shelley-第3章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



Isis。



And　the　child　appeared　no　less　often　in　Shelley　the　philosopher　than

in　Shelley　the　idler。　　It　is　seen　in　his　repellent　no　less　than　in

his　amiable　weaknesses；　in　the　unteachable　folly　of　a　love　that　made

its　goal　its　starting…point；　and　firmly　expected　spiritual　rest　from

each　new　divinity；　though　it　had　found　none　from　the　divinities

antecedent。　　For　we　are　clear　that　this　was　no　mere　straying　of

sensual　appetite；　but　a　straying；　strange　and　deplorable；　of　the

spirit；　that　（contrary　to　what　Mr。　Coventry　Patmore　has　said）　he

left　a　woman　not　because　he　was　tired　of　her　arms；　but　because　he

was　tired　of　her　soul。　　When　he　found　Mary　Shelley　wanting；　he　seems

to　have　fallen　into　the　mistake　of　Wordsworth；　who　complained　in　a

charming　piece　of　unreasonableness　that　his　wife's　love；　which　had

been　a　fountain；　was　now　only　a　well：





Such　change；　and　at　the　very　door

Of　my　fond　heart；　hath　made　me　poor。





Wordsworth　probably　learned；　what　Shelley　was　incapable　of　learning；

that　love　can　never　permanently　be　a　fountain。　　A　living　poet；　in　an

article　｛6｝　which　you　almost　fear　to　breathe　upon　lest　you　should

flutter　some　of　the　frail　pastel…like　bloom；　has　said　the　thing：

〃Love　itself　has　tidal　moments；　lapses　and　flows　due　to　the　metrical

rule　of　the　interior　heart。〃　　Elementary　reason　should　proclaim　this

true。　　Love　is　an　affection；　its　display　an　emotion：　　love　is　the

air；　its　display　is　the　wind。　　An　affection　may　be　constant；　an

emotion　can　no　more　be　constant　than　the　wind　can　constantly　blow。

All；　therefore；　that　a　man　can　reasonably　ask　of　his　wife　is　that

her　love　should　be　indeed　a　well。　　A　well；　but　a　Bethesda…well；　into

which　from　time　to　time　the　angel　of　tenderness　descends　to　trouble

the　waters　for　the　healing　of　the　beloved。　　Such　a　love　Shelley's

second　wife　appears　unquestionably　to　have　given　him。　　Nay；　she　was

content　that　he　should　veer　while　she　remained　true；　she　companioned

him　intellectually；　shared　his　views；　entered　into　his　aspirations；

and　yetyet；　even　at　the　date　of　Epipsychidion　the　foolish　child；

her　husband；　assigned　her　the　part　of　moon　to　Emilia　Viviani's　sun；

and　lamented　that　he　was　barred　from　final；　certain；　irreversible

happiness　by　a　cold　and　callous　society。　　Yet　few　poets　were　so

mated　before；　and　no　poet　was　so　mated　afterwards；　until　Browning

stooped　and　picked　up　a　fair…coined　soul　that　lay　rusting　in　a　pool

of　tears。



In　truth；　his　very　unhappiness　and　discontent　with　life；　in　so　far

as　it　was　not　the　inevitable　penalty　of　the　ethical　anarch；　can　only

be　ascribed　to　this　same　childlike　irrationalitythough　in　such　a

form　it　is　irrationality　hardly　peculiar　to　Shelley。　　Pity；　if　you

will；　his　spiritual　ruins　and　the　neglected　early　training　which　was

largely　their　cause；　but　the　pity　due　to　his　outward　circumstances

has　been　strangely　exaggerated。　　The　obloquy　from　which　he　suffered

he　deliberately　and　wantonly　courted。　　For　the　rest；　his　lot　was　one

that　many　a　young　poet　might　envy。　　He　had　faithful　friends；　a

faithful　wife；　an　income　small　but　assured。　　Poverty　never　dictated

to　his　pen；　the　designs　on　his　bright　imagination　were　never　etched

by　the　sharp　fumes　of　necessity。



If；　as　has　chanced　to　othersas　chanced；　for　example；　to　Mangan

outcast　from　home；　health　and　hope；　with　a　charred　past　and　a

bleared　future；　an　anchorite　without　detachment　and　self…cloistered

without　self…sufficingness；　deposed　from　a　world　which　he　had　not

abdicated；　pierced　with　thorns　which　formed　no　crown；　a　poet

hopeless　of　the　bays　and　a　martyr　hopeless　of　the　palm；　a　land

cursed　against　the　dews　of　love；　an　exile　banned　and　proscribed　even

from　the　innocent　arms　of　childhoodhe　were　burning　helpless　at　the

stake　of　his　unquenchable　heart；　then　he　might　have　been

inconsolable；　then　might　he　have　cast　the　gorge　at　life；　then　have

cowered　in　the　darkening　chamber　of　his　being；　tapestried　with

