Ponderings

Tag: literature

  • A Monstrous Melody

    On the 30th June 1685 the English poet and dramatist John Gay was born. He was a renowned and celebrated satirist and a friend and contemporary of Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope. These writers were part of an artistic collective called the Scriblerus Club. The club was an informal gathering of esteemed literary figures dedicated to cultivating and expanding their craft through the mutual exchange of ideas.

    The club shared similarities with other literary salons in continental Europe, where contentious theories of the day were debated at length in coffee houses. However, there was an important cultural distinction which differed from the affairs of the high-minded intelligentsia of Paris or Vienna, in that its primary purpose was to mock the earnestness and pomposity of the self-appointed intellectuals.

    The English have always regarded intellectuals with suspicion, and sometimes with scorn. Continental Europeans, in contrast, have a tendency to place learned people on a pedestal, and would never even consider the prospect of questioning their reputation, let alone make fun of them. In England though, many suspected that there were individuals with affectations and pretensions, but in reality they had no real intellect or literary talent whatsoever.

    While the greatest literary minds on the Continent collaborated to produce work of the utmost profundity, in London the atmosphere was infused with cunning and mischief. The Scriblerians were focused solely upon the art of satire. They invented a character who embodied the shallow cynicism of the eighteenth century intellectual, Martin Scriblerus, and named the club after him.

    Scriblerus is insincere, dull and vapid. His entire personality is fake, designed chiefly to impress the publishing houses, and as a consequence will adopt any fashion or cause for his own gain. He even passes off other people’s work as his own, to acquire personal glory without putting in any thought or effort.

    In the summer of 1716, Swift made a suggestion to Pope about writing a play set in Newgate prison. Gay was inspired by this suggestion, and the result was the tour de force, “The Beggar’s Opera”. This proved to be so influential that it spawned numerous imitations. It is widely considered to be a satire on the corrupting influences of the Whig administration, and the perceived tyranny and thievery of the leader, Sir Robert Walpole.

    The character of Macheath, a devious highway robber, was modelled on Walpole. Audiences loved it, and recognised the allusions. The opera exposes the hypocritical nature of the rich and powerful, who frequently escape punishment while the poor and weak are always condemned for the same crimes.

    It is timely to revisit this, as the current administration of the UK is being accused of enacting two-tier justice, and condemning the poor and weak to their fate. Humour is often the best weapon to attack such regimes. It is much more powerful to wield wit in self-defence, as it is clever and insidious in its methods and execution.

  • A Ghostly Language

    On the 7th April, 1770 the English poet William Wordsworth was born. It was fortuitous that he was born amidst the magic surroundings of the Lake District. This is a unique and astounding area of natural beauty, a phenomenon shaped by ancient geological history. The story of its creation is a thing of wonder.

    Glaciers created a distinct landscape of scooped-out valleys, accompanied by a rough scree of angular stones which combined to form breccia. Skiddaw Slates were deposited first, then volcanic rocks emerged to produce the mountainous region of Langdale Pikes and Helvellyn. During the later Ice Age, an ice cap spread through the valleys which widened and deepened them. Once the ice retreated, piles of glacial debris known as moraines blocked the mouths of the valleys and produced the lakes.

    Wordsworth could not help feeling enthralled by the nature that surrounded him, he spoke about “the ghostly language of the ancient earth”. He was a romantic poet, but he was also a product of the Enlightenment, an era of scientific and philosophical innovation which replaced theological dogma. Writers and thinkers cultivated a new respect for the natural world, and even developed an entirely new form of religious devotion to the Earth.

    However this was just a revival of the old religion, the only exception was that they had discovered the language to illustrate it. Intellectuals were living under the misapprehension that they were living in an age of reason and had divested with superstition. Their illusions were shattered in the age of post-revolutionary terror that was inflicted upon continental Europe. This island was always immune to the contagion of radicalism, even the aberration of Cromwell was swiftly corrected. The ancient institutions of monarchy and church merely evolved with the changing times.

    Wordsworth alluded to the preservation and conservation of our ancient landscape in his “Guide Through The District of the Lakes”. He imagined the solitary walker looking across the lakes and opined, “he may see or hear in fancy the winds sweeping over the lakes, or piping with a loud voice among the mountain peaks and lastly, may think of the primeval woods shedding and renewing their leaves with no human eye to notice, or human heart to regret or welcome the change”. Such plaintive words speak to a distinctly English soul.

