.
1430 / THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY
were making a like start in life, and how he could stretch out a helping hand to them.
After long and anxious reflection this successful practical man of business could devise nothing better than to provide them with the means of obtaining "sound, extensive, and practical scientific knowledge." And he devoted a large part of his wealth and five years of incessant work to this end.
I need not point the moral of a tale which, as the solid and spacious fabric of the Scientific College assures us, is no fable, nor can anything which I could say intensify the force of this practical answer to practical objections.
We may take it for granted then, that, in the opinion of those best qualified to judge, the diffusion of thorough scientific education is an absolutely essential condition of industrial progress; and that the College which has been opened today will confer an inestimable boon upon those whose livelihood is to be gained by the practice of the arts and manufactures of the district.
The only question worth discussion is whether the conditions under which the work of the College is to be carried out are such as to give it the best possible chance of achieving permanent success.
Sir Josiah Mason, without doubt most wisely, has left very large freedom of action to the trustees, to whom he proposes ultimately to commit the administration of the College, so that they may be able to adjust its arrangements in accordance with the changing conditions of the future. But, with respect to three points, he has laid most explicit injunctions upon both administrators and teachers.
Party politics are forbidden to enter into the minds of either, so far as the work of the College is concerned; theology is as sternly banished from its precincts; and finally, it is especially declared that the College shall make no provision for "mere literary instruction and education."
It does not concern me at present to dwell upon the first two injunctions any longer than may be needful to express my full conviction of their wisdom. But the third prohibition brings us face to face with those other opponents of scientific education, who are by no means in the moribund condition of the practical man, but alive, alert, and formidable.
It is not impossible that we shall hear this express exclusion of "literary instruction and education" from a College which, nevertheless, professes to give a high and efficient education, sharply criticized. Certainly the time was that the Levites of culture would have sounded their trumpets against its walls as against an educational Jericho.7
How often have we not been told that the study of physical science is incompetent to confer culture; that it touches none of the higher problems of life; and, what is worse, that the continual devotion to scientific studies tends to generate a narrow and bigoted belief in the applicability of scientific methods to the search after truth of all kinds? How frequently one has reason to observe that no reply to a troublesome argument tells so well as calling its author a "mere scientific specialist." And, as I am afraid it is not permissible to speak of this form of opposition to scientific education in the past tense; may we not expect to be told that this, not only omission, but prohibition, of "mere literary instruction and education" is a patent example of scientific narrowmindedness?
7. Seven priests blew their trumpets before the city walls of Jericho to bring the walls down (Joshua 6.6� 20).
.
SCIENCE AND CULTURE / 1431
I am not acquainted with Sir Josiah Mason's reasons for the action which he has taken; but if, as I apprehend is the case, he refers to the ordinary classical course of our schools and universities by the name of "mere literary instruction and education," I venture to offer sundry reasons of my own in support of that action.
For I hold very strongly by two convictions: The first is that neither the discipline nor the subject matter of classical education is of such direct value to the student of physical science as to justify the expenditure of valuable time upon either; and the second is that for the purpose of attaining real culture, an exclusively scientific education is at least as effectual as an exclusively literary education.
I need hardly point out to you that these opinions, especially the latter, are diametrically opposed to those of the great majority of educated Englishmen, influenced as they are by school and university traditions. In their belief, culture is obtainable only by a liberal education; and a liberal education is synonymous, not merely with education and instruction in literature, but in one particular form of literature, namely, that of Greek and Roman antiquity. They hold that the man who has learned Latin and Greek, however little, is educated; while he who is versed in other branches of knowledge, however deeply, is a more or less respectable specialist, not admissible into the cultured caste. The stamp of the educated man, the University degree, is not for him.
I am too well acquainted with the generous catholicity of spirit, the true sympathy with scientific thought, which pervades the writings of our chief apostle of culture8 to identify him with these opinions; and yet one may cull from one and another of those epistles to the Philistines, which so much delight all who do not answer to that name, sentences which lend them some support.
Mr. Arnold tells us that the meaning of culture is "to know the best that has been thought and said in the world." It is the criticism of life contained in literature. That criticism regards "Europe as being, for intellectual and spiritual purposes, one great confederation, bound to a joint action and working to a common result; and whose members have, for their common outfit, a knowledge of Greek, Roman, and Eastern antiquity, and of one another. Special, local, and temporary advantages being put out of account, that modern nation will in the intellectual and spiritual sphere make most progress, which most thoroughly carries out this program. And what is that but saying that we too, all of us, as individuals, the more thoroughly we carry it out, shall make the more progress?"9
We have here to deal with two distinct propositions. The first, that a criticism of life is the essence of culture; the second, that literature contains the materials which suffice for the construction of such criticism.
I think that we must all assent to the first proposition. For culture certainly means something quite different from learning or technical skill. It implies the possession of an ideal, and the habit of critically estimating the value of things by comparison with a theoretic standard. Perfect culture should supply a complete theory of life, based upon a clear knowledge alike of its possibilities and of its limitations.
But we may agree to all this, and yet strongly dissent from the assumption that literature alone is competent to supply this knowledge. After having learnt
8. I.e., Matthew Arnold. For his discussion of the (p. 1398). Philistines, Arnold's name for the dull and narrow-9. Arnold, "The Function of Criticism at the Presminded middle classes, see "Culture and Anarchy" ent Time" (p. 1384).
.
1432 / THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY
all that Greek, Roman, and Eastern antiquity have thought and said, and all that modern literature have to tell us, it is not self-evident that we have laid a sufficiently broad and deep foundation for that criticism of life which constitutes culture.
Indeed, to anyone acquainted with the scope of physical science, it is not at all evident. Considering progress only in the "intellectual and spiritual sphere," I find myself wholly unable to admit that either nations or individuals will really advance, if their common outfit draws nothing from the stores of physical science. I should say that an army, without weapons of precision and with no particular base of operations, might more hopefully enter upon a campaign on the Rhine than a man, devoid of a knowledge of what physical science has done in the last century, upon a criticism of life.
When a biologist meets with an anomaly, he instinctively turns to the study of development to clear it up. The rationale of contradictory opinions may with equal confidence be sought in history.
It is, happily, no new thing that Englishmen should employ their wealth in building and endowing institutions for educational purposes. But, five or six hundred years ago, deeds of foundation expressed or implied conditions as nearly as possible contrary to those which have been thought expedient by Sir Josiah Mason. That is to say, physical science was practically ignored, while a certain literary training was enjoined as a means to the acquirement of knowledge which was essentially theological.
The reason of this singular contradiction between the actions of men alike animated by a strong and disinterested desire to promote the welfare of their fellows, is easily discovered.
At that time, in fact, if anyone desired knowledge beyond such as could be obtained by his own observation, or by common conversation, his first necessity was to learn the Latin language, inasmuch as all the higher knowledge of the western world was contained in words written in that language. Hence, Latin grammar, with logic and rhetoric, studied through Latin, were the fundamentals of education. With respect to the substance of the knowledge imparted through this channel, the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, as interpreted and supplemented by the Romish Church, were held to contain a complete and infallibly true body of information.
Theological dicta were, to the thinkers of those days, that which the axioms and definitions of Euclid1 are to the geometers of these. The business of the philosophers of the Middle Ages was to deduce from the data furnished by the theologians, conclusions in accordance with ecclesiastical decrees. They were allowed the high privilege of showing, by logical process, how and why that which the Church said was true, must be true. And if their demonstrations fell short of or exceeded this limit, the Church was maternally ready to check their aberrations; if need were, by the help of the secular arm.
Between the two, our ancestors were furnished with a compact and complete criticism of life. They were told how the world began and how it would end; they learned that all material existence was but a base and insignificant blot upon the fair face of the spiritual world, and that nature was, to all intents and purposes, the playground of the devil; they learned that the earth is the
1. Greek mathematician (active ca. 300 B.C.E.). His Elements remained a standard text of geometrical reasoning through the 19th century.
.
SCIENCE AND CULTURE / 1433
center of the visible universe, and that man is the cynosure of things terrestrial, and more especially was it inculcated that the course of nature had no fixed order, but that it could be, and constantly was, altered by the agency of innumerable spiritual beings, good and bad, according as they were moved by the deeds and prayers of men. The sum and substance of the whole doctrine was to produce the conviction that the only thing really worth knowing in this world was how to secure that place in a better which, under certain conditions, the Church promised.
Our ancestors had a living belief in this theory of life, and acted upon it in their dealings with education, as in all other matters. Culture meant saintliness� after the fashion of the saints of those days; the education that led to it was, of necessity, theological; and the way to theology lay through Latin.
That the study of nature�further than was requisite for the satisfaction of everyday wants�should have any bearing on human life was far from the thoughts of men thus trained. Indeed, as nature had been cursed for man's sake, it was an obvious conclusion that those who meddled with nature were likely to come into pretty close contact with Satan. And, if any born scientific investigator followed his instincts, he might safely reckon upon earning the reputation, and probably upon suffering the fate, of a sorcerer.
Had the western world been left to itself in Chinese isolation, there is no saying how long this state of things might have endured. But, happily, it was not left to itself. Even earlier than the thirteenth century, the development of Moorish civilization in Spain and the great movement of the Crusades had introduced the leaven which, from that day to this, has never ceased to work. At first, through the intermediation of Arabic translations, afterwards by the study of the originals, the western nations of Europe became acquainted with the writings of the ancient philosophers and poets, and, in time, with the whole of the vast literature of antiquity.
Whatever there was of high intellectual aspiration or dominant capacity in Italy, France, Germany, and England, spent itself for centuries in taking possession of the rich inheritance left by the dead civilizations of Greece and Rome. Marvelously aided by the invention of printing,2 classical learning spread and flourished. Those who possessed it prided themselves on having attained the highest culture then within the reach of mankind.
And justly. For, saving Dante on his solitary pinnacle, there was no figure in modern literature at the time of the Renaissance to compare with the men of antiquity; there was no art to compete with their sculpture; there was no physical science but that which Greece had created. Above all, there was no other example of perfect intellectual freedom�of the unhesitating acceptance of reason as the sole guide to truth and the supreme arbiter of conduct.
The new learning necessarily soon exerted a profound influence upon education. The language of the monks and schoolmen3 seemed little better than gibberish to scholars fresh from Virgil and Cicero,"1 and the study of Latin was placed upon a new foundation. Moreover, Latin itself ceased to afford the sole key to knowledge. The student who sought the highest thought of antiquity found only a secondhand reflection of it in Roman literature, and turned his face to the full light of the Greeks. And after a battle, not altogether dissimilar to that which is at present being fought over the teaching of physical science,
2. In the mid-1 5th century. 4. The two Roman writers generally viewed as the 3. Exponents of the theology, philosophy, and masters of. respectively, Latin poetry and Latin logic of the medieval period in Europe. prose.
.
1434 / THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY
the study of Greek was recognized as an essential element of all higher education.
Then the Humanists, as they were called, won the day; and the great reform which they effected was of incalculable service to mankind. But the nemesis of all reformers is finality; and the reformers of education, like those of religion, fell into the profound, however common, error of mistaking the beginning for the end of the work of reformation.
The representatives of the Humanists, in the nineteenth century, take their stand upon classical education as the sole avenue to culture as firmly as if we were still in the age of Renaissance. Yet, surely, the present intellectual relations of the modern and the ancient worlds are profoundly different from those which obtained three centuries ago. Leaving aside the existence of a great and characteristically modern literature, of modern painting, and, especially, of modern music, there is one feature of the present state of the civilized world which separates it more widely from the Benaissance than the Renaissance was separated from the Middle Ages.
This distinctive character of our own times lies in the vast and constantly increasing part which is played by natural knowledge. Not only is our daily life shaped by it; not only does the prosperity of millions of men depend upon it, but our whole theory of life has long been influenced, consciously or unconsciously, by the general conceptions of the universe which have been forced upon us by physical science.
In fact, the most elementary acquaintance with the results of scientific investigation shows us that they offer a broad and striking contradiction to the opinion so implicitly credited and taught in the Middle Ages.
The notions of the beginning and the end of the world entertained by our forefathers are no longer credible. It is very certain that the earth is not the chief body in the material universe, and that the world is not subordinated to man's use. It is even more certain that nature is the expression of a definite order with which nothing interferes, and that the chief business of mankind is to learn that order and govern themselves accordingly. Moreover this scientific "criticism of life" presents itself to us with different credentials from any other. It appeals not to authority, nor to what anybody may have thought or said, but to nature. It admits that all our interpretations of natural fact are more or less imperfect and symbolic, and bids the learner seek for truth not among words but among things. It warns us that the assertion which outstrips evidence is not only a blunder but a crime.
The purely classical education advocated by the representatives of the Humanists in our day gives no inkling of all this. A man maybe a better scholar than Erasmus,5 and know no more of the chief causes of the present intellectual fermentation than Erasmus did. Scholarly and pious persons, worthy of all respect, favor us with allocutions upon the sadness of the antagonism of science to their medieval way of thinking, which betray an ignorance of the first principles of scientific investigation, an incapacity for understanding what a man of science means by veracity, and an unconsciousness of the weight of established scientific truths, which is almost comical.
s* # it
5. Eminent Dutch humanist and scholar (1466�1 536).
.
SCIENCE AND CULTURE / 1435
Thus I venture to think that the pretensions of our modern Humanists to the possession of the monopoly of culture and to the exclusive inheritance of the spirit of antiquity must be abated, if not abandoned. But 1 should be very sorry that anything I have said should be taken to imply a desire on my part to depreciate the value of classical education, as it might be and as it sometimes is. The native capacities of mankind vary no less than their opportunities; and while culture is one, the road by which one man may best reach it is widely different from that which is most advantageous to another. Again, while scientific education is yet inchoate and tentative, classical education is thoroughly well organized upon the practical experience of generations of teachers. So that, given ample time for learning and estimation for ordinary life, or for a literary career, I do not think that a young Englishman in search of culture can do better than follow the course usually marked out for him, supplementing its deficiencies by his own efforts.
But for those who mean to make science their serious occupation; or who intend to follow the profession of medicine; or who have to enter early upon the business of life; for all these, in my opinion, classical education is a mistake; and it is for this reason that I am glad to see "mere literary education and instruction" shut out from the curriculum of Sir Josiah Mason's College, seeing that its inclusion would probably lead to the introduction of the ordinary smattering of Latin and Greek.
Nevertheless, 1 am the last person to question the importance of genuine literary education, or to suppose that intellectual culture can be complete without it. An exclusively scientific training will bring about a mental twist as surely as an exclusively literary training. The value of the cargo does not compensate for a ship's being out of trim; and I should be very sorry to think that the Scientific College would turn out none but lopsided men.
There is no need, however, that such a catastrophe should happen. Instruction in English, French, and German is provided, and thus the three greatest literatures of the modern world are made accessible to the student.
