University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD their folly; they went to Paris and thence to London where they settled themselves. Some of the experiences of those earlier days are divertingly parodied in a play entitled: The Light Sovereign. The Light Sovereign was published in 1889 and was afterwards elaborated into a farcical Comedy in collaboration with Mr. Hubert Crackan- thorpe. But as a Comedy, it was never produced, although Balkan plays and Balkan tales it has suggested to a whole tribe of playwrights and novelists. From 1889, desultorily, in the English Reviews, began to appear stories which were collected and published afterwards by Mr. Heinemann, under the title of Mademoiselle Miss. The stories are re- markable for their humour, their tender presentment of human nature in its less usual and obvious aspects. This book attracted a good deal of attention. Grey Roses followed Madetnoiselle Miss; and after Grey Roses came Come- dies and Errors. The short story, (more ' s the pity) is rarely in book form a success in English-speaking lands. But Grey Roses and Comedies and Errors had the good fortune to capti- vate both the critics and the public. The critics recognized in them Gems of the literary art by the hand of a master, and Mr. Henry James wrote an article about them in The Fortnightly Review and Mr. William Courtney wrote another, I believe in 77 ,? Contem- porary. By this time Mr. Harland ' s house in London had become the centre of an in- teresting group of litterateurs, a brilliant coterie of men and women artists. Letters, music, black and white work, were undergoing a sea-change in Eng- land, a quiet revival; lo! the sound of the turtle was heard in the land. Through The Yellow Book, the move- ment found expression at last; it actual- ly rose to a Renaissance and thus the intrinsic spirit of Art came afresh and for a while, into its own. ' ' How I Passed Thirty-Six Hours in a Boiler! ' ' One had grown so weary of the story, of which one knows the type. As to Black and White Work! A Royal Academy picture translated into terms of photograviug would give a fair exam- ple of its commonplaceness, its banality. Yet from Oxford, from Cambridge, from London, from Glasgow, men came, men who had things to say, things to do, of an original sort; whose vision included far more of life and of its wonders than the rehearsal of the tale: How I Passed Thirty-six Hours in a Boiler, — or a rep- resentation manifold of The Cotter ' s Sat- urday Night sort of picture. It was in truth, then, I make no doubt, very much as it is now, — the Editor of the average Magazine was a timid person; he saw evil everywhere and safety only in Matrimony. Caution prompted him for the most part to print nothing with the slightest touch of individuality, unless indeed, it had pre- viously been sifted and declared wheat, by an audience outside of his dominion. In fact courage was denied him, and he was and is still, — always for the safe side. But on the other hand, those unknown artist-watchers of the skies were in the

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THE REDWOOD perament and humor and keen intelli- gence, Henry Harland threw himself in- to the sport of the artist ' s life here; and as he was fortified with letters of intro- duction, be saw, too, much of the best Roman Society, Black and White; when he returned to America, in 1883, still scarcely more than a lad, he had found himself. Wholly — in mind and heart, — Harland was a Catholic and he was an artist. However, he did not then make his obedience to the Catholic Church for he had fallen in love with a young girl who like himself was of New England stock, but in whom had been noarished a violent prejudice against the Catholic faith. The young people were married a year after Harland ' s return from Europe. II Henry Harland ' s sensitive and re- sponsive mind was teeming with im- pressions. All his genius spoke in the direction of literature and in order to write he adopted the plan of rising at 4 A. M. and on a brew of coffee, of setting to work until eight. At nine he was at his OflBce in the Surrogates ' Court of the City of New York. He had, before his marriage, made the ac- quaintance of a young Jew, a member of Mr. Felix Adler ' s Ethical Culture Society, and as the acquaintance grew into a friendship everything Jewish be- came of interest to Henry Harland, who was nothing if not whole-souled in his attachments. The Jewish element of New York appealed to his imagina- tion, perpetually athirst for picturesque material; he saturated himself with the romantic traditions of the Jewish race and weaving together its past ar.d pre- sent wrote his first novel: As It Was Written; A Jewish Musician ' s Story. The poet critic, Mr. Clarence Stedman, was Henry Harland ' s godfather. De- lighted with the finished Ms. when it was put in his hands, he took charge of placing it with a publisher. The novel appeared,— -proved one of the successes of the season and brought the young man more demands for his work than he could possibly meet, so that he felt justified in giving up his post in the Civil Service, an exhausting one, — and in devoting himself absolutely to literary life. Mrs. Peixada and The Yoke Of The Thorah succeded As It Was Written. The three novels form a sort of Jewish trilogy, which afterwards Harland was wont gaily to term: Mes peches de jeu- nesse, for they did not meet at all with his artistic approval. They are, and notwithstanding this, very vivid, humourous, and in the case of hero and heroine, profoundly tragic studies, of the New York Jewish world and its problems, in the eighties; and it has been said of them that in their broad lines, their vigor and hardihood of treatmen t, they suggest a type of talent similiar to that of Rodin, the French Sculptor. Ill The young couple in 1887 had the wisdom of their genius, their youth and

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THE REDWOOD position of the astronomer alone on his tower; not an eye to see but his own. . . . Ho! for an eye, or an ear — and for an outlet through which the world cou ' id be made beneficiary of this artistic impulse, this vision of beauty of the day! That wish had long held sweet private sessions in Henry Har- land ' s thoughts. He was himself a leader, he was himself a watcher of the skies — and he dreamed of a suitable Magazine vN-hence the fine work might be seen and be appreciated. One foggy New Year ' s afternoon a little luncheon party had gathered at the Harlands ' . It numbered among its guests Mr. Aubrey Beardsk;y, destined soon to become the modern Hogarth, but, at that time a man almost unknown. The talk fell of course upon the idea uppermost in Harland ' s mind: The founding of a new English Quarterly, where Letters, where Black and White Art might enter into their own. Aubrey Beardsley was a lad of twenty then — a poet in his work. He had the sense of design and of beautiful line to the ends of his fingers. He died, alas, at the age of twenty-four. But he died a Catholic and he lived to found a school of Black and White Art. He laughed at vice, he hated it, and like Hogarth, exposed it; maliciously, with his tongue in his cheek. But his malice was the malice of genius; bis wit found expression in the persiflage of hidden vices, in line, and in the color hidden in the juxtaposition of Black and White. Aubrey Beardsley ' s art has found many imitators but no one has ever yet approached him either in creative quality or in the beauty and fineness and wit of his execution. But to return to the incipient Quarterly. Young Beardsley responded with gusto to Harland ' s suggestions. ' ' Quand on est jeune o?i va vite en besogne, says the French proverb, and not a moment was lost. There and then, both artists plunged into the practical consideration of detail incident to the proposed publi- cation. Books from the study, brought into the gay pink drawing-room with its Persian carpets, its pictures and its old furniture, were called in consultation; new or rare editions were studied, were discarded, — for a hint, for a suggestion. As a mere piece of bookmaking the Quarterly must be on a par, too, with the quality, the artistic virtue of its pages. What title should one give to so great, so splendid a venture? A daring, fetching title! A title that should, laughing, win in the fight against oppos- ing forces; those solemn forces, those principalities and powers of suspicious dullness, in a blinking world. The frolic of the hour inspired Beardsley, who proposed: The Yellow Book. This title, its appositeness and humour, struck all the young contingent and it was decided to cling to it until a better one was found. But the next business, less easy, was to get a Publisher. Yet to his honor be it declared, Mr. John L,ane had the wisdom and enterprise to see his oppor- tunity, which a few days later came to him in the plan for the New Quarterly.