r. f. murray-his poems with a memoir-第5章

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older　people　who　were　dangerously　likely　to　be　serviceable。　　His

manner；　when　once　he　could　be　induced　to　meet　strangers；　was

extremely　frank　and　pleasant；　but　from　meeting　strangers　he　shrunk；

in　his　inveterate　modesty。



In　1886　Murray　had　the　misfortune　to　lose　is　father；　and　it　became；

perhaps；　more　prominently　needful　that　he　should　find　a　profession。

He　now　assisted　Professor　Meiklejohn　of　St。　Andrews　in　various　kinds

of　literary　and　academic　work；　and　in　him　found　a　friend；　with　whom

he　remained　in　close　intercourse　to　the　last。　　He　began　the　weary

path；　which　all　literary　beginners　must　tread；　of　sending

contributions　to　magazines。　　He　seldom　read　magazine　articles。　　‘I

do　not　greatly　care　for　〃Problems〃　and　〃vexed　questions。〃　　I　am　so

much　of　a　problem　and　a　vexed　question　that　I　have　quite　enough　to

do　in　searching　for　a　solution　of　my　own　personality。'　　He　tried　a

story；　based　on　‘a　midnight　experience'　of　his　own；　unluckily　he

does　not　tell　us　what　that　experience　was。　　Had　he　encountered　one

of　the　local　ghosts？



‘My　blood…curdling　romance　I　offered　to　the　editor　of　Longman's

Magazine；　but　that　misguided　person　was　so　ill…advised　as　to　return

it；　accompanied　with　one　of　these　abominable　lithographed　forms

conveying　his　hypocritical　regrets。'　　Murray　sent　a　directed

envelope　with　a　twopenny…halfpenny　stamp。　　The　paper　came　back　for

three…halfpence　by　book…post。　　‘I　have　serious　thoughts　of　sueing

him　for　the　odd　penny！'　　‘Why　should　people　be　fools　enough　to　read

my　rot　when　they　have　twenty　volumes　of　Scott　at　their　command？'　　He

confesses　to　‘a　Scott…mania　almost　as　intense　as　if　he　were　the　last

new　sensation。'　　‘I　was　always　fond　of　him；　but　I　am　fonder　than

ever　now。'　　This　plunge　into　the　immortal　romances　seems　really　to

have　discouraged　Murray；　at　all　events　he　says　very　little　more

about　attempts　in　fiction　of　his　own。　　‘I　am　a　barren　rascal；'　he

writes；　quoting　Johnson　on　Fielding。　　Like　other　men；　Murray　felt

extreme　difficulty　in　writing　articles　or　tales　which　have　an

infinitesimal　chance　of　being　accepted。　　It　needs　a　stout　heart　to

face　this　almost　fixed　certainty　of　rejection：　　a　man　is　weakened　by

his　apprehensions　of　a　lithographed　form；　and　of　his　old　manuscript

coming　home　to　roost；　like　the　Graces　of　Theocritus；　to　pine　in　the

dusty　chest　where　is　their　chill　abode。　　If　the　Alexandrian　poets

knew　this　ill…fortune；　so　do　all　beginners　in　letters。　　There　is

nothing　for　it　but　‘putting　a　stout　heart　to　a　stey　brae；'　as　the

Scotch　proverb　says。　　Editors　want　good　work；　and　on　finding　a　new

man　who　is　good；　they　greatly　rejoice。　　But　it　is　so　difficult　to　do

vigorous　and　spontaneous　work；　as　it　were；　in　the　dark。　　Murray　had

not；　it　is　probable；　the　qualities　of　the　novelist；　the　narrator。

An　excellent　critic　he　might　have　been　if　he　had　‘descended　to

criticism；'　but　he　had；　at　this　time；　no　introductions；　and　probably

did　not　address　reviews　at　random　to　editors。　　As　to　poetry；　these

much…vexed　men　receive　such　enormous　quantities　of　poetry　that　they

usually　reject　it　at　a　venture；　and　obtain　the　small　necessary

supplies　from　agreeable　young　ladies。　　Had　Murray　been　in　London；

with　a　few　literary　friends；　he　might　soon　have　been　a　thriving

writer　of　light　prose　and　light　verse。　　But　the　enchantress　held

him；　he　hated　London；　he　had　no　literary　friends；　he　could　write

gaily　for　pleasure；　not　for　gain。　　So；　like　the　Scholar　Gypsy；　he

remained　contemplative；





‘Waiting　for　the　spark　from　heaven　to　fall。'





