In some respects it was stupid, in
some respects it was unjust, but of one thing there can be no doubt--it
had a most salutary effect.
some respects it was unjust, but of one thing there can be no doubt--it
had a most salutary effect.
Tennyson
none', 'A
Dream of Fair Women', 'The Palace of Art', 'The Lady of Shalott'--I am
speaking of course of these poems in their first form--were full of
extraordinary blemishes. The volume was degraded by pieces which were
very unworthy of him, such as 'O Darling Room' and the verses 'To
Christopher North', and affectations of the worst kind deformed many,
nay, perhaps the majority of the poems. But the capital defect lay in
the workmanship. The diction is often languid and slipshod, sometimes
quaintly affected, and we can never go far without encountering lines,
stanzas, whole poems which cry aloud for the file. The power and charm
of Tennyson's poetry, even at its ripest, depend very largely, often
mainly, on expression, and the couplet which he envied Browning,
The little more, and how much it is,
The little less, and what worlds away,
is strangely applicable to his own art. On a single word, on a subtle
collocation, on a slight touch depend often his finest effects: "the
little less" reduces him to mediocrity, "the little more" and he is with
the masters. To no poetry would the application of Goethe's test be, as
a rule, more fatal--that the real poetic quality in poetry is that which
remains when it has been translated literally into prose.
Whoever will compare the poems of 1832 with the same poems as they
appeared in 1842 will see that the difference is not so much a
difference in degree, but almost a difference in kind. In the collection
of 1832 there were three gems, 'The Sisters', the lines 'To J. S. ' and
'The May Queen'. Almost all the others which are of any value were, in
the edition of 1842, carefully revised, and in some cases practically
rewritten. If Tennyson's career had closed in 1833 he would hardly have
won a prominent place among the minor poets of the present century. The
nine years which intervened between the publication of his second volume
and the volumes of 1842 were the making of him, and transformed a mere
dilettante into a master. Much has been said about the brutality of
Lockhart's review in the 'Quarterly'.
In some respects it was stupid, in
some respects it was unjust, but of one thing there can be no doubt--it
had a most salutary effect. It held up the mirror to weaknesses and
deficiencies which, if Tennyson did not care to acknowledge to others,
he must certainly have acknowledged to himself. It roused him and put
him on his mettle. It was a wholesome antidote to the enervating
flattery of coteries and "apostles" who were certainly talking a great
deal of nonsense about him, as Arthur Hallam's essay in the 'Englishman'
shows. During the next nine years he published nothing, with the
exception of two unimportant contributions to certain minor
periodicals. [1] But he was educating himself, saturating himself with
all that is best in the poetry of Ancient Greece and Rome, of modern
Italy, of Germany and of his own country, studying theology,
metaphysics, natural history, geology, astronomy and travels, observing
nature with the eye of a poet, a painter and a naturalist. Nor was he a
recluse. He threw himself heartily into the life of his time, following
with the keenest interest all the great political and social movements,
the progress and effects of the Reform Bill, the troubles in Ireland,
the troubles with the Colonies, the struggles between the Protectionists
and the Free Traders, Municipal Reform, the advance of the democracy,
Chartism, the popular education question. He travelled on the Continent,
he travelled in Wales and Scotland, he visited most parts of England,
not as an idle tourist, but as a student with note-book in hand. And he
had been submitted also to the discipline which is of all disciplines
the most necessary to the poet, and without which, as Goethe says, "he
knows not the heavenly powers": he had "ate his bread in sorrow". The
death of his father in 1831 had already brought him face to face, as he
has himself expressed it, with the most solemn of all mysteries. In 1833
he had an awful shock in the sudden death of his friend Arthur Hallam,
"an overwhelming sorrow which blotted out all joy from his life and made
him long for death". He had other minor troubles which contributed
greatly to depress him,--the breaking up of the old home at Somersby,
his own poverty and uncertain prospects, his being compelled in
consequence to break off all intercourse with Miss Emily Selwood. It is
possible that 'Love and Duty' may have reference to this sorrow; it is
certain that 'The Two Voices' is autobiographical.
Such was his education between 1832 and 1842, and such the influences
which were moulding him, while he was slowly evolving 'In Memoriam' and
the poems first published in the latter year. To the revision of the old
poems he brought tastes and instincts cultivated by the critical study
of all that was best in the poetry of the world, and more particularly
by a familiarity singularly intimate and affectionate with the
masterpieces of the ancient classics; he brought also the skill of a
practised workman, for his diligence in production was literally that of
Sir Joshua Reynolds in the sister art--'nulla dies sine linea'.
