diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-0.txt | 9929 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-0.zip | bin | 189600 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h.zip | bin | 7634137 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/68526-h.htm | 10213 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/back.jpg | bin | 251565 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/colophon.png | bin | 7433 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 249153 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_007fp.jpg | bin | 242166 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_059fp.jpg | bin | 244089 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_065fp.jpg | bin | 248804 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_078afp.jpg | bin | 197330 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_078bfp.jpg | bin | 250444 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_078cfp.jpg | bin | 241414 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_080afp.jpg | bin | 243217 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_080bfp.jpg | bin | 255142 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_080cfp.jpg | bin | 253879 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_085fp.jpg | bin | 254314 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_087fp.jpg | bin | 251506 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_092fp.jpg | bin | 252719 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_096fp.jpg | bin | 255281 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_103fp.jpg | bin | 254654 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_109fp.jpg | bin | 253156 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_111fp.jpg | bin | 250708 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_113fp.jpg | bin | 249992 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_115fp.jpg | bin | 253354 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_167fp.jpg | bin | 252390 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_169fp.jpg | bin | 235591 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_193fp.jpg | bin | 253886 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_194fp.jpg | bin | 243955 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_201fp.jpg | bin | 247955 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_209fp.jpg | bin | 245101 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_215fp.jpg | bin | 249046 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_237fp.jpg | bin | 244584 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_284fp.jpg | bin | 252387 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68526-h/images/i_frontis.jpg | bin | 251254 -> 0 bytes |
38 files changed, 17 insertions, 20142 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ffa088 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68526 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68526) diff --git a/old/68526-0.txt b/old/68526-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 359eab4..0000000 --- a/old/68526-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9929 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Some eminent Victorians, by J. Comyns -(Joseph Comyns) Carr - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Some eminent Victorians - Personal recollections in the world of art and letters - -Author: J. Comyns (Joseph Comyns) Carr - -Release Date: July 15, 2022 [eBook #68526] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME EMINENT VICTORIANS *** - - - - - - SOME EMINENT VICTORIANS - - - - - [Illustration: _A Study for the picture of King Cophetua_ - - (_Philip Comyns Carr_) - - _By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart._] - - - - - SOME EMINENT - VICTORIANS - - PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS - IN THE WORLD OF ART AND LETTERS - - BY - - J. COMYNS CARR - - [Illustration: colophon] - - LONDON - DUCKWORTH & CO. - MCMVIII - - - - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - -PREFACE - - -Those of us who have emerged from the Victorian Era with an undiminished -reverence for the great names which have made it memorable, must be -prepared to endure with patience the pitying tolerance, or even the -indulgent rebuke, of the men who herald a younger generation. - -It was only a few weeks ago that I ventured to enquire of a cultivated -young writer of the newer school if Dickens was now much read by the -generation which presumably he had a claim to represent. The question -gave him no pause. In a sentence that was dictated solely, as it seemed, -by a sincere desire to impart accurate information, he gravely informed -me that among young men of culture Dickens was now never read after the -age of fourteen. I confess that, despite the coldly judicial tone of -this utterance, I was not entirely convinced, for I happen to know even -young people who are still so far belated in their taste as to regard -Dickens as an incomparable genius. But the statement helped me at any -rate to realise how easy it is to grow old-fashioned, and suggested to -me that in addressing an age which believes that art, like science, is -always advancing, it would be prudent, on the threshold of these -reminiscences of some of the men I have known and whose work I have -worshipped, to make frank avowal of my own faith, and humbly to confess -my limitations. - -Let me say, then, that in the region of Art and Literature I am still an -impenitent Victorian. I have no desire to disparage the work of those -who profess a more modern creed, and I think, although this perhaps may -be vainglorious boasting, that I am not unable to appreciate the more -instant appeal of a later day. But my talk with younger men, whose -comradeship delights me, makes it often abundantly clear to me that I am -disqualified, perhaps by age, from sharing to the full measure their -more recent enthusiasms. Our occasional divergence of feeling, which it -would be idle not to recognise, rests in some cases upon an essential -difference in the point of view. The progress of science which, to -borrow a phrase from Mr. Gladstone in regard to our revenue, is in our -day “advancing by leaps and bounds,” has, I think, set some younger men -aglow with the thought that art too is destined, with the passing of the -ages, to claim and to inherit a realm correspondingly enlarged. - -This belief, perhaps only half confessed, that in the fields of -Literature and Art the later achievement must, for that reason alone, be -the greater achievement, is apt to beget in the minds of some younger -men a certain impatience with the heroes of an earlier day. As the -topmost pebble set upon the upraised cairn which represents the sum of -scientific knowledge must of necessity record the final altitude which -science has reached, so it is in some quarters held, by an analogy that -seems to me radically mistaken, that the most modern achievement in art -has the right to claim in virtue of its historical position a higher -place than that which it has succeeded. - -Let me confess at once that this is not my belief. There is a little -fringe of science lying at the threshold of every art, and until the -secrets it has to yield are conquered, the illusion of progressive -advancement is inevitable. But that puny conquest counts for nothing -beside art’s constant and unchangeable conditions, conditions which -leave its earlier victories unsurpassed and unsurpassable. It is, -indeed, the glory of the artist’s spirit, in whatever field it be -exercised, that it is incapable of advancement. Each achievement, as -time attests its worth to rank at all, remains through all time -incomparable. It knows no rivalry. It defies all competition. It affects -no advance upon the triumphs of yesterday; it fears no eclipse from the -victories of to-morrow. And although history shows many barren seasons -when the spirit of the artist sinks and flags, the revival, when it -comes, is due to no added store of knowledge, but is the free gift of -men newly risen whose genius proves itself able to recapture that power -of imaging life which in the hands of genius has always been perfect -from the first. - -Supported by this faith I will own I am not very gravely discouraged by -occasionally finding myself ranked as a champion of an outworn fashion. -The progress of art is the progress of the pendulum. It advances and -recedes according to a law of movement that only the fullest and -profoundest knowledge of all the factors that make up human life can -enable us to decipher. - -But that art does often lie fallow after a period of rich harvest must -be indisputable to all who have carefully studied its history. It need -not, therefore, be wholly surprising if, in that little corner of time -we inhabit to-day, there should have come a momentary lull following on -a period of intense and varied vitality. - -My mission here is simply to recall and to record personal reminiscences -of some of the great men who sowed and reaped a part of that great -harvest garnered during the later half of the last century. In the -history of English Literature and English Art, I believe it presents a -rich yield that will not soon be equalled as the fruit of an equal -measure of time, and I am prepared to accept lightly enough the -criticism that probably awaits me, that the heroes whom I have -worshipped are no longer the heroes of to-day. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER I - - PAGE - -INTRODUCTORY 1 - - -CHAPTER II - -IDLE HOURS 15 - - -CHAPTER III - -ESSAYS IN JOURNALISM 26 - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE BAR 48 - - -CHAPTER V - -DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI 59 - - -CHAPTER VI - -EDWARD BURNE-JONES 71 - - -CHAPTER VII - -MILLAIS AND LEIGHTON 85 - - -CHAPTER VIII - -FREDERICK WALKER 102 - - -CHAPTER IX - -DESIGN AND ENGRAVING 111 - - -CHAPTER X - -THE GROSVENOR GALLERY AND THE NEW GALLERY 126 - - -CHAPTER XI - -WHISTLER AND CECIL LAWSON 133 - - -CHAPTER XII - -ART JOURNALISM 146 - - -CHAPTER XIII - -ORATORS 167 - - -CHAPTER XIV - -SOME VICTORIAN POETS 193 - - -CHAPTER XV - -A YOUNGER GENERATION 215 - - -CHAPTER XVI - -MEN OF THE THEATRE 225 - - -CHAPTER XVII - -SOCIAL HOURS 263 - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -SOME FOREIGN ACTORS 273 - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE WORK OF THE THEATRE 281 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - -Study for the picture of King Cophetua (Philip Comyns Carr). -By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. _Frontispiece_ - - FACE PAGE - -G. Birkbeck Hill 7 - -Dante Gabriel Rossetti. By Himself 59 - -Dante Gabriel Rossetti. By G. F. Watts, R.A. 65 - -Letter. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. (_a_) 78 - -The Homes of England. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. (_b_) 78 - -The Homes of England. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. (_c_) 78 - -Lessons in Anatomy. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart.-- - -Lesson 1 80 - -Lesson 2 80 - -Lesson 3 80 - -Ophelia. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A. 85 - -The Finding of Moses. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A. 87 - -The Huguenots. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A. 92 - -Lord Leighton, P.R.A. By G. F. Watts, R.A. 96 - -A Woman in the Snow. By F. Walker, A.R.A. 103 - -Lucy Gray. By Sir John Gilbert, R.A. 109 - -The Unjust Judge. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A. 111 - -The Leaven. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A. 113 - -“To seek the wanderer.” By F. Sandys 115 - -James Martineau. By G. F. Watts, R.A. 167 - -John Bright. By W. W. Ouless, R.A. 169 - -Lord Tennyson. By G. F. Watts, R.A. 193 - -Head of Charles Dickens. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A. 194 - -Robert Browning. By G. F. Watts, R.A. 201 - -William Morris. By G. F. Watts, R.A. 209 - -R. L. Stevenson. By Sir W. Richmond, K.C.B., R.A. 215 - -Sir Henry Irving. 237 - -Sir Arthur Sullivan. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A. 284 - - - - -CHAPTER I - -INTRODUCTORY - - -From my earliest boyhood I think my bent was towards a literary career, -but it was long before my ambition could be put to the test. The seventh -of a family of ten, it was scarcely to be expected that I could, in -those earlier days, make known my choice of a calling that seemed so -little likely to yield a livelihood. My father was in business in -London, and although he took the keenest interest in politics and public -affairs, and was an eager reader of the literature of his time, he had a -sufficiently hard struggle to provide for us all, and it was but natural -in his care for our future that his thoughts should turn to the choice -of some solid commercial career. - -We lived, in the days that I can first recall, in the Manor House on -Barnes Common, a picturesque old-fashioned building that still remains, -though shorn of the larger grounds which were our delight as children. - -The garden and fields, now partly built over, formed then a little -earthly paradise to a large family, and the open Common covered with -gorse and bracken served as a part of our wider playground. There we -roamed at will, and it was there, with each returning October, that we -used to gather the material for a great bonfire with which we annually -celebrated the fifth of November. - -Sallying forth from our field-gate that abutted upon the Common, armed -with a bill-hook surreptitiously filched from the gardener’s -tool-basket, there we used to pile up our wheelbarrow with the gorse we -had no right to cut, keeping a careful eye the while, lest the sudden -approach of the policeman should set us within the grip of the law. - -These raiding expeditions sometimes brought us into collision with the -boys of the village, whom we only knew under the generic title of “the -cads,” and with whom we waged unceasing warfare. Especially did we dread -their onslaught as the fifth of November approached, for we knew well it -was ever their malignant purpose to fire the pile before the appointed -night had arrived. - -It was our custom, therefore, to keep watch and guard for several -preceding nights, and sometimes when we heard sounds heralding the -approach of the enemy across the fields we would send rockets whizzing -along the grass--a defensive operation we discovered to be greatly -dreaded by even the boldest of “the cads.” - -The choice of an appropriate Guy was always an important point of -consideration. One year, I remember, it was Bomba, and during the days -of the Indian Mutiny a great effigy of Nana Sahib was consigned to the -flames, which gathered added intensity by the insertion into the midst -of the huge pile of gorse and dried wood of a seasoned tar-barrel -annually purchased by my father as his contribution to the revels of -this well-loved day. - -The valorous deeds of our soldiers in the Crimea and the nameless -horrors of the Mutiny which followed so closely at its heels stand among -my most vivid recollections of those earlier days. - -I was born in the year 1849, and I can still remember an elder cousin in -his scarlet uniform taking his way across the foot-path that leads to -Barnes station, to start for the war in the Crimea. - -With the events of the Mutiny our sympathies were even more actively -engaged. We were closely allied at that time with a family, one of whom, -General Henry Marshall, but lately commanded the Artillery in South -Africa. They had lived in India, and had relatives still there at the -time of the outbreak, and the terrible news as it reached England had -therefore an enthralling interest for us all. - -It was not to be supposed that my father could afford to any of us the -luxury of a public school. At first, with my brothers, I was educated at -home under a private tutor, and then at the age of thirteen I took my -way to Bruce Castle School, Tottenham, at that time under the mastership -of Arthur Hill, brother of Sir Rowland Hill of postage-stamp fame. - -I remember my elder brother and I took our places on the form allotted -to new boys side by side with William Lewin, better known as William -Terriss the actor, and it was only a little while before his tragic end -that he and I were recalling those times at Bruce Castle, where, if he -gained but little learning, he at any rate acquired a perfect mastery in -the art of tree-climbing. There was no elm in the playground, or beyond -it, which he had not scaled in search of rooks’ eggs, and his constant -companion in these lawless excursions was Fred Selous, the African -hunter and explorer, with whom not long ago in his Surrey home, where we -sat surrounded by his many trophies of the chase, I was glad to renew -our memories of that earlier time. - -Terriss’s name reminds me of an incident of our school-days which proves -that at that time, at any rate, his histrionic abilities were scarcely -equal to mine. Bruce Castle School boasted two masters of the French -language, both of whom were regarded as marks for the ridicule and scorn -of the English-born boy. Something of the spirit of Waterloo still -survived in our outrageous treatment of these gentlemen, whom we could -not help regarding as the luckless representatives of a beaten and -inferior race. - -One of them, I remember, had a known fondness for natural history, and -under cover of sharing his enthusiasm we could nearly always lure him to -stories of different wild animals which served to fill the hour which -should have been devoted to the study of the French language. - -This was our more amiable way of tormenting the unfortunate gentleman. -Occasionally, in order to frustrate his well-meant efforts to instruct -us, we resorted to more drastic measures. I remember one day it was -jointly agreed among us that we should all assume to be afflicted with -the worst kind of hacking cough, and from the very moment the class -opened the room resounded with the most distressing symptoms of our -common complaint. - -Our master became at length fully conscious of the plot that had been -forged against him, and slamming the book in a rage announced his -determination of summoning Mr. Arthur Hill to restore the discipline of -the class. This show of unexpected authority on his part produced -something like consternation, and in a moment all the bronchial sounds -were silenced--all save one, for it seemed to me then that the only -policy, however desperate it might prove, was to persist in the signs of -the malady which had already been announced. - -In the interval of dead silence in which we awaited the arrival of the -headmaster I therefore continued, at brief but regular intervals, with -the same persistent cough which the others had abandoned. On Mr. Arthur -Hill’s arrival, Mon. Delmas--for that was the unfortunate gentleman’s -name--explained with some volubility the cause of his complaint against -us, but at the finish, with a noble credulity that I had hardly dared to -hope for, he exempted me from the general condemnation. - -“Now, Carr,” he said, “has a cough, but he suffer so much it is better -he do not attend the class for a space.” - -On this intimation I was permitted to quit the room and to spend the -rest of the dreaded hour in the playground, where afterwards I incurred -the obloquy of my companions, and especially of William Terriss, because -they had failed to adopt my more ingenious policy. - -It is small wonder, with these obstacles deliberately set in our own -path, that at our school, at any rate, the acquisition of any knowledge -of the French tongue was of the very slightest. - -I suppose every boy has his school hero. Mine, I remember, was a South -American Spaniard named Echenique, whose father had, for a brief space, -figured as President of Peru. He was as handsome as Dickens has pictured -Steerforth; and afterwards, when I made the acquaintance of David -Copperfield, I had cause to recognise with what unerring sympathy and -fidelity the greatest of our masters of romance has mirrored the worship -of a boy. - -Bruce Castle was, in its way, a remarkable school, though it made no -pretence of affording any very extended classical education. It was, -indeed, designed for boys of the middle class, of whom I was one, but it -was remarkable in this sense, that it was governed on principles of -conduct that differed materially from those accepted in other schools of -the time. - -The Hills held peculiar theories upon the education of boys. Corporal -punishment was a thing altogether unknown, and the severest penalty even -upon the most hardened offender consisted in nothing worse than a course -of compulsory exercise. There was a Prefect, specially told off to take -out every day, in what in happier circumstances would have been their -play-time, those malefactors who had failed to conform to the discipline -of the school. - -And yet, under this mild régime, discipline was never lax, both Mr. -Arthur Hill and his son Dr. Birkbeck Hill, who succeeded him soon after -I entered the school, possessing in a rare degree the power of evoking a -sense of responsibility in those elder pupils who controlled the -school’s conduct. I - -[Illustration: G. BIRKBECK HILL - -_To face page 7._ -] - -think only once in the period of my school-days did a case occur in -which the headmaster had need to resort to the final penalty of -expulsion. - -Dr. Birkbeck Hill was, in a special sense, a man who won the affection -of his pupils. He came to us from Oxford, where he had been the friend -of Morris and Swinburne, and I remember the first time that I saw one of -those newly designed wallpapers, which were destined afterwards to play -so important a part in the movement initiated by Rossetti and Morris, -was in the dining-room of Bruce Castle School. - -Dr. Birkbeck Hill was a man of considerable literary taste and literary -power. He was contributing at that time, though it was not generally -known, some brilliant light articles to the _Saturday Review_ under the -editorship of Mr. Harwood, and he very soon attached himself to that -devoted study of Dr. Johnson which finally provided the theme for some -admirable work in criticism and biography. - -It is possible that he may have perceived in me some inclination towards -letters, for he often used to show me his articles in the current number -of the _Review_, and very soon by his own enthusiasm he awakened in me -an interest in his hero Johnson, which has never since abated. A copy of -Boswell’s _Life_, which he afterwards gave me on the occasion of my -marriage, still stands in its ten little volumes as one of the books -within reach of my bed. They share the honours of my book-shelf with the -novels of Charles Dickens, and for me there are no two authors to whom I -can so constantly return with ever-renewed enjoyment when sleep is not -easy to win. - -But there was an older master, Mr. Braid, who exercised an even more -powerful influence in forming and directing my taste. His special -subject in the curriculum of the school was mathematics, but he was an -ardent lover of literature and a devoted student of Shakespeare. He did -not live in the school, but many times after school hours he used to -take me down to his modest rooms in the village and show me some of the -books in his small but well-loved library. - -Impelled by his enthusiasm I had read, before I left school, the whole -of Shakespeare, as well as _Paradise Lost_ and the shorter poems of -Milton; and it was by his encouragement that I made my first attempt in -writing, in the sufficiently ambitious experiment of an essay on _King -Lear_. I have lost the essay, and the world has lost it, a fact not to -be deeply deplored by either. But this crude experiment set me on my -way, and when I quitted school at the age of sixteen my ambition was -already aflame to try and do something in the world of letters. But, -curiously enough, the aptitude which I had shown at school was towards -mathematics, and here my work had so far impressed the examiners, one of -whom was Charles Faulkner, afterwards so closely associated with -Rossetti and Burne-Jones, that Dr. Hill endeavoured to persuade my -father to send me to Cambridge. - -I do not now know whether I regret the fact that my father’s means did -not suffice to carry out that project. It might have diverted me from -those things which I even then began to love, and have never ceased to -care for. In any case it seemed obviously necessary that, as one of a -family of ten, I should at once apply myself to a calling in which I -could earn my living. Accordingly at the age of sixteen, when I quitted -Bruce Castle School, my father articled me, at some considerable -sacrifice to himself, in a stock-broker’s office in the City. - -It will be evident that the education with which I went forth into the -world could not have been very profound--a little Latin, enough to -enable me to read, in later years, Horace and Virgil with pleasure, but -not without the aid of a dictionary; no Greek--that was not considered -indispensable to a commercial career; mathematics sufficient, as my -examiners told me, to have given me more than a fair chance of a -scholarship at Cambridge; and a taste for literature mainly acquired in -the vacant hours after school. - -From the first my task in the City was not congenial to me, although I -worked hard and worked early and late. But when office hours were over I -still contrived to keep alive that interest in books which had already -been deeply implanted in me, and to make some small essays in journalism -and in verse which at the first, I am bound to admit, met with scant -encouragement from the editors whom I bombarded. I can remember now -receiving from Charles Dickens, with a pain that was also blended with -pleasure, a polite little note in blue ink returning one of my many -rejected communications. Mr. Thackeray from the _Cornhill_ conferred -upon me a like distinction--a distinction, as I call it, because even -the fact that they declined to publish what I wrote seemed to me at the -time almost to form a link of association with men whom I so greatly -admired. - -All this tentative work was done in the late evenings, carried sometimes -far into the night, but it did not prevent me from being at my office in -the City at a quarter past nine, and remaining there always till six and -sometimes, on account days, till nine and ten. At the same time I was -greedily reading the works of the men I worshipped most--the drama, and -the lyrical poetry of the Elizabethans; the novelists, starting with -Sterne, Fielding, and Smollett; the poets of the great revival which -ushered in the nineteenth century; and those later poets and writers, -all of whom were then living, who gave to the Victorian era its glory. - -I have often thought that the youth of a later generation can hardly -realise the wealth of contemporary achievement that lay around those of -us who chanced to be born in that fortunate hour. However great, or -however greatly admired, may be the writers of a past day, they can -never speak with the quickened magic that a living master can command. -And what masters then stood there to win our worship! Tennyson in his -prime, and Browning, whose unexhausted energy had yet to give to the -world _The Ring and the Book_; Swinburne, whose new and intoxicating -music came like a voice from an undiscovered land of song; and Morris, -who in his _Defence of Guinevere_ had already found a key that was to -unlock a long-unused storehouse of legend and romance. And then, a -little later, Rossetti, mystic and passionate, whose brooding melodies -seemed to mirror in verse those “painted poems” that were wrought by his -brush; and in fiction, where Meredith had only lately arisen, there -still stood Dickens and Thackeray, George Eliot and the Brontës; and in -other fields of literature, Carlyle, Mill and Ruskin, Emerson and -Froude. - -They were all our heroes then, and if Time has not left the place of all -unshaken, enough remain to form such a goodly company as no later hour -can boast. And this is so far acknowledged by the youth of a younger -generation that I find those of quickest appreciation in poetry and -fiction constantly tempted to steal my heroes and set them above their -own. - -Already at school I had made acquaintance with the poems of Wordsworth, -a strange choice for a boy; and the circumstances of his life, and the -revolution which he partly headed, drew me quickly to others of the -group until all lesser admiration was finally merged in my worship of -Keats. It was only in later days that I brought myself to the study of -the poets of the intermediate time between the Elizabethans and the -close of the eighteenth century, and I will confess that even now I have -no great zest for them. - -But turning aside for the moment from the things that already interested -me most, I remember being vividly impressed by some events that occurred -in the City during the period of my apprenticeship. The sudden -transition from private school to the Stock Exchange presented points of -interest that could not fail to attract a boy, even though his ambition -was otherwise engaged. - -I was in the City in the year 1867, the year of the great financial -crisis which is associated with the name of Overend Gurney. The streets -and narrow lanes round about the Stock Exchange during that turbulent -time presented many picturesque sights, and within the Stock Exchange -itself were daily scenes of almost maddening excitement. - -One day I waited outside a great bank, one of a seething crowd of many -hundreds, in momentary expectation that the doors would be closed, but -the minutes and the hours passed, and as four o’clock approached it -became known that the danger had been averted. Many similar scenes were -to be witnessed at that time, but, although they provided me with -excitement enough and to spare, even these vivid incidents in the career -into which I had been thrust did not induce me to swerve from the -resolution I had already secretly formed, not to remain in the City when -the days of my apprenticeship were concluded. - -I think, however, that, notwithstanding the distaste I had for my work, -I performed my task zealously enough. So, indeed, it must have been, for -when I finally announced to the firm my intention to retire, one of the -partners asked me to reconsider my decision, holding out to me the -inducement that if I would remain till I was twenty-one there would be a -good prospect of my being promoted to a junior partnership. - -But my choice had already been made, and I was in no mind to change it. -Still secretly nursing the thought of a literary career, it was, -nevertheless, clear to me that, for the time at any rate, I must adopt -a more definite occupation. I therefore made up my mind to study for the -Bar. My only trouble was to know how to announce this decision to my -dear father, who had spent his hardly-earned money in giving me this -first and great chance in the world, and to whom I knew the resolution -at which I had arrived would be a source of bitter disappointment and -regret. - -And so, indeed, it was! But he was the widest-minded and the most -liberal-hearted of men, and, when at last I found the courage to break -it to him, he hardly allowed me to perceive the deep disappointment -which I knew he was suffering. For my own part I have never regretted -those days passed in the City, though at the time I felt them to be -barren and wasted. Perhaps I learned as much as I should have acquired -at Cambridge, though it was learning of a different sort. Some knowledge -of men I certainly gained, some knowledge also of the habit of work -which no career, however detached from business, can afford to dispense -with. - -Certainly, if there had not been some such obstacle in my path, I should -not have thrown myself into the life I had chosen with the same keenness -and persistence. The opposition which these earlier years set in the way -of the calling I most wanted to pursue nerved and stiffened my -resolution. I did a prodigious amount of reading in those late nights -after the strenuous days in the City, and I think the fact that I had -broken away from the life that was laid out for me gave me a higher -courage to try and succeed in the life of my own choosing. - -Already, before I had made my change of view known to my father, I had -resolved to matriculate at the London University in preparation to -becoming a student for the Bar, and, when the break came, I at once -joined the classes at University College and assisted myself further by -private tuition in several branches of knowledge which I had to take up -for examination. - -Some Greek I had to learn, for I had none, a little chemistry, and then -there was my Latin, not at any time considerable, to be furbished up. -None of these things could I have done without the liberal help of my -father, for I had no resources of my own. But this liberal help was -never lacking, and I think, when his first disappointment had passed, he -became interested in furthering my new career. But the work had to be -swiftly done, for I was impatient to be upon my way, and could not have -been done in the time, in view of my meagre stock of scholastic -knowledge, if it had not been for the zealous help of those who coached -me. - -By their aid I was enabled to matriculate at the London University, and -in the Honours Division, in February of the year 1870, just a month -before my twenty-first birthday. In February 1871 I obtained the First -Class in Honours in Jurisprudence and Roman Law, and in July 1871, -having already been entered as a student of the Inner Temple, I secured -the scholarship in Roman and International Law from the Council of Legal -Education. Shortly afterwards, in the year 1872, I was called to the Bar -at the Inner Temple, and with this event the period of my boyhood may be -said to have closed. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -IDLE HOURS - - -It might perhaps be supposed, from the brief account I have given of -myself, that these earlier days were wholly devoted to study and hard -work. This, however, was very far from being the case. At school I had -been an ardent cricketer and a lover of football, and in the holidays -with my second brother, who was as keenly devoted to fishing as I was, I -passed many a happy hour among the hills of Cumberland and in the -Scottish Highlands. - -It was in Cumberland that we were first initiated into the mysteries of -the craft by a genial drunkard named Atkinson, who dwelt in a small -cottage close by Wordsworth’s grave in Grasmere churchyard. - -My father had been a native of the hills, and his forebears came of that -race of Dalesmen, or small free-holders, owning farms of a hundred acres -or more, whose independence of character Wordsworth so strongly extols, -but whose little properties have been long since absorbed in the great -estates of the Lake District. - -My grandfather’s farm was situated at Jonby, midway between Penrith and -the shores of Ullswater, and it was natural, when my father’s resources -sufficed, that our summer outing should be made in the land of his -birth. - -I think we all of us inherited his love of the hills, and it was in -those fishing days, while we were staying in a house that stood close -beside Grasmere churchyard, that I renewed and completed my study of -Wordsworth, whom I had first learned to love while I was at school. - -How simple must have been my father’s life in those boyish days before -he set forth on his business career is shown in the fact that he was -fond of relating to us that he and his brothers used always to go -barefoot to school, and only put on their shoes and stockings when they -neared the village. - -To Scotland my brother and I journeyed mostly alone, combining the -pleasures of a walking tour with the exercise of our favourite sport. -Our means were not very ample for these rambling excursions, and we not -unseldom found ourselves in a tight place before the end of our journey -was reached. - -I remember in particular that on one occasion at the close of a -delightful holiday we arrived at Callander with little more than our -third-class return tickets in our pockets. That afternoon we were to -take train for London, but we had walked for many miles and were -desperately hungry. Outside what seemed to us to be the most modest inn -in the town we held a council of war, and at last determined to venture -upon ordering a cold lunch. - -The resources of the establishment were meagre, and were fairly -outstripped by our ravenous appetites. Long before the latter were -satisfied, the one cold joint of lamb which the establishment possessed -was exhausted. We called for more, but there was no more, so there was -nothing left for us but to call for the bill, when, to our horror and -dismay, we found that the amount surpassed by two or three shillings the -little hoard that was still left to us. - -The situation was critical and called for a Napoleonic remedy. After a -whispered consultation with my brother I boldly summoned the waiter and -demanded to know if the fixed price charged for a cold lunch did not -allow us to have as many helpings as we pleased. The waiter, brought to -bay, had to confess that this was the case, and thereupon, with sudden -audacity, I urged the point that, as he had been unable to satisfy our -just demands, the bill must be proportionately reduced. After -considerable parley, with an occasional reference to a landlady who sat -behind a screen, and who may have been moved by a feeling of pity for -our obvious embarrassment, our plea was allowed, and we walked from the -inn with a sense of triumphant victory in our hearts, and with just -threepence-ha’penny in our pockets to start on our journey to town. - -As we were waiting on the platform of Callander station, with no baggage -but our knapsacks and our fishing-rods, I overheard a conversation which -has always seemed to me to throw a lurid light upon certain aspects of -the Scottish character. - -Two pawky tradesmen of the district were pacing up and down the platform -in earnest talk, and as they passed me I caught this one sentence, torn -from its context: - -“Should I outlive my wife, as I hope to do----” said the elder to the -younger, and then they passed out of hearing. - -What was to follow on the realisation of this fond dream I have often -longed to know, but even as the statement stands I have always thought -it forms a notable monument to the caution and foresight of the race. - -There are several picturesque sayings of the Highlanders that come back -to me as connected with these annual excursions. We had been staying for -a few days at the little inn at Luib, situated about five miles from -Loch Dochart, where we went daily to fish, and the gillie who used to -row us on the loch had many a pleasant story to tell of his working days -in the years when he had followed the calling of a shepherd. - -I remember one evening, as we walked home with our faces turned to one -of those beautiful sunsets that I think are only to be seen in the -Highlands, he was telling us of a favourite sheep-dog that had been for -years his companion on the hills. But the time came when age unfitted -the poor animal for his work, and when the only kindness in the -shepherd’s eyes was to put an end to its life. And then he described how -he had tied it to an apple-tree and got his gun to shoot it. - -“An’ I could scarce look at the beast,” he said, “as I fired, for I -loved him well and he had been sae wise.” - -The tears rolled down his cheeks as he told the story, and we paused in -our talk as we trudged along the sun-lit road. Then out of the silence -came this further utterance: - -“I buried him,” he faltered, “at the foot of the apple-tree”--and then -another pause, and then the final words--“an’ there would be a rare crop -of apples on the tree the year, for there’s naething for an apple-tree -like a dead dog.” - -This anecdote has always seemed to me characteristic of the Highland -nature where poetry and prose lie closely side by side, and where the -simple mind that holds them both is quite unconscious of any shock of -feeling in the rapid transition from one to the other. - -In this respect I think they show a close resemblance to the peasants of -Northern Italy, in whom there is this same frank avowal of swiftly -changing feeling; and neither in the one nor in the other does there -seem to occur the need, always felt by the Englishman, of forming a -bridge of sentiment from the world of fact to the world of passion. - -A great race are these Highland gillies, claiming and according equality -even in a calling in which they are very conscious of their superiority; -never lacking in courtesy, and yet yielding with a certain proud -independence all deference that is rightly due to the temporary relation -of master and servant. In their speech they are sometimes curiously -felicitous, and, using our English language as in a sense a strange -tongue, they sometimes exhibit, for that reason, a purity and delicacy -in the selection of words that a native can hardly command. - -There was a very pretty phrase used by an old peasant at Killin with -whom I was chatting one evening outside his cottage door. A pretty girl -passed along on the other side of the road, and, wishing to be as -Scotch as I could in order to ingratiate myself with the old man, who -was vastly entertaining in his stories of the village, I said, “That’s a -bonny lassie!” to which he replied, “Ay, sir, she is, but I’m thinking -maybe she’s just bonnier than she’s better.” How much more delicate in -its inference, how much milder in its condemnation, than our crude -statement, “She’s no better than she should be!” - -In those earlier times the “dry fly” as a lure for trout was scarcely -known, and even to this day it is regarded with undisguised scepticism -by the majority of Scotch gillies. It is not many years ago that I -astonished an expert in the older fashion by its successful application -on a little loch on the hills above Glenmuick, where I was staying with -Lord Glenesk. We had ridden for five or six miles to reach our -fishing-ground, and when we arrived it seemed as though we had come upon -a fruitless errand--there was not a ripple upon the water and not a rise -to be seen. The gillie who was with me scanned the surface of the lake -with a melancholy eye. Towards evening, however, the fish began to move, -and as sunset approached they were feeding eagerly. But the absence of -any breeze rendered casting with the wet fly a barren toil. It was then -that I drew from my case a large alder dressed as a floating fly. When I -showed it to the gillie his contempt was unconcealed. “What sort of an -animal might that be?” he inquired, and when I explained its uses to -him, he turned his face towards the sunset with a look of patient and -pitying toleration, merely remarking for my comfort that I “might just -as well throw my bonnet into the loch.” But his scorn quickly changed to -wonder as fish after fish was drawn to the bank, and when we parted at -the close of the day he somewhat sheepishly entreated me to leave him as -a legacy one or two specimens of those same “animals.” - -I had a somewhat similar experience in Switzerland a few years later. -The little crater lakes on the summit of the Gothard Pass are well -stocked with trout, and the landlord of the hotel where we lunched -advised me to accept the services of the chef, who was reckoned locally -a very mighty exponent of the piscatorial art. But when my comrade -observed my methods and noted the results, he very speedily returned to -his kitchen: “_Oh! là, là ça, vous savez, je ne comprends pas du tout. -Bon jour, monsieur_,” and so we parted. - -I think every sportsman-born has in him something of the poacher. -Certainly one of the keenest and most skilful fishermen of my -acquaintance has made confession to me of occasional lapses into the -most illicit practices when fairer means had failed. In our earlier -essays among the hills of Westmoreland and Cumberland my brother and I -were frankly unscrupulous, in so far at least as our limited skill -permitted. There was a little pool in the hills above Thirlemere called -Harrop Tarn which was so completely surrounded by a quaking morass that -fishing from the bank was almost impossible. And yet we contrived to -extract many a good trout from that same tarn by the poachers’ device of -cross-lining. Joining our casts together, we were able, by letting out -the line from either rod, to reach the very centre of the sheet of -water, and when a fish was hooked we reeled in and drew him to the one -little bit of firm land on one side or the other where he could be -safely brought to the basket. - -I knew nothing of the literature of the art when I first learned to fish -at the age of twelve, and it has often amazed me since to note what -wondrous feats of skill can be performed--in books. How to cast in the -teeth of a facing wind, how to avoid the sagging of the line in a swift -stream, how to clear a spreading bush immediately behind you--there are -exact and precise receipts for all these accomplishments, but they do -not always serve you by the water-side. There was a time when the -written record of such triumphs of skill made me feel that I scarcely -deserved to rank as a fisherman at all, but it has been my fortune -occasionally to see some of these bookmade anglers at their work, and -the result in nearly every case has been to restore to me a measure of -self-esteem. - -The truth is that the art of fishing can only be acquired on the banks -of a stream, and is rarely acquired at all unless it has been practised -in boyhood. And even so it lies not within the reach of all, even of -those who ardently desire to succeed. I remember a comrade in one of my -earlier fishing excursions in Scotland who laboured zealously but -fruitlessly to obtain even the most modest degree of proficiency, and as -he stood up in the boat, his line hopelessly entangled for the hundredth -time, the gillie who was rowing us, moved by a spirit of prophecy that -broke down all social reserve, suddenly turned to him and addressing him -by his Christian name: “Frank, Frank,” said he, “you’re a good fellow, -but you’ll _never_ be a fisherman!” And in truth he never was. - -And yet, once a measure of mastery is won, fishing remains for those who -love it an abiding passion. Time leaves undisturbed the keen excitement -of the first adventure, and with each return of spring the longing to be -out beside a stream sets the pulses newly beating. One day when we were -trudging through a field of turnips in Fifeshire, the late Sir William -Harcourt, as though pierced by sudden conviction, turned to me with the -remark, “Carr, what a bore sport is!” And of some forms of sport that, I -think, may sometimes be truly said. But your true fisherman is never -bored. He counts no day blank till it is ended, for the last hours, as -he well knows, may restore his broken fortunes and set a goodly brace or -two in the empty basket. - -And there is no sport, I think, that sorts so well with the occupations -of a writer. Shooting and stalking need the surrender of the entire day, -and are too exhausting to leave any appetite for intellectual labour. -But with fishing it is not so. The angler who has the good fortune to -dwell beside a stream can divide his energies between work and sport -without neglect of either, and in my own case I have found them go -happily hand in hand. Much of my play of _King Arthur_ was written by -the shores of Rannoch, which I had first known and loved as a boy, and -there is a little cottage in Hertfordshire, unhappily no longer mine, -that enshrines many happy memories wherein work and sport are linked in -close association. - -Walking tours have gone out of fashion nowadays; the bicycle and -motor-car have engendered another taste, and have partly ruined the -quiet ways that were once the exclusive property of the pedestrian. But -they were a favourite pastime in the sixties and seventies, and, apart -from the longer sojourn we used to make in the Lake District or in -Scotland, there was scarcely an Easter or a Whitsuntide holiday which -did not find me among the hills of Westmoreland and Cumberland. There, -with a friend of my early years and still a friend to-day, we explored -every hill and dale of the Lake District. - -On one of those spring excursions I remember we had made rather a long -day of it, starting from Patterdale in the morning, lunching at -Grasmere, and then making our way by Easedale Tarn to the summit of High -White Stones. It was our intention to descend from that point and to -reach the hotel in Dungeon Ghyll in time for dinner. But on High White -Stones an eerie and impenetrable white mist descended upon us and we -missed our way. For several hours we wandered in the mist until we lost -all count of where we were, but at last, by some strange good fortune, -we found ourselves on the top of Langdale Pikes, a spot which I knew -well from many an earlier excursion. - -We both knew that below us lay Stickle Tarn, and that from Stickle Tarn -ran the brook which would finally lead us to our now much-desired inn. -And so in the drenching rain we cautiously descended the hillside till -we got to the shores of the Tarn. Then, by some unexpected error, -instead of turning on our right, which in a few moments would have led -us to the issue of the brook, we took the other direction and were -forced to make the whole circuit of the Tarn, reaching at last, almost -exhausted, the rushing torrent that descends to the valley. In such fear -were we of losing our way again that we determined not to desert the bed -of the stream, and, crawling catlike from boulder to boulder, we found -the village at last, and saw, with a delight that may be easily -imagined, the far-off glimmer in the windows of the Dungeon Ghyll Hotel. - -It was half-past ten before we arrived at the door, wet through, and -with our slight stock of change contained in our knapsacks sodden with -rain. But the landlord kindly lent us some strange garments of his own, -and I do not think two men ever enjoyed a meal more than we two as we -fell upon that staple dish of the Lake District, “ham and eggs.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -ESSAYS IN JOURNALISM - - -Even before I left the City I had already made some tentative excursions -into the realm of journalism. My first experiment, I remember, had -something of a grotesque conclusion. - -An early friend of mine, Arthur O’Neil, the younger half-brother of -Henry O’Neil, the painter of _Eastward Ho_, had somehow persuaded a -modest capitalist to venture a small sum of money in the establishment -of a weekly journal called the _Dramatic and Musical Review_. We were -both keenly interested in the drama, and I had assisted at O’Neil’s -first venture in the shape of a pantomime at the old Sadler’s Wells -Theatre. - -To judge by the scene that occurred during the later stages of the -entertainment, it could not have been deemed wholly successful. I -remember that the members of the orchestra had to divide their attention -between the music of the harlequinade and the shower of stone -ginger-beer bottles that were hurled like hail from a hypercritical -gallery. - -O’Neil, who was older than I, and who had already had some slight -experiences as a journalist, with a desire to encourage my budding -ambition, asked me to do a criticism on a recently published volume of -Longfellow’s Poems for this same _Dramatic and Musical Review_, of which -he was the proud editor. I duly received and duly corrected the printed -proof of my article with feelings of exaltation only to be realised by -those who, for the first time, see their ideas in printed type, and then -waited with eager expectation for the day of publication. - -The office was situated in that older part of the Strand near St. -Clement Danes which is now no more, and the publisher owned the two-fold -responsibility of also issuing another weekly journal entitled the -_Labour News_. Twopence was, I think, the price of our artistic organ, -and as early as I could on the Saturday morning I presented myself at -the office and tendered the sum required. Almost overwhelmed with -excitement I rapidly scanned the columns of this slender journal to find -the first-fruits of my pen. But my search yielded nothing but -disappointment. The article was not there. I stood in the tiny office -crushed by a sense of failure and misfortune, and was just going out -into the grey street when the enterprising boy behind the counter, -actuated by the simple desire to do business, asked me if I wanted a -copy of the _Labour News_. - -As a fact I wanted nothing but some place to hide the sense of -humiliation which overpowered me, but as he added, “It’s only a penny,” -I took the journal and went out into the street, and, as I listlessly -scanned its pages through, I found, to my astonishment, my lost article -on Longfellow’s Poems. - -It turned out afterwards that the _Dramatic and Musical Review_ in that -particular week had more than its needed supply of “copy,” and the -_Labour News_, on the other hand, finding itself short of material, a -bright idea had come into the printer’s mind that the review of -Longfellow’s Poems might be appropriately set beside advertisements as -to the advantages of Canadian Emigration. - -Little by little, from this first ludicrous start, I gained a modest -footing in the world of journalism, at first as dramatic critic to the -_Echo_, then edited by Arthur Arnold, brother of Sir Edwin Arnold, so -long connected with the _Daily Telegraph_. - -My services upon the _Echo_ were not particularly lucrative, the payment -for an article being rarely more than six or seven shillings; and my -fare to and from Clapham Junction, where we lived at the time, and the -necessary modest meal before the theatre began, almost entirely absorbed -the sum that I earned. - -From the _Echo_ I drifted to the _Globe_, which was then under the -editorship of Dr. Mortimer Granville, and here my work began in -something like earnest. During my services as dramatic critic I had -become acquainted with Thomas Purnell, and it was he who secured for me -a regular position upon the staff of the _Globe_. - -Our work there was sufficiently strenuous. There were three of us -stationed in a room above the editorial sanctum, and here, between the -hours of nine o’clock in the morning and twelve, we were engaged upon -three columns of notes which formed the first page of the paper. The -three of us were Purnell, Francillon the novelist, and myself; and the -life, wholly new to me, was at the time strangely fascinating and -attractive. - -Purnell was himself one of the quaintest and most characteristic figures -I have ever encountered. A regular Bohemian in a Bohemia that has long -lost its sea-board, he had the Bohemian frank detestation of work and -utter disregard of all social conventions, and yet with these -peculiarities were linked a fine taste and a personality of real -distinction. - -When I first met him he had just completed a series of papers in the -_Athenæum_ upon the drama under the signature of “Q,” winning some -little renown in a sharp controversy with Charles Reade, in which he was -certainly not worsted. - -My other stable companion, Francillon, was of an exactly opposite -temperament. Endowed with considerable imagination, which was happily -exhibited in _Pearl and Emerald_, a novel which had been published in -the _Cornhill Magazine_, he was by habit plodding and industrious, -qualities which aroused in Purnell a degree of disapproval that -sometimes almost verged on resentment. - -“Now, Francillon,” he used to say, “loves work. I don’t. I hate it; I -loathe it! People will tell you, my dear Carribus”--for so he often -addressed me--“that to work is to pray. Well, of the two, _I_ find it -easier to pray. Why should I work?” he used to add, with an air of deep -and earnest conviction. “I want nothing, only my twopence. All I need is -a herring and a glass of ale, and when I have earned that I like to be -idle. Some men, so they say, like work. I don’t!” And he did not. - -One fixed appointment which he held was to contribute a weekly article -on Conservative Policy to the pages of an important provincial paper. -Long before the day came when this article had to be despatched by the -evening post he used to look upon the impending task with something like -horror, and yet nothing could ever induce him to anticipate by an hour -the execution of his labours. - -Indeed, as a rule, he never wrote it at all. When the day came and we -had finished our morning’s work on the _Globe_, he would generally -invite Francillon and myself to a frugal lunch at the old Gaiety -Restaurant, and when the invitation was issued we always knew what was -in store for us. As the lunch neared its end he would breach the subject -by imploring us to supply him with a topic. - -“It’s the topic, my dear boy, there’s the devil of it. If I only had a -topic I could do it in an hour”--a purely fallacious statement, seeing -that no amount of topics would ever have induced him to do it -single-handed at all. - -Francillon would sometimes heave a sigh, and then with newly-lit cigars -we would wend our way back to the old _Globe_ office, where our -working-room overlooked the chapel of the Savoy. By that time either -Francillon or I had found a topic, for although I was then, and have -since remained, a Liberal in politics, I found it not difficult, and -sometimes even diverting, to engage in the advocacy of Conservative -Policy in the service of our indolent friend. - -Perhaps it was I who generally found the subject for the article, and -when I announced it Purnell would reply, “Then begin, my dear boy; begin -it, Carribus; the thing’s done.” - -In those days a leading article always consisted of three paragraphs, -and the three paragraphs of this authoritative statement on Conservative -ideas were on these happy occasions divided between the three of us, -Purnell always reserving to himself the conclusion, not because I think -he had any special aptitude in bringing the argument to an end, but -because it gave him a longer time to smoke his pipe before his turn came -to set upon his task. - -And so it came about that I having opened the debate, Francillon at the -same time would be busily engaged in the discussion necessary for the -central paragraph, while Purnell, looking over our shoulders with -chuckling glee, and passing contentedly from chair to chair as he saw -his task nearing its end, would finally be persuaded to sit down at his -own desk and scribble about eight sentences which were supposed, by -their invincible logic, to confirm and strengthen the Tory convictions -of the city to which the article was to be despatched. - -But hurry and scurry as we would, this terrible task was scarcely ever -finished till within a few minutes of the time for post, and even then -it often happened that one of us had to come to Purnell’s rescue and try -as best we could to adjust the scattered arguments which he had been -vainly endeavouring to set in logical sequence. - -His delight on these occasions was unbounded. The weekly price for these -essays was three guineas, and I think he received it with all the -greater zest from the consciousness that he had not rightly earned it. - -Purnell’s social ambitions were few, and all social obligations he -boldly repudiated. It was one of his most deeply seated convictions that -no man was compelled to reply to any letter of invitation, whatever the -source from which it might have come, and he defended this position with -great show of legal force. - -“If,” he said, “a lady had asked me whether in the event of her writing -me an invitation I would reply to it, and I had answered in the -affirmative, then, my dear Carribus, the agreement would be complete. -But I never said anything of the kind, never would; and therefore, my -dear boy, there’s no privity of contract.” - -But there was one invitation he took care to answer, an invitation to -pass a week-end with a certain noble lord in the country. I do not think -that he was in any grave sense a “snob,” but he was deeply impressed -with the sense of his powers of fascination over women, and his handsome -picturesque face, I think, entitled him to the belief that it was not -mere idle boasting. - -At this particular party he happened to know that several charming -ladies of the family would be present, and it was this fact, I think, -which made him very eager, if he could, to accept the invitation. But -the question of a fitting wardrobe raised a difficulty, and here again -he threw himself in all candour upon Francillon and myself. - -The rare letter of acceptance had been sent, and the day for his -departure had arrived, but in this question of dress he was still -lamentably unprepared. We met in hasty consultation in a little -eating-house called the Coal Hole, which lay down a narrow court at the -south side of the Strand. - -It was Saturday. The shops would soon be closing, and there was no time -to lose. He had money enough for his railway ticket, but none for such -idle luxuries as clothes. His only proffered contribution to the -necessities of the occasion was a tarnished disreputable bag which he -had brought down empty to the office in view of the projected excursion. -He had no great faith in it himself, and it was discarded with scorn by -those whom he had pressed into his service. And so in the end Francillon -and I had to provide a modest valise and stock it with a wardrobe that -would suffice for the three days’ stay, and I can recall now the air of -triumph with which he started upon his journey, robed in a new -pilot-jacket which we had added as the final feature of his outfit. - -Our little circle on the staff of the _Globe_ was later joined by -Churton Collins, now the Professor of English Literature at the -University at Birmingham, then only a boy fresh from Oxford, but a boy -whose mind was already stored with a knowledge of English literature -such as I suppose few men of his generation can boast. His prodigious -memory both in prose and poetry I certainly have never encountered in -another; and through many an evening, when he dined quietly with us in -our rooms in Great Russell Street, did we wonder and delight to listen -to him as he passed from author to author, not always reciting things -of his own choice, but responding with equal readiness to any call that -might be made upon him when the choice was made by others. - -But this wondrous memory sometimes played him tricks in his first essays -as a journalist. For as there was no time and no opportunity in the -_Globe_ office to verify any quotation, his literary articles, which -were always packed with quotations from the poets, were generally -subject to correction in some small particular, and for this reason -evoked a shower of correspondence which irritated and annoyed our worthy -editor. - -This same editor, on the other hand, was often a source of annoyance to -_us_. Our time was short for the work we had to do during the morning, -and we resented the constant pencil-notes which he used to send up from -the room below, or the repeated calls up the speaking-tube, the whistle -of which stood next to Purnell’s desk. - -One day we determined to mark our disapproval of this vexatious and -harassing policy. We were accustomed sometimes, when money was short, to -be content with a lunch of cocoa and biscuits prepared by ourselves. A -kettle on this occasion stood puffing on the fire, and when the whistle -of the speaking-tube had gone for about the thirtieth time, a demoniacal -idea of vengeance entered into the mind of Purnell. The call this time -was for me, and Purnell having answered that I was coming to speak in -answer, went with stealthy steps towards the fireplace and seizing the -kettle poured the whole of its contents down the tube. - -It is not perhaps wonderful that this resulted in something like a -crisis in the internal arrangements of the office, and very nearly ended -in the dismissal of the entire literary staff. - -Another comrade of those days, though he rarely wrote in the _Globe_, -was Camille Barrère, now the distinguished Ambassador of the French -Republic at Rome. Barrère and I were for many years close allies. I had -assisted him in his first essay in English journalism when he -contributed to the _Pall Mall Gazette_ a series of articles on the -Commune, with which he had been in some sense associated. He was always -a brilliant and gifted creature, and his rapid advancement from the hour -when he was first befriended by Gambetta could never have been any -surprise to those who knew him well. - -At that time, like the rest of us, he was having a hard struggle for -life. We were together on the _Echo_, and together on the _Pall Mall -Gazette_, and I can remember in the old days of the Arts Club how often -we sat and planned vague, large schemes for the reorganisation of -journalism, which should yield us more complacent editors and a rate of -higher remuneration, which we fancied our merits deserved. - -Barrère had passed some of his earlier years in England, and his -knowledge and power over our tongue were remarkable, but now and then -some small idiomatic fault would slip out unawares, and one day, when he -had just received what he considered an inadequate cheque from the -_Echo_, he cried out indignantly that he “would like to wring the throat -of Arnold.” - -Unlike poor Purnell, the choice of a topic never presented any -difficulty to him. Almost any subject served him for a light and -graceful essay, and the fertility of his invention in this regard was -more than remarkable. Happily for his own sake, and for the sake of the -nation which he has served with so much distinction, he need no longer -rack his brains, as in the old days, for the material that would fill a -column in the _Echo_; and though it is many years since we met, I know, -through many messages that I have received from him, that he looks back -with kindly remembrances to those times when we struggled side by side. - -It is a strange thing about a journalist’s career, when it is -successful, that at the first it seems so hard to get the work to do, -and then later so hard to do the work that comes. In those early days -every new opening was only won after a struggle, yet within a very few -years I found myself almost overwhelmed by the tasks that were laid upon -me. - -From the _Globe_ I passed to the _Pall Mall Gazette_, where I succeeded -Professor Colvin as its Art Critic; from the _Pall Mall_ to the -_Saturday Review_ and the _Examiner_; and then a little later I joined -the staff of the _World_, which had recently been founded by Edmund -Yates. - -These different changes of occupation brought many new friends and many -new editors, but of all those under whom I have served I think I should -signalise Mr. Frederic Greenwood as by far the most inspiring to his -contributors. Not that to be numbered among Mr. Greenwood’s contributors -always implied a peaceful career; he was an autocratic commander, whose -powerful personality loved to assert itself in every department of his -paper, and he and I in those days had sharp encounters with regard to -that particular arena of art criticism over which I thought I was -entitled to exercise independent control. - -But those differences are long forgotten, and the remembrance that -survives is of a keen and ardent intelligence that communicated its own -warmth of purpose to all who served under his banner. - -Very different in type was Mr. Harwood, the editor of the _Saturday -Review_. On the quiet evenings that I sometimes passed at his house in -Regent’s Park, when he would spend most of the time after dinner in -playing on his violoncello, it seemed hardly possible to realise that he -was the capable conductor of what was even then a mighty organ of public -opinion. - -I suppose that hardly any British journal has ever boasted among its -contributors so many eminent men in so many varied ways of life as one -could see gathered at the great annual dinner of the _Review_ in the -“Trafalgar” at Greenwich, presided over by Mr. Beresford Hope. - -Mr. Harwood had succeeded Mr. Cook, and had inherited many of the -traditions of the great founder of the _Review_. His editorial office at -the time I joined him was situated in The Albany, where he was assisted -as sub-editor by my old friend, Mr. Walter Herries Pollock, who -afterwards succeeded to the editorial chair. - -I did little of the more serious work upon the paper, my duties, as a -rule, being confined to those middle articles, as they were called, -which formed at that time one of its salient features. I suppose the -aptitude for finding and treating such lighter subjects was not too -common; at any rate, I know that my contributions of that sort always -met with a generous welcome, and Mr. Harwood himself, despite his grave -exterior, was sometimes singularly happy in the choice of subjects for -fit treatment in this lighter vein. - -A young man who has gained an entry into the journalistic world can -sometimes get through a prodigious amount of work, and at the time I am -speaking of it often happened that within the week, besides my morning -duties upon the _Globe_, I would furnish one, and sometimes two, -articles to the _Saturday Review_, an article to the _Examiner_, another -to the _World_, and, in addition, three or four columns of art criticism -to the _Pall Mall Gazette_, apart from regular work in the same -department for the _Manchester Guardian_, and occasional articles in -other daily or weekly journals. - -Mr. Edmund Yates, the founder and editor of the _World_, had given me a -generous welcome from the first, and I recall an incident in connection -with a series of articles I had done for him which at the time filled me -with no little pride. In this series I had dealt week by week with the -more important organs of the British press, and I was fortunate enough -to win for these papers a considerable amount of attention. But, for the -time, Edmund Yates had carefully withheld the secret of their -authorship, and one day when I was visiting my old master at Bruce -Castle School the subject came into our conversation, and he told me -that the report was about that they were written by a prominent -leader-writer of the _Times_. - -At this my pride could no longer contain itself, and his incredulity and -astonishment when I announced myself as the author gave me a moment of -the keenest pleasure. - -Yates had many enemies in those days, and the new features which he had -introduced into English journalism were in many quarters profoundly -resented. But he was generous and warm-hearted to his friends, and -beneath those lighter gifts which made for immediate success he -possessed a deep, sincere love of literature. It was at his house that I -first met the late Mr. Archibald Forbes, a man of rare force and grit, -and possessed, as a writer, of a style of trenchant sincerity and power -that in my opinion placed him easily at the head of that great race of -special war-correspondents which may be said to have been founded by the -late Sir William Russell. None of them all, however, could equal Sir -William in social grace and readiness of wit. His store of anecdotes -garnered from a rich experience of many men and many lands seemed ever -inexhaustible and ever new. - -Forbes was of a widely different type. His experience had been won in a -harder school, but his rapid and vivid powers of expression, his ability -to set forth in picturesque presentment events which had only just -happened, were, I think, altogether unrivalled. When it is remembered -that many of these descriptions were sent rushing over the wires at the -close of a day when other men of less energy would have been exhausted -after many hours spent in the saddle, and when it is observed with what -potent directness of narrative, often rising to real greatness of style, -the story he had to tell was presented to his readers, it will be -conceded, I think, that he had no equal in the particular branch of -journalistic literature to which he had devoted himself. - -We became close friends almost from our first meeting, which, as I -remember, was on the occasion of a dinner given by Edmund Yates to the -contributors to the _World_, and later, when I became editor to the -_English Illustrated Magazine_, he rekindled some of the earlier -memories of his fighting days in a series of articles that included a -delightful account of the struggles which preceded his appointment as a -special correspondent to the _Daily News_. - -It was during the Franco-German War that the _Daily News_ leapt into -sudden prominence, in virtue of its splendid correspondence yielding a -vivid picture of the conflict from both sides of the campaign, and it -was incontestably to the energy and judgment of the late Sir John -Robinson that this immediate success was due. - -The quiet, kindly personality of Sir John would scarcely have suggested -the sure and rapid power of organisation he undoubtedly possessed, and -his quickness of insight in the selection of the fit man for the work to -be done was vividly illustrated in the account which Mr. Forbes wrote -for the _English Illustrated Magazine_ of his first meeting with the -genial manager of the _Daily News_. - -It is possible that Forbes had somewhat embroidered the sober facts of -the situation in order to heighten its picturesque effect, for I -remember that on my next meeting with Sir John, after the publication of -the article, he was somewhat whimsically annoyed to find that his own -share in this historical transaction had been slightly disfigured to -suit the exigencies of Mr. Forbes’s narrative. - -Forbes had asserted that at a point in the negotiations he conceived the -idea that his services were not desired, and was leaving the office in -disgust when Robinson ran after him and brought him back. It was this -little piece of added embroidery that Sir John declared to be not -absolutely historical, but I feel sure, at least, that Forbes never -intended to do injustice to the manager of the _Daily News_, for in our -many talks concerning his struggles at this time he always acknowledged -how deeply he had been indebted to his great employer. - -Another of the staff of the _Daily News_ war-correspondents was Hilary -Skinner, whose younger brother had been the dearest friend of my youth, -from the time when we were schoolmates at Bruce Castle School. - -Alan Skinner afterwards rose to a distinguished official position in the -Straits Settlements, but at the time I am thinking of he had just been -called to the Bar; and when I, at a later date, left school to begin my -life in London, he and I passed many a long evening in the little set of -chambers he occupied in Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn. In those days he was -a versifier like myself, and, failing a wider audience, we used to -delight to read to one another our first essays in poetry. - -The friendship between us was of the closest, and when he finally went -abroad to take up his official duties, the separation, I think, was felt -keenly by both. His elder brother, Mr. Hilary Skinner, was of a lighter -temperament, though he must have possessed strong force of character to -have endured the strenuous labours of a war-correspondent. A voluble and -insatiable talker, his conversation never needed the provocation of a -reply. In an endless stream of anecdote he would wander over a wide -world of men and things, never halting for a word, and rarely halting at -all. And yet the trials of the life he had adopted must have been a -severe strain upon a constitution that was by no means robust, and I -think the wear and tear of that life, though it was not long continued, -set a permanent mark upon his health. - -Certainly this was so in the case of Archibald Forbes, who suffered much -during the later years of his life, suffering that had its origin, as he -told me, in a terrible two days’ ride in South Africa when he was racing -against time to reach the telegraph-office to cable his news home. - -Among others of this special race of correspondents who came into my -life at this time were George Augustus Sala and William Beatty-Kingston. -With both, however, the record of war was only a passing incident in -their journalistic career. - -Sala, I think, possessed a larger assortment of odd scraps of knowledge -than any man I have ever met, and although his chequered career -presented many vicissitudes, he had cultivated, as he told me, from -boyhood the habit of keeping a series of most carefully compiled -commonplace books, in which were recorded, under headings sometimes -quaintly chosen, every bit of information or historical allusion which -even remotely bore upon the subject in hand. - -He told me that in the wildest and most disordered periods in his career -this habit had never deserted him, and one evening, when I was dining -with him in Mecklenburg Square, he showed me one entire shelf packed -with these little volumes, all written in the neatest of monkish hands, -and almost without a blot or scar. - -I have often wondered what has become of those note-books from which he -drew such varied allusions for his characteristic articles in the _Daily -Telegraph_. They would be a treasure-store to many a budding journalist, -and as far as I could gather, from a rapid review of them during that -one evening at his house, a delight even to the casual reader. - -Sala, like his friend Yates, was an accomplished speaker, and a keen -critic on all presumptuous pretenders in that department. - -I remember one evening, coming away from a public banquet at which he -had admirably distinguished himself, I ventured to ask him what he -thought of the performance of a gentleman who had followed him, and who -I knew rather prided himself upon his achievements in this particular -direction. - -“Oh!” said Sala in reply, “you mean so-and-so. Ah yes! Damned fluent, -damned fool!” The comment sounds harsh, but I do not think it was -unjust. He used to tell me that in the preparation and delivery of his -speeches there was always present to his mind the image of a furnished -house, and that he kept his material in order and sequence by suggesting -to himself, as he spoke, that he was inspecting the various apartments, -from the dining-room to the attic, and that in this way he could always -avoid any halt or confusion in the arrangement of the matter upon which -he was speaking. - -Yates, I fancy, though his delivery was always admirable in effect, was -accustomed to learn his speeches by heart, and in this respect resembled -the late Sir Frederick Leighton, though with the latter the secret was -not so well kept. - -William Beatty-Kingston, the last of the special correspondents to whom -I referred, had no aptitude for public speaking, but he was in many ways -highly accomplished. As an amateur musician I should think he had few -equals, and his absolute enjoyment when he was seated at the piano, -passing from the work of one great master to another, was a delight to -witness. I remember that one evening my wife and I had invited to meet -him a very gifted young Italian violinist, and it was a suggestion of -ours that after dinner they should try over some of the duets of the -great composers. - -It was easy to see that at first they took no liking for one another. -The Italian, as a recognised professional, hardly concealed his sense of -superiority over the amateur, and Kingston, I knew, harboured a lurking -suspicion that the violinist would not be deeply interested in the work -of the great German composers to whom he was enthusiastically attached. - -The brief passage of the dinner was for this reason a period of armed -neutrality, amusing enough to watch; and when afterwards they were -persuaded to make an adventure together it was done reluctantly, and -with no great hope on the part of either that the evening would present -any real enjoyment. It so happened, as they both knew, that my wife and -I were bound to make an early departure for a great fancy-dress ball -which had been organised by some of the foremost painters of the day, -but of course we invited Kingston and his companion to stay as long as -they liked, and leaving them with a sufficient store of whisky and soda -and cigars, we set out upon our more frivolous excursion. - -The ball was kept up till late; it was past five o’clock before we -returned, little thinking to find our guests still in possession; and -our surprise was the greater when, on mounting to our single -sitting-room in Great Russell Street, we found, in the light of the -sunshine that was streaming into the room, Kingston and his companion, -both with coat and waistcoat removed, pounding away as hard as they -could go at some difficult composition which they were trying over for -the third time. The two artists, whom we had left with some misgiving in -an attitude of veiled hostility towards each other, were now, as we -discovered to our surprise, the closest friends, and, although the -morning was well advanced, Kingston insisted that we should sit down and -listen to one or two of the gems which they had been performing, and -which were now repeated once more for our benefit--the most persuasive -plea he urged being that in half an hour the public-houses would be -open, and that we could then replenish our slender store of whisky -which they had already exhausted. - -Kingston had been for some time a special correspondent to the _Daily -Telegraph_ in Berlin, and afterwards came to London as its foreign -editor. Apart from his musical talent, he spoke with ease many foreign -languages, and in this respect resembled Sala, whose facilities as a -linguist were great, though, as he once confessed, he inclined by -preference to the languages of the Latin races. As he himself -picturesquely put it, “My tongue is hung in a Southern belfry.” - -Of all the editors with whom my journalistic experience brought me into -contact, the man who stood nearest to me as a friend was Professor Minto -of the _Examiner_. - -On the _Examiner_ I felt free and unfettered, free to choose any topic -that pleased me, and to treat it in whatever way seemed to me best. I -have always thought that Minto’s great powers as a critic of literature -have never been sufficiently recognised. His separate volumes on the -Poetic Writers and the Prose Writers of England contain some of the best -criticism of our time, and, in especial, the section in the former -devoted to the tragedies of Shakespeare has hardly been equalled in -fineness of perception and in sustained eloquence of style. - -Though in many ways characteristically Scotch, he had a liberal and -supple mind, with a wide grasp and a generous outlook on political -affairs, and an appreciation even of lighter works of literature that -was hardly to be suspected from his grave and sober personality. - -Very delightful were the little smoking evenings he instituted in the -offices of the _Examiner_, which were then situated near Wellington -Street in the Strand. There it was that I first met the late Bishop -Creighton, who was at the time a constant contributor to the paper. -Theodore Watts-Dunton was also a pretty regular visitor on these simple -social occasions, and there, too, I met that strangest of accomplished -scholars, “Student Williams,” who had long been known as an Oxford -coach, and who was now devoting himself to a journalistic career. - -It is strange to reflect what a complete revolution has overtaken -English journalism in the period of thirty years that has passed since -the time of which I am speaking. Literature and journalism have now -almost parted company, and although the older tradition still honourably -survives in individual instances, it is impossible not to be conscious -that the function of a journalist, as it is now most widely accepted, -has entirely changed its character. - -The sort of article that was eagerly sought for then is now rarely -welcomed, and when we recall the names of the men who wrote for the -_Saturday Review_, and the great body of accomplished writers who lifted -the _Pall Matt Gazette_ in its earlier days into a foremost position -among English journals, it will readily be conceded that the revolution -is already complete. Reporting has largely taken the place of criticism, -and the modern newspaper office, ordered on popular lines, more nearly -approaches day by day to a powerful agency for private inquiry and -detection. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE BAR - - -While this journalistic work was in its earliest stages, I was still -seriously engaged in trying to fit myself for work at the Bar. My -earlier knowledge of the Law had been gained under the tutorship of -Professor Stewart Brice, who had successfully prepared me for my -examination at the London University. And now, during the last six -months of my studentship, I read in chambers with Charles Crompton, who -was a prosperous Junior of the Northern Circuit. Charles Crompton had -taken high honours at Cambridge, and was an accomplished lawyer; but his -gift of speech was small, and would always have left him unfit for the -higher honours of leadership. It was through his influence that I was -elected as Junior to the Northern Circuit, which then covered a larger -area than is assigned to it now. When I was Junior the towns visited -included Appleby, Durham, Newcastle, Carlisle, Lancaster, Manchester, -and Liverpool, and until I began to feel the pinch of the great expense -which these Circuit tours involved, I keenly enjoyed every hour of the -time in which, by my patient presence in the Courts, I was endeavouring -to master the principles of the Law. - -But before I joined the Circuit, I had already received my first brief -from a cousin who was desirous of encouraging me in my new career. I was -to appear in the Divorce Court in an undefended case, and my cousin -endeavoured to stiffen my nerves for the ordeal by assuring me that the -proceedings would be merely formal and the verdict would follow as a -matter of course. - -It was before Lord Penzance that the trial took place, and when the -pleadings had been opened and I had made the statement that the case was -undefended, a voice from the well of the Court retorted in acrid tones, -“I beg your pardon!” and then a little man rose whom I gathered, in my -confusion, to be the respondent. My amazement and dismay are beyond -words to describe, and if it had not been for the Judge, who realised -the situation and came to my rescue, I think my first brief would have -been my last. - -As Junior of the Circuit I was brought into close contact with some of -the greatest advocates of the time--Holker, Russell, Herschell, Sam -Pope, among the leaders; Gully, Henn Collins, Bigham, and a host of -others of the Junior Bar who have since risen to distinction. The -present Lord Justice Kennedy joined the Circuit at the same time as -myself and we shared our lodgings in several of the northern towns. - -The post of Junior rather attracted me. According to tradition, that -officer is supposed to represent the interests of the Junior Bar, and it -is recognised as part of his duty on every occasion that offers that he -should keep in check the superior pretensions of the Queen’s Counsel. - -As Junior also I was one of the recognised spokesmen for the Circuit on -the occasion of all public banquets and entertainments; and I remember -that it was at a dinner given by the late Lord Armstrong in his capacity -as High Sheriff of the County, a dinner served in the great -banqueting-hall at Jesmond Dene, the walls of which were richly -decorated with many important examples of modern art, that I made my -first essay as a public speaker. - -But what interested me most keenly at the time was the opportunity which -the daily working of the Courts afforded of appreciating and -distinguishing the great talents of the men who then graced the Circuit. - -The first who won my admiration, and it was not wonderful, was Charles -Russell, and I remember, in the constant discussions which occupied the -Junior end of our table at the evening mess, I always stoutly maintained -that he would prove the greatest advocate in England. - -He already possessed that dominating personality which was felt by Judge -and Counsel alike, and an instance of his imperious temper came to me -very early in our acquaintance. Though I had seen and admired him -constantly in Court, I had not been introduced to him till I met him one -evening in the rooms of Mr. M‘Connell in the Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool. -Russell was always a keen cardplayer, though I am assured by those who -are better able to judge, a player not distinguished by any exceptional -skill. There were four of us present that evening, and Russell at once -insisted that the table should be brought out for a rubber of whist. I -nervously explained to him that I knew scarcely anything of the game, -but my objection was curtly overborne in a manner that left me no -alternative. By an unhappy fate Russell cut me as a partner, and the -blunders which I had clearly foreseen must occur, endured at first with -some semblance of equanimity, at last ended in an explosion of rebuke -that only made the more inevitable a series of even worse blunders in -the game to follow. - -By this time Russell had lost all patience, and, to say the truth, so -had I, and with a courage and audacity, which I certainly could not have -exhibited had I then known him better, I pointed out to him that the -fault was his own, that I had warned him of my incompetence, and yet in -the face of that confession he had forced me to join in the game. - -To my utter amazement he became suddenly gentle and self-controlled, and -said, “Yes, yes, you’re right. I had forgotten that. I had no business -to speak to you like that.” - -Other instances of Russell’s commanding personality, though they belong -to a later time, come back to me now. - -During the progress of the famous Belt trial, through the kindness of -Sir George Lewis I one day found my way into Court; but I had scarcely -taken my seat when Russell, with an imperious gesture, beckoned me to -his side. “Carr,” he said, “you know about Art?” and before I knew -whither his statement tended I found myself in the witnessbox -confronted with the two test busts on which the issue in the case mainly -depended. - -The last time we met in public was on the occasion of a dinner to be -given to Sir Henry Irving on his return from America, when Sir Charles -Russell was in the chair. As I entered the anteroom where the guests -were assembled Russell took me by the lapel of my coat and drew me -aside. “You ought to be doing this,” he said. “You _can_ do this sort of -thing; I can’t.” - -That portion of the statement which concerns himself was, at any rate, -partly true. Russell was never quite at home in these lighter ways of -oratory. It needed the pressure of a great issue to exhibit his powers -of eloquence at their best, and even in the House of Commons I fancy he -never quite justified his unrivalled position at the Bar. - -But in that special gift of eloquence that makes for power in advocacy -there was surely no man of his time who could claim to be his equal. -Within the arena of the Court his personality imposed itself; in the -stress of conflict it could even be menacing. It exercised its influence -upon the jury; it was not unfelt upon the Bench. Like all great -advocates, he was at his best when the gravity of the issue summoned all -his resources. He was only fully inspired when his individuality was -fully and deeply engaged, and for that he needed the spur of something -definite, concrete, and individual. His gifts of oratory were -conspicuous. In those northern Circuit days I used constantly to notice -a greater freedom and picturesqueness of gesture, a more complete -surrender to a mood of passionate utterance than any of his fellows -could command. These things were his in virtue of his birthright as an -Irishman. But they were not at his service upon an issue that was coldly -intellectual or remotely abstract. There was in his nature that purely -combative element that could only find its full expression in the battle -of litigation; the clash of ideas left him comparatively cold: he was so -far an artist that he needed to be moved and stirred by facts that were -moulded into a definite story of individual fortunes--then, and only -then, the full force of his personality came into play. At such moments -his strength far outmeasured the weight of gifts that were merely -intellectual; such gifts, however considerable, were then enforced by -qualities of character and even of temper very difficult to define but -still more difficult to resist. - -In after years he once told me that his habit had always been to prepare -his cases chronologically. He wanted to know what was missing in the -story he had to tell, to be prepared in anticipation for any surprise -coming from the other side that might suddenly be brought to fill the -vacant gaps in his own narrative. And this simple process of preparation -showed itself in his methods as an advocate. His power of presenting his -case had something of the charm a story-teller can command. It was -always lucid, direct, and consecutive, never halting or confused. Sir -William Gilbert once told me that on a certain occasion he was in Court -listening to his own counsel opening to the jury the story of his own -case. He said he was charmed, by the interest of the narrative as it -was gradually developed, and that the only criticism that occurred to -him was that the substance of the speech bore no relation to the -contention he had come into Court to establish. Such a reproach, I -think, could never at any period in his career have been made against -the late Lord Russell. - -I did not at first recognise that Russell had in his constant opponent, -John Holker, a man of intellectual power, as great, or perhaps even -greater, than his own. Holker had little of the grace that Russell could -boast; his personality was outwardly heavy and uncouth; his language, -rarely eloquent, was sometimes even rough and halting. But in his grasp -of every case presented to him, and in his power of imposing the view he -sought to uphold upon a northern jury, even Russell was not his equal. A -man of great physique, in person cumbrous and heavy, and in facial -expression unalert and uninspiring, he sometimes gave to his hearers -rather the impression of a giant talking in his sleep. - -But as I watched him from day to day, it very soon became convincingly -clear to me that the giant was there. He seemed to notice nothing, and -yet nothing escaped him. His method of appeal to the jury had something -almost of cunning in its apparent helplessness. - -Even when he was nearing success, and the verdict was within his grasp, -he still retained the air of a man whose cause was in danger owing to -his inferior grace of style and his halting powers of eloquence. He had -that persuasive art of convincing the jury that he was a plain man like -themselves, and that the cause of justice was likely to suffer by -reason of the superior intellectual attainments of his opponents, unless -he and they laid their heads together as plain men, and stood shoulder -to shoulder in earnest endeavour to vindicate the right. - -It was only afterwards that I got to know that beneath this heavy and -impenetrable exterior there lurked a keen and supple sense of humour. On -the occasion of the annual Grand Night the leader who presided did not -always take the personal trouble to invent or devise the sort of -burlesque address interspersed with lyrical effusions which was deemed -appropriate and indispensable. I remember my friends, the late Mr. -M‘Connell and Hugh Shield, who was known as the laureate of the Circuit, -very often came to the assistance of the leader who felt himself -unequipped for this lighter task imposed upon him. - -But when it came to Holker’s turn, despite the fact that he was engaged -on nearly every case sent up for trial, he chose to do the whole -himself, and very admirably it was done. - -Herschell’s intellect differed widely from both. In power of logical -statement, in clear and coherent reasoning, and in the ability to -conduct an argument without a flaw from start to finish, he was -certainly not the inferior of either. But his nature on the emotional -side, as far at least as advocacy was concerned, was poorly furnished. -He lacked the warmth to sway a jury. He was unable to realise any -disability in others that he did not possess in himself, and the -consequence was that he had often concluded his address to the jury -before these unfortunate gentlemen had apprehended the essential -features of the case he was trying to enforce. And for this reason his -appeal as an advocate was far less potent than that of either of his two -great rivals. The cold steel of his intellect never reached white heat. -His eloquence lacked the picturesque adornments which in their different -ways they could both command, and in this respect he stood in even more -striking contrast with Sam Pope, who, in a brief flight of advocacy, -once or twice impressed me more than them all. - -The duties of the Junior of the Circuit sometimes placed me in somewhat -ludicrous conflict with authority, and it happened that on my first -Circuit I was forced, as the spokesman of the Bar, into a somewhat -heated controversy with the Attorney-General, the late Lord Coleridge. - -Charles Russell had been sent by the Crown with a special retainer to -prosecute Mrs. Cotton, the notorious murderess who had poisoned a number -of her nieces and nephews for the sake of small village insurances she -had effected on their lives. This aroused the indignation of the Bar at -Durham, who thought that Mr. Aspinall, who held the position of -Attorney-General for the County, was entitled to the brief. And it was -Herschell who prompted me in the letters of protest which I was -instructed to send to Lord Coleridge, and which were afterwards -published in the _Times_. - -That same trial of Mrs. Cotton stands out vividly in my remembrance from -among the many criminal cases which I have witnessed in the Courts. I -remember Russell telling me afterwards that the several cases actually -proved against her, amounting, I think, to five or six, were only a few -from among many others in which her guilt was equally assured; and yet, -during her trial, this elderly woman, who in appearance resembled rather -a comfortable monthly nurse, never evinced the smallest trace of emotion -or concern. - -It was proved that she had sat up night after night assiduously nursing -her victims, as, one after another, they succumbed to the poison she had -administered. And yet it was only when her advocate, whose case from the -first was hopeless, endeavoured to appeal to the jury by a purely -fanciful picture of her constant affection for these helpless children, -that Mrs. Cotton--moved rather, as it would seem, by the artistic skill -of his eloquence than by any deeper feeling--shed a few tears such as -might have been wrung from a spectator at a play. - -My own experiences as a barrister are too slight to deserve any record. -Mainly through the kindly influence of Charles Crompton I appeared in -one or two civil causes, but these were before an arbitrator and not in -open court. Once, and once only, I was entrusted with a brief to defend -a person who was accused of having stolen a moth-eaten pillow from a -passing barrow containing the household effects of a neighbour who was -shifting her quarters. - -I was assured by my friends on Circuit that had I chosen to pursue my -career I should have made an effective advocate. But the expenses -incident to this side of my calling were already beginning to press -heavily upon me; and as I was then almost entirely dependent on what I -could earn for myself, I rather grudged the constant drain upon my -income as a journalist which my life at the Bar involved; and when in -the month of July 1873 I became engaged to be married, I quickly -perceived that the only speedy prospect of making a home for my wife was -to devote the whole of my energies to literature and journalism, in -which I had already made a successful start. - -But the profession of the Law, so eagerly adopted and so speedily -abandoned, has always had for me a strong fascination, and among its -professors, both past and present, I have counted many of my closest -friends. - -[Illustration: - -_Emery Walker_ - -DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI - -From the portrait by himself in the National Portrait Gallery. - -_To face page 59._ -] - - - - -CHAPTER V - -DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI - - -I can hardly say what it was that gave to my early efforts in journalism -a decided bent towards the study of Art; for although my first -experiments, as I have already said, were made as a dramatic critic, I -very soon found myself employing the best of my energies in another -direction. - -My elder sister had already begun a serious study of painting, and that -no doubt partly influenced my taste as a boy. Not that my keen interest -in the drama ever lapsed, even during the period when I was qualifying -myself as an Art Critic; but it lay dormant for a time, in so far at -least as my journalistic occupation was concerned; and apart from my -daily work upon the _Globe_, and those lighter essays on general and -social topics contributed to the _Examiner_ and the _Saturday Review_, -my main energies for several years to come were destined to be employed -in the criticism of pictorial art. - -It is not quite easy now to realise the extraordinary interest with -which the annual exhibitions at the Royal Academy were then greeted by -those whose minds had been awakened to the new movement in painting. - -I can remember year after year, from the age of sixteen, presenting -myself on each opening Monday at eight o’clock in the morning at the -doors of Burlington House, and snatching an hour there before making my -way to the City. The pre-Raphaelite movement had begotten a freshly -awakened spirit, not only in the workers themselves, but in those who -worshipped them. The advent of Ruskin had kindled a new flame which made -a study of Art something more than mere dilettantism. It was with -something almost of religious fervour that we awaited the advent of a -new Millais or Holman Hunt, for it was then only on rare occasions that -we had the chance of seeing an example of the work of Rossetti. - -Art in more recent days has come to make, even in the hands of its -greatest professors, a more technical appeal, and those of us who are -not of the calling are now somewhat sternly bidden to confine ourselves -to dumb appreciation, and are severely warned not to venture to deliver -opinions on matters in which we are not qualified by special study. - -This is the fate of all art, either literary or pictorial, at those -seasons of impaired vitality when it falls under the domination of men -of the “métier.” It is the assured sign of a passing period of -decadence. The moment when the artist has missed the spirit which links -his work with the wider emotional movement of his generation, is always -the moment when he most zealously and most loudly acclaims the -detachment and independence of his calling. - -He is always most eager to be judged by the comrades of his craft when -he realises, though perhaps only half consciously, that his appeal is -no longer to the simple. It is the moment when art leans towards -bric-a-brac, when the painter or the sculptor is no longer spurred by -the larger desire to have his work understanded of the people, when he -is content in each little coterie with the appreciation of his disciples -who in their turn aim at nothing better than the approbation of their -master. That any work worthy of the name, whether in literature, -painting, or sculpture, must of necessity conform to the irrefutable -laws of the medium in which it is expressed, is little better than an -outworn platitude. But to concede so much is only to admit the -inevitable limitations of every art; it is the acceptance of its -inherent conditions, not the definition of its essence; and the -endeavour to refuse to artists rightly equipped for their task the -larger function of imaging the wider passions of life, is simply to rob -the record of the past of its greatest and most enduring achievements. - -For my own part I have never made any pretence of bowing before these -inordinate pretensions of the masters of mere technique. They form part -of a gospel that has always been widely preached: in my youthful day it -spread upon its banner the specious motto of “Art for Art’s sake”; but -it reappears under many disguises, and rests ultimately and always upon -the assumption that the men of the “métier” are the sole and exclusive -judges of the worth of any artistic product. - -Certainly, if this dictum had prevailed in the time I am recalling, the -great movement which won all our youthful enthusiasm, a movement beyond -question the greatest and most influential in the Art of Europe during -the nineteenth century, would never have found strength to develop. -Never did young men of their calling meet with more embittered -opposition from the accepted masters of the time; and if it had not been -that a true impulse inspiring their work stirred a deeper response in a -section of the public than was accorded to them by their -fellow-painters, they would most surely have lacked the encouragement -and the praise which to every artist is as the breath of his life. - -The thought and feeling of the time, as it found expression in every -art, was moved by something deeper than the merely artistic impulse. -That much-bespattered Victorian Era, whatever its limitations, could -claim at least this cardinal virtue, that the men who are its foremost -representatives were able to forge anew the links that bind life and art -together. The gifts they owned were too great to let them stand in any -fear of the threatened danger of “the literary idea”; and if -occasionally they had to acknowledge a measure of failure, the fear of -such failure never drove them to take refuge within the safe confines of -mere technical accomplishment. - -The spirit of poetry, re-awakened in literature, had found its way into -art, and themselves the comrades of the poets of the time, the leaders -of the little band whose efforts were destined to revolutionise English -painting, gladly confessed in their own work, though in varying measure, -the newly kindled ambition to embody in art that quality of imagination -that had hitherto found expression only in literature. - -And this movement towards a wider idealism was helped, not hindered, by -the strenuous desire for the faithful presentment of actual reality -which stood as a dominant article of faith in the pre-Raphaelite creed. - -At the head of this revolution in taste, which has left a lasting mark, -not only upon the painting of England, but also in some degree upon the -art of all Continental nations, two names I think stand pre-eminent, -those of G. F. Watts and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. From them came the -poetic inspiration which lay at the root of all the greatest -achievements of the time. Others there were, like Millais, more greatly -endowed with the painter’s gift, but even he, whose genius was destined -ultimately to find its own more congenial exercise in portraiture and -landscape, confessed in his earlier days the commanding domination of -men who, in intellect and imagination, were his leaders and his masters. - -The work of Mr. Watts, based on an earlier tradition, was open to all -the world, but it was only by rare chance and good fortune that the -student of that day had the opportunity of making acquaintance with the -paintings of Rossetti. I remember it was while I was on Circuit that I -had my first sight of some examples of his work in the collection of Mr. -Rae of Birkenhead, and there, too, I found pictures of Madox Brown, -another of the group who did not publicly exhibit. I think it was a -study of Mr. Rae’s collection that induced me to publish in the _Globe_ -newspaper a series of articles on painters of the day over the signature -of “Ignotus” in the year 1873. - -Certainly it was the publication of these papers that formed the -occasion of my making the acquaintance of several of the artists whose -talent I had endeavoured to appreciate. It was my intention at the time -to refashion the series and to issue them as a separate volume, and with -that view I wrote to several of them asking them for some personal -details of the earlier days of their studentship. The answers I received -were in nearly every case characteristic, and it was by means of my -correspondence with Rossetti that I afterwards became a visitor at his -house. - -It was through my friend Mr. George Hake, who was at that time staying -with him, that I first obtained a personal introduction to Rossetti, but -we were already known to each other by correspondence. - -In his letter to me dated from Kelmscott in November 1873 he writes: “As -a painter, and I am ashamed at my age to say it, I have never even -approached satisfaction with my own progress until within the last five -years. My youth was spent chiefly in planning and designing, and whether -I shall still have time to do anything I cannot tell.” - -As a matter of fact, Rossetti had at that date produced most of the work -by which he will be best remembered. As a lad of twenty he had painted -“The Girlhood of Mary the Virgin,” followed shortly afterwards by “The -Annunciation”; and some of the most beautiful of his drawings, the -exquisite portrait of “Miss Siddal,” the “Hamlet and Ophelia,” and the -large drawing of “Helen arming Paris,” already stood to his credit. - -At the time I first knew him he had already painted “The Loving Cup,” -“The Beloved,” “Mona - -[Illustration: - -_Hollyer_ - -DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI - -From the painting by G. F. WATTS, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery. - -_To face page 65._ -] - -Vanna,” and “Lady Lilith,” and in the earlier part of the period to -which these works belonged he had given to the world that exquisite -series of watercolour paintings in which “Paolo and Francesca” and -“Heart of the Night” stand pre-eminent. - -It was “The Beloved” and “Mona Vanna” that I particularly remember as -forming part of the collection of Mr. Rae, and it was mainly upon these -two paintings, and a knowledge of some of the drawings in _Black and -White_, that I had founded my first enthusiastic appreciation of the -painter’s genius. - -The common impression of the time, which I indeed partly shared, was -that Rossetti’s individuality, however finely it might be endowed with -poetic imagination, was not of the most virile order. For this he -himself was in a great degree responsible. He had deliberately withdrawn -from all public exhibition of his work, and even later, when I became -connected with the establishment of the Grosvenor Gallery, he still held -fast to his earlier resolution. - -The man, as I came to know him in the flesh, was therefore something of -a surprise to me, and I quickly perceived, as I learned to know him -better, that, whatever may have been the source of his reluctance to -expose himself to the fire of criticism, it certainly was not due to any -lack of masculine strength. - -On the occasion of my first visit to Cheyne Walk, it was indeed the -breadth of his sympathy both in literature and art, no less than the -fineness and delicacy of his taste, that most impressed me. Those -never-to-be-forgotten evenings that I passed in his company became at -the time a sort of enchantment. His talk was assuredly more inspiring -than that of any man I have ever known; most inspiring certainly to a -youth who had ambitions of his own, for, although intolerant of any -utterance that was merely conventional, and quick to detect the smallest -lack of sincerity, he was ever patient with the expression of any -enthusiasm however crude, and was as ready to listen as to reply. - -I can see him now as he used to lie coiled up on the sofa in his studio -after dinner, and can hear the deep tones of his rich voice as he ranged -widely over the fields of literature and art, always trenchant, always -earnest, yet now and again slipping with sudden wit and humour into a -lighter vein. - -I remember that one afternoon as I sat beside him while he worked, the -late Mr. Virtue Tebbs came in fresh from an exhibition of the old -masters at Burlington House, and full of enthusiasm for a picture by -Turner which he insisted that Rossetti must speedily go and see. - -“What is it called?” asked Rossetti. - -“‘Girls Surprised while Bathing,’” replied Tebbs. - -“Umph!” returned Rossetti. “Yes, I should think devilish surprised to -see what Turner had made of them.” - -On one point he was always absolutely emphatic. - -“A picture,” he used to say to me, “is a painted poem, and those who -deny it have simply no poetry in their nature.” It was, I think, the -absence of this quality that made him intolerant of the work of artists -like Albert Moore. - -“Often pretty,” he said, “pretty enough, but sublimated café-painting -and nothing more.” - -But he could be unstintedly generous in his praise, as he was searching -and even scathing in his criticism. Of Millais he once said to me: - -“I don’t believe since painting began there has ever been a man more -greatly endowed with the mere painter’s power.” - -And of Burne-Jones, not once, but often, he spoke in terms of the -warmest and highest praise. - -“He has oceans of imagination,” he used to say, “and in this respect -there has been nobody like him since Botticelli.” And then, reverting to -his favourite maxim, he added in those round and ringing tones that -seemed at once to invite and to defy contradiction: “If, as I hold, the -noblest picture is a painted poem, then I say that in the whole history -of art there has never been a painter more greatly gifted with poetic -invention.” - -Of Leighton he was wont to speak with genuine respect and sincere -appreciation. There was only one point, and that concerned not the -character but the manners of the graceful and accomplished President, on -which he was not quite tolerant. - -“Leighton,” he said one night, “is undoubtedly one of the most gifted -and accomplished creatures of his time. There’s scarcely anything which -he can’t do, and can’t do well. He has, besides, a very high sense of -duty which I know to be sincere, and even as a painter he undoubtedly -deserves to some extent the position he occupies, but as to manners----” - -And then in a few trenchant sentences he would give his own, not very -flattering, impression of what he considered to be Leighton’s -imperfections on this score. - -At the simple dinners to which I was at that time hospitably bidden, -Rossetti, as he sat at the head of his table, was always amusing to -watch. His inability to serve any dish set before him was pathetic in -its helplessness. He would lunge at a joint as though it were a hostile -foe, driving it from one end of the dish to the other till he got it -securely cornered in its well of gravy, and then plunge his knife into -it with something of deadly ferocity. - -It is related of Rossetti, though I myself was not a witness to the -incident, that on one occasion he was so entirely oblivious of the -contents of the dish before him, that, wishing to prove its value as a -specimen of oriental porcelain, he turned it over to examine the marks -on its back, and all unconsciously deposited the turbot on the -table-cloth. - -I remember he very greatly admired some literary review which I had -published in the columns of the _Globe_, the subject of which I now -forget; and in the talk that followed he spoke with rare eloquence of -the poets of the dawn of the last century, dwelling especially upon -Keats, whom he knew I loved deeply, and coming at last to Landor, whose -work, however beautiful, has never warmly appealed to me. - -“What do you think of Landor?” he inquired. - -I answered, “It seems to me through all his poetry that his genius is -impersonal without being dramatic,” and Rossetti, who was always -generous in his appreciation of youth, answered with a phrase that sent -me home that night happy and contented. - -“By Jove,” he said, “that’s the finest criticism ever made on Landor!” - -I make no pretence that it was: it was enough for me then that he -thought so, or that he said so. - -But this friendship with Rossetti, so dearly prized by me and so -indelible in its lasting impression, was not destined to endure for -long. During the later days of our association he was already to some -extent a sick man. Little by little the invitations, once so freely -extended to me, slackened in their warmth of hospitality, until the day -came when I realised the fact that my visits to Cheyne Walk were no -longer welcome. It was not until years afterwards that I learned the -cause, and if I give it here, it is only because it curiously -illustrates that almost morbid sensitiveness of character which lay side -by side in his nature with the most masculine grasp of the problems of -life and art. - -He had, it seems, as I had learned from the lips of a friend whose -devotion to the poet endured till his death, a very high opinion of my -judgment as an art critic, and he had conceived the belief, perhaps true -at the time, that I thought more highly of the work of Burne-Jones than -of his own. And although he himself had often said to me things of -Burne-Jones’s genius which no word of mine could out-measure in generous -praise, it fretted him, in the supersensitive condition in which -suffering and ill-health had consigned him, to be reminded by my -presence of a judgment that in his own person he would not have -resented. - -It may, as I have said, have been true then--though I was unaware that I -had ever betrayed the feeling to Rossetti--that Burne-Jones stood -foremost in my appreciation of the painters of the time. It is certainly -not true now in any sense that would consign Rossetti to an inferior -place; for I have come to think, in the light of later study of the two -men’s work, that, in some undefinable and yet indisputable quality of -genius, especially as exemplified in his earlier work not then so well -known to me, he stands pre-eminent among those who influenced his -generation. - -As a colourist in that supreme sense in which colour is inspired by the -purpose of the design, he had in his earlier period no equal among them -all. In later life, under the shadow of suffering and sickness, the -tones he employed had lost the first glowing radiance of the dawn. But -an artist lives only by his best; and if the best of Rossetti be fairly -measured and appraised, it will, I think, be hardly possible to dispute -his right and claim to have been the foremost leader in the movement -with which his name is associated. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -EDWARD BURNE-JONES - - -My intimacy with Burne-Jones struck deeper and lasted without -interruption from those earlier days of the “Ignotus” articles in the -_Globe_ to the time of his death in 1898. We were friends for more than -twenty-five years, and during the greater part of that period the -closest and most affectionate friends. - -To him also I had written when I thought of enlarging that first crude -criticism of his work. I was a stranger to him then, although my elder -sister had already made his acquaintance, but his letter in reply to my -application is delightful in its considerate tolerance towards the -somewhat audacious challenge of a boy to be supplied with the -particulars of his early career. - -Referring to the pictures which I had specially selected for notice he -writes: - -“I need not say that such a flattering review of them gave me pleasure, -for, whatever cause I have to see them with disappointment, such -sympathy as you express cannot be anything but most welcome. But there -is so little to say of the kind of information you ask for, and I should -like to say nothing, for a sudden feeling of being ridiculous -overwhelms me. At Oxford till twenty-three, therefore no right to begin -art at all, never having learnt one bit about it practically, nor till -that time having seen any ancient picture at all to my remembrance. -Provincial life at home, at Oxford prints of Chalons and Landseer--you -know them all. I think Morris’s friendship began everything for me, -everything that I afterwards cared for. When I left Oxford I got to know -Rossetti, whose friendship I sought and obtained. He is, as you know, -the most generous of men to the young. I could not bear with the young -man’s dreadful sensitiveness and intolerable conceit as he did with -mine. He taught me practically all I ever learned; afterwards I made a -method for myself to suit my nature. He gave me courage to commit myself -to imagination without shame, a thing both good and bad for me. It was -Watts much later who compelled me to try and draw better. I quarrel now -with Morris about Art. He journeys to Iceland and I to Italy, which is a -symbol. And I quarrel too with Rossetti. If I could travel backward, I -think my heart’s desire would take me to Florence in the time of -Botticelli. I do feel out of time and place, and think you should let me -go crumbling and mouldering on, for I am not fit for much else but a -museum. You see I am writing in front of my work and ought to know, and -I do know.” - -The letter ends with a courteous invitation to visit his studio, where -he promised to show me the work he had completed during the year. -Needless to say with what delight I accepted, though I scarcely -realised then that that visit was destined to date the beginning of a -friendship that endured without halt or flaw till the time of his death -in the summer of 1898. - -When I first knew him in 1873, his appearance corresponded almost -exactly with that which is imaged in Watts’s beautiful portrait. His -eyes then, as always, were the dominant feature of his face--pale blue -eyes, that revealed in their changing expression the sympathy, the -gentleness, and no less the strength, of his nature. - -From the time I am speaking of, I became a constant and always welcome -visitor to his studio at the Grange, and at those simple Sunday -luncheons to which his intimate friends were bidden Burne-Jones very -soon made known to me a side of his character scarcely to be suspected -by those who knew him only from his work. - -Playful and humorous, boylike, and even child-like in his quick -surrender to the laughing mood of the moment, he could nevertheless -become swiftly serious at the summons of some deeper thought, and -without the need of any prepared process of transition could shift with -ready and earnest eloquence to the discussion of those deeper problems -which touched the centre of his art. - -From the outset we were in close agreement as to the dominating -tendencies which governed the great schools of European painting, and no -less in our common preference for the great tradition of Florentine -design, established by the genius of Giotto and culminating in the -splendid achievement of Michael Angelo. Years afterwards, when I had -sent him a little volume of my gathered essays on Art, he wrote me: “I -found your book when I got home last night, and it was a real pleasure -for me to have another proof of your love and sympathy. And there will -be this additional pleasure about it, that I know how heartily I shall -be at one with you while I read it.” And then, with a sudden turn to a -lighter mood, he adds: “We shall meet on Sunday at lunch. Georgie is -away, but Margaret dispenses lower middle-class hospitality with a -finish and calm which would not disgrace a higher social position.” - -I suppose no man ever held with such unswerving fidelity to the ideal -with which he set out upon his career, an ideal as plainly manifest in -those earlier contributions to the old Water-Colour Society as in his -last great picture of “Arthur in Avalon.” In him the sense of design was -all in all, but mere abstract design that missed the impulse of some -legend of passion or romance never quite contented his genius. - -It was his delight, as it was the delight of Botticelli, to be always -exercising his invention upon some theme of legendary beauty; and it was -his special gift, as indeed it was also Botticelli’s, to be able to -translate such themes into the appropriate language of Art. - -Though he could appreciate at its true value excellence in almost every -school of painting, his temper turned as by instinct even from the -greatest masters who sought only for a faithful rendering of nature. -Blake once said that in his highest moments of inspiration he was often -haunted by those “Flemish Demons,” as he termed them, who came and -blurred his imagination and stole away the thought he desired to -present. I think Burne-Jones was sometimes haunted by them too. - -It is not needful now to revive the memories of that fierce hostility of -criticism which greeted his earlier efforts. Rossetti’s determined -reticence in regard to the exhibition of his work left Burne-Jones in -those earlier days to bear the whole brunt of the attack, for the art of -Millais and Holman Hunt made a somewhat different appeal and claimed a -separate victory. Nor was it wonderful that what lay in the mind of both -to do should at first have seemed tinged by something of determined -archaic affectation. The temper of their work was strange to the world -to whom it was offered at first in a form so tentative, and also -confessedly so incomplete. - -The history of English Painting, even in its greatest achievement, has -left no tradition to which they could appeal, and, indeed, if we take a -wider range of view, it may be said with equal truth that, since the -downfall of the great school of Florence, Art throughout Europe had -taken a direction which made the efforts of these younger men seem like -a wilful neglect of the accepted models of style. - -Such English masters of an earlier time as had attempted to enter into -this higher realm of imaginative painting--Barry, Fuseli, and Haydon, to -name only the leaders--had wrecked their lives in the vain endeavour -suddenly to renew the splendours of the great masters of the sixteenth -century. - -With the advent of the pre-Raphaelite movement, marked by a determined -research of greater reality in the rendering of actual fact, the failure -of these earlier experiments became only the more manifest; and it was -left for that little group in which Rossetti and Burne-Jones stand -pre-eminent to realise the truth that, if imagination could ever again -resume its place in pictorial art, the result must be achieved, not by -an endeavour to repeat the triumphs of the past at the epoch of its -culminating glory, but by retracing the stream to its source and -beginning again, where Florence had begun in the earlier period of her -history. - -It was, I think, the first exhibition of the Grosvenor Gallery that gave -Burne-Jones’s critics reason to pause in their pitiless onslaught of -ridicule and rebuke. But even then the fight was not ended, and among -the many members of the Academy itself the hostility continued almost -without check. - -I remember going round that exhibition with Mr. Gladstone, and recalling -a phrase of his which he used in reference to this very feeling that was -even then sufficiently openly expressed. - -Standing before one of Burne-Jones’s pictures which he was warmly -admiring, he turned to me and said, “Dislike of such a painter I can -understand, but such intolerance of dislike as I find on every hand I do -not comprehend.” - -It was, perhaps, difficult, even for those to whom such work made a -sympathetic appeal, to realise what a broad and liberal outlook in -Literature, as well as in Art, belonged to the painter whose deliberate -selection of a chosen type of beauty might plausibly seem to argue a -narrow intelligence; and it was, indeed, only by close and intimate -knowledge of the man himself that one was enabled to escape altogether -from this initial prejudice. - -As a talker he was wholly delightful. There were few subjects in -literature upon which those who might have thought to convict him of a -narrow intensity of feeling could have dared to challenge him with -success. It was natural, perhaps, that, with his preoccupation as a -painter, his love should have turned most often and most readily to -legend and romance. But in romance his task took a wide range, and it -will surprise many, who see how rigorously all suggestion of humour is -excluded from his paintings, to learn that his knowledge of Dickens was -almost encyclopædic, and his love of him, like that of Mr. Swinburne, -without limit of praise. - -As our friendship advanced it came to be our custom to meet periodically -at a little restaurant in Soho, over a quiet dinner which we boasted was -to be a mere preliminary to “seeing Life”; but these evenings nearly -always ended as they began, in talk over the table--light and laughing -to commence, and then drifting finally into deep and earnest discussion -of the things we loved the best in Poetry and Art; until, the lights -gradually extinguished, we were reminded that the closing hour had come, -and that the projected visit to the music-hall, which was to constitute -our vision of Life, must needs be postponed until another occasion. - -And so these meetings went on from time to time, but never without a -word of mock indignant protest on his part that he had been cheated of a -promised debauch. Once he fired my imagination by telling me that he had -made a solitary visit to the Aquarium, where he had seen “The Last -Supper” tattooed on a man’s back, and this taste of blood had whetted -his appetite for more salient examples of monstrosity which were at that -time being exhibited in Barnum’s Show. - -An appointment made for the purpose I was compelled to abandon by reason -of a social engagement with my wife, a circumstance which drew from him -a little note of pitying sympathy: - -“Carr Mio, so you have thrown me over! Well, perhaps you are right; at -any rate I am wrong to have trusted. I confess I marvelled at your -bravery in so openly defying woman, but knew that you must be justified -in some consciousness of strength. But lo! you are even as I, who -boasted not. Still, we will have Barnum another night. I _must_ see the -fat lady, and _will_.” - -And then on the facing page he adds a monstrous portrait of that lady -herself, a thing of unimagined wealth of flesh, seated on a velvet -cushion before the upturned eyes of a crowded theatre. - -Burne-Jones was wont to be lavish of these humorous sketches in letters -to his intimate friends, and I have one or two supposed to illustrate a -projected fresh departure in his Art, wherein, under the impulse of a -new resolve, he was to abandon finally all future effort after ideal -design, and, conforming to that taste of the public which he had -hitherto failed to satisfy, to embark upon a series of pictures to -represent, as he told me, the homes of England. - -“I enclose a sketch,” he writes, “for my next picture. It is a new -departure, but the public - -[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A LETTER - -By Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES, Bart. (_a_). - -_To face page 78._ -] - -[Illustration: THE HOMES OF ENGLAND - -From an original drawing by Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES, Bart. (_b_). - -_To face page 78._ -] - -[Illustration: THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. - -From an original drawing by Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES, Bart. (_c_). - -_To face page 78._ -] - -must be humoured. I have fought the fight of unpopularity long enough. -Tell me what you think,” and accompanying this startling announcement of -the fresh direction his art was to take, he enclosed, not a mere sketch, -but an elaborately finished black and white drawing of the first of the -great series he had projected, wherein he had evidently intended to -present a typical representative of our great commercial nation--a -hideous being stretched in stertorous sleep upon a Victorian sofa of -abominable design, every deformed curve and moulding of which he had -rendered with searching veracity. - -I must have sent him in reply some burlesque welcome of the revolution -in his style indicated by the design, for in a day or two I received a -second drawing more monstrous and grotesque than the first, and with the -drawing he wrote: “You divine my purpose. It was the first of a series -to be called the Homes of England.” - -But even in these essays in the grotesque, and in the lighter and -sometimes very graceful fancies which he would illustrate so easily and -so rapidly for our amusement, or for the delight of our children, there -was always an unfailing sense of composition and design. - -One afternoon on the lawn of Lady Lewis’s cottage at Walton, where we -often met, and where so many happy hours of my life have been spent, he -was discussing in a bantering mood the reproach so often levelled -against him, that his female forms were lean and meagre and lacked the -sense of flesh and blood. - -“I think,” he said, “I must make a more determined study of the manner -of Rubens,” and thereupon, taking a sheet of paper from the table where -Lady Lewis was writing, he began at once to compose a picture of -“Susannah and the Elders,” after the manner of the great Flemish master. -It took him only a few minutes to accomplish, and yet, as it lies before -me now, admirable as it is in its sense of caricature, it is no less -striking for a certain beauty in the ordered arrangement of line which -could not desert him even when he was proposing to lampoon himself. - -It was, I think, about the same time that he laughingly proposed to -instruct my eldest boy in the principles of anatomy, and there and then -made for him on the spur of the moment two beautiful drawings -representing the anatomy of the good man and the good woman, to which he -added, by special request, a third drawing illustrating the anatomy of -the bad man. On being met with the reproach that the drawing showed -nothing of the details of internal structure, he replied that there were -none, as “the bad man was quite hollow”; and on being further challenged -to illustrate the anatomy of the bad woman, he gravely replied, “My dear -Phil, she doesn’t exist.” - -In later days the little Bohemian meetings to which I have referred, at -first restricted to our two selves, took occasionally the form of larger -hospitality. Sometimes Sir George and Lady Lewis, and sometimes Sir -Lawrence Tadema and his wife, would join our party. - -On such evenings, to mark the added dignity to - -[Illustration: LESSONS IN ANATOMY - -From an original drawing by Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES, Bart. - -_To face page 80._ -] - -[Illustration: LESSONS IN ANATOMY - -From an original drawing by Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES, Bart. - -_To face page 80._ -] - -[Illustration: LESSONS IN ANATOMY - -From an original drawing by Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES, Bart. - -_To face page 80._ -] - -the occasion, we shifted our quarters to Previtale’s, and I have known -no merrier hours before or since than those we passed together. - -Burne-Jones always made a grave pretence of being quite ignorant as to -what should be ordered for these little feasts. Of one of them, where he -was to be the host, he wrote to me some few days before imploring me in -a spirit of mock despair to come to his rescue and arrange the _menu_. - -“I no more know,” he cries, “what dinner to order than the cat on the -hearth as I write--less, for it would promptly order mice. Oh, Carr, -save my honour and order for me a nice dinner so that I may not be -quoted as a warning of meanness! I am not mean. Order apples of gold on -plates of silver, and let the wine be scented and brought from Lebanon; -but not a mean dinner, nor yet ostentatious or presuming, or such a one -as could possibly compete with the banquets of the affluent. My honour -is in your hands. Oh, Carr, come to the rescue!” - -It is extraordinary, in view of the concentrated energy he bestowed upon -his work, how readily and how generously he always responded to the -appeal of his friends. There was no demand they could make upon him -which he seemed unable to satisfy, no help which the youngest or the -most modest student could ask of him which he was not always ready and -willing to give; and yet all these gifts of friendship so lavishly -bestowed were never allowed to interfere with the absolute devotion that -he owed and that he paid to his art. - -Behind the affectionate gentleness of his nature, that was susceptible -to every influence, there lay a faith that nothing could shake or -weaken. In its service he was prepared to make all sacrifice of time and -strength and labour. His friends claimed much of him, and he yielded it. -Generous both in act and thought, there was probably no man of such -concentrated purpose who ever placed himself so freely at the service of -those he loved. But there was no friend of them all, and there were many -who could claim perhaps a closer alliance than I, who could cause him to -swerve for a moment from the labour that was his life. - -One of the last letters I received from him must have concerned another -of these little feasts which he had projected and which for some reason -I was compelled to postpone. I cannot now recall what I then wrote to -him, but I suppose my letter must have contained some reference to our -long and close friendship, for I received from him in reply an -affectionate little note that it is a pleasure to me to preserve. - - “Dear Carr,” he writes, “I too feel just the same. I want years and - years of us together, and much work and a little play. We will put - it off for a week, then, and I will try and rearrange, and perhaps - Tadema will join.