French and German, and especially the latter language, are absolutely indispensable to those who desire full knowledge in any department of science. But even supposing that the knowledge of these languages acquired is not more than sufficient for purely scientific purposes, every Englishman has, in his native tongue, an almost perfect instrument of literary expression; and, in his own literature, models of every kind of literary excellence. If an Englishman cannot get literary culture out of his Bible, his Shakespeare, his Milton, neither, in my belief, will the profoundest study of Homer and Sophocles, Virgil and Horace, give it to him.
Thus, since the constitution of the College makes sufficient provision for literary as well as for scientific education, and since artistic instruction is also contemplated, it seems to me that a fairly complete culture is offered to all who are willing to take advantage of it.
1880,1881
.
143 6 / THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY
From Agnosticism and Christianity1
[AGNOSTICISM DEFINED]
Nemo ergo ex me scire quaerat, quod me nescire scio, nisi forte ut
nescire discat.
�AUGUSTINUS, De Civ. Dei, XII.7.2
The present discussion has arisen out of the use, which has become general in the last few years, of the terms "Agnostic"3 and "Agnosticism."
The people who call themselves "Agnostics" have been charged with doing so because they have not the courage to declare themselves "Infidels." It has been insinuated that they have adopted a new name in order to escape the unpleasantness which attaches to their proper denomination. To this wholly erroneous imputation I have replied by showing that the term "Agnostic" did, as a matter of fact, arise in a manner which negatives it; and my statement has not been, and cannot be, refuted. Moreover, speaking for myself, and without impugning the right of any other person to use the term in another sense, I further say that Agnosticism is not properly described as a "negative" creed, nor indeed as a creed of any kind, except in so far as it expresses absolute faith in the validity of a principle, which is as much ethical as intellectual. This principle may be stated in various ways, but they all amount to this: that it is wrong for a man to say that he is certain of the objective truth of any proposition unless he can produce evidence which logically justifies that certainty. This is what Agnosticism asserts; and, in my opinion, it is all that is essential to Agnosticism. That which Agnostics deny and repudiate, as immoral, is the contrary doctrine, that there are propositions which men ought to believe, without logically satisfactory evidence; and that reprobation ought to attach to the profession of disbelief in such inadequately supported propositions. The justification of the Agnostic principles lies in the success which follows upon its application, whether in the field of natural, or in that of civil, history; and in the fact that, so far as these topics are concerned, no sane man thinks of denying its validity.
Still speaking for myself, I add that though Agnosticism is not, and cannot be, a creed, except in so far as its general principle is concerned; yet that the application of that principle results in the denial of, or the suspension of judgment concerning, a number of propositions respecting which our contemporary ecclesiastical "gnostics" profess entire certainty. And, in so far as these eccelesiastical persons can be justified in their old-established custom (which many nowadays think more honored in the breach than the observance) of using opprobrious names to those who differ from them, I fully admit their right to call me and those who think with me "Infidels"; all I have ventured to urge is that they must not expect us to speak of ourselves by that title.
The extent of the region of the uncertain, the number of the problems the investigation of which ends in a verdict of not proven, will vary according to the knowledge and the intellectual habits of the individual Agnostic. I do not very much care to speak of anything as "unknowable." What I am sure about
1. This essay appeared in a magazine in 1889 as a 2. No one, therefore, should seek to learn knowlreply to critics who had argued that agnostics were edge from me, for I know that I do not know� simply infidels under a new name. It was later unless indeed he wishes to learn that he does not included in Huxley's volume Essays on Some Con-know (Latin); Saint Augustine, City of God 12.7. troverted Questions (1892). 3. The term agnostic was coined by Huxley.
.
AGNOSTICISM AND CHRISTIANITY / 143 7
is that there are many topics about which I know nothing; and which, so far as I can see, are out of reach of my faculties. But whether these things are knowable by anyone else is exactly one of those matters which is beyond my knowledge, though I may have a tolerably strong opinion as to the probabilities of the case. Relatively to myself, I am quite sure that the region of uncertainty� the nebulous country in which words play the part of realities�is far more extensive than I could wish. Materialism and Idealism; Theism and Atheism; the doctrine of the soul and its mortality or immortality�appear in the history of philosophy like the shades of Scandinavian heroes, eternally slaying one another and eternally coming to life again in a metaphysical "Nifelheim."4 It is getting on for twenty-five centuries, at least, since mankind began seriously to give their minds to these topics. Generation after generation, philosophy has been doomed to roll the stone uphill; and, just as all the world swore it was at the top, down it has rolled to the bottom again.5 All this is written in innumerable books; and he who will toil through them will discover that the stone is just where it was when the work began. Hume saw this; Kant6 saw it; since their time, more and more eyes have been cleansed of the films which prevented them from seeing it; until now the weight and number of those who refuse to be the prey of verbal mystifications has begun to tell in practical life.
It was inevitable that a conflict should arise between Agnosticism and Theology; or rather, I ought to say, between Agnosticism and Ecclesiasticism. For Theology, the science, is one thing; and Ecclesiasticism, the championship of a foregone conclusion7 as to the truth of a particular form of Theology, is another. With scientific Theology, Agnosticism has no quarrel. On the contrary, the Agnostic, knowing too well the influence of prejudice and idiosyncrasy, even on those who desire most earnestly to be impartial, can wish for nothing more urgently than that the scientific theologian should not only be at perfect liberty to thresh out the matter in his own fashion; but that he should, if he can, find flaws in the Agnostic position; and, even if demonstration is not to be had, that he should put, in their full force, the grounds of the conclusions he thinks probable. The scientific theologian admits the Agnostic principle, however widely his results may differ from those reached by the majority of Agnostics.
But, as between Agnosticism and Ecclesiasticism, or, as our neighbors across the Channel call it, Clericalism, there can be neither peace nor truce. The Cleric asserts that it is morally wrong not to believe certain propositions, whatever the results of a strict scientific investigation of the evidence of these propositions. He tells us "that religious error is, in itself, of an immoral nature."8 He declares that he has prejudged certain conclusions, and looks upon those who show cause for arrest of judgment as emissaries of Satan. It necessarily follows that, for him, the attainment of faith, not the ascertainment of truth, is the highest aim of mental life. And, on careful analysis of the nature of this faith, it will too often be found to be, not the mystic process of unity with the Divine, understood by the religious enthusiast; but that which the
4. In Norse mythology realms of cold and dark-Scottish empiricist David Hume (1711�1776) ness. were a major influence on his work. 5. Cf. the Greek story of Sisyphus, who was in 7. Let us maintain, before we have proved. This Hades, condemned to keep rolling a stone uphill, seeming paradox is the secret of happiness. (Dr. which always rolled downhill again before it Newman, "Tract 85") [Huxley's note). For John reached the summit. Henry Newman, see p. 1033. 6. Immanuel Kant (1724�1804), German philos-8. Dr. Newman, Essay on Development [Huxley's opher who focused in large part on defining the note]. See An Essay on the Development of Chris- limits of human knowledge; the writings of the tian Doctrine (1845).
.
1438 / THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY
candid simplicity of a Sunday scholar once defined it to be. "Faith," said this unconscious plagiarist of Tertullian,9 "is the power of saying you believe things which are incredible."
Now I, and many other Agnostics, believe that faith, in this sense, is an abomination; and though we do not indulge in the luxury of self-righteousness so far as to call those who are not of our way of thinking hard names, we do feel that the disagreement between ourselves and those who hold this doctrine is even more moral than intellectual. It is desirable there should be an end of any mistakes on this topic. If our clerical opponents were clearly aware of the real state of the case, there would be an end of the curious delusion, which often appears between the lines of their writings, that those whom they are so fond of calling "Infidels" are people who not only ought to be, but in their hearts are, ashamed of themselves. It would be discourteous to do more than hint the antipodal opposition of this pleasant dream of theirs to facts.
The clerics and their lay allies commonly tell us that if we refuse to admit that there is good ground for expressing definite convictions about certain topics, the bonds of human society will dissolve and mankind lapse into savagery. There are several answers to this assertion. One is that the bonds of human society were formed without the aid of their theology; and, in the opinion of not a few competent judges, have been weakened rather than strengthened by a good deal of it. Greek science, Greek art, the ethics of old Israel, the social organization of old Rome, contrived to come into being, without the help of anyone who believed in a single distinctive article of the simplest of the Christian creeds. The science, the art, the jurisprudence, the chief political and social theories, of the modern world have grown out of those of Greece and Rome�not by favor of, but in the teeth of, the fundamental teachings of early Christianity, to which science, art, and any serious occupation with the things of this world, were alike despicable.
Again, all that is best in the ethics of the modern world, in so far as it has not grown out of Greek thought, or Barbarian manhood, is the direct development of the ethics of old Israel. There is no code of legislation, ancient or modern, at once so just and so merciful, so tender to the weak and poor, as the Jewish law; and, if the Gospels are to be trusted, Jesus of Nazareth himself declared that he taught nothing but that which lay implicitly, or explicitly, in the religious and ethical system of his people.
And the scribe said unto him, Of a truth, Teacher, thou hast well said that he is one; and there is none other but he and to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength, and to love his neighbour as himself, is much more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices. (Mark xii.32�33)
Here is the briefest of summaries of the teaching of the prophets of Israel of the eighth century;1 does the Teacher, whose doctrine is thus set forth in his presence, repudiate the exposition? Nay; we are told, on the contrary, that Jesus saw that he "answered discreetly," and replied, "Thou are not far from the kingdom of God."
So that I think that even if the creeds, from the so-called "Apostles' " to the so-called "Athanasian,"2 were swept into oblivion; and even if the human race
9. Latin author and Church father (ca. 155�ca. 2. Two important summaries of Christian doc222). Tertullian wrote of Christ's resurrection, "It trine. The Athanasian creed dates back to ca. 361; is certain because it is impossible" (De Carne the Apostles' baptismal creed developed between Christi 5). the 2nd and 9th centuries. 1. See Deuteronomy 6.4�5; 1 Samuel 15.22.
.
AGNOSTICISM AND CHRISTIANITY / 143 9
should arrive at the conclusion that, whether a bishop washes a cup or leaves it unwashed, is not a matter of the least consequence, it will get on very well. The causes which have led to the development of morality in mankind, which have guided or impelled us all the way from the savage to the civilized state, will not cease to operate because a number of ecclesiastical hypotheses turn out to be baseless. And, even if the absurd notion that morality is more the child of speculation than of practical necessity and inherited instinct, had any foundation; if all the world is going to thieve, murder, and otherwise misconduct itself as soon as it discovers that certain portions of ancient history are mythical; what is the relevance of such arguments to any one who holds by the Agnostic principle?
Surely, the attempt to cast out Beelzebub by the aid of Beelzebub3 is a hopeful procedure as compared to that of preserving morality by the aid of immorality. For I suppose it is admitted that an Agnostic may be perfectly sincere, may be competent, and may have studied the question at issue with as much care as his clerical opponents. But, if the Agnostic really believes what he says, the "dreadful consequence" argufier (consistently, I admit, with his own principles) virtually asks him to abstain from telling the truth, or to say what he believes to be untrue, because of the supposed injurious consequences to morality. "Beloved brethren, that we may be spotlessly moral, before all things let us lie," is the sum total of many an exhortation addressed to the "Infidel." Now, as I have already pointed out, we cannot oblige our exhorters. We leave the practical application of the convenient doctrines of "Reserve" and "Non-natural interpretation" to those who invented them.4
I trust that I have now made amends for any ambiguity, or want of fullness, in my previous exposition of that which I hold to be the essence of the Agnostic doctrine. Henceforward, I might hope to hear no more of the assertion that we are necessarily Materialists, Idealists, Atheists, Theists, or any other ists, if experience had led me to think that the proved falsity of a statement was any guarantee against its repetition. And those who appreciate the nature of our position will see, at once, that when Ecclesiasticism declares that we ought to believe this, that, and the other, and are very wicked if we don't, it is impossible for us to give any answer but this: We have not the slightest objection to believe anything you like, if you will give us good grounds for belief; but, if you cannot, we must respectfully refuse, even if that refusal should wreck morality and insure our own damnation several times over. We are quite content to leave that to the decision of the future. The course of the past has impressed us with the firm conviction that no good ever comes of falsehood, and we feel warranted in refusing even to experiment in that direction.
