Chapter One: Introduction I. the Looks of Wordsworth by the 1830S, Wordsworth Had Become a National Icon. in 1832, Henry Willi
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Chapter One: Introduction I. The Looks of Wordsworth By the 1830s, Wordsworth had become a national icon. In 1832, Henry William Pickersgill, at the request of St. John’s College, Cambridge, painted the first well-known portraiture of Wordsworth. In this picture, Wordsworth, then 62 years old, is placed sitting beside a rock, with Rydal mountain, sky, and sea as backdrop. With a pen and paper in his left hand, Wordsworth in the picture is turning his head right and projecting his eyes towards the left-center part of the picture, creating an effect of harmony from the left/right balance. Months later after the completion of this picture and its exhibition in St. John’s College, the reviewer for The Athen œum expressed his disappointment with this portrait: [W]e demand for Wordsworth, not a look equal to the management of the stamp revenue for Westmorland alone, but something of that dignity of intellect which dictated his truly noble poems; we want a little inspiration; we desire such expression as will induce the spectator to say, “that is the look of a poet.” (no. 342 [17 May 1834], qtd. in Rovee) Another commentator on this portrait, Henry Crabb Robinson, thought that the portrait did not catch the disposition of Wordsworth’s eyes: “[t]he picture wants an oculist” (qtd. from Rovee 154). Onto his representation of his public image, Wordsworth at first passed only a brief judgment: “[w]e all like it exceedingly” ( Later Years , 2: 554), but in 1840, however, his attitude changed, seeming to have also detected the problem with the eyes, as had Robinson. He hoped for a chance to have another picture from Pickersgill: “If I go to London in the Spring, and my eyes should be in as good order as they are at present, the picture shall meet me there and I will get P. to retouch it” ( Later Years , 4:120). If the eyes in this portrait expressed 1 feelings of indifference suited only for a stamp collector, 1 the second well-known Wordsworth portrait, engraved by W. H. Watt in 1835 and used as frontispiece to the 1836 Poems , showed too much femininity. Compared with Pickersgill’s, here Wordsworth’s eyes show excess of tenderness, with the lower lip protruding to create an introverted image. Wordsworth was very dissatisfied with this portrait, thinking that the picture distorted him, or, at least, the public image he wanted to convey. The picture carries “an air of feebleness” and “a weakness of expression about the upper lip” ( Later Years , 3: 304). In a letter to his nephew, Christopher Wordsworth, this picture was further criticized as carrying with it an“air of decrepitude, and the maudlin expression about the upper lip” ( Later Years , 3: 343-44). If Pickersgill’s portrait lacks tenderness, Watt’s lacks the masculine, even powerful image Wordsworth had in mind. Wordsworth’s ideal self-image was realized in Benjamin Robert Haydon’s portrait Wordsworth on Helvellyn in 1842. In this portraiture, Wordsworth is in a pensive mood, with his hands folded and head lowered in front of Helvellyn. Rather than using nature as backdrop, as in Pickersgill’s, Wordsworth is standing in front, creating a huge sublime figure of solitude and imagination dwarfing the mountain and sky in back. On seeing Haydon’s picture, Wordsworth’s daughter Dora called it “perfection” (qtd. in Rovee 170). If pensiveness and masculine power were the ideal attributes of his public image for Wordsworth, William Hazlitt’s description of Wordsworth also attests to the trueness of Haydon’s picture. In Hazlitt’s personal observation from his meeting with the poet, Wordsworth “lives in the busy solitude of his own heart; in the deep silence of thought,” a brooding figure of “heroic proportions” (qtd. in Rovee 169). “[S]olitude,” “thought,” “heroic” epitomize the stereo typical image of Wordsworth. In his effort to create the image of the “dignity of intellect” in his “noble poems,” 1 In 1813 Wordsworth received the official position of the Distributor of Stamps for Westmorland. 2 Wordsworth has successfully created a unified public image. For almost two hundred years, Wordsworth has been recognized as a disembodied poet, his mind an epitome of the masculine power of the imagination. The process of constructing a unified inner self out of the “body” of the text has long been manipulated in Wordsworth’s collected poems, those published since 1815, in which the chronological order was replaced with the aim to regroup them according to thematic subject. Zachary Leader notes the intention of this editorial manipulation: “Wordsworth’s insistence on a mostly thematic rather than chronological ordering of his poems in collected editions---[is] another manifestation of his sense of the self as single and unified” (665). The image of a single and unified self stems from a preference in the mind than the body. In addition to the portraits, descriptions