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Jun 17, 2018

The "Metaphysicals": English Baroque Literature in Context



I


In the still predominantly British study of English literature, the term "Baroque" is hardly ever used to describe the era between the Renaissance and the age of Neoclassicism, and it seems that only scholars of comparative literature who have dared look across the Channel, such as René Wellek, as well as cultural scholars use it in their approach. 1 In British studies of English literature, the term "Metaphysical" is still given preference. Originally, "Metaphysical" was used as a derogatory term by the Neoclassicists in order to differentiate their aesthetics, which was based on reason and clearly defined rules, from the Baroque aesthetics of the "last age". From their point of view the Baroque poets had offended against the eternally valid norms of reason and nature and so, in this diphemistic sense, "Metaphysical" was meant to describe something "unnatural" or "adverse to nature" rather than the "supernatural". After John Dryden's and Samuel Johnson's derogatory use of the term "Metaphysical", it became a neutral technical term -- a frequent semantic change when the immediate historical context sinks into oblivion. In his influential Discourse concerning the Original and Progress of Satire (1693) Dryden described how, during his aberration from reason as a youth, he was dazzled by Abraham Cowley's "points of wit, and quirks of epigram" and other "puerilities", and looked upon him as a pupil of the Baroque poet John Donne: 


    He [Donne] affects the metaphysics, where nature only should reign. [...] In this Mr Cowley has copied him to a fault. 2


In 1779, Samuel Johnson wrote a short biography of Abraham Cowley. This was the first of a series of biographical and critical prefaces to his anthology of Works of the English Poets (1779-1781), a book firmly based on Neoclassical principles. His judgement and terminology followed Dryden's:


    About the beginning of the seventeenth century appeared a race of writers that may be termed the Metaphysical poets [...]. 3


In a rather haphazard enumeration Samuel Johnson accused these 'unnatural' poets of a great many offences against reason and nature: exhibiting artificiality instead of concealing art, the desire for originality at the expense of the mimesis of nature, unpolished stylistic carelessness, abstruse conceits arbitrarily yoked together in a kind of discordia concors, enormous hyperboles, gross absurdities, and horrible obscenities often conveyed in puns and quibbles.  4 The Rationalistic and Neoclassical purification of the language, as propagated by the Académie Française after 1634 and by the Royal Society after 1668, tolerated no multiple meanings of words that would confuse the understanding, and thus radically inverted the dynamic expansion of the Renaissance and (even more so) of the Baroque vocabulary prominent in Rabelais, Shakespeare, and Donne. Shakespearean and Metaphysical puns and quibbles offended against the most basic Neoclassical rules of reason, the rule of clarity and the rule of decorum. 


Apart from being distorted by Neoclassical prejudices, Samuel Johnson's catalogue of the characteristics of English Baroque literature is also rather incomplete. Ever since Grierson's edition (1912) and Eliot's essay (1921), research into Baroque poetry has not only led to a revision of Neoclassical prejudices but has also looked at the Baroque period unhampered by the distortions of a different aesthetic approach.  5 It has, moreover, led to a substantial expansion and modification of Johnson's catalogue. On the basis of recent research studies, the characteristics of English Baroque literature can be summarized in nine points: 


CONCEIT AND EMBLEM 

In the literary comparison or image the distance between vehicle and tenor was widened in an artificial and affected way to such an extreme or even contrariness that any logical or natural relationship between the two was no longer immediately recognizable. 6  Comparing the body, in which the soul lives confined until its liberation by death, to a prison or to a coffin had been a natural conventional illustration of Plato's soma-sema-doctrine; but comparing the body to a rusty gun barrel which the bullet of the soul breaks in order to fly upward to heaven, as John Donne did in his Second Anniversary (1612), was an instance of Baroque wit, originality, and eccentricity:


    But thinke that Death hath now enfranchis'd thee,
    Thinke that a rusty Peece, discharg'd, is flowne
    In peeces, and the bullet is his owne,
    And freely flies: This to thy Soule allow,
    Thinke thy shell broke [...] 7


The 'eccentric' world picture spreading through Europe after Nicolaus Copernicus' De revolutionibus orbium coelestium (1543) produced equally 'eccentric' art forms, which were later labelled with epoch-terms denoting just this eccentricity: 'baroque', 'il seicento eccentrico'. A remarkable manifestation of this loss of the centre or Verlust der Mitte 8 can be seen in Baroque church architecture. Here, the circle as the typical feature of Renaissance groundplan design was replaced by the Baroque oval. Thus the church-goer's traditional experience of the centre below the cupola was clearly distorted. Typical examples are Bernini's Jesuit Sant' Andrea al Quirinale in Rome or the Jesuit Loreto Church near the Hradcany (Castle) in Prague.  9  In Baroque rhetoric, the conceit replaced the Renaissance image just as the oval replaced the Renaissance circle in Baroque architecture, giving the reader an equal sense of distortion. A typical example is the famous divine poem on the repentant sinner Mary Magdalene, 'The Weeper', and its strong-line coda, 'The Tear' (MSS ca 1640), by the Roman Catholic and Counter-Reformatory poet Richard Crashaw. The poem disrupts the well-proportioned and by now time-worn Petrarchan comparison of eyes with fountains or orbs and tears with springs or stars 10  in the most extravagant and illogically mixed ways. In rapid and broken succession, the eyes are no longer fountains but become extended to "portable and compendious oceans" faithfully and paradoxically following their beloved Christ, and the tears are drops weeping for their own loss, or, more paradoxically, moist sparks, watery diamonds, maiden gems worn by a wanton woman blushing at Christ, her very masculine and beautiful lover, pearls of dew carried on pillows stuffed with the down of angels from the sinner's lowly dust to heaven, to be metamorphosed into stars and singers in the heavenly choir of angels. 11 Besides concrete physical objects such as eyes and tears, abstracts such as moderation, repentance, grace, wisdom, and love could also be illustrated by such far-fetched and original vehicles. Thus, the obvious and harmonious comparison of love with fire in Petrarch was replaced by the artificial and eccentric comparison of love with a flea in Donne. 12 This concettismo was closely related to the originally anti-Calvinist and Counter-Reformatory mixed genre of the emblem. Complementing a Baroque history painting, the emblem was chiefly meant to convey abstract doctrines of faith and philosophy to the human senses, in a tripartite combination of word and picture. This task would almost necessarily put a strain on the emblem writer's inventiveness in finding eccentric vehicles and tertia comparationis, as when he illustrated the universal indispensability of divine and human love by depicting the world as a cask and Amor-Christ as a cooper binding together that cask's loose planks. 13  It is typical of this Baroque ut pictura poesis that, for instance, the conceptistic comparison of divine grace with a magnet, which alone can draw the iron human heart up to God, was used both in a holy sonnet of John Donne's 14  and in an emblem in Georgette de Montenay's Monumenta Emblematorum Christianorum (1540). 15 


THEATRICALITY


Much has been written about the theatricality and dramatic quality of Metaphysical poetry, especially in its earlier phase. In their radical opposition to Calvinistic theology, Metaphysical poems are intensely picturesque, displaying all the pictorial splendour usually associated with the flashy illusory stage-designs of the Stuart court-masque. Calvin's rabbinistic, anti-Catholic, (and allegedly early Christian) interpretation of the first commandment of the decalogue (Exodus 20. 4), forbidding not only idols but all pictures, had entailed his ban on plays and playhouses in general. No theatres were allowed in Calvin's Genevan theocracy, and the early English Calvinists' ("Puritans'") antagonism to the theatre and its consequences has been well investigated. Small wonder that the Counter-Reformation reacted by stressing both the practice of the theatre (Jesuitendrama) and the literary and artistic commonplaces of the theatre. "Totus mundus agit histrionen", "el gran theatro del mundo", "das große Welttheater", became a favourite theme and motif of Baroque literature. 16  Moreover, against the background of the sister arts ut pictura poesis, attention should be paid to the theatricality both of Baroque church architecture and of Baroque painting. Baroque churches were splendidly designed as theatrum sacrum, and theatrical illusion (as in trompe l'oeil ceilings) was consciously made use of in order to involve the senses ad majorem Dei gloriam. The heavens opening and revealing God surrounded by his hierarchies of angels in all their glory was portrayed as a theatrical pageant comparable to (and exceeding) that of the most splendid court-masques, giving observers a sensual foretaste of the delights to come in the world beyond. Baroque paintings, too, are full of theatre motifs and heavy drapery, with curtainsallowing glimpses of what seemingly was not meant to be seen. This, of course, had the contrary effect: disclosing rather than concealing, arousing curiosity and guiding the eye directly to what was only half-heartedly hidden. Christ in the manger or Christ on the cross no longer carries a napkin or loincloth hiding his shame, but rather a theatre curtain revealing it and conveying Christ's erotic potency and soteriological fertility to the astounded spectator. 


ANTITHESIS AND PARADOX


Not only in literary comparisons but also in the context of the two conflicting world pictures and two conflicting religions -- even the most remote elements were connected in contentio or composition (now called antithesis) or synoeciosis or opposition (now called paradox). 17  We find heaven and hell, life and death, fire and water almost automatically linked, just as Baroque literature reflected the increasing awareness of a world out of joint on all levels. In their massive accumulation and complex clusters, antithesis and paradox became distinctive characteristics of Baroque rhetoric. 18  Thus, in his two earliest verse letters referring to his participation in the Islands Expedition (1597), 19  John Donne opposed the descriptions of two contrary experiences in extremis, a sea storm and a sea calm. Both not only threatened the sailors' lives, the second even more than the first, but confronted them with two versions of pristine, pre-Creationist, Godless chaos. In the storm


    Darkness, lights elder brother, his birth-right
    Claims o'er this world, and to heaven hath chas'd light.
    All things are one, and that none can be,
    Since all formes, uniforme deformity
    Doth cover, so that wee, except God say
    Another Fiat, shall have no more day. 20

And in the calm


    He that at sea prayes for more winde, as well
           Under the poles may begge cold, heat in hell. 21 

All aim is lost in disorientation, all coherence (of the fleet) is gone. All order, distinctions, and laws of causality are annihilated in a hell of shrieking noises or baking heat. The speaker can no longer distinguish directions and seasons, day and light, sleep and death, health and disease. And every thing and act planned for the sake of survival either fails or turns to its very contrary. The accumulated paradoxes underline the obliteration of all created relationship between cause and effect, as of all rational order. Another of Donne's eschatological poems either composing or opposing extremes is The First Anniversary (1611). Here the old world, shaken by a severe fever with hot and cold flushes, doubts whether the end of this crisis signifies the world's survival or its death, only to learn that its inevitable decay due to sin is the (certainly very Utopian) precondition of its rebirth into a virtuous and prelapsarian state. 22  In Cyril Tourneur's play The Revenger's Tragedy (1607), the hero Vindice wavers between extreme love and extreme disgust, libido and contemptus mundi, at the sight of the skull of his murdered mistress, which is wrapped in beautiful clothes. 23  Arthur Hübscher talks of "Baroque as a means of forming an antithetical awareness of life". 24  

Situative as well as rhetorical paradoxes can be found in all epochs of literature, and have been aptly classified in three types: the serious and unresolvable paradox, the comical and satirical paradox, and the playful or semi-jocular paradox. 25  The distinctively Baroque paradox belonged to the first type. Like the conventional serious paradox, it opposed extreme opposites in seeming logicality; but it aimed at eccentric surprise. It exceeded the conventionality of Tertullian's maxim of "credo quia absurdum" in its witty originality and offence against conventional decorum. In John Donne's Holy Sonnets, each speaker tries to overcome the broken state of the world and the church in a privatissime illogical communion between two lovers, himself and his desired God. The speaker will never be free unless God chains him, and will never be chaste unless God rapes him. God has to overthrow him in order that he may firmly stand. 26  In Richard Crashaw's 'Hymn to Saint Teresa', penetration is the precondition of virginity as well as ignorance the precondition of knowledge, bankruptcy the precondition of trade, weakness the precondition of strength, martyrdom and death the precondition of life, and fall and sin the precondition of resurrection and salvation. In their theological and philosophical unresolvability, such serious paradoxes, homiletically conventional or sensationally shocking, were radically different from the traditional comical and satirical type of paradox on the one hand, and from the traditional playful or semi-jocular type of paradox on the other hand. 27  And they also differed from the paradoxy that modern literary theory postulates for all poetry (Cleanth Brooks and the New Criticism) or even prose (Paul de Man and Deconstructivism). The distinctive feature of Baroque paradoxes is their shocking choice of joined opposites as well as the sheer quantity of obsessive paradox cumulation, which sets them apart from the serious paradoxes that survived in the Augustan age, with its self-imposed obligation to a return to harmony and to the restrictive rule of decorum. 28  The typically Baroque use of paradoxes must be understood as the literary expression of an age that did not only have to face new contradictory theologies, philosophies, and views of history. 29  The age had, above all, been taken by surprise in having to face a totally new, non-geocentric world picture. Where the centre is lost, excess and eccentricity are the new norm itself. Thus, an aesthetics of excess, eccentricity, disproportion, non-balance, monstrosity, and stupendousness became the hallmark of the Baroque: "la estetica di stupare". And so the Baroque sought to bridge by an excessive and eccentric, original and innovative wit and art what faith found increasingly difficult to believe. 30  It was here that the replacement of religion by art began, and it is here that we find Matthew Arnold's and Friedrich Nietzsche's predecessors in doubt. Baroque man lived torn between two logically irreconcilable world pictures: on the one hand, the old Ptolemaic, geocentric one which had for centuries given man a sense of order and dignity, which was now increasingly called in doubt; and, on the other hand, the new Copernican, heliocentric one which, though it proved empirically convincing, resulted in a deep sense of physical and moral displacement and ontological disorientation. Tycho Brahe's typically Renaissance attempt at reconciling the two world pictures shows the whole extent of the dilemma. 31  From an early seventeenth-century rational and erudite man's point of view, Anthony Munday spoke of "opposed truth", 32  and Baltasar Gracián of "monstruos de la verdad". 33  This antithetical awareness explains Crashaw's desperate call to return to Saint Teresa's childish, pre-logical, and mystical acceptance of contraries beyond man's rational comprehension. But the lost firmness of faith was irretrievable, and Baroque mysticism differed from medieval mysticism in its strong element of doubt. In this, Baroque love of paradox and Baroque mysticism were closely connected. 


QUIDDITY


As shown above, Baroque literature's characteristic feature of replacing logical lines of argumentation by paradoxes, syllogisms, barocones 34  and other kinds of witty and spurious argumentation reflects the feeling of an original community and continuity increasingly torn apart. George Herbert's broken altar (fragmented in violation of biblical law) 35  symbolizes the broken church, and is wittily associated with the psalmist's broken heart as well as the speaker's broken poem. The speaker's poetic sacrifice, like all sacrifice, aims at an 'at-one-ment' with God, though (paradoxically) to the exclusion of both the church and the community. 36  Donne's First Anniversary, his above-mentioned poetic anatomy of the dead old world, provides another type of such unexpected disruptions of the train of thoughts. It teems with sudden changes of argument and truncated thoughts, marked by aposiopeses or interruptions of the type of "But no!" and underlined by numerous antitheses and unresolvable paradoxes. Another splendid instance is Donne's poem 'A Noctural upon St Lucy's Day', with its wittily paradoxical and surprising treatment of alchemy. 37  The speaker, tout seul by the death of his beloved lady and in his isolation from "all others", feels more than ordinarily depressed on St Lucy's day, being the shortest, darkest, and most sapless day of the year. All others stand in expectation of the next spring, which will renew their erotic vitality. The speaker, however, feels his own death multiplied into utter nothingness. Alchemy, the ultimate goal of which was the transformation of lower into higher matter, is replaced by a "new alchemy", transforming nothingness into a higher form of nothingness. Then this utter bodilessness will exalt him far above the mere fleshly and goatlike regeneration of "all others" and effect his regeneration into an infinitely higher love. Thus, nothingness distilled to its "quintessence" and "elixir" becomes a higher life, the nadir turns zenith. A dense erotic imagery (alchemy and alembics, the tropic of capricorn, sap and balm, lust, goat, bed) is inseparably interwoven with an equally dense religious number symbolism (3, 5, 7, 9, 12) and imagery (sun, vigil, eve). 38  Such a definitely unprudish sensuality as appears in these paradoxes refers to still another source of the logically broken dispositio of the classical literary rhetorical discourse: the trompe l'oeil argumentation of the Jesuits, i.e. the deliberate satisfaction of the senses, condemned by Calvin, by deceiving the senses (as well as in the above-mentioned trompe l'oeil perspective of Baroque church ceiling paintings) ad majorem Dei gloriam following Ignatius of Loyola and the Council of Trent (1545-63). 39  


PRIVATE MODE AND LYRIC EGO: AMOR DIVINUS - AMOR EROTICUS

With the growing post-Copernican sense of macrocosmic chaos and the post-Machiavellian (and pre-Hobbesian) threat of political chaos, especially civil war, man tended to withdraw and in some cases even to create his own ordered microcosm: 40  alone with his paramour in his love chamber, alone with his God in his prayer-room, or, in the most extreme case, entirely alone (as the speaker of Andrew Marvell's 'The Garden'). This self-imposed separation of microcosmic privacy from macrocosm and state, in the hope of finding a last refuge of cosmic harmony in this privacy, dissolved the time-honoured doctrine of the three integrally corresponding planes of the Creation. 41  Calvinistic Protestantism had destroyed the old holistic Roman Catholic ceremony of the Eucharist (and with it the kath'holon unity of sensuality and spirituality, man and God, as well as high and low members of one church community). This had significantly contributed towards an irreversible development still in progress today, the individualization and isolation (Vereinzelung) of man, which modern sociologists have called "the tyranny of privacy". 42  Cast back upon himself in his private prayers for forgiveness and peace, the Protestant had begun to leave the traditional communio and to become tout seul. 43  Efforts during the Counter-Reformation to re-establish the old kath'holon feeling of a communio ecclesiastica et eucharistica were doomed to fail. In court culture, too, this by now irreversible development became apparent in the increasing isolation of the monarch and nobility. Whereas King Henry VIII and his daughter, Queen Elizabeth I, had still visited the country and personally responded to entertainments and pageants presented to them by the citizens, the succeeding Stuarts more and more withdrew into the privacy of their courts. King James I (1603-25) ostensibly reduced contact with the people, and King Charles I (1625-40) tried to abolish such public relations altogether, with disastrous political consequences which cost him both his throne (1642) and his life (30 January 1649). 44  The cult of the Stuart court-masque may be regarded as another symptom of that isolation, as the royals and their courtiers staged plays in which they themselves were both actors and spectators, to the exclusion of the public. 45  The admission of representatives of 'the world' to royal audiences became an intimidating ritual set in equally intimidating surroundings of architectural designs, which almost signalled unwelcome intrusion. 

Driven into a similar isolation, quite contrary to his nostalgic Catholicism, the Baroque poet of the early Stuart period (1603-40) shunned the community of a world which he felt to be in the agonies of death and decay--vaguely comparable to the later Romantic poets' cult of loneliness, and then again to the self-withdrawal of the Decadent poets of the Fin de Siècle. 46  It has been convincingly shown that the individual speaker and lyric ego of the Baroque period assumed a solipsistic poetic dignity and dramatic complexity which was not regained until the lyrical revival in the Romantic movement of the later eighteenth century. 47  The speaker or ego of a Baroque lyric equally scolded the celestial bodies, the king, the nobility, the clergy as well as secular wealth and public morality as intruders, and banished them from the place of his poetic privacy. Thus John Donne about himself and his mistress:


    She is all States, and all Princes, I,
    Nothing else is, 48 

and about himself and his God:


    Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light:
    To see God only, I goe out of sight, 49 

and the speaker of Andrew Marvell about himself and his garden:


    Society is all but rude,
    To this delicious Solitude. 50 

In a study of Baroque religious poetry in France, Helmut Hatzfeld referred to a particular expression of this private mode, which he called the "tout-seul formula". 51  In the context of this vehemently defended private mode of the Baroque poets it is noteworthy that amor eroticus and amor divinus, i.e. love-chamber and prayer-room, 52  could be freely exchanged in a most sensuous and unprudish manner (just as, in Baroque art, Christ appears as a potent and tender lover with all erotic connotations). Thus, consciously following the Old Testament Song of Solomon and the contemporary emblem books, John Donne could not only be the great solitary lover and the great solitary divine, but was also able to convey divine love to the senses of his readers through erotic images of the private practice of physical love. 53  One of his most notorious poems in this respect is his 'Hymn to Christ at the Author's Last Going into Germany' (MS 1619). The speaker addresses Christ as an intimate lover, paradoxically demanding freedom and protection in an unfree and tyrannous relationship dominated by jealousy and zeal, "divorcing" the speaker from all his former friends and desires, and demanding an amorous tryst with Christ in the darkness of a church where they can hide and make love out of sight of the community. With the saving ship or ark of the church "torne" in times of the religious conflicts of the Reformation, the Baroque poet, now tout seul, moves closer to his God to be saved from Noah's flood:


    IN what torne ship soever I embarke,
    That ship shall be my embleme of thy Arke;
    What sea soever swallow mee, that flood
    Shall be to mee an embleme of thy blood;
    Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise
    Thy face; yet through that maske I know those eyes,
           Which, though they turne away sometimes,
                  They never will despise. 54 

The reader of the Baroque poet's lyrics, like the hearer of the Baroque divine's sermons, is almost excluded, progressively so from Donne via Herbert and Crashaw to Vaughan and Traherne. In Donne's 'A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning', the lovers' bodies have become so thin (like precious beaten gold) and so translucent and transcendent as almost to leave the material world behind (as in death) and to be sacred in their remoteness:


    T'were prophanation of our joyes
           To tell the layetie our love. 55 

Individual love, be it amor divinus or amor eroticus, is indispensable for salvation where the community is breaking up, the ring or circle of perfection only being attainable by the refined lovers' "stiffe twin compasses". 56  In Donne's 'The Ecstasy', the reader is assigned the role of a hypothetical third person, selected on strictest conditions and only temporarily admitted to observe the alchemically refined lovers (and the primacy of their newly mixed mind directing the new union of their bodies) from a "convenient distance":


    If any, so by love refin'd,
            That he soules language understood,
    And by good love were growen all minde,
            Within convenient distance stood,
    [...]
    And if some lover, such as wee,
            Have heard this dialogue of one,
    [...] 57 
RELIGIOUS MEDITATION


The justification of and appeal to the senses ad majorem Dei gloriam, in conscious opposition to Calvin's reductionist spiritual theology, led the Baroque poets to adopt the Aristotelian enargeia or evidentia -- the ideal of "ante oculos ponere" as it is used in Ignatius of Loyola's Exercitia Spiritualia. 58  Calvin's destruction of the Eucharist had bedevilled the sensuous enjoyment of God, and Protestantism's recourse to the printed text had interrupted the lively and sensuous exchange between the speaker and hearer, the face-to-face interaction as between the giver and taker in the Eucharist. 59  The Counter-Reformation sought to re-establish that old sensuous interchange, and the need to bridge extreme poles which were drifting more and more apart accounts for the strained artificiality of the Baroque artist's creative effort. The truth conveyed by a work of art was not only to be understood, but to be received with ecstatic sensuality. It was meant to be heard with the ears, seen with the eyes, smelt with the nose, tasted with the tongue and felt by the sense of touch. This led to the tripartite structure of the Ignatian meditation as a weapon of the Counter-Reformation. In the first but indispensable step of meditation, compositio loci, the meditant had to conceive a vivid image of a particular scene of salvation, Christ's Crucifixion or Heaven or even Hell, if necessary with the aid of a Baroque painting. He had to feel Christ's pains, to see his blood flow, hear his words on the cross, taste and smell the sweetness of heaven and the sulphurous stench of hell, 60  before he was allowed to proceed to a theological comprehension in the second step of meditation. In the third stage he had to transfer his feelings and understanding into affective involvement and practical action. In 1954 Louis Martz, and in 1955 Arno Esch, showed this tripartite structure to be characteristic of a great part of English Baroque poetry. 61  In the title of his work Louis Martz even suggested calling all English Baroque poetry "The Poetry of Meditation". 62 


STRONG LINES


In his Ars Poetica, Horace had recommended the golden mean between elliptical brevity and long-winded detail; and the early Neoclassicists of the School of Ben Jonson followed this conventional rule of "Breve esse laboro Obscurus fio". The Baroque poets of the School of Donne, however, revolted by making the very contrary, "masculine" elliptical brevity for the purpose of stylistic obscurity, their poetic ideal. In classical literary rhetorical discourse, obscurity had ever been a stylistic device of the ornatus. Thus, even in its own time, the term "strong lines" was used for English Baroque poetry, vehemently opposed by the early Neoclassical School of Ben Jonson. 63  In the transition from the Renaissance to the Baroque age models changed: they shifted from Demosthenes' dense precision of thought to Isocrates' dazzling external form, from Cicero's balanced stylistic clarity to the epigrammatic and elliptical taciturnity of Tacitus and Seneca. 64  This also explains the popularity that Tacitus's contemporary Martial and his Epigrammata enjoyed with the Metaphysicals, who delighted in writing terse epigrams both in English and Latin: Donne's Epigrams, Herbert's Passio Discerpta, Crashaw's Epigrammata Sacra, Marvell's Inscribenda. Thus, the stylistic ideal of the Golden Latinity of Horace and Cicero was replaced by the later stylistic ideal of the Silver Latinity of Tacitus and Martial. Art historians, and, in their wake, literary historians consequently attempted to explain the Baroque as a returning phenomenon of decadence following classical peaks. 65  This was done, for example, by the art historian Jacob Burckhardt in 1855 and in 1860, until in Renaissance und Barock (1880) his pupil Heinrich Wölfflin suggested accepting Baroque decadence as an art form of its own. Decades later, this was still the case with Ernst Robert Curtius: in Europäische Literatur und lateinisches Mittelalter (1948) he opposed classicism and mannerism as virtus and vitium.