mouldering　hopes；　and　hearkened　to　the　winds　that　swept　across　the

illimitable　wastes　of　death。　　But　no　such　hapless　lot　was　Shelley's

as　that　of　his　own　contemporariesKeats；　half　chewed　in　the　jaws　of

London　and　spit　dying　on　to　Italy；　de　Quincey；　who；　if　he　escaped；

escaped　rent　and　maimed　from　those　cruel　jaws；　Coleridge；　whom　they

dully　mumbled　for　the　major　portion　of　his　life。　　Shelley　had

competence；　poetry；　love；　yet　he　wailed　that　he　could　lie　down　like

a　tired　child　and　weep　away　his　life　of　care。　　Is　it　ever　so　with

you；　sad　brother；　is　it　ever　so　with　me？　and　is　there　no　drinking　of

pearls　except　they　be　dissolved　in　biting　tears？　　〃Which　of　us　has

his　desire；　or　having　it　is　satisfied？〃



It　is　true　that　he　shared　the　fate　of　nearly　all　the　great　poets

contemporary　with　him；　in　being　unappreciated。　　Like　them；　he

suffered　from　critics　who　were　for　ever　shearing　the　wild　tresses　of

poetry　between　rusty　rules；　who　could　never　see　a　literary　bough

project　beyond　the　trim　level　of　its　day　but　they　must　lop　it　with　a

crooked　criticism；　who　kept　indomitably　planting　in　the　defile　of

fame　the　〃established　canons〃　that　had　been　spiked　by　poet　after

poet。　　But　we　decline　to　believe　that　a　singer　of　Shelley's　calibre

could　be　seriously　grieved　by　want　of　vogue。　　Not　that　we　suppose

him　to　have　found　consolation　in　that　senseless　superstition；　〃the

applause　of　posterity。〃　　Posterity！　posterity　which　goes　to　Rome；

weeps　large…sized　tears；　carves　beautiful　inscriptions　over　the　tomb

of　Keats；　and　the　worm　must　wriggle　her　curtsey　to　it　all；　since　the

dead　boy；　wherever　he　be；　has　quite　other　gear　to　tend。　　Never　a

bone　less　dry　for　all　the　tears！



A　poet　must　to　some　extent　be　a　chameleon　and　feed　on　air。　　But　it

need　not　be　the　musty　breath　of　the　multitude。　　He　can　find　his

needful　support　in　the　judgement　of　those　whose　judgement　he　knows

valuable；　and　such　support　Shelley　had：





La　gloire

Ne　compte　pas　toujours　les　voix；

Elle　les　pese　quelquefois。





Yet　if　this　might　be　needful　to　him　as　support；　neither　this；　nor

the　applause　of　the　present；　nor　the　applause　of　posterity；　could

have　been　needful　to　him　as　motive：　　the　one　all…sufficing　motive

for　a　great　poet's　singing　is　that　expressed　by　Keats：





I　was　taught　in　Paradise

To　ease　my　breast　of　melodies。





Precisely　so。　　The　overcharged　breast　can　find　no　ease　but　in

suckling　the　baby…song。　　No　enmity　of　outward　circumstances；

therefore；　but　his　own　nature；　was　responsible　for　Shelley's　doom。



A　being　with　so　much　about　it　of　childlike　unreasonableness；　and　yet

withal　so　much　of　the　beautiful　attraction　luminous　in　a　child's

sweet　unreasonableness；　would　seem　fore…fated　by　its　very　essence　to

the　transience　of　the　bubble　and　the　rainbow；　of　all　things　filmy

and　fair。　　Did　some　shadow　of　this　destiny　bear　part　in　his　sadness？

Certain　it　is　that；　by　a　curious　chance；　he　himself　in　Julian　and

Maddalo　jestingly　foretold　the　manner　of　his　end。　　〃O　ho！　　You　talk

as　in　years　past；〃　said　Maddalo　（Byron）　to　Julian　（Shelley）；　〃If　you

can't　swim；　Beware　of　Providence。〃　　Did　no　unearthly　dixisti　sound

in　his　ears　as　he　wrote　it？　　But　a　brief　while；　and　Shelley；　who

could　not　swim；　was　weltering　on　the　waters　of　Lerici。　　We　know　not

how　this　may　affect　others；　but　over　us　it　is　a　coincidence　which

has　long　tyrannised　with　an　absorbing　inveteracy　of　impression

（strengthened　rather　than　diminished　by　the　contrast　between　the

levity　of　the　utterance　and　its　fatal　fulfilment）thus　to　behold；

heralding　itself　in　warning　mockery　through　the　very　lips　of　its

predestined　victim；　the　Doom　upon　whose　breath　his　locks　were

lifting　along　the　coasts　of　Campania。　　The　death　which　he　had

prophesied　came　upon　him；　and　Spezzia　enrolled　another　name　among

the　mournful　Marcelli　of　our　tongue；　Venetian　glasses　which　foamed

and　burst　before　the　poisoned　wine　of　life　had　risen　to　their　brims。





Coming　to　Shelley's　poetry；　we　peep　over　the　wild　mask　of

revolutionary　metaphysi