thrown off from the surface. -But all is wonderful; this is painting with words exactly as a painter -paints with colours. Sounds are treated with the same wonderful -vividness:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Although the lattice had dropped loose,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was no wind; the heat</span><br /> -Being so at rest that Amelotte<br /> -Heard far beneath the plunge and float<br /> -Of a hound swimming in the moat.<br /> -<br /> -Some minutes since, two rooks had toiled<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Home to the nests that crowned</span><br /> -Ancestral ash-trees. Through the glare<br /> -Beating again, they seemed to tear<br /> -With that thick caw the woof o' the air.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> - -<p>One must have been in the tower of a castle to feel the full force of -the first stanza. The two girls are in a room perhaps one hundred and -fifty or two hundred feet above the water of the moat, so that except -in a time of extraordinary stillness they would not hear ordinary -sounds from so far below. And notice that the poet does not tell us -that this was because the air did not move; he says that the heat was -at rest. Very expressive—in great summer heat, without wind, the -air itself seems to our senses not air but fluid heat. And the same -impression of summer is given by the description of the two crows -flying to their nest and back again, and screaming as they fly. The -poet does not say that they flew; he says they toiled home—because -flying in that thick warm air is difficult for them. When they return -he uses another word, still more impressive; he says they beat again -through the glare. This makes you hear the heavy motion of the wings. -And he describes the crow as seeming to tear the air, because that air -is so heavy that it seems like a thing woven.</p> - -<p>Here is a strangely powerful stanza describing the difficulty of -speaking about a painful subject that for many years one has tried to -forget:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Her thought, long stagnant, stirred by speech,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gave her a sick recoil;</span><br /> -As, dip thy fingers through the green<br /> -That masks a pool,—where they have been<br /> -The naked depth is black between.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Any of you who as boys have played about a castle moat, and stirred the -green water weeds covering the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> still water, must have remarked that -the water looks black as ink underneath. Of course it is not black in -itself; but the weeds keep out the sun, so that it seems black because -of the shadow. The poet's comparison has a terrible exactness here. -The mind is compared to stagnant water covered with water-weeds. Weeds -grow upon water in this way only when there has been no wind for a long -time, and no current. The condition of a mind that does not think, that -dares not think, is like stagnant water in this way. Memory becomes -covered up with other things, matters not relating to the past.</p> - -<p>Now we can take four stanzas from the scene of the secret family -meeting, after the shame has been confessed and is known. They are very -powerful.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Time crept. Upon a day at length<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My kinsfolk sat with me:</span><br /> -That which they asked was bare and plain:<br /> -I answered: the whole bitter strain<br /> -Was again said, and heard again.<br /> -<br /> -"Fierce Raoul snatched his sword, and turned<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The point against my breast.</span><br /> -I bared it, smiling: 'To the heart<br /> -Strike home,' I said; 'another dart<br /> -Wreaks hourly there a deadlier smart.'<br /> -<br /> -"'Twas then my sire struck down the sword,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And said, with shaken lips:</span><br /> -'She from whom all of you receive<br /> -Your life, so smiled; and I forgive.'<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>Thus for my mother's sake, I live.<br /> -<br /> -"But I, a mother even as she,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turned shuddering to the wall:</span><br /> -For I said: 'Great God! and what would I do,<br /> -When to the sword, with the thing I knew,<br /> -I offered not one life but two!'"<br /> -</p> - -<p>This is now the most terrible part of the story; and it has a humanity -about it that almost makes us doubt. Fancy the situation. The daughter -of a prince unchaste with a common retainer. Now in princely families -chastity was of as much importance as physical strength and will; -it meant everything—honour, purity of race, the possibility of -alliance. And a great house is thus disgraced. We can sympathise -with the horrible mental suffering of the girl, but it is impossible -not to sympathise also even with the terrible brother that wishes to -kill her. He is right, she deserves death; but he is young, and cruel -because young. The father sorrows, and seeing the girl smiling, thinks -of the dead mother, and forgives. This is the only point at which we -feel inclined to lay down the book and ask questions. Would a father -in such a position have done this in those cruel ages? Would he have -allowed himself to pity?—or rather, could he have allowed himself to -pity? Tender-hearted men did not rule in those days. We have records of -husbands burning their wives, of fathers killing their sons. All we can -say is that an exception might have existed, just as Rossetti imagines. -Human nature was of course not different then from what it is now, -but it is quite certain that the gentle side of human nature seldom -displayed itself in the families of the feudal princes; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> man who -was gentle could not rule. In Italy sons who did not show the ruling -character were apt to be killed or poisoned. One must understand that -feudal life was not much more moral than other life.</p> - -<p>I think we can here turn to another department of Rossetti's verse. -I only hope that the examples given from the "Bride's Prelude" will -interest you sufficiently to make you at a later day turn to this -wonderful poem for a careful study of its beauty and power.</p> - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - -<p>When we come to the study of the lives of the Victorian poets, we shall -find that Rossetti's whole existence was governed by his passion for -one woman, whom he loved in a strange mystical way, with a love that -was half art (art in the good sense) and half idolatry. To him she -was much more than a woman; she was a divinity, an angel, a model for -all things beautiful. You know that he was a great painter, and in a -multitude of beautiful pictures he painted the face of this woman. He -composed his poems also in order to please her. He lost her within a -little more than a year after winning her, and this nearly killed him. -I may say that throughout all his poems, speaking in a general way, -there are references to this great love of his life; but there is one -portion of his work that we must consider as especially illustrating -it, and that is the "House of Life," a collection of more than one -hundred sonnets upon the subject of love and its kindred emotions. But -the love of which Rossetti sings is not the love of a young man for a -girl—not the love of youth and maid. It is married love carried to the -utmost degree of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> worship. You will think this a strange subject; and -I confess that it is. Very few men could be praised for touching such -a subject. Coventry Patmore, you know, was an exception. He made the -subject of his own courtship, wedding, and married life the subject of -his poetry, and he did it so nicely and so tenderly that his book had a -great success. But Rossetti did his work in an entirely different way, -which I must try to explain.</p> - -<p>Unlike Patmore, Rossetti did not openly declare that he took any -personal experience for the subject of his study; we only perceive, -through knowledge of his life, and through suggestions obtained from -other parts of his work, that personal love and personal loss were his -great inspiration. As a matter of fact, any man who sings about love -must draw upon his own personal experience of the passion. Every lover -thinks of love in his own way. But the value of a love poem is not -the personal part of it; the value of a love poem is according to the -degree in which it represents universal experience, or experience of a -very large kind. It must represent to some degree a general philosophy -of life. Even the commonest little love-song, such as a peasant might -sing in the streets of Tokyo, as he comes in from the country walking -beside his horse, will represent something of the philosophy of life -if it is a good and true composition, no matter how vulgar may be the -idiom of it. When we come to think about it, we shall find that all -great poetry is in this sense also philosophical poetry.</p> - -<p>Rossetti, as I have already shown you, was a true philosopher in -certain directions; and he applied his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> philosophical powers, as -well as his artistic powers, to his own experiences, so as to adapt -them to the uses of great poetry. He is never narrowly personal. And -his sonnets are really very wonderful compositions—not reflecting -universal experience so as to be universally understood, but reflecting -universal experience so as to be understood by cultivated minds only. -These productions are altogether above the range of the common mind; -they are extremely subtle and elaborate, both as to thought and as to -form. But their subject is not at all special. Rossetti had the idea -that every phase of happiness and sorrow belonging to married life, -from the hour of the wedding night to the hour of death, was worthy -of poetical treatment, because married life is related to the deepest -human emotions. And in the space of one hundred sonnets he treats every -phase. This series of sonnets is divided into two groups. The first -contains poems relating to the early conditions of love in marriage; -the second group treats especially of the more sorrowful aspects of a -married life—the trials of death, the pains of memory, and the hopes -and fears of reuniting after death. The second part does not, however, -contain all the sad pieces; there are very sad ones in the first group -of fifty-nine. We have already studied one of the first group, the -piece called "The Birth-Bond." There is another piece in this group, -the first of four sonnets, which is exquisite as a bit of fancy. It is -entitled "Willow-wood."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I sat with Love upon a woodside well,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Leaning across the water, I and he;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>But touched his lute wherein was audible<br /> -<br /> -The certain secret thing he had to tell:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Only our mirrored eyes met silently</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In the low wave; and that sound came to be</span><br /> -The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell.<br /> -<br /> -And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers;<br /> -And with his foot and with his wing-feathers<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">He swept the spring that watered my heart's drouth.</span><br /> -Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair,<br /> -And as I stooped, her own lips rising there<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>This is a dream of the dead woman loved. The lover finds himself seated -with the god of love, the little naked boy with wings, as the ancients -represented him, at the edge of a spring near the forest. He does -not look at the god of love, neither does the god look at him; they -were friends long ago, but now—what is the use? She is dead. By the -reflection in the water only he knows that Love is looking down, and -he does not wish to speak to him. But Love will not leave him alone. -He hears the tone of a musical instrument, and that music makes him -suddenly very sad, for it seems like the voice of the dead for whom -he mourns. It makes his tears fall into the water; and immediately, -magically, the reflection of the eyes of Love in the water become like -the eyes of the woman he loved. Then while he looks in wonder, the -little god stirs the surface of the water with wings and feet, and the -ripples become like the hair of the dead woman, and as the lover bends -down, her lips rise up through the water to kiss him. You may ask, what -does all this mean? Well, it means as much as any dream means; it is -all impossible, no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> doubt, but the impossible in dreams often makes us -very sad indeed—especially if the dead appear to come back in them.</p> - -<p>Another example of regret, very beautiful, is the sonnet numbered -ninety-one in this collection. It is called "Lost on Both Sides."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -As when two men have loved a woman well,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each hating each, through Love's and Death's deceit;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since not for either this stark marriage-sheet</span><br /> -And the long pauses of this wedding-bell;<br /> -Yet o'er her grave the night and day dispel<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last their feud forlorn, with cold and heat;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor other than dear friends to death may fleet</span><br /> -The two lives left that most of her can tell:—<br /> -<br /> -So separate hopes, which in a soul had wooed<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The one same Peace, strove with each other long,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Peace before their faces perished since:</span><br /> -So through that soul, in restless brotherhood,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They roam together now, and wind among</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its bye-streets, knocking at the dusty inns.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The comparison is of the hopes and aims of the artist to a couple -of men in love with the same woman—bitter enemies while she lives, -because of their natural rivalry, but loving each other after her -death, simply because each can understand better than anybody else -in the world the pain of the other. Afterward the men, once rivals, -passed all their time together, wandering about at night in search of -some quiet place, where they can sit down and drink and talk together. -In Rossetti's time such quiet places were not to be found in the main -streets, but in the little side streets called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> bye-streets. After -this explanation, the comparison should not be obscure. The artist who -loves does all his work with the thought of the woman that he loves -before him; his hope to win fame is that he may make her proud of him; -his aims are in all cases to please her. After he has lost her, these -hopes and aims, which might have been antagonists to each other in -former days, are now reconciled within him; her memory alone is now -the inspiration and the theme. I hope you will notice the curious and -exquisite value of certain words here: "Stark," meaning stiff, nearly -always refers to the rigidness of death; it is especially used of the -appearance and attitude of corpses, and its application in this poem -to the cover of the marriage bed is quite enough to convey the sense -of death without any more definite observation. Again the expression -"long pauses," referring to the sound of the church bells, makes us -understand that the bells are really ringing a funeral knell; for the -ringing of wedding bells ought to be quick and joyous. It might seem -a strange contradiction, this simile, but the poet has in his mind an -old expression about the death of a maiden: "She became the bride of -Death." Thus the effect is greatly intensified by the sombre irony of -the simile itself.</p> - -<p>We might extract a great many beauties from this wonderful collection -of sonnets; but time is precious, and we shall have room for only -another quotation or two. The following is one to which I should like -especially to invite your attention—not only because of its strange -charm, but also because of the curious legend which it recalls—a -legend which we have already studied:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">BODY'S BEAUTY</span><br /> -<br /> -Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,</span><br /> -And her enchanted hair was the first gold.<br /> -And still she sits, young while the earth is old,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And subtly of herself contemplative,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,</span><br /> -Till heart and body and life are in its hold.<br /> -<br /> -The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent</span><br /> -And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent,</span><br /> -And round his heart one strangling golden hair.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The reference to the rose and the poppy may need some explanation. The -rose has been for many centuries in Western countries a symbol of love; -and the poppy has been a symbol of death and sleep from the time of the -Greeks. It is from the seeds of the poppy that opium is extracted. The -Greeks did not know the use of opium; but they knew that the seeds of -the flower produced sleep, and might, in certain quantities, produce -death. We have the expression "poppied sleep" to express the sleep of -death.</p> - -<p>A final word must be said about Rossetti's genius as a translator. He -has given us, in one large volume, the most precious anthology of the -Italian poets of the Middle Ages that ever has been made—the poets of -the time of Dante, under the title of "Dante and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> Circle." This -magnificent work would alone be sufficient to establish his supreme -excellence as a translator of poetry; but the material is mostly of -a sort that can appeal to scholars only. Rossetti is better known as -a translator through a very few short pieces translated from French -poets, chiefly. Such is the wonderful rendering of Villon's "Ballad of -Dead Ladies," beginning</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Tell me now in what hidden way is<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady Flora, the lovely Roman?</span><br /> -Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Neither of them the fairer woman?</span><br /> -Where is Echo, beheld of no man,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only heard on river and mere,—</span><br /> -She whose beauty was more than human?—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But where are the snows of yester-year?</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Even Swinburne, when making his splendid translations from Villon, -refrained from attempting to translate this ballad, saying that no man -could surpass, even if he could equal, Rossetti's version. The burthen -is said to be especially successful as a rendering of the difficult -French refrain:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>Mais où sont les neiges d'antan?</i></p></blockquote> - -<p>You will find this matchless translation almost anywhere, so we need -not occupy the time further with it; but I doubt whether you have -noticed as yet other wonderful translations made by this master from -the French. Such is the song from Victor Hugo's drama "Les Burgraves"; -you will not forget Rossetti's translation after having once read it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Through the long winter the rough wind tears;<br /> -With their white garments the hills look wan.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love on: who cares?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who cares? Love on!</span><br /> -My mother is dead; God's patience wears;<br /> -It seems my chaplain will not have done!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love on: who cares?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who cares? Love on!</span><br /> -The Devil, hobbling up the stairs,<br /> -Comes for me with his ugly throng.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Love on: who cares?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who cares? Love on.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Another remarkable translation from the same drama is that of the song -beginning:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In the time of the civil broils</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Our swords are stubborn things.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A fig for all the cities!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A fig for all the kings!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>and ending:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Right well we hold our own</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With the brand and the iron rod.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A fig for Satan, Burgraves;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Burgraves, a fig for God!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>But even more wonderful Rossetti seems when we go back to the old -French, as in the translation which has been called "My Father's Close."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Inside my father's close</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">(<i>Fly away O my heart away!</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sweet apple-blossom blows</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>So sweet.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Three kings' daughters fair,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">(<i>Fly away O my heart away!</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They lie below it there</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>So sweet!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Now the Old French of the first stanza will show you the astonishing -faithfulness of the rendering:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Au jardin de mon père,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">(<i>Vole, mon cœur, vole!</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Il y a un pommier doux,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>Tout doux.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Besides the small exquisite things, there are long translations from -mediæval writers, French and Italian, of wonderful beauty. Compare, -for example, the celebrated episode of Francesca da Rimini in Dante -(which Carlyle so beautifully called "a lily in the mouth of Hell"), -as translated by Byron, and as translated by Rossetti, and observe the -immeasurable superiority of the latter. It would be very pleasant, -if we had time, to examine Rossetti's translations more in detail; -but the year advances and we must turn to an even greater master of -verse—Swinburne.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h5> - - -<h4>NOTE UPON ROSSETTI'S PROSE</h4> - - -<p>As we are now studying Rossetti's poetry in other hours, you may be -interested in some discussion of the merits of his prose—for this is -still, so far as the great public are concerned, almost an unknown -topic. The best of the painters of his own school, and the most -delicate poet of the Victorian period, Rossetti might also have become -one of the greatest prose writers of the century if he had seriously -turned to prose. But ill-health and other circumstances prevented him -from doing much in this direction. What he did do, however, is so -remarkable that it deserves to be very carefully studied. I do not -refer to his critical essays. These are not very remarkable. I refer -only to his stories; and his stories are great because they happen to -have exactly the same kind of merit that distinguishes his poetry. They -might be compared with the stories of Poe; and yet they are entirely -different, with the difference distinguishing all Latin prose fiction -from English fiction. But there is certainly no other story writer, -except Poe, with whose work that of Rossetti can be at all classed. -They are ghostly stories—one of them a fragment, the other complete. -Only two—and the outline of the third. The fragment is not less worthy -of attention because it happens to be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> fragment—like the poet's own -"Bride's Prelude," or Coleridge's "Christabel," or Poe's "Silence." The -trouble with all great fragments, and the proof of their greatness, is -that we cannot imagine what the real ending would have been; and this -puzzle only lends additional charm to the imaginative effect. Of the -two consecutive stories, it is the fragment which has the greater merit.</p> - -<p>The first story, called "Hand and Soul," has another interest besides -the interest of narrative. It contains the whole æsthetic creed of -Rossetti's school of painting,—a little philosophy of art that is well -worth studying. That is especially why I want to talk about it. The -so-called Pre-Raphaelite school of English painting, whereof Rossetti -was the recognized chief, were not altogether disciples of Ruskin. They -did not believe that art must have a religious impulse in order to be -great art; and they did not exactly support the antagonistic doctrine -of "Art for Art's Sake." They considered that absolute sincerity in -one's own conception of the beautiful, and wide toleration of all -æsthetic ideas, were axiomatic truths which it was necessary to accept -without reserve. They had no detestation for any school of art; they -practically banished prejudice from their little circle. I may add that -they were not indifferent to Japanese art, even at a time when it found -many enemies in London, and when the great Ruskin himself endeavoured -to help the prejudice against it. In that very time Rossetti was making -Japanese collections, and Burne-Jones and others were discovering new -methods by the help of this Eastern art.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now the story of "Hand and Soul" is, in a small way, a history of man's -experience with Painting. It is supposed to be the story of a real -picture. The picture is only the figure of a woman in a grey and green -dress, very beautiful. But whoever looks at that picture for a minute -or two, suddenly becomes afraid—afraid in exactly the same way that -he would be on seeing a ghost. The picture could not have been painted -from imagination; that figure must have been seen by somebody; and yet -it could not have been a living woman! Then what could have been the -real story of that picture? Did the artist see a ghost; or did he see -something supernatural?</p> - -<p>The answer to these questions is the following story. The artist who -painted that picture, four hundred years ago, was a young Italian of -immense genius, so passionately devoted to his art that he lived for -nothing else. At first he wished only to be the greatest painter of -his time; and that he became without much difficulty. He painted only -what he thought beautiful; and he painted beautiful faces that he saw -passing by in the street, and beautiful sunsets that he saw from his -window, and beautiful fancies that came into his mind. Everybody loved -his pictures; and princes made him great gifts of money.</p> - -<p>Then a sudden remorse came to this painter, who was at heart a -religious man. He said to himself: "Here, God has given me the power to -paint beautiful things; and I have been painting only those beautiful -things which please the senses of men. Therefore I have been doing -wrong. Henceforward I will paint only things which represent eternal -truth, the things of Heaven."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>After that he began to paint only religious and mystical pictures, and -pictures which common people could not understand at all. The people no -longer came to admire his work; the princes no longer paid him honour -or brought him gifts; and he became as one forgotten in the world.</p> - -<p>Moreover, he found himself losing his power as an artist. And then, to -crown all his misfortunes, some of his most famous pictures were ruined -one day by the extraordinary incident of a church fight; for two great -Italian clans between whom a feud existed, happened to meet in the -church porch, and a blow was struck and swords were drawn—and there -was such killing that the blood of the fighters was splashed upon the -paintings on the wall.</p> - -<p>When all these things had happened, the artist despaired. He became -weary of life, and thought of destroying himself. And while he was -thus thinking, there suddenly entered his room, without any sound, the -figure of a woman robed in green and grey; and she stood before him and -looked into his eyes. And as she looked into his eyes, an awe came upon -him such as he had never before known; and a great feeling of sadness -also came with the awe. But he could not speak, any more than a person -in a dream, who wants to cry out, and cannot make a sound. But the -woman spoke and said to him, "I am your own soul—that soul to whom you -have done so much wrong. And I have been allowed to come to you in this -form, only because you have never been of those men who make art merely -to win money. To win fame, however, you did not scruple; and that was -not altogether good, although it was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> altogether bad. What was much -worse was the pride which turned you away from me—religious pride. -You wanted to do what God did not ask you to do—to work against your -own soul, and to cast away your love of beauty. Into me God placed the -desire of loveliness and the bliss of the charm of the world. Wherefore -then should you strive against His work? And what pride impelled you to -imagine that heaven needed the help of your art to teach men what is -good? When did God say to you, Friend, let me lean upon you, or I shall -fall down? No; it is by teaching men to seek and to love the beautiful -things in this beautiful world that you make their hearts better within -them—never by preaching to them with allegories that they cannot -understand; and because you have done this, you have been punished. Be -true to me, your own very soul; then you will do marvellous things. Now -paint a picture of me, just as I am, so that you may know that your -power of art is given back to you."</p> - -<p>So the artist painted a picture of his own soul in the likeness of a -woman clad in green and grey; and all who see that picture even to-day -feel at once a great fear and a great charm, and find it hard to -understand how mortal man could have painted it.</p> - -<p>That is the story of "Hand and Soul"; and it teaches a great deal of -everlasting truth. Assuredly the road to all artistic greatness is -the road of sincerity—truth to one's own emotional sense of what is -beautiful. And just to that degree in which the artist or poet allows -himself to be made insincere, either by desire of wealth and fame, or -by religious scruples, just to that extent he must fail. I have only -given a very slight outline<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> of the tale; to give more might be to -spoil your pleasure of reading it.</p> - -<p>The second story will not seem to you quite so original as the first, -though, to English minds, it probably seems stranger. It is a story -of pre-existence. Now, a very curious fact is that this idea of -pre-existence, expressed by Rossetti in many passages of his verse, as -well as in his prose story, did not come to him from Eastern sources -at all. He never cared for, and perhaps never read, any Oriental -literature. His idea regarding re-birth and the memory of past lives -belongs rather to certain strangely imaginative works of mediæval -literature, than to anything else. Even to himself they appeared -novel—something dangerous to talk about. Unless you understand this, -you will not be able to account for the curious thrill of terror that -runs through "St. Agnes of Intercession." The writer writes as if he -were afraid of his own thought.</p> - -<p>The story begins with a little bit of autobiography, Rossetti telling -about his thoughts as a child, when he played at his father's knee on -winter evenings. Of course these memories did not appear as his own; -but as those of the painter supposed to tell the story. As a child this -painter was very fond of picture books. In the house there was one -picture book containing a picture of a saint—St. Agnes—which pleased -him in such a way that he could spend hours in contemplating it with -delight. But he did not know why. He grew up, was educated, became a -man and became a painter; and still he could not forget the charm of -the picture that had pleased him when a child. One day a young English -girl, a friend of his sister's, comes to the house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> on a visit. He -is greatly startled on seeing her, because her face is exactly like -the face of the saint in the picture book. He falls in love with her, -and they are engaged to be married. But before that time he paints -her portrait, and as her portrait happens to be the best work of the -kind that he ever did, he sends it to the Royal Academy to be put on -exhibition. Critics greatly praise the picture, but one of them remarks -that at Bologna in Italy there is a painting of St. Agnes that very -much resembles it. Upon this he goes to Italy to find the picture, and -does find it after a great deal of trouble. It is said to be the work -of a certain Angiolieri, who lived some four hundred years ago. Every -detail of the face proves to be exactly like that of the living face -which he painted in London. Being greatly startled by this discovery, -he examines the catalogue of paintings, which he bought at the door, -in order to find out whether there is anything else said in it about -the model from whom Angiolieri painted that St. Agnes. He cannot find -any information about the model; but he finds out that in another part -of the building there is a portrait of Angiolieri, painted by himself. -I think you know that many famous artists have painted portraits of -themselves. Greatly interested, he hurries to where the picture is -hanging, and finds, to his amazement, that the portrait of Angiolieri -is exactly like himself—the very image of him. Was it then possible -that, four hundred years before, he himself might have been Angiolieri, -and had painted that picture of St. Agnes?</p> - -<p>A fever seizes upon him, one of those fevers only too common in Italy. -While he is still under its influence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> he dreams a dream. He is in a -picture gallery; and on the wall he sees Angiolieri's painting hanging -up; and there is a great crowd looking at it. In that crowd he sees his -betrothed, leaning upon the arm of another man. Then he feels angrily -jealous, and says to the strange man, tapping him on the shoulder, -"Sir, I am engaged to that lady!" Then the man turns round; and as he -turns round, his face proves to be the face of Angiolieri, and his -dress is the costume of four hundred years ago, and he says, "She is -not mine, good friend—but neither is she thine." As he speaks his face -falls in, like the face of a dead man, and becomes the face of a skull. -From this dream we can guess the conclusion which the author intended.</p> - -<p>On returning to England, when the painter attempted to speak of what -he had seen and learned, his family believed him insane, and forbade -him to speak on the subject any more. Also he was warned that should -he speak of it to his betrothed, the marriage would be broken off. -Accordingly, though he obeys, he is placed in a very unhappy position. -All about him there is the oppression of a mystery involving two lives; -and he cannot even try to solve it—cannot speak about it to the person -whom it most directly concerns.... And here the fragment breaks.</p> - -<p>If this admirable story had been finished, the result could not have -been more impressive than is this sudden interruption. We know that -Rossetti intended to make the betrothed girl also the victim of a -mysterious destiny; but he did not intend, it appears, to elucidate -the reason of the thing in detail. That would have indeed destroyed -the shadowy charm of the recital.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> While the causes of things remain -vague and mysterious, the pleasurable fear of the unknown remains -with the reader. But if you try to account for everything, at once -the illusion vanishes, and the art becomes dead. It seems to me that -Rossetti has given in this unfinished tale a very fine suggestion of -what use the old romances still are. It was by careful study of them, -combined with his great knowledge of art, that he was able to produce, -both in his poetry and in his prose, the exquisite charm of reality -in unreality. Reading either, you have the sensation of actually -seeing, touching, feeling, and yet you know that the whole thing is -practically impossible. No art of romance can rise higher than this. -And speaking of that soul-woman, whose portrait was painted in the -former story, reminds me of an incident in Taine's wonderful book "De -l'Intelligence," which is <i>à propos.</i> It is actually on record that a -French artist had the following curious hallucination:</p> - -<p>He was ill, from overwork perhaps, and opening his eyes after a -feverish sleep, he saw a beautiful lady seated at his bedside, with one -hand upon the bed cover, and he said to himself, "This is certainly an -illusion caused by my nervous condition. But how beautiful an illusion -it is! And how wonderfully luminous and delicate is that hand! If -I dared only put my hand where it is, I wonder what would happen. -Probably the whole thing would vanish at once, and I should lose the -pleasure of looking at it."</p> - -<p>Suddenly, as if answering his thought, a voice as clear as the voice -of a bird said to him, "I am not a shadow; and you can take my hand -and kiss it if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> like." He did lift the lady's hand to his lips -and felt it, and then he entered into conversation with her. The -conversation continued until interrupted by the entrance of the doctor -attending the patient. This is the record of an extraordinary case of -double consciousness—the illusion and the reason working together in -such harmony that neither in the slightest degree disturbed the other. -Rossetti's figures, whether of the Middle Ages or of modern times, seem -also like the results of a double consciousness. We can touch them and -feel them, although they are ghosts.</p> - -<p>As I said before, he might have been one of the greatest of romantic -story tellers had he turned his attention in that direction and kept -his health. No better proof of this could be asked for than the -printed plans of several stories which he never had time to develop. -He collected the material from the study of Old French and Old Italian -poets chiefly; but that material, when thrown into the crucible of his -imagination, assumed totally novel and strange forms. I may tell you -the outline of one story by way of conclusion. It was a beautiful idea; -and it is a great regret that it could not have been executed in the -author's lifetime:</p> - -<p>One day a king and his favourite knight, while hunting in a forest, -visited the house of a woodcutter, or something of that kind, to ask -for water—both being very thirsty. The water was served to them by -a young girl of such extraordinary beauty that both the king and the -knight were greatly startled. The knight falls in love with the maid, -and afterwards asks the king's leave to woo her. But when he comes to -woo, he finds out that the maid has become enamoured of the king,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> whom -she does not know to be the king. She says that, unless she can marry -him she will never become a wife. The king therefore himself goes to -her to plead for his friend. "I cannot marry you," he says, "because -I am married already. But my friend, who loves you very much, is not -married; and if you will wed him I shall make him a baron and confer -upon him the gift of many castles."</p> - -<p>The young girl to please the king accepts the knight; a grand wedding -takes place at the king's castle; and the knight is made a great -noble, and is gifted with many rich estates. Then the king makes this -arrangement with the bride: "I will never visit you or allow you to -visit me, because we love each other too much. But, once every year, -when I go to hunt in the forest with your husband, you shall bring me a -cup of water, just as on the first day, when we saw you."</p> - -<p>After this the king saw her three times;—that is to say, in three -successive years she greeted him with the cup of water when he went -hunting. In the fourth year she died, leaving behind her a little -daughter.</p> - -<p>The sorrowing husband carefully brought up the little girl—or, at -least caused her to be carefully brought up; but he never presented her -to the king, or spoke of her, because the death of the mother was a -subject too painful for either of them to talk about.</p> - -<p>But when the girl was sixteen years old, she looked so exactly like -her mother, that the father was startled by the resemblance. And he -thought, "To-morrow I shall present her to the king." And to his -daughter he said, "To-morrow I am going to hunt with the king. When -we are on our way home, we shall stop at a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> cottage in the -wood—the little cottage in which your mother used to live. Do you then -wait in the cottage, and when the king comes, bring him a cup of water, -just as your mother did."</p> - -<p>So next day the king and his baron approached the cottage after their -hunt; and the king was greatly astonished and moved by the apparition -of a young girl offering him a cup of water—so strangely did she -resemble the girl whom he had seen in the same place nearly twenty -years before. And as he took the cup from her hand, his heart went out -toward her, and he asked his companion, "Is this indeed the ghost of -her?—or another dear vision?" But before the companion could make any -answer—lo! another shadow stood between the king and the girl; and -none could have said which was which, so exactly each beautiful face -resembled the other—only the second apparition wore peasant clothes. -And she that wore the clothes of a peasant girl kissed the king as -he sat upon his horse, and disappeared. And the king immediately, on -receiving that kiss and returning it, fell forward and died.</p> - -<p>This is a vague, charming romance indeed, for some one to take up and -develop. Of course the figure in the peasant clothes is the spirit -of the mother of the girl. There are many pretty stories somewhat -resembling this in the old Japanese story books, but none quite the -same; and I venture to recommend anybody who understands the literary -value of such things to attempt a modified version of Rossetti's -outline in Japanese. Some things would, of course, have to be changed; -but no small changes would in the least affect the charm of the story -as a whole.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> - -<p>In conclusion, I may observe that the object of this little lecture has -not been merely to interest you in the prose of Rossetti, but also to -quicken your interest in the subject of romance in general. Remember -that no matter how learned or how scientific the world may become, -romance can never die. No greater mistake could be made by the Japanese -student than that of despising the romantic element in the literature -of his own country. Recently I have been thinking very often that a -great deal might be done toward the development of later literature -by remodelling and reanimating the romance of the older centuries. I -believe that many young writers think chiefly about the possibility of -writing something entirely new. This is a great literary misfortune; -for the writing of something entirely new is scarcely possible for any -human being. The greatest Western writers have not become great by -trying to write what is new, but by writing over again in a much better -way, that which is old. Rossetti and Tennyson and scores of others made -the world richer simply by going back to the literature of a thousand -years ago, and giving it re-birth. Like everything else, even a good -story must die and be re-born hundreds of times before it shows the -highest possibilities of beauty. All literary history is a story of -re-birth—periods of death and restful forgetfulness alternating with -periods of resurrection and activity. In the domain of pure literature -nobody need ever be troubled for want of a subject. He has only to look -for something which has been dead for a very long time, and to give -that body a new soul. In romance it would be absurd to think about -despising a subject, because it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> unscientific. Science has nothing -to do with pure romance or poetry, though it may enrich both. These are -emotional flowers; and what we can do for them is only to transplant -and cultivate them, much as roses or chrysanthemums are cultivated. -The original wild flower is very simple; but the clever gardener can -develop the simple blossom into a marvellous compound apparition, -displaying ten petals where the original could show but one. Now the -same horticultural process can be carried out with any good story -or poem or drama in Japan, just as readily as in any other country. -The romantic has nothing to gain from the new learning except in the -direction of pure art; the new learning, by enriching the language and -enlarging the imagination, makes it possible to express the ancient -beauty in a new and much more beautiful way. Tennyson might be quoted -in illustration. What is the difference between his two or three -hundred lines of wondrous poetry entitled "The Passing of Arthur," and -the earliest thirteenth or fourteenth century idea of the same mythical -event? The facts in either case are the same. But the language and -the imagery are a thousand times more forcible and more vivid in the -Victorian poet. Indeed, progress in belles-lettres is almost altogether -brought about by making old things conform to the imagination of -succeeding generations; and poesy, like the human race, of which it -represents the emotional spirit, must change its dress and the colour -of its dress as the world also changes.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h5> - - -<h4>STUDIES IN SWINBURNE</h4> - - -<p>A good modern critic has said that the resemblance between Shelley and -Algernon Charles Swinburne is of so astonishing a kind that it tempts -one to believe that Swinburne is Shelley in a new body, that the soul -of the drowned poet really came back to life again, and returned to -finish at Oxford University the studies interrupted by his expulsion at -the beginning of the century. The fancy is pretty; and it is supported -by a number of queer analogies. Swinburne, like Shelley, is well -born; like Shelley, he has been from his early days at Eton a furious -radical; like Shelley, he has always been an enemy of Christianity; and -like Shelley, he has also been an enemy of conventions and prejudices -of every description. At the beginning of the century Swinburne would -certainly have been treated just as Byron and Shelley were treated, but -times are changed to-day; the public has become more generous and more -sensible, and critics generally recognise Swinburne as the greatest -verse writer English literature produced. He will certainly have -justice done him after his death, if not during his life.</p> - -<p>If Swinburne were Shelley reborn, we should have to recognise that he -gained a good deal of wisdom from the experiences of his former life. -He is altogether an incomparably stronger character than Shelley. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -kept his radicalism for his poetry, and never in any manner outraged -the conventions of society in such matters as might relate to his -private life. He is also a far greater poet than Shelley—greater than -Tennyson, greater than Rossetti, greater than Browning, greater than -any other Englishman, not excepting Milton, in the mastery of verse. -He is also probably one of the greatest of scholars among the poets of -any country, writing poetry in English or French, in Greek and Latin. -For learning, there are certainly few among the poets of England who -would not have been obliged to bow before him. He is also the greatest -living English dramatist—I might as well say the greatest English -dramatist of the nineteenth century. Except the "Cenci" of Shelley, -there is no other great drama since 1800 to be placed beside the dramas -of Swinburne; and the "Prometheus Unbound" by Shelley is far surpassed -by Swinburne's Greek tragedy of "Atalanta in Calydon." Another feature -of Swinburne's genius is his critical capacity. He is a great critic; -so great that he has been able to make his enemies afraid of him, as -well as to help to distinction struggling young men of talent whose -work he admires. You will perceive what force there must be in the man. -Born in 1837, he has never ceased to produce poetry from the time of -his University days, and he still writes, with the result that the bulk -of his work probably exceeds the work of any other great poet of the -century. If he be indeed the reborn Shelley, it is certain that Shelley -has become a giant.</p> - -<p>I may have surprised you by saying that Swinburne is the greatest -of all our poets. But understand that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> am speaking of poetry as -distinguished from prose, of poetry as rhythm and rhyme, as melody -and measure. By greatest of poets I mean the greatest master of -verse. If you were to ask me whether Swinburne has as great a quality -as Tennyson or as Rossetti or as Browning, either in the moral or -philosophical sense, I should say no. Greatest of all in the knowledge -and use of words, he is perhaps less than any of the three in the -higher emotional, moral, sympathetic, and philosophical qualities that -give poetry its charm for even those who know nothing about the art -of words. And of all the Victorian poets, Swinburne will be the least -useful to students of these literary classes. The extraordinary powers -that distinguish him are powers requiring not only a perfect knowledge -of English, but a perfect knowledge of those higher forms of literary -expression which are especially the outcome of classical study. -Swinburne's scholarship is one of the great obstacles to his being -understood by any who are not scholars themselves in the very same -direction; in this sense he would be, I think, quite as useless to you -as Milton in the matter of form. In value to you he would be far below -Milton in the matter of thought and sentiment.</p> - -<p>There are several ways of studying poetry. The greater number of people -who buy the books of poets, and who find pleasure in them, do not -know anything about the rules of verse. Out of one hundred thousand -Englishmen who read Tennyson, I doubt very much if one thousand know -the worth of his art. English University students, who have taken -a literary course, probably do understand very well; but a poet's -reputation and fortune are not made by scholars, but by the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> mass -of half-educated people. They read for sentiment, for emotion, for -imagination; and they are quite satisfied with the pleasure given them -by the poet in this way. They are improving and educating themselves -when they read him, and for this it is not necessary that they should -know the methods, of his work, but only that they should know its -results. The educators of the great mass of any people in Europe are, -in this sense, the poets.</p> - -<p>The other way of studying a poet is the scholarly way, the critical -method (I do not mean the philosophical method; that is beside our -subject); we read a poet closely, carefully, observing every new and -unfamiliar word, every beautiful phrase and unaccustomed term, every -device of rhythm or rhyme, sound or colour that he has to give us. -Our capacity to study any poet in this way depends a good deal upon -literary habit and upon educational opportunity. By the first method -I doubt whether you could find much in Swinburne. He is like Shelley, -often without substance of any kind. By the second method we can do a -great deal with a choice of texts from his best work. I think it better -to state this clearly beforehand, so that you may not be disappointed, -failing to find in him the beautiful haunting thoughts that you can -find in Rossetti or in Tennyson or in Browning.</p> - -<p>Here I must digress a little. I must speak of the worst side of -Swinburne as well as of the best. The worst is nearly all in one book, -not a very large book, which made the greatest excitement in England -that had been made since the appearance of Byron's "Don Juan." It is -the greatest lyrical gift ever given to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> English literature, this -book; but it is also, in some respects, the most immoral book yet -written by an English poet. The work of Byron, at its worst, is pure -and innocent by comparison with the work of Swinburne in this book. It -is astonishing that the English public could have allowed the book to -exist. Probably it was forgiven on account of its beauty. Some years -ago, I remember, an excellent English review said, in speaking of a -certain French poem, that it was the most beautiful poem of its kind in -the French language, but that, unfortunately, the subject could not be -mentioned in print. Of course when there is a great beauty and great -voluptuousness at the same time, it is the former, not the latter, that -makes the greatness of the work. There must be something very good -to excuse the existence of the bad. Much of the work of Swinburne is -like that French poem, valuable for the beauty and condemnable for the -badness in it—and touching upon subjects which cannot be named at all. -Why he did this work we must try to understand without prejudice.</p> - -<p>First, as to the man himself. We must not suppose that a person is -necessarily immoral in his life because he happens to write something -which is immoral, any more than we should suppose a person whose -writings are extremely moral to be incapable of doing anything of -a vicious or foolish kind. Shelley, for example, is a very chaste -poet—there is not one improper line in the whole of his poetry; but -his life was decidedly unfortunate. Exactly the reverse happens in -the case of Swinburne, who has written thousands of immoral lines. -The fact is that many persons are apt to mistake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> artistic feeling -for vicious feeling, and a spirit of revolt against conventions for a -general hatred of moral law. I must ask you to try to put yourselves -for a moment in the place of a young student, such as Swinburne was -at the time of these writings, and try to imagine how he felt about -things. In every Western boy—indeed, I may say in every civilised -boy—there are several distinct periods, corresponding to the various -periods in the history of human progress. Both psychologically and -physiologically the history of the race is repeated in the history -of the individual. The child is a savage, without religion, without -tenderness, with a good deal of cruelty and cunning in his little soul. -He is this because the first faculties that are developed within him -are the faculties for self-preservation, the faculties of primitive -man. Then ideas of right and wrong and religious feelings are quickened -within him by home-training, and he becomes somewhat like the man -of the Middle Ages—he enters into his mediæval period. Then in the -course of his college studies he is gradually introduced to a knowledge -of the wonderful old Greek civilisation, civilisation socially and, -in some respects, even morally superior to anything in the existing -world; and he enters into the period of his Renaissance. If he be very -sensitive to beauty, if he have the æsthetic faculty largely developed, -there will almost certainly come upon him an enthusiastic love and -reverence for the old paganism, and a corresponding dislike of his -modern surroundings. This feeling may last only for a short time, or -it may change his whole life. One fact to observe is this, that it is -just about the time when a young man's passions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> are strongest that the -story of Greek life is suddenly expounded to him in the course of his -studies; and you must remember that the æsthetic faculty is primarily -based upon the sensuous life. Now in Swinburne's case we have an -abnormal æsthetic and scholarly faculty brought into contact with these -influences at a very early age; and the result must have been to that -young mind like the shock of an earth-quake. We must also imagine the -natural consequence of this enthusiasm in a violent reaction against -all literary, religious, or social conventions that endeavour to keep -the spirit of the old paganism hidden and suppressed within narrow -limits, as a dangerous thing. Finally we must suppose the natural -effect of opposition upon this mind, the effect of threats, sneers, or -prohibitions, like oil upon fire. For young Swinburne was, and still -is, a man of exceeding courage, incapable of fear of any sort. A great -idea suddenly came to him, and he resolved to put it into execution. -This idea was nothing less than to attempt to obtain for English -poetry the same liberty enjoyed by French poetry in recent times, to -attempt to obtain the right of absolute liberty of expression in all -directions, and to provoke the contest with such a bold stroke as never -had been dared before. The result was the book that has been so much -condemned.</p> - -<p>We cannot say that Swinburne was successful in this attempt at reform. -He attempted a little too much, and attempted it too soon. Even in -his own time the great French poet Charles Baudelaire was publicly -condemned in a French court for having written verse less daring than -Swinburne's. The great French novelist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> Flaubert also had to answer -in court for the production of a novel that is now thought to be very -innocent. It was only at a considerably later time that the French -poets obtained such liberty of expression as allowed of the excesses -of writers like Zola or of poets like Richepin. Altogether Swinburne's -fight was premature. He must now see that it was. But I should not like -to say that he was entirely wrong. The result of absolute liberty in -French literature gives us a good idea of what would be the result of -absolute liberty in English literature. Extravagances of immorality -were followed by extravagances of vulgarity as well, and after the -novelty of the thing was over a reaction set in, provoked by disgust -and national shame. Exactly the same thing would happen in England -after a brief period of vicious carnival; the English tide of opinion -would set in the contrary direction with immense force, and would bring -about such a tyrannical conservatism in letters as would signify, for -the time being, a serious check upon progress. As a matter of fact, we -cannot do in English literature what can be done in French literature. -Swinburne might, but there is only one Swinburne. The English language -is not perfect enough, not graceful and flexible enough, to admit -of elegant immorality; and the English character is not refined -enough. A Frenchman can say very daring things, very immoral things, -gracefully; an Englishman cannot. Only one Englishman has approached -the possibility; and that Englishman is Swinburne himself.</p> - -<p>I think you will now understand what Swinburne's purpose was, and be -able to judge of it. His mistakes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> were due not only to his youth but -also to his astonishing genius; for he could not then know how much -superior in ability he actually was to any other English poet. He -imagined that there were many who might do what he could do. The truth -is that hundreds of years may pass before another Englishman is born -capable of doing what Swinburne could do. Men of letters have long ago -forgiven him, because of this astonishing power. They say, "We know the -poems are improper, but we have nothing else like them, and English -literature cannot afford to lose them." The scholars have forgiven him, -because his worst faults are always scholarly; and a common person -cannot understand his worst allusions. Indeed, one must be much of a -classical scholar to comprehend what is most condemnable in the first -series of the "Poems and Ballads." Their extreme laxity will not be -perceived without elaborate explanation, and no one can venture to -explain—I do not mean in a university class room only, I mean even in -printed criticism. When this was attempted by the poet's enemies, he -was able to point out, with great effect, that the explanations were -much more immoral than the poems.</p> - -<p>Now in considering Swinburne's poetry in a short course of lectures, -I think it will be well to begin by explaining his philosophical -position; for every poet has a philosophy of his own. As I have -already said, there is less of this visible in Swinburne than in the -other Victorian poets, but the little there is has a particular and -beautiful interest, which we shall be able to illustrate in a series of -quotations. I am presuming a little in speaking about his philosophy -because there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> has been nothing of importance written about his -philosophy, nor has he himself ever made a plain statement of it. In -such a case I can only surmise, and you need not consider my opinion -as definitive. Swinburne is, like George Meredith, an evolutionist, -and he has something of the spiritual element in him which we notice -in Meredith as a philosopher—but always with this difference, that -Meredith makes evolution preach a moral law, and Swinburne does not. -But here we notice that Swinburne's evolution is something totally -different from Meredith's in its origin. I have said to you that -Meredith expresses evolutional philosophy according to Herbert Spencer; -I consider him the greatest of our philosophical poets for that very -reason. Swinburne does not appear to have felt the influence of Herbert -Spencer; he seems rather to reflect the opinions of Comte—especially -of Comte as interpreted by Lewes, and perhaps by Frederic Harrison. -He speaks of the Religion of Humanity, of the Divinity of Man, and of -other things which indicate the influence of Comte. Furthermore, I must -say, being myself a disciple of Spencer, that Swinburne's sociological -and radical opinions are quite incompatible with evolutional philosophy -as expounded by Spencer. Indeed, Swinburne's views about government, -about fraternity and equality, about liberty in all matters of -thought and action, are heresies for the strictly scientific mind. -The great thinkers of our century have exposed and overthrown the -old fallacies of the French revolutionary school as to the equality -of men and the meaning of liberty and fraternity. Swinburne still -champions, or appears to champion, some of the erroneous ideas of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -Rousseau. Otherwise there is little fault to be found with his thoughts -concerning the ultimate nature of things, except in the deep melancholy -that always accompanies them. Meredith is a grand optimist. Swinburne -is something very like a pessimist. There is no joy and no hope in his -tone of speaking about the mystery of death; rather we find ourselves -listening to the tone of the ancient Roman Epicureans, in the time when -faith was dying, and when philosophy attempted, without success, to -establish a religion of duty founded upon pure ethics.</p> - -<p>An important test of any writer's metaphysical position is what he -believes about the soul. Swinburne's idea is very well expressed in the -prelude to his "Songs before Sunrise." A single stanza would be enough -in this case; but we shall give two, in order to show the pantheistic -side of the poet's faith.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Because man's soul is man's God still,<br /> -What wind soever waft his will<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the waves of day and night</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To port or shipwreck, left or right,</span><br /> -By shores and shoals of good and ill;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And still its flame at mainmast height</span><br /> -Through the rent air that foam-flakes fill<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sustains the indomitable light</span><br /> -Whence only man hath strength to steer<br /> -Or helm to handle without fear.<br /> -<br /> -Save his own soul's light overhead,<br /> -None leads him, and none ever led,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across birth's hidden harbour-bar,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past youth where shoreward shallows are,</span><br /> -Through age that drives on toward the red<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vast void of sunset hailed from far.</span><br /> -To the equal waters of the dead;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save his own soul he hath no star,</span><br /> -And sinks, except his own soul guide,<br /> -Helmless in middle turn of tide.<br /> -</p> - -<p>This is a very plain statement not only that man has no god, and that -he makes his own gods, but that he never had a creator or a god of -any kind. He has no divine help, no one to pray to, no one to trust -except himself. So far this is in tolerable accord with the teaching -of the Buddha, "Be ye lights unto yourselves; seek no refuge but in -yourselves." But the question comes, What is man's soul? Is it divine? -Is it part of the universal soul, a supreme and infinite intelligence? -There is another meaning in the first line of the first stanza which I -quoted to you about man's soul being man's god. Some verses from the -wonderful poem called "On the Downs" will make the meaning plainer.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"No light to lighten and no rod<br /> -To chasten men? Is there no God?"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So girt with anguish, iron-zoned,</span><br /> -Went my soul weeping as she trod<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between the men enthroned</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And men that groaned.</span><br /> -<br /> -O fool, that for brute cries of wrong<br /> -Heard not the grey glad mother's song<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ring response from the hills and waves,</span><br /> -But heard harsh noises all day long<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of spirits that were slaves</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dwelt in graves.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>. . . . . . .<br /> -With all her tongues of life and death,<br /> -With all her bloom and blood and breath,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all years dead and all things done,</span><br /> -In the ear of man the mother saith,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"There is no God, O son,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If thou be none."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>This is the declaration of a belief in the divinity of man, a doctrine -well known to students of Comte. It is not altogether in disaccord with -Oriental philosophy; you must not suppose Swinburne to be speaking of -individual divinity, but of a universal divinity expressing itself in -human thought and feeling. His view of life is that the essential thing -is to live as excellently as possible, but we must not suppose that -excellence is used in the moral sense. Swinburne's idea of excellence -is the idea of completeness. His notions of right and wrong are not the -religious or the social notions of right and wrong. In this respect -he sometimes seems to think very much like the German philosopher -Nietzsche. Nevertheless he does tell us that the real spirit of -the universe is a spirit of love, a doctrine at which Huxley would -certainly have laughed. But it is beautiful doctrine in its way, even -if not true, and admirably suits the purposes of poetry.</p> - -<p>I think that I need not say much more here about Swinburne's -philosophy; you will understand that he is at once a pantheist and -an evolutionist, and that is sufficient for our purposes. But it is -necessary to remember this in order to understand many things in his -verse, and especially in order to understand some of his extraordinary -attitudes in condemning what most men respect, and in praising what -most men condemn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> Remember also that his judgments, like those of -Nature, are never moral; they are not always the reverse, but they -are founded entirely upon æsthetic perception. Those who praise him -especially are men in revolt like himself. Therefore he praised Walt -Whitman, at a time when Walt Whitman was being condemned everywhere for -certain faults in his compositions; therefore he sang the praises of -Baudelaire, as none other had done before him (and here he is certainly -right); therefore he praised Théophile Gautier's "Mademoiselle de -Maupin," calling it "the golden book of spirit and sense"; therefore -also he wrote a sonnet praising Burton's translation of the Arabian -Nights, which made a great scandal in England because it translated all -the obscene passages which nobody else had ventured to put into English -or French. The æsthetic judgment in all these cases is correct, but I -will not venture to pronounce upon the moral judgment any further than -to say this, that Swinburne delights in courage, and that literary -courage in his eyes covers a multitude of sins.</p> - -<p>Not a few, however, of these daring songs of praise are among the most -wonderful triumphs of modern lyric verse. I should like, for example, -to quote to you the whole of his ode to Villon, but I fear that because -of its length, and the unfamiliarity of the subject, we cannot afford -the time. I will quote the closing stanza as a specimen of the rest, -and I am sure that you will see its beauty.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame.</span><br /> -But from thy feet now death has washed the mire,<br /> -Love reads out first at head of all our quire,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Each stanza ends with this strange refrain of "sad bad glad mad," -adjectives which excellently express the changeful and extraordinary -character of that poor student of Paris with whose name modern French -literature properly begins. He lived a terrible and reckless life, -very nearly ending with the gallows; he was an associate at one time -of princes and bishops, at another time of thieves and prostitutes; he -would be one day a spendthrift, the next day a beggar or a prisoner; -and he sang of all these experiences as no man ever sang before or -since. Really Swinburne's praise in this case is not only just—it -represents the best possible estimate of the singer's faults and -virtues combined.</p> - -<p>To speak in detail of the great range of subjects chosen by Swinburne -is not possible within the limits of this lecture. I am going to make -selections from every part of his production, except the dramatic, as -well as I can, and the selections will be made with a view especially -to show you the music of his verse and the brilliance of his language. -Most of his poems are above the ordinary lyrical length rather than -below it, and I hope that you will not be disappointed if I do not -often give the whole of a poem, for the selections will contain, I am -sure, the best part of the poem.