No More Learning

Used you not to read to Eliza-
beth? »
Sonia opened the book and looked for the passage. Her hands
trembled. The words stuck in her throat. Twice did she try to
read without being able to utter the first syllable.
"Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Bethany,"
she read, at last, with an effort; but suddenly, at the third word,
her voice grew wheezy, and gave way like an overstretched
chord. Breath was deficient in her oppressed bosom. Raskolni-
koff partly explained to himself Sonia's hesitation to obey him;
and in proportion as he understood her better, he insisted still
more imperiously on her reading. He felt what it must cost the
girl to lay bare to him, to some extent, her heart of hearts. She
evidently could not, without difficulty, make up her mind to con-
fide to a stranger the sentiments which probably since her teens
had been her support, her viaticum-when, what with a sottish
father and a stepmother demented by misfortune, to say nothing
of starving children, she heard nothing but reproach and offens-
ive clamor. He saw all this, but he likewise saw that notwith-
standing this repugnance, she was most anxious to read,—to read
to him, and that now,-let the consequences be what they may!
The girl's look, the agitation to which she was a prey, told him
as much, and by a violent effort over herself Sonia conquered
the spasm which parched her throat, and continued to read the
eleventh chapter of the Gospel according to St. John. She thus
reached the nineteenth verse:-
"And many of the Jews came to Martha and Mary, to comfort
them concerning their brother. Then Martha, as soon as she heard
that Jesus was coming, went and met him; but Mary sat still in the
house. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here,
my brother had not died. But I know that even now, whatsoever
thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee. "


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4804
FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOÉVSKY
Here she paused, to overcome the emotion which once more
caused her voice to tremble.
"Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again. Martha saith
unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the
last day. Jesus said unto her, I am the Resurrection and the Life;
he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live;
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest
thou this? She saith unto him,”.
and although she had difficulty in breathing, Sonia raised her
voice, as if in reading the words of Martha she was making her
own confession of faith:—
"Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God,
which should come into the world. ”
She stopped, raised her eyes rapidly on him, but cast them
down on her book, and continued to read. Raskolnikoff listened
without stirring, without turning toward her, his elbows resting
on the table, looking aside. Thus the reading continued till the
thirty-second verse.
"Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she
fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here,
my brother had not died. When Jesus therefore saw her weeping,
and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the
spirit and was troubled, and said, Where have ye laid him? They
said unto him, Lord, come and see. Jesus wept. Then said the
Jews, Behold how he loved him. And some of them said, Could not
this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even
this man should not have died? "
Raskolnikoff turned towards her and looked at her with agita-
tion. His suspicion was a correct one. She was trembling in all
her limbs, a prey to fever. He had expected this. She was get-
ting to the miraculous story, and a feeling of triumph was taking
possession of her. Her voice, strengthened by joy, had a metal-
lic ring. The lines became misty to her troubled eyes, but for-
tunately she knew the passage by heart. At the last line,
"Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind-
she lowered her voice, emphasizing passionately the doubt, the
blame, the reproach of these unbelieving and blind Jews, who a
moment after fell as if struck by lightning on their knees, to
sob and to believe. "Yes," thought she, deeply affected by this
>>>


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FEODOR MIKHAILOVITCH DOSTOEVSKY
4805
joyful hope, "yes, he- he who is blind, who dares not believe-
he also will hear-will believe in an instant, immediately, now,
this very moment! »
"Jesus therefore, again groaning in himself, cometh to the grave.
It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it. Jesus said, Take ye away
the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him,
Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days. "
She strongly emphasized the word four.
"Jesus saith unto her, Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldst
believe, thou shouldst see the glory of God? Then they took away
the stone from the place where the dead was laid. And Jesus lifted
up his eyes, and said, Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me.
And I knew that thou hearest me always; but because of the people
which stand by I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent
me. And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice,
Lazarus, come forth. And he that was dead came forth,"-
(on reading these words Sonia shuddered, as if she herself had
been witness to the miracle)
"bound hand and foot with grave-clothes; and his face was bound
about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him, and let him
go. Then many of the Jews which came to Mary, and had seen the
things which Jesus did, believed on him. "
She read no more,- such a thing would have been impossible
to her, closed the book, and briskly rising, said in a low-toned
and choking voice, without turning toward the man she was
talking to, "So much for the resurrection of Lazarus. " She
seemed afraid to raise her eyes on Raskolnikoff, whilst her fever-
ish trembling continued. The dying piece of candle dimly lit up
this low-ceiled room, in which an assassin and a harlot had just
read the Book of books.


