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It is not a part of the plan of this book to present any extended bibliography, but there are certain reference books to which the student's attention should be called.
Still more
permanently significant, perhaps, was the transformation of the former
conceptions of the nature and meaning of the world and life, through
the discoveries of science. Geology and astronomy now gradually compelled
all thinking people to realize the unthinkable duration of the cosmic
processes and the comparative littleness of our earth in the vast extent
of the universe. Absolutely revolutionary for almost all lines if thought
was the gradual adoption by almost all thinkers of the theory of Evolution,
which, partly formulated by Lamarck early in the century, received definite
statement in 1859 in Charles Darwin's 'Origin of Species.' The great
modification in the externals of religious belief thus brought about
was confirmed also by the growth of the science of historical criticism.
This movement
of religious change was met in its early stages by the very interesting
reactionary 'Oxford' or 'Tractarian' Movement, which asserted the supreme
authority of the Church and its traditional doctrines. The most important
figure in this movement, who connects it definitely with literature,
was John Henry Newman (1801-90), author of the hymn 'Lead, Kindly Light,'
a man of winning personality and great literary skill. For fifteen years,
as vicar of the Oxford University Church, Newman was a great spiritual
force in the English communion, but the series of 'Tracts for the Times'
to which he largely contributed, ending in 1841 in the famous Tract
90, tell the story of his gradual progress toward Rome. Thereafter as
an avowed Roman Catholic and head of a monastic establishment Newman
showed himself a formidable controversialist, especially in a literary
encounter with the clergyman-novelist Charles Kingsley which led to
Newman's famous 'Apologia pro Vita Sua' (Apology for My Life), one of
the secondary literary masterpieces of the century. His services to
the Catholic Church were recognized in 1879 by his appointment as a
Cardinal. More than one of the influences thus hastily surveyed combine
in creating the moral, social, and intellectual strenuousness which
is one of the main marks of the literature of the period. More conspicuously
than ever before the majority of the great writers, not least the poets
and novelists, were impelled not merely by the emotional or dramatic
creative impulse but by the sense of a message for their age which should
broaden the vision and elevate the ideals of the masses of their fellows.
The literature of the period, therefore, lacks the disinterested and
joyous spontaneity of, for example, the Elizabethan period, and its
mood is far more complex than that of the partly socially-minded pseudo-classicists.
While all the
new influences were manifesting themselves in Victorian literature they
did not, of course, supersede the great general inherited tendencies.
This literature is in the main romantic. On the social side this should
be evident; the Victorian social humanitarianism is merely the developed
form of the eighteenth century romantic democratic impulse. On the esthetic
side the romantic traits are also present, though not so aggressively
as in the previous period; with romantic vigor the Victorian literature
often combines exquisite classical finish; indeed, it is so eclectic
and composite that all the definite older terms take on new and less
sharply contrasting meanings when applied to it.
So long a period
naturally falls into sub-divisions; during its middle part in particular,
progress and triumphant romanticism, not yet largely attacked by scientific
scepticism, had created a prevailing atmosphere of somewhat passive
sentiment and optimism both in society and in literature which has given
to the adjective 'mid-Victorian' a very definite denotation. The adjective
and its period are commonly spoken of with contempt in our own day by
those persons who pride themselves on their complete sophistication
and superiority to all intellectual and emotional weakness. But during
the 'mid-Victorian' years, there was also a comparative healthiness
in the lives of the well-to-do classes and in literature which had never
before been equalled and which may finally prove no less praiseworthy
than the rather self-conscious freedom and unrestraint of the early
twentieth century.
The most important
literature of the whole period falls under the three heads of essays,
poetry, and prose fiction, which we may best consider in that order.
LORD MACAULAY.
The first great
figure, chronologically, in the period, and one of the most clearly-defined
and striking personalities in English literature, is Thomas Babington
Macaulay, [Footnote: The details of Macaulay's life are known from the;
famous biography of him by his nephew, Sir George Trevelyan.] who represents
in the fullest degree the Victorian vigor and delight in material progress,
but is quite untouched by the Victorian spiritual striving. The descendant
of Scottish ministers and English Quakers, Macaulay was born in 1800.