--Yours affectionately, - - E. B. J.” - -Those “years and years” that would have been so dear to us were -unhappily denied. He was often ailing in the later days of his life, and -it was easy to perceive that he was sometimes apprehensive as to the -condition of his health. And yet he never allowed his own anxieties to -burden others. On one occasion I remember, and it must have been about -this time, he told me he had been to see his doctor, who had questioned -him closely as to his habits as a smoker. - -“How many cigars do you smoke in a day?” he had inquired of his patient, -to which Burne-Jones had carelessly replied: - -“Oh, I think about six.” - -“Well,” replied his adviser, “for the present you had better limit -yourself to three.” - -And in detailing the incident to me afterwards Burne-Jones added with a -chuckle: - -“You know, my dear Carr, I never did smoke more than three.” - -When the end came, and came so swiftly, he left a gap in my life I well -knew could never be filled again. I had not seen quite so much of him -during the last three or four years of his life, but immediately -preceding that period we had been closely associated in a task that lay -very near my heart. I had asked him, with Irving’s concurrence, to -undertake the designing of the scenery and costumes for my play of _King -Arthur_, produced in 1894. At his request I went down to read him the -play while he was at work in the garden studio of the Grange, and at its -conclusion he announced, to my great delight, that he would willingly -undertake the work. The subject was congenial to him; he was deeply -versed in all Arthurian lore, and in his paintings he returned again and -again to that great cycle of romance enshrined for English readers in -the exquisite prose poem of Sir Thomas Malory. - -We met often and intimately during the progress of preparation, and I -remember his almost child-like delight when we mounted to the -painting-room at the Lyceum--where Hawes Craven was transferring to a -wider canvas his beautiful design for the scene of the Queen’s -Maying--as he insisted in taking from the scenic artist a brush of giant -dimensions, and executing a passage in one corner of the backcloth so -that he might be able to boast, as he laughingly declared to Craven, -that he had partly painted the scene himself. - -[Illustration: OPHELIA - -From the picture by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A.] - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MILLAIS AND LEIGHTON - - -Millais was not one of those to whom I had written after the publication -of my article upon his work, and it was not till later at the Arts Club -that I learned to know him personally. - -Perhaps I refrained from addressing him at the time because I was -conscious that my criticism could not be altogether agreeable to him, -and I felt that I could hardly demand any assistance in the prosecution -of my labours from one whose talent I had so severely handled. - -Looking back now upon that youthful essay it seems to me, in the light -of later knowledge and appreciation, to be disfigured to an -extraordinary degree by arrogance of statement and intolerance of -judgment. My mind had been so completely captured by the innate poetical -feeling that marked the work of Rossetti and Burne-Jones, that I was -then scarcely ready to rank at their true value the splendid powers -which Millais possessed. I could only think at the time, with something -approaching resentment, of Millais’s apparent desertion of the ideal -that inspired his earlier efforts, and I was not able to perceive that, -in the line of development which he had followed, he was only -conforming with absolute loyalty to the natural bent of his genius. - -It was the accident of youth which set him for a while under the -influence of men of a deeper spiritual tendency, and it was not his -fault, nor indeed our misfortune, that when the period of youth had -passed he should have applied himself with ever-increasing earnestness -to the development of those gifts in portraiture and in landscape which -have left him pre-eminent among the painters of our school. - -At the time I was not able to judge fairly of the causes which led to -his ultimate desertion of those earlier ideals, and I could only -remember with a regret, too harshly expressed, that we were no longer to -expect of him another “Huguenot” or “Ophelia,” or to welcome again from -his hand such achievements as the “Carpenter’s Shop” or the “Feast of -Lorenzo.” - -But a knowledge of the man himself very speedily enabled me to take a -juster view of his place as a painter. There are artists in every line, -in literature as well as in painting, whose personality does not -willingly associate itself with their work. This was certainly true of -Browning, who would seem in social intercourse to be almost perversely -desirous of enabling you to forget that he was a poet, and it was true -no less of Millais, who rather sought by preference in his leisure hours -the companionship of men who were not concerned with the art he -professed. - -Millais had about him, as I first recall him, and retained to the end of -his life, even in the days that - -[Illustration: THE FINDING OF MOSES BY PHARAOH’S DAUGHTER. - -From _Lays of the Holy Land_. - -By Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A. - -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel. - -(Reproduced from their _Fifty Years’ Work_.) - - _By permission of Messrs. James Nisbet and Co., Ltd._ - -_To face page 87._ -] - -were passed under the shadow of a mortal sickness, a delightful buoyancy -of character that was enchaining and infectious. In his view of his own -art there was occasionally something of the victorious arrogance of a -school-boy who has lately carried off the first prize, an arrogance that -was nevertheless consistent with a deep modesty of character that showed -itself in his reverent attitude towards nature, where he was ever ready -to admit that he had found his rival and his master. - -As far as my own experience of him went, he was never very eager to -discuss the work of his contemporaries, although he could be amply -generous on occasion towards the earlier experiments of younger men. -When he referred to the works of the older masters it seemed to me that -there was something of defiant challenge in his tone, as though he were -ready to do battle with any one of them in his own person and in his own -painting. - -Of the men with whom his career had been so closely linked in the -earlier days of his studentship he spoke but little, but even in the -little that he said I always felt there was an underlying conviction on -his part that, as a painter, he had easily outstripped them all. And -perhaps he was right. That, at least, was Rossetti’s opinion, as I have -already stated, nor is it possible, I think, in fairly reviewing the art -of his time, not to set Millais, in virtue of his powers as a mere -craftsman, in a place beyond the reach of rivalry. - -It was difficult at the period when I first made Millais’s acquaintance -to realise that the earlier stages of his career had sometimes yielded -periods of deep depression, and yet it is only necessary to turn to his -own letters, written in the earlier part of the year 1859, to realise -how, for a while at least, discouragement sat heavily upon him. And it -is no less characteristic to note how swiftly that darker mood passed, -for in the letter dated May 16 of that same year he says, “I have now -enough commissions to last me all next year, so I am quite happy.” And -then a little later, though he had received no vote at the Academy -election, he adds in his characteristically confident temper, “It’s -really a matter of entire indifference to me, as my position is as good -as any except Landseer’s, and this they too well know.” - -The charm of Millais’s nature, with its swift alternation between -absolute confidence in his own powers--in the form of its expression -sometimes verging upon harmless arrogance--and those rarer moods of -discouragement and self-abasement, was aptly imaged in his person and -bearing. I have been told by one who knew him in his youth that he had -the beauty of an Adonis, and even in the year 1875, when I first met -him, his appearance was singularly handsome and attractive. - -The frankness of his outlook upon the world was aptly mirrored in his -face--eyes that were keen yet kindly, and a mouth delicately sensitive -for all its firmness, forming the essential features in a countenance -that could not fail to win both sympathy and regard. - -Occasionally in walking home with him from the Club he would tell me -something of the men he had known well in an earlier period of his life, -but for the most part it was not especially of painters that he spoke. -Talking in this way of Thackeray and Dickens, and other notabilities of -their time, he remarked to me that “the greatest gentleman of them all -was John Leech”; and then, for a quarter of an hour or more, he ran on -in affectionate appreciation of the great caricaturist, enlarging upon -the extraordinary fascination and charm of his manner and the delicate -refinement of his nature. - -When the time came for the gathered exhibition of his work in the -Grosvenor Gallery, I saw Millais more often and more intimately. Day by -day, as Hallé and I were engaged in arranging the pictures upon the -walls, Millais would come in with his short wooden pipe in his mouth and -wander round examining the rich record of his own career; sometimes -elated to the verge of enthusiasm, and sometimes as frankly confessing -his own dissatisfaction with this work or that. Taking me by the arm one -day he drew me round the room, and pausing before the “Knight Errant” he -said: - -“You know, Carr, as I look at these things there are some of them which -seem to say to me, ‘Millais, you’re a fine painter,’ and this is -one”--pointing as he spoke to the beautiful picture before us--“and -there are others,” he added, his tones suddenly changing from triumph to -dejection, “that tell me just as plainly, ‘Millais, you’re a damned -vulgar fellow!’ Oh, but there are!” he cried, as though anticipating my -polite protest. “If you don’t believe me, look at that,” and he pointed -to a picture I need not now name, but which he looked at with unfeigned -resentment and disgust. - -There was one little incident connected with that exhibition which I -shall not readily forget. After many efforts, at first unsuccessful, we -had at last persuaded the owner of “The Huguenot” to lend it for the -occasion; but this favourable answer to our request only reached us when -the rest of the exhibition was already arranged. It so chanced that -Millais had not seen the picture since the year 1852 when it was -painted, and he was therefore particularly anxious that it should be -included in the exhibition. - -It was late in the evening when the picture arrived in its case from -Preston; but Millais had waited, evidently in some trepidation as to how -this first triumph of his youth would impress him when he saw it again. -Its place had been reserved on the wall, and the carpenters, quickly -unscrewing the case, held up the picture for the painter to see. - -Millais was standing beside me as they hurried forward in their work, -and I felt his arm tremble on my shoulder during the few moments that -prefaced its appearance; and then, when at last it was raised to its -place, he said in a voice that was half broken by emotion, “Well, well, -not so damned bad for a youngster.” And lighting his little wooden pipe -hurried out of the Gallery and took his way downstairs into the street. - -In later days we met constantly in the card-room at the Garrick, and as -we both lived in Kensington it happened often that we used to walk -homeward together. Sometimes I would come across him in the daytime -strolling in Kensington Gardens, and I remember one snowy Sunday in -winter when I had carelessly said to him, “How ugly snow is!” Millais -turned to me with sudden vehemence and said, “Carr, how can you say -that? Nothing in nature is ugly.” And I think to him it was as he said. - -I know at the time I was forcibly reminded of a phrase used by Constable -which betrays the same unfailing faith in nature. “There is nothing,” -said the earlier painter, “either beautiful or ugly but light and shade -makes it so.” - -The power of selection in the facts he chose to render was never among -the strongest of Millais’s artistic gifts; perhaps to him the need of it -seemed not so great as to others. His mastery in the rendering of every -aspect of reality, a mastery exercised with impartial regard upon the -facts of human form or the complex growth of outward nature, was so -complete, and so completely enjoyed, that he had scarcely the -inclination to reject any one part of the subject presented to him in -favour of another. - -His art knew little preference, and for that reason it often lacked the -higher sense of composition that painters, differently though perhaps -not so greatly gifted, can command for their work. And so it was that -the spiritual appeal of his painting varied extraordinarily according to -the degree in which the theme had inspired him, and even more according -to the measure of support which he received from the chosen model before -his eyes. - -And yet, to the last, that inspiration, when it came, could summon, -almost undimmed, all that concentrated power in the rendering of life, -animate and inanimate, that had set so clear a stamp upon those -beautiful paintings of the period of his youth. - -Lovable I think he was in an extraordinary degree to all who were -brought in contact with him, and I know for my own part that as I knew -him more, I was the more attracted by his personality. At the last, as -he lay dying in Palace Gate, he sent a message to say he would like to -see me, but when I reached the house his son greeted me at the door with -the sad verdict that it was too late. Already the hand of Death was upon -him: within a few hours he had passed away. - -There is one element of Millais’s painting which, I think, has never -received a full measure of appreciation. Apart from his superb gifts as -a painter, he possessed a distinctive mastery in the rendering of -certain phases of human emotion that has left him without a rival among -the living or the dead. His fine powers as a draughtsman enabled him to -press into a single face a quality of sentiment that, by reason of its -exquisite delicacy of expression, was saved from the reproach of any -sentimentalism. - -The desire to capture this deeper beauty in character lay always -resident in his nature, but it needed the inspiration of some rarer type -of feminine loveliness to quicken it into life. In this sense Millais -was to some extent, as I have said, at the mercy of his model, but when -that model served him well--as in the case of “The Huguenots” and -“Ophelia”--the result yields an image of some indefinable beauty in -human character that adds to his innate gifts as a realist a deeper and -more passionate truth. - -[Illustration: THE HUGUENOT - -From the picture by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A. - -_By permission of Messrs. Methuen and -Messrs. Henry Graves and Co._ - -_To face page 92._ -] - -It would be difficult to cite any other master of our school, or indeed -of any school, who possessed this special power in quite the same -degree. Reynolds and Gainsborough have left examples in the region of -female portraiture that render in almost matchless perfection the -permanent facts of gentle character; and the different kinds of beauty -which they have saved for us bear the unmistakable stamp of a type that -is national as well as individual. - -But with Millais, whose art no less than theirs rests finally upon this -power of interpreting individual features, there was sometimes added, -when the model and the subject combined to inspire him, this finer grace -of delicate and tender feeling which no one of his predecessors could -command. Though not a constant quality of his art, it reappeared from -time to time during the whole of his career. He never parted with it as -he had parted with that earlier quality of design, which he had only -shared for a while with men to whom it was all in all. Though -intermittent in its manifestation, it remained with him to the end, and -constituted a rare attribute of his art which belonged to him by right -of nature and belonged to him alone. It was the appreciation of this -quality which caused Watts to write to him in 1878 in regard to “The -Bride of Lammermoor,” which had received a decoration in Paris: “Lucy -Ashton’s mouth is worthy of any number of medals.” And what is true here -is true in a supreme degree of the face of the lady in “The Huguenots” -and the face of “Ophelia.” - -The contrast between Millais and Leighton, both as regards individual -character and the character of their art, was as striking as could be -presented by two men of the same generation. - -Millais’s manner was spontaneous, careless, and buoyant; Leighton was -ever graceful and courteous, but never quite without the sense of -conscious and deliberate effort. I remember an Italian painter who had -been his friend for many years saying to me one day, “Leighton wills to -be a good fellow,” and I think the criticism that is here conveyed very -aptly describes, or suggests, a certain feeling of constraint that was -always to be felt in Leighton’s companionship. - -Despite all his accomplishments and grace he left the impression that he -was never quite at ease, and as though he felt that that must be the -plight of others as well as himself he seemed to be constantly striving -to rid his companion of an embarrassment which was often only his own. - -The essential difference between the two men was made very manifest by -an incident that occurred at a dinner given by the Arts Club to -celebrate Leighton’s election as President of the Royal Academy. - -Leighton’s speech, of course, was expected to be the speech of the -evening, and so in a sense it was. But Leighton never spoke without the -polished preparation of every word, and though his gifts as an orator -were conspicuous, there was always, even upon the happiest occasion, a -sense of something artificial in his aptly chosen phrases; and on the -evening of which I am thinking, the fact of his being fast bound and -fettered by a string of carefully forged and graceful sentences proved -disastrous to the speaker. - -Before Leighton rose to make his acknowledgment of the compliment that -had been paid to him, Millais had his part in the programme to -discharge, and although he could never boast any considerable gifts as a -speaker, there was a directness and simplicity in his utterances that -placed his audience in quick sympathy with the man. - -When I complimented him afterwards he replied, “Yes, my boy, but you see -I had a story to tell.” - -And so he had; but that was not the whole secret of the great impression -he made upon his hearers that evening, for though the story was simple -enough in itself, it was told with such genuine feeling and with such -frank revelation of his own character that it moved his audience not a -little. - -He recalled a day of his youth when he had been summoned by Mr. -Thackeray, who lay ill in bed, to receive some instructions for designs -that Millais was making for the _Cornhill Magazine_. The business ended, -Mr. Thackeray turned to him and said: - -“Millais, my boy, you must look to your laurels. There’s a young fellow -in Rome called Leighton who is making prodigious strides in his art. He -speaks every European language, and is an accomplished musician as well. -If I’m not mistaken that young man will one day be President of the -Royal Academy.” - -And then Millais turned to us, and in words of the simplest candour -confessed that Mr. Thackeray’s prophecy had somewhat hurt him--“For I -will own,” he said, “that at that time, with the ambition of a boy, I -cherished the hope that _I_ might some day be President of the Royal -Academy.” And then after a pause he added, “But now, looking back, I can -say, ‘Mr. Thackeray, you were right, and the right man has been -chosen.’” - -It is not easy to convey the effect which that speech made upon the -crowded audience, most of whom were artists, but the depth of the -impression was shortly realised when Leighton rose to respond. - -It would have been impossible for any speaker born to his task to have -followed Millais without betraying in response a sensibility to those -deeper chords of feeling which his simple words had touched. But -Leighton was incapable of resuming the unfinished melody Millais had so -finely tuned; incapable by his habit and temperament of discarding what -he had prepared; and so it happened that the discourse he delivered, -though no less perfect and polished than was his wont, left his audience -gravely disappointed and wholly unmoved. - -Of Leighton I had also written in those earlier articles in a manner -perhaps that showed too little consideration for his great gifts and -great accomplishments, but he was characteristically courteous in his -reply to my request for some particulars of the days of his studentship, -and the pains he had evidently taken to assist me as far as he could in -the project I had in hand bears strong witness to that ungrudging demand -he always made upon himself when any duty came before him. He wrote: - -[Illustration: - -_Hollyer_ - -LORD LEIGHTON, P.R.A. - -From the painting by G. F. WATTS, in the National Portrait Gallery. - -_To face page 96._ -] - - _Thursday, Nov. 27, 1873._ - - DEAR SIR--I should have answered your letter sooner had I been more - master of my time. I am divided between my readiness to serve you - and my embarrassment as to how to satisfy your request concerning - my past life of which you already possess the outline. I find on - looking at _Men of the Time_ that the facts there given under my - name are copied from the _Illustrated London News_, to which I - furnished some such skeleton to accompany the customary portrait on - my election to membership in the Royal Academy. They are accurate, - barring misprints, such as calling my old friend Robert Fleury, - Robert Henry. I hardly know what I can add without egotistic - display to this account of a life in which, whilst there has been, - and, as I hope, still is, steady growth and development, there had - been no peripateia. - - I scarcely have any earlier recollection than a passionate wish and - a firm purpose to be an artist, and having become one, I have never - failed or swerved from my deep desire to leave behind me something - in Art which should be not ignoble in its aim, and in which Form - and Style, the highest attributes of Form, should be chiefly - sought, and I may own to a hope, which has not been much fed by - experience, that I might in some degree disseminate my artistic - faith in this country where the seed is little and the soil rocky, - and where what is to me vital and essential in Art is generally - either repudiated or held a matter of obsolete dilettantism. - - The only apparent change in my work, the change from mediævalism to - classicism, is in reality no change but only a development. - - The love of mediævalism, the youth of Art, which is almost - invariably found in youths, was strengthened and nourished in me - partly by an early love for Florence and Tuscan art in which all - grace is embodied, and partly by the example of my master Steinle, - for whom I had, and have retained, a great reverence, and who was - fervently mediæval. For a long time I treated none but subjects - from the Italian Middle Ages--going to history, Dante, Boccaccio, - and preferring in Shakespeare the Italian plays. (I have sometimes - wondered, by the bye, that the atmosphere of Faust and the - Niebelungen Lied and the worship of Cornelius, in which, as a - German student, I lived for many years, should really have left so - little mark on my work.) - - By degrees, however, my growing love for Form made me intolerant of - the restraint and exigencies of costume, and led me more and more, - and finally, to a class of subjects, or, more accurately, to a set - of conditions, in which supreme scope is left to pure artistic - qualities, in which no form is imposed upon the artist by the - tailor, but in which every form is made obedient to the conception - of the design he has in hand. These conditions classic subjects - afford, and as vehicles, therefore, of abstract form, which is a - thing not of one time but of all time, these subjects can never be - obsolete, and though to many they are a dead letter, they can never - be an anachronism. - - But you did not ask me for a profession of faith. You see, - meanwhile, that though shifted to another channel the stream of my - artistic life has remained the same. - - The dominant personal influence of my early development is that of - my dear master Steinle, under whom I worked at Frankfort for - several years. His stamp is still upon me, and I owe him a debt of - gratitude for guidance, restraint, and upholding in the search of - whatever is elevated, and for example of steadfastness and - singleness of heart which I cannot ever repay. - - One word more in candour. I have written these few lines because, - unless my memory deceives me, you have written about Art with a - sense at least of its place and dignity--a grace too rare amongst - English critics; but I do not therefore accept entire solidarity - with your standpoint, with which in some respects I am much at - variance. - - If there is any special point concerning which you care to inquire - I shall be happy to answer.--I am, dear sir, faithfully yours, - - FRED LEIGHTON. - - _P.S._--Having lived much abroad during my young years, the years - when one is wax, I have been in turn, thoroughly and sincerely, an - Italian artist, a German artist, and a French artist. I need not - say that, though every man is of a nation (and I am most - emphatically an Englishman), all Art _intentionally_ national is an - error to my thinking. But I think I have gained in balance and - insight by my varied experience. - -It is not possible to question the justice of this brief record of his -aims in Art with which Leighton so courteously supplied me, and that he -never swerved from his fidelity to those aims may be generously -acknowledged even by those who were never deeply moved by his painting. - -If he failed to reach the goal towards which he was ever striving, it -was from no lack of persistent purpose or earnest faith; and the courage -and devotion which he exhibited in his life as an artist were no less -manifest in the discharge of every duty which his high official position -called upon him to perform. - -I was an occasional visitor to his studio for many years after this -first introduction to him in 1873, but I cannot boast of ever having -been, in any true sense of the word, his friend. To my temperament he -was a man easy to know, but difficult to know well; of unfailing -kindness in any service demanded of him, but with no quick link of -sympathy to encourage a closer intimacy. - -Gifted with an appearance at once imposing and picturesque, it was -impossible not to agree with Millais that the choice of the Academy when -they elected him as their President was rightly made. For all the -official duties that are attached to that office he was admirably -equipped, but it was difficult in ordinary converse to feel that he had -ever quite thrown off his official garb. - -Even in those earlier days, before he became President, he was apt in -his hearing to convey the feeling that he was playing a part. His mind -seemed always to move in some carefully chosen raiment which it was -impossible for his nature ever wholly to discard. - -As he said in the postscript of his letter, “I have been in turn -thoroughly and sincerely an Italian artist, a German artist, and a -French artist”; and so in his life he was in turn thoroughly and -sincerely either a polished member of society or the careless Bohemian. - -I remember once noticing him in the stalls of the Palais-Royal Theatre -in Paris habited in a brown velveteen jacket, and suggesting to me that -he was in this way resuming the days of his studentship in the Quartier -Latin. His appearance on that evening seemed to me a little -characteristic of the man. But among the many phases of his varied life, -the sense of his personality as an artist was always uppermost; and -however distinguished might be the throng of fashionable visitors who -filled his studio, the entry of any one who had any call upon him as an -artist would at once claim his attention. - -To his older friends I know he was untiring in his devotion, and one of -them once told me that at a little Christmas party in a remote quarter -of London to which he had been bidden, nearly all the other guests kept -away by reason of a severe snowstorm, but that Leighton turned up -faithful to his appointment, having walked all the way from Kensington -to keep his engagement. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -FREDERICK WALKER - - -I think it was a criticism of Sidney Colvin’s in the _Pall Mall Gazette_ -upon his picture called “The Plough” that first drew me to a closer -study of Fred Walker’s work. Sidney Colvin had preceded me as Art Critic -of the _Pall Mall_, and I am very conscious that in my first efforts in -art criticism I closely modelled myself upon his style. - -He and Bernal Payne had already done much to direct public attention to -the new movement in Art before I entered the field. And it was not -wonderful, in view of Colvin’s eloquent advocacy of the men whom I most -deeply admired, that I should have been drawn to the art of Fred Walker, -whose talent he had particularly distinguished. - -A little later I got to know Walker himself, but he was difficult to -know well, not by reason of any deliberate reserve, but because of an -unconquerable shyness which was deeply rooted in his character. Shy in -his ordinary converse as a man, he was no less so in regard to his -pictures. As one entered his studio he would always turn the work upon -which he was engaged with its face to the wall, and - -[Illustration: A WOMAN IN THE SNOW - -From _Good Words_. - -By FREDRICK WALKER, A.R.A., R.W.S. - -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel. -(Reproduced from their _Fifty Years’ Work_.) - -_To face page 103._ -] - -could rarely be induced to allow his visitor any glimpse of it. - -Shortly after his death, which occurred in 1875, I wrote the -introductory note to the catalogue of his collected works exhibited in -Bond Street, and, wishing for some closer knowledge of the man than I -could boast, I had recourse to Mr. George Leslie, who had known him long -and well. - -I find an interesting letter of his written to me about that time, and -concerning, among many other things, Walker’s stay in Algiers, where he -had gone for his health. Leslie had asked me to meet Miss Jeykell, who -had been in Algiers at the time, but as I was unable to accept his -invitation he very kindly jotted down for me some notes of his -conversation with her, adding at the same time some interesting -reflections upon Walker’s character which throw much light upon his -temperament as an artist. - -“Miss Jeykell,” he writes to me in a letter dated February 10, 1876, -“was there with Madam Bodichon when Walker arrived, and came home with -him. She says that nothing could have exceeded his delight on arriving, -with the light, bright climate and the novelty of everything, and he had -immediately a great wish to send for his sister to come out and live -there. But very soon, in about a fortnight or three weeks, his strong -family affections began to tell on him and he grew terribly home-sick, -and gradually took a sort of horror for the whole place. This feeling -grew and grew on him, and he became quite ill. He longed to be back in -England. With almost despair he said if he could only be in a hansom cab -once again he should be quite happy. Madam Bodichon and Miss Jeykell -one day took him out with them for a driving excursion round the country -and along the sea-shore, and this, she said, seemed to be one of the -only days he enjoyed thoroughly. The shores were very picturesque and -rocky, and they visited beautiful little bays of pure sand and quaint -shells, where Fred Walker strolled about and seemed very much struck, no -doubt contemplating his intended picture. - -“They left him alone when he seemed to wish it, and he sat gazing at the -rocks and sea in deep thought. He had his flute with him, and would -accompany Miss Jeykell, who used to sing. She said, what I can endorse -myself, that he played in a manner quite peculiar, full of tender -feeling and prettiness. - -“Finally his illness and his growing disgust of the place grew so much -worse that they got quite anxious about him, and when Miss Jeykell and -her companion were about to return home they proposed to take him with -them. In a perfectly helpless way he eagerly accepted the kindness, -allowing them to do everything for him, even packing his pictures for -him, securing his passage, and paying his bills, etc. He went on board -the steamer so ill that Miss Jeykell felt anxious about him, fearing he -might not survive till he reached home. - -“But the morning after they started, when she had gone to look for him -in his cabin, she found him walking the deck in his little -shooting-jacket, and quite revived with the idea of home. He relapsed, -however, in his journey through France, and the hatred of Algiers -returned at the very sound of the French tongue. - -“They arrived, however, quite safely at last, and Miss Jeykell at -Charing Cross Station said, ‘There, Mr. Walker, is a hansom cab.’ He got -in, waved his hand in a playful excited way, and that was the last time -she ever saw him.” - -And then follows a very interesting comparison between the characters of -Fred Walker and Sir Edwin Landseer, which Mr. Leslie was well qualified -to make, as he had known them both for many years. - -“I used to see them both,” he writes, “for several years during the same -time, and so was always being reminded one of the other. They were both -disposed to be a little tyrannical in disposition; they both expected -everything to be done for them. They were both extremely sensitive to -criticism and public opinion, and they both possessed a tender and -intense feeling for music. - -“Walker could not play before friends, as the tears would run down his -cheeks, and I have heard Landseer sing with the tears in his eyes. -Landseer had not much voice, but a very sweet pathetic feeling. They -both had strong family affections, and each possessed a devoted sister -who ministered to their every want. - -“They each had the same reluctance to show their pictures. Even when -they had gone to the Exhibition, they would fret and worry and make -themselves ill as to what would be thought of them. They both possessed -an intense ambition to excel in Art. Walker once confessed to me that -he meant to be _the_ best artist, or the ‘very top,’ as he said, and -Landseer had quite the same ruling passion. - -“They both had a keen sense of humour, and both drew admirable -caricatures. Landseer would, with three or four lines, give you the very -essence of any one’s face, and you know how well poor Fred Walker did -this. They were both very silent about Art, or rather about pictures; -they neither of them had very much education, but somehow were far more -neat in their choice of words than most other artists. - -“They both were extremely fastidious in their work, altering and -altering again and again; often a picture took up a year or two. - -“Lastly, in dress they were something alike, both very fond of rather a -sporting style, and indeed they were both decided sportsmen in taste. -They were both, too, when I knew them, tinged with a kind of despairing -feeling of melancholy, not of a slow languishing kind, but with a quick -intense fever, covered over with a pretty sparkle of wit and -cheerfulness when in the society of friends. The thing that always -struck me about Walker and Landseer was, that the young man of thirty -was like the other of sixty, and I have often said to Marks, ‘He could -never live, he has already arrived at what is the end of Landseer.’” - -Poor Walker died in 1875 at the early age of thirty-five. He had -exhibited once in the Royal Academy after his return from Algiers, and -it was while his picture was hanging upon the walls at Burlington House -that we heard of his sudden death, due to a violent chill he had -contracted during a fishing excursion in Scotland. - -It was not very long before his death that I paid my last visit to his -studio, and although, as was his custom, the canvas upon which he was -engaged was speedily wheeled round and turned with its face to the wall, -I caught just a glimpse of his subject, which afterwards formed the -matter of our talk. It was to be called “The Unknown Land,” and it is -characteristic of the whole bent of his talent, and of the special way -in which his imagination worked, that the last of his designs, left a -mere fragment at the date of his death, was no more than a development -of a drawing which he had contributed years before to the pages of _Once -a Week_. - -But it is to be acknowledged that Walker was never prolific in his -inventions in the ordinary sense of the term. Nothing is more remarkable -in his gradual progress than the strong and enduring attachment he -displayed to certain motives in composition that at first found -expression in his boyhood. As his art advanced, this inspiration of his -earlier days was taken up again and enforced with all the riper -resources of his manhood. - -His great picture of “The Bathers” must have already been suggested to -him by one of a series of illustrations representing the seasons which -had also appeared in the pages of _Once a Week_, and many another -instance might be cited which would tend to show the strong allegiance -of his maturity to ideas which had first won his devotion as a boy. - -Mr. Leslie’s vivid sketch of Walker, and his just appreciation of his -character, corresponds closely enough with the man as I knew him in the -later days of his life. He seemed to me to be always to the last degree -fastidious in his own judgment upon his work, and so exacting in his -demands upon himself that I think it was from this source there sprang -up the disinclination which he always showed to submitting his pictures -to the criticism of others. - -The struggle he went through with himself in endeavouring to carry to a -successful issue the thought that had formed in his brain was so severe -that it left him, when the task was complete, with no courage to face an -opinion which might, as he feared, be even less favourable than his own. - -But although he shunned any discussion upon pictures painted by himself, -he was, as I recall him now, always eager and enthusiastic in his talk -of the wider and more general ideals of Art, enthusiastic also in his -occasional references to those among his contemporaries whom he -specially admired. Looking back upon his achievement now, it is easy to -perceive, and it would be folly not to acknowledge, that some of that -higher beauty which he sought to find in those rustic subjects that were -dear to him was occasionally imposed upon reality by a conscious and -wilful reference to the beauty of the antique. - -But even if this criticism be admittedly just, his claims as a painter -remain undisturbed. The added grace that he bestowed upon reality was -resident in nature itself, and there is reason to think that if time had -allowed his powers to be fully developed he would have achieved what he -sought without direct dependence upon classic example. The two separate -elements of his art--his direct - -[Illustration: LUCY GRAY, or SOLITUDE - - To-night will be a stormy night, - You to the town must go, - And take the lantern, child, to light - Your mother through the snow. - WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. - -By Sir JOHN GILBERT, R.A., P.R.W.S. - -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel. -(Reproduced from their _Fifty Years’ Work_.) - - _By permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd._ - -_To face page 109._ -] - -and searching study of the facts of the actual world, and his passionate -love of the beauty of the antique--were in process of being united but -they were not yet absolutely fused in one. His early death left the -story of his art life incomplete, but there is enough and more than -enough to vindicate his position in our school. - -On the occasion of one of my rare visits to his studio he had given me -some brief account of the first years of his studentship. When he first -quitted school at the age of sixteen he occupied himself in copying from -the Elgin Marbles in the British Museum. For a while his purely artistic -studies were interrupted by his apprenticeship to an architect, but -after only eighteen months of labour that was never congenial to him we -find him once more at the Museum, while during the evenings of this -period he attended the classes in Leigh’s School in Newman Street, -making there the acquaintance of several other young artists with whom -he remained on terms of closest friendship during the rest of his life. - -A little later he entered the school of the Royal Academy, and about the -same time began to employ himself with drawing on the wood which he -learnt from Mr. T. W. Whymper, in whose establishment he remained for a -period of three years. - -At that date Sir John Gilbert was the accepted model for young men who -desired to succeed in book illustration, and I remember Walker telling -me that in all his earlier essays he was rigidly held to a strict -conformity with Gilbert’s style. But it was not long before he formed a -method of his own, and, soon after _Once a Week_ was established in -1859, Walker became a constant contributor to its pages. Later again he -sought and found employment from Mr. Thackeray on the _Cornhill -Magazine_, where he illustrated the editor’s own story of _Philip_. - -He used often to tell me of his visits to Thackeray’s house, where he -went to settle with the great novelist the subject of the next -illustration. During a considerable part of the time Thackeray was ill -and confined to his room, and the young draughtsman would sit at the -side of the bed and listen to the details of the story as they came from -Thackeray’s own lips. - -[Illustration: THE UNJUST JUDGE - -From _The Parables of our Lord_. - -By Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A. - -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel. - -(Reproduced from their _Fifty Years’ Work_.) - -_To face page 111._ -] - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -DESIGN AND ENGRAVING - - -It was inevitable that the new movement in Art, with its deeper research -of truth in the rendering of human form and the facts of outward nature, -should have led to a renewed study of certain forgotten qualities of -design. And it is, indeed, impossible to understand the aim and impulse -of the leaders of this new movement without reference to the engraved -work of the time. It was a necessity of the straitened means which -affected nearly all of them that they should at first employ themselves -in the work of illustration, and there is no higher tribute to the -genius which this new spirit had evoked than is to be found in the -engraved work that was produced in England during the ten or fifteen -years dating from the middle fifties. - -When he was little more than a boy, and before he had gained any -accomplishment as a painter, Rossetti had already produced some -beautiful work in black and white, and we know from their published -illustrations that Millais and Holman Hunt were already striving in the -same direction. - -The first important display of this renewed energy in design is to be -found in the illustrated edition of Tennyson’s _Poems_ published in -1857, for there, side by side with much that belongs to an earlier -manner, the drawings of Hunt and Millais and Rossetti stand out with -vivid distinctness as a separate achievement. Not that even at that time -these three artists ought to be considered as actuated by a single -motive; the individuality of each had been already asserted, and it was -hardly necessary for Mr. Hunt in his recently published _Reminiscence_ -to labour the point that the aims of Rossetti were not in their essence -the aims of Millais and himself. Nor, on the other hand, can the -supremacy of Rossetti in regard to imaginative impulse and power be -rightly challenged by any one who has had the opportunity of studying -the work of the time. - -It is not easy to perceive the motive of those who seek so hotly to -contest Rossetti’s influence upon his fellows. The very fact that -Millais’s art, and even, though in a lesser degree, the art of Mr. -Holman Hunt, took afterwards a different direction, is rather to be -taken as evidence that in some of the essays of these earlier years they -were, for a time at least, under the sway of an individuality in its -essence widely different from their own. The champions of the genius of -Millais need be under no anxiety to claim for him entire independence of -spirit. In his later achievements this independence is announced without -reserve. They make it clear that the finer poetic feeling, which is -evident in some of his earlier paintings, and more especially in some of -his earlier drawings, was not destined to be the dominating factor in -his artistic life. But it is no less true, as it seems to me, that there -was a time of - -[Illustration: THE LEAVEN - -From _The Parables of our Lord_. - -By Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A. - -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel. - -(Reproduced from their _Fifty Years’ Work_.) - -_To face page 113._ -] - -his youth when he willingly surrendered himself to this spirit, and if, -as we come now to perceive, it was not enduringly implanted in his -nature, there can be no reason for disputing the suggestion that it -sprang at the time from comradeship with a man in whose work, whatever -other changes it may have suffered, this quality remained always -supreme. - -“I believe,” said Mr. Ruskin, speaking of Rossetti shortly after the -date of his death, “that his name should be placed first on the list of -men within my own knowledge who have raised and changed the spirit of -modern Art--raised in absolute attainment, changed in direction of -temperament.” - -And if we turn with these words in mind to the Tennyson illustrations, -it will seem not possible to dispute Mr. Ruskin’s verdict. - -Beautiful as are the drawings of Millais and Mr. Hunt, the final -impression left by that volume rests in a pre-eminent degree upon -Rossetti’s exquisite design of “Sir Galahad” and his beautiful -illustrations of the “Palace of Art.” - -Within two years of the issue of Tennyson’s volume, the illustrated -periodical called _Once a Week_ was established, and its pages for many -years afterwards bore admirable witness to the wide influence which -these three great leaders were already exercising upon their generation. -Indeed, it may be said that it is impossible to understand the real -trend of this new movement, and to appreciate at their just worth the -many and varying individualities engaged in its support, without a -constant reference to these earlier volumes of a now defunct periodical. -There we find in rich profusion the earlier, and in many cases the more -interesting, experiments of men like Du Maurier, Charles Keene, -Frederick Sandys, Frederick Walker, and John Tenniel, side by side with -numerous illustrations by Millais himself. Even Mr. Whistler was an -occasional contributor, though his work, except in its very earliest -essays where he frankly accepts the ruling convention of the time, -quickly takes a place apart as a thing of purely individual temperament. - -Afterwards, in the days of the Arts Club, I learned to know personally -many of those men whose work I had loved when a boy as it appeared in -the pages of _Once a Week_. Charles Keene, who had first been made known -to me by his illustrations of Meredith’s novel of _Evan Harrington_, was -a constant figure there during the time when he was already a valued -member of the staff of _Punch_. He was a quaint and amiable character, -with a head that suggested Don Quixote, and I recall him now as he used -to sit for many an hour of the afternoon and evening with his cup of -coffee kept hot upon the bars of the old fire-place in the front room of -the Club, filling and refilling one of those tiny clay pipes dating from -the period of Charles II., which had been unearthed during some building -excavations in the City. Taciturn by habit, and perhaps by preference, -he yet always willingly entered into conversation when the occasion -arose. Sometimes I would go down and see him in his little house in -Chelsea, and turn over his elaborately careful etchings of boats, made -by the sea. - -It cannot be said, I think, that he was ever deeply stirred in his own -work by the movement to - -[Illustration: - - To seek the wanderer, forth himself doth come - And take him in his arms, and bear him home. - So in this life, this grove of Ignorance, - As to my homeward I myself advance, - Sometimes aright, and sometimes wrong I go, - Sometimes my pace is speedy, sometimes slow. - _Life’s Journey._--GEORGE WITHER. - -From _English Sacred Poetry_. - -By FREDERICK SANDYS. - -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel. - -(Reproduced from their _Fifty Years’ Work_.) - - _By permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd._ - -_To face page 115._ -] - -which I have specially referred, though he was full of generous -appreciation of what was being done in that direction. The effects for -which he was specially seeking in black and white demanded a style of -execution peculiarly his own, and, when his mastery in the use of the -material was complete, the result, more especially in the rendering of -light and shade, was a thing distinct and incomparable. - -The one man of all the group who showed, perhaps, the surest hold of the -essential qualities of design was Fred Sandys. Though not of the body, -he was closely associated with the pre-Raphaelite movement, and already -in _Once a Week_, in such drawings as his illustration to Meredith’s -poem of “The Old Chartist,” he had exhibited a complete command of -technical resources. Sandys remained to the last a remarkable talker, -keenly critical, and on occasion warmly appreciative. There was a period -during his later life when he might be found almost any afternoon in the -lower room of the Café Royal, and there, over a cigar and a cup of -coffee, he would gossip freely of those earlier days during his -association with Rossetti, always taking care, as it seemed to me, to -let it be understood that when his own association with any one of the -men of that time had ceased, they had ceased to be afterwards very -interesting or notable. - -I remember Whistler used to give some very humorous imitations of -incidents that occurred in Sandys’ studio, and he was particularly happy -in the reproduction of a scene between the painter and his father--real -or fanciful I cannot pretend to say--in which something of the haughty -reticence and reserve exhibited on both sides was very entertainingly -reproduced. - -Du Maurier was one of the constant attendants at the Arts Club during -the afternoon, and was always a delightful companion. He loved -discussion, loved especially to appraise and value the different ideals -of contemporary painting in eager, and sometimes excited, dispute in -regard to the merits of men whose work made, perhaps, a stronger appeal -to me than to him. But our talk, even when it was most animated, never -grew embittered. With Du Maurier, indeed, that would hardly have been -possible, for the innate charm of his nature, linked with a constant -desire to be just and fair, even to those towards whom his judgment was -sometimes unfavourable, sufficed in itself to keep even the most heated -controversy agreeable and urbane. - -Despite his partly French origin, or perhaps by reason of it, he -possessed an enthusiastic appreciation for the purely English type of -beauty, whether in men or women. The athletic sanity of our English life -appealed to him strongly, and it was, perhaps, the consciousness of -something in himself of the Gallic spirit, something that leaned towards -greater refinement and delicacy, that kept him obstinately devoted to -the more solid ideals of the land in which he dwelt. It was this, I am -sure, that so strongly attracted him to Millais, whose robust character, -both as expressed in the man and exhibited in his art, he passionately -admired. And I think it was the suspicion of a danger lest he might be -tempted to surrender himself to something not so healthy in its outlook -that left him with a constant sense of reserve in his appreciation of -men like Rossetti and Burne-Jones. And yet he was far too gifted an -artist not to be sensible to the genius of both. - -But it was as a man, and apart from any profession of faith, that he was -so wholly delightful. His professed principles, though always sincerely -held and admirably expressed, and his constant respect for the steady -decorum of English character, gave scarcely a hint of the special charm -of his own temperament. In moments of gaiety his high spirits were -infectious, and he became on certain occasions, when the mood stirred -him, the veriest and most delightful of Bohemians. - -I recall him, at one of the annual feasts at Maidenhead held by a little -club called “The Lambs,” keeping the whole table in roars of laughter by -an impromptu speech wherein he gave free rein to his humour and fancy--a -speech which, I think, made us all feel that his constantly expressed -reverence for the English ideal must have occasionally suffered some -sense of fatigue that needed for its cure a sudden reversion to the land -of his blood. We none of us suspected in those days--he himself perhaps -least of all--that he was destined to win such world-wide fame as an -author, and it was perhaps not until he became an author that it was -possible to realise in what affectionate remembrance he held the days of -his studentship in Paris. - -Du Maurier’s early contributions to _Once a Week_ scarcely gave more -than a hint of that humorous quality which he afterwards developed in -the pages of _Punch_. It was there that he translated with caricature -the extravagances and eccentricities of that æsthetic cult which had -indeed little counterpart in real life, excepting in so far as they were -summed up in the conscious affectations of poor Oscar Wilde. - -But at the time they were accepted by the public as in some sense a -satire upon the newer school of painting, and--although that, I know, -was no part of Du Maurier’s intention--these drawings served in no small -degree to encourage the spirit of ridicule with which some of the more -serious work of the time was received. - -Humour, as we may here perceive, was always at Du Maurier’s command, and -yet it is not specially by this quality that his best contributions to -_Punch_ are distinguished. They hold a place apart, as compared, for -instance, with the caricatures of John Leech or Charles Keene, by reason -of a certain grace and beauty which was their constant attribute. They -formed a just and sometimes a flattering picture of the English social -life of the time, betraying, in the rendering of form and in charm of -bearing, the artist’s devotion to that type of English beauty--fitting -models for which Du Maurier could always find without wandering beyond -the limits of his own home. - -One or two of his most highly finished drawings I was enabled to publish -in the _English Illustrated Magazine_, and there is one in particular -called “A Nocturne” which shows with what a fine sense of reality he -could render on occasion the most delicate effects in landscape. - -Du Maurier loved music, and by common consent was an accomplished -musician, though his voice boasted no great range or power. But when he -chose to sing to his intimate friends--and he never cared to seek a -wider audience--it was impossible to resist the taste and charm which -belonged to him as surely in music as in the traffic of social life. -Even here, however, as in pictorial art, he could never quite determine -with himself to what school he owned the strongest allegiance, and I -have often heard him declare that he was torn in divided admiration -between the perfect vocalisation of a singer like De Soria and the more -passionate appeal of some of the later German music as it was -interpreted by Henschell. - -Richard Doyle--or Dicky Doyle, as he was better known to his countless -friends--seemed rather by the quality of his work, which claims a -certain kinship with the style of Sir John Gilbert, to belong to an -earlier generation, and yet he was well known and well loved by even the -youngest of those who were working under a newer impulse. - -He was a welcome guest in nearly all of the great country-houses in -England, and yet he preserved to the end a strange boyishness and -shyness of manner, beneath which, however, there lurked a constant sense -of kindly humour. - -I met him first as a fellow-guest of Sir Coutts Lindsay at Balcarres, -and I remember his telling me that he had such a horror of his modest -wardrobe being overhauled by the footman who valeted him that it was his -habit, on retiring for the night, to lock his clothes securely in a -drawer, and then to watch with half-opened eyes in the morning, and with -a chuckle which he could not always conceal beneath the bed-clothes, -the wild despair of the footman in his fruitless search for the secreted -garments. - -When the Grosvenor was established, Doyle became a constant contributor -to the exhibitions, sending every year some delightful specimens of his -fanciful treatment of fairy subjects. - -But it is perhaps mainly by his earlier drawings on the wood that he -will be best remembered, drawings which display the fecundity of his -inventions exhibited in countless forms and faces, which he could -multiply apparently without effort or trouble. One of the best of these -drawings is that representing the Custom-House at Cologne, where he -shows in a supreme degree his extraordinary power of granting individual -character to every diminutive face that is introduced into the design. - -A younger artist, who had perhaps something of the personal charm of Du -Maurier, was Randolph Caldecott, whom I got to know soon after the -publication of his hunting scenes. - -He had been ordered to the South for the sake of his health, and at the -suggestion of his friend and mine, Mr. Thomas Armstrong, who so greatly -aided him in those earlier days in securing public recognition, he -undertook to make the illustrations for a book written by my wife called -_North Italian Folk_. - -In manner Caldecott was as gentle as Du Maurier, and even more reserved, -yet this reserve could yield on occasion to the wildest high spirits, -when the humour that is never absent from his drawings found delightful -utterance. Poor Caldecott always had about him the shadow of failing -health, and yet it never, I think, disturbed the deep tenderness of his -nature that was revealed even in his most buoyant moods. - -Perhaps the quaintest figure among the draughtsmen of that day was the -Italian caricaturist Carlo Pellegrini, whose cartoons in _Vanity Fair_ -brought him prominently before the public. - -Although he was a dweller among us for many years, he never acquired the -slightest command of our tongue. Indeed, I rather think that as time -went on his English grew persistently worse, but in his brave endeavour -to express himself he forged a dialect of his own that was sometimes -richly entertaining. - -One day at a private view at the Dudley Gallery he went down on his -knees to examine and to admire a drawing by Arthur Severn, and then, -with sudden enthusiasm, he cried out so that all might hear, “Capital, -capital! But why, the blast, he stipple?” - -At Pagani’s Italian Restaurant in Great Portland Street he was a -constant attendant, and during the later years of his life, when he had -fallen upon evil times, I think his kindly compatriots greatly -befriended him. - -There I constantly met him at lunch at the time when I was at work for -the German Reeds, whose room of entertainment in St. George’s Hall stood -close by; and afterwards Pellegrini became a regular visitor at our -house in Blandford Square, where he would always, at his own request, -insist upon bringing some Italian dish to add to the modest feast that -had been prepared for him. - -Once on Christmas Day, when he was dining with us, I specially warned -him that my father-in-law, who was a clergyman, would be of the party, -and beseeched him to curb the ordinary exuberance of his phraseology. -But despite his solemn promise of circumspection, the ladies had no -sooner quitted the dining-room than I found Pellegrini in animated -conversation with my father-in-law, conversation liberally enforced on -his side by a volley of strange oaths in that dialect that was all his -own, oaths which, had they been partially understood by his companion, -would, I think, have brought the evening to a sudden termination. - -When his indiscretion had been pointed out to him poor Pellegrini was -duly repentant, but we had not been in the drawing-room many minutes -before he joined in a game of Little Horses which my children were -playing upon the floor. At the close of the game he rose with an -expression upon his face of deep remorse. - -“Joe,” he cried, “you ’ave ruin me! At the Las’ Day the Lord God will -say to me, ‘Pellegrini, you ’ave every vice.’ And I could ’ave reply, -‘Lord God, pardon me, I ’ave never gamble.’ Now I cannot say.” - -This renewed outburst made it plain to me that I had, on that particular -occasion, made a somewhat unwise selection in the guests invited to meet -him, and during the remainder of the evening I kept close by his elbow -in fear and trembling of some new outrage that might bring our innocent -festivities to a sudden close. - -Pellegrini was a well-known figure at the Beefsteak Club, where his -quaint idiosyncrasies were welcomed by nearly all, but even there he -would occasionally bring a shock of surprise and amazement to some newly -elected member who was not yet accustomed to his liberal vocabulary. - -There was one fellow-member of the club, himself an artist, who was wont -to entertain the table with little impromptu sketches and designs which -he executed with a certain degree of facility. This innocent display of -artistic power gravely offended Pellegrini, who, possibly moved by a -measure of jealousy that any one else should encroach upon his special -province, insisted with some vehemence that a club was not the place for -such exercises. - -“I like the boy,” he said to me one evening, “and when he talk, I -listen, but ’tis pity he draw.” - -It was only a few evenings later that I entered the room and found the -young friend who had been the subject of Pellegrini’s rebuke absorbing -the entire conversation of a crowded table. Pellegrini was present, and -I could see that he was growing restive under the artist’s unceasing -flow of conversation. In a momentary pause he turned to me and in an -audible whisper delivered this laconic judgment: - -“Joe, I ’ave made big mistake. ’Tis better he draw.” - -Poor Pellegrini’s misfortunes dated from the time when, abandoning the -practice of caricature, he sought to establish himself as a painter in -oils. Soon after he had started upon this perilous enterprise he said to -me one day at the Arts Club, “Joe, I will make that you have not told -the lie.” - -“What lie?” I inquired. - -“You have say,” he replied, “that I shall be the finest portrait-painter -of the day. You will see--I _will_ be.” - -As a matter of fact I had never ventured upon any such daring prophecy, -neither did I have any faith in the chances of his success. Nor, I am -sure, did he ever believe I had said it. It was rather, I suspect, a -wily device of the Neapolitan to pledge my support for the new departure -which he had taken in his art. - -Towards the close of his life he rarely came to any Club, and I think he -felt deeply the failure that had overtaken him. - -Very quaintly, as we drove home one night, he gave expression to the -consciousness that lay upon him that he had not long to live. - -“When I die,” he said, “which ’appen short----” and then he turned away -with the sentence unfinished. - -Of his talent as a caricaturist there can never be any question. He had -the rare power of finding an equation for every face, summarising in a -few lines its salient points of oddity. And this same power he exhibited -in his shrewd judgment of character. At a dinner-table little that was -characteristic escaped his humorous regard. Though alien born, and -almost jealously retaining to the end of his life amongst us his -individuality as a foreigner, he possessed a quick and just appreciation -of our national characteristics, more especially as they lent themselves -to humorous portrayal. - -He once said to me, “A man may caricature the people of a race that is -not his own, but it needs a native to judge them seriously.” - -He forgot his own maxim, poor fellow, when he launched out as a painter -of portraits, for the source of his failure lay not merely in -insufficient power, but in the lack of true comprehension of the deeper -qualities of character. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE GROSVENOR GALLERY AND THE NEW GALLERY - - -When, for reasons that need not now be discussed, Mr. Hallé and I -severed our connection with the Grosvenor Gallery, we at once cast about -to establish its successor. It was obvious to us both that if the -experiment was to be made successfully it must be made without delay, -and, as a matter of fact, the New Gallery as it stands to-day was -constructed and completed within the brief period of three months. - -One of our initial difficulties was to secure a suitable site, and the -second obstacle, scarcely less formidable, was to procure from those who -favoured the movement sufficient resources to justify us in proceeding -with the work. - -The site upon which the New Gallery now stands had at one time been -occupied by the well-known livery stables of Messrs. Newman, but shortly -before coming into our possession they had been partly transformed to -serve the purpose of a provision market. This partial reconstruction -aided us very materially in our work. The central hall, so far as the -mere outline of the fabric is concerned, did not need entire -reconstruction. But the task, even with this help, remained formidable -enough, and could not have been possibly carried through within the -limited time at our disposal if it had not been for the hearty and -zealous co-operation of all of those who were engaged upon the building. - -There were many moments during these anxious three months when it seemed -indeed impossible of accomplishment. Inevitable delays in the supply of -the material required, again and again imperilled the chances of -success, and I think we were not a little astonished ourselves to find -that our original plan could be carried out in its entirety, and that we -were able to open the first exhibition in the month of May. - -The establishment of the Grosvenor and the New Gallery form an -interesting chapter in the history of modern art in England. It is more -than probable that neither the one nor the other could have come into -existence if the Royal Academy had taken a more generous and liberal -view of the functions it had to discharge; but the merest glance at the -history of this institution suffices to show that it has at all times -adopted the narrowest interpretation of its duties and responsibilities. -Anxious for the homage due to a national institution, and intolerant of -any protest against its rule, it has nevertheless persistently failed to -advance with the growth of new ideas of art, and has steadily declined -to undertake any enlargement of the original scope of its labours. Of -the more important art movements that have arisen since the date of its -creation, the Royal Academy has been little more than a spectator. At a -time when the national interest in matters of art was scarcely -recognised, it might, by a liberal interpretation of its duties, have -become the acknowledged centre of a coherent system of art -administration, but it had chosen instead to allow nearly all that was -done by way of progress to be accomplished by independent effort. - -It might easily have been shown that it was not the intention of the -founders of the Royal Academy that it should thus degenerate into a -private undertaking. The encouragement which George III. gave to the -scheme was given on the ground that “he considered the culture of the -arts as a national concern,” and in the instrument presented for his -signature it is said that the great utility of such an institution has -been fully and clearly demonstrated. Moreover, in the catalogue of the -first national exhibition the demand of payment at the doors was made a -subject of apology, and the only excuse was that no other means could be -discovered of preventing the entry of improper persons. - -But although the public and national character of the undertaking was -clearly acknowledged at that time, a very few years sufficed to prove -that the constitution of the Academy was unfavourable to the right -interpretation of its duties. When the Academy was founded the English -did not possess a National Gallery, and Barry, who perceived the use of -such a collection of the Masters of Art in forming and educating the -taste both of art students and the public, proposed to his -fellow-members of the Academy that they should devote a portion of their -surplus funds on the purchase of pictures by the Old Masters. But the -Academy rejected this proposal as promptly as they had discarded the -idea of a closer connection with the nation. - -That the imperfections of the institution were clearly perceived by -distinguished artists who afterwards became members of the body, is not -disputed. Before the Commission of 1863 Mr. G. F. Watts expressed -himself in no uncertain terms. - -“It seems to me,” he said, “that there must be some defect. If it were -extremely anxious to develop taste or encourage art I think that some -means would have been found. A merchant finds means if he wants to -improve his commercial arrangements. Whatever a man wishes to do, he -finds a way of doing it more or less satisfactorily. But I do not see -that the Royal Academy has done anything whatever.” And again, in -relation to public taste and its guidance in all that concerns the -erection of public monuments or public buildings, Mr. Watts says, “It -seems to be a monstrous thing that the Royal Academy has had no voice in -this matter.” And further, referring to independent efforts for the -encouragement of public schemes of mural decoration, he most -emphatically declares, “I think it ought to have occurred to the -Academy, as a body of men having the direction of art and taste, many -years before it occurred to the Prince Consort; and I think also that, -when the initiative was taken, the Academy ought to have adopted the -movement and have given it every advantage possible.” - -And this was already matter of history at the time that the Grosvenor -Gallery was founded. But the same spirit that had dwarfed their -conception of the duties of a national institution on the administrative -side, had also coloured the ungenerous attitude that they had at first -betrayed towards that great movement in modern painting which was -heralded by the pre-Raphaelite brethren. - -In the teeth of a keen opposition that was at first displayed towards -his work, Millais had fought his way into the august ranks of the -academic body; but with that exception nearly all the great leaders of -the new movement still stood without its walls. Holman Hunt, Rossetti, -Burne-Jones, Ford Madox Brown, and the great sculptor Alfred Stevens -knew nothing at that time of academic honour, and their work, if it was -submitted for official judgment, was either coldly received or was -treated in a spirit of active hostility. - -It was that which gave to the movement which resulted in the -establishment of the Grosvenor its importance and significance. - -The battle has long ended now, and the fact that these men did, or did -not, receive academic recognition counts for nothing in respect of the -place they hold in modern English painting. Such rebel forces as have -since come into existence have not been of a kind to win a like -distinction, and public interest in art has become so languid in its -exercise that if such a body of men were now to arise it may be -questioned whether their work would stir the feeble pulses of the time. - -But at the period of which I am speaking their gradual advancement was -watched and welcomed by enthusiastic admirers, and it was that which -made it possible for institutions like the Grosvenor and the New -Gallery to challenge the sleepy self-complacency of the dwellers in -Burlington House. - -And it will now scarcely be denied that each of these two institutions -in its turn has served a useful purpose. In a sense, indeed, they have -been almost too successful, for a distinguished success achieved in one -or the other has again and again proved the means of obtaining for the -artist tardy recognition from the authorities of Burlington House. But -the forces ranged on the side of orthodoxy are in this country always -formidable, and it may be questioned now whether enough vitality -survives in English art to justify the continued existence of -independent institutions such as those I have named. - -The great prices obtained at public auctions for the earlier masters of -our School are sometimes quoted in support of the view that the taste -for art remains unimpaired. As a matter of fact I think they may be -taken to warrant an exactly opposite conclusion. The buyers of thirty or -forty years ago who helped to encourage the painters of their own day -were guided for the most part by their own individual preference. Their -taste may often have been uninstructed, but at least it was their own. -They loved the pictures which they sought to acquire, and, as their -collections grew, a better taste grew with them. The modern buyer, on -the other hand, is for the most part the mere puppet of the dealer. He -buys at the top price of the market because he believes the market will -maintain its price, and with a prudence that the dealer is careful to -foster he makes his choice from among those older pictures whereof the -market value has been appraised by time. - -And so long as these purely commercial considerations dominate the taste -of the time, the cause of contemporary painting must surely suffer. That -a truer feeling will come again with the passing of time need not be -doubted, but any one who has followed the movement in English painting -since the middle of the last century must perforce experience a feeling -of melancholy at the listless apathy and indifference which has taken -the place of the earnest enthusiasm of an earlier day. - -That enthusiasm was still at its height when Sir Coutts Lindsay founded -the Grosvenor Gallery; it survived with scarcely diminished force when -Mr. Hallé and I succeeded in establishing the New Gallery, and I look -back without regret to my long association with both these institutions. -As the child of our own creation the New Gallery has claimed from both -of us the larger and the longer service. At the inception of our task we -had the loyal support of Burne-Jones, whose art we both deeply loved, -and when he died I think we both felt that a part of our mission had -gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -WHISTLER AND CECIL LAWSON - - -Apart from Burne-Jones, whose gathered works, the fruit of many years’ -labour, naturally occupied the dominant place in the first exhibitions -of the Grosvenor Gallery, there were two painters, Whistler and Cecil -Lawson, whose pictures made it in their different ways notable and -interesting. - -At that time Whistler’s claims as an artist were not seriously -entertained beyond the limits of a very narrow circle. I had known him -personally for some little time, and had included his work in that -series of articles written in 1873 to which reference has already been -made. Writing of him then, I had said, “Opinions as to his merits differ -widely enough, but there is nothing vague or uncertain about them. He is -either blamed or praised heartily, and for the most part he is heartily -blamed. - -“Persons who do not admire his pictures are rather disposed to regard -them in the light of a personal insult, and to behave as though the -painter had deliberately intended to cause annoyance. The consequence is -that Mr. Whistler receives more abuse than any other painter, and abuse -of a kind that implies something also of pity; for when he is not -regarded in the light of a wilful wrong-doer, his work is accepted as -the expression of a defective intelligence.” - -These sentences, I think fairly enough, represent Mr. Whistler’s -position at that time, nor had the public estimate of his powers greatly -changed when the Grosvenor Gallery was established in 1877. - -It is not necessary now to fight over again that battle that was waged -by some of us on his behalf. To me it was never difficult to appreciate -at their true value the distinguished qualities of his art; and at this -time of day his claims are so widely and so loudly announced, that it is -sometimes difficult for those who admired him first to keep pace with -his later worshippers. - -About the year 1876 I had written a notice of the exhibition of his work -held in Pall Mall which had greatly pleased him, and when he was -decorating the late Mr. Leyland’s house in Prince’s Gate I used often to -go down while he was at work, and during the luncheon hour--which was an -improvised meal daintily set out under Whistler’s order in the empty -house--our talk used to roam widely over things of Art and Life, for -Whistler was as acute in his perception of the foibles of character as -he was fastidious and exacting in the execution of even the lightest of -his designs. - -Whistler’s public attitude was one of uncompromising hostility to all -critics. For him Art was always a thing exclusively for the expert, and -he regarded the intrusion of any comment, unless it proceeded from a -brother craftsman, as not only futile but mischievous. This was a very -natural attitude in view of the special gifts he possessed, for he was -above all things a man of the “métier,” conceiving Art as a thing -isolated and detached from thoughts that found expression in other -mediums, a thing only to be judged by its own exclusive laws which he -deemed could not be fully interpreted save by the artist himself. - -But he had even in this respect his little human weaknesses, and the -praise which I had bestowed upon his work on more than one occasion -brought from him a warm letter of appreciation, the existence of which I -think he afterwards forgot; for I remember at a dinner-party, during the -later days of our friendship, when he was denouncing, with his -accustomed liberty of speech, that hated tribe of which I had been a -member, I ventured softly from the other end of the table to interject -the remark, “Ah yes, Jimmy, but you didn’t always think so,” and then -upon the top of a reiterated expression of his contempt for those who -wrote about Art, I reminded him of my possession of a little letter -which I had been very happy to receive and was well content to preserve. - -And so the incident closed with some graceful and half-jesting reference -on his part to my superior claims, which he had always, of course, as he -declared, impliedly excepted from his general condemnation of the class. - -As a companion I found him delightful, and his hospitality at the -several houses he successively occupied in Chelsea, however restricted -it might occasionally prove owing to his shifting financial fortunes, -had an inimitable grace and distinction peculiarly his own; though -there were some, however, whose more exacting appetite was not always -content with the slender material of those delightful little breakfasts -over which he so perfectly presided. - -To me the charm of the host sufficed to cover any deficiency in the -feast, even in those days when he laughingly told me that his fishmonger -was the only tradesman who could afford to deal with him. But I remember -meeting, during one of these periods of narrow resources, a foreign -painter who at one time had felt himself greatly favoured by an -invitation to Cheyne Walk. I asked him if he had seen anything of -Whistler lately, to which he replied, “Ah no, not now so much. He ask me -a leetle while ago to breakfarst, and I go. My cab-fare two shilling, -’arf-crown. I arrive, very nice. Gold fish in bowl, very pretty. But -breakfarst--one egg, one toast, no more! Ah no! My cab-fare, two -shilling, ’arf-crown. For me no more!” - -This, I think, was an exaggerated picture of the limits which Whistler -was sometimes compelled to set to his hospitality. I know, for my own -part at any rate, that these breakfasts were always delightful, and -sometimes, when the mood took him, he would go himself into the kitchen -and prepare a “plat” of his own devising, thus giving a final charm to -his graceful entertainments. - -His talk on these occasions, swift in its wit and always ready in -repartee, was not, however, often of a kind that bears recording, so -much depended upon the man himself, his personality and his manner, and -so much upon the exact appropriateness of every word he uttered to the -mood of the occasion. There was always about him a substratum of impish -mischief which gave flavour and colour either to his criticism or his -appreciation. - -Once I remember, when a friend at the table was gravely reproaching him -upon his lack of admiration of certain examples of Dresden china, -Whistler still remained entirely impenitent and unconvinced until his -friend was tempted to round off his rebuke by the somewhat audacious -protest, “But, my dear Jimmy, you are not catholic in your taste,” to -which Jimmy supplied the lightning retort, “No, that’s true. I only care -for what’s good.” - -Sometimes his remarks were almost startling in their reckless daring, -and were apt to produce in the company in which he found himself a -feeling of consternation. Once at an assembly at Lady Lindsay’s, on the -entry of a painter whose face seemed to bear on that night even more -than its wonted gravity of expression, Jimmy went up to the new-comer -and in his shrillest tones remarked to him, “My dear,--your face is your -fortune,” ending this outrageous compliment with one of those wild -laughs that sounded like the war-whoop of an Indian who has just scalped -his foe. - -Of literature, in the wider sense of the term, I never discovered that -Whistler had any profound knowledge, though when he wanted a quotation -to heighten the sarcasm of any biting sentence it was happily chosen, -and most often, strangely enough, such quotation would be taken from -Dickens, whose humour strongly appealed to him. - -But he was an artist first and last; and when not preoccupied with the -things of his art, he so far resembled Millais that he loved to feel -the pulse of the life of his time as it was exhibited in general -society. - -Towards men, especially those for whom he had no great liking, he was -scathing and unsparing in the exercise of a wit that took small account -of any conventional limitation, but towards women he was unfailingly -courteous, with something of almost chivalrous deference of bearing and -manner. Of all the painters of his time the man whom he most respected -was, I think, Albert Moore; and the affinity was natural enough, for -Moore, like Whistler, deliberately excluded from his art all reference -to emotion and passion, and sought, within rigorous limitations, for a -grace that owed nothing to any art but his own. - -In Moore this was due to an accepted principle that was patiently -obeyed; in Whistler it was intuitive instinct. In his case there was no -need of any process of exclusion. Life, as it came into the region of -his art, only appealed to him in virtue of those qualities he sought to -present, and it was by no deliberate choice but by natural inclination -that he left the entire story of human emotion and human passion -untouched and untold. - -A common prejudice of that time, long dissipated now, but which found -utterance then in the intemperate condemnation by Mr. Ruskin that -afterwards formed the subject of the celebrated libel action, was to the -effect that the results of Whistler’s painting, often so fragile and so -slight in their final appearance upon the canvas, were due to a wilful -neglect of the resources at his command. It was widely held among the -public who loved him not, and even among brother artists who should have -known better, that his painting revealed the lack of pains and labour. -Nothing really could have been more unjust or more untrue. I have often -sat in his studio while he was at work, and found ample reason to be -convinced that not a touch was ever set upon the canvas that was not -finely considered and fastidiously chosen. - -I think in himself he was hardly aware of the degree to which his -painting lent itself to an opposite impression. He was so keenly -concentrated upon the kind of truth he sought to render that he was half -unconscious that the form in which he chose to present it was strange -and repugnant to the taste of the time; but although genuinely modest in -the presence of his task, he was often almost arrogant in his assertion -of the excellence of the result when the task was ended. The picture -once completed and set in its frame, Whistler became from that moment an -ardent champion of his own genius. - -Combat was the delight of his life, and there was no violence of -assertion he did not love to employ if he thought that by no other means -could he encourage an opponent into the dangerous arena of controversy. - -As a matter of fact, I do not think he was ever quite happy unless one -of these pretty little quarrels was on hand, and whenever he suspected -that any particular dispute in which he was engaged showed signs of -waning, he would, I think out of pure devilment, cast about to lay the -foundations of a new quarrel. - -Something of the kind occurred in my own case. At his own earnest -suggestion, while I was the English editor of _L’Art_, I invited him, -with the concurrence of the proprietors in Paris, to furnish an etching -for publication. Knowing well the amiable idiosyncrasies of my dear -friend, I was very insistent that he should set down precisely and in -writing all the terms and conditions which he thought it right to -impose, and yet, when this had been done and the etching had been given -to the world, with almost impish ingenuity he thought he had detected -some breach in our contract, and wrote me thereupon a little letter of -reproach which I saw plainly, when I received it, was destined for -ultimate publication as the preface to a controversy into which he -thought he could lure me. - -But for once he made an unfortunate choice of a foe. “Not with me, my -dear Jimmy,” I replied to him. “No one enjoys more keenly your essays as -a controversialist, or more deeply appreciates the wit and ingenuity -which they display, but not with me.” I think that he must have -perceived that I had detected his amiable design, for when he came to -see me after the receipt of my letter it was in a spirit of the most -boisterous good-humour that he reproached me with having despoiled him -of a promised affray. - -The fact that he was in many quarters unpopular he realised with a sense -of conscious enjoyment. On one occasion I had been put up as a candidate -for a club of which he was already a member, and on meeting him at an -evening party he said, “My dear Joe, why didn’t you tell me? I would -have put my name down on your page,” to which I replied in something of -his own spirit--knowing that I had already been elected, a fact of which -he was unaware--“Well, my dear Jimmy, put it down now, it can do no harm -now”--a delicate tribute to that unpopularity to which I have referred, -which he received with riotous laughter. - -One of the latest of the contests in which Whistler loved to involve -himself found him pitted against an opponent who was almost his match in -ingenuity, and far outstripped him in the unscrupulous use of any weapon -that came ready to his hand. - -This was Charles Howell, a strange creature whom I had first met at one -of Rossetti’s delightful little dinners, and who was at the time -welcomed as a companion by all the artists of that special group. -Endowed with real taste in all matters of Art, he for a while served as -secretary to Mr. Ruskin, and in that capacity was able to ingratiate -himself with many of the artists of whose work Ruskin was then the -champion. - -I met him often at Whistler’s house in Cheyne Walk, where I think he was -as much appreciated for the more questionable qualities of his character -as for his quick admiration of Whistler’s genius. - -The attitude of one to the other was always amusing to watch, for it was -obvious that both were on their guard: Howell half conscious that even -in his most plausible mood he lay open to the suspicion of a sinister -intention, and Whistler, whilst not unaware of the subtlety and skill of -his companion, rather encouraging the initiation of a contest in which -he never doubted the sufficiency of his own resources. - -There are numerous stories of Howell well known to the men with whom he -was at that time brought in contact that need not now be revived. What -is certainly true, as against any defects that may be alleged against -him, is that in conversation he was interesting and attractive, watchful -of the effect on his companion of every word that he uttered, and yet so -quick in apparent sympathy that it was impossible to ignore the charm of -his personality. - -What was the end of the particular controversy to which I have referred -I do not now rightly remember, but I seem to recall that when Whistler -last spoke to me upon the subject he was in some apprehension lest his -wily friend should have stolen a march upon him. - -During the last years of his life Whistler passed but little time in -England, and I think the resentment, not unnaturally aroused at the -treatment his work had received at an earlier time, had quickened into -something approaching absolute dislike towards this country. The last -time I saw him was at a small dinner-party at my sister-in-law’s house -in Paris, where his reputation as a painter was firmly and finally -established. Whatever his altered feelings towards England, it had made -no change in his relations with his old friends, and on that evening it -seemed to me he had in him all the old spirit of gaiety and wit as I had -first known it in the earlier days of Cheyne Walk. - -In temperament and character, as well as in the chosen ideal of his art, -he holds a distinctive place in his generation. In spite of his -undisguised desire to make enemies, the singular charm of his nature -brought him many friends, and I think there is not one who knew him -well who does not cherish his memory with something approaching to -affection. - -Cecil Lawson, whose work was also prominently brought to the notice of -the public through the earlier exhibitions at the Grosvenor, was a man -of a wholly different stamp. For several years before the hour of his -triumph he had not been very well treated by the Hanging Committee of -the Academy. It was about this time that, by his request, I had been to -visit him at his little studio in Chelsea to see one of his pictures, -which he particularly thought had been unjustly treated; and his delight -was frankly avowed when a little later I took Sir Coutts Lindsay, who -invited him to become an exhibitor at the Grosvenor. - -The private view of that year and the next left Cecil Lawson in a state -of unconcealed exaltation of spirit. The “Pastoral” and the “Minister’s -Garden” set him, at a bound, in the front rank of the painters of his -time, and I shall not easily forget the sense of almost intoxication -with which he wandered from room to room receiving on every side the -meed of well-earned praise which only a year or two before seemed to lie -for ever beyond his reach. - -The occasion was celebrated by a little dinner given by Lawson in the -old garden of his studio in Glebe Place. Whistler was of the party, and -it is pleasant to remember with what genuine cordiality he rejoiced in -Lawson’s success. - -I saw him very often after that time, for he was, I think, disposed to -exaggerate the small share I had taken in making his work better known; -and he was always anxious for my criticism or approval on new work he -had in hand. But I never left his studio without some feeling of -melancholy apprehension, for it seemed to me always that his overwrought -and highly-strung nervous temperament gave no fair promise of long life. - -On one of the last of our meetings he had specially invited my visit, as -he particularly wanted my judgment upon a picture just completed. It -happened when I reached his studio that it did not so strongly appeal to -me as other examples of his work, and yet I did not then quite -understand the sudden look of pain that passed over his face when my -opinion was expressed. It was only afterwards that I received from him a -touching little letter telling me that he saw plainly I did not greatly -care for the picture, and that he was disappointed, because he had -intended to offer it to me as an acknowledgment of my friendship. - -“I hope later,” he said, “to do something that will really please you.” -But the time left to him was shorter than either of us could have -guessed, and within only a little while his career was ended. He was a -very lovable man, full of high ambition, and inspired in the happier -moments of his life with a just confidence in his great powers. But -these more buoyant moods alternated with seasons of great depression, -and in this respect his temperament showed a marked resemblance to that -of Fred Walker. - -His spirit fed upon itself, and his hunger for success, linked with a -still nobler desire to realise the many dreams of beauty that thronged -his brain, left him with but little leisure for repose. I think the -eager intensity of his nature was sometimes a terror to himself, and -although the end came more swiftly than I had divined, it was scarcely -wonderful that the constant excitability of his temperament should have -prematurely worn down a physique that never was robust. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -ART JOURNALISM - - -My connection with the Grosvenor Gallery was due, in the first instance, -to a series of articles upon the reform of the Royal Academy published -by me in the columns of the _Pall Mall Gazette_. These papers had -attracted the attention of Sir Charles Dilke, who based upon them a -motion brought forward in the House of Commons, which, however, had no -practical result. - -They had also been seen by Sir Coutts Lindsay and Mr. Hallé, and these -gentlemen invited me to associate myself with them in the future conduct -of the Grosvenor. This new vocation, however, in no way interrupted my -career as an Art Critic. Already established on the _Pall Mall Gazette_, -I began at the same time to widen the range of my writings on the -subject of art, and in this way, at the invitation of Mr. Samuel Carter -Hall, became a regular contributor to the _Art Journal_. At the same -time I was offered and accepted the post of Art Critic on the -_Manchester Guardian_, and in the year 1875 I was appointed as the -English editor of _L’Art_, a periodical so luxuriously produced that it -could not be destined ever to win a very large public. - -Mr. S. C. Hall was a quaint and curious figure of the time, whose -acquaintance never ceased to afford me a certain humorous enjoyment. He -was supposed to be the model upon which Dickens has based his superb -creation of Mr. Pecksniff, and there were points in his character which -readily lent themselves for exploitation at the hands of such a master -of humour. - -For a time our relations on the _Art Journal_ were friendly and -undisturbed, and Mr. Hall was good enough to express in unstinted terms -his appreciation of my work. But it was impossible, even at that time, -in personal converse with the man, not to be haunted by the suspicion -that his constant assertion of the most ideal aims in life were -consistent with an occasional reference to more mundane considerations. - -Both he and Mrs. Hall must have sometimes laid themselves open to the -charge of taking themselves too seriously, for I remember Edmund Yates -telling me that he had once asked Charles Dickens whether he thought -they were ever conscious of playing a part, to which Dickens had -replied, “I think once a year they exchange a wink, possibly on Carter’s -birthday.” - -Purnell used to relate an anecdote of the gravity of their -entertainments having once been broken up by an unintentional flash of -humour on the part of Mrs. Hall herself. At one end of the dinner-table -Mr. Hall, in his most solemn tones, was announcing to the company his -unswerving faith in a future life, and in conclusion expressed the hope -that in that other and happier world he should rejoin his dear wife; -upon which Mrs. Hall, from her place at the end of the board, -interjected, in strong Irish accents, the somewhat disconcerting answer, -“No, Carter; I shall go to Jesus.” - -Mr. Hall’s appearance, with his wealth of white hair and dark eyebrows, -seemed to give a certain stamp of authority to the unctuous platitudes -in which he was wont to indulge. He used constantly to say to me, “My -object, my dear sir, is to do as much good in the world as I can,” and -in such utterances as this there was never, I am sure, even the lurking -suspicion on his part that he was exposing himself to the shafts of -ridicule. - -I remember one evening the subject of spiritualism was under discussion, -and Mr. Hall was avowing his confident faith in the reality of messages -from another world to which he confessed that he himself in his writing -was particularly indebted. - -“On these occasions,” he said, “when I have written something which I -have deemed to be particularly inspired, I have often turned round to -the spirit whom I knew to be at my side, and have said with fervid -gratitude, ‘Thank you, my dear sir; thank you.’” - -It was only upon longer acquaintance I discovered that the air of -venerable piety, which never deserted him in social intercourse, was -consistent with a very shrewd appreciation of commercial success. Little -by little I found the sanctity of his manner sometimes giving way to -very pointed suggestions that the mercantile interest of the Journal -must not be wholly sacrificed to my independent views upon Art. - -At first these suggestions were only tentatively put forward, and always -with an elaborate deference to my better judgment as a critic, but day -by day they became more encroaching, until at last the conviction was -forced upon me that the columns under my charge were intended to serve -as a useful support to the advertisement department of the Journal. -After a while these constant interferences became so galling and -exasperating to me that I determined to break our connection, and in a -letter, which I strove to make polite but which I intended to be deeply -sarcastic, I ventured to hint that as the criticism I was called upon to -write was now required to take so entirely the colour of an -advertisement, I thought it would be better that it should pass directly -into the hands of the manager of the advertisement department. - -I confess I thought my letter would provoke an explosion of indignant -protest, but in this I was sadly disappointed; for all response I got -only a honeyed little note of acknowledgment, which, as far as I can -remember, ran in these terms:--“I hasten to acknowledge with many thanks -your courteous letter. So much I feel compelled to say, more than this I -will not say.” - -The old gentleman’s unflinching urbanity had stood him in good stead, -and even Whistler himself, had he been confronted with such a letter, -could hardly have found the means to continue the controversy. - -While I was still associated with the _Art Journal_ I had become also a -contributor to the _Portfolio_, then under the editorship of Mr. Philip -Hamerton, who is best known to the world by his book upon Etching, and -his studies of that part of rural France in which he usually resided. -And a little later I also wrote upon Art matters in the columns of the -_Academy_. - -These several engagements, combined with the work that I had to do for -the _Manchester Guardian_, made the annual occasions of the opening of -the Spring Exhibitions a specially busy time for me. - -I remember one Sunday morning in May, when I had sat up very far into -the night completing my opening article for the _Guardian_, my servant -awakened me with the intelligence that a young gentleman was in the -drawing-room waiting to see me. He did not give his name, as he told her -that it would be unknown to me; but he had arrived only the previous -evening, as he said, from New York, and was the bearer of several -messages from friends there which he was anxious to deliver before his -departure for the Continent later in the day. - -On the night before he had sailed, he said--and this was his excuse for -intruding upon me,--he had supped with some of the artists best known on -the other side, and amongst them he specially introduced the names of -Frank Millet and Edwin Abbey, who, as he said, had drawn from him the -promise that he would on no account quit London without having shaken me -by the hand. - -He was so graceful in his apologies for this early intrusion that my -first irritation was quickly allayed, and the warm reference to myself, -of which he assured me he was the bearer, must, I suppose, have touched -my vanity, for I at once invited him to be my guest at dinner that -evening that we might talk more at leisure and at length of the -fortunes of our common friends on the other side. - -This, alas, he explained, was impossible. - -Was there nothing, then, I could do for him? Nothing! And then with -renewed apologies he rose to go; but at the door he turned as though a -sudden thought had come into his mind. Yes, he had just remembered! -There was a trifling service I could render him, and then, before he -mentioned its nature, he again ran over the names of “the boys,” as he -described them, with whom he had parted on the eve of sailing. Perfect -artist as he had proved himself to be, he blundered at the last; for to -the list, as he now recounted it, he added the name of Alfred Parsons, -who had indeed been in America, but who had long ago returned, and whom -it chanced I had seen at the Arts Club the day before. - -All unconscious, however, that this mistake had aroused my suspicions, -he proceeded to describe what he termed the ludicrous position in which -he found himself. He was about to start on a tour round the world, but -by some absurd mistake the remittances from his home in Western America -had gone one way, while he had gone the other. And this petty -contretemps he aptly illustrated in pantomime by indicating the course -of his remittances with his right hand and his own journey with his -left, crossing them on his breast as though to suggest the passing of -ships in the night. And then finally, in the lightest and airiest of -tones, came the announcement of a modest request that I should cash him -a cheque for £50. - -Affecting to ignore the financial aspect which our brief acquaintance -had suddenly assumed, I carelessly let fall the remark that I had seen -Mr. Alfred Parsons yesterday at the Arts Club, to which I added the -suggestion that he might deem it convenient under the circumstances to -quit the house. - -His bright candid eyes met mine for an instant, and then, as though by a -flash of lightning, he was down the stairs and in the street. - -I think it must have been this same young gentleman who only a year or -two later visited Irving at the Lyceum Theatre during the rehearsal of -one of his plays. In that case he represented himself as the nephew of -Mr. Child, a friend of Irving’s who had recently set up a monument at -Stratford-on-Avon; but in substance the story was the same. There also -he sought nothing but the pleasure of shaking Irving by the hand, and it -was only at the moment of parting that he asked for a letter of -introduction to the Mayor of Stratford, that he might not appear quite a -stranger in the town whither he was bound in order to inspect his -uncle’s gift. - -But in this case he was more successful, for that coveted £50, which my -niggard spirit had denied him, he managed, upon the strength of Irving’s -letter, to extract from Stratford’s Mayor. From him he received another -letter of introduction to Mr. Chamberlain, but here, as I am glad to -think, with no damaging financial result. It is only fair to add, as a -finish to this brief and interesting episode of an enterprising -adventurer, that Mr. Child, indignant of the use that had been made of -his name, afterwards insisted upon repaying the amount that had been -nefariously borrowed. - -My work for the _Manchester Guardian_ sometimes took me far afield, and -in the year 1882, when the city of Manchester was contemplating a -reconstitution of its permanent Art Gallery, I went, at their request, -on a tour of inspection of the museums and schools of France. These -articles were afterwards gathered into a little volume, which was -subsequently translated into French and published in Paris, under the -title of _L’Art en Province_. - -I started in the earlier days of July, and the trains between London and -Paris were already thronged with tourists on their way to Switzerland, -and I remember that my journey was brightened at this earlier stage by -an incident, illustrating, in an amusing way, certain characteristics of -the Scottish nature. - -Two youthful representatives of the race were seated in a compartment of -a corridor carriage adjoining my own, and in the compartment beyond them -were three or four young ladies travelling alone. - -We had not gone very far from Calais, perhaps some twenty miles or more, -when the train was brought to a sudden stop, and looking out of the -window I saw several officials of the railway running up and down the -permanent way in evident surprise and alarm. - -Suddenly their attention was concentrated upon the Scotsmen’s -compartment, where the indicator thrust out from the side of the -carriage betokened that the alarm-bell had been sounded by them. A -swift altercation, the purport of which I scarcely gathered, ended in -the peremptory demand on the part of the officials for the surrender of -the travellers’ tickets, combined with a menacing intimation that the -matter would be further investigated on our arrival at Amiens. - -At Amiens it seemed as though all the staff of the Nord were gathered -upon the platform, and the force of this official affray was -concentrated upon the compartment occupied by the two sturdy travellers -from the North. With scant ceremony these gentlemen were commanded to -descend from the carriage amid a fierce war of words, in which I fancy -neither party had the smallest understanding of what was uttered by the -other. - -Alighting from my own compartment, I caught, rising above the angry -objurgations of the French officials, the repeated assurances of the -Scotsmen that they admitted their fault, and were eager to apologise for -its consequences. - -“I admit that I did it,” said the elder of the two, with a broad Scotch -accent, “and I am sorry.” - -But this reiterated expression of guilt and regret only seemed to -incense the Frenchmen the more, until, in his despair, the Scotsman -turned to me and in tones of almost pitiful entreaty inquired if I could -speak a little French. On my replying in the affirmative, he supplied me -with an explanation of his conduct, which he begged me to translate for -the benefit of the _chef de gare_. - -“Will you tell them,” he replied, “that we admit we did it, and are -sorry, but it occurred in this way? On entering the compartment my -friend and I observed that there were two small windows connected with -the adjoining carriage, where, as we happened to know, a party of ladies -were seated, and more for their sake than ours,” he continued, “and with -a view to securing the privacy which we knew they would desire, my -friend and I thought that we would pull down the blinds over these -windows, and so leave the ladies in the full assurance that they were -unobserved. But when I pulled the ring in the small window nearest to me -the blind did not come down, and then my friend tried, with the same -result, and then I said, ‘Maybe if we both pull together it will be -better.’ And so we both pulled together, and yet the blind did not come -down, but the train stopped, and we are sorry.” - -These poor gentlemen had been totally unaware that the rings at which -they had been tugging so vigorously were attached to no blinds, but -directly communicated with the guard of the train. They were, in fact, -the alarm-signals which had brought us to so sudden a halt outside -Calais. - -This was the story which he implored me to relate to the _chef de gare_ -and his assembled subordinates, and I shall not easily forget the -mingled incredulity and amusement with which my narrative was received. - -Thinking to heighten its effect in still further excuse for what had -happened, I explained to the official that in Scotland, especially in -the North, women preserved a seclusion which was almost Oriental, and I -then detailed, word for word, the defence of their conduct as the -Scotsman had confided it to me, and when I came to that part of the -narrative upon which he had particularly insisted, that it was more for -the ladies’ sake than their own that they had endeavoured to secure -complete privacy between the two compartments, the Gallic merriment, -breaking through all official reserve, knew no bounds. - -“Mais, monsieur, ce n’est pas possible? Ce n’est pas vrai?” - -“Monsieur, parole d’honneur, c’est bien vrai.” - -And at last, official indignation appeased by what appeared to them to -be the irresistible humour of the situation, the _chef de gare_ turned -to the unfortunate malefactors and said, “Eh bien, messieurs, montez -donc, montez donc,” and turning to the guard of the train added, “Rendez -les billets a ces messieurs,” and so, amid a ripple of laughter that ran -down the platform, the incident closed, and the train proceeded on its -way. But within little less than an hour afterwards, when I, in my -lonely compartment, had sunk into a comfortable sleep, I felt a touch -upon my shoulder, and opening my eyes saw the Scotsman bending above me. - -I feared some new trouble, and inquired if there was anything more I -could do. - -“Nothing,” replied he; “but my friend and I feel we are deeply indebted -to you.” - -Politely I assured him that the little service I had been able to render -him might count for nothing. - -“Ay,” he answered, “but we’re very conscious it counts for a good deal, -for we have been thinking it over, and we very well perceive that it -might have cost us as much as ten pounds,” and so with renewed thanks he -left me. - -Reaching Paris, I gave my bag to a porter, and was hurrying along the -platform when I heard the pattering of feet in swift pursuit. I turned, -and there was my Scotsman again. - -“See here,” he cried, “I had meant to ask you, but forgot. Will you tell -me, where did you learn your French?” - -It had suddenly dawned upon him, after the painful crisis he had gone -through, that there were junctures in life in which the use of a foreign -tongue might be of practical service; and I have no doubt, with the -indomitable persistence which forms part of the national character, he -is even now in some Northern home struggling with the difficulties of -the French language. - -Yet, apart from the merest smattering obtained at school, my later -acquaintance with the tongue came about in a curious way. In 1870 I made -the acquaintance of a Monsieur Gauthiot, a dear friend of many years, -who had just then, by reason of the bitter spirit aroused by the -Franco-German War, been driven from Berlin, where he had occupied the -post of Professor of French Literature. For a while he took refuge in -London, whence be contributed occasional articles to the _Débâts_. And -here it was, when we came to know one another, that we agreed to dine -together twice a week, so that on one evening we should talk English, -and on the other that he should instruct me in French. - -Our meetings used to take place at the Café Royal in Regent Street, then -a sufficiently humble restaurant chiefly patronised by foreigners. In -cost assuredly, and perhaps in excellence of cuisine, the Café Royal of -that day was far removed from the stately establishment which has since -won so wide a popularity. - -But they were pleasant evenings which Gauthiot and I passed there -together, sometimes, when our mutual instruction was over, ending in a -friendly bout of dominoes, and indeed, if his natural preference for -French cooking had not led us there, it is hard to say where else in -London we could have found a congenial place of meeting. - -Restaurants in those days were few--Verrey’s, which survives, Simpson’s -in the Strand, and the old Mitre Tavern by Temple Bar, were the only -houses of note that I can recall. A year or two later an attempt was -made to do something on more sumptuous lines by the establishment of the -Pall Mall Restaurant on the island site adjoining Trafalgar Square, but -it failed for lack of patronage, for the days when dining out was to -become fashionable had not arrived. - -In 1883, when Messrs. Macmillan contemplated the establishment of the -_English Illustrated Magazine_, they invited me to become its editor, -and the three years during which I conducted this publication -constituted my last important association with Art Journalism. - -It was our purpose to compete in quality of illustration with the -established periodicals of the United States, the excellence of whose -woodcuts was attracting deserved attention in England, and I am glad to -think that in these earlier years of the Magazine’s life, enough was -accomplished both in Literature and Art to prove that the project -might, under happier conditions, have been carried to a successful -issue. But, owing to influences which lay beyond our power to control, -it chanced that the experiment was undertaken at an unfortunate hour. - -The art of the wood-engraver was already suffering through competition -with those mechanical processes of reproduction by which it is now -almost entirely destroyed. And it soon became evident that the more -careful work we were trying to present could not compete in popular -acceptance with those rougher and readier methods which, by reason of -their greater economy, were already widely employed. And yet it must -always be, I think, a matter for regret that this beautiful art of the -wood-engraver should be doomed to annihilation. I have tried to show in -a separate chapter how great a part it played in that renaissance of Art -in England which is associated with the pre-Raphaelite movement, and I -am proud to think that some of the best of its later examples found -their way into the _English Illustrated Magazine_ during the period of -my editorship. - -On the literary side the Magazine could boast, during those earlier -years, of contributions from men already famous, or who have since won -their way to fame. Among the poets, Meredith and Swinburne were repeated -contributors to its pages; and from a throng of distinguished writers in -various fields I may cite the names of Professor Huxley, Henry James, -Marion Crawford, Bret Harte, Lawrence Oliphant, Stanley Weyman, Theodore -Watts-Dunton, and Richard Jefferies. - -It was during the progress, through the pages of the Magazine, of his -captivating story, _The House of the Wolf_, that Weyman asked my -judgment on a little play he had written, and I wrote him in response a -long letter pointing out what I thought to be its defects, and setting -forth the reasons why, as I believed, it could scarcely, as it stood, be -expected to achieve a success on the stage. - -Mr. Weyman was at that time only on the threshold of his reputation as a -novelist, and I remember that my sister--who was reading for me some of -the many proffered contributions to the Magazine--most strongly urged me -very carefully to consider the claims of _The House of the Wolf_. - -A swift perusal of the story left me in no doubt as to its merits, and -its warm acceptance at the hands of the readers of the Magazine amply -confirmed my judgment; and yet it is strange, as illustrating how widely -divergent opinions may be on matters of taste, that the story, on -nearing its conclusion, was submitted to the publishers’ reader, with -the idea of its being issued by them in book form, and that his -unfavourable judgment left Messrs. Macmillan with no alternative but to -decline the volume. - -Needless to say, it was quickly accepted on my recommendation in another -quarter, but by the break in our association which this incident -occasioned, it chanced that I saw little of Mr. Weyman for some years to -come. It was only when I had terminated my connection with the Magazine, -and when I was occupied in the management of the Comedy Theatre, that a -play was submitted to me by the foremost literary agent of the time, who -said that he would not disclose the author’s name until its claims had -been considered, but that he might mention that he was one of the most -popular novelists of the day. - -I was quite unconscious that I had seen the play before, and with this -strong recommendation I gave it the most careful attention, and wrote to -the agent a long letter setting forth what I considered to be its -defects from the point of view of the stage. As I felt bound to decline -the play, I did not feel justified in making further inquiry as to its -authorship, and it was not until long afterwards that I had a visit from -Mr. Weyman, who produced from his pocket two letters which, he said, he -thought I should be interested to see. They were my own two letters, -written at widely different dates, upon this very play, and it was -certainly, as he pointed out, a curious testimony to the constancy of my -judgment that they absolutely agreed in opinion, and were in some -instances almost identical in phrase. - -Strange and amusing experiences sometimes come to editors, especially to -an editor of an illustrated magazine. I remember that Mr. Walter Crane -had designed some very beautiful decorative work enshrining some poems -of his own, and in several of the pages nude figures had been -introduced, but treated in so ideal and imaginative a spirit that it -seemed impossible they could provoke a protest even from an early -Puritan; and yet immediately after their publication I received a letter -of passionate rebuke from a reader of the Magazine dwelling in the -suburbs, who with scathing criticism, obviously inspired by the loftiest -moral indignation, recommended me, if I wished to study my own vile -form, to look in the glass, and not, by giving such indecent pictures -to the world, to pollute the purity of the reader’s home. - -The letter, I think, was dated from the Old Kent Road, and the only -pleasure I could draw from it rested on the fact that my Magazine was -entertained in so unsuspected a quarter. - -But it was not only from the humble homes of virtue that such criticism -proceeded. While Hugh Conway’s story, _The Family Affair_, was running -through the pages of the _English Illustrated_, I one day received a -letter from the wife of an eminent judge, who told me that she could no -longer permit the Magazine to lie upon her table, where it might at any -time be read by her unmarried daughters. - -It had been part of the author’s scheme that, during the initial stages -of the story, some doubt should remain in the reader’s mind as to the -legitimacy of a foundling child whom the heroine had taken under her -care, and it was this suspended uncertainty which had so sorely troubled -the soul of the judge’s wife. - -She felt confident, as she was good enough to assure me, that the doubt -would be cleared up in the end, and that the cause of morality and -decorum would be ultimately vindicated, but she found it nevertheless -intolerable that the innocent minds of her daughters should be haunted, -even for a season, by so questionable a problem. - -I never realised till I occupied the editorial chair how many people -there are whose insanity takes a Shakespearian form. There was, I think, -never a week passed without the reception of one or more articles -intended to elucidate the authorship of the plays; and although the -readers were by no means in entire agreement in ascribing them to Bacon, -they were absolutely unanimous in the belief that the claims of -Shakespeare were wholly and ludicrously inadmissible. - -It is pleasant, however, to reflect that an editor’s duties yield many -happier experiences, and bring him into contact with men and women whom -otherwise it might not be his good fortune to know. It was in this way -that I made the acquaintance of poor Richard Jefferies, whose delightful -articles, under the heading of “The Game-keeper at Home,” had been -already published in the _Pall Mall Gazette_. Jefferies’s appearance, -even at our first meeting, gave me the unhappy impression that he was -not destined for a long life. But despite his nervous temperament that -was evidently in a large measure dependent upon the frailty of his -physical constitution, he was a man of great simplicity and charm of -manner. - -The love that he had for the things of outward nature was clearly a -passionate possession that absorbed his life. Of the teeming life of the -country, from the waving ears of corn down to the minutest flower or the -smallest insect that inhabited the shadowed world at their feet, he was -a loving and constant observer whose eyes never wearied in their task. -With Jefferies the enjoyment begotten of this watchful brooding over the -things of the country was, I think, all-sufficing. He seemed never -desirous to link it in association with any more directly human impulse -or emotion, and in this way his writings, as it seems to me, make a -separate claim, distinct from that of any other author, whether in -poetry or in prose, who have confessed a like passion for the beauty of -the outward world. - -I was fortunate in securing several very beautiful contributions from -his pen, some of which gained an added interest from the delightful -illustrations of Mr. Alfred Parsons, who found himself in full sympathy -with Jefferies’s purposes and design. At a later date Jefferies was -associated in the same way with my friend Mr. North, whose delicate -drawings showed a quick sympathy with the mood of the writer; and I know -that Jefferies highly appreciated the gentle hospitality which Mr. North -afforded him in the later days of his declining health. - -Another figure which comes back to me among the vivid memories of those -editorial days is that of Mr. Lawrence Oliphant--surely one of the -strangest, most gifted, and fascinating characters of the time in which -his chequered career was passed. No one who met Oliphant could be -insensible to his charms, and yet, as one sat in the man’s presence, it -was always with a feeling of wonder and amazement at the many -vicissitudes of his life. - -I knew him personally only towards the close of his career, when he -offered to me for publication a series of articles on “The Lake of -Tiberias,” which were to be illustrated by his wife. This was during one -of his brief visits to England from the Holy Land, where he had made his -home, and he would sometimes lunch with me at the Garrick Club, holding -me enthralled, while the passing hours sped by unnoticed, as he unfolded -his views of life, drawn from the deep fund of a rich experience won in -many changing occupations. - -Brilliant and witty, earnest and often eloquent in his most serious -moods, there was scarcely more than a hint in his conversation of those -shifting impulses, now so passionately held and again so swiftly -abandoned, that had made of his career something of a wonder to the -world. Unhappily the task which he and his wife had jointly undertaken -for the Magazine, led to her untimely death, from sudden fever, upon the -very shores of the lake where she was engaged upon the illustrations for -his article. - -One of the things which gave me most pleasure in my record as an editor -was the encouragement that I was enabled to afford to that gifted young -draughtsman Hugh Thomson, on the threshold of his career. - -I remember very well the day he first entered my office. He was wholly -unknown to me, and without any introduction save that which he presented -himself in the form of a number of drawings enclosed in a portfolio that -he bore in his hand. With the face of a mere boy, and most emphatically -an Irish boy, it seemed to me, as I looked at him, scarcely possible -that the drawings that he showed me were from his own hand. - -They comprised, I remember, a series of illustrations to _Vanity Fair_, -and despite the confessed immaturity of their execution, they exhibited, -as I thought, such fineness of perception, and such an intuitive sense -of humour, that I was at once anxious to learn from him what he had -already published. - -His reply, perhaps made with a little reluctance, was that he had -published nothing, and again the suspicion recurred to me that this -nervous youth, who stood in such evident anxiety before me, must somehow -have become possessed of these drawings which he was trying to palm off -as his own. He was, as I found on questioning him, engaged in making -drawings for trade advertisements in the firm of Maclure, Macdonald and -Macgregor, confessedly not a very promising experience upon which to -base his claim to be engaged on the staff of an established magazine. - -And yet, as I looked first at him and then at the drawings he had -submitted to me, I felt I could not let him go without a trial, and, -still in my doubtful mood, I suggested to him that he should execute a -drawing, the subject of which was to be chosen by me, and that I would -give him a fortnight to see what he could make of it. - -Almost at hazard I asked him to make a drawing illustrating the social -life of Pall Mall during the later days of the eighteenth century, and -the quick look of pleasure with which he accepted the task at once drove -from my mind any remnant of suspicion with which I had at first received -him. Within a fortnight he returned with a very remarkable essay for a -youth, and I afterwards published it in the pages of the Magazine. - -From that day he became a constant contributor to its pages, and when -the series of drawings illustrating Sir Roger de Coverley were -ultimately gathered into book form, he at once made his mark with all -who were competent to judge. - -[Illustration: - -_Hollyer_ - -JAMES MARTINEAU - -From the painting by G. F. WATTS, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery. - -_To face page 167._ -] - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -ORATORS - - -From a very early time the art of oratory attracted me strongly. I -remember, as a boy, my father reading to us the full report in the -_Times_ of Edwin James’s defence of Orsini; and in later days, during my -apprenticeship in the city, I began from time to time to attend debates -in the House of Commons. - -It was at about the same time that my friend Alan Skinner and I used to -find ourselves Sunday after Sunday in the little chapel in Great -Portland Street listening to the great Unitarian preacher, James -Martineau. - -Though not a constant church-goer, I had the opportunity of hearing most -of the foremost pulpit orators of that day, including men as opposite in -their styles as Spurgeon, Canon Liddon, and Dean Stanley. Liddon’s voice -was a great possession, but his eloquence was not of a kind that -specially attracted me; and Dean Stanley, though his preaching was -impressive, scarcely ranked as an orator. On the other hand, Spurgeon’s -unquestioned power over his audience constantly puzzled me. I was drawn -again and again to his great tabernacle simply from the desire to -discover, if I could, the secret of his authority; to understand if it -were possible the means by which he contrived to sway the vast crowds -that gathered to hear him. But I remained to the end baffled in my -inquiries and, as regards my own personal impressions, entirely -unconvinced by the exercise of a gift that for the multitude possessed -an obvious fascination. It may be said, of course, that his appeal was -intended to be merely popular, but I found in the case of other speakers -who owned no loftier mission that it has been impossible not to realise -in some degree the source of their influence. From Spurgeon’s preaching -I derived no such satisfaction; the impression left upon me never passed -beyond cold disappointment. - -With Martineau the case was wholly different. To my feeling, he easily -distanced all his contemporaries in the pulpit, and the impression left -upon me to-day is, that he and John Bright stand out as the two greatest -speakers of their generation. - -Though widely divergent in manner, they both possessed an unequalled -power of impressing an audience with the sense of ethical fervour and -elevation of spirit. - -There was no sentence of Martineau’s sermons that was not carefully -balanced and considered, and yet even the most complex passages of -philosophic thought were illumined and sustained by the sense of a -passionate love for the truth he was seeking to expound. In every -sentence the white light of reason was shot with fire; and although I -think his sermons were always prepared and written, they had the effect, -as he delivered them, of springing directly from the heart of the man. -He seemed less of a - -[Illustration: - -_Emery Walker_ - -JOHN BRIGHT - -From the painting by WALTER WILLIAM OULESS, R.A., in the National -Portrait Gallery. - -_To face page 169._ -] - -preacher than a seer; and although he never strove for rhetorical -display, even the most logical exposition as it fell from his lips was -charged with some thing of poetic impulse and inspiration. - -And in his case eloquence was enforced by a noble presence. The -beautiful portrait by Mr. Watts recalls, without exaggeration of -dignity, the man himself as he stood there in the dimly lit chapel in -Great Portland Street; and in gazing again at those chiselled features -that seemed moulded by Nature to serve the speaker’s purpose, I can -almost hear again the tones of that deep sonorous voice which, in its -grave and impassioned utterances, stamped every separate word with -something of the high fervour that so manifestly inspired the preacher. - -It was, I think, in virtue of this same quality of spiritual elevation -that the oratory of John Bright stood beyond the reach of rivalry. -Bright never attempted the complexity of thought that distinguished so -many of Martineau’s essays in the pulpit. He laid no claim to the -philosophical spirit as it was understood by Martineau, but he -possessed, even in a greater degree, the power of lifting every topic he -discussed into a higher spiritual atmosphere than any other speaker of -his time could command. And yet this unsurpassed power which he wielded -over an audience was secured by the simplest means, and often in the -simplest language. - -In choice of the fitting word Bright was almost faultless. The great -English poets, as we know, he had deeply studied, and, indeed, no one -who was not sensitive to the finer moods of poetic feeling could have -forged such exquisite prose. - -I remember my old schoolmaster, Dr. Hill, had been present at the public -breakfast given to William Lloyd Garrison in the year 1867, in -recognition of his efforts for the abolition of slavery. He told me -there was a point in the speech where, after gathering in Miltonic -catalogue the names of the many distinguished men who had been -associated with the movement, Bright turned to his audience with the -added sentence, “and of noble women not a few.” And Dr. Hill said that -these simple words stirred his hearers to a feeling of deepest emotion, -so magical had been the effect of Bright’s superb voice as it passed, in -brief tribute of homage, from one name to another. - -This is an illustration, of which many more can be quoted, of how -impossible it is in the case of an orator so great as Bright to realise -that astounding influence from any mere printed record of his speeches. - -I myself was present and heard the great oration he delivered at St. -James’s Hall, in 1866, on the subject of Reform. There had been some -turbulent episodes during the Reform agitation in London, and on one -occasion, when the right of meeting in the Park had been refused by the -Government, the railings had been thrown down by the crowd, who had -overborne the forces at the disposal of the authorities. - -In certain quarters John Bright had been accused of encouraging the -populace to such acts of violence, and in the speech to which I refer -there was a passage in which he indignantly hurled back upon his enemies -this unworthy suggestion. - -“These opponents of ours,” he said, “many of them in Parliament openly, -and many of them secretly in the Press, have charged us with being the -promoters of a dangerous excitement. They say we are the source of the -danger which threatens; they have absolutely the effrontery to charge me -with being the friend of public disorder. I am one of the people. Surely -if there be one thing in a free country more dear than another, it is -that any one of the people may speak openly to the people. If I speak to -the people of their rights, and indicate to them the way to secure them, -if I speak of their danger and the monopolies of power, am I not a wise -counsellor, both to the people and to their rulers? Suppose I stood at -the foot of Vesuvius or Etna, and, seeing a hamlet or a homestead -planted on its slope, I said to the dwellers in that hamlet or in that -homestead, ‘You see that vapour which ascends from the summit of the -mountain? That vapour may become a dense black smoke that will obscure -the sky. You see that trickling of lava from the crevices or fissures in -the side of the mountain? That trickling lava may become a river of -fire. You hear that muttering in the bowels of the mountain? That -muttering may become a bellowing thunder, the voice of a violent -convulsion that may shake half a continent. You know that at your feet -is the grave of great cities for which there is no resurrection, as -history tells us; that dynasties and aristocracies have passed away and -their name has been known no more for ever.’ If I say this to the -dwellers upon the slope of the mountain, and if there comes hereafter a -catastrophe which makes the world to shudder, am I responsible for that -catastrophe? I did not build the mountain, or fill it with explosive -materials. I merely warned the men who were in danger.” - -As these words stand on the printed page it is not possible to gather -from them their extraordinary influence upon the packed masses of the -crowded hall. Throughout the whole passage his hearers were held as -though by magnetic influence; and as he passed from image to image of -the long metaphor he had adopted, there was a hushed stillness that was -almost oppressive. - -Never prodigal of gesture, his slightest movement became for that reason -the more significant and dramatic. The greater part of his speech had -been delivered with the tips of his fingers just touching the table -before him, content, for all accompaniment to the words he uttered, to -rely upon the swiftly changing expression of his leonine face, which -seemed to mirror in its noble dignity the very soul and spirit of the -man. - -But when he came to the words, “You hear that muttering in the bowels of -the mountain?” he raised his hand to his ear, and at the call of that -simple gesture it seemed to us who listened to him as though he had -summoned into the very hall itself the sound he had only suggested in -words. The effect was as though the building in which we sat was -actually threatened, and it was with a sense almost of relief that the -deafening cheers broke forth as he brought this noble vindication of his -own character to an end. - -It is said that Bright’s speeches were always very carefully prepared, -and that in particular his perorations were verbally committed to -memory. If this be so, it forms the very highest tribute to his -intuitive sense of the true functions of an orator, for there is not one -of all the many splendid conclusions of his speeches which might not, as -it was uttered, have been forged in the white heat of the moment. - -No preparation, whatever labour it may have involved, ever tempted him -to depart from that strict simplicity of language which formed his -crowning gift as a speaker. What, for instance, could be more instinct -with the mood of the moment, more directly inspired by the passionate -enthusiasm of the men he addressed, than that wonderful ending to his -speech in Glasgow delivered only two months before the address in St. -James’s Hall at which I was present. - -“If a class has failed,” he said, “let us try the nation. That is our -faith, that is our purpose, that is our cry: let us try the nation. This -it is which has called together this countless number of people who -demand a change, and as I think of it, and of these gatherings sublime -in their vastness and in their resolution, I think I see, as it were, -above the hill-tops of time, the glimmerings of the dawn of a better and -a nobler day for the country and for the people that I love so well.” - -However careful in his custom of preparation, there were certainly -occasions when Mr. Bright could speak with equal effect on the spur of -the moment. A splendid example of his power in this respect was afforded -at that same meeting at St. James’s Hall when, on the conclusion of Mr. -Bright’s address, some indiscreet remarks were offered by Mr. Ayrton, -which seemed to imply a reproach against the Queen for her indifference -towards the movement that was then in progress. - -Without a moment’s pause Mr. Bright rose in sudden indignation, and in a -few passionate sentences vindicated the character of his sovereign. - -“But Mr. Ayrton referred further,” he said, “to a supposed absorption of -the sympathies of the Queen with her late husband, to the exclusion of -sympathy for and with the people. I am not accustomed to stand up in -defence of those who are possessors of crowns, but I could not sit here -and hear that observation without a sense of wonder and of pain. I think -there has been, by many persons, a great injustice done to the Queen in -reference to her desolate and widowed position. And I venture to say -this: that a woman--be she the Queen of a great Realm, or be she the -wife of one of your labouring men--who can keep alive in her heart a -great sorrow for the lost object of her life and affection, is not at -all likely to be wanting in a great and generous sympathy with _you_.” - -Although the dominant quality of Mr. Bright’s oratory lay in the almost -biblical simplicity and gravity of the spirit which inspired it, there -were times when he could show a quick command of a lighter mood. - -I happened to be present in the House of Commons when he attacked with -admirable raillery Mr. Horsman and Mr. Lowe, who had retired into what -Mr. Bright described as their political Cave of Adullam. He kept the -House in a mood of continual amusement, which culminated at last in his -well-known reference to the Scotch terrier. - -Seizing upon the fact that Mr. Horsman’s party seemed at present to -consist of only two members, he added: “When a party is formed of two -men so amiable, so discreet, as the two right honourable gentlemen, we -may hope to see for the first time in Parliament a party perfectly -harmonious and distinguished by mutual and unbroken trust. But there is -one difficulty which it is impossible to remove. This party of two -reminds me of the Scotch terrier which was so covered with hair that you -could not tell which was the head and which was the tail of it.” - -Millais’s portrait of John Bright does less than justice to the dignity -of his face. It may be that the artist was confronted by his task at too -late a period in Bright’s life; certain it is that as I recall him in -the years 1866 and 1867 there were elements of beauty in the face, both -as regards colouring and expression, that are not to be found in the -later portrait. - -In this respect it compares unfavourably, I think, with the great -painter’s superb representation of Mr. Gladstone’s features. I heard Mr. -Gladstone many times in the House of Commons, but I must frankly own -that even in its highest moments his oratory never to my thinking came -to within even measurable distance with that of John Bright. - -In readiness of debate I suppose he had no superior on either side of -the House, but the complexity of his mind, with its ever-watchful care -to temper each direct and simple statement with what the speaker -conceived to be its necessary qualifications, was mirrored in the often -overburdened structure of his lengthened periods; and yet even in this -defect the unflagging energy and sustained intellectual agility of the -speaker were constantly exhibited. - -I fancy no orator of his own or any other time could so safely conduct -himself through the sinuous ways of a prolonged sentence with a sense of -such security to the hearers that there would be no lapse or failure in -the ordered arrangement of its many modifying clauses. On constant -provocation he often spoke with a fire that enabled him to liberate -himself from the entangled meshes of parenthesis which haunted him in -his more considered utterances, and I remember being present in the -House during the dramatic little scene between him and Disraeli which -showed these two parliamentary gladiators at their best. - -Somewhat rashly, perhaps, Disraeli had indulged in a sarcastic reference -to Mr. Gladstone’s earlier adherence to Tory principles, and at the -conclusion of his speech Mr. Gladstone, springing to his feet, retorted -upon his opponent with telling effect by reminding the Conservative -statesman that he himself had once sought to win the Liberal vote. - - The right honourable gentleman, secure I suppose in the knowledge - of his own consistency, has taunted me with the political errors of - my boyhood. The right honourable gentleman, when he addressed the - honourable member for Westminster [J. Stuart Mill], took occasion - to show his magnanimity, for he declared that he would not take the - philosopher to task for what he wrote twenty-five years ago. But - when he caught one who thirty-five years ago, just emerged from - boyhood and still an undergraduate at Oxford, had expressed an - opinion adverse to the Reform Bill of 1832, of which he had so long - and bitterly repented, then the right honourable gentleman could - not resist the temptation that offered itself to his appetite for - effect. He, a parliamentary champion of twenty years’ standing, and - the leader, as he informs us to-night, of the Tory party, is so - ignorant of the House of Commons, or so simple in the structure of - his mind, that he positively thought he would obtain a - parliamentary advantage by exhibiting me to the public view for - reprobation as an opponent of the Reform Bill of 1832. Sir, as the - right honourable gentleman has done me the honour thus to exhibit - me, let me for a moment trespass on the patience of the House to - exhibit myself. What he has stated is true. I deeply regret it. But - I was bred under the shadow of the great name of Canning; every - influence connected with that name governed the first political - impressions of my childhood and my youth; with Mr. Canning I - rejoiced in the removal of religious disabilities from the Roman - Catholic body, and in the free and truly British tone which he gave - to our policy abroad; with Mr. Canning I rejoiced in the opening he - made towards the establishment of free commercial interchanges - between nations; with Mr. Canning, and under the shadow of that - great name, and under the shadow of the yet more venerable name of - Burke, I grant my youthful mind and imagination were impressed with - the same idle and futile fears which still bewilder and distract - the mature mind of the right honourable gentleman. I had conceived - that very same fear, that ungovernable alarm, at the first Reform - Bill in the days of my undergraduate career at Oxford which the - right honourable gentleman now feels; and the only difference - between us is this--I thank him for bringing it into view by his - quotation--that, having those views, I, as it would appear, moved - the Oxford Union Debating Society to express them clearly, - plainly, forcibly, in downright English, while the right honourable - gentleman does not dare to tell the nation what it is that he - really thinks, and is content to skulk under the meaningless - amendment which is proposed by the noble Lord. And now, sir, I quit - the right honourable gentleman; I leave him to his reflections, and - I envy him not one particle of the polemical advantage which he has - gained by his discreet reference to the proceedings of the Oxford - Union Debating Society in the year of grace 1831.... - - I came among you [the Liberal party] an outcast from those with - whom I associated, driven from them, I admit, by no arbitrary act, - but by the slow and resistless forces of conviction. I came among - you, to make use of the legal phraseology, _in pauperis forma_. I - had nothing to offer you but faithful and honourable service. You - received me as Dido received the shipwrecked Aeneas-- - - Ejectum littore egentem - Accepi-- - - and I only trust you may not hereafter at any time have to complete - the sentence in regard to me-- - - Et regni demens in parte locavi. - - You received me with kindness, indulgence, generosity, and I may - even say with some measure of confidence. And the relation between - us has assumed such a form that you can never be my debtors, but - that I must for ever be in your debt.” - -It was only in later years that I met Mr. Gladstone personally, on the -occasion of his annual visits to the Grosvenor or the New Gallery, and -it was always then interesting to watch the extraordinary diligence of -observation with which he studied every picture upon the walls, all the -while with pencil in hand carefully noting in the margin of his -catalogue the impression which each separate work had made upon him. - -It was in connection with the opening of the New Gallery in the year -1888 that a little incident recurs to my memory that bears witness to -the constant alertness of his powers of observation. - -After completing a survey of one of the larger rooms, he was about to -take leave of me with the remark that he had seen as much as he could -reasonably enjoy upon a single visit, and that he would return another -day to complete his study of the remaining galleries. It happened that -year that we had rather a remarkable piece of sculpture by a young -artist who had suddenly died after the work had been sent in for -exhibition, and I was anxious before he went to ascertain Mr. -Gladstone’s opinion of the statue. - -“Before you go, Mr. Gladstone,” I said, “I should like to show you one -of the sculptured works in the central hall which seems to me more than -remarkable.” - -“Stay!” he cried. “Let me first show it to you,” and then without a -moment’s hesitation he set himself in front of the work I had in my -mind. - -“Is it this?” he said; and on my replying in the affirmative, “I was -surprised,” he added, “when we passed through the hall that you did not -direct my attention to so remarkable a work.” - -It happened at the Grosvenor Gallery that it also fell to my lot to -conduct Lord Beaconsfield round the exhibition of drawings by the old -masters then arranged upon the walls. The contrast between the two men -showed itself characteristically enough on the occasion to which I -refer. - -With sphinx-like face, and with hardly a spoken word, Lord Beaconsfield -passed from the work of one great master to another, raising his -eye-glass as he went, but displaying by no change of expression either -criticism or appreciation, and at the finish he gracefully took his -leave with a sentence that seemed to me, as he uttered it, to have been -made ready for ultimate use even before he had entered the Gallery. - -The drawings of Titian and Giorgione, of Michael Angelo, Raphael and -Leonardo da Vinci, had apparently left him cold. - -“I thank you,” he said, “for having been so good as to point out to me -the examples of the great masters you admire, but I think for my part I -prefer the eclectic school of the Caracci.” - -In that one sentence he seemed to bring back the atmosphere of his -earlier novels, and to image the taste of England at a time when -connoisseurs made the grand tour. - -His preference for the fashion of an earlier date in all matters -appertaining to taste was, I suppose, deeply implanted in Disraeli’s -nature, and I remember a story told me by Sir William Harcourt, which -illustrates with what quiet and restrained sarcasm he could sometimes -receive the announcement of a more modern development of thought. - -It was during one of Sir William Harcourt’s visits to Hughenden that -Disraeli turned to him after dinner and said, “Harcourt, I have had two -young gentlemen from Oxford staying with me lately, and it seems from -what I have learned from them that our judgments in all literary matters -are sadly old-fashioned. These young gentlemen assured me that, -according to the accepted canons of the present day, the late Lord Byron -is to be admired, not so much for his qualities as a poet, as for the -beauty of his moral character.” - -Lord Beaconsfield’s appearance, as expressed in his dress, even at that -later date when I first came in contact with him, still retained -something of the florid taste that had characterised him as a youth. The -bright colours he chose to affect stood in striking contrast with the -impassive pallor of a countenance that seemed, as it gazed out upon the -world, like some insoluble riddle of the East. The racial -characteristics of his face were sufficiently marked, but the sense of -death-like stillness that pervaded it gave it something of historic -remoteness and antique calm. He looked out upon the present as though -from the recesses of a buried past, and of all the representatives of -his nation whom I have known, he appeared to me the only one who -possessed in any pre-eminent degree the quality of self-possession in -manner and bearing. - -These external attributes served as the index of that extraordinary -power of intellectual detachment which enabled him to sway the passions -of others and to control his own. Such unquestioned authority as he -ultimately acquired over the Tory party could, perhaps, only have been -achieved by one who used their prejudices without sharing them, and who -could appeal to their deeply rooted convictions rather as an artist than -as a partisan. - -As a speaker, he affected more of florid grace than was quite congenial -to the taste of the time or the sympathies of his hearers, and his -choice of language, whether in his novels or in his speeches, was -sometimes insecurely poised between a leaning towards ornament that was -sometimes tawdry, and a genuine and convincing eloquence. - -Here again the racial characteristics were apt to assert themselves, and -such a phrase as he employed at the conclusion of the Abyssinian -War--that we had set the standard of St. George upon the mountains of -Rasselas--may be taken as an instance of an essay in the sublime that -verges nearly upon the ridiculous. - -I heard him for the first time when he introduced his great Reform Bill -in 1867, and his gestures also struck me then as often bordering upon -the grotesque. - -I can recall his attitude now as he drew towards the close of his speech -with his arms folded and his head sunk upon his breast, rolling out in a -voice, that I confess had for me neither intrinsic beauty of tone nor -perfect accent of sincerity, the carefully forged phrases which formed -the close of his peroration. - -“Those who take a larger and a nobler view of human affairs,” he said, -“will, I think, recognise that, alone in the countries of Europe, -England now, for almost countless generations, has--by her -Parliament--established the fair exemplar of free government, and that, -throughout the awful vicissitudes of her heroic history, she -has--chiefly by this House of Commons--maintained and cherished that -public spirit which is the soul of Commonwealth, without which Empire -has no glory, and the wealth of nations is but the means of corruption -and decay.” - -Earlier passages of that same speech had been marked by brilliant -flashes of humour and sarcasm, showing, here as always, his incomparable -power of registering in a single sentence the characteristics of a cause -he desired to condemn. - -I remember in particular a reference to Professor Goldwin Smith which -was very happily expressed. - -“Why, the other day,” he said, “a rampant orator who goes about the -country maligning men and things, went out of his way to assail me, -saying, ‘Where now are the 4000 freeholders of Buckinghamshire?’ Why, -sir, they are where you would naturally expect to find them--they are in -the county of Buckingham. I can pardon this wild man, who has probably -lived in the cloisters of some abbey, making this mistake ...” etc. - -There are orators who are not orators, and who yet, by some undefinable -power of personality, exercise an extraordinary authority upon their -hearers. In this class, and I should be disposed to think foremost in -this class, must be set Mr. Parnell, whose acquaintance I made at the -house of Sir George Lewis about the date of the publication of the -famous letter in the _Times_. - -To me that letter had seemed from the first a manifest forgery, and I -had made several small bets in the Garrick Club that it would be so -proved whenever it was made the subject of a judicial investigation. - -Mr. Parnell’s comment when I told him of my confidence as to the result -was tinged with a certain sadness that was, I think, a constant quality -of his nature. - -“You may make your mind quite easy upon that point,” he said. “I only -wish I felt as sure that every incident, in what has been practically a -revolution, would redound as surely to the credit of the Irish people. -But it is inevitable,” he added, “that such a movement must of necessity -call into being forces which it is beyond the power of any single -individual to control.” - -Through his chief whip Mr. Richard Power, a dear friend and companion of -the Garrick Club, Mr. Parnell had offered me a seat as one of the Irish -party, but although I had then, and still retain, complete sympathy with -the principles of Home Rule, I felt it would be impossible for me as an -Englishman to yield such complete surrender of my independent judgment -as was demanded by the parliamentary tactics of the party. - -A little later I heard Mr. Parnell in the House of Commons on one of the -few occasions when his rigid self-control yielded to a moment of almost -uncontrollable passion. - -The subject under debate was this same forged letter which had imposed -upon the credulity of the _Times_, and it was Mr. Parnell’s natural -desire that this imputation which so deeply affected his character -should be made the subject of a separate and independent inquiry. - -His opponents, not unwisely from their point of view, desired to merge -the single issue in a general examination of the Home Rule movement, and -this view had been, at an earlier period of the debate, strongly -enforced by Mr. Chamberlain in a speech of icy coldness that seemed to -withhold the last particle of sympathy from a man who had been so -grossly attacked. - -The tone of Mr. Chamberlain’s speech, for it was a matter rather of tone -than of substance, must have deeply incensed Mr. Parnell, for as he -rose, with the usual pallor of his face deepened to an ashen whiteness, -the trembling tones of his voice were, it was obvious, scarcely under -control. - - I have not, sir, had an opportunity before this of thanking the - right honourable gentleman the member for West Birmingham for his - kind references to me, and for the unsolicited character he was - kind enough to give me when he last addressed the House a few - nights since. He spoke of me not long ago, when he said he - entertained a better opinion of me than he does to-day. I care very - little for the opinion of the right honourable gentleman. I have - never put forward men to do dangerous things which I shrank from - doing myself, nor have I betrayed the secrets of my colleagues in - Council. My principal recollection of the right honourable - gentleman before he became a minister is that he was always most - anxious to put me forward and my friends forward to do work which - he was afraid to do himself. And after he became a minister my - principal recollection of him is that he was always most anxious to - betray to us the secrets and counsels of his colleagues in the - Cabinet, and to endeavour, while sitting beside these colleagues - and while in consultation with them, to undermine their counsels - and their plans in our favour. If this inquiry is extended into - these matters--and I see no reason why it should not--I shall be - able to make good my words by documentary evidence that is not - forged. - -The withering scorn with which these final sentences were delivered, the -tall slim figure visibly shaken by emotion, recall an unforgettable -image of the man as he stood erect in his place below the gangway. - -But a still more dramatic scene of that time occurred during the trial -itself on the day when the forger Mr. Pigott was to be put into the box. -I shall not easily forget the breathless interest of the Court when the -Attorney-General called Mr. Inglis, the expert in hand-writing. - -The witness was arranging his papers on the desk before him when Sir -Charles Russell rose in his place and in strong but measured tones said, -“My lords, I shall decline to cross-examine this witness until Mr. -Pigott has been put into the box.” - -This produced a quick protest from the Attorney-General, who, as he -declared, was not to be dictated to by his learned friend as to the -manner in which he should conduct his case. - -But again Sir Charles Russell rose, and again in the same vibrating -voice announced his determination as before. - -There was a pause for a moment’s whispered interchange of opinion among -the judges on the Bench, and then Mr. Justice Hannen, in a voice that -was never loud but which even in its lowest tones could always command -authority, conveyed to the Attorney-General the intimation that, without -any intention of dictating to him the course he should take, they were -all clearly of opinion that Mr. Pigott ought to be put into the box -without delay. - -Sir Richard Webster yielded, and Mr. Pigott was called; and then, when -the examination-in-chief was complete, began that cross-examination by -Sir Charles Russell which stands out as the main dramatic episode in -that great historic trial. - -The advocate was at his best, and when Sir Charles Russell was at his -best his time knew no equal. As question followed question in quick -pursuit, the unhappy witness seemed to crumble away beneath his hand. - -But the hour of adjournment came before the wretched man, driven from -point to point, had finally succumbed, and, as subsequent events proved, -the brilliant cross-examination of Sir Charles Russell was destined to -have no close. - -On the next morning, when Pigott was again called, there was no answer; -and after a sufficient pause to give time for his arrival, Sir Charles -rose and applied for a warrant for his arrest. - -I went with Mr. Parnell and Sir George Lewis to Bow Street to obtain -from the magistrate the issue of the warrant, and I remember, as a comic -incident in our brief passage along the Strand, that a little street -urchin vending newspapers, who, with the sharpness of the London boy, -was already well informed of what had taken place, danced in front of -the Irish statesman and bowing with mock gravity said, “Charlie, you’ve -done it nice.” - -At that time one of my brothers was staying in Madrid, and on the -following night I was awakened about two o’clock by the arrival of a -telegram which said: “A man whom I am sure is Pigott has committed -suicide here in the hotel.” - -And so ended this extraordinary episode which at one time had threatened -to drive from public life one of the most remarkable men of his time. -That he was finally hounded from the leadership of his party speaks, I -think, but little for the reputation of those of his comrades who joined -in the attack; and less still--as I have always felt--for Mr. Gladstone, -whose part in that unworthy transaction was not altogether consistent -with the high courage that he usually exhibited in public affairs. - -Parnell’s was undoubtedly a strange inscrutable character. He was -imperfectly understood even by the party he so imperiously controlled: -he had, I think, but little desire to be understood. Power used to tell -me that on the occasion of an important debate his closest associates -never knew with any certainty whether he would be present; and yet once -present they knew beyond all question that his will would dominate them -all. - -It was indeed impossible to be in his company without being sensible of -the strength of his personality. His reserve was impenetrable, and yet -he could yield to sudden gusts of emotion which revealed as by a -lightning flash the strong nervous tension by means of which his -self-possession was held and preserved. I think he himself was always -conscious of the degree of secrecy, almost, one might say, of mystery, -that cloaked his life even in matters where secrecy could have no -purpose or significance. He told me once that if he had occasion to -consult a doctor, even for the most trifling ailment, he always withheld -his name, and such was the habit of reserve that had grafted itself upon -his life, that he seemed almost surprised the custom was not common to -all the world. - -Some of the American ambassadors sent to this country have been notable -speakers, amongst them Mr. James Russell Lowell and Mr. Choate. Mr. -Bayard also, though not perhaps possessed of an equal natural gift, -could on occasion be deeply impressive. - -I remember at a dinner of the Actors’ Benevolent Fund, in 1895, he -extricated himself with considerable grace and tact from a somewhat -awkward predicament. The dinner was held on the 18th of December, and it -had been arranged that I should propose the toast of “Friends across the -Sea,” to which Mr. Bayard was to respond. But it so happened on that -very day had come President Cleveland’s unhappy message to Congress -about Venezuela, a message so entirely unexpected: and at the same time -so warlike and menacing in its tone, that the tenor of it created -something like consternation in the mind of the English public. - -When I arrived Mr. Bayard was pacing alone, among the assembled guests -in the anteroom, and I ventured to suggest to Sir Francis Jeune, who was -to take the chair, that it might be wiser, in view of the circumstances, -to omit this particular toast. Sir Francis Jeune, however, was firm in -the opinion that the situation must be faced. As he observed to me, “I -hear that as a speaker you can skate over thin ice, and to-night you -have your opportunity.” - -All the correspondents of the chief American newspapers were present, -and all were in eager expectation to see how a difficult and delicate -situation would be handled by the ambassador. I confess, for my own -part, that I felt a little nervous in regard to the task assigned me, -and I remember my dear friend, Sir Frank Lockwood, coming to me just -before we sat down to dinner and imploring me to say something that -might tend to soothe the irritated feeling which the unfortunate -despatch had aroused. - -I think I must have steered my course successfully, for at the end of my -speech Mr. Bayard, rising to respond, was received with genuine -enthusiasm by the assembled company. He was evidently deeply moved, for -his words came slowly; but he contrived also to move and impress his -audience. His opening sentences, earnestly delivered, seemed to still -the menace of war and to relieve the feeling of tension that President -Cleveland’s actions had created. - -“To-night,” he said, “we stand upon common ground. Mr. Comyns Carr’s -remarks have affected me deeply. There is no sea between us now.” And at -the close he added, “There is a headline used by Mr. Gladstone in the -article, ‘Our Kith and Kin beyond the Seas,’ which I would gladly recall -at this moment. In that article he used this couplet-- - - When love unites, wide space divides in vain, - And hands may clasp across the spreading main. - -I think it is time to repeat those words. No profession can speak them -so well as yours, and none can speak them so well, in the name of your -country or my country, as the profession that is domiciled in both -countries, and I therefore ask you to join with me in wishing that -‘hands may clasp across the spreading main.’” - -As Mr. Bayard took his leave on that evening at the conclusion of the -dinner he turned to me and said, “I think things will go our way”; and -the event happily proved that he was right. - -With some after-dinner speakers their task sits heavily upon them, and -sets them in a state of trepidation from the commencement of the feast. -I was sitting at a dinner, given to Edmund Yates after his liberation -from prison on a charge of libel, by the side of a worthy alderman of -the City of London who was also a member of Parliament. His name was -entered upon the card in connection with the usual military toast, and -before we were half way through the dinner he begged to be excused from -further conversation in order that he might concentrate his thoughts -upon the duty he had to discharge. It was only while he was covering the -menu card with liberal pencil-notes that he realised the fact that I -also was among the speakers of the evening. He turned to me suddenly -with an expression of blank amazement on his face, and pointing to my -name inquired with an air of incredulity if it was true I was going to -speak, and when I answered in the affirmative he said, “Well, you -surprise me. I notice that you have been drinking champagne. Now,” he -said, “when I want to sway an audience I sway them on water.” And as he -drank nothing but water that evening I was prepared to be swayed. But -something must have gone wrong with the water on that occasion, and I -tremble to think to what further depths of ineptitude he might have -fallen if he had followed my pernicious habit of drinking champagne, for -after a few halting sentences, fashioned in the usual mould, he sat -down, evidently quite unconscious that he had delivered one of the -feeblest addresses ever uttered by the lips of man. - -[Illustration: - -_Hollyer_ - -LORD TENNYSON - -From the painting by G. F. WATTS, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery. - -_To face page 193._ -] - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -SOME VICTORIAN POETS - - -Among the great literary men of the time, Lord Tennyson was the first -with whom I came into personal contact. When I was about seventeen I -used to stay sometimes with Mrs. Cameron in her house at Freshwater, in -the Isle of Wight, where her son Henry and I occupied ourselves very -earnestly in private theatricals. - -Farringford, where Lord Tennyson dwelt, was near by, and the first time -that I saw the poet was on the occasion of our performance of Tom -Taylor’s play, _Helping Hands_, in which I enacted the part of a Jew -dealer in musical instruments. As I came upon the little stage I felt -almost startled by the great white dome of Tennyson’s head as he sat in -the front row of the stalls. - -I suppose there was no man of his time in any walk of life whose -personal appearance was so striking and impressive. Watts has imaged him -well, and Millais too. But there was something in the presence of the -man himself that Art could not render, a mingled impression of beauty -and dignity, of simplicity and power, which I cannot recall as being -combined in equal measure in any other face I have known. - -It is a singular fact, not I think generally recognised while they were -both living, that there are many elements of resemblance in the features -of Tennyson and Charles Dickens. I saw Dickens only once at a reading -which he gave in St. James’s Hall, and I was then deeply impressed by -the power exhibited in the upper part of the head. But it was not until -I was looking one day at a beautiful pencil-drawing which Millais had -made of Dickens after death that I perceived the striking resemblance -between them--a resemblance that was recognised by Tennyson himself, for -while this very drawing, now the property of Mrs. Perugini, was still in -Millais’s studio, Tennyson, after he had gazed at it for some time, -suddenly exclaimed, “This is the most extraordinary drawing. It is -exactly like myself.” - -During those early Isle of Wight days Mrs. Cameron would sometimes take -us in the evening to Farringford, where Tennyson, if he were in the -mood, would read some of his own poems. It was not reading in the -ordinary sense, but may more truly be likened to a deep organ chant, and -yet it was effective and impressive to an extraordinary degree. - -I remember in particular, as he recited one of the songs from the -_Princess_, the splendid cadence of his deep echoing voice as it rose -and swelled and sank and fell in almost musical response to the changing -mood of the verse: - -[Illustration: HEAD OF CHARLES DICKENS - -(_Taken after death._) - -From the pencil-drawing by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A., in the -possession of Mrs. Perugini. - -_To face page 194._ -] - - O love, they die in yon rich sky, - They faint on hill or field or river: - Our echoes roll from soul to soul, - And grow for ever and for ever. - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, - And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. - -It is impossible to recapture by mere description the added beauty which -he contrived to confer upon these lines as they came from his own lips, -or even to suggest the strength and tenderness of feeling he could -command as the tones of his great voice gradually sank and died at the -close. - -Many years later I heard him read again in his Surrey home, whither I -had taken Mrs. Bernard Beere on the eve of the production of his play -called _The Promise of May_. - -He read it through to us himself, and here he adopted a more direct and -dramatic style, giving admirable point to the humour of the rustic -scenes. As we stood up to take our leave he put his hand on Mrs. Beere’s -shoulder and said, “You are tall. I am tall too. Carlyle once said to me -I ought to have been a grenadier.” - -_The Promise of May_ was not one of Tennyson’s successful essays in -dramatic writing, and it may, I think, he doubted whether he possessed -in any great degree the dramatic quality. And yet, on two occasions at -the Lyceum Theatre, under the guidance of Irving, a deep impression was -made upon the public. Both _The Cup_ and _Becket_ have scenes that make -a simple and dramatic appeal to the heart; and the latter, at any rate, -served to supply the actor with the material for one of his greatest -impersonations. - -It was while Irving was rehearsing _Becket_ that he told me a story of -Tennyson that has both a pathetic and humorous significance. In the -earlier days, when _The Cup_ was in preparation, he had been to see -Tennyson in the Isle of Wight to discuss his ideas for its presentation. -After dinner, as he told me, the dessert and the wine were set out upon -a separate table, and when they were seated the poet asked Irving if he -would like a glass of port. - -“Yes, I like a glass of port,” replied the actor. - -Upon which Tennyson, taking him at his word, poured him out a glass of -port, and all unconsciously finished the remainder of the bottle -himself. At a later time, when _Becket_ was to be presented, Tennyson -was suffering from gout and was under a strict _régime_. But the same -graceful little ceremony was observed, and again his host inquired of -Irving whether he would like a glass of port, but on this occasion, as -Irving related to me, the positions were reversed, for poor Lord -Tennyson was only permitted a single glass, and Irving finished the -bottle. - -Next morning the actor had to leave early, and had therefore taken leave -of his host overnight. But he had scarcely awakened when he saw Lord -Tennyson sitting at the foot of his bed. - -“How are you this morning, Irving?” he inquired anxiously. - -“Very well indeed,” was his guest’s reply. - -“Are you?” came the response, with just a tinge of doubt in the tones of -the voice. “You drank a lot of port last night.” - -I think Tennyson’s was essentially a simple nature. Certainly in his own -home he gave me that impression. His high qualities as a poet, and the -unerring refinement of taste that is stamped on almost every line of his -verse, seemed never to have disturbed or effaced a primitive strength of -character that had its roots deep in the soil. And yet he was quickly -sensitive to criticism, and would sometimes take no pains to hide his -wounds. - -At our last meeting he openly expressed his vexation at an unfavourable -article that had then recently appeared. He questioned me closely as to -what I thought could have been the motive of the writer, who for the -rest was not of such a rank that his censure need have disturbed the -poet’s equanimity. “What harm have I ever done to him?” he exclaimed, in -tones that seemed to me at the time almost child-like in reproach. But -it is, as I have come to think, a sure hall-mark of genius that its -weakness is very often frankly avowed. It is a part of that inward -candour that makes for greatness, the petty price that we have to pay -for the larger and nobler revelation. Lesser spirits can often contrive -to hide their littleness, but in the greatest it is nearly always -carelessly confessed. - -Tennyson’s simplicity would sometimes find vent in almost boyish frolic. -One evening at Farringford he was suddenly seized with the idea that he -would like to dress up one of Mrs. Cameron’s nieces in the garb of a -man. He got one of his own long coats from the hall, and with a burnt -cork himself disfigured her pretty face, daubing upon it a heavy black -moustache and imperial, and then retreating to the other side of the -room to gaze with manifest delight upon the result of his own handiwork. - -The primitive side of Tennyson’s nature was aptly mirrored in the person -of his brother Horatio, who, by reason of certain well-considered -peculiarities of dress, was often mistaken by visitors to Freshwater for -the poet himself. The attention thus attracted to him he contrived to -endure with complacency; indeed, I think he was partly conscious that he -served in this way as a sort of buffer between his greater brother and -the prying curiosity of the crowd which the poet himself deeply -resented. - -Horatio Tennyson would often accompany Harry Cameron and myself when we -wandered over the downs with a gun in search of sea-gulls, or scoured -the neighbouring farms for rabbits. His mind, I think, moved slowly, and -there was sometimes a strong bucolic flavour in the stories he loved to -relate. - -Another constant companion on these rambling excursions was poor Lionel -Tennyson, the poet’s younger son, who afterwards married Frederick -Locker’s daughter. Locker himself I came to know later in the days of -the Grosvenor Gallery. I think few men have been endowed with a surer -and more delicate taste in all matters pertaining to Art. We met in -sympathy over the drawings by the old masters, of which he possessed a -few of the very choicest examples. It was, indeed, his unfailing -characteristic as a collector that all he had was of the best. And his -personality, very winning in its simplicity and refinement, responded -aptly enough to the qualities of his mind. - -In conversation he would sometimes leap with quaint abruptness of -thought from the most abstract to the most concrete things, from the -appreciation of a drawing by Leonardo to the sudden consideration of the -price of coals. Du Maurier’s pen-and-ink drawing of him may be said to -rank as the most perfect of portraits--an exact image of the man himself -in form and feature. - -At the time when I first met Tennyson, I think Robert Browning had won -my larger admiration. I thought him then the greater poet of the two--I -no longer think so now; and the very qualities which so strongly -attracted me as a youth have since proved in themselves to be the source -of my altered judgment. It seems like a paradox, but I believe it to be -none the less true, that it is the intellectual quality in verse that -first most strongly attracts the younger student of poetry. So at least -it was in my case. The complexity of thought, even the obscurity of -expression which marks so much of Browning’s work, had for me then the -strongest fascination. That half-rebel note in his style, with its -defiant scorn of all accepted models of musical form and rhythmical -expression, was in itself an added allurement to the poet’s untiring -intellectual agility of which the rugged verse was but the chosen -garment. And although the spell he then exercised over my imagination -still in some degree survives, I find myself now asking of poetry less -and less for any ordered philosophy of life, and more and more for life -itself. The most nobly directed gospel that seeks an altered world -counts for little in a poet’s equipment beside the passionate vision of -the world as it is with its unchanging heritage of joy and pain. So at -least it seems to me now and, with my modified judgment as to what -rightly constitutes the substantive part of poetry, has come an -ever-growing delight in the formal beauty of its expression. The two -elements are indeed indissolubly bound together. There is no high music -in verse that is not linked with sense, no thought that is rightly a -poet’s thought that may not find its fitting melody. And it is because -Tennyson, despite his confessed limitations on the side of passion, more -constantly than his fellows held fast to the true office of the poet, -that he stands among them all as their undisputed master. - -In every art the last word is simplicity. There is no phase of thought -or feeling rightly admissible into the domain of poetry that the might -of genius may not force to simple utterance. It is this which -constitutes the final triumph of all the greatest wizards of our tongue, -of Shakespeare as of Milton; of Wordsworth no less than of Keats. All of -them found a way to wed the subtlest music with the simplest speech, -striving with ever-increasing severity for that chastened perfection of -form which stands as the last and the surest test of the presence of -supreme poetic genius. - -So much cannot be said of Browning. There is enough and to spare in the -great body of his work to leave his position as a poet unassailed, but -there is more to prove that, beside the purely poetic impulse, there -were other forces working in his nature, which, in so far as they -prevail, must tend to rob the result of that faultless music which -alone - -[Illustration: - -_Hollyer_ - -ROBERT BROWNING - -From the painting by G. F. WATTS, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery. - -_To face page 201._ -] - -can give to verse its final right of survival. This is doubtless true -also of Wordsworth, but in his case the good and the bad are easily -separable, and the good at its best is flawless. But with Browning the -conflicting elements of his genius are so closely locked together that -the task of selection is not so easy, and the triumph, even when it has -to be acknowledged, is not so secure. - -And yet, for all who then came under his influence, the charm can never -quite be broken. He spoke to those of us who first learned to know him -in our youth with a quickened authority that nothing can quite destroy. -The faults which time now thrusts forward were hardly then matter for -pardon. For those who come after they may indeed serve to set his fame -in peril, but the message he had for us was so overwhelming in its -appeal that we forgot the crabbed hand in which it was transcribed. - -In one respect, and in one respect only, Browning the poet found an echo -in Browning as he was known to his friends. That brave optimism of -spirit, with its constant nobility of outlook on the facts of life which -so finely distinguishes his writing, was also, I think, characteristic -of the man. It was always a spiritual refreshment to meet him. The fact -that he was a poet was, indeed, a secret he took some pains to conceal. -In this respect, except for rare lapses of noble enthusiasm, he -preferred to preserve a kind of austere incognito; but at the same time -he contrived to convey even in the simplest converse with the most -ordinary people a sense of personal detachment that nevertheless left -them free to feel at their ease. And yet, often as I have seen him -apparently content with associates who were manifestly his inferiors in -intellect, and even in spirit, I cannot recall a time when his own -personality ever seemed to suffer by the contact. - -I suppose no man of his generation responded so readily to the call of -hospitality. He was to be met everywhere, and so keen was his zest in -the ordinary traffic of social life that he seemed at times to be -indifferent to his choice of associates. There was something in his own -power of drawing entertainment from an evening passed in the society of -friends that no measure of dulness in his surroundings seemed capable of -abating. - -He preserved in all companies a constant alertness of spirit, an -undiminished sense of self-reliant enjoyment, that was surprising to the -onlooker. And yet, despite his unfailing courtesy even to those whom in -his secret heart he must often have set in the category of bores, he -never left the slightest impression of insincerity. By means, hardly -definable, he contrived to keep his converse, even with the most -commonplace of his acquaintance, on a certain high spiritual level, and -when he took his leave of any party it was impossible not to feel that a -considerable personage had quitted the room. - -And yet the personal impression made by Browning was not commanding. -Vigorous and strenuous he always seemed, and those characteristics -stamped him on the first encounter. But they might have belonged equally -to a leader in any other walk of life--to a successful man of affairs, -or to a politician in the fulness of his fame. - -To those who knew him well there were, however, many little sidelights -that showed the poet. Something deeper and more passionate, something -more chivalrous and more tender, lurked beneath the social armour that -he chose to wear; and it was easy to perceive that even in his ripe age -there were smouldering fires of a more passionate experience that a word -might waken into flame. - -He came often to our house in the years between 1880 and 1885. In our -smaller circle we saw him as an intimate friend, and he was a kind and a -true friend. I think he was not indifferent to good living, but he was -always content with our simple fare--more than content, certainly, if he -was allowed his bottle of port wine, not to be sipped at dessert as -others use it, but to be quaffed through dinner as an accompaniment to -every course. His appreciation of wine, never immoderately indulged, -must, I suppose, have been inherited, for he used to tell me a story of -his father’s indignation on the occasion of his once asking for a glass -of water. - -“Water, Robert!” exclaimed the elder Browning in dismay. “For washing -purposes it is, I believe, often employed, and for navigable canals I -admit it to be indispensable, but for drinking, Robert, God never -intended it.” - -Browning’s unfailing courtesy towards women could sometimes display -itself in a partly humorous fashion. One day when he was calling upon my -wife, an authoress whose high estimate of her own work was never quite -confirmed by the public, was suddenly announced. The visit was somewhat -embarrassing, for the lady had sent my wife one of her novels, with a -request that, when she had read it, it might be submitted to me with a -view to its being adapted for the stage. The book had not been read, had -in fact been mislaid, but as this was the second occasion upon which the -lady had applied for my verdict, my wife basely resorted to -prevarication, and embarked upon general phrases of eulogy in regard to -the high merit of the work in question. This subterfuge, however, only -resulted in deeper disaster, for the flattered authoress at once plunged -into baffling details that lay beyond the reach of my wife’s improvised -mendacity. It happened, however, that Browning had read the book, and, -realising the situation, at once came to the rescue, and finally -succeeded in persuading the unhappy authoress that the very merits of -the novel were in themselves an insuperable obstacle to its production -on the stage. - -One thing remains vividly in my recollection of Browning, and that was -his constant expression of loyal admiration for the genius of Tennyson. -I have heard him bear witness to it again and again, and always with -entire sincerity. - -There was about him in his outlook on life, in his high courtesy and in -his unflagging faith in the beauty of the world, a quality that I -sometimes find lacking in gifted men of a younger generation. I can only -express what I feel in this sense by reference to a splendid survivor of -the great race--George Meredith. To those who do not instinctively feel -it, my reference may mean nothing, but to me, to whom the whole -achievement of the Victorian Era, in art as in literature, stands high, -it means everything. It is not my purpose in these pages of personal -recollections to dwell upon my intimate association with men who are -still living, but in Mr. Meredith I feel I may make an exception. And -Browning has reminded me of him because there is in both a kindred -quality--the quality of a superb reverence for life, an undying faith in -its ultimate beauty. As literature has fallen since under the conduct of -later hands, I find that it seems in some sense shattered in -subdivision. There are, on the one hand, writers who seek to be artists -and no more, men who pet and polish their rhythmic phrases till they may -be said to have reached perfection, and on the other hand there are -pamphleteers, eager and sincere, but still pamphleteers, who are content -if they can coerce their readers into the belief that their chosen -gospel for the regeneration of humanity is a fair equivalent for the -larger vision of life itself. No man who is richly human can escape that -yearning towards a brighter social ideal. Browning and Tennyson, -Thackeray and Dickens, all had their hopes for the bettering of the -world as they found it; but with them all, whatever their original -impulse, the beauty of the world, as it has been and as it is, outlived -their humanitarian ambition, and left them at the last with an -increasing sense of its enduring beauty and glory. And that is where -George Meredith, still living, stands as a monument of strength, for -worship as for example, to those who have still to come after him. - -The hours that I have spent with George Meredith in and around his -simple home at Box Hill count among the most delightful of my life. I -met him first at the house of a dear friend of both, Frederick Jameson, -in the year 1876, and it was, I think, about that time that I had -published in the _Saturday Review_ a criticism of his novel, -_Beauchamp’s Career_, which I think must have pleased him, for I find a -phrase of his in a letter written to me at that date in which he says, -“Praise of yours comes from the right quarter.” - -It was not long after that that we became intimate friends, and it was -his hospitable custom to invite me to breakfast with him on the little -lawn in front of his cottage, and then, after the repast, light and -dainty after the fashion of the French _dejeuner_, we would start for a -long ramble over Box Hill, returning often but just in time for dinner, -to continue or to renew the talk that had made the afternoon memorable. -Meredith could talk and walk after a fashion that I have known in no one -else. Sometimes he would occupy the whole of our ramble in a purely -invented biography of some one of our common friends, passing in rather -burlesque rhapsody from incident to incident of a purely hypothetical -career, but always preserving, even in the most extravagant of his -fancies, a proper relevancy to the character he was seeking to exhibit. - -On one occasion I remember he traced with inimitable humour, and with -inexhaustible invention, a supposed disaster in love encountered by an -amiable gentleman we both knew well; and as he rambled on with an -eloquence that never halted, he became so in love with his theme that I -think he himself was hardly conscious where the record of sober fact had -ended and where the innocent mendacity of the novelist had begun. And -then, at the immediate summons of some beauty in the landscape around us -that arrested his imagination, he would pause in the wild riot of the -imagined portrait and pass, in a moment, to discourse, as eloquent but -more serious, on some deeper problem of Life or Art. Not that he ever -sought, either in the lighter or the deeper vein, to talk so as to -absorb the conversation. In single companionship there was no better -talker, as, indeed, there was no better listener; and in either mood he -was singularly stirring and inspiring. - -One evening I remember that, after such a ramble and when dinner was -over, we ascended the slope of his garden to the little chalet on its -height, and there he read me till far into the night hours the whole of -that wonderful series of sonnets on Modern Love. - -This is not the place or the time to assert his claims either as a poet -or as a writer of fiction. I have cited his name here and now, because -both as an author and as a man he seems to me to possess in the highest -degree that superb optimism of spirit which also characterised Browning: -an optimism born of no shallow or sentimental survey of life, and yet of -strength sufficient to survive all shocks of experience in virtue of its -deeper hold upon those secrets of beauty that no personal disaster -could efface or destroy. - -Once when we were discussing the dramas of Ibsen he made, not in -criticism but in comment, a remark that has always seemed to me -memorable. - -“There is no picture,” he said, “however overcast its subject, in which -the painter, rightly endowed, cannot suggest that beyond the enclosing -clouds there is room for a space of blue sky.” - -He left the comment there without special application to this work or -that of the author under discussion, but it dwells in my memory as -highly and nobly characteristic of George Meredith the author and of -George Meredith the man. - -The later advent of Mr. Swinburne caused many of us in those days to -reconsider the claims of Tennyson and Browning. It is difficult now to -realise the sense almost of intoxication with which the new music of his -verse was entertained. For a while it seemed to efface the simpler -triumphs of Tennyson no less than Browning’s more impetuous but less -ordered strains. Its overpowering wealth of rhythmic cadence struck a -new note that it was impossible for the younger generation to resist. - -But it was not Mr. Swinburne who first awakened in me a spirit of -reaction against the elder masters of our generation. Before I read -_Atalanta in Calydon_ my imagination had been deeply stirred by that -first volume of Mr. William Morris’s verse, entitled _The Defence of -Guinevere_. I had found there, though in a form perhaps deliberately -archaic, that deeper note of passion which Tennyson’s poetry, even at -its best, confessedly lacks; and its appeal - -[Illustration: WILLIAM MORRIS - -From the painting by G. F. WATTS, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery. - -_Hollyer_ - -_To face page 209._ -] - -was the more urgent because Morris too was attracted by the charm of -mediæval romance--romance which in Tennyson’s hands had lost something -of its primitive dramatic quality, and became, as he developed the -Arthurian story, more and more material for setting forth a systematised -body of ethical teaching. - -Morris at a single stroke seemed to restore the legend to its historical -place, and to recapture a part of its passionate significance. I confess -that no later work of his has ever affected me to the same degree, -though there runs in them all that exquisite and ineffable charm of the -born story-teller. In poetry as in fiction there are, and have always -been, two competing schools of thought, the one moved by the love of the -story to be told, and the other primarily attracted to the story by the -opportunities it may offer for the presentment of an ethical idea, or -the interpretation of individual character. - -They may both reach the same goal, but there remains that contrast in -the quality of the workmanship which is born of its different origin. - -I remember Morris saying to me once that he did not much care for a -story unless it was long, and although the statement perhaps was not -intended to be taken literally, it bore witness to that element in his -genius which led him to bury himself with unwearied delight in every -smallest detail of the tale he had chosen to tell. Morris, I think, was -not easy to know well. There was a certain rough shyness in his manner -that kept him aloof from the initial advances of ordinary acquaintance, -and it was only as an acquaintance that I knew him. But he must have -had deeply lovable qualities to have become so endeared, as he was, to -Burne-Jones. It was their custom for years to spend every Sunday morning -together in Burne-Jones’s studio; and on the many occasions when -Burne-Jones has spoken to me of him, I can recall no word of abatement -from the deep and lasting affection in which he held his life-long -friend. - -The influence wielded by Mr. Swinburne over the younger men of his -generation was of a widely different kind. That new music of which I -have spoken, already announced in the _Atalanta_, and presented with -even greater variety and exuberance of expression in the Poems and -Ballads, set us all thinking. It seemed at the first as though music in -its fullest sense had never before entered into the arena of poetry, and -his inexhaustible invention of new metre and rhythmic phrasing set the -mind in wonder for a while as to whether all that had gone before was -not the mere preface to this final achievement. The immediate effect of -the fluent melodies he could command was for the time, at least, to put -earlier masters upon their trial, and it was not until the overpowering -glamour of these earlier poems had passed that it was possible to reckon -at their true worth his lasting claims as a poet. - -I have always thought that Mr. Swinburne’s handling of language as a -musical instrument raises an interesting question in regard to the -relation of the arts. Of them all, music alone claims an absolute and -independent position. Its appeal does not rely upon association, and -demands no definable intellectual foundation. It stands in this way, -even in its most primitive forms, as an example to all other arts, -serving to remind them of what there is in each of the essential -artistic quality; to remind them yet again of the inevitable danger that -must be encountered when the artist adds to his natural burden the task -of interpreting the changing ideals of life. - -Of all the other arts literature, by reason of the intellectual material -out of which it is moulded, stands at the farthest pole from music. -Painting and sculpture have their own manifest laws and limitations, -which may serve to remind their exponents of the peril which awaits -their transgression, but literature, even in the supreme form of verse, -must of necessity be exposed to dangers from which only the intuitive -instinct of the artist can preserve it. Borrowing as by right from all -the arts, and pressing into its service all that has been won in the -region of form and colour to enforce its own message of the spirit, it -is nevertheless inevitable that to music it must remain the heaviest -debtor, for its chosen vehicle of rhythmic language approaches most -nearly to the abstract instrument of the musician. And yet, I think, -even in Mr. Swinburne’s highest triumphs in metrical expression, it is -made manifest that the attempt directly to capture the kind of melody -that in the last resort belongs to music alone, there lurks a peril that -no artist, however gifted, can hope to escape. - -It is not in any spirit of depreciation of Mr. Swinburne’s unchallenged -gift, a gift which, in its kind, has perhaps never been surpassed in -literature, that I have set down these stray thoughts upon the possible -limits of music in verse. What I have said is rather intended to record -an experience of changing taste in myself in the interval that has -elapsed since the time when his earlier poems first captured my -imagination. It has grown clearer to me as the years have passed that, -even in poetry, only that music is enduring where the melody is subtly -interwoven with passionate truth, and that the highest triumph of mere -music, in so far as its effects are applicable to literature, must be -won by constant cultivation of the simplest means of expression. - -To the serious student of poetry such a conclusion may deservedly rank -in the region of the accepted commonplace, but some of the utterances of -our later-day critics yield at least an excuse for its recall. Not long -ago I encountered in a seriously written review the astounding -announcement that Oscar Wilde was the author of some of the most -remarkable verse of the nineteenth century, and this is hardly an -isolated instance of an endeavour that seems at the moment widely spread -to make the pitiable disaster of poor Wilde’s career the occasion of the -most deplorably exaggerated appreciation of his gifts as a writer. - -I met Wilde very often in those earlier days, before he had begun to -seek to win by personal eccentricity the attention which his literary -talent had not secured, and I am bound to confess that, in the light of -my later knowledge of the man and of his work, any attempt to set him in -the front rank as a literary personality or a great literary influence -seems to me in the highest degree ludicrous and grotesque. - -In view of the terrible fate that overtook him, no one could desire to -deal harshly at this time with his qualities as a man. That he had a -certain charm of manner is undoubted, and that he possessed a measure of -wit, as often imitative as original, need not be denied. But there is -always a tendency in certain literary circles that lean towards -decadence, to exaggerate the genius of those who are morally condemned. -A tragic fate such as his, even in one less gifted, naturally tends in -such minds to exalt his claims to artistic consideration. It is, at -least to my thinking, only on such an assumption that any serious -student of poetry, having read the “Ballad of Reading Gaol,” could ever -be induced to rank Wilde as a poetic genius, or to consider the body of -his work as a man of letters, with whatever luxuries of habiliment it -may be offered to the world, as constituting an enduring claim to rank -him among the higher influences of his time. - -Wilde’s best work was unquestionably, I think, done for the stage, and -here it may be conceded he struck out a path of his own. He had the -sense of the theatre, a genuine instinct for those moments in the -conflict of character to which the proper resources of the theatre can -grant both added force and added refinement. It is not an uncommon -assumption, especially among writers of fiction, that the drama by -comparison is an art of coarse fibre, incapable, by reason of its -limitations, of presenting the more intimate realities of character, or -the more delicate shades of feeling. The truth is that each art has its -own force, its own refinement, and cannot borrow them of another. What -is perfectly achieved in one form remains incomparable, and for that -very reason cannot in its completed form be appropriated by an art that -has other triumphs and is subject to other laws and conditions. And it -is here that the novelist so often breaks down in attempting to employ -his own special methods in the service of the stage. Wilde made no such -blunder. By constant study as well as by natural gift he knew well the -arena in which he was working when he chose the vehicle of the drama. -His wit has perhaps been over-praised; his epigrams so loudly acclaimed -at the time bear the taint of modishness that seems to render them -already old-fashioned. But his grip of the more serious situations in -life, and his ability to exhibit and interpret them by means genuinely -inherent in the resources at the disposal of the dramatist, are left -beyond dispute. - -[Illustration: - -_Emery Walker_ - -ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON - -From the painting by Sir WILLIAM RICHMOND, K.C.B., R.A., in the National -Portrait Gallery. - -_To face page 215._ -] - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -A YOUNGER GENERATION - - -During the ’seventies I got to know many of the younger men of letters -whose fame had not yet completely asserted itself. My association with -the _Saturday Review_ brought me into closer contact with my old friend, -Walter Pollock, whom I had known from a boy, and it was as his guest -that I constantly found myself at lunch-time at the Savile Club, a -favourite haunt of Robert Louis Stevenson when he happened to be in -London. - -Those lunches at the Savile, with discussions carried late into the -afternoon and sometimes prolonged to the dinner-hour, remain as a vivid -and delightful recollection. It was there that I met Henley, a notable -individuality, at that time almost without recognition in the world of -literature; and Charles Brookfield, who would look in now and then to -lighten our graver discussions with his keen and incisive wit; and among -others, Richard Duffield, a strange yet not unattractive individuality -who won instant recognition by reason of a fortuitous resemblance to -Michael Angelo, due to a broken nose; but whose literary claims, as far -as I can remember, rested chiefly upon a presumably exclusive knowledge -of the work of Cervantes. - -But of the figures of that little coterie to which I was so often and so -hospitably bidden, the engaging personality of Robert Louis Stevenson -stands out distinctly. He carried with him throughout all the period in -which I had any knowledge of him the indestructible character of a boy. -The conscious artistic quality which marks his literary work, yielding -to it a perfection which made it even then a mark of envy for us all, -had no place in his personal converse. As a talker he made no demand for -consideration, and it was that perhaps which lent to his companionship -such a singular charm. What he had to say, though it was often -brilliantly said, left little sense of premeditation. The topic of the -moment, however carelessly it might have been suggested, seemed in him -for the moment to be all-absorbing. However trivial it might be, it was -not too trivial for his acceptance; and however unpromising it might -seem to others, his quick agile spirit contrived to draw from its -discussion something that was notable and memorable. - -I think of him now with his long straight hair carelessly flung -backward, and the swift alert eyes, quick in expressive response to any -point of humour that arose, as one of the most fascinating characters it -has ever been my fortune to encounter in conversation. He said nothing -that appeared to be considered, and little that was not illuminating, -and yet through it all, though his talk could rise on occasion to -heights of deep earnestness and enthusiasm, there remained the -ever-present sense of the boy. Something of the spirit of boyish -adventure inspired his presence, something, too, of boyish recklessness, -so that it was not always easy to remember, in the perfect freedom of -intercourse which his nature allowed, that he was before all things a -man of letters, a man to whom no refinement of our tongue was unknown: -above all things a student and a master of style, in his work constantly -perfecting an instrument which we, who were his contemporaries, were -very well aware that we used by comparison only as bunglers and -beginners. - -In this sense I used to feel that there was a striking contrast between -the man and his writing. Personally, and as a talker, it was the -carelessness of his attack of any subject that first impressed me. His -interest seemed wholly centred and absorbed by the incident, the -character, or the episode under discussion, and the means by which his -thought and feeling concerning it might be expressed, were by contrast -almost negligently employed. As a writer, great as is the rank he -deservedly holds in the region of romance, his work yields to me exactly -the opposite impression. His own faith in the story he has to tell is -never, to my thinking, entirely convincing. Something too much of the -conscious artist intrudes itself between the narrator and the reader, -something that robs the result of the sense that the recorded fact is a -fact indeed. It is impossible to forget, I think, even in Stevenson’s -happiest work that he is an accomplished man of letters; and although -there is no great writer who is not, the greatest and ablest allow us to -forget it. - -Certainly in contact with Stevenson the man, one had no temptation to -remember it. One was never haunted in those delightful hours of social -intercourse by the suspicion that he was searching for a phrase, and yet -often enough our conversation turned upon points of style; and I -remember once in a selected line of a poet, where the fitness of a -single word was under discussion, Stevenson swiftly checked our -condemnation by a remark that seemed all the more apt because it came -from his lips: - -“My dear Carr, every word looks guilty when it is put into the dock.” - -I suppose no one ever had a juster or more generous appreciation of the -great leisurely genius of Sir Walter Scott than was possessed by -Stevenson. No one by intention or design was more desirous to exclude -from his own work the sense of modishness in style, and yet it remains -with me as a final impression of Stevenson as a writer, that he -occasionally laid himself open to the reproach that he would, as a -critic, have been the first to detect in the work of another. - -But I can think of him now only as I knew him then, an unconquerable boy -with his heart set for adventure, lending to our talk as often as he -came into it something of that daring outlook into worlds as yet -undiscovered which characterised the adventurers of the seventeenth -century. - -It may have been something of this fighting quality in himself that -attracted Stevenson to the combative spirit of Henley. Their first -association, of course, bore an early date, and it may have been again -something in poor Henley’s physical disability which provoked and -sustained Stevenson’s affectionate regard. It is not altogether -pleasant to reflect that such affection loyally rendered on Stevenson’s -part was not at the close so loyally recognised by his comrade. Henley’s -vehement personality rendered his presence on those particular -afternoons at the Savile Club a constant factor of vitality. It was -impossible for thought to slumber while Henley was awake. There was no -opinion he would not question, no proposition, however confidently or -however modestly put forward, he would not immediately set upon its -trial. Those were his days of battle, and it was not easy then to guess -that a few years later he would win to his standard quite a troop of -young men eager to enforce the gospel he had to preach. - -At the time of which I am thinking he was fighting for his own hand, and -he fought strenuously; the mere love of the conflict was a dominating -passion, and if there was, as I think sometimes there was, an underlying -note of personal bitterness, may it not be set down in the hearts of -those who knew him, and who survive him, as the inevitable price -humanity has to pay for the long martyrdom of pain to which nature had -doomed him? - -And yet Henley, for all the valorous spirit that was in him, was not -always proof against sudden attack. One night when we were gathered at -the Savile after some public dinner where we had all been present, -Irving was of the party. Irving had a trick of waiting for his foe, and -on this particular occasion, as I recall it, he was chafing under a -criticism which had been delivered by Henley upon his impersonation of -Macbeth. Henley appeared to be well aware that the matter in difference -between them would come under discussion before the evening was ended, -and was obviously ready with all the destructive weapons that were -arrayed in his critical armoury. But quick and vigilant as he was as a -fighting force, he nevertheless proved himself unready for the kind of -attack which Irving had designed. Very quietly and almost deferentially -the actor came to his point. After much genial interchange of cordial -sentiment on one side and the other, Irving suddenly pounced upon his -man. - -“I notice,” he said, speaking to Henley in that tone of reverie which -with him always concealed an imminent blow, “that you do not approve of -my conception of Macbeth. Tell me now, for I should be interested to -hear it, how would you play Macbeth if you were called upon to present -the character on the stage? What is your conception?” - -Henley was hardly prepared for such an invitation, and as we sat in -expectation of what he would have to say, it was easy to perceive that -the critic’s destructive method, which at that time was uppermost in -him, could not suddenly readjust itself to the task of offering any -coherent appreciation of the character which Irving, according to his -allegation, had misinterpreted. - -Irving was notoriously skilful in this kind of combat. He was patient in -the endurance of any slight which he conceived to be passed upon his -work as an actor, but his patience was never forgetful, and when the -hour came, however long it might have been delayed, when he thought -that he could claim his own, he was wont to strike mercilessly. - -I remember an incident concerning myself, belonging to the earlier -stages of our friendship. It was after the conclusion to a dinner of the -Rabelais Club, when he invited several of us to adjourn to his rooms in -Grafton Street for a final cigar. I was very cordially bidden to be of -the company, little guessing that he had selected this particular -occasion to single me out as the mark of his disapproval. When we were -all comfortably seated round him, and he was reclining deep in his chair -in an easy attitude that I afterwards learned to know was nearly always -ominous, he threw out for our discussion a proposition in regard to -which we could not fail to find ourselves unanimous. - -“Now, talking among friends,” he said, “I suppose that you would all -agree that criticism ought to be fair?” - -With no possible exception we were all loudly enthusiastic in assent. - -“Quite so,” replied Irving, in the same dispassionate and measured -tones. “Well, then,” he continued, in a voice somewhat threateningly -raised but still carefully controlled, “there is a criticism I have read -in a magazine called _The Theatre_ about a play of mine. Very clever!” -And then with sudden vehemence, pointing to me, he added, “You wrote -it!” - -“Do you mean,” I inquired, “the article on _Iolanthe_?”--an adaptation -by W. G. Wills of _King Rene’s Daughter_ which had recently been -presented at the Lyceum. “Yes, I wrote it!” - -“Quite so,” returned Irving, his voice now rising in a tenser strain. -“Well, nothing more unfair and more unjust has ever been written.” - -I was young enough then not to be unmoved by this sudden and unexpected -onslaught, but I summoned the courage to ask him, in reply, if the -magazine was in the room. I saw as I spoke that it was lying on the -table, and I asked him, as the article was short, if he would allow me -to read it to those of my fellow-critics who were present, some of whom -might fairly be supposed to be unaware of its import. - -Irving could not, of course, but assent to my demand, but when I had -concluded he appealed with even greater vehemence to those who were -present in justification of what he had already said. - -“You see! You see!” he cried. “Not one word about me!” - -“It is quite true, Irving,” I answered. “And I will tell you why. I do -not think any one has a higher appreciation of your genius as an actor -than I have, and if I could have found the occasion to praise this -particular performance I would gladly have seized it, but I thought it, -rightly or wrongly, a bad performance, and, out of a spirit of loyalty -to my larger admiration of your talent, I refrained from saying so. But -I see now that I was wrong. In view of what you have said to-night I -feel it would have been better to have said what I thought. You may -however be assured, after what has occurred, that I shall not commit -that blunder again.” - -My defence was absolutely sincere, and I think Irving realised it. At -any rate, I know that this little incident, which occurred upon the -threshold of our friendship, did not hinder the formation of a close -fellowship which endured and strengthened during the greater part of his -career. - -Bret Harte was an occasional visitor to the Savile, but I saw him more -often and more intimately at the delightful meetings of the Kinsmen -Club, a society that was designedly founded to bring together men of -kindred interest in Art and Letters from both sides of the Atlantic. It -has often been something of a puzzle to me that Bret Harte should not -have ranked higher as an author among his own compatriots. In his own -realm as a story-teller it seems to me hardly possible to rank him too -high. That he owed much to Dickens he himself, I believe, would have -been the first to acknowledge; but that his own individuality, both in -humour and pathos, outstripped any reproach of imitation cannot, I -think, be questioned by those to whom his work makes any strong appeal. - -Socially he never made any endeavour to press for consideration of his -literary claims. He was willing to speak of his work on the invitation -of others, and always with modesty. In converse you would hardly have -guessed he was a writer, nor did he often lead conversation on to the -subject of literature, but I found in him, what I have always found in -his writings, a certain reticent delicacy of perception, touched and -fired now and again with a quick chivalry of feeling in all that -concerned the relation of the sexes. - -To his own countrymen I suppose he belonged to a past era in literary -art, an era which preceded that elaborate analysis of the feminine -temperament as distinguished from feminine character which to the mind -of so many modern novelists appears to rank as the final victory of -fiction. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -MEN OF THE THEATRE - - -My association with the theatre began somewhat disastrously. It was my -father’s kindly thought, while we were still children, to afford us an -annual visit to the pantomime, a visit that was accomplished for our -large family by means of two hired flies, which transported us from our -house at Barnes to the chosen place of amusement. - -But my particular enjoyment of this long-desired entertainment was -mitigated by circumstances both moral and physical. We had at that time -a nurse who, though by nature endowed with most affectionate impulses, -strongly disapproved of all dramatic entertainment, and who, for some -weeks before this annually projected tampering with the forces of evil, -tormented my spirit by a somewhat vivid picture of the eternal perils -which I was destined to encounter. - -On the first of these theatre parties that I can recollect, when she was -coerced by my mother to form one of the party, in order that her -numerous flock should have proper protection, her original antipathy to -all things theatrical was strongly enforced and confirmed from the fact -that, in the first piece which preceded the pantomime, one of the -actors, shipwrecked upon a desert shore, gave utterance to a sentiment -which to her mind seemed profoundly impious--that “what man could do he -had done, and that God must do the rest.” As she explained to me the -next evening, when I lay tucked up in bed, the mere mention of God -within the four walls of a theatre was an act of profanity altogether -unpardonable, and from that time forward she would never consent to take -any part in these annual orgies. - -But her manifest disapproval, as the recurring season of Christmas -approached, set my spirit in terrible debate between the pleasure I -longed for and the sin I knew I was about to commit. That internal -struggle, fierce as it seemed to me at the time, must, I suppose, have -been conducted with insufficient force on her side, for the issue left -me always eager and ready for the adventure of sin. Indeed, so eager was -our anticipation of the treat in store for us, that for many days -beforehand we could think of nothing else; and so great our excitement -as the appointed day approached, that the long-looked-for pleasure -nearly always ended in disaster. Excitement in our family always -revealed itself in an overmastering tendency to sickness, and from the -age of five till the age of ten my vision of the splendours of the -pantomime was intermittent, such glimpses of its glory as I derived -being for the most part only obtained through the small lunette at the -back of the dress-circle, the remainder of the evening being nearly -always passed in a state of utter prostration in the ladies’ cloak-room. -I neither claim nor profess any isolated distinction in this recurring -malady, it was the abiding characteristic of our family; and I have -often since, looking back on those days, reflected with admiration upon -the dauntless courage of my father and mother to whom these occasions, -repeated again and again, in spite of all example, must have been -fraught with nothing short of misery. - -But to me personally there was this added penalty, that when I returned -from each such woful debauch, like a stricken soldier from the field, I -was compelled to endure without defence the reproachful glance of my -nurse’s eye, which told me as clearly as though it were written upon the -wall that I had but earned the appointed wages of sin. This nurse of -mine was in many ways a remarkable character. Linked with a nature -surely the most loving and affectionate that a child could desire, were -the sternest principles of religion and morality ever implanted in the -human breast--principles associated with so slender a store of -intellectual endowment that even to my childish mind their vehement -announcement was sometimes grotesque. - -One of her most deeply rooted convictions was that the principle of life -insurance was a direct defiance of the laws of God: a proposition which -she sought to establish by a terrible tale of a butcher of Lewes, who, -having flouted Providence by affecting an insurance upon his life, -within half an hour after the conclusion of this prudent operation fell -down dead as he descended the steps of the market-hall. - -Her intellectual equipment was perhaps no scantier than that of many -other women, but the fervour with which she employed it in the service -of her religious principles might have made her a desolating influence -upon the life of a child, if her loving and kindly nature had not -constantly given the lie to the rigid creed she innocently believed was -guiding her conduct through life. - -It is undeniable, however, that such influences first exercised in -childhood are long remembered, and it was many a day before I could -quite free myself from the thought that the study of dramatic art was -not in some degree associated with a sinful life. It is difficult to say -whether this hovering sense of wrong-doing is not in its nature an added -incentive to enjoyment. Certain it is that the pleasures of the -play-house became a factor of increasing influence in my life. There was -an old laundry attached to our house at Barnes which seemed to us -singularly unfitted for its destined purpose, but which might, as we -thought, be easily adapted as an arena for the performance of stage -plays, and here, urged on by a wicked cousin who has since, as a fitting -penalty for his youthful delinquencies, become a clergyman, I began my -career as an amateur actor. We had at that time a distrust of all -feminine help, and chose for our essays in histrionic art only those -plays in Lacy’s list wherein the plot might be expounded by the -exclusive support of male performers. - -It chanced, while I was at Bruce Castle School, I had for one of my -comrades poor Dick Bateman, son of Richard Bateman, who had about that -time, or soon after, become Irving’s manager at the Lyceum. Together we -became editors of a school magazine, and it was through him afterwards -that I won my first introduction to the theatre. - -He was remarkable as a schoolboy for a prodigious and extraordinary -memory. I have spoken, in the earlier pages of this book, of the memory -of Churton Collins, but in Dick Bateman’s case the faculty was -differently exercised. It seemed in him to be purely mechanical, and we -used to delight, as schoolboys, to set him the task, in which he rarely -failed, of reading over a page of any author and then requiring of him -that he should repeat it word for word. That special kind of memory -which appeared to be detached from any personal interest in the matter -recalled, it has not been my chance to see equalled in any other man I -have known. - -I have spoken of him as “poor” Dick Bateman because he met an early and -tragic fate, for after a few years spent in London in occasional -employment under his father he was sent upon some business adventure to -the East, and was drowned in a shipwreck which occurred off the coast of -Japan. But in our schooldays, and in the years immediately succeeding -our schooldays, we were close comrades, and it was through him that I -won my first knowledge of Irving, who had already appeared in several -plays in which I had seen him, but who had then been recently engaged by -Mr. Bateman as a leading actor to support his daughter, Isabella -Bateman, in whose interests he had undertaken the management of the -Lyceum Theatre. I had seen Irving before that time when he had played -Bob Gassett in _Dearer than Life_ at the Queen’s Theatre, and I had seen -him again in _Uncle Dick’s Darling_ at the Gaiety, when he had appeared -in company with Toole. - -It was of the latter performance that Toole afterwards told me Charles -Dickens had said, when he saw it, that he thought it admirable in the -promise it gave of the young actor’s ability; though he had added: “I -fancy that both he and the author have cast an eye over my character of -Mr. Dombey--eh, Toole?” And to any one who saw the performance there -could have been no doubt as to the justice of Dickens’s suggestion. It -was at a little later date that Irving achieved his first great success -with the public in the character of Digby Grant in Mr. Albery’s play of -_The Two Roses_, and it was after that again that he became permanently -engaged to Mr. Bateman. - -But Mr. Bateman’s endeavour to force his younger daughter Isabella upon -the acceptance of the public as a leading actress was not successful. -The play of _Fanchette_, with which he opened his management, was a -failure, and the part of the youthful hero, for which Irving was cast, -was entirely unsuited to his special abilities. Other adventures -followed, and they only had the effect of somewhat lowering the mark -Irving had made in _The Two Roses_, and there came a time in the -steadily waning fortunes of the theatre when it seemed that Mr. -Bateman’s management was destined to come to an inglorious end. It was -at that time that Irving, who had had for some little while in his -possession Leopold Lewis’s dramatised version of Erckmann-Chatrian’s -_Polish Jew_, persuaded Mr. Bateman to allow him to put it on the stage -of the Lyceum. - -Irving has more than once told me the story himself, of how he and -Bateman paced up and down the Adelphi terrace at midnight debating the -possibilities of its success. Bateman, as he frankly avowed to the -actor, had no faith in the popular appeal of the play, and it was, I -suppose, only because he found himself at the end of his tether that he -somewhat reluctantly consented to permit Irving to make the experiment. -How hardly pressed the enterprising manager must have been at the time -was proved by the fact that one evening, when I was walking with him -down the Haymarket, he pointed to a corner public-house and said to me, -“The owner of that house once held an umbrella over me in the rain when -I most needed it, and I shall never forget it.” - -Nor shall I ever forget the extraordinary impression made upon my own -imagination by my first sight of Irving in his performance of _The -Bells_. I have often recalled in recollection the sentence penned by -Dutton Cook, who was then the dramatic critic of the _Pall Mall -Gazette_, wherein he said, “Acting at once so intelligent and so intense -has not been seen upon the stage for years”; nor do I think any one who -witnessed that performance, as it was rendered by Irving in the -plenitude of his powers, would be disposed to question the verdict of -the critic. To a youth I know it came as an astounding revelation--a -revelation charged with such extraordinary concentration of personal -feeling that the first vision of it as I recall it now seemed to have -almost transgressed the limits of art, so poignant, even to the verge of -pain, was the actor’s relentless portraiture of crime and remorse. - -It was in Dick Bateman’s company that I first witnessed Irving’s -performance of _The Bells_, and it was through Mr. Bateman’s -introduction that I first learned to know the actor himself. - -In order to realise the kind and the measure of effect which Irving’s -intense individuality exercised over the public of that date, it is -necessary to recall, if only for a moment, the condition of the stage at -the time. Phelps’s career, in which he had so loyally and so honourably -sustained the great tradition he had received from Macready, had -practically, for all its influence upon the art, come to an end. He was -still to be seen, as I saw him, in occasional engagements at Drury Lane, -and later under the management of John Hollingshead at the Gaiety, and -it was still possible to appreciate the great and sterling qualities of -high training and accomplishment that he brought to the service of the -theatre. But the magic which could win the attention of a new generation -was no longer there. Its influence, perhaps, had been partly destroyed -by the advent of Fechter’s more romantic method, which, even in his -rendering of the classic drama, granted to his performance something of -the charm and allurement of the conquering hero of a fairy story. And on -the other side of the picture there was gradually arising a new school, -though it seemed to be at the time exercised in only the tiniest arena, -wherein a determined effort was being made to bring life as it was -presented on the stage into closer alliance with the accepted realities -of contemporary manners. - -A revolution in little had been started in the theatre in Tottenham -Court Road--a revolution due in the first instance to the talent of -Robertson, which was destined to exercise a lasting influence over the -theatre in England. Robertson’s new outlook, ably supported as it was by -Marie Bancroft and her husband, who found and captured an ally of added -strength in the person of John Hare, had the effect, for a while at -least, of throwing classical drama into discredit, and it was therefore -a matter of supreme difficulty for an actor equipped as Irving was, -whose vision struck deeper and whose ambition took a wider range, to -find a way to draw back the wandering attention of the public to the -more passionate drama which for the time had fallen out of fashion. It -was left to him almost unaided to forge a convention of his own, and it -is perhaps the highest tribute to his innate gift as an actor that, -although endowed by nature with few of the graces an actor might desire -to claim, he was enabled from this first adventure in _The Bells_ to win -little by little, and with every step in his career fiercely disputed, a -commanding position among the professors of his art. - -I think at the first nobody was more surprised than Mr. Bateman at the -success achieved by Irving’s experiment. In those days the favourite -haunt of actors was the old Albion Tavern in Drury Lane. Clubs were -comparatively few, and fewer still the actors who belonged to them. The -licensing laws imposing the early closure upon the London taverns had -not yet been passed, and it was the habit of those who were interested -in the theatre to gather in the old-fashioned boxes of the Albion, and -to remain in eager discussion over the things of the drama till the -small hours of the morning. It was on one evening during the first -rendering of _The Bells_ that I found myself seated there in company -with a few genial spirits including Henry Montague, Toole, and Tom -Thorne, when we noticed that Irving’s manager, Mr. Bateman, had entered -and was gazing round the room as though in search of some one he had -appointed to meet. It occurred at once to the mischievous spirit of -Toole to turn the occasion to account. In a whispered sentence he made -the rest of us co-conspirators in the little drama he had suddenly -devised, and as Mr. Bateman, still scanning the visitors assembled, -advanced from box to box, he and Montague, in tones designedly pitched -so that all might hear, began an animated discussion as to Irving’s -rightful claims to a larger salary than he was at that time receiving. I -believe, in fact, that Irving’s remuneration was something like £15 a -week, which represented a substantial advance upon the payment he had -received during his engagement for _The Two Roses_ at the Vaudeville -Theatre; but Montague and Toole vied with one another like competing -bidders at an auction in loud proclaim of his larger worth. - -“£15 a week!” said Toole. “Why, he’s worth £20 at any rate!” - -“£20!” retorted Montague. “Nonsense! He’s worth £30 if he’s worth a -penny!” - -And then Thorne, topping Montague, said he would be perfectly willing to -give him £40 if he would return to the Vaudeville; and as the voices -grew louder in the increasing estimate of Irving’s value, Bateman, -attracted by the discussion, drew nearer and nearer to the box in which -we sat, until at last, leaning with his elbows upon the mahogany -partition, he leant forward with lowering brows no longer able to -contain the indignation which these comments had provoked. And then at -last Toole, always incorrigible in humorous mischief, topped all -previous bidders by the emphatic announcement that Henry Irving was -worth £50 a week if he was worth a shilling, to which Bateman, now -incensed beyond measure, retorted, “Yes, and you are the scoundrels who -would put him up to asking it.” - -Another anecdote, at that time related to me by Irving himself, also -belongs to those old days of the Albion. Seated one evening at supper -after the play he found himself opposite to a little old gentleman, who -was unable to conceal his remembered enjoyment of the performance he had -just witnessed at the theatre. Irving, encouraged by his manifest -geniality, inquired where he had been, to which the stranger replied -that he had come from the Vaudeville, where he had seen the most -delightful play, _The Two Roses_, wherein, of course, at the time Irving -was acting. Nothing could exceed the old gentleman’s enthusiasm for the -performers, as he recalled them one after another. Montague was superb! -Thorne was excellent! and so on and so on in a liberal catalogue of the -several performers, his appreciation rising with each added name. - -Irving, at last a little nettled, as he confessed to me, at the -exclusion of all reference to himself, ventured to inquire of his -neighbour whether there was not in the play a character called Digby -Grant. - -“Ah yes! Ah yes!” assented the old gentleman, reflectively. - -“Well, now,” said Irving, “what did you think of that performance?” - -“Very good,” returned the old gentleman--“very good,” in tones which -seemed to imply that he was only half-willingly conceding a point upon -which he was not wholly convinced. “Ah yes, yes,” he added; “very good, -but, by heavens,” he continued, “what a part Johnny Hare would have made -of it!” - -The progress made by Irving in those earlier times of his histrionic -career was fiercely disputed at each step of the way. It could hardly -have been foreseen then that he would ultimately win the larger fame -that was accorded to him, and it must be conceded to those critics who -blocked his path that there was much in the individuality of the man -himself to account for the slow growth of his appeal to the public. I -have often heard him say himself in later days that his success was -achieved in spite of many natural disabilities. His figure at that time -was accounted ungainly, his gestures were often reckoned grotesque, and -the quality of his voice was such as naturally to repel those whom his -individuality did not powerfully attract. But it was in virtue of that -individuality, and by reason of those very attributes that barred his -progress on the threshold of his career, that he at last reached the -goal. - -The peculiarities of his personality could not by their nature, on their -first appeal, be widely accepted as forming a normal vehicle for the -expression of poetic drama. For many years his career presented - -[Illustration: HENRY IRVING IN THE CHARACTER OF BECKET - -From a photograph by H. H. CAMERON. - -_To face page 237._ -] - -a fierce encounter between the message that was in him to convey and the -restricted means that nature had placed at his disposal. His -individuality betrayed at the first, and indelibly stamped upon every -creation even to the close of his career, formed at first a serious -weakness and again, finally, the saving element of strength in the work -that he had to offer to the theatre. - -There will always, I suppose, be a radical divergence of thought as to -the proper attributes of an actor. To some minds it seems a self-evident -proposition that the highest triumph of histrionic art is that in which -the personality of the performer is most effectively concealed. To such -critics completeness of disguise is completeness of victory, and in the -region of comedy there is perhaps room for the confident assertion of -this idea, for it is unquestionable that a full measure of enjoyment is -conferred upon his audience by the actor’s successful assumption of -alien idiosyncrasies of bearing and manner. In what is technically known -in the theatre as character-acting, this is a goal of perfection that is -rightly sought for; and although Irving proved himself on occasion a -capable actor of character, it seems to me that his efforts in this -direction bore with rare exception an impression of exaggeration. - -And the reason is not far to seek. Conscious of his own peculiarities, -so difficult if not impossible to efface, he was disposed to seek for -concealment by forcing to the verge of the grotesque the personation of -characteristics that were not his own. He was for this reason, to my -thinking, never wholly successful as an actor of disguise; but at the -opposite pole of histrionic achievement lies, I think, a faculty that is -both rarer and greater, the faculty of revelation. Between these two -spheres of disguise and revelation lie all the possibilities of the -actor’s art. The choice of the one or of the other must be determined by -the temperament of the actor, and in an equal measure by the response he -receives from the temper of his audience. Speaking only for myself, I -may frankly say that the greatest impressions I have received in the -theatre have been made upon me by performers who never left me for a -moment to imagine they were not themselves; but who, without greatly -striving to realise the external attributes of the characters they were -presenting, have succeeded in the power of constantly identifying -themselves with the culminating passions of life. And of course these -greater victories, if they are greater, belong in the nature of things -to those actors whose ambition it is to present and interpret the deeper -emotions--those emotions, I mean, so deeply seated in humanity that -their occasional difference of expression counts as for nothing beside -the intensity with which they are felt and experienced by all. - -The justice of this view of the final victory of the actor’s art can -only be decided by individual experience and individual impression. -Looking back and recalling the performances that have most deeply moved -me, I find myself suddenly reverting in recollection to those supreme -moments in a great play or in a great impersonation in which the -individual is forgotten, and the supreme power of sounding the depths -of human feeling is indelibly stamped upon the memory. - -I saw Desclée, and greatly admired her; and I remember, long afterwards, -when I witnessed Sarah Bernhardt’s performance of _Frou-frou_, how much -I thought it suffered in comparison with the original in those lighter -and earlier scenes of the play in which the qualities of the heroine’s -temperament have to be exhibited; and yet, when Madame Bernhardt came to -the great scene in the third act, the recollection of Desclée, by a -single stroke of genius, was almost effaced, and I can only think of -_Frou-frou_ as it is recalled to me by that superb exhibition of passion -in her encounter with Louise. - -It was not Irving’s performance of _The Bells_ or the impression it -yielded which satisfied me, even in those days, that he was a great -actor. The picture as drawn, both by the author and by the actor, is so -narrowly concentrated upon almost a single phase of criminal instinct -and abnormal remorse, that it might well have been the outcome of an -intelligence intense assuredly and yet confessedly limited in its -outlook. It gave no assurance that the actor could touch the finer or -deeper notes of feeling, and it was only when he afterwards played -_Hamlet_ that he convinced me of the possession of deeper imaginative -powers. - -_À propos_ of _Hamlet_, Irving used to tell a story that was -characteristic of his imperturbable self-possession and was no less -interesting in the light it throws upon the striking individuality of a -youth who afterwards rose to a foremost position in public affairs. It -was some few years after his performance of the character in London -that Irving found himself in Dublin at a time when the Duke of -Marlborough, the father of Lord Randolph Churchill, was Lord-Lieutenant -of Ireland. _Hamlet_ was the play of the evening, and Lord Randolph, -seated alone, occupied the viceregal box. When the second act was ended -he went behind the scenes to Irving’s dressing-room and introduced -himself to the actor. With an apology that was evidently sincere he -expressed his regret that, owing to a reception at the Castle, he was -unable to wait for the conclusion of the performance. He declared -himself, however, intensely interested with what he had seen, and begged -Irving to tell him in a few words, as his time was limited, how the play -ended. Irving, as he told me, was at first so taken aback that he -thought his visitor was indulging in a humorous sally at the expense of -the immortal dramatist, but a quick glance at the young man’s earnest -face sufficed to reassure him, and he then told Lord Randolph the -outline of that concluding part of the story which his social engagement -did not permit him to see represented upon the boards. - -“When do you play it again?” inquired the young man of the actor. - -“On Wednesday next,” answered Irving. - -“I shall be there,” replied Lord Randolph, earnestly; and there -assuredly he was from the rise of the curtain to its fall, in rapt -attention to every succeeding scene of the tragedy. - -At the conclusion he again went round to Irving’s room, even more -enthusiastic than on the occasion of his previous visit; and, with a -naïveté that was, I think, deeply characteristic of that power he -afterwards displayed in public affairs--the power of swiftly -appropriating the knowledge needful for every successive post he -occupied--he made the frank avowal that, since their last meeting, he -had read for himself, not only _Hamlet_, but two or three other plays by -the same author. - -“And do you know, Mr. Irving,” he said, “I find them enormously -interesting.” - -Lord Randolph, I think, must have retained to the last his admiration of -Irving’s talent as an actor, for I met him several times in later years -at those little suppers in the Beefsteak Room of the Lyceum Theatre, -which formed so memorable a feature of Irving’s management. Here, -indeed, might be met many of the most notable people of the time, and -amongst them, an almost constant figure in these pleasant gatherings, -Irving’s life-long friend, J. L. Toole. The lasting friendship between -these two men, so differently gifted and yet so enduringly allied, -forms, I think, a touching tribute to certain great qualities of loyalty -resident in them both. - -My relations with Irving were not so close or so intimate during the -later years of his life, and I prefer to think of him now as I knew him -best, before the days of discouragement had overtaken him. To a man of -his commanding personality and indomitable will, it was difficult to -acknowledge, without a reluctance that sometimes bordered on resentment, -the need of any resources but his own. The feeling, I think, was natural -enough. He had carved out his career with such splendid courage and -persistence that it must have been hard for him to realise, even when -his powers were no longer at the full, that he had not the needful -strength for the conflict. But this feeling of impatience with the -position in which he found himself, pardonable enough in itself, made -him, I think, sometimes suspicious of his friends. In my own case I know -he entirely misconceived the motives with which I had sought to -recapture for him his threatened position in the theatre he had made -famous; but although such misunderstanding must of necessity at the time -cause a measure of pain, it is to the closer friendship of earlier days -that my memory now recurs, to the many years during which we were fast -friends and staunch allies. - -The other day I came across a little letter belonging to that happier -time which I love to preserve as a touching record of the deeper side of -Irving’s nature. Something had occurred, what precisely it was I now -forget, which caused me to write to him in warm appreciation of the -great services I always felt he had rendered to the stage, and my letter -drew from him the following response:-- - -“Your letter,” he writes, “gave me much happiness. I know our hearts are -one in many things, and I often wish we could sometimes be by the still -waters and speak of things deeper even than could be spoken of before -the best of other friends.” - -There was a strong emotional element in Irving’s character that could -scarcely have been suspected by those who did not know him intimately. -Sometimes when he was deeply moved I have seen the tears start suddenly -to his eyes, and at such moments his voice would often break and -tremble as he sought to express the feeling that stirred him. - -In the summer of 1886 he invited my wife and myself to accompany him on -a visit to Nuremberg. Miss Ellen Terry and her daughter were of the -party, and as _Faust_ was to be produced at the end of the year, our -holiday had in part a practical purpose. Irving and I made an exhaustive -study of the gardens of the old German city in order to find suitable -material for the scenery of the play, the greater part of which was to -be painted by Mr. Hawes Craven. We even carried our researches as far as -Rothenberg-on-the-Tauber, a most beautiful example of a mediæval -fortified town; and at the last Irving deemed it wise to summon Craven -from London in order that he might make a few preparatory studies on the -spot. - -There was one incident of our journey that was rather unfortunate. I was -acting as paymaster for the party, and at Cologne Irving cashed a -circular note of _£100_, and the German notes we received in exchange -were in my pocket-book as I took our tickets for Wurtzburg. At a -junction on the route the train made a halt of some minutes to allow -time for refreshments, and as I stood at the door of the buffet a young -American of great politeness of manner questioned me as to the identity -of Irving and Miss Terry. His tone was reverent and confidential, and as -the crowd pressed through the doorway he apologised for jostling me in -so unmannerly a fashion. When I retired for the night I realised that -his apology was certainly not unneeded, for on emptying my pockets I -found that my pocket-book was gone, and with it about £80 of Irving’s -money and £30 of my own. We heard afterwards that a young gentleman -answering to the description of my chance railway acquaintance had been -doing a thriving trade on the Rhine steamers, and I daresay he still -preserves my pocket-book as a souvenir of a prosperous day. - -It is, I think, impossible for any one who has been closely associated -with the modern theatre not to be impressed with the need of some -worthier support of the drama than is afforded by the fickle and -shifting taste of the public; and the career of Irving, both as an actor -and a manager, only goes to emphasise a truth that had been repeatedly -enforced by the fortunes of his predecessors. We pride ourselves in this -country upon what is achieved by individual enterprise, but we do not -always remember at what a cost such achievements are won. The harvest is -ours, but the labourers who have reaped and stored it are too often but -miserably rewarded. Charles Kean, at the close of his long struggle at -the Princess’s, confessed that he left the theatre a poorer man than -when he entered it; Phelps’ fortunes at Sadler’s Wells left him nothing -to boast of; and Henry Irving, though he enjoyed at the zenith of his -career a popularity greater than was accorded to either of his -predecessors, had good reason before its close to realise that the -motley public of a great capital is not to be counted upon for the -enduring support of the more serious form of dramatic enterprise. - -It is strange that there should be so much reluctance in the English -mind to entertain the idea of a National Theatre. In regard to other -forms of art, the need of public support is recognised and accepted. The -treasures of sculpture and painting accumulated in the British Museum, -the National Gallery, and the South Kensington Museum owe their -existence, in part at least, to the expenditure of the money of the -people, and when the Royal Academy failed to initiate any comprehensive -system of art teaching, it was undertaken by the nation. On every ground -of public policy the claims of the drama might be urged with even -greater plausibility. Its appeal as an educational force is even greater -and more immediate, and as a humanising influence it is capable of -reaching that larger class who are not yet prepared to appreciate the -masterpieces of ancient art. Of the countless thousands who can enjoy -Molière’s incomparable humour, how many are there who would pause before -Leonardo’s _Monna Lisa_ in the Louvre? How many again in our own -country, of those who are familiar with the tragedies of Shakespeare, -ever find their way into the British Museum or the National Gallery? - -And yet the prejudice against the public support of the theatre endures, -and can only, I think, be broken down by the demands of the democracy. -If a national theatre is to be established in England, it must realise -that it has a national mission. The Theatre Français was established at -a time when means of communication were difficult, and when, therefore, -it was only possible to cater for the public of the metropolis. But -under modern conditions a national theatre might, in a fuller and larger -sense, serve the interests of the country as a whole. The great -provincial cities might share the fruits of its labours; and when this -is realised I cannot but think that, even though the Government may -remain apathetic, the needful support for such an institution will not -be wanting. - -During the later years of his life upon the stage, Toole no longer held -with any influence the attention of a London audience. In the earlier -days of the Gaiety, where he had appeared as a dominant figure, his -success in a material sense then far outstripped that of his comrade, -and in some of Irving’s earlier engagements in the provinces Toole was -his manager; but even in those later days, when the comedian had partly -lost his hold upon the theatre, he remained a lovable and a fascinating -figure in private life, and I am sure there was no one who welcomed with -greater enthusiasm Irving’s steady advance to the front rank of his -profession. - -Perhaps the secret of Toole’s charm lay in an entire absence of pretence -either social or intellectual. Something deeply human in his nature left -him always at his ease in whatever society he might find himself; and, -in a sense of humour which appreciated and detected without resentment -the foibles of all whom he encountered, I think there are few men of his -generation who could claim to be his equal. He laid no claim to any -largeness of education, and I suppose there were few men who had read -less, but in that knowledge that could be won without the aid of -literature he was a genuine scholar. He read life truly and swiftly, -genially and humorously. He knew it well because he loved it well. Put -him where you would, in any company, however divergent their claims, -and not an hour could pass before Toole had seized with quick enjoyment -upon the separate characteristics of nearly every man at the table. - -What he loved most, I think, outside of that part of his life which was -spent in the theatre, was an aimless ramble in search of fun. Many and -many such a vagrant day have I passed in his company, and not a barren -one of them all. One such in particular I recall which may stand as a -sample of many more. He had called for me quite early in the morning in -his victoria, armed with only the naked suggestion that we should pay a -visit to the city. For the city, therefore, we started, with no settled -plan of operation, and it was only when we had reached the narrowest -part of Thames Street that Toole seemed suddenly possessed with the -outline of his programme for the day. - -The portly figure of a uniformed porter standing at the gateway of some -wholesale warehouse arrested his attention, and calling upon the driver -to stop, he hobbled out of the carriage with his quaint lame walk, and -at once engaged this forbidding-looking official in friendly converse. -It was the time when the wheel-and-van tax had lately been imposed, and -Toole drawing a note-book from his pocket declared to the amazed -individual he was addressing that we had come down to the city to -collect opinions on the subject. The man at first was stubbornly -reluctant to enter into conversation, but Toole’s insinuating amiability -of manner was not to be withstood, and he at last drew from this -unfortunate individual an opinion, the purport of which I scarcely now -remember, but which apparently, as Toole’s enthusiasm declared, clinched -the subject. - -“If that’s your opinion,” he said, “will you kindly see to it, as my -friend and I are busy,” and with that enigmatic declaration he hobbled -back to the victoria, leaving the unfortunate porter with a blank look -of puzzled amazement on his face. - -“To the Tower,” cried Toole to the coachman, “and as quickly as -possible, for we have a lot of work to do.” - -Arrived there, Toole at once, in tones of confidential secrecy, -addressed the first Beefeater who stood by the gateway. - -“What have you done?” he inquired in an anxious voice. - -“What do you mean, sir?” said the man. - -“I mean,” said Toole in a still more confidential tone, “what crime have -you committed? You need not keep it from me and my friend.” - -“Crime!” was the indignant answer. “I have committed no crime.” - -“Come! come!” said Toole, suddenly assuming the air of a cross-examining -counsel. “Do not dare to tell me that. You must have committed some -crime, you know, or they would never have put you into a dress like -that.” - -Before the unfortunate man had recovered his self-possession we passed -on