Chapter VIII: The Victorian Age (1837-1901) (1)

The current sweeps the Old World,
The current sweeps the New;
The wind will blow, the dawn will glow,
Ere thou hast sailed them through.

Kingsley, "A Myth"

HISTORICAL OUTLINE. Amid the many changes which make the reign of
Victoria the most progressive in English history, one may discover
three tendencies which have profoundly affected our present life
and literature. The first is political and democratic: it may be
said to have begun with the Reform Bill of 1832; it is still in
progress, and its evident end is to deliver the government of
England into the hands of the common people. In earlier ages we
witnessed a government which laid stress on royalty and class
privilege, the spirit of which was clarioned by Shakespeare in the
lines:

Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king.

In the Victorian or modern age the divine right of kings is as
obsolete as a suit of armor; the privileges of royalty and nobility
are either curbed or abolished, and ordinary men by their
representatives in the House of Commons are the real rulers of
England.

With a change in government comes a corresponding change in
literature. In former ages literature was almost as exclusive as
politics; it was largely in the hands of the few; it was supported
by princely patrons; it reflected the taste of the upper classes.
Now the masses of men begin to be educated, begin to think for
themselves, and a host of periodicals appear in answer to their
demand for reading matter. Poets, novelists, essayists,
historians,--all serious writers feel the inspiration of a great
audience, and their works have a thousand readers where formerly
they had but one. In a word, English government, society and
literature have all become more democratic. This is the most
significant feature of modern history.

[Sidenote: THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT]

The second tendency may be summed up in the word "scientific." At
the basis of this tendency is man's desire to know the truth, if
possible the whole truth of life; and it sets no limits to the
exploring spirit, whether in the heavens above or the earth beneath
or the waters under the earth. From star-dust in infinite space
(which we hope to measure) to fossils on the bed of an ocean which
is no longer unfathomed, nothing is too great or too small to
attract man, to fascinate him, to influence his thought, his life,
his literature. Darwin's _Origin of Species_ (1859), which
laid the foundation for a general theory of evolution, is one of
the most famous books of the age, and of the world. Associated with
Darwin were Wallace, Lyell, Huxley, Tyndall and many others, whose
essays are, in their own way, quite as significant as the poems of
Tennyson or the novels of Dickens.

It would be quite as erroneous to allege that modern science began
with these men as to assume that it began with the Chinese or with
Roger Bacon; the most that can be said truthfully is, that the
scientific spirit which they reflected began to dominate our
thought, to influence even our poetry and fiction, even as the
voyages of Drake and Magellan furnished a mighty and mysterious
background for the play of human life on the Elizabethan stage. The
Elizabethans looked upon an enlarging visible world, and the wonder
of it is reflected in their prose and poetry; the Victorians
overran that world almost from pole to pole, then turned their
attention to an unexplored world of invisible forces, and their
best literature thrills again with the grandeur of the universe in
which men live.

[Sidenote: IMPERIALISM]

A third tendency of the Victorian age in England is expressed by
the word "imperialism." In earlier ages the work of planting
English colonies had been well done; in the Victorian age the
scattered colonies increased mightily in wealth and power, and were
closely federated into a world-wide Empire of people speaking the
same noble speech, following the same high ideals of justice and
liberty.

The literature of the period reflects the wide horizons of the
Empire. Among historical writers, Parkman the American was one of
the first and best to reflect the imperial spirit. In such works as
_A Half-Century of Conflict_ and _Montcalm and Wolfe_ he
portrayed the conflict not of one nation against another but rather
of two antagonistic types of civilization: the military and feudal
system of France against the democratic institutions of the
Anglo-Saxons. Among the explorers, Mungo Park had anticipated the
Victorians in his _Travels in the Interior of Africa_ (1799),
a wonderful book which set England to dreaming great dreams; but
not until the heroic Livingstone's _Missionary Travels and
Research in South Africa, The Zambesi and its Tributaries_ and
_Last Journals_ [Footnote: In connection with Livingstone's
works, Stanley's _How I Found Livingstone_ (1872) should also
be read. Livingstone died in Africa in 1873, and his
_Journals_ were edited by another hand. For a summary of his
work and its continuation see _Livingstone and the Exploration of
Central Africa_ (London, 1897).] appeared was the veil lifted
from the Dark Continent. Beside such works should be placed
numerous stirring journals of exploration in Canada, in India, in
Australia, in tropical or frozen seas,--wherever in the round world
the colonizing genius of England saw opportunity to extend the
boundaries and institutions of the Empire. Macaulay's _Warren
Hastings_, Edwin Arnold's _Indian Idylls_, Kipling's
_Soldiers Three_,--a few such works must be read if we are to
appreciate the imperial spirit of modern English history and
literature.

* * * * *

I. POETS OF THE VICTORIAN AGE

ALFRED TENNYSON (1809-1892)

Though the Victorian age is notable for the quality and variety of its prose works, its dominant figure for years was the poet Tennyson. He alone, of all that brilliant group of Victorian writers, seemed to speak not for himself but for his age and nation; and the nation, grown weary of Byronic rebellion, and finding its joy or sorrow expressed with almost faultless taste by one whose life was noble, gave to Tennyson a whole-souled allegiance such as few poets have ever won. In 1850 he was made Laureate to succeed Wordsworth, receiving, as he said,

This laurel, greener from the brow
Of him that uttered nothing base;

and from that time on he steadily adhered to his purpose, which was to know his people and to be their spokesman. Of all the poets who have been called to the Laureateship, he is probably the only one of whom it can truthfully be said that he understood his high office and was worthy of it.

