The thick line represents the period of important literary work.
1. An Era of Peace. The few colonial wars that broke out during the Victorian epoch did not seriously disturb the national life. There was one Continental war that directly affected Britain—the Crimean War—and one that affected her indirectly though strongly—the Franco-German struggle; yet neither of these caused any profound changes. In America the great civil struggle left scars that were soon to be obliterated by the wise statesmanship of her rulers. The whole age may be not unfairly described as one of peaceful activity. In the earlier stages the lessening surges of the French Revolution were still left; but by the middle of the century they had almost completely died down, and other hopes and ideals, largely pacific, were gradually taking their place.
2. Material Developments. It was an age alive with new activities. There was a revolution in commercial enterprise, due to the great increase of available markets, and, as a result of this, an immense advance in the use of mechanical devices. The new commercial energy was reflected in the Great Exhibition of 1851, which was greeted as the inauguration of a new era of prosperity.
3. Intellectual Developments. There can be little doubt that in many cases material wealth produced a hardness of temper and an impatience of projects and ideas that brought no return in hard cash; yet it is to the credit of this age that intellectual activities were so numerous. There was quite a revolution in scientific thought following upon the works of Darwin and his school, and an immense outburst of social and political theorizing which was represented in England by the writings of men like Herbert Spencer and John Stuart Mill. In addition, popular education became a practical thing. This in its turn produced a new hunger for intellectual food, and resulted in a great increase in the productions of the Press and of other more durable species of literature.
The sixty years (1830–90) commonly included under the name of the Victorian age present many dissimilar features; yet in several respects we can safely generalize.
1. Its Morality. Nearly all observers of the Victorian age are struck by its extreme deference to the conventions. To a later age these seem ludicrous. It was thought indecorous for a man to smoke in public and (much later in the century) for a lady to ride a bicycle. To a great extent the new morality was a natural revolt against the grossness of the earlier Regency, and the influence of the Victorian Court was all in its favor. In literature it is amply reflected. Tennyson is the most conspicuous example in poetry, creating the priggishly complacent Sir Galahad and King Arthur. Dickens, perhaps the most representative of the Victorian novelists, took for his model the old picaresque novel; but it is almost laughable to observe his anxiety to be “moral.” This type of writing is quite blameless, but it produced the kind of public that denounced the innocuous Jane Eyre as wicked because it dealt with the harmless affection of a girl for a married man.
2. The Revolt. Many writers protested against the deadening effects of the conventions. Carlyle and Matthew Arnold, in their different accents, were loud in their denunciations; Thackeray never tired of satirizing the snobbishness of the age; and Browning’s cobbly mannerisms were an indirect challenge to the velvety diction and the smooth self-satisfaction of the Tennysonian school. As the age proceeded the reaction strengthened. In poetry the Pre-Raphaelites, led by Swinburne and William Morris, proclaimed no morality but that of the artist’s regard for his art. By the vigor of his methods Swinburne horrified the timorous, and made himself rather ridiculous in the eyes of sensible people. It remained for Mr. Hardy (whom we reserve for the next chapter) to pull aside the Victorian veils and shutters and with the large tolerance of the master to regard men’s actions with open gaze. To the present day, sometimes wisely, often unwisely, poet and novelist have carried on the process; and the end is not yet.
3. Intellectual Developments. The literary product was inevitably affected by the new ideas in science, religion, and politics. The Origin of Species (1859) of Darwin shook to its foundations scientific thought. We can perceive the influence of such a work in Tennyson’s In Memoriam, in Matthew Arnold’s meditative poetry, and in the works of Carlyle. In religious and ethical thought the “Oxford Movement,” as it was called, was the most noteworthy advance. This movement had its source among the young and eager thinkers of the old university, and was headed by the great Newman, who ultimately (1845) joined the Church of Rome. As a religious portent it marked the widespread discontent with the existing beliefs of the Church of England; as a literary influence it affected many writers of note, including Newman himself, Froude, Maurice, Kingsley, and Gladstone.
4. The New Education. The Education Acts, making a certain measure of education compulsory, rapidly produced an enormous reading public. The cheapening of printing and paper increased the demand for books, so that the production was multiplied. The most popular form of literature was the novel, and the novelists responded with a will. Much of their work was of a high standard, so much so that it has been asserted by competent critics that the middle years of the nineteenth century were the richest in the whole history of the novel.
5. International Influences. During the nineteenth century the interaction among American and European writers was remarkably fresh and strong. In Britain the influence of the great German writers was continuous, and it was championed by Carlyle and Matthew Arnold. Subject nations, in particular the Italians, were a sympathetic theme for prose and verse. The Brownings, Swinburne, Morris, and Meredith were deeply absorbed in the long struggle of the followers of Garibaldi and Cavour; and when Italian freedom was gained the rejoicings were genuine.