into the Tower itself, and swiftly found ourselves among a party of -eager sight-seers in the chamber where the Crown jewels are disposed. - -It was a woman who, as I remember, was explaining to the eager throng -the history of the different articles displayed, and when at the end of -a long catalogue, she at last said, “And this is Ann Boleyn’s crown,” -Toole, apparently suddenly overcome, burst into a flood of tears and -leant against the wall in seemingly uncontrollable grief. - -“Oh, sir,” inquired the poor woman in distress, “what’s the matter?” - -“Nothing! nothing!” replied Toole in broken accents. “Don’t mind me, but -the fact is I have known the family so long.” - -Such innocent sallies of almost child-like high spirits count for -nothing in the telling, count for nothing, indeed, disassociated from -the exuberant good-humour and the laughing, lovable nature of the man -himself. - -Our whole day was spent in innocent adventures of the same kind. We -lunched in Billingsgate, where Toole persuaded the aged and greasy -waiter that his purpose in visiting the city was to engage him as -manager to a fashionable restaurant for fish dinners to be erected on -the south bank of the Thames, immediately opposite the Savoy. And then -by easy transition we passed on to the Custom House, which Toole had -known well when he had been engaged as a clerk in the city; here he -dismayed two venerable officials, busily engaged upon ledgers behind the -brass grill, by suddenly demanding a brandy and soda, entirely ignoring -their attempted explanation that it was not a bar, and vouchsafing--for -all answer to their spluttering expostulations--only the careless reply -that, if they were out of brandy, a whisky would do equally well. - -It may seem foolish to suppose that any one could derive amusement from -a day so idly spent, but those who risk this assumption labour under the -misfortune of not having known Toole. His gaiety, when he was in the -right mood, was infectious and irresistible, and yet, like all men of -such exuberant high spirits, he was subject at times to moods of the -deepest depression, moods which grew upon him in those sadder and later -days of his life when he was deprived of the constant companionship of -his comrades, which meant to him all in all. But even his most sorrowful -moments sometimes yielded, on the sudden call of a remembered incident, -to a quick recovery of the laughter that he loved, and the -unpremeditated juxtaposition of feelings which he exhibited on such -occasions was sometimes almost grotesque in their contrast. - -I remember on the death of his wife he asked me if I would drive with -him to the funeral, and I called for him at his house in Maida Vale, -where we sat silently side by side in the little room adjoining the hall -awaiting the arrival of the carriage. The tears were slowly coursing -down his cheek, and I knew that many painful memories were thronging his -brain, for his son and his daughter had already passed away, and by this -final loss the last link with his domestic life was severed. And yet -suddenly, as we were sitting there, a smile flitted across his face, and -a laughing light came into those affectionate brown eyes that only a -moment before had been filled with tears. - -“I don’t know why it has come into my mind now, Joe,” he said; “I -suppose it ought not to, but I must tell you. I was having dinner once -at Dumfries in a company of commercial travellers, and before the covers -were removed the chairman rose and said, ‘Mr. Macfarlane, as you are -nearest the window, perhaps you will ask God’s blessing on this feast.’” - -This little incident may be taken as entirely typical of the man, -typical of his absolute simplicity, of his total inability to range his -feelings with the ordered decorum which conventional propriety demands. -In another moment he was back again amid the more painful memories of -his life, and within a few minutes we were on our way to the cemetery. - -Numberless occasions of idle hours spent in Toole’s company I could -recall, but they must all be shorn of the presence of the comedian -himself, whose incomparable temperament as a humorist gave them point -and zest. One day I remember, a day of an early spring, he had a fancy -that we should journey towards Hampstead, and accordingly we drove till -we reached the well-known tea-gardens of the Spaniard’s Inn on the road -towards Highgate. The gardens were deserted, and a bleak wind was -blowing through the empty bowers, inhabited on that morning only by a -little boy who, with a small and, as it seemed to us, inadequate little -broom, was dusting the seats in preparation for the influx of visitors -that would come later in the season. - -This small boy was of almost forbidding mien and decidedly surly in -manner, but these external evidences of discouragement seemed only to -fire Toole in his desire to make his better acquaintance. He -complimented the urchin upon his dexterous use of the broom, a -compliment to which the surly boy vouchsafed no audible reply. Toole, -entirely undaunted, persisted in his overtures of friendship. - -“That’s right, my lad,” he cried, “use your broom, and when you go to -bed at night hang it up by the side of your bed.” - -This injunction, so entirely unsolicited, seemed to rouse the boy’s ire, -and his dormant powers of speech suddenly returning, he inquired of -Toole, in tones that were almost indignant, “Why should I?” - -“Because,” answered Toole, with a persuasive manner that seemed to -convey a convincing argument, “if by chance you should wake in the -night, there’s your little broom.” - -The boy, to do him justice, seemed by no means appeased by this obvious -explanation, and reverted again to his aimless occupation of dusting the -vacant seats of the untenanted bowers of the tea-gardens. Whereupon -Toole, still undefeated, attacked the citadel from another quarter. - -“When is your birthday?” he inquired, and the boy, entirely taken off -his guard, replied, “To-morrow!” and then, again entrenching himself -safely behind his bastion of surly reserve, demanded in trenchant tones, -“What’s that got to do with you?” - -“Oh, nothing, nothing!” replied Toole, “only I thought I’d like to know -if there was anything in particular you’d like for a birthday present.” - -The boy, at first obdurately silent, at last yielded under pressure, and -confessed that the dream of his life was to possess a bicycle. - -“Why not?” said Toole. - -“There’s nobody going to give me no bicycle,” replied the boy, although -his mood was now obviously melting under the infectious influence of the -comedian’s good-humour, and as we went towards the gate to get into our -carriage the boy followed us, as though under some kind of spell induced -by Toole’s suggestion, “that you never knew who might send you the -present you wanted.” - -It chanced that just at the entrance to the tea-gardens two bicycles -were leaning against a hedge, and their two owners, flushed with -exercise, were seated in jerseys beneath a tree quaffing a pot of ale. - -“Why,” cried Toole, in tones of wondering amazement, as though he saw -before him the fulfilment of his own prophecy, “there is your bicycle!” - -The boy was bewitched. Without halt or pause he seized one of the vacant -machines, and before interference was possible had mounted it and was -riding down the road to Highgate, the owner, roused from his -refreshment, starting in pursuit. - -In a moment he returned, drawing his machine with one hand and holding -the boy by the collar with the other. - -“This is your fault,” he cried indignantly to Toole, “you encouraged -him.” - -“Well,” replied Toole, with the blandest of smiles, “you can’t blame the -boy, he was only trying if it fitted him.” - -The poor little fellow, now almost in tears, looked ruefully at us as we -drove away. But there is a pretty ending to the story, for I happen to -know that on the next day, which was his birthday, Toole sent him a -little bicycle for his own. - -During those earlier days when I first made his acquaintance and -Irving’s, I was from time to time, and on different papers, employed as -a dramatic critic, and I remember it was in that capacity that I had -written a notice of Mr. Wills’ play of _Charles I._, in which Irving had -enforced and enlarged the impression created by his appearance in _The -Bells_. I think I had done sufficient justice to Irving’s impressive -personation of the king, but my pronounced democratic inclinations were -perhaps justly wounded by Mr. Wills’ almost farcical representation of -the character of Cromwell. This opinion, openly declared in my -criticism, deeply incensed Irving’s manager Mr. Bateman, and it was -perhaps in order to find the opportunity of informing me of his -disapproval that he invited me to a supper at the Westminster Club on -the second or third night of the production. - -My friend Thomas Purnell, to whom I have already referred, was present, -and Irving and Toole were also of the company. When he thought the -fitting moment had arrived, Mr. Bateman led the conversation to the -point at issue, and lured on, I think, in a spirit of mischief by -Purnell, he at last emphatically banged the table with his fist, and in -the loudest of tones declared that he did not produce his plays at the -Lyceum Theatre to please Mr. Comyns Carr. There was a moment’s awkward -pause, which I did not feel quite able to break, but which was released -by Purnell with a chuckle of delight and the happy retort: - -“Well, dear boy, then you can’t be surprised if they don’t please him.” - -All this while my own ambition to make an adventure as a writer for the -stage had been steadily growing. My wife and I had made an experiment in -a version of _Frou-frou_ entitled _Butterfly_, which was produced by -Miss Terry and Mr. Kelly during one of their provincial tours at -Glasgow. But it was not until the year 1884 that I succeeded in getting -a play presented at a London theatre. In the Christmas of 1883 Messrs. -Arrowsmith of Bristol had published a short story entitled _Called Back_ -which won instant attention from the public. Almost immediately after -its publication I was dining at the Beefsteak Club, which at that time -occupied rooms over Toole’s theatre opposite King William Street, and I -was there recommended by one of my fellow-members to read it without -delay. - -As I walked home, for we had dined early, I asked at the small -newsvendors’ shop near my house in Blandford Square, if they chanced to -have a copy of the book. By a strange coincidence, one of their -customers had ordered the little volume, published in paper covers at a -shilling, and had afterwards found that he did not need it. I bought it -and read it that night, and on the next day I wrote to its author--known -to the public as Hugh Conway, but whose real name was Fred Fargus, -member of a firm of auctioneers at Bristol--to inquire if he would -permit me to prepare a version of it for the stage. We were wholly -unknown to one another, yet he readily assented, and in the early part -of the year 1884 I secured the production of the play at the Prince of -Wales’ Theatre, then managed by Mr. Edgar Bruce. When the date agreed -upon for its production was drawing near Bruce had brought out, in -association with Charles Hawtrey, a play called _The Private Secretary_; -and, although on its first presentation this was not entirely -successful, it grew so rapidly in public favour, due in great part, as I -must think, to Mr. Beerbohm Tree’s admirable creation of the part of the -curate, that there came a moment when Hawtrey very ardently desired that -I should postpone the performance of _Called Back_. - -He offered me as an inducement such a liberal share in the profits of -his own piece as would, as the event proved, have yielded me something -like a handsome fortune. But with the vanity of a young dramatic -writer--in this instance supported by the fact that in Hugh Conway’s -interests it was imperative _Called Back_ should not be delayed, lest -our joint chance of success should be imperilled by piracy--I held fast -by my agreement with the management, and further insisted as an integral -part of that agreement that Mr. Beerbohm Tree, whose services Mr. -Hawtrey desired to retain, should be engaged by Mr. Bruce for the part -of Macari. Nor did I see cause to regret my decision; for, apart from -the fact that _Called Back_ itself proved an instant success which -yielded to Conway and to myself, both in England, in America, and -Australia, a substantial reward, its production was the means of forming -two valued friendships, the one with Hugh Conway, only severed by his -untimely death, the other with Beerbohm Tree, sustained and strengthened -as the years have passed, and still surviving in a spirit of loyal -comradeship on his side and on mine. - -Hugh Conway’s was a lovable nature, and if his talent as displayed in -later efforts has not been appreciated at its true value, the reason -perhaps may be sought in the fact that the glamour of his first essay in -fiction was sufficient to overshadow the work of his later years. But he -had, as I think, a power in the suggestion of the supernatural -altogether exceptional, and although his style affected no literary -grace, he had the art of contriving and weaving a story so as to arrest -and enchain the attention of the reader. From the time of our first -association we became firm friends, and I believe my name was almost the -last upon his lips when he met his untimely death from fever on the -Riviera. At his wish I dramatised the next of his Christmas books, -entitled _Dark Days_, which was presented at the Haymarket Theatre in -the following year, but it proved less acceptable to the public. He also -published under my editorship, in the _English Illustrated Magazine_, a -serial story called _A Family Affair_, and a few shorter tales, one of -which, entitled _Paul Vargas_, possessed something of the weird -mysticism of Edgar Allan Poe. - -Previous to the publishing of _Called Back_ he had issued in one of the -magazines an amusing little story illustrating the fortunes of two -collectors of old china, which he allowed me to employ as the basis of a -piece I presented at St. George’s Hall under the title of _The United -Pair_. The German Reeds’ entertainment is now a thing of the past, but -it occupied in those days a unique position as satisfying those whose -religious scruples did not allow them to visit or to patronise regular -theatrical entertainments. I remember as a child having been taken to -the Gallery of Illustration in Regent Street, occupying, I fancy, the -site now tenanted by the Raleigh Club, to see Miss Priscilla Horton, the -originator of this special form of entertainment who afterwards, as Mrs. -German Reed, gave a permanent name to the programme presented for so -many years at St. George’s Hall. - -At first the German Reeds had been associated with Mr. Parry, whose -place, in my time, was occupied by my friend Corney Grain. Mr. and Mrs. -Reed in those later days were both dead, and the purely dramatic part of -the bill was under the direction of Alfred Reed their son, with whom I -had many pleasant hours of association in the several pieces I wrote for -him. _The Cabinet Secret_ was followed by _The Friar_, a rather more -ambitious experiment in verse, and that again was succeeded by _The -Naturalist_, the last of my contributions to the performances at St. -George’s Hall. - -It is hard in these days, when the earlier prejudices against the -theatre are so nearly effaced, to realise the extraordinary vogue which -this particular class of entertainment enjoyed. An author who wrote for -the German Reeds had to tread warily, and the presence of a harmonium, -as the sole support of the piano in the orchestra, was there constantly -to remind him of the somewhat orthodox tone he was enjoined to observe. - -Corney Grain, who in later days rarely appeared in the dramatic part of -the programme, was a host in himself when he was seated at the piano, -inimitable as he was in humorous perception of the lighter foibles of -the day. For years he was a constant figure at the Beefsteak Club, where -in private life he betrayed the same quick glance into the little -idiosyncrasies of individual character allied to a power of ridicule -that never sought to wound, and a deeply seated geniality of nature that -won him many friends, and never, as I think, a single enemy. - -Of all the entertainers in this kind who have sought single-handed to -amuse the public, partly in humorous characterisation and partly through -musical accomplishment, he remains, as far as my impression goes, easily -first in the class he represented. - -A chapter of pleasant memories in the earlier days of my theatrical -association is provided by a little club called “The Lambs,” to which I -have already alluded. It had been founded in 1868, and I suppose it was -about the year 1870 that I was admitted into the fold. Though not -exclusively composed of actors, it was mainly concerned with interests -that were theatrical, and it was there I first met Sir Squire Bancroft -and Sir John Hare, in days when neither dreamed of the distinction of a -title, and when both, indeed, were little past the threshold of their -fame. There were no matinées then, and so we were enabled to meet for -dinner on every Saturday during the autumn and winter at the pleasant -hour of four o’clock. - -When I first joined the society our meeting-place was at the old Gaiety -Restaurant, but afterwards we moved to the Albemarle Hotel, then an -old-fashioned hostelry at the corner of Piccadilly, which has long been -supplanted by a more modern structure. They were the pleasantest -gatherings that I can recall as being connected with that period of my -youth. The rules of our Club prescribed just that little touch of -ceremony and ritual by which grown men when they come together for -social purposes prove themselves to be so nearly allied to children, and -as a part of that ceremonial it was ordained that the “Shepherd” of the -day, an office filled in rotation, had, at the summons of a graceful -little silver bell, designed by one of our members, Fred Jameson, the -right to call upon any one of those present whom he chose to select for -a speech, which, with its reply, was all in the way of oratory that our -rules permitted. - -It was in this way that I first encountered that handsomest and gayest -of young actors, H. J. Montague, whose charm exercised a widespread -fascination upon the play-goers of his day, and who was further, and -quite independently of such histrionic gifts as he could boast, a -companion of the most sympathetic spirit. If not endowed with absolute -wit, he could so infect the recital of the most ordinary adventures that -he had encountered during the day with something of the rollicking sense -of boyishness that was his own, as to keep his hearers in a mood of -unflagging merriment and enjoyment. - -But on one particular occasion, which I recall, he was bidding for a -victory that lay not quite so easily within his reach. Chosen by the -chairman as the spokesman of the day, he had selected me, perhaps -because I was the youngest member of the Club, as the object of his -raillery, and I remember now the look of amazement, almost of -consternation, on his face when I replied to him in something of the -same spirit which animated his own speech, and retorted with unsparing -ridicule upon his own qualifications as an actor and as a member of our -little society. - -Joyous, indeed, were those weekly meetings of “The Lambs,” where we met -in eager appreciation of that new birth in the drama inaugurated by Tom -Robertson, and which was being presented, with so loyal a faith in their -mission, by the company which Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft had gathered -together in the little house in Tottenham Court Road. We were all -enthusiasts, all animated by a firm faith in the future of the drama we -loved, all supported by the thought that to-morrow would see the dawn of -such a new birth of drama upon the stage as England had not witnessed -for many a generation. And even looking back now it seems plain to me -that the movement in which we were taking a part was not without its -direct and important influence upon the new spirit that had crept into -the theatre. - -It is difficult now quite to realise the warmth of welcome we were then -glad to bestow upon that little revolution which must be always -associated with the Prince of Wales’s Theatre under the management of -the Bancrofts. The return to realism which was there sought, and in a -measure achieved, was exercised only in a narrow compass, and with an -outlook that was restricted and limited. But it was designed to have a -larger influence than seemed possible from such modest beginnings. It -sought no triumphs which were not within the region of comedy, and that -comedy itself did not strive for the interpretation of more than the -current sentiments of the time. But, by its earnest endeavour to bring -the life as presented upon the stage into closer contact with the life -of its time, it served to exercise an influence upon the art of the -future in a wider and a deeper sense than was, perhaps, quite -consciously entertained by those who were conducting its efforts. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -SOCIAL HOURS - - -The recollection of many pleasant hours spent at the Lambs Club recalls -other social gatherings which have lightened my life as a man of -letters. Of society, strictly so called, I have known but little. A few -occasional excursions into the higher realms have come to me -accidentally, and my experiences of such more formal gatherings were -never of a kind to tempt me to strive with any earnest ambition for -those more dignified joys which must, I presume, be highly prized by -those who seek them. - -The drift of modern life has, indeed, broken down many of the barriers -of an earlier time, and the dividing line between Bohemia and Society, -properly so called, is now often effaced by ambition on the one side or -by curiosity on the other. - -Here, however, I shall only speak of those more intimate gatherings -where artists of various callings were wont to meet, and the first in my -recollection are those associated with the pleasant Sunday evenings at -the house of Dr. Westland Marston, whose simple hospitality drew many -interesting folk to his table. - -It was there I first met the beautiful Adelaide Neilson, whose -picturesque and romantic career would vie in interest, if it could ever -be recorded, with that of Lady Hamilton herself. Certainly her changing -fortunes were no less sudden in their contrast, for, although she came -of humble origin, she was at the time when I first knew her widely -worshipped as a beauty and as an actress. - -Dr. Westland Marston himself had, like Rossetti, though not in an equal -degree, the power of inspiring and encouraging younger men, whom he -loved to draw about him. While I was still at school I had already read -his play of _The Patrician’s Daughter_, a play chiefly interesting from -a literary point of view by reason of its endeavour to treat a purely -modern theme through the medium of blank verse. Some of his shorter -poems were also known to me, and as he was the first man of any rank in -literature with whom I had become personally acquainted, I was glad of -the opportunity which those Sunday evenings afforded me to know him -better. - -No man had ever a more real delight in literature or a clearer or more -delicate perception of its finer qualities. I think it was Joseph Knight -who first introduced me to him, and in the years when I was making my -first efforts in journalism it was a constant delight to me to find that -I was a welcome visitor at his house. - -He had been impressed, as Knight told me, by a review I had written in -the _Globe_ of the poems of Joachim Miller, and I remember the warm -words of encouragement with which he greeted me on my first visit to his -house. - -It was there I met Mrs. Lynn-Linton, whose articles in the _Saturday -Review_ on “The Girl of the Period” were at the time attracting a -considerable amount of attention. Afterwards I got to know her well, and -learnt to discover in her earnest, enthusiastic nature qualities that -struck much deeper than the superficial satire which she had exercised -in this series of papers exploiting the foibles of her sex. - -Another house where artists and men of letters were warmly welcomed was -that of Dr. Schlesinger, who was for many years the valued English -correspondent of the _Cologne Gazette_. Dr. Max Schlesinger, in virtue -of very considerable gifts both as a politician and as a man of letters, -and even more perhaps by qualities of personal character that made him -widely trusted, occupied an exceptional position in the world of -journalism in London. His known discretion as a publicist won for him -the confidence of the most eminent of our statesmen, but the -associations of this kind which belonged to his life as a journalist, -never led him to desert or to neglect that purely artistic environment -to which by inclination and culture he naturally belonged. - -Nothing could have been more simple, more entirely unostentatious than -the hospitality offered on those pleasant weekly evenings in Dr. -Schlesinger’s house. It was, I think, a valued rendezvous to all who -considered themselves welcome, for it was Dr. Schlesinger’s privilege, -partly due perhaps to the exceptional position he occupied, that he was -able to make his house a delightful meeting-place for the leaders of -thought in many departments, and for the most prominent artists of -every nationality. - -It was there I first met Mr. G. H. Boughton, then a young and struggling -painter, who, if not American by birth, was at any rate American by long -association, and who afterwards achieved in England a deservedly high -place among his comrades. Mr. and Mrs. Boughton, before they built their -house upon Campden Hill, had begun to be known as accepted hosts by a -large body of artistic society, and in later days the big studio at -Campden Hill became the scene of many joyous entertainments, which -occasionally took the form of fancy dress. Mr. Boughton, whatever may be -the final verdict on his own artistic achievement, was a man of fine -taste and delicate perception, both in the region of art and in the -wider field of literature. It was there I first met Robert Browning, a -constant guest at the Boughtons’ dinners, which, with the larger parties -they sometimes entertained, became for many years an accepted -meeting-place for nearly all who were interested in art. - -A little later, when the Grosvenor Gallery was established, the Sunday -afternoon parties, so graciously presided over by Lady Lindsay, quickly -established themselves as a social feature of the time. A part of the -mission which Sir Coutts and Lady Lindsay had accepted was the -establishment of a closer link between the professors of the plastic -arts and the representatives of cultivated society; and certainly, while -these afternoons endured, they served their purpose admirably well, and -proved the means, to those who attended them, of forming many new and -valued friendships. I remember one of those pleasant assemblies being -suddenly and very sadly interrupted by the arrival of Montague Corry, -afterwards Lord Rowton, who was the bearer of the appalling announcement -of the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke. - -Of later hosts and hostesses who have especially distinguished -themselves by the cultivation of the more artistic aspect of society it -would be possible to speak with fuller appreciation, if it were not that -they are still amongst us and still discharging those graceful duties of -hospitality. Sir George and Lady Lewis, while they still occupied their -beautiful cottage at Walton, made us all welcome, and the days I have -spent there in company with Burne-Jones remain among the sweetest -memories of that earlier time. Nor less delightful are the recollections -which gather about those memorable Tuesday evenings which for many years -have been enjoyed by the friends of Sir Lawrence and Lady Tadema. - -The instinct of hospitality belongs to many kindly hosts; the genius of -hospitality is rare, but it would be conceded, I think, by all--who for -so many years have been welcomed, first to Townsend House overlooking -Regent’s Park, and in later days to that larger and more spacious studio -which stands in the Grove End Road--to Sir Lawrence and Lady Tadema. The -last Tuesday evening we spent in Townsend House comes back vividly to me -now. I think all of us who were there were a little moved at the thought -that there should be even a temporary break in the continuity of these -weekly gatherings; some of us, perhaps, were also a little afraid lest -the new order of things in that larger house towards which our hosts -were flitting should be robbed of some of the intimacy we had so long -enjoyed. - -But such fears, if they existed, were quickly dispelled when we were -once more welcomed to the new abode. The change belonged only to the -building; our host and hostess have remained unalterable in the loyalty -of their friendship. - -It was at the house now occupied by Sir Alma Tadema that at one time I -used to dine with the French painter, James Tissot, a man whose varied -moods of changing ambition and alternating ideals leave him almost -without a parallel among the painters of the time. Tissot was one of the -first contributors to the exhibition of the Grosvenor Gallery, his -talent at the time being almost entirely preoccupied by a modish type of -modern feminine beauty. - -In those earlier exhibitions he found such lighter essays of his hung in -close juxtaposition with the widely different work of Burne-Jones, and -dining with him at about this time I could see that his mind was deeply -exercised by the impression the English painter had made upon him. - -“Mon ami,” he confided to me, “je vois qu’il y a quelque chose à faire, -là.” - -And accordingly, before the next year’s exhibition had come round he had -ventured his experiment in the region of what he thought to be ideal -art. But the leap was too long for so brief a period of preparation, and -I remember that his friend Heilbuth, who was present at the dinner of -that second year, made sad havoc with the painter’s schemes by -ridiculing the little card upon which Tissot had set forth his -symbolical intentions. He treated the written description of the -pictures as though it were a menu of the feast that awaited us, crying -out each course from the beginning: “Potage une dame avec un serpent, -qui signifie----” But at this point the incensed Tissot snatched the -paper from his hand, and amid a roar of laughter, in which perhaps the -painter did not very heartily join, we went in to dinner. - -But that sudden ambition, though it was not capable of immediate -fulfilment, implied a deeper strain in Tissot’s nature which was -destined to find expression at a later day. Shortly afterwards he left -England, and it was many years before I saw him again, hard at work in -his studio in Paris upon the completion of a series of designs in -illustration of the Life of Christ. Those designs exhibited an -extraordinary persistence in the interpretation of local truth, for he -had made a long sojourn in the Holy Land in order to fit himself for the -task, and they showed besides an occasional intensity of feeling that -lay dormant and unsuspected in the man as I knew him first. What was the -real kernel of such a nature it is hard to say. The man himself, -although in those earlier days he displayed little but the evident -ambition to make his art remunerative, nevertheless, by occasional -glimpses, betrayed the elements of a deeper purpose underlying the life -that was preoccupying him at the moment. - -A strange figure, a strange individuality, yielding by turns to impulses -the lightest and the most devout, but always, however he might be -engaged, proving himself the possessor of an extraordinary industry and -a remarkable talent! - -I have already alluded to the suppers in the Beefsteak Room as among the -notable social reunions of the time. But there is one of those Lyceum -suppers a little more formal than the rest which I feel disposed to -recall, because it gave evidence of quite an unsuspected power on the -part of Henry Irving of suddenly replying as a speaker to an unexpected -attack. - -The occasion was the 100th performance of the _Merchant of Venice_, in -1879, and I think it was the first time that the stage of a great London -theatre had been employed as the arena of a large and splendid -entertainment. Since that time we have enjoyed such feasts under the -hospitable auspices of Mr. Tree at His Majesty’s--once, as I recall, on -the occasion of the 100th night of _Julius Cæsar_, and again on a -corresponding occasion to celebrate the successful run of _Ulysses_. - -On the evening to which I now refer, the task of proposing Irving’s -health was entrusted to Lord Houghton, who, it was thought, would hardly -choose that particular occasion to exhibit the cynical temper he was -known to possess. But Lord Houghton, as I afterwards found reason to -know, was not disposed to be governed by conventional restrictions, and -he devoted nearly the whole of his speech to a considered depreciation -of Irving’s conception of Shylock, enlarging, in terms, that seemed to -us who sat there, almost designedly bitter, upon what he considered the -undeserved dignity that the actor had granted to the character. - -It must have been that Irving was taken by surprise, and although his -habit was always to speak from preparation, and often indeed to read -what he had prepared, he proved himself, on this occasion, a master of -good-humoured impromptu, twitting Lord Houghton, in a spirit of genial -banter, with being a slave to the old-fashioned idea that Shylock was a -comic villain, and promising on some future occasion to try and more -amply satisfy his lordship’s ideal by representing Shylock as a -Houndsditch Jew with three hats upon his head and a bag of lemons in his -hands. The actor’s success, acknowledged by all who were present, was -due, I think, mainly to the fact that, although taken off his guard by -this unexpected provocation, there was not a trace of ill-humour in his -reply. - -There was one other occasion when Irving was the host at a small -supper-party given at the Continental Hotel, when he showed an equal -power of retaining his self-possession in circumstances the most trying -and the most unexpected. - -The honoured guest of the evening--entertained upon his return from a -foreign campaign--was a brilliant and gifted journalist, now no more, -and chief among those whom he had specially desired Irving to invite to -meet him was a distinguished statesman still living, though by -deliberate choice he no longer takes an active part in public affairs. -The guest for whom the entertainment was given arrived late, and when he -appeared it was evident to those of us who knew him that he had dined, -not wisely, but too well. On a sudden, and in response to the most -harmless raillery on the part of the statesman to whom I have referred, -he rose and retorted with the most bitter and, if I may say so, the most -vulgar abuse; and while we all sat appalled by the outrage he was -committing, he turned and appealed to Irving to justify his -extraordinary outburst. It was then that Irving’s tact showed itself. -Quietly and slowly he replied, “All I have to say, my dear friend, is, -that first upon the list of those whom you specially desired I should -invite to meet you this evening, stood the name of Lord----.” And then, -as though to prove to us that he too could exhibit an equal measure of -self-possession, the man so wantonly attacked, without a word of -resentment or rebuke, quietly filled his glass and invited us to drink -just one toast to say how glad we were to see our old friend returned -once more from his travels abroad. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -SOME FOREIGN ACTORS - - -As I have said in a previous chapter, H. J. Montague, at the time that I -first became a theatre-goer, was the accepted _jeune premier_ of the -time. He certainly had no rival among his own countrymen as the exponent -of lovers’ parts in modern comedy. - -But there was a foreigner who had preceded him, whose art had a wider -compass, and whose powers as a creator of the heroes of romance knew no -rivalry. In such achievements Charles Fechter had a conquering gift that -laid all lady worshippers at his feet. It was only at a later time that -I saw him in Shakespeare, and then only in _Hamlet_. He was aged and had -grown stout, and it is perhaps scarcely fair to speak of his abilities -as a Shakespearian actor upon the imperfect evidence that was offered to -me; but I thought even then that he treated the tragedy too exclusively -from the point of view of a love story, reducing its higher imaginative -message by too great a regard for Hamlet’s relations with Ophelia. But -that very tendency which seemed to me a fault in his Hamlet was part of -a gift that left him unapproachable in rôles that were purely romantic. - -I saw him first in _The Duke’s Motto_ at the Lyceum, and then in _Bel -Demonio_, and again in _Ruy Blas_; and in all those performances, as I -recall them, his fascination seemed irresistible. I can almost hear now -the tones of his voice, defiant and triumphant, with that rich rising -cadence which betrayed his foreign origin, as he came down the steps -with Kate Terry in his arms in the former most tawdry of romantic plays. -The impersonation of Ruy Blas cut deeper, as the play itself was more -finely conceived. But, indeed, the effect he produced was hardly -dependent upon the play. It rested rather upon something innately heroic -in himself, something that left the spectator with a feeling of security -from the first note struck by the actor, that the issue, however grave, -and however perilous its intermediate passages, must leave him -undefeated at the last. The last time I saw him was in _Monte Christo_, -a drama with some strong scenes, but, on the whole, poorly constructed -and unduly prolonged; and I remember, as I sat in the pit, that when -midnight came and the end seemed still afar off, a cheery voice from the -gallery cried out, “Good-night, Mr. Fechter, I shall be here again on -Monday.” - -The sort of play in which Fechter scored his greatest success has long -fallen out of fashion, but I cannot help thinking that if the actor were -here to-day who could boast gifts equal to his, a play fitted to form a -vehicle for the exercise of his powers would be quickly forthcoming. - -Fechter’s name naturally recalls other foreign actors and actresses who -have visited our shores during the last thirty years. The greatest of -them all, to my thinking, and I am not unmindful of the name of Salvini, -was Madame Ristori. She had not, perhaps, the sudden power born of -sudden impulse which Madame Bernhardt could boast, a power in which, I -suppose, Madame Rachel was far superior to both. Indeed, I remember -having a talk with Sir Frederick Leighton, who in his student days in -Paris had known Rachel’s acting well, and he assured me that Rachel -stood as far above Sarah Bernhardt as Sarah Bernhardt stood above all -other actresses of her time. - -But Ristori’s art, though it may have missed the occasional lightning -flashes, was sustained throughout at a commandingly high level, -sustained by a sense of style that gave continuous dignity and grace to -all she did. Her Lucrezia Borgia rests with me as one of the most -beautiful and at the same time most agonising performances I have ever -seen upon the stage; and scarcely less memorable was her Marie Stuart. - -It was during one of her later engagements in London that she conceived -the ambition of playing the sleep-walking scene from _Macbeth_ in the -English language, and she asked me, with one or two other critics, to -come to her house in order that we might correct any errors of -pronunciation which her performance might betray. It was in a little -drawing-room somewhere down in South Belgravia that we sat and listened -to her as, in her ordinary every-day garb, she acted the scene; and I do -not think there was one of us who was not so entirely absorbed in the -beauty and power of the impersonation as not completely to forget the -special mission upon which we had been summoned. It was only -afterwards--when, recalling us to our task, she sat in our midst and -quietly read the words over again--that we discovered she blundered in -one particular, and in one particular only. When she came to the line, -“Not all the perfumes of Arabia,” it seemed impossible for her tongue, -“hung,” as Sala used to say of his own, “in a southern belfry,” not to -give an absolutely equal emphasis to each separate syllable of the final -word. There was no other fault to find, and when afterwards, encouraged -by our praise, she gave the performance in the theatre, its effect was -deeply impressive. - -A little later, on my recommendation, she read, in English, Webster’s -tragedy of _The Duchess of Malfi_, and at the time she was so keenly -impressed with the beauty of the character, as set in its lurid frame, -that she entertained the project of having a version of the play made -for her in Italian. - -As I walked away from her house that day with John Oxenford, he was -recalling to me some of his earlier experiences as dramatic critic of -the _Times_. In those later days he had allowed himself to become little -more than a good-natured chronicler of the narrative underlying each -play as it was presented, and rarely elected to be critical or -censorious, whether of the qualities of the dramatist and still less of -the manner in which the actors acquitted themselves. In the discharge of -this function, however, he had no equal. There was no one on the Press -at that time who could, with such grace or in so narrow a compass, set -forth the story of the plot of the drama under consideration. But some -of us, who brought to our work the greater keenness of youth, were -disposed to reproach him with the unvarying good-nature which governed -his appreciation of the art of the time. - -Some such feeling I must have expressed to him as we sauntered along, -for he told me, by way of rejoinder, that he had very early learnt his -lesson not to endeavour to intrude his own opinions into the columns of -the _Times_. Near the beginning of his career, he had indulged in some -unfavourable comment upon the performance of the orchestra, which -provoked an angry letter of remonstrance from the player of the -trombone--a letter of remonstrance that in its turn called down a sharp -rebuke upon the critic from the great editor, Mr. Delane. - -“I wish it to be understood,” he curtly intimated to Oxenford, “that the -_Times_ has no desire to be embroiled in controversy with trombone -players.” - -And Oxenford assured me that he had since acted upon this clear note of -warning, and had accordingly avoided as much as possible any kind of -criticism that might invite a retort from the injured player, though he -had on one occasion, as he confessed, indulged in an epigram that might, -he feared, have injured his position. It was of some young actor, whose -performance seemed to him more than usually incompetent, that he -ventured the remark: “We are told that Mr. So-and-so is a promising -performer. For our own part we can only say that we care not how often -he promises so long as he never again performs.” - -But this was an isolated instance in the powers of sarcasm which he -undoubtedly possessed, and for the most part he continued to the end of -his career in a spirit of unruffled urbanity. - -The visit of the French players during the Franco-German War stirred -London not a little, and undoubtedly exercised a considerable influence -upon the younger representatives of dramatic art in England. - -Delaunay and Got were in their separate ways perfect masters of that -restrained and balanced art which is the outcome of the French system of -training, exhibited in its perfect form in the French National Theatre. -And the restraint and modesty of their methods strongly appealed to that -younger school of actors in England who were already striving after a -greater naturalness of interpretation. But their appeal was made for the -most part in the region of comedy, and it was the advent of Salvini, -with his larger and more passionate individuality, that gave a new -impulse to the rendering of tragic character. - -Salvini was beyond question a superb performer. His natural equipment -for an actor, as exhibited in a voice of unexampled power and charm, was -in itself more than sufficient to warrant the extraordinary outburst of -enthusiasm which greeted his appearance in London. And yet, for all his -undeniable power, his actual rendering of the character of Othello never -seemed to me to be in perfect keeping with the spirit and intention of -the author. - -Overmastering in his strength and superb in his rendering of the more -passionate passages of the play, he missed, as I felt at the time, and -as I still feel, the tragic sublimity that marks the closing scenes of -the drama. - -I shall not easily forget my first vision of Sarah Bernhardt in Dumas’ -play of _L’Étrangère_, in which she was associated with Coquelin, -Monnet, Sully, and Croizette. She seemed, even beside such accomplished -players as these, to be a creature of a separate race, endowed with a -force and intensity of feeling that made those around her appear to be -moving in a lower world. - -It was, however, only when she came to London that I got to know her -personally, and after I had produced my play of _King Arthur_ at the -Lyceum Theatre, she was so strongly attracted by the subject that she -had a French version of the drama prepared, wherein she intended herself -to impersonate the character of Lancelot. But, like so many other -projects which Madame Bernhardt has from time to time entertained, the -favourable opportunity for such a performance passed by, and the idea -was replaced by other and more pressing demands upon her brilliant -career. - -When she was in London she was a constant guest at Irving’s little -suppers at the Lyceum, where she evinced the warmest admiration for the -genius of Miss Ellen Terry. One evening, when Miss Terry was protesting -that she was no longer young enough to undertake some rôle that Irving -was pressing her to interpret, Sarah leant across the table and said, -“My dearling, there are two peoples who shall never be old--you and me.” -And, indeed, it may be allowed that in both cases the boast has won some -warrant from nature. The youth of Miss Terry seems to be an -indestructible gift. It is born again with each day of her existence, -and as an essential quality of her nature has suffered no change and has -known no deterioration from the early days when, after a brief period of -absence, she returned to the stage as the heroine of Charles Reade’s -drama, _The Wandering Heir_. - -I think Sarah Bernhardt was always at her best when Miss Terry was one -of her audience, and I recollect one occasion in particular, when, in -company with Miss Terry, I witnessed a performance of the _Dame aux -Camelias_ which in sincerity and power far surpassed any of the many -representations of the character which I had seen Madame Bernhardt -previously deliver. - -It was a particularly interesting evening, for it happened that only a -few nights before Miss Terry and I had also together seen Madame Duse -play the same part in the same theatre. Here again, I think, the Italian -actress was finely inspired by the presence of her comrade, for she too -had on that evening surpassed herself. - -The contrast between the two performers was striking and complete, and -would go far to prove how inexhaustible are the resources of the actor’s -art, and how varied the influences of each separate personality, even -when they are employed upon the same material. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE WORK OF THE THEATRE - - -In 1887 my friend Mr. Beerbohm Tree, who had already won considerable -distinction as an actor, decided to enter upon the management of a -London theatre, and he asked me to associate myself with the enterprise. - -The play chosen for his first venture was _The Red Lamp_ by Outram -Tristram, and it is an evidence of some element of strength and -distinction in the work that it still survives, after a lapse of -twenty-one years, as an integral part of Mr. Tree’s repertoire. At the -first it looked very much as though it had but little chance to survive -at all. Coldly received by the Press, it failed during the first days of -its run to attract the notice of the public; but little by little the -audiences grew in numbers, and as the season advanced the house was -crowded night after night by an eager and enthusiastic public. - -With the close of the season Mr. Tree shifted his quarters to the -Haymarket, and there it still served him as his opening production while -more important work was in preparation. Those early days of managerial -experiences have left many pleasant recollections. We were both of us -new at our task, and both unshaken in our faith in the readiness of the -public to welcome every form of serious drama. - -My alliance with Mr. Tree endured for some little time after his removal -to the Haymarket, and it was not until two years later that, at the -invitation of my friend Mr. Stuart Ogilvie, I undertook the independent -direction of the Comedy Theatre. - -Among the writers with whom I was brought into contact during my term of -management was the late Robert Buchanan, a man who undoubtedly possessed -a remarkable talent, but who very often, from a certain indolence of -nature, did himself less than justice. I had met him first at the -Haymarket, where he had prepared a version of Daudet’s famous story of -_Froment Jeune et Risler Ainé_ for production on the stage, and I -confess at that time I was not prepossessed in his favour. It was -impossible at first to shake off the prejudice created by that -unfortunate article wherein, under an assumed name, he had attacked his -brother poets; nor indeed could that particular incident in his career -ever be in any way excused. - -But I found in my later knowledge of him that he could boast of other -and better qualities than were exhibited here. A measure of poetic fancy -he had always possessed, a fancy very happily illustrated in the little -musical piece founded upon the story of _The Pied Piper of Hamelin_ -produced under my management; but even there his better gifts suffered -from a lack of persistence in working out the theme under his hand. And -so it was with all that Buchanan accomplished. Sometimes a brilliantly -written scene would be followed and robbed of its effect by work that -was only perfunctory. - -He had a sense of the stage, but he had never been at the pains fully to -master the conditions of the theatre, so that even in the best that he -accomplished he could not make full use of its resources or duly observe -its limitations. - -It was during the period of my association with the Comedy Theatre that -Irving invited me to write for him a play on the subject of King Arthur. -He had already in his possession a drama by W. G. Wills upon the same -theme, and at first the project took the form of an offer on his part -that I should revise, and in part rewrite, Wills’s somewhat slovenly -essay. But when I tried to set myself to the task I found that, for me -at least, it was impossible of achievement. I had long known and loved -the Arthurian legends as they are enshrined in Sir Thomas Malory’s -exquisite romance, and it seemed to me that the tragedy that lay in the -loves of Lancelot and Guinevere was susceptible of more dramatic -treatment than Wills had accorded it. When I explained my difficulty to -Irving he at once gave to his original proposal a new form, permitting -me very willingly to abandon altogether Wills’s experiment and to write -for him a drama of my own. - -When the time approached for its production he eagerly acquiesced, as I -have already related, in my suggestion that Burne-Jones should be -invited to design the scenery and costumes, and it was further agreed -between us that the music, which was destined to form an important -feature in the presentation of the piece, should be entrusted to Sir -Arthur Sullivan. - -Sullivan was already counted among my intimate friends. I had met him -first many years before at Sir Coutts Lindsay’s country-house in -Scotland, and it was not long before the acquaintance ripened into a -close and lasting friendship. To those who knew and loved Sullivan, and -I think he was loved by all who knew him, the extraordinary charm of his -personality will be unreservedly acknowledged. - -There have been few men in our time in any walk of life who have -possessed an equal measure of social fascination. His manner, always -sympathetic and sincere, suffered no change in whatever company he found -himself, and there was added to this finer quality of sympathy a quick -and delicate sense of humour that made closer comradeship with him -inspiring and delightful. And although he was well entitled to claim a -separate consideration for the art to which his whole life was -unsparingly devoted, it was wonderful to observe with what patience and -tact he subordinated any distinctive claim which I have known other -musicians, not so finely endowed, often to assert, and with how much -skilful readiness he could adjust the competing requirements of music -and the drama, when they had to be linked together, so as to produce a -combined effect upon the audience. - -The subject of King Arthur, while the production was in progress at the -Lyceum, took a strong hold upon him, and it was only a very little while -before his death that he made a proposition to me that I should so far -rearrange the material I had treated as to provide a libretto for an -opera he had in his mind to compose. - -[Illustration: - -_Emery Walker_ - -SIR ARTHUR SULLIVAN - -From the painting by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., P.R.A., in the National -Portrait Gallery. - -_To face page 284._ -] - -It was some little time after the Lyceum production that I became even -more closely associated with him in the production of _The Beauty -Stone_. The book was written by Mr. Pinero and myself, and Sir Arthur -Sullivan was the composer. During a part of that time he occupied a -charming little villa at Beaulieu on the Riviera, and there I stayed -with him for six weeks while he was setting some of the more important -of the lyrics in the opera. - -The near neighbourhood of Monte Carlo presented an element of temptation -to Sullivan, who was a born gambler. But he was at the time so hard set -upon his work that he announced to me on my arrival his fixed resolve -that our visits to the Casino should be strictly limited to two days in -the week. Like all born gamblers Arthur had his peculiar superstitions. -He could not endure to be watched while he was playing; and if he -chanced to catch sight of me anywhere near the table at which he was -seated, his resentment found eloquent expression. It was only when I -contrived to keep entirely out of sight that I was able to observe him -as he sat wholly absorbed in the play. The excitement to which he -yielded on these occasions was extraordinary, and the rapidity with -which he covered the series of chosen numbers very often outran his own -remembrance of what he had done. - -I have seen him, as he passed from one table to the other, followed by a -friendly croupier carrying a handful of gold which he himself was -ignorant he had won. And when the evening closed, and we found ourselves -once more in the train that was to take us back to Beaulieu, he would -sometimes sink back entirely exhausted with the energy he had expended -in his three hours’ traffic in the rooms. - -Our life at Beaulieu, wholly delightful as it was--for there never was a -host to equal him in simple and graceful hospitality--had nevertheless -its humorous aspects. We lived, indeed, a sort of Box and Cox existence. -The brisk air and bright climate tempted me to rise early, and I was -generally at work on the little terrace outside my room by nine o’clock -in the morning. It was Sullivan’s habit, on the other hand, to lie late, -and our first meeting of the day occurred only at lunch-time. Sometimes, -but not always, he would work a little during the afternoon, but it was -only when dinner was over, and we had played a few games of bezique, -that he set himself seriously to his task. We parted generally at about -eleven, and then Arthur’s musical day began. Withdrawing himself into a -little glass conservatory that overlooked the Mediterranean, he would -often remain at his desk, scoring and composing, till four or even five -o’clock in the morning, and it was only rarely during the labour of -composition that he had any need to have recourse to the piano to try -over a few notes of the melody he had under treatment. - -His actual pen-work when he was engaged in scoring his composition for -the orchestra was of surprising neatness and delicacy, and I think it -was this part of his task he enjoyed the most. He used to say to me that -the invention of melody rarely presented to him any grave difficulty. It -flowed naturally, almost spontaneously, when he had once fixed the -musical rhythm which he felt the meaning of the words and the chosen -metre of the verse rightly demanded. Here he took extraordinary pains to -satisfy himself, and it was, I think, this spirit of exacting loyalty to -the special quality of each separate lyric that gave to his work its -special value in relation to the theatre. - -Sullivan was always anxious to gather any hint or suggestion from the -writer with whom he was associated. I told him one day that in composing -verse that was to be set to music I always had some dumb tune echoing in -my brain, and I can recall now his futile endeavours to extract from me -even the vaguest idea of what this “unheard melody” might be. Sometimes -in a spirit of pure mischief he would see how far he could impose upon -my confessed ignorance of the musician’s art. He invited me one day to -his rooms in Victoria Street to listen to the musical form he proposed -to adopt in setting the final choruses of _King Arthur_, and when, after -playing over what he would himself have described as a “tinpot melody,” -he inquired if the result came up to my expectation, the imperturbable -gravity of his face entirely deceived me. - -“Well, my dear Arthur,” I replied, “if that is what you propose, I can -only assume that one of us two is a vulgar fellow, and I suppose I am -the culprit.” - -And then, with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “Well, perhaps you prefer -this,” and proceeded to play the melody he had really composed for the -purpose. - -Unhappily, during the time that _The Beauty Stone_ was being composed, -poor Sullivan was often suffering great physical pain, which sometimes -rendered his task difficult and onerous. And yet even then the natural -brightness of his disposition constantly asserted itself, and he rarely -allowed others to be conscious of what he himself endured. How great was -the strain illness cast upon him became painfully apparent during the -period of our rehearsals; for, although he never spared himself, it was -clear to those who were near him that the cost to himself in nervous -exhaustion was often almost more than he could bear. - -Those who followed his body to St. Paul’s will not easily forget the -touching solemnity of the occasion. His own Chorus from the Savoy was -permitted to sing one of his own beautiful compositions as the coffin -was slowly lowered into the vault. That so beautiful and sunny a nature, -rich in all the qualities that make for sweet friendship, and so nobly -endowed with gifts that leave his place as a musician lasting and -secure, should have been consigned to such martyrdom of physical -suffering ranks among those decrees of fate that it is vain to question -and idle to seek to evade. Few men could boast of having conferred upon -their generation such fresh and lasting enjoyment; for it may be -confidently said that, in that long series of works in which his name -will ever be associated with that of Sir William Gilbert, there was -added to the garnered store of the world’s pure pleasure a new harvest -of delight reaped from a field that none had tilled before. - -To those who love the theatre the labours of rehearsal, though they are -exacting and sometimes exhausting, yield many delightful experiences. -There comes a moment even in the writing of a play when the puppets of -the author’s invention seem suddenly to take a detached existence and to -follow a law of development that is only half-consciously dictated by -their creator. This impression, which I suppose nearly all writers in -the region of fiction must have felt, is renewed and intensified as a -play takes shape upon the stage. The intrusion of the actor’s -personality, sometimes enhancing the original conception, and always in -some degree modifying the intended balance of the design, adds a new -colour to the written page. And then, as day by day the scattered -fragments are gradually united and the interpretation grows in emotional -strength, there come moments of keen enjoyment of the actor’s art that -equal, if they do not surpass, any later impression that may be yielded -when the performance is finally presented with the added effects of -costume and scenery. - -The bare, empty stage, with the players in their ordinary working-day -dress, presents but a mournful appearance to a chance visitor who is a -stranger to the scene. But those who work day by day in the theatre -sometimes find, as the rehearsals advance, that this ill-lit, -unfurnished void can on a sudden be transformed into a world of -enchantment. The actor and the author together are as yet undisturbed in -their task, and what is still to come in the way of added illusion their -imagination can readily supply. - -And yet the bringing together of all the contributory arts that are -combined in the service of an important production has an interest of -its own. From the initial step, when the little toy models of the -scenic artist are passed and approved, to the final moment of the dress -rehearsal, there is a vast amount of work to be done in every -department, and during the progress of that work the theatre becomes a -truly democratic institution. Author and composer, the master carpenter, -the property master, and the electrician are linked together in a spirit -of equal comradeship, and there is not one of them all who has it not in -his power to make or mar the work of his fellows. - -It is one of the inscrutable laws of the theatre that nothing is ever -quite ready until the last moment. Costumes are delayed, properties are -incomplete, or it may be some scene that did not quite fit its purpose -is undergoing structural amendment, and has yet to receive the final -touches at the hands of the scene-painter. All these circumstances, -perhaps inevitable in view of the countless details that have to be -fitted together in order to perfect the complex puzzles of a production, -are apt to give to the final rehearsals an impression of chaos and -confusion. It is not an uncommon remark made by those who are admitted -to such rehearsals, “But you surely do not intend to produce this play -in two days’ time?” And, except to the expert who knows that what is -lacking is already in an advanced stage of preparation, the doubt -implied in the question is natural enough. - -But even with all the experience of the expert there are occasions when -these inevitable delays approach very nearly to disaster. I remember -that the dress rehearsal of _Called Back_, when I had not yet gained a -full mastery over the mechanical resources of the theatre, lasted till -six o’clock in the morning, and during the small hours one after another -of the members of the company came to me and implored that the -production might be postponed. But with an audacity that was born of -inexperience I persisted that all would be ready in time. We left the -theatre at half-past six, and were back again at ten o’clock to renew -the rehearsal, and to the astonishment of all,--an astonishment in which -I confess I shared,--when the evening came, the play went without mishap -to a successful close. But these long rehearsals often result in trials -of temper as well as of strength, and now and again it happens that the -wearied stagehands are not wholly equal to their work. - -_King Arthur_ was produced under conditions that were exceptionally -trying, for, at the time that the heavy scenic material had to be -arranged upon the stage, a pantomime was running at the theatre during -the afternoons. Much that was employed in the pantomime had to be daily -removed to make room for our own scenery, and replaced again for the -performance of the next afternoon. At one of the rehearsals, as Arthur -Sullivan and I stood upon the stage listening to his setting of the “May -Song,” the high platform upon which Queen Guinevere and her maids were -standing suddenly gave way, and to our horror fell with a crash to the -stage. For the moment we thought that some grave disaster must have -occurred, but with sudden instinct Miss Terry had flung herself prone -upon the pedestal where she had been standing, and escaped with nothing -more serious than a few bruises. - -The protest against scenic display in the theatre is constantly renewed, -but is not always very intelligently directed. That scenery can be -inappropriate in its magnificence is true enough, but it is not less -true that it can be equally inappropriate in its inefficiency. The -question, when all is said, is one of taste and fitness, and involves no -irrefutable principle. - -To ignore the enlarged resources of the modern scene-painter’s art -would, I think, be foolish, even if it were possible. The problem before -the theatre now is to control these resources, and to reconsider and to -reforge the means which shall set them again in clear subjugation to the -essential claims of the drama. It may be conceded that during the last -thirty years the need of this subjugation has not always been -sufficiently borne in mind, and there have been instances not a few -where the eye has been fed at the expense of the ear. But this scenic -art is a thing so beautiful in itself that it would be hard indeed if -any mere pedantry of taste should force its exclusion from the theatre. - - - - -INDEX - - -Abbey, Edwin, 150 - -Academy, Royal, 59, 94, 106-7, 143, 146, 245; - school of the, 109; - duties of the, 127-30 - -Actors’ Benevolent Fund, 189-90 - -Adelphi, the, 231 - -Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, 50 - -Albany, the, 37 - -Albemarle Hotel, 259 - -Albert, Prince Consort, 129 - -Albery, Mr., 230 - -Albion Tavern, Drury Lane, 233-35 - -Algiers, 103-5 - -Alverstone, Lord, 186-88 - -American ambassadors, orators among the, 189 - -Amiens, 154 - -Aquarium, the, 78 - -Armstrong, Lord, 50 - -Armstrong, Thomas, 120 - -Arnold, Arthur, 28, 35 - -Arnold, Sir Edwin, 28 - -Arrowsmith, Messrs., 255 - -_Art Journal_, the, 146-49 - -Arts, relation of the, 210-14 - -Arts Club, the, 35, 85, 94, 114, 116, 123, 151, 152 - -Aspinall, Mr., 56 - -_Athenæum_, the, 29 - -Atkinson, 15 - -Ayrton, Mr., 174 - - -Bancroft, Lady, 233, 261 - -Bancroft, Sir Squire, 259 - -Barnes Common, 1-2 - -Barnum’s Show, 78 - -Barrère, Camille, 35-36 - -Barry, 75 - -Bateman, Dick, 228-29, 232 - -Bateman, Isabella, 229, 230 - -Bateman, Richard, 228-35, 254 - -Bayard, Mr., speech of, 189-91 - -Beaconsfield, Earl, attack on Mr. Gladstone, 176-78; - visits to the Grosvenor, 179-80; - anecdote concerning, 180-81; - personality, 181-82; - style of oratory, 182-83 - -Beatty-Kingston, William, 42, 44-46 - -Beaulieu, 285-86 - -Beefsteak Club, the, 122, 255, 259 - -Beefsteak Room of the Lyceum, 241, 270 - -Beere, Mrs. Bernard, 195 - -Belt trial, the, 51-52 - -Bernhardt, Sarah, 239, 275, 279-80 - -Bigham, Lord Justice, 49 - -Billingsgate, 249 - -Birmingham University, 33 - -_Black and White_, 65 - -Blake, 74-75 - -Blandford Square, 121, 255 - -Bodichon, Madam, 103-4 - -Book illustration, 109-10 - -Botticelli, 67, 72, 74 - -Boughton, G. H., 266 - -Bow Street, 187 - -Box Hill, 206 - -Braid, Mr., 8 - -Brice, Prof. Stewart, 48 - -Bright, John, 168-75; - speeches on the Reform movement, 170-72; - impromptu speeches, 173-74; - his allusion to the “Scottish terrier,” 174-75; - Millais’s portrait, 175 - -British Museum, the, 109, 245 - -Brontës, the, 11 - -Brookfield, Charles, 215 - -Brown, Ford Madox, 63, 130 - -Browning, Robert, 10, 86, 204, 266; - poetry of, 199-201; - personality, 201-7; - Browning senr., 203 - -Bruce Castle School, 3-9, 38-39, 228 - -Bruce, Edgar, 255-56 - -Buchanan, Robert, 282-83 - -Burke, Mr., murder of, 267 - -Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, 8, 74, 85, 117, 130, 132, 210, 267, 283; - Rossetti on, 67, 69-70; - letter _quoted_, 71-72, 82; - the pre-Raphaelite movement, 76; - pen-sketches, 78-79; - essays in the grotesque, 79-80; - personality, 80-82 - -Buyers, modern, 131-32 - -Byron, Lord, 181 - - -Café Royal, the, 115, 157-58 - -Calais, 153 - -Caldecott, Randolph, 120-21 - -Callander, 16-17 - -Cameron, Henry, 193, 198 - -Cameron, Mrs., 193, 194, 197 - -Campden Hill, 266 - -Canning, policy, 177 - -Caracci, the, 180 - -Carlyle, 11, 195 - -Carr, Mr. J. Comyns--boyhood, 1-13; - in the City, 13-14; - idle hours, 15-25; - Junior of the Northern Circuit, 48-58; - theatre management, 281-92; - Journalistic work--_Dramatic and Musical Review_, 26-28; - _Echo_, 28, 35; - _Globe_, 28-36, 38, 59, 68, 264; - _Pall Mall Gazette_, 35, 36, 102, 146; - “Ignotus” articles, 63-64, 71; - _Saturday Review_, 36, 38, 59, 206, 215; - _Examiner_, 36, 38, 46-47, 59; - _World_, 36, 38; - _Manchester Guardian_, 38, 146, 150, 153; - editor of the _English Illustrated Magazine_, 40, 118, 158-65, 257; - English editor of _L’Art_, 140, 146; - _Art Journal_, 146-47, 149; - _Academy_, 150; - _Portfolio_, 149 - Dramatic work--_King Arthur_, 83-84, 279, 284, 287, 291-92; - _Called Back_, 255-56; - _Dark Days_, 256; - _The United Pair_, 257; - _The Beauty Stone_, 285, 287-88; - contributions to the performances at St. George’s Hall, 257-58 - -Carr, Mrs. J. Comyns, _North Italian Folk_, 120 - -Cavendish, Lord Frederick, 267 - -Chalons, 72 - -Chamberlain, Mr., 152; - Mr. Parnell’s attack on, 185-86 - -Cheyne Walk, Rossetti’s home, 65, 69; - Whistler’s home, 135, 136, 141, 142 - -Child, Mr., 152-53 - -Choate, Mr., 189 - -Churchill, Lord Randolph, 240-41 - -Cleveland, President, the Venezuelan crisis, 189-90 - -Coal Hole, the, 33 - -Coleridge, Lord, 56 - -Collins, Lord Justice, 49 - -Collins, Prof. Churton, 33-34, 229 - -Cologne, 243; - Custom House, 120 - -_Cologne Gazette_, 265 - -Colvin, Prof. Sidney, 36, 102 - -Comedy Theatre, 160, 282, 283 - -Constable, 91 - -Continental Hotel, 271 - -Conway, Hugh, _The Family Affair_, 162; - _Called Back_, 255-56; - personality, 257 - -Cook, Dutton, 231 - -Cook, Mr., 37 - -Coquelin, 279 - -_Cornhill Magazine_, the, 9-10, 29, 95, 110 - -Correspondents, special, 39-47 - -Corry, Montague (Lord Rowton), 267 - -Cotton, Mrs., prosecution of, 56-57 - -Crane, Walter, 161 - -Craven, Hawes, 84, 243 - -Crawford, Marion, 159 - -Creighton, Bishop, 47 - -Crimean remembrances, 3 - -Croizette, 279 - -Crompton, Charles, 48, 57 - -Cumberland, fishing in, 21-22; - walking tours, 24-25 - -Custom House, the, 249 - - -_Daily News_, the, 40-41 - -_Daily Telegraph_, the, 28, 43 - -Daudet, 282 - -_Débâts_, the, 157 - -Delane, Mr., 277 - -Delaunay, 278 - -Delmas, M., 4 - -Desclée, 239 - -Design, renewed study in, 111 - -Dickens, Charles, 9, 11, 77, 89, 137, 205, 223; - “Mr. Pecksniff,” 147; - his likeness to Tennyson, 194; - on Irving, 230 - -Dilke, Sir Charles, 146 - -Dochart, Loch, 18 - -Doyle, Richard, 119-20 - -_Dramatic and Musical Review_, the, 26 - -Drury Lane Theatre, 232 - -Dublin, 240 - -Dudley Gallery, 121 - -Duffield, Richard, 215 - -Dumas, _L’Étrangère_, 279 - -Dumfries, 251 - -Dungeon Ghyll, 24 - -Dungeon Ghyll Hotel, 25 - -Duse, Madame, 280 - - -Easedale Tarn, 24 - -Echenique, 6 - -_Echo_, the, 28, 35 - -Elgin Marbles, the, 109 - -Eliot, George, 11 - -Emerson, 11 - -_English Illustrated Magazine_, the, 40, 118, 257; - wood-engravings, 158-59; - literary contributors, 159-66 - -Engraving, renewed study of, 111 - -Erckmann-Chatrian, 230 - -_Examiner_, the, 36, 38, 46, 59 - - -Farringford, home of Tennyson, 193, 194, 197 - -Faulkner, Charles, 8 - -Fechter, Charles, 232, 273, 274 - -Fifeshire, 23 - -Fishing, the Scottish gillie, 18-21; - the art of, 22-23 - -Fleury, Robert, 97 - -Florence, school of, 75, 76 - -Forbes, Archibald, 39-42 - -Français, Theatre, 245 - -Francillon, the novelist, 29-33 - -Franco-German War, 40, 157, 278 - -Freshwater, 193 - -Froude, 11 - -Fuseli, 75 - - -Gaiety Restaurant, the old, 30, 259 - -Gaiety Theatre, the, 229, 232, 246 - -Gainsborough, 93 - -Gallery of Illustration, Regent Street, 258 - -Gambetta, 35 - -Garrick Club, the, 90, 164, 183, 184 - -Garrison, William Lloyd, 170 - -Gauthiot, M., 157-58 - -George III., 128 - -German Reeds, the, 121, 257-59 - -Gilbert, Sir John, 109, 119 - -Gilbert, Sir William, 53-54, 288 - -Giorgione, 180 - -Giotto, 73 - -Gladstone, W. E., 190; - Burne-Jones on, 76; - Millais’s portrait, 175; - style of oratory, 175-76; - his reply to Disraeli’s attack _quoted_, 176-78; - visits to the Grosvenor, 178-79; - his treatment of Parnell, 188 - -Glasgow, 255 - -Glebe Place, 143 - -Glenesk, Lord, 20 - -Glenmuick, 20 - -_Globe_, the, the author’s work as dramatic critic, 28-38, 59, 68, 264; - “Ignotus” articles, 63, 71 - -Got, 278 - -Gothard Pass, 21 - -Grain, Corney, 258-59 - -Grange, the, home of Burne-Jones, 73, 83 - -Granville, Dr. Mortimer, 28 - -Grasmere, 16, 24 - -Great Russell Street, 45 - -Greenwood, Frederic, 36-37 - -Grosvenor Gallery, establishment, 65, 127, 129-32, 266, 268-69; - exhibitions, 76, 89-90, 120, 133, 143, 146, 178-80, 198; - Millais’s works, 89-90 - -Grove End Road, house of Sir L. Tadema, 267-68 - -Gully, _see_ Selby, Viscount - -Gurney, Overend, 12 - -Guy Fawkes, 2 - - -Hake, George, 64 - -Hall, Mrs., 147-48 - -Hall, Samuel Carter (“Mr. Pecksniff”), 146-49 - -Hallé, Sir Charles E., 89, 126, 132, 146 - -Hamerton, Philip, 149-50 - -Hamilton, Lady, 264 - -Hannen, Mr. Justice, the Parnell trial, 186-88 - -Harcourt, Sir William, 23, 180-81 - -Hare, Sir John, 233, 236, 259 - -Harrop Tarn, 21 - -Harte, Bret, 159, 223-24 - -Harwood, Mr., 7, 37-38 - -Hawtrey, Charles, 256 - -Haydon, 75 - -Haymarket Theatre, the, 257, 281-82 - -Henley, relations with Stevenson, 215, 218-19; - Irving and, 219-21 - -Henschell, 119 - -Herschell, Lord, 49, 55-56 - -Hertfordshire, 23 - -High White Stones, 24 - -Hill, Arthur, 3, 5, 6 - -Hill, Dr. Birkbeck, 6-8, 170 - -Hill, Sir Rowland, 3 - -His Majesty’s Theatre, 270 - -Holker, Lord Justice, 49, 54-55 - -Hollingshead, John, 232 - -Home Rule movement, the, 184-85 - -Hope, Beresford, 37 - -Horsman, Mr., 174-75 - -Horton, Miss Priscilla (Mrs. German Reed), 258 - -Houghton, Lord, 270-71 - -Howell, Charles, 141-42 - -Hughenden, 180-81 - -Hunt, Holman, 75, 111-13, 130 - -Huxley, Professor, 159 - -Hyde Park, 170 - - -Ibsen, 208 - -_Illustrated London News_, the, 97 - -Indian Mutiny, 2-3 - -Inglis, Mr., 186 - -Inner Temple, 14 - -Irving, Sir Henry, 52, 83, 152, 196; - production of _Becket_, 195-96; - attack on Henley, 219-21; - anecdotes concerning, 221-23, 234-36; - Bob Gassett in _Dearer than Life_, 229; - in _Fanchette_, 230; - Digby Grant in _The Two Roses_, 230, 235-36; - in _The Bells_, 231-34, 239; - personality, 236-38, 241-43, 270-72; - in _Hamlet_, 239-41; - visit to Nuremberg, 243-44; - in _Charles I._, 254; - Ellen Terry and, 279-80; - his request to the author, 283-84 - -Italy, Northern, aspects of character in, 19 - - -James, Edwin, 167 - -James, Henry, 159 - -Jameson, Frederick, 206, 260 - -Jefferies, Richard, 159; - “The Gamekeeper at Home,” 163-64 - -Jesmond Dene, 50 - -Jeune, Sir Francis, _see_ St. Helier, Lord - -Jeykell, Miss, 103-5 - -Johnson, Dr., 7 - -Jonby, 15 - -Journalism, relation to literature, 47 - -Junior of the Circuit, the, 49-50, 56 - - -Keats, 68, 200 - -Keene, Charles, 118, 244; - sketch of, 114-15 - -Kelly, Mr., 255 - -Kelmscott, home of Rossetti, 64 - -Kennedy, Lord Justice, 49 - -Kensington Gardens, 90 - -Killin, 19 - -Kinsmen Club, the, 223 - -Knight, Joseph, 264 - - -_Labour News_, the, 27-28 - -Lambs Club, the, 117, 259-61, 263 - -Landor, Rossetti on, 68-69 - -Landseer, Sir Edwin, 72, 88; - personality, 105-7 - -Langdale Pikes, 24 - -_L’Art_, 140, 146 - -_L’Art en Province_, 153 - -Lawson, Cecil, exhibitions at the Grosvenor, 133, 143; - the “Minister’s Garden,” 143; - the “Pastoral,” 143; - personality, 144-45 - -Leech, John, 89, 118 - -Leigh’s School, 109 - -Leighton, Sir Frederick, 44, 275; - Rossetti on, 67-68; - personality, 93-96; - letter to the author _quoted_, 97-99 - -Leslie, George, letters to the author _quoted_, 103-7 - -Lewis, Lady, 79-80, 267 - -Lewis, Leopold, 230 - -Lewis, Sir George, 51, 80, 183, 187, 267 - -Leyland, Mr., 134 - -Liddon, Canon, 167 - -Lindsay, Lady, 137, 266-67 - -Lindsay, Sir Coutts, 119, 132, 143, 146, 266-67, 284 - -Literature, its relation to music, 211 - -Locker, Frederick, 198-99 - -Lockwood, Sir Frank, 190 - -London University, 14 - -Louvre, the, 245 - -Lowe, Mr., M.P., 174-75 - -Lowell, James Russell, 189 - -Luib, 18 - -Lyceum, the, 84, 152, 195, 221, 229, 241, 254, 270, 274, 279, 284 - -Lynn-Linton, Mrs., 265 - - -M’Connell, Mr., 50, 55 - -Macfarlane, Mr., 251 - -Maclure, Macdonald and Macgregor, Messrs., 166 - -Macmillan, Messrs., 158 - -Macready, 232 - -Maidenhead, 117 - -Malory, Sir Thomas, 83, 283 - -Manchester Art Gallery, the, 153 - -_Manchester Guardian_, the, 38, 146, 150, 153 - -Manor House, Barnes Common, 1-2 - -Marlborough, Duke of, 240 - -Marshall, Gen. Henry, 3 - -Marston, Dr. Westland, 263-65 - -Martineau, James, preaching of, 167-69 - -Maurier, M. Du, 114; - personality, 116-17; - work on _Punch_, 117-18; - his love of music, 118-19; - drawing of Frederick Locker, 199 - -Mecklenburg Square, 43 - -_Men of the Time_, 97 - -Meredith, George, 159; - _Evan Harrington_, illustrations, 114; - “The Old Chartist,” illustration, 115; - personality, 205-8; - sonnets on Modern Love, 207; - comment on Ibsen, 208 - -Michael Angelo, 73, 180 - -Mill, J. S., 11, 176 - -Millais, Sir J. E., 63, 75, 116, 138; - Rossetti on, 67, 87; - the author’s early criticism on, 85-86; - the “Carpenter’s Shop,” 86; - “Feast of Lorenzo,” 86; - “The Huguenots,” 86, 90, 92, 93; - “Ophelia,” 86, 92, 93; - personality, 86-89, 90-92, 99-101; - the Grosvenor Gallery exhibitions, 89-90; - his special power, 91-93; - contrasted with Leighton, 93-96; - black and white work, 111-13; - attitude towards the Royal Academy, 130; - portrait of John Bright, 175; - of Gladstone, 175; - of Tennyson, 193; - of Dickens, 194 - -Miller, Joachim, 264 - -Millet, Frank, 150 - -Milton, 200 - -Minto, Professor, 46-47 - -Mitre Tavern, Temple Bar, 158 - -Monnet, 279 - -Montague, Henry, 234-35 - -Montague, H. J., 260-61, 273 - -Monte Carlo, 285 - -Moore, Albert, 66, 138 - -Morris, William, 72; - _The Defence of Guinevere_, 10, 208; - poetry of, 208-9; - personality, 209-10 - -Music, claims of, 210-12 - - -National Gallery, the, 128, 245 - -Neilson, Adelaide, 264 - -New Gallery, 126-27, 131-32, 178, 179 - -Newman, Messrs., 126 - -North, Mr., 164 - -Northern Circuit, the, 48-58 - -Nuremberg, 243 - - -Ogilvie, Mr. Stuart, 282 - -Old Masters, value of, 131-32 - -Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn, 41 - -Oliphant, Lawrence, 159, 164-65 - -Oliphant, Mrs., “The Lake of Tiberias,” 164-65 - -_Once a Week_, 107, 110, 113-14, 117 - -O’Neil, Arthur, 26-28 - -O’Neil, Henry, 26 - -Oratory, the art of, 167-92 - -Orsini, defence of, 167 - -Oxenford, John, 276-78 - -Oxford Union Debating Society, 177-78 - - -Pagani’s Italian Restaurant, 121 - -Palais Royal Theatre, 100 - -Pall Mall exhibitions, the, 134 - -_Pall Mall Gazette_, 35, 36, 47, 102, 146, 163, 231 - -Pall Mall Restaurant, 158 - -Parnell, C. S., the trial, 186-88; - character, 188; - the forged letter, reply to Mr. Chamberlain, 183-86 - -Parry, Mr., 258 - -Parsons, Alfred, 151, 152, 164 - -Patterdale, 24 - -Payne, Bernal, 102 - -Pellegrini, Carlo, 121-25 - -Penzance, Lord, 49 - -Perugini, Mrs., 194 - -Phelps, 232, 244 - -Pigott, 186, 187 - -Pinero, _The Beauty Stone_, 285, 287-88 - -Poe, Edgar Allan, 257 - -Poetry, music in, 210-12 - -Poets, some Victorian, 193-214 - -Pollock, Walter Herries, 37, 215 - -Pope, Sam, 49, 56 - -_Portfolio_, the, 149 - -Power, Richard, 184 - -Pre-Raphaelites, the, 60, 63, 75-76, 130 - -Previtale’s, 81 - -Prince of Wales’s Theatre, 255-56, 261 - -Princess’s Theatre, 244 - -_Punch_, 114, 117-18 - -Purnell, Thomas, 254; - anecdotes concerning, 28-34; - story told by, 147-48 - - -Queen’s Theatre, 229 - - -Rabelais Club, 221 - -Rachel, Madame, 275 - -Rae, Mr., of Birkenhead, 63, 65 - -Raleigh Club, 258 - -Rannoch, 23 - -Raphael, 180 - -Rasselas, mountains of, 182 - -Reade, Charles, 280 - -Reed, Alfred, 258 - -Reform Bill of 1832, 177; - of 1867, 182 - -Reform, John Bright’s speeches on, 170-75 - -Restaurants, London, 158 - -Reynolds, 93 - -Ristori, Madame, 275-76 - -Robertson, Tom, 233, 261 - -Robinson, Sir John, 40-41 - -Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 7, 8, 10-11, 60, 72, 75, 85, 115, 117, 130; - the pre-Raphaelite movement, 63, 76; - works of, 64-65; - friendship with the author, 64-70; - expressed opinions of, 66-69, 87; - black and white work, 111, 112; - illustrations for Tennyson’s poems, 112-13; - personality, 264 - -Rothenberg-on-the-Tauber, 243 - -Rubens, 80 - -Ruskin, 11, 60, 113, 138, 141 - -Russell, Lord, on the Northern Circuit, 49-54, 56-57; - the Parnell trial, 186-88 - -Russell, Sir William, 39 - - -Sadler’s Wells Theatre, 26, 244 - -St. George’s Hall, 121, 257-59 - -St. Helier, Lord, 189 - -St. James’s Hall, 170, 173, 194 - -St. Paul’s, burial of Sullivan, 288 - -Sala, George Augustus, 42-44, 46 - -Salvini, 275, 278-79 - -Sandys, Frederick, 114-16 - -_Saturday Review_, the, 7, 36, 37, 38, 47, 59, 206, 215, 265 - -Savile Club, the, 215, 219, 223 - -Savoy, chapel of the, 30 - -Schlesinger, Dr. Max, 265-66 - -Scotland, early fishing excursions in, 17-22 - -Scott, Sir W., 218 - -Scottish character, some aspects, 17-21, 153-57 - -Selby, Viscount, 49 - -Selous, Fred, 4 - -Severn, Arthur, 121 - -Shakespeare, 162-63, 200 - -Shield, Hugh, 55 - -Simpson’s Restaurant, 158 - -Skinner, Alan, 41-42, 167 - -Skinner, Hilary, 41-42 - -Smith, Prof. Goldwin, 183 - -Soria, De, 119 - -South Kensington Museum, 245 - -Spaniard’s Inn, Highgate, 251 - -Spurgeon, preaching of, 167-68 - -Stanley, Dean, 167 - -Steinle, 97, 98 - -Stevens, Alfred, 130 - -Stevenson, R. L., personality, 215-19 - -Stickle Tarn, 24-25 - -Stratford-on-Avon, 152 - -“Student Williams,” 47 - -Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 283; - _King Arthur_, 283, 287, 291-92; - personality, 284-86; - _The Beauty Stone_, 285, 287-88; - method of work, 286-87; - death, 288 - -Sully, 279 - -Swinburne, A. C., 7, 10, 77, 159; - the new music in his poetry, 208-12 - -Switzerland, 21 - - -Tadema, Lady, 267-68 - -Tadema, Sir Laurence, 80, 82, 267-68 - -Taylor, Tom, 193 - -Tebbs, Mr. Virtue, 66 - -Tenniel, Sir John, 114 - -Tennyson, Horatio, 198 - -Tennyson, Lionel, 198 - -Tennyson, Lord--_Poems_ (edition 1857), 112-13; - appearance, 193-94; - _The Princess_, 194-95; - _The Promise of May_, 195; - _Becket_, 195, 196; - _The Cup_, 195, 196; - personality, 197-98, 200, 205; - Browning’s admiration for, 204 - -Terriss, William, 3, 5 - -Terry, Ellen, visit to Nuremberg, 243-44; - in _Butterfly_, 255; - Sarah Bernhardt’s compliment to, 279; - in _King Arthur_, 291-92 - -Terry, Kate, 274 - -Thackeray, W. M., 9-11, 95-96, 110, 205 - -_The Theatre_, 221 - -Theatre, the, impressions of childhood, 225-28; - condition of the stage on the advent of Irving, 232; - the actor’s art, 237-49; - need for a national theatre, 244-46; - rehearsals, 288-91; - the question of scenery, 291-92 - -Thirlemere, 21 - -Thomson, Hugh, 165-66 - -Thorne, Tom, 234-35 - -_Times_, the, 56, 183-84, 276-77 - -Tissot, James, 268-70 - -Titian, 180 - -Toole, J. L., 229-30, 234-35, 250, 254; - friendship with Irving, 241, 246; - personality and anecdotes, 246-53; - a day’s fun, 247-50 - -Toole’s Theatre, 255 - -Tottenham Court Road Theatre, 232, 281 - -Tower of London, visit of Toole, 248-49 - -Townsend House, 267 - -“Trafalgar,” Greenwich, 37 - -Tree, Beerbohm, 256, 270, 281-82 - -Tristram, Outram, 281 - -Turner, 66 - - -Ullswater, 15 - -Unitarian chapel, Great Portland Street, 167, 169 - -United States, quality of illustrations in, 159 - - -_Vanity Fair_ cartoons, 121, 165 - -Vaudeville Theatre, 234-35 - -Venezuela, 189 - -Verrey’s Restaurant, 158 - -Vinci, Leonardo da, 180, 245 - - -Walker, Frederick, 114, 144; - personality, 102, 105-7; - visit to Algiers, 103-5; - his work, 107-10 - -Walking tours, 23-25 - -Walton, 267 - -Water-Colour Society, 74 - -Watts, G. F., 63, 72, 73, 129, 169, 193 - -Watts-Dunton, Theodore, 47, 159 - -Webster, _The Duchess of Malfi_, 276 - -Webster, Sir Richard, _see_ Alverstone, Lord - -Westminster Club, the, 254 - -Westmoreland, fishing in, 21-22; - walking tours, 24-25 - -Weyman, Stanley, 159-61 - -Whistler, J. A. M., 114, 115; - criticism of (1873), 133-34; - public attitude, 134-35; - personality 135-38; - style, 138-39; - his love of contest, 139-42; - friends, 142-43; - at Lawson’s, 143 - -Whymper, T. W., 109 - -Wilde, Oscar, 118; - poetry of, 212-13; - dramatic work of, 213-14 - -Wills, W. G., 221-22, 283; - _Charles I._, 254 - -Wood-engraving, 109-10, 120, 158-59 - -Wordsworth, 200, 201 - -_World_, the, 36, 38, 40 - -Wurtzburg, 243 - - -Yates, Edmund, 147; - founds the _World_, 36, 38-39, 40, 43, 44; - style of oratory, 191-92 - - -_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME EMINENT VICTORIANS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/68526-0.zip b/old/68526-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b7b7939..0000000 --- a/old/68526-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h.zip b/old/68526-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fdd6159..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/68526-h.htm b/old/68526-h/68526-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 3a1dd2d..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/68526-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10213 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Some Eminent Victorians, by J. Comyns Carr. -</title> -<style> - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.blk {page-break-before:always;page-break-after:always;} - -body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.caption {font-weight:normal;} -.caption p{font-size:75%;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.caption p.facce {text-align:right;margin-top:1em;} - -.caption p.permisso {text-align:left;margin-top:1em;} - -.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -margin-top:2em;font-size:85%;} - -.figcenter {margin:3% auto 3% auto;clear:both; -text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:normal;letter-spacing:.2em;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:125%;font-weight:normal;} - - h3 {margin:4% auto 2% auto;text-align:center;clear:both;} - - hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - img {border:none;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} - -.pdd {padding-left:1em;text-indent:-1em;} - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} - -.redd {color:red;} - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -.rtb {text-align:right;vertical-align:bottom;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - -table {margin:2% auto;border:none;} - -td {padding-top:.15em;} - -th {padding-top:.5em;padding-bottom:.25em;} - -.tbl {border:2px solid gray;page-break-before:always; -page-break-after:always;text-align:center; -padding:.5em;margin:1em auto;max-width:15em; -text-indent:0%;font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -</style> - </head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Some eminent Victorians, by J. Comyns (Joseph Comyns) Carr</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Some eminent Victorians</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>Personal recollections in the world of art and letters</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: J. Comyns (Joseph Comyns) Carr</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 15, 2022 [eBook #68526]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME EMINENT VICTORIANS ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<a href="images/cover.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="500" alt="[The -image of the book's cover is unavailable" /></a> -</div> - -<p class="tbl"> - -<a href="#CONTENTS">Contents</a><br /> -<a href="#ILLUSTRATIONS">Illustrations</a><br /> -<a href="#INDEX">Index</a><br /> -</p> - -<p class="c">SOME EMINENT VICTORIANS</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_001" style="width: 411px;"> -<a href="images/i_frontis.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width="411" height="520" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p><i>A Study for the picture of King Cophetua</i></p> - -<p>(<i>Philip Comyns Carr</i>)</p> - -<p><i>By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart.</i></p></div> -</div> - -<div class="blk"> -<h1><span class="redd"> -SOME EMINENT<br /> -VICTORIANS</span></h1> - -<p class="c">PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS<br /> -IN THE WORLD OF ART AND LETTERS<br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -J. COMYNS CARR<br /> -<br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="125" -alt="" /><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -LONDON<br /><span class="redd"> -DUCKWORTH & CO.</span><br /> -MCMVIII<br /> -</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_v">{v}</a></span></p> -<h2><a id="All_rights_reserved"></a><i>All rights reserved</i></h2> - -<h2><a id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Those</span> of us who have emerged from the Victorian Era with an undiminished -reverence for the great names which have made it memorable, must be -prepared to endure with patience the pitying tolerance, or even the -indulgent rebuke, of the men who herald a younger generation.</p> - -<p>It was only a few weeks ago that I ventured to enquire of a cultivated -young writer of the newer school if Dickens was now much read by the -generation which presumably he had a claim to represent. The question -gave him no pause. In a sentence that was dictated solely, as it seemed, -by a sincere desire to impart accurate information, he gravely informed -me that among young men of culture Dickens was now never read after the -age of fourteen. I confess that, despite the coldly judicial tone of -this utterance, I was not entirely convinced, for I happen to know even -young people who are still so far belated in their taste as to regard -Dickens as an incomparable genius. But the statement helped me at any -rate to realise how easy it is to grow old-fashioned, and suggested to -me that in addressing an age which<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span> believes that art, like science, is -always advancing, it would be prudent, on the threshold of these -reminiscences of some of the men I have known and whose work I have -worshipped, to make frank avowal of my own faith, and humbly to confess -my limitations.</p> - -<p>Let me say, then, that in the region of Art and Literature I am still an -impenitent Victorian. I have no desire to disparage the work of those -who profess a more modern creed, and I think, although this perhaps may -be vainglorious boasting, that I am not unable to appreciate the more -instant appeal of a later day. But my talk with younger men, whose -comradeship delights me, makes it often abundantly clear to me that I am -disqualified, perhaps by age, from sharing to the full measure their -more recent enthusiasms. Our occasional divergence of feeling, which it -would be idle not to recognise, rests in some cases upon an essential -difference in the point of view. The progress of science which, to -borrow a phrase from Mr. Gladstone in regard to our revenue, is in our -day “advancing by leaps and bounds,” has, I think, set some younger men -aglow with the thought that art too is destined, with the passing of the -ages, to claim and to inherit a realm correspondingly enlarged.</p> - -<p>This belief, perhaps only half confessed, that in the fields of -Literature and Art the later achievement must, for that reason alone, be -the greater achievement, is apt to beget in the minds of some younger -men a certain impatience with the heroes of an<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span> earlier day. As the -topmost pebble set upon the upraised cairn which represents the sum of -scientific knowledge must of necessity record the final altitude which -science has reached, so it is in some quarters held, by an analogy that -seems to me radically mistaken, that the most modern achievement in art -has the right to claim in virtue of its historical position a higher -place than that which it has succeeded.</p> - -<p>Let me confess at once that this is not my belief. There is a little -fringe of science lying at the threshold of every art, and until the -secrets it has to yield are conquered, the illusion of progressive -advancement is inevitable. But that puny conquest counts for nothing -beside art’s constant and unchangeable conditions, conditions which -leave its earlier victories unsurpassed and unsurpassable. It is, -indeed, the glory of the artist’s spirit, in whatever field it be -exercised, that it is incapable of advancement. Each achievement, as -time attests its worth to rank at all, remains through all time -incomparable. It knows no rivalry. It defies all competition. It affects -no advance upon the triumphs of yesterday; it fears no eclipse from the -victories of to-morrow. And although history shows many barren seasons -when the spirit of the artist sinks and flags, the revival, when it -comes, is due to no added store of knowledge, but is the free gift of -men newly risen whose genius proves itself able to recapture that power -of imaging life which in the hands of genius has always been perfect -from the first.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span></p> - -<p>Supported by this faith I will own I am not very gravely discouraged by -occasionally finding myself ranked as a champion of an outworn fashion. -The progress of art is the progress of the pendulum. It advances and -recedes according to a law of movement that only the fullest and -profoundest knowledge of all the factors that make up human life can -enable us to decipher.</p> - -<p>But that art does often lie fallow after a period of rich harvest must -be indisputable to all who have carefully studied its history. It need -not, therefore, be wholly surprising if, in that little corner of time -we inhabit to-day, there should have come a momentary lull following on -a period of intense and varied vitality.</p> - -<p>My mission here is simply to recall and to record personal reminiscences -of some of the great men who sowed and reaped a part of that great -harvest garnered during the later half of the last century. In the -history of English Literature and English Art, I believe it presents a -rich yield that will not soon be equalled as the fruit of an equal -measure of time, and I am prepared to accept lightly enough the -criticism that probably awaits me, that the heroes whom I have -worshipped are no longer the heroes of to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></th></tr> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Introductory</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Idle Hours</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Essays in Journalism</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_26">26</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Bar</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_48">48</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dante Gabriel Rossetti</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_59">59</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Edward Burne-Jones</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_71">71</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_x">{x}</a></span></th></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Millais and Leighton</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_85">85</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Frederick Walker</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_102">102</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Design and Engraving</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_111">111</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Grosvenor Gallery and the New Gallery</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_126">126</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Whistler and Cecil Lawson</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Art Journalism</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_146">146</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Orators</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Some Victorian Poets</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_193">193</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Younger Generation</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_215">215</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_xi">{xi}</a></span></th></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Men of the Theatre</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_225">225</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Social Hours</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_263">263</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">Some Foreign Actors</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_273">273</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></th></tr> -<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Work of the Theatre</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_281">281</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_xii">{xii}</a></span>  </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_xiii">{xiii}</a></span>  </p> - -<h2><a id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_001">Study for the picture of King Cophetua (Philip Comyns Carr). By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. -</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#ill_001"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>FACE PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_002">G. Birkbeck Hill</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_003">Dante Gabriel Rossetti. By Himself</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_59">59</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_004">Dante Gabriel Rossetti. By G. F. Watts, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_65">65</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_005">Letter. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. (<i>a</i>)</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_78">78</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_006">The Homes of England. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. (<i>b</i>)</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_78">78</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_007">The Homes of England. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart. (<i>c</i>)</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_78">78</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd" colspan="2"> -Lessons in Anatomy. By Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Bart.—</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_008"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lesson 1</span></a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_80">80</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_009"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lesson 2</span></a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_80">80</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_010"><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lesson 3</span></a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_80">80</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_011">Ophelia. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_85">85</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_012">The Finding of Moses. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_87">87</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_013">The Huguenots. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_92">92</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_014">Lord Leighton, P.R.A. By G. F. Watts, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_96">96</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_015">A Woman in the Snow. By F. Walker, A.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_103">103</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_016">Lucy Gray. By Sir John Gilbert, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_109">109</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_017">The Unjust Judge. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_111">111</a> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_xiv">{xiv}</a></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_018">The Leaven. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_019">“To seek the wanderer.” By F. Sandys</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_115">115</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_020">James Martineau. By G. F. Watts, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_021">John Bright. By W. W. Ouless, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_169">169</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_022">Lord Tennyson. By G. F. Watts, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_193">193</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_023">Head of Charles Dickens. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_194">194</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_024">Robert Browning. By G. F. Watts, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_201">201</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_025">William Morris. By G. F. Watts, R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_209">209</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_026">R. L. Stevenson. By Sir W. Richmond, K.C.B., R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_215">215</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_027">Sir Henry Irving.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_237">237</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><a href="#ill_028">Sir Arthur Sullivan. By Sir J. E. Millais, Bart., P.R.A.</a></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_284">284</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_1">{1}</a></span>  </p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>INTRODUCTORY</small></h2> - -<p>From my earliest boyhood I think my bent was towards a literary career, -but it was long before my ambition could be put to the test. The seventh -of a family of ten, it was scarcely to be expected that I could, in -those earlier days, make known my choice of a calling that seemed so -little likely to yield a livelihood. My father was in business in -London, and although he took the keenest interest in politics and public -affairs, and was an eager reader of the literature of his time, he had a -sufficiently hard struggle to provide for us all, and it was but natural -in his care for our future that his thoughts should turn to the choice -of some solid commercial career.</p> - -<p>We lived, in the days that I can first recall, in the Manor House on -Barnes Common, a picturesque old-fashioned building that still remains, -though shorn of the larger grounds which were our delight as children.</p> - -<p>The garden and fields, now partly built over, formed then a little -earthly paradise to a large family, and the open Common covered with -gorse and bracken served as a part of our wider playground. There we -roamed at will, and it was there, with each returning October, that we -used to gather the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_2">{2}</a></span> material for a great bonfire with which we annually -celebrated the fifth of November.</p> - -<p>Sallying forth from our field-gate that abutted upon the Common, armed -with a bill-hook surreptitiously filched from the gardener’s -tool-basket, there we used to pile up our wheelbarrow with the gorse we -had no right to cut, keeping a careful eye the while, lest the sudden -approach of the policeman should set us within the grip of the law.</p> - -<p>These raiding expeditions sometimes brought us into collision with the -boys of the village, whom we only knew under the generic title of “the -cads,” and with whom we waged unceasing warfare. Especially did we dread -their onslaught as the fifth of November approached, for we knew well it -was ever their malignant purpose to fire the pile before the appointed -night had arrived.</p> - -<p>It was our custom, therefore, to keep watch and guard for several -preceding nights, and sometimes when we heard sounds heralding the -approach of the enemy across the fields we would send rockets whizzing -along the grass—a defensive operation we discovered to be greatly -dreaded by even the boldest of “the cads.”</p> - -<p>The choice of an appropriate Guy was always an important point of -consideration. One year, I remember, it was Bomba, and during the days -of the Indian Mutiny a great effigy of Nana Sahib was consigned to the -flames, which gathered added intensity by the insertion into the midst -of the huge pile of gorse and dried wood of a seasoned tar-barrel -annually purchased by my father as his contribution to the revels of -this well-loved day.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_3">{3}</a></span></p> - -<p>The valorous deeds of our soldiers in the Crimea and the nameless -horrors of the Mutiny which followed so closely at its heels stand among -my most vivid recollections of those earlier days.</p> - -<p>I was born in the year 1849, and I can still remember an elder cousin in -his scarlet uniform taking his way across the foot-path that leads to -Barnes station, to start for the war in the Crimea.</p> - -<p>With the events of the Mutiny our sympathies were even more actively -engaged. We were closely allied at that time with a family, one of whom, -General Henry Marshall, but lately commanded the Artillery in South -Africa. They had lived in India, and had relatives still there at the -time of the outbreak, and the terrible news as it reached England had -therefore an enthralling interest for us all.</p> - -<p>It was not to be supposed that my father could afford to any of us the -luxury of a public school. At first, with my brothers, I was educated at -home under a private tutor, and then at the age of thirteen I took my -way to Bruce Castle School, Tottenham, at that time under the mastership -of Arthur Hill, brother of Sir Rowland Hill of postage-stamp fame.</p> - -<p>I remember my elder brother and I took our places on the form allotted -to new boys side by side with William Lewin, better known as William -Terriss the actor, and it was only a little while before his tragic end -that he and I were recalling those times at Bruce Castle, where, if he -gained but little learning, he at any rate acquired a perfect mastery in -the art of tree-climbing. There was no elm in the playground, or beyond -it, which he had not scaled in search of rooks’ eggs, and his constant -companion<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_4">{4}</a></span> in these lawless excursions was Fred Selous, the African -hunter and explorer, with whom not long ago in his Surrey home, where we -sat surrounded by his many trophies of the chase, I was glad to renew -our memories of that earlier time.</p> - -<p>Terriss’s name reminds me of an incident of our school-days which proves -that at that time, at any rate, his histrionic abilities were scarcely -equal to mine. Bruce Castle School boasted two masters of the French -language, both of whom were regarded as marks for the ridicule and scorn -of the English-born boy. Something of the spirit of Waterloo still -survived in our outrageous treatment of these gentlemen, whom we could -not help regarding as the luckless representatives of a beaten and -inferior race.</p> - -<p>One of them, I remember, had a known fondness for natural history, and -under cover of sharing his enthusiasm we could nearly always lure him to -stories of different wild animals which served to fill the hour which -should have been devoted to the study of the French language.</p> - -<p>This was our more amiable way of tormenting the unfortunate gentleman. -Occasionally, in order to frustrate his well-meant efforts to instruct -us, we resorted to more drastic measures. I remember one day it was -jointly agreed among us that we should all assume to be afflicted with -the worst kind of hacking cough, and from the very moment the class -opened the room resounded with the most distressing symptoms of our -common complaint.</p> - -<p>Our master became at length fully conscious<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_5">{5}</a></span> of the plot that had been -forged against him, and slamming the book in a rage announced his -determination of summoning Mr. Arthur Hill to restore the discipline of -the class. This show of unexpected authority on his part produced -something like consternation, and in a moment all the bronchial sounds -were silenced—all save one, for it seemed to me then that the only -policy, however desperate it might prove, was to persist in the signs of -the malady which had already been announced.</p> - -<p>In the interval of dead silence in which we awaited the arrival of the -headmaster I therefore continued, at brief but regular intervals, with -the same persistent cough which the others had abandoned. On Mr. Arthur -Hill’s arrival, Mon. Delmas—for that was the unfortunate gentleman’s -name—explained with some volubility the cause of his complaint against -us, but at the finish, with a noble credulity that I had hardly dared to -hope for, he exempted me from the general condemnation.</p> - -<p>“Now, Carr,” he said, “has a cough, but he suffer so much it is better -he do not attend the class for a space.”</p> - -<p>On this intimation I was permitted to quit the room and to spend the -rest of the dreaded hour in the playground, where afterwards I incurred -the obloquy of my companions, and especially of William Terriss, because -they had failed to adopt my more ingenious policy.</p> - -<p>It is small wonder, with these obstacles deliberately set in our own -path, that at our school, at any rate, the acquisition of any knowledge -of the French tongue was of the very slightest.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_6">{6}</a></span></p> - -<p>I suppose every boy has his school hero. Mine, I remember, was a South -American Spaniard named Echenique, whose father had, for a brief space, -figured as President of Peru. He was as handsome as Dickens has pictured -Steerforth; and afterwards, when I made the acquaintance of David -Copperfield, I had cause to recognise with what unerring sympathy and -fidelity the greatest of our masters of romance has mirrored the worship -of a boy.</p> - -<p>Bruce Castle was, in its way, a remarkable school, though it made no -pretence of affording any very extended classical education. It was, -indeed, designed for boys of the middle class, of whom I was one, but it -was remarkable in this sense, that it was governed on principles of -conduct that differed materially from those accepted in other schools of -the time.</p> - -<p>The Hills held peculiar theories upon the education of boys. Corporal -punishment was a thing altogether unknown, and the severest penalty even -upon the most hardened offender consisted in nothing worse than a course -of compulsory exercise. There was a Prefect, specially told off to take -out every day, in what in happier circumstances would have been their -play-time, those malefactors who had failed to conform to the discipline -of the school.</p> - -<p>And yet, under this mild régime, discipline was never lax, both Mr. -Arthur Hill and his son Dr. Birkbeck Hill, who succeeded him soon after -I entered the school, possessing in a rare degree the power of evoking a -sense of responsibility in those elder pupils who controlled the -school’s conduct. I</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_002" style="width: 426px;"> -<a href="images/i_007fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_007fp.jpg" width="426" height="548" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>G. BIRKBECK HILL</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 7.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_7">{7}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">think only once in the period of my school-days did a case occur in -which the headmaster had need to resort to the final penalty of -expulsion.</p> - -<p>Dr. Birkbeck Hill was, in a special sense, a man who won the affection -of his pupils. He came to us from Oxford, where he had been the friend -of Morris and Swinburne, and I remember the first time that I saw one of -those newly designed wallpapers, which were destined afterwards to play -so important a part in the movement initiated by Rossetti and Morris, -was in the dining-room of Bruce Castle School.</p> - -<p>Dr. Birkbeck Hill was a man of considerable literary taste and literary -power. He was contributing at that time, though it was not generally -known, some brilliant light articles to the <i>Saturday Review</i> under the -editorship of Mr. Harwood, and he very soon attached himself to that -devoted study of Dr. Johnson which finally provided the theme for some -admirable work in criticism and biography.</p> - -<p>It is possible that he may have perceived in me some inclination towards -letters, for he often used to show me his articles in the current number -of the <i>Review</i>, and very soon by his own enthusiasm he awakened in me -an interest in his hero Johnson, which has never since abated. A copy of -Boswell’s <i>Life</i>, which he afterwards gave me on the occasion of my -marriage, still stands in its ten little volumes as one of the books -within reach of my bed. They share the honours of my book-shelf with the -novels of Charles Dickens, and for me there are no two authors to whom I -can so constantly return with ever-renewed enjoyment when sleep is not -easy to win.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_8">{8}</a></span></p> - -<p>But there was an older master, Mr. Braid, who exercised an even more -powerful influence in forming and directing my taste. His special -subject in the curriculum of the school was mathematics, but he was an -ardent lover of literature and a devoted student of Shakespeare. He did -not live in the school, but many times after school hours he used to -take me down to his modest rooms in the village and show me some of the -books in his small but well-loved library.</p> - -<p>Impelled by his enthusiasm I had read, before I left school, the whole -of Shakespeare, as well as <i>Paradise Lost</i> and the shorter poems of -Milton; and it was by his encouragement that I made my first attempt in -writing, in the sufficiently ambitious experiment of an essay on <i>King -Lear</i>. I have lost the essay, and the world has lost it, a fact not to -be deeply deplored by either. But this crude experiment set me on my -way, and when I quitted school at the age of sixteen my ambition was -already aflame to try and do something in the world of letters. But, -curiously enough, the aptitude which I had shown at school was towards -mathematics, and here my work had so far impressed the examiners, one of -whom was Charles Faulkner, afterwards so closely associated with -Rossetti and Burne-Jones, that Dr. Hill endeavoured to persuade my -father to send me to Cambridge.</p> - -<p>I do not now know whether I regret the fact that my father’s means did -not suffice to carry out that project. It might have diverted me from -those things which I even then began to love, and have never ceased to -care for. In any case it<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_9">{9}</a></span> seemed obviously necessary that, as one of a -family of ten, I should at once apply myself to a calling in which I -could earn my living. Accordingly at the age of sixteen, when I quitted -Bruce Castle School, my father articled me, at some considerable -sacrifice to himself, in a stock-broker’s office in the City.</p> - -<p>It will be evident that the education with which I went forth into the -world could not have been very profound—a little Latin, enough to -enable me to read, in later years, Horace and Virgil with pleasure, but -not without the aid of a dictionary; no Greek—that was not considered -indispensable to a commercial career; mathematics sufficient, as my -examiners told me, to have given me more than a fair chance of a -scholarship at Cambridge; and a taste for literature mainly acquired in -the vacant hours after school.</p> - -<p>From the first my task in the City was not congenial to me, although I -worked hard and worked early and late. But when office hours were over I -still contrived to keep alive that interest in books which had already -been deeply implanted in me, and to make some small essays in journalism -and in verse which at the first, I am bound to admit, met with scant -encouragement from the editors whom I bombarded. I can remember now -receiving from Charles Dickens, with a pain that was also blended with -pleasure, a polite little note in blue ink returning one of my many -rejected communications. Mr. Thackeray from the <i>Cornhill</i> conferred -upon me a like distinction—a distinction, as I call it, because even -the fact that<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_10">{10}</a></span> they declined to publish what I wrote seemed to me at the -time almost to form a link of association with men whom I so greatly -admired.</p> - -<p>All this tentative work was done in the late evenings, carried sometimes -far into the night, but it did not prevent me from being at my office in -the City at a quarter past nine, and remaining there always till six and -sometimes, on account days, till nine and ten. At the same time I was -greedily reading the works of the men I worshipped most—the drama, and -the lyrical poetry of the Elizabethans; the novelists, starting with -Sterne, Fielding, and Smollett; the poets of the great revival which -ushered in the nineteenth century; and those later poets and writers, -all of whom were then living, who gave to the Victorian era its glory.</p> - -<p>I have often thought that the youth of a later generation can hardly -realise the wealth of contemporary achievement that lay around those of -us who chanced to be born in that fortunate hour. However great, or -however greatly admired, may be the writers of a past day, they can -never speak with the quickened magic that a living master can command. -And what masters then stood there to win our worship! Tennyson in his -prime, and Browning, whose unexhausted energy had yet to give to the -world <i>The Ring and the Book</i>; Swinburne, whose new and intoxicating -music came like a voice from an undiscovered land of song; and Morris, -who in his <i>Defence of Guinevere</i> had already found a key that was to -unlock a long-unused storehouse of legend and romance. And then, a -little later, Rossetti, mystic and passionate, whose brooding<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_11">{11}</a></span> melodies -seemed to mirror in verse those “painted poems” that were wrought by his -brush; and in fiction, where Meredith had only lately arisen, there -still stood Dickens and Thackeray, George Eliot and the Brontës; and in -other fields of literature, Carlyle, Mill and Ruskin, Emerson and -Froude.</p> - -<p>They were all our heroes then, and if Time has not left the place of all -unshaken, enough remain to form such a goodly company as no later hour -can boast. And this is so far acknowledged by the youth of a younger -generation that I find those of quickest appreciation in poetry and -fiction constantly tempted to steal my heroes and set them above their -own.</p> - -<p>Already at school I had made acquaintance with the poems of Wordsworth, -a strange choice for a boy; and the circumstances of his life, and the -revolution which he partly headed, drew me quickly to others of the -group until all lesser admiration was finally merged in my worship of -Keats. It was only in later days that I brought myself to the study of -the poets of the intermediate time between the Elizabethans and the -close of the eighteenth century, and I will confess that even now I have -no great zest for them.</p> - -<p>But turning aside for the moment from the things that already interested -me most, I remember being vividly impressed by some events that occurred -in the City during the period of my apprenticeship. The sudden -transition from private school to the Stock Exchange presented points of -interest that could not fail to attract a boy, even though his ambition -was otherwise engaged.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_12">{12}</a></span></p> - -<p>I was in the City in the year 1867, the year of the great financial -crisis which is associated with the name of Overend Gurney. The streets -and narrow lanes round about the Stock Exchange during that turbulent -time presented many picturesque sights, and within the Stock Exchange -itself were daily scenes of almost maddening excitement.</p> - -<p>One day I waited outside a great bank, one of a seething crowd of many -hundreds, in momentary expectation that the doors would be closed, but -the minutes and the hours passed, and as four o’clock approached it -became known that the danger had been averted. Many similar scenes were -to be witnessed at that time, but, although they provided me with -excitement enough and to spare, even these vivid incidents in the career -into which I had been thrust did not induce me to swerve from the -resolution I had already secretly formed, not to remain in the City when -the days of my apprenticeship were concluded.</p> - -<p>I think, however, that, notwithstanding the distaste I had for my work, -I performed my task zealously enough. So, indeed, it must have been, for -when I finally announced to the firm my intention to retire, one of the -partners asked me to reconsider my decision, holding out to me the -inducement that if I would remain till I was twenty-one there would be a -good prospect of my being promoted to a junior partnership.</p> - -<p>But my choice had already been made, and I was in no mind to change it. -Still secretly nursing the thought of a literary career, it was, -nevertheless, clear to me that, for the time at any rate, I must<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_13">{13}</a></span> adopt -a more definite occupation. I therefore made up my mind to study for the -Bar. My only trouble was to know how to announce this decision to my -dear father, who had spent his hardly-earned money in giving me this -first and great chance in the world, and to whom I knew the resolution -at which I had arrived would be a source of bitter disappointment and -regret.</p> - -<p>And so, indeed, it was! But he was the widest-minded and the most -liberal-hearted of men, and, when at last I found the courage to break -it to him, he hardly allowed me to perceive the deep disappointment -which I knew he was suffering. For my own part I have never regretted -those days passed in the City, though at the time I felt them to be -barren and wasted. Perhaps I learned as much as I should have acquired -at Cambridge, though it was learning of a different sort. Some knowledge -of men I certainly gained, some knowledge also of the habit of work -which no career, however detached from business, can afford to dispense -with.</p> - -<p>Certainly, if there had not been some such obstacle in my path, I should -not have thrown myself into the life I had chosen with the same keenness -and persistence. The opposition which these earlier years set in the way -of the calling I most wanted to pursue nerved and stiffened my -resolution. I did a prodigious amount of reading in those late nights -after the strenuous days in the City, and I think the fact that I had -broken away from the life that was laid out for me gave me a higher -courage to try and succeed in the life of my own choosing.</p> - -<p>Already, before I had made my change of view<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_14">{14}</a></span> known to my father, I had -resolved to matriculate at the London University in preparation to -becoming a student for the Bar, and, when the break came, I at once -joined the classes at University College and assisted myself further by -private tuition in several branches of knowledge which I had to take up -for examination.</p> - -<p>Some Greek I had to learn, for I had none, a little chemistry, and then -there was my Latin, not at any time considerable, to be furbished up. -None of these things could I have done without the liberal help of my -father, for I had no resources of my own. But this liberal help was -never lacking, and I think, when his first disappointment had passed, he -became interested in furthering my new career. But the work had to be -swiftly done, for I was impatient to be upon my way, and could not have -been done in the time, in view of my meagre stock of scholastic -knowledge, if it had not been for the zealous help of those who coached -me.</p> - -<p>By their aid I was enabled to matriculate at the London University, and -in the Honours Division, in February of the year 1870, just a month -before my twenty-first birthday. In February 1871 I obtained the First -Class in Honours in Jurisprudence and Roman Law, and in July 1871, -having already been entered as a student of the Inner Temple, I secured -the scholarship in Roman and International Law from the Council of Legal -Education. Shortly afterwards, in the year 1872, I was called to the Bar -at the Inner Temple, and with this event the period of my boyhood may be -said to have closed.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_15">{15}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>IDLE HOURS</small></h2> - -<p>It might perhaps be supposed, from the brief account I have given of -myself, that these earlier days were wholly devoted to study and hard -work. This, however, was very far from being the case. At school I had -been an ardent cricketer and a lover of football, and in the holidays -with my second brother, who was as keenly devoted to fishing as I was, I -passed many a happy hour among the hills of Cumberland and in the -Scottish Highlands.</p> - -<p>It was in Cumberland that we were first initiated into the mysteries of -the craft by a genial drunkard named Atkinson, who dwelt in a small -cottage close by Wordsworth’s grave in Grasmere churchyard.</p> - -<p>My father had been a native of the hills, and his forebears came of that -race of Dalesmen, or small free-holders, owning farms of a hundred acres -or more, whose independence of character Wordsworth so strongly extols, -but whose little properties have been long since absorbed in the great -estates of the Lake District.</p> - -<p>My grandfather’s farm was situated at Jonby, midway between Penrith and -the shores of Ullswater, and it was natural, when my father’s resources<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_16">{16}</a></span> -sufficed, that our summer outing should be made in the land of his -birth.</p> - -<p>I think we all of us inherited his love of the hills, and it was in -those fishing days, while we were staying in a house that stood close -beside Grasmere churchyard, that I renewed and completed my study of -Wordsworth, whom I had first learned to love while I was at school.</p> - -<p>How simple must have been my father’s life in those boyish days before -he set forth on his business career is shown in the fact that he was -fond of relating to us that he and his brothers used always to go -barefoot to school, and only put on their shoes and stockings when they -neared the village.</p> - -<p>To Scotland my brother and I journeyed mostly alone, combining the -pleasures of a walking tour with the exercise of our favourite sport. -Our means were not very ample for these rambling excursions, and we not -unseldom found ourselves in a tight place before the end of our journey -was reached.</p> - -<p>I remember in particular that on one occasion at the close of a -delightful holiday we arrived at Callander with little more than our -third-class return tickets in our pockets. That afternoon we were to -take train for London, but we had walked for many miles and were -desperately hungry. Outside what seemed to us to be the most modest inn -in the town we held a council of war, and at last determined to venture -upon ordering a cold lunch.</p> - -<p>The resources of the establishment were meagre, and were fairly -outstripped by our ravenous appetites. Long before the latter were -satisfied, the one cold joint of lamb which the establishment possessed -was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_17">{17}</a></span> exhausted. We called for more, but there was no more, so there was -nothing left for us but to call for the bill, when, to our horror and -dismay, we found that the amount surpassed by two or three shillings the -little hoard that was still left to us.</p> - -<p>The situation was critical and called for a Napoleonic remedy. After a -whispered consultation with my brother I boldly summoned the waiter and -demanded to know if the fixed price charged for a cold lunch did not -allow us to have as many helpings as we pleased. The waiter, brought to -bay, had to confess that this was the case, and thereupon, with sudden -audacity, I urged the point that, as he had been unable to satisfy our -just demands, the bill must be proportionately reduced. After -considerable parley, with an occasional reference to a landlady who sat -behind a screen, and who may have been moved by a feeling of pity for -our obvious embarrassment, our plea was allowed, and we walked from the -inn with a sense of triumphant victory in our hearts, and with just -threepence-ha’penny in our pockets to start on our journey to town.