About　this　time　the　present　writer　was　in　St。　Andrews　as　Gifford

Lecturer　in　Natural　Theology。　　To　say　that　an　enthusiasm　for　totems

and　taboos；　ghosts　and　gods　of　savage　men；　was　aroused　by　these

lectures；　would　be　to　exaggerate　unpardonably。　　Efforts　to　make　the

students　write　essays　or　ask　questions　were　so　entire　a　failure　that

only　one　question　was　receivedas　to　the　proper　pronunciation　of

‘Myth。'　　Had　one　been　fortunate　enough　to　interest　Murray；　it　must

have　led　to　some　discussion　of　his　literary　attempts。　　He　mentions

having　attended　a　lecture　given　by　myself　to　the　Literary　Society　on

‘Literature　as　a　Profession；'　and　he　found　the　lecturer　‘far　more　at

home　in　such　a　subject　than　in　the　Gifford　Lectures。'　　Possibly　the

hearer　was　‘more　at　home'　in　literature　than　in　discussions　as　to

the　origin　of　Huitzilopochtli。　　‘Literature；'　he　says；　‘never　was；

is　not；　and　never　will　be；　in　the　ordinary　sense　of　the　term；　a

profession。　　You　can't　teach　it　as　you　can　the　professions；　you

can't　succeed　in　it　as　you　can　in　the　professions；　by　dint　of　mere

diligence　and　without　special　aptitude　。　。　。　I　think　all　this

chatter　about　the　technical　and　pecuniary　sides　of　literature　is

extremely　foolish　and　worse　than　useless。　　It　only　serves　to　glut

the　idle　curiosity　of　the　general　public　about　matters　with　which

they　have　no　concern；　a　curiosity　which　（thanks　partly　to　American

methods　of　journalism）　has　become　simply　outrageous。'



