The religious factor in the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins

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Content THE RELIGIOUS FACTOR IN THE POETRY OF
GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS
A Thesis
Presented to
the Faculty of the Department of English
The University of Southern California
In Partial Fulfillment
of the Requirements for the Degree
Master of Arts
by
Leslie Francis Burke
February 1949
UMI Number: EP44240
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION ..................................... 1
Critical interest in Hopkins . . . . . . . . . 1
Theoretical background of poems .. ......... 2
Christian theory of art • • • . . . . • • • • 3
Purpose of study . . . . . . . . . . ......... 4
Discovery of religious ideas 4
Analysis of poetry ............. ...... 4
II. THE CAREER OF GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS........... 5
Highgate School . . . . . . . . . . ........ 5
Oxford........................................ 7
Interest in words 11
The Society of Jesus • .............. (22p
"The Wreck of the Deutschland" ....... 23
"The terrible sonnets" ..... ........ • 30
Conflict between poetry and religion ..... j | 3 2
Use of sonnet form ............... 35
III. HOPKINS' THEORY OF POETRY...................... 37
Complexity in poetry 42
Earnestness .»•• ............... ••*.. 44
Poetical language . . . ........... ••••• 46
'Inscape' ....... ..... 51
(Early poems h. . . . . . . . . . . ........... 73
CHAPTER PAGE
17. ANALYSIS OF HOPKINS’ POETRY ................. . 78
Themes employed by Hopkins . . . . . . . . . . 81
"Spring” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ......... 8$
"Spring and Fall” . ............ 94
"No worst there is none. Pitched Past Pitch
of Grief" ........... . . . . . . . . . . . 105
7. A SURYEY OF HOPKINS' MATURE POETRY............. 119
"The Wreck of the Deutschland" ........ 120
Nature poems .......................... 124
"Pied Beauty” . 126
"The Windhover” ............ 127
Man without grace ........................ 130
Hopkins’ interest in Man 132
"Peace” ......................................... 135
"The Bugler's First Communion" ........ 137
The last poems . . . . . . . . . . ........... 150
Man's dependence on God....................... 151
The sonnet to Robert Bridges ............... 153
71. CONCLUSION...................................... 160
Religious backgrounds for the mature poems
The importance of the Society of Jesus ....
BIBLIOGRAPHY........................................... 166
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Since the publication of Gerard Manley Hopkins* poetry
in 1918, by Robert Bridges, there have appeared numerous essays
and articles dealing with the life and work of this Jesuit
priest. The interest which has developed in Hopkins since
1918 has been disproportionately concerned with Hopkins the
technician. Critics and poets alike have hailed his technical
innovations, and though there is considerable difference of
opinion as to his merits, there is no longer any doubt that
he ranks among the bright stars of English poetry.
The majority of the writers who have had anything to
say about Hopkins have taken a position in media via, but
there are extreme views ranging all the way from F. R. Leavis's
remark, “Hopkins was one of the most remarkable technical in
novators who ever wrote . . . he was a major poet* * 1 to the
opinion of D. S. MacColl expressed in the London Mercury that
Hopkins' poetry is sheer nonsense.2 This lack of agreement
over the merits of Hopkins' poetry has not helped his repu
tation, for when a reader, puzzled by Hopkins' oddity, turns
to the critics for explanation, he is likely to be disappointed.
1 F. R. Leavis, New Bearings in English Poetry (London:
1932), p. 159.
2 D. S. MacColl, "Patmore and Hopkins: Sense and
Nonsense in English Poetry," London Mercury and Bookman.
XXXVIII, pp. 217-224, 1938.
One of the main reasons why scholars have failed to
unravel the mysteries of Hopkins' work can be found in their
failure to examine with greater care the religious background
of the entire body of his poetry written between 1875 and
1889.3 Writers who have related aspects of Christian theology
to the poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins have generally limited
/
their attention to the manner in which traditional expressions
of Christian thought are paralleled in specific lines. Such
comparisons are valuable, but they may be misleading if the
reader draws the erroneous conclusion that only part of
Hopkins' mature verse was influenced by religion. It is
necessary therefore when examining the work of Gerard Manley
Hopkins to be aware of the priest as well as the poet.
A considerable body of Hopkins' theoretical discussion
is preserved in his journals and in his correspondence with
Robert Bridges, Richard Dixon, Coventry Patmore, and other
friends. When any poet has brought innovations to the tech
nique of poetry, it is important to know the theoretical back
ground for the poems. Furthermore, Hopkins' letters and
notes are important because he was one poet who followed his
own ideas with great care. Anyone seeking explanations to
his poems will find the journals and correspondence invaluable.
3 Elsie Elizabeth Phare, The Poetry of Gerard Manley
Honkins: a Survey and Commentary (London: 1933) and Herbert
Read, In Defense of Shelley and Other Essays (London: 1938).
3
Though Hopkins made no comprehensive statement con
cerning poetry and the poet, one can assemble from the prose
writings a theory of poetry and a definition of the artist
and his responsibilities in Christian terms. One is justi
fied, then, in seeking a partial explanation of his poetry
in the Catholic doctrines which Hopkins studied as a priest.
Hopkins’ attitudes were reshaped by the rules and philosophy
of the Society of Jesus, and he utilized his religious ideas
as material for lyric poetry. But he did not use poetry in
order tb^n^bmulgate^Beligious doctrines, and none of his verse
should be judged by religious criteria. His definition of -
poetry indicates that he expected his poetry to be judged as
art, not theology. In his journal he wrote:
Poetry is speech framed for contemplation of the mind
by the way of hearing or speech framed to be heard for
its own sake and interest even over and above its interest
of meaning. Some matter and meaning is essential to it
but only as an element necessary to support and employ
the shape which is contemplated for its own sake.4
It is important to scrutinize the life of Hopkins in
order to discover and understand the various crises that pro
duced the tension which underlies much of the verse he composed
after 1875. The contrast that exists between the exuberant
poems of Highgate, the religious verse composed at Oxford,
4 Humphry House, Editor, The Hote-Books and Papers of
Gerard Manley Hopkins (London: 19371, p. 249.
and the poems written after 1875 can be more easily understood
if the facts of his life are fresh in mind.
This paper will attempt to discover the various re
ligious ideas that Hopkins employed in his mature poetry and
to examine the manner in which he utilized these ideas. The
analysis of individual poems will be in terms that are appli
cable to all the lyrics. The choice of the three poems was
determined by poetic considerations. This paper will not
attempt to give a complete survey of Hopkins' thought. The
three poems are representative and typical examples of his
mature work.
Since Hopkins' theory of 'inscape' is so vital to his
poetry, it will be necessary to examine the term at some
length in order to show how Hopkins arrived at this view and
how he has represented it in his poems. The explanation of
the term 'inscape' should bring out clearly Hopkins' attitude
toward external life and should point the way toward the
philosophy of life which underlies his poetry.
CHAPTER II
THE CAREER OF GERARD MAHLEY HOPKIHS
On July 28, 1844, in the town of Stratford, Essex,
Gerard Manley Hopkins was born. The father, Manley Hopkins,
was a man of culture and sensitiveness; the mother, Catherine,
daughter of a London physician, was highly educated. On both
sides of the family there were artists. Manley Hopkins wrote
verse and smooth, competent prose. Uncles on both sides of
Gerard’s family were painters. In his early childhood Gerard
received instruction in music and drawing from his aunt.
Gerard entered Highgate School in 1854. This quiet,
shy boy, called "Skin” Hopkins by his fellows, was an excellent
student; but his term at Highgate was marked by numerous
quarrels and conflicts with the bullying headmaster, Rev.
John Bradley Dyne, D. D. Concerning his early school days at
Highgate Hopkins wrote to Richard Dixon, ’ ’The truth is I had
no love of schooldays and wished to banish the remembrance of
them,”^ - and in a lengthy letter to his friend C. N. Luxmoore
he reviewed at some length his frequent and unpleasant en
counters with Dr. Dynes
1 Claude Colleer Abbott, Editor, The Correspondence of
Gerard Manlev Hopkins and Richard Watson Dixon (Londons 1935)7
p. 12. Hereafter this book will be referred to as Correspondence.
Dyne and I had a terrific altercation . . . my room was
denied me for a week . . . Dyne had repeatedly said he
hoped I might not be at the top of the school after the
exam. . . . Dyne sent me to bed at nine and for the
third time |his quarter threatened expulsion, depriva
tion. . . ,2
This was the fiercest skirmish between Hopkins and Dr. Dyne.
For a minor infraction of regulations, he was threatened with
expulsion and degraded to the bottom of the prefects. When
his friend Marcus Clarke was flogged by Dyne, Gerard lost
control of himself and hit Dr. Dyne, who slashed the recalci
trant Hopkins with a riding crop.
At the age of fifteen, Hopkins won a school prize with
his first long poem, HThe Escorial," whieh describes a heroic
incident with precise and surprisingly forceful imagery:
For that staunch saint still prais'd his Master's name
While his crack'd flesh lay hissing on the grate;
Then fail'd the tongue; the poor collapsing frame,
Hung like a wreck that flames not billows beat— 3
Robert Bridges felt that "The Escorial," though wholly lacking
the Byronic flush, looked as if it had been influenced by the
descriptions in Childe Harold.4
A second poem, "A Vision of the Mermaids," composed
about three years later, also won a school prize. Concentrated
2 Claude Colleer Abbott, Editor, Further Letters of
Gerard Manley Hopkins including his Correspondence with
Coventry Patmore (London:"‘ 19^5). pp. 2-3. Hereafter this book
will be referred to as Further Letters.
3 W. H. Gardner, Editor, Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins
(Hew York: 1948), p. 14.
4 Ibid.. p. 211.
here one finds the sensitivity and delight in sensuous beauty
which are characteristic of all Hopkins' early verse. The
animated lines are packed with penetrating sense-perception
and appeal to the eye, taste, touch, and smells
Plum-purple was the west; but spikes of light
Spear'd open lustrous gashes, crimson white • • •
Soon— as when Summer of his sister Spring
Crushes and tears the rare enjewelling,
And boasting 'I have fairer things than these'
Plashes amidst the billowy appletrees
His lusty hands, in gusts of scented wind
Swirling out bloom till all the air is blind
With rosy foam and pelting blossom and mists
Of driving vermeil-rain. . . .5
The poem may be imitative and suggestive of Spenser and Keats
as John Pick suggests,6 but it demonstrates a control and
mastery of words which cannot be found in "The Escorial.1 *
Since Hopkins was a first-ranking student, it was de
cided that he should try for a scholarship to Balliol College,
Oxford. Gerard won the scholarship and left Highgate gladly.
In April, 1863, at the age of eighteen he matriculated at
Oxford. It was with a sense of adventure and a feeling of
relief from the strictness of Highgate that young Hopkins
entered this new life. The scholars whom Hopkins encountered
were world-famous. Every flay he saw Edward Pusey, the learned
5 Ibid.. pp. 18-21,
6 John Pick, Gerard Manley Hopkins: Priest and Poet
(London: 1942), p. 2.
doctor who believed that the Reformation was merely a passing
incident. Occasionally Dr. John Keble, former professor of
poetry, visited Balliol. Matthew Arnold was a familiar sight,
Benjamin Jowett, Regius Professor of Greek and opponent of
Pusey, became one of Hopkins* instructors.
There were two major currents of influence moving
through Oxford during the i860*s. One was the conflict
between Rationalism and Tractarianism; the other was a power
ful aesthetic movement. The stimulating environment of
Balliol College and Oxford strongly appealed to the preco
cious student from Highgate.
The aim of the aesthetic movement was to make beauty
the supreme goal of life. It was Ruskin who kindled new
interest in the beauty of the past by publishing the volumes
of Modern Painters (1843-1860) and by stoutly defending the
Pre-Raphaelites. Hopkins read Modern Painters and met some
of the Brotherhood. However, the chief influence of these
men appears to have been on his sketches. In his journals
are drawings of trees, leaves, landscapes, detailed sketches
of medieval churches— all after the manner of Ruskin.
From the time Walter Pater was made Fellow of Brase-
nose in 1864, he made his influence felt on the minds of all
who knew and heard him. Hopkins came to know him personally;
Pater became his tutor. A separate notebook, Essavs for g. g.
Pater, is in existence. Hopkins became friendly with Pater;
in fact, Pater invited Gerard Hopkins to spend the summer with
him at Sidmouth. Hopkins retained a feeling of friendship for
his tutor, and later when Hopkins was a priest stationed at
St. Aloysius, he saw Pater frequently.
It is not difficult to understand what Pater was formu
lating during the time Hopkins was a student at Oxford. The
theories he was developing in those early years at Brasenose
led him into his better know philosophy of hedonism. According
to Pater, life offers to the knowing, occasions of psychie
intensity; to gather as many of them as possible and to ex
perience them all at their highest pitch, so that the flame
of consciousness should burn with its full ardour— such is
the principle that guides the life which can actually possess
and rule itself. Though intellectual, his doctrine of hedonism
held beauty and pleasure as the goals of life. The highest
wisdom, he believed, was the most intense living. Pater's
philosophy may have been acceptable to one side of Hopkins'
temperament. Certainly the Highgate verse of Hopkins was
abundantly sensuous. But there is no evidence in the Oxford
poems, the journals, or the letters that would lead one to
assume that Hopkins ever became a disciple of Walter Pater.
Even a cursory examination of the Oxford verse shows
how vigorously Hopkins suppressed his youthful sensuousness
and turned his eyes against the beauty of nature. His Oxford
poems reveal how he restrained the gratification of both eye
10
and ear. The imagery is weak and laeks precision; and while
the prosody is competent, too often we seem to be reading
metrical versions of ideas which could be better expressed
in prose. Seldom do we find a line that fulfills the promise
shown in his Highgate poetry. In order to see just how this
change was brought about it is necessary for us to examine
his undergraduate life.
Hopkins was delighted with the students he met at
Oxford. His life was very happy. There were tea and wine
parties and plenty of good company, for Balliol undergraduates
were known for their intellectual brilliance.
All fields of knowledge were open to him. He read
Jowett's Enistles of St. Paul. De Quincey's essays, Villari's
Life and Times of Savonarola. Aristotle and Pindar. His
Oxford journal is literally sprinkled with titles of books
to be read. Vanity Fair comes in the same list as Coleridge's
Greek Classic Poets. The Christians of St. Thomas. Henry V,
Henry VI, Henry VIII, and Gresley's Short Treatise on the
English Church.7 The notes which he jotted in the journal
are like the irrepressible spurts of a mind seeking to find
outlet in many directions simultaneously.
Hopkins continued to take a keen interest in words.
With the unflagging interest of a true scholar he searched,
7 House, 0£. cit., p. 28.
11
deduced and compared. The early diaries contain numerous
examples of this interest. On September 24, 1863, under the
subheading Horn he wrote:
The various lights under which a horn may be looked
at have given rise to a vast number of words in the
language. It may be regarded as a projection, a climax,
a badge of strength, power or vigour, a tapering body,
a spiral, a wavy object, a bow, a vessel to hold withal
or to drink from, a smooth hard material. . . • From
the shape, kernel and granum, grain, corn.8
Like any good artist he tested and played with words as in the
odd use of ”smooth" as a nouns
Moonlight hanging or dropping on treetops like blue
cobwebs. Note that the beaded oar, dripping, powders
or sows the smooth with dry silver drops.9
Stars like gold tufts.
golden bees,
golden rowels,
When he took walks, he recorded his impressions in the journals:
Note on green wheat. The difference between this
green and that of long grass is that first suggests
silver, latter azure. Former more opacity, body, smooth
ness. It is the exact complement of earnation. Nearest
to emerald stone. It is lucent.il
When Hopkins entered Oxford, the struggle between
Tractarianism and Rationalism had already been in progress
for thirty years. The Tractarian Movement began in 1833 as
8 Ibid.. p. 5.
9 Ibid.. p. 9.
10 Ibid.. p. 32.
11 Ibid.. p. 8.
12
a reaction against the rationalism that had been demoralizing
eighteenth century religion. The movement shook Oxford out
of its early ninteenth century lethargy. When Tract XC was
condemned and John Henry Hewman turned to Catholicism,
Traetarianism suffered considerable disgrace, and the ration
alists once again were in possession of the field.
It is necessary to understand what this rationalism
is if we are to understand one of the most important streams
of thought in the Oxford of Hopkins' time. Rationalism is
the logical development of the principles of Protestantism
whereby human reason is set up as the sole source and test
of truth. In 1855> from inside Oxford came a work which
showed obvious influence of the German rationalism which had
been criticizing the doctrines of orthodox Christian faith
as expressed in the Bible. This work was Benjamin Jowett's
edition of St. Paul1s Epistles: it was accompanied by notes
which questioned the doctrines of atonement and original sin.
In i860, Essays and Reviews caused a quarrel to break
out once more among the Oxford colleges. The book was the
work of a group of critical rationalists attacking the Bible
as a standard of faith. It contained essays by Baden Powell,
Frederick Temple, C. W. Goodwin, Rowland Williams, H. B.
Wilson, Mark Pattison, and Benjamin Jowett. Jowett's contri
bution filled about a quarter of the volume. This essay
rejected the supernatural inspiration of the Bible and proved
13
to be one of the most controversial essays in the book* The
book caused a sensation. Both Williams and H. B. Wilson were
brought before the ecclesiastical courts. Jowett was deprived
of the compensations of the Regius Professorship of Greek for
ten years.12
In I863, Benjamin Jowett and Edward Pusey were the
leaders of strong groups at Oxford. Although both men were
united in their hatred of gross utilitarianism, they differed
in every other respect. It is not easy for us to understand
the bitterness of these rival teachers, because the Oxford
of 1863 is faraway, but the fact remains that these two
scholars contended against each other as energetically as
two opposing generals.
Pusey was the voice of an uncompromising and severe
orthodoxy that seemed to be based on St. Paul's polemics
rather than Christ's parables. Pusey's theology was literal
and unable to make concessions or adjustments. It had to
defy, or ignore entirely, the infringements of science and
philosophy. On the other side Jowett was the leader of a
group of clerics who wanted to reconcile the recent develop
ments in geology and in anthropology with Christian principles.
Pusey looked on Jowett as an agnostic.
12 Pick, op. cit., p. 11.
14
The appearance of The Origin of Species in 1859 had
caused many clergymen to lose faith, but Pusey found danger
even nearer at hand. The evidence produced by scientists
frightened him less than the talk of misguided liberals.
Every day Jowett impressed attentive students with his thinly-
disguised parallels between Christ and Socrates and his
insistence on a transcendental morality. Pusey feared that
Jowett was undermining Christian doctrine no less surely
than Darwin.13
Such was the state of affairs at Oxford in 1863, when
Gerard Hopkins came to Balliol— a liberal citadel. All
variations of religious belief were to be found among the
members of Balliol: Materialists, Positivists, Rationalists,
and Ritualists. The opinions of these groups were expounded
without censure, and the numerous religious discussions
proved a new kind of education for many a student who seldom
had spoken with a heretic or High Churchman.
At Balliol Hopkins' tutor was James Riddell— a follower
of Pusey. Hopkins came to know the leaders of the t¥/o groups
through readings and personal relationship. Just how much
influence Pusey and Jowett exercised over Hopkins is not
easy to determine, for Hopkins’ mind studied, observed,
watched, but was not easily swayed. One of his friends wrote:
13 Eleanor Ruggles, Gerard Manley Hopkins (New York:
1944), pp. 36-39.
15
He was at first a little tinged with the liberalism
prevalent among reading men. I remember long arguments
we had on the eternity of punishment and in a walk on
Headington Hill he said, 'I never can believe that the
Song of Solomon is more than an ordinary love-song.'
All changed after his first confession to Liddon.14
From this statement we may infer that he gave up his liberal
views after about a year, for he was confessing to Liddon in
November, 1864.
Hopkins probably attended some of Jowett's lectures
on Plato. Moreover, he read Jowett's Epistles of St. Paul
and included Essa.vs and Be views on his reading list. He
admired Jowett because he never lowered his aims. Yet Jowett,
who called Hopkins the Star of Balliol and one of the finest
Greek scholars he had ever seen, did not have a lasting
influence on Hopkins, and just as Hopkins turned away from
the aesthetic movement, so too did he turn away from Dr.
Jowett and Oxford liberalism.
The High Church group, led by Dr. Pusey, was active
in asserting the validity of faith. In 1865, Pusey repub
lished Tract XC (this had been Newman's final effort to
remain in the Anglican Church by interpreting the thirty-nine
articles in as Catholic a sense as possible) . Henry Liddon
was engaged in attempting to counteract the negative criti
cisms of the followers of Jowett.
14 Pick, op. cit., pp. 11-12.
16
At almost the same time Newman began publishing his
Apologia pro Vita Sua in answer to an attack on his personal
theology by Charles Kingsley, the novelist (and a liberal
clergyman in the Church of England). The Apologia tells the
story of Newman’s reaction against the rationalism of the
”0riel Noetics,” his championing of the Tractarian cause,
his dissatisfaction with the middle way, and his determination
to become a Catholic. The appearance of the Apologia brought
a renaissance of his influence and reputation. Many Anglicans
began to seek admittance to the Roman Catholic Church.
From this time until the summer of 1866^ Gerard Manley
Hopkins was engaged in serious thought over the problem of
religion and was attempting to justify his cleavage from the
Established Church. He read Tracts for the Times and such
books as Gresley’s Short Treatise on the English Church.
A rigorous asceticism seems to have been the basis for
the religious verse he wrote during this period, and his
Notebooks contain such entries as:
" 'For Lent. No pudding on Sundays. No tea except if
to keep me awake and then without sugar. Meat only once
a day. No verses in Passion Week or on Fridays. Not to
sit in armchair except can work in no other way. Ash
Wednesday and Good Friday bread and water.
An examination of the themes of Hopkins’ religious
undergraduate poetry shows how strongly these resolutions to
15 House, op. cit.. p. 53»
\
abstain affected him. Many of the poems reveal a young man
eager for certainty and peace and deeply aware of his imper
fections:
I HAYE desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail • • •
And I have asked to be .
Where no storms come. • •
One of the recurring themes is his attempt to avoid the beauties
of earth as the one goal of life. At times he is keenly aware
of the attractiveness of nature:
Once it was scarce perceived Lent
For orience of the daffodil;
Once, jostling thick, the bluebell sheaves
The peacock'd copse were known to fill;
Through other bars it used the thrill . . .
At last I hear the voice I knew.17
But far more frequent is the note sounded by the concluding
lines of this fragment:
How shall I search, who never sought?
How turn my passion-pastured thought
To gentle manna and simple bread?™
In the poem "The Habit of Perfection" Hopkins called on his
senses to avoid the sensuous world:
Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb • . .
Be shelled eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light:
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.1°
16 Gardner, op. cit., p. 40.
17 House, op. cit., p. 16.
18 Ibid.. p. 21.
19 Gardner, pp. cit.. p. 46.
18
It is not difficult to see what troubled Hopkins, On
the one side the sensuous beauty of the world drew the artist;
on the other religion was calling on him to shun the things of
the senses. The tension which this perplexing conflict pro
duced may be responsible for the poor quality of Hopkins*
undergraduate verse.
The contrast between the Highgate verse and the Oxford
verse needs little explanation. In the former the senses are
permitted full rein, and the resulting verse is full of ex
uberant and sensuous images. In the Oxford poems the senses
are curbed, and Hopkins seems ill at ease.
It is clear that Hopkins* entrance into the Roman
Catholic Church was preceded by a long period of preparations.
Just what thoughts passed through his mind we cannot know,
but there is evidence in the notebooks that shows clearly
that Catholicism had long been on his mind. In 1864, he wrote
to Bridges, **I have written three religious poems,**20 He
probably referred to “Hew Readings,** “Barnfloor and Winepress,**
and **He hath abolished the Old Drouth.*’ In addition to these
indications in the poetry, there can be found evidence in his
prose. The essay, ’ ’The Origin of our Moral Ideas,*1 used St.
Thomas Aquinas for its authority, and as Pick shows, an
20 Claude Colleer Abbott, Editor, The Letters of
Gerard Manley Hopkins to Robert Bridges (London: 1935), p. H.
Hereafter this, book will be referred to as Letters.
19
unpublished essay for Walter Pater contains the statement, "We
look naturally to Catholicism, the consistent acceptation of
philosophy."^1 After a walking tour with Hopkins in 1865,
William Addis wrote:
At Hereford . . . we . . . had a long conversation
with Canon Baynal .... I believe that from that time
our faith in Anglicanism was really gone. . . .
He[laynai) insisted that Anglican orders were at least
of doubtful validity and that some grave and learned
men questioned or denied their validity; and that this
being so, it was unlawful till the doubt was cleared
by competent authority to accept Anglican orders or even
to participate in the Anglican Communion.22
Addis commented also that he was certain that Father Haynal
was the first priest Hopkins ever spoke to. A Journal entry
for October tells us that the thought of leaving the Anglican
Church must have been in Hopkins' mind.23
During Lent (1866) Hopkins wrote a poem entitled
"Nondum." It discloses the trouble and uncertainty that
filled his mind and shows that Hopkins was searching for a
manifestation of God in the world:
God, though to Thee our psalm we raise
No answering voice comes from the skies;
To Thee the trembling sinner prays
But no forgiving voice replies. . . .24
Pick, op., cit., p. 17.
22 G. F. Lahey, S.J., Gerard Manley Hopkins (London:
1930), pp. 21-22.
23 House, pp. cit.. p. 52.
24 Gardner, pp. cit.. p. 43.
20
The natural world does not reveal the presence of God:
We see the glories of the earth c
But not the hand that wrought them all. . . .25
Hopkins looks for a sign that one Church expresses God com
pletely*
And Thou art silent, whilst Thy world
Contends about its many creeds. . . .26
"When it came, it was all in a minute," Hopkins wrote
to E. W. Urquhart concerning his conversion, and in another
letter to Urquhart he wrote*
Although my actual conversion was two months ago yet the
silent conviction that I was to become a Catholic has
been present to me for a year perhaps, as strongly, in
spite of my resistance to it when it formed itself into
words, as if I had already determined it.27
Hopkins' conversion took place in July, 1866. He
waited six weeks and then wrote to Newman for advice on future
plans in the light of his conversion*
I am anxious to become a Catholic . . . I do not want to
be helped to any conclusion of belief, for I am thankful