</p> - -<p>Being a descendant of great seamen, Swinburne had every reason to sing -of the sea; and he has sung of it better than any one else. A great -number of his poems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> are sea-poems, or poems containing descriptions of -the sea in all its moods, splendours, or terrors. Sun, sea, and wind -are favourite subjects with him, and I know of nothing in the whole -of his work finer than his description of the wind as the lover of -the sea. The verses I am going to quote are from a great composition -entitled "By the North Sea." The personal pronoun "he" in the first -line means the wind personified.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The delight that he takes but in living<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is more than of all things that live:</span><br /> -For the world that has all things for giving<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has nothing so goodly to give:</span><br /> -But more than delight his desire is,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the goal where his pinions would be</span><br /> -Is immortal as air or as fire is,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immense as the sea.</span><br /> -<br /> -Though hence come the moan that he borrows<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From darkness and depth of the night,</span><br /> -Though hence be the spring of his sorrows,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hence too is the joy of his might;</span><br /> -The delight that his doom is for ever<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To seek and desire and rejoice,</span><br /> -And the sense that eternity never<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall silence his voice.</span><br /> -<br /> -That satiety never may stifle<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor weariness ever estrange</span><br /> -Nor time be so strong as to rifle<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor change be so great as to change</span><br /> -His gift that renews in the giving,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joy that exalts him to be</span><br /> -Alone of all elements living<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lord of the sea.</span><br /> -<br /> -What is fire, that its flame should consume her?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More fierce than all fires are her waves:</span><br /> -What is earth, that its gulfs should entomb her?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">More deep are her own than their graves.</span><br /> -Life shrinks from his pinions that cover<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The darkness by thunders bedinned;</span><br /> -But she knows him, her lord and her lover,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The godhead of wind.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>This titanic personification of sea and wind is sublime, but Swinburne -has many other ways of personifying wind and sea, and sometimes the -element of tenderness and love is not wanting. Sometimes the sea is -addressed as a goddess, but more often she is addressed as a mother, -and some of the most exquisite forms of such address are found in poems -which have, properly speaking, nothing to do with the sea at all. A -good example is in the poem called "The Triumph of Time." The words are -supposed to be spoken by a person who is going to drown himself.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -O fair green-girdled mother of mine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain,</span><br /> -Thy sweet hard kisses are strong like wine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy large embraces are keen like pain.</span><br /> -Save me and hide me with all thy waves,<br /> -Find me one grave of thy thousand graves,<br /> -Those pure cold populous graves of thine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrought without hand in a world without stain.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>We shall also find great wonder and beauty in Swinburne's hymns to the -sun, which is also for him, as for the poets of old, a living god, and -which certainly is, in a scientific sense, the lord of all life within -this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> world. The best expression of this feeling is in a poem called -"Off Shore," describing sunrise over the sea, and the glory of light.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Light, perfect and visible</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Godhead of God!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">God indivisible,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Lifts but his rod,</span><br /> -And the shadows are scattered in sunder, and darkness<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">is light at his nod.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">At the touch of his wand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">At the nod of his head</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">From the spaces beyond</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Where the dawn hath her bed,</span><br /> -Earth, water, and air are transfigured, and rise as one<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">risen from the dead.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">He puts forth his hand,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">And the mountains are thrilled</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">To the heart as they stand</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">In his presence, fulfilled</span><br /> -With his glory that utters his grace upon earth, and<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">her sorrows are stilled.</span><br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">As a kiss on my brow</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Be the light of thy grace,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Be thy glance on me now</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">From the pride of thy place:</span><br /> -As the sign of a sire to a son be the light on my face<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">of thy face.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Fair father of all</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">In thy ways that have trod,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That have risen at thy call,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">That have thrilled at thy nod,</span><br /> -Arise, shine, lighten upon me, O sun that we see to<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">be God.</span><br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Be praised and adored of us</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">All in accord,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Father and lord of us</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Always adored,</span><br /> -The slayer and the stayer and the harper, the light<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">of us all and our lord.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Swinburne has no equal in enthusiastic celebration of the beauties of -sky and sea and wood, of light and clouds and waters, of sound and -perfume and blossoming. Indeed, one of his particular characteristics, -a characteristic very seldom found in English masterpieces, though -common in the best French work, is his art for describing odours—the -smell of morning and evening, scents of the seasons, scents also of -life. We shall have many opportunities to notice this characteristic of -Swinburne, even in his descriptions of human beauty. What the French -call the <i>parfum de jeunesse</i> or odour of youth, the pleasant smell of -young bodies, the perfume that we notice, for example, in the hair of a -healthy child, is something which English writers very seldom venture -to treat of; but Swinburne has treated it quite as delicately at times -as a French poet could do, though sometimes a little extravagantly. You -must think of him as one whom no quality of beauty escapes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> whether -of colour, odour, or motion; and as one who believes, I think rightly, -that whatever is in itself beautiful and natural is worthy of song. You -will be able to imagine, from what I have already quoted, how he feels -in the presence of wild nature. How he considers human beauty is a more -difficult matter to illustrate by quotation, at least by quotation -before a class. But I shall try to offer some illustrations from the -"Masque of Queen Bersabe." You all know what a masque is. The masque -in question is a perfect imitation, for the most part, of a mediæval -masque, both as to form and language. But there is one portion of it -which is mediæval only in tone, not in language, since there never -lived in the Middle Ages any man capable of writing such verse. It is -from this part that I want to quote. But I must first explain to you -that the name Bersabe is only a mediæval form of the Biblical name -Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, whom King David caused to be murdered. -It is an ugly story. The King committed adultery with Bathsheba; -then he ordered her husband to be put into the front rank during a -battle, in such a place that he must be killed. Afterwards the King -married Bathsheba; but the prophet Nathan heard of the wickedness, and -threatened the King with the punishment of God. This was the subject -of several mediæval religious plays, and Swinburne adopted it for an -imitation of such play. The first part of his conception is that at -the command of the prophet the ghosts of all the beautiful and wicked -queens who ever lived come before Bathsheba, to reproach her with her -sin, and to tell her how they had been punished in other time for -sins of the same kind. Each one speaks in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> turn; and though I cannot -quote all of what they said, I can quote enough to illustrate the -magnificence of the work. Each verse is a portrait in words, uttered by -the subject.</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">CLEOPATRA</span><br /> -<br /> -I am the queen of Ethiope.<br /> -Love bade my kissing eyelids ope<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That men beholding might praise love.</span><br /> -My hair was wonderful and curled;<br /> -My lips held fast the mouth o' the world<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To spoil the strength and speech thereof.</span><br /> -The latter triumph in my breath<br /> -Bowed down the beaten brows of death,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ashamed they had not wrath enough.</span><br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">AHOLAH</span><br /> -<br /> -I am the queen of Amalek.<br /> -There was no tender touch or fleck<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To spoil my body or bared feet.</span><br /> -My words were soft like dulcimers,<br /> -And the first sweet of grape-flowers<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made each side of my bosom sweet.</span><br /> -My raiment was as tender fruit<br /> -Whose rind smells sweet of spice-tree root,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bruised balm-blossom and budded wheat.</span><br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">SEMIRAMIS</span><br /> -<br /> -I am the queen Semiramis.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>The whole world and the sea that is<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In fashion like a chrysopras,</span><br /> -The noise of all men labouring,<br /> -The priest's mouth tired through thanksgiving,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sound of love in the blood's pause,</span><br /> -The strength of love in the blood's beat,<br /> -All these were cast beneath my feet<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all found lesser than I was.</span><br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">PASITHEA</span><br /> -<br /> -I am the queen of Cypriotes.<br /> -Mine oarsmen, labouring with brown throats,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sang of me many a tender thing.</span><br /> -My maidens, girdled loose and braced<br /> -With gold from bosom to white waist,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praised me between their wool-combing.</span><br /> -All that praise Venus all night long<br /> -With lips like speech and lids like song<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Praised me till song lost heart to sing.</span><br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ALACIEL</span><br /> -<br /> -I am the queen Alaciel.<br /> -My mouth was like that moist gold cell<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whereout the thickest honey drips.</span><br /> -Mine eyes were as a grey-green sea;<br /> -The amorous blood that smote on me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smote to my feet and finger-tips.</span><br /> -My throat was whiter than the dove,<br /> -Mine eyelids as the seals of love,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as the doors of love my lips.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ERIGONE</span><br /> -<br /> -I am the queen Erigone.<br /> -The wild wine shed as blood on me<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made my face brighter than a bride's.</span><br /> -My large lips had the old thirst of earth,<br /> -Mine arms the might of the old sea's girth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bound round the whole world's iron sides.</span><br /> -Within mine eyes and in mine ears<br /> -Were music and the wine of tears,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And light, and thunder of the tides.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>So pass the strange phantoms of dead pride and lust and power, together -with many more of whom the descriptions are not less beautiful and -strange, though much less suitable for quotation. I have made the -citations somewhat long, but I have done so because they offer the -best possible illustration of two things peculiar to Swinburne, the -music and colour of his verse, and the peculiar mediæval tone which he -sometimes assumes in dealing with antique subjects. These descriptions -are quite unlike anything done by Tennyson, or indeed by any other -poet except Rossetti. They represent, in a certain way, what has been -called Pre-Raphaelitism in poetry. Swinburne was, with Rossetti, one of -the great forces of the new movement in literature. Observe that the -illustrations are chiefly made by comparisons—that the descriptions -are made by suggestion; there is no attempt to draw a clear sharp line, -nothing is described completely, but by some comparison or symbolism -in praise of a part, the whole figure is vaguely brought before the -imagination in a blaze of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> colour with strange accompaniment of melody. -For example, you will have noticed that no face is fully pictured; -you find only some praise of the eyes or the mouth, the throat or -the skin, but that is quite enough to bring to your fancy the entire -person. But there is another queer fact which you must be careful to -notice—namely, that no comparison is modern. The language and the -symbolism are Biblical or mediæval in every case. The European scholar -who had made a special study of the literature of the Middle Ages would -notice even more than this; he would notice that the whole tone is -not of the later but of the earlier Middle Ages, that the old miracle -plays, the old French romances, and the early Italian poets, have all -contributed something to this splendour of expression. It is modern art -in one sense, of course, but there is nothing modern about it except -the craftsmanship; the material is all quaint and strange, and gives us -the sensation of old tapestry or of the paintings that were painted in -Italy before the time of Raphael.</p> - -<p>Here I must say a word about the Pre-Raphaelite movement in nineteenth -century literature. To explain everything satisfactorily, I ought to -have pictures to show you; and that is unfortunately impossible. But I -think I can make a very easy explanation of the subject. First of all -you must be quite well aware that the literature of all countries seeks -for a majority of its subjects in the past. The everyday, the familiar, -does not attract us in the same way as that which is not familiar and -not of the present. Distance, whether of space or time, lends to things -a certain tone of beauty, just as mountains look more beautifully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -blue the further away they happen to be. This seeking for beauty in -the past rather than in the present represents much of what is called -romanticism in any literature.</p> - -<p>Necessarily, even in this age of precise historical knowledge, the -past is for us less real than the present; time has spread mists of -many colours between it and us, so that we cannot be sure of details, -distances, depths, and heights. But in other generations the mists were -heavier, and the past was more of a fairy-land than now; it was more -pleasant also to think about, because the mysterious is attractive to -all of us, and men of letters delighted to write about it, because they -could give free play to the imagination. Such stories of the past as we -find even in what have been called historical novels, were called also, -and rightly called, romances—works of imagination rather than of fact.</p> - -<p>But still you may ask, why such words as romance and romantic? The -answer is that works of imagination, dealing with past events, were -first written in languages derived from the Latin, the Romance -languages; and at a very early time it became the custom to distinguish -work written in these modern tongues upon fanciful or heroic subjects, -by this name and quality. The romantic in the Middle Ages signified -especially the new literature of fancy as opposed to the old classical -literature. Remember, therefore, that this meaning is not yet -entirely lost, though it has undergone many modifications. "Romantic" -in literature still means "not classical," and it also suggests -imagination rather than fact, and the past rather than the present.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> - -<p>When we say "mediæval" in speaking of nineteenth century poetry, we -mean of course nineteenth century literature having a romantic tone, -as well as reflecting, so far as imagination can, the spirit of the -Middle Ages. But what is the difference between the Pre-Raphaelite -and Mediæval? The time before Raphael, the Pre-Raphaelite period, -would necessarily have been mediæval. As a matter of fact, the term -Pre-Raphaelite does not have the wide general meaning usually given -to it. It is something of a technical term, belonging to art rather -than to literature, and first introduced into literature by a company -of painters. The Pre-Raphaelite painters, in the technical sense, -were a special group of modern painters, distinguished by particular -characteristics.</p> - -<p>So much being clear, I may say that there was a school of painting -before Raphael of a very realistic and remarkable kind. This school -came to existence a little after the true religious spirit of the -Middle Ages had begun to weaken. It sought the emotion of beauty as -well as the emotion of religion, but it did not yet feel the influence -of the Renaissance in a strong way; it was not Greek nor pagan. It -sought beauty in truth, studying ordinary men and women, flowers and -birds, scenery of nature or scenery of streets; and it used reality -for its model. It was much less romantic than the school that came -after it; but it was very great and very noble. With Raphael the -Greek feeling, the old pagan feeling for sensuous beauty, found full -expression, and this Renaissance tone changed the whole direction and -character of art. After Raphael the painters sought beauty before all -things; previously they had sought for truth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> and sentiment even before -beauty. Raphael set a fashion which influenced all arts after him -down to our own time; for centuries the older painters were neglected -and almost forgotten. Therefore Ruskin boldly declared that since -Raphael's death Western art had been upon the decline and that the -school of painters immediately before Raphael were greater than any who -came after him. Gradually within our own time a new taste came into -art-circles, a new love for the old forgotten masters of the fourteenth -and fifteenth centuries. It was discovered that they were, after all, -nearer to truth in many respects than the later painters; and then was -established, by Rossetti and others, a new school of painting called -the Pre-Raphaelite school. It sought truth to life as well as beauty, -and it endeavoured to mingle both with mystical emotion.</p> - -<p>At first this was a new movement in art only, or rather in painting -and drawing only, as distinguished from literary art. But literature -and painting and architecture and music are really all very closely -related, and a new literary movement also took place in harmony -with the new departure in painting. This was chiefly the work of -Rossetti, Swinburne, and William Morris. They tried to make poems and -to write stories according to the same æsthetic motives which seem -to have inspired the school of painters before Raphael. This is the -signification of the strange method and beauty of those quotations -which I have been giving to you from Swinburne's masque. They represent -very powerfully the Pre-Raphaelite feelings in English poetry.</p> - -<p>I know that this digression is somewhat long, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> I believe that -it is of great importance; without knowing these facts, it would -be impossible for the student to understand many curious things -in Swinburne's manner. Throughout even his lighter poems we find -this curious habit of describing things in ways totally remote from -nineteenth century feeling, and nevertheless astonishingly effective. -Fancy such comparisons as these for a woman's beauty in the correct age -of Wordsworth:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I said "she must be swift and white,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And subtly warm, and half perverse,</span><br /> -And sweet like sharp soft fruit to bite,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And like a snake's love lithe and fierce."</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Men have guessed worse.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Or take the following extraordinary description of a woman's name, -perhaps I had better say of the sensation given by the name Félise, -probably an abbreviation of Felicita, but by its spelling reminding one -very much of the Latin word <i>felis</i>, which means a cat:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Like colors in the sea, like flowers,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a cat's splendid circled eyes</span><br /> -That wax and wane with love for hours,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Green as green flame, blue-grey like skies,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And soft like sighs.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The third line refers to the curious phenomenon of the enlarging and -diminishing of the pupil in a cat's eye according to the decrease or -increase of light. It is said that you can tell the time of day by -looking at a cat's eyes. Now all these comparisons are in the highest -degree offences against classical feeling. The classical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> poet, even -the half-classical poet of the beginning of our own century, would -have told you that a woman must not be compared to a snake or a cat; -that you must not talk about her sweetness being like the sweetness of -fruit, or the charm of her presence being like the smell of perfume. -All such comparisons seemed monstrous, unnatural. If such a critic were -asked why one must not compare a woman to a snake or a cat, the critic -would probably answer, "Because a snake is a hateful reptile and a cat -is a hateful animal." What would Ruskin or Swinburne then say to the -critic? He would say simply, "Did you ever look at a snake? Did you -ever study a cat?" The classicist would soon be convicted of utter -ignorance about snakes and cats. He thought them hateful simply because -it was not fashionable to admire them a hundred years ago. But the -old poets of the early Middle Ages were not such fools. They had seen -snakes and admired them, because for any man who is not prejudiced, a -snake is a very beautiful creature, and its motions are as beautiful -as geometry. If you do not think this is true, I beg of you to watch -a snake, where its body can catch the light of the sun. Then there is -no more graceful or friendly or more attractively intelligent animal -than a cat. The common feeling about snakes and cats is not an artistic -one, nor even a true one; it is of ethical origin, and unjust. These -animals are not moral according to our notions; they seem cruel and -treacherous, and forgetting that they cannot be judged by our code -of morals, we have learned to speak of them contemptuously even from -the physical point of view. Well, this was not the way in the early -Middle Ages. People were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> less sensitive on the subject of cruelty -than they are to-day, and they could praise the beauty of snakes and -tigers and all fierce or cunning creatures of prey, because they could -admire the physical qualities without thinking of the moral ones. In -Pre-Raphaelite poetry there is an attempt to do the very same thing. -Swinburne does it more than any one else, perhaps even too much; but -there is a great and true principle of art behind this revolution.</p> - -<p>Now we can study Swinburne in some other moods. I want to show you the -splendour of his long verse, verse of fourteen and sixteen syllables, -of a form resurrected by him after centuries of neglect; and also verse -written in imitation of Greek and Roman measures with more success than -has attended similar efforts on the part of any other living poet. -But in the first example that I shall offer, you will find matter of -more interest than verse as verse. The poem is one of Swinburne's -greatest, and the subject is entirely novel. The poet attempts to -express the feeling of a Roman pagan, perhaps one of the last Epicurean -philosophers, living at the time when Christianity was first declared -the religion of the Empire, and despairing because of the destruction -of the older religion and the vanishing of the gods whom he loved. By -law Christianity has been made the state-religion, and it is forbidden -to worship the other gods; the old man haughtily refuses to become a -Christian, even after an impartial study of Christian doctrine; on the -contrary, he is so unhappy at the fate of the religion of his fathers -that he does not care to live any longer without his gods. And he -prays to the goddess of death to take him out of this world, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -which all the beauty and art, all the old loved customs and beliefs -are departing. We cannot read the whole "Hymn to Proserpine"; but we -shall read enough to illustrate the style and feeling of the whole. At -the head of the poem are the words <i>Vicisti</i>, <i>Galilæe!</i>—"Thou hast -conquered, O Galilean"—words uttered by the great Roman Emperor Julian -at the moment of his death in battle. Julian was the last Emperor -who tried to revive and purify the decaying Roman religion, and to -oppose the growth of Christianity. He was, therefore, the great enemy -of Christianity. His dying words were said to have been addressed to -Christ, when he felt himself dying, but it is not certain whether he -really ever uttered these words at all.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end;<br /> -Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.<br /> -Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">that weep;</span><br /> -For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep.<br /> -Sweet is the treading of wine, and sweet the feet of the dove:<br /> -But a goodlier gift is thine than foam of the grapes or love.<br /> -</p> -<p>After speaking to the goddess of death, he speaks thus to Christ:</p> -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Wilt thou yet take all, Galilean? but these thou shalt not take,<br /> -The laurel, the palms and the paean, the breasts of the nymphs in<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">the brake;</span><br /> -Breasts more soft than a dove's, that tremble with tenderer breath;<br /> -And all the wings of the Loves, and all the joy before death;<br /> -All the feet of the hours that sound as a single lyre,<br /> -Dropped and deep in the flowers, with strings that flicker like fire.<br /> -More than these wilt thou give, things fairer than all these things?<br /> -Nay, for a little we live, and life hath mutable wings.<br /> -A little while and we die; shall life not thrive as it may?<br /> -For no man under the sky lives twice, outliving his day.<br /> -And grief is a grievous thing, and a man hath enough of his tears:<br /> -Why should he labour, and bring fresh grief to blacken his years?<br /> -Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">thy breath;</span><br /> -We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fulness of death.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Or, in other words, the pagan says: "O Christ, you would wish to -take everything from us, yet some things there are which you cannot -take: not the inspiration of the poet, nor the spirit of art, nor the -glory of heroism, nor the dreams of youth and love, nor the great and -gracious gifts of time—the beauty of the seasons, the splendour of -night and day. All these you cannot deprive us of, though you wish to; -and what is better than these? Can you give us anything more precious? -Assuredly you cannot. For these things are fitted to human life; and -what do we know about any other life? Life passes quickly; why should -we make it miserable with the evil dreams of a religion of sorrow?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -Short enough is the time in which we have pleasure, and the world is -already full enough of pain; wherefore should we try to make ourselves -still more unhappy than we already are? Yet you have conquered; you -have destroyed the beauty of life; you have made the world seem grey -and old, that was so beautiful and eternally young. You have made us -drink the waters of forgetfulness and eat the food of death. For your -religion is a religion of death, not of life; you yourself and the -Christian gods are figures of death, not figures of life."</p> - -<p>And how does he think of this new divinity, Christ? As a Roman citizen -necessarily, and to a Roman citizen Christ was nothing more than a -vulgar, common criminal executed by Roman law in company with thieves -and murderers. Therefore he addresses such a divinity with scorn, even -in the hour of his triumph:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -O lips that the live blood faints in, the leavings of racks and rods!<br /> -O ghastly glories of saints, dead limbs of gibbeted Gods!<br /> -Though all men abase them before you in spirit, and all knees bend,<br /> -I kneel not neither adore you, but standing, look to the end!<br /> -</p> - -<p>To understand the terrible bitterness of this scorn, it is necessary -for the student to remember that a Roman citizen could not be tortured -or flogged or gibbeted. Such punishments and penalties were reserved -for slaves and for barbarians. Therefore to a Roman the mere fact -of Christ's death and punishment—for he was tortured before being -crucified—was a subject for contempt; accordingly he speaks of such -a divinity as the "leavings of racks and rods"—that is, so much of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> -a man's body as might be left after the torturers and executioners -had finished with it. Should a Roman citizen kneel down and humble -himself before that? A little while, some thousands of years, perhaps, -Christianity may be a triumphant religion, but all religions must -die and pass away, one after another, and this new and detestable -religion, with its ugly gods, must also pass away. For although the -old Roman has studied too much philosophy to believe in all that his -fathers believed, he believes in a power that is greater than man and -gods and the universe itself, in the unknown power which gives life -and death, and makes perpetual change, and sweeps away everything -that man foolishly believes to be permanent. He gives to this law of -impermanency the name of the goddess of death, but the name makes -little difference; he has recognised the eternal law. Time will sweep -away Christianity itself, and his description of this mighty wave of -time is one of the finest passages in all his poetry:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -All delicate days and pleasant, all spirits and sorrows are cast<br /> -Far out with the foam of the present that sweeps to the surf of the past:<br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -Where, mighty with deepening sides, clad about with the seas as<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">with wings,</span><br /> -And impelled of invisible tides, and fulfilled of unspeakable things,<br /> -White-eyed and poisonous-finned, shark-toothed and serpentine-curled,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>Rolls, under the whitening wind of the future, the wave of the world.<br /> -<br /> -The depths stand naked in sunder behind it, the storms flee away;<br /> -In the hollow before it the thunder is taken and snared as a prey;<br /> -In its sides is the north-wind bound; and its salt is of all men's tears;<br /> -With light of ruins and sound of changes, and pulse of years:<br /> -With travail of day after day, and with trouble of hour upon hour;<br /> -And bitter as blood is the spray; and the crests are as fangs that devour:<br /> -And its vapour and storm of its steam as the sighing of spirits to be;<br /> -And its noise as the noise in a dream; and its depth as the roots of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the sea:</span><br /> -And the height of its heads as the height of the utmost stars of the air:<br /> -And the ends of the earth at the might thereof tremble, and time is<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">made bare.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>When the poet calls this the wave of the world, you must not understand -world to mean our planet only, but the universe, the cosmos; and the -wave is the great wave of impermanency, including all forces of time -and death and life and pain. But why these terrible similes of white -eyes and poisonous things and shark's teeth, of blood and bitterness -and terror? Because the old philosopher dimly recognises the cruelty -of nature, the mercilessness of that awful law of change which, having -swept away his old gods, will just as certainly sweep away the new gods -that have appeared. Who can resist that mighty power, higher than the -stars, deeper than the depths, in whose motion even gods are but as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> -bubbles and foam? Assuredly not Christ and his new religion. Speaking -to the new gods the Roman cries:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -All ye as a wind shall go by, as a fire shall ye pass and be past;<br /> -Ye are Gods, and behold, ye shall die, and the waves be upon you at last.<br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Galilean, thy dead shall go<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">down to thee dead.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here follows a beautiful picture of the contrast between the beauty of -the old gods and the uninviting aspect of the new. It is a comparison -between the Virgin Mary, mother of Christ, and Venus or Aphrodite, the -ancient goddess of love, born from the sea. For to the Roman mind the -Christian gods and saints wanted even the common charm of beauty and -tenderness. All the divinities of the old Greek world were beautiful -to look upon, and warmly human; but these strange new gods from Asia -seemed to be not even artistically endurable. Addressing Christ, he -continues:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Of the maiden thy mother men sing as a goddess with grace clad around;<br /> -Thou art throned where another was king; where another was queen she<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">is crowned.</span><br /> -Yea, once we had sight of another: but now she is queen, say these.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>Not as thine, not as thine was our mother, a blossom of flowering seas,<br /> -Clothed around with the world's desire as with raiment and fair as<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the foam,</span><br /> -And fleeter than kindled fire, and a goddess and mother of Rome.<br /> -For thine came pale and a maiden, and sister to sorrow; but ours,<br /> -Her deep hair heavily laden with odour and colour of flowers,<br /> -White rose of the rose-white water, a silver splendour, a flame,<br /> -Bent down unto us that besought her, and earth grew sweet with her name.<br /> -For thine came weeping, a slave among slaves, and rejected; but she<br /> -Came flushed from the full-flushed wave, and imperial, her foot on<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the sea.</span><br /> -And the wonderful waters knew her, the winds and the viewless ways,<br /> -And the roses grew rosier, and bluer the sea-blue stream of the bays.<br /> -Ye are fallen, our lords, by what token? we wist that ye should not fall.<br /> -Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than ye all.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Why, by what power, for what reason, should the old gods have passed -away? Even if one could not believe in them all, they were too -beautiful to pass away and be broken, as their statues were broken by -the early Christians in the rage of their ignorant and brutal zeal. -The triumph of Christianity meant much more than the introduction of a -new religion; it meant the destruction of priceless art and priceless -literature, it signified the victory of barbarism over culture and -refinement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> Doubtless the change, like all great changes, was for -the better in some ways; but no lover of art and the refinements of -civilisation can read without regret the history of the iconoclasm in -which the Christian fanatics indulged when they got the government and -the law upon their side. It is this feeling of regret and horror that -the poet well expresses through the mouth of the Roman who cares no -more to live, because the gods and everything beautiful must pass away. -But there is one goddess still left for him, one whom the Christians -cannot break but who will at last break them and their religion, and -scatter them as dust—the goddess of death. To her he turns with a last -prayer:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -But I turn to her still, having seen she shall surely abide in the end;<br /> -Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.<br /> -O daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom of birth,<br /> -I am also, I also, thy brother; I go as I came unto earth.<br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -Thou art more than the Gods who number the days of our temporal breath;<br /> -<br /> -For these give labour and slumber, but thou, Proserpina, death.<br /> -Therefore now at thy feet I abide for a season in silence. I know<br /> -I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep; even so.<br /> -For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a span;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>A little soul for a little bears up this corpse which is man.<br /> -So long I endure, no longer; and laugh not again, neither weep.<br /> -For there is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The third line from the end, "a little soul for a little," is a -translation from the philosopher Epictetus. It is the Epicurean -philosophy especially which speaks in this poetry. The address to the -goddess of death as the daughter of earth, cannot be understood without -some reference to Greek mythology. Proserpina was the daughter of the -goddess Ceres, whom the ancients termed the Holy Mother—queen of the -earth, but especially the goddess of fruitfulness and of harvests. -While playing in the fields as a young girl, Proserpina was seized -and carried away by the god of the dead, Hades or Pluto, to become -his wife. Everywhere her mother sought after her to no purpose; and -because of the grief of the goddess, the earth dried up, the harvests -failed, and all nature became desolate. Afterwards, finding that her -daughter had become the queen of the kingdom of the dead, Ceres agreed -that Proserpina should spend a part of every year with her husband, and -part of the year with her mother. To this arrangement the Greeks partly -attributed the origin of the seasons.</p> - -<p>Incidentally in the poem there is a very beautiful passage describing -the world of death, where no sun is, where the silence is more than -music, where the flowers are white and full of strange sleepy smell, -and where the sound of the speech of the dead is like the sound of -water heard far away, or a humming of bees-whither<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> the old man prays -to go, to rest with his ancestors away from the light of the sun, and -to forget all the sorrow of this world and its changes. But I think -that you will do well to study this poem in detail by yourselves, -when opportunity allows. It happens to be one of the very few poems -in the first series of Swinburne's "Poems and Ballads" to which no -reasonable exception can be made; and it is without doubt one of the -very finest things that he has ever written. I could recommend this -for translation; there are many pieces in the same book which I could -not so recommend, notwithstanding their beauty. For instance, the poem -entitled "Hesperia," with its splendid beginning:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Out of the golden remote wild west where the sea without shore is,<br /> -Full of the sunset, and sad, if at all, with the fulness of joy.<br /> -</p> - -<p>There is nothing more perfect in modern literature than the beginning -of this poem, which gives us an exact imitation in English words of the -sound of the Greek hexameter and pentameter. But much of this work is -too passionate and violent for even the most indulgent ears; and though -I think that you ought to study the beginning, I should never recommend -it for translation.</p> - -<p>The comparison of the wave in the hymn to Proserpina must have given -you an idea of Swinburne's power to deal with colossal images. I -know of few descriptions in any literature to be compared with that -picture of the wave; but Swinburne himself in another poem has given -us descriptions nearly as surprising, if not as beautiful. There is -a poem called "Thalassius," a kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> of philosophical moral fable in -Greek form, that contains a surprise of this kind. The subject is a -young man's first experience with love. Walking in the meadows he sees -a pretty boy, or rather child, just able to walk—a delicious child, -tender as a flower, and apparently needing kindly care. So he takes the -child by the hand, wondering at his beauty; and he speaks to the child, -but never gets any reply except a smile. Suddenly, at a certain point -of the road the child begins to grow tall, to grow tremendous; his -stature reaches the sky, and in a terrible voice that shakes everything -like an earthquake, he announces that though he may be Love, he is also -Death, and that only the fool imagines him to be Love alone. There is -a bit both of old and of new philosophy in this; and I remarked when -reading it that in Indian mythology there is a similar representation -of this double attribute of divinity, love and death, creation and -destruction, represented by one personage. But we had better read the -scene which I have been trying to describe, the meeting with the child:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -That wellnigh wept for wonder that it smiled,<br /> -And was so feeble and fearful, with soft speech<br /> -The youth bespake him softly; but there fell<br /> -From the sweet lips no sweet word audible<br /> -That ear or thought might reach;<br /> -No sound to make the dim cold silence glad,<br /> -No breath to thaw the hard harsh air with heat,<br /> -Only the saddest smile of all things sweet,<br /> -Only the sweetest smile of all things sad.<br /> -<br /> -And so they went together one green way<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>Till April dying made free the world for May;<br /> -And on his guide suddenly Love's face turned,<br /> -And in his blind eyes burned<br /> -Hard light and heat of laughter; and like flame<br /> -That opens in a mountain's ravening mouth<br /> -To blear and sear the sunlight from the south,<br /> -His mute mouth opened, and his first word came;<br /> -"Knowest thou me now by name?"<br /> -And all his stature waxed immeasurable,<br /> -As of one shadowing heaven and lightening hell;<br /> -And statelier stood he than a tower that stands<br /> -And darkens with its darkness far-off sands<br /> -Whereon the sky leans red;<br /> -And with a voice that stilled the winds he said:<br /> -"I am he that was thy lord before thy birth,<br /> -I am he that is thy lord till thou turn earth;<br /> -I make the night more dark, and all the morrow<br /> -Dark as the night whose darkness was my breath:<br /> -O fool, my name is sorrow;<br /> -Thou fool, my name is death."<br /> -</p> - -<p>By the term "darkness" in the third line from the end of the above -quotation, we must understand the darkness and mystery out of which -man comes into this world, and comes only to die. This monstrous -symbolism may need some explanation, before you see how very fine the -meaning is. Love, that is the attraction of sex to sex, with all its -emotions, heroisms, sacrifices, and nobilities, cannot be understood -by the young. To them, love is only the physical and the moral charm -of the being that is loved. In man the passion of love becomes noble -and specialised by the development in him of moral, æsthetic, and -other feelings that are purely human. But the attraction of sex, that -is behind all this, is a universal and terrible fact, a tremendous -mystery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> whose ultimate nature no man knows or ever will know. Why? -Because if we knew the nature and origin of the forces that create, we -could understand the whole universe, and ourselves, and everything that -men now call mystery. But all that we certainly do know is this, that -we come into the world out of mystery and go out of the world again -back into mystery, and that no mortal man can explain the Whence, the -Why, or the Whither. The first sensations of love for another being -are perhaps the most delicious feelings known to men; the person loved -seems for the time to be more beautiful and good than any one else -in the world. This is what the poet means by describing the first -appearance of love as a beautiful, tender child, innocent and dumb. -But later in life the physical illusion passes away; then one learns -the relation of this seeming romance to the awful questions of life -and death. The girl beloved becomes the wife; then she becomes the -mother; but in becoming a mother, she enters into the very shadow of -death, sometimes never to return from it. Birth itself is an agony, -the greatest agony that humanity has to bear. We come into the world -through pains of the most deadly kind, and leave the world later on in -pain; and what all this means, we do not know. We are only certain that -the Greeks were not wrong in representing love as the brother of death. -The Oriental philosophers went further; they identified love with -death, making them one and the same. One cannot help thinking of the -Indian statue representing the creative power, holding in his hand the -symbol of life, but wearing around his neck a necklace of human skulls.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> - -<p>The poem that introduces the first volume of Swinburne's poems, as -published in America, gave its name to the book, so that thousands of -English readers used to call the volume by the name of this poem, "Laus -Veneris," which means the praise of Venus. I do not think that there -is a more characteristic poem in all Swinburne's work; it is certainly -the most interesting version in any modern language of the old -mediæval story. Without understanding the story you could not possibly -understand the poem, and as the story has been famous for hundreds of -years, I shall first relate it.</p> - -<p>After Christianity had made laws forbidding people to worship the old -gods, it was believed that these gods still remained wandering about -like ghosts and tempting men to sin. One of these divinities especially -dreaded by the Christian priests, was Venus. Now in the Middle t Ages -there was a strange story about a knight called Tannhäuser, who, riding -home one evening, saw by the wayside a beautiful woman unclad, who -smiled at him, and induced him to follow her. He followed her to the -foot of a great mountain; the mountain opened like a door, and they -went in, and found a splendid palace under the mountain. The fairy -woman was Venus herself; and the knight lived with her for seven years. -At the end of the seven years he became afraid because of the sin which -he had committed; and he begged her, as Urashima begged the daughter -of the Dragon King, to let him return for a little time to the world -of men. She let him go; and he went to Rome. There he told his story -to different priests, and asked them to obtain for him the forgiveness -of God. But each of the priests made answer that the sin was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> so great -that nobody except the Pope of Rome could forgive it. Then the knight -went to the Pope. But when the Pope heard his confession, the Pope -said that there was no forgiveness possible for such a crime as that -of loving a demon. The Pope had a wooden staff in his hand, and he -said, "Sooner shall this dry stick burst into blossom than you obtain -God's pardon for such a sin." Then the knight, sorrowing greatly, -went back to the mountain and to Venus. After he had gone, the Pope -was astonished to see that the dry staff was covered with beautiful -flowers and leaves that had suddenly grown out of it, as a sign that -God was more merciful than his priests. At this the Pope became sorry -and afraid, and he sent out messengers to look for the knight. But no -man ever saw him again, for Venus kept him hidden in her palace under -the mountain. Swinburne found his version of the story in a quaint -French book published in 1530. He represents, not the incidents of the -story itself, but only the feelings of the knight after his return from -Rome. There is no more hope for him. His only consolation is his love -and worship for her; but this love and worship is mingled with fear -of hell and regret for his condition. Into the poem Swinburne has put -the whole spirit of revolt of which he and the Pre-Raphaelite school -were exponents. A few verses will show you the tone. The knight praises -Venus:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Lo, this is she that was the world's delight;<br /> -The old grey years were parcels of her might;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The strewings of the ways wherein she trod</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>Were the twain seasons of the day and night.<br /> -<br /> -Lo, she was thus when her clear limbs enticed<br /> -All lips that now grow sad with kissing Christ,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stained with blood fallen from the feet of God,</span><br /> -The feet and hands whereat our souls were priced.<br /> -<br /> -Alas, Lord, surely thou art great and fair.<br /> -But lo her wonderfully woven hair!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thou didst heal us With thy piteous kiss;</span><br /> -But see now, Lord; her mouth is lovelier.<br /> -<br /> -She is right fair; what hath she done to thee?<br /> -Nay, fair Lord Christ, lift up thine eyes and see;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had now thy mother such a lip—like this?</span><br /> -Thou knowest how sweet a thing it is to me.<br /> -</p> - -<p>This calling upon God to admire Venus, this asking Christ whether his -mother was even half as beautiful as Venus, was to religious people -extremely shocking, of course. And still more shocking seemed the -confession in the latter part of the poem that the knight does not -care whether he has sinned or not, since, after all, he has been more -fortunate than any other man. This expression of exultation after -remorse appeared to reverent minds diabolical, the thought of a new -Satanic School. But really the poet was doing his work excellently, -so far as truth to nature was concerned; and these criticisms were as -ignorant as they were out of place. The real fault of the poem was -only a fault of youth, a too great sensuousness in its descriptive -passages. We might say that Swinburne himself was, during those years, -very much in the position of the knight Tannhäuser; he had gone back -to the worship of the old gods because they were more beautiful and -more joyous than the Christian gods; we may even say that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> he never -came back from the mountain of Venus. But all this poetry of the first -series was experimental; it was an expression of the Renaissance -feeling that visits the youth of every poet possessing a strong sense -of beauty. Before the emotions can be fully corrected by the intellect, -such poets are apt to offend the proprieties, and even to say things -which the most liberal philosopher would have to condemn. It was at -such a time that in another poem, "Dolores," Swinburne spoke of leaving</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The lilies and languors of virtue<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the raptures and roses of vice,</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>—lines that immediately became famous. It was also at such a time that -he uttered the prayer to a pagan ideal:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Come down and redeem us from virtue.<br /> -</p> - -<p>But on the other hand, if all poets were to wait for the age of wisdom -before they began to sing, we should miss a thousand beautiful things -of which only youth is capable, wherefore it were best to forgive the -eccentricities for the sake of the incomparable merits. For example, in -the very poem from which these quotations have been made, we have such -splendid verses as these, referring to the worship of Venus in the time -of Nero:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Dost thou dream, in a respite of slumber,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a lull of the fires of thy life,</span><br /> -Of the days without name, without number,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">When thy will stung the world into strife;</span><br /> -<br /> -When, a goddess, the pulse of thy passion<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smote kings as they revelled in Rome,</span><br /> -And they hailed thee re-risen, O Thalassian,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foam-white, from the foam?</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Thalassian means the sea-born, derived from the Greek word Thalatta, -the sea. Here—Swinburne might be referring to the times of the -Triumvirate, when Cleopatra succeeded in bewitching the great captain -Cæsar and the great captain Antony, and set the world fighting for -her sake. Then we have a reference to the great games in Rome, the -splendour and the horror of the amphitheatre:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -On sands by the storm never shaken,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor wet from the washing of tides;</span><br /> -Nor by foam of the waves overtaken,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor winds that the thunder bestrides;</span><br /> -But red from the print of thy paces,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made smooth for the world and its lords,</span><br /> -Ringed round with a flame of fair faces,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And splendid with swords.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The floor of the amphitheatre was covered with sand, which absorbed the -blood of the combatants. But you will ask what had the games to da with -the goddess? All the Roman festivities of this kind were, to a certain -extent, considered as religious celebrations; they formed parts of -holiday ceremony.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -There the gladiator, pale for thy pleasure,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drew bitter and perilous breath;</span><br /> -There torments laid hold on the treasure<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of limbs too delicious for death;</span><br /> -When thy gardens were lit with live torches;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the world was a steed for thy rein;</span><br /> -When the nations lay prone in thy porches,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Lady of Pain.</span><br /> -<br /> -When with flame all around him aspirant,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood flushed, as a harp-player stands,</span><br /> -The implacable beautiful tyrant,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rose-crowned, having death in his hands;</span><br /> -And a sound as the sound of loud water<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smote far through the flight of the fires,</span><br /> -And mixed with the lightning of slaughter<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A thunder of lyres.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The reference here in the third, fourth, and fifth lines of the first -of the above stanzas is to the torture of the Christians by Nero in the -amphitheatre. By "limbs too delicious for death" the poet refers to the -torture of young girls. The "live torches" refers to Nero's cruelty in -having hundreds of Christians wrapped about with combustible material, -tied to lofty poles, and set on fire, to serve as torches during a -great festival which he gave in the gardens of his palace. The second -stanza represents him as the destroyer of Rome. It is said that he -secretly had the city set on fire in a dozen different places, in order -that he might be thereby enabled to imagine the scene of the burning of -Troy, as described by Homer. He wanted to write a poem about it; and -it is said that while the city was burning, he watched it from a high -place, at the same time composing and singing a poem on the spectacle. -The "flight of fires" refers of course to the spreading of fire through -Rome. The "lightning of slaughter" means<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> the flashing of swords in -the work of killing, and is explained by the legend that Nero sent -soldiers to kill anybody who tried to put out the fire. Anything was -possible in the times of which Swinburne sings; for the world was then -governed by emperors who were not simply wicked but mad. But what I -wish to point out is that while a poet can write verses so splendid in -sound and colour as those that I have quoted, even such a composition -as "Dolores" must be preserved, with all its good and bad, among the -treasures of English verse.</p> - -<p>In spite of his radicalism in the matter of religion and of ethics, -the Bible has had no more devoted student than Swinburne; he has not -only appreciated all the beauties of its imagery and the strength -of its wonderful English, but he has used for the subjects of not a -few of his pieces, and his more daring pieces, Biblical subjects. -The extraordinary composition "Aholibah" was inspired by a study -of Ezekiel; unfortunately this is one of the pieces especially -inappropriate to the classroom. "A Litany" will suit our purpose -better. It consists of a number of Biblical prophecies, from Isaiah -and other books of the Old Testament, arranged into a kind of -dramatic chorus. God is made the chief speaker, and he is answered -by his people. This is a kind of imitation of a certain part of the -old church-service, in which one band of singers answers another, -such singing being called "antiphonal," and the different parts, -"antiphones." There is very little English verse written in the measure -which Swinburne has adopted for this study, and I hope that you will -notice the peculiar rhythmic force of the stanzas. We need quote only a -few.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -All the bright lights of heaven<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will make dark over thee;</span><br /> -One night shall be as seven<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That its skirts may cover thee;</span><br /> -I will send on thy strong men a sword,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On thy remnant a rod:</span><br /> -Ye shall know that I am the Lord,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saith the Lord God.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>And the people answer:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -All the bright lights of heaven<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou hast made dark over us;</span><br /> -One night has been as seven,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That its skirt might cover us;</span><br /> -Thou hast sent on our strong men a sword,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On our remnant a rod;</span><br /> -We know that thou art the Lord,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Lord our God.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>But this submission is not enough; for the Lord replies</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -As the tresses and wings of the wind<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are scattered and shaken,</span><br /> -I will scatter all them that have sinned,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There shall none be taken;</span><br /> -As a sower that scattereth seed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So will I scatter them;</span><br /> -As one breaketh and shattereth a reed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will break and shatter them.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The antiphone is:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -As the wings and the locks of the wind<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are scattered and shaken,</span><br /> -Thou hast scattered all them that have sinned;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was no man taken;</span><br /> -<br /> -As a sower that scattereth seed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So hast thou scattered us;</span><br /> -As one breaketh and shattereth a reed,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou hast broken and shattered us.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Observe that, simple as this versification looks, there is nothing more -difficult. With, the simplest possible words, the greatest possible -amount of sound and force is here obtained. There are many other -stanzas, and a noteworthy fact is that very few words of Latin origin -are used. Most of the words are Anglo-Saxon; perhaps that is why the -language is so sonorous and strong. But when the poet does use a word -of Latin origin, the result is simply splendid:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Ye whom your lords loved well,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Putting silver and gold on you,</span><br /> -The inevitable hell<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall surely take hold on you;</span><br /> -Your gold shall be for a token,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your staff for a rod;</span><br /> -With the breaking of bands ye are broken,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saith the Lord God.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The use of the Latin adjective "inevitable" here gives an extraordinary -effect, the main accent of the line coming on the second syllable of -the word. But, as if to show his power, in the antiphonal response -the poet does not repeat this effect, but goes back to the simple -Anglo-Saxon with astonishing success:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -We whom the world loved well,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Laying silver and gold on us,</span><br /> -The kingdom of death and of hell<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riseth up to take hold on us;</span><br /> -<br /> -Our gold is turned to a token,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our staff to a rod;</span><br /> -Yet shalt thou bind them up that were broken,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O Lord our God.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here the substitution of these much simpler words gives nearly as fine -an effect of sound and a grander effect of sense because of the grim -power of the words themselves.</p> - -<p>Besides studies in Biblical English, the poet has made a number of -studies in the Old Anglo-Saxon poets, most of whom were religious men -who liked sad and terrible subjects. In the poem entitled "After Death" -we have an example of this Anglo-Saxon feeling combined with the plain -strength of a later form of language, chiefly Middle English, with here -and there a very quaint use of grammar. It was common in Anglo-Saxon -poetry to depict the horrors of the grave. Here we have a dead man -talking to his own coffin, and the coffin answers him horribly:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The four boards of the coffin lid<br /> -Heard all the dead man did.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -"I had fair coins red and white,<br /> -And my name was as great light;<br /> -<br /> -"I had fair clothes green and red,<br /> -And strong gold bound round my head.<br /> -<br /> -"But no meat comes in my mouth,<br /> -Now I fare as the worm doth;<br /> -<br /> -"And no gold binds in my hair,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>Now I fare as the blind fare.<br /> -<br /> -"My live thews were of great strength,<br /> -Now am I waxen a span's length;<br /> -<br /> -"My live sides were full of lust,<br /> -Now are they dried with dust."<br /> -<br /> -The first board spake and said:<br /> -"Is it best eating flesh or bread?"<br /> -<br /> -The second answered it:<br /> -"Is wine or honey the more sweet?"<br /> -<br /> -The third board spake and said:<br /> -"Is red gold worth a girl's gold head?"<br /> -<br /> -The fourth made answer thus:<br /> -"All these things are as one with us."<br /> -<br /> -The dead man asked of them:<br /> -"Is the green land stained brown with flame?<br /> -<br /> -"Have they hewn my son for beasts to eat,<br /> -And my wife's body for beasts' meat?<br /> -<br /> -"Have they boiled my maid in a brass pan,<br /> -And built a gallows to hang my man?"<br /> -<br /> -The boards said to him:<br /> -"This is a lewd thing that ye deem.<br /> -<br /> -"Your wife has gotten a golden bed;<br /> -All the sheets are sewn with red.<br /> -<br /> -"Your son has gotten a coat of silk,<br /> -The sleeves are soft as curded milk.<br /> -<br /> -"Your maid has gotten a kirtle new,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>All the skirt has braids of blue.<br /> -<br /> -"Your man has gotten both ring and glove,<br /> -Wrought well for eyes to love."<br /> -<br /> -The dead man answered thus:<br /> -"What good gift shall God give us?"<br /> -<br /> -The boards answered anon:<br /> -"Flesh to feed hell's worm upon."<br /> -</p> - -<p>I doubt very much whether a more terrible effect could be produced -by any change of language. The poem is an excellent illustration of -the force of the Old English, without admixture of any sort. Do not -think that this is simple and easy work; perhaps no other living -man could have done it equally well. It is not only in these simple -forms, however, that Swinburne shows us the results of his Old English -studies. Two of the most celebrated among his early poems, "The Triumph -of Time" and the poem on the swallow, "Itylus," are imitations of very -old forms of English verse, though the language is luxurious and new. I -have already given you a quotation from the former poem, describing the -poet's love of the sea. I now cite a single stanza of "Itylus."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How can thine heart be full of the spring?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A thousand summers are over and dead.</span><br /> -What hast thou found in the spring to follow?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What hast thou found in thine heart to sing?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What wilt thou do when the summer is shed?</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Probably Swinburne found this measure in early Middle English poetry; -it was used by the old poet Hampole in his "Prick of Conscience." After -it had been forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> for five hundred years, Swinburne brought it to -life again. Something very close to it forms the splendid and beautiful -chorus of "Atalanta in Calydon":</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mother of months in meadow or plain</span><br /> -Fills the shadows and windy places<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;</span><br /> -And the brown bright nightingale amorous<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is half assuaged for Itylus,</span><br /> -For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here as in all other cases, however, the poet has far surpassed his -model. The measures which he revived take new life only because of the -extraordinary charm which he has put into them.</p> - -<p>Passing suddenly from these lighter structures, let us observe the -great power which Swinburne manifests in another kind of revival, the -sixteen syllable line. This is not a modern measure at all. It was used -long ago, but was practically-abandoned and almost forgotten except -by scholars when Swinburne revived it. Nor has he revived it only in -one shape, but in a great many shapes, sometimes using single lines, -sometimes double, or again varying the accent so as to make four or -five different kinds of verse with the same number of syllables. The -poem "The Armada" is a rich example of this re-animation and variation -of the long dead form. In this poem Swinburne describes the god of -Spain as opposed to the god of England, and the most forceful lines are -those devoted to these conceptions. Observe the double rhymes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Ay, but <i>we</i> that the wind and <i>sea</i> gird round with shelter<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">of storms and <i>waves</i>,</span><br /> -Know not <i>him</i> that ye worship, <i>grim</i> as dreams that quicken<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">from dead men's <i>graves</i>:</span><br /> -God is <i>one</i> with the sea, the <i>sun</i>, the land that nursed us,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the love that <i>saves.