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    THOMAS DE gUrNTck ^ - ^^^ - ^ SeU oS ^ Tnff ^ f ^ ? t * W « Mislt 4 ? f 4 U ^ Ued . By Thomas do Quincey . Vol . I . Autobiographic Sketches . ' " \ ^ ;¦ ' ^ : (? roombridge and Sons . Thomas de Quincey we hold to be the greatest of English prose writers . We are not in the habit of making such assertions lightly , and will presently endeavour to limit the sense of the phrase to such precision as will correspond with our full meaning ;• but at the outset we strike the key-note of admiration , and beg the reader to consider that all our remarks are made in reference to the very highest standards , such as the commanding : excellence of De Quincey ' s writing claims from all . It may not be unnecessary to add , that we have no personal bias whatever , except such bias as may arise from , a friendship formed during some years of delighted intercourse with his writings ; a bias which is , in itself , a criticism , since whence did this feeling grow , but out of the very excellence of those writings P

    There is something paradoxical in this announcement of a great writer , and the sort of apology for calling him one , which is not without its significance , and will lead to an explanation of the fact that De Quincey , although bearing " a charmed name" to mo 3 t literary men , and having also his passionate admirers , is not popular in any degree commensurate with the splendour of his attainments ^ and the popular nature of his style . He has no commanding position in English Literature . He fills but small space in the public estimation . He is scarcely known to foreigners . With a style such as no Englishman ever equalled , . with enormous learning—enormous in its extent and curiosity—with unusual power of severe and subtle thinking , with taste the most delicate and

    catholic , De Quincey has little influence on his age : is the centre of no circle . Like Landor , in this , as in some other respects , he has talents no one can deny , with a deficiency which frustrates all adequate success . At his birth the fairies endowed him with the most splendid gifts ; there was one present ^ however , whose gift was a curse . They gave him an Intellect , magnificently equipped ; she made it a vacillating Intellect , by endowing him with Irresolution , that great anarchist of Life ! The " English Opium-Eater" has long been his designation , and the most significant that could be applied to him . It may be a question , whether the weakness of will which unhappily characterizes him were primarily owing to indulgence in opium , or whether the indulgence in opium were not the consequence of organic weakness , of a will incapable of resisting temptation ; but there can be no question , we think , in the

    mind of any philosophic inquirer examining De Quincey ' s writings , as to the fact of their main abiding deficiency arising from the want of coordinating power , central control , intellectual volition . He wants the power to make the suggestions of the moment obey his forecast intention , and subserve the purpose of his writing ; the crowding suggestions of an active mind hurry him along with them , control him , and submerge the original purpose of his writing under a mass of digressions—beautiful , indeed , and endlessly delightful—but utterly misplaced . Hence , his writings are as purposeless as dreams . They are reveries , outpourings , improvisations ; they are not works . He modulates and weaves together fragments of divinest song ; but he gives us no symphony . His light is that of a dancing will-o ' -wisp , not the steady throbbing of a star by which men shape their course . The dreams of an opium-eater of genius—that might stand for a definition of his writings .

    It is not power of Thought he is deficient in , but power of Will ; a distinction all writers and artists can understand . We indicate the point , we must not dwell on it ; the reader will easily verify it by reference to the writings , and will thereby understand how these transcendant abilities have created no commensurate reputation , how thi 3 laborious intellect has completed no work . But having thus assigned the cause of what must bo regarded as the comparative failure of I ) c Quincey , let us briefly indicate tho qualities whi « h make precious in our eyes the republication of hia scattered articles into something of a systematic shape . A ¦ - »• 1 •» i *¦*• ! fr A 1 » f "" 1 j 1 _ 1 " __ f- . 1 the of Academeamid the hih and

    * A studious life—spent in " groves , " g subtle problems of philosophy and poetry , tho graces and amenities oi scholarship and lighter literature—has furnished abundant materials for his fino and subtle intellect to work upon . Accordingly , in Do Quincey ' s most careless papers you detect the strength of a strong mind . Gleams come up from deep central fires ; lights flash across tho page from distant horizons . You feel that ho who is speaking to you has suffered much , meditated , contemplated , reasoned ; you feel , moreover , in presence of a . mind always lofty , always aspiring , capable of taking broad vieww of life as well as piercing glances at narrow details , and sympathizing only with what is healthy , noble , moral . Paradoxes there arc , and many exaggerations both of feeling and expression ; opinions , too , which seem oftentimes mere caprices , and sometimes playful impertinences ; but never : i sentence which lowers your esteem . You feel tho writer growing to be youv friend .