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4806
EDWARD DOWDEN
(1843-)
-
W
E ARE all hunters, skillful or skilless, in literature — hunters
for our spiritual good or for our pleasure," says Edward Dow-
den; and to his earnest research and careful exposition
many readers owe a more thorough appreciation of literature. He
was educated at Queen's College, Cork (his birthplace), and then at
Trinity College, Dublin, where he received the Vice-Chancellor's
prize in both English verse and English prose, and also the first
English Moderatorship in logic and ethics. For two years he studied
divinity. Then he obtained by examination a professorship of oratory
at the University of Dublin, where he was afterwards elected pro-
fessor of English literature. The scholarship of his literary work has
won him many honors. In 1888 he was chosen president of the Eng-
lish Goethe Society, to succeed Professor Müller. The following year
he was appointed first Taylorian lecturer in the Taylor Institute,
Oxford. The Royal Irish Academy has bestowed the Cunningham
gold medal upon him, and he has also received the honorary degree
LL. D. of the University of Edinburgh, and from Princeton Uni-
versity.
Very early in life Professor Dowden began to express his feeling
for literature, and the instinct which leads him to account for a work
by study of its author's personality. For more than twenty years
English readers have known him as a frequent contributor of critical
essays to the leading reviews. These have been collected into the
delightful volumes Studies in Literature and Transcripts and
Studies. ' His has been called "an honest method, wholesome as
sweet. " He would offer more than a mere résumé of what his author
expresses. He would be one of the interpreters and transmitters of
new forms of thought to the masses of readers who lack time or
ability to discover values for themselves. Very widely read himself,
he is fitted for just comparisons and comprehensive views. As has
been pointed out, he is fond of working from a general consideration
of a period with its formative influences, to the particular care of the
author with whom he is dealing. Saintsbury tells us that Mr. Dow-
den's procedure is to ask his author a series of questions which seem
to him of vital importance, and find out how he would answer them.
Dowden's style is careful, clear, and thorough, showing his schol-
arship and incisive thought. His form of expression is strongly


## p. 4807 (#603) ###########################################

EDWARD DOWDEN
4807
picturesque. It is nowhere more so than in 'Shakespeare: a Study
of His Mind and Art. ' This, his most noteworthy work, has been
very widely read and admired. His intimate acquaintance with Ger-
man criticism upon the great Elizabethan especially fitted him to
present fresh considerations to the public.
He has also written a brilliant 'Life of Shelley' (bitterly criticized
by Mark Twain in the North American Review, 'A Defense of Har-
riet Shelley), and a 'Life of Southey' in the English Men of
Letters Series; and edited most capably Southey's Correspondence
with Caroline Bowles,' The Correspondence of Sir Henry Taylor,'
< Shakespeare's Sonnets,' 'The Passionate Pilgrim,' and a collection
of Lyrical Ballads. '
THE HUMOR OF SHAKESPEARE
From Shakespeare: a Critical Study of His Mind and Art›
A
STUDY of Shakespeare which fails to take account of Shake-
speare's humor must remain essentially incomplete. The
character and spiritual history of a man who is endowed
with a capacity for humorous appreciation of the world must dif-
fer throughout, and in every particular, from that of the man
whose moral nature has never rippled over with genial laughter.
At whatever final issue Shakespeare arrived after long spiritual
travail as to the attainment of his life, that precise issue, rather
than another, was arrived at in part by virtue of the fact of
Shakespeare's humor. In the composition of forces which deter-
mined the orbit traversed by the mind of the poet, this must be
allowed for as a force among others, in importance not the least,
and efficient at all times even when little apparent.
A man
whose visage "holds one stern intent" from day to day, and
whose joy becomes at times almost a supernatural rapture, may
descend through circles of hell to the narrowest and the lowest;
he may mount from sphere to sphere of Paradise until he stands
within the light of the Divine Majesty; but he will hardly suc-
ceed in presenting us with an adequate image of life as it is on
this earth of ours, in its oceanic amplitude and variety.
few men of genius there have been, who with vision penetrative
as lightning have gazed as it were through life, at some eter-
nal significances of which life is the symbol. Intent upon its
sacred meaning, they have had no eye to note the forms of the
A


