FIRST VISIT TO AMERICA

In the Spring of 1889 the Chair of Literature at University College, London, became vacant on the death of Professor Henry Morley; and many of William Sharp’s friends urged him to stand for election. He was of two minds on the subject. His inclinations were against work of the kind, for, temperamentally, he had difficulty in regulating his life in accordance with strict routine. Born, as he would say, with the wandering wave in his blood, the fixed and the inevitable were antipathetic to him. He was, however, awake to the material importance of such a post, to the advantages of a steady income. Had he had himself only to consider he would not have given the proposal a thought; but he believed it to be his duty to attempt to secure the post for his wife’s sake, though she was not of that opinion. Among the many friends who advocated his election were Robert Browning, George Meredith, Walter Pater, Theodore Watts Dunton, Alfred Austin, Dr. Richard Garnett, Prof. Minto, Hall Caine, Sir George Douglas, Aubrey De Vere, Mrs. Augusta Webster. When, however, the date of election drew near, he consulted his doctor and withdrew his candidature. The question, to him, had all along been one of security of means versus freedom of action; and having done his duty in the matter, his relief was great that the decision left him in possession of his freedom.

For some time William Sharp had contemplated a visit to the United States, where he was well known as poet and critic, and had many friendly correspondents. So he considered the moment to be opportune. He decided to go; although he was forbidden to lecture in America, and very opportunely our friend Mrs. Caird asked me to accompany her to Austria—to the Sun-cure at Veldes in the Carpathian Alps. She and I were the first to leave, and eventually, my husband after his return from America joined me at Cologne and accompanied me home.

Meanwhile he made his preparations for a visit to Canada and New York, and just before starting paid a flying visit to Mr. George Meredith who had written to him:

Box Hill, July 15, 1889.

Dear Mr. Sharp,

This would have been headed to your wife, but for the chances of her flying, and the letter after her. Tell her we are grieved to lose the pleasure her company would give, and trust to welcome her on her return. When she looks on Tyrol, let her strain an eye to see my heart on the topmost peak. We hope for your coming on Saturday.

Yours very truly,

George Meredith.

He looked forward to his American tour with keen delight. New experiences were ever alluring; he had the power of throwing himself heart and soul into every fresh enjoyment. Going by himself seemed to promise chances of complete recovery of health; the unexplored and the unknown beckoned to him with promise of excitement and adventure.

As he wrote to Mr. Stedman: “I am a student of much else besides literature. Life in all its manifestations is of passionate interest for me, and I cannot rest from incessant study and writing. Yet I feel that I am but on the threshold of my literary life. I have a life-time of ambitious schemes before me; I may perhaps live to fulfil a tenth part of them.”

Mid-August found him in Canada. Fine as he considered the approach to Nova Scotia, Newfoundland impressed him more. At Halifax he was the guest of the Attorney General. He wrote to me “Mr. and Mrs. Longley were most kind, and so were all the many leading people to whom I was introduced. I was taken to the annual match of the Quoit Club, and was asked to present the Cup to the winner at the close, with a few words if I felt disposed. Partly from being so taken aback, partly from pleased excitement, and partly from despair, I lost all nervousness and made a short and (what I find was considered) humourous speech, so slowly and coolly spoken that I greatly admired it myself!”

At Halifax, which he considered “worth a dozen of the Newfoundland capital,” he was met by Professor Charles Roberts who had come “to intercept me so as to go off with him for a few days in Northern Scotia and across the Straits to Prince Edward Island. So, a few days later Prof. Roberts and I, accompanied for the first 100 miles by Mr. Longley, started for Pictou, which we reached after 5 hours most interesting journey. The Attorney General has kindly asked me to go a three days’ trip with him (some 10 days hence) through the famous Cape Breton district, with the lovely Bras D’Or lakes: and later on he has arranged for a three days’ moose-hunt among the forests of Southern Acadia, where we shall camp out in tents, and be rowed by Indian guides.”

New Glasgow delighted him; he visited Windsor and Halifax: “I went with Charles Roberts and Bliss Carman through Evangeline’s country. En route I travelled on the engine of the train and enjoyed the experience. Grand PrÉ delighted me immensely—vast meadows, with lumbering wains and the simple old Acadian life. The orchards were in their glory—and the apples delicious! At one farm house we put up, how you would have enjoyed our lunch of sweet milk hot cakes, great bowls of huckleberries and cream, tea, apples, etc.! We then went through the forest belt and came upon the great ocean inlet known as the “basin of Minas,” and, leagues away the vast bulk of Blomidon shelving bough-like into the Sea....”

To E. A. S.:

(On the St. Lawrence),

12th Sept.

