Page images
PDF
EPUB

once

daring leap and the consciousness that I was well out of reach of the fire gave me the most extraordinary physical strength as well as pluck; the only three women who could make up their minds to jump, I caught as easily as one catches apples in an orchard. I should note that every one of these ladies gave a piercing shriek when she left the steamer, and fainted in mid-air. One of the hapless dames was very nearly killed through a gentleman throwing an enormously heavy trunk into our boat. I suppose he had gone out of his mind. The trunk, by the way, was broken in the fall, and seeing inside it an extremely handsome dressing case, I at solemnly presented it to the two sailors, without ever stopping to consider whether I had any claim to give away other people's belongings. The sailors with similar disregard for the rights of property, gratefully accepted my gift. We then started at once for shore, rowing as hard as we could, and followed by cries from the steamer of "Come back as soon as you can! Send us back the boat!" And indeed as soon as there were only two or three feet of water we felt it our duty to get out. A cold drizzling rain had been falling for about an hour, and though it had had no effect at all on the fire it had succeeded in wetting us to the skin.

At last we reached the shore, for which we had so longed, but it turned out to be little better than a swamp of wet sticky mud, and we sank in it up to our knees. Our boat went back at once, and in company with the larger life-boat, began to transport the passengers from the steamer to land. Very few people had been lost, eight I think in all. One had fallen into a coal-bunk, and another had been drowned in an attempt to carry all his money away with him. The latter, whose name I just knew, had spent most of the day playing chess with me, and had been so excited over our games that Prince W, who was looking on, said to him finally, "You

play as if it were a matter of life or death!" As for the luggage, it was nearly all burned, and so were the travelling carriages.

Amongst the ladies who had escaped was a very pretty married woman, Madame T; she was excessively charming, though her time was a good deal taken up with her four little daughters and their nurses. At the present moment she was sitting in the most desolate manner on the beach, without shoes or stockings, and with hardly anything over her shoulders. I felt it was my duty as a gentleman to offer her every assistance in my power, and as a result found myself without my coat, my boots, and my necktie. To make matters worse, a peasant, whom I had been to the top of the cliff to look for, and whom I had sent down to meet the shipwrecked travellers with a waggon and a pair of horses, did not think it worth his while to wait for me, but set off for Lubeck with all my ladies; so there was I left alone, half naked and wet to the marrow of my bones, to gaze at the sea where our ship had nearly succeeded in burning itself out. I use the word "succeeded" advisedly, as I never could have believed that such a huge affair as a big steamer could be so soon destroyed. By this time it was merely a vast blot of fire on the sea; a motionless mass of flame streaked with the black outlines of the chimneys and the masts. Round and round it wheeled the gulls with a sort of monotonous indifference in their flight. Then it ceased to be flame and became ashes; a great heap of ashes spangled with tiny bright sparks which were scattered over the waves in long curving lines. "Is this all?" I thought, "and life itself-what is it but a handful of ashes strewn on the wind?"

Fortunately, however, for the meditative philosopher whose teeth were now beginning to chatter, a second waggoner arrived to pick me up. The honest fellow extorted two ducats from me, but as a set-off lent me his

thick coat to wrap myself up in, and sang me two or three country songs, that I thought rather pretty. In this way I got to Lubeck by sunrise, and coming across my fellow sufferers left with them for Hamburg.

Here we found waiting for us twenty thousand roubles, which the Emperor Nicholas, who happened at the moment to be on his way to Berlin, had sent by one of his equerries. There was a meeting of the male passengers, at which it was decided that this money should be handed over to the women. Our generosity did not really put us to much inconvenience, as at that time every Russian who came to Germany was allowed unlimited

credit. Alas! those golden days are over!

The sailor, to whom I had promised the enormous sum of money in my mother's name if he saved my life, came and asked me to carry out my agreement. As I was not quite sure of his identity, and as in any case he had done nothing at all for me, I gave him one thaler. He took it, and thanked me warmly.

As for the poor old cook who had shown such an interest in the salvation of my soul, I never saw her again; but, whether she was burned or whether she was drowned, I am quite sure that she has a special place set apart for her in Paradise.

