diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/63288-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/63288-8.txt | 4830 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 4830 deletions
diff --git a/old/63288-8.txt b/old/63288-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e791633..0000000 --- a/old/63288-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4830 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of William Morris, by John Drinkwater - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: William Morris - A Critical Study - -Author: John Drinkwater - -Release Date: September 24, 2020 [EBook #63288] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM MORRIS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - - - - -WILLIAM MORRIS - - - - _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME:_ - - J. M. SYNGE - By P. P. Howe - - HENRIK IBSEN - By R. Ellis Roberts - - THOMAS HARDY - By Lascelles Abercrombie - - GEORGE GISSING - By Frank Swinnerton - - THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK - By A. Martin Freeman - - ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE - By Edward Thomas - - - - -[Frontispiece: William Morris. from a photograph by Frederick -Hollyer.] - - - - - WILLIAM MORRIS - - A CRITICAL STUDY - - BY - - JOHN DRINKWATER - - - - LONDON - MARTIN SECKER - NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET - ADELPHI - MCMXII - - - - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - POEMS OF MEN AND HOURS, 1911 - COPHETUA. A Play in One Act, 1911 - POEMS OF LOVE AND EARTH, 1912 - ETC. - - - - - TO - ERNEST NEWMAN - _Who Loves the Arts - With a Just and Fine Impatience_ - - - - -NOTE - -A few paragraphs in this book are reprinted, by permission of Messrs. -George Routledge and Sons, Ltd., from introductions written for The -Muses' Library; others, by permission of the Editor, from articles -contributed to _The Nation_. - -My thanks are due to William Morris's Trustees for permission to use -such quotations from his works as I wished, and to Miss May Morris -for her generous assistance in this and other matters. My -indebtedness to Mr. Mackail I have acknowledged in more than one -place in the body of this volume, but I should like here to emphasize -my appreciation of the service that he has done to all who reverence -Morris and his work. - -I would also thank my friend, Mr. Oliver W. F. Lodge, for the many -delightful hours that I have spent with him in talking of a poet whom -we both love. What understanding I may have of Morris has been -deepened and quickened by his enthusiasm and fine judgment. No -thanks that I might offer to another friend could be in any way -adequate; in inscribing this book to him I can but make slight -acknowledgment of one of those whole-hearted services that stand for -so much in the craft of letters. - -J. D. - -_Birmingham_, 1912. - - - - - CONTENTS - - INTRODUCTORY - EARLY POEMS AND PROSE - INTERLUDE - NARRATIVE POEMS - LOVE IS ENOUGH AND SIGURD THE VOLSUNG - TRANSLATIONS AND SOCIALISM - PROSE ROMANCES AND POEMS BY THE WAY - CONCLUSION - - - - -I - -INTRODUCTORY - -To the isolation, the loneliness, of the poet, criticism is apt to -give far less than due heed. At a time when literature is daily -becoming more responsive to the new spirit which we call Democracy, -such a complaint may seem to be reactionary in temper, and some -explanation may be made by way of defence against any such possible -charge. Nothing is more disastrous to a poet than that he should -dissociate his art from the life of the world; until the conflict and -destiny of humanity have become the subjects of his contemplation he -cannot hope to bring to his creation that vitality which alone makes -for permanence. Ultimately it is the great normal life of mankind -which is immortal, and the perishable things are the grotesque, the -odd, the experiences which are incomplete because they are unrelated -to the general experience. But whilst the insistence that the poet -should be swiftly responsive to the life about him is perfectly just, -indeed inevitable in any right understanding of art, it is equally -necessary to remember always that the poet's vision itself is turned -upon life from places remote and untrodden, that the seasons of his -contemplation are seasons of seclusion. To say that the poet is the -product of his age is to be deceived by one of the most dangerous of -critical half-truths. The poet is the product of his own temperament -and personality, or he is nothing. Clearly, if the age in which the -poet lived were in any wide sense his creator, the poets of an age -would bear unmistakable tokens of their relationship. The perfectly -obvious fact that they do not do so is, however, no obstacle to the -criticism that wishes to satisfy its own primary assumption that with -the age does remain this supreme function of making its own poets. -Recognizing that its theory demands the presence of such affinity in -its support, this criticism proceeds, in violation of the most direct -evidence, to discover the necessary likeness. Perhaps the crowning -achievement of this ineptitude is the constant coupling of the names -of Tennyson and Browning. If ever two poets were wholly unrelated to -each other in their reading of life and spiritual temper, they were -the poets of "In Memoriam" and "Pippa Passes," of "Crossing the Bar" -and "Prospice." But the accident of their being contemporaries is -taken as sufficient reason for endless comparisons and complacent -decisions as to their relative greatness, leading nowhere and -establishing nothing. And parallel cases are common enough: Gray and -Collins, Shelley and Keats, and, in daily practice, any one poet and -any other whose books happen to be on the table at the same moment. - -The relation of the age to its poets is that of sunlight to a -landscape. The trees and the rivers, the hills and the plains, all -turn to the same source for the power whereby to express themselves, -the same light is upon them all. But no one thinks in consequence of -comparing Snowdon with the Thames. Without his age a poet cannot -speak, but the thing that his age empowers him to utter is that which -is within him. His song, if it be a song of worth, is a -manifestation apart from the age, from everything whatever save his -own spiritual distinction. In this sense the poet must always be -isolated and lonely, and it is solely by divining the secrets of this -isolation and loneliness, not concerning itself unduly with -circumstantial kinship in expression that may exist between one poet -and another, that criticism may justify itself. Occasionally a poet -may arise whose faculty has a vital sympathy with another's, whose -vision may accord in some measure with that of one perhaps centuries -dead. Then enquiry as to the affinity is likely to be fruitful. The -poet is not so much a reflection of his age as a commentary upon it -and its attitude towards life. Twenty poets may be writing together, -the age reacting upon their creative energy in every instance, but it -is more than probable that the essential significance of their work -will be alike in no two cases. So that in writing about Morris my -purpose is chiefly to discover what are the aim and ultimate -achievement of his artistic activity; in a smaller degree to -ascertain what was his relation to his age; to compare him with his -contemporary creators scarcely at all, believing such comparisons to -be misguided in intention and negative in result. - -To attempt a new definition of poetry is a task sufficiently -uninviting. And yet it is well to be clear in one's own mind, or as -clear as possible, as to what one is writing about. If I try to set -down, with as little vagueness as may be, the nature of my conception -of the meaning of poetry, I do so in all humility, not in any way -suggesting that here at last the eternal riddle has been solved, but -merely to define the point from which I start, the standard which I -have in mind. It is certain that each man of intelligence and fine -feeling will make his own demand as to the values of poetry. A man's -worship is directed at last by his needs, and it is as vain in art as -in life to seek to impose a love where there is no corresponding -receptivity, assuming, of course a quick intelligence and not one -stupefied. A man spiritually asleep may be awakened, but once awake -his adventures must be chiefly controlled by himself. Fitzgerald was -a man of taste and understanding, but he did not care for Homer and -found _The Life and Death of Jason_ 'no go.' Arnold was as -passionate a man as might be in his allegiance to art, -notwithstanding the somewhat false report bestowed upon him by his -so-called classicism, and we know his estimate of Shelley and of -Byron, whilst Swinburne would have denounced him with equal vigour -for his indifference on the one hand and his commendation on the -other. These differences do not, of course, diminish the value of -critical opinion, they merely point to the futility of attempting to -find any common touchstone, and counsel a wise humility and -tolerance. That Arnold and Swinburne demanded different things in -poetry reflects to the discredit of neither. All men who care for -the arts are pledged to refuse the false, the mean, and the vulgar at -all seasons; but they do well to remain silent in the presence of -things which they know to be none of these yet find themselves unable -to love. Without this love criticism is ineffectual. Macaulay in -writing of Montgomery merely antedated the ruin of a reputation by a -decade or two; in writing of Milton he helped in the discipline of -our understanding. Morris is for me among the supremely important -poets, but I know that to some men to whose powers of perception I -bow he is not of such vital significance. I do not dispute their -conclusions; I can only endeavour to explain and justify my own. - -Poetry seems to me to be the announcement of spiritual discovery. -Experience might be substituted for discovery, for every experience -which is vital and personal is, in effect, a discovery. The -discovery need not be at all new to mankind; it is, indeed, -inevitable that it will not be so. Nor need it be new to the poet -himself. To every man spiritually alive the coming of spring is an -experience recurrent yet always vital, always a discovery. Nearly -every new poet writes well about the spring, just as every new poet -writes well about love. So powerful is the creative impulse begotten -by these experiences that it impels many men to attempt utterance -without any adequate powers, and so the common gibes find their -justification. But it is absurd to pronounce against the creative -impulse itself whilst condemning the inefficient expression. The bad -love poetry of the world is excluded from my definition not because -it is unconcerned with discovery, but because it is not, in any full -sense, an announcement. The articulation is not clear. And by -reason of this defect a great deal of other writing which has behind -it a perfectly genuine impulse is excluded also. On the other hand, -much verse which has a good deal of perfection in form perishes, is, -indeed, never alive, because its reason has been something other than -spiritual discovery. But whenever these things are found together, -the discovery and the announcement, then is poetry born, and at no -other time. The magnitude of the poet's achievement depends on the -range of his discovery and the completeness of his announcement. If -I add that verse seems to me to be the only fitting form for poetry, -I do so with full knowledge that weighty evidence and valuable -opinion are against me. Nevertheless the term prose-poem seems to be -an abomination. The poet in creation, that is to say the poet in the -act of announcing spiritual discovery, will find his utterance -assuming a rhythmical pattern. The pattern may be quite irregular -and flowing, but unless it is discernible the impulse is incomplete -in its effect. To think of the music of verse as merely an arbitrary -adornment of expression is wholly to misunderstand its value. It is -an integral part of expression in its highest manifestation. It is -in itself expression. There is an exaltation at the moment of -discovery which is apart from the discovery itself, a buoyancy as of -flight. The significance of this exaltation is indefinable, having -in it something of divinity. To the words of poetry it is given to -announce the discovery; to the music to embody and in some inadequate -measure translate the ecstasy which pervades the discovery. The -poet's madness is happily not a myth; for to be mad is to be ecstatic. - -A poet who in rather more than a generation had produced a small -volume of exquisite work complained that a poet's greatness was too -often measured by the bulk of his activity. Examination of the -nature of the poet's function shows the complaint to be groundless. -A man may indeed be immortal by virtue of a stanza if not of a single -line. Edward Dyer's report could ill bear the loss of 'My mind to me -a kingdom is.' And Martin Tupper passes with his interminable -jingles safely into oblivion. But if a man is truly possessed of the -poetic fire, we must accept as no negligible measure of his greatness -not only the force with which it burns, but also the frequency. Dr. -Johnson came nearer to the truth than is generally admitted when he -said that the poet who had to wait for 'inspiration' was in a bad -way. He was not altogether right, for in practice it is possible for -the poet to lose his technical cunning for long periods, which really -amounts to saying that there are times when the spiritual discovery -is unaccompanied by the ecstatic exaltation. But he based his -pronouncement on sound sense, as was his habit. What he meant was -that a poet, before he could lay just claim to high rank, must so -discipline himself to disentangle the significant from the -insignificant in life as it presented itself to him day by day, that -he should never be at a loss for something to say, that he should not -have to wait for the event. Milton was not careless in his use of -words, and when he said, 'I was confirmed in this opinion, that he -who would not be frustrated of his hope to write well hereafter in -laudable things ought himself to be a true poem ... not presuming to -sing high praises of heroic men or famous cities, unless he have in -himself the experience and practice of all that which is -praiseworthy,' he revealed the secret of the poet's necessity with -perfect precision. The greater and more vital the poet, the less -will he look upon his poetry as a casual incident of his life, the -more will it become for him the impassioned and refined expression of -his life in its entirety. Many men turn from the claims of their -daily life to art as a recreation. This is far better than having no -concern with art at all, but it is at best but a compromise. In -reading a great poet we feel that here is a man to whom art and life -are coincident, inseparable. In other words, that he is a man -vitally curious about life in all its essential aspects, just as -another man will be curious about market prices or electrical -development; and just as they must by nature give daily expression to -their curiosity about those relatively trivial things, so must he by -nature strive to give daily expression to his curiosity about that -supremely important thing. And as their constant preoccupation with -those ephemeral matters will from time to time bear fruit in the -shape of some weighty decision as to a course of action or the -evolution of some new design and its application, so will his -constant preoccupation with the permanent manifestations of life from -time to time bear fruit as a creation of art--as a poem. - -Throughout a life of phenomenal artistic energy, Morris never for a -moment failed to realize this supreme requirement of the poet's -being. He was pre-eminent in many activities, but it is upon his -poetry that his reputation will ultimately depend, for in his poetry, -inevitably, is found his clearest challenge to oblivion. Had he not -written at all he would still have been a remarkable and memorable -man, but having written much, and as poet, his claim as such must be -considered before all others. And Morris's poetry is a permanent -record of the man's temper, of his spiritual adventures and -discoveries, not a desultory series of impressions imposed by -external events, but the continuous manifestation of his reading of -life. His conception of art, formed in his youth, as the expression -of joy in living, as the immediate and necessary outcome of life -itself wherever life was full, knew no change to the end. Art was -this always to him, and it had no other value. Nothing made by man's -hand or brain had any beauty in his eyes unless it expressed this -intensity of life which went to its creation. The talk about art for -art's sake would have been merely unintelligible to him, because the -existence of art apart from life was inconceivable. - -William Morris was born at Walthamstow on the 24th of March, 1834. -The external record of his life has been given finally by Mr. J. W. -Mackail in his _Life_, a book which, besides being a storehouse upon -which all writers on Morris must draw and remain thankful debtors, is -certainly one of the most beautiful biographies in the language. The -wisdom of childhood is sometimes supposed to lie in the child's -attitude of unquestioning acceptance, but the truth is that it lies -in a constant sense of adventure. The wisdom of the poet is as the -child's in this; for both wake daily in the hope and expectancy of -new revelations. Unquestioning acceptance and the stifling of -curiosity are the last infirmities of foolish minds. Life ceases to -be lovely when it ceases to be adventurous. Morris in his boyhood -was rich in a full measure of this wisdom of childhood, and by a -fortunate circumstance his earliest days were spent in surroundings -that gave ample opportunity for the development of his nature. If he -owed his creativeness to nothing but his own endowment, the colour -and atmosphere with which his work came to be suffused were largely -influenced by the memory of days spent among the hornbeam thickets of -the Essex woodlands and the meadows of Woodford, on the fringe of -Epping Forest, the Morris family moving to Woodford Hall when the -poet was six years old. By this time he was, we hear, already 'deep -in the Waverley novels,' and in this connection we have the authority -of one of his sisters for a circumstance that is curiously prophetic -of a quality that was to mark his life-work. 'We never remember his -learning regularly to read.' This instinctive acquisition of -knowledge was not the least remarkable of Morris's faculties. He -seemed always to understand the things he loved without taking -thought. In the practical application of his knowledge no labour was -too great; when he wanted to re-establish the art of dyeing, he spent -weeks working at the vats in Leek; when he was directing the -Kelmscott Press, whole pages would be rejected for a scarcely visible -flaw; when he wished to furnish his house he found little enough in -the market to satisfy his conscience, and so became a manufacturer; -when he was drawn to the stories of the North he worked unweariedly -with an Icelandic scholar and made two pilgrimages--no light -undertakings in those days--to the home of his heroes. Miss May -Morris in one of her admirable introductions to the complete edition -of her father's works, tells us that he once said, 'No man can draw -armour properly unless he can draw a knight with his feet on the hob, -toasting a herring on the point of his sword.' It is easy to -understand that he never learnt to read, for learning by any -laborious process was foreign to his nature; knowledge of the things -that were of importance to him was in some obscure way born in him. -He would spare no pains to shape his knowledge into a serviceable -instrument, but the knowledge itself was inherent in him. He moved -among the men of the Sagas, of Greek mythology and the old romances, -as intimately as we ordinarily move among the people of the house. -Many of his friends give independent testimony to the fact that he -never seems to have learnt deliberately of these men; his knowledge -of them grew as his knowledge of speech and the ways about him. In -considering his work in detail, the value of this instinctive -familiarity will be apparent; it brings a sense of reality into his -stories as could nothing else. We are hardly ever given laboured -details of environment or appearance--merely a few casual strokes of -suggestion that, by their very assurance and implication of -knowledge, both on the part of the poet and of his reader, carry -conviction. For this reason we never feel ourselves to be in strange -surroundings or listening to strange men, and it is this privilege of -close association with the world of the poet's fashioning that -enables us to realize how accessible is that larger and clearer life -of which he sings. - -Throughout his life not only the beauty but the homeliness, the -fellowship, of earth was a passion with him, and to the Woodford Hall -days and the rambles over the downs and through Savernake, when a -little later he was one of the earliest Marlborough boys, may be -traced the beginnings of this strain in his temper. In a famous -passage in his biography Mr. Mackail tells us how the boy, dressed in -a suit of toy armour, used to ride through the park; how he and his -brothers used to shoot red-wings and fieldfares in the winter -holidays and roast them before a log fire we may be sure--for their -supper; how he longed to shoot pigeons with a bow and arrow; how to -the end of his life he carried with him recollections of stray sounds -and sights and scents of those childhood days; how he would pore over -the brasses and monuments that he discovered in the churches near to -his home. It is doubtful whether anyone who has not spent some part -of his early life in a countryside which has none of the striking -beauties that make a landscape famous, that is, in the common phrase, -uneventful, can quite realize the meaning of all this. In such -surroundings a peculiar intimacy with the earth is born, a nearness -to the change of season and the nature and moods of the country, -which form a background of singular values in the whole of a man's -later development. A man nurtured among the more majestic -manifestations of natural beauty will, if he be a poet, in all -probability translate his early impressions into single memorable -passages, but the effect of environment such as that in which -Morris's childhood was passed is of another kind. The whole of -Morris's work is coloured and sweetened by a tenderness for earth -which, while it does not fail to find at times direct expression of -exquisite loveliness, is nevertheless a pervasive mood rather than a -series of isolated impressions. It is this circumstance that came to -give quite common words an unusual significance in his poetry. When -he speaks of 'the half-ploughed field' or 'the blossomed fruit trees' -or 'the quivering noontide haze' or 'the brown bird's tune' or 'the -heavy-uddered cows,' or simply 'the meadows green,' the whole of his -passionate earth-worship is thrown up with clear-cut intensity and -his utterance takes on a value which is wholly unexplained by the -mere words of his choice. - -At Marlborough the poet's independence of character was already -shown. The school-games had no attraction for him. Birds'-nesting, -excursions to outlying churches and ruins, explorations of any early -remains of which he could discover the whereabouts, long walks -accompanied by the improvisation of endless stories of knightly -adventure, the reading of any books of romance, archæology and -architecture that came to his hand--these were his chief occupations. -Before he left the school, his father died, and the family again -moved, this time to Water House at Walthamstow. Here again the boy -found full store upon which to indulge his imaginative bent. A broad -moat, a great paved hall, a wooded island, wide marshlands, all -fitted well with the tendencies that had already asserted themselves. -When he left Marlborough at the age of seventeen, there was nothing -to show that he was to become a great creative artist, but there was -everything to show the atmosphere in which his work would be -conceived in such an event. After reading with a private tutor for a -year, Morris went up to Oxford at the beginning of the Lent term in -1853. - -Tennyson had established his reputation with the issue of the two -volumes of "Poems" in 1842. Since then he had published "The -Princess" in 1847, and "In Memoriam" in 1850, and was already -generally acknowledged as a great new voice in poetry. Browning with -"Pauline" in 1833, "Paracelsus" in 1835, "Strafford" in 1837, and the -series of plays that followed, had proved his authenticity, but had -not yet gained the general recognition that was to be brought a -little nearer by the "Dramatic Lyrics" and "Dramatic Romances" of -1842 and 1845, and "Christmas Eve and Easter Day" in 1850. "Men and -Women" was not yet published. Clough and Arnold had lately printed -their first books, and seven years were to pass before Swinburne's -name was to appear on a title-page. Rossetti's "Blessed Damozel" had -been printed in the Pre-Raphaelite magazine, "The Germ," but save for -a few contributions to the Oxford and Cambridge Magazine his poetry -was to wait until 1870 before being given to the public. In prose -the influence of the teachings of Carlyle and Ruskin was dominating -criticism and æsthetic thought throughout the country, whilst the -religious unrest and scientific revaluation, that were to leave their -witness to posterity in the work of men so far removed from each -other in temper as Newman and Darwin, and Arnold and Clough, were -forcing a full share of men's attention to the consideration of -abstract ideas. - -To determine the exact measure of the influence that the varied -expressions of an age's intellectual process exercises upon any -single mind belonging to that age is difficult to the point of -impossibility. Maeterlinck, in saying that the soul of the peasant -would not be what it is to-day had Plato or Plotinus, of whom he has -never heard, not lived, endorses the precise truth that Shelley -uttered when he said that poets were the unacknowledged legislators -of the world. The influence of one mind on another is one of the -subtlest questions of psychology, and the attempt to trace with any -precision the responsiveness of creative genius at all points to the -mental movement about it is vain. It would be rash to say that the -author of "The Origin of Species" had no influence on the author of -_The Earthly Paradise_, as it certainly would be impossible to define -what that influence was. Darwin and the Tractarians, the puzzled -questionings of the sceptics and the conflicting voices of assertion -and confutation, no doubt meant little enough as such to Morris when -he went up to Oxford. But they were none the less manifestations of -the age that shaped his power of expression, and in a negative and -indirect way at least they had a share in his development. The -limits of the influence of any commanding creative or speculative -mind cannot be laid down. The most romantic poet writing to-day -would be witless to assert that he was wholly uninfluenced by, say, -Mr. Bernard Shaw or Mr. Balfour, for, whether he realizes the fact or -not, these men form part of the intellectual atmosphere in which he -is writing. It is a common charge against Morris that he alienated -himself, as a poet, from the questions that were troubling his time, -as though the poet's theme should undergo continual change with the -generations. All experience is emphatic in its assertion of the -folly of this attitude. Nothing is more dangerous to the poet than -to be in too close contact with the immediate questions of the -moment, for, broadly considered, the things of immediate importance -are the unimportant things. Much of our finest creative energy -to-day is being exhausted in the consideration of problems that are -local and temporary, not fulfilling its creative function with proper -completeness, being, rather, bravely destructive, an office -honourable enough but not that of the poet's supreme distinction. -Morris, from the moment of his earliest artistic consciousness, was -perfectly clear as to this matter. He was not at any time deaf to -the clamour that came from all sides, nor was he indifferent to it. -But he found it partly incomprehensible, partly unlovely, and partly -negative, and he turned away from it, not as in retreat from a thing -that he feared, but in the search for the life which it was unable to -offer. The challenge and counter-challenge of the prophets of the -millennium and confusion worse confounded, the disputations of the -two-and-seventy jarring sects were not outside the range of Morris's -consciousness, but he was content at first to leave them to their own -issues. The socialism that was to enter so largely into his later -life was not the result of a sudden access of new feeling, but a -further expression, in perfectly logical development, of the mental -and spiritual outlook that was substantially unchanged from the -first. The new expression, when it forced itself upon him, was, -indeed, not unconnected with a negative and destructive programme, -but it was in reality no more than an attempt to realize the world -that he had created in his art, the world that contained for him the -only possible life consistent with free beauty and joy. But, with -whatever energy he threw himself into the new work when it came, he -never for a moment allowed it to shake his artistic creed. - -Nothing is further from the truth than the common assertion that -Morris in his art turned from a life of realities to a dream-world, -if by a dream-world is meant, and I can apply no other meaning, a -world intangible, unrealizable, and remote from practical -considerations. We have seen that the earth was to Morris from -boyhood in some sort a sacred thing. And the people of the earth -were no less. His one overmastering passion was for a world wherein -men and women lived in full responsiveness to the beauty of the -earth, labouring with their hands and adventurous and capricious in -spirit, finding joy in their work and in contact with each other, and -rejecting all the things of civilization that were dulling and -mechanical. To object that in a commercial civilization so -superficially complex--the complexity is really a thing without the -subtlety of humanity in it, relatively fixed and reducible to exact -formulæ--this passion was in effect no more than a rather futile -dream, might be reasonable if Morris himself had not wholly