6. The Achievement of the Age. With all its immense production, the age produced no supreme writer. It revealed no Shakespeare, no Shelley, nor (in the international sense) a Byron or a Scott. The general literary level was, however, very high; and it was an age, moreover, of spacious intellectual horizons, noble endeavor, and bright aspirations.
1. His Life. Alfred Tennyson, the son of a clergyman, was born at his father’s living at Somersby in Lincolnshire. After some schooling at Louth, which was not agreeable to him, he proceeded to Cambridge (1828). At the university he was a wholly conventional person, and the only mark he made was to win the Chancellor’s Prize for a poem on Timbuctoo. He left Cambridge without taking a degree; but before doing so he published a small volume of mediocre verse. During the next twenty years he passed a tranquil existence, living chiefly with his parents, and writing much poetry. Pleasant jaunts—to the Lake District, to Stratford-on-Avon, and other places—varied his peaceful life, and all the while his fame as a poet was making headway. In 1844 he lost most of his small means in an unlucky speculation, but in the nick of time (1845) he received a Government pension. He was appointed Poet Laureate (1850) in succession to Wordsworth, married, and removed to Freshwater, in the Isle of Wight, which was his home for the next twenty years. In his later years recognition and applause came increasingly upon him, and he was regarded as the greatest poet of his day. In 1884 he was created a baron, sat in the House of Lords, and for a time took himself rather seriously as a politician, falling out with Gladstone over the Irish question. He died at Aldworth, near Haslemere, in Surrey, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
2. His Poetry. When he was seventeen years old Tennyson collaborated with his elder brother Charles in Poems by Two Brothers (1826). The volume is a slight one, but in the light of his later work we can already discern a little of the Tennysonian metrical aptitude and descriptive power. His prize poem of Timbuctoo (1829) is not much better than the usual prize poem. His Poems, Chiefly Lyrical (1830), published while he was an undergraduate, are yet immature, but in pieces like Isabel and Madeleine the pictorial effect and the sumptuous imagery of his maturer style are already conspicuous.
His volume of Poems (1832) is of a different quality, and marks a decided advance. In this book, which contains Mariana in the South and The Palace of Art, we see the Tennysonian features approaching perfection. Poems (1833), with such notable items as Œnone and The Lotos-Eaters, advances still further in technique. Then in 1842 he produced two volumes of poetry that set him once and for all among the greater poets of his day. The first volume contains revised forms of some of the numbers published previously, the second is entirely new. It opens with Morte d’Arthur, and contains Ulysses, Locksley Hall, and several other poems that stand at the summit of his achievement.
The later stages of his career are marked chiefly by much longer poems. The Princess (1847) is a serio-comic attempt to handle the theme that was then known as “the new woman.” For the sake of his story Tennyson imagines a ladies’ academy with a mutinously intellectual princess at the head of it. For a space a tragedy seems imminent, but in the end all is well, for the Princess is married to the blameless hero. The poem is in blank verse, but interspersed are several singularly beautiful lyrics. The humor is heavy, but many of the descriptions are as rich and wonderful as any Tennyson ever attempted.
In Memoriam (1850) caused a great stir when it first appeared. It is a very long series of meditations upon the death of Arthur Henry Hallam, Tennyson’s college friend, who died at Vienna in 1833. Tennyson brooded over the subject for years; and upon this elegiac theme he imposed numerous meditations on life and death, showing how these subjects were affected by the new theories of the day. To a later generation his ideas appear pallid enough; but at the time they marked a great advance upon the notions of the past. The poem is adorned with many beautiful sketches of English scenery; and the meter—now called the In Memoriam meter—which is quite rare, is deftly managed.
Maud and Other Poems (1855) was received with amazement by the public. The chief poem is called a “monodrama”; it consists of a series of lyrics which reflect the love and hatred, the hope and despair, of a lover who slays his mistress’s brother, and then flies broken to France. The whole tone of the work is forced and fevered, and it ends in a glorification of war and bloodshed. It does not add to Tennyson’s fame.
Beginning in 1859, Tennyson issued a series of Idylls of the King, which had considered and attempted a great theme that Milton abandoned—that of King Arthur and the Round Table. Many doting admirers saw in the Idylls an allegory of the soul of man; but in effect Tennyson drew largely upon the simple tales of Malory, stripping them of their “bold bawdry” to please his public, and covering them with a thick coating of his delicate and detailed ornamentation. It is doubtful if this unnatural compound of Malory-Tennyson is quite a happy one, but we do obtain much blank verse of noble and sustained power.