=* $ �
1889,1892
3. Mark 3.22-27. est. "Reserve": "an intentional suppression of truth 4. A way of maintaining assent to a Scriptural pas-in cases where it might lead to inconvenience" sage without accepting its literal or obvious sense; ( . 1440 GEORGE MEREDITH 1828-1909 Like Thomas Hardy, George Meredith preferred writing poetry to writing novels, but it was as the author of The Ordeal of Richard Feverel (1859), The Egoist (1879), and other novels that he made his mark. His poems nevertheless deserve more attention than they have yet received, especially Modem Love (1862), a fascinating narrative poem that was greeted by the Saturday Review as "a grave moral mistake." This sequence of fifty sixteen-line sonnets is a kind of novel in verse that analyzes the sufferings of a husband and wife whose marriage is breaking up. The story is told, for the most part, by the husband speaking in the first person, but the opening and closing sections are narrated in the third person. Modern Love was probably derived, in part, from Meredith's experiences. At twenty-one, at the outset of his career as a writer in London, he married a daughter of the satirist Thomas Love Peacock (1785-1866). Nine years later, after a series of quarrels, his wife eloped to Europe with another artist. The Merediths were never reconciled, and in 1861 she died. From Modern Love 1 By this he knew she wept with waking eyes: That, at his hand's light quiver by her head, The strange low sobs that shook their common bed Were called into her with a sharp surprise, 5 And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes, Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes Her giant heart of Memory and Tears to Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat Sleep's heavy measure, they from head to feet Were moveless, looking through their dead black years By vain regret scrawled over the blank wall. Like sculptured effigies they might be seen 15 Upon their marriage tomb, the sword between;1 Each wishing for the sword that severs all. 2 It ended, and the morrow brought the task. Her eyes were guilty gates, that let him in By shutting all too zealous for their sin: Each sucked a secret, and each wore a mask. 5 But, oh, the bitter taste her beauty had! He sickened as at breath of poison-flowers: A languid humor stole among the hours, And if their smiles encountered, he went mad, And raged deep inward, till the light was brown io Before his vision, and the world, forgot, 1. In medieval legend a naked sword between lovers ensured chastity. . MODERN LOVE / 1441 Looked wicked as some old dull murder spot. A star with lurid beams, she seemed to crown The pit of infamy: and then again He fainted on his vengefulness, and strove 15 To ape the magnanimity of love, And smote himself, a shuddering heap of pain. 17 At dinner, she is hostess, I am host. Went the feast ever cheerfuller? She keeps The Topic over intellectual deeps In buoyancy afloat. They see no ghost. 5 With sparkling surface-eyes we ply the ball: It is in truth a most contagious game: HIDING THE SKELETON, shall be its name . Such play as this the devils might appall! But here's the greater wonder: in that we, io Enamored of an acting naught can tire. Each other, like true hypocrites, admire; Warm-lighted looks, Love's ephemeridae,2 Shoot gaily o'er the dishes and the wine. We waken envy of our happy lot. 15 Fast, sweet, and golden, shows the marriage knot. Dear guests, you now have seen Love's corpse-light' shine. 49 He found her by the ocean's moaning verge, Nor any wicked change in her discerned; And she believed his old love had returned, Which was her exultation, and her scourge. 5 She took his hand, and walked with him, and seemed The wife he sought, though shadowlike and dry. She had one terror, lest her heart should sigh, And tell her loudly she no longer dreamed. She dared not say, "This is my breast: look in." io But there's a strength to help the desperate weak. That night he learned how silence best can speak The awful things when Pity pleads for Sin. About the middle of the night her call Was heard, and he came wondering to the bed. 15 "Now kiss me, dear! it may be, now!" she said. Lethe'1 had passed those lips, and he knew all. 50 Thus piteously Love closed what he begat: The union of this ever diverse pair! These two were rapid falcons in a snare, 2. Insects that live for one day only. believed to portend a funeral. 3. Phosphorescent light such as that seen in 4. River of forgetfulness in Hades, the Greek marshes. When appearing in a cemetery it was underworld. . 144 2 / DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Condemned to do the flitting of the bat. Lovers beneath the singing sky of May, They wandered once; clear as the dew on flowers: Rut they fed not on the advancing hours: Their hearts held cravings for the buried day. Then each applied to each that fatal knife, 10 Deep questioning, which probes to endless dole.0 grief Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life!� In tragic hints here see what evermore Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean's force, is Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse, To throw that faint thin line upon the shore! 1862 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 1828-1882 Dante Gabriel Rossetti was the son of an Italian patriot and scholar whose political activities had led to his being exiled to England. The Rossetti household in London was one in which liberal politics and artistic topics were hotly debated; all four children� Maria Francesca, Dante Gabriel, William Michael, and Christina Georgina� wrote, drew, or engaged in scholarly pursuits from a young age. Displaying extraordinary early promise both as a painter and as a poet, Dante Gabriel luxuriated in colors and textures, and was especially drawn to feminine beauty. His view of life and art, derived in part from his close study of John Keats's poems and letters, anticipated by many years the aesthetic movement later to be represented by men such as Walter Pater, Oscar Wilde, and the painter James McNeill Whistler, who insisted that art must be exclusively concerned with the beautiful, not with the useful or didactic. The beauty that Rossetti admired in the faces of women was of a distinctive kind. In at least two of his models he found what he sought. The first was his wife, Elizabeth Siddal, whose suicide in 1862 haunted him with a sense of guilt for the rest of his life. The other was Jane Morris, the wife of his friend William Morris. In Rossetti's paintings both of these models are shown with dreamy stares, as if they were breathless from visions of heaven; but counteracting this impression is an emphasis on parted lips and voluptuous curves suggesting a more earthly kind of ecstasy. Similar combinations of spirituality and physicality, or mind and body, are to be found in many of Rossetti's poems. For instance, the central figure of "The Blessed Damozel" (1850), a poem begun when Bossetti was eighteen and was heavily influenced by the work of Dante Alighieri, leans upon "the gold bar of heaven" and makes it "warm" with her bosom. In jenny (1870), another work started in Bossetti's early adulthood, a male speaker muses about the life and thoughts of the young prostitute whose head rests upon his knee as she sleeps: his speculations thus replace, or stand in for, more overt sexual acts between them. And The House of Life (1870), his sonnet sequence, undertakes to explore the relationship of spirit to body in love. Some Victorian readers found little Dante-like spirituality in The House of Life; the critic Bobert Buchanan, for example, saw only lewd sensuality, and his 1871 pamphlet, "The Fleshly School of Poetry," treated Bossetti's poetry to the most severe abuse. Buchanan's attack hurt the poet profoundly and contributed to the recurring bouts of nervous depression from which he suffered in the remaining years of his life. . THE BLESSED DAMOZEL / 1443 Rossetti and his artist friends called women such as Jane Morris "stunners." The epithet can also be applied to Rossetti's poetry, especially his later writings. In his maturity he used stunning polysyllabic diction to convey opulence and density. Earlier poems such as "My Sister's Sleep" (1850) are usually much less elaborate in manner and reflect the original aesthetic values of the Pre-Raphaelite movement in which Rossetti played a central and founding role. In 1848 a group of young artists and writers came together in what they called the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. The most prominent members were painters, notably John Everett Millais, William Holman Hunt, and Rossetti. Their principal object was to reform English painting by repudiating the established academic style in favor of a revival of the simplicity and pure colors of pre-Renaissance art. Because each artist preferred to develop his own individual manner, the Brotherhood did not cohere for more than a few years. Rossetti grew away from the Pre-Raphaelite manner and his early choice of religious subjects, cultivating instead a more richly ornate style of painting. In both the early and the late phases of his art, however, many have viewed him as essentially a poet in his painting and a painter in his poetry. "Colour and meter," he once said, "these are the true patents of nobility in painting and poetry, taking precedence of all intellectual claims." For images of some Rossetti paintings, see "The Painterly Image in Poetry" at Norton Literature Online. The Blessed Damozel1 The blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of heaven; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even; 5 She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. ioHer robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn, But a white rose of Mary's gift, For service meetly" Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe corn.0 worn; fittingly grain 15Herseemed2 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. 20(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. . . . 1. A poetic version of "damsel," signifying a young mined to reverse the conditions, and give utterance unmarried lady. Rossetti once explained that to the yearning of the loved one in heaven." The "Blessed Damozel" is related to Edgar Allan Poe's thoughts of the damozel's still-living lover appear "The Raven" (1845), a poem he admired. "I saw In the poem in parentheses. that Poe had done the utmost it was possible to do 2. It seemed to her. with the grief of the lover on earth, and so I deter . 1444 / DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace.) 25 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 30 She scarce could see the sun. It lies in heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge 35 The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Around her, lovers, newly met 'Mid deathless love's acclaims, Spoke evermore among themselves 40 Their heart-remembered names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And stilj she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm; 45 Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, A detail from The Blessed Damozel (1875-78). In the second phase of his painting career, Rossetti turned from the religious and literary subjects of his early work (see, for instance, his illustration for "The Lady of Shalott," p. 1118) to huge sensual portraits of women, often designed as companion pieces to his poems. For another example of Rossetti's visual art, see the frontispiece he drew for his sister Christina's first volume of poems, p. 1470. . THE BLESSED DAMOZEL / 1445 And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. From the fixed place of heaven she saw 50 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. 55 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 60 Had when they sang together.3 (Ah, sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there, Fain to be harkened? When those bells Possessed the midday air, 65 Strove not her steps to reach my side Down all the echoing stair?) "I wish that he were come to me, For he will come," she said. "Have I not prayed in heaven?�on earth, 70 Lord, Lord, has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? "When round his head the aureole0 clings, halo And he is clothed in white, 75 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. "We two will stand beside that shrine, 80 Occult,0 withheld, untrod, hidden, mysterious Whose lamps are stirred continually With prayer sent up to God; And see our old prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud. 85 "We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree4 Within whose secret growth the Dove5 Is sometimes felt to be, 3. Job 38.7. 5. The tree of life, as described in an apocalyptic 4. A tangible manifestation of the Holy Spirit vision in the Bible (Revelation 22.2). (Mark 1.10), frequent in Christian art. . 1446 / DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI While every leaf that His plumes touch 90 Saith His Name audibly. "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, 95 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 IOO To endless unity The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee?) "We two," she said, "will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, 105 With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret, and Rosalys.6 "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks 110 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. 115 "He shall fear, haply,� and be dumb; perhapsThen will I lay my cheek To his, and tell about our love, Not once abashed or weak; And the dear Mother will approve 120 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; 125 And angels meeting us shall sing To their citherns and citoles.7 "There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me� Only to live as once on earth BO With Love�only to be, As then awhile, forever now, Together, I and he." 6. Rossetti creates this list of Mary's handmaidens ical characters. from various saints, historical figures, and allegor- 7. Guitariike instruments. . MY SISTER'S SLEEP / 1447 She gazed and listened and then said, Less sad of speech than mild� 135 "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 no 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.) 1846 1850 My Sister's Sleep1 She fell asleep on Christmas Eve. At length the long-ungranted shade Of weary eyelids overweighed The pain nought else might yet relieve. 5 Our mother, who had leaned all day Over the bed from chime to chime, Then raised herself for the first time, And as she sat her down, did pray. Her little worktable was spread io With work to finish. For� the glare because of Made by her candle, she had care To work some distance from the bed. Without, there was a cold moon up, Of winter radiance sheer and thin; 15 The hollow halo it was in Was like an icy crystal cup. Through the small room, with subtle sound Of flame, by vents the fireshine drove And reddened. In its dim alcove 20 The mirror shed a clearness round. I had been sitting up some nights, And my tired mind felt weak and blank; Like a sharp strengthening wine it drank The stillness and the broken lights. 1. The incident in this poem is imaginary, not autobiographical. . 144 8 / DANT E GABRIE L ROSSETT I 25 Twelve struck. That sound, by dwindling years Heard in each hour, crept off; and then The ruffled silence spread again, Like water that a pebble stirs. 30Our mother rose from where she sat; Her needles, as she laid them down, Met lightly, and her silken gown Settled�no other noise than that. 35"Glory unto the Newly Born!" So, as said angels, she did say, Because we were in Christmas Day, Though it would still be long till morn. 40Just then in the room over us There was a pushing back of chairs, As some who had sat unawares So late, now heard the hour, and rose. With anxious softly-stepping haste Our mother went where Margaret lay, Fearing the sounds o'erhead�should they Have broken her long watched-for rest! 45 She stooped an instant, calm, and turned, But suddenly turned back again; And all her features seemed in pain With woe, and her eyes gazed and yearned. 50For my part, I but hid my face, And held my breath, and spoke no word. There was none spoken; but I heard The silence for a little space. 55Our mother bowed herself and wept; And both my arms fell, and I said, "God knows I knew that she was dead." And there, all white, my sister slept. 1847 60Then kneeling, upon Christmas morn A little after twelve o'clock, We said, ere the first quarter struck, "Christ's blessing on the newly born!" 1850 . JENNY / 1449 Jenny Vengeance of Jenny's case! Fie on her! Never name her, child!�(Mrs. Quickly.)' Lazy laughing languid Jenny, Fond of a kiss and fond of a guinea,2 Whose head upon my knee to-night Rests for a while, as if grown light 5 With all our dances and the sound To which the wild tunes spun you round: Fair Jenny mine, the thoughtless queen Of kisses which the blush between Could hardly make much daintier; 10 Whose eyes are as blue skies, whose hair Is countless gold incomparable: Fresh flower, scarce touched with signs that tell Of Love's exuberant hotbed:�Nay, Poor flower left torn since yesterday 15 Until to-morrow leave you bare; Poor handful of bright spring-water Flung in the whirlpool's shrieking face; Poor shameful Jenny, full of grace3 Thus with your head upon my knee;� 20 Whose person or whose purse may be The lodestar0 of your reverie? guiding star This room of yours, my Jenny, looks A change from mine so full of books, Whose serried4 ranks hold fast, forsooth, 25 So many captive hours of youth,� The hours they thieve from day and night To make one's cherished work come right, And leave it wrong for all their theft, Even as to-night my work was left: 30 Until I vowed that since my brain And eyes of dancing seemed so fain,� desirous My feet should have some dancing too:� And thus it was I met with you. Well, I suppose 'twas hard to part, 35 For here I am. And now, sweetheart, You seem too tired to get to bed. It was a careless life I led When rooms like this were scarce so strange Not long ago. What breeds the change,� 40 The many aims or the few years? Because to-night it all appears Something I do not know again. 1. Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor 3. Allusion to the first line of the prayer to the 4.1.53�54. Mistress Quickly continues: "if she be Virgin Mary: "Hail Mary, full of grace." a whore." 4. Pressed close together. 2. English gold coin worth twenty-one shillings. . 145 0 / DANT E GABRIE L ROSSETT I 455055The cloud's not danced out of my brain� The cloud that made it turn and swim While hour by hour the books grew dim. Why, Jenny, as I watch you there,� For all your wealth of loosened hair, Your silk ungirdled and unlac'd And warm sweets open to the waist. All golden in the lamplight's gleam,� You know not what a book you seem, Half-read by lightning in a dream! How should you know, my Jenny? Nay, And I should be ashamed to say:� Poor beauty, so well worth a kiss! But while my thought runs on like this With wasteful whims more than enough, I wonder what you're thinking of. 6065If of myself you think at all, What is the thought?�conjectural On sorry matters best unsolved?� Or inly� is each grace revolved To fit me with a lure?