to say my mind is made up, but the necessity of becoming
a Catholic coming upon me suddenly has put me into a
painful confusion of mind about my immediate duty in my
circumstances.28
25 Ibid.. p. 43.
26 Ibid.. p. 44.
2? Abbott, Further Letters, p. 17.
28 Ibid.. p. 11.
21
Newman did his~best to help the eager young student. In a
letter to Robert Bridges, Hopkins told of his first meeting
with Newman:
. . . his manner is not that of solicitous kindness, but
genial and almost, so to speak, unserious . . . he made
sure I was acting deliberately and wished to hear my
arguments; when I had given them and said I see no way
out of them, he laughed and said "nor can I."2?
Hopkins' parents were shocked when he sent the news to
them. His father wrote and asked Henry Liddon to stop his
son, but Liddon's attempts to intervene proved fruitless.
On Oetober 31* Hopkins was received into the Roman Church.
Hopkins stayed at Oxford on the advice of Newman and
took a double first in Greats, and then he obtained a position
in Newman's school. He was not satisfied because he was
anxious to settle once and for all the question of his future.
He wrote to Robert Bridges:
. . . the uncertainty I am in about the future is so
very unpleasant and so breaks my power of applying to
anything that I am resolved to end It which I shall do
by going into a retreat at Easter . . . and deciding
whether I have a vocation to the priesthood.30
Finally Hopkins decided, and he resolved to enter the Society
of Jesus. Newman wrote to him, "Don't call 'the Jesuit dis
cipline' hard; it will bring you to heaven."31 on September
29 Abbott, Letters, pp. 5-6*
30 Ibid.. p. 22.
31 Abbott, Further Letters, p. 261.
22
7» 1868, Gerard Hopkins entered the Jesuit Hovitiate, Manresa
House, at Roehampton, near London.
It was in the summer of this year, prior to his
reception into the Jesuit novitiate that Hopkins resolved to
destroy his poetry. To Dixon he wrote; **You ask do I write
verse myself. What I had written I burnt before I became a
Jesuit and resolved to write no more, as not belonging to my
profession. **32 All the poems were destroyed except the rough
drafts which were in the notebooks and a few copies of eertain
pieces. It was seven years before he composed another poem.
During these years his vocation as a priest was confirmed.
Though his poetie talent lay fallow for seven years, it was
abundantly fed by his readings and religious meditation.
Classical Welsh poetry taught him the secret of consonant
chime and internal rhyme. For a year Hopkins taught rhetoric
at Manresa House and pondered the problems of prosody.
Gerard Hopkins went through the rigorous training
prescribed for all novices. He performed menial tasks with
humility, instructed children with tact and wisdom, and
preached efficiently. During the various exercises and
retreats in which all Jesuits participate he probed the
depth of his calling to the priesthood.
32 Abbott, Correspondence, p. 14.
23
From 1868 to 1875» Hopkins devoted himself exclusively
to the service of God. However, from the date of his depar
ture from Stonyhurst in 1873, his notebooks begin to show
evidence that the poetic faeulty within him was beginning to
stir. The journals contain the raw substance of future
poetry:
• . .the sun sitting at one end of the branch in a pash
of soap-sud-colored gummy bimbeams rowing over the
leaves. . . .33
Young elmleaves lash and lip the sprays. This has been
a very beautiful day. ,. . .34-
Beeches rich in leaf. . . . Two great laurels. . . . As
we drove home the stars came out thick: I leant back to
look at them and my heart opening more than usual
praised our Lord. . . .35
In December of the year 1875, by order of Kulturminister
Falk, five Franciscan nuns were banished from Germany. They
embarked for England, and on December 7, their ship went
aground on the Kentish coast during a storm. The nuns died
in the wreck. When the report of the ship's sinking reached
St. Beuno, Hopkins mentioned to his rector, Father Jones,
that he was deeply affected. Father Jones replied that some
one should commemorate the tragedy with a poem} Hopkins needed
no more encouragement. He began to write a new and astonishing
33 House, op. eit., p. 177.
34 Ibid.. p. 190.
35 Ibid.. pp. 204-205.
24
kind of poetry. Robert Bridges says, "'The Wreck of the
Deutschland' stands like a great dragon folded in the gate
to forbid all entrance and confident in his strength from
past success."3^
The poem is a true measure of the influence of Hopkins'
seven years of intense study and priestly labor on his
spiritual and technical development. Writing after a long
period of inactivity his attention was centered on technical
liberation and emotional expression. The emotional content
is very great. The spirit of the whole poem seems closely
related to the poetry of the seventeenth eentury. Stress is
laid on the play of thought, upon sense and suggestion, as
well as on the more immediate delight of sound. Its opening
lines burst into a magnificent apostrophe to the mastery of
God. It proceeds to the action of the Creator on men, thence
to the problem of suffering which "rides time like riding a
river." The last two stanzas of Part I are a recapitulation
and also a key to the whole poem:
Be adored among men,
God, three-numbered form;
Wring thy rebel, dogged in den,
Man's malice, with wrecking and storm.
Beyond saying sweet, past telling of tongue,
Thou art lightning and love, I found it, a winter and warm;
Father and fondler of heart thou hast wrung:
Hast thy dark descending and most art merciful then.
36 Gardner, o&. cit., p. xviii.
With an anvil-ding
And with fire in him forge thy will
Or rather, rather then, stealing as Spring
Through him, melt him but master him still:
Whether at once, as once at a crash Paul,
Or as Austin, a lingering-out sweet skill,
Make mercy in all of us, out of us all
Mastery, but be adored, but be adored King.37
Part II concerns itself with the imagined scene on the sinking
ship. The poem is spangled with marvelous lines like the
following:
I admire thee, master of the tides,
Of the Yore-flood, of the year’s fall;
The reeurb and the recovery of the gulf’s sides,.
The girth of it and the wharf of it and the wall. • .
In 1877, Hopkins was ordained, and for the next four
years he served as a parish priest and also as preacher at
Chesterfield, at the Farm St. Church, London, at Oxford, at
Bedford Leigh (a gloomy mill and coal mining town near Man
chester), at Liverpool, and at Glasgow. The poetry he composed
during these years shows how the world expresses God and
praises Him. What he wrote in 1876 is of little interest;
perhaps the strenuous effort demanded by ’ ’The Wreck of the
Deutsehland” exhausted him. The year 1877 was rich in its
yield. The lyrics of this year are smooth, and the technical
devices employed in them are more developed. The theme of
these poems is the religious experience of beauty. Hopkins
37 Ibid., p. 58
38 Ibid.. p. 66
saw all of nature as a means of approaching God. In his
journals the following comment is to be found:
WHY DID GOD CREATE?— Not for sport, not for noth
ing. . . . He meant the world to give him praise,
reverence, and service; to give him glory. It is like
a garden, a field he sows: what should it bear him?
praise, reverence, and service; it should yield him
glory.i9
No longer are his poems replete with luxurious images (as in
"A Vision of the Mermaids41); the senses are subordinated and
directed. They are instruments by which man praises God.
Here the intellect, the emotion, and the senses are integrated
as man looks for God in Nature. A harmony appears which was
not present in the Oxford poems.
After 1878, though his interest in nature was still
strong, Hopkins began to coneern himself more with the subject
of Man. He was conscious of the contrast between the beauty
of Nature which mirrored God's beauty and power, and Man,
wayward and silent, failing to utilize the things of Nature
to apprehend God.
Man was made to give, and j^to] mean to give, God glory. . .
Does man then do it? . . . No; we have not answered God's
purposes, we have not reached the end of our being. . . •
we have yielded rotten fruit, sour grapes, or none. . • .
To lift up the hands in prayer gives God glory, but a man
with a dungfork in his hand, a woman with a sloppail,
give him glory too.40
39 House, oj>. cit., p. 3°2.
40 Ibid.. pp. 303-305.
27
In 1881, Hopkins returned to Manresa House to undertake
His ninth year of study, his tertianship. During this time,
like all Jesuits about to take their final vows, he spent
ten months in thought and meditation in order to reexamine his
motivations and to discipline his senses. It was a time to
inquire into impure motives and to correct failures to practice
the tenets of perfection prescribed by the Spiritual Exercises
and the Rules of the Society. Peace and contentment marked
this period of his life as is shown in his correspondence
with Dixon:
>
Besides all which, my mind is here more at peace than it
has ever been and I would gladly live all my life, if it
were so to be, in as great or a greater seclusion from
the world and be busied only with God.43-
In the fall of 1882, he was appointed to the teaching
staff at Stonyhurst College and taught Latin and Greek to
students preparing for examinations at the University of
London. Here he remained until 1884, when he was elected to
the Chair of Classics at University College, Dublin.
The poems composed between 1881 and 1884, while
exhibiting interest in Nature, are more and more concerned
with Man's failure to share the life of Christ. More than
ever was Hopkins concerned directly with Man. The priestly
spirit and the confessor's anxiety for the souls of his
floek appear constantly in these poems.
41 Abbott, Correspondence, p.
28
University College, Ireland, to which Hopkins was ap
pointed in 1884, was associated with the Royal University.
The school was largely the result of Newman's attempt to set
up a Catholic university in Ireland that would be similar to
Oxford. Hopkins* duties consisted of teaching Latin and
Greek in the University College and also preparing and marking
examinations for degrees in the Royal University. There were
about 200 students in 1884, and Hopkins' classes were small.
When he departed from Stonyhurst for Dublin, Hopkins
was in poor health, and he felt that he was not well prepared
for his new tasks. To Kewman he wrote:
In the events which brought me here I recognize the
hand of providence, but nevertheless have felt and feel
an unfitness which led me at first to try to decline
the offer made me and now does not allow my spirits to
rise to the level of the position and its duties.42
Hopkins enjoyed his teaching duties, but he disliked
the monotony of preparing and grading examinations. Further
more he was so conscientious in his marking that the task was
extremely burdensome. On June 30, 1886, he wrote to Dixon,
"I am in the midst of my heaviest work of the year, the summer
examinations, and not at all fit for them.”43 in July he
wrote, again to Dixon, f , It is not possible for me to do any
thing, unless a sonnet, and that rarely, in poetry with a
fagged mind and a continual anxiety."44 Hot long before he
42 Lahey, op. cit.. p. 141.
43 Abbott, Correspondence, p. 132.
44 Ibid., p# 139.
29
died, Hopkins wrote to Bridges that:
This morning I gave in what I believe is the last batch
of examination-work for this autumn (and if all were
seen, fallen leaves of my poor life between all the
leaves of it).4?
His desire to make no mistakes and to do justiee to every
student turned the grading of these papers into a torture.
To be more exact he contrived a system of marking in which
each number was divided into halves and quarters, and at this
weighing and balancing he toiled away until eye strain,
vomiting, and diarrhea brought a halt.
It seems certain that such burdensome work influenced
his health adversely. He frequently felt impotent and de
pressed. In a letter to his friend Alexander Bailie he wrote
on April 24, 188?:
I think this is from a literary point of view the
worst letter I ever wrote to you, and it shall not run
much longer. . . . The melancholy I have all my life
been subject to has become of late years not indeed more
intense in its fits but rather more distributed, constant,
and crippling. One, the lightest but a very inconvenient
form of it, is daily anxiety about work to be done, which
makes me break off or never finish all that lies outside
that work. It is useless to write more on this: when I
am at the worst, though my judgment is never affected,
my state is much like madness. I see no ground for
thinking I shall ever get over it. . . .4°
During his last years in Dublin his eyes caused him more and
45 Abbott, Letters, p. 296.
46 Abbott, Further Letters, pp. 109-110.
30
more trouble. He wrote to Bridges, "The eyes are almost out
of my head. . . . to bed, to bed, my eyes are almost
bleeding.”4'?
Coupled with this ill health and the drudgery of
examinations was another source of irritation. Hopkins was
patriotic and strongly attached to England; he heartily dis
approved of the political movement afoot in Ireland in the
l880's. This was the period of Parnell's ascendancy. To
add to Hopkins' difficulties, the Hoyal University was
strongly nationalist in its objectives, and many of the
Catholic clergy identified themselves with the Irish cause.
It is not to be thought that the disturbing Irish political
situation was too important in his life; yet its influence
must not be disregarded.
Hopkins felt that he must be a publishing scholar, and
so during these difficult years he began to write articles
and to plan books on Greek grammar, Greek lyric poetry,
Aeschylus’ lyries, Sophocles, and an edition of St. Patrick's
Confession.
The poems which Hopkins wrote in Ireland are fre
quently referred to as "the terrible sonnets." They are not
complaints against the Jesuit order and Catholicism, but the
cries of a man undergoing spiritual aridity and feeling
4? Abbott, Letters, p. 271.
deserted by God and unproductive. To be unable to create,
except rarely, was a torment, and the inability to complete
projects undertaken was further agony.
The seven sonnets were written in 1884 and 1885; they
were undated and without titles. Of all Hopkins' verse they
are the most individual and meditative. Concerning them
Hopkins wrote to Eobert Bridges:
Four of these (the sonnets) came like inspirations un
bidden and against my will. And in the life I lead now,
which is one of a continually jaded and harassed mind,
if in my leisure I try to do anything I Make no way—
nor with my work, alasi but it must be so.4°
The poems were torn from him during this time of anguish which
was brought on by an uncongenial environment, sickness,
monotonous and fatiguing duties.
This is the background for the last sonnets. They
came unbidden and were written in blood. There is a close
correspondence between the emotional experience packed into
these poems and the letters he wrote to his friends. In each
of the sonnets one can detect a bitterness which was caused,
perhaps, by Hopkins' feeling of desolation. The poems are
stark, nothing is added for the sake of poetic padding. They
stand out as sincere and intimate confessions.
The poems show how intensely aware Hopkins was of what
took place in his soul. In these last poems are carefully
48 Ibid., p. 221
32
recorded the pain that had come over him. He could not let
suffering just happen to him: he lived it as intensely as his
happiness.
Toward the end of April, 1889, Hopkins contracted
typhoid. Headaches, lassitude, and chills (the early symptoms
of the disease) beset him. Soon he was confined to bed. For
some time the outcome of his illness was in doubt, but at the
end of six weeks it was apparent that he was failing. He
began to request Viaticum. His parents were summoned, and
on the eighth day of June it was obvious that the end was
near. He was conscious up to the end. ”1 am so happy, I
am so happy,1 1 he managed to whisper. These were his last
words.
Some word should be added concerning the supposed
restriction which the Society of Jesus placed on Hopkins’
poetic faculty. A good deal has been written about the
struggle between the poet and the priest and much of what
has been said is incorrect. Critics have attempted to show
that the conflict expressed in the last sonnets was directly
connected with his dissatisfaction with the priesthood.
John Middleton Murry believes that the failure of Hopkins as
a poet was due to ’ ’the starvation of experience which his
vocation imposed on him.”4^ Professor Abbott, who edited the
John Middleton Murry, Aspects of Literature
(Londons 1920), p. 60.
33
three volumes of letters, has as little understanding of
Hopkins. He says that the "quarrel” between the poet and
the priest was never fully reconciled in Hopkins’ mind.
"Hopkins the poet was too severely tried by the discipline
he thought necessary to Hopkins the priest to flourish
freely. . . . He suffered slow martyrdom as a poet.”50
There is no evidence that Hopkins ever lost his faith
or consciously regretted his choice of profession, although
he felt that he did not always live up to his vocation.
Perhaps his vow of obedience proved irksome at times, and
it may have been partly responsible for the frustration of
his creative instinct. Yet, it is too easy to draw false
conclusions from the pathos of the sonnets of 1885 to 1889.
A study of those poems coupled with an impartial examination
of Hopkins' letters to his friends should convince anyone
that no such martyrdom existed. Hopkins, himself, felt that,
although he had to undergo many trials, lack of fame as a
poet was by far the least of them.51 Richard Dixon tried to
induce Hopkins to write more poetry, and Hopkins' answer to
Dixon is a clear and final statement of his attitude toward
poetry?
Abbott, Letters, p. xxxi.
51 Abbott, Correspondence. p. 28.
34
I am ashamed at the expression of high regard which
your last letter and others have contained, kind and
touching as they are, and do not know whether I ought to
reply to them or not. This I say: my vocation puts
before me a standard so high that a higher can be found
nowhere else. The question then for me is not whether I
am willing (if I may guess what is in your mind) to make
a sacrifice of hopes of fame (let us suppose), but
whether I am not to undergo a severe judgment from God
for the lothness I have shewn in making it, for the
reserves I may have in my heart made, for thevbackward
glances I have given with my hand upon the plough, for
the waste of time the very compositions you admire may
have caused and their preoccupation of the mind which
belongs to more sacred or binding duties. . . . I have
never wavered in my vocation.52
Conflict there may have been, but in this utterance there is
no hint of bitterness or self-pity.
There can be little doubt, however, that Hopkins felt
depressed and frustrated during those last years. Many
things worried him— Catholic support of the Irish cause, the
burden of examinations, the separation from his family, and
poor health. Howhere, however, did he remark that his
priestly duties or vows shackled his poetic faculty. What
seems to have bothered him most was the knowledge that he
could have done many things if his physical powers had not
failed him. Incapacity for work weighed heavily on him and
he wrote to Bridges that:
. . . if I could but get on, if I could but produce
work I should not mind its being buried, silenced, and
' f going no further; but it kills me to be time's eunuch
and never to beget.53
Ibid.. pp. 88-89.
53 Abbott, Letters, p. 222
35
A few months later he wrote to Bridges again about his
inability to work:
. . . I do try to write; but I see that I cannot get on,
that I shall be even less able hereafter than now. . . .
X only need one thing— a working health, a working
strength: with that, any employment is tolerable or
pleasant, enough for human nature.>4
Continual failure was bitter fruit to swallow, but to say that
the thwarting of Hopkins' creative faculty was caused entirely
by his vocation is to do this saintly priest a grave injustice.
When the slender volume of Hopkins' poetry is examined,
it is found that the sonnet was the most effective form he
employed. Of fifty-one completed poems, thirty-four are
achievements in this form and are of sufficiently high
quality to rank him with the great sonneteers of English
poetry. But his sonnets are not like the sonnets of other
poets. In a letter to Bichard Dixon he set down specific
rules for sonnets, and unlike many poets, his sonnets con
form to his theory.
The Italian sonnet, he believed, is the only correct
form. The octave should be strictly separated from the
sestet, and a corresponding maintenance of proportion within
the octave (two quatrains) and the sestet (two tercets)
was upheld. For the greatest effectiveness the lines should
be divided in the following manner: four plus four plus
Ibid.. p. 251.
three plus three. This division, he believed, gave symmetry
in the octave and the sestet, but makes the two major
sections unsymmetrieal.55
With this brief sketch of Hopkins' life and career for
a background, we can proceed to an examination of his theory
of poetry as expressed in his prose and to a careful
scrutiny of his mature poetic works.
55 Abbott, Correspondence. pp. 71-72. For a complete
exposition of these views see his letter of October 11, l88l.
CHAPTER III
HOPKINS’ THEORY OF POETRY
As has been pointed out, the fact that Gerard Manley
Hopkins was a priest and a member of the Society of Jesus
has caused some critics and scholars to examine his work as
the product of two irreconcilable ways of life: the poet’s
and the priest’s.1 Not infrequently students of literature
have viewed Hopkins’ poetry without having made an attempt
to consider his poetic theory in the light of his religious
beliefs. An investigation of his theory shows his concept
of poetry to be essentially a Christian view of art and
thoroughly compatible with his practice.
Some of the critics who have written about Hopkins'
poetry have limited themselves to a consideration of the
use of the term 'inscape* or to an analysis of Hopkins’
sprung rhythm. There can be no doubt that an understanding
of the theory of 'inscape’ is of the utmost importance to
one who is eager to know and appreciate Hopkins’ poems, but
it is also important to examine the statements he has made
about poetic theory in general. No single volume to date
contains all that Hopkins has said about poetry; one must
read the journals and correspondence in order to discover
Anonymous, "Gerard Hopkins," Times Literary
Supplement. No. 1584, February 9, 1933 and Murry, op. cit..
p. 50.
38
Hopkins' attitude toward the composition of poetry. When all
these remarks and observations are collated, it is immediately
clear that Hopkins' critical statements represent a consistent
theory which can and should be viewed as more than a number
of isolated concepts. Whatever Hopkins has said about poetry
should be taken as it stands; he was not given to exaggera
tion, to concealing his intentions.
As many others have done, Hopkins devoted considerable
thought to the, relationship of nature and art, and although
his ideas frequently appear to be similar to the opinions of
others, they are basically his own. The wor
stated,.was created by God from nothing, and
because God "meant the world to give him praise, reverence,
\
and service; to give him glory." ~"
The creation does praise God, does reflect honour on
him, is of service to him, and yet the praises fall
short; the honour is like none, less than a buttercup
to a king; the service is no service to him. In other
words jae does not need it. He has infinite glory without
it and what is infinite can be made no bigger. Hever-
theless he takes its he wishes it, asks it, he commands
it. . . he gets it.2
This view of life is essentially a sacramental one by means I
of which Hopkins, as a priest and a poet, found it possible I
to reach through the things of the senses to hidden beauties: |
i
d, Hopkins j
it was created f
2 House, op». cit., p. 302.
39
THE world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.3
Like the rest of the world Man was created to praise God, but
Man, unlike Nature, can know God and ’ ’can mean to give him
glory.” He was, therefore, created to praise God willingly
and gladly.
I walk, I lift up, I lift up my heart, yes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour.4
Man creates nothing. Men are said to create, but actually
it is creation only by analogy. God alone creates; Man is
unable to create from nothing; he aets upon materials that
already exist and shapes and remolds them. "Man cannot create
a single speck, God creates all that is besides himself.”?
Men of genius are said to create paintings, poems; not only the
words or the colors, but also the design and the character of
the work. How can they do this? They themselves, their minds
and all, are creatures of God.
Even though an artist is dependent on God for his ability
to mold matter, his individuality is not destroyed because
this correspondence with the will of the Almighty best brings
out the nature of the artist. Moreover, Man is free at all
times to accept or reject God's grace. These two characteristics
3 Gardner, op. cit., p. 70.
4 Ibid.. p. 74.
? House, op. cit.. p. 301.
40
(conformity to God’s will and individuality) stand out in the
Christian artist and are visible in his work. By conforming,
the artist is allowed by God to realize his own form, and he is
permitted to see and represent the ’ ’individually-distinctive
beauty” of Nature.
In his letters Hopkins frequently referred to the
artist and the way he should view his object. Although the
artist is completely free to deal with any subject, he must,
V
however, direct his attention to reality. Rather than merely
V
examine the outward appearance, Hopkins expected a poet to
perceive the significance of an object— its relation to God
V
who created it. The poet must deal with truth. Speaking of
Swinburne, Hopkins said that his genius functioned “without
truth.“6 Hopkins believed that Swinburne was a poet of aston
ishing genius who had at his command a music of words and a
mastery of distinctive poetic diction, but he felt that Swin
burne was unable to express either feeling or character.
“Everything he writes is a rigmarole."? To Bridges he wrote
that Swinburne's was "a genius functioning without truth,
feeling, or any adequate matter to be at function on."®
Swinburne was to Hopkins a striking example of a poet with
® Abbott, Letters, p. 304.
7 Abbott, Correspondence. p. 135.
® Abbott, Letters, p. 304*
41
great potentialities, but a poet who in his writing upset the
right order of values: sincerity, earnestness, truth, humanity,
feeling, all these took second place to melody and music-making.
Hopkins' criticism of Browning was not more flattering:
. . . Browning has, I think, many frigidities. Any un
truth to nature, to human nature, is frigid. low he has
got a great deal of what came in with Kingsley and the
Broad Church School, a way of talking (and making his
people talk) with the air and spirit of a man bouncing
up from the table with his mouth full of bread and cheese
and saying that he meant to stand for no blasted nonsense.
There is a whole volume of Kingsley's essays which is all
a kind of munch and not standing for any blasted nonsense
from cover to cover.9
Besides sincerity of feeling, the success of a poem
depends largely on its being well planned and skillfully
executed. A defect in the plan or the execution mars the work.
The execution must be perfect, or nearly so; otherwise the
work is incomplete. Hopkins believed that fine execution was
largely dependent on naturalness, and this belief caused him
to write most of his poems in sprung rhythm. This abrupt
rhythm is a stress meter, and its essence is that one stress
makes one foot, regardless of the number of syllables. When
asked by Robert Bridges why he employed sprung rhythm, he
replied, "Because it is the nearest to the rhythm of prose,
that is the nature and natural rhythm of speech, the least
forced, the most rhetorical and emphatic of all possible rhythms.*^
9 Abbott, Correspondence. p. 74.
10 Ruggles, op. cit., p. 163.
42
The Anglo-Saxon influence on Hopkins’ sprung rhythm is striking.
In a letter to Robert Bridges Hopkins stated that sprung rhythm
existed in its full force and beauty in Anglo-Saxon poetry.H
Hopkins' use of alliteration, the structure of his sentences,
and many of the words he employed show a likeness to Anglo-
Saxon.
If a poet is skillful, he should take advantage of com
plexity of design, since it is more difficult to effect and
the more valuable when effected. In order to convey a complex
’inscape' to his audienee the poet must convey life into his
work and display it in such a manner that there is no sug
gestion of its having been in the artist's mind. Carrying his
explanation of mastery of execution further, Hopkins suggests
that artists who exercise a deep influence on their times, but
whose fame later declines, possess creative ability that is
not sustained1 by execution equal to that ability. In other
words, contemporary poets frequently express ideas we are
waiting for, or ideas that astonish us by their novelty, but
in time we realize that the ideas were imperfectly stated and
so our interest declines.
According to Hopkins' criteria a successful poem might