The only other poem of any length is Enoch Arden (1864), which became the most popular of all, and found its way in translation into foreign languages. The plot is cheap enough, dealing with a seaman, supposedly drowned, who returns and, finding his wife happily married to another man, regretfully retires without making himself known. The tale, as ever, is rich with Tennysonian adornment. In particular, there is a description of the tropical island where Enoch is wrecked that is among the highest flights of the poet:
His last poems contain a harsher note, as if old age had brought disillusion and a peevish discontent with the pleasant artifices that had graced his prime. Even the later instalments of the Idylls of the King contain jarring notes, and are often fretful and unhappy in tone. Among the shorter poems, Locksley Hall Sixty Years after (1885) and The Death of Œnone (1892) are sad echoes of the sumptuous imaginings of the years preceding 1842.
3. His Plays. Tennyson’s dramas occupied his later years. He wrote three historical plays—Queen Mary (1875), Harold (1877), and Becket (1884). The last, owing chiefly to the exertions of Sir Henry Irving, the actor-manager, was quite a stage success. None, however, ranks high as a real dramatic effort, though all show much care and skill. The Falcon (1879) is a comedy based on a story from Boccaccio; The Cup (1880) is based on a story from Plutarch, and scored a success, also through the skill of Irving. The Foresters (1892), dealing with the familiar Robin Hood theme, was produced in America.
4. His Poetical Characteristics. (a) His Craftsmanship. No one can deny the great care and skill shown in Tennyson’s work. His method of producing poetry was slowly to evolve the lines in his mind, commit them to paper, and to revise them till they were as near perfection as he could make them. Consequently we have a high level of poetical artistry. No one excels Tennyson in the deft application of sound to sense and in the subtle and pervading employment of alliteration and vowel-music. Such passages as this abound in his work:
This is perhaps not the highest poetry, but shows only a kind of manual, or rather aural, dexterity; yet as Tennyson employs it, it is effective to a degree.
His excellent craftsmanship is also apparent in his handling of English meters, in which he is a tireless experimenter. In blank verse he is not so varied and powerful as Shakespeare, nor so majestical as Milton, but in the skill of his workmanship and in his wealth of diction he falls but little short of these great masters.
(b) His Pictorial Quality. In this respect Tennyson follows the example of Keats. Nearly all of his poems, even the simplest, abound in ornate description of natural and other scenes. His method is to seize upon appropriate details, dress them in expressive and musical phrases, and thus throw a glistening image before the reader’s eye:
Such passages as these reveal Tennyson at his best; but once again the doubt arises as to whether they represent the highest poetry. They show care of observation and a studious loveliness of epithet; but they lack the intense insight, the ringing and romantic note, of the best efforts of Keats.
(c) Tennyson’s lyrical quality is somewhat uneven. The slightest of his pieces, like Blow, bugle, blow, are musical and attractive; but on the whole his nature was too self-conscious, and perhaps his life too regular and prosperous, to provide a background for the true lyrical intensity of emotion. Once or twice, as in the wonderful Break, break, break and Crossing the Bar, he touches real greatness:
This lyric has a brevity, unity, and simple earnestness of emotion that make it truly great.
(d) The extracts already given have sufficiently revealed the qualities of his style. It can be quite simple, as in The Brook and Will Waterproof’s Lyrical Monologue; but his typical style shows a slow and somewhat sententious progress, heavy with imagery and all the other devices of the poetical artist. In particular, he is an adept at coining phrases—“jewels five words long,” as he himself aptly expressed it; and he is almost invariably happy in his choice of epithet.
(e) His reputation has already declined from the idolatry in which he was held when he was alive. He himself foresaw “the clamour and the cry” that was bound to arise after his death. To his contemporaries he was a demigod; but younger men strongly assailed his patent literary mannerisms, his complacent acceptance of the evils of his time, his flattery of the great, and his somewhat arrogant assumption of the airs of immortality. Consequently for twenty years after his death his reputation suffered considerably. Once more reaction has set in, and his detractors have modified their attitude. He is not a supreme poet; and whether he will maintain the primacy among the singers of his own generation, as he undoubtedly did during his lifetime, remains to be seen; but, after all deductions are made, his high place in the Temple of Fame is assured.