LIFE. When we attempt a biography of a person we assume
unconsciously that he was a public man; but that is precisely what
Tennyson refused to be. He lived a retired life of thoughtfulness,
of communion with nature, of friendships too sacred for the world's
gaze, a life blameless in conduct, unswerving in its loyalty to
noble ideals. From boyhood to old age he wrote poetry, and in that
poetry alone, not in biography or letters or essays of criticism,
do we ever touch the real man.

Tennyson was the son of a cultured clergyman, and was born in the
rectory of Somersby, Lincolnshire, in 1809, the same year that saw
the birth of Lincoln and Darwin. Like Milton he devoted himself to
poetry at an early age; in his resolve he was strengthened by his
mother; and from it he never departed. The influences of his early
life, the quiet beauty of the English landscape, the surge and
mystery of the surrounding sea, the emphasis on domestic virtues,
the pride and love of an Englishman for his country and his
country's history,--these are everywhere reflected in the poet's
work.

His education was largely a matter of reading under his father's
direction. He had a short experience of the grammar school at
Louth, which he hated forever after. He entered Cambridge, and
formed a circle of rare friends ("apostles" they called themselves)
who afterwards became famous; but he left college without taking a
degree, probably because he was too poor to continue his course.
Not till 1850 did he earn enough by his work to establish a home of
his own. Then he leased a house at Farringford, Isle of Wight,
which we have ever since associated with Tennyson's name. But his
real place is the Heart of England.

[Sidenote: A POET AND HIS CRITICS]

His first book (a boyish piece of work, undertaken with his brother
Charles) appeared under the title _Poems by Two Brothers_
(1827). In 1830, and again in 1832, he published a small volume
containing such poems as "The Palace of Art," "The Lotos-Eaters,"
"The Lady of Shalott" and "The Miller's Daughter"; but the critics
of the age, overlooking the poet's youth and its promise, treated
the volumes unmercifully. Tennyson, always sensitive to criticism,
was sensible enough to see that the critics had ground for their
opinions, if not for their harshness; and for ten long years, while
he labored to perfect his art, his name did not again appear in
print.

There was another reason for his silence. In 1833 his dearest
friend, Arthur Hallam, died suddenly in Vienna, and it was years
before Tennyson began to recover from the blow. His first
expression of grief is seen in the lyric beginning, "Break, break,
break," which contains the memorable stanza:

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Then he began that series of elegies for his friend which appeared,
seventeen years later, as _In Memoriam_.

[Sidenote: HE WINS AND HOLDS HIS PLACE]

Influenced by his friends, Tennyson broke his long silence with a
volume containing "Morte d'Arthur," "Locksley Hall," "Sir Galahad,"
"Lady Clare" and a few more poems which have never lost their power
over readers; but it must have commanded attention had it contained
only "Ulysses," that magnificent appeal to manhood, reflecting the
indomitable spirit of all those restless explorers who dared
unknown lands or seas to make wide the foundations of imperial
England. It was a wonderful volume, and almost its first effect was
to raise the hidden Tennyson to the foremost place in English
letters.

Whatever he wrote thereafter was sure of a wide reading. Critics,
workingmen, scientists, reformers, theologians,--all recognized the
power of the poet to give melodious expression to their thought or
feeling. Yet he remained averse to everything that savored of
popularity, devoting himself as in earlier days to poetry alone. As
a critic writes, "Tennyson never forgot that the poet's work was to
convince the world of love and beauty; that he was born to do that
work, and do it worthily."

There are two poems which are especially significant in view of
this steadfast purpose. The first is "Merlin and the Gleam," which
reflects Tennyson's lifelong devotion to his art; the other is
"Crossing the Bar," which was his farewell and hail to life when
the end came in 1892.

WORKS OF TENNYSON. There is a wide variety in Tennyson's work: legend, romance, battle song, nature, classic and medieval heroes, problems of society, questions of science, the answer of faith,--almost everything that could interest an alert Victorian mind found some expression in his poetry. It ranges in subject from a thrush song to a religious philosophy, in form from the simplest love lyric to the labored historical drama.

[Sidenote: TYPICAL SHORT POEMS]

Of the shorter poems of Tennyson there are a few which should be known to every student: first, because they are typical of the man who stands for modern English poetry; and second, because one is constantly meeting references to these poems in books or magazines or even newspapers. Among such representative poems are: "The Lotos-Eaters," a dream picture characterized by a beauty and verbal melody that recall Spenser's work; "Locksley Hall" and "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After," the one a romance throbbing with youth and hope, the other representing the same hero grown old, despondent and a little carping, but still holding fast to his ideals; "Sir Galahad," a medieval romance of purity; "Ulysses," an epitome of exploration in all ages; "The Revenge," a stirring war song; "Rizpah," a dramatic portrayal of a mother's grief for a wayward son; "Romney's Remorse," a character study of Tennyson's later years; and a few shorter poems, such as "The Higher Pantheism," "Flower in the Crannied Wall," "Wages" and "The Making of Man," which reflect the poet's mood before the problems of science and of faith.

