suffering and calm in the ruined cottage

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Suffering and Calm in Wordsworth's Early PoetryAuthor(s): James H. AverillReviewed work(s):Source: PMLA, Vol. 91, No. 2 (Mar., 1976), pp. 223-234Published by: Modern Language AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/461509 .

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JAMES H. AVERILLAMES H. AVERILL

Sufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly Poetryufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly PoetryI

R EADERS OF Wordsworth have oftenthought that the ending of The RuinedCottage evades the poem's emotional and

philosophical consequences. The relentless depic-tion of Margaret's disintegration has seemed in-congruous with the sense of calm pervading theclosing lines. The tendency has been, with F. R.Leavis, to view this tranquillity as elegiac sleight-of-hand, in which the Pedlar's "consummatepoetic skill" effects "a disciplined limiting of con-templation to the endurable, and, consequently, awithdrawal to a reassuring environment." Thus,Herbert Lindenberger has compared the poem'sending to Tate's desecration of KingLear; DavidPerkins has characterized it as a "retreat from'uneasy thoughts' "; and E. E. Bostetter has saidthat "in affixing such a conclusion, Wordsworthhas in effect repudiated the story as he has toldit."'' According to this view, Wordsworth, like amere sorcerer's apprentice, became frightened atthe emotions unleashed by his conjuration anddesperately attempted to deny them; we haveWordsworth as existentialist manque, retreatingfrom the abyss of universal evil and despair. Sucha reading, whatever its attractiveness, ignoresWordsworth's real fascination with suffering.The early poetry, after all, is virtually a parade ofvictims; the insane, the miserable, the diseased,decrepit, dying, and dead populate the landscapeto the virtual exclusion of the healthy and thenormal. The movement of such a mind from thedepiction of sufferingto a sense of calm surelyhasa more adequate explanation than a sudden needfor decorum or repression; indeed, "calm" or"tranquillity" represents a central Wordsworth-ian response to the fictional representation of hu-man misery.

Paradoxically, the place to begin in talkingabout the tranquil conclusion of TheRuinedCot-tage2 is the poem's opening. Here we find a land-scape completely unlike that through which thePedlar and the young man "chearfully pursue"

IR EADERS OF Wordsworth have often

thought that the ending of The RuinedCottage evades the poem's emotional andphilosophical consequences. The relentless depic-tion of Margaret's disintegration has seemed in-congruous with the sense of calm pervading theclosing lines. The tendency has been, with F. R.Leavis, to view this tranquillity as elegiac sleight-of-hand, in which the Pedlar's "consummatepoetic skill" effects "a disciplined limiting of con-templation to the endurable, and, consequently, awithdrawal to a reassuring environment." Thus,Herbert Lindenberger has compared the poem'sending to Tate's desecration of KingLear; DavidPerkins has characterized it as a "retreat from'uneasy thoughts' "; and E. E. Bostetter has saidthat "in affixing such a conclusion, Wordsworthhas in effect repudiated the story as he has toldit."'' According to this view, Wordsworth, like amere sorcerer's apprentice, became frightened atthe emotions unleashed by his conjuration anddesperately attempted to deny them; we haveWordsworth as existentialist manque, retreatingfrom the abyss of universal evil and despair. Sucha reading, whatever its attractiveness, ignoresWordsworth's real fascination with suffering.The early poetry, after all, is virtually a parade ofvictims; the insane, the miserable, the diseased,decrepit, dying, and dead populate the landscapeto the virtual exclusion of the healthy and thenormal. The movement of such a mind from thedepiction of sufferingto a sense of calm surelyhasa more adequate explanation than a sudden needfor decorum or repression; indeed, "calm" or"tranquillity" represents a central Wordsworth-ian response to the fictional representation of hu-man misery.

Paradoxically, the place to begin in talkingabout the tranquil conclusion of TheRuinedCot-tage2 is the poem's opening. Here we find a land-scape completely unlike that through which thePedlar and the young man "chearfully pursue"

their "evening way" :3 the narrator wanders aloneacross a hot and desolate plain; the summer sunbeats down and the "uplands" show a peculiarhostility as they "feebly glare" at him "through apale steam"; he toils "with languid feet" baffledby "the slipp'ry ground," and finallywhen I stretchedmyselfOnthebrownearthmylimbsfromveryheat

Could indno rest,normyweakarmdisperseTheinsecthostwhichgathered oundmyfaceAnd oinedtheirmurmursothetediousnoiseOfseedsofbursting orse hatcrackled ound.(11. 1-26)In the midst of this description of an oppressiveNature, there is a digression upon a "dreamingman" who exists in comfort and harmony (11.10-18). His world is one of "soft cool moss," "dewyshade," and a wren's "soothing melody," yetWordsworth makes clear that it is the samecountryside. The prostrating "heat" is, to thedreaming man, "clear and pleasant sunshine ...pleasant to him." Among much else, this digres-sion serves to emphasize the subjective nature ofthe narrator's experience.4 It suggests that inter-nal psychological factors are largely responsiblefor his being out of tune with his surroundings,that the weariness is rather more a spiritual thana physical state. The condition of the Words-worthian observer is, then, analogous to his statein the opening lines of SalisburyPlain, "A Night-Piece," and "The Climbing of Snowdon." Heperceives Nature as hostile and oppressive be-cause of the undefined psychological and spiritualburdens he is carrying.The insect host and burst-ing gorse seed function like the acorn that inter-rupts poetic composition in Prelude I; insignifi-cant particulars impinge upon a mind weak andeasily distracted. Surrounded by petty annoy-ances, beset by a profound sense of futility, thenarratorfinds in the world outside him a sympa-thetic image of the world within.Within the narrative structure of The RuinedCottage, this hostile landscape is antithetical to

their "evening way" :3 the narrator wanders aloneacross a hot and desolate plain; the summer sunbeats down and the "uplands" show a peculiarhostility as they "feebly glare" at him "through apale steam"; he toils "with languid feet" baffledby "the slipp'ry ground," and finallywhen I stretchedmyselfOnthebrownearthmylimbsfromveryheat

Could indno rest,normyweakarmdisperseTheinsecthostwhichgathered oundmyfaceAnd oinedtheirmurmursothetediousnoiseOfseedsofbursting orse hatcrackled ound.(11. 1-26)In the midst of this description of an oppressiveNature, there is a digression upon a "dreamingman" who exists in comfort and harmony (11.10-18). His world is one of "soft cool moss," "dewyshade," and a wren's "soothing melody," yetWordsworth makes clear that it is the samecountryside. The prostrating "heat" is, to thedreaming man, "clear and pleasant sunshine ...pleasant to him." Among much else, this digres-sion serves to emphasize the subjective nature ofthe narrator's experience.4 It suggests that inter-nal psychological factors are largely responsiblefor his being out of tune with his surroundings,that the weariness is rather more a spiritual thana physical state. The condition of the Words-worthian observer is, then, analogous to his statein the opening lines of SalisburyPlain, "A Night-Piece," and "The Climbing of Snowdon." Heperceives Nature as hostile and oppressive be-cause of the undefined psychological and spiritualburdens he is carrying.The insect host and burst-ing gorse seed function like the acorn that inter-rupts poetic composition in Prelude I; insignifi-cant particulars impinge upon a mind weak andeasily distracted. Surrounded by petty annoy-ances, beset by a profound sense of futility, thenarratorfinds in the world outside him a sympa-thetic image of the world within.Within the narrative structure of The RuinedCottage, this hostile landscape is antithetical to22323

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Sufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly Poetryufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly Poetrythe peaceful evening scene that closes the poem.There is no empirical reason why evening wouldbe more pleasant or less oppressive than thebright noon hour. Suitably minded poets, likeGray and Young, have conjured gloom, despair,intimations of mortality out of the day's expira-tion, and one would not think it inappropriateforWordsworth to have done as much after tellingMargaret's tale. Instead

He ceased.Bythisthesundeclining hotA slantandmellowradiance,whichbeganTo falluponus wherebeneath hetreesWesateon thatlow bench.Andnowwe felt,Admonishedhus,the sweethourcomingon:A linnetwarbled romthoseloftyelms,A thrushsang oud,andother melodiesAt distanceheard,peopled he milderair.(11. 26-33)This transformation of a sympathetic Naturereflects the traveler'schanged psychological state.Something has worked a complete transforma-tion, as a nearly paranoid irritability has givenway to calm and a sense of universal well-being.But all that has "happened" to him has been theexperience of listening to the story of Margaret.If the change is not merely cosmetic, clearly itderives in some way from the contemplation ofMargaret's suffering.

To emphasize this transformation, Words-worth describes two such conversions from un-easiness to calm at the conclusion of The RuinedCottage. Before the narrator perceives the calmlandscape around him, the Pedlar has told him ofa previous experience at Margaret's cottage:

I wellrememberhatthoseveryplumes,Thoseweeds,andthehighspear-grassnthatwall,Bymistandsilentrain-dropsilveredo'er,As once I passed,didto mymindconveySo still an imageof tranquility,So calmandstill,andlooked so beautifulAmidtheuneasy houghtswhich illedmymind,Thatwhat we feel of sorrowanddespairFromruinandfromchange,andall thegriefThepassingshewsof being eavebehind,Appeared n idledream hatcould not liveWheremeditationwas.(11. 13-24)

Before seeing the spear grass, the Pedlar had beenin roughly the same state as the emotionallyexcited, "uneasy" present of the narrator. Thespear grass gave a sense of calm which was ex-plicitly an escape from temporality, "from ruinand from change," from "the passing shews of be-

the peaceful evening scene that closes the poem.There is no empirical reason why evening wouldbe more pleasant or less oppressive than thebright noon hour. Suitably minded poets, likeGray and Young, have conjured gloom, despair,intimations of mortality out of the day's expira-tion, and one would not think it inappropriateforWordsworth to have done as much after tellingMargaret's tale. Instead

He ceased.Bythisthesundeclining hotA slantandmellowradiance,whichbeganTo falluponus wherebeneath hetreesWesateon thatlow bench.Andnowwe felt,Admonishedhus,the sweethourcomingon:A linnetwarbled romthoseloftyelms,A thrushsang oud,andother melodiesAt distanceheard,peopled he milderair.(11. 26-33)This transformation of a sympathetic Naturereflects the traveler'schanged psychological state.Something has worked a complete transforma-tion, as a nearly paranoid irritability has givenway to calm and a sense of universal well-being.But all that has "happened" to him has been theexperience of listening to the story of Margaret.If the change is not merely cosmetic, clearly itderives in some way from the contemplation ofMargaret's suffering.

