You have but to
think of _Paradise Lost_ to see what _Idylls of the King_ lacks.
think of _Paradise Lost_ to see what _Idylls of the King_ lacks.
Lascelle Abercrombie
If fiction could ever be wholly, and not only
partially, epic, it would be in _Gebir_.
In all these poems, we see an epic intention still combined with a
recognizably epic manner. But what is quite evident is, that in all of
them there is no attempt to carry on the development of epic, to take up
its symbolic power where Milton left it. On the contrary, this seems to
be deliberately avoided. For any tentative advance on Miltonic
significance, even for any real acceptance of it, we must go to poetry
which tries to put epic intention into a new form. Some obvious
peculiarities of epic style are sufficiently definite to be detachable.
Since Theocritus, a perverse kind of pleasure has often been obtained by
putting some of the peculiarities of epic--peculiarities really required
by a very long poem--into the compass of a very short poem. An epic
idyll cannot, of course, contain any considerable epic intention; it is
wrought out of the mere shell of epic, and avoids any semblance of epic
scope. But by devising somehow a connected sequence of idylls, something
of epic scope can be acquired again. As Hugo says, in his preface to _La
Legende des Siecles_: "Comme dans une mosaique, chaque pierre a sa
couleur et sa forme propre; l'ensemble donne une figure. La figure de ce
livre," he goes on, "c'est l'homme. " To get an epic design or _figure_
through a sequence of small idylls need not be the result of mere
technical curiosity. It may be a valuable method for the future of epic.
Tennyson attempted this method in _Idylls of the King_; not, as is now
usually admitted, with any great success. The sequence is admirable for
sheer craftsmanship, for astonishing craftsmanship; but it did not
manage to effect anything like a conspicuous symbolism.
You have but to
think of _Paradise Lost_ to see what _Idylls of the King_ lacks. Victor
Hugo, however, did better in _La Legende des Siecles_. "La figure, c'est
l'homme"; there, at any rate, is the intention of epic symbolism. And,
however pretentious the poem may be, it undoubtedly does make a
passionate effort to develop the significance which Milton had achieved;
chiefly to enlarge the scope of this significance. [14] Browning's _The
Ring and the Book_ also uses this notion of an idyllic sequence; but
without any semblance of epic purpose, purely for the exhibition of
human character.
It has already been remarked that the ultimate significance of great
drama is the same as that of epic. Since the vital epic purpose--the
kind of epic purpose which answers to the spirit of the time--is
evidently looking for some new form to inhabit, it is not surprising,
then, that it should have occasionally tried on dramatic form. And,
unquestionably, for great poetic symbolism of the depths of modern
consciousness, for such symbolism as Milton's, we must go to two such
invasions of epic purpose into dramatic manner--to Goethe's _Faust_ and
Hardy's _The Dynasts_. But dramatic significance and epic significance
have been admitted to be broadly the same; to take but one instance,
Aeschylus's Prometheus is closely related to Milton's Satan (though I
think Prometheus really represents a monism of consciousness--that which
is destined--as Satan represents a dualism--at once the destined and the
destiny). How then can we speak of epic purpose invading drama? Surely
in this way. Drama seeks to present its significance with narrowed
intensity, but epic in a large dilatation: the one contracts, the other
expatiates. When, therefore, we find drama setting out its significance
in such a way as to become epically dilated, we may say that dramatic
has grown into epic purpose. Or, even more positively, we may say that
epic has taken over drama and adapted it to its peculiar needs. In any
case, with one exception to be mentioned presently, it is only in
_Faust_ and _The Dynasts_ that we find any great development of Miltonic
significance. These are the poems that give us immense and shapely
symbols of the spirit of man, conscious not only of the sense of his
own destined being, but also of some sense of that which destines.
partially, epic, it would be in _Gebir_.
In all these poems, we see an epic intention still combined with a
recognizably epic manner. But what is quite evident is, that in all of
them there is no attempt to carry on the development of epic, to take up
its symbolic power where Milton left it. On the contrary, this seems to
be deliberately avoided. For any tentative advance on Miltonic
significance, even for any real acceptance of it, we must go to poetry
which tries to put epic intention into a new form. Some obvious
peculiarities of epic style are sufficiently definite to be detachable.
Since Theocritus, a perverse kind of pleasure has often been obtained by
putting some of the peculiarities of epic--peculiarities really required
by a very long poem--into the compass of a very short poem. An epic
idyll cannot, of course, contain any considerable epic intention; it is
wrought out of the mere shell of epic, and avoids any semblance of epic
scope. But by devising somehow a connected sequence of idylls, something
of epic scope can be acquired again. As Hugo says, in his preface to _La
Legende des Siecles_: "Comme dans une mosaique, chaque pierre a sa
couleur et sa forme propre; l'ensemble donne une figure. La figure de ce
livre," he goes on, "c'est l'homme. " To get an epic design or _figure_
through a sequence of small idylls need not be the result of mere
technical curiosity. It may be a valuable method for the future of epic.
Tennyson attempted this method in _Idylls of the King_; not, as is now
usually admitted, with any great success. The sequence is admirable for
sheer craftsmanship, for astonishing craftsmanship; but it did not
manage to effect anything like a conspicuous symbolism.
You have but to
think of _Paradise Lost_ to see what _Idylls of the King_ lacks. Victor
Hugo, however, did better in _La Legende des Siecles_. "La figure, c'est
l'homme"; there, at any rate, is the intention of epic symbolism. And,
however pretentious the poem may be, it undoubtedly does make a
passionate effort to develop the significance which Milton had achieved;
chiefly to enlarge the scope of this significance. [14] Browning's _The
Ring and the Book_ also uses this notion of an idyllic sequence; but
without any semblance of epic purpose, purely for the exhibition of
human character.
It has already been remarked that the ultimate significance of great
drama is the same as that of epic. Since the vital epic purpose--the
kind of epic purpose which answers to the spirit of the time--is
evidently looking for some new form to inhabit, it is not surprising,
then, that it should have occasionally tried on dramatic form. And,
unquestionably, for great poetic symbolism of the depths of modern
consciousness, for such symbolism as Milton's, we must go to two such
invasions of epic purpose into dramatic manner--to Goethe's _Faust_ and
Hardy's _The Dynasts_. But dramatic significance and epic significance
have been admitted to be broadly the same; to take but one instance,
Aeschylus's Prometheus is closely related to Milton's Satan (though I
think Prometheus really represents a monism of consciousness--that which
is destined--as Satan represents a dualism--at once the destined and the
destiny). How then can we speak of epic purpose invading drama? Surely
in this way. Drama seeks to present its significance with narrowed
intensity, but epic in a large dilatation: the one contracts, the other
expatiates. When, therefore, we find drama setting out its significance
in such a way as to become epically dilated, we may say that dramatic
has grown into epic purpose. Or, even more positively, we may say that
epic has taken over drama and adapted it to its peculiar needs. In any
case, with one exception to be mentioned presently, it is only in
_Faust_ and _The Dynasts_ that we find any great development of Miltonic
significance. These are the poems that give us immense and shapely
symbols of the spirit of man, conscious not only of the sense of his
own destined being, but also of some sense of that which destines.
