第 6 节
作者:      更新:2021-11-05 20:38      字数:8888
  weakly; stumblingly; but still strugglingtowards higher things。
  His Pantheism is an indication of it。  Pantheism is a half…way
  house; and marks ascent or descent according to the direction from
  which it is approached。  Now Shelley came to it from absolute
  Atheism; therefore in his case it meant rise。  Again; his poetry
  alone would lead us to the same conclusion; for we do not believe
  that a truly corrupted spirit can write consistently ethereal
  poetry。  We should believe in nothing; if we believed that; for it
  would be the consecration of a lie。  Poetry is a thermometer:  by
  taking its average height you can estimate the normal temperature of
  its writer's mind。  The devil can do many things。  But the devil
  cannot write poetry。  He may mar a poet; but he cannot make a poet。
  Among all the temptations wherewith he tempted St。 Anthony; though
  we have often seen it stated that he howled; we have never seen it
  stated that he sang。
  Shelley's anarchic principles were as a rule held by him with some
  misdirected view to truth。  He disbelieved in kings。  And is it not
  a mere factregret it if you willthat in all European countries;
  except two; monarchs are a mere survival; the obsolete buttons on
  the coat…tails of rule; which serve no purpose but to be continually
  coming off?  It is a miserable thing to note how every little Balkan
  State; having obtained liberty (save the mark!) by Act of Congress;
  straightway proceeds to secure the service of a professional king。
  These gentlemen are plentiful in Europe。  They are the 〃noble
  Chairmen〃 who lend their names for a consideration to any
  enterprising company which may be speculating in Liberty。  When we
  see these things; we revert to the old lines in which Persius tells
  how you cannot turn Dama into a freeman by twirling him round your
  finger and calling him Marcus Dama。
  Again; Shelley desired a religion of humanity; and that meant; to
  him; a religion for humanity; a religion which; unlike the spectral
  Christianity about him; should permeate and regulate the whole
  organisation of men。  And the feeling is one with which a Catholic
  must sympathise; in an age whenif we may say so without
  irreverencethe Almighty has been made a constitutional Deity; with
  certain state…grants of worship; but no influence over political
  affairs。  In these matters his aims were generous; if his methods
  were perniciously mistaken。  In his theory of Free Love alone;
  borrowed like the rest from the Revolution; his aim was as
  mischievous as his method。  At the same time he was at least
  logical。  His theory was repulsive; but comprehensible。  Whereas
  from our present via mediafacilitation of divorcecan only result
  the era when the young lady in reduced circumstances will no longer
  turn governess but will be open to engagement as wife at a
  reasonable stipend。
  We spoke of the purity of Shelley's poetry。  We know of but three
  passages to which exception can be taken。  One is happily hidden
  under a heap of Shelleian rubbish。  Another is offensive; because it
  presents his theory of Free Love in its most odious form。  The third
  is very much a matter; we think; for the individual conscience。
  Compare with this the genuinely corrupt Byron; through the cracks
  and fissures of whose heaving versification steam up perpetually the
  sulphurous vapours from his central iniquity。  We cannot credit that
  any Christian ever had his faith shaken through reading Shelley;
  unless his faith were shaken before he read Shelley。  Is any safely
  havened bark likely to slip its cable; and make for a flag planted
  on the very reef where the planter himself was wrecked?