be difficult to understand. He admitted that stress on
'inscape' could easily cause a poem to become "odd" and,
H Abbott, Letters, p. 156.
43
therefore, obscure.^2 But he believed that any good poem must
sooner or later be completely clear, "One of two kinds of
clearness one should have: either the meaning be felt without
effort as fast as one reads; or else, if dark at first reading,
when once made out to explode."13 In a complex poem the poet
is permitted to pile up force, to make preparations on every
side, to withhold the meaning; then, after careful planning,
he produces the key, and the impact of the emotion and the
idea is felt by the reader.3-4 Such poetry Hopkins called
' ’explosive.** The close connection between 'inseape* (the
most important aspect of art) and explosive poetry is clear.
In explosive poetry we perceive the total effect, the total
sound and rhythmic pattern simultaneously. He did not deny
that poetry could be clear from the beginning, but he cham
pioned the explosive type because he believed temporary obscurity
was far better than distortion of the true meaning of a poem.
12 Edith Sitwell, Asuectsof Modern Poetry (London: 1934),
p. 58. "Many of Hopkins* poems appear strange; this is due in
part to his acute and strange visual sense which pierces to the
essence of a thing. He does not obscure the thing by loading it
with useless detail; he produces the essence by giving one sharp
visual impression.**
*3 Abbott, Letters, p. 90.
14 David Daiches, Poetry and the Modern World (Chicago:
1940), p. 32. Of Hopkins' poem, "Tom's Garland," Daiches says,
"All the devices which for the casual reader produce only ob
scurity are really intended to prevent the reader from under
standing anything until he can understand everything."
44
Since he felt that the creation of poetry was so im
portant, Hopkins continually stressed the necessity for the
poet to be in earnest, Glib phrases and the mechanical use
of poetic devices, he believed, were serious flaws, and he
objected to affectation and insincerity:
This leads me to say that a kind of touchstone of the
highest or most living art is seriousness; not gravity
but the being in earnest with your subject— reality. It
seems to me that some of the greatest and most famous
works are not taken in earnest enough, are farce (where
you ask the spectator to grant you something not only
conventional but monstrous).1?
A poet must be true to himself and must relate his emotions
freely, sincerely, and earnestly. A falling off in this
respect is fatal to poetry, "And let me say, to take no higher
ground, that without earnestness there is nothing sound or
beautiful in character.f , l6
Earnestness and sincerity safeguard a poet against
false feelings and affectation. If the poet is true to him
self, he will express-himself in an unaffected and unsophisti
cated way, and he will avoid both frigidity and mawkishness.
Hopkins felt that earnestness, sincerity, and honesty were
the first standards by which poetry should be judged, since
they are fundamental and of greater importance than fine
melody. If a poem had all the accessory qualities and lacked
15 Abbott, Letters, p. 225
16 Ibid.. p. 148.
45
seriousness, it was valueless to Hopkins. The reverse is true
also; a poem might be void of melodiousness and fine imagery
and still be worthy of praise, provided it was sincere.
Imagery and melodiousness he felt to be ornamental unless
woven into the pattern of the poet’s 'inscape.' This is made
clear in a letter to Bridges:
Since I must not flatter or exaggerate I do not claim that
you have such a volume of imagery as Tennyson, Swinburne,
or Morris, though the feeling for beauty you have seems to
me pure and exquisite; but in point of character, of sin
cerity or earnestness, of manliness, of tenderness, of
humour, melancholy, of human feeling, you have what they
have not and seem scarcely to think worth having.17
To Dixon he wrote:
A true humanity of spirit, neither mawkish on the one hand,
nor blustering on the other, is the most precious of all
qualities in style, and this I prize in your poems as I
do in Bridges’.!®
It was not that he felt that an archaic language is not
a good language, for he noted in a letter to Bridges concerning
Elizabethan English, "Ho one admires, regrets, despairs over
the death of the style, the living masculine native rhetoric
of that age more than I do."19 But archaic language, in spite
of its excellence, is unfit for a poetic language because it
is out of joint with the times, and it is not the language of
the poet emotionally moved who, in simplicity of heart, is
Ibid.. p. 96.
1® Abbott, Correspondence, p. 74.
19 Abbott, Letters, p. 284.
4 6
inspired to write about his own self. It is affectation to
use obsolete language, and affectation is not compatible with
good poetry:
I hold that by archaism a thing is sickened o’er as by a
blight. Some little flavours, but much spoils, and
always for the same reason— it destroys earnest [.sic] s
we do not speak that way; therefore if a man speaks that
way he is not serious.2^
He waged a verbal battle with Bridges, Dixon, and Patmore
against the use of archaic diction because it detracted from
the earnestness of their work. He thought the language of
poetry should start with current language.
Current language is the language spoken by ordinary
people in their everyday lives. It is opposed to archaic
language as well as to artificial language. Yet current
language is not always free from artificialities (especially
Victorian English). Hopkins was careful not to let pedantic
artificialities creep into his verse. He could not stand
poetic diction because it is unnatural, and he criticized
Bridges for using poetic diction.
All of the effects possible in poetry should be height
ened and concentrated. Ellipses, alliteration, assonance,
coinage, and disregard for strict rules of formal writing
should be employed by the poet since they are characteristic
of everyday speech. To reenforce this argument he cited the
20 Ibid.. p. 218.
47
work of Shakespeare as an example of successful heightening
of current language. It must not be forgotten, however, that
this language must be used "seriously" and should not be
burdened with conventional poetic embellishments. Hopkins*
own style impresses one as straightforward, vigorous and
manly, even sober, in spite of the oddities and intricacies.
The language employed by a poet must have an individu
alizing touch, Hopkins believed, since an experience which is
recast in poetic language will lose its individuality if ex
pressed in conventional forms. As early as 1864, he noted
down some theories about the individualizing touch!
The poetical language lowest. To use that, which
poetasters, and indeed almost everyone, can do, is no
more necessarily to be uttering poetry than striking the
keys of piano is playing a tune. . . . Next Parnassi
an. . . . Gan only be used by real poets. Can be written
without inspiration. Good instances in Enoch Arden's
island.21
In a letter to his friend Baillie, written on September
10, 1864, Hopkins expressed himself lengthily on the subject
of poetic language. The views expounded in this letter were
never altered or abandoned by Hopkins:
I think then the language of verse may be divided into
three kinds. The first and highest is poetry proper,
the language of inspiration. The word inspiration need
cause no difficulty. I mean by it a mood of great, ab
normal in fact, mental acuteness, either energetic or
receptive, according as the thoughts which arise in it
seem generated by a stress and action of the brain, or
21 House, op. cit., p. 29.
48
to strike straight into it unasked. . . . The second kind
I call Parnassian. It can only be spoken by poets, but is
not in the highest sense poetry. It does not require the
mood of mind in which the poetry of inspiration is written.
It is spoken on and from the level of a poet's mind, not,
as in the other case, when the inspiration which is the
gift of genius, raises him above himself. Parnassian then
is that language which genius speaks as fitted to its ex
altation, and place among other genius, but does not sing
in its flights. Great men, poets I mean, have each their
own dialect as it were of Parnassian, formed generally as
they go on writing, and at last,— this is the point to be
marked,— they can see things in this Parnassian way and
describe them in this Parnassian tongue, without further
effort of inspiration. . . . In a fine piece of inspiration
every beauty takes you as it were by surprise. . . in
Parnassian pieces you feel that if you were the poet you
could have gone on as he has done, you see yourself doing
it. . . .
Just to end what I was saying about poetry. There is
a higher sort of Parnassian which I call Gastalian .
beautiful poems may be written wholly in it. Its peculi
arity is that though you can hardly conceive yourself
having written in it, if in the poet's place, yet it is too
characteristic of the poet, too so-and-so-all-over-ish, to
be quite inspiration. . . . The third kind is merely the
language of verse as distinct from that of prose, Delphic,
the tongue of the Sacred Plain. I may call it, used in
common by poet and poetaster. . . . I may add there is
also Olympian. This is the language of strange masculine
genius which~suddenly, as it were, forces its way into
the domain of poetry, without naturally have a right there.22
Actually Hopkins mentions four types; however, Gastalian, the
fourth kind of poetic language, is only a "higher sort of
Parnassian." This basis of threefold division, we see, is not
a clearly marked technique evident in each type of language,
but it is a difference of kind or degree of inspiration.
This view of Hopkins follows logically from his high appreci
ation of sincerity and earnestness.
22 Abbott, Further Letters, pp. 69-73
49
Parnassian he condemned because it missed the final
touch of individuality by means of which the poet ultimately
reveals himself. Shakespeare seldom used Parnassian and that
is why he does not pall. Wordsworth, on the other hand, often
employed Parnassian, and as a result his poetry frequently
fails to reach the level of true inspiration. Hopkins felt
that, even though Wordsworth was a great sonneteer, his
sonnets had a stiffness about them, and he attributed this to
Wordsworth's use of Parnassian, a language and style of poetry
ever at command, but used without fresh inspiration. Hopkins
could not bring himself to defend a language which was em
ployed without fresh inspiration.
While Hopkins was insistent that a poet should be
careful not to master a language to the extent that he could
use it at will, regardless of the content of his poems, he
was equally as insistent that a poet should not rely solely
on the language of a master poet for guidance. Concerning
his own practice he said that he greatly admired the masters,
but that the effect of this admiration was to lead him to do
otherwise.23
Works of art are reflections of God's beauty and
omnipotence, and their aim is strict beauty. Hopkins felt
that if a writer missed beauty in his verse, whatever its
23 Abbott, Letters, p. 291.
Incidental merits, it was not strict or proper poetry. Not
only is poetry aimed at capturing beauty, but it is written
for a vast audience. In this connection it should be noted
that Hopkins urged Bridges not to publish his verse for a
limited and select audience because this practice defeats the
aim of poetry. Hopkins believed that an artist who did not
create for a large audience was a failure. "It is by being
known it works, it influences, it does its duty, it does
good."24- Hopkins argued that Virgil's Georgies and Bucolics
are read more for his having written the Aeneid. Speaking
of Shakespeare and Bante he said in a letter to Coventry Pat
more, "It is by providence designed for the education of the
human race that great artists should leave works not only of
great excellence, but also in very considerable bulk."25
It would be difficult to find a poet stating more
emphatically the public nature of art and its practical worth.
Numerous passages expressing this attitude are to be found in
his letters. He told Patmore that his poems were a good deed
done for the Catholic Church and for the British Empire, and
he held that fine works of art were really a great power in
the world— an element of strength.2^ In a similar tone he
wrote to Robert Bridges, "A great work by an Englishman is
24 Ibid.. p. 231.
2 5 Abbott, Further Letters, p. 211.
26 Ibid.. p. 218.
51
like a great battle won by England. It is an unfading bay
tree."2?
One may be led to believe that Hopkins refuted his
belief by failing to write more than he did, but this is not
so. It must ever be present in one's mind that Hopkins did
not consecrate his life to the Society of Jesus for the sake
of giving himself an opportunity to create poetry. He joined
the followers of St. Ignatius fully cognizant of the great
sacrifice a life of religion would demand. He wanted his
whole life to contribute to the goal he chose, and it was for
this reason he burned his early poetry. In response to a
/question from Dixon he wrote that he burned his early poems
before he became a Jesuit and resolved to write no more
because it was not fitting to one of his profession.2** He
was first and last a priest, and he refused to sacrifice his
calling even for poetry. This unselfish man insisted that
* for himself poetry was unprofessional, but he saw no incon
sistency in exhorting his friends to strive vigorously after
poetic fame. He felt that for himself more peace was to be
found by remaining unknown.
Since Hopkins' mature poetry derives largely from his
theory of 'inscape' special attention should be given to this
2? Abbott, Letters, p. 234.
2® Abbott, Correspondence, p. 14.
principle. It should be pointed out immediately that a know
ledge of 'inseape* is fundamental to an understanding of
Hopkins' poetry. It is not simply a word that Hopkins coined
because the English language did not contain a word to represent
the objective fact or thing; it "is the very soul of art."
Howhere has Hopkins given a clear, complete definition
of 'inscape'; therefore, one must read through the journals and
letters and piece together the statements he has made about it.
He compared 'inseape' to design:
. . . as air, melody, is what strikes me most of all in
music and design in painting, so design, pattern, or what
I am in the habit of calling "inscape" is what I aim at
in poetry.29
The word represents a very personal experience— an experience
which all cannot have. It refers to the sensible qualities
of an object of perception that strike the observer as in
separably belonging to and most typical of that object.
Hopkins habitually examined objects with a resolve to cateh
what was individually distinctive in them.
It is not difficult to see why he compared 'inscape' to
design and pattern. Both design and pattern denote a principle
which creates unity; however, this order is brought about from
the outside and is not a manifestation of an intrinsic prin
ciple of unity. There can be design without 'inseape,' . "for
29 Abbott, Letters, p. 66.
vigorous rhetorical but realistic and unaffected scaping holds
everything but no arch-inscape is thought of."30 Tfce journals
contain numerous passages employing the term ’inseape.' Some
examples will show that the term refers to the essential
individuality or beauty of a thing:
Spanish chestnuts: their inscape here bold, jutty, some
what oak-like, attractive. . . .
Hote that a slender race of fine flue cloud inscaped in
continuous eyebrow curves hitched on the Weisshorn peak
as it passed. . . .
The bluebells in your hand baffle you with their inscape
made to every sense: if you draw your fingers through
them they are lodged and struggle with a shock of wet-
head s ....
The Horned Violet is a pretty thing gracefully lashed.
Even in withering the flower ran through beautiful
inscapes by the screwing up of the petals into straight
little barrels or tubes. . . .31
Hopkins always looked hard and patiently at objects in
order to catch their 'inscapes.' He felt that the mind needed
to be refreshed from time to time lest the 'inscape' of things
be forgotten. "The world is full of ' inseape, "* he said, "but
one has to be alone to discover it."32
He regretted that though many things deserve attention,
they are often unnoticed. Insignificant things brought him
3° House, op. cit., p. 194.
31 Ibid.. pp. 108, 110, 145, 149.
32 Ibid.. p. 135.
54
much happiness. When an ashtree was felled, he wrote:
It was lopped first: I heard the sound and looking out and
seeing it maimed, there came at that moment a great pang
and I wished to die and not see the inseapes of the world
destroyed any more.33
It was his spiritual outlook on the world that made
•inseape’ so precious to Hopkins5 for the 'inseape' of an
object was more "word of God"; it reminded him of the Creator.
He was intensely aware of the presence of God in all things,
and he realized that each particle of life and nature was a
reflection of God's beauty and greatness:
I kiss my hand
To the stars, lovely-asunder
Starlight, wafting him out of it; and
- Glow, glory in thunder.34
To Hopkins all things were charged with God.
The better he knew a thing, then, the better he knew
God. Consciousness of God's presence in all objects greatly
influenced his admiration of the 'inscapes' of the world, and
as he contemplated the variety of objects he beheld, he Game
to hold them worthy of a personal love.
There.is some evidence in Hopkins' writing that points
to the fact that he realized (in spite of generic and specific
differences) that man, animal, and inanimate nature are all
alike 'selves,' or, as he calls them, 'supposits.' In man the
33 Ibid.. p. 174.
34 Gardner, op. cit., p. 57.
55
self is united to a free nature, but in the others the self
was not thus elevated. A person is defined as "a rational
(that is intellectual) supposit, the supposit of a rational
nature. Self is the intrinsic oneness of a thing."35
This habitual searching for the ‘inseape1 of an object
caused Hopkins instinctively to personify many of the irrational
selves about which he wrote in his poems:
I caught this morning morning's minion, king
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in
his riding. . • .
When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings
shut. . . .
Earth, sweet Earth, sweet landscape. . . •
• . . Fury had shrieked 'No ling-.
eringj Let me be fell: force I must be brief.'
This, by Despair, bred.Hangdog dully; by Eage,
Manwolf, worse. . . .3©
It is interesting to note how Hopkins reenforces these per
sonifications with alliteration.
Another indication of this kind of personification is
to be found in the frequent omission of the article. This
omission tends to make the common noun into a proper noun.
This is an extension of the way in which we say "Father,"
"government." Many examples of this omission can be found
35 House, oj>. eit., p. 322.
36 Gardner, op. cit., pp. 73> 85, 9&> 107, 108.
56
in the poems:
. . . nor can foot feel, being shod.
. . . and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear....
Ho wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine. . . .
What heart heard of, ghost guessed. . . .
. . . mind has mountains. • . .
. . . the bright wind . . . beats earth bare. . . .37
Hopkins' own conclusions about 'inseape,' stated in
his prose writing and realized in his poems, were influenced
by his readings, but ideas he gathered from others were not
held in his mind as isolated topics; they were made part of
an integrated system of thought. Once the general schematiza-
tion was established, statements made by other men concerning
portions of that scheme naturally interested him. Beyond
belief in the fundamental articles of faith held by every
Catholic, Hopkins was especially attracted to certain inter
pretations emphasizing those aspects of religious thought
most striking to his own mind. Some authors undoubtedly
appealed to him simply because of essential sympathy of
temperament common to the Catholic religious. Thomas Aquinas,
for instance, evinces those attitudes of humility and
37 Ibid.. pp. 70, 71, 73, 94, 107, 111
spirituality that would naturally be congenial to a Jesuit.
But more particularly Hopkins found that some writers brought
out points of Catholicism directly pertaining to the formula
tion of what was for him the most wonderful of man’s experi
ences— his insight into God’s dealings with his creatures as
manifested in sensible phenomena.
It is almost impossible to exaggerate the influence of
the Spiritual Exercises in the life of a Jesuit. Indeed the
Society of Jesus sprang from these exercises. The first Jesuit
and all who have followed him have been molded by its lessons.
The Spiritual Exercises was written by St. Ignatius in 1522,
at Hanresa. It is a small book of about 150 pages. The
*
Spiritual Exercises was intended to be experienced and lived,
not merely read. It offers schooling in which the principal
part is not mere pouring of information into the pupil’s mind,
but the stimulating of the pupil to the active exercise of
his own powers. For twenty-one years Hopkins studied and
practiced the Spiritual Exercises. All his thoughts were
guided by it; it shaped his reaction to nature.
Hopkins found in the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius
directions relevant to perception of ’inscape.1 Various
meditations undertaken during the course of the retreat con
stitute endeavors to apprehend the significance of events
through which God has made His will known. Most of these
comprise incidents in the life of Christ, and for the
58
contemplation of each, the person receiving the Exercise is
told to prepare himself in specific ways in order to profit
from it. First, because Man’s motives may easily be perverted,
he must ask God’s help; ’inscape1 can never be perceived by
virtue of Man's independent effort. The preparatory prayer
is to ask God for grace that all intentions, actions, and
operations may be ordained purely to the service and praise
of His Divine Majesty. The first prelude to each exercise
involves meditation on invisible things; the exercise will be
to see with eyes of imagination.38 This procedure is in
accord with Hopkins' interest in the use of the senses as a
means for apprehending the 'inscape' of an object. An
experience of 'inseape' was to Hopkins more than an experience
of beauty; it was a religious experience by means of which he
was able to catch the beauty of God. While many of the
mystics avoid the beauty of Hature in order to concentrate
on the things of the spirit, Hopkins looked about him in
order to find the beauty of the Creator in all things:
And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder
Majestic— as a stallion stalwart, very-violet-sweetl39
The Prelude was used so that the person receiving the exercise
might attain the state of mind appropriate to the subject of
38 pick, op. cit., p. 29.
39 Gardner, op. cit., p. 75*
the exercise on which he was engaged— a method consistent with
the poet's use of sensible data. The result of these prepara
tions when properly conducted will be an understanding of
Christ's actions, an understanding of God's will in relation
to His creatures as exemplified by Christ, an insight into a
mystical reality. The Spiritual Exercises are a method of
preparing and disposing the soul to free itself from inordinate
affections and after it has freed itself from them, to seek
and find the will of God concerning the ordering of life for
the salvation of our souls.4^ In Hopkins' poems the discovery
of 'inseape' is achieved only by a person free from inordinate
affections.
In 1873, Hopkins was impressed by reading Newman's
Grammar of Assent. In 1883, he asked the author's permission
to edit the book.4* As Father lahey has suggested, Hopkins
probably was attracted by Newman's emphasis upon "real appre
hension"— that manner of grasping propositions whose terms
stand for things that are individual units as opposed to
"notional apprehension," which refers to propositions composed
of abstract general terms. Newman argued that the former was
more forcible because "intellectual ideas cannot compete in
4® Pick, op. eit., p. 26.
4* Lahey, op. cit.. p. 49.
60
effectiveness of expression with the experience of concrete
facts.He applied this to the apprehension of religious
truths:
A dogma is a proposition: it stands for a notion or a
thing and to believe it is to give assent of the mind
to it, as it stands for one or the other. It is dis
cerned, rested in and appropriated as a reality by the
religious imagination; it is held as a truth by the
theological intellect. . . . As in matters of this world
sense, sensation, instinct, intuition supply us with
facts and the intellect uses them . . . as regards our
relations with Supreme Being we get our facts from the
witnesses, first of nature, then of revelation and our
doctrines, in which they issue, through the exercise of
abstraction and inference.43
Similarly Hopkins' poems are never devoid of concrete
ness. Many begin with a remarking of sensible objects. This
is not a mere device aimed at attracting the reader's attention:
it is directly dependent on the assumption that an experience
of the concrete, the particular, the individual is more vivid,
forcible, and effective and that it provides one means by which
we get our facts about the nature of God. Among the early
works abstract, generalized verse can be found,44, but a poem
beginning and continuing for more than a few lines on a plane
of pure generalization is rare among Hopkins* mature works,
because he employed the terms of "real apprehension." Even
4^ John Newman, Grammar of Assent (1889), p. 12.
43 Ibid.. pp. 98-99.
44 Gardner, op. cit. See "A Voice from the World,"
p. 121; "It was a hard thing to undo this knot," p. 128;
"Summa," p. 148; and "To him who ever thought with love of me,"
p. 168.
the “terrible sonnets,” in which the point to be made is more
abstract, are filled with sensory images. Whether the emotion
represented is joy or grief, the effect on the poet is desig
nated in concrete terms; the speaker feels as well as contem
plates. The distinction may also have appealed to Hopkins as
a man who wrote both theological arguments and poems. In his
Comment on the Spiritual Exercises, for instance, the “notional
apprehension” of religious ideas is utilized primarily, "real
apprehension” being drawn upon only for examples.4^ But, in
his poems, religious ideas are almost entirely validated by
data drawn from "real apprehension”— from particular, concrete
experiences. Once Hopkins ceased to enforce the antithesis
between God and Nature,^ he discovered facts of religious
truth embodied in the sensible objects of the world, and he
utilized "real apprehension” to comprehend those facts.
Why Hopkins thought of Duns Scotus when he "took in
any 'inseape' of sky or sea" and why he expressed great
admiration for that philosopher demands an explanation.
Hopkins must have been well acquainted with medieval theology,
for his studies as a novice of the Society of Jesus involved "
extensive consideration of it. One should look, therefore,
to those elements in the thought of Duns Scotus which
House, op. cit.. pp. 309-351.
^ Gardner, pp. cit.. p. 43, "Nondum."
62
distinguished him from the other philosophers Hopkins studied.
If Hopkins saw in his work only those ideas maintained by
other men, it would be difficult to ascertain the reason for
his enthusiasm over Scotus.
The reason why the philosophy of Scotus attracted him
more than Aristotle's can be found in Hopkins* statement that
the 'inseape' of things made him think of Scotus. It might
seem, ..then, that. Duns Scotus' philosophy gave a philosophical
basis to his.'inscape.' It is easy to see how the theory, of
'inseape* harmonizes with the system of Scotus. For
Aristotle and Aquinas the proper object of our knowledge was
the. essence of things. But to Scotus the primary goal of
human,;knowledge was the individual as it presented itself to
the senses. As the observer experiences the object through
the senses, he likewise comes to an intuitive knowledge of
the concrete object, and on this knowledge the mind works
and. reaches intellectual knowledge of the universal essence
by means of abstraction. Hopkins gave considerable attention
to these ideas of Scotus and referred to Scotus as an argument
in favor of his views.
Even more attractive than this theory of knowledge was
Scotus' theory of the individuating principle, his statement
of the positive source of the formal distinctions of each
4 7 House, op. cit.. pp. 312-328.
entity. Hopkins was certain that ’inseape' was a direct,
sensible manifestation of the qualities that make a thing an
individual. 'Inseape' corresponds directly to what Scotus
termed "haecceitas" or "this-ness."4^ According to Scotus,
created things are immediately active because of this separate
entity.
Scotus distinguished three formalities in every object;
that is, three entities make up any object. In each object
there is a generic form, a specific form, and an Individual
form. Just as the specific form arises from the generic by
addition of the specific difference, so the individual form
arises from the specific by addition of the individual
difference. This is the final determination of the being in
its specific essence.
Hopkins' theories thus found a helpful confirmation
