In his
account of Morris and Burne-Jones at Oxford University, J.W. Mackail notes that
in October 1854 ‘Term had been postponed for a week because of the cholera
epidemic’. I had already pointed this fact
out to my own students when they were unable to return to campus at the
beginning of this term; ‘The British academic system has been here before’, I
noted in an online message to them.
What I hadn’t
then recalled is just how much Mackail makes of that cholera epidemic a few
pages earlier, how much symbolic, even proto-political force he imbues it with. For he writes that, to young men of the time,
‘The terrible cholera autumn of 1854 seemed the climax of a period of physical
and moral stagnation from which the world was awakening to something like a new
birth’. To back up this claim he quotes
a sizeable stretch from Morris’s early short story ‘A Dream’, which I give here
in truncated form: ‘Till late that night I ministered to the sick in that
hospital; but when I went away, I walked down to the sea … I walked there pondering
till a noise from over the sea made me turn and look that way; what was that
coming over the sea? Laus Deo! The WEST WIND: Hurrah! … I saw the great green waves rising,
nodding and breaking, all coming on together; and over them from wave to wave
leaped the joyous WEST WIND; and the mist and the plague clouds were sweeping
back eastward in wild swirls’.
Shelleyan
promises of personal and perhaps cultural renewal, then, from the ‘pest-laden
city’ the story evokes; and Mackail claims that such significances are a 'hardly
concealed second meaning’ on its author’s part.
May the terrible Covid-19 Spring of 2020 prove such a symbolic turning
point too, so that we ourselves awaken to a political new birth from the
physical and moral stagnation of the Tory austerity of the last decade.