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -Love whose <i>heart</i> is in ours, and <i>part</i> of all things noble<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">and all things <i>fair</i>:</span><br /> -Sweet and <i>free</i> as the circling <i>sea</i>, sublime and kind as the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">fostering <i>air</i>:</span><br /> -Pure of <i>shame</i> as is England's <i>name</i>, whose crowns to come<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">are as crowns that <i>were.</i></span><br /> -</p> -<p>Now we have, quite easily, a change in the measure. -We have sixteen syllables still, but the whole music is -changed.</p> -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -But the Lord of darkness, the God whose love is a flaming fire,<br /> -The master whose mercy fulfils wide hell till its torturers tire,<br /> -He shall surely have heed of his servants who serve him for love, not hire.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The double rhymes are not used here. Later on, after the English -victory and the storm, they are used again, for the purpose of -additional force. The address is to the Spaniards and to their gods.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Lords of <i>night</i>, who would breathe your <i>blight</i> on April's<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">morning and August's <i>noon</i>,</span><br /> -God your <i>Lord</i>, the condemned, the <i>abhorred</i>, sinks hell-ward,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">smitten with deathlike <i>swoon</i>,</span><br /> -Death's own <i>dart</i> in his hateful <i>heart</i> now thrills, and night<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">shall receive him <i>soon.</i></span><br /> -God the <i>Devil</i>, thy reign of <i>revel</i> is here forever eclipsed<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">and <i>fled</i>;</span><br /> -God the <i>Liar</i>, everlasting <i>fire</i> lays hold at last on thee, hand<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">and <i>head.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Page after page of constantly varying measures of this kind will be -found in the poem—a poem which notwithstanding its strong violence at -times, represents the power of the verse-maker better than almost any -other single piece in the work of his later years.</p> - -<p>From what extracts we have already made, I think you will see enough of -the value and beauty of Swinburne's diction to take in it such interest -as it really deserves. We might continue the study of this author for a -much longer time. But the year is waning, the third term, which is very -short, will soon be upon us; and I wish to turn with you next week to -the study of Browning.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h5> - - -<h4>STUDIES IN BROWNING</h4> - - -<p>Robert Browning very much reminds us in some respects of the American -thinker, Emerson. The main doctrine of Emerson is Individualism; -and this happens also to be the main doctrine of Browning. By -Individualism, Emerson and Browning mean self-cultivation. Both -thought that the highest possible duty of every man was to develop the -best powers of his mind and body to the utmost possible degree. Make -yourself strong—that, is the teaching. You are only a man, not a god; -therefore it is very likely that you will do many things which are -very wrong or very foolish. But whatever you do, even if it be wrong, -do it well—do it with all your strength. Even a strong sin may be -better than a cowardly virtue. Weakness is of all things the worst. -When we do wrong, experience soon, teaches us our mistake. And the -stronger the mistake has been, the more quickly will the experience -come which corrects and purifies. Now you understand what I mean by -Individualism—the cultivation by untiring exercise of all our best -faculties, and especially of the force and courage to act.</p> - -<p>This Individualism in Emerson was founded upon a vague Unitarian -pantheism. The same fact is true of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> Browning's system. According to -both thinkers, all of us are parts of one infinite life, and it is -by cultivating our powers that we can best serve the purpose of the -Infinite Mind. Leaving out the words "mind" and "purpose," which are -anthropomorphisms, this doctrine accords fairly well with evolutional -philosophy; and both writers were, to a certain degree, evolutionists. -But neither yielded much to the melancholy of nineteenth century doubt. -Both were optimists. We may say that Browning's philosophy is an -optimistic pantheism, inculcating effort as the very first and highest -duty of life. But Browning is not especially a philosophical poet. We -find his philosophy flashing out only at long intervals. Knowing this, -we know what he is likely to think under certain circumstances; but his -mission was of another special kind.</p> - -<p>His message to the world was that of an interpreter of life. His art -is, from first to last, a faithful reflection of human nature, the -human nature of hundreds of different characters, good and bad, but -in a large proportion of case's, decidedly bad. Why? Because, as a -great artist, Browning understood very well that you can draw quite as -good a moral from bad actions as from good ones, and his unconscious -purpose is always moral. Such art of picturing character, to be really -great, must be dramatic; and all of Browning's work is dramatic. He -does not say to us, "This man has such and such a character"; he makes -the man himself act and speak so as to show his nature. The second -fact, therefore, to remember about Browning is that artistically he is -a dramatic poet, whose subject is human nature. No other English poet -so closely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> resembled Shakespeare in this kind of representation as -Browning.</p> - -<p>There is one more remarkable fact about the poet. He always, or nearly -always, writes in the first person. Every one of his poems, with few -exceptions, is a soliloquy. It is not he who speaks, of course; it is -the "I" of some other person's soul. This kind of literary form is -called "monologue." Even the enormous poem of "The Ring and the Book" -is nothing but a gigantic collection of monologues, grouped and ordered -so as to produce one great dramatic effect.</p> - -<p>In the case of Browning, I shall not attempt much illustration by way -of texts, because a great deal of Browning's form could be not only of -no use to you, but would even be mischievous in its influence upon your -use of language. In Browning every rule of rhetoric, of arrangement, is -likely to be broken. The adjective is separated by vast distances from -the noun; the preposition is tumbled after the word to which it refers; -the verb is found at the end of a sentence of which it should have been -the first word. When Carlyle first read the poem called "Sordello," he -said that he could not tell whether "Sordello" was a man or a town or -a book. And the obscurity of "Sordello" is in some places so atrocious -that I do not think anybody in the world can unravel it. Now, most -of Browning's long poems are written in this amazing style. The text -is, therefore, not a good subject for literary study. But it is an -admirable subject for psychological study, emotional study, dramatic -study, and sometimes for philosophic study. Instead of giving extracts, -therefore, from very long poems, I shall give only a summary of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> the -meaning of the poem itself. If such summary should tempt you to the -terrible labour of studying the original, I am sure that you would be -very tired, but after the weariness, you would be very much surprised -and pleased.</p> - -<p>Providing, of course, that you would understand; and I very much -doubt whether you could understand. I doubt because I cannot always -understand it myself, no matter how hard I try.</p> - -<p>One reason is the suppression of words. Browning leaves out all the -articles, prepositions, and verbs that he can. I met some years ago -a Japanese scholar who had mastered almost every difficulty of the -English language except the articles and prepositions; he had never -been abroad long enough to acquire the habit of using them properly. -But it was his business to write many letters upon technical subjects, -and these letters were always perfectly correct, except for the -extraordinary fact that they contained no articles and very few -prepositions. Much of Browning's poetry reads just in that way. You -cannot say that there is anything wrong; but too much is left to the -imagination. Therefore he has been spoken of as writing in telegraph -language.</p> - -<p>Not to make Browning too formidable at first, let us begin with a few -of his lighter studies, in very simple verse. I will take as the first -example the poem called "A Light Woman." This is a polite word for -courtesan, "light" referring to the moral character. The story, told in -monologue, is the most ordinary story imaginable. It happens in every -great city of the world almost every day, among that class of young men -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> play with fire. But there are two classes among these, the strong -and the weak. The strong take life as half a joke, a very pleasant -thing, and pass through many dangers unscathed simply because they -know that what they are doing is foolish; they never consider it in a -serious way. The other class of young men take life seriously. They are -foolish rather through affection and pity than through anything else. -They want a woman's love, and they foolishly ask it from women who -cannot love at all—not, at least, in ninety cases out of a hundred. -They get what seems to them affection, however, and this deludes them. -Then they become bewitched; and the result is much sorrow, perhaps -ruin, perhaps crime, perhaps suicide. In Browning's poem we have a -representative of each type. A strong man, strong in character, has a -young friend who has been fascinated by a woman of a dangerous class. -He says to himself, "My friend will be ruined; he is bewitched; it is -no use to talk to him. I will save him by taking that woman away from -him. I know the kind of man that she would like; she would like such a -man as I." And the rest of the cruel story is told in Browning's verses -too well to need further explanation.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -So far as our story approaches the end,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which do you pity the most of us three?—</span><br /> -My friend, or the mistress of my friend<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With her wanton eyes, or me?</span><br /> -<br /> -My friend was already too good to lose,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And seemed in the way of improvement yet,</span><br /> -When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And over him drew her net.</span><br /> -<br /> -When I saw him tangled in her toils,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A shame, said I, if she adds just him</span><br /> -To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hundredth for a whim!</span><br /> -<br /> -And before my friend be wholly hers,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How easy to prove to him, I said,</span><br /> -An eagle's the game her pride prefers,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though she snaps at a wren instead!</span><br /> -<br /> -So I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My hand sought hers as in earnest need,</span><br /> -And round she turned for my noble sake,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gave me herself indeed.</span><br /> -<br /> -The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wren is he, with his maiden face.</span><br /> -You look away, and your lip is curled?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Patience, a moment's space!</span><br /> -<br /> -For see, my friend goes shaking and white;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He eyes me as the basilisk:</span><br /> -I have turned, it appears, his day to night,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eclipsing his sun's disk.</span><br /> -<br /> -And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Though I love her—that, he comprehends—</span><br /> -One should master one's passions (love, in chief),<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And be loyal to one's friends!"</span><br /> -<br /> -And she—she lies in my hand as tame<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As a pear late basking over a wall;</span><br /> -Just a touch to try, and off it came;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis mine,—can I let it fall?</span><br /> -<br /> -With no mind to eat it, that's the worst!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?</span><br /> -'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I gave its stalk a twist.</span><br /> -<br /> -And I,—what I seem to my friend, you see:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:</span><br /> -What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No hero, I confess.</span><br /> -<br /> -'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And matter enough to save one's own:</span><br /> -Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He played with for bits of stone!</span><br /> -<br /> -One likes to show the truth for the truth;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That the woman was light is very true:</span><br /> -But suppose she says,—Never mind that youth!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What wrong have I done to you?</span><br /> -<br /> -Well, anyhow, here the story stays,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So far at least as I understand;</span><br /> -And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here's a subject made to your hand!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Now let us see how much there is to study in this simple-seeming poem. -It will give us an easy and an excellent example of the way in which -Browning must be read; and it will require at least an hour's chat to -explain properly. For, really, Browning never writes simply.</p> - -<p>Here we have a monologue. It is uttered to the poet by a young man with -whom he has been passing an hour in conversation. We can guess from -the story something about the young man; we can almost see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> him. We -know that he must be handsome, tall, graceful, and strong; and full of -that formidable coolness which the sense of great strength gives—great -strength of mind and will rather than of body, but probably both. Let -us hear him talk. "You see that friend of mine over there?" he says to -the poet. "He hates me now. When he looks at me his lips turn white. I -can't say that he is wrong to hate me, but really I wanted to do him a -service. He got fascinated by that woman of whom I was speaking; she -was playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse or with a bird before -killing it. Well, I thought to myself that my friend was in great -danger, and that it was better for me to try to save him. You see, he -is not the kind of man that a woman of that class could fancy; he is -too small, too feeble, too gentle; they like strong men only, men they -are afraid of. So, just for my friend's sake, I made love to her one -day, and she left him immediately and came to me. I have to take care -of her now, and I do not like the trouble at all. I never cared about -the woman herself; she is not the kind of woman that I admire; I did -all this only to save my friend. And my friend does not understand. He -thinks that I took the woman from him because I was in love with her; -he thinks it quite natural that I should love her (which I don't); but -he says that even in love a man ought to be true to his friends."</p> - -<p>At this point of the story the young man sees that the poet is -disgusted by what he has heard, but this does not embarrass him; he -is too strong a character to be embarrassed at all, and he resumes: -"Don't be impatient—I want to tell you the whole thing. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> see, I -have destroyed all the happiness of my friend merely through my desire -to do him a service. He hates me, and he does not understand. He thinks -that I was moved by lust; and everybody else thinks the same thing. Of -course it is not true. But now there is another trouble. The woman does -not understand. She thinks that I was really in love with her; and I -must get rid of her as soon as I can. If I tell her that I made love -to her only in order to save my friend, she will say, 'What had that -to do with your treatment of me? I did not do you any harm; why should -you have amused yourself by trying to injure and to deceive me?' If she -says that, I don't know how I shall be able to answer. So it seems that -I have made a serious mistake; I have lost my friend, I have wantonly -wronged a woman whose only fault toward me was to love me, and I have -made for myself a bad reputation in society. People cannot understand -the truth of the thing."</p> - -<p>This is the language of the man, and he perhaps thinks that he is -telling the truth. But is he telling the truth? Does any man in this -world ever tell the exact truth about himself? Probably not. No man -really understands himself so well as to be able to tell the exact -truth about himself. It is possible that this man believes himself to -be speaking truthfully, but he is certainly telling a lie, a half-truth -only. We have his exact words, but the exact language of the speaker -in any one of Browning's monologues does not tell the truth; it only -suggests the truth. We must find out the real character of the person, -and the real facts of the case, from our own experience of human -nature.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> And to understand the real meaning behind this man's words, -you must ask yourselves whether you would believe such a story if it -were told to you in exactly the same way by some one whom you know. I -shall answer for you that you certainly would not.</p> - -<p>And now we come to the real meaning. The young man saw his friend -desperately in love with a woman who did not love that friend. The -woman was beautiful. Looking at her, he thought to himself, "How easily -I could take her away from my friend!" Then he thought to himself -that not only would this be a cause of enmity between himself and -his friend, but such an action would be severely judged by all his -acquaintances. Could he be justified? When a man wishes to do what is -wrong, he can nearly always invent a moral reason for doing it. So -this young man finds a moral reason. He says, "My friend is in danger; -therefore I will sacrifice myself for him. It will be quite gratifying -both to my pride and to my pleasure to take that woman from him; then I -shall tell everybody why I did it. My friend would like to kill me, of -course, but he is too weak to avenge himself." He follows this course, -and really tries to persuade himself that he is justified in following -it. When he says that he did not care for the woman, he only means that -he is now tired of her. He has indulged his lust and his vanity by the -most treacherous and brutal conduct; yet he tries to tell the world -that he is a moral man, a martyr, a calumniated person. Such is the -real meaning of his apology.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless we cannot altogether dislike this young man. He is selfish -and proud and not quite truthful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> but these are faults of youth. On -the other hand we can feel that he is very gifted, very intelligent, -and very brave, and, what is still better, that he is ashamed of -himself. He has done wrong, and the very fact that he lies about what -he has done shows us that he is ashamed. He is not all bad. If he -does not tell us the whole truth, he tells a great deal of it; and we -feel that as he becomes older he will become better. He has abused -his power, and he feels sorry for having abused it; some day he will -probably become a very fine man. We feel this; and, curiously, we -like him better than we like the man whom he has wronged. We like him -because of his force; we despise the other man because of his weakness. -It would be a mistake to do this if we did not feel that the man who -has done wrong is really the better man of the two. What he has done is -not at all to be excused, but we believe that he will redeem his fault -later on. This type is an English or American type—perhaps it might be -a German type. There is nothing Latin about it. Its faults are of the -Northern race.</p> - -<p>But now let us take an unredeemable type, the purely bad, the -hopelessly wicked, a type not of the North this time, but purely -Latin. As the Latin races have been civilised for a very much longer -time than the Northern races, they have higher capacities in certain -directions. They are physically and emotionally much more attractive to -us. The beauty of an Italian or French or Spanish woman is incomparably -more delicate, more exquisite, than the beauty of the Northern women. -The social intelligence of the Italian or Spaniard or Frenchman is -something immeasurably superior to the same capacity in the Englishman, -the Scandinavian, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> the German. The Latins have much less moral -stamina, but imaginatively, æsthetically, emotionally, they have -centuries of superiority. The Northern races were savages when these -were lords of the world. But the vices of civilisation are likely to -be developed in them to a degree impossible to the Northern character. -If their good qualities are older and finer than ours, so their bad -qualities will be older and stronger and deeper. At no time was the -worst side of man more terribly shown than during the Renaissance. -Here is an illustration. We know that for this man there is no hope; -the evil predominates in his nature to such an extent that we can see -nothing at all of the good except his fine sense of beauty. And even -this sense becomes a curse to him.</p> - -<p class="p2" style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">MY LAST DUCHESS</span><br /> -<br /> -That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,<br /> -Looking as if she were alive. I call<br /> -That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands<br /> -Worked busily a day, and there she stands.<br /> -Will't please you sit and look at her? I said<br /> -"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read<br /> -Strangers like you that pictured countenance,<br /> -The depth and passion of its earnest glance,<br /> -But to myself they turned (since none puts by<br /> -The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)<br /> -And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,<br /> -How such a glance came there; so, not the first<br /> -Are you to turn and ask thus.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Let us paraphrase the above. It is a duke of Ferrara who speaks. -The person to whom he is speaking is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> marriage-maker, a <i>nakodo</i> -employed by the prince of a neighbouring state. For the duke wishes -to marry the daughter of that prince. When the match-maker comes, the -duke draws a curtain from a part of the wall of the room in which the -two men meet, and shows him, painted upon the wall, the picture of a -wonderfully beautiful woman. Then the duke says to the messenger: "That -is a picture of my last wife. It is a beautiful picture, is it not? -Well, it was painted by that wonderful monk, Frà Pandolf. I mention his -name on purpose, because everybody who sees that picture for the first -time wants to know why it is so beautiful, and would ask me questions -if they were not afraid. I have shown it to several other people; but -nobody, except myself, dares draw the curtain that covers it. Yes, Frà -Pandolf painted it all in one day; and the expression of the smiling -face still makes everybody wonder. You wonder; you want to know why -that woman looks so charming, so bewitching in the picture."</p> - -<p>Now listen to the explanation. It is worthy of the greatest of the -villains of Shakespeare:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Sir, 'twas not</span><br /> -Her husband's presence only, called that spot<br /> -Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps<br /> -Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps<br /> -Over my lady's wrist too much," or, "Paint<br /> -Must never hope to reproduce the faint<br /> -Half-flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff<br /> -Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough<br /> -For calling up that spot of joy. She had<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>A heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad,<br /> -Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er<br /> -She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.<br /> -Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,<br /> -The dropping of the daylight in the West,<br /> -The bough of cherries some officious fool<br /> -Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule<br /> -She rode with round the terrace—all and each<br /> -Would draw from her alike the approving speech,<br /> -Or blush, at least. She thanked men,—good! but thanked<br /> -Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked<br /> -My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name<br /> -With anybody's gift.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The explanation at least shows us the sweet and childish character -of the woman, which the speaker tries to describe as folly: "It was -not her gladness at seeing me, her husband, that made her smile so -beautifully, that brought the rosy dimple to her cheek. Probably the -painter said something to flatter her, and she smiled at him. She was -ready to smile at anything, at anybody, she was altogether too easily -pleased; she liked everything and everybody that she saw, and she took -a pleasure in looking at everything and at everybody. Nothing made any -difference to her. She would smile at the jewel which I gave her, but -she would also smile at the sunset, at a bunch of cherries, at her -mule, at anything or anybody. Any matter would bring the dimple to her -cheek, or the blush of joy. I do not blame her for thanking people, but -she had a way of thanking people that seemed to show that she was just -as much pleased by what a stranger did for her, as by the fact that -she had become the wife of a man like myself, head of a family nine -hundred years old." Notice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> how the speaker calls the man who gave his -wife a bough with cherries upon it "an officious fool." We can begin to -perceive what was the matter. He was insanely jealous of her, without -any cause; and she, poor little soul! did not know anything about it. -She was too innocent to know. The duke does not want anybody else to -know, either; he is trying to give quite a different explanation of -what happened:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">Who'd stoop to blame</span><br /> -This sort of trifling? Even had you skill<br /> -In speech—(which I have not)—to make your will<br /> -Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this<br /> -Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,<br /> -Or there exceed the mark"—and if she let<br /> -Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set<br /> -Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,<br /> -—E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose<br /> -Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,<br /> -Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without<br /> -Much the same smile?<br /> -</p> - -<p>This means, "A man like me cannot afford to degrade himself by showing -what he feels under such circumstances; a man like me cannot say to a -woman, 'I am greatly vexed and pained when I see you smile at any one -except myself.' If I were to speak to her about the matter at all, she -might think I was jealous. Of course she would insult me by making -excuses, by saying that she did not know, which would be nothing less -than daring to oppose her judgment to mine. To speak about my feelings -in any case would require a skill in the use of language such as only -poets or such vulgar people possess. I am a prince, not a poet, and I -shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> never disgrace myself by telling anybody, especially a woman, -that I do not like this or I do not like that. So I said nothing. -Perhaps you think that she did not smile when she saw me. That would be -a mistake; she always smiled when I passed. But she smiled at everybody -else in exactly the same way." He found the smile unbearable at last, -and the poet lets him tell us the rest in a very few words:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">This grew; I gave commands;</span><br /> -Then all smiles stopped together.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In other words, he caused her to be killed; told somebody to cut her -throat, probably, or to give her a drink of poison, all without having -ever allowed her to know how or why he had been displeased with her. -And he is not a bit sorry. No, looking at the dead woman's picture, in -company with the marriage-maker, he coolly expresses his admiration -for it as a word of realistic art—as much as to say, "You can see -for yourself how beautiful she was; but that did not prevent me from -killing her." Listen to his atrocious chatter:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">There she stands</span><br /> -As if alive. Will't please you rise? Well meet<br /> -The company below, then. I repeat,<br /> -The Count your master's known munificence<br /> -Is ample warrant that no just pretence<br /> -Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;<br /> -Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed<br /> -At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go<br /> -Together down, sir.... Notice Neptune, though,<br /> -Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,<br /> -Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> - -<p>Evidently both had seated themselves in front of the picture. The count -says, "Now she is as if alive; and we shall go downstairs together. -As for the matter of the new marriage, you can tell your master that -I am quite sure so generous a man will not make any objection to my -just demands for a dowry—though, of course, it is his daughter that -I principally want." Here the messenger bows, to allow the duke to go -first downstairs. He answers: "No, we can go down together this time." -On the way, probably at a turn of the grand staircase, the count points -to a fine bronze statue, representing the god of the sea, and asks the -man to admire it. That is all.</p> - -<p>This is a Renaissance character, and a very terrible one. But it is -also very complicated. We must think a little before we can even guess -the whole range and depth of this man's wickedness. Even then we can -only guess, because he lets us know only so much about him as he wishes -us to know. Every word that he says is carefully measured in its pride, -in its falsehood, in its cruelty, in its cunning. Just this much he -tells us: "I had a beautiful wife, but you must not think that I can -be influenced by beauty. Look at the picture of her. You would worship -a woman like that. But I cut her throat. Why did I do it? Just because -I did not like her way of smiling; she was too tender-hearted to love. -And I would do the same thing to-morrow to any one who displeased me. -Some people will think that I am jealous; let them think so. But you -had better tell the girl who now expects to become my wife what kind of -person I am."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> - -<p>How much of this is the truth? Probably more than half. Undoubtedly -the man was jealous, and he wishes to deceive us in regard to the -whole extent of that jealousy. He has no shame or remorse for crime, -but he has shame of appearing to be weak. Jealousy is a weakness; -therefore he does not like to be suspected of being weak in that way. -He gives a strong suggestion, that he must not have future cause for -jealousy—nothing more. But the fact that he most wishes to have -understood is that his wife must be a wicked woman, a vulture among -vultures. He does not want a dove. And he hated his first wife much -more because she was good and gentle and loving, than because she -smiled at other people. You may ask, why should he hate a woman for -being good? The answer is simple. In the courts of such princes as the -Borgias, a good woman could only do mischief. She could not be used for -cunning and wicked purposes. She would have refused to poison a guest, -or to entice a man to make love to her only in order to get that man -killed; and as you will discover if you read the terrible history of -the Italian republics, all these things had to be done. Morality was -a hindrance to such men. Power remained only to cunning and strength; -all kind-heartedness was regarded as criminal weakness. When you have -become familiar with the real history of Ferrara, you will perceive the -terrible truth of this poem.</p> - -<p>The most unpleasant fact still remains to-be noticed. The wickedness of -this man is not a wickedness of ignorance. It is a wickedness of highly -cultivated intelligence. The man is an artist, a judge of beauty, a -connoisseur.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> To suppose that cultivation makes a naturally wicked -man better is a great educational mistake, as Herbert Spencer showed -long ago. Education does not make a man more moral; it may give him -power to be more immoral. Italian history furnishes us with the most -extraordinary illustrations of this fact. Some of the wickedest of the -Italian princes were great poets, great artists, great scholars, and -great patrons of learning. Among the monsters, we have, for example, -the terrible Malatesta of Rimini, whose life was given to us some years -ago by the French antiquarian Yriarte. He wrote the most delicate and -tender poetry, and he committed crimes so terrible that they cannot be -named. When he laid his hand, however lightly, upon a horse, the animal -began to tremble from head to foot. Yet he could love, and be the most -devoted of gallants. Again, you know the case of Benvenuto Cellini, a -splendid artist and an atrocious murderer, who actually tells us the -pleasure that he felt in killing. And there were the Borgias, all of -them, father, daughter, and brothers, who committed every crime and -never knew remorse, yet who were beautiful and gifted lovers of art -and poetry. So in this case Browning is true to life when he shows us -the duke pointing out the beauty of pictures and statues, even in the -same moment that he is uttering horrors. There is a strange mixture -of the extremes of the bad and of the good in the higher types of the -Italian race—a mingling that gives us much to think about in regard to -moral problems. Probably that is why a very large number of Browning's -studies are of the dark side of Italian character.</p> - -<p>Now we can take a lighter subject. It is not black,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> it is only gloomy, -and the interest of it will chiefly be found in the extraordinary moral -comment made by Browning. This is one of the few studies which is not -all written in the first person. It is called "The Statue and the -Bust." It is a tale or tradition of Florence.</p> - -<p>The legend is that a certain duke of Florence, by name Ferdinand, -attempted to captivate the young bride of a Florentine nobleman named -Riccardi. But Riccardi, a very keen man, observed what was going on; -and he said to his wife very quietly and firmly, "This is your room -in my house; you shall stay in this room and never leave it during -the rest of your life, never leave it until you are carried to the -graveyard." So she had to live in that room. But the duke, who was a -very handsome man, got a splendid bronze statue of himself on horseback -erected in the public street opposite the window of the lady's room, -so that she could always look at him. Then she had a bust of herself -made and placed above the window, so that the duke could see the bust -whenever he rode by. That is all the story—but not all the story as -Browning tells it. Browning tells us the secret thoughts and feelings -of the imprisoned wife and of the duke. At first the two intended to -run away together. It would have been an easy matter. The woman would -only have had to dress herself like a boy, and drop from the window, -and get help from the duke to reach his palace. The duke thought to -himself, "I can get this woman whenever I wish; but it will be better -to wait a little while; then we can manage to live as we please without -making too much trouble." So they both waited till they became old. -Then the woman called an artist and said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Make me a face on the window there,<br /> -Waiting as ever, mute the while,<br /> -My love pass below in the square!<br /> -<br /> -"And let me think that it may beguile<br /> -Dreary days which the dead must spend<br /> -Down in their darkness under the aisle,<br /> -<br /> -"To say, 'What matters it at the end?<br /> -I did no more while my heart was warm<br /> -Than does that image, my pale-faced friend.'"<br /> -</p> - -<p>She thinks to console herself a moment by saying, "What is life worth? -When I was young and beautiful and impulsive, I did no more harm or -good, no more right or wrong, than the bust that resembles me. It is a -comfort to think that I did nothing wrong." But is that enough?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Where is the use of the lip's red charm,<br /> -The heaven of hair, the pride of the brow,<br /> -And the blood that blues the inside arm—<br /> -<br /> -"Unless we turn, as the soul knows how,<br /> -The earthly gift to an end divine?<br /> -A lady of clay is as good, I trow."<br /> -</p> - -<p>Somehow or other she feels that it is no consolation not to have done -wrong. She wonders what was the use of being so beautiful, if she could -not make use of that beauty. The bust itself lived just as much as she -did. And all this is true; but she is nearer to living than the duke. -What does he say?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Set me on horseback here aloft,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>Alive, as the crafty sculptor can,<br /> -<br /> -"In the very square I have crossed so oft:<br /> -That men may admire, when future suns<br /> -Shall touch the eyes to a purpose soft,<br /> -<br /> -"While the mouth and the brow stay brave in bronze—<br /> -Admire and say, 'When he was alive<br /> -How he would take his pleasure once!'"<br /> -</p> - -<p>Nothing else; he only wants to be admired after his death, to have -people say, looking at his statue, "What a splendid looking man he must -have been, how the women must have loved him!" And they both died, and -were buried in the church near where they lived; and the English poet -Browning went to that church, and heard the story, and thought about -it, and gives us the moral of it. It is a startling moral and needs -explanation. I think you will be shocked when you first hear it, but -you will not be shocked if you think about it. The following verses are -the poet's own reflections:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -So! While these wait the trump of doom,<br /> -How do their spirits pass, I wonder,<br /> -Nights and days in the narrow room?<br /> -<br /> -Still, I suppose, they sit and ponder<br /> -What a gift life was, ages ago,<br /> -Six steps out of the chapel yonder.<br /> -<br /> -Only they see not God, I know,<br /> -Nor all that chivalry of his,<br /> -The soldier-saints who, row on row,<br /> -<br /> -Burn upward each to his point of bliss—<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> - -<p>He condemns them. Why? Because they did not do anything. Anything? You -do not mean to say that they ought to have committed adultery?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I hear you reproach—"But delay was best,<br /> -For their end was a crime,"—Oh, a crime will do<br /> -As well, I reply, to serve for a test,<br /> -<br /> -As a virtue golden through and through,<br /> -Sufficient to vindicate itself<br /> -And prove its worth at a moment's view!<br /> -<br /> -Must a game be played for the sake of pelf?<br /> -. . . . . . . .<br /> -The true has no value beyond the sham:<br /> -As well the counter as coin, I submit,<br /> -When your table's a hat, and your prize, a dram.<br /> -<br /> -Stake your counter as boldly every whit,<br /> -Venture as warily, use the same skill,<br /> -Do your best, whether winning or losing it,<br /> -<br /> -If you choose to play!—is my principle.<br /> -Let a man contend to the uttermost<br /> -For his life's set prize, be it what it will!<br /> -<br /> -The counter our lovers staked was lost<br /> -As surely as if it were lawful coin;<br /> -And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost<br /> -<br /> -Is the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin,<br /> -Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In order to understand the full force of this strange ethical -philosophy, you must remember that the word "counter" is here a -gambling term; it is used for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> round buttons or disks of bone or -ivory, not in themselves money, but representing money to be eventually -received or paid. Remembering this, we can simplify Browning; this is -what he says:</p> - -<p>"These people were the most contemptible of sinners; they deliberately -threw their lives away. They were afraid to commit a sin. To wish -to commit a sin and to be afraid to commit it, is much worse than -committing it. All their lives those two dreamed and purposed and -desired a sin; they wanted to commit adultery. If they had committed -the crime, there would have been some hope for them; there is always -hope for the persons who are not afraid. When a young man begins to -doubt what his parents and teachers tell him about virtue, it is -sometimes a good thing for him to test this teaching by disobeying it. -Human experience has proclaimed in all ages that theft and murder and -adultery and a few other things can never give good results. It is not -easy to explain the whole why and wherefore to a young person who is -both self-willed and ignorant. But let him try for himself what murder -means, or theft means, or adultery means, and after he has experienced -the consequences, he will begin to perceive what moral teaching -signifies. If he is not killed, or imprisoned for life, he will very -possibly become wise and good at a later time. Now in regard to those -two lovers, they wanted to have an experience; and the experience might -have been so valuable to them that it would have given them a new -soul—but they were afraid; they were criminals without profit; and -their great sin was that of being too cowardly to commit sin. Never -will God forgive such weakness as that!" Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> course all great religions -teach that the man who wishes to do wrong does the wrong in wishing -as truly as if he did it with his body; there is only a difference -of degree. Now Browning goes a little further than such religious -teaching; he tells us that only wishing under certain circumstances may -be incomparably worse than doing, because the doing brings about its -punishment in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, and the punishment -becomes a moral lesson, forcing the sufferer to think about the moral -aspect of what he has done. That is why Browning says, "A sin will do -to serve for a test." But only to wish to do, and not do, leaves a -person in a state of inexperience. There is an old proverb, which is -quite true: "Any man can become rich who is willing to pay the price." -With equal truth it might be said, "You can do anything that you please -in this world, if you are willing to pay the price, but the price of -acts and thoughts is fixed by the Eternal Powers, and you must not try -to cheat them."</p> - -<p>Philosophers will tell you that our moral laws are not always perfect, -that man cannot make a perfect code invariably applicable to all times -and circumstances. This is true. But it is also true that there is a -higher morality than human codes, and when human law fails to give -justice, a larger law occasionally steps in to correct the failure. -Browning delights in giving us examples of this kind, extraordinary -moral situations, wrong by legal opinion, right by the larger law of -nature, which is sometimes divine. A startling story which he tells us, -entitled "Ivàn Ivànovitch," will show us how he treats such themes. -Ivàn, the hero of the story, is a wood-cutter, who works all day in -his native<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> village, to support a large family. He is the most highly -respected of the young peasants, the strong man of the community, a -good father and a good husband. One day, while he is working out of -doors in the bitter cold, a sledge drawn by a maddened and dying horse -enters the village, with a half dead woman on it. The woman is the -wife of Ivàn's best friend, and she has come back alone, although she -had taken her three children with her on the homeward journey. Ivàn -helps her into the house, gives her something warm to drink, caresses -her, comforts her, and asks at last for her story. The sledge had been -pursued by wolves, and the wolves had eaten the three children, one -after another. Ivàn listens very carefully to the mother's relation of -how the three children were snatched out of the sledge by the wolves. -As soon as she has told every one in her own way, Ivàn takes his sharp -axe, and with one blow cuts the woman's head off. To the other peasants -he simply observes, "God told me to do that; I could not help it." Of -course Ivàn knew that the woman had lied. The wolves had not taken the -children away from her: she had dropped one child after another out of -the sledge in order to save her own miserable life.</p> - -<p>At the news of the murder, the authorities of the village all hurry -to the scene. There is the dead body without its head, and the blood -flowing, or rather crawling like a great red snake over the floor. The -lord of the village declares that Ivàn must be executed for this crime. -The Stàrosta, or head man, takes the same view of the situation. But, -just as Ivàn is about to be arrested, the old priest of the village, -the Pope as the peasants call him, a man more than a hundred years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> of -age, comes into the assembly and speaks. He is the only man who has a -word to say on behalf of Ivàn, but what he says is extraordinary in its -force and primitive wisdom. All of it would be too long to quote. I -give you only the conclusion, which immediately results in Ivàn's being -acquitted both by law and by public opinion.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"A mother bears a child: perfection is complete<br /> -So far in such a birth. Enabled to repeat<br /> -The miracle of life,—herself was born so just<br /> -A type of womankind, that God sees fit to trust<br /> -Her with the holy task of giving life in turn.<br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -How say you, should the hand God trusted with life's torch<br /> -Kindled to light the word—aware of sparks that scorch,<br /> -Let fall the same? Forsooth, her flesh a fire-flake stings:<br /> -The mother drops the child! Among what monstrous things<br /> -Shall she be classed?"<br /> -</p> - -<p>Of course the old Pope is speaking from the Christian point of view -when he says that perfection is complete in a birth; he refers to the -orthodox belief that the soul of man is created a perfect thing of -its kind, a perfect spiritual entity, to be further made or marred by -its own acts and thoughts. The mother does not give birth only to a -body, but to a soul also, expressly made by God to fit that body. She -is allowed to repeat the miracle of creation thus far; as mother she -is creator, but only in trust. She has made the vessel of the soul; -her most sacred duty is to guard that little body from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> all harm. A -mother who would even let her child fall to escape pain herself would -be incomparably more ignoble than the most savage of animals. The rule -is that during motherhood even the animal-mother for the time being -becomes the ruling power; the male animal then allows her to have her -own way in all things.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 10em;">"Because of motherhood, each male</span><br /> -Yields to his partner place, sinks proudly in the scale:<br /> -His strength owned weakness, wit—folly, and courage—fear,<br /> -Beside the female proved male's mistress—only here.<br /> -The fox-dam, hunger-pined, will slay the felon sire<br /> -Who dares assault her whelp: the beaver, stretched on fire,<br /> -Will die without a groan: no pang avails to wrest<br /> -Her young from where they hide—her sanctuary breast.<br /> -What's here then? Answer me, thou dead one, as, I trow,<br /> -Standing at God's own bar, he bids thee answer now!<br /> -Thrice crowned wast thou—each crown of pride, a child—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">thy charge!</span><br /> -Where are they? Lost? Enough: no need that thou<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">enlarge</span><br /> -On how or why the loss: life left to utter 'lost'<br /> -Condemns itself beyond appeal. The soldier's post<br /> -Guards from the foe's attack the camp he sentinels:<br /> -That he no traitor proved, this and this only tells—<br /> -Over the corpse of him trod foe to foe's success.<br /> -Yet—one by one thy crowns torn from thee—thou no less<br /> -To scare the world, shame God,—livedst! I hold he saw<br /> -The unexampled sin, ordained the novel law,<br /> -Whereof first instrument was first intelligence<br /> -Found loyal here. I hold that, failing human sense,<br /> -The very earth had oped, sky fallen, to efface<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>Humanity's new wrong, motherhood's first disgrace.<br /> -Earth oped not, neither fell the sky, for prompt was found<br /> -A man and man enough, head-sober and heart-sound,<br /> -Ready to hear God's voice, resolute to obey.<br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 21.5em;">I proclaim</span><br /> -Ivàn Ivànovitch God's servant!"<br /> -</p> - -<p>On hearing this speech the peasantry are at once convinced; the Russian -lord orders the proclamation to be made that the murderer is forgiven, -and the head man of the village goes to Ivàn's house to bring the good -news. He expects to find Ivàn on his knees at prayer, very much afraid -of the police and coming punishment. But on opening the door the head -man finds Ivàn playing with his five children, and making for them a -toy-church out of little bits of wood. It has not even entered into the -mind of Ivàn that he did anything wrong. And when they tell him, "You -are free, you will not be punished," he answers them in surprise, "Why -should I not be free? Why should you talk of my not being punished?" To -this simple mind there is nothing to argue about. He has only done what -God told him to do, punished a crime against Nature.</p> - -<p>The story is a strange one; but not stranger than many to be found in -Browning. None of his moral teachings are at discord with any form -of true religion, yet they are mostly larger than the teachings of -any creed. Perhaps this is why he has never offended the religious -element even while preaching doctrines over its head. The higher -doctrines thus proclaimed might be anywhere accepted; they might be -also questioned; but no one would deny their beauty and power. We may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> -assume that Browning usually considers all incidents in their relation -to eternal law, not to one place or time, but to all places and to all -times, because the results of every act and thought are infinite. This -doctrine especially is quite in harmony with Oriental philosophy, even -when given such a Christian shape as it takes in the beautiful verses -of "Abt Vogler."</p> - -<p>Abt Vogler was a great musician, a great improviser. Here let me -explain the words "improvise" and "improvisation," as to some of -you they are likely to be unfamiliar, at least in the special sense -given to them in this connection. An improvisation in poetry means a -composition made instantly, without preparation, at request or upon -a sudden impulse. In Japanese literary history, I am told, there are -some very interesting examples of improvisation. For example, the -story of that poetess who, on being asked to compose a poem including -the mention of something square, something round, and something -triangular, wrote those celebrated lines about unfastening one corner -of a mosquito-curtain in order to look at the moon. Among Europeans -improvisation is now almost a lost art in poetry, except among the -Italians. Some Italian families still exist in which the art of -poetical improvisation has been cultivated for hundreds of years. But -in music it is otherwise. Improvisation in music is greatly cultivated -and esteemed. Most of our celebrated musicians have been great -improvisers. Those who heard such music would regret that it could not -be reproduced, not even by the musician himself. It was a beautiful -creation, forgotten as soon as made, because never written down.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now you know what Browning means by improvisation in his poem "Abt -Vogler." The musician has been improvising, and the music, made only -to be forgotten, is so beautiful that he himself bitterly regrets the -evanescence of it. We may quote a few of the verses in which this -regret is expressed; they are very fine and very strange, written in a -measure which I think you have never seen before.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work,</span><br /> -Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Solomon willed</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk,</span><br /> -Man, brute, reptile, fly,—alien of end and of aim,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">removed,—</span><br /> -Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Name,</span><br /> -And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">he loved!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The musician is comparing the music that he makes to magical -architecture; he refers to the Mohammedan legends of Solomon. Solomon -knew all magic; and all men, animals, angels, and demons obeyed him. -God has ninety-nine names by which the faithful may speak of him, but -the hundredth name is secret, the Name ineffable. He who knows it can -do all things by the utterance of it. When Solomon pronounced it, -all the spirits of the air and of heaven and of hell would rush to -obey him. And if he wanted a palace or a city built, he had only to -order the spirits to build it, and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> would build it immediately, -finishing everything between the rising and the setting of the sun. -That is the story which the musician refers to. He has the power of the -master-musician over sounds; but the sounds will not stay.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise!</span><br /> -Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine,<br /> -Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise!<br /> -And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell,<br /> -Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things,<br /> -Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well,<br /> -Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The musician wishes that his architecture of sound could remain, as -remained the magical palace that Solomon made the spirits build to -please Queen Balkis. He remembers how beautiful his music was; he -remembers how the different classes of notes combined to make it, just -as the different classes of spirits combined to make the palace of -Solomon. There the deep notes, the bass chords, sank down thundering -like demon-spirits working to make the foundation in the very heart -of the earth. And the treble notes seemed to soar up like angels to -make the roof of gold, and to tip all the points of the building with -glorious fires of illumination.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> Truly the palace of sounds was built, -but it has vanished away like a mirage; the builder cannot reproduce -it. Why not? Well, because great composition of any kind is not merely -the work of man; it is an inspiration from God, and the mystery of such -inspired composition is manifested in music as it is manifested in no -other art. For the harmonies, the combinations of tones, are mysteries, -and must remain mysterious even for the musician himself. Who can -explain them?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Existent behind all laws, that made them, and lo, they are!</span><br /> -And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.</span><br /> -Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is naught:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is everywhere in the world—loud, soft, and all is said:</span><br /> -Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there! Ye have heard and seen: consider and bow the head!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>But for the same reason that they are mysteries and cannot be -understood because they relate to the infinite, they are eternal. -That is the consolation. The musician need not regret that the music -composed in a moment of divine inspiration cannot be remembered; he -need not regret that it has been forgotten. Forgotten it is by the man -who made it; forgotten it is by the people who heard it; forgotten it -is therefore by all mankind. Nevertheless it is eternal, because the -Universal Soul that inspired it never forgets anything. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> think that -the verse in which this beautiful thought is expressed—the verse that -contains the whole of Browning's religion, is the most beautiful thing -in all his work. But you must judge for yourselves:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power</span><br /> -Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.</span><br /> -The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,</span><br /> -Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enough that he heard it once; we shall hear it by and by.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>By the phrase "when eternity affirms the conception of an hour," the -poet means when we ourselves, in a future and higher state of being, -shall see the worth of our good acts and thoughts proved by the fact -that they survive along with us. Eternity affirms them—that is, -recognises them as worthy of immortality by suffering them to exist. -This line gives us the key to the philosophy of the rest. It is quite -in harmony with Buddhist philosophy. Browning holds that all good acts -and thoughts are eternal, whether men in this world remember them or -not. But what of the bad acts and thoughts? Are they also eternal? Not -in the same sense. Evil acts and thoughts do indeed exert an influence -reaching enormously into the future, but it is an influence that must -gradually wane, it is a Karma that must become exhausted. As for -regretting that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> nobody sees or knows the good that we do, that is very -foolish. The good will never die; it will be seen again—perhaps only -in millions of years, yet this should make no difference. To the dead -the time of a million years and the time of a moment may be quite the -same thing.</p> - -<p>But you must not suppose that Browning lives much in the regions of -abstract philosophy. He is human in the warmest way, and very much -alive to impressions of sense. Not even Swinburne is at times more -voluptuous, but the voluptuous in Browning is always natural and -healthy as well as artistic. I must quote to you some passages from the -wonderful little dramatic poem entitled "In a Gondola." You know that a -gondola is a peculiar kind of boat which in Venice takes the place of -carriages or vehicles of any kind. In the city of Venice there are no -streets to speak of, but canals only, so that people go from one place -to another only by boat. These boats or gondolas of Venice are not -altogether unlike some of the old-fashioned Japanese pleasure-boats; -they have a roof and windows and rooms, and it is possible to travel -in them without being seen by anybody. In the old days of Venice, many -secret meetings between lovers and many secret meetings of conspirators -were held in such boats. The poet is telling us of the secret meeting -of two lovers, at the risk of death, for if the man is seen he will -certainly be killed. At the end of the poem he actually is killed; the -moment he steps on shore he is stabbed, because he has been watched by -the spies of a political faction that hates him. But this is not the -essential part of the poem at all. The essential part of the poem is -the description, of the feelings and thoughts of these two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> people, -loving in the shadow of death; this is very beautiful and almost -painfully true to nature. We get also not a few glimpses of the old -life and luxury of Venice in the course of the narrative. As the boat -glides down the long canals, between the high ranges of marble palaces -rising from the water, the two watch the windows of the houses that -they know, and talk about what is going on inside.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Past we glide, and past, and past!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What's that poor Agnese doing</span><br /> -Where they make the shutters fast?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grey Zanobi's just a-wooing</span><br /> -To his couch the purchased bride:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past we glide!</span><br /> -<br /> -Past we glide, and past, and past!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why's the Pucci Palace flaring</span><br /> -Like a beacon to the blast?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Guests by hundreds, not one caring</span><br /> -If the dear host's neck were wried:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past we glide!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>It is the man who is here looking and talking and criticising. The -woman is less curious; she is thinking only of love, and what she says -in reply has become famous in English literature; we might say that -this is the very best we have in what might be called the "literature -of kissing."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The moth's kiss, first!<br /> -Kiss me as if you made believe<br /> -You were not sure, this eve,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>How my face, your flower, had pursed<br /> -Its petals up; so, here and there<br /> -You brush it, till I grow aware<br /> -Who wants me, and wide ope I burst.<br /> -<br /> -The bee's kiss, now!<br /> -Kiss me as if you entered gay<br /> -My heart at some noonday,<br /> -A bud that dares not disallow<br /> -The claim, so all is rendered up,<br /> -And passively its shattered cup<br /> -Over your head to sleep I bow.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Of course you know all about the relation of insects to flowers—how -moths, beetles, butterflies, and other little creatures, by entering -flowers in order to suck the honey, really act as fertilisers, carrying -the pollen from the male flower to the female flower. It is the use of -this fact from natural history that makes these verses so exquisite. -The woman's mouth is the flower; the lips of the man, the visiting -insect. "Moth" is the name which we give to night butterflies, that -visit flowers in the dark. What the woman says is this in substance: -"Kiss me with my mouth shut first, like a night moth coming to a -flower all shut up, and not knowing where the opening is." The second -comparison of the bee suggests another interesting fact in the relation -between insects and flowers. A bee or wasp, on finding it difficult -to enter a flower from the top, so as to get at the honey, will cut -open the side of the flower, and break its way in. The woman is asking -simply, "Now give me a rough kiss after the gentle one." All this is -mere play, of course, but by reason of the language used it rises far -above the merely trifling into the zones<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> of supreme literary art. -Later on, we have another comparison, made by the man, which I think -very beautiful. The thought, the comparison itself, is not new; from -very ancient times it has been the custom of lovers to call the woman -they loved an angel. I fancy this custom is reflected in the amatory -literature of all countries; it exists even in Japanese poetry. But -really it does not matter whether a comparison be new or old; its value -depends upon the way that a poet utters it. Browning's lover says:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Lie back; could thought of mine improve you?<br /> -From this shoulder let there spring<br /> -A wing; from this, another wing;<br /> -Wings, not legs and feet, shall move you!<br /> -Snow-white must they spring, to blend<br /> -With your flesh, but I intend<br /> -They shall deepen to the end,<br /> -Broader, into burning gold,<br /> -Till both wings crescent-wise enfold<br /> -Your perfect self, from 'neath your feet<br /> -To o'er your head, where, lo, they meet<br /> -As if a million sword-blades hurled<br /> -Defiance from you to the world!<br /> -</p> - -<p>This is a picture painted after the manner of the Venetian school; we -seem to be looking at something created, by the brush of Titian or -Tintoretto. I am not sure that it will seem to you as beautiful as it -really is, for it is intended to appeal to the imagination of persons -who have actually seen the paintings of the Italian masters, or at -least engravings of them. Angels were frequently represented by those -great artists as clothed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> with their own wings, the wings, white below, -gold above, meeting over the head like two new moons joining their -shining tips. What the poet means by "sword-blades" are the long narrow -flashing feathers of the angel-wings, which, joined all together, look -like a cluster of sword-blades. But one must have seen the pictures of -the Italian masters to appreciate the skill of this drawing in words. -Here I may remind you that Dante, in his vision of Paradise, uses -colours of a very similar sort—blinding white and dazzling gold appear -in the wings of his angels also.</p> - -<p>The above examples of the merely artistic power of Browning will -suffice for the moment; great as he always is when he descends to -earth, he is most noteworthy in those other directions which I have -already pointed out, and which are chiefly psychological. I want to -give you more examples from the poems of the psychological kind, partly -because they are of universally recognised value in themselves, and -partly because it is these that make the distinction between Browning -and his great contemporaries. One of these pieces, now quoted through -the whole English-speaking world, is "A Grammarian's Funeral." This -poem is intended to give us the enthusiasm which the students of the -later Middle Ages felt for scholarship, the delight in learning which -revived shortly before the Renaissance. I suppose that many of you -recollect the first enthusiasm for Western studies in Japan; people -then studied too hard, tried to do even more than they could do. So -it was in Europe at the time of the revival of learning; men killed -themselves by overstudy. In this poem Browning makes us listen to the -song sung by a company of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> university students burying their dead -teacher; they are carrying him up to the top of a high mountain above -the mediæval city, there to let him sleep forever above the clouds and -above the vulgarities of mankind. The philosophy in it is very noble -and strong, though it be only the philosophy of young men.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Let us begin and carry up this corpse,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Singing together.</span><br /> -Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each in its tether</span><br /> -Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cared-for till cock-crow:</span><br /> -Look out if yonder be not day again<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rimming the rock-row!</span><br /> -That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rarer, intenser,</span><br /> -Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chafes in the censer.</span><br /> -Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seek we sepulture</span><br /> -On a tall mountain, citied to the top,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crowded with culture!</span><br /> -All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clouds overcome it;</span><br /> -No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Circling its summit.</span><br /> -Thither our path lies; wind we up the heights;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wait ye the warning?</span><br /> -Our low life was the level's and the night's;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's for the morning.</span><br /> -Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Ware the beholders!</span><br /> -This is our master, famous, calm and dead,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne on our shoulders.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> - -<p>Some little description will be necessary before we can go further with -the poem. It was dark, before daybreak, when the students assembled for -the funeral, and it is still rather dark when the funeral procession -starts up the mountain. This appears from the lines, "Look out if -yonder be not day again rimming the rock-row"—meaning, see if that is -not daylight up there at the top of the mountains. It is not full day, -but they can see, far up, the lights of the citadel. The poet wants -to give us the feeling of a fortified city of the Middle Ages. You -must understand that multitudes of cities, especially in France and -in Germany, were then built upon mountain tops, so that they could be -better fortified and defended against attack. Part of such a city would -be of course on sloping ground. But the very highest place was always -reserved, inside the city, for military purposes. Outside the city -were walls and ditches and towers. Inside the city there was a smaller -city or citadel, also surrounded by ditches and walls and towers, and -occupying the highest place possible. An enemy, after capturing the -city proper, would still have the citadel to capture, always a very -difficult military feat. Now you will understand better the suggestions -of immense height in the poem. The students are going up above the -citadel to bury their teacher. They say that the place is appropriate -because the air at that height is, like intellectual thought, cold and -pure and full of electricity, the symbol of mental energy and moral -effort. You may notice that the students are still somewhat rough in -their ways. It was a rough age; they do not intend to submit to any -interference on the way, nor even to any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> curiosity, so the ignorant -"beholders" are bidden to be very careful.</p> - -<p>At this point the poem gives us the students' account of their -teacher's life. They are singing a song about it, and you must -understand that all the lines in parentheses do not necessarily mean -interruptions of the narrative, though some of them do. A little -careful reading will make everything clear; then you will perceive how -very fine the spirit of the whole thing is.