The Political Implications of Mediaevalism in William Morris’ The Defence of Guenevere and Other...
Transcript of The Political Implications of Mediaevalism in William Morris’ The Defence of Guenevere and Other...
-‐i-‐
Carole M. Cusack
Arts IV Honours/Law I
English Literature IV
Topic: The Political Implications of Medievalism in William Morris’ The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems (1858)
Supervisor: Dr Catherine Runcie
-‐ii-‐
Contents
Introduction: The Gothic Revival in the Arts and Literature. page 1 Chapter One: Major Influences on the Medievalism of William Morris,
John Ruskin and the Pre-‐Raphaelite Brotherhood. page 6
Chapter Two: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems: The “Arthurian” poems. page 10
Chapter Three: The Defence Continued: The “Froissart” poems. page 17 Conclusion: The Political Implications of Medievalism in William page 21
Morris’ Early Poems. Bibliography page 24
-‐1-‐
Introduction: The Gothic Revival in the Arts and Literature The student of English literature is familiar with the idea that a particular version of literary history may accord greater importance to a literary style or period than another such historical perspective. The eighteenth century has principally been represented as the age of “Augustan” values, an age in which the Classical ideals of balance, harmony and regularity were exalted in all cultural circles. The Renaissance was characterised by an emergence from the “barbarism” of the Middle Ages and the reinstatement of Classical learning and cultural standards to their “rightful” position. Eighteenth century Classicism followed in a direct line from the Renaissance, with the Royal Academy under the leadership of Sir Joshua Reynolds; the poetry of Alexander Pope, which utilised the heroic couplet; and the cool, sensible prose of Addison and Steele’s articles in the Spectator and the Tatler. The Augustan virtues, in addition to their aesthetic value, were politically useful. They were promoted to enhance the stability of an England only just emerging from the after-‐effects of the Civil War and the Stuart Rebellion; and moving steadily towards industrialisation and bourgeois dominance in society. Yet the eighteenth is also the century in which the “poets of sensibility” flourished, the “Gothic” novel appeared and the Gothic Revival in architecture began. In some cases Gothicism was a revolt against the passionless and unimaginative copying of Classical models which had dominated English art since the Restoration; in other circumstances the taste for Gothic developed to compensate for the lack of eccentricity and personal expression in mainstream art. The early stages of this revival were principally visually orientated, and knowledge of the medieval period was unnecessary:
In its early stages this revival had been part of a larger revolt against the Neo-‐Classical principles of simplicity, harmony and universal law. The newer taste called for complexity, irregularity, and individuality… all of these new principles characterised the Gothic architecture which still dotted the English countryside in spite of attempted Neo-‐classical face-‐lifts. Jagged Gothic ruins also touched off the long-‐suppressed superstitions that gave rise to the Gothic novel of authors like Horace Walpole (and) Ann Radcliffe.1
The more ideologically inclined medievalism of the nineteenth century owed much to men such as Walpole, whose The Castle of Otranto, published in 1765, was the first Gothic novel; and William Beckford, the author of Vathek (1786). Medievalism was a lifestyle for both of these men; Walpole resided at Strawberry Hill, a modern copy of a Gothic castle, and Beckford at Fontill Abbey, a genuine medieval monastery, largely in ruins. One suggested reason for this change in taste was the new predominance that women enjoyed in the mid-‐eighteenth century. Female literacy had increased, and a proliferation of lady novelists flourished. Novels such as Samuel Richardson’s influential Pamela chronicle the male response to the new female position, which was generally
1 Margaret A. Lourie (ed.), William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems (New York: Garland Publishing Inc, 1981). “Critical Introduction,” p. 3.
-‐2-‐
a mixture of qualified admiration and insecurity. Pamela’s tendency to imagine dangers, and fall into fainting fits, is taken up and intensified by the Gothic authors; the supernatural and intuitive knowledge were seen as the domain of women, and
an aesthetic theory of the Horrid and the Terrible had gradually developed in the course of the eighteenth century, but why in the most polite and effeminate of centuries, in the century of Watteau and Boucher and Zoffany, should people have begun to feel the horrible fascination of dark forests… and thunderstorms? The answer is: just because of its feminine character. In no other century was woman such a dominating figure, the very essence of rococo being a feminine delicacy – just because of this the eighteenth century… discovered the mal de vivre, and the vapeurs… they had vague inklings of a metaphysical anxiety.2
This first phase of Gothicism was essentially unintellectual, and was concerned only with the trappings of the Middle Ages, and the delicious thrills which could be enjoyed by contemplating ruins and phantoms. No knowledge of history was required, and the Gothic “fad” would no doubt have died out after enjoying brief popularity. The Gothic novel was declining when Jane Austen’s parody Northanger Abbey was completed in 1803. However, a second generation of medieval enthusiasts infused the Gothic revival with new vigour, politicising what was a hitherto entirely aesthetic movement. It also passed from the hands of women to those of men, and the thrills and terrors ceased to be relevant.
Men such as Sir Walter Scott (born 1771), whose medieval novels were fleshed
out with accurate historical detail: Thomas Carlyle (born 1795) who used the medieval monastery as an alternative to the cut-‐throat modern society; and Augustus Northmore Webly Pugin (born 1812), architect and Catholic propagandist, who was the most prolific creator of Gothic revival buildings in the early nineteenth century, made the enthusiasm for things medieval both respectable and intellectually powerful.
Carlyle’s Past and Present (1842) is a blistering, Old Testament attack on the
shortcomings of Victorian English life, concentrating on the dehumanising Corn Laws, and the evils of Benthamite philosophy which reduced the interaction between people to the “cash next”. Using the Chronicle of Jocelin of Brakelond, a late twelfth-‐century manuscript, Carlyle propose an alternative to the brutality of industrial society. Of this society he remarks:
we call it a society; and go about professing openly to the totalest separation, isolation. Our life is not a mutual helpfulness; but rather, cloaked under due laws-‐of-‐war, named ‘fair competition’ and so forth, it is a mutual hostility. We have profoundly forgotten everywhere that cash payment is not the sole relation of human beings; we think, nothing doubting, that it absolves and liquidates all engagements of man.3
Against modern ills Carlyle pits Abbot Samson of Saint Edmund’s abbey, an enlightened despot appointed to clear up the problems left by his predecessor. Carlyle’s
2 Peter Fairclough (ed.), Three Gothic Novels (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1968). See Mario Praz, “Introductory Essay,” p. 9. 3 Thomas Carlyle, Past and Present, ed. Richard D. Altick (New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1965), p. 148.