To emphasize this transformation, Words-worth describes two such conversions from un-easiness to calm at the conclusion of The RuinedCottage. Before the narrator perceives the calmlandscape around him, the Pedlar has told him ofa previous experience at Margaret's cottage:

I wellrememberhatthoseveryplumes,Thoseweeds,andthehighspear-grassnthatwall,Bymistandsilentrain-dropsilveredo'er,As once I passed,didto mymindconveySo still an imageof tranquility,So calmandstill,andlooked so beautifulAmidtheuneasy houghtswhich illedmymind,Thatwhat we feel of sorrowanddespairFromruinandfromchange,andall thegriefThepassingshewsof being eavebehind,Appeared n idledream hatcould not liveWheremeditationwas.(11. 13-24)

Before seeing the spear grass, the Pedlar had beenin roughly the same state as the emotionallyexcited, "uneasy" present of the narrator. Thespear grass gave a sense of calm which was ex-plicitly an escape from temporality, "from ruinand from change," from "the passing shews of be-

ing"; the empirical world became "an idledream."As has been seen, the young man acceptsthe vision, and the tranquillity of the past speargrass vision is recapitulated in the evening calm.Thus, at the end of The RuinedCottage,a doubledexperienceof sufferingand calm is meant to assertthat a sense of tranquillity can result from thecontemplation of human suffering.A striking parallel to the calm vision in TheRuinedCottageis the final speech of the chorus inSamson Agonistes:

His servantshe with newacquistOf trueexperienceromthisgreateventWithpeaceand consolationhathdismist,Andcalmof mindall passionspent.(11. 755-58)Milton here is self-consciously incorporating thecathartic response of calm within the text of hisplay. Although Wordsworth's knowledge of thePoetics is less certain than Milton's,s in TheRuined Cottage he too is dramatizing a processlike the Aristotelian katharsis.6 The narrator andthe Pedlar function as a tragic chorus, guidingand intensifying the reader's emotions. The calmof Nature is the metaphor by which the poet de-scribesthe cathartic effects of Margaret's tragedy.Thus, the tranquillity which has been exten-sively criticized is the statement of a complex, sig-nificant, and familiar response to suffering.Whether he had in mind Aristotle's terminologyor not, Wordsworth could find, on the beat of hisown pulse and in contemporary theories of thesublime and the pathetic, ample evidence of thecatharticvalue of pathos. In this paper, I shall ex-plore the Wordsworthian catharsis further: Sec-tion II discusses early examples of the juxtaposi-tion of sufferingand tranquillity in Wordsworth'spoetry; Section in, the intensive process by whichWordsworth arrived at "calm" in The RuinedCottage; finally, in Section iv, there is an attemptto relate the pattern of suffering and calm to alarger pattern of excitement and calm.

IITheRuinedCottageis only one of severalpoemsin early Wordsworth where natural tranquillityfollows a tale of suffering; such a juxtapositionwould seem to form an important habit of thepoet's imagination. The earliest example of suf-fering and calm is the freezing family episode in

An Evening Walk (11.242-328).7 Significantly, it

ing"; the empirical world became "an idledream."As has been seen, the young man acceptsthe vision, and the tranquillity of the past speargrass vision is recapitulated in the evening calm.Thus, at the end of The RuinedCottage,a doubledexperienceof sufferingand calm is meant to assertthat a sense of tranquillity can result from thecontemplation of human suffering.A striking parallel to the calm vision in TheRuinedCottageis the final speech of the chorus inSamson Agonistes:

His servantshe with newacquistOf trueexperienceromthisgreateventWithpeaceand consolationhathdismist,Andcalmof mindall passionspent.(11. 755-58)Milton here is self-consciously incorporating thecathartic response of calm within the text of hisplay. Although Wordsworth's knowledge of thePoetics is less certain than Milton's,s in TheRuined Cottage he too is dramatizing a processlike the Aristotelian katharsis.6 The narrator andthe Pedlar function as a tragic chorus, guidingand intensifying the reader's emotions. The calmof Nature is the metaphor by which the poet de-scribesthe cathartic effects of Margaret's tragedy.Thus, the tranquillity which has been exten-sively criticized is the statement of a complex, sig-nificant, and familiar response to suffering.Whether he had in mind Aristotle's terminologyor not, Wordsworth could find, on the beat of hisown pulse and in contemporary theories of thesublime and the pathetic, ample evidence of thecatharticvalue of pathos. In this paper, I shall ex-plore the Wordsworthian catharsis further: Sec-tion II discusses early examples of the juxtaposi-tion of sufferingand tranquillity in Wordsworth'spoetry; Section in, the intensive process by whichWordsworth arrived at "calm" in The RuinedCottage; finally, in Section iv, there is an attemptto relate the pattern of suffering and calm to alarger pattern of excitement and calm.

IITheRuinedCottageis only one of severalpoemsin early Wordsworth where natural tranquillityfollows a tale of suffering; such a juxtapositionwould seem to form an important habit of thepoet's imagination. The earliest example of suf-fering and calm is the freezing family episode in

An Evening Walk (11.242-328).7 Significantly, it

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James H. Averillames H. Averillis also the first time Wordsworth depicts "poornaked wretches .. / That bide the pelting of thispitiless storm."The apprentice poet spares little in the attemptto create pathos. He hurls "torrent gales" and"bitter showers" upon the innocents, relishingsuch commonplaces of eighteenth-century senti-mentalism as "frozen arms," "chattering lips,""dying" hearts, and "flooded" cheeks; at lengththereis a tableau of the childrendead in theirdeadmother's arms:

SoonshalltheLight'ning oldbeforethyheadHis torch,andshewthemslumberingn theirbed,No tearscanchillthem,andno bosomwarms,Thybreast heirdeath-bed, offin'dn thinearms.(11. 97-300)At this point one might expect anger at a societythat makes inevitable such occurrences, or sym-pathetic moralizing on human existence, or, at theleast, the justification that God will reward thepatient sufferer in the afterlife.8 The episodeseems to demand response or comment, but in-stead we are told:

Sweetarethesoundsthatmingle romafar,Heardbycalmlakes,as peepsthefoldingstar,Where heduckdabbles mid therustling edge,Andfeedingpikestarts rom thewater'sedge,Or theswanstirsthereeds,hisneck andbillWetting, hatdripuponthewaterstill;Andheron,as resounds hetrodden hore,Shootsupward,dartinghis longneckbefore.While,by thescenecompos'd, hebreastsubsides,Noughtwakensor disturbst's tranqil ides.(11. 01-10)Without comment upon the tale or any transitionto the narrative present, the description of thefrozen woman ends, and the poet returns to anevening lakeside whose natural tranquillity ismade more pronounced, eerie, and moving by thefrantichuman striving that has precededit.9As Robert Mayo has shown, the figure of aperson helpless and suffering in a hostile Naturewas a common topic for poetry in the 1790's.'0In an age when emotional outpouring to sufferingwas an important literary pleasure, poets foundthe necessary pathos in wretches who wanderedcountry roads. It is notable, however, that al-though Langhorne, Southey, Crabbe, and Cow-per, among others, make sketches of sufferingrural humanity, none of them places tranquillity

is also the first time Wordsworth depicts "poornaked wretches .. / That bide the pelting of thispitiless storm."The apprentice poet spares little in the attemptto create pathos. He hurls "torrent gales" and"bitter showers" upon the innocents, relishingsuch commonplaces of eighteenth-century senti-mentalism as "frozen arms," "chattering lips,""dying" hearts, and "flooded" cheeks; at lengththereis a tableau of the childrendead in theirdeadmother's arms:SoonshalltheLight'ning oldbeforethyheadHis torch,andshewthemslumberingn theirbed,No tearscanchillthem,andno bosomwarms,Thybreast heirdeath-bed, offin'dn thinearms.(11. 97-300)

At this point one might expect anger at a societythat makes inevitable such occurrences, or sym-pathetic moralizing on human existence, or, at theleast, the justification that God will reward thepatient sufferer in the afterlife.8 The episodeseems to demand response or comment, but in-stead we are told:Sweetarethesoundsthatmingle romafar,Heardbycalmlakes,as peepsthefoldingstar,Where heduckdabbles mid therustling edge,Andfeedingpikestarts rom thewater'sedge,Or theswanstirsthereeds,hisneck andbillWetting, hatdripuponthewaterstill;Andheron,as resounds hetrodden hore,Shootsupward,dartinghis longneckbefore.While,by thescenecompos'd, hebreastsubsides,Noughtwakensor disturbst's tranqil ides.(11. 01-10)

Without comment upon the tale or any transitionto the narrative present, the description of thefrozen woman ends, and the poet returns to anevening lakeside whose natural tranquillity ismade more pronounced, eerie, and moving by thefrantichuman striving that has precededit.9As Robert Mayo has shown, the figure of aperson helpless and suffering in a hostile Naturewas a common topic for poetry in the 1790's.'0In an age when emotional outpouring to sufferingwas an important literary pleasure, poets foundthe necessary pathos in wretches who wanderedcountry roads. It is notable, however, that al-though Langhorne, Southey, Crabbe, and Cow-per, among others, make sketches of sufferingrural humanity, none of them places tranquillity

after the pathos in the manner of Wordsworth.Even the apparent literary source of the EveningWalk freezing family, an anonymous "WinterPiece" in Knox's Elegant Extracts (in Musicof Humanity, pp. 52-53), asks no more responseto suffering than sentiment.If there is one text from which Wordsworthlearned to express cathartic feelings by juxtapos-ing suffering and natural tranquillity, probablyit is "Celadon and Amelia" in Thomson's Sum-mer (11.1169-1232)." The Seasons are much inthe background of Wordsworth's early poetry;and in "Essay, Supplementaryto the Preface," hewrites that "in any well-used copy of the Seasonsthe book generally opens of itself with therhapsody on love, or with one of the stories"(Prose, II, 74). In "Celadon and Amelia," thelovers wander through an "eternal Eden." Sud-denly a storm arises. To Amelia's expressions offear, Celadon confidently responds that the in-nocent face no danger from lightning; only the"guilty heart" need shrink from the agent ofwrath. He embraces her, exclaiming " 'Tis safety.. thus / To clasp perfection." Divine justice,however, is not human justice, for no sooner arethe words out than "that moment to the ground, /A blackened corse, was struck the beauteousmaid." Turningfrom the embitteredlover,Thom-son describes the scene:

As from theface of Heaven heshattered ldudsTumultuous ove,theinterminablekySublimer wells,ando'er theworldexpandsA purerazure.Nature romthestormShinesout afresh;andthrough helightenedairA higher ustreanda clearer almDiffusive remble. 11. 223-29)It is as if the girl's death causes the heavens toseem sublimer, brighter, clearer, purer; the con-templation of suffering lends to experience anintensity and awesomeness it had previouslylacked.The movement in Thomson to the "clearercalm" is similar to Wordsworth's shift from thepathetic to the tranquil. In his early reading ofThomson, Wordsworth very likely noticed, felt,and admired the effect of juxtaposing sufferingand calm, and when he came to write his ownpoems, he duplicated the effect.Another instance of sufferingand calm appearsin Descriptive Sketches. 2 There, drawing on histour through Switzerland and on Ramond deCarbonnieres,Wordsworth depicts the death of a

after the pathos in the manner of Wordsworth.Even the apparent literary source of the EveningWalk freezing family, an anonymous "WinterPiece" in Knox's Elegant Extracts (in Musicof Humanity, pp. 52-53), asks no more responseto suffering than sentiment.If there is one text from which Wordsworthlearned to express cathartic feelings by juxtapos-ing suffering and natural tranquillity, probablyit is "Celadon and Amelia" in Thomson's Sum-mer (11.1169-1232)." The Seasons are much inthe background of Wordsworth's early poetry;and in "Essay, Supplementaryto the Preface," hewrites that "in any well-used copy of the Seasonsthe book generally opens of itself with therhapsody on love, or with one of the stories"(Prose, II, 74). In "Celadon and Amelia," thelovers wander through an "eternal Eden." Sud-denly a storm arises. To Amelia's expressions offear, Celadon confidently responds that the in-nocent face no danger from lightning; only the"guilty heart" need shrink from the agent ofwrath. He embraces her, exclaiming " 'Tis safety.. thus / To clasp perfection." Divine justice,however, is not human justice, for no sooner arethe words out than "that moment to the ground, /A blackened corse, was struck the beauteousmaid." Turningfrom the embitteredlover,Thom-son describes the scene:

As from theface of Heaven heshattered ldudsTumultuous ove,theinterminablekySublimer wells,ando'er theworldexpandsA purerazure.Nature romthestormShinesout afresh;andthrough helightenedairA higher ustreanda clearer almDiffusive remble. 11. 223-29)It is as if the girl's death causes the heavens toseem sublimer, brighter, clearer, purer; the con-templation of suffering lends to experience anintensity and awesomeness it had previouslylacked.The movement in Thomson to the "clearercalm" is similar to Wordsworth's shift from thepathetic to the tranquil. In his early reading ofThomson, Wordsworth very likely noticed, felt,and admired the effect of juxtaposing sufferingand calm, and when he came to write his ownpoems, he duplicated the effect.Another instance of sufferingand calm appearsin Descriptive Sketches. 2 There, drawing on histour through Switzerland and on Ramond deCarbonnieres,Wordsworth depicts the death of a

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226 Sufferingand Calm in J1chamois hunter lost in the high Alps (11. 66-413).The description of the victim's strivings reveals afascination with the minutiae of suffering; Ra-mond's macabre detail of the hunter slashing hisfeet in order to climb "the peak's impracticablesides" seems particularly to have caught theyoung poet's attention.13 Avalanches, cold, star-vation each have a turnin torturingthe man, untilfinally the scavengers, the eagle and an ironicallyunhelpful "raven of the skies," appear to awaitthe end. The poet extends his pathos by showingthe family's futile vigil and even a son's dis-covery, "in futuredays," of his father's bones.On this occasion, a series of four questions isinterposed between the suffering and the tran-quillity (11. 14-21). Grammaticaland topical con-nections join these questions into two distinctpairs, which seem to postulate alternative re-sponses to pathos. The first questions refer tosimple emotional responses;the poet asks,"Henceshall we turn . . . with fear" to listen to a torrent"or rather stay to taste the mild delights" of themelancholy Underwalden?t4 This response ap-proximates the initial response of the narrator inThe Ruined Cottage, the ambivalent pleasure ofstrong emotion. The second pair of questions,however, like the spear grass vision, suggests adifferent order of experience: Is there one who"has seen / The native Genii walk the mountaingreen," who has heard "other worlds" revealedin"soft music from th'aereal summit"? HereWordsworthapparentlyopts for the visionaryandsublime tranquillity implied by the second pair ofquestions, for, in the lines that follow, there is anextended evocation of natural calm (11. 22-39).The landscape described is that which had de-stroyed the chamois hunter. The "dangeroussteep," an eagle's "faint wail," the "rumbling ...of falling snow" recall the pathetic scene justnarrated,yet it is "all changed, changed utterly."No longer is there terror, but a pastoral tran-quillity "mid the quiet of the sky": "How still! noirreligious sound or sight / Rouzes the soul fromher severedelight." 5As in the speargrass vision,the tranquillity is claimed to be a transcendentalexperience. The language is of the temple: theAlps become a "sabbath region" where "a secretPower" reigns, and no trace of humanity "pro-fanes... the spot."A third poem where the contemplation of suf-fering leads to a sense of natural tranquillity is

226 Sufferingand Calm in J1chamois hunter lost in the high Alps (11. 66-413).The description of the victim's strivings reveals afascination with the minutiae of suffering; Ra-mond's macabre detail of the hunter slashing hisfeet in order to climb "the peak's impracticablesides" seems particularly to have caught theyoung poet's attention.13 Avalanches, cold, star-vation each have a turnin torturingthe man, untilfinally the scavengers, the eagle and an ironicallyunhelpful "raven of the skies," appear to awaitthe end. The poet extends his pathos by showingthe family's futile vigil and even a son's dis-covery, "in futuredays," of his father's bones.On this occasion, a series of four questions isinterposed between the suffering and the tran-quillity (11. 14-21). Grammaticaland topical con-nections join these questions into two distinctpairs, which seem to postulate alternative re-sponses to pathos. The first questions refer tosimple emotional responses;the poet asks,"Henceshall we turn . . . with fear" to listen to a torrent"or rather stay to taste the mild delights" of themelancholy Underwalden?t4 This response ap-proximates the initial response of the narrator inThe Ruined Cottage, the ambivalent pleasure ofstrong emotion. The second pair of questions,however, like the spear grass vision, suggests adifferent order of experience: Is there one who"has seen / The native Genii walk the mountaingreen," who has heard "other worlds" revealedin"soft music from th'aereal summit"? HereWordsworthapparentlyopts for the visionaryandsublime tranquillity implied by the second pair ofquestions, for, in the lines that follow, there is anextended evocation of natural calm (11. 22-39).The landscape described is that which had de-stroyed the chamois hunter. The "dangeroussteep," an eagle's "faint wail," the "rumbling ...of falling snow" recall the pathetic scene justnarrated,yet it is "all changed, changed utterly."No longer is there terror, but a pastoral tran-quillity "mid the quiet of the sky": "How still! noirreligious sound or sight / Rouzes the soul fromher severedelight." 5As in the speargrass vision,the tranquillity is claimed to be a transcendentalexperience. The language is of the temple: theAlps become a "sabbath region" where "a secretPower" reigns, and no trace of humanity "pro-fanes... the spot."A third poem where the contemplation of suf-fering leads to a sense of natural tranquillity is

Vordsworth's arly PoetrySalisburyPlain. 6 Here, as in The RuinedCottage,the description of nature is subjective, "only pre-sented to the reader as refracted by" a humanmind (Legouis, p. 334). A single "traveller" ap-pears, "wearily" (Gill, p. 45) making his wayalone across Sarum's Plain. Clearly, he is, if notWordsworth,just such a man as the Wordsworthwho passed through the area in August 1793:despairing, lost, isolated, "more like a man / Fly-ing from something that he dreads than one / Whosought the thing he loved." 7 As it must have forWordsworth, Salisbury Plain provides a land-scape sympathetic to the traveler's imagination.Wherever he turns, he finds images of his psychicsituation: the sun sets in a "troubled west ... redwith stormy fire"; there is "no shade," "no meadsof pleasant green," "no brook to wet his lips orsoothe his ear," "no sounds" except the lark's"wasted strain" and the melancholy wind; tracesof agricultureonly reinforce his sense of isolation-he sees the corn, but the sower,the shepherd,thecottage are not to be found; even the crows over-head, "in blackening eddies homeward borne,"emphasize his homelessness (11.37-58). An ap-proaching storm is as much the image of turbu-lence within as it is a real storm.That the traveler half perceivesand half createsthis landscape is evident from the contrastingmood and perceptions he draws from the samecountryside on the following morning:But now froma hill summitdownthey ookWhere hrougha narrowvalley'spleasant ceneA wreathof vapour rackeda windingbrookBabbling hrough rovesand awnsandmeadsof green.A smokingcottagepeeped he treesbetween,Thewoods resound helinnet'samorous ays,Andmelancholyowings nterveneOf scatteredherds hatin the meadowsgraze,Whilethrough he furrowedgrassthe merrymilkmaid trays. 11. 06-14)On a purely literal level, it hardly needs a poet totell us that the morning after a storm, with sunshining, waterdrops sparkling, and birds war-bling, would be more pleasant than the eveningof the first fifteen stanzas. However, since thelandscape is psychological and sympathetic,clearly this change mirrors a radical transforma-tion in the traveler's state of mind. As in TheRuinedCottage, all that has happened to the manis hearinga tale of sorrow-he has met the female

