Characteristics of the Genius and Writings of L. E. L.

Front matter

CHARACTERISTICS

OF THE

GENIUS AND WRITINGS

Poetical Works - Contents

PART I.

POETICAL WORKS.

CONTENTS. | Part I.

| |Page

Introductory Remarks | 7

Notes.—Extract from Ethel Churchill | 12

Conversational remarks on the Literary Character | 12

Characteristics of Poetical Genius | 14

Note—L. E. L.'s Appreciation of Genius and the Fine Arts | 17

Peculiarities of L. E. L.'s Works: Their Style—Their Subject Matter—Their Effect | 20

Analysis of L. E. L.'s Poetry | 31

Remarks on the Moral Tendency of her Genius | 66

Note—on Miss Landon's Personal Manner, and Style of her Conversation | 76

Introductory Remarks

INTRODUCTION.

The present age seems to be characterized partly by a superficial, partly by a calculating, spirit. Hence the prevalence of dogmatic, but incorrect judgment, and of low-toned estimates. Prejudice usurps the place of impartial examination; while mere hear say is often adduced as evidence for opinion. Great evils must necessarily be the result of such a state of things,—evils which spread themselves more or less through every department of the social system.

We have now only to do with one province,—that of the literary life. It is impossible not to see that the spirit of the age has intruded within the pale of literature; and while it has sometimes defied the intellectual spirit to open combat, at others it has tried to gain its own ends by insinuation, by imperceptibly pervading with its cold and withering influences the genial atmosphere of bright thoughts and warm emotions. In the one case it has attacked the genius of literature; in the other the supporters of that genius: with the latter it may sometimes be successful; with the former, never.

From these partial successes originates the difference between literary fame and general opinion. An individual signalizes himself or herself as a son or daughter of Genius, and immediately every member of that one glorious family recognizes and acknowledges the relationship. Yet frequently the very title to rank, as partaker of an intellectual birthright, is made by the law of the unthinking multitude a deed of separation from the privileges and immunities of general society. And why this strange decision? Because they whose decision it is, are subjects of the superficial spirit of the age, which leaves them unacquainted with all of which it appoints them judges. Because, either from a dislike of trouble, or inability to pursue the inquiry, these judges never deviate from their own beaten right line to observe how genius acts and is acted upon,—how it is influenced, and what effects it produces on society. Hence the mistaken opinions concerning literary characters one is often compelled to hear from those who, it is to be feared, know little of what they affirm; and of literary works from those who, it is also to be feared, are not competent to decide on their merits. It is indeed strange with what decision people set their seal of condemnation on volumes beyond whose title-pages they have scarcely looked.

If persons, guided by candour, would find fault only with what they had thoroughly examined, perfectly understood, and yet with what their judgment and taste could not consistently approve, their opinion would deserve respect, and commend itself to the good sense, forbearance and gratitude of the party most concerned. Our former censure refers only to the wrong spirit and unworthy motives of depreciation, which operate like the indolence and fear of the Hebrew spies inducing an evil report of Canaan, while all the time the land was an exceeding fruitful land, flowing with milk and honey.

Although these remarks may seem severe, their truth will be attested by all who have marked through good and ill report the career of some distinguished literary characters. The higher the elevation to which talent raises its possessor, the more distinguished is the mark for the arrows of ill-nature. The brighter the sunshine of genius and fame, the deeper will be the shadows cast by suspicion, envy, depreciation, malice, and all uncharitableness.

Thus is a literary life too often made one of bitter endurance or intense suffering: the cold—the careless world seeks for no object beyond its own amusement, and will not hesitate to turn against an author weapons decked even with the fine gold and precious gems gathered from his own intellectual treasury. Emotions, too, the deepest and sweetest ever breathed from the heart's lyre, are frequently called forth only to be again suppressed by the world's reckless hand. They are valued as the "sons étouffées" of the harp, merely for the additional effect they may impart to some brilliant composition.*