[ocr errors]

66

CRITICISM AS AN INDUCTIVE SCIENCE.1

[ocr errors]

99.66

[ocr errors]

THE word "critic," in general parlance, may almost be called a term of reproach. It is seldom to be found in literature save in the wake of some contumelious epithet. "Carping,' envious," "malignant," "venomous," these are a few of the adjectives which seem to belong to criticism as naturally as green" to grass or gracious to Royalty. Shakespeare speaks of "stubborn critics, apt for depravation," and it is the basest of all his characters who announces himself as "nothing if not critical." We are told, on the one hand, that critics are men who have failed in the arts upon which they vent their spleen; and on the other, that their utterances are inept because they have no practical experience of these very arts. We may try to console ourselves with the reflection that artists are not likely to sing the praises of critics, any more than schoolboys can be expected to glorify the rod, which, nevertheless, plays a salutary and not dishonourable part in their deve lopment. Yet we cannot banish from our heart of hearts an occasional tremor and faltering. We ask ourselves whether, after all, the best of criticism be not a futility or an impertinence. Great art it can make no greater; small art and mere bungling may safely be left to the tender mercies of time. Are we not merely adding to the "babblings and brabblings" of a world already full enough of empty noises? Are we not making ourselves a thorn in the flesh to many artists, a stimulus to none? Fine words butter no parsnips, and can vain

[blocks in formation]

opinion bring sustenance or refreshment, or aught save unhealthy inflation, to any human soul? Should we not be better employed in hewing wood and drawing water, than in delivering æsthetic judgments which to-day inflict pain or nourish vanity, and are certain to be reversed with scorn to-morrow?

If such questionings as these have vexed the soul of any one who pursues the "dreadful trade" of criticism, let him turn to Mr. R. G. Moulton's book, 'Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist,' where he will find them answered, and that with an emphatic affirmative. But along with condemnation comes a way of escape. Against judicial criticism, as he calls it (the phrase is something of a tautology) Mr. Moulton brings a crushing indictment. It is partly a survival from the twilight times of the Renaissance; partly an evil outgrowth upon literature due to the baneful influence of journalism. But, if the critic will repent in time and conform to the laws of inductive science, there is hope for him yet. He is not a "judge" but an "investigator." He must come down from the bench and find his place in the laboratory. He is not to praise or dispraise, to accept or to reject; but to note, register, classify. He has nothing whatever to do with taste; when garbage comes under his notice, he must simply hold his nose and study it as an instance of the laws of putrescence. "Differences of degree do not come within, his ken, but solely "differences of kind." The judicial critic stands to the inductive scientist as the astrologer (do we not talk of "judicial astrology") to the astronomer.

[ocr errors]

As yet,

Mr. Moulton admits, critical science is in its infancy; but ere long, he predicts, the critic will give up his foolish

likes and dislikes, and devote himself with true scientific impartiality to his task of mere investigation. In his moments of relaxation the botanist may prefer the rose to the burdock; but the science of botany is concerned with no such trivial, nay invidious, distinctions.

It is not my intention to travesty, or in any way misrepresent Mr. Moulton's position. He is a writer who deserves respect. His studies of certain of Shakespeare's plays are full of subtlety and suggestion, and render his work a really valuable contribution to Shakespearean criticism, if not to inductive science. But these studies are sandwiched between an initial "plea for an inductive science of literary criticism," and a final

66

survey of dramatic criticism as an inductive science," which call for very serious investigation. His book has received the academic stamp which belongs, in the eyes of the public, to a work issued by the Clarendon Press. He avows that it is intended partly as an educational manual, and from his position as a University Extension Lecturer it seems likely to find its way, as a work of some authority, into the hands of young persons. Therefore, it seems to me, this process of investigation should be attempted without loss of time.

If Mr. Moulton's contention is false, it is fatally false. Professing to attack arbitrary dogmatism in literary judgments, he is fostering a dogmatism yet more destructive, because its first dogma asserts that it is not arbitrary. If this be so, there is danger that the studious youth of this realm may be misled into assuming a mistaken attitude towards literature in general and Shakespeare in particular. Mr. Moulton's principles of criticism, if they fall in fruitful ground, must produce either inductive scientists or intolerable prigs; and the chances, I think, tend in the latter direction.