-‐3-‐
medievalism is more than illustrative or superficial, but his solutions were generally modern; education and emigration, the latter to create organic communities on monastic principles. The monastery was the highest achievement of medieval society because all its members were valued, and worked for the common good. Though not a socialist (indeed, his work was an inspiration for many conservative political thinkers), Carlyle believed firmly in the dignity of all labour, a notion which was carried on in the work of Ruskin and William Morris. Carlyle claims that:
all work, even cotton-‐spinning, in noble; work is alone noble: be that here said and asserted once more. And in like manner too all dignity is painful; a life of ease is not for any man, nor for any god.4
Other ideas central to Carlyle’s weltanschauung are rule by the aristocracy of talent, the necessity for intimate and supportive human contact between all people, and the responsibility of the upper to the lower classes, and vice versa. His contribution to the medieval enthusiasm of Victorian England was considerable;
Carlyle’s books, with their perverse, ejaculatory, repetitive and arrogant style, find few readers today. Consistency is not among his merits: pretentious mysticism, white-‐hot moral indignation, pious mumbo-‐jumbo, lie side by side. But his writings are among the greatest quarries of ideas in the first half of the nineteenth century, shot through with occasional gleams of the profoundest revolutionary insight.5 Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin subscribed to a Gothicism much less overtly
political than that of Carlyle, though quite as passionately propagandist. His interests were Catholicism and architecture, and he believed that Gothic or Catholic architecture was the only totally legitimate form of architecture. He published several brilliant and eccentric books (most notable of which was Contrasts) in which these opinions were aired, and England was urged to return to the principles of Gothic architecture, and the true Church. He wrote
every person should be lodged as becomes his station and dignity, for in this there is nothing contrary to, but in accordance with, the Catholic principle; but the mansions erected by our ancestors were not the passing whim of a moment, or the mere show places raised at such an extravagant cost as impoverished some generations of heirs to the estates, but solid, dignified, and Christian structure, built with due regard to the general prosperity of the family; and the almost constant residence of the ancient gentry on their estates rendered it indispensible for them to have mansions where thy might exercise the rights of hospitality to their fullest extent.6
Pugin’s father, Augustus, was also an authority on Gothic architecture, and the younger Pugin fought to create Gothic buildings throughout England, his most famous
4 Carlyle, Past and Present, p.155. 5 E. P. Thompson, William Morris: From Romantic to Revolutionary (London: Merlin Press, 1955), p. 29. 6 A. N. Welby Pugin, The True Principles of Pointed or Christian Architecture; set forth in two lectures delivered at St Marie’s, Oscott (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1853), pp. 50 – 51.
-‐4-‐
construction being the Houses of Parliament. Yet he was depressed that his efforts were cosmetic, and no real change in English taste in architecture had been effected. This
raises the question of how Pugin’s buildings should be approached critically. To compare them with medieval architecture is useless, as Pugin himself found to his vast disappointment. They are Pugin, not Gothic.7
The principle reason Pugin advocated the Middle Ages as the ideal period of history (aside from the fact that it coincided with his aesthetic), was that it was the period of greatest dominance by the Catholic Church. To Pugin, the medieval period was superior in social organization and in artistic impulse only because God was in his rightful place;
to him religion was no idle form, and the Catholic faith no mere aesthetic fancy, as many have supposed, which gratified, by its grand ritual and sublime symbolism, his sense of the beautiful. It was rather the informing spirit of his mind, on which his principles rested, and the guide of his heart in the battle of life.8
One common denominator between all of the Victorian medieval enthusiasts
was the unshakeable belief that standards had declined steadily since the Renaissance. Thus the movement was generally conservative (in the sense of preserving old values and practices) though it also produced much revolutionary thought. Most thinkers considered religion in a practical sense to be valuable, but were not especially concerned with doctrine. Christianity was principally valued for its aesthetic qualities. Pugin, a convert to Roman Catholicism in adulthood was thus an exception. He propagated his faith fiercely, believing that the decline in religious art was symptomatic of the decline in belief. Of this he observed
bad, paltry, miserable taste has overrun the externals of religion like a plague; and to this state of deplorable degradation would these new men bind our desires and intellects, as if it were of God, and on a par with the noble works achieved in times of zeal and faith, and at a period when all the art and talent of Christendom was devoted to the one object of increasing the glory and magnificence of the great edifices devoted to the worship of almighty God.9
Medieval subject matter became increasingly politicised as the nineteenth
century progressed. William Cobbett’s Rural Rides compared the lots of the modern English labourer and the medieval bondman, coming down in favour of the latter. Benjamin Disraeli’s novel Sybil: or The Two Nations (1845) proposed an aristocracy of talent, similar to that of Carlyle, and hearkened to the Roman Catholic past of England, advocating the monastery as the basic unit of society;
the monks were never non-‐resident. They expended their revenue among those whose labour had produced it. These holy men, too, built
7 Phoebe Stanton, Pugin (London: Thames and Hudson, 1971), p. 65. 8 Benjamin Ferney, Recollections of A. N. Welby Pugin; and his father Augustus Pugin; with notices of their works (New York: Benjamin Blom Inc., 1872). Edmund Sheridan Purcell, “Appendix,” p. 309. 9 A. N. Welby Pugin, A Treatise on Chancel Screens and Rood Lofts, their antiquity, use and symbolic signification (London: Charles Dolman, 1851), p. 101.
-‐5-‐
and planted, as they did everything else, for posterity: their churches were cathedrals; their schools colleges; their halls and libraries the muniment rooms of kingdoms; their woods and waters, their farms and gardens, were laid out on a scale and in a spirit that are now extinct; they made the country beautiful, and the people proud of their country.10
It is thus clear that the Gothic revival, which began in the mid-‐eighteenth century as a purely aesthetic movement in architecture and romantic literature, developed in the nineteenth century into a highly politicised and propagandist phenomenon, which was used to great effect in pointing out the social ills of Victorian England, and in proposing remedies for those ills.
10 Benjamin Disraeli, Sybil or the Two Nations, ed. Sheila M. Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 63.
-‐6-‐
Chapter One: Major Influences on the Medievalism of William Morris. John Ruskin and the Pre-‐Raphaelite Brotherhood
William Morris, the eldest son and third child of William Morris and Emma Shelton, was born at Elm House, Clay Hill, Walthamstow, on the twenty-‐fourth of March, 1834.11
His medieval inclinations developed early in childhood, as the routine at Woodford Hall was not unlike that of a medieval manor. By age seven he had read all Scott’s Waverley novels, and he rode around Epping Forest in a toy suit of armour, a present from his father. This early enthusiasm deepened during his years at Marlborough College, as
the school library … was well provided with works on archaeology and ecclesiastical architecture. His power of assimilation was prodigious; and he left Marlborough, as he used to say afterwards, a good archaeologist, and knowing most of what was to be known about English Gothic.12
Paralleling Morris’ personal deepening of interest in the Middle Ages, the Oxford Movement with its aesthetic, Roman Catholic-‐oriented religion assisted in making the superficial cult of the medieval into a powerful force for change, and an arena of protest against mainstream Victorian values. Morris went to Oxford in 1853 where he met his lifelong friend Edward Coley Burne-‐Jones who introduced him to Benjamin Thorpe’s Northern Mythology and Carlyle. Together they read Disraeli, Charlotte Yonge’s The Heir of Redclyffe, Pugin, Ruskin, and the Socialist novels of Charles Kingsley.