To these should be added a few typical patriotic pieces, which show Tennyson speaking as Poet Laureate for his country: "Ode on the Death of Wellington," "Charge of the Light Brigade," "Defense of Lucknow," "Hands all Round," and the imperial appeal of "Britons, Hold Your Own" or, as it is tamely called, "Opening of the Indian and Colonial Exposition." The beginner may also be reminded of certain famous little melodies, such as the "Bugle Song," "Sweet and Low," "Tears," "The Brook," "Far, Far, Away" and "Crossing the Bar," which are among the most perfect that England has produced. And, as showing Tennyson's extraordinary power of youthful feeling, at least one lyric of his old age should be read, such as "The Throstle" (a song that will appeal especially to all bird lovers), beginning:

"Summer is coming, summer is coming,
I know it, I know it, I know it;
Light again, leaf again, life again, love again"--
Yes, my wild little poet!

Here Tennyson is so merged in his subject as to produce the impression that the lyric must have been written not by an aged poet but by the bird himself. Reading the poem one seems to hear the brown thrasher on a twig of the wild-apple tree, pouring his heart out over the thicket which his mate has just chosen for a nesting place.

[Sidenote: IDYLLS OF THE KING]

Of the longer works of Tennyson the most notable is the _Idylls of the King_, a series of twelve poems retelling part of the story of Arthur and his knights. Tennyson seems to have worked at this poem in haphazard fashion, writing the end first, then a fragment here or there, at intervals during half a century. Finally he welded his material into its present form, making it a kind of allegory of human life, in which man's animal nature fights with his spiritual aspirations. As Tennyson wrote, in his "Finale" to Queen Victoria:

Accept this old, imperfect tale,
New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul.

The beginner will do well to forget the allegory and read the poem for its sustained beauty of expression and for its reflection of the modern ideal of honor. For, though Malory and Tennyson tell the same story, there is this significant difference between the _Morte d' Arthur_ and the _Idylls of the King_: one is thoroughly medieval, and the other almost as thoroughly modern. Malory in simple prose makes his story the expression of chivalry in the Middle Ages; his heroes are true to their own time and place. Tennyson in melodious blank verse changes his material freely so as to make it a reflection of a nineteenth-century gentleman disguised in a suit of armor and some old knightly raiment.

One may add that some readers cleave to Tennyson, while others greatly prefer Malory. There is little or no comparison between the two, and selections from both should be read, if only to understand how this old romance of Arthur has appealed to writers of different times. In making a selection from the _Idylls_ (the length of the poem is rather forbidding) it is well to begin with the twelfth book, "The Passing of Arthur," which was first to be written, and which reflects the noble spirit of the entire work.

In _The Princess: a Medley_ the poet attempts the difficult task of combining an old romantic story with a modern social problem; and he does not succeed very well in harmonizing his incongruous materials.

[Sidenote: THE PRINCESS]

The story is, briefly, of a princess who in youth is betrothed to a
prince. When she reaches what is called the age of discretion
(doubtless because that age is so frequently marked by
indiscretions) she rebels against the idea of marriage, and founds
a college, herself the principal, devoted to the higher education
of women. The prince, a gallant blade, and a few of his followers
disguise themselves as girls and enter the school. When an unruly
masculine tongue betrays him he is cast out with maledictions on
his head. His father comes with an army, and makes war against the
father of the princess. The prince joins blithely in the fight, is
sore wounded, and is carried to the woman's college as to a
hospital. The princess nurses him, listens to his love tale, and
the story ends in the good old-fashioned way.

There are many beautiful passages in _The Princess_, and had Tennyson been content to tell the romantic story his work would have had some pleasant suggestion of Shakespeare's _As You Like It_; but the social problem spoils the work, as a moralizing intruder spoils a bit of innocent fun. Tennyson is either too serious or not serious enough; he does not know the answer to his own problem, and is not quite sincere in dealing with it or in coming to his lame and impotent conclusion. Few readers now attempt the three thousand lines of _The Princess_, but content themselves with a few lyrics, such as "Ask Me No More," "O Swallow Flying South," "Tears," "Bugle Song" and "Sweet and Low," which are familiar songs in many households that remember not whence they came. [Footnote: The above criticism of _The Princess_ applies, in some measure, to Tennyson's _Maud: a Monodrama_, a story of passionate love and loss and sorrow. Tennyson wrote also several dramatic works, such as _Harold_, _Becket_ and _Queen Mary_, in which he attempted to fill some of the gaps in Shakespeare's list of chronicle plays.]

[Sidenote: ENGLISH IDYLS]

More consistent than _The Princess_ is a group of poems reflecting the life and ideals of simple people, to which Tennyson gave the general name of _English Idyls_. The longest and in some respects the best of these is "Enoch Arden," a romance which was once very popular, but which is now in danger of being shelved because the modern reader prefers his romance in prose form. Certain of the famous poems which we have already named are classed among these English idyls; but more typical of Tennyson's purpose in writing them are "Dora," "The Gardener's Daughter" and "Aylmer's Field," in which he turns from ancient heroes to sing the romance of present-day life.