PLAIN STYLE


The plain, partly colloquial, and often consciously deformed poetic style is a particularly striking feature of the English Protestant Baroque. John Donne, George Herbert, Henry Vaughan, Andrew Marvell, and Thomas Traherne demonstratively rejected the poetic diction and high stylization of Renaissance poetry from Petrarch to Shakespeare, as well as the ornatus malus of stylistic Mannerism (Euphuism, Gongorism, Marinism). 66  Thus, the plain style of English Baroque poems stood in antithetical tension to their highly complicated and conceptistic intellectual content. George Herbert expressed this most controversially - and even paradoxically - in his two 'Jordan' poems, with an artificial pun on the 'plains of Jordan':


    Who sayes that fictions onely and false hair
    Become a verse? Is there in truth no beautie?
    Is all good structure in a winding stair?
    [...]
    I envie no mans nightingale or spring
    Nor let them punish me with losse of rime,
    Who plainly say, My God, My King. 67 
It should, however, be noted that Herbert's 'Jordan' poems are self-deconstructive in their apparent contradiction between their argument in favour of pristine, original, 'natural' plainness (analogous to the Protestant recourse to 'primitive' Christianity) on the one hand, and their 'artificial' though non-mannerist rhetoric on the other hand (analogous to the Roman Catholic insistence on post-primitive tradition and ornament). This expresses the Anglican Church's and the Metaphysical poet's tension between their Protestant and their Roman Catholic heritages, also reflected in the palace architecture of the period, where plain Neoclassical façades concealed ornate Baroque interiors, - the more private the rooms the more ornate their decorations. Typical examples were Inigo Jones's Banqueting House in his unexecuted designs for a new Whitehall Palace, his Wilton House, and the Caroline Aston Hall near Birmingham. 68  This contrast between interior and exterior ornamentation can also be traced in the development of the Church of England. Though Protestant in its public self-presentation, the Church of England was secretly re-Catholicizing itself from within, most notably in the religion and politics of King Charles I and Archbishop William Laud. 

In Protestant Poetics and the Seventeenth Century Lyric, a study based on rich source material, Barbara Kiefer Lewalski 69  shows how the plain style of the Bible, so dear to Protestants, influenced English Baroque poetry no less strongly than did Ignatian meditation. It is a well known fact that European Protestantism could only encounter the, in a literal sense, 'sensational' flood of anti-Calvinist, Counter-Reformatory pictorial and emblematic art by its increasing acceptance or 'containment' of the picture itself and simply by using its contents for Protestant purposes. The by now plain churches, robbed of their ornamentation by iconoclasm, were filled again; what was originally a Counter-Reformatory emblem was now dedicated to the Protestant cause, 70  and the tripartite structure of the Ignatian meditation was adopted for numerous Protestant Baroque poems. English Protestant Baroque, however, differed considerably from Continental Jesuit Baroque in its frequent use of the biblical plain style as an important means of Protestant appropriation.


ARS EST PRAESENTARE ARTEM


The classical maxim "ars est celare artem", often wrongly attributed to Horace, was the rhetorical poetic ideal in the Renaissance as well as in the later age of Neoclassicism. The Neoclassical critic Joseph Addison, for example, found fault with the Baroque poet's 'false wit', as apparent in "Anagrams, Chronograms, Lipograms, and Acrosticks" as well as "Poems cast into the Figures of Eggs, Axes, or Altars". 71  And the Neoclassical critic Samuel Johnson later generally pointed out that the Baroque poet perverted the doctrine of 'ars est celare artem' into its very opposite:


    The Metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to show their learning was their whole endeavour. 72 

In his Neoclassical saeva indignatio, and due to his lack of distance to the Baroque period, Samuel Johnson was unable to understand that the art and learning displayed in the Baroque work of art (poem or sermon alike) were indispensable. They were meant to surprise the readers, hearers, and spectators and thus helped to convey the impression of total novelty and originality, which mirrored a totally new world picture. So, "new" was a favourite adjective in the titles of Robert Southwell's poems. Moreover, they kept the reader or audience in admiration and at a distance, thus guaranteeing the artist's private mode. Both reader and audience were meant to enjoy the absolute originality and scarcely comprehensible complexity of his brilliant wit from a distance, just as they would admire a firework display. 73  The Italian Baroque poet Giambattista Marino, well known among English Baroque poets, expressed this principle in a memorable couplet:


    E del poeta il fin la meraviglia [...]
    Chi non sa far stupar, vada alla striglia! 74 


Moreover, the "dissociation of sensibility", first identified and denominated by T.S. Eliot in 1921, had not yet taken place in the Baroque age. The learning of the Baroque poet expressed in verse and prose was not only intellectual but also emotional. According to Eliot the Baroque poets were "men who incorporated their erudition into their sensibility" and felt their thoughts "as immediately as the odour of a rose". 75  Eliot criticized Neoclassicism for having dissociated the original integral unity of life and art, for splitting it into emotion and reflection, decorum and indecorum, as well as into "true wit" and "false wit". 76 


II

The enumeration and contextual description of these nine characteristic features of English Baroque literature in verse and prose indicates a complex variety of seemingly heterogeneous causes. But their overall coherence and interaction, the nature of and reason for their historical development, as well as their connections with the other Baroque arts both in England and on the Continent demand an even more extensive and differentiated contextual documentation. These characteristic features were often attributed to a returning esprit de révolution against the compulsion by rules and norms 77  characteristic of the Baroque, Romanticism, and then again the Neoromantic Fin de Siècle. Sigmund Freud showed that in human life superego-oriented, Apollonian phases controlled by rules and norms are always followed by id-oriented, revolutionary and Dionysiac phases despising rules and norms. Literary historians such as F.L. Lucas have applied this observation to literary history, as, for example, in their explanation of Romanticism as a revolution against rule- and norm-oriented Neoclassicism. 78  The same is true, at the turn of the 17th century, for the increasing rebellion against the fixed Petrarchan conventions which had dominated Renaissance poetry. 79  Under this aspect, Baroque Metaphysical and Neoclassical Cavalier poetry may be regarded as two very different, even contrary reactions to the same outworn Renaissance tradition. The Metaphysicals reacted by extension and excess according to the principle of originality. They tried to exceed Renaissance art by even more various forms and expressions; they sought its wit and splendour amongst other things by a superabundance of even bolder paradoxy; they extended traditional images to the most tortuous, unexpected, surprising, and original conceits by way of an excess of discordia concors and an innovative urge towards forward orientation, Entgrenzung. The Cavaliers, on the contrary, reacted by restriction according to the principle of imitation. They aimed at less variety, less wit and flashiness, preferring clarity and purification of the language, modification of extremes, reduction of images to natural associations, imitative backward orientation to the model of the Age of Emperor Augustus (1st century BC), obedience to the rules laid down by reason and Horace, Begrenzung and Überschaubarkeit. The fundamental difference appears from an invective that a Cavalier poet, Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, wrote against the "male" and "strong line" Metaphysicals:
    The reason why men run into such obscure conceits, is because they think their wit will be esteemed, and seem more when it lies in an odde and unusual way, which makes their verse not like a smooth running stream; but as if they were shelves of sand, or rocks in the way, and though the water in those places goeth with more force, and makes a greater sound: yet it goeth hard and uneasy. As if to expresse a thing hard, were to make it better. 80 

John Donne, the figure-head of the Metaphysical school, and Ben Jonson, the head of the Cavalier school ("the tribe of Ben"), were irreconcilable enemies. The Baroque reaction, however, became the dominant tradition and very much the fashion of the day. Its roughness, novelty, and juxtaposition of extremes mirrored the disorientation of the age much better than the countercurrent Neoclassical reaction with its smoothness, elegance, naturalness, and backward orientation. This also explains the fact that more Cavalier poets occasionally wrote Metaphysical poems than vice versa. Yet in the course of time, Cavalier Neoclassicism was destined to prevail and supersede the Metaphysical Baroque everywhere in Europe: first in France (with Malherbe), then in England (with Dryden), and last but not least in Germany (with Gottsched).

The distinctive Metaphysical originality can be well demonstrated from the Metaphysicals' radical break with the traditional Renaissance sonnet. There was the compulsory form of 14 lines, with its high stylization of nature and the cosmos and the beloved donna angelicata as well as a fixed characterization of the beloved lady and an equally fixed allocation of roles with stereotyped comparisons. And there was the tragic "star-crossed lover", who could not reach his heavenly and pure beloved lady in this life, and from whom she withdrew even further in death. There were his sweet sighs and his eyes, from which the tears shed as from a fountain at the sight of his unattainable donna angelicata, with her sun-like eyes, her lips as red as corals, her snow-white skin, her breath sweet as the smell of roses, her golden hair and her walk angelic and light under the fateful power of the stars and among the sweet songs of murmuring meadow flowers. After two hundred years such a litany of Petrarchan conventions would necessarily have to lead to a revolution 81  which took place first in the form, later in the content (inventio) and finally, in the Baroque period, even in the diction (elocutio) of Baroque poetry. 

A similar development had already taken place in the history of painting. Since about 1520, the pre-Baroque Mannerists had begun to break the canonical forms of Renaissance painting (Raphael, Leonardo) by defocussation, decentralization, and winding lines (serpentinata) anticipating Bernini. Then, immediately in their wake, the high Baroque painters broke the content of Renaissance painting by sensualizing, eroticizing, and aggrandizing biblical history, as well as by dismissing the Renaissance ideals of proportion and beauty. Eccentricity, even deformity, became a hallmark of Baroque art, as in many of the court portraits of the Spanish painter Velazquez. 

The history of music sticks out insofar as this stylistic modification of the principle of harmony by distortion, dissonance, eccentricity, and enormity occurred somewhat later, around 1600, 82  with the breaking up of traditional polyphonic composition, and lasted somewhat longer, until around 1750. Pure polyphony began to be hybridized by monophony, further enriched with an increasing wealth of extremes and dissonances. The early period of Baroque music has been aptly characterized as aiming at typically Baroque originality, exploring "new resources such as chromaticism, dissonance, tonality, monody, recitative, and new vocal and instrumental combinations." 83  The introduction of the thoroughbase or basso continuo initiated a stile moderno (as distinct from the traditional polyphonic stile antico) which remained the fashion until the middle of the eighteenth century: the epoch of Baroque music. 84  This chiaroscuro-like thorough bass was often performed by ever new gigantic bass instruments which produced ever lower and darker sounds, throwing into relief tortuous lines of chromatically arranged tones high above: the contrabassoon, the great bass recorder, the bass flute, the bass dulcian, and the large bass viol. 85  By contrast, and analogous to the literary conceit, the instruments playing the upper lines grew more and more elevated in pitch: the Baroque flute or recorder, the (valveless) Baroque trumpet, the favourite oboe or hautboy expressing love (oboe d'amore), the frequently introduced "sharp violins" expressing "jealous pangs and desperation, fury, frantic indignation, depths of pains and heights of passion". 86  Thus, compositional artificiality (including quaintly handled counterpoints and compositiones figuratae such as notes arranged to form a cross or other subject of the piece) 87  coexisted with intense passions as analysed and described in philosophical, literary and musical Affektenlehren. 88  The widening of extremes was reflected in the concerto grosso as a favourite genre of Baroque music, with a small concertino (mostly of violins) playing against an overwhelming orchestral grosso. And it also manifested itself in the popularity of the castrato with his artificial voice ("falsetto"), whose growth-hampered larynx and unbroken voice produced a vocal range that no natural voice was capable of (up to three and a half octaves). His artificial voice, again, was matched by the castrato's monstrous size and androgynic appearance, which later exposed him to the ridicule of the 'nature'-oriented Neoclassical critics. Moreover, artificiality was the hallmark of many musical genres of the Baroque, such as the opera and the fugue, which later incurred similar satirical blame, as in Alexander Pope's second Dunciad (1742). There, the Harlot Opera with her false tinsel thus addresses the Empress Dulness "in quaint Recitativo":


    "O Cara! Cara! silence all that train:
    Joy to great Chaos! let Division reign:
    Chromatic tortures soon shall drive them hence,
    Break all their nerves, and fritter all their sense:
    One Trill shall harmonize joy, grief, and rage,
    Wake the dull Church, and lull the ranting Stage;
    [...]" 89 
In the history of poetry, however, these compository eruptions are to be observed as early as in the history of painting. In 1530, Sir Thomas Wyatt still imitated Petrarchan sonnets rather closely in his English adaptations. His successor, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was already varying the Petrarchan rhyme patterns by choosing alternating rhymes and a final couplet, a form which was later even adopted by Shakespeare. And in 1582, Thomas Watson published Hecathompathia, a fairly conventional cycle of one hundred sonnets, though revolutionary in its 18-line form. About this time, however, in Astrophil and Stella, Sir Philip Sidney was already beginning to play with the conventional inventio of Petrarchism. He did so by making the failure to imitate Petrarch and Ronsard the precondition of a slowly developing and very erotic passion. 
Ten years later his successor Edmund Spenser broke the conventional inventio in his Amoretti, allowing the courtship to be crowned by success and marriage. Finally, in the 1590s, Shakespeare left all conventions behind, replacing the beautiful donna angelicata by a promiscuous bisexual youth and an ugly dark prostitute and complicating this confusion of emotions by introducing a fourth character, the Mannerist Rival Poet, who alternately sleeps with both the youth and the Dark Lady. But Shakespeare -- as well as Surrey and Watson and Sidney and Spenser -- largely remained loyal to the Renaissance conventions of poetic diction, even if he criticized empty elocutionary pathos in his Rival Poet. 
It was left to the revolutionary and Baroque poet John Donne and his School to completely break apart the monolithic Petrarchan canon of form, content, and diction. 90  Donne's originally invented conceits, which may be explained as modelled on the tortuous pictorial illustrations of the contemporary emblem books, exploded traditional Petrarchan diction as effectively as his well-nigh ugly plain style and his originally invented metrical forms, which he freely chose to underline his very un-Petrarchan contents. Thus, the close relationship between the emblem and the conceit needs some further investigation in order to understand the Metaphysical revolt against Renaissance Petrarchism's ideals of proportion and beauty. 91 
As a contemporary of Shakespeare, Donne also wrote his Songs and Sonnets for circulation in manuscript. Donne, born and brought up a Catholic, converted to Protestantism about 1596 and became an Anglican High Church divine. He was well acquainted with the Baroque conceits of the Jesuits modelled on Ignatian examples, as they were used in the underground activities of the Counter-Reformation in England in the 1590s, which took place despite the threat of most severe punishments. The prose meditations and poems of the English Jesuit and early Baroque author Robert Southwell circulated in manuscript and will probably have been known to John Donne, as was Southwell's spectacular and most cruel fate: Southwell was executed in London in 1595, after three years of imprisonment and torture in the Tower. 92  In any case, John Donne was familiar with the "emblems" or "hieroglyphics" of the Alciati tradition, which had its roots in a misunderstanding of the Egyptian hieroglyphs as pictorial moral ideograms. It was a fertile misunderstanding in the history of art, which explains the synonymity of "emblem" and "hieroglyph" in the Baroque period 93 , and which is still apparent in the original misnomer 'hieroglyph'. The Tridentine justification of the theological usefulness and acceptability of the 'sensational' picture, in contrast to Calvin's view, eventually led to the emblem gaining a similar Counter-Reformatory significance. The emblem acted as a mediator between the abstract contents of faith and the human senses, just as the Baroque painting or sculpture did for the concrete contents of faith. Modelled on the Exercitia of Ignatius, it was made to stimulate all the senses. Even the conscious deception of the senses, for example in the Baroque illusionist paintings on walls and ceilings ad majorem Dei gloriam, was accepted in line with the Jesuit principle of 'dulce et utile'.
Thus the 'sensational' visual art of the Baroque did not refrain from presenting abstract items of faith, such as divine grace, divine love and forgiveness, theological and secular sins and virtues through bold pictorial analogues, even if vehicle and tenor lay very far apart without any natural connection, thus acting against all laws of philosophical logic. As obvious clichés were only rarely available, the most important characteristic of an emblem book author in the Alciati tradition was the Baroque sense of 'wit', i.e. the capacity to produce original, artificial and remote pictorial analogies making use of the proverbial Jesuit sophistry and inventiveness. In the eikon of the emblem, he visualized divine grace via the image of a magnet for an iron heart or via the image of a besieger in front of a besieged fortress shaped like a heart. And in the poema of the emblem, he elaborated his lemma to explain the illustrations, thus creating literary conceits.

Baroque poems can often be read as the poemata of emblem books, as for example, John Donne's Holy Sonnet 'Thou hast made me':


    Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,
    And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart. 94 

Thus, the emblem art of the Counter-Reformation turned out to be a highly appropriate instrument to break up clichés by means of witty conceits, including the clichés of a declining literary Petrarchism. The Council of Trent legitimized the practice used in Baroque poetry which, following the biblical Song of Solomon, presented divine love through physical erotic love, and thus made it the object of desire. Presented thus in numberless emblem books dedicated to amor, it easily allowed the rendering of spiritual into secular rhetoric. Instead of applying the stereotyped, obvious and logical comparison of love with fire, John Donne used the tortuously conceited, original, witty, artificial and by no means logical comparison of love with a flea, which is far from obvious and stands in need of a 'Jesuitical' explicatio rabulata.

The emblem book as a source of English Baroque rhetoric was to be found all over the British Isles and was generally accessible. 95  It is true that emblem books were originally meant as a weapon of the Counter-Reformation and that the art of printing in England was notoriously backward, so that until the Restoration a relatively small number of English emblem books (compared with the immense flood of Continental emblem books) had been printed. 96  But, firstly, the pressure exerted by the Counter-Reformatory 'sensational' paintings and sculpture was so great that the Protestants had to move away from stern Calvinistic doctrine and avail themselves of the fine arts by adjusting them to their Protestant cause: their churches grew more and more ornamented, they filled their emblem books with pointedly Protestant contents. Secondly, Catholic as well as Protestant emblem books from the Continent circulated freely in England, and English emblem book authors often received their printing plates directly from the Catholic capital of printing, Antwerp, or the Protestant capital of printing, Leyden, and then supplied them with new English lemmata and poemata. English Protestantism even assimilated the Ignatian meditation, also filling it with Protestant contents. The poems of the Protestant Nonconformist or 'Puritan' Metaphysicals, Andrew Marvell and the early John Milton of the hymn 'On the Morning of Christ's Nativity' (MS 1629), convey the Calvinist view of nature's corruption with all the pictorial splendour of Baroque emblem books and Baroque paintings. The first step of meditation, the visual imagination of the details of salvation and faith, remained invariably the same: compositio loci, composición del lugar, seeing the spot. This explains the preference for the tripartite structure of meditation also present in Protestant English Baroque poetry. 