L. E. L. has attained an elevation in the literary world to which genius alone can entitle an individual; and yet are her works generally appreciated according to their merits? In the high places of intellect, indeed, her name is dear as a household word, and the radiance of fame encircles her brow. What hand among the gifted tribe would refuse to add a flower to her wreath of renown? What voice among all the children of song would be silent in her praise? But, speak of L. E. L. and her poetry in general society, and a want of appreciation is perceptible. Her name, indeed, has become so identified with the literature of the day, that not to know anything of it is scarcely possible. At the same time who, from general opinion, would give her credit for the characteristics of a philosophical mind, and for its intellectual results; for the discursive observation, the profound reflection, the accurate analysis, the correct judgment of the high-toned intellect, united with the feeling and fancy generally considered the chief requisites for an imaginative writer? Yet by these combined agencies, and nothing less, have L. E. L.'s mental riches been accumulated from the broad paths of observation, from the hidden mines of thought, from the ocean-depths of the heart; and then wrought by her genius into the creations of intellectual beauty and worth which live in the "thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," throughout her pages of the soul's own poetry.

Let it not be supposed, that, in the following remarks, the writer presumes to discover or attach any new merit to Miss Landon's genius. This would be indeed an attempt to

"Gild refined gold, to paint the lily, And throw a perfume on the violet."

Her genius has been too long and rightly valued by the few, however unappreciated by the many, to require any additional setting forth. Still it is desirable to seek to counteract the spirit of the age by offering inducements to candid and impartial minds carefully to examine before they judge. This is our simple motive, and our earnest hope. The most devoted of L. E. L.'s friends may be satisfied for her fame to rise or fall according as her works shall bide the test of a right-minded and competent scrutiny by well-qualified judges; for it is vain to expect the admiration of the blind, though they were led through all the beauties and sublimities of natural scenery;— vain to hope that the deaf will be charmed, though amid the outpourings of the sweetest harmonies!

Note, p.9.—Extract from Ethel Churchill.

"Nothing astonishes me more," observes L. E. L., "than the envy which attends literary fame, and the unkindly depreciation which waits upon the writer. Of every species of fame, it is the most ideal and apart; it would seem to interfere with no one. It is bought by a life of labour, generally also of seclusion and privation. Its asks its honour only from all that is most touching and elevated in humanity. What is the reward that it craves? To lighten many a solitary hour, and to spiritualize a world that were else too material. What is the requital that the Athenians of the earth give to those who have struggled through the stormy night and the dark water for their applause? Both reproach and scorn. If the author have—and why should he be exempt from?—the faults of his kind, with what greedy readiness are they seized upon and exaggerated! How ready is the sneer against his weakness or his error! What hours of feverish misery have been passed, what bitter tears have been shed, over the unjust censure and personal sarcasm!

"The imaginative feel such wrong far beyond what those of a less sensitive temperament can dream. The very essence of a poetical mind is irritable, passionate, and yet tender, susceptible, and keenly alive to that opinion which is the element of its existence. These may be faults, but faults by which themselves suffer most."—Ethel Churchill, vol. i. p. 309.

Conversational Remarks on the Literary Character.

Those who knew L. E. L. in the sweet intimacy of social life will remember, with us, that, whenever any remark chanced to strike the chord of personal feeling, she would expatiate with mournful eloquence on the trials with which a literary life is fraught for woman. "I have not courage," she observes, in one of her letters on the same subject, "to look to the future in such a case: the noble aspirations, the gifted mind, the warm heart, are so many daggers set with precious stones to a woman. God bless you, and keep them from turning upon yourself!"

Touchingly beautiful were the contrasts she drew between the ideal and actual of a poet's existence; between the lofty thoughts and proud resolves and enchanting hopes of the gifted mind in solitude, and the weariness, the vexation and disappointment which often attend the public career of the children of Genius. During the moods which prompted such remarks, who, while gazing on her countenance, where the lights of genius and the shadows of life fitfully chased each other,—who could help acknowledging that,

"If glorious be the gifted poet's lot,"

amid the dreams of solitude, yet, when brought into collision with the ruder elements of society, that lot must be often

"Painful more than glorious?"

