Romanticism as a movement has always been credited as being revolutionary, and a radical shift from the Augustan empiricism that preceded it. Included in this distinction is the Romantics’ reverence for “originality” and the subsequent merging of this “originality” and “better” to make such terms synonymous. This was highlighted early in the Romantic period by Edward Young, who wrote in “Conjectures on Original Composition” that “Originals are the fairest Flowers: Imitations are of quicker growth, but fainter bloom” and that “Originals are, and ought to be, great Favourites, for they are great Benefactors” (Young, “Conjectures” Section 9). He draws the distinction between imitators, as in those who merely recreate what they’ve seen and read, and originals, who invent new ideas to progress society. This became a fixation for the Romantics, reiterated later by Wordsworth, who urged “that every author, as far as he is great and at the same time original, has had the task of creating the taste by which he is to be enjoyed” (Wordsworth, section 31). For argument’s sake, I will hold Young’s definitions of Romantic Originality as the standard in examining whether or not some Romantic writers are in fact, original. While Young’s originality is obvious in much of what we have read this semester, the distinction between imitation and invention becomes blurred when authors derive form and content from ancient Greek mythology, German gothic folk tales and traditional poetic forms, like the ballad.
One
feature of Romanticism, beyond an appreciation for all things “original,” is an
invocation of Greek mythology. In
Shelley’s “Adonais,” John Keats and his poetry are memorialized through such
invocation—Shelley parallels Keats to Adonis, a mortal god who is a staple of
beauty. Libby posted that Shelley’s “Adonais” urges readers to “mourn the death of Keats but also
resurrect him in his works of literature because it is through his words that
he remains immortal.” She also makes detailed references to the
mythological story of Adonis, recalling his untimely death and that those who survived him “mourned for
each year but also rejoiced when he was resurrected in nature.” In
another post, kathcal points out Shelley’s many references in “Adonais” to
Keats’ “Endymion,” who in Greek mythology was effeminate, and put into an
eternal sleep so that he wasn’t dead, but wasn’t awake either, drawing on
Shelley’s insistence that while Keats is dead, his legacy continues. It seems
deliberate on Shelley’s part to invoke characters that transcend mortality in memorializing
the life of Keats through “Adonais” but this also seems to dilute Shelley’s
originality. These attempts to
characterize Keats as a figure from ancient Greek mythology are inventive, but
do build on previously “invented” stories from mythology. Young warns that the
danger in imitation is that if “an
Imitator to be most excellent (and
such there are), yet still he but nobly builds on another's foundation; his
Debt is, at least, equal to his Glory” (Young, section 10). However, Shelley
isn’t quite imitating Greek mythology in “Adonais.” In fact, he’s hardly
deriving from its content. In poetic form, “Adonais” draws nothing from the
Classics but Early Modern Spenserian form, and only utilizes mythological
parallels to emphasize the great importance of Keats’ legacy. Young encourages
writers to allow themselves to become inspired by the Classic works, to “Tread
in [Homer’s] steps to the sole Fountain of Immortality; drink where he drank,
at the true Helicon, that is, at the
breast of Nature: Imitate; but imitate not the Composition, but the Man”
(Young, section 20). Shelley is then employing Classical references to both
revere his shared appreciation for the Classics with Keats, and to reinvent
mythological characters which is not devoid of originality, for reinvention is
still invention, at least by Young’s definition.
In
Keats’ sonnet “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer,” the narrator brags of
Chapman’s translations of the works of ancient Greek epic poet Homer. Gary
Snyder pointed out that “Keats
appreciates the classics by perfectly imitating a Petrarchan Sonnet, with the
rhyme structure ABBACDDCEFGEFG.” In content, Keats describes the experience of
reading Chapman’s translations as having “felt I like some watcher of the skies/
When a new planet swims into his ken” (9-10). This kind of elation and thirst
for adventure in the poem indicate Keats’ immense appreciation for Chapman’s
translation of Homeric works, which are great works of the Classical era. Gary
Snyder also comments on the humbled tone Keats assumes in the poem when
describing the experience of hearing the translation. While Keats might seem to
be blurring the lines between invention and imitation in “On First Looking into
Chapman’s Homer,” he is not. Young, further into “Conjectures on Original
Composition” praises Homer’s originality, and suggests that modern writers “be
as far from neglecting, as from copying, [Classical writers’] admirable
Compositions; Sacred be their Rights, and inviolable their Fame. Let our Understandings
feed on theirs; they afford the noblest nourishment; But let them nourish, not
annihilate, our own” (Young, section 14). Young here draws a distinction that
allows Keats to maintain Romantic originality, despite his use of the
Petrarchan form and immense reverence for the Classics. Young explains that the
inherent originality of the Classical works should ignite the revolutionary
fires of Romantics, and inspire them, versus merely allowing outright copies.
Keats is not writing a Homeric epic poem, nor is he translating one. He employs
an ancient form to bring new sensual meaning to the experience of hearing a
freely translated Homer—this is very much distinct from an imitation that would
dilute a sense of originality.
 | |||
| 'The Muses Melpomene Erato And Polymnia' by Eustache Le Sueur | ; | in Greek mythology, the muses were goddesses of knowledge. The Romantics depicted them as sources of inspiration which was vital to the process of writing, especially about emotion and sensuality. |
Along
with reinventing the classics, the Romantics also found inspiration in many of
the folktales that were considered “low brow” at the time, like German gothic
folktales that had never before been considered “art.” While the term “folktale” wasn’t
defined until after the Romantics, the oral traditions that allowed for their
dissemination were a focus of many of the Romantics, despite cultural borders. In
Burger’s “Lenora,” English ballad form, not considered the most elegant of
poetic form at the time, and over-wrought German romanticism were fused to
create a hyper-masculine, gothic “love” story. This ballad is definitively
folk-ish not just because of its poetic form, but also because it employs such
fantastical imagery as an un-dead knight, William, whose “head became a naked
skull;/ Nor haire nor eyne had hee:/ His body grew a skeleton” after reuniting
with his living wife to-be, Lenora (241-243). It is also important to mention
that “Lenora” was originally written in German, but translated by William
Taylor in 1796. This indicates first an embrace of cultural differences in the
Romantic Movement by the English, and an appreciation for local folktales. However, folk tales are by no means considered
“original.” In fact, they are usually passed down by oral tradition and not preserved
in any written or academic for--they are inherently common, easy to remember
and parabolistic. Where, then, does this Romantic originality manifest in
“Lenora” and other such folktale-inspired works, like Coleridge’s “Christabel”?
