There was a good deal of excitement in the Elysian Fields when the
news went round that the Committee had exercised their power of
electing a certain distinguished Shade to full membership of the
Asphodel Club without a ballot. The general opinion seemed to be that
the Committee had acted wisely, and that the election was in every way
justified. A few members, however, expressed disapproval, not so
much on account of any demerits of his own as of the effect that his
election might produce on the sensitive minds of some who were already
members.
"This Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON," said one who had been busy in canvassing
opinions, "is fully qualified for membership, but I fear he may have a
deleterious effect on JOHN MILTON and THOMAS GRAY. Did he not roughly
criticise them in his _Lives of the Poets_, and do you think that
MILTON is one who will sit down tamely under the affront? MILTON has
been for years and is still one of our most distinguished members.
Indeed, he has almost the standing amongst us of a highly-respected
Bishop. He uses the Club a great deal, and I fear his comfort will be
much reduced by the admission of one who regards his poetry with a
hostile eye."
"In what way," said another, "has the denouncer of SALMASIUS become
entitled to complain of rough attacks? Nor has his character been
assailed. In that he remains episcopal. Only in his poetry is he made
to suffer."
"But he is made to suffer pretty heavily," said a third. "Hear what
JOHNSON said with regard to our friend's _Lycidas_:--
"'One of the poems on which much praise has been bestowed is
_Lycidas_; of which the diction is harsh, the rhymes uncertain and the
numbers unpleasing. What beauty there is we must therefore seek in the
sentiments and images. It is not to be considered as the effusion of
real passion; for passion runs not after remote allusions and obscure
opinions. Passion plucks no berries from the myrtle and ivy, nor calls
upon Arethuse and Mincius, nor tells of rough _satyrs_ and _fauns
with cloven heel_. Where there is leisure for fiction there is little
grief.
"'In this poem there is no nature for there is no truth; there is no
art for there is nothing new. Its form is that of a pastoral: easy,
vulgar and therefore disgusting.'
"Do you call that criticism?"
"Ah, but listen," said another and much agitated Shade, "to what he
says of our respected THOMAS GRAY. The Committee must have forgotten
how it goes:--
"These odes are marked by glittering accumulation of ungraceful
ornaments; they strike rather than please; the images are magnified by
affectation, the language is laboured into harshness. The mind of the
writer seems to work with unnatural violence. _Double, double, toil
and trouble_. He has a kind of strutting dignity and is tall by
walking on tiptoe."
The agitated Shade was about to proceed further with his protest when
a sound of cheering stopped him. And lo and behold! an approving
throng was circling round the new member, and in the thick of it were
JOHN MILTON and THOMAS GRAY.
* * * * *
"FOR THIS RELIEF," ETC.