RELAXATION.

Press, Volume LXIII, Issue 19066, 30 July 1927, Page 13

RELAXATION.

EVEN HIGHBROWS SEEK FUN.

(WBRTEX TOB TSB PSBS3.)

[Bt "Ctbano."]

My recent article about "the breaking point of beauty," the limited capacity of the mind to appreciate the best at a sitting, has been followed by two incidents which suggest that more can profitably be said on the whole subject of mental and anaesthetic relaxation. "When I read that article," said a friend of mine, "I felt quite comforted. When I was on leave in England during the war, it used to worry me that after seeing a' highbrow' play I longed for something frivolous." I told him not to worry; that "a little nonsense now and then, etc" Another friend had just been reading Wordsworth's "Prelude." Being a Scotsman, and halving all the Scotsman's lust for learning and methodical attack, he had read it through in four consecutive evenings. I respectfully saluted the achievement. A devout Wordsworthian myself. I had never conquered "The Prelude." I had begun it on. a voyage, btft the languorous tropical air, the demands of deck tennis and bridge, and the attractions of lesser writers, had sapped my resolution. Even in this temperate climate I do not think I could read it in four consecutive sittings. I prefer to dip. "The Prelude" is. I, believe, necessary to the full understanding of Wordsworth, but it is not easy going. "I hear you have Wodehouse's latest," said this Scotsman. "I'm just about ready for it after Wordsworth. Can I have it to-mor-row?" He was given it, and enjoyed it greatly. His case is worth citing, because it> may help to dissipate a curiously common belief that a "high-brow" is always a "high-brow." If a man or a woman has a reputation for learning, or serious reading or writing, it is supposed that he or she stands rigidly aloof from light things. The lover of poetry is supposed to read nothing but poetry; he who appreciates good novels is believed to spend all his time among the heights of Scott, Thackeray, George Eliot, and Tolstoi. The novelist or the poet is expected to live and speak always "excathedra." An admirer of a novelist looks forward to meeting him, expecting that nothing but words of wisdom will fall from the divine lips. If they do meet, the novelist will probably discuss the weather, the beauty of ham and eggs, the greatness of J. B. Hobbs, or the genius of Harry Lauder. A welleducated New Zealand woman told me that the most learned man she met in Britain talked to her about. making jam. If you have any known pretensions to learning or appreciation of the best in literature, or if you are branded as a writer, you find that some people regard you with awe or contempt—awe because they think you must be a "wonderful person," always dwelling with divine philosophy or her friends; contempt because they think you are an unpractical dreamer, who has no connexion with the common things of life. If I may cite my own humble case, I have encountered surprise that I should care about anything frivolous, such as a light play or book. I am supposed to be desperately seriousminded all through the twenty-four hours, I who love Gilbert and Sullivan, Harry Lauder, and P. G. Wodehouse, and have laughed to exhaustion at "The Farmer's Wife." On the other ihand, the fact that I had read "The Scarlet Pimpernel" cost me one friend's good opinion of my taste. She could not conceive that one might love the highest when one saw it, and yet spend a pleasant hour of idleness with the Pimpernel. # The idea is ridiculous. There is no essential barrier between learning, appreciation of culture, and the creative faculty,, and love of fun. It is im■possible to remain for ever on tne mountain top, and most men and women who dweH there are quite ready for a holiday on the plains below. Gladstone, one of the most serious-minded of statesmen and rather weak m humour, used to enjoy singing "DooDah." Mr Asquith found 0. Henry a comfort amid the dreadful re'sponsibility of the war. President Wilson read detective stories. You may read in the "Life" of William de Morgan how he and Burne-Jones used to exchange letters written in Cockney slang. You might not naturally connect the painter of "The Golden Stairs" with such foolery. Rossetti, an equally ethereal person (judged by his writings) started the game. Eossetti, by the way, was very fond of bacon and eggs. Look at the succcbs of that delightful study of middle-class life, "The Diary of a Npbody." None of those who think that "highbrows" are always "high "would suppose that this rare piece of fooling would appeal to the intelligentsia, but it does. It was Lord Eosebery who first boomed the book; then Mr Birrell wrote it up; and Mr Belloc has declared it to be immortal. And if you need further evidence of the capacity of intellect to enjoy playing the fool, read,Mr Belloc 's "Four Men."