1. His Life. Browning was born at Camberwell, his father being connected with the Bank of England. The future poet was educated semi-privately, and from an early age he was free to follow his inclination toward studying unusual subjects. As a child he was precocious, and began to write poetry at the age of twelve. Of his predecessors Shelley in particular influenced his mind, which was unformed and turbulent at this time with the growing power within. After a brief course at London University, Browning for a short period traveled in Russia (1833); then he lived in London, where he became acquainted with some of the leaders of the literary and theatrical worlds. In 1834 he paid his first visit to Italy, a country which was for him a fitful kind of home. In 1845 he visited Elizabeth Barrett, the poetess, whose works had strongly attracted him. A mutual liking ensued, and then, after a private marriage, a sort of elopement followed, to escape the anger of the wife’s stern parent. The remainder of Browning’s life was occupied with journeys between England and France and Italy, and with much poetical activity. His wife died at Florence in 1861, leaving one son. Browning thereupon left the city for good and returned to England, though in 1878 he went back once more to Italy. His works, after suffering much neglect, were now being appreciated, and in 1867 Oxford conferred upon him the degree of D.C.L. He died in Italy, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
2. His Poems and Plays. His first work of any importance is Pauline (1833). The poem is a wild imitation of the more extravagant outbursts of Shelley, whom it praises effusively. The work is crude and feverish, and at the time it attracted little notice. Paracelsus (1835) reveals Browning’s affection for unusual subjects. The poem, a very long one, is composed largely of monologues of the medieval charlatan whose name forms the title. The work gave the public its first taste of Browning’s famous “obscurity.” The style is often harsh and rugged, but the blank verse contains many isolated passages of great tenderness and beauty. There are in addition one or two charming lyrics that are as limpid as well-water:
His next effort was the play Strafford (1837), which was written at the suggestion of the actor Macready, and was fairly successful. Sordello (1840) established Browning’s reputation for obscurity. The poem professes to tell the life-story of a Mantuan troubadour, but most of it is occupied with long irrelevant speeches and with Browning’s commentary thereon. Pippa Passes (1841) is in form a drama. In plot it is highly improbable, as it is based on several coincidences that all happen in one day. The work is rather more terse than its predecessors, and the purple patches are more numerous. Pippa’s songs, moreover, are often of great beauty. In Dramatic Lyrics (1842) there are many examples of clear and forcible work, including his Cavalier lyrics and such well-known pieces as Home Thoughts from Abroad. Other works of this period include The Return of the Druses (1843), a play; Dramatic Romances (1846), which shows the Browning obscurity and virility at their best and worst; Luria (1846), perhaps the weakest of his tragedies, resembling Othello in some respects; Men and Women (1855), consisting of dramatic monologues, some of great power and penetration; Dramatis Personæ (1864), containing more monologues; Balaustion’s Adventure (1871), a transcript from Euripides; and the longest of all his works, The Ring and the Book (1868–69), with which the period closes.
The Ring and the Book is (the word is so apt as to be inevitable) a literary “stunt.” It is the story of the murder of a young wife, Pompilia, by her worthless husband, in the year 1698, and the same story is told by nine different people, and continues for twelve books. The result is a monument of masterly discursiveness.
In the later stages of his career Browning’s mannerisms are accentuated in the dreary wildernesses of Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau (1871), Red Cotton Night-Cap Country (1873), The Inn Album (1875), and La Saisiaz (1878). It is difficult to understand the use of such poems, except to give employment to the Browning Societies that were springing up to explain them. But his better qualities are shown in Fifine at the Fair (1872), which is still too long; Dramatic Idylls (1879–80); Jocoseria (1883); Ferishtah’s Fancies (1884); and Parleyings with Certain People (1887). His long life’s work has a powerful close in Asolando (1889), which, along with much of the tired disillusion of the old man, has in places the firmness and enthusiasm of his prime. The last verses he ever wrote describe himself in the character he most loved to adopt:
3. Features of his Work. (a) His Style. Browning’s style has been the subject of endless discussion, for it presents a fascinating problem. Within itself it reveals the widest range. Its famous “obscurity” was so pronounced that it led to the production of “Browning dictionaries” and other apparatus to disclose the deep meanings of the master. This feature of his work is partly due to his fondness for recondite subjects, to his compression and also to his diffuseness of thought and language, and to his juggling with words and meters. It often leads to such passages as the following, which is nothing less than jockeying with the English language:
In contrast with this huddle of words, Browning can write clearly and with perfect cohesion and directness, as may easily be seen in such well-known poems as How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, Time’s Revenges, and The Glove. His middle style, common in his blank verse and his lyrics, is somewhat like that of Byron in its fine prosaic aptness:
(b) His Descriptive Power. In this respect Browning differs widely from Tennyson, who slowly creates a lovely image by careful massing of detail. Browning, however, makes one or two dashing strokes, and, by his complete mastery of phrase, the picture is revealed:
This love for the picturesque leads him into many crooked byways of life, manners, and history, often with results that dismay his warmest admirers. Frequently, however, the stubborn thistle of his style blossoms into glossy purples. For example, in The Ring and the Book, we often light upon a tender passage like the following, which refreshes the whole arid page around it:
(c) His Teaching. Much play has been made with this side of his writings. But, after analysis, his teaching can with fairness be summed up in the simple exhortation to strive, hope, and fear not. A fair proportion of his poems are inspired with the facile optimism that led him to cry,
but his sager mind let him perceive that much of the world was wrong. He had generous enthusiasms, such as that for the cause of Italian liberty; several strong prejudices, such as that against spiritualism; but on the whole his is a fair reflex of the average mind of his day, with the addition of much reading and observation and the priceless boon of genuine poetical genius.
