Bacon's Character. 391 to a worthless favourite with slavish subserviency, that he might be appointed a law-officer of the crown; then giving the most admirable advice for the compilation and emendation of the laws of England; next, helping to inflict torture on a poor parson whom he wished to hang as a traitor for writing an unpublished and unpreached sermon; attracting the notice of all Europe by his philosophical works, which established a new era in the mode of investigating the phenomena both of matter and mind; basely intriguing, in the meanwhile, for further promotion, and writing secret letters to his Sovereign to disparage his rivals; riding proudly between the Lord High Treasurer and Lord Privy Seal, preceded by his mace-bearer and pursebearer, and followed by a long line of nobles and judges, to be installed in the office of Lord High Chancellor; by and bye settling with his servants the accounts of bribes they had received for him; embarrassed by being obliged out of decency, the case being so clear, to decide against the party whose money he had pocketed, but stifling the misgivings of conscience by the splendour and flattery which he soon commanded; when struck to the earth by the discovery of his corruptions, taking to his bed, and refusing sustenance; confessing the truth of the charges brought against him, and abjectly imploring mercy; nobly rallying from his disgrace, and engaging in new literary undertakings which have added to the splendour of his name.' 6 Such is the manner in which Lord Campbell begins his 'arduous undertaking;' and if this be entering upon it with fear and trembling,' what must his confidence and certainty be? The reader surely requires no comment upon this string of antithesis, though comment upon it would be indeed easy. Lord Macaulay, by somewhat softening the picture, has considerably added to its credibility; but every one familiar with his brilliant style knows the faults which spring in part from its very brilliancy, and the temptations into which that continually leads him. He is often charged with partiality; we believe this is generally an unjust charge, and in the present case it would have led him to take too favourable a view of the character of the great modern philosopher, whose intellect he so fondly idolizes. But, if not partial, he is under temptations to exaggeration, which is often scarcely less dangerous than partiality; his very clearness of conception and perspicuity of style render him liable to this. Nothing with him is doubtful, nothing doubtfully expressed he will expend any amount of labour to ascertain the truth, but some positive conviction he will arrive at, and will express it as positively. Again, his very power of analysis, keen as it is, exposes him to the same danger. Analysis is highly useful in understanding and delineating character, perhaps is quite necessary in history; but mere analysis can never attain to positively and wholly true conception of a character, which can be drawn only in one way, that is, by dramatic delineation, or, in other words, by exhibiting the actions and words of the men themselves, as they were doue and spoken in the world, and leaving them to plead for themselves. Analysis, up to a certain point, can give a true representation of the man, provided it be taken as a partial picture; if it is carried beyond that point, it does not merely fail to represent him, it positively misrepresents him. No man is a mere bundle of qualities, moral and intellectual, which can be labelled and summed up. There is a unity in the soul, as there is an organization in the body, and one part of the former cannot be understood any more than a part of the latter, except by reference to the other parts and the whole. Every writer, therefore, who attempts to give an exhaustive description of a character by analysis, must fail; for he is trying to accomplish what the instrument he is using is incapable of accomplishing, and misleads himself and those who trust in him at the very time when he seems most secure of finding truth. Analysis delights in startling contrasts; there is a piquancy in them which has a most telling effect, and a writer who abounds in analysis is almost sure to abound equally in antithesis. How much Macaulay delights in them not one of his thousands of readers can be ignorant; but perhaps all do not perceive under what temptations they lay him to distort character. Such a character as that which he and Lord Campbell and others have drawn of Bacon is just the one in which his ready pen would revel; though, it must be observed, it by no means follows from this that such a character is not a true one. Still there is a unity in the representation of Bacon given by Mr. Dixon, which is itself some warrant of truth. Intellectual and moral qualities (usually found together, at least where the former are directed to the good of mankind, not to selfish ambition) join here harmoniously, instead of standing in strong contrast to each other. We see an intelligible man instead of a monster which we but alternately admire and shudder at. We must conclude with a word of praise to Mr. Dixon for the manner in which he has executed his work. Zeal and ardour shine in every page, imparting, perhaps, somewhat too lively a tone to the narrative, which is thrown throughout into the present tense. To those who are familiar with Mr. Dixon's writings it is needless to say, that it is told with the greatest clearness and with unflagging energy; while the enthusiasm of the writer can scarcely fail to spread itself in some measure to the reader, even if it leaves him in the end unconvinced. Should he succeed even partially in reversing the verdict passed so generally upon the memory of the author of modern science, we shall all owe him a great debt, and feel that a vast benefit has been done, not only to Bacon, but also to ourselves. ART. V.-1. The Wanderer. By OWEN MEREDITH. Chapman and Hall. 1859. 2. Lucile. By OWEN MEREDITH. Chapman and Hall. 1860. 3. Poems before Congress. By MRS. BROWNING. Chapman and Hall. 1860. 4. Poems. By the Author of John Halifax, Gentleman.' Hurst and Blackett. 1860. 