WILLIAM SHARP (FIONA MACLEOD) A MEMOIR COMPILED BY HIS WIFE ELIZABETH A. SHARP by ELIZABETH A. SHARP (best ebook reader ubuntu txt) đ
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should we not change like everything else? In fiction, in poetry,
in so much of both, French as well as English, and, I am told, in
American art and literature, the shadow of deathâcall it what you will,
despair, negation, indifferenceâis upon us. But what fools who talk
thus! Why, _amico mio_, you know as well as I that death is life, just
as our daily, our momentarily dying body is none the less alive and
ever recreating new forces of existence. Without death, which is our
crapelike churchyardy word for change, for growth, there could be no
prolongation of what we call life. Pshaw! it is foolish to argue upon
such a thing even. For myself, I deny death as an end of everything.
Never say of me that I am dead!â
On the 4th January, 1890, W. S. wrote to Mr. Thomas A. Janvier:
London.
Many thanks for the _Aztec Treasure House_, which opens delightfully
and should prove a thrilling tale. I donât know how _you_ feel, but
for myself I shall never again publish serially till I have completed
the story aforehand. You will have seen that I have been asked and
have agreed to write the critical monograph on Browning for the _Great
Writerâs Series_. This involves a harassing postponement of other work,
and considerable financial loss, but still I am glad to do it.
The Harlands spent New Yearâs Day with us, and the Champagne was not
finished without some of it being quaffed in memory of the dear and
valued friends oversea. You, both of you, must come over this spring.
Ever yours,
WILLIAM SHARP.
With each New Year a Diary was begun with the intention of its being
carefully continued throughout the months, an intention however that
inevitably was abandoned as the monotony of the fulfilment palled upon
the writer.
The Diary for 1890 begins with a careful record of work and events,
noted daily till mid February when it ceases, to be resumed more
fitfully in September and October. The year is prefaced with the motto:
âCâest Ă ce lendemain sevĂšre que tout artiste sĂ©rieux doit
songer.ââ_Sainte Beuve._
The following more important entries tell where and how the monograph
was written and what other work he had on hand:
â_Jan. 2nd._âWrote the first 3 or 4 pages (tentative) of âBrowningâ: or
rather the retrospective survey. Had a present of a fine Proof Etching
from Ford Madox Brown of his Samson and Delilah (framed) as âA New
Yearâs Card.â Also from Theodore Roussel, three fine proof Etchings,
also autograph copies of books from H. Harland, Mrs. Louise C. Moulton,
and âMaxwell Gray.â Also a copy of his _Balzac_ from Wedmore. In the
evening there dined with us Mrs. E. R. Pennell (Mr. P. unable to come).
Harland and Mrs. Harland: Mona and Caird. Roussel could not cometill later. Had a most delightful evening. âThe psychic sense of
rhythm is the fundamental factor in each and every art.âââW. S.
â_Jan. 2nd._â(1) Wrote Chapter of _The Ordeal of Basil Hope_. (2)
Article on Haggardâs new book for _Young Folkâs Paper_. âThe truest
literary criticism is that which sees that nowhere, at no time, in any
conceivable circumstances is there any absolute lapse of intellectual
activity, so long as the nation animated thereby is not in its death
throes.âââW. S.
âWhat exquisite music there is in the lines of Swinburneâs in âA
Swimmerâs Dreamâ (in this monthâs _New Review_).â
â_Jan. 3rd._â(1) Wrote chapter of _Ordeal of Basil Hope_. Finished it
by 12.30. Then went to R. Academy Press-View and spent two hours or so
in the Galleries. While walking back to Club from Charing Cross thought
out some opening sentences for _Browning_, leading to the wave-theory,
beginningââIn human history, waves of intellectual activity concur with
other dynamic movements. It used to be a formula of criticism, etc.â
(wrote down a couple of Pages at Club). âDeath is a variation, a note
of lower or higher insistence in the rhythmical sequence of Life.âââW.
S.
