WRITERS AND READERS

New Zealand Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 6314, 14 September 1907, Page 9

WRITERS AND READERS

(By “Libor.”) ■ j There are, I know full well, many staunch and ardent Stovensonians in \\ e.iingfon. The-jo will join wit,i me in ivgU'Umg the absent© oi a completec<lition ol the works of “the waywaul cel adorable Louis” at something him a ixa,*.<; liable iirioc. The “Ldmb urgh 0(1 ilion, in 31 volumes, originally pub.i• iw : •r;l at 10g a volume, i*> no*' wonu, so 1 norccive by an BngiNn catalogue, no l'fi» liuui ,£3O. Ami tills, to quote bteventon--. own description oi Dm “two go-.u l„ n <( > vri-ei' , ns 1 >Mve iov Swinhuino « T'oe'uw and Ballads’” is surely “a rm-bt abominable extravagance. wi v own Stevenson is what-sha.) I say wc i a.-.-orted” —for it (.msteto ol -oieval volumes of the buck, am edition at m; .shillings, seine lew eighteen penny pocket reerints, ami one liit.e paper bached copy of “Ur. -fekyll and Jlr Ityu wii-oa, to a bibhapaiic. a. vvarth full lea times the modest florin it cost in that it contains tnc book phitc ol the Into Waiter lie-ant. And to me the idea of the author of “The Golden iluttc-ruy," t-o rejoicing in the |.o season of a cheap edition of Stevenson’s morbid, yet tasci u.itLie' store as to adorn it with las own bookplate, is distinctly interesting.

Stovenponiaxift who can afford to spend a ten-pound note arc to be envied th. chance of obtaining the new “Pentland edition in twenty dainty toma* at ten shillings eal-h. A local medico, who is the keenest of bookmen, wag the first, tuough 1 trust, not the only etibecnb in \\ cllington. The special feature Oj this edition is the editorial work of Air FJmuiid Gosso. Mr Gosse, who is now the librarian to the House .of Lords, was a great personal friend of “L. L. p.. and a follow member of the Saville Club, \u London, where they show what was Stevenson’s “pet chair/" Mr Goess 6 nrofa<*torv note* to th© various volumes of “Tho Pcntlaud*" edition, contain muen new and curious information as to the exact origin of some of tho Stevenson stories.

For instance, he gives ns a very intercstlng nolo bv “R. L. S." to ITi-e Wrecker/" “The Wrecker" was announced to be the joint authorship oi Si 'vciitv-ui and bis clever stepson, Mr Llovd Osbourne, and many of us have thought that there was more Osbourne than Stevenson in the book. But, according to Air Gosse. Ste\enson wrote; “As for the manner, it is all superficial!:, mine, in the scn&e that the latrfc copy is all in my hand. Lloyd did not even put pen to paper in the Paris or the Barbizon scenes. ... I had the be-i service from him in the character ot • Narco/"

The mystery of collaboration is often quite nnsolvable. Who. for instance, shall sav, now that both are dev whether‘Walter Besant or James Kme deserves the greater credit for Bendy Money Mortiboy” and “The Goldmi Butterfly”? Even to oome to very recent ami comparatively trivial fiction., is it to Mre or Mr Castle t readers owo the best scenes in tho novels <=i<;iic«d by both? Is it Mrs or Mr » illiamsrTi who r^ ns the brich L efit parts of their "Motor Novels"? Who shall say when those principally concerned maintain a judicious silence? Mr Gosoe, I notice, expresses the hope that Mr Lloyd Osbourn© “will ye*t publish a detailed ac count of the mode in which this task of collaboration was carried on." Mr Osbourne's mother, the American divorcee whom Stevenson married, greatly, at first, against the wishes of soberMdcd Soots parents., is credited with Unjoint authorship of those most beautiful fantasies published under tho general title of “The Dynamiter,” hut who knows the exact share of husband and wife. And, after all, outside, the far too curious and inquisitive bibliophile, who cares? Given a good story, what matters it who is tho actual author?

As a rule it is the French hook which is translated info English and not the ■English work which finds an introduction to the French public. An agreeable exception is the publication, by a publishing firm at Bruges, of French versions of Mr Arthur Symomls’ “Symbolist Movement in Literature,” and of a selection from his “Poems.” The same publisher announces a French translation of George Bernard Shaw’s “Piaye, Pleasant and Unpleasant.”