Among mature readers, who have met the sorrows of life or pondered its problems, the most admired of Tennyson's work is _In Memoriam_ (1850), an elegy inspired by the death of Arthur Hallam. As a memorial poem it invites comparison with others, with Milton's "Lycidas," or Shelley's "Adonais," or Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." Without going deeply into the comparison we may note this difference: that Tennyson's work is more personal and sympathetic than any of the others. Milton had only a slight acquaintance with his human subject (Edward King) and wrote his poem as a memorial for the college rather than for the man; Shelley had never met Keats, whose early death he commemorates; Gray voiced an impersonal melancholy in the presence of the unknown dead; but Tennyson had lost his dearest friend, and wrote to solace his own grief and to keep alive a beautiful memory. Then, as he wrote, came the thought of other men and women mourning their dead; his view broadened with his sympathy, and he wrote other lyrics in the same strain to reflect the doubt or fear of humanity and its deathless faith even in the shadow of death.

It is this combination of personal and universal elements which makes _In Memoriam_ remarkable. The only other elegy to which we may liken it is Emerson's "Threnody," written after the death of his little boy. But where Tennyson offers an elaborate wreath and a polished monument, Emerson is content with a rugged block of granite and a spray of nature's evergreen.

[Sidenote: PLAN OF THE POEM]

_In Memoriam_ occupied Tennyson at intervals for many years,
and though he attempted to give it unity before its publication in
1850, it is still rather fragmentary. Moreover, it is too long; for
the poet never lived who could write a hundred and thirty-one
lyrics upon the same subject, in the same manner, without growing
monotonous.

There are three more or less distinct parts of the work, [Footnote:
Tennyson divided _In Memoriam_ into nine sections. Various
attempts have recently been made to organize the poem and to make a
philosophy of it, but these are ingenious rather than convincing.]
corresponding to three successive Christmas seasons. The first part
(extending to poem 30) is concerned with grief and doubt; the
second (to poem 78) exhibits a calm, serious questioning of the
problem of faith; the third introduces a great hope amid tender
memories or regrets, and ends (poem 106) with that splendid outlook
on a new year and a new life, "Ring Out Wild Bells." This was
followed by a few more lyrics of mounting faith, inspired by the
thought that divine love rules the world and that our human love is
immortal and cannot die. The work ends, rather incongruously, with
a marriage hymn for Tennyson's sister.

The spirit of _In Memoriam_ is well reflected in the "Proem"
or introductory hymn, "Strong Son of God, Immortal Love"; its
message is epitomized in the last three lines:

One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event
To which the whole creation moves.

THE QUALITY OF TENNYSON. The charm of Tennyson is twofold. As the voice of the Victorian Age, reflecting its thought or feeling or culture, its intellectual quest, its moral endeavor, its passion for social justice, he represents to us the spirit of modern poetry; that is, poetry which comes close to our own life, to the aims, hopes, endeavors of the men and women of to-day. With this modern quality Tennyson has the secret of all old poetry, which is to be eternally young. He looked out upon a world from which the first wonder of creation had not vanished, where the sunrise was still "a glorious birth," and where love, truth, beauty, all inspiring realities, were still waiting with divine patience to reveal themselves to human eyes.

There are other charms in Tennyson: his romantic spirit, his love of nature, his sense of verbal melody, his almost perfect workmanship; but these the reader must find and appreciate for himself. The sum of our criticism is that Tennyson is a poet to have handy on the table for the pleasure of an idle hour. He is also (and this is a better test) an excellent poet to put in your pocket when you go on a journey. So shall you be sure of traveling in good company.

* * * * *

ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1889)

In their lifelong devotion to a single purpose the two chief poets of the Victorian Age are much alike; in most other respects they are men of contrasts. Tennyson looked like a poet, Browning like a business man. Tennyson was a solitary singer, never in better company than when alone; Browning was a city man, who must have the excitement of society. Tennyson's field was the nation, its traditions, heroes, problems, ideals; but Browning seldom went beyond the individual man, and his purpose was to play Columbus to some obscure human soul. Tennyson was at times rather narrowly British; Browning was a cosmopolitan who dealt broadly with humanity. Tennyson was the poet of youth, and will always be read by the young in heart; Browning was the philosopher, the psychologist, the poet of mature years and of a few cultivated readers.

LIFE. Browning portrays so many different human types as to make us
marvel, but we may partly understand his wide range of
character-studies by remembering he was an Englishman with some
Celtic and German ancestors, and with a trace of Creole
(Spanish-Negro) blood. He was born and grew up at Camberwell, a
suburb of London, and the early home of Ruskin. His father was a
Bank-of-England clerk, a prosperous man and fond of books, who
encouraged his boy to read and to let education follow the lead of
fancy. Before Browning was twenty years old, father and son had a
serious talk which ended in a kind of bargain: the boy was to live
a life of culture, and the father was to take care of all financial
matters,--an arrangement which suited them both very well.

Since boyhood Browning had been writing romantic verses, influenced
first by Byron, then by Shelley, then by Keats. His first published
works, _Pauline_ and _Paracelsus_, were what he called
soul-studies, the one of a visionary, "a star-treader" (its hero
was Shelley), the other of a medieval astrologer somewhat like
Faust. These two works, if one had the patience of a puzzle-worker
to read them, would be found typical of all the longer poems that
Browning produced in his sixty years of writing.