5. Faithful for Ever. By COVENTRY PATMORE. J. W. Parker and Son. 1860. THE diffusion of civilization through all classes is producing singular results in literature. This is an age of experiments in literature generally, and especially in poetry. Never was the adage that experiments are dangerous more signally verified. The men of to-day contrive to extract a larger amount of excitement out of life than was possible at any former period, both doing harder work and demanding fiercer pleasures. Civilization, on the one hand, adds fury to the battle of life, and gradually increases the difficulty of obtaining the means of living; on the other hand, it creates a demand for pleasure and novelty, which is unsatisfied by the relaxation of mere leisure. Literature consequently is compelled to recommend itself by every artifice. Piquancy, smartness, and at least the semblance of wit and humour are indispensable qualities for literary success. A writer must now be amusing, whether he be instructive or not. Another result of the spread of civilization is the enormous increase of the number of readers, and the vast quantity of printed matter daily and almost hourly published for their consumption. While it may be questioned whether there is not a diminution in the number of real readers, of those who can bring taste and cultivation to the discussion of an author, and who make a demand for the higher species of literary composition; those readers who glut themselves with magazines and newspapers, without care for anything better, are numerically on the increase. The literary world presents the strangest anomalies. More ephemeral literature is produced, and less that will live for ever, than in any former time. The literary profession is so common as to be scarcely a profession at all. Every man you meet at a public dinner is a contributor to a periodical; a third of the number consists of authors of books. Literature is a source of occasional income to most members of the professions; and literary labour is so cheapened that those who are really fitted for it can find in it neither honour nor profit. All these anomalies act with double force upon the highest form of literature. Poetry exhibits them in the highest intensity. The number of persons now living who have published volumes of poetry has been estimated at about one thousand :—a number, that is, which may show its twenties for the tens of real poets that the whole human species has produced. On the other hand, the public sale of a book of poems is not much, as a rule; and publication generally entails loss. There is no demand for poetry as a separate thing; and many of its noblest forms are extinct. When we read of the salary of old Ben Jonson being withheld 'until he should have produced some fresh specimens of his art,' we are enviously reminded that there actually was once a time when there was a public curiosity about poetry. And yet poetry of a certain kind (of what kind we shall see presently) must be in vogue; for it forms a standing ingredient in the magazines. And this circumstance re-acts, again, unfavourably upon the prospects of genuine poetry. The majority of readers take their standard of perfection from the magazines; and are unprepared to appreciate or comprehend anything of higher character. The chance which a real poet, on his first appearance, has of a proper reception, is diminished by the very fact that a vast amount of inferior poetry is read and relished by his countrymen. The reverence which an entirely unaccustomed nature might feel in the presence of mighty art, is superseded by half familiarity. Real criticism, moreover, is very rare. There is scarcely a professed critic in any one of the periodicals who knows anything about poetry. The newspaper critics, in their treatment of poets, alternate between ignorant indifference and insolent contumely. We may remark in passing, that if poets themselves would occasionally contribute some idea of the principles of their art to the public, in the shape of criticism, in the periodicals, it would tend to improve the prospects of poetry. The great duke's maxim, that every man is the best judge in his own profession, holds good in the case of poetry. A poet alone is truly able to criticize a poet. It may be answered that the inspiration of a poet does not necessarily entail a knowledge of the principles upon which poetry proceeds. Whether this were true in earlier ages or not, it certainly is not true now. In this advanced age every one who hopes for eminence is compelled to go through a preparation, Anomalous Position of Poetry in Modern Times. 395 which must involve the sifting of principles. And as matter of fact the few criticisms that have been written by poets are most valuable. The observations on Milton in the letters of Keats recur to us as an example. They are generally minute and finished expositions of particular passages, which show how inestimable would have been a more extended criticism. Among our poets there are many now living who are obviously in the fullest degree in possession of their own principles, and capable of imparting them to the public. The amiable professor of poetry at Oxford has ably entered upon this work in the dissertations prefixed to his own volumes. Mr. Alexander Smith has combated some of the popular errors regarding poetry in his Essay on Burns. Owen Meredith is certainly versatile enough to criticize others as well as to write himself, and would do it with a poet's sympathy, knowledge, and discrimination. Since poetry has lost favour with the public, it becomes the duty of poets to 'speak prose,'-to let the world know what their work really is, and how important it is for the good of the world that the noblest of the arts should not suffer from public discouragement. One living poet alone can be said to have gained the ear of England; and we are far from a desire to undervalue the importance of Tennyson, when we say that we wish heartily that his empire were divided. The innumerable imitators of Tennyson in the magazines are the men who present the literary world with the conception which it entertains of the nature and ends of poetry. And it is precisely the weakest points in Tennyson that these imitators select. There is no masculine grandeur in him; but, on the contrary, a feminine sweetness and passionateness pervade his poetry. This quality is conjoined with wonderful breadth of imagination, suggestive and associative power, sense of beauty, perfection of language, and depth of heart, which render him one of the greatest of English poets. But his popular imitators do not attempt, as a rule, to penetrate the real secret of the man, to get at the root of his greatness: they are merely intoxicated with the atmosphere he breathes forth, and catch his manner. It is in his feebler, more feminine and domestic pieces that he is most frequently caricatured. The 'Miller's Daughter,' 'The Day Dream,' and parts of 'Will Waterproof,' are, in style of reflection, kind of painting, and even in metre, repeated week by week, and month by month, until the public must be saturated with the idea that the office of poetry is really little more than to exhibit houses with their fronts off.' The domestic hearth, its joys and sorrows, connubial and parental, are the eternal theme of the Clio of the nineteenth century. |