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| Matthew Arnold |
Over the years, I have now and then picked up his poetry and read a little, and then put it down, largely unmoved. The exception to that was his (Shakespearean) sonnet titled "Shakespeare" that I read as a teenager and was moved by.
Recently, however, I pulled my copy of his work off my shelf and was drawn in. What mysterious quantum fluctuations of literary gravity shifted me into sync with his words, I do not know. But it did, and I am agog.
I had always felt him stilted, a ponderous, mannered Victorian, but without the mawkish plumminess of Tennyson (oh, ga-a-a-rn, that interminable rum-tee-tum of iambic tetrameter that drones unvaryingly through The Idylls of the King like some nightmarish Graham Chapman sketch*)....Oooh, I was wrong. He has a lyrical lightness, a grace that transcends that Empire formality, and a psychological depth in his poetry that delighted me to discover through eyes that had been blind to him before. What is better yet, he flirts with challenging the postures of Victorian propriety.
"Dover Beach" is probably Matthew Arnold's most famous poem. It was most likely composed or begun in 1851, and it was published in 1867, eight years after the publication of the first edition of Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species. Some critics see in "Dover Beach" an expression of a rejection of traditional religion and an acceptance of the modern sciences of geology and evolutionary biology. His intellect is not mired in a longing for old, comfortable, and conservative ways, but adopts the new world being revealed by the onward progress of science.
I find it a lovely love poem, and a rich expression of heart and intellect. Its lyrical beauty and complex reflection are moving and involving. I find it a delightful poem. The development of his thought through the poem is a delight, and it has strong, arresting imagery.
"Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold
"Calais Sands" is more clearly a love poem, concerned with the anticipation of the speaker awaiting the arrival by sailing-ship of his love. It is not made clear whether they are lovers or on a honeymoon. I suspect that this ambiguity might have troubled a Victorian reader, and I am glad that it holds that ambiguity. The proprieties be dashed! What matters is love!
"Calais Sands" by Matthew Arnold
The story of the doomed-to-sorrow Arthurian hero, Tristan (or Tristram, as in this case; I also like the Portuguese variation, "Tristão"), has been treated by many, many writers, notably Sir Thomas Malory, Chrétian de Troyes, and the German operatic composer Richard Wagner.
I was smitten by Matthew Arnold's version of the story. He focuses on the triangle in the story--or, rather, the second triangle. The story is that Tristan is entrusted with the job of bringing the fiancée of his uncle, King Mark, king of Cornwall, from Ireland to Cornwall where Isolde (or, as in this version, Iseult) will marry King Mark. But on the way, on a hot day, they drink from a vial that Isolde's mother has given her to be drunk on her wedding-day; that vial contains a love potion. In a rare moment of Medieval sensitivity, the potion is intended to ensure that Isolde will have a happy life with her husband. Alas!
Fleeing King Mark's jealousy and their own forbidden love, Tristan marries a second Isolde, who is distinguished from Isolde of Ireland by the epithet "of the White Hands". So, Tristan is part of a second triangle, that of himself and the two Isoldes. The story of the first triangle, and Tristan's conflict and bitter enmity with King Mark, is a major focus of Sir Thomas Malory's epic telling of the Arthurian legends, La Morte D'Arthur; the story of the second Isolde is of lesser weight in Malory.
But Matthew Arnold's "Tristram and Iseult" is about the second triangle, and the pain it causes Iseult of the White Hands. The first part is subtitled "TRISTRAM", the second part is subtitled "ISEULT OF IRELAND", and the third part is subtitled "ISEULT OF BRITTANY". I found the third part deeply sensitive to the lesser Iseult, and it moves me. It is subtle and ironic. In an attempt to convince herself that she doesn't care, to distance herself from her own grief, Iseult of the White Hands tells her--and Tristram's--sons the story of Vivian and Merlin; how Vivian, tired of the attentions of the besotted old wizard, bewitches him, imprisoning him in a fairy circle, and leaves him, love forgotten, to live her own life on her own terms. (The fairy circle is a nice touch by Matthew Arnold. Most versions of the story have Merlin imprisoned in a rock or a cave rather like Aladdin's genie.) It is a remarkably feminist poem for a Victorian poet writing in Arthurian mode. It is critical of Tristram's and Iseult's infatuation with each other. The only one who felt true love of the two triangles was Iseult of Britanny, and she was the one left to hold things together. Tristram and Iseult come across as selfish and self-indulgent. Only Iseult of Britanny is nurturing of others, and she is left behind to endure. She seeks to project herself into Vivian's uncaring selfishness, but we know she can't. She will raise the boys and take care of Tristram's dogs, treasure his harp, steward his kingdom, guard his legend; the others have left her with nothing--nothing but memories and fading beauty and responsibility.
Excerpt from Matthew Arnold's "Tristram and Iseult"
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