contributions to-all the year round(一年到头)-第13章
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Medium's statements and suppressions； even if they were not in
themselves of a manifestly outrageous character？
THE LATE MR。 STANFIELD
Every Artist； be he writer； painter； musician； or actor； must bear his
private sorrows as he best can； and must separate them from the exercise
of his public pursuit。 But it sometimes happens； in compensation； that
his private loss of a dear friend represents a loss on the part of the whole
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community。 Then he may； without obtrusion of his individuality； step
forth to lay his little wreath upon that dear friend's grave。
On Saturday； the eighteenth of this present month； Clarkson Stanfield
died。 On the afternoon of that day； England lost the great marine painter
of whom she will be boastful ages hence； the National Historian of her
speciality； the Sea； the man famous in all countries for his marvellous
rendering of the waves that break upon her shores； of her ships and
seamen； of her coasts and skies； of her storms and sunshine； of the many
marvels of the deep。 He who holds the oceans in the hollow of His hand
had given； associated with them； wonderful gifts into his keeping； he had
used them well through threescore and fourteen years； and； on the
afternoon of that spring day； relinquished them for ever。
It is superfluous to record that the painter of 〃The Battle of Trafalgar〃；
of the 〃Victory being towed into Gibraltar with the body of Nelson on
Board〃； of 〃The Morning after the Wreck〃； of 〃The Abandoned〃； of fifty
more such works； died in his seventy…fourth year； 〃Mr。〃 Stanfield。He was
an Englishman。
Those grand pictures will proclaim his powers while paint and canvas
last。 But the writer of these words had been his friend for thirty years；
and when； a short week or two before his death； he laid that once so skilful
hand upon the writer's breast and told him they would meet again； 〃but not
here〃； the thoughts of the latter turned； for the time； so little to his noble
genius； and so much to his noble nature！
He was the soul of frankness； generosity； and simplicity。 The most
genial； the most affectionate； the most loving； and the most lovable of men。
Success had never for an instant spoiled him。 His interest in the Theatre
as an Institutionthe best picturesqueness of which may be said to be
wholly due to himwas faithful to the last。 His belief in a Play； his
delight in one； the ease with which it moved him to tears or to laughter；
were most remarkable evidences of the heart he must have put into his old
theatrical work； and of the thorough purpose and sincerity with which it
must have been done。 The writer was very intimately associated with him
in some amateur plays； and day after day； and night after night； there were
the same unquenchable freshness； enthusiasm； and impressibility in him；
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though broken in health； even then。
No Artist can ever have stood by his art with a quieter dignity than he
always did。 Nothing would have induced him to lay it at the feet of any
human creature。 To fawn； or to toady； or to do undeserved homage to
any one； was an absolute impossibility with him。 And yet his character
was so nicely balanced that he was the last man in the world to be
suspected of self…assertion； and his modesty was one of his most special
qualities。
He was a charitable； religious； gentle； truly good man。 A genuine
man； incapable of pretence or of concealment。 He had been a sailor once；
and all the best characteristics that are popularly attributed to sailors； being
his； and being in him refined by the influences of his Art； formed a whole
not likely to be often seen。 There is no smile that the writer can recall；
like his； no manner so naturally confiding and so cheerfully engaging。
When the writer saw him for the last time on earth； the smile and the
manner shone out once through the weakness； still： the bright
unchanging Soul within the altered face and form。
No man was ever held in higher respect by his friends； and yet his
intimate friends invariably addressed him and spoke of him by a pet name。
It may need； perhaps； the writer's memory and associations to find in this a
touching expression of his winning character； his playful smile； and
pleasant ways。 〃You know Mrs。 Inchbald's story； Nature and Art？〃 wrote
Thomas Hood； once； in a letter： 〃What a fine Edition of Nature and Art
is Stanfield！〃
Gone！ And many and many a dear old day gone with him！ But
their memories remain。 And his memory will not soon fade out； for he
has set his mark upon the restless waters； and his fame will long be
sounded in the roar of the sea。
A SLIGHT QUESTION OF FACT
It is never well for the public interest that the originator of any social
reform should be soon forgotten。 Further； it is neither wholesome nor
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right （being neither generous nor just） that the merit of his work should be
gradually transferred elsewhere。
Some few weeks ago； our contemporary； the Pall Mall Gazette； in
certain strictures on our Theatres which we are very far indeed from
challenging； remarked on the first effectual discouragement of an outrage
upon decency which the lobbies and upper…boxes of even our best
Theatres habitually paraded within the last twenty or thirty years。 From
those remarks it might appear as though no such Manager of Covent
Garden or Drury Lane as Mr。 Macready had ever existed。
It is a fact beyond all possibility of question； that Mr。 Macready； on
assuming the management of Covent Garden Theatre in 1837； did
instantly set himself； regardless of precedent and custom down to that hour
obtaining； rigidly to suppress this shameful thing； and did rigidly suppress
and crush it during his whole management of that theatre； and during his
whole subsequent management of Drury Lane。 That he did so； as
certainly without favour as without fear； that he did so； against his own
immediate interests； that he did so； against vexations and oppositions
which might have cooled the ardour of a less earnest man； or a less
devoted artist； can be better known to no one than the writer of the present
words； whose name stands at the head of these pages。
LANDOR'S LIFE
Prefixed to the second volume of Mr。 Forster's admirable biography of
Walter Savage Landor； ｛1｝ is an engraving from a portrait of that
remarkable man when seventy…seven years of age； by Boxall。 The writer
of these lines can testify that the original picture is a singularly good
likeness； the result of close and subtle observation on the part of the
painter； but； for this very reason； the engraving gives a most inadequate
idea of the merit of the picture and the character of the man。
From the engraving； the arms and hands are omitted。 In the picture；
they are； as they were in nature； indispensable to a correct reading of the
vigorous face。 The arms were very peculiar。 They were rather short；
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and were curiously restrained and checked in their action at the elbows； in
the action of the hands； even when separately clenched； there was the
same kind of pause； and a noticeable tendency to relaxation on the part of
the thumb。 Let the face be never so intense or fierce； there was a
commentary of gentleness in the hands； essential to be taken along with it。
Like Hamlet； Landor would speak daggers； but use none。 In the
expression of his hands； though angrily closed； there was always
gentleness and tenderness； just as when they were open； and the handsome
old gentleman would wave them with a little courtly flourish that sat well
upon him； as he recalled some classic compliment that he had rendered to
some reigning Beauty； there was a chivalrous grace about them such as
pervades his softer verses。 Thus the fictitious Mr。 Boythorn （to whom we
may refer without impropriety in this connexion； as Mr。 Forster does）
declaims 〃with unimaginable energy〃 the while his bird is 〃perched upon
his thumb〃； and he 〃softly smooths its feathers with his forefinger〃。
From the spirit of Mr。 Forster's Biography these characteristic hands
are never omitted； and hence （apart from its literary merits） its great value。
As the same masterly writer's Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith is a
generous and yet conscientious picture of a period； so this is a not less
generous and yet conscientious picture of one life； of a life； with all its
aspirations； achievements； and disappointments； all its capabilities；
opportunities； and irretrievable mistakes。 It is essentially a sad book； and
herein lies proof of its truth and worth。 The life of almost any man
possessing great gifts； would be a sad book to himself； and this book
enables us not only to see its subject； but to be its subject； if we will。
Mr。 Forster is of opinion that 〃Landor's fame very surely awaits h