What, in the first place, does Mr. Moulton understand by inductive criticism? We turn to the second

page of his book and find the following example :

"Let the question be of Ben Jonson. Judicial criticism starts by holding Ben Jonson responsible for the decay of the English Drama. Inductive criticism takes objection to the word 'decay' as suggesting condemnation, but recognises Ben Jonson as the beginner of a new tendency in our dramatic history. But, judicial criticism insists, the object of the drama is to pourtray human nature, whereas Ben Jonson has painted not men but caricatures. Induction sees that this formula cannot be a sufficient definition of the drama, for the simple reason that it does not take in Ben Jonson; its own mode of putting the matter is that Ben Jonson has founded a school of treatment of which the law is caricature. But Ben Jonson's caricatures are palpably impossible. Induction soon satisfies itself that their point lies in their impossibility; they constitute a new mode of pourtraying qualities of character, not by resemblance, but by analysing and intensifying contrasts to make them clearer. Judicial criticism can see how the poet was led astray; the bent of his disposition induced him to sacrifice dramatic propriety to his satiric purpose. Induction has another way of putting the matter; that the poet has utilised dramatic form for satiric purpose; thus by the ' crossfertilisation' of two existing literary species he has added to literature a third including features of both. At all events, judicial criticism will maintain, it must be admitted, that the Shakespearean mode of pourtraying is infinitely the higher; a sign-painter, as Macaulay points out, can imitate a deformity of feature, while it takes a great artist to bring out delicate shades of expression. Inductive treatment knows nothing about higher or lower, which lie outside the domain of science. Its point is that science is indebted to Ben Jonson for a new species; if the new species be an easier form of art it does not on that account lose its claim to be analysed."

Already we seem to be on the track of Mr. Moulton's fallacy. The opposition in the above extract is not between "judicial criticism" and "induction," but simply between æsthetic and historical, or analytic, criticism; in other words, between appraisement and classification. It is quite true that before we can profitably appraise a work we must classify it, and try to attain the proper historical point of view from which to regard it; but it is a most inconvenient laxity of language to apply the term "induction" to the process by which we arrive at

1

that point of view. Here is an example of the slough into which Mr. Moulton's principles, logically applied, tend to betray us :

Let the question be the 'Post-Office Directory.' Judicial criticism starts by holding that it is not literature at all. Inductive criticism takes objection to any such limitation of "literature." It recognises in the 'Post-Office Directory' a phenomenon differing in kind (not in degree) from 'Hamlet,' from Sartor Resartus,' from 'Box and Cox,' and from Bradshaw's Railway Guide'; but sees no reason to exclude it from literature. But, judicial criticism insists, the object of literature is to be read, not to be turned-up; whereas no one ever read the Post-Office Directory.' Induc

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

tion replies, that no one ever read a great many of the books which no gentleman's library should be without; and that if the Post-Office Directory' is not read, the Peerage,' which evidently belongs to the same class, is read with pleasure and profit by thousands. But, says judicial criticism, literature implies grammar. Induction sees that this assertion will not hold, for the simple reason that it would exclude the Post-Office Directory'; its own mode of putting the matter is that the Post-Office has founded a school of treatment of which the law is facta non verba, facts without verbs. Besides, the Post-Office Directory' is not ungrammatical; whereas Shakespeare often is. Judicial criticismn complains that the 'PostOffice Directory' sets forth no logical sequence of events or train of thought. Induction soon satisfies itself that the point of the Post-Office Directory' lies in its illogicality; it establishes a new mode of "piercing through the body of the suburbs, city, court," not by description or analysis, but by streets and squares. At all events, judicial criticism will maintain, it must be admitted that the Shakespearean mode of pourtraying mankind is infinitely the higher. Inductive treatment knows nothing about higher

[merged small][ocr errors]

But I would not have Mr. Moulton accuse me of treating with flippancy a theory of such grave import. I would rather attempt, in all seriousness, to show firstly, that criticism cannot be a science in any strict, or even convenient, sense of the word; secondly, that when Mr. Moulton thinks he is proceeding inductively he is in reality doing nothing of the sort.

Mr. Moulton goes to the whole circle of the sciences in his search for analogies to astronomy, to zoology, to botany, to physiology. But is there the smallest actual analogy between literature, or rather between art in its widest sense which includes literature, and the subject-matter of any one of these sciences? The astronomer, the zoologist, and their fellows, deal with objective facts, or, if this seems to beg a metaphysical question, with phenomena which produce identical impressions on the senses of all normally constituted men. All science proceeds on the assumption of an agreement as to the facts which it classifies and interprets. A Fuegian savage, looking into Darwin's microscope, would see exactly the same objects as Darwin himself. He would notice them less and interpret them differently; but the picture on his retina would be precisely similar to that on Darwin's. Deny this, and you deny the possibility of science. If half mankind questioned the existence of the sun at midday-asserted, that is to say, that they could not

t

« PreviousContinue »