</p> - -<p>As we were waiting on the platform of Callander station, with no baggage -but our knapsacks and our fishing-rods, I overheard a conversation which -has always seemed to me to throw a lurid light upon certain aspects of -the Scottish character.</p> - -<p>Two pawky tradesmen of the district were pacing up and down the platform -in earnest talk, and as they passed me I caught this one sentence, torn -from its context:</p> - -<p>“Should I outlive my wife, as I hope to do<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_18">{18}</a></span>——” said the elder to the -younger, and then they passed out of hearing.</p> - -<p>What was to follow on the realisation of this fond dream I have often -longed to know, but even as the statement stands I have always thought -it forms a notable monument to the caution and foresight of the race.</p> - -<p>There are several picturesque sayings of the Highlanders that come back -to me as connected with these annual excursions. We had been staying for -a few days at the little inn at Luib, situated about five miles from -Loch Dochart, where we went daily to fish, and the gillie who used to -row us on the loch had many a pleasant story to tell of his working days -in the years when he had followed the calling of a shepherd.</p> - -<p>I remember one evening, as we walked home with our faces turned to one -of those beautiful sunsets that I think are only to be seen in the -Highlands, he was telling us of a favourite sheep-dog that had been for -years his companion on the hills. But the time came when age unfitted -the poor animal for his work, and when the only kindness in the -shepherd’s eyes was to put an end to its life. And then he described how -he had tied it to an apple-tree and got his gun to shoot it.</p> - -<p>“An’ I could scarce look at the beast,” he said, “as I fired, for I -loved him well and he had been sae wise.”</p> - -<p>The tears rolled down his cheeks as he told the story, and we paused in -our talk as we trudged along the sun-lit road. Then out of the silence -came this further utterance:<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_19">{19}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I buried him,” he faltered, “at the foot of the apple-tree”—and then -another pause, and then the final words—“an’ there would be a rare crop -of apples on the tree the year, for there’s naething for an apple-tree -like a dead dog.”</p> - -<p>This anecdote has always seemed to me characteristic of the Highland -nature where poetry and prose lie closely side by side, and where the -simple mind that holds them both is quite unconscious of any shock of -feeling in the rapid transition from one to the other.</p> - -<p>In this respect I think they show a close resemblance to the peasants of -Northern Italy, in whom there is this same frank avowal of swiftly -changing feeling; and neither in the one nor in the other does there -seem to occur the need, always felt by the Englishman, of forming a -bridge of sentiment from the world of fact to the world of passion.</p> - -<p>A great race are these Highland gillies, claiming and according equality -even in a calling in which they are very conscious of their superiority; -never lacking in courtesy, and yet yielding with a certain proud -independence all deference that is rightly due to the temporary relation -of master and servant. In their speech they are sometimes curiously -felicitous, and, using our English language as in a sense a strange -tongue, they sometimes exhibit, for that reason, a purity and delicacy -in the selection of words that a native can hardly command.</p> - -<p>There was a very pretty phrase used by an old peasant at Killin with -whom I was chatting one evening outside his cottage door. A pretty girl -passed along on the other side of the road, and,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_20">{20}</a></span> wishing to be as -Scotch as I could in order to ingratiate myself with the old man, who -was vastly entertaining in his stories of the village, I said, “That’s a -bonny lassie!” to which he replied, “Ay, sir, she is, but I’m thinking -maybe she’s just bonnier than she’s better.” How much more delicate in -its inference, how much milder in its condemnation, than our crude -statement, “She’s no better than she should be!”</p> - -<p>In those earlier times the “dry fly” as a lure for trout was scarcely -known, and even to this day it is regarded with undisguised scepticism -by the majority of Scotch gillies. It is not many years ago that I -astonished an expert in the older fashion by its successful application -on a little loch on the hills above Glenmuick, where I was staying with -Lord Glenesk. We had ridden for five or six miles to reach our -fishing-ground, and when we arrived it seemed as though we had come upon -a fruitless errand—there was not a ripple upon the water and not a rise -to be seen. The gillie who was with me scanned the surface of the lake -with a melancholy eye. Towards evening, however, the fish began to move, -and as sunset approached they were feeding eagerly. But the absence of -any breeze rendered casting with the wet fly a barren toil. It was then -that I drew from my case a large alder dressed as a floating fly. When I -showed it to the gillie his contempt was unconcealed. “What sort of an -animal might that be?” he inquired, and when I explained its uses to -him, he turned his face towards the sunset with a look of patient and -pitying toleration, merely remarking for my comfort that I “might<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_21">{21}</a></span> just -as well throw my bonnet into the loch.” But his scorn quickly changed to -wonder as fish after fish was drawn to the bank, and when we parted at -the close of the day he somewhat sheepishly entreated me to leave him as -a legacy one or two specimens of those same “animals.”</p> - -<p>I had a somewhat similar experience in Switzerland a few years later. -The little crater lakes on the summit of the Gothard Pass are well -stocked with trout, and the landlord of the hotel where we lunched -advised me to accept the services of the chef, who was reckoned locally -a very mighty exponent of the piscatorial art. But when my comrade -observed my methods and noted the results, he very speedily returned to -his kitchen: “<i>Oh! là, là ça, vous savez, je ne comprends pas du tout. -Bon jour, monsieur</i>,” and so we parted.</p> - -<p>I think every sportsman-born has in him something of the poacher. -Certainly one of the keenest and most skilful fishermen of my -acquaintance has made confession to me of occasional lapses into the -most illicit practices when fairer means had failed. In our earlier -essays among the hills of Westmoreland and Cumberland my brother and I -were frankly unscrupulous, in so far at least as our limited skill -permitted. There was a little pool in the hills above Thirlemere called -Harrop Tarn which was so completely surrounded by a quaking morass that -fishing from the bank was almost impossible. And yet we contrived to -extract many a good trout from that same tarn by the poachers’ device of -cross-lining. Joining our casts together, we were able, by letting out -the line from either rod, to reach the very centre<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_22">{22}</a></span> of the sheet of -water, and when a fish was hooked we reeled in and drew him to the one -little bit of firm land on one side or the other where he could be -safely brought to the basket.</p> - -<p>I knew nothing of the literature of the art when I first learned to fish -at the age of twelve, and it has often amazed me since to note what -wondrous feats of skill can be performed—in books. How to cast in the -teeth of a facing wind, how to avoid the sagging of the line in a swift -stream, how to clear a spreading bush immediately behind you—there are -exact and precise receipts for all these accomplishments, but they do -not always serve you by the water-side. There was a time when the -written record of such triumphs of skill made me feel that I scarcely -deserved to rank as a fisherman at all, but it has been my fortune -occasionally to see some of these bookmade anglers at their work, and -the result in nearly every case has been to restore to me a measure of -self-esteem.</p> - -<p>The truth is that the art of fishing can only be acquired on the banks -of a stream, and is rarely acquired at all unless it has been practised -in boyhood. And even so it lies not within the reach of all, even of -those who ardently desire to succeed. I remember a comrade in one of my -earlier fishing excursions in Scotland who laboured zealously but -fruitlessly to obtain even the most modest degree of proficiency, and as -he stood up in the boat, his line hopelessly entangled for the hundredth -time, the gillie who was rowing us, moved by a spirit of prophecy that -broke down all social reserve, suddenly turned to him and addressing him -by his Christian name: “Frank,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_23">{23}</a></span> Frank,” said he, “you’re a good fellow, -but you’ll <i>never</i> be a fisherman!” And in truth he never was.</p> - -<p>And yet, once a measure of mastery is won, fishing remains for those who -love it an abiding passion. Time leaves undisturbed the keen excitement -of the first adventure, and with each return of spring the longing to be -out beside a stream sets the pulses newly beating. One day when we were -trudging through a field of turnips in Fifeshire, the late Sir William -Harcourt, as though pierced by sudden conviction, turned to me with the -remark, “Carr, what a bore sport is!” And of some forms of sport that, I -think, may sometimes be truly said. But your true fisherman is never -bored. He counts no day blank till it is ended, for the last hours, as -he well knows, may restore his broken fortunes and set a goodly brace or -two in the empty basket.</p> - -<p>And there is no sport, I think, that sorts so well with the occupations -of a writer. Shooting and stalking need the surrender of the entire day, -and are too exhausting to leave any appetite for intellectual labour. -But with fishing it is not so. The angler who has the good fortune to -dwell beside a stream can divide his energies between work and sport -without neglect of either, and in my own case I have found them go -happily hand in hand. Much of my play of <i>King Arthur</i> was written by -the shores of Rannoch, which I had first known and loved as a boy, and -there is a little cottage in Hertfordshire, unhappily no longer mine, -that enshrines many happy memories wherein work and sport are linked in -close association.</p> - -<p>Walking tours have gone out of fashion nowa<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_24">{24}</a></span>days; the bicycle and -motor-car have engendered another taste, and have partly ruined the -quiet ways that were once the exclusive property of the pedestrian. But -they were a favourite pastime in the sixties and seventies, and, apart -from the longer sojourn we used to make in the Lake District or in -Scotland, there was scarcely an Easter or a Whitsuntide holiday which -did not find me among the hills of Westmoreland and Cumberland. There, -with a friend of my early years and still a friend to-day, we explored -every hill and dale of the Lake District.</p> - -<p>On one of those spring excursions I remember we had made rather a long -day of it, starting from Patterdale in the morning, lunching at -Grasmere, and then making our way by Easedale Tarn to the summit of High -White Stones. It was our intention to descend from that point and to -reach the hotel in Dungeon Ghyll in time for dinner. But on High White -Stones an eerie and impenetrable white mist descended upon us and we -missed our way. For several hours we wandered in the mist until we lost -all count of where we were, but at last, by some strange good fortune, -we found ourselves on the top of Langdale Pikes, a spot which I knew -well from many an earlier excursion.</p> - -<p>We both knew that below us lay Stickle Tarn, and that from Stickle Tarn -ran the brook which would finally lead us to our now much-desired inn. -And so in the drenching rain we cautiously descended the hillside till -we got to the shores of the Tarn. Then, by some unexpected error, -instead of turning on our right, which in a few<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_25">{25}</a></span> moments would have led -us to the issue of the brook, we took the other direction and were -forced to make the whole circuit of the Tarn, reaching at last, almost -exhausted, the rushing torrent that descends to the valley. In such fear -were we of losing our way again that we determined not to desert the bed -of the stream, and, crawling catlike from boulder to boulder, we found -the village at last, and saw, with a delight that may be easily -imagined, the far-off glimmer in the windows of the Dungeon Ghyll Hotel.</p> - -<p>It was half-past ten before we arrived at the door, wet through, and -with our slight stock of change contained in our knapsacks sodden with -rain. But the landlord kindly lent us some strange garments of his own, -and I do not think two men ever enjoyed a meal more than we two as we -fell upon that staple dish of the Lake District, “ham and eggs.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_26">{26}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>ESSAYS IN JOURNALISM</small></h2> - -<p>Even before I left the City I had already made some tentative excursions -into the realm of journalism. My first experiment, I remember, had -something of a grotesque conclusion.</p> - -<p>An early friend of mine, Arthur O’Neil, the younger half-brother of -Henry O’Neil, the painter of <i>Eastward Ho</i>, had somehow persuaded a -modest capitalist to venture a small sum of money in the establishment -of a weekly journal called the <i>Dramatic and Musical Review</i>. We were -both keenly interested in the drama, and I had assisted at O’Neil’s -first venture in the shape of a pantomime at the old Sadler’s Wells -Theatre.</p> - -<p>To judge by the scene that occurred during the later stages of the -entertainment, it could not have been deemed wholly successful. I -remember that the members of the orchestra had to divide their attention -between the music of the harlequinade and the shower of stone -ginger-beer bottles that were hurled like hail from a hypercritical -gallery.</p> - -<p>O’Neil, who was older than I, and who had already had some slight -experiences as a journalist, with a desire to encourage my budding -ambition, asked me to do a criticism on a recently published<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_27">{27}</a></span> volume of -Longfellow’s Poems for this same <i>Dramatic and Musical Review</i>, of which -he was the proud editor. I duly received and duly corrected the printed -proof of my article with feelings of exaltation only to be realised by -those who, for the first time, see their ideas in printed type, and then -waited with eager expectation for the day of publication.</p> - -<p>The office was situated in that older part of the Strand near St. -Clement Danes which is now no more, and the publisher owned the two-fold -responsibility of also issuing another weekly journal entitled the -<i>Labour News</i>. Twopence was, I think, the price of our artistic organ, -and as early as I could on the Saturday morning I presented myself at -the office and tendered the sum required. Almost overwhelmed with -excitement I rapidly scanned the columns of this slender journal to find -the first-fruits of my pen. But my search yielded nothing but -disappointment. The article was not there. I stood in the tiny office -crushed by a sense of failure and misfortune, and was just going out -into the grey street when the enterprising boy behind the counter, -actuated by the simple desire to do business, asked me if I wanted a -copy of the <i>Labour News</i>.</p> - -<p>As a fact I wanted nothing but some place to hide the sense of -humiliation which overpowered me, but as he added, “It’s only a penny,” -I took the journal and went out into the street, and, as I listlessly -scanned its pages through, I found, to my astonishment, my lost article -on Longfellow’s Poems.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_28">{28}</a></span></p> - -<p>It turned out afterwards that the <i>Dramatic and Musical Review</i> in that -particular week had more than its needed supply of “copy,” and the -<i>Labour News</i>, on the other hand, finding itself short of material, a -bright idea had come into the printer’s mind that the review of -Longfellow’s Poems might be appropriately set beside advertisements as -to the advantages of Canadian Emigration.</p> - -<p>Little by little, from this first ludicrous start, I gained a modest -footing in the world of journalism, at first as dramatic critic to the -<i>Echo</i>, then edited by Arthur Arnold, brother of Sir Edwin Arnold, so -long connected with the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>.</p> - -<p>My services upon the <i>Echo</i> were not particularly lucrative, the payment -for an article being rarely more than six or seven shillings; and my -fare to and from Clapham Junction, where we lived at the time, and the -necessary modest meal before the theatre began, almost entirely absorbed -the sum that I earned.</p> - -<p>From the <i>Echo</i> I drifted to the <i>Globe</i>, which was then under the -editorship of Dr. Mortimer Granville, and here my work began in -something like earnest. During my services as dramatic critic I had -become acquainted with Thomas Purnell, and it was he who secured for me -a regular position upon the staff of the <i>Globe</i>.</p> - -<p>Our work there was sufficiently strenuous. There were three of us -stationed in a room above the editorial sanctum, and here, between the -hours of nine o’clock in the morning and twelve, we were engaged upon -three columns of notes which formed the first page of the paper. The -three of us were<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_29">{29}</a></span> Purnell, Francillon the novelist, and myself; and the -life, wholly new to me, was at the time strangely fascinating and -attractive.</p> - -<p>Purnell was himself one of the quaintest and most characteristic figures -I have ever encountered. A regular Bohemian in a Bohemia that has long -lost its sea-board, he had the Bohemian frank detestation of work and -utter disregard of all social conventions, and yet with these -peculiarities were linked a fine taste and a personality of real -distinction.</p> - -<p>When I first met him he had just completed a series of papers in the -<i>Athenæum</i> upon the drama under the signature of “Q,” winning some -little renown in a sharp controversy with Charles Reade, in which he was -certainly not worsted.</p> - -<p>My other stable companion, Francillon, was of an exactly opposite -temperament. Endowed with considerable imagination, which was happily -exhibited in <i>Pearl and Emerald</i>, a novel which had been published in -the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, he was by habit plodding and industrious, -qualities which aroused in Purnell a degree of disapproval that -sometimes almost verged on resentment.</p> - -<p>“Now, Francillon,” he used to say, “loves work. I don’t. I hate it; I -loathe it! People will tell you, my dear Carribus”—for so he often -addressed me—“that to work is to pray. Well, of the two, <i>I</i> find it -easier to pray. Why should I work?” he used to add, with an air of deep -and earnest conviction. “I want nothing, only my twopence. All I need is -a herring and a glass of ale, and when I have earned that I like to be -idle. Some<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_30">{30}</a></span> men, so they say, like work. I don’t!” And he did not.</p> - -<p>One fixed appointment which he held was to contribute a weekly article -on Conservative Policy to the pages of an important provincial paper. -Long before the day came when this article had to be despatched by the -evening post he used to look upon the impending task with something like -horror, and yet nothing could ever induce him to anticipate by an hour -the execution of his labours.</p> - -<p>Indeed, as a rule, he never wrote it at all. When the day came and we -had finished our morning’s work on the <i>Globe</i>, he would generally -invite Francillon and myself to a frugal lunch at the old Gaiety -Restaurant, and when the invitation was issued we always knew what was -in store for us. As the lunch neared its end he would breach the subject -by imploring us to supply him with a topic.</p> - -<p>“It’s the topic, my dear boy, there’s the devil of it. If I only had a -topic I could do it in an hour”—a purely fallacious statement, seeing -that no amount of topics would ever have induced him to do it -single-handed at all.</p> - -<p>Francillon would sometimes heave a sigh, and then with newly-lit cigars -we would wend our way back to the old <i>Globe</i> office, where our -working-room overlooked the chapel of the Savoy. By that time either -Francillon or I had found a topic, for although I was then, and have -since remained, a Liberal in politics, I found it not difficult, and -sometimes even diverting, to engage in the advocacy of Conservative -Policy in the service of our indolent friend.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_31">{31}</a></span></p> - -<p>Perhaps it was I who generally found the subject for the article, and -when I announced it Purnell would reply, “Then begin, my dear boy; begin -it, Carribus; the thing’s done.”</p> - -<p>In those days a leading article always consisted of three paragraphs, -and the three paragraphs of this authoritative statement on Conservative -ideas were on these happy occasions divided between the three of us, -Purnell always reserving to himself the conclusion, not because I think -he had any special aptitude in bringing the argument to an end, but -because it gave him a longer time to smoke his pipe before his turn came -to set upon his task.</p> - -<p>And so it came about that I having opened the debate, Francillon at the -same time would be busily engaged in the discussion necessary for the -central paragraph, while Purnell, looking over our shoulders with -chuckling glee, and passing contentedly from chair to chair as he saw -his task nearing its end, would finally be persuaded to sit down at his -own desk and scribble about eight sentences which were supposed, by -their invincible logic, to confirm and strengthen the Tory convictions -of the city to which the article was to be despatched.</p> - -<p>But hurry and scurry as we would, this terrible task was scarcely ever -finished till within a few minutes of the time for post, and even then -it often happened that one of us had to come to Purnell’s rescue and try -as best we could to adjust the scattered arguments which he had been -vainly endeavouring to set in logical sequence.</p> - -<p>His delight on these occasions was unbounded. The weekly price for these -essays was three guineas,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_32">{32}</a></span> and I think he received it with all the -greater zest from the consciousness that he had not rightly earned it.</p> - -<p>Purnell’s social ambitions were few, and all social obligations he -boldly repudiated. It was one of his most deeply seated convictions that -no man was compelled to reply to any letter of invitation, whatever the -source from which it might have come, and he defended this position with -great show of legal force.</p> - -<p>“If,” he said, “a lady had asked me whether in the event of her writing -me an invitation I would reply to it, and I had answered in the -affirmative, then, my dear Carribus, the agreement would be complete. -But I never said anything of the kind, never would; and therefore, my -dear boy, there’s no privity of contract.”</p> - -<p>But there was one invitation he took care to answer, an invitation to -pass a week-end with a certain noble lord in the country. I do not think -that he was in any grave sense a “snob,” but he was deeply impressed -with the sense of his powers of fascination over women, and his handsome -picturesque face, I think, entitled him to the belief that it was not -mere idle boasting.</p> - -<p>At this particular party he happened to know that several charming -ladies of the family would be present, and it was this fact, I think, -which made him very eager, if he could, to accept the invitation. But -the question of a fitting wardrobe raised a difficulty, and here again -he threw himself in all candour upon Francillon and myself.</p> - -<p>The rare letter of acceptance had been sent, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_33">{33}</a></span> the day for his -departure had arrived, but in this question of dress he was still -lamentably unprepared. We met in hasty consultation in a little -eating-house called the Coal Hole, which lay down a narrow court at the -south side of the Strand.</p> - -<p>It was Saturday. The shops would soon be closing, and there was no time -to lose. He had money enough for his railway ticket, but none for such -idle luxuries as clothes. His only proffered contribution to the -necessities of the occasion was a tarnished disreputable bag which he -had brought down empty to the office in view of the projected excursion. -He had no great faith in it himself, and it was discarded with scorn by -those whom he had pressed into his service. And so in the end Francillon -and I had to provide a modest valise and stock it with a wardrobe that -would suffice for the three days’ stay, and I can recall now the air of -triumph with which he started upon his journey, robed in a new -pilot-jacket which we had added as the final feature of his outfit.</p> - -<p>Our little circle on the staff of the <i>Globe</i> was later joined by -Churton Collins, now the Professor of English Literature at the -University at Birmingham, then only a boy fresh from Oxford, but a boy -whose mind was already stored with a knowledge of English literature -such as I suppose few men of his generation can boast. His prodigious -memory both in prose and poetry I certainly have never encountered in -another; and through many an evening, when he dined quietly with us in -our rooms in Great Russell Street, did we wonder and delight to listen -to him as he passed from<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_34">{34}</a></span> author to author, not always reciting things -of his own choice, but responding with equal readiness to any call that -might be made upon him when the choice was made by others.</p> - -<p>But this wondrous memory sometimes played him tricks in his first essays -as a journalist. For as there was no time and no opportunity in the -<i>Globe</i> office to verify any quotation, his literary articles, which -were always packed with quotations from the poets, were generally -subject to correction in some small particular, and for this reason -evoked a shower of correspondence which irritated and annoyed our worthy -editor.</p> - -<p>This same editor, on the other hand, was often a source of annoyance to -<i>us</i>. Our time was short for the work we had to do during the morning, -and we resented the constant pencil-notes which he used to send up from -the room below, or the repeated calls up the speaking-tube, the whistle -of which stood next to Purnell’s desk.</p> - -<p>One day we determined to mark our disapproval of this vexatious and -harassing policy. We were accustomed sometimes, when money was short, to -be content with a lunch of cocoa and biscuits prepared by ourselves. A -kettle on this occasion stood puffing on the fire, and when the whistle -of the speaking-tube had gone for about the thirtieth time, a demoniacal -idea of vengeance entered into the mind of Purnell. The call this time -was for me, and Purnell having answered that I was coming to speak in -answer, went with stealthy steps towards the fireplace and seizing the -kettle poured the whole of its contents down the tube.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_35">{35}</a></span></p> - -<p>It is not perhaps wonderful that this resulted in something like a -crisis in the internal arrangements of the office, and very nearly ended -in the dismissal of the entire literary staff.</p> - -<p>Another comrade of those days, though he rarely wrote in the <i>Globe</i>, -was Camille Barrère, now the distinguished Ambassador of the French -Republic at Rome. Barrère and I were for many years close allies. I had -assisted him in his first essay in English journalism when he -contributed to the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i> a series of articles on the -Commune, with which he had been in some sense associated. He was always -a brilliant and gifted creature, and his rapid advancement from the hour -when he was first befriended by Gambetta could never have been any -surprise to those who knew him well.</p> - -<p>At that time, like the rest of us, he was having a hard struggle for -life. We were together on the <i>Echo</i>, and together on the <i>Pall Mall -Gazette</i>, and I can remember in the old days of the Arts Club how often -we sat and planned vague, large schemes for the reorganisation of -journalism, which should yield us more complacent editors and a rate of -higher remuneration, which we fancied our merits deserved.</p> - -<p>Barrère had passed some of his earlier years in England, and his -knowledge and power over our tongue were remarkable, but now and then -some small idiomatic fault would slip out unawares, and one day, when he -had just received what he considered an inadequate cheque from the -<i>Echo</i>, he cried out indignantly that he “would like to wring the throat -of Arnold.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_36">{36}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Unlike poor Purnell, the choice of a topic never presented any -difficulty to him. Almost any subject served him for a light and -graceful essay, and the fertility of his invention in this regard was -more than remarkable. Happily for his own sake, and for the sake of the -nation which he has served with so much distinction, he need no longer -rack his brains, as in the old days, for the material that would fill a -column in the <i>Echo</i>; and though it is many years since we met, I know, -through many messages that I have received from him, that he looks back -with kindly remembrances to those times when we struggled side by side.</p> - -<p>It is a strange thing about a journalist’s career, when it is -successful, that at the first it seems so hard to get the work to do, -and then later so hard to do the work that comes. In those early days -every new opening was only won after a struggle, yet within a very few -years I found myself almost overwhelmed by the tasks that were laid upon -me.</p> - -<p>From the <i>Globe</i> I passed to the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, where I succeeded -Professor Colvin as its Art Critic; from the <i>Pall Mall</i> to the -<i>Saturday Review</i> and the <i>Examiner</i>; and then a little later I joined -the staff of the <i>World</i>, which had recently been founded by Edmund -Yates.</p> - -<p>These different changes of occupation brought many new friends and many -new editors, but of all those under whom I have served I think I should -signalise Mr. Frederic Greenwood as by far the most inspiring to his -contributors. Not that to be numbered among Mr. Greenwood’s contributors -always implied a peaceful career; he was an<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_37">{37}</a></span> autocratic commander, whose -powerful personality loved to assert itself in every department of his -paper, and he and I in those days had sharp encounters with regard to -that particular arena of art criticism over which I thought I was -entitled to exercise independent control.</p> - -<p>But those differences are long forgotten, and the remembrance that -survives is of a keen and ardent intelligence that communicated its own -warmth of purpose to all who served under his banner.</p> - -<p>Very different in type was Mr. Harwood, the editor of the <i>Saturday -Review</i>. On the quiet evenings that I sometimes passed at his house in -Regent’s Park, when he would spend most of the time after dinner in -playing on his violoncello, it seemed hardly possible to realise that he -was the capable conductor of what was even then a mighty organ of public -opinion.</p> - -<p>I suppose that hardly any British journal has ever boasted among its -contributors so many eminent men in so many varied ways of life as one -could see gathered at the great annual dinner of the <i>Review</i> in the -“Trafalgar” at Greenwich, presided over by Mr. Beresford Hope.</p> - -<p>Mr. Harwood had succeeded Mr. Cook, and had inherited many of the -traditions of the great founder of the <i>Review</i>. His editorial office at -the time I joined him was situated in The Albany, where he was assisted -as sub-editor by my old friend, Mr. Walter Herries Pollock, who -afterwards succeeded to the editorial chair.</p> - -<p>I did little of the more serious work upon the paper, my duties, as a -rule, being confined to those<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_38">{38}</a></span> middle articles, as they were called, -which formed at that time one of its salient features. I suppose the -aptitude for finding and treating such lighter subjects was not too -common; at any rate, I know that my contributions of that sort always -met with a generous welcome, and Mr. Harwood himself, despite his grave -exterior, was sometimes singularly happy in the choice of subjects for -fit treatment in this lighter vein.</p> - -<p>A young man who has gained an entry into the journalistic world can -sometimes get through a prodigious amount of work, and at the time I am -speaking of it often happened that within the week, besides my morning -duties upon the <i>Globe</i>, I would furnish one, and sometimes two, -articles to the <i>Saturday Review</i>, an article to the <i>Examiner</i>, another -to the <i>World</i>, and, in addition, three or four columns of art criticism -to the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, apart from regular work in the same -department for the <i>Manchester Guardian</i>, and occasional articles in -other daily or weekly journals.</p> - -<p>Mr. Edmund Yates, the founder and editor of the <i>World</i>, had given me a -generous welcome from the first, and I recall an incident in connection -with a series of articles I had done for him which at the time filled me -with no little pride. In this series I had dealt week by week with the -more important organs of the British press, and I was fortunate enough -to win for these papers a considerable amount of attention. But, for the -time, Edmund Yates had carefully withheld the secret of their -authorship, and one day when I was visiting my old master at Bruce -Castle School the subject<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_39">{39}</a></span> came into our conversation, and he told me -that the report was about that they were written by a prominent -leader-writer of the <i>Times</i>.</p> - -<p>At this my pride could no longer contain itself, and his incredulity and -astonishment when I announced myself as the author gave me a moment of -the keenest pleasure.</p> - -<p>Yates had many enemies in those days, and the new features which he had -introduced into English journalism were in many quarters profoundly -resented. But he was generous and warm-hearted to his friends, and -beneath those lighter gifts which made for immediate success he -possessed a deep, sincere love of literature. It was at his house that I -first met the late Mr. Archibald Forbes, a man of rare force and grit, -and possessed, as a writer, of a style of trenchant sincerity and power -that in my opinion placed him easily at the head of that great race of -special war-correspondents which may be said to have been founded by the -late Sir William Russell. None of them all, however, could equal Sir -William in social grace and readiness of wit. His store of anecdotes -garnered from a rich experience of many men and many lands seemed ever -inexhaustible and ever new.</p> - -<p>Forbes was of a widely different type. His experience had been won in a -harder school, but his rapid and vivid powers of expression, his ability -to set forth in picturesque presentment events which had only just -happened, were, I think, altogether unrivalled. When it is remembered -that many of these descriptions were sent rushing over the wires at the -close of a day when other men of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_40">{40}</a></span> less energy would have been exhausted -after many hours spent in the saddle, and when it is observed with what -potent directness of narrative, often rising to real greatness of style, -the story he had to tell was presented to his readers, it will be -conceded, I think, that he had no equal in the particular branch of -journalistic literature to which he had devoted himself.</p> - -<p>We became close friends almost from our first meeting, which, as I -remember, was on the occasion of a dinner given by Edmund Yates to the -contributors to the <i>World</i>, and later, when I became editor to the -<i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, he rekindled some of the earlier -memories of his fighting days in a series of articles that included a -delightful account of the struggles which preceded his appointment as a -special correspondent to the <i>Daily News</i>.</p> - -<p>It was during the Franco-German War that the <i>Daily News</i> leapt into -sudden prominence, in virtue of its splendid correspondence yielding a -vivid picture of the conflict from both sides of the campaign, and it -was incontestably to the energy and judgment of the late Sir John -Robinson that this immediate success was due.</p> - -<p>The quiet, kindly personality of Sir John would scarcely have suggested -the sure and rapid power of organisation he undoubtedly possessed, and -his quickness of insight in the selection of the fit man for the work to -be done was vividly illustrated in the account which Mr. Forbes wrote -for the <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i> of his first meeting with the -genial manager of the <i>Daily News</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_41">{41}</a></span></p> - -<p>It is possible that Forbes had somewhat embroidered the sober facts of -the situation in order to heighten its picturesque effect, for I -remember that on my next meeting with Sir John, after the publication of -the article, he was somewhat whimsically annoyed to find that his own -share in this historical transaction had been slightly disfigured to -suit the exigencies of Mr. Forbes’s narrative.</p> - -<p>Forbes had asserted that at a point in the negotiations he conceived the -idea that his services were not desired, and was leaving the office in -disgust when Robinson ran after him and brought him back. It was this -little piece of added embroidery that Sir John declared to be not -absolutely historical, but I feel sure, at least, that Forbes never -intended to do injustice to the manager of the <i>Daily News</i>, for in our -many talks concerning his struggles at this time he always acknowledged -how deeply he had been indebted to his great employer.</p> - -<p>Another of the staff of the <i>Daily News</i> war-correspondents was Hilary -Skinner, whose younger brother had been the dearest friend of my youth, -from the time when we were schoolmates at Bruce Castle School.</p> - -<p>Alan Skinner afterwards rose to a distinguished official position in the -Straits Settlements, but at the time I am thinking of he had just been -called to the Bar; and when I, at a later date, left school to begin my -life in London, he and I passed many a long evening in the little set of -chambers he occupied in Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn. In those days he was -a versifier like myself, and, failing a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_42">{42}</a></span> wider audience, we used to -delight to read to one another our first essays in poetry.</p> - -<p>The friendship between us was of the closest, and when he finally went -abroad to take up his official duties, the separation, I think, was felt -keenly by both. His elder brother, Mr. Hilary Skinner, was of a lighter -temperament, though he must have possessed strong force of character to -have endured the strenuous labours of a war-correspondent. A voluble and -insatiable talker, his conversation never needed the provocation of a -reply. In an endless stream of anecdote he would wander over a wide -world of men and things, never halting for a word, and rarely halting at -all. And yet the trials of the life he had adopted must have been a -severe strain upon a constitution that was by no means robust, and I -think the wear and tear of that life, though it was not long continued, -set a permanent mark upon his health.</p> - -<p>Certainly this was so in the case of Archibald Forbes, who suffered much -during the later years of his life, suffering that had its origin, as he -told me, in a terrible two days’ ride in South Africa when he was racing -against time to reach the telegraph-office to cable his news home.</p> - -<p>Among others of this special race of correspondents who came into my -life at this time were George Augustus Sala and William Beatty-Kingston. -With both, however, the record of war was only a passing incident in -their journalistic career.</p> - -<p>Sala, I think, possessed a larger assortment of odd scraps of knowledge -than any man I have ever met, and although his chequered career -presented<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_43">{43}</a></span> many vicissitudes, he had cultivated, as he told me, from -boyhood the habit of keeping a series of most carefully compiled -commonplace books, in which were recorded, under headings sometimes -quaintly chosen, every bit of information or historical allusion which -even remotely bore upon the subject in hand.</p> - -<p>He told me that in the wildest and most disordered periods in his career -this habit had never deserted him, and one evening, when I was dining -with him in Mecklenburg Square, he showed me one entire shelf packed -with these little volumes, all written in the neatest of monkish hands, -and almost without a blot or scar.</p> - -<p>I have often wondered what has become of those note-books from which he -drew such varied allusions for his characteristic articles in the <i>Daily -Telegraph</i>. They would be a treasure-store to many a budding journalist, -and as far as I could gather, from a rapid review of them during that -one evening at his house, a delight even to the casual reader.</p> - -<p>Sala, like his friend Yates, was an accomplished speaker, and a keen -critic on all presumptuous pretenders in that department.</p> - -<p>I remember one evening, coming away from a public banquet at which he -had admirably distinguished himself, I ventured to ask him what he -thought of the performance of a gentleman who had followed him, and who -I knew rather prided himself upon his achievements in this particular -direction.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Sala in reply, “you mean so-and-so. Ah yes! Damned fluent, -damned fool!” The comment sounds harsh, but I do not think it was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_44">{44}</a></span> -unjust. He used to tell me that in the preparation and delivery of his -speeches there was always present to his mind the image of a furnished -house, and that he kept his material in order and sequence by suggesting -to himself, as he spoke, that he was inspecting the various apartments, -from the dining-room to the attic, and that in this way he could always -avoid any halt or confusion in the arrangement of the matter upon which -he was speaking.</p> - -<p>Yates, I fancy, though his delivery was always admirable in effect, was -accustomed to learn his speeches by heart, and in this respect resembled -the late Sir Frederick Leighton, though with the latter the secret was -not so well kept.</p> - -<p>William Beatty-Kingston, the last of the special correspondents to whom -I referred, had no aptitude for public speaking, but he was in many ways -highly accomplished. As an amateur musician I should think he had few -equals, and his absolute enjoyment when he was seated at the piano, -passing from the work of one great master to another, was a delight to -witness. I remember that one evening my wife and I had invited to meet -him a very gifted young Italian violinist, and it was a suggestion of -ours that after dinner they should try over some of the duets of the -great composers.</p> - -<p>It was easy to see that at first they took no liking for one another. -The Italian, as a recognised professional, hardly concealed his sense of -superiority over the amateur, and Kingston, I knew, harboured a lurking -suspicion that the violinist would not be deeply interested in the work -of the great German composers to whom he was enthusiastically attached.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<p>The brief passage of the dinner was for this reason a period of armed -neutrality, amusing enough to watch; and when afterwards they were -persuaded to make an adventure together it was done reluctantly, and -with no great hope on the part of either that the evening would present -any real enjoyment. It so happened, as they both knew, that my wife and -I were bound to make an early departure for a great fancy-dress ball -which had been organised by some of the foremost painters of the day, -but of course we invited Kingston and his companion to stay as long as -they liked, and leaving them with a sufficient store of whisky and soda -and cigars, we set out upon our more frivolous excursion.</p> - -<p>The ball was kept up till late; it was past five o’clock before we -returned, little thinking to find our guests still in possession; and -our surprise was the greater when, on mounting to our single -sitting-room in Great Russell Street, we found, in the light of the -sunshine that was streaming into the room, Kingston and his companion, -both with coat and waistcoat removed, pounding away as hard as they -could go at some difficult composition which they were trying over for -the third time. The two artists, whom we had left with some misgiving in -an attitude of veiled hostility towards each other, were now, as we -discovered to our surprise, the closest friends, and, although the -morning was well advanced, Kingston insisted that we should sit down and -listen to one or two of the gems which they had been performing, and -which were now repeated once more for our benefit—the most persuasive -plea he urged being that in half an hour the public-houses would be -open,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_46">{46}</a></span> and that we could then replenish our slender store of whisky -which they had already exhausted.</p> - -<p>Kingston had been for some time a special correspondent to the <i>Daily -Telegraph</i> in Berlin, and afterwards came to London as its foreign -editor. Apart from his musical talent, he spoke with ease many foreign -languages, and in this respect resembled Sala, whose facilities as a -linguist were great, though, as he once confessed, he inclined by -preference to the languages of the Latin races. As he himself -picturesquely put it, “My tongue is hung in a Southern belfry.”</p> - -<p>Of all the editors with whom my journalistic experience brought me into -contact, the man who stood nearest to me as a friend was Professor Minto -of the <i>Examiner</i>.</p> - -<p>On the <i>Examiner</i> I felt free and unfettered, free to choose any topic -that pleased me, and to treat it in whatever way seemed to me best. I -have always thought that Minto’s great powers as a critic of literature -have never been sufficiently recognised. His separate volumes on the -Poetic Writers and the Prose Writers of England contain some of the best -criticism of our time, and, in especial, the section in the former -devoted to the tragedies of Shakespeare has hardly been equalled in -fineness of perception and in sustained eloquence of style.</p> - -<p>Though in many ways characteristically Scotch, he had a liberal and -supple mind, with a wide grasp and a generous outlook on political -affairs, and an appreciation even of lighter works of literature that -was hardly to be suspected from his grave and sober personality.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_47">{47}</a></span></p> - -<p>Very delightful were the little smoking evenings he instituted in the -offices of the <i>Examiner</i>, which were then situated near Wellington -Street in the Strand. There it was that I first met the late Bishop -Creighton, who was at the time a constant contributor to the paper. -Theodore Watts-Dunton was also a pretty regular visitor on these simple -social occasions, and there, too, I met that strangest of accomplished -scholars, “Student Williams,” who had long been known as an Oxford -coach, and who was now devoting himself to a journalistic career.</p> - -<p>It is strange to reflect what a complete revolution has overtaken -English journalism in the period of thirty years that has passed since -the time of which I am speaking. Literature and journalism have now -almost parted company, and although the older tradition still honourably -survives in individual instances, it is impossible not to be conscious -that the function of a journalist, as it is now most widely accepted, -has entirely changed its character.</p> - -<p>The sort of article that was eagerly sought for then is now rarely -welcomed, and when we recall the names of the men who wrote for the -<i>Saturday Review</i>, and the great body of accomplished writers who lifted -the <i>Pall Matt Gazette</i> in its earlier days into a foremost position -among English journals, it will readily be conceded that the revolution -is already complete. Reporting has largely taken the place of criticism, -and the modern newspaper office, ordered on popular lines, more nearly -approaches day by day to a powerful agency for private inquiry and -detection.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_48">{48}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>THE BAR</small></h2> - -<p>While this journalistic work was in its earliest stages, I was still -seriously engaged in trying to fit myself for work at the Bar. My -earlier knowledge of the Law had been gained under the tutorship of -Professor Stewart Brice, who had successfully prepared me for my -examination at the London University. And now, during the last six -months of my studentship, I read in chambers with Charles Crompton, who -was a prosperous Junior of the Northern Circuit. Charles Crompton had -taken high honours at Cambridge, and was an accomplished lawyer; but his -gift of speech was small, and would always have left him unfit for the -higher honours of leadership. It was through his influence that I was -elected as Junior to the Northern Circuit, which then covered a larger -area than is assigned to it now. When I was Junior the towns visited -included Appleby, Durham, Newcastle, Carlisle, Lancaster, Manchester, -and Liverpool, and until I began to feel the pinch of the great expense -which these Circuit tours involved, I keenly enjoyed every hour of the -time in which, by my patient presence in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_49">{49}</a></span> Courts, I was endeavouring -to master the principles of the Law.</p> - -<p>But before I joined the Circuit, I had already received my first brief -from a cousin who was desirous of encouraging me in my new career. I was -to appear in the Divorce Court in an undefended case, and my cousin -endeavoured to stiffen my nerves for the ordeal by assuring me that the -proceedings would be merely formal and the verdict would follow as a -matter of course.</p> - -<p>It was before Lord Penzance that the trial took place, and when the -pleadings had been opened and I had made the statement that the case was -undefended, a voice from the well of the Court retorted in acrid tones, -“I beg your pardon!” and then a little man rose whom I gathered, in my -confusion, to be the respondent. My amazement and dismay are beyond -words to describe, and if it had not been for the Judge, who realised -the situation and came to my rescue, I think my first brief would have -been my last.</p> - -<p>As Junior of the Circuit I was brought into close contact with some of -the greatest advocates of the time—Holker, Russell, Herschell, Sam -Pope, among the leaders; Gully, Henn Collins, Bigham, and a host of -others of the Junior Bar who have since risen to distinction. The -present Lord Justice Kennedy joined the Circuit at the same time as -myself and we shared our lodgings in several of the northern towns.</p> - -<p>The post of Junior rather attracted me. According to tradition, that -officer is supposed to represent the interests of the Junior Bar, and it -is<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_50">{50}</a></span> recognised as part of his duty on every occasion that offers that he -should keep in check the superior pretensions of the Queen’s Counsel.</p> - -<p>As Junior also I was one of the recognised spokesmen for the Circuit on -the occasion of all public banquets and entertainments; and I remember -that it was at a dinner given by the late Lord Armstrong in his capacity -as High Sheriff of the County, a dinner served in the great -banqueting-hall at Jesmond Dene, the walls of which were richly -decorated with many important examples of modern art, that I made my -first essay as a public speaker.</p> - -<p>But what interested me most keenly at the time was the opportunity which -the daily working of the Courts afforded of appreciating and -distinguishing the great talents of the men who then graced the Circuit.</p> - -<p>The first who won my admiration, and it was not wonderful, was Charles -Russell, and I remember, in the constant discussions which occupied the -Junior end of our table at the evening mess, I always stoutly maintained -that he would prove the greatest advocate in England.</p> - -<p>He already possessed that dominating personality which was felt by Judge -and Counsel alike, and an instance of his imperious temper came to me -very early in our acquaintance. Though I had seen and admired him -constantly in Court, I had not been introduced to him till I met him one -evening in the rooms of Mr. M‘Connell in the Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool. -Russell was always a keen cardplayer, though I am assured by those who -are<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_51">{51}</a></span> better able to judge, a player not distinguished by any exceptional -skill. There were four of us present that evening, and Russell at once -insisted that the table should be brought out for a rubber of whist. I -nervously explained to him that I knew scarcely anything of the game, -but my objection was curtly overborne in a manner that left me no -alternative. By an unhappy fate Russell cut me as a partner, and the -blunders which I had clearly foreseen must occur, endured at first with -some semblance of equanimity, at last ended in an explosion of rebuke -that only made the more inevitable a series of even worse blunders in -the game to follow.</p> - -<p>By this time Russell had lost all patience, and, to say the truth, so -had I, and with a courage and audacity, which I certainly could not have -exhibited had I then known him better, I pointed out to him that the -fault was his own, that I had warned him of my incompetence, and yet in -the face of that confession he had forced me to join in the game.</p> - -<p>To my utter amazement he became suddenly gentle and self-controlled, and -said, “Yes, yes, you’re right. I had forgotten that. I had no business -to speak to you like that.”</p> - -<p>Other instances of Russell’s commanding personality, though they belong -to a later time, come back to me now.</p> - -<p>During the progress of the famous Belt trial, through the kindness of -Sir George Lewis I one day found my way into Court; but I had scarcely -taken my seat when Russell, with an imperious gesture, beckoned me to -his side. “Carr,” he said, “you know about Art?” and before I knew -whither<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_52">{52}</a></span> his statement tended I found myself in the witnessbox -confronted with the two test busts on which the issue in the case mainly -depended.</p> - -<p>The last time we met in public was on the occasion of a dinner to be -given to Sir Henry Irving on his return from America, when Sir Charles -Russell was in the chair. As I entered the anteroom where the guests -were assembled Russell took me by the lapel of my coat and drew me -aside. “You ought to be doing this,” he said. “You <i>can</i> do this sort of -thing; I can’t.”</p> - -<p>That portion of the statement which concerns himself was, at any rate, -partly true. Russell was never quite at home in these lighter ways of -oratory. It needed the pressure of a great issue to exhibit his powers -of eloquence at their best, and even in the House of Commons I fancy he -never quite justified his unrivalled position at the Bar.</p> - -<p>But in that special gift of eloquence that makes for power in advocacy -there was surely no man of his time who could claim to be his equal. -Within the arena of the Court his personality imposed itself; in the -stress of conflict it could even be menacing. It exercised its influence -upon the jury; it was not unfelt upon the Bench. Like all great -advocates, he was at his best when the gravity of the issue summoned all -his resources. He was only fully inspired when his individuality was -fully and deeply engaged, and for that he needed the spur of something -definite, concrete, and individual. His gifts of oratory were -conspicuous. In those northern Circuit days I used constantly to notice -a greater freedom and picturesqueness of gesture, a more com<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_53">{53}</a></span>plete -surrender to a mood of passionate utterance than any of his fellows -could command. These things were his in virtue of his birthright as an -Irishman. But they were not at his service upon an issue that was coldly -intellectual or remotely abstract. There was in his nature that purely -combative element that could only find its full expression in the battle -of litigation; the clash of ideas left him comparatively cold: he was so -far an artist that he needed to be moved and stirred by facts that were -moulded into a definite story of individual fortunes—then, and only -then, the full force of his personality came into play. At such moments -his strength far outmeasured the weight of gifts that were merely -intellectual; such gifts, however considerable, were then enforced by -qualities of character and even of temper very difficult to define but -still more difficult to resist.</p> - -<p>In after years he once told me that his habit had always been to prepare -his cases chronologically. He wanted to know what was missing in the -story he had to tell, to be prepared in anticipation for any surprise -coming from the other side that might suddenly be brought to fill the -vacant gaps in his own narrative. And this simple process of preparation -showed itself in his methods as an advocate. His power of presenting his -case had something of the charm a story-teller can command. It was -always lucid, direct, and consecutive, never halting or confused. Sir -William Gilbert once told me that on a certain occasion he was in Court -listening to his own counsel opening to the jury the story of his own -case. He said he was charmed, by the interest of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_54">{54}</a></span> narrative as it -was gradually developed, and that the only criticism that occurred to -him was that the substance of the speech bore no relation to the -contention he had come into Court to establish. Such a reproach, I -think, could never at any period in his career have been made against -the late Lord Russell.</p> - -<p>I did not at first recognise that Russell had in his constant opponent, -John Holker, a man of intellectual power, as great, or perhaps even -greater, than his own. Holker had little of the grace that Russell could -boast; his personality was outwardly heavy and uncouth; his language, -rarely eloquent, was sometimes even rough and halting. But in his grasp -of every case presented to him, and in his power of imposing the view he -sought to uphold upon a northern jury, even Russell was not his equal. A -man of great physique, in person cumbrous and heavy, and in facial -expression unalert and uninspiring, he sometimes gave to his hearers -rather the impression of a giant talking in his sleep.</p> - -<p>But as I watched him from day to day, it very soon became convincingly -clear to me that the giant was there. He seemed to notice nothing, and -yet nothing escaped him. His method of appeal to the jury had something -almost of cunning in its apparent helplessness.</p> - -<p>Even when he was nearing success, and the verdict was within his grasp, -he still retained the air of a man whose cause was in danger owing to -his inferior grace of style and his halting powers of eloquence. He had -that persuasive art of convincing the jury that he was a plain man like -them<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_55">{55}</a></span>selves, and that the cause of justice was likely to suffer by -reason of the superior intellectual attainments of his opponents, unless -he and they laid their heads together as plain men, and stood shoulder -to shoulder in earnest endeavour to vindicate the right.</p> - -<p>It was only afterwards that I got to know that beneath this heavy and -impenetrable exterior there lurked a keen and supple sense of humour. On -the occasion of the annual Grand Night the leader who presided did not -always take the personal trouble to invent or devise the sort of -burlesque address interspersed with lyrical effusions which was deemed -appropriate and indispensable. I remember my friends, the late Mr. -M‘Connell and Hugh Shield, who was known as the laureate of the Circuit, -very often came to the assistance of the leader who felt himself -unequipped for this lighter task imposed upon him.</p> - -<p>But when it came to Holker’s turn, despite the fact that he was engaged -on nearly every case sent up for trial, he chose to do the whole -himself, and very admirably it was done.</p> - -<p>Herschell’s intellect differed widely from both. In power of logical -statement, in clear and coherent reasoning, and in the ability to -conduct an argument without a flaw from start to finish, he was -certainly not the inferior of either. But his nature on the emotional -side, as far at least as advocacy was concerned, was poorly furnished. -He lacked the warmth to sway a jury. He was unable to realise any -disability in others that he did not possess in himself, and the -consequence was that he had often concluded his address to the jury -before these<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_56">{56}</a></span> unfortunate gentlemen had apprehended the essential -features of the case he was trying to enforce. And for this reason his -appeal as an advocate was far less potent than that of either of his two -great rivals. The cold steel of his intellect never reached white heat. -His eloquence lacked the picturesque adornments which in their different -ways they could both command, and in this respect he stood in even more -striking contrast with Sam Pope, who, in a brief flight of advocacy, -once or twice impressed me more than them all.</p> - -<p>The duties of the Junior of the Circuit sometimes placed me in somewhat -ludicrous conflict with authority, and it happened that on my first -Circuit I was forced, as the spokesman of the Bar, into a somewhat -heated controversy with the Attorney-General, the late Lord Coleridge.</p> - -<p>Charles Russell had been sent by the Crown with a special retainer to -prosecute Mrs. Cotton, the notorious murderess who had poisoned a number -of her nieces and nephews for the sake of small village insurances she -had effected on their lives. This aroused the indignation of the Bar at -Durham, who thought that Mr. Aspinall, who held the position of -Attorney-General for the County, was entitled to the brief. And it was -Herschell who prompted me in the letters of protest which I was -instructed to send to Lord Coleridge, and which were afterwards -published in the <i>Times</i>.</p> - -<p>That same trial of Mrs. Cotton stands out vividly in my remembrance from -among the many criminal cases which I have witnessed in the Courts. I -remember Russell telling me afterwards that the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_57">{57}</a></span> several cases actually -proved against her, amounting, I think, to five or six, were only a few -from among many others in which her guilt was equally assured; and yet, -during her trial, this elderly woman, who in appearance resembled rather -a comfortable monthly nurse, never evinced the smallest trace of emotion -or concern.</p> - -<p>It was proved that she had sat up night after night assiduously nursing -her victims, as, one after another, they succumbed to the poison she had -administered. And yet it was only when her advocate, whose case from the -first was hopeless, endeavoured to appeal to the jury by a purely -fanciful picture of her constant affection for these helpless children, -that Mrs. Cotton—moved rather, as it would seem, by the artistic skill -of his eloquence than by any deeper feeling—shed a few tears such as -might have been wrung from a spectator at a play.</p> - -<p>My own experiences as a barrister are too slight to deserve any record. -Mainly through the kindly influence of Charles Crompton I appeared in -one or two civil causes, but these were before an arbitrator and not in -open court. Once, and once only, I was entrusted with a brief to defend -a person who was accused of having stolen a moth-eaten pillow from a -passing barrow containing the household effects of a neighbour who was -shifting her quarters.</p> - -<p>I was assured by my friends on Circuit that had I chosen to pursue my -career I should have made an effective advocate. But the expenses -incident to this side of my calling were already beginning to press -heavily upon me; and as I was then almost<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_58">{58}</a></span> entirely dependent on what I -could earn for myself, I rather grudged the constant drain upon my -income as a journalist which my life at the Bar involved; and when in -the month of July 1873 I became engaged to be married, I quickly -perceived that the only speedy prospect of making a home for my wife was -to devote the whole of my energies to literature and journalism, in -which I had already made a successful start.</p> - -<p>But the profession of the Law, so eagerly adopted and so speedily -abandoned, has always had for me a strong fascination, and among its -professors, both past and present, I have counted many of my closest -friends.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_003" style="width: 414px;"> -<a href="images/i_059fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_059fp.jpg" width="414" height="453" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Emery Walker</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI</p> - -<p>From the portrait by himself in the National Portrait Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 59.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_59">{59}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI</small></h2> - -<p>I can hardly say what it was that gave to my early efforts in journalism -a decided bent towards the study of Art; for although my first -experiments, as I have already said, were made as a dramatic critic, I -very soon found myself employing the best of my energies in another -direction.</p> - -<p>My elder sister had already begun a serious study of painting, and that -no doubt partly influenced my taste as a boy. Not that my keen interest -in the drama ever lapsed, even during the period when I was qualifying -myself as an Art Critic; but it lay dormant for a time, in so far at -least as my journalistic occupation was concerned; and apart from my -daily work upon the <i>Globe</i>, and those lighter essays on general and -social topics contributed to the <i>Examiner</i> and the <i>Saturday Review</i>, -my main energies for several years to come were destined to be employed -in the criticism of pictorial art.</p> - -<p>It is not quite easy now to realise the extraordinary interest with -which the annual exhibitions at the Royal Academy were then greeted by -those whose minds had been awakened to the new movement in painting.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> - -<p>I can remember year after year, from the age of sixteen, presenting -myself on each opening Monday at eight o’clock in the morning at the -doors of Burlington House, and snatching an hour there before making my -way to the City. The pre-Raphaelite movement had begotten a freshly -awakened spirit, not only in the workers themselves, but in those who -worshipped them. The advent of Ruskin had kindled a new flame which made -a study of Art something more than mere dilettantism. It was with -something almost of religious fervour that we awaited the advent of a -new Millais or Holman Hunt, for it was then only on rare occasions that -we had the chance of seeing an example of the work of Rossetti.</p> - -<p>Art in more recent days has come to make, even in the hands of its -greatest professors, a more technical appeal, and those of us who are -not of the calling are now somewhat sternly bidden to confine ourselves -to dumb appreciation, and are severely warned not to venture to deliver -opinions on matters in which we are not qualified by special study.</p> - -<p>This is the fate of all art, either literary or pictorial, at those -seasons of impaired vitality when it falls under the domination of men -of the “métier.” It is the assured sign of a passing period of -decadence. The moment when the artist has missed the spirit which links -his work with the wider emotional movement of his generation, is always -the moment when he most zealously and most loudly acclaims the -detachment and independence of his calling.</p> - -<p>He is always most eager to be judged by the comrades of his craft when -he realises, though<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_61">{61}</a></span> perhaps only half consciously, that his appeal is -no longer to the simple. It is the moment when art leans towards -bric-a-brac, when the painter or the sculptor is no longer spurred by -the larger desire to have his work understanded of the people, when he -is content in each little coterie with the appreciation of his disciples -who in their turn aim at nothing better than the approbation of their -master. That any work worthy of the name, whether in literature, -painting, or sculpture, must of necessity conform to the irrefutable -laws of the medium in which it is expressed, is little better than an -outworn platitude. But to concede so much is only to admit the -inevitable limitations of every art; it is the acceptance of its -inherent conditions, not the definition of its essence; and the -endeavour to refuse to artists rightly equipped for their task the -larger function of imaging the wider passions of life, is simply to rob -the record of the past of its greatest and most enduring achievements.</p> - -<p>For my own part I have never made any pretence of bowing before these -inordinate pretensions of the masters of mere technique. They form part -of a gospel that has always been widely preached: in my youthful day it -spread upon its banner the specious motto of “Art for Art’s sake”; but -it reappears under many disguises, and rests ultimately and always upon -the assumption that the men of the “métier” are the sole and exclusive -judges of the worth of any artistic product.</p> - -<p>Certainly, if this dictum had prevailed in the time I am recalling, the -great movement which won all our youthful enthusiasm, a movement beyond -ques<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_62">{62}</a></span>tion the greatest and most influential in the Art of Europe during -the nineteenth century, would never have found strength to develop. -Never did young men of their calling meet with more embittered -opposition from the accepted masters of the time; and if it had not been -that a true impulse inspiring their work stirred a deeper response in a -section of the public than was accorded to them by their -fellow-painters, they would most surely have lacked the encouragement -and the praise which to every artist is as the breath of his life.</p> - -<p>The thought and feeling of the time, as it found expression in every -art, was moved by something deeper than the merely artistic impulse. -That much-bespattered Victorian Era, whatever its limitations, could -claim at least this cardinal virtue, that the men who are its foremost -representatives were able to forge anew the links that bind life and art -together. The gifts they owned were too great to let them stand in any -fear of the threatened danger of “the literary idea”; and if -occasionally they had to acknowledge a measure of failure, the fear of -such failure never drove them to take refuge within the safe confines of -mere technical accomplishment.</p> - -<p>The spirit of poetry, re-awakened in literature, had found its way into -art, and themselves the comrades of the poets of the time, the leaders -of the little band whose efforts were destined to revolutionise English -painting, gladly confessed in their own work, though in varying measure, -the newly kindled ambition to embody in art that quality of imagination -that had hitherto found expression only in literature.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_63">{63}</a></span></p> - -<p>And this movement towards a wider idealism was helped, not hindered, by -the strenuous desire for the faithful presentment of actual reality -which stood as a dominant article of faith in the pre-Raphaelite creed.</p> - -<p>At the head of this revolution in taste, which has left a lasting mark, -not only upon the painting of England, but also in some degree upon the -art of all Continental nations, two names I think stand pre-eminent, -those of G. F. Watts and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. From them came the -poetic inspiration which lay at the root of all the greatest -achievements of the time. Others there were, like Millais, more greatly -endowed with the painter’s gift, but even he, whose genius was destined -ultimately to find its own more congenial exercise in portraiture and -landscape, confessed in his earlier days the commanding domination of -men who, in intellect and imagination, were his leaders and his masters.</p> - -<p>The work of Mr. Watts, based on an earlier tradition, was open to all -the world, but it was only by rare chance and good fortune that the -student of that day had the opportunity of making acquaintance with the -paintings of Rossetti. I remember it was while I was on Circuit that I -had my first sight of some examples of his work in the collection of Mr. -Rae of Birkenhead, and there, too, I found pictures of Madox Brown, -another of the group who did not publicly exhibit. I think it was a -study of Mr. Rae’s collection that induced me to publish in the <i>Globe</i> -newspaper a series of articles on painters of the day over the signature -of “Ignotus” in the year 1873.</p> - -<p>Certainly it was the publication of these papers<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_64">{64}</a></span> that formed the -occasion of my making the acquaintance of several of the artists whose -talent I had endeavoured to appreciate. It was my intention at the time -to refashion the series and to issue them as a separate volume, and with -that view I wrote to several of them asking them for some personal -details of the earlier days of their studentship. The answers I received -were in nearly every case characteristic, and it was by means of my -correspondence with Rossetti that I afterwards became a visitor at his -house.</p> - -<p>It was through my friend Mr. George Hake, who was at that time staying -with him, that I first obtained a personal introduction to Rossetti, but -we were already known to each other by correspondence.</p> - -<p>In his letter to me dated from Kelmscott in November 1873 he writes: “As -a painter, and I am ashamed at my age to say it, I have never even -approached satisfaction with my own progress until within the last five -years. My youth was spent chiefly in planning and designing, and whether -I shall still have time to do anything I cannot tell.”</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, Rossetti had at that date produced most of the work -by which he will be best remembered. As a lad of twenty he had painted -“The Girlhood of Mary the Virgin,” followed shortly afterwards by “The -Annunciation”; and some of the most beautiful of his drawings, the -exquisite portrait of “Miss Siddal,” the “Hamlet and Ophelia,” and the -large drawing of “Helen arming Paris,” already stood to his credit.</p> - -<p>At the time I first knew him he had already painted “The Loving Cup,” -“The Beloved,” “Mona</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_004" style="width: 407px;"> -<a href="images/i_065fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_065fp.jpg" width="407" height="508" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Hollyer</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI</p> - -<p>From the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 65.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_65">{65}</a></span></p> - -<p>Vanna,” and “Lady Lilith,” and in the earlier part of the period to -which these works belonged he had given to the world that exquisite -series of watercolour paintings in which “Paolo and Francesca” and -“Heart of the Night” stand pre-eminent.</p> - -<p>It was “The Beloved” and “Mona Vanna” that I particularly remember as -forming part of the collection of Mr. Rae, and it was mainly upon these -two paintings, and a knowledge of some of the drawings in <i>Black and -White</i>, that I had founded my first enthusiastic appreciation of the -painter’s genius.</p> - -<p>The common impression of the time, which I indeed partly shared, was -that Rossetti’s individuality, however finely it might be endowed with -poetic imagination, was not of the most virile order. For this he -himself was in a great degree responsible. He had deliberately withdrawn -from all public exhibition of his work, and even later, when I became -connected with the establishment of the Grosvenor Gallery, he still held -fast to his earlier resolution.</p> - -<p>The man, as I came to know him in the flesh, was therefore something of -a surprise to me, and I quickly perceived, as I learned to know him -better, that, whatever may have been the source of his reluctance to -expose himself to the fire of criticism, it certainly was not due to any -lack of masculine strength.</p> - -<p>On the occasion of my first visit to Cheyne Walk, it was indeed the -breadth of his sympathy both in literature and art, no less than the -fineness and delicacy of his taste, that most impressed me. Those -never-to-be-forgotten evenings that I passed<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_66">{66}</a></span> in his company became at -the time a sort of enchantment. His talk was assuredly more inspiring -than that of any man I have ever known; most inspiring certainly to a -youth who had ambitions of his own, for, although intolerant of any -utterance that was merely conventional, and quick to detect the smallest -lack of sincerity, he was ever patient with the expression of any -enthusiasm however crude, and was as ready to listen as to reply.</p> - -<p>I can see him now as he used to lie coiled up on the sofa in his studio -after dinner, and can hear the deep tones of his rich voice as he ranged -widely over the fields of literature and art, always trenchant, always -earnest, yet now and again slipping with sudden wit and humour into a -lighter vein.</p> - -<p>I remember that one afternoon as I sat beside him while he worked, the -late Mr. Virtue Tebbs came in fresh from an exhibition of the old -masters at Burlington House, and full of enthusiasm for a picture by -Turner which he insisted that Rossetti must speedily go and see.</p> - -<p>“What is it called?” asked Rossetti.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Girls Surprised while Bathing,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> replied Tebbs.</p> - -<p>“Umph!” returned Rossetti. “Yes, I should think devilish surprised to -see what Turner had made of them.”</p> - -<p>On one point he was always absolutely emphatic.</p> - -<p>“A picture,” he used to say to me, “is a painted poem, and those who -deny it have simply no poetry in their nature.” It was, I think, the -absence of this quality that made him intolerant of the work of artists -like Albert Moore.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_67">{67}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Often pretty,” he said, “pretty enough, but sublimated café-painting -and nothing more.”</p> - -<p>But he could be unstintedly generous in his praise, as he was searching -and even scathing in his criticism. Of Millais he once said to me:</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe since painting began there has ever been a man more -greatly endowed with the mere painter’s power.”</p> - -<p>And of Burne-Jones, not once, but often, he spoke in terms of the -warmest and highest praise.</p> - -<p>“He has oceans of imagination,” he used to say, “and in this respect -there has been nobody like him since Botticelli.” And then, reverting to -his favourite maxim, he added in those round and ringing tones that -seemed at once to invite and to defy contradiction: “If, as I hold, the -noblest picture is a painted poem, then I say that in the whole history -of art there has never been a painter more greatly gifted with poetic -invention.”</p> - -<p>Of Leighton he was wont to speak with genuine respect and sincere -appreciation. There was only one point, and that concerned not the -character but the manners of the graceful and accomplished President, on -which he was not quite tolerant.</p> - -<p>“Leighton,” he said one night, “is undoubtedly one of the most gifted -and accomplished creatures of his time. There’s scarcely anything which -he can’t do, and can’t do well. He has, besides, a very high sense of -duty which I know to be sincere, and even as a painter he undoubtedly -deserves to some extent the position he occupies, but as to manners——”</p> - -<p>And then in a few trenchant sentences he would<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_68">{68}</a></span> give his own, not very -flattering, impression of what he considered to be Leighton’s -imperfections on this score.</p> - -<p>At the simple dinners to which I was at that time hospitably bidden, -Rossetti, as he sat at the head of his table, was always amusing to -watch. His inability to serve any dish set before him was pathetic in -its helplessness. He would lunge at a joint as though it were a hostile -foe, driving it from one end of the dish to the other till he got it -securely cornered in its well of gravy, and then plunge his knife into -it with something of deadly ferocity.</p> - -<p>It is related of Rossetti, though I myself was not a witness to the -incident, that on one occasion he was so entirely oblivious of the -contents of the dish before him, that, wishing to prove its value as a -specimen of oriental porcelain, he turned it over to examine the marks -on its back, and all unconsciously deposited the turbot on the -table-cloth.</p> - -<p>I remember he very greatly admired some literary review which I had -published in the columns of the <i>Globe</i>, the subject of which I now -forget; and in the talk that followed he spoke with rare eloquence of -the poets of the dawn of the last century, dwelling especially upon -Keats, whom he knew I loved deeply, and coming at last to Landor, whose -work, however beautiful, has never warmly appealed to me.</p> - -<p>“What do you think of Landor?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>I answered, “It seems to me through all his poetry that his genius is -impersonal without being dramatic,” and Rossetti, who was always -generous<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_69">{69}</a></span> in his appreciation of youth, answered with a phrase that sent -me home that night happy and contented.</p> - -<p>“By Jove,” he said, “that’s the finest criticism ever made on Landor!”</p> - -<p>I make no pretence that it was: it was enough for me then that he -thought so, or that he said so.</p> - -<p>But this friendship with Rossetti, so dearly prized by me and so -indelible in its lasting impression, was not destined to endure for -long. During the later days of our association he was already to some -extent a sick man. Little by little the invitations, once so freely -extended to me, slackened in their warmth of hospitality, until the day -came when I realised the fact that my visits to Cheyne Walk were no -longer welcome. It was not until years afterwards that I learned the -cause, and if I give it here, it is only because it curiously -illustrates that almost morbid sensitiveness of character which lay side -by side in his nature with the most masculine grasp of the problems of -life and art.</p> - -<p>He had, it seems, as I had learned from the lips of a friend whose -devotion to the poet endured till his death, a very high opinion of my -judgment as an art critic, and he had conceived the belief, perhaps true -at the time, that I thought more highly of the work of Burne-Jones than -of his own. And although he himself had often said to me things of -Burne-Jones’s genius which no word of mine could out-measure in generous -praise, it fretted him, in the supersensitive condition in which -suffering and ill-health had consigned him, to be reminded by my -presence of a judgment that in his own person he would not have -resented.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_70">{70}</a></span></p> - -<p>It may, as I have said, have been true then—though I was unaware that I -had ever betrayed the feeling to Rossetti—that Burne-Jones stood -foremost in my appreciation of the painters of the time. It is certainly -not true now in any sense that would consign Rossetti to an inferior -place; for I have come to think, in the light of later study of the two -men’s work, that, in some undefinable and yet indisputable quality of -genius, especially as exemplified in his earlier work not then so well -known to me, he stands pre-eminent among those who influenced his -generation.</p> - -<p>As a colourist in that supreme sense in which colour is inspired by the -purpose of the design, he had in his earlier period no equal among them -all. In later life, under the shadow of suffering and sickness, the -tones he employed had lost the first glowing radiance of the dawn. But -an artist lives only by his best; and if the best of Rossetti be fairly -measured and appraised, it will, I think, be hardly possible to dispute -his right and claim to have been the foremost leader in the movement -with which his name is associated.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_71">{71}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>EDWARD BURNE-JONES</small></h2> - -<p>My intimacy with Burne-Jones struck deeper and lasted without -interruption from those earlier days of the “Ignotus” articles in the -<i>Globe</i> to the time of his death in 1898. We were friends for more than -twenty-five years, and during the greater part of that period the -closest and most affectionate friends.</p> - -<p>To him also I had written when I thought of enlarging that first crude -criticism of his work. I was a stranger to him then, although my elder -sister had already made his acquaintance, but his letter in reply to my -application is delightful in its considerate tolerance towards the -somewhat audacious challenge of a boy to be supplied with the -particulars of his early career.</p> - -<p>Referring to the pictures which I had specially selected for notice he -writes:</p> - -<p>“I need not say that such a flattering review of them gave me pleasure, -for, whatever cause I have to see them with disappointment, such -sympathy as you express cannot be anything but most welcome. But there -is so little to say of the kind of information you ask for, and I should -like to say<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_72">{72}</a></span> nothing, for a sudden feeling of being ridiculous -overwhelms me. At Oxford till twenty-three, therefore no right to begin -art at all, never having learnt one bit about it practically, nor till -that time having seen any ancient picture at all to my remembrance. -Provincial life at home, at Oxford prints of Chalons and Landseer—you -know them all. I think Morris’s friendship began everything for me, -everything that I afterwards cared for. When I left Oxford I got to know -Rossetti, whose friendship I sought and obtained. He is, as you know, -the most generous of men to the young. I could not bear with the young -man’s dreadful sensitiveness and intolerable conceit as he did with -mine. He taught me practically all I ever learned; afterwards I made a -method for myself to suit my nature. He gave me courage to commit myself -to imagination without shame, a thing both good and bad for me. It was -Watts much later who compelled me to try and draw better. I quarrel now -with Morris about Art. He journeys to Iceland and I to Italy, which is a -symbol. And I quarrel too with Rossetti. If I could travel backward, I -think my heart’s desire would take me to Florence in the time of -Botticelli. I do feel out of time and place, and think you should let me -go crumbling and mouldering on, for I am not fit for much else but a -museum. You see I am writing in front of my work and ought to know, and -I do know.”</p> - -<p>The letter ends with a courteous invitation to visit his studio, where -he promised to show me the work he had completed during the year. -Needless to say with what delight I accepted, though I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_73">{73}</a></span> scarcely -realised then that that visit was destined to date the beginning of a -friendship that endured without halt or flaw till the time of his death -in the summer of 1898.</p> - -<p>When I first knew him in 1873, his appearance corresponded almost -exactly with that which is imaged in Watts’s beautiful portrait. His -eyes then, as always, were the dominant feature of his face—pale blue -eyes, that revealed in their changing expression the sympathy, the -gentleness, and no less the strength, of his nature.</p> - -<p>From the time I am speaking of, I became a constant and always welcome -visitor to his studio at the Grange, and at those simple Sunday -luncheons to which his intimate friends were bidden Burne-Jones very -soon made known to me a side of his character scarcely to be suspected -by those who knew him only from his work.</p> - -<p>Playful and humorous, boylike, and even child-like in his quick -surrender to the laughing mood of the moment, he could nevertheless -become swiftly serious at the summons of some deeper thought, and -without the need of any prepared process of transition could shift with -ready and earnest eloquence to the discussion of those deeper problems -which touched the centre of his art.</p> - -<p>From the outset we were in close agreement as to the dominating -tendencies which governed the great schools of European painting, and no -less in our common preference for the great tradition of Florentine -design, established by the genius of Giotto and culminating in the -splendid achievement of Michael Angelo. Years afterwards, when I had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_74">{74}</a></span> -sent him a little volume of my gathered essays on Art, he wrote me: “I -found your book when I got home last night, and it was a real pleasure -for me to have another proof of your love and sympathy. And there will -be this additional pleasure about it, that I know how heartily I shall -be at one with you while I read it.” And then, with a sudden turn to a -lighter mood, he adds: “We shall meet on Sunday at lunch. Georgie is -away, but Margaret dispenses lower middle-class hospitality with a -finish and calm which would not disgrace a higher social position.”</p> - -<p>I suppose no man ever held with such unswerving fidelity to the ideal -with which he set out upon his career, an ideal as plainly manifest in -those earlier contributions to the old Water-Colour Society as in his -last great picture of “Arthur in Avalon.” In him the sense of design was -all in all, but mere abstract design that missed the impulse of some -legend of passion or romance never quite contented his genius.</p> - -<p>It was his delight, as it was the delight of Botticelli, to be always -exercising his invention upon some theme of legendary beauty; and it was -his special gift, as indeed it was also Botticelli’s, to be able to -translate such themes into the appropriate language of Art.</p> - -<p>Though he could appreciate at its true value excellence in almost every -school of painting, his temper turned as by instinct even from the -greatest masters who sought only for a faithful rendering of nature. -Blake once said that in his highest moments of inspiration he was often -haunted by those “Flemish Demons,” as he termed them, who<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_75">{75}</a></span> came and -blurred his imagination and stole away the thought he desired to -present. I think Burne-Jones was sometimes haunted by them too.</p> - -<p>It is not needful now to revive the memories of that fierce hostility of -criticism which greeted his earlier efforts. Rossetti’s determined -reticence in regard to the exhibition of his work left Burne-Jones in -those earlier days to bear the whole brunt of the attack, for the art of -Millais and Holman Hunt made a somewhat different appeal and claimed a -separate victory. Nor was it wonderful that what lay in the mind of both -to do should at first have seemed tinged by something of determined -archaic affectation. The temper of their work was strange to the world -to whom it was offered at first in a form so tentative, and also -confessedly so incomplete.</p> - -<p>The history of English Painting, even in its greatest achievement, has -left no tradition to which they could appeal, and, indeed, if we take a -wider range of view, it may be said with equal truth that, since the -downfall of the great school of Florence, Art throughout Europe had -taken a direction which made the efforts of these younger men seem like -a wilful neglect of the accepted models of style.</p> - -<p>Such English masters of an earlier time as had attempted to enter into -this higher realm of imaginative painting—Barry, Fuseli, and Haydon, to -name only the leaders—had wrecked their lives in the vain endeavour -suddenly to renew the splendours of the great masters of the sixteenth -century.</p> - -<p>With the advent of the pre-Raphaelite movement, marked by a determined -research of greater reality in the rendering of actual fact, the failure -of these<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_76">{76}</a></span> earlier experiments became only the more manifest; and it was -left for that little group in which Rossetti and Burne-Jones stand -pre-eminent to realise the truth that, if imagination could ever again -resume its place in pictorial art, the result must be achieved, not by -an endeavour to repeat the triumphs of the past at the epoch of its -culminating glory, but by retracing the stream to its source and -beginning again, where Florence had begun in the earlier period of her -history.</p> - -<p>It was, I think, the first exhibition of the Grosvenor Gallery that gave -Burne-Jones’s critics reason to pause in their pitiless onslaught of -ridicule and rebuke. But even then the fight was not ended, and among -the many members of the Academy itself the hostility continued almost -without check.</p> - -<p>I remember going round that exhibition with Mr. Gladstone, and recalling -a phrase of his which he used in reference to this very feeling that was -even then sufficiently openly expressed.</p> - -<p>Standing before one of Burne-Jones’s pictures which he was warmly -admiring, he turned to me and said, “Dislike of such a painter I can -understand, but such intolerance of dislike as I find on every hand I do -not comprehend.”</p> - -<p>It was, perhaps, difficult, even for those to whom such work made a -sympathetic appeal, to realise what a broad and liberal outlook in -Literature, as well as in Art, belonged to the painter whose deliberate -selection of a chosen type of beauty might plausibly seem to argue a -narrow intelligence; and it was, indeed, only by close and intimate -knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_77">{77}</a></span> of the man himself that one was enabled to escape altogether -from this initial prejudice.</p> - -<p>As a talker he was wholly delightful. There were few subjects in -literature upon which those who might have thought to convict him of a -narrow intensity of feeling could have dared to challenge him with -success. It was natural, perhaps, that, with his preoccupation as a -painter, his love should have turned most often and most readily to -legend and romance. But in romance his task took a wide range, and it -will surprise many, who see how rigorously all suggestion of humour is -excluded from his paintings, to learn that his knowledge of Dickens was -almost encyclopædic, and his love of him, like that of Mr. Swinburne, -without limit of praise.</p> - -<p>As our friendship advanced it came to be our custom to meet periodically -at a little restaurant in Soho, over a quiet dinner which we boasted was -to be a mere preliminary to “seeing Life”; but these evenings nearly -always ended as they began, in talk over the table—light and laughing -to commence, and then drifting finally into deep and earnest discussion -of the things we loved the best in Poetry and Art; until, the lights -gradually extinguished, we were reminded that the closing hour had come, -and that the projected visit to the music-hall, which was to constitute -our vision of Life, must needs be postponed until another occasion.</p> - -<p>And so these meetings went on from time to time, but never without a -word of mock indignant protest on his part that he had been cheated of a -promised debauch. Once he fired my imagination by telling me that he had -made a solitary visit to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_78">{78}</a></span> the Aquarium, where he had seen “The Last -Supper” tattooed on a man’s back, and this taste of blood had whetted -his appetite for more salient examples of monstrosity which were at that -time being exhibited in Barnum’s Show.</p> - -<p>An appointment made for the purpose I was compelled to abandon by reason -of a social engagement with my wife, a circumstance which drew from him -a little note of pitying sympathy:</p> - -<p>“Carr Mio, so you have thrown me over! Well, perhaps you are right; at -any rate I am wrong to have trusted. I confess I marvelled at your -bravery in so openly defying woman, but knew that you must be justified -in some consciousness of strength. But lo! you are even as I, who -boasted not. Still, we will have Barnum another night. I <i>must</i> see the -fat lady, and <i>will</i>.”</p> - -<p>And then on the facing page he adds a monstrous portrait of that lady -herself, a thing of unimagined wealth of flesh, seated on a velvet -cushion before the upturned eyes of a crowded theatre.</p> - -<p>Burne-Jones was wont to be lavish of these humorous sketches in letters -to his intimate friends, and I have one or two supposed to illustrate a -projected fresh departure in his Art, wherein, under the impulse of a -new resolve, he was to abandon finally all future effort after ideal -design, and, conforming to that taste of the public which he had -hitherto failed to satisfy, to embark upon a series of pictures to -represent, as he told me, the homes of England.</p> - -<p>“I enclose a sketch,” he writes, “for my next picture. It is a new -departure, but the public</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_005" style="width: 470px;"> -<a href="images/i_078afp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_078afp.jpg" width="470" height="372" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>FACSIMILE OF A LETTER</p> - -<p>By Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Burne-Jones</span>, Bart. (<i>a</i>).</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 78.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_006" style="width: 466px;"> -<a href="images/i_078bfp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_078bfp.jpg" width="466" height="365" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE HOMES OF ENGLAND</p> - -<p>From an original drawing by Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Burne-Jones</span>, Bart. (<i>b</i>).</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 78.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_007" style="width: 462px;"> -<a href="images/i_078cfp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_078cfp.jpg" width="462" height="368" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.</p> - -<p>From an original drawing by Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Burne-Jones</span>, Bart. (<i>c</i>).</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 78.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_79">{79}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">must be humoured. I have fought the fight of unpopularity long enough. -Tell me what you think,” and accompanying this startling announcement of -the fresh direction his art was to take, he enclosed, not a mere sketch, -but an elaborately finished black and white drawing of the first of the -great series he had projected, wherein he had evidently intended to -present a typical representative of our great commercial nation—a -hideous being stretched in stertorous sleep upon a Victorian sofa of -abominable design, every deformed curve and moulding of which he had -rendered with searching veracity.</p> - -<p>I must have sent him in reply some burlesque welcome of the revolution -in his style indicated by the design, for in a day or two I received a -second drawing more monstrous and grotesque than the first, and with the -drawing he wrote: “You divine my purpose. It was the first of a series -to be called the Homes of England.”</p> - -<p>But even in these essays in the grotesque, and in the lighter and -sometimes very graceful fancies which he would illustrate so easily and -so rapidly for our amusement, or for the delight of our children, there -was always an unfailing sense of composition and design.</p> - -<p>One afternoon on the lawn of Lady Lewis’s cottage at Walton, where we -often met, and where so many happy hours of my life have been spent, he -was discussing in a bantering mood the reproach so often levelled -against him, that his female forms were lean and meagre and lacked the -sense of flesh and blood.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_80">{80}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I think,” he said, “I must make a more determined study of the manner -of Rubens,” and thereupon, taking a sheet of paper from the table where -Lady Lewis was writing, he began at once to compose a picture of -“Susannah and the Elders,” after the manner of the great Flemish master. -It took him only a few minutes to accomplish, and yet, as it lies before -me now, admirable as it is in its sense of caricature, it is no less -striking for a certain beauty in the ordered arrangement of line which -could not desert him even when he was proposing to lampoon himself.</p> - -<p>It was, I think, about the same time that he laughingly proposed to -instruct my eldest boy in the principles of anatomy, and there and then -made for him on the spur of the moment two beautiful drawings -representing the anatomy of the good man and the good woman, to which he -added, by special request, a third drawing illustrating the anatomy of -the bad man. On being met with the reproach that the drawing showed -nothing of the details of internal structure, he replied that there were -none, as “the bad man was quite hollow”; and on being further challenged -to illustrate the anatomy of the bad woman, he gravely replied, “My dear -Phil, she doesn’t exist.”</p> - -<p>In later days the little Bohemian meetings to which I have referred, at -first restricted to our two selves, took occasionally the form of larger -hospitality. Sometimes Sir George and Lady Lewis, and sometimes Sir -Lawrence Tadema and his wife, would join our party.</p> - -<p>On such evenings, to mark the added dignity to</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_008" style="width: 375px;"> -<a href="images/i_080afp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_080afp.jpg" width="375" height="427" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>LESSONS IN ANATOMY</p> - -<p>From an original drawing by Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Burne-Jones</span>, Bart.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 80.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_009" style="width: 374px;"> -<a href="images/i_080bfp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_080bfp.jpg" width="374" height="426" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>LESSONS IN ANATOMY</p> - -<p>From an original drawing by Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Burne-Jones</span>, Bart.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 80.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_010" style="width: 371px;"> -<a href="images/i_080cfp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_080cfp.jpg" width="371" height="411" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>LESSONS IN ANATOMY</p> - -<p>From an original drawing by Sir <span class="smcap">Edward Burne-Jones</span>, Bart.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 80.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">the occasion, we shifted our quarters to Previtale’s, and I have known -no merrier hours before or since than those we passed together.</p> - -<p>Burne-Jones always made a grave pretence of being quite ignorant as to -what should be ordered for these little feasts. Of one of them, where he -was to be the host, he wrote to me some few days before imploring me in -a spirit of mock despair to come to his rescue and arrange the <i>menu</i>.</p> - -<p>“I no more know,” he cries, “what dinner to order than the cat on the -hearth as I write—less, for it would promptly order mice. Oh, Carr, -save my honour and order for me a nice dinner so that I may not be -quoted as a warning of meanness! I am not mean. Order apples of gold on -plates of silver, and let the wine be scented and brought from Lebanon; -but not a mean dinner, nor yet ostentatious or presuming, or such a one -as could possibly compete with the banquets of the affluent. My honour -is in your hands. Oh, Carr, come to the rescue!”</p> - -<p>It is extraordinary, in view of the concentrated energy he bestowed upon -his work, how readily and how generously he always responded to the -appeal of his friends. There was no demand they could make upon him -which he seemed unable to satisfy, no help which the youngest or the -most modest student could ask of him which he was not always ready and -willing to give; and yet all these gifts of friendship so lavishly -bestowed were never allowed to interfere with the absolute devotion that -he owed and that he paid to his art.</p> - -<p>Behind the affectionate gentleness of his nature, that was susceptible -to every influence, there lay a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_82">{82}</a></span> faith that nothing could shake or -weaken. In its service he was prepared to make all sacrifice of time and -strength and labour. His friends claimed much of him, and he yielded it. -Generous both in act and thought, there was probably no man of such -concentrated purpose who ever placed himself so freely at the service of -those he loved. But there was no friend of them all, and there were many -who could claim perhaps a closer alliance than I, who could cause him to -swerve for a moment from the labour that was his life.</p> - -<p>One of the last letters I received from him must have concerned another -of these little feasts which he had projected and which for some reason -I was compelled to postpone. I cannot now recall what I then wrote to -him, but I suppose my letter must have contained some reference to our -long and close friendship, for I received from him in reply an -affectionate little note that it is a pleasure to me to preserve.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“Dear Carr,” he writes, “I too feel just the same. I want years and -years of us together, and much work and a little play. We will put -it off for a week, then, and I will try and rearrange, and perhaps -Tadema will join.—Yours affectionately,</p> - -<p class="r"> -E. B. J.”<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>Those “years and years” that would have been so dear to us were -unhappily denied. He was often ailing in the later days of his life, and -it was easy to perceive that he was sometimes apprehensive as to the -condition of his health. And yet he never allowed his own anxieties to -burden others. On one occasion I remember, and it must have been<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_83">{83}</a></span> about -this time, he told me he had been to see his doctor, who had questioned -him closely as to his habits as a smoker.</p> - -<p>“How many cigars do you smoke in a day?” he had inquired of his patient, -to which Burne-Jones had carelessly replied:</p> - -<p>“Oh, I think about six.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” replied his adviser, “for the present you had better limit -yourself to three.”</p> - -<p>And in detailing the incident to me afterwards Burne-Jones added with a -chuckle:</p> - -<p>“You know, my dear Carr, I never did smoke more than three.”</p> - -<p>When the end came, and came so swiftly, he left a gap in my life I well -knew could never be filled again. I had not seen quite so much of him -during the last three or four years of his life, but immediately -preceding that period we had been closely associated in a task that lay -very near my heart. I had asked him, with Irving’s concurrence, to -undertake the designing of the scenery and costumes for my play of <i>King -Arthur</i>, produced in 1894. At his request I went down to read him the -play while he was at work in the garden studio of the Grange, and at its -conclusion he announced, to my great delight, that he would willingly -undertake the work. The subject was congenial to him; he was deeply -versed in all Arthurian lore, and in his paintings he returned again and -again to that great cycle of romance enshrined for English readers in -the exquisite prose poem of Sir Thomas Malory.</p> - -<p>We met often and intimately during the progress of preparation, and I -remember his almost child-like<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_84">{84}</a></span> delight when we mounted to the -painting-room at the Lyceum—where Hawes Craven was transferring to a -wider canvas his beautiful design for the scene of the Queen’s -Maying—as he insisted in taking from the scenic artist a brush of giant -dimensions, and executing a passage in one corner of the backcloth so -that he might be able to boast, as he laughingly declared to Craven, -that he had partly painted the scene himself.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_011" style="width: 600px;"> -<a href="images/i_085fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_085fp.jpg" width="600" height="373" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>OPHELIA</p> - -<p>From the picture by Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. Millais</span>, Bart., P.R.A.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_85">{85}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>MILLAIS AND LEIGHTON</small></h2> - -<p>Millais was not one of those to whom I had written after the publication -of my article upon his work, and it was not till later at the Arts Club -that I learned to know him personally.</p> - -<p>Perhaps I refrained from addressing him at the time because I was -conscious that my criticism could not be altogether agreeable to him, -and I felt that I could hardly demand any assistance in the prosecution -of my labours from one whose talent I had so severely handled.</p> - -<p>Looking back now upon that youthful essay it seems to me, in the light -of later knowledge and appreciation, to be disfigured to an -extraordinary degree by arrogance of statement and intolerance of -judgment. My mind had been so completely captured by the innate poetical -feeling that marked the work of Rossetti and Burne-Jones, that I was -then scarcely ready to rank at their true value the splendid powers -which Millais possessed. I could only think at the time, with something -approaching resentment, of Millais’s apparent desertion of the ideal -that inspired his earlier efforts, and I was not able to perceive that, -in the line of development<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_86">{86}</a></span> which he had followed, he was only -conforming with absolute loyalty to the natural bent of his genius.</p> - -<p>It was the accident of youth which set him for a while under the -influence of men of a deeper spiritual tendency, and it was not his -fault, nor indeed our misfortune, that when the period of youth had -passed he should have applied himself with ever-increasing earnestness -to the development of those gifts in portraiture and in landscape which -have left him pre-eminent among the painters of our school.</p> - -<p>At the time I was not able to judge fairly of the causes which led to -his ultimate desertion of those earlier ideals, and I could only -remember with a regret, too harshly expressed, that we were no longer to -expect of him another “Huguenot” or “Ophelia,” or to welcome again from -his hand such achievements as the “Carpenter’s Shop” or the “Feast of -Lorenzo.”</p> - -<p>But a knowledge of the man himself very speedily enabled me to take a -juster view of his place as a painter. There are artists in every line, -in literature as well as in painting, whose personality does not -willingly associate itself with their work. This was certainly true of -Browning, who would seem in social intercourse to be almost perversely -desirous of enabling you to forget that he was a poet, and it was true -no less of Millais, who rather sought by preference in his leisure hours -the companionship of men who were not concerned with the art he -professed.</p> - -<p>Millais had about him, as I first recall him, and retained to the end of -his life, even in the days that</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_012" style="width: 372px;"> -<a href="images/i_087fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_087fp.jpg" width="372" height="510" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE FINDING OF MOSES BY PHARAOH’S DAUGHTER.</p> - -<p>From <i>Lays of the Holy Land</i>.</p> - -<p>By Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. Millais</span>, Bart., P.R.A.</p> - -<p>Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel.</p> - -<p>(Reproduced from their <i>Fifty Years’ Work</i>.)</p> - -<p class="permisso">      <i>By permission of<br /> Messrs. James Nisbet and Co., Ltd.</i></p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 87.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_87">{87}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">were passed under the shadow of a mortal sickness, a delightful buoyancy -of character that was enchaining and infectious. In his view of his own -art there was occasionally something of the victorious arrogance of a -school-boy who has lately carried off the first prize, an arrogance that -was nevertheless consistent with a deep modesty of character that showed -itself in his reverent attitude towards nature, where he was ever ready -to admit that he had found his rival and his master.</p> - -<p>As far as my own experience of him went, he was never very eager to -discuss the work of his contemporaries, although he could be amply -generous on occasion towards the earlier experiments of younger men. -When he referred to the works of the older masters it seemed to me that -there was something of defiant challenge in his tone, as though he were -ready to do battle with any one of them in his own person and in his own -painting.</p> - -<p>Of the men with whom his career had been so closely linked in the -earlier days of his studentship he spoke but little, but even in the -little that he said I always felt there was an underlying conviction on -his part that, as a painter, he had easily outstripped them all. And -perhaps he was right. That, at least, was Rossetti’s opinion, as I have -already stated, nor is it possible, I think, in fairly reviewing the art -of his time, not to set Millais, in virtue of his powers as a mere -craftsman, in a place beyond the reach of rivalry.</p> - -<p>It was difficult at the period when I first made Millais’s acquaintance -to realise that the earlier stages of his career had sometimes yielded -periods<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_88">{88}</a></span> of deep depression, and yet it is only necessary to turn to his -own letters, written in the earlier part of the year 1859, to realise -how, for a while at least, discouragement sat heavily upon him. And it -is no less characteristic to note how swiftly that darker mood passed, -for in the letter dated May 16 of that same year he says, “I have now -enough commissions to last me all next year, so I am quite happy.” And -then a little later, though he had received no vote at the Academy -election, he adds in his characteristically confident temper, “It’s -really a matter of entire indifference to me, as my position is as good -as any except Landseer’s, and this they too well know.”</p> - -<p>The charm of Millais’s nature, with its swift alternation between -absolute confidence in his own powers—in the form of its expression -sometimes verging upon harmless arrogance—and those rarer moods of -discouragement and self-abasement, was aptly imaged in his person and -bearing. I have been told by one who knew him in his youth that he had -the beauty of an Adonis, and even in the year 1875, when I first met -him, his appearance was singularly handsome and attractive.</p> - -<p>The frankness of his outlook upon the world was aptly mirrored in his -face—eyes that were keen yet kindly, and a mouth delicately sensitive -for all its firmness, forming the essential features in a countenance -that could not fail to win both sympathy and regard.</p> - -<p>Occasionally in walking home with him from the Club he would tell me -something of the men he had known well in an earlier period of his life, -but for<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_89">{89}</a></span> the most part it was not especially of painters that he spoke. -Talking in this way of Thackeray and Dickens, and other notabilities of -their time, he remarked to me that “the greatest gentleman of them all -was John Leech”; and then, for a quarter of an hour or more, he ran on -in affectionate appreciation of the great caricaturist, enlarging upon -the extraordinary fascination and charm of his manner and the delicate -refinement of his nature.</p> - -<p>When the time came for the gathered exhibition of his work in the -Grosvenor Gallery, I saw Millais more often and more intimately. Day by -day, as Hallé and I were engaged in arranging the pictures upon the -walls, Millais would come in with his short wooden pipe in his mouth and -wander round examining the rich record of his own career; sometimes -elated to the verge of enthusiasm, and sometimes as frankly confessing -his own dissatisfaction with this work or that. Taking me by the arm one -day he drew me round the room, and pausing before the “Knight Errant” he -said:</p> - -<p>“You know, Carr, as I look at these things there are some of them which -seem to say to me, ‘Millais, you’re a fine painter,’ and this is -one”—pointing as he spoke to the beautiful picture before us—“and -there are others,” he added, his tones suddenly changing from triumph to -dejection, “that tell me just as plainly, ‘Millais, you’re a damned -vulgar fellow!’ Oh, but there are!” he cried, as though anticipating my -polite protest. “If you don’t believe me, look at that,” and he pointed -to a picture I need not now name, but which he looked at with unfeigned -resentment and disgust.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_90">{90}</a></span></p> - -<p>There was one little incident connected with that exhibition which I -shall not readily forget. After many efforts, at first unsuccessful, we -had at last persuaded the owner of “The Huguenot” to lend it for the -occasion; but this favourable answer to our request only reached us when -the rest of the exhibition was already arranged. It so chanced that -Millais had not seen the picture since the year 1852 when it was -painted, and he was therefore particularly anxious that it should be -included in the exhibition.</p> - -<p>It was late in the evening when the picture arrived in its case from -Preston; but Millais had waited, evidently in some trepidation as to how -this first triumph of his youth would impress him when he saw it again. -Its place had been reserved on the wall, and the carpenters, quickly -unscrewing the case, held up the picture for the painter to see.</p> - -<p>Millais was standing beside me as they hurried forward in their work, -and I felt his arm tremble on my shoulder during the few moments that -prefaced its appearance; and then, when at last it was raised to its -place, he said in a voice that was half broken by emotion, “Well, well, -not so damned bad for a youngster.” And lighting his little wooden pipe -hurried out of the Gallery and took his way downstairs into the street.</p> - -<p>In later days we met constantly in the card-room at the Garrick, and as -we both lived in Kensington it happened often that we used to walk -homeward together. Sometimes I would come across him in the daytime -strolling in Kensington Gardens, and I remember one snowy Sunday in -winter when I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_91">{91}</a></span> had carelessly said to him, “How ugly snow is!” Millais -turned to me with sudden vehemence and said, “Carr, how can you say -that? Nothing in nature is ugly.” And I think to him it was as he said.</p> - -<p>I know at the time I was forcibly reminded of a phrase used by Constable -which betrays the same unfailing faith in nature. “There is nothing,” -said the earlier painter, “either beautiful or ugly but light and shade -makes it so.”</p> - -<p>The power of selection in the facts he chose to render was never among -the strongest of Millais’s artistic gifts; perhaps to him the need of it -seemed not so great as to others. His mastery in the rendering of every -aspect of reality, a mastery exercised with impartial regard upon the -facts of human form or the complex growth of outward nature, was so -complete, and so completely enjoyed, that he had scarcely the -inclination to reject any one part of the subject presented to him in -favour of another.</p> - -<p>His art knew little preference, and for that reason it often lacked the -higher sense of composition that painters, differently though perhaps -not so greatly gifted, can command for their work. And so it was that -the spiritual appeal of his painting varied extraordinarily according to -the degree in which the theme had inspired him, and even more according -to the measure of support which he received from the chosen model before -his eyes.</p> - -<p>And yet, to the last, that inspiration, when it came, could summon, -almost undimmed, all that concentrated power in the rendering of life, -animate and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_92">{92}</a></span> inanimate, that had set so clear a stamp upon those -beautiful paintings of the period of his youth.</p> - -<p>Lovable I think he was in an extraordinary degree to all who were -brought in contact with him, and I know for my own part that as I knew -him more, I was the more attracted by his personality. At the last, as -he lay dying in Palace Gate, he sent a message to say he would like to -see me, but when I reached the house his son greeted me at the door with -the sad verdict that it was too late. Already the hand of Death was upon -him: within a few hours he had passed away.</p> - -<p>There is one element of Millais’s painting which, I think, has never -received a full measure of appreciation. Apart from his superb gifts as -a painter, he possessed a distinctive mastery in the rendering of -certain phases of human emotion that has left him without a rival among -the living or the dead. His fine powers as a draughtsman enabled him to -press into a single face a quality of sentiment that, by reason of its -exquisite delicacy of expression, was saved from the reproach of any -sentimentalism.</p> - -<p>The desire to capture this deeper beauty in character lay always -resident in his nature, but it needed the inspiration of some rarer type -of feminine loveliness to quicken it into life. In this sense Millais -was to some extent, as I have said, at the mercy of his model, but when -that model served him well—as in the case of “The Huguenots” and -“Ophelia”—the result yields an image of some indefinable beauty in -human character that adds to his innate gifts as a realist a deeper and -more passionate truth.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_013" style="width: 462px;"> -<a href="images/i_092fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_092fp.jpg" width="462" height="689" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE HUGUENOT</p> - -<p>From the picture by Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. Millais</span>, Bart., P.R.A.</p> - -<p class="permisso"> -<i>By permission of Messrs. Methuen and<br /> -      Messrs. Henry Graves and Co.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 92.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> - -<p>It would be difficult to cite any other master of our school, or indeed -of any school, who possessed this special power in quite the same -degree. Reynolds and Gainsborough have left examples in the region of -female portraiture that render in almost matchless perfection the -permanent facts of gentle character; and the different kinds of beauty -which they have saved for us bear the unmistakable stamp of a type that -is national as well as individual.</p> - -<p>But with Millais, whose art no less than theirs rests finally upon this -power of interpreting individual features, there was sometimes added, -when the model and the subject combined to inspire him, this finer grace -of delicate and tender feeling which no one of his predecessors could -command. Though not a constant quality of his art, it reappeared from -time to time during the whole of his career. He never parted with it as -he had parted with that earlier quality of design, which he had only -shared for a while with men to whom it was all in all. Though -intermittent in its manifestation, it remained with him to the end, and -constituted a rare attribute of his art which belonged to him by right -of nature and belonged to him alone. It was the appreciation of this -quality which caused Watts to write to him in 1878 in regard to “The -Bride of Lammermoor,” which had received a decoration in Paris: “Lucy -Ashton’s mouth is worthy of any number of medals.” And what is true here -is true in a supreme degree of the face of the lady in “The Huguenots” -and the face of “Ophelia.”</p> - -<p>The contrast between Millais and Leighton, both as regards individual -character and the character of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_94">{94}</a></span> their art, was as striking as could be -presented by two men of the same generation.</p> - -<p>Millais’s manner was spontaneous, careless, and buoyant; Leighton was -ever graceful and courteous, but never quite without the sense of -conscious and deliberate effort. I remember an Italian painter who had -been his friend for many years saying to me one day, “Leighton wills to -be a good fellow,” and I think the criticism that is here conveyed very -aptly describes, or suggests, a certain feeling of constraint that was -always to be felt in Leighton’s companionship.</p> - -<p>Despite all his accomplishments and grace he left the impression that he -was never quite at ease, and as though he felt that that must be the -plight of others as well as himself he seemed to be constantly striving -to rid his companion of an embarrassment which was often only his own.</p> - -<p>The essential difference between the two men was made very manifest by -an incident that occurred at a dinner given by the Arts Club to -celebrate Leighton’s election as President of the Royal Academy.</p> - -<p>Leighton’s speech, of course, was expected to be the speech of the -evening, and so in a sense it was. But Leighton never spoke without the -polished preparation of every word, and though his gifts as an orator -were conspicuous, there was always, even upon the happiest occasion, a -sense of something artificial in his aptly chosen phrases; and on the -evening of which I am thinking, the fact of his being fast bound and -fettered by a string of carefully<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_95">{95}</a></span> forged and graceful sentences proved -disastrous to the speaker.</p> - -<p>Before Leighton rose to make his acknowledgment of the compliment that -had been paid to him, Millais had his part in the programme to -discharge, and although he could never boast any considerable gifts as a -speaker, there was a directness and simplicity in his utterances that -placed his audience in quick sympathy with the man.</p> - -<p>When I complimented him afterwards he replied, “Yes, my boy, but you see -I had a story to tell.”</p> - -<p>And so he had; but that was not the whole secret of the great impression -he made upon his hearers that evening, for though the story was simple -enough in itself, it was told with such genuine feeling and with such -frank revelation of his own character that it moved his audience not a -little.