WILLIAM SHARP (FIONA MACLEOD) A MEMOIR COMPILED BY HIS WIFE ELIZABETH A. SHARP, ELIZABETH A. SHARP [bill gates best books .txt] 📗

about. I will not cast stones at you—and, if you ran on schedule

time, you have been reformed for four days. Your announcement that you

intend to stay reformed is fine in its way. What a noble imagination

you have! I am glad that you tolerate my ‘introduction.’ As Kate wrote

you, I was very wretched—unluckily for you—when it was written. I wish

that it were better in itself and more worthy of you. But the milk

is spilled. The book will look very well, I think.... Your programme

for the ensuing year fills me with longing. Even the London poorhouse

at the end of it don’t alarm me. Colonel Newcome was brought up in a

poorhouse—or a place of that nature; and, even without such a precedent

I should be willing to go to a poor-house for a while after such a

glorious year. Joy and good luck attend you, my dear fellow, as you go

upon your gay way!...

 

  Always yours,

A. J.

 

 

_A Fellowe and his Wife_ had in the early spring been published in

America and England, and also in the Tauchnitz Collection, and had

a flattering reception in both countries. It had been preceded in

February by the _Life and Letters of Joseph Severn_ published by

Messrs. Sampson Low & Co.

 

Among various articles written during the early summer for the

_Academy_ were one on Philip Marston, and one on Maeterlinck; and in

the July number of the _Forum_ was an appreciation of Thomas Hardy—to

whom he had made a flying visit in March.

 

In acknowledgment he received the following note from the novelist:

 

 

  MAX GATE, DORCHESTER,

  July, 1892.

 

  MY DEAR SHARP,

 

It did give me a great deal of pleasure to read the article in the

_Forum_, and what particularly struck me was your power of grasping

the characteristics of this district and people in a few hours visit,

during which, so far as I could see, you were not observing anything. I

wish the execution of the novels better justified the generous view you

take.

 

  Yours sincerely,

  THOMAS HARDY.

 

 

Our delightful plans for the autumn were not carried out; for, during

a visit to the art critic, J. Stanley Little, at Rudgwick, Sussex, my

husband saw a little cottage which attracted him and we decided to take

it as a _pied-à-terre_. Pending negotiations we stayed with Mr. and

Mrs. Caird at Northbrook, Micheldever, where W. S. began to plan out

the scheme of a new quarterly Review that was “to be the expression of

a keen pagan delight in nature.” I quote from his Diary:

 

 

“_June 2nd, 1892._ In early forenoon, after some pleasant dawdling,

began to write the Italian story, “The Rape of the Sabines,” which I

shall print in the first instance in my projected _White Review_ as

by James Marazion. After tea wrote about a page or so more of story.

Then went a walk up to One-Tree-Hill. Saw several hares. The Cuckoo

was calling till after 9 o’clock. Noticed that the large white moths

fluttered a long time in one spot above the corn. Wild pigeons go to

roost sooner than rooks, apparently. Got back about 9.30, and then

finished “The Rape of the Sabines” (about 4,500 words).

 

“_Friday 3rd._ After breakfast went for a brisk walk of over four

miles. Then worked, slowly, till lunch, at opening of “The Pagans”

(afterwards to be called “Good-Bye, my Fancy”). Then walked to the

station by the fields and back by the road (another 4 miles). Then

worked about an hour more on “The Pagans.” Have done to-day, in all,

from 1,200 to 1,500 words of it. While walking in the afternoon thought

out “The Oread” and also the part of it which I shall use in the _White

Review_ by Charles Verlayne.

 

_Saty 4th._ Did rest of “The Pagans.” In afternoon did first part of

“The Oread.”

 

_Sunday 5th._ Finished “Oread.”

 

_Tuesday 7th._ Went down to Rudgwick, Sussex, by appointment, and

agreed to take the cottage on a 3-years’ lease.”