â_Jan. 4th._â(1) Wrote article of 2,500 words upon Balzac (for _The
Scottish Leader_). (2) Short âLondon Correspondenceâ for _G. H._ The
profoundest insight cannot reach deeper than its own possibilities
of depth. The physiognomy of the soul is never visible in its
entiretyâbarely ever even its profile. The utmost we can expect to
produce (perhaps even to perceive, in the most quintessential moment),
is a partially faithful, partially deceptive silhouette. Since no human
being has ever yet seen his or her own soul, absolutely impartially
and in all its rounded completeness of good and evil, of strength and
weakness, of what is temporal and perishable and what is germinal
and essential, how can we expect even the subtlest analyst to depict
other souls than his own. Even in a savage there must be dormant
possibilities, animal and spiritual traits of all kinds, which could
to a deeper than any human vision (as we can conceive it) so colour
and modify an abstract âreplicaâ as to make it altogether unlike the
picture we should draw.ââW. S.
â_Jan. 5th._âThe first thing the artist should cultivate if not
strongly dowered in this respect by Nature, is Serenity. A true
Serenityâwhat Wilfred Meynell, writing of Browning, in the _AthenĂŠum_
of Friday, calls âdetachmentââis one of the surest inspirers and
preservatives of that clarified psychic emotion which, in compelled or
propelled expressional activity, is the cause of all really creative
work. This true serenity is, of course, as far removed from a false
isolation of spirit or a contemptuous indifference, as from constant
perturbation about trifles and vulgar anxiety for self.ââW. S.
â_Jan. 6th._âFelt very unwell this morning.... Heard from Dr. Garnett
of the death last night of Dr. Westland Marston. (1) Wrote a portion
of second series of âFragments from the Lost Journal of Piero di
Cosimoâ (one of a series of Imaginary portraits I am slowly writing
for magazine publication in the first instance). (2) âLondon Letterâ
Reminiscences of Dr. Marston, etc.â
â_Jan. 10th._âWrote a chapter of _Basil Hope_. In evening we went to
Monaâs. A pretty large gathering. Roussel told me he wanted to paint my
portrait, and asked me to give him sittings. Some one was speaking of a
poem by Browning being superlatively fine because of its high optimism
and ethical message. The question is not one of weighty message, but of
artistic presentation. To praise a poem because of its optimism is like
commending a peach because it loves the sunshine, rather than because
of its distinguishing bloom and savour. To urge that a poem is great
because of its high message is almost as uncritical as it would be
obviously absurd to aver that a postman is illustrious because of some
epic or history he may carry in his bag. In a word, the first essential
concern of the artist must be with his vehicle. In the instance of a
poet, this vehicle is language emotioned to the white-heat of rhythm.â
â_Jan. 12th._âWrote first portion of Elegiac Poem on âBrowningâ
commencing:
There is darkness everywhere;
Scarce is the city limned
In shadow on the lagoon.
No wind in the heavy air.
The stars themselves are dimmed,
And a mist veils the moon.
âAfter lunch took T. Mavor to Alfred Eastâs to see his Japanese
pictures. Then I took T. M. to John M. Swanâs Studio. Then we went to
spend half an hour with Stepniak and his wife at 13 Grove Gardens.â
â_Jan. 13th._âLate in settling down, and then disinclined to write
except in verse. Wrote the second and final part of the Elegaic
Browning Poem for _Belfordâs Magazine_. It is not often that I indulge
in inversions: but the gain is sometimes noticeable. I think it is in
this stanza:
Alas, greatness is not, nor is
There aught that is under the sun,
Nor any mortal thing,
Neither the heights of bliss
Nor the depths of evil done,
Unshadowed by Deathâs wing.â
He soon found that it was impossible to write the monograph in
Londonâwith its ceaseless demands and distractions. Under the pressure
of much work he became so unwell that we realised he could not finish
the book under existing conditions, therefore arranged that he should
leave me in charge of work at home and he should go to Hastings and
devote himself mainly to his _Browning_. On the 18th he records, from
rooms overlooking the sea âBlew a gale at night. The noise of the sea
like a vast tide in a hollow echoing cavern: and a shrill screaming
wail in the wind. Began my _Life of Browning_. To bed at 12.â
Then follows a record of the work done day by day: on the 19th, twelve
printed pages: on the 20th ten pages: on the 21st four only because he
lunched with Coventry Patmore who was then residing at Hastings. On
the 22nd, thirteen pages; on the 23rd, eleven pages, and five letters.