answered -the objection in his work. He found people not only indifferent to -the loveliness of earth, but destroying it on every hand; not only -forgetting the joy of labour, but debasing it into a daily burden; -measuring the value of all work not by the meaning of the work and -the spiritual satisfaction that it brought but by the wage that it -earned, and fettered in all their relations to each other by -countless considerations imposed by external conditions that were not -essential factors in humanity, but the whims of a social scheme that -mastered men instead of being their servant. From the first he -realized that out of such a life no supreme art could spring; the -material that they offered was ugly and devitalized, and art can only -accept for its service material beautiful and strong. The world as -he found it was fettered and numbed, and he sought in his art to -create a world free and exultant, one peopled by perfectly normal -people whose sorrows were the sorrows of common experience and whose -sins were the expression merely of the darker, but not diseased, -passions of humanity. When active socialism became part of his work, -his sole purpose was, in his own words, to make socialists, which -meant, for Morris, to bring men to a sense of the possibility of the -life of large simplicity that he had created as poet. His practice -and experiments in handicraft and manufacturing process were all -experiments of the same spirit; throughout his many-sided activities -an extraordinary unity of intention can be clearly traced. Morris at -the loom, or decorating a page, or riding his pony through the -Icelandic fords, or proving colours in the vats, or moving among the -haymakers in the Kelmscott meadows, was but one of the men with whom -he peopled his stories. He wanted all men to attain to this same -joyous energy, and the fierce denunciations and charges of his -socialistic days were no more than another expression of this desire. - -At Oxford the good beginnings of Woodford Hall and Savernake were -given every opportunity to develop. He found himself associated with -men whose ideals and enthusiasms were as his own. He went into -residence in the same term as Edward Burne-Jones, and quickly laid -the foundations of a lifelong friendship of more than common loyalty. -It is usual to speak regretfully of the growth of modern Oxford. The -mediæval town has, indeed, surrounded itself with reaches of quite -unlovely slums and suburbs giving just reason for the regret. But, -as was said in reply to one who was deploring the vulgarities which -have been carried into modern Venice, 'Exactly, but what else in the -world is there like it?' Oxford has suffered a change, but in Oxford -there are yet survivals scarcely to be found elsewhere in England. -The quadrangles, the bye-streets that curl between the colleges and -churches, the succession of spires and grey walls, still preserve -unbroken a tradition that goes back to the days when men lived, or so -Morris believed, as the men of whom he sang. And in 1853 the -tradition, if not clearer, was less threatened by opposing interests -than it is to-day. With the scholastic discipline, or lack of it, at -Oxford in his time Morris had little or no concern, but he could have -found no place more fitting in which to shape his imaginative powers. -With Burne-Jones and others of his friends he spent many priceless -hours determining all things in heaven and earth with the fine -certainty of youth, reading mediæval chronicles and Thorpe's -"Northern Mythology," exploring the enchanted worlds of the poets and -stirred to new enthusiasms by the latest word of Ruskin or the -newly-discovered revelation of some prophet of an older day. -Architecture had already taken its place in his mind as one of the -noblest of the expressions of man's exultation in his work, and the -intention which he had at this time of entering the church was -manifestly inspired rather by ecclesiastical art than by any doctrine -or dogma. The long vacations of 1853 and 1854 he spent in visiting -the churches of England and Northern France, and in making his first -acquaintance with the work of Van Eyck and Memling and Dürer. In -painting, as in the other arts, he looked already for the grave yet -vigorous simplicity, and that sense of the profound seriousness of -joy that were to be the essential characteristics of his own work. -His love for mediævalism was neither accident nor the fruit of any -refusal to face his own age. It was the logical outcome of this -intense conviction that most of the men about him were exhausting -their energies and deadening their faculties in the conduct of -trivial and inessential things. In the records of the mediæval -spirit, in its art, he found the temper which more clearly than any -other was at once a warning and a corrective to this wastage. A year -spent at Oxford in the company of men who shared his enthusiasms had -sharpened his imagination and quickened his creative instinct. He -was now ready for Malory and Chaucer and the revelation of Rossetti -and the Pre-Raphaelites. With a perfectly defined ideal already -developed in his consciousness, he was beginning to write. It only -needed contact with these new influences to make his utterance -certain and invest the ideal with artistic expression. - -When in 1855 he came of age, Morris found himself the possessor of an -annual income of £900, the result of a fortunate business transaction -made by his father a short time before he died. Burne-Jones had -already announced, in a letter to a friend, his intention of forming -a 'Brotherhood,' the purpose of which, shared by Morris among others, -was, of course, nothing less than the regeneration of mankind. Sir -Galahad was to be the patron of the order, the nature of which was to -be a strange blending of social activity and monastic seclusion. The -scheme in detail--if it ever reached so advanced a stage--passed into -the splendid story of youthful enthusiasms, but its principal -projectors never wavered in their loyalty to its spirit. To a man so -fired, the possession of £900 a year was a responsibility not to be -lightly considered. It left him free to choose his course, and it -was an integral part of his faith that that course should be laid -wholly in the service of his ideal. For a time his choice was -uncertain; his original intention of entering the church led to a -momentary idea of founding a monastery with his money. But the -gradually widening influence of the adventurousness of art that was -working in him made him less and less willing to commit himself to -any irrevocable step. He was beginning to realize his powers; his -friends, who were no dishonest critics, confirmed his own feeling -that his earliest poems were signs of a remarkable creative faculty. -But he was not yet certain as to the ways into which his art would -lead him. Painting and architecture divided his allegiance with -literature, and behind his consideration of all was the vague but -unalterable determination to use his art in the service of mankind. -His decision was wisely deferred until it should force itself upon -him. - -The first practical step taken by the Brotherhood--the friends -retained the original name whilst renouncing all their monastic -intentions--was the foundation of "The Oxford and Cambridge -Magazine." Chaucer had been discovered, and the group's somewhat -austere asceticism had been sweetened by the charity of the poet to -whom Morris was henceforth never to fail in discipleship. A copy of -the Pre-Raphaelite "Germ" had also established Rossetti in the -friends' worship, and they had seen some of his paintings, together -with those of Millais and Holman Hunt and Madox Brown. In all these -things Morris found the conception of life that he had already made -his own, in beautiful and more or less complete expression. Twelve -numbers of the magazine appeared, financed by Morris. Its aim was -the expression of the Brotherhood's artistic creed and its loyalty to -the essential idea of the identity of art with life. Rossetti was -among its contributors. Of Morris's own work in the venture, his -earliest poems and prose romances, something will be said in the next -chapter. - -Before leaving Oxford Morris and Burne-Jones together definitely -abandoned their idea of entering the church. The latter decided on -the work to which his life was to be devoted, whilst Morris formally -adopted architecture as a profession. Arrangements were made for him -to enter G. E. Street's Oxford office, and after a second visit to -France and its churches and passing his Final schools, he took up his -new work at the beginning of 1856. In his spare time he continued -his writing and tried his hand at craftsmanship. Burne-Jones went up -to London a few months later. Morris followed shortly when Street -moved his headquarters. Together they formed a close acquaintance -with Rossetti. That dominating personality was not slow to recognize -the powers of his new friends, and insisted that Morris should turn -painter, asserting, with an inconsequence worthy of one of Oscar -Wilde's creations, that everybody should be a painter. His proposal, -although it had no permanent effect on Morris, showed that the -election of architecture was not unalterable. For a time Morris -painted, throwing into the work the energy that was inseparable from -all his undertakings, but he was quick to realize that with all his -understanding of the painter's art he could not achieve its mastery. -The fact that he had been tempted to alter his choice even -tentatively, however, was enough to make him suspicious of the choice -itself. Without any conviction as to the possibility of a career as -a painter, he abandoned his profession as architect at the end of a -year. His state was one of considerable danger. Rich enough to make -work unnecessary as a means of living, exposed to an influence so -impetuous as Rossetti's, already showing considerable power in -several forms of expression as an artist, wholly unable to dissociate -one from the other, seeing but one purpose behind them all, there was -a probability, in the light of experience almost a certainty, that he -would become an excellent amateur of the arts, practising many things -with credit and triumphant in none, a generous patron, a kind of -titanic dilettante. The manner in which he overcame this danger is -one of the most remarkable things in the history of art. Had some -circumstance, external or internal, forced him to concentrate himself -on one or another of the forms with which he was experimenting, the -escape would have been normal and relatively free of difficulty. But -there was no such circumstance. His activities daily became more -diffused rather than more concentrated. Carving, modelling, -illuminating, designing, painting, poetry and prose-writing, all -became part of his daily scheme. Painting, indeed, he left, save for -incidental purposes, but the scope of his practice widened with every -year. And instead of becoming, as would seem to have been -inevitable, an accomplished amateur, he became a master in everything -he touched. He revolutionized many manufacturing processes and -invested craftsmanship with a vitality that it had not known for -centuries; he rediscovered secrets of mediæval artistry that were -supposed to be finally lost, and re-established the union between -beauty and things of common use; he became printer, and the books -from his press are scarcely excelled in the history of printing; he -wrote prose romances which in themselves would have secured him an -honourable place in literature, and yet all these achievements might -be cancelled and he would still stand as one of the greatest poets of -his age; or, indeed, of any age. It is all an astonishing testimony -to the vitality of his artistic conscience. However uncertain might -be the expression of his art in these early days, the fundamental -significance of art was rooted in his being with an unassailable -strength. In the light of his life-work these first more or less -indefinite gropings appear no longer as the whims of a nature -uncertain of itself. The impulse within him was not to be satisfied -by any partial expression. If it was to create a new world in -poetry, it must also strive to bring that world in some measure into -the affairs of daily life. It was not sufficient for Morris that the -dishes and goblets on the king's table in his song should be -beautiful or that he should commemorate Jason in halls hung 'with -richest webs.' The furnishings of his own table must be comely too, -and the 'richest webs' should not be a memory alone. No more perfect -example of critical stupidity could well be found than the notion -that Morris, as a creative artist, separated himself from the affairs -of the life about him, as if in retreat. Every line of poetry that -he wrote was the direct expression of the spirit in which he ordered -his daily practice. - -Morris's feeling for mediævalism must not be misunderstood. He was -fully conscious of the fact that a few centuries are as but a moment -in the development of man, and he did not turn to early art as to the -expression of a humanity differing in any fundamental way from the -humanity of his own day. Nor did he turn to that aspect of -mediævalism which has given it the name of the Dark Ages, but to the -life that produced Giotto and Angelico, Van Eyck and Dürer, and -Holbein and Memling, the monks whose illuminated books he prized so -dearly, and Chaucer.[1] He was not indifferent to the masterpieces -of the modern world. The range of Shakespeare's humanity, Shelley's -spiritual ardour, the passionate identification of truth with beauty -which was as a gospel to Keats, the earlier poems of Tennyson and -Browning, he accepted as revelations. Wordsworth and Milton he -professed to dislike, but he more probably disliked the people who -liked them wrongly. Nothing is more provocative than the praise of -fools. But it was in the work of those early artists, the men from -whom the Pre-Raphaelites took their name, that he found the most -perfect and satisfying expression of the spiritual life which was for -him the only true salvation on earth. It has been said by Paul -Lacroix that in the painting of Jan Van Eyck 'the Gothic school -decked itself with a splendour which left but little for the future -Venetian school to achieve beyond; with one flight of genius, stiff -and methodical conceptions became imbued with suppleness and vital -action.' The same is substantially true of Chaucer in poetry. Some -lessons in rudimentary technique might have been learned by these men -from their predecessors, but their powers of expression were vibrant -as some newly-discovered energy, and they used them in all their -freshness to embody a sane, simple view of life such as Morris -himself held. The subtlety which might follow in the evolution from -these beginnings, the greater intricacy of achievement, would take -their place in his consciousness, but nothing could ever displace his -worship of these frank and exultant records of man's joy in his work, -a joy that he hoped would yet be regained. They and their kind -remained for him, throughout his life, the supreme examples of the -meaning of art. - -When he gave up his work in Street's office, Morris moved with -Burne-Jones to rooms in Red Lion Square. They were unfurnished, and -out of this circumstance really sprang the beginnings of 'Morris and -Company,' although the firm was not actually founded until 1861. The -two artists found nothing in the shops that was tolerable, so Morris -made rough designs of furniture and commissioned a carpenter to -execute them in plain deal. Chairs, a massive table, a settle and a -wardrobe were among the first acquisitions. Rossetti painted two -panels of the settle, and Burne-Jones decorated the wardrobe with -paintings from Chaucer. When Morris built his own house this process -was carried out on a larger scale, but the beginnings of the -revolution of house-furnishing in England are clearly traceable to -the rooms in Red Lion Square. - -In the Long Vacation of 1875 Rossetti conceived the ill-fated scheme -of mural paintings for the new hall of the Oxford Union. The story -need not be told here in any detail. Morris and Burne-Jones were -pressed unto the service with some six or seven others, and each -painted one picture, Morris in addition designing and carrying out -the decoration of the ceiling. No proper preparations were made for -the work, and the paintings have perished. The undertaking is -interesting to us here as throwing sidelights on certain aspects of -Morris's temperament. He had begun and finished his picture long -before any of the others, and while they were still engaged on their -appointed shares he had voluntarily set himself to the ceiling -design. His capacity for work, of which this is the first striking -example, was always enormous, and it is not surprising to hear that a -distinguished doctor, speaking of his comparatively early death at -the age of sixty-three, said, 'I consider the case is this: the -disease is simply being William Morris and having done more work than -most ten men.' It was on this occasion, too, that his strange store -of assimilated knowledge was put to practical use. The paintings -were all taken from the "Mort d'Arthur," and models were required for -arms and armour. They were not to be found, and Morris, unaided by -books of reference, designed them, and they were made by a jobbing -smith under his supervision. When the Union work was finished he -took rooms in Oxford instead of returning to London, and among the -new friends that he made was Swinburne, then an undergraduate at -Balliol. He continued his apprenticeship as a painter with -enthusiasm but lessening conviction, but poetry was already becoming -a first consideration with him. He had already published a few -poems, as we have seen, in the "Oxford and Cambridge Magazine," and -several others were written during his temporary residence in Oxford. - -He was a man of fine physique and a remarkable vehemence of temper. -Burne-Jones tells us that when they were painting the Union walls and -needed models they sat for each other, and that Morris 'had a head -always fit for Lancelot or Tristram.' To think a thing was generally -to say it. His intolerance of everything vulgar and mean and -disloyal in art and life found immediate and forceful expression. A -friend who knew him well tells me of an occasion when he went with -Burne-Jones to the theatre. They were sitting in the pit, and one of -the actresses was incurring Morris's particular displeasure by reason -of her misuse of her mother-tongue. At a moment of tension she had -to enter and announce that her father was dead. She did so, but to -the effect that her 'father was dad.' Morris could bear it no -longer, and standing up with his hands clenched he roared across the -theatre, 'What the devil do you mean by dad?' to the utter -discomfiture of his companion. Insincerity--and incompetence he took -to be a form of insincerity--at all times exhausted his patience, and -he was never careful to conceal his feelings. - -The time of preparation was now passing into the time of achievement. -Morris's nature had been spared much of the shock and stress to which -it might have been subjected in its growth by the vulgarity and -violent uncertainty of his age, by the fortunate contact with men who -were in revolt. The movement that they represented and of which he -was a part was large and strong enough to make a positive and -progressive life of its own instead of being merely an isolated -expression of turbulent disagreement. It was one of those rare -manifestations, a revolt the first purpose of which was not to -destroy but to create. To this influence had been added that of a -countryside gravely beautiful, one full of the shadows and colour of -romance, or, more precisely, of the northern romance to which he was -always to lend his most faithful service. It must not be supposed -that this implies any coldness in his nature, which was at all times -finely passionate. But it was, always, also simple, and simplicity -of passion is the ultimate distinction of the North. The luxuriance -of the South, with all its beauty, tends to obscurity. Nothing is -further from wisdom than to suppose that the passion of the North is -cold; it is merely naked. His characteristic simplicity of outlook -was not yet impressing itself with its final certainty on his work, -but it was already in being, as is clear from the records of his -personality as it appeared to his friends at the beginning of his -career. - -Such was the nature of the man, who, fostered to articulate -expression in a spiritual atmosphere which it has been my purpose to -describe, was about to make his first appeal as poet to the public. -Early in 1858, Messrs. Bell and Daldy published _The Defence of -Guenevere and Other Poems_. - - - -[1] The chronological irregularity in this passage is deliberate, and -I am aware, of course, that certain of the names mentioned cannot -strictly be credited to mediævalism. But a nice distinction of -epochs is not necessary for the present purpose. There was, in -Morris's view of art, a kinship between Giotto and Holbein which was -unaffected by the fact that the former died in 1336, whilst Holbein -saw the full day of the northern renaissance two hundred years later. - - - - -II - -EARLY POEMS AND PROSE - -In insisting upon the simplicity of Morris's artistic ideal it is -well to examine a little closely the precise meaning of simplicity. -Spiritual adventure is the supremely momentous thing in a man's life, -but it is also the most intangible. Art being the most perfect -expression of spiritual adventure, its function is to impart to the -recipient some measure of that exaltation experienced by its creator -at the moment of conception. But to attain this end the art must -have that instinctive rightness which cannot be achieved by taking -thought but only by a rarity of perception which lends essential -truth to the common phrase that the artist is born, not made. If you -give a potter a lump of clay he may shape it into a vessel ugly or -beautiful. If our artistic intelligence or our spiritual -intelligence is awake, we shall instantly determine the result; if -ugly it will revolt us, or at best leave us indifferent; if beautiful -it will give us joy. But the difference, which is evident enough to -our consciousness, does not enable us to define the distinction -between the ugly and the beautiful, the dead and the quick. We only -know that in the one there is an obscure and wonderful vitality and -satisfying completeness that is lacking in the other. The beautiful -thing may be perfectly simple, but it nevertheless has in it -something strange and indefinable, something as elusive as life -itself. The simple must not be confused with the easy. When Morris -read his first poem to the acclamation of his friends, and announced -that if this was poetry it was very easy to write, it must be -remembered that he meant that it was easy for the rare creative -organisation that was William Morris. No doubt it was just as easy -for Shelley in the moment of creation to set down an image of -desolation as perfect as - - Blue thistles bloomed in cities, - -as it is for the veriest poetaster to produce his commonplaces, and -the result is certainly as simple, but the one is touched into life -by the god-like thing which we call imagination, whilst the other is -nerveless. The bow that was as iron to the suitors bent as a willow -wand to the hand of Ulysses. The simplicity of Morris's art is yet -compact of the profound and inscrutable mystery. It is not wholly -true to say that all great or good art is simple. From Donne to -Browning and Meredith there have been poets whose art is complex and -yet memorable. It is not my present purpose to discuss the precise -value of simplicity in art, but to point out that simplicity does not -imply either superficiality or the worthless kind of ease. - -Richard Watson Dixon said that in his opinion Morris never excelled -his early poems in achievement, and his judgment in the matter has -been echoed a good many times with far less excuse than Dixon himself -could plead. To him they represented the first impassioned -expression of a life which he had shared, and enthusiasms which he -had helped to kindle, and by which in turn he had been fostered. He -was the man to whom Morris first read his first poem, and there was -naturally a fragrance in the memory which nothing could ever quite -replace. But the echoes have no such justification, and are -generally the result of incomplete knowledge. _The Defence of -Guenevere and Other Poems_ is quite good enough to make it safe to -avow a preference for it, without reading the later work. A -reputation for taste may be preserved here, with the least possible -labour. But there is nothing in the volume which helps to make the -position really tenable. There is, indeed, scarcely any poet who can -point to a first volume of such high excellence, so completely -individual, so certain in intention, as could Morris. But to set it -above the freedom and poignancy of _The Life and Death of Jason_, the -tenderness and architectural strength of _The Earthly Paradise_ and -the fiery triumph of _Sigurd the Volsung_ is a critical absurdity. -It is a remarkable book, one which in itself would have assured -Morris of his place in the history of poetry, but it remains no more -than the exquisite prelude of a man whose complete achievement in -poetry was to stand with the noblest of the modern world. - -The chief evidence of immaturity which is found in Morris's first -book is a certain vagueness of outline in some of the poems. The -wealth of decorative colour of which he was never to be dispossessed -is already here, and on the whole it is used fitly and with -restraint. Effects such as - - A great God's angel standing, _with such dyes - Not known on earth, on his great wings_ - -and - - he sat alone - _With raiment half blood-red, half white as snow._ - -and - - Also her hands have lost that way - Of clinging that they used to have; - They look'd quite easy, _as they lay - Upon the silken cushions brave - With broidery of apples green._ - -And again, - - _The blue owls on my father's hood_ - Were a little dimm'd as I turn'd away, - -and whole passages in such poems as _The Wind_, and even poems in -their entirety such as _The Gilliflower of Gold_ depend as much upon -their colour as if actually done with a brush; and they depend -safely, whilst the use of one art by another can scarcely be more -triumphantly vindicated than by the lines in _A Good Knight in -Prison_, where Sir Guy says:-- - - For these vile beasts that hem me in - These Pagan beasts who live in sin - * * * * * - Why, all these things I hold them just - _Like dragons in a missal-book, - Wherein, whenever we may look, - We see no horror, yea delight, - We have, the colours are so bright._ - - -There are moments, however, in this volume when the poet's power of -visualizing, as with the eyes of the painter, lead him into a -weakness from which his later work is entirely free. When Guenevere -says:-- - - This is true, the kiss - Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day - I scarce dare talk of the remember'd bliss, - - When both our mouths went wandering in one way, - And aching sorely, met among the leaves; - Our hands being left behind strained far away. - -we feel that a certain sacrifice of emotional directness of speech is -being made to a sense that intrudes on the poetry without -intensifying it. And we have the same feeling when Galahad says:-- - - No maid will talk - Of sitting on my tomb until the leaves - Grow big upon the bushes of the walk, - East of the Palace-pleasaunce, _make it hard - To see the minster therefrom._ - - -The elaboration in these places blurs rather than quickens our -vision, as it does again in Rapunzel's song:-- - - Send me a true knight, - Lord Christ, with a steel sword, bright, - Broad and trenchant; yea, _and seven - Spans from hilt to point, O Lord! - And let the handle of his sword - Be gold on silver._ - - -We may almost forgive a young poet flaws which are in themselves -lovely and are but excesses of a method which he commonly uses to -wholly admirable ends; but they are flaws none the less. The sense -of values is not yet consistently true. But the indistinctness of -outline of which I have spoken is a more serious weakness than this -occasional indiscretion in the use of colour. - -The poems in the volume may, somewhat arbitrarily, but fitly for the -present purpose, be considered as four or five groups. The poems in -the first, headed by _The Defence of Guenevere_, _King Arthur's Tomb_ -and _Sir Galahad_, have love for their central theme and aim at -conducting a more or less simple love story to its successful or -disastrous issue with directness and clarity. The obscurity that -alone threatens their complete success is not due to subtlety on the -one hand nor to vagueness of conception on the other, but merely to a -power of expression that was not yet sure of itself. Psychological -subtlety was not, as is sometimes supposed, outside Morris's range; -on the contrary, he gives constant and varied evidence of a depth of -perception in human affairs quite remarkable, as will be shown. But -the subtlety was never confused and blurred by the sophistry that -tempts so many poets on making a really pregnant psychological -discovery into all kinds of unintelligible elaboration. When he saw -clearly into the workings of the mind he recorded his vision in a few -sharp and clearly defined strokes, and left it. Subtlety and -obscurity are never synonymous in his work. And although, at -twenty-four, his understanding of man's love for woman was naturally -not very profound or wide in its range, it was passionate and quite -sure of itself within its own imaginative experience. His failure in -places to give his understanding clear utterance is the failure of a -man not yet wholly used to his medium. When Guenevere says:-- - - While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd, - - Belonging to the time ere I was bought - By Arthur's great name and his little love; - Must I give up for ever then, I thought, - - That which I deemed would ever round me move - Glorifying all things; for a little word, - Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove - - Stone-cold for ever? - -the thought is neither close nor difficult, nor, on the other hand, -is it loose, but the statement is not lucid. It is, however, -intelligible after we have sifted it a little carefully, but in such -a passage as-- - - A little thing just then had made me mad; - I dared not think, as I was wont to do, - Sometimes, upon my beauty; if I had - - Held out my long hand up against the blue, - And, looking on the tenderly darken'd