</p> - -<p>He recalled a day of his youth when he had been summoned by Mr. -Thackeray, who lay ill in bed, to receive some instructions for designs -that Millais was making for the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>. The business ended, -Mr. Thackeray turned to him and said:</p> - -<p>“Millais, my boy, you must look to your laurels. There’s a young fellow -in Rome called Leighton who is making prodigious strides in his art. He -speaks every European language, and is an accomplished musician as well. -If I’m not mistaken that young man will one day be President of the -Royal Academy.”</p> - -<p>And then Millais turned to us, and in words of the simplest candour -confessed that Mr. Thackeray’s prophecy had somewhat hurt him—“For I -will own,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_96">{96}</a></span>” he said, “that at that time, with the ambition of a boy, I -cherished the hope that <i>I</i> might some day be President of the Royal -Academy.” And then after a pause he added, “But now, looking back, I can -say, ‘Mr. Thackeray, you were right, and the right man has been -chosen.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>It is not easy to convey the effect which that speech made upon the -crowded audience, most of whom were artists, but the depth of the -impression was shortly realised when Leighton rose to respond.</p> - -<p>It would have been impossible for any speaker born to his task to have -followed Millais without betraying in response a sensibility to those -deeper chords of feeling which his simple words had touched. But -Leighton was incapable of resuming the unfinished melody Millais had so -finely tuned; incapable by his habit and temperament of discarding what -he had prepared; and so it happened that the discourse he delivered, -though no less perfect and polished than was his wont, left his audience -gravely disappointed and wholly unmoved.</p> - -<p>Of Leighton I had also written in those earlier articles in a manner -perhaps that showed too little consideration for his great gifts and -great accomplishments, but he was characteristically courteous in his -reply to my request for some particulars of the days of his studentship, -and the pains he had evidently taken to assist me as far as he could in -the project I had in hand bears strong witness to that ungrudging demand -he always made upon himself when any duty came before him. He wrote:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_014" style="width: 426px;"> -<a href="images/i_096fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_096fp.jpg" width="426" height="555" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Hollyer</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>LORD LEIGHTON, P.R.A.</p> - -<p>From the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, in the National Portrait Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 96.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_97">{97}</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="r"> -<i>Thursday, Nov. 27, 1873.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>—I should have answered your letter sooner had I been more -master of my time. I am divided between my readiness to serve you -and my embarrassment as to how to satisfy your request concerning -my past life of which you already possess the outline. I find on -looking at <i>Men of the Time</i> that the facts there given under my -name are copied from the <i>Illustrated London News</i>, to which I -furnished some such skeleton to accompany the customary portrait on -my election to membership in the Royal Academy. They are accurate, -barring misprints, such as calling my old friend Robert Fleury, -Robert Henry. I hardly know what I can add without egotistic -display to this account of a life in which, whilst there has been, -and, as I hope, still is, steady growth and development, there had -been no peripateia.</p> - -<p>I scarcely have any earlier recollection than a passionate wish and -a firm purpose to be an artist, and having become one, I have never -failed or swerved from my deep desire to leave behind me something -in Art which should be not ignoble in its aim, and in which Form -and Style, the highest attributes of Form, should be chiefly -sought, and I may own to a hope, which has not been much fed by -experience, that I might in some degree disseminate my artistic -faith in this country where the seed is little and the soil rocky, -and where what is to me vital and essential in Art is generally -either repudiated or held a matter of obsolete dilettantism.</p> - -<p>The only apparent change in my work, the change from mediævalism to -classicism, is in reality no change but only a development.</p> - -<p>The love of mediævalism, the youth of Art, which is almost -invariably found in youths, was strengthened and nourished in me -partly by an early love for Florence and Tuscan art in which all -grace is embodied, and partly by the example of my master Steinle, -for whom I had, and have retained, a great reverence, and who was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_98">{98}</a></span> -fervently mediæval. For a long time I treated none but subjects -from the Italian Middle Ages—going to history, Dante, Boccaccio, -and preferring in Shakespeare the Italian plays. (I have sometimes -wondered, by the bye, that the atmosphere of Faust and the -Niebelungen Lied and the worship of Cornelius, in which, as a -German student, I lived for many years, should really have left so -little mark on my work.)</p> - -<p>By degrees, however, my growing love for Form made me intolerant of -the restraint and exigencies of costume, and led me more and more, -and finally, to a class of subjects, or, more accurately, to a set -of conditions, in which supreme scope is left to pure artistic -qualities, in which no form is imposed upon the artist by the -tailor, but in which every form is made obedient to the conception -of the design he has in hand. These conditions classic subjects -afford, and as vehicles, therefore, of abstract form, which is a -thing not of one time but of all time, these subjects can never be -obsolete, and though to many they are a dead letter, they can never -be an anachronism.</p> - -<p>But you did not ask me for a profession of faith. You see, -meanwhile, that though shifted to another channel the stream of my -artistic life has remained the same.</p> - -<p>The dominant personal influence of my early development is that of -my dear master Steinle, under whom I worked at Frankfort for -several years. His stamp is still upon me, and I owe him a debt of -gratitude for guidance, restraint, and upholding in the search of -whatever is elevated, and for example of steadfastness and -singleness of heart which I cannot ever repay.</p> - -<p>One word more in candour. I have written these few lines because, -unless my memory deceives me, you have written about Art with a -sense at least of its place and dignity—a grace too rare amongst -English critics; but I do not therefore accept entire solidarity -with your standpoint, with which in some respects I am much at -variance.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_99">{99}</a></span></p> - -<p>If there is any special point concerning which you care to inquire -I shall be happy to answer.—I am, dear sir, faithfully yours,</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Fred Leighton</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Having lived much abroad during my young years, the years -when one is wax, I have been in turn, thoroughly and sincerely, an -Italian artist, a German artist, and a French artist. I need not -say that, though every man is of a nation (and I am most -emphatically an Englishman), all Art <i>intentionally</i> national is an -error to my thinking. But I think I have gained in balance and -insight by my varied experience.</p></div> - -<p>It is not possible to question the justice of this brief record of his -aims in Art with which Leighton so courteously supplied me, and that he -never swerved from his fidelity to those aims may be generously -acknowledged even by those who were never deeply moved by his painting.</p> - -<p>If he failed to reach the goal towards which he was ever striving, it -was from no lack of persistent purpose or earnest faith; and the courage -and devotion which he exhibited in his life as an artist were no less -manifest in the discharge of every duty which his high official position -called upon him to perform.</p> - -<p>I was an occasional visitor to his studio for many years after this -first introduction to him in 1873, but I cannot boast of ever having -been, in any true sense of the word, his friend. To my temperament he -was a man easy to know, but difficult to know well; of unfailing -kindness in any service demanded of him, but with no quick link of -sympathy to encourage a closer intimacy.</p> - -<p>Gifted with an appearance at once imposing and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_100">{100}</a></span> picturesque, it was -impossible not to agree with Millais that the choice of the Academy when -they elected him as their President was rightly made. For all the -official duties that are attached to that office he was admirably -equipped, but it was difficult in ordinary converse to feel that he had -ever quite thrown off his official garb.</p> - -<p>Even in those earlier days, before he became President, he was apt in -his hearing to convey the feeling that he was playing a part. His mind -seemed always to move in some carefully chosen raiment which it was -impossible for his nature ever wholly to discard.</p> - -<p>As he said in the postscript of his letter, “I have been in turn -thoroughly and sincerely an Italian artist, a German artist, and a -French artist”; and so in his life he was in turn thoroughly and -sincerely either a polished member of society or the careless Bohemian.</p> - -<p>I remember once noticing him in the stalls of the Palais-Royal Theatre -in Paris habited in a brown velveteen jacket, and suggesting to me that -he was in this way resuming the days of his studentship in the Quartier -Latin. His appearance on that evening seemed to me a little -characteristic of the man. But among the many phases of his varied life, -the sense of his personality as an artist was always uppermost; and -however distinguished might be the throng of fashionable visitors who -filled his studio, the entry of any one who had any call upon him as an -artist would at once claim his attention.</p> - -<p>To his older friends I know he was untiring in his devotion, and one of -them once told me that at a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_101">{101}</a></span> little Christmas party in a remote quarter -of London to which he had been bidden, nearly all the other guests kept -away by reason of a severe snowstorm, but that Leighton turned up -faithful to his appointment, having walked all the way from Kensington -to keep his engagement.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_102">{102}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><br /> -<small>FREDERICK WALKER</small></h2> - -<p>I think it was a criticism of Sidney Colvin’s in the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i> -upon his picture called “The Plough” that first drew me to a closer -study of Fred Walker’s work. Sidney Colvin had preceded me as Art Critic -of the <i>Pall Mall</i>, and I am very conscious that in my first efforts in -art criticism I closely modelled myself upon his style.</p> - -<p>He and Bernal Payne had already done much to direct public attention to -the new movement in Art before I entered the field. And it was not -wonderful, in view of Colvin’s eloquent advocacy of the men whom I most -deeply admired, that I should have been drawn to the art of Fred Walker, -whose talent he had particularly distinguished.</p> - -<p>A little later I got to know Walker himself, but he was difficult to -know well, not by reason of any deliberate reserve, but because of an -unconquerable shyness which was deeply rooted in his character. Shy in -his ordinary converse as a man, he was no less so in regard to his -pictures. As one entered his studio he would always turn the work upon -which he was engaged with its face to the wall, and</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_015" style="width: 372px;"> -<a href="images/i_103fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_103fp.jpg" width="372" height="494" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A WOMAN IN THE SNOW</p> - -<p>From <i>Good Words</i>.</p> - -<p>By <span class="smcap">Fredrick Walker</span>, A.R.A., R.W.S.</p> - -<p> -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel.<br /> -(Reproduced from their <i>Fifty Years’ Work</i>.)<br /> -</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 103.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_103">{103}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">could rarely be induced to allow his visitor any glimpse of it.</p> - -<p>Shortly after his death, which occurred in 1875, I wrote the -introductory note to the catalogue of his collected works exhibited in -Bond Street, and, wishing for some closer knowledge of the man than I -could boast, I had recourse to Mr. George Leslie, who had known him long -and well.</p> - -<p>I find an interesting letter of his written to me about that time, and -concerning, among many other things, Walker’s stay in Algiers, where he -had gone for his health. Leslie had asked me to meet Miss Jeykell, who -had been in Algiers at the time, but as I was unable to accept his -invitation he very kindly jotted down for me some notes of his -conversation with her, adding at the same time some interesting -reflections upon Walker’s character which throw much light upon his -temperament as an artist.</p> - -<p>“Miss Jeykell,” he writes to me in a letter dated February 10, 1876, -“was there with Madam Bodichon when Walker arrived, and came home with -him. She says that nothing could have exceeded his delight on arriving, -with the light, bright climate and the novelty of everything, and he had -immediately a great wish to send for his sister to come out and live -there. But very soon, in about a fortnight or three weeks, his strong -family affections began to tell on him and he grew terribly home-sick, -and gradually took a sort of horror for the whole place. This feeling -grew and grew on him, and he became quite ill. He longed to be back in -England. With almost despair he said if he could only be in a hansom cab -once again he should<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_104">{104}</a></span> be quite happy. Madam Bodichon and Miss Jeykell -one day took him out with them for a driving excursion round the country -and along the sea-shore, and this, she said, seemed to be one of the -only days he enjoyed thoroughly. The shores were very picturesque and -rocky, and they visited beautiful little bays of pure sand and quaint -shells, where Fred Walker strolled about and seemed very much struck, no -doubt contemplating his intended picture.</p> - -<p>“They left him alone when he seemed to wish it, and he sat gazing at the -rocks and sea in deep thought. He had his flute with him, and would -accompany Miss Jeykell, who used to sing. She said, what I can endorse -myself, that he played in a manner quite peculiar, full of tender -feeling and prettiness.</p> - -<p>“Finally his illness and his growing disgust of the place grew so much -worse that they got quite anxious about him, and when Miss Jeykell and -her companion were about to return home they proposed to take him with -them. In a perfectly helpless way he eagerly accepted the kindness, -allowing them to do everything for him, even packing his pictures for -him, securing his passage, and paying his bills, etc. He went on board -the steamer so ill that Miss Jeykell felt anxious about him, fearing he -might not survive till he reached home.</p> - -<p>“But the morning after they started, when she had gone to look for him -in his cabin, she found him walking the deck in his little -shooting-jacket, and quite revived with the idea of home. He relapsed, -however, in his journey through France,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_105">{105}</a></span> and the hatred of Algiers -returned at the very sound of the French tongue.</p> - -<p>“They arrived, however, quite safely at last, and Miss Jeykell at -Charing Cross Station said, ‘There, Mr. Walker, is a hansom cab.’ He got -in, waved his hand in a playful excited way, and that was the last time -she ever saw him.”</p> - -<p>And then follows a very interesting comparison between the characters of -Fred Walker and Sir Edwin Landseer, which Mr. Leslie was well qualified -to make, as he had known them both for many years.</p> - -<p>“I used to see them both,” he writes, “for several years during the same -time, and so was always being reminded one of the other. They were both -disposed to be a little tyrannical in disposition; they both expected -everything to be done for them. They were both extremely sensitive to -criticism and public opinion, and they both possessed a tender and -intense feeling for music.</p> - -<p>“Walker could not play before friends, as the tears would run down his -cheeks, and I have heard Landseer sing with the tears in his eyes. -Landseer had not much voice, but a very sweet pathetic feeling. They -both had strong family affections, and each possessed a devoted sister -who ministered to their every want.</p> - -<p>“They each had the same reluctance to show their pictures. Even when -they had gone to the Exhibition, they would fret and worry and make -themselves ill as to what would be thought of them. They both possessed -an intense ambition to excel in Art. Walker once confessed to me that -he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_106">{106}</a></span> meant to be <i>the</i> best artist, or the ‘very top,’ as he said, and -Landseer had quite the same ruling passion.</p> - -<p>“They both had a keen sense of humour, and both drew admirable -caricatures. Landseer would, with three or four lines, give you the very -essence of any one’s face, and you know how well poor Fred Walker did -this. They were both very silent about Art, or rather about pictures; -they neither of them had very much education, but somehow were far more -neat in their choice of words than most other artists.</p> - -<p>“They both were extremely fastidious in their work, altering and -altering again and again; often a picture took up a year or two.</p> - -<p>“Lastly, in dress they were something alike, both very fond of rather a -sporting style, and indeed they were both decided sportsmen in taste. -They were both, too, when I knew them, tinged with a kind of despairing -feeling of melancholy, not of a slow languishing kind, but with a quick -intense fever, covered over with a pretty sparkle of wit and -cheerfulness when in the society of friends. The thing that always -struck me about Walker and Landseer was, that the young man of thirty -was like the other of sixty, and I have often said to Marks, ‘He could -never live, he has already arrived at what is the end of Landseer.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Poor Walker died in 1875 at the early age of thirty-five. He had -exhibited once in the Royal Academy after his return from Algiers, and -it was while his picture was hanging upon the walls at Burlington House -that we heard of his sudden<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_107">{107}</a></span> death, due to a violent chill he had -contracted during a fishing excursion in Scotland.</p> - -<p>It was not very long before his death that I paid my last visit to his -studio, and although, as was his custom, the canvas upon which he was -engaged was speedily wheeled round and turned with its face to the wall, -I caught just a glimpse of his subject, which afterwards formed the -matter of our talk. It was to be called “The Unknown Land,” and it is -characteristic of the whole bent of his talent, and of the special way -in which his imagination worked, that the last of his designs, left a -mere fragment at the date of his death, was no more than a development -of a drawing which he had contributed years before to the pages of <i>Once -a Week</i>.</p> - -<p>But it is to be acknowledged that Walker was never prolific in his -inventions in the ordinary sense of the term. Nothing is more remarkable -in his gradual progress than the strong and enduring attachment he -displayed to certain motives in composition that at first found -expression in his boyhood. As his art advanced, this inspiration of his -earlier days was taken up again and enforced with all the riper -resources of his manhood.</p> - -<p>His great picture of “The Bathers” must have already been suggested to -him by one of a series of illustrations representing the seasons which -had also appeared in the pages of <i>Once a Week</i>, and many another -instance might be cited which would tend to show the strong allegiance -of his maturity to ideas which had first won his devotion as a boy.</p> - -<p>Mr. Leslie’s vivid sketch of Walker, and his just appreciation of his -character, corresponds closely<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_108">{108}</a></span> enough with the man as I knew him in the -later days of his life. He seemed to me to be always to the last degree -fastidious in his own judgment upon his work, and so exacting in his -demands upon himself that I think it was from this source there sprang -up the disinclination which he always showed to submitting his pictures -to the criticism of others.</p> - -<p>The struggle he went through with himself in endeavouring to carry to a -successful issue the thought that had formed in his brain was so severe -that it left him, when the task was complete, with no courage to face an -opinion which might, as he feared, be even less favourable than his own.</p> - -<p>But although he shunned any discussion upon pictures painted by himself, -he was, as I recall him now, always eager and enthusiastic in his talk -of the wider and more general ideals of Art, enthusiastic also in his -occasional references to those among his contemporaries whom he -specially admired. Looking back upon his achievement now, it is easy to -perceive, and it would be folly not to acknowledge, that some of that -higher beauty which he sought to find in those rustic subjects that were -dear to him was occasionally imposed upon reality by a conscious and -wilful reference to the beauty of the antique.</p> - -<p>But even if this criticism be admittedly just, his claims as a painter -remain undisturbed. The added grace that he bestowed upon reality was -resident in nature itself, and there is reason to think that if time had -allowed his powers to be fully developed he would have achieved what he -sought without direct dependence upon classic example. The two separate -elements of his art—his direct</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_016" style="width: 366px;"> -<a href="images/i_109fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_109fp.jpg" width="366" height="465" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>LUCY GRAY, or SOLITUDE</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-night will be a stormy night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You to the town must go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And take the lantern, child, to light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your mother through the snow.<br /></span> -<span class="i6"><span class="smcap">William Wordsworth.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>By Sir <span class="smcap">John Gilbert</span>, R.A., P.R.W.S.</p> - -<p> -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel.<br /> -(Reproduced from their <i>Fifty Years’ Work</i>.)<br /> -</p> - -<p class="permisso">      <i>By permission of<br /> Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.</i></p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 109.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_109">{109}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">and searching study of the facts of the actual world, and his passionate -love of the beauty of the antique—were in process of being united but -they were not yet absolutely fused in one. His early death left the -story of his art life incomplete, but there is enough and more than -enough to vindicate his position in our school.</p> - -<p>On the occasion of one of my rare visits to his studio he had given me -some brief account of the first years of his studentship. When he first -quitted school at the age of sixteen he occupied himself in copying from -the Elgin Marbles in the British Museum. For a while his purely artistic -studies were interrupted by his apprenticeship to an architect, but -after only eighteen months of labour that was never congenial to him we -find him once more at the Museum, while during the evenings of this -period he attended the classes in Leigh’s School in Newman Street, -making there the acquaintance of several other young artists with whom -he remained on terms of closest friendship during the rest of his life.</p> - -<p>A little later he entered the school of the Royal Academy, and about the -same time began to employ himself with drawing on the wood which he -learnt from Mr. T. W. Whymper, in whose establishment he remained for a -period of three years.</p> - -<p>At that date Sir John Gilbert was the accepted model for young men who -desired to succeed in book illustration, and I remember Walker telling -me that in all his earlier essays he was rigidly held to a strict -conformity with Gilbert’s style. But it was not long before he formed a -method of his own, and,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_110">{110}</a></span> soon after <i>Once a Week</i> was established in -1859, Walker became a constant contributor to its pages. Later again he -sought and found employment from Mr. Thackeray on the <i>Cornhill -Magazine</i>, where he illustrated the editor’s own story of <i>Philip</i>.</p> - -<p>He used often to tell me of his visits to Thackeray’s house, where he -went to settle with the great novelist the subject of the next -illustration. During a considerable part of the time Thackeray was ill -and confined to his room, and the young draughtsman would sit at the -side of the bed and listen to the details of the story as they came from -Thackeray’s own lips.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_017" style="width: 376px;"> -<a href="images/i_111fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_111fp.jpg" width="376" height="485" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE UNJUST JUDGE</p> - -<p>From <i>The Parables of our Lord</i>.<br /><br />By Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. MILLAIS</span>, Bart., P.R.A.<br /><br /> -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel.<br />(Reproduced from their <i>Fifty Years’ Work</i>.)</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 111.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_111">{111}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /><br /> -<small>DESIGN AND ENGRAVING</small></h2> - -<p>It was inevitable that the new movement in Art, with its deeper research -of truth in the rendering of human form and the facts of outward nature, -should have led to a renewed study of certain forgotten qualities of -design. And it is, indeed, impossible to understand the aim and impulse -of the leaders of this new movement without reference to the engraved -work of the time. It was a necessity of the straitened means which -affected nearly all of them that they should at first employ themselves -in the work of illustration, and there is no higher tribute to the -genius which this new spirit had evoked than is to be found in the -engraved work that was produced in England during the ten or fifteen -years dating from the middle fifties.</p> - -<p>When he was little more than a boy, and before he had gained any -accomplishment as a painter, Rossetti had already produced some -beautiful work in black and white, and we know from their published -illustrations that Millais and Holman Hunt were already striving in the -same direction.</p> - -<p>The first important display of this renewed energy in design is to be -found in the illustrated<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_112">{112}</a></span> edition of Tennyson’s <i>Poems</i> published in -1857, for there, side by side with much that belongs to an earlier -manner, the drawings of Hunt and Millais and Rossetti stand out with -vivid distinctness as a separate achievement. Not that even at that time -these three artists ought to be considered as actuated by a single -motive; the individuality of each had been already asserted, and it was -hardly necessary for Mr. Hunt in his recently published <i>Reminiscence</i> -to labour the point that the aims of Rossetti were not in their essence -the aims of Millais and himself. Nor, on the other hand, can the -supremacy of Rossetti in regard to imaginative impulse and power be -rightly challenged by any one who has had the opportunity of studying -the work of the time.</p> - -<p>It is not easy to perceive the motive of those who seek so hotly to -contest Rossetti’s influence upon his fellows. The very fact that -Millais’s art, and even, though in a lesser degree, the art of Mr. -Holman Hunt, took afterwards a different direction, is rather to be -taken as evidence that in some of the essays of these earlier years they -were, for a time at least, under the sway of an individuality in its -essence widely different from their own. The champions of the genius of -Millais need be under no anxiety to claim for him entire independence of -spirit. In his later achievements this independence is announced without -reserve. They make it clear that the finer poetic feeling, which is -evident in some of his earlier paintings, and more especially in some of -his earlier drawings, was not destined to be the dominating factor in -his artistic life. But it is no less true, as it seems to me, that there -was a time of</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_018" style="width: 375px;"> -<a href="images/i_113fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_113fp.jpg" width="375" height="482" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE LEAVEN</p> - -<p>From <i>The Parables of our Lord</i>.<br /><br />By Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. MILLAIS</span>, Bart., P.R.A.<br /><br /> -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel.</p> - -<p>(Reproduced from their <i>Fifty Years’ Work</i>.)</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 113.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_113">{113}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">his youth when he willingly surrendered himself to this spirit, and if, -as we come now to perceive, it was not enduringly implanted in his -nature, there can be no reason for disputing the suggestion that it -sprang at the time from comradeship with a man in whose work, whatever -other changes it may have suffered, this quality remained always -supreme.</p> - -<p>“I believe,” said Mr. Ruskin, speaking of Rossetti shortly after the -date of his death, “that his name should be placed first on the list of -men within my own knowledge who have raised and changed the spirit of -modern Art—raised in absolute attainment, changed in direction of -temperament.”</p> - -<p>And if we turn with these words in mind to the Tennyson illustrations, -it will seem not possible to dispute Mr. Ruskin’s verdict.</p> - -<p>Beautiful as are the drawings of Millais and Mr. Hunt, the final -impression left by that volume rests in a pre-eminent degree upon -Rossetti’s exquisite design of “Sir Galahad” and his beautiful -illustrations of the “Palace of Art.”</p> - -<p>Within two years of the issue of Tennyson’s volume, the illustrated -periodical called <i>Once a Week</i> was established, and its pages for many -years afterwards bore admirable witness to the wide influence which -these three great leaders were already exercising upon their generation. -Indeed, it may be said that it is impossible to understand the real -trend of this new movement, and to appreciate at their just worth the -many and varying individualities engaged in its support, without a -constant reference to these earlier volumes of a now defunct periodical. -There we find in rich profusion<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_114">{114}</a></span> the earlier, and in many cases the more -interesting, experiments of men like Du Maurier, Charles Keene, -Frederick Sandys, Frederick Walker, and John Tenniel, side by side with -numerous illustrations by Millais himself. Even Mr. Whistler was an -occasional contributor, though his work, except in its very earliest -essays where he frankly accepts the ruling convention of the time, -quickly takes a place apart as a thing of purely individual temperament.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, in the days of the Arts Club, I learned to know personally -many of those men whose work I had loved when a boy as it appeared in -the pages of <i>Once a Week</i>. Charles Keene, who had first been made known -to me by his illustrations of Meredith’s novel of <i>Evan Harrington</i>, was -a constant figure there during the time when he was already a valued -member of the staff of <i>Punch</i>. He was a quaint and amiable character, -with a head that suggested Don Quixote, and I recall him now as he used -to sit for many an hour of the afternoon and evening with his cup of -coffee kept hot upon the bars of the old fire-place in the front room of -the Club, filling and refilling one of those tiny clay pipes dating from -the period of Charles II., which had been unearthed during some building -excavations in the City. Taciturn by habit, and perhaps by preference, -he yet always willingly entered into conversation when the occasion -arose. Sometimes I would go down and see him in his little house in -Chelsea, and turn over his elaborately careful etchings of boats, made -by the sea.</p> - -<p>It cannot be said, I think, that he was ever deeply stirred in his own -work by the movement to</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_019" style="width: 375px;"> -<a href="images/i_115fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_115fp.jpg" width="375" height="466" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To seek the wanderer, forth himself doth come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And take him in his arms, and bear him home.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So in this life, this grove of Ignorance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As to my homeward I myself advance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sometimes aright, and sometimes wrong I go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sometimes my pace is speedy, sometimes slow.<br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>Life’s Journey.</i>—<span class="smcap">George Wither.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>From <i>English Sacred Poetry</i>.<br /><br /> -By <span class="smcap">Frederick Sandys</span>.<br /><br /> -Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel.</p> - -<p>(Reproduced from their <i>Fifty Years’ Work</i>.)</p> - -<p class="permisso">      <i>By permission of<br /> Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.</i></p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 115.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_115">{115}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">which I have specially referred, though he was full of generous -appreciation of what was being done in that direction. The effects for -which he was specially seeking in black and white demanded a style of -execution peculiarly his own, and, when his mastery in the use of the -material was complete, the result, more especially in the rendering of -light and shade, was a thing distinct and incomparable.</p> - -<p>The one man of all the group who showed, perhaps, the surest hold of the -essential qualities of design was Fred Sandys. Though not of the body, -he was closely associated with the pre-Raphaelite movement, and already -in <i>Once a Week</i>, in such drawings as his illustration to Meredith’s -poem of “The Old Chartist,” he had exhibited a complete command of -technical resources. Sandys remained to the last a remarkable talker, -keenly critical, and on occasion warmly appreciative. There was a period -during his later life when he might be found almost any afternoon in the -lower room of the Café Royal, and there, over a cigar and a cup of -coffee, he would gossip freely of those earlier days during his -association with Rossetti, always taking care, as it seemed to me, to -let it be understood that when his own association with any one of the -men of that time had ceased, they had ceased to be afterwards very -interesting or notable.</p> - -<p>I remember Whistler used to give some very humorous imitations of -incidents that occurred in Sandys’ studio, and he was particularly happy -in the reproduction of a scene between the painter and his father—real -or fanciful I cannot pretend to say—in which something of the haughty -reticence and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_116">{116}</a></span> reserve exhibited on both sides was very entertainingly -reproduced.</p> - -<p>Du Maurier was one of the constant attendants at the Arts Club during -the afternoon, and was always a delightful companion. He loved -discussion, loved especially to appraise and value the different ideals -of contemporary painting in eager, and sometimes excited, dispute in -regard to the merits of men whose work made, perhaps, a stronger appeal -to me than to him. But our talk, even when it was most animated, never -grew embittered. With Du Maurier, indeed, that would hardly have been -possible, for the innate charm of his nature, linked with a constant -desire to be just and fair, even to those towards whom his judgment was -sometimes unfavourable, sufficed in itself to keep even the most heated -controversy agreeable and urbane.</p> - -<p>Despite his partly French origin, or perhaps by reason of it, he -possessed an enthusiastic appreciation for the purely English type of -beauty, whether in men or women. The athletic sanity of our English life -appealed to him strongly, and it was, perhaps, the consciousness of -something in himself of the Gallic spirit, something that leaned towards -greater refinement and delicacy, that kept him obstinately devoted to -the more solid ideals of the land in which he dwelt. It was this, I am -sure, that so strongly attracted him to Millais, whose robust character, -both as expressed in the man and exhibited in his art, he passionately -admired. And I think it was the suspicion of a danger lest he might be -tempted to surrender himself to something not so healthy in<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_117">{117}</a></span> its outlook -that left him with a constant sense of reserve in his appreciation of -men like Rossetti and Burne-Jones. And yet he was far too gifted an -artist not to be sensible to the genius of both.</p> - -<p>But it was as a man, and apart from any profession of faith, that he was -so wholly delightful. His professed principles, though always sincerely -held and admirably expressed, and his constant respect for the steady -decorum of English character, gave scarcely a hint of the special charm -of his own temperament. In moments of gaiety his high spirits were -infectious, and he became on certain occasions, when the mood stirred -him, the veriest and most delightful of Bohemians.</p> - -<p>I recall him, at one of the annual feasts at Maidenhead held by a little -club called “The Lambs,” keeping the whole table in roars of laughter by -an impromptu speech wherein he gave free rein to his humour and fancy—a -speech which, I think, made us all feel that his constantly expressed -reverence for the English ideal must have occasionally suffered some -sense of fatigue that needed for its cure a sudden reversion to the land -of his blood. We none of us suspected in those days—he himself perhaps -least of all—that he was destined to win such world-wide fame as an -author, and it was perhaps not until he became an author that it was -possible to realise in what affectionate remembrance he held the days of -his studentship in Paris.</p> - -<p>Du Maurier’s early contributions to <i>Once a Week</i> scarcely gave more -than a hint of that humorous quality which he afterwards developed in -the pages of <i>Punch</i>. It was there that he translated with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_118">{118}</a></span> caricature -the extravagances and eccentricities of that æsthetic cult which had -indeed little counterpart in real life, excepting in so far as they were -summed up in the conscious affectations of poor Oscar Wilde.</p> - -<p>But at the time they were accepted by the public as in some sense a -satire upon the newer school of painting, and—although that, I know, -was no part of Du Maurier’s intention—these drawings served in no small -degree to encourage the spirit of ridicule with which some of the more -serious work of the time was received.</p> - -<p>Humour, as we may here perceive, was always at Du Maurier’s command, and -yet it is not specially by this quality that his best contributions to -<i>Punch</i> are distinguished. They hold a place apart, as compared, for -instance, with the caricatures of John Leech or Charles Keene, by reason -of a certain grace and beauty which was their constant attribute. They -formed a just and sometimes a flattering picture of the English social -life of the time, betraying, in the rendering of form and in charm of -bearing, the artist’s devotion to that type of English beauty—fitting -models for which Du Maurier could always find without wandering beyond -the limits of his own home.</p> - -<p>One or two of his most highly finished drawings I was enabled to publish -in the <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, and there is one in particular -called “A Nocturne” which shows with what a fine sense of reality he -could render on occasion the most delicate effects in landscape.</p> - -<p>Du Maurier loved music, and by common consent<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_119">{119}</a></span> was an accomplished -musician, though his voice boasted no great range or power. But when he -chose to sing to his intimate friends—and he never cared to seek a -wider audience—it was impossible to resist the taste and charm which -belonged to him as surely in music as in the traffic of social life. -Even here, however, as in pictorial art, he could never quite determine -with himself to what school he owned the strongest allegiance, and I -have often heard him declare that he was torn in divided admiration -between the perfect vocalisation of a singer like De Soria and the more -passionate appeal of some of the later German music as it was -interpreted by Henschell.</p> - -<p>Richard Doyle—or Dicky Doyle, as he was better known to his countless -friends—seemed rather by the quality of his work, which claims a -certain kinship with the style of Sir John Gilbert, to belong to an -earlier generation, and yet he was well known and well loved by even the -youngest of those who were working under a newer impulse.</p> - -<p>He was a welcome guest in nearly all of the great country-houses in -England, and yet he preserved to the end a strange boyishness and -shyness of manner, beneath which, however, there lurked a constant sense -of kindly humour.</p> - -<p>I met him first as a fellow-guest of Sir Coutts Lindsay at Balcarres, -and I remember his telling me that he had such a horror of his modest -wardrobe being overhauled by the footman who valeted him that it was his -habit, on retiring for the night, to lock his clothes securely in a -drawer, and then to watch with half-opened eyes in the morning, and with -a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_120">{120}</a></span> chuckle which he could not always conceal beneath the bed-clothes, -the wild despair of the footman in his fruitless search for the secreted -garments.</p> - -<p>When the Grosvenor was established, Doyle became a constant contributor -to the exhibitions, sending every year some delightful specimens of his -fanciful treatment of fairy subjects.</p> - -<p>But it is perhaps mainly by his earlier drawings on the wood that he -will be best remembered, drawings which display the fecundity of his -inventions exhibited in countless forms and faces, which he could -multiply apparently without effort or trouble. One of the best of these -drawings is that representing the Custom-House at Cologne, where he -shows in a supreme degree his extraordinary power of granting individual -character to every diminutive face that is introduced into the design.</p> - -<p>A younger artist, who had perhaps something of the personal charm of Du -Maurier, was Randolph Caldecott, whom I got to know soon after the -publication of his hunting scenes.</p> - -<p>He had been ordered to the South for the sake of his health, and at the -suggestion of his friend and mine, Mr. Thomas Armstrong, who so greatly -aided him in those earlier days in securing public recognition, he -undertook to make the illustrations for a book written by my wife called -<i>North Italian Folk</i>.</p> - -<p>In manner Caldecott was as gentle as Du Maurier, and even more reserved, -yet this reserve could yield on occasion to the wildest high spirits, -when the humour that is never absent from his drawings found delightful -utterance. Poor Caldecott always had about him the shadow of failing -health,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_121">{121}</a></span> and yet it never, I think, disturbed the deep tenderness of his -nature that was revealed even in his most buoyant moods.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the quaintest figure among the draughtsmen of that day was the -Italian caricaturist Carlo Pellegrini, whose cartoons in <i>Vanity Fair</i> -brought him prominently before the public.</p> - -<p>Although he was a dweller among us for many years, he never acquired the -slightest command of our tongue. Indeed, I rather think that as time -went on his English grew persistently worse, but in his brave endeavour -to express himself he forged a dialect of his own that was sometimes -richly entertaining.</p> - -<p>One day at a private view at the Dudley Gallery he went down on his -knees to examine and to admire a drawing by Arthur Severn, and then, -with sudden enthusiasm, he cried out so that all might hear, “Capital, -capital! But why, the blast, he stipple?”</p> - -<p>At Pagani’s Italian Restaurant in Great Portland Street he was a -constant attendant, and during the later years of his life, when he had -fallen upon evil times, I think his kindly compatriots greatly -befriended him.</p> - -<p>There I constantly met him at lunch at the time when I was at work for -the German Reeds, whose room of entertainment in St. George’s Hall stood -close by; and afterwards Pellegrini became a regular visitor at our -house in Blandford Square, where he would always, at his own request, -insist upon bringing some Italian dish to add to the modest feast that -had been prepared for him.</p> - -<p>Once on Christmas Day, when he was dining with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_122">{122}</a></span> us, I specially warned -him that my father-in-law, who was a clergyman, would be of the party, -and beseeched him to curb the ordinary exuberance of his phraseology. -But despite his solemn promise of circumspection, the ladies had no -sooner quitted the dining-room than I found Pellegrini in animated -conversation with my father-in-law, conversation liberally enforced on -his side by a volley of strange oaths in that dialect that was all his -own, oaths which, had they been partially understood by his companion, -would, I think, have brought the evening to a sudden termination.</p> - -<p>When his indiscretion had been pointed out to him poor Pellegrini was -duly repentant, but we had not been in the drawing-room many minutes -before he joined in a game of Little Horses which my children were -playing upon the floor. At the close of the game he rose with an -expression upon his face of deep remorse.</p> - -<p>“Joe,” he cried, “you ’ave ruin me! At the Las’ Day the Lord God will -say to me, ‘Pellegrini, you ’ave every vice.’ And I could ’ave reply, -‘Lord God, pardon me, I ’ave never gamble.’ Now I cannot say.”</p> - -<p>This renewed outburst made it plain to me that I had, on that particular -occasion, made a somewhat unwise selection in the guests invited to meet -him, and during the remainder of the evening I kept close by his elbow -in fear and trembling of some new outrage that might bring our innocent -festivities to a sudden close.</p> - -<p>Pellegrini was a well-known figure at the Beefsteak Club, where his -quaint idiosyncrasies were<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_123">{123}</a></span> welcomed by nearly all, but even there he -would occasionally bring a shock of surprise and amazement to some newly -elected member who was not yet accustomed to his liberal vocabulary.</p> - -<p>There was one fellow-member of the club, himself an artist, who was wont -to entertain the table with little impromptu sketches and designs which -he executed with a certain degree of facility. This innocent display of -artistic power gravely offended Pellegrini, who, possibly moved by a -measure of jealousy that any one else should encroach upon his special -province, insisted with some vehemence that a club was not the place for -such exercises.</p> - -<p>“I like the boy,” he said to me one evening, “and when he talk, I -listen, but ’tis pity he draw.”</p> - -<p>It was only a few evenings later that I entered the room and found the -young friend who had been the subject of Pellegrini’s rebuke absorbing -the entire conversation of a crowded table. Pellegrini was present, and -I could see that he was growing restive under the artist’s unceasing -flow of conversation. In a momentary pause he turned to me and in an -audible whisper delivered this laconic judgment:</p> - -<p>“Joe, I ’ave made big mistake. ’Tis better he draw.”</p> - -<p>Poor Pellegrini’s misfortunes dated from the time when, abandoning the -practice of caricature, he sought to establish himself as a painter in -oils. Soon after he had started upon this perilous enterprise he said to -me one day at the Arts Club, “Joe, I will make that you have not told -the lie.”</p> - -<p>“What lie?” I inquired.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_124">{124}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You have say,” he replied, “that I shall be the finest portrait-painter -of the day. You will see—I <i>will</i> be.”</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact I had never ventured upon any such daring prophecy, -neither did I have any faith in the chances of his success. Nor, I am -sure, did he ever believe I had said it. It was rather, I suspect, a -wily device of the Neapolitan to pledge my support for the new departure -which he had taken in his art.</p> - -<p>Towards the close of his life he rarely came to any Club, and I think he -felt deeply the failure that had overtaken him.</p> - -<p>Very quaintly, as we drove home one night, he gave expression to the -consciousness that lay upon him that he had not long to live.</p> - -<p>“When I die,” he said, “which ’appen short——” and then he turned away -with the sentence unfinished.</p> - -<p>Of his talent as a caricaturist there can never be any question. He had -the rare power of finding an equation for every face, summarising in a -few lines its salient points of oddity. And this same power he exhibited -in his shrewd judgment of character. At a dinner-table little that was -characteristic escaped his humorous regard. Though alien born, and -almost jealously retaining to the end of his life amongst us his -individuality as a foreigner, he possessed a quick and just appreciation -of our national characteristics, more especially as they lent themselves -to humorous portrayal.</p> - -<p>He once said to me, “A man may caricature the people of a race that is -not his own, but it needs a native to judge them seriously.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_125">{125}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He forgot his own maxim, poor fellow, when he launched out as a painter -of portraits, for the source of his failure lay not merely in -insufficient power, but in the lack of true comprehension of the deeper -qualities of character.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_126">{126}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br /><br /> -<small>THE GROSVENOR GALLERY AND THE NEW GALLERY</small></h2> - -<p>When, for reasons that need not now be discussed, Mr. Hallé and I -severed our connection with the Grosvenor Gallery, we at once cast about -to establish its successor. It was obvious to us both that if the -experiment was to be made successfully it must be made without delay, -and, as a matter of fact, the New Gallery as it stands to-day was -constructed and completed within the brief period of three months.</p> - -<p>One of our initial difficulties was to secure a suitable site, and the -second obstacle, scarcely less formidable, was to procure from those who -favoured the movement sufficient resources to justify us in proceeding -with the work.</p> - -<p>The site upon which the New Gallery now stands had at one time been -occupied by the well-known livery stables of Messrs. Newman, but shortly -before coming into our possession they had been partly transformed to -serve the purpose of a provision market. This partial reconstruction -aided us very materially in our work. The central hall, so far as the -mere outline of the fabric is concerned, did not need entire -reconstruction. But the task,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_127">{127}</a></span> even with this help, remained formidable -enough, and could not have been possibly carried through within the -limited time at our disposal if it had not been for the hearty and -zealous co-operation of all of those who were engaged upon the building.</p> - -<p>There were many moments during these anxious three months when it seemed -indeed impossible of accomplishment. Inevitable delays in the supply of -the material required, again and again imperilled the chances of -success, and I think we were not a little astonished ourselves to find -that our original plan could be carried out in its entirety, and that we -were able to open the first exhibition in the month of May.</p> - -<p>The establishment of the Grosvenor and the New Gallery form an -interesting chapter in the history of modern art in England. It is more -than probable that neither the one nor the other could have come into -existence if the Royal Academy had taken a more generous and liberal -view of the functions it had to discharge; but the merest glance at the -history of this institution suffices to show that it has at all times -adopted the narrowest interpretation of its duties and responsibilities. -Anxious for the homage due to a national institution, and intolerant of -any protest against its rule, it has nevertheless persistently failed to -advance with the growth of new ideas of art, and has steadily declined -to undertake any enlargement of the original scope of its labours. Of -the more important art movements that have arisen since the date of its -creation, the Royal Academy has been little more than a spectator. At a -time when the national<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_128">{128}</a></span> interest in matters of art was scarcely -recognised, it might, by a liberal interpretation of its duties, have -become the acknowledged centre of a coherent system of art -administration, but it had chosen instead to allow nearly all that was -done by way of progress to be accomplished by independent effort.</p> - -<p>It might easily have been shown that it was not the intention of the -founders of the Royal Academy that it should thus degenerate into a -private undertaking. The encouragement which George III. gave to the -scheme was given on the ground that “he considered the culture of the -arts as a national concern,” and in the instrument presented for his -signature it is said that the great utility of such an institution has -been fully and clearly demonstrated. Moreover, in the catalogue of the -first national exhibition the demand of payment at the doors was made a -subject of apology, and the only excuse was that no other means could be -discovered of preventing the entry of improper persons.</p> - -<p>But although the public and national character of the undertaking was -clearly acknowledged at that time, a very few years sufficed to prove -that the constitution of the Academy was unfavourable to the right -interpretation of its duties. When the Academy was founded the English -did not possess a National Gallery, and Barry, who perceived the use of -such a collection of the Masters of Art in forming and educating the -taste both of art students and the public, proposed to his -fellow-members of the Academy that they should devote a portion of their -surplus funds on the purchase of pictures by the Old<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_129">{129}</a></span> Masters. But the -Academy rejected this proposal as promptly as they had discarded the -idea of a closer connection with the nation.</p> - -<p>That the imperfections of the institution were clearly perceived by -distinguished artists who afterwards became members of the body, is not -disputed. Before the Commission of 1863 Mr. G. F. Watts expressed -himself in no uncertain terms.</p> - -<p>“It seems to me,” he said, “that there must be some defect. If it were -extremely anxious to develop taste or encourage art I think that some -means would have been found. A merchant finds means if he wants to -improve his commercial arrangements. Whatever a man wishes to do, he -finds a way of doing it more or less satisfactorily. But I do not see -that the Royal Academy has done anything whatever.” And again, in -relation to public taste and its guidance in all that concerns the -erection of public monuments or public buildings, Mr. Watts says, “It -seems to be a monstrous thing that the Royal Academy has had no voice in -this matter.” And further, referring to independent efforts for the -encouragement of public schemes of mural decoration, he most -emphatically declares, “I think it ought to have occurred to the -Academy, as a body of men having the direction of art and taste, many -years before it occurred to the Prince Consort; and I think also that, -when the initiative was taken, the Academy ought to have adopted the -movement and have given it every advantage possible.”</p> - -<p>And this was already matter of history at the time that the Grosvenor -Gallery was founded. But the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_130">{130}</a></span> same spirit that had dwarfed their -conception of the duties of a national institution on the administrative -side, had also coloured the ungenerous attitude that they had at first -betrayed towards that great movement in modern painting which was -heralded by the pre-Raphaelite brethren.</p> - -<p>In the teeth of a keen opposition that was at first displayed towards -his work, Millais had fought his way into the august ranks of the -academic body; but with that exception nearly all the great leaders of -the new movement still stood without its walls. Holman Hunt, Rossetti, -Burne-Jones, Ford Madox Brown, and the great sculptor Alfred Stevens -knew nothing at that time of academic honour, and their work, if it was -submitted for official judgment, was either coldly received or was -treated in a spirit of active hostility.</p> - -<p>It was that which gave to the movement which resulted in the -establishment of the Grosvenor its importance and significance.</p> - -<p>The battle has long ended now, and the fact that these men did, or did -not, receive academic recognition counts for nothing in respect of the -place they hold in modern English painting. Such rebel forces as have -since come into existence have not been of a kind to win a like -distinction, and public interest in art has become so languid in its -exercise that if such a body of men were now to arise it may be -questioned whether their work would stir the feeble pulses of the time.</p> - -<p>But at the period of which I am speaking their gradual advancement was -watched and welcomed by enthusiastic admirers, and it was that which -made it<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_131">{131}</a></span> possible for institutions like the Grosvenor and the New -Gallery to challenge the sleepy self-complacency of the dwellers in -Burlington House.</p> - -<p>And it will now scarcely be denied that each of these two institutions -in its turn has served a useful purpose. In a sense, indeed, they have -been almost too successful, for a distinguished success achieved in one -or the other has again and again proved the means of obtaining for the -artist tardy recognition from the authorities of Burlington House. But -the forces ranged on the side of orthodoxy are in this country always -formidable, and it may be questioned now whether enough vitality -survives in English art to justify the continued existence of -independent institutions such as those I have named.</p> - -<p>The great prices obtained at public auctions for the earlier masters of -our School are sometimes quoted in support of the view that the taste -for art remains unimpaired. As a matter of fact I think they may be -taken to warrant an exactly opposite conclusion. The buyers of thirty or -forty years ago who helped to encourage the painters of their own day -were guided for the most part by their own individual preference. Their -taste may often have been uninstructed, but at least it was their own. -They loved the pictures which they sought to acquire, and, as their -collections grew, a better taste grew with them. The modern buyer, on -the other hand, is for the most part the mere puppet of the dealer. He -buys at the top price of the market because he believes the market will -maintain its price, and with a prudence that the dealer is careful to -foster he makes his choice from among those<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_132">{132}</a></span> older pictures whereof the -market value has been appraised by time.</p> - -<p>And so long as these purely commercial considerations dominate the taste -of the time, the cause of contemporary painting must surely suffer. That -a truer feeling will come again with the passing of time need not be -doubted, but any one who has followed the movement in English painting -since the middle of the last century must perforce experience a feeling -of melancholy at the listless apathy and indifference which has taken -the place of the earnest enthusiasm of an earlier day.</p> - -<p>That enthusiasm was still at its height when Sir Coutts Lindsay founded -the Grosvenor Gallery; it survived with scarcely diminished force when -Mr. Hallé and I succeeded in establishing the New Gallery, and I look -back without regret to my long association with both these institutions. -As the child of our own creation the New Gallery has claimed from both -of us the larger and the longer service. At the inception of our task we -had the loyal support of Burne-Jones, whose art we both deeply loved, -and when he died I think we both felt that a part of our mission had -gone.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_133">{133}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /><br /> -<small>WHISTLER AND CECIL LAWSON</small></h2> - -<p>Apart from Burne-Jones, whose gathered works, the fruit of many years’ -labour, naturally occupied the dominant place in the first exhibitions -of the Grosvenor Gallery, there were two painters, Whistler and Cecil -Lawson, whose pictures made it in their different ways notable and -interesting.</p> - -<p>At that time Whistler’s claims as an artist were not seriously -entertained beyond the limits of a very narrow circle. I had known him -personally for some little time, and had included his work in that -series of articles written in 1873 to which reference has already been -made. Writing of him then, I had said, “Opinions as to his merits differ -widely enough, but there is nothing vague or uncertain about them. He is -either blamed or praised heartily, and for the most part he is heartily -blamed.</p> - -<p>“Persons who do not admire his pictures are rather disposed to regard -them in the light of a personal insult, and to behave as though the -painter had deliberately intended to cause annoyance. The consequence is -that Mr. Whistler receives more abuse than any other painter, and abuse -of a kind that implies something also of pity; for when he is<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_134">{134}</a></span> not -regarded in the light of a wilful wrong-doer, his work is accepted as -the expression of a defective intelligence.”</p> - -<p>These sentences, I think fairly enough, represent Mr. Whistler’s -position at that time, nor had the public estimate of his powers greatly -changed when the Grosvenor Gallery was established in 1877.</p> - -<p>It is not necessary now to fight over again that battle that was waged -by some of us on his behalf. To me it was never difficult to appreciate -at their true value the distinguished qualities of his art; and at this -time of day his claims are so widely and so loudly announced, that it is -sometimes difficult for those who admired him first to keep pace with -his later worshippers.</p> - -<p>About the year 1876 I had written a notice of the exhibition of his work -held in Pall Mall which had greatly pleased him, and when he was -decorating the late Mr. Leyland’s house in Prince’s Gate I used often to -go down while he was at work, and during the luncheon hour—which was an -improvised meal daintily set out under Whistler’s order in the empty -house—our talk used to roam widely over things of Art and Life, for -Whistler was as acute in his perception of the foibles of character as -he was fastidious and exacting in the execution of even the lightest of -his designs.</p> - -<p>Whistler’s public attitude was one of uncompromising hostility to all -critics. For him Art was always a thing exclusively for the expert, and -he regarded the intrusion of any comment, unless it proceeded from a -brother craftsman, as not only futile but mischievous. This was a very -natural<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_135">{135}</a></span> attitude in view of the special gifts he possessed, for he was -above all things a man of the “métier,” conceiving Art as a thing -isolated and detached from thoughts that found expression in other -mediums, a thing only to be judged by its own exclusive laws which he -deemed could not be fully interpreted save by the artist himself.</p> - -<p>But he had even in this respect his little human weaknesses, and the -praise which I had bestowed upon his work on more than one occasion -brought from him a warm letter of appreciation, the existence of which I -think he afterwards forgot; for I remember at a dinner-party, during the -later days of our friendship, when he was denouncing, with his -accustomed liberty of speech, that hated tribe of which I had been a -member, I ventured softly from the other end of the table to interject -the remark, “Ah yes, Jimmy, but you didn’t always think so,” and then -upon the top of a reiterated expression of his contempt for those who -wrote about Art, I reminded him of my possession of a little letter -which I had been very happy to receive and was well content to preserve.</p> - -<p>And so the incident closed with some graceful and half-jesting reference -on his part to my superior claims, which he had always, of course, as he -declared, impliedly excepted from his general condemnation of the class.</p> - -<p>As a companion I found him delightful, and his hospitality at the -several houses he successively occupied in Chelsea, however restricted -it might occasionally prove owing to his shifting financial fortunes, -had an inimitable grace and distinction<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_136">{136}</a></span> peculiarly his own; though -there were some, however, whose more exacting appetite was not always -content with the slender material of those delightful little breakfasts -over which he so perfectly presided.</p> - -<p>To me the charm of the host sufficed to cover any deficiency in the -feast, even in those days when he laughingly told me that his fishmonger -was the only tradesman who could afford to deal with him. But I remember -meeting, during one of these periods of narrow resources, a foreign -painter who at one time had felt himself greatly favoured by an -invitation to Cheyne Walk. I asked him if he had seen anything of -Whistler lately, to which he replied, “Ah no, not now so much. He ask me -a leetle while ago to breakfarst, and I go. My cab-fare two shilling, -’arf-crown. I arrive, very nice. Gold fish in bowl, very pretty. But -breakfarst—one egg, one toast, no more! Ah no! My cab-fare, two -shilling, ’arf-crown. For me no more!”</p> - -<p>This, I think, was an exaggerated picture of the limits which Whistler -was sometimes compelled to set to his hospitality. I know, for my own -part at any rate, that these breakfasts were always delightful, and -sometimes, when the mood took him, he would go himself into the kitchen -and prepare a “plat” of his own devising, thus giving a final charm to -his graceful entertainments.</p> - -<p>His talk on these occasions, swift in its wit and always ready in -repartee, was not, however, often of a kind that bears recording, so -much depended upon the man himself, his personality and his manner, and -so much upon the exact appropriateness of every word he uttered to the -mood of the occasion.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_137">{137}</a></span> There was always about him a substratum of impish -mischief which gave flavour and colour either to his criticism or his -appreciation.</p> - -<p>Once I remember, when a friend at the table was gravely reproaching him -upon his lack of admiration of certain examples of Dresden china, -Whistler still remained entirely impenitent and unconvinced until his -friend was tempted to round off his rebuke by the somewhat audacious -protest, “But, my dear Jimmy, you are not catholic in your taste,” to -which Jimmy supplied the lightning retort, “No, that’s true. I only care -for what’s good.”</p> - -<p>Sometimes his remarks were almost startling in their reckless daring, -and were apt to produce in the company in which he found himself a -feeling of consternation. Once at an assembly at Lady Lindsay’s, on the -entry of a painter whose face seemed to bear on that night even more -than its wonted gravity of expression, Jimmy went up to the new-comer -and in his shrillest tones remarked to him, “My dear,—your face is your -fortune,” ending this outrageous compliment with one of those wild -laughs that sounded like the war-whoop of an Indian who has just scalped -his foe.</p> - -<p>Of literature, in the wider sense of the term, I never discovered that -Whistler had any profound knowledge, though when he wanted a quotation -to heighten the sarcasm of any biting sentence it was happily chosen, -and most often, strangely enough, such quotation would be taken from -Dickens, whose humour strongly appealed to him.</p> - -<p>But he was an artist first and last; and when not preoccupied with the -things of his art, he so far<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_138">{138}</a></span> resembled Millais that he loved to feel -the pulse of the life of his time as it was exhibited in general -society.</p> - -<p>Towards men, especially those for whom he had no great liking, he was -scathing and unsparing in the exercise of a wit that took small account -of any conventional limitation, but towards women he was unfailingly -courteous, with something of almost chivalrous deference of bearing and -manner. Of all the painters of his time the man whom he most respected -was, I think, Albert Moore; and the affinity was natural enough, for -Moore, like Whistler, deliberately excluded from his art all reference -to emotion and passion, and sought, within rigorous limitations, for a -grace that owed nothing to any art but his own.</p> - -<p>In Moore this was due to an accepted principle that was patiently -obeyed; in Whistler it was intuitive instinct. In his case there was no -need of any process of exclusion. Life, as it came into the region of -his art, only appealed to him in virtue of those qualities he sought to -present, and it was by no deliberate choice but by natural inclination -that he left the entire story of human emotion and human passion -untouched and untold.</p> - -<p>A common prejudice of that time, long dissipated now, but which found -utterance then in the intemperate condemnation by Mr. Ruskin that -afterwards formed the subject of the celebrated libel action, was to the -effect that the results of Whistler’s painting, often so fragile and so -slight in their final appearance upon the canvas, were due to a wilful -neglect of the resources at his command. It was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_139">{139}</a></span> widely held among the -public who loved him not, and even among brother artists who should have -known better, that his painting revealed the lack of pains and labour. -Nothing really could have been more unjust or more untrue. I have often -sat in his studio while he was at work, and found ample reason to be -convinced that not a touch was ever set upon the canvas that was not -finely considered and fastidiously chosen.</p> - -<p>I think in himself he was hardly aware of the degree to which his -painting lent itself to an opposite impression. He was so keenly -concentrated upon the kind of truth he sought to render that he was half -unconscious that the form in which he chose to present it was strange -and repugnant to the taste of the time; but although genuinely modest in -the presence of his task, he was often almost arrogant in his assertion -of the excellence of the result when the task was ended. The picture -once completed and set in its frame, Whistler became from that moment an -ardent champion of his own genius.</p> - -<p>Combat was the delight of his life, and there was no violence of -assertion he did not love to employ if he thought that by no other means -could he encourage an opponent into the dangerous arena of controversy.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, I do not think he was ever quite happy unless one -of these pretty little quarrels was on hand, and whenever he suspected -that any particular dispute in which he was engaged showed signs of -waning, he would, I think out of pure devilment, cast about to lay the -foundations of a new quarrel.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_140">{140}</a></span></p> - -<p>Something of the kind occurred in my own case. At his own earnest -suggestion, while I was the English editor of <i>L’Art</i>, I invited him, -with the concurrence of the proprietors in Paris, to furnish an etching -for publication. Knowing well the amiable idiosyncrasies of my dear -friend, I was very insistent that he should set down precisely and in -writing all the terms and conditions which he thought it right to -impose, and yet, when this had been done and the etching had been given -to the world, with almost impish ingenuity he thought he had detected -some breach in our contract, and wrote me thereupon a little letter of -reproach which I saw plainly, when I received it, was destined for -ultimate publication as the preface to a controversy into which he -thought he could lure me.</p> - -<p>But for once he made an unfortunate choice of a foe. “Not with me, my -dear Jimmy,” I replied to him. “No one enjoys more keenly your essays as -a controversialist, or more deeply appreciates the wit and ingenuity -which they display, but not with me.” I think that he must have -perceived that I had detected his amiable design, for when he came to -see me after the receipt of my letter it was in a spirit of the most -boisterous good-humour that he reproached me with having despoiled him -of a promised affray.</p> - -<p>The fact that he was in many quarters unpopular he realised with a sense -of conscious enjoyment. On one occasion I had been put up as a candidate -for a club of which he was already a member, and on meeting him at an -evening party he said, “My dear Joe, why didn’t you tell me? I would -have put my name down on your page,” to which I replied in<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_141">{141}</a></span> something of -his own spirit—knowing that I had already been elected, a fact of which -he was unaware—“Well, my dear Jimmy, put it down now, it can do no harm -now”—a delicate tribute to that unpopularity to which I have referred, -which he received with riotous laughter.</p> - -<p>One of the latest of the contests in which Whistler loved to involve -himself found him pitted against an opponent who was almost his match in -ingenuity, and far outstripped him in the unscrupulous use of any weapon -that came ready to his hand.</p> - -<p>This was Charles Howell, a strange creature whom I had first met at one -of Rossetti’s delightful little dinners, and who was at the time -welcomed as a companion by all the artists of that special group. -Endowed with real taste in all matters of Art, he for a while served as -secretary to Mr. Ruskin, and in that capacity was able to ingratiate -himself with many of the artists of whose work Ruskin was then the -champion.</p> - -<p>I met him often at Whistler’s house in Cheyne Walk, where I think he was -as much appreciated for the more questionable qualities of his character -as for his quick admiration of Whistler’s genius.</p> - -<p>The attitude of one to the other was always amusing to watch, for it was -obvious that both were on their guard: Howell half conscious that even -in his most plausible mood he lay open to the suspicion of a sinister -intention, and Whistler, whilst not unaware of the subtlety and skill of -his companion, rather encouraging the initiation of a contest in which -he never doubted the sufficiency of his own resources.</p> - -<p>There are numerous stories of Howell well known<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_142">{142}</a></span> to the men with whom he -was at that time brought in contact that need not now be revived. What -is certainly true, as against any defects that may be alleged against -him, is that in conversation he was interesting and attractive, watchful -of the effect on his companion of every word that he uttered, and yet so -quick in apparent sympathy that it was impossible to ignore the charm of -his personality.</p> - -<p>What was the end of the particular controversy to which I have referred -I do not now rightly remember, but I seem to recall that when Whistler -last spoke to me upon the subject he was in some apprehension lest his -wily friend should have stolen a march upon him.</p> - -<p>During the last years of his life Whistler passed but little time in -England, and I think the resentment, not unnaturally aroused at the -treatment his work had received at an earlier time, had quickened into -something approaching absolute dislike towards this country. The last -time I saw him was at a small dinner-party at my sister-in-law’s house -in Paris, where his reputation as a painter was firmly and finally -established. Whatever his altered feelings towards England, it had made -no change in his relations with his old friends, and on that evening it -seemed to me he had in him all the old spirit of gaiety and wit as I had -first known it in the earlier days of Cheyne Walk.</p> - -<p>In temperament and character, as well as in the chosen ideal of his art, -he holds a distinctive place in his generation. In spite of his -undisguised desire to make enemies, the singular charm of his nature -brought him many friends, and I think there is not<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_143">{143}</a></span> one who knew him -well who does not cherish his memory with something approaching to -affection.</p> - -<p>Cecil Lawson, whose work was also prominently brought to the notice of -the public through the earlier exhibitions at the Grosvenor, was a man -of a wholly different stamp. For several years before the hour of his -triumph he had not been very well treated by the Hanging Committee of -the Academy. It was about this time that, by his request, I had been to -visit him at his little studio in Chelsea to see one of his pictures, -which he particularly thought had been unjustly treated; and his delight -was frankly avowed when a little later I took Sir Coutts Lindsay, who -invited him to become an exhibitor at the Grosvenor.</p> - -<p>The private view of that year and the next left Cecil Lawson in a state -of unconcealed exaltation of spirit. The “Pastoral” and the “Minister’s -Garden” set him, at a bound, in the front rank of the painters of his -time, and I shall not easily forget the sense of almost intoxication -with which he wandered from room to room receiving on every side the -meed of well-earned praise which only a year or two before seemed to lie -for ever beyond his reach.</p> - -<p>The occasion was celebrated by a little dinner given by Lawson in the -old garden of his studio in Glebe Place. Whistler was of the party, and -it is pleasant to remember with what genuine cordiality he rejoiced in -Lawson’s success.</p> - -<p>I saw him very often after that time, for he was, I think, disposed to -exaggerate the small share I had taken in making his work better known; -and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_144">{144}</a></span> he was always anxious for my criticism or approval on new work he -had in hand. But I never left his studio without some feeling of -melancholy apprehension, for it seemed to me always that his overwrought -and highly-strung nervous temperament gave no fair promise of long life.</p> - -<p>On one of the last of our meetings he had specially invited my visit, as -he particularly wanted my judgment upon a picture just completed. It -happened when I reached his studio that it did not so strongly appeal to -me as other examples of his work, and yet I did not then quite -understand the sudden look of pain that passed over his face when my -opinion was expressed. It was only afterwards that I received from him a -touching little letter telling me that he saw plainly I did not greatly -care for the picture, and that he was disappointed, because he had -intended to offer it to me as an acknowledgment of my friendship.</p> - -<p>“I hope later,” he said, “to do something that will really please you.” -But the time left to him was shorter than either of us could have -guessed, and within only a little while his career was ended. He was a -very lovable man, full of high ambition, and inspired in the happier -moments of his life with a just confidence in his great powers. But -these more buoyant moods alternated with seasons of great depression, -and in this respect his temperament showed a marked resemblance to that -of Fred Walker.</p> - -<p>His spirit fed upon itself, and his hunger for success, linked with a -still nobler desire to realise the many dreams of beauty that thronged -his brain,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_145">{145}</a></span> left him with but little leisure for repose. I think the -eager intensity of his nature was sometimes a terror to himself, and -although the end came more swiftly than I had divined, it was scarcely -wonderful that the constant excitability of his temperament should have -prematurely worn down a physique that never was robust.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_146">{146}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /><br /> -<small>ART JOURNALISM</small></h2> - -<p>My connection with the Grosvenor Gallery was due, in the first instance, -to a series of articles upon the reform of the Royal Academy published -by me in the columns of the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>. These papers had -attracted the attention of Sir Charles Dilke, who based upon them a -motion brought forward in the House of Commons, which, however, had no -practical result.</p> - -<p>They had also been seen by Sir Coutts Lindsay and Mr. Hallé, and these -gentlemen invited me to associate myself with them in the future conduct -of the Grosvenor. This new vocation, however, in no way interrupted my -career as an Art Critic. Already established on the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, -I began at the same time to widen the range of my writings on the -subject of art, and in this way, at the invitation of Mr. Samuel Carter -Hall, became a regular contributor to the <i>Art Journal</i>. At the same -time I was offered and accepted the post of Art Critic on the -<i>Manchester Guardian</i>, and in the year 1875 I was appointed as the -English editor of <i>L’Art</i>, a periodical so luxuriously produced that it -could not be destined ever to win a very large public.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_147">{147}</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. S. C. Hall was a quaint and curious figure of the time, whose -acquaintance never ceased to afford me a certain humorous enjoyment. He -was supposed to be the model upon which Dickens has based his superb -creation of Mr. Pecksniff, and there were points in his character which -readily lent themselves for exploitation at the hands of such a master -of humour.</p> - -<p>For a time our relations on the <i>Art Journal</i> were friendly and -undisturbed, and Mr. Hall was good enough to express in unstinted terms -his appreciation of my work. But it was impossible, even at that time, -in personal converse with the man, not to be haunted by the suspicion -that his constant assertion of the most ideal aims in life were -consistent with an occasional reference to more mundane considerations.</p> - -<p>Both he and Mrs. Hall must have sometimes laid themselves open to the -charge of taking themselves too seriously, for I remember Edmund Yates -telling me that he had once asked Charles Dickens whether he thought -they were ever conscious of playing a part, to which Dickens had -replied, “I think once a year they exchange a wink, possibly on Carter’s -birthday.”</p> - -<p>Purnell used to relate an anecdote of the gravity of their -entertainments having once been broken up by an unintentional flash of -humour on the part of Mrs. Hall herself. At one end of the dinner-table -Mr. Hall, in his most solemn tones, was announcing to the company his -unswerving faith in a future life, and in conclusion expressed the hope -that in that other and happier world he should<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_148">{148}</a></span> rejoin his dear wife; -upon which Mrs. Hall, from her place at the end of the board, -interjected, in strong Irish accents, the somewhat disconcerting answer, -“No, Carter; I shall go to Jesus.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Hall’s appearance, with his wealth of white hair and dark eyebrows, -seemed to give a certain stamp of authority to the unctuous platitudes -in which he was wont to indulge. He used constantly to say to me, “My -object, my dear sir, is to do as much good in the world as I can,” and -in such utterances as this there was never, I am sure, even the lurking -suspicion on his part that he was exposing himself to the shafts of -ridicule.</p> - -<p>I remember one evening the subject of spiritualism was under discussion, -and Mr. Hall was avowing his confident faith in the reality of messages -from another world to which he confessed that he himself in his writing -was particularly indebted.</p> - -<p>“On these occasions,” he said, “when I have written something which I -have deemed to be particularly inspired, I have often turned round to -the spirit whom I knew to be at my side, and have said with fervid -gratitude, ‘Thank you, my dear sir; thank you.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>It was only upon longer acquaintance I discovered that the air of -venerable piety, which never deserted him in social intercourse, was -consistent with a very shrewd appreciation of commercial success. Little -by little I found the sanctity of his manner sometimes giving way to -very pointed suggestions that the mercantile interest of the Journal -must not be wholly sacrificed to my independent views upon Art.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_149">{149}</a></span></p> - -<p>At first these suggestions were only tentatively put forward, and always -with an elaborate deference to my better judgment as a critic, but day -by day they became more encroaching, until at last the conviction was -forced upon me that the columns under my charge were intended to serve -as a useful support to the advertisement department of the Journal. -After a while these constant interferences became so galling and -exasperating to me that I determined to break our connection, and in a -letter, which I strove to make polite but which I intended to be deeply -sarcastic, I ventured to hint that as the criticism I was called upon to -write was now required to take so entirely the colour of an -advertisement, I thought it would be better that it should pass directly -into the hands of the manager of the advertisement department.</p> - -<p>I confess I thought my letter would provoke an explosion of indignant -protest, but in this I was sadly disappointed; for all response I got -only a honeyed little note of acknowledgment, which, as far as I can -remember, ran in these terms:—“I hasten to acknowledge with many thanks -your courteous letter. So much I feel compelled to say, more than this I -will not say.”</p> - -<p>The old gentleman’s unflinching urbanity had stood him in good stead, -and even Whistler himself, had he been confronted with such a letter, -could hardly have found the means to continue the controversy.</p> - -<p>While I was still associated with the <i>Art Journal</i> I had become also a -contributor to the <i>Portfolio</i>, then under the editorship of Mr. Philip -Hamerton, who is best known to the world by his book upon<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_150">{150}</a></span> Etching, and -his studies of that part of rural France in which he usually resided. -And a little later I also wrote upon Art matters in the columns of the -<i>Academy</i>.</p> - -<p>These several engagements, combined with the work that I had to do for -the <i>Manchester Guardian</i>, made the annual occasions of the opening of -the Spring Exhibitions a specially busy time for me.</p> - -<p>I remember one Sunday morning in May, when I had sat up very far into -the night completing my opening article for the <i>Guardian</i>, my servant -awakened me with the intelligence that a young gentleman was in the -drawing-room waiting to see me. He did not give his name, as he told her -that it would be unknown to me; but he had arrived only the previous -evening, as he said, from New York, and was the bearer of several -messages from friends there which he was anxious to deliver before his -departure for the Continent later in the day.</p> - -<p>On the night before he had sailed, he said—and this was his excuse for -intruding upon me,—he had supped with some of the artists best known on -the other side, and amongst them he specially introduced the names of -Frank Millet and Edwin Abbey, who, as he said, had drawn from him the -promise that he would on no account quit London without having shaken me -by the hand.</p> - -<p>He was so graceful in his apologies for this early intrusion that my -first irritation was quickly allayed, and the warm reference to myself, -of which he assured me he was the bearer, must, I suppose, have touched -my vanity, for I at once invited him to be my guest at dinner that -evening that we might talk<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_151">{151}</a></span> more at leisure and at length of the -fortunes of our common friends on the other side.</p> - -<p>This, alas, he explained, was impossible.</p> - -<p>Was there nothing, then, I could do for him? Nothing! And then with -renewed apologies he rose to go; but at the door he turned as though a -sudden thought had come into his mind. Yes, he had just remembered! -There was a trifling service I could render him, and then, before he -mentioned its nature, he again ran over the names of “the boys,” as he -described them, with whom he had parted on the eve of sailing. Perfect -artist as he had proved himself to be, he blundered at the last; for to -the list, as he now recounted it, he added the name of Alfred Parsons, -who had indeed been in America, but who had long ago returned, and whom -it chanced I had seen at the Arts Club the day before.</p> - -<p>All unconscious, however, that this mistake had aroused my suspicions, -he proceeded to describe what he termed the ludicrous position in which -he found himself. He was about to start on a tour round the world, but -by some absurd mistake the remittances from his home in Western America -had gone one way, while he had gone the other. And this petty -contretemps he aptly illustrated in pantomime by indicating the course -of his remittances with his right hand and his own journey with his -left, crossing them on his breast as though to suggest the passing of -ships in the night. And then finally, in the lightest and airiest of -tones, came the announcement of a modest request that I should cash him -a cheque for £50.</p> - -<p>Affecting to ignore the financial aspect which<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_152">{152}</a></span> our brief acquaintance -had suddenly assumed, I carelessly let fall the remark that I had seen -Mr. Alfred Parsons yesterday at the Arts Club, to which I added the -suggestion that he might deem it convenient under the circumstances to -quit the house.</p> - -<p>His bright candid eyes met mine for an instant, and then, as though by a -flash of lightning, he was down the stairs and in the street.</p> - -<p>I think it must have been this same young gentleman who only a year or -two later visited Irving at the Lyceum Theatre during the rehearsal of -one of his plays. In that case he represented himself as the nephew of -Mr. Child, a friend of Irving’s who had recently set up a monument at -Stratford-on-Avon; but in substance the story was the same. There also -he sought nothing but the pleasure of shaking Irving by the hand, and it -was only at the moment of parting that he asked for a letter of -introduction to the Mayor of Stratford, that he might not appear quite a -stranger in the town whither he was bound in order to inspect his -uncle’s gift.</p> - -<p>But in this case he was more successful, for that coveted £50, which my -niggard spirit had denied him, he managed, upon the strength of Irving’s -letter, to extract from Stratford’s Mayor. From him he received another -letter of introduction to Mr. Chamberlain, but here, as I am glad to -think, with no damaging financial result. It is only fair to add, as a -finish to this brief and interesting episode of an enterprising -adventurer, that Mr. Child, indignant of the use that had been made of -his name, after<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_153">{153}</a></span>wards insisted upon repaying the amount that had been -nefariously borrowed.</p> - -<p>My work for the <i>Manchester Guardian</i> sometimes took me far afield, and -in the year 1882, when the city of Manchester was contemplating a -reconstitution of its permanent Art Gallery, I went, at their request, -on a tour of inspection of the museums and schools of France. These -articles were afterwards gathered into a little volume, which was -subsequently translated into French and published in Paris, under the -title of <i>L’Art en Province</i>.</p> - -<p>I started in the earlier days of July, and the trains between London and -Paris were already thronged with tourists on their way to Switzerland, -and I remember that my journey was brightened at this earlier stage by -an incident, illustrating, in an amusing way, certain characteristics of -the Scottish nature.</p> - -<p>Two youthful representatives of the race were seated in a compartment of -a corridor carriage adjoining my own, and in the compartment beyond them -were three or four young ladies travelling alone.</p> - -<p>We had not gone very far from Calais, perhaps some twenty miles or more, -when the train was brought to a sudden stop, and looking out of the -window I saw several officials of the railway running up and down the -permanent way in evident surprise and alarm.</p> - -<p>Suddenly their attention was concentrated upon the Scotsmen’s -compartment, where the indicator thrust out from the side of the -carriage betokened that the alarm-bell had been sounded by them. A<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_154">{154}</a></span> -swift altercation, the purport of which I scarcely gathered, ended in -the peremptory demand on the part of the officials for the surrender of -the travellers’ tickets, combined with a menacing intimation that the -matter would be further investigated on our arrival at Amiens.</p> - -<p>At Amiens it seemed as though all the staff of the Nord were gathered -upon the platform, and the force of this official affray was -concentrated upon the compartment occupied by the two sturdy travellers -from the North. With scant ceremony these gentlemen were commanded to -descend from the carriage amid a fierce war of words, in which I fancy -neither party had the smallest understanding of what was uttered by the -other.</p> - -<p>Alighting from my own compartment, I caught, rising above the angry -objurgations of the French officials, the repeated assurances of the -Scotsmen that they admitted their fault, and were eager to apologise for -its consequences.</p> - -<p>“I admit that I did it,” said the elder of the two, with a broad Scotch -accent, “and I am sorry.”</p> - -<p>But this reiterated expression of guilt and regret only seemed to -incense the Frenchmen the more, until, in his despair, the Scotsman -turned to me and in tones of almost pitiful entreaty inquired if I could -speak a little French. On my replying in the affirmative, he supplied me -with an explanation of his conduct, which he begged me to translate for -the benefit of the <i>chef de gare</i>.</p> - -<p>“Will you tell them,” he replied, “that we admit we did it, and are -sorry, but it occurred in this way? On entering the compartment my -friend and I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_155">{155}</a></span> observed that there were two small windows connected with -the adjoining carriage, where, as we happened to know, a party of ladies -were seated, and more for their sake than ours,” he continued, “and with -a view to securing the privacy which we knew they would desire, my -friend and I thought that we would pull down the blinds over these -windows, and so leave the ladies in the full assurance that they were -unobserved. But when I pulled the ring in the small window nearest to me -the blind did not come down, and then my friend tried, with the same -result, and then I said, ‘Maybe if we both pull together it will be -better.’ And so we both pulled together, and yet the blind did not come -down, but the train stopped, and we are sorry.”</p> - -<p>These poor gentlemen had been totally unaware that the rings at which -they had been tugging so vigorously were attached to no blinds, but -directly communicated with the guard of the train. They were, in fact, -the alarm-signals which had brought us to so sudden a halt outside -Calais.</p> - -<p>This was the story which he implored me to relate to the <i>chef de gare</i> -and his assembled subordinates, and I shall not easily forget the -mingled incredulity and amusement with which my narrative was received.</p> - -<p>Thinking to heighten its effect in still further excuse for what had -happened, I explained to the official that in Scotland, especially in -the North, women preserved a seclusion which was almost Oriental, and I -then detailed, word for word, the defence of their conduct as the -Scotsman had confided it to me, and when I came to that part<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_156">{156}</a></span> of the -narrative upon which he had particularly insisted, that it was more for -the ladies’ sake than their own that they had endeavoured to secure -complete privacy between the two compartments, the Gallic merriment, -breaking through all official reserve, knew no bounds.</p> - -<p>“Mais, monsieur, ce n’est pas possible? Ce n’est pas vrai?”</p> - -<p>“Monsieur, parole d’honneur, c’est bien vrai.”</p> - -<p>And at last, official indignation appeased by what appeared to them to -be the irresistible humour of the situation, the <i>chef de gare</i> turned -to the unfortunate malefactors and said, “Eh bien, messieurs, montez -donc, montez donc,” and turning to the guard of the train added, “Rendez -les billets a ces messieurs,” and so, amid a ripple of laughter that ran -down the platform, the incident closed, and the train proceeded on its -way. But within little less than an hour afterwards, when I, in my -lonely compartment, had sunk into a comfortable sleep, I felt a touch -upon my shoulder, and opening my eyes saw the Scotsman bending above me.</p> - -<p>I feared some new trouble, and inquired if there was anything more I -could do.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” replied he; “but my friend and I feel we are deeply indebted -to you.”</p> - -<p>Politely I assured him that the little service I had been able to render -him might count for nothing.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” he answered, “but we’re very conscious it counts for a good deal, -for we have been thinking it over, and we very well perceive that it -might have cost us as much as ten pounds,” and so with renewed thanks he -left me.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_157">{157}</a></span></p> - -<p>Reaching Paris, I gave my bag to a porter, and was hurrying along the -platform when I heard the pattering of feet in swift pursuit. I turned, -and there was my Scotsman again.</p> - -<p>“See here,” he cried, “I had meant to ask you, but forgot. Will you tell -me, where did you learn your French?”</p> - -<p>It had suddenly dawned upon him, after the painful crisis he had gone -through, that there were junctures in life in which the use of a foreign -tongue might be of practical service; and I have no doubt, with the -indomitable persistence which forms part of the national character, he -is even now in some Northern home struggling with the difficulties of -the French language.</p> - -<p>Yet, apart from the merest smattering obtained at school, my later -acquaintance with the tongue came about in a curious way. In 1870 I made -the acquaintance of a Monsieur Gauthiot, a dear friend of many years, -who had just then, by reason of the bitter spirit aroused by the -Franco-German War, been driven from Berlin, where he had occupied the -post of Professor of French Literature. For a while he took refuge in -London, whence be contributed occasional articles to the <i>Débâts</i>. And -here it was, when we came to know one another, that we agreed to dine -together twice a week, so that on one evening we should talk English, -and on the other that he should instruct me in French.</p> - -<p>Our meetings used to take place at the Café Royal in Regent Street, then -a sufficiently humble restaurant chiefly patronised by foreigners. In -cost assuredly, and perhaps in excellence of cuisine,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_158">{158}</a></span> the Café Royal of -that day was far removed from the stately establishment which has since -won so wide a popularity.</p> - -<p>But they were pleasant evenings which Gauthiot and I passed there -together, sometimes, when our mutual instruction was over, ending in a -friendly bout of dominoes, and indeed, if his natural preference for -French cooking had not led us there, it is hard to say where else in -London we could have found a congenial place of meeting.</p> - -<p>Restaurants in those days were few—Verrey’s, which survives, Simpson’s -in the Strand, and the old Mitre Tavern by Temple Bar, were the only -houses of note that I can recall. A year or two later an attempt was -made to do something on more sumptuous lines by the establishment of the -Pall Mall Restaurant on the island site adjoining Trafalgar Square, but -it failed for lack of patronage, for the days when dining out was to -become fashionable had not arrived.</p> - -<p>In 1883, when Messrs. Macmillan contemplated the establishment of the -<i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, they invited me to become its editor, -and the three years during which I conducted this publication -constituted my last important association with Art Journalism.</p> - -<p>It was our purpose to compete in quality of illustration with the -established periodicals of the United States, the excellence of whose -woodcuts was attracting deserved attention in England, and I am glad to -think that in these earlier years of the Magazine’s life, enough was -accomplished both in Literature and Art to prove that the project<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_159">{159}</a></span> -might, under happier conditions, have been carried to a successful -issue. But, owing to influences which lay beyond our power to control, -it chanced that the experiment was undertaken at an unfortunate hour.</p> - -<p>The art of the wood-engraver was already suffering through competition -with those mechanical processes of reproduction by which it is now -almost entirely destroyed. And it soon became evident that the more -careful work we were trying to present could not compete in popular -acceptance with those rougher and readier methods which, by reason of -their greater economy, were already widely employed. And yet it must -always be, I think, a matter for regret that this beautiful art of the -wood-engraver should be doomed to annihilation. I have tried to show in -a separate chapter how great a part it played in that renaissance of Art -in England which is associated with the pre-Raphaelite movement, and I -am proud to think that some of the best of its later examples found -their way into the <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i> during the period of -my editorship.</p> - -<p>On the literary side the Magazine could boast, during those earlier -years, of contributions from men already famous, or who have since won -their way to fame. Among the poets, Meredith and Swinburne were repeated -contributors to its pages; and from a throng of distinguished writers in -various fields I may cite the names of Professor Huxley, Henry James, -Marion Crawford, Bret Harte, Lawrence Oliphant, Stanley Weyman, Theodore -Watts-Dunton, and Richard Jefferies.</p> - -<p>It was during the progress, through the pages of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_160">{160}</a></span> the Magazine, of his -captivating story, <i>The House of the Wolf</i>, that Weyman asked my -judgment on a little play he had written, and I wrote him in response a -long letter pointing out what I thought to be its defects, and setting -forth the reasons why, as I believed, it could scarcely, as it stood, be -expected to achieve a success on the stage.</p> - -<p>Mr. Weyman was at that time only on the threshold of his reputation as a -novelist, and I remember that my sister—who was reading for me some of -the many proffered contributions to the Magazine—most strongly urged me -very carefully to consider the claims of <i>The House of the Wolf</i>.</p> - -<p>A swift perusal of the story left me in no doubt as to its merits, and -its warm acceptance at the hands of the readers of the Magazine amply -confirmed my judgment; and yet it is strange, as illustrating how widely -divergent opinions may be on matters of taste, that the story, on -nearing its conclusion, was submitted to the publishers’ reader, with -the idea of its being issued by them in book form, and that his -unfavourable judgment left Messrs. Macmillan with no alternative but to -decline the volume.</p> - -<p>Needless to say, it was quickly accepted on my recommendation in another -quarter, but by the break in our association which this incident -occasioned, it chanced that I saw little of Mr. Weyman for some years to -come. It was only when I had terminated my connection with the Magazine, -and when I was occupied in the management of the Comedy Theatre, that a -play was submitted to me by the foremost literary agent of the time, who -said that he would not disclose the author’s name until its claims had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_161">{161}</a></span> -been considered, but that he might mention that he was one of the most -popular novelists of the day.</p> - -<p>I was quite unconscious that I had seen the play before, and with this -strong recommendation I gave it the most careful attention, and wrote to -the agent a long letter setting forth what I considered to be its -defects from the point of view of the stage. As I felt bound to decline -the play, I did not feel justified in making further inquiry as to its -authorship, and it was not until long afterwards that I had a visit from -Mr. Weyman, who produced from his pocket two letters which, he said, he -thought I should be interested to see. They were my own two letters, -written at widely different dates, upon this very play, and it was -certainly, as he pointed out, a curious testimony to the constancy of my -judgment that they absolutely agreed in opinion, and were in some -instances almost identical in phrase.</p> - -<p>Strange and amusing experiences sometimes come to editors, especially to -an editor of an illustrated magazine. I remember that Mr. Walter Crane -had designed some very beautiful decorative work enshrining some poems -of his own, and in several of the pages nude figures had been -introduced, but treated in so ideal and imaginative a spirit that it -seemed impossible they could provoke a protest even from an early -Puritan; and yet immediately after their publication I received a letter -of passionate rebuke from a reader of the Magazine dwelling in the -suburbs, who with scathing criticism, obviously inspired by the loftiest -moral indignation, recommended me, if I wished to study my own vile -form, to look in the glass, and not, by giving such<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_162">{162}</a></span> indecent pictures -to the world, to pollute the purity of the reader’s home.</p> - -<p>The letter, I think, was dated from the Old Kent Road, and the only -pleasure I could draw from it rested on the fact that my Magazine was -entertained in so unsuspected a quarter.</p> - -<p>But it was not only from the humble homes of virtue that such criticism -proceeded. While Hugh Conway’s story, <i>The Family Affair</i>, was running -through the pages of the <i>English Illustrated</i>, I one day received a -letter from the wife of an eminent judge, who told me that she could no -longer permit the Magazine to lie upon her table, where it might at any -time be read by her unmarried daughters.</p> - -<p>It had been part of the author’s scheme that, during the initial stages -of the story, some doubt should remain in the reader’s mind as to the -legitimacy of a foundling child whom the heroine had taken under her -care, and it was this suspended uncertainty which had so sorely troubled -the soul of the judge’s wife.</p> - -<p>She felt confident, as she was good enough to assure me, that the doubt -would be cleared up in the end, and that the cause of morality and -decorum would be ultimately vindicated, but she found it nevertheless -intolerable that the innocent minds of her daughters should be haunted, -even for a season, by so questionable a problem.</p> - -<p>I never realised till I occupied the editorial chair how many people -there are whose insanity takes a Shakespearian form. There was, I think, -never a week passed without the reception of one or more<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_163">{163}</a></span> articles -intended to elucidate the authorship of the plays; and although the -readers were by no means in entire agreement in ascribing them to Bacon, -they were absolutely unanimous in the belief that the claims of -Shakespeare were wholly and ludicrously inadmissible.</p> - -<p>It is pleasant, however, to reflect that an editor’s duties yield many -happier experiences, and bring him into contact with men and women whom -otherwise it might not be his good fortune to know. It was in this way -that I made the acquaintance of poor Richard Jefferies, whose delightful -articles, under the heading of “The Game-keeper at Home,” had been -already published in the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>. Jefferies’s appearance, -even at our first meeting, gave me the unhappy impression that he was -not destined for a long life. But despite his nervous temperament that -was evidently in a large measure dependent upon the frailty of his -physical constitution, he was a man of great simplicity and charm of -manner.</p> - -<p>The love that he had for the things of outward nature was clearly a -passionate possession that absorbed his life. Of the teeming life of the -country, from the waving ears of corn down to the minutest flower or the -smallest insect that inhabited the shadowed world at their feet, he was -a loving and constant observer whose eyes never wearied in their task. -With Jefferies the enjoyment begotten of this watchful brooding over the -things of the country was, I think, all-sufficing. He seemed never -desirous to link it in association with any more directly human impulse -or emotion, and in this way his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_164">{164}</a></span> writings, as it seems to me, make a -separate claim, distinct from that of any other author, whether in -poetry or in prose, who have confessed a like passion for the beauty of -the outward world.</p> - -<p>I was fortunate in securing several very beautiful contributions from -his pen, some of which gained an added interest from the delightful -illustrations of Mr. Alfred Parsons, who found himself in full sympathy -with Jefferies’s purposes and design. At a later date Jefferies was -associated in the same way with my friend Mr. North, whose delicate -drawings showed a quick sympathy with the mood of the writer; and I know -that Jefferies highly appreciated the gentle hospitality which Mr. North -afforded him in the later days of his declining health.</p> - -<p>Another figure which comes back to me among the vivid memories of those -editorial days is that of Mr. Lawrence Oliphant—surely one of the -strangest, most gifted, and fascinating characters of the time in which -his chequered career was passed. No one who met Oliphant could be -insensible to his charms, and yet, as one sat in the man’s presence, it -was always with a feeling of wonder and amazement at the many -vicissitudes of his life.</p> - -<p>I knew him personally only towards the close of his career, when he -offered to me for publication a series of articles on “The Lake of -Tiberias,” which were to be illustrated by his wife. This was during one -of his brief visits to England from the Holy Land, where he had made his -home, and he would sometimes lunch with me at the Garrick Club, holding -me enthralled, while the passing hours sped by unnoticed, as he unfolded -his views of life, drawn<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_165">{165}</a></span> from the deep fund of a rich experience won in -many changing occupations.</p> - -<p>Brilliant and witty, earnest and often eloquent in his most serious -moods, there was scarcely more than a hint in his conversation of those -shifting impulses, now so passionately held and again so swiftly -abandoned, that had made of his career something of a wonder to the -world. Unhappily the task which he and his wife had jointly undertaken -for the Magazine, led to her untimely death, from sudden fever, upon the -very shores of the lake where she was engaged upon the illustrations for -his article.</p> - -<p>One of the things which gave me most pleasure in my record as an editor -was the encouragement that I was enabled to afford to that gifted young -draughtsman Hugh Thomson, on the threshold of his career.</p> - -<p>I remember very well the day he first entered my office. He was wholly -unknown to me, and without any introduction save that which he presented -himself in the form of a number of drawings enclosed in a portfolio that -he bore in his hand. With the face of a mere boy, and most emphatically -an Irish boy, it seemed to me, as I looked at him, scarcely possible -that the drawings that he showed me were from his own hand.</p> - -<p>They comprised, I remember, a series of illustrations to <i>Vanity Fair</i>, -and despite the confessed immaturity of their execution, they exhibited, -as I thought, such fineness of perception, and such an intuitive sense -of humour, that I was at once anxious to learn from him what he had -already published.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_166">{166}</a></span></p> - -<p>His reply, perhaps made with a little reluctance, was that he had -published nothing, and again the suspicion recurred to me that this -nervous youth, who stood in such evident anxiety before me, must somehow -have become possessed of these drawings which he was trying to palm off -as his own. He was, as I found on questioning him, engaged in making -drawings for trade advertisements in the firm of Maclure, Macdonald and -Macgregor, confessedly not a very promising experience upon which to -base his claim to be engaged on the staff of an established magazine.</p> - -<p>And yet, as I looked first at him and then at the drawings he had -submitted to me, I felt I could not let him go without a trial, and, -still in my doubtful mood, I suggested to him that he should execute a -drawing, the subject of which was to be chosen by me, and that I would -give him a fortnight to see what he could make of it.</p> - -<p>Almost at hazard I asked him to make a drawing illustrating the social -life of Pall Mall during the later days of the eighteenth century, and -the quick look of pleasure with which he accepted the task at once drove -from my mind any remnant of suspicion with which I had at first received -him. Within a fortnight he returned with a very remarkable essay for a -youth, and I afterwards published it in the pages of the Magazine.</p> - -<p>From that day he became a constant contributor to its pages, and when -the series of drawings illustrating Sir Roger de Coverley were -ultimately gathered into book form, he at once made his mark with all -who were competent to judge.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_020" style="width: 413px;"> -<a href="images/i_167fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_167fp.jpg" width="413" height="509" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Hollyer</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>JAMES MARTINEAU</p> - -<p>From the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 167.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_167">{167}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /><br /> -<small>ORATORS</small></h2> - -<p>From a very early time the art of oratory attracted me strongly. I -remember, as a boy, my father reading to us the full report in the -<i>Times</i> of Edwin James’s defence of Orsini; and in later days, during my -apprenticeship in the city, I began from time to time to attend debates -in the House of Commons.</p> - -<p>It was at about the same time that my friend Alan Skinner and I used to -find ourselves Sunday after Sunday in the little chapel in Great -Portland Street listening to the great Unitarian preacher, James -Martineau.</p> - -<p>Though not a constant church-goer, I had the opportunity of hearing most -of the foremost pulpit orators of that day, including men as opposite in -their styles as Spurgeon, Canon Liddon, and Dean Stanley. Liddon’s voice -was a great possession, but his eloquence was not of a kind that -specially attracted me; and Dean Stanley, though his preaching was -impressive, scarcely ranked as an orator. On the other hand, Spurgeon’s -unquestioned power over his audience constantly puzzled me. I was drawn -again and again to his great tabernacle simply from the desire to -discover, if I could, the secret of his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_168">{168}</a></span> authority; to understand if it -were possible the means by which he contrived to sway the vast crowds -that gathered to hear him. But I remained to the end baffled in my -inquiries and, as regards my own personal impressions, entirely -unconvinced by the exercise of a gift that for the multitude possessed -an obvious fascination. It may be said, of course, that his appeal was -intended to be merely popular, but I found in the case of other speakers -who owned no loftier mission that it has been impossible not to realise -in some degree the source of their influence. From Spurgeon’s preaching -I derived no such satisfaction; the impression left upon me never passed -beyond cold disappointment.</p> - -<p>With Martineau the case was wholly different. To my feeling, he easily -distanced all his contemporaries in the pulpit, and the impression left -upon me to-day is, that he and John Bright stand out as the two greatest -speakers of their generation.</p> - -<p>Though widely divergent in manner, they both possessed an unequalled -power of impressing an audience with the sense of ethical fervour and -elevation of spirit.</p> - -<p>There was no sentence of Martineau’s sermons that was not carefully -balanced and considered, and yet even the most complex passages of -philosophic thought were illumined and sustained by the sense of a -passionate love for the truth he was seeking to expound. In every -sentence the white light of reason was shot with fire; and although I -think his sermons were always prepared and written, they had the effect, -as he delivered them, of springing directly from the heart of the man. -He seemed less of a</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_021" style="width: 398px;"> -<a href="images/i_169fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_169fp.jpg" width="398" height="519" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Emery Walker</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>JOHN BRIGHT</p> - -<p>From the painting by <span class="smcap">Walter William Ouless</span>, R.A., in the National -Portrait Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 169.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_169">{169}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">preacher than a seer; and although he never strove for rhetorical -display, even the most logical exposition as it fell from his lips was -charged with some thing of poetic impulse and inspiration.</p> - -<p>And in his case eloquence was enforced by a noble presence. The -beautiful portrait by Mr. Watts recalls, without exaggeration of -dignity, the man himself as he stood there in the dimly lit chapel in -Great Portland Street; and in gazing again at those chiselled features -that seemed moulded by Nature to serve the speaker’s purpose, I can -almost hear again the tones of that deep sonorous voice which, in its -grave and impassioned utterances, stamped every separate word with -something of the high fervour that so manifestly inspired the preacher.</p> - -<p>It was, I think, in virtue of this same quality of spiritual elevation -that the oratory of John Bright stood beyond the reach of rivalry. -Bright never attempted the complexity of thought that distinguished so -many of Martineau’s essays in the pulpit. He laid no claim to the -philosophical spirit as it was understood by Martineau, but he -possessed, even in a greater degree, the power of lifting every topic he -discussed into a higher spiritual atmosphere than any other speaker of -his time could command. And yet this unsurpassed power which he wielded -over an audience was secured by the simplest means, and often in the -simplest language.</p> - -<p>In choice of the fitting word Bright was almost faultless. The great -English poets, as we know, he had deeply studied, and, indeed, no one -who was not sensitive to the finer moods of poetic feeling could have -forged such exquisite prose.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_170">{170}</a></span></p> - -<p>I remember my old schoolmaster, Dr. Hill, had been present at the public -breakfast given to William Lloyd Garrison in the year 1867, in -recognition of his efforts for the abolition of slavery. He told me -there was a point in the speech where, after gathering in Miltonic -catalogue the names of the many distinguished men who had been -associated with the movement, Bright turned to his audience with the -added sentence, “and of noble women not a few.” And Dr. Hill said that -these simple words stirred his hearers to a feeling of deepest emotion, -so magical had been the effect of Bright’s superb voice as it passed, in -brief tribute of homage, from one name to another.</p> - -<p>This is an illustration, of which many more can be quoted, of how -impossible it is in the case of an orator so great as Bright to realise -that astounding influence from any mere printed record of his speeches.</p> - -<p>I myself was present and heard the great oration he delivered at St. -James’s Hall, in 1866, on the subject of Reform. There had been some -turbulent episodes during the Reform agitation in London, and on one -occasion, when the right of meeting in the Park had been refused by the -Government, the railings had been thrown down by the crowd, who had -overborne the forces at the disposal of the authorities.</p> - -<p>In certain quarters John Bright had been accused of encouraging the -populace to such acts of violence, and in the speech to which I refer -there was a passage in which he indignantly hurled back upon his enemies -this unworthy suggestion.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_171">{171}</a></span></p> - -<p>“These opponents of ours,” he said, “many of them in Parliament openly, -and many of them secretly in the Press, have charged us with being the -promoters of a dangerous excitement. They say we are the source of the -danger which threatens; they have absolutely the effrontery to charge me -with being the friend of public disorder. I am one of the people. Surely -if there be one thing in a free country more dear than another, it is -that any one of the people may speak openly to the people. If I speak to -the people of their rights, and indicate to them the way to secure them, -if I speak of their danger and the monopolies of power, am I not a wise -counsellor, both to the people and to their rulers? Suppose I stood at -the foot of Vesuvius or Etna, and, seeing a hamlet or a homestead -planted on its slope, I said to the dwellers in that hamlet or in that -homestead, ‘You see that vapour which ascends from the summit of the -mountain? That vapour may become a dense black smoke that will obscure -the sky. You see that trickling of lava from the crevices or fissures in -the side of the mountain? That trickling lava may become a river of -fire. You hear that muttering in the bowels of the mountain? That -muttering may become a bellowing thunder, the voice of a violent -convulsion that may shake half a continent. You know that at your feet -is the grave of great cities for which there is no resurrection, as -history tells us; that dynasties and aristocracies have passed away and -their name has been known no more for ever.’ If I say this to the -dwellers upon the slope of the mountain, and if there comes hereafter a -catastrophe which makes<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_172">{172}</a></span> the world to shudder, am I responsible for that -catastrophe? I did not build the mountain, or fill it with explosive -materials. I merely warned the men who were in danger.”</p> - -<p>As these words stand on the printed page it is not possible to gather -from them their extraordinary influence upon the packed masses of the -crowded hall. Throughout the whole passage his hearers were held as -though by magnetic influence; and as he passed from image to image of -the long metaphor he had adopted, there was a hushed stillness that was -almost oppressive.</p> - -<p>Never prodigal of gesture, his slightest movement became for that reason -the more significant and dramatic. The greater part of his speech had -been delivered with the tips of his fingers just touching the table -before him, content, for all accompaniment to the words he uttered, to -rely upon the swiftly changing expression of his leonine face, which -seemed to mirror in its noble dignity the very soul and spirit of the -man.</p> - -<p>But when he came to the words, “You hear that muttering in the bowels of -the mountain?” he raised his hand to his ear, and at the call of that -simple gesture it seemed to us who listened to him as though he had -summoned into the very hall itself the sound he had only suggested in -words. The effect was as though the building in which we sat was -actually threatened, and it was with a sense almost of relief that the -deafening cheers broke forth as he brought this noble vindication of his -own character to an end.</p> - -<p>It is said that Bright’s speeches were always<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_173">{173}</a></span> very carefully prepared, -and that in particular his perorations were verbally committed to -memory. If this be so, it forms the very highest tribute to his -intuitive sense of the true functions of an orator, for there is not one -of all the many splendid conclusions of his speeches which might not, as -it was uttered, have been forged in the white heat of the moment.</p> - -<p>No preparation, whatever labour it may have involved, ever tempted him -to depart from that strict simplicity of language which formed his -crowning gift as a speaker. What, for instance, could be more instinct -with the mood of the moment, more directly inspired by the passionate -enthusiasm of the men he addressed, than that wonderful ending to his -speech in Glasgow delivered only two months before the address in St. -James’s Hall at which I was present.