WILLIAM SHARP (FIONA MACLEOD) A MEMOIR COMPILED BY HIS WIFE ELIZABETH A. SHARP by ELIZABETH A. SHARP (best ebook reader ubuntu txt) š
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desolation. The whole country seemed under the curse of barrenness:
nothing but gaunt ribbed mountains, gaunt ribbed hills, gaunt ribbed
sand-plainsāthis, or stony wastes of an arid desolation beyond words.
But though the country did not become less awful in this respect, it
grew wilder and stranger as we neared Elkantara. I never saw scenery
so _terrific_. The entrance to the last Gorge was very exciting, for
beyond the narrow outlet lay the Sahara and all torrid Africa! North of
this last outpost of the colder zone the date-palm refuses to flourish:
and here, too, the Saharan Arab will not linger: but in a quarter of
a mile one passes from this arid waste into African heat and a superb
oasis of date-palms. It is an indescribable sensationāthat of suddenly
swinging through a narrow and fantastic mountain-gorge, where all is
gloom and terror, and coming abruptly upon the full splendour of the
sunswept Sahara, with, in the immediate foreground, an immense oasis
of date-palms, all green and gold! The vistaāthe vast perspectivesāthe
glory of the sunflood! From that moment, one can hardly restrain oneās
excitement. Very soon, however, we had fresh and unexpected cause for
excitement. The train slowly came to a stop, and crowds of Arabs came
The line had been destroyed for more than half a mileāand we weretold we must walk across the intervening bit of desert, and ford the
Oued-Merjarla, till we reached the train sent to meet us. We could see
it in the distanceāa black blotch in the golden sunlight. One account
was that some revolted Arabs (and some of the outlying tribes are said
to be in a chronic state of sullen ill will) had done the mischief:
another, and more probable, that the hill-courses had swollen the
torrent of the Oued-Biskra, which had rent asunder the desert and
displaced the lines. The Arabs carried our baggage, and we set forth
across our first Sahara-stretch. Despite the heat, the air was so light
and delicious that we enjoyed the experience immensely. The river (or
rather barren river-bed with a pale-green torrent rushing through a
deep cleft in the sandy grit) was crossed on a kind of pontoon-bridge.
Soon after this the sun sank. We were in the middle of a vast plain,
almost surrounded by a series of low, pointed hills, which became a
deep purple. Far to the right was a chott (or salt lake) and of lucent
silver. For the rest, all was orange-gold, yellow-gold, green-gold,
with, high over the desert, a vast effulgence of a marvellous roseate
flush. Then came the moment of scarlet and rose, saffron, and deepening
gold, and purple. In the distance, underneath the dropping sparkle of
the Evening Star, we could discern the first palms of the oasis of
Biskra. There was nothing more to experience till arrival, we thought:
but just then we saw the full moon rise out of the Eastern gloom. And
what a moon it was! Never did I see such a splendour of living gold.
It seemed incredibly large, and whatever it illumed became strange and
beautiful beyond words.
āThen a swift run past some ruined outlying mud-walls and Arab tents,
some groups of date-palms, a flashing of many lights and clamour of
Eastern tonguesāand we were in Biskra: El Biskra-ed-Nokkel, to give
it its full name (the City of the Palms)! We found pleasant quarters
in the semi-Moorish Hotel on Sahara. It has cool corridors, with
arched alcoves, on both sides, so that at any time of day one may have
coolness somewhere. In the courtyard are seats where we can have coffee
and cigarettes under the palms, beside two dear little tame gazelles....
āThis morning we had many novel and delightful glimpses of oriental
life. In one narrow street the way was blocked by camels lying or
squatting right across the road. As they are laden, they open their
mouths, snarlingly, and give vent to an extraordinary soundāpart roar,
part grunt of expostulation....
āWe came across a group of newly arrived camels from the distant Oasis
of Touggourt, laden with enormous melons and pumpkins: and, hopping and
running about, two baby camels! They were extraordinary creatures, and
justified the Arab saying that the first camel was the offspring of
an ostrich and some now extinct kind of monster.... Oh, this splendid
flood of the sun!