fingers, - Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through, - - There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers, - Round by the edges; what should I have done, - If this had joined with yellow spotted singers, - - And startling green drawn upward by the sun? - -the thought is hidden in an utterance so tangled and involved as to -make it almost impossible to straighten it out, and in any case -poetry so enigmatic ceases to be poetry at all. Such extreme -instances are, however, very rare even in this first volume, and -scarcely ever to be found in his later work. The title-poem -throughout is uncertain in its expression. There are passages of -fine directness and precision as-- - - And fast leapt Caitiff's sword, until my knight - Sudden threw up his sword to his left hand, - Caught it, and swung it; that was all the fight, - -and the picture of Guenevere at the close, listening for Launcelot, -'turn'd sideways,' - - Like a man who hears - - His brother's trumpet sounding through the wood - Of his foe's lances.' - -but in spite of these and the unquestionable beauty of the poem's -cumulative effect, there is a troubling lack of firmness in many -places that makes the achievement incomplete. I think that the use -of _terza rima_ in itself has something to do with this. In a poem -like Shelley's "Ode to the West Wind" we are prepared to follow the -poet in any imaginative flight that he may attempt from moment to -moment, and his adventurousness finds all the time some turn of -thought that will perfectly fit the exacting demands of the form that -he is using. But in Morris's poem the process of the narrative to be -convincing can only be conducted in one way, and that way the poet -frequently finds obstructed by the necessity of a verse-form -particularly difficult in English. However this may be, _King -Arthur's Tomb_ is certainly less open to this charge of obscurity in -utterance, and the thought has more imaginative force in it. There -are passages here that suggest the presence of a poet to whom the -highest things in poetry may yet be possible. Guenevere's cry-- - - Unless you pardon, what shall I do, Lord, - But go to hell? and there see day by day - Foul deed on deed, hear foulest word on word, - For ever and for ever, such as on the way - - To Camelot I heard once from a churl, - That curled me up upon my jennet's neck - With bitter shame; how then, Lord, should I curl - For ages and for ages? _dost thou reck_ - - _That I am beautiful, Lord, even as you_ - And your dear mother? why did I forget - You were so beautiful, and good, and true, - That you loved me so, Guenevere? O yet - - If even I go to hell, _I cannot choose - But love you, Christ, yea, though I cannot keep - From loving Launcelot._ - -has a poignancy and a curious understanding of the action of a mind -in spiritual anguish that were to be so nobly employed in things like -the close of _Jason_. The dramatic opposition of Guenevere's love, -which is all the while troubled by the half-consciousness of sin, to -Launcelot's, which is its own sole cause and justification, is, -further, a first indication of the poet's power to set the elemental -passions in action at once simple and convincing. When the Queen -finds her lover lying on the dead king's tomb, she schools her tongue -to a cold absurdity, not daring to trust herself,--'Well done! to -pray for Arthur,' and Launcelot cries out:-- - - Guenevere! Guenevere! - Do you not know me, are you gone mad? fling - Your arms and hair about me, lest I fear - You are not Guenevere, but some other thing. - -and the queen's answer falls with the tragic intensity of spiritual -self-betrayal-- - - Pray you forgive me, fair lord Launcelot! - I am not mad, but I am sick; they cling, - God's curses, unto such as I am; not - - Ever again shall we twine arms and lips. - -There is in this, and in the whole of the poem from this point a true -and incisive sense of conflict, continually heightened by such -perfectly balanced turns of the imagination as when Launcelot says:-- - - lo you her thin hand, - That on the carven stone can not keep still - Because she loves me against God's command. - -culminating in the confused feelings of terror and appeased destiny -at the end of Guenevere's speaking. - -_Sir Galahad: A Christmas Mystery_ is, it may be said, entirely free -of the obscurity, and shows, if not a profounder, yet a more acute -power of perception. The beauty and tenderness of love-sorrow are -themes common enough in poetry, but Morris by making Galahad's -experience of them spring from his thought of other men's love -presents them with a peculiarly fresh poignancy. Galahad on his -quest, 'dismal, unfriended,' thinks of the other knights. - - And what if Palomydes also ride, - And over many a mountain and bare heath - Follow the questing beast with none beside? - Is he not able still to hold his breath - - With thoughts of Iseult? doth he not grow pale - With weary striving, to seem best of all - To her, 'as she is best,' he saith? to fail - Is nothing to him, he can never fall. - - For unto such a man love-sorrow is - So dear a thing unto his constant heart, - That even if he never win one kiss, - Or touch from Iseult, it will never part. - -And Launcelot can think of Guenevere, 'next month I kiss you, or next -week, And still you think of me,' but Galahad himself - - Some carle shall find - Dead in my arms in the half-melted snow, - -and people will but say that he 'If he had lived, had been a right -good knight' and that very evening will be glad when 'in their -scarlet sleeves the gay-dress'd minstrels sing.' The force of the -poet's thought about a particular phase of love is intensified in an -unmistakable way by placing the utterance on the lips of a man who is -not speaking of his own experience, which would have been beautiful -but a little sentimental, but of his hunger for the experience, -sorrowful though it may be, which is emotionally tragic. And we find -another stroke of memorable subtlety when the voice of the vision -says to the knight, speaking of Launcelot's love for Guenevere:-- - - He is just what you know, O Galahad, - This love is happy even as you say, - But would you for a little time be glad, - To make ME sorry long day after day? - - Her warm arms round his neck half throttle me - The hot love-tears burn deep like spots of lead. - -The thought here, with wonderful instinct on the part of the poet, is -precisely Galahad's own. It shapes the compensation to his spirit -for its hunger and loneliness. We feel, in passages such as these, -that here is a poet exultant in the exercise of a rare faculty of -statement. The spiritual discovery and the announcement are in -perfect correspondence. _A Good Knight in Prison_, _Old Love_, _The -Sailing of the Sword_ and _Welland River_ are the other poems that -may be included in this first group. They attempt a smaller -psychological range than the poems already considered, but they have -the same emotional intention and achieve it with clarity and -precision. These poems already show the pervasive passion for the -earth that has been discussed; the landscape is everywhere informed -by intimacy and tenderness. Another aspect of the poet's temper too -finds expression--an extraordinarily vivid sense of natural change -and death. With speculation as to the unknown Morris was never -concerned in his poetry. Death was to him neither a fearful thing -nor yet a deliverance or a promise. It was simply the severing of a -beautiful thing that he loved--life; the end of a journey that no -labours could make wearisome. He did not question it, nor did he -seek to evade its reality, but the thought of it was always coloured -with a profound if perfectly brave melancholy. Without ever -disputing with his reason the possibility of death's beneficence, it -was not the beneficence of death that he perceived emotionally, but -the pity of it. It was a fading away, and as such it filled him with -a regretful tenderness, just as did the fading of the full year. The -close of _The Ode to the West Wind_ crystallizes a mental attitude of -which Morris was temperamentally incapable. But it is, of course, a -mistake to suppose that the beauty of his poetry suffers in -consequence. It is not the nature of the mood that matters, but its -personal intensity. - -The poems of the second group, of which _The Chapel in Lyoness_ is -the most notable example, have a central point in common with those -of the first, but there is a mysticism in them which is quite -unrelated to the obscurity which has been examined. It is not a -mysticism that has any definite scheme or purpose underlying it; -indeed I am not sure that mysteriousness would not be a fitter word -to use. It is just the mysteriousness of artistic youth, proud of -the faculty of which it finds itself possessed and a little prodigal -in its use. There is still the effort to keep the lines of the story -clear, but they are deliberately the lines of a soft brush rather -than a steel point. To read _The Chapel in Lyoness_, _Concerning -Geffray Teste Noire_ and _The Judgment of God_ is to receive an -impression which is clear enough as long as we refrain from seeking -to define it too precisely. The central thought and incidents of -these poems are set out perfectly plainly, but there is superimposed -a mysticism to which, happily, there is no key. We may never be -quite sure of its meaning, but we know at least that it does not mean -something which would be clear if once we divined some elusive secret -of its nature. It is like the soft scent of an orchard, and we -accept it as gratefully and with as little question. - -In poems such as _Rapunzel_ and _The Wind_, however, the quality that -in those other poems was but an incident is adopted as a definite -manner. What was before merely atmosphere is here employed as the -substance. These two poems scarcely make any direct statement at -all, and yet they succeed in an extraordinary way in conveying a -precise intellectual impression. Through a wealth of imagery and -verbal colour run thin threads of suggestion that, fragile as they -are, yet stand out as clearly as the veins in dark marble and have -the same values. It is remarkable that the coloured clouds in which -these poems are, as it were, wrapped, are never stifling. The -flowers of Morris's poetry are never of the hot-house. At the -moments when he is most freely putting language to decorative use, he -preserves a freshness as of windy moorlands or the green stalks of -lilies. At times the threads of suggestion disappear altogether, and -in the third group we find poems which are frankly essays in colour -without any attempt at concrete significance. _The Tune of Seven -Towers_, _Two Red Roses Across the Moon_, _The Blue Closet_, are -examples. It is wrong to say that these poems have no meaning. They -mean exactly the colours that they themselves create. It would be as -wise to say that a sunset or a blue distance of mountains is -meaningless. Somewhere between poems like _The Wind_ and _The Tune -of Seven Towers_ may be placed _The Gilliflower of Gold_, _Spell -Bound_, _Golden Wings_, and two or three others. - -The volume, if it were to be measured by the poems already mentioned, -would have the first great quality of being unforgettable. A note is -struck which is not necessarily beyond the compass but certainly -outside the temperament of anyone but Morris. There is at present no -trace of the discipleship to Chaucer, but a suggestion here and there -of kinship with the Coleridge of "Kubla Khan" and the Keats of "La -Belle Dame Sans Merci." The method of the later poems is already -clearly suggested, but the feeling and expression are marked by the -natural limitations and splendid excesses of youth. Morris places -his figures on a background which is not unrelated to life but -unrelated to the inessential circumstances of life. Through a -changing year of daffodil tufts and roses, cornfields and autumn -woods and the frozen twigs of winter, passes a pageant of knights in -armour of silver and blue steel, with bright devices on their tabards -and shields strewn with stars or flashing back gold to the sunlight, -and queens and ladies passionate and beautiful. But they move on an -earth that is the real earth of Morris's own experience; he has a -definite meaning when he says - - Why were you more fair - Than aspens in the autumn at their best? - -and the enchantment of his forests is that of the hornbeam twilight -of his Essex homeland. And they themselves are people of flesh and -blood, stirred by the common emotions of humanity. The passion, the -glamour, and the poignancy of love and life all find mature -expression in these pages, but we have to wait until _Jason_ and _The -Earthly Paradise_ for the presence of the innate nobility of love and -life behind these things. There is at present none of the fine -austerity that is a quality essential to the highest poetry, but that -is but to say that Morris in his youth was writing as a young man -should and must write. The growth of the prophet in the poet is not -to be looked for in the first fervour of song. The most that we can -ask justly at this season is witness to the presence of the poet, and -this we have here in abundance. - -The most memorable achievement of the volume is, however, _Sir Peter -Harpdon's End_, which stands by itself, or, perhaps, with one other -poem, _The Haystack in the Floods_. The historian of English drama -during the second half of the nineteenth century might, if he were -unwary, omit William Morris from his reckonings. If he were astute -enough to remember him it would probably be as the author of _Love is -Enough_. And yet at a time when some curious spell seems to have -fallen on the poets whenever they turned their thoughts to the stage, -_Sir Peter Harpdon's End_ reminds us of one, at least, to whom the -union of drama and poetry was not impossible. Morris himself would -seem to have been unconscious of the fact, for not only was he -careless in this instance when a little care would have made his -success strikingly complete, but henceforth he neglected this side of -his faculty, exercising it on but one other occasion, and then in a -more or less experimental mood, of which something will be said -later. It will be well to examine this short play in detail, for its -importance is apt to be under-estimated. In writing it Morris -realized, as did no poet of his time and scarcely any poet since the -close of the great epoch of poetic drama in England, the exact value -of action in drama. The complete subordination of character and idea -to action is a brief epitome of that degeneration of the modern -theatre from which we are now witnessing the dawn of a deliverance. -The supreme, though not necessarily the only, function of the drama -is to show the development of character and the progress of idea -through the medium of action, and until to-day the stage has been -surrendered for a century, if not for a longer period, to work that -is wholly unconcerned with this condition. The event has been -everything. The poets from Shelley to Swinburne have realized this -error and revolted, but in their eagerness to correct an abuse that -was threatening the highest manifestation of their art, they have -with amazing regularity overlooked another condition which, if not of -equal importance, cannot be disregarded without lamentable results. -Determined to dispossess action of its usurped authority, they have -neglected its lawful and indispensable service. Their opponents in -asserting action at the cost of all other things, and having, in -consequence, nothing to say beyond the bare statement of events, have -failed to produce either good literature or good drama, whilst they -themselves, in turning to ideas alone, have had much to say and have -so produced good and often noble literature, but in neglecting to -preserve the right balance between ideas and action they too have -failed to produce good drama. They have, unfortunately, no just -answer to the charge that they constantly allow the play of character -and idea to be unrelated to the action which they have chosen as -their framework. Their failure in dramatic result, though free of -the deplorable poverty and baseness of the method against which they -were a reaction, is no less complete. Shelley, Byron, Tennyson, -Browning, Swinburne, all wrote fine dramatic poetry, but they cannot -show between them a poetic play that achieves with any precision the -fundamental purpose of drama. - -Morris's instinct in this matter was perfectly poised. The -mechanical part of the technique in _Sir Peter Harpdon's End_ is as -crude as it well could be, chiefly, as I have suggested, on account -of the poet's indifference. Short scenes follow each other in rapid -succession, and in the middle of the play there is a hiatus which is -intelligible enough but destroys the dramatic continuity. These -defects make it difficult, though not impossible, for stage -presentation, but otherwise it would, I believe, survive the ordeal -triumphantly. The opening of the play is admirably contrived. In a -few deft strokes the character of Peter Harpdon is outlined, and we -know that he has humour and understanding of men, and a tenderness -coloured by a certain roughness of temper. All this is shown -strictly by his relation to the action in which he is involved--there -is not a line but helps the development of this. Then in perfectly -natural sequence the action enables him in a speech of little more -than twenty lines to define the circumstances from which it has -sprung, and thus we have set before us at the outset the nature of -the protagonist and the situation in relation to which we are to look -for that nature's manifestation; and already it is clear, in the -character of John Curzon, that the people among whom Harpdon is to -move will be no less sharply stated and proved than himself. The -construction of this opening could not well be more skilful or -instinctively right. Then follows what at first seems to be a -momentary lapse into the dramatic error of which I have spoken. In a -long soliloquy Peter reveals directly his spiritual and mental -attitude towards this action in which he is involved and indirectly -the commentary of the poet himself upon that attitude. This in -itself is perfectly legitimate, and supported, of course, by all the -poets of whom Shakespeare is the spring, indeed by all the great -dramatic poets of literature. The Greek chorus realizes this end as -one of its essential functions no less clearly than do the -soliloquies of Hamlet; and until the poets see once again the -significance of this fact and adapt it to modern needs, refusing to -have their authority usurped by theatrical showmen and their stage -carpenters, they will continue to fail in bringing back their art to -the theatre. But it must always be remembered that this choric -element of the drama justifies itself only as long as it limits -itself to the presentation of idea growing directly out of the -action. When it allows digression and elaboration for their own -sake, or the sake of some altogether extraneous idea, in short for -any reason other than intensifying the fundamental idea which the -progress of the action creates, it becomes undramatic and ceases to -fulfil its only right purpose. It is at this point that the poets -since the close of the Elizabethan age have misunderstood the -necessities of drama, and in Peter Harpdon's soliloquy we suspect -Morris for a moment of the same error. But careful examination of -the speech itself proves the suspicion to be almost if not wholly -unfounded. We find that there is nothing that is not the immediate -result of his position, and the worst that can be said of it is that -there are turns of thought which, although not dramatically -irrelevant, are a little superfluous and do not heighten our -perception. It is curious that in this speech there is evidence of -external contemporary influence in manner such as is scarcely to be -found elsewhere in the book. There is at least a suggestion of -Browning in such lines as-- - - Now this is hard: a month ago, - And a few minutes' talk had set things right - 'Twixt me and Alice;--if she had a doubt. - As (may Heaven bless her!) I scarce think she had, - 'Twas but their hammer, hammer in her ears, - Of 'how Sir Peter fail'd at Lusac bridge:' - And 'how Sir Lambert' (think now!) 'his dear friend, - His sweet, dear cousin, could not but confess - That Peter's talk tended towards the French, - Which he' (for instance Lambert) 'was glad of, - Being' (Lambert, you see) 'on the French side.' - - -The first scene closes with a swift turn of action carried on -correspondingly swift dramatic speech. Peter Harpdon is defending an -English castle in Poictou. His antagonist is his cousin Lambert, who -has misrepresented a circumstance of war to impugn Peter's loyalty to -his cause, careful for his own purposes that the rumour shall reach -the ears of Peter's lady, Alice. Peter has had no means of defending -himself, and his soliloquy is the outcome of the suffering that he -experiences at the thought of his wife's possible mistrust of him. -As he finishes, his servant, Clisson, comes in again, saying that a -herald has come from Lambert-- - - What says the herald of our cousin, sir? - - CURZON. So please you, sir, concerning your estate, - He has good will to talk with you. - - SIR PETER. Outside, - I'll talk with him, close by the gate St. Ives. - Is he unarm'd? - - CURZON. Yea, sir, in a long gown. - - SIR PETER. Then bid them bring me hither my furr'd gown, - With the long sleeves, and under it I'll wear, - By Lambert's leave, a secret coat of mail. - - -He will also take an axe, one--as we should expect of Morris--'with -Paul wrought on the blade'-- - - CURZON. How, sir! Will you attack him unawares, - And slay him unarm'd? - - SIR PETER. Trust me, John, I know - The reason why he comes here with sleeved gown - Fit to hide axes up. So, let us go. - - -Peter Harpdon is a Gascon knight, and in the next scene Lambert urges -that this fact combined with expedience, for the French are in the -ascendancy, should induce him to leave the English. Peter answers -him at length but finishes in an aside-- - - Talk, and talk, and talk-- - I know this man has come to murder me, - And yet I talk still. - -Lambert accuses him then directly-- - - If I said - 'You are a traitor, being, as you are - Born Frenchman.' - -They flash out at each other and Lambert 'takes hold of something in -his sleeve,' strikes at Peter with a dagger, and is taken. He is -brought before Harpdon in the castle and sentenced-- - - Let the hangman shave his head quite clean, - And cut his ears off close up to the head, - -Again we have the clear-cut delineation of character thrown up on a -framework of simple and logical action which all the while is -interesting as a means but not as an end. The blend of nobility and -savagery in Peter's nature stands sharply contrasted with the -meanness and merely dull cruelty of Lambert's. At this point the -hiatus occurs. The next scene is in the French camp, and Sir Peter -Harpdon is a prisoner before Guesclin and his officers, Lambert being -one of them. The dramatic opposition of the situation to that which -has immediately preceded it is admirable, but we need some -explanation that is not made. Apart from this defect, however, -Morris continues to build up his play with flawless instinct. Defeat -had turned Lambert's cruelty into pitiful and cringing terror, whilst -Peter at the moment of his power over his rival, although he had not -spared him, had shown some mercy, as to one whom he despised. Now, -with the shifting circumstance, the two prove themselves with -unerring completeness. Defeat purges Peter Harpdon's nature of all -its grosser parts, and he responds perfectly to the demands of tragic -chance; whilst Lambert in his triumph reveals himself in all the -degradation of a mean and wholly unheroic villainy. In both cases -the development is logical, indeed inevitable, and yet it depends -strictly upon the course of the action for its being. Already we -know the natures of the men, and, given the event, can foresee their -attitude with some certainty, but it needs the event itself to -complete our understanding. Peter is not a coward nor lacking in -nobility, yet when he hears that Lambert has come to him 'in a long -gown' he knows what that means, and he makes no foolish boast of -fearlessness, but frankly prepares himself with mail and axe. Now, -before his judges, the same temper is evident. Quite simply, and -with no blind defiance or pretence at indifference, he pleads for his -life, not, as the squire says of him afterwards-- - - Sullenly brave as many a thief will die, - Nor yet as one that plays at japes with God. - -He states his case clearly, with dignity, yet earnestly. Clisson -intercedes for him in a passage that outlines with precision yet -another character, and Guesclin is sorry but obdurate; he must die. -Then Lambert taunts him. He exults in the downfall of his enemy with -a cruelty that is bestial yet calculated in every stroke, until his -victim blenches. Then-- - - I think you'll faint, - Your lips are grey so; yes, you will, unless - You let it out and weep like a hurt child; - Hurrah! you do now. Do not go just yet, - For I am Alice, am right like her now; - Will you not kiss me on the lips, my love? - -and Clisson breaks in-- - - You filthy beast, stand back and let him go, - Or by God's eyes I'll choke you. - -This second speech of Clisson's is his last, and yet the tenderness -and strength of the man are shown so definitely as to make him -complete and living. He continues, asking Peter to forgive him for -his share in his death-- - - I would, - If it were possible, give up my life - Upon this grass for yours; fair knight, although, - He knowing all things knows this thing too, well, - Yet when you see His face some short time hence, - Tell Him I tried to serve you. - -and Peter makes his last utterance, full of passionate realization of -the moment, yet chiming to his character consistently to the end-- - - Oh! my lord, - I cannot say this is as good as life, - But yet it makes me feel far happier now, - And if at all, after a thousand years, - I see God's face, I will speak loud and bold, - And tell Him you were kind, and like Himself; - Sir, may God bless you! - -He would not have them think that when he wept he did so because of -Lambert's taunts. He was - - Deep in thought - Of all things that have happened since I was - A little child; and so at last I thought - Of my true lady: truly, sir, it seem'd - No longer gone than yesterday, that this - Was the sole reason God let me be born - Twenty-five years ago, that I might love - Her, my sweet lady, and be loved by her; - -and so up to the close, which has all the awe and terror but also the -pity and exaltation of authentic tragedy-- - - I only wept because - There was no beautiful lady to kiss me - Before I died.... - ... O for some lady, though - I saw her ne'er before; Alice, my love, - I do not ask for; Clisson was right kind, - If he had been a woman, I should die - Without this sickness. - - -The last scene, as just in dramatic instinct as the rest of the play, -tells of the bearing of the news of Peter's death to the Lady Alice. - -I have examined this play in some detail, and with a good many -quotations, for two reasons. One, already stated, to show that -Morris had an understanding of the nature of drama which is generally -overlooked, and secondly, because it is a common thing to hear people -to whom poetry is a matter of real importance say that they find -Morris--for all his beauty--languid and lacking in power of -concentration. If _Sir Peter Harpdon's End_ be languid or anything -but tense with concentrated emotion from beginning to end, then I -confess my sense of values to be much awry. And, although he left -the dramatic form, he did not lose this quality in his later work. -He employed, for reasons which will be discussed later, a certain -easy and decorative elaboration in much of his writing, but at the -right moment in _Jason_, in the tales of _The Earthly Paradise_ and -in _Sigurd the Volsung_, he was master of the direct vitality and -vibrating force that he first used in _Sir Peter Harpdon's End_ and -elsewhere when he needed them in this earliest volume, as in _The -Haystack in the Floods_, with unquestionable control and vividness. - -The few poems that have not been mentioned are the lyrical -expressions of moods, snatches of song and swift little pictures in -many colours that give their own peculiar pleasure as do all the -fragmentary strokes of a great artist. They are exquisitely done, -but they must be read, not described. - -Several of the poems published in _The Defence of Guenevere_ volume -had already appeared, as has been said, in "The Oxford and Cambridge -Magazine." In the same magazine Morris had also printed his first -essays in prose romance. A comparison of these with the poems shows -very clearly the value of that exaltation apart from the discovery, -which finds, as I have suggested, its expression in the music or -rhythmical pattern of verse. In more than one of these prose stories -Morris uses a subject that differs in no fundamental quality from -those used in many of the poems. The treatment shows the same -tenderness, the same love of the earth, the same power of direct and -vivid presentation of passion when it is needed, as in passages of -_Gertha's Lovers_, and the same delight in colour and all beautiful -things. And Morris uses his medium skilfully, and with a curiously -personal touch; his prose has the same freshness and light as his -verse. In short, we have here two groups of work from the same man, -alike in temper, substance and treatment, and in control, the only -difference being that of form. And that difference is everything, -for in the form lies the visible evidence of the spiritual pressure -at the moment of conception. There is no more stupid error than to -censure one work of art because it lacks the qualities of another -with which it has no point of contact. No sane person thinks less -of, say, "Wuthering Heights," because it has not the poetic -perfection of "Adonais." But the case of Morris's early prose -romances is different. They are delightful to read, they are in -themselves the treasurable expression of a fine spirit, yet they have -in them nothing that is not to be found in the poems. That being so, -it is inevitable that a close acquaintance with the poems should make -us a little careless of these prose tales, for in the poems we have -all the excellences that we find in the others, and we have added the -rhythmic exaltation which is the light on the wings of poetry. -Morris's fund of inventiveness was inexhaustible, but in his early -prose it discovered no quality that peculiarly fitted itself to the -medium; the inventiveness