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4808
EDWARD DOWDEN
grotesque hieroglyph of human existence. Such men are not
framed for laughter. To this little group the creator of Falstaff,
of Bottom, and of Touchstone does not belong.
Shakespeare, who saw life more widely and wisely than any
other of the seers, could laugh. That is a comfortable fact to
bear in mind; a fact which serves to rescue us from the domina-
tion of intense and narrow natures, who claim authority by vir-
tue of their grasp of one-half of the realities of our existence
and their denial of the rest. Shakespeare could laugh. But we
must go on to ask, "What did he laugh at? and what was the
manner of his laughter? " There are as many modes of laugh-
ter as there are facets of the common soul of humanity, to reflect
the humorous appearances of the world. Hogarth, in one of his
pieces of coarse yet subtile engraving, has presented a group of
occupants of the pit of a theatre, sketched during the perform-
ance of some broad comedy or farce. What proceeds upon the
stage is invisible and undiscoverable, save as we catch its reflec-
tion on the faces of the spectators, in the same way that we infer
a sunset from the evening flame upon windows that front the
west. Each laughing face in Hogarth's print exhibits a different
mode or a different stage of the risible paroxysm. There is the
habitual enjoyer of the broad comic, abandoned to his mirth,
which is open and unashamed; mirth which he is evidently a
match for, and able to sustain. By his side is a companion
female portrait- a woman with head thrown back to ease the
violence of the guffaw; all her loose redundant flesh is tickled
into an orgasm of merriment; she is fairly overcome. On the
other side sits the spectator who has passed the climax of his
laughter; he wipes the tears from his eyes, and is on the way to
regain an insecure and temporary composure.
Below appears a
girl of eighteen or twenty, whose vacancy of intellect is captured
and occupied by the innocuous folly still in progress; she gazes
on expectantly, assured that a new blossom of the wonder of
absurdity is about to display itself. Her father, a man who does
not often surrender himself to an indecent convulsion, leans
his face upon his hand, and with the other steadies himself by
grasping one of the iron spikes that inclose the orchestra. In
the right corner sits the humorist, whose eyes, around which the
wrinkles gather, are half closed, while he already goes over the
jest a second time in his imagination. At the opposite side an
elderly woman is seen, past the period when animal violences are


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EDWARD DOWDEN
4809
possible, laughing because she knows there is something to
laugh at, though she is too dull-witted to know precisely what.
One spectator, as we guess from his introverted air, is laughing
to think what somebody else would think of this. Finally, the
thin-lipped, perk-nosed person of refinement looks aside, and by
his critical indifference condemns the broad, injudicious mirth of
the company.
All these laughers of Hogarth are very commonplace, and
some are very vulgar persons; one trivial, ludicrous spectacle is
the occasion of their mirth. When from such laughter as this
we turn to the laughter of men of genius, who gaze at the total
play of the world's life; and when we listen to this, as with the
ages it goes on gathering and swelling, our sense of hearing is
enveloped and almost annihilated by the chorus of mock and
jest, of antic and buffoonery, of tender mirth and indignant
satire, of monstrous burlesque and sly absurdity, of desperate
misanthropic derision and genial affectionate caressing of human
imperfection and human folly. We hear from behind the mask
the enormous laughter of Aristophanes, ascending peal above
peal until it passes into jubilant ecstasy, or from the uproar
springs some exquisite lyric strain. We hear laughter of pas-
sionate indignation from Juvenal, the indignation of "the ancient
and free soul of the dead republics. " And there is Rabelais,
with his huge buffoonery, and the earnest eyes intent on free-
dom, which look out at us in the midst of the zany's tumblings
and indecencies. And Cervantes, with his refined Castilian air
and deep melancholy mirth, at odds with the enthusiasm which
is dearest to his soul. And Molière, with his laughter of unerring
good sense, undeluded by fashion or vanity or folly or hypocrisy,
and brightly mocking these into modesty. And Milton, with his
fierce objurgatory laughter,- Elijah-like insult against the ene-
mies of freedom and of England. And Voltaire, with his quick
intellectual scorn and eager malice of the brain. And there is
the urbane and amiable play of Addison's invention, not capable
of large achievement, but stirring the corners of the mouth with
a humane smile,- gracious gayety for the breakfast-tables of
England. And Fielding's careless mastery of the whole broad
common field of mirth. And Sterne's exquisite curiosity of odd-
ness, his subtile extravagances and humors prepense. And there
is the tragic laughter of Swift, which announces the extinction
of reason, and loss beyond recovery of human faith and charity