His father was a tireless and devoted member of the group of London
anti-slavery workers (Claphamites), and was Secretary of the company
which conducted Sierra Leone (the African state for enfranchised negroes);
he had also made a private fortune in African trade. From his very babyhood
the son displayed almost incredible intellectual precocity and power
of memory. His voracious reading began at the age of three, when he
'for the most part lay on the rug before the fire, with his book on
the floor, and a piece of bread-and-butter in his hand.' Once, in his
fifth year, when a servant had spilled an urn of hot coffee over his
legs, he replied to the distressed inquiries of the lady of the house,
'Thank you, madam, the agony is abated.' From the first it seems to
have been almost impossible for him to forget anything which had ever
found lodgment in, or even passed through, his mind. His childish production
of both verse and prose was immense. These qualities and accomplishments,
however, did not make him a prig. Both as child and as man, though he
was aggressive and showed the prejudices of his class, he was essentially
natural and unaffected; and as man he was one of the most cordial and
affectionate of companions, lavish of his time with his friends, and
one of the most interesting of conversationalists. As he grew toward
maturity he proved unique in his manner, as well as in his power, of
reading. It is said that he read books faster than other people skimmed
them, and skimmed them as fast as any one else could turn the leaves,
this, however, without superficiality. One of the habits of his middle
life was to walk through London, even the most crowded parts, 'as fast
as other people walked, and reading a book a great deal faster than
anybody else could read.' His remarkable endowments, however, were largely
counterbalanced by his deficiency in the spiritual sense. This appears
most seriously in his writings, but it shows itself also in his personal
tastes. For Nature he cared little; like Dr. Johnson he 'found London
the place for him.' One occasion when he remarked on the playing of
'God save the Queen' is said to have been the only one when he ever
appeared to distinguish one tune from another. Even on the material
side of life he had limitations very unusual in an English gentleman.
Except for walking, which might almost be called a main occupation with
him, he neither practised nor cared for any form of athletic exercise,
'could neither swim nor row nor drive nor skate nor shoot,' nor scarcely
ride.
From private
schools Macaulay proceeded to Trinity College, Cambridge, where he remained
through the seven years required for the Master's degree. In spite of
his aversion for mathematics, he finally won a 'lay' fellowship, which
did not involve residence at the University nor any other obligation,
but which almost sufficed for his support during the seven years of
its duration. At this time his father failed in his business, and during
several years Macaulay was largely occupied with the heavy task of reestablishing
it and paying the creditors. In college he had begun to write in prose
and verse for the public literary magazines, and in 1825 appeared his
essay on Milton, the first of the nearly forty literary, historical,
and biographical essays which during the next thirty years or more he
contributed to 'The Edinburgh Review.' He also nominally studied law,
and was admitted to the bar in 1826, but he took no interest in the
profession. In 1828 he was made a Commissioner of Bankruptcy and in
1830 he attained the immediate object of his ambition by receiving from
a nobleman who controlled it a seat in Parliament. Here he at once distinguished
himself as orator and worker. Heart and soul a Liberal, he took a prominent
part in the passage of the first Reform Bill, of 1832, living at the
same time a busy social life in titled society. The Ministry rewarded
his services with a position on the Board of Control, which represented
the government in its relations with the East India Company, and in
1834, in order to earn the fortune which seemed to him essential to
his continuance in the unremunerative career of public life, he accepted
the position of legal adviser to the Supreme Council of India, which
carried with it a seat in that Council and a salary of L10,000 a year.
During the three months voyage to India he 'devoured' and in many cases
copiously annotated a vast number of books in 'Greek, Latin, Spanish,
Italian, French, and English; folios, quartos, octavos, and duodecimos.'
Under the pressure of actual necessity he now mastered the law, and
the most important parts of the astonishing mass of work that he performed
during his three and a half years in India consisted in redrafting the
penal code and in helping to organize education.