in the prose tales and the poems is the -same, and there is, in consequence, no compensation in the one for -the absence of the higher faculty of utterance that is found in the -other. Morris realized this himself, and for the next thirty years -created in verse. Nothing is further from my mind than to suggest -that _The Story of the Unknown Church_ and _Lindenborg Pool_, -_Gertha's Lovers_ and _The Hollow Land_ and _Svend and his Brethren_, -are other than beautiful expressions of a rare creative intelligence, -but no clearer evidence of the essential difference between that -which is poetry and that which is not could well be found than by -setting side by side things so closely related in many ways, indeed -in every way save one, as these stories and _The Defence of -Guenevere_ and _King Arthur's Tomb_, _Rapunzel_ and _The Wind_, _Sir -Peter Harpdon's End_ and _Shameful Death_. Nor could anything be -advanced more unanswerably supporting the contention that verse is -the one unassailable medium for poetry. - -Nine years were to pass before Morris published his next book, _The -Life and Death of Jason_. The course of his life and the nature of -his development in the meantime are discussed briefly in the -following chapter. - - - - -III - -INTERLUDE - -In 1859 Morris married Miss Jane Burden, of Oxford. To a man of his -profound tenderness for all the simple and rational things of life, -home was a symbol of the deepest significance. Homestead and -homeland are words used constantly and lovingly in his writing. A -man's home was, as he understood it, not merely a refuge from the -serious business of life or a comfortable and convenient means of -satisfying social requirements, but the temple of his daily worship. -It should be at once a centre of his labours and an expression of -himself. The application of the artist's understanding to daily -conduct is not always possible, or of first importance, for it is the -artist's function to persuade, not to compel; but such application is -the logical outcome of true development that is not hindered by -circumstance. We do not impugn Browning's sincerity either as a man -or an artist because he mercilessly exposed the evils of Society and -yet was a great diner-out. We feel, indeed, that he was of sounder -judgment and a finer charity than Shelley, who not only exposed the -evils, but also left society gasping whilst he went naked to his -dinner or made his house the asylum for anybody incapable of managing -his own affairs. But it is, on the other hand, an everlasting -vindication of Byron's strange personality that the man who wrote -'The Isles of Greece' gave his life in the service of the cause that -he sang. Morris's unchanging gospel was that man should have joy in -his work, which meant that the results of his work would in -themselves be beautiful. To accept anything that was unlovely on any -terms short of compulsion would, in consequence, have been to -proclaim the truth without insisting upon it by example. Had he done -so his art might have lost none of its vitality, but by steadily -refusing to do so he made the common charge of aloofness even less -intelligible than it would otherwise have been. Being a customer in -the world's market he was determined not to degrade the men by whom -the market was supplied. If he could find no other solution, he -would supply it himself. - -He bought a piece of land at Upton in Kent, careful that it should -include an orchard. Here, with Philip Webb as architect, he built -the Red House, which was to be his home for five years--until -circumstances made it necessary for him to live again in London. -Immediately, the difficulty that had confronted him in his Red Lion -Square rooms grew into one that was not to be met by the friendly -co-operation of a jobbing carpenter. There was a large house to be -furnished and fitted, and beautiful things had to be found for the -purpose. He came away from the market empty-handed, but carrying in -his mind the idea of Morris and Company. He would not only supply -his own needs decently; he would remove a reproach. - -The original prospectus of the firm announced the names of Rossetti, -Madox Brown, Burne-Jones, Morris himself, and three others as -partners. The history of the enterprise has been told by Mr. Mackail -and others, and need not be discussed here in any detail. Its -influence upon the lesser arts in England has been enormous, and its -activities are, fortunately, still growing. When Morris died he had -for some years been sole director of the venture, and its work -embraced carpets, chintzes, wallpapers, stained glass, tapestries, -tiles, furniture, wall-decoration--in short, everything by which a -building might gain or lose in beauty. The first premises were in -Red Lion Square, near to the poet's old rooms, and the earliest -achievement of the firm was to help in making the Red House at Upton, -in the words of Burne-Jones, "the beautifullest place on earth." -Webb having designed the house--with Morris at his elbow--the firm -furnished it and the painters of the group proceeded to decorate the -inside surfaces. The house was made to fit the orchard, so that, as -Mr. Mackail tells us in a beautiful sentence, "the apples fell in at -the windows as they stood open on hot autumn nights." Gardening was -one of the things of which Morris seems to have been born with -knowledge, and he knew the uses of hollyhocks and sunflowers. Here, -then, was a home, fashioned, as far as might be, into an earthly -paradise. The story of these five years is a very charming one; open -house was kept, and a good cellar and a bowling-green and tobacco -jars were not wanting. Here the poet's two daughters were born, and -we get a delightful picture of the house at a christening, with -Rossetti refusing to wait until dessert for the raisins, and beds -strewn about the drawing-room, Swinburne contenting himself with a -sofa. These things, however, are to the biographer, and are set down -with fitting grace in the book to which I have referred more than -once. - -Morris went up to London daily to conduct the business at Red Lion -Square. The value of the work that he had undertaken is even yet -imperfectly realized. Most people whose artistic intelligence is -awake contrive to have in their houses many beautiful things, but it -is only when we have been into a house where everything is beautiful -that we can understand the precise aim that caused Morris to become a -manufacturer. There is an enchantment about such a dwelling-place -that cannot be described, an atmosphere of health and completeness -that must be experienced to be understood. A beautiful house was no -more a luxury to Morris than sound meat on his table. But we have -laws for our butchers, whilst we have none for our upholsterers. -Some one once referred to Morris as the "upholsterer-poet," which -pleased him greatly. That such a term should be meant as a reproach -he could not understand. He asked for nothing better than to -convince people that an upholsterer had a soul, and to make them -determined not to deal with him until he showed it in his chairs and -sofas. - -The five years at Upton were a time of many energies and a steady -establishment of the poet's attitude towards life. The London -business was a serious and permanent undertaking, and demanded, by -the nature of its being, Morris's constant personal attention. This, -together with the daily journeys and the claims and -responsibilities--of no ordinary kind, as we have seen--of his new -home, left little time on his hands, and his work as poet was of -necessity put aside for the moment. But this fresh undertaking was -of peculiar value to his development, and came at precisely the right -moment. In his first volume of poems there had been the shadow of -that new world that had already shaped itself in his consciousness. -It had been beautiful, full of significance and promise, but still a -shadow. It is not fanciful to suppose that had his mind not found -some practical means of proving itself, of, so to speak, checking its -progress step by step, his poetry would have retained this intangible -quality to the end. This is not to suggest that the poetry of the -_Guenevere_ volume is in any sense unreal, but to remember its -atmosphere of uncertainty, or to say, precisely, that it is but the -shadow of the world that was in the poet's mind. In the workshop of -Morris and Company, it seems to me, this proving ground was happily -discovered. No better illustration, by contrast, of my meaning could -be found than in that remarkable book, Mr. Gordon Craig's "Art of the -Theatre." We have here, in some ways, the profoundest piece of -writing on the theatre that has appeared in England. Many elementary -truths that have been forgotten for centuries, if indeed they have -even been realized since the days which are commonly supposed to -belong to an era before dramatic history had begun, are here made to -stand out with startling clearness. But the radical defect of the -book is a vagueness, an uncertainty of statement, an indiscipline of -theory. We are constantly regretting the fact that Mr. Craig, as -these beautiful and strangely suggestive thoughts went through his -mind, had no stage and equipment ready to his hand to test them and -bring them to perfect articulation--that he had no proving ground. -Morris was more fortunate. He carried in his imagination a world of -which I attempt to set down the conditions elsewhere. At first he -could grasp only its beauty and wonderful hope; its perfect -realization eluded him. It was remote not from reality but from his -understanding. But now, working in Red Lion Square, delighting in -the labour of his hands and inspiring the same delight in others: -building a home that should bring daily joy to himself and his -friends: investing the offices of husband and father and host with -their normal and simple dignity and stripping them of every vestige -of insincerity, he brought his dream to the crucible of experience. -The result is that when next he attempts to shape his world into -poetry there is nothing left of the indefinite. All the beauty and -colour are retained, all the tenderness and poignancy, but the poet -has come up to his vision and the outlines are no longer in doubt. -The shadows of _Guinevere_ have become the vibrant men and women of -_Jason_. The paradise has been brought to earth. - -The only poetry that Morris wrote during these five years was part of -a cycle of poems on the Troy war. The plan included twelve poems, -six of which were written, two begun, and four untouched. Those that -were written were never published, but Mr. Mackail describes them for -us in some detail, and it is clear that Morris followed a just -instinct in laying them aside. They are dramatic in form, and if -finished they would doubtless have made interesting reading after -_Sir Peter Harpdon's End_. But the eager unrest of the early volume -is here moving towards turbulence. It is as much a mistake to -suppose that turbulence is a quality peculiar to weakness as that it -is necessarily a token of strength. Webster as a poet was turbulent -and strong: Bulwer Lytton turbulent and weak. On the other hand, the -noblest strength may be quiet, but so may the most insipid weakness. -The opening of "Paradise Lost" is at once one of the quietest and one -of the most powerful passages in poetry; but the quiet ease of the -good Mr. Akenside is mere tediousness. The point is that this new -temper that showed itself in the Troy poems was not in itself one -incapable of fine issues, but that it was at variance with the -essential inclination of the poet's development, and that Morris -himself felt this to be so. A curious myth has grown up about -Morris's methods of work, to the effect that he threw this or that -undertaking aside as it were by whim, forgetting all about it unless -another whim sent him to it again. Were it not for this myth it -would be unnecessary to say that great artists never work in this -fashion. If we can but discover it, there is a perfectly hard and -logical reason in all they do. When he was writing the Troy poems -Morris had thirty years of vigour in front of him. He broke off the -work in the middle, and never returned to it. We cannot suppose that -he did this other than deliberately and with carefully considered -reason. That reason was, it is clear, the conviction that he was -labouring in a direction along which his genius did not lead him. - -In 1865 Morris moved with his family to Bloomsbury. To leave Red -House was a great trouble to his mind, but the daily journeys became -increasingly irksome, and some fluctuation in his private money -matters made it more than ever imperative that nothing should be left -undone to make the business prosper. An able business manager was -found, and Morris was able to devote more of his time to actual -designing and craftsmanship. The hours saved each day in travelling -meant fresh opportunities for his highest creative work, and the -scheme of _The Earthly Paradise_ began to take definite shape. - - - - -IV - -NARRATIVE POEMS - -_The Life and Death of Jason_ was originally planned as one of the -stories for _The Earthly Paradise_, which appeared in 1868-70. It -developed to a length too great, however, for this purpose, and was -published separately in 1867. It won for Morris an immediate -popularity, and it marks his realization of a matured and fully -rounded manner in poetry. The _Guenevere_ volume had announced with -certainty the presence of a new poet, but it had said nothing at all -conclusively as to the nature of his future development, nothing to -prepare us for a narrative poet who should reach out to Chaucer in -achievement and surpass all save his master in a form strangely -neglected in English verse. The answer to the criticism that holds -narrative poetry to be the humblest order of the art is to be made in -two words--Chaucer, Morris. It is true that our narrative poetry -when set beside our dramatic and lyric wealth is, relatively, but a -little store of great worth. But in the hands of these two men the -form attains a distinction that proves for ever that when employed -with mastery it is capable of the noblest ends. Narrative poetry is, -in fundamental intention, closely related to poetic drama, and its -failure in most hands springs from the misunderstanding that has -already been analysed in connection with _Sir Peter Harpdon's End_. -It may be perfectly true to say that by his actions shall a man be -known, but there is in the statement the implied qualification that -such actions shall be normal and habitual; whilst the actions which -narrative poetry usually relates are extraordinary and irregular, -exciting the interest momentarily only, and revealing nothing of the -characters of the actors. Marlowe wrote a great narrative poem, and -Marlowe was a great dramatist. One of the great _lacunæ_ of -literature is the play that Chaucer never wrote. Keats in at least -two notable successes, small in compass but complete, Byron in work -avowedly narrative in intention but largely lyrical in effect, and -Scott in admirable stories that lacked something of the finer -atmosphere of poetry, all made contributions of value to narrative -poetry; Spenser moves with Milton across the boundary line into the -region of epic. But until the publication of _Jason_ there had been -no poet since Chaucer who had produced a considerable volume of work -at once frankly narrative in form and of indisputable greatness in -design and achievement. The instinct that had guided Morris safely, -or nearly so, through his dramatic experiment in his first volume did -not forsake him when he turned to the creation of a great narrative -poem, and it was precisely the instinct that was essential to -success. For narrative is drama without the stage. - -The first requirement that we make of the poet in narrative, after -the paramount demand that he shall recognize this essential canon of -all art as to the subservience of incident to idea, is that he shall -be perfectly lucid. Whilst in lyric verse we are content to be -forced at times to pause for thought and comprehension, in narrative -verse we insist that we shall instantly perceive. With this -condition Morris complies triumphantly. In _Jason_, as in the tales -of _The Earthly Paradise_, there is no necessity to pause at a single -line. We read with absolute ease from beginning to end, and our -interest is almost as absolute. Very occasionally the poet errs by -introducing incidents merely for their own sake without intensifying -our conception of character, but, with one or two possible -exceptions, the tales move swiftly and develop on every page. That -Morris should ever fail in this swiftness of narration is, indeed, -difficult to believe when we call to mind the innumerable instances -where he conducts his story at an almost breathless speed. This is -not to say that he is ever indistinct, either through bad -craftsmanship or undue compression, but to emphasize his extreme -reluctance to allow unnecessary events to distract our attention. An -excellent instance is afforded in _The Ring Given to Venus_. -Lawrence is told by Palumbus that he must leave him, fast and pray -for six days, and return to him on the seventh, when he shall learn -how to accomplish his end--the recovery of his bridal ring. The -danger at such a juncture is obvious. We dread that the poet shall -tell us at length of the passing of those six days, of Lawrence's -impatience and distress, and so forth. That is to say, we should -dread it of most poets, but, knowing Morris's methods, we feel that -he will work more wisely, and we are not deceived. Palumbus' -directions being given, Lawrence and his guide depart-- - - So homeward doubtful went the twain, - And Lawrence spent in fear and pain - The six long days, and so at last, - When the seventh sun was well-nigh past, - Came to that dark man's fair abode; - -and we are immediately on the full tide of the narrative again. - -Morris further achieves that supreme distinction in narrative of -indicating clearly at the outset what the issue is to be, and yet -retaining our interest easily and completely. One of the most -distinguished of living critics[1] has drawn attention to this power -in Shakespeare; there is no vulgar endeavour to startle us by any -surprising turns of character; what surprise there is to be will be -found in the event. So deftly does the greatest of poets embody his -characters at the moment when he brings them before us that we know -instinctively how they will act in the events presented to us. In -the case of Morris this power is, perhaps, even more strongly marked, -for the reason that the web of circumstance that he folds round his -people is of a far less subtle texture. It may be said, with but -little exaggeration, that the sole emotions with which he is -concerned are the love of man for woman, physical heroism, and the -worship of external beauty. Again, it must be remembered that the -simplicity implied by this statement is coloured and invested with -the mystery of life itself by the temperament through which it is -presented, but with this vital qualification the fact may be so set -down. Nearly all his stories are cast in the same general outline: -the desire of the lover, consummated or defeated only after long -physical struggle and sacrifice; the inscrutable shadow of death -looming behind attainment and failure alike; the progress of the -narrative fashioned on a background where nature and art combine to -please and soothe with an endless pageant of loveliness. _The Life -and Death of Jason_ may, perhaps, be advanced as an instance -disproving this contention, but a moment's reflection shows that the -central interest of the poem, the interest by the side of which all -else recedes into the position of that pageantry, is the love of -Jason and Medea. The quest of the Golden Fleece, the adventures of -the heroes, the treachery of Pelias, these things, exquisitely -handled as they are, are but the canvas upon which is thrown a -sublime and elemental love story. The finest book of the poem, the -last, wherein is told nothing but the triumph and withering of that -love, is not only on a level with Morris's own highest achievement, -but among the supreme things in poetry. The hopeless yet unutterably -poignant figure of Medea; the tenderness and the untutored simplicity -of Glance, the child who is the tragic plaything of the deeper and -more world-beaten natures against whom she is thrown; the desperate -self-deception of Jason and the terrible degradation of his essential -nobility--these are drawn with an intensity, at once fierce and -restrained, that bears witness to the height that narrative poetry -may attain in the hands of a master. - -Not only is the substance of these poems of this transparently simple -texture, but the form of expression created by Morris is so specially -fitted for the purpose that the structures as a whole stand almost -without parallel for precision of outline and clearness of detail. -He appears to have determined that neither overloading of diction and -imagery nor intricacy of metrical effect should interfere with the -conduct of his narrative. Having no superficially subtle or complex -statement to make, and keeping always before him the purpose to -produce a memorable cumulative effect without striving at all for -isolated felicities of phrasing, he is never forced to pause for the -fitting word. The words that go to the making of a line flow as -naturally and certainly from his pen as the letters that fashion a -word from the pen of another. Nowhere are there any signs of labour; -nowhere the tumultuous glory of language that rushes at times from -the lips of more variable if not greater poets; and yet, with the -rarest exceptions, he nowhere descends from his own high level. For -sheer consistency of excellence he probably has no rival. The -supremacy of his narrative poems lies in the fact that Morris -achieved what he attempted completely and with perfect ease. As in -his life, so in his poetry do we feel that we are in the presence of -a titanic strength that is never exerting itself to the utmost; and -we are constantly being led, in consequence, to that exercise of the -imagination which creates the most potent sympathy between the artist -and his audience. - -I have spoken of a certain easy decorative elaboration that Morris -uses in these stories, and it is this quality that has led many -people into a misunderstanding of his poetry. To say that a poet is -swift in narration does not necessarily mean that his sole purpose is -to get the story finished in the least possible time, but that the -narrative is unimpeded at the moments when most we demand its -progress. To say that this is the only right method would involve -enquiry into notable instances where it is not employed, which would -be to digress unduly, but most of Scott's novels might be advanced as -examples. There we are constantly brought to a standstill at vital -points in the conduct of the story whilst some thread that has been -laid aside is again taken up, again to be dropped when it has been -drawn to a point in common with the rest of the development. This -Morris never does; the sequence of his narrative is always direct, -and the crises of his story are always carried through at a stroke. -But in observing this condition of emphasizing his most momentous -periods in a perfectly logical continuity and boldness of statement, -he does not deny himself the right to fill in the spaces between -those periods with the large ease and contemplative calm which have -their corresponding manifestations in life. Hannibal was not -momentarily adding leaves to his laurels. And Jason journeying from -Thessaly to Colchis finds many adventures, and Morris records them -with vigour and intensity and the sound of swords; but he finds, too, -pleasant days of even enjoyment and companionship with his fellows, -when they move delightedly about a new countryside or see for the -first time some storied place or gather together to talk of their -homeland. And these are days that Morris is not at all content to -leave unsung, and his instinct is perfectly sound. It is strange -that these lovely interludes that lie between adventure and adventure -should ever be, as they often are, called "languid." They denote, on -the contrary, a spiritual activity astonishing in its range and -sanity. For they imply a recognition on the part of the poet that to -pass down a river on a golden afternoon, or to lie beneath the stars -at night, or to move beneath the walls of an unknown city whilst -memories of home and kin crowd on the mind, is an experience as -adventurous as the riding of a storm or the winning of a Golden -Fleece. To be languid is to be indifferent, and indifference in the -presence of anything not wholly alienated from nature and simple -humanity was the last thing of which Morris was capable. So that -when Medea has to go from her home to the wood, the poet is not -forgetful of the path by which she has to go. His eyes are always -open. - - ... a blind pathway leads - Betwixt the yellow corn and whispering reeds, - The home of many a shy quick-diving bird; - Thereby they passed, and as they went they heard - Splashing of fish, and ripple of the stream; - And once they saw across the water's gleam - The black boat of some fisher of the night.... - -To travel in the company of one whose senses are so vitally -responsive to every sound and sight of beauty, to every tremor of -emotion that may show itself in the people whom we meet on the -wayside, demands no small spiritual alertness in ourselves. But if -we fail to keep pace with his glorious and inexhaustible curiosity, -if our joy is not sane and unjaded as his, it will not mend our case -to call him languid. It is we who lack energy, not he. Every man is -quick-witted in the ranks of battle or the sack of cities; the true -test of his vitality is to see whether he remains so under the -orchard boughs or in the walk from his doorstep to the market-place. -Our position in this matter is but the logical issue of a social -condition against which the whole of Morris's life and art were a -revolt. Most of us have made the working hours of the day a burden -to be borne merely for the sake of the wage that follows; the work -itself is to us no more than a weariness. It is not necessary to -examine here the economic causes of this result, but the result -itself is obvious enough. And in consequence we call for the -intervals between work and work to be filled either by strange -excitement or sleep. And so we pass from lethargy through more or -less violent sensations to forgetfulness. Morris would have none of -this. Work meant for him, as it must mean for us all once more -before we regain our sanity and wholesomeness, a constant sense of -joy in self-expression, heightened now and again, as it were, by the -salt and sting of great adventures. Into this scheme of life are -admitted seasons of quiet contemplation, of responsiveness to such -common things as the beauty of the clouds or the soft sound of earth -breaking to the plough, hours when all the simple and recurrent -bounties of the day are accepted joyfully and without question. Into -his poetry Morris translated all these; the great adventures, the -deep sense of the satisfaction of labour, and the quiet moods. Our -faculties may be so weakened that they are stirred by the great -adventures alone; but it is no fault of the poet's if we confuse his -calm and reflective exaltation with our own lethargy. - -In speaking of the _Guenevere_ volume it was necessary to examine the -poems more or less in detail and separately, for they were the -changing expressions of a creative mind not yet sure of itself, of a -temperament that had not yet found its philosophic moorings. -Throughout _The Life and Death of Jason_ and _The Earthly Paradise_, -however, we have a unity of vision, a gathering up of all things into -the terms of one personal reading of life, that make it possible to -speak of them more generally and with less qualification from word to -word. Having defined the nature of the form that Morris was using in -these poems and his particular manner of handling it, we may try to -realize the view of the world that he was seeking to present. We may -pass from the announcement to the discovery itself. Morris in his -poetry simplified his aim enormously by steadily eliminating two -things--enquiry into the unknown, and all endeavour to 'set the -crooked straight.' When he called himself 'Dreamer of dreams born -out of my due time' and asked 'Why should I strive to set the crooked -straight?' he was not, again let it be said, refusing to face the -world about him, but announcing that as poet his concern was not to -destroy but to create. And whatever good results might attend the -speculation of others as to death and the secret purposes of God, he -felt that for him, at least, it was unprofitable employment. The -issue of this purpose is that we have a world wherein all the simple -but positive things stand out shining in the light of a -highly-organized creative temperament, undimmed by questioning doubt -on the one hand or a cloud of superficial intricacies of circumstance -on the other. In his later socialist teaching Morris sought in some -means to show how these intricacies might be cleared away in -practice, but in his poetry he presupposes a life where the natural -impulses of men are unfettered by all save eternal circumstance. His -philosophy becomes one of extraordinary directness and simplicity, -and yet it retains everything by which the spirit and body of man -really have their being. To love, and if needs be to battle for -love, to labour and find labour the one unchanging delight, to be -intimate with all the moods and seasons of earth, to be generous -alike in triumph and defeat, to fear death and yet to be heroic in -the fear, to be the heirs of sin and sorrow in so far as these things -were the outcome of events that were permanent and not ephemeral in -their nature--of such did he conceive the state of men to be in the -earthly paradise that he was tying to create in his art. We are yet -far from realizing the state. The din of the thousand claims of the -crooked to be set straight is loud in our ears, and the cleansing of -the moment must be done. But not until we can accustom ourselves to -the thought that this state is, if not yet realized, at least -realizable, can we hope to work out any salvation for ourselves or -the world. We suffer daily from a neglect of the positive and -creative for the negative and destructive. In England the symbols of -our national thought are curiously expressive of this fact. We -decorate and honour our soldiers whose business, be it to destroy or -to be destroyed, is, in any case, connected with destruction; those -of