Part 14 (1/2)
I could not be much concerned about the unwillingness to give me a new sonnet which Rossetti at first exhibited, for I knew full well that sooner or later the sonnet would come. Not that I recognised in him the faintest scintillation of the affectation so common among authors as to the publication of work. But the fear of any appearance of collusion between himself and his critics was, as he said, a bugbear that constantly haunted him. Owing to this, a stranger often stood a better chance of securing his ready and open co-operation than the most intimate of friends. I frequently yielded to his desire that in anything that I might write his name should not be mentioned--too frequently by far, to my infinite vexation at the time, and now to my deep and ineradicable regret. The sonnet-book out of which arose much of the correspondence printed in this chapter, contains in its preface and notes hardly an allusion to him, and yet he was, in my judgment, out of all reach and sight, the greatest sonnet-writer of his time. The sonnet first sent was _Pride of Youth_, but as this formed part of _The House of Life_ series, it was withdrawn, and _Raleigh's Cell in the Tower_ was subst.i.tuted The following hitherto unpublished sonnet was also contributed but withdrawn at the last moment, because of its being out of harmony with the sonnets selected to accompany it:
ON CERTAIN ELIZABETHAN REVIVALS.
O ruff-embastioned vast Elizabeth, Bush to these bushel-bellied casks of wine, Home-growth, 'tis true, but rank as turpentine,-- What would we with such skittle-plays at death % Say, must we watch these brawlers' brandished lathe, Or to their reeking wit our ears incline, Because all Castaly flowed crystalline In gentle Shakspeare's modulated breath!
What! must our drama with the rat-pit vie, Nor the scene close while one is left to kill!
Shall this be poetry % And thou--thou--man Of blood, thou cannibalic Caliban, What shall be said to thee?--a poet?--Fie!
”An honourable murderer, if you will”
I mentioned to you [he says] William Davies, author of _Songs of a Wayfarer_ (by the bye, another man has since adopted his t.i.tle). He has many excellent sonnets, and is a valued friend of mine. I shall send you, on his behalf, a copy of the book for selection of what you may please.... It is very unequal, but the best truly excellent. The sonnets are numerous, and some good, though the best work in the book is not among them. There are two poems--_The Garden_, and another called, I think, _On a dried-up Spring_, which are worthy of the most fastidious collections. Many of the poems are unnamed, and the whole has too much of a Herrick air. . . .
It is quite refres.h.i.+ng to find you so pleased with my good friend Davies's book, and I wish he were in London, as I would have shown him what you say, which I know would have given him pleasure. He is a man who suffers much from moods of depression, in spite of his philosophic nature. I have marked fifty pieces of different kinds throughout his book, and of these twenty-nine are sonnets. Had those fifty been alone printed, Davies would now be remembered and not forgotten: but all poets now-a-days are redundant except Tennyson. ...
I am this evening writing to Davies, who is in Rome, and could not resist enclosing what you say, with so much experimental appreciativeness of his book, and of his intention to fill it with moral suns.h.i.+ne. I am sure he 'll send a new sonnet if he has one, but I fancy his bardic day is over. I should think he was probably not subject to melancholy when he wrote the _Wayfarer_. However, he tells me that his spirits have improved in Italy. One other little book of Herrickian verse he has written, called _The Shepherd!s Garden_, but there are no sonnets in it. Besides this, he published a volume containing a record of travel of a very interesting kind, and called _The Pilgrimage of the Tiber_. This is well known. It is ill.u.s.trated, many of the drawings being by himself, for he is quite as much painter as poet. He also wrote in _The Quarterly Review_ an article on the sonnet (I should think about 1870 or so), and, a little later, one which raised great wrath, on the English School of Painting. These I have not seen. He ”lacks advancement,” however; having fertile powers and little opportunity, and being none the luckier (I think) for a small independence which keeps off _compulsion_ to work, though of willingness he has abundance in many directions.
There is an admirable but totally unknown living poet named Dixon. I will send you two small vols, of his which he gave me long ago, but please take good care of them, and return them as soon as done with. I value them highly. I forgot till to-day that he had written any sonnets, but I see there are three in one vol. and one in another. I have marked my two favourites. He should certainly be represented in your book. If I live, I mean to write something about him in some quarter when I can. His finest pa.s.sages are as fine as any living man can do. He was a canon of Carlisle Cathedral, and at present has a living somewhere. If you wanted to ask him for an original sonnet, you might mention my name, and address him at Carlisle with _Please forward_. Of course he is a Rev.