in Duns Scotus, but it should be understood that Hopkins'
system was his own and not borrowed from Scotus. Hopkins
was a Scotist even before he read the medieval philosopher.
As soon as Hopkins saw that his own theories fitted so well
in the philosophy of Scotus, he began to devote himself to
systematic study of the principle of individuation. This
caused Hopkins to reflect more and more on the makeup of his
own being. This increased awareness of self influenced his
Pick, op. cit.. pp. 156-159.
64
poetic production. All his senses were employed in the per
ception of 'inseape,' and the poems are replete with references
to them: -
Palate, the hutch of tasty lust. . . •
I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes. . . •
Bones, built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse*49
Hopkins placed emphasis on the individuality of things
not for the sake of the pleasure experienced in their per
ception but for the insight to be derived from them. His
postulation of a qualified observer is in accord with Duns
Scotus' theory. The philosopher spoke similarly of the manner
in which Man gets his knowledge of God. Man, by observing a
sensible thing in a particular way, is able to go beyond a
knowledge of the sensible. Only the material phenomena are
presented to him, but from them he can apprehend evidence of
the Deity. Insight for Hopkins began with sensible perception.
A man of character, a man endowed with grace, gains knowledge
of the Creator from observations of His creatures, because he
is able to regard earthly phenomena in such a way as to
apprehend their cause and significance. For Hopkins the
focus of attention in an experience that culminates in insight
was sensible individuality, the sign of that ultimate reality
which is t,haecceitas.t|50 Man, who looks at appearances
49 Gardner, op. cit.. pp. 47, 74, 110.
50 Pick, op. cit., pp. 156-159.
65
as a sign and who is aware of God's power to demonstrate reality
to him, true individuality is made known, Hopkins' use of
detailed representation of concrete phenomena in poems that
are religious in purport is indicative of his adheranee to
this view. If he thought of Duns Scotus when he took in an
'inseape' of sky or sea, it was probably because he recalled
the fact that his ability to perceive 'inscape* in material
objects was accounted for by this philosopher.
The theory that brought about this change in inter
pretation of subject matter of Hopkins' works brought about
a corresponding change in his techniques. It is significant
that his early verses exhibit few of the technical peculiar
ities that have come to be associated with Hopkins' work.
The diction and imagery are largely conventional. In "A
Vision of Mermaids," for example, a "circlet of astral
flowerets" is like a diadem of "an Assyrian prince," "the
air is blind with rose foam," and the mermaids crowd about
"until it seemed their father Sea / Had gotten him a wreath
of sweet Spring-broidery."5l Emotion is expressed only in
vague terms. "And a sweet sadness dwelt on everyone / I know
not why." The minute description of the Individually dis
tinctive objects is lacking because Hopkins had, as yet, no
reason to use it. Until he had developed a theory whereby
51 Gardner, op. cit.. p. 21.
the recognition of particularity had special value in leading
Man to seek its causes, there were no theological grounds for
attempting to represent it with concreteness and accuracy.
Nor was there any need for a system of prosody at once
“forceful" and "natural." The merit of sprung rhythm is
tested by its enhancing the objective particularity of the
emotion expressed. But until Hopkins found a reason for
this prosody, he remained content with traditional forms.
As a consequence of his formulation of new poetic principles,
Hopkins1 later works differ greatly from those written before
he had conceived his mature ideas about nature and art, which
are a part of the whole plan of his religious thought.
The principles of Hopkins' new rhythm were printed in
the volume of his poems.52 They are a mixture of new and
established principles. Movements rising from iambics
Hopkins termed Rising Rhythm, from trochaics, Falling Rhythm.
He always placed thestress first in a foot, as in a musical
bar. Concerning the scansion of his own verse Hopkins said,
"It is a great convenience to follow the example of music and
take the stress always first."53 When trochees and dactyls
occur in the same line, a composite foot is formed, and he
named it Logaoedic Rhythm.
52 ibid.. pp. 5-10.
Ibid.. p. 5.
67
Since strict adherence to uniform rhythm produces a
tame and monotonous poetry, Hopkins naturally introduced
variations and irregularities. By reversing the stress in
two consecutive feet, he produced a new or mounted rhythm
which is actually heard while the mind supplies the natural,
or standard foregoing rhythm. These two rhythms running
together he called Counterpoint Rhythm. He invented a subtle,
flexible movement which he termed Sprung Rhythm. It occurs
when Running or Common Rhythm is counterpointed throughout so
that only the counterpointed rhythm is heard. Sprung Rhythm
contains regularly from one to four syllables to a foot and
for special effects any number of unstressed or slack syllables.
The stress is always on the first syllable. There are four
variations of the fundamental rhythm: a Monosyllabic foot,
Trochaic, Dactyllic and First Paeon. In his notes Hopkins
remarked:
Sprung Rhythm is the most natural of all things. For (1)
it is the rhythm of common speech and of written prose,
when rhythm is perceived in them. (2) It is the rhythm
of all but the most monotonously regular music, so that
in the words of choruses and refrains and in songs written
closely to music it arises. (3) It is found in nursery
rhymes and weather saws. . . . (4) It arises in common
verse when reversed or counterpointed. . . .54
The basis of the poetic structure is far from being
arbitrary; it is grounded in principles essentially theological,
54 Ibid.. pp. 9-10.
which Hopkins frequently and consistently reiterated. His
theological readings established a theoretically objective
standard for the experience to be concretely represented in
the poems. In the prose works Hopkins ascertained the
requisites for an experience of 'inseape*— the kind of event
to be depicted in lyrics. In statements relevant to his
poetic theory, he set forth various demands to be fulfilled
by an artist who intends to re-create his experience of
insight into the beauty of Nature. These artistic require
ments are applications of principles of a broad scope; the
purpose of the poet, the nature of his materials, and manner
in which he uses them are identical with rules to be followed
by all men in all their actions. The purpose of Man's work
is to give God glory; this is also the purpose of poetry,
which accomplishes it perhaps less directly, but more forcibly
than do other kinds of productions. By representing experiences
of insight the poet serves God. The poet's starting point may
well be the world, because it provides materials for "real
apprehension," facts that tell Man about his relation to the
Deity. It is this use of the most effective, the most con
crete evidence that makes lyrics potential sources of fresh
insight to the reader.
Although this use of the world is most obviously seen
in relation to representations of a sacramental view of nature,
it is fundamental to the theory of 'inseape' which may be
applied with equal validity to any earthly phenomenon.
Hopkins explained this procedure in his Comments on the
Spiritual Exercises. “We may learn that all things are
created by consideration of the world without, or of our
selves the world within to the one pitch required."55 The
passage is significant in several respects. First, it indi
cates that the starting point for insight into God's powers
may begin with observation of the external world, but more
especially of the mind. In each ease, the point of view is
"individuality" or "distinctiveness," and this wonderful
quality leads Man to inquire into the sources of the object's
existence. 'Inscape,' therefore, may be found in Nature, but
to the most advantage in human nature. The passage indicates,
secondly, that it is not only the beautiful or felicitous
aspects of the world that are to be used in this way. Man's
weaknesses and his tragedies help him to know God as well as
his feeling for beauty.
All aspects of the world, therefore, may be exploited
by man as materials for reaching the goal of his existence;
God has provided both beauty and desolation, cause for joy
and sorrow to enable Man to understand his relation to his
Maker. God is to be no less praised for the sorrows He sends
Man than for the delights He offers.
55 House, op. cit.. p. 309.
leither the world within nor the world without will
necessarily lead Man to God, Both worlds are imperfect and
contain good and bad. Because Man is born with the stigma of
original sin, the power of his insight varies with that of
his spiritual state. The distinction between sinful Man
(whom Hopkins in his poems call "wreteh or "Jackself") and
the Man in a state of grace ("just man") explains why the
world may be well used or ill-used. Because Man is ignorant
and incompetent, he cannot independently perceive the true
significance of these objects placed on earth for his use
in attaining his true end. The things viewed by him, there
fore, are susceptible to being seen in two ways: as they seem
to be and as they really are. When the observer fails to
rely on God and attempts to obtain knowledge by his own efforts,
his perceptions are warped; God's presence in the object is
not perceived. Life is dark as night, and the truth of
things is either seen dimly or not at all. Appearances can
well be illusions which exist because Man has attempted to
discover the significance of an object without God's help.
When, however, Man acknowledges his own weakness and God's
omnipotence, he sees reality.
But appearances are not always false, they may be truth
dimly seen. Because Man is naturally sinful, but nevertheless
potentially capable of corresponding to grace, there is always
hope that, although originally failing, he may yet succeed in
71
discerning reality. The fact that he does not perceive
‘inscape1 is not evidence that 'inscape' does not exist.
To understand the perfection of God’s gifts, to deal
with them properly, requires correspondence to grace. This
means complete submission by Man to the Lord’s will. Without
the humility that involves a recognition of his utter infe
riority to the Deity, Man cannot perceive reality, and he
cannot praise God because he only sees appearances; Man finds
fault with what God gives, rather than with himself:
FOE IF YOU ARE IN SIN YOU ARE GOD'S ENEMY, you cannot
love or praise him. You may say you are far from hating
God; but if you live in sin you are among God's enemies,
you are under Satan’s standards and enlisted there; you
may not like it, no wonder; you may wish to be elsewhere;
but you are there, an enemy of God. You cannot mean your
praise if while praise is on the lips there is no reverence
in the mind; there can be no reverence in the mind if there
is no obedience, no submission, no service. And there can
be no obeying God while you disobey him, no service while
you sin.5o
Yet, even for the Man who has rejected grace, hope is not gone:
But what we have not done yet we can do now, what we
have done badly hitherto we can do well henceforward, we
can repent our sins and BEGIN TO GIVE GOD GLORY. The
moment we do this we reach the end of our being, we do and
are what we were made for.57
There is hope for Man because a means of properly dealing
with God's gifts is available to him, and this is a comforting
thought. The source of Man’s beatitude is similar to the
56 Ibid.. p. 304.
57 Loc. Git.
72
source of his lesser earthly happiness, and Hopkins found that
Man learns by observing in the world the manner of adjusting
himself to the spiritual world. The doctrine of the Spiritual
Exercises postulates humility as the condition of serving
God; Christ provides the example.
Humble obedience is the mark of grace, and the means
by which Man is enabled to deal properly with what God gives.
What appears to a sinful man as abject subservience is the
greatest happiness to a just man. He who rebels against
God's will sees inexplicable fault in the world; he sees God's
mastery of Man as something incompatible with His reputed
mercy. The man in a state of grace does not deny the mixture
of good and evil on earth, but he is able to see the one
source and purpose of all created things. Aware of his in
feriority, his weakness and laek of self-sufficiency, he
gladly submits his will to the Lord; he realizes that by his
own inadequate efforts he can secure no lasting happiness,
because this world is imperfect. God is God, and he is only
Man. Lacking the prerequisites that make an experience of
'inscape' possible, Man sees ugliness and injustice in the
world; what beauty or right he does perceive is transitory
and liable to human mutilation or perversion. With humility,
insight is possible; Man is able to see that what appears
to be contradictory to his natural comprehension is actually
consistent with a unified purpose. Man’s capacities are
73
limited, but things that appear to him as fragmentary and
disjointed are reconciled in God, who brings together things
which are thought to be opposite and incompatible.
The man who meets these qualifications is capable of
insight that will lead him to praise God. It is this kind
of experience that provides the principles of the structure
for Hopkins' mature poems. Because things on earth are
distinctive and susceptible of "real apprehension," they
embody 'inscape.' To cite them as facts from which we learn
about the Deity is the most forcible and effective way to
portray religious truths. This portrayal gives the Lord
glory by evincing Man's gratitude for being allowed to know
God through His creatures. Man learns from what appears to
be ugliness and disorder on earth the inadequacy of his
independent powers to perceive reality; his distress shows
his need to depend on God.
While the poems Hopkins wrote after 1875 consistently
view the natural world as a sign of the supernatural, the
early, less mature works fall into two distinct classes:
those dealing with earthly matters and those dealing with
religion. In no ease is there any intermixture of these
objects. Hopkins' earliest dated poem, "The Eseorial," is
a historical narrative. Although the poet notes that the
edifice was built by men "who strove God's gospel to con
found," he does not develop this characterization to a point
of expressing any positive attitude of his own. In Stanza 8 he
contrasts art works left by the Moors to those of the Christians,
but he drops the evaluation in the next stanza to describe
paintings of both Christian and pagan subjects that hang in
the Hscorial. Hopkins* final concern is with the fact that
finally, when the convent was deserted, the monks carried away
their art treasures; no relation is established between the
beauty of art and the truth of religion. "A Vision of Mermaids**
composed two years later is purely descriptive and gives great
attention to the visual detail that fascinates the speaker;
but it involves not the slightest reference to religious values.
By 1866, Hopkins was beginning to concern himself with
religious problems. "Nondum" explicitly separates man’s
knowledge of God from observation of the physical world: "We
see glories of the earth / But not the hand that wrought them
all.”5'® The plea for patience and revelation that ends the
poem attributes no value to preliminary experience. The first
seven stanzas are abstract generalization about Man's inability
to find God in the world; the final prayer states simply a
desire for "that sense beyond": God and Nature remain irrecon
cilably opposed, and the original sense of antithesis is taken
as true in the reality as in the appearance. Two other poems
written in this year exhibit similar qualities. In "Heaven-
58 Gardner, on. cit., p. 43.
75
Haven'* the speaker deliberately separates religious life from
the turmoil of the world by advocating retreat. "Hail" and
"storm" characterize nature, but no good is seen to come from
meeting them; the religious use of things on earth is denied.
A like attitude of renunciation is expressed in "The Habit of
Perfection." The five senses are listed scrupulously, and
Man is urged to forsake the things of the senses if he wishes
to attain communion with God. Hopkins argues that the human
faculties ensnare him; that the object viewed by his own eyes
"coils keeps and teases simple sight"; he wishes to see only
the "uncreated light." In each of these lyrics, a personal
experience is depicted, but no assertion or discovery of
insight into reality as opposed to appearance is involved.
Each represents an increased awareness of the initially
stated antithesis.
The poems written by Hopkins after his conversion to
Catholicism treat worldly phenomena in a very different manner,
and they affirm that religious ends may be served by the use of
natural objects— the means which earlier verse had denied.
Psychological interpretations have been advanced to explain
this change,59 but the shift may also be clarified, in terms
of Hopkins' writing, as being dependent on the formulation of
principles not heretofore known by the author. As was noted .
59 Daich.es, op. cit.. p. 28, and Read, cit., p. 335*
7 6
the essay, "On the Origin of Beauty," discussed nature and the
appeal of sensory beauty with no inferences to supersensory
values. By 1868, Hopkins was using the term * inscape’ in his
journal, and by 1871, 1 inscape’ was clearly identified with
the significance in things not perceivable by the careless
observer. By 1871, Hopkins had developed the terminology
for expressing his conception of the religious use of sensible
objects. From this time a new kind of poetic structure was
available to him.
This changed attitude resulted in a different kind of
treatment of the God-Nature antithesis prominent in early
poems. Once Hopkins had postulated the role of a qualified
observer, he was able to treat the world in such a way that
it became the outward and visible sign of God’s power. The
two terms that he first thought to constitute irreconcilable
opposition were found connected not in an obvious or super
ficial respect, but in a supernatural order perceivable only
by Man endowed with grace. This concept of a hidden, but
discernible, relation between God and the world enabled
Hopkins to turn from his early statement of antithesis and
scheme of versification to develop that same assertion of
disparity into paradox. Once this had been accomplished, he
could use the material world in religious poems; there was no
need to rejeet the apparent contradictions found in it, for
the perception of the antithesis could be used as the first
77
step in an inquiry that led him to the realm where all opposites
are reconciled in God. The later poems are richer because in
clusiveness was impossible before the notion of ' inscape' was
realized.
The antithesis Hopkins employed in the early poems is
not rejected in his later works, but it does become a basis
of insight that is more wonderful because it is not immediately
apparent. It is only with God's grace that Man can perceive
how He who is unity can be the source of multiplicity. God's
glory is the greater because it is only through Him that human
beings can know reality; to recognize Man's helplessness is to
apprehend God's power. It is the very uniqueness, distinctive
ness, of earthly phenomena that leads Man to question their
cause, their justification, their place in the scheme of
things. Nothing that Man sees can answer him; that whieh is
not sensibly visible provides the answer. When Hopkins had
formulated this principle, he could write poems governed by
it: lyrics that represent experiences initiated by the world
and which culminate in a religious insight; experiences whose
depictions have for their purpose the praise, reverence and
service of God.
CHAPTER XV
ANALYSIS OF HOPKINS* POETRY
A careful analysis of Hopkins* poetry will immediately
reveal the importance of these theoretical concepts and his
utilization of religious materials. The poems may be termed
religious, since they deal with objects in relation to God.
Although each of Hopkins’ poems contains some reference to
the relation of God and his creatures, the initial object of
the speaker’s attention is not necessarily religious. Many
of his lyrics begin with comments upon secular concerns or
deal with emotions aroused by events or objects in the natural
world. But whether secular or religious at its inception, no
poem ends without an expression of religious sentiment. The
similarity between this progression and that encountered in an
experience of ’inseape’ is hardly accidental. The likeness
should make possible the discovery of the kinds of poems in
the Hopkins' canon in terms of the forms of structures employed
to represent the experience.
Obviously the analysis of the three lyrics which will
be made in this chapter cannot suffice to demonstrate that all
of Hopkins * poems follow a similar pattern, but these analyses
will serve to show particular techniques utilized by Hopkins
in constructing poems from theological materials. If other
lyrics can be elucidated in the terms to be employed, then
79
the statement that Hopkins* poetic practice derives entirely
from his religions thought will rest upon a sturdier basis.
Before proceeding we shall examine other plausible
methods. Two attempts have been made to classify Hopkins'
poems. A threefold division has been proposed by Herbert
Head:
In Hopkins' poetry, as perhaps in the work of other
poets, we can distinguish (1) poetry which is the direct
expression of religious beliefs, (2) poetry which has no
direct or causal relation to any such beliefs at all and
(3) poetry which is not so much the expression of belief
in-any strict sense but more precisely of doubt. All of
Hopkins' poems of any importance can be grouped under
these three categories.3.
E. E. Phare has indicated her preference for another kind of
divisions
For convenience Hopkins' religious poetry may be
divided into two classes, though it is not always possible
to distinguish clearly between them. In one I shall put
poems which are capable of being used as aids to devotion
beeause they offer illustrations of the truths of Christian
dogma and of the workings of God's providence— poems in
which there might be said to be some didactic intention,
however slights in the other, poems which deal with Hopkins'
experience as an individual soul rather than as one of the
many members of the Catholic Church.2
Now both of these critics, while their final classifications
differ, base their principle of grouping upon the subject matter
of the poems; Herbert Read emphasizing the state of mind repre
sented and Miss Phare concentrating upon the object of the
1 Read, op. cit.. p. 334.
2 Phare, op. cit., p. 101.
80
speaker's emotion. The two conclusions may be regarded as
complementary; certainly they are not inconsistent. But both
Miss Phare and Herbert Read have failed in their attempt to
work out a scheme whereby the mature poetry of Hopkins may be
eorreetly classified; their failure can be attributed to the
fact that both critics did not pereeive that all of Hopkins'
poems after his conversion were grounded in, arose from
religion and his intense love of God. This should be immedi
ately clear to anyone who has read the letters, the journals,
and the poems.
These attempts might well be taken as warnings of the
dangers involved in attempting to fit a poet's work into neat
categories. But a further attempt is, nevertheless, justified.
A survey of the written productions of any one man usually
does reveal certain constant elements; the recurrence of
themes is indicative of some correlation between the works
and the mind that created them. The reason for such corres
pondence is more within the field of the psychologist than
of the critic, but the latter is concerned with whatever
homogeneity may be discerned in the works produced insofar
as its recognition may enable him to apply what he has learned-
from one poem to problems raised by other works of the same
writer. The discovery of types within the scope of one man's
productions is to facilitate this inquiry. If the value of
classification is defined in this manner, the method to be
employed should be judged in terms of its usefulness to the
person desiring a better understanding of the kinds of poetic
structure to be found in Hopkins’ works.
The themes which dominate Hopkins' mature poetry are
three: Nature, Man, and Hopkins' own life. All three themes
are employed in the poems in such a way that they show the
power and mastery of God over the world. This threefold
division corresponds closely to the three periods of his life
as a Jesuit, so that the division is chronological as well as
topical. The poems written between 1875 and 1877 deal with
nature's beauty and with God as ever present in Nature. They
were written while Hopkins was studying theology in Wales.
He was happy at the time, and the country buoyed him up.
Delighted, he turned to a fervent contemplation of Nature;
the poems of this group are alive with the joy and the serenity
which he experienced. In these poems the careful observer of
Nature, who for so long had patiently looked at the clouds
and trees and had so minutely described them in his journals
was now allowed to sing of them.
The second group dates from the period 1878 to 1881.
In this group most of the poems relate to incidents of his
priestly life: the first communion of a soldier, the death of
a blacksmith, a meeting with a crying child. They are not
happy poems and certainly not the best of Hopkins. It was
hard for him to be cheerful in the dreadful, great cities of
82
Liverpool, Glasgow, and London. He was too sensitive. To
Dixon he wrote, "Liverpool is very wearying to body and mind;
there is merit in it but little muse . . . time and spirits
(to write) are wanting; one is so fagged, so harried and
gallied up and down."3 These poems miss the ecstatic note of
the first group and fail to reach the intense feelings of the
last group. Spontaneity is wanting in them, and they give
the impression of straining after poetic expression.
Between 1884 and 1889, Hopkins composed the last group.
These "terrible sonnets" are his best, most personal, and
most harassing poems. They are stark and bare, entirely void
of padding. They stand out in his work as intimate and sincere
confessions; they express his ’inscape.' In his dealings with
his fellows he seemed to have small success; he was dejected
and weary, with little hope of change. This last group of
poems examines:
. . . that inmost self of mine which has been said to be
and to be felt to be, to taste, more distinctive than the
taste of clove or alum, the smell of walnut leaf or hart’s
horn, more distinctive, more selved than all things
else. . . .4
It is not feasible to analyze every one of Hopkins’ poems,
but a detailed examination of a representative poem from each
thematic group will provide material that will be useful in an
investigation of the other poems.
3 Abbott, Correspondence, p. 33.
4 House, op. cit.. p. 312.
S3
SPRING
Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
.What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.--Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, 0 maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.5
The sonnet, "Spring,” is typical of Hopkins' "Nature”
poems. It has been classified by critics^ as a poem expressing
a "sacramental view of nature”— a way of looking at the natural
world so that its objects are seen as reflections of the
qualities of their Creator and, therefore, as visible signs
of an invisible Power. But whether the assertion in Hopkins'
poems of this relation between God and Nature is an integral
one, as John Pick explains it,7 or a merely fortuitous one,
5 Gardner, op> cit.. p. 71*
6 Pick, Ruggles, among others.
7 Pick, on. cit.. pp. 52-53* "A religious experience
of beauty is the central theme that runs through most of these
poems— an experience of created things moulded and directed by
"the Spiritual Exercises. . . . Natural beauty can bring man
to higher Beauty.
84
as claimed by Herbert Read,8 can be judged only when the
structure of each particular lyric is seutinized. The octet
of ' ’Spring” obviously contains a number of references to
natural objects, but this does not necessarily preclude the
possibility of their having religious connotations which may
be utilized in a more directly devotional manner in the
sestet. In fact, the natural world, to which the speaker has
directed his attentions in the first part of the sonnet,
actually prompts his speculations by intriguing him with its
beauty. He is delighted by the appearance of spring but finds,
when he inquires into its nature, that it is a semblance of
the Garden of Eden whose beauty has been lost through the sin
of Man. Once he has made this discovery, the speaker sees
that the Fall has made Ian's beauty— which is innocence— a
quality of his youth only. But if spring, the youth of the
year, recalls to Man his own fallen nature, it also reminds
him of the one source of his salvation— Christ; and Christ,