our lawyers who are chiefly concerned with restraint and -punishment; our politicians who spend their time protecting us from -assaults of neighbours and communities as commercially rapacious as -ourselves, or, in their more enlightened moments, in adjusting wrongs -that are the dregs in the cup of civilization. The functions of -these men may be necessities of society, but they nevertheless apply -to the small negative aspect of our state and not the great normal -life. It is that which is, rightly, the concern of our creative -artists; but our creative artists are not decorated and honoured by -the nation as such. Occasionally when Europe has insisted long -enough on the presence of a great artist among us, we make some -belated recognition of the fact, and occasionally we become -sentimental and throw a few pounds a year to a poet whom we refuse to -pay proper wages for his work. This of course does not injure the -artist, but it is all very eloquent as to the frame of our national -mind. However many noble individual exceptions there may be, the -fact remains that nationally we acclaim the negative and neglect the -positive manifestations of man. Morris's art was, implicitly, a -challenge to this temper and a means of escape from it. For, despite -all the clamour that the good and evil voices of the destroyers make, -we are ultimately forced back to the admission that they fill only a -very small corner of our lives. The daily charities and heroisms, -the discipline of fellowship and love, the worship of beauty and the -pride of shaping with hand and brain, are all independent of them, -and they are the justification of life. If we have crowded them out -of our daily courses, then it is for the poets to lead us back to -them. This they do most certainly, not by denouncing us for our -folly or reviling the evil to which we have fallen, but by showing -us, in being, our lost estate. This Morris did, and to understand -this is to understand the root and flower of his philosophy as poet. - -It is not to be supposed that the world of Morris's poetry is a world -purged of error. He did not imagine an ideal humanity, but a -humanity drawn from all the finer phases of experience, its vision -free of the veils of a highly artificial social state. It is a -common thing to hear people express surprise that men who behave -towards each other with bitter animosity in business or official or -political life are on generous and friendly terms in their homes or -in what is called private life, and the solution is generally offered -that whilst they differ fiercely on profoundly vital subjects, they -can afford to be tolerant and even generous to each other in less -important matters. The solution is, of course, as far astray from -facts as it could be. The truth is that in the conduct of the things -that are of permanent significance these men behave to each other -generally with the innate nobility of humanity, and at times with -humanity's natural imperfection. There is among them a deep sense of -comradeship and common delight, broken only at times by the reaction -of emotions not yet wholly chastened, expressing itself in a -violation of conflicting interests. But when these same men are -brought into contact in surroundings compact of that artificiality of -which I have spoken, those surroundings create a hundred new and -shifting standards, and with them as many strange little jealousies -and rancours which are stifled immediately simple humanity is once -again allowed its proper dominion. The sin and the sorrow that are -the issue of this imperfection in humanity Morris uses at their full -and tragic values in his poetry, but to the nervous irritation which -is as some new disease which we have invented for ourselves unaided -by the gods he paid no heed. This is why his poetry, all its -vitality and strength notwithstanding, is so peaceful. His people -may suffer great troubles and deal hard blows, love passionately and -lose fiercely, but at no time do they move with the confused unrest -of men who are never sure of themselves, having between their vision -and the world a thousand petty accidents of will. They are -deep-lunged, but they never babble and chatter; they have enormous -energy but are never restless. - -As though to emphasize the singleness of his aim in these poems, -Morris uses the simplest verse-forms. _Jason_ is written in heroic -couplets, the prologue and seven tales of _The Earthly Paradise_ in -the same measure, seven tales in octosyllabic couplets and ten in -seven-lined Chaucerian stanzas. Metrical experiments occasionally -make some definite addition to poetry, but they more often result in -mere formlessness. The wide acceptance of certain forms by the poets -through centuries of practice does not point to any lack of invention -or weak servility on the part of the poets, but to some inherent -fitness in the forms. Tradition is a fetter only to the weak; it is -the privilege of the sovereign poet to invest it with his own -personality and make it distinctively his own. From Marlowe down to -Mr. Yeats the heroic couplet has been a new vehicle in the hands of -new poets, and its vigour is unimpaired. Morris in accepting proved -forms merely accepted the responsibility of proving himself. The -result is never for a moment in doubt--his use of the ten and eight -syllable line and the stanza that he took from his master is as -clearly pervaded by his own temperament as is his vision itself. It -is one of the subtlest faculties of genius, this shaping of a manner -which shall chime exactly with mood and emotional outlook. Just as -Shakespeare's expression is prodigal in strength and variety, and -Milton's full of weight and dignity, and Pope's marked at all points -by precision, and Shelley's by a wild and fluctuating speed, so -Morris's is everywhere animated by a pure and virile loveliness and -an all-suffusing sense of pity. His utterance is in perfect harmony -with his spiritual temper. We have seen that whilst he accepts the -tragedy of the world at its full value as something fundamental and -inseparable from humanity, he rejects the mere ugliness of the world -as being an artificial product of an abnormal state. And so, when he -has to write of a dead woman lying in a peasant's hut in all the -circumstances of extreme poverty, he does so with tragic intensity -whilst eliminating all the inessential ugliness. Poverty as we know -it in our civilization makes an unlovely bedfellow for death, yet -Morris shows it to us with a precision almost fierce in its fidelity -to truth, yet beautiful because concerned with the simple and -essential only-- - - On straw the poor dead woman lay; - The door alone let in the day, - Showing the trodden earthen floor, - A board on trestles weak and poor, - Three stumps of tree for stool or chair, - A half-glazed pipkin, nothing fair, - A bowl of porridge by the wife, - Untouched by lips that lacked for life, - A platter and a bowl of wood; - And in the further corner stood - A bow cut from the wych-elm tree, - A holly club and arrows three - Ill pointed, heavy, spliced with thread. - -This passage is a typical example of Morris's manner. It shows the -occasional hastiness of composition that is found at intervals -throughout his work; 'door' and 'board' in the second and fourth -lines strike unpleasingly on the ear that is carrying the rhyme -'floor--poor.' But it also shows the individuality with which Morris -handles at all times a well-tried measure; it shows, too, the ease -with which he conveys a certain atmospheric significance apart from -his actual statement, and, finally, it shows his exquisite sense of -word-values and his extraordinary power of visualization. No poet -has given more beautiful expression to the sensuous delight of the -eye than Morris, and even here, where the mood is one of profound -sorrow, the thing seen is described with a sweetness and naturalness -that makes it bearable; indeed, more than bearable, something that we -gladly remember. In this matter Morris, as we should expect, worked -always in the greatest tradition of art; his most terrible and tragic -moments are never moments that we wish to forget. - -In a paper called _Churches of Northern France_ that Morris -contributed to "The Oxford and Cambridge Magazine," he talks about -Amiens Cathedral. He imagines it first as it would look from one of -the steeples of the town. 'It rises up from the ground, grey from -the paving of the street, the cavernous porches of the west front -opening wide, and marvellous with the shadows of the carving you can -only guess at; and above stand the kings, and above that you would -see the twined mystery of the great flamboyant rose window with its -thousand openings, and the shadows of the flower-work carved round -it; then the grey towers and gable, grey against the blue of the -August sky; and behind them all, rising high into the quivering air, -the tall spire over the crossing.' And then again, as you approach, -'the great apse rises over you with its belt of eastern chapel; first -the long slim windows of these chapels, which are each of them little -apses, the Lady Chapel projecting a good way beyond the rest; and -then, running under the cornice of the chapels and outer aisles all -round the church, a cornice of great noble leaves; then the parapets -in changing flamboyant patterns; then the conical roofs of the -chapels hiding the exterior tracery of the triforium; then the great -clerestory windows, very long, of four lights, and stilted, the -tracery beginning a long way below the springing of their arches. -And the buttresses are so thick, and their arms spread so here, that -each of the clerestory windows looks down its own space between them -as if between walls. Above the windows rise their canopies running -through the parapet; and above all the great mountainous roof, and -all below it and around the windows and walls of the choir and apse -stands the mighty army of the buttresses, holding up the weight of -the stone roof within with their strong arms for ever.' Then, having -set down the cumulative effect of the great Gothic structure in these -few strokes, he goes on to examine the beauties of its detail, the -carving on the screens and doors, the figures on the tombs, the -mouldings and little stories in stone, all of them the vital -expressions of the joy of some nameless craftsman in his work. Apart -from the side light that these descriptions throw on Morris's view of -art, we are reminded as we read them of the architectural design of -_The Earthly Paradise_. It has precisely the qualities of a Gothic -cathedral. The whole scheme of the poem, which contrives the -alternate narration of stories drawn from classic and romantic -sources, carrying the process along the months of the year and -setting the whole in a purely lyrical framework, results in a massive -general effect which must be once seen before we can wholly realize -the beauty of the stories by themselves. But once seen it is never -forgotten, and afterwards we are content to return again and again to -the detail, as certain of finding satisfaction in any of the single -stories on which we may chance as we are in the tracery of the -cloisters or the devices on the stalls of a Gothic church. It is, of -course, the peculiar glory of Gothic--or romantic--art, that while -the parts combine to make a whole more wonderful than themselves, -they yet have an independent beauty and completeness of their own. -Morris in writing his tales was careful never to sacrifice his -general outline for the sake of momentary effects, but each story is -complete in itself and separable from the rest. - -Although it is to be accounted as a virtue to Morris that he never -sought to decorate his verse with jewels that should distract -attention from the whole texture, it must always be remembered that -he was absolved from the necessity of doing this because the texture -itself was of extraordinary richness and shot with a hundred colours. -The first and most obvious danger in a long narrative poem is that -many passages which are concerned with the mere statement of fact -necessary to the progress of the story will not be poetry at all. -But moving always, as it were, in the open country of the world, away -from everything that is not intimately related to that simplicity of -life that has been discussed, Morris is never forced to conduct his -people over moments that are fundamentally incapable of poetic -treatment. Their most commonplace actions are still carried through -with the vividness that comes of a constant joy in labour and direct -contact with the earth. A journey means the building of a boat and -shaping of oars, and a loaf of bread is the direct witness of corn -harvested and ground, and wood gathered for the fire. An instance -may be taken almost at random: Jason and his warriors find that their -progress is stopped, and that their ship must be borne across the -land. It is just such a moment as might, in the hands of a poet who -was only anxious to get the matter done to comply with the -necessities of his narrative, sink from poetry altogether. This is -how Morris manages it:-- - - And there all, - Half deafened by the noises of the fall - And bickering rapids, left the ashen oar, - And spreading over the well-wooded shore - Cut rollers, laying on full many a stroke, - And made a capstan of a mighty oak, - And so drew Argo up, with hale and how, - On to the grass, turned half to mire now. - Thence did they toil their best, in drawing her - Beyond the falls, whereto being come anear, - They trembled when they saw them; for from sight - The rocks were hidden by the spray-clouds white, - Cold, wretched, chilling, and the mighty sound - Their heavy-laden hearts did sore confound; - For parted from all men they seemed, and far - From all the world, shut out by that great bar. - Moreover, when with toil and pain, at last - Unto the torrent's head they now had passed, - They sent forth swift Ætalides to see - What farther up the river there might be. - Who, going twenty leagues, another fall - Found, with great cliffs on each side, like a wall; - But 'twixt the two, another unbarred stream - Joined the main river; therefore did they deem, - When this they heard, that they perforce must try - This smoother branch; so somewhat heavily - Argo they launched again, and got them forth - Still onward toward the winter and the north. - -This is writing on a level below which Morris never falls, and it is -yet on the side of poetry. It is possible for the artist's -temperament to throw beauty on to an object in itself unlovely, and -the result is often some confusion of mind as to the real source of -the beauty. Mr. Brangwyn can draw men stripped to the waist toiling -in the inferno of a black-country iron-works, and his creation is -beautiful. Emile Verhaeren can strike a song out of the utter -degradation of humanity: but the essential poetry in each case is in -the soul of the artist and not in the subject of his contemplation. -If our knowledge of the ironworks rested wholly on Mr. Brangwyn's -report we might well believe that it really was strangely and -strongly beautiful. But if we really know the iron works itself, we -know that it is hideously ugly, using men half as beasts, half as -machines, choking the air and wounding the earth, a thing definitely -unpoetic because definitely a denial of life. Morris worked in quite -another manner. Instead of lending ugliness the undeserved beauty -and colour of his own temperament, he stripped all things that came -into his vision of all that was inessential, all the excrescences of -accident and will, and then allowed them in their renewed simplicity -to find natural and direct expression. The result is that although -it may be true to say that Morris has fewer single lines which are -memorable if detached from their context than any other poet at all -comparable to him in achievement, it is equally true to say that he -stands alone in the creation of a great body of work that moves -consistently and surely on the plane of poetry from first to last -with scarcely a single lapse. No poet has ever had a more infallible -instinct as to what was and what was not of the stuff of poetry. - -With _Jason_ and _The Earthly Paradise_, Morris establishes his claim -to greatness. The height of his power is not yet reached, but here -already we have a breadth of design, an intensity of perception, and -a sureness of utterance about which there can be no question. Not -only does he prove himself to be a narrative poet of the first rank, -but in the songs and interludes he attains a sweetness and tenderness -which if not matchless are certainly not surpassed. Things like-- - - I know a little garden close - Set thick with lily and red rose,-- - -and - - Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing-- - -and - - O June, O June, that we desired so, - Wilt thou not make us happy on this day?-- - ---it is, indeed, unnecessary to add example to example--are of the -highest order of lyric poetry. The lusty strength and naked passion -of _Sigurd the Volsung_ are as yet unattempted at any sustained -pressure, but in all other respects the achievement of _Jason_ and -_The Earthly Paradise_ is complete and representative. Remembering -Pope's "awful Aristarch"-- - - Thy mighty Scholiast, whose unweary'd pains - Made Horace dull, and humbled Milton's strains. - Turn what they will to Verse, their toil is vain, - Critics like me shall make it Prose again-- - -I have refrained from any attempt to re-tell the stories that must be -read as Morris told them or not at all. It has been my purpose -rather to hold for a moment in trembling hands the spirit that is in -them and that went to their creation. - -At the time of publication of the last volume of _The Earthly -Paradise_, Morris had begun the study of Icelandic story that was to -find its splendid culmination six years later in _Sigurd the -Volsung_. The history of these beginnings will be told more fitly -later in connection with the consideration of that poem. The -completion of his great cycle of tales left him momentarily with a -sense of purposelessness. 'I feel rather lost at having done my -book,' he writes. 'I must try to get something serious to do as soon -as may be ... perhaps something else of importance will turn up -soon.' He turned again to painting, and occupied some of his time in -book-illumination, an art in which he attained a perfection no less -memorable than that of the mediæval masters. The business of Morris -and Company was developing rapidly, and in 1871 he found a new -interest in Kelmscott House, the old manor in Oxfordshire that was to -be his country home until his death. The abiding pleasure that his -retreat afforded him has been beautifully pictured for us in Mr. -Mackail's "Life." In the same year he made his first journey to -Iceland, and on his return he wrote the poem, which is next to be -considered, _Love is Enough_. - - -[1] Mr. Stopford Brooke. - - - - -V - -LOVE IS ENOUGH AND SIGURD THE VOLSUNG - -Discipleship in art is a thing very commonly misunderstood. The poet -with centuries of activity behind him will inevitably find in this -voice or that an expression with which his own temperament is in more -or less direct sympathy, and, if his nature be not cramped, he will -make full acknowledgment of the fact. But this loving recognition of -fellowship has nothing whatever to do with imitation. In demanding -originality of the poet we do not expect him to sing as though he -moved in an untrodden world. We might as reasonably ask each man to -invent a new speech; we should be doing no more than carrying our -demand to its logical issue. We insist, and rightly, that the poet -shall interpret experience for us in the terms of his own -personality, but we must remember that the work of his predecessors -is an enormously important part of experience, and when he finds some -aspect of that work in correspondence with his own adventures he -will, quite naturally, take it up in some measure into his own -creation. Confusion in this matter has led to considerable injustice -in many estimates of Morris. His repeated announcements of Chaucer -as his master and his open allegiance throughout his life to certain -phases of mediæval art, have caused it to be said that his mood and -expression are alike archaic, the word being used to mean obsolete. -As to the mood, the suggestion is so preposterous as to be unworthy -of an answer; it is obsolete just in so far as the fundamental things -of life are obsolete. As to expression, Morris's free use of such -words as 'certes,' 'Fair sir,' 'I trow,' and so forth is supposed to -lend support to the suggestion. It does nothing of the kind, of -course. Morris uses these words not for their especial value, but as -simply and naturally as he does the common parts of speech. The -words in themselves are perfectly fit for use in poetry, and the -discredit into which they may have fallen is entirely due to inferior -writers who have sought to make them in themselves substitutes for -poetry. To rule that their abuse henceforth makes their proper use -impossible is, however, absurd. It may be discreet in a poet to-day -to avoid nymphs and Diana and the pipes of Pan, but to say beforehand -that his traffic with these will be disastrous is merely to lay -ourselves open to the most salutary correction at any moment. Morris -used words such as those of which I have spoken without hesitation, -but he always subordinated them to their right offices, and their -influence in either direction upon his general manner is negligible. - -This question arises more naturally in the discussion of _Love is -Enough_ than elsewhere. Superficially the play may be said to be an -attempt to reconstruct the spirit and, in a smaller degree, the form -of the early English morality, but close consideration of the play -necessitates qualification of this statement at almost every step. -The resemblance in form is to be found not in the structure but in -the alliterative verse that Morris uses for the central action of the -play. But even in the verse there are qualities that belong to -Morris alone; he not only discarded rhyme, which was employed by Bale -and the unknown poets of an earlier day in their interludes and -mysteries, but he brought to his lines a greater regularity and -fulness. The pauses that play so important a part in the early -alliterative verse are replaced by syllabic values, and the -shortening of lines is far less arbitrary than in his models. The -result, especially of the added fulness, is that a certain bare -simplicity is lost, and curiously enough this poem, where he was -influenced by a form that with all its faults has an extraordinary -directness and incisiveness of statement, is the most difficult among -all his works to read. The long lines with their constant tightening -up of syllables are frequently too heavy for the statement. Many -passages are of great beauty, as for example:-- - - As my twin sister, young of years was she and slender, - Yellow blossoms of spring-tide her hands had been gathering, - But the gown-lap that held them had fallen adown - And had lain round her feet with the first of the singing; - Now her singing had ceased, though yet heaved her bosom - As with lips lightly parted and eyes of one seeking - She stood face to face with the Love that she knew not, - The love that she longed for and waited unwitting... - -and there are numberless lines where the precision of statement is -admirable, as-- - - In memory of days when my meat was but little - And my drink drunk in haste between saddle and straw... - -and - - I saw her - Stealing barefoot, bareheaded amidst of the tulips - Made grey by the moonlight... - -but the experiment in a form that is not now, after four centuries of -development, really natural to the language is, on the whole, a -failure. It is, indeed, true that as we read through it the measure -becomes more acceptable to the ear, but there is a difficulty in the -outline which no familiarity can wholly overcome. - -The structure of the play is mainly of Morris's own invention, and is -of singular beauty. The figure of Love, who may be said to -correspond roughly to the Doctor or Messenger of the early -moralities, stands, not between the action and the audience, but -between the action and the people of an outer play; and, again, -beyond this we have a further group. The structure is, briefly, -this. The morality itself; Love and The Music who act as spiritual -interpreters and as chorus between the action and the Emperor and -Empress for whom the townsfolk are having the play performed; and -finally the peasants Giles and Joan who are equally interested in the -play and its imaginary spectators, translate the spiritual -commentaries of Love and The Music into terms of their own simple -workaday existence, and, lastly, act in some sort as chorus between -the whole representation and the actual audience. There is a -subtlety of design in all this that reaches far beyond the -conceptions of the sombre and rugged poets of pre-Shakespearean -England, and although the play fails in other respects, Morris here -shows more clearly even than in _Sir Peter Harpdon's End_ that he -understood the exact meaning of the element contributed by the chorus -to drama more fully than any poet of recent times. - -In the central action, the morality itself, there are three principal -figures, Pharamond the King, Oliver his old counsellor and -foster-father, and Azalais. Morris retains the method of his models -in that these figures are not characters but rather abstractions. -Pharamond is not so much a man as mankind, Everyman. Oliver is much -more definitely a personality, but he is used as a symbol of the -better nature of man, not able quite to understand spiritual -nobility, but content, even eager, to follow it. Azalais is Love, -both giving and taking. The motive of the play is stated clearly in -the title, Love is Enough. Pharamond leaves kingship, fame, -everything, and sets out to find this thing only, and in finding it -proves and finds himself. But we must return to the motive a little -later. The point next to be considered is this symbolic use of -figures in action. The method of the old poets was to invest these -figures at the outset with a certain presupposed and generally -accepted significance, and to start from that point. They did not -attempt to explain what Luxury, Riot, Riches, Knowledge, Humility and -Charity were, but simply gave these names to their figures and -trusted their audience to fill in the outlines. Then taking a -central figure as protagonist, Everyman or Youth or some such symbol, -they brought him into contact with the rest and allowed all the -emotion of the play to arise out of the transition of his moods as he -is influenced by them in turn. There is never the least doubt as to -the lines along which each of these figures will work; they carry -their natures in their names. We know that Pride will betray Youth -as surely as we know that his Knowledge and Good Deeds alone will -bide with Everyman. But there is nothing dramatic in the spectacle -of Pride forsaking Youth until we see the complementary loyalty of -Charity and Humility, and we are moved by the tenderness of Good -Deeds and Knowledge towards Everyman simply because we have just seen -Strength and Beauty desert him in his need. These transitions of -mood are carried through with consistent swiftness and are defined by -the direct contact of the figures, not by reflective comment, or only -so in a subordinate degree. _Everyman_, which is the crown of these -early plays, realizes these conditions most perfectly. The -protagonist is commanded to make his reckoning before God. He asks -Fellowship to accompany him on his journey through Death's gates. -Fellowship refuses, and so in turn do Goods, Kindred, Strength, -Discretion, Five Wits, and the rest of them, as we knew they would. -Then he is aided by Knowledge, Good Deeds and Confession, and sets -out content. Save for the few speeches that summarize the situation -from time to time, there is absolutely no comment on the development -of the play; the whole effect depends on the swift passage from one -crude symbol to another. Within its own limitations, this simple -method not only succeeded in holding the audience for whom it was -first employed, but is completely effective to-day. The Elizabethan -drama threw it aside to make room for its own greater glories, but it -is not impossible that a great poet should yet return to it, and with -the accumulated wisdom of the poets who have worked since then in his -blood, refashion it into something of a strange new beauty. In _Love -is Enough_ Morris adopted it only to a point, and failed in -consequence. He set out to enunciate a definite lesson, and he -invested his figures with symbolic significance, but he carried the -method no further. Pharamond, instead of passing swiftly from stage -to stage in pursuit of his end and showing us that love is enough, -pauses for long periods to tell us that love is enough. His speeches -are, generally, lyrical developments of one theme, and wholly -beautiful as many of them are as such they destroy the cohesion of -the play as a whole. The design of _Love is Enough_ is no wider in -its scope than that of "Everyman," indeed not so wide, and yet the -play is, roughly, three times as long. I am not, of course, -attempting any comparison of the spirit of the two plays; there is no -point at which this is possible; my comparison is merely between the -uses to which they employ the same method. - -Herein, it seems to me, lies the failure of _Love is Enough_ in so -far as it is a failure at all. The central part of the design is so -carried out as to disturb the general balance. It was not necessary -for Morris to choose this particular form for his inner play, but -having done so he was mistaken in not observing its principles more -closely. But, having said this, it is necessary to add that in many -ways _Love is Enough_ stands with Morris's finest achievements in -poetry. In the morality of Pharamond itself, and apart from all -difficulties of the verse-form, there is love-poetry that is scarcely -to be surpassed in its depth and tenderness. In this play Morris -departed from his usual ways. His narrative and epic writing and his -lyrics have nothing of that didacticism which if not essential is at -least proper to the greatest art. Art confesses to no limitations. -In _Love is Enough_, however, he allowed himself this new privilege, -and he translates his teaching into art with perfect instinct. Here, -as throughout his work, it is impossible to point to any passage and -say, "that is not poetry," and yet speech after speech is as -specifically didactic as the Sermon on the Mount. In the words of -Pharamond, in the stately heroic couplets spoken by Love, and in the -exquisite stanzas of The Music he pursues the same theme, and over -and over again he carries it to a sublime pitch of intensity. - - What, Faithful--do I lie, that overshot - My dream-web is with that which happeneth not? - Nay, nay, believe it not!