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4810
EDWARD DOWDEN
and hope. How in this chorus of laughters, joyous and terrible,
is the laughter of Shakespeare distinguishable?
In the first place, the humor of Shakespeare, like his total
genius, is many-sided. He does not pledge himself as dramatist
to any one view of human life. If we open a novel by Charles
Dickens, we feel assured beforehand that we are condemned to
an exuberance of philanthropy; we know how the writer will
insist that we must all be good friends, all be men and brothers,
intoxicated with the delight of one another's presence; we expect
him to hold out the right hand of fellowship to man, woman, and
child; we are prepared for the bacchanalia of benevolence. The
lesson we have to learn from this teacher is, that with the
exception of a few inevitable and incredible monsters of cruelty,
every man naturally engendered of the offspring of Adam is of
his own nature inclined to every amiable virtue. Shakespeare
abounds in kindly mirth: he receives an exquisite pleasure from
the alert wit and bright good sense of a Rosalind; he can dandle
a fool as tenderly as any nurse qualified to take a baby from the
birth can deal with her charge. But Shakespeare is not pledged
to deep-dyed ultra-amiability. With Jacques, he can rail at the
world while remaining curiously aloof from all deep concern
about its interests, this way or that. With Timon he can turn
upon the world with a rage no less than that of Swift, and dis-
cover in man and woman a creature as abominable as the Yahoo.
In other words, the humor of Shakespeare, like his total genius,
is dramatic.
<
Then again, although Shakespeare laughs incomparably, mere
laughter wearies him. The only play of Shakespeare's, out of
nearly forty, which is farcical, The Comedy of Errors,' — was
written in the poet's earliest period of authorship, and was
formed upon the suggestion of a preceding piece. It has been
observed with truth by Gervinus that the farcical incidents of
this play have been connected by Shakespeare with a tragic back-
ground, which is probably his own invention. With beauty, or
with pathos, or with thought, Shakespeare can mingle his mirth;
and then he is happy, and knows how to deal with play of wit
or humorous characterization; but an entirely comic subject some-
what disconcerts the poet. On this ground, if no other were
forthcoming, it might be suspected that 'The Taming of the
Shrew was not altogether the work of Shakespeare's hand. The
secondary intrigues and minor incidents were of little interest to
-