    -So much for tho spirit ,- then as to miitior , although tho writings are provokingly fragmentary—digression swooping out of digression , thought chasing thought , till patience becomes exhausted—yet are there so many iino suggestions , criticisms , distinctions , bils of erudite pleasantry and p leasant erudition , ho many personal sketches and clmnictoristicn enriching the pages , that fow can resist tho fuHcinatiqn of u " work confessedly rambling , and whoso very duty lies in tho plettsunt paths of vagrancy . " Even in his JAXjic of Political Economy , where severer composition whh imperiously demanded , wo almost forgave tho vibrancy for tho sake of its erratic pleasantness . To ask Do Quincey to Mfe ^ p to his text , would bo us idlo as to ask the dreamer not ; to allow tftti ; shilling combinations of thought to transport the pageant from scene to Vceno , wit ] h no other guido thaiAho suggestion of each rising imago .

    But the grout and crowning glory of De Quincey in that mastery over tho English language which made uh tovah him tho grouioHt of proso writers . Since tho English language has heoh written wo know of nothing comparable to his Htylo in sp lendour , varioifpoiwe , idiomatic richness andaraco—in " nil tho qualities of Stylo considered , purely » w Form , and without rcforenco to Composition . If any 0116 desires to hoc what our

    anguage is capable of , let him study De Quincey . Style—by which most men understand a trick , such as the Johnsonian or Macaulayan—should vary with the varying impulses of the subject ; grave , stately , and sustained , when expressing solemn and imperial thoughts v light and carelessly graceful when playing with the subject ; brief , ; clear and unadorned when setting forth propositions or deducing conclusions - plain and business-like when dealing with indispensable but uninteresting details . Be Quincey ' s style is all this ; it is moro than this , it ia the most passionately eloquent , the most thoroughly poetical prose our language has produced , the organ-like grandeur and variety of its cadence affecting the mind as only perfect verse affects it . We have on more * aii one oceasupquofed examples ; we must find space for a few more . ¦ _ : >^ r Let us commence with the opening passage of this volume f— ¦¦

    " About the close of my sixth year , suddenly the first chapter of my Me came to a violent termination ; that chapter which , even within tho gates of recovered Paradise , might merit a remembrance . ' Life is finished V was tile secret mfflfc wivino- of my heart ; for the heart of infancy is as apprehensive as that of mature ^ wisdom in relation to any capital wound inflicted on the happiness . Life ts finished ' Finished it is 1 ' was the hidden meaning that , half unconsciously to myself , lurked within my sighs ; and , as bells heard from a distance on a summer evening seem charged at times with an articulate form of words , some monitory message , that rolls round unceasingly , even so for me some noiseless and subterraneous voice seemed to chant continually a secret word , made audible only to my own heart—that ' now is the blossoming of life withered for ever . '" What does that want to make it a poem ? We will now quote some passages from the marvellous , dreamlike - narrative of the death of . his beloved sister . Pray note the grave cadence , charged with a sadness quite biblical , of the sentence in italics : —

    " From that time she sickened . In such circumstances , a child , as young as myself , feels no anxieties . Looking upon medical men as people privileged , and naturally commissioned , to make war upon pain and sickness , I never , had a misgiving about the result . 1 grieved , indeed , that my sister should \\ % in bed ; ( I grieved still more to hear her moan . But all this appeared to me no more than as a night of trouble , on which the dawn would soon arise . O ! moment of d * a * ness and delirium , when the elder nurse awakened me from that deluskap , || j

    launched God ' s thunderbolt at my heart in the assurance that my sister K ljgnj » Rightly it is said of utter , wtter misery , that it ' cannot be remembered / rgBM / m as a rememberable thing , is swallowed up in its own chaos . Wank annrcfif ^ d confusion of mind fell upon me . Deaf mid blind I was , as I reeled under the revelation . I wish not to recal the circumstances of that time , when my agony was at its height , and hers , in another sense , was approaching . Enougfelt is to say , that all was soon over ; and the morning of thai day had at last arrived which looked ' down upon her innocent face , sleeping the sleep from tohich there is no awaking , and upon me sorrowing the sorrow for which there ts no