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Safe from the weather!</span><br /> -He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Singing together,</span><br /> -He was a man born with thy face and throat,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lyric Apollo!</span><br /> -Long he lived nameless: how should Spring take note<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winter would follow?</span><br /> -Till lo! the little touch, and youth was gone!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cramped and diminished,</span><br /> -Moaned he, "New measures, other feet anon!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My dance is finished?"</span><br /> -No, that's the world's way: (keep the mountain-side,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make for the city!)</span><br /> -He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over men's pity;</span><br /> -Left play for work, and grappled with the world<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bent on escaping:</span><br /> -"What's in the scroll," quoth he, "thou keepest furled?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show me their shaping,</span><br /> -Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give!"—So he gowned him,</span><br /> -Straight got by heart that book to its last page:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Learned, we found him.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<p>When his first students met him, they met him as a youthful and a -learned man; these latest students found him old, bald, scarcely -able to see—and yet he had not allowed himself any rest. In spite -of the fact that he felt death was coming, he continued to study day -and night, he read all the books then existing, and when he had read -them all, he said only, "Now I have got to the beginning of my real -studies. The material is in my hands; now I shall use it." Sickness or -health made no difference to him. This life he thought of only as the -commencement of eternity.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -He said, "What's Time? Leave Now for dogs and apes!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Man has Forever!"</span><br /> -Back to his books then; deeper drooped his head:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Calculus</i> racked him:</span><br /> -Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Tussis</i> attacked him.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>In vain did his friends and pupils beg him to take a little rest, but -he never would; he said that he must learn everything he could before -dying.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -So, with the throttling hands of death at strife,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ground he at grammar;</span><br /> -Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While he could stammer</span><br /> -He settled <i>Hoti's</i> business—let it be!—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Properly based <i>Oun</i>—</span><br /> -Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic <i>De</i>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dead from the waist down.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"Hoti" is the Greek word "that"; "Oun" is the word "then," also "now"; -it has other kindred meanings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> "De" has the meaning of "toward" when -enclitic; but there is another Greek word "de" meaning "but." The -reference in the poem is to the rule for distinguishing the Greek "de" -meaning "toward" from the Greek "de" meaning "but." "Calculus" is the -disease commonly called "stone in the bladder." "Tussis" is a cough.</p> - -<p>And now the singers have brought the body to the burial-place at the -top of the mountain, and their song ends with this glorious burst:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hail to your purlieus,</span><br /> -All ye highfliers of the feathered race,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swallows and curlews!</span><br /> -Here's the top-peak; the multitude below<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Live, for they can, there;</span><br /> -This man decided not to Live but Know—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bury this man there?</span><br /> -Here—here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lightnings are loosened,</span><br /> -Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Peace let the dew send!</span><br /> -Lofty designs must close in like effects:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Loftily lying,</span><br /> -Leave him—still loftier than the world suspects,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Living and dying.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>We may turn from this fine poem without further comment to a piece -entitled "The Patriot." There is a bit, and a very bitter bit, of the -true philosophy of life in it. Nothing is so fickle, so uncertain, -so treacherous as popularity. Thousands of men who tried to get the -applause of the multitude, the love of the millions, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> thought that -they had succeeded, found out at a later day how quickly that applause -could be turned into roars of hate, how quickly that seeming admiration -could be changed into scorn. This fact about the instability of human -favour is well known to every clear headed person who enters into what -is called the social struggle; but it is more often illustrated in -politics. The political aspect of the matter is the most remarkable, -and has therefore been chosen by Browning. I do not know to what -particular person he may be making reference—perhaps he was thinking -of Rienzi. But in all periods of history the fact has been about the -same. You will remember, no doubt, the case of Pericles in the history -of Athens, and of many others. You may remember also how the French -Revolution devoured its own children, how the men that were one day -almost worshipped by the people like gods, would be dragged to the -guillotine the day after. And even in the history of this country I -think you must remember not a few examples of how uncertain popular -favour must always be. In this case the victim speaks, some man who -once had been regarded as the saviour of the people, but who is now -regarded as their enemy, and who is going to be executed as a common -criminal, simply because he happened to be unfortunate. He remembers -the past, and contrasts it with the cruel present:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -It was roses, roses, all the way,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:</span><br /> -The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>A year ago on this very day.<br /> -<br /> -The air broke into a mist with bells,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries.</span><br /> -Had I said: "Good folk, mere noise repels—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But give me your sun from yonder skies!"</span><br /> -They had answered, "And afterward, what else?"<br /> -</p> - -<p>Here I may say that in Western countries from very ancient times it -has been the custom to cover with flowers the road along which some -great conqueror or other honoured person was to come. The ancients used -especially roses and myrtles, but even to-day it is often the custom to -throw flowers on the ground before the passing of a sovereign or other -great person. "Like mad" is an idiom used to express extreme action -of any sort; "to laugh like mad," would be to laugh unreasonably and -extravagantly. The reference to the apparent movement of the roofs of -the houses pictures the crowding of people on the house-tops to see -the hero, a custom still kept up. And the reference to the effect of -the bells as making "mist," indicates the excessive volume of sound; -for it is said that the firing of cannon or the making of any other -great noise will often cause rain to fall. The idea is that the people -rang the bells so hard that the rain fell, and these were what we call -"joy-bells."</p> - -<p>"If on that day of my triumph," he says, "I had asked them to give me -the sun, they would have answered out of their hearts, Certainly—and -what else?" Now it is very different indeed.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To give it my loving friends to keep!</span><br /> -Nought man could do, have I left undone:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you see my harvest, what I reap</span><br /> -This very day, now a year is run.<br /> -<br /> -There's nobody on the house-tops now—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just a palsied few at the windows set;</span><br /> -For the best of the sight is, all allow,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the Shambles' Gate—or, better yet,</span><br /> -By the very scaffold's foot, I trow.<br /> -<br /> -I go in the rain, and, more than needs,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A rope cuts both my wrists behind;</span><br /> -And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For they fling, whoever has a mind,</span><br /> -Stones at me for my year's misdeeds.<br /> -</p> - -<p>What he says is this: "I did not ask them for anything for myself; -it was I who wanted to give them the sun, or anything else that they -wished for. Every possible sacrifice that any man could make I made -for these people, and you see what my reward is to-day—just one year -from the time when they honoured and revered me. Nobody now stands on -the house tops to look at me; all have gone to the execution ground to -see me die, except a few old people who cannot walk, and who stay at -the windows to see me pass, with my hands tied behind my back. People -are throwing stones at me, and I think my face is bleeding." The last -allusion is to a very cruel custom only of late years abolished in -England by better police regulations. In the old times, when a prisoner -was being taken to the gallows, people would often strike him, or throw -stones at him as he went by, and nobody attempted to protect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> him. -To-day this is not done, simply because the police do not allow it, but -the natural cruelty of a mob is perhaps just as great as it ever was.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Thus I entered, and thus I go!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In triumphs, people have dropped down dead.</span><br /> -"Paid by the world, what dost thou owe<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Me?"—God might question; now instead,</span><br /> -'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so.<br /> -</p> - -<p>These are the man's last thoughts. "I came into this city a hero, as -I told you; now I am going out of it, to be executed like a vulgar -criminal. How much better would it have been if I had died on the day -when all the people were honouring me! I have heard that men have -fallen dead from joy in the middle of such a triumph as I then had. -But would it have been better if I had died happy like that? Perhaps -it would not. God is said to demand a strict account in the next World -from any human being who has been too happy in this. If I had died -that day, God might have said to me, You have had your reward from the -world; have you paid to me what you owed in love and duty? But now the -world kills me; it is from God only that I can hope for justice. He is -terrible, but I can trust him better than this people; I am safer with -him!"</p> - -<p>I am not sure what Browning refers to in speaking of those who have -been known to drop dead in the middle of a triumph. But perhaps he is -referring to the story of the Sicilian, Diagoras, which is one of the -most beautiful of all Greek stories, and is fortunately quite true. -Diagoras had been the greatest wrestler among the Greeks, the greatest -athlete of his time, and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> loved and honoured by all men of Greek -blood. He had seven sons. When he was a very old man these seven sons -went to contend at the great Olympic games (if I remember correctly). -There were but seven prizes for all the feats of strength and skill; -and these seven prizes were all won by the seven sons of Diagoras—that -is to say, they had proved themselves the best men of the whole world -at that time, even the boy son winning the prize given only to boys. -Then the people demanded to know the name of the father of those young -men, and the sons lifted him upon their shoulders to show him to all -the people. The people shouted so that birds flying above them, fell -down; and the old man in the same moment died of joy, as he was thus -supported upon the shoulders of his sons. The Greeks said that this -was the happiest death that any man ever died. Perhaps Browning was -referring to this story; but I am not sure.</p> - -<p>Kings have sometimes been accused of ingratitude, but on the whole, -kings have shown more gratitude than mobs; a sovereign is apt to -remember that it is good policy to repay loyalty and to encourage -affection. Browning gives us a few magnificent specimens of loyal -feeling toward sovereigns, feeling which it is pleasant to know was not -repaid with ingratitude. I am referring to his "Cavalier Tunes," little -songs into which he has managed to put all the fiery love and devotion -of the English gentlemen who fought for the king against Cromwell and -his Puritans, and who fought, luckily for England, in vain at that -time. Right or wrong as we may think their cause, it is impossible -not to admire the feeling here expressed. I shall quote the second<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> -song first. You must imagine that all these gentlemen are drinking the -health of the king, with songs and cheers, even at the time when the -king's cause seems hopeless.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">GIVE A ROUSE!</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">King Charles, and who'll do him right now?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">King Charles!</span><br /> -(<i>Single voice</i>)<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Who gave me the goods that went since?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Who raised me the house that sank once?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Who helped me to gold I spent since?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Who found me in wine you drank once?</span><br /> -(<i>Chorus, answering</i>)<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">King Charles, and who'll do him right now?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 12em;">King Charles!</span><br /> -(<i>Single voice</i>)<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">To whom used my hoy George quaff else,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">By the old fool's side that begot him?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">For whom did he cheer and laugh else,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">While Noll's damned troopers shot him?</span><br /> -(<i>Chorus, answering</i>)<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">King Charles, and who'll do him right now?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;">Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 12em;">King Charles!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The father is reminding his friends of the brave death of his own son, -who died shouting for the king and laughing at his executioners. I do -not think that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> is a more spirited song in English literature -than this. Perhaps you may observe that the measure in the third -stanza does not run smoothly like the measure of the other stanzas; it -hesitates a little. But this is a great stroke of art, for it indicates -the suppressed emotion of the father speaking of his dead son. The -other song, the first of the three given by Browning, represents the -feeling of an earlier time in the civil war, probably the time when -the aristocracy and gentry first gathered together to defend the king. -There is a splendid swing in it. Both songs are a little rough, because -the spirit of the age was rough; the finest gentleman used to swear -in those days, and to use words which we now consider rather violent. -I may remark, however, that even to-day in the upper ranks of the -English army and navy, something of the same scorn of conventions still -remains; generals and admirals will swear occasionally in battle, just -as these gentlemen of an older school swore as they advanced against -the Puritan armies.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">MARCHING ALONG</span><br /> -<br /> -Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King,<br /> -Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:<br /> -And, pressing a troop unable to stoop<br /> -And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,<br /> -Marched them along, fifty-score strong,<br /> -Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">God for King Charles! Pym and such carles</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Till you're—</span><br /> -(<i>Chorus</i>) Marching along, fifty-score strong,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">England, good cheer! Rupert is near!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here,</span><br /> -(<i>Chorus</i>) Marching along, fifty-score strong,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Hold by the right, you double your might;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,</span><br /> -(<i>Chorus</i>) March we along, fifty-score strong,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The names in this poem are all of them great names of the Civil War. -Hampden, you know, was Parliamentary leader in the movement against -the king. He was killed in battle, and his place as leader was taken -by Pym. The other names are of members of the Long Parliament—except -Rupert. Rupert, or Prince Rupert, as he is more generally known, was -the leader of the Royal cavalry, one of the most brilliant cavalry -leaders of history. He was never beaten seriously until he met -Cromwell's Puritan cavalry. A reference may be necessary in regard to -Nottingham. There was no fight exactly at Nottingham; but it was at -Nottingham that the cavalry gathered round the king's standard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> before -the battle of Edgehill, near Banbury, a drawn battle, not decided -either way.</p> - -<p>So much for the references. As for the song itself, something remains -to be said. I think that the two songs are about the most spirited in -English literature. They are so for many reasons, especially because -of the fiery emotion which the poet has flung into them, and because -of their absolute truth to the feeling of the seventeenth century, -both as to form and as to tone. But I wonder whether any of you have -noticed what it is that gives such uncommon force to the verses. To a -great degree, it is the use of triple rhymes. In both songs the rhymes -are triple, while the measure is short, and the result is something of -that rough strength which characterises the old Northern poetry. For -instance:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Hold by the <i>right</i>, you double your <i>might</i>,<br /> -So onward to Nottingham, fresh for the <i>fight.</i><br /> -<br /> -King Charles, and who'll do him <i>right</i> now?<br /> -King Charles, and who's ripe for <i>fight</i> now?<br /> -Give a rouse: here's, in hell's <i>despite</i> now,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">King Charles!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>You see that very great effects may be produced by very simple means. -In "Marching Along," the "swing" or "lilt" is partly due to the fact -that the three rhymes follow each other not in regular but in irregular -succession, a rhymeless measure alternating between the second and the -third rhymes, as will be plainly seen if we write the verses in another -form:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Kentish Sir <i>Byng</i><br /> -Stood for his <i>king</i>,<br /> -Bidding the crop-headed<br /> -Parliament <i>swing.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>But I want to explain the spirit rather than the workmanship of -Browning; and I have turned aside here to the subject of measure only -because the instances happened to be very extraordinary. The beauty of -the work is really in the glow and strength of the loyal feeling that -peals through it.</p> - -<p>Do not suppose, however, that the poet picks out by preference the -noble or the attractive side of human feeling in any form of society, -for his subject. Quite the contrary. Most often he paints the ugly -side, even in speaking of kings and courts, nobles and princes. In the -splendid poem "Count Gismond," which I dictated last year, you may have -seen one very beautiful side of knightly character, but there were -horrible phases of human nature exhibited in the story. Browning made -the shadows very heavy, with the result that the lights appeared more -dazzling. Sometimes we have no lights—all is shadow, and sometimes -a shadow of hell. Such is the case in the horrible poem called "The -Laboratory," depicting the feelings of a jealous court-lady, as she -stands in the laboratory of a chemist who is selling her a poison with -which she intends to poison her rival in the favour of the king. The -story is laid in the time of Louis XIV, probably, when such things -did actually occur in France. A still blacker shadow, a still more -infernal picture of humanity's dark side, is "The Heretic's Tragedy," -portraying the wicked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> feelings of a superstitious person while -watching a heretic being burned alive. Another frightful thing is -"The Confessional," a story of the Inquisition in Spain, showing how -the inquisitors succeeded in seizing, convicting, and burning alive a -young man, by taking advantage of the innocence of his sweetheart, who -was made to betray him through confession without knowing it. Another -piece that is ugly psychologically, is "Cristina and Monaldeschi." -Cristina was a queen of Sweden, and one of the most learned women of -her time, but very masculine; she liked to wear men's clothes and to -follow the amusements of men. She abdicated her throne, merely in order -to feel more free in her habits. It is believed that she secretly -loved her private secretary, and that he was dishonourable enough -to tell other people of his relation to her. At all events, one day -she ordered him to come into her room, and after upbraiding him with -treachery to her, she had him killed in her presence. The fact shocked -Europe a great deal at the time. Browning tries to make us understand -Cristina's feeling, and he forces us to sympathise a little with her -anger. There are multitudes of poems of this class in Browning. He -wants us to know all the strange possibilities of the human soul, bad -or good, and he never hesitates because a subject may be shocking to -weak nerves. It is just because he does not care about public feeling, -ignorant public opinion, upon these matters, that he manages to give -us such exact truth; he is not afraid. For a little bit of truth thus -exemplified—this is not ugly—let us take a little piece entitled -"Which?" Here is another picture of the manners of the old French -court, a very corrupt court<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> and very luxurious. You must read Taine's -"Ancien Régime" to understand what its morals were. But let us turn to -the little picture. Three great ladies are talking with a priest about -love—a fashionable priest, a priest of the old age, ready to make love -or to say mass just according as it suited his private interest. A very -good priest could scarcely have existed in the court; one had to be -very clever and very subtle to live there. The conversation of these -four persons gives us a hint of the feeling of the age. Only one woman -really seems to say what she thinks; and she says what she thinks only -because she is the most clever of the three.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">So, the three Court-ladies began</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Their trial of who judged best</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">In esteeming the love of a man:</span><br /> -Who preferred with most reason was thereby confessed<br /> -Boy-Cupid's exemplary catcher and eager;<br /> -An Abbé crossed legs to decide on the wager.<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">First the Duchesse: "Mine for me—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Who were it but God's for Him,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the King's for—who but he?</span><br /> -Both faithful and loyal, one grace more shall brim<br /> -His cup with perfection: a lady's true lover,<br /> -He holds—save his God and his king—none above her."<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"I require"—outspoke the Marquise—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"Pure thoughts, ay, but also fine deeds:</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Play the paladin must he, to please</span><br /> -My whim, and—to prove my knight's service exceeds<br /> -Your saint's and your loyalist's praying and kneeling—<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>Show wounds, each wide mouth to my mercy appealing."<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Then the Comtesse: "My choice be a wretch,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Mere losel in body and soul,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thrice accurst! What care I, so he stretch</span><br /> -Arms to me his sole saviour, love's ultimate goal,<br /> -Out of earth and men's noise—names of 'infidel,' 'traitor,'<br /> -Cast up at him? Crown me, crown's adjudicator!"<br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the Abbé uncrossed his legs,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Took snuff, a reflective pinch,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Broke silence: "The question begs</span><br /> -Much pondering ere I pronounce. Shall I flinch?<br /> -The love which to one and one only has reference<br /> -Seems terribly like what perhaps gains God's preference."<br /> -</p> - -<p>The answer of the priest, giving the victory to the Comtesse, is -clever and double-edged. He probably knows everything that goes on -in the court: he knows how many lovers the Duchesse has had, and the -Marquise. He knows that their talk about religion and loyalty as the -perfections of man, are not quite sincere. Indeed, the Marquise is much -more sincere than the Duchesse; but if she were altogether sincere, she -would have recognised that her wish—her expressed wish, at least—must -appear as pure pride, not anything else. But the Comtesse tells a -bitter truth by pointing out that if it is a question of real love, the -place and station of the man can signify nothing at all; love should -be a thing of the heart, not a thing of rank and fashion. And the -priest, in supporting her claim and in saying that a true love can have -reference only to one person, really suggests to his audience, whose -love relations have doubtless been very numerous, what he thinks to be -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> opinion of God on the subject. But "perhaps," as the priest utters -the word, is terrible irony. "Perhaps gains God's preference," means -"I know, of course, that in the society to which we belong, love only -for one's husband is not considered fashionable; yet the opinions of -God may not be the same as the opinions of our society. It would not be -polite of me to say directly that your opinions and God's opinions are -different, but I just hint it." It was a very queer age. Taine, in his -history of the time, tells a story about a nobleman who, on entering -his wife's room suddenly and finding her making love to another man, -took off his hat and saluted her, saying, "Oh, my dear, how can you be -so careless! Suppose it had not been your husband who opened the door!" -You must understand all this, to understand the mockery of the poem. -Then, again, you must understand the desire of the Comtesse even for -the love of a "wretch," a mere losel, as meaning that here is a woman -who deserves to be loved, but is not loved by her husband, and who has -learned that real love has a value in this world beyond all value of -rank or money or influence.</p> - -<p>If you ask me why I have talked so much about so short a poem, the -answer is that nearly all of Browning's short poems mean a great deal, -and force us to think and to talk about them. The reason is that the -characters in these poems are really alive; they impress us exactly -as living persons do, and excite our curiosity in precisely the same -way. Accordingly, notwithstanding their many faults of construction and -obscure English, they have something of the greatness of Shakespeare's -dramas.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is now time to turn to the study of the greatest of all Browning's -poems. Perhaps I should not call it a poem. It is rather an immense -poetic drama. As printed in this single volume it represents four -hundred and seventy-seven pages of closely printed small text. It is, -therefore, even considered as a dramatic composition, many times larger -than any true drama. But no true drama, except Shakespeare's, is more -real or more terrible. Besides, it is a purely psychological drama. -There is no scenery, no narrative in the ordinary sense. Everything is -related in the first person. The whole is divided into twelve parts, -each of which is a monologue. Nearly all of the monologues are spoken -by different persons. The first monologue is the author's own, in which -he tells us the meaning of the title and the story of the drama.</p> - -<p>It is a true story of Italian life in the seventeenth century, the -chief incident having really occurred in the year 1698. The poet one -day found in an old Italian book shop a little book for sale, which was -the history of a celebrated criminal trial. Besides the book, which -included the speeches of the lawyers on both sides, and the evidence -given before the court, there was a good deal of old manuscript—papers -probably prepared by some lawyer of the time in connection with the -case. Browning was able to buy the whole thing for eight pence; that -small sum furnished him with material for the most enormous poem in the -English language. When he read the facts of the trial, he said he could -actually see all the characters as plainly as if they were alive, and -could even hear them speak. He soon formed in his mind the plan for his -poem; but it was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> peculiar plan. The plan is indicated by the title -of "The Ring and the Book." In Italy there is a great deal of beautiful -light gold work made—for rings especially, which looks so delicate -that at first sight you cannot understand how it was made. In a gold -ring there are leaves and flowers and fruits and insects, so lightly -made that even if you let the ring fall they would be injured and -destroyed. Gold is very soft. In order to cut the gold in this way, the -goldsmith uses a hard composition with which he covers the gold work, -and after the carving and engraving have been done, this composition is -melted off, so that only the pure gold is left, with all the work upon -it. Browning says that he made his book somewhat in the same way that -the Italian goldsmith makes his ring—by the use of an alloy. The facts -of history and of law represent the gold in this case, and the poet -mixes them with an alloy of imagination, emotion, sympathy, which helps -him to make the whole story into a perfectly rounded drama, a complete -circle, a Ring. This is the meaning of the title.</p> - -<p>I shall first tell you the story briefly, according to the historical -facts. About the year 1679 there was a family in Rome of the name -of Comparini. The family consisted only of husband and wife; but it -happened that the fact of their being without children proved a legal -obstacle in the way of obtaining some money which they greatly desired. -The wife, Violante, knew that her husband was too honest to wish to -cheat the law, so she determined to try to get the money without -letting him know her deceit in the matter. She pretended to have given -birth, unexpectedly, to a child, but the child had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> really been bought -from a woman of loose life—it was a very pretty female child, and was -called Francesca Pompilia. Little Pompilia was supposed to be the real -child of the Comparini; and the much desired money thus passed into -their hands. This is the first act of the tragedy.</p> - -<p>Pompilia grew up into a wonderfully beautiful girl; and when she -was thirteen years old, many people wished to marry her. Guido -Franceschini, Count of Arezzo, noticed the girl's beauty, and heard -that she was rich. He determined to marry her if possible, chiefly for -the sake of her money. He was a wicked old man, between fifty and sixty -years of age, ugly, cunning, and poor. But he had immense influence, -both among the nobility and among the church dignitaries, on account -of his family relations; and he was himself of high rank. The marriage -was negotiated successfully. Pompilia, a child of thirteen, could not -naturally have wished to marry this horrible old man, but she had been -taught to obey her parents as she obeyed Almighty God, and when she -was told to marry him she married him without one word of complaint. -By this marriage the wicked Count got into his hands all the property -of the Comparini family, but it had been promised that the parents of -the girl were to live in the palace of the Count, and to be taken care -of for the rest of their lives. Nevertheless, as soon as the Count had -everything in his hands, he turned the old parents out of his house, in -a state of absolute destitution; he had taken from them their daughter -and all their money, everything that they had in the world. This is the -second act of the tragedy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> - -<p>Naturally the Comparini family were very angry. The mother of the girl -was so angry that she told her husband all about the trick which she -had played in passing off Pompilia for her own child. Pompilia, you -know, was not her real child at all. This changed the legal aspect of -the matter. Old Comparini went to the Count and said, "You took our -money, and thought that you were taking our daughter. But you must -give back that money. The girl is not our daughter; the money does not -belong to her: it will have to be given back to the government that we -deceived." This is the third act of the tragedy.</p> - -<p>The Count was equal to the occasion. He understood the law; but he -understood it much better than the Comparini people. So long as he -kept Pompilia as his wife, he knew that he could keep the money. -If he divorced her, on the ground that she was of vulgar origin, -then he would have to give up the money. But this was not the only -alternative. There was a third possibility. If Pompilia committed -adultery, then he could either kill her or get rid of her and keep -the money notwithstanding. Pompilia was a weak child only thirteen -years old. He was a wicked and terrible man, with half a century of -experience, diabolical cunning, diabolical cruelty, and ferocious -determination. He would make her commit adultery. That would be the -simplest possible solution of the difficulty. But, strange to say, -this terrible man could not conquer that delicate child of thirteen. -First he tried to appeal to her passions, to excite her imagination -in an immoral way. But her heart was too pure to be corrupted. There -was in her no spur of lust. She was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> simple good pure wife, too pure -for any wicked ideas to be planted in her mind. Then he tried force, -atrocious cruelty, horrible menace, always without letting her know -what he really intended. What he really intended was to force her to -run away from him. She could not run away except in the company of a -protector. If she ran away with a protector, then he could kill both -her and the man and claim that he had detected the two in adultery. -After having tortured the girl hideously, in every moral and immoral -way, he did succeed in getting her to ask for protection. She first -asked protection from priests and bishops. The priests and bishops were -afraid of the Count, and told her, like the cowards that they were, -that they could not help her. She wanted to become a nun. The nuns were -afraid of the Count, and refused her prayer. At last she did find one -priest, a brave man, who was willing to save her if possible. He said, -"You must run away with me, though it will look very bad; there is -no other way to help you." She ran away with him. Within twenty-four -hours the pair were overtaken by the Count and his company of armed -men. The opportunity to kill Pompilia and her "lover" had come; but the -so-called "lover," although only an honest poor priest, showed fight, -and protected Pompilia against the Count and all his followers. The -priest refused to surrender Pompilia except to the Church. The Church -arrested both. Pompilia was put into a convent for safe keeping. The -priest was tried for adultery, and acquitted. But he had done wrong by -breaking the law of the Church even for a good purpose; therefore he -was sentenced to banishment for a certain number<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> of years. This is the -fourth act of the tragedy.</p> - -<p>The Count finds that all his plans have failed. He has not been able -to convict his wife of adultery, although he has been able to injure -her reputation in the opinion of the public. He cannot get rid of -her, and keep her money too, except by killing her. But she is in the -convent. While he is thinking what to do, another event happens which -upsets all his calculations. Pompilia gives birth to a child of which -he certainly is the father. The money question, the legal aspect of it, -is still more complicated by the birth of the child. At once the Count -determines to kill Pompilia and her parents, out of revenge. He knows -that on certain days she goes to visit her parents. He watches for -such an occasion, and with the help of some professional murderers, he -kills the Comparini, and stabs Pompilia twenty-two times with a dagger. -He imagined that this could be done so as to remain undiscovered; he -thought that the crime could not be proved upon him. But poor Pompilia -is very hard to kill. Although her slender body was thus stabbed -through and through by a powerful man, she did not die at once; her -wonderful youth kept her alive long enough to tell the police what had -happened. The Count and his hired murderers were arrested and thrown -into prison. This is the fifth act of the tragedy.</p> - -<p>It is one thing to find the author of a crime, and put him into -prison; it is a very different thing to convict and punish him. The -Count was very powerful with the army, with the nobility, with the -Church; everybody in his native city was more afraid of him than of -the devil. Nothing is so hard to get in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> world as justice. The -Count's powerful friends and relations all united to defend him. Dukes -and great captains, cardinals and bishops and abbots and priests, -rich merchants, influential statesmen, all combined to secure his -acquittal. They obtained the services of great lawyers. They used -money and threats to corrupt witnesses or to terrify them. Yet there -was one thing necessary to secure his acquittal—evidence that the -deed, which he cannot deny, was justified by adultery. An attempt was -made to blacken the character of the murdered wife. But this evidence -was overthrown in the court, and the judges pronounced sentence of -death. Thereupon all the Count's friends made an appeal to the Pope; -the Pope can save the Count, if pressure be brought of a sufficient -sort upon his judgment. But the Pope happened to be a good man, and a -keen man. He examines the evidence. He sees the truth. He understands -the innocence and beauty of the character of the murdered Pompilia; -he comprehends also the innocence and the courage of the priest who -tried to defend her. He sends word to the prison that the Count must -be executed immediately. So justice is obtained, at least so far as -the punishment of murder can be called justice. But what becomes of -the money? The nuns of the convent in which Pompilia died, they get -the money by very discreditable means, and they keep it. The terrible -Franceschini family cannot try to get that money from the convent; for -the convent means the power of the Church; and the power of the Church -is even more terrible than the power of the Franceschini. Of course the -Pope knows nothing of this matter; the Pope is the finest character -in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> whole story. Historically this Pope was Innocent XII, but his -character, as drawn in the study of Browning, is much more like the -character of one of his predecessors, Innocent XI.</p> - -<p>Now I have told you the story, or rather the history of the real -tragedy, which happened something more than two hundred years ago. You -can imagine how complicated the whole thing is, from the very short -summary which I have made. Now if you had to treat a story like this -dramatically, how would you do it? where would you begin? in what way -could you hope to make artistic order out of such confusion? The task -might have puzzled even Shakespeare. It puzzled Browning for more than -a year before he felt how the thing was possible to manage. When I tell -you the way in which he treated the whole material of the case, I think -you will perceive that only a genius could have thought of the way.</p> - -<p>As I have said, Browning divides his poem into twelve parts; and each -part is a monologue. I shall now give you in paragraphs as brief as -possible, the subject of each monologue. You had better follow the -order of the book, using Roman numerals at the beginning of each -paragraph, and putting the title of the book in Italic letters:</p> - -<p>I. <i>The Ring and the Book.</i> Interpretation of the title, and history of -the crime and the trial as told in the ancient legal documents. This -monologue represents the author's speaking only.</p> - -<p>II. <i>Half-Rome.</i> Public opinion is always divided upon any -extraordinary event. Browning here tries to give us one side of public -opinion in the year 1698, upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> the Franceschini murder. The monologue -represents the ideas of a man of the society of that time.</p> - -<p>III. <i>The Other Half-Rome.</i> This monologue represents the contrary -opinion on the subject. But it is a curious fact that neither form of -public opinion even approaches the truth. Both sides are absolutely -mistaken, and very unjust to poor Pompilia.</p> - -<p>IV. <i>Tertium Quid</i> (i.e., "a third somebody" or "party"). This opinion -is quite different from that of the two halves of Rome, but it is -equally far from the truth.</p> - -<p>V. <i>Count Guido Franceschini.</i> Notice that although the three forms -of opinion previously expressed all contradict each other, and all -are untrue, nevertheless every one of them seems true while you read -it. So does the story of Count Guido Franceschini, the murderer, in -his own defence. Although you have been prejudiced against him from -the beginning, when you first read his side of the story you cannot -help thinking that it is a very reasonable and very true story. He -says in substance that he made a great mistake in marrying so young a -girl, that she disliked him, that he did everything in his power to -obtain her affection and to make her happy, that she ran away from -his house with a monk, that even after that he was willing to make -every allowance for her, but that at last it was impossible for him, -without losing all self-respect, not to punish her crimes, and those of -her infamous parents. He makes an excellent speech, this Count Guido -Franceschini.</p> - -<p>VI. <i>Giuseppe Caponsacchi.</i> This is the good priest, the true loyal -man that tried to save Pompilia. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> tells his story with perfect -truthfulness and simplicity, and you know that it is true. But at -the same time you feel that no one can believe it. The evidence is -against the priest. Although he is innocent, everybody laughs at his -protestations of innocence.</p> - -<p>VII. <i>Pompilia.</i> This is the most horrible part of the book. It is -a monologue by Pompilia telling of the cruelty and the atrocious -wickedness of her husband. It makes your blood run cold to read it, but -you know that nobody would believe that story in a court of justice. -It is too terrible, too unnatural. Those who hear it only think that -Pompilia is a very cunning wicked woman, trying to make people hate her -husband, in order to excuse her own adultery.</p> - -<p>VIII. <i>Dominus Hyocinthus de Archangelis</i>, <i>Pauperum Procurator.</i> The -speech of the lawyer for the defence, very cautious, very learned, very -cunning. It was in those days the custom to argue such cases partly in -Latin, and the papers were made out in Latin. "Dominus," "lord," was -the Latin title of lawyer. "Pauperum Procurator" means the advocate -or counsel of the poor; persons without money enough to procure legal -services in the ordinary way, might be furnished with a lawyer employed -by the state.</p> - -<p>IX. <i>Juris Doctor Johannes-Battista</i>, <i>Bottinius</i>, <i>&c.</i> The speech of -the lawyer on the other side, equally learned, equally cunning, and -equally cautious. The reader is forced to the conclusion that neither -of these lawyers really understands the truth of the case. Both are -telling untruth, and both are afraid of the truth. But you will notice -that the lawyer who should speak in favour of Pompilia really does her -more harm than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> the lawyer whose duty it is to speak against her. This -is the result of cowardice and self-interest on both sides.</p> - -<p>X. <i>The Pope.</i> A beautiful study of character. For the first time we -learn the truth in this tenth monologue, so that we feel it is all -there, and not to be mistaken by any one who hears it.</p> - -<p>XI. <i>Guido.</i> Horrible. The murderer's confession of his own character.</p> - -<p>XII. <i>The Booh and the Ring.</i> Conclusion, and moral commentary.</p> - -<p>I believe there is only part of this whole drama that has been -seriously called into question by critics—the last line of the -eleventh monologue, where Guido cries out, "Pompilia, will you let them -murder me?" The question is whether the poet is right in representing -this terrible man in such a passion of fear that he calls to his dead -wife to help him. Certainly it is a general rule that the man capable -of studied cruelty to women and children—to the weak, in short—is a -coward at heart. But there are exceptions to this rule, and a great -many remarkable Italian exceptions. Again many tribes of savages -contradict the rule, being at once brave and cruel. I think that the -criticism in this case may have been largely inspired by the history -of certain Italian families, who were cruel indeed, but ferociously -brave as well. However, Browning studied the facts for his characters -very closely, and he may be right in representing Guido as a coward. He -has been proved to be both treacherous and avaricious by the evidence -in the case, and although prudence may sometimes be mistaken for -cowardice, there were some facts brought out by witnesses that seem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> to -show the man to have been as much of a coward as he was a miser.</p> - -<p>Now observe the immense psychological work that this treatment of -the story involves—the study of nine or ten completely different -characters, no one of whom could resemble a character of the nineteenth -century, not at least in the matter of thought and speech. To create -these was almost as wonderful as to call the dead of two hundred years -ago out of their graves, a veritable necromancy. This work alone -would make the book a marvellous thing. But the book is more than -marvellous; it is in the highest degree philosophically instructive. -Almost anything that happens in this world is judged somewhat after -the fashion of the judgments delivered in "The Ring and the Book." -For example, let us suppose an episode in Tokyo to-day, rather than -an episode in Italy two hundred years ago, a case of killing. At -first when the mere fact of the killing is known, there is a great -curiosity as to the reason of it, and different newspapers publish -different stories about it, and different people who knew both parties -express different opinions as to the why and how. You may be sure that -none of these accounts is perfectly true—they could not be true, -because those from whom the accounts come have no perfect knowledge -of the antecedents of the crime. But presently the case comes before -the criminal court, with lawyers on both sides, to prosecute and -to defend. Each does his duty the very best he can, one trying to -convict, one trying to secure acquittal. But do these know the real -story from beginning to end? Probably not. It is very seldom indeed -that a lawyer can learn the inside, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> psychological, history of a -crime. He learns only the naked facts, and he must theorise largely -from these facts. Finally the judge pronounces judgment. Does the judge -know all about the matter? Almost certainly not. His duty is fixed -by law in rigid lines, and he cannot depart from those lines; he can -sentence only according to the broad conclusions which he draws from -the facts. And after the whole thing is over, still the real secrets -of the two parties, of the criminal and the victim, remain forever -unknown in a majority of cases. Now what does this prove? It proves -that human judgment is necessarily very imperfect, and that nothing is -so difficult to learn as the absolute truth of motives and of feelings, -even when the truth of the facts is unquestionable. Browning's book -tells us more than this; it shows us that in some cases, where power -and crime are on one side, and poverty and virtue upon the other, the -chances against truth being able to make itself heard are just about a -thousand to one. Of course the world is a little better to-day than two -hundred years ago; murder is less common, justice is less corrupt. But -allowing for these things, the chances of a man persecuted by a rich -corporation, without reason, perhaps with monstrous cruelty, to obtain -even a hearing, would be scarcely better than those of Pompilia in the -story of "The Ring and the Book."</p> - -<p>So much for the teaching. There is more than teaching, however; there -are studies of character truly Shakespearian. Pompilia is quite as -sweet a woman as Shakespeare's Cordelia. Her sweetness is altogether -shown by a multitude of details, little words and thoughts and -feelings, that we find scattered through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> her account of her terrible -sufferings. The author never interrupts his speakers; he makes them -describe themselves. In the case of the Pope, we are brought into -the presence of a very superior intellect—one-sided, perhaps, but -immensely strong in the direction of moral judgment; the mind of -an old man whose entire life has been spent in the finest study of -human nature from an ethical point of view, of human nature in its -manifestations of good and evil. Nothing but this long experience helps -him to see exactly how matters stand. The evidence brought before -him is hopelessly confused, and where not confused, the facts are -against Pompilia and strongly in favour of the murderer. Moreover, the -murderer is powerful in the Church, with all the influence of clergy -and nobility upon his side. But the old man can see through the entire -plot; he cuts it open, gets to the heart of it, perceives everything -that was hidden. What is the lesson of his character? I think it is -this, that a pure nature obtains, simply by reason of its unselfishness -and purity, certain classes of perceptions that very cunning minds -never can obtain. Very cunning people are peculiarly apt to make false -judgments, because they are particularly in the habit of looking for -selfish motives. They judge other hearts by their own. A pure nature -does not do this; it considers the motive in the last rather than -the first place, preferring to judge kindly so long as the evidence -allows it. Intellectual training cannot always compensate for purity of -character.</p> - -<p>The studies of Guido himself, which are very horrible, are especially -studies of the man of the Renaissance. We have had other studies of -this kind in other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> poems of Browning, some of which I have already -quoted to you. But there is a special moral in this study of Guido, -the moral that a really wicked man must hate a really good woman, -simply for the reason that she is good. Then we have in the two -lawyers two pictures of conflicting selfish interests, of selfishness -and falsehood combined to defeat the truth, not because truth is -necessarily unpleasant to the lawyer, but because he wants to make -no enemies by exposing it. This is the way of the world to-day, and -although these men speak the language of the sixteenth or seventeenth -century, their feelings are those of the shrewd and selfish modern man -of society, the man who has no courage in the face of wrong, if his -pocket happens to be in danger. We like only three characters in the -whole drama—Pompilia, the Pope, and Caponsacchi. Yet there is nothing -very remarkable about Caponsacchi, except in the way of contrast. He is -the one character who, although his life and interests and reputation -are at stake, boldly risks everything simply for a generous impulse. -Happily he is not extraordinary; if he were, one would lose faith in so -terrible a world. Happily we know that wherever and whenever a great -wrong is done, there will always be a Caponsacchi to speak out and to -do all that is possible against it. But Caponsacchi is crushed; and -even the Pope is obliged to punish him for doing what is noble. This is -one of the moral problems of the composition. The man who wants to do -right, and cannot do right except by disobedience to law, may be loved -for doing right, but he must be punished nevertheless for breaking the -law. Does this mean that he is punished for doing right? I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> think we -should not look at it in that way. The truth is that the observance of -discipline must be insisted upon even in exceptional cases, because -it regards the happiness of millions. We cannot allow men to decide -for themselves when discipline should be broken. Caponsacchi is thus a -martyr in the cause of individual justice. He has to pay, justly, the -penalty of setting a dangerous example to thousands of others. But he -is not on that account less estimable and lovable, and even the Pope, -in punishing him, gives him words of warm praise.</p> - -<p>The consideration of this huge poem ought also to tempt some of you -at a later day to try some application of its method to some incident -of real life. I do not now mean in poetry, but in prose. If you know -enough about human nature to make the attempt, there is no better way -of telling a story. It was a pure invention on the part of Browning, -and we may call it a new method. But of course one must have a very -great power of reading character to be able to do anything of the same -kind.</p> - -<p>This is the most colossal attempt in psychology made by Browning, -but a large number of his longer poems are worked out in precisely -the same manner as single monologues. "The Bishop Orders his Tomb," -another Italian study, gives us all the ugly side of the Renaissance -character—its selfishness, lust, hypocrisy, and ambition, together -with that extraordinary sense of art which gave a certain greatness -even to very bad men. "Bishop Blougram's Apology" (which is said to -be a satire upon a famous English Cardinal) is quite modern, but it -is almost equally ugly. It shows us a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> powerful mind arguing, -with irresistible logic and merciless cleverness, in an absolutely -unworthy cause. The bishop has heard a young free thinker observe -that the bishop could not believe the doctrines of the church, he -was too clever a bishop for that. So he calls the young man to him, -and utterly crushes him by a very clever lecture, in which he proves -that belief or unbelief are equally foolish, that right and wrong are -interchangeable, that black may be white or white black, that common -sense and a knowledge of the world represent the highest wisdom, and -that the free thinker is an absolute fool because he tells the world -that he is a free thinker. We know that the bishop is morally wrong -the whole way through, that every statement which he makes is wrong; -yet it would take a clever man to prove him wrong. The logic is too -well managed. Few psychological studies are comparable to this. "Mr. -Sludge, 'the Medium,'" said to be a satire upon the great Scottish -spiritualist and humbug, Home, shows us another kind of quackery; a man -who lives by imposture explains to us how he can practise imposture -with a good moral conscience, and under the belief that imposture is a -benefit to mankind. He talks so well that he obliges even the person -who has detected his imposture to lend him or give him a considerable -sum of money—in short, he can trick even those who know his trickery. -But see how different these beings are from each other, and how -different the studies of their character must necessarily prove. Yet -Browning seems never to find any difficulty in painting the mind of -a man, whether good or bad, whether of to-day or of the Middle Ages. -"Paracelsus," for example, is a mediæval<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> character; Browning makes -him tell us the story of his researches into alchemy and magic, makes -him impart to us the secret ambition that once filled him, and the -consequences of disappointment and of failure. "Sordello," again, is -of the thirteenth century; you will find his name in the great poem -of Dante. Sordello was a poet and troubadour, who tried to succeed -socially and politically by the exercise of a brilliant talent, and -almost did succeed. Browning's poem on him is the whole story of a -human soul; only, it is the man himself who tells it. And the moral is -that suffering and sorrow bring wisdom. How various and how wonderful -is this range of character-study! Yet I have mentioned only a few out -of scores and scores of compositions. I cannot insist too much upon -this quality of versatility in Browning, this display of Shakespearian -power. In all Tennyson you will find scarcely more than twenty -really distinct characters; and some of these are but half drawn. In -Rossetti you will find scarcely more than half a dozen, mostly women. -In Swinburne there is no character whatever, except the poet's own, -outside of that grand singer's dramatic work. But in Browning there -are hundreds of distinct characters, and there is nothing at all vague -about them; they speak, they move, they act with real and not with -artificial life. Sometimes a character may occupy a hundred pages, -sometimes it may be drawn in half a dozen lines, but the drawing is -equally distinct and equally true. And there is scarcely any kind of -human nature of which we have no picture. Even the lowest type of -savage is drawn, the primitive savage, for "Caliban upon Setebos" gives -us the thoughts and feelings of such a savage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> about God—God being -figured in the savage mind, of course, as only a much stronger and -larger kind of savage, possessing magical power.</p> - -<p>In all his poems, as I said, Browning is essentially dramatic. Quite -rightly has he grouped several collections of short poems under -titles which suggest this fact, such as "Dramatic Idyls," "Dramatis -Personæ," "Men and Women." Sometimes the poet himself is the only -speaker and actor, giving us his own particular feelings of the moment; -but in the most noteworthy cases of this kind he is talking, not to -the reader, but to ghosts. For instance, "Parleyings with Certain -People of Importance in Their Day," are imaginary conversations which -Browning holds with the ghosts of men long dead—writers, philosophers, -statesmen, priests. It is in this collection that you will find the -remarkable verses on the great poem of Smart, which revived Smart's -work for modern readers after a hundred years of oblivion. I cannot -find time to tell you about the other personages of these imaginary -conversations; but I may mention that Mandeville is the subject of -a special conversation, and that you will find the whole germ of -Mandeville's philosophy in this composition. But let us turn to some -consideration of Browning's work in the true dramatic form—in plays, -tragedies or comedies, and in translations of plays from the Greek.</p> - -<p>It would require several lectures to give a summary of Browning's -plays; and they do not always represent his best genius. For it is a -curious fact that this man who, as a simple poet, was the greatest of -English dramatists after Shakespeare, was rarely quite successful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> when -he attempted the true dramatic form. He was great in the monologue; he -was not great upon the stage. Some of his plays were acted, such as -"Strafford" and "The Blot on the 'Scutcheon"; but they did not prove to -be worthy of great success. "In a Balcony," which could not be put upon -the stage at all, is much better; and perhaps it is better because it -consists only of two monologues, or rather of a conversation between -two persons; for the part taken by the other actors is altogether -insignificant. "The Return of the Druses" and "Luria," like Tennyson's -dramas, are excellent poetry, but they are not suited for the stage. -The best of all Browning's dramas, the only one that I really want -you to read, is "A Soul's Tragedy." I may say a word about the plot -of this. It is a story of friendship between two young men, patriots -and statesmen. In a political crisis one of the young men stabs a -political enemy, and has fled from the country. But before fleeing, he -trusts all his interests and his property to his friend, and asks the -friend also to take care of his betrothed. What does the friend do? -Exposed to great temptation, he betrays his trust. He sees a chance to -obtain political power by pretending to be the man who really stabbed -the politician on the other side—the tyrant of an hour. The people -acclaim him as their saviour, make him dictator. Then he goes further -in his treachery, by making love to his friend's sweetheart. At last -a Roman statesman, Ogniben, appears upon the scene, with power to -crush the revolution, or to do anything that he pleases. But Ogniben -is a terribly clever man, and he does not want bloodshed; he knows the -character of the new dictator, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> determines to play with him, as a -cat with a mouse. First he flatters him enough to make him betray all -his weaknesses, his vanities, his fears. Then, at quite the unexpected -moment, he summons the young man who had run away, I mean the friend -betrayed, and brings him face to face with the treacherous dictator. -The result is of course a moral collapse; that is the real Soul's -Tragedy. I am giving only a thin skeleton of the plot. But you ought -to read this play, if only for the wonderful studies of character in -it, not the least remarkable of which is the awful Ogniben, far-seeing, -cunning beyond cunning, strong beyond force, who can unravel plots -with a single word and pierce all masks of hypocrisy with a single -glance; but whom you feel to be, in a large way, generous and kindly, -and so far as possible, just. I think not only that this is Browning's -greatest play, but that as a play it is psychologically superior to -anything else which has been done in Victorian drama. It is not fit for -the stage, and it is not even very great as poetry—indeed half of it -or more is prose, and rather eccentric prose; but it offers wonderful -examples of analytical power not surpassed in any other contemporary -poet or dramatist.</p> - -<p>About Browning's translations from the Greek poets, I scarcely know -what to say. Most critics of authority acknowledge that Browning -has made the most faithful metrical translation of the "Agamemnon" -of Æschylus. But they also declare that in spite of its exactness, -the Greek spirit and feeling have entirely vanished under Browning's -treatment. My own feeling about the matter is that you would do much -better to read the prose translation of Æschylus. Yet I could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> -say this in regard to Browning's translation of the "Alkestis" of -Euripides, which you will find embodied in the text of "Balaustian's -Adventure." Balaustian is a Greek dancing girl. She is taken prisoner -with many Athenian people at the time of the disastrous Greek -expedition to Syracuse, which you must have read about in history. -To please her captors, she repeats for them the wonderful verses of -Euripides, by which they are so much affected that they pardon both her -and her companions. This incident is founded upon fact, and Browning -uses it very well to introduce his translation. Perhaps the genius of -Euripides was closer to the genius of Browning than that of Æschylus; -for this translation is incomparably better from an emotional point of -view than the other. It is very beautiful indeed; and even after having -read the Greek play in a good prose translation, I think that you would -find both pleasure and profit in reading Browning's verses.</p> - -<p>The important thing now for you to get clearly into your minds is one -general fact about this enormously various work of Browning. Suppose -somebody should ask you what is different in the work of Browning from -that of all other modern poets, what would you be able to answer? But -unless you can answer, the whole value of this lecture would be lost -upon you. Browning himself has excellently answered, in a little verse -which forms the prologue to the second series of the Dramatic Idyls.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"You are sick, that's sure,"—they say:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>"Sick of what?"—they disagree.<br /> -"'Tis the brain,"—thinks Doctor A;<br /> -"'Tis the heart,"—holds Doctor B.<br /> -"The liver—my life I'd lay!"<br /> -"The lungs!" "The lights!"<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Ah me!</span><br /> -<br /> -So ignorant of man's whole<br /> -Of bodily organs plain to see—<br /> -So sage and certain, frank and free,<br /> -About what's under lock and key—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Man's soul!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>That is to say, even the wisest doctors cannot agree about the simple -fact of a man's sickness, notwithstanding the fact that they have -studied anatomy and physiology and osteology, and have examined every -part of the body. Yet, although the wisest men of science are obliged -to confess that they cannot tell you everything about the body, which -can be seen, even ignorant persons think that they know everything -about the soul of a man, which cannot be seen at all, and about the -mind of a man, to which only God himself has the key. Now all the -purpose of Browning's work and life has been to show people what a -very wonderful and complex and incomprehensible thing human character -is—therefore to show that the most needful of all study is the study -of human nature. He is especially the poet of character, the only -one who has taught us, since Shakespeare's time, what real men and -women are, how different each from every other, how unclassifiable -according to any general rule, how differently noble at their best, -how differently wicked at their worst, how altogether marvellous -and infinitely interesting. His mission has been the mission of a -great dramatic psychologist.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> And if anybody ever asks you what was -Robert Browning, you can answer that he was the great Poet of Human -Character—not of character of any one time or place or nation, but of -all times and places and peoples of which it was possible for him to -learn anything.</p> - -<p>Here we must close our little studies of Victorian poets—that is to -say, of the four great ones. I hope that you will be able to summarise -in your own mind the main characteristic of each, as I have tried to -indicate in the case of Browning. Remember Tennyson as the greatest -influence upon the language of his mother country, because of his -exquisiteness of workmanship and his choice of English subjects in -preference to all others. He is the most English of all the four. -Remember Rossetti as being altogether different in his personality and -feeling—a man of the Middle Ages born into the nineteenth century, and -in the nineteenth century still the poet of mediæval feeling. And think -of Swinburne—the greatest musician of all, the most perfect master of -form and sound in modern poetry—as an expounder of Neo-Paganism, of -another Renaissance in the world of literature.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h5> - - -<h4>WILLIAM MORRIS</h4> - - -<p>William Morris suffers by comparison with the more exquisite poets -of his own time and circle. Nevertheless he is quite great enough to -call for a special lecture. I am not sure whether I shall be able to -make you much interested in him; but I shall certainly try to give you -a clear idea of his position in English poetry as something entirely -distinct, and very curious.</p> - -<p>A few words first about the man himself—in more ways than one the -largest figure among the Romantics. He was the great spirit of the -Pre-Raphaelite coterie; he was the most prolific poet of the century; -and he was in all respects the nearest in his talent and sentiment to -Sir Walter Scott. All these reasons make it necessary to speak of him -at considerable length.</p> - -<p>He was born in 1834 and died in 1896, so that he is very recent in his -relation to English poetry. There was nothing extraordinary in the -incidents of his life at school or in his university career. In this -man the extraordinary gift was altogether of the mind. Without the -eccentricity of genius, he was also without the highest capacity of -genius; but in his life as well as in his poetry he was always correct -and always charming in a certain gentle and dreamy way. He had the -stature and strength of a giant, perfect health, and immense working -capacity, and did very well whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> he tried to do. Fortunately for -his inclinations, he was the son of a rich man and never knew want; -so that when he took to literature as a profession, he never had to -think about pleasing the public, nor to care how much money his books -might bring. After leaving Oxford University he devoted his life to -art and literature, becoming equally well known as a painter and a -poet. At a later day he established various businesses for an æsthetic -purpose. For example, he thought that the early Italian printers and -Venetian printers had done much better work and produced much more -wonderful books than any modern printer; and he founded a press for -the purpose of producing modern books in the same beautiful way. -Then he thought that a reform in the matter of house furniture was -possible. The furniture of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had -been good, solid, costly, and beautiful; but the later furniture had -become both cheap and ugly. Morris's artistic interests had led him to -study furniture a great deal; he became familiar with the furniture -of the Middle Ages, of the Elizabethan Age, and of later times, as -scarcely any man of the day had become. It occurred to him that the -best and most beautiful forms of mediæval and later furniture might be -reintroduced, if anybody would only take pains to manufacture them. The -ordinary manufacturers of furniture would not do this. Morris and a few -friends established a factory, and there designed and made furniture -equal to anything in the past. This undertaking was successful, and -it changed the whole fashion of English house furnishing. Only a -decorative artist like Morris would have been capable of imagining and -carrying out such a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> plan; and it was carried out so well that almost -every rich house in England now possesses some furniture designed by -him.