CONSTANTINE, 12th Feb., 1893.
āIt would be useless to attempt to give you any idea of all we have
seen since I last wrote. The impressions are so numerous and so
vivid until one attempts to seize them: and then they merge in a
labyrinth of memories. I sent you a P/c from Sidi Okbaāthe memory of
which with its 5,000 swarming Arab population has been something of
a nightmare-recollection ever since. I can well believe how the City
of Constantine was considered one of the seven wonders of the world.
It is impossible to conceive anything grander. Imagine a city hanging
down the sides of gorges nearly 1,000 feet in depthāand of the most
fantastic and imposing aspect. In these terrible gorges, which have
been fed with blood so often, the storks and ravens seem like tiny
sparrows as they fly to and fro, and the blue rock-doves are simply
wisps of azure....
Last night I had such a plunge into the Barbaric East as I have
never had, and may never have again. I cannot describe, but will
erelong tell you of those narrow thronged streets, inexplicably
intricate, fantastic, barbaric: the Moorish cafƩs filled with motley
Orientalsāfrom the turbanād Turk, the fezād Jew, the wizard-like Moor,
to the Kabyl, the Soudanese, the desert Arab: the strange haunts of
the dancing girls: the terrible street of the caged womenālike wild
beasts exposed for sale: and the crowded dens of the Haschisch-eaters,
with the smoke and din of barbaric lutes, tam-tams, and nameless
instruments, and the strange wild haunting chanting of the ecstatics
and fanatics. I went at last where I saw not a single European: and
though at some risk, I met with no active unpleasantness, save in
one Haschisch place, where by a sudden impulse some forty or fifty
Moors suddenly swung round, as the shriek of an Arab fanatic, and
with outstretched hands and arms cursed the _Gaiour-kelb_ (dog of an
infidel!): and here I had to act quickly and resolutely. Thereafter one
of my reckless fits came on, and I plunged right into the midst of the
whole extraordinary visionāfor a kind of visionary Inferno it seemed.
From Haschisch-den to Haschisch-den I wandered, from strange vaulted
rooms of the gorgeously jewelled and splendidly dressed prostitutes to
the alcoves where lay or sat or moved to and fro, behind iron bars, the
caged ābeautiesā whom none could reach save by gold, and even then at
risk; from there to the dark low rooms or open pillared places where
semi-nude dancing girls moved to and fro to a wild barbaric music....
I wandered to and fro in that bewildering Moorish maze, till at last
I could stand no more impressions. So I found my way to the western
ramparts, and looked out upon the marvellous nocturnal landscape of
mountain and valleyāand thought of all that Constantine had beenāā
CARTHAGE,
Sunday, 19th Feb.
āHow strange it seems to write a line to London from this London of
2,000 years ago! The sea breaks at my feet, blue as a turquoise here,
but, beyond, a sheet of marvellous pale green, exquisite beyond words.
To the right are the inland waters where the Carthaginian galleys
found haven: above, to the right, was the temple of Baal: right above,
the temple of Tanit, the famous Astarte, otherwise āThe Abomination
of the Sidonians.ā Where the Carthaginians lived in magnificent
luxury, a little out of the city itself, is now the Arab town of
Sidi-ban-SaĆÆdālike a huge magnolia-bloom on the sunswept hillside.
There is nothing of the life of to-day visible, save a white-robed
Bedouin herding goats and camels, and, on the sea, a few felucca-rigged
fisherboats making for distant Tunis by the Strait of Goletta. But
there is life and movement in the play of the wind among the grasses
and lentisks, in the hum of insects, in the whisper of the warm earth,
in the glow of the burning sunshine that floods downward from a sky of
glorious blue. _Carthage_āI can hardly believe it. What _ivresse_ of
the mind the word creates!ā
The following letter was received shortly after our return:
19 ST. MARY ABBOTTS TERRACE, W.,
7th March, 1893.
