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PUBLISHED LETTERS From Study and Stimulants; or, the Use of Intoxicants and Narcotics in Relation to Intellectual Life, as Illustrated by Personal Communications on the Subject, from Men or Letters and of Science edited by A. Arthur Reade (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott and Co., Manchester: Abel Heywood and Son, 1883 - p.26) MR. ROBERT BUCHANAN. I am myself no authority on the subject concerning which you write. I drink myself, but not during the hours of work; and I smoke—pretty habitually. My own experience and belief is, that both alcohol and tobacco, like most blessings, can be turned into curses by habitual self-indulgence. Physiologically speaking, I believe them both to be invaluable to humankind. The cases of dire disease generated by total abstinence from liquor are even more terrible than those caused by excess. With regard to tobacco, I have a notion that it is only dangerous where the vital organism, and particularly the nervous system, is badly nourished. ROBERT BUCHANAN.
March 7, 1882. _____ From Hall Caine, the Man and the Novelist by Charles Frederick Kenyon (London: Greening & Co., Ltd., 1901 - p. 79-80) Before I leave Rossetti and turn to the novels of the subject of this monograph, I should like to give a letter of the late Mr Robert Buchanan, addressed by him to Mr Caine after reading the latter’s obituary notice of his friend in the Academy. To all who know anything of the life of Rossetti, it will prove of exceptional interest, for it bears directly upon one of the causes of his premature death, and throws fresh light on one of the most widely-discussed episodes of nineteenth-century literature. “30 BOULEVARD STE BEUVE,
“BOULOGNE-SUR-MER,
“FRANCE, May 18 [1882]. “DEAR SIR,—I have read with deep interest your memorial of poor Rossetti, and been particularly moved by your passing allusion to myself. I don’t know if your intention was to heap ‘coals of fire’ on my head, but whether or not you have succeeded. I have often regretted my old criticism on your friend, not so much because it was stupid, but because, after all, I doubt one poet’s right to criticise another. For the rest, I have long been of opinion that Rossetti was a great spirit; and in that belief I inscribed to him my ‘God and the Man.’
“I suppose it was lack of courage which kept me from putting his name boldly on the preprint of my book; but had I dreamed he was ill or ailing, how eagerly would I not have done so! Still, I cannot conceive anyone mistaking the words of that dedication. Some people have been foolish enough to take it as addressed to Swinburne; but every line of it is against that supposition. I wonder now, if Rossetti himself knew of, and understood, that inscription? Perhaps you could tell me, and to ask you I write this letter. It would be a sincere satisfaction to me to know that he did read it, and accepted it in the spirit in which it was written.
“I am here on my way to Paris, but after this week my address will be uncertain. A letter sent to 30 Queen Anne St., Cavendish Square, will always find me.—I am, dear sir, yours faithfully,
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
“T. HALL CAINE, Esq.” _____ From Among My Autographs by George R. Sims (London: Chatto & Windus, 1904.)
[Note: For the context in which these letters, please refer to in the Biography section of the site. The second letter is Buchanan’s first approach regarding collaboration with Sims on an Adelphi drama and so probably dates from 1890. The third letter (sent from the country residence of the Marquess of Ailesbury) was probably written during the period of their collaboration which lasted from 1890 to 1893.]
Dear Sir,
Permit a disinterested reader to tell you how much he has been surprised and touched by some of of your “Ballads of Babylon.” I know by experience that such testimonies, when they come unexpectedly, sometimes convey pleasure; and it is also in my mind that long ago, when “I” also wrote poems of Babylon, a generous-hearted friend of yours, the late Mr. Tom Hood, wrote out of the fulness of his heart such words as gave me great content.
Be that as it may, I feel the strength and courage of your poems so much that I send you this hasty brief. One ballad—in which you tell the story of the poor outcast who rescues the clergyman she once branded— is to me indescribably noble and affecting, and worth all the æsthetic jargon of the period.
I write thus to you, and I believe I shall have an opportunity of writing to the public also, before long, on the same theme.
Faithfully yours,
Robert Buchanan.
Geo. R. Sims, Esq. * Dear Mr. Sims,
Can call on you to-morrow or Thursday before 12, or between 3 and 5—morning preferred. Or glad to see you here after 5 to-morrow, or on Thursday morning. Will you kindly wire your choice? It seems urgent that we should forgather at once, as you are going away so soon.
With kind regards
Truly yours
Robert Buchanan.
G. R. Sims, Esq.
How the deuce am I to collaborate with you in Jericho?! *
Dear George,
I enclosed you a bit of scenario. I shall be up to-morrow (Saturday) and we can then put our wits together. I like the idea more and more.