  Why indeed (one is tempted to ask in concluding) should it be that
  the poets who have written for us the poetry richest in skiey grain;
  most free from admixture with the duller things of earththe
  Shelleys; the Coleridges; the Keatsare the very poets whose lives
  are among the saddest records in literature?  Is it that (by some
  subtile mystery of analogy) sorrow; passion; and fantasy are
  indissolubly connected; like water; fire; and cloud; that as from
  sun and dew are born the vapours; so from fire and tears ascend the
  〃visions of aerial joy〃; that the harvest waves richest over the
  battlefields of the soul; that the heart; like the earth; smells
  sweetest after rain; that the spell on which depend such necromantic
  castles is some spirit of pain charm…poisoned at their base? {10}
  Such a poet; it may be; mists with sighs the window of his life
  until the tears run down it; then some air of searching poetry; like
  an air of searching frost; turns it to a crystal wonder。  The god of
  golden song is the god; too; of the golden sun; so peradventure
  song…light is like sunlight; and darkens the countenance of the
  soul。  Perhaps the rays are to the stars what thorns are to the
  flowers; and so the poet; after wandering over heaven; returns with
  bleeding feet。  Less tragic in its merely temporal aspect than the
  life of Keats or Coleridge; the life of Shelley in its moral aspect
  is; perhaps; more tragical than that of either; his dying seems a
  myth; a figure of his living; the material shipwreck a figure of the
  immaterial。
  Enchanted child; born into a world unchildlike; spoiled darling of
  Nature; playmate of her elemental daughters; 〃pard…like spirit;
  beautiful and swift;〃 laired amidst the burning fastnesses of his
  own fervid mind; bold foot along the verges of precipitous dream;
  light leaper from crag to crag of inaccessible fancies; towering
  Genius; whose soul rose like a ladder between heaven and earth with
  the angels of song ascending and descending it;he is shrunken into
  the little vessel of death; and sealed with the unshatterable seal
  of doom; and cast down deep below the rolling tides of Time。  Mighty
  meat for little guests; when the heart of Shelley was laid in the
  cemetery of Caius Cestius!  Beauty; music; sweetness; tearsthe
  mouth of the worm has fed of them all。  Into that sacred bridal…
  gloom of death where he holds his nuptials with eternity let not our
  rash speculations follow him。  Let us hope rather that as; amidst
  material nature; where our dull eyes see only ruin; the finer eye of
  science has discovered life in putridity and vigour in decay;
  seeing dissolution even and disintegration; which in the mouth of
  man symbolise disorder; to be in the works of God undeviating order;
  and the manner of our corruption to be no less wonderful than the
  manner of our health;so; amidst the supernatural universe; some
  tender undreamed surprise of life in doom awaited that wild nature;
  which; worn by warfare with itself; its Maker; and all the world;
  now
  Sleeps; and never palates more the dug;
  The beggar's nurse; and Caesar's。
  Footnotes:
  {1}  That is to say; taken as the general animating spirit of the
  Fine Arts。
  {2}  The Abbe Bareille was not; of course; responsible for
  Savonarola's taste; only for thus endorsing it。
  {3}  We mean; of course; the hymn; 〃I rise from dreams of time。〃
  {4}  We are a little surprised at the fact; because so many
  Victorian poets are; or have been; prose…writers as well。  Now;
  according to our theory; the practice of prose should maintain fresh
  and comprehensive a poet's diction; should save him from falling
  into the hands of an exclusive coterie of poetic words。  It should
  react upon his metrical vocabulary to its beneficial expansion; by
  taking him outside his aristocratic circle of language; and keeping
  him in touch with the great commonalty; the proletariat of speech。
  For it is with words as with men:  constant intermarriage within the
  limits of a patrician clan begets effete refinement; and to
  reinvigorate the stock; its veins must be replenished from hardy
  plebeian blood。
  {5}  Wordsworth's adaptation of it; however; is true。  Men are not
  〃children of a larger growth;〃 but the child IS father of the man;
  since the parent is only partially reproduced in his offspring。
  {6}  The Rhythm of Life; by Alice Meynell。
  {7}  〃And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth; even as a fig…
  tree casteth her untimely figs; when she is shaken of a mighty wind〃
  (Rev。 vi; 13)。
  {8}  Such analogies between master in sister…arts are often
  interesting。  In some respects; is not Brahms the Browning of music?
  {9}  Seek FIRST; not seek ONLY。
  {10}  We hope that we need not refer the reader; for the methods of
  magic architecture; to Ariosto and that Atlas among enchanters;
  Beckford。
  End