Dream of Fair Women', 'The Palace of Art', 'The Lady of Shalott'--I am
speaking of course of these poems in their first form--were full of
extraordinary blemishes. The volume was degraded by pieces which were
very unworthy of him, such as 'O Darling Room' and the verses 'To
Christopher North', and affectations of the worst kind deformed many,
nay, perhaps the majority of the poems. But the capital defect lay in
the workmanship. The diction is often languid and slipshod, sometimes
quaintly affected, and we can never go far without encountering lines,
stanzas, whole poems which cry aloud for the file. The power and charm
of Tennyson's poetry, even at its ripest, depend very largely, often
mainly, on expression, and the couplet which he envied Browning,
The little more, and how much it is,
The little less, and what worlds away,
is strangely applicable to his own art. On a single word, on a subtle
collocation, on a slight touch depend often his finest effects: "the
little less" reduces him to mediocrity, "the little more" and he is with
the masters. To no poetry would the application of Goethe's test be, as
a rule, more fatal--that the real poetic quality in poetry is that which
remains when it has been translated literally into prose.
Whoever will compare the poems of 1832 with the same poems as they
appeared in 1842 will see that the difference is not so much a
difference in degree, but almost a difference in kind. In the collection
of 1832 there were three gems, 'The Sisters', the lines 'To J. S. ' and
'The May Queen'. Almost all the others which are of any value were, in
the edition of 1842, carefully revised, and in some cases practically
rewritten. If Tennyson's career had closed in 1833 he would hardly have
won a prominent place among the minor poets of the present century. The
nine years which intervened between the publication of his second volume
and the volumes of 1842 were the making of him, and transformed a mere
dilettante into a master. Much has been said about the brutality of
Lockhart's review in the 'Quarterly'.
In some respects it was stupid, in
some respects it was unjust, but of one thing there can be no doubt--it
had a most salutary effect. It held up the mirror to weaknesses and
deficiencies which, if Tennyson did not care to acknowledge to others,
he must certainly have acknowledged to himself. It roused him and put
him on his mettle. It was a wholesome antidote to the enervating
flattery of coteries and "apostles" who were certainly talking a great
deal of nonsense about him, as Arthur Hallam's essay in the 'Englishman'
shows. During the next nine years he published nothing, with the
exception of two unimportant contributions to certain minor
periodicals. [1] But he was educating himself, saturating himself with
all that is best in the poetry of Ancient Greece and Rome, of modern
Italy, of Germany and of his own country, studying theology,
metaphysics, natural history, geology, astronomy and travels, observing
nature with the eye of a poet, a painter and a naturalist. Nor was he a
recluse. He threw himself heartily into the life of his time, following
with the keenest interest all the great political and social movements,
the progress and effects of the Reform Bill, the troubles in Ireland,
the troubles with the Colonies, the struggles between the Protectionists
and the Free Traders, Municipal Reform, the advance of the democracy,
Chartism, the popular education question. He travelled on the Continent,
he travelled in Wales and Scotland, he visited most parts of England,
not as an idle tourist, but as a student with note-book in hand. And he
had been submitted also to the discipline which is of all disciplines
the most necessary to the poet, and without which, as Goethe says, "he
knows not the heavenly powers": he had "ate his bread in sorrow". The
death of his father in 1831 had already brought him face to face, as he
has himself expressed it, with the most solemn of all mysteries. In 1833
he had an awful shock in the sudden death of his friend Arthur Hallam,
"an overwhelming sorrow which blotted out all joy from his life and made
him long for death". He had other minor troubles which contributed
greatly to depress him,--the breaking up of the old home at Somersby,
his own poverty and uncertain prospects, his being compelled in
consequence to break off all intercourse with Miss Emily Selwood. It is
possible that 'Love and Duty' may have reference to this sorrow; it is
certain that 'The Two Voices' is autobiographical.
Such was his education between 1832 and 1842, and such the influences
which were moulding him, while he was slowly evolving 'In Memoriam' and
the poems first published in the latter year. To the revision of the old
poems he brought tastes and instincts cultivated by the critical study
of all that was best in the poetry of the world, and more particularly
by a familiarity singularly intimate and affectionate with the
masterpieces of the ancient classics; he brought also the skill of a
practised workman, for his diligence in production was literally that of
Sir Joshua Reynolds in the sister art--'nulla dies sine linea'.