by taking possession of the innocent mind of youth, can pre
serve it from the change that would otherwise follow with time.
8 Read, op. cit.. pp. 335-336. "Of the poetry which
has no direct or causal relation to beliefs of any kind, poems
such as . . . 'Spring,' 'The Sea and the Skylark,' 'The Wind
hover,* . . . the poetic force comes from a vital awareness of
the objective beauty of the world." Concerning "The Windhover,"
Read writes: "... Hopkins got over his scruples by dedicating
the poem 'To Christ our Lord.' But this is a patent deception.
It does not alter the naked sensualism of the poem; and there
is no asceticism in this poem; nor essentially in any of the
other poems of this group."
85
Hopkins himself expressed two main trends of thought
relevant to the situation described in ‘ ‘Spring.1 1 The first
concerns the inherent purpose of God's creation, which is
beautiful in order that it may give glory to God.
WHY DID GOD CREATE?— Hot for sport, not for nothing.
Every sensible man has a purpose in all he does, every
workman has a use for every object he makes. Much more
has God a purpose, an end, a meaning in his work. He
meant the world to give him praise, reverence, and service;
to give him glory. . . . It is a book he has written of
the riches of his knowledge, teaching endless truths, full
lessons of wisdom, a poem of beauty. . . .9
Man then may learn something of God through His creatures,
because "... they are something like him, they make him known
. . . .”10 This power in Nature is again noted by Hopkins when
he wrote of Saint Winefred's Well as ". . • the sensible thing
so naturally and gracefully uttering the spiritual reason of
its being. . . .”11 A second and complementary thought is
that of Man's role in responding to Nature: he cannot be purely
passive in his attitude toward Nature, but rather he must
understand the right mode of approach and develop that.
Hopkins thus qualified the manner of learning about God
through His creatures; the evidence is available to all men,
but not all know how to use it. "All things therefore are
9 House, oj). cit.. p. 302.
10 Ibid.. p. 303.
11 Ibid.. p. 214.
86
charged with love, are charged with God, and if we know how to
touch them, give off sparks and take fire, yield drops and flow,
ring, and tell of him.”l2
Such ideas were, to be sure, not original with Hopkins,
but his statement of them is significant as indicating his
strong interest in these phases of Catholic thought. Both
concepts, that concerning the inherent powers of Nature and
that referring to Man's attitude toward Nature, are expressed
by Saint Augustine:
Is not the face of the earth clearly seen by all whose
senses function properly? Then why does it not give the
same answer to all? . . . man can interrogate it and so
should be able clearly to see the invisible things of God
understood by things which are made: but they love these
last too much and become subject to them. . . . If one
man merely sees the world, while another not only sees but
interrogates it, the world does not change its speech—
that is, its outward appearance which speaks— in such a
way as to appear differently to the two men; but pre
senting exactly the same face to each, it says nothing to
the one, but gives answer" to the other; or rather it gives
answer to all, but only those understand who compare its
voice as it comes through their senses, with the truth
that is within them.13
Ihe Spiritual Exercises, upon which Hopkins was comment
ing when he wrote his own notes on God’s purpose as revealed in
the natural world, stresses the same points: the power of Nature
and the necessity of Man’s developing the proper attitude toward
12 Ibid., p. 342. Cf. ’ ’God's Grandeur” where the Holy
Ghost shows men how to ”touch” things.
13 Arthur Symons, The Confessions of St. Augustine
(London: n. d.), Book 10, p. 6.
Han was created to praise, reverence, and serve God
our Lord, and by this means to save his soul; and the
other things on the face of the earth were created for
man's sake, and in order to aid him"in the prosecution
of the end for which he was created. Whence it follows,
that man ought to make use of them just so far as they
help him to attain his end, and that he ought to withdraw
himself from them just so far as they hinder him.14
Both these concepts are used in "Spring," although when they
appear in the poem they are no longer theological arguments
but have become objects of thought and feeling that are made
real to the poet as the result of a particular experience.
The octet of the sonnet contains a series of observations
on the beauty of Nature, and these details comprise a body of
evidence confirming, in part, the initial assertion that
"nothing is so beautiful as spring." Although the poet is
here primarily concerned with the sensory pleasures afforded
by the season, his opening statement is one of a relation
between things: "beauty" and "spring," not merely of the
impression made by an object upon the observer. This initial
assertion, then, establishes an attitude of thought and
reflection which is not developed in the octet; the opening
comment is immediately set off from the next seven lines by
the dash following it, and the remainder of the octet notes
sensibly perceivable data which offer material evidence of
14 House, op. cit.. p. 415.
88
the original affirmation. The particular notations cannot be
considered apart from the generalization to which they relate,
for the speaker views his surroundings from the frame of ,
reference established by that opening declaration.
All the objects described in the octet contribute to
the impression of beauty. Even "weeds" do not seem out of
place in this scene, for they grow long and gracefully bend—
"in wheels," and they "shoot long and lovely and lush." The
attraction of the design is supplemented by that of color; the
blue of "thrush's eggs" appeals to the observer. Sounds as
well as sights are pleasing; the thrush's song rings through
"the echoing timber" and delight the listener. The joy taken
in the season is evidenced in loveliness, for "the racing
lambs," that intend only their own pleasure, are comely—
"have fair their fling." Youthful vitality is seen in all
these.objects: the weeds seem still to be growing; "thrush's
eggs" give promise of life; some of "the peartree leaves" are
as yet only "blooms"; and it is the young"lambs" that are
"racing." The sense of beauty is intensified by perceptions
of unimpeded activity.15
The homogeneity of the scene is particularly striking;
in spite of their varied appearances and activities, all
earthly creatures in spring reflect the beauty and movement
^ Ibid.. p. 133* "Observe that motion multiplies
inscape . . . when inscape is discovered. ..."
of the season. Even the sky is brought closer to the earth
for "thrush's eggs look little low heavens.” The observer
himself feels purified from earthly taints by hearing the
song that "does so rinse and wring/ The ear” as if cleansing
it of impurities; it “strikes” like sharp and sudden “light
nings” from the sky. As the distinction between earth and
heaven is erased, the "peartree leaves and blooms" which are
"glassy," transparent, rise to "brush/ The descending blue"
and "that blue is all in a rush/ With richness." As harmony
characterizes the appearances of spring, all things acting
in unison for the creation of a single effect, a corresponding
harmony in the words of the speaker is appropriate. Thus,
alliteration and assonance in "long and lovely and lush"
reflect the unmarred perfection of "weeds in wheels." When
they "brush/ the descending blue," the "leaves and blooms"
become one with the "rush" of "richness," and the "racing
lambs" participate in the movement.
The objects thus far described are, like all of God's
creation; visible signs of the purpose of the Creator. They
have not as yet, however, been used by the observer to help
him attain "the end for which he was created," for he has
expressed only the pleasure he takes in them. But the fact
that his original assertion was a contemplative one indicates
that the poet will proceed to reflect upon the nature and
use of the beauty he has seen. The enumeration of sensory
impressions is insufficient support for the evaluative asser
tion, HHothing is so beautiful as spring." Therefore, after
the poet has cited his observance of the characteristics of
spring in both inanimate and animate nature, he turns from
the consideration of sensibly perceivable qualities, to
question the nature of “all this juice and all this joy,1 *
As earth and heaven had appeared to merge, the discovery of
a religious source for the beauty of spring is not surprising;
though it could not be expressed until contemplation, stirred
by the question of line nine, had replaced the use of sensory
apprehension.
As earthly objects were seen to be like heaven, it is
appropriate that their prototypes be found in that earthly
state that was most like heaven— the Garden of Eden. As the
punctuation in line one had indicated a shift from reflection
to perception, § dash here marks a change from the considera
tion of Mature to the contemplation of human nature. Christ
is asked to "have, get" none of the objects already mentioned,
but specific qualities in Man himself. The turn from "spring"
to "innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy" has been brought
about by the preceding statements. The reference to Eden has
called to attention the factor of original sin by which Man
made both Mature and himself subject to change that will "cloud"
their original beauty. The allusion serves to identify Man
and Nature; and, as the aspect of youth has been seen in
91
spring, the corresponding time of Man’s life is now seen to
possess the vitality and joy of that season. As spring is "a
strain” of Eden, so a similar "strain” of his original state
exists in Man as the "innocent mind and Mayday in girl and
boy.w The natural objeets seemed to transcend the earthly,
and a part of Man responds to the thrush*s song that "does
so rinse and wring the ear."
But Man's "strain" of innocence can be contaminated
with "sinning." The "innoeent mind" will "cloud" with time
as will the sky that in spring seemed to bring heaven and
earth together, and the change that dulls the blue occurs
by reason of the same event that makes "girl and boy" lose
their innocence— original sin.^ Yet Man after the Fall was
not left without hope. The reference to Eden recalls not
only the punishment of sin but also the promise of a
Redeemer. The "earth's sweet being in the beginning" has
been irretrievably lost by Man. If the analogy between Man
and Nature were continued, the poet would have to conclude
that Man’s "strain" of innocence cannot be preserved either.
Pick, op> cit.. p. 68. "The contrast between nature
as symbolic of innocence and man's tendency to sin is the basis
’Spring."' But Nature is not contrasted to Man in this poem;
it is identified with him. The use of the terms "cloud . . .
with sinning” and "innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy"
make this apparent. Furthermore, if the contrast were made,
there would hardly be any way of explaining the transition
from "spring" to “Eden Garden" and to "innocent mind.”
92
But the associations of Eden are not forgotten, and, therefore,
he calls upon Christ to fulfill the mission foretold of Him—
to take to Himself, to have possession of— youthful innocence
and joy. Man, since the Fall, cannot by himself avoid sin.
He is made so that youthful purity will ' ’cloy" and 1 1 cloud
he can neither retain it nor continue to receive pleasure
from it. Christ alone can possess immutable youth, for He is
the "child1 1 of innocence— of a "maid"— and is untouched by
the effects of original sin which would make Him subject to
the alterations worked by time.
The "innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy" is
Christ’s "choice," because it is the most desirable object
that could be offered Him.l? 4s Man, alone of earthly
creatures, is conscious that his life should be dedicated
to God (for the poet speaks of the "innocent mind," and in
animate objects, having no minds, can be neither innocent
nor sinful) Man’s "strain" of innocence is more valuable
than Nature’s "strain" of b e a u t y .18 ike "fling" of the
17 Luke 18:16. "But Jesus called them unto him and said,
Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them nots for
of such is the Kingdom of God."
- l Q
House, op. cit.. p. 303* "The birds sing to him, the
thunder speaks of his terror, the lion is like his strength, the
sea is like his greatness, the honey like his sweetness • . .
they give him glory, but they do not know they do, they do not
know him, they never can, they are brute things that only
think of food or think of nothing .... But man can know God,
can mean to give him glorv."
“racing lambs*' was morally indifferent, but Man's "Mayday"
festivities may be either good or bad, innocent or culpable.
The perpetuation of human innocence is the more wonderful
because of the dangers to which the mind is exposed. Christ
has won this "prize" by the sacrifice of His own human nature
which, like Man's, was subject to time. That sacrifice ob
tained for Man the possibility of remission of sin by which
he is redeemed from the penalty originally imposed upon him.
But unless he . . receive the Kingdom of God as a little
child, he shall not enter therein."19 The likeness of youth
to Christ is emphasized by alliteration, for the "innocent
mind and Mayday" belong "most" to the "maid1s child."
The course of "Spring" proceeds from a general affirma
tion in which incomparable beauty is ascribed to spring, to
the substantiation of that statement; first by an enumeration
of sensory particulars and then by reflection upon its origin,
until the cause and justification of the opening assertion
has been discovered. Because the poem's initial evaluation—
"Nothing is so beautiful as spring"— can be only partially
supported by sensory evidence, a reflective questioning of
the nature of that beauty is required. The source of the
answer which follows, not only raises the problem of Man's
tendency to sin, but also reveals the possibility of its
!9 Mark 10:15
94
solution by Christ, and the resolution is achieved through the
discovery of the source and the purpose of the beauty of spring.
As ' ’things on the face of the earth were created for man's
sake,” he should use them to attain "the end for which he was
created.” By displaying itself as "a strain of the earth's
sweet being in the beginning/ In Eden garden,” spring recalls
to Man his own sinful nature and also the salvation offered
him by Christ. To understand the function of spring is to
perceive the manner in which Nature gives glory to God by
teaching Man His truths; it is, therefore, a perception of
the 1 inscape' of spring. The final statements refer to no
merely personal impression; they express the reality of the
nature of the season. The glorification of God is an ever
active power in Nature, but the benefit that Man derivesifrom
it is dependent upon his capacity for perceiving and using
natural objects to attain his proper end.
SPRING AND FALL:
to a young child
y / ^
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
£hJ as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds^of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
95
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.20
From the second thematic group the poem, ‘ ‘Spring and
Fall,” has been selected for analysis. This is a poem dealing
with a meeting between Hopkins, the gentle priest, and a sad
child. “Spring and Fall” differs, in one respect, from the
poem “Spring.” The speaker here directs his remarks to a
particular character. His feeling is aroused.by the young
child, and, as he speaks directly to her, the lyric possesses
a certain dramatic quality. The mode of utterance is deter
mined by the presence of Margaret; her sense of inexplicable
grief poses the problem, and her youth requires that the
answer be given in terms that a child can understand. Also
unlike “Spring,” the speaker in this poem undergoes no change
in knowledge; the thought expressed in the last two lines of
the lyric was understood by him from the beginning, and there
fore the progression is determined not by his own reasoning
and discoveries, but by his conception of his relation to the
girl whom he finds weeping. The causes for the poet's reti
cence in enunciating his thought must then be sought in the
kind of relationship existing between the young child and
himself, between “spring" (Margaret) and “fall” (the speaker).
20 Gardner, op. cit.. p. 94.
96
Because a person in the autumn of his life has already experi
enced Spring,*1 the poet is capable of understanding the
feelings of the child though his more extensive knowledge may
be unintelligible to her.
The sequence of kinds of statements made in the poem
reveals the poet's relation to Margaret. He first questions
the child about the source of her grief. The next five lines
contain statements about Margaret's future state, identifying
it with the poet's present condition in terms of emotional
reaction and then of knowledge; the remainder of the lyric is
composed of assertions of universal applicability. From this
point of view, therefore, the speaker deals with the child's
problem first as it differs from his own; he proceeds to show
that she will be like him in the future, and that even now
their conditions are fundamentally identical. But the fact
that the poet begins by drawing Margaret's attention to the
difference between the young and the mature, rather than to
the identity of human nature is indicative of his conception
of her. He deals first with the simple fact that she is
weeping to see the leaves fall in autumn. As he immediately
shows his cognizance of the feelings she will have in the
future, he characterizes himself as more experienced and more
knowing than she, and thereby indicates that he is adapting
his procedure of revelation to the more limited capacities of
his young listener. Although the poet's knowledge is complete
before the poem opens, the child’s weeping is the cause of his
emotion, and the sequence of his statements is determined by
the truth which he must reveal to her and also by his attitude
toward a child whose mind is unable to grasp abstract truths.
The speaker’s opening question quickly presents the
situation with which he is confronted. He speaks in an almost
patronizing manner— he obviously knows very well why Margaret
is "grieving,” and he exhibits an initial sympathy with the
girl. Once the poet has very concretely suggested the object
of her emotion, "Goldengrove unleaving," he begins apparently
to make light of it. She cares for mere "leaves" rather than
for "the things of man." The latter source of "grieving" is
identified vaguely in comparison with the explicit naming of
Margaret's declared object. But the connection between the
two is nonetheless clear; "leaves" are also "things"; their
essential identity is thus implied and is enforced by the
prosodic stress on "like." The true similarity of "leaves"
and "man" is further indicated by the words used in relation
to both; the poet calls Margaret's thoughts "fresh," and the
term is equally applicable to the "leaves" of the "Golden
grove" in spring. The child's thoughts are "fresh" rather
than profound; they "care for" the "leaves" rather than
"think of" them. Contemplation is not, then, a factor in
her grief.
Although the poet is obviously not affected by the
sight of "unleaving" as is the child, he does not necessarily
separate himself from her in terms of sorrow and indifference
but only in terms of the cause of “grieving.” The emotion is
evidently not unfamiliar to him, but his added years of ex
perience enable him to draw a comparison that she could not;
he sees that she “cares” for "leaves like the things of man."
The girl could not draw the analogy, because her "grieving"
seems to her a purely personal experience and one that she
cannot explain. Because the poet has called Margaret’s
thoughts "fresh" and because he has distinguished her childish
attentions from those directed to objects other than "leaves,"
he dismisses the seeming urgency of his first questions with
an emphatic "ah"— it does not matter so much. "Such sights"
trouble Margaret only because she is young; they are not in
themselves important for "as the heart grows older" it will
watch them and be unmoved. Time will make her impervious to
"such sights"; her "heart" will be "colder," will no longer
"care for" them. Even though she sees "worlds of wanwood"—
leaves already pale and large numbers of them rather than a
single "Goldengrove"; even though she sees them already lying
scattered upon the ground and not just "unleaving," she will
not so much as "spare a sigh." The poet is apparently trying
to alleviate her sorrow by attributing it to a temporary
cause— her youth.
99
Actually, however, he makes no claim that grief will
cease as "the heart grows older"; he merely asserts that it
will not be manifested for "such sights." The first four
couplets have thus dealt with emotion felt toward autumn in
two stages of life: youth and maturity. The first reaction
is admittedly "grieving"; the adult will not even "spare a
sigh." The intrusion of a single line rhyming with the last
couplet constitutes a prosodic indication of the shifting
direction of the lyric's development. While the speaker had
been encouraging Margaret, urging her that— after all— this
feeling will not last, he now informs her that even when
older she "will weep." In spite of the consolation she has
apparently been receiving, her grief will not cease simply
because it is no longer stirred by "such sights." The asser
tion is really the correlative to the one comparing the
coldness of the "older" heart to autumns the adult who does
not even "spare a sigh" for "leaves" will nevertheless grieve
for "the things of man." The speaker claims that Margaret
"will weep" when "older" and also that she will "know why."
In the future, when "spring" has passed and given way to
"fall," her position will be the same as the poet's is now.
Knowledge will come with tiine.2^
Both William Empson and I. A. Richards have considered
the problems raised by line nine and both find that the terms
"will weep" and "know why" are ambiguous. Empson interprets;
"will weep" may mean; 'insist upon weeping, now or later,' or
100
Childlike, Margaret has asked him to identify her
grief; to "name” the feeling that she relates, as if neces
sarily, to the "sight*1 of "Goldengrove unleaving.*1 The poet
has now shown her that the cause she assigns to her sorrow is
only temporary and accidental. Yet that grief is not simply
wilful and fortuitous; and child is right in feeling that her
sorrow has some deeper cause that she is unable to "name.**
The poet, who has passed "spring" himself, understands this
and knows that he cannot casually toss her problem aside; he
must admit that her"grieving" is justified. Her future weeping,
he tells her, will not be like that she feels now. In dis
tinction to "sights" that may or may not stir "grieving,"
"Sorrow’s springs are the same." The poet is now referring
’shall weep in the future.’ Know in either case may follow will
like weeu. ‘you insist upon knowing,* or 'you shall know,’ or
may means 'you already know why you weep,’ 'why you will weep,’
or ’why you insist upon weeping,' or thirdly, may be imperative,
'listen and I shall tell you why. . . . Seven Types of
Ambiguity (Londons Chatto and Windus, 1930), p. 187. The ob
servation of the ambiguities is just when the terms are con
sidered apart from their placement, but Empson does not explain
their presence in the poem so that no conclusions as to their
value may be drawn. According to his analysis, one cannot
determine whether the multiple meanings constitute a merit or
a defect.
Richards maintains that Hopkins’ accent on "will" is
indicative of his rejecting the sense of the future tense that
the word might carry in order to stress the sense of volition.
Practical Criticism (Hew York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1939),
p. 83• In opposition, however, to the previous assertion that
the older Margaret will not weep for "such sights," the claim
that she "will weep" for other reasons in the future deserves
emphasis.
101
to a universal truth and not merely to an individual instance.
Now that the "name” is seen to be unimportant, the verb takes
one of the stresses in this line. The present and the future,
which had constituted the distinguishing factors heretofore,
are now "no matter”; what had seemed to be a child’s fancy
does have a basis in reality and will not change ”as the heart
grows older.”
To claim that “sorrow” is an element constant through
out life is not to make the same claim for knowledge. Time
is an important factor; the difference between “spring and
fall” makes it impossible for the poet to explain fully to
/
the child the cause of her “grieving.” Intuitively Margaret
does have an intimation about the nature of her sorrow, though
she does not have any objective knowledge of it. While
neither her ’ ’mouth” nor her ’ ’mind” had ”expressed” it, been
able to formulate and communicate it logically, she has already
’ ’heard of” and ’ ’guessed” this truth. Margaret’s ’ ’fresh
thoughts” have not yet attuned to the expressive powers of the
’ ’mind,” but her young ’ ’heart” is touched indirectly by that
which will later be known directly. If the speaker has con
veyed the relation of this intuition to Margaret's feelings
by using the word "heart,” he has also suggested the source of
her emotion by naming the power of the "ghost”— a term signi
fying death to the child. The poet is not contradicting his
earlier assertion that the sight of "Goldengrove unleaving" is
U niversity of Southern California Library
102
not important; it is not the true cause of Margaret's grief,
but only a sign that stands for the real source, and it may,
therefore, be dispensed with without relieving the heart of
its sadness. What "heart heard of, ghost guessed" is nothing
tangible, but its parallel may be found in sensible "sights."
The child can express only the particular and the personal;
she can "care," but not "know." Yet the knowledge of "fall"
is based upon the intuitions of "spring," because that which
is later expressed is the same as that which the child now
feels. Intuitively, Margaret has identified herself with
the "Goldengrove," and her feeling is justified.
Because intuition precedes logical formulation, it
would be useless for the poet to state the facts more specifi
cally; the child cannot understand the ending of life except
in terms of "leaves." Therefore, when he does tell her why
she weeps, he does not present her with an abstract statement.
The two stresses in the next line falling on "It" and on "man"
help to emphasize the fact that death is inevitable. While
"blight" is perceived in "leaves" by the girl, the term is
equally applicable to "man." The indefinite "it is" of the
last two lines and the colorless prepositions that end each
half of the final couplet reveal the poet's inability to
express that which Margaret cannot comprehend. The antecedent
of "it" like the reference of "the things of man" is absent
from the poem, because the child's mind is unable to grasp
the concept of death. She cannot be told why she is ’ ’grieving”
the poet may merely suggest to her what she has already ”heard
of,” because what she wants to know cannot be ’ ’expressed”; it
must be experienced.
Two levels of understanding are involved in the lyric,
those of ’ ’spring and fall.” Logically, a more simple and
direct statement than is ever achieved in the poem would be
adequate. But because of Margaret’s limited understanding, a
logical argument is not possible. Instead the poet proceeds
in his explanation by reference to her particular situation.
In spite of his desire to comfort her, he is constrained by
the fact (of death) which she will one day encounter and which
she has already intuitively perceived. Beeause the lyric
depends on basic and universal truths, because Margaret's
feeling is not merely personal; no casual reference to the
triviality of her ’ ’grieving” will satisfy the child; her
’ ’heart” has already ’ ’heard” and her ’ ’ghost guessed.”
Two basic assumptions about human nature are main
tained in the lyric; they are implied throughout, and they
are explicitly stated in the twelfth and thirteenth lines.
A child cannot apprehend the concept of death, yet both the
child and the adult grieve for the fact of their mortality.
The conception of the limitations of youth is fundamental
to the structure of the poem; that of the necessity of sorrow
is also fundamental to Christian theology. Without the
104
presence of Margaret, the poet’s answer could have been stated
directly. In the lyric the thought of mortality accounts for
a young girl's "grieving/ Over Goldengrove unleaving." The
poet's procedure and his expression are appropriate both to
Margaret’s limited capacity for understanding and to her
intuitive sense of the truth that cannot be abstractly formu
lated. The ideas so clearly pronounced by the theologians are
known to the speaker from the beginning; they are only implic
itly revealed to the child. From her contact with the poet
she learns two things! that she cannot fully understand the
cause of her grief now and that her feeling cannot and will