    consolation . . " On the day after my sister ' s death , whilst the sweet temple of her brain was yet unviolated by human scrutiny , I formed my own scheme for seeing her once more . Not for the world would * I have made tins known , nor have suffered a witness to accompany me . I had never , heard of feelings that take the name of sentimental , ' nor ' dreamed of such a possibility . But grief , even in a child , hates the light , and shrinks from human eyes . The house was large enough to have two staircases ; and by one of these I knew that about mid-day , when all would be quiet ( for the servants dined at one o ' clock ) , I could steal up into her chamber . I imagine that it was about an hour after high noon when I reached the chamber

    door f it was locked but the'key was not taken away . Entering , I closed the door so softly , that although it opened upon a hall which ascended through all tho storeys / no echo ran along the silent walls . Then , turning round , I sought my Bister ' s face . But the bed had been moved , and the back was now tinned towards myself . Nothing met my eyes but one lnrgc window , wide open , through which the ? un of midsuinmer at mid-day was showering down torrents of splendour . I ho weather was dry , the sky was cloudless , the blue depths seemed to express types ot infinity ; and it ' wan not possible for eyes to behold , or for heart to conceive , any symbols more pathetic of life and the glory of life . "

    Here , as usual , he interrupts the flow of thought , and suffers emotion to subside , by introducing a digression ( containing digressions of course ; to explain the reason " Why death , other conditions remaining the same , is move profoundly affecting in summer than in other parts of tho year—so far , at leant , us it is liable to any modification at all from accidents of scenery or season . The reason , as L there suggested , lies in the antagonism between the tropical redundancy of life in summer , and the frozen . sterilities oi the grave . The summer we see , the grave we haunt , with our thoughts ; the glory is around us , the darkness is wilhm us ; and , the two coming into collision , each exalls the other into stronger relief . " And further , lo explain how , in hia particular case , this became intensified . The organ strain then continues : — - , y-v . * . I >• " _ / V-- JV .. ,,.,,, ! / vC-iLmr ' nur ll / lllf 1 1 ti'lV f T W * ! ll 11 V YWV \ OO \\ IIITH t of this di for tho of showing how inextricabl feelings

    "Ou gression , purpose y my mid ima-os of death were entangled with those of summer , an connected with Palestine and Jerusalem , let me come hack to the bedchamber of my sister , hnnn the gorgeous sunlight I turned round to Hie corpse . There lay the sweet oIuUIihIi fi- 'ure ; there the angel face ; and , as people usually limey , it was said in the house that no feature had suffered any change . I Ia < l I hey not Y The forehead , ™ Y „ tho serene Mid noble forehead—/ hat niijrht be filename ; but , t \ u \/ rosr » eyelids , //«' darkness that see . mcd to . steal from , beneath ( horn , the marble lips , the Aliening hands , laid- piiliii to palm , as if repealn , }> lie « tu > ns of clusuu , anguish— - could these be mistaken for life ' ? Had it ben so , wherefore d . d I not . sprn . g to those heavenly lips with tears and never-endin- kisses ? Itui ... so it was not 1 stood checked ' for a moment ; awe , not fear , fell upon me ; and , whilst 1 stood , a solemn wind began to blow- < . he . : m < Mes (; < h .-il ear ever beard . 11- was a wind that miht have tthe Holds of mortality for a thousand centimes . Many tunes

    g swep , since , upon summer days , when the sun is about the holiest . 1 have remarked the same wind arising ai . d ' uttering the san , e hollow , solemn , lUe . mioiiiun but Hiuntly swell ; it , is in this world the one great umliMv . symbol of eternity . And three times in my life have I happened lo hear the same sound in the same circumstancesnamely , when standing between an open window and a dead bod y on a summer day " Instantly when my ear caught thin vawt vHolinn intonation , whun my eyo filled

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    June 11 , 1853 . ] THE ' LEA D E R . 571

• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), June 11, 1853, page 571, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1990/page/19/