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EDWARD DOWDEN
4811
the poet. But in the buoyant force of Petruchio's character, in
his subduing tempest of high spirits, and in the person of the
foiled revoltress against the law of sex, who carries into her
wifely loyalty the same energy which she had shown in her vir-
gin sauvagerie, there were elements of human character in which
the imagination of the poet took delight.
Unless it be its own excess, however, Shakespeare's laughter
seems to fear nothing. It does not, when it has once arrived at
its full development, fear enthusiasm, or passion, or tragic
intensity; nor do these fear it. The traditions of the English
drama had favored the juxtaposition of the serious and comic:
but it was reserved for Shakespeare to make each a part of the
other; to interpenetrate tragedy with comedy, and comedy with
tragic earnestness.
SHAKESPEARE'S PORTRAITURE OF WOMEN
From Transcripts and Studies ›
OⓇ
F ALL the daughters of his imagination, which did Shake-
speare love the best? Perhaps we shall not err if we say
one of the latest born of them all,-our English Imogen.
And what most clearly shows us how Shakespeare loved Imogen
is this he has given her faults, and has made them exquisite,
so that we love her better for their sake. No one has so quick
and keen a sensibility to whatever pains and to whatever glad-
dens as she. To her a word is a blow; and as she is quick in
her sensibility, so she is quick in her perceptions, piercing at
once through the Queen's false show of friendship; quick in her
contempt for what is unworthy, as for all professions of love
from the clown-prince, Cloten; quick in her resentment, as when
she discovers the unjust suspicions of Posthumus. Wronged she
is indeed by her husband, but in her haste she too grows unjust;
yet she is dearer to us for the sake of this injustice, proceeding
as it does from the sensitiveness of her love. It is she, to whom
a word is a blow, who actually receives a buffet from her hus-
band's hand; but for Imogen it is a blessed stroke, since it is the
evidence of his loyalty and zeal on her behalf. In a moment he
is forgiven, and her arms are round his neck.
Shakespeare made so many perfect women unhappy that he
owed us some amende. And he has made that amende by letting


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4812
EDWARD DOWDEN
us see one perfect woman supremely happy. Shall our last
glance at Shakespeare's plays show us Florizel at the rustic
merry-making, receiving blossoms from the hands of Perdita? or
Ferdinand and Miranda playing chess in Prospero's cave, and
winning one a king and one a queen, while the happy fathers
gaze in from the entrance of the cave? We can see a more
delightful sight than these - Imogen with her arms around the
neck of Posthumus, while she puts an edge upon her joy by the
playful challenge and mock reproach-
"Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again;"
and he responds-
"Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die. "
We shall find in all Shakespeare no more blissful creatures
than these two.
-
THE INTERPRETATION OF LITERATURE
From Transcripts and Studies >
HE happiest moment in a critic's hours of study is when,
by some divination, but really as result of
patient observation and thought, he lights upon the central
motive of a great work. Then, of a sudden, order begins to
form itself from the crowd and chaos of his impressions and
ideas. There is a moving hither and thither, a grouping or co-
ordinating of all his recent experiences, which goes on of its own
accord; and every instant his vision becomes clearer, and new
meanings disclose themselves in what had been lifeless and un-
illuminated. It seems as if he could even stand by the artist's
side and co-operate with him in the process of creating. With
such a sense of joy upon him, the critic will think it no hard
task to follow the artist to the sources from whence he drew his
material, it may be some dull chapter in an ancient chronicle,
or some gross tale of passion by an Italian novelist,- and he
will stand by and watch with exquisite pleasure the artist hand-
ling that crude material, and refashioning and refining it, and
breathing into it the breath of a higher life. Even the minutest


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EDWARD DOWDEN
4813
difference of text between an author's earlier and later draft, or
a first and second edition, has now become a point not for dull
commentatorship, but a point of life, at which he may touch
with his finger the pulse of the creator in his fervor of creation.
-
From each single work of a great author we advance to
his total work, and thence to the man himself,- to the heart
and brain from which all this manifold world of wisdom and wit
and passion and beauty has proceeded. Here again, before we
address ourselves to the interpretation of the author's mind, we
patiently submit ourselves to a vast series of impressions. And
in accordance with Bacon's maxim that a prudent interrogation
is the half of knowledge, it is right to provide ourselves with a
number of well-considered questions which we may address to
our author. Let us cross-examine him as students of mental and
moral science, and find replies in his written words. Are his
senses vigorous and fine? Does he see color as well as form?
Does he delight in all that appeals to the sense of hearing — the
voices of nature, and the melody and harmonies of the art of
man? Thus Wordsworth, exquisitely organized for enjoying and
interpreting all natural, and if we may so say, homeless and
primitive sounds, had but little feeling for the delights of music.
Can he enrich his poetry by gifts from the sense of smell, as
did Keats; or is his nose like Wordsworth's, an idle promontory
projecting into a desert air? Has he like Browning a vigorous
pleasure in all strenuous muscular movements; or does he like
Shelley live rapturously in the finest nervous thrills? How does
he experience and interpret the feeling of sex, and in what parts.
of his entire nature does that feeling find its elevating connections
and associations? What are his special intellectual powers? Is
his intellect combative or contemplative? What are the laws which
chiefly preside over the associations of his ideas? What are the
emotions which he feels most strongly? and how do his emotions
coalesce with one another? Wonder, terror, awe, love, grief,
hope, despondency, the benevolent affections, admiration, the re-
ligious sentiment, the moral sentiment, the emotion of power,
irascible emotion, ideal emotion - how do these make themselves
felt in and through his writings? What is his feeling for the
beautiful, the sublime, the ludicrous? Is he of weak or vigorous
will? In the conflict of motives, which class of motives with
him is likely to predominate? Is he framed to believe or framed
to doubt ? Is he prudent, just, temperate, or the reverse of


