FIONA MACLEOD.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1013, 31 December 1910, Page 9

FIONA MACLEOD.

Reviewing, in the "Westminster Gazette,", Mrs. William Sharp's.memoir,of her late husband, Mr. Robert Hichens says;— '/ , .

. Many men lead double lives; but.few, I suppose,; have,over,led such a strange double life as the . man, who was known till his ; too' early, death as William Sharp, critic,' journalist, novelist, and poet; and. since, his death .has. been known ■ 'as William Sharp and Fiona Macleod. I mot him first at Louiso Chandler Moulton'Sj uh London. IHo camo striding' in.. with, a-bouquet of flowers, and kissed her hnild as ho cave it'to her. Like a Norseman he looked, very tall, big, handsome, animated, full of life and the joy', of life. At that first meeting ho struck mo as confident but not aggressive, brilliant' but not sarcastic, full of knowledge but ever ready.to.listen,to others, a sympathetic; an unusually -kind' aria warm'-heartcu man,' devoid of snobbery, totally free from that_ ugly thing professional jealIntimacy with him confirmed my first impression. . : William Sharp, was a very remarkable man;.more, he was a.man who had. genius, and it was. right that.a life of him should be written and given to the ■ world, His reading was extraordinary. He seemed to find time to read every.tliing.The poets or Provence, the novelists .of Belgium and of Iliissia, the "new men" of Italy, and of France, tho dramatic writers, of. Germany, all were familiar to him, _to ■ say nothing of the great men of'. tho past. Everything of real worth that'was published, rn England jic'got hold of. 5 He plucked the-heart out of tho literature or 15uISP® an d of America. And. all the.time William Sharp was pouring forth., big critical essays, .lighter articles on literary geography, ■■ on nature on travel stories, novels; and all the timo Fiona Sfacleotlwas-giving "to- a world - who Knew not, her secret exquisite poems .and -strange - mystical 'sketches ,of remote liv.es in far-away islands, ' and! legeiids lovely; as the murmur of Winds over, sands 'in the moonlight, and plays that, transported the reader to haunted, woods, to caverns of marvel, to hills of' deep dream. \ I never know, but I -always suspected his secret. In the writings of William Sharp'l found great talent, the talent of the accomplished critic, of the humorist, the keenly observant traveller, tho true nature lover, the perhaps .alinost, too realistic novelist.. Some' of his short stories were excolswift, powerful, biting.' His • Hives in Exile" I did not much care for, but it sent "a ripple' of laughter from one end of America to the other." His "Silence Farm" was striking, bad intensity : and drama, was true, I believe, to life, but was not'a book likely to live. In short, William Sharp gave his talent to the world..

"Fiona Maclood" save his Renins, why, then, should one. suspect tho secret of this man, who seems to liavo been two in one? Bccause of the. mail himself; the man who. talked till late into the night of tlio strangeness of I > 0 c 'l° under-things, of the mysteries of the woods, of the mystic mvstenes in the heart of man and of woman..

Oiifi day when I was walking with him t.iroiigh a lemoii-grovo at the edge of the lonian Sea, ho told mo a storv I l ß ' J low onco'lic was swimming in calm water near 0110 of "the Isles "■ and camo upon a female seal at rest, in the bosom of the deep. Ac ho drew near She woke looted at him, and sart down.in.tho sea. ■ 110 saw her calm eyes gazing „„ at him as -she disa»pcared. A\nen lie.had finished spoakiig I said to myself, "Surely I am with Fiona Maclcod." And many t, m °s after that day I believed with ™° na MaccolJ . ,vas - >" converse with me, was showing me something of the strange and beautiful mind and bpirit which wero only quite at their case in the secret da vs. I. never hinted to William Sharp that I suspected, his secret. ~ People have wondered why ho made Mich a mystery of Fiona Macleod's ldcntit 1 *: _havp Mimed him for not acknowledging <he truth. Possibly-fo,-he was a man full of fantasy and of merry but never unkind mischief—ho sometimes went rather far, and flunc up very large handfuls'of golden dust in the eyes of a curious world. But if .vou rend the works of Fiano Macleod ,iou will surely sec, as I did, that it would scarcely ho possible for a man well known. as a powerful • and searching critic, as a humorist, .as an almost ruthless realist, to continue giving such intimate and deeply spiritual revelations to a public that knew his secret. "William Sharp was "too strange a being to. give us the whole of his talent and genius with safety unless lie doned a mask and wrapped himself in a domino. And .he .was clover enough and deter-

mined enough to bo true to himself, to kiww it and to act oil his knowledge. J-ho averago, man or woman is afraid of uiiusual_ versatility, and is fnll of suspicion if confronted by a rnro combination. SJio turns down tho thumb whon tho fato of'a Whistler is in tho balance, fie puts on tho black cap when obliged 'to sit in judgment on an Ibson or a ■Meredith.-' "Givo us tho well-presented- and cleverly arranged ordinary!" is. tho instinctive cry of. tho average heart, "And if wo must -perforce have the extraordinary, at least lot us havo it unmixed with and undiluted by anything wo are accustomed to." They, fear lest they may fail to recognise and guard against danger, lest tho alarming stranger may slip into their intimacy in tho guiso of tho dear, dull, old friend who is always so eagerly welcomed,, and with whom they feel quito at home,! , Maclcod knew that she must not: knock at the door of. tho public 'with tho hand of William Sharp, unless she wished eventually to bo indignantly rent in twain. And I do not blame her.