WINNER OF THE NOBEL PRIZE.

Dominion, Volume 7, Issue 1650, 6 January 1914, Page 3

WINNER OF THE NOBEL PRIZE.

RABINDRA-NATH TAGORE,

THE GEEAT POET OF HEXGAL,

fßv EvixYN Ism\]

The .announcement that the Nobel Prize for literature has been awarded this .year .to Rabindra-nath Tagorc, the great poet of Bengal, will give intense, pleasure- to all those in America, in Europe, or in India, where the name is legion, who knpws his work, and will fortunately introduce him to thousands of people who have hitherto never heard his name,' but who will delight in his message- even moro than in the cx-fliiisit-e melody of his verse. It is safe t) prophesy that CJitanjali, or "The Soup-offering, , - , Iho book in which the Western world first knew him, will rival in popularity tho equally musical but subtly poisonous Eubaiyat. It is an admirable antidote.

"This is what is at tho bottom of every thinking man's heart, but made music of," wrote' Fitzgerald when ho had flum; Omar Khayyam's blank negations at an unthinking world. Tagore touches still deeper depths in the world's heart. He is tho poet for, whom the world -has loiir been waiting, the poet of common joy and above all or' mystic joy. Of negation lio knows 110thinjj; he is positivo riptht through, adding immeasurably to the richness of life. He has not shut his eyes to the pain and tragedy of the world. His friends tell you that he has known Rreat sorrow, Cut he brings to life Gomcthing bigijer than Hanloy's defiant courage, or Stevenson's gallant cheerfulness; it is a knowledge of God. He sings of the joy of daily common things, of colour, and light and laughter, of golden dust in the sunset, the flash of a bird's wing at noon, of labour aiid of rest, the perfume of flowers, the glimmer of lamps at dusk, the play of children on the sea beach, of the"supreme joy of the knowing God, of meeting Him on the highway, or finding Him in tho barley fields, of the ioy of tho pilgrim who fatigued with liis toilsome climb, lies down to sleep during tho mid-day heat and wakes to soo the God Whom lie sought, standing very near.

This is one of his songs :— "Lot all the strains of joy rcinglo in my last song—the joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that sots the twin brothers , life and death dancing over, the - wido world, tho joy r that sweeps in with the tempest,' shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its tears on tho epon red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word." ' Aiid again: "When I go from hence let this be mv parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted of the hidden honey of the lotus, tiiat expands on' the ocean of light, and thus am I blessed—let this be my parting word."

The name of Itabindra-nath Tagore has long'been a household word in India, where the peoplo sing his songs from shore to shore, and where ho is tho inspiration of the younger generation. A beautiful Indian woman told mo tho other day how all her life she. had longed to see tho great master. "From mv childhood,"' sho said, "I have adored him as a saint aiid that is how the people in Bengal generally regard him."

~. "Wo call this the epoch of Ba-bindra-natli Tagore," said a. Bengal doctor to ». B. Yeats, "he is the first of our saints who has not refused to live, but has spoken/ out of Life itself, and that is why we give him our loyc." He has not refused to live. As a young man he camo to England to study law, but soon realised that his vocation lay'elsewhere, and he returned to India to write- and set to music those songs which have been such a joy to his people. He has done other things, has "written dramas, novels, short tales, and essays on many subjects—religious, and critical. Ho hq.s been an active journalist, and was for a time editor of a ,niagazine; he has lectured in America and England—perhaps most important of aH—he has established a school, "The Abodo of-Peace," whero 200 boys recebc an education 'which i-> said to combine the best traditions of tho old Hindu system of teaching v.itli the hoaltiiiest aspects of modern methods. Near the school is a group of trees where Tagore's father,' a religious leader, known as tho Great Sago, used to sit and meditate.

Last year.few peoplo In England knew even tiie name of the Bengali poet, and Mr. W. B. Yeats was writing of tho delight ho had had in reading the manuscript of Gitanjali, the exquisite prose translation in which. Tagoro was about to introduce t<l England and America the songs which in the rhythm and lilt of their still more exquisite native Bengali had so long been suns in India arid Jiurma. • Ye.'its said then'that fie- carried the manuscript about with him for weeks, reading it,.in tho trains and <n top of buses, everywhere, but finding it sometimes a matter of difficulty, so poignantly did the beauty of the thought affect him. You will understand this if vou make the same experiment, for Itabindranath Tagore's is tho joy that lies very near to tears.

