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Maoriland Worker, Volume I, Issue 8, 20 April 1911, Page 7

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JAMES THOMSON (8.V.,

THE LAUREATE OF PESSIMISM.

"Chiaroscuros article in our issue of March _ 20th, on "Wellington in Two Moods." has brought us no feAver than nine requests for some information, regarding: the author of "The City of Dreadful Night referred to by '"Chiaroscuro," and enquiring- Avhere his works may be had. We Avill answer the la.st question first. We should fancy that th_ Avorks of James Thomson ~ (8.V.) could be had from any bookseller in the Dominion. We know seA-eral in 'Wellington who stock Bertram Dobell's three and sixpenny edition of "The City of Dreadful Night/ and for that price plus- postage, Aye Avill be pleated to mail the volume to any of our readers. James Thomson, the poet (referred to, in his better days, did valiantly tor tne secular and advanced movement at a time when the spirit of the British public Ava-s more conservative and much less tolerant than it is to-day toAvarus those tainted Avitli heterodoxy. Mc was one of the gallant band Avho in the pages of "The Liberal/* "The Secularist/ and "The National Reformer/ put in some splendid spade-Avork for the Socialist movement that was to be. But it is not of his opinions—political or theological—but of the story of his sad life, of which 1 here Avish to speak. James Thomson was born at Port Glasgow on November 23, 1834.. lie was the eldest of a family of three —two boys and a girl ; the girl died in infancy. VV'heu he was six years of age his father through dissipation became a helpless paralytic, and two years later ins moth<er died; thus at eight years age he was practically an orphan. lis was placed in the Caledonian Orphan Asylum, Avhere he reeeiA'ed an excellent education, and, having made up his nund to "become an army school master, Le applied and was admitted in lisoO as a monitor in the Royal Military Asylum, Chelsea. After a brief stay there, he Avas appointed assistant teacher to the garrison at Bailiiicoiiig, near Cork. There he was stationed for two a ears, and there he met Avith a young gi'iAvith Avhom he fell passionately in '.»ve. She Avas the daughter of an armourer-ser-geant and is said to have b> en n.t unlike the Eva of "'"Uncle Tom's Cal/n/' These two years were the happiest of his life. In 1853 he left Ireland and returned to Chelsea, entering Uia '.framing College to qualify himself xuiiy as a schoolmaster. He studied very hard, cheered on by the hope that js so„ii as he had gained an appointment he Avould be in a position to claim the hand of her whose heart he had already Avon, and who was more to him than life itself. Alas, his bright day-dream Avars destined never to be realised. One day a letter informed him that his darling Avas very ill, and next day news came that she was dead. The bioAV ay as more than his super-sensitive nature could beair. His nerves were completely shattered, and he tried to end his life. After a while, recovering- his equilibrium, he resumed his Avork, but not Avith his wooited zeal. The glory of his life had vanished. He had no bright future to look forward to now. The world seemed .a dismal Ava.ste, and he yearned for the time when the dreary routine of labour and life would cease. For this tiuue onward his .existence hardly could be called living. Nearly eight years after the death of his love he wrote of tier thus-. — Indeed, you set mc in a happy place. Dear for itself and dearer much for you, And dearer still for one life-croAvning grace—• Dearest, though infinitely saddest too: For there my own good angel took my hand. And filled my soul with glory of her eyes. And led mc through the love-lit Faerie L-nd Which joins our common world to Paradise. How soon! how soon God called her from my side. Back to her own celestial sphere of day; And ever since she ceased to be my gru.da I reel and stumble on life's solemn way. Ah, ever since her eyes withdrew their light, I wander lost in blackest, stormiest night. And, again, in "Vane's Story," which, by the way, is his autobiography somewhat idealised:— For thought retraced the long sad years Of pallid smiles and frozen tears Back to a certain festal night, A whirl and bia<ze of swift delight When we together danced . . . . Dressed in white, A loose pink sash around your waist, Low shoes across the instep laced. Your moon-white shoulders glancing; through. Long yellow ringlets dancing too — You were an angel then; as clean From earthy dust-speck, as serene And lovely, and beyond my love, As now in that far land above. If only they had "never met and never parted," it is more than probable Thomson Avould not now be known as the poet of pessimism par excellence. This soitoav not only "shaded" his "young days," but remained with him