(d) His Reputation. Recognition was slow in coming, but like Wordsworth he lived to see his name established high among his fellows. He wrote too freely, and often too carelessly and perversely, and much of his work will pass into oblivion; but the residue will be of quality high enough to make his fame secure.
1. Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–61), whose maiden name was Elizabeth Barrett, was the daughter of a West India planter, and was born at Durham. She began to write poems at the age of eight; her first published work worth mentioning was An Essay on Mind (1826), which is of slight importance. When she was about thirty years old delicate health prostrated her, and for the rest of her life she was almost an invalid. In 1846, when she was forty, she and Robert Browning were married, and stole off to Italy, where they made Florence their headquarters. She was a woman of acute sensibilities, and was fervid in the support of many good causes, one of which was the attainment of Italian independence. On the death of Wordsworth in 1850 it was suggested that the Laureateship should be conferred upon her, but the project fell through. After a very happy married life she died at Florence.
Only the chief of her numerous poetical works can be mentioned here. After her first work noted above there was a pause of nine years; then appeared Prometheus Bound (1835). Other works are The Seraphim (1838), Sonnets from the Portuguese (1846), Casa Guidi Windows (1851), Aurora Leigh (1857), an immense poem in blank verse, and Last Poems (1861). She wrote many of her shorter pieces for magazines, the most important contributions being The Cry of the Children (1841) for Blackwood’s and The Great God Pan (1860) for the Cornhill. As a narrative poet Mrs. Browning is a comparative failure, for in method she is discursive and confused, but she has command of a sweet, clear, and often passionate style. She has many slips of taste, and her desire for elevation sometimes leads her into what Rossetti called “falsetto masculinity,” a kind of hysterical bravado.
2. Matthew Arnold (1822–88) was a writer of many activities, but it is chiefly as a poet that he now holds his place in literature. He was the son of the famous headmaster of Rugby, and was educated at Winchester, Rugby, and at Balliol College, Oxford, where he gained the Newdigate Prize for poetry. Subsequently he became a Fellow of Oriel College (1845). In 1851 he was appointed an inspector of schools, and proved to be a capable official. His life was busily uneventful, and in 1886 he resigned, receiving a pension from the Government. Less than two years afterward he died suddenly of heart disease.
His poetical works are not very bulky. The Strayed Reveller (1848) appeared under the nom de plume of “A”; then followed Empedocles on Etna (1853), Poems (1854), and New Poems (1868). None of these volumes is of large size, though much of the content is of a high quality. For subject Arnold is fond of classical themes, to which he gives a meditative and even melancholy cast common in modern compositions. In some of the poems—as, for example, in the nobly pessimistic Scholar-Gipsy—he excels in the description of typical English scenery. In style he has much of the classical stateliness and more formal type of beauty, but he can be graceful and charming, with sometimes the note of real passion. His meditative poetry, like Dover Beach and A Summer Night, resembles that of Gray in its subdued melancholy resignation, but all his work is careful, scholarly, and workmanlike.
His prose works are large in bulk and wide in range. Of them all his critical essays are probably of the highest value. Essays in Criticism (1865) contains the best of his critical work, which is marked by wide reading and careful thought. His judgment, usually admirably sane and measured, is sometimes distorted a little by his views on life and politics. Arnold also wrote freely upon theological and political themes, but these were largely topics of the day, and his works on such subjects have no great permanent value. His best books of this class are Culture and Anarchy (1869) and Literature and Dogma (1873).
3. Edward Fitzgerald (1809–83), like Thomas Gray, lives in general literature by one poem. This, after long neglect, came to be regarded as one of the great things in English literature. He was a man of original views and retiring habits, and spent most of his life in his native Suffolk. In 1859 he issued the Rubáiyát of the early Persian poet Omar Khayyám. His version is a very free translation, cast into curious four-lined stanzas, which have an extraordinary cadence, rugged yet melodious, strong yet sweet. The feeling expressed in the verses, with much energy and picturesque effect, is stoical resignation. Fitzgerald also wrote a prose dialogue of much beauty called Euphranor (1851); and his surviving letters testify to his quiet and caustic humor.
