WALTER BESANT.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 193, 15 August 1936, Page 1

WALTER BESANT.

u GOLDEN BUTTERFLY" FAME.

AUTHOR AND AUTHOR'S FRIEND. (By CYRANO.) If yon have read "The Golden Butterfly" you are probably middle-aged. I do not see the once famous book about now, and I never hear it mentioned by the younger generation. Yet between the 'seventies, when it was written, and the end of the century there were few more popular books among English novels. "Everybody" knew Gilead P. Beck, who struck oil with the help of his mascot the golden butterfly; and the charming English girl who had been deliberately brought up without a knowledge of reading and writing, and astonished society by admitting this quite frankly; and the twins, one a painter and the other a poet, who were always going to begin a masterpiece but never did. This and "Ready-Money Mortiboy" and a string of other novels were the work of two men—Walter Besant and James Rice. When Rico died Besant went on writing until the beginning of the present century, and through his novels, his biographies and histories, and his foundation of the Authors' Society, became one of the leading figures of literary England. His centenary fell this week—he was born on August 14, 1836— and for more than one reason his career is worth a little notice. Collaboration in Fiction.

Walter Besavit had a mathematical bent, and in his Cambridge days intended to go into the Church, but became a teacher and drifted into literature. His career exemplifies that breadth of interest which is found in the lives of so many men of letters, and illustrates the saying that if you want something done go to a busy man. At one time he was secretary of the Palestine Exploration Fund. His literary output was immense. He wrote novels regularly for 30 years; he produced a string of biographical and historical works, including a book on Captain Cook; he was a foremost authority on London, past and present, and planned a vast history of the city, which, I believe, has taken shape since his death; he was a French scholar, and made Rabelais more popular in England; he was actively . Interested in East End philanthropy; and he did more than any man of his time to improve the position of authors in relation to publishers. It is remarkable what a capable, industrious and methodical man can do with 24 hours a day. Arnold Bennett and H. G. Wells (men of genius, whereas Besant had no more than talent) have been conspicuous examples in a later age.

Besant came into contact with Rice in a curious way. Besant sent'an article to a paper that Rice edited, and had,, cause for complaint when lie found by accident some time afterwards that tlie article had been published. The men met and entered into a partnership that produced many popular novels. Some of my readers* will remember, besides two mo6t famous of the series, "My Xittle Girl/* "With. Harp ..xa&--Crow*

and "The Chaplain of the Fleet." Rioe was responsible for the plot and its development and Besant for the literary form. There have not been many sustained collaborations in English fiction, and I can think of only one that has produced real literature—the partnership between the two Irishwomen, Edith Somerville and Violet Martin ("Martin Roes"). Neither the Beeant -and Rice novels nor those which Besant wrote by himself rank high; they are good above-the-average stories with plots that hold the reader and considerable skill in characterisation. Perhaps the type of novel in later times to which one can most fairly compare them are the tales of W. J. Locke, which also have had a large and appreciative public, but are now fcr the most part things of yesterday.

Some of the Bes&nt novels were issued in the three-volume form that seems so strange to us to-day. Fancy paying 31/6 for a story! It was the threevolume novel of a type-—and possibly he had some of Besant's in •. mind—that Kipling wrote about in "The ThreeDecker," the ship that was taking "tired people to the Islands of the Blest."

Fair held the breeze behind n»—'twas warm with lovers' prayers ; We'd stolen wills for ballast; and a crew of missing heirs. Novels Witb a Purpose. In his social purpose Besant was a true Victorian. His novel, "All Sorts and Conditions of Men," had for an aim the improvement of East End conditions and led to the establishment of the People's Palace in" the Mile End Road. Besant imagined a place of entertainment and culture, but to his disappointment the institution became predominantly cultural, and eventually became East London College, affiliated to London University. He was one of the band who marched in the same direction as Canon Barnett, of Tovnbee Hall, if they did not all serve under his banner—men and women who were resolved to bring some sweetness and light into slumland. In "Children of Gideon" Besant attacked the sweating system. He was influenced both in his art and his attitude to social questions by Dickens. It is significant that when lie was at Cambridge he won the prize offered by the famous parodist, Charles Stuart Calverley, for an examination paper on "Pickwick." This must be the paper that is printed in Calverley's works. If yon think you know "Pickwick," well, try your hand at it. Organising the Author.

However, the deepest mark that' Besant-left in literature was not in art, but in organisation. He was the principal founder of the Authors' Society, or. as it is officially called, the Incorporated Society of Authors, Play wrights and Composers, and was president for some years. How well he builded and how necessary such a professional trade union was, may be judged by the position of the society to-day. It has some 4000 members, ajid many leading writers are among its office-bearers. Thomas Hardy was its president when he died, and he was succeeded by Sir James Barrie. The author, like other classes, has had to fight hard for his rights, and until this society was formed he fought without the strength of unity. Moreover, he was often poor and not trained in business Only within the last generation or two has -irfotainfed jastiee-fand l •would

not like to say it was full justice) as a citizen of his country and of the world. There was a time, for example, when the novelist not only had no rights in stage versions of his books, but did not think of demanding them, and readers-of Dickens know how indig: nant he was on the subject of international copyright. Besant was an indefatigable worker for the author's national and international rights, and the society that he founded places its expert advice, and in some cases financial backing to go. to law, at the dis-

posal of members in all questions relating to the disposal of their work. A publisher's contract is a much more complicated thing than the layman realises—the cinema has introduced a new factor—and the advice of. the society is valuable to the inexperienced.

The Profession of Letters. It has been charged against Besant that he depicted the career of literature in too rosy a light and thereby deceived youthful aspirants. It is said that he described literature, directly or by implication, as ari attractive profession 111 which the qualities that prevailed in other professions would lead to success. I have not been able to track down the passages complained of and write from hearsay. It is easy to believe that his own success affected his judgment. Literature is not a profession, though it may be convenient to call it such: it is an adventure and a gamble. If an industrious young man of fair ability takes up medicine, the law, the church, engineering or architecture, he has reasonable prospects of making a living. His training will admit him to a body of experts whose standing society recognises and whom it is prepared to employ more or less regularly. The writer, however, has 110 such standing or assurance. ' To live he must please the public and he cannot be sure that he will be able to do so. The profits of some may dazzle the public, but the rewards of many are shockingly disproportionate to the quality of their work. Besant may have drawn a few young people into a world of disappointment, but the influence of such a man is almost negligible compared with the lure of literature itself —the urge to express oneself, the power of the pen, the romance of creation in words and the possibility of making a lot of money.