To-day has been a momentous birthday on the whole—and none the less so because I have been alone and, what is to me an infinite relief, quite unknown. I told no one about my Saguenay expedition till the last moment—and so there is nothing definite about me in the papers save that I “abruptly left St. John” (the capital of New Brunswick) and that I am to arrive in Quebec to-morrow. I sent you a card from RiviÈre du Loup, the northernmost township of the old Acadians, and a delightful place. I reached it early from Temiscouata (the Lake of Winding Water)—a journey of extreme interest and beauty, through a wild and as yet unsettled country. The track has only been open this summer. Before I reached its other end (the junction of the St. John river with the Madawaska) I was heartily sick of New Brunswick, with its oven-like heat, its vast monotonous forests with leagues upon leagues of dead and dying trees, and its all present forest-fires. The latter have caused widespread disaster.... Several times we were scorched by the flames, but a few yards away—and had “to rush” several places. But once in the province of Quebec, and everything changed. The fires (save small desultory ones) disappeared: the pall of smoke lightened and vanished: and the glorious September foliage made a happy contrast to the wearisome hundreds of miles of decayed and decaying firs. It was a most glorious sunset—one of the grandest I have ever seen—and the colour of the vast Laurentian Mountain range, on the north side of the St. Lawrence, superb. It was dark when we reached the mouth of the Saguenay River—said to be the gloomiest and most awe-inspiring river in the world—and began our sail of close upon a hundred miles (it can be followed by canoes for a greater length than Great Britain). The full moon came up, and the scene was grand and solemn beyond words. Fancy fifty miles of sheer mountains, one after another without a valley-break, but simply cleft ravines. The deep gloom as we slowly sailed through the noiseless shadow brooding between Cape Eternity and Cape Trinity was indescribable. We anchored for some hours in “Ha! Ha! Bay,” the famous landing place of the old discoverers. In the early morning we sailed out from Ha! Ha! Bay, and then for hours sailed down such scenery as I have never seen before and never expect to see again.... At Quebec I am first to be the guest of the well-known Dr. Stewart, and then of Mons. Le Moine at his beautiful place out near the Indian Village of Lorette and the Falls of Montmorenci—not far from the famous Plain of Abraham, where Wolfe and Montcalm fought, and an Empire lay in balance.

In New York, William was the guest of Mr. and Mrs. E. C. Stedman at 44 East 26th Street, whence he wrote to me:

“ ... So much has happened since I wrote to you from Montreal that I don’t see how I’m to tell you more than a fraction of it—particularly as I am seldom alone even for five minutes. Last week I left Montreal (after having shot the rapids, etc.) and travelled to Boston via the White Mountains, through the States of Vermont, Connecticut and Massachusetts. Boston is a beautiful place—an exceedingly fine city with lovely environs. Prof. A. S. Hardy (’Passe Rose,’ etc.) was most kind.... Cambridge and Harvard University, are also very fine. I enjoyed seeing Longfellow’s house (Miss L. still occupies it) and those of Emerson, Lowell, etc. I spent brief visits to Prof. Wright of Harvard, to Winsor the historian, etc. On Sunday afternoon I drove with A. S. H. to Belmont in Massachusetts, and spent afternoon with Howells, the novelist. He was most interesting and genial—I had the best of welcomes from the Stedmans. They are kindness personified. The house is lovely, and full of beautiful things and multitudes of books. I have already more invitations than I can accept: every one is most hospitable. I have already met Mr. Gilder, the poet, and editor of the ‘Century’; Mr. Alden of ‘Harpers’; Mr. Bowen, of the ‘Independent’; R. H. Stoddart, the ‘father’ of recent American letters; and heaven knows how many others. I have been elected honorary member of the two most exclusive clubs in N. Y., the ‘Century’ and ‘The Players,’ Next week there is to be a special meeting at the Author’s Club, and I am to be the guest of the evening....”

New York, 1:10:89.

“Can only send you a brief line by this mail. I enjoyed my visit to Mr. Alden at Metuchen in New Jersey very much. Among the new friends I care most for are a married couple called Janvier. They are true Bohemians and most delightful. He is a writer and she an artist ... and both have travelled much in Mexico. We dined together at a Cuban CafÉ last night. He gave me his vol. of stories called ‘Colour Studies’ and she a little sketch of a Mexican haunted house—both addressed to ‘William Sharp. Recuerdo di Amistad y carimo.’”

On leaving New York he wrote to his kind host:

Oct. 8, 1889.

My dear Stedman,

Farewell, meanwhile,

Ever your affectionate,

William Sharp.

This note drew from the American poet the following reply:

My dear Sharp,

Affectionately your friend,

Edmund C. Stedman.

On our return to Hampstead we resumed our Sunday evening gatherings, and among other frequenters came Mr. and Mrs. Henry Harland, with an introduction from Mr. W. D. Howells. From Mr. George Meredith came a charming welcome home.

Box Hill (Dorking),

Nov. 22, 1889.

My dear Sharp,

Yours warmly,

George Meredith.

We went. As we walked across the fields to the cottage Mr. Meredith came through his garden gate to meet us, raised high his hat and voiced a welcome, “Hail daughter of the Sun!”