Soon after
his return to England he was elected to Parliament as member for Edinburgh,
and for two years he was in the Cabinet. Somewhat later the publication
of his 'Lays of Ancient Rome' and of his collected essays brought him
immense fame as a writer, and in 1847 his defeat at Edinburgh for reelection
to Parliament gave him time for concentrated labor on the 'History of
England' which he had already begun as his crowning work. To it he thenceforth
devoted most of his energies, reading and sifting the whole mass of
available source-material and visiting the scenes of the chief historical
events. The popular success of the five volumes which he succeeded in
preparing and published at intervals was enormous. In 1852 he was reelected
to Parliament at Edinburgh, but ill-health resulting from his long-continued
excessive expenditure of energy warned him that he had not long to live.
He was made a baron in 1857 and died in 1859, deeply mourned both because
of his manly character and because with him perished mostly unrecorded
a knowledge of the facts of English history more minute, probably, than
that of any one else who has ever lived.
Macaulay never
married, but, warm-hearted as he was, always lived largely in his affection
for his sisters and for the children of one of them, Lady Trevelyan.
In his public life he displayed as an individual a fearless and admirable
devotion to principle, modified somewhat by the practical politician's
devotion to party. From every point of view, his character was remarkable,
though bounded by his very definite limitations.
Least noteworthy
among Macaulay's works are his poems, of which the 'Lays of Ancient
Rome' are chief. Here his purpose is to embody his conception of the
heroic historical ballads which must have been current among the early
Romans as among the medieval English--to recreate these ballads for
modern readers. For this sort of verse Macaulay's temperament was precisely
adapted, and the 'Lays' present the simple characters, scenes, and ideals
of the early Roman republican period with a sympathetic vividness and
in stirring rhythms which give them an unlimited appeal to boys. None
the less the 'Lays' really make nothing else so clear as that in the
true sense of the word Macaulay was not at all a poet. They show absolutely
nothing of the finer feeling which adds so much, for example, to the
descriptions in Scott's somewhat similar romances, and they are separated
by all the breadth of the world from the realm of delicate sensation
and imagination to which Spenser and Keats and all the genuine poets
are native-born.
The power of
Macaulay's prose works, as no critic has failed to note, rests on his
genius as an orator. For oratory he was rarely endowed. The composition
of a speech was for him a matter of a few hours; with almost preternatural
mental activity he organized and sifted the material, commonly as he
paced up and down his garden or his room; then, the whole ready, nearly
verbatim, in his mind, he would pass to the House of Commons to hold
his colleagues spell-bound during several hours of fervid eloquence.
Gladstone testified that the announcement of Macaulay's intention to
speak was 'like a trumpet call to fill the benches.' The great qualities,
then, of his essays and his 'History' are those which give success to
the best sort of popular oratory--dramatic vividness and clearness,
positiveness, and vigorous, movement and interest. He realizes characters
and situations, on the external side, completely, and conveys his impression
to his readers with scarcely any diminution of force. Of expository
structure he is almost as great a master as Burke, though in his essays
and 'History' the more concrete nature of his material makes him prevailingly
a narrator. He sees and presents his subjects as wholes, enlivening
them with realistic details and pictures, but keeping the subordinate
parts subordinate and disposing of the less important events in rapid
summaries. Of clear and trenchant, though metallic, narrative and expository
style he is a master. His sentences, whether long or short, are always
lucid; he knows the full value of a short sentence suddenly snapped
out after a prolonged period; and no other writer has ever made such'
frequent and striking (though somewhat monotonous) use of deliberate
oratorical balance of clauses and strong antithesis, or more illuminating
use of vivid resumes. The best of his essays, like those on the Earl
of Chatham and on the two men who won India for England, Clive and Warren
Hastings, are models of the comparatively brief comprehensive dissertation
of the form employed by Johnson in his 'Lives of the Poets.'
Macaulay, however,
manifests the, defects even of his virtues. His positiveness, fascinating
and effective as it is for an uncritical reader, carries with it extreme
self-confidence and dogmatism, which render him violently intolerant
of any interpretations of characters and events except those that he
has formed, and formed sometimes hastily and with prejudice. The very
clearness and brilliancy of his style are often obtained at the expense
of real truth; for the force of his sweeping statements and his balanced
antitheses often requires much heightening or even distortion of the
facts; in making each event and each character stand out in the plainest
outline he has often stripped it of its background of qualifying circumstances.