Awful weather! Just going out to get wet thro’
The Bard _____ From Recollections by David Christie Murray (London: John Long, 1908 - p.306-309)
[Note: Although David Christie Murray (elder brother of Buchanan’s friend and collaborator, Henry Murray) does not mention Buchanan in his autobiographical works, he does include two letters from Buchanan in Recollections, preceded by the letter from Joseph Hocking. In March, 1896 there was a heated exchange of letters between Christie Murray and Buchanan in The Era concerning plagiarism charges.] Copy of Letter to David Christie Murray,
9th Sept. 1897. 148 Todmorden Road,
Burnley, Lancs. MY DEAR SIR, — Will you kindly excuse the liberty I take in writing? I have just bought and read your new book My Contemporaries in Fiction, and feel that I must thank you. The task you assumed was, I think, necessary, and your estimate of the various writers just, and on the whole generous. I know my opinion is of little value, but I have long felt that several of our modern novelists were appraised miles beyond their merits, and I have often wished that some man of position, one who could speak candidly without fear of being accused of being envious, would give to the world a fair and fearless criticism of the works of novelists about whom some so-called critics rave. Thousands will be glad that you have done this, and I hope your book will have the success it deserves.
It will be a matter for thankfulness, too, that you have tried to do justice to George Macdonald, and to give him the place he deserves. To read the fulsome stuff which is so often written about Crockett, and then to think that Macdonald is quietly shelved, is enough to make one sick at heart. Certainly, I shall do all that lies in my power to make your work known.
I do wish, however that you had devoted a few pages to one who, a few years ago, loomed large in the literary horizon. I mean Robert Buchanan. I know that during these last few years he has poured out a great deal of drivel, but I cannot forget books like The New Abelard, and especially, God and the Man. It is a matter of surprise and regret that one of Buchanan’s undoubted powers should have thrown himself away as he has done. All the same, the man who wrote God and the Man and The Shadow of the Sword, hysterical as the latter may be, deserves a place in such a book as yours, and an honest criticism, such as I am sure you could give, might lead him, even yet, to give us a work worthy of the promise of years ago.
I am afraid you will regard this letter as presumptuous, nevertheless, I am prompted by sincere admiration. Years ago I read Joseph’s Coat and Aunt Rachel, and still think the latter to be one of the tenderest and most beautiful things in fiction. I also remember the simple scene which gave the title to the book called A Bit of Human Nature, and shall never cease to admire what seems to me a flash of real genius. Consequently, when I stood close by you at a “Vagabond’s” dinner, on the ladies’ night some months ago, I was strongly impelled to ask for an introduction, but lacked the necessary audacity to carry out my one time determination.
Again thanking you for a book which has afforded me a genuine pleasure to read, besides giving me much mental stimulus, — I am, dear sir, yours very truly,
(Sgd.) JOSEPH HOCKING. * Copy of Letter to David Christie Murray,
17th June 1897. DEAR MURRAY,—I am getting so weary of controversy that I must decline to take part, directly or indirectly, in any more. Possibly, in the heat of annoyance, I may have said harsh things about Mr Scott, but if so, I have forgotten them, and I think all harsh things are better forgotten. I am sorry, therefore, to hear that you are on the war-path, and wish I could persuade you to turn back to the paths of peace. You are too valuable to be wasted in this sort of warfare. I daresay you will smile at such advice from me, of all men, but believe me, I speak from sad experience.
I was sorry to hear about the fate of your play, but ’tis the fortune of war, and I hope it will only stir you to another effort which may possess, not more merit, possibly, but better luck, which now-a-days counts more than merit.—With all good wishes, I am, yours truly,
(Sgd.) ROBERT BUCHANAN. * Copy of Letter to David Christie Murray,
Sept. 1st. [1891] “Merkland,” 25 Maresfield Gardens,
South Hampstead, N.W. DEAR CHRISTIE MURRAY,—I thank you for your kind breath of encouragement, and am very glad that my Outcast contains anything to awaken a response in so fine a nature as your own. It was very good of you to think of writing to me on the subject at all.
I can’t help thinking that men who still hold to the old traditions should stick together and form some kind of a phalanx. I was not sorry, therefore, to hear that you had expressed yourself freely about the craze of a noisy minority for formlessness and ugliness in realistic literature. Ibsen’s style, regarded merely as style, bears the same relation to good writing that the Star newspaper does to a Greek statue. I don’t myself much mind what morals a man teaches, so long as he preserves the morality of beautiful form, but at the rate we are now going, literature seems likely to become a series of causes célèbres chronicled in the language of the penny-a-liner. And over and above this is the dirty habit, growing upon many able men, of examining their secretions, always an evident sign of hypochondria.
I am awaiting with much interest your further steps on the plane dramatic. Meantime, I hope I shall see more of you and yours. With kind regards.—Truly yours,
(Sgd.) ROBERT BUCHANAN. _____ From Sixty-Eight Years on the Stage by Mrs. Charles Calvert (London: Mills & Boon, 1911 - p.131-133)
[Note: Buchanan lived at Rossport Lodge between 1873 and 1877.] During the last three or four years that we lived in Manchester I was engaged by the committee of the Royal British Institution to give readings from the poets, in their lecture room, on Wednesday afternoons during the winter session. As there were three of these readings in the year, and each one embraced some nine or ten items, it follows that they required a considerable amount of research (for I very seldom repeated anything), and I had to scamper through dozens of volumes to obtain the requisite material.
I received one day the following letter— Rossport Lodge,
Belmullet,
County Mayo,
Ireland.
