Victorian Verse - Maud II iv - Tennyson

There is a break in the narrative between sections I and II.  We left the narrator waiting for Maud in the garden.  The opening of Part II makes it clear that something unfortunate has happened:

II i

“THE FAULT was mine, the fault was mine”—
Why am I sitting here so stunn’d and still,
Plucking the harmless wild-flower on the hill?—
It is this guilty hand!—

Maud did meet with the narrator in the garden - but as soon as she arrives, they are discovered by the brother and the "babe-faced lord".  A row ensues and the brother strikes the narrator and challenges him to a duel.  In the duel, the narrator kills the brother.  Dying, the brother claims "the fault was mine" and urges him to flee.  The narrator flees to Brittany, from where he recalls and regrets his action, in spite of being absolved from blame by the brother.  Soon after he arrives, he hears that Maud, too, has died - presumably from grief.  This canto comes just after he has heard the news. 

The canto is written in a fairly regular ballad metre of iambic tetrametres and iambic trimetres with an irregular rhyme scheme. The poem is propelled forward by the use of enjambment, which gives the whole canto, although reflective in subject matter, an underlying urgency, reflecting the pain of his loss - and also his desperation.  He is a "murderer", he lives in self-imposed exile and his beloved is dead.  This is not a happy situation. 

II iv

i

O that 'twere possible 

After long grief and pain 

To find the arms of my true love 

Round me once again! 

There is a clear echo here of an anonymous16th century poem called "The Lover in Winter Plaineth for the Spring" which begins:

O Western wind, when wilt thou blow

That the small rain down can rain?   

Christ, that my love were in my arms

And I in my bed again!                         

The exclamatory tone continues in the third stanza - "Ah, Christ..."  as he recalls his secret meetings with Maud:

ii

When I was wont to meet her 

In the silent woody places 

By the home that gave me birth, 

We stood tranced in long embraces 

Mixt with kisses sweeter sweeter 

Than anything on earth. 

iii

A shadow flits before me, 

Not thou, but like to thee: 

Ah Christ, that it were possible 

For one short hour to see 

The souls we loved, that they might tell us 

What and where they be. 

He imagines an image of Maud and wishes that she (and other dead people) could tell him the mysteries of the afterlife.  This is a recurring theme in Tennyson - curiosity about what happens when we die, whether souls meet again, the power of memory to recapture the dead and the possibility of communion between them - no doubt engendered by the death of Hallam. Victorians, although still adhering to the established Church, were shaken by the findings of Darwin and others that called into question the absolute authority of the Bible and this extended to questioning the existence of an afterlife.  It was an age in which Spiritualism - attempts to contact the dead "on the other side" - became very popular.  There is a good introduction to the topic here.  

iv

It leads me forth at evening, 

It lightly winds and steals 

In a cold white robe before me, 

When all my spirit reels 

At the shouts, the leagues of lights, 

And the roaring of the wheels. 

He contrasts the unearthly vision of Maud, cold and pale, with the clamour of the living world around him - a world which has lost its meaning, being reduced to light and noise.

v

Half the night I waste in sighs, 

Half in dreams I sorrow after 

The delight of early skies; 

In a wakeful doze I sorrow 

For the hand, the lips, the eyes, 

For the meeting of the morrow, 

The delight of happy laughter, 

The delight of low replies. 

He recalls the pleasures of his meeting with Maud, which he dreams about at night. Notice the focus on the physical, which is similar to that expressed in In Memoriam, and the use of repetition.

vi

'Tis a morning pure and sweet, 

And a dewy splendour falls 

On the little flower that clings 

To the turrets and the walls; 

'Tis a morning pure and sweet, 

And the light and shadow fleet; 

She is walking in the meadow, 

And the woodland echo rings; 

In a moment we shall meet; 

She is singing in the meadow, 

And the rivulet at her feet 

Ripples on in light and shadow 

To the ballad that she sings. 