These specific limitations, it will be evident, are outgrowths of his
great underlying deficiency--the deficiency in spiritual feeling and
insight. Macaulay is a masterly limner of the external side of life,
but he is scarcely conscious of the interior world in which the finer
spirits live and work out their destinies. Carlyle's description of
his appearance is significant: 'I noticed the homely Norse features
that you find everywhere in the Western Isles, and I thought to myself,
"Well, anyone can see that you are an honest, good sort of fellow,
made out of oatmeal." Macaulay's eminently clear, rapid, and practical
mind comprehended fully and respected whatever could be seen and understood
by the intellect; things of more subtle nature he generally disbelieved
in or dismissed with contempt. In dealing with complex or subtle characters
he cannot reveal the deeper spiritual motives from which their action
sprang; and in his view of history he does not include the underlying
and controlling spiritual forces. Macaulay was the most brilliant of
those whom the Germans have named Philistines, the people for whom life
consists of material things; specifically he was the representative
of the great body of middle-class early-Victorian liberals, enthusiastically
convinced that in the triumphs of the Liberal party, of democracy, and
of mechanical invention, the millennium was being rapidly realized.
Macaulay wrote a fatal indictment of himself when in praising Bacon
as the father of modern science he depreciated Plato, the idealist.
Plato's philosophy, said Macaulay, 'began in words and ended in words,'
and he added that 'an acre in Middlesex is better than a peerage in
Utopia.' In his literary and personal essays, therefore, such as the
famous ones on Milton and Bacon, which belong early in his career, all
his immense reading did not suffice to produce sympathetic and sensitive
judgments; there is often more pretentiousness of style than significance
of interpretation. In later life he himself frankly expressed regret
that he had ever written these essays.
Macaulay's
'History of England' shows to some degree the same faults as the essays,
but here they are largely corrected by the enormous labor which he devoted
to the work. His avowed purpose was to combine with scientific accuracy
the vivid picturesqueness of fiction, and to 'supersede the last fashionable
novel on the tables of young ladies.' His method was that of an unprecedented
fulness of details which produces a crowded pageant of events and characters
extremely minute but marvelously lifelike. After three introductory
chapters which sketch the history of England down to the death of Charles
II, more than four large volumes are occupied with the following seventeen
years; and yet Macaulay had intended to continue to the death of George
IV, nearly a hundred and thirty years later. For absolute truthfulness
of detail the 'History' cannot always be depended on, but to the general
reader its great literary merits are likely to seem full compensation
for its inaccuracies.
THOMAS CARLYLE.
The intense
spiritual striving which was so foreign to Macaulay's practical nature
first appears among the Victorians in the Scotsman Thomas Carlyle, a
social and religious prophet, lay-preacher, and prose-poet, one of the
most eccentric but one of the most stimulating of all English writers.
The descendant of a warlike Scottish Border clan and the son of a stone-mason
who is described as 'an awful fighter,' Carlyle was born in 1795 in
the village of Ecclefechan, just across the line from England, and not
far from Burns' county of Ayr. His fierce, intolerant, melancholy, and
inwardly sensitive spirit, together with his poverty, rendered him miserable
throughout his school days, though he secured, through his father's
sympathy, a sound elementary education. He tramped on foot the ninety
miles from Ecclefechan to Edinburgh University, and remained there for
four years; but among the subjects of study he cared only for mathematics,
and he left at the age of seventeen without receiving a degree. From
this time for many years his life was a painful struggle, a struggle
to earn his living, to make a place in the world, and to find himself
in the midst of his spiritual doubts and the physical distress caused
by lifelong dyspepsia and insomnia. For some years and in various places
he taught school and received private pupils, for very meager wages,
latterly in Edinburgh, where he also did literary hack-work. He had
planned at first to be a minister, but the unorthodoxy of his opinions
rendered this impossible; and he also studied law only to abandon it.
One of the most important forces in this period of his slow preparation
was his study of German and his absorption of the idealistic philosophy
of Kant, Schelling, and Fichte, of the broad philosophic influence of
Goethe, and the subtile influence of Richter. A direct result was his
later very fruitful continuation of Coleridge's work in turning the
attention of Englishmen to German thought and literature. In 1821 he
passed through a sudden spiritual crisis, when as he was traversing
Leith Walk in Edinburgh his then despairing view of the Universe as
a soulless but hostile mechanism all at once gave way to a mood of courageous
self-assertion. He afterward looked on this experience as a spiritual
new birth, and describes it under assumed names at the end of the great
chapter in 'Sartor Resartus' on 'The Everlasting No.'