_Jan. 26th_ has this note: âWe can no more predict Browningâs place
in literature as it will be esteemed by posterity than we can specify
the fauna and flora of a planet whose fires have not yet sufficiently
cooled to enable vegetation to grow.â
His stay at Hastings was rendered pleasant by the neighbourliness of
Coventry Patmore with whom he had many long talks, and by occasional
visits to Miss Betham Edwards who had a house on the hill beyond the
old castle.
He returned to town at the beginning of February.
On the 4th he wrote âthe first scene of a Play (to be called either
âThe Loverâs Tragedy,â or âThe Tower of Silenceâ) which was afterward
rewritten and published in _Vistas_ as âA Northern Night.â
The Diary continues:
â_8th February._ Began about 10.30. (1) Wrote the rest of Imaginary
Journal (Piero di Cosimo) i. e. about 2,000 words. In evening posted
it to Mavor for March issue of _The Art Review_. (2) Wrote long London
Letter for G. H. (2,000 words). (3) Began at 9.30 to do _Browning_.
Including quotations did 10 printed pages. Re-read the early books of
âThe Ring and the Book.â To bed at 2.30. Tired somewhat after writing
to-day, in all, about 7,000 words (less Browningâs quotations).
â_Sunday 9th._ Breakfast at elevenâWorked at Browning matter till 5 (in
bed). In evening Mona, and Mathilde came in and Frank Rinder, Ernest
Rhys, etc. Wrote _Young Folkâs Paper_ article. Read up till about 3 A.M.
_10th._ Worked six hours on end at Browning material. Between tea and
dinner wrote Chap. 18 of _Ordeal of Basil Hope_; after dinner wrote
Chap. 19. At 10 went up to Monaâs to fetch Lill. Egmont Hake there, W.
Earl Hodgson and Miss Shedlock, Mathilde Blind.
_11th._ At British Museum all day, working at âOdes.â (This selection
of Odes in the _Canterbury Poets_.)
In evening wrote six p. p. of _Browning_.
_12th._ (1) In first part of day wrote 6 pages of _Browning_. (2) Short
London Letter for G. H. From 5 to 8 I wrote Chap. 20 of _Basil Hope_.
(4) After dinner (between 9 and 12.30) wrote 8 more pages of _Browning_
(14 in all to-day).
_13th._ Wrote 12 pages of _Browning_ and Chap. XXI of _Basil Hope_.
â_February 14th._âIn morning, late afternoon and evening (from 9-12)
wrote in all 18 printed pages of _Browning_, or, including quotation,
21.â
* * * * *
Here the Diary abruptly ends. I do not recollect on what date the
_Browning_ was finished, but it was published in the early autumn. And
I have no recollection as to what became of _The Ordeal of Basil Hope_,
whether or not it ever appeared serially, but I think not. It never was
issued in book formâand from the time we gave up the house in Goldhurst
Terrace he never gave it a thought. It was characteristic of him that
when a piece of work was finished or discarded, it passed wholly out of
his mind, for his energies were always centred on his work on hand and
on that projected.
He was a careful student of the progress of contemporary
literaturesâespecially French (including Belgian) Italian and
Americanâand during the spring and summer he wrote a long article on
American literature for _The National Review_, an article on DâAnnunzio
for _The Fortnightly_. He also prepared a volume in English of selected
Essays of St. Beuve for which he wrote a careful critical Preface.
The three years at Hampstead had been happy and successful. William
had regained health; and had a command of work that made the ways of
life pleasant. We had about us a genial sympathetic group of friends,
and were in touch with many keen minds of the day. Temperamentally he
could work or play with equal jest and enjoyment; he threw himself
whole-heartedly into whatever he did. Observant, keenly intuitive,
he cared to come into contact with all kinds and types of men and
women; cared continually to test the different minds and temperaments
he came across, providing always that they had a vital touch about
them, and were not comatosely conventional. Curious about life, he
cared
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