The emblem-generated conceit with its distinctively 'sensational' quality contributed to the distortion of elegant, well-proportioned, though time-worn Renaissance comparisons. It is frequently linked to the closely related paradox, as both rhetorical figures reflect the time's need to live with two logically opposed and irreconcilable world pictures. John Donne called that church the most faithful bride which opened her lap to everyone; 97  and Richard Crashaw identified that woman as the most celestial whose sins and repentance had bowed her down to earth most lowly. 98  Crashaw's 'Saint Mary Magdalene, or, The Weeper' shows how Petrarchan clichés were cited in order to immediately and extensively disrupt them with adynata, antitheses, paradoxes, and to endow them with a sensational and tangible eroticism which replaced the barrenness of the frustrated Petrarchan lover's vain complaints. The sexuality of Christ is marked as clearly as in Baroque emblems, where Christ is often syncretistically presented as a naked Amor-Christ, the son of Venus-Maria, or in Baroque paintings, where Christ is often shown as an ecstatic lover (even on the cross). 99  Streams of bloody sweat pour from the ecstatic face, and streams of blood pour from the vaginal wounds, and believers or saints approach these wounds to suck in the blood or probe them with their fingers. 100  Crashaw's poem, as stated above, starts on the conventional comparison of the repentant sinner's eyes with fountains or orbs and tears with springs or stars, only to eroticize them and to vary them into ever-changing and ever contradictory new images. These are accumulated with an enormously dynamic vitality, creating ever new sensations of surprise. The reader of the poem feels his thoughts whirled around, much as the spectator of the wall paintings of a Baroque church cupola feels his eyes restlessly wandering into heaped-up vistas of splendid and erotic images. The poem's sensational and theatrical composición del lugar quality in its insistence on balmy sweetness and rich perfumes is obvious. Mary Magdalene's tears are no longer mere symptoms of self-humiliation or complaint for the loss of virginity. Paradoxically, they combine virginity and procreation, repentance and enjoyment, lowliness and richness, self-humiliation and self-exaltation, in a markedly erotic diction combined with alchemistic vocabulary suggesting ever new potencies. 


Such heaped combinations of antitheses (contentiones) and paradoxes (synoecioses), as defined above, dominate even the shortest Metaphysical poems, everywhere shoring up a neo-mystical and holistic creed against threatening ruin and doubt, shouting "credo quia absurdum" so much the louder in their attempt at bridging the enormity of the gap. This neo-mysticism explains the frequency with which smallness and infinity as well as time and eternity are either juxtaposed or paradoxically joined under one aspect, cutting across the neat Thomistic categories of tempus, aevum, aeternitas. 101 The first stanza of the final chorus of Crashaw's Nativity Hymn, a typically Baroque poem written in the theatrical style of a Caroline court-masque, may serve to illustrate this:


    Wellcome, all WONDERS in one sight!
           Aeternity shutt in a span.
    Sommer in Winter. Day in Night.
           Heauen in earth, & GOD in MAN.
    Great little one! whose all-embracing birth
    Lifts earth to heauen, stoopes heau'n to earth. 102
The disproportion and enormity of such cumulated antitheses and paradoxes, disrupting all Renaissance ideals of beauty, not only mirror the tension of men confronted with irreconcilable world pictures, theologies, philosophies, and historiographies. They also attest to a sense of living in a world totally out of joint and fragmented, descended into chaos 103 , standing in need of salvation and in need of a re-orientation on all three corresponding levels of the once ordered cosmos: macrocosm, microcosm, state, as described above. On the state level, especially at court, men observed an increase in political Machiavellianism. In England, Machiavellianism was (mis)understood as a disruptive ethical philosophy, disconnecting ethics from fixed natural norms and linking it to political utility, thus providing a justification for intrigue and murder. The Machiavellian stage-villain, multiplied in Jacobean and Caroline drama, was a reckless devil incarnate and solipsistic individualist divorced from all religious and social ties, "Ego mihimet sum semper proximus". 104  

The most famous literary manifestation of this widespread feeling that political, social, and moral coherence was crumbling together with the chaos in macrocosm and microcosm is John Donne's First Anniversary (1611) - a very theatrical poem full of conceits and breaches of logic, using as its central conceit the anatomy of the corpse of the old world after its slow and weary decease:


    And new Philosophy calls all in doubt,
    The Element of fire is quite put out;
    The Sun is lost, and th'earth, and no mans wit
    Can well direct him where to looke for it.
    And freely men confesse that this world's spent,
    When in the Planets, and the Firmament
    They seeke so many new; they see that this
    Is crumbled out againe to his Atomies.
    'Tis all in peeces, all cohaerence gone;
    All just supply, and all Relation:
    Prince, Subject, Father, Sonne, are things forgot,
    For every man alone thinkes he hath got
    To be a Phoenix, and that then can bee
    None of that kinde, of which he is, but hee. 105 

Ten years earlier, Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida (1601-2) had shown the exemplum horrendum of a culture in decline, its ruin caused by the relativization of "degree, priority, and place" as well as "moral philosophy" and the "law of nature".  106  Shakespeare had his Ulysses deliver his famous "degree speech" drawing a similarly dark portrait of the horrible and universal chaos caused by the loss of the old geocentric order:


    O, when degree is shaked,
    Which is the ladder to all high designs,
    The enterprise is sick! How could communities,
    Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities,
    Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
    The primogenitive and due of birth,
    Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
    But by degree, stand in authentic place?
    Take but degree away, untune that string,
    And, hark, what discord follows!  107 

The ominous signs of a world descending into chaos are depicted in many contemporary sources describing similar details. With its enumeration of the symptoms of decadence, John Donne's swan song anticipated the apocalyptic mood of the Fin de Siècle poets, who, in their turn, rediscovered English Baroque poetry as congenial: the assumption of eccentric as well as centric spheres (already made by the Ptolemaic astronomers), of man growing smaller and smaller as well as more prone to disaster, of seasons increasingly out of tune while at the same time losing all attributes of beauty, proportion and colour, of new epidemics (such as syphilis and influenza), of masses of vermin, of numerous fateful meteors, of the loss of the noble art of divination due to the broken "correspondence" between heaven and earth:


    For heaven gives little, and the earth takes lesse,
    And man least knowes their trade and purposes.  108 

Between those two corresponding levels - macrocosm and microcosm - there existed a third level of correspondence: the state as 'bodie politick'. But even the state, where order manifested itself in peace within and without, seemed, at that time, to be falling prey to the chaos of war. In England no end to the wars with Spain and France was in sight, and the ever increasing religious and political polarization clearly pointed to the inevitability of the imminent Civil War; on the Continent the Thirty Years' War broke out and devastated Germany with the same vehemence as the Civil War did in England. 

Thus, the individual Baroque artist felt increasingly disconnected from all three (formerly corresponding) levels which had once been believed to be firmly connected and based on a divinely pre-established world order. This sense of disconnectedness produced various reactions, attempts at bridging the gap on the one hand, and resignation on the other hand. On the one hand, as shown above, devices of contrariety joined in art what could no longer be joined in theology: the poet's conceit and paradox as well as the painter's chiaroscuro and the musical composer's counterpoint. In this context we should understand the idea of the work of art as an atoning sacrifice to reconcile estranged mankind to God, - an idea later revived in Romantic poetology (and another respect in which Baroque poetry anticipated Romantic poetry). The idea is most prominently expressed in George Herbert's The Temple, even in the collection's introductory poem,


    A verse may finde him, who a sermon flies,
    And turn delight into a sacrifice. 109 

and then, memorably in his pattern poem 'The Altar', where the "broken ALTAR" of the poet's heart and pen is offered as a sacrificial act of at-one-ment and soteriological reintegration:


    O let thy blessed SACRIFICE be mine,
    And sanctifie this ALTAR to be thine. 110 

The self-confessing speaker's private mode shows how, on the other hand, the Baroque artist resignedly withdrew into his own privacy: together with his mistress into the intimacy of his love chamber, with his God into the isolation of his praying-room, with his own thoughts into the isolation of a garden or a library. So, in the one extreme, Baroque horticulture brought forth secluded retiros. In their high-walled and small enclosures man found a visual (and psychological) safeguard against the immensity and the chaos without, a centre regained. 111  In the opposite extreme, the overwhelming and centralized palace gardens of the Baroque princes mirrored the 'new theology', which implicitly taught that immensity, immeasurability, unrepresentability, and apparent chaos were the image of the immensity of God, who had created that seemingly disorderly universe. In this theology, loss of measure became the new measure itself. This provocative creed is also contained in Crashaw's 'The Weeper'. Mary Magdalene, the "pretious Prodigall" ever sweating balmy tears at the approach of Christ her bridegroom whom she ever follows, is exuberant, excessive, luxuriant, and wanton in her overproductive physical secretion 112 , just as the poet is excessive in his cumulation of shockingly sensational images. Excess implicitly appears no longer to be an ingredient of sin, but of the virtue of imitatio Dei. The Baroque princes' excessive gardens as well as excessive erotic lives must be seen in this context of the history of ideas, the more so as love and the garden (as love's classic location) had been closely associated from both classical antiquity and the Old Testament Song of Solomon to the Baroque emblem books. 113 

Baroque poetry was characterized by an attitude of a totally unascetic, un-Pauline, Epicurean contemptus mundi, which called into question both the traditional concept of the world and of man as well as the traditional ethical and artistic restrictions of the Renaissance. This was especially true in the context of Ficino's neo-Platonic love ethic. John Donne, the love poet, drove the world and its social norms out of his love chamber by using coarse, unpoetic, and sneering language, thus breaking all ethical and stylistic decorum. In 'The Canonization' he went so far as to paradoxically praise himself and his mistress as saints, not because of any kind of chaste subordination of their bodies to a sovereign mind, but because of the consuming quality of their unrestrained and erotically potent sensuality. The second stanza of the poem is particularly revealing as to the connection between revolutionary and anti-Petrarchan love and rhetoric on the one hand, and the Baroque contemptus mundi on the other:


    Alas, alas, who's injur'd by my love?
    What merchants ships have my sighs drown'd?
    Who saies my teares have overflow'd his ground?
    When did my colds a forward spring remove?
    When did the heats which my veines fill
    Adde one more to the plagui Bill?
    Soldiers finde warres, and Lawyers finde out still
    Litigious men, which quarrels move,
    Though she and I do love. 114 

The Petrarchan clichés (such as sighs like sea storms, tears like spring-tides, spells of cold like winter storms in spring, spells of heat like epidemics) are not only chosen to mock traditions no longer held to be acceptable. They also depict a chaotic world, war and destruction of countless people, to which the witty Baroque poet contrasted the better alternative of voluntary self-consummation in excessive love. Thus, the poet, freed from traditional social and ethical restrictions, simultaneously demonstrated his release from traditional restrictions of style. 

The same is true for John Donne's religious poetry. In the III. Satire, for example, he broke all conventions of the Anglican Church, dispensed man from both the teachings of the great churchmen and the orders of his King, binding him solely to his own conscience as moulded by the Law of God alone. Wherever Donne emphasized that secular laws and teachings could only be of limited validity, he emphasized the breach of tradition by an extensive use of paradoxes:


    That thou mayest rightly obey power, her bounds know;
    Those past, her nature, and name is chang'd; to be
    Then humble to her is idolatrie. 115 

Just as the Baroque poet called on the king, the nobility, the clergy and the traditional guardians of morality not to interfere by scolding breaches of decorum, he also kept his readers, audience and critics at respectful distance. He displayed all his learning in esoteric thought and language, refusing any direct understanding of his poetry. 116  The most extreme example of this is, no doubt, Baroque pulpit oratory with its extensive and complex trains of thought; additionally laden with patristic and rabbinic knowledge, and often also with quotations in Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic, Syrian and Arabic. 117  Baroque poetry, too, shows such strategies of distance and isolation in its private mode: among these were the strong lines with their obscurity as well as their overriding principle not to conceal art: "ars est praesentare artem." 

In historical perspective, the contemptus mundi increased in the same measure as the new Copernican concept of the world gained ground and wars devastated both England and Germany, and man withdrew into his privacy as described above. 118  Both the lives and the works of the older Baroque poets such as John Donne and George Herbert were torn between the extreme poles of a splendid public career and a private withdrawal. Their poems dramatize the defence of their escapist private mode against the ever present temptations of a chaotic world. 119  

Through his clandestine marriage with Ann More in 1601, against all rules of civil and canonical law, John Donne forfeited his chance of a public career, thus thwarting all his previous efforts: "John Donne, Anne Donne, Vn-done". 120  Later, Donne was deeply disappointed when the King whom he had scolded and rebuked only made him Dean of St. Paul's instead of Archbishop of Canterbury. The bridge between heavenly spirituality and worldly sensuality was never broken down entirely, either in Donne's life or in Donne's poetry, where erotic and spiritual love were so dramatically juxtaposed that it is often difficult to distinguish between his love poems and his divine poems. 'The Canonization' may be regarded as the best example of that double tension. 

Donne's pupil George Herbert, younger brother of the prominent Edward Lord Herbert of Cherbury, born in 1593 and 17 years Donne's junior, found it less difficult to give up his highly prestigious office as public orator at the University of Cambridge. In ostentatious modesty, he became rector of the humble country parish of Bemerton, located within walking distance between Salisbury, the proud cathedral town, and Wilton House, the gorgeous palace of his family, the Herberts, Earls of Pembroke. His Temple poems -- published in the year of his death by his literary executor Nicholas Ferrar, who also chose to live in rural isolation -- reduce the tension between erotic and spiritual love by submerging Donne's erotic imagery, and are much more easily classified as divine poetry. Yet they retain, albeit in reduced form, the dramatic tension between the desire for privacy and the temptations of the world, as for example in 'The Quip':


    The merrie world did on a day
    With his train-bands and mates agree
    To meet together, where I lay,
    And all in sport to geere at me. 121 

Richard Crashaw, born in 1613 and trained on Giambattista Marino, was even more willing to dispense with an academic career at Cambridge within the Anglican Church hierarchy. Crashaw, a former High Churchman, turned to the Spanish mystics, converted to Catholicism and died in 1649, holding a minor church office in Loretto. His hymn 'The Weeper' ends with two stanzas spoken by Mary Magdalene's personified tears, in which the migrating tears affirm their scorn at pursuing such "inferior gemmes" as are placed on such "toyes" as crowns or coronets, vain and evanescent things even below drops of morning dew hovering upon flowers. They would much rather


                  [...] goe to meet
    A worthy object, our lord's FEET. 122 
The treasures of the world, however, are still present and not yet quite removed from the poem's scope. They survive in its intense sexual imagery, visualizing Mary Magdalene as a typically Baroque woman embracing the extremes of sensuality and spirituality, much as does the Mary Magdalene of the Baroque paintings by Georges de la Tour and El Greco. The strong Ignatian component in Crashaw's Italianate Baroque, amor eroticus as a significant of amor divinus, would not allow a pure saint's total withdrawal and spiritualization. Thus, Crashaw's divine poems lack Donne's dramatic defence of the private mode while retaining (or even intensifying) his dramatic tension between amor divinus and amor eroticus.

Andrew Marvell (born in 1621) and Thomas Traherne (born as late as 1637) were contrary characters in their public aspirations. Marvell was Latin Secretary to the Council of State (as successor to John Milton) before and anti-Cavalier controversialist after the Restoration; whereas Traherne, by contrast, was content to lead a single and devout life as rector of Credenhill in his native Herefordshire. What both had in common though was that, when they died (Marvell in 1678 and Traherne in 1674), they left their private mode Metaphysical lyrics unpublished. Marvell's lyrics were found by his housekeeper and published in 1681 (Miscellaneous Poems), and Traherne's were not found until 1896 and published in 1903 (Poetical Works). The private mode of their Metaphysical lyrics is quite unthreatened by worldly aspirations. In one of Marvell's much-anthologized meditational poems, a drop of dew, symbolizing the soul, has dropped into a bed of roses; yet it weeps with its own tear at the loss of heaven, despising the beauty and fragrance of the earthly roses,


    ´So the World excluding round,
    Yet receiving in the Day. 123 
The speaker of Marvell's 'The Garden' drives the private mode to its very extreme, so as to make a tragi-comical fool of himself. Thus, the poem provides a satire on the exuberances of the Roman Catholic (as opposed to Marvell's and the early Milton's more restricted Protestant) Baroque. 124  As such, the speaker of 'The Garden' voices the opposite extreme to the ascetic speaker of 'A Mower against Gardens', neither of which extremes Marvell would have adopted. Marvell's speaker is a sensualist, hedonist, sybarite, whose love of solitude appears as a mere temporary recovery from amorous excesses, to which his fancy recurs again and again. Quite apart from the fact that he grossly misunderstands the mythical tales of Apollo attempting to rape Daphne and Pan attempting to rape Syrinx, his desire "To live in Paradise alone" 125  as a prelapsarian Adam before the creation of Eve stands in blatant contradiction to his erotic fancy, giving the lie to this extreme of the private mode. His equation of his garden with Paradise evokes associations of Original Sin and the Fall of Man, which he seems to blot out. And his spiritual ecstasy, with a free soul "Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade", is proved a short-lived illusion by his observations in the poem's final (seventh) stanza: the seasonal flowers, the sundial, the short-lived bees computing "thyme" or "time", suggest the narrow limits of his corporeal existence: memento mori. And even then, the obvious pun on "hours" and "whores" 126  proves him an unregenerate extreme sensualist. Thus read, the poem is a Protestant Baroque plea for a private mode which provides no Donnean excuse for worldly amorousness. 

In Traherne's highly visionary Poems of Felicity, 127  such as 'Eden' and 'Innocence', worldly seductions are no longer perceived, any more than worldly pains. Traherne was a Cambridge Platonist, a fact which helps explain his anti-Calvinism and flat denial of a fallen and corrupt earth:


    A learned and a Happy Ignorance
                  Divided me,
           From all the Vanitie,
    From all the Sloth Care Pain and Sorrow that advance,
           The madness and the Miserie
    Of Men. No Error, no Distraction I
    Saw soil the earth, or overcloud the Skie. 128 

Traherne's 'proto-Romantic' yearning for infancy and a child's anamnetic view of the world as a reflection and part of heaven uneclipsed by clouds of Calvinistic denigration goes well beyond Crashaw's mysticism. In his lyrics, this spiritual view of the world transcends and rules out Vaughan's contemptus mundi as to the merry world and its enticements. Traherne's parallel 'proto-Romantic' denial of anything profane in the world, anticipating Blake, finds a brilliant expression in his poem 'On Leaping over the Moon'. The poet's vision melts with that of his little brother skipping over a pool of water, and the reflection of this everyday scene in the water interfuses it with the skies, so that the brother seems easily and without any danger to overleap the moon. In the instructive light of this nightly vision, the scene is no longer banal. The same "Place of Bliss" appears "under our Feet" and "o'er our Heads": 129 


    On hev'nly Ground within the Skies we walk,
           And in this middle Center talk:
                  Did we but wisely mov,
                  On Earth in Hev'n abov,
                         We then should be
                         Exalted high
    Abov the Sky: from whence whoever falls,
           Through a long dismal Precipice,
    Sinks to the deep Abyss where Satan crawls
           here horrid Death and Despair lies. 130 
In this mystical vision, man is again placed into a centre, between an easily reached heaven above and an impotent hell below. Traherne's poem shows men on the lookout for a new anthropocentric orientation, replacing the lost geocentric world picture. However, in the 200 years of reordering which elapsed between Copernicus's De revolutionibus orbium coelestium (1543) and Pope's Essay on Man(1733-34), 131  Traherne's solution of the problem is a very private and unteachable one. Small wonder that Traherne, who never addresses any reader except his brother as his alter ego, saw no point in a literary reputation, remained content with his small parish in his native Herefordshire, where he died, and left his manuscripts unpublished. This demonstrative disdain for literary reputation was only surpassed by the American Metaphysical poet Edward Taylor (1644-1729) in his small frontier village of Westfield in Massachusetts, who in his will even forbade the publication of his manuscripts. Like Traherne's, Taylor's manuscripts were not discovered and published until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries respectively.

Finally, Henry Vaughan, born in the same year as Andrew Marvell, showed no hesitation at all about giving up worldly careers with his conversion after 1648, and about remaining in the seclusion of his home county of Breconshire (Wales). His secular love poems belong to the period before his conversion: Poems (1646) and Olor Iscanus (MSS ca 1647). Quite unlike Donne, Vaughan felt ashamed of their erotic worldliness, and even more ashamed when his friends injudiciously published Olor Iscanus in 1651. His religious poems such as 'The World', 'The Retreat', or 'Corruption' -- all published in 1650 as part of the collection with the paradoxical title Silex Scintillans -- show him to be a nostalgic primitivist in the sense of Neo-Platonism, totally removed from this dark, chaotic world with its aspirations in love and war, and an esoteric admirer of the Hermetic philosophy: 132  Man, no longer the crown of creation on a still earth in the centre of the universe but hurled somewhere around the sun, seeks rest in a world-contemning ecstasy of the mind, carrying him above all physical things even more than the speaker of Marvell's 'The Garden' with his imagined escape to a "green thought in a green shade":


    I saw Eternity the other night
    Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,
    All calm, as it was bright,
    And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years
    Driv'n by the spheres
    Like a vast shadow mov'd. In which the world
    And all her train were hurl'd. 133 

And thus, mystically uplifted into the light of the Empyrean, Vaughan's enraptured speaker looks pitifully down on this dark, chaotic world and its hurled-about votaries, who live in lightless caves: the lover and the statesman, the miser and the Epicurean. They are so far removed from the ecstatic speaker's scope that they cannot tempt him any more. Parallel to the decline of the Elizabethan drama and the Ptolemaic universe, Metaphysical poetry was increasingly deprived of its original dramatic tension. 134  The struggle between the temptations of privacy and those of the world upon the 'stage of life', the tension between erotic and divine love, and the conflicting rhetorical figures of disparity, which had been part of its Baroque theatricality, are irretrievably lost:


    O fools (said I,) thus to prefer dark night
    Before true light,
    To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day
    Because it shews the way,
    The way which from this dead and dark abode
    Leads up to God,
    A way where you might tread the Sun, and be
    More bright than he. 135 

The difference between the earlier and the late Metaphysical poets is mirrored in Metaphysical pulpit oratory, if we compare the sermons of Lancelot Andrewes and John Donne on the one hand with those of Jeremy Taylor on the other hand. Taylor, chaplain to King Charles I (as Andrewes had been chaplain to King James I), and Charles's spiritual aide on the scaffold, preached sermons that accumulated and intertwined Metaphysical conceits in disdain of all worldly aspirations:


    LEARN to despise the world; [...] for it is a cousenage all the way; the head of it is a rainbow, and the face of it is flattery; [...] its body is as a shadow, and its hands do knit spider's webs; it is an image and a noise, with a Hyaena's lip and a Serpents tail [...]  136 

In the history of Metaphysical poetry, this loss of dramatic tension and theatricality becomes manifest in a comparison of the late Mary Magdalene hymns or Christmas hymns of Henry Vaughan with the early ones written by Robert Southwell and Richard Crashaw. The "Dear, beauteous Saint" 137  of Vaughan's Silex Scintillans has cast away all of Mary Magdalene's traditional pictorial attributes: her mirror, her carefully combed hair, and her vessel of nard which simultaneously denoted the anointing of Christ's feet and the pernicious box of Pandora. Here, the saint's weeping eyes are no longer "sins loose and tempting spies", but fixed stars despising all earthly contact, except for their remote exhortation of "dark straglers" (moral and political sinners lost in the darkness of error). 138  Similarly, Vaughan's hymn on 'Christ's Nativity' presents an unworldly child in a clean manger, and one of the poem's few remaining conceits (the comparison of the manger with a human heart) opens up an estranging gap in time and space between man and God, a gap which God alone can bridge from far beyond human reach:


    I would I had in my best part
    Fit Roomes for thee! or that my heart
           Were so clean as
           Thy manger was!
    But I am all filth, and obscene,
    Yet, if thou wilt, thou canst make clean. 139 
Robert Southwell's and the young Milton's Christmas hymns, by contrast, describe very personal encounters with a "silly, tender Babe [...] In homely manger trembling" 140 , a tangible God "All meanly wrapt in a rude manger". 141  Pre-Baroque and Baroque paintings of the Nativity, as by Correggio, Barocci, and Caravaggio, mark the extreme poverty and everyday homeliness of the world's most exceptional moment of divine epiphany. The mightiest prince of the whole world appears in the homeliest hut, the greatest weakness is the greatest strength, and the child's sweet birth is envisaged so as to foreshadow the man's bitter passion. The swaddling-cloth is both at once: royal cloak and dead body's shroud. If such paradoxical and highly dramatic bridging of extremes may be regarded as a characteristic of Baroque art, then Vaughan's comfortable adoption of the spiritual and undramatic renunciation of the sensual extreme, both in his life and his poetry, indicates the end of the Baroque epoch.