Such were the eloquent sentiments of one who well knew literary life; of one whose own experience may be cited as illustrative of our introductory remarks. Surely it will be acknowledged there is great disparity between the literary fame of this gifted writer and the popular estimation of her works!

Characteristics of Poetical Genius

Characteristics of Poetical Genius.

"Criticise the works, analyze the talents of L. E. L.! Truly you have chosen a hopeless task?" some pseudo-utilitarian may exclaim. Anatomize the dust of a butterfly's wing—decompose the morning dew-drops sparkling on the opening flower—fetter and analyze the lightning's transitory flash, bring these and similar objects to the test of induction, the crucible of experiment, and then you may try the power of analysis upon L. E. L.'s poetry.

Are you admiring that plumage, delicate as the vesture of some fairy-land bird? How exquisitely articulated is each feather, and how beautiful the arrangement of the whole! that is the dust of the butterfly's wing, each particle of which, you perceive, is a bright particular feather. Do you observe that glorious sun-beam glassing itself in the mirror of the falling shower, thereby painting on the clouds the many-coloured rainbow, which, though frail it appears to you, cannot be produced without two of Nature's grandest elements—light and water? That glance of the lightning's eye from beneath the dark lid of the thunder-cloud, transient though it was, passing as a child's thought, could not have flashed forth without the presence of electricity,—that pervading principle, without which, constituted as you are, you could neither live, move, nor have your being.

Thus the manifestations of the Creative Spirit, and the operations of His laws in the material world, are no less wonderful and minute than the results are beautiful and complete; so likewise, in the universe of mind and the world of poetry, brilliant effects require for their production the spontaneous impulses of genius, their first cause, together with the combined and often recondite workings of all the agencies which constitute the intellectual being.

This fact will be evident, if we go, in the first instance, to the very root of the matter, and inquire what are the requisites for an imaginative writer—a term often used in a depreciating sense. By none, however, who thus use it, can the nature of the mind and its faculties be at all understood; for imagination is not an inferior mental power. By its aid are carried on some of the noblest intellectual processes, while it also brings into exercise many of the mind's highest capabilities; it pre-supposes abstraction,—that power which enables the mind to separate from each other objects and qualities; a vivid fancy, to blend them again in new and more striking forms; a keen susceptibility to all sublime and beautiful influences; a refined taste, and a correct judgment to regulate and direct in forming right combinations of ideas. By every imaginative writer these important mental elements must be possessed in a greater or less degree; proportionate to that degree will be, of course, his own grade in the ranks of literature. Hence, therefore, any disparagement of what is termed the imaginative class of minds can proceed only from ignorance.

If we turn from the imaginative mind to the effects which it may originate,—to its works of art,—we shall find a similar want of appreciation, resulting also from ignorance. How few persons, as they gaze on a fine painting, while, perhaps, they may admire the colouring, be pleased with the figures, and interested in the subject, ever dream of the powers and efforts that must have been put in requisition ere that picture could be completed! The science of the philosopher to develop the laws of light and shade, with the principles of perspective, and to adapt the several parts to the whole composition; the skill of the anatomist to give with due precision the relative proportions, and harmonize the complete figure; the technical knowledge of the artist, his cultivated eye and his practised hand, together with a large share of judgment and feeling, to give life and expression to his production;—these all must have gathered around that canvas, tracing out line by line forms and objects, bringing forth shade by shade effects of beauty and loveliness, and then lighting up the whole with a rich sunburst of genius.

Or, to take another illustration. How little do we think generally of the wondrous art of musical combinations! We listen, perchance, with hushed delight to a sublime composition of some master-spirit.* We close our eyes, and Fancy places us on a lofty mountain; the mists of chaos envelop us, and darkness is upon the face of the deep; but, ere long, the serene tones of conscious Power breathe through that elemental gloom and confusion, "Let there be light!" and at once the clouds are rent, the mists are dispersed; we stand amid a shower of sunshine, which sparkles over God's creation—for—there is light!

Soon again we walk in Paradise, and hear, softly swelling from the heights of heavenly distance, the choral song of the sons of the morning, blending its triumphal notes with our first parents' grateful hymn of adoration.