Together they visited France in the long vacation of 1854 and the summer of 1855, and acquired a deep love of French Gothic. Morris’ interests were many and varied,
his life at Oxford mirrored in little what his entire life was to be, a series of splendid enthusiasms: Chaucer, Tennyson’s Maud, Malory’s Morte D’Arthur, the personality of Rossetti, Pre-‐Raphaelitism, Amiens Cathedral, Browning’s Men and Women, Ruskin’s Stones of Venice, clay-‐modelling, wood carving.13
Much of Morris’s Socialist tendencies were gleaned from reading medieval sources especially Norse mythological texts. But it principally derived from John Ruskin, and the Pre-‐Raphaelite Brotherhood. The Pre-‐Raphaelites were a group of painters that had gathered around Dante Gabriel Rossetti in 1848, the year of the European revolutions, due to dissatisfaction with the mainstream of Victorian art. They hearkened back to art before Raphael, before art became contaminated by patronage.14
Millais, Holman Hunt and Ford Maddox Brown were all fine artists, but the
movement was originally directionless, consisting principally of enthusiasm. This enthusiasm was for a range of subjects; Romantic Poetry, the Gothic Revival, 11 J. W. Mackail, The Life of William Morris, in two volumes with an Introduction by Sir Sydney Cockerell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1950), p. 2. 12 Mackail, The Life of William Morris, vol. I, p. 17. 13 Arthur Compton-‐Rickett, William Morris: A Study in Personality (London: Herbert Jenkins Ltd, 1913), p. 18. See also Max Beerbohm, Rossetti and His Circle (London: William Heinemann Ltd, 1922) and Aymer Vallance, William Morris: His Art, His Writings, and His Public Life (London: George Bell and Sons, 1898). 14 G. H. Fleming, Rossetti and the Pre-‐Raphaelite Brotherhood (Rupert Hart-‐Davis Ltd, 1967).
-‐7-‐
the reaction against the Industrial Revolution … Wordsworth, Keats and Shelley, Pugin and Pusey, the anti-‐Victorian thinkers Ruskin and Carlyle, though with the Italian masters of the later Middle Ages, who provided its curious name, it had very little to do. It had also the realist, reforming spirit of 1848.15
This realist spirit was exemplified by the desire to revolutionise the rules of Academic painting, and the repressive Victorian social code. They believed in free love, though only Rossetti appears to have practiced it, and with it the abolition of class distinctions (Rossetti’s wife, Elizabeth Siddal, and several of his mistresses were all working class).16 Another important belief was that women were as capable of artistic achievement as men; Lizzie Siddal painted and wrote poetry, and Christina Rossetti was a talented poet. Ruskin met the Pre-‐Raphaelites when he entered a debate on their behalf. He was an established artistic theorist and offered to provide a doctrinal basis for the paintings they produced. They were delighted with Ruskin’s idea, and it was decided that
the fundamental issue of the Pre-‐Raphaelite program for art – (was) the relation of art to nature…Rossetti was determined to paint…subsequent pictures from nature, with absolute fidelity.17
Ruskin’s artistic theory was similar to that of Pugin, in that he believed in the innate superiority of the Gothic over all styles: and he publicized this fact in all his writings,
I have now no doubt that the only style proper for modern northern work, is the Northern Gothic of the thirteenth century, as exemplified, in England, pre-‐eminently by the cathedrals of Lincoln and Wells, and, in France, by those of Paris, Amiens, Chartres, Rheims, and Bourges, and by the transepts of that of Rouen.18
Ruskin, though not a declared Socialist, was often perceived as such, because of
his belief in the dignity of labour and the right of all workers to share in the products of their labour. The medieval community appealed to him because it gave the worker dignity and value in the scheme of things. The workers had direct contact with the products of their labour, and the creation of beauty abounded. A revival in the Victorian arts could only result if there was a return to the values of truth, beauty and obedience. The decline of modern architecture was excusable in that modern architects have no good example to follow. Ruskin notes that
until that street architecture of ours is bettered, until we give it some size and boldness, until we give our windows recess, and our walls thickness, I know not how we can blame our architects for their feebleness in more important work; their eyes are inured to narrowness
15 William Gaunt, The Pre-‐Raphaelite Tragedy (London: Jonathan Cape Limited, 1942), p. 24. 16 Oswald Doughty, A Victorian Romantic: Dante Gabriel Rossetti (London: Oxford University Press, 1960), p. 118. 17 David G. Riede, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and the Limits of Victorian Vision (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1983), p. 46. 18 John Ruskin, The Seven Lamps of Architecture (London: George Routledge and Sons Limited, 1907), p. xviii.
-‐8-‐
and slightness: can we expect them at a word to conceive and deal with breadth and solidity?19
Ruskin’s thoughts had a political application, in that he advocated a collectivist society run along monastic lines in opposition to the alienation of Victorian industrial society.
The theoretical basis of Morris’ socialism derived principally from the argument
of Ruskin’s The Stones of Venice, in the chapter “On the Nature of the Gothic.” Ruskin’s view of modern workers is effectively summarised by Margaret Grennan as follows:
cut off from original design by demands for an erudition possible only for the few, reduced in execution to slavish copying of another’s thoughts, prevented by expense from creating the lovely forms that once adapted themselves to the humblest material, they become the ‘miserable workers’ in the unhappy world they share with the ‘morbid thinkers.’ A return to Gothic and its principles is the only answer: for England to accept once more the thoughtful effort of the labourer, regardless of limitations of finish, and once more ‘out of fragments, full of imperfection, and betraying that imperfection in every touch, indulgently raise up a stately and unaccusable whole.’ The roughness and irregularity of the earlier art were the signs ‘of the life and liberty of every workman who struck the stone; a freedom of thought, and rank in scale of being such as no laws, no charters can secure; but which it must be the first aim of all Europe at this day to regain for her children.20
Ruskin lays the blame for the decline of art on a society that relies on industrial production. Workers manufacturing goods in a factory are in a position of uncreative servitude, and the system allows them no escape. Ruskin asserted that modern social problems had their roots in the Renaissance, the period when art became corrupt by patronage, urbanisation increased and the first small beginnings of the economic revolution appeared. The recovery of art in Victorian England was dependent on the liberation of the artist, artisan, or worker. This call was genuinely revolutionary, and Morris was “always deeply influenced by Ruskin, whose views on art and social order were so akin to his own and whose book, Unto This Last (which Morris read in 1862) was all but a socialist manifesto.”21 To this revolutionary call the Pre-‐Raphaelites responded warmly. They were, however, a short-‐lived movement, with their meetings having ceased by 1851. Rossetti acquired Morris and Burne-‐Jones had pursued both medievalism and social revolution privately, and now found a leader in Rossetti. Morris had bought several Pre-‐Raphaelite paintings before meeting Rossetti; they had appealed to him because of their revolutionary character, in their defiance of the principles of the Royal Academy.22 19 Ruskin, The Seven Lamps of Architecture, p. 104. 20 Margaret Grennan, William Morris: Medievalist and Revolutionary (Morningside Heights, NY: King’s Crown Press, 1945), pp. 18-‐19. 21 M. V. Wiles, William Morris of Walthamstow (Walthamstow: The Walthamstow Press: 1951), p. 79. 22 Gaunt, The Pre-‐Raphaelite Tragedy, p. 168. See also See Walter E. Houghton, The Victorian Frame of Mind: 1830-‐1870 (New Haven: Yale University Press 1957).
-‐9-‐
Morris at this point rejoiced to be in like-‐minded company. The two Pre-‐Raphaelite circles shared a love of all things medieval, the chivalric code and the monastic lifestyle, the sense of community and they beauty of Gothic architecture. This in itself demonstrated their dissatisfaction with Victorian England. Though none (save, perhaps, Rossetti) were especially promiscuous, they believed that the sexes should be able to relate to each other freely, and that marriage should not be an indissoluble bond. Another facet of their social revolution was the dissolving of class barriers, and the realisation that women could be artistically and intellectually as talented as men. All these attitudes, so acceptable now, were extraordinary in Victorian England. At this stage William Morris’ notion of a social revolution had not the Marxian colouring of class struggle and inevitable violent uprisings that it acquired later in his life. At this juncture his socialism,
derived largely from Ruskin, was concerned less with material gain for the working population than with a readjustment of society that would make all men happy and self-‐reliant in their work, and once more producers of the sort of spontaneous beauty in everything wrought by their hands that we associate with the almost faultless craftsmanship of the thirteenth century.23
23 Mackail, The Life of William Morris, Sydney Cockerell, “Introduction,” p. xvi. See also May Morris, The Introduction to the Collected Works of William Morris With a Preface By Joseph Riggs Dunlap, 2 vols (New York: Oriole Editions, 1973).