not be suppressed.
In relation to the lyric structure, the terms of the
poet's utterance are unalterable. The "leaves" and "man"
imagery should be judged by its function which is integral to
the establishment of the relation between the characters and
to the explanation of their feelings. The figure is common
in literature from Biblical times to the present, and Hopkins
himself used it elsewhere.22 The imagery of "spring and fall"
is utilized in several ways. The "Goldengrove unleaving"
provides a concrete occasion for Margaret's grief which would
not have been so aroused by a mere statement of fact. The
poet can then use specific terms, those applicable to "leaves,"
22 gee Chap. II, p. 29.
105
in describing what is generally true of "man." The analogy is
illuminating because ’ ’leaves*1 are "like the things of man."
The poet need never name "death"— the antecedent of his
several vague references— because mortality is the one factor
common to "leaves" and "man" as they are here described. The
passage of "Goldengrove" to "unleaving" to "wanwood" is the
same "blight" as that to which Man is subject. The metaphor,
which might be only decorative in an inferior poem, is
essential for the poet's dealings with the grief of a "young
child." The girl's feeling about autumn is significant
because she identifies the phenomenon with herself; that
identity is true, the poet shows her, not only in appearance,
but in reality. The fact that this apprehension does not
promote rejoicing in no way implies the diminution of God's
glory— for which Hopkins claimed all poems should be written—
but rather heightens it by asserting Man’s inability to over
come the sorrow that is a consequence of his fallen, mortal
nature. To speak otherwise would be to assert that Man is
not inferior to his Creator. Grief is to be used by Man to
teach him humility.
POEM 65
Ho worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, world-sorrow; on an age-old anvil wince and sing—
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'Ho ling
ering.’ Let me be fell: force I must be brief.*
106
0 the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne'er hung there. Hor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. HereJ creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.23
Although comparatively few of Hopkins' poems have been
submitted to complete and detailed critical analysis, the
absence of such a study on this particular sonnet which has
been selected to represent the third theme is especially
striking. The lyric, "'Ho worst, there is none. Pitched past
pitch of grief,'" is certainly one of the most complex, and
therefore one of the most difficult of all Hopkins' poems.
There is in it no explicit rejoicing in the love of God or
praise of Him. The main problem raised in relation to the
poem is strictly personal; the poet cried out in the terrible
agony of his desolation.
Although it would be practically impossible to uncover
all the sources of "Ho worst . . ." it is possible to cite at
least some references which throw light on the ideas expressed
in the poem. That the work has religious connotation, is
indicated by his cry to "comforter" and to "Mary, mother of
us," for although no consolation is afforded by these, the
speaker shows his recognition of their potential powers to
resolve his "grief." The fact that none of the serene qual
ities of religious emotion are depicted in the sonnet does
23 Gardner, op. cit., pp. 106-107.
10?
not prove that it represents feelings contrary to faith. In
fact Hopkins noted that a feeling of untroubled security may
be spiritually worse than suffering; recognition by Man of
his own insufficiency is necessary to salvation. He believed
that many heretics love their heresy better than virtue and
the light of truth. Further evidence that this frame of mind
is not unique, but is compatible with the character of the
Catholic religion, may be found in standard authors read by
Hopkins. The periods of desolation described by these writers
are not designated as consequences of doubt.24 Hopkins* poem
ends before the **calm returns,1 1 but this is.no sign that the
grief described is different from the kind God has permitted.
St. Ignatius shows, that, although Man can find no succor for
his distress at these times, he need not doubt God's power
even while he is unable to secure its
I call desolation all that is contrary to what is set
down in the third rule (Spiritual Consolation), as dark
ness and disquiet of soul, in attraction toward law and
earthly objects, the disquiet of various agitations and
temptations.
Let him who is in desolation consider how our Lord, to
try him has left him to his natural powers that he may re
sist the various agitations and temptations of the enemy;
and to do so is always in his power, by the assistance of
God . . . though he may not clearly perceive it.25
24 Pick, op. cit., p. 133.
25 Ibid.. pp. 133-135.
•'No worst there is none” does not represent a static
condition of mind such as might be described in a purely ex
pository statement of the nature of spiritual desolation.
Because it is a lyric, a particular emotional activity is
expressed which gives the poem a unity unlike that of an
argument. The poem begins with a statement of tension which
implies a desire for resolution. But instead of proceeding
toward the discovery of comfort, the poet's search for relief
is met by a succession of failures. The nature of his grief
is not only the worst kind to be experienced by Man; it will
become more violent. Knowing that a source of comfort exists,
he calls on Christ and on Mary, but neither is to be found.
Claiming that this sorrow is universal, the common lot of men
in all the world, in all time, cannot account for the prolongs-:
tion of the suffering that resulted from torment of only brief
duration. Actually, his own weakness, his inability to imitate
the patience of Christ, is the cause of his grief. Being
deprived of Christ's comfort, the poet concludes by submitting
to mortal limitations. The sonnet ends when he is convinced
that lacking God's grace, Man can find cause for sorrow, but
not for consolation.
The first statement of the poem is a generalized evalu
ation; its emotional significance is asserted in the first
clause of the next sentence which refers the estimate to
"grief." The poet's condition is one of ultimate despondency,
for he is- ’ ’ Pitched past pitch of grief”; his state is beyond
that level which can be described in known terms. "Pitched,”
used here both as a descriptive adjective and a passive form
of the verb, indicates the poet's situation also by implying
physical sensation by one who has been hurled to a distance.
By means of this sensory description, "grief,” though specifi
cally a human emotion, is designated as a physical experience.
This mode of utterance serves the purpose of removing the
feeling from the human level; the poet claims he has plunged
even further than "grief” can "pitch.” Alliteration and mono
syllabic words force a ponderous recitation appropriate to the
burden of emotion. The person thus moved experiences "pangs"
of pain, and as he was forcibly "Pitched," "pangs wring" him
while he seems incapable of retaliation. His brief, but sharp
pains are "schooled" by earlier "pangs" and they grow "wilder."
He has claimed that there was "No worst” state than the one he
is experiencing, yet he now asserts he will experience a worse
degree of torment; the effect is cumulative, although the
nature of the pain is unchanged.
Because he has described his own lack of power to regain
the position from which he has been "Pitched," the speaker has
reason to plead for help, and he calls on the persons whose
existence and powers he acknowledges. Christ is called
"Comforter," the term here serving to indicate His office in
relation to suffering Man. The poet now wishes to elicit
succor from Christ. The title is also indicative of the needs
of Man who requires such ”comfort*1 from his “grief" and is,
therefore, an implicit reflection on the weakness of human
nature. The repetition of “where” and of “Comforter • . .
comforting” indicates the urgency of the speaker’s plea and
stand in contrast to the earlier reiteration of ’ ’pitch” and
“pangs.” The speaker calls on Mary, “mother of us,” in the
expectation that he may again be restored to a position
befitting one of her sons. In this condition where he has
now been "Pitehed," neither Christ nor Mary can be found,
and the poet is forced to question “desperately” where their
help is, for, from his position, he sees no sign of their
powers. His calling on them is, nevertheless, an indication
that he entertains no doubt of their existence of their
abilities; he claims only that he is unable to find them.
“Pitched" to this distance, the speaker’s “cries”
heave, rise, and fall. Because he is deserted by the divine
powers, his “cries” have the characteristics of Man's
animal nature; they are “herds-lon^ and they “huddle in a
main, a chief/ Woe, world-sorrow.” As if in fear, the
speaker eowers under the claim that his grief is universal
rather than merely personal. The alliteration of “heave • • •
herd . . . huddle” enforces a concentration on the words
referring to physical and animal natures and activities.
Further the poet's “cries” seem to be hammered upon an “age-
old anvil,'*2^ As his "pangs” were "schooled,” so his "cries”
are disciplined, and they wince from the impact. The fact
that they sing does not make them melodious; they resemble
the shrill ring of metal that is being shaped on a block. As
he had claimed his participation in a "world-sorrow," the
speaker now asserts that the "anvil” is "age-old”; he is not
the first to cringe under this discipline. Men have always
done so.
Yet even while the speaker notes his inability to cope
with pain and endeavors to show he is not the first to flinch
upon the "anvil,” he realizes that, although his torments
seem prolonged, his "cries" eventually "lull, then leave off."
But what at first seems to be the approach of "comfort” proves
no consolation at all; the poet cannot claim that he has found
Christ or Mary, nor does he say that he is now left in peace.
"Fury,” personified because of its active power over passive
Man, "had shrieked 'Wo lingering!'" But its capacities are
limited for it has claimed fierceness in retaliation for
necessary brevity. "Fury's" remark constitutes a comment on
the poet's description of his "grief" which has, as a matter
of fact, been "lingering." His pain is caused by brief "pangs,
but his "cries heave," "huddle," "wince and sing," and finally
"lull, then leave off." The shortness of "Fury's" duration
26 Gardner, op. cit.. stanza 10, p. 58.
112
cannot be attributed to the care of Christ or Mary, for their
grace has been withdrawn; nor can Man be thought capable of
repulsing his torment, because his reaction has been just
shown to be uncontrolled and in excess of its cause. Further
inquiry is required before an explanation of f,force I must be
brief” can be asserted; the poem will be incomplete until an
answer is found.
In order to account for the nature of his “grief,"
the poet must consider more than his personal experience.
Thus, the first statement in the sestet refers to the nature
of "the mind” rather than to any particular occasion. ”The
mind,” the speaker says, ”has mountains”; it can achieve great
heights, but these heights are dangerous. ”Cliffs of fall”
from which many may be ‘ ’Pitched.” The apparent exaltation
of the first clause is immediately modified. The dualism has
already been implied by the delineation of Man in the octet
where he was presented as an ambiguous creature; a son of
Mary, he may also be redueed to the status of an irrational,
passive sufferer who requires aid of a ’ ’Comforter.” The two
aspects of ’ ’the mind” are inseparable; implicit in the achieve
ment is danger of the “fall" that makes these ’ ’mountains . . .
frightful.” They are “sheer” also, so that the “fall” cannot
be mitigated, the descent must be complete and abrupt. The
cause of Man's happiness, his mental elevation is therefore
identical with the cause of “grief.” The hopelessness of the
situation is obvious with the admission that the ''cliffs of
fall" are "no-man-fathomed." The power of two persons— Christ
and Mary~has been set above that of Man, but, though they may
"fathom" this, they are not to be found. By himself Man can
not retain his position on these heights securely, but can
only hang there; yet not all men even attempt to achieve them.
Only those who do not dare the dangers can scorn the "cliffs
of fall," can "Hold them cheap." The price of the ascent is
the intensified awareness of the nature of the "fall"; the
distance from that state which can, however precariously, be
achieved by the "mind." Because the depths are "Frightful,
sheer, no-man-fathomed," the heights cannot be regained by
the man who is "Pitched" from them. His lack of knowledge
keeps him from raising himself from this "pitch"; "comforting"
lies with Christ and Mary, and they are out of reach. That
"the mind" is a source of weakness rather than strength makes
human endeavor impossible as a solution to the poet's "grief."
He cannot "deal with" the "steep" steadily and without fear
of being "Pitched" from it, and the "deep" is "no-man-fathomed"
too profound for his comprehension.
TJnable to secure aid that would enable him to realize
his potentialities as the son of Mary, the speaker retreats
under the cover of his limitations; his "small/ Durance."
He may call on neither Christ nor Mary, but can only turn on
himself as a mere "Wretch" who, instead of being raised from
114
this "pitch" can only "creep . . . under a comfort." This is
far different from "your comforting" and "your relief"; it
will just have to "serve" in a "whirlwind"— a storm that is
both "fell and brief." But to Man, the effect of the tempest
is prolonged, and torment "lingers^* because the "Comforter"
upon whom he calls returns no answer. Man cringes from this
•"Fury" that manifests itself as "whirlwind" by the same kind
of retreat already noted when his "cries" huddled "in a main,
a chief/ Woe." His "comfort," the term is contemptuous now,
lies in his taking refuge in his "small/ Durance" which, he
may plead, refers to his limited length of life. Lacking
Christ’s help, the "Wretch" must fall back on the very thing
Christ conquered— death. Unlike the "just man" of "As king
fishers catch fire,’ l 23;he writer represents human nature at
its furthest remove from Christ who bore suffering patiently
to win eternal life. The "Wretch's" durance is "small,"
because by failing to endure torment, he must accept mortality.
With such a creature "Fury" must be "brief"; Man’s lack of
patience makes him succumb quickly.
The speaker now recognizes himself as the "Wretch"
whose only "comfort" lies in his acting in accordance with his
animal nature. That he knows this to be his only refuge is
indicated by the phrasing. He cannot raise himself to the
27 Ibid.. p. 95.
115
heights possible to his ‘ ’mind,*1 but can only “creep.” This
“comfort,” unlike that vouchsafed to a son of Mary, is common
to “all life,” animal as well as human. It is a result of
merely mortal needs; fitted to Man's "small/ Durance,” both
his endurance and his duration. So slight is Man's patience,
that even "death” is too slow in coming to his aid, and
"sleep” has been provided to kill "each day" with oblivion.
The final line of monosyllables with its parallel clauses and
alliteration serves to enforce the meaning of inevitability.
The two forms of "comfort”— the latter even more degrading
than the former— both involve "death"; no variation is possible
for the "Wretch” who cannot, without divine help, overcome
his mortal limitations. His "cries" do not "leave off" because
he has found any real solace, but because he has given in to
"Fury." The speaker ends where he started; "Pitched past
pitch of grief." But his sorrow is now more intense because
he has become aware of the utter hopelessness of his situation
in the absence of grace.
The sonnet is complete, then, when the poet discovers
the helplessness of Man. The problem of recognition is
brought to his attention when "Pitched past pitch of grief,"
he seeks comfort. But he fails in his independent efforts to
find relief, and the only meager "comfort" afforded him is
one he makes no effort to attain— "death" or "sleep"— which
is. provided for by the nature of all living things. Rather
116
than plead for Christ's succor or endeavor to act independently,
the speaker submits to mortality. The weakness of Man as
represented in the poem is the weakness of a "Wretch," a
creature from whom God's grace .has been withdrawn. With grace
it is possible for Man to be lifted to a higher "pitch," but
in the period of desolation, grace— access to these higher
levels— is denied. Four years before Hopkins composed "Ho
worst, there is none," he wrote in his Comment on the Spiritual
Exercises?
God can choose countless points in the strain . . . where
the creature has consented, does consent, to God's
will. . . • But these may be away, may be very far away,
from the actual pitch at any given moment existing. It
is into that possible world that God for the moment moves
his creature out of this one or it is from that possible
world that he brings his creature into this, shewing it
to itself gracious and consenting5 nay more, clothing its
old self for the moment with a gracious and consenting
self. This shift is grace. . . . any action, activity,
on God's part by which, in creating or after creating, he
carries the creature to or towards the end of its
being. . . .2”
The sonnet ends with the recognition of Man's dependence on
God's grace. It does not resolve the speaker's problem by
relieving him of his sorrow, but it does complete his investi
gation of that sorrow by revealing his inability to cope with
it independently.
should be produced for one purpose only: to contribute to tin
In Hopkins' view, poems, like any other works of Man
28 House, op. cit.. p. 332.
117
greater glory of God. That the sonnet fulfills this qualifi
cation is not as readily discernible as in the ease of some
of his other works. This does not mean that the poem is
inconsistent with his theory; God’s glory may be praised in
many ways, and the delineation of the weakness of Man, who
has been cut off from His grace, is not the least of them.
The poem progresses through a realization of Man’s helpless
ness, but it simultaneously accords all power for relief for
his condition to God. As long as Man is unable to find his
’ •Comforter,” he remains a ’ ’Wretch.” The poem is a tribute
to God by its implication of the great power He can assert
in order to lift Man above this ’ ’pitch of grief.” The
significance of grace is amplified by indicating the depth
to which Man is ’ ’Pitched” without it. The ending of the
sonnet is consistent with this conception. Lacking divine
aid, the poet could have resolved his grief only by finding
human powers sufficient to conquer it. But such a solution
would be contrary to Christian thought which postulates the
inherent weakness of Man. Within the poem, the characteriza
tion of Man in the octet makes that solution inconsistent.
In terms both of Christianity and of the sonnet, it is the
man who fully admits his dependence, who realizes that he is
a son of God. Here the speaker concludes that no human remedy
is available. His sorrow is checked only by his ’ ’small/ Dur
ance,” by his inevitable ’ ’death” and ’ ’sleep”; sorrow is brief
1 1 8
because it conquers Man so quickly. The sonnet, as a whole,
is a confession of Man's weakness; a tribute to God's strength,
since Man was created in order to praise God, and other things
on earth were created to aid him in the prosecution of this
end.29
The analysis of "Spring," "Spring and Fall," and "No
worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief" should
indicate some of the methods utilized by Hopkins in creating
poetry and should facilitate an inquiry into the entire body
of poetry written between 1875 and 1889. The analysis should
also reveal something of the stint the reader faces if he is
to make his way through the maze of inversions, elliptical
clauses, coined expressions, and the terse, staccato language
which are to be found in all of Hopkins' poetry. One cannot
relax, or read Hopkins at a leisurely pace; he must be read
intensely with concentration and imagination. The mind must
attend if the reader is to apprehend the true beauty of
Hopkins' verse.
29 House, oj). cit., p. 416. "Ho single sentence better
explains the motives and directions of Hopkins' life than 'Man
was created to serve.' He believed it as wholly as a man can
believe anything."
CHAPTER V
A SURVEY OF HOPKINS’ MATURE POETRY
From the preceding analyses, it should be clear that
Hopkins did not look on the creation of poetry as an easy
task. Poetry for him was difficult exercise, not a leisurely
pastime. He asked a great deal of his imagination, his in
tellect, and his energy; possibly his theories were too
difficult, for they imposed a tension on his creative faculty.
This, no doubt, is a partial explanation for his small output.
Hopkins was not a patient craftsman, nor an artist who slowly
and meticulously added a word or subtracted a phrase. He
wrote ’ ’hot on the anvil.1 ’!
His poetic theory, though simple and direct, was
difficult to achieve, and it held dangers for the poet. It
is the virtue of ’inseape’ to be distinctive, but it is the
vice of distinctiveness to be queer. Hopkins realized this,
but he felt that his singularity was inevitable. He believed
that once the reader had made his way through the ’ ’snares,”
he would have no more trouble with the poems. Obscurity was
another flaw that imperiled the success of his poems. Hopkins
would not admit to his friends Bridges and Dixon that their
charges of obscurity were valid. He was convinced that they
Abbott, Letters, p. 263.
120
had failed to understand him, and in reply to Bridges* eharge
of obscurity he wrote:
Plainly if it is possible to express a subtle and recondite
thought on a subtle and recondite subject in a subtle and
recondite way and with great felicity and perfection, in
the end, something -must be sacrificed, with so trying a
task, in the process, and this may be the being at once,
nay perhaps even the being without explanation at all,
intelligible,2
In the foregoing analyses, these elements of lyric
poetry have been considered: the emotion of the speaker, his
thought, the object to which his attention is directed, and
the progression of his emotion and thought in relation to
that object. These terms, while not identical with Hopkins’,
may be used as consistent with the factors involved in his
conception of the experience of 'inscape.1 Such an event
involves the object perceived, an observer capable of dis
cerning its significance, and the progression of the insight
itself. In a lyric, the speaker, or the observer, exists in
conjunction with the feelings and beliefs he expresses in the
poem. The means by which the experience is represented are
inseparable from these elements in any finished product.
In lyrics like "The Wreck of the Deutschland,” the
poet treats an occurrence humanly conceived as tragic and
reveals not only his feeling of grief, but also his belief
in the omnipotence of God. His problem is one of justification
^ Ibid., pp. 265-266.
121
and evaluation; the alleviation of his sorrow is the result of
a shift in his principle of judgment from human to divine
/
standards. After "The Wreck of the Deutschland" Hopkins
completed only one other poem in which the object of the
speaker's attention is an event humanly conceived as unjust.
Like the earlier work, "The Loss of the Eurydice" deals with
a shipwreck, a seemingly accidental and pitiful disaster.
The poet's attitude— at once acknowledging and challenging
God's power is indicated in the first line: "The Eurydice—
it concerned thee, 0 Lord." Once he has numbered not the
persons but the "souls" on board, the speaker's reference to
their state as "some asleep, unawakened, all unwarned" may
refer not only to the physical, but also to.the spiritual
state of the passengers. The necessity for God's concern and
the cause for the intensity of the poet's feeling is explained
in the next two stanzas which draw attention to the precious
nature of the ship's freight— "lads and men." Appearances,
the speaker notes, are deceiving; the fact that he questions
the sudden nature of the storm indicates that he has not yet
discerned reality. The establishment of the poet's attitude
is followed, as in "The Wreck of the Deutschland," by passages
of narration which are not important for their intrinsic
interest, but which are utilized to point up conclusions
about human behavior in times of crises. Although the captain
is brave and self-denying, even one who is "time's something
server,*' he will act with righteousness when his only alter
natives are absolute good and absolute evil. One boy is saved
accidentally by means of a Lifeboat; necessarily by "God's
will." But those whose bodies are dead and "will not waken"
remind the poet that when the ship was sinking its three
hundred souls were "all unwarned." The souls as well as the
bodies slumber, and the latter condition is found to be not
limited to the seamen; it is true also for the speaker's
"Fast foundering own generation." Like the "Eurydiee,"
England once had a treasure of souls that was safe, was "at
home . . . to his truth and grace." The grief felt for the
dead is justified, for they were not familiar with that
"truth and grace"; their souls were "sunk in seeming" because
they had not perceived reality. There is no character here
like the nun on the Deutschland, and, therefore, no rejoicing
in the recognition of one who has submitted to God's will.
But the poem is nonetheless a eulogy of God's mastery and
mercy, for Christ is designated as both "lord of thunder"
and as "Hero that savest."3 When mercy is seen to be
manifested in— not contradicted by— mastery, and the bereaved
pray that their pleas may have been "heard" and "granted,"
the significance of the foundering of the "Eurydice" has
been perceived.
3 Pick, 0£. cit., p. 85. Pick notes, in this connection,
a passage in one of Hopkins' sermons of 1879, in which he
identifies Christ as all the world's hero.
123
Hopkins never completed another poem of this type but,
in 1879— a year after the composition of MThe Loss of the
Eurydice"— he began two works of this kind. He wrote to
Dixon: "I am thinking of a tragedy on St. Winefred*s Martyrdom
and have done a little and of another on Margaret Glitheroe,
who suffered pressing to death at York on Ouse Bridge, Lady
Day, 1586 (I think): her history is terrible and heartrending."4
It is notable that both projects were planned as dramas, though
only the former fragment was actually composed in that form.
The two finished products in this group deal with shipwrecks
in which the event is brought about through God's will by
the forces of nature. In the remaining fragments, the agent
of the tragedy is a human being. Caradoe, in the first ease,
and the Protestants of York, in the second, represent the
faulty standards of human judgment in contrast to the enlight
enment expressed by the respective heroines. But, while
Hopkins kept the dramatic plan for "St. Winefred," he
eventually attempted to drop it for his poem on Margaret
Clitheroe. The nature of his materials may have guided him
in making this choice. In the former work, the resolution
of the conflict was made clear by action: Winefred rises
from the dead;*her fountain breaks out. This could be con
veyed by dramatic portrayal. But no such miraculous events
4 Abbott, Correspondence, p. 32.
124
followed upon the death of Margaret Clitheroe. Although ’ ’She
told His name times-over three;/ I suffer this she said for
Thee,” no objective proof of the justness of her motives is
available. Only the poet’s statement of values can contradict
those of all the other characters, and Hopkins’ problem here
is the same as that he encountered in the two shipwreck poems.
As in the earlier works, the speaker is the sole witness of
the reality; his interpretation and evaluation are necessary
to indicate the significance of the event.
The majority of the poems with Nature as their subject
were composed between 1875 and 1878. This was the period of
immediate preparation for the priesthood, and Hopkins was
extremely happy. Country sights always stirred him deeply^
as he remarked to Bridges,5 and he found Wales delightful.
His study of Seotus deepened his love and admiration for the
* inscapes' of Nature. Released at long last from his self-
imposed poetic silence, Hopkins turned to the subjects which
brought him so much happiness. In these poems the poet takes
delight in his perception of sensory objects, but his -
thoughts are gradually directed toward the religious signi
ficance of the objects viewed. God is discovered in every
aspect of Nature.
5 Abbott, Letters, p. 136.
In the poem "The Starlight Night," a progression
similar to that of "Spring" can be discerned. Appearance and
reality are contrasted: the objects viewed, though beautiful
in themselves, are found to be more beautiful when it is
discovered they tell about God. To the observer, the stars
appear initially as "fire-folk" who dwell in "bright boroughs.
He sees the light of the skies touch and beautify objects on