Mr H.tQ. Wells’ pseudo scientific romances have long been popular in France, and it ie not surprising that hi "Modern Utopia” should be announced ;in a French translation. Another Huej lish writer similarly honoured is Mr Maurice Hewlett, whose “Little Novels ■of Italy” are to be published by the Mercuro de Frauce under the title “ 1 Duches.se de Nona.” Mr Hewlett’s peculiar style must have given the translator some trouble. “Little Novels in Italy” is, I think, his best hook. His “Forest Lovers” and “Richard Yea and Nay” (this recalls Sir George Reid and h “Yes, Ncr”! are both fine stirring romanecs, but the affectation of the archaic with which both hooks are flooded he comes a trifle wearisome at times. IPlatest story deals with the Georgian jieriod, and is said to he on Mcredithian lines. It came out as a serial in “Put nara’s Monthly,” hut I do not think any colonial edition has yet appeared. By the way, talking of translations, notice in a Birmingham secondhand bookseller’s list, a long series of is. translations of Zola’s novels, which were published by the Vizetelly firm some years ago. The prices range from 7s Oil to 15s 6d, so that Zola fin English! I evidently en hausse, as the French sav. As a matter of inct these translations are very badly done. Coarse and wantonly vulgar as Zola is, ou, occasions, in the original, he is worse still in slipshod English. “Pot Bouillo” is. I notice, “Fat and Thin” in the English version. Zola, at his best, say in the marvellously powerful “Germinal”—the best study of the collier’s life ever written—will " long hold an audience, but some of hie later books, notably “Rome” and “Lourdes” are, to me, at least, terribly tedious.

A correspondent of the “Times” waxed wrath the other morning on the use of the term Bellamy's for the Parliament House refreshment room. Every now and then some would-be “smarty” (doing his first session in the Press gallery! grows facetious or indignant over the wild scenes which he fondly imagines take place at Bellamy’s, which, as a matter of fact, is as dull and commonplace a restaurant as a London A.B.C. shop or the average Wellington tea-room. The original Bellamy’s however, was, of course, in the very old days decidedly a rowdy place. Evidence as to this is given in the July issue of that quaint but “meaty” little periodical, “Notes and Queries.” “Politician” reminds us 'that in “The Rolliad” it is mourned of Speaker Cornewall that

Like sad Prometheus, fasten'd to his rock. In vain he looks for pity to the clock; In vain the effects of strengthening porter tries, And nods to Bellamy's for fresh supplies, while there is an indirect reference in tho caution to the younger senators to slake their thirst with oranges, then purchasable in the Lobby (!), rather than with stronger things I 0! take, wise youth, the Hesperian fruit, of use Thy lungs to cherish with balsamic juice, With this thy parch'd roof moisten; nor consume Thy hours and guineas in the, eating room Till, full of claret, down, with wild uproar. Ton reel, and stretch'd along the gallery. snore. In the good—or bad—old days of the original Bellamy's when diners had dined not wisely but too well, there wore wont to be some striking scenes, striking in a literal as well as a metaphori-

cal sense, for our friend “Politician"" n quotes from tho Annual Register tor , J Itfj: as follows; “Slli X'ebruary. —Tho following unpleasant occurrence lately tooa place at Bellamy's Taveru ; House of cowmous. -*ir A, s>. having accused Mr B. of having been influenced, iu his dutv Dv a noolo duke, the latter gave tlioHio'direct, which wa* acknowledged by a severe blow with a cane/ Tut parties have since been bound over in JUO!) each, to keep the peace, by Mr Graham, of Low street/' Truly the “Bi-HamyV" of the Anti-’ podes docs not maintain tho tradition:-; of its English original. Raney a Aew Zealand hlpeakci calling for pots of “porter"* and of Hr AiacAnhiir being called in to t>wear two members who had diiurcd on the boiler duty, to keep tho pctico. What dull and drab times are the-© in which wc live nowadays. Away with the name Bellamy’s once and for , aii- j Several Homo papers to hand by Wed- i ncoday's mail allude at length to the passing away of Air Joseph iiatton, tho weii-kuown novelist and journalist, it always struck mo that liation's novels • were never so well appreciated iu the colonies as they ought to be. His “By Oidcn* of the Czar/" for instance, was a rattling good romance, and 1 remember ; reading a novel of his—some thirty years ago—which struck me at th© time (pardon the enthusiasm of youth) as being almost worthy of Dickens. This was “Christopher iConrick/" I have not seen u copy for years, but it is well worth reprinting, iiatton was at one time a well-known provincial journalist. Later on he edited that now foigotten weekly “Tho Hornet,"" a rival of the equally half forgotten weekly, “The London Figaro/" He was a sort of journalistic aide-de-camp to Irving for some years, and was credited (at the Club, whore lots of curious rumours gain circulation) with having been the real author of several addresses given at public instituti ns by the famous Lyceum actor. Also, ho was a bosom chum of dear old Johnny Toole, and of years especially, was wont in his “Cigarette Papers,’" which ho contributed to the London “People,"" and syndicated through several provincial journals, to grow somewhat borosomo in his recollections of both tragedian and comedian. But his novels aro certainly worth reading.

