NOTES

New Zealand Tablet, 16 October 1919, Page 26

NOTES

Goldsmith v .-, - , - ct - To Boswell, whom Macaulay regarded as a simpleton, we owe the tradition that Oliver Goldsmith was m everyday life a rather stupid person whom even his friends found indifferent company. In contradiction to that idea of him, based on the report of Johnson’s shadow, is the fact that the good-natured Irish genius was beloved by everyone of that brilliant coterie which frequented White’s in those days. The great Johnson, Edmund ■ Burke, with all his high seriousness, ' Reynolds, Beauclerk—every man of admired Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Johnson wrote, for that memorial slab which we often read in the Poets’ Corner of the Abbey, that he touched nothing that he did not adorn: nihil tetiffit quod non adornavit. His writings bear the stamp of his personality, and the treasury of English letters has nothing more graceful and more elegant than the work of the Irish scholar who was undefiled and pure in every word he wrote. His distinctive mark is purity -of sentiment and delicacy of expression, and whether'we take his prose or his verse we cannot read far if we have any discernment in literary matters without realising that we are handling a classic. And he is almost forgotten now ! Who ever asks for his works in a book '"store ? Who ever reads them for pleasure? The dust is on The Vicar of Wakefield, while Did She Fall or Was She Pushed? is soiled by the eager fingers of those that climb the stairs of our free libraries. It is eloquent of the spirit of a people who tolerate a press that specialises in telling us that there is no other people on earth like which is true in a sense. His Immortal Works Three at least of Goldsmith’s works will never die while lovers of real literature remain in a blatant Empire that resounds with the roar of Kipling. Goethe, who was a good judge of such things, put The Vicar of IT alee field on a very high pedestal as a novel, and its lucid, tender prose never loses its attraction. When a race of people whose souls will rise above vaudeville and pictures comes again, when The Second Mrs. Tanqueray and Mrs. Warren's Profession will be banned by an educated public, we may hope to see She Siioojis to Conquer once more on the boards. Its freshness and beauty can never be lost. Its inimitable humor and its vivid interest are always modern enough for those that appreciate genius more than Tabasco-flavored innuendo. And even in our own time a jaded public must laugh heartily whenever it is produced. The effusions of later poets, aided by the execrable taste of directors of education who ought to be writing letters at six-and-eightpence each, have suppressed the appeal of The Deserted Village in our time; but those who can be persuaded to turn back to Goldsmith’s lovely poem will find there a spirit of an order far above that of Newbolt and Masefield, and a beauty in the lines descriptive of the people of Sweet Auburn and the scenes amid which they dwelt, in comparison of which the models of to-day are poor indeed. The Deserted Village has the charm of an old painting by one of Ihe great masters it is tender, elevated, pensive, delicate, and saturated with the sweetness and light inseparable from the weft and woof of a great classic. His prose was hardly less admirable, and his now neglected essays are examples of what a powerful, flexible medium of expression English can be in the hands of a master. The best advice we can give to our readers is to get Goldsmith’s works and read them. Burke " ... Side by side with the statue of Goldsmith stands that of > Edmund Burke, looking down on the streets of Dublin,; now devastated by the guns of the misrulers of the country. And side by side they walked the streets of London, arm in arm, in bygone years, .two sons of ! that oppressed country that gave England her best soldiers-and sailors, as well as her greatest orators.

The two friends were entirely different in temperament. Goldsmith was a happy, generous, irrepressible schoolboy, while Burke was a philosopher to whom the problems of humanity were ever a burning reality. To immense learning he added the true Celtic vis animat vivida —the vivid fire of the soul which flamed out so magnificently when his enthusiasm was aroused. His pity and his tenderness made him cruel ; his hate of wrong and oppression made him relentless; his love of justice made him unjust. And oratory, old or-new, has little to excel the sublime philippics in which his impassioned voice rang amid the rafters of old Irish oak in the roof of Westminster Hall when he impeached Warren Hastings of his crimes in India. Not only was he an orator of the first rank, but as a political philosopher he was pre-eminent among the greatest of English statesmen. To appreciate rightly Burke’s political wisdom one would be helped by reading carefully John Morley’s excellent monograph on the Irish statesman whom he so much admired. Some time ago we mentioned that when seeking air English prose writer to compare with Bcnsuct, Matthew Arnold turned to Burke as to the highest and noblest we have ; and although his writings and speeches deal with matters that have lost their actual , interest now, one cannot read them without being moved deeply by the power and the passion of his eloquence. We commended Goldsmith to our readers. Let Burke be not forgotten. One cannot read him without being improved. Sheridan One more Irish genius of the past calls for mention in the same causerie as Goldsmith and Burke. Richard Brinsley Sheridan was more irresponsible than Goldsmith and little inferior as an orator to Burke, whom he even surpassed in one notable speech which Byron estimated as the best ever made in the English Parliament. He was so witty and so good-natured that he became the spoiled child of the brilliant society in which he moved, and his extravagance and' lack of worldly prudence surpassed even Goldsmith’s. Besides the best speech, he has also to his credit the two best comedies, the best opera, and the best farce —The Rival*, The School for Scandal, The Duenna, and The Critic. His wit was remarkable among men whose minds were as keen as rapiers. Hundreds of good stories are still told of his lightning repartee and his playful fancy : and in the history of literature his figure stands out much in the same kindly light as that in which contemporaries regarded this gifted Irishman. We deplore that so few read Goldsmith nowadays. But fewer still read Sheridan. Yet for a couple of shillings one can buy even in war-time a complete collection of his plays, which are perfect in their kind and sure to amuse and attract even the casual reader. In moments of lucidity a manager now and then puts The School for Scandal on the stage still, and the audiences testify that it never grows old or stale. Masterpieces do not stale with repetition, and Sheridan’s play is certainly one of the masterpieces of all time. It sparkles and ripples from end to end, and the characters are as real and as human as those of Shakespere himself. Sir Peter and Sir Fretful Plagiary live and move to-day as yesterday, and as long as people will appreciate good plays. Brilliance is Sheridan’s note. It has been well said that his humor is like continuous blaze of intellectual fireworks. His great opera is hardly ever acted now, but from time to time one catches a bar of one of his songs. Even in New Zealand we once heard" someone hum the words of “Had I a heart for falsehood framed.” Do not say of these writers “Let the dead past bury its dead.” It is unworthy of us and unjust to them that they should be forgotten. And even if we are so imbued with English philosophy -as to ask what shall we gain by reading them, the answer is that we shall gain a knowledge of the language that will never come to us otherwise. Sir James Carroll probably read the great speech of Sheridan on Warren Hastings. iWhat evidence have we that any other of our orators ever read it or anything. else above ■ the market reports

and the newspaper headlines. Imagine the, member if or Ashburton breaking out in this strain: "No wars have ravaged these ' lands, and depopulated 1 these' villages—no civil discords have been felt—no 5 disputed succession v —no religious rage, no merciless enemy—-rib affliction, which while it scourged for the moment; cut off the' sources of resuscitation—no ' voracious and poisoning monsters; no!—all this had been accomplished by the friendship, generosity, and kindness of ; the English: nation." Surely the memory of bitter wrongs in his own land inspired the orator in that impassioned denunciation of British misrule in India.