-‐10-‐
Chapter Two: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems. The “Arthurian” Poems.
The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems (1858), a volume containing
thirty poems, was published when William Morris was twenty-‐four, to almost unanimously hostile reviews. This chapter deals with the four “Arthurian” poems. The remainder of the collection divides into three “Froissart” poems, all based on incidents from the Chronicles, which are examined in the following chapter; the "stand to see" poems, such as "The Tune of Seven Towers" and "The Blue Closet" (both accompaniments to the Rossetti paintings of the same titles), and several miscellaneous ballads on mediaeval subjects.
The hostile reviews centred on several issues, principally Morris's
association with the Pre-‐Raphaelite circle which was considered decadent and immoral, his medievalism which was seen as an affectation, and the violence and sexual subject matter evident in the poetry. The first objection was hardly deserved, for Morris’ vigorous verse had little in common with Rossetti's languid poems. It has been suggested that the attacks were not actually directed at Morris at all,
from what we know about the unwholesome history of the Pre-‐Raphaelite controversy, in economic American electorate and really may justly infer that most of the criticism just cited was not directed at the poetry in question. It was vitriol intended for the throat of the infamous Rosetti, poured into reviews of The Defence of Guenevere, the receptacles nearest at hand.24
In recent decades Guenevere has come into its own, being now probably the most frequently read of Morris' works.
In the title poem Morris draws on Malory for the scenario of Guenevere defending herself on a charge of adultery with Launcelot. Morris’ Guenevere is interesting, as although she admits her adultery, she insists on her innocence:
When both our mouths went wandering in one way, And aching sorely, met among the leaves; Our hands being left behind strained far away… Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie, Whatever happened on through all those years, God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.25
Guenevere argues her innocence convincingly because her adultery is not morally reprehensible. Several poems in the Guenevere volume deal with adulterous relationships, and the paradigm of “courtly” love was adulterous. Chaucer's Dorigen and Arverargus in The Franklin’s Tale are considered
24 Karl Litzenberg, “William Morris and the Reviews,” Review of English Studies, vol. 12, no. 48 (1936), p. 423. See also Delbert Gardner, An ‘Idle Singer’ and his Audience: A Study of William Morris’ Poetic Reputation in England, 1858-‐1900 (The Hague and Paris: Mouton, 1975). 25 Lourie (ed.), William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 49.
-‐11-‐
unnatural because they tried to sustain a courtly relationship within a marriage. This ties in with Morris’ attitude to marriage and sexual freedom; Guenevere suffers because she married Arthur without knowledge of what adult love was like. This is the point of her “red and blue cloths” analogy. Critics have argued about the identification of the blue cloth; is it Launcelot, who is “hell” in that he leads her into sin and away from Christian salvation, or is it Arthur, whom she married in ignorance and thereafter lives with in a hell of unfulfilled passions? That the blue cloth is Arthur is proven by the poem’s identification of Lancelot with red: with fire, blood, and the Queen’s blushes. Morris’ dissatisfaction with Victorian marriage is evidenced by Guenevere’s memories:
Belonging to the time here I was bought by Arthur’s great name and his little love.26
Arthur is hell in Morris’s eyes because he is spiritual and ascetic, and Morris values more human emotions, and the concrete and physical expression of love.27 Morris and his circle also believed firmly in the code of chivalry, and in chivalric terms Guinevere is again vindicated, as the conduct of her accusers is enough to discredit their accusations;
the truth that she wishes to reveal is not in her actions but in the betrayal of Mellyagraunce … And then Gauwaine … Her chief tactics are to present the violence (associated with Mellyagraunce) and treachery (associated with Gauwaine) of her accusers, and contrast it with the quietness, loyalty, and openness of her relationship with Launcelot. In a sense as she makes herself the champion of chivalry.28
One of the principal complaints registered against Morris’ medievalism was that it was otherworldly, and therefore his poetry could have little or no relevance to modern, nineteenth century society. In fact, the medievalism is smokescreen; it enables Morris to approach modern problems and to voice radical opinions without causing offence.
The use of mediaeval subjects and traditional ballad forms had a distancing effect; yet some of the critical hostility concerned the “immorality” of the poems, so the anti-‐Victorian sentiment embodied in the poems were recognised by some reviewers;
these poems are so much more violent and intense than (for example) Tennyson’s domestic bourgeois morality is in mediaeval dress, the Idylls of the King, that it has been suggested that they represent a complete escape into the Middle Ages, the true imaginative realization of the life of
26 Lourie (ed.), William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 47. 27 Dennis R. Balch, “Guenevere’s Fidelity to Arthur in ‘The Defence of Guenevere’ and ‘King Arthur’s Tomb’,” Victorian Poetry, vol. 13, nos 3-‐4 (1975), pp. 61-‐70. 28 Blue Calhoun, The Pastoral Vision of William Morris; The Earthly Paradise (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press 1975), p. 45.
-‐12-‐ medieval times. But this is only part of the truth. The intensity of the feelings in these poems comes not from the Middle Ages, but from William Morris the young nineteenth century poet: it is a measure of the intensity of his own revolt against the impoverished relationships of his own society.29
Both “The Defence of Guenevere” and its companion piece “King Arthur’s Tomb” deal with another nineteenth century problem, the inadequacy of religion as a solution to human suffering and emotional problems.
In the later poem Guenevere has renounced the world and is attempting to atone for her sin through religious devotion. “Sin” is not here used in theological sense; it is part of Guenevere’s psychology to seek punishment (this is indicated in “The Defence” also), and it is only when she has to face the possibility of a future with Launcelot that she becomes convinced of her sin, which automatically negates the possibility.
As she lay last night on her purple bed, Wishing for morning, grudging every pause Of the palace clocks, until Launcelot's head Should lie on her breast, with all her golden hair Each side – when suddenly the thing grew drear, In morning twilight, when the grey downs there Grew into lumps of sin to Guinevere.30
“King Arthur’s Tomb” has a different mood entirely from the original text by Malory, where both Guenevere and Launcelot are repentant and resigned.
Morris envisages both still torn by the individual demons; Launcelot unable to understand her attitude, Guenevere relentless and unable to forgive, herself or anyone else. It seems possible that both are in some way insane, and Guenevere’s madness is at least partly due to her religious fervour, itself but a substitute for the emotion she feels due to her love for Launcelot;
If even I go to hell, I cannot choose But love you, Christ, yea, though I cannot keep From loving Launcelot; Oh Christ! must I lose My own heart’s love? see, though I cannot weep, Yet I am very sorry for my sin; Moreover, Christ, I cannot bear that hell, I am most fain to love you, and to win A place in heaven some time.31
Morris proposes that religion becomes a passion with people who need a crutch; that is fuelled by sublimated sexuality, and the desire for a reward in the afterlife is fuelled by selfishness and fear of suffering. In his betrayal of Guenevere and Launcelot, Morris draws on the Romantic idea of the individual pitted against, or alienated from society, as both these figures are “heroic,” their sufferings and
29 Thompson, William Morris: From Romantic to Revolutionary, p. 71. 30 Lourie (ed.), William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 57. 31 Lourie (ed), William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 58.