In addition to “Christopher ICenrick"’ and 'By Order of the Czar,” Air Hatton wrote “Clytie,"" “When Rogues .rail i.mfc,'" and “When Greek Meets Greek. Two at least of these were dramatised, and other, plays of his were “John Needham's Dduolc " and a version of itawihoi ne"s “Scarlet Letter/" He edited “The Gentleman's Magazine"" for a. time, and translated Victor Hugo's weird, and to my in*te, very dull romance, “Les TravaiUeurs de La Mer (“Toilers of the Sea’"). A few years ago, in the “Idler"" magazine, then under Mr Jerome’s editorship, Mr Hatton gave a very amusing account of his experiences with th© French poet-novelist, tho most prominent feature in whose character, according to Mr liatton, was certainly not an excess of modesty.

Another death in the world of literature which seems to have gon" unnoticed in our colonial journals, is that of bir bpencer W alpole, who was a grant! nephew of bpencer Perceval, whose liie ne wrote, as well as that of Lord Jonn Hassell. Sir Spencer Walpole was, in .his own' way, one of the best historians of the nineteenth century. Justin McCarthy’s “fiistory of Our Own Times” was perhaps more readable, and Mr Herbert Haul’s epigrammatic and brilliant history—a marvellous apology for the Whigs—will always find a place in every good library, but Sir Spencer Walpole’s history of England, from 1815 to Ibid, and its continuation, from 1858 to 1870, cannot well be neglected by the student of history.

‘‘The Bookman,” for August, in a short biographical note which might well have been longer, recalls the fact tho historian was often confused with his father, “tho notorious Home Secretary who wept so copiously upon receiving a deputation from tho strenuous reformers w r ho subsequently pulled down tho railings in Hyde Park, and was appropriately enough, the original of the virtuous Aubrey in Warren’s “Ten Thousand a Year.” I wonder who reads “Ten Thousand a Year” nowadays, and yet, in my youth, people were wont to quote "Tittlebat Titmouse” and his eccentricities .ns freely as they did Micawbor. But Dickens's hero still lives, whereas Warren’s character has vanished, well—like “tho snows of yester eve.” How many of this year’s novels will bo road in ten, ay, in five years from now? Not many, I am afraid.

In last week’s notes I drew attention to the wonderful freshness and originality of “Joseph Vance,” by Mr William Do Morgan. I see that a fifth edition of this .book has been called for in England. Another comparatively new writer who has come to the front and is being warmly belauded by the better class of literary journal is Mr John Galsworthy, whose “Man of Property” and "The Country House" are widely compared to Thackeray’s best work. Mr Galsworthy is quite a young man, whereas Mr De'Morgan is close upon - seventy. The former, is only forty and a great future is predicted for him. His best story, so I am told,- is "The Country House,” which belongs to a trilogy in which "The Island Pharisees” and "The of Property” are its predecessors. Keep a look out for these bocks. They aio not only good novels but real literature.

"Colonel Daveron,” by Percy White. Hell’s Indian and Colonial Library. London, George Bell and Sons; ■ Wellington, Whitcombe and Tombs, | Limited. Mr Percy White’s most recent story is far from being up to the level of "Mr Bailey-Martin,” that delightful study of a suburban snobocracy. It is "not. indeed, equal to the same writer’s “Wort End,” but nevertheless, it has a certain merit of its own. and like everything Mr White puts hie name to, is distinctly readable. It is the life story of a poor, weak creature. "Major Daveron is a torpid egoist, with conceit in the place of ambition,” snvs one of the characters, and even his wife, a very charming and clever woman, can make nothing of him. Ho fails in an Indian frontier fight, just at the moment he ought to have shown decision and daring., and- labours thereafter under the suspicion of having "funked.” Later on, when he stands for an English country constituency, he exhibits mi indecision, a weakness; as of the proverbial ditchwater. The .seat he only wins bv the interference in the campaign of a Maior Blake, the very man who hud “saved 'the regiment” in India, when Daveron had blundered, and worse than blundered. Blake, V.C., Is a popular figure in the election and Daverou’s pride is .hurt that ho should owe his success to a man be regarded as his rival. In India there had been rumours of "love passag-s" twixt the Major and his Colonel’s wife. There was no actual evil, but gradually the woman develops a contempt for th« weak man to whom s'- e is tied and n love for the more virile Blake. Whether Daveron susneots tlrs or not i« not made fully apparent by the author, but in the very hour of victory, a victory really won by his rival, the weak man poisons himself and ends a life in.which selfishness and vanity had always been, the strongest factors. The minor characters in n e story are perhaps the niosij interesting.