Vordsworth's arly PoetrySalisburyPlain. 6 Here, as in The RuinedCottage,the description of nature is subjective, "only pre-sented to the reader as refracted by" a humanmind (Legouis, p. 334). A single "traveller" ap-pears, "wearily" (Gill, p. 45) making his wayalone across Sarum's Plain. Clearly, he is, if notWordsworth,just such a man as the Wordsworthwho passed through the area in August 1793:despairing, lost, isolated, "more like a man / Fly-ing from something that he dreads than one / Whosought the thing he loved." 7 As it must have forWordsworth, Salisbury Plain provides a land-scape sympathetic to the traveler's imagination.Wherever he turns, he finds images of his psychicsituation: the sun sets in a "troubled west ... redwith stormy fire"; there is "no shade," "no meadsof pleasant green," "no brook to wet his lips orsoothe his ear," "no sounds" except the lark's"wasted strain" and the melancholy wind; tracesof agricultureonly reinforce his sense of isolation-he sees the corn, but the sower,the shepherd,thecottage are not to be found; even the crows over-head, "in blackening eddies homeward borne,"emphasize his homelessness (11.37-58). An ap-proaching storm is as much the image of turbu-lence within as it is a real storm.That the traveler half perceivesand half createsthis landscape is evident from the contrastingmood and perceptions he draws from the samecountryside on the following morning:But now froma hill summitdownthey ookWhere hrougha narrowvalley'spleasant ceneA wreathof vapour rackeda windingbrookBabbling hrough rovesand awnsandmeadsof green.A smokingcottagepeeped he treesbetween,Thewoods resound helinnet'samorous ays,Andmelancholyowings nterveneOf scatteredherds hatin the meadowsgraze,Whilethrough he furrowedgrassthe merrymilkmaid trays. 11. 06-14)On a purely literal level, it hardly needs a poet totell us that the morning after a storm, with sunshining, waterdrops sparkling, and birds war-bling, would be more pleasant than the eveningof the first fifteen stanzas. However, since thelandscape is psychological and sympathetic,clearly this change mirrors a radical transforma-tion in the traveler's state of mind. As in TheRuinedCottage, all that has happened to the manis hearinga tale of sorrow-he has met the female



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James H. Averillames H. Averillvagrant in the dead house and listened to herstory. Nothing in her successive disasters directlyencourages hope or cheerfulness, but the narra-tion itself works the change. The best word avail-able to describe such a freshening and revitaliza-tion brought on by a tale of sufferingis catharsis.Clearly, then, at the time he was finishing TheRuined Cottage in early 1798, it was one ofWordsworth's poetic habits to describe his re-sponse to fictive sufferingin termsof natural tran-quillity. The young poet apparently received acatharticpurgation from the contemplation of hisgloomy fictions, and the calm of Nature was hispreferred metaphor for describing this response.

IIII would suspect, however, that until 1798 theexpression of catharsis by natural tranquillityprimarily reflected a crude, emotional responserather than any rigorous, intellectual effort atself-awareness. The calm felt right, and thus itbecame a recurrent pattern in Wordsworth'spoetry. In The RuinedCottage, however, Words-worth settles on the spear grass vision as the re-sponse to Margaret's story only after exploringintensively several contemporary theories aboutthe pleasures of fictional suffering.The calm hereis the fruit of settled deliberation by a mind curi-ous to know itself.Recent work by John Finch, Jonathan Words-worth, and Mark Reed has focused on the two

major stages of The Ruined Cottage's composi-tion, April-July 1797 and January-March 1798.There is general agreement that Coleridge andLamb heard a relatively integrated version ofMargaret's story in summer 1797. This "ur-Margaret" (which Helen Darbishire called MS.A2) consisted of passages describing the dis-integration of the family (11.98-185), Margaret'sfinal decline (11.431-92), and at least one of thePedlar'srecurrentvisits. When the poet reworkedThe Ruined Cottage in early 1798, he added thedramatic framework: the opening lines (1-54),two interruptions in the narrative (11. 185-237,362-76), the conclusion, and "The Pedlar."'18Such a revision radically changes the poem'semphasis. The original Ruined Cottage had beenthe straightforward narration of Robert's deser-tion of his family and Margaret'stragedyof hope.Like Southey's "Hannah," Cowper's "CrazyKate," and the less restrained novels of the day,

vagrant in the dead house and listened to herstory. Nothing in her successive disasters directlyencourages hope or cheerfulness, but the narra-tion itself works the change. The best word avail-able to describe such a freshening and revitaliza-tion brought on by a tale of sufferingis catharsis.Clearly, then, at the time he was finishing TheRuined Cottage in early 1798, it was one ofWordsworth's poetic habits to describe his re-sponse to fictive sufferingin termsof natural tran-quillity. The young poet apparently received acatharticpurgation from the contemplation of hisgloomy fictions, and the calm of Nature was hispreferred metaphor for describing this response.

IIII would suspect, however, that until 1798 theexpression of catharsis by natural tranquillityprimarily reflected a crude, emotional responserather than any rigorous, intellectual effort atself-awareness. The calm felt right, and thus itbecame a recurrent pattern in Wordsworth'spoetry. In The RuinedCottage, however, Words-worth settles on the spear grass vision as the re-sponse to Margaret's story only after exploringintensively several contemporary theories aboutthe pleasures of fictional suffering.The calm hereis the fruit of settled deliberation by a mind curi-ous to know itself.Recent work by John Finch, Jonathan Words-worth, and Mark Reed has focused on the two

major stages of The Ruined Cottage's composi-tion, April-July 1797 and January-March 1798.There is general agreement that Coleridge andLamb heard a relatively integrated version ofMargaret's story in summer 1797. This "ur-Margaret" (which Helen Darbishire called MS.A2) consisted of passages describing the dis-integration of the family (11.98-185), Margaret'sfinal decline (11.431-92), and at least one of thePedlar'srecurrentvisits. When the poet reworkedThe Ruined Cottage in early 1798, he added thedramatic framework: the opening lines (1-54),two interruptions in the narrative (11. 185-237,362-76), the conclusion, and "The Pedlar."'18Such a revision radically changes the poem'semphasis. The original Ruined Cottage had beenthe straightforward narration of Robert's deser-tion of his family and Margaret'stragedyof hope.Like Southey's "Hannah," Cowper's "CrazyKate," and the less restrained novels of the day,

the response anticipated was "delicious pain."The reader, and the poet as reader of his ownwork, would commiserate with Margaret's suf-ferings and feel the pleasure of strong passion.In later versions, however, TheRuinedCottage iscomplicated by two layers of response interposedbetween the reader and the suffering object. ThePedlar is deeply moved by Margaret's sufferingsas he tells her story to the equally moved narrator.As Geoffrey Hartman has said, "Instead of cen-tering transparentlyon Margaret, the tale reflectsalso the narrator, and tends to become a storyabout the relation of teller to tale" (p. 139).Why then did Wordsworth feel it appropriateor necessaryto change the poem's focus? Nothingin the letters, notes, or journals of winter 1798suggests artistic, philosophical, or rhetorical rea-sons for such a revision; thus, surmise must bedrawn from the internal evidence of the poemand our general knowledge of Wordsworth's de-velopment in the late 1790's.19Let us begin with the assumption that Words-worth knew what he was about. If The RuinedCottage is a dramatization of the relationship ofteller and tale, it seems not improbable that theimagination's use of pathetic narrative was anissue that Wordsworth felt compelled to explorein early 1798. With his growing interest in themind, with the example of Coleridge's chronicself-monitoring before him, it would have beenonly natural that Wordsworth should begin ask-ing questions about the response to fictional suf-fering. In the threeprevious years, afterall, he hadcreatedAdventuresonSalisburyPlain, TheBorder-ers, MS. A2 of The Ruined Cottage, and hadbegun the still more horrific SomersetshireTrag-edy. In January-March 1798, he is in the midst ofwriting "The Discharged Soldier" and revising"Description of a Beggar" into "The Old Cum-berland Beggar." The spring is to see the "poesielarmoiante"20 of LyricalBallads,featuringGoodyBlake, the forsaken Indian woman, Martha Ray,Simon Lee, and the drowned man of Peter Bell.For such a writer to look self-consciously at hiswork would necessitate coming to terms with thepleasures of pathos.The question Wordsworth posed to himself isthat which the Pedlarasks in the first interruptionof the narrative:

Whyshoulda tearbe in an old man'seye?Whyshouldwe thuswith an untowardmind,

the response anticipated was "delicious pain."The reader, and the poet as reader of his ownwork, would commiserate with Margaret's suf-ferings and feel the pleasure of strong passion.In later versions, however, TheRuinedCottage iscomplicated by two layers of response interposedbetween the reader and the suffering object. ThePedlar is deeply moved by Margaret's sufferingsas he tells her story to the equally moved narrator.As Geoffrey Hartman has said, "Instead of cen-tering transparentlyon Margaret, the tale reflectsalso the narrator, and tends to become a storyabout the relation of teller to tale" (p. 139).Why then did Wordsworth feel it appropriateor necessaryto change the poem's focus? Nothingin the letters, notes, or journals of winter 1798suggests artistic, philosophical, or rhetorical rea-sons for such a revision; thus, surmise must bedrawn from the internal evidence of the poemand our general knowledge of Wordsworth's de-velopment in the late 1790's.19Let us begin with the assumption that Words-worth knew what he was about. If The RuinedCottage is a dramatization of the relationship ofteller and tale, it seems not improbable that theimagination's use of pathetic narrative was anissue that Wordsworth felt compelled to explorein early 1798. With his growing interest in themind, with the example of Coleridge's chronicself-monitoring before him, it would have beenonly natural that Wordsworth should begin ask-ing questions about the response to fictional suf-fering. In the threeprevious years, afterall, he hadcreatedAdventuresonSalisburyPlain, TheBorder-ers, MS. A2 of The Ruined Cottage, and hadbegun the still more horrific SomersetshireTrag-edy. In January-March 1798, he is in the midst ofwriting "The Discharged Soldier" and revising"Description of a Beggar" into "The Old Cum-berland Beggar." The spring is to see the "poesielarmoiante"20 of LyricalBallads,featuringGoodyBlake, the forsaken Indian woman, Martha Ray,Simon Lee, and the drowned man of Peter Bell.For such a writer to look self-consciously at hiswork would necessitate coming to terms with thepleasures of pathos.The question Wordsworth posed to himself isthat which the Pedlarasks in the first interruptionof the narrative:

Whyshoulda tearbe in an old man'seye?Whyshouldwe thuswith an untowardmind,

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Sufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly Poetryufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly PoetryAnd in the weaknessof humanity,Fromnaturalwisdom urnour heartsaway,To natural omfortshut oureyesandears,And,feedingon disquiet, husdisturbThecalm of Naturewithour restless houghts?