Conversely, the late Metaphysical disintegration of Baroque complexity and dramaticality could also manifest itself in the very opposite way, fusing with Cavalier poetry (and thus breaking up the Baroque private mode). Abraham Cowley discards all spirituality and mysticism from the love poetry of his collection The Mistress (1646), isolating an extremely carnal amor eroticus from its theological combination with amor divinus. The late or post-Baroque "dissociation of sensibility" (as identified by T.S. Eliot) resulted from God becoming more and more removed from man, an intellectually constructed rather than emotionally experienced deus absconditus. Thus, the dissociation of sensibility increasingly split a more and more beast-like sexuality from a more and more barren and sterile holiness. This is the disintegrative line of the development of erotic literature from Abraham Cowley via the Earl of Rochester and John Cleland to Victorian pornography and the demonic or merely de-spiritualized animal eroticism in the anti-religious poetry of Charles Baudelaire and Gottfried Benn. 142  Cowley's poetry links love to gold, dowries, and treasures, even where his Machiavellian speakers ironically disavow all prostitution, as in 'The Given Love':


    To give All will befit thee well;
    But not at Under-Rates to sell. 143 

This speaker's claim to uniqueness and privacy proves mere irony. A comparison of the poem with Donne's 'The Canonization' shows the almost parodistical destruction of the Baroque private mode. Whereas Donne's speaker excludes the genteel world and its accepted values in order to realize his unifying love with his one mistress, Cowley's speaker does so only in order to unmask both that world and himself as true dissimulating Machiavels, changing both amorous allegiances and political allegiances according to opportunity. The only thing that distinguishes him from the world is his honesty:


    I'll some such crooked ways invent,
    As you, or your Fore-fathers went:
    I'll flatter or oppose the King,
    Turn Puritan, or Any Thing. 144 
This should not, of course, mislead us to regard late Metaphysical poetry simply as a decadent form of Donne's poetry. 145  It stands in its own right, but it moved closer to Cavalier poetry and thus indicated its epoch's need for a less scholastic, less dramatically torn, but more rationalistic way of writing. It has been aptly shown that this development is also reflected in the development of the aesthetic philosophy of and in the style of Thomas Hobbes. 146  The apparent chaos in macrocosm, state, and microcosm had first led the intellectuals into a more or less extreme withdrawal, with the consequence of an upgrading of private and social mode poetry and a simultaneous devaluation of all public mode genres, notably the epic. The heyday of Metaphysical and Cavalier poetry saw an increasing decline both in the production of epic poetry and prose 147  and in the quality of drama. But, as the sense of chaos visibly increased with the Civil War in Britain (and the Thirty Years' War in Germany), there arose a new demand for a new public responsibility in literature.

After 1640 the public mode of poetry flourishing in the Renaissance again gained ground, 148 and with it the classical public mode genres, i. e. the verse epic and the drama (the latter being strictly prohibited though secretly cultivated throughout the Commonwealth). John Milton's early lyric poetry written between 1629 and 1638 (such as the Nativity Ode, the sonnet 'On Shakespeare', and Lycidas) had already shown symptoms of overstepping the private mode and reassuming a public praeceptor populi stance, so that Milton could later claim them as poetical exercises for his epic magnum opus (first his projected King Arthur, then Paradise Lost). By having recourse to the epic models of Spenser and the Spenserians, notably Giles Fletcher, Milton demonstratively reached back across the hiatus which the late Jacobean and the Caroline period had left with regard to the writing of epics. Moreover, as the public mode or epic revival advanced from 1640 to 1660, the lyric poetry of the Metaphysicals and Cavaliers with their private and social modes respectively lost ground, so that the order of genre precedence was reversed again: the verse epic grew first and lyric poetry last in respect. Thomas Hobbes's 'Answer to Davenant', published separately in Paris in 1650 and then prefixed to the London edition of William Davenant's public mode verse epic Gondibert (1651), rates the "Heroique Poem Dramatique" highest, and "Sonets, Epigrams, Eclogues, and the like peeces" lowest, as being "but Essayes and parts of an entire Poem". 149  At the end stood the triumph of Neoclassicism, 150  with Abraham Cowley's recantation of his earlier Metaphysical mode of writing, the 'Ode of Wit' (1656):


    In a true piece of Wit all things must be,
           Yet all things there agree.
    As in the Ark, joyn'd without force or strife,
    All Creatures dwelt; all Creatures that had Life.
           Or as the Primitive Forms of all
           (If we compare great things with small)
    Which without Discord or Confusion lie,
    In that strange Mirror of the Deitie. 151 

But, eventually, the decline of Metaphysical poetry was also inseparably linked to the decline of Cavalier poetry. Lyric poetry and the lyric ego's private or social mode, repudiated in High Neoclassicism from Dryden to Johnson, did not reappear until the lyrical revival of the Preromantic and Romantic Movement of the later eighteenth century. 152 


III


In default of formal artes poeticae and artes rhetoricae, 153  we have to reconstruct Metaphysical ideals and their rationale from various sources. 154  Among the richest sources are no doubt the numerous English and Latin elegies on the death of the famous poet and preacher John Donne in 1631. Some of these were incorporated in the posthumous editions of Donne's poems in 1633 and 1635. They unanimously emphasized the uniqueness of the preacher and the poet. Donne's biographer, Izaak Walton, equated "miraculous Donne" with a prophet, sent by God to his dull people. 155  Sir Lucius Cary and Richard Corbet called Donne a king, at whose death comets ought to have fallen from the sky. 156  Arthur Wilson praised Donne as a spirit of high-flying fantasy "in the aire of Wit", whose flights, though admired by many, only few could follow. 157  Henry Valentine compared Donne to the unique solitary phoenix, 'unica semper avis'. 158  Donne himself had used the same image in his First Anniversary when describing his contemporaries after their loss of 'all relation'. The best known is the elegy by Thomas Carew, who described Donne as the last of his age, gleaning a harvested tradition. 159  After him, poetical quality would be replaced by mere light-weight quantity. Although such demonstrative rhetoric of praise or blame (genus demonstrativum) makes use of literary commonplaces rather than historical facts, Carew's pitching of Donne's Baroque originality against Neoclassical imitation and obedience to rules shows one of the prime characteristics in the self-understanding of the Metaphysicals, in the context of the time-honoured querelle des anciens et des modernes. Carew's epitaph has become a literary quotation:


    Here lies a King, that rul'd as hee thought fit
    The universall Monarchy of wit. 160 

In terms of the history of ideas, the ideal of the Baroque poet was the counterpart of the ideal of the absolute prince. Thus, "the divine right of kings" 161  formed the counterpart to "the divine right of poets". In this respect, too, the Baroque poetry of the Metaphysicals reflected the intellectual climate of the age (of Stuart absolutism) much better than the Neoclassical poetry of the Cavaliers with its strict submission to Horatian rules. The Baroque refused to submit to poetic traditions and rules as laid down and reflected in Cicero or Horace, Scaliger or Puttenham. The Baroque prince refused to submit to ancient political traditions and rules as they could still be found in Erasmus or Elyot, for instance. While the medieval authoritative theorists of politics such as John of Salisbury, Bracton and others had placed the prince both above and under the law, rex supra et infra legem, rex legibus absolutus et legibus alligatus, the Baroque prince tended to neglect the latter parts of that dualistic approach. This new understanding of his absolute position had its roots not so much in Bodin or Hobbes, but in Machiavelli's 'absolving' the prince from hitherto firmly established and divinely ordained ethical norms. 162  
In politics, one of these traditional rules had demanded social interaction with the subjects, visits and audiences such as Elizabeth I had still cultivated. But, 'absolving' himself from that time-honoured rule, the Baroque prince, like the Baroque poet, tended to withdraw into his privacy. There may seem to exist a basic contradiction between the Baroque poet and his enclosed garden on the one hand, and the Baroque prince and his gigantic palace and garden on the other hand. But, quite apart from the fact that contradiction was the life and soul of Baroque culture, the contradiction is resolved in the poet's and prince's common pursuit of saving privacy, 'absoluteness', though by opposite means. The poet as the prince's subject kept the world at a distance on a smaller scale, parallel to his forbidding rhetoric; the prince did the same on a larger scale, with his forbidding architectural and horticultural pomp.
As to Baroque palace architecture, the contradiction between the plain 'Protestant' façades and the Baroque 'Roman Catholic' interiors has already been noted above. It symbolized the progressive estrangement between the early Stuart court and the people, the 'absolutism' which cost King Charles I his life. Later, in Restoration England, during the reign of his son Charles II (1660-85), the same phenomenon manifested itself again in another form, e.g. in Sir Christopher Wren's 'Protestant Baroque' church architecture, which combined Bernini's Baroque with Jones's Neoclassicism. Wren's original designs were too close to Bernini and the Roman Catholic Baroque, and the king's judicious policy demanded a compromise. Wren had to cut Bernini's vertically towering upward lines and arches into segments, interrupting them by strong horizontal lines expressing the curbs set on Stuart absolutism. A similar reduction in force and ornament can be observed in Wren's, Vanbrugh's and Hawksmoor'spalace architecture.

As for Baroque garden architecture, the contradiction appears in the heterogeneous combination of the garden's gigantic dimensions with the private bowers, nooks, and secretive mazes enclosed within its walls. A short characterization of the medieval garden will help us to understand the Baroque garden, not only by contrast, but because the typology of the medieval garden still shaped the numerous Metaphysical garden poems by Southwell, Donne, Herbert, Marvell, and Vaughan, as well as the numerous garden pictures of emblem books. The typical medieval garden is a "garden enclosed", entailing all the erotic and divine symbolism derived from the Old Testament Song of Solomon. 163  As such, the medieval garden had been understood as an image of paradise in the religious as well as erotic sense. The Greek word for the Hebrew Garden of Eden was 'enclosed', and associated Paradise with the Hebrew 'garden enclosed' of the Song of Solomon. As a consequence of this association, iconography presented both Paradise and its image in nuce, the medieval garden, as walled round-in, hedged enclosures. 164  The interior - fertile and cultivated - would represent an "idealized, controlled representation of nature" 165  and thus, of course, divine order. Outside the walls was the domain of barren chaos, out of which God had created this orderly world. The gardener of the medieval hortus conclusus was consequently an image of God, alter Deus, - and also of the medieval king, alter rex - , insofar as he cultivated and fertilized the garden (which would otherwise be as barren as the chaos without). He had to graft in order to bring about fertility (note the sexual imagery) and to cut and prune in order to prevent excrescences (note the judicial imagery). This 'garden of love' with its sexual and divine connotations designated both fruitfulness and harmony. The medieval garden was a peaceful fruit and vegetable garden for the cultivation of food and medical herbs, indicating that both God and his terrestrial representative, the king, were in charge of providing peace, nourishment, and healing for their people. Deus medicus and rex medicus were commonplace terms and icons. This iconology and symbolism survived in the emblems and poems of the Baroque period, although the gardens themselves had by then radically changed. The reader of Donne's 'Twickenham Garden', for instance, must have been acquainted with that tradition in order to understand the poem's speaker, a soul-sick man (like Shakespeare's Hamlet) possessed by the deadly sin of acedia. He visits God's garden of love and medicine only to persevere in his grief, because he refuses to see suffering as a precondition to regeneration or Good Friday as a precondition to Easter:


    And that this place may thoroughly be thought
    True Paradise, I have the serpent brought. 166 
After the Middle Ages, 167  in the Renaissance, that paradisiacal 'garden of love' metamorphosed from intimacy to grandeur, and from a fruit and vegetable garden to an ornamental garden. Thus, it lost part of its religious symbolism in the wake of the general process of secularization. It adjoined a palace, mansion, or monastery, though not yet as part of a grand design comprising buildings and gardens. The development then progressed to the Baroque garden, facing a royal, ducal, or episcopal palace and proportioned to the whole length of that palace's façade. Moreover, it enriched the traditional Renaissance parterre by introducing costly, large-scale, artificial terraces. In its gigantic size and design, this ensemble embodied the Absolutist's prince's centralistic concentration of power. Spectacular and theatrical, with large and fragrant (mostly artificially grown) flowers and fruit, and with the magnificent mise-en-scène of its garden feasts to the sound of specially commissioned garden or river fireworks 168  and musical entertainments, the Baroque garden was - like Baroque poetry - designed to appeal to all the senses. Thus, it provides another proof of the close link between Baroque and absolutism. 169  This is also apparent in the Baroque garden's ingenious new water architecture, including machine-operated artificial fountains on meadows and in artificial musical grottos. 170  Nevertheless, as has been stated above, the interior of that gigantic Baroque garden was fantastically subdivided so as to provide the prince with "retiros" from the courtiers, just as the whole garden provided the court with a "retiro" from the 'vulgar' populace. The self-isolatory private mode was guaranteed both ways. 

Among these retiros counted the mazes or labyrinths characteristic of the Baroque garden. They mirrored the epoch's sense of disorientation, though they were mostly constructed around a firm and fixed centre - as if insisting on the notion of a still centralized universe and the presence of a God and a Heavenly Jerusalem still acting as the final destination for man (though he may be temporarily lost) on the pilgrimage of his life. 171  But, in their dazzling combination with bowers, crooked lanes, and arboreta (artificial forests), they brought an element of artificial chaos into that otherwise cultivated garden, which had formerly been understood to exclude all chaos in favour of a small undisputed cosmos. Thus, the Baroque garden expressed the epoch's disorientation post Copernicum as well as Baroque poetry, its sense of contrariety or "antithetisches Lebensgefühl". In England, the Baroque garden's association with Stuart absolutism led to the fatal destruction of all Baroque gardens under Cromwell. The walls were pulled down, the bowers and mazes mangled, and the statues demonstratively beheaded, as was the king himself on 30 January 1649. 172  Andrew Marvell's 'The Mower against Gardens' paradoxically condenses all the Puritan arguments against the artificiality of such Baroque gardens into a Metaphysical poem. The poem's plain unreliable speaker, a rustic mower, and evidently more Calvinistic than Marvell himself, argues on the basis of the typically Protestant and anti-Catholic ideal of (Christian) original primitiveness, innocence, and simplicity. To him, the artificial grottos, waterworks, statues, exotic plants and "adulterate" fruits of Baroque gardens constitute a denaturation, a falsification of God's original primitive design:


    'Tis all enforc'd, the Fountain and the Grot;
           While the sweet Fields do lye forgot. 173 

Denaturation does not only imply devitalization and vilification, but sin. The poem's initial attack upon the "Vice" of "Luxurious Man" names one of the seven deadly sins, 'luxuria', the irregular lust of lovers, and the loss of both men's and plants' procreative vitality through unnatural excess in those oversecretive and overamorous gardens:


    Luxurious Man, to bring his Vice in use,
           Did after him the World seduce:
    And from the fields the Flow'rs and Plants allure,
    Where nature was most plain and pure. 174 

What follows is a densely and subtly interwoven catalogue of other sins involved in Baroque horticulture: pride (in man's 'dealing between the bark and the [forbidden] tree' by assuming to improve God's natural paradise), robbery (in the Roman Catholic Spaniards' expeditions to exploit the exotic treasures of South America), adultery (in the unnatural breeding of new but unprocreative plants and trees), the Baroque princes' irregular craze for unnatural unprocreative eunuchs as gardeners, singers, or even lovers, and the Baroque princes' neglect of their public duty in the private mode of their walled-in self-seclusion. Here, "A dead and standing pool of Air" is perversely given preference to a more natural and accessible garden


    Where willing Nature does to all dispence
           A wild and fragrant Innocence. 175 

This wild and fragrant innocence is implicitly pitched against the stale incense in Roman Catholic nunneries and churches. Far from Calvin's iconoclasm, Marvell was a Protestant who had appropriated the Baroque, though on a smaller scale and without the Roman Catholics' love of pompous artificial excess, just as the Baroque interior of Protestant churches adapted Baroque paintings and ornament on small panels and in reduced proportions. In that respect, Marvell's preference for natural and proportionate gardens resembled that of the High Churchman George Herbert in Bemerton, Salisbury. 176  Similarly, in Andrew Marvell's topographical poem 'Upon Appleton House. To my Lord Fairfax', the speaker argues not against gardens and garden pleasures themselves, but against unnatural artificiality, unnatural enclosures, and unnatural pompous grandeur and disproportion as typical of the Roman Catholic and Counter-Reformatory Baroque. His tale of the past, when the heiress Isabel Thwaites, wooed by William Fairfax, was confined in the former nunnery, establishes a significant parallel between Roman Catholic monasticism and Baroque horticulture. Both appear as dominated by sinful pride and unnatural luxury, both erect walled-in dungeons, and both lack the natural vigour of procreation. 177  Yet now the original nunnery's confining walls have been pulled down, and Cromwell's General Thomas Fairfax has built himself a solid, unpretentious, and functional brick mansion for temporal residence instead of a vast, artificial, and ornamental Baroque palace for permanent self-seclusion, and a 'military garden' instead of its complement, the 'amorous garden'. 178  Fairfax's garden "laid [...] out [...] In the just Figure of a Fort" 179  was decorated with naturally grown flowers that often bore military names; 180  it had no artificially bred trees and flowers, no artificial waterworks, no artificial grottos, no artificial terraces, and no statues of fauns and fairies. Instead of providing an escapist private-mode retiro, this military garden was as functional and related to the unquiet times as the fortified house. Here General Fairfax would perform military exercises even in times of temporal peace: si vis pacem para bellum. 181  This, as well as the speaker's appeal to General Fairfax not to withdraw but to commit himself to public duties, or his allegorical argumentation both against too high (Cavaliers) and too low (Levellers), make it evident that Marvell's garden stanzas replace the Baroque private mode by a pre-Augustan public mode in keeping with the unquiet times. Accordingly, they are no longer poetry in praise of artificial Baroque retiros, the less so as the speaker repeatedly expresses the author's Protestant conviction that the earth's paradisiacal prelapsarian state cannot possibly be retrieved (natura totaliter corrupta). 182  The poem's expository grotesque satire on the sham perfection and strained inventiveness of Salomon de Caus 183  and his falsification of God's creation and creation's natural proportions establishes the contrast to the excesses and unrealistic escapism of Roman Catholic and Absolutist architecture and horticulture:


    Within this sober Frame expect
    Work of no Forrain Architect;
    That unto Caves and Quarries drew,
    And Forrests did to Pastures hew;
    Who of his great Design in pain
    Did for a Model vault his Brain,
    Whose Columnes should so high be raise'd
    To arch the Brows that on them gaz'd. 184 
One of King Charles I's favourite Baroque gardens was Wilton House, in front of the above-mentioned home of the Herberts, Earls of Pembroke, near Salisbury, begun around 1632 after designs by Salomon de Caus and with the help of Inigo Jones. It was chiefly modelled on the design of the magnificent Baroque garden in front of the palatial Villa D'Este in Tivoli near Rome, built by the powerful and ambitious Cardinal Ippolito II d'Este between 1560 and 1575, and on Caus's Hortus Palatinus in Heidelberg, built from 1615-1620 for Elizabeth Stuart and her husband Elector Frederick V of the Palatinate. Wilton House was restored by Inigo Jones and John Webb from 1649-52, decades after John Donne had visited Lady Pembroke, the mother of his pupil George Herbert. 185  Although the garden was not begun until the time of Donne's death, the king's and the poet's visits expressing their common predilection for the same palace and family once again show the cultural and ideological kinship of absolutism and the Baroque. 
The private mode of the Baroque poet, however, was easier to realize than the private mode of the Baroque prince. In the closed 'internal' circle of his court, the literal 'absolutism' of the Baroque prince's 'external' rule ended. Here, he was obliged to submit to a strict set of formal rules of courtly etiquette. The medieval king's divinely imposed 'heavy burden' had thus shrunk to 'idle ceremony' 186 , the merely formal remains of his ancestors' exacting code of princely virtues. 

In contrast to their Neoclassical successors with their strict obedience to formal rules and restrictions, each of the English Baroque poets was a distinctive individual who emphasized his originality by breaking all conventional forms and conventions "as hee thought fit". 187  Eventually, English Baroque literature died together with Stuart absolutism and was superseded by Neoclassical poetry (analogous to Restoration concepts of kingship), 188  following ancient models and obeying rules and norms. In spite of its adulatory rhetoric, Thomas Carew's elegy on John Donne had proved prophetic.


University of Bonn
Rolf P. Lessenich 




Multimedia file provided in collaboration with participants in my Oberseminar:

Carsten Arntz, Volker Bauchhenß, Jens Andreas Faulstich, Hildegard Feinendegen, Felix Forster, Martin Fritzen, Tanja Kohl, Andreas Koerver-Stümper, Norbert Lennartz, Andrea Rummel, Renate Schruff, Ursula Schwalb, Annemarie Stöckel, Barbara Tonn




Notes:

1 Wellek, 'The Concept of Baroque in Literary Scholarship and Postscript', in Concepts of Criticism, New Haven and London, 1963, 69-114 and 115-127. For the similarities between English and Continental Baroque poetry see Frank Joseph Warnke's comparative approach in the introduction to his commendable anthology European Metaphysical Poetry, New Haven and London, 1961. Following Odette de Mourgues (Metaphysical, Baroque and Précieux Poetry, Oxford, 1953), Warnke tries to establish a finely detailed distinction between 'Metaphysical' and 'high Baroque'. Later studies again tend to return to terminological differentiations of the Baroque, cf. Gregory T. Dime in Studies in English Literature, 26 (1966), and David Evett in John Donne Journal, 5 (1986). For the position of wider cultural studies v. Stephan Kohl, who assigns Baroque to the open (functional) and Neoclassicism to the closed (textual) type; 'Kulturtypologie und englischer Barock', in Europäische Barockrezeption, ed. Klaus Garber, Wiesbaden, 1991, II. 981-994. The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd edition, London and New York, 2001, II. 749-751, contains an excellent discussion of the etymology and early usage of the term 'Baroque'. 