 

 

Regretfully the wanderings in the Highlands had to be postponed

although the projector of the Review went for a time to Loch Goil

with a friend and I to Bayreuth. In August we settled in the little

eight-roomed cottage, near Rudgwick, with a little porch, an orchard

and garden, and small lawn with a chestnut tree in its midst. We

remained at Phenice Croft two years and took much pleasure in the

little green enclosure that was our own. The views from it were not

extensive. A stretch of fields and trees lay in front of the house,

and from the side lawn we could see an old mill whose red brick roof

had been weathered to picturesque shades of green. Phenice Croft stood

at the edge of a little hamlet called Buck’s Green, and across the

road from our garden gate stood the one shop flanked by a magnificent

poplar tree, that made a landmark however far we might wander. It was

a perpetual delight to us. William Sharp settled down at once to the

production of his quarterly to be called, finally, _The Pagan Review_,

edited by himself as W. H. Brooks. As he had no contributors, for he

realised he would have to attract them, he himself wrote the whole of

the Contents under various pseudonyms. It was published on August

15th, 1892; the cover bore the motto “Sic transit gloria Grundi” and

this list of contents:

 

  _The Black Madonna_            By W. S. Fanshawe

  [This dramatic Interlude was afterwards included in _Vistas_.]

 

  _The Coming of Love_          By George Gascoign

  [Republished posthumously in _Songs Old and New_.]

 

  _The Pagans_: a Romance        By William Dreeme

  [Never finished.]

 

  _An Untold Story_             By Lionel Wingrave

  [Sonnets afterwards printed in _Songs Old and New_.]

 

  _The Rape of the Sabines_      By James Marazion

 

  _The Oread_                  By Charles Verlayne

 

  _Dionysos in India_          By William Windover

 

  _Contemporary Record._

 

  _Editorial._

 

The Editorial announced a promised article on “The New Paganism” from

the pen of H. P. Siwäarmill, but it was never written.

 

As the _Foreword_ gives an idea, not only of the Editor’s project, but

also of his mental attitude at that moment—a sheer revelling in the

beauty of objective life and nature, while he rode for a brief time on

the crest of the wave of health and exuberant spirits that had come to

him in Italy after his long illness and convalescence—I reprint it in

its entirety.

 

 Editorial prefaces to new magazines generally lay great stress on the

 effort of the directorate, and all concerned, to make the forthcoming

 periodical popular.

 

 We have no such expectation: not even, it may be added, any such

 intention. We aim at thorough-going unpopularity: and there is every

 reason to believe that, with the blessëd who expect little, we shall not

 be disappointed.

 

 * * *

 

 In the first place, _The Pagan Review_ is frankly pagan: pagan in

 sentiment, pagan in convictions, pagan in outlook. This being so, it is

 a magazine only for those who, with Mr. George Meredith, can exclaim in

 all sincerity—

 

  “O sir, the truth, the truth! is’t in the skies,

  Or in the grass, or in this heart of ours—

  But O, the truth, the truth!...”—

 

 and at the same time, and with the same author, are not unready to admit

 that truth to life, external and internal, very often

 

  “... is not meat

  For little people or for fools.”

 

 To quote from Mr. Meredith once more:

 

  “... these things are life:

  And life, they say, is worthy of the Muse.”

 

 But we are well aware that this is just what “they” _don’t_ say. “They,”

 “the general public,” care very little about the “Muse” at all; and

 the one thing they never advocate or wish is that the “Muse” should be

 so indiscreet as to really withdraw from life the approved veils of

 Convention.

 

 Nevertheless, we believe that there is a by no means numerically

 insignificant public to whom _The Pagan Review_ may appeal; though

 our paramount difficulty will be to reach those who, owing to various

 circumstances, are out of the way of hearing aught concerning the most

 recent developments in the world of letters.