�or (sad To think!) perhaps you're merely glad That I'm not drunk or ruffianly And let you rest upon my knee. inwardly to75so85For 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 Proclaim the strength that keeps her weak, And other nights than yours bespeak; And from the wise unchildish elf, To schoolmate lesser than himself Pointing you out, what thing you are:� Yes, from the daily jeer and jar, From shame and shame's outbraving too, 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. treat 90Well, handsome Jenny mine, sit up: I've filled our glasses, let us sup, And do not let me think of you, Lest shame of yours suffice for two. . JENNY / 1451 What, still so tired? Well, well then, keep Your head there, so you do not sleep; 95 But that the weariness may pass And leave you merry, take this glass. Ah! lazy lily hand, more bless'd If ne'er in rings it had been dress'd Nor ever by a glove conceal'd! ioo Behold the lilies of the field, They toil not neither do they spin; (So doth the ancient text5 begin,� Not of such rest as one of these Can share.) Another rest and ease 105 Along each summer-sated path From its new lord the garden hath, Than that whose spring in blessings ran Which praised the bounteous husbandman,0 farmer Ere yet, in days of hankering breath, 110 The lilies sickened unto death. What, Jenny, are your lilies dead? Aye, and the snow-white leaves are spread Like winter on the garden-bed. But you had roses left in May,� ii5 They were not gone too. Jenny, nay, But must your roses die, and those Their purfled6 buds that should unclose? Even so; the leaves are curled apart, Still red as from the broken heart, 120 And here's the naked stem of thorns. Nay, nay, mere words. Here nothing warns As yet of winter. Sickness here Or want alone could waken fear,� Nothing but passion wrings a tear. 125 Except when there may rise unsought Haply at times a passing thought Of the old days which seem to be Much older than any history That is written in any book; 130 When she would lie in fields and look Along the ground through the blown grass And wonder where the city was, Far out of sight, whose broil and bale0 turmoil and evil They told her then for a child's tale. 135 Jenny, you know the city now. A child can tell the tale there, how Some things which are not yet enroll'd In market-lists are bought and sold Even till the early Sunday light, 5. Matthew 6.28. 6. With a decorative edging. . 1452 / DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 140 When Saturday night is market-night Everywhere, be it dry or wet, And market-night in the Haymarket.7 Our learned London children know, Poor Jenny, all your pride and woe; 145 Have seen your lifted silken skirt Advertise dainties through the dirt; Have seen your coach-wheels splash rebuke On virtue; and have learned your look When, wealth and health slipped past, you stare 150 Along the streets alone, and there, Round the long park, across the bridge, The cold lamps at the pavement's edge Wind on together and apart, A fiery serpent for your heart. Let the thoughts pass, an empty cloud I Suppose I were to think aloud,� What if to her all this were said? Why, as a volume seldom read Being opened halfway shuts again, 160 So might the pages of her brain Be parted at such words, and thence Close back upon the dusty sense. For is there hue or shape defin'd In Jenny's desecrated mind, 165 Where all contagious currents meet, A Lethe8 of the middle street? Nay, it reflects not any face, Nor sound is in its sluggish pace, But as they coil those eddies0 clot, small whirlpools And night and day remember not. Why, Jenny, you're asleep at last!� Asleep, poor Jenny, hard and fast,� So young and soft and tired; so fair, With chin thus nestled in your hair, 175 Mouth quiet, eyelids almost blue As if some sky of dreams shone through! Just as another woman sleeps! Enough to throw one's thoughts in heaps Of doubt and horror,�what to say i8o 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,9 Two sister vessels. Here is one. 7. Street in London frequented by prostitutes. 9. Romans 9.21: "Hath not the potter power over 8. The river of forgetfulness in the Greek under-the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto world. Gutters in London often ran through the honor, and another unto dishonor?" middle of the street. . JENNY / 1453 185 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, 190 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: 195 The unconquered mirth turn quieter Not through her own, through others' woe: The conscious pride of beauty glow Beside another's pride in her, One little part of all they share. 200 For Love himself shall ripen these In a kind soil to just increase Through years of fertilizing peace. Of the same lump (as it is said) For honour and dishonour made, 205 Two sister vessels. Here is one. It makes a goblin1 of the sun. So pure,�so fall'n! How dare to think Of the first common kindred link? Yet, Jenny, till the world shall burn 210 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! 215 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? 220 How Jenny's clock ticks on the shelf! Might not the dial scorn itself That has such hours to register? Yet as to me, even so to her Are golden sun and silver moon, 225 In daily largesse of earth's boon, Counted for life-coins to one tune. And if, as blindfold fates are toss'd, Through some one man this life be lost, Shall soul not somehow pay for soul? 230 Fair shines the gilded aureole0 halo In which our highest painters place 1. A gold coin (slang). . 1454 / DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Some living woman's simple face. And the stilled features thus descried As Jenny's long throat droops aside,� 235 The shadows where the cheeks are thin, And pure wide curve from ear to chin,� With Raffael's, Leonardo's2 hand To show them to men's souls, might stand, Whole ages long, the whole world through, 240 For preachings of what God can do. What has man done here? How atone, Great God, for this which man has done? And for the body and soul which by Man's pitiless doom must now comply 245 With lifelong hell, what lullaby Of sweet forgetful second birth Remains? All dark. No sign on earth What measure of God's rest endows The many mansions of his house.3 250 If but a woman's heart might see Such erring heart unerringly For once! Rut that can never be. Like a rose shut in a book In which pure women may not look, 255 For its base pages claim control To crush the flower within the soul; Where through each dead rose-leaf that clings, Pale as transparent Psyche-wings,4 To the vile text, are traced such things 260 As might make lady's cheek indeed More than a living rose to read; So nought save foolish foulness may Watch with hard eyes the sure decay: And so the life-blood of this rose, 265 Puddled with shameful knowledge, flows Through leaves no chaste hand may unclose; Yet still it keeps such faded show Of when 'twas gathered long ago, That the crushed petals' lovely grain, 270 The sweetness of the sanguine0 stain, blood-red Seen of a woman's eyes, must make Her pitiful heart, so prone to ache, Love roses better for its sake:� Only that this can never be:� 275 Even so unto her sex is she. Yet, Jenny, looking long at you, The woman almost fades from view. 2. The painters Raphael (Raffaello Sanzio, 1483� escaped the body after death. Also, in the well1520) and Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). known story told by Apuleius (The Goldeji Ass, 2nd 3. Cf. John 14.2: "In my Father's house are many century C.E.), Psyche was a maiden beloved by mansions." Cupid. 4. The soul, often symbolized by a butterfly that . JENNY / 1455 A cipher of man's changeless sum Of lust, past, present, and to come, 280 Is left. A riddle that one shrinks To challenge from the scornful sphinx.5 Like a toad within a stone Seated while Time crumbles on; Which sits there since the earth was curs'd 285 For Man's transgression at the first; Which, living through all centuries, Not once has seen the sun arise; Whose life, to its cold circle charmed, The earth's whole summers have not warmed; 290 Which always�whitherso the stone Be flung�sits there, deaf, blind, alone;� Aye, and shall not be driven out Till that which shuts him round about Break at the very Master's stroke, 295 And the dust thereof vanish as smoke, And the seed of Man vanish as dust:� Even so within this world is Lust. Come, come, what use in thoughts like this? Poor little Jenny, good to kiss,� 300 You'd not believe by what strange roads Thought travels, when your beauty goads A man to-night to think of toads! Jenny, wake up . . . Why, there's the dawn! And there's an early waggon drawn 305 To market, and some sheep that jog Bleating before a barking dog; And the old streets come peering through Another night that London knew; And all as ghostlike as the lamps. 310 So on the wings of day decamps My last night's frolic. Glooms begin To shiver off as lights creep in Past the gauze curtains half drawn-to, And the lamp's doubled shade grows blue,� 315 Your lamp, my Jenny, kept alight, Like a wise virgin's, all one night!6 And in the alcove coolly spread Glimmers with dawn your empty bed; And yonder your fair face I see 320 Reflected lying on my knee, Where teems with first foreshadowings Your pier-glass7 scrawled with diamond rings: 5. In Greek mythology a monster with a lion's 6. Cf. Matthew 25.1-13. In the parable of the body, bird's wings, and woman's face. The answer wise and foolish virgins, the wise virgins took sufto her riddle�what walks on four legs in the morn-ficient oil to keep their lamps burning all night. ing, three at noon, and three in the evening?�is 7. A mirror. Lovers would scratch their names on man, at different ages. it with the diamonds in their rings. . 1456 / DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI And on your bosom all night worn Yesterday's rose now droops forlorn, 325 But dies not yet this summer morn. And now without, as if some word Had called upon them that they heard, The London sparrows far and nigh Clamour together suddenly; 330 And Jenny's cage-bird grown awake Here in their song his part must take, Because here too the day doth break. And somehow in myself the dawn Among stirred clouds and veils withdrawn 335 Strikes greyly on her. Let her sleep. But will it wake her if I heap These cushions thus beneath her head Where my knee was? No,�there's your bed, My Jenny, while you dream. And there 340 I lay among your golden hair, Perhaps the subject of your dreams, These golden coins. For still one deems That Jenny's flattering sleep confers New magic on the magic purse,� 345 Grim web, how clogged with shrivelled flies! Between the threads fine fumes arise And shape their pictures in the brain. There roll no streets in glare and rain. Nor flagrant man-swine whets his tusk; 350 But delicately sighs in musk The homage of the dim boudoir; Or like a palpitating star Thrilled into song, the opera-night Breathes faint in the quick pulse of light; 355 Or at the carriage-window shine Rich wares for choice; or, free to dine, Whirls through its hour of health (divine For her) the concourse of the Park. And though in the discounted dark 360 Her functions there and here are one, Beneath the lamps and in the sun There reigns at least the acknowledged belle Apparelled beyond parallel. Ah Jenny, yes, we know your dreams. 365 For even the Paphian8 Venus seems A goddess o'er the realms of love, When silver-shrined in shadowy grove: Aye, or let offerings nicely plac'd 8. Of Paphos, a city on Cyprus that was the site of a famous temple of Aphrodite (the Roman Venus). Also, a term for prostitute. . THE HOUSE OF LIFE / 1457 But hide Priapus9 to the waist, 370 And whoso looks on him shall see An eligible deity. Why, Jenny, waking here alone May help you to remember one, Though all the memory's long outworn 375 Of many a double-pillowed morn. I think I see you when you wake, And rub your eyes for me, and shake My gold, in rising, from your hair, A Danae1 for a moment there. aso Jenny, my love rang true! for still Love at first sight is vague, until That tinkling makes him audible. And must I mock you to the last, Ashamed of my own shame,�aghast 385 Because some thoughts not born amiss Rose at a poor fair face like this? Well, of such thoughts so much I know: In my life, as in hers, they show, By a far gleam which I may near, 390 A dark path I can strive to clear. Only one kiss. Good-bye, my dear. 1848 1870 From The House of Life The Sonnet A Sonnet is a moment's monument� Memorial from the Soul's eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, Whether for lustral0 rite or dire portent, purificatory5 Of its own arduous fullness reverent; Carve it in ivory or in ebony, As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see Its flowering crest impearled and orient. A Sonnet is a coin; its face reveals io The soul�its converse, to what Power 'tis due� Whether for tribute to the august appeals Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue, It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath, In Charon's1 palm it pay the toll to Death. 9. A Greek fertility god, whose symbol was the 1. In classical mythology the ferryman who, for a phallus. fee, rowed the souls of the dead across the river 1. In Greek mythology a maiden whom Zeus vis-Styx. ited in the form of a shower of gold. . 145 8 / DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI Nuptial Sleep2 At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled, So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. 5 Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red, Fawned on each other where they lay apart. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams, 10 And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away. Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day; Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke, and wondered more: for there she lay. 19. Silent Noon Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass� The finger-points look through like rosy blooms; Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass. 5 All round our nest, far as the eye can pass, Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn hedge. 'Tis visible silence, still as the hourglass. Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragonfly io Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky� So this winged hour is dropped to us from above. Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower, This close-companioned inarticulate hour When twofold silence was the song of love. 77. Soul's Beauty3 Under the arch of Life, where love and death, Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw Beauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck awe, I drew it in as simply as my breath. 5 Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath, The sky and sea bend on thee,�which can draw, 2. In "The Fleshly School of Poetry" (1871), Rob-sonnets' original titles. The original title of "Soul's ert Buchanan made this poem the focus of his Beauty" was "Sibylla Palmifera," or "palm-bearing attack on what he felt was Rossetti's lewd sensu-sibyl." Sibyls are prophetesses; one of them, the ality in the 1870 volume Poems. In 1881, when Sibyl of Cumae, wrote her prophecies on palm Rossetti published his next collection of poems, he leaves. The original title of "Body's Beauty" was omitted this sonnet from The House of Life. "Lilith"; in Talmudic legend Lilith, Adam's first 3. This sonnet and the next were not originally wife, ran away from her husband and became a part of The House of Life, but were composed to witch. accompany paintings with the same names as the . CHRISTIN A ROSSETT I / 145 9 By sea or sky or woman, to one law, The allotted bondman0 of her palm and wreath. slave 10This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still,�long known to thee By flying hair and fluttering hem,�the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet, How passionately and irretrievably, In what fond flight, how many ways and days! 78. Body's Beauty Of Adams'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. 5 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 io 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. 1848-80 1870,1881 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 1830-1894 Referring to the title of George Gissing's 1893 novel about women who choose not to marry, the critic Jerome McGann calls Christina Rossetti "one of nineteenth- century England's greatest 'Odd Women.' " Her life had little apparent incident. She was the youngest child in the Rossetti family. Her father was an exiled Italian patriot who wrote poetry and commentaries on Dante that tried to find evidence in his poems of mysterious ancient conspiracies; her mother was an Anglo-Italian who had worked as a governess. Their household was a lively gathering place for Italian exiles, full of conversation of politics and culture; and Christina, like her brothers Dante Gabriel and William Michael, was encouraged to develop an early love for art and literature and to draw and write poetry from a very early age. When she was an adolescent, her life changed dramatically: her father became a permanent invalid, the family's eco nomic situation worsened, and her own health deteriorated. Subsequently she, her mother, and her sister became intensely involved with the Anglo-Catholic movement within the Church of England. For the rest of her life, Rossetti governed herself by strict religious principles, giving up theater, opera, and chess; on two occasions she canceled plans for marriage because of religious scruples, breaking her first engage . 146 0 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI ment when her fiance reverted to Roman Catholicism and ultimately refusing to marry a second suitor because he seemed insufficiently concerned with religion. She lived a quiet life, occupying herself with charitable work�including ten years of volunteer service at a penitentiary for fallen women�with caring for her family, and with writing poetry. Rossetti's first volume of poetry, Goblin Market and Other Poems (1862), contains all the different poetic modes that mark her achievement�pure lyric, narrative fable, ballad, and the devotional verse to which she increasingly turned in her later years. The most remarkable poem in the book is the title piece, which early established its popularity as a seemingly simple moral fable for children. Later readers have likened it to S. T. Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798) and have detected in it a complex representation of the religious themes of temptation and sin, and of redemption by vicarious suffering; the fruit that tempts Laura, however, clearly is not from the tree of knowledge but from the orchard of sensual delights. In its deceptively simple style Goblin Market, like many of Rossetti's poems, demonstrates her affinity with the early aims of the Pre-Raphaelite group, though her work as a whole resists this classification. A consciousness of gender often leads her to criticize the conven tional representation of women in Pre-Raphaelite art, as in her sonnet "In an Artist's Studio" (1896), and a stern religious vision controls the sensuous impulses typical of Pre-Raphaelite poetry and painting. Virginia Woolf has described the distinctive com bination of sensuousness and religious severity in Rossetti's work: Your poems are full of gold dust and "sweet geraniums' varied brightness"; your eye noted incessantly how rushes are "velvet headed," and lizards have a "strange metallic mail"�your eye, indeed, observed with a sensual pre-Raphaelite inten sity that must have surprised Christina the Anglo-Catholic. But to her you owed perhaps the fixity and sadness of your muse. . . . No sooner have you feasted on beauty with your eyes than your mind tells you that beauty is vain and beauty passes. Death, oblivion, and rest lap round your songs with their dark wave. William Michael Rossetti wrote of his sister, "She was replete with the spirit of self-postponement." Christina Rossetti was a poet who created, in Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar's phrase, "an aesthetics of renunciation." She writes a poetry of deferral, of deflection, of negation, whose very denials and constraints give her a pow erful way to articulate a poetic self in critical relationship to the little that the world offers. Like Emily Dickinson, she often, as in "Winter: My Secret" (1862) uses a coy playfulness and sardonic wit to reduce the self but at the same time to preserve for it a secret inner space. And like Dickinson, she wrote many poems of an extraordinarily pure lyric beauty that made Virginia Woolf compare Rossetti's work to that of classical composers: "Your instinct was so sure, so direct, so intense that it produced poems that sing like music in one's ears�like a melody by Mozart or an air by Gluck." Song She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream. . A FTER D EATH / 146 1 10 I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so fair: My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air. 1848 1862 Song When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree:1 5 Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, io I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, 15 Haply0 I may remember, perhapsAnd haply may forget. 