</p> - -<p>Thus you will see that he must have been a very busy man, occupied -at once with poetry, with romance (for he wrote a great many prose -romances), with artistic printing, with house furniture, with -designs for windows of stained glass, and with designs for beautiful -tiling—also with a very considerable amount of work as a decorative -artist. All this would appear almost too much for any one person to -attempt. But it was rendered easy to Morris by the simple fact that -the whole of his various undertakings happened to be influenced by -exactly the same spirit and motive, the artistic feeling of the Middle -Ages, and of the period ending with the eighteenth century. Whether -Morris was making books of poetry or books of prose, whether he was -translating sagas from the Norse or writing stories in imitation of -the early French romances, whether he was casting Italian forms of -type for the making of beautiful books or designing furniture for -some English palace, whatever he was doing, he had but one thought, -one will—to reproduce the strange beauty of the Middle Ages. There -was almost nothing modern about the man. The whole of his writings, -comprising a great many volumes, contained scarcely ten pages having -any reference to modern things. Even the language that he used has been -correctly described by a great critic as eighteenth century English, -mixed with Scandinavian idioms and forms. Thus there were two men -among the Pre-Raphaelites who actually did not belong to their own -century—Rossetti and Morris. Both were painters as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> well as poets, and -though the former was the greater in both arts, the practical influence -of Morris counted for much more in changing English taste both in -literature and in æsthetics.</p> - -<p>We have chiefly to consider his writing, and, of that writing, -especially the poetry. As a poet I have already mentioned him as having -points of resemblance with Sir Walter Scott. But he also had even more -points of resemblance with Chaucer. He was like Scott in the singular -ease and joyous force of his creative talent. Scott could sit down -and write a romance in verse beautifully, correctly, without any more -difficulty than other men write prose. Byron, you know, used to write -his poetry straight off, without even taking the trouble to correct -it; as a consequence it is now becoming forgotten. But Scott took very -great trouble to make his verse quite correct, without trying to be -exquisite, and his verse will always count as good, stirring English -poetry. Morris had almost exactly the same talent, the talent that can -give you a three-volume story either in verse or prose, just as you -may prefer. And he wrote in verse on a scale that astonishes, a scale -exceeding that of any modern poet. To find his equal in production we -must go back to the poets of those romantic Middle Ages which he so -much loved, the poets who wrote vast epics or romances in thirty or -forty thousand lines. Eleven volumes of verse and fifteen volumes of -prose represent Morris's production; and the extraordinary thing is -that all his production is good. It does not reach the very highest -place in literature; no man could write so much and make his work of -the very highest class. But it is good as to form,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> good as to feeling, -much beyond mediocrity at all times; and sometimes it rises to a level -that is only a little below the first class.</p> - -<p>I am not going to give selections from his larger works, so I can only -mention here what the large works signify and how he is related to -Chaucer through one of them. The most successful, in a popular sense, -of all his poems is the "Earthly Paradise," originally published in -five volumes, now published in four—and the volumes are very thick. -This vast composition is much on the plan of the "Canterbury Tales"; -and Morris and Chaucer both followed the same method, and were filled -with the same sense of beauty. Both found in the legends of the Middle -Ages and in the myths of antiquity, material for their art in the shape -of stories; and as these stories had no inter-relation, belonging even -to widely different epochs of human civilisation, it was necessary -to imagine some general plan according to which all could be brought -harmoniously together, like jewels, upon a single tray. This plan of -uniting heterogeneous masses of fiction or legends into one artistic -circle was known to the East long before it was known in Europe; the -great Indian collections of stories, such as the Panchatantra and -the Kâth-sarit-sâgara, are perhaps the oldest examples; and the huge -Sanskrit epics show something of the same design, afterwards adopted -by Arabian and Persian story-tellers. But Chaucer was the first to -make the attempt with any success in English literature. His plan -was to have the stories told by pilgrims travelling on their way to -Canterbury, every man or woman of the company being obliged to tell one -or two stories. The plan was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> good that it has been followed in our -own day; Longfellow's "Tales of a Wayside Inn" are constructed upon -precisely the same principle. But Chaucer made a plan so large that he -had not the strength nor the time to carry it to completion; Morris, -upon a scale nearly as large, brought his work to a happy conclusion -with the greatest ease. He makes a company of exiled warriors tell -the stories of a foreign court, as results of their experience or -knowledge obtained in many different countries. There are twenty-four -stories, twelve mediæval or romantic and twelve classical; and each -pair of these corresponds with one of the twelve months, the first -two stories being told in January, the second two in February, and so -forth. The division neatly partitions the great composition into twelve -books, with the regular prologues and epilogues added. The English -are not apt to trouble themselves to read very long poems these days; -but Morris was able actually to revive the mediæval taste for long -romances. Tens of thousands of his books were sold, notwithstanding -their costliness, and the result was altogether favourable for the new -development of romantic feeling, not only in literature, but in art -and decoration. One might suppose that such composition was enough -to occupy a lifetime, but Morris threw it off quite lightly and set -to work upon a variety of poetical undertakings nearly as large. He -translated Homer and Virgil into the same kind of flowery verse; and -he put the grand Scandinavian epic of Sigurd the Volsung into some of -the finest long-lined poetry produced in modern times. This epic seems -to me the better work of the two long productions by which Morris is -best known; later on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> some lines from it may be quoted. But Morris was -scarcely less attracted by Greek myths than by the old literature of -Scandinavia; and he also produced a long epic poem upon the story of -Jason and Medea, the story of the Golden Fleece. Nevertheless, I can -much better illustrate to you what Morris is in literature and what -his influence and his objects were, by means of his still earlier and -shorter poems. There are several volumes of these, now published in -more compact form under the titles of "Poems by the Way" and "Love -is Enough" and "The Defense of Guinevere." From the last, originally -dedicated to Rossetti, I will make some quotations that will show you -how Morris tried to revive the Middle Ages.</p> - -<p>One of the most remarkable things in the late Mr. Froude's charming -account of a voyage which he made to Norway, is his statement of a -sudden conviction that there came to him about the character of the -ancient Vikings. He felt assured, he said, that the modern Norwegian -and the ancient Norwegian were very much the same; that modern customs, -religion, and education had produced only differences of surface; and -that if we could go back against the stream of time to the age of the -sea kings, we should find that they were exactly like the men of to-day -in all that essentially belongs to race character. Now Morris, while -studying mediæval romances and loving them for their intrinsic curious -beauty, came to a very similar conclusion. It is true, he thought, that -the Middle Ages were much more cruel, more ignorant, more savage than -the ages before them or after them; but after all, the men and women of -those times must have felt about many things just like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> modern men and -women. Why should we not feel enough of this to study their fashions, -joys, and feelings under the peculiar conditions of their terrible -society? And this is what he did. You may say that, except for some -difference in the home speech, the talk of these people in the poems of -Morris is the talk of modern men and women. There is some difference as -to sentiment. But you cannot say that it is not natural, not likely; in -fact, the seeming pictures often have such force that you cannot forget -them. That is a test of truth.</p> - -<p>They are very brief pictures, like sudden glimpses caught during a -flash of lightning: a glimpse into an arena where two men are about -to fight to the death in presence of their king, according to the -code of the day; a knight riding through a flooded country in order -to take a castle by surprise; a woman driven to madness by the murder -of her lover; a woman at the stake about to be burned alive, when the -sound of the hoofs of the lover's horse is heard, as he gallops to her -rescue; ladies in the upper chamber of a castle, weaving and singing; -the capture of a robber and his vain pleading for life; also some fairy -tales of weird and sensuous beauty, told as people of the Middle Ages -must have felt them. To me one of the most powerful pictures is the -story of "The Haystack in the Floods." We are not told how the tragedy -began, nor how it ended; and this is great art to tell something -without beginning and without end, so well that the reader is always -thereafter wondering what the beginning was and what the end might have -been. The poem begins with the words:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Had she come all the way for this<br /> -To part at last without a kiss?<br /> -Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain<br /> -That her own eyes might see him slain<br /> -Beside the haystack in the floods?<br /> -</p> - -<p>We know from this only that the woman referred to is a woman of gentle -birth, accustomed to luxurious things, so that it was very difficult -for her to travel in rainy weather and cold, and that she thought it -was a great sacrifice on her part to do so even for a lover. If she -thought this, we have a right to suspect that she is a wanton—though -we are not quite sure about it. The description of her does not explain -anything further than the misery of the situation.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Along the dripping leafless woods,<br /> -The stirrup touching either shoe,<br /> -She rode astride as troopers do;<br /> -With kirtle kilted to her knee,<br /> -To which the mud splashed wretchedly;<br /> -And the wet dripp'd from every tree<br /> -Upon her head and heavy hair,<br /> -And on her eyelids broad and fair;<br /> -The tears and rain ran down her face.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The delicate woman has also the pain of being lonesome on her ride; for -the lover, the knight, cannot ride beside her, cannot comfort her; he -has to ride far ahead in order to see what danger may be in the road. -He is running away with her; perhaps he is a stranger in that country; -we shall presently see.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, nearby in the middle of a flooded place the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> enemy appears, a -treacherous knight who is the avowed lover of the woman and the enemy -of the man. She counts the number of spears with him—thirty spears, -and they have but ten. Fighting is of no use, the woman says, but -Robert (now we know for the first time the name of her companion) is -not afraid—believes that by courage and skill alone he can scatter the -hostile force, and bring his sweetheart over the river. She begs him -not to fight; her selfishness shows her character—it is not for him -she is afraid, but for herself.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -But, "O!" she said,<br /> -"My God! my God! I have to tread<br /> -The long way back without you; then<br /> -The court at Paris; those six men;<br /> -The gratings of the Chatelet; ..."<br /> -</p> - -<p>And worse than the gratings of the Chatelet is the stake; at which -she may be burned, or the river into which she may be thrown, if her -lover is killed; there is only one way to secure her own safety—that -is to accept the love of another man whom she hates, the wicked knight -Godmar, who is now in front of them with thirty spearsmen. Evidently -this is no warrior woman, no daughter of soldiers; she may love, but -like Cleopatra she is afraid of battle. Her lover Robert, like a man, -does not answer her tearful prayers, but gives the command to his men -to shout his war-cry, and boldly charges forward. Then, triple sorrow! -his men stand still; they refuse to fight against three times their -number, and in another moment Robert is in the power<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> of his enemy, -disarmed and bound. Thereupon Godmar with a wicked smile observes to -the woman:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Now, Jehane,</span><br /> -Your lover's life is on the wane<br /> -So fast, that, if this very hour<br /> -You yield not as my paramour,<br /> -He will not see the rain leave off."<br /> -</p> - -<p>He does more than threaten to kill her lover; he reminds her of what -he can further do to her. She has said that if he takes her into -his castle by force, she will kill either herself or him (we may -doubt whether she would really do either); and he wants a voluntary -submission. He talks to her about burning her alive; how would she like -that? And the ironical caressing tone of his language only makes it -more implacable.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Nay, if you do not my behest,<br /> -O Jehane! though I love you well,"<br /> -Said Godmar, "would I fail to tell<br /> -All that I know?" "Foul lies," she said.<br /> -"Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head,<br /> -At Paris folks would deem them true!<br /> -Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you:<br /> -Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown!<br /> -Give us Jehane to burn or drown!<br /> -Eh!—gag me Robert!—sweet my friend,<br /> -This were indeed a piteous end<br /> -For those long fingers, and long feet,<br /> -And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet;<br /> -An end that few men would forget<br /> -That saw it. So, an hour yet:<br /> -Consider, Jehane, which to take<br /> -Of life or death!"<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> - -<p>She considers, or rather tries to consider, for she is almost too weary -to speak, and very quickly falls asleep in the rain on the wet hay. An -hour passes. When she is awakened, she only sighs like a tired child, -and answers, "I will not." Perhaps she could not believe that her enemy -and lover would do as he had threatened; and in spite of the risk of -further angering him, she approaches the prisoner and tries to kiss him -farewell. Immediately,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">With a start</span><br /> -Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart;<br /> -From Robert's throat he loosed the bands<br /> -Of silk and mail; with empty hands<br /> -Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw<br /> -The long bright blade without a flaw<br /> -Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand<br /> -In Robert's hair; she saw him bend<br /> -Back Robert's head; she saw him send<br /> -The thin steel down; the blow told well,<br /> -Right backward the knight Robert fell,<br /> -And moaned as dogs do, being half dead,<br /> -Unwittingly, as I deem: so then<br /> -Godmar turn'd grinning to his men,<br /> -Who ran, some five or six, and beat<br /> -His head to pieces at her feet.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The knight groans involuntarily, in the death struggle only, and -probably the sound of his pain pleases Godmar, but in order to make -sure that he cannot recover again, he makes a sign to his followers to -finish the work of murder; so they beat in his skull—an ugly thing for -a woman to see done. There were rough-hearted men in those days who -could see a woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> burned alive and laugh at her suffering. You have -read, I think, the terrible story about Black Fulk, who made a great -holiday on the occasion of burning his young wife alive, and took his -friends to see the show, himself putting on his best holiday attire. -This Godmar seems to be nearly as harsh a brute, judging from what he -next has to say.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Then Godmar turn'd again and said:<br /> -"So, Jehane, the first fitte is read!<br /> -Take note, my lady, that your way<br /> -Lies backward to the Chatelet!"<br /> -She shook her head and gazed awhile<br /> -At her cold hands with rueful smile,<br /> -As though this thing had made her mad.<br /> -<br /> -This was the parting that they had<br /> -Beside the haystack in the floods.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Notice the brutal use of the word "fitte" (often spelled fytte). This -was an old name for the divisions of a long poem, romance, or epic. -Later the Italian term "canto" was substituted for it. Godmar refers -to the woman's love as her romance, her poem: "Now the first canto of -our love-romance has been read—only the first, remember!" The second -fitte will be perhaps the burning of the woman when she is brought -back to the castle prison from which she fled. It all depends upon -circumstances. If she has really become mad, she may escape. The poem -ends here, leaving us in doubt about the rest. We can only imagine the -termination. I think that she has not really become mad, that she is -too selfish and weak to bear or even to feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> the real emotional shock -of the thing; and that when they are half way to the prison she is -likely to yield to Godmar's will. If she does so, he will probably keep -her in his castle until he tires of her, and finds it expedient to end -her existence with as little scruple as he showed in killing Robert. -But, as an actual fact, it is difficult to be sure of anything, because -we know neither the beginning nor the end of the affair. We have only -a glimpse of the passion, suffering, selfishness, cruelty—then utter -darkness. And this method of merely glimpsing the story causes it to -leave a profound impression upon the imagination. Please do not forget -this, because it is the most important art in any kind of narrative -literature, whether of poetry or of prose.</p> - -<p>A second example of the same device is furnished by another terrible -poem called "The Judgment of God." The Judgment of God is an old name -for trial by single combat. It was a superstitious law, a foolish and -wicked law, but it served a purpose in the Middle Ages, and it afforded -an opportunity for many noble and courageous deeds. Browning took up -this subject in his stirring poem of "Count Gismond." The law was -this: when one knight was accused by another of some evil, cruel, or -treacherous act, he was allowed to challenge the man who brought the -charge against him to fight to the death—<i>à l'outrance</i>, as the old -term expressed it. The combat took place in the presence of the lord or -king and before a great assembly, according to fixed rules. If the man -who brought the charge lost the fight, then it was thought that he had -proved himself a liar. If the person accused won the battle, then he -was declared to be innocent. For it was thought that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> God would protect -the truth in such cases; and therefore these combats were called the -"judgment of God." Nevertheless you will perceive that a very skilful -knight might be able to kill a great number of accusers, and lawfully -"prove" himself innocent of a hundred crimes. That was a great defect -of the system.</p> - -<p>The "Judgment of God" is a monologue, quite as good in its way as many -of the short monologues of Browning. It is the knight against whom -accusation has been brought that tells us the feelings and impressions -of the moment that he enters the lists to fight. In this case we are -more moved to sympathy than in the former stories, because we know -that the man, whether otherwise bad or good, has saved a woman from -the stake, and killed the lords who were about to burn her. So we are -inclined to think of him as a hero. We have just one sudden vision of a -man's mind, as he stands in the face of death, with no sympathy about -him except that of his old father, who comes to give him advice about -fighting, because he is to be matched against a very skilful knight.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Swerve to the left, son Roger," he said,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"When you catch his eyes through the helmet-slit,</span><br /> -Swerve to the left, then out at his head,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Lord God give you joy of it!"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The old man knows how to fight, has probably won many a battle, and -he has observed the way that the light is falling. So he tells his -son, "When you begin to fight, don't turn to the right—turn to the -left; then you will be able to see his eyes through the helmet, and -immediately that you see them, strike straight for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> his head, and may -God help you to kill him." He has just heard these words from his -father when the prologue begins.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The blue owls on my father's hood<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were a little dimm'd, as I turned away;</span><br /> -This giving up of blood for blood<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will finish here somehow to-day.</span><br /> -<br /> -So when I walked from out the tent,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their howling almost blinded me;</span><br /> -Yet for all that I was not bent<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By any shame. Hard by, the sea</span><br /> -<br /> -Made a noise like the aspens where<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We did that wrong, but now the place</span><br /> -Is very pleasant, and the air<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blows cool on any passer's face.</span><br /> -<br /> -And all the throng is gather'd now<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into the circle of these lists—</span><br /> -Yea, howl out, butchers! tell me how<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His hands were cut off at the wrists;</span><br /> -<br /> -And how Lord Roger bore his face<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A league above his spear point, high</span><br /> -Above the owls, to that strong place<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the waters—yea, yea, cry!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The owls on the crest are the emblem of the family. The knight has -been waiting in his tent according to rule, until the signal is given; -and his father and his retainers probably helped to arm him there. He -feels no emotion except at the moment of bidding his father good-bye, -and then he knows that there are tears in his own eyes, because the owl -crest on his father's hood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> suddenly appears dim. Then, as the signal -is given, he walks out of the tent into the lists, only to hear a roar -of hatred and abuse go up from all the circles of seats. The friends -of the dead are evidently in great force, and he has no friend except -his father and his retainers. And they shout at him, his enemies, -telling him what he has done—how he cut off the hands of the knight -and cut off his head and carried it upon the top of a spear for three -miles, carried it above his own banner to his own castle. This was -indeed considered an unknightly thing in those days, for such was the -treatment given to common people in war, not to knights or men of rank.</p> - -<p>Then he sees the man with whom he must fight, waiting for him, all in -armour, with white linen over his arm, to indicate that he is fighting -for the cause of truth. At this Roger can very well laugh; and he -remarks that the face of the champion's lady looks even whiter than -the linen upon her lord's arm. She has reason, perhaps, to be afraid -for him. And though he has not much time for thinking, Roger remembers -his own beloved, waiting for him, remembers even how he first met her. -Addressing her in thought, he says:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -And these say: "No more now my knight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or God's knight any longer"—you</span><br /> -Being than they so much more white,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So much more pure and good and true,</span><br /> -<br /> -Will cling to me forever—there,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is not that wrong turn'd right at last</span><br /> -Through all these years, and I wash'd clean?<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Say, yea, Ellayne; the time is past,</span><br /> -<br /> -Since on that Christmas-day last year<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up to your feet the fire crept;</span><br /> -And the smoke through the brown leaves sere<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blinded your dear eyes that you wept;</span><br /> -<br /> -Was it not I that caught you then<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And kiss'd you on the saddle-bow?</span><br /> -Did not the blue owl mark the men<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose spears stood like the corn a-row?</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Evidently she has reason to love him and his house; did he not save -her from the fire?—did he not come with his spearmen and crush her -enemies, and take her away upon his horse to safety? And was not that -enough to atone for whatever other wrong he might have done? But he has -only a moment in which to think all this, for the trumpet is about to -sound for the fight, and there are other things to think about. One of -these is that his antagonist is a very good man, difficult to overcome; -the other is that there is danger for him even if he conquers, because -there are so many present who hate him.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -This Oliver is a right good knight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And needs must beat me, as I fear,</span><br /> -Unless I catch him in the fight,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My father's crafty way—John, here!</span><br /> -<br /> -Bring up the men from the south gate,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To help me if I fall or win,</span><br /> -For even if I beat, their hate<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will grow to more than this mere grin.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>If the reader could imagine the result of the combat, the real effect -of the poem in its present form<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> would be lost. No man can imagine -it. The challenged knight acknowledges his antagonist to be a better -man—indeed, he says that he can only hope to conquer him by the -cunning trick taught him by his old father. But the really dangerous -man never underrates the capacity of an enemy; and we may suspect that -the forces are at least even. So, as I have said, no man can guess -the result of the battle, and the reader is forced to keep wondering -what happened. He will always wonder, but he will never be able to -feel convinced. And to leave the mind of the reader thus interested -and unsatisfied is a great stroke of literary art. The same book -contains a number of mediæval pieces of the same sort, showing how very -unimportant it is whether you begin a story in the middle or whether -you leave it without an end. The greatest French story-tellers of -modern times have made almost popular the form of art in fiction to -which I refer. Take, for example, the late Guy de Maupassant, many of -whose short stories have, I am told, been translated into Japanese. -No one modern prose writer ever succeeded better in telling a story -without any beginning or without any end. Positively no beginning -and no end is necessary, in many cases; and remember, this method of -representing only the middle of things is exactly true to life. We -never see or hear of the whole of any incident that happens under our -eyes. We see only a fact, without knowing what caused it to come about, -and without knowing what will be the consequences of it. Outside of our -own homes we do not see much of other people's lives, and never the -whole of any one's life.</p> - -<p>Among other pieces in the book I should call your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> attention to "The -Little Tower," "Sir Peter Harpdon's End," "The Wind," "The Eve of -Crecy," "In Prison," and "The Blue Closet." They are very different in -idea, but I think that you will find them all extremely original. "The -Little Tower" has no beginning and no end. It only describes faithfully -the feelings of a knight riding over an inundated country, swimming his -horse along the side of bridges under water, and thinking to himself of -the joy of capturing an enemy's castle by surprise, killing the lord -and burning the lady. It is brutal in a certain way, but supremely -natural. The story of "Sir Peter Harpdon's End" is not a monologue; -it is a very dramatic narrative in which a number of men of different -character play their parts. It has no beginning, but the end is plainly -suggested—and this shows the tender side of human nature in the Middle -Ages. Sir Peter is brave, kindly, and true. Therefore, when he has his -enemy at his mercy, instead of killing him, he only cuts off his ears. -As a consequence he is afterwards himself destroyed; the obvious moral -of the narrative is that a merciful heart was a dangerous possession -in those times. The good men were easily trapped by playing upon their -feelings of pity or sympathy. "The Wind" represents the madness of a -very old knight, alone in his castle. The sound of the wind makes him -think of the voices of the dead whom he knew, and brings him back to -the memories of his youth, and of a woman that he loved. And at last -the ghosts of forgotten friends enter and glide about him. This has no -beginning and no end, and it remains very strongly impressed upon the -memory. We should like to know the story of that woman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> the story of -the madness of the old man, but we shall never know. "The Eve of Crecy" -represents the state of mind of a young French knight just before the -fatal battle, when the flower of the French chivalry was destroyed by a -mere handful of English soldiers driven to bay. You may remember that -before the battle the English prepared themselves very thoroughly and -made fervent prayers to heaven for success. But the French spent the -night in carousing and jesting, never dreaming that they could lose the -fight. Here Morris shows, us one of the young noblemen thinking only -about his sweetheart, some girl of noble rank whom he hopes to win. -He is going to do great deeds the next day, then the king will smile -upon him, and he will not be afraid to ask the father of that girl to -permit him to become his son-in-law. And so the poem abruptly breaks -off. The end here we can guess—a corpse riddled with English arrows, -and trampled under the feet of thousands of horses. "In Prison," among -the others, represents the emotions of a knight confined in a mediæval -dungeon. "The Blue Closet" is a fantasy, a wild mediæval fairy tale, -put into a dramatic form that reminds one singularly of the later work -of Maeterlinck. It is, however, a noteworthy composition as poetry, and -attained immediate popularity among all those who looked for beauties -of colour and sound rather than reflections of life.</p> - -<p>Those notes will give you an idea of the variety of the book. And the -mediæval pieces are worth thinking about, if any of you should care -to attempt authorship in a similar direction, whether in poetry or in -prose. There was a period in Japanese feudalism, a period of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> constant -civil wars and baronial quarrels, which would have produced a very -similar condition of things to that described in certain of these -poems, and I even think that more startling effects could be produced -by a judicious handling of Japanese themes in the same way, that is, -without attempting any beginning or suggesting any end.</p> - -<p>But observe that I am not holding up these poems to you as great -masterpieces of verse. I mean only that they suggest how great -masterpieces might be made. And please to note especially one phase of -the art of them, its psychological quality. Morris was not so great -a psychologist as Browning, who came nearest to Shakespeare in this -respect of all English poets. But Morris has considerable ability in -this way, and the most striking effects in his short poems are produced -by making us understand the feelings of persons in particular moments -of pain or terror or heroic effort. For example, how natural and -horrible is the soliloquy of Guinevere in the long poem with which the -book opens. You know that Tennyson did not follow the original account -of Malory in regard to the more cruel episodes of the old story. He -felt repelled by such an incident as the preparations for burning the -queen alive. In the real story she is about to be burned when Lancelot -comes and saves her, not without killing half the knights present and -some of his own relations into the bargain. But Morris saw in this -episode an opportunity for psychological work, and took it, just as -Browning might have done. He makes the queen express her thought:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">... "I know</span><br /> -I wondered how the fire, while I should stand,<br /> -And burn, against the heat, would quiver so,<br /> -Yards above my head."<br /> -</p> - -<p>This startles, because it is true. The quotations which I gave you from -"The Haystack in the Floods" contain several passages of an equally -impressive sort. We can best revive the past in literature not by -trying to describe the details of custom and of costume then prevalent, -but by trying to express faithfully the feelings of people who lived -long ago. And this can be managed most effectively either by monologue -or dialogue.</p> - -<p>The only other collection of short poems written by Morris is now -compressed into a companion volume entitled "Poems by the Way." All -of it is later work, but it is not more successful than the youthful -productions which we have been considering. Nevertheless it excels -in greater variety. You have here dramatic pieces of several kinds, -ballads and translations of ballads, fairy tales and translations of -fairy tales, mediæval and Norse stories, and strangely mixed with these -a number of socialist poems—for Morris believed in the theories of -socialism, in the possibility of an ideal communism.</p> - -<p>The bulk of the pieces in the volume, however, are Scandinavian, and -the general tone of the book is Northern. Morris was a tremendous -worker in the interest of Scandinavian literature. He loved the -medievalism of the pagan Norse even more than the corresponding period -of the Christian and chivalrous South. He helped the work of those -great Oxford professors who brought out the Corpus Poeticum Boreale,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> -translating in conjunction with one of them several ancient Sagas. -And as a poet he did a great deal to quicken English interest in -Norse literature, as we shall see later on. In this book we have only -short pieces, but they are good, and a number of them have the value -of almost literal translations. As for the style, a good example is -furnished by the story of the killing of the Hallgerd (or Hallgerda) -by Hallbiorn the Strong. The story is taken from an old Icelandic -history, and is undoubtedly true. Hallbiorn wedded a daughter of a man -called Odd, on account of his odd character. She was very beautiful. -Her father insisted that Hallbiorn should spend the whole next season, -winter, with him, and said that he might take his bride away in the -spring for the summer. During the winter Hallgerda had a secret -intrigue with a blood relation called Snæbiorn. The husband did not -know, he only felt a little suspicious at times. When the summer came, -and he asked Hallgerda to go with him to the house which he had built -for her, she did not answer. He asked her twice, still she did not -answer. The third time she refused. Then he killed her. Then Snæbiorn, -her lover, attacked him, and after a terrible fight in which eight or -nine men were killed, Hallbiorn was cut down. Snæbiorn then left the -country vowing that he would never speak to man again, and settled -in Greenland, where he died. The incidents are not wonderful, but -the simple and terrible way in which they are told by the Icelandic -chronicle makes them appeal greatly to the imagination. And Morris -did justice to the style of the old Landnámabok, as it is called. The -following lines relate to the tragedy only:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -... But Hallbiorn into the bower is gone<br /> -And there sat Hallgerd all alone.<br /> -She was not dight to go nor ride,<br /> -She had no joy of the summer-tide,<br /> -Silent she sat and combed her hair,<br /> -That fell all round about her there.<br /> -The slant beam lay upon her head<br /> -And gilt her golden locks to red.<br /> -He gazed at her with hungry eyes<br /> -And fluttering did his heart arise.<br /> -"Full hot," he said, "is the sun to-day,<br /> -And the snow is gone from the mountain-way,<br /> -The king-cup grows above the grass.<br /> -And through the wood do the thrushes pass."<br /> -Of all his words she hearkened none<br /> -But combed her hair amidst the sun.<br /> -"The laden beasts stand in the garth,<br /> -And their heads are turned to Helliskarth."<br /> -The sun was falling on her knee,<br /> -And she combed her gold hair silently.<br /> -"To-morrow great will be the cheer<br /> -At the Brother's Tongue by Whitewater."<br /> -From her folded lap the sunbeam slid;<br /> -She combed her hair, and the word she hid.<br /> -"Come, love; is the way so long and drear<br /> -From Whitewater to Whitewater?"<br /> -The sunbeam lay upon the floor;<br /> -She combed her hair and spake no more.<br /> -He drew her by the lily hand:<br /> -"I love thee better than all the land."<br /> -He drew her by the shoulders sweet,<br /> -"My threshold is but for thy feet."<br /> -He drew her by the yellow hair,<br /> -"Oh, why wert thou so deadly fair?<br /> -Oh, am I wedded to death?" he cried,<br /> -"Is the Dead-strand come to Whitewater side?"<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> - -<p>In order to know how terrible all this is, we must understand the -character of the Norse woman. Like the will of the man, her will is -iron; she cannot be broken, she cannot be made to bend, except by love, -and when she refuses to bend there is nothing to be done but to kill -her. All the facts stated here in rhymed verse are even more terrible -and more simple in the prose chronicle. Throughout Norse history we -repeatedly hear of women being killed under like circumstances. These -ferocious men would not beat or abuse their women; that would have -been no use. But they insisted upon being obeyed; to refuse obedience -was to court death. In the present true story, however, the refusal to -obey means much more than to court death; it means a bold confession -by the bride that she has loved and still loves another man than her -husband, and that is the reason of his sudden and terrible question, -"Oh, am I wedded to death? Is the Dead-strand come to this place?" The -Dead-strand or Corpse-strand was, in Norse mythology, the name of a -part of Hel, the region of the dead, the Hades of old Norse, so his -question really means, "Have the evil dead come here for us both?" for -good men and women did not go to the Dead-strand. Now hear her answer. -When he speaks at last, she sings in his face her secret lover's -favourite song, which is just the same thing as to say, "I am glad to -be killed for my lover's sake." And to kill a Norse woman meant, of -course, death for the man who slew her, for her kindred were bound to -avenge her. So she is defying him in every way.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The sun was fading from the room,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>But her eyes were bright in the change and the gloom,<br /> -"Sharp Sword," she sang,—"and death is sure,<br /> -But over all doth love endure."<br /> -She stood up shining in her place<br /> -And laughed beneath his deadly face.<br /> -Instead of the sunbeam gleamed a brand,<br /> -The hilts were hard in Hallbiorn's hand.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The last line contains a phrase from old Northern war poetry. To say -that the hilt of a man's sword was hard in his hand, signifies that -he was a terrible swordsman, accustomed to mighty blows. But Morris -here makes a little departure from the original chronicle. He makes -Hallbiorn pass his sword through the woman's body. As a matter of -fact he did nothing of the kind; he simply cut her head off at a -single blow. Very dramatic, however, is his telling of the subsequent -flight of Hallbiorn, and the pursuit by Snæbiorn. Hallbiorn's men -are surprised at the fact that he does not hold his ground, for they -know nothing of what happened in the house, and one of them says, -"Where shall we sleep to-night?" Hallbiorn answers grimly, "Under the -ground." Then his retainers know for the first time that they are -going to be attacked. The attacking party consists of twelve men. -Hallbiorn's retainers urge their master to hasten forward; it is still -possible, they think, to escape. But he stops his horse and leaps down, -exclaiming:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Why should the supper of Odin wait?<br /> -Weary and chased I will not come<br /> -To the table of my father's home."<br /> -</p> - -<p>That is a fine expression about the supper of Odin, referring to the -hope of every brave man to enter, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> his death, into Valhalla, the -hall of Odin, and to sup with the gods. And to enter there one had to -be killed in battle. So you can see the fierce humour of Hallbiorn's -remark that he does not want to come late to the supper of the gods, -and to keep the feast waiting. Snæbiorn does not speak. Hallbiorn -only laughs. He kills five men; then one of his feet is cut off, but -he rushes forward upon the bleeding stump, and kills two more before -he is overpowered. It was a terribly savage world, the old Norse -world; but we like to read about it, and we cannot help loving the -splendid courage of the men and women who passed their lives among such -tragedies, fearing nothing but loss of honour.</p> - -<p>Several other Norse subjects have been treated by Morris with equal -success; and one is remarkable for the strange charm of a refrain used -in it, a refrain from the Norse. It is called "The King of Denmark's -Sons," and it is the story of a fratricide. King Gorm of Denmark had -two sons, Knut and Harald:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Fair was Knut of face and limb,<br /> -As the breast of the Queen that suckled him;<br /> -But Harald was hot of hand and heart<br /> -As lips of lovers ere they part.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In history Knut was called the beloved. All men loved him, he was the -heir; and the old king loved him so much that he one day said, "If any -one, man or woman, ever tells me that my son Knut is dead, that person -has spoken the word which sends him or her to Hel." But this great love -only made the younger brother jealous. Harald was a Viking; he voyaged -southward and eastward, ravaging coasts in the Mediterranean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> or -desolating provinces nearer home. His name was a terror in England at -one time. But his father never praised him as he praised his brother. -So one day at sea he attacked his brother, overcame all resistance, -and killed him. Then he went home and told his mother what had been -done. But who dare tell the King? The mother imagined a plan. During -the night she decked the palace hall all in black, taking away every -ornament. So in the morning, when the King entered the hall, he asked, -"Who has dared to do this?" the Queen answered, "We, the women of the -palace, have done it." "Then," said the King, "tell me that my son Knut -is dead!" "You yourself have said the word," the Queen made answer. And -therewith the old king died as he sat in his chair; and the wicked son -became king. This is the simple history, and Morris has not departed -from historic truth in his version of it. The refrain excellently suits -the ballad measure chosen; from the very first stanza, the tone of it -suggests all the tragedy that is going to follow.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -In Denmark gone is many a year,<br /> -<i>So fair upriseth the rim of the sun</i>,<br /> -Two sons of Gorm the King there were,<br /> -<i>So grey is the sea when the day is done.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Sunrise symbolises happiness, joy; grey is the colour of melancholy; -and nothing is so lonesome, so sad looking, as the waste of the sea -when it turns to grey in the twilight. The refrain reminds one of a -famous line by an American poet, Bryant, who certainly never saw this -ballad:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Besides the above Norse subjects, I might call your attention to the -following titles: "The Folk-Mote by the River," "Knight Aagen and -Maiden Else," "Hafbur and Signy," "The Raven and the King's Daughter." -All these are well worth reading. So are the purely fairy tales. -Northern fairy tales had a great charm for Morris. He chose them as -subjects, perhaps because he saw a way of putting into them a new -charm, a charm not suited for child readers, but attractive to the -adult public. I suppose you know that fairy tales, as written for -children, are written so as to appeal chiefly to the imagination, -and to those simple emotions of which children are capable. But -originally such stories were told for the amusement of grown up -people, and a great deal of love sentiment figures in some of them. -Morris, remembering this, took several charming stories and infused -them with a new artistic sensuousness, making love the motive and the -principal sentiment. In the other volume of which I spoke, the old -story of "Rapunzel" is treated in this way; in the volume now under -consideration we have the story "Goldilocks and Goldilocks." It is the -wildest, the most impossible kind of fairy tale (so, for that matter, -is Coleridge's "Christabel"), but he gave it a very human charm by -putting delightful little bits of human nature into it—such as the -passage where the enchanted maiden, who never saw a man before, meets -the handsome knight for the first time:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -But the very first step he made from the place<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>He met a maiden face to face.<br /> -<br /> -Face to face, and so close was she,<br /> -That their lips met soft and lovingly.<br /> -<br /> -Sweet-mouthed she was, and fair he wist;<br /> -And again in the darksome wood they kissed.<br /> -<br /> -Then first in the wood her voice he heard,<br /> -As sweet as the song of the summer bird.<br /> -<br /> -"O thou fair man with the golden head,<br /> -What is the name of thee?" she said.<br /> -<br /> -"My name is Goldilocks," said he,<br /> -"O sweet-breathed, what is the name of thee?"<br /> -<br /> -"O Goldilocks the Swain," she said,<br /> -"My name is Goldilocks the Maid."<br /> -<br /> -He spake, "Love me as I love thee,<br /> -And Goldilocks one flesh shall be."<br /> -<br /> -She said, "Fair man, I wot not how<br /> -Thou lovest, but I love thee now."<br /> -</p> - -<p>And they go on talking together, like two children, in their eighteenth -century English—she full of wonder at the beauty of the stranger of -another sex, he full of loving pity for her supreme innocence. And -then all kinds of magical dangers and troubles come to separate them, -but love conquers all. The story is known by many children, but not as -Morris tells it. His principal purpose is to picture a character of -perfect innocence and perfect trust; and he does this so delightfully -that we cease to care whether the tale is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> a fairy one or not. It -stirs most agreeably something which is true in everybody's heart; we -love what is beautiful in the character of the child or the supremely -innocent young girl.</p> - -<p>As a single work in one key, the greatest production of Morris is the -"Story of Sigurd"; indeed, we might call it the masterpiece of the -poet, but for the fact that it is not original in the true sense. It -is little more than a magnificent translation in swinging verse of the -Volsunga Saga. But in more ways than one, it has become a literary work -of extreme importance. It was through this metrical version that the -Volsunga Saga first became known to English readers in a general way. -Since then we have had prose translations.</p> - -<p>I want to speak about this Saga, because the subject is of extreme -literary importance. To-day you can scarcely open a literary periodical -or any volume of essays on literary subjects without finding there some -reference to the famous Northern story. It is one version of an epic -which in various forms belongs to the whole Northern race; and one of -the forms best known is the Nibelungenlied of Germany. Through German -musical art the latter form of the story has in our own time become -universally known in all great cities of the West, for Wagner made it -the subject of a magnificent composition; the greatest of all modern -operas, dramatically at least, is certainly his musical presentation of -the epic cycle.</p> - -<p>A word now about the place of this story in European literature. -Mediæval Europe produced four great epics. Each of these represents the -beginning of a vast national literature. The great English epic is the -story<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> of Beowulf, and I am sorry to say that it is not the best. The -great French epic is the story of Roland. The great Spanish epic is -the story of the Cid. And the great German epic is the Nibelungenlied -or Nibelunge Nôt, as it has also been called. Of these four the German -epic is the grandest. Its date is not exactly known. But the best -critics assert that it cannot be older than the middle of the twelfth -century, and not later than the middle of the thirteenth. Therefore the -date must be somewhat between 1150-1250.</p> - -<p>But the German epic is by no means the oldest form of the story. The -older forms are Norse. There are poetical fragments of the story to be -found in the ancient Scandinavian literature (you can find them in the -library in the Corpus Poeticum Boreale), and there is a splendid prose -version of the story in the old Icelandic—this is the Volsunga Saga, -from which Morris took his poetical materials. Between the versions of -the German and the North, there are great differences of narrative, -but perhaps not great differences of merit. If we could have the whole -of the old Norse epic, we should perhaps find it even grander than the -German. But only fragments have been preserved of the poetry, and we -can only imagine from the prose Saga how magnificent the lost poetry -may have been. And now a word about the story itself.</p> - -<p>When Herbert Spencer, some years ago, criticised certain English -translations issued by the Japanese department of education, he stated -that the story of the great swordsman Musashi was not a proper subject -for the admiration of the youth, because it is a story of vengeance. -He was speaking from the standpoint of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> ideal education, and from -that standpoint his criticism is not disputable. But ideal education, -in the present state of humanity, he himself would acknowledge to be -impossible. It is only something toward which we can all work a little, -slowly and patiently. In the meantime, the same objection made to the -story of Musashi might equally well be made to all the epic poems of -the Western world, and to nearly all the great romances of the past. To -begin with, the grand poems of Homer, both the Iliad and the Odyssey, -are epics of vengeance. The great story of King Arthur is a narrative -full of incidents of revenge and even of crime. We can scarcely mention -any great composition which is not full of vengeance, and which is not -also admired. But I wonder what could Mr. Spencer say of the Volsunga -Saga or the Nibelungenlied. For all stories of vengeance ever told, -whether in verse or prose, pale before the immense quarrel and cruelty -of these. They are terrible stories, and the Volsunga version is even -more terrible than the German.</p> - -<p>The story takes its name from the great family of the Volsung. It opens -with an account of the might and power of King Volsung, the heroism of -his sons and the beauty of his only daughter Signy. These rule in the -far North. After a time the King of the Goths in the South, hearing -of the wonderful beauty of Signy, asks for her hand in marriage, and -obtains it. He goes to the country of the Volsung to wed her, and -during the wedding he becomes jealous of the splendour and strength of -the Volsung family. When he takes his bride South with him there is an -evil purpose in his heart—the purpose to destroy the family of his -bride by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> treachery whenever opportunity offers. What follows does not -belong to the German story at all; it is only to be found in the Norse.</p> - -<p>Siggeir, the Gothic king, next year invites the King Volsung and his -sons to come South and pay him a visit. The sons of King Volsung -suspect treachery, and they advise their father not to go without a -great army. But the old king wants to see his daughter, and he thinks -that it would be showing fear to go with a great army, so he tells -his sons that they must go as invited, with only a small following. -They go. But the suspicion of the sons was justified by events. In -the middle of the festival of welcome, King Volsung and his party are -attacked by an immense force, and nearly all the followers of the king -are killed. The sons are taken prisoners and left in a wood tied to -trees for the wolves to devour. Only one escapes, Sigmund. He hides in -the forest and becomes a hunter, and dreams of vengeance.</p> - -<p>But the real avenger is Signy, the daughter of the dead King Volsung -and the wife of the murderer. Signy knows that her brother Sigmund -is alive. But that makes only two Volsungs; and two young people -alone cannot hope to destroy a king and an army. But Signy believes -that three can do it. Secretly she keeps her brother supplied with -provisions and weapons, and she resolves to raise up sons to avenge the -wrong. When her first son is born she begs to train him, and when he -is old enough to begin to learn what war means, she sends him to her -brother in the wood that he may teach the lad.</p> - -<p>Sigmund does not much like the boy. He thinks that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> he talks too much -to be really brave. He tests the lad's courage in different ways, -telling him, among other things, to bake and knead cake in which a -poisonous snake has been hidden. The boy is afraid of the snake. -Sigmund sends him back to Signy, saying that he will not do.</p> - -<p>Signy almost despairs. Must her sons be cowards because they have a -coward father? Suddenly a strange idea comes to her. "I shall do as -the Gods did in ancient times," she said; "only my brother can produce -such a child as I wish for, and I shall have a child by him." She goes -to a witch, who changes her body, transforms her so completely that -her brother can have no suspicion of what has taken place. Then by him -she has a son, Sinfiotli. When he is old enough she sends the boy to -Sigmund.</p> - -<p>Sigmund is astonished by the extraordinary fierceness and sullenness -of the child. "Is it possible," he wonders, "that my sister can have -such a child by her husband?" The boy scarcely speaks at all, but -does whatever he is told, and is afraid of nothing. Sigmund gives him -flour to knead and bake containing a poisonous snake. Instead of being -afraid of the serpent, the child breaks and crushes the creature in his -fingers and rolls the poisonous body in the flour, and makes the whole -thing into cakes. Sigmund is delighted. He sends word to his sister, -"This boy will do."</p> - -<p>The rest of this part of the story you can imagine. The boy grows up a -giant, and is trained in all arts by Sigmund. On a certain day these -two unexpectedly force their way into the palace of the King Siggeir, -slaughter his people and himself, and set fire to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> palace. Thus -King Volsung is avenged. But Signy, after having told her brother the -story of Sinfiotli, goes back into the burning house of the king, and -voluntarily dies. She has done her duty, but she does not care to live -any longer. This ends the great episode of the Volsung Saga.</p> - -<p>The next part contains the story of the dragon Fafnir. Here we have no -more Sigmund. Sinfiotli has been poisoned, Sigmund has been killed in -battle. But there is still one child of the Volsung blood alive in the -world. This is Sigurd (the Siegfried of the German story). Sigurd is -kindly brought up by a foster father, a Viking, who teaches him all the -arts of seamanship and war. One of the teachers who helped the Viking -in the work is a strange old man called Regin, who much resembles the -Merlin of the story of King Arthur. Sigurd wants a sword, a magical -sword, that will not break in his hand; for he is so strong that common -swords are of no use to him. Regin alone knows the art. But he does -not wish to give Sigurd such art. He makes in succession a number of -swords. Sigurd takes each one of them and strikes the anvil with it, -whereupon the blade flies into pieces. He threatens Regin so terribly -that the latter at last is obliged to make the magical sword. When he -finishes, Sigurd strikes the anvil with the blade, and the anvil is -cut in two pieces. In the musical presentation of the story by Wagner, -the finest episode is this forging of the sword. If you ever see that -performed in a great theatre, you will not easily forget it. But in the -German story it is not Begin but the hero himself who makes the blade. -The anvil is placed upon the stage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> and all the forging is really done -there. When the anvil is cut in two, a flash as of lightning follows -the blade of the sword; the spectacle is very grand.</p> - -<p>But to return to the Volsung legend. Sigurd needs the sword in order -that he may perform great deeds in the world, and the first great, -deed that he wishes to perform is to secure a magical hoard of wealth, -belonging to the Dwarfs of the underworld and guarded by the terrible -dragon Fafnir. He goes with Regin to the place of the hoard, and -meets the dragon, and kills him. Regin then says to him, "Give me his -heart—cut it out and roast it." Sigurd obeys, cuts out the heart of -the dragon, and begins to roast it over the fire. But while roasting -it, some grease gets upon his fingers, and he licks it off with his -tongue. Immediately a wonderful thing happens—he can understand the -language of birds and animals. In the trees above him he hears the -birds speaking, and they give him warning that Regin intends to kill -him. Thereupon he kills Regin. This story of the dragon's heart is very -famous in European literature, and you will find many references to it -in the poetry and prose of to-day.</p> - -<p>The next part of the story is one of the finest—the meeting of Sigurd -and Brynhild, the first love episode. Brynhild is half human, half -divine. Though born among men, she had been taken to heaven by Odin -and made a Valkyria, one of the celestial virgins called the "Choosers -of the Slain." But for a fault which she committed she had been sent -back to earth again, to suffer pain and sorrow. In an enchanted -sleep she was left upon the summit of a mountain, and all about her -sleeping-place towered a wall of never-dying fire. "Only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> the man brave -enough to ride through the fire shall have this maiden"—so spake Odin.</p> - -<p>Sigurd rides through the fire, and the fire, although roaring like the -sea, does not hurt him, because he is brave. Entering the enchanted -circle, he there sees a human figure lying, all in golden armour not -made by any human smith. He tries to awake the sleeper, but cannot. -He tries to take off the armour, but he cannot unfasten it. Then he -takes his wonderful sword and cuts open the armour as easily as if it -were silk. Then he finds that the sleeper is a woman, more beautiful -than any woman of earth. She opens her eyes and looks at him. They -fall in love with each other, and pledge themselves to become man -and wife. Probably this part of the story is one of the sources from -which the beautiful fairy tale of the Sleeping Beauty came into our -child literature. But the idea is also found in very ancient Eastern -literature.</p> - -<p>The third part of the great story treats of the history of Brynhild -especially. Being a Valkyria, she has power to see much of the future; -she can foretell things in a dim way. She warns Sigurd that there is -danger for him if he should ever be untrue to her. Sigurd accepts the -warning in the noblest spirit. But the Fates are against him. He goes -upon a warlike expedition to the kingdom of Niblung in the North. The -Niblung family, after a great battle which Sigurd has helped them to -win, wish to adopt him as a son, and the beautiful daughter of the King -falls in love with him. Her father and her brothers wish Sigurd to -marry the girl, whose name is Gudrun. But Sigurd remembers his promise -to Brynhild. Then the wicked Queen Grimhild,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> the mother of Gudrun, -gives Sigurd a poisonous drink that causes him to forget the past; and -while he is under the influence of this magical drink he is persuaded -to marry Gudrun.</p> - -<p>But this is not the worst thing that he is obliged to do through the -magical arts of Grimhild. He is obliged to go to Brynhild, and persuade -her to become the wife of young Gunnar, the brother of Gudrun. He rides -through the fire again, and persuades Brynhild to become the wife -of Gunnar. She obeys his will, but the result is the destruction of -Sigurd and all concerned. For the two women presently begin to quarrel. -Brynhild loves Sigurd with a supernatural love, and he knows that he -has been deceived. Gudrun also loves Sigurd fiercely, and her jealousy -quickly perceives the secret affection of Brynhild. In short, the -result of the quarrel between the women is that the brothers of Gudrun -resolve to kill Sigurd while he sleeps. One of them stabs him in the -middle of night. Sigurd, awakening, throws his sword after the escaping -murderer with such force that the man is cut in two. But Sigurd dies of -his wound, and Brynhild then kills herself, and the two are burnt upon -the same funeral pyre.</p> - -<p>The last part of the story is the revenge of Gudrun, one of the most -terrible characters in all Northern stories. She lives only to avenge -Sigurd. On finding that her brothers have caused his murder, she curses -her house, her family, her people, and vows that they shall all suffer -for the wrong done her. Her brothers, who know her character, are -afraid, but there is a hope that time will make her heart more gentle. -At all events she cannot remain always a widow. Presently she is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> asked -for in marriage by Atli, king of the Goths. Her brothers wish for this -marriage, all except one, who is against it. Gudrun marries Atli. This -gives her power to plan her longed-for revenge. She persuades her -husband that the great treasures which Sigurd got by killing the dragon -are worth securing even at the cost of the lives of her brothers and -father. She does not lie to the King; she frankly tells him that she -hates her people, and he believes her. By treachery, all the Niblungs -are allured to Atli's hall. In the middle of the day of their arrival, -they are suddenly attacked. They make a great fight, but all their -followers are killed, and they themselves are taken prisoners—that is, -the brothers, the father having died before the occurrence. During the -fight Gudrun is present and the blood spurts upon her dress and hands, -but the expression of her face never changes. This is one of the most -awful scenes in the poem.</p> - -<p>When all the brothers are dead but two, Hogni and Gunnar, the King says -to Gunnar, "Give me the treasure of the Niblungs, and I will spare your -life." Gunnar answers: "I must first see the heart of my brother Hogni -cut out of his breast and laid upon a dish." The King's soldiers take -among the prisoners a tall man whom they imagine to be Hogni, but who -is really only a slave, and they cut out the man's heart and put it -upon a dish and bring it to Gunnar. Gunnar looks at it and laughs and -says, "That is not my brother's heart; see how it trembles—that is the -heart of a slave!" Then the soldiers kill the real Hogni and cut out -his heart and bring it upon a plate. This time Gunnar does not laugh. -He says, "That is really my brother's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> heart. It does not tremble. -Neither did it ever tremble in his breast when he was alive. There were -only two men in the world yesterday who knew where the treasure of the -Niblungs is hidden, my brother and myself. And now that my brother is -dead, I am the only one in the world who knows. See if you can make me -tell you. I shall never tell you." He is tortured and killed, but he -never tells.</p> - -<p>There is only one of the whole Niblung race still alive, Gudrun. She -has avenged her husband upon her own brothers, but that does not -satisfy her. By the strange and ferocious Northern code she must now -avenge her kindred, though they be her enemies, upon the stranger. -She has used Atli in order to destroy her brothers; but, after all, -they were her brothers and Atli only her husband. She sets fire to -the palace, kills Atli with her own hands, and then leaps into the -sea. Thus all the characters of the story meet with a tragic end. -There is no such story of vengeance in any other literature. Yet this -epic, or romance, is the greatest of mediæval compositions, and every -student ought to know something about it, either in its Scandinavian -or its German form. In the German form the character of Gudrun—she is -there called Kriemhild—is much less savage; and the German story is -altogether a more civilised expression of feeling. But any form of the -story (and there are several other forms besides those of which I have -spoken) shows the moving passion to be vengeance; and to return to the -subject of Mr. Spencer's criticism, we may say that there is no great -tale, Western or Eastern, in which this passion has no play.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> - -<p>The values of the story are in the narration, in the descriptions -of battles, weapons, banquets, weddings, in the heroic emotions -often expressed in speeches or pledges, and in the few chapters of -profound tenderness strangely mingled among chapters dealing only with -atrocious and cruel passions; all these give perpetual literary worth -to the composition, and we cannot be tired of them. The subject was a -grand one for any English poet to take up, and Morris took it up in -a very worthy way. He has put the whole legend into anapestic verse -of sixteen syllables, a long swinging, irregular measure which has a -peculiar exultant effect upon the reader. To give an example of this -work is very difficult. Any part detached from the rest, loses by -detachment—for Morris, although a good poet, and a correct poet, and -a spiritual poet, is not an exquisite poet. He does not give to his -verses that supreme finish which we find in the compositions of the -greater Victorian poets. However, I shall attempt a few examples. I -thought at first of reading to you some passages regarding the forging -of the sword; but I gave up the idea on remembering how much better -Wagner has treated the same incident where the hero chants as he -strikes out the shape of the blade with his hammer, and at last, with -a mighty shout lifts up the blade and cuts the anvil in two. Perhaps a -better example of Morris's verse may be found in these lines:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -By the Earth that groweth and giveth, and by all the<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Earth's increase</span><br /> -That is spent for Gods and man-folk, by the sun that<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">shines on these;</span><br /> -By the Salt-Sea-Flood that beareth the life and death of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">men;</span><br /> -By the Heaven and Stars that change not, though Earth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">die out again;</span><br /> -<br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -I hallow me to Odin for a leader of his host,<br /> -To do the deeds of the Highest, and never count the cost;<br /> -And I swear, that great-one shall show the day and<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">the deed,</span><br /> -I shall ask not why nor wherefore, but the sword's desire<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">shall speed:</span><br /> -And I swear to seek no quarrel, nor to swerve aside for<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">aught</span><br /> -Though the right and the left be blooming, and the straight<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">way wend to nought,</span><br /> -And I swear to abide and hearken the prayer of any thrall,<br /> -Though the war-torch be on the threshold and the foemen's<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">feet in the hall:</span><br /> -And I swear to sit on my throne in the guise of the kings<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of the earth,</span><br /> -Though the anguish past amending, and the unheard woe<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">have birth:</span><br /> -And I swear to wend in my sorrow that none shall curse<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">mine eyes</span><br /> -For the scowl that quelleth beseeching, and the hate that<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">scorneth the wise.