The Victorians Again
WE seem to be passing at the moment through a curiously reminiscent phase. It is of little moment to offer explanations of the phenomenon. Possibly the stubborn conditions of the hour are driving us to seek relief in the contemplation of easier times. It may be nothing more than that ; or it may be that consciousness of standing on the threshold of a new and hazardous epoch prompts us to study the past from a new angle, to attempt to reconstruct a scheme of life that—in the retrospect at least—worked so much more smoothly than our own, and to draw from it, if we can, some saving principle that may help to guide tiS on our present distracted course. Be the explanation what it may, the phenomenon remains. The Royal Society of Literature is in the forefront of the movement. It has already published volumes of lectures _dealing with the 'Seventies and 'Eighties ; it now harks back —with some contempt for the pedantry of chronological order —to the preceding decade. Simultaneously there appear in volume form the series of articles on Fifty Years that first saw the light earlier in the year in the columns of The Times.
The two books are in a sense complementary and may well be considered together. They contain papers dealing with a great variety of subjects, and, as is perhaps inevitable, the standard of merit is uneven. Several of the Eighteen-Sixty papers suffer a little from their origin. They were composed, not as essays, but as lectures, and the aroma of the platform still clings a little. It. finds expression in a certain straining after epigram, not to say paradox, which may tickle the ears of an audience, but grows wearisome to the reader in his arm- chair. The paper on Wilkie Collins is excellent, and a chapter on Punch by Mr. C. L. Graves is an attractive feature of the book. Mr. Granville-Barker is entertaining on the drama of the period, but he would be still more entertaining if he could have forgotten, just for this once, his grievance against the Lord Chamberlain. Of The Times series none is better than "Oxford Men and Manners," by the Warden of New College : a really charming sketch of the old days when Sir William Morris was still unknown, when Oxford in July was "a paradise for the student" and the blessed peace extended to the Cherwell and the meadows and gardens through which it wends its course." Dr. James on "New and Old at Cam- bridge" is not far behind him. Some of the other papers are less successful. The gilded youth" of the 'Eighties, for whom Sir Ian Malcolm pleads, is somewhat tarnished metal. Mr. Bernard Darwin writes delightfully (when did he write otherwise than delightfully ?) on "Games with the Ball." Many will feel envious of the young lady to whom the great W. G. Grace once kissed his hand "as she whitened a small pudgy nose against the windows, waiting to see the car start for Walton Heath." Mr. Darwin's cricket memories carry him back to the Australian match at Cambridge in the year 1880. His impressions of the occasion, he says, are "all dim " ; but they can scarcely be dimmer than those of another small boy, later to become a schoolfellow of Mr. Darwin's, who watched the Australians play at Fenner's two years earlier still. He went to the match unwillingly and (let the truth be told) with some inward trepidation, for he believed in his heart that Australians were dark-skinned savages who might be expected, if things went badly for them, to run amok and decimate the spectators. He took away with him only one clear recollection : that of a sturdy, blue- capped figure in the long field, which somebody said was " Paravicini." It sounded such an odd thing to be.
What moral is to be drawn from these dips into the half- forgotten Victorian past ? Or is there a moral to be drawn at all ? Two of the writers, one in each volume, strike a definitely pessimistic note. Sir John Fortescue deplores the lost courtesy of the road and the distressing growth of vulgarity through the length and breadth of the country. Lord Ernie laments the passing away of Victorian conviction. "Nothing," he says, "stands in its place " : the one ruling passion is for mere speed, and "so long as life travels faster the direction is unimportant." Let us not slip too easily into the mood of pessimism : it is a commonplace reminder, but it has its value none the less, that each successive generation has said much the same thing in its turn. Sir Leicester
Dedlock was convinced that the floodgates of society were burst open and the landmarks obliterated ; his debilitated cousin saw the country" going—Dayvle—steeplechase pace " ; and all because an ironmaster and his son of unaristocratic origin had fought an election against the Dedloek interest. "Most of the Articles," writes Professor Trevelyan in his preface to Fifty Years, "record both loss and gain." Let us take heart from that sober criticism. Loss and gain– that has been the record of the human race since the dawn of time, and it will assuredly so continue till the end. If we have lost much that made for the grace and beauty of life, our gain in other directions is indisputable. To those inclined to despair we would prescribe a course of intimacy with the young men and women of the rising generation ; it will cure them.
J. E. S.
Previous page