You will be sorry to hear that Davies has abandoned the hope of producing a new sonnet to his own satisfaction. I have again, however, urged him to the onslaught, and told him how deserving you are of his efforts.
Swinburne, who is a vast admirer of my sister's, thinks the _Advent_ perhaps the n.o.blest of all her poems, and also specially loves the _Pa.s.sing Away_. I do not know that I quite agree with your decided preference for the two sonnets of hers you signalise,--the _World_ is very fine, but the other, _Dead before Death_, a little sensational for her. I think _After Death_ one of her n.o.blest, and the one _After Communion_. In my own view, the greatest of all her poems is that on France after the siege--_To-Day for Me_. A very splendid piece of feminine ascetic pa.s.sion is _The Convent Threshold_.
I have run the sonnet you like, _St. Luke the Painter_, into a sequence with two more not yet printed, and given the three a general t.i.tle of _Old and New Art_, as well as special t.i.tles to each. I shall annex them to _The House of Life_.
Have you ever read Vaughan? He resembles Donne a good deal as to quaintness, but with a more emotional personality.
I have altered the last line of octave in _Lost Days_. It now runs--
”The undying throats of h.e.l.l, athirst alway.”
I always had it in my mind to make a change here, as the _in_ standing in the line in its former reading clashed with _in_ occurring in the previous line. I have done what I think is a prime sonnet on the murdered Czar, which I enclose, but don't show it to a soul.
Theodore Watts is going to print a very fine sonnet of his own in _The Athenaeum_. It is the first verse he ever put in print, though he wrote much (when a very young man). Tell me how you like it. I think he is destined to s.h.i.+ne in that cla.s.s of poetry.
I knew you must like Watts's sonnets. They are splendid affairs. I am not sure that I agree with you in liking the first the better of the two: the second (_Natura Maligna_) is perhaps the deeper and finer. I have asked Watts to give you a new sonnet, and I think perhaps he will do so, or at all events give you permission to use those he has printed.
He has just come into the room, and says he would like to hear from you on the subject.
From one rather jocular sentence in your note I judge you may include some sonnets of your own. I see no possible reason why you should not. You are really now, at your highest, among our best sonnet-writers, and have written two or three sonnets that yield to few or none whatever. I am forced, however, to request that you will not put in the one referring to myself, from my constant bugbear of any appearance of collusion. That sonnet is a very fine one--my brother was showing it me again the other day. It is not my personal gratification alone, though that is deep, because I know you are sincere, which leads me to the conclusion that it is your best, and very fine indeed. I think your c.u.mberland sonnet admirable. The sonnet on Byron is extremely musical in flow and the symbolic scenery of exceptional excellence. The view taken is the question with me. Byron's vehement directness, at its best, is a lasting lesson: and, dubious monument as _Don Juan_ may be, it towers over the century. Of course there is truth in what you say; but _ought_ it to be the case? and is it the case in any absolute sense? You deal frankly with your sonnets, and do not shrink from radical change. I think that on Oliver much better than when I saw it before. The opening phrases of both octave and sestette are very fine; but the second quatrain and the second terzina, though with a quality of beauty, both seem somewhat to lack distinctness.
The word _rivers_ cannot be used with elision--the v is a hard pebble in the flow, and so are the closing consonants.
You must put up with _streams_ if you keep the line.
You should have Bailey's dedicatory sonnet in _Festus_.
I am enclosing a fine sonnet by William Bell Scott, which I wished him to let me send you for your book. It has not yet been printed. I think I heard of some little chaffy matter between him and you, but, doubtless, you have virtually forgotten all about it. I must say frankly that I think the day when you made the speech he told me of must have been rather a wool-gathering one with you.... I suppose you know that Scott has written a number of fine sonnets contained in his vol of _Poems_ published about 1875, I think.
I directed the attention of Mr. Waddington (whom, however, I don't know personally) to a most n.o.ble sonnet by f.a.n.n.y Kemble, beginning, ”Art thou already weary of the way?” He has put it in, and several others of hers, but she is very unequal, and I don't know if the others should be there, but you should take the one in question. It sadly wants new punctuation, being vilely printed just as I first saw it when a boy in some twopenny edition.
In a memoir of Gilchrist, appended now by his widow to the _Life of Blake_, there is a sonnet by G., perhaps interesting enough, as being exceptional, for you to ask for it; but I don't advise you, if you don't think it worth.