</span><br /> -So help me Earth and Heavens, and the Under-sky and<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seas,</span><br /> -And the Stars in their ordered houses, and the Norns that<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">order these!</span><br /> -And he drank of the cup of Promise, and fair as a star he<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">shone,</span><br /> -And all men rejoiced and wondered, and deemed Earth's<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">glory won.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> - -<p>This will serve very well to show you the ringing spirit of the -measure. Here is an example of another kind taken from the pages -describing the first secret love of the maiden Gudrun for Sigurd. It is -true to human nature; the Northern woman is apt to be most cruel to the -man whom she loves most, and these few lines give us a dark suggestion -of the character of Gudrun long before the real woman reveals -herself—immensely passionate and immensely strong in self-control.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -But men say that howsoever all other folk of earth<br /> -Loved Sigmund's son rejoicing, and were bettered of their<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">mirth,</span><br /> -Yet ever the white-armed Gudrun, the dark haired Niblung<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Maid,</span><br /> -From the barren heart of sorrow her love upon him laid;<br /> -He rejoiceth, and she droopeth; he speaks and hushed is<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">she;</span><br /> -He beholds the world's days coming, nought but Sigurd<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">may she see.</span><br /> -He is wise and her wisdom falters; he is kind, and harsh<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">and strange</span><br /> -Comes the voice from her bosom laden, and her woman's<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">mercies change.</span><br /> -He longs, and she sees his longing, and her heart grows<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">cold as a sword.</span><br /> -And her heart is the ravening fire, and the fretting sorrows'<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">hoard.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>A great deal is said in these lines by the use of suggestive words -and words of symbolism. Paraphrased these verses mean much more. "No -matter how much all other people showed their love and admiration for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> -Sigurd by making festival and public rejoicing, feeling happier and -better for having seen him, all their affection was as nothing to the -love that Gudrun secretly felt for him, out of her lonesome heart; and -great was her secret grief at the thought that he might not love her. -Then she acted with him after the manner of the woman resolved to win. -Whenever she saw him rejoice she became sad. Whenever he spoke to her, -she remained silent. Many things Sigurd knew—so wise he was that he -could see even the events of the future; but she saw nothing and knew -nothing thereafter except Sigurd, nor did she wish to see or to know -anything else. And when he showed himself wise, she acted as a foolish -child. And when he tried to be kind to her she answered him with a -strange and harsh voice, and suddenly became without pity. And at last -when he began to long for love, and she perceived it, then her heart -became cold as a sword. So was the soul of this woman in the time of -her passion—now like ravening fire, now again desolate with all the -sorrows that corrode and destroy."</p> - -<p>Because she sees still that love is not for her, the whole scene of -the courting—this is one of the cases where the maiden woos the man -without ever losing her dignity as a maiden—is of consummate skill, -showing Gudrun at one moment simple and sweet as a child, revealing -suddenly, at another time, the strange height and depth of her, many -things terrible in her, capable of the making or the ruin of a kingdom.</p> - -<p>I am not going to quote, but I hope that you will notice particularly -the fine scene of the death of Brynhild. There is a grand thought in -it. I did not tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> you, in the brief epitome of the plot which I gave -you, about the second wooing of Brynhild. When Sigurd wooed her for -King Gunnar, he lay down beside her at night; but he placed his naked -sword between them. This episode is famous in Western literature. So -he brought her chaste to her bridegroom. And when afterwards Brynhild -kills herself, in order that she may be able to join him in the spirit -world, she shows her admiration of Sigurd's action by saying, "When you -put my dead body on the funeral pyre beside the dead body of Sigurd, -put his naked sword again between us, as it was put between us when he -wooed me long ago, for the sake of King Gunnar." The suicide chapter -is very grand. And the ending of the long tragedy has also a peculiar -grandeur, when Gudrun leaps into the sea.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The sea-waves o'er her swept;<br /> -And their will is her will henceforward; and who knoweth<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the deeps of the sea</span><br /> -And the wealth of the bed of Gudrun, and the days that<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">yet shall be?</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>A finer simile could not be imagined than this sudden transformation of -a passionate woman's will into the vast motion and unimaginable depths -of the sea. The idea is, "Deep and wide was her soul like the sea; and -the strength of her and the depth of her are now the strength and depth -of the ocean; and who knows what her spirit may hereafter accomplish?"</p> - -<p>In concluding this little study of the romance, I may say that some of -its incidents are probably immortal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> because they contain perpetual -truth. I am not now speaking particularly of Morris's work, but only -of the legend of Sigurd. The studies in it of evil passions need not -demand our praise, but the stories of heroism, like that of the naked -sword laid between the man and the maid, will always seem to us grand. -Symbolically we may say that the wealth of the world is still guarded -by dragons as truly as in the story of Sigurd; formidable and difficult -to overcome are the powers opposing success in the struggle of life, -and the acquisition of the prize can be only for the hero, the strong -man mentally or morally. Again that strange fancy of Brynhild ringed -about in her magical sleep with a wall of living fire—I do not know -how it may seem to the far Eastern reader, but to the Western it is -the symbol of a real truth, that beauty, the object of human desire, -is still truly ringed about by fire, in the sense that the winner of -it must risk all possible dangers of body and soul before he succeeds. -Still in Northern countries the finest woman is for the best man; only -the hero can truly ride through the fire of the gods.</p> - -<p>I have said enough about the great poems of Morris; I do not think -that it will be necessary to say anything about "The Life and Death -of Jason." If you like his other work, probably you will like that -book also. But I think that the story of Jason is more charmingly -told by Charles Kingsley in his Greek fairy tale, and that Morris was -at his best, so far as long narrative poems are concerned, in Norse -subjects. I have already told you about his strong personal interest in -Norse literature, and about his work as a prose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> translator. In this -connection I may mention a queer fact. Morris, who claimed to have -Norse blood in his own veins, became so absorbed by the Norse subjects -that his character seems to have been changed in later life. He became -stark and grim like the old Vikings, even to his friends. But if he -offended in this wise, he certainly made up for the fault by that -tremendous energy which he appeared to absorb from the same source. No -man ever worked harder for romantic literature and romantic art, and -few men have made so deep an impression upon the æsthetic sentiments of -the English public.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h5> - - -<h4>THE POETRY OF GEORGE MEREDITH</h4> - - -<p>At the present time (1900) scarcely any English poet is more in vogue -than George Meredith. His popularity is comparatively new, but it is -founded upon solid excellence of a very extraordinary kind. George -Meredith is an exception to general rules—even to the rule that a -great poet is scarcely ever a great prose writer; for he was known -to the public as a novelist for half a century before he began to be -known as a poet. To-day he is so often quoted from, so often referred -to, that we cannot ignore him in the course of lectures upon English -literature.</p> - -<p>He is now nearly seventy-two years old, having been born in 1828. -He studied mostly in Germany, and studied law, but he had scarcely -left his university when he resolved to abandon law and devote his -life to literature. Returning to England he published his first book, -a volume of poems, in 1851. It attracted no notice at all. In 1856 -his next book appeared, called "The Shaving of Shagpat," a wonderful -fairy-tale, written in imitation of the Arabian Nights with Arabian -characters and scenery. It remains the best thing of the kind ever -done by any European writer, but the kind was not popular, and only -a few of the great poets and critics noticed what a wonderful book -it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> was. After that Meredith took up novel writing, studying English -life and character in an entirely new way. But he was not at first -able to attract much attention. His novels were too scholarly and too -psychological. Ten years from the date of his first volume of poems, -in 1862, he published another book of verses, entitled "Modern Love." -This attracted the notice of Swinburne, but of scarcely anybody else, -and Meredith went back to novel writing. Twenty years later, in 1883, a -third volume of poems appeared, "Poems and Lyrics of the Joy of Earth." -This book obtained some critical praise, but only the cultivated men -of letters appreciated it. More novels followed, and in 1887 and 1888 -appeared the last volumes of poems, "Ballads and Poems of Tragic Life," -and "A Reading of Earth." Since then Meredith has chiefly written -novels, but occasionally he writes poems. Success came to him only in -old age—within the last twenty years. It is not within the purpose of -this lecture to speak of his novels at all; we shall deal only with his -poetry.</p> - -<p>At the first sight of such poetry a good judge would naturally -exclaim, "How is it that I never heard of this wonderful poet before?" -But a further examination will easily furnish the reason. Meredith -is uncommonly difficult as well as uncommonly deep. He has the -obscurity of Browning, and yet a profundity exceeding Browning's; he -is essentially a psychological poet, but he is also an evolutional -philosopher, which Browning scarcely was. He did not study in Germany -for nothing, and he alone of all living Englishmen really expresses -the whole philosophy of the modern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> scientific age. Now such a man -necessarily found himself in a peculiar position. The older thinkers -of his own time could scarcely understand him; he was uttering new -thoughts, and uttering them often in a German rather than in an English -way. The younger thinkers of the period were still at school or in the -university when he began to express himself. His audience was therefore -extremely small at first. Now it is very large, and he is known as well -in France and Germany as at home, but we may say that he gave his whole -life for this success.</p> - -<p>A word now about his philosophy. Meredith is a thinker of the broadest -and most advanced type, but he is essentially optimistic—that is, he -considers all things as an evolutionist, but also as one who believes -that the tendency of the laws which govern the universe is toward the -highest possible good. He believes the world to be the best possible -world which man could desire, and he thinks that all the unhappiness -and folly of men is due only to ignorance and to weakness. He proclaims -that the world can give every joy and every pleasure possible to those -who are both wise and strong. Above all else he preaches the duty of -moral strength—the power to control our passions and impulses. He has, -however, very little compassion in him; he is a terribly stern teacher, -never pitying weakness, never forgiving ignorance. He never talks of -any theological God—not at least as a God to believe in; but you -get from all his poetry the general impression that he considers the -working of the universe divine. It will not be necessary to say more -here about his opinions, because we shall find them better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> expressed -in his poems than they could be in any attempt at a brief <i>résumé.</i></p> - -<p>I think that it will be better to take some of his simpler poems first, -for study; indeed the longer ones are very difficult and would require -much explanation as well as paraphrasing. The shorter ones will better -serve the first purpose of showing you how different this man's poetry -is from that of any other English poet of the time. The first example -will be from "Ballads and Poems of Tragic Life." I need not explain -to you the meaning of the word "Tragic." But the tragedies in which -Meredith is interested are never tragedies of mere physical pain. There -may be some killing in them, but the shedding of blood does not mean -the tragedy. "King Harald's Trance" is a good illustration of this.</p> - -<p>Harald—a name common in Scandinavian history—we may suppose to be a -Norwegian Viking. The Vikings of old Norway were the most terrible men -that ever lived, but they were also among the grandest and noblest. -Their trade was war, their religion was war, their idea of happiness -after death was still war—eternal war in heaven, ghostly fighting -on the side of the gods. Such an idea of life requires many great -qualities as well as natural fearlessness and great physical strength. -These men had to learn from childhood not only how to fight, but how -to control their passions, for in fighting, you know that the man who -first gets angry is almost certain to get beaten. The Norse character -was above all things a character of great self-mastery, and the finer -qualities of it are those which have also made the finer qualities of -both<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> the German and the English speaking races of the modern world. -It occurred to the poet Meredith to study such a character among its -ancient surroundings, and among the most trying possible circumstances. -What could break down such mighty strength? What could conquer such -iron hearts? We are going to see.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I<br /> -<br /> -Sword in length a reaping-hook amain<br /> -Harald sheared his field, blood up to shank;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Mid the swathes of slain</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">First at moonrise drank.</span><br /> -<br /> -II<br /> -<br /> -Thereof hunger, as for meats the knife,<br /> -Pricked his ribs, in one sharp spur to reach<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Home and his young wife,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By the sea-ford beach.</span><br /> -<br /> -III<br /> -<br /> -After battle keen to feed was he:<br /> -Smoking flesh the thresher washed down fast,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like an angry sea</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ships from keel to mast.</span><br /> -<br /> -IV<br /> -<br /> -Name us glory, singer, name us pride<br /> -Matching Harald's in his deeds of strength;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chiefs, wife, sword by side,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Foemen stretched their length!</span><br /> -<br /> -V<br /> -<br /> -Half a winter night the toasts hurrahed,<br /> -Crowned him, clothed him, trumpeted him high,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Till a wink he bade</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Wife to chamber fly.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Mightily Harald, as a reaper in a field of corn mows down the grain, -with his scythe-long sword moved down the enemy—standing in blood up -to his ankles. All day he slew, and when the battle was finished after -dark and the dead lay all about him, like the swathes of grain cut down -by reapers, then for the first time he was able to drink, as the moon -began to rise.</p> - -<p>Then the great effort and excitement of the battle left him hungry. His -hunger pricked him like a knife—impelled him to mount his horse and -gallop straight home at full speed to where his young wife was waiting -for news of him.</p> - -<p>He always ate prodigiously after fighting; to see him eating roast meat -and washing it down his great throat with drinks of ale after a battle, -made one think of the spectacle of a stormy sea swallowing ships.</p> - -<p>Then came the customary banqueting and singing and drinking. -Professional singers sang songs in praise of his fighting that day, -while he sat enthroned among his warriors, with his sword by his side, -and his young wife seated at his right hand. All his enemies were dead.</p> - -<p>For half the night the drinking and singing continued. Harald had to -sit there and hear himself praised, and drink whenever his own health -was drunk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> to—such was the custom. But when the strong men had begun -to show the influence of liquor too much, the king made a sign to his -wife to withdraw to her own room. When the warriors drank too much, it -was not a time for women to be present.</p> - -<p>This is the substance of the first part of the poem. Observe that -Harald is never spoken of as having been fatigued by his battle; -fighting only makes him hungry. This is a giant and probably a kindly -giant in his way; we see that he is fond of his young wife. But he -cannot retire from the banquet according to the custom of his people. -He must drink with everybody after the great victory. And he drinks so -much that he remains like a dead man for three days. Only after that, -his great strength is to be tried.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -VI<br /> -<br /> -Twice the sun had mounted, twice had sunk,<br /> -Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Mountain on his trunk,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Ocean on his head.</span><br /> -<br /> -VII<br /> -<br /> -Clamped to couch, his fiery hearing sucked<br /> -Whispers that at heart made iron-clang;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Here fool-women clucked,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There men held harangue.</span><br /> -<br /> -VIII<br /> -<br /> -Burial to fit their lord of war,<br /> -They decreed him: hailed the kingling: ha!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hateful! but this Thor</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Failed a weak lamb's baa.</span><br /> -<br /> -IX<br /> -<br /> -King they hailed a branchlet, shaped to fare,<br /> -Weighted so, like quaking shingle-spume,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When his blood's own heir</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ripened in the womb!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Twice the sun had risen and had set, yet Harald had not stirred. His -hearing returned; but he could not move, could not speak, could not -open his eyes. Upon his breast there seemed to be a weight like the -weight of a mountain keeping him down; above his head it seemed to him -that there was a whole ocean—in his head there was the sound of it.</p> - -<p>But soon other sounds came to his ears, as he lay upon his bed, as -if fixed to it with bands of iron. He heard whispers that made a -disturbance at his heart. He heard women cluttering like hens; he heard -also men making speeches.</p> - -<p>What were they making speeches about? About him. He heard them say that -he was dead; that he must be grandly buried like a great warrior and -king. And he heard them talk of the new king—rather, of the kingling. -Why did they appoint so weak a man to be king? How quickly he could -stop all that with a word. But although he had been as strong and -terrible as the God Thor, he could not now even make a noise like the -bleat of a lamb.</p> - -<p>Still he listened, he heard more. This king that was to be was only -very distantly related to him. Such a man never could have force of -will to rule the men of that country. He would have no more power than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> -sea foam on a beach of rocks. But why should a king have been elected -at all? Was not his own wife soon to become a mother? His child would -be a man fit to rule. While the child was still a child, the chiefs -could govern. Why did they elect that other?</p> - -<p>He is going to learn why—and this is the beginning of the terrible -part of the poem.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -X<br /> -<br /> -Still he heard, and doglike, hoglike, ran<br /> -Nose of hearing till his blind sight saw:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Woman stood with man,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Mouthing low, at paw.</span><br /> -<br /> -XI<br /> -<br /> -Woman, man, they mouthed; they spake a thing<br /> -Armed to split a mountain, sunder seas:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Still the frozen king</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Lay and felt him freeze.</span><br /> -<br /> -XII<br /> -<br /> -Doglike, hoglike, horselike now he raced,<br /> -Riderless, in ghost across a ground<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Flint of breast, blank-faced,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Past the fleshly bound.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Still the King listened in his trance, and he listened until his -hearing acted for him as a dog acts for the hunter, or as a wild hog -acts, following the scents of the roots that he wants even under the -surface of the ground. Alone by his hearing he perceived what was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> -going on; his eyes could not see, but his mind saw even more clearly -than eyes. His young wife had been false to him; she was talking to -another man even there within his own house; they were kissing each -other, they were touching each other, they were speaking wickedness, -such wickedness as would have power to split a mountain or to separate -the waters of the sea—crime as would destroy the world. But he, the -giant they betrayed, the King they betrayed, the husband, he could not -move. Coldness of death is about him; he feels his blood freezing. O! -for the days when he could renew his strength in a moment merely by -filling his great lungs with the sea winds. "If I could only breathe -the sea wind for one second," he thinks, "then I could rise up." And -the ghost of him really seeks the shore of the sea, the flint-breasted -naked rocks of the beach—racing like a horse in order to get strength -from the sea wind to awaken the great inert body. When the ghost gets -in, then the King can wake.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -XIII<br /> -<br /> -Smell of brine his nostrils filled with might,<br /> -Nostrils quickened eyelids, eyelids hand;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Hand for sword at right</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Groped, the great haft spanned.</span><br /> -<br /> -XIV<br /> -<br /> -Wonder struck to ice his people's eyes;<br /> -Him they saw, the prone upon the bier,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sheer from backbone rise,</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Sword uplifting peer.</span><br /> -<br /> -XV<br /> -<br /> -Sitting did he breathe against that blade,<br /> -Standing kiss it for that proof of life:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Strode, as netters wade,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Straightway to his wife.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here the scene has suddenly changed. We are on the sea shore. But you -will remember that in the last of the verses before paraphrased, we -were in the house, and the man imagined himself moving as a ghost on -the sea shore in search of strength. Before we paraphrase again, it is -necessary to understand this. First I must tell you that Meredith does -not believe in ghosts, and does not want us to imagine that the man's -spirit was really moving outside of his body. He has been describing -only the feeling and imagination of the warrior, in the state between -life and death. It was the custom to burn the dead body of a great -sea-king on the sea shore, and you must imagine that the body has been -carried down to the shore to be burnt. Then the smell of the sea really -revived him. And this explanation is further required by the fact that -later on, Harald is represented in full armour, with his helmet upon -his head and his sword laid by his side. It was a custom to burn the -warrior with his arms and armour. All we have been reading about the -ghost represents only what Harald felt, just before his awakening. Now -we will paraphrase: The smell of the sea came to him; he breathed the -sea wind, and, as he breathed it, it seemed to fill him with strength. -He opened his eyes, he saw; at once he felt at his right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> hand for his -sword, which he knew ought to be there. He felt the handle, grasped it.</p> - -<p>Then he sat up on the bier, and his men were utterly astonished, for -they had thought him dead; but lo! he had risen up straight to a -sitting posture. They stared motionless, as if their eyes had been -frozen.</p> - -<p>Sitting up, Harald still doubted whether he was really alive. He lifted -the blade of his sword to his lips, and breathed upon it. Seeing his -own breath on the great steel, he kissed the sword affectionately, out -of gratitude to find himself alive again. Then standing up he advanced -toward his wife—slowly, slowly,—as a fisherman or a bird catcher -advances, wading in water, against a current.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -XVI<br /> -<br /> -Her he eyed: his judgment was one word,<br /> -Foulbed!—and she fell; the blow clove two.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Fearful for the third,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">All their breath indrew.</span><br /> -<br /> -XVII<br /> -<br /> -Morning danced along the waves to beach;<br /> -Dumb his chiefs fetched breath for what might hap,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Glassily on each</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Stared the iron cap.</span><br /> -<br /> -XVIII<br /> -<br /> -Sudden, as it were a monster oak<br /> -Split to yield a limb by stress of heat,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Strained he, staggered, broke</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Doubled at their feet.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> - -<p>He looked upon her face, judged her guilt, expressed that judgment by -the single word "Adulteress"—and struck. His blow killed two, for she -was about to become a mother. Whom would he kill next? Who was the -guilty man? Evidently he was not there; or perhaps Harald did not know -yet who he was. Everybody waited in silent terror.</p> - -<p>The sun rose, sending his gold light dancing over the waves from -the East. And still the men stood there in silent fear. Harald said -nothing, did not move; but he looked at each man with a glassy stare, -with the look of one who does not find what he is waiting for.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly, like a great oak tree, too large to be cut with the ax -and therefore possible only to split by the use of fire, the giant -seemed to make a sudden effort, he moved, he staggered, he fell dead at -their feet.</p> - -<p>What is the deeper meaning of this terrible poem, founded upon an -historical fact? Simply that moral pain is much more powerful than -physical pain—that it is capable of breaking down any strength. Harald -could not be killed in battle under ordinary circumstances; fighting -could not even tire him, it only made him hungry and thirsty. No -physical excess could injure that body of iron. His vast eating and -drinking only gave him a heavy sleep. But when he was wounded in his -affections, by the treachery of the only being whom he could love and -trust, then his heart burst. He dies in the poem magnificently, even -like a moral hero, containing himself perfectly until death takes him -away. But the teaching of the story is very awful as well as very true.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> - -<p>The remarkable thing to notice about this poetry is its compression, -a compression that only seems to make the colour more vivid and the -emotion more forceful. In order to paraphrase it intelligibly one must -use two or three times as many words as the poet uses. Browning has -the same strange power, and in many ways Meredith strongly resembles -Browning. But he is much more philosophical, as we see later on.</p> - -<p>Of ballads written in the true ballad form, there are not more than -three or four in the whole book, notwithstanding the title, "Ballads -and Poems." Another ballad more famous than that which I have quoted -is called "Archduchess Anne," a title which at once makes us think -of various episodes in Austrian history. It is a splendid piece of -psychological study, but less suitable for quotation than the poem on -King Harald, for it is very long. The object of the poet is to show -the consequences of a foolish act on the part of a person ruling the -destiny of a nation. Anne is practically a queen; and she is married. -But she takes a strong fancy to a handsome man among her courtiers, -Count Louis. In other words, she falls in love with him. He takes every -advantage of the situation, because he is both diplomatic and selfish. -The Archduchess rules her own cabinet; but the Count soon learns how -to rule her; consequently he gets all the power of the government into -his hands. And when he has done this, he shows his selfishness. She -immediately reassumes her power, and then there is a political quarrel. -The state is divided in two parties. Count Louis then does what no -gentleman under the circumstances could very well do, he marries a -young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> wife, and brings her to the court. Of course, when there is, or -has been, illegitimate love in high places, the fact can not be very -well concealed. Everybody knows it. The whole court knows that the -Queen has loved Count Louis, and that his marriage, and, above all, -the bringing of his wife to the court is a cruel insult. One of the -Queen's faithful servants, an old general, determines to avenge her -if he can ever get a chance. And the chance comes. Count Louis soon -afterwards incites a revolution, raises an army and advances to battle. -The old general meets him, captures him by a cunning trick, and writes -the Queen a letter, saying, "I have him." But the old general does not -quite understand a woman's heart. When a good woman—and by "good" I -mean especially affectionate—has once loved a man, it is scarcely -possible that anything could make her afterwards really hate him. There -was of course the extraordinary case of Christina of Sweden, who had -her lover stabbed to death before her eyes, but in such a case as that -we do not believe there was a real affection at any time. Anne is in a -very difficult position; she is very angry with the prisoner, but she -secretly loves him. How is she to answer the letter of her general? If -she says, "Do not kill him," the general will think that she is very -fond of him. If she says, "Kill him," the general will think that she -is revengeful and the whole world will think the same thing. If she -says, "Let him go free," that will only make the general despise her, -not to speak of all the political trouble that would follow. If she -says, "Send him to me that he may be imprisoned at once," that would -seem to the world as if she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> wished to make love to the prisoner by -force, to take him away from his wife. Whatever she does will seem in -some way wrong. She has placed herself in a false position to begin -with; and now she does not know what to do. What she really wishes is -a reconciliation with the man who has been so base to her, but she -dares not say that to the leader of her armies. Therefore she writes a -diplomatic letter to him, hoping that he can understand it. She says -that she does not want to be too severe; she speaks of religion, she -trusts that her general will know what to do. He determines that the -man shall die as quickly as possible.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Her words he took; her nods and winks<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Treated as woman's fog,</span><br /> -The man-dog for his mistress thinks,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not less her faithful dog.</span><br /> -<br /> -She hugged a cloak old Kraken ripped;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Disguise to him he loathed.</span><br /> -—Your mercy, madam, shows you stripped,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While mine will keep your clothed.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>That is, the old soldier determined to act exactly upon the words -of the letter; as for suggestions, he refused to pay any attention -to them. "Women," he thought, "are too weak. She wants to hide her -feelings from me. And she Wants to be merciful. By law the man is a -traitor, and ought to be hanged. But I shall shoot him instead—give -him the death of a soldier, that is mercy enough. My mercy will hide -the Queen's shame; her mercy would proclaim that shame to the whole -world." So Count Louis is shot. Before this,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> however, the young wife -of Count Louis goes to the Archduchess to beg for her husband's life, -and this is a very touching part of the poem. Of course this innocent -young wife does not know what has happened in the past, and can not -know what pain her presence is giving.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The Countess Louis from her head<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drew veil: "Great Lady, hear!</span><br /> -My husband deems you Justice dread,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know you Mercy dear.</span><br /> -<br /> -"His error upon him may fall;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He will not breath a nay.</span><br /> -I am his helpless mate in all,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Except for grace to pray.</span><br /> -<br /> -"Perchance on me his choice inclined,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To give his House an heir;</span><br /> -I had not marriage with his mind,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His counsel could not share.</span><br /> -<br /> -"I brought no portion for his weal<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But this one instinct true,</span><br /> -Which bids me in my weakness kneel,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Archduchess Anne, to you."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Now you can see that every word here innocently uttered would seem to -the Archduchess very cunning or very stupid. Did the young wife know -the secret, then every word would be like turning a knife in the heart -of the Archduchess. And if she did not know, how horribly stupid she -must be to say what, seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> so wicked. Therefore she is driven away at -once. But after she has gone, the Archduchess has to think about what -was said, and she feels that after all the young wife really did the -very best thing that a woman could have done to save her husband.</p> - -<p>Yet it is too late to save him. Presently the news comes that he has -been shot. And the result is a civil war; for the party of Count Louis -tries to avenge him. There is war also in the heart of the sovereign. -How unutterably she hates her faithful old general; yet she must trust -to him, for the kingdom is in danger. Pain and sorrow make Anne look -already like an old woman. When the war is over she treats her general -so ill that he is obliged to leave the country. By one fault, how much -unhappiness and destruction comes to pass—revolution, civil war, and -the ruin of many lives! And the poem ends with the quatrain often -quoted in other connections than the present:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -And she that helped to slay, yet bade<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To spare the fated man,</span><br /> -Great were her errors, but she had<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great heart, Archduchess Anne.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Of course, there is just a little bit of cruel irony in the statement, -for it obliges us to ask the question whether a great heart can -compensate for much foolishness, whether affection can excuse the -ruin of a government. I think that the poet here is quietly opposing -the moral of the beautiful old Bible story, about the woman forgiven -"because she loved much"-<i>quia multum amavit.</i> One would say that a -person<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> holding the position of supreme ruler cannot be forgiven simply -because she loved much, although we may pity her with all our hearts.</p> - -<p>Pity is not a virtue with Meredith. He reminds us often of the old -Jesuit doctrine, that pity is akin to concupiscence. For example, -Meredith takes a ground strongly opposed to all romantic precedents -when he treats of the question of adultery. From the time of the Middle -Ages it was the custom of poets to represent unhappy wives secretly -in love with strangers, or to paint the tragedies arising from the -consequence of sexual jealousy. Even in all the versions of the story -of King Arthur, our sympathies are invoked on behalf of illegitimate -love,—even in Tennyson. We sympathise a good deal with Lancelot and -with Guinevere. In Dante, most religious of the old poets, we have -a striking example of this appeal to pity in the story of Francesca -da Rimini. And I need scarcely speak of various modern schools of -poetry who have imitated the poets of the Middle Ages in this respect. -Meredith takes the opposite view—represents the erring woman always -as culpable, and praises the act of killing her. He gives evolutional -reasons for this. For example, he takes an old Spanish love story, and -tells it over again in a new way. There is a beautiful young wife alone -at home. There is a terrible rascal of a husband, a fellow who spends -all his time in drinking, gambling, fighting, and making love to other -women. His wife gets tired of his neglect and his brutality and his -viciousness. If he does not love her, somebody else shall. So she gets -a secret lover, while her husband is away. This young man visits her. -Suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> her husband returns, and now we leave Meredith to moralise -the situation. I think that you will find it both new and interesting.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Thundered then her lord of thunders;<br /> -Burst the door, and flashing sword,<br /> -Loud disgorged the woman's title:<br /> -Condemnation in one word.<br /> -<br /> -Grand by righteous wrath transfigured,<br /> -Towers the husband who provides<br /> -In his person judge and witness,<br /> -Death's black doorkeeper besides!<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -How though he hath squandered Honour!<br /> -High of Honour let him scold:<br /> -Gilding of the man's possession,<br /> -'Tis the woman's coin of gold.<br /> -<br /> -She, inheriting from many<br /> -Bleeding mothers bleeding sense,<br /> -Feels 'twixt her and sharp-fanged nature<br /> -Honour first did plant the fence.<br /> -<br /> -Nature, that so shrieks for justice;<br /> -Honour's thirst, that blood will slake;<br /> -These are women's riddles, roughly<br /> -Mixed to write them saint or snake.<br /> -<br /> -Never nature cherished woman;<br /> -She throughout the sexes' war<br /> -Serves as temptress and betrayer,<br /> -Favouring man, the muscular.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Hard the task: your prison-chamber<br /> -Widens not for lifted latch<br /> -Till the giant thews and sinews<br /> -Meet their Godlike overmatch.<br /> -<br /> -Read that riddle, scorning pity's<br /> -Tears, of cockatrices shed;<br /> -When the heart is vowed for freedom,<br /> -Captaincy it yields to head.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The point upon which the poet here insists is the evolutional -signification of female virtue and of all that relates to it. Evidently -he does not believe that either men or women were very virtuous in the -beginning—not at all; their knowledge of right and wrong had to be -developed slowly through great sufferings in the course of thousands -of years. In order that the modern woman may be virtuous as she is, -millions of her ancestors must have suffered the experience that -teaches the social worth of female honour. And a woman who to-day -proves unfaithful to her marriage duty is sinning, not simply against -modern society, but against the whole experience, the whole modern -experience, of the human race. This would make the fault a great one, -of course, but would not the fault of the man be as great? By what -right, except the right of force, can he punish her, if he himself be -guilty of unfaithfulness? I am not sure what answer religion would give -to these questions. But Meredith answers immediately and clearly. The -fault of the woman is incomparably worse than the fault of the man. It -is worse in relation to the injury done to society, to morality, to -progress. Society is founded upon the family; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> strength of society -to defend itself against the enemy, to accumulate wealth, and to find -happiness, depends upon the care and the love given to the children. -It is in proportion to the love and care given to the young that a -nation becomes strong. Now it is especially the mother's duty to look -after the interests of the young. This requires no argument. And a -sexual weakness upon her part means an injury done to the family in the -sense of its very life. The whole interest of society depends upon the -chastity and tenderness and moral force of its women. Moral weakness -once begun among the women of the people, the decline of that race -begins. So indeed perished the finest race that ever existed in this -world—the old Greek race.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, though unchastity on the part of the man be -certainly condemnable—from a purely moral point of view equally -condemnable—its consequences are not fraught with the same danger to -society, because they are not of a character to destroy the family. -Really the part of man in the great struggle of life is the part of -the fighter. The all important thing for the man is to be strong. If -he can be morally as well as physically strong, so much the better -for the race; but the all important thing is that he shall be able to -fight, to contend, to conquer. It is not through the man that the moral -progress of society is directly effected; it is through the woman and -the teaching of the young, it is through the tenderness and love of -the home—the only place where a man can rest from his constant battle -with the world. It is only in his own home that he can be as good -as he may wish to be. Every good home is a little nursing place of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> -morality, a little garden in which the plants of honour and truth and -courage and gentleness can be cultivated until they are strong enough -to bear the frosts and the cold winds of the great outside world. In -one generation home life may accomplish very little for the improvement -of a race, but in the course of thousands of years it accomplishes -everything. If men are kinder and wiser and better to-day than they -were thousands of years ago, it is because of the virtues which have -been cultivated in the family. Had the home of human history been a -struggle between men only, the result would have been very different -indeed, for competition and battle cultivate only the hard and fierce -and cunning side of character. Taking all these facts together, the -poet tells us very plainly that adultery is something which should -never be forgiven in a woman, however it might be forgiven in a man, -because the fault against human society is too great. And therefore he -has written this poem especially to condemn those old romances in which -illegitimate affection was the theme—in which, also, every effort was -made to excite the sympathy of the reader with the sin of the woman. -No sympathy has George Meredith; on the contrary, he praises the man -who kills, in the line where he speaks of the sword—where he says -that the good steel of the sword that killed was what every man ought -to be—hard and penetrating, hard and terrible to deal with social -wrong. It is very curious to compare this stern view of life with -the tenderness of Michelet, in his books entitled "L'Amour" and "Les -Femmes." Michelet actually says that in many cases the woman should be -forgiven. The two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> opposing kinds of views thus expressed by two great -men of different races do really suggest something of the difference of -character in the races. Both men are liberal thinkers, both men studied -the new philosophy. Yet how very antagonistic their teachings.</p> - -<p>I do not wish to give you too much of the moral side of Meredith at -one time, for fear that it should become tiresome. So before we take -up another philosophical poem, I should like to speak of a poem which -is only emotional and descriptive—a tremendous poem, and certainly -the greatest thing in verse that Meredith has composed. I mean "The -Nuptials of Attila." In some parts it is very hard reading. In other -parts it is unmatched in the splendour and strength of its verse.</p> - -<p>First we must say a few words about the subject chosen. Doubtless you -remember the apparition of Attila in Roman history. You have read how -he came from the East with his tempestuous cavalry and threatened to -destroy the whole of Western civilization. During his brief career -Attila probably wielded the greatest power that has ever been united -in the hands of one man. He controlled a larger portion of the earth's -surface than that to-day controlled by the Russians, and he might have -realized his dream of subduing all the West of Europe, had it not been -for one act of folly. That was his marriage to a young girl called -Ildico, whom he demanded from her parents against her will. On the -night of the wedding there was great drinking and feasting, and when -the King retired to the bridal chamber he had probably drunk to excess. -At all events he died suddenly in the night, through the bursting of -a blood-vessel; and his death<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> saved Western civilisation. There was -not another leader in the vast army capable of keeping it together. -The host broke up. The chiefs returned to their several countries, and -the great empire of Attila melted away almost as suddenly as frost -disappears in the morning sun. What became of Ildico nobody knows. -It is the scene of the wedding night, and the scene of the morning -following, that the poet describes.</p> - -<p>First we have a few lines describing the power of Attila and the hunger -of his army for more war:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Flat as to an eagle's eye,<br /> -Earth hung under Attila,<br /> -Sign for carnage gave he none.<br /> -In the peace of his disdain,<br /> -Sun and rain, and rain and sun,<br /> -Cherished men to wax again,<br /> -Crawl, and in their manner die.<br /> -On his people stood a frost.<br /> -Like the charger cut in stone,<br /> -Rearing stiff, the warrior host,<br /> -Which had life from him alone,<br /> -Craved the trumpet's eager note,<br /> -As the bridled earth the Spring.<br /> -Rusty was the trumpet's throat.<br /> -He let chief and prophet rave;<br /> -Venturous earth around him string<br /> -Threads of grass and slender rye,<br /> -Wave them, and untrampled wave.<br /> -O for the time when God did cry,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Eye and have, my Attila!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>You must remember that Attila was called the Scourge of God. So -terrible was the destruction that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> he wrought, that the Western world -of the fifth century thought that he had been sent by God to destroy -them as a punishment for sin. He himself accepted this name, and also -called himself the Hammer of the World. His own words, translated -into Latin, are said to have been <i>"Stella cadit, tellus fremit, en -ego Malleus Orbis</i>" (the star falls, the earth shudders; lo! I am the -hammer of the world). But why this peace? Why does not Attila continue -to destroy?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Scorn of conquest filled like sleep<br /> -Him that drank of havoc deep<br /> -When the Green Cat pawed the globe:<br /> -When his horsemen from his bow<br /> -Shot in sheaves.<br /> -</p> - -<p>This scorn of conquest was only induced by Attila's sudden love for -a woman. Perhaps the girl Ildico would rather have died than have -been given to Attila; but she had to obey the will and words of the -master, and there was no opportunity given her to express her likes -or dislikes—no opportunity even to kill herself, for she was well -watched. White as death she appeared in her wedding robes upon the -night of her awful marriage, and the wedding guests did not like to see -her looking so white. Why should she not have been glad? Why should she -not have blushed as a bride blushes? Some said that she loved another -man; some said that she was frightened; but nobody knew and nobody was -pleased, and the wedding ceremony went on. It was a strange banquet -that she had to attend, for these terrible men lived upon horse-back, -drank<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> upon horse-back, ate upon horse-back. The wedding guests entered -the hall in all the panoply of war, all mounted upon their battle -steeds—not to sit down, but to ride furiously round the table.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Round the banquet-table's load<br /> -Scores of iron horsemen rode;<br /> -Chosen warriors, keen and hard;<br /> -Grain of threshing battle-dints;<br /> -Attila's fierce body-guard,<br /> -Smelling war like fire in flints.<br /> -Grant them peace be fugitive!<br /> -Iron-capped and iron-heeled<br /> -Each against his fellow's shield<br /> -Smote the spear-head, shouting, Live<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Attila! my Attila!</span><br /> -Eagle, eagle of our breed,<br /> -Eagle, beak the lamb, and feed!<br /> -Have her, and unleash us! live!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Attila! my Attila!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Now to understand how fearful a scene this must have appeared to the -bride, you must understand that Ildico was a German girl of noble -family representing the highest refinement and delicacy of the old -civilisation. To have given her to these savage people was, of course, -a monstrous cruelty. She did not enjoy the wonderful displays of power -and barbaric luxury about her; she must have felt as one seated alone -in the midst of an earth-quake.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Fair she seemed surpassingly;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>Soft, yet vivid as the stream<br /> -Danube rolls in the moonbeam<br /> -Through rock barriers; but she smiled<br /> -Never, she sat cold as salt:<br /> -Open-mouthed as a young child<br /> -Wondering with a mind at fault.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Make the bed for Attila!</span><br /> -<br /> -Under the thin hoop of gold<br /> -Whence in waves her hair outrolled,<br /> -'Twixt her brows the women saw<br /> -Shadows of a vulture's claw<br /> -Gript in flight; strange knots that sped<br /> -Closing and dissolving aye;<br /> -Such as wicked dreams betray<br /> -When pale dawn creeps o'er the bed.<br /> -They might show the common pang<br /> -Known to virgins, in whom dread<br /> -Hunts their bliss like famished hounds;<br /> -While the chiefs with roaring rounds<br /> -Tossed her to her lord, and sang<br /> -Praise of him whose hand was large,<br /> -Cheers for beauty brought to yield,<br /> -Chirrups of the trot afield,<br /> -Hurrahs of the battle-charge.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Here we suffer with her, so plainly does the figure of the girl appear -before us, silent and white with little shadows of pain coming and -going upon her young forehead, while all about her shakes the ground -under the hoofs of the battle-horses, under the thunder roar of the -songs and the clashing of steel on steel. These roaring horsemen -are singing of other things than the past and the present; they -are clamouring for the future, for more war, more slaughter, more -destruction;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> they are shouting that even their horses are hungry for -war.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Whisper it (the war signal), you sound a horn<br /> -To the grey beast in the stall!<br /> -Yea, he whinnies at a nod.<br /> -O, for sound of the trumpet-notes!<br /> -O, for the time when thunder-shod,<br /> -He that scarce can munch his oats,<br /> -Hung on the peaks, brooded aloof,<br /> -Champed the grain of the wrath of God,<br /> -Pressed a cloud on the cowering roof,<br /> -Snorted out of the blackness fire!<br /> -Scarlet broke the sky, and down,<br /> -Hammering West with print of his hoof,<br /> -He burst out of the bosom of ire,<br /> -Sharp as eyelight under thy frown,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Attila! my Attila!</span><br /> -<br /> -Ravaged cities rolling smoke<br /> -Thick on cornfields dry and black,<br /> -Wave his banners, bear his yoke.<br /> -Track the lightning, and you track<br /> -Attila. They moan: 'tis he!<br /> -Bleed: 'tis he! Beneath his foot<br /> -Leagues are deserts charred and mute;<br /> -Where he passed, there passed a sea.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Attila! my Attila!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The splendid and terrible description of the war horse, the Tartar -horse, descending over the mountains into Europe, not frightened by -things of flesh and bone, but like a thunder-cloud descending upon -the cities below—reminds one of the description of Death in the -Apocalypse—"I saw a pale horse; and he that sat upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> him was called -Death, and all hell followed after him." In the fifth century this -scriptural text was not forgotten; Attila was often compared, with very -good reason, to the rider of the pale horse. Where he conquered, there -was nothing left; the ground became a desert, a waste of death, dry -like the bed of a vanished sea. It is for another devastation, such -another ride, that the warriors are clamouring at the wedding feast. -But suddenly these men observe that Ildico never smiles, that she is -terribly white like a ghost, and they do not like this.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Who breathed on the king cold breath?<br /> -Said a voice amid the host,<br /> -He is Death that weds a ghost,<br /> -Else a ghost that weds with Death?<br /> -</p> - -<p>The barbarian idea of beauty is the red-faced, full-fleshed woman. They -see no beauty in the fair, pale girl; she seems to them like a phantom. -But Attila only laughs at the ominous exclamation; he knows that she is -beautiful, and he orders her to fulfil her part of the wedding ceremony -by pledging the guests in a cup of wine.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Silent Ildico stood up.<br /> -King and chief to pledge her well,<br /> -Shocked sword sword and cup on cup,<br /> -Clamouring like a brazen bell.<br /> -Silent stepped the queenly slave.<br /> -Fair, by heaven! she was to meet<br /> -On a midnight, near a grave,<br /> -Flapping wide the winding sheet.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p> - -<p>The last three lines of course are ironical—they represent the -criticism of the warriors. Perhaps one may have said, "How beautiful -she is! How fair." "Pair!" observes another, "she might seem beautiful -in a graveyard at night, wrapped in a white shroud!" To the speaker, -such beauty as that is the beauty of the dead; there is something -sinister about it. He is hot all wrong; for in a little while the -mightiest king in the world will die in the woman's arms. It is time -for the bride to go to the bridal chamber; see how the women bow down -to her as she passes by, not because they love her, but because she has -become their queen!</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Death and she walked through the crowd,<br /> -Out beyond the flush of light.<br /> -Ceremonious women bowed<br /> -Following her; 'twas middle night.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Attila remained.<br /> -</p> - -<p>He remains, as the master of the feast, to speak a few last words to -his faithful chiefs, but even while talking to them he feels impatient -to visit his bride, not knowing that she is Death.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -. . . . . as a corse<br /> -Gathers vultures, in his brain<br /> -Images of her eyes and kiss<br /> -Plucked at the limbs that could remain<br /> -Loitering nigh the doors of bliss.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Make the bed for Attila!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span></p> - -<p>A more terrible comparison could not have been used than this of the -dead body attracting vultures. But the warriors want to talk to him -a little longer; they want a promise of war; they want to feel sure -that, after this wedding, the King will lead them again to battle. -They want to capture and sack Rome. And one of them cries out to the -King in Latin, "Lead us to Rome!" He answers, he pledges them in wine, -he promises that they shall have Rome to sack and burn; and they are -happy—they bid him farewell with roars of joy. In the morning he will -lead them to Rome, that is enough.</p> - -<p>In the morning what a tumult is in the camp, myriads and myriads of -squadrons of cavalry, assembling for battle, chanting, cheering, -roaring in the gladness of their expectation! But in the pavilion of -Attila all is still silent. The chiefs know that their king is seldom -late in rising; they are surprised that he does not appear. They make -jests about the charm of his new bride, but they do not dare to call -him, not for another hour, two hours, three hours, not until midday. At -midday the chiefs lose patience, but still all is silent. At last, and -only in the evening, after much calling in vain, they break in the door.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -'Tis the room where thunder sleeps.<br /> -Frenzy, as a wave to shore<br /> -Surging, burst the silent door,<br /> -And drew back to awful deeps,<br /> -Breath beaten out, foam-white. Anew<br /> -Howled and pressed the ghastly crew,<br /> -Like storm-waters over rocks.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Attila! my Attila!</span><br /> -<br /> -One long shaft of sunset red<br /> -Laid a finger on the bed.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Square along the couch and stark,<br /> -Like the sea-rejected thing<br /> -Sea-sucked white, behold their King.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Attila! my Attila!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The King is dead! The warriors cannot believe it, do not want to -believe. They see, and are struck with horror also because of the -incalculable consequence of his death. But certainly he is dead. The -red light of the setting sun illuminates his bloodless body lying in a -pool of blood, for an artery burst. But what has become of Ildico—the -wife?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Name us that</span><br /> -Huddled in the corner dark,<br /> -Humped and grinning like a cat,<br /> -Teeth for lips!—'tis she! she stares,<br /> -Glittering through her bristled hairs.<br /> -</p> - -<p>There is something there, in a dark corner of the room—something -crouching like an animal, like a terrified cat, showing its teeth, -raising its back, as in the presence of an attacking dog. Is it an -animal? It is a woman, with her hair hanging down loose over her face, -a woman, laughing horribly, because she is mad. They can see her eyes -and her teeth glittering through her long hair. Did she kill him? Some -think she did; others know that she did not. Some wish to kill her; -cooler heads have resolved to defend her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Rend her! Pierce her to the hilt!<br /> -She is Murder: have her out!<br /> -What! this little fist, as big<br /> -As the southern summer fig!<br /> -She is Madness, none may doubt.<br /> -Death, who dares deny her guilt!<br /> -Death, who says his blood she spilt!<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Each at each, a crouching beast,<br /> -Glared, and quivered for the word,<br /> -Each at each, and all on that,<br /> -Humped and grinning like a cat.<br /> -Head bound with its bridal wreath.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Death, who dares deny her guilt!<br /> -Death, who says his blood she spilt!<br /> -Traitor he who stands between!<br /> -Swift to hell, who harms the Queen!<br /> -She, the wild, contention's cause,<br /> -Combed her hair with quiet paws.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Make the bed for Attila!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Notice the horror of the effect caused by the use of certain simple -words in these verses. The beautiful Ildico is no longer spoken of as -a woman, but as an insane animal or a thing. First we notice that "it" -and "its" have been substituted for "she" and "hers" or "her"; then -we have the word "paws," making a very horrible impression. The woman -is so mad that she knows nothing of her danger, knows nothing of what -has happened; through some old habit of womanly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> instinct, she tries -to arrange her poor tossed hair, but with her fingers, as a cat combs -itself with its paws.</p> - -<p>Then begins the mighty breaking of that tremendous army: First Attila -must be buried; and, according to custom, no one must know where the -King is buried. A party of slaves are ordered to make the grave; when -they have made it, they are killed and buried, in order that none -of them may be able to say to strangers where the corpse of Attila -reposes. It is not impossible, it is even probable that Ildico was -killed and buried with her king, for the barbarians were accustomed -to slaughter the attendants of a dead prince, and even his horses, in -order that he might have shadowy company and shadowy steeds in the -other world. But we do not know. History has nothing to say as to what -became of Ildico. The poem closes with a wonderful description of the -breaking up of the army, which is likened to the breaking up of the ice -in a great river at the approach of spring.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Lo, upon a silent hour,<br /> -When the pitch of frost subsides,<br /> -Danube with a shout of power<br /> -Loosens his imprisoned tides:<br /> -Wide around the frighted plains<br /> -Shake to hear the riven chains,<br /> -Dreadfuller than heaven in wrath,<br /> -As he makes himself a path:<br /> -High leaps the ice-cracks, towering pile<br /> -Floes to bergs, and giant peers<br /> -Wrestle on a drifted isle;<br /> -Island on ice-island rears;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>Dissolution battles fast:<br /> -Big the senseless Titans loom,<br /> -Through a mist of common doom<br /> -Striving which shall die the last:<br /> -Till a gentle-breathing morn<br /> -Frees the stream from bank to bank.<br /> -So the Empire built of scorn<br /> -Agonised, dissolved, and sank.<br /> -Of the queen no more was told<br /> -Than of leaf on Danube rolled.<br /> -Make the bed for Attila!<br /> -</p> - -<p>I have said that this poem is emotional rather than -didactic; yet there is a moral suggestion in it, the -suggestion of what one foolish indulgence in lust may -cause. For in the case of Attila, who had already -scores and scores of wives, the marriage with Ildico -was a mere piece of brutal indulgence and cruelty, and -it proved his death. Then again, of course, it was a -good thing for the world that Attila died when he did. -It would seem as if nature tahes very good care that -men who are only brutal and cunning shall not be -allowed to rule human life for a great length of time. -Their own passions or their own follies eventually -destroy them.</p> - -<p>There is yet another suggestion in the poem, which -Meredith is very fond of making, both in his novels -and in his verse. He thinks that an old man should -never marry a young woman, no matter how great -the merit of the old man may be. Here and there -will be many to disagree with Meredith, and to quote -such cases as that of the great French engineer, De -Lesseps, who married only when he was more than sixty -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>years old, and thereafter raised a very numerous -family of remarkably fine children. But in a general way, -Meredith is probably right. He expounds his ideas -very clearly in a little poem called "The Last Contention." -In this "last contention" the poet addresses -an old man who wants to marry a young girl. He -represents the mind of the man as that of a captain, -directing a ship, and the ship is the body, the constitution, -the physical part of the individual. With this -explanation we may quote a few verses of the poem. -It is cruel; but it is very moral and perhaps very just.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Young captain of a crazy bark!<br /> -O tameless heart in battered frame!<br /> -Thy sailing orders have a mark,<br /> -And hers is not the name.<br /> -<br /> -For action all thine iron clanks<br /> -In cravings for a splendid prize;<br /> -Again to race or bump thy planks<br /> -With any flag that flies.<br /> -<br /> -Admires thee Nature with much pride;<br /> -She clasps thee for a gift of morn.<br /> -Till thou art set against the tide.<br /> -And then beware her scorn.<br /> -<br /> -This lady of the luting tongue,<br /> -The flash in darkness, billow's grace.<br /> -For thee the worship; for the young<br /> -In muscle the embrace.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>Soar on thy manhood clear for those<br /> -Whose toothless Winter claws at May,<br /> -And take her as the vein of rose<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Athwart an evening grey.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have left out the most cruel verses; but these are significant -enough. The person addressed might be one of those old generals or -admirals who figure so often in the novels of Meredith, some brave old -man, with a great reputation for courage and skill and the arts of -courtesy. Such men may be able to win a young wife, rather by help of -their wealth, social position, and reputation than by real love. The -poet says that one should not try to do this. And he says that the man -who does it, or wishes to do it, is like a skilful captain who trusts -too much to his seamanship, forgetting that his vessel is in a state -of decay. The heart may be young enough, but that is not sufficient. -Nature seems to love and favour grand old men, but not if they do what -is not according to Nature's laws. Therefore if marriages between old -and young prove to be unfortunate, the fault is in most cases with the -old. The old man may admire, may reverence a beautiful young person; -but only as we admire a work of art, at a distance, or beautiful -colours in the sunset sky. Let me call your attention to the use of -the phrases "flash in darkness" and "billow's grace." The Greeks said -that life was like a flash between two darknesses—the darkness of the -mystery out of which we come, and the darkness of the mystery into -which we go. It is a very beautiful and a very profound comparison; the -poet here uses it especially in reference to the beautiful period<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> of -youth, which is short. He suggests that an old man should have wisdom -enough to think of youth and of beauty as passing illusions. "Billow's -grace" is a very striking simile. The charm of movement in a graceful -person is something which no art can reproduce. It is beauty of motion, -and the instant that the motion stops, the charm is not. The beauty of -water, flowing water, is of this kind. Even while you admire the motion -of a wave, gilded by the sunlight, the wave has passed.</p> - -<p>And now we shall turn to a very important division of Meredith's -poems—those dealing with the philosophy of life as a whole. On this -subject most of the great English poets are apt to be a little didactic -in the religious sense. Meredith is also didactic—but not in a -religious sense. One peculiarity of his work is the total absence of -theological doctrine of any kind. He talks to you about the laws of the -universe, the laws of life, the laws of nature—never about the laws -of any God or any religion. When he does mention the word God or the -word religion, it is always in such a way that you feel he considers -such things only as symbols—useful symbols, perhaps, but symbols only. -I shall speak only of two remarkable poems of this kind. The first, -called "The Woods of Westermain," considers especially the struggle of -human life, and the duties of man in that struggle. The other poem, -entitled "Earth and Man," treats more largely of the problem of the -universe—the great mystery of the questions, Where do we come from? -Why do we exist? Whither are we going? Let us first take the "Woods of -Westermain."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p> - -<p>Why the poem should be called by the name of "The Woods of Westermain," -I am not able to tell you; but I think that the name contains a -suggestion about occidental life as contrasted with oriental life. -However, I am not sure, but, at all events, the subject of the poem -is not a real forest, but the forest of human existence, the place -in which the struggle of life goes on—therefore, in the true sense, -Nature.