memories and portraits-第29章

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than　we　poor；　grown…up；　obliterated　fools　remember。



The　name　of　Skelt　itself　has　always　seemed　a　part　and　parcel　of　the　

charm　of　his　productions。　　It　may　be　different　with　the　rose；　but　

the　attraction　of　this　paper　drama　sensibly　declined　when　Webb　had　

crept　into　the　rubric：　a　poor　cuckoo；　flaunting　in　Skelt's　nest。　　

And　now　we　have　reached　Pollock；　sounding　deeper　gulfs。　　Indeed；　

this　name　of　Skelt　appears　so　stagey　and　piratic；　that　I　will　adopt　

it　boldly　to　design　these　qualities。　　Skeltery；　then；　is　a　quality　

of　much　art。　　It　is　even　to　be　found；　with　reverence　be　it　said；　

among　the　works　of　nature。　　The　stagey　is　its　generic　name；　but　it　

is　an　old；　insular；　home…bred　staginess；　not　French；　domestically　

British；　not　of　to…day；　but　smacking　of　O。　Smith；　Fitzball；　and　the　

great　age　of　melodrama：　a　peculiar　fragrance　haunting　it；　uttering　

its　unimportant　message　in　a　tone　of　voice　that　has　the　charm　of　

fresh　antiquity。　　I　will　not　insist　upon　the　art　of　Skelt's　

purveyors。　　These　wonderful　characters　that　once　so　thrilled　our　

soul　with　their　bold　attitude；　array　of　deadly　engines　and　

incomparable　costume；　to…day　look　somewhat　pallidly；　the　extreme　

hard　favour　of　the　heroine　strikes　me；　I　had　almost　said　with　pain；　

the　villain's　scowl　no　longer　thrills　me　like　a　trumpet；　and　the　

scenes　themselves；　those　once　unparalleled　landscapes；　seem　the　

efforts　of　a　prentice　hand。　　So　much　of　fault　we　find；　but　on　the　

other　side　the　impartial　critic　rejoices　to　remark　the　presence　of　

a　great　unity　of　gusto；　of　those　direct　clap…trap　appeals；　which　a　

man　is　dead　and　buriable　when　he　fails　to　answer；　of　the　footlight　

glamour；　the　ready…made；　bare…faced；　transpontine　picturesque；　a　

thing　not　one　with　cold　reality；　but　how　much　dearer　to　the　mind！



The　scenery　of　Skeltdom　…　or；　shall　we　say；　the　kingdom　of　

Transpontus？　…　had　a　prevailing　character。　　Whether　it　set　forth　

Poland　as　in　THE　BLIND　BOY；　or　Bohemia　with　THE　MILLER　AND　HIS　MEN；　

or　Italy　with　THE　OLD　OAK　CHEST；　still　it　was　Transpontus。　　A　

botanist　could　tell　it　by　the　plants。　　The　hollyhock　was　all　

pervasive；　running　wild　in　deserts；　the　dock　was　common；　and　the　

bending　reed；　and　overshadowing　these　were　poplar；　palm；　potato　

tree；　and　QUERCUS　SKELTICA　…　brave　growths。　　The　caves　were　all　

embowelled　in　the　Surreyside　formation；　the　soil　was　all　betrodden　

by　the　light　pump　of　T。　P。　Cooke。　　Skelt；　to　be　sure；　had　yet　

another；　an　oriental　string：　he　held　the　gorgeous　east　in　fee；　and　

in　the　new　quarter　of　Hyeres；　say；　in　the　garden　of　the　Hotel　des　

Iles　d'Or；　you　may　behold　these　blessed　visions　realised。　　But　on　

these　I　will　not　dwell；　they　were　an　outwork；　it　was　in　the　

accidental　scenery　that　Skelt　was　all　himself。　　It　had　a　strong　

flavour　of　England；　it　was　a　sort　of　indigestion　of　England　and　

drop…scenes；　and　I　am　bound　to　say　was　charming。　　How　the　roads　

wander；　how　the　castle　sits　upon　the　hill；　how　the　sun　eradiates　

from　behind　the　cloud；　and　how　the　congregated　clouds　themselves　

up…roll；　as　stiff　as　bolsters！　　Here　is　the　cottage　interior；　the　

usual　first　flat；　with　the　cloak　upon　the　nail；　the　rosaries　of　

onions；　the　gun　and　powder…horn　and　corner…cupboard；　here　is　the　

inn　（this　drama　must　be　nautical；　I　foresee　Captain　Luff　and　Bold　

Bob　Bowsprit）　with　the　red　curtain；　pipes；　spittoons；　and　eight…day　

clock；　and　there　again　is　that　impressive　dungeon　with　the　chains；　

which　was　so　dull　to　colour。　　England；　the　hedgerow　elms；　the　thin　

brick　houses；　windmills；　glimpses　of　the　navigable　Thames　…　

England；　when　at　last　I　came　to　visit　it；　was　only　Skelt　made　

evident：　to　cross　the　border　was；　for　the　Scotsman；　to　come　home　to　

Skelt；　there　was　the　inn…sign　and　there　the　horse…trough；　all　

foreshadowed　in　the　faithful　Skelt。　　If；　at　the　ripe　age　of　

fourteen　years；　I　bought　a　certain　cudgel；　got　a　friend　to　load　it；　