Tennyson has written about "splendour" (glowing light) elsewhere:

"The splendour falls on castle walls" - The Princess

It is used to contrast the light of the living world with the darkness of death. His dream takes on a more vivid reality - note the opening "''Tis" - it is and "She is walking ..."  The images of Maud are firmly lodged in the real world, which is described in minute detail - little flower that clings/To the turrets..."   In the language of flowers, this would signify constancy and if we take Maud herself as "the little flower" then we have an image of her clinging on to life, and by inference, the narrator.  There is a terrible poignancy in the vivid image of his Maud coming towards him in the repeated: "She is walking...", "She is singing..." 

vii

Do I hear her sing as of old, 

My bird with the shining head, 

My own dove with the tender eye? 

But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry, 

There is some one dying or dead, 

And a sullen thunder is roll'd; 

For a tumult shakes the city, 

And I wake, my dream is fled; 

In the shuddering dawn, behold, 

Without knowledge, without pity, 

By the curtains of my bed 

That abiding phantom cold. 

viii

Get thee hence, nor come again, 

Mix not memory with doubt, 

Pass, thou deathlike type of pain, 

Pass and cease to move about! 

'Tis the blot upon the brain 

That will show itself without. 

The narrator awakes from his dream as he hears her cry out at the death of her brother.  Her sweet image is replaced with one of horror - notice the hyperllage (transferred epithet) in "shuddering dawn".  Who or what this "abiding phantom" is, is unclear.  It may be Death itself or Guilt or the image of the dead brother.  Whichever, it is sufficiently unnerving to drive the narrator out of his room and into the streets.  The tone changes from blissful reminiscence to pushing away horrid images - note the commands "Get", the repeated "Pass".  

ix

Then I rise, the eave-drops fall, 

And the yellow vapours choke 

The great city sounding wide; 

The day comes, a dull red ball 

Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke 

On the misty river-tide. 

x

Thro' the hubbub of the market 

I steal, a wasted frame; 

It crosses here, it crosses there, 

Thro' all that crowd confused and loud, 

The shadow still the same; 

And on my heavy eyelids 

My anguish hangs like shame. 

The narrator goes out into the city.  The description matches his state of mind (pathetic fallacy) - dark, foggy, pestilent, shrouded, confused, where the former "splendour" of light in his dream has given way to the reality of "a dull red ball".  He is isolated in his guilt and shame from the everyday life of the people around him. 

xi

Alas for her that met me, 

That heard me softly call, 

Came glimmering thro' the laurels 

At the quiet evenfall, 

In the garden by the turrets 

Of the old manorial hall.

The narrator feels guilt also for Maud's death as he recalls their meetings. There is a blending of the past, living girl approaching him and the dead spirit of his dreams in the word "glimmering" as if she was/is a being of light.  Note how the stanzas move seamlessly between his two states - the idyllic, remembered past and his harsh reality.  

xii

Would the happy spirit descend 

From the realms of light and song, 

In the chamber or the street, 

As she looks among the blest, 

Should I fear to greet my friend 

Or to say "Forgive the wrong," 

Or to ask her, "Take me, sweet, 

To the regions of thy rest"? 

The first word "Would" means "Were ... to", so "Were the happy spirit to descend..."  He wonders what he would do were she to come down from heaven in reality.  Would he be too wracked with guilt to talk to her, or would he ask forgiveness, or would he ask her to take him with her up to heaven?  

xiii

But the broad light glares and beats, 

And the shadow flits and fleets 

And will not let me be; 

And I loathe the squares and streets, 

And the faces that one meets, 

Hearts with no love for me: 

Always I long to creep 

Into some still cavern deep, 

There to weep, and weep, and weep 

My whole soul out to thee.

In the light of day, there is to be no reconciliation between the living and the dead.  The shadow of his past actions haunts him and isolates him from the living.  He feels increasingly alienated from his fellow-man and wishes only to go and hide in a cave where he can pour out his grief to Maud.  It seems likely that this stanza is also a further homage to Hallam, as it shares much of the same heightened emotion.

Victorian Verse - Maud I.xxii - Tennyson

Possibly the most popular of Tennyson's poems among the general public, as it was made into a "parlour song" as early as 1857.   Go here to hear it sung rather well by a Professor of Musicology at Leeds, who, in the same archive, has also written an article with some interesting insights about the match of the music to the words.  You want the setting by Balfe, not Sullivan.

