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diff --git a/4692-h/4692-h.htm b/4692-h/4692-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed9ef6a --- /dev/null +++ b/4692-h/4692-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5025 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Famous Affinities of History Vol 4, by Lyndon Orr +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Famous Affinities of History V4, by Lyndon Orr + +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: Famous Affinities of History V4 + The Romance of Devotion + +Author: Lyndon Orr + +Posting Date: August 24, 2009 [EBook #4692] +Release Date: November, 2003 +First Posted: March 3, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY V4 *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE ROMANCE OF DEVOTION +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +LYNDON ORR +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VOLUME IV OF IV. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<H4> + <A HREF="#swift">DEAN SWIFT AND THE TWO ESTHERS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#shelley">PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AND MARY GODWIN</A><BR> + <A HREF="#carlyles">THE STORY OF THE CARLYLES</A><BR> + <A HREF="#hugos">THE STORY OF THE HUGOS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#sand">THE STORY OF GEORGE SAND</A><BR> + <A HREF="#dickens">THE MYSTERY OF CHARLES DICKENS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#balzac">HONORE DE BALZAC AND EVELINA HANSKA</A><BR> + <A HREF="#reade">CHARLES READE AND LAURA SEYMOUR</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="swift"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DEAN SWIFT AND THE TWO ESTHERS +</H3> + +<P> +The story of Jonathan Swift and of the two women who gave their lives +for love of him is familiar to every student of English literature. +Swift himself, both in letters and in politics, stands out a +conspicuous figure in the reigns of King William III and Queen Anne. By +writing Gulliver's Travels he made himself immortal. The external facts +of his singular relations with two charming women are sufficiently well +known; but a definite explanation of these facts has never yet been +given. Swift held his tongue with a repellent taciturnity. No one ever +dared to question him. Whether the true solution belongs to the sphere +of psychology or of physiology is a question that remains unanswered. +</P> + +<P> +But, as the case is one of the most puzzling in the annals of love, it +may be well to set forth the circumstances very briefly, to weigh the +theories that have already been advanced, and to suggest another. +</P> + +<P> +Jonathan Swift was of Yorkshire stock, though he happened to be born in +Dublin, and thus is often spoken of as "the great Irish satirist," or +"the Irish dean." It was, in truth, his fate to spend much of his life +in Ireland, and to die there, near the cathedral where his remains now +rest; but in truth he hated Ireland and everything connected with it, +just as he hated Scotland and everything that was Scottish. He was an +Englishman to the core. +</P> + +<P> +High-stomached, proud, obstinate, and over-mastering, independence was +the dream of his life. He would accept no favors, lest he should put +himself under obligation; and although he could give generously, and +even lavishly, he lived for the most part a miser's life, hoarding +every penny and halfpenny that he could. Whatever one may think of him, +there is no doubt that he was a very manly man. Too many of his +portraits give the impression of a sour, supercilious pedant; but the +finest of them all—that by Jervas—shows him as he must have been at +his very prime, with a face that was almost handsome, and a look of +attractive humor which strengthens rather than lessens the power of his +brows and of the large, lambent eyes beneath them. +</P> + +<P> +At fifteen he entered Trinity College, in Dublin, where he read widely +but studied little, so that his degree was finally granted him only as +a special favor. At twenty-one he first visited England, and became +secretary to Sir William Temple, at Moor Park. Temple, after a +distinguished career in diplomacy, had retired to his fine country +estate in Surrey. He is remembered now for several things—for having +entertained Peter the Great of Russia; for having, while young, won the +affections of Dorothy Osborne, whose letters to him are charming in +their grace and archness; for having been the patron of Jonathan Swift; +and for fathering the young girl named Esther Johnson, a waif, born out +of wedlock, to whom Temple gave a place in his household. +</P> + +<P> +When Swift first met her, Esther Johnson was only eight years old; and +part of his duties at Moor Park consisted in giving her what was then +an unusual education for a girl. She was, however, still a child, and +nothing serious could have passed between the raw youth and this little +girl who learned the lessons that he imposed upon her. +</P> + +<P> +Such acquaintance as they had was rudely broken off. Temple, a man of +high position, treated Swift with an urbane condescension which drove +the young man's independent soul into a frenzy. He returned to Ireland, +where he was ordained a clergyman, and received a small parish at +Kilroot, near Belfast. +</P> + +<P> +It was here that the love-note was first seriously heard in the +discordant music of Swift's career. A college friend of his named +Waring had a sister who was about the age of Swift, and whom he met +quite frequently at Kilroot. Not very much is known of this episode, +but there is evidence that Swift fell in love with the girl, whom he +rather romantically called "Varina." +</P> + +<P> +This cannot be called a serious love-affair. Swift was lonely, and Jane +Waring was probably the only girl of refinement who lived near Kilroot. +Furthermore, she had inherited a small fortune, while Swift was +miserably poor, and had nothing to offer except the shadowy prospect of +future advancement in England. He was definitely refused by her; and it +was this, perhaps, that led him to resolve on going back to England and +making his peace with Sir William Temple. +</P> + +<P> +On leaving, Swift wrote a passionate letter to Miss Waring—the only +true love-letter that remains to us of their correspondence. He +protests that he does not want Varina's fortune, and that he will wait +until he is in a position to marry her on equal terms. There is a +smoldering flame of jealousy running through the letter. Swift charges +her with being cold, affected, and willing to flirt with persons who +are quite beneath her. +</P> + +<P> +Varina played no important part in Swift's larger life thereafter; but +something must be said of this affair in order to show, first of all, +that Swift's love for her was due only to proximity, and that when he +ceased to feel it he could be not only hard, but harsh. His fiery +spirit must have made a deep impression on Miss Waring; for though she +at the time refused him, she afterward remembered him, and tried to +renew their old relations. Indeed, no sooner had Swift been made rector +of a larger parish, than Varina let him know that she had changed her +mind, and was ready to marry him; but by this time Swift had lost all +interest in her. He wrote an answer which even his truest admirers have +called brutal. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said in substance, "I will marry you, though you have treated +me vilely, and though you are living in a sort of social sink. I am +still poor, though you probably think otherwise. However, I will marry +you on certain conditions. First, you must be educated, so that you can +entertain me. Next, you must put up with all my whims and likes and +dislikes. Then you must live wherever I please. On these terms I will +take you, without reference to your looks or to your income. As to the +first, cleanliness is all that I require; as to the second, I only ask +that it be enough." +</P> + +<P> +Such a letter as this was like a blow from a bludgeon. The insolence, +the contempt, and the hardness of it were such as no self-respecting +woman could endure. It put an end to their acquaintance, as Swift +undoubtedly intended it should do. He would have been less censurable +had he struck Varina with his fist or kicked her. +</P> + +<P> +The true reason for Swift's utter change of heart is found, no doubt, +in the beginning of what was destined to be his long intimacy with +Esther Johnson. When Swift left Sir William Temple's in a huff, Esther +had been a mere schoolgirl. Now, on his return, she was fifteen years +of age, and seemed older. She had blossomed out into a very comely +girl, vivacious, clever, and physically well developed, with dark hair, +sparkling eyes, and features that were unusually regular and lovely. +</P> + +<P> +For three years the two were close friends and intimate associates, +though it cannot be said that Swift ever made open love to her. To the +outward eye they were no more than fellow workers. Yet love does not +need the spoken word and the formal declaration to give it life and +make it deep and strong. Esther Johnson, to whom Swift gave the pet +name of "Stella," grew into the existence of this fiery, hold, and +independent genius. All that he did she knew. She was his confidante. +As to his writings, his hopes, and his enmities, she was the mistress +of all his secrets. For her, at last, no other man existed. +</P> + +<P> +On Sir William Temple's death, Esther John son came into a small +fortune, though she now lost her home at Moor Park. Swift returned to +Ireland, and soon afterward he invited Stella to join him there. +</P> + +<P> +Swift was now thirty-four years of age, and Stella a very attractive +girl of twenty. One might have expected that the two would marry, and +yet they did not do so. Every precaution was taken to avoid anything +like scandal. Stella was accompanied by a friend—a widow named Mrs. +Dingley—without whose presence, or that of some third person, Swift +never saw Esther Johnson. When Swift was absent, how ever, the two +ladies occupied his apartments; and Stella became more than ever +essential to his happiness. +</P> + +<P> +When they were separated for any length of time Swift wrote to Stella +in a sort of baby-talk, which they called "the little language." It was +made up of curious abbreviations and childish words, growing more and +more complicated as the years went on. It is interesting to think of +this stern and often savage genius, who loved to hate, and whose hate +was almost less terrible than his love, babbling and prattling in +little half caressing sentences, as a mother might babble over her +first child. Pedantic writers have professed to find in Swift's use of +this "little language" the coming shadow of that insanity which struck +him down in his old age. +</P> + +<P> +As it is, these letters are among the curiosities of amatory +correspondence. When Swift writes "oo" for "you," and "deelest" for +"dearest," and "vely" for "very," there is no need of an interpreter; +but "rettle" for "let ter," "dallars" for "girls," and "givar" for +"devil," are at first rather difficult to guess. Then there is a system +of abbreviating. "Md" means "my dear," "Ppt" means "poppet," and +"Pdfr," with which Swift sometimes signed his epistles, "poor, dear, +foolish rogue." +</P> + +<P> +The letters reveal how very closely the two were bound together, yet +still there was no talk of marriage. On one occasion, after they had +been together for three years in Ireland, Stella might have married +another man. This was a friend of Swift's, one Dr. Tisdall, who made +energetic love to the sweet-faced English girl. Tisdall accused Swift +of poisoning Stella's mind against him. Swift replied that such was not +the case. He said that no feelings of his own would ever lead him to +influence the girl if she preferred another. +</P> + +<P> +It is quite sure, then, that Stella clung wholly to Swift, and cared +nothing for the proffered love of any other man. Thus through the years +the relations of the two remained unchanged, until in 1710 Swift left +Ireland and appeared as a very brilliant figure in the London +drawing-rooms of the great Tory leaders of the day. +</P> + +<P> +He was now a man of mark, because of his ability as a controversialist. +He had learned the manners of the world, and he carried him self with +an air of power which impressed all those who met him. Among these +persons was a Miss Hester—or Esther—Vanhomrigh, the daughter of a +rather wealthy widow who was living in London at that time. Miss +Vanhomrigh—a name which she and her mother pronounced "Vanmeury"—was +then seventeen years of age, or twelve years younger than the patient +Stella. +</P> + +<P> +Esther Johnson, through her long acquaintance with Swift, and from his +confidence in her, had come to treat him almost as an intellectual +equal. She knew all his moods, some of which were very difficult, and +she bore them all; though when he was most tyrannous she became only +passive, waiting, with a woman's wisdom, for the tempest to blow over. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Vanhomrigh, on the other hand, was one of those girls who, though +they have high spirit, take an almost voluptuous delight in yielding to +a spirit that is stronger still. This beautiful creature felt a +positive fascination in Swift's presence and his imperious manner. When +his eyes flashed, and his voice thundered out words of anger, she +looked at him with adoration, and bowed in a sort of ecstasy before +him. If he chose to accost a great lady with "Well, madam, are you as +ill-natured and disagreeable as when I met you last?" Esther Vanhomrigh +thrilled at the insolent audacity of the man. Her evident fondness for +him exercised a seductive influence over Swift. +</P> + +<P> +As the two were thrown more and more together, the girl lost all her +self-control. Swift did not in any sense make love to her, though he +gave her the somewhat fanciful name of "Vanessa"; but she, driven on by +a high-strung, unbridled temperament, made open love to him. When he +was about to return to Ireland, there came one startling moment when +Vanessa flung herself into the arms of Swift, and amazed him by pouring +out a torrent of passionate endearments. +</P> + +<P> +Swift seems to have been surprised. He did what he could to quiet her. +He told her that they were too unequal in years and fortune for +anything but friendship, and he offered to give her as much friendship +as she desired. +</P> + +<P> +Doubtless he thought that, after returning to Ireland, he would not see +Vanessa any more. In this, however, he was mistaken. An ardent girl, +with a fortune of her own, was not to be kept from the man whom absence +only made her love the more. In addition, Swift carried on his +correspondence with her, which served to fan the flame and to increase +the sway that Swift had already acquired. +</P> + +<P> +Vanessa wrote, and with every letter she burned and pined. Swift +replied, and each reply enhanced her yearning for him. Ere long, +Vanessa's mother died, and Vanessa herself hastened to Ireland and took +up her residence near Dublin. There, for years, was enacted this tragic +comedy—Esther Johnson was near Swift, and had all his confidence; +Esther Vanhomrigh was kept apart from him, while still receiving +missives from him, and, later, even visits. +</P> + +<P> +It was at this time, after he had become dean of St. Patrick's +Cathedral, in Dublin, that Swift was married to Esther Johnson—for it +seems probable that the ceremony took place, though it was nothing more +than a form. They still saw each other only in the presence of a third +person. Nevertheless, some knowledge of their close relationship leaked +out. Stella had been jealous of her rival during the years that Swift +spent in London. Vanessa was now told that Swift was married to the +other woman, or that she was his mistress. Writhing with jealousy, she +wrote directly to Stella, and asked whether she was Dean Swift's wife. +In answer Stella replied that she was, and then she sent Vanessa's +letter to Swift himself. +</P> + +<P> +All the fury of his nature was roused in him; and he was a man who +could be very terrible when angry. He might have remembered the intense +love which Vanessa bore for him, the humility with which she had +accepted his conditions, and, finally, the loneliness of this girl. +</P> + +<P> +But Swift was utterly unsparing. No gleam of pity entered his heart as +he leaped upon a horse and galloped out to Marley Abbey, where she was +living—"his prominent eyes arched by jet-black brows and glaring with +the green fury of a cat's." Reaching the house, he dashed into it, with +something awful in his looks, made his way to Vanessa, threw her letter +down upon the table and, after giving her one frightful glare, turned +on his heel, and in a moment more was galloping back to Dublin. +</P> + +<P> +The girl fell to the floor in an agony of terror and remorse. She was +taken to her room, and only three weeks afterward was carried forth, +having died literally of a broken heart. +</P> + +<P> +Five years later, Stella also died, withering away a sacrifice to what +the world has called Swift's cruel heartlessness and egotism. His +greatest public triumphs came to him in his final years of melancholy +isolation; but in spite of the applause that greeted The Drapier +Letters and Gulliver's Travels, he brooded morbidly over his past life. +At last his powerful mind gave way, so that he died a victim to senile +dementia. By his directions his body was interred in the same coffin +with Stella's, in the cathedral of which he had been dean. +</P> + +<P> +Such is the story of Dean Swift, and it has always suggested several +curious questions. Why, if he loved Stella, did he not marry her long +before? Why, when he married her, did he treat her still as if she were +not his wife? Why did he allow Vanessa's love to run like a scarlet +thread across the fabric of the other affection, which must have been +so strong? +</P> + +<P> +Many answers have been given to these questions. That which was +formulated by Sir Walter Scott is a simple one, and has been generally +accepted. Scott believed that Swift was physically incapacitated for +marriage, and that he needed feminine sympathy, which he took where he +could get it, without feeling bound to give anything in return. +</P> + +<P> +If Scott's explanation be the true one, it still leaves Swift exposed +to ignominy as a monster of ingratitude. Therefore, many of his +biographers have sought other explanations. No one can palliate his +conduct toward Vanessa; but Sir Leslie Stephen makes a plea for him +with reference to Stella. Sir Leslie points out that until Swift became +dean of St. Patrick's his income was far too small to marry on, and +that after his brilliant but disappointing three years in London, when +his prospects of advancement were ruined, he felt himself a broken man. +</P> + +<P> +Furthermore, his health was always precarious, since he suffered from a +distressing illness which attacked him at intervals, rendering him both +deaf and giddy. The disease is now known as Meniere's disease, from its +classification by the French physician, Meniere, in 1861. Swift felt +that he lived in constant danger of some sudden stroke that would +deprive him either of life or reason; and his ultimate insanity makes +it appear that his forebodings were not wholly futile. Therefore, +though he married Stella, he kept the marriage secret, thus leaving her +free, in case of his demise, to marry as a maiden, and not to be +regarded as a widow. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Leslie offers the further plea that, after all, Stella's life was +what she chose to make it. She enjoyed Swift's friendship, which she +preferred to the love of any other man. +</P> + +<P> +Another view is that of Dr. Richard Garnett, who has discussed the +question with some subtlety. "Swift," says Dr. Garnett, "was by nature +devoid of passion. He was fully capable of friendship, but not of love. +The spiritual realm, whether of divine or earthly things, was a region +closed to him, where he never set foot." On the side of friendship he +must greatly have preferred Stella to Vanessa, and yet the latter +assailed him on his weakest side—on the side of his love of imperious +domination. +</P> + +<P> +Vanessa hugged the fetters to which Stella merely submitted. Flattered +to excess by her surrender, yet conscious of his obligations and his +real preference, he could neither discard the one beauty nor desert the +other. +</P> + +<P> +Therefore, he temporized with both of them, and when the choice was +forced upon him he madly struck down the woman for whom he cared the +less. +</P> + +<P> +One may accept Dr. Garnett's theory with a somewhat altered conclusion. +It is not true, as a matter of recorded fact, that Swift was incapable +of passion, for when a boy at college he was sought out by various +young women, and he sought them out in turn. His fiery letter to Miss +Waring points to the same conclusion. When Esther Johnson began to love +him he was heart-free, yet unable, because of his straitened means, to +marry. But Esther Johnson always appealed more to his reason, his +friendship, and his comfort, than to his love, using the word in its +material, physical sense. This love was stirred in him by Vanessa. Yet +when he met Vanessa he had already gone too far with Esther Johnson to +break the bond which had so long united them, nor could he think of a +life without her, for she was to him his other self. +</P> + +<P> +At the same time, his more romantic association with Vanessa roused +those instincts which he had scarcely known himself to be possessed of. +His position was, therefore, most embarrassing. He hoped to end it when +he left London and returned to Ireland; but fate was unkind to him in +this, because Vanessa followed him. He lacked the will to be frank with +her, and thus he stood a wretched, halting victim of his own dual +nature. +</P> + +<P> +He was a clergyman, and at heart religious. He had also a sense of +honor, and both of these traits compelled him to remain true to Esther +Johnson. The terrible outbreak which brought about Vanessa's death was +probably the wild frenzy of a tortured soul. It recalls the picture of +some fierce animal brought at last to bay, and venting its own anguish +upon any object that is within reach of its fangs and claws. +</P> + +<P> +No matter how the story may be told, it makes one shiver, for it is a +tragedy in which the three participants all meet their doom—one +crushed by a lightning-bolt of unreasoning anger, the other wasting +away through hope deferred; while the man whom the world will always +hold responsible was himself destined to end his years blind and +sleepless, bequeathing his fortune to a madhouse, and saying, with his +last muttered breath: +</P> + +<P> +"I am a fool!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="shelley"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AND MARY GODWIN +</H3> + +<P> +A great deal has been said and written in favor of early marriage; and, +in a general way, early marriage may be an admirable thing. Young men +and young women who have no special gift of imagination, and who have +practically reached their full mental development at twenty-one or +twenty-two—or earlier, even in their teens—may marry safely; because +they are already what they will be. They are not going to experience +any growth upward and outward. Passing years simply bring them more +closely together, until they have settled down into a sort of domestic +unity, by which they think alike, act alike, and even gradually come to +look alike. +</P> + +<P> +But early wedlock spells tragedy to the man or the woman of genius. In +their teens they have only begun to grow. What they will be ten years +hence, no one can prophesy. Therefore, to mate so early in life is to +insure almost certain storm and stress, and, in the end, domestic +wreckage. +</P> + +<P> +As a rule, it is the man, and not the woman, who makes the false step; +because it is the man who elects to marry when he is still very young. +If he choose some ill-fitting, commonplace, and unresponsive nature to +match his own, it is he who is bound in the course of time to learn his +great mistake. When the splendid eagle shall have got his growth, and +shall begin to soar up into the vault of heaven, the poor little +barn-yard fowl that he once believed to be his equal seems very far +away in everything. He discovers that she is quite unable to follow him +in his towering flights. +</P> + +<P> +The story of Percy Bysshe Shelley is a singular one. The circumstances +of his early marriage were strange. The breaking of his marriage-bond +was also strange. Shelley himself was an extraordinary creature. He was +blamed a great deal in his lifetime for what he did, and since then +some have echoed the reproach. Yet it would seem as if, at the very +beginning of his life, he was put into a false position against his +will. Because of this he was misunderstood until the end of his brief +and brilliant and erratic career. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SHELLEY AND MARY GODWIN +</H3> + +<P> +In 1792 the French Revolution burst into flame, the mob of Paris +stormed the Tuileries, the King of France was cast into a dungeon to +await his execution, and the wild sons of anarchy flung their gauntlet +of defiance into the face of Europe. In this tremendous year was born +young Shelley; and perhaps his nature represented the spirit of the +time. +</P> + +<P> +Certainly, neither from his father nor from his mother did he derive +that perpetual unrest and that frantic fondness for revolt which blazed +out in the poet when he was still a boy. His father, Mr. Timothy +Shelley, was a very usual, thick-headed, unromantic English squire. His +mother—a woman of much beauty, but of no exceptional traits—was the +daughter of another squire, and at the time of her marriage was simply +one of ten thousand fresh-faced, pleasant-spoken English country girls. +If we look for a strain of the romantic in Shelley's ancestry, we shall +have to find it in the person of his grandfather, who was a very +remarkable and powerful character. +</P> + +<P> +This person, Bysshe Shelley by name, had in his youth been associated +with some mystery. He was not born in England, but in America—and in +those days the name "America" meant almost anything indefinite and +peculiar. However this might be, Bysshe Shelley, though a scion of a +good old English family, had wandered in strange lands, and it was +whispered that he had seen strange sights and done strange things. +According to one legend, he had been married in America, though no one +knew whether his wife was white or black, or how he had got rid of her. +</P> + +<P> +He might have remained in America all his life, had not a small +inheritance fallen to his share. This brought him back to England, and +he soon found that England was in reality the place to make his +fortune. He was a man of magnificent physique. His rovings had given +him ease and grace, and the power which comes from a wide experience of +life. He could be extremely pleasing when he chose; and he soon won his +way into the good graces of a rich heiress, whom he married. +</P> + +<P> +With her wealth he became an important personage, and consorted with +gentlemen and statesmen of influence, attaching himself particularly to +the Duke of Northumberland, by whose influence he was made a baronet. +When his rich wife died, Shelley married a still richer bride; and so +this man, who started out as a mere adventurer without a shilling to +his name, died in 1813, leaving more than a million dollars in cash, +with lands whose rent-roll yielded a hundred thousand dollars every +year. +</P> + +<P> +If any touch of the romantic which we find in Shelley is a matter of +heredity, we must trace it to this able, daring, restless, and +magnificent old grandfather, who was the beau ideal of an English +squire—the sort of squire who had added foreign graces to native +sturdiness. But young Shelley, the future poet, seemed scarcely to be +English at all. As a young boy he cared nothing for athletic sports. He +was given to much reading. He thought a good deal about abstractions +with which most schoolboys never concern themselves at all. +</P> + +<P> +Consequently, both in private schools and afterward at Eton, he became +a sort of rebel against authority. He resisted the fagging-system. He +spoke contemptuously of physical prowess. He disliked anything that he +was obliged to do, and he rushed eagerly into whatever was forbidden. +</P> + +<P> +Finally, when he was sent to University College, Oxford, he broke all +bounds. At a time when Tory England was aghast over the French +Revolution and its results, Shelley talked of liberty and equality on +all occasions. He made friends with an uncouth but able fellow student, +who bore the remarkable name of Thomas Jefferson Hogg—a name that +seems rampant with republicanism—and very soon he got himself expelled +from the university for publishing a little tract of an infidel +character called "A Defense of Atheism." +</P> + +<P> +His expulsion for such a cause naturally shocked his father. It +probably disturbed Shelley himself; but, after all, it gave him some +satisfaction to be a martyr for the cause of free speech. He went to +London with his friend Hogg, and took lodgings there. He read +omnivorously—Hogg says as much as sixteen hours a day. He would walk +through the most crowded streets poring over a volume, while holding +another under one arm. +</P> + +<P> +His mind was full of fancies. He had begun what was afterward called +"his passion for reforming everything." He despised most of the laws of +England. He thought its Parliament ridiculous. He hated its religion. +He was particularly opposed to marriage. This last fact gives some +point to the circumstances which almost immediately confronted him. +</P> + +<P> +Shelley was now about nineteen years old—an age at which most English +boys are emerging from the public schools, and are still in the +hobbledehoy stage of their formation. In a way, he was quite far from +boyish; yet in his knowledge of life he was little more than a mere +child. He knew nothing thoroughly—much less the ways of men and women. +He had no visible means of existence except a small allowance from his +father. His four sisters, who were at a boarding-school on Clapham +Common, used to save their pin-money and send it to their gifted +brother so that he might not actually starve. These sisters he used to +call upon from time to time, and through them he made the acquaintance +of a sixteen-year-old girl named Harriet Westbrook. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Westbrook was the daughter of a black-visaged keeper of a +coffee-house in Mount Street, called "Jew Westbrook," partly because of +his complexion, and partly because of his ability to retain what he had +made. He was, indeed, fairly well off, and had sent his younger +daughter, Harriet, to the school where Shelley's sisters studied. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Westbrook seems to have been a most precocious person. Any girl +of sixteen is, of course, a great deal older and more mature than a +youth of nineteen. In the present instance Harriet might have been +Shelley's senior by five years. There is no doubt that she fell in love +with him; but, having done so, she by no means acted in the shy and +timid way that would have been most natural to a very young girl in her +first love-affair. Having decided that she wanted him, she made up her +mind to get Mm at any cost, and her audacity was equaled only by his +simplicity. She was rather attractive in appearance, with abundant +hair, a plump figure, and a pink-and-white complexion. This description +makes of her a rather doll-like girl; but doll-like girls are just the +sort to attract an inexperienced young man who has yet to learn that +beauty and charm are quite distinct from prettiness, and infinitely +superior to it. +</P> + +<P> +In addition to her prettiness, Harriet Westbrook had a vivacious manner +and talked quite pleasingly. She was likewise not a bad listener; and +she would listen by the hour to Shelley in his rhapsodies about +chemistry, poetry, the failure of Christianity, the national debt, and +human liberty, all of which he jumbled up without much knowledge, but +in a lyric strain of impassioned eagerness which would probably have +made the multiplication-table thrilling. +</P> + +<P> +For Shelley himself was a creature of extraordinary fascination, both +then and afterward. There are no likenesses of him that do him justice, +because they cannot convey that singular appeal which the man himself +made to almost every one who met him. +</P> + +<P> +The eminent painter, Mulready, once said that Shelley was too beautiful +for portraiture; and yet the descriptions of him hardly seem to bear +this out. He was quite tall and slender, but he stooped so much as to +make him appear undersized. His head was very small-quite +disproportionately so; but this was counteracted to the eye by his long +and tumbled hair which, when excited, he would rub and twist in a +thousand different directions until it was actually bushy. His eyes and +mouth were his best features. The former were of a deep violet blue, +and when Shelley felt deeply moved they seemed luminous with a +wonderful and almost unearthly light. His mouth was finely chiseled, +and might be regarded as representing perfection. +</P> + +<P> +One great defect he had, and this might well have overbalanced his +attractive face. The defect in question was his voice. One would have +expected to hear from him melodious sounds, and vocal tones both rich +and penetrating; but, as a matter of fact, his voice was shrill at the +very best, and became actually discordant and peacock-like in moments +of emotion. +</P> + +<P> +Such, then, was Shelley, star-eyed, with the delicate complexion of a +girl, wonderfully mobile in his features, yet speaking in a voice high +pitched and almost raucous. For the rest, he arrayed himself with care +and in expensive clothing, even though he took no thought of neatness, +so that his garments were almost always rumpled and wrinkled from his +frequent writhings on couches and on the floor. Shelley had a strange +and almost primitive habit of rolling on the earth, and another of +thrusting his tousled head close up to the hottest fire in the house, +or of lying in the glaring sun when out of doors. It is related that he +composed one of his finest poems—"The Cenci"—in Italy, while +stretched out with face upturned to an almost tropical sun. +</P> + +<P> +But such as he was, and though he was not yet famous, Harriet +Westbrook, the rosy-faced schoolgirl, fell in love with him, and rather +plainly let him know that she had done so. There are a thousand ways in +which a woman can convey this information without doing anything +un-maidenly; and of all these little arts Miss Westbrook was +instinctively a mistress. +</P> + +<P> +She played upon Shelley's feelings by telling him that her father was +cruel to her, and that he contemplated actions still more cruel. There +is something absurdly comical about the grievance which she brought to +Shelley; but it is much more comical to note the tremendous seriousness +with which he took it. He wrote to his friend Hogg: +</P> + +<P> +Her father has persecuted her in a most horrible way, by endeavoring to +compel her to go to school. She asked my advice; resistance was the +answer. At the same time I essayed to mollify Mr. Westbrook, in vain! I +advised her to resist. She wrote to say that resistance was useless, +but that she would fly with me and throw herself on my protection. +</P> + +<P> +Some letters that have recently come to light show that there was a +dramatic scene between Harriet Westbrook and Shelley—a scene in the +course of which she threw her arms about his neck and wept upon his +shoulder. Here was a curious situation. Shelley was not at all in love +with her. He had explicitly declared this only a short time before. Yet +here was a pretty girl about to suffer the "horrible persecution" of +being sent to school, and finding no alternative save to "throw herself +on his protection"—in other words, to let him treat her as he would, +and to become his mistress. +</P> + +<P> +The absurdity of the situation makes one smile. Common sense should +have led some one to box Harriet's ears and send her off to school +without a moment's hesitation; while as for Shelley, he should have +been told how ludicrous was the whole affair. But he was only nineteen, +and she was only sixteen, and the crisis seemed portentous. Nothing +could be more flattering to a young man's vanity than to have this girl +cast herself upon him for protection. It did not really matter that he +had not loved her hitherto, and that he was already half engaged to +another Harriet—his cousin, Miss Grove. He could not stop and reason +with himself. He must like a true knight rescue lovely girlhood from +the horrors of a school! +</P> + +<P> +It is not unlikely that this whole affair was partly managed or +manipulated by the girl's father. Jew Westbrook knew that Shelley was +related to rich and titled people, and that he was certain, if he +lived, to become Sir Percy, and to be the heir of his grandfather's +estates. Hence it may be that Harriet's queer conduct was not wholly of +her own prompting. +</P> + +<P> +In any case, however, it proved to be successful. Shelley's ardent and +impulsive nature could not bear to see a girl in tears and appealing +for his help. Hence, though in his heart she was very little to him, +his romantic nature gave up for her sake the affection that he had felt +for his cousin, his own disbelief in marriage, and finally the common +sense which ought to have told him not to marry any one on two hundred +pounds a year. +</P> + +<P> +So the pair set off for Edinburgh by stagecoach. It was a weary and +most uncomfortable journey. When they reached the Scottish capital, +they were married by the Scottish law. Their money was all gone; but +their landlord, with a jovial sympathy for romance, let them have a +room, and treated them to a rather promiscuous wedding-banquet, in +which every one in the house participated. +</P> + +<P> +Such is the story of Shelley's marriage, contracted at nineteen with a +girl of sixteen who most certainly lured him on against his own better +judgment and in the absence of any actual love. +</P> + +<P> +The girl whom he had taken to himself was a well-meaning little thing. +She tried for a time to meet her husband's moods and to be a real +companion to him. But what could one expect from such a union? +Shelley's father withdrew the income which he had previously given. Jew +Westbrook refused to contribute anything, hoping, probably, that this +course would bring the Shelleys to the rescue. But as it was, the young +pair drifted about from place to place, getting very precarious +supplies, running deeper into debt each day, and finding less and less +to admire in each other. +</P> + +<P> +Shelley took to laudanum. Harriet dropped her abstruse studies, which +she had taken up to please her husband, but which could only puzzle her +small brain. She soon developed some of the unpleasant traits of the +class to which she belonged. In this her sister Eliza—a hard and +grasping middle-aged woman—had her share. She set Harriet against her +husband, and made life less endurable for both. She was so much older +than the pair that she came in and ruled their household like a typical +stepmother. +</P> + +<P> +A child was born, and Shelley very generously went through a second +form of marriage, so as to comply with the English law; but by this +time there was little hope of righting things again. Shelley was much +offended because Harriet would not nurse the child. He believed her +hard because she saw without emotion an operation performed upon the +infant. +</P> + +<P> +Finally, when Shelley at last came into a considerable sum of money, +Harriet and Eliza made no pretense of caring for anything except the +spending of it in "bonnet-shops" and on carriages and display. In +time—that is to say, in three years after their marriage—Harriet left +her husband and went to London and to Bath, prompted by her elder +sister. +</P> + +<P> +This proved to be the end of an unfortunate marriage. Word was brought +to Shelley that his wife was no longer faithful to him. He, on his +side, had carried on a semi-sentimental platonic correspondence with a +schoolmistress, one Miss Hitchener. But until now his life had been one +great mistake—a life of restlessness, of unsatisfied longing, of a +desire that had no name. Then came the perhaps inevitable meeting with +the one whom he should have met before. +</P> + +<P> +Shelley had taken a great interest in William Godwin, the writer and +radical philosopher. Godwin's household was a strange one. There was +Fanny Imlay, a child born out of wedlock, the offspring of Gilbert +Imlay, an American merchant, and of Mary Wollstonecraft, whom Godwin +had subsequently married. There was also a singularly striking girl who +then styled herself Mary Jane Clairmont, and who was afterward known as +Claire Clairmont, she and her brother being the early children of +Godwin's second wife. +</P> + +<P> +One day in 1814, Shelley called on Godwin, and found there a beautiful +young girl in her seventeenth year, "with shapely golden head, a face +very pale and pure, a great forehead, earnest hazel eyes, and an +expression at once of sensibility and firmness about her delicately +curved lips." This was Mary Godwin—one who had inherited her mother's +power of mind and likewise her grace and sweetness. +</P> + +<P> +From the very moment of their meeting Shelley and this girl were fated +to be joined together, and both of them were well aware of it. Each +felt the other's presence exert a magnetic thrill. Each listened +eagerly to what the other said. Each thought of nothing, and each cared +for nothing, in the other's absence. It was a great compelling +elemental force which drove the two together and bound them fast. +Beside this marvelous experience, how pale and pitiful and paltry +seemed the affectations of Harriet Westbrook! +</P> + +<P> +In little more than a month from the time of their first meeting, +Shelley and Mary Godwin and Miss Clairmont left Godwin's house at four +o 'clock in the morning, and hurried across the Channel to Calais. They +wandered almost like vagabonds across France, eating black bread and +the coarsest fare, walking on the highways when they could not afford +to ride, and putting up with every possible inconvenience. Yet it is +worth noting that neither then nor at any other time did either Shelley +or Mary regret what they had done. To the very end of the poet's brief +career they were inseparable. +</P> + +<P> +Later he was able to pension Harriet, who, being of a morbid +disposition, ended her life by drowning—not, it may be said, because +of grief for Shelley. It has been told that Fanny Imlay, Mary's sister, +likewise committed suicide because Shelley did not care for her, but +this has also been disproved. There was really nothing to mar the inner +happiness of the poet and the woman who, at the very end, became his +wife. Living, as they did, in Italy and Switzerland, they saw much of +their own countrymen, such as Landor and Leigh Hunt and Byron, to whose +fascinations poor Miss Clairmont yielded, and became the mother of the +little girl Allegra. +</P> + +<P> +But there could have been no truer union than this of Shelley's with +the woman whom nature had intended for him. It was in his love-life, +far more than in his poetry, that he attained completeness. When he +died by drowning, in 1822, and his body was burned in the presence of +Lord Byron, he was truly mourned by the one whom he had only lately +made his wife. As a poet he never reached the same perfection; for his +genius was fitful and uncertain, rare in its flights, and mingled +always with that which disappoints. +</P> + +<P> +As the lover and husband of Mary Godwin, there was nothing left to +wish. In his verse, however, the truest word concerning him will always +be that exquisite sentence of Matthew Arnold: +</P> + +<P> +"A beautiful and ineffectual angel beating his luminous wings against +the void in vain." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="carlyles"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE STORY OF THE CARLYLES +</H3> + +<P> +To most persons, Tennyson was a remote and romantic figure. His homes +in the Isle of Wight and at Aldworth had a dignified seclusion about +them which was very appropriate to so great a poet, and invested him +with a certain awe through which the multitude rarely penetrated. As a +matter of fact, however, he was an excellent companion, a ready talker, +and gifted with so much wit that it is a pity that more of his sayings +have not been preserved to us. +</P> + +<P> +One of the best known is that which was drawn from him after he and a +number of friends had been spending an hour in company with Mr. and +Mrs. Carlyle. The two Carlyles were unfortunately at their worst, and +gave a superb specimen of domestic "nagging." Each caught up whatever +the other said, and either turned it into ridicule, or tried to make +the author of it an object of contempt. +</P> + +<P> +This was, of course, exceedingly uncomfortable for such strangers as +were present, and it certainly gave no pleasure to their friends. On +leaving the house, some one said to Tennyson: +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it a pity that such a couple ever married?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," said Tennyson, with a sort of smile under his rough beard. +"It's much better that two people should be made unhappy than four." +</P> + +<P> +The world has pretty nearly come around to the verdict of the poet +laureate. It is not probable that Thomas Carlyle would have made any +woman happy as his wife, or that Jane Baillie Welsh would have made any +man happy as her husband. +</P> + +<P> +This sort of speculation would never have occurred had not Mr. Froude, +in the early eighties, given his story about the Carlyles to the world. +Carlyle went to his grave, an old man, highly honored, and with no +trail of gossip behind him. His wife had died some sixteen years +before, leaving a brilliant memory. The books of Mr. Froude seemed for +a moment to have desecrated the grave, and to have shed a sudden and +sinister light upon those who could not make the least defense for +themselves. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment, Carlyle seemed to have been a monster of harshness, +cruelty, and almost brutish feeling. On the other side, his wife took +on the color of an evil-speaking, evil-thinking shrew, who tormented +the life of her husband, and allowed herself to be possessed by some +demon of unrest and discontent, such as few women of her station are +ever known to suffer from. +</P> + +<P> +Nor was it merely that the two were apparently ill-mated and unhappy +with each other. There were hints and innuendos which looked toward +some hidden cause for this unhappiness, and which aroused the curiosity +of every one. That they might be clearer, Froude afterward wrote a +book, bringing out more plainly—indeed, too plainly—his explanation +of the Carlyle family skeleton. A multitude of documents then came from +every quarter, and from almost every one who had known either of the +Carlyles. Perhaps the result to-day has been more injurious to Froude +than to the two Carlyles. +</P> + +<P> +Many persons unjustly speak of Froude as having violated the confidence +of his friends in publishing the letters of Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle. They +take no heed of the fact that in doing this he was obeying Carlyle's +express wishes, left behind in writing, and often urged on Froude while +Carlyle was still alive. Whether or not Froude ought to have accepted +such a trust, one may perhaps hesitate to decide. That he did so is +probably because he felt that if he refused, Carlyle might commit the +same duty to another, who would discharge it with less delicacy and +less discretion. +</P> + +<P> +As it is, the blame, if it rests upon any one, should rest upon +Carlyle. He collected the letters. He wrote the lines which burn and +scorch with self-reproach. It is he who pressed upon the reluctant +Froude the duty of printing and publishing a series of documents which, +for the most part, should never have been published at all, and which +have done equal harm to Carlyle, to his wife, and to Froude himself. +</P> + +<P> +Now that everything has been written that is likely to be written by +those claiming to possess personal knowledge of the subject, let us +take up the volumes, and likewise the scattered fragments, and seek to +penetrate the mystery of the most ill-assorted couple known to modern +literature. +</P> + +<P> +It is not necessary to bring to light, and in regular order, the +external history of Thomas Carlyle, or of Jane Baillie Welsh, who +married him. There is an extraordinary amount of rather fanciful gossip +about this marriage, and about the three persons who had to do with it. +</P> + +<P> +Take first the principal figure, Thomas Carlyle. His life until that +time had been a good deal more than the life of an ordinary +country-man. Many persons represent him as a peasant; but he was +descended from the ancient lords of a Scottish manor. There was +something in his eye, and in the dominance of his nature, that made his +lordly nature felt. Mr. Froude notes that Carlyle's hand was very small +and unusually well shaped. Nor had his earliest appearance as a young +man been commonplace, in spite of the fact that his parents were +illiterate, so that his mother learned to read only after her sons had +gone away to Edinburgh, in order that she might be able to enjoy their +letters. +</P> + +<P> +At that time in Scotland, as in Puritan New England, in each family the +son who had the most notable "pairts" was sent to the university that +he might become a clergyman. If there were a second son, he became an +advocate or a doctor of medicine, while the sons of less distinction +seldom went beyond the parish school, but settled down as farmers, +horse-dealers, or whatever might happen to come their way. +</P> + +<P> +In the case of Thomas Carlyle, nature marked him out for something +brilliant, whatever that might be. His quick sensibility, the way in +which he acquired every sort of learning, his command of logic, and, +withal, his swift, unerring gift of language, made it certain from the +very first that he must be sent to the university as soon as he had +finished school, and could afford to go. +</P> + +<P> +At Edinburgh, where he matriculated in his fourteenth year, he +astonished every one by the enormous extent of his reading, and by the +firm hold he kept upon it. One hesitates to