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Page 14
Take the famous article on Milton. Speaking of "Lycidas," Johnson
coolly observes, "In this poem there is no nature, for there is no
truth; there is no art, for there is nothing new. Its form is that of
a pastoral--easy, vulgar, and therefore disgusting; whatever images it
can supply are easily exhausted, and its inherent improbability always
forces dissatisfaction on the mind. He who thus grieves will excite no
sympathy; he who thus praises will confer no honour." Now this is
blunt, positive speech, and no one would mind it much if it were left
alone by ignorant persons; but it is a trifle exasperating when
Johnson's authority is brought forward at second hand in order to
convince us that a poem in which many people delight is disgusting.
Again, the dictator said that a passage in Congreve's "Morning Bride"
was finer than anything in Shakspere. Very good; let Johnson's opinion
stand so far as he is concerned, but let us also consider the passage--
"How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made steadfast and immovable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight."
This is the stuff which is called "noble" and "magnificent" and
"impressive" by people who fail to see that Johnson was merely amusing
himself, as he often did, by upholding a fallacy. The lines from
Congreve are bald and utterly commonplace; they have no positive
quality; and when some of us think of such gems as "When daisies pied
and violets blue," or, "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow," or
even the description of the Dover cliff, not to mention the thousands
of other gems in Shakspere's great dramas, we feel inclined to be
angry when we are asked to admire Congreve's stilted nonsense. There
is much to be objected to in Shakspere. I hold that a man who wrote
such a dull play as "Pericles" would nowadays be scouted; but the
incomparable poet should not be belittled by even a momentary
comparison with Congreve.
I can readily imagine a man of real good sense and cultured taste
objecting to "The Pilgrim's Progress." Why should he not? Millions of
people have read the book, but millions have not; and the fact that
many of the best judges of style love Bunyan offers no reason why the
good tinker should be loved by everybody. As for "Don Quixote," a fine
critic once remarked that he would choose that book if he were to be
imprisoned for life, and if he were also allowed to choose one volume.
Doubtless this gentleman has thrust his dictum concerning the value of
Cervantes's work down the throats of many people who would have liked
to contradict him. If his example were followed by critics
universally, it would doubtless be hard to find in Britain a man
pretending to culture who durst assert that he did not care for "Don
Quixote." In spite of this, the grave terror with which my
correspondent regards his own inability to appreciate a famous book is
more than funny.
Regarding Browning I can only say that, although his worshippers are
aggressive enough, one readily pardons any person who flies from his
poems in disgust. A learned and enthusiastic editor actually gave
"Sordello" up in despair; and even the late Dean Church averred that
he did not understand the poem, though he wrote lengthy studies on it.
To my own knowledge there are men and women who do derive intense
pleasure from Browning, and they are quite right in expressing their
feelings; but they are wrong in attempting to bully the general public
into acquiescence. Certain members of the public say, "Your poet
capers round us in a sort of war-dance; he flicks off our hats with
some muddled paradox, he leaves a line unfinished and hurts us with a
projecting conjunction. We want him to stop capering and grimacing,
and then we shall tell him whether he is good-looking or not." I hold
that the dissenters are right. People with the necessary metaphysical
faculty may understand and passionately enjoy their Browning, but only
too many simple souls have inflicted miserable suffering on themselves
by trying to unravel the meaning of verses at which they never should
have looked.
The fact is that we persistently neglect all true educational
principles in our treatment of literature. Young minds have to be
directed; but in literature, as in mechanics, the tendency of the
force is to move along the lines of least resistance. A dexterous
tutor should watch carefully the slightest tendencies and endeavour to
find out what kind of discipline his charge can best receive. As the
mind gains power it is certain to exhibit particular aptitudes, and
these must be fostered. In the case of a student who is self-taught
the same method must be observed, and a clever reader will soon find
out what is most likely to improve him.
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