Foreign News: Octogenarian Laureate

In an old-fashioned house set in an old-fashioned garden, half way up a verdant incline called Boar’s Hill on the outskirts of the ancient university town of Oxford, Poet Laureate Robert Bridges* celebrated the 83rd anniversary of his birth. He passed the day quietly receiving many callers, from hoary

Oxford dons to equally hoary litterateurs, and opening many scores of congratulatory wires and letters.

Dr. Robert Bridges, shocked of hair, bestubbled of beard, was appointed Poet Laureate† by King George in 1913, thereby disappointing, if not enraging, a vast horde of Kiplingites throughout the Commonwealth; for Dr. Bridges, despite his four university degrees, was unknown, except to a small but influential circle of admirers.

He began his career studying medicine, a profession from which he retired in 1882 at the age of 38. He had, too, been brought up in what is called the “old school”: he went to Eton with half the Victorian aristocracy and then to Oxford with the other half. In other words, he “belonged”—a saying that implies equality within the hallowed circle of the blue blooded.

Like many Etonians, he is impervious to criticism. He is aloof, independent, sometimes satirical, often sarcastic, but more often kindly. His verse shows all these qualities; indeed, his poems form the epitome of his character. He has never been known to write a poem to order; the nearest approach he made to doing so was after the War, when the Armistice seemed to call for an heroic ode. which he penned and called Brittannia Victrix, and which is hardly characteristic of his works.

The critics have called long and loudly for official odes, but all in vain; the public, expectant and steeped in Kiplingisms, unjustifiably muttered uncomplimentary things and turned up its collective nose at what Dr. Bridges did give it. The matter became serious; the murmuring grew to open and vociferous criticism. The public grievance was even aired in Parliament. But all this fuss and pother was to no avail. When the “old man” on Boar’s Hill heard about it, he said unpoetically: “I don’t give a damn!” When the public heard that, it rather liked it. and settled down to like Dr. Bridges, just as it had settled down to like Queen Victoria after decades of indecorous criticism.

Dr. Bridges’ verse, in truth, is, perhaps, a little top “highbrow” for the general public. Moreover, its prosody treats of stresses and not syllables. Nevertheless, his verse is recognized for its restraint, purity, precision and strength.

*Not to be confused with U. S. Editor Robert (“Droch”) Bridges of Scribner’s Magazine.

†Ben Jonson, although he did not enjoy the title of Poet Laureate, was the first to occupy the equivalent position. Before him there had been versifier? to the king, for example Gulielmus Peregrinus, versificatorregis to Richard Coeur de Lion. Sir William Davenant succeeded Jonson in 1638 in an identical capacity, and it was not until 1670, two years after Sir William’s death, that Dryden became the first to hold the official title of Poet Laureate, an appointment that has continued to the present day. Poets Laureate since Dryden: Shadwell, Tate, Rowe, Eusden, Cibber, Whitehead, Warton, Pye, Southey, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Austin, Bridges.