</p> - -<p>The great teaching of this poem is that Nature has given us powers and -senses not for pleasure, not for the obtaining of selfish enjoyment, -but for battle. All that we know at present about the reason of life -is summed up in that fact. The great natural duty of every man is to -fight, morally and physically, and though he has a perfect right to -enjoy himself, to seek pleasure at proper times and places, he must -never allow pleasure to interfere with the supreme duty of struggle in -battle; the first requisite, therefore, is courage, the first thing -necessary is never to be afraid. In the ancient fairy-tales of Europe, -we find many stories about enchanted forests, goblin forests. The -knight, the hero of the story, enters a great wood, which seems very -green and pleasant to the eye. As he lies down under a tree, however, -he sees strange shapes looking at him—shapes of fairies, shapes of -demons, shapes of giants. But he rides on, and they do not do him -any harm. After a while he arrives safely at his destination. Quite -otherwise in the case of the cowardly knight. When he finds himself -in the forest he becomes afraid, and terrible shapes rise up about -him, come close to him, at last attack him and tear him to pieces. -Now the forest of life is just like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> the enchanted forest of the old -fairy-tales. If you are afraid, you are destroyed. If you are not -afraid, all is bright and beautiful.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Enter these enchanted woods,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You who dare.</span><br /> -Nothing harms beneath the leaves<br /> -More than waves a swimmer cleaves.<br /> -Toss your heart up with the lark,<br /> -Float at peace with mouse and worm,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair you fare.</span><br /> -<br /> -Only at a dread of dark<br /> -Quaver, and they quit their form:<br /> -Thousand eyeballs under hoods<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have you by the hair.</span><br /> -Enter these enchanted woods,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You who dare.</span><br /> -<br /> -Here the snake across your path<br /> -Stretches in his golden bath;<br /> -Mossy-footed squirrels leap<br /> -Soft as winnowing plumes of Sleep.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Each has business of his own;<br /> -But should you distrust a tone,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then beware!</span><br /> -Shudder all the haunted roods,<br /> -All the eyeballs under hoods<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shroud you in their glare.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I am not sure that this imagery can appeal to you as it was intended to -appeal to the Western reader, because it partly depends for effect upon -the knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> of the old fairy-tale pictures. In Western ghost stories -and fairy stories, goblins and other phantoms are usually represented -in long robes with hoods over their faces, and very big, wicked eyes. -That is why the poet speaks so often of the hoods and the eyeballs. The -meaning is that, in this world, just so soon as you begin to suspect -and to be afraid, everything really becomes to you terrible—even as in -the old fairy-tales a tree was only a tree to the sight of a brave man, -but to the cowardly man its roots became feet and its branches horrible -arms and claws, and its crest a goblin face.</p> - -<p>Then follows a wonderful description of wood life—the life of insect, -reptile, bird and little animals—the poet taking care to show how each -and all of these represent something of human life and moral truth. -But it is one of the most difficult poems in English literature to -read; and I shall not try to quote much from it. Enough to say that -the same lesson is taught all the way through the poem, the lesson of -what Nature means. She must not be thought of as a cruel Sphinx: she is -cruel only if you imagine her to be cruel. Nature will always be what -you think her to be. Think of her as beautiful and good; then she will -be good and beautiful for you. Think of her as cruel; then she will be -cruel to you. Do not think of her as pleasure; if you do, she will give -you pleasure, but she will destroy you at the same time. She is the -spirit and law of Eternal Struggle; and it is thus only that you should -think of her, as a divinity desiring you to be brave, active, generous, -ambitious. Above all things, you must not hate. Hate Nature, and you -are instantly destroyed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> You must not allow even a thought of hate to -enter your mind.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Hate, the shadow of a grain;<br /> -You are lost in Westermain:<br /> -Earthward swoops a vulture sun<br /> -Nighted upon carrion:<br /> -Straightway venom winecups shout<br /> -As to One whose eyes are out:<br /> -Flowers along the reeling floor<br /> -Drip henbane and hellebore;<br /> -Beauty, of her tresses shorn,<br /> -Shrieks as nature's maniac:<br /> -Hideousness on hoof and horn<br /> -Tumbles, yapping in her track:<br /> -Haggard Wisdom, stately once,<br /> -Leers fantastical and trips.<br /> -. . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Imp that dances, imp that flits,<br /> -Imp o' the demon-growing girl,<br /> -Maddest! whirl with imp o' the pits<br /> -Round you, and with them you whirl<br /> -Fast where pours the fountain—rout<br /> -Out of Him whose eyes are out.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The foregoing must seem to you very difficult verse; and it is really -very difficult for the best English readers. But at the same time -it is very powerful; and I think that you ought to have at least -one example of the difficult side of Meredith. This is a picture—a -horrible picture, such as old artists used to make in the fifteenth or -sixteenth century to illustrate the temptations of a saint by devils, -or the terrors of a sinner about to die, and surrounded by ghastly -visions. Really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> if you hate Nature, the universe will at once for you -become what it seemed to the superstitious of the past ages and to the -disordered fancies of insane fanatics. The very sun itself will no -longer appear as a glorious star, but as a creature of prey, devouring -the dead. Perhaps the poet here wishes also to teach us that we must -not think too much about the ugly side of death as an appearance—the -corruption, the worms, the darkness of the grave. To think about -those things, as the monks of the Middle Ages did, is to hate Nature. -Everything seems foul to the man whose imagination is foul. Everything -which should be nourishing becomes poison, everything which should seem -beautiful becomes hideous. The reference to "One whose eyes are out," -is, you know, a reference to the old fashioned pictures of death, as a -goblin skeleton, seeing without eyes. In some frightful pictures death -was represented also as an eyeless corpse, out of which all kinds of -goblins, demons, and bad dreams were swarming, like maggots. Of course -such are the pictures referred to here by the poet. Believe in goblins -and devils, and you will see them; believe that all men are wicked, and -you will find them wicked; believe that Nature is evil, and Nature will -certainly destroy you, just as the demons in the mediæval story tore to -pieces the magician who had not learned the secret of making them obey.</p> - -<p>Very much more easy to understand are the stanzas upon "Earth and Man." -These attempt to explain the real problem of man's existence. The poet -represents the earth as a person, a mother, a nurse. But this mother, -this nurse, this divine person is not able to do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> everything for man. -She can give him life; she can feed him; but she cannot help him -otherwise, except upon the strange condition that he helps himself. She -makes him and embraces him, but that is all. Otherwise he must make his -own future, his own happiness or misery.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -For he is in the lists<br /> -Contentious with the elements, whose dower<br /> -First sprang him; for swift vultures to devour<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If he desists.</span><br /> -<br /> -His breath of instant thirst<br /> -Is warning of a creature matched with strife,<br /> -To meet it as a bride, or let fall life<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">On life's accursed.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>That is, man in this world is like an athlete, or a warrior in the -lists—in the place of contests. With what must he contend? First of -all, he must contend with the very elements of nature, with the very -same forces which brought him into being, or as the poet says "sprang -him." And if he hesitates to fight with those forces, then quickly the -vultures of death seize upon him. The condition of his existence is -struggle. Even the first cry of the child, the cry of thirst for the -mother's milk, signifies that man is born to desire and to toil and to -contend. He must either meet the duty of struggle as gladly as he would -meet a bride, or he must acknowledge himself unfit to live, and cursed -by his own mother, Nature. Nature is not to be thought of as a mother -that pets her child and weeps over its small sorrows; no, she is a good -mother, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> very rough, and she loves only the child that fights and -conquers.</p> - -<p>She has no pity upon him except as he fights and wins. She cannot do -certain things for him; she cannot develop his mind—he must do that -for himself. She makes him do it by pain, by terror, by punishing him -fearfully for his mistakes. By the consequence of mistakes only does -she teach him. She urges him forward by hunger and by fear, but there -is no mercy for him if he blunders. I want you to remember that the -poet is not speaking of the separate individual man, but of mankind and -of the history of the human race. According to modern science, man was -at the beginning nothing more than an animal; he has become what he is -through knowledge of suffering, and the poet describes his sufferings -in the beginning:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -By hunger sharply sped<br /> -To grasp at weapons ere he learns their use,<br /> -In each new ring he bears a giant's thews,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An infant's head.</span><br /> -<br /> -And ever that old task<br /> -Of reading what he is and whence he came,<br /> -Whither to go, finds wilder letters flame<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across her mask.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>That is to say, man first is impelled by hunger to use weapons, in -order to kill animals, and these weapons he at first must use very -clumsily. You must understand the word "ring" to mean an age or cycle. -The poet wishes to say that through many past ages in succession, man -had the strength of a giant, but his brain,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> his mind, was feeble and -foolish like that of a little child—not even a child in the common -meaning of the word, for the poet uses the term "infant," signifying -a child before it has yet learned how to speak. It is supposed that -primitive man had no developed languages. But, as time goes on, man -learns how to express thought by speech, and presently he begins to -think about himself—to wonder what he is, where he came from, and -where he is going. Then he invents religious theories to account for -his origin. But the mystery always remains. There are ancient stories -about a magical writing. When you looked at this writing, at first it -seemed to be in one language, and to have one meaning, but when you -looked at it a second time, the letters and the meaning had changed, -and every succeeding time that you looked at it, again it changed. Like -this magical writing is the mystery of Nature, of the Universe; so that -poet represents Nature as wearing a mask upon which such ever-changing -characters appear in letters of fire. No matter how much we learn -or theorise, the infinite riddle cannot be read. And one factor of -this terrible riddle is Death. Death of all things most puzzles and -terrifies man. He sometimes suspects that Nature herself is Death, and -purely evil. He began by worshipping her through fear, but his worship -did not change his destiny in the least.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The thing that shudders most<br /> -Within him is the burden of his cry.<br /> -Seen of his dread, she is to his blank eye<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eyeless Ghost.</span><br /> - - . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> -Once worshipped Prime of Powers,<br /> -She still was the Implacable; as a beast,<br /> -She struck him down and dragged him from the feast<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She crowned with flowers.</span><br /> - . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -He may entreat, aspire,<br /> -He may despair, and she has never heed.<br /> -She drinking his warm sweat will soothe his need,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not his desire.</span><br /> -<br /> -She prompts him to rejoice,<br /> -Yet scares him on the threshold with the shroud.<br /> -He deems her cherishing of her best-endowed<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wanton's choice.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>If man thought of the spirit of Nature as the cruel spirit of death and -destruction, surely he had reason to do so in the time of his primitive -ignorance. Pleasure seemed to him of Nature—offered to him by Nature, -and yet to indulge it often brought upon him destruction. Joy seemed to -him natural, yet whenever he most rejoiced, the shadow of death would -appear somewhere near him. Always this Nature seemed to be putting out -temptations to joy and pleasure, only as a bird hunter scatters food -on the ground to attract birds into his snare. And again this Nature -would never listen to man's prayer. He found out that by working hard -he could obtain food enough to live upon; thus Nature seemed to allow -him the right of life, or as the poet says, "to soothe his needs"; but -never would she grant him his "desire," his prayer for supernatural -help. When it came to the matter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> of help, he found out that he must -help himself. But why was it, again, that the wicked and the cruel were -permitted to succeed and to become prosperous, while the good and the -gentle perished from the face of the earth? To ancient mankind this was -indeed a most terrible problem, a problem which has not been perfectly -solved even at this day. Was Nature a wanton—that is, a wicked woman, -preferring the evil characters, the murderer, the thief, the robber, to -the upright and just? Such was the question which millions of men must -have asked themselves in the past. Evidently the poet does not think -so; he calls the successful, "the best endowed." What does this mean? -It means that the choice of Nature in her favours, however immoral that -choice may seem to us, is really a choice of the best, according to -her judgment. You may say, if you like, that these or those successful -men are bad, that they have broken all moral rules, that they have -sinned against all the ethics of society, that they are scoundrels -who ought to be in prison. But Nature says, "No, those are my best -children. You may not like them, and doubtless they are not good to -your thinking, but they are very much more clever and much stronger -than you. I want my children to be cunning and to be strong." Are we to -suppose, therefore, that Nature wishes to cultivate only wicked cunning -and brutal strength? No, but cunning and strength are the foundations -upon which intellect and moral power are eventually built. It is like -the statement of Herbert Spencer, that the first thing necessary for -success in life is "to be a good animal." If you can be both a good -animal and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> moral and kind person, so much the better. But while the -development is going on, the chances always are that Nature will favour -the animal man at the expense of the moral man who has no strength and -no cleverness. For those who have neither strength nor cunning must -disappear from the face of the earth. Nature does not want to help -weakness; she prefers strong wickedness to helpless goodness. And if we -reflect upon this, we shall find that the whole tendency is not to evil -but to good. It is by considering the past history of man that we can -learn how much he has gained through this cruel policy of Nature.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -. . . Thereof he has found<br /> -Firm roadway between lustfulness and pain;<br /> -Has half transferred the battle to his brain,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From bloody ground;</span><br /> -<br /> -He will not read her good,<br /> -Or wise, but with the passion Self obscures;<br /> -Through that old devil of the thousand lures,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through that dense hood:</span><br /> -<br /> -Through terror, through distrust;<br /> -The greed to touch, to view, to have, to live;<br /> -Through all that makes of him a sensitive<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Abhorring dust.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Which means that, if we will really think about the matter from an -evolutional standpoint, we shall find that it has been through the -destruction of the weak that mankind has become strong. At first he -knew only desire, like an animal; his wants were only like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> those of -an animal. But gradually nobler desires came to him, because they were -forced upon him by his constant struggle against death. He learns that -one must be able to control one's desire as well as to fight against -other enemies. From the day man discovered that the greatest enemy was -Self, he became a higher being, he was no longer a mere animal. When -the poet speaks of him as "transferring the battle to his brain from -bloody ground," he means that the struggle of existence to-day has -become a battle of minds, instead of being, as it used to be, a trial -of mere physical strength. We must every one of us fight, but the fight -is now intellectual. Notwithstanding this progress, we are still very -stupid, for we try to explain the laws of the Universe according to -our little feeble conceptions of moral law. Or, as the poet says, we -insist on thinking about Nature "with the passion Self obscures"—with -that selfishness in our hearts which judges everything to be bad that -gives us pain. Until we can get rid of that selfishness, we shall never -understand Nature.</p> - -<p>Now the question is, shall we ever be able to understand Nature? I -shall let the poet answer that question in his own way. It is an -optimistic way, and it has the great merit of being quite different -from anything else written upon the subject by any English poet.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -But that the senses still<br /> -Usurp the station of their issue mind,<br /> -He would have burst the chrysalis of the blind:<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">As yet he will;</span><br /> -<br /> -As yet he will, she prays,<br /> -Yet will when his distempered devil of Self;—<br /> -The glutton for her fruits, the wily elf<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In shifting rays;—</span><br /> -<br /> -That captain of the scorned;<br /> -The coveter of life in soul and shell,<br /> -The fratricide, the thief, the infidel,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hoofed and horned;—</span><br /> -<br /> -He singularly doomed<br /> -To what he execrates and writhes to shun;—<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">WHEN FIRE HAS PASSED HIM VAPOUR TO THE SUN,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em;">AND SUN RELUMED.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Here we might well imagine that we were listening to a Buddhist, not -to an English poet, for the thought is altogether the thought of an -Oriental philosopher, though it happens also to be in accord with the -philosophy of Western science. The lines which I put in capital letters -seem to me the most remarkable and the most profound that any Western -poet has yet written about the future of mankind. Let us loosely -paraphrase the verses quoted:</p> - -<p>The end to which the senses of man have been created is the making of -Mind. If man were not blinded and deceived by his senses, he would know -what Nature is, because the divine sight, perhaps the infinite vision, -would be opened to him. But the time will come when he shall be able to -know and to see.</p> - -<p>What time?</p> - -<p>The time when the selfishness of man shall have ceased, when he shall -no longer think of life as given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> to him only for the pursuit of -pleasure; when he shall have learned that he must not desire to live -too much, and that the body is only the shell of the mind; when crime -and cruelty shall have become impossible—when this world shall have -come to an end.</p> - -<p>But when the world shall have come to an end, will there still be -man? Yes, in the poet's faith; for man is part of the eternal, and -the destruction of the universe cannot affect his destiny. It is not, -however, when this world shall have come to an end that man will know. -The earth will go back to the sun, out of which it came, and the sun -itself will burn out into ashes, and the universe will disappear, and -there will thereafter be another universe, with other suns and worlds, -and only then, after passing through the fires of the sun, perhaps of -many suns, will man obtain the supreme knowledge. Never in this world -can he become wise enough and good enough to be perfectly happy. But in -some future universe, under the light of some sun not yet existing, he -may become an almost perfect being.</p> - -<p>It may seem strange to you to hear such a prediction from an English -poet, though the thought of the poem is very ancient in Indian -philosophy. Yet Meredith did not reach this thought through the -study of any Oriental teaching. He obtained it from the evolutional -philosophy of the present century, adding, indeed, a little fancy of -his own, but nothing at all in antagonism to the opinions of science, -so far as fact is concerned.</p> - -<p>What is the teaching of science in regard to the future and the past of -the present universe? It is that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> -in the course of enormous periods of time this universe -passes away into a nebulous condition, and out of that -condition is reformed again. Mathematically it has -been calculated that the forces regulating the universe -must have in the past formed the same kind of universes -millions of times, and will do the same thing in the -future, millions of times. Every modern astronomer -recognizes the studies upon which these calculations are -based. It is certainly curious that when science tells -us how the universe with its hundreds of millions of -suns, and its trillions of worlds, regularly evolves and -devolves alternately--it is curious, I repeat, that this -science is telling us the very same thing that Indian -philosophers were teaching thousands of years ago, -before there was any science. They taught that all -worlds appear and disappear by turns in the infinite -void, and they compared these worlds to the shadows -of the dream of a god. When the Supreme awakens -from his sleep, then all the worlds disappear, because -they were only the shapes of his dream. - -Herbert Spencer would not go quite so far as that. -But he would confirm Indian philosophy as to the -apparition and disparition of the universes. There is -another point upon which any Western man of science -would also confirm the Oriental teaching--that the -essence of life does not cease and cannot cease with the -destruction of our world. Only the form dies. The -forces that make life cannot die; they are the same -forces that spin the suns. Remember that I am not -talking about a soul or a ghost or anything of that -kind; I am saying only that it is quite scientific to -believe that all the life which has been in this world will -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> -be again in some future world, lighted by another sun. Meredith -suggests perhaps more than this—only suggests. Take his poem, however, -as it stands, and you will find it a very noble utterance of optimism, -inspiring ideas astonishingly like the ideas of Eastern metaphysicians.</p> - -<p>I am going to conclude this lecture upon Meredith with one more example -of his philosophy of social life. It is a poem treating especially of -the questions of love and marriage, and it shows us how he looks at -matters which are much closer to us than problems about suns and souls -and universes.</p> - -<p>The name of the poem is "The Three Singers to Young Blood"—that is -to say, the three voices of the world that speak to youth. In order -to understand this composition rightly, you must first know that in -Western countries generally and in England particularly, the most -important action of a man's early life is marriage. A man's marriage -is likely to decide, not only his future happiness or misery, but his -social position, his success in his profession, his ultimate place -even in politics, if he happens to enter the service of the state. I -am speaking of marriage among the upper classes, the educated classes, -the professional classes. Among the working people, the tradesmen and -mechanics, most of whom marry quite young, marriage has not very much -social significance. But among the moneyed classes it is all important, -and a mistake in choosing a wife may ruin the whole career of the most; -gifted and clever man. This is what Meredith has in mind, when he -speaks of the three voices that address youth. The first voice, simply -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> urges the young man to seek happiness -by making a home for himself. The second voice is that of society, of -worldly wisdom and calculating selfishness. The third voice is the -voice of reckless passion, caring nothing about consequences. Which of -the three shall the young man listen to? Let us hear the first voice.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -As the birds do, so do we,<br /> -Bill our mate, and choose our tree.<br /> -Swift to building work addressed,<br /> -Any straw will help a nest.<br /> -Mates are warm, and this is truth,<br /> -Glad the young that come of youth.<br /> -They have bloom i' the blood and sap<br /> -Chilling at no thunder-clap.<br /> -Man and woman on the thorn,<br /> -Trust not Earth, and have her scorn.<br /> -They who in her lead confide,<br /> -Wither me if they spread not wide!<br /> -Look for aid to little things,<br /> -You will get them quick as wings,<br /> -Thick as feathers; would you feed,<br /> -Take the leap that springs the need.<br /> -</p> - -<p>In other words, the advice of this first voice is, Do not be afraid. -Choose your companion as the bird does; make a home for yourself; do -not be afraid to try, simply because you have no money. Do not wait -to become rich. If you know how to be contented with little, you will -find that you can make a small home very easily. A wife makes life more -comfortable, and the children of young parents are the strongest and -the happiest. Such children are healthy, and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> grow up brave and -energetic. You must confide in Nature. Men and women who are afraid -to trust to Nature, because they happen to be poor, lose all chance -of ever finding real happiness. Nature turns from them in scorn. But -those who trust to Nature—how they increase and multiply and prosper! -Do not wait for somebody to help you. Watch for opportunities; and you -will find them, quickly, and in multitude. If you want anything in this -world, do not wait for it to come to you; spring for it, as the bird -springs from the tree to seize its food.</p> - -<p>There is nothing very bad about this advice, though it is opposed to -the rules of social success. The majority of young people act pretty -much in the way indicated, and it is interesting to observe in this -connection that both Mr. Galton and Mr. Spencer have declared that -if it were required to act otherwise, the consequences would be -very unfortunate for the nation. It is not from cautious and long -delayed marriages that a nation multiplies; on the contrary, it is -from improvident marriages by young people. Yet there is something to -be said on the other side of the question. No doubt a great deal of -unhappiness might be avoided if young men and women were somewhat less -rash than they now are about entering into marriage.</p> - -<p>But let us listen to the second voice. Each of the three speaks in -exactly the same number of lines—sixteen.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Contemplate the rutted road;<br /> -Life is both a lure and goad.<br /> -Each to hold in measure just,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>Trample appetite to dust.<br /> -Mark the fool and wanton spin:<br /> -Keep to harness as a skin.<br /> -Ere you follow nature's lead,<br /> -Of her powers in you have heed;<br /> -Else a shiverer you will find<br /> -You have challenged humankind.<br /> -Mates are chosen marketwise:<br /> -Coolest bargainer best buys.<br /> -Leap not, nor let leap the heart:<br /> -Trot your track, and drag your cart.<br /> -So your end may be in wool,<br /> -Honoured, and with manger full.<br /> -</p> - -<p>This is the voice of worldly wisdom, of hard selfishness, and, I am -sorry to say, of cunning hypocrisy; but it sounds very sensible indeed, -and thousands of very successful men act upon the principles here laid -down. Let us paraphrase:</p> - -<p>Take a good look at the road of life—see how rough it is! Understand -that there are two opposite principles of life; there are things that -attract to danger, and there are powers that compel a man to make -the greatest effort of which his strength is capable. Consider all -pleasure as dangerous; if you want to be safe and sure, kill your -passions, and master all your desires. Observe how hard foolish people -and sensual people find life. Wrap yourself up in self-control, keep -always on your guard against pleasure, keep on distrust as a suit of -armour—no, rather as a skin, never to be taken off. Before you allow -yourself to follow any natural impulse, remember how dangerous natural -impulses are. Beware of Nature! Otherwise you will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> soon find out, with -trembling, that the whole world is against you, that human experience -is against you, that you have become an enemy of society. And as for -a wife, remember that you should choose a wife exactly as you would -buy a horse, or as you would make any business purchase. In business -bargaining, it is the man who keeps his temper the longest and conceals -his feelings the most cunningly, that gets the best article.. Never -allow an impulse to guide you. Never follow the guidance of your heart. -Life is hard, make up your mind to go steadily forward and bear your -burden, and if you will do this while you are young, you will become -comfortably rich when you get old, and will have the respect of society -and the enjoyment of everything good in this world. I have said that -this advice is very immoral, although it is in one way very sensible.</p> - -<p>I say that it is immoral only for this reason, that it tells people to -act sensibly, not for the love of what is good and true, but merely -for the sake of personal advantages. I cannot believe that a man is -good who lives virtuously only because he finds virtue a profitable -business. All this is pure selfishness, but there is no doubt that -a great many successful men live and act exactly according to these -principles. Now let us consider the third voice, the voice of mere -passion, esthetic passion, which is especially strong with generous -minds. It is not usually the dullard nor the hypocrite nor the egotist -who goes to his ruin by following the impulses of such a passion as -that here described. It is rather the man of the type of Byron, or -still more of the type of Shelley. It is against danger of this voice -that the artist and the poet must especially be on guard.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -O the rosy light! it fleets,<br /> -Dearer dying than all sweets.<br /> -That is life: it waves and goes;<br /> -Solely in that cherished Rose<br /> -Palpitates, or else 'tis death.<br /> -Call it love with all thy breath.<br /> -Love! it lingers: Love! it nears:<br /> -Love! O Love! the Rose appears,<br /> -Blushful, magic, reddening air.<br /> -Now the choice is on thee: dare!<br /> -Mortal seems the touch, but makes<br /> -Immortal the hand that takes.<br /> -Feel what sea within thee shames<br /> -Of its force all other claims,<br /> -Drowns them. Clasp! the world will be<br /> -Heavenly Rose to swelling sea.<br /> -</p> - -<p>This will need a good deal of explanation, though I am sure that -you can feel the general meaning without any explanation. The poet -is making a reference to the rose of the alchemist's dream—the -strange old fairy-tale of the Rosicrucians. It was believed in the -Middle Ages and even later, that an Elixir of Life might be formed by -chemistry—that is to say, a magical drink that would make old men -young again, or prolong life through hundreds of years. It was said -that whenever this wonderful drink was made in a laboratory, there -would appear in the liquid the ghostly image of a luminous Rose. It -would take much too long to go into the history of this curious and -very poetical fancy. Suffice to say that the poet here uses the symbol -of the rose of the alchemist to signify life itself—the essence of -youth, and the essence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> of passion and the worship of beauty. Now we -can attempt to paraphrase:</p> - -<p>How wondrous beauty is! How wondrous life and love! Yet quickly these -must pass away. Of what worth is life without love? Better to love -and die quickly. The desire of the lover is, in its way, a desire -for sacrifice; he is willing to give his life a thousand times over -for the being he adores. He thinks that love is life, that there is -nothing else worth existing for. His passion gives new and strange -colour to all his thoughts, new intensity to all his senses; the world -becomes more beautiful for him. Even as if the colour of the sunlight -were changed, so do all things appear changed to the vision of the -man who is then bewitched. But, even during the bewitchment, he is -faintly conscious of duty, of right and wrong, of a voice within him -warning against dangers. He knows, he fears, but he will not heed. He -reasons against his conscience. Is not this attraction really divine? -She is only a woman, yet merely to touch her hand gives a shock, as -of something supernatural. Then the very strength of passion itself -makes it seem more natural. The poet compares it to a sea—the tide of -impulse could not be better described, because of its depth and force. -And always the urging of this passion is "Take her! Do not care! That -will be heaven for you!"</p> - -<p>The last stanza has a strange splendour, as well as a strange power; -reckless passion has never been more wonderfully described in sixteen -lines. And to which of the three voices does the poet give preference? -Not to any of them. He says that all of them are deficient in true -wisdom. The first he calls "liquid"—meaning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> sweet, like the cry of -a dove. But that does not mean that it is altogether commendable. The -second voice he calls a "caw"—meaning that it is dismal and harsh, -like the cry of a black crow. As for the last, he says only that it is -"the cry that knows not law!" By this he means that which suffers no -restraint, and which therefore is incomparably dangerous. Yet I suppose -that it is better than the caw. What the poet thinks is that the three -different voices united together, so that each makes harmony with the -others, so that the good which is in each could make accord—would be -"music of the sun!"</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Hark to the three. Chimed they in one,<br /> -Life were music of the sun.<br /> -Liquid first, and then the caw,<br /> -Then the cry that knows not law.<br /> -</p> - -<p>This utterance is not nearly so common-place as we might think at first -reading. There is a great deal of deep philosophy in it. Meredith means -that all our impulses, all our passions, all our selfishness, and -even our revolts against law, have their value in the eternal order -of things. In a perfect man all these emotions and sentiments would -still exist, but they would exist only in such form that they would -beautifully counterbalance each other. But there is no such thing -as human perfection, and the individual is therefore very likely to -be dominated by selfishness if he acts cautiously, and dominated by -passion when he acts without judgment.</p> - -<p>I think I have quoted enough of Meredith to give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> you some notion -of his particular quality. At all events I hope that you may become -interested in him. He is especially the poet of scholars; the poet of -men of culture. Only a man of culture can really like him—just as only -a man long accustomed to good living can appreciate the best kinds of -wine. Give fine wine to a poor man accustomed only to drink coarse -spirits, and he will not care about it. So the common reader cannot -care about Meredith. He is what we call a "test-poet"—your culture, -your capacity to think and feel, is tested by your ability to like such -a poet. The question, "Do you like Meredith?" is now in English and -even in French literary circles, a test. But remember that Meredith has -great faults. If he did not have, he would rank at the very top of the -Victorian poets. But he has the fault of obscurity, like Browning, he -often tortures language into the most amazing forms, and he is about -the most difficult of all English poets to read. His early work is much -better than his later in this respect. But the difficulty of Meredith -is not only a difficulty of language. No one can understand him who -does not also understand the philosophical thought of the second half -of the nineteenth century. He is especially the poet of a particular -time, and for that reason it is very much to be regretted that he is -less clear than almost any literary artist of his period.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h5> - - -<h4>"THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT"</h4> - - -<p>I have spoken to you a great deal about the poetry of George Meredith, -but I have not yet found an opportunity to tell you about his having -written what I believe to be one of the greatest fables—certainly the -greatest fable imagined during the nineteenth century. I imagine also -that this fable will live, will even become a great classic,—after -all his novels have been forgotten. For his novels, great as they are, -deal almost entirely with contemporary pictures of highly complicated -English and Italian aristocratic society. They picture the mental and -moral fashions of a generation, and all such fashions quickly change. -But the great fable pictures something which is, which has been, and -which always will be in human nature; it touches the key of eternal -things, just as his poetry does—perhaps even better; for some of his -poetry is terribly obscure. Mr. Gosse has written a charming essay -upon the fable of which I am going to speak to you; but neither Mr. -Gosse nor anybody else has ever attempted to explain it. If the book -is less well known, less widely appreciated than it deserves, the fact -is partly owing to the want of critical interpretation. Even to Mr. -Gosse the book makes its appeal chiefly as a unique piece of literary -art. But how many people in conservative England either care for -literary art in itself, or are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> capable of estimating it? So long as -people think that such or such a book is only a fairy tale, they do not -trouble themselves much to read it. But prove to them that the fairy -tale is the emblem of a great moral fact, then it is different. The -wonderful stories of Andersen owe their popularity as much to the fact -that they teach moral fact, as to the fact that they please children.</p> - -<p>Meredith's book was not written to please children; there is perhaps -too much love-making in it for that. I do not even know whether it was -written for a particular purpose; I am inclined to think that there was -no particular purpose. Books written with a purpose generally fail. -Great moral stories are stories that have been written for art's sake. -Meredith took for model the manner of the Arabian story tellers. The -language, the comparisons, the poetry, the whole structure of his story -is in the style of the Arabian Nights. But as Mr. Gosse observes, the -Arabian Nights seem to us cold and pale beside it. You can not find in -the Arabian Nights a single page to compare with certain pages of "The -Shaving of Shagpat"; and this is all the more extraordinary because -the English book is written in a tone of extravagant humour. You feel -that the author is playing with the subject, as a juggler plays with -half a dozen balls at the same time, never letting one of them fall. -And yet he has done much better than the Orientals who took their -subject seriously. Even the title, the names of places or of persons, -are jokes,—though they look very much like Arabian or Persian names. -"Shagpat" is only the abbreviation of "shaggy pate," "pate" being an -old English word for head—so that the name means a very hairy and -rough looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> head. When you begin to see jokes of this kind even in -the names, you may be inclined to think that the book is trifling. I -thought so myself before reading it; but now that I have read it at -least half a dozen times, and hope to read it many times more, I can -assure you that it is one of the most delightful books ever written, -and that it can not fail to please you. With this introduction, I shall -now begin to say something about the story itself, the fantastic plot -of it.</p> - -<p>Who is Shagpat? Shagpat is a clothing merchant and the favourite of -a king. Shagpat wears his hair very long, contrary to the custom -of Mohammedan countries, where all men shave their heads, with the -exception of one tuft on the top of the head, by which tuft, after -death, the true believer is to be lifted up by angels, and carried into -Paradise. Mohammedans are as careful about this tuft as the Chinese -are careful about their queues. How comes it that in a Mohammedan city -a true believer should thus wear his hair long? It is because in his -head there has been planted one magical hair taken out of the head of -a Djinn or Genie; and this hair, called the Identical, has the power -to make all men worship the person on whose head it grows. Therefore -it is that the king reverences this clothing merchant, and that all -the people bow down before him. Also an order is given that all men in -that country must wear their hair long in the same manner, and that no -barbers are to be allowed to exercise their trade in any of the cities.</p> - -<p>A barber, not knowing these regulations,—a barber of the name of -Shibli Bagarag—comes to the principal city and actually proposes to -shave Shagpat. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> is at once seized by slaves, severely beaten, and -banished from the city. But outside the city he meets a horrible old -woman, so ugly that it pains him to look at her; and she tells him -that she can make his fortune for him if he will promise to marry her. -Although he is in a very unhappy condition, the idea of marrying so -hideous a woman terrifies him; nevertheless he plucks up courage and -promises. She asks him then to kiss her. He has to shut his eyes before -he can do that, but after he has done it she suddenly becomes young -and handsome. She is the daughter of the chief minister of the king, -and she is ugly only because of an enchantment cast upon her. This -enchantment has been caused by the power of Shagpat, who desired to -marry her. For her own sake and for the sake of the country and for the -sake of all the people, she says that it is necessary that the head of -Shagpat should be shaved. But to shave Shagpat requires extraordinary -powers—magical powers. For the magical hair in that man's head cannot -be cut by any ordinary instrument. If approached with a knife or a -razor, this hair suddenly develops tremendous power as of an electric -shock, hurling far away all who approach it. It is only a hair to all -appearances at ordinary times, but at extraordinary times it becomes -luminous, and stands up like a pillar of fire reaching to the stars. -And the daughter of the minister tells Bagarag that if he has courage -she can teach him the magic that shall help him to cut that hair,—to -shave the shaggy pate of Shagpat.</p> - -<p>I have gone into details this far only to give you a general idea of -the plan of the story. The greater part of the book deals with the -obstacles and dangers of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> Shagpat, and recounts, in the most wonderful -way, the struggle between the powers of magic used on both sides. For -Shagpat is defended against barbers by evil spirits who use black -magic; while Bagarag is assisted by his wife, and her knowledge of -white magic. In his embraces she has become the most beautiful woman in -the world, and the more he loves her the more beautiful she becomes. -But he is given to understand that he must lose her if his courage -fails in the fight against Shagpat. To tell you here how his courage -is tested, and how he triumphs over all tests, would only spoil your -pleasure in the story when you come to read it. Here I shall only say -that the grandest chapter in the part of the book recounting Bagarag's -adventures is the chapter on the Sword of Aklis, the magical sword with -which the head of Shagpat at last, is shaved. The imagining of this -sword is one of the most wonderful things in any literature; for all -the ancient descriptions of magical swords are dull and uninteresting -compared with the description of the sword of Aklis. It can only be -looked at by very strong eyes, so bright it is; it can be used as a -bridge from earth to sky; it can be made so long that in order to use -it one must look through a telescope; it can be made lighter than a -moon beam, or so heavy that no strength could lift it. I want to quote -to you a few sentences of the description of the sword, because this -description is very beautiful, and it will give you a good idea of -Meredith's coloured prose style. The passages which I am going to read -describe the first appearance of the sword to Bagarag, after he has -washed his eyes with magical water:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -His sight was strengthened to mark the glory of the -Sword, where it hangs in slings, a little way from the wall. -... Lo! the length of it was as the length of crimson -across the sea when the sun is sideways on the wave, and -it seemed full a mile long, the whole blade sheening like an -arrested lightning from the end to the hilt; the hilt two -large live serpents twined together, with eyes like sombre -jewels, and sparkling spotted skins, points of fire in their -folds, and reflections of the emerald and topaz and ruby -stones, studded in the blood-stained haft. Then the seven -young men, sons of Aklis, said to Shibli Bagarag,... -"Grasp the handle of the sword!" -<br /> -Now, he beheld the sword and the ripples of violet heat -that were breathing down it, and those two venomous serpents -twining together, and the size of it, its ponderousness; -and to essay lifting it appeared to him a madness, but he -concealed his thought, and ...went forward to it boldly, -and piercing his right arm between the twists of the serpents, -grasped the jewelled haft. Surely, the sword moved -from the slings as if a giant had swayed it! But what -amazed him was the marvel of the blade, for its sharpness -was such that nothing stood in its way, and it slipped -through everything, as we pass through still water,—the -stone columns, blocks of granite by the walls, the walls of -earth, and the thick solidity of the ground beneath his -feet. They bade him say to the Sword, "Sleep!" and it -was no longer than a knife in the girdle. Likewise, they -bade him hiss on the heads of the serpents, and say, -"Wake!" and while he held it lengthwise it shot lengthening -out. -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>In fact, it lengthens across the world, if the owner so desires, to -kill an enemy thousands of miles away. With this wonderful sword at -last Shagpat is shaved.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> But notwithstanding the power of thousands of -good spirits who help the work, and the white magic of the beautiful -Noorna, the shaving is an awfully difficult thing to do. The chapter -describing it reads as magnificently as the description of the Judgment -Day, and you will wonder at the splendour of it.</p> - -<p>What does all this mean, you may well ask. What is the magical hair? -What is the sword? What is every impossible thing recounted in this -romance? Really the author himself gives us the clue, and therefore his -meaning ought to have been long ago clearly perceived. At the end of -the story is this clue, furnished by the words—</p> - -<blockquote> -<p> -The Sons of Aklis were now released from the toil of -sharpening of the sword a half-cycle of years, to wander -in delight on the fair surface of the flowery earth, breathing -its roses, wooing its brides; for the mastery of an event -lasteth among men the space of one cycle of years, and -after that a fresh illusion springeth to befool mankind, and -the Seven must expend the concluding half-cycle in preparing -the edge of the Sword for a new mastery. -</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>From this it is quite evident to anybody who has read the book that the -sword of Aklis is the sword of science,—the power of exact scientific -knowledge, wielded against error, superstition, humbug, and convention -of every injurious kind.</p> - -<p>Do not, however, imagine that this bit of interpretation interprets all -the story; you must read it more than once, and think about it a great -deal, in order to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> perceive the application of its thousand incidents -to real human nature.</p> - -<p>When Bagarag first, in his ignorance, offers to shave Shagpat, he has -no idea whatever of the powers arrayed against him. What he wants is -not at all in itself wrong; on the contrary it is in itself quite -right. But what is quite right in one set of social conditions may seem -to be quite wrong in another. Therefore the poor fellow is astonished -to discover that the whole nation is against him, that the king is -particularly offended with him, that all public opinion condemns him, -would refuse him even the right to live in its midst. Is not Bagarag -really the discoverer, the scientific man, the philosopher with a great -desire to benefit other men, discovering that his kind wish arouses -against him the laws of' the government, the anger of religions, and -all the prejudice of public opinion? Bagarag is the reformer who is -not allowed to reform anything,—threatened with death if he persists. -Reformers must be men of courage, and Bagarag has courage. But courage -is not enough to sustain the purpose of the philosopher, the reformer, -the man with new ethical or other truth to tell mankind. Much more than -courage is wanted—power. How is power to come? You remember about the -horrible old woman who asks Bagarag to kiss her, and when he kisses her -she becomes young and divinely beautiful. We may suppose that Noorna -really represents Science. Scientific study seems very ugly, very -difficult, very repellent at first sight, but if you have the courage -and the capacity to master it, if you can bravely kiss it, as Bagarag -kissed the old woman, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> becomes the most delightful mistress; nor is -that all—it finds strange powers and forces for you. It can find for -you even a sword of Aklis.</p> - -<p>Now certain subjects are supposed to be beneath the dignity of literary -art; and some of the subjects in this extraordinary book might appear -to you too trivial for genius to busy itself with. The use of a barber -as hero is not at all inartistic; it is in strict accordance with -the methods of the Arabian story-tellers to make barbers, fishermen, -water-carriers, and other men of humble occupations, the leading -characters in a tale. But that the whole plot of the narrative should -turn upon the difficulty of cutting one hair; and that this single -hair should be given so great an importance in the history—this -might very well seem to you beneath the dignity of art—that is, -until you read the book. Yet the manner in which the fancy is worked -out thoroughly excuses such triviality. The symbol of the hair is -excellent. What is of less seeming importance than a hair? What is so -frail and light and worthless as a hair? Now to many reformers and -teachers the errors, social, moral, or religious, which they wish to -destroy really appear to have less value, less resistance than a hair. -But, as a great scientific teacher observed a few years ago, no man is -able to conceive the strength in error, the force of error, the power -of prejudice, until he has tried to attack it. Then all at once the -illusion, the lie, that seems frail as a hair, and even of less worth, -suddenly reveals itself as a terrible thing, reaching from Earth to -Sky, radiating electricity and lightning in every direction. Observe -in the course of modern European history what an enormous effort has -been required<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> to destroy even very evident errors, injustices, or -illusions. Think of the hundreds of years of sturdy endeavour which -we needed before even a partial degree of religious freedom could be -obtained. Think of the astonishing fact that one hundred years ago the -man risked his life who found the courage to say that witchcraft was -an illusion. One might mention thousands of illustrations of the same -truth. No intellectual progress can be effected within conservative -countries by mere discovery, mere revelation of facts, nor by logic, -nor by eloquence, nor even by individual courage. The discovery is -ridiculed; the facts are denied; the logic is attacked; the eloquence -is met by greater eloquence on the side of untruth; the individual -courage is astounded, if not defeated, by the armies of the enemies -summoned against it. Progress, educational or otherwise, means hard -fighting, not for one lifetime only but for generations. You are well -aware how many generations have elapsed since the educational system -of the Middle Ages was acknowledged by all men of real intelligence as -inadequate to produce great results. One would have thought that the -mediæval fetish would have been thrown away in the nineteenth century, -at least. But it is positively true that in most English speaking -universities, even at the present time, a great deal of the machinery -of mediæval education remains, and there is scarcely any hope of having -it removed even within another hundred years. If you asked the wise -men of those universities what is the use of preserving certain forms -of study and certain formalities of practice that can only serve to -increase the obstacles to educational progress, they would answer you -truthfully that it is of no use<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> at all, but they would also tell you -something about the difficulty that would attend any attempted change; -and you would be astonished to learn the extent and the immensity of -those difficulties.</p> - -<p>Now you will perceive that the single hair in our study actually -represents, perhaps, better than any more important object could do, -the real story of any social illusion, any great popular error. The -error seems so utterly absurd that you cannot understand how any man -in his senses can believe it, and yet men quite as intelligent as -yourselves, perhaps even more so, speak of it with respect. They speak -of it with respect simply because they perceive better than you do -what enormous power would be needed to destroy it. It appears to you -something so light that even a breath would blow it away forever, or -the touch of pain break it so easily that the breaking could not even -be felt. You think of wisdom crushing it as an elephant might crush a -fly, without knowing that the fly was there. But when you come to put -forth your strength against this error, this gossamer of illusion, you -will find that you might as well try to move a mountain with your hand. -You must have help: you must have friends to furnish you with the sword -of Aklis. Even with that mighty sword the cutting of the hair will -prove no easy job.</p> - -<p>Afterwards what happens? Why, exactly the same thing that happens -before. Men think that because the world has made one step forward in -their time, all illusions are presently going to fade away. This is -the greatest of social mistakes that a human being can possibly make. -The great sea of error immediately closes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> again behind the forms -that find strength to break out of it. It is just the same as before. -One illusion may indeed be eventually destroyed, but another illusion -quickly forms behind it. The real truth is that wisdom will be reached -when human individuals as well as human society shall have become -infinitely more perfect than they now are; and such perfection can -scarcely be brought about before another million of years at least.</p> - -<p>These are the main truths symbolised in this wonderful story. But while -you are reading the "Shaving of Shagpat," you need not consider the -moral meanings at all. You will think of them better after the reading. -Indeed, I imagine that the story will so interest you that you will not -be able to think of anything else until you have reached the end of it. -Then you find yourself sorry that it is not just a little bit longer.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h5> - - -<h4>A NOTE ON ROBERT BUCHANAN</h4> - - -<p>Among the minor poets of the Victorian period, Robert Buchanan cannot -be passed over unnoticed. A contemporary of all the great singers, he -seems to have been always a little isolated; I mean that he formed no -strong literary friendships within the great circle. Most great poets -must live to a certain extent in solitude; the man who can at once mix -freely in society and find time for the production of masterpieces is -a rare phenomenon. George Meredith is said to be such a person. But -Tennyson, Rossetti, Swinburne, Browning, Fitzgerald, were all very -reserved and retired men, though they had little circles of their own, -and a certain common sympathy. The case of Buchanan is different. -His aloofness from the rest has been, not the result of any literary -desire for quiet, but the result, on the contrary, of a strong spirit -of opposition. Not only did he have no real sympathy with the great -poets, but he represented in himself the very prejudices against which -they had to contend. Hard headed Scotchman as he was, he manifested in -his attitude to his brother poets a good deal of the peculiar, harsh -conservatism of which Scotchmen seemed to be particularly capable. -And he did himself immense injury in his younger days by an anonymous -attack upon the morals, or rather upon the moral tone, of such poets as -Rossetti and Swinburne.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> Swinburne's reply to this attack was terrible -and withering. That of Rossetti was very mild and gentle, but so -effective that English literary circles almost unanimously condemned -Buchanan, and attributed his attack to mere jealousy. I think the -attack was less due to jealousy than to character, to prejudice, to the -harshness of a mind insensible to particular forms of beauty. And for -more than twenty years Buchanan has suffered extremely from the results -of his own action. Thousands of people have ignored him and his books -simply because it was remembered that he gave wanton pain to Rossetti, -a poet much too sensitive to endure unjust criticism. I suppose that -for many years to come Buchanan will still be remembered in this light, -notwithstanding that he tried at a later day to make honourable amends -to the memory of Rossetti, by dedicating to him, with a beautiful -sonnet of apology, the definitive edition of his own works.</p> - -<p>But the time has now passed when Buchanan can be treated as an -indifferent figure in English literature. In spite of all disadvantages -he has been a successful poet, a successful novelist, and a very -considerable influence in the literature of criticism. Besides, he -has written at least one poem that will probably live as long as the -English language, and he has an originality quite apart and quite -extraordinary, though weaker than the originality of the greater -singers of his time. As to his personal history, little need to be -said. He was educated at Glasgow University, and his literary efforts -have always been somewhat coloured by Scotch sentiment, in spite of his -long life in literary London.</p> - -<p>Three volumes represent his poetical production. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> these are -contained a remarkable variety of poems—narrative, mystical, -fantastic, classical, romantic, ranging from the simplest form of -ballad to the complex form of the sonnet and the ode. The narrative -poems would, I think, interest you least; they are gloomy studies of -human suffering, physical and moral, among the poor, and are not so -good as the work of Crabbe in the same direction. The mystical poems, -on the contrary, are of a very curious kind; for Buchanan actually -made a religious philosophy of his own, and put it into the form of -verse. It is a Christian mysticism, an extremely liberal Unitarianism -forming the basis of it; but the author's notions about the perpetual -order of things are all his own. He has, moreover, put these queer -fancies into a form of verse imitating the ancient Celtic poetry. We -shall afterward briefly consider the mystical poetry. But the great -production of Buchanan is a simple ballad, which you find very properly -placed at the beginning of his collected poems. This is a beautiful -and extraordinary thing, quite in accordance with the poet's peculiar -views of Christianity. It is called "The Ballad of Judas Iscariot." If -you know only this composition, you will know all that it is absolutely -necessary to know of Robert Buchanan. It is by this poem that his place -is marked in nineteenth century literature.</p> - -<p>Before we turn to the poem itself, I must explain to you something of -the legend of Judas Iscariot. You know, of course, that Judas was the -disciple of Christ who betrayed his master. He betrayed him for thirty -pieces of silver, according to the tradition; and he betrayed him with -a kiss, for he said to the soldiers whom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> he was guiding, "The man -whom I shall kiss is the man you want." So Judas went up to Christ, -and kissed his face; and then the soldiers seized Christ. From this -has come the proverbial phrase common to so many Western languages, a -"Judas-kiss." Afterwards Judas, being seized with remorse, is said to -have hanged himself; and there the Scriptural story ends. But in Church -legends the fate of Judas continued to be discussed in the Middle -Ages. As he was the betrayer of; a person whom the Church considered -to be God, it was deemed that he was necessarily the greatest of all -traitors; and as he had indirectly helped to bring about the death of -God, he was condemned as the greatest of all murderers. It was said -that in hell the very lowest place was given to Judas, and that his -tortures exceeded all other tortures. But once every year, it was said, -Judas could leave hell, and go out to cool himself upon the ice of the -Northern seas. That is the legend of the Middle Ages.</p> - -<p>Now Robert Buchanan perceived that the Church legends of the punishment -of Judas might be strongly questioned from a moral point of view. -Revenge is indeed in the spirit of the Old Testament; but revenge is -not exactly in the spirit of the teaching of Christ. The true question -as to the fate of Judas ought to be answered by supposing what Christ -himself would have wished in the matter. Would Christ have wished to -see his betrayer burning for ever in the fires of hell? Or would he -have shown to him some of that spirit manifested in his teachings, -"Do good unto them that hate you; forgive your enemies"? As a result -of thinking about the matter, Buchanan produced his ballad. All<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> that -could be said against it from a religious point of view is that the -spirit of it is even more Christian than Christianity itself. From the -poetical point of view we must acknowledge it to be one of the grandest -ballads produced in the whole period of Victorian literature. You -will not find so exquisite a finish here as in some of the ballads of -Rossetti; but you will find a weirdness and a beauty and an emotional -power that make up for slenderness in workmanship.</p> - -<p>In order to understand the beginning of the ballad clearly, you should -know the particulars about another superstition concerning Judas. It is -said that all the elements refused to suffer the body to be committed -to them; fire would not burn it; water would not let it sink to rest; -every time it was buried, the earth would spew it out again. Man could -not bury that body, so the ghosts endeavoured to get rid of it. The -Field of Blood referred to in the ballad is the Aceldama of Scriptural -legend, the place where Judas hanged himself.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay in the Field of Blood;</span><br /> -'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside the body stood.</span><br /> -<br /> -Black was the earth by night,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And black was the sky;</span><br /> -Black, black were the broken clouds,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though the red Moon went by.</span><br /> -. . . . . .<br /> -Then the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did make a gentle moan—</span><br /> -"I will bury underneath the ground<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My flesh and blood and bone.</span><br /> -. . . . . .<br /> -"The stones of the field are sharp as steel,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hard and bold, God wot;</span><br /> -And I must bear my body hence<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until I find a spot!"</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So grim, and gaunt, and grey,</span><br /> -Raised the body of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And carried it away.</span><br /> -<br /> -And as he bare it from the field<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its touch was cold as ice,</span><br /> -And the ivory teeth within the jaw<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rattled aloud, like dice.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The use of the word "ivory" here has a double function; dice are -usually made of ivory; and the suggestion of whiteness heightens the -weird effect.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -As the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carried its load with pain,</span><br /> -The Eye of Heaven, like a lanthorn's eye,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Opened and shut again.</span><br /> -<br /> -Half he walk'd, and half he seemed<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lifted on the cold wind;</span><br /> -He did not turn, for chilly hands<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were pushing from behind.</span><br /> -<br /> -The first place that he came unto<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was the open wold,</span><br /> -And underneath were pricky whins,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a wind that blew so cold.</span><br /> -<br /> -The next place that he came unto<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was a stagnant pool,</span><br /> -And when he threw the body in<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It floated light as wool.</span><br /> -<br /> -He drew the body on his back,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it was dripping chill,</span><br /> -And the next place he came unto<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was a Cross upon a hill.</span><br /> -<br /> -A Cross upon the windy hill,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a Cross on either side,</span><br /> -Three skeletons that swing thereon,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who had been crucified.</span><br /> -<br /> -And on the middle cross-bar sat<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A white Dove slumbering;</span><br /> -Dim it sat in the dim light,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With its head beneath its wing.</span><br /> -<br /> -And underneath the middle Cross<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A grave yawned wide and vast,</span><br /> -But the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shiver'd, and glided past.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>We are not told what this hill was, but every reader knows that Calvary -is meant, and the skeletons upon the crosses are those of Christ and -the two thieves crucified with him. The ghostly hand had pushed Judas -to the place of all places where he would have wished not to go. We -need not mind the traditional discrepancy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> suggested by the three -skeletons; as a matter of fact, the bodies of malefactors were not -commonly left upon the crosses long enough to become skeletons, and -of course the legend is that Christ's body was on the cross only for -a short time. But we may suppose that the whole description is of a -phantasm, purposely shaped to stir the remorse of Judas. The white -dove sleeping upon the middle cross suggests the soul of Christ, and -the great grave made below might have been prepared out of mercy for -the body of Judas. If the dove had awoke and spoken to him, would it -not have said, "You can put your body here, in my grave; nobody will -torment you"? But the soul of Judas cannot even think of daring to -approach the place of the crucifixion.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The fourth place that he came unto,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was the Brig of Dread,</span><br /> -And the great torrents rushing down<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were deep, and swift, and red.</span><br /> -<br /> -He dared not fling the body in<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For fear of faces dim,</span><br /> -And arms were waved in the wild water<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To thrust it back to him.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>There is here a poetical effect borrowed from sources having nothing -to do with the Judas tradition. In old Northern folklore there is the -legend of a River of Blood, in which all the blood ever shed in this -world continues to flow; and there is a reference to this river in the -old Scotch ballad of "Thomas the Rhymer."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae light,<br /> -And they waded in red blude up to the knee,<br /> -For a' the blude that's shed on earth,<br /> -Rins through the springs o' that countrie.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Judas leaves the dreadful bridge and continues his wanderings over the -mountain, through woods and through great desolate plains:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -For months and years, in grief and tears,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He walked the silent night;</span><br /> -Then the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perceived a far-off light.