Such power has music, and yet how few think of what is required for its creations! Brilliant are its effects, complicated also are its causes, and noble is its origin! While, as a science, it is founded on that part of natural philosophy which, by mathematical deductions from constant phenomena, elucidates the properties of sounds, those sounds, which its philosophy distinguishes, music, as an art, combines in such a manner as to gratify our senses while it captivates our imagination. And then, how numberless are the technicalities of this art! what endless combinations of notes, what adjustment of tones, what adaptation of concords and discords, what varied modulations of harmony, enter into every noble composition!

We have adduced these two illustrations to show, that if, for the arts which appeal so directly to the senses as music and painting, there is so little general appreciation of what goes to make up the productions of those arts, we must not be surprised if a yet more disparaging feeling be manifested towards the purely intellectual sources of enjoyment which it is the poet's especial province to create.

Note.—L. E. L.'s Appreciation of Genius and the Fine Arts.

Many people have expressed surprise that a gifted mind like Miss Landon's should not have taken more pleasure in the Fine Arts; and have been at a loss to reconcile her love of poetry with her apparent indifference to music and painting. That she did not care for scientific music nor for elaborate pictures, merely as music and as paintings, was certainly true; but that she was utterly indifferent to the effects produced by music and painting, was not correct. Those who knew her were often witnesses of the influence of music on her mind; for in the midst, perhaps, of an interesting conversation, a few notes of melody floating to her ear from an adjoin room would cause her to start up, utter an exclamation of deep emotion, and then diverge from the previous topic into some discussion "most musical and sweet."

Her own idea and feeling with regard to music were precisely those which she has expressed in one of her prose works: "We would liken music to Aladdin's lamp,—worthless in itself; not so for the spirits which obey its call. We love it for the buried hopes, the garnered memories, the tender feelings it can summon with a touch."

As for painting, it was impossible that its combinations should not be duly appreciated by one whose own taste was exquisitely picturesque, using that term in its artistic rather than in its sometimes more romantic application. How did pictures ever seem to speak to her soul! how would she seize on some interesting characteristic in the painting or engraving before her, and inspire it with new life, till that pictured scene spread before you in bright association with some touching history or spirit-stirring poem! L. E. L.'s appreciation of painting, like that of music, was intellectual rather than mechanical,—belonging to the combinations rather than to the details; she loved the poetical effects and suggestive influences of the Arts, although caring not for their mere technicalities,

While poetical genius shone as the central sun of Miss Landon's character, in the correct judgment, the refined taste and delicate feeling emanating from this source were found the elements of that true and kindly appreciation which, like the due proportion of light for paintings, not only attests its own high origin, but confers additional charms on the objects upon which it rests. L. E. L.'s faculty of appreciation was peculiarly keen sighted and deep-toned. It was a source of great enjoyment to herself, and often gave sincere pleasure to others. No merit, beauty or excellence in a work ever escaped her, notice. Very often her remarks, as she read or recited any passage, would throw a new light upon what previously might have been to her hearers a hidden meaning; or enhance the value of what had been even frequently read and admired. As a precious stone fallen among less valuable things might be passed by, without observation, did it not glitter beneath a sunbeam's touch; so gems of intellectual worth and beauty, that had been perhaps carelessly overlooked, shone forth as newly-discovered treasures beneath the brilliant light of L. E. L.'s appreciation.

To her favourable opinions of the works of her contemporaries, Miss Landon ever gave free and generous expression. Writing to a young author, she observes: "Criticism never yet benefited a really original mind; such a mind macadamizes its own road." Jealousy seemed utterly opposed to her nature. In the petty rivalries which sometimes disturb the outer-court worshippers of the Muses, she ever disdained to take part, except in vindication of a friend. Her disposition was peculiarly disinterested, kindly and generous; she never paused to think of her own interest when others required any assistance which she could bestow.

Peculiarities of L. E. L.’s Works

Peculiarities of L. E. L.'s Works.

Before passing on to a direct examination of L. E. L.'s writings, there are two or three objections which are so frequently stated against their peculiarities, that we cannot refrain from attempting, at least, to refute their validity.

