WILLIAM SHARP (FIONA MACLEOD) A MEMOIR COMPILED BY HIS WIFE ELIZABETH A. SHARP by ELIZABETH A. SHARP (best ebook reader ubuntu txt) 📖

the earlier poet—ideas concerning love

and marriage, viewed not from the standpoint of the accepted practical

standard of morality, nor of the possible realisation by the average

humanity of a more complex code of social morality, but viewed from the

standpoint held by a minority of dreamers and thinkers who look beyond

the present strictly guarded, fettered conditions of married life,

to a time, when man and woman, equally, shall know that to stultify

or slay the spiritual inner life of another human being, through the

radical misunderstanding between alien temperaments inevitably tied to

one another, is one of the greatest crimes against humanity. That the

author knew how visionary for the immediate future were these ideas,

which we at that time so eagerly discussed with a little group of

intimate sympathetic friends, is shown by the prefatory lines in the

book:

 

  “Forlorn the way, yet with strange gleams of gladness;

    Sad beyond words the voices far behind.

  Yet we, perplext with our diviner madness,

    Must heed them not—the goal is still to find!

  What though beset by pain and fear and sorrow,

  We must not fail, we Children of To-morrow.”

 

_The Children of To-morrow_ called forth all manner of divergent

opinions. It was called depressing by one critic, and out of touch with

realities. Another considered the chief interest of the book to consist

“in what may be called its aims. It is clearly an attempt toward

greater truth in art and life.” All agreed as to the power displayed

in the descriptions of nature. The critic in _Public Opinion_ showed

discernment as to the author’s intentions when he wrote “To our mind

the delightful irresponsibility of this book, the calm determination

which it displays that now, at least, the author means to please

himself, to give vent to many a pent up feeling or opinion constitutes

one of its greatest charms. This waywardness, the waywardness of a

true artist, is shown on almost every page.... Mr. Sharp states his

case with wonderful power and lucidity; he draws no conclusions—as an

artist they do not concern him—he leaves the decision to the individual

temperament.”

 

Mathilde Blind wrote to the author:

 

 

  1 ST. EDMUND’S TERRACE, N. W., 1889.

 

  DEAR CHILD OF THE FUTURE,

 

You have indeed written a strange, weird, romantic tale with the sound

of the sea running through it like an accompaniment. Adama Acosta is

a specially well-imagined and truthful character of a high kind; and

the intermittent wanderings of his brain have something akin to the

wailing notes of the instrument of which he is such a master. But it

is in your conception of love—the subtle, delicate, ideal attraction

of two beings inevitably drawn to each other by the finest elements

of their being—that the charm of the story consists to my mind; on

the other hand, you have succeeded in drawing a very realistic and

vivid picture of the hard and handsome Lydia, with her purely negative

individuality, and in showing the deadly effect which one person

may exercise over another in married life—without positive outward

wrongdoing which might lead to the divorce court. I agree with you in

thinking that the end is the finest part of the Romance, especially

the last scene where Dane and Sanpriel are in the wood under the old

oak tree, where the voice of the rising storm with its ominous note of

destiny is magnificently described. Such a passing away in the mid-most

fire of passion on the wings of the elements has always seemed to me

the climax of human happiness. But I fear the book is likely to rouse

a good deal of opposition in many quarters for the daring disregard of

the binding sanctity of the marriage relation. If I may speak quite

openly and as a friend who would wish you to do yourself full justice

and produce the best work that is in you, I wish you had given yourself

more time to work out some of the situations which seem, to me at

least, to lack a certain degree of precision and consistency. Thus, for

example, Dane after discovering that Ford has been trying to murder

him, and is making secret love to his wife, rushes off to the painter’s

studio evidently bent on some sort of quarrel or revenge, yet nothing

comes of it, and afterwards we find the would-be murderer on outwardly

friendly terms with the sculptor on board the house boat. I must tell

you by the way how powerful I think the scene of the dying horse in

Ratho Sands and the murder of Lydia. I should also have liked to have

heard a little more of the real aims and objects of “The Children of

the Future” and would like to know whether such an association really

exists among any section of the modern Jews; we must talk of that this

evening or some other time when we meet. I hope to look in to-night

with Sarrazin and Bunand who are coming to a little repast here first.

Madox Brown has been reading your book with the greatest interest.

 

  Yours ever,

  MATHILDE BLIND.

 

 

PART I  (WILLIAM SHARP) CHAPTER IX (  FIRST VISIT TO AMERICA  )

 

In the Spring of 1889 the Chair of Literature at University College,

London, became vacant on the death of Professor Henry Morley; and

many of William Sharp’s friends urged him to stand for election. He

was of two minds on the subject. His inclinations were against work

of the kind, for, temperamentally, he had difficulty in regulating

his life in accordance with strict routine. Born, as he would say,

with the wandering wave in his blood, the fixed and the inevitable

were antipathetic to him. He was, however, awake to the material

importance of such a post, to the advantages of a steady income. Had

he had himself only to consider he would not have given the proposal

a thought; but he believed it to be his duty to attempt to secure the

post for his wife’s sake, though she was not of that opinion. Among the

many friends who advocated his election were Robert Browning, George

Meredith, Walter Pater, Theodore Watts Dunton, Alfred Austin, Dr.