(11. 92-98)In context, this is meant rhetorically: the Pedlarwants to reprimandhis own weakness and to haltthe narration of Margaret's story. Nevertheless,the question is a real one for Wordsworth. Em-phatically, the weakness of humanity is not theinability to face up to suffering-the weakness liesin the "untoward" mind which consciously"shuts our eyes and ears" to Nature in order tolust after the morbid and pathetic. It is the part ofhuman nature that causes man to write, read, andenjoy stories about the sufferings of others, thatpartof Wordsworth'smind thatcravesexcitementand writes such poems as Michael and Ruth toproduce "an unusual and irregular state of themind" (Prose, i, 146). "Feeding on disquiet"recalls Nature feeding the mind "with loftythoughts" in "Tintern Abbey"; but the source ofthe tumult here is the pathetic rather than thenatural sublime.

Clearly Wordsworth is uneasy about the kindof nourishment to be obtained. When the narra-tor, "impelled/ Bya mild form of curious pensive-ness" (PW, v, 393; 11.472-73), requests a con-tinuation of the story, the Pedlar protests, rathertoo vehemently, the innocence of the collectiveundertaking:

It werea wantonness, ndwoulddemandSeverereproof, f we weremenwhoseheartsCould holdvaindalliancewiththemiseryEven of thedead,contented hence o drawA momentary leasure,nevermarkedByreason,barrenof all futuregood.(MS. D, 11. 21-26)The bare thought that one can indeed drawpleasure from such dalliance is troubling Words-worth here, and the Pedlar's words are a way ofexorcising and moralizing a ghoulish imagina-tion. This outburst represents an outright rejec-tion of contemporary theories that the pleasureof pathos lies in the gratifying stimulation of thepassions.21 Where Burke, for one, accepts thesadistic and morbidly curious as a portion ofhuman nature, characteristically Wordsworth

cannot rest with feelings he considers to be

And in the weaknessof humanity,Fromnaturalwisdom urnour heartsaway,To natural omfortshut oureyesandears,And,feedingon disquiet, husdisturbThecalm of Naturewithour restless houghts?(11. 92-98)

In context, this is meant rhetorically: the Pedlarwants to reprimandhis own weakness and to haltthe narration of Margaret's story. Nevertheless,the question is a real one for Wordsworth. Em-phatically, the weakness of humanity is not theinability to face up to suffering-the weakness liesin the "untoward" mind which consciously"shuts our eyes and ears" to Nature in order tolust after the morbid and pathetic. It is the part ofhuman nature that causes man to write, read, andenjoy stories about the sufferings of others, thatpartof Wordsworth'smind thatcravesexcitementand writes such poems as Michael and Ruth toproduce "an unusual and irregular state of themind" (Prose, i, 146). "Feeding on disquiet"recalls Nature feeding the mind "with loftythoughts" in "Tintern Abbey"; but the source ofthe tumult here is the pathetic rather than thenatural sublime.

Clearly Wordsworth is uneasy about the kindof nourishment to be obtained. When the narra-tor, "impelled/ Bya mild form of curious pensive-ness" (PW, v, 393; 11.472-73), requests a con-tinuation of the story, the Pedlar protests, rathertoo vehemently, the innocence of the collectiveundertaking:

It werea wantonness, ndwoulddemandSeverereproof, f we weremenwhoseheartsCould holdvaindalliancewiththemiseryEven of thedead,contented hence o drawA momentary leasure,nevermarkedByreason,barrenof all futuregood.(MS. D, 11. 21-26)The bare thought that one can indeed drawpleasure from such dalliance is troubling Words-worth here, and the Pedlar's words are a way ofexorcising and moralizing a ghoulish imagina-tion. This outburst represents an outright rejec-tion of contemporary theories that the pleasureof pathos lies in the gratifying stimulation of thepassions.21 Where Burke, for one, accepts thesadistic and morbidly curious as a portion ofhuman nature, characteristically Wordsworth

cannot rest with feelings he considers to be

"coarse sympathies" (PW, I, 334). For him, theremust be a more adequate and exalted explana-tion; the additions to the tale of Margaret's suf-fering represent the struggle to find such an ex-planation.Wordsworth's explorations lead him at onepoint to invoke a variation of the traditional re-ligious justification of suffering.The Pedlar turnsaside from the main thread of his narrativeas heis describing his penultimate visit with Margaret:

A momentaryrancecomesoverme,Andto myselfI seemto museon oneBysorrow aidasleepor borneaway,A humanbeingdestined o awakeTo human ife,or somethingverynearTo human ife,when he shallcomeagainForwhomshesuffered.11. 69-75)It is an unusual moment in the early "semi-Atheist" Wordsworth, for the Pedlar is calling upan essentially Christianvision of immortality.Thephrase "he shall come again," while it refers toRobert, has resonances of resurrectionand apoc-alypse. From musing on Margaret's suffering,thePedlar gains an intimation of immortality muchlike that contained in the Christian promise.Earthlysufferingappearsas transitoryand unim-portant except as the occasion of life everlasting.The notable distinction is that in Christiandogmaimmortality is used to solace the sufferer; here,suffering itself is "permanent, obscure and dark,/ And has the nature of infinity" (PW, I, 188; 11.1543-44). In contemplating the pathetic, thePedlar gains a sense of possible sublimity.But Wordsworth's first impulse is to find amoral justification. After rejecting "vain dalli-ance" with misery, the Pedlar theorizes, "there isoften found / In mournful thoughts, and alwaysmight be found, / A power to virtue friendly" (11.227-29). This explanation recurs in the first twodiscarded endings of MS. B (PW, v, 400); the"sweet trouble" in his soul impels the narrator tosay to the Pedlar, "for the tale which you havetold I think / I am a better and a wiser man."Wordsworth, of course, is apt to ascribe moraleffects to whateverexcites him deeply, as in "Tin-tern Abbey" where recollections of the WyeValley are responsible for "that best portion of agood man's life." But here he is also drawing onthe neoclassical and sentimentalist theory that atale of suffering has a beneficial effect upon the

hearer'smoral constitution. This notion, derived

"coarse sympathies" (PW, I, 334). For him, theremust be a more adequate and exalted explana-tion; the additions to the tale of Margaret's suf-fering represent the struggle to find such an ex-planation.Wordsworth's explorations lead him at onepoint to invoke a variation of the traditional re-ligious justification of suffering.The Pedlar turnsaside from the main thread of his narrativeas heis describing his penultimate visit with Margaret:

A momentaryrancecomesoverme,Andto myselfI seemto museon oneBysorrow aidasleepor borneaway,A humanbeingdestined o awakeTo human ife,or somethingverynearTo human ife,when he shallcomeagainForwhomshesuffered.11. 69-75)It is an unusual moment in the early "semi-Atheist" Wordsworth, for the Pedlar is calling upan essentially Christianvision of immortality.Thephrase "he shall come again," while it refers toRobert, has resonances of resurrectionand apoc-alypse. From musing on Margaret's suffering,thePedlar gains an intimation of immortality muchlike that contained in the Christian promise.Earthlysufferingappearsas transitoryand unim-portant except as the occasion of life everlasting.The notable distinction is that in Christiandogmaimmortality is used to solace the sufferer; here,suffering itself is "permanent, obscure and dark,/ And has the nature of infinity" (PW, I, 188; 11.1543-44). In contemplating the pathetic, thePedlar gains a sense of possible sublimity.But Wordsworth's first impulse is to find amoral justification. After rejecting "vain dalli-ance" with misery, the Pedlar theorizes, "there isoften found / In mournful thoughts, and alwaysmight be found, / A power to virtue friendly" (11.227-29). This explanation recurs in the first twodiscarded endings of MS. B (PW, v, 400); the"sweet trouble" in his soul impels the narrator tosay to the Pedlar, "for the tale which you havetold I think / I am a better and a wiser man."Wordsworth, of course, is apt to ascribe moraleffects to whateverexcites him deeply, as in "Tin-tern Abbey" where recollections of the WyeValley are responsible for "that best portion of agood man's life." But here he is also drawing onthe neoclassical and sentimentalist theory that atale of suffering has a beneficial effect upon the

hearer'smoral constitution. This notion, derived

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James H. Averillames H. Averillfrom Horace's maxim that tragedy should in-struct, is the theoretical justification for suchworks as Clarissa and The Vicar of Wakefield.The late eighteenth century, however, treated thismoral theory as a rather stale truism; "it was in-clined to accept the moral value of tragedy as aprofound truth and to move on" to other topics.Thus Wordsworth, in 1798, finds the bald asser-tion of moral transformation attractive but in-adequate, and in the "Addendum" to MS. B (P W,v, 400-04), he develops a peculiarly Words-worthian mutation of the contemporary "doc-trine of sympathy" (Wasserman, pp. 283, 299).Much of the theoretical superstructureWords-worth builds in 1798 over the poem of 1797 has todo with "sympathy." Sympathy, of course, was amodish word in the late eighteenth century;Burke, Adam Smith, Blair, and Lord Kames,among others, ascribed the pleasure of pathos tothe "social passion"they interchangeably calledsympathy, pity, or compassion. According toBurke, it was the "bond of sympathy" that at-tractedmankind to tragic plays and executions.22The Pedlar is himself such a man of feeling; "bynature tuned ..."