2 Dryden, A Discourse concerning the Original and Progress of Satire (1693), in Of Dramatic Poesy and Other Critical Essays, ed. George Watson, Everyman's Library, London, 1962, II. 76 and 150. 

3 Johnson, Lives of the English Poets, 'Life of Cowley' (1779-81), ed. L. Archer Hind, Everyman's Library, London, 1925, I. 11. Johnson found fault even with Alexander Pope's Essay on Criticism (1711), because he surmised that Pope's notion of representative metre ("The sound must seem an echo to the sense", line 365) misled him into "many wild conceits and imaginary beauties"; 'Life of Pope', ed. cit. III. 230. 

4 Johnson, Lives of the English Poets, 'Life of Cowley', ed. cit. I. 13-22. 

5 Wolfgang G. Müller, 'T.S. Eliots Poetik und seine Barockrezeption', in Europäische Barockrezeption, II. 1027-1046. 

6 See Mario Praz, Studi sul concettismo, Milan, 1934; and 'Baroque in England', Modern Philology 61 (1964), pp. 169-179. Leonard Unger, Donne's Poetry and Modern Criticism, New York, 1950, 1962, speaks of "extended metaphors" and "extended comparisons". 

7 Donne, The Second Anniversary, or, Of the Progress of the Soul, 1612, lines 179-184, in Works, ed. Herbert J. C. Grierson, Oxford, 1912, I. 256. The two Anniversaries (1611-12) were bold philosophic and didactic elegies formally addressed to the deceased Elizabeth Drury, daughter of his patron and friend Sir Robert Drury. 

8 Hans Sedlmayr, Verlust der Mitte, Salzburg, 1948. 

9 The whole Kleinseite or Malá Strana of Prague was Baroquified after 1627, when Roman Catholicism had been proclaimed the state religion in the Kingdom of Bohemia. The motor of this development was the Jesuit Collegium Clementinum (with its famous Baroque library). 

10 E.g. Petrarch, Sonnetto In vita, 161, and Thomas Kyd, The Spanish Tragedy, III/2, 1. 

11 Crashaw, Steps to the Temple, 'The Weeper' and 'The Tear', London,1646, 1648, in Poems English, Latin, and Greek, ed. L. C. Martin, Oxford, 1957. The copy-text used here is that of 1648, ed. cit. pp. 308-314, as also reprinted in Metaphysical Lyrics and Poems of the Seventeenth Century, ed. H. J. C. Grierson, Oxford, 1921, 1959, 1969, p. 130-136. It is more rewarding than the text of the first edition, though, unfortunately, it omits 'The Tear'. 

12 Donne, Songs and Sonnets, 'The Flea', in Poems, ed. cit. I. 40-41. In contrast to conventional comparisons observing decorum on the one hand, and concetti on the other, see Rosemond Tuve, Elizabethan and Metaphysical Imagery, Chicago, 1947. For "theories which formalised the cult of the witty conceit" see A. J. Smith, Metaphysical Wit, Cambridge, 1991, 46-68. 

13 Examples in Emblemata. Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts, ed. Henkel/Schöne, Stuttgart, 1962, p. 1398 (Daniel Heinsius), and Georgette de Montenay, Emblemes ou Devises Chrestiennes, 1571, p. 45, repr. Continental Emblem Books, The Scolar Press, 1973. 

14 Donne, Holy Sonnets, I, ll. 13-14., in Poems, ed. cit. I. 322. 

15 Printed in Emblemata, ed. cit. p. 82. 

16 Also v. Ernst Robert Curtius, Europäische Literatur und lateinisches Mittelalter, 3rd edition Berne and Munich, 1961, pp. 151-152, and Richard Alewyn / Karl Sälzle, Das große Welttheater, 1959, Munich, 1985. 

17 Distinguished, for example, by Thomas Wilson (1553), George Puttenham (1589), and John Hoskins (1599). 

18 'Rhetoric' in this context is used in its maximalist sense referring to the five partes artis: inventio (the finding of ideas) 

    dispositio (the arrangement of ideas) 
    elocutio (the formulation of ideas) 
    memoria 
    pronunciatio (delivery)

Though in English the term is generally taken to refer only to 'the arts of language' (OED, 2nd ed. 'rhetoric', 1a), this minimalistic concept would here be insufficient. 

19 Donne, Letters to Several Personages, 'The Storm' and 'The Calm' (MSS 1597), in Poetical Works, ed. cit. I. 175-180. 

20 Donne, 'The Storm', lines 67-72, ed. cit. I. 177. 

21 Donne, 'The Calm', lines 49-50, ed. cit. I. 179. 

22 Donne, The First Anniversary, or, An Anatomy of the World, 1611, ll. 19-88, in Poems, ed. cit. I. 232-234. Also v. Ulrich Broich, 'Form und Bedeutung der Paradoxie im Werk John Donnes', in Germanisch-Romanische Monatsschrift, 17 (1967), pp. 231-248. 

23 Tourneur, The Revenger's Tragedy, III. v, ed. Foakes, The Revels Plays. London, 1966, pp. 70-73. Vindice's monologue in ll. 69-82 has been commented on by many poets and literary historians, ibid., 71. 

24 Hübscher, 'Grundlegung einer Phraseologie der Geistesgeschichte', in Euphorion, 24 (1922), p. 15, supplement, pp. 517-562 and 759-805. 

25 For this typology v. Burkhardt Niederhoff, "The Rule of Contrary": Das Paradox in der englischen Komödie der Restaurationszeit und des frühen 18. Jahrhunderts, Trier: WVT, 2001. 

26 Examples from John Donne's Holy Sonnets, XIV and XVIII, (according to Grierson's numbering). 

27 Ibid. 

28 Note the occasional and chaste paradoxes in Dryden's and Pope's verse epistles. 

29 For these contexts v. the ground-breaking study by Rosalie Colie, Paradoxia Epidemica. The Renaissance Tradition of Paradox, Princeton, 1966. 

30 This is also the central argument in A. J. Smith, Metaphysical Wit, passim. 

31 Also v. John Robert Christianson, On Tycho's Island: Tycho Brahe and His Assistants, 1570-1601, Cambridge, 1999. 

32 Quoted by Wolfgang Riehle, 'Zum Paradoxon bei Shakespeare', in Das Paradox, ed. Paul Geyer/Roland Hagenbüchle, Tübingen, 1992, 336. 

33 Quoted by Wolfgang G. Müller, 'Das Paradoxon in der englischen Barocklyrik: John Donne, George Herbert, Richard Crashaw', ibid. I. 380. 

34 This medieval Latin word for a form of syllogism as the possible etymon for 'Baroque' was originally suggested by Jean-Jacques Rousseau in his Dictionnaire de musique, Paris, 1768. The controversial etymology is defended by Renè Wellek. 

35 Exodus 20. 25. 

36 Herbert, 'The Altar', in Works, ed. F. E. Hutchinson, Oxford, 1941, p. 26. The pattern poem in the form of an altar underscores the poetological meaning of "this frame" (line 11). 

37<7 Alchemy, which intended to convert lower into higher matter by bringing substances into "coition" under various conditions of heat, had strong erotic associations; v. contemporary paintings and engravings of alchemical laboratories ("stews"), and the brothel plot in Ben Jonson's comedy The Alchemist (1610). 

38 Donne, 'A Nocturnal upon St Lucy's Day', in Poems, ed. cit. I. 44-45. 5 stanzas consisting of 9 lines each. Also cf. Günter Ahrends's interpretation, 'Discordia concors: John Donnes 'Nocturnall upon Saint Lucies Day'', Die neueren Sprachen, 70 (1971), pp. 68-85. 

39 See Anthony Raspa, The Emotive Image: Jesuit Poetics in the English Renaissance. Fort Worth, Texas, 1983. The strong influence of plastic art upon Baroque poetry has been most intensively studied in the case of George Herbert; see for example Rosemond Tuve, A Reading of George Herbert. London, 1952. Helen Vendler came to the same conclusion in The Poetry of George Herbert. Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1975. 

40 At that time, 'microcosm' meant 'man' and 'microcosmography' was synonymous with 'anthropology'; v. OED. 

41 For this v. E. M. W. Tillyard, The Elizabethan World Picture, London, 1945, 1960, pp. 77-93. 

42 Richard Sennett, The Fall of Public Man, New York, 1974. Thus, the loss of community began much earlier than Sennett assumes. Also v. Brigitte Glaser, The Creation of the Self in Autobiographical Forms of Writing in Seventeenth-Century England, Heidelberg, 2001, passim. 

43 Also v. Philipp Wolf, Einheit, Abstraktion und literarisches Bewußtsein. Studien zur Ästhetisierung der Dichtung, zur Semantik des Geldes und anderen symbolischen Medien der frühen Neuzeit Englands, Tübingen, 1998, pp. 69-93 and 279-303. 

44 Also v. Renate Schruff, Herrschergestalten bei Shakespeare. Untersucht vor dem Hintergrund zeitgenössischer Vorstellungen vom Herrscherideal, Tübingen, 1999, passim. 

45 Also v. Jerzy Limon, The Masque of Stuart Culture, Newark, 1990. The replacement of the public audiences' "imaginary puissance" by magnificent illusory stage-designs was another symptom of dissociation, both from the public theatres and from the public dialogue between artist and playgoer. 

46 Also v. Earl Miner, The Metaphysical Mode from Donne to Cowley, chapter 1 'The Private Mode', Princeton, 1969, 3-47. It is, however, misleading to call a poet such as Henry Vaughan "proto-Romantic"; the similarities between the nostalgic primitivism and cult of loneliness in Vaughan's 'The Retreat' (1650) and Wordsworth's 'Intimations Ode' (1807) are due to the Neo-Platonism shared by both poets. 

47 Lowry Nelson, Baroque Lyric Poetry, New Haven and London, 1961, pp. 161-167. 

48 Donne, 'The Sun Rising', lines 21-22, in Poems, ed. cit. I. 11. 

49 Donne, 'A Hymn to Christ at the Author's Last Going into Germany', lines 29-30, ed. cit. I. 353. 

50 Marvell, Miscellaneous Poems, 'The Garden', lines 15-16, in Poems and Letters, ed. Margoliouth/rev. Legouis, Oxford, 1971, I, 51. On the poem's 'unreliable speaker' providing a satire on the extremes of the Roman Catholic Baroque v. the interpretation below. 

51 Hatzfeld, 'Der Barockstil der religiösen klassischen Lyrik in Frankreich', in Literaturwissenschaftliches Jahrbuch, 4 (1929), pp. 30-60. 

52 Frank Joseph Warnke, 'Introduction', in European Metaphysical Poetry, p. 51, scolds this characteristic (with reference to Giambattista Marino) for being a "facile religiosity made more facile by sensuality". 

53 See also Louis L. Martz, The Wit of Love: Donne, Carew, Crashaw, Notre Dame, Indiana, 1969. 

54 Donne, 'Hymn to Christ at the Author's Last Going into Germany', lines 1-8, in Poems, ed.cit. I. 352. 

55 Donne, 'A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning', 7-8, ed. cit. I. 50. Note the symbolism of "gold to ayerie thinnesse beate" (line 24) in the ornament of Baroque architecture. 

56 Ibid. line 26. Note the puns on erection in the saving act of love. 

57 Donne, 'The Ecstasy', lines 20-23 and 73-74, ed. cit. I. 52-53. Note the typically Baroque paradoxes. 

58 This observation was already made before Martz, 1954. See W. P. Friederich, Spiritualismus und Sensualismus in der englischen Barocklyrik, Vienna and Leipzig, 1932, and, after Martz, F. J. Warnke, Versions of Baroque, New Haven and London, 1972, pp. 130-157. 

59 Also v. Philipp Wolf, Einheit, Abstraktion und literarisches Bewußtsein, pp. 97-148. 

60 Ignatian "composition of place" is still of importance in James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1914-15), where it serves the Jesuit educators to frighten the young, impressionable, artistic hero Stephen Dedalus with horrible visions of the Four Last Things (Death, Judgment, Hell, Heaven). 

61 Arno Esch, Englische religiöse Lyrik des 17. Jahrhunderts: Studien zu Donne, Herbert, Crashaw, Vaughan, Tübingen, 1955. 

62 Louis L. Martz, The Poetry of Meditation: A Study in English Religious Literature of the Seventeenth Century, New Haven, 1954, 1962. 

63 So did Robert Burton in clear opposition to the Baroque rhetoric in his preface to The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), likewise Francis Quarles in his preface to Argalus and Parthenia (1629). In her gender study Elaine Hobby shows why women could write Cavalier poetry, but not Metaphysical "strong lines"; The Cambridge Companion to English Poetry. Donne to Marvell, ed. T.N. Corns, Cambridge, 1993, pp. 31-51. 

64 See also Helen Gardner in the introduction to her anthology The Metaphysical Poets, Oxford, 1957. 

65 See F. Strich, 'Die Übertragung des Barockbegriffs von der bildenden Kunst auf die Dichtung', in Die Kunstformen des Barockzeitalters, ed. R. Stamm, Berne, 1956, pp. 243-265. 

66 Cf. Shakespeare's sonnets, e. g. Sonnet 70, where the speaker finds fault with the Mannerist 'rival poet' for his false bodily as well as false stylistic paint. At the time wigs and make-up became a controversial - and later the standard - fashion. 

67 Herbert, 'Jordan (I)', in Works, ed. cit. pp. 56-57. The complex title also refers to the replacement of a heathen poetic myth of inspiration (Helicon) by a Christian and biblical one, in the context of the biblical model of plain style in Metaphysical religious poetry. 

68 For details v. Nicholas Cooper, Houses of the Gentry 1480-1680, New Haven and London, 1999, and Simon Thurley, Whitehall Palace, New York and London, 2000. 

69 Princeton, 1979. 

70 Even the Dutch Calvinists (such as Daniel Heinsius) published great numbers of emblem books, introduced pictorial arts into their churches, and wrote Protestant Baroque poetry (Heinsius, Joost van den Vondel, etc). 

71 Addison, The Spectator, 62 (11 May 1711), ed. D. F. Bond, Oxford, 1965, I. 265. Addison does not mention the fact that such pattern poems as George Herbert's 'The Altar' and 'Easter Wings' or Robert Herrick's 'The Pillar of Fame' and 'This Cross-Tree' had their predecessors in late classical antiquity, as in the wings-poem of the Anthologia Graeca. Also v. Ulrich Ernst, 'The Figured Poem. Towards a Definition of Genre', Visible Language, 20 (1986), pp. 8-27. 

72 Johnson, Lives of the English Poets, 'Life of Cowley', ed. cit. I. 11. 

73 Thus, for example, Matteo Pellegrini, Delle acutezze (1639), and Baltasar Gracissn, Agudeza y arte de ingenio (1642, 1648). S. L. Bethell examines both works in 'The Nature of Metaphysical Wit', in Discussions of John Donne, ed. Frank Kermode, Boston, 1962, pp. 136-149. 

74 Marino, La Murtoleide (1619), Fischiata 33, quoted in Austin Warren, Richard Crashaw. A Study in Baroque Sensibility, London, 1939, p. 75. See also F. J. Warnke, 'Marino and the English Metaphysicals', in Studies in the Renaissance, 2 (1955), pp. 160-175, and Ruth C. Wallerstein, Richard Crashaw: A Study in Style and Poetic Development, Madison, Wisconsin, 1959, passim. 

75 T.S. Eliot, 'The Metaphysical Poets' (1921) (introduction to H.J.C. Grierson's anthology), in Selected Essays, London 1932, 3rd ed. 1951, 287. 

76 Ibid., 288. Cf. S. L. Bethell, 'The Nature of Metaphysical Wit', and Ruth Wallerstein, Studies in Seventeenth-Century Poetic, Madison, 1960, pp. 166-169 (with reference to Marvell's Baroque wit and puns). Peter N. Skrine, who, in The Baroque, London, 1978, pp. 133-134, has a different notion of the Baroque age, sees Baroque wit above all in Marino's mythological poem L'Adone (1623). 

77 See for example Earl Miner, The Metaphysical Mode, pp. 3-4. Also v. N. J. C. Andreasen, John Donne: Conservative Revolutionary, Princeton, 1967, passim. 

78 F.L. Lucas, The Decline and Fall of the Romantic Ideal, 'La princesse lointaine, or, The Nature of Romanticism', Cambridge, 1936. 

79 Cf. J.W. Lever, The Elizabethan Love Sonnet, London, 1956, and J. B. Leishman, Themes and Variations in Shakespeare's Sonnets, London, 1961. For John Donne's "counterdiscourse" to Petrarchism see Heather Dubrow, Echoes of Desire. English Petrarchism and its Counterdiscourses, Ithaca and London, 1995, pp. 203-249. 

80 Margaret Cavendish, The World's Olio, London, 1655; quoted from Elaine Hobby, 'The Politics of Gender', in Corns, p. 47. 

81 For this cf. Shakespeare-Handbuch, ed. Ina Schabert, Stuttgart, 1972, pp. 614-616. 

82 Early experimenters in that new technique were Heinrich Schütz (born 1585), Johann Hermann Schein (born 1586, one of Johann Sebastian Bach's predecessors as Cantor of St Thomas's School in Leipzig), and Samuel Scheidt (born 1587). J.-J. Rousseau's article in his Dictionnaire de musique, mentioned above, contains a highly perceptive description of Baroque music. 

83 The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. cit. II. 755. 

84 Ibid. 

85 The early Baroque period also witnessed the invention of the organ pedal. 

86 For the affections moved by the various favourite instruments of the period v. John Dryden, 'A Song for St Cecilia's Day', 22 Nov 1687, here stanza 5. 

87 As in Johann Sebastian Bach's Kreuzstabkantate, BWV 56 (1726). 

88 For these v. Ulrich Thieme, Die Affektenlehre im philosophischen und musikalischen Denken des Barock, Celle, 1984, and John Hollander, The Untuning of the Sky, Princeton, 1961, chapter IV, pp. 162-244. 

89 Pope, The Dunciad, 1742, IV. 53-58, in The Twickenham Edition of the Poems of Alexander Pope, London, 1939-1969, V. 346-347. Pope reproaches the opera for lack of nature, harmony, order, and regulating judgment or common sense. 

90 Also v. R.L. Sharp, From Donne to Dryden, 1940, Hamden, Connecticut, 1965, pp. 34-61. 

91 For this close relationship v. also Mario Praz, Studi sul concettismo, passim. 

92 R. C. Bald, John Donne. A Life, Oxford, 1970, pp. 63-66; Bald even assumes a personal acquaintance. 

93 As in Francis Quarles's emblem book Hieroglyphics of the Life of Man, London, 1638, 1639. This also explains the craze for obelisks with their engraved hieroglyphs, which Baroque city architects selected from the rubble of antiquity in order to adorn the centres of their newly-desiged places and squares: Piazza San Pietro, Piazza Navona, Piazza del Popolo in Rome, as well as genuine or imitated or stylized obelisks in the centres of places and squares in other European cities. 

94 See annotations above. 

95 See also Rosemary Freeman, English Emblem Books, 1948, New York, 1978. 

96 Ibid. pp. 229-240. 

97 Donne, Holy Sonnets, XVIII, ll. 11-14, in Poems, ed. cit. I. 330. 

98 Crashaw, Steps to the Temple, 'The Weeper' (1648), ed. cit. pp. 308-14, passim. 

99 Christ's markedly androgynic body, also apparent in nativity scenes, designs him as neither 'vir' nor 'mulier', but 'homo', who assumed the human form in order to save both men and women. 

100 Leo Steinberg, The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and Modern Oblivion, Chicago, 1996. For the combination of excess and eroticism cf. Robert Southwell's poem 'Christ's Bloody Sweat', in Poems, ed. cit. pp. 18-19. 

101 Also v. Lowry Nelson, Baroque Lyric Poetry, p. 26. 

102 Crashaw, Steps to the Temple, 'In the Holy Nativity of Our Lord God. A Hymn Sung as by the Shepherds' (1648), ed. cit. p. 250. Baroque Christmas poems (and paintings) with their pictorial descriptions of the world's greatest unique epiphany were especially suitable for such literary techniques of mystical reconciliation. 

103 This impression has even misled critics to spot the roots of Postmodernism in the Jacobean era; e. g. Maurice Hunt, 'Elizabethan 'Modernism', Jacobean 'Postmodernism'', in Papers on Language and Literature, 31 (1995), 115-144. 

104 Barabas in Marlowe, The Jew of Malta (1589-90), a prototype of the numerous later stage-Machiavels. 

105 Donne, The First Anniversary, or, An Anatomy of the World, first printed 1611, lines 205-218, in Poems, ed. cit. I, 237-238. Cf. C.M. Coffin, John Donne and the New Philosophy, New York, 1937, 1958, and Odette de Mourgues, Metaphysical, Baroque and Précieux Poetry, pp. 88-99. For the debate over the world's alleged decadence v. Victor Harris, All Coherence Gone, Chicago, 1949, and Herschel Baker, The Wars of Truth, Cambridge, Mass., 1952. 

106 Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, first printed 1609, I. iii. 86 (Ulysses on the Greeks) and II. ii. 167 and 176-77 (Hector on the Trojans). Cf. Rolf Lessenich, 'Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida: The Vision of Decadence', in Studia Neophilologica 49 (1977), pp. 221-32. For retreat into privacy as a possible result of the nauseating disorientation of late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century intellectuals, in view of profound economical and social changes, v. L. C. Knights, Drama and Society in the Age of Jonson, London, 1937, and Robert Ellrodt, L'inspiration personelle et l'esprit du temps chez les poètes métaphysiques anglais, 'La Nausée', Paris, 1960, II. 46-93. 

107 Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, I. iii. 101-110; for the aspect of world and art turning 'absurd' cf. Gustav René Hocke, Die Welt als Labyrinth, Hamburg, 1957, and Manierimus in der Literatur, Hamburg, 1959. 