Young examines why there are so few Originals, as he calls them. In doing so,
he explains their rareness is “not
because the Writer's harvest is over, the great Reapers of Antiquity having
left nothing to be gleaned after them; nor because the human mind's teeming
time is past” but because imitations of the past “engross our attention, and so prevent a due inspection of
ourselves; they prejudice our
Judgment in favour of their abilities, and so lessen the sense of our own”
(Young, section 16). It seems then that the intention
behind rewriting such folktales becomes the most important feature of the
folktales themselves in making them original works instead of copies. As
mentioned before, “Lenora” is an English translation of a German ballad
originally by Burger. S-Cat argues in her blog post that “Lenora” invokes its
parabolistic roots, but adds a modern spin through serving “as warnings for women to stay within their
designated boundaries set by patriarchy” or else they meet a gruesome and
untimely fate. While I have my own feelings about this “warning,” I cannot
disagree that is a “reinvention” rather than a mere imitation. Young’s
definition of originality in Romanticism has allowed for invention to also
assume the form of reinvention, so long as its intentions serve a modern and relevant purpose that its
predecessors did not cultivate in the original work. William Taylor has brought
hyper-masculine traditions of German folktales to modern England through the
form of translation, to perhaps counter women’s education reform. This
underlying purpose is despicable, but no less “original” than Keats’ use of the
Petrarchan sonnet and Classical subject matter to communicate Romantic
sensuality.
 |
| "Rapunzel," a story by the Grimm Brothers published only 16 years after Taylor's translation of "Lenora," reinvented ancient German folktales into fairy tales, but still harbored an irreverence for women, as in the original story of Rapunzel, she is turned away by the Prince and tricked by the Witch only to stay in her tower forever. |
As
well as oral traditions, ballad form was recovered during the 18th
century and promoted from its status as “low” poetic form to “art” through the
work of Romantics like Robert Burns. Use of the ballad form for Burns signified
pride in his native Scotland, and the plight of the working class. In “John
Barleycorn. A Ballad,” Burns reinvents an English folk song, adapting it to fit
the political circumstances surrounding the Acts of Union in 1707, merging
Scotland and England to make Great Britain (Whatley, 642). In the original
song, “John Barleycorn” is the personification of the ingredients of beer and
whiskey. In Burns’ adaption, John Barleycorn is still the personification of
such ingredients, but also becomes representative of the Scottish working class
who harvest them, overtaken by the English. Barleycorn’s plight is a gruesome
one, in which his enemies “hae taen his very heart’s blood,” and used a sharp
weapon to “cut him by the knee;/ Then ty’d him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue
for forgerie” (45, 24-27). The ballad maintains the perversely light-hearted
dimension it originally had before Burns, describing the brutalization of John
Barleycorn to mirror the process of making beer, but it is also built upon by
Burns to encourage nationalistic sentiments toward Scotland, as it ends with
“may [John Barleycorn’s] great posterity/ Ne’er fail in old Scotland!” Burns
also develops an ironic dimension, as the ballad remains light hearted, but is
a subtle nod to the unjust treatment of the Scots by the English throughout
history, and the Acts of Union in 1707 (Whatley, 649). Kathcal makes a number
of important assertions about Burns’ work, opening with “At the beginning of the eighteenth
century, many people considered Scotland to have no great literary tradition
when compared to continental Europe’s cultural legacy extending from
antiquity.” She notes, “Robert Burns reinvigorated Scottish nationalism by
defining the country’s history in passionate and simple terms” in John
Barleycorn, legitimizing a “drinking song” through complexity of form and the
exploitation of his reputation as a “high brow” writer. Most importantly,
kathcal points out that Burns preserves Scottish colloquial diction in the
ballad, complicating the standardized rhyme scheme for the form and emphasizing
its nationalistic sentiments. For “John Barleycorn. A Ballad,” it is most difficult
to defend a sense of Romantic originality—on the one hand, Burns has reinvented
an old form for a new purpose, and this is quite in line with Young’s emphasis
on intention of reinvented works, and the fine line between inspiration and
imitation. On the other, Burns as chosen to revere old forms by outright using
them, employing dialect and building on the thematic foundations of the
original English song in the ballad. However, I would argue that of any of the
aforementioned works, Burns’ “John Barleycorn. A Ballad” is the most original
in form and in subject. Young bids us “build our Compositions with the Spirit,
and in the Taste, of the Antients; but not with their Materials” which is
exactly what Burns has done in this ballad (Young section 21). Burns has
recovered a traditional form associated with Scottish folk culture, complicated
its standardized, simplistic nature to make it more poetic, built on the
original song’s pervasive subject matter to subvert a traditionally English
song into a Scottish one, hinting at the contention between the two national
traditions. Burns uses the personification of John Barleycorn, already a
complex dynamic, to make a political statement. Burns, then, has built his
composition with the spirit and the dialect of the Scottish, but has used not
the original English material—the song hardly has the same intrinsic meaning in
Burns’ revision.
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