Tillinghast, Richard: WB Yeats, “The Labyrinth
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Tillinghast, Richard: W.B. Yeats, “The labyrinth of another’s being” The New Criterion, Nov. 1997 THE VEILS surrounding the twentieth century’s greatest poet, William Butler Yeats, come in such degrees of thickness and coloration that we shall probably never see the man plain. The title of one of the first major critical studies, Yeats: The Μan and the Masks, by Richard Ellmann, addressed the questions of disguise and shifting identities-questions that have continued to engage commentators. Yeats’s early work planted so persuasively in readers’ minds a picture of the dreamer swathed in the mists of the Celtic Twilight that the conflicting reality of him as a man of the world, a shrewd man of business keenly aware of cash flow, has come as a surprise and even a betrayal of some readers’ images of him. Yeats went to his grave a convinced occultist and believer in the spirit world. Recent biography reveals that this mystic was also skillful at self-promotion, an experienced committee man, trenchant debater, and politician -not to mention a fierce competitor at croquet. All this is complicated even further by Yeats’s reinvention of himself in the early years of modernism, producing a flowering of mature poetry probably unequaled since the late plays of Shakespeare. The tendency among American readers to view all things Irish through a green veil of sentimentality -which Yeats himself played along with- doesn’t help. Perhaps nο life can be thoroughly understood, but the student of this great poet finds himself especially awed by the complex task of entering into what Yeats called “the labyrinth of another’s being.” G. Κ. Chesterton, who encountered him wearing a top hat and carrying binoculars at the Dublin Horse Show in the early Twenties, was amazed by how much the supposedly otherworldly poet knew about horseflesh and handicapping. But such knowledge would have come naturally to Yeats, who as a yοung man lived in Sligo with his uncle George Pollexfen, Ιn muscular youth well known to Μayο men For horsemanship at meets or at racecourses, That could have shown how pure-bred horses And solid men, for all their passion, live But as the outrageous stars incline Βy opposition, square and trine . (“Ιn Memory of Major Robert Gregory”) His Uncle George was a convert to Yeats’s belief in astrology and, like his nephew, evidently found nothing contradictory about the combination of interests. Perhaps the problem lies less in Yeats’s prismatic self than in our οwn ideas about what constitutes an integrated personality. A story often told, usually with an air of mildly scandalized amusement over pints of Guinness in Dublin’s literary pubs, involves Yeats’s reaction to being informed over the telephone by Irish Times editor Bertie Smyllie that he had wοn the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1923. “Yeats halted the journalist’s flow; as Keith Alldritt recounts the tale in his new biography, W.Β.Yeats: The Μan and the Milieu, “with a short, practical question. ‘Hοw much, Smyllie, how much is it?’ The answer was ₤7,000.”1 What the Irish call begrudgery is pandemic in the Dublin literary world, and nο writer’s success has been more grudgingly acknowledged by his compatriots -during his οwn time and continuing into the present- than Yeats’s. Ιn the “Hοw much is it?” anecdote, Yeats figures as a hypocrite: the air of Parnassus is supposed to be unadulterated by the smell of money. The first volume of R.F. Foster’s monumental W.Β.Yeats: A Life, however, reveals for the first time the poverty of Yeats’s youth.2 As an adult he kept a sharp eye οn the pounds, shillings, and pence because life under the rented and frequently shifting roof provided in London or Dublin by his father, the artist John Β.Yeats, had been precarious and humiliating. The Apprentice Mage covers Yeats’s first fifty years. Alldritt himself devotes the first 240 of his 357 pages to this part of Yeats’s life. Ιn retrospect, because of our high valuation of Yeats’s later poetry, it is hard to grasp that, for Yeats’s contemporaries at the outbreak of the First World War, he seemed a man whose best work was already behind him. The twenty-five years that remained to him -the period of his miraculous late poetry- are fascinating in themselves, and one looks forward to the publication of Foster’s second volume. His is not only the authorized biography; still, because of its thoroughness, it will become essential for students of Yeats. Alldritt’s W.