Characteristics of the Genius and Writings of L. E. L./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.*[1]
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!
- ↑ * See Note at end of Introduction, p.12.