4. Arthur Hugh Clough (1819–61) was born at Liverpool, and educated at Rugby, where Dr. Arnold made a deep impression upon his mind. He proceeded to Oxford, where, like his friend Matthew Arnold, he later became a Fellow of Oriel College. He traveled much, and then became Warden of University Hall, London. This post he soon resigned, and some public appointments followed. He died at Florence, after a long pilgrimage to restore his failing health. His death was bewailed by Arnold in his beautiful elegy Thyrsis.
Clough’s first long poem was The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich (1848), which is written in rough classical hexameters and contains some fine descriptions of the Scottish Highlands. He wrote little else of much value. His Amours de Voyage (1849) is also in hexameters; Dipsychus (1850) is a meditative poem. His poetry is charged with much of the deep-seated unrest and despondency that mark the work of Arnold. His lyrical gift is not great, but once at least, in the powerful Say not the Struggle Naught Availeth, he soared into greatness.
5. Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–82) was the eldest of the Pre-Raphaelite school of artists and poets. He himself was both artist and poet. He was the son of an Italian refugee, and early became an artist. In art, as in poetry, he broke away from convention when he saw fit. His poetical works are small in bulk, consisting of two slight volumes, Poems (1870) and Ballads and Sonnets (1881).
Of the high quality of these poems there can be little question. With a little more breadth of view, and with perhaps more of the humane element in him, he might have found a place among the very highest. For he had real genius, and in The Blessed Damozel his gifts are fully displayed: a gift for description of almost uncanny splendor, a brooding and passionate introspection, often of a religious nature, and a verbal beauty as studied and melodious as that of Tennyson—less certain and decisive perhaps, but surpassing that of the older poet in unearthly suggestiveness. In his ballads, like Rose Mary and Troy Town, the same powers are apparent, though in a lesser degree; these have in addition a power of narrative that is only a very little short of the greatest. An extract appears on p. 515.
6. Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–94) was a younger sister of the poet last named, and survived him by some years. Her life was uneventful, like her brother’s, and was passed chiefly in London.
Her bent was almost entirely lyrical, and was shown in Goblin Market (1862), The Prince’s Progress (1866), A Pageant (1881), and Verses (1892). Another volume, called New Poems (1896), was published after her death, and contains much excellent early work. Her poetry, perhaps less impressive than that of her brother in its descriptive passages, has a purer lyrical note of deep and sustained passion, with a somewhat larger command of humor, and a gift of poetical expression as noble and comprehensive as his own. They resemble each other in a curious still undertone of passionate religious meditation joined to a fine simplicity of diction.
7. William Morris (1834–96) produced a great amount of poetry, and was one of the most conspicuous figures in mid-Victorian literature. He was born near London, the son of a wealthy merchant, and was educated at Marlborough and Oxford. His wealth, freeing him from the drudgery of a profession, permitted him to take a lively and practical interest in the questions of his day. Upon art, education, politics, and social problems his great energy and powerful mind led him to take very decided views, sometimes of an original nature. Here we are concerned only with his achievement in literature.
At an early period he was drawn into the Pre-Raphaelite movement, for he was keenly alive to its studied beauty and rather extreme medievalism. The Defence of Guenevere (1858), written in this manner, was received with neglect. The poems are laboriously fantastic, but they show great beauty and a sense of restrained passion. The Life and Death of Jason (1866) is a long narrative poem on a familiar theme, written in the heroic couplet in a manner suggestive of Chaucer, but easy and melodious to an extent that makes the tale almost monotonous. The Earthly Paradise (1868–70) develops this narrative method still further, and is a collection of twenty-four tales on various subjects of classical and medieval origin. In meter the poems vary, but the couplet is prominent. In range and vivacity the work is extraordinary, and the framework into which the tales are set is both ingenious and beautiful. Poems by the Way (1891) contains some fine miscellaneous pieces. A brief extract from his poems will be found on p. 514.
Morris also busied himself with the composition of long prose tales, produced in great quantity during the later years of his life. The tales are written in a curious headlong, semi-rhythmical, semi-archaic style. Much reading of it tends to give the reader mental indigestion, but the vigor and skill of the prose are very considerable. Some of the tales are The House of the Wolfings (1889), The Roots of the Mountains (1890), The Story of the Glittering Plain (1891), and The Sundering Flood (1898).
8. Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837–1909) had a long life and his poetical work was in proportion to it. Of aristocratic lineage, he was educated at Eton and Oxford. He left Oxford (1860) without taking a degree, and for the rest of his life wrote voluminously, if not always judiciously. He was a man of quick attachments and violent antagonisms, and these features of his character did much to vitiate his prose criticisms, of which he wrote a large number. In his later years, from 1879 onward, he lived with his friend Theodore Watts-Dunton at Putney Hill, where he died.