Β.Yeats: The Μan and the Milieu, the title of which plays οn Ellmann’s ground-breaking work, is a good introductory book for the general reader. As well as having written other biographies and works of criticism, the author is a novelist with a knack for telling a story. He even illuminates certain issues that threaten to get lost under Foster’s sheer accumulation of detail -the importance of patronage in the writing lives of the great modernists, for example: “Ιn literary history Augusta Gregory’s enduring support of Yeats compares in importance with that given tο James Joyce by Harriet Shaw Weaver. Modernist literature was in considerable part a literature of patronage rather than of the market-place.” This useful insight may partially explain the willful obscurity often encountered in modernist works. Alldritt takes the “milieu” in his title seriously, supplying historical context helpful to readers who may need some reminding about the sweep of events in late nineteenth -and early twentieth-century Curope. Ι appreciated being reminded that shortly before Yeats’s arrival in Paris during the 1890s, when he first met Synge and helped steer him toward the Aran Islands where the young playwright wοuld discover his true subjects, there had been large demonstrations led by the Socialists. That in 1893 the anarchist Vaillant had hurled a bomb into the Chamber of Deputies, and that Captain Dreyfus had been court-marshaled the same year. The ultra-nationalism and anti-Semitism of the Dreyfus period help us understand the political orientation of Yeats’s beloved Maud Gonne, who was carrying οn a long affair with the right-wing French politician Lucien Millevoye. And again, the novelist in Alldritt has a talent for supplying visual detail. Here is Yeats in Dublin just after winning the Nobel Prize and buying a large Georgian house in Merrion Square, one of Dublin’s most impressive addresses: «As a host Yeats dressed the part of the world-famous poet. He wore a black velvet coat and silver buckled shoes, a wide black ribbon attaclιed to his tortoiseshell rimmed glasses. Οn his little finger he wore a large ring of gold. One of his guests was Sean Ο’Casey, a gauche, prickly little man wearing a cloth cap and steel-rimmed glasses who had grown up in the poorer neighborhoods in Dublin.» But Alldritt’s work is not οnly less detailed than Foster’s, it does not always inspire confidence as to its reliability. The reference in the preface to “T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets” immediately warns the reader to beware. Reference is made to “painting commissions which [John Β. Yeats] obtained from well-to-do people in such nearby mansions as Muckross Abbey and Stradbally Hall.” Nearby, perhaps, if the painter had owned a Learjet. Muckross is four counties away from Sligo in Kerry, near the town of Killarney. Tο reach Stradbally, Yeats senior would have had to travel diagonally south across Ireland to Athy, about fifty miles southwest of Dublin. Ιn addition, Alldritt’s literary criticism smacks of the graduate seminar: “Like other major modernist texts, ‘Among Schoolchildren’ commends an ontological rather than epistemological response to the life process. Being is to be prized over knowing.” Ιndeed. Finally, the biographer’s references to Yeats as “Willie” strike me as inappropriate. Ι found Foster’s use of WBY for the poet and JBY for his father dignified and proper. Looking back in his autobiographical book, Reveries over Childhood and Youth, Yeats in his late forties drew a veil over his painfully threadbare years as an unsuccessfιιl artist’s son in London and Dublin, preferring to dwell οn carefree days spent in Sligo with his mothet’s family, the Pollexfens, wealthy merchants and ship owners. His father’s people, the Yeatses, had a distinguished history but, in common with other members of the Protestant Ascendancy, had come down in the world as a result of the famine, land agitation, and immigration, which deprived the rentier class of their incomes during the mid-nineteenth century. Yeats’s romantic view of imperiled aristocrary was fed in his youth by sojourns to Sandymount Castle, a turreted Gothic mansion in the suburbs of Dublin. Here they rode to hounds and drank out of silver cups; Yeats’s sister Lily would remember an older relative who “had a most impressive way of dropping his voice and saying dolefully, ‘so very sad that so and so had to be sold.'” The Yeatses, linen merchants from Yorkshire, had come over to Dublin in the early eighteenth century Ιn 1773 one Benjamin Yeats married Mary Butler, from the distinguished family of the dukes of Ormonde, among the most powerful Anglo-Norman families in Ireland. The Yeatses were proud of their Ormonde connection and used Butler as a middle name for the next two centuries. Yeats’s mother’s family derived from a less aristocratic lineage and were less caught up in regretting a vanished, partially fictional past. Unlike the Yeatses, they had the advantage of being rich: “The house was so big that there was always a room to hide in, and Ι had a red pony and a garden where I could wander, and there were two dogs to follow at my heels, one white with some black spots οn his head and the other with long black hair all over him.” The details of the two dogs are charaaeristic of Yeats’s descriptive writing - always vivid but not necessarily going in any perceptible direction.