1848 1862 After Death The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may' Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where thro' the lattice ivy-shadows crept. 5 He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him; but I heard him say: "Poor child, poor child": and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold io That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm tho' I am cold. 1849 1862 1. The cypress tree is associated with mourning. 1. Flowers associated with death. . 1462 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI Dead before Death Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold! With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes: Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise; This was the promise of the days of old! 5 Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould, Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies: We hoped for better things as years would rise, But it is over as a tale once told. All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore, 10 All lost the present and the future time, All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before: So lost till death shut-to the opened door, So lost from chime to everlasting chime, So cold and lost for ever evermore. 1854 1862 Cobwebs It is a land with neither night nor day, Nor heat nor cold, nor any wind, nor rain, Nor hills nor valleys; but one even plain Stretches thro' long unbroken miles away: s While thro' the sluggish air a twilight grey Broodeth; no moons or seasons wax and wane, No ebb and flow are there along the main,0 ocean No bud-time no leaf-falling, there for aye:�� forever No ripple on the sea, no shifting sand, io No beat of wings to stir the stagnant space, No pulse of life thro' all the loveless land: And loveless sea; no trace of days before, No guarded home, no toil-won resting place, No future hope no fear for evermore. 1855 1896 A Triad Three sang of love together: one with lips Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow, Flushed to the yellow hair and finger tips; And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow s Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show; And one was blue with famine after love, Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and low The burden of what those were singing of. One shamed herself in love; one temperately io Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife; . A BIRTHDAY / 1463 One famished died for love. Thus two of three Took death for love and won him after strife; One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee: All on the threshold, yet all short of life. 1856 1862 In an Artist's Studio1 One face looks out from all his canvases, One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans; We found her hidden just behind those screens, That mirror gave back all her loveliness, s A queen in opal or in ruby dress, A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens, A saint, an angel;�every canvas means The same one meaning, neither more nor less. He feeds upon her face by day and night, io And she with true kind eyes looks back on him Fair as the moon and joyful as the light: Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim; Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright; Not as she is, but as she fills his dream. 1856 1896 A Birthday 5My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot;0My heart is like an apple tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon0 sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me. slim branch tranquil io15Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair� and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me. squirrel fur 1857 1862 1. According to Christina's brother William apparently to our brother's studio, and to his con- Michael, this poem focuses on the work of their stantly repeated heads of the lady whom he after- older brother, Dante Gabriel: "The reference is wards married, Miss Siddal." . 146 4 / CHRISTIN A ROSSETT I 510An Apple-Gathering I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple tree And wore them all that evening in my hair: Then in due season when I went to see I found no apples there. With dangling basket all along the grass As I had come I went the selfsame track: My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass So empty-handed back. Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by, Their heaped-up basket teazed me like a jeer; Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky, Their mother's home was near. 1520Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full, A stronger hand than hers helped it along; A voice talked with her thro' the shadows cool More sweet to me than song. Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth Than apples with their green leaves piled above? I counted rosiest apples on the earth Of far less worth than love. 25So once it was with me you stooped to talk Laughing and listening in this very lane: To think that by this way we used to walk We shall not walk again! I let my neighbours pass me, ones and twos And groups; the latest said the night grew chill, And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews Fell fast I loitered still. 1857 1862 5Winter: My Secret I tell my secret? No indeed, not I: Perhaps some day, who knows? But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows, And you're too curious: fie! You want to hear it? well: Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell. Or, after all, perhaps there's none: Suppose there is no secret after all, But only just my fun. . UP-HILL / 1465 10is20253018575io151858 Today's a nipping day, a biting day; In which one wants a shawl, A veil, a cloak, and other wraps: I cannot ope to every one who taps, And let the draughts come whistling thro' my hall; Come bounding and surrounding me, Come buffeting, astounding me, Nipping and clipping thro' my wraps and all. I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows His nose to Russian snows To be pecked at by every wind that blows? You would not peck? I thank you for good will, Believe, but leave that truth untested still. Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust March with its peck of dust, Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers, Nor even May, whose flowers One frost may wither thro' the sunless hours. Perhaps some languid summer day, When drowsy birds sing less and less, And golden fruit is ripening to excess, If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud, And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, Perhaps my secret I may say, Or you may guess. 1862 Up-Hill Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. 1862 . 146 6 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI Goblin Market Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: "Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy: 5 Apples and quinces, Lemons and oranges, Plump unpecked cherries, Melons and raspberries, Bloom-down-cheeked peaches, 10 Swart-headed mulberries, Wild free-born cranberries, Crab-apples, dewberries, Pine-apples, blackberries, Apricots, strawberries;� 15 All ripe together In summer weather,� Morns that pass by, Fair eves that fly; Come buy, come buy: 20 Our grapes fresh from the vine, Pomegranates full and fine, Dates and sharp bullaces, Rare pears and greengages, Damsons1 and bilberries, 25 Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries, Rright-fire-like barberries, Figs to fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, 30 Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; Come buy, come buy." Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes, Laura bowed her head to hear, 35 Lizzie veiled her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and finger tips. 40 "Lie close," Laura said, Pricking up her golden head: "We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed 45 Their hungry thirsty roots?" "Come buy," call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. 1. Bullaces, greengages, and damsons are varieties of plums. . GOBLIN MARKET / 1467 "Oh," cried Lizzie, "Laura, Laura, You should not peep at goblin men." 50 Lizzie covered up her eyes, Covered close lest they should look; Laura reared her glossy head, And whispered like the restless brook: "Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, 55 Down the glen tramp little men. One hauls a basket, One bears a plate, One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. 60 How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious; How warm the wind must blow Thro' those fruit bushes." "No," said Lizzie: "No, no, no; 65 Their offers should not charm us, Their evil gifts would harm us." She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear, shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger to Wondering at each merchant man. One had a cat's face, One whisked a tail, One tramped at a rat's pace, One crawled like a snail, 75 One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry, One like a ratel2 tumbled hurry skurry. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves so In the pleasant weather. Laura stretched her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan, Like a lily from the beck,� small brook Like a moonlit poplar branch, 85 Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. Backwards up the mossy glen Turned and trooped the goblin men, With their shrill repeated cry, 90 "Come buy, come buy." When they reached where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss, Leering at each other, Brother with queer brother; 95 Signalling each other, Brother with sly brother. 2. South African mamma! resembling a badger (pronounced ray-tell). . 1468 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI One set his basket down, One reared0 his plate; raised One began to weave a crown 100 Of tendrils, leaves and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town); One heaved the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: "Come buy, come buy," was still their cry. 105 Laura stared but did not stir, Longed but had no money: The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey, The cat-faced purr'd, 110 The rat-paced spoke a word Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried "Pretty Goblin" still0 for "Pretty Polly;"� alwaysOne whistled like a bird. 115 But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: "Good folk, I have no coin; To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse, I have no silver either, no And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather." "You have much gold upon your head," They answered all together: 125 "Buy from us with a golden curl." She clipped a precious golden lock, She dropped a tear more rare than pearl, Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock. 130 Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,3 Clearer than water flowed that juice; She never tasted such before, How should it cloy with length of use? She sucked and sucked and sucked the more 135 Fruits which that unknown orchard bore; She sucked until her lips were sore; Then flung the emptied rinds away But gathered up one kernel-stone, And knew not was it night or day no As she turned home alone. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: "Dear, you should not stay so late, Twilight is not good for maidens; 3. Psalm 104.15. "Sweeter . . . rock," Psalm 81.16. . GOBLIN MARKET / 1469 145 Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Do you not remember Jeanie, How she met them in the moonlight, Took their gifts both choice and many, 150 Ate their fruits and wore their flowers Plucked from bowers Where summer ripens at all hours? But ever in the noonlight She pined and pined away; 155 Sought them by night and day, Found them no more but dwindled and grew grey; Then fell with the first snow, While to this day no grass will grow Where she lies low: 160 I planted daisies there a year ago That never blow.0 bloom You should not loiter so." "Nay, hush," said Laura: "Nay, hush, my sister: 165 I ate and ate my fill, Yet my mouth waters still; Tomorrow night I will Buy more:" and kissed her: "Have done with sorrow; i7o I'll bring you plums tomorrow Fresh on their mother twigs, Cherries worth getting; You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in, 175 What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold, What peaches with a velvet nap, Pellucid grapes without one seed: i8o Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink, And sugar-sweet their sap." Golden head by golden head, 185 Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other's wings, They lay down in their curtained bed: Like two blossoms on one stem, Like two flakes of new-fall'n snow, 190 Like two wands of ivory Tipped with gold for awful0 kings. awe-inspiringMoon and stars gazed in at them, Wind sang to them lullaby, Lumbering owls forbore to fly, 195 Not a bat flapped to and fro Round their rest: . 147 0 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI p �V GOELI N MARKE T an d ethe r poem s b y CliriftmaRoffett i w 'gPT-rgiftxgiiP^ 7! j M / ''_Qol This frontispiece is one of the two illustrations that Dante Gabriel Rossetti provided for his sister's first volume of poetry in 1862. Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Locked together in one nest. Early in the morning 200 When the first cock crowed his warning, Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetched in honey, milked the cows, Aired and set to rights the house, 205 Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, Next churned butter, whipped up cream, Fed their poultry, sat and sewed; Talked as modest maidens should: 210 Lizzie with an open heart, Laura in an absent dream, One content, one sick in part; One warbling for the mere bright day's delight, One longing for the night. 215 At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook; 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 . GOBLIN MARKET / 1471 Lizzie most placid in her look, Laura most like a leaping flame. They drew the gurgling water from its deep; Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags,0 irises Then turning homewards said: "The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags; Come, Laura, not another maiden lags, No wilful squirrel wags, The beasts and birds are fast asleep." But Laura loitered still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. And said the hour was early still, The dew not fall'n, the wind not chill: Listening ever, but not catching The customary cry, "Come buy, come buy," With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling; Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen, In groups or single, Of brisk fruit-merchant men. Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come; I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. The stars rise, the moon bends her arc, Each glowworm winks her spark, Let us get home before the night grows dark: For clouds may gather Tho' this is summer weather, Put out the lights and drench us thro'; Then if we lost our way what should we do?" Laura turned cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone, That goblin cry, "Come buy our fruits, come buy." Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? Must she no more such succous0 pasture find, juicy, succulent Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life drooped from the root: She said not one word in her heart's sore ache; But peering thro' the dimness, nought discerning, Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way; So crept to bed, and lay Silent till Lizzie slept; Then sat up in a passionate yearning, . 1472 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire, and wept As if her heart would break. Day after day, night after night, 270 Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. She never caught again the goblin cry: "Come buy, come buy;"� She never spied the goblin men 275 Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon waxed bright Her hair grew thin and gray; She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn 280 Her fire away. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south; Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root, Watched for a waxing shoot, 285 But there came none; It never saw the sun, It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees 290 False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crowned trees, And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. She no more swept the house, Tended the fowls or cows, 295 Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat, Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. Tender Lizzie could not bear 300 To watch her sister's cankerous care Yet not to share. She night and morning Caught the goblins' cry: "Come buy our orchard fruits, BOS Come buy, come buy:"� Beside the brook, along the glen, She heard the tramp of goblin men, The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear; 3io Longed to buy fruit to comfort her, But feared to pay too dear. She thought of Jeanie in her grave, Who should have been a bride; But who for joys brides hope to have 315 Fell sick and died In her gay prime, . GOBLIN MARKET / 1473 In earliest Winter time, With the first glazing rime, With the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time. 320 Till Laura dwindling Seemed knocking at Death's door: Then Lizzie weighed0 no more evaluated, considered Better and worse; But put a silver penny in her purse, 325 Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze At twilight, halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. Laughed every goblin 330 When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling, Flying, running, leaping, Puffing and blowing, Chuckling, clapping, crowing, 335 Clucking and gobbling, Mopping and mowing,4 Full of airs and graces, Pulling wry faces, Demure grimaces, 340 Cat-like and rat-like, Ratel-and wombat-like, Snail-paced in a hurry, Parrot-voiced and whistler, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, 345 Chattering like magpies, Fluttering like pigeons, Gliding like fishes,� Hugged her and kissed her, Squeezed and caressed her: 350 Stretched up their dishes, Panniers, and plates: "Look at our apples Russet and dun, Bob at our cherries, 355 Bite at our peaches, Citrons and dates, Grapes for the asking, Pears red with basking Out in the sun, 360 Plums on their twigs; Pluck them and suck them, Pomegranates, figs."� "Good folk," said Lizzie, Mindful of Jeanie: 4. Grimacing, making faces. 1474 / 365 370 375 380 385 390 395 400 405 4io 415 . CHRISTINA ROSSETTI "Give me much and many:"� Held out her apron, Tossed them her penny. "Nay, take a seat with us, Honour and eat with us," They answered grinning: "Our feast is but beginning. Night yet is early, Warm and dew-pearly, Wakeful and starry: Such fruits as these No man can carry; Half their bloom would fly, Half their dew would dry, Half their flavour would pass by. Sit down and feast with us, Be welcome guest with us, Cheer you and rest with us."� "Thank you," said Lizzie: "But one waits At home alone for me: So without further parleying, If you will not sell me any Of your fruits tho' much and many, Give me back my silver penny I tossed you for a fee."