Chapter II: Introduction

ALL collectors of _Vers de Société_ agree that there is no possibility of an English equivalent for the French term. None exists; and the attempts to coin one have invariably resulted in failure.

Society Verse, Familiar Verse and Occasional Verse are all wide of the mark in one direction or another; and perhaps, after all, the simple term Light Verse strikes nearest home.

One might suggest Gentle Verse, but it would be with the restricted meaning of the adjective that is applied to the courteous and well-bred; the innately fine, polished by the experience and sophistication of truly good society.

Gentlefolk are never excessive. Their enthusiasms are modified, their emotions are restrained, their humor is delicate. As a result of wise and intelligent culture, their tastes are refined, their fashions correct. They breathe the air of polite worldly wisdom, which endows them with a gracious ease, and removes all trace of self-consciousness.

D’Israeli says, “Genius is not always sufficient to impart that grace of amenity which seems peculiar to those who are accustomed to elegant society.”

Gentle Verse then, would imply lines written of the gentlefolk, for the gentlefolk, and by gentlefolk.

Society Verse is an inadequate term, because Society has come to include both the gentle folk and the others.

Familiar Verse, though staunchly defended by one of our foremost men of letters, allows a latitude of informality that is too liberal for a precise equivalent. Occasional Verse is ambiguous, and Easy Verse, absurd.

_Lyra Elegantiarum_ is an adequate translation, but not into English. And none of the graceful titles yet chosen by our modern poets from “Brightsome Balladry” to “_Lingerie de Poesie_” has as yet fulfilled all requirements.

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Granting then that there is no perfect English translation of the French phrase, and accepting _Vers de Société_ as our field, we are again confronted by great difficulties and embarrassments in defining its boundaries.

One of the greatest masters of the art, Mr. Austin Dobson, gives us twelve definite rules for our guidance; but of these, only three refer to the matter of the poems, the others being advice as to manner.

Though manner is equally important, yet the choice of matter for _Vers de Société_ depends upon certain definite characteristics.

But to limit these characteristics is to ask the question, “who shall decide when doctors disagree?” The scholarly gentlemen who have devoted special attention to the matter, advance conflicting opinions.

Frederick Locker-Lampson, doubtless the greatest master of the art, both in a critical and creative way, allows wide latitude of discretion. But so infallible is his individual judgment and so unerring his taste, that it is with him, a case of “Know the Rules, and when to break them.”

He asserts that “_Vers de Société_ by no means need be confined to topics of conventional life.”

Contradicting this, is the word of W. Davenport Adams, whose collection of “Songs of Society; from ANNE to VICTORIA,” admirably supplements Mr. Locker-Lampson’s earlier collection.

Mr. Adams tells us that “_Vers de Société_ should be applied to the poetry of fashionable life alone; should be limited to the doings and sayings of the world of fashion, and should deal exclusively with such things as routs and balls, and dinners and receptions.”

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Our own American collector, Mr. Brander Matthews, inclines to Mr. Locker-Lampson’s views, and therefore prefers the term Familiar Verse, as allowing excursions outside of Vanity Fair; while Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman again narrows the field by declaring in favor of “the more select order of society verse,” which he designates “Patrician Rhymes.”

Indeed, authorities on the subject of _Vers de Société_ seem somewhat in the position of the charming philosopher of _Wonderland_ fame:

“‘When _I_ use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.’

“‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you _can_ make words mean so many different things.’

“‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘Which is to be the master—that’s all.’”

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But though there is variance of opinion concerning the limits of the field, there is harmony of conviction regarding the intrinsic qualities of _Vers de Société_.

Mr. Locker-Lampson directs us that it should be “short, graceful, refined, and fanciful, not seldom distinguished by chastened sentiment, and often playful. The tone should not be pitched high; it should be terse and idiomatic, and rather in the conversational key; the rhythm should be crisp and sparkling, and the rhyme frequent and never forced. The entire poem should be marked by tasteful moderation, high finish and completeness; for subordination to the rules of composition, and perfection of execution are of the utmost importance.

“The qualities of brevity and buoyancy are absolutely essential. The poem may be tinctured with a well-bred philosophy, it may be whimsically sad, it may be gay and gallant, it may be playfully malicious or tenderly ironical, it may display lively banter, and it may be satirically facetious; it may even, considering it merely as a work of art, be pagan in its philosophy or trifling in its tone, but it must never be flat, or ponderous, or commonplace.”

The remarks of Mr. W. Davenport Adams are much in the same line. He says, “There should be little or no enthusiasm: the Muse should not be over-earnest, nor need it by any means be over-flippant. It is essential to ‘Society verse’ that it should have the tincture of good-breeding;—that if it is lively, it should be so without being vulgar; and that if it is tender it should be so without being maudlin. Its great distinction should be ease—the entire absence of apparent effort—the presence of that playful spontaneity which proclaims the master.”