108 Donne, The First Anniversary, lines 396-97, ed. cit. I. 243. 

109 Herbert, The Temple, 'The Church-Porch', lines 5-6, in Works, ed. cit. p. 6. 

110 Ibid., 'The Altar', lines 15-16, ed. cit. p. 26. 

111 As analysed below. 

112 Woman was still regarded as an inferior and inverted man, who secreted semen like man, though to a lesser extent. For "tears", "milk", "balm", "wine" etc. as synonyms for semen v. Gordon Williams, A Dictionary of Sexual Language and Imagery in Shakespearean and Stuart Literature, 3 vols., London, 1994. 

113 Also v. Roy Strong, The Renaissance Garden in England, London, 1979, 1998, pp. 12 seqq. 

114 Donne, Songs and Sonnets, 'The Canonization', lines 10-18, ed. cit. I. 14. 

115 Donne, Satires, III. lines 100-101, ed. cit. I. 158. 

116 Cf. William R. Mueller, John Donne: Preacher, Princeton, 1962, pp. 89-114. 

117 Cf. W. F. Mitchell, English Pulpit Oratory from Andrewes to Tillotson, London, 1932, passim. 

118 Cf. also Miner, The Metaphysical Mode, pp. 93-107. 

119 For dramaticality as a characteristic of Baroque poetry v. Lowry Nelson, Baroque Lyric Poetry, pp. 87-98. 

120 Reported in Izaak Walton's Lives (1640-1678), ed. George Saintsbury, The World's Classics, Oxford, 1927, p. 29. 

121 Herbert, The Temple, 'The Quip' (1633), lines 1-4, in Works, ed. cit. p. 110. 

122 Crashaw, Steps to the Temple, 'The Weeper' (1648), final stanza 31, ed. cit. p. 314. Note again the paradox of the lowliest being the highest, just as the weakest and poorest are the strongest and richest. 

123 Marvell, Miscellaneous Poems, 'On a Drop of Dew', lines 29-30, in Poems and Letters, ed. cit. I. 12-13. 

124 Here I differ considerably from Maren-Sofie Røstvig's naive reading of the poem in The Happy Man, 2 vols., Oslo, 1962. 

125 Marvell, Miscellaneous Poems, 'The Garden', line 64, in Poems and Letters, ed. cit. I. 53. 

126 Ibid. line 71, ed. cit. I. 53. For the pun v. Helge Kökeritz, Shakespeare's Pronunciation, New Haven, 1953, 1974. 

127 Title provided by Thomas Traherne's brother Philip. 

128 Traherne, Poems, 'Eden', lines 1-7, in Centuries, Poems, and Thanksgivings, ed. H. M. Margoliouth, Oxford, 1958, 1965, II. 12. The quotation is from Thomas Traherne's own version, not that revised by his brother Philip. 

129 Traherne, Poems, 'On Leaping over the Moon', lines 67-70, ed. cit. II. 132. 

130 Ibid. lines 51-60, ed. cit. II. 131. 

131 Pope, An Essay on Man, 1733-34, epistle II, lines 3-18. A similar span of 200 years was needed to find a new orientation after Niccolò Machiavelli's revolution in ethical philosophy (1513). 

132 Cf. Elizabeth Holmes, Henry Vaughan and the Hermetic Philosophy, Oxford, 1932, and Rolf Lessenich, 'Henry Vaughan's Poem 'Regeneration'', in Studia Neophilologica, 44 (1972), pp. 76-89. 

133 Vaughan, Silex Scintillans, 'The World' (1650), lines 1-15, in Works, ed. L.C . Martin, Oxford, 1957, p. 466. 

134 Also v. Helen Gardner's 'Introduction' to her anthology The Metaphysical Poets, Oxford, 1957. 

135 Ibid. lines 49-56; ed. cit. p. 467. 

136 Taylor, XXV Sermons, London, 1653, p. 148. 

137 Vaughan, Silex Scintillans, 'St Mary Magdalen', line 1, ed. cit. p. 507. 

138 Ibid. lines 57-60, ed. cit. p. 509. The poem's two final stanzas with their contrast of the true tears of St Mary Magdalene with the false tears of the Pharisees may also be read as a Cavalier's criticism of the false saintliness of the Puritans: "Who Saint themselves, they are no Saints" (line 72). 

139 Vaughan, Silex Scintillans, 'Christ's Nativity', lines 19-24, ed. cit. p. 442. 

140 Southwell, 'New Prince, New Pomp', lines 1-2, in Poems, ed. cit. p. 16. 

141 Milton, 'On the Morning of Christ's Nativity', MS 1629, line 31, in Poetical Works, ed. Helen Darbishire, Oxford, 1955, II. 114. 

142 For a detailed documentation of this development v. Norbert Lennartz, "The Unwashed Muse", research in progress (to be published). 

143 Cowley, 'The Given Love', lines 55-56, in English Writings, ed. A. R. Waller, Cambridge, 1905-1906,. II. 70. 

144 Ibid. lines 19-22, ed. cit. II. 69. Note the royalist's subtle satire on the Puritan hypocrisy of Cromwell's reign. 

145 As in earlier histories of Metaphysical poetry: George Williamson, The Donne Tradition, Cambridge, Mass., 1930, and Alfred Alvarez, The School of Donne, London, 1961. 

146 Raman Selden, 'Hobbes and Late Metaphysical Poetry', Journal of the History of Ideas, 35 (1974), 197-210. 

147 In the history of the epic prose romance or novel, this may also account for the hiatus between the Elizabethan novel (John Lyly, Philip Sidney, Thomas Nashe, Thomas Lodge, Thomas Deloney) and the Restoration and Augustan novel (John Bunyan, Aphra Behn, Daniel Defoe). 

148 For details v. Earl Miner, The Restoration Mode from Milton to Dryden, chapter 1 'The Public Mode', Princeton, 1974, pp. 3-50. 

149 Reprinted in Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, ed. J.E. Spingarn, Oxford, 1908, II. 55-56. 

150 Also v. R.L. Sharp, From Donne to Dryden. The Revolt against Metaphysical Poetry, Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 1940. 

151 Cowley, 'Of Wit', 1656, lines 57-64 (stanza 8), in English Writings, ed. cit. II. 18. The aesthetic convert Cowley's siding with the mimetic principle of imitation against the Metaphysical principle of originality, his stigmatization of the forced conceit and surprising irrational quiddity, and his distinction between false (Metaphysical) and true (Neoclassical) wit anticipated later Neoclassical theorists such as Joseph Addison. Also cf. Cowley's poem 'To the Royal Society', prefixed to Thomas Sprat's History of the Royal Society (1667). 

152 Also v. Rolf P. Lessenich, Aspects of English Preromanticism, Cologne and Vienna, 1989, pp. 58-105. 

153 Contemporary English poetics, such as Henry Peacham's chapter on the art of poetry in The Complete Gentleman (1622), or Henry Reynolds's Mythomystes (1632), or Ben Jonson's Timber (1641), were based on 16th-century Renaissance poetics and did not take the new Baroque rhetoric into account.

154 For this reason Wilbur Samuel Howell's Logic and Rhetoric in England, 1500-1700, Princeton, 1966, does not even mention Baroque rhetoric at all. 

155 Printed in Donne, Poems, ed. cit. I. 376. 

156 Ibid. I. 382 and 386. 

157 Ibid. I. 385. 

158 Ibid. I. 375. 

159 Ibid. I. 379. Gleaning suggests precious quality beyond the mass. 

160 Ibid. I. 380. 

161 "The divine right of kings" was an expression for the aims of Stuart absolutism. James I und Charles I insisted that kings were Gods in their own right, "legibus absoluti". 

162 According to the OED, 2nd edition, however, the term 'absolutism' for despotic government was not used until 1830, when it was transferred from theology (God's sovereign conduct in the affair of salvation in Calvin's doctrine of reprobation) to politics. 

163 Chapter 12: The lover Solomon (Christ) regrets the erotic reservedness of his beloved Shulamite (the Church), "A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse, A spring shut up, a fountain sealed" (verse 12): and Shulamite opens her lap to her lover: "Let my beloved come into his garden, And eat his pleasant fruits". 

164 See Stanley Stewart, The Enclosed Garden: The Tradition and the Image in Seventeenth-Century Poetry, Madison, Wisconsin, 1966, passim. 

165 Strong, The English Renaissance Garden, p. 14. 

166 Donne, Songs and Sonnets, 'Twickenham Garden', lines 8-9, in Poetical Works, ed. cit. I. 28. 

167 Also v. Johan Huizinga, The Waning of the Middle Ages, 1941, London, 1982. The Renaissance and Baroque garden retained the medieval iconology of the 'garden of love', the place both of the holy love of Solomon and Shulamilte and the sinful love of David and Bathsheba. See, for instance, Rubens's many garden paitings and engravings based on his own Renaissance parterre garden in Antwerp (of the type of Hans Vredeman de Vries's gardens); documented in the 2001 exhibition Gärten und Höfe der Rubenszeit at the Landesmuseum Mainz. 

168 Eberhard Fähler, Feuerwerke des Barock, Stuttgart, 1974. Baroque fireworks involving scenic action could also be staged on rivers facing palaces, as on the occasion of the Palatine Marriage of Elizabeth, daughter of King James I, and Frederick, Elector Palatine at Heidelberg, in 1613 (Thames opposite Whitehall Palace). 

169 See, for instance, the work of Alessandro Scarlatti (1660-1725), especially his serenata Il Giardino di Amore. 

170 The most famous grotto architect and theorist was Salomon de Caus. The (musical) grotto combined worldly pleasure and spirituality in its association with St Mary Magdalene, who had visited Christ's grotto-tomb and (according to legend) spent the rest of her life as an penitent anchoress in a grotto. 

171 For this interpretation of the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century craze for labyrinths v. Daniela Tandecki, 'Der Garten als Symbol und Refugium göttlicher und menschlicher Liebe', Arcadia, 22 (1987), 122-25. 

172 What Cromwell's soldiers had left was destroyed by the eighteenth-century craze for the English landscape garden (William Kent, 'Capability' Brown) with its programmatic dismissal of garden walls. Thus, not a single Baroque garden survived. Also v. John Dixon Hunt / Peter Willis (ed), The Genius of the Place: The English Landscape Garden 1620-1820, London, 1975. 

173 Marvell, Miscellaneous Poems, 'The Mower against Gardens', lines 31-32, in Poems and Letters, I. 44. 

174 Ibid. lines 1-4. Note the biblical vocabulary associated with Original Sin and the Fall of Man. 

175 Ibid. lines 33-34. My italics. 

176 Herbert's advocacy of unpretentious gardens was related to his advocacy of the plain style; see, for instance, The Temple, 'Jordan' I, lines 6-7, and 'Paradise'. 

177 Marvell, Miscellaneous Poems, 'Upon Appleton House. To my Lord Fairfax', Fairfax's speech (lines 203-224) arguing against the prioress's equivocatory seduction (97-200), in Poems and Letters, ed. cit. I. 65-69. 

178 According to the heroic themes of love and war, the 'garden of love' and the 'garden of war' complemented each other. For the history and phaenomenology of the latter v. Jane Brown, The Pursuit of Paradise. A Social History of Gardens and Gardening, chapter 3 'The Military Garden', London, 1999, pp. 82-104. 

179 Marvell, 'Upon Appleton House', stanza 36, ed. cit. I. 71. 

180 Jane Brown, The Pursuit of Paradise, pp. 103-104. 

181 Marvell, 'Upon Appleton House', ibid. Cf. the half-comical literary treatment of this motif and situation in Uncle Toby's military garden in Laurence Sterne's novel Tristram Shandy (1760-67). 

182 The speaker's repeated expectations of finding a little paradise in the meadows and forests of Appleton House prove invariably fallacious. 

183 Though a French Huguenot engineer and garden designer, Salomon de Caus or Caux (1576-1626) had studied Baroque horticulture in Italy and subsequently worked both for the Spanish court in Brussels and for the Stuart court. 

184 Marvell, Miscellaneous Poems, 'Upon Appleton House. To my Lord Fairfax', lines 1-8 (stanza 1), in Poems and Letters, ed. cit. I. 62. 'Foreign' here means both 'non-English' and 'unnatural'. 

185 The possible occasion of Donne's famous divine poem 'Good-Friday, 1613. Riding Westward'; for such speculations v. R. C. Bald, John Donne, A Life, pp. 269-71, and Helen Gardner's commentary in her second edition of Donne, The Divine Poems, Oxford, 1978, p. 98. 

186 See the king's ceremony speech in Shakespeare, King Henry V, 1599, IV.1.247-301. 

187 Rudolf Vierhaus also warns against a flat identification of Baroque and absolutism; 'Barock und Absolutismus', in Europäische Barockrezeption, I. 45-61. 

188 See Rolf Lessenich, 'Tory versus Whig: John Dryden's Mythical Concept of Kingship', in Dryden and the World of Neoclassicism, ed. W. Görtschacher / H. Klein, Tübingen, 2001, pp. 245-258.




Jun 13, 2018

The Relic: John Donne


Reading the poetry of John Donne can be an exhilarating and moving experience, but it can also be a baffling one. Not only is Donne’s argumentative wit frequently puzzling in itself, but it can also leave the reader uncertain as to just how much complexity should be followed up or teased out. Many of the other essays in this volume raise the same issue, whether explicitly or implicitly, as they discuss the puns, the playful echoes and the erotic double entendres in Donne’s verse. How far can we go as readers of Donne? What are the limits of the interpretative possibilities of his work, and how might we discern them?

One way to explore these questions is to concentrate for a while on an individual poem, since this is the primary context in which meaning is created. Of course it is vital to bring to such study an informed awareness of the authorial, textual, cultural and historical settings of the work, but it is good critical practice, as Richard Strier has put it, to read closely “with as much knowledge and as few preconceptions as possible”, paying attention to the “tiny details” of a poem in which “an extraordinary number of meaningbearing elements are at work”. Indeed, it is Strier’s contention that close and sequential reading is “the only way to enter into the emotional and intellectual eddies of a text” (Strier, 1995, 125-6). In this spirit, I have chosen to devote this essay to a painstaking reading of “The Relic” from Donne’s Songs and Sonnets, this being one of the most brilliant and perplexing of his love poems. It is a work which brings together the key concerns of the preceding three sections of this essay collection: mortality, corporality and faith. Over the years this lyric has aroused interest among Donne’s readers on matters of biography, philosophy, religious doctrine and the “metaphysical conceit”. Above all, it is an exemplary poem in that it is motivated by virtually all the driving forces of Donne’s poetic art: playful argument, fascination with religion, the love of women, satirical intellect, an interest in contemporary politics and learning, the appeal of the material world and the search for spiritual profundity.

1. “Hallow’d Relics”
Even before we read a poem, we take in its title. What is immediately striking is that this lyric belongs in a collection of secular poems but has a title associated with religion, and particularly with Roman Catholicism (the tradition in which Donne himself grew up). A “relic” means, literally, that which remains after a person has departed (OED Id) to fonction as a memento or a source of comfort for those left behind. Milton’s epitaph “On Shakespeare”, for example, speaks of the playwright’s “honoured bones” and “hallow’d relics” which remain after his death, and asserts that these are best preserved in the effects of his art rather than in a stone sepulchre (Milton, 1997, 10). Religious relics, from the bones of saints to splinters of the true cross, can become items of spiritual significance to be venerated (OED la) and may be expected to lead to miracles. The title thus immediately reminds us of a fundamental human need, whether personal or spiritual, for some keep-sake which provides memories, and hopes, in the face of a world of change and mortality. This need is recognised, though not respected, in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar 2.2.87-9 when the dream of Caesar’s bloody statue is interpreted as a sign that “from you great Rome shall suck/Reviving blood, and that great men shall press/For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance” (Shakespeare, 1974, 1116). To think of oneself in the present as a source of relics in the future might thus also imply (though not ensure) security, and supply a satisfying source of pride.

Relics were a common feature of religious life in pre-Reformation England, to the extent that there was a Sunday in the church year known as Relic Sunday (the third after Midsummer) when the relics in the possession of each particular church were venerated. They were, however, also the object of mockery well before the Reformation; the reliquary mentioned in the General Prologue to Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, for example, is said to contain only “pigges bones” (Chaucer, 1966, 25, l. 700). After the Reformation, relics came to be seen, along with rosary beads and other features of traditional devotional practice, as among what Samuel Butler listed as the exclusively Catholic “tools of working out salvation” (Butler, 1967, 231, 3.1:1497). In Milton’s Paradise Lost, relics are placed in the “Paradise of Fools” and made “The sport of winds” together with rings and beads (Milton, 1968, 3:496, 3:493). The more tolerant Sir Thomas Browne, writing on relics in Religio Medici 1:28, simply questions their “efficacy” and tenders “little devotion” to them himself, though he recognises their place in religious history. His scepticism is due to the fact that he sees relics as “antiquities”, for which he has “slender and doubtfoll respect” since, as he puts it, God’s “duration is eternity, and farre more venerable than antiquitie” (Browne, 1977, 96).

The poem’s title, therefore, awakens complex associations. Relics are directly linked with religious experience, particularly Catholicism, and evoke an aura of spirituality; but the faith with which they are linked is prone to sceptical mockery. They are part of the past, of what Browne calls “antiquitie”, yet the devotion associated with them implies the anticipation of an eternal future. They suggest a spiritual potential even while witnessing to a common desire for the empirical, that prevailing material dimension discussed by Michael Schoenfeldt elsewhere in this volume. Donne himself uses the term “relic” mockingly elsewhere in his poetry, in Satire 2:84, when he refers to a “thrifty wench” who saves odd scraps “relic-like”. Any implication of devotion, however, is undermined by the fact that the items she saves include “kitchen stuff” and “the droppings, and the snuff,/Of wasting candles” (160). As is typical of Donne’s attitude towards much of his ecclesiastical inheritance, he is perhaps drawn more to the metaphor than to the actuality of relics. But how playful will he be with the idea in this lyric?

2. “At this grave”
When my grave is broke up again
Some second guest to entertain
(For graves have learned that woman-head
To be to more than one a bed)
And he that digs it, spies 5
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone.
Will he not let us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be some way
To make their souls, at the last busy day , 10
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay? (ll. 75-6)

Donne’s lyric begins in a startling setting–the imagined scene of the speaker’s grave, after his death – a situation whose logical possibility is doubted by Donne himself, in “The Paradox”: “who can say/He was killed yesterday?” (73). The answer is that the poet can, when wit holds sway over the normal dimensions of time and space; the lyric speaker can indeed envisage what it will be like “When my grave is broke up again”. As in the opening lines of several other lyrics from the Songs and Sonnets, the reader is immediately confronted with a scene of death: compare “When I am dead” (“The Damp”, 51), “When by thy scorn, O murderess, I am dead” (“The Apparition”, 42), and “Whoever comes to shroud me” (“The Funeral”, 59). The apparently dead subject speaks of the future consistently in the present tense, and is imaginatively in control, despite the ostensibly passive condition of death. We are reminded of Donne’s surprising knack of keeping his personae centre-stage even when unconscious, absent or, as in “A Nocturnal upon S. Lucy’s Day”, the “quintessence” of “nothingness” (72).

The scene of this first stanza is a graveyard which is so overcrowded that the gravedigger must add another body to an already occupied grave. The full graveyard was a familiar scenario in the early modern period, as we gather from its use by Shakespeare, too, in Hamlet 5.1. Donne’s speaker is also a kind of Yorick, whose bones are uncovered to make room for the burial of a new, female body. The language of the lyric is more dignified than that used in Shakespeare’s comic scene, however, as the poetic speaker casts himself as a kind of host, welcoming and preparing to “entertain” an additional “guest” in the grave. The original spelling of “guest” as “ghest” (Donne, 1985, 112) alerts us to the wordplay here, since the “guest”, being dead, is also a ghost. This new ghostly companion is, the poem indicates, not the first woman to share the speaker’s grave, making us realise in retrospect that the opening line might have referred to it as “our” rather than “my” grave. The speaker is already in the grave with his mistress, with whom he later claims to make a “loving couple” (ll.7-8), before the arrival of the new guest.

Less than four lines into the poem, in a conspiratorial aside, the persona is already enjoying a jibe against women, explaining the presence of the “second guest” by suggesting that it is a quality of women to be “more than one” to a bed. There is a teasing wit in the word “woman-head” with its pun on “maidenhead”, making us conscious of woman’s sexuality even in death. The grave becomes a bed scene, for, as Donne points out in Divine Meditation 10, “rest and sleep” are “pictures” of death (313). Unusually, however, the dead male speaker here is far from asleep or at rest; on the contrary, he appears very much alive as the “host” of two women at once. Indeed, if there are two women in the bed with one man, then the alert reader will realise that the implied promiscuity is a weakness of manhood, not of “woman-hood”. The beguiling quality of Donne’s wit is that it knowingly twists conventional logic and then waits for the reader to catch up with the joke.

After this dramatic and subsequently whimsical opening, the tone of the poem changes to a bold intimacy with the discovery of “A bracelet of bright hair about the bone” (l. 6). This famous line is immediately memorable on account of its powerful and unifying use of sound patterns, particularly the double alliteration of “br” and “b”, drawing attention to the satisfyingly balanced “device” (l. 9) by which the lovers declare their loyalty even beyond death. This, then, is the first “relic” referred to in the poem’s title, a material reminder of something admirable, even holy. The same emblem of love is used by Donne in “The Funeral”, where the dead speaker asks those who “shroud” him to protect “That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;/The mystery, the sign you must not touch” (59). The use of this “sign” of a bracelet of hair in both poems might offer a clue to the compositional process of the Songs and Sonnets, perhaps suggesting that “The Funeral” and “The Relic” were composed at about the same time. More specifically, the idea of the bracelet of hair possibly derives from a 1582 account of the digging up of what were presumed to be the remains of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere in a grave at Glastonbury, where a lock of yellow hair was found (Mills, 1968, 368). Donne’s wit is prodigious, deftly combining the physical and metaphysical in this emblem, but the echoes of contemporary interests and historical events in this “device” remind us that his conceits are not, as has sometimes been assumed, timeless.

Like all relics, the “bracelet of bright hair” is an emblem of mortality even as it celebrates a love which transcends death. In the context of the grave, the woman’s hair shines out as “bright”, an adjective which conveys far more than the mere “fair” which editors tend to offer as a gloss (Smith, 1971, 397). Brightness suggests not only a light colour but also vitality and beauty, an almost transcendental quality in contrast to the “bone” around which the hair is entwined. As in Romeo and Juliet 2.2.26, when Romeo calls his beloved a “bright angel” (Shakespeare, 1974, 1068), the word conveys angelic associations. The fact that the “bright hair” forms a circle is a further heavenly aspect of this “device”, the perfect circle being an emblem of God’s eternity often used by Donne in his sermons; “Fix upon God any where, and you shall finde him a Circle; He is with you now... He was with you before... and He will be with you hereafter” (Donne, 1962, 7:52). The “bracelet” is also undoubtedly an erotic emblem-a female circle enclosing a male body part. The fact that the “bracelet” is wrapped round a sturdy bone, and not a handful of dust, is a sign of continuing vigour, and perhaps the first of the “miracles” (l. 20) associated with the relic. In “The Funeral”, the “wreath” of hair is designed to “keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution” into dust (59). “The Relic” hints that the bone of at least one of “these limbs” has been preserved; in the words of Ezekiel 37:3, “Do these bones live?” Certainly, the speaker in “The Relic” is not yet that “small quantity of Christian dust”, to use Isaac Walton’s striking phrase (Walton, 1670, 81), that Donne himself ultimately became. The poem has at its centre a lively consciousness-the speaker, whose body is these bones, seems alive and full of wit, ensuring that there is no mood of memento mori here, but rather, a tone of defiant celebration.

