BRILLIANT DRAMATIST'S TRAGIC FATE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14133, 7 August 1909, Page 2 (Supplement)

BRILLIANT DRAMATIST'S TRAGIC FATE.

DROWNS HIMSELF AFTER WRITING

STORY ON SUICIDE. Mr. St. John Han kin, the well-known author and dramatist, has met a tragic end, having drowned himself at Llandrindod Wells, where he was staying for his health.

He had been suffering from nervous debility, following on the death of his mother, and " Suicide during temporary insanity" was the verdict at the inquest.

Strangely enough the English Review contains a story from his pen, in which suicide by drowning is the chief incident.

He had been in conflict with the Censor over his translation of Brieux's play, " Les Trois Filles de M. Dupont." PATHETIC LAST LETTER. : The tragic death of Mr, St. John Hankin, the well-known author and dramatist, is the one topic of conversation in Llandrindod Wells. The circumstances were related at the inquest held by Mr. E. Powell Careless, the coroner. Mrs. Hankin, the widow, stated that her husband was 39 years of age, and was a dramatist. He left his home at Campden, Gloucestershire, for Llandrindod Wells on Saturday, June 5, and on the same day she went to London.

He wrote to her nearly every day. She received a letter in London from him. This communication, which was handed to the coroner, contained the following sentences:—

" I wish we had no bodies, or at least not sickly ones. In the Kingdom of Heaven, G. tells me, that will be the case. What a pleasant change!"

Mrs. Hankin mentioned that G. was a sister of the deceased.

Mrs. Hankin said she knew of absolutely no reason why he had done what he had. All his affairs were going on well, and she very much wondered at his being content to leave the world until one or two things had come oft'.

She stated that deceased had always held the belief that a man was perfectly justified in taking his life if he felt that he was in any way liable to become a burden to the community. He always held those views, and expressed them strongly. The jury returned a verdict of " Suicide whilst temporarily insane." DEAD DRAMATIST'S CAREER. The tragic death of Mr. St. John Hankin brings to an end a short but brilliant career. He was only in his fortieth year, but had already made his mark as a dramatist of promise, whose good work was regarded as an earnest of yet more brilliant efforts to come. His plays are well-known to habitues of the Court Theatre and of the Stage Society's productions, and have a literary value not always present in dramatic work. Among his best-known plays were : — " The Two Mr. Wetherbys " (1902). The Return of the Prodigal" (1905). "The Charity That Began at Home" (1906). " The Cassilis Engagement " (1907). " The Last of the De Mullins" (1908). He also translated "Les Trois Filles de M. Dupont," by Brieux, produced by the Stage Society in 1905. Mr. Hankin was the son of Mr. Charles Wright Hankin. and was born at Southampton on September 25. 1869. Educated at Malvern and Merton College, Oxford, he began journalistic work in 1890 as a contributor to the Saturday Review, and served on the staff of the Indian Daily News at .Calcutta, for a year. Afterwards he worked for the Times. He was also a contributor to Punch and several of the reviews.

STRANGE COINCIDENCE. Tragically enough, the current issue of the English Review contains a short story by Mr. Hankin, entitled, " A Man of Impulse," which deals with suicide by drowning.. Richard Maxwell is strolling home along the Thames Embankment one night when he sees a , man throw himself into the river, just opposite the police headquarters at Scotland Yard. , y |Thereupon Maxwell dives into the water, and, after a struggle, tackles the man, drifts with him to the steamboat pier at Charing Cross, and hauls him out of the water.

But instead of gratitude, he gets curses from the man whose life he has saved. " Why did you interfere?'.' growls the wouldbe suicide. " I might have been out of it all by this time if it wasn't for you." Finally Maxwell hails a hansom cab, and they drive together to the rescuer's rooms. , He flings himself heavily into Maxwell's best armchair.

" Where are you going to sleep to-night?" asked his host.

The other turned a dull eye on him. "I don't know," he said. "Here, I suppose." " Oh, no, you're not," answered Maxwell, firmly. The thought of this damp vagrant, who had already ruined an armchair, transferring his ravages to the sofa made him firm.

Presently the man's wet clothes lie on the floor, and their owner, disguised in a complete suit by a Bond-street tailor, "looked if possible more grotesque than before." Then Maxwell suggests that he should go home. ' » "I have no home," said the man. ' " But> you must have somewhere," said Maxwell sharply. " Where did you sleep last night?" " On the* Embankment," replied the other. Maxwell shuddered. He felt in his pockets to which he had transferred such small change as the night's adventure had left him. The result of the search was a halfsovereign and a few shillings. "Here," he said, "you can get a night's lodging with this, and live for a day or two till you get work." The man took 'the money without enthusiasm, and counted it. "Can't do much with eighteen bob," was the only comment he made.

" You're an ungrateful scoundrel,"* said Maxwell, losing his temper. "I ain't got much to be grateful for, goodness knows," replied the other. "I chuck myself into the river to drown, and be out of everybody's way. You come along and pull me out, and now you want to put me off with eighteen shillings! If you have a fancy for saving folk's lives, I think you ought to pay for it." Finally, Maxwell hands a cheque for £10 to the man, who departs without a word of thanks.

From that day begins a series of annoyances for Maxwell. The man, named Bellows, whose life he saved, becomes a sheer nuisance. He turns up two months later, and, asks for another £10— gets it. Later on, he meets Maxwell again, and wants more help. Maxwell is angry, and there is a scene in the street. THE END OP IT ALL. So the annoyance continues. At last Maxwell meets Bellows on Westminster Bridge. There is another request for money, and this time a refusal. " Very well," said Bellows with a drunken attempt at dignity ; " then I shall jump into the river, that's all. I give you fair warning." "My-good man," said Maxwell bitterly, " you are at liberty to jump into the river when and where you please as far as I'm concerned. I shan't prevent you. I've had quite enough life-saving to last me a lifetime?' Bellows scrambled up on to the parapet. "Here goes then," he said theatrically, and poised himself unsteadily on its edge." Whether he really meant to throw himself into the river or whether he was merely simulating that intention in order to soften the heart of Maxwell it is impossible to say, and Maxwell himself has never thought it necessary to consider the point. There was a slip, a splash, and in a moment, before Maxwell could stretch out a hand,, even if he had wished to do so, the body had disappeared in; the muddy waters 30ft below. As chance would have it, the bridge at that moment was quite deserted. Not even the übiquitous policeman was in sight, and if Bellows really wished to drown himself fate for once smiled upon him. Maxwell was a man of impulse. Impulse on that night in September made him leap into the river. Impulse on this night in May bade him walk away as quickly as possible. And he did.

So ends the storya strange one when it is remembered that the Review containing it is on sale tat the very moment when the author himself takes his own life by drowning- /"•%