I. once met the poet. It is a statrmc'nt to mako with infinite nrido. as if 0110 should say, "lonco srr the Hhudda. cr met Hilton, <ir St. Francis cf Afissi." with ioy in the thought of the spirituality, the grandeur, and the lovenLlencs of those men, and.let it not be thought Ihat there- is profanity in Tagore's name with that of Blmddi. It is a common'saying of people who have jTict him, '.hit in nnpearunce ho suggests tlifiir idea of the Christ. :

•It was , at a reception at the Criterion Restaurant, whi-ro Indian Hwlonts from all parts of tho. United Kinednm lia.'l gathered to do honour to their Master, inviting many Loi'doners. distinguished in art, literature, and music, to sin re the privilege.. TliPro were Indian nobles, of high rank, members of conicil, prominent Englishmen who interest ihonifplvcs iii.tlis.welfarj of Indiaj w'ih hosts of young Indian students, and earnest, tlie hone of India, and among them all towered the'poet, fine and noble in appearance, as ho is tins and noble in expression, villi a massive head, ratherlike. Tennyson's. It was a remarkable gathering, and one liked- the setting, tho scene from tho windows overlooking Piccadilly Circus, crowded just then with people pouring out from **o matinees, tho rush of taxis, tlio roar of the scarlet niotorbuses, tho shouting of tho newsboys with their sensational posters, tho turbulent heart of London, and inside that largo room filled with a sunset'light, the man who' had brought into the turmoil of tho "Wcßtern World, hat! mado appropriate to tho spirit of tho busy, restless, assertivo civilisation something of, tho joy and. beauty that tho contemplative East has treasured for centuries, a iov and beauty, that will stand the wear and tea' of modem civilisation because they aro deep-rooted elemental. The guest'of honour at an Indian reception must bo garlanded, and Mrs. Sarojini Naiou, tho Hindu poetess, who lias written such exquisite verse, but who has dono still finer work in tho way of sparine for' the Indian students in Great Britain, and inspiring them with splendid ideals for their country, had been chosen by riyht to perform tho ceremony.; She is voune and very picturesque- in her.lndian costume, and she speake, as Yeats docs, with the

singing rhythm music of hur prosc:'%'-.\Vlieifs;-?sh}r s thrown around tlie.'-'" , po6t l wreath of crimson and , pink ros<s Avhu'.hf would have suited an Kiigliajinaiyfisj , )? ill she told us how sho had'eoiiiciStbi , rpyenl to the YVest .those , .tfcjotejf'iii'! spirituality which the JCast.'li'a'a'ijtron'H siired for centuries, and. tpll,|ii's;felpo te what an inspiration had . given to the iinliotiai iispiritjvul/ young India. It was all vernii'liurming;'mid still more charming wastlie. li!tk>j sceno later on when UobiidrnnatlfiTai; gore, a famous singer in lis yrmtlifsjjcfrj spbwled to tlio appeals of his, , young'disciples, .and' coaling Wmsclf piiithe.'. platform sang a little" TJdiau so)ig,' J .iiiw provising as ho sung. ' Itiat is llie.mem-"-pry I shall always , Iwvj) . oi ■■' him,* tho ; . seated figure, the n'oblo, beautiful head,' Hie .downcast eyes, aiid tlio slender, ■.] delicate hand moving: slowly ... to-' this j rhythm of thp song. ; '" .'': : '.;.;-, To the Eastern mind there is nothing strange in tho fact "that these po.eniSj. with their sjnglo theme, tho Jove oi God, miiicQ such n wide appeal. "In the East," snys Mrs.-'Nniou, "it is our constant thought.' TVo dwell on'tho thought of tbo Divine." Yes, but in the West? The. response to Tngors's cry makes one realise that ho has after all come, totho West to reveal to it its own 'secret of •. spiriUiolity, a_ greater mission even than that of which.Mrs. Naiou spoke. . ~'■■,..•■■ It is impossible to close this , brief notice without one or two more quotas tions, fragmentary quotations, still from Gitanjalj:— "Deliverance is not for mo in renunciation. 1 feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight." "Thou ever pourest for me tho fresh draught of thy wine of various colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim."

"No, I will never shut the doors of my Focuses. Tho delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thv delight." ■■ And this again from the mystic po«m of the King's visit, and tho search next day for traces of the royal lover:— ■

! 'I thought I should ask of thee—but I dared not—the rose wreath thou hadst. on thy neck. Thus* I waited' for the rooming, when thou did'st depart, to find a few fragments on the bed. . And like a beggar J. searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two. "Ah me, what is.jt"that I find? What token left of thy love? It is no flower, no spices, no vase of perfumed water, it is thv mighty sword, flashing as a. flame, lieavy as a bolt of thunder. ...

"I sit and muse in wonder: what gift is this of thine? I can find no place where to hide it. 1 am ashamed to wear it, frail as I am, and it hurts mo when I press it to my bosom. Vetshall I bear it in niy heart this honour of tho burden of pain, this gift of thine. "From now thcro shall bs no fear left foT me iii thp world, and thou shalt be victorious in all my strife. Thou hast left, death for my companion, and I shall crown him with my life. Thy sword i 3 with me to cut asunder my Ixmds, and thcro shall ba no fear left for me in the world." ' ■ ■'.:■■,;■■'

"Beautiful is thy wristlet, d?ckcd with starry gems; but thy sword, O Lord of Tlmndor, is wrought with uttermost beauty, terrible to behold or to think of."