credit these so-called +reminiscences which tell how he absorbed mountains of Greek and immense +quantities of political economy and history and sociology and various +forms of metaphysics, as every Scotsman is bound to do. That he read +all night is a common story told of many a Scottish lad at college. We +may believe, however, that Carlyle studied and read as most of his +fellow students did, but far beyond them, in extent. +</P> + +<P> +When he had completed about half of his divinity course, he assured +himself that he was not intended for the life of a clergyman. One who +reads his mocking sayings, or what seemed to be a clever string of +jeers directed against religion, might well think that Carlyle was +throughout his life an atheist, or an agnostic. He confessed to Irving +that he did not believe in the Christian religion, and it was vain to +hope that he ever would so believe. +</P> + +<P> +Moreover, Carlyle had done something which was unusual at that time. He +had taught in several local schools; but presently he came back to +Edinburgh and openly made literature his profession. It was a daring +thing to do; but Carlyle had unbounded confidence in himself—the +confidence of a giant, striding forth into a forest, certain that he +can make his way by sheer strength through the tangled meshes and the +knotty branches that he knows will meet him and try to beat him back. +Furthermore, he knew how to live on very little; he was unmarried; and +he felt a certain ardor which beseemed his age and gifts. +</P> + +<P> +Through the kindness of friends, he received some commissions to write +in various books of reference; and in 1824, when he was twenty-nine +years of age, he published a translation of Legendre's Geometry. In the +same year he published, in the London Magazine, his Life of Schiller, +and also his translation of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. This successful +attack upon the London periodicals and reviews led to a certain +complication with the other two characters in this story. It takes us +to Jane Welsh, and also to Edward Irving. +</P> + +<P> +Irving was three years older than Carlyle. The two men were friends, +and both of them had been teaching in country schools, where both of +them had come to know Miss Welsh. Irving's seniority gave him a certain +prestige with the younger men, and naturally with Miss Welsh. He had +won honors at the university, and now, as assistant to the famous Dr. +Chalmers, he carried his silk robes in the jaunty fashion of one who +has just ceased to be an undergraduate. While studying, he met Miss +Welsh at Haddington, and there became her private instructor. +</P> + +<P> +This girl was regarded in her native town as something of a personage. +To read what has been written of her, one might suppose that she was +almost a miracle of birth and breeding, and of intellect as well. As a +matter of fact, in the little town of Haddington she was simply prima +inter pares. Her father was the local doctor, and while she had a +comfortable home, and doubtless a chaise at her disposal, she was very +far from the "opulence" which Carlyle, looking up at her from his +lowlier surroundings, was accustomed to ascribe to her. She was, no +doubt, a very clever girl; and, judging from the portraits taken of her +at about this time, she was an exceedingly pretty one, with beautiful +eyes and an abundance of dark glossy hair. +</P> + +<P> +Even then, however, Miss Welsh had traits which might have made it +certain that she would be much more agreeable as a friend than as a +wife. She had become an intellectuelle quite prematurely—at an age, in +fact, when she might better have been thinking of other things than the +inwardness of her soul, or the folly of religious belief. +</P> + +<P> +Even as a young girl, she was beset by a desire to criticize and to +ridicule almost everything and every one that she encountered. It was +only when she met with something that she could not understand, or some +one who could do what she could not, that she became comparatively +humble. Unconsciously, her chief ambition was to be herself +distinguished, and to marry some one who could be more distinguished +still. +</P> + +<P> +When she first met Edward Irving, she looked up to him as her superior +in many ways. He was a striking figure in her small world. He was known +in Edinburgh as likely to be a man of mark; and, of course, he had had +a careful training in many subjects of which she, as yet, knew very +little. Therefore, insensibly, she fell into a sort of admiration for +Irving—an admiration which might have been transmuted into love. +Irving, on his side, was taken by the young girl's beauty, her +vivacity, and the keenness of her intellect. That he did not at once +become her suitor is probably due to the fact that he had already +engaged himself to a Miss Martin, of whom not much is known. +</P> + +<P> +It was about this time, however, that Carlyle became acquainted with +Miss Welsh. His abundant knowledge, his original and striking manner of +commenting on it, his almost gigantic intellectual power, came to her +as a revelation. Her studies with Irving were now interwoven with her +admiration for Carlyle. +</P> + +<P> +Since Irving was a clergyman, and Miss Welsh had not the slightest +belief in any form of theology, there was comparatively little that +they had in common. On the other hand, when she saw the profundities of +Carlyle, she at once half feared, and was half fascinated. Let her +speak to him on any subject, and he would at once thunder forth some +striking truth, or it might be some puzzling paradox; but what he said +could never fail to interest her and to make her think. He had, too, an +infinite sense of humor, often whimsical and shot through with sarcasm. +</P> + +<P> +It is no wonder that Miss Welsh was more and more infatuated with the +nature of Carlyle. If it was her conscious wish to marry a man whom she +could reverence as a master, where should she find him—in Irving or in +Carlyle? +</P> + +<P> +Irving was a dreamer, a man who, she came to see, was thoroughly +one-sided, and whose interests lay in a different sphere from hers. +Carlyle, on the other hand, had already reached out beyond the little +Scottish capital, and had made his mark in the great world of London, +where men like De Quincey and Jeffrey thought it worth their while to +run a tilt with him. Then, too, there was the fascination of his talk, +in which Jane Welsh found a perpetual source of interest: +</P> + +<P> +The English have never had an artist, except in poetry; no musician; no +painter. Purcell and Hogarth are not exceptions, or only such as +confirm the rule. +</P> + +<P> +Is the true Scotchman the peasant and yeoman—chiefly the former? +</P> + +<P> +Every living man is a visible mystery; he walks between two eternities +and two infinitudes. Were we not blind as moles we should value our +humanity at infinity, and our rank, influence and so forth—the +trappings of our humanity—at nothing. Say I am a man, and you say all. +Whether king or tinker is a mere appendix. +</P> + +<P> +Understanding is to reason as the talent of a beaver—which can build +houses, and uses its tail for a trowel—to the genius of a prophet and +poet. Reason is all but extinct in this age; it can never be altogether +extinguished. +</P> + +<P> +The devil has his elect. +</P> + +<P> +Is anything more wonderful than another, if you consider it maturely? I +have seen no men rise from the dead; I have seen some thousands rise +from nothing. I have not force to fly into the sun, but I have force to +lift my hand, which is equally strange. +</P> + +<P> +Is not every thought properly an inspiration? Or how is one thing more +inspired than another? +</P> + +<P> +Examine by logic the import of thy life, and of all lives. What is it? +A making of meal into manure, and of manure into meal. To the cui bono +there is no answer from logic. +</P> + +<P> +In many ways Jane Welsh found the difference of range between Carlyle +and Irving. At one time, she asked Irving about some German works, and +he was obliged to send her to Carlyle to solve her difficulties. +Carlyle knew German almost as well as if he had been born in Dresden; +and the full and almost overflowing way in which he answered her gave +her another impression of his potency. Thus she weighed the two men who +might become her lovers, and little by little she came to think of +Irving as partly shallow and partly narrow-minded, while Carlyle loomed +up more of a giant than before. +</P> + +<P> +It is not probable that she was a woman who could love profoundly. She +thought too much about herself. She was too critical. She had too +intense an ambition for "showing off." I can imagine that in the end +she made her choice quite coolly. She was flattered by Carlyle's strong +preference for her. She was perhaps repelled by Irving's engagement to +another woman; yet at the time few persons thought that she had chosen +well. +</P> + +<P> +Irving had now gone to London, and had become the pastor of the +Caledonian chapel in Hatton Garden. Within a year, by the extraordinary +power of his eloquence, which, was in a style peculiar to himself, he +had transformed an obscure little chapel into one which was crowded by +the rich and fashionable. His congregation built for him a handsome +edifice on Regent Square, and he became the leader of a new cult, which +looked to a second personal advent of Christ. He cared nothing for the +charges of heresy which were brought against him; and when he was +deposed his congregation followed him, and developed a new Christian +order, known as Irvingism. +</P> + +<P> +Jane Welsh, in her musings, might rightfully have compared the two men +and the future which each could give her. Did she marry Irving, she was +certain of a life of ease in London, and an association with men and +women of fashion and celebrity, among whom she could show herself to be +the gifted woman that she was. Did she marry Carlyle, she must go with +him to a desolate, wind-beaten cottage, far away from any of the things +she cared for, working almost as a housemaid, having no company save +that of her husband, who was already a dyspeptic, and who was wont to +speak of feeling as if a rat were tearing out his stomach. +</P> + +<P> +Who would have said that in going with Carlyle she had made the better +choice? Any one would have said it who knew the three—Irving, Carlyle, +and Jane Welsh. +</P> + +<P> +She had the penetration to be certain that whatever Irving might +possess at present, it would be nothing in comparison to what Carlyle +would have in the coming future. She understood the limitations of +Irving, but to her keen mind the genius of Carlyle was unlimited; and +she foresaw that, after he had toiled and striven, he would come into +his great reward, which she would share. Irving might be the leader of +a petty sect, but Carlyle would be a man whose name must become known +throughout the world. +</P> + +<P> +And so, in 1826, she had made her choice, and had become the bride of +the rough-spoken, domineering Scotsman who had to face the world with +nothing but his creative brain and his stubborn independence. She had +put aside all immediate thought of London and its lures; she was going +to cast in her lot with Carlyle's, largely as a matter of calculation, +and believing that she had made the better choice. +</P> + +<P> +She was twenty-six and Carlyle was thirty-two when, after a brief +residence in Edinburgh, they went down to Craigenputtock. Froude has +described this place as the dreariest spot in the British dominions: +</P> + +<P> +The nearest cottage is more than a mile from it; the elevation, seven +hundred feet above the sea, stunts the trees and limits the garden +produce; the house is gaunt and hungry-looking. It stands, with the +scanty fields attached, as an island in a sea of morass. The landscape +is unredeemed by grace or grandeur—mere undulating hills of grass and +heather, with peat bogs in the hollows between them. +</P> + +<P> +Froude's grim description has been questioned by some; yet the actual +pictures that have been drawn of the place in later years make it look +bare, desolate, and uninviting. Mrs. Carlyle, who owned it as an +inheritance from her father, saw the place for the first time in March, +1828. She settled there in May; but May, in the Scottish hills, is +almost as repellent as winter. She herself shrank from the adventure +which she had proposed. It was her husband's notion, and her own, that +they should live there in practical solitude. He was to think and +write, and make for himself a beginning of real fame; while she was to +hover over him and watch his minor comforts. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to many of their friends that the project was quixotic to a +degree. Mrs. Carlyle delicate health, her weak chest, and the beginning +of a nervous disorder, made them think that she was unfit to dwell in +so wild and bleak a solitude. They felt, too, that Carlyle was too much +absorbed with his own thought to be trusted with the charge of a +high-spirited woman. +</P> + +<P> +However, the decision had been made, and the newly married couple went +to Craigenputtock, with wagons that carried their household goods and +those of Carlyle's brother, Alexander, who lived in a cottage near by. +These were the two redeeming features of their lonely home—the +presence of Alexander Carlyle, and the fact that, although they had no +servants in the ordinary sense, there were several farmhands and a +dairy-maid. +</P> + +<P> +Before long there came a period of trouble, which is easily explained +by what has been already said. Carlyle, thinking and writing some of +the most beautiful things that he ever thought or wrote, could not make +allowance for his wife's high spirit and physical weakness. She, on her +side—nervous, fitful, and hard to please—thought herself a slave, the +servant of a harsh and brutal master. She screamed at him when her +nerves were too unstrung; and then, with a natural reaction, she called +herself "a devil who could never be good enough for him." But most of +her letters were harsh and filled with bitterness, and, no doubt, his +conduct to her was at times no better than her own. +</P> + +<P> +But it was at Craigenputtock that he really did lay fast and firm the +road to fame. His wife's sharp tongue, and the gnawings of his own +dyspepsia, were lived down with true Scottish grimness. It was here +that he wrote some of his most penetrating and sympathetic essays, +which were published by the leading reviews of England and Scotland. +Here, too, he began to teach his countrymen the value of German +literature. +</P> + +<P> +The most remarkable of his productions was that strange work entitled +Sartor Resartus (1834), an extraordinary mixture of the sublime and the +grotesque. The book quivers and shakes with tragic pathos, with inward +agonies, with solemn aspirations, and with riotous humor. +</P> + +<P> +In 1834, after six years at Craigenputtock, the Carlyles moved to +London, and took up their home in Cheyne Row, Chelsea, a far from +fashionable retreat, but one in which the comforts of life could be +more readily secured. It was there that Thomas Carlyle wrote what must +seem to us the most vivid of all his books, the History of the French +Revolution. For this he had read and thought for many years; parts of +it he had written in essays, and parts of it he had jotted down in +journals. But now it came forth, as some one has said, "a truth clad in +hell-fire," swirling amid clouds and flames and mist, a most wonderful +picture of the accumulated social and political falsehoods which +preceded the revolution, and which were swept away by a nemesis that +was the righteous judgment of God. +</P> + +<P> +Carlyle never wrote so great a book as this. He had reached his middle +style, having passed the clarity of his early writings, and not having +yet reached the thunderous, strange-mouthed German expletives which +marred his later work. In the French Revolution he bursts forth, here +and there, into furious Gallic oaths and Gargantuan epithets; yet this +apocalypse of France seems more true than his hero-worshiping of old +Frederick of Prussia, or even of English Cromwell. +</P> + +<P> +All these days Thomas Carlyle lived a life which was partly one of +seclusion and partly one of pleasure. At all times he and his +dark-haired wife had their own sets, and mingled with their own +friends. Jane had no means of discovering just whether she would have +been happier with Irving; for Irving died while she was still digging +potatoes and complaining of her lot at Craigenputtock. +</P> + +<P> +However this may be, the Carlyles, man and wife, lived an existence +that was full of unhappiness and rancor. Jane Carlyle became an +invalid, and sought to allay her nervous sufferings with strong tea and +tobacco and morphin. When a nervous woman takes to morphin, it almost +always means that she becomes intensely jealous; and so it was with +Jane Carlyle. +</P> + +<P> +A shivering, palpitating, fiercely loyal bit of humanity, she took it +into her head that her husband was infatuated with Lady Ashburton, or +that Lady Ashburton was infatuated with him. She took to spying on +them, and at times, when her nerves were all a jangle, she would lie +back in her armchair and yell with paroxysms of anger. On the other +hand, Carlyle, eager to enjoy the world, sought relief from his +household cares, and sometimes stole away after a fashion that was +hardly guileless. He would leave false addresses at his house, and +would dine at other places than he had announced. +</P> + +<P> +In 1866 Jane Carlyle suddenly died; and somehow, then, the conscience +of Thomas Carlyle became convinced that he had wronged the woman whom +he had really loved. His last fifteen years were spent in wretchedness +and despair. He felt that he had committed the unpardonable sin. He +recalled with anguish every moment of their early life at +Craigenputtock—how she had toiled for him, and waited upon him, and +made herself a slave; and how, later, she had given herself up entirely +to him, while he had thoughtlessly received the sacrifice, and trampled +on it as on a bed of flowers. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, in all this he was intensely morbid, and the diary which he +wrote was no more sane and wholesome than the screamings with which his +wife had horrified her friends. But when he had grown to be a very old +man, he came to feel that this was all a sort of penance, and that the +selfishness of his past must be expiated in the future. Therefore, he +gave his diary to his friend, the historian, Froude, and urged him to +publish the letters and memorials of Jane Welsh Carlyle. Mr. Froude, +with an eye to the reading world, readily did so, furnishing them with +abundant footnotes, which made Carlyle appear to the world as more or +less of a monster. +</P> + +<P> +First, there was set forth the almost continual unhappiness of the +pair. In the second place, by hint, by innuendo, and sometimes by +explicit statement, there were given reasons to show why Carlyle made +his wife unhappy. Of course, his gnawing dyspepsia, which she strove +with all her might to drive away, was one of the first and greatest +causes. But again another cause of discontent was stated in the +implication that Carlyle, in his bursts of temper, actually abused his +wife. In one passage there is a hint that certain blue marks upon her +arm were bruises, the result of blows. +</P> + +<P> +Most remarkable of all these accusations is that which has to do with +the relations of Carlyle and Lady Ashburton. There is no doubt that +Jane Carlyle disliked this brilliant woman, and came to have dark +suspicions concerning her. At first, it was only a sort of social +jealousy. Lady Ashburton was quite as clever a talker as Mrs. Carlyle, +and she had a prestige which brought her more admiration. +</P> + +<P> +Then, by degrees, as Jane Carlyle's mind began to wane, she transferred +her jealousy to her husband himself. She hated to be out-shone, and +now, in some misguided fashion, it came into her head that Carlyle had +surrendered to Lady Ashburton his own attention to his wife, and had +fallen in love with her brilliant rival. +</P> + +<P> +On one occasion, she declared that Lady Ashburton had thrown herself at +Carlyle's feet, but that Carlyle had acted like a man of honor, while +Lord Ashburton, knowing all the facts, had passed them over, and had +retained his friendship with Carlyle. +</P> + +<P> +Now, when Froude came to write My Relations with Carlyle, there were +those who were very eager to furnish him with every sort of gossip. The +greatest source of scandal upon which he drew was a woman named +Geraldine Jewsbury, a curious neurotic creature, who had seen much of +the late Mrs. Carlyle, but who had an almost morbid love of offensive +tattle. Froude describes himself as a witness for six years, at Cheyne +Row, "of the enactment of a tragedy as stern and real as the story of +Oedipus." According to his own account: +</P> + +<P> +I stood by, consenting to the slow martyrdom of a woman whom I have +described as bright and sparkling and tender, and I uttered no word of +remonstrance. I saw her involved in a perpetual blizzard, and did +nothing to shelter her. +</P> + +<P> +But it is not upon his own observations that Froude relies for his most +sinister evidence against his friend. To him comes Miss Jewsbury with a +lengthy tale to tell. It is well to know what Mrs. Carlyle thought of +this lady. She wrote: +</P> + +<P> +It is her besetting sin, and her trade of novelist has aggravated +it—the desire of feeling and producing violent emotions. ... Geraldine +has one besetting weakness; she is never happy unless she has a grande +passion on hand. +</P> + +<P> +There were strange manifestations on the part of Miss Jewsbury toward +Mrs. Carlyle. At one time, when Mrs. Carlyle had shown some preference +for another woman, it led to a wild outburst of what Miss Jewsbury +herself called "tiger jealousy." There are many other instances of +violent emotions in her letters to Mrs. Carlyle. They are often highly +charged and erotic. It is unusual for a woman of thirty-two to write to +a woman friend, who is forty-three years of age, in these words, which +Miss Jewsbury used in writing to Mrs. Carlyle: +</P> + +<P> +You are never out of my thoughts one hour together. I think of you much +more than if you were my lover. I cannot express my feelings, even to +you—vague, undefined yearnings to be yours in some way. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Carlyle was accustomed, in private, to speak of Miss Jewsbury as +"Miss Gooseberry," while Carlyle himself said that she was simply "a +flimsy tatter of a creature." But it is on the testimony of this one +woman, who was so morbid and excitable, that the most serious +accusations against Carlyle rest. She knew that Froude was writing a +volume about Mrs. Carlyle, and she rushed to him, eager to furnish any +narratives, however strange, improbable, or salacious they might be. +</P> + +<P> +Thus she is the sponsor of the Ashburton story, in which there is +nothing whatsoever. Some of the letters which Lady Ashburton wrote +Carlyle have been destroyed, but not before her husband had perused +them. Another set of letters had never been read by Lord Ashburton at +all, and they are still preserved—friendly, harmless, usual letters. +Lord Ashburton always invited Carlyle to his house, and there is no +reason to think that the Scottish philosopher wronged him. +</P> + +<P> +There is much more to be said about the charge that Mrs. Carlyle +suffered from personal abuse; yet when we examine the facts, the +evidence resolves itself into practically nothing. That, in his +self-absorption, he allowed her to Sending Completed Page, Please Wait +... overflowed toward a man who must have been a manly, loving lover. +She calls him by the name by which he called her—a homely Scottish +name. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +GOODY, GOODY, DEAR GOODY: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +You said you would weary, and I do hope in my heart you are wearying. +It will be so sweet to make it all up to you in kisses when I return. +You will take me and hear all my bits of experiences, and your heart +will beat when you find how I have longed to return to you. Darling, +dearest, loveliest, the Lord bless you! I think of you every hour, +every moment. I love you and admire you, like—like anything. Oh, if I +was there, I could put my arms so close about your neck, and hush you +into the softest sleep you have had since I went away. Good night. +Dream of me. I am ever YOUR OWN GOODY. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It seems most fitting to remember Thomas Carlyle as a man of strength, +of honor, and of intellect; and his wife as one who was sorely tried, +but who came out of her suffering into the arms of death, purified and +calm and worthy to be remembered by her husband's side. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="hugos"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE STORY OF THE HUGOS +</H3> + +<P> +Victor Hugo, after all criticisms have been made, stands as a literary +colossus. He had imaginative power which makes his finest passages +fairly crash upon the reader's brain like blasting thunderbolts. His +novels, even when translated, are read and reread by people of every +degree of education. There is something vast, something almost Titanic, +about the grandeur and gorgeousness of his fancy. His prose resembles +the sonorous blare of an immense military band. Readers of English care +less for his poetry; yet in his verse one can find another phase of his +intellect. He could write charmingly, in exquisite cadences, poems for +lovers and for little children. His gifts were varied, and he knew +thoroughly the life and thought of his own countrymen; and, therefore, +in his later days he was almost deified by them. +</P> + +<P> +At the same time, there were defects in his intellect and character +which are perceptible in what he wrote, as well as in what he did. He +had the Gallic wit in great measure, but he was absolutely devoid of +any sense of humor. This is why, in both his prose and his poetry, his +most tremendous pages often come perilously near to bombast; and this +is why, again, as a man, his vanity was almost as great as his genius. +He had good reason to be vain, and yet, if he had possessed a gleam of +humor, he would never have allowed his egoism to make him arrogant. As +it was, he felt himself exalted above other mortals. Whatever he did or +said or wrote was right because he did it or said it or wrote it. +</P> + +<P> +This often showed itself in rather whimsical ways. Thus, after he had +published the first edition of his novel, The Man Who Laughs, an +English gentleman called upon him, and, after some courteous +compliments, suggested that in subsequent editions the name of an +English peer who figures in the book should be changed from Tom +Jim-Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"For," said the Englishman, "Tom Jim-Jack is a name that could not +possibly belong to an English noble, or, indeed, to any Englishman. The +presence of it in your powerful story makes it seem to English readers +a little grotesque." +</P> + +<P> +Victor Hugo drew himself up with an air of high disdain. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" asked he. +</P> + +<P> +"I am an Englishman," was the answer, "and naturally I know what names +are possible in English." +</P> + +<P> +Hugo drew himself up still higher, and on his face there was a smile of +utter contempt. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said he. "You are an Englishman; but I—I am Victor Hugo." +</P> + +<P> +In another book Hugo had spoken of the Scottish bagpipes as "bugpipes." +This gave some offense to his Scottish admirers. A great many persons +told him that the word was "bagpipes," and not "bugpipes." But he +replied with irritable obstinacy: +</P> + +<P> +"I am Victor Hugo; and if I choose to write it 'bugpipes,' it IS +'bugpipes.' It is anything that I prefer to make it. It is so, because +I call it so!" +</P> + +<P> +So, Victor Hugo became a violent republican, because he did not wish +France to be an empire or a kingdom, in which an emperor or a king +would be his superior in rank. He always spoke of Napoleon III as "M. +Bonaparte." He refused to call upon the gentle-mannered Emperor of +Brazil, because he was an emperor; although Dom Pedro expressed an +earnest desire to meet the poet. +</P> + +<P> +When the German army was besieging Paris, Hugo proposed to fight a duel +with the King of Prussia, and to have the result of it settle the war; +"for," said he, "the King of Prussia is a great king, but I am Victor +Hugo, the great poet. We are, therefore, equal." +</P> + +<P> +In spite, however, of his ardent republicanism, he was very fond of +speaking of his own noble descent. Again and again he styled himself "a +peer of France;" and he and his family made frequent allusions to the +knights and bishops and counselors of state with whom he claimed an +ancestral relation. This was more than inconsistent. It was somewhat +ludicrous; because Victor Hugo's ancestry was by no means noble. The +Hugos of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were not in any way +related to the poet's family, which was eminently honest and +respectable, but by no means one of distinction. His grandfather was a +carpenter. One of his aunts was the wife of a baker, another of a +barber, while the third earned her living as a provincial dressmaker. +</P> + +<P> +If the poet had been less vain and more sincerely democratic, he would +have been proud to think that he sprang from good, sound, sturdy stock, +and would have laughed at titles. As it was, he jeered at all +pretensions of rank in other men, while he claimed for himself +distinctions that were not really his. His father was a soldier who +rose from the ranks until, under Napoleon, he reached the grade of +general. His mother was the daughter of a ship owner in Nantes. +</P> + +<P> +Victor Hugo was born in February, 1802, during the Napoleonic wars, and +his early years were spent among the camps and within the sound of the +cannon-thunder. It was fitting that he should have been born and reared +in an age of upheaval, revolt, and battle. He was essentially the +laureate of revolt; and in some of his novels—as in Ninety-Three—the +drum and the trumpet roll and ring through every chapter. +</P> + +<P> +The present paper has, of course, nothing to do with Hugo's public +life; yet it is necessary to remember the complicated nature of the +man—all his power, all his sweetness of disposition, and likewise all +his vanity and his eccentricities. We must remember, also, that he was +French, so that his story may be interpreted in the light of the French +character. +</P> + +<P> +At the age of fifteen he was domiciled in Paris, and though still a +schoolboy and destined for the study of law, he dreamed only of poetry +and of literature. He received honorable mention from the French +Academy in 1817, and in the following year took prizes in a poetical +competition. At seventeen he began the publication of a literary +journal, which survived until 1821. His astonishing energy became +evident in the many publications which he put forth in these boyish +days. He began to become known. Although poetry, then as now, was not +very profitable even when it was admired, one of his slender volumes +brought him the sum of seven hundred francs, which seemed to him not +only a fortune in itself, but the forerunner of still greater +prosperity. +</P> + +<P> +It was at this time, while still only twenty years of age, that he met +a young girl of eighteen with whom he fell rather tempestuously in +love. Her name was Adele Foucher, and she was the daughter of a clerk +in the War Office. When one is very young and also a poet, it takes +very little to feed the flame of passion. Victor Hugo was often a guest +at the apartments of M. Foucher, where he was received by that +gentleman and his family. French etiquette, of course, forbade any +direct communication between the visitor and Adele. She was still a +very young girl, and was supposed to take no share in the conversation. +Therefore, while the others talked, she sat demurely by the fireside +and sewed. +</P> + +<P> +Her dark eyes and abundant hair, her grace of manner, and the picture +which she made as the firelight played about her, kindled a flame in +the susceptible heart of Victor Hugo. Though he could not speak to her, +he at least could look at her; and, before long, his share in the +conversation was very slight. This was set down, at first, to his +absent-mindedness; but looks can be as eloquent as spoken words. Mme. +Foucher, with a woman's keen intelligence, noted the adoring gaze of +Victor Hugo as he silently watched her daughter. The young Adele +herself was no less intuitive than her mother. It was very well +understood, in the course of a few months, that Victor Hugo was in love +with Adele Foucher. +</P> + +<P> +Her father and mother took counsel about the matter, and Hugo himself, +in a burst of lyrical eloquence, confessed that he adored Adele and +wished to marry her. Her parents naturally objected. The girl was but a +child. She had no dowry, nor had Victor Hugo any settled income. They +were not to think of marriage. But when did a common-sense decision, +such as this, ever separate a man and a woman who have felt the thrill +of first love! Victor Hugo was insistent. With his supreme +self-confidence, he declared that he was bound to be successful, and +that in a very short time he would be illustrious. Adele, on her side, +created "an atmosphere" at home by weeping frequently, and by going +about with hollow eyes and wistful looks. +</P> + +<P> +The Foucher family removed from Paris to a country town. Victor Hugo +immediately followed them. Fortunately for him, his poems had attracted +the attention of Louis XVIII, who was flattered by some of the verses. +He sent Hugo five hundred francs for an ode, and soon afterward settled +upon him a pension of a thousand francs. Here at least was an income—a +very small one, to be sure, but still an income. Perhaps Adele's father +was impressed not so much by the actual money as by the evidence of the +royal favor. At any rate, he withdrew his opposition, and the two young +people were married in October, 1822—both of them being under age, +unformed, and immature. +</P> + +<P> +Their story is another warning against too early marriage. It is true +that they lived together until Mme. Hugo's death—a married life of +forty-six years—yet their story presents phases which would have made +this impossible had they not been French. +</P> + +<P> +For a time, Hugo devoted all his energies to work. The record of his +steady upward progress is a part of the history of literature, and need +not be repeated here. The poet and his wife were soon able to leave the +latter's family abode, and to set up their own household god in a home +which was their own. Around them there were gathered, in a sort of +salon, all the best-known writers of the day—dramatists, critics, +poets, and romancers. The Hugos knew everybody. +</P> + +<P> +Unfortunately, one of their visitors cast into their new life a drop of +corroding bitterness. This intruder was Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, +a man two years younger than Victor Hugo, and one who blended learning, +imagination, and a gift of critical analysis. Sainte-Beuve is to-day +best remembered as a critic, and he was perhaps the greatest critic +ever known in France. But in 1830 he was a slender, insinuating youth +who cultivated a gift for sensuous and somewhat morbid poetry. +</P> + +<P> +He had won Victor Hugo's friendship by writing an enthusiastic notice +of Hugo's dramatic works. Hugo, in turn, styled Sainte-Beuve "an +eagle," "a blazing star," and paid him other compliments no less +gorgeous and Hugoesque. But in truth, if Sainte-Beuve frequented the +Hugo salon, it was less because of his admiration for the poet than +from his desire to win the love of the poet's wife. +</P> + +<P> +It is quite impossible to say how far he attracted the serious +attention of Adele Hugo. Sainte-Beuve represents a curious type, which +is far more common in France and Italy than in the countries of the +north. Human nature is not very different in cultivated circles +anywhere. Man loves, and seeks to win the object of his love; or, as +the old English proverb has it: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + It's a man's part to try,<BR> + And a woman's to deny.<BR> +</P> + +<P> +But only in the Latin countries do men who have tried make their +attempts public, and seek to produce an impression that they have been +successful, and that the woman has not denied. This sort of man, in +English-speaking lands, is set down simply as a cad, and is excluded +from people's houses; but in some other countries the thing is regarded +with a certain amount of toleration. We see it in the two books written +respectively by Alfred de Musset and George Sand. We have seen it still +later in our own times, in that strange and half-repulsive story in +which the Italian novelist and poet, Gabriele d'Annunzio, under a very +thin disguise, revealed his relations with the famous actress, Eleanora +Duse. Anglo-Saxons thrust such books aside with a feeling of disgust +for the man who could so betray a sacred confidence and perhaps +exaggerate a simple indiscretion into actual guilt. But it is not so in +France and Italy. And this is precisely what Sainte-Beuve attempted. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. George McLean Harper, in his lately published study of +Sainte-Beuve, has summed the matter up admirably, in speaking of The +Book of Love: +</P> + +<P> +He had the vein of emotional self-disclosure, the vein of romantic or +sentimental confession. This last was not a rich lode, and so he was at +pains to charge it secretly with ore which he exhumed gloatingly, but +which was really base metal. The impulse that led him along this false +route was partly ambition, partly sensuality. Many a worse man would +have been restrained by self-respect and good taste. And no man with a +sense of honor would have permitted The Book of Love to see the +light—a small collection of verses recording his passion for Mme. +Hugo, and designed to implicate her. +</P> + +<P> +He left two hundred and five printed copies of this book to be +distributed after his death. A virulent enemy of Sainte-Beuve was not +too expressive when he declared that its purpose was "to leave on the +life of this woman the gleaming and slimy trace which the passage of a +snail leaves on a rose." Abominable in either case, whether or not the +implication was unfounded, Sainte-Beuve's numerous innuendoes in regard +to Mme. Hugo are an indelible stain on his memory, and his infamy not +only cost him his most precious friendships, but crippled him in every +high endeavor. +</P> + +<P> +How monstrous was this violation of both friendship and love may be +seen in the following quotation from his writings: +</P> + +<P> +In that inevitable hour, when the gloomy tempest and the jealous gulf +shall roll over our heads, a sealed bottle, belched forth from the +abyss, will render immortal our two names, their close alliance, and +our double memory aspiring after union. +</P> + +<P> +Whether or not Mme. Hugo's relations with Sainte-Beuve justified the +latter even in thinking such thoughts as these, one need not inquire +too minutely. Evidently, though, Victor Hugo could no longer be the +friend of the man who almost openly boasted that he had dishonored him. +There exist some sharp letters which passed between Hugo and +Sainte-Beuve. Their intimacy was ended. +</P> + +<P> +But there was something more serious than this. Sainte-Beuve had in +fact succeeded in leaving a taint upon the name of Victor Hugo's wife. +That Hugo did not repudiate her makes it fairly plain that she was +innocent; yet a high-spirited, sensitive soul like Hugo's could never +forget that in the world's eye she was compromised. The two still lived +together as before; but now the poet felt himself released from the +strict obligations of the marriage-bond. +</P> + +<P> +It may perhaps be doubted whether he would in any case have remained +faithful all his life. He was, as Mr. H.W. Wack well says, "a man of +powerful sensations, physically as well as mentally. Hugo pursued every +opportunity for new work, new sensations, fresh emotion. He desired to +absorb as much on life's eager forward way as his great nature craved. +His range in all things—mental, physical, and spiritual—was so far +beyond the ordinary that the gage of average cannot be applied to him. +The cavil of the moralist did not disturb him." +</P> + +<P> +Hence, it is not improbable that Victor Hugo might have broken through +the bonds of marital fidelity, even had Sainte-Beuve never written his +abnormal poems; but certainly these poems hastened a result which may +or may not have been otherwise inevitable. Hugo no longer turned wholly +to the dark-haired, dark-eyed Adele as summing up for him the whole of +womanhood. A veil was drawn, as it were, from before his eyes, and he +looked on other women and found them beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +It was in 1833, soon after Hugo's play "Lucrece Borgia" had been +accepted for production, that a lady called one morning at Hugo's house +in the Place Royale. She was then between twenty and thirty years of +age, slight of figure, winsome in her bearing, and one who knew the +arts which appeal to men. For she was no inexperienced ingenue. The +name upon her visiting-card was "Mme. Drouet"; and by this name she had +been known in Paris as a clever and somewhat gifted actress. Theophile +Gautier, whose cult was the worship of physical beauty, wrote in almost +lyric prose of her seductive charm. +</P> + +<P> +At nineteen, after she had been cast upon the world, dowered with that +terrible combination, poverty and beauty, she had lived openly with a +sculptor named Pradier. This has a certain importance in the history of +French art. Pradier had received a commission to execute a statue +representing Strasburg—the statue which stands to-day in the Place de +la Concorde, and which patriotic Frenchmen and Frenchwomen drape in +mourning and half bury in immortelles, in memory of that city of Alsace +which so long was French, but which to-day is German—one of Germany's +great prizes taken in the war of 1870. +</P> + +<P> +Five years before her meeting with Hugo, Pradier had rather brutally +severed his connection with her, and she had accepted the protection of +a Russian nobleman. At this time she was known by her real +name—Julienne Josephine Gauvin; but having gone upon the stage, she +assumed the appellation by which she was thereafter known, that of +Juliette Drouet. +</P> + +<P> +Her visit to Hugo was for the purpose of asking him to secure for her a +part in his forth-coming play. The dramatist was willing, but +unfortunately all the major characters had been provided for, and he +was able to offer her only the minor one of the Princesse Negroni. The +charming deference with which she accepted the offered part attracted +Hugo's attention. Such amiability is very rare in actresses who have +had engagements at the best theaters. He resolved to see her again; and +he did so, time after time, until he was thoroughly captivated by her. +</P> + +<P> +She knew her value, and as yet was by no means infatuated with him. At +first he was to her simply a means of getting on in her +profession—simply another influential acquaintance. Yet she brought to +bear upon him the arts at her command, her beauty and her sympathy, +and, last of all, her passionate abandonment. +</P> + +<P> +Hugo was overwhelmed by her. He found that she was in debt, and he +managed to see that her debts were paid. He secured her other +engagements at the theater, though she was less successful as an +actress after she knew him. There came, for a time, a short break in +their relations; for, partly out of need, she returned to her Russian +nobleman, or at least admitted him to a menage a trois. Hugo underwent +for a second time a great disillusionment. Nevertheless, he was not too +proud to return to her and to beg her not to be unfaithful any more. +Touched by his tears, and perhaps foreseeing his future fame, she gave +her promise, and she kept it until her death, nearly half a century +later. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps because she had deceived him once, Hugo never completely lost +his prudence in his association with her. He was by no means lavish +with money, and he installed her in a rather simple apartment only a +short distance from his own home. He gave her an allowance that was +relatively small, though later he provided for her amply in his will. +But it was to her that he brought all his confidences, to her he +entrusted all his interests. She became to him, thenceforth, much more +than she appeared to the world at large; for she was his friend, and, +as he said, his inspiration. +</P> + +<P> +The fact of their intimate connection became gradually known through +Paris. It was known even to Mme. Hugo; but she, remembering the affair +of Sainte-Beuve, or knowing how difficult it is to check the will of a +man like Hugo, made no sign, and even received Juliette Drouet in her +own house and visited her in turn. When the poet's sons grew up to +manhood, they, too, spent many hours with their father in the little +salon of the former actress. It was a strange and, to an Anglo-Saxon +mind, an almost impossible position; yet France forgives much to +genius, and in time no one thought of commenting on Hugo's manner of +life. +</P> + +<P> +In 1851, when Napoleon III seized upon the government, and when Hugo +was in danger of arrest, she assisted him to escape in disguise, and +with a forged passport, across the Belgian frontier. During his long +exile in Guernsey she lived in the same close relationship to him and +to his family. Mme. Hugo died in 1868, having known for thirty-three +years that she was only second in her husband's thoughts. Was she doing +penance, or was she merely accepting the inevitable? In any case, her +position was most pathetic, though she uttered no complaint. +</P> + +<P> +A very curious and poignant picture of her just before her death has +been given by the pen of a visitor in Guernsey. He had met Hugo and his +sons; he had seen the great novelist eating enormous slices of roast +beef and drinking great goblets of red wine at dinner, and he had also +watched him early each morning, divested of all his clothing and +splashing about in a bath-tub on the top of his house, in view of all +the town. One evening he called and found only Mme. Hugo. She was +reclining on a couch, and was evidently suffering great pain. +Surprised, he asked where were her husband and her sons. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," she replied, "they've all gone to Mme. Drouet's to spend the +evening and enjoy themselves. Go also; you'll not find it amusing here." +</P> + +<P> +One ponders over this sad scene with conflicting thoughts. Was there +really any truth in the story at which Sainte-Beuve more than hinted? +If so, Adele Hugo was more than punished. The other woman had sinned +far more; and yet she had never been Hugo's wife; and hence perhaps it +was right that she should suffer less. Suffer she did; for after her +devotion to Hugo had become sincere and deep, he betrayed her +confidence by an intrigue with a girl who is spoken of as "Claire." The +knowledge of it caused her infinite anguish, but it all came to an end; +and she lived past her eightieth year, long after the death of Mme. +Hugo. She died only a short time before the poet himself was laid to +rest in Paris with magnificent obsequies which an emperor might have +envied. In her old age, Juliette Drouet became very white and very wan; +yet she never quite lost the charm with which, as a girl, she had won +the heart of Hugo. +</P> + +<P> +The story has many aspects. One may see in it a retribution, or one may +see in it only the cruelty of life. Perhaps it is best regarded simply +as a chapter in the strange life-histories of men of genius. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="sand"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE STORY OF GEORGE SAND +</H3> + +<P> +To the student of feminine psychology there is no more curious and +complex problem than the one that meets us in the life of the gifted +French writer best known to the world as George Sand. +</P> + +<P> +To analyze this woman simply as a writer would in itself be a long, +difficult task. She wrote voluminously, with a fluid rather than a +fluent pen. She scandalized her contemporaries by her theories, and by +the way in which she applied them in her novels. Her fiction made her, +in the history of French literature, second only to Victor Hugo. She +might even challenge Hugo, because where he depicts strange and +monstrous figures, exaggerated beyond the limits of actual life, George +Sand portrays living men and women, whose instincts and desires she +understands, and whom she makes us see precisely as if we were admitted +to their intimacy. +</P> + +<P> +But George Sand puzzles us most by peculiarities which it is difficult +for us to reconcile. She seemed to have no sense of chastity whatever; +yet, on the other hand, she was not grossly sensual. She possessed the +maternal instinct to a high degree, and liked better to be a mother +than a mistress to the men whose love she sought. For she did seek +men's love, frankly and shamelessly, only to tire of it. In many cases +she seems to have been swayed by vanity, and by a love of conquest, +rather than by passion. She had also a spiritual, imaginative side to +her nature, and she could be a far better comrade than anything more +intimate. +</P> + +<P> +The name given to this strange genius at birth was Amantine Lucile +Aurore Dupin. The circumstances of her ancestry and birth were quite +unusual. Her father was a lieutenant in the French army. His +grandmother had been the natural daughter of Marshal Saxe, who was +himself the illegitimate son of Augustus the Strong of Poland and of +the bewitching Countess of Konigsmarck. This was a curious pedigree. It +meant strength of character, eroticism, stubbornness, imagination, +courage, and recklessness. +</P> + +<P> +Her father complicated the matter by marrying suddenly a Parisian of +the lower classes, a bird-fancier named Sophie Delaborde. His daughter, +who was born in 1804, used afterward to boast that on one side she was +sprung from kings and nobles, while on the other she was a daughter of +the people, able, therefore, to understand the sentiments of the +aristocracy and of the children of the soil, or even of the gutter. +</P> + +<P> +She was fond of telling, also, of the omen which attended on her birth. +Her father and mother were at a country dance in the house of a fellow +officer of Dupin's. Suddenly Mme. Dupin left the room. Nothing was +thought of this, and the dance went on. In less than an hour, Dupin was +called aside and told that his wife had just given birth to a child. It +was the child's aunt who brought the news, with the joyous comment: +</P> + +<P> +"She will be lucky, for she was born among the roses and to the sound +of music." +</P> + +<P> +This was at the time of the Napoleonic wars. Lieutenant Dupin was on +the staff of Prince Murat, and little Aurore, as she was called, at the +age of three accompanied the army, as did her mother. The child was +adopted by one of those hard-fighting, veteran regiments. The rough old +sergeants nursed her and petted her. Even the prince took notice of +her; and to please him she wore the green uniform of a hussar. +</P> + +<P> +But all this soon passed, and she was presently sent to live with her +grandmother at the estate now intimately associated with her +name—Nohant, in the valley of the Indre, in the midst of a rich +country, a love for which she then drank in so deeply that nothing in +her later life could lessen it. She was always the friend of the +peasant and of the country-folk in general. +</P> + +<P> +At Nohant she was given over to her grand-mother, to be reared in a +strangely desultory sort of fashion, doing and reading and studying +those things which could best develop her native gifts. Her father had +great influence over her, teaching her a thousand things without +seeming to teach her anything. Of him George Sand herself has written: +</P> + +<P> +Character is a matter of heredity. If any one desires to know me, he +must know my father. +</P> + +<P> +Her father, however, was killed by a fall from a horse; and then the +child grew up almost without any formal education. A tutor, who also +managed the estate; believed with Rousseau that the young should be +reared according to their own preferences. Therefore, Aurore read poems +and childish stories; she gained a smattering of Latin, and she was +devoted to music and the elements of natural science. For the rest of +the time she rambled with the country children, learned their games, +and became a sort of leader in everything they did. +</P> + +<P> +Her only sorrow was the fact that her mother was excluded from Nohant. +The aristocratic old grandmother would not allow under her roof her +son's low-born wife; but she was devoted to her little grandchild. The +girl showed a wonderful degree of sensibility. +</P> + +<P> +This life was adapted to her nature. She fed her imagination in a +perfectly healthy fashion; and, living so much out of doors, she +acquired that sound physique which she retained all through her life. +</P> + +<P> +When she was thirteen, her grandmother sent the girl to a convent +school in Paris. One might suppose that the sudden change from the open +woods and fields to the primness of a religious home would have been a +great shock to her, and that with her disposition she might have broken +out into wild ways that would have shocked the nuns. But, here, as +elsewhere, she showed her wonderful adaptability. It even seemed as if +she were likely to become what the French call a devote. She gave +herself up to mythical thoughts, and expressed a desire of taking the +veil. Her confessor, however, was a keen student of human nature, and +he perceived that she was too young to decide upon the renunciation of +earthly things. Moreover, her grandmother, who had no intention that +Aurore should become a nun, hastened to Paris and carried her back to +Nohant. +</P> + +<P> +The girl was now sixteen, and her complicated nature began to make +itself apparent. There was no one to control her, because her +grandmother was confined to her own room. And so Aurore Dupin, now in +superb health, rushed into every sort of diversion with all the zest of +youth. She read voraciously—religion, poetry, philosophy. She was an +excellent musician, playing the piano and the harp. Once, in a spirit +of unconscious egotism, she wrote to her confessor: +</P> + +<P> +Do you think that my philosophical studies are compatible with +Christian humility? +</P> + +<P> +The shrewd ecclesiastic answered, with a touch of wholesome irony: +</P> + +<P> +I doubt, my daughter, whether your philosophical studies are profound +enough to warrant intellectual pride. +</P> + +<P> +This stung the girl, and led her to think a little less of her own +abilities; but perhaps it made her books distasteful to her. For a +while she seems to have almost forgotten her sex. She began to dress as +a boy, and took to smoking large quantities of tobacco. Her natural +brother, who was an officer in the army, came down to Nohant and taught +her to ride—to ride like a boy, seated astride. She went about without +any chaperon, and flirted with the young men of the neighborhood. The +prim manners of the place made her subject to a certain amount of +scandal, and the village priest chided her in language that was far +from tactful. In return she refused any longer to attend his church. +</P> + +<P> +Thus she was living when her grandmother died, in 1821, leaving to +Aurore her entire fortune of five hundred thousand francs. As the girl +was still but seventeen, she was placed under the guardianship of the +nearest relative on her father's side—a gentleman of rank. When the +will was read, Aurore's mother made a violent protest, and caused a +most unpleasant scene. +</P> + +<P> +"I am the natural guardian of my child," she cried. "No one can take +away my rights!" +</P> + +<P> +The young girl well understood that this was really the parting of the +ways. If she turned toward her uncle, she would be forever classed +among the aristocracy. If she chose her mother, who, though married, +was essentially a grisette, then she must live with grisettes, and find +her friends among the friends who visited her mother. She could not +belong to both worlds. She must decide once for all whether she would +be a woman of rank or a woman entirely separated from the circle that +had been her father's. +</P> + +<P> +One must respect the girl for making the choice she did. Understanding +the situation absolutely, she chose her mother; and perhaps one would +not have had her do otherwise. Yet in the long run it was bound to be a +mistake. Aurore was clever, refined, well read, and had had the +training of a fashionable convent school. The mother was ignorant and +coarse, as was inevitable, with one who before her marriage had been +half shop-girl and half courtesan. The two could not live long +together, and hence it was not unnatural that Aurore Dupin should +marry, to enter upon a new career. +</P> + +<P> +Her fortune was a fairly large one for the times, and yet not large +enough to attract men who were quite her equals. Presently, however, it +brought to her a sort of country squire, named Casimir Dudevant. He was +the illegitimate son of the Baron Dudevant. He had been in the army, +and had studied law; but he possessed no intellectual tastes. He was +outwardly eligible; but he was of a coarse type—a man who, with +passing years, would be likely to take to drink and vicious amusements, +and in serious life cared only for his cattle, his horses, and his +hunting. He had, however, a sort of jollity about him which appealed to +this girl of eighteen; and so a marriage was arranged. Aurore Dupin +became his wife in 1822, and he secured the control of her fortune. +</P> + +<P> +The first few years after her marriage were not unhappy. She had a son, +Maurice Dudevant, and a daughter, Solange, and she loved them both. But +it was impossible that she should continue vegetating mentally upon a +farm with a husband who was a fool, a drunkard, and a miser. He +deteriorated; his wife grew more and more clever. Dudevant resented +this. It made him uncomfortable. Other persons spoke of her talk as +brilliant. He bluntly told her that it was silly, and that she must +stop it. When she did not stop it, he boxed her ears. This caused a +breach between the pair which was never healed. Dudevant drank more and +more heavily, and jeered at his wife because she was "always looking +for noon at fourteen o'clock." He had always flirted with the country +girls; but now he openly consorted with his wife's chambermaid. +</P> + +<P> +Mme. Dudevant, on her side, would have nothing more to do with this +rustic rake. She formed what she called a platonic friendship—and it +was really so—with a certain M. de Seze, who was advocate-general at +Bordeaux. With him this clever woman could talk without being called +silly, and he took sincere pleasure in her company. He might, in fact, +have gone much further, had not both of them been in an impossible +situation. +</P> + +<P> +Aurore Dudevant really believed that she was swayed by a pure and +mystic passion. De Seze, on the other hand, believed this mystic +passion to be genuine love. Coming to visit her at Nohant, he was +revolted by the clownish husband with whom she lived. It gave him an +esthetic shock to see that she had borne children to this boor. +Therefore he shrank back from her, and in time their relation faded +into nothingness. +</P> + +<P> +It happened, soon after, that she found a packet in her husband's desk, +marked "Not to be opened until after my death." She wrote of this in +her correspondence: +</P> + +<P> +I had not the patience to wait till widowhood. No one can be sure of +surviving anybody. I assumed that my husband had died, and I was very +glad to learn what he thought of me while he was alive. Since the +package was addressed to me, it was not dishonorable for me to open it. +</P> + +<P> +And so she opened it. It proved to be his will, but containing, as a +preamble, his curses on her, expressions of contempt, and all the +vulgar outpouring of an evil temper and angry passion. She went to her +husband as he was opening a bottle, and flung the document upon the +table. He cowered at her glance, at her firmness, and at her cold +hatred. He grumbled and argued and entreated; but all that his wife +would say in answer was: +</P> + +<P> +"I must have an allowance. I am going to Paris, and my children are to +remain here." +</P> + +<P> +At last he yielded, and she went at once to Paris, taking her daughter +with her, and having the promise of fifteen hundred francs a year out +of the half-million that was hers by right. +</P> + +<P> +In Paris she developed into a thorough-paced Bohemian. She tried to +make a living in sundry hopeless ways, and at last she took to +literature. She was living in a garret, with little to eat, and +sometimes without a fire in winter. She had some friends who helped her +as well as they could, but though she was attached to the Figaro, her +earnings for the first month amounted to only fifteen francs. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, she would not despair. The editors and publishers might +turn the cold shoulder to her, but she would not give up her ambitions. +She went down into the Latin Quarter, and there shook off the +proprieties of life. She assumed the garb of a man, and with her quick +perception she came to know the left bank of the Seine just as she had +known the country-side at Nohant or the little world at her convent +school. She never expected again to see any woman of her own rank in +life. Her mother's influence became strong in her. She wrote: +</P> + +<P> +The proprieties are the guiding principle of people without soul and +virtue. The good opinion of the world is a prostitute who gives herself +to the highest bidder. +</P> + +<P> +She still pursued her trade of journalism, calling herself a "newspaper +mechanic," sitting all day in the office of the Figaro and writing +whatever was demanded, while at night she would prowl in the streets +haunting the cafes, continuing to dress like a man, drinking sour wine, +and smoking cheap cigars. +</P> + +<P> +One of her companions in this sort of hand-to-mouth journalism was a +young student and writer named Jules Sandeau, a man seven years younger +than his comrade. He was at that time as indigent as she, and their +hardships, shared in common, brought them very close together. He was +clever, boyish, and sensitive, and it was not long before he had fallen +at her feet and kissed her knees, begging that she would requite the +love he felt for her. According to herself, she resisted him for six +months, and then at last she yielded. The two made their home together, +and for a while were wonderfully happy. Their work and their diversions +they enjoyed in common, and now for the first time she experienced +emotions which in all probability she had never known before. +</P> + +<P> +Probably not very much importance is to be given to the earlier +flirtations of George Sand, though she herself never tried to stop the +mouth of scandal. Even before she left her husband, she was credited +with having four lovers; but all she said, when the report was brought +to her, was this: "Four lovers are none too many for one with such +lively passions as mine." +</P> + +<P> +This very frankness makes it likely that she enjoyed shocking her prim +neighbors at Nohant. But if she only played at love-making then, she +now gave herself up to it with entire abandonment, intoxicated, +fascinated, satisfied. She herself wrote: +</P> + +<P> +How I wish I could impart to you this sense of the intensity and +joyousness of life that I have in my veins. To live! How sweet it is, +and how good, in spite of annoyances, husbands, debts, relations, +scandal-mongers, sufferings, and irritations! To live! It is +intoxicating! To love, and to be loved! It is happiness! It is heaven! +</P> + +<P> +In collaboration with Jules Sandeau, she wrote a novel called Rose et +Blanche. The two lovers were uncertain what name to place upon the +title-page, but finally they hit upon the pseudonym of Jules Sand. The +book succeeded; but thereafter each of them wrote separately, Jules +Sandeau using his own name, and Mme. Dudevant styling herself George +Sand, a name by which she was to be illustrious ever after. +</P> + +<P> +As a novelist, she had found her real vocation. She was not yet well +known, but she was on the verge of fame. As soon as she had written +Indiana and Valentine, George Sand had secured a place in the world of +letters. The magazine which still exists as the Revue des Deux Mondes +gave her a retaining fee of four thousand francs a year, and many other +publications begged her to write serial stories for them. +</P> + +<P> +The vein which ran through all her stories was new and piquant. As was +said of her: +</P> + +<P> +In George Sand, whenever a lady wishes to change her lover, God is +always there to make the transfer easy. +</P> + +<P> +In other words, she preached free love in the name of religion. This +was not a new doctrine with her. After the first break with her +husband, she had made up her mind about certain matters, and wrote: +</P> + +<P> +One is no more justified in claiming the ownership of a soul than in +claiming the ownership of a slave. +</P> + +<P> +According to her, the ties between a man and a woman are sacred only +when they are sanctified by love; and she distinguished between love +and passion in this epigram: +</P> + +<P> +Love seeks to give, while passion seeks to take. +</P> + +<P> +At this time, George Sand was in her twenty-seventh year. She was not +beautiful, though there was something about her which attracted +observation. Of middle height, she was fairly slender. Her eyes were +somewhat projecting, and her mouth was almost sullen when in repose. +Her manners were peculiar, combining boldness with timidity. Her +address was almost as familiar as a man's, so that it was easy to be +acquainted with her; yet a certain haughtiness and a touch of +aristocratic pride made it plain that she had drawn a line which none +must pass without her wish. When she was deeply stirred, however, she +burst forth into an extraordinary vivacity, showing a nature richly +endowed and eager to yield its treasures. +</P> + +<P> +The existence which she now led was a curious one. She still visited +her husband at Nohant, so that she might see her son, and sometimes, +when M. Dudevant came to town, he called upon her in the apartments +which she shared with Jules Sandeau. He had accepted the situation, and +with his crudeness and lack of feeling he seemed to think it, if not +natural, at least diverting. At any rate, so long as he could retain +her half-million francs, he was not the man to make trouble about his +former wife's arrangements. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, there began to be perceptible the very slightest rift within +the lute of her romance. Was her love for Sandeau really love, or was +it only passion? In his absence, at any rate, the old obsession still +continued. Here we see, first of all, intense pleasure shading off into +a sort of maternal fondness. She sends Sandeau adoring letters. She is +afraid that his delicate appetite is not properly satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, again, there are times when she feels that he is irritating and +ill. Those who knew them said that her nature was too passionate and +her love was too exacting for him. One of her letters seems to make +this plain. She writes that she feels uneasy, and even frightfully +remorseful, at seeing Sandeau "pine away." She knows, she avows, that +she is killing him, that her caresses are a poison, and her love a +consuming fire. +</P> + +<P> +It is an appalling thought, and Jules will not understand it. He laughs +at it; and when, in the midst of his transports of delight, the idea +comes to me and makes my blood run cold, he tells me that here is the +death that he would like to die. At such moments he promises whatever I +make him promise. +</P> + +<P> +This letter throws a clear light upon the nature of George Sand's +temperament. It will be found all through her career, not only that she +sought to inspire passion, but that she strove to gratify it after +fashions of her own. One little passage from a description of her +written by the younger Dumas will perhaps make this phase of her +character more intelligible, without going further than is strictly +necessary: +</P> + +<P> +Mme. Sand has little hands without any bones, soft and plump. She is by +destiny a woman of excessive curiosity, always disappointed, always +deceived in her incessant investigation, but she is not fundamentally +ardent. In vain would she like to be so, but she does not find it +possible. Her physical nature utterly refuses. +</P> + +<P> +The reader will find in all that has now been said the true explanation +of George Sand. Abounding with life, but incapable of long stretches of +ardent love, she became a woman who sought conquests everywhere without +giving in return more than her temperament made it possible for her to +do. She loved Sandeau as much as she ever loved any man; and yet she +left him with a sense that she had never become wholly his. Perhaps +this is the reason why their romance came to an end abruptly, and not +altogether fittingly. +</P> + +<P> +She had been spending a short time at Nohant, and came to Paris without +announcement. She intended to surprise her lover, and she surely did +so. She found him in the apartment that had been theirs, with his arms +about an attractive laundry-girl. Thus closed what was probably the +only true romance in the life of George Sand. Afterward she had many +lovers, but to no one did she so nearly become a true mate. +</P> + +<P> +As it was, she ended her association with Sandeau, and each pursued a +separate path to fame. Sandeau afterward became a well-known novelist +and dramatist. He was, in fact, the first writer of fiction who was +admitted to the French Academy. The woman to whom he had been +unfaithful became greater still, because her fame was not only +national, but cosmopolitan. +</P> + +<P> +For a time after her deception by Sandeau, she felt absolutely devoid +of all emotions. She shunned men, and sought the friendship of Marie +Dorval, a clever actress who was destined afterward to break the heart +of Alfred de Vigny. The two went down into the country; and there +George Sand wrote hour after hour, sitting by her fireside, and showing +herself a tender mother to her little daughter Solange. +</P> + +<P> +This life lasted for a while, but it was not the sort of life that +would now content her. She had many visitors from Paris, among them +Sainte-Beuve, the critic, who brought with him Prosper Merimee, then +unknown, but later famous as master of revels to the third Napoleon and +as the author of Carmen. Merimee had a certain fascination of manner, +and the predatory instincts of George Sand were again aroused. One day, +when she felt bored and desperate, Merimee paid his court to her, and +she listened to him. This is one of the most remarkable of her +intimacies, since it began, continued, and ended all in the space of a +single week. When Merimee left Nohant, he was destined never again to +see George Sand, except long afterward at a dinner-party, where the two +stared at each other sharply, but did not speak. This affair, however, +made it plain that she could not long remain at Nohant, and that she +pined for Paris. +</P> + +<P> +Returning thither, she is said to have set her cap at Victor Hugo, who +was, however, too much in love with himself to care for any one, +especially a woman who was his literary rival. She is said for a time +to have been allied with Gustave Planche, a dramatic critic; but she +always denied this, and her denial may be taken as quite truthful. +Soon, however, she was to begin an episode which has been more famous +than any other in her curious history, for she met Alfred de Musset, +then a youth of twenty-three, but already well known for his poems and +his plays. +</P> + +<P> +Musset was of noble birth. He would probably have been better for a +plebeian strain, since there was in him a touch of the degenerate. His +mother's father had published a humanitarian poem on cats. His +great-uncle had written a peculiar novel. Young Alfred was nervous, +delicate, slightly epileptic, and it is certain that he was given to +dissipation, which so far had affected his health only by making him +hysterical. He was an exceedingly handsome youth, with exquisite +manners, "dreamy rather than dazzling eyes, dilated nostrils, and +vermilion lips half opened." Such was he when George Sand, then seven +years his senior, met him. +</P> + +<P> +There is something which, to the Anglo-Saxon mind, seems far more +absurd than pathetic about the events which presently took place. A +woman like George Sand at thirty was practically twice the age of this +nervous boy of twenty-three, who had as yet seen little of the world. +At first she seemed to realize the fact herself; but her vanity led her +to begin an intrigue, which must have been almost wholly without +excitement on her part, but which to him, for a time, was everything in +the world. +</P> + +<P> +Experimenting, as usual, after the fashion described by Dumas, she went +with De Musset for a "honeymoon" to Fontainebleau. But they could not +stay there forever, and presently they decided upon a journey to Italy. +Before they went, however, they thought it necessary to get formal +permission from Alfred's mother! +</P> + +<P> +Naturally enough, Mme. de Musset refused consent. She had read George +Sand's romances, and had asked scornfully: +</P> + +<P> +"Has the woman never in her life met a gentleman?" +</P> + +<P> +She accepted the relations between them, but that she should be asked +to sanction this sort of affair was rather too much, even for a French +mother who has become accustomed to many strange things. Then there was +a curious happening. At nine o'clock at night, George Sand took a cab +and drove to the house of Mme. de Musset, to whom she sent up a message +that a lady wished to see her. Mme. de Musset came down, and, finding a +woman alone in a carriage, she entered it. Then George Sand burst forth +in a torrent of sentimental eloquence. She overpowered her lover's +mother, promised to take great care of the delicate youth, and finally +drove away to meet Alfred at the coach-yard. +</P> + +<P> +They started off in the mist, their coach being the thirteenth to leave +the yard; but the two lovers were in a merry mood, and enjoyed +themselves all the way from Paris to Marseilles. By steamer they went +to Leghorn; and finally, in January, 1834, they took an apartment in a +hotel at Venice. What had happened that their arrival in Venice should +be the beginning of a quarrel, no one knows. George Sand has told the +story, and Paul de Musset—Alfred's brother—has told the story, but +each of them has doubtless omitted a large part of the truth. +</P> + +<P> +It is likely that on their long journey each had learned too much of +the other. Thus, Paul de Musset says that George Sand made herself +outrageous by her conversation, telling every one of her mother's +adventures in the army of Italy, including her relations with the +general-in-chief. She also declared that she herself was born within a +month of her parents' wedding-day. Very likely she did say all these +things, whether they were true or not. She had set herself to wage war +against conventional society, and she did everything to shock it. +</P> + +<P> +On the other hand, Alfred de Musset fell ill after having lost ten +thousand francs in a gambling-house. George Sand was not fond of +persons who were ill. She herself was working like a horse, writing +from