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Rosamund had appealed to the poet in youth； and he had written part
of a lyric which he judiciously left unpublished。 It is given in his
Biography。 In 1877 he had visited Canterbury； and had traced the
steps of Becket to his place of slaughter in the Cathedral。 The poem
was printed in 1879； but not published till seven years later。 In
1879 Sir Henry Irving had thought the play too costly to be produced
with more than a succes d'estime； but in 1891 he put it on the stage；
where it proved the most successful of modern poetic dramas。 As
published it is； obviously； far too long for public performance。 It
is not easy to understand why dramatic poets always make their works
so much too long。 The drama seems； by its very nature； to have a
limit almost as distinct as the limit of the sonnet。 It is easy to
calculate how long a play for the stage ought to be； and we might
think that a poet would find the natural limit serviceable to his
art； for it inculcates selection； conciseness； and concentration。
But despite these advantages of the natural form of the drama； modern
poets； at least； constantly overflow their banks。 The author ruit
profusus； and the manager has to reduce the piece to feasible
proportions； such as it ought to have assumed from the first。
Becket has been highly praised by Sir Henry Irving himself； for its
〃moments of passion and pathos； 。 。 。 which； when they exist； atone
to an audience for the endurance of long acts。〃 But why should the
audience have such long acts to endure？ The reader； one fears； is
apt to use his privilege of skipping。 The long speeches of Walter
Map and the immense period of Margery tempt the student to exercise
his agility。 A 〃chronicle play〃 has the privilege of wandering； but
Becket wanders too far and too long。 The political details of the
quarrel between Church and State； with its domestic and international
complexities； are apt to fatigue the attention。 Inevitable and
insoluble as the situation was； neither protagonist is entirely
sympathetic； whether in the play or in history。 The struggle in
Becket between his love of the king and his duty to the Church （or
what he takes to be his duty） is nobly presented； and is truly
dramatic； while there is grotesque and terrible relief in the banquet
of the Beggars。 In the scene of the assassination the poet 〃never
stoops his wing；〃 and there are passages of tender pathos between
Henry and Rosamund； while Becket's keen memories of his early days；
just before his death； are moving。
〃Becket。 I once was out with Henry in the days
When Henry loved me； and we came upon
A wild…fowl sitting on her nest； so still
I reach'd my hand and touch'd； she did not stir；
The snow had frozen round her； and she sat
Stone…dead upon a heap of ice…cold eggs。
Look！ how this love； this mother； runs thro' all
The world God madeeven the beastthe bird！
John of Salisbury。 Ay； still a lover of the beast and bird？
But these arm'd menwill you not hide yourself？
Perchance the fierce De Brocs from Saltwood Castle；
To assail our Holy Mother lest she brood
Too long o'er this hard egg； the world； and send
Her whole heart's heat into it； till it break
Into young angels。 Pray you； hide yourself。
Becket。 There was a little fair…hair'd Norman maid
Lived in my mother's house： if Rosamund is
The world's rose； as her name imports hershe
Was the world's lily。
John of Salisbury。 Ay； and what of her？
Becket。 She died of leprosy。〃
But the part of Rosamund； her innocent ignorance especially； is not
very readily intelligible； not quite persuasive； and there is almost
a touch of the burlesque in her unexpected appearance as a monk。 To
weave that old and famous story of love into the terribly complex
political intrigue was a task almost too great。 The character of
Eleanor is perhaps more successfully drawn in the Prologue than in
the scene where she offers the choice of the dagger or the bowl； and
is interrupted； in a startlingly unexpected manner； by the Archbishop
himself。 The opportunities for scenic effects are magnificent
throughout； and must have contributed greatly to the success on the
stage。 Still one cannot but regard the published Becket as rather
the marble from which the statue may be hewn than as the statue
itself。 There are fine scenes； powerful and masterly drawing of
character in Henry； Eleanor； and Becket； but there is a want of
concentration； due； perhaps； to the long period of time covered by
the action。 So； at least； it seems to a reader who has admitted his
sense of incompetency in the dramatic region。 The acuteness of the
poet's power of historical intuition was attested by Mr J。 R。 Green
and Mr Bryce。 〃One cannot imagine；〃 said Mr Bryce； 〃a more vivid； a
more perfectly faithful picture than it gives both of Henry and
Thomas。〃 Tennyson's portraits of these two 〃go beyond and perfect
history。〃 The poet's sympathy ought； perhaps； to have been； if not
with the false and ruffianly Henry； at least with Henry's side of the
question。 For Tennyson had made Harold leave
〃To England
My legacy of war against the Pope
From child to child； from Pope to Pope； from age to age；
Till the sea wash her level with her shores；
Or till the Pope be Christ's。〃
CHAPTER IX。LAST YEARS。
The end of 1884 saw the publication of Tiresias and other Poems；
dedicated to 〃My good friend； Robert Browning；〃 and opening with the
beautiful verses to one who never was Mr Browning's friend； Edward
FitzGerald。 The volume is rich in the best examples of Tennyson's
later work。 Tiresias； the monologue of the aged seer； blinded by
excess of light when he beheld Athene unveiled； and under the curse
of Cassandra； is worthy of the author who； in youth； wrote OEnone and
Ulysses。 Possibly the verses reflect Tennyson's own sense of public
indifference to the voice of the poet and the seer。 But they are of
much earlier date than the year of publication：…
〃For when the crowd would roar
For blood； for war； whose issue was their doom；
To cast wise words among the multitude
Was flinging fruit to lions； nor； in hours
Of civil outbreak； when I knew the twain
Would each waste each； and bring on both the yoke
Of stronger states； was mine the voice to curb
The madness of our cities and their kings。
Who ever turn'd upon his heel to hear
My warning that the tyranny of one
Was prelude to the tyranny of all？
My counsel that the tyranny of all
Led backward to the tyranny of one？
This power hath work'd no good to aught that lives。〃
The conclusion was a favourite with the author； and his blank verse
never reached a higher strain：…
〃But for me；
I would that I were gather'd to my rest；
And mingled with the famous kings of old；
On whom about their ocean…islets flash
The faces of the Godsthe wise man's word；
Here trampled by the populace underfoot；
There crown'd with worshipand these eyes will find
The men I knew； and watch the chariot whirl
About the goal again； and hunters race
The shadowy lion； and the warrior…kings；
In height and prowess more than human； strive
Again for glory； while the golden lyre
Is ever sounding in h