To sympathywithMan,he was aliveTo all that wasenjoyedwhere'erhe went,Andall that wasendured. PW,v, 386-87)It seems a matter of curious indifference whetherhappiness or misery is the lot of those whom heobserves; the equality of "enjoyed" and "en-dured" suggests it is the depth of human passion,not its nature, that stirs him and keeps him"alive." He can "afford to suffer" with thosewhom he sees suffer;and out of his watching be-comes "rich" in "our best experience."In Wordsworth, however, sentimentalism iscomplicated by pantheism. The word sympathyencompasses not only the Pedlar's feelings formankind but also his relationship with naturalobjects.23 He has "sympathies" with "every nat-ural form" and finds "in all shapes ... a secretand mysterious soul, / A fragranceand a spirit ofstrange meaning" (PW, v, 388; 11.276-86). It isthe Wordsworthian "sympathy with [the] real orimagined Life" of objectsdenounced by Coleridgein an 1803 notebook.24 These "sympathies" arereciprocalto those of the grove which "had fallen/ Like a refreshingdew upon my heart" (PW, v,344), or to the "silent sympathy" Lucy feels in

from Horace's maxim that tragedy should in-struct, is the theoretical justification for suchworks as Clarissa and The Vicar of Wakefield.The late eighteenth century, however, treated thismoral theory as a rather stale truism; "it was in-clined to accept the moral value of tragedy as aprofound truth and to move on" to other topics.Thus Wordsworth, in 1798, finds the bald asser-tion of moral transformation attractive but in-adequate, and in the "Addendum" to MS. B (P W,v, 400-04), he develops a peculiarly Words-worthian mutation of the contemporary "doc-trine of sympathy" (Wasserman, pp. 283, 299).Much of the theoretical superstructureWords-worth builds in 1798 over the poem of 1797 has todo with "sympathy." Sympathy, of course, was amodish word in the late eighteenth century;Burke, Adam Smith, Blair, and Lord Kames,among others, ascribed the pleasure of pathos tothe "social passion"they interchangeably calledsympathy, pity, or compassion. According toBurke, it was the "bond of sympathy" that at-tractedmankind to tragic plays and executions.22The Pedlar is himself such a man of feeling; "bynature tuned ..."

To sympathywithMan,he was aliveTo all that wasenjoyedwhere'erhe went,Andall that wasendured. PW,v, 386-87)It seems a matter of curious indifference whetherhappiness or misery is the lot of those whom heobserves; the equality of "enjoyed" and "en-dured" suggests it is the depth of human passion,not its nature, that stirs him and keeps him"alive." He can "afford to suffer" with thosewhom he sees suffer;and out of his watching be-comes "rich" in "our best experience."In Wordsworth, however, sentimentalism iscomplicated by pantheism. The word sympathyencompasses not only the Pedlar's feelings formankind but also his relationship with naturalobjects.23 He has "sympathies" with "every nat-ural form" and finds "in all shapes ... a secretand mysterious soul, / A fragranceand a spirit ofstrange meaning" (PW, v, 388; 11.276-86). It isthe Wordsworthian "sympathy with [the] real orimagined Life" of objectsdenounced by Coleridgein an 1803 notebook.24 These "sympathies" arereciprocalto those of the grove which "had fallen/ Like a refreshingdew upon my heart" (PW, v,344), or to the "silent sympathy" Lucy feels in

"Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower."In the "Addendum" Wordsworth attempts toprovide a theoretical rationale for the interest insuffering by relating the pantheistic and patheticsympathies. The fragment opens:Not uselessdo I deemThesequietsympathieswiththings hatholdAn inarticulateanguage . . (11. -3)The argument is the argument of "Tintem Ab-bey." The poet's morbid passions, his disquietude,vengeance, hatred, and contempt, are "softeneddown" by natural objects. This relationshipcauses a "holy tenderness" to "pervade" his be-ing, and, though he does not quite "see into thelife of things," he does find "all his thoughts nowflowing clear/ From a clear fountain" (11.16-17).This quiet sympathy with the- thing-in-itself issupplemented by sympathy with the "vestiges ofhuman hands, some stir / Of human passion"(PW, II, 480):

Andfurther,by contemplatinghese formsIn therelationswhichtheybearto manWeshall discoverwhata power s theirsTo stimulate ur minds.("Addendum,"1. 4-27)In objects with human associations, we read"Some sweet and tender lesson to our minds / Ofhuman suffering or of human joy" (11.34-35). Itmatters little to the spectator ab extra whether hesees suffering or joy; the important thing is thatthe mind find in sympathy the stimulation "toquicken and to rouze" itself from "weariness."The effort is to achieve a high level of sensibilitywhether in the "holy tenderness" of pantheism orthe "tender lesson" of human sympathy.When the Pedlarexhorts himself and the narra-tor to "rise/ From this oblivious sleep, these fret-ful dreams / Of feverish nothingness" (11.76-78),the fretful dream is not Margaret's story but un-stimulated, weary existence such as the narratorhad known at the poem's beginning. In that stateone "dimly pores on things minute, / On solitaryobjects, still beheld / In disconnection dead andspiritless" (11. 60-62)-the "insect host" and"seeds of bursting gorse." Thus, Margaret'sstory,bringing significance and emotional associationsto objects, has a "fructifying virtue."25 Words-worth finds the justification for pathos in the ac-tivity of mind it engenders,the imaginativegrowthwhich enlarges "our sphere of pleasure and ofpain" (1. 82)26:

"Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower."In the "Addendum" Wordsworth attempts toprovide a theoretical rationale for the interest insuffering by relating the pantheistic and patheticsympathies. The fragment opens:Not uselessdo I deemThesequietsympathieswiththings hatholdAn inarticulateanguage . . (11. -3)The argument is the argument of "Tintem Ab-bey." The poet's morbid passions, his disquietude,vengeance, hatred, and contempt, are "softeneddown" by natural objects. This relationshipcauses a "holy tenderness" to "pervade" his be-ing, and, though he does not quite "see into thelife of things," he does find "all his thoughts nowflowing clear/ From a clear fountain" (11.16-17).This quiet sympathy with the- thing-in-itself issupplemented by sympathy with the "vestiges ofhuman hands, some stir / Of human passion"(PW, II, 480):

Andfurther,by contemplatinghese formsIn therelationswhichtheybearto manWeshall discoverwhata power s theirsTo stimulate ur minds.("Addendum,"1. 4-27)In objects with human associations, we read"Some sweet and tender lesson to our minds / Ofhuman suffering or of human joy" (11.34-35). Itmatters little to the spectator ab extra whether hesees suffering or joy; the important thing is thatthe mind find in sympathy the stimulation "toquicken and to rouze" itself from "weariness."The effort is to achieve a high level of sensibilitywhether in the "holy tenderness" of pantheism orthe "tender lesson" of human sympathy.When the Pedlarexhorts himself and the narra-tor to "rise/ From this oblivious sleep, these fret-ful dreams / Of feverish nothingness" (11.76-78),the fretful dream is not Margaret's story but un-stimulated, weary existence such as the narratorhad known at the poem's beginning. In that stateone "dimly pores on things minute, / On solitaryobjects, still beheld / In disconnection dead andspiritless" (11. 60-62)-the "insect host" and"seeds of bursting gorse." Thus, Margaret'sstory,bringing significance and emotional associationsto objects, has a "fructifying virtue."25 Words-worth finds the justification for pathos in the ac-tivity of mind it engenders,the imaginativegrowthwhich enlarges "our sphere of pleasure and ofpain" (1. 82)26:

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Sufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly Poetryufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly PoetryWhate'erwe seeWhate'erwe feel,byagencydirectOrindirect, halltendto feed andnurseOurfaculties,andraiseto loftierheightsOur ntellectualoul. (11. 5-99)

Here Wordsworth has found an answer to thePedlar's earlier question-"feeding on disquiet"nourishes and exalts the imagination, fosteringthe growth of the poet's mind. At this point he isclose to the Burkean sublime, where the "ex-ercise of the mental powers" is good for its ownsake: "as these emotions [pain and terror] clearthe parts, whether fine, or gross, of a dangerousand troublesome incumbrance, they are capableof producing delight; not pleasure, but a sort ofdelightful horror,a sort of tranquillity tinged withterror"(Burke,pp. 135-36). For Burke,the stimu-lation of the passions is explicitly cathartic,whether the source of emotion is the natural orpathetic sublime. For Wordsworth, too, it iscathartic,but he also claims it is moral: stimulatedby sympathy, "we shall move / From strict neces-sity along the path / Of order and of good" (11.93-95).In the "Addendum" the Pedlar's speech on"sympathies" is followed by the conclusion of TheRuined Cottage. Therefore, in the original con-text, the spear grass vision exemplifies the con-secration of objects resulting from the contempla-tion of suffering. It is another moment when the"eye made quiet" can "see into the life of things"or, as the Pedlar expresses it, when "we" can"drink in the soul of things" ("Addendum," 1.92).It is yet another of those sublime moments inWordsworth, but, notably, the source of the sub-lime is the pathetic. Thus, Wordsworth arrives atthe "calm of mind all passion spent" only afterexpending considerable thought on the questionof fictional pathos and its imaginative impor-tance. The spear grass vision and the reciprocalsunset are the results of an investigation into thevery sources of his poetic excitement.