all his life. He gave Avay to intemperance, and in 1862 Avas dismissed from his situation in the army. During the years which had passed since his great bereavement he had fostered his melancholy and strengthened and confirmed his pessimism by the study of the more morbid and gloomy of the poems of Leopardi, Heine, Shelley, etc., and his most ambitious efforts are profoundly sombre. Mr. PI. S. Salt, in his "Life of James Thomson (8.V.)/' says a pessimistic line of thought rums "like a dark thread across the Avhole ay eh of Thomson's philosophy." and that "'the sense of doom—mysterious, incalculable, immitigable—■ brood-.; darkly over his genius almost from the first." Occasionally, however, he would shake himself free of the pessimist and cynic., and sing in manly tones: — Let my voice ring out and over the earth. Through all the grief and strife, W'.th a "golden joy in a silA r er mirth : Thank God for Life! Let my voice s»well out through the great abyss To the azure dome above, "With a. chord of faith and a harp of bliss : Thank God for Love! Let my voice thrill out beneath and above, Tho whole world through: Oh. my Love and Life, Oh! my Life and Love, Thank God for you! And again, in "Sunday on Hampstead Heath" : On Sunday we slip our tether. And away from the smoke and the smirch; Too grateful to God for his Sabbath To shut its hours 1 in a church. Away to the green, green country. Under the open sky; Where the earth's sweet breath is incense And the lark sings psalms* on high. In 1873 he suffered severely from sunstroke, and henceforth he became leas and less temperate in the use of alcohol and opium. As the craAdng for stimulants grew upon him, his fits of melancholy recurred more frequently, until the end came. And now let us look at his literary career. His first printed poem, entitled "A Fadeless Bower," appeared in "Tait's Edinburgh Magazine" for July, 1858, and in the October number of the same year appeared "Four Stages in a Life." .Both of these poems bore the norn de guerre "Crepusculus.' During 1858-9 he contributed to the London Investigator" prose articles and poems, to Avhich were attached the initials "8.V." — i.e., Bysshe Vanolis (Novalis), a name adopted in honour o£ his tAVo favourite poets. In 1860 ho became a contributor to the "National Reformer," of AAdiich Charles Bradlaugh, whom he had met Avhile a soldier in Ireland, was editor ; and in 1862, Avhen he was discharged from the army, he was engaged as a clerk in the laAvyer's office AA'hich Bradlaugh managed. Subsequently lie became private secretary to Bradlaugh (in Avhose home he lived, and aalio treated him 'more as a brother than as an employee), and as secretary to various public companies. In connection with one of these companies he AA-ent to South America, a-s inspector cf some mining property. His next engagement AA r as Avith the New York "World," to go to Spain in 1873 as Spanish correspondent. His stay in Spain was brief ; suffering from sunstroke he returned to London. In 1874 Bradlaugh published his "City of Dreadful Night" in the columns of the "National Reformer/ and it immediately attracted the attention of George Eliot. George Meredith and other eminent authors, likewise receiving special notices from the "Academy" and ''Spectator." In 1875 his connection with Bradlaugh's paper ceased, and he joined the staff of "The Secularist" and "The Liberal," two lively advanced but short-lived periodicals. In the same year he was engaged to Avrite for "Cope's Tobacco Plant," AA'hich engagement lasted until the suspension of this publication in 1881. He also an occasional contributor to the "Daily Telegraph." "Athenaeum," "Fortnightly Review," "Fraser's Magazine," etc. It Avas not until 1880 that "The City of 'Dreadful Night" Avas published in book form, and it is probable Thomson Avould not have been able to do so even then, had it not been for the disinterested kindness of Mr. Bertram Dobell. "Vane's Story, Weddah, Om-el-Bonian and other poems," appeared during the same year, and in 1881 a volume of and Phantasies." He AA*as hailed now by the leading magazines as a poet of whom the world had not heard enough. Alas, their words of praise and encouragement had come too late! The poor poet for nineteen years had been struggling among them for even an obscure niche in the literary Valhalla of Modern Babylon, and this severe struggle, intensified by hope deferred and the tragedy of his youth,

doubtless did much to embitter him. He had become reckless in his use of liquor and drugs, and the following year (1882), after two days' illness, he died on the 3rd of June, and was buried in the Highgate Cemetery on the Bth. Among the friendships he had formed Avas that of Philip Bourke Marston. Mars-ton himself had had a melancholy career, as Aye may read in William Sharps's interesting memoir prefixed to a volume of Marston's prose and A r erse. More melancholy still, hoAvever, was that of James Thomson. How , that career ended is recorded by Mr. Sharpe thus : The public Avho are interested in that strange and sombre poem, "The City of Dreadful Night." know vaguely that James Thomson died in poverty and in some obscure fashion. Philip Marston. and myself Avere, if I am not mistaken, the last of his acquaintances who saw him alive. Thomson had suffered much misery, and such hopelessness, and he had yielded to intemperate habits, including a frequent excess in the use of opiuni. He had come back from a prolonged visit to the country, where all had been well with him, but through over-confidence he fell >a victim again immediately on his return. For a few weeks his record is almost blank. When the direst straits were reached, he so far re-conquered his control that he felt himself able to visit one whose sympathy and regard had withstood all tests. Thomson found Philip BourkeMarston alone; the latter soon realised that his friend was mentally distraught; and endured a harrowing experience, into the narration of which I do not care to enter. I arrived in the late afternoon, and found Marston in a state of nervous perturbation. Thomson was lying down on the bed in an adjoining room. Stooping, I caught his whispered words to the effect that he was dying, upon which I lit a match, and in the sudden glare beheld his white face on the blood-stained pilloAV. He had burst one or more blood-vessels, and the haemorrhage was dreadful. Some time had to elapse before anything could be done, but ultimately, with the help of a friend who came in opportunely, poor Thomson was carried doAvnstairs, and having been placed in a cab. was driven to the adjoniing University Hospital. He did not die that night, but when Philip Marston and I Avent to see him in the ward next day, he was perceptibly worse, and a feAV hours after our vis ; "t —when his fareAvell consisted of a startling prophecy, which came true — he passed away. Thus came to an end the saddest life -with which I ever have come in contact —sadder even than Philip Marston's, though his existence was oftentimes bitter enough to endure. Mr. W. M. Rossetti says he found James Thomson "to be a man free from pretention and self-assertion." And Mr I-T. S. Salt, in the work already referred to, says: "Few women were insensible to his quick, natural sympathy, delicate tact, and chivalrous . purity of heart; with children he v-as always and instantaneously a • favourite." "Q : f Mr--. genius," Avrites the Rev. J. W. Ebsworth, "true and strong, there can be no question among competent judges." So lived, so died, one of the most original if one of the most melancholy poets .of the nineteenth century.