from Wordsworth’s contemporaries also helped to promote the image of a unified self. It was first hinted in Thomas De Quincey’s physiognomic observation of Wordsworth: The nose, a little arched, and large; which, by the way… has always been accounted an unequivocal expression of animal appetites organically strong. And that expressed the simple truth: Wordsworth’s intellectual passions were fervent and strong. (qtd. in Hagstrum 144) The linkage between “a little arched, and large” nose with “an unequivocal expression of animal appetites” is a typical physiognomic diagnosis prevalent in the eighteenth century, but the “intellectual passions” detected from the same nose reveals De Quincey’s presupposition of Wordsworth as a strong poet. The relation between the shape of nose and the size of the animal appetites seemed clear since they both belong to the category of corporeal organs, but De Quincey transmuted the signs of animal passions into those of intellectual power. Dorothy Wordsworth once said that Wordsworth possessed: “a sort of violence of Affections… which demonstrates itself 3 every moment of the Day when the objects of his affection are present with him” (Letters: Early Years 83). The problem is: why do these affections and animal energies resist being transmuted from the portraits of Wordsworth, whether full-length picture or facial descriptions to his poetry? If De Quincey’s observation shows the unavoidable interpretation of Wordsworth’s looks, from the outside to the inside, from animal appetites to intellectual passions, then another Wordsworth contemporary, William Hazlitt, relentlessly pointed out the self-image created from Wordsworth’s poems: “One would suppose, from the tenor of his subjects, that on this earth there was neither marrying nor giving in marriage” (qtd. in Abrams, Natural Supernaturalism 143). In “neither marrying nor giving in marriage,” Hazlitt is referring to the absence of the sexual body in Wordsworth’s poetry. The avoidance of sex created the image, to use the words of M. H. Abrams, of an “asexual” and “ascetic” poet (ibid). Even when Wordsworth uses the word “wed,” “consummation,” they are used metaphorically to designate the wedding of the mind and the external world: “the discerning intellect of Man/When wedded to this goodly universe/In love and holy passion” ( Poems II, 52-58). Of course, during his lifetime, it cannot be said that Wordsworth forewent sexual relationships with women: e.g. his wife, Mary Hutchinson and his French lover Annette Vallon, 2 not to mention his “dear, dear Friend” Dorothy Wordsworth. The Wordsworth family hid the story of Annette Vallon for more than one hundred years, preserving the image of an ascetic, sublime nature poet, as created in Robert Haydon’s painting. 2 “In 1916 it was at last revealed publicly (scholarly insiders had known for some time) that Wordsworth had fathered a daughter on a French Royalist sympathizer when he was twenty-two years old. To some it was a relief to learn that Wordsworth had been like Keats and Shelley and Byron, a man with flesh and blood appetites, and not just a solitary visionary communing with Nature and the Universe, which is the figure most of the late portraits, busts, and statues conveyed. For others, though, the news had a more exciting meaning. Now one could see why Wordsworth’s early poetry is peopled with abandoned women and destitute figures and haunted guilty men. The haunted, guilty one was the poet himself. Further speculation about Wordsworth’s relation with his sister, Dorothy, added to the sense that the poetry up to, say, 1803 was the produce of a tormented spirit” (Stephen Gill “Introduction,” 2). 4 The avoidance of referring to Wordsworth’s body, especially the sexual body, results in a one-dimensional, uni-faceted image of Wordsworth. The legacy of the sublime, disembodied poet continues well into the twentieth century and dominates the circle of Wordsworth criticism. However, the sublime look of the poet is gradually revealed its different facets as Wordsworth criticism changed its methodology. Wordsworth criticism since the 1960s has generally proceeded in three main directions: the Yale School rhetorical criticism since the 1960s, (New) Historicist political criticism since the 1970s, and ecological criticism since the 1990s. The Yale School, represented by Geoffrey H. Hartman and Harold Bloom, directs their critical interest to the Romantic “vision.” Seeing nature and imagination as two forces fighting for Wordsworth’s soul, Hartman argues that “Wordsworth set out with less between himself and his imagination than perhaps any poet before him; he is somehow more vulnerable to apocalyptic starts and self-recognition” (101). In his The Visionary Company , Bloom emphasizes the power of imagination that enables Wordsworth to “blend” man and nature “into an apocalyptic unity” (127). This “apocalyptic unity,” from the perspective of the (New) Historicists, is contaminated with an historical engagement that betrays a hidden history of Wordsworth.