These early works were not read, were not even criticized; and it
was not till 1846 that Browning became famous, not because of his
books but because he eloped with Elizabeth Barrett, who was then
the most popular poet in England. [Footnote: The fame of Miss
Barrett in mid century was above that of Tennyson or Browning. She
had been for a long time an invalid. Her father, a tyrannical kind
of person, insisted on her keeping her room, and expected her to
die properly there. He had no personal objection to Browning, but
flouted the idea of his famous daughter marrying with anybody.] The
two went to Florence, discovered that they were "made for each
other," and in mutual helpfulness did their best work. They lived
at "Casa Guidi," a house made famous by the fact that Browning's
_Men and Women_ and Mrs. Browning's _Sonnets from the
Portuguese_ were written there.

[Sidenote: THE BROWNING CULT]

This happy period of work was broken by Mrs. Browning's death in
1861. Browning returned to England with his son, and to forget his
loss he labored with unusual care on _The Ring and the Book_
(1868), his bulkiest work. The rest of his life was spent largely
in London and in Venice. Fame came to him tardily, and with some
unfortunate results. He became known as a poet to be likened unto
Shakespeare, but more analytical, calling for a superior
intelligence on the part of his readers, and presently a multitude
of Browning clubs sprang up in England and America. Delighted with
his popularity among the elect, Browning seems to have cultivated
his talent for obscurity, or it may be that his natural
eccentricity of style increased with age, as did Wordsworth's
prosiness. Whatever the cause, his work grew steadily worse until a
succession of grammar defying volumes threatened to separate all
but a few devotees from their love of Browning. He died in Venice
in 1889. On the day of his death appeared in London his last book,
_Asolando_. The "Epilogue" to that volume is a splendid finale
to a robust life.

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
Sleep to wake

Tennyson's "Crossing the Bar" is a beautiful swan song; but
Browning's last poem is a bugle call, and it sounds not "taps" but
the "reveille."

BROWNING'S DRAMATIC QUALITY. Nearly all the works of Browning are dramatic in spirit, and are commonly dramatic also in form. Sometimes he writes a drama for the stage, such as _A Blot in the 'Scutcheon_, _Colombe's Birthday_ and _In a Balcony_,--dramas without much action, but packed with thought in a way that would have delighted the Schoolmen. More often his work takes the form of a dramatic monologue, such as "My Last Duchess" and "The Bishop Orders his Tomb," in which one person speaks and, like Peter, his speech bewrayeth him; for he reveals very plainly the kind of man he is. Occasionally Browning tries to sing like another poet, but even here his dramatic instinct is strong. He takes some crisis, some unexpected meeting or parting of the ways of life, and proceeds to show the hero's character by the way he faces the situation, or talks about it. So when he attempts even a love song, such as "The Last Ride Together," or a ballad, such as "The Pied Piper," he regards his subject from an unusual viewpoint and produces what he calls a dramatic lyric.

[Sidenote: ACTION VS. THOUGHT]

There are at least two ways in which Browning's work differs from that of other dramatists. When a trained playwright produces a drama his rule is, "Action, more action, and still more action." Moreover, he stands aside in order to permit his characters to reveal their quality by their own speech or action. For example, Shakespeare's plays are filled with movement, and he never tells you what he thinks of Portia or Rosalind or Macbeth, or what ought to become of them. He does not need to tell. But Browning often halts his story to inform you how this or that situation should be met, or what must come out of it. His theory is that it is not action but thought which determines human character; for a man may be doing what appears to be a brave or generous deed, yet be craven or selfish at heart; or he may be engaged in some apparently sinful proceeding in obedience to a motive that we would acclaim as noble if the whole truth were known "It is the soul and its thoughts that make the man," says Browning, "little else is worthy of study." So he calls most of his works soul studies. If we label them now dramas, or dramatic monologues, or dramatic lyrics (the three classifications of his works), we are to remember that Browning is the one dramatist who deals with thoughts or motives rather than with action.

WHAT TO READ. One should begin with the simplest of Browning's works, and preferably with those in which he shows some regard for verbal melody. As romantic love is his favorite theme, it is perhaps well to begin with a few of the love lyrics "My Star," "By the Fireside," "Evelyn Hope," and especially "The Last Ride Together". To these may be added some of the songs that brighten the obscurity of his longer pieces, such as "I Send my Heart," "Oh Love--No Love" and "There's a Woman Like a Dewdrop". Next in order are the ballads, "The Pied Piper," "Hervé Riel" and "How they Brought the Good News"; and then a few miscellaneous short poems, such as "Home Thoughts from Abroad," "Prospice," "The Boy and the Angel" and "Up at a Villa--Down in the City."

