Shelley

n the case of most great writers our interest in them as persons is derived

from out interest in them as writers; we are not very curious about them

except for reasons that have something to do with their art. With Shelley it is

different. During his life he aroused fears and hatreds, loves and adorations,

that were quite irrelevant to literature; and even now, when he has become

a classic, he still causes excitement as a man. His lovers are as vehement as

ever. For them he is the "banner of freedom," which,

"Torn but flying, Streams like a thunder-cloud against the wind."

He has suffered that worst indignity of canonisation as a being saintly and

superhuman, not subject to the morality of ordinary mortals. He has been

bedaubed with pathos. Nevertheless it is possible still to recognise in him

one of the most engaging personalities that ever lived. What is the secret

of this charm? He had many characteristics that belong to the most tire-

some natures; he even had the qualities of the man as to whom one wonders

whether partial insanity may not be his best excuse-inconstancy expressing

3 SYDNEY WATERLOW

itself in hysterical revulsions of feeling, complete lack of balance, proneness

to act recklessly to the hurt of others. Yet he was loved and respected by con-

temporaries of tastes very different from his own, who were good judges and

intolerant of bores-by Byron, who was apt to care little for any one, least of

all for poets, except himself; by Peacock, who poured laughter on all enthu-

siasms; and by Hogg, who, though slightly eccentric, was a Tory eccentric.

The fact is that, with all his defects, he had two qualities which, combined,

are so attractive that there is scarcely anything they will not redeem-perfect

sincerity without a thought of self, and vivid emotional force. All his faults

as well as his virtues were, moreover, derived from a certain strong feeling,

coloured in a peculiar way which will be explained in what follows-a sort of

ardour of universal benevolence. One of his letters ends with these words:

"Affectionate love to and from all. This ought to be not only the vale of a let-

ter, but a superscription over the gate of life"-words which, expressing not

merely Shelley's opinion of what ought to be, but what he actually felt, reveal

the ultimate reason why he is still loved, and the reason, too, why he has so

often been idealised. For this universal benevolence is a thing which appeals

to men almost with the force of divinity, still carrying, even when mutilated

and obscured by frailties, some suggestion of St. Francis or of Christ.

The object of these pages is not to idealise either his life, his character, or

his works. The three are inseparably connected, and to understand one we

must understand all. The reason is that Shelley is one of the most subjective

of writers. It would be hard to name a poet who has kept his art more free

from all taint of representation of the real, making it nor an instrument for

creating something life-like, but a more and more intimate echo or emana-

tion of his own spirit. In studying his writings we shall see how they flow