## p. 4813 (#610) ###########################################

4812
EDWARD DOWDEN
us see one perfect woman supremely happy. Shall our last
glance at Shakespeare's plays show us Florizel at the rustic
merry-making, receiving blossoms from the hands of Perdita?
or
Ferdinand and Miranda playing chess in Prospero's cave, and
winning one a king and one a queen, while the happy fathers
gaze in from the entrance of the cave? We can see a more
delightful sight than these-Imogen with her arms around the
neck of Posthumus, while she puts an edge upon her joy by the
playful challenge and mock reproach-
and he responds-
"Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again;"
«< Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
-
Till the tree die. "
We shall find in all Shakespeare no more blissful creatures
than these two.
THE INTERPRETATION OF LITERATURE
From Transcripts and Studies >
HE happiest moment in a critic's hours of study is when,
by some divination, but really as result
to
patient observation and thought, he lights upon the central
motive of a great work. Then, of a sudden, order begin
form itself from the crowd and chaos of his impressions and
ideas. There is a moving hither and thither, a grouping or co-
ordinating of all his recent experiences, which goes on of its own
accord; and every instant his vision becomes clearer, and new
meanings disclose themselves in what
'ifeless and un-
illuminated. It seems as if he coul
side and co-operate with him in th
such a sense of joy upon him, th
task to follow the artist to the sc
material, it may be some dull
or some gross tale of passion i
will stand by an
ling that crud
breathing in
the artist's
ting. With
it no hard
he drew his
t chron
st,— a
^. .


## p. 4813 (#611) ###########################################

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## p. 4814 (#612) ###########################################

4814
EDWARD DOWDEN
these? These and such-like questions are not to be crudely and
formally proposed, but are to be used with tact; nor should the
critic press for hard and definite answers, but know how skill-
fully to glean its meaning from an evasion. He is a dull cross-
examiner who will invariably follow the scheme which he has
thought out and prepared beforehand, and who cannot vary his
questions to surprise or beguile the truth from an unwilling wit-
ness. But the tact which comes from natural gift and from
experience may be well supported by something of method,—
method well hidden away from the surface and from sight.
This may be termed the psychological method of study. But
we may also follow a more objective method. Taking the chief
themes with which literature and art are conversant - God, ex-
ternal nature, humanity-we may inquire how our author has
dealt with each of these. What is his theology, or his philoso-
phy of the universe? By which we mean no abstract creed or
doctrine, but the tides and currents of feeling and of faith, as
well as the tendencies and conclusions of the intellect. Under
what aspect has this goodly frame of things, in whose midst we
are, revealed itself to him? How has he regarded and inter-
preted the life of man? Under each of these great themes a
multitude of subordinate topics are included. And alike in this
and in what we have termed the psychological method of study,
we shall gain double results if we examine a writer's works in
the order of their chronology, and thus become acquainted with
the growth and development of his powers, and the widening and
deepening of his relations with man, with external nature, and
with that Supreme Power, unknown yet well known, of which
nature and man are the manifestation. As to the study of an
artist's technical qualities, this, by virtue of the fact that he is
an artist, is of capital importance; and it may often be associated.
with the study of that which his technique is employed to express
and render the characteristics of his mind, and of the vision
which he has attained of the external universe, of humanity, and
of God. Of all our study, the last end and aim should be to
ascertain how a great writer or artist has served the life of man;
to ascertain this, to bring home to ourselves as large a portion.
as may be of the gain wherewith he has enriched human life,
and to render access to that store of wisdom, passion, and power,
easier and surer for others.
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4815
A. CONAN DOYLE
(1859-)
HE author of The White Company,' 'The Great Shadow,' and
'Micah Clarke' has been heard to lament the fact that his
introduction to American readers came chiefly rough the
good offices of his accomplished friend "Sherlock Holmes. " Dr.
Doyle would prefer to be judged by his more serious and laborious
work, as it appears in his historic romances. But he has found it
useless to protest. 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' delighted a
public which enjoys incident, mystery, and above all that matching
of the wits of a clever man against the
dumb resistance of the secrecy of inani-
mate things, which results in the triumph
of the human intelligence. Moreover, in
Sherlock Holmes himself the reader per-
ceived a new character in fiction. The
inventors of the French detective story,-
that ingenious Chinese puzzle of literature,
-have no such wizard as he to show.
Even Poe, past master of mystery-making,
is more or less empirical in his methods of
mystery-solving.