</span><br /> -<br /> -A far-off light across the waste,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As dim as dim might be,</span><br /> -That came and went like a lighthouse gleam<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a black night at sea.</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crawled to the distant gleam;</span><br /> -And the rain came down, and the rain was blown<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against him with a scream.</span><br /> -. . . . . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strange, and sad, and tall,</span><br /> -Stood all alone at dead of night<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before a lighted hall.</span><br /> -<br /> -And the wold was white with snow,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his foot-marks black and damp,</span><br /> -And the ghost of the silver Moon arose,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Holding her yellow lamp.</span><br /> -<br /> -And the icicles were on the eaves.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the walls were deep with white,</span><br /> -And the shadows of the guests within<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passed on the window light.</span><br /> -<br /> -The shadows of the wedding guests<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did strangely come and go,</span><br /> -And the body of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay stretch'd along the snow.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>But only the body. The soul which has carried it does not lie down, -but runs round and round the lighted hall, where the wedding guests -are assembled. What wedding? What guests? This is the mystical banquet -told of in the parable of the New Testament; the bridegroom is Christ -himself; the guests are the twelve disciples, or rather, the eleven, -Judas himself having been once the twelfth. And the guests see the soul -of Judas looking in at the window.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -'Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the lights burned bright and clear—</span><br /> -"Oh, who is that," the Bridegroom said,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Whose weary feet I hear?"</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas one look'd from the lighted hall,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And answered soft and slow,</span><br /> -"It is a wolf runs up and down<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a black track in the snow."</span><br /> -<br /> -The Bridegroom in his robe of white<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat at the table-head—</span><br /> -"Oh, who is that who moans without?"<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blessed Bridegroom said.</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas one looked from the lighted hall,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And answered fierce and low,</span><br /> -"'Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gliding to and fro."</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Did hush itself and stand,</span><br /> -And saw the Bridegroom at the door<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a light in his hand.</span><br /> -<br /> -The Bridegroom stood in the open door,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was clad in white,</span><br /> -And far within the Lord's Supper<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was spread so long and bright.</span><br /> -<br /> -The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and looked,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his face was bright to see—</span><br /> -"What dost thou here at the Lord's Supper<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With thy body's sins?" said he.</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood black, and sad, and bare—</span><br /> -"I have wandered many nights and days;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no light elsewhere."</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas the wedding guests cried out within,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And their eyes were fierce and bright—</span><br /> -"Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Away into the night!"</span><br /> -<br /> -The Bridegroom stood in the open door<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he waved hands still and slow,</span><br /> -And the third time that he waved his hands<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The air was thick with snow.</span><br /> -<br /> -And of every flake of falling snow,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before it touched the ground,</span><br /> -There came a dove, and a thousand doves<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Made sweet sound.</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floated away full fleet,</span><br /> -And the wings of the doves that bare it off<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were like its winding-sheet.</span><br /> -<br /> -'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beckon'd, smiling sweet;</span><br /> -'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stole in, and fell at his feet.</span><br /> -<br /> -"The Holy Supper is spread within,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the many candles shine,</span><br /> -And I have waited long for thee<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before I poured the wine!"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>It would have been better, I think, to finish the ballad at this -stanza; there is one more, but it does not add at all to the effect of -what goes before. When the doves, emblems of divine love, have carried -away the sinful body, and the Master comes to the soul, smiling and -saying: "I have been waiting for you a long time, waiting for your -coming before I poured the wine"—there is nothing more to be said. We -do not want to hear any more; we know that the Eleven had again become -Twelve; we do not require to be told that the wine is poured out, or -that Judas repents his fault. The startling and beautiful thing is the -loving call and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> welcome to the Divine Supper. You will find the -whole of this poem in the "Victorian Anthology," but I should advise -any person who might think of making a Japanese translation to drop -the final stanza and to leave out a few of the others, if his judgment -agrees with mine.</p> - -<p>Read this again to yourselves, and see how beautiful it is. The beauty -is chiefly in the central idea of forgiveness; but the workmanship of -this composition has also a very remarkable beauty, a Celtic beauty -of weirdness, such as we seldom find in a modern composition touching -religious tradition. It were interesting to know how the poet was able -to imagine such a piece of work. I think I can tell a little of the -secret. Only a man with a great knowledge and love of old ballads could -have written it. Having once decided upon the skeleton of the story, -he must have gone to his old Celtic literature and to old Northern -ballads for further inspiration. I have already suggested that the -ballad of "Thomas the Rhymer" was one source of his inspiration, with -its strange story of the River of Blood. Thomas was sitting under a -tree, the legend goes, when he saw a woman approaching so beautiful -that he thought she was an angel or the Virgin Mary, and he addressed -her on his knees. But she sat down beside him, and said, "I am no angel -nor saint; I am only a fairy. But if you think that I am so beautiful, -take care that you do not kiss me, for if you do, then I shall have -power over you." Thomas immediately did much more than kiss her, and he -therefore became her slave. She took him at once to fairy land, and on -their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> way they passed through strange wild countries, much like those -described in Robert Buchanan's ballad; they passed the River of Blood; -they passed dark trees laden with magical food; and they saw the road -that reaches Heaven and the road that reaches Hell. But Buchanan could -take only a few ideas from this poem. Other ideas I think were inspired -by a ballad of Goethe's, or at least by Sir Walter Scott's version of -it, "Frederick and Alice." Frederick is a handsome young soldier who -seduces a girl called Alice under promise of marriage, and then leaves -her. He rides to join the army in France. The girl becomes insane with -grief and shame; and the second day later she dies at four o'clock in -the morning. Meantime Frederick unexpectedly loses his way; the rest I -may best tell in the original weird form. The horse has been frightened -by the sound of a church bell striking the hour of four.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Heard ye not the boding sound,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the tongue of yonder tower,</span><br /> -Slowly, to the hills around,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Told the fourth, the fated hour?</span><br /> -<br /> -Starts the steed, and snuffs the air,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet no cause of dread appears;</span><br /> -Bristles high the rider's hair,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Struck with strange mysterious fears.</span><br /> -<br /> -Desperate, as his terrors rise,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the steed the spur he hides;</span><br /> -From himself in vain he flies;<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anxious, restless, on he rides.</span><br /> -<br /> -Seven long days, and seven long nights,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild he wandered, woe the while!</span><br /> -Ceaseless care, and causeless fright,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Urge his footsteps many a mile.</span><br /> -<br /> -Dark the seventh sad night descends;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour;</span><br /> -While the deafening thunder lends<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the terrors of its roar.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>At the worst part of his dreary wandering over an unknown and gloomy -country, Frederick suddenly sees a light far away. This seems to him, -as it seemed in Buchanan's ballad to the soul of Judas, a light of -hope. He goes to the light, and finds himself in front of a vast and -ruinous looking church. Inside there is a light; he leaps down from his -horse, descends some steps, and enters the building. Suddenly all is -darkness again; he has to feel his way.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Long drear vaults before him lie!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glimmering lights are seen to glide!—</span><br /> -"Blessed Mary, hear my cry!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deign a sinner's steps to guide!"</span><br /> -<br /> -Often lost their quivering beam,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still the lights move slow before,</span><br /> -Till they rest their ghastly gleam<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Right against an iron door.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>He is really in the underground burial place of a church, in the vaults -of the dead, but he does not know it. He hears voices.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Thundering voices from within,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mixed with peals of laughter, rose;</span><br /> -As they fell, a solemn strain<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lent its wild and wondrous close!</span><br /> -<br /> -'Midst the din, he seem'd to hear<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Voice of friends, by death removed;—</span><br /> -Well he knew that solemn air,<br /> -'Twas the lay that Alice loved.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Suddenly a great bell booms four times, and the iron door opens. He -sees within a strange banquet; the seats are coffins, the tables are -draped with black, and the dead are the guests.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Alice, in her grave-clothes bound,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ghastly smiling, points a seat;</span><br /> -All arose, with thundering sound;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the expected stranger greet.</span><br /> -<br /> -High their meagre arms they wave,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild their notes of welcome swell;</span><br /> -"Welcome, traitor, to the grave!<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perjured, bid the light farewell!"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I have given the greater part of this strange ballad because of its -intrinsic value and the celebrity of its German author. But the part -that may have inspired Buchanan is only the part concerning the -wandering over the black moor, the light seen in the distance, the -ghostly banquet of the dead, and the ruined vaults. A great poet would -have easily found in these details the suggestion which Buchanan found -for the wandering of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> Judas to the light and the unexpected vision of -the dead assembling to a banquet with him—but only this. The complete -transformation of the fancy, the transmutation of the purely horrible -into a ghostly beauty and tenderness, is the wonderful thing. After -all, this is the chief duty of the poet in this world, to discover -beauty even in the ugly, suggestions of beauty even in the cruel and -terrible. This Buchanan did once so very well that his work will never -be forgotten, but he received thereafter no equal inspiration, and the -"Ballad of Judas" remains, alone of its kind, his only real claim to -high distinction.</p> - -<p>The poetry of Robert Buchanan is not great enough as poetry to justify -many quotations, but as thinking it demands some attention. His -third volume is especially of interest in this respect, because it -contains a curious exposition of his religious idealism. Buchanan is a -mystic; there is no doubt that he has been very much influenced by the -mysticism of Blake. The whole of the poems collectively entitled "The -Devil's Mystics," must have been suggested by Blake's nomenclature. -This collection belongs to "The Book of Orm," which might have been -well called "The Book of Robert Buchanan." Orm ought to be a familiar -name to students of English literature, one of the old English books -also being called "The Ormulum," because it was written by a man named -Orm. Buchanan's Orm is represented to be an ancient Celt, who has -visions and dreams about the mystery of the universe, and who puts -these visions and dreams, which are Buchanan's, into old-fashioned -verse.</p> - -<p>The great Ernest Renan said in his "Dialogues Philosophiques"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> that if -everybody in the world who had thought much about the mystery of things -were to write down his ideas regarding the Infinite, some great truth -might be discovered or deduced from the result. Buchanan has tried -to follow this suggestion; for he has very boldly put down all his -thoughts about the world and man and God. As to results, however, I can -find nothing particularly original except two or three queer fancies, -none of which relates to the deeper riddles of being. In a preface in -verse, the author further tells us that when he speaks of God he does -not mean the Christian God or the God of India nor any particular God, -but only the all-including Spirit of Life. Be that as it may, we find -his imagery to be certainly borrowed from old Hebrew and old Christian -thinkers; here he has not fulfilled expectations. But the imagery is -used to express some ideas which I think you will find rather new—not -exactly philosophical ideas, but moral parables.</p> - -<p>One of these is a parable about the possible consequences of seeing or -knowing the divine power which is behind the shadows of things. Suppose -that there were an omnipotent God whom we could see; what would be the -consequences of seeing him? Orm discovered that the blue of the sky was -a blue veil drawn across Immensity to hide the face of God. One day, -in answer to prayer, God drew aside the blue veil. Then all mankind -were terrified because they saw, by day and by night, an awful face -looking down upon them out of the sky, the sleepless eyes of the face -seeming to watch each person constantly wherever he was. Did this make -men happy? Not at all. They became tired of life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> finding themselves -perpetually watched; they covered their cities with roofs, and lived by -lamp light only, in order to avoid being looked at by the face, God. -This queer parable, recounted in the form of a dream, has a meaning -worth thinking about. The ultimate suggestion, of course, is that we do -not know and see many things because it would make us very unhappy to -know them.</p> - -<p>An equally curious parable, also related in the form of a dream, treats -of the consolations of death. What would become of mankind if there -were no death? I think you will remember that I told you how the young -poet William Watson took up the same subject a few years ago, in his -remarkable poem, "A Dream of Man." Watson's supposition is that men -became so wise, so scientific, that they were able to make themselves -immortal and to conquer death. But at last they became frightfully -unhappy, unutterably tired of life, and were obliged to beg God to give -them back death again. And God said to them, "You are happier than I -am. You can die; I cannot. The only happiness of existence is effort. -Now you can have your friend death back again." Buchanan's idea was -quite different from this. His poem is called "The Dream of the World -without Death." Men prayed to God that there might be no more death -or decay of the body; and the prayer was granted. People continued to -disappear from the world, but they did not die. They simply vanished, -when their time came, as ghosts. A child goes out to play in the field, -for example, and never comes back again; the mother finds only the -empty clothes of her darling. Or a peasant goes to the fields to work, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> his body is never seen again. People found that this was a much -worse condition of things than had been before. For the consolation -of knowledge, of certainty, was not given them. The dead body is a -certificate of death; nature uses corruption as a seal, an official -exhibit and proof of the certainty of death. But when there is no body, -no corpse, no possible sign, how horrible is the disappearance of -the persons we love. The mystery of it is a much worse pain than the -certain knowledge of death. Doubt is the worst form of torture. Well, -when mankind had this experience, they began to think, that, after all, -death was a beautiful and good thing, and they prayed most fervently -that they might again have the privilege of dying in the old way, of -putting the bodies of their dead into beautiful tombs, of being able to -visit the graves of their beloved from time to time. So God took pity -on them and gave them back death, and the poet sings his gratitude thus:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -And I cried, "O unseen Sender of Corruption,<br /> -I bless thee for the wonder of Thy mercy,<br /> -Which softeneth the mystery and the parting.<br /> -<br /> -"I bless Thee for the change and for the comfort,<br /> -The bloomless face, shut eyes, and waxen fingers,—<br /> -For Sleeping, and for Silence, and Corruption."<br /> -</p> - -<p>This idea is worth something, if only as a vivid teaching of the -necessity of things as they are. The two fantasies thus commented upon -are the most original things in the range of this mystical book. I -could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> not recommend any further reading or study of the poet, except -perhaps of his "Vision of the Man Accurst." But even this has not the -true stamp of originality; and only the "Ballad of Judas Iscariot" is -certain not to be soon forgotten.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h5> - - -<h4>ROBERT BRIDGES</h4> - - -<p>This poet, one of the greatest of the English minor poets of our -time, and represented in literature by a very considerable bulk of -work, happens to be one of the least known. He was never popular; -and even to-day, when recognition is coming to him slowly, almost -as slowly as it came to George Meredith, he is chiefly read by the -cultivated classes. There are several reasons for this. One is that -he is altogether an old-fashioned poet, writing with the feeling of -the eighteenth rather than of the nineteenth century, so that persons -in search of novelty are not likely to look at him. Then again he is -not a thinker, except at the rarest moments, not touched at all by the -scientific ideas of the nineteenth century. For that reason a great -many people, accustomed to look for philosophy in poetry, do not care -about his verse. I must confess that I myself should not have read -him, had it not been for a beautiful criticism of his work published -some five years ago. That tempted me to study him, with pleasant -results. But I then found a third reason for his unpopularity—want of -passion. When everything else is missing that attracts intellectual -attention to a poet, everything strange, novel, and philosophical, he -may still become popular if he has strong emotion, deep feeling. But -Robert Bridges has neither. He is somewhat cool, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> when he is not -cold; his colours are never strong, though they are always natural; -and there is something faint about his music that makes you think of -the music of insects, of night crickets or locusts. You may therefore -begin to wonder that I should speak about him at all. If a poet has no -philosophy, no originality, and no passion, what can there be in him? -Well, a great deal. It is not necessary to be original in order to be -a poet; it is only necessary to say old things somewhat better than -they have been said before. Such a non-original poet of excellence may -be a great lover of nature; for nature has been described in a million -ways, and we are not tired of the descriptions. Again, the feeling -need not be very strong; it is not strong in Wordsworth, except at -moments. I think that the charm of Robert Bridges, who is especially -a nature-poet, lies in his love of quiet effects, pale colours, small -soft sounds, all the dreaminess and all the gentleness of still and -beautiful days. Some of us like strong sounds, blazing colours, heavy -scents of flowers and fruits; but some of us do not—we prefer rest and -coolness and quiet tones. And I think that to Japanese feeling Robert -Bridges ought to make an appeal. Much of his work makes me think of -the old Japanese colour prints of spring, summer, autumn, and winter -landscapes. He is particularly fond of painting these; perhaps half of -his poetry, certainly a third of it, deals with descriptions of the -seasons. There is nothing tropical in these descriptions, because they -are true to English landscape, the only landscape that he knows well. -Now there is a good deal in English landscape, in the colours of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> -English seasons, that resembles what is familiar to us in the aspects -of Japanese nature.</p> - -<p>I cannot tell you very much about the poet himself; he has left his -personality out of the reach of public curiosity. I can only tell you -that he was born in 1844 and that he is a country doctor, which is very -interesting, for it is not often that a man can follow the busy duties -of a country physician and find time to make poetry. But Dr. Bridges -has been able to make two volumes of poetry which take very high rank; -and a whole school of minor poets has been classed under the head of -"Robert Bridges and his followers" in the new Encyclopedia of English -poets.</p> - -<p>I do not intend at once to tire you by quoting this poet's descriptions -of the seasons; I only want to interest you in him, and if I can do -that, you will be apt to read these descriptions for yourselves. I am -going to pick out bits, here and there, which seem to me beautiful in -themselves, independently of their subjects. Indeed, I think this is -the way that Robert Bridges wants us to read him. At the beginning of -Book IV, of the shorter poems (you will be interested to know that -most of his poems have no titles), he himself tells us what his whole -purpose is, in these pretty stanzas:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -I love all beauteous things,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I seek and adore them;</span><br /> -God hath no better praise,<br /> -And man in his hasty days<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is honored for them.</span><br /> -<br /> -I too will something make,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And joy in the making;</span><br /> -Although to-morrow it seem<br /> -Like the empty words of a dream<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remembered on waking.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>With this hint I have no hesitation in beginning this lecture on Robert -Bridges by picking out what seems to me almost the only philosophical -poem in the whole of his work. The philosophy is not very deep, but the -poem is haunting.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">EROS</span><br /> -<br /> -Why hast thou nothing in thy face?<br /> -Thou idol of the human race,<br /> -Thou tyrant of the human heart,<br /> -The flower of lovely youth that art;<br /> -Yea, and that standest in thy youth<br /> -An image of eternal Truth,<br /> -With thy exuberant flesh so fair,<br /> -That only Pheidias might compare,<br /> -Ere from his chaste marmoreal form<br /> -Time had decayed the colours warm;<br /> -Like to his gods in thy proud dress,<br /> -Thy starry sheen of nakedness.<br /> -<br /> -Surely thy body is thy mind,<br /> -For in thy face is nought to find,<br /> -Only thy soft unchristen'd smile<br /> -That shadows neither love nor guile,<br /> -But shameless will and power immense,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span>In secret sensuous innocence.<br /> -<br /> -O king of joy, what is thy thought?<br /> -I dream thou knowest it is nought,<br /> -And wouldst in darkness come, but thou<br /> -Makest the light where'er thou go.<br /> -Ah yet no victim of thy grace,<br /> -None who e'er longed for thy embrace,<br /> -Hath cared to look upon thy face.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The divinity here described is not the infant but the more mature form -of the god of Love, Eros (from whose name is derived the adjective -"erotic," used in such terms as "erotic poetry"). This Eros was -represented as a beautiful naked boy about twelve or thirteen years -old. Several statues of him are among the most beautiful works of -Greek art. It is one of these statues that the poet refers to. And you -must understand his poem, first of all, as treating of physical love, -physical passion, as distinguished from love which belongs rather to -the mind and heart and which is alone real and enduring. There is -always a certain amount of delusion in physical attraction, in mere -bodily beauty; but about the deeper love, which is perfect friendship -between the sexes, there is no delusion, and it only grows with time. -Now the god Eros represented only the power of physical passion, the -charm of youth. Looking at the face of the beautiful statue, the poet -is startled by something which has been from ancient times noticed -by all critics of Greek art, but which appears to him strange in -another way—there is no expression in that face. It is beautiful, -but it is also impersonal. So the faces of all the Greek gods were -impersonal; they represented ideals, not realities.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> They were moved -neither by deep love nor by deep hate—not at least in the conception -of the artist and sculptor. They were above humanity, above affection, -therefore above pity. Here it is worth while to remark the contrast -between the highest Eastern ideals in sculpture and the highest Western -ideals. In the art of the Far East the Buddha is also impersonal; he -smiles, but the smile is of infinite pity, compassion, tenderness. -He represents a supreme ideal of virtue. Nevertheless he is, though -impersonal, warmly human for this very reason. The more beautiful Greek -divinity smiles deliciously, but there is no tenderness, no compassion, -no affection in that smile. It is not human; it is superhuman. Looking -at the features of a Greek Aphrodite, an Eros, a Dionysius, you feel -that they could smile with the same beautiful smile at the destruction -of the world. What does the smile mean? You are charmed by it, yet it -is mysterious, almost awful. It represents nothing but supreme content, -supreme happiness—not happiness in the spiritual sense of rest, but -happiness of perfect youth and innocence of pain. That is why there -is something terrible about it to the modern thinker. It is without -sympathy; it is only joy.</p> - -<p>Now you will see the poem in its inner meaning. Let us paraphrase it:</p> - -<p>"Why is there no expression in that divinely beautiful face of thine, -O fair god, who art forever worshipped by the race of men, forever -ruling the hearts of its youth without pity, without compassion! Thou -who art the perfect image of the loveliness of youth, and the symbol of -some eternal and universal law, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> fair, so lovely that only the great -Greek sculptor Pheidias could represent thee in pure marble, thou white -as that marble itself, before time had faded the fresh colour with -which thy statue had been painted! Truly thou art as one of his gods -in the pride of thy nakedness—which becomes thee more than any robe, -being itself luminous, a light of stars. But why is there no expression -in thy face?</p> - -<p>"It must be that thy body represents thy mind. Yet thy mind is not -reflected in thy face like the mind of man. There I see only the -beautiful old pagan smile, the smile of the years before the Religion -of Sorrow came into this world. And that smile of thine shows neither -love nor hate nor shame, but power incalculable and the innocence of -sensuous pleasure.</p> - -<p>"Thou king of Joy, of what dost thou think? For thy face no-wise -betrays thy thought. Truly I believe thou dost not think of anything -which troubles the minds of sorrowing men; thou thinkest of nothing. -Thou art Joy, not thought. And I imagine that thou wouldst prefer not -to be seen by men, to come to them in darkness only, or invisibly, -as thou didst to Psyche in other years. But thou canst not remain -invisible, since thy body is made of light, and forever makes a great -shining about thee. For uncounted time thou hast moved the hearts of -millions of men and of women; all have known thy presence, felt thy -power. But none, even of those who most longed for thee, has ever -desired to look into thy beautiful face, because it is not the face of -humanity but of divinity, and because there is in it nothing of human -love."</p> - -<p>There is a good deal to think about in this poem, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> to feel the -beauty of it you ought to have before your eyes, when studying it, a -good engraving of the statue. However, even without any illustration -you will easily perceive the moral of the thought in it, that beauty -and youth alone do not signify affection, nor even anything dear to the -inner nature of man.</p> - -<p>Now I shall turn to another part of the poet's work. Here is a little -verse about a grown man looking at the picture of himself when he was -a little child. I think that it is a very charming sonnet, and it will -give you something to think about.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -A man that sees by chance his picture, made<br /> -As once a child he was, handling some toy,<br /> -Will gaze to find his spirit within the boy,<br /> -Yet hath no secret with the soul portray'd:<br /> -He cannot think the simple thought which play'd<br /> -Upon those features then so frank and coy;<br /> -'Tis his, yet oh! not his: and o'er the joy<br /> -His fatherly pity bends in tears dismay'd.<br /> -</p> - -<p>There is indeed no topic which Robert Bridges has treated more -exquisitely and touchingly than certain phases of childhood, the poetry -of childhood, the purity of childhood, the pathos of childhood. I do -not think that any one except Patmore, and Patmore only in one poem, -"The Toys," has even approached him. Take this little poem for example, -on the death of a little boy. It is the father who is speaking.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ON A DEAD CHILD</span><br /> -<br /> -Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With promise of strength and manhood full and fair!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though cold and stark and bare,</span><br /> -The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee.<br /> -<br /> -Thy mother's treasure wert thou;—alas! no longer<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thy father's pride;—ah, he</span><br /> -Must gather his faith together, and his strength make<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">stronger.</span><br /> -<br /> -To me, as I move thee now in the last duty,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Startling my fancy fond</span><br /> -With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty.<br /> -<br /> -Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it:<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">stiff;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet feels my hand as if</span><br /> -'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it.<br /> -<br /> -So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed;—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Propping thy wise, sad head,</span><br /> -Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing.<br /> -<br /> -So quiet!—doth the change content thee?—Death, whither<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">hath he taken thee?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this?</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The vision of which I miss,</span><br /> -Who weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 5em;">awaken thee?</span><br /> -<br /> -Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unwilling, alone we embark,</span><br /> -And the things we have seen and have known and have<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">heard of, fail us!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>You will see the exquisiteness of this more fully after a little -explanation. The father is performing the last duty to his little dead -son: washing the body with his own hands, closing the eyes, and placing -the little corpse in the coffin, rather than trust this work to any -less loving hands. The Western coffin, you must know, is long, and the -body is placed in it lying at full length as upon a bed, with a little -pillow to support the head. Then the hands are closed upon the heart -in the attitude of prayer. The poem describes more than the feelings -of a father, during these tender offices. As he turns the little body -to wash it, the small head changes its position now and then, and the -motion is so much like the pretty motions made by that little head -during life, that it is very difficult to believe there is now no life -there. In all modern English poetry there is nothing more touching than -the lines:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Startling my fancy fond</span><br /> -With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The word "freak" is incomparably beautiful in this line, for it has a -sense of playfulness; it means often a childish fancy or whim or pretty -mischievous action. The turning of the dead head seems so like the -motion of the living head in play. Then as the hands were washed by the -father, the relaxed muscles caused the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> opened fingers to close upon -the father's finger, just as in other days when the two walked about -together, the little boy's hands were too small to hold the great hands -of the father, and therefore clasped one finger only. Then observe the -very effective use of two most simple adjectives to picture the face -of the dead child—"wise" and "sad." Have you ever seen the face of a -dead child? If you have, you will remember how its calmness gives one -the suggestion of strange knowledge; the wise smile little, and fond -fancy for thousands of years has looked into the faces of the unsmiling -dead in search of some expression of supreme knowledge. Also there is -an expression of sadness in the face of death, even in the faces of -children asleep, although relaxation of muscles is the real explanation -of the fact. All these fancies are very powerfully presented in the -first five verses.</p> - -<p>In the last two verses the sincerity of grief uniquely shows itself. -"Where do you think the little life has gone?" the father asks. "Do you -want me to say that I think it has gone to a happier world than this, -to what you call Heaven? Ah, I must tell you the truth. I do not know; -I doubt, I fear. When a grief like this comes to us, all our religious -imaginations and hopes can serve us little."</p> - -<p>You must read that over and over again to know the beauty of it. Here -is another piece of very touching poetry about a boy, perhaps about the -same boy who afterward died. It will require some explanation, for it -is much deeper in a way than the previous piece. It is called "Pater -Filio," meaning "the father to the son."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Sense with keenest edge unused,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet unsteel'd by scathing fire;</span><br /> -Lovely feet as yet unbruised<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the ways of dark desire;</span><br /> -Sweetest hope that lookest smiling<br /> -O'er the wilderness defiling!<br /> -<br /> -Why such beauty, to be blighted<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the swarm of foul destruction?</span><br /> -Why such innocence delighted,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When sin stalks to thy seduction?</span><br /> -All the litanies e'er chaunted<br /> -Shall not keep thy faith undaunted.<br /> -<br /> -. . . . . .<br /> -<br /> -Me too once unthinking Nature,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—Whence Love's timeless mockery took me,—</span><br /> -Fashion'd so divine a creature,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yea, and like a beast forsook me.</span><br /> -I forgave, but tell the measure<br /> -Of her crime in thee, my treasure.<br /> -</p> - -<p>The father is suffering the great pain of fathers when he speaks thus, -the pain of fearing for the future of his child; and the mystery of -things oppresses him, as it oppresses everybody who knows what it is to -be afraid for the sake of another. He wonders at the beautiful fresh -senses of the boy, "yet unsteeled by scathing fire"—that is, not yet -hardened by experience of pain. He admires the beauty of the little -feet tottering happily about; but in the same moment dark thoughts -come to him, for he remembers how blood-stained those little feet must -yet become on the ways of the world, in the streets of cities, in the -struggle of life. And he delights in the smile of the child, full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> of -hope that knows nothing of the great foul wilderness of the world, in -which envy and malice and passions of many kinds make it difficult to -remain either good or hopeful. And he asks, "Why should a child be made -so beautiful, only to lose that beauty at a later day, through sickness -and grief and pain of a thousand kinds? Why should a child come -into the world so charmingly innocent and joyful, only to lose that -innocence and happiness later on through the encountering of passion -and temptation? Why should a child believe so deeply in the gods and in -human nature? Later on, no matter how much he grieves, the time will -come when that faith in the powers unseen must be sadly warped."</p> - -<p>And lastly the father remembers his own childhood, thinking, "I too was -once a divine little creature like that. Love, the eternal illusion, -brought me into the world, and Nature made me as innocent and trustful -as this little boy. Later on, however, the same Nature abandoned -me, like the animal that forsakes her young as soon as they grow a -little strong. I forgave Nature for that abandonment," the father -says, turning to the child, "but it is only when I look at you, my -treasure, that I understand how much I lost with the vanishing of my -own childhood."</p> - -<p>Nobody in the whole range of English literature has written anything -more tender than that. It is out of the poet's heart.</p> - -<p>One would expect, on reading delicacies of this kind, that the poet -would express himself not less beautifully than tenderly in regard -to woman. As a matter of fact, he certainly ranks next to Rossetti -as a love poet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> even in point of workmanship. I am also inclined to -think, and I believe that critics will later recognise this, that his -feeling in regard to the deeper and nobler qualities of love can only -be compared to the work of Browning in the same direction. It has -not Browning's force, nor the occasional sturdiness that approaches -roughness. It is altogether softer and finer, and it has none of -Browning's eccentricities. A collection of sonnets, fifty-nine in -number, entitled "The Growth of Love" may very well be compared with -Rossetti's sonnet-sequence, "The House of Life." But it is altogether -unlike Rossetti's work; it deals with thought more than sensation, and -with joy more than sorrow. But before we give an example of these, let -me quote a little fancy of a very simple kind, that gives the character -of Robert Bridges as a love poet quite as well as any long or elaborate -poem could do.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Long are the hours the sun is above,<br /> -But when evening comes I go home to my love.<br /> -<br /> -I'm away the daylight hours and more,<br /> -Yet she comes not down to open the door.<br /> -<br /> -She does not meet me upon the stair,—<br /> -She sits in my chamber and waits for me there.<br /> -<br /> -As I enter the room she does not move;<br /> -I always walk straight up to my love;<br /> -<br /> -And she lets me take my wonted place<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span>At her side, and gaze in her dear dear face.<br /> -<br /> -There as I sit, from her head thrown, back<br /> -Her hair falls straight in a shadow black.<br /> -<br /> -Aching and hot as my tired eyes be,<br /> -She is all that I wish to see.<br /> -<br /> -And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear.<br /> -She says all things that I wish to hear.<br /> -<br /> -Dusky and duskier grows the room,<br /> -Yet I see her best in the darker gloom.<br /> -<br /> -When the winter eves are early and cold,<br /> -The firelight hours are a dream of gold.<br /> -<br /> -And so I sit here night by night,<br /> -In rest and enjoyment of love's delight.<br /> -<br /> -But a knock at the door, a step on the stair<br /> -Will startle, alas, my love from her chair.<br /> -<br /> -If a stranger comes she will not stay:<br /> -At the first alarm she is off and away.<br /> -<br /> -And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne,<br /> -That I sit so much by myself alone.<br /> -</p> - -<p>You feel the mystery of the thing beginning at the second stanza, but -not until you get to the sixth stanza do you begin to perceive it. This -is not a living woman, but a ghost. The whole poetry of the composition -is here. What does the poet mean? He has not told us anywhere, and it -is better that he should not have told us, because we can imagine so -many things, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> many different circumstances, which the poem would -equally well illustrate. Were this the fancy of a young man, we might -say that the phantom love means the ideal wife, the unknown bride of -the future, the beautiful dream that every young man makes for himself -about a perfectly happy home. Again, we might suppose that the spirit -bride is not really related at all to love in the common-sense, but -figures or symbolises only the devotion of the poet to poetry, in which -case the spirit bride is art. But the poet is not a young man; he is -an old country doctor, coming home late every night from visiting his -patients, tired, weary, but with plenty of work to do in his private -study. Who, then, may be the shadowy woman with the long black hair -always waiting for him alone? Perhaps art, perhaps a memory, most -likely the memory of a dead wife, and we may even imagine, the mother -of the little boy about whose death the poet has so beautifully written -elsewhere. I do not pretend to explain; I do not want to explain; I -am only anxious to show you that this composition fulfils one of the -finest conditions of poetry, by its suggestiveness. It leaves many -questions to be answered in fancy, and all of them are beautiful.</p> - -<p>Let me now take a little piece about the singing of the nightingale. -I think you remember that I read to you, and commented upon Keats's -poem about the nightingale. That is the greatest English poem, the -most perfect, the most unapproachable of poems upon the nightingale. -And after that, only a very, very skilful poet dare write seriously -about the nightingale, for his work, if at all imperfect, must suffer -terribly by comparison with the verses of Keats. But Robert Bridges<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> -has actually come very near to the height of Keats in a three stanza -poem upon the same subject. The treatment of the theme is curiously -different. The poem of Keats represents supreme delight, the delight -which is so great that it becomes sad. The poem of Bridges is slightly -dark. The mystery of the bird song is the fact that he chiefly -considers; and he considers it in a way that leaves you thinking a -long time after the reading of the verses. The suggestions of the -composition, however, can best be considered after we have read the -verses.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">NIGHTINGALES</span><br /> -<br /> -Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come,<br /> -And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Ye learn your song:</span><br /> -Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there,<br /> -Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Bloom the year long!</span><br /> -<br /> -Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams:<br /> -Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">A throe of the heart,</span><br /> -Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound,<br /> -No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For all our art.</span><br /> -<br /> -Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men<br /> -We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">As night is withdrawn</span><br /> -From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">May,</span><br /> -Dream, while the innumerable choir of day<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Welcome the dawn.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span></p> - -<p>Other poets, following the popular notion that birds are happy when -they sing, often speak of the nightingale as an especially happy bird -because of the extraordinary sweetness of its song. The Greek poets -thought otherwise; to them it seemed that the song of the birds was -the cry of infinite sorrow and regret, and one of the most horrible -of all the Greek myths is the story of Philomela, transformed into a -nightingale. Matthew Arnold, you may remember, takes the Greek view. So -in a way does Robert Bridges, but there are other suggestions in his -verse, purely human. Paraphrased, the meaning is this (a man speaks -first):</p> - -<p>"When I listen to your song, I feel sure that the country from which -you come must be very beautiful; and very sweet the warbling music of -the stream, whose sound may have taught you how to sing. O how much -I wish that I could go to your wonderful world, your tropical world, -where summer never dies, and where flowers are all the year in bloom." -But the birds answer: "You are in error. Desolate is the country from -which we come; and in that country the mountains are naked and barren, -and the rivers are dried up. If we sing, it is because of the pain that -we feel in our hearts, the pain of great desire for happier things. -But that which we desire without knowing it by sight, that which we -hope for in vain, these are more beautiful than any song of ours can -express. Skilful we are, but not skilful enough to utter all that we -feel. At night we sing, trying to speak our secret of pain to men; but -when all the other birds awake and salute the sun with happy song, -while all the flowers open their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> leaves to the light, then we do not -sing, but dream on in silence and shadow."</p> - -<p>Is there not in this beautiful verse the suggestion of the condition of -the soul in the artist and the poet, in those whose works are beautiful -or seem beautiful, not because of joy, but because of pain—the pain of -larger knowledge and deeper perception? I think it is particularly this -that makes the superior beauty of the stanzas. You soon find yourself -thinking, not about the nightingale, but about the human heart and the -human soul.</p> - -<p>Here and there on almost every page of Bridges are to be found queer -little beauties, little things that reveal the personality of the -writer. Can you describe an April sky, and clouds in the sky, and the -light and the colour of the day, all in two lines? It is not an easy -thing to do; but there are two lines that seem to do it in a poem, -which is the sixth of the fourth book:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -On high the hot sun smiles, and banks of cloud uptower<br /> -In bulging heads that crowd for miles the dazzling South.<br /> -</p> - -<p>Notice the phrase "bulging heads." Nothing is so difficult to describe -in words, as to form, than ordinary clouds, because the form is -indefinite. Yet the great rounding masses do dimly suggest giant heads, -not necessarily the heads of persons, much oftener heads of trees. The -word "bulging" means not only a swelling outwards but a soft baggy kind -of swelling. No other adjective in the English language could better -express the roundish form here alluded to. And we know that they are -white, simply by the poet's use of the word<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> dazzling that completes -the picture. But there is more to notice; the poet has called these -clouds banks of cloud, and has spoken of them as crowding the sky for -miles. Remember that a bank of clouds always implies masses of cloud -joined together below. Now on a beautiful clear day you must have often -noticed in the sky that a clear space, straight as any line upon a map, -marks off the lower part of the cloud. Between the horizon and this -line there is only clear blue; then the clouds, all lined and joined -together at the bottom, are all rounded, bulgy at the top. This is what -the two lines which I have quoted picture to us.</p> - -<p>In the simplest fancies, however, the same truth to Nature is -observable, and comes to us in like surprises. Here is a little bit -about a new moon shining on the sea at night—the fourth poem in the -fourth book:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -She lightens on the comb<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of leaden waves, that roar</span><br /> -And thrust their hurried foam<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up on the dusky shore.</span><br /> -<br /> -Behind the Western bars<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shrouded day retreats,</span><br /> -And unperceived the stars<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steal to their sovran seats.</span><br /> -<br /> -And whiter grows the foam,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The small moon lightens more;</span><br /> -And as I turn me home,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My shadow walks before.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>You feel that this has been seen and felt, that it is not merely the -imagination of a man sitting down to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> manufacture poetry at his desk. -I imagine that you have not seen the word "comb" used of wave motion -very often, though it is now coming more and more into poetical use. -The comb of the wave is its crest, and the term is used just as we use -the word comb in speaking of the crest of a cock. But there is also -the verb "to comb"; and this refers especially to the curling over -of the crest of the wave, just before it breaks, when the appearance -of the crest-edge resembles that of wool being pulled through a comb -(<i>kushi</i>). Thus the word gives us two distinct and picturesque ideas, -whether used as noun or as adjective. Notice too the use of "leaden" -in relation to the colour of waves where not touched by moonlight; the -dull grey could not be better described by any other word. Also observe -that as night advances, though the sea becomes dark, the form appears -to become whiter and whiter. In a phosphorescent sea the foam lines -appear very beautiful in darkness.</p> - -<p>I shall quote but one more poem by Robert Bridges, choosing it merely -to illustrate how modern things appear to this charming dreamer of -old-fashioned dreams. One would think that he could not care much about -such matters as machinery, telegraphs, railroads, steamships. But he -has written a very fine sonnet about a steamship; and the curious thing -is that this poem appears in the middle of a collection of love poems:</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -The fabled sea-snake, old Leviathan,<br /> -Or else what grisly beast of scaly chine<br /> -That champ'd the ocean-wrack and swash'd the brine,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span>Before the new and milder days of man,<br /> -Had never rib nor bray nor swingeing fan<br /> -Like his iron swimmer of the Clyde or Tyne,<br /> -Late-born of golden seed to breed a line<br /> -Of offspring swifter and more huge of plan.<br /> -<br /> -Straight is her going, for upon the sun<br /> -When once she hath look'd, her path and place are<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">plain;</span><br /> -With tireless speed she smiteth one by one<br /> -The shuddering seas and foams along the main;<br /> -And her eased breath, when her wild race is run,<br /> -Boars through her nostrils like a hurricane.<br /> -</p> - -<p>While this is true to fact, it is also fine fancy; the only true way -in which the practical and mechanical can appeal to the poet is in the -sensation of life and power that it produces.</p> - -<p>I think we have read together enough of Robert Bridges to excite some -interest in such of his poetry as we have not read. But you will have -perceived that this poet is in his own way quite different from other -poets of the time, and that he cannot appeal to common-place minds. -His poetry is like fine old wine, mild, mellowed wine, that only the -delicate palate will be able to appreciate properly.</p> - -<h4>THE END</h4> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span style="font-weight: bold;"><a id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</span><br /> -<br /> -"Abt Vogler," <a href="#Page_209">209</a>-<a href="#Page_214">214</a><br /> -Æschylus, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a><br /> -"After Death," <a href="#Page_174">174</a>-<a href="#Page_176">176</a><br /> -"Agamemnon," <a href="#Page_258">258</a><br /> -"Alkestis," <a href="#Page_259">259</a><br /> -"Ancien Régime," <a href="#Page_235">235</a>-<a href="#Page_237">237</a><br /> -"Appreciations of Poetry," Intro.<br /> -"Arabian Nights, The," <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a><br /> -"Archduchess Anne," <a href="#Page_324">324</a>-<a href="#Page_329">329</a><br /> -"Armada, The," <a href="#Page_177">177</a>-<a href="#Page_179">179</a><br /> -"Atalanta in Calydon," <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a><br /> -<br /> -"Balaustian's Adventure," <a href="#Page_259">259</a><br /> -"Ballad of Dead Ladies, The," <a href="#Page_105">105</a><br /> -"Ballad of Judas Iscariot, The," <a href="#Page_388">388</a>-<a href="#Page_398">398</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a><br /> -"Ballads and Poems of Tragic Life," <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a><br /> -Baudelaire, Charles, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> -"Birth Bond, The," <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -"Bishop Blougram's Apology," <a href="#Page_253">253</a><br /> -"Bishop Orders His Tomb, The," <a href="#Page_253">253</a><br /> -Blake, William, <a href="#Page_402">402</a><br /> -"Blessed Damozel, The," <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>-<a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -"Blot on the 'Scutcheon, The," <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br /> -"Blue Closet, The," <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> -"Body's Beauty," <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> -"Book of Orm, The," <a href="#Page_402">402</a><br /> -"Bride's Prelude, The," <a href="#Page_90">90</a>-<a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a><br /> -Bridges, Robert, Intro., <a href="#Page_407">407</a>-<a href="#Page_428">428</a><br /> -Browning, Robert, Intro., <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>-<a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a></span><br /> -Buchanan, Robert, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>-<a href="#Page_406">406</a><br /> -"Burgraves, Les," <a href="#Page_105">105</a><br /> -Byron, Lord George Gordon, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br /> -"By the North Sea," <a href="#Page_137">137</a><br /> -<br /> -"Caliban Upon Setebus," <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br /> -"Canterbury Tales, The," <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br /> -"Card Dealer, The," <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -Carlyle, Thomas, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a><br /> -"Carmen," <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -"Cavalier Tunes," <a href="#Page_228">228</a>-<a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> -"Cenci, The," <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> -Chaucer, Geoffrey, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> -"Christabel," <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -"Cloud Confines, The," <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> -Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -Comte, Auguste, <a href="#Page_131">131</a><br /> -"Confessional, The," <a href="#Page_234">234</a><br /> -"Corpus Poeticum Boreale," <a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a><br /> -"Count Gismond," <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a><br /> -"Cristina and Monaldeschi," <a href="#Page_234">234</a><br /> -<br /> -Dante, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br /> -"Dante and His Circle," <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> -"Defense of Guinevere, The," <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br /> -"De l'Intelligence," <a href="#Page_116">116</a><br /> -De Maupassant, Guy, <a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> -De Musset, Alfred, <a href="#Page_22">22</a><br /> -"Devil's Mystics, The," <a href="#Page_402">402</a><br /> -"Dialogues Philosophiques," <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a><br /> -"Dolores," <a href="#Page_168">168</a>-<a href="#Page_171">171</a><br /> -"Don Juan," <a href="#Page_125">125</a><br /> -"Dramatic Idyls," <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a><br /> -"Dramatis Personæ," <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> -"Dream of Man, A," <a href="#Page_404">404</a><br /> -"Dream of the World Without<br /> -Death," <a href="#Page_404">404</a><br /> -<br /> -"Earth and Man," <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>-<a href="#Page_365">365</a><br /> -"Eden Bower," <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>-<a href="#Page_74">74</a><br /> -Emerson, Ralph Waldo, <a href="#Page_180">180</a><br /> -"Eros," <a href="#Page_410">410</a><br /> -Euripides, <a href="#Page_259">259</a><br /> -"Eve of Crecy, The," <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> -<br /> -Fitzgerald, Edward, <a href="#Page_386">386</a><br /> -"Folk-Mote by the River, The," <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -"Frederick and Alice," <a href="#Page_399">399</a>-<a href="#Page_401">401</a><br /> -<br /> -Gautier, Théophile, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> -"Give a Rouse," <a href="#Page_229">229</a>-<a href="#Page_230">230</a><br /> -"Goldilocks and Goldilocks," <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -Gosse, Edmund, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a><br /> -"Grammarian's Funeral, A," <a href="#Page_218">218</a>-<a href="#Page_223">223</a><br /> -"Growth of Love, The," <a href="#Page_420">420</a><br /> -<br /> -"Hafbur & Signy," <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -"Hand and Soul," <a href="#Page_109">109</a>-<a href="#Page_113">113</a><br /> -Harrison, Frederic, <a href="#Page_131">131</a><br /> -"Haystack in the Flood, The," <a href="#Page_269">269</a>-<a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a><br /> -"Heretic's Tragedy, The," <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> -"Hesperia," <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> -Homer, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a><br /> -"Honeysuckle, The," <a href="#Page_3">3</a><br /> -"House of Life, The," <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>-<a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a><br /> -Hugo, Victor, <a href="#Page_105">105</a><br /> -"Hymn to Proserpine," <a href="#Page_152">152</a>-<a href="#Page_160">160</a><br /> -<br /> -"Idylls of the King, The," <a href="#Page_84">84</a><br /> -"In a Gondola," <a href="#Page_214">214</a>-<a href="#Page_218">218</a><br /> -"In Memoriam," <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -"In Prison," <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br /> -"Interpretations of Literature," Intro.<br /> -"Itylus," <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br /> -"Ivàn Ivànovitch," <a href="#Page_204">204</a>-<a href="#Page_208">208</a><br /> -<br /> -"Jenny," <a href="#Page_76">76</a>-<a href="#Page_82">82</a><br /> -"Judgment of God, The," <a href="#Page_275">275</a>-<a href="#Page_280">280</a><br /> -<br /> -Keats, John, <a href="#Page_422">422</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a><br /> -"King Harold's Trance," <a href="#Page_314">314</a>-<a href="#Page_324">324</a><br /> -"King of Denmark's Sons, The," <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a><br /> -Kingsley, Charles, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a><br /> -"King's Quhair, The," <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br /> -"King's Tragedy, The," <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br /> -"Knight Aagen and Maiden Else," <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -<br /> -"Laboratory, The," <a href="#Page_233">233</a><br /> -"Last Confession, The," <a href="#Page_74">74</a>-<a href="#Page_76">76</a><br /> -"Last Contention, The," <a href="#Page_347">347</a><br /> -"Laus Veneris," <a href="#Page_165">165</a>-<a href="#Page_168">168</a><br /> -"Lay of the Last Minstrel, The," <a href="#Page_87">87</a><br /> -"Life and Death of Jason, The," <a href="#Page_309">309</a><br /> -"Life and Literature," Intro.<br /> -"Light Woman, A," <a href="#Page_183">183</a>-<a href="#Page_190">190</a><br /> -"Litany, A," <a href="#Page_170">170</a>-<a href="#Page_174">174</a><br /> -"Little Tower, The," <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br /> -Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> -"Lost on Both Sides," <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> -"Love is Enough," <a href="#Page_268">268</a><br /> -"Luria," <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br /> -<br /> -"Mademoiselle de Maupin," <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> -Maeterlinck, Maurice, <a href="#Page_282">282</a><br /> -Malory, Sir Thomas, <a href="#Page_283">283</a><br /> -"Marching Along," <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a><br /> -"Masque of Queen Bersabe, The," <a href="#Page_141">141</a>-<a href="#Page_145">145</a><br /> -"Men and Women," <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> -Meredith, George, Intro., <a href="#Page_130">130</a>,<br /> -131, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>-<a href="#Page_385">385</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a><br /> -Mérimée, Prosper, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> -Milton, John, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a><br /> -"Mirror, The," <a href="#Page_2">2</a><br /> -"Modern Love," <a href="#Page_312">312</a><br /> -Morris, William, Intro., <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>-<a href="#Page_310">310</a><br /> -"Mr. Sludge, the Medium," <a href="#Page_254">254</a><br /> -"My Father's Close," <a href="#Page_106">106</a><br /> -"My Last Duchess," <a href="#Page_191">191</a>-<a href="#Page_198">198</a><br /> -<br /> -"Nightingales," <a href="#Page_423">423</a><br /> -"Nuptials of Attila, The," <a href="#Page_334">334</a>-<a href="#Page_347">347</a><br /> -<br /> -"Off Shore," <a href="#Page_139">139</a><br /> -"On a Dead Child," <a href="#Page_415">415</a><br /> -"On the Downs," <a href="#Page_133">133</a><br /> -O'Shaughnessy, Arthur, <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br /> -<br /> -"Paracelsus," <a href="#Page_254">254</a><br /> -"Parleyings with Certain People<br /> -of Importance in Their Day," <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> -<br /> -"Passing of Arthur, The," <a href="#Page_121">121</a><br /> -"Pater Filio," <a href="#Page_417">417</a><br /> -Patmore, Coventry, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a><br /> -"Patriot, The," <a href="#Page_223">223</a>-<a href="#Page_228">228</a><br /> -Poe, Edgar Allan, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a><br /> -"Poems and Ballads," <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a><br /> -"Poems and Lyrics of the Joy of Earth," <a href="#Page_312">312</a><br /> -"Poems by the Way," <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a><br /> -"Portrait, The," <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a><br /> -"Prick of Conscience," <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br /> -"Prometheus Unbound," <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> -<br /> -"Rapunzel," <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -"Raven and the King's Daughter,<br /> -The," <a href="#Page_291">291</a><br /> -"Ravenshoe," <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> -"Reading of Earth, A," <a href="#Page_312">312</a><br /> -Renan, Ernest, <a href="#Page_402">402</a><br /> -"Return of the Druses, The," <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br /> -"Ring and the Book, The," <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>-<a href="#Page_253">253</a><br /> -"Rose Mary," <a href="#Page_83">83</a>-<a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> -Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, Intro.,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_1">1</a>-<a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a> 390, <a href="#Page_420">420</a></span><br /> -Rousseau, Jean Jacques, <a href="#Page_132">132</a><br /> -Ruskin, John, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a><br /> -<br /> -"St. Agnes of Intercession," <a href="#Page_113">113</a>-<a href="#Page_115">115</a><br /> -Scott, Sir Walter, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a><br /> -"Sea-Limits," <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a><br /> -Shakespeare, William, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></span><br /> -"Shaving of Shagpat, The," Intro., <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>-<a href="#Page_385">385</a><br /> -Shelley, Percy Bysshe, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a><br /> -"Silence," <a href="#Page_109">109</a><br /> -"Sir Peter Harpdon's End," <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br /> -"Sister Helen," <a href="#Page_53">53</a>-<a href="#Page_69">69</a><br /> -Smart, Christopher, <a href="#Page_256">256</a><br /> -"Song of Roland, The," <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a><br /> -"Songs Before Sunrise," <a href="#Page_132">132</a><br /> -"Sordello," <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a><br /> -"Soul's Tragedy, A," <a href="#Page_257">257</a>-<a href="#Page_258">258</a><br /> -Spencer, Herbert, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_364">364</a><br /> -"Staff and Scrip, The," Intro.,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>-<a href="#Page_51">51</a></span><br /> -"Statue and the Bust, The," <a href="#Page_199">199</a>-<a href="#Page_204">204</a><br /> -"Story of Sigurd, The," <a href="#Page_293">293</a>-<a href="#Page_309">309</a><br /> -"Strafford," <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br /> -"Stratton Water," <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -"Sudden Light," <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br /> -Swinburne, Algernon Charles, Intro., <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>-<a href="#Page_179">179</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a></span><br /> -<br /> -Taine, Henri, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a><br /> -"Tales of a Wayside Inn," <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> -Tennyson, Alfred, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a></span><br /> -"Thalassius," <a href="#Page_161">161</a>-<a href="#Page_164">164</a><br /> -"Thomas the Rhymer," <a href="#Page_393">393</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a><br /> -"Three Singers to Young Blood, The," <a href="#Page_365">365</a>-<a href="#Page_372">372</a><br /> -"Toys, The," <a href="#Page_414">414</a><br /> -"Triumph of Time, The," <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br /> -"Troy Town," <a href="#Page_16">16</a>-<a href="#Page_20">20</a><br /> -<br /> -Villon, François, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> -Virgil, <a href="#Page_267">267</a><br /> -"Vision of the Man Accurst, The," <a href="#Page_405">405</a><br /> -<br /> -Watson, William, <a href="#Page_404">404</a><br /> -"Which?," <a href="#Page_234">234</a><br /> -"White Ship, The," <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>-<a href="#Page_73">73</a><br /> -Whitman, Walt, <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br /> -"Willowwood," <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br /> -"Wind, The," <a href="#Page_281">281</a><br /> -"Woods of Westermain, The," <a href="#Page_349">349</a>-<a href="#Page_354">354</a><br /> -"Woodspurge, The," <a href="#Page_5">5</a><br /> -</p> - - - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Pre-Raphaelite and other Poets, by Lafcadio Hearn - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRE-RAPHAELITE AND OTHER POETS *** - -***** This file should be named 55377-h.htm or 55377-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - 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