The first of these objections applies to the manner or rather style of her poetry. "It is too flowery and frivolous, consisting in a heap of words prettily strung together with very little meaning, and entitled to no higher rank than is implied in the sarcastic phrase of 'Young Ladies' Verses.'" To some minds the rainbow may seem no more than bright colours; they think not of its causes, its purpose, nor why its magnificent archway bridges the earth and sky with a glory caught from the fountain of life and light.

We admit that there is a rainbow-colouring, a richness of style thrown over the poetry of L. E. L., which at first sight diverts the mind from the subject-matter, herein differing from many other writings, whose excellencies are rather obscured by clouds than darkened by excess of their own light. With many of our poets their gems are set in lead; their pictures framed in painted wood; their flowers and fruits buried among weeds and rubbish; so that the gems and pictures and flowers when they are discovered appear brighter from the relief of contrast. Not thus is it with L. E. L. The setting of her jewels is all so brilliant and finely wrought, that no wonder if the gem be often passed over for the broader surface of the glittering metal in which it is shrined; and her pictures are hung in such gorgeous frames, that the eye at first is prone to rest upon them; and her flowers and fruit are so embowered in leaves, that care is required lest we pass unheedingly the choicest productions.

A redundant style (if it be an error) leans to the side of excellence, when embodying, as in this instance, the creations of thought and imagination. It is a living witness of the presence, not an evidence of the absence, of genius; while the very obscurity which it occasions is pleasing as the soft summer mist stealing over a landscape, and shrouding in its half-transparent veil, woven of sun and dews, the field and forest, hill and dale, stream and flower, half-hiding, indeed, their individualities, yet withal so lovely; that we cannot persuade ourselves to wish it away. Is not the poet's language likewise beautiful as a forest tree's foliage; and does it not receive light and clearness from the day-beam of genius, which doth ever make

"right sunshine in the shady place?"

Such a kind of diction, being poetical, is consistent with the writer's character as a poet. It may not possess, indeed, the consolidation of algebraical statements, or the conciseness of mathematical propositions: the attempt to give it these characteristics would destroy its nature. For while Philosophy piles its massive bridges of reasoning across the deep streams of thought, Poetry gracefully throws over them its suspended chain-work, which combines equal safety with greater elegance.

It does not follow, therefore, that truth and right reason must be absent when the manner of their exposition differs from that employed in the abstract sciences, to which truth is supposed essentially to belong. A geometrical diagram itself may be equally correct in all its parts, though drawn in golden lines on tablets of silver as if sketched in the roughest manner with the rudest materials. The demonstration, too, need be no less conclusive, though proved amid the elegancies of a drawing-room, than if worked out in the recesses of a cloister. So truths are not less true when decorated with the graces of poetry than when contemplated in the abstract; while in the former case they have the advantage of being more agreeable to the mental eye.

This reminds us of a second objection, a plea against the subject-matter of L. E. L.'s poetry, viz., that her poems are always founded upon or connected with the passion of love. Admitting for a moment the truth of this objection, what does it prove but the writer's acquaintance with human nature, as developed in the sentiments of the mind and the feelings of the heart? Philosophy will tell us that love is the excitement of one class of our susceptibilities,—one order of our moral emotions.

Admitting that the delineation of such emotion occupies the chief part of our author's works, we cannot see why this circumstance should be adduced as a ground of objection against those writings. Such emotion is confessedly an inherent characteristic of human nature; a writer, therefore, who professes to make human nature an object of study, and yet considers as unworthy of attention one of its principal manifestations, cannot deserve the name of a philosopher. Now, the very essence of L. E. L.'s poetry is human nature. Intellect and feeling, the head and heart, are her leading topics. Genius and study, knowledge and taste, all concentre here; while nature and art, society and conventional life are made to subserve the grand design of illustrat the development of human character, with all its diversified phases incident from adventitious circumstances. And if, in pursuance of this design, she recurs frequently to what may be termed, philosophically, the ruling emotion of human nature, let her own eloquent words aid our defence: "For a woman whose influence and whose sphere must be in the affections, what subject can be more fitting than one which it is her peculiar province to refine, spiritualize and exalt? I have always sought to paint it self-denying, devoted, and making an almost religion of its truth; and, I must add, such as I would wish to draw her, woman, actuated by an attachment as intense as it is true, as pure as it is deep, is not only more admirable as a heroine, but also in actual life, than one whose idea of love is that of light amusement or vain mortification."*