[Sidenote: DRAMATIC MONOLOGUES]

The above poems are named not because they are particularly fine examples of their kind, but by way of introduction to a poet who is rather hard to read. When these are known, and are found not so obscure as we feared, then will be the time to attempt some of Browning's dramatic monologues. Of these there is a large variety, portraying many different types of character, but we shall name only a few. "Andrea del Sarto" is a study of the great Italian painter, "the perfect painter," whose love for a pretty but shallow woman was as a millstone about his neck. "My Last Duchess" is a powerfully drawn outline of a vain and selfish nobleman. "Abt Vogler" is a study of the soul of a musician. "Rabbi ben Ezra," one of the most typical of Browning's works, is the word of an old man who faces death, as he had faced life, with magnificent courage. "An Epistle" relates the strange experience of Karshish, an Arab physician, as recorded in a letter to his master Abib. Karshish meets Lazarus (him who was raised from the dead) and, regarding him as a patient, describes his symptoms,--such symptoms as a man might have who must live on earth after having looked on heaven. The physician's half-scoffing words show how his habitual skepticism is shaken by a glimpse of the unseen world. He concludes, but his doubt is stronger than his conclusion, that Lazarus must be a madman:

"And thou must love me who have died for thee."
The madman saith He said so: it is strange!

[Sidenote: SAUL]

Another poem belonging to the same group (published under the general title of _Men and Women_) is "Saul," which finely illustrates the method that makes Browning different from other poets. He would select some familiar event, the brief record of which is preserved in history, and say, "Here we see merely the deed, the outward act or circumstance of life: now let us get acquainted with these men or women by showing that they thought and felt precisely as we do under similar conditions." In "Saul" he reproduces the scene recorded in the sixteenth chapter of the first Book of Samuel, where the king is "troubled by an evil spirit" and the young David comes to play the harp before him. Saul is represented as the disillusioned, the despairing man who has lost all interest in life, and David as the embodiment of youthful enthusiasm. The poem is a remarkable portrayal of the ancient scene and characters; but it is something greater than that; it is a splendid song of the fullness and joy of a brave, forward-looking life inspired by noble ideals. It is also one of the best answers ever given to the question, Is life worth living? The length of the poem, however, and its many difficult or digressive passages are apt to repel the beginner unless he have the advantage of an abridged version.

[Sidenote: PIPPA PASSES]

Of the longer works of Browning, only _Pippa Passes_ can be recommended with any confidence that it will give pleasure to the reader. Other works, such as _The Ring and the Book_, [Footnote: _The Ring and the Book_ is remarkable for other things than its inordinate length. In it Browning tells how he found an old book containing the record of a murder trial in Rome,--a horrible story of a certain Count Guido, who in a jealous rage killed his beautiful young wife. That is the only story element of the poem, and it is told, with many irritating digressions, at the beginning. The rest of the work is devoted to "soul studies," the subjects being nine different characters who rehearse the same story, each for his own justification. Thus, Guido gives his view of the matter, and Pompilia the wife gives hers. "Half Rome," siding with Guido, is personified to tell one tale, and then "The Other Half" has its say. Final judgment rests with the Pope, an impressive figure, who upholds the decision of the civil judges. Altogether it is a remarkable piece of work; but it would have been more remarkable, better in every way, if fifteen thousand of its twenty thousand lines had been left in the inkpot.] are doubtless more famous; but reading them is like solving a puzzle: a few enjoy the matter, and therefore count it pleasure, but to the majority it is a task to be undertaken as mental discipline.

_Pippa_ is the story of a working girl, a silk weaver of
Asolo, who has a precious holiday and goes forth to enjoy it,
wishing she could share her happiness with others, especially with
the great people of her town. But the great live in another world,
she thinks, a world far removed from that of the poor little
working girl; so she puts the wish out of her head, and goes on her
way singing:

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!

It happens that her songs come, in succession, to the ears of the
four greatest people in Asolo at moments when they are facing a
terrible crisis, when a straw may turn them one way or the other,
to do evil or to do good. In each case the song and the pure heart
of the singer turn the scale in the right direction; but Pippa
knows nothing of her influence. She enjoys her holiday and goes to
bed still happy, still singing, quite ignorant of the wonder she
has accomplished.

A mere story-teller would have brought Pippa and the rescued ones together, making an affecting scene with rewards, in the romantic manner; but Browning is content to depict a bit of ordinary human life, which is daily filled with deeds worthy to be written in a book of gold, but of which only the Recording Angel takes any notice.

A CRITICISM OF BROWNING. Comparatively few people appreciate the force, the daring, the vitality of Browning, and those who know him best are least inclined to formulate a favorable criticism. They know too well the faults of their hero, his whims, crotchets, digressions, garrulity; his disjointed ideas, like rich plums in a poor pudding; his ejaculatory style, as of a man of second thoughts; his wing-bound fancy, which hops around his subject like a grasshopper instead of soaring steadily over it like an eagle. Many of his lines are rather gritty:

Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?

and half his blank verse is neither prose nor poetry:

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,--here's a church!

Instead of criticism, therefore, his admirers offer this word of advice: Try to like Browning; in other words, try to understand him. He is not "easy"; he is not to be read for relaxation after dinner, but in the morning and in a straight-backed chair, with eyes clear and intellect at attention. If you so read him, you must soon discover that he has something of courage and cheer which no other poet can give you in such full measure. If you read nothing else, try at least "Rabbi ben Ezra," and after the reading reflect that the optimism of this poem colors everything that the author wrote. For Browning differs from all other poets in this: that they have their moods of doubt or despondency, but he has no weary days or melancholy hours. They sing at times in the twilight, but Browning is the herald of the sunrise. Always and everywhere he represents "the will to live," to live bravely, confidently here; then forward still with cheerful hearts to immortality:

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in his hand
Who saith, "A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half: trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"

* * * * *

OTHER VICTORIAN POETS

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING (1806-1861). Among the lesser poets of the age the most famous was Elizabeth Barrett, who eloped in romantic fashion with Browning in 1846. Her early volumes, written while she was an invalid, seem now a little feverish, but a few of her poems of childhood, such as "Hector" and "Little Ellie," have still their admirers. Later she became interested in social problems, and reflected the passion of the age for reform in such poems as "The Cry of the Children," a protest against child labor which once vied in interest with Hood's famous "Song of the Shirt." Also she wrote _Aurora Leigh_, a popular novel in verse, having for its subject a hero who was a social reformer. Then Miss Barrett married Robert Browning after a rather emotional and sentimental courtship, as reflected in certain extravagant pages of the Browning _Letters_.

