 | Art and Poetry: Being Thoughts Towards Nature [The Germ
Number Three] |  |
Reviews.
Some Account of the Life and Adventures of Sir Reginald Mohun, Bart. Done in Verse by George John Cayley. Canto1st. Pickering. 1849.
Inconsistency, whether in matters of importance of in trifles, whether in substance or in detail, is never pleasant. We do not here impute to this poem any inconsistency between one portion and another; but certainly its form is at variance with its subject and treatment. In the wording of the title, and the character of typography, there is a studious archaism: more modern the poem itself could scarcely be.
"Sir Reginald Mohun" aims, to judge from the present sample, at depicting the easy intercourse of high life; and the author enters on his theme with a due amount of sympathy. It is in this respect, if in any, that the mediaeval tone of the work lasts beyond the title page. In Mr. Cayley's eyes, the proof of the comparative prosperity of England is that
Our aristocracy still keep alive,
And, on the whole, may still be said to thrive,—
Tho' now and then with ducal acres groan
The honored tables of the auctioneer.
Nathless, our aristocracy is dear,
Tho' their estates go cheap; and all must own
That they still give society its tone." — p.16.
He proceeds in these terms:
Unjustly snubbed and talked and written down;
Partly from follies of Sir Something Brown,
Stickling for badges due to their degree,
And partly that their honor's late editions
Have been much swelled with surgeons and physicians;
For `honor hath small skill in surgery,'
And skill in surgery small honor." — p.17.
What "honor" is here meant? and against whom is the taunt implied? — against the "surgeons and physicians," or against the depreciation of them. Surely the former can hardly have been intended. The sentence will bear to be cleared of some ambiguity, or else to be cleared off altogether.
Our introduction to Sir Reginald Mohun, Lord of Nornyth Place, and of "an income clear of 20,000 pounds," and to his friends Raymond St. Oun, De Lacy, Wilton, Tancarville, and Vivian — (for the author's names are aristocratic, like his predilections) — is effected through the medium of a stanza, new, we believe, in arrangement, though differing but slightly from the established octave, and of verses so easy and flowing as to make us wonder less at the promise of
For cantos twelve, or may be, four and twenty,"
than at Mr. Cayley's assertion that he
"Can never get along at all in prose."
The incidents, as might be expected of a first canto, are neither many nor important, and will admit of compression into a very small compass.
Sir Reginald, whose five friends had arrived at Nornyth Place late on the preceding night, is going over the grounds with them in a shooting party after a late breakfast. St. Oun expresses a wish to "prowl about the place" in preference, not feeling in the mood for the required exertion.
Set on two useless legs you surely are,
And born beneath some wayward sauntering star
To sit for ever swinging on a gate,
And laugh at wiser people passing through.'
So spake the bard De Lacy: for they two
In frequent skirmishes of fierce debate
Would bicker, tho' their mutual love was great." — p.35.
Mohun, however, sides with St. Oun, and agrees to escort him in his rambles after the first few shots. He accordingly soon resigns his gun to the keeper Oswald, whose position as one who
Of the head-keepership by due succession
Thro' sire and grandsire, who, when one was dead,
Left his right heir-male keeper in his stead,"
Mr. Cayley evidently regards with some complacence. The friends enter a boat: here, while sailing along a rivulet that winds through the estate, St. Oun falls to talking of wealth, its value and insufficiency, of death, and life, and fame; and coming at length to ask after the history of Sir Reginald's past life, he suggests "this true epic opening for relation:"
Mirrored his richest tints upon the shining
Bosom of a lake. In a light shallop, two
Young men, whose dress, etcaetera, proclaims,
Etcaetera, — So would write G.P.R. James—
Glided in silence o'er the waters blue,
Skirting the wooded slopes. Upward they gazed
On Nornyth's ancient pile, whose windows blazed
Across the flood: wrapped in deep thought they seemed.
`You are pensive, Reginald,' at length thus spake
The helmsman: `ha! it is the mystic power
Fraught by the sacred stillness of the hour:
Forgive me if your reverie I break,
Craving, with friendship's sympathy, to share
Your spirit's burden, be it joy or care.'" — pp. 48, 49.
