་་ "The Ruined Cottage" illustrates the fact that Wordsworth, as a Nature-poet, is not only a poet of insight, but a descriptive poet as well; and, as such, he not only deals with Nature in the large, but scans her with a minute and accurate observation. His description of the garden near the deserted hut,1 and the Wanderer's description of his return to Margaret's place, and the condition in which he found it,2 make this evident. Indeed, "The Excursion" furnishes abundant proof of Wordsworth's descriptive power, and his careful observation of Nature's forms. This fact indicates that his was the practised eye" as well as "the watchful heart." It is somewhat remarkable that this detailed description should be so frequently met with in Wordsworth, for he was deeply interested either in the larger and more majestic aspects of Nature, or in her inner life and meaning, and her intimate relations to Man as teacher, comforter, and guide. This, however, did not render him insensible to her particularity to the more modest and detailed forms of her manifestation. This was doubtless due to a native and trained organic sensitiveness, and to the influence of his sister Dorothy in leading him to a more minute observation of things, as well as to a more tender regard for the less austere aspects of the physical world. But in the story of the ruined cottage we again see the poet of Man. It is with the human heart that Wordsworth is primarily concerned here, and it is the fundamental passions that engage his attention. Here he deals with the domestic affections. He sings a lofty song of lowly weal and dole." The weal is a fleeting note, but the dole constitutes the protracted, melancholy theme of the song. Here is pathos, tenderness, and profound passion — a picture of silent, though desperate, sorrow on the part of a man, and of heart-wasting fidelity and love on the part of a woman; and their only reward is death and the grave. One rises from reading this poem feeling that he has been listening to a careful and sympathetic student of the human heart, who is acquainted with its 2 Ibid., 706–730. 1 The Excursion, I, 451-462. profounder moods and passions, who has looked long and steadily into its depths, who has noted the great undercurrents of its life, and can tell with delicacy and power what he has seen. There is no mawkish sentimentality, but a dignified, yet deeply passionate portrayal of the tragic experience of the soul. In this Wordsworth excels, and the wonder of it all is that so many have found, in this sympathetic and penetrative student of the elemental affections, a poet devoid of passion. He does not, indeed, storm the soul with violent outbursts of feeling, but he lays bare the heart in all the intensity of its emotional life, in the deeper pulsations of its basal feelings, and in all the tragic bitterness of its spiritual agony. With this chapter in Life's book Wordsworth was thoroughly familiar, and he makes us feel with him as he tells us of its dark and mysterious contents. CHAPTER XVI THE EXCURSION (CONTINUED) In the second book of "The Excursion" we are introduced to another personage the Solitary-in whose experience with the French Revolution can be traced much of Wordsworth's own history as we have already become familiar with it. The joyful expectancy, the ardent love of and hopes for Man, the awful disappointment, and the depressing and almost ruinous effect upon his spirit to be found in the Solitary's career are, in a large measure, but a reproduction of the Poet's own experience. Indeed, in many respects "The Excursion" is as really, although not as minutely and literally, a mental autobiography of Wordsworth as is "The Prelude "; therefore it deserves careful interpretation in a study of the history of the Poet's inner life. After relating the sorrowful tale of the ruined cottage, the Wanderer and Author journey together to the home of the Solitary. After their arrival the conversation soon leads up to a consideration of fundamental problems in relation to which the Solitary takes a skeptical attitude. He expresses himself as, on the whole, indifferent to Man's origin and destiny. As to the latter, he prefers annihilation to continuance of life. Pessimism is his creed. Night is preferable to day, sleep to waking, and death to sleep. Sweet is the quiet stillness of the grave after life's fitful storms. It was not always thus with him. Once he loved to think of Man and his future, and viewed the world with hope and joy. But experience has changed his view, and now life has little worth for him. In "bitter language of the heart" he gives his estimate: And yet, what worth? what good is given to men, More solid than the gilded clouds of heaven? None! 'tis the general plaint of human kind From each to all, for wisdom's sake: This truth And, crowned with garlands in the summer grove, Yet, ere that final resting-place be gained, For Mutability is Nature's bane; And slighted Hope will be avenged; and, when Ye need her favours, ye shall find her not; But in her stead - fear doubt — and agony! 1 The Solitary then unfolds to them his history, which was really responsible for his pessimism. He tells them of his once happy domestic life, then of his terrible affliction in the death of his wife and children, the sorrowful depression that ensued, his reawakened interest in life through the French Revolution, his grievous disappointment and disgust at the outcome, his visit to the Western world, where he thought Man existed as primeval Nature's child, his failure to find "that pure archetype of human greatness," but, instead, a wretched creature, and, finally, of his return to his native land. And now in this retreat they find him, cherishing a hope that his particular current of life will soon "reach the unfathomable gulf, where all is still." It can hardly be doubted that Wordsworth, in the Solitary's speech, is giving vent (possibly in an exaggerated form) to feelings 1 The Excursion, III, 437–461. which were very like his own during the later days of the French Revolution, and the period immediately following. For he was then in the depths of spiritual darkness and despair, from which, temporarily at least, there seemed to be no way of escape. He had lost his faith in men, in the veracity of moral reason, and, by implication at least, in the immortal destiny of a being whose moral nature seemed to be a contradiction. To such an one life held out little hope, and his estimate of its worth must have reached a minimum. It seems as though Wordsworth introduced the Solitary's gloomy philosophy here for very much the same reason as that which impelled him to introduce the philosophy of Godwin into "The Borderers " to purge himself of it, and also to secure an opportunity to present the saner views of human life and destiny which, by this time, he had formed. In the fourth book of "The Excursion" is presented the Wanderer's reply to the Solitary. In it may be found Wordsworth's views concerning a philosophy of life. He affirms that there is but one adequate support for the calamities of mortal life," and that is an assured belief that man's life is ordered of God, who is infinitely benevolent and powerful, and whose eternal purposes convert all accidents to good; resignation to his will, and love for him, as well as dread of all things unworthy that might dishonor him. This is the only faith for men whose hearts have been torn, as was the Solitary's, by the loss of all that we hold most dear. God alone is Man's refuge and strength in such hours of trouble. He alone can sustain the sick heart, and restore the languid spirit.1 But there are other articles to his creed. As mortals we are frail, and therefore we sorrow. If we could only grasp firmly the reality of the immortal life, and its blessedness, which reason sanctions, and revelation insures, then sorrow for the dead were both selfish and senseless. Immortality is a fact. The dead are not dead. They live, and are glorified; or, if they sleep, they shall wake again, and dwell with God in everlasting love. Hope less 1 The Excursion, IV, 10–31. |