HOPKINS AND H I S CRITICS
547
But to get back to Father Schoder's essay: it is largely dependent
on earlier interpretations (for example, while condemning Empson's
brief analysis with what seems to me unnecessary sharpness, Father
Schoder's analysis really follows one of the alternative readings proposed
by Empson), but it smooths out the differences and makes an im–
portant contribution of its own by relating the poem to the meditation
on the Kingdom of Christ in St. Ignatius'
Spiritual Exercises.
Mr. Win–
ters has declined to believe there is any evidence for accepting a rela–
tion between "The Windhover" and St. I gnatius' writings, but Hopkins
was not only thoroughly a priest, he was a J esuit priest as well; and if
anyone believes that the imagery of chivalry running through "The
Windhover" (it is in some respects in the same tradition as Campion's
boast) is unrelated to the symbolism of Jesuit spirituality, why clearly
that man has never seen a Jesuit. Hopkins doubted if Dr. Bridges ever
had, and Mr. Winters leaves no doubt that he has never seen Hopkins,
but probably he is happy enough to be in the same boat with his fav–
orite laureate (they work together in fact) . At any rate, Father Schoder's
reading, as far as interpretation goes, seems to me the last word.
To conclude:
Immortal Diamond
as a collection of essays is badly
planned. The T errible Sonnets are oddly neglected; but the three essays
mentioned here should certainly be read. As for Mr. Winters, he ends
up by selecting his five favorite poems from Hopkins, and they are
pretty much the ones you would have expected. But I was genuinely
surprised to find H opkins' school-prize poem, "The Escorial," missing
from the list.
Marius Bewley
THE DISCRIMINATIONS OF MR. LEAVIS
THE GREAT TRADITION.
By
F. R. Leovis. George W. Stewort. $4.50.
It
would be hard to over-rate the importance of Mr. Leavis'
book for the present time. The critical problem of the novel is stirring
once more, and unless Mr. Leavis is simply ignored, it will be impossible
again to deal with the English novel, as we have in the past, as if the
great novelists of its central tradition did not exist, as
if,
consequently,
freaks and fakes like Djuna Barnes and Ronald Firbank were serious
matters, authentic minor novelists like Virginia Woolf major novelists.
There is probably a real risk that Mr. Leavis will be ignored; he has all
the thorniness and some of the real defects of the man who is hell-bent on