</p> - -<p>“If a class has failed,” he said, “let us try the nation. That is our -faith, that is our purpose, that is our cry: let us try the nation. This -it is which has called together this countless number of people who -demand a change, and as I think of it, and of these gatherings sublime -in their vastness and in their resolution, I think I see, as it were, -above the hill-tops of time, the glimmerings of the dawn of a better and -a nobler day for the country and for the people that I love so well.”</p> - -<p>However careful in his custom of preparation, there were certainly -occasions when Mr. Bright could speak with equal effect on the spur of -the moment. A splendid example of his power in this respect was afforded -at that same meeting at St. James’s Hall when, on the conclusion of Mr. -Brigh<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_174">{174}</a></span>t’s address, some indiscreet remarks were offered by Mr. Ayrton, -which seemed to imply a reproach against the Queen for her indifference -towards the movement that was then in progress.</p> - -<p>Without a moment’s pause Mr. Bright rose in sudden indignation, and in a -few passionate sentences vindicated the character of his sovereign.</p> - -<p>“But Mr. Ayrton referred further,” he said, “to a supposed absorption of -the sympathies of the Queen with her late husband, to the exclusion of -sympathy for and with the people. I am not accustomed to stand up in -defence of those who are possessors of crowns, but I could not sit here -and hear that observation without a sense of wonder and of pain. I think -there has been, by many persons, a great injustice done to the Queen in -reference to her desolate and widowed position. And I venture to say -this: that a woman—be she the Queen of a great Realm, or be she the -wife of one of your labouring men—who can keep alive in her heart a -great sorrow for the lost object of her life and affection, is not at -all likely to be wanting in a great and generous sympathy with <i>you</i>.”</p> - -<p>Although the dominant quality of Mr. Bright’s oratory lay in the almost -biblical simplicity and gravity of the spirit which inspired it, there -were times when he could show a quick command of a lighter mood.</p> - -<p>I happened to be present in the House of Commons when he attacked with -admirable raillery Mr. Horsman and Mr. Lowe, who had retired into what -Mr. Bright described as their political Cave of Adullam. He kept the -House in a mood of continual<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_175">{175}</a></span> amusement, which culminated at last in his -well-known reference to the Scotch terrier.</p> - -<p>Seizing upon the fact that Mr. Horsman’s party seemed at present to -consist of only two members, he added: “When a party is formed of two -men so amiable, so discreet, as the two right honourable gentlemen, we -may hope to see for the first time in Parliament a party perfectly -harmonious and distinguished by mutual and unbroken trust. But there is -one difficulty which it is impossible to remove. This party of two -reminds me of the Scotch terrier which was so covered with hair that you -could not tell which was the head and which was the tail of it.”</p> - -<p>Millais’s portrait of John Bright does less than justice to the dignity -of his face. It may be that the artist was confronted by his task at too -late a period in Bright’s life; certain it is that as I recall him in -the years 1866 and 1867 there were elements of beauty in the face, both -as regards colouring and expression, that are not to be found in the -later portrait.</p> - -<p>In this respect it compares unfavourably, I think, with the great -painter’s superb representation of Mr. Gladstone’s features. I heard Mr. -Gladstone many times in the House of Commons, but I must frankly own -that even in its highest moments his oratory never to my thinking came -to within even measurable distance with that of John Bright.</p> - -<p>In readiness of debate I suppose he had no superior on either side of -the House, but the complexity of his mind, with its ever-watchful care -to temper each direct and simple statement with what<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_176">{176}</a></span> the speaker -conceived to be its necessary qualifications, was mirrored in the often -overburdened structure of his lengthened periods; and yet even in this -defect the unflagging energy and sustained intellectual agility of the -speaker were constantly exhibited.</p> - -<p>I fancy no orator of his own or any other time could so safely conduct -himself through the sinuous ways of a prolonged sentence with a sense of -such security to the hearers that there would be no lapse or failure in -the ordered arrangement of its many modifying clauses. On constant -provocation he often spoke with a fire that enabled him to liberate -himself from the entangled meshes of parenthesis which haunted him in -his more considered utterances, and I remember being present in the -House during the dramatic little scene between him and Disraeli which -showed these two parliamentary gladiators at their best.</p> - -<p>Somewhat rashly, perhaps, Disraeli had indulged in a sarcastic reference -to Mr. Gladstone’s earlier adherence to Tory principles, and at the -conclusion of his speech Mr. Gladstone, springing to his feet, retorted -upon his opponent with telling effect by reminding the Conservative -statesman that he himself had once sought to win the Liberal vote.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>The right honourable gentleman, secure I suppose in the knowledge -of his own consistency, has taunted me with the political errors of -my boyhood. The right honourable gentleman, when he addressed the -honourable member for Westminster [J. Stuart Mill], took occasion -to show his magnanimity, for he declared that he would not take the -philosopher to task for what he wrote<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_177">{177}</a></span> twenty-five years ago. But -when he caught one who thirty-five years ago, just emerged from -boyhood and still an undergraduate at Oxford, had expressed an -opinion adverse to the Reform Bill of 1832, of which he had so long -and bitterly repented, then the right honourable gentleman could -not resist the temptation that offered itself to his appetite for -effect. He, a parliamentary champion of twenty years’ standing, and -the leader, as he informs us to-night, of the Tory party, is so -ignorant of the House of Commons, or so simple in the structure of -his mind, that he positively thought he would obtain a -parliamentary advantage by exhibiting me to the public view for -reprobation as an opponent of the Reform Bill of 1832. Sir, as the -right honourable gentleman has done me the honour thus to exhibit -me, let me for a moment trespass on the patience of the House to -exhibit myself. What he has stated is true. I deeply regret it. But -I was bred under the shadow of the great name of Canning; every -influence connected with that name governed the first political -impressions of my childhood and my youth; with Mr. Canning I -rejoiced in the removal of religious disabilities from the Roman -Catholic body, and in the free and truly British tone which he gave -to our policy abroad; with Mr. Canning I rejoiced in the opening he -made towards the establishment of free commercial interchanges -between nations; with Mr. Canning, and under the shadow of that -great name, and under the shadow of the yet more venerable name of -Burke, I grant my youthful mind and imagination were impressed with -the same idle and futile fears which still bewilder and distract -the mature mind of the right honourable gentleman. I had conceived -that very same fear, that ungovernable alarm, at the first Reform -Bill in the days of my undergraduate career at Oxford which the -right honourable gentleman now feels; and the only difference -between us is this—I thank him for bringing it into view by his -quotation—that, having those views, I, as it would appear, moved -the Oxford Union Debating<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_178">{178}</a></span> Society to express them clearly, -plainly, forcibly, in downright English, while the right honourable -gentleman does not dare to tell the nation what it is that he -really thinks, and is content to skulk under the meaningless -amendment which is proposed by the noble Lord. And now, sir, I quit -the right honourable gentleman; I leave him to his reflections, and -I envy him not one particle of the polemical advantage which he has -gained by his discreet reference to the proceedings of the Oxford -Union Debating Society in the year of grace 1831....</p> - -<p>I came among you [the Liberal party] an outcast from those with -whom I associated, driven from them, I admit, by no arbitrary act, -but by the slow and resistless forces of conviction. I came among -you, to make use of the legal phraseology, <i>in pauperis forma</i>. I -had nothing to offer you but faithful and honourable service. You -received me as Dido received the shipwrecked Aeneas—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ejectum littore egentem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Accepi—<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">and I only trust you may not hereafter at any time have to complete -the sentence in regard to me—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Et regni demens in parte locavi.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>You received me with kindness, indulgence, generosity, and I may -even say with some measure of confidence. And the relation between -us has assumed such a form that you can never be my debtors, but -that I must for ever be in your debt.”</p></div> - -<p>It was only in later years that I met Mr. Gladstone personally, on the -occasion of his annual visits to the Grosvenor or the New Gallery, and -it was always then interesting to watch the extraordinary diligence of -observation with which he studied every picture upon the walls, all the -while with pencil in hand carefully noting in the margin of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_179">{179}</a></span> his -catalogue the impression which each separate work had made upon him.</p> - -<p>It was in connection with the opening of the New Gallery in the year -1888 that a little incident recurs to my memory that bears witness to -the constant alertness of his powers of observation.</p> - -<p>After completing a survey of one of the larger rooms, he was about to -take leave of me with the remark that he had seen as much as he could -reasonably enjoy upon a single visit, and that he would return another -day to complete his study of the remaining galleries. It happened that -year that we had rather a remarkable piece of sculpture by a young -artist who had suddenly died after the work had been sent in for -exhibition, and I was anxious before he went to ascertain Mr. -Gladstone’s opinion of the statue.</p> - -<p>“Before you go, Mr. Gladstone,” I said, “I should like to show you one -of the sculptured works in the central hall which seems to me more than -remarkable.”</p> - -<p>“Stay!” he cried. “Let me first show it to you,” and then without a -moment’s hesitation he set himself in front of the work I had in my -mind.</p> - -<p>“Is it this?” he said; and on my replying in the affirmative, “I was -surprised,” he added, “when we passed through the hall that you did not -direct my attention to so remarkable a work.”</p> - -<p>It happened at the Grosvenor Gallery that it also fell to my lot to -conduct Lord Beaconsfield round the exhibition of drawings by the old -masters then arranged upon the walls. The contrast<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_180">{180}</a></span> between the two men -showed itself characteristically enough on the occasion to which I -refer.</p> - -<p>With sphinx-like face, and with hardly a spoken word, Lord Beaconsfield -passed from the work of one great master to another, raising his -eye-glass as he went, but displaying by no change of expression either -criticism or appreciation, and at the finish he gracefully took his -leave with a sentence that seemed to me, as he uttered it, to have been -made ready for ultimate use even before he had entered the Gallery.</p> - -<p>The drawings of Titian and Giorgione, of Michael Angelo, Raphael and -Leonardo da Vinci, had apparently left him cold.</p> - -<p>“I thank you,” he said, “for having been so good as to point out to me -the examples of the great masters you admire, but I think for my part I -prefer the eclectic school of the Caracci.”</p> - -<p>In that one sentence he seemed to bring back the atmosphere of his -earlier novels, and to image the taste of England at a time when -connoisseurs made the grand tour.</p> - -<p>His preference for the fashion of an earlier date in all matters -appertaining to taste was, I suppose, deeply implanted in Disraeli’s -nature, and I remember a story told me by Sir William Harcourt, which -illustrates with what quiet and restrained sarcasm he could sometimes -receive the announcement of a more modern development of thought.</p> - -<p>It was during one of Sir William Harcourt’s visits to Hughenden that -Disraeli turned to him after dinner and said, “Harcourt, I have had two -young gentlemen from Oxford staying with me<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_181">{181}</a></span> lately, and it seems from -what I have learned from them that our judgments in all literary matters -are sadly old-fashioned. These young gentlemen assured me that, -according to the accepted canons of the present day, the late Lord Byron -is to be admired, not so much for his qualities as a poet, as for the -beauty of his moral character.”</p> - -<p>Lord Beaconsfield’s appearance, as expressed in his dress, even at that -later date when I first came in contact with him, still retained -something of the florid taste that had characterised him as a youth. The -bright colours he chose to affect stood in striking contrast with the -impassive pallor of a countenance that seemed, as it gazed out upon the -world, like some insoluble riddle of the East. The racial -characteristics of his face were sufficiently marked, but the sense of -death-like stillness that pervaded it gave it something of historic -remoteness and antique calm. He looked out upon the present as though -from the recesses of a buried past, and of all the representatives of -his nation whom I have known, he appeared to me the only one who -possessed in any pre-eminent degree the quality of self-possession in -manner and bearing.</p> - -<p>These external attributes served as the index of that extraordinary -power of intellectual detachment which enabled him to sway the passions -of others and to control his own. Such unquestioned authority as he -ultimately acquired over the Tory party could, perhaps, only have been -achieved by one who used their prejudices without sharing them, and who -could appeal to their deeply rooted convictions rather as an artist than -as a partisan.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_182">{182}</a></span></p> - -<p>As a speaker, he affected more of florid grace than was quite congenial -to the taste of the time or the sympathies of his hearers, and his -choice of language, whether in his novels or in his speeches, was -sometimes insecurely poised between a leaning towards ornament that was -sometimes tawdry, and a genuine and convincing eloquence.</p> - -<p>Here again the racial characteristics were apt to assert themselves, and -such a phrase as he employed at the conclusion of the Abyssinian -War—that we had set the standard of St. George upon the mountains of -Rasselas—may be taken as an instance of an essay in the sublime that -verges nearly upon the ridiculous.</p> - -<p>I heard him for the first time when he introduced his great Reform Bill -in 1867, and his gestures also struck me then as often bordering upon -the grotesque.</p> - -<p>I can recall his attitude now as he drew towards the close of his speech -with his arms folded and his head sunk upon his breast, rolling out in a -voice, that I confess had for me neither intrinsic beauty of tone nor -perfect accent of sincerity, the carefully forged phrases which formed -the close of his peroration.</p> - -<p>“Those who take a larger and a nobler view of human affairs,” he said, -“will, I think, recognise that, alone in the countries of Europe, -England now, for almost countless generations, has—by her -Parliament—established the fair exemplar of free government, and that, -throughout the awful vicissitudes of her heroic history, she -has—chiefly by this House of Commons—maintained and cherished that -public spirit which is the soul of Commonwealth, without which Empire -has no glory, and the wealth<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_183">{183}</a></span> of nations is but the means of corruption -and decay.”</p> - -<p>Earlier passages of that same speech had been marked by brilliant -flashes of humour and sarcasm, showing, here as always, his incomparable -power of registering in a single sentence the characteristics of a cause -he desired to condemn.</p> - -<p>I remember in particular a reference to Professor Goldwin Smith which -was very happily expressed.</p> - -<p>“Why, the other day,” he said, “a rampant orator who goes about the -country maligning men and things, went out of his way to assail me, -saying, ‘Where now are the 4000 freeholders of Buckinghamshire?’ Why, -sir, they are where you would naturally expect to find them—they are in -the county of Buckingham. I can pardon this wild man, who has probably -lived in the cloisters of some abbey, making this mistake ...” etc.</p> - -<p>There are orators who are not orators, and who yet, by some undefinable -power of personality, exercise an extraordinary authority upon their -hearers. In this class, and I should be disposed to think foremost in -this class, must be set Mr. Parnell, whose acquaintance I made at the -house of Sir George Lewis about the date of the publication of the -famous letter in the <i>Times</i>.</p> - -<p>To me that letter had seemed from the first a manifest forgery, and I -had made several small bets in the Garrick Club that it would be so -proved whenever it was made the subject of a judicial investigation.</p> - -<p>Mr. Parnell’s comment when I told him of my confidence as to the result -was tinged with a certain<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_184">{184}</a></span> sadness that was, I think, a constant quality -of his nature.</p> - -<p>“You may make your mind quite easy upon that point,” he said. “I only -wish I felt as sure that every incident, in what has been practically a -revolution, would redound as surely to the credit of the Irish people. -But it is inevitable,” he added, “that such a movement must of necessity -call into being forces which it is beyond the power of any single -individual to control.”</p> - -<p>Through his chief whip Mr. Richard Power, a dear friend and companion of -the Garrick Club, Mr. Parnell had offered me a seat as one of the Irish -party, but although I had then, and still retain, complete sympathy with -the principles of Home Rule, I felt it would be impossible for me as an -Englishman to yield such complete surrender of my independent judgment -as was demanded by the parliamentary tactics of the party.</p> - -<p>A little later I heard Mr. Parnell in the House of Commons on one of the -few occasions when his rigid self-control yielded to a moment of almost -uncontrollable passion.</p> - -<p>The subject under debate was this same forged letter which had imposed -upon the credulity of the <i>Times</i>, and it was Mr. Parnell’s natural -desire that this imputation which so deeply affected his character -should be made the subject of a separate and independent inquiry.</p> - -<p>His opponents, not unwisely from their point of view, desired to merge -the single issue in a general examination of the Home Rule movement, and -this view had been, at an earlier period of the debate,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_185">{185}</a></span> strongly -enforced by Mr. Chamberlain in a speech of icy coldness that seemed to -withhold the last particle of sympathy from a man who had been so -grossly attacked.</p> - -<p>The tone of Mr. Chamberlain’s speech, for it was a matter rather of tone -than of substance, must have deeply incensed Mr. Parnell, for as he -rose, with the usual pallor of his face deepened to an ashen whiteness, -the trembling tones of his voice were, it was obvious, scarcely under -control.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>I have not, sir, had an opportunity before this of thanking the -right honourable gentleman the member for West Birmingham for his -kind references to me, and for the unsolicited character he was -kind enough to give me when he last addressed the House a few -nights since. He spoke of me not long ago, when he said he -entertained a better opinion of me than he does to-day. I care very -little for the opinion of the right honourable gentleman. I have -never put forward men to do dangerous things which I shrank from -doing myself, nor have I betrayed the secrets of my colleagues in -Council. My principal recollection of the right honourable -gentleman before he became a minister is that he was always most -anxious to put me forward and my friends forward to do work which -he was afraid to do himself. And after he became a minister my -principal recollection of him is that he was always most anxious to -betray to us the secrets and counsels of his colleagues in the -Cabinet, and to endeavour, while sitting beside these colleagues -and while in consultation with them, to undermine their counsels -and their plans in our favour. If this inquiry is extended into -these matters—and I see no reason why it should not—I shall be -able to make good my words by documentary evidence that is not -forged.</p></div> - -<p>The withering scorn with which these final sentences were delivered, the -tall slim figure visibly<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_186">{186}</a></span> shaken by emotion, recall an unforgettable -image of the man as he stood erect in his place below the gangway.</p> - -<p>But a still more dramatic scene of that time occurred during the trial -itself on the day when the forger Mr. Pigott was to be put into the box. -I shall not easily forget the breathless interest of the Court when the -Attorney-General called Mr. Inglis, the expert in hand-writing.</p> - -<p>The witness was arranging his papers on the desk before him when Sir -Charles Russell rose in his place and in strong but measured tones said, -“My lords, I shall decline to cross-examine this witness until Mr. -Pigott has been put into the box.”</p> - -<p>This produced a quick protest from the Attorney-General, who, as he -declared, was not to be dictated to by his learned friend as to the -manner in which he should conduct his case.</p> - -<p>But again Sir Charles Russell rose, and again in the same vibrating -voice announced his determination as before.</p> - -<p>There was a pause for a moment’s whispered interchange of opinion among -the judges on the Bench, and then Mr. Justice Hannen, in a voice that -was never loud but which even in its lowest tones could always command -authority, conveyed to the Attorney-General the intimation that, without -any intention of dictating to him the course he should take, they were -all clearly of opinion that Mr. Pigott ought to be put into the box -without delay.</p> - -<p>Sir Richard Webster yielded, and Mr. Pigott was called; and then, when -the examination-in-chief was complete, began that cross-examination by<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_187">{187}</a></span> -Sir Charles Russell which stands out as the main dramatic episode in -that great historic trial.</p> - -<p>The advocate was at his best, and when Sir Charles Russell was at his -best his time knew no equal. As question followed question in quick -pursuit, the unhappy witness seemed to crumble away beneath his hand.</p> - -<p>But the hour of adjournment came before the wretched man, driven from -point to point, had finally succumbed, and, as subsequent events proved, -the brilliant cross-examination of Sir Charles Russell was destined to -have no close.</p> - -<p>On the next morning, when Pigott was again called, there was no answer; -and after a sufficient pause to give time for his arrival, Sir Charles -rose and applied for a warrant for his arrest.</p> - -<p>I went with Mr. Parnell and Sir George Lewis to Bow Street to obtain -from the magistrate the issue of the warrant, and I remember, as a comic -incident in our brief passage along the Strand, that a little street -urchin vending newspapers, who, with the sharpness of the London boy, -was already well informed of what had taken place, danced in front of -the Irish statesman and bowing with mock gravity said, “Charlie, you’ve -done it nice.”</p> - -<p>At that time one of my brothers was staying in Madrid, and on the -following night I was awakened about two o’clock by the arrival of a -telegram which said: “A man whom I am sure is Pigott has committed -suicide here in the hotel.”</p> - -<p>And so ended this extraordinary episode which at one time had threatened -to drive from public life one of the most remarkable men of his time. -That<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_188">{188}</a></span> he was finally hounded from the leadership of his party speaks, I -think, but little for the reputation of those of his comrades who joined -in the attack; and less still—as I have always felt—for Mr. Gladstone, -whose part in that unworthy transaction was not altogether consistent -with the high courage that he usually exhibited in public affairs.</p> - -<p>Parnell’s was undoubtedly a strange inscrutable character. He was -imperfectly understood even by the party he so imperiously controlled: -he had, I think, but little desire to be understood. Power used to tell -me that on the occasion of an important debate his closest associates -never knew with any certainty whether he would be present; and yet once -present they knew beyond all question that his will would dominate them -all.</p> - -<p>It was indeed impossible to be in his company without being sensible of -the strength of his personality. His reserve was impenetrable, and yet -he could yield to sudden gusts of emotion which revealed as by a -lightning flash the strong nervous tension by means of which his -self-possession was held and preserved. I think he himself was always -conscious of the degree of secrecy, almost, one might say, of mystery, -that cloaked his life even in matters where secrecy could have no -purpose or significance. He told me once that if he had occasion to -consult a doctor, even for the most trifling ailment, he always withheld -his name, and such was the habit of reserve that had grafted itself upon -his life, that he seemed almost surprised the custom was not common to -all the world.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_189">{189}</a></span></p> - -<p>Some of the American ambassadors sent to this country have been notable -speakers, amongst them Mr. James Russell Lowell and Mr. Choate. Mr. -Bayard also, though not perhaps possessed of an equal natural gift, -could on occasion be deeply impressive.</p> - -<p>I remember at a dinner of the Actors’ Benevolent Fund, in 1895, he -extricated himself with considerable grace and tact from a somewhat -awkward predicament. The dinner was held on the 18th of December, and it -had been arranged that I should propose the toast of “Friends across the -Sea,” to which Mr. Bayard was to respond. But it so happened on that -very day had come President Cleveland’s unhappy message to Congress -about Venezuela, a message so entirely unexpected: and at the same time -so warlike and menacing in its tone, that the tenor of it created -something like consternation in the mind of the English public.</p> - -<p>When I arrived Mr. Bayard was pacing alone, among the assembled guests -in the anteroom, and I ventured to suggest to Sir Francis Jeune, who was -to take the chair, that it might be wiser, in view of the circumstances, -to omit this particular toast. Sir Francis Jeune, however, was firm in -the opinion that the situation must be faced. As he observed to me, “I -hear that as a speaker you can skate over thin ice, and to-night you -have your opportunity.”</p> - -<p>All the correspondents of the chief American newspapers were present, -and all were in eager expectation to see how a difficult and delicate<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_190">{190}</a></span> -situation would be handled by the ambassador. I confess, for my own -part, that I felt a little nervous in regard to the task assigned me, -and I remember my dear friend, Sir Frank Lockwood, coming to me just -before we sat down to dinner and imploring me to say something that -might tend to soothe the irritated feeling which the unfortunate -despatch had aroused.</p> - -<p>I think I must have steered my course successfully, for at the end of my -speech Mr. Bayard, rising to respond, was received with genuine -enthusiasm by the assembled company. He was evidently deeply moved, for -his words came slowly; but he contrived also to move and impress his -audience. His opening sentences, earnestly delivered, seemed to still -the menace of war and to relieve the feeling of tension that President -Cleveland’s actions had created.</p> - -<p>“To-night,” he said, “we stand upon common ground. Mr. Comyns Carr’s -remarks have affected me deeply. There is no sea between us now.” And at -the close he added, “There is a headline used by Mr. Gladstone in the -article, ‘Our Kith and Kin beyond the Seas,’ which I would gladly recall -at this moment. In that article he used this couplet—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When love unites, wide space divides in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hands may clasp across the spreading main.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">I think it is time to repeat those words. No profession can speak them -so well as yours, and none can speak them so well, in the name of your -country or my country, as the profession that is domiciled in both -countries, and I therefore ask you<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_191">{191}</a></span> to join with me in wishing that -‘hands may clasp across the spreading main.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>As Mr. Bayard took his leave on that evening at the conclusion of the -dinner he turned to me and said, “I think things will go our way”; and -the event happily proved that he was right.</p> - -<p>With some after-dinner speakers their task sits heavily upon them, and -sets them in a state of trepidation from the commencement of the feast. -I was sitting at a dinner, given to Edmund Yates after his liberation -from prison on a charge of libel, by the side of a worthy alderman of -the City of London who was also a member of Parliament. His name was -entered upon the card in connection with the usual military toast, and -before we were half way through the dinner he begged to be excused from -further conversation in order that he might concentrate his thoughts -upon the duty he had to discharge. It was only while he was covering the -menu card with liberal pencil-notes that he realised the fact that I -also was among the speakers of the evening. He turned to me suddenly -with an expression of blank amazement on his face, and pointing to my -name inquired with an air of incredulity if it was true I was going to -speak, and when I answered in the affirmative he said, “Well, you -surprise me. I notice that you have been drinking champagne. Now,” he -said, “when I want to sway an audience I sway them on water.” And as he -drank nothing but water that evening I was prepared to be swayed. But -something must have gone wrong with the water on that occasion, and I -tremble to think to what further depths of ineptitude he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_192">{192}</a></span> might have -fallen if he had followed my pernicious habit of drinking champagne, for -after a few halting sentences, fashioned in the usual mould, he sat -down, evidently quite unconscious that he had delivered one of the -feeblest addresses ever uttered by the lips of man.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_022" style="width: 409px;"> -<a href="images/i_193fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_193fp.jpg" width="409" height="486" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Hollyer</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>LORD TENNYSON</p> - -<p>From the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 193.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_193">{193}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /><br /> -<small>SOME VICTORIAN POETS</small></h2> - -<p>Among the great literary men of the time, Lord Tennyson was the first -with whom I came into personal contact. When I was about seventeen I -used to stay sometimes with Mrs. Cameron in her house at Freshwater, in -the Isle of Wight, where her son Henry and I occupied ourselves very -earnestly in private theatricals.</p> - -<p>Farringford, where Lord Tennyson dwelt, was near by, and the first time -that I saw the poet was on the occasion of our performance of Tom -Taylor’s play, <i>Helping Hands</i>, in which I enacted the part of a Jew -dealer in musical instruments. As I came upon the little stage I felt -almost startled by the great white dome of Tennyson’s head as he sat in -the front row of the stalls.</p> - -<p>I suppose there was no man of his time in any walk of life whose -personal appearance was so striking and impressive. Watts has imaged him -well, and Millais too. But there was something in the presence of the -man himself that Art could not render, a mingled impression of beauty -and dignity, of simplicity and power, which I cannot recall as<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_194">{194}</a></span> being -combined in equal measure in any other face I have known.</p> - -<p>It is a singular fact, not I think generally recognised while they were -both living, that there are many elements of resemblance in the features -of Tennyson and Charles Dickens. I saw Dickens only once at a reading -which he gave in St. James’s Hall, and I was then deeply impressed by -the power exhibited in the upper part of the head. But it was not until -I was looking one day at a beautiful pencil-drawing which Millais had -made of Dickens after death that I perceived the striking resemblance -between them—a resemblance that was recognised by Tennyson himself, for -while this very drawing, now the property of Mrs. Perugini, was still in -Millais’s studio, Tennyson, after he had gazed at it for some time, -suddenly exclaimed, “This is the most extraordinary drawing. It is -exactly like myself.”</p> - -<p>During those early Isle of Wight days Mrs. Cameron would sometimes take -us in the evening to Farringford, where Tennyson, if he were in the -mood, would read some of his own poems. It was not reading in the -ordinary sense, but may more truly be likened to a deep organ chant, and -yet it was effective and impressive to an extraordinary degree.</p> - -<p>I remember in particular, as he recited one of the songs from the -<i>Princess</i>, the splendid cadence of his deep echoing voice as it rose -and swelled and sank and fell in almost musical response to the changing -mood of the verse:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_023" style="width: 566px;"> -<a href="images/i_194fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_194fp.jpg" width="566" height="387" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>HEAD OF CHARLES DICKENS</p> - -<p>(<i>Taken after death.</i>)</p> - -<p>From the pencil-drawing by Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. Millais</span>, Bart., P.R.A., in the -possession of Mrs. Perugini.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 194.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_195">{195}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">O love, they die in yon rich sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">They faint on hill or field or river:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our echoes roll from soul to soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And grow for ever and for ever.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>It is impossible to recapture by mere description the added beauty which -he contrived to confer upon these lines as they came from his own lips, -or even to suggest the strength and tenderness of feeling he could -command as the tones of his great voice gradually sank and died at the -close.</p> - -<p>Many years later I heard him read again in his Surrey home, whither I -had taken Mrs. Bernard Beere on the eve of the production of his play -called <i>The Promise of May</i>.</p> - -<p>He read it through to us himself, and here he adopted a more direct and -dramatic style, giving admirable point to the humour of the rustic -scenes. As we stood up to take our leave he put his hand on Mrs. Beere’s -shoulder and said, “You are tall. I am tall too. Carlyle once said to me -I ought to have been a grenadier.”</p> - -<p><i>The Promise of May</i> was not one of Tennyson’s successful essays in -dramatic writing, and it may, I think, he doubted whether he possessed -in any great degree the dramatic quality. And yet, on two occasions at -the Lyceum Theatre, under the guidance of Irving, a deep impression was -made upon the public. Both <i>The Cup</i> and <i>Becket</i> have scenes that make -a simple and dramatic appeal to the heart; and the latter, at any rate, -served to supply the actor with the material for one of his greatest -impersonations.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_196">{196}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was while Irving was rehearsing <i>Becket</i> that he told me a story of -Tennyson that has both a pathetic and humorous significance. In the -earlier days, when <i>The Cup</i> was in preparation, he had been to see -Tennyson in the Isle of Wight to discuss his ideas for its presentation. -After dinner, as he told me, the dessert and the wine were set out upon -a separate table, and when they were seated the poet asked Irving if he -would like a glass of port.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I like a glass of port,” replied the actor.</p> - -<p>Upon which Tennyson, taking him at his word, poured him out a glass of -port, and all unconsciously finished the remainder of the bottle -himself. At a later time, when <i>Becket</i> was to be presented, Tennyson -was suffering from gout and was under a strict <i>régime</i>. But the same -graceful little ceremony was observed, and again his host inquired of -Irving whether he would like a glass of port, but on this occasion, as -Irving related to me, the positions were reversed, for poor Lord -Tennyson was only permitted a single glass, and Irving finished the -bottle.</p> - -<p>Next morning the actor had to leave early, and had therefore taken leave -of his host overnight. But he had scarcely awakened when he saw Lord -Tennyson sitting at the foot of his bed.</p> - -<p>“How are you this morning, Irving?” he inquired anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Very well indeed,” was his guest’s reply.</p> - -<p>“Are you?” came the response, with just a tinge of doubt in the tones of -the voice. “You drank a lot of port last night.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_197">{197}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>I think Tennyson’s was essentially a simple nature. Certainly in his own -home he gave me that impression. His high qualities as a poet, and the -unerring refinement of taste that is stamped on almost every line of his -verse, seemed never to have disturbed or effaced a primitive strength of -character that had its roots deep in the soil. And yet he was quickly -sensitive to criticism, and would sometimes take no pains to hide his -wounds.</p> - -<p>At our last meeting he openly expressed his vexation at an unfavourable -article that had then recently appeared. He questioned me closely as to -what I thought could have been the motive of the writer, who for the -rest was not of such a rank that his censure need have disturbed the -poet’s equanimity. “What harm have I ever done to him?” he exclaimed, in -tones that seemed to me at the time almost child-like in reproach. But -it is, as I have come to think, a sure hall-mark of genius that its -weakness is very often frankly avowed. It is a part of that inward -candour that makes for greatness, the petty price that we have to pay -for the larger and nobler revelation. Lesser spirits can often contrive -to hide their littleness, but in the greatest it is nearly always -carelessly confessed.</p> - -<p>Tennyson’s simplicity would sometimes find vent in almost boyish frolic. -One evening at Farringford he was suddenly seized with the idea that he -would like to dress up one of Mrs. Cameron’s nieces in the garb of a -man. He got one of his own long coats from the hall, and with a burnt -cork himself disfigured her pretty face, daubing upon it a heavy black -moustache and imperial, and then retreating<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_198">{198}</a></span> to the other side of the -room to gaze with manifest delight upon the result of his own handiwork.</p> - -<p>The primitive side of Tennyson’s nature was aptly mirrored in the person -of his brother Horatio, who, by reason of certain well-considered -peculiarities of dress, was often mistaken by visitors to Freshwater for -the poet himself. The attention thus attracted to him he contrived to -endure with complacency; indeed, I think he was partly conscious that he -served in this way as a sort of buffer between his greater brother and -the prying curiosity of the crowd which the poet himself deeply -resented.</p> - -<p>Horatio Tennyson would often accompany Harry Cameron and myself when we -wandered over the downs with a gun in search of sea-gulls, or scoured -the neighbouring farms for rabbits. His mind, I think, moved slowly, and -there was sometimes a strong bucolic flavour in the stories he loved to -relate.</p> - -<p>Another constant companion on these rambling excursions was poor Lionel -Tennyson, the poet’s younger son, who afterwards married Frederick -Locker’s daughter. Locker himself I came to know later in the days of -the Grosvenor Gallery. I think few men have been endowed with a surer -and more delicate taste in all matters pertaining to Art. We met in -sympathy over the drawings by the old masters, of which he possessed a -few of the very choicest examples. It was, indeed, his unfailing -characteristic as a collector that all he had was of the best. And his -personality, very winning in its simplicity and refinement, responded -aptly enough to the qualities of his mind.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_199">{199}</a></span></p> - -<p>In conversation he would sometimes leap with quaint abruptness of -thought from the most abstract to the most concrete things, from the -appreciation of a drawing by Leonardo to the sudden consideration of the -price of coals. Du Maurier’s pen-and-ink drawing of him may be said to -rank as the most perfect of portraits—an exact image of the man himself -in form and feature.</p> - -<p>At the time when I first met Tennyson, I think Robert Browning had won -my larger admiration. I thought him then the greater poet of the two—I -no longer think so now; and the very qualities which so strongly -attracted me as a youth have since proved in themselves to be the source -of my altered judgment. It seems like a paradox, but I believe it to be -none the less true, that it is the intellectual quality in verse that -first most strongly attracts the younger student of poetry. So at least -it was in my case. The complexity of thought, even the obscurity of -expression which marks so much of Browning’s work, had for me then the -strongest fascination. That half-rebel note in his style, with its -defiant scorn of all accepted models of musical form and rhythmical -expression, was in itself an added allurement to the poet’s untiring -intellectual agility of which the rugged verse was but the chosen -garment. And although the spell he then exercised over my imagination -still in some degree survives, I find myself now asking of poetry less -and less for any ordered philosophy of life, and more and more for life -itself. The most nobly directed gospel that seeks an altered world -counts for little in a poet’s equipment beside the passionate<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_200">{200}</a></span> vision of -the world as it is with its unchanging heritage of joy and pain. So at -least it seems to me now and, with my modified judgment as to what -rightly constitutes the substantive part of poetry, has come an -ever-growing delight in the formal beauty of its expression. The two -elements are indeed indissolubly bound together. There is no high music -in verse that is not linked with sense, no thought that is rightly a -poet’s thought that may not find its fitting melody. And it is because -Tennyson, despite his confessed limitations on the side of passion, more -constantly than his fellows held fast to the true office of the poet, -that he stands among them all as their undisputed master.</p> - -<p>In every art the last word is simplicity. There is no phase of thought -or feeling rightly admissible into the domain of poetry that the might -of genius may not force to simple utterance. It is this which -constitutes the final triumph of all the greatest wizards of our tongue, -of Shakespeare as of Milton; of Wordsworth no less than of Keats. All of -them found a way to wed the subtlest music with the simplest speech, -striving with ever-increasing severity for that chastened perfection of -form which stands as the last and the surest test of the presence of -supreme poetic genius.</p> - -<p>So much cannot be said of Browning. There is enough and to spare in the -great body of his work to leave his position as a poet unassailed, but -there is more to prove that, beside the purely poetic impulse, there -were other forces working in his nature, which, in so far as they -prevail, must tend to rob the result of that faultless music which -alone</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_024" style="width: 437px;"> -<a href="images/i_201fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_201fp.jpg" width="437" height="547" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Hollyer</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>ROBERT BROWNING</p> - -<p>From the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 201.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_201">{201}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">can give to verse its final right of survival. This is doubtless true -also of Wordsworth, but in his case the good and the bad are easily -separable, and the good at its best is flawless. But with Browning the -conflicting elements of his genius are so closely locked together that -the task of selection is not so easy, and the triumph, even when it has -to be acknowledged, is not so secure.</p> - -<p>And yet, for all who then came under his influence, the charm can never -quite be broken. He spoke to those of us who first learned to know him -in our youth with a quickened authority that nothing can quite destroy. -The faults which time now thrusts forward were hardly then matter for -pardon. For those who come after they may indeed serve to set his fame -in peril, but the message he had for us was so overwhelming in its -appeal that we forgot the crabbed hand in which it was transcribed.</p> - -<p>In one respect, and in one respect only, Browning the poet found an echo -in Browning as he was known to his friends. That brave optimism of -spirit, with its constant nobility of outlook on the facts of life which -so finely distinguishes his writing, was also, I think, characteristic -of the man. It was always a spiritual refreshment to meet him. The fact -that he was a poet was, indeed, a secret he took some pains to conceal. -In this respect, except for rare lapses of noble enthusiasm, he -preferred to preserve a kind of austere incognito; but at the same time -he contrived to convey even in the simplest converse with the most -ordinary people a sense of personal detachment that never<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_202">{202}</a></span>theless left -them free to feel at their ease. And yet, often as I have seen him -apparently content with associates who were manifestly his inferiors in -intellect, and even in spirit, I cannot recall a time when his own -personality ever seemed to suffer by the contact.</p> - -<p>I suppose no man of his generation responded so readily to the call of -hospitality. He was to be met everywhere, and so keen was his zest in -the ordinary traffic of social life that he seemed at times to be -indifferent to his choice of associates. There was something in his own -power of drawing entertainment from an evening passed in the society of -friends that no measure of dulness in his surroundings seemed capable of -abating.</p> - -<p>He preserved in all companies a constant alertness of spirit, an -undiminished sense of self-reliant enjoyment, that was surprising to the -onlooker. And yet, despite his unfailing courtesy even to those whom in -his secret heart he must often have set in the category of bores, he -never left the slightest impression of insincerity. By means, hardly -definable, he contrived to keep his converse, even with the most -commonplace of his acquaintance, on a certain high spiritual level, and -when he took his leave of any party it was impossible not to feel that a -considerable personage had quitted the room.</p> - -<p>And yet the personal impression made by Browning was not commanding. -Vigorous and strenuous he always seemed, and those characteristics -stamped him on the first encounter. But they might have belonged equally -to a leader in<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_203">{203}</a></span> any other walk of life—to a successful man of affairs, -or to a politician in the fulness of his fame.</p> - -<p>To those who knew him well there were, however, many little sidelights -that showed the poet. Something deeper and more passionate, something -more chivalrous and more tender, lurked beneath the social armour that -he chose to wear; and it was easy to perceive that even in his ripe age -there were smouldering fires of a more passionate experience that a word -might waken into flame.</p> - -<p>He came often to our house in the years between 1880 and 1885. In our -smaller circle we saw him as an intimate friend, and he was a kind and a -true friend. I think he was not indifferent to good living, but he was -always content with our simple fare—more than content, certainly, if he -was allowed his bottle of port wine, not to be sipped at dessert as -others use it, but to be quaffed through dinner as an accompaniment to -every course. His appreciation of wine, never immoderately indulged, -must, I suppose, have been inherited, for he used to tell me a story of -his father’s indignation on the occasion of his once asking for a glass -of water.</p> - -<p>“Water, Robert!” exclaimed the elder Browning in dismay. “For washing -purposes it is, I believe, often employed, and for navigable canals I -admit it to be indispensable, but for drinking, Robert, God never -intended it.”</p> - -<p>Browning’s unfailing courtesy towards women could sometimes display -itself in a partly humorous fashion. One day when he was calling upon my -wife, an authoress whose high estimate of her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_204">{204}</a></span> own work was never quite -confirmed by the public, was suddenly announced. The visit was somewhat -embarrassing, for the lady had sent my wife one of her novels, with a -request that, when she had read it, it might be submitted to me with a -view to its being adapted for the stage. The book had not been read, had -in fact been mislaid, but as this was the second occasion upon which the -lady had applied for my verdict, my wife basely resorted to -prevarication, and embarked upon general phrases of eulogy in regard to -the high merit of the work in question. This subterfuge, however, only -resulted in deeper disaster, for the flattered authoress at once plunged -into baffling details that lay beyond the reach of my wife’s improvised -mendacity. It happened, however, that Browning had read the book, and, -realising the situation, at once came to the rescue, and finally -succeeded in persuading the unhappy authoress that the very merits of -the novel were in themselves an insuperable obstacle to its production -on the stage.</p> - -<p>One thing remains vividly in my recollection of Browning, and that was -his constant expression of loyal admiration for the genius of Tennyson. -I have heard him bear witness to it again and again, and always with -entire sincerity.</p> - -<p>There was about him in his outlook on life, in his high courtesy and in -his unflagging faith in the beauty of the world, a quality that I -sometimes find lacking in gifted men of a younger generation. I can only -express what I feel in this sense by reference to a splendid survivor of -the great race<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_205">{205}</a></span>—George Meredith. To those who do not instinctively feel -it, my reference may mean nothing, but to me, to whom the whole -achievement of the Victorian Era, in art as in literature, stands high, -it means everything. It is not my purpose in these pages of personal -recollections to dwell upon my intimate association with men who are -still living, but in Mr. Meredith I feel I may make an exception. And -Browning has reminded me of him because there is in both a kindred -quality—the quality of a superb reverence for life, an undying faith in -its ultimate beauty. As literature has fallen since under the conduct of -later hands, I find that it seems in some sense shattered in -subdivision. There are, on the one hand, writers who seek to be artists -and no more, men who pet and polish their rhythmic phrases till they may -be said to have reached perfection, and on the other hand there are -pamphleteers, eager and sincere, but still pamphleteers, who are content -if they can coerce their readers into the belief that their chosen -gospel for the regeneration of humanity is a fair equivalent for the -larger vision of life itself. No man who is richly human can escape that -yearning towards a brighter social ideal. Browning and Tennyson, -Thackeray and Dickens, all had their hopes for the bettering of the -world as they found it; but with them all, whatever their original -impulse, the beauty of the world, as it has been and as it is, outlived -their humanitarian ambition, and left them at the last with an -increasing sense of its enduring beauty and glory. And that is where -George Meredith, still living, stands as a monument of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_206">{206}</a></span> strength, for -worship as for example, to those who have still to come after him.</p> - -<p>The hours that I have spent with George Meredith in and around his -simple home at Box Hill count among the most delightful of my life. I -met him first at the house of a dear friend of both, Frederick Jameson, -in the year 1876, and it was, I think, about that time that I had -published in the <i>Saturday Review</i> a criticism of his novel, -<i>Beauchamp’s Career</i>, which I think must have pleased him, for I find a -phrase of his in a letter written to me at that date in which he says, -“Praise of yours comes from the right quarter.”</p> - -<p>It was not long after that that we became intimate friends, and it was -his hospitable custom to invite me to breakfast with him on the little -lawn in front of his cottage, and then, after the repast, light and -dainty after the fashion of the French <i>dejeuner</i>, we would start for a -long ramble over Box Hill, returning often but just in time for dinner, -to continue or to renew the talk that had made the afternoon memorable. -Meredith could talk and walk after a fashion that I have known in no one -else. Sometimes he would occupy the whole of our ramble in a purely -invented biography of some one of our common friends, passing in rather -burlesque rhapsody from incident to incident of a purely hypothetical -career, but always preserving, even in the most extravagant of his -fancies, a proper relevancy to the character he was seeking to exhibit.</p> - -<p>On one occasion I remember he traced with inimitable humour, and with -inexhaustible invention,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_207">{207}</a></span> a supposed disaster in love encountered by an -amiable gentleman we both knew well; and as he rambled on with an -eloquence that never halted, he became so in love with his theme that I -think he himself was hardly conscious where the record of sober fact had -ended and where the innocent mendacity of the novelist had begun. And -then, at the immediate summons of some beauty in the landscape around us -that arrested his imagination, he would pause in the wild riot of the -imagined portrait and pass, in a moment, to discourse, as eloquent but -more serious, on some deeper problem of Life or Art. Not that he ever -sought, either in the lighter or the deeper vein, to talk so as to -absorb the conversation. In single companionship there was no better -talker, as, indeed, there was no better listener; and in either mood he -was singularly stirring and inspiring.</p> - -<p>One evening I remember that, after such a ramble and when dinner was -over, we ascended the slope of his garden to the little chalet on its -height, and there he read me till far into the night hours the whole of -that wonderful series of sonnets on Modern Love.</p> - -<p>This is not the place or the time to assert his claims either as a poet -or as a writer of fiction. I have cited his name here and now, because -both as an author and as a man he seems to me to possess in the highest -degree that superb optimism of spirit which also characterised Browning: -an optimism born of no shallow or sentimental survey of life, and yet of -strength sufficient to survive all shocks of experience in virtue of its -deeper hold upon<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_208">{208}</a></span> those secrets of beauty that no personal disaster -could efface or destroy.</p> - -<p>Once when we were discussing the dramas of Ibsen he made, not in -criticism but in comment, a remark that has always seemed to me -memorable.</p> - -<p>“There is no picture,” he said, “however overcast its subject, in which -the painter, rightly endowed, cannot suggest that beyond the enclosing -clouds there is room for a space of blue sky.”</p> - -<p>He left the comment there without special application to this work or -that of the author under discussion, but it dwells in my memory as -highly and nobly characteristic of George Meredith the author and of -George Meredith the man.</p> - -<p>The later advent of Mr. Swinburne caused many of us in those days to -reconsider the claims of Tennyson and Browning. It is difficult now to -realise the sense almost of intoxication with which the new music of his -verse was entertained. For a while it seemed to efface the simpler -triumphs of Tennyson no less than Browning’s more impetuous but less -ordered strains. Its overpowering wealth of rhythmic cadence struck a -new note that it was impossible for the younger generation to resist.</p> - -<p>But it was not Mr. Swinburne who first awakened in me a spirit of -reaction against the elder masters of our generation. Before I read -<i>Atalanta in Calydon</i> my imagination had been deeply stirred by that -first volume of Mr. William Morris’s verse, entitled <i>The Defence of -Guinevere</i>. I had found there, though in a form perhaps deliberately -archaic, that deeper note of passion which Tennyson’s poetry, even at -its best, confessedly lacks; and its appeal</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_025" style="width: 404px;"> -<a href="images/i_209fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_209fp.jpg" width="404" height="504" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>WILLIAM MORRIS</p> - -<p>From the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, R.A., in the National Portrait -Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Hollyer</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 209.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_209">{209}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">was the more urgent because Morris too was attracted by the charm of -mediæval romance—romance which in Tennyson’s hands had lost something -of its primitive dramatic quality, and became, as he developed the -Arthurian story, more and more material for setting forth a systematised -body of ethical teaching.</p> - -<p>Morris at a single stroke seemed to restore the legend to its historical -place, and to recapture a part of its passionate significance. I confess -that no later work of his has ever affected me to the same degree, -though there runs in them all that exquisite and ineffable charm of the -born story-teller. In poetry as in fiction there are, and have always -been, two competing schools of thought, the one moved by the love of the -story to be told, and the other primarily attracted to the story by the -opportunities it may offer for the presentment of an ethical idea, or -the interpretation of individual character.</p> - -<p>They may both reach the same goal, but there remains that contrast in -the quality of the workmanship which is born of its different origin.</p> - -<p>I remember Morris saying to me once that he did not much care for a -story unless it was long, and although the statement perhaps was not -intended to be taken literally, it bore witness to that element in his -genius which led him to bury himself with unwearied delight in every -smallest detail of the tale he had chosen to tell. Morris, I think, was -not easy to know well. There was a certain rough shyness in his manner -that kept him aloof from the initial advances of ordinary acquaintance, -and it was only as an acquaintance that I knew him. But he must<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_210">{210}</a></span> have -had deeply lovable qualities to have become so endeared, as he was, to -Burne-Jones. It was their custom for years to spend every Sunday morning -together in Burne-Jones’s studio; and on the many occasions when -Burne-Jones has spoken to me of him, I can recall no word of abatement -from the deep and lasting affection in which he held his life-long -friend.</p> - -<p>The influence wielded by Mr. Swinburne over the younger men of his -generation was of a widely different kind. That new music of which I -have spoken, already announced in the <i>Atalanta</i>, and presented with -even greater variety and exuberance of expression in the Poems and -Ballads, set us all thinking. It seemed at the first as though music in -its fullest sense had never before entered into the arena of poetry, and -his inexhaustible invention of new metre and rhythmic phrasing set the -mind in wonder for a while as to whether all that had gone before was -not the mere preface to this final achievement. The immediate effect of -the fluent melodies he could command was for the time, at least, to put -earlier masters upon their trial, and it was not until the overpowering -glamour of these earlier poems had passed that it was possible to reckon -at their true worth his lasting claims as a poet.</p> - -<p>I have always thought that Mr. Swinburne’s handling of language as a -musical instrument raises an interesting question in regard to the -relation of the arts. Of them all, music alone claims an absolute and -independent position. Its appeal does not rely upon association, and -demands no definable intellectual foundation. It stands in this way, -even<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_211">{211}</a></span> in its most primitive forms, as an example to all other arts, -serving to remind them of what there is in each of the essential -artistic quality; to remind them yet again of the inevitable danger that -must be encountered when the artist adds to his natural burden the task -of interpreting the changing ideals of life.</p> - -<p>Of all the other arts literature, by reason of the intellectual material -out of which it is moulded, stands at the farthest pole from music. -Painting and sculpture have their own manifest laws and limitations, -which may serve to remind their exponents of the peril which awaits -their transgression, but literature, even in the supreme form of verse, -must of necessity be exposed to dangers from which only the intuitive -instinct of the artist can preserve it. Borrowing as by right from all -the arts, and pressing into its service all that has been won in the -region of form and colour to enforce its own message of the spirit, it -is nevertheless inevitable that to music it must remain the heaviest -debtor, for its chosen vehicle of rhythmic language approaches most -nearly to the abstract instrument of the musician. And yet, I think, -even in Mr. Swinburne’s highest triumphs in metrical expression, it is -made manifest that the attempt directly to capture the kind of melody -that in the last resort belongs to music alone, there lurks a peril that -no artist, however gifted, can hope to escape.</p> - -<p>It is not in any spirit of depreciation of Mr. Swinburne’s unchallenged -gift, a gift which, in its kind, has perhaps never been surpassed in -litera<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_212">{212}</a></span>ture, that I have set down these stray thoughts upon the possible -limits of music in verse. What I have said is rather intended to record -an experience of changing taste in myself in the interval that has -elapsed since the time when his earlier poems first captured my -imagination. It has grown clearer to me as the years have passed that, -even in poetry, only that music is enduring where the melody is subtly -interwoven with passionate truth, and that the highest triumph of mere -music, in so far as its effects are applicable to literature, must be -won by constant cultivation of the simplest means of expression.</p> - -<p>To the serious student of poetry such a conclusion may deservedly rank -in the region of the accepted commonplace, but some of the utterances of -our later-day critics yield at least an excuse for its recall. Not long -ago I encountered in a seriously written review the astounding -announcement that Oscar Wilde was the author of some of the most -remarkable verse of the nineteenth century, and this is hardly an -isolated instance of an endeavour that seems at the moment widely spread -to make the pitiable disaster of poor Wilde’s career the occasion of the -most deplorably exaggerated appreciation of his gifts as a writer.</p> - -<p>I met Wilde very often in those earlier days, before he had begun to -seek to win by personal eccentricity the attention which his literary -talent had not secured, and I am bound to confess that, in the light of -my later knowledge of the man and of his work, any attempt to set him in -the front rank as a literary personality or a great literary<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_213">{213}</a></span> influence -seems to me in the highest degree ludicrous and grotesque.</p> - -<p>In view of the terrible fate that overtook him, no one could desire to -deal harshly at this time with his qualities as a man. That he had a -certain charm of manner is undoubted, and that he possessed a measure of -wit, as often imitative as original, need not be denied. But there is -always a tendency in certain literary circles that lean towards -decadence, to exaggerate the genius of those who are morally condemned. -A tragic fate such as his, even in one less gifted, naturally tends in -such minds to exalt his claims to artistic consideration. It is, at -least to my thinking, only on such an assumption that any serious -student of poetry, having read the “Ballad of Reading Gaol,” could ever -be induced to rank Wilde as a poetic genius, or to consider the body of -his work as a man of letters, with whatever luxuries of habiliment it -may be offered to the world, as constituting an enduring claim to rank -him among the higher influences of his time.</p> - -<p>Wilde’s best work was unquestionably, I think, done for the stage, and -here it may be conceded he struck out a path of his own. He had the -sense of the theatre, a genuine instinct for those moments in the -conflict of character to which the proper resources of the theatre can -grant both added force and added refinement. It is not an uncommon -assumption, especially among writers of fiction, that the drama by -comparison is an art of coarse fibre, incapable, by reason of its -limitations, of presenting the more intimate realities of character, or -the more<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_214">{214}</a></span> delicate shades of feeling. The truth is that each art has its -own force, its own refinement, and cannot borrow them of another. What -is perfectly achieved in one form remains incomparable, and for that -very reason cannot in its completed form be appropriated by an art that -has other triumphs and is subject to other laws and conditions. And it -is here that the novelist so often breaks down in attempting to employ -his own special methods in the service of the stage. Wilde made no such -blunder. By constant study as well as by natural gift he knew well the -arena in which he was working when he chose the vehicle of the drama. -His wit has perhaps been over-praised; his epigrams so loudly acclaimed -at the time bear the taint of modishness that seems to render them -already old-fashioned. But his grip of the more serious situations in -life, and his ability to exhibit and interpret them by means genuinely -inherent in the resources at the disposal of the dramatist, are left -beyond dispute.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_026" style="width: 407px;"> -<a href="images/i_215fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_215fp.jpg" width="407" height="518" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Emery Walker</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</p> - -<p>From the painting by Sir <span class="smcap">William Richmond</span>, K.C.B., R.A., in the National -Portrait Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 215.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_215">{215}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /><br /> -<small>A YOUNGER GENERATION</small></h2> - -<p>During the ’seventies I got to know many of the younger men of letters -whose fame had not yet completely asserted itself. My association with -the <i>Saturday Review</i> brought me into closer contact with my old friend, -Walter Pollock, whom I had known from a boy, and it was as his guest -that I constantly found myself at lunch-time at the Savile Club, a -favourite haunt of Robert Louis Stevenson when he happened to be in -London.</p> - -<p>Those lunches at the Savile, with discussions carried late into the -afternoon and sometimes prolonged to the dinner-hour, remain as a vivid -and delightful recollection. It was there that I met Henley, a notable -individuality, at that time almost without recognition in the world of -literature; and Charles Brookfield, who would look in now and then to -lighten our graver discussions with his keen and incisive wit; and among -others, Richard Duffield, a strange yet not unattractive individuality -who won instant recognition by reason of a fortuitous resemblance to -Michael Angelo, due to a broken nose; but whose literary claims, as far -as I can remember, rested chiefly upon a presumably exclusive knowledge -of the work of Cervantes.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_216">{216}</a></span></p> - -<p>But of the figures of that little coterie to which I was so often and so -hospitably bidden, the engaging personality of Robert Louis Stevenson -stands out distinctly. He carried with him throughout all the period in -which I had any knowledge of him the indestructible character of a boy. -The conscious artistic quality which marks his literary work, yielding -to it a perfection which made it even then a mark of envy for us all, -had no place in his personal converse. As a talker he made no demand for -consideration, and it was that perhaps which lent to his companionship -such a singular charm. What he had to say, though it was often -brilliantly said, left little sense of premeditation. The topic of the -moment, however carelessly it might have been suggested, seemed in him -for the moment to be all-absorbing. However trivial it might be, it was -not too trivial for his acceptance; and however unpromising it might -seem to others, his quick agile spirit contrived to draw from its -discussion something that was notable and memorable.</p> - -<p>I think of him now with his long straight hair carelessly flung -backward, and the swift alert eyes, quick in expressive response to any -point of humour that arose, as one of the most fascinating characters it -has ever been my fortune to encounter in conversation. He said nothing -that appeared to be considered, and little that was not illuminating, -and yet through it all, though his talk could rise on occasion to -heights of deep earnestness and enthusiasm, there remained the -ever-present sense of the boy. Something of the spirit of boyish<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_217">{217}</a></span> -adventure inspired his presence, something, too, of boyish recklessness, -so that it was not always easy to remember, in the perfect freedom of -intercourse which his nature allowed, that he was before all things a -man of letters, a man to whom no refinement of our tongue was unknown: -above all things a student and a master of style, in his work constantly -perfecting an instrument which we, who were his contemporaries, were -very well aware that we used by comparison only as bunglers and -beginners.</p> - -<p>In this sense I used to feel that there was a striking contrast between -the man and his writing. Personally, and as a talker, it was the -carelessness of his attack of any subject that first impressed me. His -interest seemed wholly centred and absorbed by the incident, the -character, or the episode under discussion, and the means by which his -thought and feeling concerning it might be expressed, were by contrast -almost negligently employed. As a writer, great as is the rank he -deservedly holds in the region of romance, his work yields to me exactly -the opposite impression. His own faith in the story he has to tell is -never, to my thinking, entirely convincing. Something too much of the -conscious artist intrudes itself between the narrator and the reader, -something that robs the result of the sense that the recorded fact is a -fact indeed. It is impossible to forget, I think, even in Stevenson’s -happiest work that he is an accomplished man of letters; and although -there is no great writer who is not, the greatest and ablest allow us to -forget it.</p> - -<p>Certainly in contact with Stevenson the man, one<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_218">{218}</a></span> had no temptation to -remember it. One was never haunted in those delightful hours of social -intercourse by the suspicion that he was searching for a phrase, and yet -often enough our conversation turned upon points of style; and I -remember once in a selected line of a poet, where the fitness of a -single word was under discussion, Stevenson swiftly checked our -condemnation by a remark that seemed all the more apt because it came -from his lips:</p> - -<p>“My dear Carr, every word looks guilty when it is put into the dock.”</p> - -<p>I suppose no one ever had a juster or more generous appreciation of the -great leisurely genius of Sir Walter Scott than was possessed by -Stevenson. No one by intention or design was more desirous to exclude -from his own work the sense of modishness in style, and yet it remains -with me as a final impression of Stevenson as a writer, that he -occasionally laid himself open to the reproach that he would, as a -critic, have been the first to detect in the work of another.</p> - -<p>But I can think of him now only as I knew him then, an unconquerable boy -with his heart set for adventure, lending to our talk as often as he -came into it something of that daring outlook into worlds as yet -undiscovered which characterised the adventurers of the seventeenth -century.</p> - -<p>It may have been something of this fighting quality in himself that -attracted Stevenson to the combative spirit of Henley. Their first -association, of course, bore an early date, and it may have been again -something in poor Henley’s physical disability which provoked and -sustained Stevenso<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_219">{219}</a></span>n’s affectionate regard. It is not altogether -pleasant to reflect that such affection loyally rendered on Stevenson’s -part was not at the close so loyally recognised by his comrade. Henley’s -vehement personality rendered his presence on those particular -afternoons at the Savile Club a constant factor of vitality. It was -impossible for thought to slumber while Henley was awake. There was no -opinion he would not question, no proposition, however confidently or -however modestly put forward, he would not immediately set upon its -trial. Those were his days of battle, and it was not easy then to guess -that a few years later he would win to his standard quite a troop of -young men eager to enforce the gospel he had to preach.</p> - -<p>At the time of which I am thinking he was fighting for his own hand, and -he fought strenuously; the mere love of the conflict was a dominating -passion, and if there was, as I think sometimes there was, an underlying -note of personal bitterness, may it not be set down in the hearts of -those who knew him, and who survive him, as the inevitable price -humanity has to pay for the long martyrdom of pain to which nature had -doomed him?</p> - -<p>And yet Henley, for all the valorous spirit that was in him, was not -always proof against sudden attack. One night when we were gathered at -the Savile after some public dinner where we had all been present, -Irving was of the party. Irving had a trick of waiting for his foe, and -on this particular occasion, as I recall it, he was chafing under a -criticism which had been delivered by Henley upon his impersonation of -Macbeth. Henley appeared<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_220">{220}</a></span> to be well aware that the matter in difference -between them would come under discussion before the evening was ended, -and was obviously ready with all the destructive weapons that were -arrayed in his critical armoury. But quick and vigilant as he was as a -fighting force, he nevertheless proved himself unready for the kind of -attack which Irving had designed. Very quietly and almost deferentially -the actor came to his point. After much genial interchange of cordial -sentiment on one side and the other, Irving suddenly pounced upon his -man.</p> - -<p>“I notice,” he said, speaking to Henley in that tone of reverie which -with him always concealed an imminent blow, “that you do not approve of -my conception of Macbeth. Tell me now, for I should be interested to -hear it, how would you play Macbeth if you were called upon to present -the character on the stage? What is your conception?”</p> - -<p>Henley was hardly prepared for such an invitation, and as we sat in -expectation of what he would have to say, it was easy to perceive that -the critic’s destructive method, which at that time was uppermost in -him, could not suddenly readjust itself to the task of offering any -coherent appreciation of the character which Irving, according to his -allegation, had misinterpreted.</p> - -<p>Irving was notoriously skilful in this kind of combat. He was patient in -the endurance of any slight which he conceived to be passed upon his -work as an actor, but his patience was never forgetful, and when the -hour came, however long it might have been delayed, when he thought<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_221">{221}</a></span> -that he could claim his own, he was wont to strike mercilessly.</p> - -<p>I remember an incident concerning myself, belonging to the earlier -stages of our friendship. It was after the conclusion to a dinner of the -Rabelais Club, when he invited several of us to adjourn to his rooms in -Grafton Street for a final cigar. I was very cordially bidden to be of -the company, little guessing that he had selected this particular -occasion to single me out as the mark of his disapproval. When we were -all comfortably seated round him, and he was reclining deep in his chair -in an easy attitude that I afterwards learned to know was nearly always -ominous, he threw out for our discussion a proposition in regard to -which we could not fail to find ourselves unanimous.</p> - -<p>“Now, talking among friends,” he said, “I suppose that you would all -agree that criticism ought to be fair?”</p> - -<p>With no possible exception we were all loudly enthusiastic in assent.</p> - -<p>“Quite so,” replied Irving, in the same dispassionate and measured -tones. “Well, then,” he continued, in a voice somewhat threateningly -raised but still carefully controlled, “there is a criticism I have read -in a magazine called <i>The Theatre</i> about a play of mine. Very clever!” -And then with sudden vehemence, pointing to me, he added, “You wrote -it!”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean,” I inquired, “the article on <i>Iolanthe</i>?”—an adaptation -by W. G. Wills of <i>King Rene’s Daughter</i> which had recently been -presented at the Lyceum. “Yes, I wrote it!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_222">{222}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Quite so,” returned Irving, his voice now rising in a tenser strain. -“Well, nothing more unfair and more unjust has ever been written.”</p> - -<p>I was young enough then not to be unmoved by this sudden and unexpected -onslaught, but I summoned the courage to ask him, in reply, if the -magazine was in the room. I saw as I spoke that it was lying on the -table, and I asked him, as the article was short, if he would allow me -to read it to those of my fellow-critics who were present, some of whom -might fairly be supposed to be unaware of its import.</p> - -<p>Irving could not, of course, but assent to my demand, but when I had -concluded he appealed with even greater vehemence to those who were -present in justification of what he had already said.</p> - -<p>“You see! You see!” he cried. “Not one word about me!”</p> - -<p>“It is quite true, Irving,” I answered. “And I will tell you why. I do -not think any one has a higher appreciation of your genius as an actor -than I have, and if I could have found the occasion to praise this -particular performance I would gladly have seized it, but I thought it, -rightly or wrongly, a bad performance, and, out of a spirit of loyalty -to my larger admiration of your talent, I refrained from saying so. But -I see now that I was wrong. In view of what you have said to-night I -feel it would have been better to have said what I thought. You may -however be assured, after what has occurred, that I shall not commit -that blunder again.”</p> - -<p>My defence was absolutely sincere, and I think<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_223">{223}</a></span> Irving realised it. At -any rate, I know that this little incident, which occurred upon the -threshold of our friendship, did not hinder the formation of a close -fellowship which endured and strengthened during the greater part of his -career.</p> - -<p>Bret Harte was an occasional visitor to the Savile, but I saw him more -often and more intimately at the delightful meetings of the Kinsmen -Club, a society that was designedly founded to bring together men of -kindred interest in Art and Letters from both sides of the Atlantic. It -has often been something of a puzzle to me that Bret Harte should not -have ranked higher as an author among his own compatriots. In his own -realm as a story-teller it seems to me hardly possible to rank him too -high. That he owed much to Dickens he himself, I believe, would have -been the first to acknowledge; but that his own individuality, both in -humour and pathos, outstripped any reproach of imitation cannot, I -think, be questioned by those to whom his work makes any strong appeal.</p> - -<p>Socially he never made any endeavour to press for consideration of his -literary claims. He was willing to speak of his work on the invitation -of others, and always with modesty. In converse you would hardly have -guessed he was a writer, nor did he often lead conversation on to the -subject of literature, but I found in him, what I have always found in -his writings, a certain reticent delicacy of perception, touched and -fired now and again with a quick chivalry of feeling in all that -concerned the relation of the sexes.</p> - -<p>To his own countrymen I suppose he belonged<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_224">{224}</a></span> to a past era in literary -art, an era which preceded that elaborate analysis of the feminine -temperament as distinguished from feminine character which to the mind -of so many modern novelists appears to rank as the final victory of -fiction.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /><br /> -<small>MEN OF THE THEATRE</small></h2> - -<p>My association with the theatre began somewhat disastrously. It was my -father’s kindly thought, while we were still children, to afford us an -annual visit to the pantomime, a visit that was accomplished for our -large family by means of two hired flies, which transported us from our -house at Barnes to the chosen place of amusement.</p> - -<p>But my particular enjoyment of this long-desired entertainment was -mitigated by circumstances both moral and physical. We had at that time -a nurse who, though by nature endowed with most affectionate impulses, -strongly disapproved of all dramatic entertainment, and who, for some -weeks before this annually projected tampering with the forces of evil, -tormented my spirit by a somewhat vivid picture of the eternal perils -which I was destined to encounter.</p> - -<p>On the first of these theatre parties that I can recollect, when she was -coerced by my mother to form one of the party, in order that her -numerous flock should have proper protection, her original antipathy to -all things theatrical was strongly enforced and confirmed from the fact -that, in the first piece which preceded the pantomime, one of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_226">{226}</a></span> the -actors, shipwrecked upon a desert shore, gave utterance to a sentiment -which to her mind seemed profoundly impious—that “what man could do he -had done, and that God must do the rest.” As she explained to me the -next evening, when I lay tucked up in bed, the mere mention of God -within the four walls of a theatre was an act of profanity altogether -unpardonable, and from that time forward she would never consent to take -any part in these annual orgies.</p> - -<p>But her manifest disapproval, as the recurring season of Christmas -approached, set my spirit in terrible debate between the pleasure I -longed for and the sin I knew I was about to commit. That internal -struggle, fierce as it seemed to me at the time, must, I suppose, have -been conducted with insufficient force on her side, for the issue left -me always eager and ready for the adventure of sin. Indeed, so eager was -our anticipation of the treat in store for us, that for many days -beforehand we could think of nothing else; and so great our excitement -as the appointed day approached, that the long-looked-for pleasure -nearly always ended in disaster. Excitement in our family always -revealed itself in an overmastering tendency to sickness, and from the -age of five till the age of ten my vision of the splendours of the -pantomime was intermittent, such glimpses of its glory as I derived -being for the most part only obtained through the small lunette at the -back of the dress-circle, the remainder of the evening being nearly -always passed in a state of utter prostration in the ladies’ cloak-room. -I neither claim nor profess any isolated distinction in this recurring -malady, it was the abiding characteristic<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_227">{227}</a></span> of our family; and I have -often since, looking back on those days, reflected with admiration upon -the dauntless courage of my father and mother to whom these occasions, -repeated again and again, in spite of all example, must have been -fraught with nothing short of misery.</p> - -<p>But to me personally there was this added penalty, that when I returned -from each such woful debauch, like a stricken soldier from the field, I -was compelled to endure without defence the reproachful glance of my -nurse’s eye, which told me as clearly as though it were written upon the -wall that I had but earned the appointed wages of sin. This nurse of -mine was in many ways a remarkable character. Linked with a nature -surely the most loving and affectionate that a child could desire, were -the sternest principles of religion and morality ever implanted in the -human breast—principles associated with so slender a store of -intellectual endowment that even to my childish mind their vehement -announcement was sometimes grotesque.</p> - -<p>One of her most deeply rooted convictions was that the principle of life -insurance was a direct defiance of the laws of God: a proposition which -she sought to establish by a terrible tale of a butcher of Lewes, who, -having flouted Providence by affecting an insurance upon his life, -within half an hour after the conclusion of this prudent operation fell -down dead as he descended the steps of the market-hall.</p> - -<p>Her intellectual equipment was perhaps no scantier than that of many -other women, but the fervour with which she employed it in the service -of her religious principles might have made her a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_228">{228}</a></span> desolating influence -upon the life of a child, if her loving and kindly nature had not -constantly given the lie to the rigid creed she innocently believed was -guiding her conduct through life.</p> - -<p>It is undeniable, however, that such influences first exercised in -childhood are long remembered, and it was many a day before I could -quite free myself from the thought that the study of dramatic art was -not in some degree associated with a sinful life. It is difficult to say -whether this hovering sense of wrong-doing is not in its nature an added -incentive to enjoyment. Certain it is that the pleasures of the -play-house became a factor of increasing influence in my life. There was -an old laundry attached to our house at Barnes which seemed to us -singularly unfitted for its destined purpose, but which might, as we -thought, be easily adapted as an arena for the performance of stage -plays, and here, urged on by a wicked cousin who has since, as a fitting -penalty for his youthful delinquencies, become a clergyman, I began my -career as an amateur actor. We had at that time a distrust of all -feminine help, and chose for our essays in histrionic art only those -plays in Lacy’s list wherein the plot might be expounded by the -exclusive support of male performers.</p> - -<p>It chanced, while I was at Bruce Castle School, I had for one of my -comrades poor Dick Bateman, son of Richard Bateman, who had about that -time, or soon after, become Irving’s manager at the Lyceum. Together we -became editors of a school magazine, and it was through him afterwards -that I won my first introduction to the theatre.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_229">{229}</a></span></p> - -<p>He was remarkable as a schoolboy for a prodigious and extraordinary -memory. I have spoken, in the earlier pages of this book, of the memory -of Churton Collins, but in Dick Bateman’s case the faculty was -differently exercised. It seemed in him to be purely mechanical, and we -used to delight, as schoolboys, to set him the task, in which he rarely -failed, of reading over a page of any author and then requiring of him -that he should repeat it word for word. That special kind of memory -which appeared to be detached from any personal interest in the matter -recalled, it has not been my chance to see equalled in any other man I -have known.</p> - -<p>I have spoken of him as “poor” Dick Bateman because he met an early and -tragic fate, for after a few years spent in London in occasional -employment under his father he was sent upon some business adventure to -the East, and was drowned in a shipwreck which occurred off the coast of -Japan. But in our schooldays, and in the years immediately succeeding -our schooldays, we were close comrades, and it was through him that I -won my first knowledge of Irving, who had already appeared in several -plays in which I had seen him, but who had then been recently engaged by -Mr. Bateman as a leading actor to support his daughter, Isabella -Bateman, in whose interests he had undertaken the management of the -Lyceum Theatre. I had seen Irving before that time when he had played -Bob Gassett in <i>Dearer than Life</i> at the Queen’s Theatre, and I had seen -him again in <i>Uncle Dick’s Darling</i> at the Gaiety, when he had appeared -in company with Toole.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_230">{230}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was of the latter performance that Toole afterwards told me Charles -Dickens had said, when he saw it, that he thought it admirable in the -promise it gave of the young actor’s ability; though he had added: “I -fancy that both he and the author have cast an eye over my character of -Mr. Dombey—eh, Toole?” And to any one who saw the performance there -could have been no doubt as to the justice of Dickens’s suggestion. It -was at a little later date that Irving achieved his first great success -with the public in the character of Digby Grant in Mr. Albery’s play of -<i>The Two Roses</i>, and it was after that again that he became permanently -engaged to Mr. Bateman.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Bateman’s endeavour to force his younger daughter Isabella upon -the acceptance of the public as a leading actress was not successful. -The play of <i>Fanchette</i>, with which he opened his management, was a -failure, and the part of the youthful hero, for which Irving was cast, -was entirely unsuited to his special abilities. Other adventures -followed, and they only had the effect of somewhat lowering the mark -Irving had made in <i>The Two Roses</i>, and there came a time in the -steadily waning fortunes of the theatre when it seemed that Mr. -Bateman’s management was destined to come to an inglorious end. It was -at that time that Irving, who had had for some little while in his -possession Leopold Lewis’s dramatised version of Erckmann-Chatrian’s -<i>Polish Jew</i>, persuaded Mr. Bateman to allow him to put it on the stage -of the Lyceum.</p> - -<p>Irving has more than once told me the story<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_231">{231}</a></span> himself, of how he and -Bateman paced up and down the Adelphi terrace at midnight debating the -possibilities of its success. Bateman, as he frankly avowed to the -actor, had no faith in the popular appeal of the play, and it was, I -suppose, only because he found himself at the end of his tether that he -somewhat reluctantly consented to permit Irving to make the experiment. -How hardly pressed the enterprising manager must have been at the time -was proved by the fact that one evening, when I was walking with him -down the Haymarket, he pointed to a corner public-house and said to me, -“The owner of that house once held an umbrella over me in the rain when -I most needed it, and I shall never forget it.”</p> - -<p>Nor shall I ever forget the extraordinary impression made upon my own -imagination by my first sight of Irving in his performance of <i>The -Bells</i>. I have often recalled in recollection the sentence penned by -Dutton Cook, who was then the dramatic critic of the <i>Pall Mall -Gazette</i>, wherein he said, “Acting at once so intelligent and so intense -has not been seen upon the stage for years”; nor do I think any one who -witnessed that performance, as it was rendered by Irving in the -plenitude of his powers, would be disposed to question the verdict of -the critic. To a youth I know it came as an astounding revelation—a -revelation charged with such extraordinary concentration of personal -feeling that the first vision of it as I recall it now seemed to have -almost transgressed the limits of art, so poignant, even to the verge of -pain, was the actor’s relentless portraiture of crime and remorse.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_232">{232}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was in Dick Bateman’s company that I first witnessed Irving’s -performance of <i>The Bells</i>, and it was through Mr. Bateman’s -introduction that I first learned to know the actor himself.</p> - -<p>In order to realise the kind and the measure of effect which Irving’s -intense individuality exercised over the public of that date, it is -necessary to recall, if only for a moment, the condition of the stage at -the time. Phelps’s career, in which he had so loyally and so honourably -sustained the great tradition he had received from Macready, had -practically, for all its influence upon the art, come to an end. He was -still to be seen, as I saw him, in occasional engagements at Drury Lane, -and later under the management of John Hollingshead at the Gaiety, and -it was still possible to appreciate the great and sterling qualities of -high training and accomplishment that he brought to the service of the -theatre. But the magic which could win the attention of a new generation -was no longer there. Its influence, perhaps, had been partly destroyed -by the advent of Fechter’s more romantic method, which, even in his -rendering of the classic drama, granted to his performance something of -the charm and allurement of the conquering hero of a fairy story. And on -the other side of the picture there was gradually arising a new school, -though it seemed to be at the time exercised in only the tiniest arena, -wherein a determined effort was being made to bring life as it was -presented on the stage into closer alliance with the accepted realities -of contemporary manners.</p> - -<p>A revolution in little had been started in the theatre in Tottenham -Court Road—a revolution due<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_233">{233}</a></span> in the first instance to the talent of -Robertson, which was destined to exercise a lasting influence over the -theatre in England. Robertson’s new outlook, ably supported as it was by -Marie Bancroft and her husband, who found and captured an ally of added -strength in the person of John Hare, had the effect, for a while at -least, of throwing classical drama into discredit, and it was therefore -a matter of supreme difficulty for an actor equipped as Irving was, -whose vision struck deeper and whose ambition took a wider range, to -find a way to draw back the wandering attention of the public to the -more passionate drama which for the time had fallen out of fashion. It -was left to him almost unaided to forge a convention of his own, and it -is perhaps the highest tribute to his innate gift as an actor that, -although endowed by nature with few of the graces an actor might desire -to claim, he was enabled from this first adventure in <i>The Bells</i> to win -little by little, and with every step in his career fiercely disputed, a -commanding position among the professors of his art.</p> - -<p>I think at the first nobody was more surprised than Mr. Bateman at the -success achieved by Irving’s experiment. In those days the favourite -haunt of actors was the old Albion Tavern in Drury Lane. Clubs were -comparatively few, and fewer still the actors who belonged to them. The -licensing laws imposing the early closure upon the London taverns had -not yet been passed, and it was the habit of those who were interested -in the theatre to gather in the old-fashioned boxes of the Albion, and -to remain in eager discussion over the things of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_234">{234}</a></span> drama till the -small hours of the morning. It was on one evening during the first -rendering of <i>The Bells</i> that I found myself seated there in company -with a few genial spirits including Henry Montague, Toole, and Tom -Thorne, when we noticed that Irving’s manager, Mr. Bateman, had entered -and was gazing round the room as though in search of some one he had -appointed to meet. It occurred at once to the mischievous spirit of -Toole to turn the occasion to account. In a whispered sentence he made -the rest of us co-conspirators in the little drama he had suddenly -devised, and as Mr. Bateman, still scanning the visitors assembled, -advanced from box to box, he and Montague, in tones designedly pitched -so that all might hear, began an animated discussion as to Irving’s -rightful claims to a larger salary than he was at that time receiving. I -believe, in fact, that Irving’s remuneration was something like £15 a -week, which represented a substantial advance upon the payment he had -received during his engagement for <i>The Two Roses</i> at the Vaudeville -Theatre; but Montague and Toole vied with one another like competing -bidders at an auction in loud proclaim of his larger worth.</p> - -<p>“£15 a week!” said Toole. “Why, he’s worth £20 at any rate!”</p> - -<p>“£20!” retorted Montague. “Nonsense! He’s worth £30 if he’s worth a -penny!”</p> - -<p>And then Thorne, topping Montague, said he would be perfectly willing to -give him £40 if he would return to the Vaudeville; and as the voices -grew louder in the increasing estimate of Irving’s value, Bateman, -attracted by the discussion, drew<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_235">{235}</a></span> nearer and nearer to the box in which -we sat, until at last, leaning with his elbows upon the mahogany -partition, he leant forward with lowering brows no longer able to -contain the indignation which these comments had provoked. And then at -last Toole, always incorrigible in humorous mischief, topped all -previous bidders by the emphatic announcement that Henry Irving was -worth £50 a week if he was worth a shilling, to which Bateman, now -incensed beyond measure, retorted, “Yes, and you are the scoundrels who -would put him up to asking it.”</p> - -<p>Another anecdote, at that time related to me by Irving himself, also -belongs to those old days of the Albion. Seated one evening at supper -after the play he found himself opposite to a little old gentleman, who -was unable to conceal his remembered enjoyment of the performance he had -just witnessed at the theatre. Irving, encouraged by his manifest -geniality, inquired where he had been, to which the stranger replied -that he had come from the Vaudeville, where he had seen the most -delightful play, <i>The Two Roses</i>, wherein, of course, at the time Irving -was acting. Nothing could exceed the old gentleman’s enthusiasm for the -performers, as he recalled them one after another. Montague was superb! -Thorne was excellent! and so on and so on in a liberal catalogue of the -several performers, his appreciation rising with each added name.</p> - -<p>Irving, at last a little nettled, as he confessed to me, at the -exclusion of all reference to himself, ventured to inquire of his -neighbour whether there was not in the play a character called Digby -Grant.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_236">{236}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah yes! Ah yes!” assented the old gentleman, reflectively.</p> - -<p>“Well, now,” said Irving, “what did you think of that performance?”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” returned the old gentleman—“very good,” in tones which -seemed to imply that he was only half-willingly conceding a point upon -which he was not wholly convinced. “Ah yes, yes,” he added; “very good, -but, by heavens,” he continued, “what a part Johnny Hare would have made -of it!”</p> - -<p>The progress made by Irving in those earlier times of his histrionic -career was fiercely disputed at each step of the way. It could hardly -have been foreseen then that he would ultimately win the larger fame -that was accorded to him, and it must be conceded to those critics who -blocked his path that there was much in the individuality of the man -himself to account for the slow growth of his appeal to the public. I -have often heard him say himself in later days that his success was -achieved in spite of many natural disabilities. His figure at that time -was accounted ungainly, his gestures were often reckoned grotesque, and -the quality of his voice was such as naturally to repel those whom his -individuality did not powerfully attract. But it was in virtue of that -individuality, and by reason of those very attributes that barred his -progress on the threshold of his career, that he at last reached the -goal.</p> - -<p>The peculiarities of his personality could not by their nature, on their -first appeal, be widely accepted as forming a normal vehicle for the -expression of poetic drama. For many years his career presented</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_027" style="width: 409px;"> -<a href="images/i_237fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_237fp.jpg" width="409" height="540" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>HENRY IRVING IN THE CHARACTER OF BECKET</p> - -<p>From a photograph by <span class="smcap">H. H. Cameron</span>.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 237.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_237">{237}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">a fierce encounter between the message that was in him to convey and the -restricted means that nature had placed at his disposal. His -individuality betrayed at the first, and indelibly stamped upon every -creation even to the close of his career, formed at first a serious -weakness and again, finally, the saving element of strength in the work -that he had to offer to the theatre.</p> - -<p>There will always, I suppose, be a radical divergence of thought as to -the proper attributes of an actor. To some minds it seems a self-evident -proposition that the highest triumph of histrionic art is that in which -the personality of the performer is most effectively concealed. To such -critics completeness of disguise is completeness of victory, and in the -region of comedy there is perhaps room for the confident assertion of -this idea, for it is unquestionable that a full measure of enjoyment is -conferred upon his audience by the actor’s successful assumption of -alien idiosyncrasies of bearing and manner. In what is technically known -in the theatre as character-acting, this is a goal of perfection that is -rightly sought for; and although Irving proved himself on occasion a -capable actor of character, it seems to me that his efforts in this -direction bore with rare exception an impression of exaggeration.</p> - -<p>And the reason is not far to seek. Conscious of his own peculiarities, -so difficult if not impossible to efface, he was disposed to seek for -concealment by forcing to the verge of the grotesque the personation of -characteristics that were not his own. He was for this reason, to my -thinking, never wholly<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_238">{238}</a></span> successful as an actor of disguise; but at the -opposite pole of histrionic achievement lies, I think, a faculty that is -both rarer and greater, the faculty of revelation. Between these two -spheres of disguise and revelation lie all the possibilities of the -actor’s art. The choice of the one or of the other must be determined by -the temperament of the actor, and in an equal measure by the response he -receives from the temper of his audience. Speaking only for myself, I -may frankly say that the greatest impressions I have received in the -theatre have been made upon me by performers who never left me for a -moment to imagine they were not themselves; but who, without greatly -striving to realise the external attributes of the characters they were -presenting, have succeeded in the power of constantly identifying -themselves with the culminating passions of life. And of course these -greater victories, if they are greater, belong in the nature of things -to those actors whose ambition it is to present and interpret the deeper -emotions—those emotions, I mean, so deeply seated in humanity that -their occasional difference of expression counts as for nothing beside -the intensity with which they are felt and experienced by all.</p> - -<p>The justice of this view of the final victory of the actor’s art can -only be decided by individual experience and individual impression. -Looking back and recalling the performances that have most deeply moved -me, I find myself suddenly reverting in recollection to those supreme -moments in a great play or in a great impersonation in which the -individual is forgotten, and the supreme power of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_239">{239}</a></span> sounding the depths -of human feeling is indelibly stamped upon the memory.</p> - -<p>I saw Desclée, and greatly admired her; and I remember, long afterwards, -when I witnessed Sarah Bernhardt’s performance of <i>Frou-frou</i>, how much -I thought it suffered in comparison with the original in those lighter -and earlier scenes of the play in which the qualities of the heroine’s -temperament have to be exhibited; and yet, when Madame Bernhardt came to -the great scene in the third act, the recollection of Desclée, by a -single stroke of genius, was almost effaced, and I can only think of -<i>Frou-frou</i> as it is recalled to me by that superb exhibition of passion -in her encounter with Louise.</p> - -<p>It was not Irving’s performance of <i>The Bells</i> or the impression it -yielded which satisfied me, even in those days, that he was a great -actor. The picture as drawn, both by the author and by the actor, is so -narrowly concentrated upon almost a single phase of criminal instinct -and abnormal remorse, that it might well have been the outcome of an -intelligence intense assuredly and yet confessedly limited in its -outlook. It gave no assurance that the actor could touch the finer or -deeper notes of feeling, and it was only when he afterwards played -<i>Hamlet</i> that he convinced me of the possession of deeper imaginative -powers.</p> - -<p><i>À propos</i> of <i>Hamlet</i>, Irving used to tell a story that was -characteristic of his imperturbable self-possession and was no less -interesting in the light it throws upon the striking individuality of a -youth who afterwards rose to a foremost position in public affairs. It -was some few years after his performance<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_240">{240}</a></span> of the character in London -that Irving found himself in Dublin at a time when the Duke of -Marlborough, the father of Lord Randolph Churchill, was Lord-Lieutenant -of Ireland. <i>Hamlet</i> was the play of the evening, and Lord Randolph, -seated alone, occupied the viceregal box. When the second act was ended -he went behind the scenes to Irving’s dressing-room and introduced -himself to the actor. With an apology that was evidently sincere he -expressed his regret that, owing to a reception at the Castle, he was -unable to wait for the conclusion of the performance. He declared -himself, however, intensely interested with what he had seen, and begged -Irving to tell him in a few words, as his time was limited, how the play -ended. Irving, as he told me, was at first so taken aback that he -thought his visitor was indulging in a humorous sally at the expense of -the immortal dramatist, but a quick glance at the young man’s earnest -face sufficed to reassure him, and he then told Lord Randolph the -outline of that concluding part of the story which his social engagement -did not permit him to see represented upon the boards.</p> - -<p>“When do you play it again?” inquired the young man of the actor.</p> - -<p>“On Wednesday next,” answered Irving.</p> - -<p>“I shall be there,” replied Lord Randolph, earnestly; and there -assuredly he was from the rise of the curtain to its fall, in rapt -attention to every succeeding scene of the tragedy.</p> - -<p>At the conclusion he again went round to Irving’s room, even more -enthusiastic than on the occasion of his previous visit; and, with a -naïveté that was,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_241">{241}</a></span> I think, deeply characteristic of that power he -afterwards displayed in public affairs—the power of swiftly -appropriating the knowledge needful for every successive post he -occupied—he made the frank avowal that, since their last meeting, he -had read for himself, not only <i>Hamlet</i>, but two or three other plays by -the same author.</p> - -<p>“And do you know, Mr. Irving,” he said, “I find them enormously -interesting.”</p> - -<p>Lord Randolph, I think, must have retained to the last his admiration of -Irving’s talent as an actor, for I met him several times in later years -at those little suppers in the Beefsteak Room of the Lyceum Theatre, -which formed so memorable a feature of Irving’s management. Here, -indeed, might be met many of the most notable people of the time, and -amongst them, an almost constant figure in these pleasant gatherings, -Irving’s life-long friend, J. L. Toole. The lasting friendship between -these two men, so differently gifted and yet so enduringly allied, -forms, I think, a touching tribute to certain great qualities of loyalty -resident in them both.</p> - -<p>My relations with Irving were not so close or so intimate during the -later years of his life, and I prefer to think of him now as I knew him -best, before the days of discouragement had overtaken him. To a man of -his commanding personality and indomitable will, it was difficult to -acknowledge, without a reluctance that sometimes bordered on resentment, -the need of any resources but his own. The feeling, I think, was natural -enough. He had carved out his career with such splendid courage and -persistence that it must have been hard for him<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_242">{242}</a></span> to realise, even when -his powers were no longer at the full, that he had not the needful -strength for the conflict. But this feeling of impatience with the -position in which he found himself, pardonable enough in itself, made -him, I think, sometimes suspicious of his friends. In my own case I know -he entirely misconceived the motives with which I had sought to -recapture for him his threatened position in the theatre he had made -famous; but although such misunderstanding must of necessity at the time -cause a measure of pain, it is to the closer friendship of earlier days -that my memory now recurs, to the many years during which we were fast -friends and staunch allies.</p> - -<p>The other day I came across a little letter belonging to that happier -time which I love to preserve as a touching record of the deeper side of -Irving’s nature. Something had occurred, what precisely it was I now -forget, which caused me to write to him in warm appreciation of the -great services I always felt he had rendered to the stage, and my letter -drew from him the following response:—</p> - -<p>“Your letter,” he writes, “gave me much happiness. I know our hearts are -one in many things, and I often wish we could sometimes be by the still -waters and speak of things deeper even than could be spoken of before -the best of other friends.”</p> - -<p>There was a strong emotional element in Irving’s character that could -scarcely have been suspected by those who did not know him intimately. -Sometimes when he was deeply moved I have seen the tears start suddenly -to his eyes, and at such moments his voice would often break and -tremble<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_243">{243}</a></span> as he sought to express the feeling that stirred him.</p> - -<p>In the summer of 1886 he invited my wife and myself to accompany him on -a visit to Nuremberg. Miss Ellen Terry and her daughter were of the -party, and as <i>Faust</i> was to be produced at the end of the year, our -holiday had in part a practical purpose. Irving and I made an exhaustive -study of the gardens of the old German city in order to find suitable -material for the scenery of the play, the greater part of which was to -be painted by Mr. Hawes Craven. We even carried our researches as far as -Rothenberg-on-the-Tauber, a most beautiful example of a mediæval -fortified town; and at the last Irving deemed it wise to summon Craven -from London in order that he might make a few preparatory studies on the -spot.</p> - -<p>There was one incident of our journey that was rather unfortunate. I was -acting as paymaster for the party, and at Cologne Irving cashed a -circular note of <i>£100</i>, and the German notes we received in exchange -were in my pocket-book as I took our tickets for Wurtzburg. At a -junction on the route the train made a halt of some minutes to allow -time for refreshments, and as I stood at the door of the buffet a young -American of great politeness of manner questioned me as to the identity -of Irving and Miss Terry. His tone was reverent and confidential, and as -the crowd pressed through the doorway he apologised for jostling me in -so unmannerly a fashion. When I retired for the night I realised that -his apology was certainly not unneeded, for on emptying my pockets I -found<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_244">{244}</a></span> that my pocket-book was gone, and with it about £80 of Irving’s -money and £30 of my own. We heard afterwards that a young gentleman -answering to the description of my chance railway acquaintance had been -doing a thriving trade on the Rhine steamers, and I daresay he still -preserves my pocket-book as a souvenir of a prosperous day.</p> - -<p>It is, I think, impossible for any one who has been closely associated -with the modern theatre not to be impressed with the need of some -worthier support of the drama than is afforded by the fickle and -shifting taste of the public; and the career of Irving, both as an actor -and a manager, only goes to emphasise a truth that had been repeatedly -enforced by the fortunes of his predecessors. We pride ourselves in this -country upon what is achieved by individual enterprise, but we do not -always remember at what a cost such achievements are won. The harvest is -ours, but the labourers who have reaped and stored it are too often but -miserably rewarded. Charles Kean, at the close of his long struggle at -the Princess’s, confessed that he left the theatre a poorer man than -when he entered it; Phelps’ fortunes at Sadler’s Wells left him nothing -to boast of; and Henry Irving, though he enjoyed at the zenith of his -career a popularity greater than was accorded to either of his -predecessors, had good reason before its close to realise that the -motley public of a great capital is not to be counted upon for the -enduring support of the more serious form of dramatic enterprise.</p> - -<p>It is strange that there should be so much reluctance in the English -mind to entertain the idea<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_245">{245}</a></span> of a National Theatre. In regard to other -forms of art, the need of public support is recognised and accepted. The -treasures of sculpture and painting accumulated in the British Museum, -the National Gallery, and the South Kensington Museum owe their -existence, in part at least, to the expenditure of the money of the -people, and when the Royal Academy failed to initiate any comprehensive -system of art teaching, it was undertaken by the nation. On every ground -of public policy the claims of the drama might be urged with even -greater plausibility. Its appeal as an educational force is even greater -and more immediate, and as a humanising influence it is capable of -reaching that larger class who are not yet prepared to appreciate the -masterpieces of ancient art. Of the countless thousands who can enjoy -Molière’s incomparable humour, how many are there who would pause before -Leonardo’s <i>Monna Lisa</i> in the Louvre? How many again in our own -country, of those who are familiar with the tragedies of Shakespeare, -ever find their way into the British Museum or the National Gallery?</p> - -<p>And yet the prejudice against the public support of the theatre endures, -and can only, I think, be broken down by the demands of the democracy. -If a national theatre is to be established in England, it must realise -that it has a national mission. The Theatre Français was established at -a time when means of communication were difficult, and when, therefore, -it was only possible to cater for the public of the metropolis. But -under modern conditions a national theatre might, in a fuller and larger -sense,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_246">{246}</a></span> serve the interests of the country as a whole. The great -provincial cities might share the fruits of its labours; and when this -is realised I cannot but think that, even though the Government may -remain apathetic, the needful support for such an institution will not -be wanting.</p> - -<p>During the later years of his life upon the stage, Toole no longer held -with any influence the attention of a London audience. In the earlier -days of the Gaiety, where he had appeared as a dominant figure, his -success in a material sense then far outstripped that of his comrade, -and in some of Irving’s earlier engagements in the provinces Toole was -his manager; but even in those later days, when the comedian had partly -lost his hold upon the theatre, he remained a lovable and a fascinating -figure in private life, and I am sure there was no one who welcomed with -greater enthusiasm Irving’s steady advance to the front rank of his -profession.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the secret of Toole’s charm lay in an entire absence of pretence -either social or intellectual. Something deeply human in his nature left -him always at his ease in whatever society he might find himself; and, -in a sense of humour which appreciated and detected without resentment -the foibles of all whom he encountered, I think there are few men of his -generation who could claim to be his equal. He laid no claim to any -largeness of education, and I suppose there were few men who had read -less, but in that knowledge that could be won without the aid of -literature he was a genuine scholar. He read life truly and swiftly, -genially and humorously. He knew it well because he loved it well. Put -him where<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_247">{247}</a></span> you would, in any company, however divergent their claims, -and not an hour could pass before Toole had seized with quick enjoyment -upon the separate characteristics of nearly every man at the table.</p> - -<p>What he loved most, I think, outside of that part of his life which was -spent in the theatre, was an aimless ramble in search of fun. Many and -many such a vagrant day have I passed in his company, and not a barren -one of them all. One such in particular I recall which may stand as a -sample of many more. He had called for me quite early in the morning in -his victoria, armed with only the naked suggestion that we should pay a -visit to the city. For the city, therefore, we started, with no settled -plan of operation, and it was only when we had reached the narrowest -part of Thames Street that Toole seemed suddenly possessed with the -outline of his programme for the day.</p> - -<p>The portly figure of a uniformed porter standing at the gateway of some -wholesale warehouse arrested his attention, and calling upon the driver -to stop, he hobbled out of the carriage with his quaint lame walk, and -at once engaged this forbidding-looking official in friendly converse. -It was the time when the wheel-and-van tax had lately been imposed, and -Toole drawing a note-book from his pocket declared to the amazed -individual he was addressing that we had come down to the city to -collect opinions on the subject. The man at first was stubbornly -reluctant to enter into conversation, but Toole’s insinuating amiability -of manner was not to be withstood, and he at last drew from this -unfortunate individual an<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_248">{248}</a></span> opinion, the purport of which I scarcely now -remember, but which apparently, as Toole’s enthusiasm declared, clinched -the subject.</p> - -<p>“If that’s your opinion,” he said, “will you kindly see to it, as my -friend and I are busy,” and with that enigmatic declaration he hobbled -back to the victoria, leaving the unfortunate porter with a blank look -of puzzled amazement on his face.</p> - -<p>“To the Tower,” cried Toole to the coachman, “and as quickly as -possible, for we have a lot of work to do.”</p> - -<p>Arrived there, Toole at once, in tones of confidential secrecy, -addressed the first Beefeater who stood by the gateway.</p> - -<p>“What have you done?” he inquired in an anxious voice.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, sir?” said the man.</p> - -<p>“I mean,” said Toole in a still more confidential tone, “what crime have -you committed? You need not keep it from me and my friend.”</p> - -<p>“Crime!” was the indignant answer. “I have committed no crime.”</p> - -<p>“Come! come!” said Toole, suddenly assuming the air of a cross-examining -counsel. “Do not dare to tell me that. You must have committed some -crime, you know, or they would never have put you into a dress like -that.”</p> - -<p>Before the unfortunate man had recovered his self-possession we passed -on into the Tower itself, and swiftly found ourselves among a party of -eager sight-seers in the chamber where the Crown jewels are disposed.</p> - -<p>It was a woman who, as I remember, was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_249">{249}</a></span> explaining to the eager throng -the history of the different articles displayed, and when at the end of -a long catalogue, she at last said, “And this is Ann Boleyn’s crown,” -Toole, apparently suddenly overcome, burst into a flood of tears and -leant against the wall in seemingly uncontrollable grief.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir,” inquired the poor woman in distress, “what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing! nothing!” replied Toole in broken accents. “Don’t mind me, but -the fact is I have known the family so long.”</p> - -<p>Such innocent sallies of almost child-like high spirits count for -nothing in the telling, count for nothing, indeed, disassociated from -the exuberant good-humour and the laughing, lovable nature of the man -himself.</p> - -<p>Our whole day was spent in innocent adventures of the same kind. We -lunched in Billingsgate, where Toole persuaded the aged and greasy -waiter that his purpose in visiting the city was to engage him as -manager to a fashionable restaurant for fish dinners to be erected on -the south bank of the Thames, immediately opposite the Savoy. And then -by easy transition we passed on to the Custom House, which Toole had -known well when he had been engaged as a clerk in the city; here he -dismayed two venerable officials, busily engaged upon ledgers behind the -brass grill, by suddenly demanding a brandy and soda, entirely ignoring -their attempted explanation that it was not a bar, and vouchsafing—for -all answer to their spluttering expostulations—only the careless reply -that, if they were out of brandy, a whisky would do equally well.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_250">{250}</a></span></p> - -<p>It may seem foolish to suppose that any one could derive amusement from -a day so idly spent, but those who risk this assumption labour under the -misfortune of not having known Toole. His gaiety, when he was in the -right mood, was infectious and irresistible, and yet, like all men of -such exuberant high spirits, he was subject at times to moods of the -deepest depression, moods which grew upon him in those sadder and later -days of his life when he was deprived of the constant companionship of -his comrades, which meant to him all in all. But even his most sorrowful -moments sometimes yielded, on the sudden call of a remembered incident, -to a quick recovery of the laughter that he loved, and the -unpremeditated juxtaposition of feelings which he exhibited on such -occasions was sometimes almost grotesque in their contrast.</p> - -<p>I remember on the death of his wife he asked me if I would drive with -him to the funeral, and I called for him at his house in Maida Vale, -where we sat silently side by side in the little room adjoining the hall -awaiting the arrival of the carriage. The tears were slowly coursing -down his cheek, and I knew that many painful memories were thronging his -brain, for his son and his daughter had already passed away, and by this -final loss the last link with his domestic life was severed. And yet -suddenly, as we were sitting there, a smile flitted across his face, and -a laughing light came into those affectionate brown eyes that only a -moment before had been filled with tears.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why it has come into my mind now, Joe,” he said; “I -suppose it ought not to, but I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_251">{251}</a></span> must tell you. I was having dinner once -at Dumfries in a company of commercial travellers, and before the covers -were removed the chairman rose and said, ‘Mr. Macfarlane, as you are -nearest the window, perhaps you will ask God’s blessing on this feast.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>This little incident may be taken as entirely typical of the man, -typical of his absolute simplicity, of his total inability to range his -feelings with the ordered decorum which conventional propriety demands. -In another moment he was back again amid the more painful memories of -his life, and within a few minutes we were on our way to the cemetery.