� They began to scratch their pates, No longer wagging, purring, But visibly demurring, Grunting and snarling. One called her proud, Cross-grained, uncivil; Their tones waxed loud, Their looks were evil. Lashing their tails They trod and hustled her, Elbowed and jostled her, Clawed with their nails, Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, Tore her gown and soiled her stocking, Twitched her hair out by the roots, Stamped upon her tender feet, Held her hands and squeezed their fruits Against her mouth to make her eat. White and golden Lizzie stood, Like a lily in a flood,� Like a rock of blue-veined stone Lashed by tides obstreperously,� Like a beacon left alone In a hoary roaring sea, Sending up a golden fire,-� Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree . GOBLIN MARKET / 1475 White with blossoms honey-sweet Sore beset by wasp and bee,� Like a royal virgin town Topped with gilded dome and spire 420 Close beleaguered by a fleet Mad to tug her standard down. One may lead a horse to water, Twenty cannot make him drink. ' Tho the goblins cuffed and caught her, 425 Coaxed and fought her, Bullied and besought her, Scratched her, pinched her black as ink, Kicked and knocked her, Mauled and mocked her, 430 Lizzie uttered not a word; Would not open lip from lip Lest they should cram a mouthful in: But laughed in heart to feel the drip Of juice that syruped all her face, 435 And lodged in dimples of her chin, And streaked her neck which quaked like curd. At last the evil people Worn out by her resistance Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit 440 Along whichever road they took, Not leaving root or stone or shoot; Some writhed into the ground, Some dived into the brook With ring and ripple, 445 Some scudded on the gale without a sound, Some vanished in the distance. In a smart, ache, tingle, Lizzie went her way; Knew not was it night or day; 450 Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze, Threaded copse and dingle, And heard her penny jingle Bouncing in her purse, Its bounce was music to her ear. 455 She ran and ran As if she feared some goblin man Dogged her with gibe or curse Or something worse: But not one goblin skurried after, 460 Nor was she pricked by fear; The kind heart made her windy-paced That urged her home quite out of breath with haste And inward laughter. She cried "Laura," up the garden, 465 "Did you miss me? . 1476 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeezed from goblin fruits for you, 470 Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me: For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men." 475 Laura started from her chair, Flung her arms up in the air, Clutched her hair: "Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? 480 Must your light like mine be hidden, Your young life like mine be wasted, Undone in mine undoing And ruined in my ruin, Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?"� 485 She clung about her sister, Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes, Dropping like rain 490 After long sultry drouth; Shaking with aguish0 fear, and pain, feverish She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. Her lips began to scorch, That juice was wormwood to her tongue, 495 She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung, Rent all her robe, and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste, And beat her breast. 500 Her locks streamed like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed, Or like the mane of horses in their flight, Or like an eagle when she stems5 the light Straight toward the sun, 505 Or like a caged thing freed, Or like a flying flag when armies run. Swift fire spread thro' her veins, knocked at her heart, Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame; 510 She gorged on bitterness without a name: Ah! fool, to choose such part Of soul-consuming care! Sense failed in the mortal strife: 5. Makes headway against. . GOBLIN MARKET / 1477 Like the watch-tower of a town 5i5 Which an earthquake shatters down, Like a lightning-stricken mast, Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about, Like a foam-topped waterspout 520 Cast down headlong in the sea, She fell at last; Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life? Life out of death. 525 That night long Lizzie watched by her, Counted her pulse's flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her hps, and cooled her face With tears and fanning leaves: 530 But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass, 535 And new buds with new day Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laughed in the innocent old way, Hugged Lizzie but not� twice or thrice; not only 540 Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives 545 With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, 550 Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint0 fruit-merchant men, strangeTheir fruits like honey to the throat 555 But poison in the blood; (Men sell not such in any town:) Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: 560 Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, "For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, . 147 8 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 565 To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands." 1859 1862 "No, Thank You, John" I never said I loved you, John: Why will you teaze me day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always "do" and "pray"? 5 You know I never loved you, John; No fault of mine made me your toast: Why will you haunt me with a face as wan As shows an hour-old ghost? I dare say Meg or Moll would take io Pity upon you, if you'd ask: And pray don't remain single for my sake Who can't perform that task. I have no heart?�Perhaps I have not; But then you're mad to take offence 15 That I don't give you what I have not got: Use your own common sense. Let bygones be bygones: Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns 20 Than answer "Yes" to you. Let's mar our pleasant days no more, Song-birds of passage, days of youth: Catch at today, forget the days before: I'll wink� at your untruth. close (both) eyes 25 Let us strike hands as hearty friends; No more, no less; and friendship's good: Only don't keep in view ulterior ends, And points not understood In open treaty. Rise above so Quibbles and shuffling off and on: Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,� No, thank you, John. 1860 1862 . IN PROGRES S / 147 9 Promises Like Pie-Crust 510isPromise me no promises, So will I not promise you: Keep we both our liberties, Never false and never true: Let us hold the die uncast, Free to come as free to go: For I cannot know your past, And of mine what can you know? You, so warm, may once have been Warmer towards another one: I, so cold, may once have seen Sunlight, once have felt the sun: Who shall show us if it was Thus indeed in time of old? Fades the image from the glass, And the fortune is not told. 1861 20If you promised, you might grieve For lost liberty again: If I promised, I believe I should fret to break the chain. Let us be the friends we were, Nothing more but nothing less: Many thrive on frugal fare Who would perish of excess. 1896 In Progress Ten years ago it seemed impossible That she should ever grow so calm as this, With self-remembrance in her warmest kiss And dim dried eyes like an exhausted well. Slow-speaking when she has some fact to tell, Silent with long-unbroken silences, Centred in self yet not unpleased to please, Gravely monotonous like a passing bell.1 Mindful of drudging daily common things, Patient at pastime, patient at her work, Wearied perhaps but strenuous certainly. Sometimes I fancy we may one day see Her head shoot forth seven stars from where they lurk And her eyes lightnings and her shoulders wings. 1862 1896 1. Bell rung during or after a person's death, a death bell. . 148 0 / CHRISTINA ROSSETTI A Life's Parallels Never on this side of the grave again, On this side of the river, On this side of the garner of the grain. Never,� 5 Ever while time flows on and on and on, That narrow noiseless river, Ever while corn bows heavy-headed, wan, Ever,� Never despairing, often fainting, rueing, 10 But looking back, ah never! Faint yet pursuing, faint yet still pursuing Ever. 1881 From Later Life 17 Something this foggy day, a something which Is neither of this fog nor of today, Has set me dreaming of the winds that play Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach, 5 And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray: Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away, So out of reach while quite within my reach, As out of reach as India or Cathay!0 China (poetic) I am sick of where I am and where I am not, io I am sick of foresight and of memory, I am sick of all I have and all I see, I am sick of self, and there is nothing new; Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!� Thus with myself: how fares it, Friends, with you? Cardinal Newman1 In the grave, whither thou goest2 O weary Champion of the Cross, lie still: Sleep thou at length the all-embracing sleep: Long was thy sowing-day, rest now and reap: 1. Written on the occasion of the death of John 2. Ecclesiastes 9.10. Henry Newman (1 801 -1890). . WILLIAM MORRIS / 1481 Thy fast was long, feast now thy spirit's fill. 5 Yea, take thy fill of love, because thy will Chose love not in the shallows but the deep: Thy tides were springtides, set against the neap3 Of calmer souls: thy flood rebuked their rill.� small stream Now night has come to thee�please God, of rest: 10 So some time must it come to every man; To first and last, where many last are first.4 Now fixed and finished thine eternal plan, Thy best has done its best, thy worst its worst: Thy best its best, Please God, thy best its best. 1890 Sleeping at Last Sleeping at last, the trouble & tumult over, Sleeping at last, the struggle & horror past, Cold & white out of sight of friend & of lover Sleeping at last. 5 No more a tired heart downcast or overcast, No more pangs that wring or shifting fears that hover, Sleeping at last in a dreamless sleep locked fast. Fast asleep. Singing birds in their leafy cover Cannot wake her, nor shake her the gusty blast, io Under the purple thyme and the purple clover Sleeping at last. 1896 3. Tides that do not rise to the high-water mark of in which "the last shall be first." See Matthew the spring tides. 20.16, Luke 13.30. 4. Rossetti alludes to the parable of the vineyard, WILLIAM MORRIS 1834-1896 In his autobiography William Butler Yeats observes that if some angel offered him the choice, he would rather live William Morris's life than his own or any other man's. Morris's career was more multifaceted than that of any other Victorian writer. He was a poet, a writer of prose romances, a painter, a designer of furniture, a business man, a printer, and a leader of the British socialist movement. Born of wealthy parents and brought up in the Essex countryside, he went to Oxford with the intention of becoming a clergyman. However, art for him soon displaced religion. At Oxford he discovered the work of John Ruskin, which was, in his words, "a revelation." Later in life he wrote, "It was through him that I learned to give form to my discontent. . . . Apart from the desire to produce beautiful things, the leading . 1482 / WILLIAM MORRIS passion of my life has been and is hatred of modern civilization." Morris's career in many ways realized Ruskin's views. In 1861 Morris and several friends founded a company to design and produce furniture, wallpaper, textiles, stained glass, tapestries, and carpets, objects still prized today as masterpieces of decorative art. Morris's aim was not only to make beautiful things but to restore creativity to modern manufacture, much as Ruskin had urged in "The Nature of Gothic," a chapter in The Stones of Venice (1851�53). The minor arts, he believed, were in a state of complete degra dation; through his firm he wanted to restore beauty of design and individual craftsmanship. In his design work Morris developed close ties with the Pre-Raphaelite Brother hood, a society of artists that had been cofounded by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who became a particular friend. In 1858 Morris published a remarkable book of poetry, The Defence of Guenevere, and other Poems, which some critics regard as the finest book of Pre-Raphaelite verse. Using medieval materials, the poems plunge the reader into the middle of dramatic situations with little sense of larger narrative context or even right and wrong, where little is clear but the vividness of the characters' perceptions. After The Defence of Guenevere, Morris turned from lyric to narrative, publishing The Life and Death of Jason (1867) and The Earthly Paradise (1868�70), a series of twenty-four classical and medieval tales. He then discovered the Icelandic sagas. He cotranslated the Volsunga Saga and wrote a poem based on it, The Story of Sigurd the Volsung (1876). In 1877 he founded the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings. In the late 1870s, after Morris came to the conclusion that art could not have real life and growth under the commercialism of modern society, he turned to socialism. In 1883 he joined the Socialist Democratic Federation; the next year he led the secession of a large faction to found the Socialist League. He was at the center of socialist activity in England through the rest of the decade. At the famous debates held on Sunday evenings at Morris's house, political and literary figures regularly gathered, including Yeats and Bernard Shaw. Morris lectured and wrote tirelessly for the cause, producing essays, columns, and a series of socialist literary works, including A Dream of John Ball (1887) and News from Noivhere (1890), a Utopian vision of life under communism in twenty-first-century England. In 1890 Morris's health failed and factionalism brought his leadership of the Social ist League to an end. In 1891 he cofounded the Kelmscott Press, the first fine art press in England, whose masterpiece was the Kelmscott Chaucer, an edition of The Canterbury Tales with illustrations by the Pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne Jones and designs by Morris himself. In the obituary he published after Morris's death, Shaw wrote, "He was ultra modern�not merely up-to-date, but far ahead of it: his wall papers, his hangings, his tapestries, and his printed books have the twentieth century in every touch of them." Not only did Morris develop design principles that remained important in the twen tieth century, but he also had a radical vision of the relationship of aesthetics to politics. He was, as Shaw said, "a complete artist." The Defence of Guenevere For this poem Morris created strikingly orig inal adaptations of episodes from one of his favorite books, Thomas Malory's Morte Darthur (1470). In Malory's narrative, Arthur's kingdom is eventually destroyed by dissension among his followers; especially damaging to the king's reign are rumors of an adulterous relationship between Queen Guenevere and Arthur's chief knight, Launcelot. Morris's poem alludes to two occasions in Mallory's work when Guenevere is discovered in apparently compromising circumstances that lead to public accusa tions of adultery. On the first occasion (described in lines 167�220), her accuser, Sir Mellyagraunce, is challenged by Launcelot to a trial of battle. After Mellyagraunce is . THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE / 1483 slain, the queen's honor is temporarily restored, though in Morris's telling this earlier scandal is revived by Sir Gauwaine in his accusations against her. The second occa sion, which occurs just before Morris's poem opens, is more seriously incriminating. Thirteen knights plot successfully to trap Launcelot when he is visiting the queen's chamber at night at her invitation (events described in lines 242�76). In his escape Launcelot kills all but one of the knights�an event that later leads to civil war. In Malory's version there is no formal trial of the queen after Launcelot's escape; she is simply told of her sentence�she will be burned at the stake�and is thereafter res cued by Launcelot, who takes her away to safety in his castle. In inventing his trial scene Morris probably drew from a different episode in Malory (book 18, chapter 3), which ends with Sir Gauwaine accusing Guenevere of murder and treason in the presence of many other knights. According to Morris's daughter, this poem originally opened with a long introduc tory passage of description and background. Because Morris subsequently decided to omit it, we are plunged at once into a dramatic scene much like those that begin some of the poems of Bobert Browning (the Victorian poet whom Morris most admired). Also reminiscent of Browning's work are the constant shifts in Guenevere's speech from an awareness of her present situation to the recollection of moments in her past, such as the spring day early in her marriage to Arthur when Launcelot first kissed her. The year after Morris's poem appeared, four books of Tennyson's Idylls of the King, including one that focused on Guenevere, were published. It is interesting to compare the two portraits of the queen, especially their pictoral qualities, but Morris's powerful depiction of an eloquent Guenevere is very different from Tennyson's subdued rep resentation of a guilt-ridden wife. Equally fascinating is a comparison of the two poems with Morris's painting Queen Guenevere (1858). Despite his copious produc tion of visual artifacts, this is the only full-size oil painting Morris ever finished. His model for Guenevere, who stands pensively in front of a rumpled bed, was Jane Burden, who became his wife the following year. The Defence of Guenevere But, knowing now that they would have her speak, She threw her wet hair backward from her brow, Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek, 5As though she had had there a shameful blow, And feeling it shameful to feel aught� but shameAll through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so, anything She must a little touch it; like one lame She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame io The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said: "O knights and lords, it seems but little skill0To talk of well-known things past now and dead. use 15"God wot� I ought to say, I have done ill, And pray you all forgiveness heartily! Because you must be right, such great lords�still knows . 148 4 / WILLIA M MORRI S "Listen, suppose your time were come to die, And you were quite alone and very weak; Yea, laid a dying while very mightily 20"The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak Of river through your broad lands running well: Suppose a hush should come, then someone speak: " 'One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell, Now choose one cloth forever, which they be, I will not tell you, you must somehow tell 25 " 'Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!' Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes, At foot of your familiar bed to see 30"A great God's angel standing, with such dyes, Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands, Held out two ways, light from the inner skies "Showing him well, and making his commands Seem to be God's commands, moreover, too, Holding within his hands the cloths on wands; 35"And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue, Wavy and long, and one cut short and red; No man could tell the better of the two. "After a shivering half hour you said, 'God help! heaven's color, the blue'; and he said, 'hell.! Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed, 40 "And cry to all good men that loved you well, 'Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known'; Launcelot went away, then I could tell, 45"Like wisest man how all things would be, moan, And roll and hurt myself, and long to die, And yet fear much to die for what was sown. "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever may have happened through these years, God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie." 50Her voice was low at first, being full of tears, But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill, Growing a windy shriek in all men's ears, A ringing in their startled brains, until She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk, And her great eyes began again to fill, . THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE / 1485 55 Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk, But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair! Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk, She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair, Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame, 60 With passionate twisting of her body there: "It chanced upon a day that Launcelot came To dwell at Arthur's court: at Christmas time This happened; when the heralds sung his name, " 'Son of King Ban1 of Benwick,' seemed to chime 65 Along with all the bells that rang that day, O'er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme. "Christmas and whitened winter passed away, And over me the April sunshine came, Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea. 70 "And in Summer I grew white with flame, And bowed my head down�Autumn, and the sick Sure knowledge things would never be the same, "However often Spring might be most thick Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew 75 Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick, "To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through My eager body; while I laughed out loud, And let my lips curl up at false or true, "Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud, so Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought: While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd, "Belonging to the time ere I was bought By Arthur's great name and his little love, Must I give up forever then, I thought, 85 "That which I deemed would ever round me move Glorifying all things; for a little word,2 Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove "Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord Will that all folks should be quite happy and good? 90 I love God now a little, if this cord' 1. Launcelot's father, a king of Brittany. 3. Her bond with Launcelot. 2. Her marriage vow. . 148 6 / WILLIA M MORRI S "Were broken, once for all what striving could Make me love anything in earth or heaven. So day by day it grew, as if one should 95"Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even, Down to a cool sea on a summer day; Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven "Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way, Until one surely reached the sea at last, And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay 100 "Back, with the hair like seaweed; yea all past Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips, Washed utterly out by the dear waves o'ercast, 105"In the lone sea, far off from any ships! Do I not know now of a day in Spring? No minute of that wild day ever slips "From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing, And wheresoever I may be, straightway Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting: no"I was half mad with beauty on that day, And went without my ladies all alone, In a quiet garden walled round every way; "I was right joyful of that wall of stone, That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky, And trebled all the beauty: to the bone, 115 "Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad; Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily, 120"A little thing just then had� made me mad; I dared not think, as I was wont to do, Sometimes, upon my beauty; if I had would have "Held out my long hand up against the blue, And, looking on the tenderly darkened fingers, Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through, 125"There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers, Round by the edges; what should I have done, If this had joined with yellow spotted singers, "And startling green drawn upward by the sun? But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair, And trancedly stood watching the west wind run . THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE / 1487 130 "With faintest half-heard breathing sound�why there I lose my head e'en now in doing this; But shortly listen�In that garden fair "Came Launcelot walking; this is true, the kiss Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day, 135 I scarce dare talk of the remembered bliss, "When both our mouths went wandering in one way, And aching sorely, met among the leaves; Our hands being left behind strained far away. "Never within a yard of my bright sleeves 140 Had Launcelot come before�and now, so nigh! After that day why is it Guenevere grieves? "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever happened on through all those years, God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie. 145 "Being such a lady could I weep these tears If this were true? A great queen such as I Having sinned this way, straight her conscience sears; "And afterwards she liveth hatefully, Slaying and poisoning, certes0 never weeps� certainly150 Gauwaine, be friends now, speak me lovingly. "Do I not see how God's dear pity creeps All through your frame, and trembles in your mouth? Remember in what grave your mother sleeps, "Buried in some place far down in the south, 155 Men are forgetting as I speak to you; By her head severed in that awful drouth "Of pity that drew Agravaine's fell blow,4 I pray your pity! let me not scream out Forever after, when the shrill winds blow 160 "Through half your castle-locks! let me not shout Forever after in the winter night When you ride out alone! in battle rout "Let not my rusting tears make your sword light!0 weak Ah! God of mercy how he turns away! 165 So, ever must I dress me to the fight, 4. In Morris's version Gauwaine's brother, Agra-another brother, Gaheris, kills her (book 10, chap. vaine, beheads their mother, Morgan Le Fay, after 24). "Fell": cruel. she is accused of adultery. In Malory's narrative . 1488 / WILLIAM MORRIS "So�let God's justice work! Gauwaine, I say, See me hew down your proofs: yea all men know Even as you said how Mellyagraunce one day, "One bitter day in la Fausse Garde,5 for so 170 All good knights held it after, saw� Yea, sirs, by cursed unknightly outrage; though "You, Gauwaine, held his word without a flaw, This Mellyagraunce saw blood upon my bed6� Whose blood then pray you? is there any law 175 "To make a queen say why some spots of red Lie on her coverlet? or will you say, 'Your hands are white, lady, as when you wed, " 'Where did you bleed?' and must I stammer out�'Nay, I blush indeed, fair lord, only to rend 180 My sleeve up to my shoulder, where there lay " 'A knife-point last night': so must I defend The honor of the lady Guenevere? Not so, fair lords, even if the world should end "This very day, and you were judges here 185 Instead of God. Did you see Mellyagraunce When Launcelot stood by him? what white fear "Curdled his blood, and how his teeth did dance, His side sink in? as my knight cried and said, 'Slayer of unarmed men, here is a chance! 190 " 'Setter of traps, I pray you guard your head, By God I am so glad to fight with you, Stripper of ladies,7 that my hand feels lead " 'For driving weight; hurrah now! draw and do, For all my wounds are moving in my breast, 195 And I am getting mad with waiting so.' "He struck his hands together o'er the beast, Who fell down flat, and groveled at his feet, And groaned at being slain so young�'at least.' 5. The False Castle (French); a term expressing her contempt. Launcelot's castle is named the Joyous Garde. 6. In an earlier episode in Malory's narrative, Guenevere and some of her young knights who have been wounded in a skirmish are confined for a night in a room in Mellyagraunce's castle. Discovering bloodstains on her bedclothes the following morning, Mellyagraunce accuses her of adulterous relations with one of the wounded knights. Actually her visiting bedfellow had been Launcelot, who had cut his hand on the window bars as he climbed into her room. 7. Mellyagraunce discovers the bloodstains on Guenevere's bedclothes by pulling open her bed- curtains; he had intended to rape the queen. "Setter of traps": Mellyagraunce tried to prevent Launcelot from coming to defend the queen's honor by making him fall through a trapdoor into a dungeon. . THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE / 1489 "My knight said, 'Rise you, sir, who are so fleet 200 At catching ladies, half-armed will I fight, My left side all uncovered!' then I weet,0 know "Up sprang Sir Mellyagraunce with great delight Upon his knave's face; not until just then Did I quite hate him, as I saw my knight 205 "Along the lists look to my stake and pen� prison With such a joyous smile, it made me sigh From agony beneath my waist-chain,8 when "The fight began, and to me they drew nigh; Ever Sir Launcelot kept him on the right, 210 And traversed warily, and ever high "And fast leaped caitiff's sword, until my knight Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand, Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight. "Except a spout of blood on the hot land; 215 For it was hottest summer; and I know I wondered how the fire, while I should stand, "And burn, against the heat, would quiver so, Yards above my head; thus these matters went: Which things were only warnings of the woe 220 "That fell on me. Yet Mellyagraunce was shent,� destroyedFor Mellyagraunce had fought against the Lord; Therefore, my lords, take heed lest you be blent0 blinded "With all this wickedness; say no rash word Against me, being so beautiful; my eyes, 225 Wept all away to gray, may bring some sword "To drown you in your blood; see my breast rise, Like waves of purple sea, as here I stand; And how my arms are moved in wonderful wise, "Yea also at my full heart's strong command, 230 See through my long throat how the words go up In ripples to my mouth; how in my hand "The shadow lies like wine within a cup Of marvelously colored gold; yea now This little wind is rising, look you up, 235 "And wonder how the light is falling so Within my moving tresses: will you dare, When you have looked a little on my brow, 8. She is chained to a stake, at which she will be burned if Launcelot fails to overcome her accuser. . 1490 / WILLIAM MORRIS "To say this thing is vile? or will you care For any plausible lies of cunning woof,9 240 When you can see my face with no lie there "Forever? am I not a gracious proof� 'But in your chamber Launcelot was found'� Is there a good knight then would stand aloof, "When a queen says with gentle queenly sound: 245 'O true as steel come now and talk with me, I love to see your step upon the ground " 'Unwavering, also well I love to see That gracious smile light up your face, and hear Your wonderful words, that all mean verily 250 " The thing they seem to mean: good friend, so dear To me in everything, come here tonight, Or else the hours will pass most dull and drear; " 'If you come not, I fear this time I might Get thinking over much of times gone by, 255 When I was young, and green hope was in sight: " 'For no man cares now to know why I sigh; And no man comes to sing me pleasant songs, Nor any brings me the sweet flowers that lie " 'So thick in the gardens; therefore one so longs 260 To see you, Launcelot; that we may be Like children once again, free from all wrongs " 'Just for one night.' Did he not come to me? What thing could keep true Launcelot away If I said 'Come?' there was one less than three 265 "In my quiet room that night, and we were gay; Till sudden I rose up, weak, pale, and sick, Because a bawling broke our dream up, yea "I looked at Launcelot's face and could not speak, For he looked helpless too, for a little while; 270 Then I remember how I tried to shriek, "And could not, but fell down; from tile to tile The stones they threw up rattled o'er my head And made me dizzier; till within a while "My maids were all about me, and my head 275 On Launcelot's breast was being soothed away From its white chattering, until Launcelot said� 9. Guenevere imagines these lies as being woven on a loom. "Woof": the threads woven across the threads stretched lengthwise on a loom (the warp). . Ho w I BECAM E A SOCIALIST / 149 1 "By God! I will not tell you more today, Judge any way you will�what matters it? You know quite well the story of that fray, 280 "How Launcelot stilled their bawling, the mad fit That caught up Gauwaine�all, all, verily, But just that which would save me; these things flit. "Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever may have happened these long years, 285 God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie! "All I have said is truth, by Christ's dear tears." She would not speak another word, but stood. Turned sideways; listening, like a man who hears 290His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood Of his foes' lances. She leaned eagerly, And gave a slight spring sometimes, as she could At last hear something really; joyfully Her cheek grew crimson, as the headlong speed Of the roan charger drew all men to see, 295 The knight who came was Launcelot at good need. 1858 How I Became a Socialist1 I am asked by the Editor to give some sort of a history of the above conversion, and I feel that it may be of some use to do so, if my readers will look upon me as a type of a certain group of people, but not so easy to do clearly, briefly and truly. Let me, however, try. But first, I will say what I mean by being a Socialist, since I am told that the word no longer expresses definitely and with certainty what it did ten years ago. Well, what I mean by Socialism is a condition of society in which there should be neither rich nor poor, neither master nor master's man, neither idle nor overworked, neither brain-sick brain workers, nor heart-sick hand workers, in a word, in which all men would be living in equality of condition, and would manage their affairs unwastefully, and with the full consciousness that harm to one would mean harm to all� the realization at last of the meaning of the word COMMONWEALTH. Now this view of Socialism which I hold to-day, and hope to die holding, is what I began with; I had no transitional period, unless you may call such a brief period of political radicalism during which I saw my ideal clear enough, but had no hope of any realization of it. That came to an end some months before I joined the (then) Democratic Federation,2 and the meaning of my joining that body was that I had conceived a hope of the realization of my ideal. If you ask me how much of a hope, or what I thought we Socialists then living and working would accomplish towards it, or when there would be 1. Written for the socialist magazine Justice in 2. The first socialist organization in London, 1894. founded in 1881. . 1492 / WILLIAM MORRIS effected any change in the face of society, I must say, I do not know. I can only say that I did not measure my hope, nor the joy that it brought me at the time. For the rest, when I took that step I was blankly ignorant of economics; I had never so much as opened Adam Smith, or heard of Ricardo, or of Karl Marx.3 Oddly enough, I had read some of Mill,4 to wit, those posthumous papers of his (published, was it in the Westminster Review or the Fortnightly?) in which he attacks Socialism in its Fourierist'5 guise. In those papers he put the arguments, as far as they go, clearly and honestly, and the result, so far as I was concerned, was to convince me that Socialism was a necessary change, and that it was possible to bring it about in our own days. Those papers put the finishing touch to my conversion to Socialism. Well, having joined a Socialist body (for the Federation soon became definitely Socialist), I put some conscience into trying to learn the economical side of Socialism, and even tackled Marx, though I must confess that, whereas I thoroughly enjoyed the historical part of "Capital," I suffered agonies of confusion of the brain over reading the pure economics of that great work. Anyhow, I read what I could, and will hope that some information stuck to me from my reading; but more, I must think, from continuous conversation with such friends as Bax and Hyndman and Scheu,6 and the brisk course of propaganda meetings which were going on at the time, and in which I took my share. Such finish to what of education in practical Socialism as I am capable of I received afterwards from some of my Anarchist friends, from whom I learned, quite against their intention, that Anarchism was impossible, much as I learned from Mill against his intention that Socialism was necessary. But in this telling how I fell into practical Socialism I have begun, as I perceive, in the middle, for in my position of a well-to-do man, not suffering from the disabilities which oppress a working-man at every step, I feel that I might never have been drawn into the practical side of the question if an ideal had not forced me to seek towards it. For politics as politics, i.e., not regarded as a necessary if cumbersome and disgustful means to an end, would never have attracted me, nor when I had become conscious of the wrongs of society as it now is, and the oppression of poor people, could I have ever believed in the possibility of a partial setting right of those wrongs. In other words, I could never have been such a fool as to believe in the happy and "respectable" poor. If, therefore, my ideal forced me to look for practical Socialism, what was it that forced me to conceive of an ideal? Now, here comes in what I said (in this paper) of my being a type of a certain group of mind. Before the uprising of modern Socialism almost all intelligent people either were, or professed themselves to be, quite contented with the civilization of this century. Again, almost all of these really were thus contented, and saw nothing to do but to perfect the said civilization by getting rid of a few ridic ulous survivals of the barbarous ages. To be short, this was the Whig7 frame 3. German political philosopher (1818�1883), Stuart Mill. who developed the concept of communism; his 5. Characteristic of a political philosophy, devel- Capital (1867�94) is an analysis of capitalism. oped by Charles Fourier (1772�1837), that advo- Smith (1723�1790), Scottish economist who cated a social reorganization to equalize wealth. argued that natural laws of production and 6. Ernest Belfort Bax (1854-1926), H. M. Hyndexchange govern economies and produce wealth. man (1842-1921), and Andreas Scheu (1844Smith's work was an important justification of cap-1927), leaders in the early English socialist moveitalism and laissez-faire (noninterventionist) eco-ment. nomics. David Ricardo (1772�1823), English 7. From the monarchical crisis of 1678-81 economist whose labor theory of value influenced onward, the term Whig (from whiggamore, a Scot- Marx. tish name for a cattle driver) designated a member 4. James Mill (1773-1836), philosopher, political of one of the two major parliamentary alliances economist, and historian, and the father of John (the Tories being the opposing group). Originally . Ho w I BECAME A SOCIALIST / 1493 of mind, natural to the modern prosperous middle-class men, who, in fact, as far as mechanical progress is concerned, have nothing to ask for, if only Social ism would leave them alone to enjoy their plentiful style. But besides these contented ones there were others who were not really contented, but had a vague sentiment of repulsion to the triumph of civiliza tion, but were coerced into silence by the measureless power of Whiggery. Lastly, there were a few who were in open rebellion against the said Whig gery�a few, say two, Carlyle and Ruskin. The latter, before my days of prac tical Socialism, was my master towards the ideal aforesaid, and, looking backward, I cannot help saying, by the way, how deadly dull the world would have been twenty years ago but for Ruskin! It was through