A new uncertainty is introduced into the lyric, however, by the repeated use of “think” and “thought” (ll. 8, 9) in place of a more deliberate verb such as “know”. Is the gravedigger mistaken in thinking that he has discovered a “loving couple” in the grave? As the ending of “The Good Morrow” ingeniously implies, truly equal partners whose “loves be one” (60) were not supposed to die; were these buried lovers, therefore, not true lovers, since they are dead? The nature of their love, which becomes the subject of the third stanza, is already called into question here. And is their hope of being reunited in soul as well as body, by means of the “device” of the bracelet, also more of a thought than a certainty? Perhaps it is a forlorn hope to imagine that, in the midst of the “last busy day”, the Day of Judgment (vividly depicted with all its hectic activity in Divine Meditation 7), their souls, as well as their bodies, might actually meet. The stanza ends on an unanswered question, projected into the future. However, the phrase “make a little stay” is carefully positioned at the end of the last line of the stanza, the moment in a poem when there is indeed quite a significant “little stay”, a pause in the poetic rhythm. This is an aesthetic, if not a rational, assertion of confidence in the lovers’ hope.

3. A time of “mis-devotion”?
If this fall in a time, or land,
Where mis-devotion doth command,
Then, he that digs us up, will bring
Us, to the Bishop, and the King , 15
To make us relics ; then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby ;
All women shall adore us. and some men ;
And since at such a time, miracles are sought , 20
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles we harmless lovers wrought. (76)

From the intimacy of the grave explored in the first stanza, the second transfers us to a wider historical and geographical setting (“time, or land”) and immediately takes on a more satirical tone with reference to the religious and political context of early modern England. The speaker imagines that the lovers’grave is opened up in a period of what he calls “mis-devotion”, a term literally meaning devotion to the wrong things but, by implication, referring to Catholicism. In the Second Anniversary l. 511 (301) Donne uses the same word with reference to the Roman Catholic practice of praying to the saints, and in the 1669 text of “The Relic” it has become “mass-devotion”, confirming the specifically anti-Catholic impact of this expression (398). In a Catholic land where such “mis-devotion” might be practised, it was indeed, as in l. 15, the Bishop to whom the bones would be brought as potential “relics” for verification. A second layer of meaning in the title is becoming apparent: it is not just that the lovers’ “bracelet of bright hair” is a metaphorical relic signifying their love, but, further, that their bones might be taken for actual religious relics, the remains of saints. This is an idea which fascinates Donne and forms the central focus of this second stanza, even though it appears to be condemned as “mis-devotion”.

Having apparently established a Roman Catholic context for the opening up of the grave, the speaker intriguingly adds (l. 15) that the bones might be brought to “the King” as well as the Bishop, an unnecessary step in a Catholic country but a most apt procedure in a land such as early modern England, in which the monarch could authorise religious practice and even head the Church itself. Donne’s satirical instincts were never simple; it is too easy to read this stanza as critical only of Catholic practice. The poem was written by a former Catholic in an era when the King could also “command” (l. 13) in matters of religion; was not this, too, a sort of “mis-devotion”? Donne’s wit here playfully implicates both authorities, Catholic and Protestant, in one go, thereby also introducing a second kind of double timescheme in the poem. In the first stanza, the future is depicted and brought into the present; here, the pre-and post-Reformation eras are both satirised together, making the poem’s “time, or land” a double vision of past and present. Typically, the twofold satiric strike – at “the Bishop, and the King” – is set up in a line whose syntax actually manages to upstage both authorities. The line begins, boldly and unusually, with “Us”, the “loving couple” who are more important to the poem than any powers of either Church or state.

As we reach line 17 of the poem, “Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen”, we may be struck by the fact that only here, at last, does the speaker address the woman upon whom this love lyric is ostensibly focussed. The shifts of focus, in grammatical tenus, are quite unusual: the subject moves from first person singular (“my”, l. 1) via “us” (l. 7) to third person plural (“their souls”, l. 10) and back to “us” (ll. 14, 15, 16), but only now, for the first time, addresses the woman as “Thou”. Even within this line, the addressee is immediately configured as someone else, the Mary Magdalen for whom she is mis-taken in the land of “mis-devotion”. Why does Donne so quickly introduce the image of this particular saint? The primary association is probably the “bracelet of bright hair” given by the female lover to the speaker, since Mary Magdalen is traditionally (though perhaps wrongly) linked with the woman in the gospel who is said to have anointed Christ’s feet and dried them with her hair (John 12:3). In the iconographical tradition, she is depicted with long hair and may therefore be logically associated with the “device” of the lovers. She was also a saint who had formerly been a sinner – a prostitute who became a devoted follower of Christ – thus neatly, from the poet’s point of view, evoking sexuality even while embodying purity. The paradoxical sensuality and sexlessness of the lovers, an issue explored in the third stanza, is anticipated here in the introduction of Mary Magdalen as the saint for whom the female lover would be taken. There is further wit in Donne’s choice of Mary Magdalen for a scene set in a graveyard and prefiguring the resurrection of the dead, since Mary Magdalen was the first of Christ’s followers to encounter him on the original Easter morning, in the garden beside the tomb from which he had risen (John 20:11-18). The passing reference to this saint, linked variously with “bright hair”, sexual pleasure, pure devotion, and loyalty even after the death of her beloved, is thus perfectly chosen and fully exploited in the poem. It has been used by some critics to link the poem with Donne’s close friend, Magdalen Herbert, the mother of the poet George Herbert (Donne, 1983, 330-3), though the specific biographical connection is harder to prove than the biblical echoes and their witty exploitation within the poem itself.

Once the female lover has been taken to be Mary Magdalen, what is the “something else” with whom the speaker’s body is identified? If Mary Magdalen is remembered as a prostitute, then the speaker becomes one of her unnamed lovers or, more ironically, one of her customers seeking sexual satisfaction. But if Mary Magdalen is honoured, more appropriately in this context, as a saint, indeed as one of the closest followers of her Lord, then the speaker is, by implication, Christ himself. The evasive formulation of “something else” offers further evidence of the elusive identity of Donne’s speakers discussed in Tom Healy’s essay in this collection. In the case of “The Relic”, the teasing and apparently modest “something eise” keeps the speaker safe from any overt blasphemy by holding identification at bay. However, the phrase still lays him open to accusations of self-focus and pride, since the reader’s curiosity is here more tantalisingly aroused by the identity of the mysterious, and possibly holy, male speaker than by the woman assumed to be Mary Magdalen.

If the bones and bracelet of the speaker and his beloved are taken as relics and the two of them become saints – practices which, in themselves, are implicitly condemned – there are two other, more specific kinds of “misdevotion” which could possibly ensue, both of which mock any “time, or land” which would take them seriously. First, if the speaker is indeed taken for Christ, then this would lead to a totally misinformed devotion, since Christ’s bodily resurrection, one of the central doctrines of Christianity, would be denied by the discovery of his bones in a grave! Second, the devotees would be making a less drastic but still foolish mistake if they were to adore the remains of a prostitute and her paying customer. Whichever of these situations is envisaged, the stanza goes ahead with the imagined scene (which, we must remember, hinges entirely on the conditional “If” with which the stanza opens). The butt of Donne’s satirical attack here seems to be those who indulge in idolatry, the inappropriate offering of “divine honours” to a material object (OED 1). This tendency in devotion is condemned in the Bible as “abominable” (1 Peter 4:3) and listed in Donne’s own Satire 3:76 among the “bad” aspects of religion which would be better replaced by wise “doubt” (163). However, Donne’s critical wit is not reserved simply for those who are excessively gullible or superstitious in their religious practice, but is once again turned on women, who he suggests are more universally prone to “mis-devotion” than men are. Women’s supposed weakness and their vulnerability to extreme or misguided devotion are highlighted by the contrast between “all women” and “some men”. But there is something else going on here, too, in a wit which straddles slander and pride. Would we be wrong in observing that the speaker enjoys imagining the situation even as he criticises it, and evinces a particular delight in the idea of having his own remains adored by “all women”?

At this point in the poem, when the poet’s wit has probed ideas of womanhood (as saints and sinners), loyalty in life and death, and the commanding forces of authority and idolatry, mention is made of the power to rise above all of these norms: “miracles”. The idea of the miraculous is introduced as part of the continuing exploration of the poem’s title conceit: “miracles are sought” once the bracelet and bones have been discovered and taken to those in authority, since the working of miracles was regarded as confirmation of a genuine relic. As Thomas Aquinas wrote in his Summa Theologica, God “fittingly honours relics by working miracles in their presence” (Aquinas, 1945, III. 9.25.6). A miracle is seen as the work of God since it enacts something beyond both human power and the wider laws of nature. Sir Thomas Browne, in Religio Medici 1:27, defined miracles as “the extraordinary effect of the hand of God”, producing “effects" not only against, or above Nature”, but also “before Nature” since the original creation was itself a miracle (Browne, 1977, 95). Ironically, one of the effects of the early modern “new philosophy” referred to by Donne in “The First Anniversary” (276) was to call into doubt the possibility of any new miracles; as Lafew observes in All’s Well that Ends Well 2.3.1, “They say miracles are past” (Shakespeare, 1974, 516). But it was still common to use the term with metaphorical intent, with reference, for example, to people; Philip Sidney was called the “miracle of our age” (Carew in Camden, 1614, 44). At the end of this stanza of “The Relic”, Donne typifies the transition from literal to figurative uses of the word by employing it twice (ll. 20, 22), once doctrinally and once metaphorically. While the (misguidedly) religious will look for actual miraculous signs in connection with the supposed relics, the speaker will offer his own metaphoric interpretation in asserting “What miracles we harmless lovers wrought”.

The stanza ends, poised between satire and seriousness, with a particularly self-conscious gesture towards its own status as a “paper” whose function is to teach the age of “mis-devotion” a new sense of the miraculous. Within the dramatic scene established by the first two stanzas, there is a role for a document as well as a bracelet and bone; the poem is the third piece of evidence, the third “relic” of the “loving couple”. As in “The Canonization”, secular lovers are made into saints on account of their mutual devotion, and the poem itself becomes a kind of sacred text witnessing to their love: “by these hymns, all shall approve/Us canonized for love” (48). In an almost post-modern gesture, Donne enjoys allowing his own poem – “paper”, “hymn” – to justify, from within, its own existence and its own importance. But to what extent is this gesture also self-mocking, if the very idea of evidence (whether material relics or textual proof) is being questioned in the poem? Donne’s linguistic manoeuvres are such that epistemological security is forcibly abandoned. Is it possible, too, that the metaphysical vocabulary which he employs to challenge accepted meanings, such as the definition of a miracle, is thereby hollowed out and emptied of significance? Despite – or perhaps because of-its witty playfulness, this re-attribution of the accepted language of religion can be disconcerting. As David Norbrook has suggested, the re-use of a metaphysical discourse as an unrivalled source of metaphors and thought systems may not represent an honouring of the tradition but an undermining of “the claims of such discourses to transcendent status” (Norbrook, 1990, 15). What is a miracle, then, if its era has passed and its very transcendence is questioned?

4. “These miracles we did”
First, we loved well and faithfully,
Yet knew not what we loved, nor why,
Difference of sex no more we knew , 25
Than our guardian angels do ;
Coming and going, we Perchance might kiss, but not between those meals ;
Our hands ne’er touched the seals,
Which nature, injured by late law, sets free : 30
These miracles we did; but now alas,
All measure, and all language, I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was. (76)

This final stanza purports to be an answer to the question raised by the lines immediately preceding it: what kind of miracles is the speaker talking about and claiming for himself and his beloved? He proceeds with apparent objectivity and logical clarity, beginning with “First”; this, however, immediately introduces what might seem like a structural difficulty in the stanza, since there is no explicit subsequent “Second”. By line 31 he sums up “These miracles we did”, so there must be more than one. The first miracle is undoubtedly the couple’s faithfulness to one another which, in its trusting, almost unknowing quality, is like that of the lovers in “A Valediction: forbidding Mourning” who are so “refined” by the experience that “our selves know not what it is” (84). Remembering Donne’s many comments on women’s (in) constancy elsewhere in his Songs and Sonnets, we may detect an air of astonishment at the fact that the couple managed to remain loving “well and faithfully” until, the poem’s context implies, they were parted by death.

The second miracle appears to be the fact that their love was above and beyond and “Difference of sex”. For, despite the passionate and erotic elements in the poem thus far (such as the grave as a bed, the sensuality of the bracelet, and the mistress being identified with the sexually experienced Mary Magdalen), their love is portrayed as Platonic, a meeting of angels rather than earthly partners. The “bright hair” of the first stanza perhaps has an angelic brightness to it after all, though it would have to be a non-physical aura since the accepted theology was that angels possess no bodies (and so, no hair). Because of their disembodied status, angels “neither marry, nor are given in marriage” (Matthew 22:30) and, as St. Thomas Aquinas confirmed in De Substantiis Separatis (Aquinas, 1927, 70-144), are without gender. Donne’s own lyric “Air and Angels” suggests that angels are pure and bodiless, wearing “face and wings/Of air” though even the airy element is not as “pure” as they are (42). According to the same poem, an angel can “affect” humans “in a voice” or “a shapeless flame”, hinting at the ethereal nature though actual presence of this “lovely glorious nothing” (42). As in many of his poems, in “Air and Angels” Donne allows the categories of woman and angel to overlap, thereby, of course, seriously challenging the notion that they are above sexual difference. In Elegy 19, “To his Mistress Going to Bed”, one of Donne’s most sexually explicit poems, the speaker’s mistress is said to be an “angel” who brings “A heaven like Mahomet’s paradise” (125). It is difficult to reconcile this gendered and sexually charged “angel” with the straightforward claim of angelic purity between the lovers in “The Relic”. Indeed, Milton went so far as to assert in Paradise Lost that angels could “either sex assume, or both”, while Raphael blushingly explains later in the epic that angelic spirits “embrace” in “union of pure with pure/Desiring” (Milton, 1968, 1:424, 8:626-8). Donne himself noted in the seventh “Expostulation” of his Devotions that angels maintain “the trade between Heaven and Earth” (Donne, 1975, 38), and argued from the pulpit that angels come into contact with middle ground, as “from extream to extream, from east to west, the Angels themselves cannot come, but by passing the middle way between” (Donne, 1962, 7:409). Is there, then, a “middle way” in “The Relic” between the “extreams” of sexual and Platonic love?

The admission of “perchance” in line 28 perhaps offers a hint of compromise in the portrayal of this relationship, as it proceeds to the implied third type of miracle “wrought” by the lovers. There was, it suggests, some physical contact between the lovers, who kissed upon meeting and parting, occasions of importance to Donne, as his several Valediction poems imply. These moments when love is reasserted or tested are also the points at which the Bible appears to authorise kissing, as, for example, when the prodigal son returns home to his father (Luke 15:20). The lovers’ brief encounters are described as “meals”, a fascinating choice of vocabulary, hinting that the taste of one another at these intermittent moments was a sufficient source of nourishment and refreshment for their love. There is an echo here of the language of divine grace, as in the biblical invitation to “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Psalm 34:8). The metaphor of a feast of love, even with a kind of starvation diet between meals, returns us to an image of physical pleasure which might seem to challenge the idea of a miraculously pure love put forward by the speaker a mere two lines earlier. The “meals” recall the heavenly banquet, the “marriage supper of the Lamb” (Revelation 19:9), with its combination of selfless love (“agape”) and recognisably sensual celebration.

The fourth and final “miracle” of the lovers appears to be that they remained free from any sexual encounter beyond kissing. As lines 29-30 assert, the lovers did not break the rules by which society controls natural desires. Donne echoes Ovid’s Metamorphoses here, in his reference to the law which restrains “the things that nature setteth free” (Ovid, 1965, 10:329). Both Donne and his classical predecessor seem to regret the way in which the law works against nature; Donne’s speaker suggests that nature is “injured” by the law, and Golding’s translation of Ovid refers (10:331) to the laws as “spiteful”. Donne’s metaphor for the legal restrictions on the lovers is also profoundly ambiguous. On the one hand, the “seals” they did not touch are the wax endorsements of official documents which they did not break open. These could include the texts of those laws which are seen to damage nature, but could also refer to the covenant of redemption, as in Divine Meditation 7, when Christ is said to have “sealed my pardon, with thy blood” (312). The “seals” thus already point to both negative and positive authorities in their first, literal meaning. On the other hand, however, a “seal” is also a term used colloquially by Donne to refer to the sexual organs, as we were reminded by Claudine Raynaud in her interpretation of Elegy 19 earlier in this collection. The idea of lovers who do not touch one another, whether under the restraint of earthly or heavenly law, also takes us back to the identification (or perhaps mis-identification) of the speaker’s mistress with Mary Magdalen in stanza two. Christ’s words to Mary when she encounters him immediately after his resurrection, as depicted in Titian’s intensely sensual early sixteenth-century painting (“Noli me Tangere”), are “Touch me not” (John 20:17).

So far we have seen, in the first eight lines of the final stanza, four possible “miracles”, which are said to have been achieved by the lovers: faithfulness, sexlessness, transitory kisses and an absence of natural sexual intimacy. However, since a miracle is defined as that which goes against and above the rules of reason and nature, we may well ask wherein the lovers’ miracles lay. Did they achieve the miraculous by going against the speaker’s assumption that women are unfaithful (remembering his jibe against womankind being “to more than one a bed”), or by loving as angels do? Although the dominant interpretation of these “miracles” is an innocent reading, they have both have been shown to have possible cynical undertones. As the stanza progresses, the presence of physical love increasingly asserts itself, in kissing, in the challenging reference to legal and sexual “seals”, and in the natural freedom of desires. Which laws, then, did these miracles defy? Were the lovers able to override the laws of society which restrain sexual encounters, or was it miraculous that they went against the laws of nature by controlling their natural desires? The poem wittily offers the foundation for both interpretations, since the idea of “misdevotion”, or mis-reading the signs, has already been introduced in the previous stanza. From line 12 onwards, the whole poems turns on “If”, and several scenarios develop side by side. If the “mis-devotion” of the adoring multitudes leads them to take the lovers to be Christ and his devoted follower, then to praise their miraculous, metaphysical love as the ideal would be the consequence of a blasphemous error. If, on the other hand, the lovers were taken to be a prostitute and her partner, the miracle would indeed be that they kept their love pure, going against the laws of society and nature.

At the very point when we are puzzling out the layers of wit and logic in Donne’s sophisticated exploration of love’s complexities, the poem’s argument takes one final turn: the crowning miracle is not what the lovers did (or did not do), but the woman herself. Indeed, perhaps the real function of the opening word of the stanza, “First”, is to create a contrast between all the mutual miracles of the lovers on the one hand, and on the other, “now”, the miracle which was the beloved herself. As in a number of Donne’s divine poems, the persona turns away from self-focus at the very last moment; we could compare “Good Friday, 1613”, for example, when the speaker relents in the last half-line and agrees to “turn my face” to Christ (331). The final change of direction in “The Relic” is indicated by yet another shift in the pronouns and perspectives used in the lyric. The speaker no longer addresses his beloved (“thou”) or includes her in his statements (“we”, “us”, “our”) but puts her into the third person, as someone unutterably different: “what a miracle she was”. In what sense, now, is the woman a miracle? In his poem “To the Countess of Huntingdon”, Donne argues that an innocent woman is a rare “wonder” but one who is actively good is “a miracle, which reason’ scapes, and sense; / For, art and nature this in them withstood” (236). Once again the definition of a miracle is that which goes against the laws of “art and nature”, that which is unexpected and unnatural. It is as well to recall this before too quickly accepting that the speaker at the end of “The Relic” is expressing admiration for his mistress. If he is, it is only at the expense of all other women who are, by implication, flawed and inconstant by nature. Is this, in addition to the sense of loss which prevails in the final lines, the reason for the exclamation “alas”?

The accompanying idea is that the unnamed “she” is so wonderful as to be beyond “measure”, a term which means, literally, measurement or estimation but can also refer to the metrically patterned lines of poetry. It appears to be impossible to contain her in the lyric, to depict her within what Donne called, in his sonnet to Thomas Woodward, the “lame measure” of his “harsh verse” (209). Indeed, the speaker goes so far as to say that she is beyond language of any kind. This implies, naturally, that the woman’s perfection is inexpressible. But even this conclusion brings us back to the issues of truth, identity and blasphemy which were at stake in the second stanza. Elsewhere in Donne’s writings, in his poem in praise of the Sidneys’translation of the Psalms, it is God who, being “cornerless and infinite”, cannot be forced into the “strait corners of poor wit” (332). Is the woman hereby likened to God, and is this not another kind of “mis-devotion”? However, the cases are not quite parallel. The attempt to find words for God and the woman highlights the inadequacy of human language with which they must both be “apparelled” (Donne, 1962, 4:142), but, unlike the woman, God is himself the perfect divine language, the Word. “God came to us in verbo, In the word; for Christ is, The word that was made flesh” (Donne, 1962, 8:338). Despite the fact that she is not language itself but must be incorporated in it, there is still a hint of transcendence about the woman – a potentially divine characteristic putting her beyond the limits of human language. The speaker is, of course, indulging in wittily ironic flattery here. By using words to say how inadequate words are, he manages to suggest her superlative qualities even while saying, in a typically extreme manner, that he cannot do so. Once more, we confront a miracle as something which goes against or beyond natural and human laws – here, the norms of poetry and discourse.