December 20. DEAR MADAM, A friend writes to tell me that you have been publicly reading some of my poems, and that you have actually read, successfully too, the “Ballad of Judas Iscariot,”—which last piece of news is to me so astonishing that I am tempted to ask particulars at the fountain head. That you should have faced an audience with such a poem, strikes me as singularly original and courageous, but that you should have moved that audience with it, in defiance of popular prejudice, is a proof of extraordinary genius. Do tell me all about it, if I am not rude in asking the favour. I fervently believe that one who could do so much with “Judas Iscariot” could read even “The Vision of the Man Accurst” with overwhelming effect. Do you know the last-named poem?
Forgive this abrupt note, and believe me fully conscious of the honour you do me and the help such interpretation gives me.
Yours most truly,
ROBERT BUCHANAN. I was compelled to reply that, intensely as I admired the poem, I was afraid to include it in my programme. Many of the lines in the “Vision of the Man Accurst” were supposed to be spoken by the First Person of the Trinity, and, as my audiences usually included schools, it might be regarded by the teachers as savouring of profanity.
I included several of Buchanan’s poems, however, in my readings—“Langley Lane,” “Lord Ronald’s Wife,” and that stirring ballad of the Covenanters, “The Battle of Drumliemoor.”
I always felt that Robert Buchanan was a man greatly underrated. His “Ballad of Judas Iscariot,” and the “Vision of the Man Accurst,” seemed to me to rise to absolute grandeur. His novel, God and the Man, was powerful in the extreme, and his “Ode to David in Heaven” (a young lad, who died of consumption, and who was Buchanan’s companion through years of poverty and misfortune) touches the very soul and essence of poetry. But his bitter diatribe against “The Fleshly School,” published in the Saturday Review, and hurled chiefly against Swinburne and Rossetti, raised up against him many powerful enemies, and their adverse influences combined to check his career, and keep him from the goal.
He rests in the little churchyard at Southend, where Mr. T. P. O’Connor, a few years ago, unveiled a memorial over his grave. _____ From My Life: Sixty Years’ Recollections of Bohemian London by George R. Sims (London: Eveleigh Nash Company Ltd., 1917.)
[Note: Sims dates this letter as shortly after the annual banquet of the Royal Academy of Arts, at which Mr. W. E. H. Lecky praised Buchanan’s A City of Dream. However, this took place on 5th May, 1888 and their first collaboration for the Adelphi, The English Rose, did not appear till September 1890, which would suggest this letter is later. The passage in which this letter appears is available in the Biography section of the site.] Dear Sims,
Thanks for your letter. Now that you realize exactly what I mean, and feel that it implies no forgetfulness of our friendship, I’m sure you’ll help me. I should feel so free for stage purposes if I worked under a pseudonym, and it wouldn’t matter at all whether or not the public knew it to be such (as they would)—it would keep the two kinds of work completely distinct. And after all it is your name, not mine, which attracts to the Adelphi, for you are a popular writer, and I a d—d unpopular one.
I should work with ten times the heart if my dramatic work were kept altogether apart from my poetical, so far as my name is concerned. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to be a poet only—I wish I could, for poetry alone gives me real happiness, not for any reward it yields in pence or praise, but solely because it was my first love and is my last.
Nor have I any scorn for the stage. On the contrary, I honour and delight in it, and as for you, I’ve always held you to be one of the choicest spirits of the time, far higher in thought and power than many of us poets. Dramatic work falls justly and finely into your broad sympathy with life for life’s sake. I, on the other hand, am a dreamer, a whiner after the Unknown and Unknowable. I was ‘built that way.’
You’ve given me many, many happy days. I love you personally, and would do anything in the world to bring you happiness and honour. So you mustn’t, mustn’t misconceive me! Set me down as a fool if you like, but never doubt the friendship which makes me subscribe myself, yours always,
ROBERT BUCHANAN. _____ From Robert Buchanan, F. J. Furnivall, and the Browning Society: A Letter by Jay Jernigan (Studies in Browning and His Circle - Vol. 3, No. 1, Spring, 1975)
[Note: The essay is available in the Fleshly School section of the site.]
Dear Mr. Furnivall, I have to thank you heartily for the Browning circular; and I take the opportunity to send you a copy of my new prose poem, ‘God & the Man.’ I know that you will apprehend its spirit & its purport, & I trust that it may secure for me ‘one more friend.’ Like Browning himself, I have suffered for years from the persecution of a literary Inquisition; and as it is such men as you that scatter light & fight on the side of minorities, I would gladly secure your sympathy in more or less measure.
I see that you quote some of my poor criticism from the Athenæum. It is not without a certain pain that I see my name connected in any way with a journal which, to my mind, is a synonym for nepotism & cowardly malignity. The only protection against such a publication is the large & free influence of the British press generally.
With my best wishes that your good works may prosper, & your independent spirit get fair play, believe me
*
Dear Mr. Furnivall, I thought to be in Queen Anne St temporarily this week, but on Monday night my beloved wife died here. While this great darkness is upon me, I cannot respond to your kindness as I could wish; but I look forward to seeing you some day soon. With kind regards
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