Letters to dead authors / by Andrew Lang

127 Pages·2017·15.6 MB·English

by  Andrew Lang

LGTTGRS LeneR S
TO
D z k d Deso A
to uthors
ïïuthor:

LETTERS
TO
DEAD AUTHORS
BY
VOLUM ES OF VERSE
ANDREW LANG
BY ANDREW LANG.
HELEN OF TROY. i vol. i amo...................... £i-5°
BALLADES AND VERSES VAIN . . . . 1.50
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1889
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. To W. M. Thackeray . . . i
II. To Charles Dickens . . . io
III. To PlERRE DE RONSARD . . . 22
IV. To Herodotus . . . . 34
V. Epistle to Mr. Alexander Pope . 46
VI. To Lucían of Samosata . . 55
VII. To MaÍtre Françoys Rabelais . 66
VIII. To Jane Austen . . . . 75
The River side Press, Cambridge : IX. To Master Isaak Walton . . 86
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. X. To M. Chapelain . . . . 98
XI. To Sir John Manndeville, Kt. . 110
XII. To Alexandre Dumas . . 119
7 XIII. To Theocritus . . . -13°
XIV. To Edgar Allan Poe . . . 140
XV. To Sir W alter Scott, Bart. . 152
XVI. To Eusebius of Caesarea . . 162
XVII. To Percy Bysshe Shelley . . 173
XVIII. To Monsieur de Moliere, Valet
de Chambre du Roi . . 184
XIX. To Robert Burns . . • • *95
XX. To Lord Byron . . . . 205
XXI. To Omar KhayyXm . . .216
XXII. To Q. Horatius Flaccus . . 223
PREFACE.
SiXTEEN of these Letters, which were
written at the suggestion of the editor
of the ‘ St. James’s Gazette,’ appeared in
that journal, from which they are now
reprinted, by the editor’s kind per-
mission. They have been somewhat
emended, and a few additions have been
made. The Letters to Horace, Byron,
Isaak Walton, Chapelain, Ronsard, and
Theocritus have not been published
before.
The gem published for the first time
on the title-page is a red cornelian in
the British Museum, probably Grasco-
Roman, and treated in an archaistic
style. It represents Hermes Psycho-
gogos, with a Soul, and has some like-
VI PREFACE
ness to the Baptism of Our Lord, as
usually shown in art. Perhaps it may
be post-Christian. The gem was se-
LETTERS
lected by Mr. A. S. Murray.
It is, perhaps, superfluous to add that TO
some of the Letters are written rather
DEAD AUTHORS.
to suit the Correspondent than to ex-
press the writer’s own taste or opinions.
The Epistle to Lord Byron, especially,
is ‘ writ in a manner which is my aver­ i.
sión.’
To W. M. Thackeray.
Sir, — There are many things that
stand in the way of the critic when he
has a mind to praise the living. He may
dread the charge of writing rather to
vex a rival than to exalt the subject of
his applause. He shuns the appearance
of seeking the favour of the famous, and
would not willingly be regarded as one
of the many parasites who now advertise
each movement and action of contempo-
rary genius. ‘ Such and such men of let­
ters are passing their summer holidays
in the Val d’Aosta,’ or the Mountains
2 LETTERS TO DE AD AUTHORS THACKERAY 3
of the Moon, or the Suliman Range, as fairest gifts combined ? If we may not
it may happen. So reports our literary call you a poet (for the first of English
Court Circular, and all our Précienses writers of light verse did not seek that
read the tidings with enthusiasm. Lastly, crown), who that was less than a poet
if the crític be quite new to the world of ever saw life with a glance so keen as
letters, he may superfluously fear to vex yours, so steady, and so sane ? Your
a poet or a novelist by the abundance of pathos was never cheap, your laughter
his eulogy. No such doubts perplex us never forced ; your sigh was never the
when, with all our hearts, we would com- púlpit trick of the preacher. Your funny
mend the departed ; for they have passed people— your Costigans and Fokers —
almost beyond the reach even of envy ; were not mere characters of trick and
and to those pale cheeks of theirs no catch-word, were not empty comic masks.
commendation can bring the red. Behind each the human heart was beat-
You, above all others, were and re- ing ; and ever and again we were allowed
main without a rival in your many-sided
to see the features of the man.
excellence, and praise of you strikes at Thus fiction in your hands was not
none of those who have survived your simply a profession, like another, but a
day. The increase of time only mellows constant reflection of the whole surface
your renown, and each year that passes of life : a repeated echo of its laughter
and brings you no successor does but and its complaint. Others have written,
sharpen the keenness of our sense of and not written badly, with the stolid
loss. In what other novelist, since Scott professional regularity of the clerk at
was worn down by the burden of a for- his desk; you, like the Scholar Gipsy,
lorn endeavour, and died for honour’s might have said that ‘ it needs heaven-
sake, has the world found so many of the sent moments for this skill. There are,
4 LETTERS TO DE AD AUTHORS THACKERAY 5
it will not surprise you, some honourable women can pardon you Becky Sharp and
women and a few men who call you a Blanche Amory ; they find it harder to
cynic; who speak of ‘the withered world forgive you Emmy Sedley and Helen
of Thackerayan satire ; ’ who think your Pendennis. Yet what man does not
eyes were ever turned to the sòrdid as- know in his heart that the best women
pects of life — to the mother-in-law who — God bless them — lean, in their char-
threatens to ‘ take away her silver bread- acters, either to the sweet passiveness of
basket ; ’ to the intriguer, the sneak, the Emmy or to the sensitive and jealous
termagant; to the Beckys, and Barnes affections of Helen ? ’T is Heaven, not
Newcomes, and Mrs. Mackenzies of this you, that made them so ; and they are
world. The quarrel of these sentimen- easily pardoned, both for being a very
talists is really with life, not with you ; little lower than the àngels and for their
they might as wisely blame Monsieur gentle ambition to be painted, as by
Guido or Guercino, with wings and harps
Buffon because there are snakes in his
and haloes. So ladies have occasionally
Natural History. Had you not impaled
seen their own faces in the glass of fancy,
certain noxious human insects, you would
have better pleased Mr. Ruskin ; had and, thus inspired, have drawn Romola
and Consuelo. Yet when these fair ideal-
you confined yourself to such perform­
ists, Mdme. Sand and George Eliot, de-
ances, you would have been more dear
signed Rosamund Vincy and Horace,
to the Neo-Balzacian school in fiction.
was there not a spice of malice in the
You are accused of never having drawn
portraits which we miss in your least
a good woman who was not a doll, but
the ladies that bring this charge seldom favourable studies ?
That the creator of Colonei New-
remind us either of Lady Castlewood or
come and of Henry Esmond was a
of Theo or Hetty Lambert. The best