The current of Tennyson's genius is like a rivulet placidly flowing
through meadows and groves, occasionally rippling and swirling over
stones, then pursuing its even course--gradually widening and deepening;
not like a mighty river proudly sweeping in a resistless flood through a
wilderness, or tumbling down rocky chasms. All that he has given the world
during sixty years of literary activity is contained in less than a dozen
volumes of verse. Only a rapid survey of his poetical career is attempted
here.
Passing by without comment _Poems by two Brothers_ (1826), "The Lover's
Tale" (composed about 1828), and "Timbuctoo" (1829), we come to Tennyson's
first bid for fame in _Poems, chiefly Lyrical_ (1830). This slender volume
included (along with much rubbish) a few pieces which are perennial
favorites with lovers of Tennyson, viz.: "Mariana," "Recollections of the
Arabian Nights," "The Dying Swan," "A Dirge," "Love and Death," and
"Circumstance." Among the poems suppressed in later editions is one in an
unusual vein--"Nero to Leander"--which Emerson inserted in his
_Parnassus_.
His second book of _Poems_ (1833) was a more ambitious venture. Its
contents, though marred by faults of crude taste, possessed in a marked
degree, the characteristic qualities of the Laureate's poetry. Nearly all
of the lyrics in it have been found worthy of a permanent place in the
collected editions of his poems, but most of them underwent countless
changes before they were republished in 1842--being corrected and polished
till they were well-nigh perfect from a critical standpoint.
The two volumes of _Poems_ (1842) revealed Tennyson at his best--a mature
singer whose dignified, harmonious verse compares favorably with the most
splendid contributions to British poetry. "The Princess" (1847), "In
Memoriam" (1850), and "Maud" (1855) made his position secure as the
greatest of living poets.
Not satisfied to rest content as a lyrist, Tennyson essayed extended
narrative in _Idyls of the King_ (1859) and "Enoch Arden" (1864). Gaining
courage from the enthusiastic reception of the four Arthurian idyls, he
undertook to carry out a long cherished design--which Milton and Dryden
had conceived--of writing a national epic on King Arthur. He had already
made several attempts at versifying incidents from the _Mabinogion_ and
Malory's old romance _Morte d' Arthur_, but they were isolated fragments.
From time to time he added others, making the series of tales called the
Round Table a complete cycle as follows:
The Coming of Arthur, 1869; Gareth and Lynette, 1872; Geraint and Enid,
1859; Balin and Balan, 1885; Merlin and Vivien, 1859; Lancelot and Elaine,
1859; The Holy Grail, 1869; Pelleas and Ettarre, 1869; The Last
Tournament, 1871; Guinevere, 1859; The Passing of Arthur, 1842, 1869.
Then boldly entering the dangerous field of historical drama, Tennyson
became a rival of Shakspeare himself in "Queen Mary"[14] (1875), "Harold"
(1876), and "Becket" (1884). Besides these, he brought forth three shorter
plays or dramatic sketches--"The Cup"[15] (1884), "The Falcon"[16] (1884),
"The Promise of May"[17] (1886), and a lengthy idyllic drama called "The
Foresters"[18] (1892).
As if to prove that his fertility was not exhausted in the province of the
lyric, he made fresh incursions into fields of song long familiar to him.
These winnowings of the last two decades are gathered into the following
volumes:
_Ballads, and Other Poems_ (1880); _Tiresias, and Other Poems_ (1885);
_Locksley Hall Sixty Years After, etc._ (1886); _Demeter, and Other Poems_
(1889).
Enough books have been named to give at least half a dozen minstrels a
firm footing on Parnassus. The number of Tennyson's meritorious
performances is simply astonishing. But few poets have wrought with such
unwearying patience. Not many can present as imposing a catalogue of works
that are confessedly of such a high order of excellence. Browning has
written more, but Browning has not taken the trouble to perfect himself in
form--in short, he is not a finished artist. In literary workmanship,
Tennyson stands supreme. It is universally admitted that none of his
contemporaries ranks so high as man of letters. He is the brightest
ornament of the Victorian reign.
