the spirit of place and other essays(地方的精神等)-第8章
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mother…in…law of a country gentleman and the daughters of a scholar。
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The education of women had sunk into a degradation never reached before；
inasmuch as it was degraded in relation to that of men。 It would matter
little indeed that Mrs。 Primrose 〃could read any English book without
much spelling〃 if her husband and son were as definitely limited to
journeyman's field…labour as she was to the pickling and the gooseberry
wine。 Any of those industries is a better and more liberal business than
unselect reading； for instance； or than unselect writing。 Therefore let me
not be misunderstood to complain too indiscriminately of that century or
of an unlettered state。 What is really unhandsome is the new； slovenly； and
corrupt inequality whereinto the century had fallen。
That the mother of daughters and sons should be fatuous； a village
worldling； suspicious； ambitious； ill…bred； ignorant； gross； insolent； foul…
mouthed； pushing； importunate； and a fool； seems natural； almost
innocently natural； in Goldsmith's story； the squalid Mrs。 Primrose is all
this。 He is still able； through his Vicar； in the most charmingly humorous
passage in the book； to praise her for her 〃prudence； economy； and
obedience。〃 Her other； more disgusting； characteristics give her husband
an occasion for rebuking her as 〃Woman！〃 This is done； for example；
when； despite her obedience； she refuses to receive that unlucky schemer；
her own daughter； returned in ruins； without insulting her by the sallies of
a kitchen sarcasm。
She plots with her daughters the most disastrous fortune hunt。 She
has given them a teaching so effectual that the Vicar has no fear lest the
paltry Sophia should lose her heart to the good； the sensible Burchell； who
had saved her life； for he has no fortune。 Mrs。 Primrose begins grotesquely；
with her tedious histories of the dishes at dinner； and she ends upon the
last page； anxious； amid the general happiness； in regard to securing the
head of the table。 Upon these feminine humours the author sheds his
Vicar's indulgent smile。 What a smile for a self…respecting husband to be
pricked to smile！ A householder would wince； one would think； at
having opportunity to bestow its tolerance upon his cook。
Between these two housewifely appearances； Mrs。 Primrose potters
through the book； plotsalways squalidly； talks the worst kinds of folly；
takes the lead； with a loud laugh； in insulting a former friend； crushes her
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repentant daughter with reproaches that show envy rather than indignation；
and kisses that daughter with congratulation upon hearing that she had；
unconsciously and unintentionally； contracted a valid marriage （with a
rogue）； spoils and makes common and unclean everything she touches；
has but two really gentle and tender moments all through the story； and
sets； once for all； the example in literature of the woman we find
thenceforth； in Thackeray； in Douglas Jerrold； in Dickens； and un peu
partout。
Hardly less unspiritual； in spite of their conventional romance of youth
and beauty； are the daughters of the squalid one。 The author； in making
them simple； has not abstained from making them cunning。 Their vanities
are well enough； but these women are not only vain； they are so envious as
to refuse admiration to a sister…in…lawone who is their rival in no way
except in so much as she is a contemporary beauty。 〃Miss Arabella
Wilmot；〃 says the pious father and vicar； 〃was allowed by all （except my
two daughters） to be completely pretty。〃
They have been left by their father in such brutal ignorance as to be
instantly deceived into laughing at bad manners in error for humour。
They have no pretty or sensitive instincts。 〃The jests of the rich；〃 says
the Vicar； referring to his own young daughters as audience； 〃are ever
successful。〃 Olivia； when the squire played off a dullish joke； 〃mistook it
for humour。 She thought him； therefore； a very fine gentleman。〃 The
powders and patches for the country church； the ride thither on Blackberry；
in so strange a procession； the face…wash； the dreams and omens； are all
good gentle comedy； we are completely convinced of the tedium of Mrs。
Primrose's dreams； which she told every morning。 But there are other
points of comedy that ought not to precede an author's appeal to the kind
