His judgments were often extremely bizarre. When you read one of
Carlyle's fierce diatribes, you say to yourself: "This is splendid.
The man's enthusiasm for justice and truth is glorious." But you also
say: "He is a little unjust and a little untruthful. He goes too far.
He lashes too hard." These things are not the style; they are the
matter. And when, as in his greatest moments, he is emotional and
restrained at once, you say: "This is the real Carlyle." Kindly notice
how perfect the style has become! No harshnesses or eccentricities
now! And if that particular matter is the "real" Carlyle, then that
particular style is Carlyle's "real" style. But when you say "real"
you would more properly say "best." "This is the best Carlyle." If
Carlyle had always been at his best he would have counted among the
supreme geniuses of the world. But he was a mixture. His style is the
expression of the mixture. The faults are only in the style because
they are in the matter.
You will find that, in classical literature, the style always follows
the mood of the matter. Thus, Charles Lamb's essay on _Dream Children_
begins quite simply, in a calm, narrative manner, enlivened by a
certain quippishness concerning the children.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52