-‐13-‐ loves are far richer and more satisfying (even in failure) than the bourgeois and sterile relationships of Victorian England. In the creation of characters such as these
the romantic concept of the superior individual was an indispensable factor in the development of this pervasive complex of attitudes. Morris would have imbibed his enthusiasm for heroes through the writings of Scott and Carlyle, both of whom influenced him profoundly. As Houghton notes, by the time of Victoria, concept of the hero had become merged with the national wish for a saviour; after Carlyle, the hero is conceived to be inextricably bound to society.32
Morris’ poetical influences in this volume are principally traditional ballad form, and the poetic technique of “dramatic monologue” developed to great effect by Robert Browning. Browning was public in his support for The Defence of Guenevere, and in adopting (at least in part) Browning’s technique, Morris was rebelling against the structural restrictions of Victorian poetry. Morris worked towards the creation of a new kind of poetry,
one that spurns intellectual complication, that pretends to no moral or spiritual message, that unravels the intricate weave of human experience down to a common thread of basic emotion. By ignoring the claims of intellect and reality, by elevating human passion and perception, Morris in the Guenevere volume denied certain fundamental assumptions of Victorian politics and thereby reconnoitred a new poetic territory for such twentieth century explorers as Yeats and Pound.33
Therefore Morris’ poetry could not be further from that of Alfred Tennyson, the other poet who in the mid-‐nineteenth century wrote Arthurian verse, poems on the “matter of Britain.” When Guenevere was published, only Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott” and “The Passing of Arthur” had been published, so Morris' efforts should not be considered in any way derivative or unoriginal. Arthurian subject matter was new territory for poetry.
The distinction between Tennyson's use of the Arthurian legend, and that of Morris, is perhaps most obvious in their differing treatments of Sir Galahad’s achievement of the Holy Grail. Morris’ poem is earlier than Tennyson's, and can be regarded as a throwing down the gauntlet, inviting Tennyson's reply. “Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery” and its companion-‐piece “The Chapel of Lyonesse” explore the quest motif, the role of religion in society, and the importance of human love and sexuality. Morris’ Galahad does not eagerly embrace chastity: as he ponders what urges him on in his quest, he is tormented by thoughts of another questing knight, Sir Palomydes, who relentlessly pursues the beast Glatysaunt, in order to win the love of Iseult.
And what if Palomydes also write, And over many a mountain and bare heath Follow the questing beast with none beside? Is he not able still to hold his breath
32 Charlotte H. Oberg, A Pagan Prophet: William Morris (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 1978), pp. 178-‐179. 33 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, “Critical Introduction,” p. xv.
-‐14-‐
With thoughts of Iseult?34
Similarly his father, Launcelot, quests for the love of Guenevere and the thought of her will keep him warm and night. Both Palomydes and Launcelot love adulterously, but Morris believes that human love provides greater protection for the solitary man then the loftiest religion possibly could. Galahad’s quest is sterile, and he will gain no human love as a result of his achievement; love of God, of which he is assured, is cold comfort. The poem ends with the realisation that only one knight could succeed in the quest for the Holy Grail, and that the success was not worth either the death of so many other good knights, or the disillusionment of the survivors:
The Knights come foil’d from the great quest, in vain; In vain they struggled for the vision fair.35
“The Chapel in Lyonesse” shows Sir Galahad tending the wounded Sir Ozana, a knight who will die in the quest.
After he has died, Galahad ponders Ozana’s reasons for pursuing the quest, and thinks of his lady, and the great inspiration that love can be to a man:
Ozana, shall I pray for thee? Her cheek is laid to thine; Not long time hence, also I see By wasted fingers twine Within the tresses of her hair That shineth gloriously, Thinly outspread in the clear air Against the jasper sea.36
Both William Morris and Alfred Tennyson use the Arthurian legend to explore the social conditions of Victorian England, but their treatment and conclusions could not have differed more. Tennyson's Idylls of the King was an instant success, as it suited the public taste exactly. It painted a picture of a society ruled by a God-‐appointed monarch, that is destroyed principally by the scheming and deceit of women, particularly the adultery of Guenevere and Launcelot, and the seduction of Merlin by Vivien. The only acceptable women in the Tennyson scheme are self-‐denying and submissive, like Elaine of Astolat who dies of love for Sir Lancelot, or Enid, who suffers humiliation at the hands of her husband Geraint with meekness, until he has sorted out his male authority crisis.
Tennyson's poems are written in stately verse and exalt conventional
Christianity, strongly emphasising the value of chastity. Aside from the example of Sir Galahad, Arthur, when he admonishes Guenevere in the convent, says
I cannot take thy hand; that too is flesh, And in the flesh and thou has sinn’d; and mine own flesh, Here looking down on the thine polluted, cries,
34 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 65. 35 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 71. 36 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, pp. 74-‐75.
-‐15-‐
‘I loathe thee’; yet not less. O Guinevere, For I was ever virgin save for thee…37
Tennyson’s perspective is consistently moral and judgmental, and his judgments accord well with bourgeois Victorian attitudes. Structurally, the Idylls of the King conforms to the Victorian taste for the epic, a long, complete composition, in twelve books. Morris's poems are a fragment of a cycle he planned but never completed (two other fragments, “In Arthur's House” and “The Maying of Guenevere,” testify to this view), and his vision of the nineteenth century in medieval dress is far more chaotic and passionate. Morris values human emotion and contact above spiritual and religious beliefs, and thus his Guenevere is a vibrantly alive woman, defending her right to love, and protesting against the cruelty of a system that encourages marriage without love. Her adultery is not presented as morally wrong, merely her attempt to fulfill her physical and emotional desires with Launcelot, as her ascetic husband cared more for religion than for her.
Morris also subjects Victorian attitudes to war and imperialism to
scrutiny, and finds them wanting. The quest for the Grail destroys more lives than it fulfills, and it is implicit in “Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery” and “The Chapel of Lyonesse” that love between men and women, and life fulfilled by productive labour, is infinitely to be preferred to hollow quests and lonely, and essentially purposeless and inglorious deaths. Technically, the two questing poems are innovative, each using dramatic voices as in a play. Some of Browning’s techniques adopted by Morris are “the speaker’s real-‐world occasion for uttering the poem, the specified auditor, the self-‐revelation in excess of the occasion. Morris also borrows Browning’s abrupt, conversational language”.38 Yet, the Arthurian poems of Morris do not achieve the level of psychological penetration evident in Browning. Morris writes with very little light and shade, his imagery is always a pure colour, which gives the poem symbolic significance.
The poems are like medieval paintings, with flat areas of brilliant colour, lacking the depth of perspective that Browning employed. Paul Thompson argues that, “in The Defence of Guenevere [Morris] used physical images to convey emotion, thus avoiding introspection, and his settings were built up with words of symbolic suggestiveness, rather than closely realistic description”.39 In its passion, its rugged individualism and violence, and its colourful and symbolic imagery, The Defence of Guenevere is a poetic revolt against the tame, ordered, repressed and (to Morris) meaningless lives of middle-‐class Victorians. Morris’ poetry attacks the value of Christianity, the bond of marriage and the Victorian repression of sexuality, and advocates radical, even anarchic solutions. Galahad's fevered, erotic imaginings are a powerful argument for the value of sexual expression, and where these revelations of her loveless marriage argue for more liberal attitudes to adultery, and divorce.
