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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rate, we are alive; and then, alas, after all,â
âhow few Junes
Will heat our pulses quicker...â
* * *
âMuch cry for little wool,â some will exclaim. It may be so. Whenever
did a first number of a new magazine fulfil all its editorâs dreams or
even intentions? âWell, we must make the best of it, I suppose. âTis
nater, after all, and what pleases God,â as Mrs. Durbeyfield says in
âTess of the Durbervilles.â
* * *
Have you read that charming _roman Ă quatre_, the _Croix de Berny_?
If so, you will recollect the following words of Edgar de Meilhan
(_alias_ ThĂ©ophile Gautier), which I (âIâ standing for editor, and
associates, and pagans in general) now quote for the delectation of all
readers, adversely minded or generously inclined, or dubious as to our
real intentâwith blithe hopes that they may be the happier therefor:
âFrankly, I am in earnest this time. Order me a dove-coloured vest,
apple-green trousers, a pouch, a crook; in short, the entire outfit of a
Lignon Shepherd. I shall have a lamb washed to complete the pastoral.â
* * *
This is âthe lamb.â
THE EDITOR.
The Review was well subscribed for, and many letters came to the
Editor and his secretary (myself) that were a source of interest and
amusement. Mr. Richard Whiteingâwho knew the secret of the Editorship
wrote: âI want to subscribe to _The Pagan Review_ if you will let me
know to whom to send my _abonnement_ for the half year. I think, you
know, you will have to put some more clothes on before the end of the
year. You are certainly the liveliest and most independent little devil
of a review I ever saw in a first number.â
The Editor, however, swiftly realised that there could be no
continuance of the Review. Not only could he not repeat such a _tour
de force_, and he realised that for several numbers he would have to
provide the larger portion of the materialâbut the one number had
served its purpose, as far as he was concerned for by means of it he
had exhausted a transition phase that had passed to give way to the
expression of his more permanent self.
To Thomas A. Janvier the Editor wrote:
RUDGWICK, SUSSEX.
DEAR MR. JANVIER,
For though we are strangers in a sense I seem to know you well through
our friend in common, Mr. William Sharp!
I write to let you know that _The Pagan Review_ breathed its last
a short time ago. Its end was singularly tranquil, but was not
unexpected. Your friend Mr. Sharp consoles me by talking of a certain
resurrection for what he rudely calls âthis corruptibleâ: if so the P/R
will speak a new and wiser tongue, appear in a worthier guise, and put
on immortality as a Quarterly.
In the circumstances, I return, with sincerest thanks, the subscription
you are so good as to send. Also the memorial card of our late lamented
friendâI mean the P/R, not W. S. Talking of W. S., what an admirable
fellow he is! I take the greatest possible interest in his career. I
read your kind and generous estimate of him in _Flower oâ the Vine_
with much pleasureâand though I cannot say that I hold quite so
high a view of his poetic powers as you do, I may say that perusal
of your remarks gave me as much pleasure as, I have good reason for
knowing, they gave to him. He and I have been âdelightingâ over your
admirably artistic and charming stories in _Harperâs_. By the way,
heâs settling down to a serious âtussle.â He has been âa bad boyâ of
late: but about a week previous to the death of the Pagan/Review he
definitively reformedâon Sept. 11th in the early forenoon, I believe.
I hope earnestly he may be able to live on the straight henceforth:
but I regret to say that I see signs of backsliding. Still, he may
triumph; the spirit is (occasionally) willing. But, apart from this, he
is now becoming jealous of such repute as he has won, and is going to
deserve it, and the hopes of friends like yourself. Mrs. Brooksâ love
to Catherine and yourself: Mine, Tommaso Mio,
You know you have ...
H. BROOKS.
Elizabeth A. Brooks was so pleased to receive your letter.
One or two young writers sent in MS. contributions and these of course
he had to return. One came from Mr. R. Murray Gilchrist with whom he
had come into touch through his editorship of the Literary Chair in
_Young Folkâs Paper_. To him he wrote:
RUDGWICK, SUSSEX, 10: 92.
MY DEAR SIR,
As it is almost certain that for unforeseen private reasons serial
publication of _The Pagan Review_ will be held over till sometime in
1893, I regret to have to return your MS. to you. I have read _The
Noble Courtesan_ with much interest. It has a quality of suggestiveness
that is rare, and I hope that it will be included in the forthcoming
volume to which you allude.... It seems to me that the story would
be improved by lessâor more hiddenâemphasis on the mysterious aspect
of the womanâs nature. She is too much the âprinciple of Evil,â the
âmodern Lilith.â If you do not use it, I might be ableâwith some
alterations of a minor kindâto use it in the P/R when next Spring it
reappearsâif such is its dubious fate.
Yours very truly,
H. BROOKS.S. It is possible that you may surmiseâor that a common friend may
tell youâwho the editor of the P/R is: if so, may I ask you to be
reticent on the matter.
PHENICE CROFT, RUDGWICK,
22: 10: 92.
DEAR MR. GILCHRIST,
Although I do not wish the matter to go further I do not mind so
sympathetic and kindly a critic knowing that âW. S.â and âW. H. Brooksâ
are synonymous.
I read with pleasure your very friendly and cordial article in _The
Library_. By the way, it may interest you to know that the âRape of the
Sabinesâ andâwell, Iâll not say what else!âis also by W. H. Brooks. But
this, no outsider knows.... _The Pagan Review_ will be revived next
year, but probably as a Quarterly: and I look to you as one of the
younger men of notable talent to give a helping hand with your pen.