A. CONAN DOYLE
But Sherlock Holmes is a true product
of his time. He is an embodiment of the
scientific spirit seeing microscopically and
applying itself to construct, from material vestiges and psychologic
remainders, an unknown body of proof. From the smallest frag-
ments he deduces the whole structure, precisely as the great natu-
ralists do; and so flawless are his reasonings that a course of 'The
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' would not be bad training in a
high-school class in logic.
The creator of this eminent personage was born in Edinburgh in
1859, of a line of artists; his grandfather, John Doyle, having been
a famous political caricaturist, whose works, under the signature
"H. B. ," were purchased at a high price by the British Museum. The
quaint signature of his father. a capital D, with a little bird
perched on top, gained him the affectionate sobriquet of "Dicky
Doyle"; and Dicky Doyle's house was the gathering-place of artists
and authors, whose talk served to decide the destiny of the lad
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4816
A. CONAN DOYLE
Conan. For though he was intended for the medical profession, and
after studying in Germany had kept his terms at the Medical Col-
lege of Edinburgh University, the love of letters drove him forth in
his early twenties to try his fortunes in the literary world of London.
Inheriting from his artist ancestry a sense of form and color, a
faculty of constructiveness, and a vivid imagination, his studiousness
and his industry have turned his capacities into abilities. For his
romance of The White Company' he read more than two hundred
books, and spent on it more than two years of labor. 'Micah
Clarke' and 'The Great Shadow' involved equal wit and conscience.
In his historic fiction he has described the England of Edward III. ,
of James II. , and of to-day, the Scotland of George III. , the France
of Edward III. , of Louis XIV. , and of Napoleon, and the America of
Frontenac; while, in securing this correctness of historic detail, he
has not neglected the first duty of a story-teller, which is to be
interesting.
THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
From The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Copyright 1892, by Harper &
Brothers
I
HAD called upon my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes one day in
the autumn of last year, and found him in deep conversation
with a very stout, florid-faced elderly gentleman, with fiery
red hair. With an apology for my intrusion I was about to with-
draw, when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed
the door behind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear
Watson," he said, cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged. "
"So I am. Very much so. "
"Then I can wait in the next room. "
"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my part-
ner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have
no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also. "
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob
of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small,
fat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-chair
and putting his finger-tips together, as was his custom when in
judicial moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my