Atalanta in Calydon (1865), an attempt at an English version of an ancient Greek tragedy, was his first considerable effort in poetic form, and it attracted notice at once. At a bound the young poet had attained to a style of his own: tuneful and impetuous movement, a cunning metrical craftsmanship, and a mastery of melodious diction. The excess of these virtues was also its bane, leading to diffuseness, breathlessness, and incoherence. Poems and Ballads (1866), a second extraordinary book, was, owing to its choice of unconventional subjects, criticized as being wicked. In it the Swinburnian features already mentioned are revealed in a stronger fashion. Only a few of his later poetical works can be mentioned here: Songs before Sunrise (1871), a collection of poems chiefly in praise of Italian liberty, some of them of great beauty, but marred by his reckless defiance of the common view; Erectheus (1876), a further and less successful effort at Greek tragedy; and Tristram of Lyonesse (1882), a narrative of much passion and force, composed in the heroic couplet. Some of his shorter poems were reproduced in two further series of Poems and Ballads in 1878 and 1889, but they are inferior to those of his prime.
Swinburne wrote a large number of plays, of which the most noteworthy are The Queen Mother and Rosamond (1860), with which he began his career as an author; three plays on the subject of Mary Queen of Scots, called Chastelard (1865), Bothwell (1874), and Mary Stuart (1881); Locrine (1887); and The Sisters (1892). The gifts of Swinburne are lyrical rather than dramatic, and his tragedies, like those of most of his contemporaries, are only of literary importance. His blank verse is strongly phrased, and in drama his diffuseness—that desire for mere sound and speed which was his greatest weakness—has little scope.
9. Arthur Edward O’Shaughnessy (1844–81) was born in London, of Irish descent. In 1861 he joined the staff of the British Museum Library, where a promising career was cut short by his early death. He wrote little, and his books came close upon each other: The Epic of Women (1870), Lays of France (1872), Music and Moonlight (1874), and Songs of a Worker (1881), the last appearing after his death. His longer poems have a certain haziness and incoherence, but the shorter pieces have a musical and attractive style and a certain half-mystical wistfulness. His ode beginning “We are the music-makers” is often quoted, and other poems quite as good are A Neglected Heart and Exile.
1. His Life. Dickens was born near Portsea, where his father was a clerk in the Navy Pay Office. Charles, the second of eight children, was a delicate child, and much of his boyhood was spent at home, where he read the novels of Smollett, Fielding, and Le Sage. The works of these writers were to influence his own novels very deeply. At an early age also he became very fond of the theater, a fondness that remained with him all his life, and affected his novels to a great extent. In 1823 the Dickens family removed to London, where the father, an improvident man of the Micawber type, soon drew them into money difficulties. The schooling of Charles, which had all along been desultory enough, was temporarily suspended. The boy for a time worked in a blacking factory while his father was an inmate of the debtors’ prison of the Marshalsea. After a year or so financial matters improved; the education of Charles was resumed; then in 1827 he entered the office of an attorney, and in time became an expert shorthand-writer. This proficiency led (1835) to an appointment as reporter on the Morning Chronicle. In this capacity he did much traveling by stage-coach, during which a keen eye and a retentive memory stored material to exploit a greatness yet undreamed of. Previously, in 1833, some articles which he called Sketches by Boz had appeared in The Monthly Magazine. They were brightly written, and attracted some notice.
In 1836 Messrs. Chapman and Hall, a firm of publishers, had agreed to produce in periodical form a series of sketches by Seymour, a popular black-and-white artist. The subjects were of a sporting and convivial kind, and to give them more general interest some story was needed to accompany them. Dickens was requested to supply the “book,” and thus originated The Pickwick Papers (1836). Before the issue of the second number of the prints Seymour committed suicide, and Hablot K. Browne, who adopted the name of “Phiz,” carried on the work. His illustrations are still commonly adopted for Dickens’s books.
The Pickwick Papers was a great success; Dickens’s fame was secure, and the rest of his life was that of a busy and successful novelist. He lived to enjoy a reputation that was unexampled, surpassing even that of Scott; for the appeal of Dickens was wider and more searching than that of the Scottish novelist. He varied his work with much traveling—among other places to America (1842), to Italy (1844), to Switzerland (1846), and again to America (1867). His popularity was exploited in journalism, for he edited The Daily News (1846), and founded Household Words (1849) and All the Year Round (1859). In 1858 Dickens commenced his famous series of public readings. These were actings rather than readings, for he chose some of the most violent or affecting scenes from his novels and presented them with full-blown histrionic effect. The readings brought him much money, but they wore him down physically. They were also given in America, with the greatest success. He died in his favorite house, Gad’s Hill Place, near Rochester, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.