[Sidenote: SONNETS]

In her new-found happiness she produced her most enduring work, the _Sonnets from the Portuguese_ (1850). This is a collection of love songs, so personal and intimate that the author thought perhaps to disguise them by calling them "From the Portuguese." In reality their source was no further distant than her own heart, and their hero was seen across the breakfast table every morning. They reflect Mrs. Browning's love for her husband, and those who read them should read also Browning's answer in "One Word More." Some of the sonnets ("I Thought How Once" and "How Do I Love Thee," for example) are very fine, and deserve their high place among love poems; but others, being too intimate, raise a question of taste in showing one's heart throbs to the public. Some readers may question whether many of the _Sonnets_ and most of the _Letters_ had not better been left exclusively to those for whom they were intended.

MATTHEW ARNOLD (1822-1888). The work of this poet (a son of Dr. Arnold of Rugby, made famous by _Tom Brown's Schooldays_) is in strong contrast to that of the Brownings, to the robust optimism of the one and to the emotionalism of the other. He was a man of two distinct moods: in his poetry he reflected the doubt or despair of those whose faith had been shaken by the alleged discoveries of science; in prose he became almost light-hearted as he bantered middle-class Englishmen for their old-fogy prejudices, or tried to awaken them to the joys of culture. In both moods he was coldly intellectual, appealing to the head rather than to the heart of his readers; and it is still a question whether his poetry or his criticism will be longest remembered.

[Sidenote: THE POET OF OXFORD]

Arnold is called the poet of Oxford, as Holmes is of Harvard, and those who know the beautiful old college town will best appreciate certain verses in which he reflects the quiet loveliness of a scene that has impressed so many students, century after century. To general readers one may safely recommend Arnold's elegies written in memory of the poet Clough, such as "Thyrsis" and "The Scholar Gypsy"; certain poems reflecting the religious doubts of the age, such as "Dover Beach," "Morality" and "The Future"; the love lyrics entitled "Switzerland"; and a few miscellaneous poems, such as "Resignation," "The Forsaken Merman," "The Last Word," and "Geist's Grave."

To these some critics would add the long narrative poem "Sohrab and Rustum," which is one of the models set before students of "college English." The reasons for the choice are not quite obvious; for the story, which is taken from the Persian _Shah Namah_, or Book of Kings, is rather coldly told, and the blank verse is far from melodious.

In reading these poems of Arnold his own motives should be borne in mind. He tried to write on classic lines, repressing the emotions, holding to a severe, unimpassioned style; and he proceeded on the assumption that poetry is "a criticism of life." It is not quite clear what he meant by his definition, but he was certainly on the wrong trail. Poetry is the natural language of man in moments of strong or deep feeling; it is the expression of life, of life at high tide or low tide; when it turns to criticism it loses its chief charm, as a flower loses its beauty and fragrance in the hands of a botanist. Some poets, however (Lucretius among the ancients, Pope among the moderns, for example), have taken a different view of the matter.

[Sidenote: THE LITERARY CRITIC]

Arnold's chief prose works were written, curiously enough, after he was appointed professor of poetry at Oxford. There he proceeded, in a sincere but somewhat toplofty way to enlighten the British public on the subject of culture. For years he was a kind of dictator of literary taste, and he is still known as a master of criticism; but to examine his prose is to discover that it is notable for its even style and occasional good expressions, such as "sweetness and light," rather than for its illuminating ideas.

For example, in _Literature and Dogma_ and other books in which Arnold attempted to solve the problems of the age, he was apt to make large theories from a small knowledge of his subject. So in his _Study of Celtic Literature_ (an interesting book, by the way) he wrote with surprising confidence for one who had no first-hand acquaintance with his material, and led his readers pleasantly astray in the flowery fields of Celtic poetry. Moreover, he had one favorite method of criticism, which was to take the bad lines of one poet and compare them with the good lines of another,--a method which would make Shakespeare a sorry figure if he happened to be on the wrong side of the comparison.

[Sidenote: WHAT TO READ]

In brief, Arnold is always a stimulating and at times a provoking critic; he stirs our thought, disturbs our pet prejudices, challenges our opposition; but he is not a very reliable guide in any field. What one should read of his prose depends largely on one's personal taste. The essay _On Translating Homer_ is perhaps his most famous work, but few readers are really interested in the question of hexameters. _Culture and Anarchy_ is his best plea for a combination of the moral and intellectual or, as he calls them, the Hebrew and Greek elements in our human education. Among the best of the shorter works are "Emerson" in _Discourses in America_, and "Wordsworth," "Byron" and "The Study of Poetry" in _Essays in Criticism_.