Into　chatter　about　the　pecuniary　aspect　of　literature　the　Lecturer

need　hardly　say　that　he　did　not　meander。　　It　is　absolutely　true　that

literature　cannot　be　taught。　　Maupassant　could　have　dispensed　with

the　instructions　of　Flaubert。　　But　an　‘aptitude'　is　needed　in　all

professions；　and　in　such　arts　as　music；　and　painting；　and　sculpture；

teaching　is　necessary。　　In　literature；　teaching　can　only　come　from

general　education　in　letters；　from　experience；　from　friendly　private

criticism。　　But　if　you　cannot　succeed　in　literature　‘by　dint　of　mere

diligence；'　mere　diligence　is　absolutely　essential。　　Men　must　read；

must　observe；　must　practise。　　Diligence　is　as　necessary　to　the

author　as　to　the　grocer；　the　solicitor；　the　dentist；　the　barrister；

the　soldier。　　Nothing　but　nature　can　give　the　aptitude；　diligence

must　improve　it；　and　experience　may　direct　it。　　It　is　not　enough　to

wait　for　the　spark　from　heaven　to　fall；　the　spark　must　be　caught；

and　tended；　and　cherished。　　A　man　must　labour　till　he　finds　his

vein；　and　himself。　　Again；　if　literature　is　an　art；　it　is　also　a

profession。　　A　man's　very　first　duty　is　to　support　himself　and

those；　if　any；　who　are　dependent　on　him。　　If　he　cannot　do　it　by

epics；　tragedies；　lyrics；　he　must　do　it　by　articles；　essays；　tales；

or　how　he　honestly　can。　　He　must　win　his　leisure　by　his　labour；　and

give　his　leisure　to　his　art。　　Murray；　at　this　time；　was　diligent　in

helping　to　compile　and　correct　educational　works。　　He　might；　but　for

the　various　conditions　of　reserve；　hatred　of　towns；　and　the　rest；

have　been　earning　his　leisure　by　work　more　brilliant　and　more

congenial　to　most　men。　　But　his　theory　of　literature　was　so　lofty

that　he　probably　found　the　other；　the　harder；　the　less　remunerative；

the　less　attractive　work；　more　congenial　to　his　tastes。



He　describes；　to　Mrs。　Murray；　various　notable　visitors　to　St。

Andrews：　　Professor　Butcher；　who　lectured　on　Lucian；　and　is　‘very

handsome；'　Mr。　Arthur　Balfour；　the　Lord　Rector；　who　is　‘rather

handsome；'　and　delights　the　listener　by　his　eloquence；　Mr。

Chamberlain；　who　pleases　him　too；　though　he　finds　Mr。　Chamberlain

rather　acrimonious　in　his　political　reflections。　　About　Lucian；　the

subject　of　Mr。　Butcher's　lecture；　Murray　says　nothing。　　That

brilliant　man　of　letters　in　general；　the　Alcibiades　of　literature；

the　wittiest；　and；　rarely；　the　most　tender；　and；　always；　the　most

graceful；　was　a　model　who　does　not　seem　to　have　attracted　Murray。

Lucian　amused；　and　amuses；　and　lived　by　amusing：　　the　vein　of

romance　and　poetry　that　was　his　he　worked　but　rarely：　　perhaps　the

Samosatene　did　not　take　himself　too　seriously；　yet　he　lives　through

the　ages；　an　example；　in　many　ways　to　be　followed；　of　a　man　who

obviously　delighted　in　all　that　he　wrought。　　He　was　no　model　to

Murray；　who　only　delighted　in　his　moments　of　inspiration；　and　could

not　make　himself　happy　even　in　the　trifles　which　are　demanded　from

the　professional　pen。



He　did；　at　last；　endeavour　to　ply　that　servile　engine　of　which

Pendennis　conceived　so　exalted　an　opinion。　　Certainly　a　false　pride

did　not　stand　in　his　way　when；　on　May　5；　1889；　he　announced　that　he

was　about　to　leave　St。　Andrews；　and　attempt　to　get　work　at　proof…

correcting　and　in　the　humblest　sorts　of　journalism　in　Edinburgh。

The　chapter　is　honourable　to　his　resolution；　but　most　melancholy。

There　were　competence　and　ease　waiting　for　him；　probably；　in　London；

if　he　would　but　let　his　pen　have　its　way　in　bright　comment　and

occasional　verse。　　But　he　chose　the　other　course。　　With　letters　of

introduction　from　Mr。　Meiklejohn；　he　consulted　the　houses　of　Messrs。

Clark　and　Messrs。　Constable　in　Edinburgh。　　He　did　not　find　that　his

knowledge　of　Greek　was　adequate　to　the　higher　and　more　remunerative

branches　of　proof…reading；　that　weary　meticulous　toil；　so　fatiguing

to　the　eyesight。　　The　hours；　too；　were　very　long；　he　could　do　more

and　better　work　in　fewer　hours。　　No　time；　no　strength；　were　left　for

reading　and　writing。　　He　did；　while　in　Edinburgh；　send　a　few　things

to　magazines；　but　he　did　not　actually　‘bombard'　editors。　　He　is　‘to

live　in　one　room；　and　dine；　if　not　on　a　red　herring；　on　the　next

cheapest　article　of　diet。'　　These　months　of　privation；　at　which　he

laughed；　and　some　weeks　of　reading　proofs；　appear　to　have　quite

undermined　health　which　was　never　strong；　and　which　had　been　sorely

tried　by　‘the　wind　of　a　cursed　to…day；　the　curse　of　a　windy　to…

morrow；'　at　St。　Andrews。　　If　a　reader　observes　in　Murray　a　lack　of

strenuous　diligence；　he　must　attribute　it　less　to　lack　of

resolution；　than　to　defect　of　physical　force　and　energy。　　The　many

bad　colds　of　which　he　speaks　were　warnings　of　the　end；　which　came　in

the　form　of　consumption。　　This　lurking　malady　it　was　that　made　him

wait；　and　dally　with　his　talent。　　He　hit　on　the　idea　of　translating

some　of　Bossuet's　orations　for　a　Scotch　theological　publisher。

Alas！　the　publisher　did　not　anticipate　a　demand；　among　Scotch

ministers；　for　the　Eagle　of　Meaux。　　Murray；　in　his　innocence；　was

startled　by　the　caution　of　the　publisher；　who　certainly　would　have

been　a　heavy　loser。　　‘I　honestly　believe　that；　if　Charles　Dickens

were　now　alive　and　unknown；　and　were　to　offer　the　MS。　of　Pickwick　to

an　Edinburgh　publisher；　that　sagacious　old　individual　would　shake

his　prudent　old　head；　and　refuse　（with　the　utmost　politeness）　to

publish　it！'　　There　is　a　good　deal　of　difference　between　Pickwick

and　a　translation　of　old　French　sermons　about　Madame；　and　Conde；　and

people　of　whom　few　modern　readers　ever　heard。



Alone；　in　Edinburgh；　Murray　was　saddened　by　the　‘unregarding'

irresponsive　faces　of　the　people　as　they　passed。　　In　St。　Andrews　he

probably　knew　every　face；　even　in　Edinburgh　（a　visitor　from　London

thinks）　there　is　a　friendly　look　among　the　passers。　　Murray　did　not

find　it　so。　　He　approached　a　newspaper　office：　　‘he　＇the　Editor　whom

he　met＇　was　extremely　frank；　and　told　me　that　the　tone　of　my　article