Richard Garnett, Prof. Minto, Hall Caine, Sir George Douglas, Aubrey

De Vere, Mrs. Augusta Webster. When, however, the date of election

drew near, he consulted his doctor and withdrew his candidature. The

question, to him, had all along been one of security of means versus

freedom of action; and having done his duty in the matter, his relief

was great that the decision left him in possession of his freedom.

 

For some time William Sharp had contemplated a visit to the United

States, where he was well known as poet and critic, and had many

friendly correspondents. So he considered the moment to be opportune.

He decided to go; although he was forbidden to lecture in America, and

very opportunely our friend Mrs. Caird asked me to accompany her to

Austria—to the Sun-cure at Veldes in the Carpathian Alps. She and I

were the first to leave, and eventually, my husband after his return

from America joined me at Cologne and accompanied me home.

 

Meanwhile he made his preparations for a visit to Canada and New York,

and just before starting paid a flying visit to Mr. George Meredith who

had written to him:

 

 

  BOX HILL, July 15, 1889.

 

  DEAR MR. SHARP,

 

This would have been headed to your wife, but for the chances of her

flying, and the letter after her. Tell her we are grieved to lose

the pleasure her company would give, and trust to welcome her on her

return. When she looks on Tyrol, let her strain an eye to see my heart

on the topmost peak. We hope for your coming on Saturday.

 

  Yours very truly,

  GEORGE MEREDITH.

 

He looked forward to his American tour with keen delight. New

experiences were ever alluring; he had the power of throwing himself

heart and soul into every fresh enjoyment. Going by himself seemed to

promise chances of complete recovery of health; the unexplored and the

unknown beckoned to him with promise of excitement and adventure.

 

As he wrote to Mr. Stedman: “I am a student of much else besides

literature. Life in all its manifestations is of passionate interest

for me, and I cannot rest from incessant study and writing. Yet I feel

that I am but on the threshold of my literary life. I have a life-time

of ambitious schemes before me; I may perhaps live to fulfil a tenth

part of them.”

 

Mid-August found him in Canada. Fine as he considered the approach to

Nova Scotia, Newfoundland impressed him more. At Halifax he was the

guest of the Attorney General. He wrote to me “Mr. and Mrs. Longley

were most kind, and so were all the many leading people to whom I was

introduced. I was taken to the annual match of the Quoit Club, and was

asked to present the Cup to the winner at the close, with a few words

if I felt disposed. Partly from being so taken aback, partly from

pleased excitement, and partly from despair, I lost all nervousness

and made a short and (what I find was considered) humourous speech, so

slowly and coolly spoken that I greatly admired it myself!”

 

At Halifax, which he considered “worth a dozen of the Newfoundland

capital,” he was met by Professor Charles Roberts who had come “to

intercept me so as to go off with him for a few days in Northern

Scotia and across the Straits to Prince Edward Island. So, a few days

later Prof. Roberts and I, accompanied for the first 100 miles by

Mr. Longley, started for Pictou, which we reached after 5 hours most

interesting journey. The Attorney General has kindly asked me to go a

three days’ trip with him (some 10 days hence) through the famous Cape

Breton district, with the lovely Bras D’Or lakes: and later on he has

arranged for a three days’ moose-hunt among the forests of Southern

Acadia, where we shall camp out in tents, and be rowed by Indian

guides.”

 

New Glasgow delighted him; he visited Windsor and Halifax: “I went with

Charles Roberts and Bliss Carman through Evangeline’s country. En route

I travelled on the engine of the train and enjoyed the experience.

Grand Pré delighted me immensely—vast meadows, with lumbering wains

and the simple old Acadian life. The orchards were in their glory—and

the apples delicious! At one farm house we put up, how you would have

enjoyed our lunch of sweet milk hot cakes, great bowls of huckleberries

and cream, tea, apples, etc.! We then went through the forest belt and

came upon the great ocean inlet known as the “basin of Minas,” and,

leagues away the vast bulk of Blomidon shelving bough-like into the

Sea....”

 

 

  To E. A. S.:

 

  (ON THE ST. LAWRENCE),

  12th Sept.

 

To-day has been a momentous birthday on the whole—and none the less

so because I have been alone and, what is to me an infinite relief,

quite unknown. I told no one about my Saguenay expedition till the

last moment—and so there is nothing definite about me in the papers

save that I “abruptly left St. John” (the capital of New Brunswick)

and that I am to arrive in Quebec to-morrow. I sent you a card from

Rivière du Loup, the northernmost township of the old Acadians, and

a delightful place. I reached it early from Temiscouata (the Lake of

Winding Water)—a journey of extreme interest and beauty, through a wild

and as yet unsettled country. The track has only been open this summer.

Before I reached its other end (the junction of the St. John river

with the Madawaska) I was heartily sick of New Brunswick, with its

oven-like heat, its vast monotonous forests with leagues upon leagues

of dead and dying trees, and its all present forest-fires. The latter

have caused widespread disaster.... Several times we were scorched by

the flames, but a few yards away—and had “to rush” several places.

But once in the province of Quebec, and everything changed. The fires

(save small desultory ones) disappeared: the pall of smoke lightened

and vanished: and the