It is indeed well, that the highest and purest forms which love ever assumes should be often pourtrayed; since upon the characters of those in whose hearts it sets up its throne it is necessarily so influential. "Even into philosophy is carried the deeper truth of the heart. If there be one emotion that stirs all that is truly generous and unselfish within us, that awakens all the knowledge of our nature, and that makes us believe in that heaven of which it bears the likeness, it is love—love, spiritual, de voted and eternal; love, that softens the shadows of the valley of death, to welcome us after to its own and immortal home."†

Truly does right affection awaken the deepest susceptibilities, and the noblest efforts of which our nature is capable. The feelings and conduct to which love gives rise are far more self-denying, and involve a much greater sacrifice of personal interest and comfort, than mere justice or benevolence ever induce.

"The exertions of the affections of love and friendship," says a judicious philosopher, "are directed to promoting the interest or comfort of the objects of our regard; preserving, defending or advancing their reputation, treating their feelings with peculiar tenderness, and their failings with peculiar indulgence, receiving their opinions with peculiar favour, and anxiously endeavouring to improve their intellectual and moral condition. In exercising simple love and friendship, we rejoice in the advantage and happiness of the objects, though they should be accomplished by others and be separate from our own."*

Another and yet more eloquent philosopher observes, in replying to some objections against love, "If true love be selfishness, it must be allowed at least to be a selfishness which, for the sake of others, can often prefer penury to wealth; which can hang for many sleepless nights, unwearied, and unconscious of any personal fear, over the bed of contagion; which can enter the dungeon, a voluntary prisoner, without the power even of giving any other comfort than that of the mere presence of an object beloved; or fling itself before the dagger which would pierce another breast, and rejoice in receiving the stroke. It is the selfishness which thinks not of itself—the selfishness of all that is generous and heroic in man."†

If testimonies like these, from high authorities in the intellectual empire, be admitted and undenied, why should our poet's pages be condemned when she makes this love her theme—when she tells us, with equal truth and beauty, how

"affection can resign Its own best happiness for one dear sake; * * * * * And doth prefer another to itself: Unchangeable and generous, what like Love Can melt away the dross of worldliness,— Can elevate, refine, and make the heart Of that pure gold which is the fitting shrine For fire, as sacred as e'er came from heaven?" History of the Lyre.

—when she represents love as

"Made of every fine emotion, Of generous impulses and noble thoughts;— It looketh to the stars, and dreams of heaven; It nestles 'mid the flowers, and sweetens earth : Love is aspiring, yet is humble too; It doth exalt another o'er itself, With sweet heart-homage which delights to raise Its object?"

—or, again, when we are eloquently assured that

There is in life no blessing like affection; It soothes, it hallows, elevates, subdues, And bringeth down to earth its native heaven: It sits beside the cradle patient hours, Whose sole contentment is to watch and love: It bendeth o'er the death-bed, and conceals Its own despair with words of faith and hope: Life has nought else that may supply its place; Void is ambition, cold is vanity, And wealth an empty glitter without love?" Ethel Churchill, vol. i.

Besides, surely that must be a worthy subject of consideration which is not only a source of direct individual influence, but also of general benefit and happiness! It is the affection on which all our other emotions may be said indirectly to depend, and of which the moral relations, while so powerful in their effects on character and conduct, claim also universal empire. It is an affection whose right use is not more productive of virtue and happiness than its neglect and abuse tend to vice and misery. By the refining and humanizing—by the brightening and soothing—by the generous and expanding influences which affection diffuses over the world, it holds its place among the component elements of the happiness and good of the social system. "It is affection," observes the philosopher already quoted, "which in some of its forms, if I may use so bold a phrase, animates even life itself, that without it would be scarcely worthy of the name."*