Sir Reginald Mohun's story is soon told. — born in Italy, and losing his mother at the moment of his birth, and his father and only sister dying also soon after, he is left alone in the world.
Having a touch of genius, and a heart,
But not much of that worldly better part
Called force of character, which finds some plan
For getting over anguish that will crush
Weak hearts of stronger feeling. He began
To pine; was pale; and had a hectic flush
At times; and from his eyelids tears would gush.
A spell by which the scenes of grief grew dear;
He never could leave Italy, tho' here
And there he wandered with unquiet mind,—
Rome, Florence, Mantua, Milan; once as far
As Venice; but still Naples had a blind
Attraction which still drew him thither. There
He died. Heaven rest his ashes from their care.
To Wilton's father; (he is Earl of Eure,
My mother's brother); saying he was sure
That he should soon be gone, and would confide
Us to his guardian care. My uncle came
Before his death. We stood by his bedside.
He blessed us. We, who scarcely knew the name
Of death, yet read in the expiring flame
And wept we knew not why. There was a grace
Of radiant joyful hope upon his face,
Most unaccustomed, and which seemed to be
All foreign to his wasted frame; and yet
So heavenly in its consolation we
Smiled through the tears with which our lids were wet.
His lips were cold, as, whispering, `Do not fret
Our uncle's hands, which on our heads he laid,
And said: `My children, do not be afraid
Of Death, but be prepared to meet him. Look;
Here is your mother's brother; he to her
As Reginald to Eve.' His thin voice shook.—
`Eve was your Mother's name.' His words did err,
As dreaming; and his wan lips ceased to stir.'"— pp. 55-57.
(We have quoted this passage, not insensible to its defects, — some common-place in sentiment and diction; but independently of the good it does really contain, as being the only one of such a character sustained in quality to a moderate length.)
Reginald and his cousin Wilton grew up together friends, though not bound by common sympathies. The latter has known life early, and "earned experience piecemeal:" with the former, thought has already become a custom.
Thus far only does Reginald bring his retrospect; his other friends come up, and they all return homeward. Here, too, ends the story of this canto; but not without warranting some surmise of what will furnish out the next. There is evidence of observation adroitly applied in the talk of the two under-keepers who take charge of the boat.
Is that there Lacy! What a tongue he've got!
But Mr. Vivian isa pretty shot.
And what a pace his lordship wish to walk!
Which Mr. Tancarville, he seemed quite beat:
But he's a pleasant gentleman. Good lawk!
How he do make me laugh! Dang! this 'ere seat
Have wet my smalls slap thro'. Dang! what a treat!
Bess housemaid told me. Lord and Lady — —: dash
My wigs! I can't think on. But there's a mash
O' comp'ny and fine ladies; fit to torn
The heads of these young chaps. Why now I'd lay
This here gun to an empty powder-horn
Sir Reginald be in love, or that-a-way.
He looks a little downcast-loikish, — eh?'"—pp.62, 63.
It will be observed that there is no vulgarity in this vulgarism: indeed, the gentlemanly good humour of the poem is uninterrupted. This, combined with neatness of handling, and the habit of not overdoing, produces that general facility of appearance which it is no disparagement, in speaking of a first canto, to term the chief result of so much of these life and adventures as is here "done into verse." It may be fairly anticipated, however, that no want of variety in the conception, or of success in the pourtrayal, of character will need to be complained of: meanwhile, a few passages may be quoted to confirm our assertions. The first two extracts are examples of mere cleverness; and all that is aimed at is attained. The former follows out a previous comparison of the world with a "huge churn."
Instead of butter, would become "the cheese;"
A low term for distinction. Whence the name
I know not: gents invented it; and these
Gave not an etymology. I see no
Likelier than this, which with their taste agrees;
The caseineelement I conceive to mean no
Less than the beau ideal of the Casino." — p.12.
In substance, deeming that the life of man—
(This is a new reflection, spick and span)—
May be much influenced by the flight of birds.
Our senate can no longer hold their house
When culminates the evil star of grouse;
And stoutest patriots will their shot-belts gird
When first o'er stubble-field hath partridge whirred." — p.12.
In these others there is more purpose, with a no less definite conciseness:
Of followers leave much literary lumber.
