A BOOK OF THE MOMENT
STUDIES OF ENGLISH POETS [COPYIUGHT IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY The New York Times.]
Tins alluring book is certain to create enthusiasm among the lovers of good literature. I say this not because the book is written from the old-fashioned point of view, or, at any rate, deals generously with the poets of other epochs than our own ; there is in it no attempt to applaud times past and to depreciate times present. There is, therefore, no need to remind Mr. Mackail of the great text in Ecclesiastes, " Say not thou, What is the cause that the former days were better than these ? for thou dost not enquire wisely concerning this." He happens to be writing of the poets of the past, for even William Morris and Swinburne must now come under that heading ; but one feels that he would write as well and as sympathetically of the new men and the new schools of to-day. His attitude is better than Augustan. It is august. Yet it is without a trace of patronage or pom- posity. Mr. Mackail knows how to appreciate and how to censure ; but if, like Pope, he finds in almost all works of art something to praise and something to condemn, his critical faculty is never bitter on the one side nor inflated on the other. To be plain, he understands. Therefore to find a fault means in him not a torrent of scorn, or censure, or ridicule, but only that higher appreciation which compre- hends both the good and the bad, which estimates the work of the artist in true proportion and in true relation. Mr. Mackail deals with the poets he analyses like a skilled and beneficent physician rather than a police magistrate, a coroner, or a county court judge.
This suavity without affectation, this Classical, or rather this Grecian insight—the insight which goes deep, down to the very bottom, and is not content with flashing along the surface—is shown to admiration in the study of Shake- speare. This delightful essay demands a confession. Though I am one of the idolators of Shakespeare, I confess to being a little slow to read things about Shakespeare, however distinguished the author. Therefore my first inclination was merely to glance at the Shakespeare address, which is rightly placed first in the book, and to concentrate rather upon Fanshawe and Pope, Thomson, Young and Collins among the older poets, and Keats, Morris, Swinburne and Tennyson, among those of the last century.
My glance soon became a fascinated, eager, and minute perusal. I will not say that I agree with every word, though I certainly do with most, of what Mr. Mackail writes in regard to Shakespeare ; but the criticism taken as a whole is masterly. The touch in regard to both the man and his works is inimit- able. It has, as all true criticism should have, a vivifying, stimulating and creative element. Let me take one or two random examples to show that I am not exaggerating or " talking through my hat." Here is one which shows how much common sense as well as illumination there is in Mr. Mackail's criticism. All true understanders of Shake- speare will read with delight the unhedged declaration as to the baselessness of the assumption that there is an anti- democratic temper in Shakespeare. Shakespeare, the uni- versal advocate, when he wrote of aristocrats confronted by mobs, gave us the former's reactions, just as he gave us the poor man's reactions to the tyrant and oppressor, the agnostic's reactions to the fundamentalist, the virtuous to the vicious, and the vicious to the virtuous. Shakespeare had within him a microcosm of human nature. But, though he was universal and represented both sides so fully and so fairly, one feels in one's soul that he always leant a little to the " benign extreme." In the last resort, he is always on the side of freedom, justice, and human rights—in a word, " on the side of the angels."
There was something automatic, something irresistible in his poetic urge. Mr. Mackail sees this and quotes the wonder- ful lines from the poet's apologia in Timon :— " A thing slipped idly from me : Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished."
Although Mr. Mackail has common sense for his long-suit, it is sublimated almost to omniscience. There is a hint of mystic introspection which transports one. Take his descrip- tion of Shakespeare's verbal felicity and curiosity. " Words were with him like persons and things ; none escaped his notice, none failed to make their impression on him, none slipped his memory. His vocabulary still remains the largest of any English author ; in light or in grave use, he pours it out with equally facile mastery." Soon after follows a wonderful piece of critical insight. Mr. Mackail shows us that, though we must stand amazed at the swiftness, the clearness, and force of the cataract, there is a good deal of waste, a good deal of splash that gets into our eyes and inter- feres with our vision. Shakespeare's colleagues said of him, " His mind and hand went together." " But no hand, not even his, could keep abreast of his swift envisagemcnt of dramatic action, or of the crowd of words that rushed to express it." And then follows what I think is the most memorable thing in this memorable essay. " More and more, as he goes on, one sees him, if not unable, at least too impatient to deploy his forces." Here is given limpid and yet forcible expression to what thousands of men have felt, in regard to Shakespeare's one fault, without, however, being able to put it into exact words. Shakespeare's fancies come in battalions to overwhelm us. They set about us like a mob and we gasp and are bewildered. Racine would have selected one thought among many and brought it to per- fection. The rest of his offspring would have been left to perish.
Shakespeare cannot bear to do that, and I for one am thank- ful that he cannot. Much as I love and honour Racine, I have to confess that there is in him an element of the bore. That, at any rate, is never Shakespeare's fault ; and to be frank, I would much rather gasp than be bored, even though I have a right to say in the abstract that the supreme poet ought not to make me do either of these things.
But I have only taken a fragment or two from this inspired piece of criticism, and so I must beg my readers to study it for themselves. If they do, they will find that, in spite of Shakespeare, there are still people in the world who can gild refined gold and paint the lily, and do it to perfection.
But I am devoting all my time to Mr. Mackail's Shake- speare, though it is only one among a series of attractive essays. Sir Richard Fanshawe may be almost said to be a discovery of Mr. Maekail, and he is certainly a discovery that was well worth while. The Pope essay is admirable but, though I agree ex anime with its general tone, I feel inclined to break a lance with Mr. Mackail in one particular. I agree with his general declaration that in both Swift and Pope is unhappily to be found " an unnatural delight in things physically impure," but I cannot endorse the remark that, " common to both (i.e., both Swift and Pope) was an attitude towards -women which is to many minds hardly less disgusting." That, of course, is quite true of Swift ; it is in my opinion untrue of Pope. Pope had, no doubt, some- thing of the eighteenth century view of women, but he had also his own view, and in it is to be found what may be termed the presage of emancipation. Pope in his curious way, not only understood, but sympathized with women. I must be content with a protest for I have no space for my proofs.
Another lance I should like to break with Mr. Mackail if I had time is concerned with his slighting reference to Prior. I am confident that if I could have it out with Mr. Mackail I could prove to him that he has done injustice to a true poet. But this is a small error and in no vital sense a blemish on the exquisite essay entitled " Collins and the English Lyric." Equally good are the essays on Thomson and Young. Of " The composition of Keats' Endymion," I can only say that I offer it a most respectful salute ; but a word of genuine gratitude must be put on record for the careful and balanced, and yet deeply enthusiastic attempt to establish the fame of William Morris and to make the public regard him as in the first flight of modern poets. I will not say that I have been converted, for I have never failed to be a lover of Morris. Atthe same time, I have to admit that what I may call my former feeling of limited, if warm, approbation has been a. good deal shaken by the essay in question.
• J. ST. LOE STRACHEY.
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