    It is an integral part of the English sensibility to find solace in nature, as J.B Priestley notes in his 1934 work “English Journey”, “give the English a foot or two of earth, and they will grow flowers in it; they do not willingly let go of the country-as the foreign people do-once they have settled in a town; they are all gardeners, perhaps country gentlemen at heart”. Our ancestors understood the sacred nature of the landscape, and we have always felt an atavistic longing to return to our roots. Wordsworth will always be the poet of the Lakes, and we must continue to remember him.

  • A Glass of Blessings

    On April the 3rd, 1593 the poet and Anglican priest George Herbert was born. He was born into a prominent and influential Anglo-Welsh family. His ancestors included luminary figures, one notable member was the Earl of Pembroke. Herbert’s older brother Edward became the learned and respected Lord Herbert of Cherbury. Edward was revered as a renowned philosopher and theologian who later acquired the sobriquet “the father of Deism”. This philosophy championed the dual power of nature and reason.

    The Herberts elevated education and the arts as noble pursuits. His esteemed family background meant that his ultimate destiny was certain, it was inevitable that he would make his mark as a man of letters. When he was eight years old, the family moved to a dwelling close to the Charing Cross in London.

    At that time, this now unremarkable London landmark still had profound national, and spiritual significance. It was one of the twelve “Eleanor crosses”, dedicated to Eleanor of Castile. These were memorials commissioned by King Edward I to remember his late, lamented wife, and these were built at strategic points across his kingdom. Although three centuries had passed since its construction, Londoners understood the importance of the monument. The sixteenth century playwright George Peele composed a drama based on the life of the King, and devoted a section of the play to the assembling of the Charing Cross. The location, at the heart of the capital, was imbued with myth. Many other writers sensed the resonance of the King’s crosses, and inspired poems of a distinctly visionary nature.

    The poetic and numinous elements of central London had a tremendous influence on the young Herbert. His spiritual sensibility continued to invigorate him throughout his literary career. His faith in a higher power provided a comforting light during the darkest episodes in his life. In spite of his privilege he was prone to episodes of ill health. He experienced tubercular disease and prolonged fevers which stifled his intellectual ambitions.

    Nonetheless his inner resilience and resolve carried him through his years at Cambridge, where he ascended to the position of fellow. In 1619 he was appointed assistant to the University Orator. The Orator’s role fascinated him, and it helped deepen his understanding and appreciation of the art of rhetoric. It gave him an important grounding in his future career as a poet. He ascribed to Cicero’s maxim that the purpose of oration was to teach, to delight and to persuade. Meanwhile his mother, Magdalen, was encouraging him to seek a vocation in the Church.

    Magdalen was an educated and well connected lady who regularly entertained respected figures like John Donne and William Byrd. Both used their considerable talents to promote Christian virtue. A year later Herbert himself became the University Orator. In 1623 he delivered a “farewell oration” to King James I who was on a visit to the University. The King was so moved by the sermon that he requested a written copy. Emboldened by the flattery of the King, and supported by his cousin the Earl, Herbert entered the realm of politics and he represented the constituency of Montgomery. However when the King died, his enthusiasm for politics ebbed away.

    Herbert felt that he was drifting through life. In 1626 this period of torpor and ennui ended when he finally entered the priesthood. He was assigned to minister at the small parish of Leighton Bromswold in Huntingdonshire. This relatively unassuming English village was situated close to Little Gidding, an Anglican religious community later immortalised by T.S Eliot. In Herbert’s mind, however, this was a place that encapsulated the English soul. The founder of Little Gidding was Nicholas Ferrar, a close friend and confidant. Ferrar became a mentor to him, even in times of despair and doubt. He helped to cultivate and refine his poetry.

    In 1629 he moved to another parish, Fugglestone St Peter with Bemerton, which was near Salisbury. While serving as rector he worked on his poetry, which had spiritual themes. He entrusted his collection to Ferrar. Unfortunately four years later his tuberculosis returned and he died. Ferrar published his entire work the same year, and he wrote the preface. Ferrar’s intervention introduced an entire readership to some of the most affecting religious poetry ever written. It is poignant to consider that in his short, painful but immensely productive life Herbert continues to inspire us today.