The poem is remarkable for its sensuality.  Gone is the colloquial style, the plain, unadorned language.  This is Tennyson pulling out all the stops with passionate intensity, in spite of its rigid structure.  It is written in ballad form - alternating lines of iambic tetrametres and iambic trimetres (four beats/three beats in a line) with a regular ababab rhyming scheme. This is predominantly sustained over eleven stanzas, showing Tennyson's technical mastery.  Within this tight structure, he weaves a highly sensuous and erotic description of the garden and Maud, as well as conveying the obsessive nature of the narrator's passion.

At this point in the long poem, the intentions of the brother's friend towards Maud are becoming clear and the brother is supporting his claim.  He holds a party to which the would-be bridegroom is invited - but our Narrator is not.  The narrator stands in the garden as dawn breaks, waiting for Maud to keep her promise to visit him after the party.

MAUD I xxii

i

Come into the garden. Maud,

For the black bat, night, has flown.

Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone;

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,

And the musk of the rose is blown.

The repeated entreaty sets the tone of longing which characterises the canto.  The personification of "night" as the alliterative  "black bat" adds to the description of the scene (bats fly at night) but also conveys that night is over, flown away.  Both "woodbine" (honeysuckle) and roses have strong scents which are particularly noticeable at night.  "Blown" here has the double meaning of "blown by the wind", as in "wafted",  and finished - roses are described as "blown" when they are dropping their petals.  So we have in this first stanza a suggestion of an ending - although the narrator is waiting expectantly.

ii
For a breeze of morning moves,

     And the planet of Love is on high,

Beginning to faint in the light that she loves

     On a bed of daffodil sky,

To faint in the light of the sun she loves,

     To faint in his light, and to die.

The coming of dawn is heralded by Venus, the "planet of Love", named after the Roman goddess, being seen in the sky, but her light fading as the sun comes up. The image of Venus lying on a yellow bed fainting is erotic - notice the sun is personified as "his light", making this an overtly sexual reference.  The Victorians are characterised as being prudish about sex, at least in public.  They were, in fact, highly sexualised, as a glance at their paintings would reveal!  They also wrote a lot of pornography.

iii

All night have the roses heard

     The flute, violin, bassoon ;

All night has the casement jessamine stirred

     To the dancers dancing in tune ;

Till a silence fell with the waking bird,

     And a hush with the setting moon.

The narrator has been listening to the sounds of music from the party all night, from his hiding place in the garden and he fancifully imagines the flowers to have been doing the same.  "Jessamine" is jasmine - another highly scented flower which symbolises attachment. (See below for a more detailed explanation of the "language of flowers".)  At dawn, the party breaks up.  Notice the continual use of noun phrases - "waking bird", "setting moon" to paint a detailed picture in a few words.

iv

I said to the lily, ‘There is but one

     With whom she has heart to be gay.

When will the dancers leave her alone ?

     She is weary of dance and play.’

Now half to the setting moon are gone,

     And half to the rising day ;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone

     The last wheel echoes away.

The narrator now addresses his flowery companions showing his impatience with Maud's absence - and his assumption that she would rather be with him than partying.  The party is breaking up, with the guests departing their various ways in their carriages.  These few stanzas paint a fascinating portrait of how Victorian society entertained.

v

I said to the rose, ‘The brief night goes

     In babble and revel and wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,

     For one that will never be thine ?

But mine, but mine,’ so I sware to the rose,

     ‘For ever and ever, mine.’

The narrator shows his contempt for the party in the world "babble" and for the "lord-lover" who has come to woo Maud in that portmanteau word. He despises him, not only because he presumes to win Maud's love, but because of his status - what was called "noveau riche" - people whose money was acquired through trade and not land. The "lord-lover"'s father was in mining.  The "lord" is ironic.  The repeated "mine" shows the narrator's growing obsession - and of course, could be a deranged echo of the "lord"'s trade. 

vi

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,

     As the music clashed in the hall ;

And long by the garden lake I stood,

     For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,

     Our wood, that is dearer than all ;

