Homage to John Dryden: Three Essays on Poetry of the Seventeenth CenturyEliot, T. S. (Thomas Stearns)
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Homage to John Dryden: Three Essays on Poetry of the Seventeenth Century
Eliot, T. S. (Thomas Stearns)
English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700 -- History and criticism; Great Britain -- Intellectual life -- 17th century
With regard to Dryden, therefore, we can say this much. Our taste in
English poetry has been largely founded upon a partial perception of the
value of Shakespeare and Milton, a perception which dwells upon
sublimity of theme and action. Shakespeare had a great deal more; he had
nearly everything to satisfy our various desires for poetry. The point
is that the depreciation or neglect of Dryden is not due to the fact
that his work is not poetry, but to a prejudice that the material, the
feelings, out of which he built is not poetic. Thus Matthew Arnold
observes, in mentioning Dryden and Pope together, that "their poetry is
conceived and composed in their wits, genuine poetry is conceived in the
soul." Arnold was, perhaps, not altogether the detached critic when he
wrote this line; he may have been stirred to a defence of his own
poetry, conceived and composed in the soul of a mid-century Oxford
graduate. Pater remarks that Dryden--
"Loved to emphasize the distinction between poetry and prose, the
protest against their confusion coming with somewhat diminished effect
from one whose poetry was so prosaic."
But Dryden was right, and the sentence of Pater is cheap journalism.
Hazlitt, who had perhaps the most uninteresting mind of all our
distinguished critics, says--
"Dryden and Pope are the great masters of the artificial style of poetry
in our language, as the poets of whom I have already treated--Chaucer,
Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton--were of the natural."
In one sentence Hazlitt has committed at least four crimes against
taste. It is bad enough to lump Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, and
Milton together under the denomination of "natural"; it is bad to commit
Shakespeare to one style only; it is bad to join Dryden and Pope
together; but the last absurdity is the contrast, of Milton, our
greatest master of the _artificial_ style, with Dryden, whose style
(vocabulary, syntax, and order of thought) is in a high degree natural.
And what all these objections come to, we repeat, is a repugnance for
the material out of which Dryden's poetry is built.
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