IVThe pattern of sufferingand calm takes on stillgreater significance when we recall that time andagain Wordsworth refers to a transcendentalstatewhich he calls variously serenity, tranquillity, orcalm: "such a holy calm / Did overspread mysoul"; "I stood and watch'd / Till all was tranquil

as a dreamless sleep"; "A tranquillizing spirit

Whate'erwe seeWhate'erwe feel,byagencydirectOrindirect, halltendto feed andnurseOurfaculties,andraiseto loftierheightsOur ntellectualoul. (11. 5-99)Here Wordsworth has found an answer to thePedlar's earlier question-"feeding on disquiet"nourishes and exalts the imagination, fosteringthe growth of the poet's mind. At this point he isclose to the Burkean sublime, where the "ex-ercise of the mental powers" is good for its ownsake: "as these emotions [pain and terror] clearthe parts, whether fine, or gross, of a dangerousand troublesome incumbrance, they are capableof producing delight; not pleasure, but a sort ofdelightful horror,a sort of tranquillity tinged withterror"(Burke,pp. 135-36). For Burke,the stimu-lation of the passions is explicitly cathartic,whether the source of emotion is the natural orpathetic sublime. For Wordsworth, too, it iscathartic,but he also claims it is moral: stimulatedby sympathy, "we shall move / From strict neces-sity along the path / Of order and of good" (11.93-95).In the "Addendum" the Pedlar's speech on"sympathies" is followed by the conclusion of TheRuined Cottage. Therefore, in the original con-text, the spear grass vision exemplifies the con-secration of objects resulting from the contempla-tion of suffering. It is another moment when the"eye made quiet" can "see into the life of things"or, as the Pedlar expresses it, when "we" can"drink in the soul of things" ("Addendum," 1.92).It is yet another of those sublime moments inWordsworth, but, notably, the source of the sub-lime is the pathetic. Thus, Wordsworth arrives atthe "calm of mind all passion spent" only afterexpending considerable thought on the questionof fictional pathos and its imaginative impor-tance. The spear grass vision and the reciprocalsunset are the results of an investigation into thevery sources of his poetic excitement.

IVThe pattern of sufferingand calm takes on stillgreater significance when we recall that time andagain Wordsworth refers to a transcendentalstatewhich he calls variously serenity, tranquillity, orcalm: "such a holy calm / Did overspread mysoul"; "I stood and watch'd / Till all was tranquil

as a dreamless sleep"; "A tranquillizing spirit

presses now / On my corporeal frame"; "Thecalm existence that is mine when I / Am worthy ofmyself!"27 No doubt the most famous such mo-ment occurs in "Tintern Abbey" when the poetrecalls how the remembered images of the Wyehave served him in times of depression and weak-ness; speaking of "these beauteous forms," hesays:Butoft, in lonelyrooms,and'midthedinOf townsandcities,I haveowedto themIn hoursof weariness, ensations weet,Feltin theblood,and feltalongtheheart;Andpassingevenintomypurermind,Withtranquil estoration.

The mind passes through four distinct stages: (1)the initialweariness or dejection, (2) the evocationof a picture in the mind's eye, (3) emotional re-sponse to the picture, and (4) transcendence intothe state of calm:

thatsereneandblessedmood,In which heaffections ently eadus on,-Until,thebreathof thiscorporeal rameAndeventhemotionof ourhumanbloodAlmostsuspended,wearelaidasleepIn body,andbecomea livingsoul:Whilewithaneyemadequietby thepowerOfharmony,andthedeeppowerofjoy,Wesee intothe lifeof things.

The movement of mind is strikingly like the re-sponse to suffering delineated in The RuinedCottage and elsewhere. A scene possessing emo-tional weight is called forth, a response is excited,and, following this outpouring, comes the senseof "cathartic" calm. The original sources of theexcitement are different, but, in each case, imagesare brought before the mind in anticipation ofimmediate emotional excitement and the con-sequent sense of calm.The most strikingexpression of a psychology ofexcitement and calm appears in "trances" whichcharacters undergo in several narrative poems.For instance, in the second Salisbury Plain, Ad-ventures,28 the traveler experiences a momentcuriously like the characteristic Wordsworthiancalm. In Adventures he travelerhas evolved into aremorseful murderer; walking through a ChildeRoland landscape, he hears "a sound of chains"and looks up to see "on a bare gibbet nigh / Ahuman body that in irons swang" (11. 113-15).The gibbet, of course, is a powerful image of suf-

presses now / On my corporeal frame"; "Thecalm existence that is mine when I / Am worthy ofmyself!"27 No doubt the most famous such mo-ment occurs in "Tintern Abbey" when the poetrecalls how the remembered images of the Wyehave served him in times of depression and weak-ness; speaking of "these beauteous forms," hesays:Butoft, in lonelyrooms,and'midthedinOf townsandcities,I haveowedto themIn hoursof weariness, ensations weet,Feltin theblood,and feltalongtheheart;Andpassingevenintomypurermind,Withtranquil estoration.

The mind passes through four distinct stages: (1)the initialweariness or dejection, (2) the evocationof a picture in the mind's eye, (3) emotional re-sponse to the picture, and (4) transcendence intothe state of calm:

thatsereneandblessedmood,In which heaffections ently eadus on,-Until,thebreathof thiscorporeal rameAndeventhemotionof ourhumanbloodAlmostsuspended,wearelaidasleepIn body,andbecomea livingsoul:Whilewithaneyemadequietby thepowerOfharmony,andthedeeppowerofjoy,Wesee intothe lifeof things.

The movement of mind is strikingly like the re-sponse to suffering delineated in The RuinedCottage and elsewhere. A scene possessing emo-tional weight is called forth, a response is excited,and, following this outpouring, comes the senseof "cathartic" calm. The original sources of theexcitement are different, but, in each case, imagesare brought before the mind in anticipation ofimmediate emotional excitement and the con-sequent sense of calm.The most strikingexpression of a psychology ofexcitement and calm appears in "trances" whichcharacters undergo in several narrative poems.For instance, in the second Salisbury Plain, Ad-ventures,28 the traveler experiences a momentcuriously like the characteristic Wordsworthiancalm. In Adventures he travelerhas evolved into aremorseful murderer; walking through a ChildeRoland landscape, he hears "a sound of chains"and looks up to see "on a bare gibbet nigh / Ahuman body that in irons swang" (11. 113-15).The gibbet, of course, is a powerful image of suf-

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James Hames Hfering for Wordsworth; in Prelude xi, the ex-perience at Cowdrake Quarry provides the en-ergy that shrouds the girl in "visionary dreari-ness." For the traveler, the gibbet has additionalforce, as it "rouzed a train / Of the mind's phan-toms," the memories of his deed, his guilt and fear(11.121-22). The emotional pressure is such that"He fell and without sense or motion lay" (1. 125).He is evidently experiencing the Wordsworthianresponse to intense emotion, for when the"trance" is gone,

As dothbefall to them whomfrenzy ires,Hissoul,which n suchanguishhad beentoss'd,Sank ntodeepestcalm;fornowretiresFear;a terrificdream n darknessostThedirephantasmawhichhis sensehadcross'd.Hismindwasstillas a deepeveningstream.(11. 27-32)

A second instance of this excitement and calmappears in Peter Bell, MS. 2.29 At the end of PartFirst, Peter falls into a trance:Hiseyeswillburst,his heartwillbreakHegivesa loudandfrightful hriek,Andbackhe falls ust likea stone.(PW, II, 355)

The immediate cause of this is his perception ofthe drowned man as a "fiend with visage wan / Alive man fiend." Of course,,the wandering potterhas already had a troubled night; what with theuncanny braying of the ass and the oppressivesilence, his imagination is hyperexcited. The pres-sureof superstitious horroris too much; he passesout, and when he comes to,In Peter'sbrain here s no riotHiseyeuponthestreamhe fixesAndwith thesightno terrormixesHis heart is calm and quiet. (PW, II, 356)A third sequence of excitement, trance, and calmis in The WhiteDoe of Rylstone. There, after theloyal Francis has broken with his family, "Aphantasm, in which roof and wall / Shook, tot-tered, swam before his sight" overcomes him:

And,whenhe waked,his languideyeWason thecalmandsilentsky;Withairabouthimbreathing weet,Andearth'sgreengrassbeneathhisfeet.(PW, iII, 296; 11.422-30)

Francis explicitly undergoes some kind of cathar-sis, for he is "cleansed from the despair / Andsorrow." The common factor of these calm-

fering for Wordsworth; in Prelude xi, the ex-perience at Cowdrake Quarry provides the en-ergy that shrouds the girl in "visionary dreari-ness." For the traveler, the gibbet has additionalforce, as it "rouzed a train / Of the mind's phan-toms," the memories of his deed, his guilt and fear(11.121-22). The emotional pressure is such that"He fell and without sense or motion lay" (1. 125).He is evidently experiencing the Wordsworthianresponse to intense emotion, for when the"trance" is gone,

As dothbefall to them whomfrenzy ires,Hissoul,which n suchanguishhad beentoss'd,Sank ntodeepestcalm;fornowretiresFear;a terrificdream n darknessostThedirephantasmawhichhis sensehadcross'd.Hismindwasstillas a deepeveningstream.(11. 27-32)

A second instance of this excitement and calmappears in Peter Bell, MS. 2.29 At the end of PartFirst, Peter falls into a trance:Hiseyeswillburst,his heartwillbreakHegivesa loudandfrightful hriek,Andbackhe falls ust likea stone.(PW, II, 355)

The immediate cause of this is his perception ofthe drowned man as a "fiend with visage wan / Alive man fiend." Of course,,the wandering potterhas already had a troubled night; what with theuncanny braying of the ass and the oppressivesilence, his imagination is hyperexcited. The pres-sureof superstitious horroris too much; he passesout, and when he comes to,In Peter'sbrain here s no riotHiseyeuponthestreamhe fixesAndwith thesightno terrormixesHis heart is calm and quiet. (PW, II, 356)A third sequence of excitement, trance, and calmis in The WhiteDoe of Rylstone. There, after theloyal Francis has broken with his family, "Aphantasm, in which roof and wall / Shook, tot-tered, swam before his sight" overcomes him:

And,whenhe waked,his languideyeWason thecalmandsilentsky;Withairabouthimbreathing weet,Andearth'sgreengrassbeneathhisfeet.(PW, iII, 296; 11.422-30)

Francis explicitly undergoes some kind of cathar-sis, for he is "cleansed from the despair / Andsorrow." The common factor of these calm-