Without doubt the Laureate deserves his hard-won glory. In his hale old
age, he has disarmed the critics of years ago who sneered at his empty
lays and feminine ways. The question--_Cui bono?_ could be asked as to
many of Tennyson's earlier efforts, such as "Oriana," "The Lady of
Shalott," "Audley Court," "Edwin Morris," "Amphion," "Lady Clare," "The
Lord of Burleigh," "The Beggar Maid" and others. These lyrics and idyls
are made up of ornate commonplaces which show the artistic instinct rather
than the poetic. They abound with the ephemeral conceits of drawing-room
poetry. They contain nothing that resembles vivacity or sublimity. They
have not the interest which is general and universal as distinguished from
the private or the unusual. They are not representative of human nature,
but of individual peculiarities. They are ideal pictures, not transcripts
from experience.
With a few exceptions, the minor poems published in 1855 and 1864 are of
similar character; and it may be said that "The Princess," "Maud," "Enoch
Arden," and most of the Arthurian stories are in much the same vein. None
of these works, when viewed as an organic whole, can be called great. In
all of them, manliness is at a discount, and there is withal a dearth of
ideas. Sentiment and ornament are overdone, and there is not enough of
life. They can be described as a chaos of pretty fancies and idle
reveries. Such are not the strains that shape a nation's destiny and are
treasured in its heart. In the centuries agone, such a songster would have
been a first-class troubadour, much sought and praised in princely
circles.
But former estimates of Tennyson must be revised. The slurs at the
euphonious jingler and effeminate Alfred are in place no more. He has
abandoned the domain of the legendary and the fantastic. Romance has given
way to history, and dreams to reality. Sensuous effects are now
subordinate. His verse no longer cloys with sweetness. It is simple,
natural, impassioned.
"Queen Mary" and "Becket" certainly rank foremost among the few powerful
plays that have appeared since Shelley wrote "The Cenci." There are some
Bulwer-Lyttonish passages in "Becket," but they are more than redeemed by
the imperial magnificence of other passages in the same tragedy. The
ballads and other lyrics published within the last dozen years display a
rugged virility that was quite foreign to the labored "Idyls of the King."
"Rizpah" and "The Revenge" have the ring of genuine metal. There is no
hollow sound in the manly tributes to E. Fitzgerald and to his ancient
Mantuan master. The introspective poet of "The Two Voices" has grown to
fuller intellectual stature in "The Ancient Sage." The music and majesty
of "Tiresias" and "Demeter" are unsurpassed in "Ulysses" and "Tithonus."
"Romney's Remorse" excels "Sea Dreams" in portraying the better instincts
of humanity on the domestic side, and its tender lullaby--"Beat upon mine,
little heart!"--almost equals the incomparable "Sweet and low." While
"Vastness" and "Crossing the Bar" repeat the lyrical triumphs of his
palmiest days.
Time has dealt gently with the venerable harper, whose hands sweep the
strings with surer touch and greater compass than before. Age has brought
more forceful speech and clearer vision. Some of his senile efforts betray
less of conscious effort, as though long practice in using metrical
language as a vehicle of thought and imagery had made it a pure mirror of
the poet's mind. His worn-out mannerisms appear occasionally, also his
subtleties of expression and feeling. There is the same imaginative
sorcery as of old, and the same consummate style, but the studied elegance
and artful devices of earlier productions are less noticeable. There is
less of minute finish in form and more of epic grandeur in tone and
spirit. A healthier inspiration has visited him in the evening of life.
His genius has gradually ripened. The full cup of advanced years was
needed to bring out what was best in him, to effect his complete
development.
Since the hysterical explosion of "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After," the
Laureate seems to have attained the calmness of soul which belongs to the
true poetical spirit. He is no longer the fretful author of "The New
Timon," "The Spiteful Letter," and "Literary Squabbles," who lacked the
restraint of entire self-possession. A more serious tone pervades the
personal poems--"To Ulysses," "To Mary Boyle" and others in his 1889
volume. A wiser man wrote the stately measures of "Happy" and "By an
Evolutionist," one who looked down upon past follies from spiritual
heights never before reached. There is a touch of Miltonic loftiness in
his "Parnassus," and the philosophic resignation of Goethe in "The
Progress of Spring." His is the tranquil, fruitful old age that crowns a
well ordered career.