If his beloved surpasses “all language”, there is an interesting secular admission here, too – a sort of unmanning in the failure of wit to supply adequate expression. Donne himself had, by his own admission in a letter to Henry Wotton, “an hydroptique immoderate desire of humane learning and languages” (Walton, 1670, 30), but the value of this “desire”, and the “masculine persuasive force” of the poet’s own words (Donne, 1971, 118), are brought into question if he confesses that language is insufficient. In his elegy on Donne, Thomas Carew wrote of the poet’s “masculine expression” and “imperious wit”, as a result of which “stubborne language bends” (Donne, 1985, 497) to suit his will; but here the possibilities of language are not pliable enough. Even the “mystic language of the eye [n] or hand” mentioned in Elegy 7 (102) is denied to the speaker here, perhaps because, as Donne puts it in “The Ecstasy”, the body is normally the “book” in which “love’s mysteries” can be read (55); but with this angelic woman there is no body, and thus no text. However, if such a miraculous woman is beyond language in the same way that other miracles are beyond the laws of reason and nature, then it is perhaps logical to assume that perfection in love is not normally possible for human beings. We are therefore left to wonder whether these final lines on the inadequacy of language are an ironic undermining of the poem’s whole argument, or a triumphant transcendence of it.

We would, though, be wrong to conclude that the speaker is here simply and finally admitting that, as Donne puts it in his “Elegy upon the Death of Mistress Boulstred”, language is “too narrow, and too weak” (251) to encompass the wonders of his mistress. There are other reasons for silence (with which it is, after all, fitting to end a poem), such as the profound wish to avoid words and, by doing so, to keep something pure and secret. As the persona in “A Valediction forbidding Mourning” grandly declares, “‘Twere profanation of our joys/To tell the laity our love” (84). If this, rather than the failure of language, is the motivation for the speaker’s abandonment of any attempt to express the nature of his lover, then she is not only a miracle (a being or event which challenges natural principles) but also potentially a mystery (that is, something divine and beyond the comprehension of human reason). The links with Donne’s lyric “The Canonization” are very enlightening: there the lovers “die and rise the same, and prove/Mysterious by this love” (47). Those who read “The Relic” or “The Canonization” are invited to respond to the evidence of “this paper” or hear “these hymns”, but even that is not enough to explain the mystery of the love celebrated in the two poems. Those who really wish to fathom the miracle or comprehend the mystery of such love must, as the end of “The Canonization” advises, “beg from above/A pattern of your love” (48).

5. Conclusions: “something else”
Reading any text is a journey, and to read a poem by Donne can be to follow a winding and difficult path, through puzzlement, fascination, frustration and delight in almost equal measure. We build up meanings through relating text to intertext and context; we move between discrete words and the accumulated whole; we follow the flux and ccunter-tensions of the argument. This voyage of discovery through Donne’s mind, world, soul and wit can, ultimately, be deeply satisfying for the reader. As the central character of Vikram Seth’s novel An Equal Music comments during a casual conversation about this “unsettled” poet (from whose prose the novel’s title is derived), “I like his language, I mull over his ideas,” adding, to the surprise of the friend listening to these comments, “I find him relaxing late at night” (Seth, 1999, 441, 242).

“The Relic” may not be everyone’s idea of a relaxing late-night read, but it certainly raises a number of questions to “mull over”. What is “the relic” in the end? During our reading of the poem we discovered material for a reliquary in the “bracelet” and the “bone” (l. 9), the lovers’ remains (l. 16) and the “paper” attesting to the miracle of their love (l. 21). Which of these is worthy of veneration, which generates genuine miracles, and which may come to be adored through “mis-devotion”? There are several conflicting answers, too, to the question of the kind of love upheld and praised in the poem; it could be a miraculously non-physical devotion, but it could also be a free love supremely above and beyond the normal social restrictions. Is the poem, therefore, a celebration of Platonic love, as is largely assumed among the critics, or an anti-Platonic satire, as claimed by, among others, Marvin Morillo (Morillo, 1974, 47)? Does the speaker maintain his ironic critical distance from the imagined future he sketches, or is he a victim of the feelings of adulation which he satirises? What is the “miracle” – that the lovers were kept together in the grave and respected as a loving couple, that they were adored, that they resisted the temptations of fleshly love, that theirs was a full experience of love, or simply what she herself was? Or are we, then and now, in an age beyond miracles?

“The Relic” tempts us on to dangerous ground, inviting us to enter its imagined scenes, enjoy its wit, and then accept the breath-taking twist of its ending. But there is perhaps a kind of idolatry in this poem, not necessarily in its religious implications but, ironically, in its praise of a woman as a miracle beyond words. For there is the possibility of “misdevotion” when any relic-bracelet, bones, or a memory of love-is venerated. In “The Funeral”, a lyric closely related to “The Relic” on account of its similar “wreath of hair”, there is said to be a danger of “idolatry, / If into others’ hands these relics came” (60). Is “The Relic”, too, a case of idolatry, when the speaker, and reader, adore what Donne elsewhere calls a “profane mistress” (314)? If we prefer to idolise the poem itself as a relic of the poet’s brilliant wit, is there not also a sort of literary idolatry taking place?

Although reading is a process of enquiry, it is not my intention to sum up the poem in nothing but unanswered questions. “The Relic” is a fine illustration of the paradoxes of Donne’s art – not that he uses many specific paradoxes as rhetorical structures in the poem, but it sets up apparent oppositions which are fundamental to its tensions and its success. The speaker mistrusts and attacks women even while affectionately, even wonderingly, upholding one as a miracle; the poem mocks false religion and idolatry yet delights in, and profits from, their modes of thought; it speaks with passion and evident sexual reference yet seems to depict an idealised chaste Platonic love. The setting is (literally) deathly, but the mood is lively and energetic, and the concern with the spiritual is mediated through material experience. It is a lyric in praise of a woman but is at least as dynamically concerned with the speaker’s own posthumous fame as with the detail of the beloved. Above all, it points out the limitations of language and yet pushes in fine and witty language against those very boundaries of the inexpressible.

Is the poem itself also at the boundary of the uninterpretable? I think not, particularly because the challenge of making sense of it is quite clearly and deliberately set by Donne himself in that tantalising line, “A something else thereby”. This is the moment in the poem when the writer most obviously gives a clue and invites the reader to find a solution by means of the process of reading and interpretation. And what is this “something else”? As the opaque phrase deliberately announces, there are several possible identifications hidden behind it, including at least one which is innocent (but naive) and one which is knowing (but limiting). This playful sparring between author and audience is a conscious part of reading a poem by Donne, and it occurs at many other, less obvious points in the lyric, such as in the positive or cynical interpretations of the idea of the woman as a “miracle”. The poem’s counterpoint lies in these exciting possibilities, set up by the wit which ultimately also supplies the means of harmonising the play of meanings into one “equal” and, as Hamlet would put it, “most eloquent” music (Shakespeare, 1974, 1165, 3.2.359).

Perhaps, finally, we have not outlived miracles. The poem is the “relic” we still possess, which in its exploration of love achieves for the reader what relics are supposed to do: it works a kind of miracle of wit.

BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Herbert, George. 1974. The English Poems of George Herbert. Ed. C. A. Patrides. London: Dent.

Mills, Jerry Leath. 1968. “Donne’s Bracelets of Bright Hair: An Analogue”. Notes and Queries. 15, 368.
DOI : 10.1093/nq/15-10-368a

Milton, John. 1968. Paradise Lost. Ed. John Carey. London: Longman.

—. 1997. Selected Poetry. Ed. Jonathan Goldberg and Stephen Orgel. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Morillo, Marvin. 1974. “Donne’s ‘The Relique’ as Satire”. Tulane Studies in English, 21, 47-55.

Ovid, 1965. Ovid’s Metamorphoses; the Arthur Golding translation, 1567. Ed. John Frederick Nims. New York: Macmillan.

Seth, Vikram, 1999. An Equal Music. London: Phoenix House. Shakespeare, William, 1974. The Riverside Shakespeare. Ed. G. Blakemore Evans. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.

Strier, Richard. 1995. Resistant Structures: Particularity, Radicalism, and Renaissance Texts. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Walton, Izaak. 1670. The Lives of Dr. John Donne, Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. Richard Hooker, and Mr. George Herbert. London: Tho. Newcomb for Richard Marriott.

Jun 12, 2018

Metaphysical Lyrics: Eliot

Source: http://www.uwyo.edu/numimage/eliot_metaphysical_poets.htm

T. S. Eliot, review of Metaphysical Lyrics and Poems of the Seventeenth Century: Donne to Butler. Selected and edited, with an Essay, by Herbert J. C. Grierson (Oxford: Clarendon Press. London; Milford) in the Times Literary Supplement, October 1921.

[On the "dissociation of sensibility"]
By collecting these poems from the work of a generation more often named than read, and more often read than profitably studied, Professor Grierson has rendered a service of some importance. Certainly the reader will meet with many poems already preserved in other anthologies, at the same time that he discovers poems such as those of Aurelian Townshend or Lord Herbert of Cherbury here included. But the function of such an anthology as this is neither that of Professor Saintsbury's admirable edition of Caroline poets nor that of the Oxford Book of Englisb Verse. Mr. Grierson's book is in itself a piece of criticism and a provocation of criticism; and we think that he was right in including so many poems of Donne, elsewhere (though not in many editions) accessible, as documents in the case of "metaphysical poetry." The phrase has long done duty as a term of abuse or as the label of a quaint and pleasant taste. The question is to what extent the so-called metaphysicals formed a school (in our own time we should say a "movement"), and how far this so-called school or movement is a digression from the main current.
Not only is it extremely difficult to define metaphysical poetry, but difficult to decide what poets practise it and in which of their verses. The poetry of Donne (to whom Marvell and Bishop King are sometimes nearer than any of the other authors) is late Elizabethan, its feeling often very close to that of Chapman. The "courtly" poetry is derivative from Jonson, who borrowed liberally from the Latin; it expires in the next century with the sentiment and witticism of Prior. There is finally the devotional verse of Herbert, Vaughan, and Crashaw (echoed long after by Christina Rossetti and Francis Thompson); Crashaw, sometimes more profound and less sectarian than the others, has a quality which returns through the Elizabethan period to the early Italians. It is difficult to find any precise use of metaphor, simile, or other conceit, which is common to all the poets and at the same time important enough as an element of style to isolate these poets as a group. Donne, and often Cowley, employ a device which is sometimes considered characteristically "metaphysical"; the elaboration (contrasted with the condensation) of a figure of speech to the farthest stage to which ingenuity can carry it. Thus Cowley develops the commonplace comparison of the world to a chess-board through long stanzas (To Destiny), and Donne, with more grace, in A Valediction, the comparison of two lovers to a pair of compasses. But elsewhere we find, instead of the mere explication of the content of a comparison, a development by rapid association of thought which requires considerable agility on the part of the reader.

        On a round ball
A workman that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afrique, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, All,
        So doth each teare,
        Which thee doth weare,
A globe, yea, world by that impression grow,
Till thy tears mixt with mine doe overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolved so.
Here we find at least two connexions which are not implicit in the first figure, but are forced upon it by the poet: from the geographer's globe to the tear, and the tear to the deluge. On the other hand, some of Donne's most successful and characteristic effects are secured by brief words and sudden contrasts:
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone,
where the most powerful effect is produced by the sudden contrast of associations of "bright hair" and of "bone." This telescoping of images and multiplied associations is characteristic of the phrase of some of the dramatists of the period which Donne knew; not to mention Shakespeare, it is frequent in Middleton, Webster, and Tourneur, and is one of the sources of the vitality of their language.
Johnson, who employed the term "metaphysical poets," apparently having Donne, Cleveland, and Cowley chiefly in mind, remarks of them that "the most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together." The force of this impeachment lies in the failure of the conjunction, the fact that often the ideas are yoked but not united; and if we are to judge of styles of poetry by their abuse, enough examples may be found in Cleveland to justify Johnson's condemnation. But a degree of heterogeneity of material compelled into unity by the operation of the poet's mind is omnipresent in poetry. We need not select for illustration such a line as:
Notre âme est un trois-mâts cherchant son Icarie;
we may find it in some of the best lines of Johnson himself (The Vanity of Human Wishes):

His fate was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 
He left a name at which the world grew pale, 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
where the effect is due to a contrast of ideas, different in degree but the same in principle, as that which Johnson mildly reprehended. And in one of the finest poems of the age (a poem which could not have been written in any other age), the Exequy of Bishop King, the extended comparison is used with perfect success: the idea and the simile become one, in the passage in which the Bishop illustrates his impatience to see his dead wife, under the figure of a journey:

Stay for me there; I will not faile 
To meet thee in that hollow Vale
And think not much of my delay; 
I am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed 
Desire can make, or sorrows breed. 
Each minute is a short degree,
And evry houre a step towards thee. 
At night when I betake to rest,
Next morn I rise nearer my West
Of life, almost by eight houres sail,
Than when sleep breath'd his drowsy gale. . . . 
But heark! My Pulse, like a soft Drum 
Beats my approach, tells Thee I come; 
And slow howere my marches be, 
I shall at last sit down by Thee.
(In the last few lines there is that effect of terror which is several times attained by one of Bishop King's admirers, Edgar Poe.) Again, we may justly take these quatrains from Lord Herbert's Ode, stanzas which would, we think, be immediately pronounced to be of the metaphysical school:

So when from hence we shall be gone,
    And be no more, nor you, nor I,
    As one another's mystery,
Each shall be both, yet both but one.


This said, in her uplifted face,
    Her eyes, which did that beauty crown,
    Were like two starrs, that having faln down,
Look up again to find their place:


While such a moveless silent peace
    Did seize on their becalmed sense,
    One would have thought some influence
Their ravished spirits did possess.
There is nothing in these lines (with the possible exception of the stars, a simile not at once grasped, but lovely and justified) which fits Johnson's general observations on the metaphysical poets in his essay on Cowley. A good deal resides in the richness of association which is at the same time borrowed from and given to the word "becalmed"; but the meaning is clear, the language simple and elegant. It is to be observed that the language of these poets is as a rule simple and pure; in the verse of George Herbert this simplicity is carried as far as it can go--a simplicity emulated without success by numerous modern poets. The structureof the sentences, on the other hand, is sometimes far from simple, but this is not a vice; it is a fidelity to thought and feeling. The effect, at its best, is far less artificial than that of an ode by Gray., And as this fidelity induces variety of thought and feeling, so it induces variety of music. We doubt whether, in the eighteenth century, could be found two poems in nominally the same metre, so dissimilar as Marvell's Coy Mistress and Crashaw's Saint Teresa; the one producing an effect of great speed by the use of short syllables, and the other an ecclesiastical solemnity by the use of long ones:

Love, thou art absolute sole lord
Of life and death.
If so shrewd and sensitive (though so limited) a critic as Johnson failed to define metaphysical poetry by its faults, it is worth while to inquire whether we may not have more success by adopting the opposite method: by assuming that the poets of the seventeenth century (up to the Revolution) were the direct and normal development of the precedent age; and, without prejudicing their case by the adjective "metaphysical," consider whether their virtue was not something permanently valuable, which subsequently disappeared, but ought not to have disappeared. Johnson has hit, perhaps by accident, on one of their peculiarities, when he observes that "their attempts were always analytic"; he would not agree that, after the dissociation, they put the material together again in a new unity.
It is certain that the dramatic verse of the later Elizabethan and early Jacobean poets expresses a degree of development of sensibility which is not found in any of the prose, good as it often is. If we except Marlowe, a man of prodigious intelligence, these dramatists were directly or indirectly (it is at least a tenable theory) affected by Montaigne. Even if we except also Jonson and Chapman, these two were notably erudite, and were notably men who incorporated their erudition into their sensibility: their mode of feeling was directly and freshly altered by their reading and thought. In Chapman especially there is a direct sensuous apprehension of thought, or a recreation of thought into feeling, which is exactly what we find in Donne:

    in this one thing, all the discipline
Of manners and of manhood is contained;
A man to join himself with th' Universe
In his main sway, and make in all things fit
One with that All, and go on, round as it;
Not plucking from the whole his wretched part,
And into straits, or into nought revert,
Wishing the complete Universe might be
Subject to such a rag of it as he;
But to consider great Necessity.
We compare this with some modern passage:

No, when the fight begins within himself,
A man's worth something. God stoops o'er his head,
Satan looks up between his feet--both tug--
He's left, himself, i' the middle; the soul wakes
And grows. Prolong that battle through his life!
It is perhaps somewhat less fair, though very tempting (as both poets are concerned with the perpetuation of love by offspring), to compare with the stanzas already quoted from Lord Herbert's Ode the following from Tennyson:

One walked between his wife and child,
With measured footfall firm and mild,
And now and then he gravely smiled.
The prudent partner of his blood
Leaned on him, faithful, gentle, good,
Wearing the rose of womanhood.
And in their double love secure,
The little maiden walked demure,
Pacing with downward eyelids pure.
These three made unity so sweet,
My frozen heart began to beat,
Remembering its ancient beat.
The difference is not a simple difference of degree between poets. It is something which had happened to the mind of England between the time of Donne or Lord Herbert of Cherbury and the time of Tennyson and Browning; it is the difference between the intellectual poet and the reflective poet. Tennyson and Browning are poets, and they think; but they do not feel their thought as immediately as the odour of a rose. A thought to Donne was an experience; it modified his sensibility. When a poet's mind is perfectly equipped for its work, it is constantly amalgamating disparate experience; the ordinary man's experience is chaotic, irregular, fragmentary. The latter falls in love, or reads Spinoza, and these two experiences have nothing to do with each other, or with the noise of the typewriter or the smell of cooking; in the mind of the poet these experiences are always forming new wholes.
We may express the difference by the following theory: The poets of the seventeenth century, the successors of the dramatists of the sixteenth, possessed a mechanism of sensibility which could devour any kind of experience. They are simple, artificial, difficult, or fantastic, as their predecessors were; no less nor more than Dante, Guido Cavalcanti, Guinizelli, or Cino. In the seventeenth century a dissociation of sensibility set in, from which we have never recovered; and this dissociation, as is natural, was aggravated by the influence of the two most powerful poets of the century, Milton and Dryden. Each of these men performed certain poetic functions so magnificently well that the magnitude of the effect concealed the absence of others. The language went on and in some respects improved; the best verse of Collins, Gray, Johnson, and even Goldsmith satisfies some of our fastidious demands better than that of Donne or Marvell or King. But while the language became more refined, the feeling became more crude. The feeling, the sensibility, expressed in the Country Churchyard (to say nothing of Tennyson and Browning) is cruder than that in the Coy Mistress.
The second effect of the influence of Milton and Dryden followed from the first, and was therefore slow in manifestation. The sentimental age began early in the eighteenth century, and continued. The poets revolted against the ratiocinative, the descriptive; they thought and felt by fits, unbalanced; they reflected. In one or two passages of Shelley's Triumph of Life, in the second Hyperion, there are traces of a struggle toward unification of sensibility. But Keats and Shelley died, and Tennyson and Browning ruminated.
After this brief exposition of a theory--too brief, perhaps, to carry conviction--we may ask, what would have been the fate of the "metaphysical" had the current of poetry descended in a direct line from them, as it descended in a direct line to them? They would not, certainly, be classified as metaphysical. The possible interests of a poet are unlimited; the more intelligent he is the better; the more intelligent he is the more likely that he will have interests: our only condition is that he turn them into poetry, and not merely meditate on them poetically. A philosophical theory which has entered into poetry is established, for its truth or falsity in one sense ceases to matter, and its truth in another sense is proved. The poets in question have, like other poets, various faults. But they were, at best, engaged in the task of trying to find the verbal equivalent for states of mind and feeling. And this means both that they are more mature, and that they wear better, than later poets of certainly not less literary ability.
It is not a permanent necessity that poets should be interested in philosophy, or in any other subject. We can only say that it appears likely that poets in our civilization, as it exists at present, must be difficult. Our civilization comprehends great variety and complexity, and this variety and complexity, playing upon a refined sensibility, must produce various and complex results. The poet must become more and more comprehensive, more allusive, more indirect, in order to force, to dislocate if necessary, language into his meaning. (A brilliant and extreme statement of this view, with which it is not requisite to associate oneself, is that of M. Jean Epstein, La Poésie d' aujourd-hui.) Hence we get something which looks very much like the conceit--we get, in fact, a method curiously similar to that of the "metaphysical poets," similar also in its use of obscure words and of simple phrasing.

O géraniums diaphanes, guerroyeurs sortilèges,
Sacrilèges monomanes!
Emballages, devergondages, douches! O pressoirs 
Des vendanges des grands soirs! 
Layettes aux abois,
Thyrses am fond des bois! 
Transfusions, représailles!
Relevailles, compresses et l'éternal potion,
Angélus! n'en pouvoir plus
De débâcles nuptiales! de débâcles nuptiales! 
The same poet could write also simply:

Elle est bien loin, elle pleure,
Le grand vent se lamente aussi . . .
Jules Laforgue, and Tristan Corbiére in many of his poems, are nearer to the "school of Donne" than any modern English poet. But poets more classical than they have the same essential quality of transmuting ideas into sensations, of transforming an observation into a state of mind.

Pour 1'enfant, amoureux de cartes et d'estampes,
L'univers est égal à son vaste appétit.
Ah, que le monde est grand à la clarté des lampes!
Aux yeux du souvenir que le monde est petit!  [Baudelaire]
In French literature the great master of the seventeenth century--Racine--and the great master of the nineteenth--Baudelaire--are in some ways more like each other than they are like any one else. The greatest two masters of diction are also the greatest two psychologists, the most curious explorers of the soul. It is interesting to speculate whether it is not a misfortune that two of the greatest masters of diction in our language, Milton and Dryden, triumph with a dazzling disregard of the soul. If we continued to produce Miltons and Drydens it might not so much matter, but as things are it is a pity that English poetry has remained so incomplete. Those who object to the "artificiality" of Milton or Dryden sometimes tell us to "look into our hearts and write." But that is not looking deep enough; Racine or Donne looked into a good deal more than the heart. One must look into the cerebral cortex, the nervous system, and the digestive tracts.
May we not conclude, then, that Donne, Crashaw, Vaughan, Herbert and Lord Herbert, Marvell, King, Cowley at his best, are in the direct current of English poetry, and that their faults should be reprimanded by this standard rather than coddled by antiquarian affection? They have been enough praised in terms which are implicit limitations because they are "metaphysical" or "witty," "quaint" or "obscure," though at their best they have not these attributes more than other serious poets. On the other hand, we must not reject the criticism of Johnson (a dangerous person to disagree with) without having mastered it, without having assimilated the Johnsonian canons of taste. In reading the celebrated passage in his essay on Cowley we must remember that by wit he clearly means something more serious than we usually mean today; in his criticism of their versification we must remember in what a narrow discipline he was trained, but also how well trained; we must remember that Johnson tortures chiefly the chief offenders, Cowley and Cleveland. It would be a fruitful work, and one requiring a substantial book, to break up the classification of Johnson (for there has been none since) and exhibit these poets in all their difference of kind and of degree, from the massive music of Donne to the faint, pleasing tinkle of Aurelian Townshend--whose Dialogue between a Pilgrim and Time is one of the few regrettable omissions from the excellent anthology of Professor Grierson.

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