--love lies alone - In loving hearts like fire within the stone: - Then strikes my hand, and lo, the flax ablaze! - --Those tales of empty striving and lost days - Folk tell of sometimes--never lit my fire - Such ruin as this; but Pride and Vain-desire, - My counterfeits and foes, have done the deed. - Beware, Beloved! for they sow the weed - Where I the wheat: they meddle where I leave, - Take what I scorn, cast by what I receive, - Sunder my yoke, yoke that I would dissever, - Pull down the house my hands would build for ever. - - -In this poem, too, we find the isolated instances wherein Morris -makes some allusion to the desire for seeing beyond the veils of our -existence, some suggestion of the hope of spring when leaves are -falling. Even here there is none of the exultant certainty of the -_Ode to the West Wind_, but a quiet fearlessness that is no less -inspiring and consoling in its way-- - - Live on, for Love liveth, and earth shall be shaken - By the wind of his wings on the triumphing morning, - When the dead and their deeds that die not shall awaken, - And the world's tale shall sound in your trumpet of warning, - And the sun smite the banner called Scorn of the Scorning, - And dead pain ye shall trample, dead fruitless desire, - As ye wend to pluck out the new world from the fire. - -And again-- - - In what wise, ah, in what wise shall it be? - How shall the bark that girds the winter tree - Babble about the sap that sleeps beneath, - And tell the fashion of its life and death? - How shall my tongue in speech man's longing wrought - Tell of the things whereof he knoweth nought? - Should I essay it might ye understand - How those I love shall share my promised land! - Then must I speak of little things as great, - Then must I tell of love and call it hate, - Then must I bid you seek what all men shun, - Reward defeat, praise deeds that were not done. - - -The Emperor and Empress who watch the play point its moral for -themselves, and their somewhat remote humanity serves admirably as a -step between the pure poetry of the central action and the homespun -reality of Giles and Joan. They send gifts to the actors of -Pharamond and Azalais, and then the Emperor-- - - Fain had I been - To see him face to face and his fair Queen, - And thank him friendly, asking him maybe - How the world looks to one with love set free; - It may not be, for as thine eyes say, sweet, - Few folk as friends shall unfreed Pharamond meet. - So is it: we are lonelier than those twain, - Though from their vale they ne'er depart again. - -But Giles and his wife are under no such restraint of state; they -will bid the players to their home and be their scholars for a while - - In many a lesson of sweet lore - To learn love's meaning more and more, - -and the scene between the two peasants that ends the play is an idyll -full of the simple fragrance and humanity and earth-love that were -the crowning splendours of _Jason_ and _The Earthly Paradise_. - -In 1869 the poet had published his translation of the _Grettir Saga_, -carried out in collaboration with Eiríkr Magnússon, and this was -followed in the next year by the _Völsunga Saga_ from the same hands. -Morris's feeling for the northern stories had already found -expression in more than one of the tales in _The Earthly Paradise_, -notably 'The Lovers of Gudrun,' and the Icelandic visit of 1871 was -followed by a second in 1873. In 1875 he published _Three Northern -Love Stories_, translations of extraordinary directness and -conviction, and these six years of study of and service to the -curiously neglected story of the northern race were now approaching -their culminating triumph. To examine these various preliminary -essays in detail here is neither possible nor necessary. The -journals of the travel in Iceland, written as they were without any -definite purpose of publication, show how intensely he was moved by -the spirit of the Sagas, how close his own being was to it. Every -stone was quick with a tradition that meant for him the very breath -of splendid and heroic life. His feeling for the earth was at all -times, as we have seen, one of an almost indefinable tenderness and -yearning, but once he had seen Iceland it was the earth that -nourished Sigurd and Brynhild and Gunnar and Gudrun that was -thenceforth most deeply rooted in his love. The austere beauty and -gloomy strength of the Icelandic countryside were from that time -sacred things in his imagination, and it was, perhaps, not without -taking thought that in the first poem that he wrote on his return he -made Pharamond, when trying to recall the country to which he must -again turn to find the end of his seeking, say that - - ever meseemeth - 'Twas not in the Southlands. - - -In the preface to the translation of the _Völsunga Saga_, the last -paragraph says:-- - - - 'In conclusion, we must again say how strange it seems to us, - that this Volsung Tale, which is in fact a universified poem, - should never have been translated into English. For this is the - Great Story of the North, which should be to all our race what - the Tale of Troy was to the Greeks--to all our race first, and - afterwards, when the change of the world has made our race - nothing more than the name of what has been--a story too--then - should it be to those that came after us no less than the Tale of - Troy has been to us.' - - -That was in 1870. Now, five years later, with the whole story -matured in his mind, with its appeal quickened by the exploration of -its landscape, he determined to gather up its essential features and -fuse them through his own temperament into a new completeness both of -substance and music. It was a tremendous undertaking, both in its -actual difficulties and its responsibility. Morris was not likely to -hesitate before the difficulties, but he realized perfectly the -danger of attempting to reshape a story which, as it stood, he -reverenced as the greatest in the world. To have done it ill or in -any way other than excellently would have been an unpardonable sin -against himself. The risk was taken, and _The Story of Sigurd_, _The -Volsung_, and the _Fall of the Niblungs_ was published in 1876. It -is not only the supreme achievement of a great poet, but one of the -very great poems of the modern world. - -The story of Sigurd, showing in the beginning the Volsung heritage to -which he is born and in the end the fall of the Niblung house that -comes of his death, with his life set between these, satisfies the -requirements of epic poetry as, perhaps, does no other. We have the -first necessities of architectural form satisfied--the beginning, the -development, the close. Then in the main theme, the life of Sigurd, -we have a story of men and women living under normal conditions. -They are, indeed, the conditions of a heroic world, but the central -events of the tale are controlled not by abnormal circumstance or -artificial conditions, but by fundamental human emotions. Behind -these events we have a landscape that is in direct imaginative -correspondence with the character of the people--that has gone to the -shaping of this character. This is a matter of peculiar importance. -When, in poetry, the scene of action moves freely from one country to -another, as it does, for example, in "Childe Harold," the landscape -becomes merely an ornament, but when the scene is fixed and the -characters move consistently in their own homeland, then the -landscape becomes a corporate part of the poem's significance. -Sigurd would be the less Sigurd away from his grey mountains and -unpeopled heaths and the dusk of his pine-woods. And then finally we -have the will set over man's will suffusing the whole in the -intangible yet tremendous sense of Fate, the Wrath and Sorrow of Odin. - -It has been said that in opening the poem with the tale of Sigmund, -Sigurd's father, and the destruction of the Volsungs Morris -imperilled the unity of his epic, if indeed he did not destroy it. -When a critic of Mr. Mackail's distinction and proved insight makes a -pronouncement we can differ from him only with the greatest respect, -and knowing that ultimately these things are not fixed, being -variable as men's understandings. It seems to me, then, that this -first book, called Sigmund, is the inevitable opening of the epic of -Sigurd. Not because, as another critic suggests, it forms a -background of mystery and heroic terror upon which to throw the more -human story that follows, but because it introduces the whole motive -of that story. One does not wish to stray into polemics, but here -again I must dissent from another writer, Miss May Morris, and again -I do so with full appreciation of the value of those introductions of -which I have already spoken. Miss Morris also points out that this -first book 'introduces the very motive of the epic,' but she -identifies that motive with the Wrath and Sorrow of Odin. But the -motive is in reality the splendid survival of one brand plucked from -the ashes of the Volsung house; the avenging, not in blood, but in -the one swift arc of Sigurd's heroic life in a world wherein he -stands magnificently alone, of the Volsung name. The sense of Fate, -the wide horizons, the sinister figure of Grimhild and the terrors of -the Glittering Heath are all alike influences that work upon the -shaping of this central theme, and to confuse them with the motive -itself makes it impossible to see clearly the rightful place of the -book of Sigmund in the poem. It is there that the disaster, the -catastrophe, of which Sigurd's passage from birth to death is the -compensation and adjustment is set forth, and without it, it seems to -me, the epic unity of the poem would not have been intensified, but -made impossible. - -There is, however, a difficulty of another kind in this opening book. -The quality of all others in the _Völsunga Saga_ that fits it for the -highest poetry is its elemental humanity, and it was this that -stirred Morris most deeply and inspired his most memorable work, here -as elsewhere. The Sigmund Story of the Saga, however, is as much -savage as human, and savage not with the primal fierceness of man but -with the terrible and implacable caprice of a malign, or at least -inhuman Fate. Here, as later in the poem, that Fate is embodied in -the figure of Odin, but there is a profound difference. When Sigurd -has slain Fafnir and found Brynhild on Hindfell, the humanity of the -story reacts perfectly clearly upon the Fate that overshadows all. -The Fate loses none of its power, but it is humanized, mellowed, and -as it were made tolerable by taking into itself something of the -human spirit of love. In the Sigmund book there is none of this, -and, indeed, the same is to be said of the second book called Regin. -Until Sigurd himself begins to control the story, the characters are -in constant peril of being swung out of their courses by some fierce -stroke of the gods, meaningless and wholly unrelated to anything in -themselves. It is a supportable argument to advance that this -happens in life, but the answer is that it should not happen in great -art. Morris's difficulty was, of course, that he was loth to -interfere with the story as it came to him in the Saga, but I cannot -help feeling that he here allowed his loyalty in some measure to -betray his artistic instinct. It was just one of those supreme -difficulties that face only the men who are attempting supreme ends. -_Sigurd The Volsung_ as it stands ranks with the masterpieces of -which the countless millions of men have but created a score or so -between them. The Sigmund book was essential to his epic; had Morris -been able to retain the terror of the Saga and yet invest it more -fully with the primal impulse of humanity, it is not easy to point to -any product of man that would have been clearly entitled to rank -above this poem. - -In speaking of a thing for which we have the deepest reverence, we -would be very clear. The books of Sigmund and Regin, as Morris has -given them to us, remain the poetry of a great poet. Whole passages -rise to a height as to which there can be no question. The first -lines of the poem are enough to satisfy any intelligence that knows -what epic poetry is that here we are to be in the presence of fine -issues finely wrought-- - - There was a dwelling of Kings ere the world was waxen old; - Dukes were the door-wards there, and the roofs were thatched - with gold; - Earls were the wrights that wrought it, and silver nailed its - doors: - Earls' wives were the weaving-women, queens' daughters - strewed its floors. - And the masters of its song-craft were the mightiest men - that cast - The sails of the storm of battle adown the bickering blast. - There dwelt men merry-hearted, and in hope exceeding great - Met the good days and the evil as they went the way of fate, - There the gods were unforgotten, yea whiles they walked - with men, - Though e'en in that world's beginning rose a murmur now - and again - Of the midward time and the fading and the last of the - latter days, - And the entering in of the terror, and the death of the - People's Praise: - -and the greatness of the poem is manifested long before the finding -of Brynhild. But up to that point there is lacking in the spirit of -the work as a whole that sense of the inevitable and logical cause -and effect in the weaving of human destiny that gives so marvellous a -strength to the books called Brynhild and Gudrun. - -The plan of the poem seems to me, then, to be perfectly wrought, and -the treatment of one part of it not so instinctively right as that of -the rest, which is beyond all criticism. As to the actual -workmanship apart from the design, the general examination of -Morris's methods which has already been made in an earlier chapter -covers its main characteristics. But there are qualities here which -were not found in _Jason_ or _The Earthly Paradise_. There was in -those poems an extraordinary ease and at the same time an indication -of a titanic strength in reserve. In _Sigurd_ this reserve is used, -but all the ease is, by some superb paradox of artistic power, -retained. The hewn rocks and the cloud-wrack of Iceland, the great -thews of Sigurd and the might of his god-given sword, the proud -beauty of the deep-bosomed women who are the mates and mothers of -fierce and terrible kings, all these things are sung with a vigour as -tremendous as is their own, and yet there is not a strained moment or -an uncontrolled turn of expression from beginning to end. And, save -in places where the substance of the story itself momentarily -excludes it, there is always beauty in the strength. Again we have -but to read a page or two into the poem to find an example. Sensuous -beauty and fiery strength could not well be more perfectly blended -than in this description of the Volsung throne under the Branstock:-- - - So there was the throne of Volsung beneath its blossoming - bower, - But high o'er the roof-crest red it rose 'twixt tower and - tower; - And therein were the wild hawks dwelling, abiding the dole - of their lord, - And they wailed high over the wine, and laughed to the - waking sword. - -And again, when Sigurd is singing in the Niblung hall:-- - - But his song and his fond desire go up to the cloudy roof, - And blend with the eagles' shrilling in the windy night aloof. - - -It is at the end of the book of Regin that Sigurd finds Brynhild -asleep - - on the tower-top of the world, - High over the cloud-wrought castle whence the windy bolts - are hurled; - -and from the moment he awakens her new light and life break into the -narrative. Not only in their troth-plighting is a new note of human -passion struck, but the Volsung spirit in Sigurd undergoes a change -and takes on a larger charity and a more beneficent purpose. - - So the day grew old about them and the joy of their desire, - And eve and the sunset came, and faint grew the sunset fire, - And the shadowless death of the day, was sweet in the - golden tide; - But the stars shone forth on the world and the twilight - changed and died; - And sure if the first of man-folk had been born to that - starry night, - And had heard no tale of the sunrise, he had never longed - for the light: - But Earth longed amidst her slumber, as 'neath the night - she lay, - And fresh and all abundant abode the deeds of Day. - -And these abundant deeds of day are deeds of peace and healing. -Sigurd among Hemir and his 'Lymdale forest lords' brings the dawn of -a new age, when - - The axe-age and the sword-age seem dead a while ago, - And the age of the cleaving of shields, of brother by - brother slain, - And the bitter days of the whoredom, and the hardened lust - of gain; - But man to man may hearken, and he that soweth reaps, - And hushed is the heart of Feurir in the wolf-den of the - deeps... - -and again, when he rides to the Niblungs it is with peace and -comfortable words upon his lips-- - - For peace I bear unto thee, and to all the kings of earth - Who bear the sword aright, and are crowned with the crown - of worth; - But unpeace to the lords of evil, and the battle and the death; - And the edge of the sword to the traitor, and the flame to - the slanderous breath: - And I would that the loving were loved, and I would that the - weary should sleep, - And that man should hearken to man, and that he that - soweth should reap. - Now wide in the world I fare, to seek the dwellings of kings, - For with them would I do and undo, and be heart of their - warfarings; - So I thank thee, lord, for thy bidding, and here in thy house - will I bide, - And learn of thy ancient wisdom till forth to the field we ride. - -It is in this mellowing of the fierce Volsung strain that the -redemption of the cosmic spirit of the epic is found. To show this -is a purpose not less noble than that of Milton when he robed himself -to justify the ways of God to man, and it is one which must be -clearly understood before we can hope to grasp the imaginative -impulse that runs as a central thread through all the coloured jewels -of Morris's masterpiece. This new chastening of the humanity in -Sigurd not only makes the life among which he moves sweeter, but it -reacts upon the most tragic judgments of the gods. Nothing could be -finer than the way in which we are shown the ennobling influence that -it has upon so terrible an event as the betrayal of Sigurd by the -Niblung Gunnar and his brothers. It is an act of the blackest -treachery, a violation of sacred vows sworn under the roof-tree of -their home, an act which in the world of Sigmund would have been -merely horrible. But here it is transfigured by the elemental -humanity working along the logical ways of cause and effect in the -heart of Sigurd and from him into the action of his betrayers, into -pure tragedy. Before this quickening, enmity between man and man was -a sullen and savage thing, some blinding of their eyes by the hands -of mocking gods, but now it springs from the clear conflict of -essential emotions and it has in it a new element of pity. Gunnar -knows that the ravelled web can be straightened only in this way, but -there is no loveless exultation in his mood, and in after days he -cherishes the great memory of the man whom he has slain. And Sigurd -knows of the coming end, but there is no hatred in him-- - - the heart of Hogin he sees, - And the heart of his brother Gunnar, _and he grieveth sore for - these_. - - -In detail Morris discovers a wealth of inventiveness that appears to -be inexhaustible. He never allows his beauty of expression to be -isolated in such a way as to interfere with the swiftness of -narration, but there are many more instances of separable splendours -in _Sigurd_ than in any other of his poems. When Sigurd tells King -Elf, his stepfather, that he would go out into the world, the King -answers-- - - Forsooth no more may we hold thee than the hazel copse - may hold - The sun of the early dawning, that turneth it all into gold. - -And how exquisite is this of Gudrun's beauty-- - - And her face is a rose of the morning by the night-tide - framed about. - -and how perfect in imagination this of the Volsung King's sword-- - - Therewith from the belt of battle he raised the golden sheath, - And showed the peace-strings glittering around the hidden death. - -and there is surely no more lovely description in poetry than this-- - - So the hall dusk deepens upon them till the candles come arow, - And they drink the wine of departing and gird themselves to go; - And they dight the dark-blue raiment and climb to the wains aloft - While the horned moon hangs in the heaven and the - summer wind blows soft. - Then the yoke-beasts strained at the collar, and the dust - in the moon arose, - And they brushed the side of the acre and the blooming dewy close; - Till at last, when the moon was sinking and the night was - waxen late, - The warders of the earl-folk looked forth from the Niblung gate - And saw the gold pale-gleaming, and heard the wain-wheels crush - The weary dust of the summer amidst the midnight hush. - - -In _Sigurd_, too, Morris's power of investing his language with the -utmost dramatic compression at exactly the right moment is developed -to its highest point. One example may be given. Regin means to use -Sigurd for his own ends--to make him secure the treasure of Fafnir. -But Sigurd as yet has no will for action-- - - the wary foot is surest, and the hasty oft turns back. - -Then the craft of Regin is concentrated into six lines-- - - The deed is ready to hand, - Yet holding my peace is the best, for well thou lovest the land: - And thou lovest thy life moreover, and the peace of thy - youthful days, - And why should the full-fed feaster his hand to the rye-bread raise? - Yet they say that Sigmund begat thee and he looked to fashion a man. - Fear nought; he lieth quiet in his mound by the sea-waves wan. - -and Sigurd cries back-- - - Tell me, thou Master of Masters, what deed is the deed I - shall do? - Nor mock thou the son of Sigmund lest the day of his - birth thou rue. - - -In the treatment of the poem throughout, however, the quality that is -predominant may be most fittingly described as magnificence of -imagination. This is, of course, a thing quite distinct from mere -magnificence of phrase. Not only is the utterance splendid, but the -thing uttered and the thing suggested are splendid too. The voices -are indeed tremendous, but that is because they are the voices of -tremendous people. We feel always that we are moving among a -humanity not in any way idealized, but framed in the proportions of -giants, purged of everything inessential and tautened in all its -sinews. And when the spirits of these people are drawn up to some -unwonted height of emotional intensity the result is a cry from a -world the knowledge of which moves us to a heroic hope for our race. -The grief of Gudrun over Sigurd dead, with the wonderful refrain -interwoven by the narrator, is a grief that in itself is a triumph -over any blows that destiny can inflict. Once man can sorrow in this -fashion, we feel he has conquered his fate. And the death-song of -Gunnar is yet more magnificent. The poet who wrote that wonderful -chant of man in the face of death has fathomed the very depths of -song-craft. Readers who know Morris's poetry will forgive me for -taking them through these lines once again-- - - So perished the Gap of the Gaping, and the cold sea - swayed and sang, - And the wind came down on the waters, and the beaten - rock-walls rang; - There the Sun from the south came shining, and the - Starry Host stood round, - And the wandering Moon of the heavens his habitation - found; - And they knew not why they were gathered, nor the - deeds of their shaping they knew: - But lo, Mid-Earth the Noble 'neath their might and their - glory grew, - And the grass spread over its face, and the Night and the - Day were born, - And it cried on the Death in the even, and it cried on the - Life in the morn; - Yet it waxed and waxed, and knew not, and it lived and - had not learned; - And where were the Framers that framed, and the Soul - and the Might that had yearned? - - On the Thrones are the Powers that fashioned, and they - name the Night and the Day, - And the tide of the Moon's increasing, and the tide of his - waning away; - And they name the years for the story; and the Lands - they change and change, - The great and the mean and the little, that this unto that - may be strange: - They met, and they fashioned dwellings, and the House - of Glory they built; - They met, and they fashioned the Dwarf-kind, and the - Gold and the Gifts and the Guilt. - - There were twain, and they went upon earth, and were - speechless unmighty and wan; - They were hopeless, deathless, lifeless, and the Mighty - named them Man; - Then they gave them speech and power, and they gave - them colour and breath; - And deeds and the hope they gave them, and they gave - them Life and Death; - Yea, hope, as the hope of the Framers; yea, might, as the - Fashioners had, - Till they wrought, and rejoiced in their bodies, and saw - their sons and were glad: - And they changed their lives and departed, and came back - as the leaves of the trees - Come back and increase in the summer:--and I, I, I am - of these; - And I know of Them that have fashioned, and the deeds - that have blossomed and grow; - But nought of the God's repentance, or the God's undoing - I know. - - -No more striking example of the meaning of personality in poetry -could well be found than in a comparison between this song and the -famous second chorus of Swinburne's "Atalanta in Calydon," which had -been published ten years earlier. Superficially there is a kinship -both of substance and music, but superficially only. A moderately -sensitive ear will immediately catch the difference in the swell of -the lines, and the substance is alike just as a landscape of Turner -is like one of Corot's--they are both landscapes. - -The imaginative and moral atmosphere of Sigurd is that of the -northern peoples. The figures of the story are giants and move along -their lives as such, but there is always behind them the mute shadow -of a yet greater immensity, the fate that reveals itself through no -oracles. At the moments of their most glorious victories and -sweetest attainment, these men and women, Sigurd and Gunnar and -Brynhild and Gudrun and their fellows, are more or less consciously -in the presence of the end that makes neither presage nor promise. -The hope of Valhall is in reality no more than sublime courage. -Morris himself, in a letter written at the time when he was going -through the Sagas, said 'what a glorious outcome of the worship of -Courage these stories are.' This is, finally, the supreme gift of -the northern race to the world, and it is embodied for us for ever in -the song of _Sigurd the Volsung_; not unquestioning acceptance, not -the cheerful strength of faith, not mere indifference begotten of the -delights of the immediate moment, but a deep sense of the mystery -that may or may not be beneficent in its design, and in the face of -all an invulnerable Courage. - - - - -VI - -TRANSLATIONS AND SOCIALISM - -The completion of _Sigurd the Volsung_ may conveniently be treated as -a half-way house in Morris's career. The poet had fully proved -himself. The lovely morning song of _Guenevere_, a little uncertain -both in its own expression of life and in the direction along which -it pointed the singer's development, but nevertheless clearly the -promise of some memorable doings in the world of poetry, had matured -through the simple clarity and joyousness of _Jason_ and _The Earthly -Paradise_ into this fierce and elemental strength, corrected as it -were from step to step by the practical experience of the poet's -daily life. At the beginning of the translation of the Völsunga Saga -he had written-- - - So draw ye round and hearken, English Folk, - Unto the best tale pity ever wrought-- - -and now he had fashioned that tale anew into its greatest -presentment, raising its spirit into an expression worthy to rank -with the supreme masterpieces of the world. His creativeness as poet -had not exhausted itself, but it had achieved its most urgent -purpose; it had evolved a life which the poet's imaginative longing -told him might yet be realized on earth. From this time the business -of setting the crooked straight among the affairs of his day began to -absorb his attention and energy, and in the outcome he published but -one more book of poems, which will be considered later. In 1875 he -had printed his verse translation of _The Aeneids of Virgil_, about -which, as was inevitable, the opinion of classical scholars was, and -remains, divided. There is a quality in poetry which is finally -untranslatable from one language to another, the quality that is knit -into the words themselves. The ecstasy of which I have spoken is -capable of a thousand shades of spiritual colour, and when a poet is -moved by it he is moved by it in a kind that can never be precisely -repeated, either in himself or another. The translator as a rule -gives us the substance and loses this other quality altogether; the -most that we can hope for is that he may be a poet himself, and, -retaining the substance, substitute an ecstasy of his own which shall -in some measure compensate for the loss of the particular exaltation -of the original. This Morris does; reading his translation we -may--indeed must--miss some essential Virgilian quality, but we have -the great story faithfully told, and we have poetry. We may continue -to ask for more than that, but we shall continue to be denied. This -translation was followed by _The Odyssey_ in 1887 and _Beowulf_ in -1895. - -The growth of Morris's socialism can fortunately be traced without -divergence into chronological data. Of its nature we have already -seen something in considering his poetry, but in _A Dream of John -Ball_ and _News from Nowhere_ he defined it in detail, not only in -its imaginative but also in its practical aspect. Before turning to -these it will be well briefly to outline his movements in the later -years of his life. The business of Morris and Company had already -passed into his own hands, not without some difficulty--though -without friction--in closing the partnership arrangements. This -really meant but little added labour, as he had in effect been -responsible for its control almost since its commencement. In 1877 -he was asked whether he would accept the Professorship of Poetry at -Oxford in the event of its being offered to him, and declined -emphatically though graciously enough. In the next year he moved to -the house on the Mall at Hammersmith to which was attached the -lecture room where the early meetings of the