THE PRE-RAPHAELITES. In the middle of the nineteenth century, or in 1848 to be specific, a number of English poets and painters banded themselves together as a Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. [Footnote: The name was used earlier by some German artists, who worked together in Rome with the purpose of restoring art to the medieval simplicity and purity which, as was alleged, it possessed before the time of the Italian painter Raphael. The most famous artists of the English brotherhood were John Everett Millais and William Holman Hunt.] They aimed to make all art more simple, sincere, religious, and to restore "the sense of wonder, reverence and awe" which, they believed, had been lost since medieval times. Their sincerity was unquestioned; their influence, though small, was almost wholly good; but unfortunately they were, as Morris said, like men born out of due season. They lived too much apart from their own age and from the great stream of common life out of which superior art proceeds. For there was never a great book or a great picture that was not in the best sense representative, that did not draw its greatness from the common ideals of the age in which it was produced.

[Sidenote: ROSSETTI]

The first poet among the Pre-Raphaelites was Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882), the son of an exiled Italian writer. Like others of the group he was both painter and poet, and seemed to be always trying to put into his verse the rich coloring which belonged on canvas. Perhaps the most romantic episode of his life was, that upon the death of his wife (the beautiful model, Lizzie Siddal, who appears in Millais' picture "Ophelia") he buried his poetry with her. After some years his friends persuaded him that his poems belonged to the living, and he exhumed and published them (_Poems_, 1870). His most notable volume, _Ballads and Sonnets_, appeared eleven years later. The ballads are nearly all weird, uncanny, but with something in them of the witchery of Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner." The sonnets under the general title of "The House of Life" are devoted to the poet's lost love, and rank with Mrs. Browning's _From the Portuguese_.

William Morris (1834-1896) has been called by his admirers the most Homeric of English poets. The phrase was probably applied to him because of his _Sigurd the Volsung_, in which he uses the material of an old Icelandic saga. There is a captivating vigor and swing in this poem, but it lacks the poetic imagination of an earlier work, _The Defence of Guenevere,_ in which Morris retells in a new way some of the fading medieval romances. His best-known work in poetry [Footnote: Some readers will be more interested in Morris's prose romances, _The House of the Wolfings_, _The Roots of the Mountains_ and _The Story of the Glittering Plain_] is _The Earthly Paradise_, a collection of twenty-four stories strung together on a plan somewhat resembling that of the _Canterbury Tales_. A band of mariners are cast away on an island inhabited by a superior race of men, and to while away the time the seamen and their hosts exchange stories. Some of these are from classic sources, others from Norse legends or hero tales. The stories are gracefully told, in very good verse; but in reading them one has the impression that something essential is lacking, some touch, it may be, of present life and reality. For the island is but another Cloudland, and the characters are shadowy creatures having souls but no bodies; or else, as some may find, having the appearance of bodies and no souls whatever. Indeed, in reading the greater part of Pre-Raphaelite literature, one is reminded of Morris's estimate of himself, in the Prelude to _The Earthly Paradise_:

Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time,
Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?
Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme
Beats with light wing against the ivory gate,
Telling a tale not too importunate
To those who in the sleepy region stay,
Lulled by the singer of an empty day.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (1837-1909). This voluminous writer, born in the year of Victoria's accession, is yet so close to our own day that it is difficult to think of him as part of an age that is gone. As a poet he was a master of verbal melody, and had such a command of verse forms that he won his title of "inventor of harmonies." As a critic he showed a wide knowledge of English and French literature, a discriminating taste, and an enthusiasm which bubbled over in eulogy of those whom he liked, and which emptied vials of wrath upon Byron, Carlyle and others who fell under his displeasure. His criticisms are written in an extravagant, almost a torrential, style; at times his prose falls into a chanting rhythm so attractive in itself as to make us overlook the fact that the praise and censure which he dispenses with prodigal liberality are too personal to be quite trustworthy.

[Sidenote: HIS POETRY]

We are still too near Swinburne to judge him accurately, and his place in the long history of English poetry is yet to be determined. We note here only two characteristics which may or may not be evident to other readers. In the first place, with his marvelous command of meter and melody, Swinburne has a fatal fluency of speech which tends to bury his thought in a mass of jingling verbiage. As we read we seem to hear the question, "What readest thou, Hamlet?" and again the Dane makes answer, "Words, words, words." Again, like the Pre-Raphaelites with whom he was at one time associated, Swinburne lived too much apart from the tide of common life. He wrote for the chosen few, and in the mass of his verse one must search long for a passage of which one may say, This goes home to the hearts of men, and abides there in the treasure-house of all good poetry.

Among the longer works of Swinburne his masterpiece is the lyrical drama _Atalanta in Calydon_. If one would merely sample the flavor of the poet, such minor works as "Itylus" and the fine sea pieces, "Off Shore," "By the North Sea" and "A Forsaken Garden" may be recommended. Nor should we overlook what, to many, is Swinburne's best quality; namely, his love of children, as reflected in such poems as "The Salt of the Earth" and "A Child's Laughter." Among the best of his prose works are his _William Blake_, _Essays and Studies_, _Miscellanies_ and _Studies in Prose and Verse_.