Three Modern Poets Seek the Past of Myth and History

THE story of Tristram and Isolt--of all medieval stories--seems modern imagination. Wagner, Swinburne, Hardy, and Belloc have all retold it, each changing it somewhat to suit his own purposes, but treating it always for what it is--one of the greatest love stories in the world. And now that such an important poet as Mr. Robinson, in the third of his Arthurian poems, has retold it once again, it is a matter of considerable interest to see with what success he has done so.

The poem is a long one, containing some 4600 lines of that admirably moulded blank verse which one expects of him. As in "Merlin" and "Lancelot", the chief emphasis is put upon the passionate and destructive love that burns his characters to ashes; and he has made every effort to make that love as real to his twentieth century readers as it was to Tristram and Isolt themselves. He has somewhat altered the story to do so. For example, the love drink is not one mentioned; Tristram and Isolt are consumed by a passion which it needs no magical agency to explain. And in other matters Mr. Robinson has altered his material for his own purposes. In the twelfth century version Isolt was "Isolt la Blonde"; in Malory, she was "La Belle Isond"; Mr. Robinson's Isolt has "night black hair" and "dark splendor" in her eyes. She is thus described, one imagines, to distinguish her from that other Isolt, Isolt of the white hands, for whom Tristram

Made pity out of sorrow, and of pity

Made the pale wine of love that is not love

Yet steals from a love name.

But such changes as these are only superficial; they make the poem structurally more successful and plot more clear--they do not mark the fundamental difference between Mr. Robinson and his predecessors. Both Malory and the earlier writers tell the story in terms of action; Mr. Robinson in terms of reflection. What they describe, he attempts to explain. In a word, his characters are self-conscious, fully aware of their situation and continually discussing it (the greater part of the poem consists of conversation) they are not the "possessed" lovers, consumed by a passion they do not attempt to understand, of the medieval story-tellers.

Now this blind passion is itself one of the reasons why the original version is so moving. Does Mr. Robinson, apparently discarding it, and retelling the story in the terms of modern sensitivity succeed in making his account equally moving and convincing? This is the important question the reviewer must ask.

And I am afraid he cannot give an unequivocal answer. Mr. Robinson has written a beautiful poem, the best he has published since "Lancelot": but it is not entirely successful. Granted his, method of attack, it is necessary that his characters should be vivid and distinct, their personalities clearly differentiated. Unfortunately they are not. It is, of course, exceedingly difficult to describe two people, both violently in love with each other, and, without describing anything else about them, make them distinct; it is nevertheless a difficulty Mr. Robinson, if his poem was to be really successful, had to overcome. But this the very introspection and sensitivity with which he has invested Tristram and Isolt make them unreal. They move behind veils, they are half hidden in a midst. Not always, of course; occasionally the mist lifts, the characters appear, and we feel the intensity of their passion.

. . . Isolt

Drew his face down to hers with all her strength,

Or so it seemed, and kissed his eyes and cheeks

And mouth until there was no reason left

To live but love--love that was not to be,

Save as a wrenching and a separation

Past reason or reprieve. . . .

God Tristram! Tristram!

But it is an intensity, a reality, which belongs to their story, not to them. Mr. Robinson's poem is moving, after all, for the same reason that the Twelfth century poem is moving because of the situation, not because Tristram and Isolt are two living people. The story has been retold, not remade.

This is the chief criticism to be held against it. In other respects "Tristram" is as I have said, a beautiful poem. There are many admirable details; one might call attention especially to the first appearance of Isolt, to the sense of tragedy which is present from the beginning, to the recurrent beat of waves which one hears continually throughout the poem, rolling "in a long wash of foam." It is free from those vested paradoxes and curious analogies which made so many pages of "Roman Barthalow" boring or even absurd! Mr. Robinson has here an anthem at all times worthy of his theme. There are occasional exceptions, but they are unimportant and are enormously overbalanced by the many passages in which the poetry is successful. One of the surest signs of Mr. Robinson's rank as a poet is the individuality of his rhythm; the "personality" of his style. He puts great stress (more than is commonly observed) on the sound of words, he uses a large number of feminine endings with a very special effect, his verse is never monotonous, and its melody with a peculiar, slightly remote, cadence of its own, is nearly always delightful. "Tristram" possesses these qualities and many others. And, if the characters are not individuals, this passion that transforms them is cunningly and movingly described; the poem is admirable in construction and expression. No one but Mr. Robertson could have written it. And that is high praise