Of language; and so weaves them at his will.
They from his wickerwork extract with pain
The wands now warped and stiffened, which but ill
Bend to their second-hand employment." — pp. 4, 5.
Or sieve which sifts you thro' it in the middle." — p.45.
The misadventures of the five friends on their road to Nornyth are very sufficiently described:
A moorland slope, and met the bitter blast,
So cutting that their ears it almost cropped;
And rain began to fall extremely fast.
A broken sign-post left them in great doubt
About two roads; and, when an hour was passed,
They learned their error from a lucid lout;
Soon after, one by one, their lamps went out." — p.29.
There remains to point out one fault, — and that the last fault the occurrence of which could be looked for, after so clearly expressed an intention as this:
(Which means, I think, an artificial tone),
The public sicken and won't read a line.
I hope there's nothing of this sort in mine." — p.6.
A quotation or two will fully explain our meaning: and we would seriously ask Mr. Cayley to reflect whether he has always borne his principle in mind, and avoided "writing fine;" whether he has not sometimes fallen into high-flown common-place of the most undisguised stamp, rendered, more over, doubly inexcusable and out of place by being put into the mouth of one of the personages of the poem; It is Sir Reginald Mohun that speaks; and truly, though not thrust forward as a "wondrous paragon of praise," he must be confessed to be,
An utterer of most ordinary phrases,"
not words only and sentences, but real phrases, in the more distinct and specific sense of the term.
Death o'er my cradle waved his darksome wing;
My mother died to give me birth: forlorn
I came into the world, a babe of woe,
Ill-omened from my childhood's early morn;
Yet heir to what the idolators of show
Deem life's good things, which earthly bliss bestow.
"`The riches of the heart they call a dream;
Love, hope, faith, friendship, hollow phantasies:
Living but for their pockets and their eyes,
They stifle in their breasts the purer beam
Of sunshine glanced from heaven upon their clay,
To be its light and warmth. This is a theme
For homilies: and I will only say,
The heart feeds not on fortune's baubles gay.'" — p.51.
Sir Reginald's narrative concludes after this fashion:
Twilight of cloudy zones, whereon the blaze
Of sunshine breaks but seldom with its rays
Of heavenly hope, towards which the spirit sighs
Its aspirations, and is lost again
"Mid doubts: to grasp the wisdom of the skies
Too feeble, tho' convinced earth's bonds are vain,
Cowering faint-hearted in the festering chain.'" — p.60.
A similar instance of conventionality constantly repeated is the sin of inversion, which is no less prevalent, throughout the poem, in the conversational than in the narrative portions. In some cases the exigencies of rhyme may be pleaded in palliation, as for "Cam's marge along" and "breezy willows cool," which occur in two consecutive lines of a speech; but there are many for which no such excuse can be urged. Does any one talk of "sloth obscure," or of "hearts afflicted?" Or what reason is there for preferring "verses easy" to easy verses? Ought not the principle laid down in the following passage of the introduction to be followed out, not only into the intention, but into the manner and quality also, of the whole work?
That which I think I shall write down without
A drop of pain or varnish. Therefore, pray,
Whatever I may chance to rhyme about,
Read it without the shadow of a doubt.'" — p.12.
Again, the Author appears to us to have acted unwisely in occasionally departing from the usual construction of his stanzas, as in this instance:
And your's — not that you made a mystery
Of it, nor used reserve, yet, being not
By nature an Autophonophilete,
(A word De Lacy fashioned and called me it)—
Your's you have never told me yet. And what
Can be a more appropriate occasion
Than this true epic opening for relation?'" — p.48.
Here the lines do no cohere so happily as in the more varied distribution of the rhymes; and, moreover, as a question of principle, we think it not advisable to allow of minor deviations from the uniformity of a prescribed metre.
It may be well to take leave of Mr. Cayley with a last quotation of his own words, — words which no critic ought to disregard:
Whether they deign approval, or rebuke,
For any hints they think may disabuse
Delusions of my inexperienced muse." — p.8.
If our remarks have been such as to justify the Author's wish for sincere criticism, our object is attained; and we look forward for the second canto with confidence in his powers.
| Art and Poetry: Being Thoughts Towards Nature [The Germ
Number Three] | |