Averill 231inducing trances is strong emotion. The source ofthe emotion, guilt, fear, or family conflict, seemsirrelevant to the psychological mechanism beingdescribed.These trances are as much literary as psycho-logical phenomena. In the eighteenth century,literary personae were continually losing con-sciousness or enteringa borderline state of "wak-ing sleep." In The Borderers, however, Words-worth presents as an imitation of reality a char-acterwho goes from stressfulpassion to unearthlycalm without the intervention of anything somelodramatic as a trance. In Act III, the heroMortimerentersalone, meditating upon his recentactions. In the previous scene, driven by a senseof misguided justice and revenge, he has left theold, blind Baron Herbert to undergo an ordeal bynature on the heath. Such conflicting emotions asanger, guilt, pity, jealousy, and grief had ragedthrough him; it had been a scene full of pathosand emotion, yet, with such an experience in theimmediate past, Mortimer utters these unex-pected, enigmatic words:

Deep,deepandvast,vastbeyondhuman hought,Yetcalm.-I couldbelieve hattherewashereTheonly quiethearton earth.In terror,Rememberederror, here s peaceandrest.(PW,I, 186;11.1466-69)

This is surprising and peculiar: it is as if Hamletwere calm in the scene after he learns of hisfather'smurderor Learafter he has been shut outfrom the castle. After all, when Mortimer waslast on stage, the pressureof events and conflictingemotions had nearly driven him mad, and nowWordsworth expects his readerto believe that theman is finding "peace and rest" by means of the"remembered terror" of the experience! Only aperson who had experiencedthe sensation of find-ing calm in vivid remembrancewould be likely tocreate such a response in a characterwho has re-cently undergone Mortimer's ordeal. And, in-deed, in the Prelude,Wordsworth calls before hismind the "spots of time," images of "all / Theterrors,all the early miseries / Regrets, vexations,lassitudes," and claims that these "have made up /The calm existence that is mine when I / Amworthy of myself!" (I, 11.355-61). Only one whohabitually used the energy of recollected emotionto reach a state of mind "Deep, deep and vast,vast beyond human thought, / Yet calm" would

Averill 231inducing trances is strong emotion. The source ofthe emotion, guilt, fear, or family conflict, seemsirrelevant to the psychological mechanism beingdescribed.These trances are as much literary as psycho-logical phenomena. In the eighteenth century,literary personae were continually losing con-sciousness or enteringa borderline state of "wak-ing sleep." In The Borderers, however, Words-worth presents as an imitation of reality a char-acterwho goes from stressfulpassion to unearthlycalm without the intervention of anything somelodramatic as a trance. In Act III, the heroMortimerentersalone, meditating upon his recentactions. In the previous scene, driven by a senseof misguided justice and revenge, he has left theold, blind Baron Herbert to undergo an ordeal bynature on the heath. Such conflicting emotions asanger, guilt, pity, jealousy, and grief had ragedthrough him; it had been a scene full of pathosand emotion, yet, with such an experience in theimmediate past, Mortimer utters these unex-pected, enigmatic words:

Deep,deepandvast,vastbeyondhuman hought,Yetcalm.-I couldbelieve hattherewashereTheonly quiethearton earth.In terror,Rememberederror, here s peaceandrest.(PW,I, 186;11.1466-69)

This is surprising and peculiar: it is as if Hamletwere calm in the scene after he learns of hisfather'smurderor Learafter he has been shut outfrom the castle. After all, when Mortimer waslast on stage, the pressureof events and conflictingemotions had nearly driven him mad, and nowWordsworth expects his readerto believe that theman is finding "peace and rest" by means of the"remembered terror" of the experience! Only aperson who had experiencedthe sensation of find-ing calm in vivid remembrancewould be likely tocreate such a response in a characterwho has re-cently undergone Mortimer's ordeal. And, in-deed, in the Prelude,Wordsworth calls before hismind the "spots of time," images of "all / Theterrors,all the early miseries / Regrets, vexations,lassitudes," and claims that these "have made up /The calm existence that is mine when I / Amworthy of myself!" (I, 11.355-61). Only one whohabitually used the energy of recollected emotionto reach a state of mind "Deep, deep and vast,vast beyond human thought, / Yet calm" would



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Sufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly Poetryufferingand Calm in Wordsworth'sEarly Poetryhave thought he was presenting a credible imita-tion of reality in the response of Mortimer.I would suggest that Wordsworth deliberatelyprovoked in himself the state that he has his char-acters experience accidentally. A recurring as-sumption of the "Preface" to Lyrical Ballads isthat poetry's purpose is to "excite" the reader. Inthe attack on "frantic novels, sickly and stupidGerman Tragedies, and deluges of idle and extra-vagant stories in verse," the only objection is tothe means employed; the claim that "the humanmind is capable of excitementwithout the applica-tion of gross and violent stimulants" implicitlyaccepts the premise that a primary function ofliterature is exciting the reader's mind. ForWordsworth, poetry serves as a conduit of psychicenergy: "Such objects as strongly excite" the poetare to be described in "the real language of menin a state of vivid sensation" in order to achievethe end of poetry, "to produce excitement in co-existence with an overbalance of pleasure." The"Preface"goes on to claim that this excitementhasimportant effects on the imagination: "Now, bythe supposition, excitement is an unusual andirregularstate of the mind; ideas and feelings donot in that state succeed each other in accustomedorder" (Prose, i, 128, 128, 126, 118, 146, 146).

have thought he was presenting a credible imita-tion of reality in the response of Mortimer.I would suggest that Wordsworth deliberatelyprovoked in himself the state that he has his char-acters experience accidentally. A recurring as-sumption of the "Preface" to Lyrical Ballads isthat poetry's purpose is to "excite" the reader. Inthe attack on "frantic novels, sickly and stupidGerman Tragedies, and deluges of idle and extra-vagant stories in verse," the only objection is tothe means employed; the claim that "the humanmind is capable of excitementwithout the applica-tion of gross and violent stimulants" implicitlyaccepts the premise that a primary function ofliterature is exciting the reader's mind. ForWordsworth, poetry serves as a conduit of psychicenergy: "Such objects as strongly excite" the poetare to be described in "the real language of menin a state of vivid sensation" in order to achievethe end of poetry, "to produce excitement in co-existence with an overbalance of pleasure." The"Preface"goes on to claim that this excitementhasimportant effects on the imagination: "Now, bythe supposition, excitement is an unusual andirregularstate of the mind; ideas and feelings donot in that state succeed each other in accustomedorder" (Prose, i, 128, 128, 126, 118, 146, 146).

Again, in the "Appendix to the Preface,"Words-worth speaks of "thegenuine languageof passion"(i.e., poetry) causing "a perturbed and unusualstate of mind" (Prose, I, 160). One writes poetry,then, and reads it deliberately to stir up the deadashes of emotion. As Wordsworth makes a poemor takes up an old poem to rewrite or reread, hedoes so in the expectation that the poetry willproduce an unusual mental state. What he desiresis the state of mind in which feelings do notsucceed each other normally, when profoundemotional agitation is followed by deepest calm.The calm that follows suffering is, therefore,not a facile attemptto cover up or glide over issuesthat Wordsworth is afraid to face; rather it is thesame, in kind and intensity, as the calm that en-sues from intense interactions throughout hispoetry. The pattern of suffering and calm is partof an excitement-tranquillity complex which liesat the heartof his poetic imagination. For Words-worth at least, the cathartic response to pathos jsbut one aspect of a more general response toliterature and life.Cornell UniversityIthaca, New York

Again, in the "Appendix to the Preface,"Words-worth speaks of "thegenuine languageof passion"(i.e., poetry) causing "a perturbed and unusualstate of mind" (Prose, I, 160). One writes poetry,then, and reads it deliberately to stir up the deadashes of emotion. As Wordsworth makes a poemor takes up an old poem to rewrite or reread, hedoes so in the expectation that the poetry willproduce an unusual mental state. What he desiresis the state of mind in which feelings do notsucceed each other normally, when profoundemotional agitation is followed by deepest calm.The calm that follows suffering is, therefore,not a facile attemptto cover up or glide over issuesthat Wordsworth is afraid to face; rather it is thesame, in kind and intensity, as the calm that en-sues from intense interactions throughout hispoetry. The pattern of suffering and calm is partof an excitement-tranquillity complex which liesat the heartof his poetic imagination. For Words-worth at least, the cathartic response to pathos jsbut one aspect of a more general response toliterature and life.Cornell UniversityIthaca, New York

Notesotes1 Leavis, Revaluation (London: Chatto & Windus, 1949),

pp. 181, 179; Lindenberger, On Wordsworth's 'Prelude'(Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1963), pp. 228-29; Perkins,Wordsworthand the Poetry of Sincerity (Cambridge, Mass.:Belknap, 1964),p. 116; Bostetter, The Romantic Ventriloquists(Seattle: Univ. of Washington Press, 1963), p. 65.2 Unless otherwise noted, the text of The Ruined Cottageused in this paper is MS. D, published in Jonathan Words-worth, The Music of Humanity (London: Nelson, 1969), pp.33-49.3 This is the original closing line of MS. B, published inPoetical Worksof William Wordsworth,ed. Ernest de Selin-court (Oxford: Clarendon, 1940-49), v, 404, I. 147; hereafterPoetical Works will be cited as PW.

4 In" 'Finer Distance': The Narrative Art of Wordsworth's'The Wanderer,' " ELH, 39 (1972), 87-111, Reeve Parker hasartfully traced the "dreamingman" motif of Excursion,Bk. I.In his discussion of these opening lines, Parkeremphasizes thedreamer's subjectivity, saying that he, no less than the narra-tor, is "the prisonerof either an innocent or a willed illusion."Parker's evidence for this is the "ambiguity of language" and"equivocal connotations" of the description of the dreamer'sview (p. 94). I would note that, for Wordsworth, the force ofthis dual subjectivity is positive rather than invidious-far

1 Leavis, Revaluation (London: Chatto & Windus, 1949),pp. 181, 179; Lindenberger, On Wordsworth's 'Prelude'(Princeton

suffering and calm in the ruined cottage

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