In 1825 his
first important work, a 'Life of Schiller,' was published, and in 1826
he was married to Miss Jane Welsh. She was a brilliant but quiet woman,
of social station higher than his; for some years he had been acting
as counselor in her reading and intellectual development. No marriage
in English Literature has been more discussed, a result, primarily,
of the publication by Carlyle's friend and literary executor, the historian
J. A. Froude, of Carlyle's autobiographical Reminiscences and Letters.
After Mrs. Carlyle's death Carlyle blamed himself bitterly for inconsiderateness
toward her, and it is certain that his erratic and irritable temper,
partly exasperated by long disappointment and by constant physical misery,
that his peasant-bred lack of delicacy, and his absorption in his work,
made a perpetual and vexatious strain on Mrs. Carlyle's forbearance
throughout the forty years of their life together. The evidence, however,
does not show that the marriage was on the whole really unfortunate
or indeed that it was not mainly a happy one.
For six years beginning in 1828 the Carlyles lived on (though they did not themselves carry on) the lonely farm of Craigenputtock, the property of Mrs. Carlyle. This was for both of them a period of external hardship, and they were chiefly dependent on the scanty income from Carlyle's laborious work on periodical essays (among which was the fine-spirited one on Burns). Here Carlyle also wrote the first of his chief works, 'Sartor Resartus,' for which, in
1833-4, he
finally secured publication, in 'Fraser's Magazine,' to the astonishment
and indignation of most of the readers. The title means 'The Tailor
Retailored,' and the book purports to be an account of the life of a
certain mysterious German, Professor Teufelsdrockh (pronounced Toyfelsdreck)
and of a book of his on The Philosophy of Clothes. Of course this is
allegorical, and Teufelsdrockh is really Carlyle, who, sheltering himself
under the disguise, and accepting only editorial responsibility, is
enabled to narrate his own spiritual struggles and to enunciate his
deepest convictions, sometimes, when they are likely to offend his readers,
with a pretense of disapproval. The Clothes metaphor (borrowed from
Swift) sets forth the central mystical or spiritual principle toward
which German philosophy had helped Carlyle, the idea, namely, that all
material things, including all the customs and forms of society, such
as government and formalized religion, are merely the comparatively
insignificant garments of the spiritual reality and the spiritual life
on which men should center their attention. Even Time and Space and
the whole material world are only the shadows of the true Reality, the
spiritual Being that cannot perish. Carlyle has learned to repudiate,
and he would have others repudiate, 'The Everlasting No,' the materialistic
attitude of unfaith in God and the spiritual world, and he proclaims
'The Everlasting Yea,' wherein are affirmed, the significance of life
as a means of developing character and the necessity of accepting life
and its requirements with manly self-reliance and moral energy. 'Seek
not Happiness,' Carlyle cries, 'but Blessedness. Love not pleasure;
love God.'
This is the
central purport of the book. In the second place and as a natural corollary
Carlyle vigorously denounces, throughout, all shams and hypocrisies,
the results of inert or dishonest adherence to outgrown ideas or customs.
He attacks, for instance, all empty ostentation; war, as both foolish
and wicked; and the existing condition of society with its terrible
contrast between the rich and the poor.
Again, he urges
still a third of the doctrines which were to prove most characteristic
of him, that Gospel of Work which had been proclaimed so forcibly, from
different premises, five hundred years before by those other uncompromising
Puritans, the authors of 'Piers Plowman.' In courageous work, Carlyle
declares, work whether physical or mental, lies the way of salvation
not only for pampered idlers but for sincere souls who are perplexed
and wearied with over-much meditation on the mysteries of the universe,
'Be no, longer a Chaos,' he urges, 'but a World, or even Worldkin. Produce!
Produce! Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal, fraction of a Product,
produce it, in God's name! 'Tis the utmost thou hast in thee: out with
it, then. Up, up! Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy
whole might. Work while it is called Today; for the Night cometh, wherein
no man can work.'