of sentiment about to be touched by the tragic scenes of The Vicar of
Wakefield。
In odd sidling ways Goldsmith bethinks himself to give his principal
heroine a shadow of the virtues he has not bestowed upon her。 When the
unhappy Williams； above…mentioned； has been used in vain by Olivia； and
the squire has not declared himself； and she is on the point of keeping her
word to Williams by marrying him； the Vicar creates a situation out of it
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all that takes the reader roundly by surprise： 〃I frequently applauded her
resolution in preferring happiness to ostentation。〃 The good Goldsmith！
Here is Olivia perfectly frank with her father as to her exceedingly sincere
preference for ostentation； and as to her stratagem to try to obtain it at the
expense of honour and of neighbour Williams； her mind is as well known
to her father as her father's mind is known to Oliver Goldsmith； and as
Oliver Goldsmith's； Dr。 Primrose's； and Olivia's minds are known to the
reader。 And in spite of all； your Goldsmith and your Vicar turn you this
phrase to your very face。 You hardly know which way to look； it is so
disconcerting。
Seeing that Olivia （with her chance…recovered virtue） and Sophia may
both be expected to grow into the kind of matronhood represented by their
mother； it needs all the conditions of fiction to surround the close of their
love…affairs with the least semblance of dignity。 Nor； in fact； can it be said
that the final winning of Sophia is an incident that errs by too much
dignity。 The scene is that in which Burchell； revealed as Sir William
Thornhill； feigns to offer her in marriage to the good…natured rogue；
Jenkinson； fellow prisoner with her father； in order that； on her indignant
and distressed refusal； he may surprise her agreeably by crying； 〃What？
Not have him？ If that be the case； I think I must have you myself。〃
Even for an avowedly eccentric master of whims； this is playing with
forbidden ironies。 True； he catches her to his breast with ardour； and
calls her 〃sensible。〃 〃Such sense and such heavenly beauty；〃 finally
exclaims the happy man。 Let us make him a present of the heavenly
beauty。 It is the only thing not disproved； not dispraised； not disgraced；
by a candid study of the Ladies of the Idyll。
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A DERIVATION
By what obscure cause； through what ill…directed industry； and under
the constraint of what disabling hands； had the language of English poetry
grown； for an age； so rigid that a natural writer at the end of the eighteenth
century had much ado to tell a simple story in sufficient verse？ All the
vital exercise of the seventeenth century had left the language buoyant； it
was as elastic as deep and mobile waters； then followed the grip of that
incapacitating later style。 Much later； English has been so used as to
become flaccidit has been stretched； as it were； beyond its power of
rebound； or certainly beyond its power of rebound in common use （for
when a master writes he always uses a tongue that has suffered nothing）。 It
is in our own day that English has been so over…strained。 In Crabbe's day
it had been effectually curbed； hindered； and hampered； and it cannot be
said of Crabbe that he was a master who takes natural possession of a
language that has suffered nothing。 He was evidently a man of talent
who had to take his part with the times； subject to history。 To call him a
poet was a mere convention。 There seems to be not a single moment of
poetry in his work； and assuredly if he had known the earlier signification
of the word he would have been the last man to claim the incongruous title
of poet。 But it is impossible to state the question as it would have
presented itself to Crabbe or to any other writer of his quality entering into
the same inheritance of English。
It is true that Crabbe read and quoted Milton； so did all his
contemporaries； and to us now it seems that poetry cannot have been
forgotten by any age possessing Lycidas。 Yet that age can scarcely be
said to have in any true sense possessed Lycidas。 There are other things；
besides poetry； in Milton's poems。 We do not entirely know； perhaps； but
we can conjecture how a reader in Crabbe's late eighteenth century；
looking in Milton for authority for all that he unluckily and vainly admired；
would well find it。 He would find the approval of Young's 〃Night
Thoughts〃 did he search for it； as we who do not search for it may not
readily understand。 A step or so downwards； from a few passages