In short, these poems, so often regarded as examples of Morris’ medievalism, are medieval only in their force and vitality, and not
37 Alfred (Lord) Tennyson, Idylls of the King; And a Selection of Poems (New American Library 1961), p. 237. 38 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 12. 39 Paul Thompson, The Work of William Morris (London: William Heinemann Limited, 1967), p. 175.
-‐16-‐
medieval at all in their underlying philosophy – they expressed a commitment to the earthly life of deeds and human love that is not consonant with the prevailing other-‐worldliness of medieval thought as it has come down to us in the actual writings and period.40
40 Oberg, A Pagan Prophet: William Morris, p. 157. See also Dorothy M. Hoare, The Works of William Morris and of Yeats in Relation to Early Saga Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1937) for more on the “roughness” of the medieval idiom in Morris’ later works, which drew heavily on Scandinavian source texts.
-‐17-‐
Chapter Three: The Defence Continued: The “Froissart” Poems The three Froissart poems, “Sir Peter Harpdon’s End,” “Concerning Geffray Teste Noire,” and “The Haystack in the Floods” deal with many of the same topics as the Arthurian poems. They are examinations of Victorian society in medieval dress: in this case, all based on incidents from Froissart’s Chronicles, and set against the background of the Hundred Years War between France and England. Critics have marveled at the profound insight shown by Morris in his descriptions of the Middle Ages.
In the whole volume the life of our mediaeval ancestors is depicted with a sympathetic insight perhaps unparalleled. The reading of Malory and Froissart has stirred to its debts are receptive artist nature of the rarest kind; and the strength of hand equal to that receptiveness has produced at the age of twenty-‐four work that must stand or fall with English literature. “Sir Peter Harpdon’s End,” “The Haystack in the Floods,” “Shameful Death,” and other pieces in the volume would be known anywhere as the work of a master. Sometimes in the book are immature in craftsmanship; but not one shows defective intuition.41
“Sir Peter Harpdon’s End” has Sir Peter and his retainer John defending an English castle in Poictou; it is a very long poem, some twenty-‐one pages, and uses the dramatic, “play-‐like” form also found in “Sir Galahad, a Christmas Mystery.” Sir Peter fights on the side of the English; his cousin and rival for the love of Lady Alice, Sir Lambert, is fighting for the French. The setting of the Hundred Years War provides Morris with opportunities to explore racism, treachery and attitudes to war. Sir Peter is a good night, responsible and committed to doing his duty: even in the face of inescapable failure. He says,
Men will talk, you know, (We talk of Hector, dead so long agone), When I am dead, of how this Peter clung To what he thought the right; of how he died, Perchance, at last, doing some desperate deed Few men would care do now, and this is gain To me, as ease and money is to you.42
Yet the medieval world is corrupt, like the Victorian world, and Sir Peter is a virtuous individual, doomed to be defeated by this corruption. The tone of this poem is somber, though the conversation is quick and clever. Sir Peter does not wish to kill his cousin, but in sparing Lambert’s life, he has signed his own death warrant. Sir Peter’s experience of death is in no way romanticised; he is afraid and can think only of his love, Lady Alice. He derives no comfort from religion. His only thought of God is that,
41 H. Buxton Forman, The Books of William Morris: Described with Some Account of his Doings in Literature and in the Allied Crafts (New York: Burt Franklin, 1897), p. 4. See also Philip Henderson, William Morris: His Life, Work and Friends (London: Thames and Hudson, 1967), and Montague Weekley, William Morris (London: Duckworth, 1934). 42 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, pp. 82-‐83.
-‐18-‐
this was the sole reason God let me be born Twenty five years ago, that I might love Her, my sweet lady, and be loved by her; This seem’d so yesterday, today death comes, And is so bitter strong, I cannot see Why I was born.43
War between nations gives man the opportunity to display great courage and nobility, or cruelty and treachery. As Peter and Lambert demonstrate, it creates divisions between families; also, the deaths of young people, and the blighting of the lives of those left behind (like Lady Alice) is a price too high to pay.
Lady Alice is highly conscious of that, as a woman, she cannot pursue revenge for the death of her lover, but must patiently bear the sorrow,
I get no revenge, Whatever happens; and I get no comfort, I am but weak, and cannot move my feet, But as men bid me.44
Nineteenth century women are as shackled as Alice, if not more so. “The Haystack in the Floods” also explores the theme of a woman’s choice and its consequences. Jehane, the character through whose consciousness and the events of the poem are seen, is eloping with her lover Robert. She is French, he English; and they are pursued by Godmar and his host of thirty knights. Godmar lusts after Jehane and in order to have her for himself murders Robert beside the haystack of the title. Morris’ concern with marriage for love and to the person of one’s choice has already been discussed. Jehane makes a choice of lover in a society that does not allow women to select their husbands; and she chooses a man unacceptable to her family. A Victorian woman in that position would be a social outcast, socially dead. And, even for nineteenth-‐century women, Godmar’s threats to Jehane would be the norm. He says
What hinders me from taking you, And doing what I leased to do To your fair wilful body, while Your knight lies dead?45
Jehane is both proud and passionate, and she informs Godmar that she would kill him, were he to violate her in such a fashion.
Morris believes it was ludicrous that women were often forced into marriages they did not want. Despite the sugar-‐coating of Victorian manners and respectability, such marriages amounted to a very civilised violations. Morris' preoccupation with sexuality and the problem of what to do about it emerges very strongly in these three poems:
43 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 90. 44 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 96. 45 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 158.
-‐19-‐
during the process of these poems, characters often confuse the need for sexual release with the experience of death; in all three poems, tone and structure replace sexuality with defeat, frustration and death. In order to thwart time and death, characters attempted vainly to become historical; but the poet, demonstrating the ironies of the desire to be mortal, makes his character's immortal nonetheless. In all three Froissart poems, then, Morris explores the personal and historical dialectic created by conflict, struggle, and the need to choice under stress.46
In choosing Robert Jehane, like Guenevere with Launcelot, is seeking to become sexually fulfilled; and when Godmar violently murders him, he is frustrating Jehane’s sexuality by destroying the man who would have satisfied her. Thus violence replaces sexuality, and positive energies become negative and destructive. Morris argues for a removal of that displacement, and for sexuality to be acceptable as sexuality. In “Concerning Geffray Teste Noire,” possibly the most Browningesque poem in the volume, the displacement of sexuality is absolute, and the love celebrated in the poem is a necrophilic fantasy. The narrator, John of Castel Neuf, tells of an expedition in which he took part against Geffray Teste Noire, a notorious Gascon thief. While lying in wait to trap Geffray in the woods, the little band discovered the skeletons of a knight and his lady waylaid and murdered on their travels. John gazes upon the woman’s bones and lapses into an erotic reverie, imagining her vivid and alive. He muses about her eyes:
I kiss their soft lids there, And in green gardens scarce can stop my lips From wandering on your face, but that your hair Falls down and tangles me, back my face slips.47
John considers the lady’s mouth, lips and hands, enjoying the fantasy, but is abruptly brought back to reality by another of the witnesses to the discovery. John relinquishes the possibility of fruitful love with a living woman, and takes the bones of the knight and lady to his castle, where he builds them a memorial chapel. The attempt to capture Geffray Teste Noire was also a failure, and he died naturally some months later.