I suppose you come to London occasionally. I hope when you are
next south, you will come and give me the pleasure of your personal
acquaintance. I can offer you a lovely country, country fare, a bed,
and a cordial welcome.
Yours sincerely,
WILLIAM SHARP.
Intimation had also to be sent to each subscriber; with it was enclosed
a card with the following inscription:
_The Pagan Review._
On the 15th September, still-born _The Pagan Review_.
Regretted by none, save the affectionate parents and a few forlorn
friends, _The Pagan Review_ has returned to the void whence it came.
The progenitors, more hopeful than reasonable, look for an unglorious
but robust resurrection at some more fortunate date. âFor of such is
the Kingdom of Paganism.â
H. BROOKS.
And at the little cottage a solemn ceremony took place. The Review was
buried in a corner of the garden, with ourselves, my sister-in-law Mary
and Mr. Stanley Little as mourners; a framed inscription was put to
mark the spot, and remained there until we left Rudgwick.
PART I (WILLIAM SHARP) CHAPTER XIII (ALGIERS )
_Vistas_
Many schemes were mentally cartooned for the autumn and winterâs work;
but all our plans were suddenly upset by an unlooked for occurrence.
While in Rome I had had a severe attack of Roman fever; and I had never
quite recovered therefrom. The prolonged rains in the hot autumn, the
dampness of the clay soil on which lay the hamlet of Buckâs Green, made
me very ill again with intermittent low fever. It was deemed imperative
that I should not spend the whole winter in England, but go in search
of a dry warm climate. But we had not the necessary funds. So instead
of devoting himself to his dream-work, as he had hoped, my husband
laid it temporarily aside and settled himself to write between October
and Xmas, two exciting boysâ serial stories for _Young Folkâs Paper_,
and thus procured sufficient money to enable us to cross to North
Africa. âThe Red Riderâ and âThe Last of the Vikingsâ were crowded
with startling adventures. The weaving of sensational plots offered
no difficulties to him, but an enjoyment. He did not consider the
achievement of any real value, and did not wish that particular kind
of writing to be associated with his name. His impressions of Algeria
and Tunisia were chronicled in a series of articles, such as âCardinal
Lavigerie,â âThe March of Rome,â âRome in Africa,â etc.; also in a
series of letters to a friend from which I select one or two:
BISKRA, 2d Feb., 1893.
âHere we are in the Sahara at last! I find it quite hopeless to attempt
to give you any adequate idea of the beauty and strangeness and the
extraordinary fascination of it all. The two daysâ journey here was
alone worth coming to Africa for! We left Mustapha shortly before dawn
on Tuesday, and witnessed a lovely daybreak as we descended the slopes
to Agha: and there we saw a superb sunrise streaming across the peaks
and ranges of the Djurdjura of Kabylia (the African Highlands) and
athwart the magnificent bay. The sea was dead calm, and in parts still
mirrored the moon and a few stars: then suddenly one part of it became
molten gold, and that nearest us was muffled into purple-blue wavelets
by the dawn-wind. The sound of it washing in, almost at the feet of
the palms and aloes and Barbary-figtrees was delicious. We had a long
and delightful dayâs journey till sunset. Our route was through Grande
Kabylie, and the mountain scenery in particular was very impressive. At
many places we had a long stop: but everywhere here railway-travelling
is more like journeying in a carriage, the rate of speed not being much
more, with ample facilities for seeing everything en route. The Kabyles
are the original inhabitants of Mauritanian Africaâand both in language
and appearance these Berbers differ markedly from the Moors and the
nomadic Arabs. They are the hardiest and most industrious though also
the most untameable, of the native races. They live in innumerable
little villages scattered among the mountains and valleys and plains of
the Djurdjura country.
âThe sun sank over the uplands of Kabylia as we mounted towards the
ancient Roman outpost-city, Setif. Setif stands about 3,500 ft. high:
and crossing the plateaux beyond it was like making an excursion
through Scotland in midwinter. Still, despite the snow on the hills,
and even along the roads of Setif itself, the cold was not so severe as
we expected.
âAt four next morning we steamed slowly out of Setif in full moonlight.
An hour or so later dawn broke as we passed a series of Arab
encampments, and then came another sunrise over a wild and desolate
country. We were now entirely in Mahommedan lands, for there are
comparatively few Europeans south of the city of Constantine.
âAt a place called El Guerrah we stopped for half an hour for dĂ©jeuner.
Soon thereafter we passed the Salt Lakes, covered with wild-fowl,
flamingoes, and other birds. It was hereabouts that we first saw some
camels. Once more we mounted, and soon were high among the AurĂšs
mountains, perhaps the most delightful hill-region of North Africa,
with certainly the finest population, Berbers like the Kabyles, but
Berber-aristocratsâBerbers refined by potent inherited strains from the
Romans of old. From Batna onwards the journey was an endless delight.
We came more and more into the East, and soon grew wholly accustomed
to Arab encampments, herds of camels, Moors and Negroes coming in with
herds of bouricoes (little donkeys), wild black goats and gaunt sheep,
Nomads travelling southward or eastward, picturesque Saharians or
Spahis dashing past on grey Arab horses, and semi-nude agriculturous
Berbers. At last the desert (the hill-desert) was entered. Here one
can realise the full significance of the French epithet _tourmenté_:
and, as one fares further, of
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