Spenser inherited the Platonic and Christian dualism: heaven was set over against earth, being against becoming, eternity against time. He knew from the outset that the lower, half-unreal world must always fail to copy its archetype exactly. The worst that experience could do was to show that the degree of failure was greater than one had anticipated. If he had thought that the objects of his desire were merely 'ideals', private, subjective, constructions of his own mind, then the actual world might have thrown doubt on those ideals. But he thought no such thing. An Existentialist feels Angst because he thinks that man's nature (and therefore his relation to all things) has to be created or invented, without guidance, at each moment of decision. Spenser thought that man's nature was given, discoverable, and discovered; he did not feel Angst. He was often sad: but not, at bottom, worried. To many of my readers such a state of mind must appear a total illusion. If they cannot suspend their disbelief, they should leave Spenser alone; there are plenty of other authors to read. They must not, however, suppose that he was under an illusion about the historical world. That is not where he differs from them. He differs from them in thinking that it is not the whole story. His tranquillity is a robust tranquillity that 'tolerates the indignities of time', refusing (if we may put the matter in his terms) to be deceived by them, recognizing them as truths, indeed, but only the truths of 'a foolish world'. He would not have called himself 'the poet of our waking dreams': rather the poet of our waking.
—C.S. Lewis, English Literature in the Sixteenth Century.
How He Cared
There were no vain regrets in him now; no regret of life, for this he always held in his own hand ready to toss it away for a fancy of an ideal—no regret of the might-have-been because he was a philosopher, and the very moment that love for the unattainable was born in his heart he had already realized that love to him could only mean a memory.
Therefore when he watched the preparations out there in the mist, and heard the heavy blows upon the wooden planks of the gibbet and the murmurs of his sympathizers at their work, he only smiled gently, self-deprecatingly, but always good-humouredly.
If the Lord of Stoutenburg only knew how little he really cared.
—Baroness Orczy, The Laughing Cavalier.
Therefore when he watched the preparations out there in the mist, and heard the heavy blows upon the wooden planks of the gibbet and the murmurs of his sympathizers at their work, he only smiled gently, self-deprecatingly, but always good-humouredly.
If the Lord of Stoutenburg only knew how little he really cared.
—Baroness Orczy, The Laughing Cavalier.
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