This poem is a story of failure, and of misdirected energy. Browning’s dramatic monologues offer the reader both the subjective and objective view of the speaker and the events he or she describes; Morris does not allow for a truly objective view,
thus, the Froissartian poems, unlike Browning’s monologues, portray and require no subtle intellection. Instead, they unfold a particular intrapsychic tension built on such amoral primitive instincts as aggression and sexuality.48
46 Diane F. Sadoff, “Erotic Murders: Structural and Rhetorical Irony in William Morris’ Froissart Poems,” Victorian Poetry, vol. 13, nos 3-‐4 (1975), p. 12. 47 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 114. 48 Lourie, William Morris: The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems, p. 13.
-‐20-‐
Therefore, the themes and preoccupations of the Froissart and the Arthurian poems are similar; these are sexuality and the difficulties of achieving a fulfilling relationship, the struggle of the individual to assert him or herself against a hostile and corrupt society, the necessity for real choice and the ability to make decisions in response to the pressures of life, and the moral and spiritual equality of men and women. Religion is dismissed out of hand as being no solution to individual or societal problems, and war and imperialism are exposed as inglorious goals for the government or ruling class to pursue.
This subject matter is contentious for a Victorian audience, though some of its effect is neutralised by the medieval trappings of the poems. What Morris is really offering his readers is an alternative to the blandness of the Victorian lives. His choice of the Middle Ages as a poetic “Golden World” (in Philip Sidney’s terminology) is to remind his readers that there is another better kind of life, where all is not reliant on power and profit. To conclude
in his Froissart poems, then, Morris legendises tales of human desire for fulfillment, courage, and heroism, and of ultimate and ironic failure. In each of the three poems, violence and death displace frail human desires for sexual and interpersonal fulfillment. Morris intensifies his ironic reminders of human failure by juxtaposing defeat with courage and heroism, however small and insufficient, the face of current conflicting loyalties and entrapping circumstances. The medieval setting of the Hundred Years’ War personalises courage for the industrialised and depersonalised nineteenth century; combat between individual men over women reveals clearly the dynamics of success and failure. Rather than escape his time, Morris creates moral tales for his time in medieval dress.49
49 Sadoff, “Erotic Murders: Structural and Rhetorical Irony in William Morris’ Froissart Poems,” p. 26.
-‐21-‐
Conclusion: The Political Implications of Medievalism in William Morris’ Early Poetry
When applying the term “political” to the poems in the Defence of
Guenevere, it is important to realise that these poems are not political in the same sense that several of the later prose romances (especially A Dream of John Ball and News From Nowhere) and Poems By The Way are political. When Morris authored those later works he was a declared Socialist, a member of the Social Democratic Federation, and he was writing from an ideological standpoint, in order to disseminate information on the Socialist movement. His fiction and poetry from this later period, as well as the lectures he delivered on many artistic and political subjects, were written by William Morris the socialist and disciple of Karl Marx.
The Defence of Guenevere is political, but not in any party sense. There
are two ways in which it is a political work; firstly in general atmosphere and literary tradition, and secondly with regard to specific issues Morris addressed in individual poems. The Defence of Guenevere belongs to a literary tradition that employs medieval subject matter to expose the problems of modern society. This style of literature incorporates the writings of A. N. Welby Pugin, Thomas Carlyle, William Cobbett and John Ruskin. Morris was well acquainted with works by all these authors, and with a specially devoted to Ruskin, whose The Stones of Venice provided the basis for his attitudes to society and its problems until he read Marx in the 1870s. Criticism of Victorian England by way of medieval models involved the postulation that the Middle Ages had a better kind of society; principally that the relations of man to man were not reduced to the Benthamite cash-‐nexus. Often this politicised use of the Middle Ages had very little to do with what life in medieval times was actually like. To illustrate this, the main difference between Carlyle’s vision of the Middle Ages and that of Morris is that Carlyle believed in feudalism, and the right of a responsible aristocracy to rule over the lower classes, and Morris did not (even as early as 1858). So feudalism was an undisputed fact that the mediaeval period which Morris simply ignored. It does not feature in his mediaeval poetry at all.
This literary tradition posits an idealised medieval world in order to
show up the defects in the modern world. So, writing within that tradition, William Morris:
invents new worlds or re-‐invert dream versions of old worlds, not in order to escape the exigencies of the depressing actuality but in order to insist on a whole structure of values and perspectives which must emerge in the conscious mind in order to assert the inner truth of that actuality, and give man the knowledge of his own participation in historical process which dissolves that actuality.50
This is undoubtedly a political activity, especially when it is seen against the backdrop of mid-‐Victorian society, which places so much emphasis on conformity and conventionality. Bulwarks of Victorian society included: the
50 John Lucas (ed), Literature and Politics in the Nineteenth Century (London: Methuen and Company Limited, 1971). See also John Goode, “William Morris and the Dream of Revolution,” p. 270.
-‐22-‐
monogamous marriage; the family; and the Established Church. There were rules by which everything was done; rules of etiquette, and rules of academic painting.
Morris rejected many of those rules; he wrote poetry in a style that was
unfamiliar and alienating to most nineteenth-‐century readers, and with content which opposed the very foundations of Victorian society. This is the second way in which The Defence of Guenevere qualifies as a political work. The poems contained in the volume deal with subjects that were taboo; adultery, violence, irreligion, and chaos. Furthermore, Morris does not morally condemn his adulterers and atheists, but presents their views sympathetically as viable alternatives to nineteenth-‐century norms.
Morris was not unrealistic or ill-‐informed with regard to the medieval
period; he knew of its faults, and his medieval characters are never perfect, but exhibit a whole range of vices. However,
it must be admitted that although Morris knew the seamy side of the Middle Ages he preferred it to the reverse of the modern tapestry. He preferred medieval to modern vice because the medieval, in his opinion, was free for the most part of hypocrisy, and was not so pervasive of every phase of life as to stifle all creative expression.51
Morris’ beliefs in free love and the equal status of women derived from his association with Dante Gabriel Rossetti and the second Pre-‐Raphaelite Brotherhood; his disillusionment with Christianity occurred before he met Rossetti in 1856. Unlike many Victorians who ceased to believe in Christianity but continued to attend church and support religion because it contributed to the stability of society, Morris decided to do without Christianity entirely, and in later life described himself as a “pagan.” What then are the political implications of The Defence of Guenevere? There are rather serious and far-‐reaching ramifications that spring from this one small volume of poetry. Firstly, the use of mediaeval subject matter enables Morris to criticise nineteenth-‐century society because it fails to reach the standards of the Middle Ages, especially standards concerning the quality of interpersonal relationships. The intensity of feeling the characters experience in the Froissart and Arthurian poems is no longer found in the comfortable bourgeoisie of Victorian England. Morris the poet is never in doubt:
in the Middle Ages people had fewer comforts but much more beauty, and that was the way that Morris would have had it. Of course we are bound to admit, with a smile, that Morris was very indifferent to comfort; he was too sturdy and violent to even notice its lack.52
Morris also dismisses other bases of Victorian society, most importantly Christianity; once Christian morality had gone, marriage and the family had suffered a severe body blow. Guenevere’s relationship with Launcelot is far more natural and right in the Morrisian scheme of things than is her marital
51 Grennan, William Morris: Medievalist And Revolutionary, p. 61. 52 Esther Meynell, Portrait of William Morris (London: Chapman and Hall, 1947), p. 197.