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A. CONAN DOYLE
4817
love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and hum-
drum routine of every-day life. You have shown your relish for
it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and
if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many
of my own little adventures. "
"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,"
I observed.
"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just
before we went into the very simple problem presented by Miss
Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary com-
binations we must go to life itself, which is always far more dar-
ing than any effort of the imagination. "
"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting. "
"You did, doctor; but none the less you must come round to
my view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on
you, until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges
me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough
to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which
promises to be one of the most singular which I have listened to
for some time. You have heard me remark that the strangest
and most unique things are very often connected not with the
larger but with the smaller crimes; and occasionally, indeed,
where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has
been committed. As far as I have heard, it is impossible for me
to say whether the present case is an instance of crime or not;
but the course of events is certainly among the most singular
that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would
have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask
you, not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the
opening part, but also because the peculiar nature of the story
makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips.
As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course
of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other
similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance
I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief,
unique. "
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of
some little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper
from the inside pocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down
the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward, and the
paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man,
VIII-302


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4818
A. CONAN DOYLE
and endeavored, after the fashion of my companion, to read the
indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our
visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace British
tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy
gray shepherd's-check trousers, a not over clean black frock-coat
unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat, with a heavy
brassy Albert chain and a square pierced bit of metal dangling
down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown
overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside
him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable
about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression of
extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.
«<
Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he
shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning
glances. Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time
done manual labor, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason,
that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable
amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else. "
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger
upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
"How in the name of good fortune did you know all that,
Mr. Holmes? " he asked. "How did you know, for example,
that I did manual labor? It's as true as gospel, for I began as
a ship's carpenter. "
"Your hands, my dear sir.
larger than your left. You
muscles are more developed. "
"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry ? »
"I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read
that; especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order,
you use an arc-and-compass breastpin. "
"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing? "
"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny
for five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the
elbow where you rest it upon the desk? "
"Well, but China? »
"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your
right wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a
small study of tattoo marks, and have even contributed to the
literature of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales
Your right hand is quite a size
have worked with it, and the


## p. 4819 (#617) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4819
of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When in addition
I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter
becomes even more simple. "
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never! " said he.
«< I thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see
that there was nothing in it, after all. "
"I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a
mistake in explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you
know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer
shipwreck if I am so candid. Can you not find the advertise-
ment, Mr. Wilson ? »
"Yes, I have got it now," he answered, with his thick red
finger planted half-way down the column. "Here it is. This is
what began it all. You just read it for yourself, sir. ”
I took the paper from him, and read as follows:-
"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of
the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa. , U. S. A. , there is now
another vacancy open, which entitles a member of the League to a
salary of £4 a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed
men who are sound in body and mind, and above the age of twenty-
one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock,
to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet
Street. "
―
"What on earth does this mean? " I ejaculated, after I had
twice read over the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled, and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit
when in high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't
it? " said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch, and
tell us all about yourself, your household, and the effect which
this advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make
a note, doctor, of the paper and the date. "
"It is the Morning Chronicle of April 27th, 1890. Just two
months ago. "
"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?
"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead: "I have a
small pawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the city.
It's not a very large affair, and of late years it has not done
more than just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two
assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would have a job to
>>


## p. 4820 (#618) ###########################################

4820
A. CONAN DOYLE
pay him, but that he is willing to come for half wages, so as to
learn the business. "
"What is the name of this obliging youth? " asked Sherlock
Holmes.
"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth,
either. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter
assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could bet-
ter himself, and earn twice what I am able to give him. But
after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head? "
"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an em-
ployé who comes under the full market price. It is not a com
mon experience among employers in this age. I don't know that
your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement. "
"Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was
such a fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera
when he ought to be improving his mind, and then diving down
into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures.
That is his main fault; but on the whole, he's a good worker.
There's no vice in him. "
"He is still with you, I presume? »
"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of sim-
ple cooking, and keeps the place clean-that's all I have in the
house, for I am a widower, and never had any family. We live
very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our
heads, and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.
"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement.
Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight weeks,
with this very paper in his hand, and he says:-
"I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed
man. '
"Why that? ' I asks.
"Why,' says he, here's another vacancy on the League of
the Red-Headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any
man who gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies
than there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end
what to do with the money. If my hair would only change
color, here's a nice little crib all ready for me to step into. '
"Why, what is it, then? ' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I
am a very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me
instead of my having to go to it, I was often weeks on end with-
out putting my foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't


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A.