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diff --git a/41792-0.txt b/41792-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69ab25f --- /dev/null +++ b/41792-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16733 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Theodore Watts-Dunton, by James Douglas + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Theodore Watts-Dunton + Poet, Novelist, Critic + + +Author: James Douglas + + + +Release Date: January 6, 2013 [eBook #41792] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON*** + + +Transcribed from the 1904 Hodder and Stoughton edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Theodore Watts-Dunton, from a painting by Miss H. B. Norris] + + + + + + THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON + + + POET NOVELIST CRITIC + + BY + JAMES DOUGLAS + + [Picture: Decorative graphic, Natura Benigna] + + WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS + + * * * * * + + LONDON + + HODDER AND STOUGHTON + + 27 PATERNOSTER ROW + + 1904 + + + + +SYNOPSIS + + PAGE +INTRODUCTION 1 + CHAPTER I +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER 11 + CHAPTER II +COWSLIP COUNTRY 26 + CHAPTER III +THE CRITIC IN THE BUD 40 + CHAPTER IV +CHARACTERS IN THE MICROCOSM 50 + CHAPTER V +EARLY GLIMPSES OF THE GYPSIES 61 + CHAPTER VI +SPORT AND WORK 65 + CHAPTER VII +EAST ANGLIA 72 + CHAPTER VIII +LONDON 87 + CHAPTER IX +GEORGE BORROW 95 + CHAPTER X +THE ACTED DRAMA 117 + CHAPTER XI +DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 138 + CHAPTER XII +WILLIAM MORRIS 170 + CHAPTER XIII +THE ‘EXAMINER’ 183 + CHAPTER XIV +THE ‘ATHENÆUM’ 190 + CHAPTER XV +THE GREAT BOOK OF WONDER 228 + CHAPTER XVI +A HUMOURIST UPON HUMOUR 242 + CHAPTER XVII +‘THE LIFE POETIC’ 262 + CHAPTER XVIII +AMERICAN FRIENDS: LOWELL, BRET HARTE, AND OTHERS 295 + CHAPTER XIX +WALES 312 + CHAPTER XX +IMAGINATIVE AND DIDACTIC PROSE 321 + CHAPTER XXI +THE METHODS OF PROSE FICTION 345 + CHAPTER XXII +A STORY WITH TWO HEROINES 363 + CHAPTER XXIII +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER IN RELIGION 372 + CHAPTER XXIV +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER IN HUMOUR 382 + CHAPTER XXV +GORGIOS AND ROMANIES 389 + CHAPTER XXVI +‘THE COMING OF LOVE’ 393 + CHAPTER XXVIII +“CHRISTMAS AT THE ‘MERMAID’” 422 + CHAPTER XXVIII +CONCLUSION 442 + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +Theodore Watts-Dunton. From a painting by Miss H. Frontispiece +B. Norris +Reverie. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at ‘The Pines’ 1 +The Ouse at Houghton Mill, Hunts. (From a Water 28 +Colour by Fraser at ‘The Pines.’) +‘The Thicket,’ St. Ives. (From a Water Colour by 32 +Fraser at ‘The Pines.’) +Slepe Hall: Cromwell’s Supposed Residence at St. 36 +Ives. (From an Oil Painting at ‘The Pines.’) +‘Evening Dreams with the Poets.’ (From an Oil 68 +Painting at ‘The Pines.’) +A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Painted and 92 +Carved Cabinet +A Letter Box on the Broads. (From an Oil Painting 114 +at ‘The Pines.’) +Pandora. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at ‘The Pines’ 140 +‘The Green Dining Room,’ 16 Cheyne Walk. (From a 161 +Painting by Dunn, at ‘The Pines.’) +One of the Carved Mirrors at ‘The Pines,’ 162 +decorated with Dunn’s copy of the lost Rossetti +Frescoes at the Oxford Union +Kelmscott Manor. (From a Water Colour by Miss May 170 +Morris.) +‘The Pines.’ (From a Drawing by Herbert Railton.) 262 +A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Lacquer 266 +Cabinet +Summer at ‘The Pines’—I 268 +A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Chinese Divan 270 +described in ‘Aylwin’ +Summer at ‘The Pines’—II 274 +‘Picture for a Story.’ (Face and Instrument 276 +designed by D. G. Rossetti, background by Dunn.) +Ogwen and the Glyders from Carnedd Dafydd 312 +Moel Siabod and the River Lledr 314 +Snowdon and Glaslyn 318 +Henry Aylwin and Winifred under the Cliff. (From 342 +an Oil Painting at ‘The Pines.’) +Sinfi Lovell and Pharaoh. (From a Painting at 364 +‘The Pines.’) +‘John the Pilgrim.’ (By Arthur Hacker, A.R.A.) 416 + +NATURA BENIGNA + + + _What power is this_? _what witchery wins my feet_ + _To peaks so sheer they scorn the cloaking snow_, + _All silent as the emerald gulfs below_, + _Down whose ice-walls the wings of twilight beat_? + _What thrill of earth and heaven_—_most wild_, _most sweet_— + _What answering pulse that all the senses know_, + _Comes leaping from the ruddy eastern glow_ + _Where_, _far away_, _the skies and mountains meet_? + _Mother_, ’_tis I reborn_: _I know thee well_: + _That throb I know and all it prophesies_, + _O Mother and Queen_, _beneath the olden spell_ + _Of silence_, _gazing from thy hills and skies_! + _Dumb Mother_, _struggling with the years to tell_ + _The secret at thy heart through helpless eyes_. + + [Picture: Reverie. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at The Pines] + + + + +Introduction + + + ‘It was necessary for Thomas Hood still to do one thing ere the wide + circle and profound depth of his genius were to the full + acknowledged: that one thing was—to die.’—DOUGLAS JERROLD. + +ALTHOUGH in the inner circle of English letters this study of a living +writer will need no apology, it may be well to explain for the general +reader the reasons which moved me to undertake it. + +Some time ago a distinguished scholar, the late S. Arthur Strong, +Librarian of the House of Lords, was asked what had been the chief source +of his education. He replied: “Cambridge, scholastically, and +Watts-Dunton’s articles in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ and the +‘Athenæum’ from the purely literary point of view. I have been a reader +of them for many years, and it would be difficult for me to say what I +should have been without them.” Mr. Richard Le Gallienne has said that +he bought the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ simply to possess one article—Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s article on Poetry. There are many other men of letters +who would give similar testimony. With regard to his critical work, Mr. +Swinburne in one of his essays, speaking of the treatise on Poetry, +describes Mr. Watts-Dunton as ‘the first critic of our time, perhaps the +largest-minded and surest-sighted of any age,’ {1} a judgment which, +according to the article on Mr. Watts-Dunton in Chambers’s +‘Encyclopædia,’ Rossetti endorsed. In this same article it is further +said:— + + “He came to exercise a most important influence on the art and + culture of the day; but although he has written enough to fill many + volumes—in the ‘Examiner,’ the ‘Athenæum’ (since 1876), the + ‘Nineteenth Century,’ the ‘Fortnightly Review,’ etc.—he has let year + after year go by without his collecting his essays, which, always + dealing with first principles, have ceased to be really anonymous, + and are quoted by the press both in England and in Germany as his. + But, having wrapped up his talents in a weekly review, he is only + ephemerally known to the general public, except for the sonnets and + other poems that, from the ‘Athenæum,’ etc., have found their way + into anthologies, and for the articles on poetic subjects that he has + contributed to the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ ‘Chambers’s + Encyclopædia,’ etc. The chief note of his poetry—much of it written + in youth—is its individuality, the source of its inspiration Nature + and himself. For he who of all men has most influenced his brother + poets has himself remained least influenced by them. So, too, his + prose writings—literary mainly, but ranging also over folk-lore, + ethnology, and science generally—are marked as much by their + independence and originality as by their suggestiveness, harmony, + incisive vigour, and depth and breadth of insight. They have made + him a force in literature to which only Sainte-Beuve, not Jeffrey, is + a parallel.” {2} + +These citations from students of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work, written before +his theory of the ‘Renascence of Wonder’ was exemplified in ‘Aylwin’ and +‘The Coming of Love,’ show, I think, that this book would have had a +right to exist even if his critical writings had been collected into +volumes; but as this collection has never been made, and I believe never +will be made by the author, I feel that to do what I am now doing is to +render the reading public a real service. For many years he has been +urged by his friends to collect his critical articles, but although +several men of letters have offered to relieve him of that task, he has +remained obdurate. + +Speaking for myself, I scarcely remember the time when I was not an eager +student of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s writings. Like most boys born with the +itch for writing, I began to spill ink on paper in my third lustre. The +fermentation of the soul which drove me to write a dreadful elegy, +modelled upon ‘Lycidas,’ on the death of an indulgent aunt, also drove me +to welter in drowsy critical journals. By some humour of chance I +stumbled upon the ‘Athenæum,’ and there I found week by week writing that +made me tingle with the rapture of discovery. The personal magic of some +unknown wizard led me into realms of gold and kingdoms of romance. I +used to count the days till the ‘Athenæum’ appeared in my Irish home, and +I spent my scanty pocket money in binding the piled numbers into +ponderous tomes. Well I remember the advent of the old, white-bearded +Ulster book-binder, bearing my precious volumes: even now I can smell the +pungent odour of the damp paste and glue. In those days I was a solitary +bookworm, living far from London, and I vainly tried to discover the name +of the magician who was carrying me into so ‘many goodly states and +kingdoms.’ With boyish audacity I wrote to the editor of the ‘Athenæum,’ +begging him to disclose the secret; and I am sure my naïve appeal +provoked a smile in Took’s Court. But although the editor was dumb, I +exulted in the meagre apparition of my initials, ‘J. D.,’ under the +solemn rubric, ‘To Correspondents.’ + +It was by collating certain signed sonnets and signed articles with the +unsigned critical essays that I at last discovered the name of my hero, +Theodore Watts. Of course, the sonnets set me sonneteering, and when my +execrable imitation of ‘Australia’s Mother’ was printed in the ‘Belfast +News-Letter’ I felt like Byron when he woke up and found himself famous. +Afterwards, when I had plunged into the surf of literary London, I learnt +that the writer who had turned my boyhood into a romantic paradise was +well known in cultivated circles, but quite unknown outside them. + +There was, indeed, no account of him in print. It was not till 1887 that +I found a brief but masterly memoir in ‘Celebrities of the Century.’ The +article concluded with the statement that in the ‘Athenæum’ and in the +Ninth Edition of the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ Mr. Watts-Dunton had +‘founded a school of criticism which discarded conventional authority, +and sought to test all literary effects by the light of first principles +merely.’ These words encouraged me, for they told me that as a boy I had +not been wrong in thinking that I had discovered a master and a guide in +literature. Then came the memoir of Philip Bourke Marston by the +American poetess, Louise Chandler Moulton, in which she described Mr. +Watts-Dunton as ‘a poet whose noble work won for him the intimate +friendship of Rossetti and Browning and Lord Tennyson, and was the first +link in that chain of more than brotherly love which binds him to +Swinburne, his housemate at present and for many years past.’ I also +came across Clarence Stedman’s remarks upon the opening of ‘The Coming of +Love,’ ‘Mother Carey’s Chicken,’ first printed in the ‘Athenæum.’ He was +enthusiastic about the poet’s perception of ‘Nature’s grander aspects,’ +and spoke of his poetry as being ‘quite independent of any bias derived +from the eminent poets with whom his life has been closely associated.’ + +When afterwards I made his acquaintance, our intercourse led to the +formation of a friendship which has deepened my gratitude for the +spiritual and intellectual guidance I have found in his writings for +nearly twenty years. Owing to the popularity of ‘The Coming of Love’ and +of ‘Aylwin’—which the late Lord Acton, in ‘The Annals of Politics and +Culture,’ placed at the head of the three most important books published +in 1898—Mr. Watts-Dunton’s name is now familiar to every fairly educated +person. About few men living is there so much literary curiosity; and +this again is a reason for writing a book about him. + +The idea of making an elaborate study of his work, however, did not come +to me until I received an invitation from Dr. Patrick, the editor of +Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English Literature,’ to write for that +publication an article on Mr. Watts-Dunton—an article which had been +allotted to Professor Strong, but which he had been obliged through +indisposition to abandon at the last moment. I undertook to do this. +But within the limited space at my command I was able only very briefly +to discuss his work as a poet. Soon afterwards I was invited by my +friend, Dr. Robertson Nicoll, to write a monograph upon Mr. Watts-Dunton +for Messrs. Hodder & Stoughton, and, if I should see my way to do so, to +sound him on the subject. My only difficulty was in approaching Mr. +Watts-Dunton, for I knew how constantly he had been urged by the press to +collect his essays, and how persistently he had declined to do so. +Nevertheless, I wrote to him, telling him how gladly I should undertake +the task, and how sure I was that the book was called for. His answer +was so characteristic that I must give it here:— + + “MY DEAR MR. DOUGLAS,—It must now be something like fifteen years + since Mr. John Lane, who was then compiling a bibliography of George + Meredith, asked me to consent to his compiling a bibliography of my + articles in the ‘Athenæum’ and elsewhere, and although I emphatically + declined to sanction such a bibliography, he on several occasions did + me the honour to renew his request. I told him, as I have told one + or two other generous friends, that although I had put into these + articles the best criticism and the best thought at my command, I + considered them too formless to have other than an ephemeral life. I + must especially mention the name of Mr. Alfred Nutt, who for years + has been urging me to let him publish a selection from my critical + essays. I am really proud to record this, because Mr. Nutt is not + only an eminent publisher but an admirable scholar and a man of + astonishing accomplishments. I had for years, let me confess, + cherished the idea that some day I might be able to take my various + expressions of opinion upon literature, especially upon poetry, and + mould them into a coherent and, perhaps, into a harmonious whole. + This alone would have satisfied me. But year by year the body of + critical writing from my pen has grown, and I felt and feel more and + more unequal to the task of grappling with such a mass. To the last + writer of eminence who gratified me by suggesting a collection of + these essays—Dr. Robertson Nicoll—I wrote, and wrote it with entire + candour, that in my opinion the view generally taken of the value of + them is too generous. Still, they are the result of a good deal of + reflection and not a little research, especially those in the + ‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ and I am not so entirely without literary + aspiration as not to regret that, years ago, when the mass of + material was more manageable, I neglected to collect them and edit + them myself. But the impulse to do this is now gone. Owing to the + quite unexpected popularity of ‘The Coming of Love’ and of ‘Aylwin,’ + my mind has been diverted from criticism, and plunged into those much + more fascinating waters of poetry and fiction in which I used to + revel long before. If you really think that a selection of passages + from the articles, and a critical examination and estimate of the + imaginative work would be of interest to any considerable body of + readers, I do not know why I should withhold my consent. But I + confess, judging from such work of your own as I have seen, I find it + difficult to believe that it is worth your while to enter upon any + such task. + + I agree with you that it is difficult to see how you are to present + and expound the principles of criticism advanced in the ‘Encyclopædia + Britannica,’ the ‘Athenæum,’ etc., without discussing those two + imaginative works the writing of which inspired the canons and + generalizations in the critical work—‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of + Love.’ As regards ‘Aylwin,’ however, I cannot help wincing under the + thought that in these days when so much genius is at work in prose + fiction, your discussion will seem to give quite an undue prominence + to a writer who has published but one novel. This I confess does + disturb me somewhat, and I wish you to bear well in mind this aspect + of the matter before you seriously undertake the book. As to the + prose fiction of the present moment, I constantly stand amazed at its + wealth. If, however, you do touch upon ‘Aylwin,’ I hope you will + modify those generous—too generous—expressions of yours which, I + remember, you printed in a review of the book when it first + appeared.” + +After getting this sanction I set to work, and soon found that my chief +obstacle was the superabundance of material, which would fill several +folio volumes. But although it is undoubtedly ‘a mighty maze,’ it is +‘not without a plan.’ In a certain sense the vast number of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s generalizations upon literature, art, philosophy, and what +Emerson calls ‘the conduct of life,’ revolve round certain fixed +principles which have guided me in the selection I have made. I also +found that to understand these principles of romantic art, it was +necessary to make a thorough critical study of the romance, ‘Aylwin,’ and +of the book of poems, ‘The Coming of Love.’ I think I have made that +study, and that I have connected the critical system with the imaginative +work more thoroughly than has been done by any other writer, although the +work of Mr. Watts-Dunton, both creative and critical, has been acutely +discussed, not only in England but also in France and in Italy. + +The creative originality of his criticism is as absolute as that of his +poetry and fiction. He poured into his criticism the intellectual and +imaginative force which other men pour into purely artistic channels, for +he made criticism a vehicle for his humour, his philosophy, and his +irony. His criticisms are the reflections of a lifetime. Their vitality +is not impaired by the impermanence of their texts. No critic has +surpassed his universality of range. Out of a full intellectual and +imaginative life he has evolved speculations which cut deep not only into +the fibre of modern thought but into the future of human development. +Great teachers have their day and their disciples. Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +day and disciples belong to the young future whose dawn some of us +already descry. For, as Mr. Justin McCarthy wrote of ‘Aylwin,’ ‘it is +inspired by the very spirit of youth,’ and this is why so many of the +younger writers are beginning to accept him as their guide. Mr. +Watts-Dunton has built up a new optimistic philosophy of life which, I +think, is sure to arrest the devastating march of the pessimists across +the history of the soul of man. That is the aspect of his work which +calls for the comprehension of the new generation. The old cosmogonies +are dead; here is the new cosmogony, the cosmogony in which the impulse +of wonder reasserts its sovereignty, proclaiming anew the nobler religion +of the spiritual imagination, with a faith in Natura Benigna which no +assaults of science can shake. + +But, although the main object of this book is to focus, as it were, the +many scattered utterances of Mr. Watts-Dunton in prose and poetry upon +the great subject of the Renascence of Wonder, I have interspersed here +and there essays which do not touch upon this theme, and also excerpts +from those obituary notices of his friends which formed so fascinating a +part of his contributions to the ‘Athenæum.’ For, of course, it was +necessary to give the charm of variety to the book. Rossetti used to +say, I believe, that there is one quality necessary in a poem which very +many poets are apt to ignore—the quality of being amusing. I have always +thought that there is great truth in this, and I have also thought that +the remark is applicable to prose no less than to poetry. This is why I +have occasionally enlivened these pages with extracts from his +picturesque monographs; indeed, I have done more than this. Not having +known Mr. Watts-Dunton’s great contemporaries myself, I have looked about +me for the aid of certain others who did know them. I have not hesitated +to collect from various sources such facts and details connected with Mr. +Watts-Dunton and his friends as are necessarily beyond the scope of my +own experience and knowledge. Among these I must prominently mention one +to whom I have been specially indebted for reminiscences of Mr. +Watts-Dunton and his circle. This is Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake, eldest son +of the ‘parable poet,’ a gentleman of much too modest and retiring a +disposition, who, from Mr. Watts-Dunton’s first appearance in London +right onwards, was brought into intimate relations with himself, his +relatives, Rossetti, William Morris, Westland Marston, Philip Bourke +Marston, Madox Brown, George Borrow, Stevenson, Minto, and many others. +I have not only made free use of his articles, but I have had the +greatest aid from him in many other respects, and it is my bare duty to +express my gratitude to him for his services. I have also to thank the +editor of the ‘Athenæum’ for cordially granting me permission to quote so +freely from its columns; and I take this opportunity of acknowledging my +debt to the many other publications from which I have drawn materials for +this book. + + + + +Chapter I +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER + + + “‘The renascence of wonder,’ to employ Mr. Watts-Dunton’s appellation + for what he justly considers the most striking and significant + feature in the great romantic revival which has transformed + literature, is proclaimed by this very appellation not to be the + achievement of any one innovator, but a general reawakening of + mankind to a perception that there were more things in heaven and + earth than were dreamt of in Horatio’s philosophy.”—DR. R. GARNETT: + Monograph on Coleridge. + +UNDOUBTEDLY the greatest philosophical generalization of our time is +expressed in the four words, ‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ They suggest +that great spiritual theory of the universe which, according to Mr. +Watts-Dunton, is bound to follow the wave of materialism that set in +after the publication of Darwin’s great book. This phrase, which I first +became familiar with in his ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ article on +Rossetti, seems really to have been used first in ‘Aylwin.’ The story +seems originally to have been called ‘The Renascence of Wonder,’ but the +title was abandoned because the writer believed that an un-suggestive +name, such as that of the autobiographer, was better from the practical +point of view. For the knowledge of this I am indebted to Mr. Hake, who +says:— + + “During the time that Mr. Swinburne was living in Great James Street, + several of his friends had chambers in the same street, and among + them were my late father, Dr. Gordon Hake—Rossetti’s friend and + physician—Mr. Watts-Dunton and myself. Mr. Watts-Dunton, as is well + known, was a brilliant raconteur long before he became famous as a + writer. I have heard him tell scores of stories full of plot and + character that have never appeared in print. On a certain occasion + he was suffering from one of his periodical eye troubles that had + used occasionally to embarrass him. He had just been telling Mr. + Swinburne the plot of a suggested story, the motive of which was the + ‘renascence of wonder in art and poetry’ depicting certain well-known + characters. + + I offered to act as his amanuensis in writing the story, and did so, + with the occasional aid of my father and brothers. The story was + sent to the late F. W. Robinson, the novelist, then at the zenith of + his vogue, who declared that he ‘saw a fortune in it,’ and it was he + who advised the author to send it to Messrs. Hurst & Blackett. As + far as I remember, the time occupied by the work was between five and + six months. When a large portion of it was in type it was read by + many friends,—among others by the late Madox Brown, who thought some + of the portraits too close, as the characters were then all living, + except one, the character who figures as Cyril. Although + unpublished, it was so well known that an article upon it appeared in + the ‘Liverpool Mercury.’ This was more than twenty years ago.” + +The important matter before us, however, is not when he first used this +phrase, which has now become a sort of literary shorthand to express a +wide and sweeping idea, but what it actually imports. Fortunately Mr. +Watts-Dunton has quite lately given us a luminous exposition of what the +words do precisely mean. Last year he wrote for that invaluable work, +Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English Literature,’ the Introduction to volume +iii., and no one can any longer say that there is any ambiguity in this +now famous phrase:— + + “As the storm-wind is the cause and not the effect of the mighty + billows at sea, so the movement in question was the cause and not the + effect of the French Revolution. It was nothing less than a great + revived movement of the soul of man, after a long period of prosaic + acceptance in all things, including literature and art. To this + revival the present writer, in the introduction to an imaginative + work dealing with this movement, has already, for convenience’ sake, + and in default of a better one, given the name of the Renascence of + Wonder. As was said on that occasion, ‘The phrase, the Renascence of + Wonder, merely indicates that there are two great impulses governing + man, and probably not man only, but the entire world of conscious + life: the impulse of acceptance—the impulse to take unchallenged and + for granted all the phenomena of the outer world as they are—and the + impulse to confront these phenomena with eyes of inquiry and wonder.’ + It would seem that something works as inevitably and as logically as + a physical law in the yearning which societies in a certain stage of + development show to get away, as far away as possible, from the + condition of the natural man; to get away from that despised + condition not only in material affairs, such as dress, domestic + arrangements and economies, but also in the fine arts and in + intellectual methods, till, having passed that inevitable stage, each + society is liable to suffer (even if it does not in some cases + actually suffer) a reaction, when nature and art are likely again to + take the place of convention and artifice. Anthropologists have + often asked, what was that lever-power lying enfolded in the dark + womb of some remote semi-human brain, which, by first stirring, + lifting, and vitalizing other potential and latent faculties, gave + birth to man? Would it be rash to assume that this lever-power was a + vigorous movement of the faculty of wonder? But certainly it is not + rash, as regards the races of man, to affirm that the more + intelligent the race the less it is governed by the instinct of + acceptance, and the more it is governed by the instinct of wonder, + that instinct which leads to the movement of challenge. The + alternate action of the two great warring instincts is specially seen + just now in the Japanese. Here the instinct of challenge which + results in progress became active up to a certain point, and then + suddenly became arrested, leaving the instinct of acceptance to have + full play, and then everything became crystallized. Ages upon ages + of an immense activity of the instinct of challenge were required + before the Mongolian savage was developed into the Japanese of the + period before the nature-worship of ‘Shinto’ had been assaulted by + dogmatic Buddhism. But by that time the instinct of challenge had + resulted in such a high state of civilization that acceptance set in + and there was an end, for the time being, of progress. There is no + room here to say even a few words upon other great revivals in past + times, such, for instance, as the Jewish-Arabian renascence of the + ninth and tenth centuries, when the interest in philosophical + speculation, which had previously been arrested, was revived; when + the old sciences were revived; and when some modern sciences were + born. There are, of course, different kinds of wonder.” + +This passage has a peculiar interest for me, because I instinctively +compare it with the author’s speech delivered at the St. Ives old Union +Book Club dinner when he was a boy. It shows the same wide vision, the +same sweep, and the same rush of eloquence. It is in view of this great +generalization that I have determined to quote that speech later. + +The essay then goes on in a swift way to point out the different kinds of +wonder:— + + “Primitive poetry is full of wonder—the naïve and eager wonder of the + healthy child. It is this kind of wonder which makes the ‘Iliad’ and + the ‘Odyssey’ so delightful. The wonder of primitive poetry passes + as the primitive conditions of civilization pass; and then for the + most part it can only be succeeded by a very different kind of + wonder—the wonder aroused by a recognition of the mystery of man’s + life and the mystery of nature’s theatre on which the human drama is + played—the wonder, in short, of Æschylus and Sophocles. And among + the Romans, Virgil, though living under the same kind of Augustan + acceptance in which Horace, the typical poet of acceptance, lived, is + full of this latter kind of wonder. Among the English poets who + preceded the great Elizabethan epoch there is no room, and indeed + there is no need, to allude to any poet besides Chaucer; and even he + can only be slightly touched upon. He stands at the head of those + who are organized to see more clearly than we can ourselves see the + wonder of the ‘world at hand.’ Of the poets whose wonder is of the + simply terrene kind, those whose eyes are occupied by the beauty of + the earth and the romance of human life, he is the English king. But + it is not the wonder of Chaucer that is to be specially discussed in + the following sentences. It is the spiritual wonder which in our + literature came afterwards. It is that kind of wonder which filled + the souls of Spenser, of Marlowe, of Shakespeare, of Webster, of + Ford, of Cyril Tourneur, and of the old ballads: it is that poetical + attitude which the human mind assumes when confronting those unseen + powers of the universe who, if they did not weave the web in which + man finds himself entangled, dominate it. That this high temper + should have passed and given place to a temper of prosaic acceptance + is quite inexplicable, save by the theory of the action and reaction + of the two great warring impulses advanced in the foregoing extract + from the Introduction to ‘Aylwin.’ Perhaps the difference between + the temper of the Elizabethan period and the temper of the Chaucerian + on the one hand, and Augustanism on the other, will be better + understood by a brief reference to the humour of the respective + periods.” + +Then come luminous remarks upon his theory of absolute and relative +humour, which I shall deal with in relation to that type of absolute +humour, his own Mrs. Gudgeon in ‘Aylwin.’ + +I will now quote a passage from an article in the ‘Quarterly Review’ on +William Morris by one of Morris’s intimate friends:— + + “The decorative renascence in England is but an expression of the + spirit of the pre-Raphaelite movement—a movement which has been + defined by the most eminent of living critics as the renascence of + the ‘spirit of wonder’ in poetry and art. So defined, it falls into + proper relationship with the continuous development of English + literature, and of the romantic movement, during the last century and + a half, and is no longer to be considered an isolated phenomenon + called into being by an erratic genius. The English Romantic school, + from its first inception with Chatterton, Macpherson, and the + publication of the Percy ballads, does not, as Mr. Watts-Dunton has + finely pointed out, aim merely at the revival of natural language; it + seeks rather to reach through art and the forgotten world of old + romance, that world of wonder and mystery and spiritual beauty of + which poets gain glimpses through + + magic casements, opening on the foam + Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.” + +In an essay on Rossetti, Mr. Watts-Dunton says:— + + “It was by inevitable instinct that Rossetti turned to that + mysterious side of nature and man’s life which to other painters of + his time had been a mere fancy-land, to be visited, if at all, on the + wings of sport. It is not only in such masterpieces of his maturity + as Dante’s Dream, La Pia, etc., but in such early designs as How they + Met Themselves, La Belle Dame sans Merci, Cassandra, etc., that + Rossetti shows how important a figure he is in the history of modern + art, if modern art claims to be anything more than a mechanical + imitation of the facts of nature. + + For if there is any permanent vitality in the Renascence of Wonder in + modern Europe, if it is not a mere passing mood, if it is really the + inevitable expression of the soul of man in a certain stage of + civilization (when the sanctions which have made and moulded society + are found to be not absolute and eternal, but relative, mundane, + ephemeral, and subject to the higher sanctions of unseen powers that + work behind ‘the shows of things’), then perhaps one of the first + questions to ask in regard to any imaginative painter of the + nineteenth century is, In what relation does he stand to the + newly-awakened spirit of romance? Had he a genuine and independent + sympathy with that temper of wonder and mystery which all over Europe + had preceded and now followed the temper of imitation, prosaic + acceptance, pseudo-classicism, and domestic materialism? Or was his + apparent sympathy with the temper of wonder, reverence and awe the + result of artistic environment dictated to him by other and more + powerful and original souls around him? I do not say that the mere + fact of a painter’s or poet’s showing but an imperfect sympathy with + the Renascence of Wonder is sufficient to place him below a poet in + whom that sympathy is more nearly complete, because we should then be + driven to place some of the disciples of Rossetti above our great + realistic painters, and we should be driven to place a poet like the + author of ‘The Excursion’ and ‘The Prelude’ beneath a poet like the + author of ‘The Queen’s Wake’; but we do say that, other things being + equal or anything like equal, a painter or poet of our time is to be + judged very much by his sympathy with that great movement which we + call the Renascence of Wonder—call it so because the word romanticism + never did express it even before it had been vulgarized by French + poets, dramatists, doctrinaires, and literary harlequins. + + To struggle against the prim traditions of the eighteenth century, + the unities of Aristotle, the delineation of types instead of + character, as Chateaubriand, Madame de Staël, Balzac, and Hugo + struggled, was well. But in studying Rossetti’s works we reach the + very key of those ‘high palaces of romance’ which the English mind + had never, even in the eighteenth century, wholly forgotten, but + whose mystic gates no Frenchman ever yet unlocked. Not all the + romantic feeling to be found in all the French romanticists (with + their theory that not earnestness but the grotesque is the life-blood + of romance) could equal the romantic spirit expressed in a single + picture or drawing of Rossetti’s, such, for instance, as Beata + Beatrix or Pandora. + + For while the French romanticists—inspired by the theories (drawn + from English exemplars) of Novalis, Tieck, and Herder—cleverly + simulated the old romantic feeling, the ‘beautifully devotional + feeling’ which Holman Hunt speaks of, Rossetti was steeped in it: he + was so full of the old frank childlike wonder and awe which preceded + the great renascence of materialism that he might have lived and + worked amidst the old masters. Hence, in point of design, so + original is he that to match such ideas as are expressed in Lilith, + Hesterna Rosa, Michael Scott’s Wooing, the Sea Spell, etc., we have + to turn to the sister art of poetry, where only we can find an + equally powerful artistic representation of the idea at the core of + the old romanticism—the idea of the evil forces of nature assailing + man through his sense of beauty. We must turn, we say, not to + art—not even to the old masters themselves—but to the most perfect + efflorescence of the poetry of wonder and mystery—to such ballads as + ‘The Demon Lover,’ to Coleridge’s ‘Christabel’ and ‘Kubla Khan,’ to + Keats’s ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci,’ for parallels to Rossetti’s most + characteristic designs.” + +These words about Coleridge recall to the students of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +work a splendid illustration of the true wonder of the great poetic +temper which he gives in the before-mentioned essay on The Renascence of +Wonder in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English Literature’:— + + “Coleridge’s ‘Christabel,’ ‘The Ancient Mariner,’ and ‘Kubla Khan’ + are, as regards the romantic spirit, above—and far above—any work of + any other English poet. Instances innumerable might be adduced + showing how his very nature was steeped in the fountain from which + the old balladists themselves drew, but in this brief and rapid + survey there is room to give only one. In the ‘Conclusion’ of the + first part of ‘Christabel’ he recapitulates and summarizes, in lines + that are at once matchless as poetry and matchless in succinctness of + statement, the entire story of the bewitched maiden and her terrible + foe which had gone before:— + + A star hath set, a star hath risen, + O Geraldine! since arms of thine + Have been the lovely lady’s prison. + O Geraldine! one hour was thine— + Thou’st had thy will! By tairn and rill, + The night-birds all that hour were still. + But now they are jubilant anew, + From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-whoo! + Tu-whoo! tu-whoo! from wood and fell! + + Here we get that feeling of the inextricable web in which the human + drama and external nature are woven which is the very soul of poetic + wonder. So great is the maleficent power of the beautiful witch that + a spell is thrown over all Nature. For an hour the very woods and + fells remain in a shuddering state of sympathetic consciousness of + her— + + The night-birds all that hour were still. + + When the spell is passed Nature awakes as from a hideous nightmare, + and ‘the night-birds’ are jubilant anew. This is the very highest + reach of poetic wonder—finer, if that be possible, than the + night-storm during the murder of Duncan.” + +And now let us turn again to the essay upon Rossetti from which I have +already quoted:— + + “Although the idea at the heart of the highest romantic poetry + (allied perhaps to that apprehension of the warring of man’s soul + with the appetites of the flesh which is the basis of the Christian + idea), may not belong exclusively to what we call the romantic temper + (the Greeks, and also most Asiatic peoples, were more or less + familiar with it, as we see in the ‘Salámán’ and ‘Absál’ of Jámí), + yet it became a peculiarly romantic note, as is seen from the fact + that in the old masters it resulted in that asceticism which is its + logical expression and which was once an inseparable incident of all + romantic art. But, in order to express this stupendous idea as fully + as the poets have expressed it, how is it possible to adopt the + asceticism of the old masters? This is the question that Rossetti + asked himself, and answered by his own progress in art.” + +In the same article, Mr. Watts-Dunton discusses the crowning specimen of +Rossetti’s romanticism before it had, as it were, gone to seed and passed +into pure mysticism, the grand design, ‘Pandora,’ of which he possesses +by far the noblest version:— + + “In it is seen at its highest Rossetti’s unique faculty of treating + classical legend in the true romantic spirit. The grand and sombre + beauty of Pandora’s face, the mysterious haunting sadness in her deep + blue-grey eyes as she tries in vain to re-close the fatal box from + which are still escaping the smoke and flames that shape themselves + as they curl over her head into shadowy spirit faces, grey with + agony, between tortured wings of sullen fire, are in the highest + romantic mood.” + +It is my privilege to be allowed to give here a reproduction of this +masterpiece, for which I and my publishers cannot be too grateful. The +influence of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s teachings is seen in the fact that the +idea of the Renascence of Wonder has become expanded by theological +writers and divines in order to include within its scope subjects +connected with religion. Among others Dr. Robertson Nicoll has widened +its ambit in a remarkable way in an essay upon Dr. Alexander White’s +‘Appreciation’ of Bishop Butler. He quotes one of the Logia discovered +by the explorers of the Egypt Fund:—‘Let not him that seeketh cease from +his search until he find, and when he finds he shall wonder: wondering he +shall reach the kingdom, and when he reaches the kingdom he shall have +rest.’ He then points out that Bishop Butler was ‘one of the first to +share in the Renascence of Wonder, which was the Renascence of religion.’ + +And now I must quote a passage alluding to the generalization upon +absolute and relative humour which I shall give later when discussing the +humour of Mrs. Gudgeon. I shall not be able in these remarks to dwell +upon Mr. Watts-Dunton as a humourist, but the extracts will speak for +themselves. Writing of the great social Pyramid of the Augustan age, Mr. +Watts-Dunton says:— + + “This Augustan pyramid of ours had all the symmetry which Blackstone + so much admired in the English constitution and its laws; and when, + afterwards, the American colonies came to revolt and set up a pyramid + of their own, it was on the Blackstonian model. At the base—patient + as the tortoise beneath the elephant in the Indian cosmogony—was the + people, born to be the base and born for nothing else. Resting on + this foundation were the middle classes in their various strata, each + stratum sharply marked off from the others. Then above these was the + strictly genteel class, the patriciate, picturesque and elegant in + dress if in nothing else, whose privileges were theirs as a matter of + right. Above the patriciate was the earthly source of gentility, the + monarch, who would, no doubt, have been the very apex of the sacred + structure save that a little—a very little—above him sat God, the + suzerain to whom the prayers even of the monarch himself were + addressed. The leaders of the Rebellion had certainly done a daring + thing, and an original thing, by striking off the apex of this + pyramid, and it might reasonably have been expected that the building + itself would collapse and crumble away. But it did nothing of the + kind. It was simply a pyramid with the apex cut off—a structure to + serve afterwards as a model of the American and French pyramids, both + of which, though aspiring to be original structures, are really built + on exactly the same scheme of hereditary honour and dishonour as that + upon which the pyramids of Nineveh and Babylon were no doubt built. + Then came the Restoration: the apex was restored: the structure was + again complete; it was, indeed, more solid than ever, stronger than + ever. + + With regard to what we have called the realistic side of the romantic + movement as distinguished from its purely poetical and supernatural + side, Nature was for the Augustan temper much too ungenteel to be + described realistically. Yet we must not suppose that in the + eighteenth century Nature turned out men without imaginations, + without the natural gift of emotional speech, and without the faculty + of gazing honestly in her face. She does not work in that way. In + the time of the mammoth and the cave-bear she will give birth to a + great artist whose materials may be a flint and a tusk. In the + period before Greece was Greece, among a handful of Achaians she will + give birth to the greatest poet, or, perhaps we should say, the + greatest group of poets, the world has ever yet seen. In the time of + Elizabeth she will give birth, among the illiterate yeomen of a + diminutive country town, to a dramatist with such inconceivable + insight and intellectual breadth that his generalizations cover not + only the intellectual limbs of his own time, but the intellectual + limbs of so complex an epoch as the twentieth century.” + +Rossetti had the theory, I believe, that important as humour is in prose +fiction and also in worldly verse, it cannot be got into romantic poetry, +as he himself understood romantic poetry; for he did not class ballads +like Kinmont Willie, where there are such superb touches of humour, among +the romantic ballads. And, as Mr. Watts-Dunton has somewhere remarked, +his poems, like Morris’s, are entirely devoid of humour, although both +the poets were humourists. But the readers of Rhona’s Letters in ‘The +Coming of Love’ will admit that a delicious humour can be imported into +the highest romantic poetry. + +With one more quotation from the essay in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of +English Literature,’ I must conclude my remarks upon the keynote of all +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work, whether imaginative or critical:— + + “The period of wonder in English poetry may perhaps be said to have + ended with Milton. For Milton, although born only twenty-three years + before the first of the great poets of acceptance, Dryden, belongs + properly to the period of romantic poetry. He has no relation + whatever to the poetry of Augustanism which followed Dryden, and + which Dryden received partly from France and partly from certain + contemporaries of the great romantic dramatists themselves, headed by + Ben Jonson. From the moment when Augustanism really began—in the + latter decades of the seventeenth century—the periwig poetry of + Dryden and Pope crushed out all the natural singing of the true + poets. All the periwig poets became too ‘polite’ to be natural. As + acceptance is, of course, the parent of Augustanism or gentility, the + most genteel character in the world is a Chinese mandarin, to whom + everything is vulgar that contradicts the symmetry of the pyramid of + Cathay.” + +One of the things I purpose to show in this book is that the most +powerful expression of the Renascence of Wonder is not in Rossetti’s +poems, nor yet in his pictures, nor is it in ‘Aylwin,’ but in ‘The Coming +of Love.’ But in order fully to understand Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work it is +necessary to know something of his life-history, and thanks to the aid I +have received from certain of his friends, and also to a little +topographical work, the ‘History of St. Ives,’ by Mr. Herbert E. Norris, +F.E.S., I shall be able to give glimpses of his early life long before he +was known in London. + + + + +Chapter II +COWSLIP COUNTRY + + +SOME time ago I was dipping into the ‘official pictorial guides’ of those +three great trunk railways, the Midland, the Great Northern, and the +Great Eastern, being curious to see what they had to say about St. +Ives—not the famous town in Cornwall, but the little town in +Huntingdonshire where, according to Carlyle, Oliver Cromwell spent those +five years of meditation upon which his after life was nourished. In the +Great Northern Guide I stumbled upon these words: ‘At Slepe Hall dwelt +the future Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell, but by many this little +Huntingdonshire town will be even better known as the birthplace of Mr. +Theodore Watts-Dunton, whose exquisite examples of the English sonnet and +judicious criticisms in the kindred realms of poetry and art are familiar +to lovers of our national literature.’ ‘Well,’ I thought, when I found +similar remarks in the other two guides, ‘here at least is one case in +which a prophet has honour in his own country.’ This set me musing over +a subject which had often tantalized me during my early Irish days, the +whimsical workings of the Spirit of Place. To a poet, what are the +advantages and what are the disadvantages of being born in a microcosm +like St. Ives? If the fame of Mr. Watts-Dunton as a poet were as great +as that of his living friend, Mr. Swinburne, or as that of his dead +friend, Rossetti, I should not have been surprised to find the place of +his birth thus associated with his name. But whether or not Rossetti was +right in saying that Mr. Watts-Dunton ‘had sought obscurity as other +poets seek fame,’ it is certain that until quite lately he neglected to +claim his proper place among his peers. Doubtless, as the ‘Journal des +Débats’ has pointed out, the very originality of his work, both in +subject and in style, has retarded the popular recognition of its unique +quality; but although the names of Rossetti and Swinburne echo through +the world, there is one respect in which they were less lucky than their +friend. They were born in the macrocosm of London, where the Spirit of +Place has so much to attend to that his memory can find but a small +corner even for the author of ‘The Blessed Damozel,’ or for the author of +‘Atalanta in Calydon.’ + +Mr. Watts-Dunton was born in the microcosm which was in those corn law +repeal days a little metropolis in Cowslip Country—Buttercup Land, as the +Ouse lanes are sometimes called, and therefore he was born to good luck. +Cowslip Country will be as closely associated with him and with Rhona +Boswell as Wessex is associated with Thomas Hardy and with Tess of the +D’Urbervilles. For the poet born in a microcosm becomes identified with +it in the public eye, whereas the poet born in a macrocosm is seldom +associated with his birthplace. + +To the novelist, if not to the poet, there is a still greater advantage +in being born in a microcosm. He sees the drama of life from a point of +view entirely different from that of the novelist born in the macrocosm. +The human microbe, or, as Mr. John Morley might prefer to say, the human +cheese-mite in the macrocosm sees every other microbe or every other +cheese-mite on the flat, but in the microcosm he sees every other microbe +or every other cheese-mite in the round. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work is saturated with memories of the Ouse. Cowper +had already described the Ouse, but it was Mr. Watts-Dunton who first +flung the rainbow of romance over the river and over the sweet meadows of +Cowslip Land, through which it flows. In these lines he has described a +sunset on the Ouse:— + + More mellow falls the light and still more mellow + Around the boat, as we two glide along + ’Tween grassy banks she loves where, tall and strong, + The buttercups stand gleaming, smiling, yellow. + She knows the nightingales of ‘Portobello’; + Love makes her know each bird! In all that throng + No voice seems like another: soul is song, + And never nightingale was like its fellow; + For, whether born in breast of Love’s own bird, + Singing its passion in those islet bowers + Whose sunset-coloured maze of leaves and flowers + The rosy river’s glowing arms engird, + Or born in human souls—twin souls like ours— + Song leaps from deeps unplumbed by spoken word. + + [Picture: The Ouse at Houghton Mill, Hunts. (From a Water Colour by + Fraser at ‘The Pines.’)] + +Now, will it be believed that this lovely river—so famous too among +English anglers for its roach, perch, pike, dace, chub, and gudgeon—has +been libelled? Yes, it has been libelled, and libelled by no less a +person than Thomas Carlyle. Mr. Norris, vindicating with righteous wrath +the reputation of his beloved Ouse, says:— + + “There is, as far as I know, nothing like the Ouse elsewhere in + England. I do not mean that our river surpasses or even equals in + picturesqueness such rivers as the Wye, the Severn, the Thames, but + that its beauty is unique. There is not to be seen anywhere else so + wide and stately a stream moving so slowly and yet so clearly. + Consequently there is no other river which reflects with such beauty + the scenery of the clouds floating overhead. This, I think, is owing + to the stream moving over a bottom which is both flat and gravelly. + When Carlyle spoke of the Ouse dragging in a half-stagnant way under + a coating of floating oils, he showed ‘how vivid were his perceptive + faculties and also how untrustworthy.’ I have made a good deal of + enquiry into the matter of Carlyle’s visit to St. Ives, and have + learnt that, having spent some time exploring Ely Cathedral in search + of mementoes of Cromwell, he rode on to St. Ives, and spent about an + hour there before proceeding on his journey. Among the objects at + which he gave a hasty glance was the river, covered from the bridge + to the Holmes by one of those enormous fleets of barges which were + frequently to be seen at that time, and it was from the newly tarred + keels of this fleet of barges that came the oily exudation which + Carlyle, in his ignorance of the physical sciences and his contempt + for them, believed to arise from a greasy river-bottom. And to this + mistake the world is indebted for this description of the Ouse, which + has been slavishly followed by all subsequent writers on Cromwell. + This is what makes strangers, walking along the tow-path of + Hemingford meadow, express so much surprise when, instead of seeing + the oily scum they expected, they see a broad mirror as clear as + glass, whose iridescence is caused by the reflection of the clouds + overhead and by the gold and white water lilies on the surface of the + stream.” + +If the beauty of the Ouse inspired Mr. Norris to praise it so eloquently +in prose, we need not wonder at the pictorial fascination of what +Rossetti styled in a letter to a friend ‘Watts’s magnificent star +sonnet’:— + + The mirrored stars lit all the bulrush spears, + And all the flags and broad-leaved lily-isles; + The ripples shook the stars to golden smiles, + Then smoothed them back to happy golden spheres. + We rowed—we sang; her voice seemed in mine ears + An angel’s, yet with woman’s dearer wiles; + But shadows fell from gathering cloudy piles + And ripples shook the stars to fiery tears. + + What shaped those shadows like another boat + Where Rhona sat and he Love made a liar? + There, where the Scollard sank, I saw it float, + While ripples shook the stars to symbols dire; + We wept—we kissed—while starry fingers wrote, + And ripples shook the stars to a snake of fire. + +According to Mr. Sharp, Rossetti pronounced this sonnet to be the finest +of all the versions of the Doppelganger idea, and for many years he +seriously purposed to render it in art. It is easy to understand why +Rossetti never carried out his intention, for the pictorial magic of the +sonnet is so powerful that even the greatest of all romantic painters +could hardly have rendered it on canvas. Poetry can suggest to the +imagination deeper mysteries than the subtlest romantic painting. + +No sonnet has been more frequently localized—erroneously localized than +this. It is often supposed to depict the Thames above Kew, but Mr. +Norris says that ‘every one familiar with Hemingford Meadow will see that +it describes the Ouse backwater near Porto Bello, where the author as a +young man was constantly seen on summer evenings listening from a canoe +to the blackcaps and nightingales of the Thicket.’ + +That excellent critic, Mr. Earl Hodgson, the editor of Dr. Gordon Hake’s +‘New Day,’ seems to think that the ‘lily-isles’ are on the Thames at +Kelmscott, while other writers have frequently localized these +‘lily-isles’ on the Avon at Stratford. But, no doubt, Mr. Norris is +right in placing them on the Ouse. + +This, however, gives me a good opportunity of saying a few words about +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s love of the Avon. The sacred old town of +Stratford-on-Avon has always been a favourite haunt of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s. No poet of our time has shown a greater love of our +English rivers, but he seems to love the Avon even more passionately than +the Ouse. He cannot describe the soft sands of Petit Bot Bay in Guernsey +without bringing in an allusion to ‘Avon’s sacred silt.’ It was at +Stratford-on-Avon that he wrote several of his poems, notably the two +sonnets which appeared first in the ‘Athenæum,’ and afterwards in the +little volume, ‘Jubilee Greetings at Spithead to the Men of Greater +Britain.’ They are entitled ‘The Breath of Avon: To English-speaking +Pilgrims on Shakspeare’s Birthday’:— + + Whate’er of woe the Dark may hide in womb + For England, mother of kings of battle and song— + Rapine, or racial hate’s mysterious wrong, + Blizzard of Chance, or fiery dart of Doom— + Let breath of Avon, rich of meadow-bloom, + Bind her to that great daughter sever’d long— + To near and far-off children young and strong— + With fetters woven of Avon’s flower perfume. + Welcome, ye English-speaking pilgrims, ye + Whose hands around the world are join’d by him, + Who make his speech the language of the sea, + Till winds of Ocean waft from rim to rim + The Breath of Avon: let this great day be + A Feast of Race no power shall ever dim. + + From where the steeds of Earth’s twin oceans toss + Their manes along Columbia’s chariot-way; + From where Australia’s long blue billows play; + From where the morn, quenching the Southern Cross, + Startling the frigate-bird and albatross + Asleep in air, breaks over Table Bay— + Come hither, pilgrims, where these rushes sway + ’Tween grassy banks of Avon soft as moss! + For, if ye found the breath of Ocean sweet, + Sweeter is Avon’s earthy, flowery smell, + Distill’d from roots that feel the coming spell + Of May, who bids all flowers that lov’d him meet + In meadows that, remembering Shakspeare’s feet, + Hold still a dream of music where they fell. + +It was during a visit to Stratford-on-Avon in 1880 that Mr. Watts-Dunton +wrote the cantata, ‘Christmas at the Mermaid,’ a poem in which breathes +the very atmosphere of Shakespeare’s town. There are no poetical +descriptions of the Avon that can stand for a moment beside the +descriptions in this poem, which I shall discuss later. + + [Picture: ‘The Thicket,’ St. Ives. (From a Water Colour by Fraser at + ‘The Pines.’)] + + * * * * * + +A typical meadow of Cowslip Country, or, as it is sometimes called, ‘The +Green Country,’ is Hemingford Meadow, adjoining St. Ives. It is a level +tract of land on the banks of the Ouse, consisting of deposits of +alluvium from the overflowings of the river. In summer it is clothed +with gay flowers, and in winter, during floods and frosts, it is used as +a skating-ground, for St. Ives, being on the border of the Fens, is a +famous skating centre. On the opposite side of the meadow is The +Thicket, of which I am able to give a lovely picture. This, no doubt, is +the scene described in one of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s birthday addresses to +Tennyson:— + + Another birthday breaks: he is with us still. + There through the branches of the glittering trees + The birthday sun gilds grass and flower: the breeze + Sends forth methinks a thrill—a conscious thrill + That tells yon meadows by the steaming rill— + Where, o’er the clover waiting for the bees, + The mist shines round the cattle to their knees— + ‘Another birthday breaks: he is with us still!’ + +The meadow leads to what the ‘oldest rustic inhabitant’ calls the ‘First +Hemingford,’ or ‘Hemingford Grey.’ The imagination of this same ‘oldest +inhabitant’ used to go even beyond the First Hemingford to the Second +Hemingford, and then of course came Ultima Thule! The meadow has quite a +wide fame among those students of nature who love English grasses in +their endless varieties. Owing to the richness of the soil, the +luxuriant growth of these beautiful grasses is said to be unparalleled in +England. For years the two Hemingfords have been the favourite haunt of +a group of landscape painters the chief of whom are the brothers Fraser, +two of whose water-colours are reproduced in this book. + + * * * * * + +Nowhere can the bustling activity of haymaking be seen to more advantage +than in Cowslip Country, which extends right through Huntingdonshire into +East Anglia. It was not, however, near St. Ives, but in another somewhat +distant part of Cowslip Country that the gypsies depicted in ‘The Coming +of Love’ took an active part in haymaking. But alas! in these times of +mechanical haymaking the lover of local customs can no longer hope to see +such a picture as that painted in the now famous gypsy haymaking song +which Mr. Watts-Dunton puts into the mouth of Rhona Boswell. Moreover, +the prosperous gryengroes depicted by Borrow and by the author of ‘The +Coming of Love’ have now entirely vanished from the scene. The present +generation knows them not. But it is impossible for the student of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s poetry to ramble along any part of Cowslip Country, with +the fragrance of newly-made hay in his nostrils, without recalling this +chant, which I have the kind permission of the editor of the ‘Saturday +Review’ (April 19, 1902) to quote:— + + Make the kas while the kem says, ‘Make it!’ {34} + Shinin’ there on meadow an’ grove, + Sayin, ‘You Romany chies, you take it, + Toss it, tumble it, cock it, rake it, + Singin’ the ghyllie the while you shake it + To lennor and love!’ + + Hark, the sharpenin’ scythes that tingle! + See they come, the farmin’ ryes! + ‘Leave the dell,’ they say, ‘an’ pingle! + Never a gorgie, married or single, + Can toss the kas in dell or dingle + Like Romany chies.’ + Make the kas while the kem says ‘Make it!’ + + Bees are a-buzzin’ in chaw an’ clover + Stealin’ the honey from sperrits o’ morn, + Shoshus leap in puv an’ cover, + Doves are a-cooin’ like lover to lover, + Larks are awake an’ a-warblin’ over + Their kairs in the corn. + Make the kas while the kem says ‘Make it!’ + + Smell the kas on the baval blowin’! + What is that the gorgies say? + Never a garden rose a-glowin’, + Never a meadow flower a-growin’, + Can match the smell from a Rington mowin’ + Of new made hay. + + All along the river reaches + ‘Cheep, cheep, chee!’—from osier an’ sedge; + ‘Cuckoo, cuckoo!’ rings from the beeches; + Every chirikel’s song beseeches + Ryes to larn what lennor teaches + From copse an’ hedge. + Make the kas while the kem says ‘Make it!’ + + Lennor sets ’em singin’ an’ pairin’, + Chirikels all in tree an’ grass, + Farmers say, ‘Them gals are darin’, + Sometimes dukkerin’, sometimes snarin’; + But see their forks at a quick kas-kairin’,’ + Toss the kas! + + Make the kas while the kem says, ‘Make it!’ + Shinin’ there on meadow an’ grove, + Sayin’, ‘You Romany chies, you take it, + Toss it, tumble it, cock it, rake it, + Singin’ the ghyllie the while you shake it + To lennor and love!’ + +Mr. Norris tells us that the old Saxon name of St. Ives was Slepe, and +that Oliver Cromwell is said to have resided as a farmer for five years +in Slepe Hall, which was pulled down in the late forties. When Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s friend, Madox Brown, went down to St. Ives to paint the +scenery for his famous picture, ‘Oliver Cromwell at St. Ives,’ he could +present only an imaginary farm. + +Perhaps my theory about the advantage of a story-teller being born in a +microcosm accounts for that faculty of improvizing stories full of local +colour and character which, according to friends of D. G. Rossetti, would +keep the poet-painter up half the night, and which was dwelt upon by Mr. +Hake in his account of the origin of ‘Aylwin’ which I have already given. +I may give here an anecdote connected with Slepe Hall which I have heard +Mr. Watts-Dunton tell, and which would certainly make a good nucleus for +a short story. It is connected with Slepe Hall, of which Mr. Clement +Shorter, in some reminiscences of his published some time ago, writes: +“My mother was born at St. Ives, in Huntingdonshire, and still owns by +inheritance some freehold cottages built on land once occupied by Slepe +Hall, where Oliver Cromwell is supposed to have farmed. At Slepe Hall, a +picturesque building, she went to school in girlhood. She remembers Mr. +Watts-Dunton, the author of ‘Aylwin,’ who was also born at St. Ives, as a +pretty little boy then unknown to fame.” + + [Picture: Slepe Hall: Cromwell’s Supposed Residence at St. Ives. (From + an Oil Painting at ‘The Pines.’)] + +When the owners of Slepe Hall, the White family, pulled it down, they +sold the materials of the building and also the site and grounds in +building lots. It was then discovered that the house in which Cromwell +was said to have lived was built upon the foundations of a much older +house whose cellars remained intact. This was, of course, a tremendous +event in the microcosm, and the place became a rendezvous of the +schoolboys of the neighbourhood, whose delight from morning to eve was to +watch the workmen in their task of demolition. In the early stages of +this work, when the upper stories were being demolished, curiosity was +centred on the great question as to what secret chamber would be found, +whence Oliver Cromwell’s ghost, before he was driven into hiding by his +terror of the school girls, used to issue, to take his moonlit walks +about the grounds, and fish for roach in the old fish ponds. But no such +secret chamber could be found. When at length the work had proceeded so +far as the foundations, the centre of curiosity was shifted: a treasure +was supposed to be hidden there; for, although, as a matter of fact, +Cromwell was born at Huntingdon and lived at St. Ives only five years, it +was not at Huntingdon, but at the little Nonconformist town of St. Ives, +that he was the idol: it was indeed the old story of every hero of the +world— + + Imposteur à la Mecque et prophète à Mèdine. + +Although in all probability Cromwell never lived at Slepe Hall, but at +the Green End Farm at the other end of the town, there was a legend that, +before the Ironsides started on a famous expedition, Noll went back to +St. Ives and concealed his own plate, and the plate of all his rebel +friends, in Slepe Hall cellars. No treasure turned up, but what was +found was a collection of old bottles of wine which was at once +christened ‘Cromwell’s wine’ by the local humourist of the town, who was +also one of its most prosperous inhabitants, and who felt as much +interest as the boys in the exploration. The workmen, of course, at once +began knocking off the bottles’ necks and drinking the wine, and were +soon in what may be called a mellow condition; the humourist, being a +teetotaler, would not drink, but he insisted on the boys being allowed to +take away their share of it in order that they might say in after days +that they had drunk Oliver Cromwell’s wine and perhaps imbibed some of +the Cromwellian spirit and pluck. Consequently the young urchins carried +off a few bottles and sat down in a ring under a tree called ‘Oliver’s +Tree,’ and knocked off the tops of the bottles and began to drink. The +wine turned out to be extremely sweet, thick and sticky, and appears to +have been a wine for which Cowslip Land has always been famous—elder +wine. Abstemious by temperament and by rearing as Mr. Watts-Dunton was, +he could not resist the temptation to drink freely of Cromwell’s +elder-wine; so freely, in fact, that he has said, ‘I was never even +excited by drink except once, and that was when I came near to being +drunk on Oliver Cromwell’s elder-wine.’ The wine was probably about a +century old. + +I should have stated that Mr. Watts-Dunton at the age of eleven or twelve +was sent to a school at Cambridge, where he remained for a longer time +than is usual. He received there and afterwards at home a somewhat +elaborate education, comprising the physical sciences, particularly +biology, and also art and music. As has been said in the notice of him +in ‘Poets and Poetry of the Century,’ he is one of the few contemporary +poets with a scientific knowledge of music. Owing to his father’s +passion for science, he was specially educated as a naturalist, and this +accounts for the innumerable allusions to natural science in his +writings, and for his many expressions of a passionate interest in the +lower animals. + +Upon the subject of “the great human fallacy expressed in the phrase, +‘the dumb animals,’” Mr. Watts-Dunton has written much, and he has often +been eloquent about ‘those who have seen through the fallacy, such as St. +Francis of Assisi, Cowper, Burns, Coleridge, and Bisset, the wonderful +animal-trainer of Perth of the last century, who, if we are to believe +the accounts of him, taught a turtle in six months to fetch and carry +like a dog; and having chalked the floor and blackened its claws, could +direct it to trace out any given name in the company.’ + + “Of course,” he says, “the ‘lower animals’ are no more dumb than we + are. With them, as with us, there is the same yearning to escape + from isolation—to get as close as may be to some other conscious + thing—which is a great factor of progress. With them, as with us, + each individual tries to warm itself by communication with the others + around it by arbitrary signs; with them, as with us, countless + accidents through countless years have contributed to determine what + these signs and sounds shall be. Those among us who have gone at all + underneath conventional thought and conventional expression—those who + have penetrated underneath conventional feeling—know that neither + thought nor emotion can really be expressed at all. The voice cannot + do it, as we see by comparing one language with another. Wordsworth + calls language the incarnation of thought. But the mere fact of + there being such a Babel of different tongues disproves this. If + there were but one universal language, such as speculators dream of, + the idea might, at least, be not superficially absurd. Soul cannot + communicate with soul save by signs made by the body; and when you + can once establish a Lingua Franca between yourself and a ‘lower + animal,’ interchange of feeling and even of thought is as easy with + them as it is with men. Nay, with some temperaments and in some + moods, the communication is far, far closer. ‘When I am assailed + with heavy tribulation,’ said Luther, ‘I rush out among my pigs + rather than remain alone by myself.’ And there is no creature that + does not at some points sympathize with man. People have laughed at + Erskine because every evening after dinner he used to have placed + upon the table a vessel full of his pet leeches, upon which he used + to lavish his endearments. Neither I nor my companion had a pet + passion for leeches. Erskine probably knew leeches better than we, + for, as the Arabian proverb says, mankind hate only the thing of + which they know nothing. Like most dog lovers, we had no special + love for cats, but that was clearly from lack of knowledge. ‘I wish + women would purr when they are pleased,’ said Horne Tooke to Rogers + once.” + + + + +Chapter III +THE CRITIC IN THE BUD + + +ONE of my special weaknesses is my delight in forgotten records of the +nooks of old England and ‘ould Ireland’; I have a propensity for +‘dawdling and dandering’ among them whenever the occasion arises, and I +am yielding to it here. + +Besides the interesting history of St. Ives from which I have been +compelled to quote so liberally, Mr. Norris has written a series of +brochures upon the surrounding villages. One of these, called ‘St. Ives +and the Printing Press,’ has greatly interested me, for it reveals the +wealth of the material for topographical literature which in the rural +districts lies ready for the picking up. I am tempted to quote from +this, for it shows how strong since Cromwell’s time the temper which +produced Cromwell has remained. During the time when at Cambridge George +Dyer and his associates, William Frend, Fellow of Jesus, and John Hammond +of Fenstanton, Fellow of Queen’s, revolted against the discipline and the +doctrine of the Church of England, St. Ives was the very place where the +Cambridge revolutionists had their books printed. The house whence +issued these fulminations was the ‘Old House’ in Crown Street, now pulled +down, which for a time belonged to Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father, having +remained during all this time a printing office. Mr. Norris gives a very +picturesque description of this old printing office at the top of the +house, with its pointed roof, ‘king posts’ and panelling, reminding one +of the pictures of the ancient German printing offices. Mr. Norris also +tells us that it was at the house adjoining this, the ‘Crown Inn,’ that +William Penn died in 1718, having ridden thither from Huntingdon to hear +the lawsuit between himself and the St. Ives churchwardens. According to +Mr. Norris, the fountain-head of the Cambridge revolt was the John +Hammond above alluded to, who was a friend of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father +when the latter was quite a young man under articles for a solicitor. A +curious character must have been this long-forgotten rebel, to whom Dyer +addressed an ode, with an enormous tail of learned notes showing the +eccentric pedantry which was such an infinite source of amusement to +Lamb, and inspired some of Elia’s most delightful touches of humour. +This poem of Dyer’s opens thus:— + + Though much I love th’ Æolian lyre, + Whose varying sounds beguil’d my youthful day, + And still, as fancy guides, I love to stray + In fabled groves, among th’ Aonian choir: + Yet more on native fields, thro’ milder skies, + Nature’s mysterious harmonies delight: + There rests my heart; for let the sun but rise, + What is the moon’s pale orb that cheer’d the lonesome night? + I cannot leave thee, classic ground, + Nor bid your labyrinths of song adieu; + Yet scenes to me more dear arise to view: + And my ear drinks in notes of clearer sound. + No purple Venus round my Hammond’s bow’r, + No blue-ey’d graces, wanton mirth diffuse, + The king of gods here rains no golden show’r, + Nor have these lips e’er sipt Castilian dews. + +At the ‘Old House’ in Crown Street there used to be held in Dyer’s time, +if not earlier, the meetings of the St. Ives old Union Book Club, and at +this very Book Club, Walter Theodore Watts first delivered himself of his +boyish ideas about science, literature, and things in general. Filled +with juvenile emphasis as it is, I mean to give here nearly in full that +boyish utterance. It interests me much, because I seem to see in it +adumbrations of many interesting extracts from his works with which I +hope to enrich these pages. I cannot let slip the opportunity of taking +advantage of a lucky accident—the accident that a member of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s family was able to furnish me with an old yellow-brown +newspaper cutting in which the speech is reported. In 1854, ‘W. Theodore +Watts,’ as he is described in the cutting, although too young to be +himself a member—if he was not still at school at Cambridge, he had just +left it—on account of his father’s great local reputation as a man of +learning, was invited to the dinner, and called upon to respond to the +toast, ‘Science.’ In the ‘Cambridge Chronicle’ of that date the +proceedings of the dinner were reported, and great prominence was given +to the speech of the precocious boy, a speech delivered, as is evident by +the allusions to persons present, without a single note, and largely +improvized. The subject which he discussed was ‘The Influence of Science +upon Modern Civilization’:— + + “It is one of the many beautiful remarks of the great philosophical + lawyer, Lord Bacon, that knowledge resembles a tree, which runs + straight for some time, and then parts itself into branches. Now, of + all the branches of the tree of knowledge, in my opinion, the most + hopeful one for humanity is physical science—that branch of the tree + which, before the time of the great lawyer, had scarcely begun to + bud, and which he, above all men, helped to bring to its present + wondrous state of development. I am aware that the assertion that + Lord Bacon is the Father of Physical Science will be considered by + many of you as rather heterodox, and fitting to come from a person + young and inexperienced as myself. It is heterodox; it clashes, for + instance, with the venerable superstition of ‘the wisdom of the + ancients’—a superstition, by the bye, as old in our literature as my + friend Mr. Wright’s old friend Chaucer, whom we have this moment been + talking about, and who, I remember, has this sarcastic verse to the + point:— + + For out of the olde fieldes, as men saith, + Cometh all this new corn from yeare to yeare, + And out of olde bookes; in good faith, + Cometh all this new science that men lere. + + But, gentlemen, if by the wisdom of the ancients we mean their wisdom + in matters of Physical Science (as some do), I contend that we simply + abuse terms; and that the phrase, whether applied to the ancients + more properly, or to our own English ancestors, is a fallacy. It is + the error of applying qualities to communities of men which belong + only to individuals. There can be no doubt that, of contemporary + individuals, the oldest of them has had the greatest experience, and + is therefore, or ought therefore, to be the wisest; but with + generations of men, surely the reverse of this must be the fact. As + Sydney Smith says in his own inimitably droll way, ‘Those who came + first (our ancestors), are the young people, and have the least + experience. Our ancestors up to the Conquest were children in + arms—chubby boys in the time of Edward the First; striplings under + Elizabeth; men in the reign of Queen Anne; and we only are the + white-bearded, silver-headed ancients who have treasured up, and are + prepared to profit by, all the experience which human life can + supply. + + And, gentlemen, I think the wit was right, both as regards our own + English ancestors, and the nations of antiquity. What, for instance, + was the much-vaunted Astronomy of the ancient Chaldeans—what but the + wildest Astrology? What schoolboy has not chuckled over the + ingenious old Herodotus’s description of the sun being blown out of + the heavens? Or again, at old Plutarch’s veracious story of the + hedgehogs and the grapes? Nay, there are absurdities enough in such + great philosophers as Pliny, Plato, and Aristotle, to convince us + that the ancients were profoundly ignorant in most matters + appertaining to the Physical Sciences. + + Gentlemen, I would be the last one in the room to disparage the + ancients: my admiration of them amounts simply to reverence. But + theirs was essentially the day of poetry and imagination; our + day—though there are still poets among us, as Alexander Smith has + been proving to us lately—is, as essentially, the day of Science. I + might, if I had time, dwell upon another point here—the constitution + of the Greek mind (for it is upon Greece I am now especially looking + as the soul of antiquity). Was that scientific? Surely not. + + The predominant intuition of the Greek mind, as you well know, was + beauty, sensuous beauty. This prevailing passion for the beautiful + exhibits itself in everything they did, and in everything they said: + it breathes in their poetry, in their oratory, in their drama, in + their architecture, and above all in their marvellous sculpture. The + productions of the Greek intellect are pure temples of the beautiful, + and, as such, will never fade and decay, for + + A thing of beauty is a joy for ever. + + Nevertheless, I may as well confess at once that I believe that + Science could never have found a home in the Europe of antiquity. + Athens was too imaginative and poetical. Sparta was too warlike and + barbarous. Rome was too sensual and gross. It had to wait for the + steady Teutonic mind—the plodding brains of modern England and modern + Germany. That Homer is the father of poetry—that Æschylus is a + wonder of sublimity—that Sophocles and Euripides are profound masters + of human passion and human pathos—that Aristophanes is an exhaustless + fountain of sparkling wit and richest humour—no one in this room, or + out of it, is more willing to admit than I am. But is that to blind + us to the fact, gentlemen, that Humboldt and Murchison and Lyell are + greater natural philosophers than Lucretius or Aristotle? + + The Athenian philosopher, Socrates, believed that he was accompanied + through life by a spiritual good genius and evil genius. Every right + action he did, and every right thought that entered his mind, he + attributed to the influence of his good Genius; while every bad + thought and action he attributed to his evil Genius. And this was + not the mere poetic figment of a poetic brain: it was a living and + breathing faith with him. He believed it in his childhood, in his + youth, in his manhood, and he believed it on his death-bed, when the + deadly hemlock was winding its fold, like the fatal serpent of + Laocoon, around his giant brain. Well, gentlemen, don’t let us laugh + at this idea of the grand old Athenian; for it is, after all, a + beautiful one, and typical of many great truths. And I have often + thought that the idea might be applied to a greater man than + Socrates. I mean the great man—mankind. He, too, has his good + genius and his evil genius. The former we will designate science, + the latter we will call superstition. For ages upon ages, + superstition has had the sway over him—that evil genius, who blotted + out the lamp of truth that God had implanted within his breast, and + substituted all manner of blinding errors—errors which have made him + play + + Such fantastic tricks before high heaven + As make the angels weep. + + This evil genius it was who made him look upon the fair face of + creation, not as a book in which God may be read, as St. Paul tells + us, but as a book full of frightful and horrid mysteries. In a word, + the great Man who ought to have been only a little lower than the + angels, has been made, by superstition, only a little above the + fiends. + + But, at last, God has permitted man’s long, long experience to be + followed by wisdom; and we have thrown off the yoke of this ancient + enemy, and clasped the hands of Science—Science, that good genius who + makes matter the obedient slave of mind; who imprisons the ethereal + lightning and makes it the messenger of commerce; who reigns king of + the raging sea and winds; who compresses the life of Methusaleh into + seventy years; who unlocks the casket of the human frame, and ranges + through its most secret chambers, until at last nothing, save the + mysterious germ of life itself, shall be hidden; who maps out all the + nations of the earth; showing how the sable Ethiopian, the dusky + Polynesian, the besotted Mongolian, the intellectual European, are + but differently developed exemplars of the same type of manhood, and + warning man that he is still his ‘brother’s keeper’ now as in the + primeval days of Cain and Abel. + + The good genius, Science, it is who bears us on his dædal wings up + into the starry night, there where ‘God’s name is writ in worlds,’ + and discourses to us of the laws which bind the planets revolving + around their planetary suns, and those suns again circling for ever + around the great central sun—‘The Great White Throne of God!’ + + The good genius, Science, it is who takes us back through the long + vista of years, and shows us this world of ours, this beautiful world + which the wisest and the best of us are so unwilling to leave, first, + as a vast drop of liquid lava-fire, starting on that mysterious + course which is to end only with time itself; then, as a dark humid + mass, ‘without form and void,’ where earth, sea, and sky, are mingled + in unutterable confusion; then, after countless, countless ages, + having grown to something like the thing of beauty the Creator had + intended, bringing forth the first embryonic germs of vegetable life, + to be succeeded, in due time, by gigantic trees and towering ferns, + compared with which the forest monarchs of our day are veritable + dwarfs; then, slowly, gradually, developing the still greater wonder + of animal life, from the primitive, half-vegetable, half-conscious + forms, till such mighty creatures as the Megatherium, the Saurian, + the Mammoth, the Iguanodon, roam about the luxuriant forests, and + bellow in chaotic caves, and wallow in the teeming seas, and circle + in the humid atmosphere, making the earth rock and tremble beneath + their monstrous movements; then, last of all, the wonder of wonders, + the climax towards which the whole had been tending, the noblest and + the basest work of God—the creation of the thinking, reasoning, + sinning animal, Man. + + And thus, gentlemen, will this good genius still go on, instructing + and improving, and purifying the human mind, and aiding in the grand + work of developing the divinity within it. I know, indeed, that it + is a favourite argument of some people that modern civilization will + decline and vanish, ‘like the civilizations of old.’ But I venture + to deny it in toto. From a human point of view, it is utterly + impossible. And without going into the question (for I see the time + is running on) as to whether ancient civilization really has passed + away, or whether the old germ did not rather spring into new life + after the dark ages, and is now bearing fruit, ten thousand times + more glorious than it ever did of old; without arguing this point, I + contend that all comparisons between ancient civilization and modern + must of necessity be futile and fallacious. And for this reason, + that independently of the civilizing effects of Christianity, Science + has knit the modern nations into one: whereas each nation of + antiquity had to work out its own problems of social and political + life, and come to its own conclusions. So isolated, indeed, was one + nation from another, that nations were in some instances ignorant of + each other’s existence. A new idea, or invention, born at Nineveh, + was for Assyria alone; at Athens, for Greece alone; at Rome, for + Italy alone. There was no science then to ‘put a girdle round about + the earth’ (as Puck says) ‘in forty minutes.’ But now, a new idea + brought to light in modern London, or Paris, or New York, is for the + whole world; it is wafted on the wings of science around the whole + habitable globe—from Ireland to New Zealand, from India to Peru. I + am not going to say, gentlemen, that Britannia must always be the + ruler of the waves. The day may come that will see her sink to a + second-rate, a third-rate, or a fourth-rate power in Europe. In + spite of all we have been saying this evening, the day may come that + will see Russia the dominant power in Europe. The day may come that + will see Sydney and Melbourne the fountain heads of refinement and + learning. It may have been ordained in Heaven at the first that each + race upon the globe shall be in its turn the dominant race—that the + negro race shall one day lord it over the Caucasian, as the Caucasian + race is now lording it over the negro. Why not? It would be only + equity. But I am not talking of races; I am not talking of + nationalities. I speak again of the great man, Mankind—the one + indivisible man that Science is making him. He will never + retrograde, because ‘matter and mind comprise the universe,’ and + matter must entirely sink beneath the weight of mind—because good + must one day conquer ill, or why was the world made? Henceforth his + road is onward—onward. Science has helped to give him such a start + that nothing shall hold him back—nothing can hold him back—save a + fiat, a direct fiat from the throne of Almighty God.” + +But I am wandering from the subject of the ‘Old House’ in Crown Street +and its connection with printing. The last important book that was ever +printed there was a very remarkable one. It was the famous essay on +Pantheism by Mr. Watts-Dunton’s friend, the Rev. John Hunt, D.D., at that +time a curate of the St. Ives Church—a book that was the result of an +enormous amount of learning, research, and original thought, a book, +moreover, which has had a great effect upon modern thought. It has +passed through several editions since it was printed at St. Ives in 1866. + + + + +Chapter IV +CHARACTERS IN THE MICROCOSM + + +MRS. CRAIGIE has recently protested against the metropolitan fable that +London enjoys a monopoly of culture, and has reminded us that in the +provinces may be found a great part of the intellectual energy of the +nation. It would be hard to find a more intellectual environment than +that in which Theodore Watts grew up. Indeed, his early life may be +compared to that of John Stuart Mill, although he escaped the hardening +and narrowing influences which marred the austere educational system of +the Mill family. Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father was in many respects a very +remarkable man. ‘He was,’ says the famous gypsologist, F. H. Groome, in +Chambers’s Encyclopædia, ‘a naturalist intimately connected with +Murchison, Lyell, and other geologists, a pre-Darwinian evolutionist of +considerable mark in the scientific world of London, and the Gilbert +White of the Ouse valley.’ There is, as the ‘Times’ said in its review +of ‘Aylwin,’ so much of manifest Wahrheit mingled with the Dichtung of +the story, that it is not surprising that attempts have often been made +to identify all the characters. Many of these guesses have been wrong; +and indeed, the only writer who has spoken with authority seems to be Mr. +Hake, who, in two papers in ‘Notes and Queries’ identified many of the +characters. Until he wrote on the subject, it was generally assumed that +the spiritual protagonist from whom springs the entire action of the +story, Philip Aylwin, was Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father. Mr. Hake, however, +tells us that this is not so. Philip Aylwin is a portrait of the +author’s uncle, an extraordinary man of whom I shall have something to +say later. I feel myself fortunate in having discovered an admirable +account of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s father in Mr. Norris’s ‘History of St. +Ives’:— + + “For many years one of the most interesting of St. Ivian figures was + the late Mr. J. K. Watts, who was born at St. Ives in 1808, though + his family on both sides came from Hemingford Grey and Hemingford + Abbots. According to the following extracts from ‘The Cambridge + Chronicle and University Journal’ of August 15, 1884, Mr. Watts died + quite suddenly on August 7 of that year: ‘We record with much regret + the sudden death at Over of our townsman, Mr. J. K. Watts, who died + after an hour’s illness of heart disease at Berry House, whither he + had been taken after the seizure. Dr. J. Ellis, of Swavesey, was + called in, but without avail. At the inquest the post-mortem + examination disclosed that the cause of death was a long-standing + fatty degeneration of the heart, which had, on several occasions, + resulted in syncope. Deceased had been driven to Willingham and back + to Over upon a matter of business with Mr. Hawkes, and the extreme + heat of the weather seems to have acted as the proximate cause of + death. + + Mr. Watts had practised in St. Ives from 1840, and was one of the + oldest solicitors in the county. He had also devoted much time and + study to scientific subjects, and was, in his earlier life, a + well-known figure in the scientific circles of London. He was for + years connected with Section E of the British Association for the + Advancement of Science, and elected on the Committee. He read papers + on geology and cognate subjects before that Association and other + Societies during the time that Murchison and Lyell were the apostles + of geology. Afterwards he made a special study of luminous meteors, + and in the Association’s reports upon this subject some of the most + interesting observations of luminous meteors are those recorded by + Mr. Watts. He was one of the earliest Fellows of the Geographical + Society, and one of the Founders of the Anthropological Society.’ + + Mr. Watts never collected his papers and essays, but up to the last + moment of his life he gave attention to those subjects to which he + had devoted himself, as may be seen by referring to the ‘Antiquary’ + for 1883 and 1884, where will be found two articles on Cambridgeshire + Antiquities, one of which did not get into type till several months + after his death. It was, however, not by Archæology, but by his + geological and geographical writings that he made his reputation. + And it was these which brought him into contact with Murchison, + Livingstone, Lyell, Whewell, and Darwin, and also with the + geographers, some of whom, such as Du Chaillu, Findlay, Dr. Norton + Shaw, visited him at the Red House on the Market Hill, now occupied + by Mr. Matton. In the sketches of the life of Dr. Latham it is + mentioned that the famous ethnologist was a frequent visitor to Mr. + Watts at St. Ives. Since his death there have been frequent + references to him as a man of ‘encyclopædic general knowledge.’ + + He was of an exceedingly retiring disposition, and few men in St. + Ives have been more liked or more generally respected. His great + delight seemed to be roaming about in meadows and lanes observing the + changes of the vegetation and the bird and insect life in which our + neighbourhood is as rich as Selborne itself. On such occasions the + present writer has often met him and had many interesting + conversations with him upon subjects connected with natural science.” + +With regard to the family of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s mother, the Duntons, +although in the seventeenth century a branch of the family lived in +Huntingdonshire, some of them being clergymen there for several +generations, they are entirely East Anglian; and some very romantic +chapters in the history of the family have been touched upon by Dr. +Jessopp in his charming essay, ‘Ups and Downs of an Old Nunnery.’ This +essay was based upon a paper, communicated by Miss Mary Bateson to the +Norfolk and Norwich Archæological Society, and treating of the Register +of Crab House Nunnery. In 1896 Walter Theodore Watts added his mother’s +to his father’s name, by a deed in Chancery. + +I could not give a more pregnant instance of the difference in +temperament between a father and a son than by repeating a story about +Mr. Watts-Dunton which Rossetti (who was rich in anecdotes of his friend) +used to tell. When the future poet and critic was a boy in jackets +pursuing his studies at the Cambridge school, he found in the school +library a copy of Wells’s ‘Stories after Nature,’ and read them with +great avidity. Shortly afterwards, when he had left school and was +reading all sorts of things, and also cultivating on the sly a small +family of Gryengroes encamped in the neighbourhood, he was amazed to +find, in a number of the ‘Illuminated Magazine,’ a periodical which his +father, on account of Douglas Jerrold, had taken in from the first, one +of the ‘Stories after Nature’ reprinted with an illustration by the +designer and engraver Linton. He said to his father, ‘Why, I have read +this story before!’ ‘That is quite impossible,’ said his father, ‘quite +impossible that you should have before read a new story in a new number +of a magazine.’ ‘I have read it before; I know all about it,’ said the +boy. ‘As I do not think you untruthful,’ said the father, ‘I think I can +explain your hallucination about this matter.’ ‘Do, father,’ said the +son. ‘Well,’ said the father, ‘I do not know whether or not you are a +poet. But I do know that you are a dreamer of dreams. You have told me +before extraordinary stories to the effect that when you see a landscape +that is new to you, it seems to you that you have seen it before.’ ‘Yes, +father, that often occurs.’ ‘Well, the reason for that is this, as you +will understand when you come to know a little more about physiology. +The brain is divided into two hemispheres, exactly answering to each +other, and they act so simultaneously that they work like one brain; but +it often happens that when dreamers like you see things or read things, +one of the hemispheres has lapsed into a kind of drowsiness, and the +other one sees the object for itself; but in a second or two the lazy +hemisphere wakes up and thinks it has seen the picture before.’ The +explanation seemed convincing, and yet it could not convince the boy. + +The very next month the magazine gave another of the stories, and the +father said, ‘Well, Walter, have you read this before?’ ‘Yes,’ said the +boy falteringly, ‘unless, of course, it is all done by the double brain, +father.’ And so it went on from month to month. When the boy had grown +into a man and came to meet Rossetti, one of the very first of the +literary subjects discussed between them was that of Charles Wells’s +‘Joseph and His Brethren’ and ‘Stories after Nature.’ Rossetti was +agreeably surprised that although his new friend knew nothing of ‘Joseph +and His Brethren,’ he was very familiar with the ‘Stories after Nature.’ +‘Well,’ said Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘they appeared in the “Illuminated +Magazine.”’ ‘Who should have thought,’ said Rossetti, ‘that the +“Illuminated Magazine” in its moribund days, when Linton took it up, +should have got down to St. Ives. Its circulation, I think, was only a +few hundreds. Among Linton’s manœuvres for keeping the magazine alive +was to reprint and illustrate Charles Wells’s “Stories after Nature” +without telling the public that they had previously appeared in book +form.’ ‘They did then appear in book form first?’ said Mr. Watts-Dunton. +‘Yes, but there can’t have been over a hundred or two sold,’ said +Rossetti. ‘I discovered it at the British Museum.’ ‘I read it at +Cambridge in my school library,’ said Mr. Watts-Dunton. It was the +startled look on Rossetti’s face which caused Mr. Watts-Dunton to tell +him the story about his father and the ‘Illuminated Magazine.’ + +It was a necessity that a boy so reared should feel the impulse to +express himself in literature rather early. But it will be new to many, +and especially to the editor of the ‘Athenæum,’ that as a mere child he +contributed to its pages. When he was a boy he read the ‘Athenæum,’ +which his father took in regularly. One day he caught a correspondent of +the ‘Athenæum’—no less a person than John P. Collier—tripping on a point +of Shakespearean scholarship, being able to do so by chance. He had +stumbled on the matter in question while reading one of his father’s +books. He wrote to the editor in his childish round hand, stigmatizing +the blunder with youthful scorn. In due time the correction was noted in +the Literary Gossip of the journal. Soon after, his father had occasion +to consult the book, and finding a pencil mark opposite the passage, he +said, ‘Walter, have you been marking this book?’ ‘Yes, father.’ ‘But +you know I object?’ ‘Yes, father, but I was interested in the point.’ +‘Why,’ said his father, ‘somebody has been writing about this very +passage to the “Athenæum.”’ ‘Yes, father,’ replied the boy, red and +ungrammatical with proud confusion, ‘it was me.’ ‘You!’ cried his +astonished father, ‘you!’ And thus the matter was explained. Mr. +Watts-Dunton confesses that he was never tired of thumbing that, his +first contribution to the ‘Athenæum.’ + + * * * * * + +Whatever may have been the influence of his father upon Mr. Watts-Dunton, +it was not, I think, nearly so great as that of his uncle, James Orlando +Watts. His father may have made him scientific: his uncle seems to have +made him philosophical with a dash of mysticism. As I have already +pointed out, Mr. Hake has identified this uncle as the prototype of +Philip Aylwin, the father of the hero. The importance of this character +in ‘Aylwin’ is shown by the fact that, if we analyze the story, we find +that the character of Philip is its motive power. After his death, +everything that occurs is brought about by his doctrines and his dreams, +his fantasies and his whims. This effect of making a man dominate from +his grave the entire course of the life of his descendants seems to be +unique in imaginative literature; and yet, although the fingers of some +critics (notably Mr. Coulson Kernahan) burn close to the subject, there +they leave it. What Mr. Watts-Dunton calls ‘the tragic mischief’ of the +drama is not brought about by any villain, but by the vagaries and +mystical speculations of a dead man, the author of ‘The Veiled Queen.’ +There were few things in which James Orlando Watts did not take an +interest. He was a deep student of the drama, Greek, English, Spanish, +and German. And it is a singular fact that this dreamy man was a lover +of the acted drama. One of his stories in connection with acting is +this. A party of strolling players who went to St. Ives got permission +to act for a period in a vast stone-built barn, called Priory Barn, and +sometimes Cromwell’s Barn. Mr. J. O. Watts went to see them, and on +returning home after the performance said, ‘I have seen a little actor +who is a real genius. He reminds me of what I have read about Edmund +Kean’s acting. I shall go and see him every night. And he went. The +actor’s name was Robson. When, afterwards, Mr. Watts went to reside in +London, he learnt that an actor named Robson was acting in one of the +second-rate theatres called the Grecian Saloon. He went to the theatre +and found, as he expected, that it was the same actor who had so +impressed him down at St. Ives. From that time he followed Robson to +whatsoever theatre in London he went, and afterward became a well-known +figure among the playgoers of the Olympic. He always contended that +Robson was the only histrionic genius of his time. Mr. Hake seems to +have known James Orlando Watts only after he had left St. Ives to live in +London:— + + “He was,” says Mr. Hake, “a man of extraordinary learning in the + academic sense of the word, and he possessed still more extraordinary + general knowledge. He lived for many years the strangest kind of + hermit life, surrounded by his books and old manuscripts. His two + great passions were philology and occultism, but he also took great + interest in rubbings from brass monuments. He knew more, I think, of + those strange writers discussed in Vaughan’s ‘Hours with the Mystics’ + than any other person—including perhaps, Vaughan himself; but he + managed to combine with his love of mysticism a deep passion for the + physical sciences, especially astronomy. He seemed to be learning + languages up to almost the last year of his life. His method of + learning languages was the opposite of that of George Borrow—that is + to say, he made great use of grammars; and when he died, it is said + that from four to five hundred treatises on grammar were found among + his books. He used to express great contempt for Borrow’s method of + learning languages from dictionaries only. I do not think that any + one connected with literature—with the sole exception of Mr. + Swinburne, my father, and Dr. R. G. Latham—knew so much of him as I + did. His personal appearance was exactly like that of Philip Aylwin, + as described in the novel. Although he never wrote poetry, he + translated, I believe, a good deal from the Spanish and Portuguese + poets. I remember that he was an extraordinary admirer of Shelley. + His knowledge of Shakespeare and the Elizabethan dramatists was a + link between him and Mr. Swinburne. + + At a time when I was a busy reader at the British Museum reading + room, I used frequently to see him, and he never seemed to know + anyone among the readers except myself, and whenever he spoke to me + it was always in a hushed whisper, lest he should disturb the other + readers, which in his eyes would have been a heinous offence. For + very many years he had been extremely well known to the second-hand + booksellers, for he was a constant purchaser of their wares. He was + a great pedestrian, and, being very much attached to the north of + London, would take long, slow tramps ten miles out in the direction + of Highgate, Wood Green, etc. I have a very distinct recollection of + calling upon him in Myddelton Square at the time when I was living + close to him in Percy Circus. Books were piled up from floor to + ceiling, apparently in great confusion; but he seemed to remember + where to find every book and what there was in it. It is a singular + fact that the only person outside those I have mentioned who seems to + have known him was that brilliant but eccentric journalist, Thomas + Purnell, who had an immense opinion of him and used to call him ‘the + scholar.’ How Purnell managed to break through the icy wall that + surrounded the recluse always puzzled me; but I suppose they must + have come across one another at one of those pleasant inns in the + north of London where ‘the scholar’ was taking his chop and bottle of + Beaune. He was a man that never made new friends, and as one after + another of his old friends died he was left so entirely alone that, I + think, he saw no one except Mr. Swinburne, the author of ‘Aylwin,’ + and myself. But at Christmas he always spent a week at The Pines, + when and where my father and I used to meet him. His memory was so + powerful that he seemed to be able to recall, not only all that he + had read, but the very conversations in which he had taken a part. + He died, I think, at a little over eighty, and his faculties up to + the last were exactly like those of a man in the prime of life. He + always reminded me of Charles Lamb’s description of George Dyer. + + Such is my outside picture of this extraordinary man; and it is only + of externals that I am free to speak here, even if I were competent + to touch upon his inner life. He was a still greater recluse than + the ‘Philip Aylwin’ of the novel. I think I am right in saying that + he took up one or two Oriental tongues when he was seventy years of + age. Another of his passions was numismatics, and it was in these + studies that he sympathized with the author of ‘Aylwin’s’ friend, the + late Lord de Tabley. I remember one story of his peculiarities which + will give an idea of the kind of man he was. He had a brother, Mr. + William K. Watts, who was the exact opposite of him in every + way—strikingly good-looking, with great charm of manner and savoir + faire, but with an ordinary intellect and a very superficial + knowledge of literature, or, indeed, anything else, except records of + British military and naval exploits—where he was really learned. + Being full of admiration of his student brother, and having a + parrot-like instinct for mimicry, he used to talk with great + volubility upon all kinds of subjects wherever he went, and repeat in + the same words what he had been listening to from his brother, until + at last he got to be called the ‘walking encyclopædia.’ The result + was that he got the reputation of being a great reader and an + original thinker, while the true student and book-lover was + frequently complimented on the way in which he took after his learned + brother. This did not in the least annoy the real student, it simply + amused him, and he would give with a dry humour most amusing stories + as to what people had said to him on this subject.” {60} + +Balzac might have made this singular anecdote the nucleus of one of his +stories. I may add that the editor of ‘Notes and Queries,’ Mr. Joseph +Knight, knew James Orlando Watts, and he has stated that he ‘can testify +to the truth’ of Mr. Hake’s ‘portraiture.’ + + + + +Chapter V +EARLY GLIMPSES OF THE GYPSIES + + +ALTHOUGH an East Midlander by birth it seems to have been to East Anglia +that Mr. Watts-Dunton’s sympathies were most strongly drawn. It was +there that he first made acquaintance with the sea, and it was to East +Anglia that his gypsy friends belonged. + +On the East Anglian side of St. Ives, opposite to the Hemingford side +already described, the country, though not so lovely as the western side, +is at first fairly attractive; but it becomes less and less so as it +nears the Fens. The Fens, however, would seem to have a charm of their +own, and Mr. Watts-Dunton himself has described them with a vividness +that could hardly be surpassed. It was here as a boy that he made +friends with the Gryengroes—that superior variety of the Romanies which +Borrow had known years before. These gypsies used to bring their Welsh +ponies to England and sell them at the fairs. I must now go back for +some years in order to enrich my pages with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s graphic +description of his first meeting with the gypsies in the Fen country, +which appeared in ‘Great Thoughts’ in 1903. + + “I shall never forget my earliest recollections of them. My father + used sometimes to drive in a dogcart to see friends of his through + about twelve miles of Fen country, and he used to take me with him. + Let me say that the Fen country is much more striking than is + generally supposed. Instead of leafy quick hedgerows, as in the + midlands, or walls, as in the north country, the fields are divided + by dykes; not a tree is to be seen in some parts for miles and miles. + This gives an importance to the skies such as is observed nowhere + else except on the open sea. The flashing opalescent radiance of the + sea is apt to challenge the riches of the sky, and in a certain + degree tends to neutralize it; but in the Fen country the level, + monotonous greenery of the crops in summer, and, in autumn and + winter, the vast expanse of black earth, make the dome of the sky, by + contrast, so bright and glorious that in cloudless weather it gleams + and suggests a roof of rainbows; and in cloudy weather it seems + almost the only living sight in the universe, and becomes thus more + magical still. And as to sunsets, I do not know of any, either by + land or sea, to be compared with the sunsets to be seen in the Fen + country. The humidity of the atmosphere has, no doubt, a good deal + to do with it. The sun frequently sets in a pageantry of gauzy + vapour of every colour, quite indescribable. + + The first evening that I took one of these drives, while I was + watching the wreaths of blue curling smoke from countless heaps of + twitch-grass, set burning by the farm-labourers, which stretched + right up to the sky-line, my father pulled up the dogcart and pointed + to a ruddy fire glowing, flickering, and smoking in an angle where a + green grassy drove-way met the dark-looking high-road some yards + ahead. And then I saw some tents, and then a number of dusky + figures, some squatting near the fire, some moving about. ‘The + gypsies!’ I said, in the greatest state of exultation, which soon + fled, however, when I heard a shrill whistle and saw a lot of these + dusky people running and leaping like wild things towards the + dog-cart. ‘Will they kill us, father?’ I said. ‘Kill us? No,’ he + said, laughing; ‘they are friends of mine. They’ve only come to lead + the mare past the fire and keep her from shying at it.’ They came + flocking up. So far from the mare starting, as she would have done + at such an invasion by English people, she seemed to know and welcome + the gypsies by instinct, and seemed to enjoy their stroking her nose + with their tawny but well-shaped fingers, and caressing her neck. + Among them was one of the prettiest little gypsy girls I ever saw. + When the gypsies conducted us past their camp I was fascinated by the + charm of the picture. Outside the tents in front of the fire, over + which a kettle was suspended from an upright iron bar, which I + afterwards knew as the kettle-prop, was spread a large dazzling white + table-cloth, covered with white crockery, among which glittered a + goodly number of silver spoons. I afterwards learnt that to possess + good linen, good crockery, and real silver spoons, was as ‘passionate + a desire in the Romany chi as in the most ambitious farmer’s wife in + the Fen country.’ It was from this little incident that my intimacy + with the gypsies dated. I associated much with them in after life, + and I have had more experiences among them than I have yet had an + opportunity of recording in print.” + +This pretty gypsy girl was the prototype, I believe, of the famous Rhona +Boswell herself. + +It must of course have been after the meeting with Rhona in the East +Midlands—supposing always that we are allowed to identify the novelist +with the hero, a bold supposition—that Mr. Watts-Dunton again came across +her—this time in East Anglia. Whether this is so or not, I must give +this picture of her from ‘Aylwin’:— + + “It was at this time that I made the acquaintance of Winnie’s friend, + Rhona Boswell, a charming little Gypsy girl. Graylingham Wood and + Rington Wood, like the entire neighbourhood, were favourite haunts of + a superior kind of Gypsies called Gryengroes, that is to say, + horse-dealers. Their business was to buy ponies in Wales and sell + them in the Eastern Counties and the East Midlands. Thus it was that + Winnie had known many of the East Midland Gypsies in Wales. Compared + with Rhona Boswell, who was more like a fairy than a child, Winnie + seemed quite a grave little person. Rhona’s limbs were always on the + move, and the movement sprang always from her emotions. Her laugh + seemed to ring through the woods like silver bells, a sound that it + was impossible to mistake for any other. The laughter of most Gypsy + girls is full of music and of charm, and yet Rhona’s laughter was a + sound by itself, and it was no doubt this which afterwards, when she + grew up, attracted my kinsman, Percy Aylwin, towards her. It seemed + to emanate, not from her throat merely, but from her entire frame. + If one could imagine a strain of merriment and fun blending with the + ecstatic notes of a skylark soaring and singing, one might form some + idea of the laugh of Rhona Boswell. Ah, what days they were! Rhona + would come from Gypsy Dell, a romantic place in Rington Manor, some + miles off, especially to show us some newly devised coronet of + flowers that she had been weaving for herself. This induced Winnie + to weave for herself a coronet of seaweeds, and an entire morning was + passed in grave discussion as to which coronet excelled the other.” + + + + +Chapter VI +SPORT AND WORK + + +IT was at this period that, like so many young Englishmen who were his +contemporaries, he gave attention to field sports, and took interest in +that athleticism which, to judge from Wilkie Collins’s scathing pictures, +was quite as rampant and absurd then as it is in our own time. It was +then too that he acquired that familiarity with the figures prominent in +the ring which startles one in his reminiscences of George Borrow. But +it will scarcely interest the readers of this book to dwell long upon +this subject. Nor have I time to repeat the humorous stories I have +heard him tell about the queer characters who could then be met at St. +Ives Fair (said to have been the largest cattle fair in England), and at +another favourite resort of his, Stourbridge Fair, near Cambridge. +Stourbridge Fair still exists, but its glory was departing when Mr. +Watts-Dunton was familiar with it; and now, possibly, it has departed for +ever. Of Cambridge and the entire county he tells many anecdotes. Here +is a specimen:— + +Once in the early sixties he and his brother and some friends were +greatly exercised by the news that Deerfoot, the famous American Indian +runner in whom Borrow took such an interest, was to run at Cambridge +against the English champion. When the day came, they drove to Cambridge +in a dog-cart from St. Ives, about a dozen miles. The race took place in +a field called Fenner’s Ground, much used by cricketers. This is how, as +far as I can recall the words, he tells the anecdote:— + + “The place was crammed with all sorts of young men—’varsity men and + others. There were not many young farmers or squires or yeomen + within a radius of a good many miles that did not put in an + appearance on that occasion. The Indian won easily, and at the + conclusion of the race there was a frantic rush to get near him and + shake his hand. The rush was so wild and so insensate that it + irritated me more than I should at the present moment consider it + possible to be irritated. But I ought to say that at that time of my + life I had developed into a strangely imperious little chap. I had + been over-indulged—not at home, but at the Cambridge school to which + I had been sent—and spoilt. This seems odd, but it’s true. It was + the boys who spoilt me in a curious way—a way which will not be + understood by those who went to public schools like Eton, where the + fagging principle would have stood in the way of the development of + the curious relation between me and my fellow-pupils which I am + alluding to. There is an inscrutable form of the monarchic instinct + in the genus homo which causes boys, without in the least knowing + why, to select one boy as a kind of leader, or rather emperor, and + spoil him, almost unfit him indeed for that sense of equality which + is so valuable in the social struggle for life that follows + school-days. This kind of emperor I had been at that school. It + indicated no sort of real superiority on my part; for I learnt that + immediately after I had left the vacant post it was filled by another + boy—filled for an equally inscrutable reason. The result of it was + that I became (as I often think when I recall those days) the most + masterful young urchin that ever lived. If I had not been so, I + could not have got into a fury at being jostled by a good-humoured + crowd. My brother, who had not been so spoilt at school, was very + different, and kept urging me to keep my temper. ‘It’s capital fun,’ + he said; ‘look at this blue-eyed young chap jostling and being + jostled close to us. He’s fond of a hustle, and no mistake. That’s + the kind of chap I should like to know’; and he indicated a young + ’varsity man of whose elbow at that moment I was unpleasantly + conscious, and who seemed to be in a state of delight at other elbows + being pushed into his ribs. I soon perceived that certain men whom + he was with seemed angry, not on their own account, but on account of + this youth of the laughing lips and blue eyes. As they were trying + to make a ring round him, ‘Hanged if it isn’t the Prince!’ said my + brother. ‘And look how he takes it! Surely you can stand what he + stands!’ It was, in fact, the Prince of Wales, who had come to see + the American runner. I needed only two or three years of buffeting + with the great life outside the schoolroom to lose all my + imperiousness and learn the essential lesson of give-and-take.” + +For a time Mr. Watts-Dunton wavered about being articled to his father as +a solicitor. His love of the woods and fields was too great at that time +for him to find life in a solicitor’s office at all tolerable. Moreover, +it would seem that he who had been so precocious a student, and who had +lived in books, felt a temporary revulsion from them, and an irresistible +impulse to study Nature apart from books, to study her face to face. And +it was at this time that, as the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ remarks, he +‘moved much among the East Anglian gypsies, of whose superstitions and +folklore he made a careful study.’ But of this period of his life I have +but little knowledge. Judging from Groome’s remarks upon ‘Aylwin’ in the +‘Bookman,’ he alone had Mr. Watts-Dunton’s full confidence in the matter. +So great was his desire to pore over the book of nature, there appears to +have been some likelihood, perhaps I ought to say some danger, of his +feeling the impulse which had taken George Borrow away from civilization. +He seems, besides, to have shared with the Greeks and with Montaigne a +belief in the value of leisure. It was at this period, to judge from his +writings, that he exclaimed with Montaigne, ‘Have you known how to +regulate your conduct, you have done a great deal more than he who has +composed books. Have you known how to take repose, you have done more +than he who has taken empires and cities.’ I suppose, however, that this +was the time when he composed that unpublished ‘Dictionary for +Nature-worshippers,’ from which he often used to quote in the ‘Athenæum.’ +There is nothing in his writings so characteristic as those definitions. +Work and Sport are thus defined: ‘Work: that activity of mind or body +which exhausts the vital forces without yielding pleasure or health to +the individual. Sport: that activity of mind or body which, in +exhausting the vital forces, yields pleasure and health to the +individual. The activity, however severe, of a born artist at his easel, +of a born poet at his rhymings, of a born carpenter at his plane, is +sport. The activity, however slight, of the born artist or poet at the +merchant’s desk, is work. Hence, to work is not to pray. We have called +the heresy of Work modern because it is the characteristic one of our +time; but, alas! like all heresies, it is old. It was preached by +Zoroaster in almost Mr. Carlyle’s words when Concord itself was in the +woods and ere Chelsea was.’ + +[Picture: ‘Evening Dreams with the Poets.’ (From an Oil Painting at ‘The + Pines.’)] + +In one of his books Mr. Watts-Dunton writes with great eloquence upon +this subject:— + + “How hateful is the word ‘experience’ in the mouth of the + littérateur. They all seem to think that this universe exists to + educate them, and that they should write books about it. They never + look on a sunrise without thinking what an experience it is; how it + is educating them for bookmaking. It is this that so often turns the + true Nature-worshipper away from books altogether, that makes him + bless with what at times seems such malicious fervour those two great + benefactors of the human race, Caliph Omar and Warburton’s cook. + + In Thoreau there was an almost perpetual warring of the Nature + instinct with the Humanity instinct. And, to say the truth, the + number is smaller than even Nature-worshippers themselves are + aware—those in whom there is not that warring of these two great + primal instincts. For six or eight months at a time there are many, + perhaps, who could revel in ‘utter solitude,’ as companionship with + Nature is called; with no minster clock to tell them the time of day, + but, instead, the bleating of sheep and the lowing of cattle in the + morning, the shifting of the shadows at noon, and the cawing of rooks + going home at sunset. But then to these, there comes suddenly, and + without the smallest warning, a half-recognized but secretly sweet + pleasure in looking at the smooth high-road, and thinking that it + leads to the city—a beating of the heart at the sound of the distant + railway-whistle, as the train winds its way, like a vast gliding + snake, to the whirlpool they have left. + + In order to realize the folly of the modern Carlylean heresy of work, + it is necessary to realize fully how infinitely rich is Nature, and + how generous, and consequently what a sacred duty as well as wise + resolve it is that, before he ‘returns unto the ground,’ man should + drink deeply while he may at the fountain of Life. Let it be enough + for the Nature-worshipper to know that he, at least, has been + blessed. Suppose he were to preach in London or Paris or New York + against this bastard civilization, and expatiate on Nature’s largess, + of which it robs us? Suppose he were to say to people to whom + opinion is the breath of life, ‘What is it that this civilization of + yours can give you by way of compensation for that of which it robs + you? Is it your art? Is it your literature? Is it your music? Is + it your science?’ Suppose, for instance, he were to say to the + collector of Claudes, or Turners, or David Coxes: ‘Your possessions + are precious undoubtedly, but what are even they when set against the + tamest and quietest sunrise, in the tamest and quietest district of + Cambridge or Lincoln, in this tame and quiet month, when, over the + treeless flat you may see, and for nothing, purple bar after purple + bar trembling along the grey, as the cows lift up their heads from + the sheet of silver mist in which they are lying? How can you really + enjoy your Turners, you who have never seen a sunrise in your lives?’ + Or suppose he were to say to the opera-goer: ‘Those notes of your + favourite soprano were superb indeed; and superb they ought to be to + keep you in the opera-house on a June night, when all over the south + of England a thousand thickets, warm with the perfumed breath of the + summer night, are musical with the gurgle of the nightingales.’ + Thoreau preached after this fashion, and was deservedly laughed at + for his pains. + + Yet it is not a little singular that this heresy of the sacredness of + work should be most flourishing at the very time when the sophism on + which it was originally built is exploded; the sophism, we mean, that + Nature herself is the result of Work, whereas she is the result of + growth. One would have thought that this was the very time for + recognizing what the sophism had blinded us to, that Nature’s + permanent temper—whatever may be said of this or that mood of hers—is + the temper of Sport, that her pet abhorrence, which is said to be a + vacuum, is really Work. We see this clearly enough in what are + called the lower animals—whether it be a tiger or a gazelle, a ferret + or a coney, a bat or a butterfly—the final cause of the existence of + every conscious thing is that it should sport. It has no other use + than that. For this end it was that ‘the great Vishnu yearned to + create a world.’ Yet over the toiling and moiling world sits Moloch + Work; while those whose hearts are withering up with hatred of him + are told by certain writers to fall down before him and pretend to + love. + + The worker of the mischief is, of course, civilization in excess, or + rather, civilization in wrong directions. For this word, too, has to + be newly defined in the Dictionary before mentioned, where you will + find it thus given:—Civilization: a widening and enriching of human + life. Bastard or Modern Western Civilization: the art of inventing + fictitious wants and working to supply them. In bastard civilization + life becomes poorer and poorer, paltrier and paltrier, till at last + life goes out of fashion altogether, and is supplanted by work. True + freedom is more remote from us than ever. For modern Freedom is thus + defined: the exchange of the slavery of feudality for the slavery of + opinion. Thoreau realized this, and tried to preach men back to + common-sense and Nature. Here was his mistake—in trying to preach. + No man ever yet had the Nature-instinct preached into him.” + + + + +Chapter VII +EAST ANGLIA + + +WHATEVER may have been those experiences with the gryengroes which made +Groome, when speaking of the gypsies of ‘Aylwin,’ say ‘the author writes +only of what he knows,’ it seems to have been after his intercourse with +the gypsies that he and a younger brother, Alfred Eugene Watts (elsewhere +described), were articled as solicitors to their father. His bent, +however, was always towards literature, especially poetry, of which he +had now written a great deal—indeed, the major part of the volume which +was destined to lie unpublished for so many years. But before I deal +with the most important period of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s life—his life in +London—it seems necessary to say a word or two about his visits to East +Anglia, and especially to the Norfolk coast. There are some admirable +remarks upon the East Coast in Mr. William Sharp’s chapter on +‘Aylwinland’ in ‘Literary Geography,’ and he notes the way in which Rhona +Boswell links it with Cowslip Land; but he does not give examples of the +poems which thus link it, such as the double roundel called ‘The Golden +Hand.’ + + THE GOLDEN HAND {73a} + + PERCY + + Do you forget that day on Rington strand + When, near the crumbling ruin’s parapet, + I saw you stand beside the long-shore net + The gorgios spread to dry on sunlit sand? + + RHONA + + Do I forget? + + PERCY + + You wove the wood-flowers in a dewy band + Around your hair which shone as black as jet: + No fairy’s crown of bloom was ever set + Round brows so sweet as those the wood-flowers spanned. + + I see that picture now; hair dewy-wet: + Dark eyes that pictures in the sky expand: + Love-lips (with one tattoo ‘for dukkerin’ {73b}) tanned + By sunny winds that kiss them as you stand. + + RHONA + + Do I forget? + The Golden Hand shone there: it’s you forget, + Or p’raps us Romanies ondly understand + The way the Lover’s Dukkeripen is planned + Which shone that second time when us two met. + + PERCY + + Blest ‘Golden Hand’! + + RHONA + + The wind, that mixed the smell o’ violet + Wi’ chirp o’ bird, a-blowin’ from the land + Where my dear Mammy lies, said as it fanned + My heart-like, ‘Them ’ere tears makes Mammy fret.’ + She loves to see her chavi {74} lookin’ grand, + So I made what you call’d a coronet, + And in the front I put her amulet: + She sent the Hand to show she sees me yet. + + PERCY + + Blest ‘Golden Hand’! + +In the same way that the velvety green of Hunts is seen in the verses I +have already quoted, so the softer side of the inland scenery of East +Anglia is described in the following lines, where also we find an +exquisite use of the East Anglian fancy about the fairies and the +foxglove bells. + +At a waltz during certain Venetian revels after the liberation from the +Austrian yoke, a forsaken lover stands and watches a lady whose +child-love he had won in England:— + + Has she forgotten for such halls as these + The domes the angels built in holy times, + When wings were ours in childhood’s flowery climes + To dance with butterflies and golden bees?— + Forgotten how the sunny-fingered breeze + Shook out those English harebells’ magic chimes + On that child-wedding morn, ’neath English limes, + ’Mid wild-flowers tall enough to kiss her knees? + + The love that childhood cradled—girlhood nursed— + Has she forgotten it for this dull play, + Where far-off pigmies seem to waltz and sway + Like dancers in a telescope reversed? + Or does not pallid Conscience come and say, + ‘Who sells her glory of beauty stands accursed’? + + But was it this that bought her—this poor splendour + That won her from her troth and wild-flower wreath + Who ‘cracked the foxglove bells’ on Grayland Heath, + Or played with playful winds that tried to bend her, + Or, tripping through the deer-park, tall and slender, + Answered the larks above, the crakes beneath, + Or mocked, with glitter of laughing lips and teeth, + When Love grew grave—to hide her soul’s surrender? + +Mr. Sharp has dwelt upon the striking way in which the scenery and +atmosphere are rendered in ‘Aylwin,’ but this, as I think, is even more +clearly seen in the poems. And in none of these is it seen so vividly as +in that exhilarating poem, ‘Gypsy Heather,’ published in the ‘Athenæum,’ +and not yet garnered in a volume. This poem also shows his lyrical +power, which never seems to be at its very best unless he is depicting +Romany life and Romany passion. The metre of this poem is as original as +that of ‘The Gypsy Haymaking Song,’ quoted in an earlier chapter. It has +a swing like that of no other poem:— + + GYPSY HEATHER + + ‘If you breathe on a heather-spray and send it to your man it’ll show + him the selfsame heather where it wur born.’—SINFI LOVELL. + + [Percy Aylwin, standing on the deck of the ‘Petrel,’ takes from his + pocket a letter which, before he had set sail to return to the south + seas, the Melbourne post had brought him—a letter from Rhona, staying + then with the Boswells on a patch of heath much favoured by the + Boswells, called ‘Gypsy Heather.’ He takes from the envelope a + withered heather-spray, encircled by a little scroll of paper on + which Rhona has written the words, ‘Remember Gypsy Heather.’] + + I + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + Remember Jasper’s camping-place + Where heath-bells meet the grassy dingle, + And scents of meadow, wood and chase, + Wild thyme and whin-flower seem to mingle? + Remember where, in Rington Furze, + I kissed her and she asked me whether + I ‘thought my lips of teazel-burrs, + That pricked her jis like whin-bush spurs, + Felt nice on a rinkenny moey {76} like hers?’— + Gypsy Heather! + + II + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + Remember her whom nought could tame + But love of me, the poacher-maiden + Who showed me once my father’s game + With which her plump round arms were laden + Who, when my glances spoke reproach, + Said, “Things o’ fur an’ fin an’ feather + Like coneys, pheasants, perch an’ loach, + An’ even the famous ‘Rington roach,’ + Wur born for Romany chies to poach!”— + Gypsy Heather! + + III + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + Atolls and reefs, you change, you change + To dells of England dewy and tender; + You palm-trees in yon coral range + Seem ‘Rington Birches’ sweet and slender + Shading the ocean’s fiery glare: + We two are in the Dell together— + My body is here, my soul is there + With lords of trap and net and snare, + The Children of the Open Air,— + Gypsy Heather! + + IV + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + Its pungent breath is on the wind, + Killing the scent of tropic water; + I see her suitors swarthy skinned, + Who pine in vain for Jasper’s daughter. + The ‘Scollard,’ with his features tanned + By sun and wind as brown as leather— + His forehead scarred with Passion’s brand— + Scowling at Sinfi tall and grand, + Who sits with Pharaoh by her hand,— + Gypsy Heather! + + V + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + Now Rhona sits beneath the tree + That shades our tent, alone and weeping; + And him, the ‘Scollard,’ him I see: + From bush to bush I see him creeping— + I see her mock him, see her run + And free his pony from the tether, + Who lays his ears in love and fun, + And gallops with her in the sun + Through lace the gossamers have spun,— + Gypsy Heather! + + VI + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + She reaches ‘Rington Birches’; now, + Dismounting from the ‘Scollard’s’ pony, + She sits alone with heavy brow, + Thinking, but not of hare or coney. + The hot sea holds each sight, each sound + Of England’s golden autumn weather: + The Romanies now are sitting round + The tea-cloth spread on grassy ground; + Now Rhona dances heather-crowned,— + Gypsy Heather! + + VII + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + She’s thinking of this withered spray + Through all the dance; her eyes are gleaming + Darker than night, yet bright as day, + While round her a gypsy shawl is streaming; + I see the lips—the upper curled, + A saucy rose-leaf, from the nether, + Whence—while the floating shawl is twirled, + As if a ruddy cloud were swirled— + Her scornful laugh at him is hurled,— + Gypsy Heather! + + VIII + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + In storm or calm, in sun or rain, + There’s magic, Rhona, in the writing + Wound round these flowers whose purple stain + Dims the dear scrawl of Love’s inditing: + Dear girl, this spray between the leaves + (Now fading like a draggled feather + With which the nesting song-bird weaves) + Makes every wave the vessel cleaves + Seem purple of heather as it heaves,— + Gypsy Heather! + + IX + + Remember Gypsy Heather? + Oh, Rhona! sights and sounds of home + Are everywhere; the skylark winging + Through amber cloud-films till the dome + Seems filled with love, our love, a-singing. + The sea-wind seems an English breeze + Bearing the bleat of ewe and wether + Over the heath from Rington Leas, + Where, to the hymn of birds and bees, + You taught me Romany ’neath the trees,— + Gypsy Heather! + +Another reason that makes it necessary for me to touch upon the inland +part of East Anglia is that I have certain remarks to make upon what are +called ‘the Omarian poems of Mr. Watts-Dunton.’ Although, as I have +before hinted, St. Ives, being in Hunts, belongs topographically to the +East Midlands, its sympathies are East Anglian. This perhaps is partly +because it is the extreme east of Hunts, and partly because the mouth of +the Ouse is at Lynn: to those whom Mr. Norris affectionately calls St. +Ivians and Hemingfordians, the seaside means Yarmouth, Lowestoft, Cromer, +Hunstanton, and the towns on the Suffolk coast. The splendour of Norfolk +ale may also partly account for it. This perhaps also explains why the +famous East Anglian translator of Omar Khayyàm would seem to have been +known to a few Omarians on the banks of the Ouse and Cam as soon as the +great discoverer of good things, Rossetti, pounced upon it in the penny +box of a second-hand bookseller. Readers of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s obituary +notice of F. H. Groome in the ‘Athenæum’ will recall these words:— + + “It was not merely upon Romany subjects that Groome found points of + sympathy at ‘The Pines’ during that first luncheon; there was that + other subject before mentioned, Edward FitzGerald and Omar Khayyàm. + We, a handful of Omarians of those antediluvian days, were perhaps + all the more intense in our cult because we believed it to be + esoteric. And here was a guest who had been brought into actual + personal contact with the wonderful old ‘Fitz.’ As a child of eight + he had seen him, talked with him, been patted on the head by him. + Groome’s father, the Archdeacon of Suffolk, was one of FitzGerald’s + most intimate friends. This was at once a delightful and a powerful + link between Frank Groome and those at the luncheon table; and when + he heard, as he soon did, the toast to ‘Omar Khayyàm,’ none drank + that toast with more gusto than he. The fact is, as the Romanies + say, true friendship, like true love, is apt to begin at first + sight.” + +This is the poem alluded to: it is entitled, ‘Toast to Omar Khayyàm: An +East Anglian echo-chorus inscribed to old Omarian Friends in memory of +happy days by Ouse and Cam’:— + + CHORUS + + In this red wine, where memory’s eyes seem glowing, + And days when wines were bright by Ouse and Cam, + And Norfolk’s foaming nectar glittered, showing + What beard of gold John Barleycorn was growing, + We drink to thee, right heir of Nature’s knowing, + Omar Khayyàm! + + I + + Star-gazer, who canst read, when Night is strowing + Her scriptured orbs on Time’s wide oriflamme, + Nature’s proud blazon: ‘Who shall bless or damn? + Life, Death, and Doom are all of my bestowing!’ + CHORUS: Omar Khayyàm! + + II + + Poet, whose stream of balm and music, flowing + Through Persian gardens, widened till it swam— + A fragrant tide no bank of Time shall dam— + Through Suffolk meads, where gorse and may were blowing,— + CHORUS: Omar Khayyàm! + + III + + Who blent thy song with sound of cattle lowing, + And caw of rooks that perch on ewe and ram, + And hymn of lark, and bleat of orphan lamb, + And swish of scythe in Bredfield’s dewy mowing? + CHORUS: Omar Khayyàm! + + IV + + ’Twas Fitz, ‘Old Fitz,’ whose knowledge, farther going + Than lore of Omar, ‘Wisdom’s starry Cham,’ + Made richer still thine opulent epigram: + Sowed seed from seed of thine immortal sowing.— + CHORUS: Omar Khayyàm! + + V + + In this red wine, where Memory’s eyes seem glowing, + And days when wines were bright by Ouse and Cam, + And Norfolk’s foaming nectar glittered, showing + What beard of gold John Barleycorn was growing, + We drink to thee till, hark! the cock is crowing! + Omar Khayyàm! + +It was many years after this—it was as a member of another Omar Khayyàm +Club of much greater celebrity than the little brotherhood of Ouse and +Cam—not large enough to be called a club—that Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote the +following well-known sonnet:— + + PRAYER TO THE WINDS + + On planting at the head of FitzGerald’s grave two rose-trees whose + ancestors had scattered their petals over the tomb of Omar Khayyàm. + + “My tomb shall be on a spot where the north wind may strow roses upon + it.” + + OMAR KHAYYÀM TO KWÁJAH NIZAMI. + + Hear us, ye winds! From where the north-wind strows + Blossoms that crown ‘the King of Wisdom’s’ tomb, + The trees here planted bring remembered bloom, + Dreaming in seed of Love’s ancestral rose, + To meadows where a braver north-wind blows + O’er greener grass, o’er hedge-rose, may, and broom, + And all that make East England’s field-perfume + Dearer than any fragrance Persia knows. + + Hear us, ye winds, North, East, and West, and South! + This granite covers him whose golden mouth + Made wiser ev’n the Word of Wisdom’s King: + Blow softly over Omar’s Western herald + Till roses rich of Omar’s dust shall spring + From richer dust of Suffolk’s rare FitzGerald. + +I must now quote another of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s East Anglian poems, partly +because it depicts the weird charm of the Norfolk coast, and partly +because it illustrates that sympathy between the poet and the lower +animals which I have already noted. I have another reason: not long ago, +that good East Anglian, Mr. Rider Haggard interested us all by telling +how telepathy seemed to have the power of operating between a dog and its +beloved master in certain rare and extraordinary cases. When the poem +appeared in the ‘Saturday Review’ (December 20, 1902), it was described +as ‘part of a forthcoming romance.’ It records a case of telepathy +between man and dog quite as wonderful as that narrated by Mr. Rider +Haggard:— + + CAUGHT IN THE EBBING TIDE + + The mightiest Titan’s stroke could not withstand + An ebbing tide like this. These swirls denote + How wind and tide conspire. I can but float + To the open sea and strike no more for land. + Farewell, brown cliffs, farewell, beloved sand + Her feet have pressed—farewell, dear little boat + Where Gelert, {82} calmly sitting on my coat, + Unconscious of my peril, gazes bland! + + All dangers grip me save the deadliest, fear: + Yet these air-pictures of the past that glide— + These death-mirages o’er the heaving tide— + Showing two lovers in an alcove clear, + Will break my heart. I see them and I hear + As there they sit at morning, side by side. + + THE FIRST VISION + + _With Raxton elms behind—in front the sea_, + _Sitting in rosy light in that alcove_, + _They hear the first lark rise o’er Raxton Grove_; + ‘_What should I do with fame_, _dear heart_?’ _says he_. + ‘_You talk of fame_, _poetic fame_, _to me_ + _Whose crown is not of laurel but of love_— + _To me who would not give this little glove_ + _On this dear hand for Shakspeare’s dower in fee_. + + _While_, _rising red and kindling every billow_, + _The sun’s shield shines_ ’_neath many a golden spear_, + _To lean with you against this leafy pillow_, + _To murmur words of love in this loved ear_— + _To feel you bending like a bending willow_, + _This is to be a poet_—_this_, _my dear_!’ + + O God, to die and leave her—die and leave + The heaven so lately won!—And then, to know + What misery will be hers—what lonely woe!— + To see the bright eyes weep, to see her grieve + Will make me a coward as I sink, and cleave + To life though Destiny has bid me go. + How shall I bear the pictures that will glow + Above the glowing billows as they heave? + + One picture fades, and now above the spray + Another shines: ah, do I know the bowers + Where that sweet woman stands—the woodland flowers, + In that bright wreath of grass and new-mown hay— + That birthday wreath I wove when earthly hours + Wore angel-wings,—till portents brought dismay? + + THE SECOND VISION + + _Proud of her wreath as laureate of his laurel_, + _She smiles on him_—_on him_, _the prouder giver_, + _As there they stand beside the sunlit river_ + _Where petals flush with rose the grass and sorrel_: + _The chirping reed-birds_, _in their play or quarrel_, + _Make musical the stream where lilies quiver_— + _Ah_! _suddenly he feels her slim waist shiver_: + _She speaks_: _her lips grow grey_—_her lips of coral_! + + ‘_From out my wreath two heart-shaped seeds are swaying_, + _The seeds of which that gypsy girl has spoken_— + ’_Tis fairy grass_, _alas_! _the lover’s token_.’ + _She lifts her fingers to her forehead_, _saying_, + ‘_Touch the twin hearts_.’ _Says he_, ‘’_Tis idle playing_’: + _He touches them_; _they fall_—_fall bruised and broken_. + + * * * * * + + Shall I turn coward here who sailed with Death + Through many a tempest on mine own North Sea, + And quail like him of old who bowed the knee— + Faithless—to billows of Genesereth? + Did I turn coward when my very breath + Froze on my lips that Alpine night when he + Stood glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me, + While avalanches rolled from peaks beneath? + + Each billow bears me nearer to the verge + Of realms where she is not—where love must wait.— + If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge + That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate, + To come and help me, or to share my fate. + Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge. + + [The dog, plunging into the tide and striking + towards him with immense strength, reaches + him and swims round him.] + + Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw + Here gazing like your namesake, ‘Snowdon’s Hound,’ + When great Llewelyn’s child could not be found, + And all the warriors stood in speechless awe— + Mute as your namesake when his master saw + The cradle tossed—the rushes red around— + With never a word, but only a whimpering sound + To tell what meant the blood on lip and jaw. + + In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond, + Should I, brave friend, have needed other speech + Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond + Stronger than words that binds us each to each?— + But Death has caught us both. ’Tis far beyond + The strength of man or dog to win the beach. + + Through tangle-weed—through coils of slippery kelp + Decking your shaggy forehead, those brave eyes + Shine true—shine deep of love’s divine surmise + As hers who gave you—then a Titan whelp! + I think you know my danger and would help! + See how I point to yonder smack that lies + At anchor—Go! His countenance replies. + Hope’s music rings in Gelert’s eager yelp! + + [The dog swims swiftly away down the tide. + + Now, life and love and death swim out with him! + If he should reach the smack, the men will guess + The dog has left his master in distress. + You taught him in these very waves to swim— + ‘The prince of pups,’ you said, ‘for wind and limb’— + And now those lessons, darling, come to bless. + + ENVOY + + (The day after the rescue: Gelert and I walking along the sand.) + + ’Twas in no glittering tourney’s mimic strife,— + ’Twas in that bloody fight in Raxton Grove, + While hungry ravens croaked from boughs above, + And frightened blackbirds shrilled the warning fife— + ’Twas there, in days when Friendship still was rife, + Mine ancestor who threw the challenge-glove + Conquered and found his foe a soul to love, + Found friendship—Life’s great second crown of life. + + So I this morning love our North Sea more + Because he fought me well, because these waves + Now weaving sunbows for us by the shore + Strove with me, tossed me in those emerald caves + That yawned above my head like conscious graves— + I love him as I never loved before. + +In these days when so much is written about the intelligence of the lower +animals, when ‘Hans,’ the ‘thinking horse,’ is ‘interviewed’ by eminent +scientists, the exploit of the Second Gelert is not without interest. I +may, perhaps, mention a strange experience of my own. The late Betts +Bey, a well-known figure in St. Peter’s Port, Guernsey, had a fine black +retriever, named Caro. During a long summer holiday which we spent in +Guernsey, Caro became greatly attached to a friend, and Betts Bey +presented him to her. He was a magnificent fellow, valiant as a lion, +and a splendid diver and swimmer. He often plunged off the parapet of +the bridge which spans the Serpentine. Indeed, he would have dived from +any height. His intelligence was surprising. If we wished to make him +understand that he was not to accompany us, we had only to say, ‘Caro, we +are going to church!’ As soon as he heard the word ‘church’ his barks +would cease, his tail would drop, and he would look mournfully resigned. +One evening, as I was writing in my room, Caro began to scratch outside +the door, uttering those strange ‘woof-woofs’ which were his canine +language. I let him in, but he would not rest. He stood gazing at me +with an intense expression, and, turning towards the door, waited +impatiently. For some time I took no notice of his dumb appeal, but his +excitement increased, and suddenly a vague sense of ill seemed to pass +from him into my mind. Drawn half-consciously I rose, and at once with a +strange half-human whine Caro dashed upstairs. I followed him. He ran +into a bedroom, and there in the dark I found my friend lying +unconscious. It is well-nigh certain that Caro thus saved my friend’s +life. + + + + +Chapter VIII +LONDON + + +BETWEEN Mr. Watts-Dunton and the brother who came next to him, before +mentioned, there was a very great affection, although the difference +between them, mentally and physically, was quite noticeable. They were +articled to their father on the same day and admitted solicitors on the +same day, a very unusual thing with solicitors and their sons. Mr. +Watts-Dunton afterwards passed a short term in one of the great +conveyancing offices in London in order to become proficient in +conveyancing. His brother did the same in another office in Bedford Row; +but he afterwards practised for himself. Mr. A. E. Watts soon had a +considerable practice as family solicitor and conveyancer. Mr. Hake +identifies him with Cyril Aylwin, but before I quote Mr. Hake’s +interesting account of him, I will give the vivid description of Cyril in +‘Aylwin’:— + + “Juvenile curls clustered thick and short beneath his wideawake. He + had at first struck me as being not much more than a lad, till, as he + gave me that rapid, searching glance in passing, I perceived the + little crow’s feet round his eyes, and he then struck me immediately + as being probably on the verge of thirty-five. His figure was slim + and thin, his waist almost girlish in its fall. I should have + considered him small, had not the unusually deep, loud, manly, and + sonorous voice with which he had accosted Sinfi conveyed an + impression of size and weight such as even big men do not often + produce. This deep voice, coupled with that gaunt kind of cheek + which we associate with the most demure people, produced an effect of + sedateness . . . but in the one glance I had got from those watchful, + sagacious, twinkling eyes, there was an expression quite peculiar to + them, quite inscrutable, quite indescribable.” + +Cyril Aylwin was at first thought to be a portrait of Whistler, which is +not quite so outrageously absurd as the wild conjecture that William +Morris was the original of Wilderspin. Mr. Hake says:— + + “I am especially able to speak of this character, who has been + inquired about more than any other in the book. I knew him, I think, + even before I knew Rossetti and Morris, or any of that group. He was + a brother of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s—Mr. Alfred Eugene Watts. He lived at + Sydenham, and died suddenly, either in 1870 or 1871, very shortly + after I had met him at a wedding party. Among the set in which I + moved at that time he had a great reputation as a wit and humorist. + His style of humour always struck me as being more American than + English. While bringing out humorous things that would set a dinner + table in a roar, he would himself maintain a perfectly unmoved + countenance. And it was said of him, as ‘Wilderspin’ says of ‘Cyril + Aylwin,’ that he was never known to laugh.” {88} + +After a time Mr. Watts-Dunton joined his brother, and the two practised +together in London. They also lived together at Sydenham. Some time +after this, however, Mr. Watts-Dunton determined to abandon the law for +literature. The brothers migrated to Sydenham, because at that time Mr. +Watts-Dunton pursued music with an avidity and interest which threatened +for a time to interfere with those literary energies which it was now his +intention to exercise. At that time the orchestral concerts at the +Crystal Palace under Manns, given every morning and every afternoon, were +a great attraction to music lovers, and Mr. Watts-Dunton, who lived close +by, rarely missed either the morning or the afternoon concert. It was in +this way that he became steeped in German music; and afterwards, when he +became intimate with Dr. F. Hueffer, the musical critic of the ‘Times,’ +and the exponent of Wagner in Great Britain, he became a thorough +Wagnerian. + +It was during this time, and through the extraordinary social attractions +of his brother, that Mr. Watts-Dunton began to move very much in London +life, and saw a great deal of what is called London society. After his +brother’s death he took chambers in Great James Street, close to Mr. +Swinburne, with whom he had already become intimate. And according to +Mr. Hake, in his paper in ‘T. P.’s Weekly’ above quoted from, it was here +that he wrote ‘Aylwin.’ I have already alluded to his record of this +most interesting event:— + + “I have just read,” he says, “with the greatest interest the article + in your number of Sept. 18, 1903, called ‘How Authors Work Best.’ + But the following sentence in it set me reflecting: ‘Flaubert took + ten years to write and repolish “Madame Bovary,” Watts-Dunton twenty + years to write, recast, and conclude “Aylwin.”’ The statement about + ‘Aylwin’ has often been made, and in these days of hasty production + it may well be taken by the author as a compliment; but it is as + entirely apocryphal as that about Scott’s brother having written the + Waverley Novels, and as that about Bramwell Brontë having written + ‘Wuthering Heights.’ As to ‘Aylwin,’ I happen to be in a peculiarly + authoritative position to speak upon the genesis of this very popular + book. If any one were to peruse the original manuscript of the story + he would find it in four different handwritings—my late father’s, and + two of my brothers’, but principally in mine. + + Yet I can aver that it was not written by us, and also that its + composition did not take twenty years to achieve. It was dictated to + us.” + +Dr. Gordon Hake is mainly known as the ‘parable poet,’ but as a fact he +was a physician of extraordinary talent, who had practised first at Bury +St. Edmunds and afterwards at Spring Gardens, until he partly retired to +be private physician to the late Lady Ripon. After her death he left +practice altogether in order to devote himself to literature, for which +he had very great equipments. As ‘Aylwin’ touched upon certain subtle +nervous phases it must have been a great advantage to the author to +dictate these portions of the story to so skilled and experienced a +friend. The rare kind of cerebral exaltation into which Henry Aylwin +passed after his appalling experience in the Cove, in which the entire +nervous system was disturbed, was not what is known as brain fever. The +record of it in ‘Aylwin’ is, I understand, a literal account of a rare +and wonderful case brought under the professional notice of Dr. Hake. + +As physician to Rossetti, a few years after the death of his beloved +wife, Dr. Hake’s services must have been priceless to the poet-painter; +for, as is only too well known, Rossetti’s grief for the death of his +wife had for some time a devastating effect upon his mind. It was one of +the causes of that terrible insomnia to relieve himself from which he +resorted to chloral, though later on the attacks upon him by certain foes +intensified the distressing ailment. The insomnia produced fits of +melancholia, an ailment, according to the skilled opinion of Dr. Hake, +more difficult than all others to deal with; for when the nervous system +has sunk to a certain state of depression, the mind roams over the +universe, as it were, in quest of imaginary causes for the depression. +This accounts for the ‘cock and bull’ stories that were somewhat rife +immediately after Rossetti’s death about his having expressed remorse on +account of his ill-treatment of his wife. No one of his intimates took +the least notice of these wild and whirling words. For he would express +remorse on account of the most fantastic things when the fits of +melancholia were upon him; and when these fits were past he would smile +at the foolish things he had said. I get this knowledge from a very high +authority, Dr. Hake’s son—Mr. Thomas St. E. Hake, before mentioned—who +knew Rossetti intimately from 1871 until his death, having lived under +the same roof with him at Cheyne Walk, Bognor and Kelmscott. After +Rossetti’s most serious attack of melancholia, his relations and friends +persuaded him to stay with Dr. Hake at Roehampton, and it was there that +the terrible crisis of his illness was passed. + +It is interesting to know that in the original form of ‘Aylwin’ the +important part taken in the development of the story by D’Arcy was taken +by Dr. Hake, under the name of Gordon, and that afterwards, when all +sorts of ungenerous things were written about Rossetti, D’Arcy was +substituted for Gordon in order to give the author an opportunity of +bringing out and showing the world the absolute nobility and charm of +Rossetti’s character. + + [Picture: A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Painted and Carved + Cabinet] + +Among the many varieties of life which Mr. Watts-Dunton saw at this time +was life in the slums; and this was long before the once fashionable +pastime of ‘slumming’ was invented. The following lines in Dr. Hake’s +‘New Day’ allude to the deep interest that Mr. Watts-Dunton has always +shown in the poor—shown years before the writers who now deal with the +slums had written a line. Artistically, they are not fair specimens of +Dr. Gordon Hake’s verses, but nevertheless it is interesting to quote +them here:— + + Know you a widow’s home? an orphanage? + A place of shelter for the crippled poor? + Did ever limbless men your care engage + Whom you assisted of your larger store? + Know you the young who are to early die— + At their frail form sinks not your heart within? + Know you the old who paralytic lie + While you the freshness of your life begin? + Know you the great pain-bearers who long carry + The bullet in the breast that does not kill? + And those who in the house of madness tarry, + Beyond the blest relief of human skill? + These have you visited, all these assisted, + In the high ranks of charity enlisted. + +That Mr. Watts-Dunton has retained his interest in the poor is shown by +the sonnet, ‘Father Christmas in Famine Street,’ which was originally +printed as ‘an appeal’ on Christmas Eve in the ‘Athenæum’:— + + When Father Christmas went down Famine Street + He saw two little sisters: one was trying + To lift the other, pallid, wasted, dying, + Within an arch, beyond the slush and sleet. + + From out the glazing eyes a glimmer sweet + Leapt, as in answer to the other’s sighing, + While came a murmur, ‘Don’t ’ee keep on crying— + I wants to die: you’ll get my share to eat.’ + Her knell was tolled by joy-bells of the city + Hymning the birth of Jesus, Lord of Pity, + Lover of children, Shepherd of Compassion. + Said Father Christmas, while his eyes grew dim, + ‘They do His bidding—if in thrifty fashion: + They let the little children go to Him.’ + +With this sonnet should be placed that entitled, ‘Dickens Returns on +Christmas Day’:— + + A ragged girl in Drury Lane was heard to exclaim: ‘Dickens dead? + Then will Father Christmas die too?’—June 9, 1870. + + ‘Dickens is dead!’ Beneath that grievous cry + London seemed shivering in the summer heat; + Strangers took up the tale like friends that meet: + ‘Dickens is dead!’ said they, and hurried by; + Street children stopped their games—they knew not why, + But some new night seemed darkening down the street. + A girl in rags, staying her wayworn feet, + Cried, ‘Dickens dead? Will Father Christmas die?’ + + City he loved, take courage on thy way! + He loves thee still, in all thy joys and fears. + Though he whose smile made bright thine eyes of grey— + Though he whose voice, uttering thy burthened years, + Made laughters bubble through thy sea of tears— + Is gone, Dickens returns on Christmas Day! + +Let me say here, parenthetically, that ‘The Pines’ is so far out of date +that for twenty-five years it has been famous for its sympathy with the +Christmas sentiment which now seems to be fading, as this sonnet shows:— + + THE CHRISTMAS TREE AT ‘THE PINES.’ + + Life still hath one romance that naught can bury— + Not Time himself, who coffins Life’s romances— + For still will Christmas gild the year’s mischances, + If Childhood comes, as here, to make him merry— + To kiss with lips more ruddy than the cherry— + To smile with eyes outshining by their glances + The Christmas tree—to dance with fairy dances + And crown his hoary brow with leaf and berry. + + And as to us, dear friend, the carols sung + Are fresh as ever. Bright is yonder bough + Of mistletoe as that which shone and swung + When you and I and Friendship made a vow + That Childhood’s Christmas still should seal each brow— + Friendship’s, and yours, and mine—and keep us young. + +I may also quote from ‘Prophetic Pictures at Venice’ this romantic +description of the Rosicrucian Christmas:— + + (The morning light falls on the Rosicrucian panel-picture called ‘The + Rosy Scar,’ depicting Christian galley-slaves on board an Algerine + galley, watching, on Christmas Eve, for the promised appearance of + Rosenkreutz, as a ‘rosy phantom.’ The Lover reads aloud the + descriptive verses on the frame.) + + While Night’s dark horses waited for the wind, + He stood—he shone—where Sunset’s fiery glaives + Flickered behind the clouds; then, o’er the waves, + He came to them, Faith’s remnant sorrow-thinned. + The Paynim sailors clustering, tawny-skinned, + Cried, ‘Who is he that comes to Christian slaves? + Nor water-sprite nor jinni of sunset caves, + The rosy phantom stands nor winged nor finned.’ + + All night he stood till shone the Christmas star; + Slowly the Rosy Cross, streak after streak, + Flushed the grey sky—flushed sea and sail and spar, + Flushed, blessing every slave’s woe-wasted cheek. + Then did great Rosenkreutz, the Dew-King speak: + ‘Sufferers, take heart! Christ lends the Rosy Scar.’ + + + + +Chapter IX +GEORGE BORROW + + +IT was not until 1872 that Mr. Watts-Dunton was introduced to Borrow by +Dr. Gordon Hake, Borrow’s most intimate friend. + +The way in which this meeting came about has been familiar to the readers +of an autobiographical romance (not even yet published!) wherein Borrow +appears under the name of Dereham, and Hake under the name of Gordon. +But as some of these passages in a modified form have appeared in print +in an introduction by Mr. Watts-Dunton to the edition of Borrow’s +‘Lavengro,’ published by Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co., in 1893, there will be +nothing incongruous in my quoting them here:— + + “Great as was the difference in age between Gordon and me, there soon + grew up an intimacy between us. It has been my experience to learn + that an enormous deal of nonsense has been written about difference + of age between friends of either sex. At that time I do not think I + had one intimate friend of my own age except Rosamond, while I was on + terms of something like intimacy with two or three distinguished men, + each one of whom was certainly old enough to be my father. Basevi + was one of these: so was Lineham. I daresay it was owing to some + idiosyncrasy of mine, but the intimacy between me and the young + fellows with whom I was brought into contact was mainly confined to + matters connected with field-sports. I found it far easier to be + brought into relations of close intimacy with women of my own age + than with men. But as Basevi told me that it was the same with + himself, I suppose that this was not an eccentricity after all. When + Gordon and I were together it never occurred to me that there was any + difference in our ages at all, and he told me that it was the same + with himself. + + One day when I was sitting with him in his delightful house near + Roehampton, whose windows at the back looked over Richmond Park, and + in front over the wildest part of Wimbledon Common, one of his sons + came in and said that he had seen Dereham striding across the common, + evidently bound for the house. + + ‘Dereham!’ I said. ‘Is there a man in the world I should so like to + see as Dereham?’ + + And then I told Gordon how I had seen him years before swimming in + the sea off Yarmouth, but had never spoken to him. + + ‘Why do you want so much to see him?’ asked Gordon. + + ‘Well, among other things I want to see if he is a true Child of the + Open Air.’ + + Gordon laughed, perfectly understanding what I meant. But it is + necessary here to explain what that meaning was. + + We both agreed that, with all the recent cultivation of the + picturesque by means of watercolour landscape, descriptive novels, + ‘Cook’s excursions,’ etc., the real passion for Nature is as rare as + ever it was—perhaps rarer. It was, we believed, quite an affair of + individual temperament: it cannot be learned; it cannot be lost. + That no writer has ever tried to explain it shows how little it is + known. Often it has but little to do with poetry, little with + science. The poet, indeed, rarely has it at its very highest; the + man of science as rarely. I wish I could define it. In human + souls—in one, perhaps, as much as in another—there is always that + instinct for contact which is a great factor of progress; there is + always an irresistible yearning to escape from isolation, to get as + close as may be to some other conscious thing. In most individuals + this yearning is simply for contact with other human souls; in some + few it is not. There are some in every country of whom it is the + blessing, not the bane that, owing to some exceptional power, or to + some exceptional infirmity, they can get closer to ‘Natura Benigna’ + herself, closer to her whom we now call ‘Inanimate Nature,’ than to + brother, sister, wife, or friend. Darwin among English savants, and + Emily Brontë among English poets, and Sinfi Lovell among English + gypsies, showed a good deal of the characteristics of the ‘Children + of the Open Air.’ But in regard to Darwin, besides the strength of + his family ties, the pedantic inquisitiveness, the methodizing + pedantry of the man of science; in Emily Brontë, the sensitivity to + human contact; and in Sinn Lovell, subjection to the love + passion—disturbed, and indeed partially stifled, the native instinct + with which they were undoubtedly endowed. I was perfectly conscious + that I belonged to the third case of Nature-worshippers—that is, I + was one of those who, howsoever strongly drawn to Nature and to a + free and unconventional life, felt the strength of the love passion + to such a degree that it prevented my claiming to be a genuine Child + of the Open Air. + + Between the true ‘Children of the Open Air’ and their fellows there + are barriers of idiosyncrasy, barriers of convention, or other + barriers quite indefinable, which they find most difficult to + overpass, and, even when they succeed in overpassing them, the + attempt is not found to be worth the making. For, what this kind of + Nature-worshipper finds in intercourse with his fellow-men is, not + the unegoistic frankness of Nature, his first love, inviting him to + touch her close, soul to soul—but another ego enisled like his + own—sensitive, shrinking, like his own—a soul which, love him as it + may, is, nevertheless, and for all its love, the central ego of the + universe to itself, the very Alcyone round whom all other + Nature-worshippers revolve like the rest of the human constellations. + But between these and Nature there is no such barrier, and upon + Nature they lavish their love, ‘a most equal love’ that varies no + more with her change of mood than does the love of a man for a + beautiful woman, whether she smiles, or weeps, or frowns. To them a + Highland glen is most beautiful; so is a green meadow; so is a + mountain gorge or a barren peak; so is a South American savannah. A + balmy summer is beautiful, but not more beautiful than a winter’s + sleet beating about the face, and stinging every nerve into delicious + life. + + To the ‘Child of the Open Air’ life has but few ills; poverty cannot + touch him. Let the Stock Exchange rob him of his bonds, and he will + go and tend sheep in Sacramento Valley, perfectly content to see a + dozen faces in a year; so far from being lonely, he has got the sky, + the wind, the brown grass, and the sheep. And as life goes on, love + of Nature grows, both as a cultus and a passion, and in time Nature + seems ‘to know him and love him’ in her turn. + + Dereham entered, and, suddenly coming upon me, there was no + retreating, and we were introduced. + + He tried to be as civil as possible, but evidently he was much + annoyed. Yet there was something in the very tone of his voice that + drew my heart to him, for to me he was the hero of my boyhood still. + My own shyness was being rapidly fingered off by the rough handling + of the world, but his retained all the bloom of youth, and a terrible + barrier it was; yet I attacked it manfully. I knew from his books + that Dereham had read but little except in his own out-of-the-way + directions; but then, unfortunately, like all specialists, he + considered that in these his own special directions lay all the + knowledge that was of any value. Accordingly, what appeared to + Dereham as the most striking characteristic of the present age was + its ignorance. Unfortunately, too, I knew that for strangers to talk + of his own published books, or of gypsies, appeared to him to be + ‘prying,’ though there I should have been quite at home. I knew, + however, from his books that in the obscure English pamphlet + literature of the last century, recording the sayings and doings of + eccentric people and strange adventures, Dereham was very learned, + and I too chanced to be far from ignorant in that direction. I + touched on Bamfylde Moore Carew, but without effect. Dereham + evidently considered that every properly educated man was familiar + with the story of Bamfylde Moore Carew in its every detail. Then I + touched upon beer, the British bruiser, ‘gentility nonsense,’ and + other ‘nonsense’; then upon etymology—traced hoity-toityism to + ‘toit,’ a roof—but only to have my shallow philology dismissed with a + withering smile. I tried other subjects in the same direction, but + with small success, till in a lucky moment I bethought myself of + Ambrose Gwinett. There is a very scarce eighteenth century pamphlet + narrating the story of Ambrose Gwinett, the man who, after having + been hanged and gibbeted for murdering a traveller with whom he had + shared a double-bedded room at a seaside inn, revived in the night, + escaped from the gibbet-irons, went to sea as a common sailor, and + afterwards met on a British man-of-war the very man he had been + hanged for murdering. The truth was that Gwinett’s supposed victim, + having been seized on the night in question with a violent bleeding + at the nose, had risen and left the house for a few minutes’ walk in + the sea-breeze, when the press-gang captured him and bore him off to + sea, where he had been in service ever since. I introduced the + subject of Ambrose Gwinett, and Douglas Jerrold’s play upon it, and + at once the ice between us thawed and we became friends. + + We all went out of the house and looked over the common. It chanced + that at that very moment there were a few gypsies encamped on the + sunken road opposite to Gordon’s house. These same gypsies, by the + by, form the subject of a charming sketch by Herkomer which appeared + in the ‘Graphic.’ Borrow took the trouble to assure us that they + were not of the better class of gypsies, the gryengroes, but + basket-makers. After passing this group we went on the common. We + did not at first talk much, but it delighted me to see the mighty + figure, strengthened by the years rather than stricken by them, + striding along between the whin bushes or through the quags, now + stooping over the water to pluck the wild mint he loved, whose + lilac-coloured blossoms perfumed the air as he crushed them, now + stopping to watch the water wagtails by the ponds. + + After the stroll we turned back and went, at Dereham’s suggestion, + for a ramble through Richmond Park, calling on the way at the + ‘Bald-Faced Stag’ in Kingston Vale, in order that Dereham should + introduce me to Jerry Abershaw’s sword, which was one of the special + glories of that once famous hostelry. A divine summer day it was I + remember—a day whose heat would have been oppressive had it not been + tempered every now and then by a playful silvery shower falling from + an occasional wandering cloud, whose slate-coloured body thinned at + the edges to a fringe of lace brighter than any silver. + + These showers, however, seemed, as Dereham remarked, merely to give a + rich colour to the sunshine, and to make the wild flowers in the + meadows on the left breathe more freely. In a word, it was one of + those uncertain summer days whose peculiarly English charm was + Dereham’s special delight. He liked rain, but he liked it falling on + the green umbrella (enormous, shaggy, like a gypsy-tent after a + summer storm) he generally carried. As we entered the Robin Hood + Gate we were confronted by a sudden weird yellow radiance, magical + and mysterious, which showed clearly enough that in the sky behind us + there was gleaming over the fields and over Wimbledon Common a + rainbow of exceptional brilliance, while the raindrops sparkling on + the ferns seemed answering every hue in the magic arch far away. + Dereham told us some interesting stories of Romany superstition in + connection with the rainbow—how, by making a ‘trus’hul’ (cross) of + two sticks, the Romany chi who ‘pens the dukkerin can wipe the + rainbow out of the sky,’ etc. Whereupon Gordon, quite as original a + man as Dereham, and a humourist of a rarer temper, launched out into + a strain of wit and whim, which it is not my business here to record, + upon the subject of the ‘Spirit of the Rainbow’ which I, as a child, + went out to find. + + Dereham loved Richmond Park, and he seemed to know every tree. I + found also that he was extremely learned in deer, and seemed familiar + with every dappled coat which, washed and burnished by the showers, + seemed to shine in the sun like metal. Of course, I observed him + closely, and I began to wonder whether I had encountered, in the + silvery-haired giant striding by my side, with a vast umbrella under + his arm, a true ‘Child of the Open Air.’ + + ‘Did a true Child of the Open Air ever carry a gigantic green + umbrella that would have satisfied Sarah Gamp herself?’ I murmured to + Gordon, while Dereham lingered under a tree and, looking round the + Park, said in a dreamy way, ‘Old England! Old England!’ + + It was the umbrella, green, manifold and bulging, under Dereham’s + arm, that made me ask Gordon, as Dereham walked along beneath the + trees, ‘Is he a genuine Child of the Open Air?’ And then, calling to + mind the books he had written, I said: ‘He went into the Dingle, and + lived alone—went there, not as an experiment in self-education, as + Thoreau went and lived by Walden Pond. He could enjoy living alone, + for the ‘horrors’ to which he was occasionally subject did not spring + from solitary living. He was never disturbed by passion as was the + Nature-worshipper who once played such selfish tricks with Sinfi + Lovell, and as Emily Brontë would certainly have been had she been + placed in such circumstances as Charlotte Brontë placed Shirley.’ + + ‘But the most damning thing of all,’ said Gordon, ‘is that umbrella, + gigantic and green: a painful thought that has often occurred to me.’ + + ‘Passion has certainly never disturbed his nature-worship,’ said I. + ‘So devoid of passion is he that to depict a tragic situation is + quite beyond his powers. Picturesque he always is, powerful never. + No one reading an account of the privations of the hero of this story + finds himself able to realize from Dereham’s description the misery + of a young man tenderly reared, and with all the pride of an East + Anglian gentleman, living on bread and water in a garret, with + starvation staring him in the face. It is not passion,’ I said to + Gordon, ‘that prevents Dereham from enjoying the peace of the + Nature-worshipper. It is Ambition! His books show that he could + never cleanse his stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff of ambition. + To become renowned, judging from many a peroration in his books, was + as great an incentive to Dereham to learn languages as to Alexander + Smith’s poet-hero it was an incentive to write poetry.’ + + ‘Ambition and the green gamp,’ said Gordon. ‘But look, the rainbow + is fading from the sky without the intervention of gypsy sorceries; + and see how the ferns are changing colour with the change in the + light.’ + + But I soon found that if Dereham was not a perfect Child of the Open + Air, he was something better: a man of that deep sympathy with human + kind which the ‘Child of the Open Air’ must needs lack. + + Knowing Dereham’s extraordinary shyness and his great dislike of + meeting strangers, Gordon, while Dereham was trying to get as close + to the deer as they would allow, expressed to me his surprise at the + terms of cordial friendship that sprang up between us during that + walk. But I was not surprised: there were several reasons why + Dereham should at once take to me—reasons that had nothing whatever + to do with any inherent attractiveness of my own. + + By recalling what occurred I can throw a more brilliant light upon + Dereham’s character than by any kind of analytical disquisition. + + Two herons rose from the Ponds and flew away to where they probably + had their nests. By the expression on Dereham’s face as he stood and + gazed at them, I knew that, like myself, he had a passion for herons. + + ‘Were there many herons around Whittlesea Mere before it was + drained?’ I said. + + ‘I should think so,’ said he dreamily, ‘and every kind of water + bird.’ + + Then, suddenly turning round upon me with a start, he said, ‘But how + do you know that I knew Whittlesea Mere?’ + + ‘You say in one of your books that you played among the reeds of + Whittlesea Mere when you were a child.’ + + ‘I don’t mention Whittlesea Mere in any of my books,’ he said. + + ‘No,’ said I, ‘but you speak of a lake near the old State prison at + Norman Cross, and that was Whittlesea Mere.’ + + ‘Then you know Whittlesea Mere?’ said Dereham, much interested. + + ‘I know the place that was Whittlesea Mere before it was drained,’ I + said, ‘and I know the vipers around Norman Cross, and I think I know + the lane where you first met that gypsy you have immortalized. He + was a generation before my time. Indeed, I never was thrown much + across the Petulengroes in the Eastern Counties, but I knew some of + the Hernes and the Lees and the Lovells.’ + + I then told him what I knew about Romanies and vipers, and also gave + him Marcianus’s story about the Moors being invulnerable to the + viper’s bite, and about their putting the true breed of a suspected + child to the test by setting it to grasp a viper—as he, Dereham, when + a child, grasped one of the vipers of Norman Cross. + + ‘The gypsies,’ said Dereham, ‘always believed me to be a Romany. But + surely you are not a Romany Rye?’ + + ‘No,’ I said, ‘but I am a student of folk-lore; and besides, as it + has been my fortune to see every kind of life in England, high and + low, I could not entirely neglect the Romanies, could I?’ + + ‘I should think not,’ said Dereham indignantly. + + ‘But I hope you don’t know the literary class among the rest.’ + + ‘Gordon is my only link to that dark world,’ I said, ‘and even you + don’t object to Gordon. I am purer than he, purer than you, from the + taint of printers’ ink.’ + + He laughed. ‘Who are you?’ + + ‘The very question I have been asking myself ever since I was a child + in short frocks,’ I said, ‘and have never yet found an answer. But + Gordon agrees with me that no well-bred soul should embarrass itself + with any such troublesome query.’ + + This gave a chance to Gordon, who in such local reminiscences as + these had been able to take no part. The humorous mystery of Man’s + personality had often been a subject of joke between him and me in + many a ramble in the Park and elsewhere. At once he threw himself + into a strain of whimsical philosophy which partly amused and partly + vexed Dereham, who stood waiting to return to the subject of the + gypsies and East Anglia. + + ‘You are an Englishman?’ said Dereham. + + ‘Not only an Englishman, but an East Englishman,’ I said, using a + phrase of his own in one of his books—‘if not a thorough East + Anglian, an East Midlander; who, you will admit, is nearly as good.’ + + ‘Nearly,’ said Dereham. + + And when I went on to tell him that I once used to drive a genuine + ‘Shales mare,’ a descendant of that same famous Norfolk trotter who + could trot fabulous miles an hour, to whom he with the Norfolk + farmers raised his hat in reverence at the Norwich horse fair; and + when I promised to show him a portrait of this same East Anglian mare + with myself behind her in a dogcart—an East Anglian dogcart; when I + praised the stinging saltness of the sea water off Yarmouth, + Lowestoft, and Cromer, the quality which makes it the best, the most + buoyant, the most delightful of all sea-water to swim in; when I told + him that the only English river in which you could see reflected the + rainbow he loved was ‘the glassy Ouse’ of East Anglia, and the only + place in England where you could see it reflected in the wet sand was + the Norfolk coast; and when I told him a good many things showing + that I was in very truth, not only an Englishman, but an East + Englishman, my conquest of Dereham was complete, and from that moment + we became friends. + + Gordon meanwhile stood listening to the rooks in the distance. He + turned and asked Dereham whether he had never noticed a similarity + between the kind of muffled rattling roar made by the sea waves upon + a distant pebbly beach and the sound of a large rookery in the + distance. + + ‘It is on sand alone,’ said Dereham, ‘that the sea strikes its true + music—Norfolk sand; a rattle is not music.’ + + ‘The best of the sea’s lutes,’ I said, ‘is made by the sands of + Cromer.’” + +These famous walks with Borrow (or Dereham, as he is called in the above +quotation) in Richmond Park and the neighbourhood, have been thus +described by the ‘Gordon’ of the story in one of the sonnets in ‘The New +Day’:— + + And he the walking lord of gipsy lore! + How often ’mid the deer that grazed the park, + Or in the fields and heath and windy moor, + Made musical with many a soaring lark, + Have we not held brisk commune with him there, + While Lavengro, there towering by your side, + With rose complexion and bright silvery hair, + Would stop amid his swift and lounging stride + To tell the legends of the fading race— + As at the summons of his piercing glance, + Its story peopling his brown eyes and face, + While you called up that pendant of romance + To Petulengro with his boxing glory, + Your Amazonian Sinfi’s noble story! + +In the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ and in Chambers’ ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature,’ and scattered through scores of articles in the ‘Athenæum,’ +I find descriptions of Borrow and allusions to him without number. They +afford absolutely the only portrait of that wonderful man that exists or +is ever likely to exist. But, of course, it is quite impossible for me +to fill my pages with Borrow when there are so many more important +figures waiting to be introduced. Still, I must find room for the most +brilliant little Borrow scene of all, for it will flush these pages with +a colour which I feel they need. Mr. Watts-Dunton has been described as +the most picturesque of all living writers, whether in verse or in prose, +and it is not for me to gainsay that judgment; but never, I think, is he +so picturesque as when he is writing about Borrow. + +I am not quite clear as to where the following picture of gypsy life is +to be localized; but the scenery seems to be that of the part of England +where East Anglia and the Midlands join. It adds interest to the +incident to know that the beautiful gypsy girl was the prototype of Rhona +Boswell, and that Dereham is George Borrow. This also is a chapter from +the unpublished story before mentioned, which was afterwards modified to +be used in an introductory essay to another of Borrow’s books:— + + “It was in the late summer, just before the trees were clothed with + what Dereham called ‘gypsy gold,’ and the bright green of the foliage + showed scarcely a touch of bronze—at that very moment, indeed, when + the spirits of all the wild flowers that have left the commons and + the hedgerows seem to come back for an hour and mingle their + half-forgotten perfumes with the new breath of calamint, ground ivy, + and pimpernel. Dereham gave me as hearty a greeting as so shy a man + could give. He told me that he was bound for a certain camp of + gryengroes, old friends of his in his wandering days. In + conversation I reminded him of our previous talk, and I told him I + chanced at that very moment to have in my pocket a copy of the volume + of Matthew Arnold in which appears ‘The Scholar-Gypsy.’ Dereham said + he well remembered my directing his attention to ‘The Scholar-Gypsy.’ + After listening attentively to it, Dereham declared that there was + scarcely any latter-day poetry worth reading, and also that, whatever + the merits of Matthew Arnold’s poem might be, from any supposed + artistic point of view, it showed that Arnold had no conception of + the Romany temper, and that no gypsy could sympathise with it, or + even understand its motive in the least degree. I challenged this, + contending that howsoever Arnold’s classic language might soar above + a gypsy’s intelligence, the motive was so clearly developed that the + most illiterate person could grasp it. + + ‘I wish,’ said Dereham, ‘you would come with me to the camp and try + the poem upon the first intelligent gypsy woman we meet at the camp. + As to gypsy men,’ said he, ‘they are too prosaic to furnish a fair + test.’ + + We agreed, and as we were walking across the country Dereham became + very communicative, and talked very volubly upon gentility-nonsense, + and many other pet subjects of his. I already knew that he was no + lover of the aristocracy of England, or, as he called them, the + ‘trumpery great,’ although in other regards he was such a John Bull. + By this time we had proceeded a good way on our little expedition. + As we were walking along, Dereham’s eyes, which were as longsighted + as a gypsy’s, perceived a white speck in a twisted old hawthorn-bush + some distance off. He stopped and said: ‘At first I thought that + white speck in the bush was a piece of paper, but it’s a + magpie,’—next to the water-wagtail, the gypsies’ most famous bird. + On going up to the bush we discovered a magpie couched among the + leaves. As it did not stir at our approach, I said to him: ‘It is + wounded—or else dying—or is it a tamed bird escaped from a cage?’ + ‘Hawk!’ said Dereham laconically, and turned up his face and gazed + into the sky. ‘The magpie is waiting till the hawk has caught his + quarry and made his meal. I fancied he has himself been ‘chivvied’ + by the hawk, as the gypsies would say.’ + + And there, sure enough, beneath one of the silver clouds that + speckled the dazzling blue, a hawk—one of the kind which takes its + prey in the open rather than in the thick woodlands—was wheeling up + and up, trying its best to get above a poor little lark in order to + swoop at and devour it. That the magpie had seen the hawk and had + been a witness of the opening of the tragedy of the lark was evident, + for in its dread of the common foe of all well-intentioned and honest + birds, it had forgotten its fear of all creatures except the hawk. + Man, in such a crisis as this, it looked upon as a protecting friend. + + As we were gazing at the bird a woman’s voice at our elbows said,— + + ‘It’s lucky to chivvy the hawk what chivvies a magpie. I shall stop + here till the hawk’s flew away.’ + + We turned round, and there stood a fine young gypsy woman, carrying, + gypsy fashion, a weakly child that in spite of its sallow and wasted + cheek proclaimed itself to be hers. By her side stood a young gypsy + girl. She was beautiful—quite remarkably so—but her beauty was not + of the typical Romany kind. It was, as I afterwards learned, more + like the beauty of a Capri girl. + + She was bareheaded—there was not even a gypsy handkerchief on her + head—her hair was not plaited, and was not smooth and glossy like a + gypsy girl’s hair, but flowed thick and heavy and rippling down the + back of her neck and upon her shoulders. In the tumbled tresses + glittered certain objects, which at first sight seemed to be jewels. + They were small dead dragonflies, of the crimson kind called + ‘sylphs.’ + + To Dereham these gypsies were evidently well known. The woman with + the child was one of the Boswells; I dare not say what was her + connection, if any, with ‘Boswell the Great’—I mean Sylvester + Boswell, the grammarian and ‘well-known and popalated gypsy of + Codling Gap,’ who, on a memorable occasion, wrote so eloquently about + the superiority of the gypsy mode of life to all others, ‘on the + accont of health, sweetness of air, and for enjoying the pleasure of + Nature’s life.’ + + Dereham told me in a whisper that her name was Perpinia, and that the + other gypsy, the girl of the dragon-flies, was the famous beauty of + the neighbourhood—Rhona Boswell, of whom many stories had reached him + with regard to Percy Aylwin, a relative of Rosamond’s father. + + After greeting the two, Dereham looked at the weakling child with the + deepest interest, and said to the mother: ‘This chavo ought not to + look like that—with such a mother as you, Perpinia.’ ‘And with such + a daddy, too,’ said she. ‘Mike’s stronger for a man nor even I am + for a woman’—a glow of wifely pride passing over her face; ‘and as to + good looks, it’s him as has got the good looks, not me. But none on + us can’t make it out about the chavo. He’s so weak and sick he don’t + look as if he belonged to Boswell’s breed at all.’ + + ‘How many pipes of tobacco do you smoke in a day?’ said I, looking at + the great black cutty pipe protruding from Perpinia’s finely cut + lips, and seeming strangely out of place there. + + ‘Can’t say,’ said she, laughing. + + ‘About as many as she can afford to buy,’ interrupted ‘the beauty of + the Ouse,’ as Rhona Boswell was called. ‘That’s all. Mike don’t + like her a-smokin’. He says it makes her look like a old Londra + Irish woman in Common Garding Market.’ + + ‘You must not smoke another pipe,’ said I to the mother—‘not another + pipe till the child leaves the breast.’ + + ‘What?’ said Perpinia defiantly. ‘As if I could live without my + pipe!’ + + ‘Fancy Pep a-living without her baccy!’ laughed Rhona. + + ‘Your child can’t live with it,’ said I to Perpinia. ‘That pipe of + yours is full of a poison called nicotine.’ + + ‘Nick what?’ said Rhona, laughing. ‘That’s a new kind of nick. Why, + you smoke yourself!’ + + ‘Nicotine,’ said I. ‘And the first part of Pep’s body that the + poison gets into is her breast, and—’ + + ‘Gets into my burk,’ {112} said Perpinia. ‘Get along wi’ ye.’ + + ‘Yes.’ + + ‘Do it pison Pep’s milk?’ said Rhona. + + ‘Yes.’ + + ‘That ain’t true,’ said Perpinia—‘can’t be true.’ + + ‘It is true,’ said I. ‘If you don’t give up that pipe for a time, + the child will die, or else be a ricketty thing all his life. If you + do give it up, it will grow up to be as fine a gypsy as ever your + husband can be.’ + + ‘Chavo agin pipe, Pep!’ said Rhona. + + ‘Lend me your pipe, Perpinia,’ said Dereham, in that + hail-fellow-well-met tone of his, which he reserved for the + Romanies—a tone which no Romany could ever resist. And he took it + gently from the woman’s lips. ‘Don’t smoke any more till I come to + the camp and see the chavo again.’ + + ‘He be’s a good friend to the Romanies,’ said Rhona, in an appeasing + tone. + + ‘That’s true,’ said the woman; ‘but he’s no business to take my pipe + out o’ my mouth for all that.’ + + She soon began to smile again, however, and let Dereham retain the + pipe. Dereham and I then moved away towards the dusty high-road + leading to the camp, and were joined by Rhona. Perpinia remained, + keeping guard over the magpie that was to bring luck to the sinking + child. + + It was determined now that Rhona was the very person to be used as + the test-critic of the Romany mind upon Arnold’s poem, for she was + exceptionally intelligent. So instead of going to the camp, the + oddly assorted little party of three struck across the ferns, gorse, + and heather towards ‘Kingfisher brook,’ and when we reached it we sat + down on a fallen tree. + + Nothing, as afterwards I came to know, delights a gypsy girl so much, + in whatever country she may be born, as to listen to a story either + told or read to her, and when I pulled my book from my pocket the + gypsy girl began to clap her hands. Her anticipation of enjoyment + sent over her face a warm glow. + + Her complexion, though darker than an English girl’s, was rather + lighter than an ordinary gypsy’s. Her eyes were of an indescribable + hue; but an artist who has since then painted her portrait for me, + described it as a mingling of pansy purple and dark tawny. The + pupils were so large that, being set in the somewhat almond-shaped + and long-eyelashed lids of her race, they were partly curtained both + above and below, and this had the peculiar effect of making the eyes + seem always a little contracted and just about to smile. The great + size and deep richness of the eyes made the straight little nose seem + smaller than it really was; they also lessened the apparent size of + the mouth, which, red as a rosebud, looked quite small until she + laughed, when the white teeth made quite a wide glitter. + + Before three lines of the poem had been read she jumped up and cried, + ‘Look at the Devil’s needles! They’re come to sew my eyes up for + killing their brothers.’ + + And surely enough a gigantic dragon-fly, whose body-armour of sky + blue and jet black, and great lace-woven wings, shining like a + rainbow gauze, caught the sun as he swept dazzling by, did really + seem to be attracted either by the wings of his dead brothers or by + the lights shed from the girl’s eyes. + + ‘I dussn’t set here,’ said she. ‘Us Romanies call this ‘Dragon-fly + Brook.’ And that’s the king o’ the dragon-flies: he lives here.’ + + As she rose she seemed to be surrounded by dragon-flies of about a + dozen different species of all sizes, some crimson, some bronze, some + green and gold, whirling and dancing round her as if they meant to + justify their Romany name and sew up the girl’s eyes. + + ‘The Romanies call them the Devil’s needles,’ said Dereham; ‘their + business is to sew up pretty girls’ eyes.’ + + In a second, however, they all vanished, and the girl after a while + sat down again to listen to the ‘lil,’ as she called the story. + + [Picture: A Letter Box on the Broads. (From an Oil Painting at ‘The + Pines.’)] + + Glanville’s prose story, upon which Arnold’s poem is based, was read + first. In this Rhona was much interested. But when I went on to + read to her Arnold’s poem, though her eyes flashed now and then at + the lovely bits of description—for the country about Oxford is quite + remarkably like the country in which she was born—she looked sadly + bewildered, and then asked to have it all read again. After a second + reading she said in a meditative way: ‘Can’t make out what the lil’s + all about—seems all about nothink! Seems to me that the pretty + sights what makes a Romany fit to jump out o’ her skin for joy makes + this ’ere gorgio want to cry. What a rum lot gorgios is surely!’ + + And then she sprang up and ran off towards the camp with the agility + of a greyhound, turning round every few moments, pirouetting and + laughing aloud. + + ‘Let’s go to the camp!’ said Dereham. ‘That was all true about the + nicotine—was it not?’ + + ‘Partly, I think,’ said I, ‘but not being a medical man I must not be + too emphatic. If it is true it ought to be a criminal offence for + any woman to smoke in excess while she is suckling a child.’ + + ‘Say it ought to be a criminal offence for a woman to smoke at all,’ + growled Dereham. ‘Fancy kissing a woman’s mouth that smelt of stale + tobacco—pheugh!’” + +After giving these two delightful descriptions of Borrow and his +environment, I will now quote Mr. Watts-Dunton’s description of their +last meeting:— + + ‘The last time I ever saw Borrow was shortly before he left London to + live in the country. It was, I remember well, on Waterloo Bridge, + where I had stopped to gaze at a sunset of singular and striking + splendour, whose gorgeous clouds and ruddy mists were reeling and + boiling over the West End. Borrow came up and stood leaning over the + parapet, entranced by the sight, as well he might be. Like most + people born in flat districts, he had a passion for sunsets. Turner + could not have painted that one, I think, and certainly my pen could + not describe it; for the London smoke was flushed by the sinking sun + and had lost its dunness, and, reddening every moment as it rose + above the roofs, steeples, and towers, it went curling round the + sinking sun in a rosy vapour, leaving, however, just a segment of a + golden rim, which gleamed as dazzlingly as in the thinnest and + clearest air—a peculiar effect which struck Borrow deeply. I never + saw such a sunset before or since, not even on Waterloo Bridge; and + from its association with ‘the last of Borrow’ I shall never forget + it.’ + + A TALK ON WATERLOO BRIDGE + THE LAST SIGHT OF GEORGE BORROW + + We talked of ‘Children of the Open Air,’ + Who once on hill and valley lived aloof, + Loving the sun, the wind, the sweet reproof + Of storms, and all that makes the fair earth fair, + Till, on a day, across the mystic bar + Of moonrise, came the ‘Children of the Roof,’ + Who find no balm ’neath evening’s rosiest woof, + Nor dews of peace beneath the Morning Star. + + We looked o’er London where men wither and choke, + Roofed in, poor souls, renouncing stars and skies, + And lore of woods and wild wind-prophecies— + Yea, every voice that to their fathers spoke: + And sweet it seemed to die ere bricks and smoke + Leave never a meadow outside Paradise. + +While the noble music of this double valediction in poetry and prose is +sounding in our ears, my readers and I, ‘with wandering steps and slow,’ +may also fitly take our reluctant leave of George Borrow. + + + + +Chapter X +THE ACTED DRAMA + + +IT was during the famous evenings in Dr. Marston’s house at Chalk Farm +that Mr. Watts-Dunton was for the first time brought into contact with +the theatrical world. I do not know that he was ever closely connected +with that world, but in the set in which he specially moved at this time +he seems to have been almost the only one who was a regular playgoer and +first-nighter, for Rossetti’s playgoing days were nearly over, and Mr. +Swinburne never was a playgoer. Mr. Watts-Dunton still takes, as may be +seen in his sonnet to Ellen Terry, which I shall quote, a deep interest +in the acted drama and in the acting profession, although of late years +he has not been much seen at the theatres. When, after a while, he and +Minto were at work on the ‘Examiner’ Mr. Watts-Dunton occasionally, +although I think rarely, wrote a theatrical critique for that paper. The +only one I have had an opportunity of reading is upon Miss Neilson—not +the Miss Julia Neilson who is so much admired in our day; but the +powerful, dark-eyed creole-looking beauty, Lilian Adelaide Neilson, who, +after being a mill-hand and a barmaid, became a famous tragedian, and +made a great impression in Juliet, and in impassioned poetical parts of +that kind. The play in which she appeared on that occasion was a play by +Tom Taylor, called ‘Anne Boleyn,’ in which Miss Neilson took the part of +the heroine. It was given at the Haymarket in February 1876. I do not +remember reading any criticism in which so much admirable writing—acute, +brilliant, and learned—was thrown away upon so mediocre a play. Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s remarks upon Miss Neilson’s acting were, however, not +thrown away, for the subject seems to have been fully worthy of them; and +I, who love the acted drama myself, regret that the actress’s early death +in 1880, robbed me of the pleasure of seeing her. She was one of the +actresses whom Mr. Watts-Dunton used to meet on Sunday evenings at +Marston’s, and I have heard him say that her genius was as apparent in +her conversation as in her acting. Miss Corkran has recently sketched +one of these meetings, and has given us a graphic picture of Mr. +Watts-Dunton there, contrasting his personal appearance with that of Mr. +Swinburne. They must indeed have been delightful gatherings to a lover +of the theatre, for there Miss Neilson, Miss Glyn, Miss Ada Cavendish, +and others were to be met—met in the company of Irving, Sothern, Hermann +Vezin, and many another famous actor. + +That Mr. Watts-Dunton had a peculiar insight into histrionic art was +shown by what occurred on his very first appearance at the Marston +evenings, whither he was taken by his friend, Dr. Gordon Hake, who used +to tell the following story with great humour; and Rossetti also used to +repeat it with still greater gusto. I am here again indebted to his son, +Mr. Hake—who was also a friend of Dr. Marston, Ada Cavendish, and +others—for interesting reminiscences of these Marston evenings which have +never been published. Mr. Watts-Dunton at that time was, of course, +quite unknown, except in a very small circle of literary men and artists. +Three or four dramatic critics, several poets, and two actresses, one of +whom was Ada Cavendish, were talking about Irving in ‘The Bells,’ which +was a dramatization by a writer named Leopold Lewis of the ‘Juif +Polonais’ of Erckmann-Chatrian. They were all enthusiastically extolling +Irving’s acting; and this is not surprising, as all will say who have +seen him in the part. But while some were praising the play, others were +running it down. “What I say,” said one of the admirers, “is that the +motif of ‘The Bells,’ the use of the idea of a sort of embodied +conscience to tell the audience the story and bring about the +catastrophe, is the newest that has appeared in drama or fiction—it is +entirely original.” + +“Not entirely, I think,” said a voice which, until that evening, was new +in the circle. They turned round to listen to what the dark-eyed young +stranger, tanned by the sun to a kind of gypsy colour, who looked like +William Black, quietly smoking his cigarette, had to say. + +“Not entirely new?” said one. “Who was the originator, then, of the +idea?” + +“I can’t tell you that,” said the interrupting voice, “for it occurs in a +very old Persian story, and it was evidently old even then. But +Erckmann-Chatrian took it from a much later story-teller. They adapted +it from Chamisso.” + +“Is that the author of ‘Peter Schlemihl’?” said one. + +“Yes,” replied Mr. Watts-Dunton, “but Chamisso was a poet before he was a +prose writer, and he wrote a rhymed story in which the witness of a +murder was the sunrise, and at dawn the criminal was affected in the same +way that Matthias is affected by the sledge bells. The idea that the +sensorium, in an otherwise perfectly sane brain, can translate sights and +sound into accusations of a crime is, of course, perfectly true, and in +the play it is wonderfully given by Irving.” + +“Well,” said Dr. Marston, “that is the best account I have yet heard of +the origin of ‘The Bells.’” + +Then the voice of one of the disparagers of the play said: “There you +are! The very core of Erckmann-Chatrian’s story and Lewis’s play has +been stolen and spoilt from another writer. The acting, as I say, is +superb—the play is rot.” + +“Well, I do not think so,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. “I think it a new and +a striking play.” + +“Will you give your reasons, sir?” said Dr. Marston, in that +old-fashioned courtly way which was one of his many charms. + +“Certainly,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “if it will be of any interest. You +recollect Coleridge’s remarks upon expectation and surprise in drama. I +think it a striking play because I cannot recall any play in which the +entire source of interest is that of pure expectation unadulterated by +surprise. From the opening dialogue, before ever the burgomaster +appears, the audience knows that a murder has been committed, and that +the murderer must be the burgomaster, and yet the audience is kept in +breathless suspense through pure expectation as to whether or not the +crime will be brought home to him, and if brought home to him, how.” + +“Well,” said the voice of one of the admirers of the play, “that is the +best criticism of ‘The Bells’ I have yet heard.” After this the +conversation turned upon Jefferson’s acting of Rip Van Winkle, and many +admirable remarks fell from a dozen lips. When there was a pause in +these criticisms, Dr. Marston turned to Mr. Watts-Dunton and said, “Have +you seen Jefferson in ‘Rip van Winkle,’ sir?” + +“Yes, indeed,” was the reply, “many times; and I hope to see it many more +times. It is wonderful. I think it lucky that I have been able to see +the great exemplar of what may be called the Garrick type of actor, and +the great exemplar of what may be called the Edmund Kean type of actor.” + +On being asked what he meant by this classification, Mr. Watts-Dunton +launched out into one of those wide-sweeping but symmetrical monologues +of criticism in which beginning, middle, and end, were as perfectly +marked as though the improvization had been a well-considered essay—the +subject being the style of acting typified by Garrick and the style of +acting typified by Robson. As this same idea runs through Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s criticism of Got in ‘Le Roi s’Amuse’ (which I shall quote +later), there is no need to dwell upon it here. + +“As an instance,” he said, “of Jefferson’s supreme power in this line of +acting, one might refer to Act II. of the play, where Rip mounts the +Catskill Mountains in the company of the goblins. Rip talks with the +goblins one after the other, and there seems to be a dramatic dialogue +going on. It is not till the curtain falls that the audience realizes +that every word spoken during that act came from the lips of Rip, so +entirely have Jefferson’s facial expression and intonation dramatized +each goblin.” + +Between Mr. Watts-Dunton and our great Shakespearean actress, Ellen +Terry, there has been an affectionate friendship running over nearly a +quarter of a century. This is not at all surprising to one who knows +Miss Terry’s high artistic taste and appreciation of poetry. Among the +poems expressing that friendship, none is more pleasing than the sonnet +that appeared in the ‘Magazine of Art’ to which Mr. Bernard Partridge +contributed his superb drawing of Miss Terry in the part of Queen +Katherine. It is entitled, ‘Queen Katherine: on seeing Miss Ellen Terry +as Katherine in King Henry VIII’:— + + Seeking a tongue for tongueless shadow-land, + Has Katherine’s soul come back with power to quell + A sister-soul incarnate, and compel + Its bodily voice to speak by Grief’s command? + Or is it Katherine’s self returns to stand + As erst she stood defying Wolsey’s spell— + Returns with those vile wrongs she fain would tell + Which memory bore to Eden’s amaranth strand? + + Or is it thou, dear friend—this Queen, whose face + The salt of many tears hath scarred and stung?