the earth, and he urges an imaginary audience to "Look at the
starsJ" But at the end of the octet, he checks himself. The
loveliness of the vision is, after all, granted only to the
fortunate ones; "it is all a purchase, all is a prize." Yet
the means are accessible to all. The second exhortation is
not merely an admonition to observe, but to act— to "Buy"
this beauty by means of "Prayer, patience, alms, vows." When
he looks again, the beauty of the night is increased, for he
has learned to use things on the earth. They seem lovelier
in appearance with a "May-mess, like on orchard boughs" and
"March-bloom, like on mealed-with-yellow sallows." But they
also have a deeper significance: they "are indeed the barn"
where Christ was born; this is no mere "farmyard" to which
the poet, like the Magi, has been led by following the light
of the stars. The development of the octet is paralleled
by the last part of the sonnet as the poet views first the
skies and then follows the light they shed upon the earth;
but he now is delighted by more than sensible impressions;
126
his delight in sensible objects is not obliterated; it is
given greater significance, because he perceives God.
In the poem "Hurrahing in Harvest," the development of
the poem is once more dependent on the increased sensitivity
of the observer. The progression is immediately indicated
by the contrast between the two halves of the octet, each of
which ends in a rhetorical question. The first refers to
sights observed: "has wilder, wilful-wavier/ Meal-drift
moulded ever and melted across skies"; the latter section is
more thoughtful: "what looks, what lips yet gave you a/
Rapturous love's greeting of realer, of rounder replies?"
The change is explicable in terms of another difference within
the octet. The first four lines are descriptive of the effects
of beauty when "Summer ends"; no particular observer is
designated. But the next lines attribute a particular motive
to the speaker: "I lift up heart, eyes,/ Down all that glory
*
in the heavens to glean pur Saviour." Until this qualifica
tion has been made, insight is impossible as is indicated in
the sestet: "these things were here and but the beholder/
Wanting." 'Inscape* is present everywhere, but not all persons
are capable of perceiving it. When 'inscape' is felt, "the
azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder."
"Pied Beauty" is, perhaps, the most obvious example,
of Hopkins' lyric beginning with a direct religious assertion
toward which one undisturbed emotion is expressed and then
intensified by the accumulation of evidence. God is to be
praised for “dappled things”; for all objects that appear to
the senses as varied, ’ ’fickle, freckled,” and the speaker
cites particular examples from Hature and from the works of
Man. But this pied beauty is inexplicable; “who knows how”
it came into being? Only its Creator knows, and Bis actions
appear to Man to be as antithetical as the objects He creates
his fathering forth is "swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle,
dim.” Yet the Creator Himself, who gives beautiful things
their perceivable 'inscape,' is “past change.” God is to be
most praised for His production of objects so unlike Himself.
The structure of "The May Magnificat" is essentially the
same as that of “Pied Beauty," for even the first quatrain
notes that Mary's feasts do “follow reason,/ Dated due to
season.” The remainder of the lyric shows the rightness of
May's being "Mary's month" and thereby justified the speaker'
content with the placement of the “Lady Day.” The poet finds
great joy in observing the growing world, and the lines
abound with sensuous images which show how the senses can be
utilized to praise Mary.
In the poem, "The Windhover,” Hopkins compares the
bird to a chevalier; but it is far more accurate to say that
the hawk in flight is a chevalier. This is indicated in the
sestet when the poet speaks to the bird and says: "And the
fire that breaks from thee then, a billion/ Times told
128
lovelier, more dangerous, 0 my chevalier!“ The fact is later
confirmed, for the bird "rides'1 the air and is "drawn," or
carried by "the dapple-dawn." Furthermore, the "chevalier"
is of royal blood; he is “daylight's dauphin." “The fire
that breaks from thee" follows the bidding of the bird to
fly; this figure calls up the picture of a galloping horse
striking sparks from its hoofs. The bird wheels and goes
“forth on swing," like a “chevalier" mounting his horse and
galloping away. The threading of this “dauphin" image into
the poet's observation of the bird's flight gives the sonnet
its beauty.
The conflicting emotions represented in “Duns Scotus's
Oxford" are described in terms of the scene observed by the
poet. A discrepancy is found within the factors viewed by
the observer, who is charmed by the beauties of Oxford but
disturbed by the changes wrought there by time, for this is
the place that “country and town did/ Once encounter in,"
but now “thou hast confounded/ Rural rural keeping." The
speaker turns, therefore, from temporal appearances to
Scotus who once “lived" here and who still "sways my spirits
to peace," because he is "Of realty the rarest-veined un-
raveller." It was the insight of Scotus that led St. Francis
toward the apprehension of the truth about the Blessed
Virgin; it is his insight that leads the speaker to "peace"
where before he had seen only conflict. Here again, insight
is derived not from a view of beauty, but from a feeling of
disturbance at its absence. The experience is valuable
because it turns the poet's attention from appearances that
are discomforting to the contemplation of "reality" that
brings "peace."
Like "Duns Seotus's Oxford," "Binsey Poplars" was
written about the country around Oxford. The poem contains
descriptions of the beauty of Nature, but the exuberance of
the earlier works is replaced by a note of disappointment.
The poet grieves over the destructiveness of Man. The speaker
calls the aspens "dear"; the felled trees were precious to
him. The shadows of the trees that "swam or sank/ On meadow
and river and wind-wandering/ weed-winding bank" are no
longer to be seen because thoughtless men do not know what
they do when they "delve or hew"; unwittingly they have
destroyed the "sweet especial scene,/ Rural scene." The
'inscape' of the trees has been forever destroyed. In his
journal Hopkins wrote, "the ashtree growing in the corner of
the garden was felled. . . . I wished to die and not to see
the inscapes of the world destroyed anymore."6 A plea that
all sources of 'inscape' may remain in the world is uttered
in "Inversnaid." Implicit in the particularized description
is the feeling that"wildness and wet" are essential to the
^ House, op. cit.. p. 174.
130
earth's beauty, a thought which becomes explicit in the last
stanza: "What would the world be, once bereft/ Of wet and of
wilderness?" Therefore: "Let them be left." Ill aspects of
the earth are potential sources of insight; God has provided
them for Man's use.
To the poet who holds in mind the concept of 'inscape,'
observations about Mature may serve directly by leading Man's
thought to God— as in "Spring"— or indirectly by permitting
him to judge Man in relation to Mature— as in the sonnet "'4s
kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame.'" In the
latter case, two kinds of conclusions may be reached, depending
on whether it is the*^ust man" who is considered or the man
who lacks grace. The latter is the object of three poems.
In "The Sea and the Skylark," sounds which are "too old to
end" are contrasted to Man who has changed, is "frail," and
has "lost that cheer and charm of earth's past prime." The
natural objects cited are not accidentally selected, for their
qualities of perpetuity are the factors that lead-the poet to
seek, and find wanting, a like purity in Man. These sights and
sounds are such that the observer can learn from them.7 The
poet's sorrow for Man's condition is intensified both by its
7 Abbott, Letters, p. 297. "But 'so we say' is just
what I have to say and want to say. . . . I mean 'this is what
we commonly say, but we are wrong.'" Ibid.. p. 164. The images
too are essential. "The skein and coil are the lark's song,
which from his height gives the impression (not to me only) of
something falling to the earth. ..."
contrast with this feeling of admiration for Hature and by his
belief that Man is rightly ‘ ’life's pride and cared-for crown.”
The idea is stated, not for its own sake, but as a means of
accounting for the sorrow represented in the lyric.
The disparity between Man and lature is again noted in "In
the Yalley of the Elwy," "where all were good/ To me, God
knows, deserving no such thing." Here a resolution is obtained
when the speaker pleads that God may "Complete thy creature
dear 0 where it fails." The theme of Man as "life’s pride" is
reiterated, but this alone cannot make the sonnet similar to
"The Sea and the Skylark." The poems are alike because in
each the poet takes materials provided by Hature and uses them
to gain insight into the weakness of Man and into the source of
his potential strength. God is "mighty a master" because He
demands that Man correspond to the goodness so freely offered
him, but God is also "a father and fond"; a "lover of souls"
who may sway "considerate scales" and, by His grace, "complete"
His creature, help him to correspond. The poet’s recognition
of the need for correspondence is sufficient evidence that he
has perceived the 'inscape' of the experience. In "Bibblesdale,
the speaker contrasts the "sweet landscape" to Man who would
"thriftless reave both our rich round world bare/ And none
reck of world after." The development is similar to that in
the last two lyrics. The significance of earth's appearance
is found when the condition of Man, the "heir" of God, who is
132
yet bound "To his own selfbent," is recognized. In the poem
"God's Grandeur" the speaker recognizes an obstacle that seems
to contradict the opening statement that "The world is charged
with the grandeur of God." Yet, though "men then now not reek
smell," the 'inscapes' of the world still exist, beeause "for
all this, nature is never spent." Man cannot alter Nature and
though he may fail to see it "There lives the dearest freshness
deep down things." In spite of the destruction wrought by Man,
the poet's faith in God is confirmed by observing Nature. Even
when the sun has seemingly gone and the sky darkens, the poet
knows that the sun will reappear; "morning, at the brown brink
eastward, springs." The fact that "The world is charged" with
God's presence inspires the poet to greater reverence and wonder
because despite Man's perversity "the Holy Ghost over the bent/
World broods with warm breast and with ahJ bright wings."
Hopkins' eoncern with Man as a subject for poetry began
to manifest itself in the "Nature" poems. As^he observed the
beauty of Nature, Hopkins became disturbed over the fact that
Man often failed to utilize Nature as a means for apprehending
i
knowledge of God's beauty and power. So, at times, a note of
sorrow can be detected in the poems because "the inmate does
not correspond" and because "all is seared with trade." More
over, between 1879 and 1883, his duties as parish priest led
him to London, to Liverpool, and then to Glasgow, and he was
man's smudge and shares man's
133
brought into close contact with ’ ’sinful Man.” After Hopkins
went to Ireland, he wrote Dixon, "My Liverpool and Glasgow
experiences laid upon my mind a conviction, a truly crushing
conviction, of the mis,ery of town life . . . of the hollow
ness of this century's civilisation.”8 He f.bund a good deal
of poetic material in his professional experience. The con
fessor’s tender care and anxiety for the souls of his charges
gave unity to these reforgings of priestly experiences.
Thus, in "The Lantern out of Doors,” the speaker is
intrigued by men whom "beauty bright/ In mould or mind or
what not else makes rare." But he questions and cannot
determine their identity or their destinations; mentally he
can follow them "till death or distance buys them quite."
What he most desires to know he cannot. All his limitations
are consequences of his nature which is imperfect by virtue
of its necessity of gaining knowledge only through the senses.
Man "interests our eyes," but "out of sight is out of mind."
A resolution to the problem is possible only by turning to
God. The poet does this by contrasting to his own condition
the fact that "Christ minds." The experience is significant,
because from it the speaker gains insight into the relation of
God and Man and realizes that while his own capacities are
limited, those of Christ are not. He is willing to forego his
^ Abbott, Correspondence, p. 97*
134
own inquiries, secure in the knowledge that these people have
a "first, fast, last friend." The companion piece to "The
i
Lantern out of Doors" sonnet is "The Candle Indoors," where
again the speaker expresses a desire for knowledge that is
denied him.9 His deprivation makes him the more anxious:
"just for lack/ Of answer the eagerer." In spite of the
"candle clear," the poet cannot see all that he wishes; he is
"wondering, a-wanting," fearing that others are not glorifying
God ,as they should. The description warrants self-condemnation
by the poet who is afraid that he is "beam-blind" and is "yet
to a fault/ In a neighbour deft-handed." The poem closes with
a dreadful question that echoes all of Hopkins’ yearning for
perfection and his anxiety over his own failure to achieve
that perfection.
"The Caged Skylark" presents a situation apparently
undesirable; the soul of Man imprisoned in his body as a bird
is confined within its cage. The sonnet involves a recognition
9 Ruggles, op. cit., p. 184. Miss Ruggles notes that
Biblical references are in the last two lines of the poem only.
But imagery throughout is derived from the Sermon on the Mount.
Matthew 5*13-16. HYe are the salt of the earth: but if the
salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? It is
thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be
trodden under foot of men. Ye are the light of the world. A
city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light
a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candle-stiek; and
it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your
light,so shine before men, that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in heaven."
of Man's weakness; he cannot break his bounds no matter how he
may rebel against them. Like the caged bird, who by nature
desires freedom— the "dare-gale skylark"— Man's is a "mounting
spirit" that dwells in a "bone-house, mean house." He attempts
to combat this degradation, but his efforts to "mount" are
enacted only upon the "poor low stage" of the earth to which
he is confined. Observations of the bird permit the speaker
to note an essential duality in its nature and, therefore, in
his own. The bird is a "song-fowl" but it "needs . . . rest";
Man's soul too needs its house in which it may be both "flesh-
bound" and "uncumbered." The terms are not really opposed.
Not only in the present but in the future when Man's spirit
will be "found at best," he is "flesh-bound," and he will not
be confined, for accompanying his "mounting spirit" will be
his "bones risen." Withinthe poem, the discovery is made by
pursuing the initial analogy. The fact that both the bird and
Man sing "sometimes" and droop "sometimes" leads the poet to
seek further characteristics of their behavior not accounted
for by these occasional instances. The discovery is made
possible in the sonnet by the established analogy which
enables the poet to profit from his observations by seeing
the manner in which the soul may become the master of the
body instead of its servant.
The emotional tension in "Peace" is represented as a '
desire for a change in the situation in which the speaker finds
himself. The poet’s complaint is addressed directly to ’ ’Peace
of whose existence and nature he is assured, although he is
denied access to its comfort. The questions asked of ’ ’Peace"
go unanswered; the speaker is unable to elicit replies. Even
allowing that he does sometimes know "Peace," the speaker is
not content; his state seems inconsistent with his conception
of the Lord who, "reaving Peace,’ ’ should surely leave "some
good’ 1 in its place. The fault is not to be found with what
God gives; He has provided a surrogate, "Patience," whieh was
just what the poet rejected in his first complaints. The
discovery of "Patience" now enables him to perceive the real
nature of "Peace” whose function is not to "coo" leisurely but
to "work." "Peace” does not involve cessation of movement,
but it does involve constructive activity— a movement very
different from that first described as "roaming." The recogni
tion of the requisite "Patience” makes possible the insight
into a reality that calms the poet's initial disturbance.
In "Morning Midday and Evening Sacrifice" the speaker’s
desire that Man should offer all he possesses to God is made
the more urgent as he applies it to various stages of life.
God is praised more when Man is shown to be progressively more
capable of sacrificing his most valuable qualities to Him.
Dedication is the note sounded in this lyrie. Here once more
is the call to perfection which Hopkins found in the Spiritual
Exercises. Man is urged to use his own life and all things to
praise God and thus save his soul.
137
In "The Bugler's First Communion," the simple joy felt
by a child receiving the Sacrament is contrasted to the more
complex emotions aroused in the priest who administers it to
- him. The poem begins with the notation of simple facts about
the boy himself, about his home, and about his parents. Yet
the favor asked by this child is the greatest that God's
minister can offer to any mam The "Eucharist'itself exhibits
a paradox, for the priest takes "Christ from cupboard," and
Christ's "too huge godhead" rests in a "leaf-light housel."
To the youngster this is a "treat," but the older person sees
far more significance in the Sacrament. Though children are
only "slips of soldiery," they are faced with difficult war
fare; this boy may need to be "An our day's God's own Galahad."
His protection is "left to the Lord of the Eucharist," and
the priest is only God's instrument. While the child sees
something of the favor granted him, he is not aware of the
true powers of the Sacrament which are given their full sig
nificance when viewed in relation to the "hell-rook ranks"
that would molest him. The value of Communion is seen in
its power to overcome the evil in human nature and in the
world. Despite its simple narrative beginning, the poem is
a complex lyric in which insight into the powers of the
Blessed Sacrament is derived from feelings initially prompted
by the speaker's experience with the child.
138
A similar pattern may be observed in "The Handsome
Heart.*1 Again, the priest’s encounter with a small boy initi
ates his reflections upon human nature. The specific incident,
related in the first quatrain in dialogue form, leads the
speaker to reflect upon the causes of the child’s ’ ’Gracious
Answer”; eauses to be found in the quality of ’ ’the heart” and
’ ’homing nature.” But the high character of this nature is
bestowed by graced which makes the child's reply the more
significant because it affords evidence of effects not derived
from human nature. The ’inscape’ is discovered in the recogni
tion that the boy's answer is given ’ ’with the sweetest air”
because "bathed in high hallowing grace,” and the speaker’s
perception of the inherent weakness of Man is revealed in his
closing plea that such’ ^race" may accompany the child in the
future as in the present. "At the Wedding March” opens with
the poet addressing the newly wed couple, urging that God
may bestow upon them the favors granted through their par
taking of this Sacrament. Although no explicit reference is
made to human weakness, the lyric stresses the fact that
marriage is a divine institution and that the happiness to be
10 Pick, op,, cit., p. 91. "In the next triplet the
poet sets up his hierarchy of ’beauties.’ This hierarchy he
echoes in his sermons and letters. The beauty of the soul is
superior to outward physical beauty, though the latter is. not
to be snubbed; it is to be subordinated as a good, but it is
not the highest perfection. The handsome heart, 'bathed in
high hallowing grace,' has the highest beauty. 'God’s better
beauty, grace,1 as Hopkins called it in a later poem."
139
derived from it is not dependent upon God who to "his wonder
wedlock,/ Deals triumph and immortal years." Thus, the poem
does not end with the speaker’s final glance at the bride and
groom, but with his turning to God in thanks for His grace.
The speaker in "Felix Randal" is again characterized
as a priest by virtue of the references to his ministration
of the Sacraments. The news of the farrier's death causes
him to consider his own seemingly paradoxical feelings.
Because the poet, as a man tending Felix Randal, has "watched
his mould of man, big-boned and hardy-handsome/ Pining"; he
grieves for the physical change that has taken place. But
as a priest, whose "duty" has been that of encouraging a
"heavenlier heart," he realizes that his mission has been ful
filled by the spiritual alteration of the blacksmith. As a
man, the poet can only "watch" the "pining" of the farrier;
as God's representative, he administers the Blessed Sacrament
and Extreme Unction by which a "heavenlier heart" is born.
That a strong man should become weak as a child is pitiful;
but that, in resigning his material powers, he should gain the
spiritual innocence of youth is heartening.H The farrier is
both "child, Felix" and "poor Felix Randal." These more
general reflections about the benefits derived from the
Sacraments allow the speaker to apply his knowledge to this
H John 3:3. "Ferily, verily, I say unto thee, Except
a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God."
particular case, and accordingly the last statement is signifi
cant both for man and priest. It is true that the blacksmith
flat the random grim forge” was “powerful amidst peers." But
this power was incomplete because "far from then forethought"
of Man’s final end. It is not the maker of strong and
beautiful physical objects— the "bright and battering sandal”
for "the great grey drayhorse”— who has access to the kingdom
of heaven, but the "heavenlier heart" that has received "our
sweet reprieve and ransom."
A further use of this pattern may be found in "Brothers
In treating the incident, the speaker carefully indicates his
position; he see through the child's artifices— "Truth's
tokens tricks like these." This insight into the reality
behind the appearances of human behavior enables him to point
out at the poem's conclusion the true significance of the
incident by which "Nature, framed in fault"' is seen to be
"kind." The thought not only illuminates the quality of the
action but intensifies the speaker's emotion by revealing
possible comfort in a world he knows to be "bad, base and
blind." Henry's life is "Love-laced" in that of his brother,
but his love is not pure* "then fear, then joy/ Ran revel in
the elder boy.” Henry's doubts are not confirmed, for John
is "brass-bold," he plays his part well and Henry— realizing
his error— "in his hands he has flung/ His tear-tricked cheeks
of flame/ For fond love and for shame." The child has
141
discovered the limitation of his love, lack of confidence; the
poet sees in the incident hope for all human nature that can
make this discovery*
The lyric “Henry Purcell*’ is a justification of the
poet's wish that Purcell should not be damned for his heretical
thought, for his was "so arch-especial a spirit." In addition
to the brief argument supplied by the author to preface the
work, Hopkins also explained some of the more obscure points
of meaning in two letters to B r i d g e s . ^ speaker then
defines that spirit in terms of 'inscape.' It is not the
artist's intention that enthralls the hearer, not his personal
"mood" or feelings. No representation of particular emotions
is so effective as the single reflection of "self" in Purcell's
music which is really "his air of angels." The same effect is
perceivable in the analogous instance of the stormfowl who
"but meaning motion" reveals far greater beauty than he had
ever intended. The image refers to beauty in Nature rather
than in art. Individuality is to be discerned in all of God's
creatures, in birds as in men, in Man's products as in his
spirit. When beauty is found in either Nature or art, it
does not owe its value to the accidental purpose of the
creature; Purcell's music is great because it is "his air of
angels" rather than a sign of "mood in him nor meaning."
12 Abbott, Letters, pp. 170-174.
142
The contrast between intent and true distinctiveness of "the
sakes of him'* is a restatement of Hopkins' belief in the im
personal nature of individuality. But the purpose of the
lyric is not to illustrate his definition of 'inscape.1
Rather, that definition and all it implies is used to justify
the fact that "the poet wishes well to the divine genius of
Purcell."
The blindness of human apprehension, often used by
Hopkins, provides material for "Andromeda," a sonnet on the
state of the Church. The subject of the poem is obviously
not the Greek heroine, it is "Time's Andromeda." The injustice
is made clear at the opening; there is not "her either beauty's
equal or/ Her injury's." The climax of her danger has now
been reached, for the "wilder beast" that now threatens her
is worse than that which has so far "attempted and pursued."
The rescue effected by Perseus in the Greek myth provides the
poet with a known frame-work, but it is used here to make a
point absent in the legend. Though the Saviour of the Church
has not appeared to mortal sight, He still "hangs/ His thoughts
on her, forsaken that she seems." To the world, the Church
"seems" doomed; in reality, "Perseus" is ready to perform the
act of which "no one dreams."
In "The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo," a dramatic
form is used to express a conflict experienced by one character
143
and resolved by another.13 The basic theme can be, and has
been, far more simply stated, but to convey the emotion attend
ing the apprehension of the concept requires a complex mode
of statement. "The Leaden Echo" despairs for the inevitable
loss of beauty for which there is no "latch or catch or key
to keep." Her grief is the more intense because it is con
ceived in terms of "real apprehension." When "the Golden
Echo" replies that there is hope for the preservation of
beauty, she answers in terms of a "place"-which— although
"not within seeing of the sun"— is described as accessible
by means of a "key" by which beauty will be "fastened" when
it is "signed" and "sealed" and "delivered . . . back to God."
The end achieved by these means is likewise expressed in
physical terms? "See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the
least lash lost"— but the deeper significance is alluded to
by the phrasing? "every hair/ Is, hair of the head, numbered."
The resolution is the more forceful because it is achieved in
the terms of the statement of the problem. Where mortal
"wisdom" failed to discover any device for the retaining of
beauty, resignation does yield that identical end. That human
beings cannot preserve beauty is never denied, but the feeling
caused by this helplessness becomes the first step towards the
acquisition of knowledge.
13 Abbott, Correspondence, p. 149. To Dixon he wrote,
"I never did anything more musical."
144
"The Blessed Virgin compared to the Air we Breathe0 is
an extended metaphor. The Blessed Virgin, the mother of grace,
is compared to the air on which physical life depends. She
°mothers each new grace*' that reaches us. Through grace Man
shares in a reincarnation of the birth of Christ? He "makes,
0 marvellous 1/ New Nazareths in us."
In "To what serves Mortal Beauty?" the speaker's problem
is expressed in the form of a questions is there a way in which
mortal beauty can be of service to Man? In some ways, it
appears to be detrimental, "dangerous," rather than useful.
But it can also show Man "what good means" if he will look
beyond appearances and perceive "the things that are." But
though a "glance" may achieve more than a studied "gaze," the
desired results will come only with the aid of grace. Because
Man cannot independently know "what good means," he must obey
"our law." "Were all known" he would love "love's worthiest."
But being himself only mortal, Man must worship through some
sensible medium, and that means which most resembles his end
is not "block or barren stone," but "world's loveliest— men's
selves." If Man denies all the attractions of material things,
he will discover their greatest beauty. When he asks for and
receives grace, he will know how to make "mortal beauty" serve
him by viewing it as the reflection of "God's better beauty."
Because it does, when well met, show God to Man, "mortal beauty"
is "heaven's sweet gift" and not simply "dangerous." Its effect
depends upon the attitude of the observer.
145
The first part of the lyric, “(The Soldier),” deals with
a seeming anomaly in human behavior; men “bless” a soldier who
is “but frail clay, nay but foul clay.” Yet the investigation
of the cause of this action shows its true significance. For