MY DEAR SHARP,
I did not reply to your kind letter because I could not divest myself
of a certain suspicion of the postal arrangements of the desert. I
admit however there was little warrant for misgiving since they are
evidently civilised enough to keep the natives well supplied with
copies of _The Island_. The thought of the studious Sheik painfully
spelling out that work with the help of his lexicon is simply
fascinating, and I have made up my mind to read _The Arabian Nights_
in the original by way of returning the compliment. But if I talk any
more about myself I shall forget the immediate purpose of this letter
which is to ask if you and Mrs. Sharp are back again; and, if you are,
how and when we may see you. I think this was about the date of your
promised return. We shall all be delighted to see you and to hear
about your journey. You are more than ever Children of To-morrow in my
esteem, to be able not only to dare such trips but to do them. When I
read your letter I felt more than ever a child of yesterday. Do write
and give us a chance of seeing you as soon as you can.
Ever yours,
WHITEING.
Mr. Whiteing was one of the many friends who came to our cottage for
week-end visits in the ensuing spring and summer. Among others whom
we welcomed were Mrs. Mona Caird, Miss Alice Corkran, Mr. George
Cotterell, Mr. and Mrs. Le Gallienne, the Honble Roden Noel, Mr.
Percy White, Dr. Byres Moir, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Rinder, Mr. R. A.
Streatfield, Mr. Laurence Binyon, my brother R. Farquharson Sharp,
and my sister-in-law Mary, or Marik, who for many years acted as my
husbandās secretary and whose handwriting became familiar to many
correspondents who afterwards received letters in handwriting from
Fiona Macleod.
The Diary for December 1893 has the following entries:
āWe came back to a lovely English Spring, the finest for a quarter of
a century it is said. In May E. went to Paris for the Salon: I went to
Ventnor and Freshwater. Wrote my long article for _Harpersā_ on āThe
March of Rome in North Africa.ā
āAt the end of July we went to Scotland: first for three weeks to St.
Andrewās: then to Mrs. Glasford Bellsā at Tirinie, near Aberfeldy in
Perthshire: then to Corrie, in Arran, for over a fortnight. Then E.
visited friends, and I went to Arrochar, etc. Then at my motherās in
Edinburgh: and on my way south I stopped with R. Murray Gilchrist at
Eyam, in Derbyshire.
āIn the autumn I arranged with Frank Murray of Derby to publish
_Vistas_. He could afford to give me only Ā£10, but in this instance
money was a matter of little importance. _Harpersā_ gave me Ā£50 for
āThe March of Rome.ā Knowles asked me to do āLa Jeune Belgiqueā for
the September number which I did, and he commissioned other work. On
the head of it, too, Elkin Matthews and John Lane have commissioned
an extension of the essay, and translation, for a volume to be issued
in the spring. In _Good Words_, āFroken Bergliot,ā a short story, was
much liked: later, in December, āLove in a Mistā (written June /92)
still more so. African articles commissioned by _Harpers_, _Atlantic
Monthly_, _Art Journal_, _Good Words_, and provisionally two others.
āHave written several stories and poems. Also done the first part of a
Celtic romance called _Pharais_, from the word of Muireadach Albarmach,
āMithil domb triall gu tigh na Pharais.ā Have mentally cartooned
_Nostalgia_ (a short one vol. romance) _The Woman of Thirty_ (do.
novel), _Ivresse_ (which I have proposed to Lady Colin Campbell for
our collaboration in preference to _Eve and I_): āPassĆ©e,ā āHazard of
Loveā: a collection of short stories, collectively called _The Comedy
of Woman_: and other volumes in romance, fiction, poetry, and drama.
Have done part of _Amor_ (in Sonnets mostly as yet): and the first
part of āThe Tower of Silence.ā Have thought out āDemogorgonā: also,
projected a dramatic version of _Anna Karenina_.
āSome time ago signed an agreement with Swan Sonnenschin & Co. to write
a new life of Rossetti. It will be out, I hope, next spring. Been
getting slowly on with it.
āBesides the bigger things I am thinking of, e. g. in poetic drama
āDemogorgonā: in fiction āThe Lunes of Youthā (Part 1 of the Trilogy
of _The Londoners_), and the _Women_ series, have thought out _The
Literary Ideal_
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