— + Can it be thou, whose genius, ever young, + Lighting the body with the spirit’s grace, + Is loved by England—loved by all the race + Round all the world enlinked by Shakespeare’s tongue! + +With one exception I do not find any dramatic criticisms by Mr. +Watts-Dunton in the ‘Athenæum.’ Indeed, I should not expect to find him +trenching upon the domain of the greatest dramatic critic of our time, +Mr. Joseph Knight. No one speaks with greater admiration of Mr. Knight +than his friend of thirty years’ standing, Mr. Watts-Dunton himself; and +when an essay on ‘King John’ was required for the series of Shakespeare +essays to accompany Mr. Edwin Abbey’s famous illustrations in ‘Harper’s +Magazine,’ it was Mr. Knight whom Mr. Watts-Dunton invited to discuss +this important play. The exception I allude to is the criticism of +Victor Hugo’s ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ which appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ of +December 2, 1882. + +The way in which it came about that Mr. Watts-Dunton undertook for the +‘Athenæum’ so important a piece of dramatic criticism is interesting. In +1882 M. Vacquerie, the editor of ‘Le Rappel,’ a relative of Hugo’s, and a +great friend of Mr. Swinburne and Mr. Watts-Dunton, together with other +important members of the Hugo cenacle, determined to get up a +representation of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse’ on the jubilee of its first +representation, since when it had never been acted. Vacquerie sent two +fauteuils, one for Mr. Swinburne and one for Mr. Watts-Dunton; and the +two poets were present at that memorable representation. Long before the +appointed day there was on the Continent, from Paris to St. Petersburg, +an unprecedented demand for seats; for it was felt that this was the most +interesting dramatic event that had occurred for fifty years. + +Consequently the editor of the ‘Athenæum’ for once invited his chief +literary contributor to fill the post which the dramatic editor of the +paper, Mr. Joseph Knight, generously yielded to him for the occasion, and +the following article appeared:— + + “Paris, November 23, 1882. + + “I felt that the revival, at the Theatre Français, of ‘Le Roi + s’Amuse,’ on the fiftieth anniversary of its original production, + must be one of the most interesting literary events of our time, and + so I found it to be. Victor Hugo was there, sitting with his arms + folded across his breast, calm but happy, in a stage box. He + expressed himself satisfied and even delighted with the acting. The + poet’s appearance was fuller of vitality and more Olympian than ever. + Between the acts he left the theatre and walked about in the square, + leaning on the arm of his illustrious poet friend and family + connection, Auguste Vacquerie, to whose kindness I was indebted for a + seat in the fauteuils d’orchestre, which otherwise I should have + found to be quite unattainable, so unprecedented was the demand for + places. It is said that a thousand francs were given for a seat. + Never before was seen, even in a French theatre, an audience so + brilliant and so illustrious. I did not, however, see any English + face I knew save that of Mr. Swinburne, who at the end of the third + act might have been seen talking to Hugo in his box. Among the most + appreciative and enthusiastic of those who assisted at the + representation was the French poet, who perhaps in the nineteenth + century stands next to Hugo for intellectual massiveness, M. Leconte + de Lisle. And I should say that every French poet and indeed every + man of eminence was there. + + Considering the extraordinary nature of the piece, the cast was + perhaps as satisfactory as could have been hoped for. Fond as is M. + Hugo of spectacular effects, and even of coups de théâtre, no other + dramatist gives so little attention as he to the idiosyncrasies of + actors. It is easy to imagine that Shakespeare in writing his lines + was not always unmindful of an actor like Burbage. But in depicting + Triboulet, Hugo must have thought as little about the specialities of + Ligier, who took the part on the first night in 1832, as of the + future Got, who was to take it on the second night in 1882. And the + same may be said of Blanche in relation to the two actresses who + successively took that part. This is, I think, exactly the way in + which a dramatist should work. The contrary method is not more + ruinous to drama as a literary form than to the actor’s art. To + write up to an actor’s style destroys all true character-drawing; + also it ends by writing up to the actor’s mere manner, who from that + moment is, as an artist, doomed. On the whole, the performance + wanted more glow and animal spirits. The François I of M. + Mounet-Sully was full of verve, but this actor’s voice is so + exceedingly rich and emotional that the king seemed more poetic, and + hence more sympathetic to the audience, than was consistent with a + character who in a sense is held up as the villain of the piece. The + true villain, here, however, as in ‘Torquemada,’ ‘Notre Dame de + Paris,’ ‘Les Misérables,’ and, indeed, in all Hugo’s characteristic + works, is not an individual at all, but Circumstance. Circumstance + placed Francis, a young and pleasure-loving king, over a licentious + court. Circumstance gave him a court jester with a temper which, to + say the least of it, was peculiar for such times as those. + Circumstance, acting through the agency of certain dissolute + courtiers, thrust into the king’s very bedroom the girl whom he loved + and who belonged to a class from whom he had been taught to expect + subservience of every kind. The tragic mischief of the rape follows + almost as a necessary consequence. Add to this the fact that + Circumstance contrives that the girl Maguelonne, instead of aiding + her more conscientious brother in killing the disguised king at the + bidding of ‘the client who pays,’ falls unexpectedly in love with + him; while Circumstance also contrives that Blanche shall be there + ready at the very spot at the very moment where and when she is + imperatively wanted as a substituted victim;—and you get the entire + motif of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse’—man enmeshed in a web of circumstance, the + motif of ‘Notre Dame de Paris,’ the motif of ‘Torquemada,’ and, in a + certain deep sense, perhaps the proper motif in romantic drama. For + when the vis matrix of classic drama, the supernatural interference + of conscious Destiny, was no longer available to the artist, + something akin to it—something nobler and more powerful than the + stage villain—was found to be necessary to save tragedy from sinking + into melodrama. And this explains so many of the complexities of + Shakespeare. + + In the dramas of Victor Hugo, however, the romantic temper has + advanced quite as far as it ought to advance not only in the use of + Circumstance as the final cause of the tragic mischief, but in the + use of the grotesque in alliance with the terrible. The greatest + masters of the terrible-grotesque till we get to the German + romanticists were the English dramatists of the sixteenth and the + early portion of the seventeenth century, and of course by far the + greatest among these was Shakespeare. For the production of the + effect in question there is nothing comparable to the scenes in + ‘Lear’ between the king and the fool—scenes which seem very early in + his life to have struck Hugo more than anything else in literature. + Outside the Elizabethan dramatists, however, there can be no doubt + that (leaving out of the discussion the great German masters in this + line) Hugo is the greatest worker in the terrible-grotesque that has + appeared since Burns. I need only point to Quasimodo and Triboulet + and compare them not merely with such attempts in this line as those + of writers like Beddoes, but even with the magnificent work of Mr. + Browning, who though far more subtle than Hugo is without his + sublimity and amazing power over chiaroscuro. Now, the most + remarkable feature of the revival of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ and that which + made me above all other reasons desirous to see it, was that the + character of Triboulet was to be rendered by an actor of rare and + splendid genius, but who, educated in the genteel comedy of modern + France and also in the social subtleties of Molière, seemed the last + man in Paris to give that peculiar expression of the romantic temper + which I have called the terrible-grotesque. + + That M. Got’s success in a part so absolutely unsuited to him should + have been as great as it was is, in my judgment, the crowning success + of his life. It is as though Thackeray, after completing ‘Philip,’ + had set himself to write a romance in the style of ‘Notre Dame de + Paris,’ and succeeded in the attempt. Yet the success of M. Got was + relative only, I think. The Triboulet was not the Triboulet of the + reader’s own imaginings, but an admirable Triboulet of the Comédie + Française. Perhaps, however, the truth is that there is not an actor + in Europe who could adequately render such a character as Triboulet. + + This is what I mean: all great actors are divisible into two groups, + which are by temperament and endowment the exact opposites of each + other. There are those who, like Garrick, producing their effects by + means of a self-dominance and a conservation of energy akin to that + of Goethe in poetry, are able to render a character, coldly indeed, + but with matchless verisimilitude in its every nuance. And there are + those who, like Edmund Kean and Robson, ‘live’ in the character so + entirely that self-dominance and conservation of energy are not + possible, and who, whensoever the situation becomes very intense, + work miracles of representation by sheer imaginative abandon, but do + so at the expense of that delicacy of light and shade in the entire + conception which is the great quest of the actor as an artist. And + if it should be found that in order to render Triboulet there is + requisite for the more intense crises of the piece the abandon of + Kean and Robson, and at the same time, for the carrying on of the + play, the calm, self-conscious staying power of Garrick, the + conclusion will be obvious that Triboulet is essentially an unactable + character. I will illustrate this by an instance. The reader will + remember that in the third act of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ Triboulet’s + daughter Blanche, after having been violated by the king at the + Louvre, rushes into the antechamber, where stands her father + surrounded by the group of sneering courtiers who, unknown both to + the king and to Triboulet, have abducted her during the night and set + her in the king’s way. When the girl tells her father of the + terrible wrong that has been done to her, he passes at once from the + mood of sardonic defiance which was natural to him into a state of + passion so terrible that a sudden and magical effect is produced: the + conventional walls between him, the poor despised court jester, and + the courtiers, are suddenly overthrown by the unexpected operation of + one of those great human instincts which make the whole world kin:— + + TRIBOULET (faisant trois pas, et balayant du geste tous les seigneurs + inter dits). + + Allez-vous-en d’ici! + Et, si le roi François par malheur se hasarde + A passer près d’ici, (à Monsieur de Vermandois) vous êtes de sa + garde, + Dites-lui de ne pas entrer,—que je suis là. + + M. DE PIENNE. On n’a jamais rien vu de fou comme cela. + + M. DE GORDES (lui faisant signe de se retirer). Aux fous comme aux + enfants on cède quelque chose. + + Veillons pourtant, de peur d’accident. + + [Ils sortent. + + TRIBOULET (s’asseyant sur le fauteuil du roi et relevant sa fille.) + Allons, cause. + Dis-moi tout. (Il se retourne, et, apercevant Monsieur de Cossé, qui + est resté, il se lève à demi en lui montrant la porte). M’avez-vous + en tendu, monseigneur? + + M. DE COSSÉ (tout en se retirant comme subjugué par l’ascendant du + bouffon). Ces fous, cela se croit tout permis, en honneur! + + [Il sort. + + Now in reading ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ startling as is the situation, it + does not seem exaggerated, for Victor Hugo’s lines are adequate in + simple passion to effect the dramatic work, and the reader feels that + Triboulet was wrought up to the state of exaltation to which the + lines give expression, that nothing could resist him, and that the + proud courtiers must in truth have cowered before him in the manner + here indicated by the dramatist. In literature the artist does not + actualize; he suggests, and leaves the reader’s imagination free. + But an actor has to actualize this state of exaltation—he has to + bring the physical condition answering to the emotional condition + before the eyes of the spectator; and if he fails to display as much + of the ‘fine frenzy’ of passion as is requisite to cow and overawe a + group of cynical worldlings, the situation becomes forced and + unnatural, inasmuch as they are overawed without a sufficient cause. + That an actor like Robson could and would have risen to such an + occasion no one will doubt who ever saw him (for he was the very + incarnation of the romantic temper), but then the exhaustion would + have been so great that it would have been impossible for him to go + on bearing the entire weight of this long play as M. Got does. The + actor requires, as I say, the abandon characteristic of one kind of + histrionic art together with the staying power characteristic of + another. Now, admirable as is M. Got in this and in all scenes of + ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ he does not pass into such a condition of exalted + passion as makes the retirement of the courtiers seem probable. For + artistic perfection there was nothing in the entire representation + that surpassed the scenes between Saltabadil and Maguelonne in the + hovel on the banks of the Seine. It would be difficult, indeed, to + decide which was the more admirable, the Saltabadil of M. Febvre or + the Maguelonne of Jeanne Samary. + + AT THE THÉÂTRE FRANÇAIS + NOVEMBER 22, 1882 + + Poet of pity and scourge of sceptred crime— + Titan of light, with scarce the gods for peers— + What thoughts come to thee through the mist of years, + There sitting calm, master of Fate and Time? + Homage from every tongue, from every clime, + In place of gibes, fills now thy satiate ears. + Mine own heart swells, mine eyelids prick with tears + In very pride of thee, old man sublime! + + And thou, the mother who bore him, beauteous France, + Round whose fair limbs what web of sorrow is spun!— + I see thee lift thy tear-stained countenance— + Victress by many a victory he hath won; + I hear thy voice o’er winds of Fate and Chance + Say to the conquered world: ‘Behold my son!’ + +I may mention here that Mr. Watts-Dunton has always shown the greatest +admiration of the actor’s art and the greatest interest in actors and +actresses. He has affirmed that ‘the one great art in which women are as +essential as men—the one great art in which their place can never be +supplied by men—is in the acted drama, which the Greeks held in such high +esteem that Æschylus and Sophocles acted as stage managers and +show-masters, although the stage mask dispensed with much of the +necessity of calling in the aid of women.’ + +‘Great as is the importance of female poets,’ says Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘men +are so rich in endowment, that literature would be a worthy expression of +the human mind if there had been no Sappho and no Emily Brontë—no Mrs. +Browning—no Christina Rossetti. Great as is the importance of female +novelists, men again are so rich in endowment that literature would be a +worthy expression of the human mind if there had been no Georges Sand, no +Jane Austen, no Charlotte Brontë, no George Eliot, no Mrs. Gaskell, no +Mrs. Craigie. As to painting and music, up to now women have not been +notable workers in either of these departments, notwithstanding Rosa +Bonheur and one or two others. But, to say nothing of France, what in +England would have been the acted drama, whether in prose or verse, +without Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Hermann Vezin, Adelaide Neilson, Miss Glyn, in +tragedy; without Mrs. Bracegirdle, Kitty Clive, Julia Neilson, Ellen +Terry, Irene Vanbrugh and Ada Rehan in comedy?’ + +People who run down actresses should say at once that the acted drama is +not one of the fine arts at all. Mr. Watts-Dunton has often expressed +the opinion that there is in England a great waste of histrionic +endowment among women, owing to the ignorant prejudice against the stage +which even now is prevalent in England. ‘An enormous waste of force,’ +says he, ‘there is, of course, in other departments of intellectual +activity, but nothing like the waste of latent histrionic powers among +Englishwomen.’ And he supplies many examples of this which have come +under his own observation, among which I can mention only one. + +‘Some years ago,’ he said to me, ‘I was invited to go to see the +performance of a French play given by the pupils of a fashionable school +in the West End of London. Apart from the admirable French accent of the +girls I was struck by the acting of two or three performers who showed +some latent dramatic talent. I have always taken an interest in amateur +dramatic performances, for a reason that Lady Archibald Campbell in one +of her writings has well discussed, namely, that what the amateur actor +or actress may lack in knowledge of stage traditions he or she will +sometimes more than make up for by the sweet flexibility and abandon of +nature. The amateur will often achieve that rarest of all artistic +excellencies, whether in poetry, painting, sculpture, music, or +histrionics—naïveté: a quality which in poetry is seen in its perfection +in the finest of the writings of Coleridge; in acting, it is perhaps seen +in its perfection in Duse. Now, on the occasion to which I refer, one of +these schoolgirl actresses achieved, as I thought, and as others thought +with me, this rare and perfect flower of histrionics; and when I came to +know her I found that she joined wide culture and an immense knowledge of +Shakespeare, Corneille, Racine, and Molière with an innate gift for +rendering them. In any other society than that of England she would have +gone on the stage as a matter of course, but the fatal prejudice about +social position prevented her from following the vocation that Nature +intended for her. Since then I have seen two or three such cases, not so +striking as this one, but striking enough to make me angry with +Philistinism.’ + +With this sympathy for histrionic art, it is not at all surprising that +Mr. Watts-Dunton took the greatest interest in the open-air plays +organized by Lady Archibald Campbell at Coombe. I have seen a brilliant +description of these plays by him which ought to have been presented to +the public years ago. It forms, I believe, a long chapter of an +unpublished novel. Turning over the pages of Davenport Adams’s +‘Dictionary of the Drama,’ which every lover of the theatre must regret +he did not live to complete, I come accidentally upon these words: “One +of the most recently printed epilogues is that which Theodore +Watts-Dunton wrote for an amateur performance of Banville’s ‘Le Baiser’ +at Coombe, Surrey, in August, 1889.” And this reminds me that I ought to +quote this famous epilogue here; for Professor Strong in his review of +‘The Coming of Love’ in ‘Literature’ speaks of the amazing command over +metre and colour and story displayed in the poem. It is, I believe, the +only poem in the English language in which an elaborate story is fully +told by poetic suggestion instead of direct statement. + + A REMINISCENCE OF THE OPEN-AIR PLAYS. + + Epilogue for the open-air performance of Banville’s ‘Le Baiser, in + which Lady Archibald Campbell took the part of ‘Pierrot’ and Miss + Annie Schletter the part of the ‘Fairy.’—Coombe, August 9, 1889. + + TO PIERROT IN LOVE + + The Clown whose kisses turned a Crone to a Fairy-queen + + What dost thou here in Love’s enchanted wood, + Pierrot, who once wert safe as clown and thief— + Held safe by love of fun and wine and food— + From her who follows love of Woman, Grief— + Her who of old stalked over Eden-grass + Behind Love’s baby-feet—whose shadow threw + On every brook, as on a magic glass, + Prophetic shapes of what should come to pass + When tears got mixt with Paradisal dew? + + Kisses are loved but for the lips that kiss: + Thine have restored a princess to her throne, + Breaking the spell which barred from fairy bliss + A fay, and shrank her to a wrinkled crone; + But, if thou dream’st that thou from Pantomime + Shalt clasp an angel of the mystic moon, + Clasp her on banks of Love’s own rose and thyme, + While woodland warblers ring the nuptial-chime— + Bottom to thee were but a week buffoon. + + When yonder fairy, long ago, was told + The spell which caught her in malign eclipse, + Turning her radiant body foul and old, + Would yield to some knight-errant’s virgin lips, + And when, through many a weary day and night, + She, wondering who the paladin would be + Whose kiss should charm her from her grievous plight, + Pictured a-many princely heroes bright, + Dost thou suppose she ever pictured thee? + + ’Tis true the mischief of the foeman’s charm + Yielded to thee—to that first kiss of thine. + We saw her tremble—lift a rose-wreath arm, + Which late, all veined and shrivelled, made her pine; + We saw her fingers rise and touch her cheek, + As if the morning breeze across the wood, + Which lately seemed to strike so chill and bleak + Through all the wasted body, bent and weak, + Were light and music now within her blood. + + ’Tis true thy kiss made all her form expand— + Made all the skin grow smooth and pure as pearl, + Till there she stood, tender, yet tall and grand, + A queen of Faery, yet a lovesome girl, + Within whose eyes—whose wide, new-litten eyes— + New-litten by thy kiss’s re-creation— + Expectant joy that yet was wild surprise + Made all her flesh like light of summer skies + When dawn lies dreaming of the morn’s carnation. + + But when thou saw’st the breaking of the spell + Within whose grip of might her soul had pined, + Like some sweet butterfly that breaks the cell + In which its purple pinions slept confined, + And when thou heard’st the strains of elfin song + Her sisters sang from rainbow cars above her— + Didst thou suppose that she, though prisoned long, + And freed at last by thee from all the wrong, + Must for that kiss take Harlequin for lover? + + Hearken, sweet fool! Though Banville carried thee + To lawns where love and song still share the sward + Beyond the golden river few can see, + And fewer still, in these grey days, can ford; + And though he bade the wings of Passion fan + Thy face, till every line grows bright and human, + Feathered thy spirit’s wing for wider span, + And fired thee with the fire that comes to man + When first he plucks the rose of Nature, Woman; + + And though our actress gives thee that sweet gaze + Where spirit and matter mingle in liquid blue— + That face, where pity through the frolic plays— + That form, whose lines of light Love’s pencil drew— + That voice whose music seems a new caress + Whenever passion makes a new transition + From key to key of joy or quaint distress— + That sigh, when, now, thy fairy’s loveliness + Leaves thee alone to mourn Love’s vanished vision: + + Still art thou Pierrot—naught but Pierrot ever; + For is not this the very word of Fate: + ‘No mortal, clown or king, shall e’er dissever + His present glory from his past estate’? + Yet be thou wise and dry those foolish tears; + The clown’s first kiss was needed, not the clown, + By her, who, fired by hopes and chilled by fears, + Sought but a kiss like thine for years on years: + Be wise, I say, and wander back to town. + +Recurring to the Marston gatherings, I reproduce here, from the same +unpublished story to which I have already alluded, the following +interesting account of them and of other social reunions of the like +kind. + + “Many of those who have reached life’s meridian, or passed it, will + remember the sudden rise, a quarter of a century ago, of Rossetti, + Swinburne, and William Morris—poets who seemed for a time to threaten + the ascendency of Tennyson himself. Between this galaxy and the + latest generation of poets there rose, culminated, and apparently + set, another—the group which it was the foolish fashion to call ‘the + pre-Raphaelite poets,’ some of whom yielded, or professed to yield, + to the influence of Rossetti, some to that of William Morris, and + some to that of Swinburne. Round them all, however, there was the + aura of Baudelaire or else of Gautier. These—though, as in all such + cases, nature had really made them very unlike each other—formed + themselves into a set, or rather a sect, and tried apparently to + become as much like each other as possible, by studying French + models, selecting subjects more or less in harmony with the French + temper, getting up their books after the fashion that was as much + approved then as contemporary fashions in books are approved now, and + by various other means. They had certain places of meeting, where + they held high converse with themselves. One of these was the + hospitable house, in Fitzroy Square, of the beloved and venerable + painter, Mr. Madox Brown, whose face, as he sat smiling upon his + Eisteddfod, radiating benevolence and encouragement to the unfledged + bards he loved, was a picture which must be cherished in many a + grateful memory now. Another was the equally hospitable house, in + the neighbourhood of Chalk Farm, where reigned the dramatist, + Westland Marston, and where his blind poet-boy Philip lived. Here + O’Shaughnessy would come with a glow of triumph on his face, which + indicated clearly enough what he was carrying in his pocket—something + connecting him with the divine Théophile—a letter from the Gallic + Olympus perhaps, or a presentation copy sent from the very top of the + Gallic Parnassus. It was on one of these occasions that Rossetti + satirically advised one of the cenacle to quit so poor a language as + that of Shakespeare and write entirely in French, which language + Morris immediately defined as ‘nosey Latin.’ It is a pity that some + literary veteran does not give his reminiscences of those Marston + nights, or rather Marston mornings, for the symposium began at about + twelve and went on till nearly six—those famous gatherings of poets, + actors, and painters, enlinking the days of Macready, Phelps, Miss + Glyn, Robert Browning, Dante Rossetti, and R. H. Horne, with the days + of poets, actors, and painters like Mr. Swinburne, Morris, and Mr. + Irving. Yet these pre-Raphaelite bards had another joy surpassing + even that of the Chalk Farm symposium, that of assisting at those + literary and artistic feasts which Rossetti used occasionally to give + at Cheyne Walk. Generosity and geniality incarnate was the + mysterious poet-painter to those he loved; and if the budding bard + yearned for sympathy, as he mostly does, he could get quite as much + as he deserved, and more, at 16 Cheyne Walk. To say that any artist + could take a deeper interest in the work of a friend than in his own + seems bold, yet it could be said of Rossetti. The mean rivalries of + the literary character that so often make men experienced in the + world shrink away from it, found no place in that great heart. To + hear him recite in his musical voice the sonnet or lyric of some + unknown bard or bardling—recite it in such a way as to lend the lines + the light and music of his own marvellous genius, while the bard or + bardling listened with head bowed low, so that the flush on his cheek + and the moisture in his eye should not be seen—this was an experience + that did indeed make the bardic life ‘worth living.’” + + + + +Chapter X +DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI + + + Thou knowest that island, far away and lone, + Whose shores are as a harp, where billows break + In spray of music and the breezes shake + O’er spicy seas a woof of colour and tone, + While that sweet music echoes like a moan + In the island’s heart, and sighs around the lake, + Where, watching fearfully a watchful snake, + A damsel weeps upon her emerald throne. + + Life’s ocean, breaking round thy senses’ shore, + Struck golden song, as from the strand of Day: + For us the joy, for thee the fell foe lay— + Pain’s blinking snake around the fair isle’s core, + Turning to sighs the enchanted sounds that play + Around thy lovely island evermore. + +I am now brought to a portion of my study which may well give me +pause—the relations between Mr. Watts-Dunton and Rossetti. The latest +remarks upon them are, I think, the best; they are by Mr. A. C. Benson in +his monograph on Rossetti in the ‘English Men of Letters’:— + + “It would be impossible to exaggerate the value of his friendship for + Rossetti. Mr. Watts-Dunton understood him, sympathized with him, and + with self-denying and unobtrusive delicacy shielded him, so far as + any one can be shielded, from the rough contact of the world. It was + for a long time hoped that Mr. Watts-Dunton would give the memoir of + his great friend to the world, but there is such a thing as knowing a + man too well to be his biographer. It is, however, an open secret + that a vivid sketch of Rossetti’s personality has been given to the + world in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s well-known romance ‘Aylwin,’ where the + artist D’Arcy is drawn from Rossetti. . . . Though singularly + independent in judgment, it is clear that, at all events in the later + years of his life, Rossetti’s taste was, unconsciously, considerably + affected by the critical preferences of Mr. Watts-Dunton. I have + heard it said by one {139} who knew them both well that it was often + enough for Mr. Watts-Dunton to express a strong opinion for Rossetti + to adopt it as his own, even though he might have combated it for the + moment. . . . + + At the end of each part [of ‘Rose Mary’] comes a curious lyrical + outburst called the Beryl-songs, the chant of the imprisoned spirits, + which are intended to weld the poem together and to supply + connections. It is said that Mr. Watts-Dunton, when he first read + the poem in proof, said to Rossetti that the drift was too intricate + for an ordinary reader. Rossetti took this to heart, and wrote the + Beryl-songs to bridge the gaps; Mr. Watts-Dunton, on being shown + them, very rightly disapproved, and said humorously that they turned + a fine ballad into a bastard opera. Rossetti, who was ill at the + time, was so much disconcerted and upset at the criticism, that Mr. + Watts-Dunton modified his judgment, and the interludes were printed. + But at a later day Rossetti himself came round to the opinion that + they were inappropriate. They are curiously wrought, rhapsodical, + irregular songs, with fantastic rhymes, and were better away. . . . + + Then he began to settle down into the production of the single-figure + pictures, of which Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote that ‘apart from any + question of technical shortcomings, one of Rossetti’s strongest + claims to the attention of posterity was that of having invented, in + the three-quarter length pictures painted from one face, a type of + female beauty which was akin to none other, which was entirely new, + in short—and which, for wealth of sublime and mysterious suggestion, + unaided by complex dramatic design, was unique in the art of the + world.” + + [Picture: Pandora. Crayon by D. G. Rossetti at ‘The Pines’] + +It is well known that Rossetti wished his life—if written at all—to be +written by Mr. Watts-Dunton, unless his brother should undertake it. It +is also well known that the brother himself wished it, but pressure of +other matters prevented Mr. Watts-Dunton from undertaking it. I expected +difficulties in approaching with regard to the delicate subject of his +relations with Rossetti, but I was not prepared to find them so great as +they have proved to be. When I wrote to him and asked him whether the +portrait of D’Arcy in ‘Aylwin’ was to be accepted as a portrait of +Rossetti, and when I asked him to furnish me with some materials and +facts to form the basis of this chapter, I received from him the +following letter:— + + “MY DEAR MR. DOUGLAS,—I have never myself affirmed that D’Arcy was to + be taken as an actual portrait of Rossetti. Even if I thought that a + portrait of him could be given in any form of imaginative literature, + I have views of my own as to the propriety of giving actual portraits + of men with whom a novelist or poet has been brought into contact. + It is quite impossible for an imaginative writer to avoid the + imperious suggestions of his memory when he is conceiving a + character. Thousands of times in a year does one come across + critical remarks upon the prototypes of the characters of such great + novelists as Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, the Brontës, George Eliot, + George Meredith, Thomas Hardy, and the rest. And I believe that + every one of these writers would confess that his prominent + characters were suggested to him by living individuals or by + individuals who figure in history—but suggested only. And as to the + ethics of so dealing with friends and acquaintances I have also views + of my own. These are easily stated. The closer the imaginative + writer gets to the portrait of a friend, or even of an acquaintance, + the more careful must he be to set his subject in a genial and even a + generous light. It would be a terrible thing if every man who has + been a notable figure in life were to be represented as this or that + at the sweet will of everybody who has known him. Generous + treatment, I say, is demanded of every writer who makes use of the + facets of character that have struck him in his intercourse with + friend or acquaintance. I will give you an instance of this. When I + drew De Castro in ‘Aylwin’ I made use of my knowledge of a certain + individual. Now this individual, although a man of quite + extraordinary talents, brilliance, and personal charm, bore not a + very good name, because he was driven to live upon his wits. He had + endowments so great and so various that I cannot conceive any line of + life in which he was not fitted to excel—but it was his irreparable + misfortune to have been trained to no business and no profession, and + to have been thrown upon the world without means, and without useful + family connections. Such a man must either sink beneath the oceanic + waves of London life, or he must make a struggle to live upon his + wits. This individual made that struggle—he struck out with a vigour + that, as far as I know, was without example in London society. He + got to know, and to know intimately, men like Ruskin, G. F. Watts, D. + G. Rossetti, Mr. W. M. Rossetti, William Morris, Mr. Swinburne, Sir + Edward Burne Jones, Cruikshank, and I know not what important people + besides. When he was first brought into touch with the painters, he + knew nothing whatever of art; in two or three years, as I have heard + Rossetti say, he was a splendid ‘connoisseur.’ If he had been + brought up as a lawyer he must have risen to the top of the + profession. If he had been brought up as an actor he must, as I have + heard a dramatist say, have risen to the top. But from his very + first appearance in London he was driven to live upon his wits. And + here let me say that this man, who was a bitter unfriend of my own, + because I was compelled to stand in the way of certain dealings of + his, but whom I really could have liked if he had not been obliged to + live upon his wits at the expense of certain friends of mine, formed + the acquaintance of the great men I have enumerated, not so much from + worldly motives, as I believe, as from real admiration. But being + driven to live upon his wits, he had not sufficient moral strength to + afford a conscience, and the queerest stories were told—some of them + true enough—of his dealings with those great men. Whistler’s + anecdotes of him at one period set many a table in a roar; and yet so + winsome was the man that after a time he became as intimate with + Whistler as ever. If he had possessed a private income, and if that + income had been carefully settled upon him, I believe he would have + been one of the most honest of men; I know he would have been one of + the most generous. His conduct to the late Treffry Dunn, from whom + he could not have expected the least return except that of gratitude, + was proof enough of his generosity. Of course to make use of so + strange a character as this was a great temptation to me when I wrote + ‘Aylwin.’ But in what has been called my ‘thumb-nail portrait of + him,’ I treated the peccadilloes attributed to him in a playful and + jocose way. It would have been quite wrong to have painted otherwise + than in playful colours a character like this. Like every other man + and woman in this world, he left behind him people who believed in + him and loved him. It would have been cruel to wound these, and + unfair to the man; and yet because I gave only a slight suggestion of + his sublime quackery and supreme blarney, a writer who also knew + something about him, but of course not a thousandth part of what I + knew, said that I had tried my hand at depicting him in ‘Aylwin,’ but + with no great success. As a matter of fact, I did not attempt to + give a portrait of him: I simply used certain facets of his character + to work out my story, and then dismissed him. On the other hand, + where the character of a friend or acquaintance is noble, the + imagination can work more freely—as in the case of Philip Aylwin, + Cyril Aylwin, Wilderspin, Rhona Boswell, Winifred Wynne, Sinfi + Lovell. And as to Rossetti, whom I have been charged by certain + critics with having idealized in my picture of D’Arcy, all I have to + say on that point is this—that if the noble and fascinating qualities + which Rossetti showed had been leavened with mean ones I should not, + in introducing his character into a story, have considered it right + or fair or generous to dwell upon those mean ones. But as a matter + of fact, during my whole intercourse with him he displayed no such + qualities. The D’Arcy that I have painted is not one whit nobler, + more magnanimous, wide-minded, and generous, than was D. G. Rossetti. + As I have said on several occasions, he could and did take as deep an + interest in a friend’s work as in his own. And to benefit a friend + was the greatest pleasure he had in life. I loved the man so deeply + that I should never have introduced D’Arcy into the novel had it not + been in the hope of silencing the misrepresentations of him that + began as soon as ever Rossetti was laid in the grave at Birchington, + by depicting his character in colours as true as they were + sympathetic. It has been the grievous fate of Rossetti to be the + victim of an amount of detraction which is simply amazing and + inscrutable. I cannot in the least understand why this is so. It is + the great sorrow of my life. There is a fatality of detraction about + his name which in its unreasonableness would be grotesque were it not + heartrending. It would turn my natural optimism about mankind into + pessimism were it not that another dear friend of mine—a man of equal + nobility of character, and almost of equal genius, has escaped + calumny altogether—William Morris. This matter is a painful puzzle + to me. The only great man of my time who seems to have shared + something of Rossetti’s fate, is Lord Tennyson. There seems to be a + general desire to belittle him, to exaggerate such angularities as + were his, and to speak of that almost childlike simplicity of + character which was an ineffable charm in him as springing from + boorishness and almost from loutishness. On the other hand, another + great genius, Browning, for whom I had and have the greatest + admiration, seems to be as fortunate as Morris in escaping the + detractor. But I am wandering from Rossetti. I do not feel any + impulse to write reminiscences of him. Too much has been written + about him already—of late a great deal too much. The only thing + written about him that has given me comfort—I may say joy, is this—it + has been written by a man who knew him before I did, who knew him at + the time he lost his wife. Mr. Val Prinsep, R.A., has declared that + in Rossetti’s relations with his wife there was nothing whatever upon + which his conscience might reasonably trouble him. I do not remember + the exact words, but this was the substance of them. Mr. Val Prinsep + is a man of the highest standing, and he knew Rossetti intimately, + and he has declared in print that Rossetti could have had no qualms + of conscience in regard to his relations with his wife. This, I say, + is a source of great comfort to me and to all who loved Rossetti. + That he was whimsical, fanciful, and at times most troublesome to his + friends, no one knows better than I do. + + No one, I say, is more competent to speak of the whims and the + fancies and the troublesomeness of Rossetti than I am; and yet I say + that he was one of the noblest-hearted men of his time, and + lovable—most lovable.” + +It would be worse than idle to enter at this time of day upon the painful +subject of the “Buchanan affair.” Indeed, I have often thought it is a +great pity that it is not allowed to die out. The only reason why it is +still kept alive seems to be that, without discussing it, it is +impossible fully to understand Rossetti’s nervous illness, about which so +much has been said. I remember seeing in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s essay on +Congreve in ‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia’ a definition of envy as the +‘literary leprosy.’ This phrase has often been quoted in reference to +the case of Buchanan, and also in reference to a recent and much more +ghastly case between two intimate friends. Now, with all deference to +Mr. Watts-Dunton, I cannot accept it as a right and fair definition. It +is a fact no doubt that the struggle in the world of art—whether poetry, +music, painting, sculpture, or the drama—is unlike that of the mere +strivers after wealth and position, inasmuch as to praise one man’s +artistic work is in a certain way to set it up against the work of +another. Still, one can realize, without referring to Disraeli’s +‘Curiosities of Literature,’ that envy is much too vigorous in the +artistic life. Now, whatever may have been the good qualities of +Buchanan—and I know he had many good qualities—it seems unfortunately to +be true that he was afflicted with this terrible disease of envy. There +can be no question that what incited him to write the notorious article +in the ‘Contemporary Review’ entitled ‘The Fleshly School of Poetry,’ was +simply envy—envy and nothing else. It was during the time that Rossetti +was suffering most dreadfully from the mental disturbance which seems +really to have originated in this attack and the cognate attacks which +appeared in certain other magazines, that the intimacy between Mr. +Watts-Dunton and Rossetti was formed and cemented. And it is to this +period that Mr. William Rossetti alludes in the following words: “‘Watts +is a hero of friendship’ was, according to Mr. Caine, one of my brother’s +last utterances, easy enough to be credited.” + +That he deserved these words I think none will deny; and that the +friendship sprang from the depths of the nature of a man to whom the word +‘friendship’ meant not what it generally means now, a languid sentiment, +but what it meant in Shakespeare’s time, a deep passion, is shown by what +some deem the finest lines Mr. Watts-Dunton ever wrote—I mean those lines +which he puts into the mouth of Shakespeare’s Friend in ‘Christmas at the +Mermaid,’ lines part of which have been admirably turned into Latin by +Mr. E. D. Stone, {147} and published by him in the second volume of that +felicitous series of Latin translations,’ Florilegium Latinum’:— + + ‘MR. W. H.’ + + To sing the nation’s song or do the deed + That crowns with richer light the motherland, + Or lend her strength of arm in hour of need + When fangs of foes shine fierce on every hand, + Is joy to him whose joy is working well— + Is goal and guerdon too, though never fame. + Should find a thrill of music in his name; + Yea, goal and guerdon too, though Scorn should aim + Her arrows at his soul’s high citadel. + + But if the fates withhold the joy from me + To do the deed that widens England’s day, + Or join that song of Freedom’s jubilee + Begun when England started on her way— + Withhold from me the hero’s glorious power + To strike with song or sword for her, the mother, + And give that sacred guerdon to another, + Him will I hail as my more noble brother— + Him will I love for his diviner dower. + + Enough for me who have our Shakspeare’s love + To see a poet win the poet’s goal, + For Will is he; enough and far above + All other prizes to make rich my soul. + Ben names my numbers golden. Since they tell + A tale of him who in his peerless prime + Fled us ere yet one shadowy film of time + Could dim the lustre of that brow sublime, + Golden my numbers are: Ben praiseth well. + +It seems to me to be needful to bear in mind these lines, and the +extremely close intimacy between these two poet-friends in order to be +able to forgive entirely the unexampled scourging of Buchanan in the +following sonnet if, as some writers think, Buchanan was meant:— + + THE OCTOPUS OF THE GOLDEN ISLES + ‘WHAT! WILL THEY EVEN STRIKE AT ME?’ + + Round many an Isle of Song, in seas serene, + With many a swimmer strove the poet-boy, + Yet strove in love: their strength, I say, was joy + To him, my friend—dear friend of godlike mien! + But soon he felt beneath the billowy green + A monster moving—moving to destroy: + Limb after limb became the tortured toy + Of coils that clung and lips that stung unseen. + + “And canst thou strike ev’n me?” the swimmer said, + As rose above the waves the deadly eyes, + Arms flecked with mouths that kissed in hellish wise, + Quivering in hate around a hateful head.— + I saw him fight old Envy’s sorceries: + I saw him sink: the man I loved is dead! + +Here we get something quite new in satire—something in which poetry, +fancy, hatred, and contempt, are mingled. The sonnet appeared first in +the ‘Athenæum,’ and afterwards in ‘The Coming of Love.’ If Buchanan or +any special individual was meant, I doubt whether any man has a moral +right to speak about another man in such terms as these. + +All the friends of Rossetti have remarked upon the extraordinary +influence exercised upon him by Mr. Watts-Dunton. Lady Mount Temple, a +great friend of the painter-poet, used to tell how when she was in his +studio and found him in a state of great dejection, as was so frequently +the case, she would notice that Rossetti’s face would suddenly brighten +up on hearing a light footfall in the hall—the footfall of his friend, +who had entered with his latch-key—and how from that moment Rossetti +would be another man. Rossetti’s own relatives have recorded the same +influence. I have often thought that the most touching thing in Mr. W. +M. Rossetti’s beautiful monograph of his brother is the following extract +from his aged mother’s diary at Birchington-on-Sea, when the poet is +dying:— + + ‘March 28, Tuesday. Mr. Watts came down; Gabriel rallied + marvellously. + + This is the last cheerful item which it is allowed me to record + concerning my brother; I am glad that it stands associated with the + name of Theodore Watts.’ + +Here is another excerpt from the brother’s diary:— + + ‘Gabriel had, just before Shields entered the drawing-room for me, + given two violent cries, and had a convulsive fit, very sharp and + distorting the face, followed by collapse. All this passed without + my personal cognizance. He died 9.31 p.m.; the others—Watts, mother, + Christina, and nurse, in room; Caine and Shields in and out; Watts at + Gabriel’s right side, partly supporting him.’ + +That Mr. Watts-Dunton’s influence over Rossetti extended even to his art +as a poet is shown by Mr. Benson’s words already quoted. I must also +quote the testimony of Mr. Hall Caine, who says, in his ‘Recollections’:— + + “Rossetti, throughout the period of my acquaintance with him, seemed + to me always peculiarly and, if I may be permitted to say so without + offence, strangely liable to Mr. Watts’ influence in his critical + estimates; and the case instanced was perhaps the only one in which I + knew him to resist Mr. Watts’s opinion upon a matter of poetical + criticism, which he considered to be almost final, as his letters to + me, printed in Chapter VIII of this volume, will show. I had a + striking instance of this, and of the real modesty of the man whom I + had heard and still hear spoken of as the most arrogant man of genius + of his day, on one of the first occasions of my seeing him. He read + out to me an additional stanza to the beautiful poem ‘Cloud + Confines.’ As he read it, I thought it very fine, and he evidently + was very fond of it himself. But he surprised me by saying that he + should not print it. On my asking him why, he said: + + ‘Watts, though he admits its beauty, thinks the poem would be better + without it.’ + + ‘Well, but you like it yourself,’ said I. + + ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but in a question of gain or loss to a poem I + feel that Watts must be right.’ + + And the poem appeared in ‘Ballads and Sonnets’ without the stanza in + question.” + +Here is another beautiful passage from Mr. Hall Caine’s ‘Recollections’—a +passage which speaks as much for the writer as for the object of his +enthusiasm:— + + “As to Mr. Theodore Watts, whose brotherly devotion to him and + beneficial influence over him from that time forward are so well + known, this must be considered by those who witnessed it to be almost + without precedent or parallel even in the beautiful story of literary + friendships, and it does as much honour to the one as to the other. + No light matter it must have been to lay aside one’s own + long-cherished life-work and literary ambitions to be Rossetti’s + closest friend and brother, at a moment like the present, when he + imagined the world to be conspiring against him; but through these + evil days, and long after them, down to his death, the friend that + clung closer than a brother was with him, as he himself said, to + protect, to soothe, to comfort, to divert, to interest and inspire + him—asking, meantime, no better reward than the knowledge that a + noble mind and nature was by such sacrifice lifted out of sorrow. + Among the world’s great men the greatest are sometimes those whose + names are least on our lips, and this is because selfish aims have + been so subordinate in their lives to the welfare of others as to + leave no time for the personal achievements that win personal + distinction; but when the world comes to the knowledge of the price + that has been paid for the devotion that enables others to enjoy + their renown, shall it not reward with a double meed of gratitude the + fine spirits to whom ambition has been as nothing against fidelity of + friendship. Among the latest words I heard from Rossetti was this: + ‘Watts is a hero of friendship’; and indeed, he has displayed his + capacity for participation in the noblest part of comradeship, that + part, namely, which is far above the mere traffic that too often goes + by the name, and wherein self-love always counts upon being the + gainer. If in the end it should appear that he has in his own person + done less than might have been hoped for from one possessed of his + splendid gifts, let it not be overlooked that he has influenced in a + quite incalculable degree, and influenced for good, several of the + foremost among those who in their turn have influenced the age. As + Rossetti’s faithful friend and gifted medical adviser, Mr. John + Marshall, has often declared, there were periods when Rossetti’s very + life may be said to have hung upon Mr. Watts’ power to cheer and + soothe.” + +This anecdote is also told by Mr. Caine:— + + “Immediately upon the publication of his first volume, and incited + thereto by the early success of it, he had written the poem ‘Rose + Mary,’ as well as two lyrics published at the time in ‘The + Fortnightly Review’; but he suffered so seriously from the subsequent + assaults of criticism, that he seemed definitely to lay aside all + hope of producing further poetry, and, indeed, to become possessed of + the delusion that he had for ever lost all power of doing so. It is + an interesting fact, well known in his own literary circle, that his + taking up poetry afresh was the result of a fortuitous occurrence. + After one of his most serious illnesses, and in the hope of drawing + off his attention from himself, and from the gloomy forebodings which + in an invalid’s mind usually gather about his own too absorbing + personality, a friend prevailed upon him, with infinite solicitation, + to try his hand afresh at a sonnet. The outcome was an effort so + feeble as to be all but unrecognizable as the work of the author of + the sonnets of ‘The House of Life,’ but, with more shrewdness and + friendliness (on this occasion) than frankness, the critic lavished + measureless praise upon it and urged the poet to renewed exertion. + One by one, at longer or shorter intervals, sonnets were written, and + this exercise did more towards his recovery than any other medicine, + with the result besides that Rossetti eventually regained all his old + dexterity and mastery of hand. The artifice had succeeded beyond + every expectation formed of it, serving, indeed, the twofold end of + improving the invalid’s health by preventing his brooding over + unhealthy matters, and increasing the number of his accomplished + works. Encouraged by such results, the friend went on to induce + Rossetti to write a ballad, and this purpose he finally achieved by + challenging the poet’s ability to compose in the simple, direct, and + emphatic style, which is the style of the ballad proper, as + distinguished from the elaborate, ornate, and condensed diction which + he had hitherto worked in. Put upon his mettle, the outcome of this + second artifice practised upon him was that he wrote ‘The White Ship’ + and afterwards ‘The King’s Tragedy.’ + + Thus was Rossetti already immersed in this revived occupation of + poetic composition, and had recovered a healthy tone of body, before + he became conscious of what was being done with him. It is a further + amusing fact that one day he requested to be shown the first sonnet + which, in view of the praise lavished upon it by the friend on whose + judgment he reposed, had encouraged him to renewed effort. The + sonnet was bad: the critic knew it was bad, and had from the first + hour of its production kept it carefully out of sight, and was now + more than ever unwilling to show it. Eventually, however, by reason + of ceaseless importunity, he returned it to its author, who, upon + reading it, cried: ‘You fraud! You said this sonnet was good, and + it’s the worst I ever wrote!’ ‘The worst ever written would perhaps + be a truer criticism,’ was the reply, as the studio resounded with a + hearty laugh, and the poem was committed to the flames. It would + appear that to this occurrence we probably owe a large portion of the + contents of the volume of 1881.” + +Mr. William Rossetti is ever eager to testify to the beneficent effect of +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s intimacy upon his brother; and quite lately Madox +Brown’s grandson, Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer, who, from his connection with +the Rossetti family, speaks with great authority, wrote: ‘In 1873 came +Mr. Theodore Watts, without whose practical friendship and advice, and +without whose literary aids and sustenance, life would have been from +thenceforth an impracticable affair for Rossetti.’ Mr. Hueffer speaks of +the great change that came over Rossetti’s work when he wrote ‘The King’s +Tragedy’ and ‘The White Ship’:— + + “It should be pointed out that ‘The White Ship’ was one of Rossetti’s + last works, and that in it he was aiming at simplicity of narration, + under the advice of Mr. Theodore Watts. In this he was undoubtedly + on the right track, and the ‘rhymed chronicles’ might have + disappeared had Rossetti lived long enough to revise the poem as + sedulously as he did his earlier work, and to revise it with the + knowledge of narrative-technique that the greater part of the poem + shows was coming to be his.” + +It was impossible for a man of genius to live so secluded a life as +Rossetti lived at Cheyne Walk and at Kelmscott for several years, without +wild, unauthenticated stories getting about concerning him. Among other +things Rossetti, whose courtesy and charm of manner were, I believe, +proverbial, was now charged with a rudeness, or rather boorishness like +that which with equal injustice, apparently, is now being attributed to +Tennyson. Stories got into print about his rude bearing towards people, +sometimes towards ladies of the most exalted position. And these +apocryphal and disparaging legends would no doubt have been still more +numerous and still more offensive, had it not been for the influence of +his watchful and powerful friend. Here is an interesting letter which +Rossetti addressed to the ‘World,’ and which shows the close relations +between him and Mr. Watts-Dunton:— + + “16 CHEYNE WALK, CHELSEA, S.W. + December 28, 1878. + + My attention has been directed to the following paragraph which has + appeared in the newspapers: ‘A very disagreeable story is told about + a neighbour of Mr. Whistler’s, whose works are not exhibited to the + vulgar herd; the Princess Louise in her zeal therefore, graciously + sought them at the artist’s studio, but was rebuffed by a ‘Not at + home’ and an intimation that he was not at the beck and call of + princesses. I trust it is not true,’ continues the writer of the + paragraph, ‘that so medievally minded a gentleman is really a + stranger to that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that dignified + obedience,’ etc. + + The story is certainly disagreeable enough; but if I am pointed out + as the ‘near neighbour of Mr. Whistler’s’ who rebuffed, in this rude + fashion, the Princess Louise, I can only say that it is a canard + devoid of the smallest nucleus of truth. Her Royal Highness has + never called upon me, and I know of only two occasions when she has + expressed a wish to do so. Some years ago Mr. Theodore Martin spoke + to me upon the subject, but I was at that time engaged upon an + important work, and the delays thence arising caused the matter to + slip through. And I heard no more upon the subject till last summer, + when Mr. Theodore Watts told me that the Princess, in conversation, + had mentioned my name to him, and that he had then assured her that I + should feel ‘honoured and charmed to see her,’ and suggested her + making an appointment. Her Royal Highness knew that Mr. Watts, as + one of my most intimate friends, would not have thus expressed + himself without feeling fully warranted in so doing; and had she + called she would not, I trust, have found me wanting in that + ‘generous loyalty’ which is due, not more to her exalted position, + than to her well-known charm of character and artistic gifts. It is + true that I do not run after great people on account of their mere + social position, but I am, I hope, never rude to them; and the man + who could rebuff the Princess Louise must be a curmudgeon indeed. + + D. G. ROSSETTI.” + +At the very juncture in question Lord Lorne was suddenly and unexpectedly +appointed Governor-General of Canada, and, leaving England, Her Royal +Highness did not return until Rossetti’s health had somewhat suddenly +broken down, and it was impossible for him to see any but his most +intimate friends. + +My account of the friendship between Mr. Watts-Dunton and Rossetti would +not be complete without the poem entitled, ‘A Grave by the Sea,’ which I +think may be placed beside Milton’s ‘Lycidas,’ Shelley’s ‘Adonais,’ +Matthew Arnold’s ‘Thyrsis,’ and Swinburne’s ‘Ave Atque Vale,’ as one of +the noblest elegies in our literature:— + + A GRAVE BY THE SEA + + I + + Yon sightless poet {157} whom thou leav’st behind, + Sightless and trembling like a storm-struck tree, + Above the grave he feels but cannot see, + Save with the vision Sorrow lends the mind, + Is he indeed the loneliest of mankind? + Ah no!—For all his sobs, he seems to me + Less lonely standing there, and nearer thee, + Than I—less lonely, nearer—standing blind! + + Free from the day, and piercing Life’s disguise + That needs must partly enveil true heart from heart, + His inner eyes may see thee as thou art + In Memory’s land—see thee beneath the skies + Lit by thy brow—by those beloved eyes, + While I stand by him in a world apart. + + II + + I stand like her who on the glittering Rhine + Saw that strange swan which drew a faëry boat + Where shone a knight whose radiant forehead smote + Her soul with light and made her blue eyes shine + For many a day with sights that seemed divine, + Till that false swan returned and arched his throat + In pride, and called him, and she saw him float + Adown the stream: I stand like her and pine. + + I stand like her, for she, and only she, + Might know my loneliness for want of thee. + Light swam into her soul, she asked not whence, + Filled it with joy no clouds of life could smother, + And then, departing like a vision thence, + Left her more lonely than the blind, my brother. + + III + + Last night Death whispered: ‘Death is but the name + Man gives the Power which lends him life and light, + And then, returning past the coast of night, + Takes what it lent to shores from whence it came. + What balm in knowing the dark doth but reclaim + The sun it lent, if day hath taken flight? + Art thou not vanished—vanished from my sight— + Though somewhere shining, vanished all the same? + + With Nature dumb, save for the billows’ moan, + Engirt by men I love, yet desolate— + Standing with brothers here, yet dazed and lone, + King’d by my sorrow, made by grief so great + That man’s voice murmurs like an insect’s drone— + What balm, I ask, in knowing that Death is Fate? + + IV + + Last night Death whispered: ‘Life’s purblind procession, + Flickering with blazon of the human story— + Time’s fen-flame over Death’s dark territory— + Will leave no trail, no sign of Life’s aggression. + Yon moon that strikes the pane, the stars in session, + Are weak as Man they mock with fleeting glory. + Since Life is only Death’s frail feudatory, + How shall love hold of Fate in true possession?’ + + I answered thus: ‘If Friendship’s isle of palm + Is but a vision, every loveliest leaf, + Can Knowledge of its mockery soothe and calm + This soul of mine in this most fiery grief? + If Love but holds of Life through Death in fief, + What balm in knowing that Love is Death’s—what balm?’ + + V + + Yea, thus I boldly answered Death—even I + Who have for boon—who have for deathless dower— + Thy love, dear friend, which broods, a magic power, + Filling with music earth and sea and sky: + ‘O Death,’ I said, ‘not Love, but thou shalt die; + For, this I know, though thine is now the hour, + And thine these angry clouds of doom that lour, + Death striking Love but strikes to deify.’ + + Yet while I spoke I sighed in loneliness, + For strange seemed Man, and Life seemed comfortless, + And night, whom we two loved, seemed strange and dumb; + And, waiting till the dawn the promised sign, + I watched—I listened for that voice of thine, + Though Reason said: ‘Nor voice nor face can come.’ + + BIRCHINGTON, + EASTERTIDE, 1882. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton has written many magnificent sonnets, but the sonnet in +this sequence beginning— + + Last night Death whispered: ‘Life’s purblind procession,’ + +is, I think, the finest of them all. The imaginative conception packed +into these fourteen lines is cosmic in its sweep. In the metrical scheme +the feminine rhymes of the octave play a very important part. They +suggest pathetic suspense, mystery, yearning, hope, fear; they ask, they +wonder, they falter. But in the sestet the words of destiny are calmly +and coldly pronounced, and every rhyme clinches the voice of doom, until +the uttermost deep of despair is sounded in the iterated cry of the last +line. The craftsmanship throughout is masterly. There is, indeed, one +line which is not unworthy of being ranked with the great lines of +English poetry: + + Yon moon that strikes the pane, the stars in session. + +Here by a bold use of the simple verb ‘strikes’ a whole poem is hammered +into six words. As to the interesting question of feminine rhymes, while +I admit that they should never be used without an emotional mandate, I +think that here it is overwhelming. + + * * * * * + +I have tried to show the beauty of the friendship between these two rare +spirits by means of other testimony than my own, for although I have been +granted the honour of knowing Rossetti’s ‘friend of friends,’ I missed +the equal honour of knowing Rossetti, save through that ‘friend of +friends.’ But to know Mr. Watts-Dunton seems almost like knowing +Rossetti, for when at The Pines he begins to recall those golden hours +when the poets used to hold converse, the soul of Rossetti seems to come +back from the land of shadows, as his friend depicts his winsome ways, +his nobility of heart, his generous interest in the work of others, that +lovableness of nature and charm of personality which, if we are to +believe Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer, worked, in some degree, ill for the poet. +Mr. Hueffer, who, as a family connection, may be supposed to represent +the family tradition about ‘Gabriel,’ has some striking and pregnant +words upon the injurious effect of Rossetti’s being brought so much into +contact with admirers from the time when Mr. Meredith and Mr. Swinburne +were his housemates at Cheyne Walk. “Then came the ‘Pre-Raphaelite’ +poets like Philip Marston, O’Shaughnessy, and ‘B. V.’ Afterwards there +came a whole host of young men like Mr. William Sharp, who were serious +admirers, and to-day are in their places or are dead or forgotten; and +others again who came for the ‘pickings.’ They were all more or less +enthusiasts.” + + [Picture: ‘The Green Dining Room,’ 16 Cheyne Walk. (From a Painting by + Dunn, at ‘The Pines.’)] + +Mr. Hake, in ‘Notes and Queries’ (June 7, 1902), says: + + “With regard to the green room in which Winifred took her first + breakfast at ‘Hurstcote,’ I am a little in confusion. It seems to me + more like the green dining-room in Cheyne Walk, decorated with + antique mirrors, which was painted by Dunn, showing Rossetti reading + his poems aloud. This is the only portrait of Rossetti that really + calls up the man before me. As Mr. Watts-Dunton is the owner of + Dunn’s drawing, and as so many people want to see what Rossetti’s + famous Chelsea house was like inside, it is a pity he does not give + it as a frontispiece to some future edition of ‘Aylwin.’ + Unfortunately, Mr. G. F. Watts’s picture, now in the National + Portrait Gallery, was never finished, and I never saw upon Rossetti’s + face the dull, heavy expression which that portrait wears. I think + the poet told me that he had given the painter only one or two + sittings. As to the photographs, none of them is really + satisfactory.” + +I am fortunate in being able to reproduce here the picture of the famous +‘Green Dining Room’ at 16 Cheyne Walk, to which Mr. Hake refers. Mr. +Hake also writes in the same article: “With regard to the two circular +mirrors surrounded by painted designs telling the story of the Holy +Grail, ‘in old black oak frames carved with knights at tilt,’ I do not +remember seeing these there. But they are evidently the mirrors +decorated with copies by Dunn of the lost Holy Grail frescoes once +existing on the walls of the Union Reading-Room at Oxford. These +beautiful decorations I have seen at ‘The Pines,’ but not elsewhere.” I +am sure that my readers will be interested in the photograph of one of +these famous mirrors, which Mr. Watts-Dunton has generously permitted to +be specially taken for this book. + +[Picture: One of the Carved Mirrors at ‘The Pines,’ decorated with Dunn’s + copy of the lost Rossetti Frescoes at the Oxford Union] + +And here again I must draw upon Dr. Gordon Hake’s fascinating book of +poetry, ‘The New Day,’ which must live, if only for its reminiscences of +the life poetic lived at Chelsea, Kelmscott, and Bognor:— + + THE NEW DAY + + I + + In the unbroken silence of the mind + Thoughts creep about us, seeming not to move, + And life is back among the days behind— + The spectral days of that lamented love— + Days whose romance can never be repeated. + The sun of Kelmscott through the foliage gleaming, + We see him, life-like, at his easel seated, + His voice, his brush, with rival wonders teeming. + These vanished hours, where are they stored away? + Hear we the voice, or but its lingering tone? + Its utterances are swallowed up in day; + The gabled house, the mighty master gone. + Yet are they ours: the stranger at the hall— + What dreams he of the days we there recall? + + II + + O, happy days with him who once so loved us! + We loved as brothers, with a single heart, + The man whose iris-woven pictures moved us + From Nature to her blazoned shadow—Art. + How often did we trace the nestling Thames + From humblest waters on his course of might, + Down where the weir the bursting current stems— + There sat till evening grew to balmy night, + Veiling the weir whose roar recalled the strand + Where we had listened to the wave-lipped sea, + That seemed to utter plaudits while we planned + Triumphal labours of the day to be. + The words were his: ‘Such love can never die;’ + The grief was ours when he no more was nigh. + + III + + Like some sweet water-bell, the tinkling rill + Still calls the flowers upon its misty bank + To stoop into the stream and drink their fill. + And still the shapeless rushes, green and rank, + Seem lounging in their pride round those retreats, + Watching slim willows dip their thirsty spray. + Slowly a loosened weed another meets; + They stop, like strangers, neither giving way. + We are here surely if the world, forgot, + Glides from our sight into the charm, unbidden; + We are here surely at this witching spot,— + Though Nature in the reverie is hidden. + A spell so holds our captive eyes in thrall, + It is as if a play pervaded all. + + IV + + Sitting with him, his tones as Petrarch’s tender, + With many a speaking vision on the wall, + The fire, a-blaze, flashing the studio fender, + Closed in from London shouts and ceaseless brawl— + ’Twas you brought Nature to the visiting, + Till she herself seemed breathing in the room, + And Art grew fragrant in the glow of spring + With homely scents of gorse and heather bloom. + Or sunbeams shone by many an Alpine fountain, + Fed by the waters of the forest stream; + Or glacier-glories in the rock-girt mountain, + Where they so often fed the poet’s dream; + Or else was mingled the rough billow’s glee + With cries of petrels on a sullen sea. + + V + + Remember how we roamed the Channel’s shore, + And read aloud our verses, each in turn, + While rhythmic waves to us their music bore, + And foam-flakes leapt from out the rocky churn. + Then oft with glowing eyes you strove to capture + The potent word that makes a thought abiding, + And wings it upward to its place of rapture, + While we discoursed to Nature, she presiding. + Then would the poet-painter gaze in wonder + That art knew not the mighty reverie + That moves earth’s spirit and her orb asunder, + While ocean’s depths, even, seem a shallow sea. + Yet with rare genius could his hand impart + His own far-searching poesy to art. + +The fourth of these exquisite sonnets delights me most of all. It makes +me see the recluse in his studio, sitting snugly with his feet in the +fender, when suddenly the door opens and the poet of Nature brings with +him a new atmosphere—the salt atmosphere which envelops ‘Mother Carey’s +Chicken,’ and the attenuated mountain air of Natura Benigna. And yet +perhaps the description of + + ‘The sun of Kelmscott through the foliage gleaming’ + +is equally fascinating. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton himself, with a stronger hand and more vigorous brush, +has in his sonnet ‘The Shadow on the Window Blind,’ made Kelmscott Manor +and the poetic life lived there still more memorable:— + + Within this thicket’s every leafy lair + A song-bird sleeps: the very rooks are dumb, + Though red behind their nests the moon has swum— + But still I see that shadow writing there!— + Poet, behind yon casement’s ruddy square, + Whose shadow tells me why you do not come— + Rhyming and chiming of thine insect-hum, + Flying and singing through thine inch of air— + + Come thither, where on grass and flower and leaf + Gleams Nature’s scripture, putting Man’s to shame: + ‘Thy day,’ she says, ‘is all too rich and brief— + Thy game of life too wonderful a game— + To give to Art entirely or in chief: + Drink of these dews—sweeter than wine of Fame.’ + +‘Aylwin,’ too, is full of vivid pictures of Rossetti at Chelsea and +Kelmscott. + +The following description of the famous house and garden, 16 Cheyne Walk, +has been declared by one of Rossetti’s most intimate friends to be +marvellously graphic and true:— + + “On sending in my card I was shown at once into the studio, and after + threading my way between some pieces of massive furniture and + pictures upon easels, I found D’Arcy lolling lazily upon a huge sofa. + Seeing that he was not alone, I was about to withdraw, for I was in + no mood to meet strangers. However, he sprang up and introduced me + to his guest, whom he called Symonds, an elegant-looking man in a + peculiar kind of evening dress, who, as I afterwards learnt, was one + of Mr. D’Arcy’s chief buyers. This gentleman bowed stiffly to me. + + He did not stay long; indeed, it was evident that the appearance of a + stranger somewhat disconcerted him. + + After he was gone D’Arcy said: ‘A good fellow! One of my most + important buyers. I should like you to know him, for you and I are + going to be friends, I hope.’ + + ‘He seems very fond of pictures,’ I said. + + ‘A man of great taste, with a real love of art and music.’ + + A little while after this gentleman’s departure, in came De Castro, + who had driven up in a hansom. I certainly saw a flash of anger in + his eyes as he recognized me, but it vanished like lightning, and his + manner became cordiality itself. Late as it was (it was nearly + twelve), he pulled out his cigarette case, and evidently intended to + begin the evening. As soon as he was told that Mr. Symonds had been + there, he began to talk about him in a disparaging manner. Evidently + his métier was, as I had surmised, that of a professional talker. + Talk was his stock-in-trade. + + The night wore on and De Castro, in the intervals of his talk, kept + pulling out his watch. It was evident that he wanted to be going, + but was reluctant to leave me there. For my part, I frequently rose + to go, but on getting a sign from D’Arcy that he wished me to stay I + sat down again. At last D’Arcy said: + + ‘You had better go now, De Castro—you have kept that hansom outside + for more than an hour and a half; and besides, if you stay still + daylight our friend here will stay longer, for I want to talk with + him alone.’ + + De Castro got up with a laugh that seemed genuine enough, and left + us. + + D’Arcy, who was still on the sofa, then lapsed into a silence that + became after a while rather awkward. He lay there, gazing + abstractedly at the fireplace. + + ‘Some of my friends call me, as you heard De Castro say the other + night, Haroun-al-Raschid, and I suppose I am like him in some things. + I am a bad sleeper, and to be amused by De Castro when I can’t sleep + is the chief of blessings. De Castro, however, is not so bad as he + seems. A man may be a scandal-monger without being really malignant. + I have known him go out of his way to do a struggling man a service.’ + + Next morning, after I had finished my solitary breakfast, I asked the + servant if Mr. D’Arcy had yet risen. On being told that he had not, + I went downstairs into the studio, where I had spent the previous + evening. After examining the pictures on the walls and the easels, I + walked to the window and looked out at the garden. It was large, and + so neglected and untrimmed as to be a veritable wilderness. While I + was marvelling why it should have been left in this state, I saw the + eyes of some animal staring at me from a distance, and was soon + astonished to see that they belonged to a little Indian bull. My + curiosity induced me to go into the garden and look at the creature. + He seemed rather threatening at first, but after a while allowed me + to go up to him and stroke him. Then I left the Indian bull and + explored this extraordinary domain. It was full of unkempt trees, + including two fine mulberries, and surrounded by a very high wall. + Soon I came across an object which, at first, seemed a little mass of + black and white oats moving along, but I presently discovered it to + be a hedgehog. It was so tame that it did not curl up as I + approached it, but allowed me, though with some show of nervousness, + to stroke its pretty little black snout. As I walked about the + garden, I found it was populated with several kinds of animals such + as are never seen except in menageries or in the Zoological Gardens. + Wombats, kangaroos, and the like, formed a kind of happy family. + + My love of animals led me to linger in the garden. When I returned + to the house I found that D’Arcy had already breakfasted, and was at + work in the studio. + + After greeting me with the greatest cordiality, he said: + + ‘No doubt you are surprised at my menagerie. Every man has one side + of his character where the child remains. I have a love of animals + which, I suppose, I may call a passion. The kind of amusement they + can afford me is like none other. It is the self-consciousness of + men and women that makes them, in a general way, intensely unamusing. + I turn from them to the unconscious brutes, and often get a world of + enjoyment. To watch a kitten or a puppy play, or the funny antics of + a parrot or a cockatoo, or the wise movements of a wombat, will keep + me for hours from being bored.’ + + ‘And children,’ I said—‘do you like children?’ + + ‘Yes, so long as they remain like the young animals—until they become + self-conscious, I mean, and that is very soon. Then their charm + goes. Has it ever occurred to you how fascinating a beautiful young + girl would be if she were as unconscious as a young animal? What + makes you sigh?’ + + My thoughts had flown to Winifred breakfasting with her ‘Prince of + the Mist’ on Snowdon. And I said to myself, ‘How he would have been + fascinated by a sight like that!’ + + My experience of men at that time was so slight that the opinion I + then formed of D’Arcy as a talker was not of much account. But since + then I have seen very much of men, and I find that I was right in the + view I then took of his conversational powers. When his spirits were + at their highest he was without an equal as a wit, without an equal + as a humourist. He had more than even Cyril Aylwin’s quickness of + repartee, and it was of an incomparably rarer quality. To define it + would be, of course, impossible, but I might perhaps call it poetic + fancy suddenly stimulated at moments by animal spirits into rapid + movements—so rapid, indeed, that what in slower movement would be + merely fancy, in him became wit. Beneath the coruscations of this + wit a rare and deep intellect was always perceptible. + + His humour was also so fanciful that it seemed poetry at play, but + here was the remarkable thing: although he was not unconscious of his + other gifts, he did not seem to be in the least aware that he was a + humourist of the first order; every ‘jeu d’esprit’ seemed to leap + from him involuntarily, like the spray from a fountain. A dull man + like myself must not attempt to reproduce these qualities here. + + While he was talking he kept on painting.” + + + + +Chapter XII +WILLIAM MORRIS + + +IT is natural after writing about Rossetti to think of William Morris. +In my opinion the masterpiece among all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s ‘Athenæum’ +monographs is the one upon him. Between these two there was an intimacy +of the closest kind—from 1873 to the day of the poet’s death. This, no +doubt, apart from Mr. Watts-Dunton’s graphic power, accounts for the +extraordinary vividness of the portrait of his friend. I have heard more +than one eminent friend of William Morris say that from a few paragraphs +of this monograph a reader gains a far more vivid picture of this +fascinating man than is to be gained from reading and re-reading anything +else that has been published about him. It is a grievous loss to +literature that the man so fully equipped for writing a biography of +Morris is scarcely likely to write one. Morris, when he was busy in +Queen’s Square, used to be one of the most frequent visitors at the +gatherings at Danes Inn with Mr. Swinburne, Dr. Westland Marston, Madox +Brown, and others, on Wednesday evenings; and he and Mr. Watts-Dunton +were frequently together at Kelmscott during the time of the joint +occupancy of the old Manor house, and also after Rossetti’s death. + + [Picture: Kelmscott Manor. (From a Water Colour by Miss May Morris.)] + +When Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote ‘Aylwin’ he did not contemplate that the +Hurstcote of the story would immediately be identified with Kelmscott +Manor. The pictures of localities and the descriptions of the characters +were so vivid that Hurstcote was at once identified with Kelmscott, and +D’Arcy was at once identified with Rossetti. Morris’s passion for +angling is slightly introduced in the later chapters of the book, and +this is not surprising, for some of the happiest moments of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s life were spent at Kelmscott. Treffry Dunn’s portrait of +him, sitting on a fallen tree beside the back-water, was painted at +Kelmscott, and the scenery and the house are admirably rendered in the +picture. + +Mr. Hake, in ‘Notes and Queries’ (June 7, 1902) mentions some interesting +facts with regard to ‘Hurstcote Manor’ and Morris:— + + “Morris, whom I had the privilege of knowing very well, and with whom + I have stayed at Kelmscott during the Rossetti period, is alluded to + in ‘Aylwin’ (chap. lx. book xv.) as the ‘enthusiastic angler’ who + used to go down to ‘Hurstcote’ to fish. At that time this fine old + seventeenth century manor house was in the joint occupancy of + Rossetti and Morris. Afterwards it was in the joint occupancy of + Morris and (a beloved friend of the two) the late F. S. Ellis, who, + with Mr. Cockerell, was executor under Morris’s will. The series of + ‘large attics in which was a number of enormous oak beams’ supporting + the antique roof, was a favourite resort of my own; but all the + ghostly noise that I there heard was the snoring of young owls—a + peculiar sound that had a special fascination for Rossetti; and after + dinner Rossetti, my brother, and I, or Mr. Watts-Dunton and I, would + go to the attics to listen to them. + + With regard to ‘Hurstcote’ I well knew ‘the large bedroom, with + low-panelled walls and the vast antique bedstead made of black carved + oak’ upon which Winifred Wynne slept. In fact, the only thing in the + description of this room that I do not remember is the beautiful + ‘Madonna and Child,’ upon the frame of which was written ‘Chiaro + dell’ Erma’ (readers of ‘Hand and Soul’ will remember that name). I + wonder whether it is a Madonna by Parmigiano, belonging to Mr. + Watts-Dunton, which was much admired by Leighton and others, and + which has been exhibited. This quaint and picturesque bedroom leads + by two or three steps to the tapestried room ‘covered with old faded + tapestry—so faded, indeed, that its general effect was that of a dull + grey texture’—depicting the story of Samson. Rossetti used the + tapestry room as a studio, and I have seen in it the very same + pictures that so attracted the attention of Winifred Wynne: the + ‘grand brunette’ (painted from Mrs. Morris) ‘holding a pomegranate in + her hand’; the ‘other brunette, whose beautiful eyes are glistening + and laughing over the fruit she is holding up’ (painted from the same + famous Irish beauty, named Smith, who appears in ‘The Beloved’), and + the blonde ‘under the apple blossoms’ (painted from a still more + beautiful woman—Mrs. Stillman). These pictures were not permanently + placed there, but, as it chanced, they were there (for retouching) on + a certain occasion when I was visiting at Kelmscott.” + +Among the remarkable men that Mr. Watts-Dunton used to meet at Kelmscott, +was Morris’s friend, Dr. John Henry Middleton, Slade Professor of Fine +Art in the University of Cambridge and Art Director of the South +Kensington Museum—a man of extraordinary gifts, who promised to be one of +the foremost of the scholarly writers of our time, but who died +prematurely. Some of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s anecdotes of the causeries at +Kelmscott between Morris, Middleton, and himself, are so interesting that +it is a pity they have never been recorded in print. Middleton was one +of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s collaborators in the ninth edition of the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ to which he contributed the article on ‘Rome,’ +one of the finest essays in that work. + +Morris was notoriously indifferent to critical expressions about his +work; and he used to declare that the only reviews of his works which he +ever took the trouble to read were the reviews by Mr. Watts-Dunton in the +‘Athenæum.’ And the poet, might well say this, for those who have +studied, as I have, those elaborate and brilliant essays upon ‘Sigurd,’ +‘The House of the Wolfings,’ ‘The Roots of the Mountains,’ ‘The +Glittering Plain,’ ‘The Well at the World’s End,’ ‘The Tale of Beowulf,’ +‘News from Nowhere,’ ‘Poems by the Way,’ will be inclined to put them at +the top of all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s purely critical work. The ‘Quarterly +Review,’ in the article upon Morris, makes allusion to the relations +between Mr. Watts-Dunton and Morris; so does the writer of the admirable +article upon Morris in the new edition of Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of +English Literature.’ I record these facts, not in order to depreciate +the work of other men, but as a justification for the extracts I am going +to make from Mr. Watts-Dunton’s monograph in the ‘Athenæum.’ + +The article contains these beautiful meditations on Pain and Death:— + + “Each time that I saw him he declared, in answer to my inquiries, + that he suffered no pain whatever. And a comforting thought this is + to us all—that Morris suffered no pain. To Death himself we may + easily be reconciled—nay, we might even look upon him as Nature’s + final beneficence to all her children, if it were not for the cruel + means he so often employs in fulfilling his inevitable mission. The + thought that Morris’s life had ended in the tragedy of pain—the + thought that he to whom work was sport, and generosity the highest + form of enjoyment, suffered what some men suffer in shuffling off the + mortal coil—would have been intolerable almost. For among the + thousand and one charms of the man, this, perhaps, was the chief, + that Nature had endowed him with an enormous capacity of enjoyment, + and that Circumstance, conspiring with Nature, said to him, ‘Enjoy.’ + Born in easy circumstances, though not to the degrading trouble of + wealth—cherishing as his sweetest possessions a devoted wife and two + daughters, each of them endowed with intelligence so rare as to + understand a genius such as his—surrounded by friends, some of whom + were among the first men of our time, and most of whom were of the + very salt of the earth—it may be said of him that Misfortune, if she + touched him at all, never struck home. If it is true, as Mérimée + affirms, that men are hastened to maturity by misfortune, who wanted + Morris to be mature? Who wanted him to be other than the radiant boy + of genius that he remained till the years had silvered his hair and + carved wrinkles on his brow, but left his blue-grey eyes as bright as + when they first opened on the world? Enough for us to think that the + man must, indeed, be specially beloved by the gods who in his + sixty-third year dies young. Old age Morris could not have borne + with patience. Pain would not have developed him into a hero. This + beloved man, who must have died some day, died when his marvellous + powers were at their best—and died without pain. The scheme of life + and death does not seem so much awry, after all. + + At the last interview but one that ever I had with him—it was in the + little carpetless room from which so much of his best work was turned + out—he himself surprised me by leading the conversation upon a + subject he rarely chose to talk about—the mystery of life and death. + The conversation ended with these words of his: ‘I have enjoyed my + life—few men more so—and death in any case is sure.’” + +It is in this same vivid word-picture that occur Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +reflections upon the wear and tear of genius:— + + “It is difficult not to think that the cause of causes of his death + was excessive exercise of all his forces, especially of the + imaginative faculty. When I talked to him, as I often did, of the + peril of such a life of tension as his, he pooh-poohed the idea. + ‘Look at Gladstone,’ he would say, ‘look at those wise owls your + chancellors and your judges. Don’t they live all the longer for + work? It is rust that kills men, not work.’ No doubt he was right + in contending that in intellectual efforts such as those he alluded + to, where the only faculty drawn upon is the ‘dry light of + intelligence,’ a prodigious amount of work may be achieved without + any sapping of the sources of life. But is this so where that fusion + of all the faculties which we call genius is greatly taxed? I doubt + it. In all true imaginative production there is, as De Quincey + pointed out many years ago, a movement, not of ‘the thinking machine’ + only, but of the whole man—the whole ‘genial’ nature of the + worker—his imagination, his judgment, moving in an evolution of + lightning velocity from the whole of the work to the part, from the + part to the whole, together with every emotion of the soul. Hence + when, as in the case of Walter Scott, of Charles Dickens, and + presumably of Shakespeare too, the emotional nature of Man is + overtaxed, every part of the frame suffers, and cries out in vain for + its share of that nervous fluid which is the true vis vitæ. + + We have only to consider the sort of work Morris produced, and its + amount, to realize that no human powers could continue to withstand + such a strain. Many are of opinion that ‘The Lovers of Gudrun’ is + his finest poem; he worked at it from four o’clock in the morning + till four in the afternoon, and when he rose from the table he had + produced 750 lines! Think of the forces at work in producing a poem + like ‘Sigurd.’ Think of the mingling of the drudgery of the + Dryasdust with the movements of an imaginative vision unsurpassed in + our time; think, I say, of the collating of the ‘Volsunga Saga’ with + the ‘Nibelungenlied,’ the choosing of this point from the Saga-man, + and of that point from the later poem of the Germans, and then fusing + the whole by imaginative heat into the greatest epic of the + nineteenth century. Was there not work enough here for a + considerable portion of a poet’s life? And yet so great is the + entire mass of his work that ‘Sigurd’ is positively overlooked in + many of the notices of his writings which have appeared in the last + few days in the press, while in the others it is alluded to in three + words; and this simply because the mass of other matter to be dealt + with fills up all the available space of a newspaper.” + +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s critical acumen is nowhere more strikingly seen than +in his remarks upon Morris’s translation of the Odyssey:— + + “Some competent critics are dissatisfied with Morris’s translation; + yet in a certain sense it is a triumph. The two specially Homeric + qualities—those, indeed, which set Homer apart from all other + poets—are eagerness and dignity. Never again can they be fully + combined, for never again will poetry be written in the Greek + hexameters and by a Homer. That Tennyson could have given us the + Homeric dignity his magnificent rendering of a famous fragment of the + Iliad shows. Chapman’s translations show that the eagerness also can + be caught. Morris, of course, could not have given the dignity of + Homer, but then, while Tennyson has left us only a few lines speaking + with the dignity of the Iliad, Morris gave us a translation of the + entire Odyssey, which, though it missed the Homeric dignity, secured + the eagerness as completely as Chapman’s free-and-easy paraphrase, + and in a rendering as literal as Buckley’s prose crib, which lay + frankly by Morris’s side as he wrote. . . . Morris’s translation of + the Odyssey and his translation of Virgil, where he gives us an + almost word-for-word translation and yet throws over the poem a + glamour of romance which brings Virgil into the sympathy of the + modern reader, would have occupied years with almost any other poet. + But these two efforts of his genius are swamped by the purely + original poems, such as ‘The Defence of Guenevere,’ ‘Jason,’ ‘The + Earthly Paradise,’ ‘Love is Enough,’ ‘Poems by the Way,’ etc. And + then come his translations from the Icelandic. Mere translation is, + of course, easy enough, but not such translation as that in the ‘Saga + Library.’ Allowing for all the aid he got from Mr. Magnusson, what a + work this is! Think of the imaginative exercise required to turn the + language of these Saga-men into a diction so picturesque and so + concrete as to make each Saga an English poem—for poem each one is, + if Aristotle is right in thinking that imaginative substance and not + metre is the first requisite of a poem.” + +In connection with William Morris, readers of ‘The Coming of Love’ will +recall the touching words in the ‘Prefatory Note’:— + + “Had it not been for the intervention of matters of a peculiarly + absorbing kind—matters which caused me to delay the task of + collecting these verses—I should have been the most favoured man who + ever brought out a volume of poems, for they would have been printed + by William Morris, at the Kelmscott Press. As that projected edition + of his was largely subscribed for, a word of explanation to the + subscribers is, I am told, required from me. Among the friends who + saw much of that great poet and beloved man during the last year of + his life, there was one who would not and could not believe that he + would die—myself. To me he seemed human vitality concentrated to a + point of quenchless light; and when the appalling truth that he must + die did at last strike through me, I had no heart and no patience to + think about anything in connection with him but the loss that was to + come upon us. And, now, whatsoever pleasure I may feel at seeing my + verses in one of Mr. Lane’s inviting little volumes will be dimmed + and marred by the thought that Morris’s name also might have been, + and is not, on the imprint.” + +As a matter of fact this incident in the publication of ‘The Coming of +Love’ is an instance of that artistic conscientiousness which up to a +certain point is of inestimable value to the poet, but after that point +is reached, baffles him. The poem had been read in fragments and deeply +admired by that galaxy of poets among whom Mr. Watts-Dunton moved. +Certain fragments of it had appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ and other +journals, but the publication of the entire poem had been delayed owing +to the fact that certain portions of it had been lent and lost. Morris +not only offered to bring out at the Kelmscott Press an édition de luxe +of the book, but he actually took the trouble to get a full list of +subscribers, and insisted upon allowing the author a magnificent royalty. +Nothing, however, would persuade Mr. Watts-Dunton to bring out the book +until these lost portions could be found, and notwithstanding the +generous urgings of Morris, the matter stood still; and then, when the +book was ready, Morris was seized by that illness which robbed us of one +of the greatest writers of the nineteenth century. And even after +Morris’s death the poet’s executors and friends, the late Mr. F. S. Ellis +and the well-known bibliographer, Mr. Sydney C. Cockerell, were willing +and even desirous that the Kelmscott edition of the poems should be +brought out. Subsequently, when a large portion of the lost poems was +found, the volume was published by Mr. John Lane. This anecdote alone +explains why Mr. Watts-Dunton is never tired of dwelling upon the +nobility of Morris’s nature, and upon his generosity in small things as +well as in large. + +Another favourite story of his in connection with this subject is the +following. When Morris published his first volume in the Kelmscott +Press, he sent Mr. Watts-Dunton a presentation copy of the book. He also +sent him a presentation copy of the second and third. But knowing how +small was the profit at this time from the books issued by the Kelmscott +Press, Mr. Watts-Dunton felt a little delicacy in taking these +presentation copies, and told Mrs. Morris that she should gently protest +against such extravagance. Mrs. Morris assured him that it would be +perfectly useless to do so. But when the edition of Keats was coming +out, Mr. Watts-Dunton determined to grapple with the matter, and one +Sunday afternoon when he was at Kelmscott House, he said to Morris: + +‘Morris, I wish you to put my name down as a subscriber to the Keats, and +I give my commission for it in the presence of witnesses. I am a paying +subscriber to the Keats.’ + +‘All right, old chap, you’re a subscriber.’ + +In spite of this there came the usual presentation copy of the Keats; and +when Mr. Watts-Dunton was at Kelmscott House on the following Sunday +afternoon, he told Morris that a mistake had been made. Morris laughed. + +‘All right, there’s no mistake—that is my presentation copy of Keats.’ + +But when at last the magnum opus of the Kelmscott Press was being +discussed—the marvellous Chaucer with Burne-Jones’s illustrations—Mr. +Watts-Dunton knew that here a great deal of money was to be risked, and +probably sunk, and he said to Morris: + +‘Now, Morris, I’m going to talk to you seriously about the Chaucer. I +know that it’s going to be a dead loss to you, and I do really and +seriously hope that you do not contemplate anything so wild as to send me +a presentation copy of that book. You know my affection for you, and you +know I speak the truth, when I tell you that it would give me pain to +accept it.’ + +‘Well, old chap, very likely this time I shall have to stay my hand, for, +between ourselves, I expect I shall drop some money over it; but the +Chaucer will be at The Pines, because Ned Jones and I are going to join +in the presentation of a copy to Algernon Swinburne.’ + +After this Mr. Watts-Dunton’s mind was set at rest, as he told Mrs. +Morris. But when Mr. Swinburne’s copy reached ‘The Pines’ it was +accompanied by another one—‘Theodore Watts-Dunton from William Morris.’ + +Another anecdote, illustrative of his generosity, Mr. Watts-Dunton also +tells. Mr. Swinburne, wishing to possess a copy of ‘The Golden Legend,’ +bought the Kelmscott edition, and one day Mr. Watts-Dunton told Morris +this. Morris gave a start as though a sudden pain had struck him. + +‘What! Algernon pay ten pounds for a book of mine! Why I thought he did +not care for black letter reproductions, or I would have sent him a copy +of every book I brought out.’ + +And when he did bring out another book, two copies were sent to ‘The +Pines,’ one for Mr. Watts-Dunton and one for Mr. Swinburne. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton, speaking about ‘The Water of the Wondrous Isles,’ tells +this amusing story:— + + “Once, many years ago, Morris was inveigled into seeing and hearing + the great poet-singer Stead, whose rhythms have had such a great + effect upon the ‘art poetic,’ the author of ‘The Perfect Cure,’ and + ‘It’s Daddy this and Daddy that,’ and other brilliant lyrics. A + friend with whom Morris had been spending the evening, and who had + been talking about poetic energy and poetic art in relation to the + chilly reception accorded to ‘Sigurd,’ persuaded him—much against his + will—to turn in for a few seconds to see Mr. Stead, whose performance + consisted of singing a song, the burden of which was ‘I’m a perfect + cure!’ while he leaped up into the air without bending his legs and + twirled round like a dervish. ‘What made you bring me to see this + damned tomfoolery?’ Morris grumbled; and on being told that it was to + give him an example of poetic energy at its tensest, without poetic + art, he grumbled still more and shouldered his way out. If Morris + were now alive—and all England will sigh, ‘Ah, would he were!’—he + would confess, with his customary emphasis, that the poet had nothing + of the slightest importance to learn, even from the rhythms of Mr. + Stead, marked as they were by terpsichorean pauses that were beyond + the powers of the ‘Great Vance.’” + + + + +Chapter XIII +THE ‘EXAMINER’ + + +LONG before Mr. Watts-Dunton printed a line, he was a prominent figure in +the literary and artistic sets in London; but, as Mr. Hake has said, it +was merely as a conversationalist that he was known. His conversation +was described by Rossetti as being like that of no other person moving in +literary circles, because he was always enunciating new views in +phrasings so polished that, to use Rossetti’s words, his improvized +locutions were as perfect as ‘fitted jewels.’ Those who have been +privileged to listen to his table-talk will attest the felicity of the +image. Seldom has so great a critic had so fine an audience. Rossetti +often lamented that Theodore Watts’ spoken criticism had never been taken +down in shorthand. For a long time various editors who had met him at +Rossetti’s, at Madox Brown’s, at Westland Marston’s, at Whistler’s +breakfasts, and at the late Lord Houghton’s, endeavoured to persuade him +to make practical use in criticism of the ideas that flowed in a +continuous stream from his lips. But, as Rossetti used to affirm, he was +the one man of his time who, with immense literary equipment, was without +literary ambition. This peculiarity of his was eloquently described by +the late Dr. Gordon Hake in his ‘New Day’:— + + You say you care not for the people’s praise, + That poetry is its own recompense; + You care not for the wreath, the dusty bays, + Given to the whirling wind and hurried hence. + +The first editor who secured Theodore Watts, after repeated efforts to do +so, was the late Professor Minto, and this only came about because during +his editorship of the ‘Examiner’ both he and Watts resided in Danes Inn, +and were constantly seeing each other. + +It was Minto who afterwards declared that “the articles in the ‘Examiner’ +and the ‘Athenæum’ are goldmines, in which we others are apt to dig +unconsciously without remembering that the nuggets are Theodore Watts’s, +who is too lazy to peg out his claim.” The first article by him that +appeared in Minto’s paper attracted great attention and roused great +curiosity. This indeed is not surprising, for, as I found when I read +it, it was as remarkable for pregnancy of thought and of style as the +latest and ripest of his essays. A friend of his, belonging to the set +in which he moved, who remembers the appearance of this article, has been +kind enough to tell me the following anecdote in connection with it. The +contributors to the paper at that time consisted of Minto, Dr Garnett, +Swinburne, Edmund Gosse, ‘Scholar’ Williams, Comyns Carr, Walter Pollock, +Duffield (the translator of ‘Don Quixote’), Professor Sully, Dr. Marston, +William Bell Scott, William Black, and many other able writers. On the +evening of the day when Theodore Watts’s first article appeared, there +was a party at the house of William Bell Scott in Chelsea, and every one +was asking who this new contributor was. It was one of the conditions +under which the article was written that its authorship was to be kept a +secret. Bell Scott, who took a great interest in the ‘Examiner,’ was +especially inquisitive about the new writer. After having in vain tried +to get from Minto the name of the writer, he went up to Watts, and said: +“I would give almost anything to know who the writer is who appears in +the ‘Examiner’ for the first time today.” “What makes you inquire about +it?” said Watts. “What is the interest attaching to the writer of such +fantastic stuff as that? Surely it is the most mannered writing that has +appeared in the ‘Examiner’ for a long time!” Then, turning to Minto, he +said: “I can’t think, Minto, what made you print it at all.” Scott, who +had a most exalted opinion of Watts as a critic, was considerably abashed +at this, and began to endeavour to withdraw some of his enthusiastic +remarks. This set Minto laughing aloud, and thus the secret got out. + +From that hour Watts became the most noticeable writer among a group of +critics who were all noticeable. Week after week there appeared in this +historic paper criticism as fine as had ever appeared in it in the time +of Leigh Hunt, and as brilliant as had appeared in it in the time of +Fonblanque. At this time Minto used to entertain his contributors on +Monday evening in the room over the publisher’s office in the Strand, and +I have been told by one who was frequently there that these smoking +symposia were among the most brilliant in London. One can well imagine +this when one remembers the names of those who used to attend the +meetings. + +It was through the ‘Examiner’ that Watts formed that friendship with +William Black which his biographer, Sir Wemyss Reid, alludes to. Between +these two there was one subject on which they were especially in +sympathy—their knowledge and love of nature. At that time Black was +immensely popular. In personal appearance there was, I am told, a +superficial resemblance between the two, and they were constantly being +mistaken for each other; and yet, when they were side by side, it was +evident that the large, dark moustache and the black eyes were almost the +only points of resemblance between them. + +It was at the then famous house in Gower Street of Mr. Justin McCarthy +that Black and Mr. Watts-Dunton first met. Speaking as an Irishman of a +younger but not, I fear, of so genial a generation, I hear tantalizing +accounts of the popular gatherings at the home of the most charming and +the most distinguished Irishman of letters in the London of that time, +where so many young men of my own country were welcomed as warmly as +though they had not yet to win their spurs. No one speaks more +enthusiastically of the McCarthy family than Mr. Watts-Dunton, who seems +to have been on terms of friendship with them almost as soon as he +settled in London. Mr. Watts-Dunton was always a lover of McCarthy’s +novels, but on his first visit to Gower Street Mr. McCarthy was, as +usual, full of the subject not of his own novels, but of another man’s. +He urged his new friend to read ‘Under the Greenwood Tree,’ almost +forcing him to take the book away with him, which he did: this was the +way in which Mr. Watts-Dunton became for the first time acquainted with a +story which he always avers is the only book that has ever revived the +rich rustic humour of Shakespeare’s early comedies. A perfect household +of loving natures, warm Irish hearts, bright Irish intellects, cultivated +and rare, according to Mr. Watts-Dunton’s testimony, was that little +family in Gower Street. I think he will pardon me for repeating one +quaint little story about himself and Black in connection with this first +visit to the McCarthys. On entering the room Mr. Watts-Dunton was much +struck with what appeared to be real musical genius in a bright-eyed +little lady who was delighting the party with her music. This was at the +period in his own life which Mr. Watts-Dunton calls his ‘music-mad +period.’ And after a time he got talking with the lady. He was a little +surprised that he was at once invited by the musical lady to go to a +gathering at her house. But he was as much pleased as surprised to be so +welcomed, and incontinently accepted the invitation. It never entered +his mind that he had been mistaken for another man, until the other man +entered the room and came up to the lady. She, on her part, began to +look in an embarrassed way from one to the other of the two swarthy, +black-moustached gentlemen. She had mistaken Mr. Watts-Dunton for +William Black, with whom her acquaintance was but slight. The +contretemps caused much amusement when the husband of the lady, an +eminent novelist, who knew Mr. Watts-Dunton well, introduced him to his +wife. I do not know what was the end of the comedy, but no doubt it was +a satisfactory one. It could not be otherwise among such people as +Justin McCarthy would be likely to gather round him. + +At that time, to quote the words of the same friend of Mr. Watts-Dunton, +Watts used frequently to meet at Bell Scott’s and Rossetti’s Professor +Appleton, the editor of the ‘Academy.’ The points upon which these two +touched were as unlike the points upon which Watts and William Black +touched as could possibly be. They were both students of Hegel; and when +they met, Appleton, who had Hegel on the brain, invariably drew Watts +aside for a long private talk. People used to leave them alone, on +account of the remoteness of the subject that attracted the two. Watts +had now made up his mind that he would devote himself to literature, and, +indeed, his articles in the ‘Examiner’ showed that he had only to do so +to achieve a great success. Appleton rarely left Watts without saying, +“I do wish you would write for the ‘Academy.’ I want you to let me send +you all the books on the transcendentalists that come to the ‘Academy,’ +and let me have articles giving the pith of them at short intervals.” +This invitation to furnish the ‘Academy’ with a couple of columns +condensing the spirit of many books about subjects upon which only a +handful of people in England were competent to write, seemed to Watts a +grotesque request, seeing that he was at this very time the leading +writer on the ‘Examiner,’ and was being constantly approached by other +editors. It was consequently the subject of many a joke between Minto, +William Black, Watts, and the others present at the famous ‘Examiner’ +gatherings. After a while Mr. Norman MacColl, who was then the editor of +the ‘Athenæum,’ invited Watts to take an important part in the reviewing +for the ‘Athenæum.’ At first he told the editor that there were two +obstacles to his accepting the invitation—one was that the work that he +was invited to do was largely done by his friend Marston, and that, +although he would like to join him, he scarcely saw his way, on account +of the ‘Examiner,’ which was ready to take all the work he could produce. +On opening the matter to Dr Marston, that admirably endowed writer would +not hear of Watts’s considering him in the matter. The ‘Athenæum’ was +then, as now, the leading literary organ in Europe, and the editor’s +offer was, of course, a very tempting one, and Watts was determined to +tell Minto about it. And this he did. + +“Now, Minto,” he said, “it rests entirely with you whether I shall write +in the ‘Athenæum’ or not.” Minto, between whom and Watts there was a +deep affection, made the following reply: + +“My dear Theodore, I need not say that it will not be a good day for the +‘Examiner’ when you join the ‘Athenæum.’ The ‘Examiner’ is a struggling +paper which could not live without being subsidized by Peter Taylor, and +it is not four months ago since Leicester Warren said to me that he and +all the other readers of the ‘Examiner’ looked eagerly for the ‘T. W.’ at +the foot of a literary article. The ‘Athenæum’ is both a powerful and a +wealthy paper. In short, it will injure the ‘Examiner’ when your name is +associated with the ‘Athenæum.’ But to be the leading voice of such a +paper as that is just what you ought to be, and I cannot help advising +you to entertain MacColl’s proposal.” + +In consequence of this Mr. Watts-Dunton closed with Mr. MacColl’s offer, +and his first article in the ‘Athenæum’ appeared on July 8, 1876. + + + + +Chapter XIV +THE ‘ATHENÆUM’ + + +AS the first review which Mr. Watts-Dunton contributed to the ‘Athenæum’ +has been so often discussed, and as it is as characteristic as any other +of his style, I have determined to reprint it entire. It has the +additional interest, I believe, of being the most rapidly executed piece +of literary work which Mr. Watts-Dunton ever achieved. Mr. MacColl, +having secured the new writer, tried to find a book for him, and failed, +until Mr. Watts-Dunton asked him whether he intended to give an article +upon Skelton’s ‘Comedy of the Noctes Ambrosianæ.’ The editor said that +he had not thought of giving the book a considerable article, but that, +if Mr. Watts-Dunton liked to take it, it should be sent to him. As the +article was wanted on the following day, it was dictated as fast as the +amanuensis—not a shorthand writer—could take it down. + +It has no relation to the Renascence of Wonder, nor is it one of his +great essays, such as the one on the Psalms, or his essays on Victor +Hugo, but in style it is as characteristic as any:— + + ‘Is it really that the great squeezing of books has at last begun? + Here, at least, is the ‘Noctes Ambrosianæ’ squeezed into one volume. + + Long ago we came upon an anecdote in Castellan, the subject of which, + as far as we remember, is this. The library of the Indian kings was + composed of so many volumes that a thousand camels were necessary to + remove it. But once on a time a certain prince who loved reading + much and other pleasures more, called a Brahmin to him, and said: + ‘Books are good, O Brahmin, even as women are good, yet surely, of + both these goods a prince may have too many; and then, O Brahmin, + which of these two vexations is sorest to princely flesh it were hard + to say; but as to the books, O Brahmin, squeeze ’em!’ The Brahmin, + understanding well what the order to ‘squeeze ’em’ meant (for he was + a bookman himself, and knew that, as there goes much water and little + flavour to the making of a very big pumpkin, so there go much words + and few thoughts to the making of a very big book), set to work, + aided by many scribes—striking out all the idle words from every book + in the library; and when the essence of them had been extracted it + was found that ten camels could carry that library without ruffling a + hair. And therefore the Brahmin was appointed ‘Grand Squeezer’ of + the realm. Ages after this, another prince, who loved reading much + and other pleasures a good deal more, called the Grand Squeezer of + his time and said: ‘Thy duties are neglected, O Grand Squeezer! Thy + life depends upon the measure of thy squeezing.’ Thereupon the Grand + Squeezer, in fear and trembling, set to work and squeezed and + squeezed till the whole library became at last a load that a foal + would have laughed at, for it consisted but of one book, a tiny + volume, containing four maxims. Yet the wisdom in the last library + was the wisdom in the first. + + The appearance of Mr. Skelton’s condensation of the ‘Noctes + Ambrosianæ’ reminds us of this story, and of a certain solemn warning + we always find it our duty to administer to those who show a + propensity towards the baneful coxcombry of authorship—the warning + that the literature of our country is already in a fair way of dying + for the want of a Grand Squeezer, and that unless such a functionary + be appointed within the next ten years, it will be smothered by + itself. Yet our Government will keep granting pension after pension + to those whom the Duke of Wellington used to call ‘the writing + fellows,’ for adding to the camel’s burden, instead of distributing + the same amount among an army of diligent and well-selected + squeezers. We say an army of squeezers, for it is not merely that + almost every man, woman, and child among us who can write, prints, + while nobody reads, and, to judge from the ‘spelling bees,’ nobody + even spells, but that the fecundity of man as a ‘writing animal’ is + on the increase, and each one requires a squeezer to himself. This + is the alarming thing. Where are we to find so many squeezers? Nay, + in many cases there needs a separate sub-squeezer for the writer’s + every book. Take, for instance, the case of the Carlyle + squeezer—what more could be expected from him in a lifetime than that + he should squeeze ‘Frederick the Great’—that enormous, rank and + pungent ‘haggis’ from which, properly squeezed, such an ocean would + flow of ‘oniony liquid’ that compared with it the famous + ‘haggis-deluge’ of the ‘Noctes’ which nearly drowned in gravy + ‘Christopher,’ ‘the Shepherd,’ and ‘Tickler’ in Ambrose’s parlour, + would be, both for quantity and flavour, but ‘a beaker full of the + sweet South’? Yet what would be the squeezing of Mr. Carlyle; what + would be the squeezing of De Quincey, or of Landor, or of Southey, to + the squeezing of the tremendous Professor Wilson—the mighty + Christopher, who for about thirty years literally talked in type upon + every matter of which he had any knowledge, and upon every matter of + which he had none; whose ‘words, words, words’ are, indeed, as + Hallam, with unconscious irony, says, ‘as the rush of mighty waters’? + + What would be left after the squeezing of him it would be hard to + guess; for, says the Chinese proverb, ‘if what is said be not to the + purpose, a single word is already too much.’ + + Mr. Skelton should have borne this maxim in mind in his manipulations + upon the ‘Noctes Ambrosianæ.’ He loves the memory of the fine old + Scotsman, and has squeezed this enormous pumpkin with fingers that + are too timid of grip. In squeezing Professor Wilson you cannot + overdo it. There are certain parts we should have especially liked + squeezed away; and among these—will Mr. Skelton pardon us?—are the + ‘amazingly humourous’ ones, such as the ‘opening of the haggis,’ + which, Mr. Skelton tells us, ‘manifests the humour of conception as + well as the humour of character, in a measure that has seldom been + surpassed by the greatest masters’; ‘the amazing humour’ of which + consists in the Shepherd’s sticking his supper knife into a ‘haggis’ + (a sheep’s paunch filled with the ‘pluck’ minced, with suet, onions, + salt, and pepper), and thereby setting free such a flood of gravy + that the whole party have to jump upon the chairs and tables to save + themselves from being drowned in it! In truth, Mr. Skelton should + have reversed his method of selection; and if, in operating upon the + Professor’s twelve remaining volumes, he will, instead of retaining, + omit everything ‘amazingly humourous,’ he will be the best + Wilson-squeezer imaginable. + + Yet, his intentions here were as good as could be. The ‘Noctes’ are + dying of dropsy, so Mr. Skelton, to save them, squeezes away all the + political events—so important once, so unimportant now—all the + foolish laudation, and more foolish abuse of those who took part in + them. He eliminates all the critiques upon all those ‘greatest + poems’ and those ‘greatest novels of the age’ written by + Christopher’s friends—friends so famous once, so peacefully forgotten + now. And he has left what he calls the ‘Comedy of the Noctes + Ambrosianæ,’ i.e. ‘that portion of the work which deals with or + presents directly and dramatically to the reader, human life, and + character, and passion, as distinguished from that portion of it + which is critical, and devoted to the discussion of subjects of + literary, artistic, or political interest only.’ And, although Mr. + Skelton uses thus the word ‘comedy’ in its older and wider meaning, + it is evident that it is as an ‘amazing humourist’ that he would + present to our generation the great Christopher North. And + assuredly, at this the ‘delighted spirit’ of Christopher smiles + delightedly in Hades. For, however the ‘Comic Muse’ may pout upon + hearing from Mr. Skelton that ‘the “Noctes Ambrosianæ” belong to + her,’ it is clear that the one great desire of Wilson’s life was to + cultivate her—was to be an ‘amazing humourist,’ in short. It is + clear, besides, that there was one special kind of humour which he + most of all affected, that which we call technically ‘Rabelaisian.’ + To have gone down to posterity as the great English Rabelaisian of + the nineteenth century, Christopher North would have freely given all + his deserved fame as a prose poet, and all the thirty thousand pounds + hard cash of which he was despoiled to boot. His personality was + enormous. He had more of that demonic element—of which since + Goethe’s time we have heard so much—than any man in Scotland. + Everybody seems to have been dominated by him. De Quincey, with a + finer intellect than even his own—and that is using strong + language—looked up to him as a spaniel looks up to his master. It is + positively ludicrous, while reading De Quincey’s ‘Autobiographic + Sketches,’ to come again and again upon the naïve refrain: ‘I think + so, so does Professor Wilson.’ Gigantic as was the egotism of the + Opium-eater, it was overshadowed by the still more gigantic egotism + of Christopher North. In this, as in everything else, he was the + opposite of the finest Scottish humourist since Burns, Sir Walter + Scott. Scott’s desire was to create eccentric humourous characters, + but to remain the simple Scottish gentleman himself. Wilson’s great + ambition was to be an eccentric humourous character himself; for your + superlative egotist has scarcely even the wish to create. He would + like the universe to himself. If Wilson had created Falstaff, and if + you had expressed to him your admiration of the truthfulness of that + character, he would have taken you by the shoulder and said, with a + smile: ‘Don’t you see, you fool, that Falstaff is I—John Wilson?’ He + always wished it to be known that the Ettrick Shepherd and Tickler + were John Wilson—as much Wilson as Kit North himself, or, rather, + what he would have liked John Wilson to be considered. This + determination to be a humourous character it was—and no lack of + literary ambition—that caused him to squander his astonishing powers + in the way that Mr. Skelton, and all of us who admire the man, + lament. + + Many articles in ‘Blackwood’—notably the one upon Shakspeare’s four + great tragedies and the one in which he discusses Coleridge’s + poetry—show that his insight into the principles of literary art was + true and deep—far too true and deep for him to be ignorant of this + inexorable law, that nothing can live in literature without form, + nothing but humour; but that, let this flowery crown of literature + show itself in the most formless kind of magazine-article or + review-essay, and the writer is secure of his place according to his + merits. + + Has Wilson secured such a place? We fear not; and if Skelton were to + ask us, on our oath, why Wilson’s fourteen volumes of brilliant, + eloquent, and picturesque writing are already in a sadly moribund + state, while such slight and apparently fugitive essays as the + ‘Coverley’ papers, the essays of Elia, and the hurried review + articles of Sydney Smith, seem to have more vitality than ever, we + fear that our answer would have to be this bipartite one: first, that + mere elaborated intellectual ‘humour’ has the seeds of dissolution in + it from the beginning, while temperamental humour alone can live; + and, secondly, that Wilson was probably not temperamentally a + humourist at all, and certainly not temperamentally a Rabelaisian. + But let us, by way of excuse for this rank blasphemy, say what + precise meaning we attach to the word ‘Rabelaisian’—though the + subject is so wide that there is no knowing whither it may lead us. + Without venturing upon a new definition of humour, this we will + venture to say, that true humour, that is to say, the humour of + temperament, is conveniently divisible into two kinds: Cervantic + humour, i.e. the amused, philosophic mood of the dramatist—the + comedian; and Rabelaisian humour, i.e. the lawless abandonment of + mirth, flowing mostly from exuberance of health and animal spirits, + with a strong recognition of the absurdity of human life and the + almighty joke of the Cosmos—a mood which in literature is rarer than + in life—rarer, perhaps, because animal spirits are not the common and + characteristic accompaniments of the literary temperament. + + Of Cervantic humour Wilson has, of course, absolutely nothing. For + this, the fairest flower in the garden, cannot often take root, save + in the most un-egotistic souls. It belongs to the Chaucers, the + Shakspeares, the Molières, the Addisons, the Fieldings, the Steeles, + the Scotts, the Miss Austens, the George Eliots—upon whom the rich + tides of the outer life come breaking and drowning the egotism and + yearning for self-expression which is the life of smaller souls. + Among these—to whom to create is everything—Sterne would perhaps have + been greatest of all had he never known Hall Stevenson, and never + read Rabelais; while Dickens’s growth was a development from + Rabelaisianism to Cervantism. But surely so delicate a critic as Mr. + Skelton has often proved himself to be, is not going to seriously + tell us that there is one ray of dramatic humour to be found in + Wilson. Why, the man had not even the mechanical skill of varying + the locutions and changing the styles of his two or three characters. + Even the humourless Plato could do that. Even the humourless Landor + could do that. But, strip the ‘Shepherd’s’ talk of its Scottish + accent and it is nothing but those same appalling mighty waters whose + rush in the ‘Recreations’ and the ‘Essays’ we are so familiar with. + While, as to his clumsy caricature of the sesquipedalian language of + De Quincey, that is such obtrusive caricature that illusion seems to + be purposely destroyed, and the ‘Opium-Eater’ becomes a fantastic + creature of Farce, and not of Comedy at all. + + The ‘amazing humour’ of Wilson, then, is not Cervantic. Is it + Rabelaisian? Again, we fear not. Very likely the genuine + Rabelaisian does not commonly belong to the ‘writing fellows’ at all. + We have had the good luck to come across two Rabelaisians in our + time. One was a lawyer, who hated literature with a beautiful and a + pathetic hatred. The other was a drunken cobbler, who loved it with + a beautiful and a pathetic love. And we have just heard from one of + our finest critics that a true Rabelaisian is, at this moment, to be + found—where he ought to be found—at Stratford-on-Avon. This is + interesting. Yet, as there were heroes before Agamemnon, so there + were Rabelaisians, even among the ‘writing fellows,’ before Rabelais; + the greatest of them, of course, being Aristophanes, though, from all + we hear, it may be reasonably feared that when Alcibiades, instead of + getting damages out of Eupolis for libel, ‘in a duck-pond drowned + him,’ he thereby extinguished for ever a Rabelaisian of the very + first rank. But we can only judge from what we have; and, to say + nothing of the tabooed Lysistrata, the ‘Birds’ alone puts + Aristophanes at the top of all pre-Rabelaisian Rabelaisians. But + when those immortal words came from that dying bed at Meudon: ‘Let + down the curtain; the farce is done,’ they were prophetic as regards + the literary Rabelaisians—prophetic in this, that no writer has since + thoroughly caught the Rabelaisian mood—the mood, that is, of the + cosmic humourist, gasping with merriment as he gobbles huge piles of + meat and guzzles from huge flagons of wine. Yet, if his mantle has + fallen upon no one pair of shoulders, a corner of it has dropped upon + several; for the great Curé divides his qualities among his followers + impartially, giving but one to each, like the pine-apple in the + ‘Paradise of Fruits,’ from which every other fruit in the garden drew + its own peculiar flavour, and then charged its neighbour fruits with + stealing theirs. Among a few others, it may be said that the cosmic + humour has fallen to Swift (in whom, however, earnestness half + stifled it) Sterne, and Richter; while the animal spirits—the love of + life—the fine passion for victuals and drink—has fallen to several + more, notably to Thomas Amory, the creator of ‘John Buncle’; to + Herrick, to old John Skelton, to Burns (in the ‘Jolly Beggars’), to + John Skinner, the author of ‘Tullochgorum.’ Shakspeare, having + everything, has, of course, both sides of Rabelaisianism as well as + Cervantism. Some of the scenes in ‘Henry the Fourth’ and ‘Henry the + Fifth’ are rich with it. So is ‘Twelfth Night,’ to go no further. + Dickens’s Rabelaisianism stopped with ‘Pickwick.’ If Hood’s gastric + fluid had been a thousand times stronger, he would have been the + greatest Rabelaisian since Rabelais. A good man, if his juices are + right, may grow into Cervantism, but you cannot grow into + Rabelaisianism. Neither can you simulate it without coming to grief. + Yet, of simulated Rabelaisianism all literature is, alas! full, and + this is how the simulators come to grief; simulated cosmic humour + becomes the self-conscious grimacing and sad posture-making of the + harlequin sage, such as we see in those who make life hideous by + imitating Mr. Carlyle. This is bad. But far worse is simulated + animal spirits, i.e. jolly-doggism. This is insupportable. For we + ask the reader—who may very likely have been to an undergraduates’ + wine-party, or to a medical students’ revel, or who may have read the + ‘Noctes Ambrosianæ’—we seriously and earnestly ask him whether, among + all the dreary things of this sometimes dreary life, there is + anything half so dreadful as jolly-doggism. + + And now we come reluctantly to the point. It breaks our heart to say + to Mr. Skelton—for we believed in Professor Wilson once—it breaks our + heart to say that Wilson’s Rabelaisianism is nothing but + jolly-doggism of the most prepense, affected, and piteous kind. In + reading the ‘Noctes’ we feel, as Jefferson’s Rip van Winkle must have + felt, surrounded by the ghosts on the top of the Katskill mountains. + We say to ourselves, ‘How comparatively comfortable we should feel if + those bloodless, marrowless spectres wouldn’t pretend to be jolly—if + they would not pretend to be enjoying their phantom bowls and their + ghostly liquor!’ + + Though John Skinner and Thomas Amory have but a small endowment of + the great master’s humour, their animal spirits are genuine. They do + not hop, skip, and jump for effect. Their friskiness is the + friskiness of the retriever puppy when let loose; of the urchin who + runs shrieking against the shrieking wind in the unsyllabled tongue + that all creatures know, ‘I live, I live, I live!’ But, whatever + might have been the physical health of Wilson, there is a hollow ring + about the literary cheerfulness of the ‘Noctes’ that, notwithstanding + all that has been said to the contrary, makes us think that he was at + heart almost a melancholy man; that makes us think that the real + Wilson is the Wilson of the ‘Isle of Palms,’ ‘The City of the + Plague,’ of the ‘Trials of Margaret Lyndsay,’ of the ‘Lights and + Shadows of Scottish Life,’ Wilson, the Wordsworthian, the lover of + Nature, whom Jeffrey describes when he says that ‘almost the only + passions with which his poetry is conversant are the gentler + sympathies of our nature—tender compassion—confiding affection, and + gentleness and sorrow.’ + + He wished to be thought a rollicking, devil-me-care protagonist, a + good-tempered giant ready to swallow with a guffaw the whole cockney + army if necessary. This kind of man he may have been—Mr. Skelton + inferentially says he was; all we know is that his writings lead us + to think he was playing a part. A temperamental humourist, we say + decidedly, he was not. + + Is there, then, no humour to be found in this book? In a certain + sense no doubt humour may be found there. Just as science tells us + that all the stars in heaven are composed of pretty much the same + elements as the familiar earth on which we live, or dream we live, so + is every one among us composed of the same elements as all the rest, + and one of the most important elements common to all human kind is + humour. And, if a man takes to expressing in literary forms the + little humour within him, it is but natural that the more vigorous, + the more agile is his intellect and the greater is his literary + skill, the more deceptive is his mere intellectual humour, the more + telling his wit. Now, Wilson’s intellect was exceedingly and + wonderfully fine. As strong as it was swift, it could fly over many + a wide track of knowledge and of speculation unkenned by not a few of + those who now-a-days would underrate him, dropping a rain of diamonds + from his wings like the fabulous bird of North Cathay.” + +No sooner had the article appeared than Appleton went to Danes Inn and +saw the author of it. Appleton was in a state of great excitement, and +indeed of great rage, for at that time there was considerable rivalry +between the ‘Athenæum’ and the ‘Academy.’ + +“You belong to us,” said Appleton. “The ‘Academy’ is the proper place +for you. You and I have been friends for a long time, and so have +Rossetti and the rest of us, and yet you go into the enemy’s camp.” + +“And shall I tell you why I have joined the ‘Athenæum’ in place of the +‘Academy’?” said Watts; “it is simply because MacColl invited me, and you +did not.” + +“For months and months I have been urging you to write in the ‘Academy,’” +said Appleton. + +“That is true, no doubt,” said Watts, “but while MacColl offered me an +important post on his paper, and in the literary department, too, you +invited me to do the drudgery of melting down into two columns books upon +metaphysics. It is too late, my dear boy, it is too late. If to join +the ‘Athenæum’ is to go into the camp of the Philistines, why, then, a +Philistine am I.” + + * * * * * + +I do not know whether at that time Shirley (as Sir John Skelton was then +called) and Mr. Watts-Dunton were friends, but I know they were friends +afterwards. Shirley, in his ‘Reminiscences’ of Rossetti, like most of +his friends, urged Mr. Watts-Dunton to write a memoir of the +poet-painter. I do know, however, that Mr. Watts-Dunton, besides +cherishing an affectionate memory of Sir John Skelton as a man, is a +genuine admirer of the Shirley Essays. I have heard him say more than +once that Skelton’s style had a certain charm for him, and he could not +understand why Skelton’s position is not as great as it deserves to be. +‘Scotsmen,’ he said, ‘often complain that English critics are slow to do +them justice. This idea was the bane of my dear old friend John Nichol’s +life. He really seemed to think that he was languishing and withering +under the ban of a great anti-Scottish conspiracy known as the Savile +Club. As a matter of fact, however, there is nothing whatever in the +idea that a Scotsman does not fight on equal terms with the Englishman in +the great literary cockpit of London. To say the truth, the Scottish +cock is really longer in spur and beak than the English cock, and can +more than take care of himself. For my part, with the exception of +Swinburne, I really think that my most intimate friends are either Irish, +Scottish, or Welsh. But I have sometimes thought that if Skelton had +been an Englishman and moved in English sets, he would have taken an +enormously higher position than he has secured, for he would have been +more known among writers, and the more he was known the more he was +liked.’ + +As will be seen further on, before the review of the ‘Comedy of the +Noctes Ambrosianæ’ appeared, Mr. Watts-Dunton had contributed to the +‘Athenæum’ an article on ‘The Art of Interviewing.’ From this time +forward he became the chief critic of the ‘Athenæum,’ and for nearly a +quarter of a century—that is to say, until he published ‘The Coming of +Love,’ when he practically, I think, ceased to write reviews of any +kind—he enriched its pages with critical essays the peculiar features of +which were their daring formulation of first principles, their profound +generalizations, their application of modern scientific knowledge to the +phenomena of literature, and, above all, their richly idiosyncratic +style—a style so personal that, as Groome said in the remarks quoted in +an earlier chapter, it signs all his work. + +As I have more than once said, it is necessary to dwell with some fulness +upon these criticisms, because the relation between his critical and his +creative work is of the closest kind. Indeed, it has been said by +Rossetti that ‘the subtle and original generalizations upon the first +principles of poetry which illumine his writings could only have come to +him by a duplicate exercise of his brain when he was writing his own +poetry.’ The great critics of poetry have nearly all been great poets. +Rossetti used humourously to call him ‘The Symposiarch,’ and no doubt the +influence of his long practice of oral criticism in Cheyne Walk, at +Kelmscott Manor, as well as in such opposite gatherings as those at Dr. +Marston’s, Madox Brown’s, and Mrs. Procter’s, may be traced in his +writings. For his most effective criticism has always the personal magic +of the living voice, producing on the reader the winsome effect of +spontaneous conversation overheard. Its variety of manner, as well as of +subject, differentiates it from all other contemporary criticism. In it +are found racy erudition, powerful thought, philosophical speculation, +irony silkier than the silken irony of M. Anatole France, airily +mischievous humour, and a perpetual coruscation of the comic spirit. To +the ‘Athenæum’ he contributed essays upon all sorts of themes such as +‘The Poetic Interpretation of Nature,’ ‘The Troubadours and Trouvères,’ +‘The Children of the Open Air,’ ‘The Gypsies,’ ‘Cosmic Humour,’ ‘The +Effect of Evolution upon Literature.’ And although the most complete and +most modern critical system in the English language lies buried in the +vast ocean of the ‘Examiner,’ the ‘Athenæum,’ and the ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica,’ there are still divers who are aware of its existence, as is +proved by the latest appreciation of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work, that +contributed by Madame Galimberti, the accomplished wife of the Italian +minister, to the ‘Rivista d’ Italia.’ In this article she makes frequent +allusions to the ‘Athenæum’ articles, and quotes freely from them. +Rossetti once said that ‘the reason why Theodore Watts was so little +known outside the inner circle of letters was that he sought obscurity as +eagerly as other men sought fame’; but although his indifference to +literary reputation is so invincible that it has baffled all the efforts +of all his friends to persuade him to collect his critical essays, his +influence over contemporary criticism has been and is and will be +profound. + +There is no province of pure literature which his criticism leaves +untouched; but it is in poetry that it culminates. His treatise in the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ on ‘Poetry’ is alone sufficient to show how +deep has been his study of poetic principles. The essay on the ‘Sonnet,’ +too, which appeared in ‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ is admitted by critics +of the sonnet to be the one indispensable treatise on the subject. It +has been much discussed by foreign critics, especially by Dr. Karl +Leutzner in his treatise, ‘Uber das Sonett in der Englischen Dichtung.’ + +The principles upon which he carried on criticism in the ‘Athenæum’ are +admirably expressed in the following dialogue between him and Mr. G. B. +Burgin, who approached him as the representative of the ‘Idler.’ The +allusion to the ‘smart slaters’ will be sufficient to indicate the +approximate date of the interview. + + “Having read your treatise on poetry in the ‘Encyclopædia + Britannica,’ which, it is said, has been an influence in every + European literature, I want to ask whether a critic so deeply learned + in all the secrets of poetic art, and who has had the advantages of + comparing his own opinions with those of all the great poets of his + time, takes a hopeful or despondent view of the condition of English + poetry at the present moment. There are those who run down the + present generation of poets, but on this subject the men who are + really entitled to speak can be counted on the fingers of one hand. + It would be valuable to know whether our leading critic is in + sympathy with the poetry of the present hour.” + + “I do not for a moment admit that I am the leading critic. To say + the truth, I am often amused, and often vexed, at the grotesque + misconception that seems to be afloat as to my relation to criticism. + Years ago, Russell Lowell told me that all over the United States I + was identified with every paragraph of a certain critical journal in + which I sometimes write; and, judging from the droll attacks that are + so often made upon me by outside paragraph writers, the same + misconception seems to be spreading in England—attacks which the + smiling and knowing public well understands to spring from writing + men who have not been happy in their relations with the reviewers.” + + “It has been remarked that you never answer any attack in the + newspapers, howsoever unjust or absurd.” + + “I do not believe in answering attacks. The public, as I say, knows + that there is a mysterious and inscrutable yearning in the slow-worm + to bite with the fangs of the adder, and every attack upon a writer + does him more good than praise would do. But, as a matter of fact, I + have no connexion whatever with any journal save that of a student of + letters who finds it convenient on occasion to throw his meditations + upon literary art and the laws that govern it in the form of a + review. It is a bad method, no doubt, of giving expression to one’s + excogitations, and although I do certainly contrive to put careful + criticisms into my articles, I cannot imagine more unbusinesslike + reviewing than mine. Yet it has one good quality, I think—it is + never unkindly. I never will take a book for review unless I can say + something in its favour, and a good deal in its favour.” + + “Then you never practise the smart ‘slating’ which certain would-be + critics indulge in?” + + “Never! In the first place, it would afford me no pleasure to give + pain to a young writer. In the next place, this ‘smart slating,’ as + you call it, is the very easiest thing of achievement in the world. + Give me the aid of a good amanuensis, and I will engage to dictate as + many miles of such smart ‘slating’ as could be achieved by any six of + the smart slaters. A charming phrase of yours, ‘smart slaters’! But + I leave such work to them, as do all the really true critics of my + time—men to whom the insolence which the smart slaters seem to + mistake for wit would be as easy as to me, only that, like me, they + hold such work in contempt. Take a critic like Mr. Traill, for + instance. Unfortunately, Fate has decreed that many hours every day + of his valuable life are wasted on ‘leader’ writing, but there is in + any one of his literary essays more wit and humour than could be + achieved by all the smart writers combined; and yet how kind is he! + going out of his way to see merit in a rising poet, and to foster it. + Or take Grant Allen, whose good things flow so naturally from him. + While the typical smart writer is illustrating the primal curse by + making his poor little spiteful jokes in the sweat of his poor little + spiteful brow, Grant Allen’s good-natured sayings have the very wit + that the unlucky sweater and ‘slater’ is trying for. Read what he + said about William Watson, and see how kind he is. Compare his + geniality with the scurrility of the smart writers. Again, take + Andrew Lang, perhaps the most variously accomplished man of letters + in England or in Europe, and compare his geniality with the + scurrility of the smart writers. But it was not, I suppose, of such + as they that you came to talk about. You are asking me whether I am + in sympathy with the younger writers of my time. My answer is that I + cannot imagine any one to be more in sympathy with them than I am. + In spite of the disparity of years between me and the youngest of + them, I believe I number many of them among my warmest and most loyal + friends, and that is because I am in true sympathy with their work + and their aims. No doubt there are some points in which they and I + agree to differ.” + + “And what about our contemporary novelists? Perhaps you do not give + attention to fiction?” + + “Give attention to novels! Why, if I did not, I should not give + attention to literature at all. In a true and deep sense all pure + literature is fiction—to use an extremely inadequate and misleading + word as a substitute for the right phrase, ‘imaginative + representation.’ ‘The Iliad,’ ‘The Odyssey,’ ‘The Æneid,’ ‘The + Divina Commedia,’ are fundamentally novels, though in verse, as + certainly novels as is the latest story by the most popular of our + writers. The greatest of all writers of the novelette is the old + Burmese parable writer, who gave us the story of the girl-mother and + the mustard-seed. A time which has given birth to such novelists as + many of ours of the present day is a great, and a very great, time + for the English novel. Criticism will have to recognize, and at + once, that the novel, now-a-days, stands plump in the front rank of + the ‘literature of power,’ and if criticism does not so recognize it, + so much the worse for criticism, I think. That the novel will grow + in importance is, I say, quite certain. In such a time as ours (as I + have said in print), poetry is like the knickerbockers of a growing + boy—it has become too small somehow; it is not quite large enough for + the growing limbs of life. The novel is more flexible; it can be + stretched to fit the muscles as they swell.” + + “I will conclude by asking you what I have asked another eminent + critic: What is your opinion of anonymity in criticism?” + + “Well, there I am a ‘galled jade’ that must needs ‘wince’ a little. + No doubt I write anonymously myself, but that is because I have not + yet mastered that dislike of publicity which has kept me back, and my + writing seems to lose its elasticity with its anonymity. The chief + argument against anonymous criticism I take to be this: That any + scribbler who can get upon an important journal is at once clothed + with the journal’s own authority—and the same applies, of course, to + the dishonest critic; and this is surely very serious. With regard + to dishonest criticism it is impossible for the most wary editor to + be always on his guard against it. An editor cannot read all the + books, nor can he know the innumerable ramifications of the literary + world. When Jones asks him for Brown’s book for review, the editor + cannot know that Jones has determined to praise it or to cut it up + irrespective of its merits; and then, when the puff or attack comes + in, it is at once clothed with the authority, not of Jones’s name, + but that of the journal. + + In the literary arena itself the truth of the case may be known, but + not in the world outside, and it must not be supposed but that great + injustice may flow from this. I myself have more than once heard a + good book spoken of with contempt in London Society, and heard quoted + the very words of some hostile review which I have known to be the + work of a spiteful foe of the writer of the book, or of some paltry + fellow who was quite incompetent to review anything.” + +Now that the day of the ‘smart slaters’ is over, it is interesting to +read in connection with these obiter dicta the following passage from the +article in which Mr. Watts-Dunton, on the seventieth birthday of the +‘Athenæum,’ spoke of its record and its triumphs:— + + “The enormous responsibility of anonymous criticism is seen in every + line contributed by the Maurice and Sterling group who spoke through + its columns. Even for those who are behind the scenes and know that + the critique expresses the opinion of only one writer, it is + difficult not to be impressed by the accent of authority in the + editorial ‘we.’ But with regard to the general public, the reader of + a review article finds it impossible to escape from the authority of + the ‘we,’ and the power of a single writer to benefit or to injure an + author is so great that none but the most deeply conscientious men + ought to enter the ranks of the anonymous reviewers. These were the + views of Maurice and Sterling; and that they are shared by all the + best writers of our time there can be no doubt. Some very + illustrious men have given very emphatic expression to them. On a + certain memorable occasion, at a little dinner-party at 16 Cheyne + Walk, one of the guests related an anecdote of his having + accidentally met an old acquaintance who had deeply disgraced + himself, and told how he had stood ‘dividing the swift mind’ as to + whether he could or could not offer the man his hand. ‘I think I + should have offered him mine,’ said Rossetti, ‘although no one + detests his offence more than I do.’ And then the conversation ran + upon the question as to the various kinds of offenders with whom old + friends could not shake hands. ‘There is one kind of miscreant,’ + said Rossetti, ‘whom you have forgotten to name—a miscreant who in + kind of meanness and infamy cannot well be beaten, the man who in an + anonymous journal tells the world that a poem or picture is bad when + he knows it to be good. That is the man who should never defile my + hand by his touch. By God, if I met such a man at a dinner-table I + must not kick him, I suppose; but I could not, and would not, taste + bread and salt with him. I would quietly get up and go.’ Tennyson, + on afterwards being told this story, said, ‘And who would not do the + same? Such a man has been guilty of sacrilege—sacrilege against + art.’ Maurice, Sterling, and the other writers in the first volume + of the ‘Athenæum’ worked on the great principle that the critic’s + primary duty is to seek and to bring to light those treasures of art + and literature that the busy world is only too apt to pass by. Their + pet abhorrence was the cheap smartness of Jeffrey and certain of his + coadjutors; and from its commencement the ‘Athenæum’ has striven to + avoid slashing and smart writing. A difficult thing to avoid, no + doubt, for nothing is so easy to achieve as that insolent and vulgar + slashing which the half-educated amateur thinks so clever. Of all + forms of writing, the founders of the ‘Athenæum’ held the shallow, + smart style to be the cheapest and also the most despicable. And + here again the views of the ‘Athenæum’ have remained unchanged. The + critic who works ‘without a conscience or an aim’ knows only too well + that it pays to pander to the most lamentable of all the weaknesses + of human nature—the love that people have of seeing each other + attacked and vilified; it pays for a time, until it defeats itself. + For although man has a strong instinct for admiration—else had he + never reached his present position in the conscious world—he has, + running side by side with this instinct, another strong instinct—the + instinct for contempt. A reviewer’s ridicule poured upon a writer + titillates the reader with a sense of his own superiority. It is by + pandering to this lower instinct that the unprincipled journalist + hopes to kill two birds with one stone—to gratify his own malignity + and low-bred love of insolence, and to make profit while doing so. + Although cynicism may certainly exist alongside great talent, it is + far more likely to be found where there is no talent at all. Many + brilliant writers have written in this journal, but rarely, if ever, + have truth and honesty of criticism been sacrificed for a smart + saying. One of these writers—the greatest wit of the nineteenth + century—used to say, in honest disparagement of what were considered + his own prodigious powers of wit, ‘I will engage in six lessons to + teach any man to do this kind of thing as well as I do, if he thinks + it worth his while to learn.’ And the ‘Athenæum,’ at the time when + Hood was reviewing Dickens in its columns, could have said the same + thing. The smart reviewer, however, mistakes insolence for wit, and + among the low-minded insolence needs no teaching.” + +Of course, in the office of an important literary organ there is always a +kind of terror lest, in the necessary hurry of the work, a contributor +should ‘come down a cropper’ over some matter of fact, and open the door +to troublesome correspondence. As Mr. Watts-Dunton has said, the +mysterious ‘we’ must claim to be Absolute Wisdom, or where is the +authority of the oracle? When a contributor ‘comes down a cropper,’ +although the matter may be of infinitesimal importance, the editor +cannot, it seems, and never could (except during the imperial regime of +the ‘Saturday Review’ under Cook) refuse to insert a correction. Now, as +Mr. Watts-Dunton has said, ‘the smaller the intelligence, the greater joy +does it feel in setting other intelligences right.’ I have been told +that it was a tradition in the office of the ‘Examiner,’ and also in the +office of the ‘Athenæum,’ that Theodore Watts had not only never been +known to ‘come down a cropper,’ but had never given the ‘critical gnats’ +a chance of pretending that he had to. One day, however, in an article +on Frederick Tennyson’s poems, speaking of the position that the poet +Alexander Smith occupied in the early fifties, and contrasting it with +the position that he held at the time the article was written, Mr. +Watts-Dunton affirmed that once on a time Smith—the same Smith whom ‘Z’ +(the late William Allingham) had annihilated in the ‘Athenæum’—had been +admired by Alfred Tennyson, and also that once on a time Herbert Spencer +had compared a metaphor of Alexander Smith’s with the metaphors of +Shakespeare. The touchiness of Spencer was proverbial, and on the next +Monday morning the editor got the following curt note from the great +man:— + + ‘Will the writer of the review of Mr. Frederick Tennyson’s poems, + which was published in your last number, please say where I have + compared the metaphors of Shakspeare and Alexander Smith? + + HERBERT SPENCER.’ + +The editor, taking for granted that the heretofore impeccable contributor +had at last ‘come down a cropper,’ sent a proof of Spencer’s note to Mr. +Watts-Dunton, and intimated that it had better be printed without any +editorial comment at all. Of course, if Mr. Watts-Dunton had at last +‘come down a cropper,’ this would have been the wisest plan. But he +returned the proof of the letter to the editor, with the following +footnote added to it:— + + “It is many years since Mr. Herbert Spencer printed in one of the + magazines an essay dealing with the laws of cause and effect in + literary art—an essay so searching in its analyses, and so original + in its method and conclusions, that the workers in pure literature + may well be envious of science for enticing such a leader away from + their ranks—and it is many years since we had the pleasure of reading + it. Our memory is, therefore, somewhat hazy as to the way in which + he introduced such metaphors by Alexander Smith as ‘I speared him + with a jest,’ etc. Our only object, however, in alluding to the + subject was to show that a poet now ignored by the criticism of the + hour, a poet who could throw off such Shakspearean sentences as this— + + —My drooping sails + Flap idly ’gainst the mast of my intent; + I rot upon the waters when my prow + Should grate the golden isles— + + had once the honour of being admired by Alfred Tennyson and + favourably mentioned by Mr. Herbert Spencer.” + +Spencer told this to a friend, and with much laughter said, ‘Of course +the article was Theodore Watts’s. I had forgotten entirely what I had +said about Shakspeare and Alexander Smith.’ + +If I were asked to furnish a typical example of that combination of +critical insight, faultless memory, and genial courtesy, which +distinguishes Mr. Watts-Dunton’s writings, I think I should select this +bland postscript to Spencer’s letter. + +Another instance of the care and insight with which Mr. Watts-Dunton +always wrote his essays is connected with Robert Louis Stevenson. It +occurred in connection with ‘Kidnapped.’ I will quote here Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s own version of the anecdote, which will be found in the +‘Athenæum’ review of the Edinburgh edition of Stevenson’s works. The +playful allusion to the ‘Athenæum’s’ kindness is very characteristic:— + + “Of Stevenson’s sweetness of disposition and his good sense we could + quote many instances; but let one suffice. When ‘Kidnapped’ + appeared, although in reviewing it we enjoyed the great pleasure of + giving high praise to certain parts of that delightful narrative, we + refused to be scared from making certain strictures. It occurred to + us that while some portions of the story were full of that organic + detail of which Scott was such a master, and without which no really + vital story can be told, it was not so with certain other parts. + From this we drew the conclusion that the book really consisted of + two distinct parts, two stories which Stevenson had tried in vain to + weld into one. We surmised that the purely Jacobite adventures of + Balfour and Alan Breck were written first, and that then the writer, + anxious to win the suffrages of the general novel-reader (whose power + is so great with Byles the Butcher), looked about him for some story + on the old lines; that he experienced great difficulty in finding + one; and that he was at last driven upon the old situation of the + villain uncle plotting to make away with the nephew by kidnapping him + and sending him off to the plantations. The ‘Athenæum,’ whose + kindness towards all writers, poets and prosemen, great and small, + has won for it such an infinity of gratitude, said this, but in its + usual kind and gentle way. This aroused the wrath of the + Stevensonians. Yet we were not at all surprised to get from the + author of ‘Kidnapped’ himself a charming letter.’ + +This letter appears in Stevenson’s ‘Letters,’ and by the courtesy of Mr. +Sidney Colvin and Mr. A. M. S. Methuen I am permitted to reprint it +here:— + + SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH. + + DEAR MR. WATTS,—The sight of the last ‘Athenæum’ reminds me of you, + and of my debt now too long due. I wish to thank you for your notice + of ‘Kidnapped’; and that not because it was kind, though for that + also I valued it; but in the same sense as I have thanked you before + now for a hundred articles on a hundred different writers. A critic + like you is one who fights the good fight, contending with stupidity, + and I would fain hope not all in vain; in my own case, for instance, + surely not in vain. + + What you say of the two parts in ‘Kidnapped’ was felt by no one more + painfully than by myself. I began it, partly as a lark, partly as a + pot-boiler; and suddenly it moved, David and Alan stepped out from + the canvas, and I found I was in another world. But there was the + cursed beginning, and a cursed end must be appended; and our old + friend Byles the Butcher was plainly audible tapping at the back + door. So it had to go into the world, one part (as it does seem to + me) alive, one part merely galvanised: no work, only an essay. For a + man of tentative method, and weak health, and a scarcity of private + means, and not too much of that frugality which is the artist’s + proper virtue, the days of sinecures and patrons look very golden: + the days of professional literature very hard. Yet I do not so far + deceive myself as to think I should change my character by changing + my epoch; the sum of virtue in our books is in a relation of equality + to the sum of virtues in ourselves; and my ‘Kidnapped’ was doomed, + while still in the womb and while I was yet in the cradle, to be the + thing it is. + + And now to the more genial business of defence. You attack my fight + on board the ‘Covenant,’ I think it literal. David and Alan had + every advantage on their side, position, arms, training, a good + conscience; a handful of merchant sailors, not well led in the first + attack, not led at all in the second, could only by an accident have + taken the roundhouse by attack; and since the defenders had firearms + and food, it is even doubtful if they could have been starved out. + The only doubtful point with me is whether the seamen would have ever + ventured on the second onslaught; I half believe they would not; + still the illusion of numbers and the authority of Hoseason would + perhaps stretch far enough to justify the extremity.—I am, dear Mr. + Watts, your very sincere admirer, + + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton has always been a warm admirer of Stevenson, of his +personal character no less than his undoubted genius, and Stevenson, on +his part, in conversation never failed to speak of himself, as in this +letter he subscribes himself, as Mr. Watts-Dunton’s sincere admirer. But +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s admiration of Stevenson’s work was more tempered with +judgment than was the admiration of some critics, who afterwards, when he +became too successful, disparaged him. Greatly as he admired ‘Kidnapped’ +and ‘Catriona,’ there were certain of Stevenson’s works for which his +admiration was qualified, and certain others for which he had no +admiration at all. His strictures upon the story which seems to have +been at first the main source of Stevenson’s popularity, ‘Dr. Jekyll and +Mr. Hyde,’ were much resented at the time by those insincere and fickle +worshippers to whom I have already alluded. Yet these strictures are +surely full of wisdom, and they specially show that wide sweep over the +entire field of literature which is characteristic of all his criticism. +As they contain, besides, one of his many tributes to Scott, I will quote +them here:— + + “Take the little story ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,’ the laudatory + criticism upon which is in bulk, as regards the story itself, like + the comet’s tail in relation to the comet. On its appearance as a + story, a ‘shilling shocker’ for the railway bookstalls, the critic’s + attention was directed to its vividness of narrative and kindred + qualities, and though perfectly conscious of its worthlessness in the + world of literary art, he might well be justified in comparing it to + its advantage with other stories of its class and literary standing. + But when it is offered as a classic—and this is really how it is + offered—it has to be judged by critical canons of a very different + kind. It has then to be compared and contrasted with stories having + a like motive—stories that deal with an idea as old as the oldest + literature—as old, no doubt, as those primeval days when man awoke to + the consciousness that he is a moral and a responsible being—stories + whose temper has always been up to now of the loftiest kind. + + It is many years since, in writing of the ‘Parables of Buddhaghosha,’ + it was our business to treat at length of the grand idea of man’s + dual nature, and the many beautiful forms in which it has been + embodied. We said then that, from the lovely modern story of Arsène + Houssaye, where a young man, starting along life’s road, sees on a + lawn a beautiful girl and loves her, and afterwards—when sin has + soiled him—finds that she was his own soul, stained now by his own + sin; and from the still more impressive, though less lovely modern + story of Edgar Poe, ‘William Wilson,’ up to the earliest allegories + upon the subject, no writer or story-teller had dared to degrade by + gross treatment a motive of such universal appeal to the great heart + of the ‘Great Man, Mankind.’ We traced the idea, as far as our + knowledge went, through Calderon, back to Oriental sources, and + found, as we then could truly affirm, that this motive—from the + ethical point of view the most pathetic and solemn of all motives—had + been always treated with a nobility and a greatness that did honour + to literary art. Manu, after telling us that ‘single is each man + born into the world—single dies,’ implores each one to ‘collect + virtue,’ in order that after death he may be met by the virtuous part + of his dual self, a beautiful companion and guide in traversing ‘that + gloom which is so hard to be traversed.’ Fine as this is, it is + surpassed by an Arabian story we then quoted (since versified by Sir + Edwin Arnold)—the story of the wicked king who met after death a + frightful hag for an eternal companion, and found her to be only a + part of his own dual nature, the embodiment of his own evil deeds. + And even this is surpassed by that lovely allegory in Arda Viraf, in + which a virtuous soul in Paradise, walking amid pleasant trees whose + fragrance was wafted from God, meets a part of his own dual nature, a + beautiful maiden, who says to him, ‘O youth, I am thine own actions.’ + + And we instanced other stories and allegories equally beautiful, in + which this supreme thought has been treated as poetically as it + deserves. It was left for Stevenson to degrade it into a hideous + tale of murder and Whitechapel mystery—a story of astonishing + brutality, in which the separation of the two natures of the man’s + soul is effected not by psychological development, and not by the + ‘awful alchemy’ of the spirit-world beyond the grave, as in all the + previous versions, but by the operation of a dose of some supposed + new drug. + + If the whole thing is meant as a horrible joke, in imitation of De + Quincey’s ‘Murder considered as One of the Fine Arts,’ it tells + poorly for Stevenson’s sense of humour. If it is meant as a serious + allegory, it is an outrage upon the grand allegories of the same + motive with which most literatures have been enriched. That a story + so coarse should have met with the plaudits that ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. + Hyde’ met with at the time of its publication—that it should now be + quoted in leading articles of important papers every few days, while + all the various and beautiful renderings of the motive are + ignored—what does it mean? Is it a sign that the ‘shrinkage of the + world,’ the ‘solidarity of civilisation,’ making the record of each + day’s doings too big for the day, has worked a great change in our + public writers? Is it that they not only have no time to think, but + no time to read anything beyond the publications of the hour? Is it + that good work is unknown to them, and that bad work is forced upon + them, and that in their busy ignorance they must needs accept it and + turn to it for convenient illustration? That Stevenson should have + been impelled to write the story shows what the ‘Suicide Club’ had + already shown, that underneath the apparent health which gives such a + charm to ‘Treasure Island’ and ‘Kidnapped,’ there was that morbid + strain which is so often associated with physical disease. + + Had it not been for the influence upon him of the healthiest of all + writers since Chaucer—Walter Scott—Stevenson might have been in the + ranks of those pompous problem-mongers of fiction and the stage who + do their best to make life hideous. It must be remembered that he + was a critic first and a creator afterwards. He himself tells us how + critically he studied the methods of other writers before he took to + writing himself. No one really understood better than he Hesiod’s + fine saying that the muses were born in order that they might be a + forgetfulness of evils and a truce from cares. No one understood + better than he Joubert’s saying, ‘Fiction has no business to exist + unless it is more beautiful than reality; in literature the one aim + is the beautiful; once lose sight of that, and you have the mere + frightful reality.’ And for the most part he succeeded in keeping + down the morbid impulses of a spirit imprisoned and fretted in a + crazy body. + + Save in such great mistakes as ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,’ and a few + other stories, Stevenson acted upon Joubert’s excellent maxim. But + Scott, and Scott alone, is always right in this matter—right by + instinct. He alone is always a delight. If all art is dedicated to + joy, as Schiller declares, and if there is no higher and more serious + problem than how to make men happy, then the ‘Waverley Novels’ are + among the most precious things in the literature of the world.” + +Another writer of whose good-nature Mr. Watts-Dunton always speaks warmly +is Browning. Among the many good anecdotes I have heard him relate in +this connection, I will give one. I do not think that he would object to +my doing so. + + “It is one of my misfortunes,” said he, “to be not fully worthy (to + use the word of a very dear friend of mine), of Browning’s poetry. + Where I am delighted, stimulated, and exhilarated by the imaginative + and intellectual substance of his work, I find his metrical movements + in a general way not pleasing to my ear. When a certain book of his + came out—I forget which—it devolved upon me to review it. Certain + eccentricities in it, for some reason or another, irritated me, and I + expressed my irritation in something very like chaff. A close friend + of mine, a greater admirer of Browning than I am myself—in fact, Mr. + Swinburne—chided me for it, and I feel that he was right. On the + afternoon following the appearance of the article I was at the Royal + Academy private view, when Lowell came up to me and at once began + talking about the review. Lowell, I found, was delighted with + it—said it was the most original and brilliant thing that had + appeared for many years. ‘But,’ said he, ‘You’re a brave man to be + here where Browning always comes.’ Then, looking round the room, he + said: ‘Why there he is, and his sister immediately on the side + opposite to us. Surely you will slip away and avoid a meeting!’ + + ‘Slip away!’ I said, ‘to avoid Browning! You don’t know him as well + as I do, after all! Now, let me tell you exactly what will occur if + we stand here for a minute or two. Miss Browning, whose eyes are + looking busily over the room for people that Browning ought to speak + to, in a moment will see you, and in another moment she will see me. + And then you will see her turn her head to Browning’s ear and tell + him something. And then Browning will come straight across to me and + be more charming and cordial than he is in a general way, supposing + that be possible.’ + + ‘No, I don’t believe it.’ + + ‘If you were not such a Boston Puritan,’ I said, ‘I would ask you + what will you bet that I am wrong.’ + + No sooner had I uttered these words than, as I had prophesied, Miss + Browning did spot, first Lowell and then me, and did turn and whisper + in Browning’s ear, and Browning did come straight across the room to + us; and this is what he said, speaking to me before he spoke to the + illustrious American—a thing which on any other occasion he would + scarcely have done: + + ‘Now,’ said he, ‘you’re not going to put me off with generalities any + longer. You promised to write and tell me when you could come to + luncheon. You have never done so—you will never do so, unless I fix + you with a distinct day. Will you come to-morrow?’ + + ‘I shall be delighted,’ I said. And he turned to Lowell and + exchanged a few friendly words with him. + + After these two adorable people left us, Lowell said: ‘Well, this is + wonderful. You would have won the bet. How do you explain it?’ + + ‘I explain it by Browning’s greatness of soul and heart. His + position is so great, and mine is so small, that an unappreciative + review of a poem of his cannot in the least degree affect him. But + he knows that I am an honest man, as he has frequently told Tennyson, + Jowett, and others. He wishes to make it quite apparent that he + feels no anger towards a man who says what he thinks about a poem.’” + +After hearing this interesting anecdote I had the curiosity to turn to +the bound volume of my ‘Athenæum’ and read the article on ‘Ferishtah’s +Fancies,’ which I imagine must have been the review in question. This is +what I read:— + + ‘The poems in this volume can only be described as + parable-poems—parable-poems, not in the sense that they are capable + of being read as parables (as is said to be the case with the + ‘Rubá’iyát’ of Omar Khayyàm), but parable-poems in the sense that + they must be read as parables, or they show no artistic raison d’être + at all. + + Now do our English poets know what it is to write a parable poem? It + is to set self-conscious philosophy singing and dancing, like the + young Gretry, to the tune of a waterfall. Or rather, it is to + imprison the soul of Dinah Morris in the lissome body of Esmeralda, + and set the preacher strumming a gypsy’s tambourine. Though in the + pure parable the intellectual or ethical motive does not dominate so + absolutely as in the case of the pure fable, the form that expresses + it, yet it does, nevertheless, so far govern the form as to interfere + with that entire abandon—that emotional freedom—which seems necessary + to the very existence of song. Indeed, if poetry must, like + Wordsworth’s ideal John Bull, ‘be free or die’; if she must know no + law but that of her own being (as the doctrine of ‘L’art pour l’art’ + declares); if she must not even seem to know _that_ (as the doctrine + of bardic inspiration implies), but must bend to it apparently in + tricksy sport alone—how can she—‘the singing maid with pictures in + her eyes’—mount the pulpit, read the text, and deliver the sermon? + + In European literature how many parable poems should we find where + the ethical motive and the poetic form are not at deadly strife? But + we discussed all this in speaking of prose parables, comparing the + stories of the Prodigal Son and Kiságotamí with even such perfect + parable poetry as that of Jami. We said then what we reiterate now: + that to sing a real parable and make it a real song requires a genius + of a very special and peculiar, if somewhat narrow order—a genius + rare, delicate, ethereal, such as can, according to a certain + Oriental fancy, compete with the Angels of the Water Pot in + floriculture. Mr. Browning, being so fond of Oriental fancies, and + being, moreover, on terms of the closest intimacy with a certain + fancy-weaving dervish, Ferishtah, must be quite familiar with the + Persian story we allude to, the famous story of ‘Poetry and + Cabbages.’ Still, we will record it here for a certain learned + society. + + The earth, says the wise dervish Feridun, was once without flowers, + and men dreamed of nothing more beautiful then than cabbages. So the + Angels of the Water Pot, watering the Tûba Tree (whose fruit becomes + flavoured according to the wishes of the feeder), said one to + another, ‘The eyes of those poor cabbage growers down there may well + be horny and dim, having none of our beautiful things to gaze upon; + for as to the earthly cabbage, though useful in earthly pot, it is in + colour unlovely as ungrateful in perfume; and as to the stars, they + are too far off to be very clearly mirrored in the eyes of folk so + very intent upon cabbages.’ So the Angels of the Water Pot, who sit + on the rainbow and brew the ambrosial rains, began fashioning flowers + out of the paradisal gems, while Israfel sang to them; and the words + of his song were the mottoes that adorn the bowers of heaven. So + bewitching, however, were the strains of the singer—for not only has + Israfel a lute for viscera, but doth he not also, according to the + poet— + + Breathe a stream of otto and balm, + Which through a woof of living music blown + Floats, fused, a warbling rose that makes all senses one? + + —so astonishing were the notes of a singer so furnished, that the + angels at their jewel work could not help tracing his coloured and + perfumed words upon the petals. And this was how the Angels of the + Water Pot made flowers, and this is the story of ‘Poetry and + Cabbages.’ + + But the alphabet of the angels, Feridun goes on to declare, is + nothing less than the celestial charactery of heaven, and is + consequently unreadable to all human eyes save a very few—that is to + say, the eyes of those mortals who are ‘of the race of Israfel.’ To + common eyes—the eyes of the ordinary human cabbage-grower—what, + indeed, is that angelic caligraphy with which the petals of the + flowers are ornamented? Nothing but a meaningless maze of beautiful + veins and scents and colours. + + But who are ‘of the race of Israfel’? Not the prosemen, certainly, + as any Western critic may see who will refer to Kircher’s idle + nonsense about the ‘Alphabet of the Angels’ in his ‘Ædipus + Egyptiacus.’ Are they, then, the poets? This is indeed a solemn + query. ‘If,’ says Feridun, ‘the mottoes that adorn the bowers of + Heaven have been correctly read by certain Persian poets, who shall + be nameless, what are those other mottoes glowing above the caves of + hell in that fiery alphabet used by the fiends?’ + + One kind of poet only is, it seems, of the race of Israfel—the + parable-poet—the poet to whom truth comes, not in any way as reasoned + conclusions, not even as golden gnomes, but comes symbolized in + concrete shapes of vital beauty; the poet in whose work the poetic + form is so part and parcel of the ethical lesson which vitalizes it + that this ethical lesson seems not to give birth to the music and the + colour of the poem, but to be itself born of the sweet marriage of + these, and to be as inseparable from them as the ‘morning breath’ of + the Sabæan rose is inalienable from the innermost petals—‘the subtle + odour of the rose’s heart,’ which no mere chemistry of man, but only + the morning breeze, can steal.” + +It was such writing as this which made it quite superfluous for Mr. +Watts-Dunton to sign his articles, and we have only to contrast it—or its +richness and its rareness—with the naïve, simple, unadorned style of +‘Aylwin’ to realize how wide is the range of Mr. Watts-Dunton as a master +of the fine shades of literary expression. + + + + +Chapter XV +THE GREAT BOOK OF WONDER + + +AND now begins the most difficult and the most responsible part of my +task—the selection of one typical essay from the vast number of essays +expressing more or less fully the great heart-thought which gives life to +all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work. I can, of course, give only one, for +already I see signs that this book will swell to proportions far beyond +those originally intended for it. Naturally, I thought at first that I +would select one of the superb articles on Victor Hugo’s works, such for +instance as ‘La Legénde des Siècles,’ or that profound one on ‘La +Religion des Religion.’ But, after a while, when I had got the essay +typed and ready for inclusion, I changed my mind. I thought that one of +those wonderful essays upon Oriental subjects which had called forth +writings like those of Sir Edwin Arnold, would serve my purpose better. +Finally, I decided to choose an essay, which when it appeared was so full +of profound learning upon the great book of the world, the Bible, that it +was attributed to almost every great specialist upon the Bible in Europe +and in America. Mr. Watts-Dunton has often been urged to reprint this +essay as a brief text-book for scholastic use, but he has never done so. +It will be noted by readers of ‘Aylwin’ that even so far back as the +publication of this article in the ‘Athenæum ‘, in 1877, Mr. +Watts-Dunton—to judge from the allusion in it to ‘Nin-ki-gal, the Queen +of Death’—seems to have begun to draw upon Philip Aylwin’s ‘Veiled +Queen’:— + + “There is not, in the whole of modern history, a more suggestive + subject than that of the persistent attempts of every Western + literature to versify the Psalms in its own idiom, and the uniform + failure of these attempts. At the time that Sternhold was ‘bringing’ + the Psalms into ‘fine Englysh meter’ for Henry the Eighth and Edward + the Sixth, continental rhymers were busy at the same kind of work for + their own monarchs—notably Clement Marot for Francis the First. And + it has been going on ever since, without a single protest of any + importance having been entered against it. This is astonishing, for + the Bible, even from the point of view of the literary critic, is a + sacred book. Perhaps the time for entering such a protest is come, + and a literary journal may be its proper medium. + + A great living savant has characterized the Bible as ‘a collection of + the rude imaginings of Syria,’ ‘the worn-out old bottle of Judaism + into which the generous new wine of science is being poured.’ The + great savant was angry when he said so. The ‘new wine’ of science is + a generous vintage, undoubtedly, and deserves all the respect it gets + from us; so do those who make it and serve it out; they have so much + intelligence; they are so honest and so fearless. But whatever may + become of their wine in a few years, when the wine-dealers shall have + passed away, when the savant is forgotten as any star-gazer of + Chaldæa,—the ‘old bottle’ is going to be older yet,—the Bible is + going to be eternal. For that which decides the vitality of any book + is precisely that which decides the value of any human soul—not the + knowledge it contains, but simply the attitude it assumes towards the + universe, unseen as well as seen. The attitude of the Bible is just + that which every soul must, in its highest and truest moods, always + assume—that of a wise wonder in front of such a universe as this—that + of a noble humility before a God such as He ‘in whose great Hand we + stand.’ This is why—like Alexander’s mirror—like that most precious + ‘Cup of Jemshîd,’ imagined by the Persians—the Bible reflects to-day, + and will reflect for ever, every wave of human emotion, every passing + event of human life—reflect them as faithfully as it did to the great + and simple people in whose great and simple tongue it was written. + Coming from the Vernunft of Man, it goes straight to the Vernunft. + This is the kind of literature that never does die: a fact which the + world has discovered long ago. For the Bible is Europe’s one book. + And with regard to Asia, as far back as the time of Chrysostom it + could have been read in languages Syrian, Indian, Persian, Armenian, + Ethiopic, Scythian, and Samaritan; now it can be read in every + language, and in almost every dialect, under the sun. + + And the very quintessence of the Bible is the Book of the Psalms. + Therefore the Scottish passion for Psalm-singing is not wonderful; + the wonder is that, liking so much to sing, they can find it possible + to sing so badly. It is not wonderful that the court of Francis I + should yearn to sing Psalms; the wonderful thing is that they should + find it in their hearts to sing Marot’s Psalms when they might have + sung David’s—that Her Majesty the Queen could sing to a fashionable + jig, ‘O Lord, rebuke me not in Thine indignation’; and that Anthony, + King of Navarre, could sing to the air of a dance of Poitou, ‘Stand + up, O Lord, to revenge my quarrel.’ For, although it is given to the + very frogs, says Pascal, to find music in their own croaking, the + ears that can find music in such frogs as these must be of a peculiar + convolution. + + In Psalmody, then, Scottish taste and French are both bad, from the + English point of view; but then the English, having Hopkins in + various incarnations, are fastidious. + + When Lord Macaulay’s tiresome New Zealander has done contemplating + the ruins of London Bridge, and turned in to the deserted British + Museum to study us through our books—what volume can he take as the + representative one—what book, above all others, can the ghostly + librarian select to give him the truest, the profoundest insight into + the character of the strange people who had made such a great figure + in the earth? We, for our part, should not hesitate to give him the + English Book of Common Prayer, with the authorized version of the + Psalms at the end, as representing the British mind in its most + exalted and its most abject phases. That in the same volume can be + found side by side the beauty and pathos of the English Litany, the + grandeur of the English version of the Psalms and the effusions of + Brady and Tate—masters of the art of sinking compared with whom Rous + is an inspired bard—would be adequate evidence that the Church using + it must be a British Church—that British, most British, must be the + public tolerating it. + + ‘By thine agony and bloody Sweat; by thy Cross and Passion; by thy + Precious Death and Burial; by thy glorious Resurrection and + Ascension; and by the coming of the Holy Ghost, God Lord, deliver + us.’ + + Among Western peoples there is but one that could have uttered in + such language this cry, where pathos and sublimity and subtlest music + are so mysteriously blended—blended so divinely that the man who can + utter it, familiar as it is, without an emotion deep enough to touch + close upon the fount of tears must be differently constituted from + some of us. Among Western peoples there is, we say, but one that + could have done this; for as M. Taine has well said:—‘More than any + race in Europe they (the British) approach by the simplicity and + energy of their conceptions the old Hebraic spirit. Enthusiasm is + their natural condition, and their Deity fills them with admiration + as their ancient deities inspired them with fury.’ And now listen to + this:— + + When we, our wearied limbs to rest, + Sat down by proud Euphrates’ stream, + We wept, with doleful thoughts opprest, + And Zion was our mournful theme. + + Among all the peoples of the earth there is but one that could have + thus degraded the words: ‘By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat + down, yea, we wept when we remembered Zion.’ For, to achieve such + platitude there is necessary an element which can only be called the + ‘Hopkins element,’ an element which is quite an insular birthright of + ours, a characteristic which came over with the ‘White Horse,’—that + ‘dull and greasy coarseness of taste’ which distinguishes the British + mind from all others; that ‘ächtbrittische Beschränktheit,’ which + Heine speaks of in his tender way. The Scottish version is rough, + but Brady and Tate’s inanities are worse than Rous’s roughness. + + Such an anomaly as this in one and the same literature, in one and + the same little book, is unnatural; it is monstrous: whence can it + come? It is, indeed, singular that no one has ever dreamed of taking + the story of the English Prayer-book, with Brady and Tate at the end, + and using it as a key to unlock that puzzle of puzzles which has set + the Continental critics writing nonsense about us for + generations:—‘What is it that makes the enormous, the fundamental, + difference between English literature—and all other Western + literatures—Teutonic no less than Latin or Slavonic?’ The simple + truth of the matter is, that the British mind has always been + bipartite as now—has always been, as now, half sublime and half + homely to very coarseness; in other words, it has been half inspired + by David King of Israel, and half by John Hopkins, Suffolk + schoolmaster and archetype of prosaic bards, who, in 1562, took such + of the Psalms as Sternhold had left unsullied and doggerellized them. + For, as we have said, Hopkins, in many and various incarnations, has + been singing unctuously in these islands ever since the introduction + of Christianity, and before; for he is Anglo-Saxon tastelessness, he + is Anglo-Saxon deafness to music and blindness to beauty. When St. + Augustine landed here with David he found not only Odin, but Hopkins, + a heathen then, in possession of the soil. + + There is, therefore, half of a great truth in what M. Taine says. + The English have, besides the Hopkins element, which is indigenous, + much of the Hebraic temper, which is indigenous too; but they have by + nature none of the Hebraic style. But, somehow, here is the + difference between us and the Continentals; that, though style is + born of taste—though le style c’est la race; and though the + Anglo-Saxon started, as we have seen, with Odin and Hopkins alone; + yet, just as instinct may be sown and grown by ancestral habit of + many years—just as the pointer puppy, for instance, points, he knows + not why, because his ancestors were taught to point before him—so may + the Hebraic style be sown and grown in a foreign soil if the soil be + Anglo-Saxon, and if the seed-time last for a thousand years. The + result of all this is, that the English, notwithstanding their + deficiency of artistic instinct and coarseness of taste, have the + Great Style, not only in poetry, sometimes, but in prose sometimes + when they write emotively, as we see in the English Prayer-book, in + parts of Raleigh’s ‘History of the World,’ in Jeremy Taylor’s + sermons, in Hall’s ‘Contemplations,’ and other such books of the + seventeenth century. + + The Great Style is far more easily recognized than defined. To + define any kind of style, indeed, we must turn to real life. When we + say of an individual in real life that he or she has style, we mean + that the individual gives us an impression of unconscious power or + unconscious grace, as distinguished from that conscious power or + conscious grace which we call manner. The difference is fundamental. + It is the same in literature; style is unconscious power or + grace—manner is conscious power or grace. But the Great Style, both + in literature and in life, is unconscious power and unconscious grace + in one. + + And, whither must we turn in quest of this, as the natural expression + of a national temper? Not to the Celt, we think, as Mr. Arnold does. + Not, indeed, to those whose languages, complex of syntax and alive + with self-conscious inflections, bespeak the scientific knowingness + of the Aryan mind—not, certainly, to those who, though producing + Æschylus, turned into Aphrodite the great Astarte of the Syrians, but + to the descendants of Shem,—the only gentleman among all the sons of + Noah; to those who, yearning always to look straight into the face of + God and live, can see not much else. The Great Style, in a word, is + Semitic. It would be a mistake to call it Asiatic. For though two + of its elements, unconsciousness and power, are, no doubt, plentiful + enough in India, the element of grace is lacking, for the most part. + The Vedic hymns are both nebulous and unemotive as compared with + Semitic hymns, and, on the other hand, such a high reach of ethical + writing as even that noble and well-known passage from Manu, + beginning, ‘Single is each man born into the world, single he dies,’ + etc., is quite logical and self-conscious when compared with the + ethical parts of Scripture. The Persians have the grace always, the + power often, but the unconsciousness almost never. We might perhaps + say that there were those in Egypt once who came near to the great + ideal. That description of the abode of ‘Nin-ki-gal,’ the Queen of + Death, recently deciphered from a tablet in the British Museum, is + nearly in the Great Style, yet not quite. Conscious power and + conscious grace are Hellenic, of course. That there is a deal of + unconsciousness in Homer is true; but, put his elaborate comparisons + by the side of the fiery metaphors of the sacred writers, and how + artificial he seems. And note that, afterwards, when he who + approached nearest to the Great Style wrote Prometheus and the + Furies, Orientalism was overflowing Greece, like the waters of the + Nile. It is to the Latin races—some of them—that has filtered + Hellenic manner; and whensoever, as in Dante, the Great Style has + been occasionally caught, it comes not from the Hellenic fountain, + but straight from the Hebrew. + + What the Latin races lack, the Teutonic races have—unconsciousness; + often unconscious power; mostly, however, unconscious brutalité. + Sublime as is the Northern mythology, it is vulgar too. The Hopkins + element,—the dull and stupid homeliness,—the coarse grotesque, mingle + with and mar its finest effects. Over it all the atmosphere is that + of pantomime—singing dragons, one-eyed gods, and Wagner’s libretti. + Even that great final conflict between gods and men and the swarming + brood of evil on the plain of Wigrid, foretold by the Völu-seeress, + when from Yötunland they come and storm the very gates of + Asgard;—even this fine combat ends in the grotesque and vulgar + picture of the Fenrir-wolf gulping Odin down like an oyster, and + digesting the universe to chaos. But, out of the twenty-three + thousand and more verses into which the Bible has been divided, no + one can find a vulgar verse; for the Great Style allows the stylist + to touch upon any subject with no risk of defilement. This is why + style in literature is virtue. Like royalty, the Great Style ‘can do + no wrong.’ + + Of Teutonic graceless unconsciousness, the Anglo-Saxons have by far + the largest endowment. They wanted another element, in short, not + the Hellenic element; for there never was a greater mistake than that + of supposing that Hellenism can be engrafted on Teutonism and live; + as Landor and Mr. Matthew Arnold—two of the finest and most delicate + minds of modern times—can testify. + + But, long before the memorable Hampton Court Conference; long before + the Bishops’ Bible or Coverdale’s Bible; long before even Aldhelm’s + time—Hebraism had been flowing over and enriching the Anglo-Saxon + mind. From the time when Cædmon, the forlorn cow-herd, fell asleep + beneath the stars by the stable-door, and was bidden to sing the + Biblical story, Anglo-Saxon literature grew more and more Hebraic. + Yet, in a certain sense, the Hebraism in which the English mind was + steeped had been Hebraism at second hand—that of the Vulgate + mainly—till Tyndale’s time, or rather till the present Authorized + Version of the Bible appeared in 1611. ‘There is no book,’ says + Selden, ‘so translated as the Bible for the purpose. If I translate + a French book into English, I turn it into English phrase, not into + French-English. “Il fait froid,” I say, ’tis cold, not it makes + cold; but the Bible is rather translated into English words than into + English phrase, The Hebraisms are kept, and the phrase of that + language is kept.’ + + And in great measure this is true, no doubt; yet literal + accuracy—importation of Hebraisms—was not of itself enough to produce + a translation in the Great Style—a translation such as this, which, + as Coleridge says, makes us think that ‘the translators themselves + were inspired.’ To reproduce the Great Style of the original in a + Western idiom, the happiest combination of circumstances was + necessary. The temper of the people receiving must, notwithstanding + all differences of habitation and civilization, be elementally in + harmony with that of the people giving; that is, it must be poetic + rather than ratiocinative. Society must not be too complex—its tone + must not be too knowing and self-glorifying. The accepted psychology + of the time must not be the psychology of the scalpel—the metaphysics + must not be the metaphysics of newspaper cynicism; above all, + enthusiasm and vulgarity must not be considered synonymous terms. + Briefly, the tone of the time must be free of the faintest suspicion + of nineteenth century flavour. That this is the kind of national + temper necessary to such a work might have been demonstrated by an + argument a priori. It was the temper of the English nation when the + Bible was translated. That noble heroism—born of faith in God and + belief in the high duties of man—which we have lost for the hour—was + in the very atmosphere that hung over the island. And style in real + life, which now, as a consequence of our loss, does not exist at all + among Englishmen, and only among a very few Englishwomen—having given + place in all classes to manner—flourished then in all its charm. And + in literature it was the same: not even the euphuism imported from + Spain could really destroy or even seriously damage the then national + sense of style. + + Then, as to the form of literature adopted in the translation, what + must that be? Evidently it must be some kind of form which can do + all the high work that is generally left to metrical language, and + yet must be free from any soupçon of that ‘artifice,’ in the + ‘abandonment’ of which, says an Arabian historian, ‘true art alone + lies.’ For, this is most noteworthy, that of literature as an art, + the Semites show but small conception, even in Job. It was too + sacred for that—drama and epic in the Aryan sense were alike unknown. + + But if the translation must not be metrical in the common acceptation + of that word, neither must it be prose; we will not say logical + prose; for all prose, however high may be its flights, however poetic + and emotive, must always be logical underneath, must always be + chained by a logical chain, and earth-bound like a captive balloon; + just as poetry, on the other hand, however didactic and even + ratiocinative it may become, must always be steeped in emotion. It + must be neither verse nor prose, it seems. It must be a new movement + altogether. The musical movement of the English Bible is a new + movement; let us call it ‘Bible Rhythm.’ And the movement was + devised thus: Difficulty is the worker of modern miracles. Thanks to + Difficulty—thanks to the conflict between what Selden calls ‘Hebrew + phrase and English phrase,’ the translators fashioned, or rather, + Difficulty fashioned for them, a movement which was neither one nor + wholly the other—a movement which, for music, for variety, splendour, + sublimity, and pathos, is above all the effects of English poetic + art, above all the rhythms and all the rhymes of the modern world—a + movement, indeed, which is a form of art of itself—but a form in + which ‘artifice’ is really ‘abandoned’ at last. This rhythm it is to + which we referred as running through the English Prayer-book, and + which governs every verse of the Bible, its highest reaches perhaps + being in the Psalms—this rhythm it is which the Hopkinses and Rouses + have—improved! It would not be well to be too technical here, yet + the matter is of the greatest literary importance just now, and it is + necessary to explain clearly what we mean. + + Among the many delights which we get from the mere form of what is + technically called Poetry, the chief, perhaps, is expectation and the + fulfilment of expectation. In rhymed verse this is obvious: having + familiarized ourselves with the arrangement of the poet’s rhymes, we + take pleasure in expecting a recurrence of these rhymes according to + this arrangement. In blank verse the law of expectation is less + apparent. Yet it is none the less operative. Having familiarized + ourselves with the poet’s rhythm, having found that iambic foot + succeeds iambic foot, and that whenever the iambic waves have begun + to grow monotonous, variations occur—trochaic, anapæstic, + dactylic—according to the law which governs the ear of this + individual poet;—we, half consciously, expect at certain intervals + these variations, and are delighted when our expectations are + fulfilled. And our delight is augmented if also our expectations + with regard to cæsuric effects are realized in the same proportions. + Having, for instance, learned, half unconsciously, that the poet has + an ear for a particular kind of pause; that he delights, let us say, + to throw his pause after the third foot of the sequence,—we expect + that, whatever may be the arrangement of the early pauses with regard + to the initial foot of any sequence,—there must be, not far ahead, + that climacteric third-foot pause up to which all the other pauses + have been tending, and upon which the ear and the soul of the reader + shall be allowed to rest to take breath for future flights. And when + this expectation of cæsuric effects is thus gratified, or gratified + in a more subtle way, by an arrangement of earlier semi-pauses, which + obviates the necessity of the too frequent recurrence of this final + third-foot pause, the full pleasure of poetic effects is the result. + In other words, a large proportion of the pleasure we derive from + poetry is in the recognition of law. The more obvious and formulated + is the law,—nay, the more arbitrary and Draconian,—the more pleasure + it gives to the uncultivated ear. This is why uneducated people may + delight in rhyme, and yet have no ear at all for blank verse; this is + why the savage, who has not even an ear for rhyme, takes pleasure in + such unmistakable rhythm as that of his tom-tom. But, as the ear + becomes more cultivated, it demands that these indications of law + should be more and more subtle, till at last recognized law itself + may become a tyranny and a burden. He who will read Shakespeare’s + plays chronologically, as far as that is practicable, from ‘Love’s + Labour’s Lost’ to the ‘Tempest,’ will have no difficulty in seeing + precisely what we mean. In literature, as in social life, the + progress is from lawless freedom, through tyranny, to freedom that is + lawful. Now the great features of Bible Rhythm are a recognized + music apart from a recognized law—‘artifice’ so completely abandoned + that we forget we are in the realm of art—pauses so divinely set that + they seem to be ‘wood-notes wild,’ though all the while they are, and + must be, governed by a mysterious law too subtly sweet to be + formulated; and all kind of beauties infinitely beyond the triumphs + of the metricist, but beauties that are unexpected. There is a + metre, to be sure, but it is that of the ‘moving music which is + life’; it is the living metre of the surging sea within the soul of + him who speaks; it is the free effluence of the emotions and the + passions which are passing into the words. And if this is so in + other parts of the Bible, what is it in the Psalms, where ‘the + flaming steeds of song,’ though really kept strongly in hand, seem to + run reinless as ‘the wild horses of the wind’?” + + + + +Chapter XVI +A HUMOURIST UPON HUMOUR + + +THE reaching of a decision as to what article to select as typical of +what I may call ‘The Renascence of Wonder’ essays gave me so much trouble +that when I came to the still more difficult task of selecting an essay +typical of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s criticism dealing with what he calls ‘the +laws of cause and effect in literary art’ it naturally occurred to me to +write to him asking for a suggestive hint or two. In response to my +letter I got a thoroughly characteristic reply, in which his affection +for a friend took entire precedence of his own work:— + + “MY DEAR MR. DOUGLAS,—The selections from my critiques must really be + left entirely to yourself. They are to illustrate your own critical + judgment upon my work, and not mine. Overwhelmed as I am with + avocations which I daresay you little dream of, for me to plunge into + the countless columns of the ‘Athenæum,’ in quest of articles of mine + which I have quite forgotten, would be an intolerable burden at the + present moment. I can think of only one article which I should + specially like reproduced, either in its entirety or in part—not on + account of any merit in it which I can recall, but because it was the + means of bringing me into contact with one of the most delightful men + and one of the most splendidly equipped writers of our time, whose + sudden death shocked and grieved me beyond measure. A few days after + the article appeared, the then editor of the ‘Athenæum,’ Mr. MacColl, + the dear friend with whom I was associated for more than twenty + years, showed me a letter that he had received from Traill. It was + an extremely kind letter. Among the many generous things that Traill + said was this—that it was just the kind of review article which makes + the author regret that he had not seen it before his book appeared. + I wrote to Traill in acknowledgment of his kind words; but it was not + until a good while after this that we met at the Incorporated + Authors’ Society dinner. At the table where I was sitting, and + immediately opposite me, sat a gentleman whose countenance, + especially when it was illuminated by conversation with his friends, + perfectly charmed me. Although there was not the smallest regularity + in his features, the expression was so genial and so winsome that I + had some difficulty in persuading myself that it was not a beautiful + face after all, and his smile was really quite irresistible. The + contrast between his black eyebrows and whiskers and the white hair + upon his head gave him a peculiarly picturesque appearance. Another + thing I noticed was a boyish kind of lisp, which somehow, I could not + say why, gave to the man an added charm. I did not know it was + Traill, but after the dinner was over, when I was saying to myself, + ‘That is a man I should like to know,’ a friend who sat next him—I + forget who it was—brought him round to me and introduced him as ‘Mr. + Traill.’ ‘You and I ought to know each other,’ he said, ‘for, + besides having many tastes in common, we live near each other.’ And + then I found that he lived near the ‘Northumberland Arms,’ between + Putney and Barnes. I think that he must have seen how greatly I was + drawn to him, for he called at The Pines in a few days—I think, + indeed, it was the very next day—and then began a friendship the + memory of which gives me intense pleasure, and yet pleasure not + unmixed with pain, when I recall his comparatively early and sudden + death. I used to go to his gatherings, and it was there that I first + met several interesting men that I had not known before. One of + them, I remember, was Mr. Sidney Low, then the editor of the ‘St. + James’s Gazette.’ And I also used to meet there interesting men whom + I had known before, such as the late Sir Edwin Arnold, whose ‘Light + of Asia,’ and other such works, I had reviewed in the ‘Athenæum.’ I + do not hesitate for a moment to say that Traill was a man of genius. + Had he lived fifty years earlier, such a writer as he who wrote ‘The + New Lucian,’ ‘Recaptured Rhymes,’ ‘Saturday Songs,’ ‘The Canaanitish + Press’ and ‘Israelitish Questions,’ ‘the Life of Sterne,’ and the + brilliant articles in the ‘Saturday Review’ and the ‘Pall Mall + Gazette,’ would have made an unforgettable mark in literature. But + there is no room for anybody now—no room for anybody but the very, + very few. When he was about starting ‘Literature,’ he wrote to me, + and a gratifying letter it was. He said that, although he had no + desire to wean me from the ‘Athenæum,’ he should be delighted to + receive anything from me when I chanced to be able to spare him + something. It was always an aspiration of mine to send something to + a paper edited by so important a literary figure—a paper, let me say, + that had a finer, sweeter tone than any other paper of my time—I + mean, that tone of fine geniality upon which I have often commented, + that tone without which, ‘there can be no true criticism.’ A certain + statesman of our own period, who had pursued literature with success, + used to say (alluding to a paper of a very different kind, now dead), + that the besetting sin of the literary class is that lack of + gentlemanlike feeling one towards another which is to be seen in all + the other educated classes. This might have been so then, but, + through the influence mainly of ‘Literature’ and H. D. Traill, it is + not so now. Many people have speculated as to why a literary + journal, edited by such a man, and borne into the literary arena on + the doughty back of the ‘Times,’ did not succeed. I have a theory of + my own upon that subject. Although Traill’s hands were so full of + all kinds of journalistic and magazine work in other quarters, it is + a mistake to suppose that his own journal was badly edited. It was + well edited, and it had a splendid staff, but several things were + against it. It confined itself to literature, and did not, as far as + I remember, give its attention to much else. Its price was sixpence; + but its chief cause of failure was what I may call its ‘personal + appearance.’ If personal appearance is an enormously powerful factor + at the beginning of the great human struggle for life, it is at the + first quite as important a factor in the life struggle of a newspaper + or a magazine. When the ‘Saturday Review’ was started, its personal + appearance—something quite new then—did almost as much for it as the + brilliant writing. It was the same with the ‘Pall Mall Gazette’ when + it started. Carlyle was quite right in thinking that there is a + great deal in clothes. Now, as I told Traill when we were talking + about this, ‘Literature’ in appearance seemed an uninviting cross + between the ‘Law Times’ and ‘The Lancet’—it seemed difficult to + connect the unbusiness-like genius of literature with such a + business-like looking sheet as that. Traill laughed, but ended by + saying that he believed there was a great deal in that notion of + mine. Some one was telling me the other day that Traill, who died + only about four years ago, was beginning to be forgotten. I should + be sorry indeed to think that. All that I can say is that for a book + such as yours to be written about me, and no book to be written about + Traill, presents itself to my mind as being as grotesque an idea as + any that Traill’s own delightful whimsical imagination could have + pictured.” + +Of course I comply with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s wishes, and I do this with the +more alacrity because there is this connection between the essay on +Sterne and the imaginative work—the theory of absolute humour exemplified +in Mrs. Gudgeon is very brilliantly expounded in the article. It was a +review of Traill’s ‘Sterne,’ in the ‘English Men of Letters,’ and it +appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ of November 18, 1882. I will quote the +greater part of it:— + + “Contemporary humour, for the most part, even among cultivated + writers, is in temper either cockney or Yankee, and both Sterne and + Cervantes are necessarily more talked about than studied, while + Addison as a humorist is not even talked about. In gauging the + quality of poetry—in finding for any poet his proper place in the + poetic heavens—there is always uncertainty and difficulty. With + humour, however, this difficulty does not exist, if we bear steadily + in mind that all humour is based upon a simple sense of incongruous + relations, and that the quality of every man’s humour depends upon + the kind of incongruity which he recognizes and finds laughable. If, + for instance, he shows himself to have no sense of any incongruities + deeper than those disclosed by the parodist and the punster, his + relation to the real humourist and the real wit is that of a monkey + to a man; for although the real humourist may descend to parody, and + the real wit may descend to punning, as Aristophanes did, the pun and + the parody are charged with some deeper and richer intent. Again, if + a man’s sense of humour, like that of the painter of society, is + confined to a sense of the incongruous relations existing between + individual eccentricity and the social conventions by which it is + surrounded, he may be a humourist no doubt—according, at least, to + the general acceptation of that word, though a caricaturist according + to a definition of humour and caricature which we once ventured upon + in these columns; but his humour is jejune, and delightful to the + Philistine only. If, like that of Cervantes and (in a lower degree) + Fielding, Thackeray, and Dickens, a writer’s sense of the incongruous + is deeper than this, but is confined nevertheless to what Mr. Traill + calls ‘the irony of human intercourse,’ he is indeed a humourist, and + in the case of Cervantes a very great humourist, yet not necessarily + of the greatest; for just as the greatest poet must have a sense of + the highest and deepest harmonies possible for the soul of man to + apprehend, so the greatest humourist must have a sense of the highest + and deepest incongruities possible. And it will be found that these + harmonies and these incongruities lie between the very ‘order of the + universe’ itself and the mind of man. In certain temperaments the + eternal incongruities between man’s mind and the scheme of the + universe produce, no doubt, the pessimism of Schopenhauer and + Novalis; but to other temperaments—to a Rabelais or Sterne, for + instance—the apprehension of them turns the cosmos into disorder, + turns it into something like that boisterous joke which to most + temperaments is only possible under the excitement of some ‘paradis + artificiel.’ Great as may be the humourist whose sense of irony is + that of ‘human intercourse,’ if he has no sense of this much deeper + irony—the irony of man’s intercourse with the universal harmony + itself—he cannot be ranked with the very greatest. Of this irony in + the order of things Aristophanes and Rabelais had an instinctive, + while Richter had an intellectual enjoyment. Of Swift and Carlyle it + might be said that they had not so much an enjoyment as a terrible + apprehension of it. And if we should find that this quality exists + in ‘Tristram Shandy,’ how high, then, must we not place Sterne! And + if we should find that Cervantes deals with the ‘irony of human + intercourse’ merely, and that his humour is, with all its profundity, + terrene, what right have critics to set Cervantes above Sterne? Why + is the sense of incongruity upon which the humour of Cervantes is + based so melancholy? Because it only sees the farce from the human + point of view. The sad smile of Cervantes is the tearful humour of a + soul deeply conscious of man’s ludicrous futility in his relations to + his fellow-man. But while the futilities of ‘Don Quixote’ are tragic + because terrene, the futilities of ‘Tristram Shandy’ are comic + because they are derived from the order of things. It is the great + humourist Circumstance who causes Mrs. Shandy to think of the clock + at the most inopportune moment, and who, stooping down from above the + constellations, interferes to flatten Tristram’s nose. And if + Circumstance proves to be so fond of fun, he must be found in the end + a benevolent king; and hence all is well. + + While, however, it is, as we say, easy in a general way to gauge a + humourist and find his proper place, it is not easy to bring Sterne + under a classification. In Sterne’s writings every kind of humour is + to be found, from a style of farce which even at Crazy Castle must + have been pronounced too wild, up to humour as chaste and urbane as + Addison’s, and as profound and dramatic as Shakespeare’s. In loving + sympathy with stupidity, for instance, even Shakespeare is outdone by + Sterne in his ‘fat, foolish scullion.’ Lower than the Dogberry type + there is a type of humanity made up of animal functions merely, to + whom the mere fact of being alive is the one great triumph. While + the news of Bobby’s death, announced by Obadiah in the kitchen, + suggests to Susannah the various acquisitions to herself that must + follow such a sad calamity to the ‘fat, foolish scullion,’ scrubbing + her pans on the floor, it merely recalls the great triumphant fact of + her own life, and consequently to the wail that ‘Bobby is certainly + dead’ her soul merely answers as she scrubs, ‘So am not I.’ In four + words that scullion lives for ever. + + Sterne’s humour, in short, is Shakespearean and Rabelaisian, + Cervantic and Addisonian too; how, then, shall we find a place for + such a Proteus? So great is the plasticity of genius, so readily at + first does it answer to impressions from without, that in criticizing + its work it is always necessary carefully to pierce through the + method and seek the essential life by force of which methods can + work. Sterne having, as a student of humourous literature, enjoyed + the mirthful abandon of Rabelais no less than the pensive irony of + Cervantes, it was inevitable that his methods should oscillate + between that of Rabelais on the one hand, and that of Cervantes on + the other, and that at first this would be so without Sterne’s + natural endowment of humour being necessarily either Rabelaisian or + Cervantic, that is to say, either lyric or dramatic, either the + humour of animal mirth or the humour of philosophic meditation. But + the more deeply we pierce underneath his methods, the more certainly + shall we find that he was by nature the very Proteus of humour which + he pretended to be. And after all this is the important question as + regards Sterne. Lamb’s critical acuteness is nowhere more clearly + seen than in that sentence where he speaks of his own ‘self-pleasing + quaintness.’ When any form of art departs in any way from + symmetrical and normal lines, the first question to ask concerning it + is this: Is it self-pleasing or is it artificial and histrionic? + That which pleases the producer may perhaps not please us; but if we + feel that it does not really and truly please the artist himself, the + artist becomes a mountebank, and we turn away in disgust. In the + humourous portions of Sterne’s work there is, probably, not a page, + however nonsensical, which he did not write with gusto, and + therefore, bad as some of it may be, it is not to the true critic an + offence. . . . + + ‘Yorickism’ is, there is scarcely need to say, the very opposite of + the humour of Swift. One recognizes that the universe is rich in + things to laugh at and to love; the other recognizes that the + universe is rich in things to laugh at and to hate. One recognizes + that among these absurd things there is nothing else so absurd and + (because so absurd) so lovable as a man; the other recognizes that + there is nothing else so absurd and (because so absurd) so hateful as + a man. The intellectual process is the same; the difference lies in + the temperament—the temperament of Jaques and the temperament of + Apemantus. And in regard to misanthropic ridicule it is difficult to + say which fate is more terrible, Swift’s or Carlyle’s—that of the man + whose heart must needs yearn towards a race which his piercing + intellect bids him hate, or that of the man, religious, + conscientious, and good, who would fain love his fellows and cannot. + It is idle for men of this kind to try to work in the vein of Yorick. + It needs the sweet temper of him who at the Mermaid kept the table in + a roar, or of him who, in the words of the ‘cadet of the house of + Keppoch,’ was ‘sometimes called Tristram Shandy and sometimes Yorick, + a very great favourite of the gentlemen.’ Sterne, like Jaques and + Hamlet, deals with ‘the irony of human intercourse,’ but what he + specially recognizes is a deeper irony still—the irony of man’s + intercourse with himself and with nature, the irony of the + intercourse between man the spiritual being and man the physical + being—the irony, in short, of man’s position amid these natural + conditions of life and death. It is in the apprehension of this + anomaly—a spiritual nature enclosed in a physical nature—that + Sterne’s strength lies. + + Man, the ‘fool of nature,’ prouder than Lucifer himself, yet ‘bounded + in a nutshell,’ brother to the panniered donkey, and held of no more + account by the winds and rains of heaven than the poor little + ‘beastie’ whose house is ruined by the ploughshare—here is, indeed, a + creature for Swift and Carlyle and Sterne and Burns to marvel at and + to laugh at, but with what different kinds of laughter! There is + nothing incongruous in the condition of the lower animals, because + they are in entire harmony with their natural surroundings; there is + nothing more absurd in the existence and the natural functions of a + horse or a cow than in the existence and the natural functions of the + grass upon which they feed; but imagine a spiritual being so placed, + so surrounded, and so functioned, and you get an absurdity compared + with which all other absurdities are non-existent, or, at least, are + fit quarry for the satirist, but hardly for the humourist. That + Sterne’s donkey should owe his existence to the exercise of certain + natural functions on the part of his unconscious progenitors, that he + should continue to hold his place by the exercise on his own part of + certain other natural functions, is in no way absurd, and contains in + it no material for humoristic treatment. To render him absurd you + must bring him into relation with man; you must clap upon his back + panniers of human devising or give him macaroons kneaded by a human + cook. Then to the general observer he becomes absurd, for he is + tried by human standards. But to Yorick it is not so much the donkey + who is absurd as the fantastic creature who made the panniers and + cooked the macaroons. All other humour is thin compared with this. + Besides, it never grows old. It is difficult, no doubt, to think + that the humour of Cervantes will ever lose its freshness; but the + kind of humour we have called Yorickism will be immortal, for no + advance in human knowledge can dim its lustre. Certainly up to the + present moment the anomaly of man’s position upon the planet is not + lessened by the revelations of science as to his origin and + development. On the contrary, it is increased, as we hinted in + speaking of Thoreau. If man was a strange and anomalous ‘piece of + work’ as Hamlet knew him under the old cosmogony, what a ‘piece of + work’ does he appear now! He has the knack of advancing and leaving + the woodchucks behind, but how has he done it? By the fact of his + being the only creature out of harmony with surrounding conditions. + A contented conservatism is the primary instinct of the entire animal + kingdom, and if any species should change, it is not (as Lamarck once + supposed) from any ‘inner yearning’ for progress, but because it was + pushed on by overmastering circumstances. An ungulate becomes the + giraffe, not because it is uncomfortable in its old condition and + yearns for giraffe-hood, but because, being driven from grass to + leaves by natural causes, it must elongate its neck or starve. But + man really has this yearning for progress, and, because he is out of + harmony with everything, he advances till at last he turns all the + other creatures into food or else into weight-carriers, and outstrips + them so completely that he forgets he is one of them. If Uncle + Toby’s progenitors were once as low down in the scale of life as the + fly that buzzed about his nose, the fly had certainly more right to + buzz than had that over-developed, incongruous creature, Captain + Shandy, to be disturbed at its buzzing, and the patronizing speech of + the captain as he opens the window gains an added humour, for it is + the fly that should patronize and take pity upon the man. + + And while Sterne’s abiding sense of the struggle between man’s + spiritual nature and the conditions of his physical nature accounts + for the metaphysical depth of some of his humour, it greatly accounts + for his indecencies too. Sterne had that instinct for idealizing + women, and the entire relations between the sexes which accompanies + the poetic temperament. To such natures the spiritual side of sexual + relations is ever present; and as a consequence of this the animal + side never loses with them the atmosphere of wonder with which it was + enveloped in their boyish days. Not that we are going to justify + Sterne’s indecencies. Coleridge’s remark that the pleasure Sterne + got from his double entendre was akin to ‘that trembling daring with + which a child touches a hot teapot because it has been forbidden,’ + partly explains, but it does not excuse, Sterne’s transgressions + herein. The fact seems to be that if we divide love into the passion + of love, the sentiment of love, and the appetite of love, and inquire + which of these was really known to Sterne, we shall come to what will + seem to most readers the paradoxical conclusion that it was the + sentiment only. There is abundant proof of this. In the ‘Letter to + the Earl of —,’ printed by his daughter, after dilating upon the + manner in which the writing of the ‘Sentimental Journey’ has worn out + both his spirits and body, he says: ‘I might indeed solace myself + with my wife (who is come to France), but, in fact, I have long been + a sentimental being, whatever your lordship may think to the + contrary. The world has imagined because I wrote “Tristram Shandy” + that I was myself more Shandian than I really ever was.’ Upon this + passage Mr. Traill has the pertinent remark: ‘The connubial + affections are here, in all seriousness and good faith apparently, + opposed to the sentimental emotions—as the lower to the higher. To + indulge the former is to be “Shandian,” that is to say, coarse and + carnal; to devote oneself to the latter, or, in other words, to spend + one’s days in semi-erotic languishings over the whole female sex + indiscriminately, is to show spirituality and taste.’ Now, to men of + this kind there is not uncommonly, perhaps, a charm in a licentious + double entendre which is quite inscrutable to those of a more animal + temperament. The incongruity between the ideal and the actual + relations brings poignant distress at first, and afterwards a sense + of irresistible absurdity. Originally the fascination of repulsion, + it becomes the fascination of attraction, and it is not at all + fanciful to say that in Uncle Toby and the Widow Wadman, Sterne + (quite unconsciously to himself perhaps) realized to his own mind + those two opposite sides of man’s nature whose conflict in some form + or another was ever present to Sterne’s mind. And, as we say, it has + a deep relation to the kind of humour with which Sterne was so richly + endowed. After one of his most sentimental flights, wherein the + spiritual side of man is absurdly exaggerated, there comes upon him a + sudden revulsion (which at first was entirely natural, if even + self-conscious afterwards). The incongruity of all this sentiment + with man’s actual condition as an animal strikes him with + irresistible force, and he says to man, ‘What right have you in that + galley after all—you who came into the world in this extremely + unspiritual fashion and keep in it by the agency of functions which + are if possible more unspiritual and more absurd still?’ + + No doubt the universal sense of shame in connection with sexual + matters, which Hartley has discussed in his subtle but rather + far-fetched fashion, arises from an acute apprehension of this great + and eternal incongruity of man’s existence—the conflict of a + spiritual nature and such aspirations as man’s with conditions + entirely physical. And perhaps the only truly philosophical + definition of the word ‘indecency’ would be this: ‘A painful and + shocking contrast of man’s spiritual with his physical nature.’ When + Hamlet, with his finger on Yorick’s skull, declares that his ‘gorge + rises at it,’ and asks if Alexander’s skull ‘smelt so,’ he shocks us + as deeply in a serious way as Sterne in his allusion to the winding + up of the clock shocks us in a humourous way, and to express the + sensation they each give there is, perhaps, no word but ‘indecent.’” + +I have now cited the opinions of Mr. Watts-Dunton upon the metaphysical +meaning of humour. In order to show what are his opinions upon wit, I +think I shall do well to turn from the ‘Athenæum’ articles, and to quote +from the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ a few sentences upon wit, and upon the +distinction between comedy and farce. For the obvious reason that the +‘Athenæum’ articles are buried in oblivion, and the ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica’ articles are certainly not so deeply buried, it is from the +former that I have been mainly quoting; but some of the most important +parts of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work are to be found in the ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica.’ Perhaps, however, I had better introduce my citations by +saying a few words about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s connection with that work. + +The story of the way in which he came to write in the ‘Encyclopædia’ has +been often told by Prof. Minto. At the time when the ninth edition was +started, he and Mr. Watts-Dunton were living in adjoining chambers and +were seeing each other constantly. When Minto was writing his articles +upon Byron and Dickens, he told Mr. Watts-Dunton that Baynes would be +delighted to get work from him. But at that time Mr. Watts-Dunton had +got more critical work in hand than he wanted, and besides he had already +a novel and a body of poetry ready for the press, and wished to confine +his energies to creative work. Besides this, he felt, as he declared, +that he could not do the work fitted for the compact, businesslike +pedestrian style of an encyclopædia. But when the most important +treatise in the literary department of the work—the treatise on +Poetry—was wanted, a peculiar difficulty in selecting the writer was +felt. The article in the previous edition had been written by David +Macbeth Moir, famous under the name of ‘Delta’ as the author of ‘The +Autobiography of Mansie Wauch.’ Moir’s article was intelligent enough, +but quite inadequate to such a work as the publishers of the +‘Encyclopædia’ aspired to make. A history of Poetry was, of course, +quite impossible; it followed that the treatise must be an essay on the +principles of poetic art in relation to all other arts, as exemplified by +the poetry of the great literatures. It was decided, according to +Minto’s account, that there were but three men, that is to say, +Swinburne, Matthew Arnold, and Theodore Watts, who could produce this +special kind of work, the other critics being entirely given up to the +historic method of criticism. The choice fell upon Watts, and Baynes +went to London for the purpose of inviting him to do the work, and +explaining exactly what was wanted. + +I think all will agree with me that there never was a happier choice. +Mr. Arthur Symons, in an article on ‘The Coming of Love’ in the ‘Saturday +Review’ has written very luminously upon this subject. He tells us that, +wide as is the sweep of the treatise, it is but a brilliant fragment, +owing to the treatise having vastly overflowed the space that could be +given to it. The truth is that the essay is but the introduction to an +exhaustive discussion of what the writer believes to be the most +important event in the history of all poetry—the event discussed under +the name of ‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ The introduction to the third +volume of the new edition of Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature’ is but a bare outline of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s writings upon +this subject. It has been said over and over again that since the best +critical work of Coleridge there has been nothing in our literature to +equal this treatise on Poetry. It has been exhaustively discussed in +England, America, and on the Continent, especially in Germany, where it +has been compared to the critical system of Goethe. Those who have not +read it will be surprised to hear that it is not confined to the +formulating of generalizations on poetic art; it is full of eloquent +passages on human life and human conduct. + +It was in an article upon a Restoration comic dramatist, Vanbrugh, that +Mr. Watts-Dunton first formulated his famous distinction between comedy +and farce:— + + “In order to find and fix Vanbrugh’s place among English comic + dramatists, an examination of the very basis of the comedy of + repartee inaugurated by Etheredge would be necessary, and, of course, + such an examination would be impossible here. It is chiefly as a + humourist, however, that he demands attention. + + Given the humorous temperament—the temperament which impels a man to + get his enjoyment by watching the harlequinade of life, and + contrasting it with his own ideal standard of good sense, which the + harlequinade seems to him to mock and challenge—given this + temperament, then the quality of its humourous growth depends of + course on the quality of the intellectual forces by means of which + the temperament gains expression. Hence it is very likely that in + original endowment of humour, as distinguished from wit, Vanbrugh was + superior to Congreve. And this is saying a great deal: for, while + Congreve’s wit has always been made much of, it has, since Macaulay’s + time, been the fashion among critics to do less than justice to his + humour—a humour which, in such scenes as that in ‘Love for Love,’ + where Sir Sampson Legend discourses upon the human appetites and + functions, moves beyond the humour of convention and passes into + natural humour. It is, however, in spontaneity, in a kind of lawless + merriment, almost Aristophanic in its verve, that Vanbrugh’s humour + seems so deep and so fine, seems indeed to spring from a fountain + deeper and finer and rarer than Congreve’s. A comedy of wit, like + every other drama, is a story told by action and dialogue, but to + tell a story lucidly and rapidly by means of repartee is exceedingly + difficult, not but that it is easy enough to produce repartee. But + in comic dialogue the difficulty is to move rapidly and yet keep up + the brilliant ball-throwing demanded in this form; and without + lucidity and rapidity no drama, whether of repartee or of character, + can live. Etheredge, the father of the comedy of repartee, has at + length had justice done to him by Mr. Gosse. Not only could + Etheredge tell a story by means of repartee alone: he could produce a + tableau too; so could Congreve, and so also could Vanbrugh; but + often—far too often—Vanbrugh’s tableau is reached, not by fair means, + as in the tableau of Congreve, but by a surrendering of probability, + by a sacrifice of artistic fusion, by an inartistic mingling of + comedy and farce, such as Congreve never indulges in. Jeremy Collier + was perfectly right, therefore, in his strictures upon the farcical + improbabilities of the ‘Relapse.’ So farcical indeed are the + tableaux in that play that the broader portions of it were (as Mr. + Swinburne discovered) adapted by Voltaire and acted at Sceaux as a + farce. Had we space here to contrast the ‘Relapse’ with the ‘Way of + the World,’ we should very likely come upon a distinction between + comedy and farce such as has never yet been drawn. We should find + that farce is not comedy with a broadened grin—Thalia with her girdle + loose and run wild—as the critics seem to assume. We should find + that the difference between the two is not one of degree at all, but + rather one of kind, and that mere breadth of fun has nothing to do + with the question. No doubt the fun of comedy may be as broad as + that of farce, as is shown indeed by the celebrated Dogberry scenes + in ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ and by the scene in ‘Love for Love’ + between Sir Sampson Legend and his son, alluded to above; but here, + as in every other department of art, all depends upon the quality of + the imaginative belief that the artist seeks to arrest and secure. + Of comedy the breath of life is dramatic illusion. Of farce the + breath of life is mock illusion. Comedy, whether broad or genteel, + pretends that its mimicry is real. Farce, whether broad or genteel, + makes no such pretence, but, by a thousand tricks, which it keeps up + between itself and the audience, says, ‘My acting is all sham, and + you know it.’ Now, while Vanbrugh was apt too often to forget this + the fundamental difference between comedy and farce, Congreve never + forgot it, Wycherly rarely. Not that there should be in any literary + form any arbitrary laws. There is no arbitrary law declaring that + comedy shall not be mingled with farce, and yet the fact is that in + vital drama they cannot be so mingled. The very laws of their + existence are in conflict with each other, so much so that where one + lives the other must die, as we see in the drama of our own day. The + fact seems to be that probability of incident, logical sequence of + cause and effect, are as necessary to comedy as they are to tragedy, + while farce would stifle in such an air. Rather, it would be + poisoned by it, just as comedy is poisoned by what farce flourishes + on; that is to say, inconsequence of reasoning—topsy-turvy logic. + Born in the fairy country of topsy-turvy, the logic of farce would be + illogical if it were not upside-down. So with coincidence, with + improbable accumulation of convenient events—farce can no more exist + without these than comedy can exist with them. Hence we affirm that + Jeremy Collier’s strictures on the farcical adulterations of the + ‘Relapse’ pierce more deeply into Vanbrugh’s art than do the + criticisms of Leigh Hunt and Hazlitt. In other words, perhaps the + same lack of fusion which mars Vanbrugh’s architectural ideas mars + also his comedy.” + +Without for a moment wishing to institute comparisons between the merit +of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s literary articles and the merit of other literary +articles by other contemporary writers, I may at least say that between +his articles and theirs the difference is not one of degree, it is one of +kind. Theirs are compact, business-like compressions of facts admirably +fitted for an Encyclopædia. No attempt is made to formulate +generalizations upon the principles of literary art, and this must be +said in their praise—they are faultless as articles in a book of +reference. But no student of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work who turns over the +pages of an article in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ can fail after +reading a few sentences to recognize the author. Generalizations, hints +of daring theories, novel and startling speculations, graze each other’s +heels, until one is dazzled by the display of intellectual brilliance. +That his essays are out of place in an Encyclopædia may be true, but they +seem to lighten and alleviate it and to shed his fascinating idiosyncrasy +upon their coldly impersonal environment. + + + + +Chapter XVII +‘THE LIFE POETIC’ + + + [Picture: ‘The Pines.’ (From a Drawing by Herbert Railton.)] + +I have been allowed to enrich this volume with photographs of ‘The Pines’ +and of some of the exquisite works of art therein. But it is unfortunate +for me that I am not allowed to touch upon what are the most important +relations of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s life—important though so many of them +are. I mean his intimacy with the poet whose name is now beyond doubt +far above any other name in the contemporary world of letters. I do not +sympathize with the hyper-sensitiveness of eminent men with regard to +privacy. The inner chamber of what Rossetti calls the ‘House of Life’ +should be kept sacred. But Rossetti’s own case shows how impossible it +is in these days to keep those recesses inviolable. The fierce light +that beats upon men of genius grows fiercer and fiercer every day, and it +cannot be quenched. This was one of my arguments when I first answered +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s own objection to the appearance of this monograph. +The times have changed since he was a young man. Then publicity was +shunned like a plague by poets and by painters. If such men wish the +light to be true as well as fierce, they must allow their friends to +illuminate their ‘House of Life’ by the lamp of truth. If Rossetti +during his lifetime had allowed one of his friends who knew the secrets +of his ‘House of Life’ to write about him, we might have been spared +those canards about him and the wife he loved which were rife shortly +after his death. Byron’s reluctance to take payment for his poetry was +not a more belated relic of an old quixotism than is this dying passion +for privacy. Publicity may be an evil, but it is an inevitable evil, and +great men must not let the wasps and the gadflies monopolize its uses. +It may be a reminiscence of an older and a nobler social temper, the +temper under the influence of which Rossetti in 1870 said that he felt +abashed because a paragraph had appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ announcing the +fact that a book from him was forthcoming. But that temper has gone by +for ever. We live now in very different times. Scores upon scores of +unauthorized and absolutely false paragraphs about eminent men are +published, especially about these two friends who have lived their poetic +life together for more than a quarter of a century. Only the other day I +saw in a newspaper an offensive descriptive caricature of Mr. Swinburne, +of his dress, etc. It is interesting to recall the fact that mendacious +journalism was the cause of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s very first contribution to +the ‘Athenæum,’ before he wrote any reviews at all. At that time the +offenders seem to have been chiefly Americans. The article was not a +review, but a letter signed ‘Z,’ entitled ‘The Art of Interviewing,’ and +it appeared in the ‘Athenæum,’ of March 11, 1876. As it shows the great +Swinburne myth in the making, I will reproduce this merry little skit:— + + “‘Alas! there is none of us without his skeleton-closet,’ said a + great writer to one who was congratulating him upon having reached + the goal for which he had, from the first, set out. ‘My skeleton + bears the dreadful name of “American Interviewer.” Pity me!’ ‘Is he + an American with a diary in his pocket?’ was the terrified question + always put by another man of genius, whenever you proposed + introducing a stranger to him. But this was in those ingenuous + Parker-Willisian days when the ‘Interviewer’ merely invented the + dialogue—not the entire dramatic action—not the interview itself. + Primitive times! since when the ‘Interviewer’ has developed indeed! + His dramatic inspiration now is trammelled by none of those foolish + and arbitrary conditions which—whether his scene of action was at the + ‘Blue Posts’ with Thackeray, or in the North with Scottish + lords—vexed and bounded the noble soul of the great patriarch of the + tribe. Uncribbed, uncabined, unconfined, the ‘Interviewer’ now + invents, not merely the dialogue, but the ‘situation,’ the place, the + time—the interview itself. Every dramatist has his favourite + character—Sophocles had his; Shakspeare had his; Schiller had his; + the ‘Interviewer’ has his. Mr. Swinburne has, for the last two or + three years, been—for some reason which it might not be difficult to + explain—the ‘Interviewer’s’ special favourite. Moreover, the + accounts of the interviews with him are always livelier than any + others, inasmuch as they are accompanied by brilliant fancy-sketches + of his personal appearance—sketches which, if they should not gratify + him exactly, would at least astonish him; and it is surely something + to be even astonished in these days. Some time ago, for instance, an + American lady journalist, connected with a ‘Western newspaper,’ made + her appearance in London, and expressed many ‘great desires,’ the + greatest of all her ‘desires’ being to know the author of ‘Atalanta,’ + or, if she could not know him, at least to ‘see him.’ + + The Fates, however, were not kind to the lady. The author of + ‘Atalanta’ had quitted London. She did not see him, therefore—not + with her bodily eyes could she see him. Yet this did not at all + prevent her from ‘interviewing’ him. Why should it? The ‘soul hath + eyes and ears’ as well as the body—especially if the soul is an + American soul, with a mission to ‘interview.’ There soon appeared in + the lady’s Western newspaper a graphic account of one of the most + interesting interviews with this poet that has ever yet been + recorded. Mr. Swinburne—though at the time in Scotland—‘called’ upon + the lady at her rooms in London; but, notwithstanding this unexampled + feat of courtesy, he seems to have found no favour in the lady’s + eyes. She ‘misliked him for his complexion.’ Evidently it was + nothing but good-breeding that prevented her from telling the bard, + on the spot, that he was physically an unlovely bard. His manners, + too, were but so-so; and the Western lady was shocked and disgusted, + as well she might be. In the midst of his conversation, for example, + he called out frantically for ‘pen and ink.’ He had become suddenly + and painfully ‘afflated.’ When furnished with pen and ink he began + furiously writing a poem, beating the table with his left hand and + stamping the floor with both feet as he did so. Then, without saying + a word, he put on his hat and rushed from the room like a madman! + This account was copied into other newspapers and into the magazines. + It is, in fact, a piece of genuine history now, and will form + valuable material for some future biographer of the poet. The + stubborn shapelessness of facts has always distressed the + artistically-minded historian. But let the American ‘Interviewer’ go + on developing thus, and we may look for History’s becoming far more + artistic and symmetrical in future. The above is but one out of many + instances of the art of interviewing.” + +It is all very well to say that irresponsible statements of this kind are +not in the true sense of the word believed by readers; they create an +atmosphere of false mist which destroys altogether the picture of the +poet’s life which one would like to preserve. And I really think that it +would have been better if I or some one else among the friends of the +poets had been allowed to write more freely about the beautiful and +intellectual life at ‘The Pines.’ But I am forbidden to do this, as the +following passage in a letter which I have received from Mr. Watts-Dunton +will show: + + “I cannot have anything about our life at ‘The Pines’ put into print, + but I will grant you permission to give a few reproductions of the + interesting works of art here, for many of them may have a legitimate + interest for the public on account of their historic value, as having + come to me from the magician of art, Rossetti. And I assure you that + this is a concession which I have denied to very many applicants, + both among friends and others.” + + [Picture: A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Lacquer Cabinet] + +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s allusion to the Rossetti mementoes requires a word of +explanation. Rossetti, it seems, was very fond of surprising his friends +by unexpected tokens of generosity. I have heard Mr. Watts-Dunton say +that during the week when he was moving into ‘The Pines,’ he spent as +usual Wednesday night at 16 Cheyne Walk, and he and Rossetti sat talking +into the small hours. Next morning after breakfast he strolled across to +Whistler’s house to have a talk with the ever-interesting painter, and +this resulted in his getting home two hours later than usual. On +reaching the new house he saw a waggon standing in front of it. He did +not understand this, for the furniture from the previous residence had +been all removed. He went up to the waggon, and was surprised to find it +full of furniture of a choice kind. But there was no need for him to +give much time to an examination of the furniture, for he found he was +familiar with every piece of it. It had come straight from Rossetti’s +house, having been secretly packed and sent off by Dunn on the previous +day. Some of the choicest things at ‘The Pines’ came in this way. Not a +word had Rossetti said about this generous little trick on the night +before. The superb Chinese cabinet, a photograph of which appears in +this book, belonged to Rossetti. It seems that on a certain occasion +Frederick Sandys, or some one else, told Rossetti that the clever but +ne’er-do-well artist, George Chapman, had bought of a sea-captain, +trading in Chinese waters, a wonderful piece of lacquer work of the +finest period—before the Manchu pig-tail time. The captain had bought it +of a Frenchman who had aided in looting the Imperial Palace. Rossetti, +of course, could not rest until he had seen it, and when he had seen it, +he could not rest until he had bought it of Chapman; and it was taken +across to 16 Cheyne Walk, where it was greatly admired. The captain had +barbarously mutilated it at the top in order to make it fit in his cabin, +and it remained in that condition for some years. Afterwards Rossetti +gave it to Mr. Watts-Dunton, who got it restored and made up by the +wonderful amateur carver, the late Mr. T. Keynes, who did the carving on +the painted cabinet also photographed for this book. There is a long and +interesting story in connection with this piece of Chinese lacquer, but I +have no room to tell it here. + + * * * * * + + [Picture: Summer at ‘The Pines’—I] + +All I am allowed to say about the relations between Mr. Watts-Dunton and +Mr. Swinburne is that the friendship began in 1872, that it soon +developed into the closest intimacy, not only with the poet himself, but +with all his family. In 1879 the two friends became house-mates at ‘The +Pines,’ Putney Hill, and since then they have never been separated, for +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s visits to the Continent, notably those with the late +Dr. Hake recorded in ‘The New Day,’ took place just before this time. +The two poets thenceforth lived together, worked together; saw their +common friends together, and travelled together. In 1882, after the +death of Rossetti they went to the Channel Islands, staying at St. +Peter’s Port, Guernsey, for some little time, and then at Petit Bot Bay. +Their swims in this beautiful bay Mr. Watts-Dunton commemorated in two of +the opening sonnets of ‘The Coming of Love’:— + + NATURE’S FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH + + (A MORNING SWIM OFF GUERNSEY WITH A FRIEND) + + As if the Spring’s fresh groves should change and shake + To dark green woods of Orient terebinth, + Then break to bloom of England’s hyacinth, + So ’neath us change the waves, rising to take + Each kiss of colour from each cloud and flake + Round many a rocky hall and labyrinth, + Where sea-wrought column, arch, and granite plinth, + Show how the sea’s fine rage dares make and break. + Young with the youth the sea’s embrace can lend, + Our glowing limbs, with sun and brine empearled, + Seem born anew, and in your eyes, dear friend, + Rare pictures shine, like fairy flags unfurled, + Of child-land, where the roofs of rainbows bend + Over the magic wonders of the world + + THE LANGUAGE OF NATURE’S FRAGRANCY + + (THE TIRING-ROOM IN THE ROCKS) + + These are the ‘Coloured Caves’ the sea-maid built; + Her walls are stained beyond that lonely fern, + For she must fly at every tide’s return, + And all her sea-tints round the walls are spilt. + Outside behold the bay, each headland gilt + With morning’s gold; far off the foam-wreaths burn + Like fiery snakes, while here the sweet waves yearn + Up sand more soft than Avon’s sacred silt. + And smell the sea! no breath of wood or field, + From lips of may or rose or eglantine, + Comes with the language of a breath benign, + Shuts the dark room where glimmers Fate revealed, + Calms the vext spirit, balms a sorrow unhealed, + Like scent of sea-weed rich of morn and brine. + +The two friends afterwards went to Sark. A curious incident occurred +during their stay in the island. The two poet-swimmers received a +bravado challenge from ‘Orion’ Horne, who was also a famous swimmer, to +swim with him round the whole island of Sark! I need hardly say that the +absurd challenge was not accepted. + +During the cruise Mr. Swinburne conceived and afterwards wrote some +glorious poetry. In the same year the two friends went to Paris, as I +have already mentioned, to assist at the Jubilee of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse.’ +Since then their love of the English coasts and the waters which wash +them, seems to have kept them in England. For two consecutive years they +went to Sidestrand, on the Norfolk coast, for bathing. It was there that +Mr. Swinburne wrote some of his East Anglian poems, and it was there that +Mr. Watts-Dunton conceived the East coast parts of ‘Aylwin.’ It was +during one of these visits that Mr. Swinburne first made the acquaintance +of Grant Allen, who had long been an intimate friend of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s. The two, indeed, were drawn together by the fact that +they both enjoyed science as much as they enjoyed literature. It was a +very interesting meeting, as Grant Allen had long been one of Swinburne’s +most ardent admirers, and his social charm, his intellectual sweep and +brilliance, made a great impression on the poet. Since then their visits +to the sea have been confined to parts of the English Channel, such as +Eastbourne, where they were near neighbours of Rossetti’s friends, Lord +and Lady Mount Temple, between whom and Mr. Watts-Dunton there had been +an affectionate intimacy for many years—but more notably Lancing, whither +they went for three consecutive years. For several years they stayed +during their holiday with Lady Mary Gordon, an aunt of Mr. Swinburne’s, +at ‘The Orchard,’ Niton Bay, Isle of Wight. During the hot summer of +1904 they were lucky enough to escape to Cromer, where the temperature +was something like twenty degrees lower than that of London. A curious +incident occurred during this visit to Cromer. One day Mr. Watts-Dunton +took a walk with another friend to ‘Poppy-land,’ where he and Mr. +Swinburne had previously stayed, in order to see there again the +landslips which he has so vividly described in ‘Aylwin.’ While they were +walking from ‘Poppyland’ to the old ruined churchyard called ‘The Garden +of Sleep,’ they sat down for some time in the shade of an empty hut near +the cliff. Coming back Mr. Watts-Dunton said that the cliff there was +very dangerous, and ought to be fenced off, as the fatal land-springs +were beginning to show their work. Two or three weeks after this a +portion of the cliff at that point, weighing many thousands of tons, fell +into the sea, and the hut with it. + +[Picture: A Corner in ‘The Pines,’ showing the Chinese Divan described in + ‘Aylwin’] + +A friendship so affectionate and so long as the friendship between these +two poets is perhaps without a parallel in literature. It has been +frequently and beautifully commemorated. When Mr. Swinburne’s noble +poem, ‘By the North Sea,’ was published, it was prefaced by this sonnet:— + + TO WALTER THEODORE WATTS + + ‘WE ARE WHAT SUNS AND WINDS AND WATERS MAKE US.’ + + Landor. + + Sea, wind, and sun, with light and sound and breath + The spirit of man fulfilling—these create + That joy wherewith man’s life grown passionate + Gains heart to hear and sense to read and faith + To know the secret word our Mother saith + In silence, and to see, though doubt wax great, + Death as the shadow cast by life on fate, + Passing, whose shade we call the shadow of death. + + Brother, to whom our Mother, as to me, + Is dearer than all dreams of days undone, + This song I give you of the sovereign three + That are, as life and sleep and death are, one: + A song the sea-wind gave me from the sea, + Where nought of man’s endures before the sun. + +1882 was a memorable year in the life of Mr. Watts-Dunton. The two most +important volumes of poetry published in that year were dedicated to him. +Rossetti’s ‘Ballads and Sonnets,’ the book which contains the chief work +of his life, bore the following inscription:— + + TO + THEODORE WATTS + THE FRIEND WHOM MY VERSE WON FOR ME, + THESE FEW MORE PAGES + ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. + +A few weeks later Mr. Swinburne’s ‘Tristram of Lyonesse,’ the volume +which contains what I regard as his ripest and richest poetry, was thus +inscribed:— + + TO MY BEST FRIEND + THEODORE WATTS + I DEDICATE IN THIS BOOK + THE BEST I HAVE TO GIVE HIM. + + Spring speaks again, and all our woods are stirred, + And all our wide glad wastes aflower around, + That twice have made keen April’s clarion sound + Since here we first together saw and heard + Spring’s light reverberate and reiterate word + Shine forth and speak in season. Life stands crowned + Here with the best one thing it ever found, + As of my soul’s best birthdays dawns the third. + + There is a friend that as the wise man saith + Cleaves closer than a brother: nor to me + Hath time not shown, through days like waves at strife + This truth more sure than all things else but death, + This pearl most perfect found in all the sea + That washes toward your feet these waifs of life. + + THE PINES, + _April_, 1882. + +But the finest of all these words of affection are perhaps those opening +the dedicatory epistle prefixed to the magnificent Collected Edition of +Mr. Swinburne’s poems issued by Messrs. Chatto and Windus in 1904:— + + ‘To my best and dearest friend I dedicate the first collected edition + of my poems, and to him I address what I have to say on the + occasion.’ + +Once also Mr. Watts-Dunton dedicated verses of his own to Mr. Swinburne, +to wit, in 1897, when he published that impassioned lyric in praise of a +nobler and larger Imperialism, the ‘Jubilee Greeting at Spithead to the +Men of Greater Britain’:— + + “TO OUR GREAT CONTEMPORARY WRITER OF + PATRIOTIC POETRY, + ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. + + You and I are old enough to remember the time when, in the world of + letters at least, patriotism was not so fashionable as it is + now—when, indeed, love of England suggested Philistinism rather than + ‘sweetness and light.’ Other people, such as Frenchmen, Italians, + Irishmen, Hungarians, Poles, might give voice to a passionate love of + the land of their birth, but not Englishmen. It was very curious, as + I thought then, and as I think now. And at that period love of the + Colonies was, if possible, even more out of fashion than was love of + England; and this temper was not confined to the ‘cultured’ class. + It pervaded society and had an immense influence upon politics. On + one side the Manchester school, religiously hoping that if the + Colonies could be insulted so effectually that they must needs + (unless they abandoned all self-respect) ‘set up for themselves,’ the + same enormous spurt would be given to British trade which occurred + after the birth of the United States, bade the Colonies ‘cut the + painter.’ On the other hand the old Tories and Whigs, with a few + noble exceptions, having never really abandoned the old traditions + respecting the unimportance of all matters outside the parochial + circle of European diplomacy, scarcely knew where the Colonies were + situated on the map. + + There was, however, in these islands one person who saw as clearly + then as all see now the infinite importance of the expansion of + England to the true progress of mankind—the Great Lady whose praises + in this regard I have presumed to sing in the opening stanza of these + verses. + + I may be wrong, but I, who am, as you know, no courtier, believe from + the bottom of my heart that without the influence of the Queen this + expansion would have been seriously delayed. Directly and indirectly + her influence must needs be enormous, and, as regards this matter, it + has always been exercised—energetically and even eagerly exercised—in + one way. This being my view, I have for years been urging more than + one friend clothed with an authority such as I do not possess to + bring the subject prominently before the people of England at a time + when England’s expansion is a phrase in everybody’s mouth. I have + not succeeded. Let this be my apology for undertaking the task + myself and for inscribing to you, as well as to the men of Greater + Britain, these lines.” + + [Picture: Summer at ‘The Pines’—II] + +I feel that it is a great privilege to be able to present to my readers +beautiful photogravures and photographs of interiors and pictures and +works of art at ‘The Pines.’ Many of the pictures and other works of art +at ‘The Pines’ are mementoes of a most interesting kind. + +Among these is the superb portrait of Madox Brown, at this moment hanging +in the Bradford Exhibition. Madox Brown painted it for the owner. An +interesting story is connected with it. One day, not long after Mr. +Watts-Dunton had become intimate with Madox Brown, the artist told him he +specially wanted his boy Nolly to read to him a story that he had been +writing, and asked him to meet the boy at dinner. + +‘Nolly been writing a story!’ exclaimed Mr. Watts-Dunton. + +‘I understand your smile,’ said Madox Brown; ‘but you will find it better +than you think.’ + +At this time Oliver Madox Brown seemed a loose-limbed hobbledehoy, young +enough to be at school. After dinner Oliver began to read the opening +chapters of the story in a not very impressive way, and Mr. Watts-Dunton +suggested that he should take it home and read it at his leisure. This +was agreed to. Pressure of affairs prevented him from taking it up for +some time. At last he did take it up, but he had scarcely read a dozen +pages when he was called away, and he asked a member of his family to +gather up the pages from the sofa and put them into an escritoire. On +his return home at a very late hour he found the lady intently reading +the manuscript, and she declared that she could not go to bed till she +had finished it. + +On the next day Mr. Watts-Dunton again took up the manuscript, and was +held spellbound by it. It was a story of passion, of intense love, and +intense hate, told with a crude power that was irresistible. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton knew Smith Williams (the reader of Smith, Elder & Co.), +whose name is associated with ‘Jane Eyre.’ He showed it to Williams, who +was greatly struck by it, but pointed out that it terminated in a violent +scene which the novel-reading public of that time would not like, and +asked for a concluding scene less daring. The ending was modified, and +the story, when it appeared, attracted very great attention. Madox Brown +was so grateful to Mr. Watts-Dunton for his services in the matter that +he insisted on expressing his gratitude in some tangible form. Miss Lucy +Madox Brown (afterwards Mrs. W. M. Rossetti) was consulted, and at once +suggested a portrait of the painter, painted by himself. This was done, +and the result was the masterpiece which has been so often exhibited. +From that moment Oliver Madox Brown took his place in the literary world +of his time. The mention of Oliver Madox Brown will remind the older +generation of his friendship with Philip Bourke Marston, the blind poet, +one of the most pathetic chapters in literary annals. + + [Picture: ‘Picture for a Story.’ (Face and Instrument designed by D. G. + Rossetti, background by Dunn.)] + +Although Rossetti never fulfilled his intention of illustrating what he +called ‘Watts’s magnificent star sonnet,’ he began what would have been a +superb picture illustrating Mr. Watts-Dunton’s sonnet, ‘The Spirit of the +Rainbow.’ He finished a large charcoal drawing of it, which is thus +described by Mr. William Sharp in his book, ‘Dante Gabriel Rossetti: a +Record and a Study’:— + + “It represents a female figure standing in a gauzy circle composed of + a rainbow, and on the frame is written the following sonnet (the poem + in question by Mr. Watts-Dunton): + + THE WOOD-HAUNTER’S DREAM + + The wild things loved me, but a wood-sprite said: + ‘Though meads are sweet when flowers at morn uncurl, + And woods are sweet with nightingale and merle, + Where are the dreams that flush’d thy childish bed? + The Spirit of the Rainbow thou would’st wed!’ + I rose, I found her—found a rain-drenched girl + Whose eyes of azure and limbs like roseate pearl + Coloured the rain above her golden head. + + But when I stood by that sweet vision’s side + I saw no more the Rainbow’s lovely stains; + To her by whom the glowing heavens were dyed + The sun showed naught but dripping woods and plains: + ‘God gives the world the Rainbow, her the rains,’ + The wood-sprite laugh’d, ‘Our seeker finds a bride!’ + +Rossetti meant to have completed the design with the ‘woods and plains’ +seen in perspective through the arch; and the composition has an +additional and special interest because it is the artist’s only +successful attempt at the wholly nude—the ‘Spirit’ being extremely +graceful in poise and outline. + + * * * * * + +I am able to give a reproduction of another of Rossetti’s beautiful +studies which has never been published, but which has been very much +talked about. Many who have seen it at ‘The Pines’ agree with the late +Lord de Tabley that Rossetti in this crayon created the loveliest of all +his female faces. It is thus described by Mr. William Sharp: “The +drawing, which, for the sake of a name, I will call ‘Forced Music,’ +represents a nude half-figure of a girl playing on a mediæval stringed +instrument elaborately ornamented. The face is of a type unlike that of +any other of the artist’s subjects, and extraordinarily beautiful.” + + * * * * * + +I should explain that the background and the ragged garb of the girl in +the version of the picture here reproduced, are by Dunn. These two +exquisite drawings were made from the same girl, who never sat for any +other pictures. Her face has been described as being unlike that of any +other of Rossetti’s models and yet combining the charm of them all. + + * * * * * + +I am strictly prohibited by the subject of this study from giving any +personal description of him. For my part I do not sympathize with this +extreme sensitiveness and dislike to having one’s personal +characteristics described in print. What is there so dreadful or so +sacred in mere print? The feeling upon this subject is a reminiscence, I +think, of archaic times, when between conversation and printed matter +there was ‘a great gulf fixed.’ Both Mr. Watts-Dunton and his friend Mr. +Swinburne must be aware that as soon as they have left any gathering of +friends or strangers, remarks—delicate enough, no doubt—are made about +them, as they are made about every other person who is talked about in +ever so small a degree. Not so very long ago I remained in a room after +Mr. Watts-Dunton had left it. Straightway there were the freest remarks +about him, not in the least unkind, but free. Some did not expect to see +so dark a man; some expected to see him much darker than they found him +to be; some recalled the fact that Miss Corkran, in her reminiscences, +described his dark-brown eyes as ‘green’—through a printer’s error, no +doubt. Some then began to contrast his appearance with that of his +absent friend, Mr. Swinburne—and so on, and so on. Now, what is the +difference between being thus discussed in print and in conversation? +Merely that the printed report reaches a wider—a little wider—audience. +That is all. I do not think it is an unfair evasion of his prohibition +to reproduce one of the verbal snap-shots of him that have appeared in +the papers. Some energetic gentleman—possibly some one living in the +neighbourhood—took the following ‘Kodak’ of him. It appeared in ‘M.A.P.’ +and it is really as good a thumb-nail portrait of him as could be +painted. In years to come, when he and I and the ‘Kodaker’ are dead, it +may be found more interesting, perhaps, than anything I have written +about him:— + + “Every, or nearly every, morning, as the first glimmer of dawn + lightens the sky, there appears on Wimbledon Common a man, whose skin + has been tanned by sun and wind to the rich brown of the gypsies he + loves so well; his forehead is round, and fairly high; his brown eyes + and the brow above them give his expression a piercing appearance. + For the rest, his voice is firm and resonant, and his brown hair and + thick moustache are partially shot with grey. But he looks not a day + over forty-five. Generally he carries a book. Often, however, he + turns from it to watch the birds and the rabbits. For—it will be + news to lie-abeds of the district—Wimbledon Common is lively with + rabbits, revelling in the freshness of the dawn, rabbits which ere + the rush for the morning train begins, will all have vanished until + the moon rises again. To him, morning, although he has seen more + sunrises than most men, still makes an ever fresh and glorious + pageant. This usually solitary figure is that of Mr. Theodore + Watts-Dunton, and to his habit of early rising the famous poet, + novelist, and critic ascribes his remarkable health and vigour.” + +The holidays of the two poets have not been confined to their visits to +the sea-side. One place of retreat used to be the residence of the late +Benjamin Jowett, at Balliol, when the men were down, or one of his +country places, such as Boar’s Hill. + +I have frequently heard Mr. Swinburne and Mr. Watts-Dunton talk about the +famous Master of Balliol. I have heard Mr. Swinburne recall the great +admiration which Jowett used to express for Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +intellectual powers and various accomplishments. There was no one, I +have heard Mr. Swinburne say, whom Jowett held in greater esteem. That +air of the college don, which has been described by certain of Jowett’s +friends, left the Master entirely when he was talking to Mr. +Watts-Dunton. + +Among the pleasant incidents in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s life were these visits +with Mr. Swinburne to Jowett’s house, where he had the opportunity of +meeting some of the most prominent men of the time. He has described the +Balliol dinner parties, but I have no room here to do more than allude to +them. I must, however, quote his famous pen portrait of Jowett which +appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ of December 22, 1894. + + “It may seem difficult to imagine many points of sympathy between the + poet of ‘Atalanta’ and the student of Plato and translator of + Thucydides; and yet the two were bound to each other by ties of no + common strength. They took expeditions into the country together, + and Mr. Swinburne was a not infrequent guest at Balliol and also at + Jowett’s quiet autumnal retreat at Boar’s Hill. The Master of + Balliol, indeed, had a quite remarkable faculty of drawing to himself + the admiration of men of poetic genius. To say which poet admired + and loved him most deeply—Tennyson, Browning, Matthew Arnold, or Mr. + Swinburne—would be difficult. He seemed to join their hands all + round him, and these intimacies with the poets were not the result of + the smallest sacrifice of independence on the part of Jowett. He was + always quite as frank in telling a poet what he disliked in his + verses as in telling him what he liked. And although the poets of + our own epoch are, perhaps, as irritable a race as they were in times + past, and are as little impervious as ever to flattery, it is, after + all, in virtue partly of a superior intelligence that poets are + poets, and in the long run their friendship is permanently given to + straightforward men like Jowett. That Jowett’s judgment in artistic + matters, and especially in poetry, was borné no one knew better than + himself, and he had a way of letting the poets see that upon poetical + subjects he must be taken as only a partially qualified judge, and + this alone gained for him a greater freedom in criticism than would + otherwise have been allowed to him. For, notwithstanding the Oxford + epigram upon him as a pretender to absolute wisdom, no man could be + more modest than he upon subjects of which he had only the ordinary + knowledge. He was fond of quoting Hallam’s words that without an + exhaustive knowledge of details there can be no accurate induction; + and where he saw that his interlocutor really had special knowledge, + he was singularly diffident about expressing his opinion. They are + not so far wrong who take it for granted that one who was able to + secure the loving admiration of four of the greatest poets of the + Victorian epoch, all extremely unlike each other, was not only a + great and a rare intelligence, but a man of a nature most truly noble + and most truly lovable. The kind of restraint in social intercourse + resulting from what has been called his taciturnity passed so soon as + his interlocutor realized (which he very quickly did) that Jowett’s + taciturnity, or rather his lack of volubility, arose from the + peculiarly honest nature of one who had no idea of talking for + talking’s sake. If a proper and right response to a friend’s remark + chanced to come to his lips spontaneously, he was quite willing to + deliver it; but if the response was neither spontaneous nor likely to + be adequate, he refused to manufacture one for the mere sake of + keeping the ball rolling, as is so often the case with the shallow or + uneducated man. It is, however, extremely difficult to write + reminiscences of men so taciturn as Jowett. In order to bring out + one of Jowett’s pithy sayings, the interlocutor who would record it + has also to record the words of his own which awoke the saying, and + then it is almost impossible to avoid an appearance of egotism.” + +Still more pleasurable than these relaxations at Oxford were the visits +that the two friends used to pay to Jowett’s rural retreat at Boar’s +Hill, about three miles from Oxford, for the purpose of revelling in the +riches of the dramatic room in the Bodleian. The two poets used to spend +the entire day in that enchanted room, and then walk back with the Master +to Boar’s Hill. Every reader of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry will remember +the following sonnets:— + + THE LAST WALK FROM BOAR’S HILL + To A. C. S. + + I + + One after one they go; and glade and heath, + Where once we walked with them, and garden bowers + They made so dear, are haunted by the hours + Once musical of those who sleep beneath; + One after one does Sorrow’s every wreath + Bind closer you and me with funeral flowers, + And Love and Memory from each loss of ours + Forge conquering glaives to quell the conqueror Death. + + Since Love and Memory now refuse to yield + The friend with whom we walk through mead and field + To-day as on that day when last we parted, + Can he be dead, indeed, whatever seem? + Love shapes a presence out of Memory’s dream, + A living presence, Jowett golden-hearted. + + II + + Can he be dead? We walk through flowery ways + From Boar’s Hill down to Oxford, fain to know + What nugget-gold, in drift of Time’s long flow, + The Bodleian mine hath stored from richer days; + He, fresh as on that morn, with sparkling gaze, + Hair bright as sunshine, white as moonlit snow, + Still talks of Plato while the scene below + Breaks gleaming through the veil of sunlit haze. + + Can he be dead? He shares our homeward walk, + And by the river you arrest the talk + To see the sun transfigure ere he sets + The boatmen’s children shining in the wherry + And on the floating bridge the ply-rope wets, + Making the clumsy craft an angel’s ferry. + + III + + The river crossed, we walk ’neath glowing skies + Through grass where cattle feed or stand and stare + With burnished coats, glassing the coloured air— + Fading as colour after colour dies: + We pass the copse; we round the leafy rise— + Start many a coney and partridge, hern and hare; + We win the scholar’s nest—his simple fare + Made royal-rich by welcome in his eyes. + + Can he be dead? His heart was drawn to you. + Ah! well that kindred heart within him knew + The poet’s heart of gold that gives the spell! + Can he be dead? Your heart being drawn to him, + How shall ev’n Death make that dear presence dim + For you who loved him—us who loved him well? + +Another and much lovelier retreat, whither Mr. Watts-Dunton has always +loved to go, is the cottage at Box-hill. Not the least interesting among +the beautiful friendships between Mr. Watts-Dunton and his illustrious +contemporaries is that between himself and Mr. George Meredith. Mr. +William Sharp can speak with authority on this subject, being himself the +intimate friend of Mr. Meredith, Mr. Swinburne, and Mr. Watts-Dunton. +Speaking of Swinburne’s championship, in the ‘Spectator,’ of Meredith’s +first book of poems, Mr. Sharp, in an article in the ‘Pall Mall +Magazine,’ of December 1901, says:— + + “Among those who read and considered” [Meredith’s work] “was another + young poet, who had, indeed, already heard of Swinburne as one of the + most promising of the younger men, but had not yet met him. . . . If + the letter signed ‘A. C. Swinburne’ had not appeared, another signed + ‘Theodore Watts’ would have been published, to the like effect. It + was not long before the logic of events was to bring George Meredith, + A. C. Swinburne, and Theodore Watts into personal communion.” + +The first important recognition of George Meredith as a poet was the +article by Mr. Watts-Dunton in the ‘Athenæum’ on ‘Poems and Lyrics of the +Joy of Earth.’ After this appeared articles appreciative of Meredith’s +prose fiction by W. E. Henley and others. But it was Mr. Watts-Dunton +who led the way. The most touching of all the testimonies of love and +admiration which Mr. Meredith has received from Mr Watts-Dunton, or +indeed, from anybody else, is the beautiful sonnet addressed to him on +his seventy-fourth birthday. It appeared in the ‘Saturday Review’ of +February 15, 1902:— + + TO GEORGE MEREDITH + (ON HIS SEVENTY-FOURTH BIRTHDAY) + + This time, dear friend—this time my birthday greeting + Comes heavy of funeral tears—I think of you, + And say, ‘’Tis evening with him—that is true— + But evening bright as noon, if faster fleeting; + Still he is spared—while Spring and Winter, meeting, + Clasp hands around the roots ’neath frozen dew— + To see the ‘Joy of Earth’ break forth anew, + And hear it on the hillside warbling, bleating.’ + + Love’s remnant melts and melts; but, if our days + Are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, still, + Still Winter has a sun—a sun whose rays + Can set the young lamb dancing on the hill, + And set the daisy, in the woodland ways, + Dreaming of her who brings the daffodil. + +The allusion to ‘funeral tears’ was caused by one of the greatest +bereavements which Mr. Watts-Dunton has sustained in recent years, +namely, that of Frank Groome, whose obituary he wrote for the ‘Athenæum.’ +I have not the honour of knowing Meredith, but I have often heard Mr. +Watts-Dunton describe with a glow of affectionate admiration the fine +charm of his character and the amazing pregnancy in thought and style of +his conversation. + +But the most memorable friendship that during their joint occupancy of +‘The Pines’ Mr Watts-Dunton formed, was that with Tennyson. + +I have had many conversations with Mr. Watts-Dunton on the subject of +Tennyson, and I am persuaded that, owing to certain incongruities between +the external facets of Tennyson’s character and the ‘abysmal deeps’ of +his personality, Mr. Watts-Dunton, after the poet’s son, is the only man +living who is fully competent to speak with authority of the great poet. +Not only is he himself a poet who must be placed among his contemporaries +nearest to his more illustrious friend, but between Mr. Watts-Dunton and +Tennyson from their first meeting there was an especial sympathy. So +long ago as 1881 was published his sonnet to Tennyson on his +seventy-first birthday. It attracted much attention, and although it was +not sent to the Laureate, he read it and was much touched by it, as well +he might be, for it is as noble a tribute as one poet could pay to +another:— + + TO ALFRED TENNYSON, ON HIS PUBLISHING, IN HIS SEVENTY-FIRST YEAR, THE + MOST RICHLY VARIOUS VOLUME OF ENGLISH VERSE THAT HAS APPEARED IN HIS + OWN CENTURY. + + Beyond the peaks of Kaf a rivulet springs + Whose magic waters to a flood expand, + Distilling, for all drinkers on each hand, + The immortal sweets enveiled in mortal things. + From honeyed flowers,—from balm of zephyr-wings,— + From fiery blood of gems, {286} through all the land, + The river draws;—then, in one rainbow-band, + Ten leagues of nectar o’er the ocean flings. + + Rich with the riches of a poet’s years, + Stained in all colours of Man’s destiny, + So, Tennyson, thy widening river nears + The misty main, and, taking now the sea, + Makes rich and warm with human smiles and tears + The ashen billows of Eternity. + +Some two or three years after this Mr. Watts-Dunton met the Laureate at a +garden party, and they fraternized at once. Mr. Watts-Dunton had an open +invitation to Aldworth and Farringford whenever he could go, and this +invitation came after his very first stay at Aldworth. One point in +which he does not agree with Coleridge (in the ‘Table Talk’) or with Mr. +Swinburne, is the theory that Tennyson’s ear was defective at the very +first. He contends that if Tennyson in his earlier poems seemed to show +a defective ear, it was always when in the great struggle between the +demands of mere metrical music and those of the other great requisites of +poetry, thought, emotion, colour and outline, he found it best +occasionally to make metrical music in some measure yield. As an +illustration of Tennyson’s sensibility to the most delicate nuances of +metrical music, I remember at one of those charming ‘symposia’ at ‘The +Pines,’ hearing Mr. Watts-Dunton say that Tennyson was the only English +poet who gave the attention to the sibilant demanded by Dionysius of +Halicarnassus; and I remember one delightful instance that he gave of +this. It referred to the two sonnets upon ‘The Omnipotence of Love’ in +the universe which I have always considered to be the keynote of ‘Aylwin’ +and ‘The Coming of Love.’ These sonnets appeared in an article called +‘The New Hero’ in the ‘English Illustrated Magazine’ in 1883. Mr. +Watts-Dunton was staying at Aldworth when the proof of the article +reached him. The present Lord Tennyson (who, as Mr. Watts-Dunton has +often averred, has so much literary insight that if he had not been the +son of the greatest poet of his time, he would himself have taken a high +position in literature) read out in one of the little Aldworth bowers to +his father and to Miss Mary Boyle the article and the sonnets. Tennyson, +who was a severe critic of his own work, but extremely lenient in +criticising the work of other men, said there was one feature in one of +the lines of one of the sonnets which he must challenge. The line was +this:— + + And scents of flowers and shadow of wavering trees. + +Now it so chanced that this very line had been especially praised by two +other fine critics, D. G. Rossetti and William Morris, to whom the sonnet +had been read in manuscript. Tennyson’s criticism was that there were +too many sibilants in the line, and that although, other things being +equal, ‘scents’ might be more accurate than ‘scent,’ this was a case +where the claims of music ought to be dominant over other claims. The +present Lord Tennyson took the same view, and I am sure they were right, +and that Mr. Watts-Dunton was right, in finally adopting ‘scent’ in place +of ‘scents.’ + +Mr. Watts-Dunton has always contended that Tennyson’s sensibility to +criticism was the result, not of imperious egotism, but of a kind of +morbid modesty. Tennyson used to say that “to whatsoever exalted +position a poet might reach, he was not ‘born to the purple,’ and that if +the poet’s mind was especially plastic he could never shake off the +reminiscence of the time when he was nobody.” + +On a certain occasion Tennyson took Mr. Watts-Dunton into the +summer-house at Aldworth to read to him ‘Becket,’ then in manuscript. +Although another visitor, whom he esteemed very highly, both as a poet +and an old friend, was staying there, Tennyson said that he should prefer +to read the play to Mr. Watts-Dunton alone. And this no doubt was +because he desired an absolute freedom of criticism. Freedom of +criticism we may be sure he got, for of all men Mr. Watts-Dunton is the +most outspoken on the subject of the poet’s art. The entire morning was +absorbed in the reading; and, says Mr. Watts-Dunton, ‘the remarks upon +poetic and dramatic art that fell from Tennyson would have made the +fortune of any critic.’ + +On the subject of what has been called Tennyson’s gaucherie and rudeness +to women I have seen Mr. Watts-Dunton wax very indignant. ‘There was to +me,’ he said, ‘the greatest charm in what is called Tennyson’s bluntness. +I would there were a leaven of Tennyson’s single-mindedness in the +society of the present day.’ + +One anecdote concerning what is stigmatized as Tennyson’s rudeness to +women shows how entirely the man was misunderstood. Mrs. Oliphant has +stated that Tennyson, in his own house, after listening in silence to an +interchange of amiable compliments between herself and Mrs. Tennyson, +said abruptly, ‘What liars you women are!’ ‘I seem to hear,’ said Mr. +Watts-Dunton, ‘Tennyson utter the exclamation—utter it in that tone of +humourous playfulness, followed by that loud guffaw, which neutralized +the rudeness as entirely as Douglas Jerrold’s laugh neutralized the sting +of his satire. For such an incident to be cited as instance of +Tennyson’s rudeness to women is ludicrous. When I knew him I was, if +possible, a more obscure literary man than I now am, and he treated me +with exactly the same manly respect that he treated the most illustrious +people. I did not feel that I had any claim to such treatment, for he +was, beyond doubt, the greatest literary figure in the world of that +time. There seems unfortunately to be an impulse of detraction, which +springs up after a period of laudation.’ + +The only thing I have heard Mr. Watts-Dunton say in the way of stricture +upon Tennyson’s work was that, considering his enormous powers as a poet, +he seemed deficient in the gift of inventing a story:—“The stanzas +beginning, ‘O, that ’twere possible’—the nucleus of ‘Maud’—appeared +originally in ‘The Tribute.’ They were the finest lines that Tennyson +ever wrote—right away the finest. They suggested some superb story of +passion and mystery; and every reader was compelled to make his own guess +as to what the story could possibly be. In an evil moment some friend +suggested that Tennyson should amplify this glorious lyric into a story. +A person with more of the endowment of the inventor than Tennyson might +perhaps have invented an adequate story—might perhaps have invented a +dozen adequate stories; but he could not have invented a worse story than +the one used by Tennyson in the writing of his monodrama. But think of +the poetic riches poured into it!” + +I remember a peculiarly subtle criticism that Mr. Watts-Dunton once made +in regard to ‘The Princess.’ “Shakspeare,” he said, “is the only poet +who has been able to put sincere writing into a story the plot of which +is fanciful. The extremely insincere story of ‘The Princess’ is filled +with such noble passages of sincere poetry as ‘Tears, idle tears,’ ‘Home +they brought her warrior dead,’ etc., passages which unfortunately lose +two-thirds of their power through the insincere setting.” + +Not very long before Tennyson died, the editor of the ‘Magazine of Art’ +invited Mr. Watts-Dunton to write an article upon the portraits of +Tennyson. Mr. Watts-Dunton consulted the poet upon this project, and he +agreed, promising to aid in the selection of the portraits. The result +was two of the most interesting essays upon Tennyson that have ever been +written—in fact, it is no exaggeration to say that without a knowledge of +these articles no student of Tennyson can be properly equipped. It is +tantalizing that they have never been reprinted. Tennyson died before +their appearance, and this, of course, added to the general interest felt +in them. + +After Tennyson’s death Mr. Watts-Dunton wrote two penetrating essays upon +Tennyson in the ‘Nineteenth Century,’ one of them being his reminiscences +of Tennyson as the poet and the man, and the other a study of him as a +nature-poet in reference to evolution. It will be a great pity if these +essays too are not reprinted. Mr. Knowles, the editor, also included Mr. +Watts-Dunton among the friends of Tennyson who were invited to write +memorial verses on his death for the ‘Nineteenth Century.’ To this +series Mr. Watts-Dunton contributed the following sonnet, which is one of +the several poems upon Tennyson not published in ‘The Coming of Love’ +volume, which, I may note in passing, contains ‘What the Silent Voices +Said,’ the fine ‘sonnet sequence’ commemorating the burial of Tennyson:— + + IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY + + ‘THE CROWD IN THE ABBEY WAS VERY GREAT.’ + + Morning Newspaper. + + I saw no crowd: yet did these eyes behold + What others saw not—his lov’d face sublime + Beneath that pall of death in deathless prime + Of Tennyson’s long day that grows not old; + And, as I gazed, my grief seemed over-bold; + And, ‘Who art thou,’ the music seemed to chime, + ‘To mourn that King of song whose throne is Time?’ + Who loves a god should be of godlike mould. + + Then spake my heart, rebuking Sorrow’s shame: + ‘So great he was, striving in simple strife + With Art alone to lend all beauty life— + So true to Truth he was, whatever came— + So fierce against the false when lies were rife— + That love o’erleapt the golden fence of Fame.’ + +By the invitation of the present Lord Tennyson, Mr. Watts-Dunton was one +of the few friends of the poet, including Jowett, F. W. H. Myers, F. T. +Palgrave, the late Duke of Argyll, and others, who contributed +reminiscences of him to the ‘Life.’ In a few sentences he paints this +masterly little miniature of Tennyson, entitled, ‘Impressions: 1883–1892’ +{291}:— + + “All are agreed that D. G. Rossetti’s was a peculiarly winning + personality, but no one has been in the least able to say why. + Nothing is easier, however, than to find the charm of Tennyson. It + lay in a great veracity of soul: it lay in a simple + single-mindedness, so childlike that, unless you had known him to be + the undoubted author of poems as marvellous for exquisite art as for + inspiration, you could not have supposed but that all subtleties—even + those of poetic art—must be foreign to a nature so simple. + + Working in a language like ours—a language which has to be moulded + into harmony by a myriad subtleties of art—how can this great, + inspired, simple nature be the delicate-fingered artist of ‘The + Princess,’ ‘The Palace of Art,’ ‘The Day-Dream,’ and ‘The Dream of + Fair Women’? + + Tennyson knew of but one justification for the thing he said—viz. + that it was the thing he thought. Behind his uncompromising + directness was apparent a noble and a splendid courtesy of the grand + old type. As he stood at the porch of Aldworth meeting a guest or + bidding him good-bye—as he stood there, tall far beyond the height of + average men, his skin showing dark and tanned by the sun and wind—as + he stood there, no one could mistake him for anything but a great + forthright English gentleman. Always a man of an extraordinary + beauty of presence, he showed up to the last the beauty of old age to + a degree rarely seen. He was the most hospitable of men. It was + very rare indeed for him to part from a guest without urging him to + return, and generally with the words, ‘Come whenever you like.’ + + Tennyson’s knowledge of nature—nature in every aspect—was simply + astonishing. His passion for ‘stargazing’ has often been commented + upon by readers of his poetry. Since Dante, no poet in any land has + so loved the stars. He had an equal delight in watching the + lightning; and I remember being at Aldworth once during a + thunderstorm, when I was alarmed at the temerity with which he + persisted, in spite of all remonstrances, in gazing at the blinding + lightning. For moonlight effects he had a passion equally strong, + and it is especially pathetic to those who know this to remember that + he passed away in the light he so much loved—in a room where there + was no artificial light—nothing to quicken the darkness but the light + of the full moon, which somehow seems to shine more brightly at + Aldworth than anywhere else in England. + + In a country having a composite language such as ours it may be + affirmed with special emphasis that there are two kinds of poetry: + one appealing to the uncultivated masses, the other appealing to the + few who are sensitive to the felicitous expression of deep thought + and to the true beauties of poetic art. + + Of all poets Shakespeare is the most popular, and yet in his use of + what Dante calls the ‘sieve for noble words’ his skill transcends + that of even Milton, Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats. His felicities + of thought and of diction in the great passages seem little short of + miraculous, and there are so many that it is easy to understand why + he is so often spoken of as being a kind of inspired improvisatore. + That he was not an improvisatore, however, any one can see who will + take the trouble to compare the first edition of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ + with the received text, the first sketch of ‘The Merry Wives of + Windsor’ with the play as we now have it, and the ‘Hamlet’ of 1603 + with the ‘Hamlet’ of 1604, and with the still further varied version + of the play given by Heminge and Condell in the Folio of 1623. Next + to Shakespeare in this great power of combining the forces of the two + great classes of English poets, appealing both to the commonplace + public and to the artistic sense of the few, stands, perhaps, + Chaucer; but since Shakespeare’s time no one has met with anything + like Tennyson’s success in effecting a reconciliation between popular + and artistic sympathy with poetry in England.” + + + + +Chapter XVIII +AMERICAN FRIENDS: LOWELL, BRET HARTE, AND OTHERS + + +I feel that my hasty notes about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s literary friendships +would be incomplete without a word or two upon his American friends. +There is a great deal of interest in the story of the first meeting +between him and James Russell Lowell. Shortly after Lowell had accepted +the post of American Minister in England, Mr. Watts-Dunton met him at +dinner. During the dinner Mr. Watts-Dunton was somewhat attracted by the +conversation of a gentleman who sat next to him but one. He observed +that the gentleman seemed to talk as if he wished to entice him into the +conversation. The gentleman was passing severe strictures upon English +writers—Dickens, Thackeray, and others. As the dinner wore on, his +conversation left literary names and took up political ones, and he was +equally severe upon the prominent political figures of the time, and also +upon the prominent political men of the previous generation—Palmerston, +Lord John Russell, and the like. Then the name of the Alabama came up; +the gentleman (whom Mr. Watts-Dunton now discovered to be an American), +dwelt with much emphasis upon the iniquity of England in letting the +Alabama escape. This diatribe he concluded thus: ‘You know we owe +England nothing.’ In saying this he again looked at Mr. Watts-Dunton, +manifestly addressing his remarks to him. + +These attacks upon England and Englishmen and everything English had at +last irritated Mr. Watts-Dunton, and addressing the gentleman for the +first time, he said: “Pardon me, sir, but there you are wrong. You owe +England a very great deal, for I see you are an American.” + +“What do we owe England?” said the gentleman, whom Mr. Watts-Dunton now +began to realize was no other than the newly appointed American Minister. + +“You owe England,” he said, “for an infinity of good feeling which you +are trying to show is quite unreciprocated by Americans. So kind is the +feeling of English people towards Americans that socially, so far as the +middle classes are concerned, they have an immense advantage over English +people themselves. They are petted and made much of, until at last it +has come to this, that the very fact of a person’s being American is a +letter of introduction.” + +Mr. Watts-Dunton spoke with such emphasis, and his voice is so +penetrating, that those on the opposite side of the table began to pause +in their conversation to listen to it, and this stopped the little duel +between the two. After the ladies had retired, Mr. Lowell drew up his +chair to Mr. Watts-Dunton and said: + +“You were very sharp upon me just now, sir.” + +“Not in the least,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. “You were making an onslaught +on my poor little island, and you really seemed as though you were +addressing your conversation to me.” + +“Well,” replied Mr. Lowell, “I will confess that I did address my +conversation partially to you; you are, I think, Mr. Theodore Watts.” + +“That is my little name,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. “But I really don’t see +why that should induce you to address your conversation to me. I suppose +it is because absurd paragraphs have often appeared in the American +newspapers stating that I am strongly anti-American in my sympathies. An +entire mistake! I have several charming American friends, and I am a +great admirer of many of your most eminent writers. But I notice that +whensoever an American book is severely handled in the ‘Athenæum,’ the +article is attributed to me.” + +“I do not think,” said Mr. Lowell, “that you are a lover of my country, +but I am not one of those who attribute to you articles that you never +wrote.” + +And he then drew his chair nearer to his interlocutor, and became more +confidential. + +“Well,” he said, “I will tell you something that, I think, will not be +altogether unpleasant to you. When I came to take up my permanent +residence in London a short time ago, I was talking to a friend of mine +about London and Londoners, and I said to him: ‘There is one man whom I +very much want to meet.’ ‘You!’ said he, ‘why, you can meet anybody from +the royal family downwards. Who is the man you want to meet?’ ‘It is a +man in the literary world,’ said I, ‘and I have no doubt you can +introduce me to him. It is the writer of the chief poetical criticism in +the “Athenæum.”’ My friend laughed. ‘Well, it is curious,’ he replied: +‘that is one of the few men in the literary world I cannot introduce you +to. I scarcely know him, and, besides, not long ago he passed strictures +on my writing which I don’t much approve of.’ Does that interest you?” +added Mr. Lowell. + +“Very much,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. + +“Would it interest you to know that ever since your first article in the +‘Athenæum’ I have read every article you have written?” + +“Very much,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. + +“Would it interest you to know that on reading your first article I said +to a friend of mine: ‘At last there is a new voice in English +criticism?’” + +“Very much,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton. “But you must first tell me what +that article was, for I don’t believe there is one of my countrymen who +could do so.” + +“That article,” said Lowell, “was an essay upon the ‘Comedy of the Noctes +Ambrosianæ,’ and it opened with an Oriental anecdote.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “that does interest me very much.” + +“And I will go further,” said Lowell: “every line you have written in the +‘Athenæum’ has been read by me, and often re-read.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “I confess to being amazed, for I assure +you that in my own country, except within a narrow circle of friends, my +name is absolutely unknown. And I must add that I feel honoured, for it +is not a week since I told a friend that I have a great admiration for +some of your critical essays. But still, I don’t quite forgive you for +your onslaught upon my poor little island! My sympathies are not +strongly John Bullish, and they tell me that my verses are more Celtic +than Anglo-Saxon in temper. But I am somewhat of a patriot, in my way, +and I don’t quite forgive you.” + +The meeting ended in the two men fraternizing with each other. + +“Won’t you come to see me,” said Lowell, “at the Embassy?” + +“I don’t know where it is.” + +“Then you ought to know!” said Lowell. “Another proof of the stout +sufficiency of the English temper—not to know where the American Embassy +is! It is in Lowndes Square.” Then he named the number. + +“Why,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “that is next door to Miss Swinburne, aunt +of the poet, a perfectly marvellous lady, possessing the vitality of the +Swinburne family—a lady who makes watercolour landscape drawings in the +open air at I don’t know what age of life—something like eighty. She was +a friend of Turner’s, and is the possessor of some of Turner’s finest +works.” + +“So you actually go next door, and don’t know where the American Embassy +is! A crowning proof of the insolent self-sufficiency of the English +temper! However, as you come next door, won’t you come and see me?” + +“I shall be delighted,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton; “but I am perfectly sure +you can spare no time to see an obscure literary man.” + +“On the contrary,” said Lowell, “I always reserve to myself an hour, from +five to six, when I see nobody but a friend over a cigarette.” + +Some time after this Mr. Watts-Dunton did call on Lowell, and spent an +hour with him over a cigarette; and at last it became an institution, +this hour over a cigarette once a week. + +This went on for a long time, and Mr. Watts-Dunton is fond of recalling +the way in which Lowell’s Anglophobia became milder and milder, ‘fine by +degrees and beautifully less,’ until at last it entirely vanished. Then +it was followed by something like Anglo-mania. Lowell began to talk with +the greatest appreciation of a thousand English institutions and ways +which he would formerly have deprecated. The climax of this revolution +was reached when Mr. Watts-Dunton said to him: + +“Lowell, you are now so much more of a John Bull than I am that I have +ceased to be able to follow you. The English ladies are—let us say, +charming; English gentlemen are—let us say, charming, or at least some of +them. Everything is charming! But there is one thing you cannot say a +word for, and that is our detestable climate.” + +“And you can really speak thus of the finest climate in the world!” said +Lowell. “I positively cannot live out of it.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Watts-Dunton, “you and I will cease to talk about +England and John Bull, if you please. I cannot follow you.” + +In relating this anecdote Mr. Watts-Dunton, however, insisted that with +all his love of England, Lowell never bated one jot of his loyalty to his +own country. There never was a stauncher American than James Russell +Lowell. Let one unjust word be said about America, and he was a changed +man. Mr. Watts-Dunton has always contended that the present good feeling +between the two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon race was due mainly to +Lowell. Indeed, he expressed this conviction in one of his finest +sonnets. It appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ after Lowell’s death, and it has +been frequently reprinted in the United States. It now appears in ‘The +Coming of Love.’ It was addressed ‘To Britain and America: On the Death +of James Russell Lowell,’ + + Ye twain who long forgot your brotherhood + And those far fountains whence, through glorious years, + Your fathers drew, for Freedom’s pioneers, + Your English speech, your dower of English blood— + Ye ask to-day, in sorrow’s holiest mood, + When all save love seems film—ye ask in tears— + ‘How shall we honour him whose name endears + The footprints where beloved Lowell stood?’ + + Your hands he joined—those fratricidal hands, + Once trembling, each, to seize a brother’s throat: + How shall ye honour him whose spirit stands + Between you still?—Keep Love’s bright sails afloat + For Lowell’s sake, where once ye strove and smote + On waves that must unite, not part, your strands. + +This perhaps is the place to say a word about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s feelings +towards America, which were once supposed to be hostile. Apart from his +intimacy with Lowell, he numbered among his American friends Clarence +Stedman, Mrs. Moulton (between whom and himself there has been the most +cordial intimacy during twenty-five years), Bret Harte, Edwin Abbey, +Joaquin Miller, Colonel Higginson, and, indeed, many prominent Americans. +Between Whistler and himself there was an intimacy so close that during +several years they saw each other nearly every day. That was before +Whistler’s genius had received full recognition. I may recall that +during a certain controversy concerning Whistler’s animosity against the +Royal Academy the following letter from Mr. Watts-Dunton appeared in the +‘Times’ of August 12, 1903:— + + “In the ‘Times’ of to-day Mr. G. D. Leslie, R.A., says: ‘I was on + friendly terms with Whistler for nearly forty years, and I never + heard him at any time testify animosity against the Academy or its + members.’ + + My own acquaintance with Whistler did not extend over forty years, + but for about ten years I was very intimate with him, so intimate + that during part of this period we met almost every day. Indeed, at + one time we were jointly engaged on a weekly periodical called + ‘Piccadilly,’ for which Du Maurier designed the cover, and for which + Whistler furnished his very first lithographs, by the valuable aid of + Mr. T. Way. During that time there were not many days when he failed + to ‘testify animosity’ against the Academy and its members. To say + the truth, the testifications on this subject by ‘Jimmy,’ as he was + then called, were a little afflictive to his friends. Whether he was + right or wrong in the matter is a point on which I feel unqualified + to express an opinion. + + May I be allowed to conclude this note by expressing my admiration of + your New York Correspondent’s amazingly vivid portrait of one of the + most vivid personalities of our time? It is a masterpiece. . . . ” + +When Bret Harte died, in May 1902, one of the best and most appreciative +estimates of him was written by Mr. Watts-Dunton for the ‘Athenæum.’ I +am tempted to quote it nearly in full, as it shows deep sympathy with +American literature, and it will prove more conclusively than any words +of mine how warm are Mr. Watts-Dunton’s feelings towards Americans:— + + “As a personality Bret Harte seems to have exercised a great charm + over his intimate friends, and I am not in the least surprised at his + being a favourite. It is many years since I last saw him. I think + it must have been at a club dinner given by William Black; but I have + a very vivid remembrance of my first meeting him, which must have + been more than twenty-six years ago, and on that occasion it occurred + to me that he had great latent histrionic gifts, and, like Charles + Dickens, might have been an admirable actor. On that account the + following incident is worth recording. A friend of mine, an American + poet, who at that time was living in London, brought him to my + chambers, and did me the honour of introducing me to him. Bret Harte + had read something about the London music-halls, and proposed that we + should all three take a drive round the town and see something of + them. At that time these places took a very different position in + public estimation from what they appear to be doing now. People then + considered them to be very cockney, very vulgar, and very inane, as, + indeed, they were, and were shy about going to them. I hope they + have improved now, for they seem to have become quite fashionable. + Our first visit was to the Holborn Music Hall, and there we heard one + or two songs that gave the audience immense delight—some comic, some + more comic from being sentimental-maudlin. And we saw one or two + shapeless women in tights. Then we went to the ‘Oxford,’ and saw + something on exactly the same lines. In fact, the performers seemed + to be the same as those we had just been seeing. Then we went to + other places of the same kind, and Bret Harte agreed with me as to + the distressing emptiness of what my fellow-countrymen and women + seemed to be finding so amusing. At that time, indeed, the almost + only interesting entertainment outside the opera and the theatres was + that at Evans’s supper-rooms, where, under the auspices of the famous + Paddy Green, one could enjoy a Welsh rarebit while listening to the + ‘Chough and Crow’ and ‘The Men of Harlech,’ given admirably by + choir-boys. Years passed before I saw Bret Harte again. I met him + at a little breakfast party, and he amused those who sat near him by + giving an account of what he had seen at the music-halls—an account + so graphic that I think a fine actor was lost in him. He not only + vivified every incident, but gave verbal descriptions of every + performer in a peculiarly quiet way that added immensely to the + humour of it. His style of acting would have been that of Jefferson + of ‘Rip Van Winkle’ fame. This proved to me what a genius he had for + accurate observation, and also what a remarkable memory for the + details of a scene. His death has touched English people very + deeply. + + * * * * * + + It is easy to be unjust to Bret Harte—easy to say that he was a + disciple of Dickens—easy to say that in richness, massiveness, and + variety he fell far short of his great and beloved master. No one + was so ready to say all this and more about Bret Harte as Bret Harte + himself. For of all the writers of his time he was perhaps the most + modest, the most unobtrusive, the most anxious to give honour where + he believed honour to be due. + + But the comparison between the English and American story-tellers + must not be pushed too far to the disadvantage of the latter. If + Dickens showed great superiority to Bret Harte on one side of the + imaginative writer’s equipment, there were, I must think, other sides + of that equipment on which the superiority was Bret Harte’s. + + Therefore I am not one of those who think that in a court of + universal criticism Bret Harte’s reputation will be found to be of + the usual ephemeral kind. It is, of course, impossible to speak on + such matters with anything like confidence. But it does seem to me + that Bret Harte’s reputation is more likely than is generally + supposed to ripen into what we call fame. For in his short + stories—in the best of them, at least—there is a certain note quite + indescribable by any adjective—a note which is, I believe, always to + be felt in the literature that survives. The charge of not being + original is far too frequently brought against the imaginative + writers of America. What do we mean by ‘originality’? Scott did not + invent the historic method. Dickens simply carried the method of + Smollett further, and with wider range. Thackeray is admittedly the + nineteenth century Fielding. Perhaps, indeed, there is but one + absolutely original writer of prose fiction of the nineteenth + century—Nathaniel Hawthorne. By original I mean simply original. I + do not mean that he was the greatest imaginative writer of his epoch. + But he invented a new kind of fiction altogether, a fiction in which + the material world and the spiritual world were not merely brought + into touch, but were positively intermingled one with the other. + + Bret Harte had the great good fortune to light upon material for + literary treatment of a peculiarly fresh and a peculiarly fascinating + kind, and he had the artistic instinct to treat it adequately. This + is what I mean: in the wonderful history of the nineteenth century + there are no more picturesque figures than those goldseekers—those + ‘Argonauts’ of the Pacific slope—who in 1848 and 1849 showed the + world what grit lies latent in the racial amalgam we agree to call + ‘the Anglo-Saxon race.’ The Australian gold-diggers of 1851 who + followed them, although they were picturesque and sturdy too, were + not exactly of the strain of the original Argonauts. The romance of + the thing had been in some degree worn away. The land of the Golden + Fleece had degenerated into a Tom Tiddler’s Ground. Moreover, the + Tom Tiddler’s Grounds of Ballarat and Bendigo were at a comparatively + easy distance from the Antipodean centre of civilization. ‘Canvas + Town’ could easily be reached from Sydney. But to reach the Golden + Fleece sought by the original Californian Argonauts the adventurer + had before him a journey of an almost unparalleled kind. Every + Argonaut, indeed, was a kind of explorer as well as seeker of gold. + He must either trek overland—that is to say, over those vast prairies + and then over those vast mountain chains which to men of the time of + Fenimore Cooper and Dr. Bird made up the limitless ‘far West’ regions + which only a few pioneers had dared to cross—or else he must take a + journey, equally perilous, round Cape Horn in the first crazy vessel + in which he could get a passage. It follows that for an adventurer + to succeed in reaching the land of the Golden Fleece at all implied + in itself that grit which adventurers of the Anglo-Saxon type are + generally supposed to show in a special degree. What kind of men + these Argonauts were, and what kind of life they led, the people of + the Eastern states of America and the people of England had for years + been trying to gather from newspaper reports and other sources; but + had it not been for the genius of Bret Harte this most picturesque + chapter of nineteenth-century history would have been obliterated and + forgotten. Thanks to the admirable American writer whom England had + the honour and privilege of entertaining for so many years, those + wonderful regions and those wonderful doings in the Sierra Nevada are + as familiar to us as is Dickens’s London. Surely those who talk of + Bret Harte as being ‘Dickens among the Californian pines’ do not + consider what their words imply. It is true, no doubt, that there + was a kind of kinship between the temperament of Dickens and the + temperament of Bret Harte. They both held the same principles of + imaginative art, they both felt that the function of the artist is to + aid in the emancipation of man by holding before him beautiful + ideals; both felt that to give him any kind of so-called realism + which lowers man in his aspirations—which calls before man’s + imagination degrading pictures of his ‘animal origin’—is to do him a + disservice. For man has still a long journey before he reaches the + goal. Yet though they were both by instinct idealists as regards + character-drawing, they both sought to give their ideals a local + habitation and a name by surrounding those ideals with vividly + painted real accessories, as real as those of the ugliest realist. + + With regard to Bret Harte’s Argonauts and the romantic scenery in + which they lived and worked, it would, no doubt, be a bold thing to + say whether Dickens could or could not have painted them, and + whether, if he had painted them, the pictures would or would not have + been as good as Bret Harte’s pictures. But Dickens never did paint + these Argonauts; he never had the chance of painting them. Bret + Harte did paint them, and succeeded as wonderfully as Dickens + succeeded in painting certain classes of London life. Now, + assuredly, I should have never dreamt of instituting a comparison of + this kind between two of the most delightful writers and the most + delightful men that have lived in my time had not critics been doing + so to the disparagement of one of them. But if one of these writers + must be set up against another, I feel that something should be said + upon the other side of the question—I feel that something should be + said on those points where the American had the advantage. Take the + question of atmosphere, for instance. Let us not forget how + enormously important is atmosphere in any imaginative picture of + life. Without going so far as to say that atmosphere is as + important, or nearly as important, as character, let me ask, What was + it that captured the readers of ‘Robinson Crusoe’? Was it the + character of Defoe’s hero, or was it the scenery and the atmosphere + in which he placed him? Again, see what an important part scenery + and atmosphere played in ‘The Lay of the Last Minstrel,’ in ‘The Lady + of the Lake,’ in ‘Marmion,’ and in ‘Waverley.’ And surely it was the + atmosphere of Byron’s ‘Giaour,’ ‘The Bride of Abydos,’ and ‘The + Corsair,’ that mainly gave these poems their vogue. And, in a + certain sense, it may be said that Dickens gave to his readers a new + atmosphere, for he was the first to explore what was something new to + the reading world—the great surging low-life of London and the life + of the lower stratum of its middle class. It seems that the pure + novelist of manners only can dispense with a new and picturesque + atmosphere. It was natural for England to look to American writers + to enrich English literature with a new imaginative atmosphere, and + she did not look in vain. But, notwithstanding all that had been + done by writers like Brockden Brown, Fenimore Cooper, Dr. Bird, and + others to bring American atmosphere into literature, Bret Harte gave + us an atmosphere that was American and yet as new as though the + above-mentioned writers had never written. He had the advantage of + depicting a scenery that was as unlike the backwoods of his + predecessors as it was unlike everything else in the world. It is + doubtful whether there is any scenery in the world so fascinating as + the mountain ranges of the Pacific side of the United States and + Canada. + + Every one is born with an instinct for loving some particular kind of + scenery, and this bias has not so much to do with the + birth-environment as is generally supposed. It would have been of no + avail for Bret Harte to be familiar with the mighty canons, peaks, + and cataracts of the Nevada regions unless he had had a natural + genius for loving and depicting them; and this, undoubtedly, he had, + as we see by the effect upon us of his descriptions. Once read, his + pictures are never forgotten. But it was not merely that the scenery + and atmosphere of Bret Harte’s stories are new—the point is that the + social mechanism in which his characters move is also new. And if it + cannot be denied that in temperament his characters are allied to the + characters of Dickens, we must not make too much of this. + Notwithstanding all the freshness and newness of Dickens’s characters + they were entirely the slaves of English sanctions. Those + incongruities which gave them their humourous side arose from their + contradicting the English social sanctions around them. But in Bret + Harte’s Argonauts we get characters that move entirely outside those + sanctions of civilization with which the reader is familiar. And + this is why the violent contrasts in his stories seem, somehow, to be + better authenticated than do the equally violent contrasts in + Dickens’s stories. Bret Harte’s characters are amenable to no laws + except the improvised laws of the camp; and the final arbiter is + either the six-shooter or the rope of Judge Lynch. And yet + underlying this apparent lawlessness there is that deep + ‘law-abidingness’ which the late Grant Allen despised as being ‘the + Anglo-Saxon characteristic.’ To my mind, indeed, there is nothing so + new, fresh, and piquant in the fiction of my time as Bret Harte’s + pictures of the mixed race we call Anglo-Saxon finding itself right + outside all the old sanctions, exercising nevertheless its own + peculiar instinct for law-abidingness of a kind. + + We get the Anglo-Saxon beginning life anew far removed from the old + sanctions of civilization, retaining of necessity a good deal of that + natural liberty which, according to Blackstone, was surrendered by + the first human compact in order to secure its substitute, civil + liberty. We get vivid pictures of the racial qualities which enable + the Anglo-Saxon to plant his roots and flourish in almost every + square mile of the New World that lies in the temperate zone. Let a + group of this great race of universal squatters be the dwellers in + Roaring Camp, or a party of whalers in New Zealand when it is a ‘no + man’s land,’ or even a gang of mutineers from the Bounty, it is all + one as regards their methods as squatters. The moment that the + mutineers set foot on Pitcairn Island they improvise a code of laws + something like the camp laws of Bret Harte’s Argonauts, and the code + on the whole works well. + + Therefore I think that, apart altogether from the literary excellence + of the presentation, Bret Harte’s pictures of the Anglo-Saxon in + these conditions will, even as documents, pass into literature. And + again, year by year, as nature is being more and more studied, are + what I may call the open-air qualities of literature being more + sought after. This accounts in a large measure for the growing + interest in a writer once strangely neglected, George Borrow; and if + there should be any diminution in the great and deserved vogue of + Dickens, it will be because he is not strong in open-air qualities. + + Bret Harte’s stories give the reader a sense of the open air second + only to Borrow’s own pictures. And if I am right in thinking that + the love of nature and the love of open-air life are growing, this + also will secure a place in the future for Bret Harte. + + And now what about his power of creating new characters—not + characters of the soil merely, but dramatic characters? Well, here + one cannot speak with quite so much confidence on behalf of Bret + Harte; and here he showed his great inferiority to Dickens. Dickens, + of course, used a larger canvas—gave himself more room to depict his + subjects. + + If Bret Harte’s scenes and characters seem somewhat artificial, may + it not be often accounted for by the fact that he wrote short stories + and not long novels? For it is very difficult in a short story to + secure the freedom and flexibility of movement which belong to + nature—the last perfection of imaginative art. + + All artistic imitations of nature, of course, consist of selection. + In actual life we form our own picture of a character not by having + the traits selected for us and presented to us in a salient way, as + in art, but by selecting in a semi-conscious way for ourselves from + the great mass of characteristics presented to us by nature. The + shorter the story, the more economic must be its methods, and hence + the more rigid must its selection of characteristics be; and this, of + course, is apt to give an air of artificiality to a short story from + which a long novel may be free.” + + + + +Chapter XIX +WALES + + + [Picture: Ogwen and the Glyders from Carnedd Dafydd] + +IT is impossible within the space at my command to follow Mr. +Watts-Dunton into Wales, or through those Continental journeys described +by Dr. Hake in ‘The New Day.’ I can best show the impression that Alpine +scenery made upon him by quoting further on the end of ‘The Coming of +Love.’ But with regard to Wales, it seems necessary that a word or two +should be said, for it is a fact that the Welsh nation has accepted +‘Aylwin’ as the representative Welsh novel. And this is not surprising, +because, as many Welsh writers have averred, Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +passionate sympathy for Wales is as sincere as though he had been born +upon her soil. The ‘Arvon’ edition is thus dedicated:— + + “To Ernest Rhys, poet and romancist, and my very dear friend, this + edition of ‘Aylwin’ is affectionately inscribed. + + It was as far back as those summer days when you used to read the + proofs of ‘Aylwin’—used to read them in the beautiful land the story + endeavours to depict—that the wish came to me to inscribe it to you, + whose paraphrases of ‘The Lament of Llywarch Hën,’ ‘The Lament of + Urien,’ and ‘The Song of the Graves’ have so entirely caught the old + music of Kymric romance. + + When I described my Welsh heroine as showing that ‘love of the wind’ + which is such a fascinating characteristic of the Snowdonian girls I + had only to recall that poetic triumph, your paraphrase of Taliesin’s + ‘Song of the Wind’— + + Oh, most beautiful One! + In the wood and in the mead, + How he fares in his speed! + And over the land, + Without foot, without hand, + Without fear of old age, + Or Destiny’s rage. + + * * * + + His banner he flings + O’er the earth as he springs + On his way, but unseen + Are its folds; and his mien, + Rough or fair, is not shown, + And his face is unknown. + + Had I anticipated that ‘Aylwin’ would achieve a great success among + the very people for whom I wrote it, I should without hesitation have + asked you to accept the dedication at that time. But I felt that it + would seem like endeavouring to take a worldly advantage of your + friendship to ask your permission to do this—to ask you to stand + literary sponsor, as it were, to a story depicting Wales and the + great Kymric race with which the name of Rhys is so memorably and so + grandly associated. For although my heart had the true ‘Kymric + beat’—if love of Wales may be taken as an indication of that + ‘beat’—the privilege of having been born on the sacred soil of the + Druids could not be claimed by me, and I feared that in the vital + presentation of that organic detail, which is the first requisite in + all true imaginative art, I might in some degree be found wanting. + You yourself always prophesied, I remember, that ‘Aylwin’ would win + the hearts of your countrymen and countrywomen; but I knew your + generous nature; I knew also if I may say it, your affection for me. + How could I then help feeling that the kind wish was father to the + kind thought? + + But now that your prophecies have come true, now that there is, if I + am to accept the words of another Welsh writer, ‘scarcely any home in + Wales where a well-thumbed copy of “Aylwin” is not to be found,’ and + now that thousands of Welsh women and Welsh girls have read, and, as + I know by letters from strangers, have smiled and wept over the story + of their countrywoman, Winifred Wynne, I feel that the time has come + when I may look for the pleasure of associating your name with the + book. + + [Picture: Moel Siabod and the River Lledr] + + Sometimes I have been asked whether Winifred Wynne is not an + idealised Welsh girl; but never by you, who know the characteristics + of the race to which you belong—know it far too well to dream of + asking that question. There are not many people, I think, who know + the Kymric race so intimately as I do; and I have said on a previous + occasion what I fully meant and mean, that, although I have seen a + good deal of the races of Europe, I put the Kymric race in many ways + at the top of them all. They combine, as I think, the poetry, the + music, the instinctive love of the fine arts, and the humour of the + other Celtic peoples with the practicalness and bright-eyed sagacity + of the very different race to which they are so closely linked by + circumstance—the race whom it is the fashion to call the Anglo-Saxon. + And as to the charm of the Welsh girls, no one who knows them as you + and I do can fail to be struck by it continually. Winifred Wynne I + meant to be the typical Welsh girl as I have found her—affectionate, + warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and brave. And I only wish that my + power to do justice to her and to the country that gave her birth had + been more adequate. There are, however, writers now among you whose + pictures of Welsh scenery and Welsh life can hold their own with + almost anything in contemporary fiction; and to them I look for + better work than mine in the same rich field. Although I am familiar + with the Alps and the other mountain ranges of Europe, in their + wildest and most beautiful recesses, no hill scenery has for me the + peculiar witchery of that around Eryri. And what race in Europe has + a history so poetic, so romantic, and so pathetic as yours? That + such a country, so beautiful in every aspect, and surrounded by such + an atmosphere of poetry, will soon give birth to its Walter Scott is + with me a matter of fervid faith.” + +As to the descriptions of North Wales in ‘Aylwin,’ they are now almost +classic; especially the descriptions of the Swallow Falls and the Fairy +Glen. Long before ‘Aylwin’ was published, Welsh readers had been +delighted with the ‘Athenæum’ article containing the description of Mr. +Watts-Dunton and Sinfi Lovell walking up the Capel Curig side of Snowdon +at break of day. + +Fine as is that description of a morning on Snowdon, it is not finer than +the description of a Snowdon sunset, which forms the nobly symbolic +conclusion of ‘Aylwin’:— + + “We were now at the famous spot where the triple echo is best heard, + and we began to shout like two children in the direction of Llyn + Ddu’r Arddu. And then our talk naturally fell on Knockers’ Llyn and + the echoes to be heard there. She then took me to another famous + sight on this side of Snowdon, the enormous stone, said to be five + thousand tons in weight, called the Knockers’ Anvil. While we + lingered here Winnie gave me as many-anecdotes and legends of this + stone as would fill a little volume. But suddenly she stopped. + + ‘Look!’ she said, pointing to the sunset. ‘I have seen that sight + only once before. I was with Sinfi. She called it “The Dukkeripen + of the Trúshul.”’ + + The sun was now on the point of sinking, and his radiance, falling on + the cloud-pageantry of the zenith, fired the flakes and vapoury films + floating and trailing above, turning them at first into a + ruby-coloured mass, and then into an ocean of rosy fire. A + horizontal bar of cloud which, until the radiance of the sunset fell + upon it, had been dull and dark and grey, as though a long slip from + the slate quarries had been laid across the west, became for a moment + a deep lavender colour, and then purple, and then red-gold. But what + Winnie was pointing at was a dazzling shaft of quivering fire where + the sun had now sunk behind the horizon. Shooting up from the cliffs + where the sun had disappeared, this shaft intersected the bar of + clouds and seemed to make an irregular cross of deep rose.” + +It is no wonder, therefore, that the path Henry Aylwin and Sinfi Lovell +took on the morning when the search for Winifred began was a source of +speculation, notably in ‘Notes and Queries.’ Mr. Watts-Dunton deals with +this point in the preface to the twenty-second edition:— + + “Nothing,” he says, “in regard to ‘Aylwin’ has given me so much + pleasure as the way in which it has been received both by my Welsh + friends and my Romany friends. I little thought, when I wrote it, + that within three years of its publication the gypsy pictures in it + would be discoursed upon to audiences of 4,000 people by a man so + well equipped to express an opinion on such a subject as the eloquent + and famous ‘Gypsy Smith,’ and described by him as ‘the most + trustworthy picture of Romany life in the English language, + containing in Sinfi Lovell the truest representative of the Gypsy + girl.’ + + Since the first appearance of the book there have been many + interesting discussions by Welsh readers, in various periodicals, + upon the path taken by Sinfi Lovell and Aylwin in their ascent of + Snowdon. + + A very picturesque letter appeared in ‘Notes and Queries’ on May 3, + 1902, signed C. C. B., in answer to a query by E. W., which I will + give myself the pleasure of quoting because it describes the writer’s + ascent of Snowdon (accompanied by a son of my old friend, Harry Owen, + late of Pen-y-Gwryd) along a path which was almost the same as that + taken by Aylmin and Sinfi Lovell, when he saw the same magnificent + spectacle that was seen by them:— + + ‘The mist was then clearing (it was in July) and in a few moments was + entirely gone. So marvellous a transformation scene, and so immense + a prospect, I have never beheld since. For the first and only time + in my life I saw from one spot almost the whole of North and + Mid-Wales, a good part of Western England, and a glimpse of Scotland + and Ireland. The vision faded all too quickly, but it was worth + walking thirty-three or thirty-four miles, as I did that day, for + even a briefer view than that.’ + + Referring to Llyn Coblynau, this interesting writer says:— + + ‘Only from Glaslyn would the description in “Aylwin” of y Wyddfa + standing out against the sky “as narrow and as steep as the sides of + an acorn” be correct, but from the north and north-west sides of + Glaslyn this answers with quite curious exactness to the appearance + of the mountain. We must suppose the action of the story to have + taken place before the revival of the copper-mining industry on + Snowdon.’ + + [Picture: Snowdon and Glaslyn] + + With regard, however, to the question here raised, I can save myself + all trouble by simply quoting the admirable remarks of Sion o Ddyli + in the same number of ‘Notes and Queries’:— + + ‘None of us are very likely to succeed in “placing” this llyn, + because the author of “Aylwin,” taking a privilege of romance often + taken by Sir Walter Scott before him, probably changed the landmarks + in idealising the scene and adapting it to his story. It may be, + indeed, that the Welsh name given to the llyn in the book is merely a + rough translation of the gipsies’ name for it, the “Knockers” being + gnomes or goblins of the mine; hence “Coblynau”—goblins. If so, the + name itself can give us no clue unless we are lucky enough to secure + the last of the Welsh gipsies for a guide. In any case, the only + point from which to explore Snowdon for the small llyn, or perhaps + llyns (of which Llyn Coblynau is a kind of composite ideal picture), + is no doubt, as E. W. has suggested, Capel Curig; and I imagine the + actual scene lies about a mile south from Glaslyn, while it owes + something at least of its colouring in the book to that strange lake. + The “Knockers,” it must be remembered, usually depend upon the + existence of a mine near by, with old partly fallen mine-workings + where the dropping of water or other subterranean noises produce the + curious phenomenon which is turned to such imaginative account in the + Snowdon chapters of “Aylwin.”’” + +In ‘Aylwin’ Mr. Watts-Dunton is fond of giving his readers little +pictorial glimpses of Welsh life:— + + “The peasants and farmers all knew me. ‘Sut mae dy galon? (How is + thy heart?)’ they would say in the beautiful Welsh phrase as I met + them. ‘How is my heart, indeed!’ I would sigh as I went on my way. + + Before I went to Wales in search of Winifred I had never set foot in + the Principality. Before I left it there was scarcely a Welshman who + knew more familiarly than I every mile of the Snowdonian country. + Never a trace of Winifred could I find. + + At the end of the autumn I left the cottage and removed to + Pen-y-Gwryd, as a comparatively easy point from which I could reach + the mountain llyn where I had breakfasted with Winifred on that + morning.” + +His intense affection for Welsh characteristics is seen in the following +description of the little Welsh girl and her fascinating lisp:— + + “‘Would you like to come in our garden? It’s such a nice garden.’ + + I could resist her no longer. That voice would have drawn me had she + spoken in the language of the Toltecs or the lost Zamzummin. To + describe it would of course be impossible. The novelty of her + accent, the way in which she gave the ‘h’ in ‘which,’ ‘what,’ and + ‘when,’ the Welsh rhythm of her intonation, were as bewitching to me + as the timbre of her voice. And let me say here, once for all, that + when I sat down to write this narrative, I determined to give the + English reader some idea of the way in which, whenever her emotions + were deeply touched, her talk would run into soft Welsh diminutives; + but I soon abandoned the attempt in despair. I found that to use + colloquial Welsh with effect in an English context is impossible + without wearying English readers and disappointing Welsh ones. + + Here, indeed, is one of the great disadvantages under which this book + will go out to the world. While a story-teller may reproduce, by + means of orthographical devices, something of the effect of Scottish + accent, Irish accent, or Manx accent, such devices are powerless to + represent Welsh accent.” + + + + +Chapter XX +IMAGINATIVE AND DIDACTIC PROSE + + +BUT the interesting subjects touched upon in the last four chapters have +led me far from the subject of ‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ In its +biographical sketch of Mr. Watts-Dunton the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ +says: “Imaginative glamour and mysticism are prominent characteristics +both of ‘The Coming of Love’ and ‘Aylwin,’ and the novel in particular +has had its share in restoring the charms of pure romance to the favour +of the general public.” This is high praise, but I hope to show that it +is deserved. When it was announced that a work of prose fiction was +about to be published by the critic of the ‘Athenæum,’ what did Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s readers expect? I think they expected something as unlike +what the story turned out to be as it is possible to imagine. They +expected a story built up of a discursive sequence of new and profound +generalizations upon life and literature expressed in brilliant +picturesque prose such as had been the delight of my boyhood in Ireland; +they expected to be fascinated more than ever by that ‘easy authoritative +greatness and comprehensiveness of style’ with which they had been +familiar for long; they expected also that subtle irony after the fashion +of Fielding, which suggests so much between the lines, that humour which +had been an especial joy to me in scores of articles signed by the +writer’s style as indubitably as if they had been signed by his name. I +think everybody cherished this expectation: everybody took it for granted +that heaps of those ‘intellectual nuggets’ about which Minto talked would +smother the writer as a story-teller, that the book as literature would +be admirable—but as a novel a failure. Great as was Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +esoteric reputation, I believe that many of the booksellers declined (as +the author had prophesied that they would decline) to subscribe for the +book. They expected it to fail as a marketable novel—to fail in that +‘artistic convincement’ of which Mr. Watts-Dunton has himself so often +written. What neither I nor any one else save those who, like Mr. +Swinburne, had read the story in manuscript, did expect, was a story so +poetic, so unworldly, and so romantic that it might have been written by +a young Celt—a love story of intense passion, which yet by some magic art +was as convincingly realistic as any one of those ‘flat-footed’ +sermon-stories which the late W. E. Henley was wont to deride. + +In fact, from this point of view ‘Aylwin’ is a curiosity of literature. +The truth seems to be, however, that, as one of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s most +intimate friends has said, its style represents one facet only of +Watts-Dunton’s character. Like most of us, he has a dual existence—one +half of him is the romantic youth, Henry Aylwin, the other half is the +world-wise philosopher of the ‘Athenæum.’ This other half of him lives +in the style of another story altogether, where the creator of Henry +Aylwin takes up the very different role of a man of the world. Now I +have views of my own upon this duality. I think that if the brilliant +worldly writing of the mass of his work be examined, it will be found to +be a ‘shot’ texture scintillating with various hues where sometimes +repressed passion and sometimes mysticism and dreams are constantly +shining through the glossy silk of the style. Sometimes from the smooth, +even flow of the criticisms gleams of a passion far more intense than +anything in ‘Aylwin’ will flash out. I will cite a passage in his +critical writings wherein he discusses the inadequacy of language to +express the deepest passion:— + + “As compared with sculpture and painting the great infirmity of + poetry, as an ‘imitation’ of nature, is of course that the medium is + always and of necessity words—even when no words could, in the + dramatic situation, have been spoken. It is not only Homer who is + obliged sometimes to forget that passion when at white heat is never + voluble, is scarcely even articulate; the dramatists also are obliged + to forget that in love and in hate, at their tensest, words seem weak + and foolish when compared with the silent and satisfying triumph and + glory of deeds, such as the plastic arts can render. This becomes + manifest enough when we compare the Niobe group or the Laocoon group, + or the great dramatic paintings of the modern world, with even the + finest efforts of dramatic poetry, such as the speech of Andromache + to Hector, or the speech of Priam to Achilles; nay, such as even the + cries of Cassandra in the ‘Agamemnon,’ or the wailings of Lear over + the dead Cordelia. Even when writing the words uttered by Œdipus, as + the terrible truth breaks in upon his soul, Sophocles must have felt + that, in the holiest chambers of sorrow and in the highest agonies of + suffering reigns that awful silence which not poetry, but painting + sometimes, and sculpture always, can render. What human sounds could + render the agony of Niobe, or the agony of Laocoon, as we see them in + the sculptor’s rendering? Not articulate speech at all; not words, + but wails. It is the same with hate; it is the same with love. We + are not speaking merely of the unpacking of the heart in which the + angry warriors of the ‘Ilaid’ indulge. Even such subtle writing as + that of Æschylus and Sophocles falls below the work of the painter. + Hate, though voluble perhaps as Clytæmnestra’s when hate is at that + red-heat glow which the poet can render, changes in a moment whenever + that redness has been fanned into hatred’s own last + complexion—whiteness as of iron at the melting-point—when the heart + has grown far too big to be ‘unpacked’ at all, and even the bitter + epigrams of hate’s own rhetoric, though brief as the terrier’s snap + before he fleshes his teeth, or as the short snarl of the tigress as + she springs before her cubs in danger, are all too slow and sluggish + for a soul to which language at its tensest has become idle play. + But this is just what cannot be rendered by an art whose medium + consists solely of words.” + +Could any one reading this passage doubt that the real work of the writer +was to write poetry and not criticism? + +But this makes it necessary for me to say a word upon the question of the +style of ‘Aylwin’—a question that has often been discussed. The +fascination of the story is largely due to the magnetism of its style. +And yet how undecorated, not to say how plain, the style in the more +level passages often is! When the story was first written the style +glittered with literary ornament. But the author deliberately struck out +many of the poetic passages. Coleridge tells us that an imaginative work +should be written in a simple style, and that the more imaginative the +work the simpler the style should be. I often think of these words when +I labour in the sweat of my brow to read the word-twisting of precious +writers! It is then that I think of ‘Aylwin,’ for ‘Aylwin’ stands alone +in its power of carrying the reader away to climes of new and rare beauty +peopled by characters as new and as rare. It was clearly Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s idea that what such a story needed was mastery over +‘artistic convincement.’ He has more than once commented on the +acuteness of Edgar Poe’s remark that in the expression of true passion +there is always something of the ‘homely.’ ‘Aylwin’ is one long unbroken +cry of passion, mostly in a ‘homely key,’ but this ‘homely key’ is left +for loftier keys whenever the proper time for the change comes. In +beginning to write, the author seems to have felt that ‘The Renascence of +Wonder’ and the quest of beauty, although adequately expressed in the +poetry of the newest romantic school—that of Rossetti, Morris, and +Swinburne—had only found its way into imaginative prose through the +highly elaborate technique of his friend, George Meredith. He seems to +have felt that the great imaginative prose writers of the time, +Thackeray, Dickens, and Charles Reade, were in a certain sense +Philistines of genius who had done but little to bring beauty, romance +and culture into prose fiction. And as to Meredith, though a true child +of romanticism who never did and never could breathe the air of +Philistia, he had adopted a style too self-conscious and rich in literary +qualities to touch that great English pulse that beats outside the walls +of the Palace of Art. + +Mrs. Craigie has lately declared that at the present moment all the most +worthy English novelists, with the exception of Mr. Thomas Hardy, are +distinguished disciples of Mr. George Meredith. But to belong to ‘the +mock Meredithians’ is not a matter of very great glory. No one adores +the work of Mr. Meredith more than I do, though my admiration is not +without a certain leaven of distress at his literary self-consciousness. +I say this with all reverence. Great as Meredith is, he would be greater +still if, when he is delivering his priceless gifts to us, he would bear +in mind that immortal injunction in ‘King Henry the Fourth’—‘I prithee +now, deliver them like a man of this world.’ I can imagine how the great +humourist must smile when the dolt, who once found ‘obscurity’ in his +most lucid passages, praises him for the defects of his qualities, and +calls upon all other writers to write Meredithese. + +To be a classic—to be immortal—it is necessary for an imaginative writer +to deliver his message like ‘a man of this world.’ Shakespeare himself, +occasionally, will seem to forget this, but only occasionally, and we +never think of it when falling down in worship before the shrine of the +greatest imaginative writer that has ever lived. Dr. Johnson said that +all work which lives is without eccentricity. Now, entranced as I have +been, ever since I was a boy, by Meredith’s incomparable romances, I long +to set my imagination free of Meredith and fly away with his characters, +as I can fly away with the characters of the classic imaginative writers +from Homer down to Sir Walter Scott. But I seldom succeed. Now and then +I escape from the obsession of the picture of the great writer seated in +his chalet with the summer sunshine gleaming round his picturesque head, +but illuminating also all too vividly his inkstand, and his paper and his +pens; but only now and then, and not for long. If it had pleased Nature +to give him less intellectual activity, less humour and wit and literary +brilliance, I feel sure that he would have lived more securely as an +English classic. I adore him, I say, and although I do not know him +personally, I love him. We all love him: and when I am in a very +charitable mood, I can even forgive him for having begotten the ‘mock +Meredithians.’ As to those who, without a spark of his humourous +imagination and supple intellect can manage to mimic his style, if they +only knew what a torture their word-twisting is to the galled reviewer +who wants to get on, and to know what on earth they have got to tell him, +I think they would display a little more mercy, and even for pity’s sake +deliver their gifts like ‘men of this world.’ + +In ‘Aylwin’ Mr. Watts-Dunton seems to have determined to be as romantic +and as beautiful as the romanticists in poetry had ever dared to be, and +yet by aid of a simplicity and a naïveté of diction of which his critical +writings had shown no sign, to carry his beautiful dreams into Philistia +itself. Never was there a bolder enterprise, and never was there a +greater success. That ‘Aylwin’ would appeal strongly to imaginative +minds was certain, for it was written by ‘the most widely cultivated +writer in the English belles lettres of our time.’ But the strange thing +is that a story so full of romance, poetry, and beauty, should also +appeal to other minds. + +I am no believer in mere popularity, and I confess that when books come +before me for review I cannot help casting a suspicious eye upon any +story by any of the very popular novelists of the day. But it is +necessary to explain why the most poetical romance written within the +last century is also one of the most popular. It was in part owing to +its simplicity of diction, its naïveté of utterance, and its freedom from +superfluous literary ornamentation. I do not as a rule like using a +foreign word when an English word will do the same work, but neither +‘artlessness,’ ‘candour’ nor ‘simplicity’ seem to express the unique +charm of the style of ‘Aylwin,’ so completely as does the word ‘naïveté.’ +It was by naïveté, I believe, that he carried the Renascence of Wonder +into quarters which his great brothers in the Romantic movement could +never reach. + +For such a writer as he, the critic steeped in all the latest subtleties +of the style of to-day, and indeed the originator of many of these +subtleties, the intimate friend of such superb and elaborate literary +artists as Tennyson, Browning, George Meredith, Rossetti and Swinburne, +it must have been inconceivably difficult to write the ‘working portions’ +of his narrative in a style as unbookish at times as if he had written in +the pre-Meredithian epoch. Having set out to convince his readers of the +truth of what he was telling them, he determined to sacrifice all +literary ‘self-indulgence’ to that end. I do not recollect that any +critic, when the book came out, noted this. But if ‘Aylwin’ had been a +French book published in France, the naïve style adopted by the +autobiographer would have been recognized by the critics as the crowning +proof of the author’s dramatic genius. Whenever the style seems most to +suggest the pre-Meredithian writers, it is because the story is an +autobiography and because the hero lived in pre-Meredithian times. +Difficult as was Thackeray’s tour de force in ‘Esmond,’ it was nothing to +the tour de force of ‘Aylwin.’ The tale is told ‘as though inspired by +the very spirit of youth’ because the hero was a youth when he told it. +It is hard to imagine a writer past the meridian of life being able to +write a story ‘more flushed with the glory and the passion and the wonder +of youth than any other in English fiction.’ + +It should be noted that whenever the incidents become especially tragic +or romantic or weird or poetic, the ‘homeliness’ of the style goes—the +style at once rises to the occasion, it becomes not only rich, but too +rich for prose. I have now and then heard certain word-twisters of +second-hand Meredithese speak of the ‘baldness’ of the style of ‘Aylwin.’ +Roll fifty of these word-twisters into one, and let that one write a +sentence or two of such prose as this, published at the time that +‘Aylwin’ was written. It occurs in a passage on the greatest of all rich +writers, Shakespeare:— + + “In the quality of richness Shakespeare stood quite alone till the + publication of ‘Endymion.’ Till then it was ‘Eclipse first—the rest + nowhere.’ When we think of Shakespeare, it is his richness more than + even his higher qualities that we think of first. In reading him, we + feel at every turn that we have come upon a mind as rich as Marlowe’s + Moor, who + + Without control can pick his riches up, + And in his house heap pearls, like pebble-stones. + + Nay, he is richer still; he can, by merely looking at the + ‘pebble-stones,’ turn them into pearls for himself, like the + changeling child recovered from the gnomes in the Rosicrucian story. + His riches burden him. And no wonder: it is stiff flying with the + ruby hills of Badakhshân on your back. Nevertheless, so strong are + the wings of his imagination, so lordly is his intellect, that he can + carry them all; he could carry, it would seem, every gem in + Golconda—every gem in every planet from here to Neptune—and yet win + his goal. Now, in the matter of richness this is the great + difference between him and Keats, the wings of whose imagination, + aërial at starting, and only iridescent like the sails of a + dragon-fly, seem to change as he goes—become overcharged with beauty, + in fact—abloom ‘with splendid dyes, as are the tiger-moth’s + deep-damasked wings.’ Or, rather, it may be said that he seems to + start sometimes with Shakespeare’s own eagle-pinions, which, as he + mounts, catch and retain colour after colour from the earth below, + till, heavy with beauty as the drooping wings of a golden pheasant, + they fly low and level at last over the earth they cannot leave for + its loveliness, not even for the holiness of the skies.” + +I will give a few instances of passages in ‘Aylwin’ quite as rich as +this. One shall be from that scene in which Winifred unconsciously +reveals to her lover that her father has stolen the jewelled cross and +brought his own father’s curse upon her beloved head:— + + “Winifred picked up the sea weed and made a necklace of it, in the + old childish way, knowing how much it would please me. + + ‘Isn’t it a lovely colour?’ she said, as it glistened in the + moonlight. ‘Isn’t it just as beautiful and just as precious as if it + were really made of the jewels it seems to rival?’ + + ‘It is as red as the reddest ruby,’ I replied, putting out my hand + and grasping the slippery substance. + + ‘Would you believe,’ said Winnie, ‘that I never saw a ruby in my + life? And now I particularly want to know all about rubies.’ + + ‘Why do you want particularly to know?’ + + ‘Because,’ said Winifred, ‘my father, when he wished me to come out + for a walk, had been talking a great deal about rubies.’ + + ‘Your father had been talking about rubies, Winifred—how very odd!’ + + ‘Yes,’ said Winifred, ‘and he talked about diamonds too.’ + + ‘THE CURSE!’ I murmured, and clasped her to my breast. ‘Kiss me, + Winifred!’ + + There had come a bite of sudden fire at my heart, and I shuddered + with a dreadful knowledge, like the captain of an unarmed ship, who, + while the unconscious landsmen on board are gaily scrutinizing a sail + that like a speck has appeared on the horizon, shudders with the + knowledge of what the speck is, and hears in imagination the yells, + and sees the knives, of the Lascar pirates just starting in pursuit. + As I took in the import of those innocent words, falling from + Winifred’s bright lips, falling as unconsciously as water-drops over + a coral reef in tropical seas alive with the eyes of a thousand + sharks, my skin seemed to roughen with dread, and my hair began to + stir.” + +Another instance occurs in Wilderspin’s ornate description of his great +picture, ‘Faith and Love’:— + + “‘Imagine yourself standing in an Egyptian city, where innumerable + lamps of every hue are shining. It is one of the great lamp-fêtes of + Sais, which all Egypt has come to see. There, in honour of the + feast, sits a tall woman, covered by a veil. But the painting is so + wonderful, Mr. Aylwin, that, though you see a woman’s face expressed + behind the veil—though you see the warm flesh-tints and the light of + the eyes through the aërial film—you cannot judge of the character of + the face—you cannot see whether it is that of woman in her noblest, + or woman in her basest, type. The eyes sparkle, but you cannot say + whether they sparkle with malignity or benevolence—whether they are + fired with what Philip Aylwin calls “the love-light of the seventh + heaven,” or are threatening with “the hungry flames of the seventh + hell!” There she sits in front of a portico, while, asleep, with + folded wings, is crouched on one side of her the figure of Love, with + rosy feathers, and on the other the figure of Faith, with plumage of + a deep azure. Over her head, on the portico, are written the + words:—“I am all that hath been, is, and shall be, and no mortal hath + uncovered my veil.” The tinted lights falling on the group are shed, + you see, from the rainbow-coloured lamps of Sais, which are + countless. But in spite of all these lamps, Mr. Aylwin, no mortal + can see the face behind that veil. And why? Those who alone could + uplift it, the figures folded with wings—Faith and Love—are fast + asleep, at the great Queen’s feet. When Faith and Love are sleeping + there, what are the many-coloured lamps of science!—of what use are + they to the famished soul of man?’ + + ‘A striking idea!’ I exclaimed. + + ‘Your father’s,’ replied Wilderspin, in a tone of such reverence that + one might have imagined my father’s spectre stood before him. ‘It + symbolises that base Darwinian cosmogony which Carlyle spits at, and + the great and good John Ruskin scorns. But this design is only the + predella beneath the picture “Faith and Love.” Now look at the + picture itself, Mr. Aylwin,’ he continued, as though it were upon an + easel before me. ‘You are at Sais no longer: you are now, as the + architecture around you shows, in a Greek city by the sea. In the + light of innumerable lamps, torches, and wax tapers, a procession is + moving through the streets. You see Isis, as Pelagia, advancing + between two ranks, one of joyous maidens in snow white garments, + adorned with wreaths, and scattering from their bosoms all kinds of + dewy flowers; the other of youths, playing upon pipes and flutes + mixed with men with shaven shining crowns, playing upon sistra of + brass, silver, and gold. Isis wears a Dorian tunic, fastened on her + breast by a tasselled knot,—an azure-coloured tunic bordered with + silver stars,—and an upper garment of the colour of the moon at + moon-rise. Her head is crowned with a chaplet of sea-flowers, and + round her throat is a necklace of seaweeds, wet still with sea-water, + and shimmering with all the shifting hues of the sea. On either side + of her stand the awakened angels, uplifting from her face a veil + whose folds flow soft as water over her shoulders and over the wings + of Faith and Love. A symbol of the true cosmogony which Philip + Aylwin gave to the world!’” + +Another instance I take from that scene in the crypt whither Aylwin had +been drawn against his will by the ancestral impulses in his blood to +replace the jewelled cross upon the breast of his father:— + + “Having, with much difficulty, opened the door, I entered the crypt. + The atmosphere, though not noisome, was heavy, and charged with an + influence that worked an extraordinary effect upon my brain and + nerves. It was as though my personality were becoming dissipated, + until at last it was partly the reflex of ancestral experiences. + Scarcely had this mood passed before a sensation came upon me of + being fanned as if by clammy bat-like wings; and then the idea seized + me that the crypt scintillated with the eyes of a malignant foe. It + was as if the curse which, until I heard Winnie a beggar singing in + the street, had been to me but a collocation of maledictory words, + harmless save in their effect upon her superstitious mind, had here + assumed an actual corporeal shape. In the uncertain light shed by + the lantern, I seemed to see the face of this embodied curse with an + ever-changing mockery of expression; at one moment wearing the + features of my father; at another, those of Tom Wynne; at another the + leer of the old woman I had seen in Cyril’s studio. + + “‘It is an illusion,’ I said, as I closed my eyes to shut it out; ‘it + is an illusion, born of opiate fumes or else of an over-taxed brain + and an exhausted stomach.’ Yet it disturbed me as much as if my + reason had accepted it as real. Against this foe I seemed to be + fighting towards my father’s coffin as a dreamer fights against a + nightmare, and at last I fell over one of the heaps of old Danish + bones in a corner of the crypt. The candle fell from my lantern, and + I was in darkness. As I sat there I passed into a semi-conscious + state. I saw sitting at the apex of a towering pyramid, built of + phosphorescent human bones that reached far, far above the stars, the + ‘Queen of Death, Nin-ki-gal,’ scattering seeds over the earth below. + At the pyramid’s base knelt the suppliant figure of a Sibyl pleading + with the Queen of Death: + + What answer, O Nin-ki-gal? + Have pity, O Queen of Queens! + + I sprang up, struck a light and relit the candle, and soon reached + the coffin resting on a stone table. I found, on examining it, that + although it had been screwed down after the discovery of the + violation, the work had been so loosely done that a few turns of the + screwdriver were sufficient to set the lid free. Then I paused; for + to raise the loosened lid (knowing as I did that it was only the + blood’s inherited follies that had conquered my rationalism and + induced me to disturb the tomb) seemed to require the strength of a + giant. Moreover, the fantastic terror of old Lantoff’s story, which + at another time would have made me smile, also took bodily shape, and + the picture of a dreadful struggle at the edge of the cliff between + Winnie’s father and mine seemed to hang in the air—a fascinating + mirage of ghastly horror . . . + + At last, by an immense effort of will, I closed my eyes and pushed + the lid violently on one side . . . + + The ‘sweet odours and divers kinds of spices’ of the Jewish embalmer + rose like a gust of incense—rose and spread through the crypt like + the sweet breath of a newborn blessing, till the air of the + charnel-house seemed laden with a mingled odour of indescribable + sweetness. Never had any odour so delighted my senses; never had any + sensuous influence so soothed my soul. + + While I stood inhaling the scents of opobalsam, and cinnamon and + myrrh, and wine of palm and oil of cedar, and all the other spices of + the Pharaohs, mingled in one strange aromatic cloud, my personality + seemed again to become, in part, the reflex of ancestral experiences. + + I opened my eyes. I looked into the coffin. The face (which had + been left by the embalmer exposed) confronted mine. ‘Fenella + Stanley!’ I cried, for the great transfigurer Death had written upon + my father’s brow that self-same message which the passions of a + thousand Romany ancestors had set upon the face of her whose portrait + hung in the picture-gallery. And the rubies and diamonds and beryls + of the cross as it now hung upon my breast, catching the light of the + opened lantern in my left hand, shed over the features an + indescribable reflex hue of quivering rose. + + Beneath his head I placed the silver casket: I hung the hair-chain + round his neck: I laid upon his breast the long-loved memento of his + love and the parchment scroll. + + Then I sank down by the coffin, and prayed. I knew not what or why. + But never since the first human prayer was breathed did there rise to + heaven a supplication so incoherent and so wild as mine. Then I + rose, and laying my hand upon my father’s cold brow, I said: ‘You + have forgiven me for all the wild words that I uttered in my long + agony. They were but the voice of intolerable misery rebelling + against itself. You, who suffered so much—who know so well those + flames burning at the heart’s core—those flames before which all the + forces of the man go down like prairie-grass before the fire and + wind—you have forgiven me. You who knew the meaning of the wild word + Love—you have forgiven your suffering son, stricken like yourself. + You have forgiven me, father, and forgiven him, the despoiler of your + tomb: you have removed the curse, and his child—his innocent child—is + free.’ . . . + + I replaced the coffin-lid, and screwing it down left the crypt, so + buoyant and exhilarated that I stopped in the churchyard and asked + myself: ‘Do I, then, really believe that she was under a curse? Do I + really believe that my restoring the amulet has removed it? Have I + really come to this?’ + + Throughout all these proceedings—yes, even amidst that prayer to + Heaven, amidst that impassioned appeal to my dead father—had my + reason been keeping up that scoffing at my heart which I have before + described.” + +My last instance shall be from D’Arcy’s letter, in which he records the +marvellous events that led to his meeting with Winifred:— + + “And now, my dear Aylwin, having acted as a somewhat prosaic reporter + of these wonderful events, I should like to conclude my letter with a + word or two about what took place when I parted from you in the + streets of London. I saw then that your sufferings had been very + great, and since that time they must have been tenfold greater. And + now I rejoice to think that, of all the men in this world who have + ever loved, you, through this very suffering, have been the most + fortunate. As Job’s faith was tried by Heaven, so has your love been + tried by the power which you call ‘circumstance’ and which Wilderspin + calls ‘the spiritual world.’ All that death has to teach the mind + and the heart of man you have learnt to the very full, and yet she + you love is restored to you, and will soon be in your arms. I, alas! + have long known that the tragedy of tragedies is the death of a + beloved mistress, or a beloved wife. I have long known that it is as + the King of Terrors that Death must needs come to any man who knows + what the word ‘love’ really means. I have never been a reader of + philosophy, but I understand that the philosophers of all countries + have been preaching for ages upon ages about resignation to + Death—about the final beneficence of Death—that ‘reasonable moderator + and equipoise of justice,’ as Sir Thomas Browne calls him. Equipoise + of justice indeed! He who can read with tolerance such words as + these must have known nothing of the true passion of love for a woman + as you and I understand it. The Elizabethans are full of this + nonsense; but where does Shakespeare, with all his immense + philosophical power, ever show this temper of acquiescence? All his + impeachments of Death have the deep ring of personal + feeling—dramatist though he was. But, what I am going to ask you is, + How shall the modern materialist, who you think is to dominate the + Twentieth Century and all the centuries to follow—how shall he + confront Death when a beloved mistress is struck down? When Moschus + lamented that the mallow, the anise, and the parsley had a fresh + birth every year, whilst we men sleep in the hollow earth a long, + unbounded, never-waking sleep, he told us what your modern + materialist tells us, and he re-echoed the lamentation which, long + before Greece had a literature at all, had been heard beneath + Chaldean stars and along the mud-banks of the Nile. Your bitter + experience made you ask materialism, What comfort is there in being + told that death is the very nursery of new life, and that our heirs + are our very selves, if when you take leave of her who was and is + your world it is ‘Vale, vale, in æternum vale’?” + +These quotations may be taken as specimens of the passages of decorated +writing which the author, in order to get closer to the imagination of +the reader, mercilessly struck out in proof. Whether he did wisely or +unwisely in striking them out is an interesting question for criticism. + +But certainly the reader has only to go through the book with this +criticism in his mind, and he will see that when the story passes into +such lofty speculation as that of the opening sentences of the book, or +into some equally lofty mood of the love passion, the style becomes not +only full of literary qualities, but almost over-full; it becomes a style +which can best be described in his own words about richness of style +which I have quoted from the ‘Athenæum.’ I do not doubt that Mr. +Watts-Dunton was quite right in acting upon Coleridge’s theory; for, +notwithstanding the ‘fairy-like beauty’ of the story it is as convincing +as a story told upon a prosaic subject by Defoe. In fact, it would be +hard to name any novel wherein those laws of means and ends in art which +Mr. Watts-Dunton has formulated in the ‘Athenæum’ are more fully observed +than in ‘Aylwin.’ + +Madame Galimberti says in the ‘Rivista d’Italia’:—“‘Aylwin’ was begun in +verse, and was written in prose only when the plot, taking, so to say, +the poet by the hand, showed the necessity of a form more in keeping with +the nature of the work; and in ‘The Coming of Love,’ in which the facts +are condensed so as to give full relief to the philosophical motive, the +result is, in my opinion, more perfect.” {339} My remarks upon ‘The +Coming of Love’ will show that I agree with the accomplished wife of the +Italian Minister in placing it above ‘Aylwin’ as a satisfactory work of +art, but that is because I consider ‘The Coming of Love’ the most +important as well as the most original poem that has been published for +many years. + +Madame Galimberti touches here upon a very important subject for the +literary student. I may say for myself that I have invariably spoken of +‘Aylwin’ as a poem, and I have done so deliberately. Indeed, I think the +fact that it is a poem is at once its strength and its weakness. It does +not come under the critical canons that are applied to a prose novel or +romance. As a prose novel its one defect is that the quest for mere +beauty is pushed too far; lovely picture follows lovely picture until the +novel reader is inclined at last to cry, ‘Hold, enough!’ + +In one of his essays on Morris, Mr. Watts-Dunton asks, ‘What is poetic +prose?’ And then follows a passage which must always be borne in mind +when criticizing ‘Aylwin.’ + + “On no subject in literary criticism,” says he, “has there been a + more persistent misconception than upon this. What is called poetic + prose is generally rhetorical prose, and between rhetoric and poetry + there is a great difference. Poetical prose, we take it, is that + kind of prose which above all other kinds holds in suspense the + essential qualities of poetry. If ‘eloquence is heard and poetry + overheard,’ where shall be placed the tremendous perorations of De + Quincey, or the sonorous and highly-coloured descriptions of Ruskin? + Grand and beautiful are such periods as these, no doubt, but prose to + be truly poetical must move far away from them. It must, in a word, + have all the qualities of what we technically call poetry except + metre. We have, indeed, said before that while the poet’s object is + to arouse in the listener an expectancy of cæsuric effects, the great + goal before the writer of poetic prose is in the very opposite + direction; it is to make use of the concrete figures and impassioned + diction that are the poet’s vehicle, but at the same time to avoid + the expectancy of metrical bars. The moment that the regular bars + assert themselves and lead the reader’s ears to expect other bars of + the like kind, sincerity ends.” + +Mr. Watts-Dunton himself has given us the best of all canons for +answering the question, ‘What is a poem as distinguished from other forms +of imaginative literature?’ In his essay on Poetry he says:— + + “Owing to the fact that the word _ποιητής_ (first used to designate + the poetic artist by Herodotus) means maker, Aristotle seems to have + assumed that the indispensable basis of poetry is invention. He + appears to have thought that a poet is a poet more on account of the + composition of the action than on account of the composition of his + verses. Indeed, he said as much as this. Of epic poetry he declared + emphatically that it produces its imitations either by mere + articulate words or by metre superadded. This is to widen the + definition of poetry so as to include all imaginative literature, and + Plato seems to have given an equally wide meaning to the word + _ποίησις_. Only, while Aristotle considered _ποίησις_ to be an + imitation of the facts of nature, Plato considered it to be an + imitation of the dreams of man. Aristotle ignored, and Plato + slighted, the importance of versification (though Plato on one + occasion admitted that he who did not know rhythm could be called + neither musician nor poet). It is impossible to discuss here the + question whether an imaginative work in which the method is entirely + concrete and the expression entirely emotional, while the form is + unmetrical, is or is not entitled to be called a poem. That there + may be a kind of unmetrical narrative so poetic in motive, so + concrete in diction, so emotional in treatment, as to escape + altogether from those critical canons usually applied to prose, we + shall see when, in discussing the epic, we come to touch upon the + Northern sagas. + + “Perhaps the first critic who tacitly revolted against the dictum + that substance, and not form, is the indispensable basis of poetry + was Dionysius of Halicarnassus, whose treatise upon the arrangement + of words is really a very fine piece of literary criticism. In his + acute remarks upon the arrangement of the words in the sixteenth book + of the Odyssey, as compared with that in the story of Gyges by + Herodotus, was perhaps first enunciated clearly the doctrine that + poetry is fundamentally a matter of style. The Aristotelian theory + as to invention, however, dominated all criticism after as well as + before Dionysius. When Bacon came to discuss the subject (and + afterwards), the only division between the poetical critics was + perhaps between the followers of Aristotle and those of Plato as to + what poetry should, and what it should not, imitate. It is curious + to speculate as to what would have been the result had the poets + followed the critics in this matter. Perhaps there are critics of a + very high rank who would class as poems romances so concrete in + method and diction, and so full of poetic energy, as ‘Wuthering + Heights’ and ‘Jane Eyre,’ where we get absolutely all that Aristotle + requires for a poem.” + +Now, if this be so in regard to those great romances, it must be still +more so with regard to ‘Aylwin,’ where beauty and nothing but beauty +seems to be the be-all and the end-all of the work. + + [Picture: Henry Aylwin and Winifred under the Cliff. (From an Oil + Painting at ‘The Pines.’)] + +As ‘Aylwin’ was begun in metre, it would be very interesting to know on +what lines the metre was constructed. Readers of ‘Aylwin’ have been +struck with the music of the opening sentences, which are given as an +extract from Philip Aylwin’s book, ‘The Veiled Queen’:— + + “Those who in childhood have had solitary communings with the sea + know the sea’s prophecy. They know that there is a deeper sympathy + between the sea and the soul of man than other people dream of. They + know that the water seems nearer akin than the land to the spiritual + world, inasmuch as it is one and indivisible, and has motion, and + answers to the mysterious call of the winds, and is the writing + tablet of the moon and stars. When a child who, born beside the sea, + and beloved by the sea, feels suddenly, as he gazes upon it, a dim + sense of pity and warning; when there comes, or seems to come, a + shadow across the waves, with never a cloud in the sky to cast it; + when there comes a shuddering as of wings that move in dread or ire, + then such a child feels as if the bloodhounds of calamity are let + loose upon him or upon those he loves; he feels that the sea has told + him all it dares tell or can. And, in other moods of fate, when + beneath a cloudy sky the myriad dimples of the sea begin to sparkle + as though the sun were shining bright upon them, such a child feels, + as he gazes at it, that the sea is telling him of some great joy near + at hand, or, at least, not far off.” + +Many a reader will echo the words of a writer in ‘Notes and Queries,’ who +says that this passage has haunted him since first he read it: I know it +haunted me after I read it. But I wonder how many critics have read this +passage in connection with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s metrical studies which have +been carried on in the ‘Athenæum’ during more than a quarter of a +century. They are closely connected with what he has said upon Bible +rhythm in his article upon the Psalms, which I have already quoted, and +in many other essays. Mr. Watts-Dunton, acknowledged to be a great +authority on metrical subjects, has for years been declaring that we are +on the verge of a new kind of metrical art altogether—a metrical art in +which the emotions govern the metrical undulations. And I take the above +passage and the following to be examples of what the movement in ‘Aylwin’ +would have been if he had not abandoned the project of writing the story +in metre:— + + “Then quoth the Ka’dee, laughing until his grinders appeared: + ‘Rather, by Allah, would I take all the punishment thou dreadest, + thou most false donkey-driver of the Ruby Hills, than believe this + story of thine—this mad, mad story, that she with whom thou wast seen + was not the living wife of Hasan here (as these four legal witnesses + have sworn), but thine own dead spouse, Alawiyah, refashioned for + thee by the Angel of Memory out of thine own sorrow and unquenchable + fountain of tears.’ + + Quoth Ja’afar, bowing low his head: ‘Bold is the donkey-driver, O + Ka’dee! and bold the Ka’dee who dares say what he will believe, what + disbelieve—not knowing in any wise the mind of Allah—not knowing in + any wise his own heart and what it shall some day suffer.’” + +Break these passages up into irregular lines, and you get a new metre of +a very emotional kind, governed as to length by the sense pause. Mr. +Watts-Dunton has been arguing for many years that English verse is, as +Coleridge long ago pointed out, properly governed by the number of +accents and not by the number of syllables in a line, and that this +accentual system is governed, or should be governed, by emotion. It is a +singular thing, by the bye, that writer after writer of late has been +arguing over and over again Mr. Watts-Dunton’s arguments, and seems to be +saying a new thing by using the word ‘stress’ for ‘accent.’ ‘Stress’ may +or may not be a better word than ‘accent,’ the word used by Coleridge, +and after him by Mr. Watts-Dunton, but the idea conveyed is one and the +same. I, for my part, believe that rare as new ideas may be in creative +work, they are still rarer in criticism. + + + + +Chapter XXI +THE METHODS OF PROSE FICTION + + +AND now a word upon the imaginative power of ‘Aylwin.’ Very much has +been written both in England and on the Continent concerning the source +of the peculiar kind of ‘imaginative vividness’ shown in the story. The +rushing narrative, as has been said, ‘is so fused in its molten stream +that it seems one sentence, and it carries the reader irresistibly along +through pictures of beauty and mystery till he becomes breathless.’ The +truth is, however, that the mere method of the evolution of the story has +a great deal more to do with this than is at first apparent. Upon this +artistic method very little has been written save what I myself said when +it first appeared. If the unequalled grip of the story upon the reader +had been secured by methods as primitive, as unconscious as those of +‘Jane Eyre’ and ‘Wuthering Heights,’ I should estimate the pure, +unadulterated imaginative force at work even more highly than I now do. +But, as a critic, I must always inquire whether or not a writer’s +imaginative vision is strengthened by constructive power. I must take +into account the aid that the imagination of the writer has received from +his mere self-conscious artistic skill. Now it is not to praise +‘Aylwin,’ but, I fear, to disparage it in a certain sense to say that the +power of the scenes owes much to the mere artistic method, amounting at +times to subtlety. I have heard the greatest of living poets mention +‘Tom Jones,’ ‘Waverley,’ and ‘Aylwin’ as three great novels whose +reception by the outside public has been endorsed by criticism. One of +the signs of Scott’s unique genius was the way in which he invented and +carried to perfection the method of moving towards the dénouement by +dialogue as much as by narrative. This gave a source of new brilliance +to prose fiction, and it was certainly one of the most effective causes +of the enormous success of ‘Waverley.’ This masterpiece opens, it will +be remembered, in distinct imitation of the method of Fielding, but soon +broke into the new dramatic method with which Scott’s name is associated. +But in ‘Waverley’ Scott had not yet begun to use the dramatic method so +freely as to sacrifice the very different qualities imported into the +novel by Fielding, whose method was epic rather than dramatic. I think +Mr. Watts-Dunton has himself somewhere commented upon this, and said that +Scott carried the dramatic method quite as far as it could go without +making the story suffer from that kind of stageyness and artificial +brightness which is fatal to the novel. Scott’s disciple, Dumas, a more +brilliant writer of dialogue than Scott himself, but not so true a one, +carried the dramatic method too far and opened the way to mimics, who +carried it further still. In ‘Aylwin,’ the blending of the two methods, +the epic and the dramatic, is so skilfully done as to draw all the +advantages that can be drawn from both; and this skill must be an +enormous aid to the imaginative vision—an aid which Charlotte and Emily +Brontë had to dispense with: but it is in the arrangement of the material +on self-conscious constructive principles that I am chiefly thinking when +I compare the imaginative vision in ‘Aylwin’ with that in ‘Jane Eyre’ and +‘Wuthering Heights.’ On the whole, no one seems to have studied ‘Aylwin’ +from all points of view with so much insight as Madame Galimberti, unless +it be M. Jacottet in ‘La Semaine Littéraire.’ Mr. Watts-Dunton in one of +his essays has himself remarked that nine-tenths of the interest of any +dramatic situation are lost if before approaching it the reader has not +been made to feel an interest in the characters, as Fielding makes us +feel an interest in Tom and Sophia long before they utter a word—indeed, +long before they are introduced at all. This is true, no doubt, and the +contemporary method of beginning a story like the opening of a play with +long dialogues between characters that are strangers to the reader, is +one among the many signs that, so far as securing illusion goes, there is +a real retrogression in fictive art. A play, of course, must open in +this way, but in an acted play the characters come bodily before the +audience as real flesh and blood. They come surrounded by real +accessories. They win our sympathy or else our dislike as soon as we see +them and hear them speak. The dramatic scenes between Jane Eyre and +Rochester would miss half their effect were it not for the picture of +Jane as a child. In ‘Aylwin,’ by the time that there is any introduction +of dramatic dialogue the atmosphere of the story has enveloped us: we +have become so deeply in love with the two children that the most +commonplace words from their lips would have seemed charged with beauty. +This kind of perfection of the novelist’s art, in these days when stories +are written to pass through magazines and newspapers, seemed impossible +till ‘Aylwin’ appeared. It is curious to speculate as to what would have +been the success of the opening chapters of ‘Aylwin’ if an instalment of +the story had first made its appearance in a magazine. + +One of the most remarkable features of ‘Aylwin’ is that in spite of the +strength and originality of the mere story and in spite of the fact that +the book is fundamentally the expression of a creed, the character +painting does not in the least suffer from these facts. Striking and new +as the story is, there is nothing mechanical about the structure. The +characters are not, to use a well known phrase of the author’s, +‘plot-ridden’ in the least degree, as are the characters of the great +masters of the plot-novel, Lytton, Charles Reade, and Wilkie Collins, to +mention only those who are no longer with us. Perhaps in order to show +what I mean I ought to go a little into detail here. In ‘Man and Wife,’ +for instance, Collins, with his eye only upon his plot, makes the +heroine, a lady whose delicacy of mind and nobility of character are +continually dwelt upon, not only by the author but by a sagacious man of +the world like Sir Peter, who afterwards marries her, succumb to the +animal advances of a brute like Geoffrey. Many instances of the same +sacrifice of everything to plot occur in most of Collins’s other stories, +and as to the ‘long arm of coincidence’ he not only avails himself of +that arm whenever it is convenient to do so, but he positively revels in +his slavery to it. In ‘Armadale,’ for instance, besides scores of +monstrous improbabilities, such as the ship ‘La Grace de Dieu’ coming to +Scotland expressly that Allan Armadale should board her and have a dream +upon her, and such as Midwinter’s being by accident brought into touch +with Allan in a remote village in Devonshire when he was upon the eve of +death, we find coincidences which are not of the smallest use, introduced +simply because the author loves coincidences—such as that of making a +family connection of Armadale’s rescue Miss Gwilt from drowning and get +drowned himself, and thus bring about the devolution of the property upon +Allan Armadale—an entirely superfluous coincidence, for the working power +of this incident could have been secured in countless other ways. ‘No +Name’ bristles with coincidences, such as that most impudent one where +the heroine is at the point of death by destitution, and the one man who +loves her and who had just returned to England passes down the obscure +and squalid street he had never seen before at the very moment when she +is sinking. It is the same with Bulwer Lytton’s novels. In ‘Night and +Morning,’ for instance, people are tossed against each other in London, +the country, or Paris at every moment whensoever the story demands it. +As to Gawtry, one of the few really original villains in modern fiction, +as soon as the story opens we expect him to turn up every moment like a +jack in-the-box; we expect him to meet the hero in the most unlikely +places, and to meet every other character in the same way. Let his +presence be required, and we know that he will certainly turn up to put +things right. But in ‘Aylwin,’ which has been well called by a French +critic, ‘a novel without a villain,’ where sinister circumstance takes +the place of the villain, there is not a single improbable coincidence; +everything flows from a few simple causes, such as the effect upon an +English patrician of love baffled by all kinds of fantastic antagonisms, +the influence of the doctrines of the dead father upon the minds of +several individuals, and the influence of the impact of the characters +upon each other. Another thing to note is that in spite of the strange, +new scenes in which the characters move, they all display that ‘softness +of touch’ upon which the author has himself written so eloquently in one +of his articles in the ‘Athenæum.’ I must find room to quote his words +on this interesting subject:— + + “The secret of the character-drawing of the great masters seems to be + this: while moulding the character from broad general elements, from + universal types of humanity, they are able to delude the reader’s + imagination into mistaking the picture for real portraiture, and this + they achieve by making the portrait seem to be drawn from particular + and peculiar traits instead of from generalities, and especially by + hiding away all purposes—æsthetic, ethic, or political. + + One great virtue of the great masters is their winsome softness of + touch in character drawing. We are not fond of comparing literary + work with pictorial art, but between the work of the novelist and the + work of the portrait painter there does seem a true analogy as + regards the hardness and softness of touch in the drawing of + characters. In landscape painting that hardness which the general + public love is a fault; but in portrait painting so important is it + to avoid hardness that unless the picture seems to have been blown + upon the canvas, as in the best work of Gainsborough, rather than to + have been laid upon it by the brush, the painter has not achieved a + perfect success. In the imaginative literature of England the two + great masters of this softness of touch in portraiture are Addison + and Sterne. Three or four hardly-drawn lines in Sir Roger or the two + Shandys, or Corporal Trim, would have ruined the portraits so + completely that they would never have come down to us. Close upon + Addison comes Scott, in whose vast gallery almost every portrait is + painted with a Gainsborough softness. Scarcely one is limned with + those hard lines which are too often apt to mar the glorious work of + Dickens. After Scott comes Thackeray or Fielding, unless it be Mrs. + Gaskell. We are not in this article dealing with, or even alluding + to, contemporary writers, or we might easily say what novelists + follow Mrs. Gaskell.” + +Read in the light of these remarks the characters in ‘Aylwin’ become +still more interesting to the critic. Observe how soft is the touch of +the writer compared with that of a novelist of real though eccentric +genius, Charles Reade. Now and again in Reade’s portraits we get +softness, as in the painting of the delightful Mrs. Dodd and her +daughter, but it is very rare. The contrast between him and Mr. +Watts-Dunton in this regard is most conspicuously seen in their treatment +of members of what are called the upper classes. No doubt Reade does +occasionally catch (what Charles Dickens never catches) that unconscious +accent of high breeding which Thackeray, with all his yearning to catch +it, scarcely ever could catch, save perhaps, in such a character as Lord +Kew, but which Disraeli catches perfectly in St. Aldegonde. + +On the appearance of ‘Aylwin’ it was amusing to see how puzzled many of +the critics were when they came to talk about the various classes in +which the various figures moved. How could a man give pictures of +gypsies in their tents, East Enders in their slums, Bohemian painters in +their studios, aristocrats in their country houses, and all of them with +equal vividness? But vividness is not always truth. Some wondered +whether the gypsies were true, when ‘up and spake’ the famous Tarno Rye +himself, Groome, the greatest authority on gypsies in the world, and said +they were true to the life. Following him, ‘up and spake’ Gypsy Smith, +and proclaimed them to be ‘the only pictures of the gypsies that were +true.’ Some wondered whether the painters and Bohemians were rightly +painted, when ‘up and spake’ Mr. Hake—more intimately acquainted with +them than any living man left save W. M. Rossetti and Mr. Sharp—and said +the pictures were as true as photographs. But before I pass on I must +devote a few parenthetical words to the most curious thing connected with +this matter. Not even the most captious critic, as far as I remember, +ventured to challenge the manners of the patricians who play such an +important part in the story. The Aylwin family, as Madame Galimberti has +hinted, belonged to the only patriciate which either Landor or Disraeli +recognized: the old landed untitled gentry. The best delineator of this +class is, of course, Whyte Melville. But those who have read Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s remarks upon Byron in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature’ will understand how thoroughly he too has studied this most +interesting class. The hero himself, in spite of all his eccentricity +and in spite of all his Bohemianism, is a patrician—a patrician to the +very marrow. ‘There is not throughout Aylwin’s narrative—a narrative +running to something under 200,000 words—a single wrong note.’ This +opinion I heard expressed by a very eminent writer, who from his own +birth and environment can speak with authority. The way in which Henry +Aylwin as a child is made to feel that his hob-a-nobbing on equal terms +with the ragamuffin of the sands cannot really degrade an English +gentleman; the way in which Henry Aylwin, the hobbledehoy, is made to +feel that he cannot be lowered by living with gypsies, or by marrying the +daughter of ‘the drunken organist who violated my father’s tomb’; the way +in which he says that ‘if society rejects him and his wife, he shall +reject society’;—all this shows a mastery over ‘softness of touch’ in +depicting this kind of character such as not even Whyte Melville has +equalled. Henry Aylwin’s mother, to whom the word trade and plebeianism +were synonymous terms, is the very type of the grande dame, untouched by +the vulgarities of the smart set of her time (for there were vulgar smart +sets then as there were vulgar smart sets in the time of Beau Brummell, +and as there are vulgar smart sets now). Then there is that wonderful +aunt, of whom we see so little but whose influence is so great and so +mischievous. What a type is she of the meaner and more withered branch +of a patrician tree! But the picture of Lord Sleaford is by far the most +vivid portrait of a nobleman that has appeared in any novel since +‘Lothair.’ Thackeray never ‘knocked off’ a nobleman so airily and so +unconsciously as this delightful lordling, whose portrait Mr. +Watts-Dunton has ‘blown’ upon his canvas in the true Gainsborough way. I +wish I could have got permission to give more than a bird’s-eye glance at +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s wide experience of all kinds of life, but I can only +touch upon what the reading public is already familiar with. At one +period of his life—the period during which he and Whistler were brought +together—the period when ‘Piccadilly,’ upon which they were both engaged, +was having its brief run, Mr. Watts-Dunton mixed very largely with what +was then, as now, humourously called ‘Society.’ It has been said that +‘for a few years not even “Dicky Doyle” or Jimmy Whistler went about +quite so much as Theodore Watts.’ I have seen Whistler’s presentation +copy of the first edition of ‘The Gentle Art of Making Enemies’ with this +inscription:—‘To Theodore Watts, the Worldling.’ Below this polite flash +of persiflage the famous butterfly flaunts its elusive wings. But this +was only Whistler’s fun. Mr. Watts-Dunton was never, we may be sure, a +worldling. Still one wonders that the most romantic of poets ever fell +so low as to go into ‘Society’ with a big S. Perhaps it was because, +having studied life among the gypsies, life among the artists, life among +the literary men of the old Bohemia, life among the professional and +scientific classes, he thought he would study the butterflies too. +However, he seems soon to have got satiated, for he suddenly dropped out +of the smart Paradise. I mention this episode because it alone, apart +from the power of his dramatic imagination, is sufficient to show why in +Henry Aylwin he has so successfully painted for us the finest picture +that has ever been painted of a true English gentleman tossed about in +scenes and among people of all sorts and retaining the pristine bloom of +England’s patriciate through it all. + +In my essay upon Mr. Watts-Dunton in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature,’ I made this remark:—“Notwithstanding the vogue of ‘Aylwin,’ +there is no doubt that it is on his poems, such as ‘The Coming of Love,’ +‘Christmas at the Mermaid,’ ‘Prophetic Pictures at Venice,’ ‘John the +Pilgrim,’ ‘The Omnipotence of Love,’ ‘The Three Fausts,’ ‘What the Silent +Voices Said,’ ‘Apollo in Paris,’ ‘The Wood-haunters’ Dream,’ ‘The Octopus +of the Golden Isles,’ ‘The Last Walk with Jowett from Boar’s Hill,’ and +‘Omar Khayyàm,’ that Mr. Watts-Dunton’s future position will mainly +rest.” + +I did not say this rashly. But in order to justify my opinion I must +quote somewhat copiously from Mr. Watts-Dunton’s remarks upon absolute +and relative vision, in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica.’ It has been well +said that ‘in judging of the seeing power of any work of imagination, +either in prose or in verse, it is now necessary always to try the work +by the critical canons upon absolute and relative vision laid down in +this treatise.’ If we turn to it, we shall find that absolute vision is +defined to be that vision which in its highest dramatic exercise is +unconditioned by the personal temperament of the writer, while relative +vision is defined to be that vision which is more or less conditioned by +the personal temperament of the writer. And then follows a long +discussion of various great imaginative works in which the two kinds of +vision are seen:— + + “For the achievement of most imaginative work relative vision will + suffice. If we consider the matter thoroughly, in many forms—which + at first sight might seem to require absolute vision—we shall find + nothing but relative vision at work. Between relative and absolute + vision the difference is this, that the former only enables the + imaginative writer even in its very highest exercise, to make his own + individuality, or else humanity as represented by his own + individuality, live in the imagined situation; the latter enables him + in its highest exercise to make special individual characters other + than the poet’s own live in the imagined situation. In the very + highest reaches of imaginative writing art seems to become art no + longer—it seems to become the very voice of Nature herself. The cry + of Priam when he puts to his lips the hand that slew his son, is not + merely the cry of a bereaved and aged parent; it is the cry of the + individual king of Troy, and expresses above everything else that + most naïve, pathetic, and winsome character. Put the cry into the + mouth of the irascible and passionate Lear, and it would be entirely + out of keeping. While the poet of relative vision, even in its very + highest exercise, can only, when depicting the external world, deal + with the general, the poet of absolute vision can compete with Nature + herself and deal with both general and particular.” + +Now, the difference between ‘The Coming of Love’ and ‘Aylwin’ is this, +that in ‘Aylwin’ the impulse is, or seems to be, lyrical, and therefore +too egoistic for absolute vision to be achieved. Of course, if we are to +take Henry Aylwin in the novel to be an entirely dramatic character, then +that character is so full of vitality that it is one of the most +remarkable instances of purely dramatic imagination that we have had in +modern times. For there is nothing that he says or does that is not +inevitable from the nature of the character placed in the dramatic +situation. Those who are as familiar as I am with Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +prose writings outside ‘Aylwin’ find it extremely difficult to identify +the brilliant critic of the ‘Athenæum,’ full of ripe wisdom and sagacity, +with the impassioned boy of the story. Indeed, I should never have +dreamed of identifying the character with the author any more than I +should have thought of identifying Philip Aylwin with the author had it +not been for the fact that Mr. Watts-Dunton, in his preface to one of the +constantly renewed editions of his book, seems to suggest that +identification himself. I have already quoted the striking passage in +the introduction to the later editions of the book in which this +identification seems to be suggested. But, matters being as they are +with regard to the identification of the hero of the prose story with the +author, it is to ‘The Coming of Love’ that we must for the most part turn +for proof that the writer is possessed of absolute vision. Percy Aylwin +and Rhona are there presented in the purely dramatic way, and they give +utterance to their emotions, not only untrammelled by the lyricism of the +dramatist, but untrammelled also, as I have before remarked, by the +exigencies of a conscious dramatic structure. In no poetry of our time +can there be seen more of that absolute vision so lucidly discoursed upon +in the foregoing extract. From her first love-letter Rhona leaps into +life, and she seems to be more elaborately painted not only than any +woman in recent poetry, but any woman in recent literature. Percy Aylwin +lives also with almost equal vitality. I need not give examples of this +here, for later I shall quote freely from the poem in order that the +reader may form his own judgment, unbiassed by the views of myself or any +other critic. + +With regard to ‘Aylwin,’ however, apart from the character of the hero, +who is drawn lyrically or dramatically, according, as I have said, to the +evidence that he is or is not the author himself, there are still many +instances of a vision that may be called absolute. Among the many +letters from strangers that reached the author when ‘Aylwin’ first +appeared was one from a person who, like Henry Aylwin, had been made lame +by accident. This gentleman said that he felt sure that the author of +‘Aylwin’ had also been lame, and gave several instances from the story +which had made him come to this conclusion. One was the following:— + + “‘Shall we go and get some strawberries?’ she said, as we passed to + the back of the house. ‘They are quite ripe.’ + + But my countenance fell at this. I was obliged to tell her that I + could not stoop. + + ‘Ah! but I can, and I will pluck them and give them to you. I should + like to do it. Do let me, there’s a good boy.’ + + I consented, and hobbled by her side to the verge of the + strawberry-beds. But when I foolishly tried to follow her, I stuck + ignominiously, with my crutches sunk deep in the soft mould of rotten + leaves. Here was a trial for the conquering hero of the coast. I + looked into her face to see if there was not, at last, a laugh upon + it. That cruel human laugh was my only dread. To everything but + ridicule I had hardened myself; but against that I felt helpless. + + I looked into her face to see if she was laughing at my lameness. + No: her brows were merely knit with anxiety as to how she might best + relieve me. This surpassingly beautiful child, then, had evidently + accepted me—lameness and all—crutches and all—as a subject of + peculiar interest. + + As I slowly approached the child, I could see by her forehead (which + in the sunshine gleamed like a globe of pearl), and especially by her + complexion, that she was uncommonly lovely, and I was afraid lest she + should look down before I got close to her, and so see my crutches + before her eyes encountered my face.” + +As a matter of fact, however, the author never had been lame. + +The following passages have often been quoted as instances of the way in +which a wonderful situation is realized as thoroughly as if it had been +of the most commonplace kind:— + + “And what was the effect upon me of these communings with the + ancestors whose superstitions I have, perhaps, been throughout this + narrative treating in a spirit that hardly becomes their descendant? + + The best and briefest way of answering this question is to confess + not what I thought, as I went on studying my father’s book, its + strange theories and revelations, but what I did. I read the book + all day long: I read it all the next day. I cannot say what days + passed. One night I resumed my wanderings in the streets for an hour + or two, and then returned home and went to bed—but not to sleep. For + me there was no more sleep till those ancestral voices could be + quelled—till the sound of Winnie’s song in the street could be + stopped in my ears. For very relief from them I again leapt out of + bed, lit a candle, unlocked the cabinet, and, taking out the amulet, + proceeded to examine the facets as I did once before when I heard in + the Swiss cottage these words of my stricken father— + + ‘Should you ever come to love as I have loved, you will find that + materialism is intolerable—is hell itself—to the heart that has known + a passion like mine. You will find that it is madness, Hal, madness, + to believe in the word “never”! You will find that you dare not + leave untried any creed, howsoever wild, that offers the heart a ray + of hope.’ + + And then while the candle burnt out dead in the socket I sat in a + waking dream. + + The bright light of morning was pouring through the window. I gave a + start of horror, and cried, ‘Whose face?’ Opposite to me there + seemed to be sitting on a bed the figure of a man with a fiery cross + upon his breast. That strange wild light upon the face, as if the + pains at the heart were flickering up through the flesh—where had I + seen it? For a moment when, in Switzerland, my father bared his + bosom to me, that ancestral flame had flashed up into his dull + lineaments. But upon the picture of ‘The Sibyl’ in the + portrait-gallery that illumination was perpetual! + + ‘It is merely my own reflex in a looking-glass,’ I exclaimed. + + Without knowing it I had slung the cross round my neck. + + And then Sinfi Lovell’s voice seemed murmuring in my ears, ‘Fenella + Stanley’s dead and dust, and that’s why she can make you put that + cross in your feyther’s tomb, and she will, she will.’ + + I turned the cross round: the front of it was now next to my skin. + Sharp as needles were those diamond and ruby points as I sat and + gazed in the glass. Slowly a sensation arose on my breast, of pain + that was a pleasure wild and new. I was feeling the facets. But the + tears trickling down, salt, through my moustache were tears of + laughter; for Sinfi Lovell seemed again murmuring, ‘For good or for + ill, you must dig deep to bury your daddy.’ . . . + + What thoughts and what sensations were mine as I sat there, pressing + the sharp stones into my breast, thinking of her to whom the sacred + symbol had come, not as a blessing, but as a curse—what agonies were + mine as I sat there sobbing the one word ‘Winnie’—could be understood + by myself alone, the latest blossom of the passionate blood that for + generations had brought bliss and bale to the Aylwins. . . . + + I cannot tell what I felt and thought, but only what I did. And + while I did it my reason was all the time scoffing at my heart (for + whose imperious behoof the wild, mad things I am about to record were + done)—scoffing, as an Asiatic malefactor will sometimes scoff at the + executioner whose pitiless and conquering saw is severing his + bleeding body in twain. I arose and murmured ironically to Fenella + Stanley as I wrapped the cross in a handkerchief and placed it in a + hand-valise: ‘Secrecy is the first thing for us sacrilegists to + consider, dear Sibyl, in placing a valuable jewel in a tomb in a + deserted church. To take any one into our confidence would be + impossible; we must go alone. But to open the tomb and close it + again, and leave no trace of what has been done, will require all our + skill. And as burglars’ jemmies are not on open sale we must buy, on + our way to the railway-station, screw-drivers, chisels, a hammer, and + a lantern; for who should know better than you, dear Sibyl, that the + palace of Nin-ki-gal is dark.’” + +But after all I am unable to express any opinion worth expressing upon +the chief point which would decide the question as to whether the +imagination at work in ‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ is lyrical or +dramatic, because I do not know whether, like Henry Aylwin and Percy +Aylwin, the author has a dash of Romany blood in his veins. If he has +not that dash, and I certainly never heard that he has, and neither +Groome’s words in the ‘Bookman’ nor ‘Gypsy Smith’s’ words can be +construed into an expression of opinion on the subject, then I will say +with confidence that his delineation of two English gentleman with an +ancestral Romany strain so like and yet so unlike as Henry Aylwin and +Percy Aylwin could only have been achieved by a wonderful exercise of +absolute vision. It was this that struck the late Grant Allen so +forcibly. On the other hand, if he has that strain, then, as I have said +before, it is not in the story but in the poem that we must look for the +best dramatic character drawing. On this most interesting subject no one +can speak but himself, and he has not spoken. But here is what he has +said upon the similarity and the contrast between Percy and Henry +Aylwin:— + + “Certain parts of ‘The Coming of Love’ were written about the same + time as ‘Aylwin.’ The two Aylwins, Henry and Percy, were then very + distinct in my own mind; they are very distinct now. And I confess + that the possibility of their being confounded with each other had + never occurred to me. A certain similarity between the two there + must needs be, seeing that the blood of the same Romany ancestress, + Fenella Stanley, flows in the veins of both. I say there must needs + be this similarity, because the ancestress was Romany. For, without + starting the inquiry here as to whether or not the Romanies as a race + are superior or inferior to all or any of the great European races + among which they move, I will venture to affirm that in the Romanies + the mysterious energy which the evolutionists call ‘the prepotency of + transmission’ in races is specially strong—so strong, indeed, that + evidences of Romany blood in a family may be traced down for several + generations. It is inevitable, therefore, that in each of the + descendants of Fenella Stanley the form taken by the love-passion + should show itself in kindred ways. But the reader who will give a + careful study to the characters of Henry and Percy Aylwin will come + to the conclusion, I think, that the similarity between the two is + observable in one aspect of their characters only. The intensity of + the love-passion in each assumes a spiritualizing and mystical form.” + + + + +Chapter XXII +A STORY WITH TWO HEROINES + + +ONE thing seems clear to me: having fully intended to make Winifred the +heroine of ‘Alwyn’ round whom the main current of interest should +revolve, the author failed to do so. And the reason of his failure is +that Winifred has to succumb to the superior vitality of Sinfi’s +commanding figure. For the purpose of telling the story of Winifred and +bringing out her character he conceived and introduced this splendid +descendant of Fenella Stanley, and then found her, against his will, +growing under his hand until, at last, she pushed his own beloved heroine +off her pedestal, and stood herself for all time. Never did author love +his heroine as Mr. Watts-Dunton loves Winifred, and there is nothing so +curious in all fiction as the way in which he seems at times to resent +Sinfi’s dominance over the Welsh heroine; and this explains what readers +have sometimes said about his ‘unkindness to Sinfi.’ + +It is quite certain that on the whole Sinfi is the reader’s heroine. +When Madox Brown read the story in manuscript, he became greatly +enamoured of Sinfi, and talked about her constantly. It was the same +with Mr. Swinburne, who says that ‘Aylwin’ is the only novel he ever read +in manuscript, and found it as absorbing as if he were reading it in +type. Mr. George Meredith in a letter said:—“I am in love with Sinfi. +Nowhere can fiction give us one to match her, not even the ‘Kriegspiel’ +heroine, who touched me to the deeps. Winifred’s infancy has infancy’s +charm. The young woman is taking. But all my heart has gone to Sinfi. +Of course it is part of her character that her destiny should point to +the glooms. The sun comes to me again in her conquering presence. I +could talk of her for hours. The book has this defect,—it leaves in the +mind a cry for a successor.” And the author of ‘Kriegspiel’ himself, F. +H. Groome, accepts Sinfi as the true heroine of the story. “In Sinfi +Lovell,” says he, “Mr. Watts-Dunton. would have scored a magnificent +success had he achieved nothing more than this most splendid +figure—supremely clever but utterly illiterate, eloquent but +ungrammatical, heroic but altogether womanly. Winifred is good, and so +too is Henry Aylwin himself, and so are many of the minor characters (the +mother, for instance, the aunt, and Mrs. Gudgeon), but it is as the +tragedy of Sinfi’s sacrifice that ‘Aylwin’ should take its place in +literature.” Yes, it seems cruel to tell the author this, but Sinfi, and +not Winifred, with all her charm, is evidently the favourite of his +English public. That admirable novelist, Mr. Richard Whiteing, said in +the ‘Daily News’ that ‘Sinfi Lovell is one of the most finished studies +of its type and kind in all romantic literature.’ + + [Picture: Sinfi Lovell and Pharaoh. (From a Painting at ‘The Pines.’)] + +I have somewhere seen Sinfi compared with Isopel Berners. In the first +place, while Sinfi is the crowning type of the Romany chi, Isopel is, as +the author has pointed out, the type of the ‘Anglo-Saxon road girl’ with +a special antagonism to Romany girls. Grand as is the character of +Borrow’s Isopel Berners, she is not in the least like Sinfi Lovell. And +I may add that she is not really like any other of the heroic women who +figure in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s gallery of noble women. It is, however, +interesting here to note that Mr. Watts-Dunton has a special sympathy +with women of this heroic type and a special strength of hand in +delineating them. There is nothing in them of Isopel’s hysterical tears. +Once only does Sinfi, in the nobility of her affection for Aylwin, yield +to weakness. Mr. Watts-Dunton’s sympathy with this kind of woman is +apparent in his eulogy of ‘Shirley’:— + + “Note that it is not enough for the ideal English girl to be + beautiful and healthy, brilliant and cultivated, generous and loving: + she must be brave, there must be in her a strain of Valkyrie; she + must be of the high blood of Brynhild, who would have taken Odin + himself by the throat for the man she loved. That is to say, that, + having all the various charms of English women, the ideal English + girl must top them all with that quality which is specially the + English man’s, just as the English hero, the Nelson, the Sydney, + having all the various glories of other heroes, must top them all + with that quality which is specially the English woman’s—tenderness. + What we mean is, that there is a symmetry and a harmony in these + matters; that just as it was an English sailor who said, ‘Kiss me, + Hardy,’ when dying on board the ‘Victory’—just as it was an English + gentleman who on the burning ‘Amazon,’ stood up one windy night, + naked and blistered, to make of himself a living screen between the + flames and his young wife; so it was an Englishwoman who threw her + arms round that fire-screen, and plunged into the sea; and an + Englishwoman who, when bitten by a dog, burnt out the bite from her + beautiful arm with a red-hot poker, and gave special instructions how + she was to be smothered when hydrophobia should set in.” + +But Mr. Watts-Dunton himself, in his sonnet, ‘Brynhild on Sigurd’s +Funeral Pyre,’ so powerfully illustrated by Mr. Byam Shaw, has given us +in fourteen lines a picture of feminine courage and stoicism that puts +even Charlotte Brontë’s picture of Shirley in the shade:— + + With blue eyes fixed on joy and sorrow past, + Tall Brynhild stands on Sigurd’s funeral pyre; + She stoops to kiss his mouth, though forks of fire + Rise fighting with the reek and wintry blast; + She smiles, though earth and sky are overcast + With shadow of wings that shudder of Asgard’s ire; + She weeps, but not because the gods conspire + To quell her soul and break her heart at last. + + “Odin,” she cries, “it is for gods to droop!— + Heroes! we still have man’s all-sheltering tomb, + Where cometh peace at last, whate’er may come: + Fate falters, yea, the very Norns shall stoop + Before man’s courage, naked, bare of hope, + Standing against all Hell and Death and Doom. + +Rhona Boswell, too, under all her playful humour, is of this strain, as +we see in that sonnet on ‘Kissing the Maybuds’ in ‘The Coming of Love’ +(given on page 406 of this book). + +As Groome’s remarks upon ‘Aylwin’ are in many ways of special interest, I +will for a moment digress from the main current of my argument, and say a +few words about it. Of course as the gypsies figure so largely in this +story, there were very few writers competent to review it from the Romany +point of view. Leland was living when it appeared, but he was residing +on the Continent; moreover, at his age, and engrossed as he was, it was +not likely that he would undertake to review it. There was another +Romany scholar, spoken of with enthusiasm by Groome—I allude to Mr. +Sampson, of Liverpool, who has since edited Borrow’s ‘Romany Rye’ for +Messrs. Methuen, and who is said to know more of Welsh Romany than any +Englishman ever knew before. At that time, however, he was almost +unknown. Finally, there was Groome himself, whose articles in the +‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ and ‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ had proclaimed +him to be the greatest living gypsologist. The editor of the ‘Bookman,’ +being anxious to get a review of the book from the most competent writer +he could find, secured Groome himself. I can give only a few sentences +from the review. Groome, it will be seen, does not miss the opportunity +of flicking in his usual satirical manner the omniscience of some popular +novelists:— + + “Novelty and truth,” he says, “are ‘Aylwin’s’ chief characteristics, + a rare combination nowadays. Our older novelists—those at least + still held in remembrance—wrote only of what they knew, or of what + they had painfully mastered. Defoe, Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, + Sterne, Jane Austen, Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, the Brontës, and + George Eliot belong to the foremost rank of these; for types of the + second or the third may stand Marryat, Lever, Charles Reade, James + Grant, Surtees, Whyte Melville, and Wilkie Collins. But now we have + changed all that; the maximum of achievement seldom rises above + school board nescience. With a few exceptions (one could count them + on the ten fingers) our present-day novelists seem to write only + about things of which they clearly know nothing. One of the most + popular lays the scene of a story in Paris: the Seine there is tidal, + it rolls a murdered corpse upwards. In another work by her a gambler + shoots himself in a cab. ‘I trust,’ cries a friend who has heard the + shot, ‘he has missed.’ ‘No,’ says a second friend, ‘he was a dead + shot.’ Mr. X. writes a realistic novel about betting. It is crammed + with weights, acceptances, and all the rest of it; but, alas! on an + early page a servant girl wins 12_s._ 6_d._ at 7 to 1. Mrs. Y. takes + her heroine to a Scottish deer-forest: it is full of primeval oaks. + Mrs. Z. sends her hero out deerstalking. Following a hill-range, he + sights a stag upon the opposite height, fires at it, and kills his + benefactor, who is strolling below in the glen. And Mr. Ampersand in + his masterpiece shows up the littleness of the Establishment: his + ritualistic church presents the inconceivable conjunction of the Ten + Commandments and a gorgeous rood-screen. I have drawn upon memory + for these six examples, but subscribers to Mudie’s should readily + recognize the books I mean; they have sold by thousands on thousands. + ‘Aylwin’ is not such as these. There is much in it of the country, + of open-air life, of mountain scenery, of artistic fellowship, of + Gypsydom; it might be called the novel of the two Bohemias.” + +Many readers have expressed the desire to know something about the +prototypes of Sinfi Lovell and Rhona Boswell. The following words from +the Introduction to the 20th edition (called the ‘Snowdon Edition’) may +therefore be read with interest:— + + “Although Borrow belonged to a different generation from mine, I + enjoyed his intimate friendship in his later years—during the time + when he lived in Hereford Square. When, some seven or eight years + ago, I brought out an edition of ‘Lavengro,’ I prefaced that + delightful book by a few desultory remarks upon Borrow’s gypsy + characters. On that occasion I gave a slight sketch of the most + remarkable ‘Romany Chi’ that had ever been met with in the part of + East Anglia known to Borrow and myself—Sinfi Lovell. I described her + playing on the crwth. I discussed her exploits as a boxer, and I + contrasted her in many ways with the glorious Anglo-Saxon road-girl + Isopel Berners. + + Since the publication of ‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ I have + received very many letters from English and American readers + inquiring whether ‘the Gypsy girl described in the introduction to + “Lavengro” is the same as the Sinfi Lovell of “Aylwin,” and also + whether ‘the Rhona Boswell that figures in the prose story is the + same as the Rhona of “The Coming of Love?”’ The evidence of the + reality of Rhona so impressed itself upon the reader that on the + appearance of Rhona’s first letter in the ‘Athenæum,’ where the poem + was printed in fragments, I got among other letters one from the + sweet poet and adorable woman Jean Ingelow, who was then very + ill,—near her death indeed,—urging me to tell her whether Rhona’s + love-letter was not a versification of a real letter from a real + gypsy to her lover. As it was obviously impossible for me to answer + the queries individually, I take this opportunity of saying that the + Sinfi of ‘Aylwin’ and the Sinfi described in my introduction to + ‘Lavengro’ are one and the same character—except that the story of + the child Sinfi’s weeping for the ‘poor dead Gorgios’ in the + churchyard, given in the Introduction, is really told by the gypsies, + not of Sinfi, but of Rhona Boswell. Sinfi is the character alluded + to in the now famous sonnet describing ‘the walking lord of gypsy + lore,’ Borrow; by his most intimate friend, Dr. Gordon Hake. + + Now that so many of the gryengroes (horse-dealers), who form the + aristocracy of the Romany race, have left England for America, it is + natural enough that to some readers of ‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of + Love,’ my pictures of Romany life seem a little idealized. The + ‘Times,’ in a kindly notice of ‘The Coming of Love,’ said that the + kind of gypsies there depicted are a very interesting people, ‘unless + the author has flattered them unduly.’ Those who best knew the gypsy + women of that period will be the first to aver that I have not + flattered them unduly.” + +It is Winifred who shares, not only with Henry Aylwin, but also with the +author himself, that love of the wind which he revealed in the ‘Athenæum’ +many years before ‘Aylwin’ was published. I may quote this passage in +praise of the wind as an example of the way in which his imaginative work +and his critical work are often interwoven:— + + “There is no surer test of genuine nature instinct than this. + Anybody can love sunshine. No people had less of the nature instinct + than the Romans, but they could enjoy the sun; they even took their + solaria or sun-baths, and gave them to their children. And, if it + may be said that no Roman loved the wind, how much more may this be + said of the French! None but a born child of the tent could ever + have written about the winds of heaven as Victor Hugo has written in + ‘Les Travailleurs de la Mer,’ as though they were the ministers of + Ahriman. ‘From Ormuzd, not from Ahriman, ye come.’ And here, + indeed, is the difference between the two nationalities. Love of the + wind has made England what she is; dread of the wind has greatly + contributed to make France what she is. The winds are the breathings + of the Great Mother. Under the ‘olden spell’ of dumbness, nature can + yet speak to us by her winds. It is they that express her every + mood, and, if her mood is rough at times, her heart is kind. This is + why the true child of the open-air—never mind how much he may suffer + from the wind—loves it, loves it as much when it comes and ‘takes the + ruffian billows by the top’ to the peril of his life, as when it + comes from the sweet South. In the wind’s most boisterous moods, + such as those so splendidly depicted by Dana in the doubling of Cape + Horn, there is an exhilaration, a fierce delight, in struggling with + it. It is delightful to read Thoreau when he writes about the wind, + and that which the wind so loves—the snow.” + + + + +Chapter XXIII +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER IN RELIGION + + +AND now as to the real inner meaning of ‘Alwyin,’ about which so much has +been written. “‘Aylwin,’” says Groome, “is a passionate love-story, with +a mystical idée mère. For the entire dramatic action revolves around a +thought that is coming more and more to the front—the difference, namely, +between a materialistic and a spiritualistic cosmogony.” And Dr. Nicoll, +in his essay on “The Significance of ‘Aylwin,’” in the ‘Contemporary +Review,’ says:— + + “Every serious student will see at a glance that ‘Aylwin’ is a + concrete expression of the author’s criticism of life and literature, + and even—though this must be said with more reserve—a concrete + expression of his theory of the universe. This theory I will venture + to define as an optimistic confronting of the new cosmogony of growth + on which the author has for long descanted. Throughout all his + writings there is evidence of a mental struggle as severe as George + Eliot’s with that materialistic reading of the universe which seemed + forced upon thinkers when the doctrine of evolution passed from + hypothesis to an accepted theory. Those who have followed Mr. + Watts-Dunton’s writings in the ‘Examiner’ and in the ‘Athenæum’ must + have observed with what passionate eagerness he insisted that + Darwinism, if properly understood, would carry us no nearer to + materialism than did the spiritualistic cosmogonies of old, unless it + could establish abiogenesis against biogenesis. As every experiment + of every biologist has failed to do so, a new spiritualist cosmogony + must be taught.” + +And yet the student of ‘Aylwin’ must bear in mind that some critics, +taking the very opposite view, have said that its final teaching is not +meant to be mystical at all, but anti-mystical—that what to Philip Aylwin +and his disciples seems so mystical is all explained by the operation of +natural laws. This theory reminds me of a saying of Goethe’s about the +enigmatic nature of all true and great works of art. I forget the exact +words, but they set me thinking about the chameleon-like iridescence of +great poems and dramas. + + * * * * * + +With regard to the fountain-head of all the mysticism of the story, +Philip Aylwin, much has been said. Philip is the real protagonist of the +story—he governs, as I have said, the entire dramatic action from his +grave, and illustrates at every point Sinfi Lovell’s saying, ‘You must +dig deep to bury your daddy.’ Everything that occurs seems to be the +result of the father’s speculations, and the effect of them upon other +minds like that of his son and that of Wilderspin. + +The appearance of this new epic of spiritual love came at exactly the +right moment—came when a new century was about to dawn which will throw +off the trammels of old modes of thought. While I am writing these lines +Mr. Balfour at the British Association has been expounding what must be +called ‘Aylwinism,’ and (as I shall show in the last chapter of this +book) saying in other words what Henry Aylwin’s father said in ‘The +Veiled Queen.’ In the preface to the edition of ‘Aylwin’ in the ‘World’s +Classics’ the author says:— + + “The heart-thought of this book being the peculiar doctrine in Philip + Aylwin’s ‘Veiled Queen,’ and the effect of it upon the fortunes of + the hero and the other characters, the name ‘The Renascence of + Wonder’ was the first that came to my mind when confronting the + difficult question of finding a name for a book that is at once a + love-story and an expression of a creed. But eventually I decided, + and I think from the worldly point of view wisely, to give it simply + the name of the hero. + + The important place in the story, however, taken by this creed, did + not escape the most acute and painstaking of the critics. Madame + Galimberti, for instance, in the elaborate study of the book which + she made in the ‘Rivista d’Italia,’ gave great attention to its + central idea; so did M. Maurice Muret, in the ‘Journal des Débats’; + so did M. Henri Jacottet in ‘La Semaine Littéraire.’ Mr. Baker, + again, in his recently published ‘Guide to Fiction,’ described + ‘Aylwin’ as “an imaginative romance of modern days, the moral idea of + which is man’s attitude in face of the unknown, or, as the writer + puts it, ‘the renascence of wonder.’” With regard to the phrase + itself, in the introduction to the latest edition of ‘Aylwin’—the + twenty-second edition—I made the following brief reply to certain + questions that have been raised by critics both in England and on the + Continent concerning it. The phrase, I said, ‘The Renascence of + Wonder,’ ‘is used to express that great revived movement of the soul + of man which is generally said to have begun with the poetry of + Wordsworth, Scott, Coleridge, and others, and after many varieties of + expression reached its culmination in the poems and pictures of + Rossetti.’ + + The painter Wilderspin says to Henry Aylwin, ‘The one great event of + my life has been the reading of “The Veiled Queen,” your father’s + book of inspired wisdom upon the modern Renascence of Wonder in the + mind of man.’ And further on he says that his own great picture + symbolical of this renascence was suggested by Philip Aylwin’s + vignette. Since the original writing of ‘Aylwin,’ many years ago, I + have enlarged upon its central idea in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ + in the introductory essay to the third volume of ‘Chambers’s + Cyclopædia of English Literature,’ and in other places. Naturally, + therefore, the phrase has been a good deal discussed. Quite lately + Dr. Robertson Nicoll has directed attention to the phrase, and he has + taken it as a text of a remarkable discourse upon the ‘Renascence of + Wonder in Religion.’ + +Mr. Watts-Dunton then quotes Dr. Nicoll’s remarks upon the Logia recently +discovered by the explorers of the Egypt Fund. He shows how men came to +see ‘once more the marvel of the universe and the romance of man’s +destiny. They became aware of the spiritual world, of the supernatural, +of the lifelong struggle of soul, of the power of the unseen.’ + +“The words quoted by Dr. Nicoll might very appropriately be used as a +motto for ‘Aylwin’ and also for its sequel ‘The Coming of Love: Rhona +Boswell’s Story.’” + + When ‘Aylwin’ first appeared, the editor of a well-known journal sent + it to me for review. I read it: never shall I forget that reading. + I was in Ireland at the time—an Irish Wedding Guest at an Irish + Wedding. Now an Irish Wedding is more joyous than any novel, and + Irish girls are lovelier than any romance. A duel between Life and + Literature! Picture it! Behold the Irish Wedding Guest spell-bound + by a story-teller as cunning as ‘The Ancient Mariner’ himself! He + heareth the bridal music, but Aylwin continueth his tale: he cannot + choose but hear, until ‘The Curse’ of the ‘The Moonlight Cross’ of + the Gnostics is finally expiated, and Aylwin and Winnie see in the + soul of the sunset ‘The Dukkeripen of the Trushùl,’ the blessed Cross + of Rose and Gold. Amid the ‘merry din’ of the Irish Wedding Feast + the Irish Wedding Guest read and wrote. And among other lyrical + things, he said that ‘since Shakespeare created Ophelia there has + been nothing in literature so moving, so pathetic, so unimaginably + sorrowful as the madness of Winnie Wynne.’ And he also said that + “the majority of readers will delight in ‘Aylwin’ as the most + wonderful of love stories, but as the years go by an ever increasing + number will find in it the germ of a new religion, a clarified + spiritualism, free from charlatanry, a solace and a consolation for + the soul amid the bludgeonings of circumstance and the cruelties of + fate.” + +Mr. Watts-Dunton, when I told him that I was going to write this book, +urged me to moderate my praise and to call into action the critical power +that he was good enough to say that I possessed. He especially asked me +not to repeat the above words, the warmth of which, he said, might be +misconstrued; but the courage of my opinions I will exercise so long as I +write at all. The ‘newspaper cynics’ that once were and perhaps still +are strong, I have always defied and always will defy. I am glad to see +that there is one point of likeness between us of the younger generation +and the great one to which Mr. Watts-Dunton and his illustrious friends +belong. We are not afraid and we are not ashamed of being enthusiastic. +This, also, I hope, will be a note of the twentieth century. + +No doubt mine was a bold prophecy to utter in a rapid review of a +romance, but time has shown that it was not a rash one. The truth is +that the real vogue of ‘Aylwin’ as a message to the soul is only +beginning. Five years have elapsed since the publication of ‘Aylwin,’ +and during that time it has, I think, passed into twenty-four editions in +England alone, the latest of all these editions being the beautiful +‘Arvon Edition,’ not to speak of the vast issue in sixpenny form. + +I will now quote the words of a very accomplished scholar and critic upon +the inner meaning of ‘Aylwin’ generally. They appeared in the ‘Saturday +Review’ of October 1904, and they show that the interest in the book, so +far from waning, is increasing:— + + “Public taste has for once made a lucky shot, and we are only too + pleased to be able to put an item to the credit of an account in + taste, where the balance is so heavily on the wrong side. How + ‘Aylwin’ ever came to be a popular success is hard indeed to + understand. We cannot wonder at the doubts of a popular reception + confessed to by Mr. Watts-Dunton in his dedication of the latest + edition to Mr. Ernest Rhys. How did a book, notable for its poetry + and subtlety of thought, come to appeal to an English public? That + it should have a vogue in Wales was natural; Welsh patriotism would + assure a certain success, though by itself it could not indeed have + made the book the household word it has now become throughout all + Wales. And undoubtedly its Welsh reception has been the more + intelligent; it has been welcomed there for the qualities that most + deserved a welcome; while in England we fear that in many quarters it + has rather been welcomed in spite of them. The average English man + and woman do not like mystery and distrust poetry. They have little + sympathy with the ‘renascence of wonder,’ which some new passages + unfold to us in the Arvon edition, passages originally omitted for + fear of excessive length and now restored from the MS. We are glad + to have them, for they illustrate further the intellectual motive of + the book. We are of those who do not care to take ‘Aylwin’ merely as + a novel.” + +These words remind me of two reviews of ‘Aylwin,’ one by Mr. W. P. Ryan, +a fellow-countryman of mine, which was published when ‘Aylwin’ first +appeared, the other by an eminent French writer. + + “The salient impression on the reader is that he is looking full into + deep reaches of life and spirituality rather than temporary pursuits + and mundane ambitions. In this regard, in its freedom from + littleness, its breadth of life, its exaltation of mood, its sense of + serene issues that do not pass with the changing fashions of a + generation, the book is almost epic. + + But ‘Aylwin’ has yet other sides. It is a vital and seizing story. + The girl-heroine is a beautiful presentment, and the struggle with + destiny, when, believing in the efficacy of a mystic’s curse she + loses her reason, and flies from poignantly idyllic life to harrowing + life, her stricken lover in her wake, is nearly Greek in its + intensity and pathos. The long, long quest through the mountain + magic of Wales, the wandering spheres of Romany-land, and the + art-reaches of London, could only be made real and convincing by + triumphant art. A less expert pioneer would enlarge his effects in + details that would dissipate their magic; Mr. Watts-Dunton knows that + one inspired touch is worth many uninspired chapters, as Shakespeare + knew that ‘she should have died hereafter.’ + + Death came on her like an untimely frost, + Upon the fairest flower of all the field. + + or + + Childe Rowland to the dark tower came, + + is worth an afternoon of emphasis, a night of mystical elaboration. + + Incidentally, the Celtic and Romany types of character reveal their + essence. Here, too, the author preserves the artistic unities. + Delightful as one realizes these characters to be, full-blooded + personalities though they are, it is still their spirit, and through + it the larger spirit of their race, that shines clearest. Their + story is all realistic, and yet it leaves the flavour of a fairy tale + of Regeneration. At first sight one is inclined to speak of their + beautiful kinship with Nature; but the truth is that Nature and they + together are seen with spiritual eyes; that they and Nature are + different but kindred embodiments of the underlying, all-extending, + universal soul; that Henry’s love, and Winnie’s rapture, and + Snowdon’s magic, and Sinfi’s crwth, and the little song of y Wydffa, + and the glorious mountain dawn are but drops and notes in a melodic + mystic ocean, of which the farthest stars and the deepest loves are + kindred and inevitable parts—parts of a whole, of whose ministry we + hardly know the elements, yet are cognisant that our highest joy is + to feel in radiant moments that we, too, are part of the harmony. In + idyll, despair or tragedy, the beauty of ‘Aylwin’ is that always the + song of the divine in humanity is beneath it. Everything merges into + one consistent, artistically suggested, spiritual conception of life; + love tried, tortured, finally rewarded as the supreme force utilized + to drive home the intolerable negation and atrophy of materialism; in + Henry’s gnostic father, in the scientific Henry himself, the Romany + Sinfi, Winnie whose nature is a song, Wilderspin who believes that + his model is a heavenly visitant with an immaterial body, D’Arcy who + stands for Rossetti, the end is the same; and the striking trait is + the felicity with which so many dissimilar personalities, while + playing the drama of divergent actuality to the full, yet realize and + illustrate, without apparent manipulation by the author, the one + abiding spiritual unity. + + In execution, ‘Aylwin’ is far above the accomplished English + novel-work of latter years; as a conception of life it surely + transcends all. The ‘schools’ we have known: the realistic, the + romantic, the quasi-historical, the local, seem but parts of the + whole when their motives are measured with the idea that permeates + this novel. They take drear or gallant roads through limited lands; + it rises like a stately hill from which a world is clearer, above and + beyond whose limits there are visions, Voices, and the verities.” + +With equal eloquence M. Jacottet on the same day wrote about “Aylwin” in +‘La Semaine Littéraire’:— + + “The central idea of this poetic book is that of love stronger than + death, love elevating the soul to a mystical conception of the + universe. It is a singular fact that at the moment when England, + intoxicated with her successes, seems to have no room for thought + except with regard to her fleet and her commerce, and allows herself + to be dazzled by dreams of universal empire, the book in vogue should + be Mr. Watts-Dunton’s romance—the most idealistic, the farthest + removed from the modern Anglo-Saxon conception of life that he could + possibly conceive. But this fact has often been observable in + literary history. Is not the true charm of letters that of giving to + the soul respite from the brutalities of contemporary events?” + + + + +Chapter XXIV +THE RENASCENCE OF WONDER IN HUMOUR + + +THE character of Mrs. Gudgeon in ‘Aylwin’ stands as entirely alone among +humourous characters as does Sancho Panza, Falstaff, Mrs. Quickly or Mrs. +Partridge. In my own review of ‘Aylwin’ I thus noted the entirely new +kind of humour which characterizes it:—“To one aspect of this book we +have not yet alluded, namely, its humour. Whimsical Mrs. Gudgeon, the +drunken virago who pretends that Winnie is her daughter, is inimitable, +with her quaint saying: ‘I shall die a-larfin’, they say in Primrose +Court, and so I shall—unless I die a-crying.’” Few critics have done +justice to Mrs. Gudgeon, although the ‘Times’ said: ‘In Mrs. Gudgeon, one +of his characters, the author has accomplished the feat of creating what +seems to be a new comic figure,’ and the ‘Saturday Review’ singled her +out as being the triumph of the book”. Could she really have been a real +character? Could there ever have existed in the London of the +mid-Victorian period a real flesh and blood costermonger so rich in +humour that her very name sheds a glow of laughter over every page in +which it appears? According to Mr. Hake, she was suggested by a real +woman, and this makes me almost lament my arrival in London too late to +make her acquaintance. “With regard to the most original character of +the story,” says Mr. Hake, “those who knew Clement’s Inn, where I myself +once resided, and Lincoln’s Inn Fields, will be able at once to identify +Mrs. Gudgeon, who lived in one of the streets running into Clare Market. +Her business was that of night coffee-stall keeper. At one time, I +believe—but I am not certain about this—she kept a stall on the Surrey +side of Waterloo Bridge, and it might have been there that, as I have +been told, her portrait was drawn for a specified number of early +breakfasts by an unfortunate artist who sank very low, but had real +ability. Her constant phrase was ‘I shall die o’-laughin’—I know I +shall!’ On account of her extraordinary gift of repartee, and her +inexhaustible fund of wit and humour, she was generally supposed to be an +Irishwoman. But she was not; she was cockney to the marrow. Recluse as +Rossetti was in his later years, he had at one time been very different, +and could bring himself in touch with the lower orders of London in a way +such as was only known to his most intimate friends. With all her +impudence, and I may say insolence, Mrs. Gudgeon was a great favourite +with the police, who were the constant butts of her chaff.” {383} But, +of course, this interesting costermonger could have only suggested our +unique Mrs. Gudgeon. + +She shows that it is possible to paint a low-class humourist as rich in +the new cosmic humour as any one of Dickens’s is rich in the old terrene +humour, and yet without one Dickensian touch. The difficulty of +achieving this feat is manifested every day, both in novels and on the +stage. Until Mrs. Gudgeon appeared I thought that Dickens had made it as +impossible for another writer to paint humourous pictures of low-class +London women as Swinburne has made it impossible for another poet to +write in anapæsts. But there is in all that Mrs. Gudgeon says or does a +profundity of humour so much deeper than the humour of Mrs. Gamp, that it +wins her a separate niche in our gallery of humourous women. The chief +cause of the delight which Mrs. Gudgeon gives me is that she illustrates +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s theory of absolute humour as distinguished from +relative humour—a theory which delighted me in those boyish days in +Ireland, to which I have already alluded. I have read his words on this +theme so often that I think I could repeat them as fluently as a nursery +rhyme. In their original form I remember that the word ‘caricature’ took +the place of the phrase ‘relative humour.’ I do not think there is +anything in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s writings so suggestive and so profound, +and to find in reading ‘Aylwin’ that they were suggested to him by a real +living character was exhilarating indeed. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s theory of humour is one of his most original +generalizations, and it is vitally related both to his theory of poetry +and to his generalization of generalizations, ‘The Renascence of Wonder.’ +I think Mrs. Gudgeon is a cockney Anacharsis in petticoats. The Scythian +philosopher, it will be remembered, when jesters were taken to him, could +not be made to smile, but afterwards, when a monkey was brought to him, +broke out into a fit of laughter and said, ‘Now this is laughable by +nature, the other by art.’ I will now quote the essay on absolute and +relative humour:— + + “Anarcharsis, who found the humour of Nature alone laughable, was the + absolute humourist as distinguished from the relative humourist, who + only finds food for laughter in the distortions of so-called + humourous art. The quality which I have called absolute humour is + popularly supposed to be the characteristic and special temper of the + English. The bustling, money grubbing, rank-worshipping British + slave of convention claims to be the absolute humourist! It is very + amusing. The temper of absolute humour, on the contrary, is the + temper of Hotei, the fat Japanese god of ‘contentment with things as + they be,’ who, when the children wake him up from his sleep in the + sunshine, and tickle and tease him, and climb over his ‘thick + rotundity of belly,’ good-naturedly bribes them to leave him in peace + by telling them fairy stories and preaching humourous homilies upon + the blessings of contentment, the richness of Nature’s largess, the + exceeding cheapness of good things, such as sunshine and sweet rains + and the beautiful white cherry blossoms on the mountain side. + Between this and relative humour how wide is the gulf! + + That an apprehension of incongruity is the basis of both relative and + absolute humour is no doubt true enough; but while in the case of + relative humour it is the incongruity of some departure from the + normal, in the case of absolute humour it is the sweet incongruity of + the normal itself. Relative humour laughs at the breach of the + accustomed laws of nature and the conventional laws of man, which + laws it accepts as final. Absolute humour (comparing them + unconsciously with some ideal standard of its own, or with that ideal + or noumenal or spiritual world behind the cosmic show) sees the + incongruity of those very laws themselves—laws which are the relative + humourist’s standard. Absolute humour, in a word, is based on + metaphysics—relative humour on experience. A child can become a + relative humourist by adding a line or two to the nose of Wellington, + or by reversing the nose of the Venus de Medici. The absolute + humourist has so long been saying to himself, ‘What a whimsical idea + is the human nose!’ that he smiles the smile of Anarcharsis at the + child’s laughter on seeing it turned upside down. So with convention + and its codes of etiquette—from the pompous harlequinade of + royalty—the ineffable gingerbread of an aristocracy of names without + office or culture, down to the Draconian laws of Philistia and + bourgeois respectability; whatever is a breach of the local laws of + the game of social life, whether the laws be those of a village + pothouse or of Mayfair; whether it displays an ignorance of matters + of familiar knowledge, these are the quarry of the relative + humourist. The absolute humourist, on the other hand, as we see in + the greatest masters of absolute humour, is so perpetually + overwhelmed with the irony of the entire game, cosmic and human, from + the droll little conventions of the village pothouse to those of + London, of Paris, of New York, of Pekin—up to the apparently + meaningless dance of the planets round the sun—up again to that + greater and more meaningless waltz of suns round the centre—he is so + delighted with the delicious foolishness of wisdom, the conceited + ignorance of knowledge, the grotesqueness even of the standard of + beauty itself; above all, with the whim of the absolute humourist + Nature, amusing herself, not merely with her monkeys, her flamingoes, + her penguins, her dromedaries, but with these more whimsical + creatures still—these ‘bipeds’ which, though ‘featherless’ are proved + to be not ‘plucked fowls’; these proud, high-thinking + organisms—stomachs with heads, arms, and legs as useful + appendages—these countless little ‘me’s,’ so all alike and yet so + unlike, each one feeling, knowing itself to be _the_ me, the only + true original me, round whom all other _me’s_ revolve—so overwhelmed + is the absolute humourist with the whim of all this—with the + incongruity, that is, of the normal itself—with the ‘almighty joke’ + of the Cosmos as it is—that he sees nothing ‘funny’ in departures + from laws which to him are in themselves the very quintessence of + fun. And he laughs the laugh of Rabelais and of Sterne; for he feels + that behind this rich incongruous show there must be a beneficent + Showman. He knows that although at the top of the constellation sits + Circumstance, Harlequin and King, bowelless and blind, shaking his + starry cap and bells, there sits far above even Harlequin himself + another Being greater than he—a Being who because he has given us the + delight of laughter must be good, and who in the end will somewhere + set all these incongruities right—who will, some day, show us the + meaning of that which now seems so meaningless. With Charles Lamb he + feels, in short, that humour ‘does not go out with life’; and in + answer to Elia’s question, ‘Can a ghost laugh?’ he says, ‘Assuredly, + if there be ghosts at all,’ for he is as unable as Soame Jenyns + himself to imagine that even the seraphim can be perfectly happy + without a perception of the ludicrous. + + If this, then, is the absolute humourist as distinguished from the + relative humourist, his type is not Dickens or Cruikshank, but + Anacharsis, or, better still, that old Greek who died of laughter + from seeing a donkey eat, and who, perhaps, is the only man who could + have told us what the superlative feeling of absolute humour really + is, though he died of a sharp and sudden recognition of the humour of + the bodily functions merely. And naturally what is such a perennial + source of amusement to the absolute humourist he gets to love. Mere + representation, therefore, is with him the be-all and the end-all of + art. Exaggeration offends him. Nothing to him is so rich as the + real. He pronounces Tennyson’s ‘Northern Farmer’ or the public-house + scene in ‘Silas Marner’ to be more humourous than the trial scene in + ‘Pickwick.’ Wilkie’s realism he finds more humourous than the + funniest cartoon in the funniest comic journal. And this mood is as + much opposed to satire as to relative humour. Of all moods the + rarest and the finest—requiring, indeed, such a ‘blessed mixing of + the juices’ as nature cannot every day achieve—it is the mood of each + one of those fatal ‘Paradis Artificiels,’ the seeking of which has + devastated the human race: the mood of Christopher Sly, of Villon; of + Walter Mapes in the following verse:— + + Meum est propositum in taberna mori, + Vinum sit appositum morientis ori, + Ut dicant cum venerint angelorum chori, + Deus sit propitius huic potatori.” + + Now it is because Mrs. Gudgeon is the very type of the absolute + humourist as defined in this magnificent fugue of prose, and the only + example of absolute humour which has appeared in prose fiction, that + she is to me a fount of esoteric and fastidious joy. If I were asked + what character in ‘Aylwin’ shows the most unmistakable genius, I + should reply, ‘Mrs. Gudgeon! and again, Mrs. Gudgeon!’” + + + + +Chapter XXV +GORGIOS AND ROMANIES + + +THE publication of ‘The Coming of Love’ in book form preceded that of +‘Aylwin’ by about a year, but it had been appearing piecemeal in the +‘Athenæum’ since 1882. + + “So far as regards Rhona Boswell’s story,” says Mr. Watts-Dunton, + “‘The Coming of Love’ is a sequel to ‘Aylwin.’ If the allusions to + Rhona’s lover, Percy Aylwin, in the prose story have been, in some + degree, misunderstood by some readers—if there is any danger of Henry + Aylwin, the hero of the novel, being confounded with Percy Aylwin, + the hero of this poem—it only shows how difficult it is for the poet + or the novelist (who must needs see his characters from the concave + side only) to realize that it is the convex side only which he can + present to his reader. + + The fact is that the motive of ‘Aylwin’—dealing only as it does with + that which is elemental and unchangeable in man—is of so entirely + poetic a nature that I began to write it in verse. After a while, + however, I found that a story of so many incidents and complications + as the one that was growing under my hand could only be told in + prose. This was before I had written any prose at all—yes, it is so + long ago as that. And when, afterwards, I began to write criticism, + I had (for certain reasons—important then, but of no importance now) + abandoned the idea of offering the novel to the outside public at + all. Among my friends it had been widely read, both in manuscript + and in type. + + But with regard to Romany women, Henry Aylwin’s feeling towards them + was the very opposite of Percy’s. When, in speaking of George Borrow + some years ago, I made the remark that between Englishmen of a + certain type and gypsy women there is an extraordinary physical + attraction—an attraction which did not exist between Borrow and the + gypsy women with whom he was brought into contact—I was thinking + specially of the character depicted here under the name of Percy + Aylwin. And I asked then the question—Supposing Borrow to have been + physically drawn with much power towards any woman, could she + possibly have been Romany? Would she not rather have been of the + Scandinavian type?—would she not have been what he used to call a + ‘Brynhild’? From many conversations with him on this subject, I + think she must necessarily have been a tall blonde of the type of + Isopel Berners—who, by-the-by, was much more a portrait of a splendid + East-Anglian road-girl than is generally imagined. And I think, + besides, that Borrow’s sympathy with the Anglo-Saxon type may account + for the fact that, notwithstanding his love of the free and easy + economies of life among the better class of Gryengroes, his gypsy + women are all what have been called ‘scenic characters.’ + + When he comes to delineate a heroine, she is the superb Isopel + Berners—that is to say, she is physically (and indeed mentally, too), + the very opposite of the Romany chi. It was here, as I happen to + know, that Borrow’s sympathies were with Henry Aylwin far more than + with Percy Aylwin. + + The type of the Romany chi, though very delightful to Henry Aylwin as + regards companionship, had no physical attractions for him, otherwise + the witchery of the girl here called Rhona Boswell, whom he knew as a + child long before Percy Aylwin knew her, must surely have eclipsed + such charms as Winifred Wynne or any other winsome ‘Gorgie’ could + possess. On the other hand, it would, I believe, have been + impossible for Percy Aylwin to be brought closely and long in contact + with a Romany girl like Sinfi Lovell and remain untouched by those + unique physical attractions of hers—attractions that made her + universally admired by the best judges of female beauty as being the + most splendid ‘face-model’ of her time, and as being in form the + grandest woman ever seen in the studios—attractions that upon Henry + Aylwin seem to have made almost no impression. + + There is no accounting for this, as there is no accounting for + anything connected with the mysterious witchery of sex. And again, + the strong inscrutable way in which some gypsy girls are drawn + towards a ‘Tarno Rye’ (as a young English gentleman is called), is + quite inexplicable. Some have thought—and Borrow was one of + them—that it may arise from that infirmity of the Romany Chal which + causes the girls to ‘take their own part’ without appealing to their + men-companions for aid—that lack of masculine chivalry among the men + of their own race. + + And now for a word or two upon a matter in connection with ‘Aylwin’ + and ‘The Coming of Love’ which interests me more deeply. Some of + those who have been specially attracted towards Sinfi Lovell have had + misgivings, I find, as to whether she is not an idealization, an + impossible Romany chi, and some of those who have been specially + attracted towards Rhona Boswell have had the same misgivings as to + her. + + One of the great racial specialities of the Romany is the superiority + of the women to the men. For it is not merely in intelligence, in + imagination, in command over language, in comparative breadth of view + regarding the Gorgio world that the Romany women (in Great Britain, + at least) leave the men far behind. In everything that goes to make + nobility of character this superiority is equally noticeable. To + imagine a gypsy hero is, I will confess, rather difficult. Not that + the average male gypsy is without a certain amount of courage, but it + soon gives way, and, in a conflict between a gypsy and an Englishman, + it always seems as though ages of oppression have damped the virility + of Romany stamina. + + Although some of our most notable prize-fighters have been gypsies, + it used to be well known, in times when the ring was fashionable, + that a gypsy could not always be relied upon to ‘take punishment’ + with the stolid indifference of an Englishman or a negro, partly, + perhaps, because his more highly-strung nervous system makes him more + sensitive to pain. + + The courage of a gypsy woman, on the other hand, has passed into a + proverb; nothing seems to daunt it. This superiority of the women to + the men extends to everything, unless, perhaps, we except that gift + of music for which the gypsies as a race are noticeable. With regard + to music, however, even in Eastern Europe (Russia alone excepted), + where gypsy music is so universal that, according to some writers, + every Hungarian musician is of Romany extraction, it is the men, and + not, in general, the women, who excel. Those, however, who knew + Sinfi Lovell may think with me that this state of things may simply + be the result of opportunity and training.” + + + + +Chapter XXVI +‘THE COMING OF LOVE’ + + +IN my article on Mr. Watts-Dunton in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia of English +Literature’ I devoted most of my space to ‘The Coming of Love.’ I put +the two great romantic poems ‘The Coming of Love’ and ‘Christmas at the +“Mermaid”’ far above everything he has done. I think I see both in the +conception and in the execution of these poems the promise of +immortality—if immortality can be predicted of any poems of our time. In +reading them one remembers in a flash Mr. Watts-Dunton’s own noble words +about the poetic impulse:— + + “In order to produce poetry the soul must for the time being have + reached that state of exaltation, that state of freedom from + self-consciousness, depicted in the lines— + + I started once, or seemed to start, in pain + Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak, + As when a great thought strikes along the brain + And flushes all the cheek. + + Whatsoever may be the poet’s ‘knowledge of his art,’ into this mood + he must always pass before he can write a truly poetic line. For, + notwithstanding all that we have said and are going to say upon + poetry as a fine art, it is in the deepest sense of the word an + ‘inspiration’ indeed. No man can write a line of genuine poetry + without having been ‘born again’ (or, as the true rendering of the + text says, ‘born from above’); and then the mastery over those + highest reaches of form which are beyond the ken of the mere + versifier comes to him as a result of the change. Hence, with all + Mrs. Browning’s metrical blemishes, the splendour of her metrical + triumphs at her best. + + For what is the deep distinction between poet and proseman? A writer + may be many things besides a poet; he may be a warrior like Æschylus, + a man of business like Shakespeare, a courtier like Chaucer, or a + cosmopolitan philosopher like Goethe; but the moment the poetic mood + is upon him all the trappings of the world with which for years he + may perhaps have been clothing his soul—the world’s knowingness, its + cynicism, its self-seeking, its ambition—fall away, and the man + becomes an inspired child again, with ears attuned to nothing but the + whispers of those spirits from the Golden Age, who, according to + Hesiod, haunt and bless the degenerate earth. What such a man + produces may greatly delight and astonish his readers, yet not so + greatly as it delights and astonishes himself. His passages of + pathos draw no tears so deep or so sweet as those that fall from his + own eyes while he writes; his sublime passages overawe no soul so + imperiously as his own; his humour draws no laughter so rich or so + deep as that stirred within his own breast. + + It might almost be said, indeed, that Sincerity and Conscience, the + two angels that bring to the poet the wonders of the poetic dream, + bring him also the deepest, truest delight of form. It might almost + be said that by aid of sincerity and conscience the poet is enabled + to see more clearly than other men the eternal limits of his own + art—to see with Sophocles that nothing, not even poetry itself, is of + any worth to man, invested as he is by the whole army of evil, unless + it is in the deepest and highest sense good, unless it comes linking + us all together by closer bonds of sympathy and pity, strengthening + us to fight the foes with whom fate and even nature, the mother who + bore us, sometimes seem in league—to see with Milton that the high + quality of man’s soul which in English is expressed by the word + virtue is greater than even the great poem he prized, greater than + all the rhythms of all the tongues that have been spoken since + Babel—and to see with Shakespeare and with Shelley that the high + passion which in England is called love is lovelier than all art, + lovelier than all the marble Mercuries that ‘await the chisel of the + sculptor’ in all the marble hills.” + +The reason why the criticism of the hour does not always give Mr. +Watts-Dunton the place accorded to him by his great contemporaries is not +any lack of generosity: it arises from the unprecedented, not to say +eccentric, way in which his poetry has reached the public. In this +respect alone, apart from its great originality, ‘The Coming of Love’ is +a curiosity of literature. I know nothing in the least like the history +of this poem. It was written, circulated in manuscript among the very +elite of English letters, and indeed partly published in the ‘Athenæum,’ +very nearly a quarter of a century ago. I have before alluded to Mrs. +Chandler Moulton’s introduction to Philip Bourke Marston’s poems, where +she says that it was Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry which won for him the +friendship of Tennyson, Rossetti, Morris, and Swinburne. Yet for lustre +after lustre it was persistently withheld from the public; cenacle after +poetic cenacle rose, prospered and faded away, and still this poet, who +was talked of by all the poets and called ‘the friend of all the poets,’ +kept his work back until he had passed middle age. Then, at last, owing +I believe to the energetic efforts of Mr. John Lane, who had been urging +the matter for something like five years, he launched a volume which +seized upon the public taste and won a very great success so far as sales +go. It is now in its sixth edition. There can be no doubt whatever that +if the book had appeared, as it ought to have appeared, at the time it +was written, critics would have classed the poet among his compeers and +he would have come down to the present generation, as Swinburne has come +down, as a classic. But, as I have said, it is not in the least +surprising that, notwithstanding Rossetti’s intense admiration of the +poem, notwithstanding the fact that Morris intended to print it at the +Kelmscott Press, and notwithstanding the fact that Swinburne, in +dedicating the collected edition of his works to Mr. Watts-Dunton, +addresses him as a poet of the greatest authority—it is only the true +critics who see in the right perspective a poet who has so perversely +neglected his chances. If his time of recognition has not yet fully +come, this generation is not to blame. The poet can blame only himself, +although to judge by Rossetti’s words, and by the following lines from +Dr. Hake’s ‘New Day,’ he is indifferent to that:— + + You tell me life is all too rich and brief, + Too various, too delectable a game, + To give to art, entirely or in chief; + And love of Nature quells the thirst for fame. + +The ‘parable poet’ then goes on to give voice to the opinion, not only of +himself, but of most of the great poets of the mid-Victorian epoch:— + + You who in youth the cone-paved forest sought, + Musing until the pines to musing fell; + You who by river-path the witchery caught + Of waters moving under stress of spell; + You who the seas of metaphysics crossed, + And yet returned to art’s consoling haven— + Returned from whence so many souls are lost, + With wisdom’s seal upon your forehead graven— + Well may you now abandon learning’s seat, + And work the ore all seek, not many find; + No sign-post need you to direct your feet, + You draw no riches from another’s mind. + Hail Nature’s coming; bygone be the past; + Hail her New Day; it breaks for man at last. + + Fulfil the new-born dream of Poesy! + Give her your life in full, she turns from less— + Your life in full—like those who did not die, + Though death holds all they sang in dark duress. + You, knowing Nature to the throbbing core, + You can her wordless prophecies rehearse. + The murmers others heard her heart outpour + Swell to an anthem in your richer verse. + If wider vision brings a wider scope + For art, and depths profounder for emotion, + Yours be the song whose master-tones shall ope + A new poetic heaven o’er earth and ocean. + The New Day comes apace; its virgin fame + Be yours, to fan the fiery soul to flame. + +Indeed, he has often said to me: ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men, +and I did not throw myself upon my little tide until it was too late, and +I am not going to repine now.’ For my part, I have been a student of +English poetry all my life—it is my chief subject of study—and I predict +that when poetic imagination is again perceived to be the supreme poetic +gift, Mr. Watts-Dunton’s genius will be acclaimed. In respect of +imaginative power, apart from the other poetic qualities—‘the power of +seeing a dramatic situation and flashing it upon the physical senses of +the listener,’ none of his contemporaries have surpassed him. + +I have said in print more than once that I, a Celt myself, can see more +Celtic glamour in his poetry than in many of the Celtic poets of our +time. And, if we are to judge by the vogue of ‘The Coming of Love’ and +‘Aylwin’ in Wales, the Welsh people seem to see it very clearly. Take, +for instance, the sonnet called ‘The Mirrored Stars’ again, given on page +29. It is impossible for Celtic glamour to go further than this; and yet +it is rarely noted by critics in discussing the Celtic note in poetry. + +In order fully to understand ‘The Coming of Love’ it is necessary to bear +in mind a distinction between the two kinds of poetry upon which Mr. +Watts-Dunton has often dwelt. “There are,” he tells us, “but two kinds +of poetry, but two kinds of art—that which interprets, and that which +represents. ‘Poetry is apparent pictures of unapparent realities,’ says +the Eastern mind through Zoroaster; ‘the highest, the only operation of +art is representation (Gestaltung),’ says the Western mind through +Goethe. Both are right.” Madame Galimberti has called Mr. Watts-Dunton +‘the poet of the sunrise’: There are richer descriptions of sunrise in +‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ than in any other writer I know. “Few +poets,” Mr. Watts-Dunton says, “have been successful in painting a +sunrise, for the simple reason that, save through the bed-curtains, they +do not often see one. They think that all they have to do is to paint a +sunset, which they sometimes do see, and call it a sunrise. They are +entirely mistaken, however; the two phenomena are both like and unlike. +Between the cloud-pageantry of sunrise and of sunset the difference to +the student of Nature is as apparent as is the difference to the poet +between the various forms of his art.” + +‘The Coming of Love’ shows that independence of contemporary vogues and +influences which characterizes all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work, whether in +verse or prose, whether in romance or criticism, or in that analysis and +exposition of the natural history of minds about which Sainte Beuve +speaks. It was as a poet that his energies were first exercised, but +this for a long time was known only to his poetical friends. His +criticism came many years afterwards, and, as Rossetti used to say, ‘his +critical work consists of generalizations of his own experience in the +poet’s workshop.’ For many years he was known only in his capacity as a +critic. James Russell Lowell is reported to have said: ‘Our ablest +critics hitherto have been 18-carat; Theodore Watts goes nearer the pure +article.’ Mr. William Sharp, in his study of Rossetti, says: ‘In every +sense of the word the friendship thus begun resulted in the greatest +benefit to the elder writer, the latter having greater faith in Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s literary judgment than seems characteristic with so +dominant and individual an intellect as that of Rossetti. Although the +latter knew well the sonnet-literature of Italy and England, and was a +much-practised master of the heart’s key himself, I have heard him on +many occasions refer to Theodore Watts as having still more thorough +knowledge on the subject, and as being the most original sonnet-writer +living.’ + +‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ are vitally connected with the poet’s +peculiar critical message. Henry Aylwin and Percy Aylwin may be regarded +as the embodiment of his philosophy of life. The very popularity of +‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ is apt to make readers forget the +profundity of the philosophical thought upon which they are based, +although this profundity has been indicated by such competent critics as +Dr. Robertson Nicoll in the ‘Contemporary Review,’ M. Maurice Muret in +the ‘Journal des Débats,’ and other thoughtful writers. Upon the inner +meaning of the romance and the poem I have, however, ideas of my own to +express, which are not in full accordance with any previous criticisms. +To me it seems that the two cousins, Henry Aylwin of the romance, and +Percy Aylwin of the poem, are phases of a modern Hamlet, a Hamlet who has +travelled past the pathetic superstitions of the old cosmogonies to the +last milestone of doubting hope and questioning fear, a Hamlet who stands +at the portals of the outer darkness, gazing with eyes made wistful by +the loss of a beloved woman. In both the romance and the poem the theme +is love at war with death. Mr. Watts-Dunton, in his preface to the +illustrated edition of ‘Aylwin’ says:— + + “It is a story written as a comment on Love’s warfare with + death—written to show that, confronted as man is every moment by + signs of the fragility and brevity of human life, the great marvel + connected with him is not that his thoughts dwell frequently upon the + unknown country beyond Orion, where the beloved dead are loving us + still, but that he can find time and patience to think upon anything + else: a story written further to show how terribly despair becomes + intensified when a man has lost—or thinks he has lost—a woman whose + love was the only light of his world—when his soul is torn from his + body, as it were, and whisked off on the wings of the ‘viewless + winds’ right away beyond the farthest star, till the universe hangs + beneath his feet a trembling point of twinkling light, and at last + even this dies away and his soul cries out for help in that utter + darkness and loneliness. It was to depict this phase of human + emotion that both ‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ were written. + They were missives from the lonely watch-tower of the writer’s soul, + sent out into the strange and busy battle of the world—sent out to + find, if possible, another soul or two to whom the watcher was, + without knowing it, akin. In ‘Aylwin’ the problem is symbolized by + the victory of love over sinister circumstance, whereas in the poem + it is symbolized by a mystical dream of ‘Natura Benigna.’ + +In ‘The Coming of Love’ Percy Aylwin is a poet and a sailor, with such an +absorbing love for the sea that he has no room for any other passion; to +him an imprisoned seabird is a sufferer almost more pitiable than any +imprisoned man, as will be seen by the opening section of the poem, +‘Mother Carey’s Chicken.’ On seeing a storm-petrel in a cage on a +cottage wall near Gypsy Dell, he takes down the cage in order to release +the bird; then, carrying the bird in the cage, he turns to cross a rustic +wooden bridge leading past Gypsy Dell, when he suddenly comes upon a +landsman friend of his, a Romany Rye, who is just parting from a young +gypsy-girl. Gazing at her beauty, Percy stands dazzled and forgets the +petrel. It is symbolical of the inner meaning of the story that the bird +now flies away through the half-open door. From that moment, through the +magic of love, the land to Percy is richer than the sea: this ends the +first phase of the story. The first kiss between the two lovers is thus +described:— + + If only in dreams may Man be fully blest, + Is heaven a dream? Is she I claspt a dream? + Or stood she here even now where dew-drops gleam + And miles of furze shine yellow down the West? + I seem to clasp her still—still on my breast + Her bosom beats: I see the bright eyes beam. + I think she kissed these lips, for now they seem + Scarce mine: so hallowed of the lips they pressed. + Yon thicket’s breath—can that be eglantine? + Those birds—can they be Morning’s choristers? + Can this be Earth? Can these be banks of furze? + Like burning bushes fired of God they shine! + I seem to know them, though this body of mine + Passed into spirit at the touch of hers! + +Percy stays with the gypsies, and the gypsy-girl, Rhona, teaches him +Romany. This arouses the jealousy of a gypsy rival—Herne the ‘Scollard.’ +Percy Aylwin’s family afterwards succeeds in separating him from her, and +he is again sent to sea. While cruising among the coral islands he +receives the letter from Rhona which paints her character with unequalled +vividness:— + + RHONA’S LETTER + + On Christmas Eve I seed in dreams + the day + When Herne the Scollard come and + said to me, + He s off, that rye o yourn, gone gentleman + clean away + Till swallow-time; hes left this + letter: see. + In dreams I heerd the bee and + grasshopper, + Like on that mornin, buz in Rington + Hollow, + Shell live till swallow-time and die + then shell mer, + For never will a rye come back to gentleman + her +Wot leaves her till the comin o the +swallow. + +All night I heerd them bees and grasshoppers; + +All night I smelt the breath o grass and may, + +Mixed sweet wi’ smells o honey from the furze + +Like on that mornin when you went away; + +All night I heerd in dreams my daddy laugh +sal, +Sayin, De blessed chi ud give de chollo girl-whole +O Bozzles breed—tans, vardey, greis, and tents: waggons: horses +all— +To see dat tarno rye o hern palall back +Wots left her till the comin o the +swallow. + +I woke and went a-walkin on the ice +All white with snow-dust, just like salt +sparklin loon, +And soon beneath the stars I heerd a +vice, +A vice I knowed and often, often shoon; hear +An then I seed a shape as thin as tuv; smoke +I knowed it wur my blessed mammy s spirit +mollo. {403a} +Rhona, she sez, that tarno rye you love, +He s thinkin on you; don t you go and weep +rove; +You ll see him at the comin o the +swallow. + +Sez she, For you it seemed to kill the +grass +When he wur gone, and freeze the songs +brooklets gillies; +There wornt no smell, dear, in the hay +sweetest cas, +And when the summer brought the +water-lilies, +And when the sweet winds waved the wheat +golden giv, +The skies above em seemed as bleak and black +kollo {403b} +As now, when all the world seems frozen snow +yiv. +The months are long, but mammy says you +ll live +By thinkin o the comin o the swallow. + +She sez, The whinchat soon wi silver +throat +Will meet the stonechat in the buddin +whin, +And soon the blackcaps airliest gillie song +ull float +From light-green boughs through leaves +a-peepin thin; +The wheat-ear soon ull bring the +willow-wren, +And then the fust fond nightingale ull +follow, +A-callin Come, dear, to his laggin hen +Still out at sea, the spring is in our +glen; +Come, darlin, wi the comin o the +swallow. + +And she wur gone! And then I read the +words +In mornin twilight wot you rote to me; +They made the Christmas sing with summer +birds, +And spring-leaves shine on every frozen +tree; +And when the dawnin kindled Rington +spire, +And curdlin winter-clouds burnt gold and red +lollo +Round the dear sun, wot seemed a yolk o +fire, +Another night, I sez, has brought him +nigher; +He s comin wi the comin o the swallow. + +And soon the bull-pups found me on the +Pool— +You know the way they barks to see me +slide— +But when the skatin bors o Rington scool +Comed on, it turned my head to see em +glide. +I seemed to see you twirlin on your +skates, +And somethin made me clap my hans and +hollo; +It s him, I sez, achinnin o them 8s. cutting +But when I woke-like—Im the gal wot +waits +Alone, I sez, the comin o the swallow. + +Comin seemed ringin in the +Christmas-chime; +Comin seemed rit on everything I seed, +In beads o frost along the nets o rime, +Sparklin on every frozen rush and reed; +And when the pups began to bark and +play, +And frisk and scrabble and bite my frock +and wallow +Among the snow and fling it up like +spray, +I says to them, You know who rote to say +He s comin wi the comin o the swallow. + +The thought on t makes the snow-drifts o +December +Shine gold, I sez, like daffodils o +spring +Wot wait beneath: hes comin, pups, +remember; +If not—for me no singin birds ull sing: +No choring chiriklo ull hold the gale cuckoo +Wi Cuckoo, cuckoo, {404} over hill and +hollow: +Therell be no crakin o the meadow-rail, +Therell be no Jug-jug o the nightingale, +For her wot waits the comin o the +swallow. + +Come back, minaw, and you may kiss your mine own +han +To that fine rawni rowin on the river; lady +I ll never call that lady a chovihan witch +Nor yit a mumply gorgie—I’ll forgive miserable Gentile +her. +Come back, minaw: I wur to be your wife. +Come back—or, say the word, and I will +follow +Your footfalls round the world: Ill +leave this life +(Ive flung away a-ready that ere knife)— +I m dyin for the comin o the swallow. + +Percy returns to England and reaches Gypsy Dell at the very moment when +‘the Schollard,’ maddened by the discovery that Rhona is to meet Percy +that night, has drawn his knife upon the girl under the starlight by the +river-bank. Percy on one side of the river witnesses the death-struggle +on the other side without being able to go to Rhona’s assistance. But +the girl hurls her antagonist into the water, and he is drowned. There +are other witnesses—the stars, whose reflected light, according to a +gypsy superstition, writes in the water, just above where the drowned man +sank, mysterious runes, telling the story of the deed. For a Romany +woman who marries a Gorgio the penalty is death. Nevertheless, Rhona +marries Percy. I will quote the sonnets describing Rhona as she wakes in +the tent at dawn:— + + The young light peeps through yonder trembling chink + The tent’s mouth makes in answer to a breeze; + The rooks outside are stirring in the trees + Through which I see the deepening bars of pink. + I hear the earliest anvil’s tingling clink + From Jasper’s forge; the cattle on the leas + Begin to low. She’s waking by degrees: + Sleep’s rosy fetters melt, but link by link. + What dream is hers? Her eyelids shake with tears; + The fond eyes open now like flowers in dew: + She sobs I know not what of passionate fears: + “You’ll never leave me now? There is but you; + I dreamt a voice was whispering in my ears, + ‘The Dukkeripen o’ stars comes ever true.’” + + She rises, startled by a wandering bee + Buzzing around her brow to greet the girl: + She draws the tent wide open with a swirl, + And, as she stands to breathe the fragrancy + Beneath the branches of the hawthorn tree— + Whose dews fall on her head like beads of pearl, + Or drops of sunshine firing tress and curl— + The Spirit of the Sunrise speaks to me, + And says, ‘This bride of yours, I know her well, + And so do all the birds in all the bowers + Who mix their music with the breath of flowers + When greetings rise from river, heath and dell. + See, on the curtain of the morning haze + The Future’s finger writes of happy days.’ + +Rhona, half-hidden by ‘the branches of the hawthorn tree,’ stretches up +to kiss the white and green May buds overhanging the bridal tent, while +Percy Aylwin stands at the tent’s mouth and looks at her:— + + Can this be she, who, on that fateful day + When Romany knives leapt out at me like stings + Hurled back the men, who shrank like stricken things + From Rhona’s eyes, whose lightnings seemed to slay? + Can this be she, half-hidden in the may, + Kissing the buds for ‘luck o’ love’ it brings, + While from the dingle grass the skylark springs + And merle and mavis answer finch and jay? + + [He goes up to the hawthorn, pulls the branches + apart, and clasps her in his arms. + + Can she here, covering with her childish kisses + These pearly buds—can she so soft, so tender, + So shaped for clasping—dowered of all love-blisses— + Be my fierce girl whose love for me would send her, + An angel storming hell, through death’s abysses, + Where never a sight could fright or power could bend her? + +But Rhona is haunted by forebodings, and one night when the lovers are on +the river she reads the scripture of the stars. I must give here the +sonnet quoted on page 29:— + + The mirrored stars lit all the bulrush-spears, + And all the flags and broad-leaved lily-isles; + The ripples shook the stars to golden smiles, + Then smoothed them back to happy golden spheres. + We rowed—we sang; her voice seemed in mine ears + An angel’s, yet with woman’s dearer wiles; + But shadows fell from gathering cloudy piles + And ripples shook the stars to fiery tears. + + What shaped those shadows like another boat + Where Rhona sat and he Love made a liar? + There, where the Scollard sank, I saw it float, + While ripples shook the stars to symbols dire; + We wept—we kissed—while starry fingers wrote, + And ripples shook the stars to a snake of fire. + +The most tragically dramatic scene in the poem is that in which Percy +confronts the cosmic mystery, defying its menace. The stars write in the +river:— + + Falsehold can never shield her: Truth is strong. + +Percy reads the rune and answers:— + + I read your rune: is there no pity, then, + In Heav’n that wove this net of life for men? + Have only Hell and Falsehood heart for ruth? + Show me, ye mirrored stars, this tyrant Truth— + King that can do no wrong! + Ah! Night seems opening! There, above the skies, + Who sits upon that central sun for throne + Round which a golden sand of worlds is strown, + Stretching right onward to an endless ocean, + Far, far away, of living, dazzling motion? + Hearken, King Truth, with pictures in thine eyes + Mirrored from gates beyond the furthest portal + Of infinite light, ’tis Love that stands immortal, + The King of Kings. + +The gypsies read the starry rune, and, discovering Rhona’s secret, +secretly slay her. Percy, having returned to Gypsy Dell, vainly tries to +find her grave. Then he flies from the dingle, lest the memory of Rhona +should drive him mad, and lives alone in the Alps, where he passes into +the strange ecstasy, described in the sonnet called ‘Natura Maligna,’ +which has been much discussed by the critics:— + + The Lady of the Hills with crimes untold + Followed my feet with azure eyes of prey; + By glacier-brink she stood—by cataract-spray— + When mists were dire, or avalanche-echoes rolled. + At night she glimmered in the death-wind cold, + And if a footprint shone at break of day, + My flesh would quail, but straight my soul would say: + ‘’Tis hers whose hand God’s mightier hand doth hold.’ + I trod her snow-bridge, for the moon was bright, + Her icicle-arch across the sheer crevasse, + When lo, she stood! . . . God made her let me pass, + Then felled the bridge! . . . Oh, there in sallow light, + There down the chasm, I saw her cruel, white, + And all my wondrous days as in a glass. + +This awful vision, quick with supernatural seership, is unique in poetry. +Sir George Birdwood, the orientalist, wrote in the ‘Athenæum’ of February +5, 1881: “Even in its very epithets it is just such a hymn as a Hindu +Puritan (Saivite) would address to Kali (‘the malignant’) or Parvati +(‘the mountaineer’). It is to be delivered from her that Hindus shriek +to God in the delirium of their fear.” + +Then we are shown Percy standing at midnight in front of his hut, while +New Year’s morning is breaking:— + + Through Fate’s mysterious warp another weft + Of days is cast; and see! Time’s star-built throne, + From which he greets a new-born year, is shown + Between yon curtains where the clouds are cleft! + Old Year, while here I stand, with heart bereft + Of all that was its music—stand alone, + Remembering happy hours for ever flown, + Impatient of the leaden minutes left— + + The plaudits of mankind that once gave pleasure, + The chidings of mankind that once gave pain, + Seem in this hermit hut beyond all measure + Barren and foolish, and I cry, ‘No grain, + No grain, but winnowings in the harvest sieve!’ + And yet I cannot join the dead—and live. + + Old Year, what bells are ringing in the New + In England, heedless of the knells they ring + To you and those whose sorrow makes you cling + Each to the other ere you say adieu!— + I seem to hear their chimes—the chimes we knew + In those dear days when Rhona used to sing, + Greeting a New Year’s Day as bright of wing + As this whose pinions soon will rise to view. + + If these dream-bells which come and mock mine ears + Could bring the past and make it live again, + Yea, live with every hour of grief and pain, + And hopes deferred and all the grievous fears— + And with the past bring her I weep in vain— + Then would I bless them, though I blessed in tears. + + [The clouds move away and show the + stars in dazzling brightness. + + Those stars! they set my rebel-pulses beating + Against the tyrant Sorrow, him who drove + My footsteps from the Dell and haunted Grove— + They bring the mighty Mother’s new-year greeting: + ‘All save great Nature is a vision fleeting’— + So says the scripture of those orbs above. + ‘All, all,’ I cry, ‘except man’s dower of love!— + Love is no child of Nature’s mystic cheating!’ + + And yet it comes again, the old desire + To read what yonder constellations write + On river and ocean—secrets of the night— + To feel again the spirit’s wondering fire + Which, ere this passion came, absorbed me quite, + To catch the master-note of Nature’s lyre. + + New Year, the stars do not forget the Old! + And yet they say to me, most sorely stung + By Fate and Death, ‘Nature is ever young, + Clad in new riches, as each morning’s gold + Blooms o’er a blasted land: be thou consoled: + The Past was great, his harp was greatly strung; + The Past was great, his songs were greatly sung; + The Past was great, his tales were greatly told; + + The Past has given to man a wondrous world, + But curtains of old Night were being upcurled + Whilst thou wast mourning Rhona; things sublime + In worlds of worlds were breaking on the sight + Of Youth’s fresh runners in the lists of Time. + Arise, and drink the wine of Nature’s light!’ + +Finally, a dream prepares the sorrowing lover for the true reading of +‘The Promise of the Sunrise’ and the revelation of ‘Natura Benigna’:— + + Beneath the loveliest dream there coils a fear: + Last night came she whose eyes are memories now; + Her far-off gaze seemed all forgetful how + Love dimmed them once, so calm they shone and clear. + ‘Sorrow,’ I said, ‘has made me old, my dear; + ’Tis I, indeed, but grief can change the brow: + Beneath my load a seraph’s neck might bow, + Vigils like mine would blanch an angel’s hair.’ + Oh, then I saw, I saw the sweet lips move! + I saw the love-mists thickening in her eyes— + I heard a sound as if a murmuring dove + Felt lonely in the dells of Paradise; + But when upon my neck she fell, my love, + Her hair smelt sweet of whin and woodland spice. + +And now ‘Natura Benigna’ reveals to him her mystic consolation:— + + What power is this? What witchery wins my feet + To peaks so sheer they scorn the cloaking snow, + All silent as the emerald gulfs below, + Down whose ice-walls the wings of twilight beat? + What thrill of earth and heaven—most wild, most sweet— + What answering pulse that all the senses know, + Comes leaping from the ruddy eastern glow + Where, far away, the skies and mountains meet? + Mother, ’tis I, reborn: I know thee well: + That throb I know and all it prophesies, + O Mother and Queen, beneath the olden spell + Of silence, gazing from thy hills and skies! + Dumb Mother, struggling with the years to tell + The secret at thy heart through helpless eyes. + +This is not the pathetic fallacy. It is the poetic interpretation of the +latest discovery of science, to wit, that dead matter is alive, and that +the universe is an infinite stammering and whispering, that may be heard +only by the poet’s finer ear. + +The extracts I have given are sufficient to show the originality of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s poetry, both in subject and in form. The originality of +any poet is seen, not in fantastic metrical experiments, but rather in +new and original treatment of the metres natural to the genius of the +language. In ‘The Coming of Love’ the poet has invented a new poetic +form. Its object is to combine the advantages and to avoid the +disadvantages of lyrical narrative, of poetic drama, of the prose novel, +and of the prose play. In Tennyson’s ‘Maud’ and in Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +other lyrical drama, “Christmas at the ‘Mermaid,’” the special functions +of all the above mentioned forms are knit together in a new form. The +story is told by brief pictures. In ‘The Coming of Love’ this method +reaches its perfection. Lyrics, songs, elegaic quatrains, and sonnets, +are used according to an inner law of the poet’s mind. The exaltation of +these moments is intensified by the business parts of the narrative being +summarized in bare prose. The interplay of thought, mood, and passion is +revealed wholly by swift lyrical visions. In Dante’s ‘Vita Nuova’ a +method something like this is adopted, but there the links are in a kind +of poetical prose akin to the verse, and as Dante’s poems are all +sonnets, there is no harmonic scheme of metrical music like that in ‘The +Coming of Love.’ Here the very ‘rhyme-colour’ and the subtle variety of +vowel sounds from beginning to end are evidently part of the metrical +composition. Wagner’s music is the only modern art-form which is +comparable with the metrical architecture of ‘The Coming of Love,’ and +“Christmas at the ‘Mermaid.’” No one can fully understand the rhythmic +triumph of these great poems who has not studied it by the light of Mr. +Watts-Dunton’s theory of elaborate rhythmic effects in music formulated +in his treatise on Poetry in the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’—a theory which +shows that metrical and rhythmical art, as compared with the art of +music, is still developing. Both these lyrical dramas ought to be +carefully studied by all students of English metres. + +The novelty of these forms is not a fortuitous eccentricity, but an +extremely valuable experiment in a new kind of dramatic poetry. It is +remarkable that in this new and difficult form the poet has achieved in +Rhona Boswell a feat of characterization quite without parallel under +such conditions. Rhona is so vivid that it is hardly fair to hang her +portrait on the same wall as those of the ordinary heroines of poetry. +But if, for the sake of comparison, Rhona be set beside Tennyson’s Maud, +the difference is startling. Maud does not tingle with personality. She +is a type, an abstraction, a common denominator of ‘creamy English +girls.’ Rhona, on the other hand, is nervously alive with personality. +One makes pictures of her in one’s brain—pictures that never become +blurred, pictures that do not run into other pictures of other poetic +heroines. How much of this is due to the poetic form? Could Rhona have +lived so intensely in a novel or a play? I do not think so. At any +rate, she lives with incomparable vitality in this lyrical drama-novel, +and therefore the poetic vehicle in which she rushes upon our vision is +well worth the study of critics and craftsmen. Mr. Kernahan has called +attention to the baldness of the enlinking prose narrative. Perhaps this +defect could be remedied by using a more poetic and more romantic prose +like that of the opening of ‘Aylwin,’ which would lead the imagination +insensibly from one situation or mood to another. + +In connection with the opening sonnets of ‘The Coming of Love,’ a very +interesting point of criticism presents itself. These sonnets, in which +Mr. Watts-Dunton tells the story of the girl who lived in the Casket +lighthouse, appeared in the ‘Athenæum’ a week after Mr. Swinburne and he +returned from a visit to the Channel Islands. They record a real +incident. Some time afterwards Mr. Swinburne published in the ‘English +Illustrated Magazine’ his version of the story, a splendid specimen of +his sonorous rhythms. + +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s version of the story may interest the reader:— + + LOVE BRINGS WARNING OF NATURA MALIGNA + (THE POET SAILING WITH A FRIEND PAST THE CASKET LIGHTHOUSE) + + Amid the Channel’s wiles and deep decoys, + Where yonder Beacons watch the siren-sea, + A girl was reared who knew nor flower nor tree + Nor breath of grass at dawn, yet had high joys: + The moving lawns whose verdure never cloys + Were hers. At last she sailed to Alderney, + But there she pined. ‘The bustling world,’ said she, + ‘Is all too full of trouble, full of noise.’ + The storm-child, fainting for her home, the storm, + Had winds for sponsor—one proud rock for nurse, + Whose granite arms, through countless years, disperse + All billowy squadrons tide and wind can form: + The cold bright sea was hers for universe + Till o’er the waves Love flew and fanned them warm. + + But love brings Fear with eyes of augury:— + Her lover’s boat was out; her ears were dinned + With sea-sobs warning of the awakened wind + That shook the troubled sun’s red canopy. + Even while she prayed the storm’s high revelry + Woke petrel, gull—all revellers winged and finned— + And clutched a sail brown-patched and weather-thinned, + And then a swimmer fought a white, wild sea. + ‘My songs are louder, child, than prayers of thine,’ + The Mother sang. ‘Thy sea-boy waged no strife + With Hatred’s poison, gangrened Envy’s knife— + With me he strove, in deadly sport divine, + Who lend to men, to gods, an hour of life, + Then give them sleep within these arms of mine!’ + +Two poems more absolutely unlike could not be found in our literature +than these poems on the same subject by two intimate friends. It seems +impossible that the two writers could ever have read each other’s work or +ever have known each other well. The point which I wish to emphasize is +that two poets or two literary men may be more intimate than brothers, +they may live with each other constantly, they may meet each other every +day, at luncheon, at dinner, they may spend a large portion of the +evening in each other’s society; and yet when they sit down at their +desks they may be as far asunder as the poles. From this we may perhaps +infer that among the many imaginable divisions of writers there is this +one: there are men who can collaborate and men who cannot. + +Many well-known writers have expressed their admiration of this poem. I +may mention that the other day I came across a little book called +‘Authors that have Influenced me,’ and found that Mr. Rider Haggard +instanced the opening section of ‘The Coming of Love,’ ‘Mother Carey’s +Chicken,’ as being the piece of writing that had influenced him more than +all others. I think this is a compliment, for the originality of +invention displayed in ‘King Solomon’s Mines’ and ‘She’ sets Rider +Haggard apart among the story-tellers of our time, and I agree with Mr. +Andrew Lang in thinking that the invention of a story that is new and +also good is a rare achievement. + +I can find no space to give as much attention as I should like to give to +Mr. Watts-Dunton’s miscellaneous sonnets. Some of them have had a great +vogue: for instance, ‘John the Pilgrim.’ Like all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +sonnets, it lends itself to illustration, and Mr. Arthur Hacker, A.R.A., +as will be seen, has done full justice to the imaginative strength of the +subject. It is no exaggeration to say that there is a simple grandeur in +this design which Mr. Hacker has seldom reached elsewhere, the sinister +power of Natura Benigna being symbolized by the desert waste and nature’s +mockery by the mirage:— + + Beneath the sand-storm John the Pilgrim prays; + But when he rises, lo! an Eden smiles, + Green leafy slopes, meadows of chamomiles, + Claspt in a silvery river’s winding maze: + ‘Water, water! Blessed be God!’ he says, + And totters gasping toward those happy isles. + Then all is fled! Over the sandy piles + The bald-eyed vultures come and stand at gaze. + + ‘God heard me not,’ says he, ‘blessed be God!’ + And dies. But as he nears the pearly strand, + Heav’n’s outer coast where waiting angels stand, + He looks below: ‘Farewell, thou hooded clod, + Brown corpse the vultures tear on bloody sand: + God heard my prayer for life—blessed be God!’ + + [Picture: ‘John the Pilgrim.’ (By Arthur Hacker, A.R.A.)] + +This sonnet is a miracle of verbal parsimony: it has been called an epic +in fourteen lines, yet its brevity does not make it obscure, or gnarled, +or affected; and the motive adumbrates the whole history of religious +faith from Job to Jesus Christ, from Moses to Mahomet. The rhymes in +this sonnet illustrate my own theory as to the rhymer’s luck, good and +ill. To have written this little epic upon four rhymes would not have +been possible, even for Mr. Watts-Dunton, had it not been for the luck of +‘chamomiles’ and ‘isles,’ ‘chamomiles’ giving the picture of the flowers, +and ‘isles’ giving the false vision of the mirage. The same thing is +notable in the case of another amazing tour de force, ‘The Bedouin Child’ +(see p. 448), where the same verbal parsimony is exemplified. Without +the fortunate rhyme-words ‘pashas,’ ‘camel-maws,’ and ‘claws’ in the +octave, the picture could not have been given in less than a dozen lines. + +The kinship between Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry and that of Coleridge has +been frequently discussed. It has the same romantic glamour and often +the same music, as far as the music of decasyllabic lines can call up the +music of the ravishing octosyllabics of ‘Christabel.’ This at least I +know, from his critical remarks on Coleridge,—he owns the true wizard of +romance as master. I do not think that any one of his sonnets affords me +quite the unmixed delight which I find in the sonnet on Coleridge, and +his friend George Meredith is here in accord with me, for he wrote to the +author as follows: ‘The sonnet is pure amber for a piece of descriptive +analogy that fits the poet wonderfully, and one might beat about through +volumes of essays and not so paint him. There is Coleridge! But whence +the source of your story—if anything of such aptness could have been +other than dreamed after a draught of Xanadu—I cannot tell. It is new to +me.’ + +After that flash of critical divination, it is fitting to present the +reader with the ‘pure amber’ itself:— + + I see thee pine like her in golden story + Who, in her prison, woke and saw, one day, + The gates thrown open—saw the sunbeams play, + With only a web ’tween her and summer’s glory; + Who, when that web—so frail, so transitory, + It broke before her breath—had fallen away, + Saw other webs and others rise for aye + Which kept her prisoned till her hair was hoary. + + Those songs half-sung that yet were all divine— + That woke Romance, the queen, to reign afresh— + Had been but preludes from that lyre of thine, + Could thy rare spirit’s wings have pierced the mesh + Spun by the wizard who compels the flesh, + But lets the poet see how heav’n can shine. + +Here again the verbal parsimony is notable. I defy any one to find +anything like it except in Dante, the great master of verbal parsimony. +There are only six adjectives in the whole sonnet. Every word is +cunningly chosen, not for ornament, but solely for clarity of meaning. +The metrical structure is subtly moulded so as to suspend the rising +imagery until the last word of the octave, and then to let it glide, as a +sunbeam glides down the air, to its lovely dying fall. Metrical students +will delight in the double rhymes of the octave, which play so great a +part in the suspensive music. + +I have frequently thought that one of the most daring things, as well as +one of the wisest, done by the editor of the ‘Athenæum,’ was that of +printing Rhona’s letters, bristling with Romany words, with a glossary at +the foot of the page, and printing them without any of the context of the +poem to shed light upon it and upon Rhona. It certainly showed immense +confidence in his contributor to do that; and yet the poems were a great +success. The best thing said about Rhona has been said by Mr. George +Meredith: “I am in love with Rhona, not the only one in that. When I +read her love-letter in the ‘Athenæum,’ I had the regret that the dialect +might cause its banishment from literature. Reading the whole poem +through, I see that it is as good as salt to a palate. We are the richer +for it, and that is a rare thing to say of any poem now printed.” And, +discussing ‘The Coming of Love,’ Meredith wrote: ‘I will not speak of the +tours de force except to express a bit of astonishment at the dexterity +which can perform them without immolating the tender spirit of the work.’ +Indeed, the technical mastery of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry is so +consummate that it is concealed from the reader. There is no sense of +difficulty overcome, no parade of artifice. Yet the metrical structure +of the very poem which seems the simplest is actually the subtlest. +‘Rhona’s Love Letter’ is written in an extremely complex rhyme-pattern, +each stanza of eight lines being built on two rhymes, like the octave of +a sonnet. But so cunningly are the Romany words woven into a naïve, +unconscious charm that the reader forgets the rhyme-scheme altogether, +and does not realize that this spontaneous sweetness and bubbling humour +are produced by the most elaborate art. + +I have emphasized the originality of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s poetry. There +can be no doubt that he is the most original poet since Coleridge, not +merely in verbal, metrical, and rhythmical idiosyncrasy, but in the +deeper quality of imaginative energy. By ‘the most original poet’ I do +not mean the greatest poet: the student of poetry will know at once what +I mean. Poe’s ‘Raven’ is more ‘original’ than Shelley’s ‘Epipsychidion,’ +but it is not so great. In my article on Blake in Chambers’s ‘Cyclopædia +of English Literature,’ I pointed out that there are greater poets than +Blake (or Donne) but none more original. There are many poets who +possess that ordinary kind of imagination which is mainly a perpetual +matching of common ideas with common metaphors. But few poets have the +rarer kind of imagination which creates not only the metaphor but also +the idea, and then fuses both into one piece of beauty. Now Mr. +Watts-Dunton has this supreme gift. He uses the symbol to suggest ideas +which cannot be suggested otherwise. His theory of the universe is +optimistic, but his optimism is interwoven with sombre threads. He sees +the dualism of Nature, and he shows her alternately as malignant and as +benignant. Indeed, he has concentrated his spiritual cosmogony into the +two great sonnets, ‘Natura Maligna’ and ‘Natura Benigna,’ which I have +already quoted. + + * * * * * + +All the critics were delighted with the humour of Rhona Boswell. Upon +this subject Mr. Watts-Dunton makes some pregnant remarks in the +introduction to the later editions of the poem:— + + “But it is with regard to the humour of gypsy women that Gorgio + readers seem to be most sceptical. The humourous endowment of most + races is found to be more abundant and richer in quality among the + men than among the women. But among the Romanies the women seem to + have taken humour with the rest of the higher qualities. + + A question that has been most frequently asked me in connection with + my two gypsy heroines has been: Have gypsy girls really the esprit + and the humourous charm that you attribute to them? My answer to + this question shall be a quotation from Mr. Groome’s delightful book, + ‘Gypsy Folk-Tales.’ Speaking of the Romany chi’s incomparable + piquancy, he says:— + + ‘I have known a gypsy girl dash off what was almost a folk-tale + impromptu. She had been to a pic-nic in a four-in-hand with “a lot + o’ real tip-top gentry”; and “Reia,” she said to me afterwards, “I’ll + tell you the comicalest thing as ever was. We’d pulled up to put the + brake on, and there was a púro hotchiwitchi (old hedge-hog) come and + looked at us through the hedge; looked at me hard. I could see he’d + his eye upon me. And home he’d go, that old hedgehog, to his wife, + and ‘Missus,’ he’d say, ‘what d’ye think? I seen a little gypsy gal + just now in a coach and four horses’; and ‘Dabla,’ she’d say, + ‘sawkumni ’as varde kenaw’” [‘Bless us! every one now keeps a + carriage’].’ + + Now, without saying that this impromptu folklorist was Rhona Boswell, + I will at least aver, without fear of contradiction from Mr. Groome, + that it might well have been she. Although there is as great a + difference between one Romany chi and another as between one English + girl and another, there is a strange and fascinating kinship between + the humour of all gypsy girls. No three girls could possibly be more + unlike than Sinfi Lovell, Rhona Boswell, and the girl of whom Mr. + Groome gives his anecdote; and yet there is a similarity between the + fanciful humour of them all. The humour of Rhona Boswell must speak + for itself in these pages—where, however, the passionate and tragic + side of her character and her story dominates everything.” + + + + +Chapter XXVII +“CHRISTMAS AT THE ‘MERMAID’” + + +SECOND in importance to ‘The Coming of Love’ among Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +poems is the poem I have already mentioned—the poem which Mr. Swinburne +has described as ‘a great lyrical epic’—“Christmas at the ‘Mermaid.’” +The originality of this wonderful poem is quite as striking as that of +‘The Coming of Love.’ No other writer would have dreamed of depicting +the doomed Armada as being led to destruction by a golden skeleton in the +form of one of the burnt Incas, called up by ‘the righteous sea,’ and +squatting grimly at the prow of Medina’s flag-ship. Here we get ‘The +Renascence of Wonder’ indeed. Some Aylwinians put it at the head of all +his writings. The exploit of David Gwynn is accepted by Motley and +others as historic, but it needed the co-operation of the Golden Skeleton +to lift his narrative into the highest heaven of poetry. Extremely +unlike ‘The Coming of Love’ as it is in construction, it is built on the +same metrical scheme; and it illustrates equally well with ‘The Coming of +Love’ the remarks I have made upon a desideratum in poetic art—that is to +say, it is cast in a form which gives as much scope to the dramatic +instinct at work as is given by a play, and yet it is a form free from +the restrictions by which a play must necessarily be cramped. The poem +was written, or mainly written, during one of those visits which, as I +have already said, Mr. Watts-Dunton used to pay to Stratford-on-Avon. +The scene is laid, however, in London, at that famous ‘Mermaid’ tavern +which haunts the dreams of all English poets:— + + “With the exception of Shakespeare, who has quitted London for good, + in order to reside at New Place, Stratford-on-Avon, which he has + lately rebuilt, all the members of the ‘Mermaid’ Club are assembled + at the ‘Mermaid’ Tavern. At the head of the table sits Ben Jonson + dealing out wassail from a large bowl. At the other end sits + Raleigh, and at Raleigh’s right hand, the guest he had brought with + him, a stranger, David Gwynn, the Welsh seaman, now an elderly man, + whose story of his exploits as a galley-slave in crippling the Armada + before it reached the Channel had, years before, whether true or + false, given him in the low countries a great reputation, the echo of + which had reached England. Raleigh’s desire was to excite the public + enthusiasm for continuing the struggle with Spain on the sea, and + generally to revive the fine Elizabethan temper, which had already + become almost a thing of the past, save, perhaps, among such choice + spirits as those associated with the ‘Mermaid’ club.” + +It opens with a chorus:— + + Christmas knows a merry, merry place, + Where he goes with fondest face, + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Tell the Mermaid where is that one place: + Where? + +Then Ben Jonson rises, fills the cup with wassail and drinks to +Shakespeare, and thus comments upon his absence:— + + That he, the star of revel, bright-eyed Will, + With life at golden summit, fled the town + And took from Thames that light to dwindle down + O’er Stratford farms, doth make me marvel still. + +Then he calls upon Shakespeare’s most intimate friend—the mysterious Mr. +W. H. of the sonnets—to give them reminiscences of Shakespeare with a +special reference to the memorable evening when he arrived at Stratford +on quitting London for good and all. + +To the sixth edition of the poem Mr. Watts-Dunton prefixed the following +remarks, and I give them here because they throw light upon his view of +Shakespeare’s friend:— + + “Since the appearance of this volume, there has been a great deal of + acute and learned discussion as to the identity of that mysterious + ‘friend’ of Shakespeare, to whom so many of the sonnets are + addressed. But everything that has been said upon the subject seems + to fortify me in the opinion that ‘no critic has been able to + identify’ that friend. Southampton seems at first to fit into the + sacred place; so does Pembroke at first. But, after a while, true + and unbiassed criticism rejects them both. I therefore feel more + than ever justified in ‘imagining the friend for myself.’ And this, + at least, I know, that to have been the friend of Shakespeare, a man + must needs have been a lover of nature;—he must have been a lover of + England, too. And upon these two points, and upon another—the + movement of a soul dominated by friendship as a passion—I have tried + to show Shakespeare’s probable influence upon his ‘friend of + friends.’ It would have been a mistake, however, to cast the sonnets + in the same metrical mould as Shakespeare’s.” + +Shakspeare’s friend thus records what Shakespeare had told him about his +return to Stratford:— + + As down the bank he strolled through evening dew, + Pictures (he told me) of remembered eves + Mixt with that dream the Avon ever weaves, + And all his happy childhood came to view; + He saw a child watching the birds that flew + Above a willow, through whose musky leaves + A green musk-beetle shone with mail and greaves + That shifted in the light to bronze and blue. + These dreams, said he, were born of fragrance falling + From trees he loved, the scent of musk recalling, + With power beyond all power of things beholden + Or things reheard, those days when elves of dusk + Came, veiled the wings of evening feathered golden, + And closed him in from all but willow musk. + + And then a child beneath a silver sallow— + A child who loved the swans, the moorhen’s ‘cheep’— + Angled for bream where river holes were deep— + For gudgeon where the water glittered shallow, + Or ate the ‘fairy cheeses’ of the mallow, + And wild fruits gathered where the wavelets creep + Round that loved church whose shadow seems to sleep + In love upon the stream and bless and hallow; + And then a child to whom the water-fairies + Sent fish to ‘bite’ from Avon’s holes and shelves, + A child to whom, from richest honey-dairies, + The flower-sprites sent the bees and ‘sunshine elves’; + Then, in the shifting vision’s sweet vagaries, + He saw two lovers walking by themselves— + + Walking beneath the trees, where drops of rain + Wove crowns of sunlit opal to decoy + Young love from home; and one, the happy boy, + Knew all the thoughts of birds in every strain— + Knew why the cushat breaks his fond refrain + By sudden silence, ‘lest his plaint should cloy’— + Knew when the skylark’s changing note of joy + Saith, ‘Now will I return to earth again’— + Knew every warning of the blackbird’s shriek, + And every promise of his joyful song— + Knew what the magpie’s chuckle fain would speak; + And, when a silent cuckoo flew along, + Bearing an egg in her felonious beak, + Knew every nest threatened with grievous wrong. + He heard her say, ‘The birds attest our troth!’ + Hark to the mavis, Will, in yonder may + Fringing the sward, where many a hawthorn spray + Round summer’s royal field of golden cloth + Shines o’er the buttercups like snowy froth, + And that sweet skylark on his azure way, + And that wise cuckoo, hark to what they say: + ‘We birds of Avon heard and bless you both.’ + And, Will, the sunrise, flushing with its glory, + River and church, grows rosier with our story! + This breeze of morn, sweetheart, which moves caressing, + Hath told the flowers; they wake to lovelier growth! + They breathe—o’er mead and stream they breathe—the blessing. + ‘We flowers of Avon heard and bless you both!’ + +When Mr. ‘W. H.’ sits down, the friend and brother of another great poet, +Christopher Marlowe, who had been sitting moody and silent, oppressed by +thoughts of the dead man, many of whose unfriends were at the gathering, +recites these lines ‘On Seeing Kit Marlowe Slain at Deptford’:— + + ’Tis Marlowe falls! That last lunge rent asunder + Our lyre of spirit and flesh, Kit Marlowe’s life, + Whose chords seemed strung by earth and heaven at strife, + Yet ever strung to beauty above or under! + Heav’n kens of Man, but oh! the stars can blunder, + If Fate’s hand guided yonder villain’s knife + Through that rare brain, so teeming, daring, rife + With dower of poets—song and love and wonder. + Or was it Chance? Shakspeare, who art supreme + O’er man and men, yet sharest Marlowe’s sight + To pierce the clouds that hide the inhuman height + Where man and men and gods and all that seem + Are Nature’s mutterings in her changeful dream— + Come, spell the runes these bloody rivulets write! + +After they have all drunk in silence to the memory of Marlowe, Marlowe’s +friend speaks:— + + Where’er thou art, ‘dead Shepherd,’ look on me; + The boy who loved thee loves more dearly now, + He sees thine eyes in yonder holly-bough; + Oh, Kit, my Kit, the Mermaid drinks to thee! + +Then Raleigh rises, and the great business of the evening begins with the +following splendid chorus:— + + RALEIGH + + (Turning to David Gwynn) + + Wherever billows foam + The Briton fights at home: + His hearth is built of water— + + CHORUS + + Water blue and green; + + RALEIGH + + There’s never a wave of ocean + The wind can set in motion + That shall not own our England— + + CHORUS + + Own our England queen. {427} + + RALEIGH + + The guest I bring to-night + Had many a goodly fight + On seas the Don hath found— + + CHORUS + + Hath found for English sails; + + RALEIGH + + And once he dealt a blow + Against the Don to show + What mighty hearts can move— + + CHORUS + + Can move in leafy Wales. + + RALEIGH + + Stand up, bold Master Gwynn, + Who hast a heart akin + To England’s own brave hearts— + + CHORUS + + Brave hearts where’er they beat; + + RALEIGH + + Stand up, brave Welshman, thou, + And tell the Mermaid how + A galley-slave struck hard— + + CHORUS + + Struck hard the Spanish fleet. + + Christmas knows a merry, merry place, + Where he goes with fondest face, + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Tell the Mermaid where is that one place: + Where? + +Upon being thus called forth the old sea-dog rises, and tells a wonderful +story indeed, the ‘story of how he and the Golden Skeleton crippled the +Great Armada sailing out’:— + + ‘A galley lie’ they called my tale; but he + Whose talk is with the deep kens mighty tales: + The man, I say, who helped to keep you free + Stands here, a truthful son of truthful Wales. + Slandered by England as a loose-lipped liar, + Banished from Ireland, branded rogue and thief, + Here stands that Gwynn whose life of torments dire + Heaven sealed for England, sealed in blood and fire— + Stands asking here Truth’s one reward, belief! + + And Spain shall tell, with pallid lips of dread, + This tale of mine—shall tell, in future days, + How Gwynn, the galley-slave, once fought and bled + For England when she moved in perilous ways; + But say, ye gentlemen of England, sprung + From loins of men whose ghosts have still the sea— + Doth England—she who loves the loudest tongue— + Remember mariners whose deeds are sung + By waves where flowed their blood to keep her free? + + I see—I see ev’n now—those ships of Spain + Gathered in Tagus’ mouth to make the spring; + I feel the cursed oar, I toil again, + And trumpets blare, and priests and choir-boys sing; + And morning strikes with many a crimson shaft, + Through ruddy haze, four galleys rowing out— + Four galleys built to pierce the English craft, + Each swivel-gunned for raking fore and aft, + Snouted like sword-fish, but with iron snout. + + And one we call the ‘Princess,’ one the ‘Royal,’ + ‘Diana’ one; but ’tis the fell ‘Basana’ + Where I am toiling, Gwynn, the true, the loyal, + Thinking of mighty Drake and Gloriana; + For by their help Hope whispers me that I— + Whom ten hours’ daily travail at a stretch + Has taught how sweet a thing it is to die— + May strike once more where flags of England fly, + Strike for myself and many a haggard wretch. + + True sorrow knows a tale it may not tell: + Again I feel the lash that tears my back; + Again I hear mine own blaspheming yell, + Answered by boatswain’s laugh and scourge’s crack; + Again I feel the pang when trying to choke + Rather than drink the wine, or chew the bread + Wherewith, when rest for meals would break the stroke, + They cram our mouths while still we sit at yoke; + Again is Life, not Death, the shape of dread. + + By Finisterre there comes a sudden gale, + And mighty waves assault our trembling galley + With blows that strike her waist as strikes a flail, + And soldiers cry, ‘What saint shall bid her rally?’ + Some slaves refuse to row, and some implore + The Dons to free them from the metal tether + By which their limbs are locked upon the oar; + Some shout, in answer to the billows’ roar, + ‘The Dons and we will drink brine-wine together.’ + + ‘Bring up the slave,’ I hear the captain cry, + ‘Who sank the golden galleon “El Dorado,” + The dog can steer.’ + ‘Here sits the dog,’ quoth I, + ‘Who sank the ship of Commodore Medrado!’ + With hell-lit eyes, blistered by spray and rain, + Standing upon the bridge, saith he to me: + ‘Hearken, thou pirate—bold Medrado’s bane!— + Freedom and gold are thine, and thanks of Spain, + If thou canst take the galley through this sea.’ + + ‘Ay! ay!’ quoth I. The fools unlock me straight! + And then ’tis I give orders to the Don, + Laughing within to hear the laugh of Fate, + Whose winning game I know hath just begun. + I mount the bridge when dies the last red streak + Of evening, and the moon seems fain for night + Oh then I see beneath the galley’s beak + A glow like Spanish _auto’s_ ruddy reek— + Oh then these eyes behold a wondrous sight! + + A skeleton, but yet with living eyes— + A skeleton, but yet with bones like gold— + Squats on the galley-beak, in wondrous wise, + And round his brow, of high imperial mould, + A burning circle seems to shake and shine, + Bright, fiery bright, with many a living gem, + Throwing a radiance o’er the foam-lit brine: + ‘’Tis God’s Revenge,’ methinks. ‘Heaven sends for sign + That bony shape—that Inca’s diadem.’ + + At first the sign is only seen of me, + But well I know that God’s Revenge hath come + To strike the Armada, set old ocean free, + And cleanse from stain of Spain the beauteous foam. + Quoth I, ‘How fierce soever be the levin + Spain’s hand can hurl—made mightier still for wrong + By that great Scarlet One whose hills are seven— + Yea, howsoever Hell may scoff at Heaven— + Stronger than Hell is God, though Hell is strong.’ + + ‘The dog can steer,’ I laugh; ‘yea, Drake’s men know + How sea-dogs hold a ship to Biscay waves.’ + Ah! when I bid the soldiers go below, + Some ’neath the hatches, some beside the slaves, + And bid them stack their muskets all in piles + Beside the foremast, covered by a sail, + The captives guess my plan—I see their smiles + As down the waist the cozened troop defiles, + Staggering and stumbling landsmen, faint and pale. + + I say, they guess my plan—to send beneath + The soldiers to the benches where the slaves + Sit, armed with eager nails and eager teeth— + Hate’s nails and teeth more keen than Spanish glaives, + Then wait until the tempest’s waxing might + Shall reach its fiercest, mingling sea and sky, + Then seize the key, unlock the slaves, and smite + The sea-sick soldiers in their helpless plight, + Then bid the Spaniards pull at oar or die. + + Past Ferrol Bay each galley ’gins to stoop, + Shuddering before the Biscay demon’s breath. + Down goes a prow—down goes a gaudy poop: + ‘The Don’s “Diana” bears the Don to death,’ + Quoth I, ‘and see the “Princess” plunge and wallow + Down purple trough, o’er snowy crest of foam: + See! see! the “Royal,” how she tries to follow + By many a glimmering crest and shimmering hollow, + Where gull and petrel scarcely dare to roam.’ + + Now, three queen-galleys pass Cape Finisterre; + The Armada, dreaming but of ocean-storms, + Thinks not of mutineers with shoulders bare, + Chained, bloody-wealed and pale, on galley-forms, + Each rower murmuring o’er my whispered plan, + Deep-burnt within his brain in words of fire, + ‘Rise, every man, to tear to death his man— + Yea, tear as only galley-captives can, + When God’s Revenge sings loud to ocean’s lyre.’ + + Taller the spectre grows ’mid ocean’s din; + The captain sees the Skeleton and pales: + I give the sign: the slaves cry, ‘Ho for Gwynn!’ + ‘Teach them,’ quoth I, ‘the way we grip in Wales.’ + And, leaping down where hateful boatswains shake, + I win the key—let loose a storm of slaves: + ‘When captives hold the whip, let drivers quake,’ + They cry; ‘sit down, ye Dons, and row for Drake, + Or drink to England’s Queen in foaming waves.’ + + We leap adown the hatches; in the dark + We stab the Dons at random, till I see + A spark that trembles like a tinder-spark, + Waxing and brightening, till it seems to be + A fleshless skull, with eyes of joyful fire: + Then, lo: a bony shape with lifted hands— + A bony mouth that chants an anthem dire, + O’ertopping groans, o’ertopping Ocean’s quire— + A skeleton with Inca’s diadem stands! + + It sings the song I heard an Indian sing, + Chained by the ruthless Dons to burn at stake, + When priests of Tophet chanted in a ring, + Sniffing man’s flesh at roast for Christ His sake. + The Spaniards hear: they see: they fight no more; + They cross their foreheads, but they dare not speak. + Anon the spectre, when the strife is o’er, + Melts from the dark, then glimmers as before, + Burning upon the conquered galley’s beak. + + And now the moon breaks through the night, and shows + The ‘Royal’ bearing down upon our craft— + Then comes a broadside close at hand, which strows + Our deck with bleeding bodies fore and aft. + I take the helm; I put the galley near: + We grapple in silver sheen of moonlit surge. + Amid the ‘Royal’s’ din I laugh to hear + The curse of many a British mutineer, + The crack, crack, crack of boatswain’s biting scourge. + + ‘Ye scourge in vain,’ quoth I, ‘scourging for life + Slaves who shall row no more to save the Don’; + For from the ‘Royal’s’ poop, above the strife, + Their captain gazes at our Skeleton! + ‘What! is it thou, Pirate of “El Dorado”? + He shouts in English tongue. And there, behold! + Stands he, the devil’s commodore, Medrado. + ‘Ay! ay!’ quoth I, ‘Spain owes me one strappado + For scuttling Philip’s ship of stolen gold.’ + + ‘I come for that strappado now,’ quoth I. + ‘What means yon thing of burning bones?’ he saith. + ‘’Tis God’s Revenge cries, “Bloody Spain shall die!” + The king of El Dorado’s name is Death. + Strike home, ye slaves; your hour is coming swift,’ + I cry; ‘strong hands are stretched to save you now; + Show yonder spectre you are worth the gift.’ + But when the ‘Royal,’ captured, rides adrift, + I look: the skeleton hath left our prow. + + When all are slain, the tempest’s wings have fled, + But still the sea is dreaming of the storm: + Far down the offing glows a spot of red, + My soul knows well it hath that Inca’s form. + ‘It lights,’ quoth I, ‘the red cross banner of Spain + There on the flagship where Medina sleeps— + Hell’s banner, wet with sweat of Indian’s pain, + And tears of women yoked to treasure train, + Scarlet of blood for which the New World weeps.’ + + There on the dark the flagship of the Don + To me seems luminous of the spectre’s glow; + But soon an arc of gold, and then the sun, + Rise o’er the reddening billows, proud and slow; + Then, through the curtains of the morning mist, + That take all shifting colours as they shake, + I see the great Armada coil and twist + Miles, miles along the ocean’s amethyst, + Like hell’s old snake of hate—the winged snake. + + And, when the hazy veils of Morn are thinned, + That snake accursed, with wings which swell and puff + Before the slackening horses of the wind, + Turns into shining ships that tack and luff. + ‘Behold,’ quoth I, ‘their floating citadels, + The same the priests have vouched for musket-proof, + Caracks and hulks and nimble caravels, + That sailed with us to sound of Lisbon bells— + Yea, sailed from Tagus’ mouth, for Christ’s behoof. + + For Christ’s behoof they sailed: see how they go + With that red skeleton to show the way + There sitting on Medina’s stem aglow— + A hundred sail and forty-nine, men say; + Behold them, brothers, galleon and galeasse— + Their dizened turrets bright of many a plume, + Their gilded poops, their shining guns of brass, + Their trucks, their flags—behold them, how they pass— + With God’s Revenge for figurehead—to Doom!’ + +Then Ben Jonson, the symposiarch, rises and calls upon Raleigh to tell +the story of the defeat of the Great Armada. I can give only a stanza or +two and the chorus:— + + RALEIGH + + The choirboys sing the matin song, + When down falls Seymour on the Spaniard’s right. + He drives the wing—a huddled throng— + Back on the centre ships, that steer for flight. + While galleon hurtles galeasse, + And oars that fight each other kill the slaves, + As scythes cut down the summer grass, + Drake closes on the writhing mass, + Through which the balls at closest ranges pass, + Skimming the waves. + + Fiercely do galley and galeasse fight, + Running from ship to ship like living things. + With oars like legs, with beaks that smite, + Winged centipedes they seem with tattered wings. + Through smoke we see their chiefs encased + In shining mail of gold where blood congeals; + And once I see within a waist + Wild English captives ashen-faced, + Their bending backs by Spanish scourges laced + In purple weals. + + [DAVID GWYNN here leaps up, pale and panting, and + bares a scarred arm, but at a sign from RALEIGH + sits down again. + + The Don fights well, but fights not now + The cozened Indian whom he kissed for friend, + To pluck the gold from off the brow, + Then fling the flesh to priests to burn and rend. + He hunts not now the Indian maid + With bloodhound’s bay—Peru’s confiding daughter, + Who saw in flowery bower or glade + The stranger’s god-like cavalcade, + And worshipped, while he planned Pizarro’s trade + Of rape and slaughter. + + His fight is now with Drake and Wynter, + Hawkins, and Frobisher, and English fire, + Bullet and cannon ball and splinter, + Till every deck gleams, greased with bloody mire: + Heaven smiles to see that battle wage, + Close battle of musket, carabine, and gun: + Oh, vainly doth the Spaniard rage + Like any wolf that tears his cage! + ’Tis English sails shall win the weather gauge + Till set of sun! + + Their troops, superfluous as their gold, + Out-numbering all their seamen two to one, + Are packed away in every hold— + Targets of flesh for every English gun— + Till, like Pizarro’s halls of blood, + Or slaughter-pens where swine or beeves are pinned, + Lee-scuppers pour a crimson flood, + Reddening the waves for many a rood, + As eastward, eastward still the galleons scud + Before the wind. + +The chief leit-motiv of the poem is the metrical idea that whenever a +stanza ends with the word ‘sea,’ Ben Jonson and the rest of the jolly +companions break into this superb chorus:— + + The sea! + Thus did England fight; + And shall not England smite + With Drake’s strong stroke in battles yet to be? + And while the winds have power + Shall England lose the dower + She won in that great hour— + The sea? + +Raleigh leaves off his narrative at the point when the Armada is driven +out to the open sea. He sits down, and Gwynn, worked into a frenzy of +excitement, now starts up and finishes the story in the same metre, but +in quite a different spirit. In Gwynn’s fevered imagination the skeleton +which he describes in his own narrative now leads the doomed Armada to +its destruction:— + + GWYNN + + With towering sterns, with golden stems + That totter in the smoke before their foe, + I see them pass the mouth of Thames, + With death above the billows, death below! + Who leads them down the tempest’s path, + From Thames to Yare, from Yare to Tweedmouth blown, + Past many a Scottish hill and strath, + All helpless in the wild wind’s wrath, + Each mainmast stooping, creaking like a lath? + The Skeleton! + + At length with toil the cape is passed, + And faster and faster still the billows come + To coil and boil till every mast + Is flecked with clinging flakes of snowy foam. + I see, I see, where galleons pitch, + That Inca’s bony shape burn on the waves, + Flushing each emerald scarp and ditch, + While Mother Carey, Orkney’s witch, + Waves to the Spectre’s song her lantern-switch + O’er ocean-graves. + + The glimmering crown of Scotland’s head + They pass. No foe dares follow but the storm. + The Spectre, like a sunset red, + Illumines mighty Wrath’s defiant form, + And makes the dreadful granite peak + Burn o’er the ships with brows of prophecy; + Yea, makes that silent countenance speak + Above the tempest’s foam and reek, + More loud than all the loudest winds that shriek, + ‘Tyrants, ye die!’ + + The Spectre, by the Orkney Isles, + Writes ‘God’s Revenge’ on waves that climb and dash, + Foaming right up the sand-built piles, + Where ships are hurled. It sings amid the crash; + Yea, sings amid the tempest’s roar, + Snapping of ropes, crackling of spars set free, + And yells of captives chained to oar, + And cries of those who strike for shore, + ‘Spain’s murderous breath of blood shall foul no more + The righteous sea!’ + +The poem ends with the famous wassail chorus which has been often quoted +in anthologies:— + + WASSAIL CHORUS + + CHORUS + + Christmas knows a merry, merry place, + Where he goes with fondest face, + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Tell the Mermaid where is that one place: + Where? + + RALEIGH + + ’Tis by Devon’s glorious halls, + Whence, dear Ben, I come again: + Bright with golden roofs and walls— + El Dorado’s rare domain— + Seem those halls when sunlight launches + Shafts of gold through leafless branches, + Where the winter’s feathery mantle blanches + Field and farm and lane. + + CHORUS + + Christmas knows a merry, merry place, + Where he goes with fondest face, + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Tell the Mermaid where is that one place: + Where? + + DRAYTON + + ’Tis where Avon’s wood-sprites weave + Through the boughs a lace of rime, + While the bells of Christmas Eve + Fling for Will the Stratford-chime + O’er the river-flags embossed + Rich with flowery runes of frost— + O’er the meads where snowy tufts are tossed— + Strains of olden time. + + CHORUS + + Christmas knows a merry, merry place, + Where he goes with fondest face, + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Tell the Mermaid where is that one place: + Where? + + SHAKSPEARE’S FRIEND + + ’Tis, methinks, on any ground + Where our Shakspeare’s feet are set. + There smiles Christmas, holly-crowned + With his blithest coronet: + Friendship’s face he loveth well: + ’Tis a countenance whose spell + Sheds a balm o’er every mead and dell + Where we used to fret. + + CHORUS + + Christmas knows a merry, merry place, + Where he goes with fondest face, + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Tell the Mermaid where is that one place + Where? + + HEYWOOD + + More than all the pictures, Ben, + Winter weaves by wood or stream, + Christmas loves our London, when + Rise thy clouds of wassail-steam— + Clouds like these, that, curling, take + Forms of faces gone, and wake + Many a lay from lips we loved, and make + London like a dream. + + CHORUS + + Christmas knows a merry, merry place, + Where he goes with fondest face, + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Tell the Mermaid where is that one place + Where? + + BEN JONSON + + Love’s old songs shall never die, + Yet the new shall suffer proof; + Love’s old drink of Yule brew I, + Wassail for new love’s behoof: + Drink the drink I brew, and sing + Till the berried branches swing, + Till our song make all the Mermaid ring— + Yea, from rush to roof. + + FINALE + + Christmas loves this merry, merry place:— + Christmas saith with fondest face + Brightest eye, brightest hair: + Ben! the drink tastes rare of sack and mace: + Rare!’ + +This poem, when it first appeared in the volume of ‘The Coming of Love,’ +fine as it is, was overshadowed by the wild and romantic poem which lends +its name to the volume. But in 1902, Mr. John Lane included it in his +beautiful series, ‘Flowers of Parnassus,’ where it was charmingly +illustrated by Mr. Herbert Cole, and this widened its vogue considerably. +There is no doubt that for originality, for power, and for music, +“Christmas at the ‘Mermaid’” is enough to form the base of any poet’s +reputation. It has been enthusiastically praised by some of the foremost +writers of our time. I have permission to print only one of the letters +in its praise which the author received, but that is an important one, as +it comes from Thomas Hardy, who wrote:— + + “I have been beginning Christmas, in a way, by reading over the fire + your delightful little ‘Christmas at the “Mermaid”’ which it was most + kind of you to send. I was carried back right into Armada times by + David Gwynn’s vivid story: it seems remarkable that you should have + had the conjuring power to raise up those old years so brightly in + your own mind first, as to be able to exhibit them to readers in such + high relief of three dimensions, as one may say. + + The absence of Shakespeare strikes me as being one of the finest + touches of the poem: it throws one into a ‘humourous melancholy’—and + we feel him, in some curious way, more than if he had been there.” + + + + +Chapter XXVIII +CONCLUSION + + +‘ASSUREDLY,’ says Mr. Watts-Dunton, in his essay on Thoreau, ‘there is no +profession so courageous as that of the pen.’ Well, in coming to the end +of my task—a task which has been a labour of love—I wish I could feel +confident that I have not been too courageous—that I have satisfactorily +done what I set out to do. But I have passed my four-hundred and +fortieth page, and yet I seem to have let down only a child’s bucket into +a sea of ideas that has no limit. Out of scores upon scores of articles +buried in many periodicals I have been able to give three or four from +the ‘Athenæum,’ none from the ‘Examiner,’ and none out of the ‘Nineteenth +Century,’ ‘The Fortnightly Review,’ ‘Harper’s Magazine,’ etc. Still, I +have been able to show that a large proportion of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +scattered writings preaches the same peculiar doctrine in a ratiocinative +form which in ‘Aylwin’ and ‘The Coming of Love’ is artistically +enunciated; that this doctrine is of the greatest importance at the +present time, when science seems to be revealing a system of the universe +so deeply opposed to the system which in the middle of the last century +seemed to be revealed; and that this doctrine of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s is +making a very deep impression upon the generation to which I belong. If +it should be said that in speaking for the younger generation I am +speaking for a pigmy race (and I sometimes fear that we are pigmies when +I remember the stature of our fathers), I am content to appeal to one of +the older generation, who has spoken words in praise of Mr. Watts-Dunton +as a poet, which would demand even my courage to echo. I mean Dr. Gordon +Hake, whose volume of sonnets, entitled, ‘The New Day,’ was published in +1890. It was these remarkable sonnets which moved Frank Groome to dub +Mr. Watts-Dunton ‘homo ne quidem unius libri,’ a literary celebrity who +had not published a single book. I have already referred to ‘The New +Day,’ but I have not given an adequate account of this sonnet-sequence. +In their nobility of spirit, their exalted passion of friendship, their +single-souled purity of loyal-hearted love, I do not think they have ever +been surpassed. It is a fine proof of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s genius for +friendship that he should be able unconsciously to enlink himself to the +souls of his seniors, his coevals and his juniors, and that there should +be between him and the men of three generations, equal links of equal +affection. But I must not lay stress on the whimsies of chronology and +the humours of the calendar, for all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s friends are +young, and the youngest of them, Mr. George Meredith, is the oldest. The +youthfulness of ‘The New Day’ makes it hard to believe that it was +written by a septuagenarian. The dedication is full of the fine candour +of a romantic boy:— + + “To ‘W. T. W.,’ the friend who has gone with me through the study of + Nature, accompanied me to her loveliest places at home and in other + lands, and shared with me the reward she reserves for her ministers + and interpreters, I dedicate this book.” + +The following sonnet on ‘Friendship’ expresses a very rare mood and a +very high ideal:— + + Friendship is love’s full beauty unalloyed + With passion that may waste in selfishness, + Fed only at the heart and never cloyed: + Such is our friendship ripened but to bless. + It draws the arrow from the bleeding wound + With cheery look that makes a winter bright; + It saves the hope from falling to the ground, + And turns the restless pillow towards the light. + To be another’s in his dearest want, + At struggle with a thousand racking throes, + When all the balm that Heaven itself can grant + Is that which friendship’s soothing hand bestows: + How joyful to be joined in such a love,— + We two,—may it portend the days above! + +The volume consists of ninety-three sonnets of the same fine order. Many +English and American critics have highly praised them, but not too +highly. This venerable ‘parable poet’ did not belong to my generation. +Nor did he belong to Mr. Watts-Dunton’s generation. His day was the day +before yesterday, and yet he wrote these sonnets when he was past +seventy, not to glorify himself, but to glorify his friend. They are one +long impassioned appeal to that friend to come forward and take his place +among his peers. The indifference to fame of Theodore Watts is one of +the most bewildering enigmas of literature. I have already quoted what +Gordon Hake says about the man who when the ‘New Day’ was written had not +published a single book. + +With regard to the unity binding together all Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +writings, I can, at least, as I have shown in the Introduction, speak +with the authority of a careful student of them. With the exception of +the late Professor Strong, who when ‘The Coming of Love’ appeared, spoke +out so boldly upon this subject in ‘Literature,’ I doubt if anyone has +studied those writings more carefully than I have; and yet the difficulty +of discovering the one or two quotable essays which more than the others +expound and amplify their central doctrine has been so great that I am +dubious as to whether, in the press of my other work, I have achieved my +aim as satisfactorily as it would have been achieved by +another—especially by Professor Strong, had he not died before he could +write his promised essay upon the inner thought of ‘Aylwinism’ in the +‘Cyclopædia of English Literature.’ But, even if I have failed +adequately to expound the gospel of ‘Aylwinism,’ it is undeniable that, +since the publication of ‘Aylwin’ (whether as a result of that +publication or not), there has been an amazing growth of what may be +called the transcendental cosmogony of ‘Aylwinism.’ + +Dr. Robertson Nicoll, discussing the latest edition of ‘Aylwin’—the +‘Arvon’ illustrated edition—says:— + + “When ‘Aylwin’ was in type, the author, getting alarmed at its great + length, somewhat mercilessly slashed into it to shorten it, and the + more didactic parts of the book went first. Now Mr. Watts-Dunton has + restored one or two of these excised passages, notably one in which + he summarizes his well-known views of the ‘great Renascence of + Wonder, which set in in Europe at the close of the eighteenth century + and the beginning of the nineteenth.’ In one of these passages he + has anticipated and bettered Mr. Balfour’s speculations at the recent + meeting of the British Association.” + +Something like the same remark was made in the ‘Athenæum’ of September 3, +1904:— + + “The writer has restored certain didactic passages of the story which + were eliminated before the publication of the book, owing to its + great length. Though the teaching of the book is complete without + the restorations, it seems a pity that they were ever struck out, + because they appear to have anticipated the striking remarks of Mr. + Balfour at the British Association the other day, to say nothing of + the utterances of certain scientific writers who have been discussing + the transcendental side of Nature.” + +The restorations to which Dr. Nicoll and ‘The Athenæum’ refer are +excerpts from ‘The Veiled Queen,’ by Aylwin’s father. The first of these +comes in at the conclusion of the chapter called ‘The Revolving Cage of +Circumstance’ and runs thus:— + + “‘The one important fact of the twentieth century will be the growth + and development of that great Renascence of Wonder which set in in + Europe at the close of the eighteenth century and the beginning of + the nineteenth. + + The warring of the two impulses governing man—the impulse of wonder + and the impulse of acceptance—will occupy all the energies of the + next century. + + The old impulse of wonder which came to the human race in its infancy + has to come back—has to triumph—before the morning of the final + emancipation of man can dawn. + + But the wonder will be exercised in very different fields from those + in which it was exercised in the past. The materialism, which at + this moment seems to most thinkers inseparable from the idea of + evolution, will go. Against their own intentions certain scientists + are showing that the spiritual force called life is the maker and not + the creature of organism—is a something outside the material world, a + something which uses the material world as a means of phenomenal + expression. + + The materialist, with his primitive and confiding belief in the + testimony of the senses, is beginning to be left out in the cold, + when men like Sir W. R. Groves turn round on him and tell him that + “the principle of all certitude” is not and cannot be the testimony + of his own senses; that these senses, indeed, are no absolute tests + of phenomena at all; that probably man is surrounded by beings he can + neither see, feel, hear, nor smell; and that, notwithstanding the + excellence of his own eyes, ears, and nose, the universe the + materialist is mapping out so deftly is, and must be, monophysical, + lightless, colourless, soundless—a phantasmagoric show—a deceptive + series of undulations, which become colour, or sound, or what not, + according to the organism upon which they fall.’ + + These words were followed by a sequence of mystical sonnets about + ‘the Omnipotence of Love,’ which showed, beyond doubt, that if my + father was not a scientific thinker, he was, at least, a very + original poet.” + +The second restored excerpt from ‘The Veiled Queen’ comes in at the end +of the chapter called ‘The Magic of Snowdon,’ and runs thus:— + + “I think, indeed, that I had passed into that sufistic ecstasy + expressed by a writer often quoted by my father, an Oriental writer, + Ferridoddin:— + + With love I burn: the centre is within me; + While in a circle everywhere around me + Its Wonder lies— + + that exalted mood, I mean, described in the great chapter on the + Renascence of Wonder which forms the very core and heart-thought of + the strange book so strangely destined to govern the entire drama of + my life, ‘The Veiled Queen.’ + + The very words of the opening of that chapter came to me: + + ‘The omnipotence of love—its power of knitting together the entire + universe—is, of course, best understood by the Oriental mind. Just + after the loss of my dear wife I wrote the following poem called “The + Bedouin Child,” dealing with the strange feeling among the Bedouins + about girl children, and I translated it into Arabic. Among these + Bedouins a father in enumerating his children never counts his + daughters, because a daughter is considered a disgrace. + + Ilyàs the prophet, lingering ’neath the moon, + Heard from a tent a child’s heart-withering wail, + Mixt with the message of the nightingale, + And, entering, found, sunk in mysterious swoon, + A little maiden dreaming there alone. + She babbled of her father sitting pale + ’Neath wings of Death—’mid sights of sorrow and bale, + And pleaded for his life in piteous tone. + + “Poor child, plead on,” the succouring prophet saith, + While she, with eager lips, like one who tries + To kiss a dream, stretches her arms and cries + To Heaven for help—“Plead on; such pure love-breath, + Reaching the throne, might stay the wings of Death + That, in the Desert, fan thy father’s eyes.” + + The drouth-slain camels lie on every hand; + Seven sons await the morning vultures’ claws; + ’Mid empty water-skins and camel maws + The father sits, the last of all the band. + He mutters, drowsing o’er the moonlit sand, + “Sleep fans my brow; sleep makes us all pashas; + Or, if the wings are Death’s, why Azraeel draws + A childless father from an empty land.” + + “Nay,” saith a Voice, “the wind of Azraeel’s wings + A child’s sweet breath has stilled: so God decrees:” + A camel’s bell comes tinkling on the breeze, + Filling the Bedouin’s brain with bubble of springs + And scent of flowers and shadow of wavering trees, + Where, from a tent, a little maiden sings. + + ‘Between this reading of Nature, which makes her but “the superficial + film” of the immensity of God, and that which finds a mystic heart of + love and beauty beating within the bosom of Nature herself, I know no + real difference. Sufism, in some form or another, could not possibly + be confined to Asia. The Greeks, though strangers to the mystic + element of that Beauty-worship which in Asia became afterwards + Sufism, could not have exhibited a passion for concrete beauty such + as theirs without feeling that, deeper than Tartarus, stronger than + Destiny and Death, the great heart of Nature is beating to the tune + of universal love and beauty.’” + +With regard to the two sonnets quoted above, a great poet has said that +the method of depicting the power of love in them is sublime. ‘The Slave +girl’s Progress to Paradise,’ however, is equally powerful and equally +original. The feeling in the ‘Bedouin Child’ and in ‘The Slave Girl’s +Progress to Paradise’ is exactly like that which inspires ‘The Coming of +Love.’ When Percy sees Rhona’s message in the sunrise he exclaims:— + + But now—not all the starry Virtues seven + Seem strong as she, nor Time, nor Death, nor Night. + And morning says, ‘Love hath such godlike might + That if the sun, the moon, and all the stars, + Nay, all the spheral spirits who guide their cars, + Were quelled by doom, Love’s high-creative leaven + Could light new worlds.’ If, then, this Lord of Fate, + When death calls in the stars, can re-create, + Is it a madman’s dream that Love can show + Rhona, my Rhona, in yon ruby glow, + And build again my heaven? + +The same mystical faith in the power of love is passionately affirmed in +the words of ‘The Spirit of the Sunrise,’ addressed to the bereaved +poet:— + + Though Love be mocked by Death’s obscene derision, + Love still is Nature’s truth and Death her lie; + Yet hard it is to see the dear flesh die, + To taste the fell destroyer’s crowning spite + That blasts the soul with life’s most cruel sight, + Corruption’s hand at work in Life’s transition: + This sight was spared thee: thou shalt still retain + Her body’s image pictured in thy brain; + The flowers above her weave the only shroud + Thine eye shall see: no stain of Death shall cloud + Rhona! Behold the vision! + +Some may call this too mystical—some may dislike it on other accounts—but +few will dream of questioning its absolute originality. + +Let me now turn to those words of Mr. Balfour’s to which the passages +quoted from ‘The Veiled Queen’ have been compared. In his presidential +address to the British Association, entitled, ‘Reflections suggested by +the New Theory of Matter,’ he said:— + + “We claim to found all our scientific opinions on experience: and the + experience on which we found our theories of the physical universe is + our sense of perception of that universe. That is experience; and in + this region of belief there is no other. Yet the conclusions which + thus profess to be entirely founded upon experience are to all + appearance fundamentally opposed to it; our knowledge of reality is + based upon illusion, and the very conceptions we use in describing it + to others, or in thinking of it ourselves, are abstracted from + anthropomorphic fancies, which science forbids us to believe and + nature compels us to employ. + + Observe, then, that in order of logic sense perceptions supply the + premisses from which we draw all our knowledge of the physical world. + It is they which tell us there is a physical world; it is on their + authority that we learn its character. But in order of causation + they are effects due (in part) to the constitution of our orders of + sense. What we see depends, not merely on what there is to be seen, + but on our eyes. What we hear depends, not merely on what there is + to hear, but on our ears.” + +I may mention here a curious instance of the way in which any idea that +is new is ridiculed, and of the way in which it is afterwards accepted as +a simple truth. One of the reviewers of ‘Aylwin’ was much amused by the +description of the hero’s emotions when he stood in the lower room of +Mrs. Gudgeon’s cottage waiting to be confronted upstairs by Winifred’s +corpse, stretched upon a squalid mattress:— + + “At the sight of the squalid house in which Winifred had lived and + died I passed into a new world of horror. Dead matter had become + conscious, and for a second or two it was not the human being before + me, but the rusty iron, the broken furniture, the great patches of + brick and dirty mortar where the plaster had fallen from the + walls,—it was these which seemed to have life—a terrible life—and to + be talking to me, telling me what I dared not listen to about the + triumph of evil over good. I knew that the woman was still speaking, + but for a time I heard no sound—my senses could receive no + impressions save from the sinister eloquence of the dead and yet + living matter around me. Not an object there that did not seem + charged with the wicked message of the heartless Fates.” + +‘Fancy,’ said the reviewer, ‘any man out of Bedlam feeling as if dead +matter were alive!’ + +Well, apart from the psychological subtlety of this passage, our critic +must have been startled by the declaration lately made by a sane man of +science, that there is no such thing as dead matter—and that every +particle of what is called dead matter is alive and shedding an aura +around it! + +Had the mass of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s scattered writings been collected into +volumes, or had a representative selection from them been made, their +unity as to central idea with his imaginative work, and also the +importance of that central idea, would have been brought prominently +forward, and then there would have been no danger of his contribution to +the latest movement—the anti-materialistic movement—of English thought +and English feeling being left unrecognized. Lost such teachings as his +never could have been, for, as Minto said years ago, their colour tinges +a great deal of the literature of our time. The influence of the +‘Athenæum,’ not only in England, but also in America and on the +Continent, was always very great—and very great of course must have been +the influence of the writer who for a quarter of a century spoke in it +with such emphasis. Therefore, if Mr. Watts-Dunton had himself collected +or selected his essays, or if he had allowed any of his friends to +collect or select them, this book of mine would not have been written, +for more competent hands would have undertaken the task. But a study of +work which, originally issued in fragments, now lies buried ‘full fathom +five’ in the columns of various journals, could, I felt, be undertaken +only by a cadet of letters like myself. There are many of us younger men +who express views about Mr. Watts-Dunton’s work which startle at times +those who are unfamiliar with it. And I, coming forward for the moment +as their spokesman, have long had the desire to justify the faith that is +in us, and in the wide and still widening audience his imaginative work +has won. But I doubt if I should have undertaken it had I realized the +magnitude of the task. For it must be remembered that the articles, +called ‘reviews,’ are for the most part as unlike reviews as they can +well be. No matter what may have been the book placed at the head of the +article, it was used merely as an opportunity for the writer to pour +forth generalizations upon literature and life, or upon the latest +scientific speculations, or upon the latest reverie of philosophy, in a +stream, often a torrent, coruscating with brilliancies, and alive with +interwoven colours like that of the river in the mountains of Kaf +described in his birthday sonnet to Tennyson. Take, for instance, that +great essay on the Psalms which I have used as the key-note of this +study. The book at the head of the review was not, as might have been +supposed, a discourse learned, or philosophical, or emotional, upon the +Psalms—but a little unpretentious metrical version of the Psalms by Lord +Lorne. Only a clear-sighted and daring editor would have printed such an +article as a review. But I doubt if there ever was a more prescient +journalist than he who sat in the editorial chair at that time. A man of +scholarly accomplishments and literary taste, he knew that an article +such as this would be a huge success; would resound through the world of +letters. The article, I believe, was more talked about in literary +circles than any book that had come out during that month. + +Again, take that definition of humour which I seized upon (page 384) to +illustrate my exposition of that wonderful character in ‘Aylwin’—Mrs. +Gudgeon, a definition that seems, as one writer has said, to make all +other talk about humour cheap and jejune. It is in a review of an +extremely futile history of humour. Now let the reader consider the +difficult task before a writer in my position—the task of searching for a +few among the innumerable half-remembered points of interest that turn up +in the most unexpected places. Of course, if the space allotted to me by +my publishers had been unlimited, and if my time had been unlimited, I +should have been able to give so large a number of excerpts from the +articles as to make my selection really representative of what has been +called the “modern Sufism of ‘Aylwin.’” But in this regard my publishers +have already been as liberal and as patient as possible. After all, the +best, as well as the easiest way, to show that ‘Aylwin,’ and ‘The Coming +of Love,’ are but the imaginative expression of a poetic religion +familiar to the readers of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s criticism for twenty-five +years, is to quote an illuminating passage upon the subject from one of +the articles in the ‘Athenæum.’ Moreover, I shall thus escape what I +confess I dread—the sight of my own prose at the end of my book in +juxtaposition to the prose of a past master of English style:— + + “The time has not yet arrived for poetry to utilize even the results + of science; such results as are offered to her are dust and ashes. + Happily, however, nothing in science is permanent save mathematics. + As a great man of science has said, ‘everything is provisional.’ Dr. + Erasmus Darwin, following the science of his day, wrote a long poem + on the ‘Loves of the Plants,’ by no means a foolish poem, though it + gave rise to the ‘Loves of the Triangles,’ and though his grandson + afterwards discovered that the plants do not love each other at all, + but, on the contrary, hate each other furiously—‘struggle for life’ + with each other, ‘survive’ against each other—just as though they + were good men and ‘Christians.’ But if a poet were to set about + writing a poem on the ‘Hates of the Plants,’ nothing is more likely + than that, before he could finish it, Mr. Darwin will have discovered + that the plants do love after all; just as—after it was a settled + thing that the red tooth and claw did all the business of + progression—he delighted us by discovering that there was another + factor which had done half the work—the enormous and very proper + admiration which the females have had for the males from the very + earliest forms upwards. In such a case, the ‘Hates of the Plants’ + would have become ‘inadequate.’ Already, indeed, there are faint + signs of the physicists beginning to find out that neither we nor the + plants hate each other quite so much as they thought, and that Nature + is not quite so bad as she seems. ‘She is an Æolian harp,’ says + Novalis, ‘a musical instrument whose tones are the re-echo of higher + strings within us.’ And after all there are higher strings within us + just as real as those which have caused us to ‘survive,’ and poetry + is right in ignoring ‘interpretations,’ and giving us ‘Earthly + Paradises’ instead. She must wait, it seems; or rather, if this + aspiring ‘century’ will keep thrusting these unlovely results of + science before her eyes, she must treat them as the beautiful girl + Kisāgotamī treated the ugly pile of charcoal. A certain rich man + woke up one morning and found that all his enormous wealth was turned + to a huge heap of charcoal. A friend who called upon him in his + misery, suspecting how the case really stood, gave him certain + advice, which he thus acted upon. ‘The Thuthe, following his + friend’s instructions, spread some mats in the bazaar, and, piling + them upon a large heap of his property which was turned into + charcoal, pretended to be selling it. Some people, seeing it, said, + “Why does he sell charcoal?” Just at this time a young girl, named + Kisāgotamī, who was worthy to be owner of the property, and who, + having lost both her parents, was in a wretched condition, happened + to come to the bazaar on some business. When she saw the heap, she + said, “My lord Thuthe, all the people sell clothes, tobacco, oil, + honey, and treacle; how is it that you pile up gold and silver for + sale?” The Thuthe said, “Madam, give me that gold and silver.” + Kisāgotamī, taking up a handful of it, brought it to him. What the + young girl had in her hand no sooner touched the Thuthe’s hand than + it became gold and silver.’” + +I cannot find a clearer note for the close of this book than that which +sounds in one of the latest and one of the finest of Mr. Watts-Dunton’s +sonnets. It was composed on the last night of the Nineteenth Century, a +century which will be associated with many of the dear friends Mr. +Watts-Dunton has lost, and, as I must think, associated also with +himself. The lines have a very special charm for me, because they show +the turn which the poet’s noble optimism has taken; they show that faith +in my own generation which for so many years has illumined his work, and +which has endeared him to us all. I wish I could be as hopeful as this +nineteenth century poet with regard to the poets who will carry the torch +of imagination and romance through the twentieth century; but whether or +not there are any poets among us who are destined to bring in the Golden +Fleece, it is good to see ‘the Poet of the Sunrise’ setting the trumpet +of optimism to his lips, and heralding so cheerily the coming of the new +argonauts:— + + THE ARGONAUTS OF THE NEW AGE + + THE POET + + [In starlight, listening to the chimes in the + distance, which sound clear through the + leafless trees. + + Say, will new heroes win the ‘Fleece,’ ye spheres + Who—whether around some King of Suns ye roll + Or move right onward to some destined goal + In Night’s vast heart—know what Great Morning nears? + + THE STARS + + Since Love’s Star rose have nineteen hundred years + Written such runes on Time’s remorseless scroll, + Impeaching Earth’s proud birth, the human soul, + That we, the bright-browed stars, grow dim with tears. + + Did those dear poets you loved win Light’s release? + What ‘ship of Hope’ shall sail to such a world? + + [The night passes, and morning breaks + gorgeously over the tree top. + + THE POET + + Ye fade, ye stars, ye fade with night’s decease! + Above yon ruby rim of clouds empearled— + There, through the rosy flags of morn unfurled— + I see young heroes bring Light’s ‘Golden Fleece.’ + + * * * * * + + THE END + + + + +Index + + +Abbey, Edwin, 122, 301 + +Abershaw, Jerry, 100 + +Abiogenesis, 373 + +Absolute humour: see Humour, absolute and relative + +Accent, English verse governed by, 344 + +Acceptance, instinct of, 14; Horace as poet of, 15 + +Acton, Lord, place given ‘Aylwin’ by, 5 + +Actors, two types of, 127 + +Actresses, English prejudice against, 131 + +Adams, Davenport, 132 + +Addison, ‘softness of touch’ in portraiture, 350 + +‘Adonais,’ 157 + +‘Æneid,’ 208 + +Æschylus, reference to, 15, 45, 324 + +‘Agamemnon,’ 323 + +Alabama, Lowell and, 295 + +Aldworth, 286, 293 + +Allen, Grant, 207, 269, 309, 361 + +Allingham, William, 213 + +Ambition v. Nature-Worship, 103 + +America, Watts-Dunton’s friends in, 295; his feelings towards, 297, 301 + +Anacharsis, 384 + +Anapæsts, Swinburne and, 383 + +Anglomania and Anglophobia, Lowell’s, 299 + +Anglo-Saxon, law-abidingness of, 309; conception of life, 381 + +Animals, man’s sympathy with 38–9, 82–86 + +‘Anne Boleyn,’ Watts-Dunton’s criticism of Lilian Adelaide Neilson’s +acting in, 117 + +Anonymity in criticism, 209 + +Anthropology, 14 + +Apemantus, 250 + +Appleton, Prof., Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—met at Bell Scott’s and +Rossetti’s; Hegel on the brain; asks Watts to write for ‘Academy,’ 187; +wants him to pith the German transcendentalists in two columns, 188; in a +rage; Watts explains why he has gone into enemy’s camp, 201; a +Philistine, 202 + +‘Arda Viraf,’ 219 + +‘Argonauts of the New Age,’ 457 + +Argyll, Duchess of: see Louise, Princess + +Argyll, Duke of, 291: see Lorne, Marquis of + +Aristocrats, in ‘Aylwin,’ 351 + +Aristotle, unities of, 18; 177; 340, 341 + +Armada, 423 + +‘Armadale,’ 348 + +Arnold, Sir Edwin, 219, 228 + +Arnold, Matthew, ‘The Scholar Gypsy,’ Borrow’s criticism of, 108; Rhona +Boswell and, 114; 157 + +Artifice, 239 + +Athenæum, 1–4; editor of, 10; seventieth birthday of, 210–213; influence +of, 452; Watts-Dunton’s connection with, 6, 173, 188, 212–27, 315, 418, +454 + +Augustanism, 15, 16; pyramid of, 23 + +Austen, Jane, 367 + +‘Australia’s Mother,’ 4 + +‘Ave Atque Vale,’ 157 + +Avon, River, Watts-Dunton’s love for, 31 + +‘AYLWIN,’ Renascence of Wonder exemplified in, 2; popularity of, 7; +principles of romantic art expressed in, 8; Justin McCarthy’s opinion of, +9; ‘Renascence of Wonder,’ original title of, 11; attempted +identification of characters in, 50, 88; ‘Veiled Queen,’ dominating +influence of author, 56; Cyril Aylwin, identification with A. E. Watts, +87; genesis of, 89; nervous phases in, 90; D’Arcy, identification with +Rossetti, 139, 140–45; description of Rossetti in, 165–169; landslip in, +270; Welsh acceptation of, 312–318; Snowdon ascent, 317; ‘Encyc. Brit.’ +on, 321; naïveté in style of, 328; youthfulness of, 328; richness in +style, 330–38; Galimberti, Mme., criticism of, 338; ‘Athenæum’ canons +observed in, 338, 343; begun in metre, 342; critical analysis of, +345–362; ‘softness of touch’ in portraiture, 351; love-passion, 362; +Swinburne on, 363; Meredith on, 364; Groome on, 367; novel of the two +Bohemias, 368; editions of, 368, 377; enigmatic nature of, 373; Dr. +Nicoll on, 375; Celtic element in, 378; Jacottet on, 380; two heroines +of, 363; spirituality of, 372, 375, 378, 380; inner meaning of, 372–81; +heart-thought of contained in the ‘Veiled Queen,’ 374; ‘Saturday Review’ +on, 377; motive of, 389, ‘Arvon’ edition, restoration of excised +passages, 445–50; modern Sufism of, 454; quotations from, 330, 331, 333, +336 + +Aylwin, Cyril, 168 + +Aylwin, Henry, at 16 Cheyne Walk, 165; autobiographical element in, 322, +356; see ‘Aylwin’; his mother, 352 + +Aylwin, Philip: see Watts, J. O. + +Aylwin, Percy, contrasted with Henry Aylwin, 361; the part he plays in +the ‘Coming of Love,’ 401–11; autobiographical element in—see description +of Swinburne swimming, 268 + +Aylwinism, Mr. Balfour and, 373, 446, 450; growth of, 445 + + * * * * * + +Bacon, 43 + +Badakhshân, ruby hills of, 329 + +Balfour, A. J., Aylwinism and, 373, 446, 450 + +Ballads, old, wonder in, 16 + +‘Ballads and Sonnets,’ Rossetti’s, 271 + +Balliol, Jowett’s dinner parties at, 280 + +Balzac, 18 + +Banville, his ‘Le Baiser,’ 133 + +Basevi, 95 + +Bateson, Mary, her paper on Crab House Nunnery, 53 + +Baudelaire, 135 + +Baynes, invites Watts to write for ‘Encyc. Brit.,’ 256–7 + +Beddoes, 126 + +‘Bedouin Child, The,’ 448 + +‘Belfast News-Letter,’ 4 + +‘Belle Dame Sans Merci, La,’ wonder and mystery of, 19 + +Bell, Mackenzie: on Watts-Dunton’s study of music: see ‘Poets and Poetry +of the Century,’ 38: also ‘Shadow on the Window Blind’ + +‘Bells, The,’ Watts on, 119 + +Benson, A. C, his monograph on Rossetti, 138–40 + +Berners, Isopel, 364, 369 + +Beryl-Songs, in ‘Rose Mary,’ 139–40 + +Betts Bey, 85 + +Bible, The, Watts-Dunton’s essay on, 228–41 + +Bible Rhythm, 238 + +Biogenesis, 373 + +Bird, Dr., 306 + +Birdwood, Sir George, 409 + +Bisset, animal trainer, 38 + +Black, William, 119; Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, 185; their +resemblance to each other, 185; an amusing mistake, 186 + +Blackstone, 23, 309 + +Blank verse, 239 + +Boar’s Hill, 282 + +Bodleian, 282 + +Body, its functions—humour of, 387 + +Bognor, 91 + +Bohemians, in ‘Aylwin,’ 351 + +Bohemias, Novel of the Two, ‘Aylwin’ as, 368 + +Borrow, George, 10; method of learning languages, 58; Watts-Dunton’s +description of, 95–106, 108–16; characteristics of, 99–106, 368; his +gypsy women scenic characters, 390; Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—his +first meeting with, 95; his shyness, 99; Watts attacks it; tries Bamfylde +Moore Carew; then tries beer, the British bruiser, philology, Ambrose +Gwinett, etc., 100; a stroll in Richmond Park; visit to ‘Bald-Faced +Stag’; Jerry Abershaw’s sword; his gigantic green umbrella, 101–2; tries +Whittlesea Mere; Borrow’s surprise; vipers of Norman Cross; Romanies and +vipers, 104; disclaims taint of printers’ ink; ‘Who are you?’ 105; an +East Midlander; the Shales Mare, 106; Cromer sea best for swimming; +rainbow reflected in Ouse and Norfolk sand, 106; goes to a gypsy camp; +talks about Matthew Arnold’s ‘Scholar-Gypsy,’ 108; resolves to try it on +gypsy woman; watches hawk and magpie, 109; meets Perpinia Boswell; ‘the +popalated gypsy of Codling Gap,’ 110; Rhona Boswell, girl of the dragon +flies; the sick chavo; forbids Pep to smoke, 112; description of Rhona, +113; the Devil’s Needles; reads Glanville’s story; Rhona bored by Arnold, +114; hatred of tobacco, 115; last sight of Borrow on Waterloo Bridge, +115; sonnet on, 116 + +Boswell, Perpinia, 110–12 + +BOSWELL, RHONA, her ‘Haymaking Song,’ 33–5; her prototype, first meeting +with, 63; description from ‘Aylwin,’ 64; East Anglia and ‘Cowslip Land’ +linked by, 72, 108; description of in unpublished romance, 110–15; her +beauty, 113; courageous nature of, 366, 406; presented dramatically, 356; +type of English heroine, 366; Tennyson’s ‘Maud’ compared with, 413; +George Meredith on, 418; humour of, 421; ‘Rhona’s Letter,’ 402–5; +rhyme-pattern of same, 419 + +Boswell, Sylvester, 110 + +Bounty, mutineers of, 310 + +Boxhill, Meredith’s house at, 283 + +Bracegirdle, Mrs., 131 + +‘Breath of Avon: To English-speaking Pilgrims on Shakespeare’s Birthday,’ +31 + +British Association, 373, 445, 450 + +Brontë, Charlotte and Emily, Nature instinct of, 97; novels of, 346, 367 + +Brown, Charles Brockden, 308 + +Brown, Lucy Madox: see Rossetti, Mrs. W. M. + +Brown, Madox, 10, 12, 35, 170; his Eisteddfod, 136; portrait of, story +connected with, 274 + +Brown, Oliver Madox, 274–6 + +Browne, Sir Thomas, 337 + +Browning, Robert, 4; compared with Victor Hugo, 126; 144; Watts-Dunton’s +reminiscences of:—chaffs him in ‘Athenæum’; chided by Swinburne, 222, +sees him at Royal Academy private view; Lowell advises him to slip away; +bets he will be more cordial than ever; Lowell astonished at his +magnanimity, 222–23; the review in question, ‘Ferishtah’s Fancies,’ +223–26 + +Brynhild, 365 + +‘Brynhild on Sigurd’s Funeral Pyre,’ 366 + +Buchanan, Robert, his attacks on Rossetti, 145–6; Watts-Dunton’s +impeachment of, 148 + +‘Buddhaghosha,’ Parables of, 218 + +Buddhism, 14 + +Bull, John, 224, 299, 300 + +Burbage, 124 + +Burgin, G. B., his interview with Watts-Dunton, 205 + +Burns, Robert, 38 + +Butler, Bishop, share in Renascence of Wonder, 22 + +‘B.V.,’ 161 + +‘Byles the Butcher,’ 215–16 + +Byron, 307 + +‘By the North Sea,’ 271 + + * * * * * + +Caine, Hall, Rossetti ‘Recollections’ by, 150, 151–4 + +Calderon, 219 + +Cam, Ouse and, 79 + +‘Cambridge Chronicle,’ 51 + +Cambridge University, 1; George Dyer, Frend, Hammond and, 40; Prince of +Wales at, 67 + +Campbell, Lady Archibald, open-air plays organized by, 132 + +Capri girl, Rhona Boswell like, 110 + +Carew, Bamfylde Moore, 99 + +Carlyle, Thomas, River Ouse, libellous description of, 27, 28; his heresy +of ‘work,’ 68–71; ‘Frederick the Great,’ Watts-Dunton on, 192 + +Carr, Comyns, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ 184 + +Casket Lighthouse, girl in—poems by Swinburne and Watts-Dunton, 413 + +Cathay, pyramid of, 25 + +‘Catriona,’ 217 + +‘Caught in the Ebbing Tide,’ 82 + +Cavendish, Ada, 118 + +‘Celebrities of the Century,’ memoir of Watts-Dunton in, 4 + +Celtic temper, ‘Aylwin,’ 313–15; 378; 398 + +Cervantes, Watts-Dunton on, 197, 246–52; 382 + +Chalk Farm, Westland Marston’s theatrical reunions at, 117; Parnassians +at, 135 + +‘Chambers’s Cyclopædia of English Literature,’ Watts-Dunton’s ‘Renascence +of Wonder’ article, 13, 20, 25; 173; Douglas, James, article on +Watts-Dunton by, 393 + +‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ article on Watts-Dunton in, 1; Watts-Dunton’s +contributions to, 2; Sonnet, Watts-Dunton’s essay on, 205 + +Chamisso, 119 + +Channel Islands, visit of Swinburne and Watts-Dunton to, 268–9 + +Chapman, George, 267 + +Chaucer, his place in English poetry, 15, 43, 294, 394 + +Chelsea, Rossetti’s residence at, 137, 155, 161, 162, 165 + +Cheyne Walk, 16: see Chelsea + +‘Children of the Open Air,’ 96, 97, 98, 116 + +Children, Rossetti on, 168 + +Chinese Cabinet, Rossetti’s, 267 + +‘Christabel,’ wonder and mystery of, 19; quotation from, 20 + +Christmas, ‘The Pines’ and, 93, 94; Rosicrucian, 94 + +“Christmas Tree at ‘The Pines,’ The,” 94 + +“Christmas at the ‘Mermaid,’” 32; metrical construction of, 422; +Watts-Dunton’s preface to sixth edition, 424; written at +Stratford-on-Avon, 423; opening chorus, 423; description of Shakespeare’s +return to Stratford-on-Avon, 425–26; quotations from, 423–40; chief +leit-motiv of, 436; Wassail Chorus, 438; ‘The Golden Skeleton,’ 428–34, +436–37; Raleigh and the Armada, 434–36; letter from Thomas Hardy about, +440–41 + +Circumstance, as villain, 125, 349; as humourist, 248; as harlequin, 387 + +Civilization, definition of, 71 + +Climate, English, Lowell on, 300 + +Clive, Kitty, 131 + +Cockerell, Sydney C., 179 + +Coincidence, long arm of, 348 + +Cole, Herbert, 440 + +Coleridge, S. T., 19, 20, 38; Watts-Dunton’s poetry, kinship to, 417, +419; 324, 338; on accent in verse, 344 + +Coleridge, Watts-Dunton’s Sonnet to, 417; Meredith’s opinion of same, 417 + +Collaboration, 415 + +Collier, Jeremy, 259 + +Collier, John P., 55 + +Collins, Wilkie, fiction of, 348, 367 + +Colonies, Watts-Dunton on, 273 + +Colvin, Sidney, 216 + +Comédie Française: see Théâtre Française + +Comedy: and Farce, distinction between, 258; of repartee, 259 + +‘COMING OF LOVE, THE’: Renascence of Wonder exemplified in, 2; popularity +of, 7; principles of Romantic Art explained in, 8; humour in, 24; +locality of Gypsy Song, 33; publication of, 178, 389; history of, 395; +inner meaning of, 400; form of, 411; opening sonnets, incident connected +with, 413; quotations from, 402–11, 450; references to, 5, 361, 376 + +Common Prayer, Book of, 231 + +Congreve, his wit and humour, 258–60 + +Convincement, artistic, 325 + +Coombe, open-air plays at, 132 + +Cooper, Fenimore, 306 + +Corkran, Miss, 118, 278 + +Corneille, 132 + +Cosmic humour, 204 + +Cosmogony, New, 9; see Renascence of Wonder, 373 + +Cosmos, joke of, 386 + +Cowper, W., 38 + +Cowslip Country, Watts-Dunton’s association with, 27, 32 + +Craigie, Mrs., intellectual energy of the provinces asserted by, 50; 325 + +Criticism, anonymity in, 209, 210; new ideas in, 344 + +Cromer, 106; Swinburne and Watts-Dunton visit, 270 + +Cromwell, Oliver, Slepe Hall, supposed residence at, 35; his elder wine, +36–7 + +Cruikshank, 387 + +‘Cyclopædia of English Literature’: see ‘Chambers’s Cyclopædia’ + + * * * * * + +‘Daddy this and Daddy that, It’s,’ 181 + +Dana, 371 + +Dante, 208, 293, 412, 418 + +D’Arcy (see Rossetti, D. G.), character in ‘Aylwin’ originally ‘Gordon’ +(Gordon Hake), 91; Rossetti as prototype of, 91–2, 139, 140–45, 165, 336 + +Darwin, Charles, 52, 97, 373, 455 + +Darwin, Erasmus, 455 + +Death, Pain and, 173 + +‘Débats, Journal des,’ 27, 374, 400 + +De Castro, 141–43, 166: see Howell, C. A. + +Decorative renascence, 16 + +Deerfoot, the Indian, race won at Cambridge by, 65 + +‘Defence of Guinevere,’ 177 + +Defoe, 307, 367 + +De Lisle, Leconte, 124 + +‘Demon Lover, The,’ wonder and mystery expressed by, 19 + +Dénouement in fiction, dialogue and, 346 + +De Quincey, 175, 197, 220, 340 + +Dereham, Borrow as, 95 + +Destiny, in drama, 125 + +Devil’s Needles, 113 + +Dialect in poetry—Meredith on Rhona Boswell’s letters, 418 + +Dialogue in fiction, 346 + +Dichtung, Wahrheit and, in ‘Aylwin,’ 50 + +Dickens, Lowell’s strictures on, 295; 325; hardness of touch in +portraiture, 350; 367, 384, 387 + +‘Dickens returns on Christmas Day,’ 93 + +Dionysius of Halicarnassus, on the sibilant in poetry, 287; substance and +form in poetry, 341 + +Disraeli, ‘softness of touch’ in St. Aldegonde, 351; 353 + +‘Divina Commedia,’ 208 + +‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,’ Watts-Dunton’s criticism of, 218 + +Dogs, telepathy and, 82–6 + +Döppelganger idea, 30 + +Drama, surprise in, 120; famous actors and actresses, 117; table talk +about ‘The Bells’ and ‘Rip Van Winkle,’ 119: see Actors, Actresses, +Æschylus, Banville, Burbage, Comedy and Farce, Congreve, Etheredge, Ford, +Garrick, Got, Hamlet, Hugo, Kean, Marlowe, Robson, Shakspeare, Sophocles, +Cyril Tourneur, Vanbrugh, Webster, Wells, Wycherley + +Dramatic method in fiction, 346 + +Drayton, 438 + +Drury Lane, ragged girl in, 93 + +Dryden, the first great poet of ‘acceptance,’ 25 + +Du Chaillu, 52 + +Duffield, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ 184 + +Dukkeripen, The Lovers’, 73 + +Dumas, 346 + +Du Maurier, 301 + +Dunn, Treffry, De Castro’s conduct to, 143; Watts-Dunton’s portrait +painted by, 171; drawings by, 161, 277 + +Dunton, family of, 53 + +Dyer, George, St. Ives and, 40, 41 + + * * * * * + +‘Earthly Paradise, The,’ 177 + +East Anglia, gypsies of, 63; Omar Khayyàm and, 79; 72–85; Watts-Dunton’s +poem on, 82–5; road-girls in, 390 + +Eastbourne, Swinburne and Watts visit, 270 + +East Enders, in ‘Aylwin,’ 351 + +Eliot, George, 372 + +Ellis, F. S., 179 + +Emerson, 8 + +‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ Watts-Dunton’s connection with, 1, 2, 4, 6, +205, 256; his Essay on Poetry, 340, 393; on Vanbrugh, 258 + +‘Encyclopædia, Chambers’s’: see ‘Chambers’s Encyc.’ + +England, its beloved dingles, 69–70; Borrow and, 102; love of the wind +and, 370 + +‘English Illustrated Magazine,’ 287 + +Epic method in fiction, 346 + +Erckmann-Chatrian, ‘Juif Polonais’ by, 119 + +Erskine, his pet leeches, 39 + +‘Esmond,’ 328 + +Etheredge, 259 + +‘Examiner,’ contributors to, 184; Watts-Dunton’s articles in, 184 + + * * * * * + +‘Fairy Glen,’ 315 + +‘Faith and Love,’ Wilderspin’s picture, 331 + +Falstaff, 382 + +Farce, comedy and, distinction between, 258 + +Farringford, 286 + +‘Father Christmas in Famine Street,’ 92 + +Febvre, as Saltabadil, 129 + +Fens, the, description of, 62 + +Feridun, 225 + +‘Ferishtah’s Fancies,’ Watts’s review of, 223 + +Ferridoddin, 447 + +Fiction, genius at work in, 7; importance of, 208; beauty in, 221; +atmosphere in, 308; ‘artistic convincement’ in, 325; methods of, 345 et +seq.; epic and dramatic methods in, 346; ‘softness of touch’ in, 349 et +seq. + +Fielding, 305, 321, 347; ‘softness of touch’ in, 350, 367 + +Findlay, 52 + +FitzGerald, Edward, 79; Watts-Dunton’s Omarian poems, 80–1 + +Fitzroy Square, Madox Brown’s symposia at, 136–7 + +Flaubert, 89 + +‘Fleshly School of Poetry,’ 145–46 + +‘Florilegium Latinum,’ 147 + +Fonblanque, Albany, 185 + +Ford, spirit of wonder in, 16 + +‘Fortnightly Review,’ 442 + +Foxglove bells, fairies and, 74 + +France, Anatole, irony of, 204 + +France, dread of the wind, 370 + +Fraser, the brothers, water-colour drawings by, 33 + +Freedom, modern, 71 + +French Revolution, its relation to the Renascence of Wonder, 13 + +Frend, William, revolt against English Church, 40 + +Friendship, passion of, 146–48; sonnet (Dr. Gordon Hake), 444 + + * * * * * + +Gainsborough, ‘softness of touch’ in portraits by, 350 + +Galimberti, Alice, her appreciation of Watts-Dunton’s work, 204, 338, +339, 347 + +Gamp, Mrs., 384 + +‘Garden of Sleep,’ 270 + +Garnett, Dr., his views on ‘Renascence of Wonder,’ 11; contributions to +‘Examiner,’ 184 + +Garrick, David, 127 + +Gaskell, Mrs., softness of touch, 350 + +Gautier, Théophile, 135, 136 + +Gawtry, in ‘Night and Morning,’ 349 + +Gelert, 82–5 + +Genius, wear and tear of, 175 + +Gentility, 25, 109 + +‘Gentle Art of Making Enemies,’ 353 + +German music, fascination of, 89 + +German romanticists, the terrible-grotesque in, 126 + +Gestaltung, Goethe on, 398 + +Ghost, laughter of, 387 + +Gladstone, 175 + +Glamour, Celtic, 313–15; 378 + +‘Glittering Plain,’ 173 + +Glyn, Miss, 118, 136 + +God as beneficent Showman, 387 + +Goethe, his critical system, Watts-Dunton’s treatise on Poetry compared +to, 257; his theory as to enigmatic nature of great works of art, 373, +394; Gestaltung in art, 398 + +‘Golden Hand, The,’ 73 + +‘Gordon,’ Dr. G. Hake as, 91, 95 + +Gordon, Lady Mary, Swinburne and Watts-Dunton’s visits to, 270 + +Gorgios and Romanies, 389 + +Gosse, Edmund, contributes to ‘Examiner,’ 184; his study of Etheredge, +259 + +Got, M., Watts on his acting in ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ 127 + +Grande dame, Aylwin’s mother as type of, 352 + +Grant, James, 367 + +‘Graphic,’ 100 + +‘Grave by the Sea, A,’ 157 + +‘Great Thoughts,’ 61 + +Grecian Saloon, Robson at, 57 + +Greek mind, the, 44 + +Green Dining Room at 16 Cheyne Walk, 161 + +Groome, F. H., account of J. K. Watts by, 50; intimacy with Watts-Dunton, +68; Watts-Dunton and the gypsies, 72; Watts-Dunton’s obituary notice of, +79; on gypsies in ‘Aylwin,’ 351; ‘Kriegspiel,’ 364; his review of +‘Aylwin,’ 367, 372; gypsy humour—anecdote, 420 + +Grotesque, the terrible-, in art, 126 + +Gryengroes: see Gypsies + +‘GUDGEON, MRS.,’ humour of, 382–84, 388; prototype of, 383 + +‘Guide to Fiction,’ Baker’s, 374 + +Gwinett, Ambrose, 99 + +Gwynn, David, 423 + +‘Gypsy Folk-tales,’ 420 + +‘Gypsy Heather,’ 75 + +Gypsies, Watts-Dunton’s acquaintance with, 61, 67; superstitions of, 101; +‘prepotency of transmission’ in, 362; in ‘Aylwin,’ Groome on, 367; +‘Aylwin,’ gypsy characters of, 368; ‘Times’ on, 370; superiority of gypsy +women to men, 392; characteristics of same, 390; music, 392; humour of, +420 + + * * * * * + +Hacker, Arthur, A.R.A., illustration of ‘John the Pilgrim’ by, 415 + +Haggard, Rider, telepathy and dumb animals, 82; Watts-Dunton’s influence +on writings of, 415 + +Haggis, the stabbing of, 193 + +Hake, Gordon, 12; ‘Aylwin,’ connection with, 90; physician to Rossetti, +90–91; his view of Rossetti’s melancholia and remorse—cock and bull +stories about ill-treatment of his wife, 91; physician to Lady Ripon, 90; +Borrow and Watts-Dunton introduced by, 95; poems connected with +Watts-Dunton, 92; ‘The New Day’ (see that title) + +Hake, Thomas St. E., author’s gratitude for assistance from, 10; 11, 12; +‘Notes and Queries,’ papers on ‘Aylwin’ by, 50; J. O. Watts identified +with Philip Aylwin by, 51, 56; account of J. O. Watts by, 57; A. E. +Watts, description by, 88; ‘Aylwin,’ genesis of, account by, 89; account +of his father’s relations with Rossetti, 90–91; Hurstcote and Cheyne +Walk, ‘green dining room,’ identified by, 161; William Morris, facts +concerning, given by, 171 + +Hallam, Henry, 281 + +‘Hamlet,’ 293 + +Hammond, John, 40–1 + +‘Hand and Soul,’ 172 + +Hardy, Thomas, 27, 186, 325; letter from, 440–41 + +‘Harper’s Magazine,’ 122, 442 + +Harte, Bret, 301; Watts-Dunton’s estimate of, 302–11; histrionic gifts, +302; meeting with; drive round London music-halls, 303; ‘Holborn,’ +‘Oxford’; Evans’s supper-rooms; Paddy Green; meets him again at +breakfast; a fine actor lost, 303 + +Hartley, on sexual shame, 255 + +Hawk and magpie, Borrow and, 109 + +Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 305 + +‘Haymaking Song,’ 34 + +Hazlitt, W., 261 + +Hegel, 187 + +Heine, 232 + +Heminge and Condell, 293 + +Hemingford Grey, 33 + +Hemingford Meadow, description, 32, 33 + +Henley, W. E., 284, 322 + +Herder, 19 + +Herkomer, Prof. H., 100 + +Herne, the ‘Scollard,’ 402, 405 + +Herodotus, 340 + +Hero, English type of, 365 + +‘Hero, New,’ The, 287 + +Heroines, ‘Aylwin,’ a story with two, 363 + +Hesiod, 221, 394 + +Heywood, 439 + +Higginson, Col., 301 + +Hodgson, Earl, 30 + +Homer, 177, 208, 323, 355 + +Hood, Thomas, 1 + +Hopkins, John, 233 + +Horne, R. H., 137; challenge to Swinburne and Watts-Dunton, 269 + +Hotei, Japanese god of contentment, 385 + +‘House of the Wolfings,’ 173 + +Houssaye, Arsène, 218 + +Houghton, Lord, 183 + +Howell, Charles Augustus, prototype of De Castro, q.v. + +Hueffer, Dr. F., Wagner exponent, 89; Watts-Dunton’s intimacy with, 89 + +Hueffer, Ford Madox, testimony to the friendship of Watts-Dunton and +Rossetti, 154 + +Hugo, Victor, ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ 123–30; Watts-Dunton’s sonnet to, 129; +dread of the wind, 370 + +Humboldt, 45 + +Humour, Watts-Dunton’s definition of, 196; absolute and relative, 16, 23, +384; cosmic, 204; renascence of wonder in, 242; metaphysical meaning of, +246–55 + +Hunt, Holman, 19 + +Hunt, Leigh, 261 + +Hunt, Rev. J., 49 + + * * * * * + +‘Idler,’ interview with Watts-Dunton in, 205 + +‘Illuminated Magazine,’ 55 + +Imagination, lyrical and dramatic, in ‘Aylwin,’ 356–61 + +Imaginative power in ‘Aylwin,’ 345 + +Imaginative representation, 208, 398 + +Imperialism, 273 + +Incongruity, basis of humour, 385 + +Indecency, definition of, 255 + +Ingelow, Jean, 369 + +Interviewing, skit on, 263 + +Ireland, hero-worship in, 3 + +Irony, Anatole France’s, 204; in human intercourse, 251 + +Irving, Sir Henry, 118, 137 + +Isis, 332 + +Isle of Wight, Swinburne and Watts-Dunton visit, 270 + + * * * * * + +Jacottet, Henri, 347, 374, 380 + +Jámi, 21 + +‘Jane Eyre,’ 342, 345 + +Japanese, race development of, 14 + +Jaques, 250 + +‘Jason,’ 177 + +Jefferson, Joseph, 121 + +Jeffrey, Francis, 2 + +Jenyns, Soame, 387 + +Jerrold, Douglas, 1, 53, 289 + +Jessopp, Dr., ‘Ups and Downs of an Old Nunnery,’ reference to Dunton +family in, 53 + +Jewish-Arabian Renascence: see Renascence + +‘John the Pilgrim,’ 416 + +Johnson, Dr., 326 + +Jolly-doggism, 199 + +Jones, Sir Edward Burne, 180 + +Jonson, Ben, 423 + +‘Joseph and His Brethren,’ 55 + +Joubert, 221 + +‘Journal des Débats,’ 27, 374 + +Journalism, mendacious, 263 + +Jowett, Benjamin, Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, 279; pen portrait of, +280; see ‘Last Walk from Boar’s Hill,’ 282 + +‘Jubilee Greeting at Spithead to the Men of Greater Britain,’ 31 + +‘Juif-Polonais,’ 119 + + * * * * * + +Kaf, mountains of, 286, 453 + +Kean, Edmund, 121, 127 + +Keats, John, spirit of wonder in poetry of, 19, 293; richness of style, +329 + +Kelmscott Manor, Rossetti’s residence at, 155, 161, 162, 164, 165; +identification of Hurstcote with, 170; causeries at, 173 + +Kelmscott Press, 178, 181 + +Kernahan, Coulson, 56, 413 + +Kew, Lord, Thackeray’s, 351 + +Keynes, T., 267 + +Khayyàm, Omar, ‘Toast to,’ 79, 81; Sonnet on, 81; ‘The Pines,’ Groome +and, 79 + +‘Kidnapped,’ Watts-Dunton’s review of, 215; letter from Stevenson +concerning same, 216 + +‘King Lear,’ 126, 323, 355 + +Kisāgotamī, 456 + +‘Kissing the May Buds,’ 406 + +Knight, Joseph, acquaintance with J. O. Watts, 60; as dramatic critic, +122, 123 + +Knowles, James, 290: see also ‘Nineteenth Century’ + +‘Kriegspiel,’ 364 + +‘Kubla Khan,’ wonder and mystery of, 19, 20 + +Kymric note, in ‘Aylwin,’ 313–15 + + * * * * * + +Lamb, Charles, 41, 59, 250, 387 + +Lancing, Swinburne and Watts visit, 270 + +Landor, 271, 352 + +Landslips at Cromer, 270 + +Lane, John, wishes to compile bibliography of Watts-Dunton’s articles, 6; +publication of ‘Coming of Love,’ 396; 440 + +Lang, Andrew, critical work of, 207; 415 + +Language, inadequacy of, 323 + +‘Language of Nature’s Fragrancy,’ 269 + +Laocoon, 323 + +‘Last Walk from Boar’s Hill, The,’ 282 + +Latham, Dr. R. G., acquaintance with J. O. Watts, 58 + +‘Lavengro,’ 368 + +‘Lear, King,’ 126, 323, 355 + +Le Gallienne, R., 1 + +Leighton, Lord, 172 + +Leslie, G. D., 301 + +Leutzner, Dr. Karl, 205 + +Lever, 367 + +Lewis, Leopold, 119 + +Ligier, as Triboulet in ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ 124 + +Lineham, 95 + +Litany, 231 + +‘Literature,’ 132, 244, 245 + +‘Literature of power,’ 208 + +‘Liverpool Mercury,’ article on ‘Aylwin,’ 12 + +Livingstone, J. K. Watts’s friendship with, 52 + +Llyn Coblynau, 317 + +London, Watts-Dunton’s life in, 87 et seq.; its low-class women, +humourous pictures of, 383 + +Lorne, Marquis of, 453: see Argyll, Duke of + +‘Lothair,’ 353 + +Louise, Princess (Duchess of Argyll), Rossetti’s alleged rudeness to, 156 + +‘Love brings Warning of Natura Maligna,’ 414 + +‘Love for Love,’ 258, 260 + +‘Love is Enough,’ 177 + +Love-passion in ‘Aylwin,’ 362 + +‘Lovers of Gudrun,’ written in twelve hours, 176 + +‘Loves of the Plants,’ 455 + +‘Loves of the Triangles,’ 455 + +Lovell, Sinfi, Nature instinct of, 97; ‘Amazonian Sinfi,’ 107; true +representation of gypsy girl, 317; Meredith’s praise of, 363; Groome on, +364; Richard Whiteing on, 364; dominating character of, 363, 365; +prototype of, 368–9; beauty of, 391 + +Low, Sidney, 244 + +Lowell, James Russell, 222; Watts-Dunton’s critical work, appreciation +of, 399; sonnet on the death of, 300; Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences +of:—meets him at dinner, 295; he attacks England; directs diatribe at +Watts; he retorts; a verbal duel, 296; recognition; cites Watts’s first +article, 298; his anglophobia turns into anglomania, 299; likes English +climate, 300 + +Lowestoft, 106 + +Luther, his pigs, 39 + +‘Lycidas,’ 3, 157 + +Lyell (geologist), 45; J. K. Watts’s acquaintance with, 50, 52 + +Lytton, Bulwer, novels of, 349 + + * * * * * + +McCarthy, Justin, ‘Aylwin,’ criticism of, 9; hospitality of, 186 + +MacColl, Norman, invites Watts-Dunton to write for ‘Athenæum,’ 188; 243, +418 + +Macready, 136 + +Macrocosm, microcosm and, 26, 27, 35 + +‘Madame Bovary,’ 89 + +Madonna, by Parmigiano, 172 + +‘Magazine of Art,’ 290 + +Magpie, hawk and, 109 + +Maguelonne, Jeanne Samary as, 129 + +Man, final emancipation of, 47: see also Renascence of Wonder, +‘Aylwinism.’ + +‘Man and Wife,’ 348 + +Manchester School, 273 + +‘Mankind, the Great Man,’ 46 + +Manns, August, Crystal Palace Concerts conducted by, 89 + +Manu, 219 + +‘M.A.P.,’ 278 + +Mapes, Walter, 388 + +Marcianus, 104 + +Marlowe, Christopher, spirit of wonder in poetry of, 16; 329; friend of, +426 + +Marot, Clement, 229 + +Marryat, 367 + +Marshall, John, medical adviser to Rossetti, 152 + +Marston, Dr. Westland:—symposia at Chalk Farm; famous actors and +actresses, 117; table talk about ‘The Bells’ and ‘Rip Van Winkle,’ 119; +on staff of ‘Examiner,’ 184; the sub-Swinburnians at the Marston +Mornings; the divine Théophile; the Gallic Parnassus, 136 + +Marston, Philip Bourke, Louise Chandler Moulton’s memoir of, 4, 10, 157; +Oliver Madox Brown’s friendship with, 276 + +Martin, Sir Theodore, 156 + +Matter, dead, 411, 452; new theory of, 451 + +Meredith, George, 6; Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, 283, 284; literary +style of, 325, 328; Watts-Dunton’s Sonnet on Coleridge, opinion of, 417; +‘Coming of Love,’ opinion of, 418 + +‘Meredith, ‘To George, Sonnet, 284 + +Meredithians, mock, 325 + +‘Merry Wives of Windsor,’ 293 + +Methuen, A. M. S., 216 + +Metrical art, new, 343, 344, 412 + +Microcosm, of St. Ives, 26–7; 35; characters in the, 50–60 + +Middleton, Dr. J. H., his friendship with Morris, 172; ‘Encyclopædia +Britannica,’ collaboration in, 173 + +Mill, John Stuart, education of, Watts-Dunton’s early education compared +with, 50 + +Miller, Joaquin, 301 + +Milton, John, 3; period of wonder in poetry ended with, 25; 157; 293 + +Minto, Prof., 10; Watts-Dunton’s connection with ‘Examiner’ and, 184–88, +256; Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—neighbours in Danes Inn; editing +‘Examiner’; secures Watts; first article appears; Bell Scott’s party; +Scott wants to know name of new writer, 184; Watts slates himself, 185; +Minto’s Monday evening symposia, 185 + +Molière, 126, 132 + +Montaigne—value of leisure—quotation, 68 + +Morley, John, 27 + +Morris, Mrs., Rossetti’s picture painted from, 172; reference to, 179, +180 + +Morris, William, ‘Quarterly Review’ article on, 16; ‘Chambers’s +Cyclopædia,’ article on, 173; ‘Odyssey,’ his translation of, 176; +Watts-Dunton’s criticism of poems by, 176; intimacy with Watts-Dunton, +170; Watts-Dunton’s monograph on, 170, 173–77; indifference to criticism, +173; anecdotes of, 179–82; generosity of, 179; death of, 178–79; +Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—Marston mornings at Chalk Farm; ‘nosey +Latin,’ 136; Wednesday evenings at Danes Inn; Swinburne, Watts, Marston, +Madox Brown and Morris, 170; at Kelmscott, 170; passion for angling, 171; +snoring of young owls, 171; causeries at Kelmscott, 173; the only reviews +he read, 173; the little carpetless room, 175; writes 750 lines in twelve +hours, 176; the crib on his desk, 177; offers to bring out an +édition-de-luxe of Watts’s poems; gets subscribers; a magnificent +royalty, 179; presentation copies; extravagant generosity; ‘All right, +old chap’; ‘Ned Jones and I,’ 180; ‘Algernon pay £10 for a book of +mine!’, 181; disgusted with Stead, the music hall singer and dancer; +‘damned tomfoolery,’ 181 + +Moulton, Louise Chandler, 4, 301 + +Mounet-Sully, as François I in Le Roi s’Amuse, 125 + +‘Much Ado about Nothing,’ 260 + +Murchison, 45, 50, 52 + +‘Murder considered as one of the Fine Arts,’ 220 + +Muret, Maurice, 374, 400 + +Music, Watts-Dunton’s knowledge of, 38, 89 + +Myers, F. W. H., 291 + + * * * * * + +‘Natura Benigna,’ 97; the keynote of ‘Aylwinism,’ 411 + +‘Natura Maligna,’ 408; Sir George Birdwood on, 409 + +Natura Mystica, 73 + +‘Nature’s Fountain of Youth,’ 268 + +Nature, ‘Poetic Interpretation of,’ 204; as humourist, 386 + +Nature-worship, Shintoism, 14, 97; ambition and, 103 + +‘Nature-worshippers,’ Dictionary for, 68 + +Neilson, Julia, 117 + +Neilson, Lilian Adelaide, Watts-Dunton’s criticism of her acting, 117–18 + +Nelson, 365 + +‘New Day, The,’ 92, 107, 162–64, 312, 396, 443 + +New Year, sonnets on morning of, 409 + +‘News from Nowhere,’ 173 + +‘Nibelungenlied,’ 176 + +Nicol, John, 202 + +Nicoll, Dr. Robertson, 5; collection of Watts-Dunton’s essays suggested +by, 6, 22; “Significance of ‘Aylwin,’” essay by, 372; Renascence of +Wonder in Religion, articles on, 22, 375, 445 + +Neilson, Lilian Adelaide, Watts-Dunton’s appreciation of, 117 + +‘Night and Morning,’ 349 + +‘Nineteenth Century,’ 290, 291, 442 + +‘Nin-ki-gal, the Queen of Death,’ 235 + +Niobe, 323 + +Niton Bay, 270 + +‘Noctes Ambrosianæ, Comedy of,’ Watts-Dunton’s review of, 190–201; +Lowell’s opinion of same, 298 + +Norman Cross, vipers of, 104 + +Norris, H. E., ‘History of St. Ives’ (reference to), 25, 40, 51; River +Ouse, praise of, 28, 29, 30 + +North, Christopher: see Wilson, Professor + +‘Northern Farmer,’ 387 + +Norwich horse fair, 106 + +‘Notes and Queries,’ 50, 51, 56, 57, 88, 161, 171, 316, 317, 318 + +‘Notre Dame de Paris,’ 125 + +Novalis, 247, 455 + +Novel, importance of, 208; of manners, 308; see Fiction. + +Novelists, absurdities of popular, 367 + +Nutt, Alfred, 6 + + * * * * * + +‘Octopus of the Golden Isles,’ 148 + +‘Odyssey,’ Morris’s translation of, 176; 208; 341 + +‘Œdipus Egyptiacus,’ 226 + +Olympic, Robson at, 57 + +Omar, Caliph, 69 + +Omar Khayyàm Club, 81 + +Omarian Poems, Watts-Dunton’s, 78, 79, 80, 81 + +‘Omnipotence of Love.’ The, 287 + +‘Orchard, The,’ Niton Bay, 270 + +O’Shaughnessy, Arthur, ‘Marston Nights,’ presence at, 136; 161 + +Ouse, River, poems on, 28, 29, 30; Carlyle’s libel of, 28–9 + +Owen, Harry, 317 + +Oxford Union, Rossetti’s lost frescoes at, 162 + + * * * * * + +Pain and Death, 173 + +Palgrave, F. T., 291 + +‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ 245 + +Palmerston, 295 + +Pamphlet literature, 99 + +‘Pandora,’ Rossetti’s, 21 + +‘Pantheism’: Dr. Hunt’s book, 49 + +Parable poetry, 224 + +Paradis artificiel, 248, 388 + +Paragraph-mongers, Rossetti and, 155 + +Parmigiano, Madonna by, 172 + +Parsimony, verbal, 418 + +Partridge, Mrs., 382 + +Patrick, Dr. David, 5 + +Penn, William, St. Ives, his death there, 41 + +‘Perfect Cure,’ The, 181 + +‘Peter Schlemihl,’ 119 + +Petit Bot Bay, 31, 268 + +Phelps, 136 + +Philistia, romance carried into, 327; 386 + +Philistinism, actresses and, 132 + +‘Piccadilly,’ Watts-Dunton writes for, 301, 353 + +‘Pickwick,’ trial scene in, 387 + +‘Pines, The,’ residence of Watts-Dunton and Swinburne: Christmas at, +93–4; 262 et seq.; works of art at, 266 + +Plato, 341 + +Plot-ridden, ‘Aylwin’ not, 348 + +Poe, Edgar Allan, on ‘homely’ note in fiction, 325; ‘The Raven,’ +originality of, 419 + +‘Poems by the Way,’ 173, 177 + +Poetic prose: see Prose + +_ποιήσις_, 341 + +_ποιητής_, 340 + +Poetry, wonder element in, 15, 25; English Romantic School, 17; humour +in, question of, 24; parables in, 224; blank verse, 239; popular and +artistic, 293; Watts-Dunton’s Essay on, 340, 354, 393; Herodotus, Plato, +Aristotle, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Bacon on, 340, 341; difference +between prose and, 339; rhetoric and, 340; poetic impulse, 393; sincerity +and, conscience in, 394; imagination in, 397; Zoroaster’s definition of, +398; originality in, 419 + +‘Poets and Poetry of the Century,’ Mackenzie Bell’s study of Watts-Dunton +in, 38 + +Pollock, Walter, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ 184 + +Pope, Alexander, periwig poetry of, 25 + +‘Poppyland,’ Watts-Dunton visits, 270 + +Portraiture, ethics of, 141, 143 + +‘Prayer to the Winds,’ 81 + +Pre-Raphaelite movement, definition of, 16; poets, 160–61 + +Priam, 355 + +Primitive poetry, 15 + +Prinsep, Val, his vindication of Rossetti, 145 + +Printers’ ink, taint of, 105 + +Priory Barn, Robson at 57 + +Prize-fighters, gypsy, 392 + +‘Prophetic Pictures at Venice,’ 94 + +Prose, poetic, 339: difference between poetry and, 339; see also +‘Aylwin,’ Bible Rhythm, Common Prayer, Book of Litany; Manu; Ruskin + +Psalms, Watts-Dunton on, 228–41 + +Publicity, evils of, 262 + +Purnell, Thomas, acquaintance with J. O. Watts, 59 + + * * * * * + +‘Quarterly Review,’ on Renascence of Wonder, 16–17; on friendship between +Morris and Watts-Dunton, 173 + +Queen Katherine, Watts’s sonnet on Ellen Terry as, 122 + +Quickly, Mrs., 382 + + * * * * * + +Rabelais, 196–200, 387 + +Racine, 132 + +Rainbow, The Spirit of the, 101 + +Raleigh, Sir Walter, 423; on ‘command of the sea,’ 427 + +Rappel, Le, 123 + +Reade Charles, 325, 348; hardness of touch, 351 + +Rehan, Ada, 131 + +Reid, Sir Wemyss, 185 + +‘Relapse, The,’ 259 + +Relative humour: see Humour, absolute and relative + +Religion, Renascence of Wonder in, 375; poetic, 455 + +‘Reminiscence of Open-Air Plays,’ Epilogue, 133 + +Renascence, decorative, connection with pre-Raphaelite movement, 16 + +Renascence, Jewish-Arabian, connection with instinct of wonder, 14 + +Renascence of religion, 22 + +Renascence of Wonder, exemplified in ‘Aylwin,’ 2; origin of phrase, 11; +meaning of phrase, 13, 17, 374; Garnett on, 11, French Revolution, cause +of, 13; pre-Raphaelite movement, connection with, 16; Watts-Dunton’s +article on, 20, 25; in Philistia, 327, 328; in religion, 22, 375; ‘Coming +of Love, The,’ the most powerful expression of, 25; Watts-Dunton’s +Treatise on Poetry, 257; ‘Aylwin,’ passages on, 446; foreign critics on, +374; 9, 325 + +Repartee, comedy of, 259 + +Representation, imaginative, 398 + +Rhetoric, Poetry and, 340 + +RHONA BOSWELL, see Boswell. + +‘Rhona’s Letter,’ 402 + +Rhyme colour, 412 + +Rhys, Ernest, ‘Aylwin’ dedicated to, 312; ‘Song of the Wind,’ paraphrase +by; 313; 377 + +Rhythm, 239, 412: see Bible Rhythm + +Richardson, 367 + +Richmond Park, Borrow in, 100 + +Ripon, Lady, 91 + +‘Rip Van Winkle,’ 121 + +‘Rivista d’Italia’: see Galimberti, Madame + +‘Robinson Crusoe,’ 307 + +Robinson, F. W., 12 + +Robson, actor, J. O. Watts’s admiration for, 57; 127, 129 + +Rogers, S., 39 + +‘Roi s’Amuse, Le,’ 123 + +Romanies, Gorgios and, 389; see Gypsies + +Romantic movement, 16–25 + +‘Romany Rye,’ 367 + +‘Romeo and Juliet,’ 293 + +‘Roots of the Mountains,’ 173 + +‘Rose Mary,’ Watts-Dunton’s advice to Rossetti concerning, 139 + +Rosicrucian Christmas, 94 + +Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 1, 2; Watts-Dunton on, 17, 18, 19, 21; ‘Spirit +of Wonder’ expressed by, 18, 19; ‘Pandora,’ 21; Poems of, lack of humour +in, 24; ‘Watts’s magnificent Star Sonnet,’ his appreciation of, 29; Omar +Khayyàm, translation discovered by, 79; his insomnia; Dr. Hake as his +physician; grief for his wife’s death; his melancholia; cock-and-bull +stories as to his treatment of his wife; their origin; wild and whirling +words; 90–91; stay at Roehampton, 91; Cheyne Walk reunions, 137; +Watts-Dunton, affection for, 138–69; Watts-Dunton’s influence on, 139, +140, 149, 150, 154; type of female beauty invented by, 140; dies in +Watts-Dunton’s arms, 150; illness of, anecdote concerning, 153; Watts +Dunton’s elegy on, 157; Cheyne Walk green dining-room, description, 161; +Watts-Dunton’s description of his house, 165–69; his wit and humour, 169; +‘Spirit of the Rainbow,’ illustration to, 276; references to, 9, 10, 27, +35, 262, 263; Watts-Dunton’s reminiscences of:—at Marston symposia; the +Gallic Parnassians; he advises the bardlings to write in French, 136; +interest in work of others; reciting a bardling’s sonnet, 137; wishes +Watts to write his life, 140; letter to author about Rossetti, 140; +Charles Augustus Howell (De Castro), Rossetti’s opinion of, 142; portrait +as D’Arcy in ‘Aylwin’; not idealized; ethics of portraiture of friend; +amazing detraction of, 144; too much written about him, 145; relations +with his wife; Val Prinsep’s testimony, 145; ‘lovable—most lovable,’ 145; +a pious fraud, 153; alleged rudeness to Princess Louise, 155; attitude to +a disgraced friend, 210; the dishonest critic; ‘By God, if I met such a +man,’ 211; a generous gift, 267; dislike of publicity; abashed by an +‘Athenæum’ paragraph, 263 + +Rossetti, W. M., 149, 154 + +Rossetti, Mrs. W. M., 275 + +Rous, 232 + +Ruskin, 340 + +Russell, Lord John, 295 + +Ryan, W. P., 378 + + * * * * * + +‘Salaman’ and ‘Absal’ of Jámi, 21 + +Saltabadil, Febvre as, 129 + +St. Aldegonde, Disraeli’s ‘softness of touch’ in, 351 + +St. Francis of Assisi, 38 + +St. Ives, birthplace of Watts-Dunton, 26; old Saxon name for, 35; George +Dyer and, 40–41; printing press at, 40; Union Book Club, Watts-Dunton’s +speech at, 42; History of, 51; East Anglian sympathies of, 78 + +St. Peter’s Port, visit of Swinburne and Watts-Dunton to, 268 + +Sainte-Beuve, Watts-Dunton compared to, 2; 399 + +Saïs, 331 + +Samary, Jeanne, as Maguelonne, 129 + +Sampson, Mr., Romany scholar, 367 + +Sancho Panza, 382 + +Sandys, Frederick, 267 + +Sark, Swinburne and Watts-Dunton’s visit to, 269 + +‘Saturday Review,’ 34, 245, 257, 382 + +Savile Club, 202 + +Schiller, 221 + +‘Scholar Gypsy, The,’ 108 + +Schopenhauer, 247 + +Science, man’s good genius, 47–9 + +Science, Watts-Dunton’s speech on, 42–9 + +Scott, Sir Walter, his humour, 195; tribute to, 220, 221, 307; 346; +‘softness of touch’ in portraiture, 350; 367 + +Scott, William Bell, anecdote of, 184 + +‘Scullion, Sterne’s fat, foolish,’ 249 + +‘Semaine Littéraire, La,’ 347, 374, 380 + +Sex, witchery of, 391 + +‘Shadow on the Window Blind,’ 164: first printed in Mackenzie Bell’s +Study of Watts-Dunton in ‘Poets and Poetry of the Century,’ q.v. + +Shakespeare, spirit of wonder in, 16; 126; 186; 293; richness in style, +328; 355; 382; 394 + +‘Shales mare,’ 106 + +Shandys, the two, 350 + +Sharp, William, 29; scenery and atmosphere of ‘Aylwin,’ 72, 75; 276, 284; +influence of Watts-Dunton on Rossetti, 399 + +Shaw, Byam, ‘Brynhild on Sigurd’s Funeral Pyre,’ illustration of, 366 + +Shaw, Dr. Norton, intimacy with J. K. Watts, 52 + +Shelley, 157; 293; ‘Epipsychidion,’ 419 + +Shintoism, 14 + +Shirley: see Skelton, Sir John + +Shirley Essays, 202 + +‘Shirley,’ Watts-Dunton’s criticism of, 365 + +Shorter, Clement, his connection with Slepe Hall, 35 + +Sibilant, in poetry, 286–88 + +Siddons, Mrs., 131 + +Sidestrand, visit of Swinburne and Watts-Dunton to, 269 + +Sidney, Sir Philip, 365 + +‘Sigurd,’ 173, 176; 366 + +‘Silas Marner,’ public-house scene in, 387 + +Sinfi Lovell, see Lovell + +Skeleton, the Golden, 422 et seq. + +Skelton, Sir John, his ‘Comedy of the Noctes Ambrosianæ,’ Watts-Dunton’s +review of, 190–201; Rossetti ‘Reminiscences,’ 202; Watts-Dunton’s +friendship with, 202 + +Sleaford, Lord, 353 + +Slepe Hall, Clement Shorter’s connection with, 35; story told in +connection with, 36 + +Sly, Christopher, 388 + +Smalley, G. W., his article on Whistler, 302 + +Smart set, 353 + +‘Smart slating,’ Watts-Dunton on, 207 + +Smetham, James: see Wilderspin + +Smith, Alexander, 44; Herbert Spencer and, 213 + +Smith, Gypsy, 351 + +Smith, Sydney, 43, 196 + +Smollett, 304, 367 + +Snowdon, 315 + +Socrates, 45 + +‘Softness of touch’ in fiction, 350 + +Sonnet, The, Essay on, reference to, 205 + +Sophocles, 323, 394 + +Sothern, 118 + +Spencer, Herbert, Alexander Smith and, ‘Athenæum’ anecdote, 212–14 + +Spenser, Edmund, Spirit of Wonder in poetry of, 16 + +Spirit of Place, 26 + +‘Spirit of the Sunrise,’ 450 + +Sport, 65–67; definition of, 68 + +Sports, field, 65 + +Squeezing of books, 191 + +Staël, Madame de, her struggle against tradition of 18th century, 18 + +Stanley, Fenella, 362, 363 + +Stead, William Morris and, 181 + +Stedman, Clarence, his remarks on ‘The Coming of Love,’ 4, 10, 301 + +Sterne, his humour, 246–55; his indecencies, 253; his ‘softness of +touch,’ 350; 367, 387 + +Sternhold, 229 + +Stevenson, R. L., 10; Watts-Dunton’s criticism of ‘Kidnapped’ and ‘Dr. +Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,’ 215–21; letter from, 216 + +Stillman, Mrs., Rossetti’s picture painted from, 172 + +Stone, E. D., “Christmas at the ‘Mermaid,’” Latin translation by, 147 + +‘Stories after Nature,’ Wells’s, 53–55 + +Stourbridge Fair, 65 + +Strand, the symposium in the, 185 + +Stratford-on-Avon, Watts-Dunton’s poems on, 31, 32; see also “Christmas +at the ‘Mermaid,’” 423 + +Stress in poetry, 344 + +Strong, Prof. A. S., references to, 1, 5, 132; article on ‘The Coming of +Love,’ 444; 445 + +Style, le, c’est la race, 233 + +Style, the Great, 234 + +Sufism, 449; in ‘Aylwin,’ 454 + +‘Suicide Club, The,’ 220 + +Sully, Professor, contributor to ‘Examiner,’ 184 + +Sunrise, Poet of the, 398 + +Sunsets, in the Fens, 62 + +Surtees, 367 + +Swallow Falls, 315 + +Swift, his humour the opposite of Sterne’s, 250 + +Swinburne, Algernon Charles, acquaintance with J. O. Watts, 58; +intercourse and friendship with Watts-Dunton, 89, 268–74; ‘Jubilee +Greeting’ dedicated to, 273; partly identified with Percy Aylwin, see +description of his swimming, 268; 279–84; at Théâtre Française, 124; +dedications to Watts-Dunton, 271, 272; offensive newspaper caricatures +of, 263; championship of Meredith, 284; on ‘Tom Jones,’ ‘Waverley,’ +‘Aylwin,’ 346; on ‘Aylwin,’ 363; references to, 1, 12, 27, 117, 123, 139, +147, 157, 170, 180, 181, 184, 328, 413; ANECDOTES OF:—chambers in Great +James St., 89; never a playgoer, 117; life at ‘The Pines,’ 262 et seq.; +the great Swinburne myth, 263; the American lady journalist, 264; an +imaginary interview, 265; an unlovely bard; painfully ‘afflated’; method +of composition; ‘stamping with both feet,’ 265; friendship with Watts +began in 1872, 268; inseparable since; housemates at ‘The Pines’; visit +to Channel Islands; swimming in Petit Bot Bay, 268; Sark; ‘Orion’ Horne’s +bravado challenge, 269; visits Paris for Jubilee of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ +269; swimming at Sidestrand; meets Grant Allen, 269; visits Eastbourne, +Lancing, Isle of Wight, Cromer, 270; visits to Jowett; Jowett’s +admiration of Watts, 279; Balliol dinner parties, 280; at the Bodleian, +282; great novels which are popular, 273 + +Swinburne, Miss, 299 + +Symons, Arthur, ‘Coming of Love,’ article on, 257 + + * * * * * + +Table-Talk, Watts-Dunton’s, Rossetti on, 183 + +Tabley, Lord de, 277 + +Taine, 232 + +‘Tale of Beowulf,’ 173 + +Taliesin, ‘Song of the Wind,’ 313 + +Talk on Waterloo Bridge,’ ‘A, 116 + +Tarno Rye, 351, 391 + +Tate and Brady, 232 + +Telepathy, dogs and, 82–6 + +Temple, Lord and Lady Mount, 270 + +Tenderness, in English hero, 365 + +‘Tennyson, Alfred, Birthday Address,’ 32 + +‘Tennyson, Alfred,’ sonnet to, 286 + +Tennyson, Lord, 4, 32, 144; dishonest criticism, opinion of, 211; +Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, 285; Watts-Dunton’s criticism of and +essays on, 289, 290; ‘Memoir,’ Watts-Dunton’s contribution, 291; +anecdotes concerning, 287–89; ‘The Princess,’ defects of, 290; portraits +of, Watts-Dunton’s articles on, 290; ‘Maud,’ compared with Rhona Boswell, +413; WATTS-DUNTON AND:—sympathy between him and, 285; sonnet on birthday, +286; meeting at garden party; open invitation to Aldworth and +Farringford; his ear not defective, 286; sensibility to delicate metrical +nuances, 287; challenges a sibilant in a sonnet, 287; ‘scent’ better than +‘scents,’ 287; his morbid modesty, 288; a poet is not born to the purple, +288; reading ‘Becket’ in summer-house; desired free criticism, 288; +alleged rudeness to women, 289; detraction of, 289; could not invent a +story, 289; the nucleus of ‘Maud,’ 289 + +Terry, Ellen, Watts-Dunton’s friendship with, 117, 121; sonnet on, 122 + +Thackeray, 295, 305, 325, 328; ‘softness of touch,’ 350–53 + +Théâtre Française, Swinburne and Watts at, 123–29 + +Thicket, The, St. Ives, 30, 32 + +Thoreau, teaching of, 69; love of wind, 371; 442 + +Thuthe, the, Kisāgotámī and, 455–6 + +‘Thyrsis,’ 157 + +Tieck, 19 + +‘Times,’ 89, 245, 301, 370 + +‘Toast to Omar Khayyám,’ 79 + +Tooke, Horne, 39 + +‘T. P.’s Weekly,’ 89 + +‘Torquemada,’ motif of, 125 + +Tourneur, Cyril, ‘spirit of wonder’ in, 16 + +Traill, H. D., his criticism, 207; Watts-Dunton’s meeting with, 243; +review of his ‘Sterne,’ 246–55; his letter to MacColl, 243; meets him at +dinner, 243; picturesque appearance; boyish lisp; calls at ‘The Pines’; +interesting figures at his gatherings; ‘a man of genius’; asks Watts to +write for ‘Literature’; his geniality as an editor, 244; why ‘Literature’ +failed, 245 + +‘Travailleurs de la Mer, Les,’ 370 + +‘Treasure Island,’ 220 + +Triboulet, Got as, 124–29 + +‘Tribute, The,’ 289 + +‘Tristram of Lyonesse,’ dedicated to Watts-Dunton, 272 + +Troubadours and Trouvères, The, 204 + +Trus’hul, the Romany Cross, 101 + +Turner, 299 + +Twentieth Century, Cosmogony of, 373 + + * * * * * + +Ukko, the Sky God, 73 + +‘Under the Greenwood Tree,’ rustic humour of, 186 + +‘Ups and Downs of an Old Nunnery,’ 53 + + * * * * * + +Vacquerie, Auguste, ‘Le Roi s’Amuse’ produced by, 123 + +Vanbrugh, Irene, 131 + +Vanbrugh, Watts-Dunton’s article on, 258 + +Vance, the Great, 182 + +Vaughan, his ‘Hours with the Mystics,’ 58 + +‘Veiled Queen, The,’ 57, 229, 374, 375 + +Vernunft of Man, the Bible and the, 230 + +Verse, English, accent in, 344 + +Vezin, Hermann, 118; Mrs., 131 + +Victoria, Queen, Watts-Dunton’s tribute to, 274 + +Villain in Hugo’s novels, 125; ‘Aylwin,’ a novel without a, 349 + +Villon, 388 + +Virgil, wonder in, 15; 208 + +Vision, absolute and relative, 354; in ‘Aylwin,’ 357 et seq. + +‘Vita Nuova,’ 412 + +‘Volsunga Saga,’ 176 + +Voltaire, 259 + + * * * * * + +Wagner, 89, 412 + +Wahrheit and Dichtung, in ‘Aylwin,’ 50 + +Wales, Watts-Dunton’s sympathy with, 312; popularity of ‘Aylwin’ in, 314; +descriptions of, 315, 317, 318; Welsh accent, 319–20 + +Wales, Prince of, anecdote of, 67 + +Warburton, 69 + +‘Wassail Chorus,’ 438 + +Waterloo Bridge, Borrow on, 115 + +‘Water of the Wondrous Isles,’ 181 + +Watson, William, Grant Allen on, 207 + +Watts, A. E., Watts-Dunton’s brother, articled as solicitor, 72; Cyril +Aylwin, identification with, 87; his humour, 88; death, 89 + +Watts, G. F., Rossetti’s portrait by, 161 + +Watts, James Orlando, Watts-Dunton’s uncle, identity of character with +Philip Aylwin, 51, 56–60 + +Watts, J. K., Watts-Dunton’s father, account of, 50, 53; scientific +celebrities, intimacy with, 50–53; scientific reputation of, 52 + +Watts, William K., description of, 160 + +WATTS-DUNTON, THEODORE, memoirs of, 4; monograph on, reply to author’s +suggestion to write, 6, 7; plan of same, 9; description of, 278–9; +Boyhood:—birthplace, 26; Cromwell’s elder wine, 37; Cambridge +school-days, 37, 66; St. Ives Union Book Club, speech delivered at, 15, +42–49; family of Dunton, 53; father and son—the double brain, 53–5; as +child critic, 55; interest in sport and athletics, 65; Deerfoot and the +Prince of Wales, 67; period of Nature study, 67; articled to solicitor, +72; Life in London:—solicitor’s practice, 88; life at Sydenham, 89; +London Society, 89, 353; interest in slum-life, 92; connection with +theatrical world, 117–35; Characteristics:—Love of animals, 38, 39, +82–85; interest in poor, 92–4; conversational powers, 183; genius for +friendship, 443; indifference to fame, 3, 183, 204; habit of early +rising, 279; influence, 1, 2, 22, 452; dual personality, 322, 356; music, +love of, 38, 89; natural science, proficiency in, 38; optimism, 9, 457; +identification with Henry Aylwin, 356; Romany blood in, 361; +Writings:—‘Academy,’ invitation to write for, 187; ‘Athenæum,’ invitation +to write for, 188, 202; contributions to, 1, 55, 170, 173, 189–201, 204; +his treatise on Sonnet—Dr. Karl Leutzner on, 205; critical principles, +205; ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’ articles, 1, 2, 4, 6, 205, 256, 257–8; +difference between prose and poetry, 339; 340, 393; poetic style, 323; +‘Examiner’ articles, 184; see also Minto; Critical Work:—Swinburne’s +opinion of, 1; character of, 8, 205–208; critical and creative work, +relation between, 203; critical and imaginative work interwoven, 370; +School of Criticism founded, 4; Essays on Tennyson, 290; Lowell on, 399; +Dramatic Criticism:—119, 120, 121, 123–30; Poetry:—2, 4, 15, 393–441; +Rossetti on, 399; Prose Writings:—character of, 2, 321–25, 327–92, 350, +453; richness of style, 329, 330, 331, 333, 336; unity of his writings, +445; American friends of, 295–311; Gypsies, description of first meeting +with, 61; Friends, Reminiscences of:—APPLETON, PROF: at Bell Scott’s and +Rossetti’s; Hegel on the brain; asks Watts to write for ‘Academy,’ 187; +wants him to pith the German transcendentalists in two columns, 188; in a +rage; Watts explains why he has gone into enemy’s camp, 201; a +Philistine, 202; BLACK, WILLIAM: resemblance to Watts, 185; meeting at +Justin McCarthy’s, 186; Watts mistaken for Black, 186; BORROW, GEORGE: +his first meeting with, 95; his shyness, 99; Watts attacks it; tries +Bamfylde Moore Carew; then tries beer, the British bruiser, philology, +Ambrose Gwinett, etc., 100; a stroll in Richmond Park; visit to +‘Bald-faced Stag’; Jerry Abershaw’s sword; his gigantic green umbrella, +101–102; tries Whittlesea Mere; Borrow’s surprise; vipers of Norman +Cross; Romanies and vipers, 104; disclaims taint of printers’ ink; ‘Who +are you?’ 105; an East Midlander; the Shales Mare, 106; Cromer sea best +for swimming; rainbow reflected in Ouse and Norfolk sand, 106; goes to a +gypsy camp; talks about Matthew Arnold’s ‘Scholar-Gypsy,’ 108; resolves +to try it on gypsy woman; watches hawk and magpie, 109; meets Perpinia +Boswell; ‘the popalated gypsy of Codling Gap,’ 110; Rhona Boswell, girl +of the dragon flies; the sick chavo; forbids Pep to smoke, 112; +description of Rhona, 113; the Devil’s Needles; reads Glanville’s story; +Rhona bored by Arnold, 114; hatred of tobacco, 115; last sight of Borrow +on Waterloo Bridge, 115; sonnet on, 116; BROWN, MADOX: 10, 12, 35, 136, +170; anecdote about portrait of, 274; BROWN, OLIVER MADOX: his novel, +274–6; BROWNING: Watts chaffs him in ‘Athenæum’; chided by Swinburne, +222; 223–27; sees him at Royal Academy private view; Lowell advises him +to slip away; bets he will be more cordial than ever; Lowell astonished +at his magnanimity, 222–23; the review in question, ‘Ferishtah’s +Fancies,’ 223–26; GROOME, FRANK: a luncheon at ‘The Pines,’ 79; ‘Old +Fitz’; patted on the head by, 79; see also 50, 68, 72, 285, 351, 364, +367, 372, 420; HAKE, GORDON: Introduces Borrow, 95; see ‘New Day’; +physician to Rossetti and to Lady Ripon, 90–91; HARTE, BRET: Watts’s +estimate of, 302–11; histrionic gifts, 302; meeting with; drive round +London music halls, 303; ‘Holborn,’ ‘Oxford’; Evans’s supper-rooms; Paddy +Green; meets him again at breakfast; a fine actor lost, 303; LOWELL, +JAMES RUSSELL: meets him at dinner, 295; he attacks England; directs +diatribe at Watts; he retorts; a verbal duel, 296; recognition; cites +Watts’s first article, 298; his anglophobia turns into anglomania, 299; +likes English climate, 300; MARSTON, WESTLAND: symposia at Chalk Farm; +famous actors and actresses, 117; table talk about ‘The Bells’ and ‘Rip +Van Winkle,’ 119; on staff of ‘Examiner,’ 184; the sub-Swinburnians at +the Marston mornings; the divine Théophile; the Gallic Parnassus, 136; +MEREDITH, GEORGE: 6, 283, 284, 325, 328, 417, 418; MINTO, PROF.: +neighbours in Danes Inn; editing ‘Examiner’; secures Watts; first article +appears; Bell Scott’s party; Scott wants to know name of new writer, 184; +Watts slates himself, 185; Minto’s Monday evening symposia, 185; MORRIS, +WILLIAM: Marston mornings at Chalk Farm; ‘nosey Latin,’ 136; Wednesday +evenings at Danes Inn; Swinburne, Watts, Marston, Madox Brown and Morris, +170; at Kelmscott, 170; passion for angling, 171; snoring of young owls, +171; causeries at Kelmscott, 173; the only reviews he read, 173; the +little carpetless room, 175; writes 750 lines in twelve hours, 176; the +crib on his desk, 177; offers to bring out an édition-de-luxe of Watts’s +poems; gets subscribers; a magnificent royalty, 179; presentation copies; +extravagant generosity; ‘All right, old chap’; ‘Ned Jones and I,’ 180; +‘Algernon pay £10 for a book of mine!’ 181; disgusted with Stead, the +music-hall singer and dancer; ‘damned tomfoolery,’ 181; ROSSETTI, DANTE +GABRIEL: at Marston symposia; the Gallic Parnassians; he advises the +bardlings to write in French, 136; interest in work of others; reciting a +bardling’s sonnet, 137; wishes Watts to write his life, 140; Swinburne on +Watts’s influence over, 139; letter to author about Rossetti, 140; +Charles Augustus Howell (De Castro), Rossetti’s opinion of, 142; portrait +as D’Arcy in ‘Aylwin’; not idealized; ethics of portraiture of friend; +amazing detraction of, 144; too much written about him, 145; relations +with his wife; Val Prinsep’s testimony, 145; ‘lovable, most lovable,’ +145; dies in Watts’s arms, 150; a pious fraud, 153; alleged rudeness to +Princess Louise, 155; described in ‘Aylwin,’ 165–9; his wit and humour, +169; attitude to a disgraced friend, 210; the dishonest critic; ‘By God, +if I met such a man,’ 211; a generous gift, 267; dislike of publicity; +abashed by an ‘Athenæum’ paragraph, 263; SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES: +James Orlando Watts and, 58; chambers in Great James Street, 89; life at +‘The Pines,’ 262 et seq.; offensive newspaper caricature of, 263; the +great Swinburne myth, 263; the American lady journalist, 264; an +imaginary interview, 265; an unlovely bard; painfully ‘afflated’; method +of composition; ‘stamping with both feet,’ 265; friendship with Watts +began in 1872, 268; inseparable since; housemates at ‘The Pines’; visit +to Channel Islands; swimming in Petit Bot Bay, 268; Sark; ‘Orion’ Horne’s +bravado challenge, 269; visits Paris for Jubilee of ‘Le Roi s’Amuse,’ +269; swimming at Sidestrand; meets Grant Allen, 269; visits Eastbourne, +Lancing, Isle of Wight, Cromer, 270; sonnet to Watts, 271; dedicates +‘Tristram of Lyonesse’ to Watts, 272; also Collected Edition of Poems, +272; visits to Jowett; Jowett’s admiration of Watts, 279; Balliol dinner +parties, 280; at the Bodleian, 282; great novels which are popular, 273; +champions Meredith, 284; TENNYSON, ALFRED: friendship with, 285; sympathy +between him and, 285; sonnet on birthday, 286; meeting at garden party; +open invitation to Aldworth and Farringford; his ear not defective, 286; +sensibility to delicate metrical nuances, 287; challenges a sibilant in a +sonnet, 287; ‘scent’ better than ‘scents,’ 287; his morbid modesty, 288; +a poet is not born to the purple, 288; reading ‘Becket’ in summer-house; +desired free criticism, 288; alleged rudeness to women, 289; detraction +of, 289; could not invent a story, 289; the nucleus of ‘Maud,’ 289; his +articles on portraits of, 290; TRAILL, H. D.: reviews his ‘Sterne’; his +letter to MacColl, 243; meets him at dinner, 243; picturesque appearance; +boyish lisp; calls at ‘The Pines’; interesting figures at his gatherings; +‘a man of genius’; asks Watts to write for ‘Literature’; his geniality as +an editor, 244; why ‘Literature’ failed, 245; WHISTLER, J. MCNEILL: Cyril +Aylwin not a portrait of, 88; anecdotes of De Castro, 142; neighbour of +Rossetti, 156; close friendship with Watts, 301; hostility to Royal +Academy, 301–2; his first lithographs, 301–2; engaged with Watts on +‘Piccadilly,’ 301, 353; ‘To Theodore Watts, the Worldling,’ 353 + +Watts-Dunton, Theodore, Swinburne’s sonnets to, 271, 272 + +‘Waverley,’ Swinburne on; its new dramatic method; cause of its success; +imitated by Dumas, 346 + +Way, T., Whistler’s first lithographs, 301, 302 + +Webster, ‘Spirit of Wonder’ in, 16 + +‘Well at the World’s End,’ 173 + +Wells, Charles, 53–55 + +‘Westminster Abbey, In’ (Burial of Tennyson), 291 + +‘W. H. Mr.,’ 424–26 + +‘What the Silent Voices said,’ 291 + +Whewell, intimacy with J. K. Watts, 52 + +Whistler, J. McNeill:—Cyril Aylwin not a portrait of, 88; anecdotes of De +Castro, 142; neighbour of Rossetti, 156; close friendship with Watts, +301; his first lithographs, 301–2; hostility to Royal Academy, 301–2; +engaged with Watts on ‘Piccadilly,’ 301, 353; ‘To Theodore Watts, the +Worldling,’ 353 + +White, Gilbert, 50 + +Whiteing, Richard, 364 + +‘White Ship, The,’ 153, 154 + +Whittlesea Mere, 104 + +Whyte-Melville, 352, 367 + +Wilderspin, 331: see Smetham, James + +Wilkie, his realism, humour of, 387 + +Williams,’ Scholar,’ contributor to ‘Examiner,’ 184 + +Williams, Smith, 275 + +‘William Wilson,’ 219 + +Willis, Parker, 264 + +Wilson, Professor, Watts-Dunton’s essay on his ‘Noctes Ambrosianæ,’ +190–201 + +Wimbledon Common, Borrow and, 101; Watts-Dunton and, 279 + +Wind, love of the, Thoreau’s, 370, 371 + +Women, as actresses, 131; heroic type of, 365 + +Wonder: see Renascence of Wonder; old and new, 15; Bible as great book +of, 228; place in race development, 14 + +‘Wood-Haunter’s Dream, The,’ 276 + +Wordsworth, William, definition of language, 39; his ideal John Bull, 224 + +Word-twisting, 325, 327 + +Work, heresy of, 68 + +‘World,’ The, Rossetti’s letter to, 155 + +‘World’s Classics,’ edition of ‘Aylwin’ in, 374 + +‘Wuthering Heights,’ 342, 345 + +Wynne, Winifred, character of, 314, 315, 363; love of the wind, 371 + + * * * * * + +Yarmouth, 106 + +Yorickism, 250 + + * * * * * + +Zoroaster, heresy of work, 68; definition of poetry, 398 + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{1} ‘Studies in Prose.’ + +{2} ‘Chambers’s Encyclopædia,’ vol. x., p. 581. + +{34} The meanings of the gypsy words are: + +baval wind +chaw grass +chirikels birds +dukkerin’ fortune-telling +farmin’ ryes farmers +gals girls +ghyllie song +ghyllie song +gorgie Gentile woman +gorgies Gentiles +kairs homes +kas hay +kas-kairin’ haymaking +kem sun +lennor summer +puv field +Romany chies gypsy girls +Shoshus hares + +{60} ‘Notes and Queries,’ August 2, 1902. + +{73a} Among the gypsies of all countries the happiest possible +‘Dukkeripen’ (i.e. prophetic symbol of Natura Mystica) is a hand-shaped +golden cloud floating in the sky. It is singular that the same idea is +found among races entirely disconnected with them—the Finns, for +instance, with whom Ukko, the ‘sky god,’ or ‘angel of the sunrise,’ was +called the ‘golden king’ and ‘leader of the clouds,’ and his Golden Hand +was more powerful than all the army of Death. The ‘Golden Hand’ is +sometimes called the Lover’s Dukkeripen. + +{73b} Good-luck. + +{74} Child. + +{76} Pretty mouth. + +{82} A famous swimming dog belonging to the writer. + +{88} ‘Notes and Queries,’ June 7, 1902. + +{112} Bosom. + +{139} I think I am not far wrong in saying that he whom Mr. Benson heard +make this remark was a more illustrious poet than even D. G. Rossetti, +the greatest poet indeed of the latter half of the nineteenth century, +the author of ‘Erechtheus’ and ‘Atalanta in Calydon.’ + +{147} As Mr. Swinburne has pronounced Mr. Stone’s translation to be in +itself so fine as to be almost a work of genius, I will quote it here:— + + Θειος ἀοιδός + + Felix, qui potuit gentem illustrare canendo, + quique decus patriae claris virtutibus addit + succurritque laboranti, tutamque periclis + eruit, hostilesque minas avertit acerbo + dente lacessitae; bene, quicquid fecerit audax, + explevisse iuvat: metam tenet ille quadrigis, + praemia victor habet, quamvis tuba vivida famae + ignoret titulos, vel si flammante sagitta + oppugnet Livor quam mens sibi muniit arcem. + quod si fata mihi virtutis gaudia tantae + invideant, nec fas Anglorum extendere fines + latius, et nitidae primordia libertatis, + Anglia cui praecepit iter, cantare poetae; + si numeris laudare meam vel marte Parentem + non mihi contingat, nec Divom adsumere vires + atque inconcessos sibi vindicet alter honores, + dignior ille mihi frater, quem iure saluto— + illum divino praestantem numine amabo. + +{157} Philip Bourke Marston. + +{286} According to a Mohammedan tradition, the mountains of Kaf are +entirely composed of gems, whose reflected splendours colour the sky. + +{291} ‘Tennyson: A Memoir,’ by his son (1897), vol. ii. p. 479. + +{339} “Tanto è vero, che ‘Aylwin’ fu cominciato a scrivere in versi, e +mutato di forma soltanto quando l’intreccio, in certo modo prendendo la +mano al poeta, rese necessario un genere di sua natura meno astretto alla +rappresentazione di scorcio; e che l’Avvento d’amore, ove le circostanze +di fatto sono condensate in modo da dar pieno risalto al motivo +filosofico, riesce una cosa, a mio credere, più perfetta.” + +{383} ‘Notes and Queries,’ June 7, 1902. + +{403a} Mostly pronounced ‘mullo,’ but sometimes in the East Midlands +‘mollo.’ + +{403b} Mostly pronounced ‘kaulo,’ but sometimes in the East Midlands +‘kollo.’ + +{404} The gypsies are great observers of the cuckoo, and call certain +spring winds ‘cuckoo storms,’ because they bring over the cuckoo earlier +than usual. + +{427} ‘England is a country that can never be conquered while the +Sovereign thereof has the command of the sea.’—RALEIGH. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON*** + + +******* This file should be named 41792-0.txt or 41792-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/1/7/9/41792 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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