2. His Novels. Sketches by Boz (1833), a series dealing with London life in the manner of Leigh Hunt, is interesting, but trifling when compared with The Pickwick Papers (1836), its successor. The plot of the latter book is rudimentary. In order to provide an occasion for Seymour’s sketches Dickens hit upon the idea of a sporting club, to be called the Pickwick Club. As the book proceeds this idea is soon dropped, and the story becomes a kind of large and genial picaresque novel. The incidents are loosely connected and the chronology will not bear close inspection, but in abundance of detail of a high quality, in vivacity of humor, in acute and accurate observation, the book is of the first rank. It is doubtful if Dickens ever improved upon it. Then, before Pickwick was finished, Oliver Twist (1837) appeared piecemeal in Bentley’s Miscellany; and Nicholas Nickleby (1838) was begun before the second novel had ceased to appear. The demand for Dickens’s novels was now enormous, and he was assiduous in catering for his public. For his next novels he constructed a somewhat elaborate framework, calling the work Master Humphrey’s Clock; but he sensibly abandoned the notion, and the books appeared separately as The Old Curiosity Shop (1840), which was an immense success, and Barnaby Rudge (1841), a historical novel. In 1842 he sailed to America, where his experiences bore fruit in American Notes (1843) and Martin Chuzzlewit (1843). These works were not complimentary to the Americans, and they brought him much unpopularity in the United States. A Christmas Carol (1843) and Dombey and Son (1848) appeared next, the latter being written partly at Lausanne. Then in 1849 he started David Copperfield, which contains many of his personal experiences and is often considered to be his masterpiece, though for many critics The Pickwick Papers retains its primacy.
From this point onward a certain decline is manifest. His stories drag; his mannerisms become more apparent, and his splendid buoyancy is less visible. Bleak House (1852) and Hard Times (1854) were written for his Household Words; Little Dorrit (1856) appeared in monthly parts; A Tale of Two Cities (1859) and Great Expectations (1860) were for All the Year Round. After producing Our Mutual Friend (1864) he paid his second visit to America, and was received very cordially. He returned to England, but did not live to finish The Mystery of Edwin Drood, which was appearing in monthly parts when he died.
3. Features of his Novels. (a) Their Popularity. At the age of twenty-six Dickens was a popular author. This was a happy state of affairs for him, and to his books it served as an ardent stimulus. But there were attendant disadvantages. The demand for his novels was so enormous that it often led to hasty and ill-considered work: to crudity of plot, to unreality of characters, and to looseness of style. It led also to the pernicious habit of issuing the stories in parts. This in turn resulted in much padding and in lopsidedness of construction. The marvelous thing is that with so strong a temptation to slop-work he created books that were so rich and enduring.
(b) His Imagination. No English novelist excels Dickens in the multiplicity of his characters and situations. Pickwick Papers, the first of the novels, teems with characters, some of them finely portrayed, and in mere numbers the supply is maintained to the very end of his life. He creates for us a whole world of people. In this world he is most at home with persons of the lower and middle ranks of life, especially those who frequent the neighborhood of London.
(c) His Humor and Pathos. It is very likely that the reputation of Dickens will be maintained chiefly as a humorist. His humor is broad, humane, and creative. It gives us such real immortals as Mr. Pickwick, Mrs. Gamp, Mr. Micawber, and Sam Weller—typical inhabitants of the Dickensian sphere, and worthy of a place in any literary brotherhood. Dickens’s humor is not very subtle, but it goes deep, and in expression it is free and vivacious. His satire is apt to develop into mere burlesque, as it does when he deals with Mr. Stiggins and Bumble. As for his pathos, in its day it had an appeal that appears amazing to a later generation, whom it strikes as cheap and maudlin. His devices are often third-rate, as when they depend upon such themes as the deaths of little children, which he describes in detail. His genius had little tragic force. He could describe the horrible, as in the death of Bill Sikes; he could be painfully melodramatic, as in characters like Rosa Dartle and Madame Defarge; but he seems to have been unable to command the simplicity of real tragic greatness.
(d) His mannerisms are many, and they do not make for good in his novels. It has often been pointed out that his characters are created not “in the round,” but “in the flat.” Each represents one mood, one turn of phrase. Uriah Heep is “’umble,” Barkis is “willin’.” In this fashion his characters become associated with catch-phrases, like the personages in inferior drama. Dickens’s partiality for the drama is also seen in the staginess of his scenes and plots.
(e) In time his style became mannered also. At its best it is not polished nor scholarly, but it is clear, rapid, and workmanlike, the style of the working journalist. In the early books it is sometimes trivial with puns, Cockneyisms, and tiresome circumlocutions. This heavy-handedness of phrase remained with him all his life. In his more aspiring flights, in particular in his deeply pathetic passages, he adopted a lyrical style, a kind of verse-in-prose, that is blank verse slightly disguised. We add a passage of this last type. It can be scanned in places like pure blank verse: