Introduction - II
II
Tennyson's genius was slow in maturing. The poems contributed by him to
the volume of 1827, 'Poems by Two Brothers', are not without some slight
promise, but are very far from indicating extraordinary powers. A great
advance is discernible in 'Timbuctoo', but that Matthew Arnold should
have discovered in it the germ of Tennyson's future powers is probably
to be attributed to the youth of the critic. Tennyson was in his
twenty-second year when the 'Poems Chiefly Lyrical' appeared, and what
strikes us in these poems is certainly not what Arthur Hallam saw in
them: much rather what Coleridge and Wilson discerned in them. They are
the poems of a fragile and somewhat morbid young man in whose temper we
seem to see a touch of Hamlet, a touch of Romeo and, more healthily, a
touch of Mercutio. Their most promising characteristic is the
versatility displayed. Thus we find 'Mariana' side by side with the
'Supposed Confessions', the 'Ode to Memory' with Greek['oi rheontes'],
'The Ballad of Oriana' with 'The Dying Swan', 'Recollections of The
Arabian Nights' with 'The Poet'. Their worst fault is affectation.
Perhaps the utmost that can be said for them is that they display a fine
but somewhat thin vein of original genius, after deducing what they owe
to Coleridge, to Keats and to other poets. This is seen in the magical
touches of description, in the exquisite felicity of expression and
rhythm which frequently mark them, in the pathos and power of such a
poem as 'Oriana', in the pathos and charm of such poems as 'Mariana' and
'A Dirge', in the rich and almost gorgeous fancy displayed in 'The
Recollections'.
The poems of 1833 are much more ambitious and strike deeper notes. Here
comes in for the first time that Greek[spondai_otaes'], that high
seriousness which is one of Tennyson's chief characteristics--we see it
in 'The Palace of Art', in ''none' and in the verses 'To J. S.' But in
intrinsic merit the poems were no advance on their predecessors, for the
execution was not equal to the design. The best, such as ''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'. Into the
composition of the new poems all this entered. He was no longer a
trifler and a Hedonist. As Spedding has said, his former poems betrayed
"an over-indulgence in the luxuries of the senses, a profusion of
splendours, harmonies, perfumes, gorgeous apparel, luscious meals and
drinks, and creature comforts which rather pall upon the sense, and make
the glories of the outward world to obscure a little the world within".
Like his own 'Lady of Shalott', he had communed too much with shadows.
But the serious poet now speaks. He appeals less to the ear and the eye,
and more to the heart. The sensuous is subordinated to the spiritual and
the moral. He deals immediately with the dearest concerns of man and of
society. He has ceased to trifle. The the [Greek: spondai_otaes,] the
high seriousness of the true poet, occasional before, now pervades and
enters essentially into his work. It is interesting to note how many of
these poems have direct didactic purpose. How solemn is the message
delivered in such poems as 'The Palace of Art' and 'The Vision of Sin',
how noble the teaching in 'Love and Duty', in 'Oenone', in 'Godiva', in
'Ulysses'; to how many must such a poem as 'The Two Voices' have brought
solace and light; how full of salutary lessons are the political poems
'You ask me, why, though ill at ease' and 'Love thou thy Land', and how
noble is their expression! And, even where the poems are less directly
didactic, it is such refreshment as busy life needs to converse with
them, so pure, so wholesome, so graciously human is their tone, so
tranquilly beautiful is their world. Who could lay down 'The Miller's
Daughter, Dora, The Golden Year, The Gardener's Daughter, The Talking
Oak, Audley Court, The Day Dream' without something of the feeling which
Goethe felt when he first laid down 'The Vicar of Wakefield?' In the
best lyrics in these volumes, such as 'Break, Break', and 'Move
Eastward', 'Happy Earth', the most fastidious of critics must recognise
flawless gems. In the two volumes of 1842 Tennyson carried to perfection
all that was best in his earlier poems, and displayed powers of which he
may have given some indication in his cruder efforts, but which must
certainly have exceeded the expectation of the most sanguine of his
rational admirers. These volumes justly gave him the first place among
the poets of his time, and that supremacy he maintained--in the opinion
of most--till the day of his death. It would be absurd to contend that
Tennyson's subsequent publications added nothing to the fame which will
be secured to him by these poems. But this at least is certain, that,
taken with 'In Memorium', they represent the crown and flower of his
achievement. What is best in them he never excelled and perhaps never
equalled. We should be the poorer, and much the poorer, for the loss of
anything which he produced subsequently, it is true; but would we
exchange half a dozen of the best of these poems or a score of the best
sections of 'In Memoriam' for all that he produced between 1850 and his
death?
[Footnote 1: In 'The Keepsake', "St. Agnes' Eve"; in 'The Tribute',
"Stanzas": "Oh! that 'twere possible". Between 1831 and 1832 he had
contributed to 'The Gem' three, "No more," "Anacreontics," and "A
Fragment"; in 'The Englishman's Magazine', a Sonnet; in 'The Yorkshire
Literary Annual', lines, "There are three things that fill my heart with
sighs"; in 'Friendship's Offering', lines, "Me my own fate".]
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