Professor Brander Matthews, in his able essay on the subject, agrees in general to all these stipulations, and observes: “No doubt, Social verse should have polish, and finish, and the well-bred ease of the man of the world; but it ought also to carry, at least a suggestion of the more serious aspects of life. It should not be frothily frivolous or coldly cynical, any more than it should be broadly comic or boisterously funny. It is at liberty to hint at hidden tears, even when it seems to be wreathed in smiles. It has no right to parade mere cleverness; and it must shun all affectation as it must avoid all self-consciousness. It should appear to possess a colloquial carelessness which is ever shrinking from the commonplace and which has succeeded in concealing every trace of that labor of the literary artist by which alone it has attained their seemingly spontaneous perfection.... It must eschew not merely coarseness or vulgarity, but even free and hearty laughter; and it must refrain from dealing not only with the soul-plumbing abysses of the tragic, but even with the ground-swell of any sweeping emotion. It must keep on the crest of the wave, mid-way between the utter triviality of the murmuring shadows and the silent profundity of the depths that are dumb.”

Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman’s views coincide with those above quoted, and are thus briefly summed up: “In fine, the true kind is marked by humor, by spontaneity, joined with extreme elegance of finish, by the quality we call breeding,—above all, by lightness of touch.”

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These same authorities agree that not every poet may write _Vers de Société_. To quote Mr. Locker-Lampson: “The writer of Occasional verse, in order to be genuinely successful, must not only be something of a poet, but he must also be a man of the world, in the liberal sense of the expression; he must have associated throughout his life with the refined and cultivated members of his species, not merely as an idle bystander, but as a busy actor in the throng.”

Mr. Adams corroborates this by saying: “Although a clever literary artist may so far throw himself into the position of a man of society as to be able to write very agreeable Society verse, yet few can hope to write the best and most genuine _Vers de Société_ who are not, or have not at one time been, in some measure at any rate, inhabitants of ‘Society.’”

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As an instance, however, of the disagreement among the doctors, the following may be noted:

Mortimer Collins, himself a writer of _Vers de Société_, declared that the lines by Ben Jonson, beginning,

“Follow a shadow, it still flies you;”

is the most perfect bit of society verse written in our language. And speaking of the same poem, Mr. W. Davenport Adams says, “I cannot bring myself to look upon Ben Jonson as a ‘society poet,’ or upon the verses in question as a ‘society poem’ in the proper sense of the term—in the sense at least, in which I understand them.”

So we see, that in a degree, at least, _Vers de Société_ is, like Beauty, in the eye of the beholder.

But a consensus of opinion seems to prove that the keynote of _Vers de Société_ is lightness, both of theme and treatment. Yet though light, it must not be trashy. It is the lightness of beaten gold-leaf, not the lightness of chaff. It is valuable, not worthless.

The spirit of the work depends on an instant perception and a fine appreciation of values, seen through the medium of a whimsical kindliness.

Let this be expressed with perfect taste and skill, and with a courtly sense of humor, and the result may be classed among those immortal ephemeræ which we call _Vers de Société_.

A VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ ANTHOLOGY

_A Vers de Société Anthology_

TO CELIA

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not ask for wine.

The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sip,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent’st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.
_Ben Jonson._

CUPID

BEAUTIES, have you seen this toy,
Called love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blind,
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst ye, say!
He is Venus’ runaway.

He hath of marks about him plenty;
Ye shall know him among twenty;
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dian’s shafts, where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet;
All his practice is deceit,
Every gift is but a bait;
Not a kiss but poison bears,
And most treason in his tears.

If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him,
Though ye had a will to hide him.
Now, we hope, ye’ll not abide him,
Since ye hear his falser play,
And that he’s Venus’ runaway.
_Ben Jonson._

ROSALIND’S MADRIGAL

LOVE in my bosom like a bee
Doth suck his sweet:
Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast:
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee
The live-long night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,
He music plays if so I sing,
He lends me every lovely thing:
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting:
Whist, wanton, still ye!

Else I with roses every day
Will whip you hence:
And bind you, when you long to play,
For your offence.
I’ll shut mine eyes to keep you in,
I’ll make you fast it for your sin,
I’ll count your power not worth a pin;
Alas, what hereby shall I win,
If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod?
He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in my eyes I like of thee:
O, Cupid so thou pity me,
Spare not, but play thee.
_Thomas Lodge._

ALL THINGS EXCEPT MYSELF I KNOW