</p> - -<p>Numberless occasions of idle hours spent in Toole’s company I could -recall, but they must all be shorn of the presence of the comedian -himself, whose incomparable temperament as a humorist gave them point -and zest. One day I remember, a day of an early spring, he had a fancy -that we should journey towards Hampstead, and accordingly we drove till -we reached the well-known tea-gardens of the Spaniard’s Inn on the road -towards Highgate. The gardens were deserted, and a bleak wind was -blowing through the empty bowers, inhabited on that morning only by a -little boy who, with a small and, as it seemed to us, inadequate little -broom, was dusting the seats in preparation for the influx of visitors -that would come later in the season.</p> - -<p>This small boy was of almost forbidding mien and decidedly surly in -manner, but these external evidences of discouragement seemed only to -fire Toole in his desire to make his better acquaintance. He -complimented the urchin upon his dexterous use of the broom, a -compliment to which the surly boy<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_252">{252}</a></span> vouchsafed no audible reply. Toole, -entirely undaunted, persisted in his overtures of friendship.</p> - -<p>“That’s right, my lad,” he cried, “use your broom, and when you go to -bed at night hang it up by the side of your bed.”</p> - -<p>This injunction, so entirely unsolicited, seemed to rouse the boy’s ire, -and his dormant powers of speech suddenly returning, he inquired of -Toole, in tones that were almost indignant, “Why should I?”</p> - -<p>“Because,” answered Toole, with a persuasive manner that seemed to -convey a convincing argument, “if by chance you should wake in the -night, there’s your little broom.”</p> - -<p>The boy, to do him justice, seemed by no means appeased by this obvious -explanation, and reverted again to his aimless occupation of dusting the -vacant seats of the untenanted bowers of the tea-gardens. Whereupon -Toole, still undefeated, attacked the citadel from another quarter.</p> - -<p>“When is your birthday?” he inquired, and the boy, entirely taken off -his guard, replied, “To-morrow!” and then, again entrenching himself -safely behind his bastion of surly reserve, demanded in trenchant tones, -“What’s that got to do with you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing, nothing!” replied Toole, “only I thought I’d like to know -if there was anything in particular you’d like for a birthday present.”</p> - -<p>The boy, at first obdurately silent, at last yielded under pressure, and -confessed that the dream of his life was to possess a bicycle.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” said Toole.</p> - -<p>“There’s nobody going to give me no bicycle,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_253">{253}</a></span>” replied the boy, although -his mood was now obviously melting under the infectious influence of the -comedian’s good-humour, and as we went towards the gate to get into our -carriage the boy followed us, as though under some kind of spell induced -by Toole’s suggestion, “that you never knew who might send you the -present you wanted.”</p> - -<p>It chanced that just at the entrance to the tea-gardens two bicycles -were leaning against a hedge, and their two owners, flushed with -exercise, were seated in jerseys beneath a tree quaffing a pot of ale.</p> - -<p>“Why,” cried Toole, in tones of wondering amazement, as though he saw -before him the fulfilment of his own prophecy, “there is your bicycle!”</p> - -<p>The boy was bewitched. Without halt or pause he seized one of the vacant -machines, and before interference was possible had mounted it and was -riding down the road to Highgate, the owner, roused from his -refreshment, starting in pursuit.</p> - -<p>In a moment he returned, drawing his machine with one hand and holding -the boy by the collar with the other.</p> - -<p>“This is your fault,” he cried indignantly to Toole, “you encouraged -him.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” replied Toole, with the blandest of smiles, “you can’t blame the -boy, he was only trying if it fitted him.”</p> - -<p>The poor little fellow, now almost in tears, looked ruefully at us as we -drove away. But there is a pretty ending to the story, for I happen to -know that on the next day, which was his birthday, Toole sent him a -little bicycle for his own.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_254">{254}</a></span></p> - -<p>During those earlier days when I first made his acquaintance and -Irving’s, I was from time to time, and on different papers, employed as -a dramatic critic, and I remember it was in that capacity that I had -written a notice of Mr. Wills’ play of <i>Charles I.</i>, in which Irving had -enforced and enlarged the impression created by his appearance in <i>The -Bells</i>. I think I had done sufficient justice to Irving’s impressive -personation of the king, but my pronounced democratic inclinations were -perhaps justly wounded by Mr. Wills’ almost farcical representation of -the character of Cromwell. This opinion, openly declared in my -criticism, deeply incensed Irving’s manager Mr. Bateman, and it was -perhaps in order to find the opportunity of informing me of his -disapproval that he invited me to a supper at the Westminster Club on -the second or third night of the production.</p> - -<p>My friend Thomas Purnell, to whom I have already referred, was present, -and Irving and Toole were also of the company. When he thought the -fitting moment had arrived, Mr. Bateman led the conversation to the -point at issue, and lured on, I think, in a spirit of mischief by -Purnell, he at last emphatically banged the table with his fist, and in -the loudest of tones declared that he did not produce his plays at the -Lyceum Theatre to please Mr. Comyns Carr. There was a moment’s awkward -pause, which I did not feel quite able to break, but which was released -by Purnell with a chuckle of delight and the happy retort:</p> - -<p>“Well, dear boy, then you can’t be surprised if they don’t please him.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_255">{255}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>All this while my own ambition to make an adventure as a writer for the -stage had been steadily growing. My wife and I had made an experiment in -a version of <i>Frou-frou</i> entitled <i>Butterfly</i>, which was produced by -Miss Terry and Mr. Kelly during one of their provincial tours at -Glasgow. But it was not until the year 1884 that I succeeded in getting -a play presented at a London theatre. In the Christmas of 1883 Messrs. -Arrowsmith of Bristol had published a short story entitled <i>Called Back</i> -which won instant attention from the public. Almost immediately after -its publication I was dining at the Beefsteak Club, which at that time -occupied rooms over Toole’s theatre opposite King William Street, and I -was there recommended by one of my fellow-members to read it without -delay.</p> - -<p>As I walked home, for we had dined early, I asked at the small -newsvendors’ shop near my house in Blandford Square, if they chanced to -have a copy of the book. By a strange coincidence, one of their -customers had ordered the little volume, published in paper covers at a -shilling, and had afterwards found that he did not need it. I bought it -and read it that night, and on the next day I wrote to its author—known -to the public as Hugh Conway, but whose real name was Fred Fargus, -member of a firm of auctioneers at Bristol—to inquire if he would -permit me to prepare a version of it for the stage. We were wholly -unknown to one another, yet he readily assented, and in the early part -of the year 1884 I secured the production of the play at the Prince of -Wales’ Theatre, then managed by Mr. Edgar Bruce. When the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_256">{256}</a></span> date agreed -upon for its production was drawing near Bruce had brought out, in -association with Charles Hawtrey, a play called <i>The Private Secretary</i>; -and, although on its first presentation this was not entirely -successful, it grew so rapidly in public favour, due in great part, as I -must think, to Mr. Beerbohm Tree’s admirable creation of the part of the -curate, that there came a moment when Hawtrey very ardently desired that -I should postpone the performance of <i>Called Back</i>.</p> - -<p>He offered me as an inducement such a liberal share in the profits of -his own piece as would, as the event proved, have yielded me something -like a handsome fortune. But with the vanity of a young dramatic -writer—in this instance supported by the fact that in Hugh Conway’s -interests it was imperative <i>Called Back</i> should not be delayed, lest -our joint chance of success should be imperilled by piracy—I held fast -by my agreement with the management, and further insisted as an integral -part of that agreement that Mr. Beerbohm Tree, whose services Mr. -Hawtrey desired to retain, should be engaged by Mr. Bruce for the part -of Macari. Nor did I see cause to regret my decision; for, apart from -the fact that <i>Called Back</i> itself proved an instant success which -yielded to Conway and to myself, both in England, in America, and -Australia, a substantial reward, its production was the means of forming -two valued friendships, the one with Hugh Conway, only severed by his -untimely death, the other with Beerbohm Tree, sustained and strengthened -as the years have passed, and still surviving in a spirit of loyal -comradeship on his side and on mine.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_257">{257}</a></span></p> - -<p>Hugh Conway’s was a lovable nature, and if his talent as displayed in -later efforts has not been appreciated at its true value, the reason -perhaps may be sought in the fact that the glamour of his first essay in -fiction was sufficient to overshadow the work of his later years. But he -had, as I think, a power in the suggestion of the supernatural -altogether exceptional, and although his style affected no literary -grace, he had the art of contriving and weaving a story so as to arrest -and enchain the attention of the reader. From the time of our first -association we became firm friends, and I believe my name was almost the -last upon his lips when he met his untimely death from fever on the -Riviera. At his wish I dramatised the next of his Christmas books, -entitled <i>Dark Days</i>, which was presented at the Haymarket Theatre in -the following year, but it proved less acceptable to the public. He also -published under my editorship, in the <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, a -serial story called <i>A Family Affair</i>, and a few shorter tales, one of -which, entitled <i>Paul Vargas</i>, possessed something of the weird -mysticism of Edgar Allan Poe.</p> - -<p>Previous to the publishing of <i>Called Back</i> he had issued in one of the -magazines an amusing little story illustrating the fortunes of two -collectors of old china, which he allowed me to employ as the basis of a -piece I presented at St. George’s Hall under the title of <i>The United -Pair</i>. The German Reeds’ entertainment is now a thing of the past, but -it occupied in those days a unique position as satisfying those whose -religious scruples did not allow them to visit or to patronise regular -theatrical<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_258">{258}</a></span> entertainments. I remember as a child having been taken to -the Gallery of Illustration in Regent Street, occupying, I fancy, the -site now tenanted by the Raleigh Club, to see Miss Priscilla Horton, the -originator of this special form of entertainment who afterwards, as Mrs. -German Reed, gave a permanent name to the programme presented for so -many years at St. George’s Hall.</p> - -<p>At first the German Reeds had been associated with Mr. Parry, whose -place, in my time, was occupied by my friend Corney Grain. Mr. and Mrs. -Reed in those later days were both dead, and the purely dramatic part of -the bill was under the direction of Alfred Reed their son, with whom I -had many pleasant hours of association in the several pieces I wrote for -him. <i>The Cabinet Secret</i> was followed by <i>The Friar</i>, a rather more -ambitious experiment in verse, and that again was succeeded by <i>The -Naturalist</i>, the last of my contributions to the performances at St. -George’s Hall.</p> - -<p>It is hard in these days, when the earlier prejudices against the -theatre are so nearly effaced, to realise the extraordinary vogue which -this particular class of entertainment enjoyed. An author who wrote for -the German Reeds had to tread warily, and the presence of a harmonium, -as the sole support of the piano in the orchestra, was there constantly -to remind him of the somewhat orthodox tone he was enjoined to observe.</p> - -<p>Corney Grain, who in later days rarely appeared in the dramatic part of -the programme, was a host in himself when he was seated at the piano, -inimitable as he was in humorous perception of the lighter<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_259">{259}</a></span> foibles of -the day. For years he was a constant figure at the Beefsteak Club, where -in private life he betrayed the same quick glance into the little -idiosyncrasies of individual character allied to a power of ridicule -that never sought to wound, and a deeply seated geniality of nature that -won him many friends, and never, as I think, a single enemy.</p> - -<p>Of all the entertainers in this kind who have sought single-handed to -amuse the public, partly in humorous characterisation and partly through -musical accomplishment, he remains, as far as my impression goes, easily -first in the class he represented.</p> - -<p>A chapter of pleasant memories in the earlier days of my theatrical -association is provided by a little club called “The Lambs,” to which I -have already alluded. It had been founded in 1868, and I suppose it was -about the year 1870 that I was admitted into the fold. Though not -exclusively composed of actors, it was mainly concerned with interests -that were theatrical, and it was there I first met Sir Squire Bancroft -and Sir John Hare, in days when neither dreamed of the distinction of a -title, and when both, indeed, were little past the threshold of their -fame. There were no matinées then, and so we were enabled to meet for -dinner on every Saturday during the autumn and winter at the pleasant -hour of four o’clock.</p> - -<p>When I first joined the society our meeting-place was at the old Gaiety -Restaurant, but afterwards we moved to the Albemarle Hotel, then an -old-fashioned hostelry at the corner of Piccadilly, which has long been -supplanted by a more modern structure.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_260">{260}</a></span> They were the pleasantest -gatherings that I can recall as being connected with that period of my -youth. The rules of our Club prescribed just that little touch of -ceremony and ritual by which grown men when they come together for -social purposes prove themselves to be so nearly allied to children, and -as a part of that ceremonial it was ordained that the “Shepherd” of the -day, an office filled in rotation, had, at the summons of a graceful -little silver bell, designed by one of our members, Fred Jameson, the -right to call upon any one of those present whom he chose to select for -a speech, which, with its reply, was all in the way of oratory that our -rules permitted.</p> - -<p>It was in this way that I first encountered that handsomest and gayest -of young actors, H. J. Montague, whose charm exercised a widespread -fascination upon the play-goers of his day, and who was further, and -quite independently of such histrionic gifts as he could boast, a -companion of the most sympathetic spirit. If not endowed with absolute -wit, he could so infect the recital of the most ordinary adventures that -he had encountered during the day with something of the rollicking sense -of boyishness that was his own, as to keep his hearers in a mood of -unflagging merriment and enjoyment.</p> - -<p>But on one particular occasion, which I recall, he was bidding for a -victory that lay not quite so easily within his reach. Chosen by the -chairman as the spokesman of the day, he had selected me, perhaps -because I was the youngest member of the Club, as the object of his -raillery, and I remember now the look of amazement, almost of -consternation,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_261">{261}</a></span> on his face when I replied to him in something of the -same spirit which animated his own speech, and retorted with unsparing -ridicule upon his own qualifications as an actor and as a member of our -little society.</p> - -<p>Joyous, indeed, were those weekly meetings of “The Lambs,” where we met -in eager appreciation of that new birth in the drama inaugurated by Tom -Robertson, and which was being presented, with so loyal a faith in their -mission, by the company which Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft had gathered -together in the little house in Tottenham Court Road. We were all -enthusiasts, all animated by a firm faith in the future of the drama we -loved, all supported by the thought that to-morrow would see the dawn of -such a new birth of drama upon the stage as England had not witnessed -for many a generation. And even looking back now it seems plain to me -that the movement in which we were taking a part was not without its -direct and important influence upon the new spirit that had crept into -the theatre.</p> - -<p>It is difficult now quite to realise the warmth of welcome we were then -glad to bestow upon that little revolution which must be always -associated with the Prince of Wales’s Theatre under the management of -the Bancrofts. The return to realism which was there sought, and in a -measure achieved, was exercised only in a narrow compass, and with an -outlook that was restricted and limited. But it was designed to have a -larger influence than seemed possible from such modest beginnings. It -sought no triumphs which were not within the region of comedy, and that -comedy itself did not strive for<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_262">{262}</a></span> the interpretation of more than the -current sentiments of the time. But, by its earnest endeavour to bring -the life as presented upon the stage into closer contact with the life -of its time, it served to exercise an influence upon the art of the -future in a wider and a deeper sense than was, perhaps, quite -consciously entertained by those who were conducting its efforts.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_263">{263}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /><br /> -<small>SOCIAL HOURS</small></h2> - -<p>The recollection of many pleasant hours spent at the Lambs Club recalls -other social gatherings which have lightened my life as a man of -letters. Of society, strictly so called, I have known but little. A few -occasional excursions into the higher realms have come to me -accidentally, and my experiences of such more formal gatherings were -never of a kind to tempt me to strive with any earnest ambition for -those more dignified joys which must, I presume, be highly prized by -those who seek them.</p> - -<p>The drift of modern life has, indeed, broken down many of the barriers -of an earlier time, and the dividing line between Bohemia and Society, -properly so called, is now often effaced by ambition on the one side or -by curiosity on the other.</p> - -<p>Here, however, I shall only speak of those more intimate gatherings -where artists of various callings were wont to meet, and the first in my -recollection are those associated with the pleasant Sunday evenings at -the house of Dr. Westland Marston, whose simple hospitality drew many -interesting folk to his table.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_264">{264}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was there I first met the beautiful Adelaide Neilson, whose -picturesque and romantic career would vie in interest, if it could ever -be recorded, with that of Lady Hamilton herself. Certainly her changing -fortunes were no less sudden in their contrast, for, although she came -of humble origin, she was at the time when I first knew her widely -worshipped as a beauty and as an actress.</p> - -<p>Dr. Westland Marston himself had, like Rossetti, though not in an equal -degree, the power of inspiring and encouraging younger men, whom he -loved to draw about him. While I was still at school I had already read -his play of <i>The Patrician’s Daughter</i>, a play chiefly interesting from -a literary point of view by reason of its endeavour to treat a purely -modern theme through the medium of blank verse. Some of his shorter -poems were also known to me, and as he was the first man of any rank in -literature with whom I had become personally acquainted, I was glad of -the opportunity which those Sunday evenings afforded me to know him -better.</p> - -<p>No man had ever a more real delight in literature or a clearer or more -delicate perception of its finer qualities. I think it was Joseph Knight -who first introduced me to him, and in the years when I was making my -first efforts in journalism it was a constant delight to me to find that -I was a welcome visitor at his house.</p> - -<p>He had been impressed, as Knight told me, by a review I had written in -the <i>Globe</i> of the poems of Joachim Miller, and I remember the warm -words of encouragement with which he greeted me on my first visit to his -house.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_265">{265}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was there I met Mrs. Lynn-Linton, whose articles in the <i>Saturday -Review</i> on “The Girl of the Period” were at the time attracting a -considerable amount of attention. Afterwards I got to know her well, and -learnt to discover in her earnest, enthusiastic nature qualities that -struck much deeper than the superficial satire which she had exercised -in this series of papers exploiting the foibles of her sex.</p> - -<p>Another house where artists and men of letters were warmly welcomed was -that of Dr. Schlesinger, who was for many years the valued English -correspondent of the <i>Cologne Gazette</i>. Dr. Max Schlesinger, in virtue -of very considerable gifts both as a politician and as a man of letters, -and even more perhaps by qualities of personal character that made him -widely trusted, occupied an exceptional position in the world of -journalism in London. His known discretion as a publicist won for him -the confidence of the most eminent of our statesmen, but the -associations of this kind which belonged to his life as a journalist, -never led him to desert or to neglect that purely artistic environment -to which by inclination and culture he naturally belonged.</p> - -<p>Nothing could have been more simple, more entirely unostentatious than -the hospitality offered on those pleasant weekly evenings in Dr. -Schlesinger’s house. It was, I think, a valued rendezvous to all who -considered themselves welcome, for it was Dr. Schlesinger’s privilege, -partly due perhaps to the exceptional position he occupied, that he was -able to make his house a delightful meeting-place for the leaders of -thought in many depart<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_266">{266}</a></span>ments, and for the most prominent artists of -every nationality.</p> - -<p>It was there I first met Mr. G. H. Boughton, then a young and struggling -painter, who, if not American by birth, was at any rate American by long -association, and who afterwards achieved in England a deservedly high -place among his comrades. Mr. and Mrs. Boughton, before they built their -house upon Campden Hill, had begun to be known as accepted hosts by a -large body of artistic society, and in later days the big studio at -Campden Hill became the scene of many joyous entertainments, which -occasionally took the form of fancy dress. Mr. Boughton, whatever may be -the final verdict on his own artistic achievement, was a man of fine -taste and delicate perception, both in the region of art and in the -wider field of literature. It was there I first met Robert Browning, a -constant guest at the Boughtons’ dinners, which, with the larger parties -they sometimes entertained, became for many years an accepted -meeting-place for nearly all who were interested in art.</p> - -<p>A little later, when the Grosvenor Gallery was established, the Sunday -afternoon parties, so graciously presided over by Lady Lindsay, quickly -established themselves as a social feature of the time. A part of the -mission which Sir Coutts and Lady Lindsay had accepted was the -establishment of a closer link between the professors of the plastic -arts and the representatives of cultivated society; and certainly, while -these afternoons endured, they served their purpose admirably well, and -proved the means, to those who attended them, of forming<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_267">{267}</a></span> many new and -valued friendships. I remember one of those pleasant assemblies being -suddenly and very sadly interrupted by the arrival of Montague Corry, -afterwards Lord Rowton, who was the bearer of the appalling announcement -of the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke.</p> - -<p>Of later hosts and hostesses who have especially distinguished -themselves by the cultivation of the more artistic aspect of society it -would be possible to speak with fuller appreciation, if it were not that -they are still amongst us and still discharging those graceful duties of -hospitality. Sir George and Lady Lewis, while they still occupied their -beautiful cottage at Walton, made us all welcome, and the days I have -spent there in company with Burne-Jones remain among the sweetest -memories of that earlier time. Nor less delightful are the recollections -which gather about those memorable Tuesday evenings which for many years -have been enjoyed by the friends of Sir Lawrence and Lady Tadema.</p> - -<p>The instinct of hospitality belongs to many kindly hosts; the genius of -hospitality is rare, but it would be conceded, I think, by all—who for -so many years have been welcomed, first to Townsend House overlooking -Regent’s Park, and in later days to that larger and more spacious studio -which stands in the Grove End Road—to Sir Lawrence and Lady Tadema. The -last Tuesday evening we spent in Townsend House comes back vividly to me -now. I think all of us who were there were a little moved at the thought -that there should be even a temporary break in the continuity of these -weekly gatherings; some of us, perhaps, were also a little afraid lest -the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_268">{268}</a></span> new order of things in that larger house towards which our hosts -were flitting should be robbed of some of the intimacy we had so long -enjoyed.</p> - -<p>But such fears, if they existed, were quickly dispelled when we were -once more welcomed to the new abode. The change belonged only to the -building; our host and hostess have remained unalterable in the loyalty -of their friendship.</p> - -<p>It was at the house now occupied by Sir Alma Tadema that at one time I -used to dine with the French painter, James Tissot, a man whose varied -moods of changing ambition and alternating ideals leave him almost -without a parallel among the painters of the time. Tissot was one of the -first contributors to the exhibition of the Grosvenor Gallery, his -talent at the time being almost entirely preoccupied by a modish type of -modern feminine beauty.</p> - -<p>In those earlier exhibitions he found such lighter essays of his hung in -close juxtaposition with the widely different work of Burne-Jones, and -dining with him at about this time I could see that his mind was deeply -exercised by the impression the English painter had made upon him.</p> - -<p>“Mon ami,” he confided to me, “je vois qu’il y a quelque chose à faire, -là.”</p> - -<p>And accordingly, before the next year’s exhibition had come round he had -ventured his experiment in the region of what he thought to be ideal -art. But the leap was too long for so brief a period of preparation, and -I remember that his friend Heilbuth, who was present at the dinner of -that second year, made sad havoc with the painter’s schemes by<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_269">{269}</a></span> -ridiculing the little card upon which Tissot had set forth his -symbolical intentions. He treated the written description of the -pictures as though it were a menu of the feast that awaited us, crying -out each course from the beginning: “Potage une dame avec un serpent, -qui signifie——” But at this point the incensed Tissot snatched the -paper from his hand, and amid a roar of laughter, in which perhaps the -painter did not very heartily join, we went in to dinner.</p> - -<p>But that sudden ambition, though it was not capable of immediate -fulfilment, implied a deeper strain in Tissot’s nature which was -destined to find expression at a later day. Shortly afterwards he left -England, and it was many years before I saw him again, hard at work in -his studio in Paris upon the completion of a series of designs in -illustration of the Life of Christ. Those designs exhibited an -extraordinary persistence in the interpretation of local truth, for he -had made a long sojourn in the Holy Land in order to fit himself for the -task, and they showed besides an occasional intensity of feeling that -lay dormant and unsuspected in the man as I knew him first. What was the -real kernel of such a nature it is hard to say. The man himself, -although in those earlier days he displayed little but the evident -ambition to make his art remunerative, nevertheless, by occasional -glimpses, betrayed the elements of a deeper purpose underlying the life -that was preoccupying him at the moment.</p> - -<p>A strange figure, a strange individuality, yielding by turns to impulses -the lightest and the most devout, but always, however he might be -engaged,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_270">{270}</a></span> proving himself the possessor of an extraordinary industry and -a remarkable talent!</p> - -<p>I have already alluded to the suppers in the Beefsteak Room as among the -notable social reunions of the time. But there is one of those Lyceum -suppers a little more formal than the rest which I feel disposed to -recall, because it gave evidence of quite an unsuspected power on the -part of Henry Irving of suddenly replying as a speaker to an unexpected -attack.</p> - -<p>The occasion was the 100th performance of the <i>Merchant of Venice</i>, in -1879, and I think it was the first time that the stage of a great London -theatre had been employed as the arena of a large and splendid -entertainment. Since that time we have enjoyed such feasts under the -hospitable auspices of Mr. Tree at His Majesty’s—once, as I recall, on -the occasion of the 100th night of <i>Julius Cæsar</i>, and again on a -corresponding occasion to celebrate the successful run of <i>Ulysses</i>.</p> - -<p>On the evening to which I now refer, the task of proposing Irving’s -health was entrusted to Lord Houghton, who, it was thought, would hardly -choose that particular occasion to exhibit the cynical temper he was -known to possess. But Lord Houghton, as I afterwards found reason to -know, was not disposed to be governed by conventional restrictions, and -he devoted nearly the whole of his speech to a considered depreciation -of Irving’s conception of Shylock, enlarging, in terms, that seemed to -us who sat there, almost designedly bitter, upon what he considered the -undeserved dignity that the actor had granted to the character.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_271">{271}</a></span></p> - -<p>It must have been that Irving was taken by surprise, and although his -habit was always to speak from preparation, and often indeed to read -what he had prepared, he proved himself, on this occasion, a master of -good-humoured impromptu, twitting Lord Houghton, in a spirit of genial -banter, with being a slave to the old-fashioned idea that Shylock was a -comic villain, and promising on some future occasion to try and more -amply satisfy his lordship’s ideal by representing Shylock as a -Houndsditch Jew with three hats upon his head and a bag of lemons in his -hands. The actor’s success, acknowledged by all who were present, was -due, I think, mainly to the fact that, although taken off his guard by -this unexpected provocation, there was not a trace of ill-humour in his -reply.</p> - -<p>There was one other occasion when Irving was the host at a small -supper-party given at the Continental Hotel, when he showed an equal -power of retaining his self-possession in circumstances the most trying -and the most unexpected.</p> - -<p>The honoured guest of the evening—entertained upon his return from a -foreign campaign—was a brilliant and gifted journalist, now no more, -and chief among those whom he had specially desired Irving to invite to -meet him was a distinguished statesman still living, though by -deliberate choice he no longer takes an active part in public affairs. -The guest for whom the entertainment was given arrived late, and when he -appeared it was evident to those of us who knew him that he had dined, -not wisely, but too well. On a sudden, and in response to the most -harmless raillery on the part of the statesman to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_272">{272}</a></span> whom I have referred, -he rose and retorted with the most bitter and, if I may say so, the most -vulgar abuse; and while we all sat appalled by the outrage he was -committing, he turned and appealed to Irving to justify his -extraordinary outburst. It was then that Irving’s tact showed itself. -Quietly and slowly he replied, “All I have to say, my dear friend, is, -that first upon the list of those whom you specially desired I should -invite to meet you this evening, stood the name of Lord——.” And then, -as though to prove to us that he too could exhibit an equal measure of -self-possession, the man so wantonly attacked, without a word of -resentment or rebuke, quietly filled his glass and invited us to drink -just one toast to say how glad we were to see our old friend returned -once more from his travels abroad.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_273">{273}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /><br /> -<small>SOME FOREIGN ACTORS</small></h2> - -<p>As I have said in a previous chapter, H. J. Montague, at the time that I -first became a theatre-goer, was the accepted <i>jeune premier</i> of the -time. He certainly had no rival among his own countrymen as the exponent -of lovers’ parts in modern comedy.</p> - -<p>But there was a foreigner who had preceded him, whose art had a wider -compass, and whose powers as a creator of the heroes of romance knew no -rivalry. In such achievements Charles Fechter had a conquering gift that -laid all lady worshippers at his feet. It was only at a later time that -I saw him in Shakespeare, and then only in <i>Hamlet</i>. He was aged and had -grown stout, and it is perhaps scarcely fair to speak of his abilities -as a Shakespearian actor upon the imperfect evidence that was offered to -me; but I thought even then that he treated the tragedy too exclusively -from the point of view of a love story, reducing its higher imaginative -message by too great a regard for Hamlet’s relations with Ophelia. But -that very tendency which seemed to me a fault in his Hamlet was part of -a gift that left him unapproachable in rôles that were purely romantic.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_274">{274}</a></span></p> - -<p>I saw him first in <i>The Duke’s Motto</i> at the Lyceum, and then in <i>Bel -Demonio</i>, and again in <i>Ruy Blas</i>; and in all those performances, as I -recall them, his fascination seemed irresistible. I can almost hear now -the tones of his voice, defiant and triumphant, with that rich rising -cadence which betrayed his foreign origin, as he came down the steps -with Kate Terry in his arms in the former most tawdry of romantic plays. -The impersonation of Ruy Blas cut deeper, as the play itself was more -finely conceived. But, indeed, the effect he produced was hardly -dependent upon the play. It rested rather upon something innately heroic -in himself, something that left the spectator with a feeling of security -from the first note struck by the actor, that the issue, however grave, -and however perilous its intermediate passages, must leave him -undefeated at the last. The last time I saw him was in <i>Monte Christo</i>, -a drama with some strong scenes, but, on the whole, poorly constructed -and unduly prolonged; and I remember, as I sat in the pit, that when -midnight came and the end seemed still afar off, a cheery voice from the -gallery cried out, “Good-night, Mr. Fechter, I shall be here again on -Monday.”</p> - -<p>The sort of play in which Fechter scored his greatest success has long -fallen out of fashion, but I cannot help thinking that if the actor were -here to-day who could boast gifts equal to his, a play fitted to form a -vehicle for the exercise of his powers would be quickly forthcoming.</p> - -<p>Fechter’s name naturally recalls other foreign actors and actresses who -have visited our shores<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_275">{275}</a></span> during the last thirty years. The greatest of -them all, to my thinking, and I am not unmindful of the name of Salvini, -was Madame Ristori. She had not, perhaps, the sudden power born of -sudden impulse which Madame Bernhardt could boast, a power in which, I -suppose, Madame Rachel was far superior to both. Indeed, I remember -having a talk with Sir Frederick Leighton, who in his student days in -Paris had known Rachel’s acting well, and he assured me that Rachel -stood as far above Sarah Bernhardt as Sarah Bernhardt stood above all -other actresses of her time.</p> - -<p>But Ristori’s art, though it may have missed the occasional lightning -flashes, was sustained throughout at a commandingly high level, -sustained by a sense of style that gave continuous dignity and grace to -all she did. Her Lucrezia Borgia rests with me as one of the most -beautiful and at the same time most agonising performances I have ever -seen upon the stage; and scarcely less memorable was her Marie Stuart.</p> - -<p>It was during one of her later engagements in London that she conceived -the ambition of playing the sleep-walking scene from <i>Macbeth</i> in the -English language, and she asked me, with one or two other critics, to -come to her house in order that we might correct any errors of -pronunciation which her performance might betray. It was in a little -drawing-room somewhere down in South Belgravia that we sat and listened -to her as, in her ordinary every-day garb, she acted the scene; and I do -not think there was one of us who was not so entirely absorbed in the -beauty and power of the impersonation as not com<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_276">{276}</a></span>pletely to forget the -special mission upon which we had been summoned. It was only -afterwards—when, recalling us to our task, she sat in our midst and -quietly read the words over again—that we discovered she blundered in -one particular, and in one particular only. When she came to the line, -“Not all the perfumes of Arabia,” it seemed impossible for her tongue, -“hung,” as Sala used to say of his own, “in a southern belfry,” not to -give an absolutely equal emphasis to each separate syllable of the final -word. There was no other fault to find, and when afterwards, encouraged -by our praise, she gave the performance in the theatre, its effect was -deeply impressive.</p> - -<p>A little later, on my recommendation, she read, in English, Webster’s -tragedy of <i>The Duchess of Malfi</i>, and at the time she was so keenly -impressed with the beauty of the character, as set in its lurid frame, -that she entertained the project of having a version of the play made -for her in Italian.</p> - -<p>As I walked away from her house that day with John Oxenford, he was -recalling to me some of his earlier experiences as dramatic critic of -the <i>Times</i>. In those later days he had allowed himself to become little -more than a good-natured chronicler of the narrative underlying each -play as it was presented, and rarely elected to be critical or -censorious, whether of the qualities of the dramatist and still less of -the manner in which the actors acquitted themselves. In the discharge of -this function, however, he had no equal. There was no one on the Press -at that time who could, with such grace or in so narrow a compass, set -forth the story of the plot of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_277">{277}</a></span> the drama under consideration. But some -of us, who brought to our work the greater keenness of youth, were -disposed to reproach him with the unvarying good-nature which governed -his appreciation of the art of the time.</p> - -<p>Some such feeling I must have expressed to him as we sauntered along, -for he told me, by way of rejoinder, that he had very early learnt his -lesson not to endeavour to intrude his own opinions into the columns of -the <i>Times</i>. Near the beginning of his career, he had indulged in some -unfavourable comment upon the performance of the orchestra, which -provoked an angry letter of remonstrance from the player of the -trombone—a letter of remonstrance that in its turn called down a sharp -rebuke upon the critic from the great editor, Mr. Delane.</p> - -<p>“I wish it to be understood,” he curtly intimated to Oxenford, “that the -<i>Times</i> has no desire to be embroiled in controversy with trombone -players.”</p> - -<p>And Oxenford assured me that he had since acted upon this clear note of -warning, and had accordingly avoided as much as possible any kind of -criticism that might invite a retort from the injured player, though he -had on one occasion, as he confessed, indulged in an epigram that might, -he feared, have injured his position. It was of some young actor, whose -performance seemed to him more than usually incompetent, that he -ventured the remark: “We are told that Mr. So-and-so is a promising -performer. For our own part we can only say that we care not how often -he promises so long as he never again performs.”</p> - -<p>But this was an isolated instance in the powers<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_278">{278}</a></span> of sarcasm which he -undoubtedly possessed, and for the most part he continued to the end of -his career in a spirit of unruffled urbanity.</p> - -<p>The visit of the French players during the Franco-German War stirred -London not a little, and undoubtedly exercised a considerable influence -upon the younger representatives of dramatic art in England.</p> - -<p>Delaunay and Got were in their separate ways perfect masters of that -restrained and balanced art which is the outcome of the French system of -training, exhibited in its perfect form in the French National Theatre. -And the restraint and modesty of their methods strongly appealed to that -younger school of actors in England who were already striving after a -greater naturalness of interpretation. But their appeal was made for the -most part in the region of comedy, and it was the advent of Salvini, -with his larger and more passionate individuality, that gave a new -impulse to the rendering of tragic character.</p> - -<p>Salvini was beyond question a superb performer. His natural equipment -for an actor, as exhibited in a voice of unexampled power and charm, was -in itself more than sufficient to warrant the extraordinary outburst of -enthusiasm which greeted his appearance in London. And yet, for all his -undeniable power, his actual rendering of the character of Othello never -seemed to me to be in perfect keeping with the spirit and intention of -the author.</p> - -<p>Overmastering in his strength and superb in his rendering of the more -passionate passages of the play, he missed, as I felt at the time, and -as I still<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_279">{279}</a></span> feel, the tragic sublimity that marks the closing scenes of -the drama.</p> - -<p>I shall not easily forget my first vision of Sarah Bernhardt in Dumas’ -play of <i>L’Étrangère</i>, in which she was associated with Coquelin, -Monnet, Sully, and Croizette. She seemed, even beside such accomplished -players as these, to be a creature of a separate race, endowed with a -force and intensity of feeling that made those around her appear to be -moving in a lower world.</p> - -<p>It was, however, only when she came to London that I got to know her -personally, and after I had produced my play of <i>King Arthur</i> at the -Lyceum Theatre, she was so strongly attracted by the subject that she -had a French version of the drama prepared, wherein she intended herself -to impersonate the character of Lancelot. But, like so many other -projects which Madame Bernhardt has from time to time entertained, the -favourable opportunity for such a performance passed by, and the idea -was replaced by other and more pressing demands upon her brilliant -career.</p> - -<p>When she was in London she was a constant guest at Irving’s little -suppers at the Lyceum, where she evinced the warmest admiration for the -genius of Miss Ellen Terry. One evening, when Miss Terry was protesting -that she was no longer young enough to undertake some rôle that Irving -was pressing her to interpret, Sarah leant across the table and said, -“My dearling, there are two peoples who shall never be old—you and me.” -And, indeed, it may be allowed that in both cases the boast has won some -warrant from nature. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_280">{280}</a></span> youth of Miss Terry seems to be an -indestructible gift. It is born again with each day of her existence, -and as an essential quality of her nature has suffered no change and has -known no deterioration from the early days when, after a brief period of -absence, she returned to the stage as the heroine of Charles Reade’s -drama, <i>The Wandering Heir</i>.</p> - -<p>I think Sarah Bernhardt was always at her best when Miss Terry was one -of her audience, and I recollect one occasion in particular, when, in -company with Miss Terry, I witnessed a performance of the <i>Dame aux -Camelias</i> which in sincerity and power far surpassed any of the many -representations of the character which I had seen Madame Bernhardt -previously deliver.</p> - -<p>It was a particularly interesting evening, for it happened that only a -few nights before Miss Terry and I had also together seen Madame Duse -play the same part in the same theatre. Here again, I think, the Italian -actress was finely inspired by the presence of her comrade, for she too -had on that evening surpassed herself.</p> - -<p>The contrast between the two performers was striking and complete, and -would go far to prove how inexhaustible are the resources of the actor’s -art, and how varied the influences of each separate personality, even -when they are employed upon the same material.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_281">{281}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /><br /> -<small>THE WORK OF THE THEATRE</small></h2> - -<p>In 1887 my friend Mr. Beerbohm Tree, who had already won considerable -distinction as an actor, decided to enter upon the management of a -London theatre, and he asked me to associate myself with the enterprise.</p> - -<p>The play chosen for his first venture was <i>The Red Lamp</i> by Outram -Tristram, and it is an evidence of some element of strength and -distinction in the work that it still survives, after a lapse of -twenty-one years, as an integral part of Mr. Tree’s repertoire. At the -first it looked very much as though it had but little chance to survive -at all. Coldly received by the Press, it failed during the first days of -its run to attract the notice of the public; but little by little the -audiences grew in numbers, and as the season advanced the house was -crowded night after night by an eager and enthusiastic public.</p> - -<p>With the close of the season Mr. Tree shifted his quarters to the -Haymarket, and there it still served him as his opening production while -more important work was in preparation. Those early days of managerial -experiences have left many pleasant recollections. We were both of us -new at<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_282">{282}</a></span> our task, and both unshaken in our faith in the readiness of the -public to welcome every form of serious drama.</p> - -<p>My alliance with Mr. Tree endured for some little time after his removal -to the Haymarket, and it was not until two years later that, at the -invitation of my friend Mr. Stuart Ogilvie, I undertook the independent -direction of the Comedy Theatre.</p> - -<p>Among the writers with whom I was brought into contact during my term of -management was the late Robert Buchanan, a man who undoubtedly possessed -a remarkable talent, but who very often, from a certain indolence of -nature, did himself less than justice. I had met him first at the -Haymarket, where he had prepared a version of Daudet’s famous story of -<i>Froment Jeune et Risler Ainé</i> for production on the stage, and I -confess at that time I was not prepossessed in his favour. It was -impossible at first to shake off the prejudice created by that -unfortunate article wherein, under an assumed name, he had attacked his -brother poets; nor indeed could that particular incident in his career -ever be in any way excused.</p> - -<p>But I found in my later knowledge of him that he could boast of other -and better qualities than were exhibited here. A measure of poetic fancy -he had always possessed, a fancy very happily illustrated in the little -musical piece founded upon the story of <i>The Pied Piper of Hamelin</i> -produced under my management; but even there his better gifts suffered -from a lack of persistence in working out the theme under his hand. And -so it was with all that Buchanan accomplished. Sometimes a brilliantly<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_283">{283}</a></span> -written scene would be followed and robbed of its effect by work that -was only perfunctory.</p> - -<p>He had a sense of the stage, but he had never been at the pains fully to -master the conditions of the theatre, so that even in the best that he -accomplished he could not make full use of its resources or duly observe -its limitations.</p> - -<p>It was during the period of my association with the Comedy Theatre that -Irving invited me to write for him a play on the subject of King Arthur. -He had already in his possession a drama by W. G. Wills upon the same -theme, and at first the project took the form of an offer on his part -that I should revise, and in part rewrite, Wills’s somewhat slovenly -essay. But when I tried to set myself to the task I found that, for me -at least, it was impossible of achievement. I had long known and loved -the Arthurian legends as they are enshrined in Sir Thomas Malory’s -exquisite romance, and it seemed to me that the tragedy that lay in the -loves of Lancelot and Guinevere was susceptible of more dramatic -treatment than Wills had accorded it. When I explained my difficulty to -Irving he at once gave to his original proposal a new form, permitting -me very willingly to abandon altogether Wills’s experiment and to write -for him a drama of my own.</p> - -<p>When the time approached for its production he eagerly acquiesced, as I -have already related, in my suggestion that Burne-Jones should be -invited to design the scenery and costumes, and it was further agreed -between us that the music, which was destined to form an important -feature in the presentation of the piece, should be entrusted to Sir -Arthur Sullivan.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_284">{284}</a></span></p> - -<p>Sullivan was already counted among my intimate friends. I had met him -first many years before at Sir Coutts Lindsay’s country-house in -Scotland, and it was not long before the acquaintance ripened into a -close and lasting friendship. To those who knew and loved Sullivan, and -I think he was loved by all who knew him, the extraordinary charm of his -personality will be unreservedly acknowledged.</p> - -<p>There have been few men in our time in any walk of life who have -possessed an equal measure of social fascination. His manner, always -sympathetic and sincere, suffered no change in whatever company he found -himself, and there was added to this finer quality of sympathy a quick -and delicate sense of humour that made closer comradeship with him -inspiring and delightful. And although he was well entitled to claim a -separate consideration for the art to which his whole life was -unsparingly devoted, it was wonderful to observe with what patience and -tact he subordinated any distinctive claim which I have known other -musicians, not so finely endowed, often to assert, and with how much -skilful readiness he could adjust the competing requirements of music -and the drama, when they had to be linked together, so as to produce a -combined effect upon the audience.</p> - -<p>The subject of King Arthur, while the production was in progress at the -Lyceum, took a strong hold upon him, and it was only a very little while -before his death that he made a proposition to me that I should so far -rearrange the material I had treated as to provide a libretto for an -opera he had in his mind to compose.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_028" style="width: 398px;"> -<a href="images/i_284fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_284fp.jpg" width="398" height="514" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>Emery Walker</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>SIR ARTHUR SULLIVAN</p> - -<p>From the painting by Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. Millais</span>, Bart., P.R.A., in the National -Portrait Gallery.</p> - -<p class="facce"> -<i>To face page 284.</i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_285">{285}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was some little time after the Lyceum production that I became even -more closely associated with him in the production of <i>The Beauty -Stone</i>. The book was written by Mr. Pinero and myself, and Sir Arthur -Sullivan was the composer. During a part of that time he occupied a -charming little villa at Beaulieu on the Riviera, and there I stayed -with him for six weeks while he was setting some of the more important -of the lyrics in the opera.</p> - -<p>The near neighbourhood of Monte Carlo presented an element of temptation -to Sullivan, who was a born gambler. But he was at the time so hard set -upon his work that he announced to me on my arrival his fixed resolve -that our visits to the Casino should be strictly limited to two days in -the week. Like all born gamblers Arthur had his peculiar superstitions. -He could not endure to be watched while he was playing; and if he -chanced to catch sight of me anywhere near the table at which he was -seated, his resentment found eloquent expression. It was only when I -contrived to keep entirely out of sight that I was able to observe him -as he sat wholly absorbed in the play. The excitement to which he -yielded on these occasions was extraordinary, and the rapidity with -which he covered the series of chosen numbers very often outran his own -remembrance of what he had done.</p> - -<p>I have seen him, as he passed from one table to the other, followed by a -friendly croupier carrying a handful of gold which he himself was -ignorant he had won. And when the evening closed, and we found ourselves -once more in the train that was to take us back to Beaulieu, he would<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_286">{286}</a></span> -sometimes sink back entirely exhausted with the energy he had expended -in his three hours’ traffic in the rooms.</p> - -<p>Our life at Beaulieu, wholly delightful as it was—for there never was a -host to equal him in simple and graceful hospitality—had nevertheless -its humorous aspects. We lived, indeed, a sort of Box and Cox existence. -The brisk air and bright climate tempted me to rise early, and I was -generally at work on the little terrace outside my room by nine o’clock -in the morning. It was Sullivan’s habit, on the other hand, to lie late, -and our first meeting of the day occurred only at lunch-time. Sometimes, -but not always, he would work a little during the afternoon, but it was -only when dinner was over, and we had played a few games of bezique, -that he set himself seriously to his task. We parted generally at about -eleven, and then Arthur’s musical day began. Withdrawing himself into a -little glass conservatory that overlooked the Mediterranean, he would -often remain at his desk, scoring and composing, till four or even five -o’clock in the morning, and it was only rarely during the labour of -composition that he had any need to have recourse to the piano to try -over a few notes of the melody he had under treatment.</p> - -<p>His actual pen-work when he was engaged in scoring his composition for -the orchestra was of surprising neatness and delicacy, and I think it -was this part of his task he enjoyed the most. He used to say to me that -the invention of melody rarely presented to him any grave difficulty. It -flowed naturally, almost spontaneously, when he had once<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_287">{287}</a></span> fixed the -musical rhythm which he felt the meaning of the words and the chosen -metre of the verse rightly demanded. Here he took extraordinary pains to -satisfy himself, and it was, I think, this spirit of exacting loyalty to -the special quality of each separate lyric that gave to his work its -special value in relation to the theatre.</p> - -<p>Sullivan was always anxious to gather any hint or suggestion from the -writer with whom he was associated. I told him one day that in composing -verse that was to be set to music I always had some dumb tune echoing in -my brain, and I can recall now his futile endeavours to extract from me -even the vaguest idea of what this “unheard melody” might be. Sometimes -in a spirit of pure mischief he would see how far he could impose upon -my confessed ignorance of the musician’s art. He invited me one day to -his rooms in Victoria Street to listen to the musical form he proposed -to adopt in setting the final choruses of <i>King Arthur</i>, and when, after -playing over what he would himself have described as a “tinpot melody,” -he inquired if the result came up to my expectation, the imperturbable -gravity of his face entirely deceived me.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear Arthur,” I replied, “if that is what you propose, I can -only assume that one of us two is a vulgar fellow, and I suppose I am -the culprit.”</p> - -<p>And then, with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “Well, perhaps you prefer -this,” and proceeded to play the melody he had really composed for the -purpose.</p> - -<p>Unhappily, during the time that <i>The Beauty<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_288">{288}</a></span> Stone</i> was being composed, -poor Sullivan was often suffering great physical pain, which sometimes -rendered his task difficult and onerous. And yet even then the natural -brightness of his disposition constantly asserted itself, and he rarely -allowed others to be conscious of what he himself endured. How great was -the strain illness cast upon him became painfully apparent during the -period of our rehearsals; for, although he never spared himself, it was -clear to those who were near him that the cost to himself in nervous -exhaustion was often almost more than he could bear.</p> - -<p>Those who followed his body to St. Paul’s will not easily forget the -touching solemnity of the occasion. His own Chorus from the Savoy was -permitted to sing one of his own beautiful compositions as the coffin -was slowly lowered into the vault. That so beautiful and sunny a nature, -rich in all the qualities that make for sweet friendship, and so nobly -endowed with gifts that leave his place as a musician lasting and -secure, should have been consigned to such martyrdom of physical -suffering ranks among those decrees of fate that it is vain to question -and idle to seek to evade. Few men could boast of having conferred upon -their generation such fresh and lasting enjoyment; for it may be -confidently said that, in that long series of works in which his name -will ever be associated with that of Sir William Gilbert, there was -added to the garnered store of the world’s pure pleasure a new harvest -of delight reaped from a field that none had tilled before.</p> - -<p>To those who love the theatre the labours of rehearsal, though they are -exacting and some<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_289">{289}</a></span>times exhausting, yield many delightful experiences. -There comes a moment even in the writing of a play when the puppets of -the author’s invention seem suddenly to take a detached existence and to -follow a law of development that is only half-consciously dictated by -their creator. This impression, which I suppose nearly all writers in -the region of fiction must have felt, is renewed and intensified as a -play takes shape upon the stage. The intrusion of the actor’s -personality, sometimes enhancing the original conception, and always in -some degree modifying the intended balance of the design, adds a new -colour to the written page. And then, as day by day the scattered -fragments are gradually united and the interpretation grows in emotional -strength, there come moments of keen enjoyment of the actor’s art that -equal, if they do not surpass, any later impression that may be yielded -when the performance is finally presented with the added effects of -costume and scenery.</p> - -<p>The bare, empty stage, with the players in their ordinary working-day -dress, presents but a mournful appearance to a chance visitor who is a -stranger to the scene. But those who work day by day in the theatre -sometimes find, as the rehearsals advance, that this ill-lit, -unfurnished void can on a sudden be transformed into a world of -enchantment. The actor and the author together are as yet undisturbed in -their task, and what is still to come in the way of added illusion their -imagination can readily supply.</p> - -<p>And yet the bringing together of all the contributory arts that are -combined in the service of an important production has an interest of -its own.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_290">{290}</a></span> From the initial step, when the little toy models of the -scenic artist are passed and approved, to the final moment of the dress -rehearsal, there is a vast amount of work to be done in every -department, and during the progress of that work the theatre becomes a -truly democratic institution. Author and composer, the master carpenter, -the property master, and the electrician are linked together in a spirit -of equal comradeship, and there is not one of them all who has it not in -his power to make or mar the work of his fellows.</p> - -<p>It is one of the inscrutable laws of the theatre that nothing is ever -quite ready until the last moment. Costumes are delayed, properties are -incomplete, or it may be some scene that did not quite fit its purpose -is undergoing structural amendment, and has yet to receive the final -touches at the hands of the scene-painter. All these circumstances, -perhaps inevitable in view of the countless details that have to be -fitted together in order to perfect the complex puzzles of a production, -are apt to give to the final rehearsals an impression of chaos and -confusion. It is not an uncommon remark made by those who are admitted -to such rehearsals, “But you surely do not intend to produce this play -in two days’ time?” And, except to the expert who knows that what is -lacking is already in an advanced stage of preparation, the doubt -implied in the question is natural enough.</p> - -<p>But even with all the experience of the expert there are occasions when -these inevitable delays approach very nearly to disaster. I remember -that the dress rehearsal of <i>Called Back</i>, when I had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_291">{291}</a></span> not yet gained a -full mastery over the mechanical resources of the theatre, lasted till -six o’clock in the morning, and during the small hours one after another -of the members of the company came to me and implored that the -production might be postponed. But with an audacity that was born of -inexperience I persisted that all would be ready in time. We left the -theatre at half-past six, and were back again at ten o’clock to renew -the rehearsal, and to the astonishment of all,—an astonishment in which -I confess I shared,—when the evening came, the play went without mishap -to a successful close. But these long rehearsals often result in trials -of temper as well as of strength, and now and again it happens that the -wearied stagehands are not wholly equal to their work.</p> - -<p><i>King Arthur</i> was produced under conditions that were exceptionally -trying, for, at the time that the heavy scenic material had to be -arranged upon the stage, a pantomime was running at the theatre during -the afternoons. Much that was employed in the pantomime had to be daily -removed to make room for our own scenery, and replaced again for the -performance of the next afternoon. At one of the rehearsals, as Arthur -Sullivan and I stood upon the stage listening to his setting of the “May -Song,” the high platform upon which Queen Guinevere and her maids were -standing suddenly gave way, and to our horror fell with a crash to the -stage. For the moment we thought that some grave disaster must have -occurred, but with sudden instinct Miss Terry had flung herself prone -upon the pedestal where she had been standing,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_292">{292}</a></span> and escaped with nothing -more serious than a few bruises.</p> - -<p>The protest against scenic display in the theatre is constantly renewed, -but is not always very intelligently directed. That scenery can be -inappropriate in its magnificence is true enough, but it is not less -true that it can be equally inappropriate in its inefficiency. The -question, when all is said, is one of taste and fitness, and involves no -irrefutable principle.</p> - -<p>To ignore the enlarged resources of the modern scene-painter’s art -would, I think, be foolish, even if it were possible. The problem before -the theatre now is to control these resources, and to reconsider and to -reforge the means which shall set them again in clear subjugation to the -essential claims of the drama. It may be conceded that during the last -thirty years the need of this subjugation has not always been -sufficiently borne in mind, and there have been instances not a few -where the eye has been fed at the expense of the ear. But this scenic -art is a thing so beautiful in itself that it would be hard indeed if -any mere pedantry of taste should force its exclusion from the theatre.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_293">{293}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</h2> - -<p class="c"><a href="#A">A</a>, -<a href="#B">B</a>, -<a href="#C">C</a>, -<a href="#D">D</a>, -<a href="#E">E</a>, -<a href="#F">F</a>, -<a href="#G">G</a>, -<a href="#H">H</a>, -<a href="#I-i">I</a>, -<a href="#J">J</a>, -<a href="#K">K</a>, -<a href="#L">L</a>, -<a href="#M">M</a>, -<a href="#N">N</a>, -<a href="#O">O</a>, -<a href="#P">P</a>, -<a href="#Q">Q</a>, -<a href="#R">R</a>, -<a href="#S">S</a>, -<a href="#T">T</a>, -<a href="#U">U</a>, -<a href="#V-i">V</a>, -<a href="#W">W</a>, -<a href="#Y">Y</a>. -</p> - -<p class="nind"> -<a id="A"></a>Abbey, Edwin, <a href="#page_150">150</a><br /> - -Academy, Royal, <a href="#page_59">59</a>, <a href="#page_94">94</a>, <a href="#page_106">106-7</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_245">245</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">school of the, <a href="#page_109">109</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">duties of the, <a href="#page_127">127-30</a></span><br /> - -Actors’ Benevolent Fund, <a href="#page_189">189-90</a><br /> - -Adelphi, the, <a href="#page_231">231</a><br /> - -Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool, <a href="#page_50">50</a><br /> - -Albany, the, <a href="#page_37">37</a><br /> - -Albemarle Hotel, <a href="#page_259">259</a><br /> - -Albert, Prince Consort, <a href="#page_129">129</a><br /> - -Albery, Mr., <a href="#page_230">230</a><br /> - -Albion Tavern, Drury Lane, <a href="#page_233">233-35</a><br /> - -Algiers, <a href="#page_103">103-5</a><br /> - -Alverstone, Lord, <a href="#page_186">186-88</a><br /> - -American ambassadors, orators among the, <a href="#page_189">189</a><br /> - -Amiens, <a href="#page_154">154</a><br /> - -Aquarium, the, <a href="#page_78">78</a><br /> - -Armstrong, Lord, <a href="#page_50">50</a><br /> - -Armstrong, Thomas, <a href="#page_120">120</a><br /> - -Arnold, Arthur, <a href="#page_28">28</a>, <a href="#page_35">35</a><br /> - -Arnold, Sir Edwin, <a href="#page_28">28</a><br /> - -Arrowsmith, Messrs., <a href="#page_255">255</a><br /> - -<i>Art Journal</i>, the, <a href="#page_146">146-49</a><br /> - -Arts, relation of the, <a href="#page_210">210-14</a><br /> - -Arts Club, the, <a href="#page_35">35</a>, <a href="#page_85">85</a>, <a href="#page_94">94</a>, <a href="#page_114">114</a>, <a href="#page_116">116</a>, <a href="#page_123">123</a>, <a href="#page_151">151</a>, <a href="#page_152">152</a><br /> - -Aspinall, Mr., <a href="#page_56">56</a><br /> - -<i>Athenæum</i>, the, <a href="#page_29">29</a><br /> - -Atkinson, <a href="#page_15">15</a><br /> - -Ayrton, Mr., <a href="#page_174">174</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="B"></a>Bancroft, Lady, <a href="#page_233">233</a>, <a href="#page_261">261</a><br /> - -Bancroft, Sir Squire, <a href="#page_259">259</a><br /> - -Barnes Common, <a href="#page_1">1-2</a><br /> - -Barnum’s Show, <a href="#page_78">78</a><br /> - -Barrère, Camille, <a href="#page_35">35-36</a><br /> - -Barry, <a href="#page_75">75</a><br /> - -Bateman, Dick, <a href="#page_228">228-29</a>, <a href="#page_232">232</a><br /> - -Bateman, Isabella, <a href="#page_229">229</a>, <a href="#page_230">230</a><br /> - -Bateman, Richard, <a href="#page_228">228-35</a>, <a href="#page_254">254</a><br /> - -Bayard, Mr., speech of, <a href="#page_189">189-91</a><br /> - -Beaconsfield, Earl, attack on Mr. Gladstone, <a href="#page_176">176-78</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">visits to the Grosvenor, <a href="#page_179">179-80</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">anecdote concerning, <a href="#page_180">180-81</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_181">181-82</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">style of oratory, <a href="#page_182">182-83</a></span><br /> - -Beatty-Kingston, William, <a href="#page_42">42</a>, <a href="#page_44">44-46</a><br /> - -Beaulieu, <a href="#page_285">285-86</a><br /> - -Beefsteak Club, the, <a href="#page_122">122</a>, <a href="#page_255">255</a>, <a href="#page_259">259</a><br /> - -Beefsteak Room of the Lyceum, <a href="#page_241">241</a>, <a href="#page_270">270</a><br /> - -Beere, Mrs. Bernard, <a href="#page_195">195</a><br /> - -Belt trial, the, <a href="#page_51">51-52</a><br /> - -Bernhardt, Sarah, <a href="#page_239">239</a>, <a href="#page_275">275</a>, <a href="#page_279">279-80</a><br /> - -Bigham, Lord Justice, <a href="#page_49">49</a><br /> - -Billingsgate, <a href="#page_249">249</a><br /> - -Birmingham University, <a href="#page_33">33</a><br /> - -<i>Black and White</i>, <a href="#page_65">65</a><br /> - -Blake, <a href="#page_74">74-75</a><br /> - -Blandford Square, <a href="#page_121">121</a>, <a href="#page_255">255</a><br /> - -Bodichon, Madam, <a href="#page_103">103-4</a><br /> - -Book illustration, <a href="#page_109">109-10</a><br /> - -Botticelli, <a href="#page_67">67</a>, <a href="#page_72">72</a>, <a href="#page_74">74</a><br /> - -Boughton, G. H., <a href="#page_266">266</a><br /> - -Bow Street, <a href="#page_187">187</a><br /> - -Box Hill, <a href="#page_206">206</a><br /> - -Braid, Mr., <a href="#page_8">8</a><br /> - -Brice, Prof. Stewart, <a href="#page_48">48</a><br /> - -Bright, John, <a href="#page_168">168-75</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">speeches on the Reform movement, <a href="#page_170">170-72</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">impromptu speeches, <a href="#page_173">173-74</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his allusion to the “Scottish terrier,” <a href="#page_174">174-75</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Millais’s portrait, <a href="#page_175">175</a></span><br /> - -British Museum, the, <a href="#page_109">109</a>, <a href="#page_245">245</a><br /> - -Brontës, the, <a href="#page_11">11</a><br /> - -Brookfield, Charles, <a href="#page_215">215</a><br /> - -Brown, Ford Madox, <a href="#page_63">63</a>, <a href="#page_130">130</a><br /> - -Browning, Robert, <a href="#page_10">10</a>, <a href="#page_86">86</a>, <a href="#page_204">204</a>, <a href="#page_266">266</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poetry of, <a href="#page_199">199-201</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_201">201-7</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Browning senr., <a href="#page_203">203</a></span><br /> - -Bruce Castle School, <a href="#page_3">3-9</a>, <a href="#page_38">38-39</a>, <a href="#page_228">228</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_294">{294}</a></span>Bruce, Edgar, <a href="#page_255">255-56</a><br /> - -Buchanan, Robert, <a href="#page_282">282-83</a><br /> - -Burke, Mr., murder of, <a href="#page_267">267</a><br /> - -Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, <a href="#page_8">8</a>, <a href="#page_74">74</a>, <a href="#page_85">85</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a>, <a href="#page_130">130</a>, <a href="#page_132">132</a>, <a href="#page_210">210</a>, <a href="#page_267">267</a>, <a href="#page_283">283</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rossetti on, <a href="#page_67">67</a>, <a href="#page_69">69-70</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter <i>quoted</i>, <a href="#page_71">71-72</a>, <a href="#page_82">82</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the pre-Raphaelite movement, <a href="#page_76">76</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pen-sketches, <a href="#page_78">78-79</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">essays in the grotesque, <a href="#page_79">79-80</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_80">80-82</a></span><br /> - -Buyers, modern, <a href="#page_131">131-32</a><br /> - -Byron, Lord, <a href="#page_181">181</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="C"></a>Café Royal, the, <a href="#page_115">115</a>, <a href="#page_157">157-58</a><br /> - -Calais, <a href="#page_153">153</a><br /> - -Caldecott, Randolph, <a href="#page_120">120-21</a><br /> - -Callander, <a href="#page_16">16-17</a><br /> - -Cameron, Henry, <a href="#page_193">193</a>, <a href="#page_198">198</a><br /> - -Cameron, Mrs., <a href="#page_193">193</a>, <a href="#page_194">194</a>, <a href="#page_197">197</a><br /> - -Campden Hill, <a href="#page_266">266</a><br /> - -Canning, policy, <a href="#page_177">177</a><br /> - -Caracci, the, <a href="#page_180">180</a><br /> - -Carlyle, <a href="#page_11">11</a>, <a href="#page_195">195</a><br /> - -Carr, Mr. J. Comyns—boyhood, <a href="#page_1">1-13</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in the City, <a href="#page_13">13-14</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">idle hours, <a href="#page_15">15-25</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Junior of the Northern Circuit, <a href="#page_48">48-58</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">theatre management, <a href="#page_281">281-92</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Journalistic work—<i>Dramatic and Musical Review</i>, <a href="#page_26">26-28</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Echo</i>, <a href="#page_28">28</a>, <a href="#page_35">35</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Globe</i>, <a href="#page_28">28-36</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_59">59</a>, <a href="#page_68">68</a>, <a href="#page_264">264</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, <a href="#page_35">35</a>, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_102">102</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“Ignotus” articles, <a href="#page_63">63-64</a>, <a href="#page_71">71</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Saturday Review</i>, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_59">59</a>, <a href="#page_206">206</a>, <a href="#page_215">215</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Examiner</i>, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_46">46-47</a>, <a href="#page_59">59</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>World</i>, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Manchester Guardian</i>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_150">150</a>, <a href="#page_153">153</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">editor of the <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, <a href="#page_40">40</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a>, <a href="#page_158">158-65</a>, <a href="#page_257">257</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">English editor of <i>L’Art</i>, <a href="#page_140">140</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Art Journal</i>, <a href="#page_146">146-47</a>, <a href="#page_149">149</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Academy</i>, <a href="#page_150">150</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Portfolio</i>, <a href="#page_149">149</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dramatic work—<i>King Arthur</i>, <a href="#page_83">83-84</a>, <a href="#page_279">279</a>, <a href="#page_284">284</a>, <a href="#page_287">287</a>, <a href="#page_291">291-92</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Called Back</i>, <a href="#page_255">255-56</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Dark Days</i>, <a href="#page_256">256</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>The United Pair</i>, <a href="#page_257">257</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>The Beauty Stone</i>, <a href="#page_285">285</a>, <a href="#page_287">287-88</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">contributions to the performances at St. George’s Hall, <a href="#page_257">257-58</a></span><br /> - -Carr, Mrs. J. Comyns, <i>North Italian Folk</i>, <a href="#page_120">120</a><br /> - -Cavendish, Lord Frederick, <a href="#page_267">267</a><br /> - -Chalons, <a href="#page_72">72</a><br /> - -Chamberlain, Mr., <a href="#page_152">152</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Parnell’s attack on, <a href="#page_185">185-86</a></span><br /> - -Cheyne Walk, Rossetti’s home, <a href="#page_65">65</a>, <a href="#page_69">69</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whistler’s home, <a href="#page_135">135</a>, <a href="#page_136">136</a>, <a href="#page_141">141</a>, <a href="#page_142">142</a></span><br /> - -Child, Mr., <a href="#page_152">152-53</a><br /> - -Choate, Mr., <a href="#page_189">189</a><br /> - -Churchill, Lord Randolph, <a href="#page_240">240-41</a><br /> - -Cleveland, President, the Venezuelan crisis, <a href="#page_189">189-90</a><br /> - -Coal Hole, the, <a href="#page_33">33</a><br /> - -Coleridge, Lord, <a href="#page_56">56</a><br /> - -Collins, Lord Justice, <a href="#page_49">49</a><br /> - -Collins, Prof. Churton, <a href="#page_33">33-34</a>, <a href="#page_229">229</a><br /> - -Cologne, <a href="#page_243">243</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Custom House, <a href="#page_120">120</a></span><br /> - -<i>Cologne Gazette</i>, <a href="#page_265">265</a><br /> - -Colvin, Prof. Sidney, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_102">102</a><br /> - -Comedy Theatre, <a href="#page_160">160</a>, <a href="#page_282">282</a>, <a href="#page_283">283</a><br /> - -Constable, <a href="#page_91">91</a><br /> - -Continental Hotel, <a href="#page_271">271</a><br /> - -Conway, Hugh, <i>The Family Affair</i>, <a href="#page_162">162</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Called Back</i>, <a href="#page_255">255-56</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_257">257</a></span><br /> - -Cook, Dutton, <a href="#page_231">231</a><br /> - -Cook, Mr., <a href="#page_37">37</a><br /> - -Coquelin, <a href="#page_279">279</a><br /> - -<i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, the, <a href="#page_9">9-10</a>, <a href="#page_29">29</a>, <a href="#page_95">95</a>, <a href="#page_110">110</a><br /> - -Correspondents, special, <a href="#page_39">39-47</a><br /> - -Corry, Montague (Lord Rowton), <a href="#page_267">267</a><br /> - -Cotton, Mrs., prosecution of, <a href="#page_56">56-57</a><br /> - -Crane, Walter, <a href="#page_161">161</a><br /> - -Craven, Hawes, <a href="#page_84">84</a>, <a href="#page_243">243</a><br /> - -Crawford, Marion, <a href="#page_159">159</a><br /> - -Creighton, Bishop, <a href="#page_47">47</a><br /> - -Crimean remembrances, <a href="#page_3">3</a><br /> - -Croizette, <a href="#page_279">279</a><br /> - -Crompton, Charles, <a href="#page_48">48</a>, <a href="#page_57">57</a><br /> - -Cumberland, fishing in, <a href="#page_21">21-22</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">walking tours, <a href="#page_24">24-25</a></span><br /> - -Custom House, the, <a href="#page_249">249</a><br /> - -<br /> -<i><a id="D"></a>Daily News</i>, the, <a href="#page_40">40-41</a><br /> - -<i>Daily Telegraph</i>, the, <a href="#page_28">28</a>, <a href="#page_43">43</a><br /> - -Daudet, <a href="#page_282">282</a><br /> - -<i>Débâts</i>, the, <a href="#page_157">157</a><br /> - -Delane, Mr., <a href="#page_277">277</a><br /> - -Delaunay, <a href="#page_278">278</a><br /> - -Delmas, M., <a href="#page_4">4</a><br /> - -Desclée, <a href="#page_239">239</a><br /> - -Design, renewed study in, <a href="#page_111">111</a><br /> - -Dickens, Charles, <a href="#page_9">9</a>, <a href="#page_11">11</a>, <a href="#page_77">77</a>, <a href="#page_89">89</a>, <a href="#page_137">137</a>, <a href="#page_205">205</a>, <a href="#page_223">223</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Mr. Pecksniff,” <a href="#page_147">147</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his likeness to Tennyson, <a href="#page_194">194</a>;</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_295">{295}</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Irving, <a href="#page_230">230</a></span><br /> - -Dilke, Sir Charles, <a href="#page_146">146</a><br /> - -Dochart, Loch, <a href="#page_18">18</a><br /> - -Doyle, Richard, <a href="#page_119">119-20</a><br /> - -<i>Dramatic and Musical Review</i>, the, <a href="#page_26">26</a><br /> - -Drury Lane Theatre, <a href="#page_232">232</a><br /> - -Dublin, <a href="#page_240">240</a><br /> - -Dudley Gallery, <a href="#page_121">121</a><br /> - -Duffield, Richard, <a href="#page_215">215</a><br /> - -Dumas, <i>L’Étrangère</i>, <a href="#page_279">279</a><br /> - -Dumfries, <a href="#page_251">251</a><br /> - -Dungeon Ghyll, <a href="#page_24">24</a><br /> - -Dungeon Ghyll Hotel, <a href="#page_25">25</a><br /> - -Duse, Madame, <a href="#page_280">280</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="E"></a>Easedale Tarn, <a href="#page_24">24</a><br /> - -Echenique, <a href="#page_6">6</a><br /> - -<i>Echo</i>, the, <a href="#page_28">28</a>, <a href="#page_35">35</a><br /> - -Elgin Marbles, the, <a href="#page_109">109</a><br /> - -Eliot, George, <a href="#page_11">11</a><br /> - -Emerson, <a href="#page_11">11</a><br /> - -<i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, the, <a href="#page_40">40</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a>, <a href="#page_257">257</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">wood-engravings, <a href="#page_158">158-59</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">literary contributors, <a href="#page_159">159-66</a></span><br /> - -Engraving, renewed study of, <a href="#page_111">111</a><br /> - -Erckmann-Chatrian, <a href="#page_230">230</a><br /> - -<i>Examiner</i>, the, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_46">46</a>, <a href="#page_59">59</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="F"></a>Farringford, home of Tennyson, <a href="#page_193">193</a>, <a href="#page_194">194</a>, <a href="#page_197">197</a><br /> - -Faulkner, Charles, <a href="#page_8">8</a><br /> - -Fechter, Charles, <a href="#page_232">232</a>, <a href="#page_273">273</a>, <a href="#page_274">274</a><br /> - -Fifeshire, <a href="#page_23">23</a><br /> - -Fishing, the Scottish gillie, <a href="#page_18">18-21</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the art of, <a href="#page_22">22-23</a></span><br /> - -Fleury, Robert, <a href="#page_97">97</a><br /> - -Florence, school of, <a href="#page_75">75</a>, <a href="#page_76">76</a><br /> - -Forbes, Archibald, <a href="#page_39">39-42</a><br /> - -Français, Theatre, <a href="#page_245">245</a><br /> - -Francillon, the novelist, <a href="#page_29">29-33</a><br /> - -Franco-German War, <a href="#page_40">40</a>, <a href="#page_157">157</a>, <a href="#page_278">278</a><br /> - -Freshwater, <a href="#page_193">193</a><br /> - -Froude, <a href="#page_11">11</a><br /> - -Fuseli, <a href="#page_75">75</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="G"></a>Gaiety Restaurant, the old, <a href="#page_30">30</a>, <a href="#page_259">259</a><br /> - -Gaiety Theatre, the, <a href="#page_229">229</a>, <a href="#page_232">232</a>, <a href="#page_246">246</a><br /> - -Gainsborough, <a href="#page_93">93</a><br /> - -Gallery of Illustration, Regent Street, <a href="#page_258">258</a><br /> - -Gambetta, <a href="#page_35">35</a><br /> - -Garrick Club, the, <a href="#page_90">90</a>, <a href="#page_164">164</a>, <a href="#page_183">183</a>, <a href="#page_184">184</a><br /> - -Garrison, William Lloyd, <a href="#page_170">170</a><br /> - -Gauthiot, M., <a href="#page_157">157-58</a><br /> - -George III., <a href="#page_128">128</a><br /> - -German Reeds, the, <a href="#page_121">121</a>, <a href="#page_257">257-59</a><br /> - -Gilbert, Sir John, <a href="#page_109">109</a>, <a href="#page_119">119</a><br /> - -Gilbert, Sir William, <a href="#page_53">53-54</a>, <a href="#page_288">288</a><br /> - -Giorgione, <a href="#page_180">180</a><br /> - -Giotto, <a href="#page_73">73</a><br /> - -Gladstone, W. E., <a href="#page_190">190</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Burne-Jones on, <a href="#page_76">76</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Millais’s portrait, <a href="#page_175">175</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">style of oratory, <a href="#page_175">175-76</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his reply to Disraeli’s attack <i>quoted</i>, <a href="#page_176">176-78</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">visits to the Grosvenor, <a href="#page_178">178-79</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his treatment of Parnell, <a href="#page_188">188</a></span><br /> - -Glasgow, <a href="#page_255">255</a><br /> - -Glebe Place, <a href="#page_143">143</a><br /> - -Glenesk, Lord, <a href="#page_20">20</a><br /> - -Glenmuick, <a href="#page_20">20</a><br /> - -<i>Globe</i>, the, the author’s work as dramatic critic, <a href="#page_28">28-38</a>, <a href="#page_59">59</a>, <a href="#page_68">68</a>, <a href="#page_264">264</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Ignotus” articles, <a href="#page_63">63</a>, <a href="#page_71">71</a></span><br /> - -Got, <a href="#page_278">278</a><br /> - -Gothard Pass, <a href="#page_21">21</a><br /> - -Grain, Corney, <a href="#page_258">258-59</a><br /> - -Grange, the, home of Burne-Jones, <a href="#page_73">73</a>, <a href="#page_83">83</a><br /> - -Granville, Dr. Mortimer, <a href="#page_28">28</a><br /> - -Grasmere, <a href="#page_16">16</a>, <a href="#page_24">24</a><br /> - -Great Russell Street, <a href="#page_45">45</a><br /> - -Greenwood, Frederic, <a href="#page_36">36-37</a><br /> - -Grosvenor Gallery, establishment, <a href="#page_65">65</a>, <a href="#page_127">127</a>, <a href="#page_129">129-32</a>, <a href="#page_266">266</a>, <a href="#page_268">268-69</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">exhibitions, <a href="#page_76">76</a>, <a href="#page_89">89-90</a>, <a href="#page_120">120</a>, <a href="#page_133">133</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_178">178-80</a>, <a href="#page_198">198</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Millais’s works, <a href="#page_89">89-90</a></span><br /> - -Grove End Road, house of Sir L. Tadema, <a href="#page_267">267-68</a><br /> - -Gully, <i>see</i> Selby, Viscount<br /> - -Gurney, Overend, <a href="#page_12">12</a><br /> - -Guy Fawkes, <a href="#page_2">2</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="H"></a>Hake, George, <a href="#page_64">64</a><br /> - -Hall, Mrs., <a href="#page_147">147-48</a><br /> - -Hall, Samuel Carter (“Mr. Pecksniff”), <a href="#page_146">146-49</a><br /> - -Hallé, Sir Charles E., <a href="#page_89">89</a>, <a href="#page_126">126</a>, <a href="#page_132">132</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a><br /> - -Hamerton, Philip, <a href="#page_149">149-50</a><br /> - -Hamilton, Lady, <a href="#page_264">264</a><br /> - -Hannen, Mr. Justice, the Parnell trial, <a href="#page_186">186-88</a><br /> - -Harcourt, Sir William, <a href="#page_23">23</a>, <a href="#page_180">180-81</a><br /> - -Hare, Sir John, <a href="#page_233">233</a>, <a href="#page_236">236</a>, <a href="#page_259">259</a><br /> - -Harrop Tarn, <a href="#page_21">21</a><br /> - -Harte, Bret, <a href="#page_159">159</a>, <a href="#page_223">223-24</a><br /> - -Harwood, Mr., <a href="#page_7">7</a>, <a href="#page_37">37-38</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_296">{296}</a></span>Hawtrey, Charles, <a href="#page_256">256</a><br /> - -Haydon, <a href="#page_75">75</a><br /> - -Haymarket Theatre, the, <a href="#page_257">257</a>, <a href="#page_281">281-82</a><br /> - -Henley, relations with Stevenson, <a href="#page_215">215</a>, <a href="#page_218">218-19</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Irving and, <a href="#page_219">219-21</a></span><br /> - -Henschell, <a href="#page_119">119</a><br /> - -Herschell, Lord, <a href="#page_49">49</a>, <a href="#page_55">55-56</a><br /> - -Hertfordshire, <a href="#page_23">23</a><br /> - -High White Stones, <a href="#page_24">24</a><br /> - -Hill, Arthur, <a href="#page_3">3</a>, <a href="#page_5">5</a>, <a href="#page_6">6</a><br /> - -Hill, Dr. Birkbeck, <a href="#page_6">6-8</a>, <a href="#page_170">170</a><br /> - -Hill, Sir Rowland, <a href="#page_3">3</a><br /> - -His Majesty’s Theatre, <a href="#page_270">270</a><br /> - -Holker, Lord Justice, <a href="#page_49">49</a>, <a href="#page_54">54-55</a><br /> - -Hollingshead, John, <a href="#page_232">232</a><br /> - -Home Rule movement, the, <a href="#page_184">184-85</a><br /> - -Hope, Beresford, <a href="#page_37">37</a><br /> - -Horsman, Mr., <a href="#page_174">174-75</a><br /> - -Horton, Miss Priscilla (Mrs. German Reed), <a href="#page_258">258</a><br /> - -Houghton, Lord, <a href="#page_270">270-71</a><br /> - -Howell, Charles, <a href="#page_141">141-42</a><br /> - -Hughenden, <a href="#page_180">180-81</a><br /> - -Hunt, Holman, <a href="#page_75">75</a>, <a href="#page_111">111-13</a>, <a href="#page_130">130</a><br /> - -Huxley, Professor, <a href="#page_159">159</a><br /> - -Hyde Park, <a href="#page_170">170</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="I-i"></a>Ibsen, <a href="#page_208">208</a><br /> - -<i>Illustrated London News</i>, the, <a href="#page_97">97</a><br /> - -Indian Mutiny, <a href="#page_2">2-3</a><br /> - -Inglis, Mr., <a href="#page_186">186</a><br /> - -Inner Temple, <a href="#page_14">14</a><br /> - -Irving, Sir Henry, <a href="#page_52">52</a>, <a href="#page_83">83</a>, <a href="#page_152">152</a>, <a href="#page_196">196</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">production of <i>Becket</i>, <a href="#page_195">195-96</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">attack on Henley, <a href="#page_219">219-21</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">anecdotes concerning, <a href="#page_221">221-23</a>, <a href="#page_234">234-36</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bob Gassett in <i>Dearer than Life</i>, <a href="#page_229">229</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in <i>Fanchette</i>, <a href="#page_230">230</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Digby Grant in <i>The Two Roses</i>, <a href="#page_230">230</a>, <a href="#page_235">235-36</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in <i>The Bells</i>, <a href="#page_231">231-34</a>, <a href="#page_239">239</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_236">236-38</a>, <a href="#page_241">241-43</a>, <a href="#page_270">270-72</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in <i>Hamlet</i>, <a href="#page_239">239-41</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">visit to Nuremberg, <a href="#page_243">243-44</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in <i>Charles I.</i>, <a href="#page_254">254</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ellen Terry and, <a href="#page_279">279-80</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his request to the author, <a href="#page_283">283-84</a></span><br /> - -Italy, Northern, aspects of character in, <a href="#page_19">19</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="J"></a>James, Edwin, <a href="#page_167">167</a><br /> - -James, Henry, <a href="#page_159">159</a><br /> - -Jameson, Frederick, <a href="#page_206">206</a>, <a href="#page_260">260</a><br /> - -Jefferies, Richard, <a href="#page_159">159</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“The Gamekeeper at Home,” <a href="#page_163">163-64</a></span><br /> - -Jesmond Dene, <a href="#page_50">50</a><br /> - -Jeune, Sir Francis, <i>see</i> St. Helier, Lord<br /> - -Jeykell, Miss, <a href="#page_103">103-5</a><br /> - -Johnson, Dr., <a href="#page_7">7</a><br /> - -Jonby, <a href="#page_15">15</a><br /> - -Journalism, relation to literature, <a href="#page_47">47</a><br /> - -Junior of the Circuit, the, <a href="#page_49">49-50</a>, <a href="#page_56">56</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="K"></a>Keats, <a href="#page_68">68</a>, <a href="#page_200">200</a><br /> - -Keene, Charles, <a href="#page_118">118</a>, <a href="#page_244">244</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sketch of, <a href="#page_114">114-15</a></span><br /> - -Kelly, Mr., <a href="#page_255">255</a><br /> - -Kelmscott, home of Rossetti, <a href="#page_64">64</a><br /> - -Kennedy, Lord Justice, <a href="#page_49">49</a><br /> - -Kensington Gardens, <a href="#page_90">90</a><br /> - -Killin, <a href="#page_19">19</a><br /> - -Kinsmen Club, the, <a href="#page_223">223</a><br /> - -Knight, Joseph, <a href="#page_264">264</a><br /> - -<br /> -<i><a id="L"></a>Labour News</i>, the, <a href="#page_27">27-28</a><br /> - -Lambs Club, the, <a href="#page_117">117</a>, <a href="#page_259">259-61</a>, <a href="#page_263">263</a><br /> - -Landor, Rossetti on, <a href="#page_68">68-69</a><br /> - -Landseer, Sir Edwin, <a href="#page_72">72</a>, <a href="#page_88">88</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_105">105-7</a></span><br /> - -Langdale Pikes, <a href="#page_24">24</a><br /> - -<i>L’Art</i>, <a href="#page_140">140</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a><br /> - -<i>L’Art en Province</i>, <a href="#page_153">153</a><br /> - -Lawson, Cecil, exhibitions at the Grosvenor, <a href="#page_133">133</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the “Minister’s Garden,” <a href="#page_143">143</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the “Pastoral,” <a href="#page_143">143</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_144">144-45</a></span><br /> - -Leech, John, <a href="#page_89">89</a>, <a href="#page_118">118</a><br /> - -Leigh’s School, <a href="#page_109">109</a><br /> - -Leighton, Sir Frederick, <a href="#page_44">44</a>, <a href="#page_275">275</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rossetti on, <a href="#page_67">67-68</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_93">93-96</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to the author <i>quoted</i>, <a href="#page_97">97-99</a></span><br /> - -Leslie, George, letters to the author <i>quoted</i>, <a href="#page_103">103-7</a><br /> - -Lewis, Lady, <a href="#page_79">79-80</a>, <a href="#page_267">267</a><br /> - -Lewis, Leopold, <a href="#page_230">230</a><br /> - -Lewis, Sir George, <a href="#page_51">51</a>, <a href="#page_80">80</a>, <a href="#page_183">183</a>, <a href="#page_187">187</a>, <a href="#page_267">267</a><br /> - -Leyland, Mr., <a href="#page_134">134</a><br /> - -Liddon, Canon, <a href="#page_167">167</a><br /> - -Lindsay, Lady, <a href="#page_137">137</a>, <a href="#page_266">266-67</a><br /> - -Lindsay, Sir Coutts, <a href="#page_119">119</a>, <a href="#page_132">132</a>, <a href="#page_143">143</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_266">266-67</a>, <a href="#page_284">284</a><br /> - -Literature, its relation to music, <a href="#page_211">211</a><br /> - -Locker, Frederick, <a href="#page_198">198-99</a><br /> - -Lockwood, Sir Frank, <a href="#page_190">190</a><br /> - -London University, <a href="#page_14">14</a><br /> - -Louvre, the, <a href="#page_245">245</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_297">{297}</a></span>Lowe, Mr., M.P., <a href="#page_174">174-75</a><br /> - -Lowell, James Russell, <a href="#page_189">189</a><br /> - -Luib, <a href="#page_18">18</a><br /> - -Lyceum, the, <a href="#page_84">84</a>, <a href="#page_152">152</a>, <a href="#page_195">195</a>, <a href="#page_221">221</a>, <a href="#page_229">229</a>, <a href="#page_241">241</a>, <a href="#page_254">254</a>, <a href="#page_270">270</a>, <a href="#page_274">274</a>, <a href="#page_279">279</a>, <a href="#page_284">284</a><br /> - -Lynn-Linton, Mrs., <a href="#page_265">265</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="M"></a>M’Connell, Mr., <a href="#page_50">50</a>, <a href="#page_55">55</a><br /> - -Macfarlane, Mr., <a href="#page_251">251</a><br /> - -Maclure, Macdonald and Macgregor, Messrs., <a href="#page_166">166</a><br /> - -Macmillan, Messrs., <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Macready, <a href="#page_232">232</a><br /> - -Maidenhead, <a href="#page_117">117</a><br /> - -Malory, Sir Thomas, <a href="#page_83">83</a>, <a href="#page_283">283</a><br /> - -Manchester Art Gallery, the, <a href="#page_153">153</a><br /> - -<i>Manchester Guardian</i>, the, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_150">150</a>, <a href="#page_153">153</a><br /> - -Manor House, Barnes Common, <a href="#page_1">1-2</a><br /> - -Marlborough, Duke of, <a href="#page_240">240</a><br /> - -Marshall, Gen. Henry, <a href="#page_3">3</a><br /> - -Marston, Dr. Westland, <a href="#page_263">263-65</a><br /> - -Martineau, James, preaching of, <a href="#page_167">167-69</a><br /> - -Maurier, M. Du, <a href="#page_114">114</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_116">116-17</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">work on <i>Punch</i>, <a href="#page_117">117-18</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his love of music, <a href="#page_118">118-19</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">drawing of Frederick Locker, <a href="#page_199">199</a></span><br /> - -Mecklenburg Square, <a href="#page_43">43</a><br /> - -<i>Men of the Time</i>, <a href="#page_97">97</a><br /> - -Meredith, George, <a href="#page_159">159</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Evan Harrington</i>, illustrations, <a href="#page_114">114</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“The Old Chartist,” illustration, <a href="#page_115">115</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_205">205-8</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sonnets on Modern Love, <a href="#page_207">207</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comment on Ibsen, <a href="#page_208">208</a></span><br /> - -Michael Angelo, <a href="#page_73">73</a>, <a href="#page_180">180</a><br /> - -Mill, J. S., <a href="#page_11">11</a>, <a href="#page_176">176</a><br /> - -Millais, Sir J. E., <a href="#page_63">63</a>, <a href="#page_75">75</a>, <a href="#page_116">116</a>, <a href="#page_138">138</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rossetti on, <a href="#page_67">67</a>, <a href="#page_87">87</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the author’s early criticism on, <a href="#page_85">85-86</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the “Carpenter’s Shop,” <a href="#page_86">86</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Feast of Lorenzo,” <a href="#page_86">86</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“The Huguenots,” <a href="#page_86">86</a>, <a href="#page_90">90</a>, <a href="#page_92">92</a>, <a href="#page_93">93</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Ophelia,” <a href="#page_86">86</a>, <a href="#page_92">92</a>, <a href="#page_93">93</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_86">86-89</a>, <a href="#page_90">90-92</a>, <a href="#page_99">99-101</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the Grosvenor Gallery exhibitions, <a href="#page_89">89-90</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his special power, <a href="#page_91">91-93</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">contrasted with Leighton, <a href="#page_93">93-96</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">black and white work, <a href="#page_111">111-13</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">attitude towards the Royal Academy, <a href="#page_130">130</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">portrait of John Bright, <a href="#page_175">175</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of Gladstone, <a href="#page_175">175</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of Tennyson, <a href="#page_193">193</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of Dickens, <a href="#page_194">194</a></span><br /> - -Miller, Joachim, <a href="#page_264">264</a><br /> - -Millet, Frank, <a href="#page_150">150</a><br /> - -Milton, <a href="#page_200">200</a><br /> - -Minto, Professor, <a href="#page_46">46-47</a><br /> - -Mitre Tavern, Temple Bar, <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Monnet, <a href="#page_279">279</a><br /> - -Montague, Henry, <a href="#page_234">234-35</a><br /> - -Montague, H. J., <a href="#page_260">260-61</a>, <a href="#page_273">273</a><br /> - -Monte Carlo, <a href="#page_285">285</a><br /> - -Moore, Albert, <a href="#page_66">66</a>, <a href="#page_138">138</a><br /> - -Morris, William, <a href="#page_72">72</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Defence of Guinevere</i>, <a href="#page_10">10</a>, <a href="#page_208">208</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poetry of, <a href="#page_208">208-9</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_209">209-10</a></span><br /> - -Music, claims of, <a href="#page_210">210-12</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="N"></a>National Gallery, the, <a href="#page_128">128</a>, <a href="#page_245">245</a><br /> - -Neilson, Adelaide, <a href="#page_264">264</a><br /> - -New Gallery, <a href="#page_126">126-27</a>, <a href="#page_131">131-32</a>, <a href="#page_178">178</a>, <a href="#page_179">179</a><br /> - -Newman, Messrs., <a href="#page_126">126</a><br /> - -North, Mr., <a href="#page_164">164</a><br /> - -Northern Circuit, the, <a href="#page_48">48-58</a><br /> - -Nuremberg, <a href="#page_243">243</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="O"></a>Ogilvie, Mr. Stuart, <a href="#page_282">282</a><br /> - -Old Masters, value of, <a href="#page_131">131-32</a><br /> - -Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn, <a href="#page_41">41</a><br /> - -Oliphant, Lawrence, <a href="#page_159">159</a>, <a href="#page_164">164-65</a><br /> - -Oliphant, Mrs., “The Lake of Tiberias,” <a href="#page_164">164-65</a><br /> - -<i>Once a Week</i>, <a href="#page_107">107</a>, <a href="#page_110">110</a>, <a href="#page_113">113-14</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a><br /> - -O’Neil, Arthur, <a href="#page_26">26-28</a><br /> - -O’Neil, Henry, <a href="#page_26">26</a><br /> - -Oratory, the art of, <a href="#page_167">167-92</a><br /> - -Orsini, defence of, <a href="#page_167">167</a><br /> - -Oxenford, John, <a href="#page_276">276-78</a><br /> - -Oxford Union Debating Society, <a href="#page_177">177-78</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="P"></a>Pagani’s Italian Restaurant, <a href="#page_121">121</a><br /> - -Palais Royal Theatre, <a href="#page_100">100</a><br /> - -Pall Mall exhibitions, the, <a href="#page_134">134</a><br /> - -<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, <a href="#page_35">35</a>, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_47">47</a>, <a href="#page_102">102</a>, <a href="#page_146">146</a>, <a href="#page_163">163</a>, <a href="#page_231">231</a><br /> - -Pall Mall Restaurant, <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Parnell, C. S., the trial, <a href="#page_186">186-88</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">character, <a href="#page_188">188</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the forged letter, reply to Mr. Chamberlain, <a href="#page_183">183-86</a></span><br /> - -Parry, Mr., <a href="#page_258">258</a><br /> - -Parsons, Alfred, <a href="#page_151">151</a>, <a href="#page_152">152</a>, <a href="#page_164">164</a><br /> - -Patterdale, <a href="#page_24">24</a><br /> - -Payne, Bernal, <a href="#page_102">102</a><br /> - -Pellegrini, Carlo, <a href="#page_121">121-25</a><br /> - -Penzance, Lord, <a href="#page_49">49</a><br /> - -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_298">{298}</a></span>Perugini, Mrs., <a href="#page_194">194</a><br /> - -Phelps, <a href="#page_232">232</a>, <a href="#page_244">244</a><br /> - -Pigott, <a href="#page_186">186</a>, <a href="#page_187">187</a><br /> - -Pinero, <i>The Beauty Stone</i>, <a href="#page_285">285</a>, <a href="#page_287">287-88</a><br /> - -Poe, Edgar Allan, <a href="#page_257">257</a><br /> - -Poetry, music in, <a href="#page_210">210-12</a><br /> - -Poets, some Victorian, <a href="#page_193">193-214</a><br /> - -Pollock, Walter Herries, <a href="#page_37">37</a>, <a href="#page_215">215</a><br /> - -Pope, Sam, <a href="#page_49">49</a>, <a href="#page_56">56</a><br /> - -<i>Portfolio</i>, the, <a href="#page_149">149</a><br /> - -Power, Richard, <a href="#page_184">184</a><br /> - -Pre-Raphaelites, the, <a href="#page_60">60</a>, <a href="#page_63">63</a>, <a href="#page_75">75-76</a>, <a href="#page_130">130</a><br /> - -Previtale’s, <a href="#page_81">81</a><br /> - -Prince of Wales’s Theatre, <a href="#page_255">255-56</a>, <a href="#page_261">261</a><br /> - -Princess’s Theatre, <a href="#page_244">244</a><br /> - -<i>Punch</i>, <a href="#page_114">114</a>, <a href="#page_117">117-18</a><br /> - -Purnell, Thomas, <a href="#page_254">254</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">anecdotes concerning, <a href="#page_28">28-34</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">story told by, <a href="#page_147">147-48</a></span><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="Q"></a>Queen’s Theatre, <a href="#page_229">229</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="R"></a>Rabelais Club, <a href="#page_221">221</a><br /> - -Rachel, Madame, <a href="#page_275">275</a><br /> - -Rae, Mr., of Birkenhead, <a href="#page_63">63</a>, <a href="#page_65">65</a><br /> - -Raleigh Club, <a href="#page_258">258</a><br /> - -Rannoch, <a href="#page_23">23</a><br /> - -Raphael, <a href="#page_180">180</a><br /> - -Rasselas, mountains of, <a href="#page_182">182</a><br /> - -Reade, Charles, <a href="#page_280">280</a><br /> - -Reed, Alfred, <a href="#page_258">258</a><br /> - -Reform Bill of 1832, <a href="#page_177">177</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of 1867, <a href="#page_182">182</a></span><br /> - -Reform, John Bright’s speeches on, <a href="#page_170">170-75</a><br /> - -Restaurants, London, <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Reynolds, <a href="#page_93">93</a><br /> - -Ristori, Madame, <a href="#page_275">275-76</a><br /> - -Robertson, Tom, <a href="#page_233">233</a>, <a href="#page_261">261</a><br /> - -Robinson, Sir John, <a href="#page_40">40-41</a><br /> - -Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, <a href="#page_7">7</a>, <a href="#page_8">8</a>, <a href="#page_10">10-11</a>, <a href="#page_60">60</a>, <a href="#page_72">72</a>, <a href="#page_75">75</a>, <a href="#page_85">85</a>, <a href="#page_115">115</a>, <a href="#page_117">117</a>, <a href="#page_130">130</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the pre-Raphaelite movement, <a href="#page_63">63</a>, <a href="#page_76">76</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">works of, <a href="#page_64">64-65</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friendship with the author, <a href="#page_64">64-70</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">expressed opinions of, <a href="#page_66">66-69</a>, <a href="#page_87">87</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">black and white work, <a href="#page_111">111</a>, <a href="#page_112">112</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">illustrations for Tennyson’s poems, <a href="#page_112">112-13</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_264">264</a></span><br /> - -Rothenberg-on-the-Tauber, <a href="#page_243">243</a><br /> - -Rubens, <a href="#page_80">80</a><br /> - -Ruskin, <a href="#page_11">11</a>, <a href="#page_60">60</a>, <a href="#page_113">113</a>, <a href="#page_138">138</a>, <a href="#page_141">141</a><br /> - -Russell, Lord, on the Northern Circuit, <a href="#page_49">49-54</a>, <a href="#page_56">56-57</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the Parnell trial, <a href="#page_186">186-88</a></span><br /> - -Russell, Sir William, <a href="#page_39">39</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="S"></a>Sadler’s Wells Theatre, <a href="#page_26">26</a>, <a href="#page_244">244</a><br /> - -St. George’s Hall, <a href="#page_121">121</a>, <a href="#page_257">257-59</a><br /> - -St. Helier, Lord, <a href="#page_189">189</a><br /> - -St. James’s Hall, <a href="#page_170">170</a>, <a href="#page_173">173</a>, <a href="#page_194">194</a><br /> - -St. Paul’s, burial of Sullivan, <a href="#page_288">288</a><br /> - -Sala, George Augustus, <a href="#page_42">42-44</a>, <a href="#page_46">46</a><br /> - -Salvini, <a href="#page_275">275</a>, <a href="#page_278">278-79</a><br /> - -Sandys, Frederick, <a href="#page_114">114-16</a><br /> - -<i>Saturday Review</i>, the, <a href="#page_7">7</a>, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_37">37</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_47">47</a>, <a href="#page_59">59</a>, <a href="#page_206">206</a>, <a href="#page_215">215</a>, <a href="#page_265">265</a><br /> - -Savile Club, the, <a href="#page_215">215</a>, <a href="#page_219">219</a>, <a href="#page_223">223</a><br /> - -Savoy, chapel of the, <a href="#page_30">30</a><br /> - -Schlesinger, Dr. Max, <a href="#page_265">265-66</a><br /> - -Scotland, early fishing excursions in, <a href="#page_17">17-22</a><br /> - -Scott, Sir W., <a href="#page_218">218</a><br /> - -Scottish character, some aspects, <a href="#page_17">17-21</a>, <a href="#page_153">153-57</a><br /> - -Selby, Viscount, <a href="#page_49">49</a><br /> - -Selous, Fred, <a href="#page_4">4</a><br /> - -Severn, Arthur, <a href="#page_121">121</a><br /> - -Shakespeare, <a href="#page_162">162-63</a>, <a href="#page_200">200</a><br /> - -Shield, Hugh, <a href="#page_55">55</a><br /> - -Simpson’s Restaurant, <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Skinner, Alan, <a href="#page_41">41-42</a>, <a href="#page_167">167</a><br /> - -Skinner, Hilary, <a href="#page_41">41-42</a><br /> - -Smith, Prof. Goldwin, <a href="#page_183">183</a><br /> - -Soria, De, <a href="#page_119">119</a><br /> - -South Kensington Museum, <a href="#page_245">245</a><br /> - -Spaniard’s Inn, Highgate, <a href="#page_251">251</a><br /> - -Spurgeon, preaching of, <a href="#page_167">167-68</a><br /> - -Stanley, Dean, <a href="#page_167">167</a><br /> - -Steinle, <a href="#page_97">97</a>, <a href="#page_98">98</a><br /> - -Stevens, Alfred, <a href="#page_130">130</a><br /> - -Stevenson, R. L., personality, <a href="#page_215">215-19</a><br /> - -Stickle Tarn, <a href="#page_24">24-25</a><br /> - -Stratford-on-Avon, <a href="#page_152">152</a><br /> - -“Student Williams,” <a href="#page_47">47</a><br /> - -Sullivan, Sir Arthur, <a href="#page_283">283</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>King Arthur</i>, <a href="#page_283">283</a>, <a href="#page_287">287</a>, <a href="#page_291">291-92</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_284">284-86</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Beauty Stone</i>, <a href="#page_285">285</a>, <a href="#page_287">287-88</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">method of work, <a href="#page_286">286-87</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">death, <a href="#page_288">288</a></span><br /> - -Sully, <a href="#page_279">279</a><br /> - -Swinburne, A. C., <a href="#page_7">7</a>, <a href="#page_10">10</a>, <a href="#page_77">77</a>, <a href="#page_159">159</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the new music in his poetry, <a href="#page_208">208-12</a></span><br /> - -Switzerland, <a href="#page_21">21</a><br /> - -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_299">{299}</a></span><a id="T"></a>Tadema, Lady, <a href="#page_267">267-68</a><br /> - -Tadema, Sir Laurence, <a href="#page_80">80</a>, <a href="#page_82">82</a>, <a href="#page_267">267-68</a><br /> - -Taylor, Tom, <a href="#page_193">193</a><br /> - -Tebbs, Mr. Virtue, <a href="#page_66">66</a><br /> - -Tenniel, Sir John, <a href="#page_114">114</a><br /> - -Tennyson, Horatio, <a href="#page_198">198</a><br /> - -Tennyson, Lionel, <a href="#page_198">198</a><br /> - -Tennyson, Lord—<i>Poems</i> (edition 1857), <a href="#page_112">112-13</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">appearance, <a href="#page_193">193-94</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Princess</i>, <a href="#page_194">194-95</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Promise of May</i>, <a href="#page_195">195</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Becket</i>, <a href="#page_195">195</a>, <a href="#page_196">196</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Cup</i>, <a href="#page_195">195</a>, <a href="#page_196">196</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_197">197-98</a>, <a href="#page_200">200</a>, <a href="#page_205">205</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Browning’s admiration for, <a href="#page_204">204</a></span><br /> - -Terriss, William, <a href="#page_3">3</a>, <a href="#page_5">5</a><br /> - -Terry, Ellen, visit to Nuremberg, <a href="#page_243">243-44</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in <i>Butterfly</i>, <a href="#page_255">255</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sarah Bernhardt’s compliment to, <a href="#page_279">279</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in <i>King Arthur</i>, <a href="#page_291">291-92</a></span><br /> - -Terry, Kate, <a href="#page_274">274</a><br /> - -Thackeray, W. M., <a href="#page_9">9-11</a>, <a href="#page_95">95-96</a>, <a href="#page_110">110</a>, <a href="#page_205">205</a><br /> - -<i>The Theatre</i>, <a href="#page_221">221</a><br /> - -Theatre, the, impressions of childhood, <a href="#page_225">225-28</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">condition of the stage on the advent of Irving, <a href="#page_232">232</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the actor’s art, <a href="#page_237">237-49</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">need for a national theatre, <a href="#page_244">244-46</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">rehearsals, <a href="#page_288">288-91</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the question of scenery, <a href="#page_291">291-92</a></span><br /> - -Thirlemere, <a href="#page_21">21</a><br /> - -Thomson, Hugh, <a href="#page_165">165-66</a><br /> - -Thorne, Tom, <a href="#page_234">234-35</a><br /> - -<i>Times</i>, the, <a href="#page_56">56</a>, <a href="#page_183">183-84</a>, <a href="#page_276">276-77</a><br /> - -Tissot, James, <a href="#page_268">268-70</a><br /> - -Titian, <a href="#page_180">180</a><br /> - -Toole, J. L., <a href="#page_229">229-30</a>, <a href="#page_234">234-35</a>, <a href="#page_250">250</a>, <a href="#page_254">254</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friendship with Irving, <a href="#page_241">241</a>, <a href="#page_246">246</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality and anecdotes, <a href="#page_246">246-53</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a day’s fun, <a href="#page_247">247-50</a></span><br /> - -Toole’s Theatre, <a href="#page_255">255</a><br /> - -Tottenham Court Road Theatre, <a href="#page_232">232</a>, <a href="#page_281">281</a><br /> - -Tower of London, visit of Toole, <a href="#page_248">248-49</a><br /> - -Townsend House, <a href="#page_267">267</a><br /> - -“Trafalgar,” Greenwich, <a href="#page_37">37</a><br /> - -Tree, Beerbohm, <a href="#page_256">256</a>, <a href="#page_270">270</a>, <a href="#page_281">281-82</a><br /> - -Tristram, Outram, <a href="#page_281">281</a><br /> - -Turner, <a href="#page_66">66</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="U"></a>Ullswater, <a href="#page_15">15</a><br /> - -Unitarian chapel, Great Portland Street, <a href="#page_167">167</a>, <a href="#page_169">169</a><br /> - -United States, quality of illustrations in, <a href="#page_159">159</a><br /> - -<br /> -<i><a id="V-i"></a>Vanity Fair</i> cartoons, <a href="#page_121">121</a>, <a href="#page_165">165</a><br /> - -Vaudeville Theatre, <a href="#page_234">234-35</a><br /> - -Venezuela, <a href="#page_189">189</a><br /> - -Verrey’s Restaurant, <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Vinci, Leonardo da, <a href="#page_180">180</a>, <a href="#page_245">245</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="W"></a>Walker, Frederick, <a href="#page_114">114</a>, <a href="#page_144">144</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality, <a href="#page_102">102</a>, <a href="#page_105">105-7</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">visit to Algiers, <a href="#page_103">103-5</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his work, <a href="#page_107">107-10</a></span><br /> - -Walking tours, <a href="#page_23">23-25</a><br /> - -Walton, <a href="#page_267">267</a><br /> - -Water-Colour Society, <a href="#page_74">74</a><br /> - -Watts, G. F., <a href="#page_63">63</a>, <a href="#page_72">72</a>, <a href="#page_73">73</a>, <a href="#page_129">129</a>, <a href="#page_169">169</a>, <a href="#page_193">193</a><br /> - -Watts-Dunton, Theodore, <a href="#page_47">47</a>, <a href="#page_159">159</a><br /> - -Webster, <i>The Duchess of Malfi</i>, <a href="#page_276">276</a><br /> - -Webster, Sir Richard, <i>see</i> Alverstone, Lord<br /> - -Westminster Club, the, <a href="#page_254">254</a><br /> - -Westmoreland, fishing in, <a href="#page_21">21-22</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">walking tours, <a href="#page_24">24-25</a></span><br /> - -Weyman, Stanley, <a href="#page_159">159-61</a><br /> - -Whistler, J. A. M., <a href="#page_114">114</a>, <a href="#page_115">115</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">criticism of (1873), <a href="#page_133">133-34</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">public attitude, <a href="#page_134">134-35</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personality <a href="#page_135">135-38</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">style, <a href="#page_138">138-39</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his love of contest, <a href="#page_139">139-42</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friends, <a href="#page_142">142-43</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Lawson’s, <a href="#page_143">143</a></span><br /> - -Whymper, T. W., <a href="#page_109">109</a><br /> - -Wilde, Oscar, <a href="#page_118">118</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">poetry of, <a href="#page_212">212-13</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dramatic work of, <a href="#page_213">213-14</a></span><br /> - -Wills, W. G., <a href="#page_221">221-22</a>, <a href="#page_283">283</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Charles I.</i>, <a href="#page_254">254</a></span><br /> - -Wood-engraving, <a href="#page_109">109-10</a>, <a href="#page_120">120</a>, <a href="#page_158">158-59</a><br /> - -Wordsworth, <a href="#page_200">200</a>, <a href="#page_201">201</a><br /> - -<i>World</i>, the, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_40">40</a><br /> - -Wurtzburg, <a href="#page_243">243</a><br /> - -<br /> -<a id="Y"></a>Yates, Edmund, <a href="#page_147">147</a>;<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">founds the <i>World</i>, <a href="#page_36">36</a>, <a href="#page_38">38-39</a>, <a href="#page_40">40</a>, <a href="#page_43">43</a>, <a href="#page_44">44</a>;</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">style of oratory, <a href="#page_191">191-92</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<p class="fint"><i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">R. & R. Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p> - -<div class="c"> -<a href="images/back.jpg"> -<img src="images/back.jpg" height="500" alt="[The -image of the book's back cover is unavailable" /></a> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME EMINENT VICTORIANS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin-top:1em; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE</div> -<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE</div> -<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most - other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you - are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws - of the country where you are located before using this eBook. - </div> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</div> -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/back.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/back.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e12e6dc..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/back.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/colophon.png b/old/68526-h/images/colophon.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 03aa601..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/colophon.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 464e54e..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_007fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_007fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 14c0477..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_007fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_059fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_059fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d1109a6..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_059fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_065fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_065fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 97403e4..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_065fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_078afp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_078afp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e51f783..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_078afp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_078bfp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_078bfp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b8c1a77..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_078bfp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_078cfp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_078cfp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d5e9151..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_078cfp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_080afp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_080afp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e5e0d61..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_080afp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_080bfp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_080bfp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 624e6f9..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_080bfp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_080cfp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_080cfp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b9ec761..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_080cfp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_085fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_085fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1f03e9d..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_085fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_087fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_087fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fd190d9..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_087fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_092fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_092fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index debabce..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_092fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_096fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_096fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d0ad6eb..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_096fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_103fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_103fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c6da7b4..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_103fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_109fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_109fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b60be22..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_109fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_111fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_111fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f1efcf6..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_111fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_113fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_113fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1f1adad..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_113fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_115fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_115fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d687f07..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_115fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_167fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_167fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 0e7cdd1..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_167fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_169fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_169fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ba5d073..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_169fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_193fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_193fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1856806..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_193fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_194fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_194fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 467c49b..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_194fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_201fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_201fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index afcb211..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_201fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_209fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_209fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3f3265f..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_209fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_215fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_215fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 39e2880..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_215fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_237fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_237fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 311d54a..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_237fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_284fp.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_284fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f528b2d..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_284fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68526-h/images/i_frontis.jpg b/old/68526-h/images/i_frontis.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 55ec606..0000000 --- a/old/68526-h/images/i_frontis.jpg +++ /dev/null |
