Complete Works

Impressionist.  He is far too earnest in his heart, and not half sufficiently precise in his style to be that.  But he is an excellent narrator.  More than any Vagabond I have ever met, he knows what he is about.  There is not one of his quiet days which is dull.  You will find in them a love-story not made up, the coup-de-foudre , the lightning-stroke of Spanish love; and you will marvel how a spell so sudden and vehement can be at the same time so tragically delicate.  You will find there landladies devoured with jealousy, astute housekeepers, delightful boys, wise peasants, touchy shopkeepers, all the cosas de España — and, in addition, the pale girl Rosario.  I recommend that pathetic and silent victim of fate to your benevolent compassion.  You will find in his pages the humours of starving workers of the soil, the vision among the mountains of an exulting mad spirit in a mighty body, and many other visions worthy of attention.  And they are exact visions, for this idealist is no visionary.  He is in sympathy with suffering mankind, and has a grasp on real human affairs.  I mean the great and pitiful affairs concerned with bread, love, and the obscure, unexpressed needs which drive great crowds to prayer in the holy places of the earth.
    But I like his conception of what a “quiet” life is like!  His quiet days require no fewer than forty-two of the forty-nine provinces of Spain to take their ease in.  For his unquiet days, I presume, the seven — or is it nine? — crystal spheres of Alexandrian cosmogony would afford, but a wretchedly straitened space.  A most unconventional thing is his notion of quietness.  One would take it as a joke; only that, perchance, to the author of Quiet Days in Spain all days may seem quiet, because, a courageous convert, he is now at peace with himself.
    How better can we take leave of this interesting Vagabond than with the road salutation of passing wayfarers: “And on you be peace! . . . You have chosen your ideal, and it is a good choice.  There’s nothing like giving up one’s life to an unselfish passion.  Let the rich and the powerful of this globe preach their sound gospel of palpable progress.  The part of the ideal you embrace is the better one, if only in its illusions.  No great passion can be barren.  May a world of gracious and poignant images attend the lofty solitude of your renunciation!”
     

THE LIFE BEYOND — 1910
     
    You have no doubt noticed that certain books produce a sort of physical effect on one — mostly an audible effect.  I am not alluding here to Blue books or to books of statistics.  The effect of these is simply exasperating and no more.  No! the books I have in mind are just the common books of commerce you and I read when we have five minutes to spare, the usual hired books published by ordinary publishers, printed by ordinary printers, and censored (when they happen to be novels) by the usual circulating libraries, the guardians of our firesides, whose names are household words within the four seas.
    To see the fair and the brave of this free country surrendering themselves with unbounded trust to the direction of the circulating libraries is very touching.  It is even, in a sense, a beautiful spectacle, because, as you know, humility is a rare and fragrant virtue; and what can be more humble than to surrender your morals and your intellect to the judgment of one of your tradesmen?  I suppose that there are some very perfect people who allow the Army and Navy Stores to censor their diet.  So much merit, however, I imagine, is not frequently met with here below.  The flesh, alas! is weak, and — from a certain point of view — so important!
    A superficial person might be rendered miserable by the simple question: What would become of us if the circulating libraries ceased to exist?  It is a horrid and almost indelicate supposition, but let us be brave and face the truth.  On this earth of ours nothing lasts.  Tout passe, tout casse, tout lasse .  Imagine the utter wreck overtaking the morals of our beautiful country-houses should the circulating libraries suddenly die!  But pray do not shudder.  There is no occasion.
    Their spirit shall survive.  I declare this from inward conviction, and also from scientific information received lately.  For observe: the circulating libraries are human institutions.  I beg you to follow me closely.  They are human institutions, and being human, they are not