-‐23-‐
relationship with Arthur. Morris argues against dynastically planned marriages and advocates relationships of equal standing between the sexes, with the man or woman of one’s choice, no matter what their class, race or creed.
One of Morris’s principal reasons advocating these social arrangements was for the greater glory of art. The modern artist could not spontaneously produce works of beauty as his medieval counterpart had been able to do. An industrial, manufacturing society, in which contact between people had degenerated to the Bethamite “cash-‐nexus,” was just not conducive to the production of great art. Some critics have argued that the aim,
of Morris’s early work is not the individual personalities of an anonymous or a fabulous Queen, but the artistic perspective which can transcend the historic individual and achieve the greater community of art.53
William Morris’ literature (even in the early stages of his writing career, before he became a socialist) was revolutionary in than it did not seek to be justified by social mores and standards.
The spiritual authority of William Morris’s writings was not traceable to Christian or Classical traditions, but derived solely from Morris's intellect, and his perception of the processes of history. His poems in The Defence of Guenevere dramatise the tensions of the individual as both a determining as well as a determined force in society. His vision at this early stage of his life was perhaps more accurate and more realisable than the fully-‐blown socialist vision of his later years; the 1980s have seen a sexual revolution very like that advocated by Morris, and also a striking decline in religious belief. Perhaps this is one reason why The Defence of Guenevere, which was so hostilely received at the time of its publication, is now the most widely read and most widely admired of all Morrison's works (save, perhaps, for News From Nowhere).
William Morris was not a great original thinker to be compared with Carlysle, Ruskin, Mill or Marx; he was a poor logician and a crude economist. Nor could he be compared with a historian like Thorold Rogers. Yet with ideas from these and other writers Morris constructed an interpretation of human society which is still attractive and relevant today; because although his vision, like that of Ruskin and of Marx, is fundamentally Romantic and historical, and like theirs has suffered from the subsequent development of history and economic theory, Morris’ sense of values, his imaginative clarity and his warm hope give his vision a lasting worth.54
53 Hartley S. Spatt, “William Morris and the Uses of the Past,” Victorian Poetry, vol 13, nos 3-‐4 (1975), p. 9. See also Roderick Marshall, William Morris and His Earthly Paradises (London: Compton Press, 1970). 54 Paul Thompson, The Work of William Morris, p. 220.
-‐24-‐ BIBLIOGRAPHY Balch, Dennis R. (1975) “Guenevere’s Fidelity to Arthur in ‘The Defence of Guenevere’ and ‘King Arthur’s Tomb’,” Victorian Poetry, vol. 13, nos 3-‐ 4, pp. 61-‐70. Beerbohm, Max (1922) Rossetti And His Circle (London: William Heinemann Ltd). Bradley, Ian (1978) William Morris And His World (London: Thames and Hudson). Buxton Forman, H. (1897) The Books of William Morris: Described With Some Account Of His Doings In Literature And In The Allied Crafts (New York: Burt Franklin). Calhoun, Blue (1975) The Pastoral Vision of William Morris: The Earthly Paradise (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press). Carlyle, Thomas (1965) Past and Present, ed. Richard D. Altick (New York: Houghton Mifflin Co). Compton-‐Rickett, A. (1913) William Morris: A Study In Personality, With An Introduction By R. B. Cunninghame-‐Graham (London: Herbert Jenkins Ltd). Disraeli, Benjamin (1981) Sybil: Or The Two Nations, ed. Sheila M. Smith (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Doughty, Oswald (1960) A Victorian Romantic: Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Fairclough, Peter (ed.) (1961) Three Gothic Novels: With An Introductory Essay by Mario Praz (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books). Ferney, Benjamin (1972) Recollections of A. N. Welby Pugin And His Father Augustus Pugin; With Notices Of Their Works (New York: Benjamin Blom Inc). Fleming, G. H. (1967) Rossetti And The Pre-‐Raphaelite Brotherhood (Rupert Hart-‐Davis Ltd). Gardner, Delbert (1975) An “Idle Singer” And His Audience: A Study Of William Morris’ Poetic Reputation In England 1858-‐1900 (The Hague and Paris: Mouton). Gaunt, William (1942) The Pre-‐Raphaelite Tragedy (London: Jonathan Cape). Goode, John (1971) “William Morris and the Dream of Revolution,” in
-‐25-‐
John Lucas (ed.), Literature and Politics in the Nineteenth Century (London: Methuen and Co, Ltd), pp. 221-‐279. Grennan, Margaret R. (1945) William Morris: Medievalist And Revolutionary (New York: King’s Crown Press). Henderson, Philip (1952) William Morris: Writers And Their Work (London: Longmans Green and Co). Henderson, Philip (1967) William Morris: His Life, Work And Friends (London: Thames and Hudson). Hoare, Dorothy M. (1937) The Works Of William Morris And Of Yeats In Relation To Early Saga Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
Houghton, Walter E. (1957) The Victorian Frame Of Mind 1830-‐1870 (New Haven: Yale University Press).
Litzenberg, Karl (1936) “William Morris And The Reviews: A Study In The Fame Of The Poet,” The Review Of English Studies, vol. XII, no. 48, pp. 413-‐428. Lourie, Margaret A. (ed.) (1981) William Morris: The Defence Of Guenevere And Other Poems (New York: Garland Publishing).
Mackail, J. W. (1951) The Life Of William Morris: With An Introduction By Sir Sydney Cockerell (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Marshall, Roderick (1970) William Morris And His Earthly Paradises (London: Compton Press). Meynell, Esther (1947) Portrait Of William Morris (London: Chapman and Hall). Morris, May (1973) The Introduction To The Collected Works of William Morris With A Preface By Joseph Riggs Dunlap, in 2 vols (New York: Oriole Editions). Oberg, Charlotte (1978) A Pagan Prophet: William Morris (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia).
Pugin, A. N. W. (1851) A Treatise on Chancel Screens and Rood Lofts: Their Antiquity, Use, and Symbolic Signification (London: Charles Dolman). Pugin, A. N. W. (1853) The Principles of Pointed Or Christian Architecture: Set Forth In Two Lectures Delivered At St Marie’s Oscott (London: Henry G. Bohn). Riede, David G. (1983) Dante Gabriel Rossetti And The Limits Of Victorian Vision (Ithaca: Cornell University Press).
-‐26-‐
Ruskin, John (1907) The Seven Lamps of Architecture (London: George Routledge and Sons). Sadoff, Diane F. (1975) “Erotic Murders: Structural and Rhetorical Irony in William Morris’ Froissart Poems,” Victorian Poetry, vol. 13, nos 3-‐4, pp. 11-‐26. Spatt, Hartley S. (1975) “William Morris and the Uses of the Past,” Victorian Poetry, vol. 13, nos 3-‐4, pp. 1-‐9. Stanton, Phoebe (1971) Pugin: With A Preface By Nikolaus Pevsner (London: Thames and Hudson). Tennyson, Alfred (1961) The Idylls Of The King: And A Selection Of Poems, With A Foreword By George Barker (New York: New American Library). Thompson, E. P. (1955) William Morris: Romantic To Revolutionary (Merlin Press). Thompson, Paul (1967) The Work Of William Morris (London: William Heinemann Limited). Vallance, Aymer (1898) William Morris: His Art, His Writings And His Public Life (London: George Bell and Sons). Weekley, Montague (1934) William Morris (London: Duckworth). Wiles, H. V. (1951) William Morris Of Walthamstow (Walthamstow: The Walthamstow Press).