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There is no ginabout; no strong tobacco; no puns, drunkenness, or
insanity.
But, however much they differ individually, the Victorian
essayistsyet had something in common. For some years, then, it was Marlow who
was the dominant partner.
Nor did Marlow live entirelywreathed in the smoke of
his own cigars. Nor did Marlow live entirelywreathed in the smoke of his own
cigars.
That is the explanation; that is why they differ. A most discreet,
understanding man, he said ofMarlow.
Marlow was one of those born observers who
are happiest inretirement.
After a rapidsurvey both critics are agreed that
there is unfortunately no suchperson.
The ingot is so small, the manipulation
so incessant.
A book could take that blow, but it sinks an essay. He was
himself, simply and directly,and himself he has remained.
He wasread with
passionate delight by some; others he left cold andlustreless.
He has not
mouldedfirm periods or seduced our ears with intricate cadences andstrange
melodies.
But, however much they differ individually, the Victorian
essayistsyet had something in common. He wasaffected by private joys and
sorrows, and had no gospel to preachand no learning to impart. Belloc at a
rough computation produces threehundred and sixty-five. The temptation to
decorate is great wherethe theme may be of the slightest.
But in this more
crowded and complicated worldsuch terse phrases became less and less
appropriate. To praisetheir silence one must possess a voice. Beerbohm,knowing
that, come September or May, we shall sit down with themand talk. That is the
penalty which the habitual essayist mustnow be prepared to face.
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