him that I learned to give form to my discontent, which I must say was not by any means vague. Apart from the desire to produce beautiful things, the leading passion of my life has been and is hatred of modern civilization. What shall I say of it now, when the words are put into my mouth, my hope of its destruction�what shall I say of its supplanting by Socialism? What shall I say concerning its mastery of and its waste of mechanical power, its commonwealth so poor, its enemies of the commonwealth so rich, its stupendous organization�for the misery of life! Its contempt of simple pleasures which everyone could enjoy but for its folly? Its eyeless vulgarity which has destroyed art, the one certain solace of labour? All this I felt then as now, but I did not know why it was so. The hope of the past times was gone, the struggles of mankind for many ages had produced nothing but this sordid, aimless, ugly confusion; the immediate future seemed to me likely to intensify all the present evils by sweeping away the last survivals of the days before the dull squalor of civilization had settled down on the world. This was a bad look out indeed, and, if I may mention myself as a personality and not as a mere type, especially so to a man of my disposition, careless of metaphysics and religion, as well as of scientific analysis, but with a deep love of the earth and the life on it, and a passion for the history of the past of mankind. Think of it! Was it all to end in a counting-house on the top of a cinder-heap, with Podsnap's8 drawing-room in the offing, and a Whig committee dealing out champagne to the rich and margarine to the poor in such convenient propor tions as would make all men contented together, though the pleasure of the eyes was gone from the world, and the place of Homer was to be taken by Huxley?9 Yet, believe me, in my heart, when I really forced myself to look towards the future, that is what I saw in it, and, as far as I could tell, scarce anyone seemed to think it worth while to struggle against such a consumma tion of civilization. So there I was in for a fine pessimistic end of life, if it had not somehow dawned on me that amidst all this filth of civilization the seeds of a great chance, what we others call Social-Revolution, were beginning to germinate. The whole face of things was changed to me by that discovery, and an aristocratic faction interested in reducing the promulgated by Thomas Babington Macaulay power of the Crown, the Whigs became progres-(1800-1859). His writings presented all Engfish sively associated with reform, and thus formed history as leading up to the parliamentary Reform important bonds with other groups and individu-Bill of 1832, and celebrated contemporary English als, such as moneyed industrialists, champions of life as the pinnacle of human achievement and civ- free trade, and religious dissenters. This Whig-ilization (see the first extract in "Industrialism," Radical coalition was known colloquially as the p. 11 56 below). Liberal Party from 1839 onward; it adopted the 8. Character in Charles Dickens's Our Mutual name officially when it assumed the form of a mod-Friend (1865), who represents the epitome of pre- ern political party in the 1860s. The term Whig tentious middle-class respectability. remained in informal use, often in connection with 9. T. H. Huxley (1825-1895), writer on science, a self-congratulatory state of mind most famously education, and philosophy. See p. 1427. . 1 502 / ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE all I had to do then in order to become a Socialist was to hook myself on to the practical movement, which, as before said, I have tried to do as well as I could. To sum up, then, the study of history and the love and practice of art forced me into a hatred of the civilization which, if things were to stop as they are, would turn history into inconsequent nonsense, and make art a collection of the curiosities of the past which would have no serious relation to the life of the present. But the consciousness of revolution stirring amidst our hateful modern soci ety prevented me, luckier than many others of artistic perceptions, from crys tallizing into a mere railer against "progress" on the one hand, and on the other from wasting time and energy in any of the numerous schemes by which the quasi-artistic of the middle classes hope to make art grow when it has no longer any root, and thus I became a practical Socialist. A last word or two. Perhaps some of our friends will say, what have we to do with these matters of history and art? We want by means of Social- Democracy to win a decent livelihood, we want in some sort to live, and that at once. Surely any one who professes to think that the question of art and cultivation must go before that of the knife and fork (and there are some who do propose that) does not understand what art means, or how that its roots must have a soil of a thriving and unanxious life. Yet it must be remembered that civilization has reduced the workman to such a skinny and pitiful exis tence, that he scarcely knows how to frame a desire for any life much better than that which he now endures perforce. It is the province of art to set the true ideal of a full and reasonable life before him, a life to which the perception and creation of beauty, the enjoyment of real pleasure that is, shall be felt to be as necessary to man as his daily bread, and that no man, and no set of men, can be deprived of this except by mere opposition, which should be resisted to the utmost. 1894 1894 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 1837-1909 In a review of Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mai (1857), Algernon Charles Swinburne remarks that "the mass of readers seem actually to think that a poem is the better for containing a moral lesson." He goes on to praise the courage and sense of a man who acts on the conviction "that the art of poetry has nothing to do with didactic matter at all." Certainly Swinburne's poems are not didactic in the sense of containing traditional moral values. As John Morley commented while reviewing Swinburne's first volume of poems, "He is so firmly and avowedly fixed in an attitude of revolt against the current notions of decency and dignity and social duty that to beg of him to be a little more decent, to fly a little less persistently and gleefully to the animal side of human nature, is simply to beg him to be something different from Mr. Swinburne." Swinburne set about shocking his elders by a variety of rebellious gestures. In religion he appeared to be a pagan; in politics, a liberal republican dedicated to the overthrow of established governments. On the subjects of love and sex, he was similarly unconventional. Frequently preoccupied with the pleasures of the . ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE / 1495 lover who inflicts or accepts pain (particularly with the excitement of flagellation), Swinburne also often turns in his poetry to the theme of homoerotic desire, a taboo topic for his Victorian audience. As Arnold Bennett said of "Anactoria" (1866), a dramatic monologue in which the poet Sappho addresses a woman with whom she is madly in love, Swinburne played "a rare trick" on England by "enshrining in the topmost heights of its literature a lovely poem that cannot be discussed." To a more limited extent, Swinburne also expressed his rebellion against established codes by his personal behavior. He came from a distinguished family and attended Eton and Oxford, but sought the company of the bohemians of Paris and of London, where he became temporarily associated with Dante Gabriel Rossetti and other Pre- Raphaelites. By 1879 his alcoholism had profoundly affected his frail physique, and he was obliged to put himself into the protective custody of a friend, Theodore Watts- Dunton, who took him to the countryside and kept him alive although sobered and tamed. Swinburne continued to write voluminously and sometimes memorably, but his most fascinating poetry appeared in his early publications. He described his early play Atalanta in Calydon (1865) as "pure Greek," and his command of classical allusions here, as well as in other poems, is indeed impressive. Yet the kind of spirit that he found in Greek literature was not the traditional quality of classic serenity admired by Matthew Arnold. Like Percy Bysshe Shelley (the poet he most closely resembles), Swinburne loved Greece as a land of liberty in which men had expressed themselves with the fewest restraints. To call such an ardently romantic poet "classical" requires a series of qualifying clauses that makes the term meaningless. In his play and in the volume that followed it, Poems and Ballads (1866), Swinburne demonstrated a metrical virtuosity that dazzled his early readers and is still dazzling. Those who demand that poetry should make sense, first and foremost, may find that much of his poetry is not to their taste. What he offers, instead, are heady rhythmical patterns in which words are relished as much for their sound as for their sense. There lived a singer in France of old By the tideless dolorous midland sea. In a land of sand and ruin and gold here shone one woman, and none but she. These lines from The Triumph of Time have often been cited to illustrate Swinburne's qualities. Like some poems of the later French symbolists, such passages defy tradi tional kinds of critical analysis and oblige us to reconsider the variety of ways in which poetry may achieve its effects. Another noteworthy aspect of these poems is their recurring preoccupation with death, as in the memorable re-creations of Proserpina's underworld garden, frozen in timelessness. And as the critic Jerome McGann notes: "No English poet has com posed more elegies than Swinburne." The death of any prominent figure, such as Robert Browning, almost always prompted Swinburne to compose a poem for the occasion. "Ave atque Vale" (1868), his farewell to Baudelaire, is an especially moving tribute, and shows Swinburne focusing on a subject extremely close to his heart. For Swinburne the work of his beloved French poet possessed a "languid, lurid beauty"; to us the phrase may seem equally applicable to Swinburne's poetry. . 1 502 / ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE Hymn to Proserpine (After the Proclamation in Rome of the Christian Faith) Vicisti, Galilaee' 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. Yea, is not even Apollo,2 with hair and harpstring of gold, A bitter god to follow, a beautiful god to behold? I am sick of singing; the bays3 burn deep and chafe. I am fain� glad To rest a little from praise and grievous pleasure and pain. For the gods we know not of, who give us our daily breath, We know they are cruel as love or life, and lovely as death. 0 gods dethroned and deceased, cast forth, wiped out in a day! From your wrath is the world released, redeemed from your chains, men say. New gods are crowned in the city; their flowers have broken your rods; They are merciful, clothed with pity, the young compassionate gods. But for me their new device is barren, the days are bare; Things long past over suffice, and men forgotten that were. Time and the gods are at strife; ye dwell in the midst thereof, Draining a little life from the barren breasts of love. 1 say to you, cease, take rest; yea, I say to you all, be at peace, Till the bitter milk of her breast and the barren bosom shall cease. 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,0 thicket 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? 1. Thou hast conquered, O Galilean (Latin); the poem as goddess of death and of sleep. The words supposedly addressed to Jesus, who grew up speaker also associates her with the earth (line 93) in Galilee, by the Roman emperor Julian the Apos-because she was the daughter of Ceres (or Demetate on his deathbed in 363. Julian had tried to ter), goddess of agriculture, whose Greek name revive paganism and to discourage Christianity, means "Earth Mother." Swinburne may have which, after a proclamation in 313, had been tol-derived some details here from the 4th-century erated in Rome. His efforts were unsuccessful. The Latin poet Claudian, whose long narrative The speaker of the poem, a Roman patrician and also Rape of Proserpina provides helpful background for a poet (line 9), is like Emperor Julian: he prefers this hymn. the old order of pagan gods. His hymn is addressed 2. Classical god of poetry, and in art the ideal of to the goddess Proserpina (the Greek Persephone), young male beauty. who was carried off by Pluto (Hades) to be queen 3. Laurel leaves of a poet's crown. of the underworld. In this role she is addressed in . HYMN TO PROSERPINE / 1497 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 labor, and bring fresh grief to blacken his years? Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown gray from thy breath; We have drunken of things Lethean,4 and fed on the fullness of death. Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day; But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May. Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the end; For the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend. Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides; But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the tides. O lips that the live blood faints in, the leavings of racks and rods! 0 ghastly glories of saints, dead limbs of gibbeted gods! Though all men abase them before you in spirit, and all knees bend, 1 kneel not, neither adore you, but standing look to the end. 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 beyond the extreme sea wall, and between the remote sea gates, Waste water washes, and tall ships founder, and deep death waits; 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 ruin, 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 vapor and storm of its steam as the sighing of spirits to be; And its noise as the noise in a dream; and its depths 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. Will ye bridle the deep sea with reins, will ye chasten the high sea with rods?5 Will ye take her to chain her with chains, who is older than all ye gods? 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. In the darkness of time, in the deeps of the years, in the changes of things, Ye shall sleep as a slain man sleeps, and the world shall forget you or kings. Though the feet of thine high priests tread where thy lords and our forefathers trod, 4. I.e., of Lethe (literally, "Forgetfulness"), a river the enraged Xerxes, king of the Persians, ordered in the underworld. that the Hellespont be whipped; see History 7.33� 5. According to the ancient Greek historian 34. Herodotus, after storm waves destroyed his bridge . 1 502 / ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE Though these that were gods are dead, and thou being dead art a god, Though before thee the throned Cytherean6 be fallen, and hidden her head, Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Galilean, thy dead shall go down to thee dead. 75 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 round with the world's desire as with raiment, and fair as the foam, so And fleeter than kindled fire, and a goddess, and mother of Rome.7 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. 85 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. 90 Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than ye all. But I turn to her� still, having seen she shall surely abide in Proserpina the end. Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend. 0 daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom of birth, 1 am also, I also, thy brother; I go as I came unto earth. 95 In the night where thine eyes are as moons are in heaven, the night where thou art, Where the silence is more than all tunes, where sleep overflows from the heart, Where the poppies are sweet as the rose in our world, and the red rose is white, And the wind falls faint as it blows with the fume of the flowers of the night, And the murmur of spirits that sleep in the shadow of gods from afar IOO Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star, In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun, Let my soul with their souls find place, and forget what is done and undone. Thou art more than the gods who number the days of our temporal breath; For these give labor and slumber; but thou, Proserpina, death. 105 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. mirror 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, no For there is no god found stronger than death; and death is a sleep. 1866 6. Venus (or Aphrodite), who was born from the Aeneas, a Trojan prince who was the son of Aphwaves near the island of Cythera. rodite. 7. Romans traced their legendary origins back to . HERMAPHRODITUS / 149 9 Hermaphroditus1 Lift up thy lips, turn round, look back for love, Blind love that comes by night and casts out rest Of all things tired thy lips look weariest, Save the long smile that they are wearied of. 5 Ah sweet, albeit no love be sweet enough, Choose of two loves and cleave unto the best; Two loves at either blossom of thy breast Strive until one be under and one above. Their breath is fire upon the amorous air, io Fire in thine eyes and where thy lips suspire:0 breathe out And whosoever hath seen thee, being so fair, Two things turn all his life and blood to fire; A strong desire begot on great despair, A great despair cast out by strong desire. 2 is Where between sleep and life some brief space is, With love like gold bound round about the head, Sex to sweet sex with lips and limbs is wed, Turning the fruitful feud of hers and his To the waste wedlock of a sterile kiss; 20 Yet from them something like as fire is shed That shall not be assuaged till death be dead, Though neither life nor sleep can find out this. Love made himself of flesh that perisheth A pleasure-house for all the loves his kin; 25 But on the one side sat a man like death, And on the other a woman sat like sin. So with veiled eyes and sobs between his breath Love turned himself and would not enter in. 3 Love, is it love or sleep or shadow or light 30 That lies between thine eyelids and thine eyes? Like a flower laid upon a flower it lies, Or like the night's dew laid upon the night. Love stands upon thy left hand and thy right, Yet by no sunset and by no moonrise 35 Shall make thee man and ease a woman's sighs, Or make thee woman for a man's delight. To what strange end hath some strange god made fair The double blossom of two fruitless flowers? Hid love in all the folds of all thy hair, 40 Fed thee on summers, watered thee with showers, I. Son of Hermes and Aphrodite. One day as he ing their bodies one. The statue in the Louvre that bathed in a spring, Salmacis, the nymph of the inspired this poem, a Roman copy of a Greek origspring, fell in love with him. When he rejected her, inal, shows the god lying on his side, with the she clung to him, praying that their bodies never breasts of a woman and the genitals of a man. be separated. The gods answered her prayer, mak . 1 502 / ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE Given all the gold that all the seasons wear To thee that art a thing of barren hours? 4 Yea, love, I see; it is not love but fear. Nay, sweet, it is not fear but love, I know; 45 Or wherefore should thy body's blossom blow
ТЕЛЕГРАМКанал с обзорами, анонсами новинок и книжными подборками
Книжный Вестник
Бот для удобного поиска книг (если не нашлось на сайте)
Поиск книг
Свежие любовные романы в удобных форматах
Любовные романы
О психологии, саморазвитии и личностном росте
Саморазвитие
Детективы и триллеры, все новинки
Детективы
Фантастика и фэнтези, все новинки
Фантастика
Отборные классические книги
Классика
ВКОНТАКТЕБиблиотека с любовными романами, которая наверняка придётся по вкусу женской части аудитории
Любовные романы
Библиотека с фантастикой и фэнтези, а также смежных жанров
Фантастика
Самые популярные книги в формате фб2
Топ фб2
книги