the man who cannot penetrate beyond appearances, this is a
“guess” that the man is like his manly calling; he “fancies,
feigns” that the artist is like his art. Yet this “guess” is
not so far from the reality as might be supposed. Unlike the
man who “makes believe,” Christ "knows war,” and He blesses
the soldier not because his art is “manly,” but because it
calls forth the "Christ-done deed”; the action is “sterling”
not merely because it is “smart” in appearance, but because it
is the real imitation of Christ. To be sure, the soldier's
imitation is not perfect; he does “all that men can do*” and
Man's powers are limited. But the attempt is worthy of
admiration. The true significance of Man's admiration of the
soldier is seen in the soldier's prototype— Christ.
The common but mistaken conception that “Honour is
flashed off exploit, so we say” forms the starting point of
“St. Alphonsus Rodriguez." The soldier's victory is a
“glorious day,” and the greatest warfare is religious— that
of Christ and the martyrs. This kind of struggle is recognized,
but when the “fray” is internal— “unseen"— “earth hears no
hurtle”; men cannot appreciate the worth of the triumph.
Against this human oversight, the poet places the view of God
whose "exploits** are so much greater than those of men; He
"hews mountain and continent" and of "tall trees makes more
and more." He can "crowd career with conquest" even though
/
the life of the hall-porter at Majorca went by "without event"
in the eyes of the "world." While the popular opinion remarked
at the beginning of "(The Soldier)" represents "things dimly
seen," "honour" which is "flashed off exploit" only exhibits
a perverted view of mankind that can be corrected by a better
knowledge of God. The whole lyric is relevant to Hopkins*
observations on the perception of *inseape. * • It is the
Christian in a state of grace alone who can see real beauty
which is, after all, lovely only in so far as it is viewed as
the material embodiment, the reflection of -a greater loveliness.
Poetically, the problem of the lyric is solved, when the
speaker enunciates the means of realizing the aim initially
stated, when he discovers the service of mortal beauty.
One fragmentary lyric warrants mention in relation to
this group. As "On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People"
is unfinished, it might be dangerous to speculate about the
nature of its possible conclusion, but the indications of the
completed stanzas are that a resolution is to be achieved.
The emotions expressed at the beginning are typical: "0 I
admire and sorrowi" The beauty of the children makes the
poet most anxious for their safety; he knows that like all
men they are "with frailty, blest/ In one fair fall"— that
147
none but Christ can protect them. This anxiety is the more
pressing because the speaker realizes that human wisdom cannot
predict the future of these children— it can only ‘ ‘gauge or
guess.” Much as he desires their happiness, he does know
that their visible beauty cannot make them immune to sin;
since the fall, it has been possible for the worst evils to
corrupt even the best of human beings. Yet the poet does have
one source of knowledge— Christ; “truth can stead you.”
Although the young people cannot by themselves avoid sin (their
selves are already “fast furled and all foredrawn to Ho or
Yes”), their reliance on Christ can help them. Therefore,
there is no need, the speaker claims, to “strain my heart
beyond my knee.” He has a divine “witness,” Christ, who will
help him to combat “the wild and wanton work of men.” By
renouncing his own “wisdom,” the speaker finds the truth.
Two poems which one might be tempted to separate from
religious concerns altogether, “Tonfe Garland” and “Harry
Ploughman,” cannot be so easily dismissed. The reference
“Tom's Garland” is clarified by Hopkins in the detailed
explanation of the sonnet that he included in a letter to
Bridges. 3-4 The concluding condemnation of the outcasts of
the state is essentially a social protest, but it is, never
theless, founded upon a conception that postulates God as
- * - 4 Abbott, Letters, pp. 272-274.
the source of sovereign authority. Although the poem’s sub
title reads ’ ’upon the Unemployed,” it is the laborers who
constitute the first object of the speaker’s attention. By
designating them as wearers of the steel garland, he establishes
the term in which he may discuss the commonwealth; the feelings
attributed to them clarify the meaning of their badges ’ ’Tom
Heart-at-ease”; ’ ’Torn seldom sick,/ Seldomer heartsore.” The
worker willingly accepts the "lordly-head,/ With heaven’s
lights high hung round” and grants the gold garland to those
whose situation is ’ ’perilous.” There are advantages in both
’ ’earth’s glory” and ’ ’earth's ease.” But, while all members
of the state share in its "honour,” those who are "undenizened"
share only care and obscurity with the members; they partici
pate only in the disadvantages which, within the state, have
their compensations. Without granting the value of subordina
tion to a specified "lordly head,” the lot of the outcasts
would not be so bad; once the "honour” of subordination has
been postulated, the ungarlanded— the unemployed— are defined
as "Hangdog” and "manwolf”; they run in disordered "packs"
like undisciplined animals, because they do not "share" in
the state's order.
In l877» Hopkins wrote (in "The Loss of the Eurydice")
of the sailor who "is strung by duty is strained to beauty,"
and the theme of perfection in work was treated again ten
years later in "Harry Ploughman." The striking aspect of the
worker is his complete devotion to the task; each part of his
body is adapted to duty as he ‘ ’features, in flesh, what deed
he each must do." Simply to see him "stand at stress" is to
perceive his fitness for this particular action, the rightness
of his "rank." The dictum of the "'As kingfishers catch fire,
dragonflies draw flame'" sonnet again comes into play; the
sestet here shows that the man "acts" what the octet has
shown that he "is"; his distinctive character is manifested
in action. In his work, the man's movements foilow those of
his instrument, his body moves in harmony: "Back, elbow, and
liquid waist/ In him, all quail to the wallowing of the plough.
But the concrete description has already been given a frame of
reference; it "features" the ploughman's duty, and the per
fection of the action has a moral as well as physical rightness
Nature is contrasted to the "just man" in "That Nature
is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection."
The poet's first observations are directed to the phenomena
of the inanimate world in which he views the incessant change
which makes Nature beautiful, but also transient. "Nature's
bonfire" beautifies but simultaneously destroys. Man, too, is
a part of Nature; but he is "her bonniest, I dearest to her,
her clearest-selved spark." That Man should be "in an unfath
omable . . . in an enormous dark/ Drowned" excites the speaker'
"pity and indignation.". But the claim that Man is the highest
of mortal creatures leads him to seek the cause of his
distinction. It is not to be found in the thought of
Heraclitus; the poet turns, therefore, to that explanation of
Mature which will clarify his belief. Though no hope is to
be found for Man in the Heraclitean philosophy, it is found
in Christianity where the “just man” is more than a mere
fragment of Mature, mere "matchwood” for her "bonfire."
Because Christ was made man, Man may become Christ; an “im
mortal diamond’ 1 tempered to resist fire. Man will be lifted
from the fire and emerge a new being. He will become “at
once what Christ is." The Christian conception of the duality
of Man’s nature is assumed; he is both a mortal “Jackself,”
and “immortal diamond.” Within the poem, the speaker’s
inability to find comfort in the Greek philosophy leads him
to seek a better formulation for belief. The “Heraclitean
Fire” fails to explain his sense of reality.
Like the “terrible sonnets,” the poem “Spelt from Sibyl’s
Leaves” depicts the speaker’s grief being resolved only in the
sense that he becomes convinced of his need to forego any
independent attempts to change his condition. However, the
observations initiating the poet’s emotions are directed to
sights of Mature, which are found to be a sign of the super
natural order. The speaker’s delight in the beauty of Mature
is here inferred from the grief expressed when he finds
earth's “dapple is at an end.” His heart brings him “round”
to the right attitude; it' compares the end of day in Nature
to the imminent end of Man when it claims: "Our evening is
over us; 1 1 Our evening is over us; our night 1 whelms, whelms,
and will end us.*1 Regret is useless because ‘ 'night** is as
inevitable for Man as it is for Nature. Recognizing necessity,
the speaker urges with an act of will: “let life wind/ Off her
once skeined stained veined variety" and let there be a world
of only "twcf folds— black, white; I right, wrong." The des
criptive phrases of the first part of the sonnet are replaced
by imperatives when the poet's feeling of terror gives way to
acquiescence. His vision is no longer "voluminous . . . stu
pendous"; it is clearly grasped that variety must be reduced
to "two spools." Because his "night . . . will end" the
speaker must prepare himself for a "world" in which only the
strict dichotomy of moral values matters; he must "reck but,
mind/ But these two." Although submission is not easy— his
"sheathe-and-shelterless, 1 thoughts" are dismembering him as
night unbound the "dapple" of the earth— he must accept the
lesson taught by his observations of Nature which is "our
oracle."
The truth discovered in "(Carrion Comfort)" constitutes
one feature of the "terrible sonnets": the assertion of Man's
complete dependence on God's grace. But this theme appears
in so many of Hopkins' poems that it can hardly be said to
characterize any one group of them. What does distinguish a
certain number of his lyrics is a probing by the speaker of
152
his own desolated state of mind that leads to a recognition
of his dependence on God. In each case, the completeness of
the poem is achieved not with the coming of relief, but with
the attaining of understanding about the nature of that state
of mind. Thus, the first assertions of ” (Carrion Comfort)*1
are shortly interrupted by questions. Although the speaker
denounces "Despair” and refuses to give in to it, the fact
of his grief— which does not cease when he protests— cannot
be denied. Acknowledging God’s power, he wonders about the
purpose of this particular manifestation of it. The poet
defines himself in terms of the "wretch"; he is merely ’ ’the
last strands of man” upon whose ”bruised bones” a ”lionlimb”
is laid. In this state, he is impotent, and his questioning
of God's purpose is answered in his finding that God can do
for him what he cannot do himself: prepare him "that my chaff
might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.” The relief that
follows from resignation cheers both Man and His Maker. The
speaker is no longer)”frantic to avoid thee and flee,” but he
kisses "the rod,” the "hand,” that chastizes him; suffering
is to be met with humility, not with rebellion. Man’s sense
of his own degradation is, paradoxically, cause for joy. The
full significance of the experiehce is seen when it is over,
when the poet looks back on ’ ’that night, that year/ Of now done
darkness” when he "fought” and wished that "day” would come.
He recognizes himself as the "wretch” who dared to struggle
153
with his God. Joy came to him when he realized that his
suffering'was not without purpose; it taught him to submit
to chastening.
The sonnet beginning: "To seem the stranger lies my
lot, ray life** develops in terms of the poet's investigation
of the cause of his alienation. He is separated from his
family who are "in Christ not near"; his religion, which is
the source of the poet's "peace," is also the cause of his
"parting" from those who do not share his beliefs. He is
alienated not only from his family, but from his country
which would not hear his plea for its conversion were it
uttered. But he cannot even plead; he is incapable of con
structive activity and can only stand idly by "where wars are
rife." Living in Ireland places the speaker at a "third/
Remove." To be sure, "in all removes," some "love" is avail
able to him. But his "wisest word," that which affirms his
belief to all, cannot be stated. Why God should bar it is
"baffling," but His will must be accepted. "Hell's spell"
more obviously thwarts it, for those persons not in a state of
grace are deafened to his plea. His inability to state the
plea that lies in his heart "unheard1 — and that would be
"unheeded" if "heard"— leaves him a lonely one who only began a
life meant to be filled with activity directed towards God's
glory.
154
In “I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day,” the
speaker's recognition of his condition is expressed in terms
of his likeness to "the lost" whose punishment is "to be/ As
I am mine, their sweating selves" and not to be Christ. The
poet describes his condition as one of wasted and ineffective
lamenting. His speaking to his heart of the "black hours
we have spent" is indicative of the object of emotion common
to this group of sonnets: the speaker's state of mind. The
intensity of his grief is not to be measured by humanly con
ceived, temporal standards; what men call "hours" were really
"years . . . life." His cries secure no answer; they are
like "dead letters" that never reach their destination. Human
standards cannot count these cries any more than they can
conceive of "light's delay" when "day" has apparently come.
Instead of proceeding to observe what lies beyond the range
of the senses as he did in the more joyful lyrics, the speaker
is unable to transcend that range which "God's most deep
decree/ Bitter would have me taste." The "curse" laid upon
Man after the commission of original sin is the one that makes
"the lost" no more than "their sweating selves." Man's
physical being "sours" with a "selfyeast of spirit," because
the "self" is helpless without divine aid, and God is "alasi
away." Man in Eden had not been so alienated from Him. As
Man's mind was shown in the octet to be incompetent to measure
even his own grief, the poet now sees him reduced to the
155
meanest physical elements— "bones," "flesh," and "blood." Like
the lost, he himself is his own "scourge." The final emotion
is one of disgust with men's "selves."
The problem of "Patience, hard thing.' the hard thing
but to pray" is immediately stated: "the hard thing but to
pray,/ But bid for, Patience isi" The speaker*sconflict arises
from his acknowledged want of "Patience," a quality to be
desired by all men and his simultaneous recognition of the
difficult task he has set for himself. To practice "Patience"
is to accept hardships. For "these away," patience is not
worthy of the name. The "natural heart's" patience, unlike
that which is "rare," has a more pleasing appearance, but true
patience roots only in "wars" and "wounds." The "mask" that
lets Man disguise for himself the fact that he has not fulfilled
his past ambitions allows him to survey his "ruins of wrecked
past purpose,"^5 calmly, whereas he should "take tosses and
obey." As if it were not enough that Man is already "weary,"
his request for "Patience" incurs greater torment. Man is,
thus, an ambiguous creature; a person of "rebellious will"
who yet wishes the submission of his will to God's. It is
in the exercise of the latter faculty, in confession of his
15 Abbott, Further Letters, p. 108. In perhaps the
same year in which this sonnet was written (1885), Hopkins
wrote in similar words to Baillie of . .my old notebooks
and beginnings of things, ever so many, which it seems to me
might well have been done, ruins and wrecks; but on this theme
I will not enlarge by pen and ink."
156
own weakness, that Man knows God who "is patient.” Man desires
God’s help, but it comes only ’ ’those ways we know”— through
’ ’war” and ’ ’wounds”; the struggle is prerequisite to the
reward.
Man lacking grace is the object of the speaker's emotion
in all these poems; he is the "Jackself” of the sonnet ”My own
heart let me more have pity on." The "natural heart" is to
be pitied, for no good will come of simply permitting thoughts
to continue their tormenting. In the torment encountered dur
ing his alienation from God, Man cannot find comfort by means
of his own "groping" anymore than the blind can see in the
dark. The answer is, again, resignation: "call off thoughts
awhile/ Elsewhere; leave comfort root-room," because God's
grace is not to be "wrung" from Him, but is granted just when
Man renounces his attempts to foresee it. Man must "let joy
size; At God knows when to God knows what," because He alone
"knows"; it is best for Man to "call off thoughts." The
lesson may be observed in Nature; its perception requires no
"thought," for the sky may suddenly appear between mountains
just when the traveler seeking light (as the poet has sought
/
comfort) least expects it.
The simultaneous recognition of God's power and Man's
impotence leads to the plea stated in another sonnet. The
poet's belief is apparently in conflict with this feeling, as
he describes his situation in "Thou are indeed just, Lord, if
157
I contend.” Although the poet complains that God's treatment
of him is like that of an "enemy," he does not deny that the
Deity is his "friend," his "lord of life." The poet's state,
is again that of the "Jackself" as here defined by contrast
to "sinners" And to the "sots and thralls of lust," to "banks,
and brakes," and to "birds," all of whom "prosper" and "build."
The speaker alone seems incapable of creation. The poet
justifies himself first by contrasting his life to that of
"sinners"; his endeavors do not "prosper," but theirs do. His
contention is strengthened when he stipulates the purpose of
his efforts: "I. . . spend/ Sir, life upon thy cause." This
disappointment might be warranted if his labors were devoted
to selfish ends, but they are dedicated to the service of God.
The objects of Nature, which are incapable of rational intention,
serve God by creating beauty while the poet can "not breed one
work that wakes." But the 'inscape' of his experience is
nevertheless revealed. His disappointment and frustrations
are not without result, for they lead him to recognize the
one true source of aid— God. As God is "lord of life," He
alone can give "rain" to make Man's "life" bear fruit.16 The
discovery of the Lord's power simultaneously reveals the
speaker's fault. That which he has "spent" in the service
Abbott, Correspondence, pp. 218-19. "There is a
point with me in matters of any size when I must absolutely
have encouragement as much as crops rain. ..."
1 5 8
of God— "life” is actually not his own to spend. God is "indeed"
oust” in not allowing Man to create that which is not his by
right. It is "just*' that Man should "not breed one work that
wakes”; there is only one "lord of life." The value of states
of desolation is that they lead Man to acknowledge his
dependence on God.1?
Hopkins* last finished sonnet, dedicated to Robert
Bridges, states in artistic form an aspect of his poetic
theory. Hopkins had long before defined that nature of in
spiration as he had need of it.18 Hopkins* poetic theory
emphasized the fact that the poet regarded creation as a
dependent activity; by himself, Man creates nothing. In this
sonnet he asserts the absence of "that fine delight that
fathers thought." The octet of the sonnet describes the
effects of inspiration which is itself momentary but which
enables "the mind" to draw upon it, remaining "a mother of
immortal song." Even when it has become the. "widow of an
insight lost," the purpose of creation, once shown to the
mind, is remembered and guides its action. But the poet
Ibid.. p. 270. Pick notes a parallel passage in a
letter: ^Unhappily I cannot produce anything at all. . . .
Nothing comes; I am a eunuch— but it is for the Kingdom of
Heaven's sake."
Ibid.« p. 66. "I cannot in conscience spend time
on poetry, neither have I the inducements and inspirations
that make others compose. Feeling, love in particular, is the
great moving power and spring of verse and the only person
that I am in love with seldom, especially now, stirs my heart
sensible. ..."
claims: ”My soul needs this." "The roll, the rise, the carol,
the creation1 ’ do not derive from acquired techniques; they
reflect the powers of the ’ ’soul,” and when grace is wanting
only ’ ’lagging lines” result. Like so many of Hopkins’ poems,
this one glorifies God by asserting Man’s dependence upon
Him. Insight into the Creator’s powers may be derived from
the investigation of the effects of their absence as well as
from their presence. The principle of Hopkins' poetic theory,
as of all his religious thought, postulates the subordination
of Man to his Maker; his lyrics represent the experience in
which that relation i& realized.
CHAPTER VI
CONCLUSION
Shortly after the publication of the poems in 1918,
Hopkins was ' ’discovered. ” From that time forward interest in
Gerard Manley Hopkins has slowly increased. He worked con
siderable influence on a generation of poets, critics, and
scholars, who have evaluated, analyzed, praised, and condemned
his poetry. But all of this interest has been unduly directed
to studies of the technical innovations of the poet; emphasis
has been on Hopkins, the experimentalist. ' The word experi
mentalist has a hollow ring, for it suggests that Hopkins was
interested in form more than he was in the subject matter of
his verse. This,,of course, is not true; Hopkins attached far
more importance to poetic emotion than he did to technique.
It has been the aim and intention of this paper to show
that the entire body of Hopkins’ mature poetry was derived
from his religion and to discover the various religious ideas
that he employed in his poetry. The facts of his life have
been reexamined in order to ascertain the significant events
of his life. From the date of his matriculation at Oxford in
1863, Hopkins’ attention was steadily drawn to the problem of
religion and the religious conflict that was shaking Oxford.
As a result of his contact with various religious groups at
Oxford, and after a long period during which he carefully
l6l
examined his problem, Gerard Hopkins entered the Catholic
Church. This, of course, is one of the significant events
of his life, but even more significant was his decision to
become a member of the Society of Jesus. On September 7?
1868, he entered the Jesuit Novitiate at Roehampton, near
London. He could truly say ”1 have found the dominant of my
*
range and state.
Entrance into the Society of Jesus was extremely
important to Hopkins. It provided him with the peace and
security he had been searching for, and more important, it
introduced him to the Spiritual Exercises which all Jesuits
study, practice and meditate. These exercises influenced his
poetry and became a part of his aspirations as well as his
sufferings. In 1872, Hopkins got hold of a volume of Duns
Seotus; this contact served to reenforce Hopkins’ doctrine
of 'inscape.1
1864, he was principally concerned with religious problems.
From the prose writings it is possible to discover that,
although nowhere stated in complete or final form, Hopkins
did have a theory of poetry clearly expressed in terms of
Christian theology and compatible with his own poetic practice.
Two ideas dominate Hopkins' theory: 1) the world and all
Hopkins' poems, journals, and letters show that after
1 House, Q£. cit., p. 53-
living and inanimate objects were created to praise, revere,
and serve God, to give Him glory; and 2) God may be known
through contemplation of His creatures. This second idea is
the doctrine of 'inscape1; special attention should be given
to it, since all Hopkins' mature work can be accounted for
by this idea. 'Inscape' is the formal distinctiveness that
is discernible in sensible objects. The word refers to a
very personal experience; the perception of the sensible
qualities of an object that strike one as being most typical
and inseparably belonging to the object. This concept was
significantly influenced by the Spiritual Exercises. Newman’s
Grammar of Assent, and the philosophy of individuation which
Hopkins discovered in the writings of Duns Scotus. The
technical innovations that are so intriguing to crities and
poets were the result of Hopkins' formulation of the doctrine
of 'inscape1 and his changed attitude toward God and Nature.
The analysis of Hopkins' poetry revealed the importance
of his theoretical concepts as well as his utilization of
religious materials. The inquiry into his mature verse also
revealed the fact that three themes dominate his poetry. They
are: Nature, Man, and Hopkins' own personal life. All of these
themes are utilized in such a way that the domination and
mastery of God over the world are shown. The threefold
division of the poems is chronological as well as topical, for
the themes are closely related to the three periods of Hopkins'
163
life after 1868. The detailed examination of “Spring,”1
“Spring and Fall," and “'No worst, there is none. Pitched
past pitch of grief,'" each typical of a thematic group, dis
closed constant elements within the scope of Hopkins’ production
which should facilitate an inquiry into the whole body of his
verse. The examination showed the religious mind of Hopkins
at work. The analyses also infer that no readeh can permit
his faculties to be lax if he is to get to the core of Hopkins;
the poems are complex representations of Hopkins' religious
beliefs and require the fullest effort on the part of the
reader.
Obviously the consideration of these three poems will
not provide all the material necessary for research in the
whole body of Hopkins' verse, but they should serve to illus
trate techniques and ideas utilized by Hopkins in constructing
poems from religious matter. The survey of the poems written
after l875> reveals that fourteen of them were constructed
about the theme of Nature. In this group can be found
abundant joy, exuberance, and the poet’s wonder over the
world's beauty which offers reverence to God. Toward the end
of the “Nature" period Hopkins, now a priest and busily engaged
in parish duties, began to evince concern over the frailties of
Man. This interest became the characteristic mark of the
poetry written from 1879 to 1883. Hopkins' priestly experiences
provided him with a number of subjects for his poetry, but
164
the poems are not joyous and happy. They are marked by a
sadness, which was probably brought about by his sensitivity.
The poems are not the best of Hopkins; he did not feel the
impulse to create. The weariness, unpleasantness, and sadness
he felt were precursors of the bitterness and darkness that
engulfed his last years. An understanding of the final period
of Hopkins' life is necessary for anyone who desires to share
the poet's experience. The sonnets "were written in blood,"
and they were composed at a time when Hopkins felt that God's
consolation had been withdrawn from him. Many critics have
tried to related this beautiful group of poems to a so-called,
tragic conflict between the poet and the priest, but as
Chapter Two shows, no such discord existed in Hopkins' life.2
An unbiased reader of Hopkins' prose and poetry will be con
vinced that this sincere, straightforward, saintly priest did
not aspire after poetic fame. These last poems are a con
fession of the weakness of Man and the futility of any attempt
by Man to create without the help of God. The last poems may
be truly said to express the ’inscape' of Gerard Manley Hopkins.
Hopkins' fame as a poet is now secure; no critic can
afford to overlook the influence Hopkins wrought on the poetry
of the past thirty years. F. H. Leavis wrote that Hopkins
was one of the most remarkable innovators who ever wrote and
2 See Chap. II, pp. 32-35.
165
that Hopkins' influence is potent for the future of English
poetry.3 No one can find fault with this statement} however,
it must be pointed out as a final remark that no one will
arrive at a definite and satisfactory explanation of Hopkins'
poetic achievements unless he takes into account the true
significance of Christian, Catholic doctrine in.the Hopkins’
canon.
3 See Chap. I, p. 1
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University of Southern California Library

Asset Metadata

Creator Burke, Leslie Francis (author)

Core Title The religious factor in the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins

Contributor Digitized by ProQuest (provenance)

Degree Master of Arts

Degree Program English

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag literature, English,OAI-PMH Harvest

Language English

Advisor McElderry, Bruce R., Jr. (committee chair), Davenport, William H. (committee member), Ross, Floyd H. (committee member)

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c20-402877

Unique identifier UC11264413

Identifier EP44240.pdf (filename),usctheses-c20-402877 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier EP44240.pdf

Dmrecord 402877

Document Type Thesis

Rights Burke, Leslie Francis

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the au...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus, Los Angeles, California 90089, USA