The Victorian's had a highly developed "language of love" through flowers.  It was a way of signalling one's feelings about another without speaking.  So, "forget-me-not", a small, blue flower, meant just that.  Roses are the traditional flower of love and passion and have featured in poetry as such since Chaucer in the 14th century at least. A contemporary book on the subject by Kate Greenaway can be found here.  Click on the pages to turn them.  This tradition was given a recent boost when Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge, chose flowers with specific meanings for her bridal bouquet. The "rivulet" that he hears is a cascade running through the grounds of the Hall, from the lake through a meadow and into the wood where they used to meet, a sound he contrasts with the noise of the party.  The rivulet is THEIR sound. 

vii

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet

     That whenever a March-wind sighs

He sets the jewel-print of your feet

     In violets blue as your eyes,

To the woody hollows in which we meet

     And the valleys of Paradise.

He traces the course of the rivulet, imagining that Maud is walking there and as she does so, the earth responds by growing violets (faithfulness) where she steps.  This is another common conceit used by poets and can be found in other lyrics, such as William Congreve's "Where'er You Walk" (18th century), made famous by Handel in his oratorio Semele:

 Where'er you tread
The Blushing flowers shall rise
And all things flourish
And all things flourish
Where'er you turn your eyes

viii

The slender acacia would not shake

     One long milk-bloom on the tree ;

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake

     As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ;

But the rose was awake all night for your sake,

     Knowing your promise to me ;

The lilies and roses were all awake,

     They sighed for the dawn and thee.

It appears that the acacia (friendship - too cold?) by the lake, and the scarlet pimpernel (change; assignation) nearby do not react to her passing as the lake is not a place special to them - unlike the roses and lilies (purity; sweetness) in the garden.

ix

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,

     Come hither, the dances are done,

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

     Queen lily and rose in one ;

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,

     To the flowers, and be their sun.

The language here is a combination of passion and purity  - his passion, her purity, although he of course hopes for the passion to be reciprocated.  Although Maud's appearance is idealised, we do learn from these stanzas that she has blonde, curly hair and blue eyes.  She is, in fact, quite vividly depicted in the poem as a whole (see Canto I.ii) where we learn that she has a full bottom lip and a slightly curved nose!  Maud was modelled on Charlotte Rosa Baring who lived near Tennyson in Spilsby in Lincolnshire and the garden is the  garden of her house.  

x

There has fallen a splendid tear

     From the passion-flower at the gate.

She is coming, my dove, my dear ;

     She is coming, my life, my fate ;

The red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is near ;’

     And the white rose weeps, ‘She is late ;’

The larkspur listens, ‘I hear, I hear ;’

     And the lily whispers, ‘I wait.’

The narrator's growing frustration at Maud's tardiness is echoed by the flowers all around him.  The passion-flower (religion and belief) is a plant long associated with Christ's passion, heightening the spiritual fervour he is feeling. The flowers are made up in parts of three and five - the Trinity, the five wounds - head, hands, feet and side.  The red rose is passionate in its conviction of her arrival, while the white rose ("I am worthy") cries as she continues to deny him; the larkspur (haughtiness) hears him, but does not respond.  The repetition also reflects his increasing impatience.

xii

She is coming, my own, my sweet,

     Were it ever so airy a tread,

My heart would hear her and beat,

      Were it earth in an earthy bed ;

My dust would hear her and beat,

     Had I lain for a century dead ;

Would start and tremble under her feet,

     And blossom in purple and red.

The narrator reaffirms his belief that she will come to him and that however lightly she were to walk, he would hear her and respond with all his being - even if he were dead in the ground beneath her feet.  This idea is developed and he imagines himself as "dust" (from whence man came - as in "dust to dust, ashes to ashes" in the burial service) and that Maud has the power of resurrection  - again, a Christ-like image. Like Lazarus, he will rise from the dead.  The final line reinforces the flower imagery that has run throughout the poem - his (brown, dead) "dust" will regrow and bloom in the colours of his passion and the roses that surround him as he waits.

Some critics interpret the final line as an image of violence.  Given the flower imagery that precedes it, I am not convinced that this interpretation is supportable. A vivid and extreme evocation of a man's consuming passion, certainly.