 

 * * *

 

 _The Pagan Review_ conveys, or is meant to convey, a good deal by its

 title. The new paganism is a potent leaven in the yeast of the “younger

 generation,” without as yet having gained due recognition, or even any

 sufficiently apt and modern name, any scientific designation. The “new

 paganism,” the “modern epicureanism,” and kindred appellations, are more

 or less misleading. Yet, with most of us, there is a fairly definite

 idea of what we signify thereby. The religion of our forefathers has not

 only ceased for us personally, but is no longer in any vital and general

 sense a sovereign power in the realm. It is still fruitful of vast good,

 but it is none the less a power that was, rather than a power that is.

 The ideals of our forefathers are not our ideals, except where the

 accidents of time and change can work no havoc. A new epoch is about to

 be inaugurated, is, indeed, in many respects, already begun; a new epoch

 in civil law, in international comity, in what, vast and complex though

 the issues be, may be called Human Economy. The long half-acknowledged,

 half-denied duel between Man and Woman is to cease, neither through

 the victory of hereditary overlordship nor the triumph of the far more

 deft and subtle if less potent weapons of the weaker, but through a

 frank recognition of copartnery. This new comradeship will be not less

 romantic, less inspiring, less worthy of the chivalrous extremes of

 life and death, than the old system of overlord and bondager, while it

 will open perspectives of a new-rejoicing humanity, the most fleeting

 glimpses of which now make the hearts of true men and women beat with

 gladness. Far from wishing to disintegrate, degrade, abolish marriage,

 the “new paganism” would fain see that sexual union become the flower of

 human life. But, first, the rubbish must be cleared away; the anomalies

 must be replaced by just inter-relations; the sacredness of the

 individual must be recognised; and women no longer have to look upon

 men as usurpers, men no longer to regard women as spiritual foreigners.

 

 * * *

 

 These remarks, however, must not be taken too literally as indicative of

 the literary aspects of _The Pagan Review_. Opinions are one thing, the

 expression of them another, and the transformation or reincarnation of

 them through indirect presentment another still.

 

 This magazine is to be a purely literary, not a philosophical,

 partisan, or propagandist periodical. We are concerned here with the

 new presentment of things rather than with the phenomena of change

 and growth themselves. Our vocation, in a word, is to give artistic

 expression to the artistic “inwardness” of the new paganism; and we

 voluntarily turn aside here from such avocations as chronicling every

 ebb and flow of thought, speculating upon every fresh surprising

 derelict upon the ocean of man’s mind, or expounding well or ill the

 new ethic. If those who sneer at the rallying cry, “Art for Art’s

 sake,” laugh at our efforts, we are well content; for even the lungs

 of donkeys are strengthened by much braying. If, on the other hand,

 those who, by vain pretensions and paradoxical clamour, degrade Art by

 making her merely the more or less seductive panoply of mental poverty

 and spiritual barrenness, care to do a grievous wrong by openly and

 blatantly siding with us, we are still content; for we recognise that

 spiritual byways and mental sewers relieve the Commonwealth of much that

 is unseemly and might breed contagion. _The Pagan Review_, in a word,

 is to be a mouthpiece—we are genuinely modest enough to disavow the

 definite article—of the younger generation, of the new pagan sentiment,

 rather, of the younger generation. In its pages there will be found

 a free exposition of the myriad aspects of life, in each instance as

 adequately as possible reflective of the mind and literary temperament

 of the writer. The pass-phrase of the new paganism is ours: _Sic transit

 gloria Grundi_. The supreme interest of Man is—Woman: and the most

 profound and fascinating problem to Woman is, Man. This being so, and

 quite unquestionably so with all the male and female pagans of our

 acquaintance, it is natural that literature dominated by the various

 forces of the sexual emotion should prevail. Yet, though paramount in

 attraction, it is, after all, but one among the many motive forces of

 life; so we will hope not to fall into the error of some of our French

 confrères and be persistently and even supernaturally awake to one

 functional activity and blind to the general life and interest of the

 commonwealth of soul and body. It is _Life_ that we preach, if perforce

 we must be taken as preachers at all; Life to the full, in all its

 manifestations, in its heights and depths, precious to the uttermost

 moment, not to be bartered even when maimed and weary.