Hammersmith Socialists -were held, and his active propagandist work had begun. In addition -to constant meetings and lectures on socialism and art, the conduct -of his paper _The Commonweal_, and his own business affairs, he -undertook any work that came to his hand for the furtherance of his -fixed ideal. Among other things he was one of the founders and the -first secretary of the Society for the Preservation of Ancient -Buildings, and finally he linked to his name the brief but noble -career of the Kelmscott Press. He died on the 3rd of October, 1896, -at the age of sixty-three, and was buried in the churchyard at -Kelmscott, wearied out but not embittered by the strife of his later -years and the insults of people who could only feel the vigour of his -blows without understanding the cause in which they were struck. - -_A Dream of John Ball_ was published in 1888. In it Morris gives -once again a picture of that life lived in close contact with earth -which he so earnestly desired, but it is not the complete life of -_The Earthly Paradise_ or _News from Nowhere_. The people are not -yet free, although they have not yet fallen to the indifference to -freedom that Morris looked upon as the most distressing manifestation -of his own day. Together with this picture we have a long discussion -between John Ball, the people's priest, and the dreamer--Morris -himself--as to the result of the risings that are then taking shape, -and the future of civilization. The hope that the priest cries out -to the people from the village cross becomes in turn the hope of -Morris for his own generation, and slowly, in the talk that follows, -the dreamer outlines the whole cause and effect of the evil that is -analysed much more closely in _News from Nowhere_; the age of -commercial tyranny that shall come will be strong in its days because -the slaves will nurse the hope that they themselves may rise to the -seats of the tyrants in turn--'and this shall be the very safeguard -of all rule and law in those days.' John Ball speaks with the voice -of Morris. When he was in prison he-- - - - 'lay there a-longing for the green fields and the white-thorn - bushes and the lark singing over the corn, and the talk of good - fellows round the ale-house bench, and the babble of the little - children, and the team on the road and the beasts afield, and all - the life of earth.' - - -The book need not be considered in detail in connection with Morris's -socialism, for it is but a suggestion, whilst _News from Nowhere_ is -an elaborate statement. But it contains certain words that were very -close to Morris's heart. The recognition, for example, that humanity -cannot reach the simplicity that he conceived to be its finest end -without much thought and careful fostering, or in other words that -this simplicity was not the product of barbarism but of a highly -perfected state of evolution, finds expression in the frank -acceptance by this clear-headed and high-hearted priest of the value -of his companion's scholarship. In this book, as always, Morris kept -his work definitely in the region of imaginative art. Not only is -the descriptive writing vivid and full of beauty, but he retains -throughout the full power of literary illusion. This is very -strikingly shown in the pages where the priest questions the dreamer -as to what will be the end of that distant day of oppression of which -they are speaking. Will a new and clear day break on us? As we read -through to the answer we become deeply concerned as to what it will -be, as though we were listening indeed to one speaking with -authority; and when we find that it is one of hopefulness and courage -we feel strangely and splendidly reassured. We know again that the -finest persuasiveness is that of art. - -_News from Nowhere_ appeared in America in 1890 and in England in -1891. It has been, perhaps, the most popular of all Morris's -writings, but curiously under-estimated by his critics both as a -practical enunciation of his social creed and as an embodiment of his -social vision. The scheme of the book is very simple. The -narrator--Morris again, of course--goes to bed one winter night at -his Hammersmith house. He wakes to a fresh June morning in an -altered world. The life of this world, the new communism somewhere -in the twenty-second century, he describes at length, and weaves into -it a long conversation with one of its old men which traces the -course by which it has grown from the nineteenth century and defines -the errors which it has cancelled. The constitution of this life may -be assailable at certain points, and some of the steps by which it -has been reached--the armed revolution for instance--may be arbitrary -in conception, but these things are of no moment. The important fact -is that Morris's indictment of our contemporary social system is -perfectly logical at every point, and that the new life that he -creates is complete in its humanity and not that of a misty world of -dreams. Of its prophetic value it is impossible to speak; as to that -we can decide in our imagination alone. But to suggest that the book -is not consistently conscious of the true nature of our social -defects on its negative side, and on its positive side fiercely alive -to the real meaning of life, is merely to misunderstand it and its -subject. Some examination on both these sides is necessary in -support of this statement, and its negative or destructive teaching -is to be considered first. - -Men should have joy in the work of their hands, and they had none. -That, in Morris's view, was the fundamental evil to be cured, and he -seeks at the outset to discover its cause. Says Hammond, who acts as -spokesman for the new people-- - - - 'Go and have a look at the sheep-walks high up the slopes between - Ingleborough and Pen-y-gwent and tell me if you think we waste - the land there by not covering it with factories for making - things that nobody wants, which was the chief business of the - nineteenth century!' - - -This state was the product, he continues, of 'a most elaborate system -of buying and selling, which has been called the World-Market; and -that World-Market, once set a-going, forced them to go on making more -and more of these wares, whether they needed them or not.' The -result was, of course, that the system became master of the work, and -the work itself ceased to have any significance, and 'under this -horrible burden of unnecessary production it became impossible for -them to look upon labour and its results from any other point of view -than one--to wit, the ceaseless endeavour to expend the least -possible amount of labour on any made, and yet at the same time to -make as many articles as possible.' Anybody who has had the smallest -experience of commerce knows that this is precisely the vicious -circle into which we have been caught. And with this Morris sets out -clearly the fact that the support of this state is to the interest -solely of the men who have the power to control labour and not that -of the labour itself, but that the workers have on the one hand, as -he says in the passage quoted from _A Dream of John Ball_, a hope -that they too may become masters and tyrannize in turn, and, on the -other hand, the long habit of drawing wages from these controllers -has imbued them with a dull belief that they are in reality dependent -not on their own work but upon some indefinable source of wealth set -up above them. Then, again, this system of class privilege has -behind it the power of a government that, though mainly ineffective -in itself, yet controls a further system of right by might--the Law -Courts and police and military, all of which things, with a fine show -of judicial balance, can be and are employed not to develop society -but to uphold establishments, the chief of which is this very -privilege and inequality. So that by an elaborate structure of -oppression which is necessary to the maintenance of the position of -the few, the people are quite effectually prevented from bringing any -spiritual discipline into their work, and are so deprived of the most -abiding happiness that life has to offer. That briefly is the -central significance of Morris's social proposition. The practical -means of deliverance is a matter upon which no two people are likely -to agree, and the method suggested by Morris need not be discussed, -because it does not really affect the general question. But it -cannot well be denied that his view of the evil is a sound one, and -that deliverance in one way or another is a possibility by which -alone contemplation of the evil is made tolerable. - -The constructive aspect of the book not only shows the life for which -Morris hoped, but answers many of the objections made by reaction to -socialism in any shape. 'I have been told,' says the stranger, 'that -political strife was a necessary result of human nature.' - - - 'Human nature!' cried the old boy impetuously; 'what human - nature?' The human nature of paupers, of slaves, of - slave-holders, or the human nature of wealthy freemen? Which? - Come, tell me that! - - -And then again-- - - - 'Now, this is what I want to ask you about, to wit, how you get - people to work when there is no reward of labour, and especially - how you get them to work strenuously?' - - 'No reward of labour?' said Hammond, gravely, 'the reward of - labour is life. Is that not enough?' - - 'But no reward for especially good work,' quoth I. - - 'Plenty of reward,' said he, 'the reward of creation. The wages - which God gets, as people might have said time agone. If you are - going to ask to be paid for the pleasure of creation, which is - what excellence in work means, the next thing we shall hear of - will be a bill sent in for the begetting of children.' - - 'Well, but,' said I, 'the man of the nineteenth century would say - there is a natural desire toward the procreation of children, and - a natural desire not to work.' - - 'Yes, yes,' said he, 'I know the ancient platitude; wholly - untrue; indeed, to us quite meaningless.' - - -That is very simple, and yet it shows the profoundest insight into -the essential nature of humanity. Nothing is sadder or more -ludicrous than to hear people say that they turn to the degraded -sensationalism that passes for life in daily report because of their -interest in human nature. The enervating influence of this -perversion of life upon much of our finest artistic genius has been -mentioned. Morris was not much given to criticizing contemporary -literature in his writing, but he makes one of the people in his new -world say of certain books of the late nineteenth century-- - - - 'But I say flatly that in spite of all their cleverness and - vigour, and capacity for story telling, there is something - loathsome about them. Some of them, indeed, do here and there - show some feeling for those whom the history-books call 'poor,' - and of the misery of whose lives we have some inkling; but - presently they give it up, and towards the end of the story we - must be contented to see the hero and heroine living in an island - of bliss on other people's troubles; and that after a long series - of sham troubles (or mostly sham) of their own making, - illustrated by dreary introspective nonsense about their feelings - and aspirations, and all the rest of it.' - - -That was written before the new day of John Galsworthy and John -Masefield, and even then Morris would have been the first to make -many honourable exclusions from his charge. But the charge itself -was founded on deep understanding. - -In the life to which the revolt against this sham life has led in -_News from Nowhere_ the radical change is, of course, that all this -misuse of work has been abolished. People no longer make unnecessary -things and so find time to make the necessary things well. And the -very act of doing this has brought a strange new exultation into -their lives, and once again human nature has come into its own -unbridled expression. They still have their troubles, their -love-quarrels, 'the folly which comes by nature, the unwisdom of the -immature man, or the older men caught in a trap,' the anxiety of the -mother as to her children--'they may indeed turn out better or worse; -they may disappoint her highest hopes; such anxieties as these are a -part of the mingled pleasure and pain which goes to make up the life -of mankind,'--but they are free of the cares of a time when the aim -of men's work was to come uppermost in competition and not to make -the work its own joy and reward. The men and women still have their -difficult sex problems to solve, but they do not complicate them by -wilful neglect of obvious facts; they recognize for instance that a -man or a woman may love quite genuinely and tire and even love again -as at first, and if a match does not turn out well, they break it and -shake off the grief 'in a way which perhaps the sentimentalists of -other times would think contemptible and unheroic, but which we think -necessary and manlike.' Their acceptance of these natural facts does -not mean that they live in a state of disorganized and capricious -relationship. Faithful love is a common enough condition among them, -but they are not unwise enough to suppose that when it is not present -its place can be satisfactorily and wholesomely taken by an -artificial pretence. Finding this joy in the work of their hands, -and seeing no end to work other than that joy, they have lost all -jealousy of the work of their fellows, and every man is encouraged to -the best that is in him by common consent and approval. Infinite -variety has taken the place of monotony, and one man's pleasure in -another's achievement the place of fear that it may mean loss to -himself. Hammond can say-- - - - We live amidst beauty without fear of becoming effeminate, ... we - have plenty to do, and on the whole enjoy doing it. What more - can we ask of life? - - -What indeed? It must be remembered that he says 'we.' The delight -is complete only because it is common to all. - - - 'In time past, indeed, men were told to love their kind, to - believe in the religion of humanity and so forth. But look you, - just in the degree that a man had elevation of mind and - refinement enough to be able to value this idea was he repelled - by the obvious aspect of the individuals composing the mass which - he was to worship; and he could only evade that repulsion by - making a conventional abstraction of mankind that had little - actual or historical relation to the race, which to his eyes was - divided into blind tyrants on the one hand and apathetic degraded - slaves on the other. But now, where is the difficulty in - accepting the religion of humanity, when the men and women who go - to make up humanity are free, happy, and energetic at least, and - most commonly beautiful of body also, and surrounded by beautiful - things of their own fashioning, and a nature bettered and not - worsened by contact with mankind?' - - -That was Morris's clear conviction as to the whole question, and the -word that he uses to describe the new meaning of work--that is the -remedy of all the social evils against which he was in revolt--is art. - -This, then, was the creed and the hope that Morris set out in detail -in _News from Nowhere_. That the dream was farther from realization -than he thought may be the unhappy truth, but of this at least we are -sure, that he dreamt a good thing. The picture that he shows us is -of healthy, aspiring, joyous men and women, full of sweet humour and -clean passion, who, far from having lost all incentive to endeavour, -have found a new and tremendous cause for endeavour in every hour of -the day. For them work and worship have become one, and of the union -has come life. The prose that Morris uses is beautiful because -perfectly adapted to its purpose. In the practical discussions on -particular questions the style is swift and incisive; in the -descriptions of the life of his new world it is coloured by all his -tenderness and love for men and natural beauty. 'The earth and the -growth and the life of it! If I could but say or show how I love -it!' It is a cry always ready upon his lips. And he brings to his -work here, too, a charming and whimsical humour. The little sketch -of that wonderful person the Golden Dustman is a master-stroke of -genuinely human comedy. And the humour may be leavened with -admirable satire; he has in his mind a certain day in Trafalgar -Square, when 'unarmed and peaceable people were attacked by ruffians -armed with bludgeons.' 'And they put up with that?' says Dick-- - - - 'We _had_ to put up with it; we couldn't help it.' - - The old man looked at me keenly and said: 'You seem to know a - great deal about it, neighbour! And is it really true that - nothing came of it?' - - 'This came of it,' said I, 'that a good many people were sent to - prison because of it.' - - 'What, of the bludgeoners?' said the old man. 'Poor devils!' - - 'No, no,' said I, 'of the bludgeoned.' - - Said the old man rather severely: 'Friend, I expect that you have - been reading some rotten collection of lies, and have been taken - in by it too easily.' - - -The book has been described, quite aptly, as insular. In its -atmosphere and colour it is essentially English. The accounts of a -reconstructed London and a cleansed countryside, of the great Thames -reaches and the stone buildings of the Cotswolds, of the happy and -generous but rather silent folk, of their traditions and customs and -their characteristics, are all written by an Englishman of Englishmen -and their country. Their natures have not been fundamentally -changed, but stripped of the excrescences of an effete and degraded -society, and they are still drawn in their proper relation to their -native landscape. They are the clearly wrought ideal of our race, -but they have left in them nothing of those products of our race who -consistently confuse expediency with ethical fitness, sentimentalism -with passion, and celebrate the planting of the British flag in all -sorts of places where it is not in the least wanted by calling -themselves God's Englishmen. - - - - -VII - -PROSE ROMANCES AND POEMS BY THE WAY - -During the later years of his life, when he was distracted by the -many claims of his active socialism and constantly harassed by -details of organization and the efforts to reconcile people who, -having the same interests, persisted in misunderstanding each other, -Morris wrote a series of prose romances that hold a distinctive place -in his art. His long poems show us a life conceived on lines that I -have sought to trace, approached in a mood of austere responsibility -and defined with all the completeness that he could bring to work. -In these prose romances the life is unchanged, but it is seen through -a different mood. It is as though he turned aside from the stress of -his daily work to the world that his imagination had already created -as the only sane one for men, and saw it with a kind of new -leisureliness and wholesome irresponsibility. It was impossible for -him to allow fancy to intrude upon the life that he desired to the -exclusion of any of its vital qualities, but, as far as was possible -without such offence to his artistic conscience, in these romances he -indulged his faculty for story-telling without curb. The people and -their adventures and characters are still, as in the poems, related -continuously to Morris's radical conception of life, but they are no -longer related to any central purpose contained in the work of art -itself. The waywardness and profuseness of romanticism are here -carried to their extreme limits, and yet we never feel that the -narratives are formless, so powerful and fixed is the vision through -which Morris draws them into unity. The justification of his -indifference to the ordinary demands of construction in a book like -_The Roots of the Mountains_, is that we do not feel that the work -would gain in any way were he scrupulously careful in this matter. -Morris had created a world in his imagination, just and beautiful as -it seemed to him. From that world he drew the substance of his great -poems, reducing it to the essential and symbolic terms of art. -_Jason_ and _The Earthly Paradise_ and _Sigurd_ are all perfectly -constructed results of the submission of this world to the severe -process of artistic selection. But in the later prose romances we -are led into the very world itself from which these things were -drawn, and given leave to wander through it as we will. We find that -it is cosmic as life is cosmic, but it is not yet wrought into the -stricter proportions of art. If we can think of Morris writing -through another generation, it is impossible to believe that he would -have turned again, say, to the Volsung story; that he had shaped -finally in _Sigurd the Volsung_; but we feel that he might have found -material in these romances for poem after poem, that, indeed, they -are, as it were, a panoramic expression of the world from which his -poems must inevitably be imagined. There is in them nothing of -inconsistency, but there is a prodigal diffuseness that belongs -rather to nature than to art. They are the storehouse from which -Morris's own art was drawn, and poets to come may yet turn to them as -they do to Malory or as Morris himself did to the Sagas. - -The choice of prose for these romances was, for this reason, not in -any way arbitrary but the result of sound artistic deliberation. -Where Morris used the same material and crystallized it through his -finest imaginative impulse, verse was the natural and inevitable -medium; but he is here showing us the material before it had been -subjected to this highest creative energy, and there is not the -spiritual fusion that makes verse necessary to complete expression. -The prose that he uses is stamped always with his personality, and so -justifies itself even where most open to criticism. It is commonly -of extraordinary beauty, full of the gravity and high manners that -belong to the heroic atmosphere of the stories themselves; and even -where the adaptation of an archaic method of speech is most -pronounced it is not self-conscious. All language is dependent -largely on convention, and that Morris used a convention that was not -generally accepted was a virtue in workmanship rather than a vice. -The important thing is that he was consistent in the use, or, in -other words, that his convention was never a mannerism but definitely -a corporate part of his style. - -These stories are but another instance of the remarkable range of -Morris's artistic power. They do not, of course, rank with his own -most splendid work, but in a particular kind of prose romance they -attain an excellence that had not been known in England for several -centuries. And in the ease with which they hold our interest in the -story and at the same time maintain a perfect consistency of -character, they show that, had he chosen, Morris might have added yet -another to his many achievements, and challenged comparison with the -best of Fielding's successors. The Bride and the Sunbeam, -Face-of-God and Walter and Folk-Might, and, above all, Dallach, are -drawn with that certainty and depth of understanding of the -individual that are perhaps the chief distinction of the youngest of -the literary arts in England. - -In 1891 Morris's last book of poems, _Poems By The Way_, was -published by the Kelmscott Press. In it the poet gathered together -some fifty of his shorter poems written at intervals during the -thirty years since the publication of _The Defence of Guenevere_, and -there are naturally in the volume a wide range of subjects and much -diversity of manner. Fragments from rejected or unfinished tales -intended for _The Earthly Paradise_, fine echoes and memories of his -Icelandic studies and travel, lyrical expressions of this mood or -that, translations from the Flemish and Danish and his beloved -saga-tongue, fairy tales, chants that grew out of his socialism, and -a few poems that show that when he chose to apply his poetic vision -to modern conditions he could do so with profound penetration, are -brought together almost at haphazard. If, as Mr. Arthur Symons says, -a pageant is a shining disorder, then this book is truly a pageant. -And yet behind all these expressions of many times and moods is to be -seen the central impulse of Morris's life knitting them together into -a clear spiritual unity. It seems a far cry from the delicate -tenderness of 'From the Upland to the Sea' to the passion of 'Mother -and Son,' from the sombre brooding of 'To the Muse of the North' to -the airy romance of 'Goldilocks and Goldilocks,' yet they are all -unmistakably begotten of the same temperament. The high reverence -for naked life, the insistence on labour being joyful if it was not -to be abominable, the fierce worship of beauty and the courageous -acceptance of its passing, these were the things by which Morris had -his being, and they are woven into all the pages of his last book. -He was a man who took literally no thought as to the relation of the -work in hand to that of years passed. A story is told of him that -when a friend who was helping him to collect the material for _Poems -By The Way_ brought a poem to him he could not remember having -written a line of it. The perfect consistency of his aim and temper -from first to last is the more remarkable in consequence, and the -kinship between two fragmentary expressions of his life, divided -perhaps by thirty years, is fine to see. His understanding of the -ideal towards which he strove became clearer as he passed through his -strenuous existence, and his powers of realizing it in his art -matured steadily to the end, but the ideal itself was unchanged. -That in an artist is a splendid thing: a thing that perhaps of all -others is the token of his divinity. For it is that central -certainty of purpose that is immortal in him, austerely set above the -change of circumstance. The form of his art may pass from its first -imitative and awkward groping slowly to its perfection or it may -prove itself at the beginning, but it is the great guiding purpose -that he cannot gain by seeking, and that lends truth to the common -phrase. - -Of certain of the poems no more than a word need be said, whilst -others need to be considered more fully. The northern poems, such as -'Gunnar's Howe' and 'Of the Wooing of Hallbiorn' and those belonging -to the _Earthly Paradise_ period are beautiful strays from phases of -the poet's work that have already been discussed. Here and there we -find a deliberate return to an earlier manner, as in 'The Hall and -the Wood,' written in 1890, where many of the devices used in the -Guenevere volume are again employed and with even greater success. -Here, for example, is a beautiful reminiscence of lines already -quoted-- - - She stood before him face to face, - With the sun-beam thwart her hand, - As on the gold of the Holy Place - The painted angels stand. - - With many a kiss she closed his eyes; - She kissed him cheek and chin: - E'en so in the painted Paradise - Are Earth's folk welcomed in. - - -The short lyrics, 'Love's Gleaning Tide,' 'Spring's Bedfellow,' 'Pain -and Time Strive Not,' and two or three others, have just that -intangible beauty that makes lyrical poetry at once unforgettable and -impossible to discuss in any detail. In one of them, 'The Garden by -the Sea,' which is the lovely song from the Hylas episode in _Jason_, -Morris altered three lines, not, I think, for the better. The fairy -poem 'Goldilocks and Goldilocks' is play, but the play of a great -poet. Then we have the charming verses written for tapestries and -pictures, slight enough and yet struck by Morris's unerring instinct -into sparks of poetry. This of the Vine-- - - I draw the blood from out the earth; - I store the sun for winter mirth. - -and this of the Mulberry Tree-- - - Love's lack hath dyed my berries red: - For Love's attire my leaves are shed. - -are perfect of their kind. There remain two groups, both inspired -more or less by the same impulse, but differing a good deal in their -artistic value. The first of these consists of poems written -directly to embody the principles of active socialism that absorbed -the greater part of his energy in later life; it includes 'All for -the Cause,' 'The Day is Coming,' and 'The Voice of Toil' among -others. Here again Morris proved his incapacity to write verse that -was not poetry, but he gets nearer to the border-line at times in -these poems than he does anywhere else in his work; he is, however, -still well on the right side. 'All for the Cause' is a fine direct -challenge to the workers to assert their own lives, but the challenge -is made to all that is best in their nature, even to the best of that -nature that the poet hopes will yet be fostered in them. 'The Day is -Coming' has a strong vein of irony in it that looks a little strange -in Morris's verse, and yet it is admirably managed-- - - For then, laugh not, but listen to this strange tale of mine, - All folk that are in England shall be better lodged than swine. - - Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the - deeds of his hand, - Nor yet come home in the even too faint and weary to stand. - - Men in that time a-coming shall work and have no fear - For to-morrow's lack of earning and the hunger-wolf anear. - - I tell you this for a wonder, that no man shall be glad - Of his fellow's fall and mishap to snatch at the work he had. - - For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, - Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed. - - O strange new wonderful justice! But for whom shall we - gather the gain? - For ourselves and for each of our fellows, and no hand shall - labour in vain. - - Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more - shall any man crave - For riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a - slave. - -The tremendous sincerity that induced an artist so sensitive to the -proper uses of his art to press it into the service of a cause to -which he had linked his life is in itself a justification of the -result. The higher qualities of his imagination may be momentarily -set aside, but the thing is nevertheless afire; it burns with -conviction. The optimism that disgusts us is the optimism that is -not in direct relation to effort. The sacrifices that Morris was -making to his socialism in the practical conduct of his life were -reflected quite clearly in the spirit of these poems and quickened -it. It is said that this poetry was written for the occasion, but it -must be remembered that the occasion was one knit into the very fibre -of the poet's being. A curious poem which belongs to this group is -'The God of the Poor,' the first draft of which was written about -1870 or earlier. A simple story of allegorical cast, telling of the -overcoming of the oppressor of the people, Maltete, by their -deliverer Boncoeur, it is interesting as showing a definite attitude -in the poet's mind towards these problems years before he sought -actively to deal with them. - -In the second of the groups of which I speak are six or seven poems -that deal with some particular rather than general aspect of life. -'Hope Dieth: Love Liveth' and 'Error and Loss' touch remote, though -essential, aspects of the psychology of love, if I may use the -phrase, with a subtlety that was one of Browning's peculiar -distinctions. The endurance of love when everything, even hope, is -lost, and the pathos of the defeat of love's end by mere chance, have -never been handled with greater poignancy and insight. 