eight to thirteen hours a day. When Musset collapsed she sent for +a handsome young Italian doctor named Pagello, with whom she had struck +up a casual acquaintance. He finally cured Musset, but he also cured +George Sand of any love for Musset. +</P> + +<P> +Before long she and Pagello were on their way back to Paris, leaving +the poor, fevered, whimpering poet to bite his nails and think +unutterable things. But he ought to have known George Sand. After that, +everybody knew her. They knew just how much she cared when she +professed to care, and when she acted as she acted with Pagello no +earlier lover had any one but himself to blame. +</P> + +<P> +Only sentimentalists can take this story seriously. To them it has a +sort of morbid interest. They like to picture Musset raving and +shouting in his delirium, and then, to read how George Sand sat on +Pagello's knees, kissing him and drinking out of the same cup. But to +the healthy mind the whole story is repulsive—from George Sand's +appeal to Mme. de Musset down to the very end, when Pagello came to +Paris, where his broken French excited a polite ridicule. +</P> + +<P> +There was a touch of genuine sentiment about the affair with Jules +Sandeau; but after that, one can only see in George Sand a +half-libidinous grisette, such as her mother was before her, with a +perfect willingness to experiment in every form of lawless love. As for +Musset, whose heart she was supposed to have broken, within a year he +was dangling after the famous singer, Mme. Malibran, and writing poems +to her which advertised their intrigue. +</P> + +<P> +After this episode with Pagello, it cannot be said that the life of +George Sand was edifying in any respect, because no one can assume that +she was sincere. She had loved Jules Sandeau as much as she could love +any one, but all the rest of her intrigues and affinities were in the +nature of experiments. She even took back Alfred de Musset, although +they could never again regard each other without suspicion. George Sand +cut off all her hair and gave it to Musset, so eager was she to keep +him as a matter of conquest; but he was tired of her, and even this +theatrical trick was of no avail. +</P> + +<P> +She proceeded to other less known and less humiliating adventures. She +tried to fascinate the artist Delacroix. She set her cap at Franz +Liszt, who rather astonished her by saying that only God was worthy to +be loved. She expressed a yearning for the affections of the elder +Dumas; but that good-natured giant laughed at her, and in fact gave her +some sound advice, and let her smoke unsentimentally in his study. She +was a good deal taken with a noisy demagogue named Michel, a lawyer at +Bourges, who on one occasion shut her up in her room and harangued her +on sociology until she was as weary of his talk as of his wooden shoes, +his shapeless greatcoat, his spectacles, and his skull-cap, Balzac felt +her fascination, but cared nothing for her, since his love was given to +Mme. Hanska. +</P> + +<P> +In the meanwhile, she was paying visits to her husband at Nohant, where +she wrangled with him over money matters, and where he would once have +shot her had the guests present not interfered. She secured her dowry +by litigation, so that she was well off, even without her literary +earnings. These were by no means so large as one would think from her +popularity and from the number of books she wrote. It is estimated that +her whole gains amounted to about a million francs, extending over a +period of forty-five years. It is just half the amount that Trollope +earned in about the same period, and justifies his remark—"adequate, +but not splendid." +</P> + +<P> +One of those brief and strange intimacies that marked the career of +George Sand came about in a curious way. Octave Feuillet, a man of +aristocratic birth, had set himself to write novels which portrayed the +cynicism and hardness of the upper classes in France. One of these +novels, Sibylle, excited the anger of George Sand. She had not known +Feuillet before; yet now she sought him out, at first in order to +berate him for his book, but in the end to add him to her variegated +string of lovers. +</P> + +<P> +It has been said of Feuillet that he was a sort of "domesticated +Musset." At any rate, he was far less sensitive than Musset, and George +Sand was about seventeen years his senior. They parted after a short +time, she going her way as a writer of novels that were very different +from her earlier ones, while Feuillet grew more and more cynical and +even stern, as he lashed the abnormal, neuropathic men and women about +him. +</P> + +<P> +The last great emotional crisis in George Sand's life was that which +centers around her relations with Frederic Chopin. Chopin was the +greatest genius who ever loved her. It is rather odd that he loved her. +She had known him for two years, and had not seriously thought of him, +though there is a story that when she first met him she kissed him +before he had even been presented to her. She waited two years, and in +those two years she had three lovers. Then at last she once more met +Chopin, when he was in a state of melancholy, because a Polish girl had +proved unfaithful to him. +</P> + +<P> +It was the psychological moment; for this other woman, who was a +devourer of hearts, found him at a piano, improvising a lamentation. +George Sand stood beside him, listening. When he finished and looked up +at her, their eyes met. She bent down without a word and kissed him on +the lips. +</P> + +<P> +What was she like when he saw her then? Grenier has described her in +these words: +</P> + +<P> +She was short and stout, but her face attracted all my attention, the +eyes especially. They were wonderful eyes—a little too close together, +it may be, large, with full eyelids, and black, very black, but by no +means lustrous; they reminded me of unpolished marble, or rather of +velvet, and this gave a strange, dull, even cold expression to her +countenance. Her fine eyebrows and these great placid eyes gave her an +air of strength and dignity which was not borne out by the lower part +of her face. Her nose was rather thick and not over shapely. Her mouth +was also rather coarse, and her chin small. She spoke with great +simplicity, and her manners were very quiet. +</P> + +<P> +Such as she was, she attached herself to Chopin for eight years. At +first they traveled together very quietly to Majorca; and there, just +as Musset had fallen ill at Venice, Chopin became feverish and an +invalid. "Chopin coughs most gracefully," George Sand wrote of him, and +again: +</P> + +<P> +Chopin is the most inconstant of men. There is nothing permanent about +him but his cough. +</P> + +<P> +It is not surprising if her nerves sometimes gave way. Acting as sick +nurse, writing herself with rheumatic fingers, robbed by every one +about her, and viewed with suspicion by the peasants because she did +not go to church, she may be perhaps excused for her sharp words when, +in fact, her deeds were kind. +</P> + +<P> +Afterward, with Chopin, she returned to Paris, and the two lived openly +together for seven years longer. An immense literature has grown around +the subject of their relations. To this literature George Sand herself +contributed very largely. Chopin never wrote a word; but what he failed +to do, his friends and pupils did unsparingly. +</P> + +<P> +Probably the truth is somewhat as one might expect. During the first +period of fascination, George Sand was to Chopin what she had been to +Sandeau and to Musset; and with her strange and subtle ways, she had +undermined his health. But afterward that sort of love died out, and +was succeeded by something like friendship. At any rate, this woman +showed, as she had shown to others, a vast maternal kindness. She +writes to him finally as "your old woman," and she does wonders in the +way of nursing and care. +</P> + +<P> +But in 1847 came a break between the two. Whatever the mystery of it +may be, it turns upon what Chopin said of Sand: +</P> + +<P> +"I have never cursed any one, but now I am so weary of life that I am +near cursing her. Yet she suffers, too, and more, because she grows +older as she grows more wicked." +</P> + +<P> +In 1848, Chopin gave his last concert in Paris, and in 1849 he died. +According to some, he was the victim of a Messalina. According to +others, it was only "Messalina" that had kept him alive so long. +</P> + +<P> +However, with his death came a change in the nature of George Sand. +Emotionally, she was an extinct volcano. Intellectually, she was at her +very best. She no longer tore passions into tatters, but wrote +naturally, simply, stories of country life and tales for children. In +one of her books she has given an enduring picture of the +Franco-Prussian War. There are many rather pleasant descriptions of her +then, living at Nohant, where she made a curious figure, bustling about +in ill-fitting costumes, and smoking interminable cigarettes. +</P> + +<P> +She had lived much, and she had drunk deep of life, when she died in +1876. One might believe her to have been only a woman of perpetual +liaisons. Externally she was this, and yet what did Balzac, that great +master of human psychology, write of her in the intimacy of a private +correspondence? +</P> + +<P> +She is a female bachelor. She is an artist. She is generous. She is +devoted. She is chaste. Her dominant characteristics are those of a +man, and therefore, she is not to be regarded as a woman. She is an +excellent mother, adored by her children. Morally, she is like a lad of +twenty; for in her heart of hearts, she is more than chaste—she is a +prude. It is only in externals that she comports herself as a Bohemian. +All her follies are titles to glory in the eyes of those whose souls +are noble. +</P> + +<P> +A curious verdict this! Her love-life seems almost that of neither man +nor woman, but of an animal. Yet whether she was in reality responsible +for what she did, when we consider her strange heredity, her wretched +marriage, the disillusions of her early life—who shall sit in judgment +on her, since who knows all? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="dickens"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MYSTERY OF CHARLES DICKENS +</H3> + +<P> +Perhaps no public man in the English-speaking world, in the last +century, was so widely and intimately known as Charles Dickens. From +his eighteenth year, when he won his first success in journalism, down +through his series of brilliant triumphs in fiction, he was more and +more a conspicuous figure, living in the blaze of an intense publicity. +He met every one and knew every one, and was the companion of every +kind of man and woman. He loved to frequent the "caves of harmony" +which Thackeray has immortalized, and he was a member of all the best +Bohemian clubs of London. Actors, authors, good fellows generally, were +his intimate friends, and his acquaintance extended far beyond into the +homes of merchants and lawyers and the mansions of the proudest nobles. +Indeed, he seemed to be almost a universal friend. +</P> + +<P> +One remembers, for instance, how he was called in to arbitrate between +Thackeray and George Augustus Sala, who had quarreled. One remembers +how Lord Byron's daughter, Lady Lovelace, when upon her sick-bed, used +to send for Dickens because there was something in his genial, +sympathetic manner that soothed her. Crushing pieces of ice between her +teeth in agony, she would speak to him and he would answer her in his +rich, manly tones until she was comforted and felt able to endure more +hours of pain without complaint. +</P> + +<P> +Dickens was a jovial soul. His books fairly steam with Christmas cheer +and hot punch and the savor of plum puddings, very much as do his +letters to his intimate friends. Everybody knew Dickens. He could not +dine in public without attracting attention. When he left the +dining-room, his admirers would descend upon his table and carry off +egg-shells, orange-peels, and other things that remained behind, so +that they might have memorials of this much-loved writer. Those who +knew him only by sight would often stop him in the streets and ask the +privilege of shaking hands with him; so different was he from—let us +say—Tennyson, who was as great an Englishman in his way as Dickens, +but who kept himself aloof and saw few strangers. +</P> + +<P> +It is hard to associate anything like mystery with Dickens, though he +was fond of mystery as an intellectual diversion, and his last +unfinished novel was The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Moreover, no one +admired more than he those complex plots which Wilkie Collins used to +weave under the influence of laudanum. But as for his own life, it +seemed so normal, so free from anything approaching mystery, that we +can scarcely believe it to have been tinged with darker colors than +those which appeared upon the surface. +</P> + +<P> +A part of this mystery is plain enough. The other part is still +obscure—or of such a character that one does not care to bring it +wholly to the light. It had to do with his various relations with women. +</P> + +<P> +The world at large thinks that it knows this chapter in the life of +Dickens, and that it refers wholly to his unfortunate disagreement with +his wife. To be sure, this is a chapter that is writ large in all of +his biographies, and yet it is nowhere correctly told. His chosen +biographer was John Forster, whose Life of Charles Dickens, in three +volumes, must remain a standard work; but even Forster—we may assume +through tact—has not set down all that he could, although he gives a +clue. +</P> + +<P> +As is well known, Dickens married Miss Catherine Hogarth when he was +only twenty-four. He had just published his Sketches by Boz, the +copyright of which he sold for one hundred pounds, and was beginning +the Pickwick Papers. About this time his publisher brought N. P. Willis +down to Furnival's Inn to see the man whom Willis called "a young +paragraphist for the Morning Chronicle." Willis thus sketches Dickens +and his surroundings: +</P> + +<P> +In the most crowded part of Holborn, within a door or two of the Bull +and Mouth Inn, we pulled up at the entrance of a large building used +for lawyers' chambers. I followed by a long flight of stairs to an +upper story, and was ushered into an uncarpeted and bleak-looking room, +with a deal table, two or three chairs and a few books, a small boy and +Mr. Dickens for the contents. +</P> + +<P> +I was only struck at first with one thing—and I made a memorandum of +it that evening as the strongest instance I had seen of English +obsequiousness to employers—the degree to which the poor author was +overpowered with the honor of his publisher's visit! I remember saying +to myself, as I sat down on a rickety chair: +</P> + +<P> +"My good fellow, if you were in America with that fine face and your +ready quill, you would have no need to be condescended to by a +publisher." +</P> + +<P> +Dickens was dressed very much as he has since described Dick Swiveller, +minus the swell look. His hair was cropped close to his head, his +clothes scant, though jauntily cut, and, after changing a ragged +office-coat for a shabby blue, he stood by the door, collarless and +buttoned up, the very personification of a close sailer to the wind. +</P> + +<P> +Before this interview with Willis, which Dickens always repudiated, he +had become something of a celebrity among the newspaper men with whom +he worked as a stenographer. As every one knows, he had had a hard time +in his early years, working in a blacking-shop, and feeling too keenly +the ignominious position of which a less sensitive boy would probably +have thought nothing. Then he became a shorthand reporter, and was busy +at his work, so that he had little time for amusements. +</P> + +<P> +It has been generally supposed that no love-affair entered his life +until he met Catherine Hogarth, whom he married soon after making her +acquaintance. People who are eager at ferreting out unimportant facts +about important men had unanimously come to the conclusion that up to +the age of twenty Dickens was entirely fancy-free. It was left to an +American to disclose the fact that this was not the case, but that even +in his teens he had been captivated by a girl of about his own age. +</P> + +<P> +Inasmuch as the only reproach that was ever made against Dickens was +based upon his love-affairs, let us go back and trace them from this +early one to the very last, which must yet for some years, at least, +remain a mystery. +</P> + +<P> +Everything that is known about his first affair is contained in a book +very beautifully printed, but inaccessible to most readers. Some years +ago Mr. William K. Bixby, of St. Louis, found in London a collector of +curios. This man had in his stock a number of letters which had passed +between a Miss Maria Beadnell and Charles Dickens when the two were +about nineteen and a second package of letters representing a later +acquaintance, about 1855, at which time Miss Beadnell had been married +for a long time to a Mr. Henry Louis Winter, of 12 Artillery Place, +London. +</P> + +<P> +The copyright laws of Great Britain would not allow Mr. Bixby to +publish the letters in that country, and he did not care to give them +to the public here. Therefore, he presented them to the Bibliophile +Society, with the understanding that four hundred and ninety-three +copies, with the Bibliophile book-plate, were to be printed and +distributed among the members of the society. A few additional copies +were struck off, but these did not bear the Bibliophile book-plate. +Only two copies are available for other readers, and to peruse these it +is necessary to visit the Congressional Library in Washington, where +they were placed on July 24, 1908. +</P> + +<P> +These letters form two series—the first written to Miss Beadnell in or +about 1829, and the second written to Mrs. Winter, formerly Miss +Beadnell, in 1855. +</P> + +<P> +The book also contains an introduction by Henry H. Harper, who sets +forth some theories which the facts, in my opinion, do not support; and +there are a number of interesting portraits, especially one of Miss +Beadnell in 1829—a lovely girl with dark curls. Another shows her in +1855, when she writes of herself as "old and fat"—thereby doing +herself a great deal of injustice; for although she had lost her +youthful beauty, she was a very presentable woman of middle age, but +one who would not be particularly noticed in any company. +</P> + +<P> +Summing up briefly these different letters, it may be said that in the +first set Dickens wrote to the lady ardently, but by no means +passionately. From what he says it is plain enough that she did not +respond to his feeling, and that presently she left London and went to +Paris, for her family was well-to-do, while Dickens was living from +hand to mouth. +</P> + +<P> +In the second set of letters, written long afterward, Mrs. Winter seems +to have "set her cap" at the now famous author; but at that time he was +courted by every one, and had long ago forgotten the lady who had so +easily dismissed him in his younger days. In 1855, Mrs. Winter seems to +have reproached him for not having been more constant in the past; but +he replied: +</P> + +<P> +You answered me coldly and reproachfully, and so I went my way. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Harper, in his introduction, tries very hard to prove that in +writing David Copperfield Dickens drew the character of Dora from Miss +Beadnell. It is a dangerous thing to say from whom any character in a +novel is drawn. An author takes whatever suits his purpose in +circumstance and fancy, and blends them all into one consistent whole, +which is not to be identified with any individual. There is little +reason to think that the most intimate friends of Dickens and of his +family were mistaken through all the years when they were certain that +the boy husband and the girl wife of David Copperfield were suggested +by any one save Dickens himself and Catherine Hogarth. +</P> + +<P> +Why should he have gone back to a mere passing fancy, to a girl who did +not care for him, and who had no influence on his life, instead of +picturing, as David's first wife, one whom he deeply loved, whom he +married, who was the mother of his children, and who made a great part +of his career, even that part which was inwardly half tragic and wholly +mournful? +</P> + +<P> +Miss Beadnell may have been the original of Flora in Little Dorrit, +though even this is doubtful. The character was at the time ascribed to +a Miss Anna Maria Leigh, whom Dickens sometimes flirted with and +sometimes caricatured. +</P> + +<P> +When Dickens came to know George Hogarth, who was one of his colleagues +on the staff of the Morning Chronicle, he met Hogarth's +daughters—Catherine, Georgina, and Mary—and at once fell ardently in +love with Catherine, the eldest and prettiest of the three. He himself +was almost girlish, with his fair complexion and light, wavy hair, so +that the famous sketch by Maclise has a remarkable charm; yet nobody +could really say with truth that any one of the three girls was +beautiful. Georgina Hogarth, however, was sweet-tempered and of a +motherly disposition. It may be that in a fashion she loved Dickens all +her life, as she remained with him after he parted from her sister, +taking the utmost care of his children, and looking out with unselfish +fidelity for his many needs. +</P> + +<P> +It was Mary, however, the youngest of the Hogarths, who lived with the +Dickenses during the first twelvemonth of their married life. To +Dickens she was like a favorite sister, and when she died very +suddenly, in her eighteenth year, her loss was a great shock to him. +</P> + +<P> +It was believed for a long time—in fact, until their separation—that +Dickens and his wife were extremely happy in their home life. His +writings glorified all that was domestic, and paid many tender tributes +to the joys of family affection. When the separation came the whole +world was shocked. And yet rather early in Dickens's married life there +was more or less infelicity. In his Retrospections of an Active Life, +Mr. John Bigelow writes a few sentences which are interesting for their +frankness, and which give us certain hints: +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Dickens was not a handsome woman, though stout, hearty, and +matronly; there was something a little doubtful about her eye, and I +thought her endowed with a temper that might be very violent when +roused, though not easily rousable. Mrs. Caulfield told me that a Miss +Teman—I think that is the name—was the source of the difficulty +between Mrs. Dickens and her husband. She played in private theatricals +with Dickens, and he sent her a portrait in a brooch, which met with an +accident requiring it to be sent to the jeweler's to be mended. The +jeweler, noticing Mr. Dickens's initials, sent it to his house. Mrs. +Dickens's sister, who had always been in love with him and was jealous +of Miss Teman, told Mrs. Dickens of the brooch, and she mounted her +husband with comb and brush. This, no doubt, was Mrs. Dickens's +version, in the main. +</P> + +<P> +A few evenings later I saw Miss Teman at the Haymarket Theatre, playing +with Buckstone and Mr. and Mrs. Charles Mathews. She seemed rather a +small cause for such a serious result—passably pretty, and not much of +an actress. +</P> + +<P> +Here in one passage we have an intimation that Mrs. Dickens had a +temper that was easily roused, that Dickens himself was interested in +an actress, and that Miss Hogarth "had always been in love with him, +and was jealous of Miss Teman." +</P> + +<P> +Some years before this time, however, there had been growing in the +mind of Dickens a certain formless discontent—something to which he +could not give a name, yet which, cast over him the shadow of +disappointment. He expressed the same feeling in David Copperfield, +when he spoke of David's life with Dora. It seemed to come from the +fact that he had grown to be a man, while his wife had still remained a +child. +</P> + +<P> +A passage or two may be quoted from the novel, so that we may set them +beside passages in Dickens's own life, which we know to have referred +to his own wife, and not to any such nebulous person as Mrs. Winter. +</P> + +<P> +The shadow I have mentioned that was not to be between us any more, but +was to rest wholly on my heart—how did that fall? The old unhappy +feeling pervaded my life. It was deepened, if it were changed at all; +but it was as undefined as ever, and addressed me like a strain of +sorrowful music faintly heard in the night. I loved my wife dearly; but +the happiness I had vaguely anticipated, once, was not the happiness I +enjoyed, AND THERE WAS ALWAYS SOMETHING WANTING. +</P> + +<P> +What I missed I still regarded as something that had been a dream of my +youthful fancy; that was incapable of realization; that I was now +discovering to be so, with some natural pain, as all men did. But that +it would have been better for me if my wife could have helped me more, +and shared the many thoughts in which I had no partner, and that this +might have been I knew. +</P> + +<P> +What I am describing slumbered and half awoke and slept again in the +innermost recesses of my mind. There was no evidence of it to me; I +knew of no influence it had in anything I said or did. I bore the +weight of all our little cares and all my projects. +</P> + +<P> +"There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and +purpose." These words I remembered. I had endeavored to adapt Dora to +myself, and found it impracticable. It remained for me to adapt myself +to Dora; to share with her what I could, and be happy; to bear on my +own shoulders what I must, and be still happy. +</P> + +<P> +Thus wrote Dickens in his fictitious character, and of his fictitious +wife. Let us see how he wrote and how he acted in his own person, and +of his real wife. +</P> + +<P> +As early as 1856, he showed a curious and restless activity, as of one +who was trying to rid himself of unpleasant thoughts. Mr. Forster says +that he began to feel a strain upon his invention, a certain +disquietude, and a necessity for jotting down memoranda in note-books, +so as to assist his memory and his imagination. He began to long for +solitude. He would take long, aimless rambles into the country, +returning at no particular time or season. He once wrote to Forster: +</P> + +<P> +I have had dreadful thoughts of getting away somewhere altogether by +myself. If I could have managed it, I think I might have gone to the +Pyrenees for six months. I have visions of living for half a year or so +in all sorts of inaccessible places, and of opening a new book therein. +A floating idea of going up above the snow-line, and living in some +astonishing convent, hovers over me. +</P> + +<P> +What do these cryptic utterances mean? At first, both in his novel and +in his letters, they are obscure; but before long, in each, they become +very definite. In 1856, we find these sentences among his letters: +</P> + +<P> +The old days—the old days! Shall I ever, I wonder, get the frame of +mind back as it used to be then? Something of it, perhaps, but never +quite as it used to be. +</P> + +<P> +I find that the skeleton in my domestic closet is becoming a pretty big +one. +</P> + +<P> +His next letter draws the veil and shows plainly what he means: +</P> + +<P> +Poor Catherine and I are not made for each other, and there is no help +for it. It is not only that she makes me uneasy and unhappy, but that I +make her so, too—and much more so. We are strangely ill-assorted for +the bond that exists between us. +</P> + +<P> +Then he goes on to say that she would have been a thousand times +happier if she had been married to another man. He speaks of +"incompatibility," and a "difference of temperaments." In fact, it is +the same old story with which we have become so familiar, and which is +both as old as the hills and as new as this morning's newspaper. +</P> + +<P> +Naturally, also, things grow worse, rather than better. Dickens comes +to speak half jocularly of "the plunge," and calculates as to what +effect it will have on his public readings. He kept back the +announcement of "the plunge" until after he had given several readings; +then, on April 29, 1858, Mrs. Dickens left his home. His eldest son +went to live with the mother, but the rest of the children remained +with their father, while his daughter Mary nominally presided over the +house. In the background, however, Georgina Hogarth, who seemed all +through her life to have cared for Dickens more than for her sister, +remained as a sort of guide and guardian for his children. +</P> + +<P> +This arrangement was a private matter, and should not have been brought +to public attention; but it was impossible to suppress all gossip about +so prominent a man. Much of the gossip was exaggerated; and when it +came to the notice of Dickens it stung him so severely as to lead him +into issuing a public justification of his course. He published a +statement in Household Words, which led to many other letters in other +periodicals, and finally a long one from him, which was printed in the +New York Tribune, addressed to his friend Mr. Arthur Smith. +</P> + +<P> +Dickens afterward declared that he had written this letter as a +strictly personal and private one, in order to correct false rumors and +scandals. Mr. Smith naturally thought that the statement was intended +for publication, but Dickens always spoke of it as "the violated +letter." +</P> + +<P> +By his allusions to a difference of temperament and to incompatibility, +Dickens no doubt meant that his wife had ceased to be to him the same +companion that she had been in days gone by. As in so many cases, she +had not changed, while he had. He had grown out of the sphere in which +he had been born, "associated with blacking-boys and quilt-printers," +and had become one of the great men of his time, whose genius was +universally admired. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Bigelow saw Mrs. Dickens as she really was—a commonplace woman +endowed with the temper of a vixen, and disposed to outbursts of actual +violence when her jealousy was roused. +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible that the two could have remained together, when in +intellect and sympathy they were so far apart. There is nothing strange +about their separation, except the exceedingly bad taste with which +Dickens made it a public affair. It is safe to assume that he felt the +need of a different mate; and that he found one is evident enough from +the hints and bits of innuendo that are found in the writings of his +contemporaries. +</P> + +<P> +He became a pleasure-lover; but more than that, he needed one who could +understand his moods and match them, one who could please his tastes, +and one who could give him that admiration which he felt to be his due; +for he was always anxious to be praised, and his letters are full of +anecdotes relating to his love of praise. +</P> + +<P> +One does not wish to follow out these clues too closely. It is certain +that neither Miss Beadnell as a girl nor Mrs. Winter as a matron made +any serious appeal to him. The actresses who have been often mentioned +in connection with his name were, for the most part, mere passing +favorites. The woman who in life was Dora made him feel the same +incompleteness that he has described in his best-known book. The +companion to whom he clung in his later years was neither a +light-minded creature like Miss Beadnell, nor an undeveloped, +high-tempered woman like the one he married, nor a mere domestic, +friendly creature like Georgina Hogarth. +</P> + +<P> +Ought we to venture upon a quest which shall solve this mystery in the +life of Charles Dickens! In his last will and testament, drawn up and +signed by him about a year before his death, the first paragraph reads +as follows: +</P> + +<P> +I, Charles Dickens, of Gadshill Place, Higham, in the county of Kent, +hereby revoke all my former wills and codicils and declare this to be +my last will and testament. I give the sum of one thousand pounds, free +of legacy duty, to Miss Ellen Lawless Ternan, late of Houghton Place, +Ampthill Square, in the county of Middlesex. +</P> + +<P> +In connection with this, read Mr. John Bigelow's careless jottings made +some fifteen years before. Remember the Miss "Teman," about whose name +he was not quite certain; the Hogarth sisters' dislike of her; and the +mysterious figure in the background of the novelist's later life. Then +consider the first bequest in his will, which leaves a substantial sum +to one who was neither a relative nor a subordinate, but—may we +assume—more than an ordinary friend? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="balzac"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HONORE DE BALZAC AND EVELINA HANSKA +</H3> + +<P> +I remember once, when editing an elaborate work on literature, that the +publisher called me into his private office. After the door was closed, +he spoke in tones of suppressed emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Why is it," said he, "that you have such a lack of proportion? In the +selection you have made I find that only two pages are given to George +P. Morris, while you haven't given E. P. Roe any space at all! Yet, +look here—you've blocked out fifty pages for Balzac, who was nothing +but an immoral Frenchman!" +</P> + +<P> +I adjusted this difficulty, somehow or other—I do not just remember +how—and began to think that, after all, this publisher's view of +things was probably that of the English and American public. It is +strange that so many biographies and so many appreciations of the +greatest novelist who ever lived should still have left him, in the +eyes of the reading public, little more than "an immoral Frenchman." +</P> + +<P> +"In Balzac," said Taine, "there was a money-broker, an archeologist, an +architect, an upholsterer, a tailor, an old-clothes dealer, a +journeyman apprentice, a physician, and a notary." Balzac was also a +mystic, a supernaturalist, and, above all, a consummate artist. No one +who is all these things in high measure, and who has raised himself by +his genius above his countrymen, deserves the censure of my former +publisher. +</P> + +<P> +Still less is Balzac to be dismissed as "immoral," for his life was one +of singular self-sacrifice in spite of much temptation. His face was +strongly sensual, his look and bearing denoted almost savage power; he +led a free life in a country which allowed much freedom; and yet his +story is almost mystic in its fineness of thought, and in its +detachment, which was often that of another world. +</P> + +<P> +Balzac was born in 1799, at Tours, with all the traits of the people of +his native province—fond of eating and drinking, and with plenty of +humor. His father was fairly well off. Of four children, our Balzac was +the eldest. The third was his sister Laure, who throughout his life was +the most intimate friend he had, and to whom we owe his rescue from +much scandalous and untrue gossip. From her we learn that their father +was a combination of Montaigne, Rabelais, and "Uncle Toby." +</P> + +<P> +Young Balzac went to a clerical school at seven, and stayed there for +seven years. Then he was brought home, apparently much prostrated, +although the good fathers could find nothing physically amiss with him, +and nothing in his studies to account for his agitation. No one ever +did discover just what was the matter, for he seemed well enough in the +next few years, basking on the riverside, watching the activities of +his native town, and thoroughly studying the rustic types that he was +afterward to make familiar to the world. In fact, in Louis Lambert he +has set before us a picture of his own boyish life, very much as +Dickens did of his in David Copperfield. +</P> + +<P> +For some reason, when these years were over, the boy began to have what +is so often known as "a call"—a sort of instinct that he was to attain +renown. Unfortunately it happened that about this time (1814) he and +his parents removed to Paris, which was his home by choice, until his +death in 1850. He studied here under famous teachers, and gave three +years to the pursuit of law, of which he was very fond as literary +material, though he refused to practise. +</P> + +<P> +This was the more grievous, since a great part of the family property +had been lost. The Balzacs were afflicted by actual poverty, and Honore +endeavored, with his pen, to beat the wolf back from the door. He +earned a little money with pamphlets and occasional stories, but his +thirst for fame was far from satisfied. He was sure that he was called +to literature, and yet he was not sure that he had the power to +succeed. In one of his letters to his sister, he wrote: +</P> + +<P> +I am young and hungry, and there is nothing on my plate. Oh, Laure, +Laure, my two boundless desires, my only ones—to be famous, and to be +loved—they ever be satisfied? +</P> + +<P> +For the next ten years he was learning his trade, and the artistic use +of the fiction writer's tools. What is more to the point, is the fact +that he began to dream of a series of great novels, which should give a +true and panoramic picture of the whole of human life. This was the +first intimation of his "Human Comedy," which was so daringly +undertaken and so nearly completed in his after years. In his early +days of obscurity, he said to his readers: +</P> + +<P> +Note well the characters that I introduce, since you will have to +follow their fortunes through thirty novels that are to come. +</P> + +<P> +Here we see how little he had been daunted by ill success, and how his +prodigious imagination had not been overcome by sorrow and evil +fortune. Meantime, writing almost savagely, and with a feeling combined +of ambition and despair, he had begun, very slowly indeed, to create a +public. These ten years, however, had loaded him with debts; and his +struggle to keep himself afloat only plunged him deeper in the mire. +His thirty unsigned novels began to pay him a few hundred francs, not +in cash, but in promissory notes; so that he had to go still deeper +into debt. +</P> + +<P> +In 1827 he was toiling on his first successful novel, and indeed one of +the best historic novels in French literature—The Chouans. He speaks +of his labor as "done with a tired brain and an anxious mind," and of +the eight or ten business letters that he had to write each day before +he could begin his literary work. +</P> + +<P> +"Postage and an omnibus are extravagances that I cannot allow myself," +he writes. "I stay at home so as not to wear out my clothes. Is that +clear to you?" +</P> + +<P> +At the end of the next year, though he was already popular as a +novelist, and much sought out by people of distinction, he was at the +very climax of his poverty. He had written thirty-five books, and was +in debt to the amount of a hundred and twenty-four thousand francs. He +was saved from bankruptcy only by the aid of Mme. de Berny, a woman of +high character, and one whose moral influence was very strong with +Balzac until her early death. +</P> + +<P> +The relation between these two has a sweetness and a purity which are +seldom found. Mme. de Berny gave Balzac money as she would have given +it to a son, and thereby she saved a great soul for literature. But +there was no sickly sentiment between them, and Balzac regarded her +with a noble love which he has expressed in the character of Mme. +Firmiani. +</P> + +<P> +It was immediately after she had lightened his burdens that the real +Balzac comes before us in certain stories which have no equal, and +which are among the most famous that he ever wrote. What could be more +wonderful than his El Verdugo, which gives us a brief horror while +compelling our admiration? What, outside of Balzac himself, could be +more terrible than Gobseck, a frightful study of avarice, containing a +deathbed scene which surpasses in dreadfulness almost anything in +literature? Add to these A Passion in the Desert, The Girl with the +Golden Eyes, The Droll Stories, The Red Inn, and The Magic Skin, and +you have a cluster of masterpieces not to be surpassed. +</P> + +<P> +In the year 1829, when he was just beginning to attain a slight +success, Balzac received a long letter written in a woman's hand. As he +read it, there came to him something very like an inspiration, so full +of understanding were the written words, so full of appreciation and of +sympathy with the best that he had done. This anonymous note pointed +out here and there such defects as are apt to become chronic with a +young author. Balzac was greatly stirred by its keen and sympathetic +criticism. No one before had read his soul so clearly. No one—not even +his devoted sister, Laure de Surville—had judged his work so wisely, +had come so closely to his deepest feeling. +</P> + +<P> +He read the letter over and over, and presently another came, full of +critical appreciation, and of wholesome, tonic, frank, friendly words +of cheer. It was very largely the effect of these letters that roused +Balzac's full powers and made him sure of winning the two great objects +of his first ambition—love and fame—the ideals of the chivalrous, +romantic Frenchman from Caesar's time down to the present day. +</P> + +<P> +Other letters followed, and after a while their authorship was made +known to Balzac. He learned that they had been written by a young +Polish lady, Mme. Evelina Hanska, the wife of a Polish count, whose +health was feeble, and who spent much time in Switzerland because the +climate there agreed with him. +</P> + +<P> +He met her first at Neuchatel, and found her all that he had imagined. +It is said that she had no sooner raised her face, and looked him fully +in the eyes, than she fell fainting to the floor, overcome by her +emotion. Balzac himself was deeply moved. From that day until their +final meeting he wrote to her daily. +</P> + +<P> +The woman who had become his second soul was not beautiful. +Nevertheless, her face was intensely spiritual, and there was a mystic +quality about it which made a strong appeal to Balzac's innermost +nature. Those who saw him in Paris knocking about the streets at night +with his boon companions, hobnobbing with the elder Dumas, or rejecting +the frank advances of George Sand, would never have dreamed of this +mysticism. +</P> + +<P> +Balzac was heavy and broad of figure. His face was suggestive only of +what was sensuous and sensual. At the same time, those few who looked +into his heart and mind found there many a sign of the fine inner +strain which purified the grosser elements of his nature. He who wrote +the roaring Rabelaisian Contes Drolatiques was likewise the author of +Seraphita. +</P> + +<P> +This mysticism showed itself in many things that Balzac did. One little +incident will perhaps be sufficiently characteristic of many others. He +had a belief that names had a sort of esoteric appropriateness. So, in +selecting them for his novels, he gathered them with infinite pains +from many sources, and then weighed them anxiously in the balance. A +writer on the subject of names and their significance has given the +following account of this trait: +</P> + +<P> +The great novelist once spent an entire day tramping about in the +remotest quarters of Paris in search of a fitting name for a character +just conceived by him. Every sign-board, every door-plate, every +affiche upon the walls, was scrutinized. Thousands of names were +considered and rejected, and it was only after his companion, utterly +worn out by fatigue, had flatly refused to drag his weary limbs through +more than one additional street, that Balzac suddenly saw upon a sign +the name "Marcas," and gave a shout of joy at having finally secured +what he was seeking. +</P> + +<P> +Marcas it was, from that moment; and Balzac gradually evolved a +Christian name for him. First he considered what initial was most +appropriate; and then, having decided upon Z, he went on to expand this +into Zepherin, explaining minutely just why the whole name Zepherin +Marcas, was the only possible one for the character in the novel. +</P> + +<P> +In many ways Balzac and Evelina Hanska were mated by nature. Whether +they were fully mated the facts of their lives must demonstrate. For +the present, the novelist plunged into a whirl of literary labor, +toiling as few ever toiled—constructing several novels at the same +time, visiting all the haunts of the French capital, so that he might +observe and understand every type of human being, and then hurling +himself like a giant at his work. +</P> + +<P> +He had a curious practise of reading proofs. These would come to him in +enormous sheets, printed on special paper, and with wide margins for +his corrections. An immense table stood in the midst of his study, and +upon the top he would spread out the proofs as if they were vast maps. +Then, removing most of his outer garments, he would lie, face down, +upon the proof-sheets, with a gigantic pencil, such as Bismarck +subsequently used to wield. Thus disposed, he would go over the proofs. +</P> + +<P> +Hardly anything that he had written seemed to suit him when he saw it +in print. He changed and kept changing, obliterating what he disliked, +writing in new sentences, revising others, and adding whole pages in +the margins, until perhaps he had practically made a new book. This +process was repeated several times; and how expensive it was may be +judged from the fact that his bill for "author's proof corrections" was +sometimes more than the publishers had agreed to pay him for the +completed volume. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes, again, he would begin writing in the afternoon, and continue +until dawn. Then, weary, aching in every bone, and with throbbing head, +he would rise and turn to fall upon his couch after his eighteen hours +of steady toil. But the memory of Evelina Hanska always came to him; +and with half-numbed fingers he would seize his pen, and forget his +weariness in the pleasure of writing to the dark-eyed woman who drew +him to her like a magnet. +</P> + +<P> +These are very curious letters that Balzac wrote to Mme. Hanska. He +literally told her everything about himself. Not only were there long +passages instinct with tenderness, and with his love for her; but he +also gave her the most minute account of everything that occurred, and +that might interest her. Thus he detailed at length his mode of living, +the clothes he wore, the people whom he met, his trouble with his +creditors, the accounts of his income and outgo. One might think that +this was egotism on his part; but it was more than that. It was a +strong belief that everything which concerned him must concern her; and +he begged her in turn to write as freely and as fully. +</P> + +<P> +Mme. Hanska was not the only woman who became his friend and comrade, +and to whom he often wrote. He made many acquaintances in the +fashionable world through the good offices of the Duchesse de Castries. +By her favor, he studied with his microscopic gaze the beau monde of +Louis Philippe's rather unimpressive court. +</P> + +<P> +In a dozen books he scourged the court of the citizen king—its +pretensions, its commonness, and its assemblage of nouveaux riches. Yet +in it he found many friends—Victor Hugo, the Girardins—and among them +women who were of the world. George Sand he knew very well, and she +made ardent love to him; but he laughed her off very much as the elder +Dumas did. +</P> + +<P> +Then there was the pretty, dainty Mme. Carraud, who read and revised +his manuscripts, and who perhaps took a more intimate interest in him +than did the other ladies whom he came to know so well. Besides Mme. +Hanska, he had another correspondent who signed herself "Louise," but +who never let him know her name, though she wrote him many piquant, +sunny letters, which he so sadly needed. +</P> + +<P> +For though Honore de Balzac was now one of the most famous writers of +his time, his home was still a den of suffering. His debts kept +pressing on him, loading him down, and almost quenching hope. He acted +toward his creditors like a man of honor, and his physical strength was +still that of a giant. To Mme. Carraud he once wrote the half pathetic, +half humorous plaint: +</P> + +<P> +Poor pen! It must be diamond, not because one would wish to wear it, +but because it has had so much use! +</P> + +<P> +And again: +</P> + +<P> +Here I am, owing a hundred thousand francs. And I am forty! +</P> + +<P> +Balzac and Mme. Hanska met many times after that first eventful episode +at Neuchatel. It was at this time that he gave utterance to the +poignant cry: +</P> + +<P> +Love for me is life, and to-day I feel it more than ever! +</P> + +<P> +In like manner he wrote, on leaving her, that famous epigram: +</P> + +<P> +It is only the last love of a woman that can satisfy the first love of +a man. +</P> + +<P> +In 1842 Mme. Hanska's husband died. Balzac naturally expected that an +immediate marriage with the countess would take place; but the woman +who had loved him mystically for twelve years, and with a touch of the +physical for nine, suddenly draws back. She will not promise anything. +She talks of delays, owing to the legal arrangements for her children. +She seems almost a prude. An American critic has contrasted her +attitude with his: +</P> + +<P> +Every one knows how utterly and absolutely Balzac devoted to this one +woman all his genius, his aspiration, the thought of his every moment; +how every day, after he had labored like a slave for eighteen hours, he +would take his pen and pour out to her the most intimate details of his +daily life; how at her call he would leave everything and rush across +the continent to Poland or to Italy, being radiantly happy if he could +but see her face and be for a few days by her side. The very thought of +meeting her thrilled him to the very depths of his nature, and made +him, for weeks and even months beforehand, restless, uneasy, and +agitated, with an almost painful happiness. +</P> + +<P> +It is the most startling proof of his immense vitality, both physical +and mental, that so tremendous an emotional strain could be endured by +him for years without exhausting his fecundity or blighting his +creativeness. +</P> + +<P> +With Balzac, however, it was the period of his most brilliant work; and +this was true in spite of the anguish of long separations, and the +complaints excited by what appears to be caprice or boldness or a faint +indifference. Even in Balzac one notices toward the last a certain +sense of strain underlying what he wrote, a certain lack of elasticity +and facility, if of nothing more; yet on the whole it is likely that +without this friendship Balzac would have been less great than he +actually became, as it is certain that had it been broken off he would +have ceased to write or to care for anything whatever in the world. +</P> + +<P> +And yet, when they were free to marry, Mme. Hanska shrank away. Not +until 1846, four years after her husband's death, did she finally give +her promise to the eager Balzac. Then, in the overflow of his +happiness, his creative genius blazed up into a most wonderful flame; +but he soon discovered that the promise was not to be at once +fulfilled. The shock impaired that marvelous vitality which had carried +him through debt, and want, and endless labor. +</P> + +<P> +It was at this moment, by the irony of fate, that his country hailed +him as one of the greatest of its men of genius. A golden stream poured +into his lap. His debts were not all extinguished, but his income was +so large that they burdened him no longer. +</P> + +<P> +But his one long dream was the only thing for which he cared; and +though in an exoteric sense this dream came true, its truth was but a +mockery. Evelina Hanska summoned him to Poland, and Balzac went to her +at once. There was another long delay, and for more than a year he +lived as a guest in the countess's mansion at Wierzchownia; but +finally, in March, 1850, the two were married. A few weeks later they +came back to France together, and occupied the little country house, +Les Jardies, in which, some decades later, occurred Gambetta's +mysterious death. +</P> + +<P> +What is the secret of this strange love, which in the woman seems to be +not precisely love, but something else? Balzac was always eager for her +presence. She, on the other hand, seems to have been mentally more at +ease when he was absent. Perhaps the explanation, if we may venture +upon one, is based upon a well-known physiological fact. +</P> + +<P> +Love in its completeness is made up of two great elements—first, the +element that is wholly spiritual, that is capable of sympathy, and +tenderness, and deep emotion. The other element is the physical, the +source of passion, of creative energy, and of the truly virile +qualities, whether it be in man or woman. Now, let either of these +elements be lacking, and love itself cannot fully and utterly exist. +The spiritual nature in one may find its mate in the spiritual nature +of another; and the physical nature of one may find its mate in the +physical nature of another. But into unions such as these, love does +not enter in its completeness. If there is any element lacking in +either of those who think that they can mate, their mating will be a +sad and pitiful failure. +</P> + +<P> +It is evident enough that Mme. Hanska was almost wholly spiritual, and +her long years of waiting had made her understand the difference +between Balzac and herself. Therefore, she shrank from his proximity, +and from his physical contact, and it was perhaps better for them both +that their union was so quickly broken off by death; for the great +novelist died of heart disease only five months after the marriage. +</P> + +<P> +If we wish to understand the mystery of Balzac's life—or, more truly, +the mystery of the life of the woman whom he married—take up and read +once more the pages of Seraphita, one of his poorest novels and yet a +singularly illuminating story, shedding light upon a secret of the soul. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="reade"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHARLES READE AND LAURA SEYMOUR +</H3> + +<P> +The instances of distinguished men, or of notable women, who have +broken through convention in order to find a fitting mate, are very +numerous. A few of these instances may, perhaps, represent what is +usually called a Platonic union. But the evidence is always doubtful. +The world is not possessed of abundant charity, nor does human +experience lead one to believe that intimate relations between a man +and a woman are compatible with Platonic friendship. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps no case is more puzzling than that which is found in the +life-history of Charles Reade and Laura Seymour. +</P> + +<P> +Charles Reade belongs to that brilliant group of English writers and +artists which included Dickens, Bulwer-Lytton, Wilkie Collins, Tom +Taylor, George Eliot, Swinburne, Sir Walter Besant, Maclise, and +Goldwin Smith. In my opinion, he ranks next to Dickens in originality +and power. His books are little read to-day; yet he gave to the English +stage the comedy "Masks and Faces," which is now as much a classic as +Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer" or Sheridan's "School for Scandal." +His power as a novelist was marvelous. Who can forget the madhouse +episodes in Hard Cash, or the great trial scene in Griffith Gaunt, or +that wonderful picture, in The Cloister and the Hearth, of Germany and +Rome at the end of the Middle Ages? Here genius has touched the dead +past and made it glow again with an intense reality. +</P> + +<P> +He was the son of a country gentleman, the lord of a manor which had +been held by his family before the Wars of the Boses. His ancestors had +been noted for their services in warfare, in Parliament, and upon the +bench. Reade, therefore, was in feeling very much of an aristocrat. +Sometimes he pushed his ancestral pride to a whimsical excess, very +much as did his own creation, Squire Raby, in Put Yourself in His Place. +</P> + +<P> +At the same time he might very well have been called a Tory democrat. +His grandfather had married the daughter of a village blacksmith, and +Reade was quite as proud of this as he was of the fact that another +ancestor had been lord chief justice of England. From the sturdy strain +which came to him from the blacksmith he, perhaps, derived that +sledge-hammer power with which he wrote many of his most famous +chapters, and which he used in newspaper controversies with his +critics. From his legal ancestors there may have come to him the love +of litigation, which kept him often in hot water. From those who had +figured in the life of royal courts, he inherited a romantic nature, a +love of art, and a very delicate perception of the niceties of +cultivated usage. Such was Charles Reade—keen observer, scholar, +Bohemian—a man who could be both rough and tender, and whose +boisterous ways never concealed his warm heart. +</P> + +<P> +Reade's school-days were Spartan in their severity. A teacher with the +appropriate name of Slatter set him hard tasks and caned him +unmercifully for every shortcoming. A weaker nature would have been +crushed. Reade's was toughened, and he learned to resist pain and to +resent wrong, so that hatred of injustice has been called his +dominating trait. +</P> + +<P> +In preparing himself for college he was singularly fortunate in his +tutors. One of them was Samuel Wilberforce, afterward Bishop of Oxford, +nicknamed, from his suavity of manner, "Soapy Sam"; and afterward, when +Reade was studying law, his instructor was Samuel Warren, the author of +that once famous novel, Ten Thousand a Year, and the creator of +"Tittlebat Titmouse." +</P> + +<P> +For his college at Oxford, Reade selected one of the most beautiful and +ancient—Magdalen—which he entered, securing what is known as a +demyship. Reade won his demyship by an extraordinary accident. Always +an original youth, his reading was varied and valuable; but in his +studies he had never tried to be minutely accurate in small matters. At +that time every candidate was supposed to be able to repeat, by heart, +the "Thirty-Nine Articles." Reade had no taste for memorizing; and out +of the whole thirty-nine he had learned but three. His general +examination was good, though not brilliant. When he came to be +questioned orally, the examiner, by a chance that would not occur once +in a million times, asked the candidate to repeat these very articles. +Reade rattled them off with the greatest glibness, and produced so +favorable an impression that he was let go without any further +questioning. +</P> + +<P> +It must be added that his English essay was original, and this also +helped him; but had it not been for the other great piece of luck he +would, in Oxford phrase, have been "completely gulfed." As it was, +however, he was placed as highly as the young men who were afterward +known as Cardinal Newman and Sir Robert Lowe (Lord Sherbrooke). +</P> + +<P> +At the age of twenty-one, Reade obtained a fellowship, which entitled +him to an income so long as he remained unmarried. It is necessary to +consider the significance of this when we look at his subsequent +career. The fellowship at Magdalen was worth, at the outset, about +twelve hundred dollars annually, and it gave him possession of a suite +of rooms free of any charge. He likewise secured a Vinerian fellowship +in law, to which was attached an income of four hundred dollars. As +time went on, the value of the first fellowship increased until it was +worth twenty-five hundred dollars. Therefore, as with many Oxford men +of his time, Charles Reade, who had no other fortune, was placed in +this position—if he refrained from marrying, he had a home and a +moderate income for life, without any duties whatsoever. If he married, +he must give up his income and his comfortable apartments, and go out +into the world and struggle for existence. +</P> + +<P> +There was the further temptation that the possession of his fellowship +did not even necessitate his living at Oxford. He might spend his time +in London, or even outside of England, knowing that his chambers at +Magdalen were kept in order for him, as a resting-place to which he +might return whenever he chose. +</P> + +<P> +Reade remained a while at Oxford, studying books and men—especially +the latter. He was a great favorite with the undergraduates, though +less so with the dons. He loved the boat-races on the river; he was a +prodigious cricket-player, and one of the best bowlers of his time. He +utterly refused to put on any of the academic dignity which his +associates affected. He wore loud clothes. His flaring scarfs were +viewed as being almost scandalous, very much as Longfellow's +parti-colored waistcoats were regarded when he first came to Harvard as +a professor. +</P> + +<P> +Charles Reade pushed originality to eccentricity. He had a passion for +violins, and ran himself into debt because he bought so many and such +good ones. Once, when visiting his father's house at Ipsden, he shocked +the punctilious old gentleman by dancing on the dining-table to the +accompaniment of a fiddle, which he scraped delightedly. Dancing, +indeed, was another of his diversions, and, in spite of the fact that +he was a fellow of Magdalen and a D.C.L. of Oxford, he was always ready +to caper and to display the new steps. +</P> + +<P> +In the course of time, he went up to London; and at once plunged into +the seething tide of the metropolis. He made friends far and wide, and +in every class and station—among authors and politicians, bishops and +bargees, artists and musicians. Charles Reade learned much from all of +them, and all of them were fond of him. +</P> + +<P> +But it was the theater that interested him most. Nothing else seemed to +him quite so fine as to be a successful writer for the stage. He viewed +the drama with all the reverence of an ancient Greek. On his tombstone +he caused himself to be described as "Dramatist, novelist, journalist." +</P> + +<P> +"Dramatist" he put first of all, even after long experience had shown +him that his greatest power lay in writing novels. But in this early +period he still hoped for fame upon the stage. +</P> + +<P> +It was not a fortunate moment for dramatic writers. Plays were bought +outright by the managers, who were afraid to risk any considerable sum, +and were very shy about risking anything at all. The system had not yet +been established according to which an author receives a share of the +money taken at the box-office. Consequently, Reade had little or no +financial success. He adapted several pieces from the French, for which +he was paid a few bank-notes. "Masks and Faces" got a hearing, and drew +large audiences, but Reade had sold it for a paltry sum; and he shared +the honors of its authorship with Tom Taylor, who was then much better +known. +</P> + +<P> +Such was the situation. Reade was personally liked, but his plays were +almost all rejected. He lived somewhat extravagantly and ran into debt, +though not very deeply. He had a play entitled "Christie Johnstone," +which he believed to be a great one, though no manager would venture to +produce it. Reade, brooding, grew thin and melancholy. Finally, he +decided that he would go to a leading actress at one of the principal +theaters and try to interest her in his rejected play. The actress he +had in mind was Laura Seymour, then appearing at the Haymarket under +the management of Buckstone; and this visit proved to be the +turning-point in Reade's whole life. +</P> + +<P> +Laura Seymour was the daughter of a surgeon at Bath—a man in large +practise and with a good income, every penny of which he spent. His +family lived in lavish style; but one morning, after he had sat up all +night playing cards, his little daughter found him in the dining-room, +stone dead. After his funeral it appeared that he had left no provision +for his family. A friend of his—a Jewish gentleman of Portuguese +extraction—showed much kindness to the children, settling their +affairs and leaving them with some money in the bank; but, of course, +something must be done. +</P> + +<P> +The two daughters removed to London, and at a very early age Laura had +made for herself a place in the dramatic world, taking small parts at +first, but rising so rapidly that in her fifteenth year she was cast +for the part of Juliet. As an actress she led a life of strange +vicissitudes. At one time she would be pinched by poverty, and at +another time she would be well supplied with money, which slipped +through her fingers like water. She was a true Bohemian, a +happy-go-lucky type of the actors of her time. +</P> + +<P> +From all accounts, she was never very beautiful; but she had an +instinct for strange, yet effective, costumes, which attracted much +attention. She has been described as "a fluttering, buoyant, gorgeous +little butterfly." Many were drawn to her. She was careless of what she +did, and her name was not untouched with scandal. But she lived through +it all, and emerged a clever, sympathetic woman of wide experience, +both on the stage and off it. +</P> + +<P> +One of her admirers—an elderly gentleman named Seymour—came to her +one day when she was in much need of money, and told her that he had +just deposited a thousand pounds to her credit at the bank. Having said +this, he left the room precipitately. It was the beginning of a sort of +courtship; and after a while she married him. Her feeling toward him +was one of gratitude. There was no sentiment about it; but she made him +a good wife, and gave no further cause for gossip. +</P> + +<P> +Such was the woman whom Charles Reade now approached with the request +that she would let him read to her a portion of his play. He had seen +her act, and he honestly believed her to be a dramatic genius of the +first order. Few others shared this belief; but she was generally +thought of as a competent, though by no means brilliant, actress. Reade +admired her extremely, so that at the very thought of speaking with her +his emotions almost choked him. +</P> + +<P> +In answer to a note, she sent word that he might call at her house. He +was at this time (1849) in his thirty-eighth year. The lady was a +little older, and had lost something of her youthful charm; yet, when +Reade was ushered into her drawing-room, she seemed to him the most +graceful and accomplished woman whom he had ever met. +</P> + +<P> +She took his measure, or she thought she took it, at a glance. Here was +one of those would-be playwrights who live only to torment managers and +actresses. His face was thin, from which she inferred that he was +probably half starved. His bashfulness led her to suppose that he was +an inexperienced youth. Little did she imagine that he was the son of a +landed proprietor, a fellow of one of Oxford's noblest colleges, and +one with friends far higher in the world than herself. Though she +thought so little of him, and quite expected to be bored, she settled +herself in a soft armchair to listen. The unsuccessful playwright read +to her a scene or two from his still unfinished drama. She heard him +patiently, noting the cultivated accent of his voice, which proved to +her that he was at least a gentleman. When he had finished, she said: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that's good! The plot is excellent." Then she laughed a sort of +stage laugh, and remarked lightly: "Why don't you turn it into a novel?" +</P> + +<P> +Reade was stung to the quick. Nothing that she could have said would +have hurt him more. Novels he despised; and here was this woman, the +queen of the English stage, as he regarded her, laughing at his drama +and telling him to make a novel of it. He rose and bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"I am trespassing on your time," he said; and, after barely touching +the fingers of her outstretched hand, he left the room abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +The woman knew men very well, though she scarcely knew Charles Reade. +Something in his melancholy and something in his manner stirred her +heart. It was not a heart that responded to emotions readily, but it +was a very good-natured heart. Her explanation of Reade's appearance +led her to think that he was very poor. If she had not much tact, she +had an abundant store of sympathy; and so she sat down and wrote a very +blundering but kindly letter, in which she enclosed a five-pound note. +</P> + +<P> +Reade subsequently described his feelings on receiving this letter with +its bank-note. He said: +</P> + +<P> +"I, who had been vice-president of Magdalen—I, who flattered myself I +was coming to the fore as a dramatist—to have a five-pound note flung +at my head, like a ticket for soup to a pauper, or a bone to a dog, and +by an actress, too! Yet she said my reading was admirable; and, after +all, there is much virtue in a five-pound note. Anyhow, it showed the +writer had a good heart." +</P> + +<P> +The more he thought of her and of the incident, the more comforted he +was. He called on her the next day without making an appointment; and +when she received him, he had the five-pound note fluttering in his +hand. +</P> + +<P> +She started to speak, but he interrupted her. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said, "that is not what I wanted from you. I wanted sympathy, +and you have unintentionally supplied it." +</P> + +<P> +Then this man, whom she had regarded as half starved, presented her +with an enormous bunch of hothouse grapes, and the two sat down and ate +them together, thus beginning a friendship which ended only with Laura +Seymour's death. +</P> + +<P> +Oddly enough, Mrs. Seymour's suggestion that Reade should make a story +of his play was a suggestion which he actually followed. It was to her +guidance and sympathy that the world owes the great novels which he +afterward composed. If he succeeded on the stage at all, it was not +merely in "Masks and Faces," but in his powerful dramatization of +Zola's novel, L'Assommoir, under the title "Drink," in which the late +Charles Warner thrilled and horrified great audiences all over the +English-speaking world. Had Reade never known Laura Seymour, he might +never have written so strong a drama. +</P> + +<P> +The mystery of Reade's relations with this woman can never be +definitely cleared up. Her husband, Mr. Seymour, died not long after +she and Reade became acquainted. Then Reade and several friends, both +men and women, took a house together; and Laura Seymour, now a clever +manager and amiable hostess, looked after all the practical affairs of +the establishment. One by one, the others fell away, through death or +by removal, until at last these two were left alone. Then Reade, unable +to give up the companionship which meant so much to him, vowed that she +must still remain and care for him. He leased a house in Sloane Street, +which he has himself described in his novel A Terrible Temptation. It +is the chapter wherein Reade also draws his own portrait in the +character of Francis Bolfe: +</P> + +<P> +The room was rather long, low, and nondescript; scarlet flock paper; +curtains and sofas, green Utrecht velvet; woodwork and pillars, white +and gold; two windows looking on the street; at the other end +folding-doors, with scarcely any woodwork, all plate glass, but partly +hidden by heavy curtains of the same color and material as the others. +</P> + +<P> +At last a bell rang; the maid came in and invited Lady Bassett to +follow her. She opened the glass folding-doors and took them into a +small conservatory, walled like a grotto, with ferns sprouting out of +rocky fissures, and spars sparkling, water dripping. Then she opened +two more glass folding-doors, and ushered them into an empty room, the +like of which Lady Bassett had never seen; it was large in itself, and +multiplied tenfold by great mirrors from floor to ceiling, with no +frames but a narrow oak beading; opposite her, on entering, was a bay +window, all plate glass, the central panes of which opened, like doors, +upon a pretty little garden that glowed with color, and was backed by +fine trees belonging to the nation; for this garden ran up to the wall +of Hyde Park. +</P> + +<P> +The numerous and large mirrors all down to the ground laid hold of the +garden and the flowers, and by double and treble reflection filled the +room with delightful nooks of verdure and color. +</P> + +<P> +Here are the words in which Reade describes himself as he looked when +between fifty and sixty years of age: +</P> + +<P> +He looked neither like a poet nor a drudge, but a great fat country +farmer. He was rather tall, very portly, smallish head, commonplace +features, mild brown eye not very bright, short beard, and wore a suit +of tweed all one color. +</P> + +<P> +Such was the house and such was the man over both of which Laura +Seymour held sway until her death in 1879. What must be thought of +their relations? She herself once said to Mr. John Coleman: +</P> + +<P> +"As for our positions—his and mine—we are partners, nothing more. He +has his bank-account, and I have mine. He is master of his fellowship +and his rooms at Oxford, and I am mistress of this house, but not his +mistress! Oh, dear, no!" +</P> + +<P> +At another time, long after Mr. Seymour's death, she said to an +intimate friend: +</P> + +<P> +"I hope Mr. Reade will never ask me to marry him, for I should +certainly refuse the offer." +</P> + +<P> +There was no reason why he should not have made this offer, because his +Oxford fellowship ceased to be important to him after he had won fame +as a novelist. Publishers paid him large sums for everything he wrote. +His debts were all paid off, and his income was assured. Yet he never +spoke of marriage, and he always introduced his friend as "the lady who +keeps my house for me." +</P> + +<P> +As such, he invited his friends to meet her, and as such, she even +accompanied him to Oxford. There was no concealment, and apparently +there was nothing to conceal. Their manner toward each other was that +of congenial friends. Mrs. Seymour, in fact, might well have been +described as "a good fellow." Sometimes she referred to him as "the +doctor," and sometimes by the nickname "Charlie." He, on his side, +often spoke of her by her last name as "Seymour," precisely as if she +had been a man. One of his relatives rather acutely remarked about her +that she was not a woman of sentiment at all, but had a genius for +friendship; and that she probably could not have really loved any man +at all. +</P> + +<P> +This is, perhaps, the explanation of their intimacy. If so, it is a +very remarkable instance of Platonic friendship. It is certain that, +after she met Reade, Mrs. Seymour never cared for any other man. It is +no less certain that he never cared for any other woman. When she died, +five years before his death, his life became a burden to him. It was +then that he used to speak of her as "my lost darling" and "my dove." +He directed that they should be buried side by side in Willesden +churchyard. Over the monument which commemorates them both, he caused +to be inscribed, in addition to an epitaph for himself, the following +tribute to his friend. One should read it and accept the touching words +as answering every question that may be asked: +</P> + +<P> +Here lies the great heart of Laura Seymour, a brilliant artist, a +humble Christian, a charitable woman, a loving daughter, sister, and +friend, who lived for others from her childhood. Tenderly pitiful to +all God's creatures—even to some that are frequently destroyed or +neglected—she wiped away the tears from many faces, helping the poor +with her savings and the sorrowful with her earnest pity. When the eye +saw her it blessed her, for her face was sunshine, her voice was +melody, and her heart was sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +This grave was made for her and for himself by Charles Reade, whose +wise counselor, loyal ally, and bosom friend she was for twenty-four +years, and who mourns her all his days. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Famous Affinities of History V4, by Lyndon Orr + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY V4 *** + +***** This file should be named 4692-h.htm or 4692-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/9/4692/ + +Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. 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