But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep or to another last word in which a poet greater still was almost certainly thinking, like Browning and Tennyson, of his own life and its approaching close: Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt, The storm has done its work and is passed, leaving this great peace behind it : All is best, though we oft doubt But unexpectedly returns, And to his faithful champion hath in place His uncontrollable intent : His servants he with new acquist Of true experience from this great event Milton has greater things than this elsewhere, but he has nothing that illustrates better the power of the great style. It is stern and bare like the great mountains; and as strangely, as inexplicably, moving. The wide-ranging intellect has received its final answer and will go on no more journeys; the storm-tossed and much-suffering soul is at last at rest. Of course no poet can long maintain the Grand Style quite at such a level of severity as this, or would escape monotony if he did. What is meant by saying that a poem is in the Grand Style throughout is that no considerable proportion of it is out of key with that style. That is obviously true of the Bishop Blougram and the D the truth arrived at by a ser the truth that exists self-poi of an artist or a saint. Dant who have been through a gr indelible mark upon them.] life are tremendous things, a at the childishness of men speaking; and, full as they yet know well that greatness ears to hear the true music those who have eyes to see glimpses of all this, but he h his mind was too kaleidosco grand manner. His note is been through many experienc he was willing to toss backw tional battle after dinner. 1 and he loved it in fine fashion too much hurry and excitem particular thing we are looki the calm than to the storm give it but that which the sto from the Epilogue to Asolan One who never turned his ba That has all sorts of inspir I do not hear in it. It is t musical, its discords as yet to exact thing we mean we m parallel poem by a greater p even than is always, or Take some of the sen in splendid y not? Because the-the talk of ts, or, if it does severity nor the Thoughts have in things of which e solemusic and the power The characters o d to give, and To su Speare! I thin Begin Constance s But he seems to be equally willing to give her such rhetorical crudities as The stor great peace Thou odoriferous stench, sound rottenness. He makes the scene between Hubert and Arthur a wonder of pathos and beauty; but he crowds it with fanciful conceits that have on them the stamp of Elizabethanism, not that of the Grand Style; it is but a few lines that separate such a thing as What Of highes 'om And ever des Oft be seente But unexpe And to his Bore witnes His unca His ser Of tre e Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears in Troilus and Cressida it is the same Ulysses who says: Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead; That were to enlard his fat-already pride, And add more coals to Cancer when he burns Milton bas pet us be bold enough to lay hands on a still more famous nothing that is stern and ba as inexplicably received its fil the storm-to at such a level if he did. What Grand Style it is out of key and take a finer distinction. The last speech of eo is the glorious crown of the play which is the very ce and undying flower of all romance; yet even there, if e quite honest with ourselves, is it not true that after Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars that the legal metaphor about sealing Paradise Lost; it is also true of the Divine Comedy, and perhaps, though I think with less certainty, of the Iliad. The greatest things in the Iliad, Priam and Achilles, Helen and Priam, Hector and Andromache, are altogether out of Milton's reach, and probably out of Dante's too; but neither Milton nor Dante would have been content to leave so many deserts of confused and rather meaningless fighting, all details and incidents, with little or none of that sense of the big issues behind them which the Grand Style will not dispense with, and which scarcely for a moment fails Dante or Milton. But let us come to a name still greater, perhaps, even than any of these. Is it to be said that Shakespeare is always, or even almost always, in the Grand Style? Take some of the characters in which his creative genius is seen in splendid activity and his power over words, over expression, over style, is exhibited to the full; take the Bastard, take Iago, take Falstaff. Is it the Grand Style that they talk? Surely not, if words are to retain any meaning. And why not? Becausewith the exception of a moment now and then-the talk of these characters does not deal with great subjects, or, if it does, the manner of its doing so has neither the severity nor the noble simplicity of the Grand Style. Their thoughts have in them nothing of that sense of the bigness of things of which I spoke just now, and their words none of the solemn music which comes from those who have that sense and the to give utterance to it. power But it is possible to go further. Take characters of a different sort to whom Shakespeare intended to give, and indeed gave, high qualities and high utterance. To such characters on serious occasions Homer, Dante, and Milton always give the Grand Style. But does Shakepeare? I think not; by no means always, that is. He gives Constance such lines as only he can give : There was not such a gracious creature born. But he seems to be equally willing to give her such rhetorical crudities as Thou odoriferous stench, sound rottenness. He makes the scene between Hubert and Arthur a wonder of pathos and beauty; but he crowds it with fanciful conceits that have on them the stamp of Elizabethanism, not that of the Grand Style; it is but a few lines that separate such a thing as from Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears So in Troilus and Cressida it is the same Ulysses who says: Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe; Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead;— and who also says: That were to enlard his fat-already pride, And add more coals to Cancer when he burns Or let us be bold enough to lay hands on a still more famous thing and take a finer distinction. The last speech of Romeo is the glorious crown of the play which is the very essence and undying flower of all romance; yet even there, if we are quite honest with ourselves, is it not true that after O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars we have a feeling that the legal metaphor about sealing |