and　thenceforward　walked　the　tame　ways　of　the　earth　my　own　ideal；　

radiating　pure　romance　…　still　I　was　but　a　puppet　in　the　hand　of　

Skelt；　the　original　of　that　regretted　bludgeon；　and　surely　the　

antitype　of　all　the　bludgeon　kind；　greatly　improved　from　

Cruikshank；　had　adorned　the　hand　of　Jonathan　Wild；　pl。　I。　　〃This　is　

mastering　me；〃　as　Whitman　cries；　upon　some　lesser　provocation。　　

What　am　I？　what　are　life；　art；　letters；　the　world；　but　what　my　

Skelt　has　made　them？　　He　stamped　himself　upon　my　immaturity。　　The　

world　was　plain　before　I　knew　him；　a　poor　penny　world；　but　soon　it　

was　all　coloured　with　romance。　　If　I　go　to　the　theatre　to　see　a　

good　old　melodrama；　'tis　but　Skelt　a　little　faded。　　If　I　visit　a　

bold　scene　in　nature；　Skelt　would　have　been　bolder；　there　had　been　

certainly　a　castle　on　that　mountain；　and　the　hollow　tree　…　that　set　

piece　…　I　seem　to　miss　it　in　the　foreground。　　Indeed；　out　of　this　

cut…and…dry；　dull；　swaggering；　obtrusive；　and　infantile　art；　I　seem　

to　have　learned　the　very　spirit　of　my　life's　enjoyment；　met　there　

the　shadows　of　the　characters　I　was　to　read　about　and　love　in　a　

late　future；　got　the　romance　of　DER　FREISCHUTZ　long　ere　I　was　to　

hear　of　Weber　or　the　mighty　Formes；　acquired　a　gallery　of　scenes　

and　characters　with　which；　in　the　silent　theatre　of　the　brain；　I　

might　enact　all　novels　and　romances；　and　took　from　these　rude　cuts　

an　enduring　and　transforming　pleasure。　　Reader　…　and　yourself？



A　word　of　moral：　it　appears　that　B。　Pollock；　late　J。　Redington；　No。　

73　Hoxton　Street；　not　only　publishes　twenty…three　of　these　old　

stage　favourites；　but　owns　the　necessary　plates　and　displays　a　

modest　readiness　to　issue　other　thirty…three。　　If　you　love　art；　

folly；　or　the　bright　eyes　of　children；　speed　to　Pollock's；　or　to　

Clarke's　of　Garrick　Street。　　In　Pollock's　list　of　publicanda　I　

perceive　a　pair　of　my　ancient　aspirations：　WRECK　ASHORE　and　

SIXTEEN…STRING　JACK；　and　I　cherish　the　belief　that　when　these　shall　

see　once　more　the　light　of　day；　B。　Pollock　will　remember　this　

apologist。　　But；　indeed；　I　have　a　dream　at　times　that　is　not　all　a　

dream。　　I　seem　to　myself　to　wander　in　a　ghostly　street　…　E。　W。；　I　

think；　the　postal　district　…　close　below　the　fool's…cap　of　St。　

Paul's；　and　yet　within　easy　hearing　of　the　echo　of　the　Abbey　

bridge。　　There　in　a　dim　shop；　low　in　the　roof　and　smelling　strong　

of　glue　and　footlights；　I　find　myself　in　quaking　treaty　with　great　

Skelt　himself；　the　aboriginal　all　dusty　from　the　tomb。　　I　buy；　with　

what　a　choking　heart　…　I　buy　them　all；　all　but　the　pantomimes；　I　

pay　my　mental　money；　and　go　forth；　and　lo！　the　packets　are　dust。









CHAPTER　XIV。　A　GOSSIP　ON　A　NOVEL　OF　DUMAS'S





THE　books　that　we　re…read　the　oftenest　are　not　always　those　that　we　

admire　the　most；　we　choose　and　we　re…visit　them　for　many　and　

various　reasons；　as　we　choose　and　revisit　human　friends。　　One　or　

two　of　Scott's　novels；　Shakespeare；　Moliere；　Montaigne；　THE　EGOIST；　

and　the　VICOMTE　DE　BRAGELONNE；　form　the　inner　circle　of　my　

intimates。　　Behind　these　comes　a　good　troop　of　dear　acquaintances；　

THE　PILGRIM'S　PROGRESS　in　the　front　rank；　THE　BIBLE　IN　SPAIN　not　

far　behind。　　There　are　besides　a　certain　number　that　look　at　me　

with　reproach　as　I　pass　them　by　on　my　shelves：　books　that　I　once　

thumbed　and　studied：　houses　which　were　once　like　home　to　me；　but　

where　I　now　rarely　visit。　　I　am　on　these　sad　terms　（and　blush　to　

confess　it）　with　Wordsworth；　Horace；　Burns　and　Hazlitt。　　Last　of　

all；　there　is　the　class　of　book　that　has　its　hour　of　brilliancy　…　

glows；　sings；　charms；　and　then　fades　again　into　insignificance　

until　the　fit　return。　　Chief　of　those　who　thus　smile　and　frown　on　

me　by　turns；　I　must　name　Virgil　and　Herrick；　who；　were　they　but



〃Their　sometime　selves　the　same　throughout　the　year；〃



must　have　stood　in　the　first　company　with　the　six　names　of　my　

continual　literary　intimates。　　To　these　six；　incongruous　as　they　

seem；　I　have　long　been　faithful；　and　hope　to　be　faithful　to　the　day　

of　death。　　I　have　never　read