'Of The Three -Seekers' lacks this depth of vision, and states rather than -convinces, though there is that habitual simplicity of Morris in the -statement that gives it its own value. In 'Drawing Near the Light' -we have lyrical expression of a universal mood drawn into contact -with a particular state. It may be quoted in full-- - - Lo, when we wade the tangled wood, - In haste and hurry to be there, - Nought seem its leaves and blossoms good, - For all that they be fashioned fair. - - But looking up, at last we see - The glimmer of the open light, - From o'er the place where we would be: - Then grow the very brambles bright. - - So now, amidst our day of strife, - With many a matter glad we play, - When once we see the light of life - Gleam through the tangle of to-day. - -There is here a suggestion of the application of Morris's whole -poetic vision to the concrete affairs of his socialism that found its -supreme achievement in the three magnificent poems, 'The Message of -the March Wind,' 'Mother and Son' and 'The Half of Life Gone.' In -these poems the contemplation of life amid the conflicting currents -that spring from a particular phase in the evolution of civilization -rather than from the fundamental sources of humanity is lifted into -the highest regions of poetry. They stand apart from, though not -above, the rest of Morris's work, and are indirectly an emphatic -vindication of his general method. What that method was we have -examined already, but in these poems he gave final proof that if he -chose to bring his art into superficial and obvious relation with the -localized conditions of his time he could do so as admirably as any -man. That with the consciousness of this power in himself he -deliberately chose the other method in the great mass of his work is -the reply to his critics who suggest that he turned away from his own -time in his art because he was not stirred to any real imaginative -understanding of it. - -'The Message of the March Wind' is the complete expression of the -central tenet of his socialistic creed. The poet--or the speaker--is -keenly responsive to the things that Morris held to be alone of worth -in life. He is among the green beauty of earth in the springtide; -the woman he loves with him. They have wandered - - From township to township, o'er down and by village, - -and now they stand in the twilight, looking down the white road -before them, where - - The straw from the ox-yard is blowing about; - The moon's rim is rising, a star glitters o'er us, - And the vane on the spire-top is swinging in doubt. - -They are in the full content of their love and the sweetness of the -earth, and then-- - - Hark, the wind in the elm-boughs! from London it bloweth, - And telleth of gold, of hope and unrest: - Of power that helps not; of wisdom that knoweth, - But teacheth not aught of the worst and the best. - - -The contrast is thus imagined, and leads the poet into a direct -statement of his understanding of the whole problem. He never -flattered the people for whom he was working into the belief that the -great unleavened majority had the wisdom of the world on its side. -His rejection of that idea was as emphatic as Ibsen's. What he -sought was to make them realize the fact themselves. He did not tell -them that they were fitted for the great simple joys of life, but -that they had the right to be so fitted, and that it was in -themselves alone to assert that right. His aim was to make them -discontented with themselves and the ugliness of their own lives, -knowing that once this was done the rest would inevitably follow. -And he realized, on the other hand, that the life which he worshipped -was made impossible and all its virtue destroyed simply by the -surroundings that by some obscure process of evil had established -themselves on earth. The happiness of the speaker and his lover in -this fresh beauty of the spring twilight was the outcome not of any -inherent virtue of their own, but of the mere chance of their escape -from this disease of circumstance. - - Hark! the March wind again of a people is telling: - Of the life that they live there, so haggard and grim, - That if we and our love amidst them had been dwelling - My fondness had faltered, thy beauty grown dim. - -The poem takes up, with exquisite tenderness, the hope that these -people over whom the March wind has passed will yet awaken from their -sleep of degradation, and turns back again to the quiet peace of the -village inn with the 'lights and the fire,' - - And the fiddler's old tune and the shuffling of feet; - For there in a while shall be rest and desire, - And there shall the morrow's uprising be sweet. - -The whole poem is one more witness to the sovereignty of art. The -deepest social difficulty of our time is here drawn through the -meshes of the artist's imagination and, purged of everything -inessential, set out in vibrating colour and line far more appealing -and convincing than all the statistical statements of the lords of -rule. The failure of our modern legislation to realize the value of -art in any hope of national regeneration is not the least of its -blunders. Artists have, happily, escaped from the patronage of -courts, but until the propagandists rediscover the fact that they -must bring back the artists to their help, not as servants but as -fellow labourers, they will not work wisely. The artists continue -their labour, building some beauty in the world. That labour can be -directed by no one but themselves, but it is at their peril that the -workers who are striving, earnestly enough, towards a better hope -refuse to throw the creations of the artist into the balance with -their own endeavour. To bring poetry to the issue of a definite -social problem, is, unfortunately, thought of as mere idleness. But -let 'The Message of the March Wind' be delivered to the people up and -down the land, as systematically if need be as the demand for rent or -taxes, and it will be heard willingly enough, and when it is heard -there will be new life among us. I speak in metaphors, but there may -be method even in a metaphor. For 'The Message of the March Wind' -might bring people in turn to _The Earthly Paradise_, and then the -aim of Morris's art--of all art--would be understood by the world. - -'Mother and Son' is wider than 'The Message of the March Wind' in its -scope inasmuch as it deals with a subject less peculiar to a -particular generation or age, narrower in that it is concerned with -one definite event instead of general conditions. A woman is -speaking to her love-child. To analyse the poem would be to quote it -almost line by line, but the conflict of the very roots of humanity -with the blind dictates of circumstance, the tenderness of motherhood -and the wistful yearning of a soul crossed in an uncharitable social -scheme could scarcely find an expression more purely poetic. And -'The Half of Life Gone' touches this conflict with equal vigour and -pity. - -Reading these poems we are glad that Morris ordered his art as he -did. Beautiful as they are and perfectly as they show the -possibility of bringing all things into the purifying influence of -the imaginative faculty, they yet leave us with an exultation that -has in it some strain of despondency. Through no fault in the poet's -working there is somewhere a flaw in the crystal. We thank him for -showing us these things as we had not seen them before, but he has -already tutored us too well. We turn back to the life that he has -already made necessary to our being in the quiet ways of _The Earthly -Paradise_ and the great wind-swept world of _Sigurd the Volsung_. - - - - -VIII - -CONCLUSION - -To enquire whether Marlowe was a greater poet than Milton or Milton a -greater than Keats is but to juggle with words and to spin them into -nothingness. It is enough that all were great. It is no honour to -the giants of the earth to pit them one against another for our -sport. That Morris was or was not the greatest poet of his age or -century is a matter of complete unimportance upon which nothing -depends. The supremely important thing, the splendid circumstance, -is that here again in due season was a man unmistakably moulded in -heroic proportions, one claiming and proving kinship with the masters -whose names are but few. If humanity was fortunate enough to see -others of his peers in his own day we can but be thankful for grace -so prodigal; but, however that may be, here at least was one -establishing anew the proudest succession of mankind. The creator of -_Sigurd the Volsung_ and so much more that is compact of sane and -wholesome magnificence has his rightful company, and it may well be -the gladdest boast of the world that he has; but in that company -there are no degrees. Æschylus, Homer, Virgil, Dante, Michael -Angelo, Shakespeare, Milton, Goethe, Beethoven, Wagner, Shelley, -Wordsworth--there is an inspiration to the lips in the very names of -these men and their fellows, but there must be no disputation as to -the headship in their presence; they themselves will but laugh if -they heed us at all. And Morris is, as I see him, clearly of that -fellowship. By some strange generosity of nature he was not only -allowed to give great poetry to the world, but also to readjust for -us the significance of life in phases a little lower than the -highest. It happened that a man who had the profoundest sense of the -real nature of circumstance and conditions in his generation could -enforce his direct and practical teaching by a creative imagination -of the highest order. It would, perhaps, be fitter to say that in -this man a supreme creative faculty was allied to another faculty -that enabled him to interpret his imaginative art to the world in -terms of immediate practice. The result of this is that although the -indirect influence of his creative art--and that is always the -profoundest influence in these things--is neither more nor less -definable than that of other men of an equal power, his direct -influence not upon abstract or scientific thought but upon the -spiritual perception of men, has perhaps been more instant and -far-reaching than that of any man in the history of English genius. -It is, indeed, difficult to find anywhere a precise parallel to the -curious phenomenon that was Morris. Experience proves the advent of -a great poet to be apparently capricious, the unconsidered whim of -powers that make but little distinction of seasons. The "Songs of -Innocence" were quite definitely sung in the wilderness. But that -manifestation of genius which covers a range wider than its own -finest creation, and takes on something of universality in pervading -itself not only with its own life but with the life of the world, -would seem to be reserved for days that mark the culmination of some -memorable epoch of imaginative activity, and in itself to be the -crowning expression of such days. Michael Angelo and Shakespeare -came at times when national life had been running with rare spiritual -force for some years; when, that is to say, the world was cherishing -beauty and had rich gifts to offer such men when they arose. The -great word was but seeking a voice, and it is difficult to dissociate -Michael Angelo from the impulse of Renaissance Italy, or Shakespeare -from the impulse of Elizabethan England. The mighty utterance of -these men was their own, wrought into its perfection by their -separate and distinctive temperaments; of the essential isolation of -the artist I have already spoken. But it is nevertheless an -utterance in some measure made possible by the currents of the time -in which it came and one for which an examination of the immediately -preceding years prepares us. These men are exultant figures -challenging the world for ever from heights that they did not build -unaided. This, of course, does not effect their achievement, and the -subordination of many splendid forces to one supreme end is, perhaps, -the highest exercise of the faculty of design in the cosmic genius. -The coming of such men is not less moving because it seems to be -inevitable, but that it does seem inevitable is clear. There are, -too, times when men move, as it were, in a kind of receptive stupor, -times when great forces are latent in their midst; it is possible for -a man of this imaginative universality to arrive at such a time -without any apparent preparation in the days before him, and, being -at once the pioneer and culmination of a new era, yet not to excite -our astonishment as well as our worship, because the time, although -lending him no impulse, at least offers him no resistance. The world -could not be said to be expecting Goethe or--Collins and Gray -notwithstanding--Wordsworth, and yet we are not surprised when we -come to these men, because we have been moving through darkness -between light and light, and have been expecting any new and sudden -revelation that might be made--expecting to be surprised. Goethe and -Wordsworth, unlike Michael Angelo and Shakespeare, did not appear as -the final and perfect articulation of a word passed freely from lip -to lip by their fellows, but they were at least allowed to speak -without any violent denial being implicit in the whole intellectual -and spiritual and artistic attitude of their time. Having the -revelation of new temperaments to make, they found, inevitably, -isolated voices of criticism against them, but, save for these, the -age, although not demanding them as the logical issue of its own -effort, at least did not appear to be essentially unfitted to produce -them. _Lyrical Ballads_ was printed at a time that had no deliberate -artistic purpose of its own, but was, nevertheless, ripe for some new -and striking manifestation of the spirit of man. The night had -already lasted over-long. Wordsworth, it is true, came strangely -early in the new day, but although the great voice in the dawn was -unusual, it was not amazing. - -These men, it would seem then, are to be looked for in a time that -either demands them for its own sublimated utterance or is at least -negatively ready to receive them. Morris, however, whose genius was -distinguished clearly by this universality, not only was not the -essential figure of a great movement that had grown before and about -him, but he came at a time that, far from demanding him as its -natural fulfilment, was not even waiting to receive any new -impression that might be struck upon it. When Tennyson had sounded -his clearest music and Browning had wrought his subtlest perceptions -into poetry, it was felt that the highest achievement of a new age -had been reached. Then when the wonderful second summer of the -romantic revival seemed to be exhausted, Swinburne gave to it a new -term of strong life. Taking all the material that the new poetry had -used since the first beginnings over a hundred years earlier, he -blended it with his own temperament and gift of speech and, when men -looked for no more than the quiet lapse into imitation and echoes, he -showed it to be capable of an added and ringing significance that had -been wholly unexpected. Taking language at the value that use had -allotted to it, he not only retained the poetry that had already been -found in those values but made it clear that no one had wrung the -full measure of poetry from them. After this piling of crest above -crest no further great expression could justly be looked for until in -due time a fresh impulse had been fostered to its full strength. The -Victorian development of romantic poetry had reached its splendid -final achievement, and quiet if not wholly songless years would have -been the natural succession. And yet, at the very time that -Swinburne was lending this last glory to the marvellous epoch of -which Collins had been the herald, another poet was already -announcing a new day with the authentic voice of a master. The -eternal impulse that conspired with Morris's own vision to create his -poetry is, perhaps, more difficult to define than in the case of any -other poet. It certainly is not to be found in his own age, and -although to say that he sought to continue the mediæval tradition may -account for much in his literary form, it does not help very greatly -in the understanding of his spiritual temper. The fact is that in -its fundamental qualities Morris's art came as near as any art can do -to being unaffected by any external impulse at all. His love for -certain aspects of mediævalism did not prevent him from reaching far -beyond them both in the construction and the philosophy of his art. -The quality in mediæval art that chiefly attracted him was its direct -simplicity, and this quality he took up into his own work. Instead -of using words for their cumulative poetic value he threw poetry over -words that had hitherto gone naked. Apart from a few of his early -poems and the use that he makes of models from time to time in verse -forms, there is scarcely any evidence in the manner of his work that -he had ever read any of the poetry before him. Reducing life to its -simplest equation, he embodied it in an utterance as simple. But, in -its interpretation of life, the world that he created was rather a -world of the future than a world of the past, and it incorporates the -essence of the spiritual and intellectual experience of the ages that -had passed between, say, Chaucer and his own day. The intensity of -his vision and the certainty with which he disentangled the essential -from the ephemeral forced in him an utterance of a nature not unlike -that of the earlier masters whom he was never tired of praising, but -it is a mistake to suppose that he saw the history of the world shorn -of five centuries. He was not misled into thinking that the -fundamental meaning of life had changed, but he knew that man's power -of adjusting his understanding to that meaning develops and is -increased by the succession of prophetic voices, and in assimilating -the cumulative growth of this power he was modern in the only worthy -and valuable way. He applied a definitely modern faculty of analysis -and definition to the permanent things of life, and embodied it in an -utterance that was clearly his own but coloured in the shaping by a -mediæval rather than any other influence. - -That such a poet should come was in itself not remarkable, but that -he should come at such a moment was a phenomenon scarcely to be -paralleled in literature. The current tradition of poetry when he -was writing was not only hostile to his method, but in a negative way -it had helped to make the age one peculiarly unfitted for his -message. The eager selfishness of the new scientific thought had -paid but little attention to the social ideal for which Morris stood. -This neglect the poets had either flattered or, certainly, had not -opposed, and the result was that at a time when poetry was passing -through one of its most memorable epochs, the life of the people was -suffused with vulgarity and meanness. Neither art nor science, -whatever else they might be doing, realized that the basis of a -wholesome national life is a delight among the people in their daily -labour. The people did not discover this for themselves, and when -Morris wanted to furnish his rooms he was forced to make his own -chairs and tables. His work henceforward was to show his age its -errors on the one hand in his social teaching, and on the other in -his poetry and craftsmanship to announce its possibilities. This was -a perfectly natural result of the influence of the conditions that -surrounded him upon his own creative impulse, but how that impulse -came to birth among such conditions must remain a splendid -perplexity. Morris's work was directed to certain ends by the -requirements of his age, but his spirit was one to which the age had -no logical claim. He came not in due time but by some large -generosity of the gods. - -When a great poet comes not unexpectedly but as the natural and full -development of a long tradition, it is easy not only to estimate the -positive value of his own achievement, but also to trace or even to -predict his influence upon his successors. New poets will come, -possessing some measure of genuine inspiration, and carry the -tradition through to its quiet and often lovely close; they will take -their honourable places about the few commanding figures, worthy of -their kinship and proud of it. But when the great poet happens to be -at the beginning instead of at the full day of an epoch, we can but -await the event. Morris not only discovered a new world in his art, -but he was allowed to explore and establish it. His word was not one -of rumour and promise alone, but more or less of fulfilment. Strands -of his influence have already been drawn through the art and life of -his followers, but the work that has been done in deliberate -imitation of his is scarcely recognizable as such. A poet may -imitate Tennyson with some success because he may inherit the same -tradition that shaped Tennyson; the impulse is already in his blood -towards the expression and temper of which his model is the -consummation. But there is no such tradition behind Morris; his art -was in a peculiar degree the creation of his own vision alone, and -that is a thing which is beyond imitation. The new tradition that -Morris himself began may or may not be carried along a clear line of -progression, but it can only be taken up in its full compass by a -poet that shall be not far short of Morris's own stature, and by the -time he comes it is possible that the influence of the author of -_Sigurd_ may have done its work by operating indirectly through many -new movements rather than through a direct succession of its own -begetting. If this should happen, Morris's influence will be no less -valuable a force in the world, but it is not unlikely that when the -history of poetry in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries comes to -be written, he will stand as a lonely titanic figure, excelled by -none in the depth and range of his art, but outside any categorical -lines of development. - -About Morris's own attitude towards his art a good deal of nonsense -has been written. It appears, for example, that he once, in a moment -of irresponsible conversation, said that poetry was 'tommy rot.' The -remark had, of course, the exact value of all such small talk, but it -is the kind of thing that has been solemnly advanced as a proof that -he was primarily what is commonly called a man of action, who wrote -poetry as a pleasant recreation. The truth is, of course, that -Morris was a great artist, and knew that he was a great artist. -That, to him, was the supremely important thing, because his art -meant for him the sweetest and noblest life that he could perceive -through his imagination. As a man of action he proved himself fully -when occasion arose, but he undertook his propagandist work with -reluctance and often turned from it in disgust. It was not that he -was ever for a moment in doubt as to the excellence of the end at -which such work was aiming, but that he knew that his own great work -in the world, the work by which he could most effectually help it a -little towards that end, was his art. To suggest that the man who -created _Jason_ and _The Earthly Paradise_, _Sigurd_ and _Love is -Enough_ had anything but the profoundest reverence for his art, and -especially for the supreme expression of his art--poetry--would be a -preposterous insult if it were not ludicrous. Art was his gospel, -and all his social teaching and activity were but an effort to bring -his gospel to pass upon earth. - -We can imagine a race that had attained a wisdom fuller than has yet -been found, adopting one simple form of daily supplication. Always -from the people's lips this prayer should go up, "Lord, give us -character." Character. That is the supreme need of man, and it is -simply the faculty of being himself and expressing himself in all the -conduct of his life. He may not be a very great man, or a very wise -man, or even a very good man, but if he be himself he may, in some -measure he must, become these. There is, at the outset, the -necessity of material opportunity for so being himself. One who is -overworked, or employed all the while in degrading work, or -insufficiently paid for his work, one who is, in short, driven, -cannot be himself, just as the man who is denied the chance of -working at all cannot be himself. But, given the material -opportunity, the power of proving his character, of asserting his -individuality, of being himself, is inherent in every man. And this -Morris felt with the whole energy of his being. He saw men having no -adventurousness in their own spirits, dulled by routine, and with -their own wills bent and impoverished by the will of some one else, -degraded into mere echoes and reflections. He saw that the crying -need of the world was character, and he sought to teach men that in -bringing back joy to their daily work they would put their feet on -the first step towards the only true dignity and pride of life. The -satisfaction that comes of a piece of work truly done and having in -it something of the soul of the worker was, to him, a holy thing. -His own craftsmanship and manufacture were the expression of a man -with this conviction; his imaginative writing was of a world peopled -by such men. The spiritual exaltation of which I have spoken, the -finer tissue of some mysterious emotional experience that is laid -over the definable substance of poetry, is always in his work, -translating its message into the imaginative terms of art; but the -message itself is perfectly articulated, and it is one of the -profoundest and most inspiriting that it has been given to any man to -deliver. Other poets have given us courage to face a world fallen -into uncharitable ways, or directed us to secluded places where we -may forget the dust and trouble of a life that we must accept as an -unfortunate necessity, or given good promise of revelation and -comfort in a life to come; but none has ever announced so clearly as -Morris the hope of life here upon earth. Cloistered quiet was an -impossible state to this man who so loved fellowship, and the world -beyond death he was content to leave to its own proving. But he did -not endeavour to encourage men to face the life that he knew was -unwholesome and draining them of freedom and manhood; he cried to -them to destroy it and he showed them in his art the life that might -be theirs in its stead. - -The basis of Morris's social creed was an unchanging faith in the -essential dignity of the nature of man. The trickeries and -jealousies that beset our commercial phase of civilization he refused -to accept as being fundamental in humanity, thinking of them rather -as ill habits imposed upon humanity by some cruel sport of -circumstance that made men forgetful of their own better instincts. -He did not suppose that habits that had been slowly assimilated could -be put off in a moment of violent reaction, but he never doubted if -once men could be brought to consider the real purpose of traffic and -social community, and so free themselves from a tyranny that endured -only because part of its method was to carry its victims along in a -continuous necessity of adjusting themselves to the immediate moment -without allowing them to pause for reflection and see life in its -completeness, that then these habits would inevitably be set aside. -His desire always was that men should at least be allowed to prove -themselves freely. From the turbulent passions and sorrows -inseparable from humanity he asked no escape, taking them gladly as -the darker threads in the many-coloured web of our heritage, but he -denounced fiercely the doctrine that, finding men forced into daily -betrayal of themselves, blandly announced that here was proof of -their radical meanness and unworth. For the people who told him that -before he could hope for the world of his imagining he must change -human nature, he had a fine contempt. That this cleaner life was -realizable on earth, and that without any revolutionary excesses, he -showed as clearly in the work of his own life as any one man could -do. He conducted a large business enterprise profitably and in open -competition, but he did not degrade labour in employing it. He -accepted the normal conditions of society in public and family life, -but he did not allow them to cramp or violate his own personality. -He realized fully that a great social fabric is not constructed out -of mere unreason, and he had no wish to destroy systems that had been -evolved from perfectly sound impulses; the thing that he fought -against with all his extraordinary power was their abuse. Principles -of exchange and of labour for the common good were a necessary -complement of his belief that a man must get from his labour two -things: joy in the work itself and the means whereby to live; but he -knew that the real significance of these principles had been -forgotten. His life was an active endeavour to impress it once again -on the mind of the people, and in his poetry was the same endeavour -embodied in creative imagination. - -Writing of the northern stories Morris said, 'Well, sometimes we must -needs think that we shall live again; yet if that were not, would it -not be enough that we helped to make this unnameable glory, and lived -not altogether deedless? Think of the joy we have in praising great -men, and how we turn their stories over and over, and fashion their -lives for our joy: and this also we ourselves may give to the world.' -It was curiously prophetic of that which we feel about Morris -himself. His life, his art, the figure of the man, all fit into the -outlines of a heroic story such as those that he loved. He gave, -indeed, to the world in this manner and in large measure. And he -added generously to the joy that we have in praising great men. - - - -THE END - - - - WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. - PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of William Morris, by John Drinkwater - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM MORRIS *** - -***** This file should be named 63288-8.txt or 63288-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/2/8/63288/ - -Produced by Al Haines -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |