power. This was a part of his artistic nature; and I believe that he
enjoyed to the full the feeling of being able to give people what they
wanted, to enchant, interest, move, and sway them. This is to some
natures a great temptation, because they come to desire applause, and to
hunger for tangible signs of their influence. But Hugh was marvellously
saved from this, partly by a real modesty which was not only never
marred, but which I used to think increased with the years. There is a
story of William Morris, that he could read aloud his own poetry, and at
the end of a fine stanza would say: "That's jolly!" with an entire
freedom from conceit, just as dispassionately as he could praise the
work of another. I used to feel that when Hugh mentioned, as I have
heard him do, some course of sermons that he was giving, and described
the queue which formed in the street, and the aisles and gangways
crowded with people standing to hear him, that he did so more
impersonally than anyone I had ever heard, as though it were a
delightful adventure, and more a piece of good luck than a testimony to
his own powers.
[Illustration: ROBERT HUGH BENSON
IN 1912. AGED 40]
It was the same with his books; he wished them to succeed and enjoyed
their success, while it was an infinite delight to him to write them.
But he had no egotism of a commonplace sort about him, and he never
consciously tried to succeed. Success was just the reverberating echo of
his own delight.
And thus I do not look upon him as one who had bent and curbed his
nature by stern self-discipline to do work of a heavy and distasteful
kind; nor do I think that his dangerous devotion to work was the fierce
effort of a man who would have wished to rest, yet felt that the time
was too short for all that he desired to do. I think it was rather the
far more fruitful energy of one who exulted in expressing himself, in
giving a brilliant and attractive shape to his ideas, and who loved,
too, the varieties and tendencies of human nature, enjoyed moulding and
directing them, and flung himself with an intense joy of creation into
all the work which he found ready to his hand.
XXI
TEMPERAMENT
Hugh never seemed to me to treat life in the spirit of a mystic or a
dreamer, with unshared and secret experiences, withdrawing into his own
ecstasy, half afraid of life, rapt away into interior visions. Though he
had a deep curiosity about mystical experiences, he was never a mystic
in the sense that he had, as great mystics seem to have had, one shell
less, so to speak, between him and the unseen. He lived in the visible
and tangible world, loving beautiful secrets; and he was a mystic only
in the sense that he had an hourly and daily sense of the presence of
God. He wished to share his dreams and to make known his visions, to
declare the glory of God and to show His handiwork. He found the world
more and more interesting, as he came to know it, and in the light of
the warm welcome it gave him. He had a keen and delicate apprehension of
spiritual beauty, and the Mass became to him a consummation of all that
he held most holy and dear. He had recognised a mystical presence in the
Church of England, but he found a supernatural presence in the Church of
Rome; yet he had, too, the instinct of the poet, to translate into form
and substance his inmost and sweetest joy, and to lavish it upon others.
No one dares to speak of great poets and seers as men who have profaned
a mystery by making it known. The deeper that the poet's sense of beauty
is, the more does he thirst to communicate it. It is far too divine and
tremendous to be secretly and selfishly enjoyed.
It is possible, of course, that Hugh may have given to those who did not
see him constantly in everyday familiar intercourse, the sense of a
courteous patience and a desire to do full justice to a claim. Still
more may he have given this impression on social occasions and at
conventional gatherings. Interviews and so-called festivities were apt
to be a weariness to him, because they seemed so great an expenditure of
time and force for very scanty results; but I always felt him to be one
of the most naturally courteous people I have ever seen. He hated to be
abrupt, to repel, to hurt, to wound feelings, to disappoint; yet on such
occasions his natural courtesy was struggling with a sense of the waste
of time involved and the interruptions caused. I remember his writing to
me from the Catholic rectory when he was trying to finish a book and to
prepare for a course of sermons, and lamenting that he was "driven
almost mad" by ceaseless interviews with people who did not, he
declared, want criticism or advice, but simply the luxury of telling a
long story for the sake of possible adulation. "I am quite ready to see
people," he added, "if only they would ask me to appoint a time, instead
of simply flinging themselves upon me whenever it happens to be
convenient to them."
I do not think he ever grudged the time to people in difficulties when
he felt he could really help and save. That seemed to him an opportunity
of using all his powers; and when he took a soul in hand, he could
display a certain sternness, and even ruthlessness, in dealing with it.
"You need not consult me at all, but if you do you must carry out
exactly what I tell you," he could say; but he did grudge time and
attention given to mild sentimentalists, who were not making any way,
but simply dallying with tragic emotions excitedly and vainly.
This courtesy was part of a larger quality, a certain knightly and
chivalrous sense, which is best summed up in the old word "gentleman." A
priest told me that soon after Hugh's death he had to rebuke a tipsy
Irishman, who was an ardent Catholic and greatly devoted to Hugh. The
priest said, "Are you not ashamed to think that Monsignor's eye may be
on you now, and that he may see how you disgrace yourself?" To which,
he said, the Irishman replied, with perhaps a keener insight into Hugh's
character than his director, "Oh no, I can trust Monsignor not to take
advantage of me. I am sure that he will not come prying and spying
about. He always believed whatever I chose to tell him, God bless him!"
Hugh could be hard and unyielding on occasions, but he was wholly
incapable of being suspicious, jealous, malicious, or spiteful. He made
friends once with a man of morbid, irritable, and resentful tendencies,
who had continued, all his life, to make friends by his brilliance and
to lose them by his sharp, fierce, and contemptuous animosities. This
man eventually broke with him altogether, and did his best by a series
of ingenious and wicked letters to damage Hugh's character in all
directions. I received one of those documents and showed it to Hugh. I
was astonished at his courage and even indifference. I myself should
have been anxious and despondent at the thought of such evil innuendoes
and gross misrepresentations being circulated, and still more at the
sort of malignant hatred from which they proceeded. Hugh took the letter
and smiled. "Oh," he said, "I have put my case before the people who
matter, and you can't do anything. He is certainly mad, or on the verge
of madness. Don't answer it--you will only be drenched with these
communications. I don't trouble my head about it." "But don't you mind?"
I said. "No," he said, "I'm quite callous! Of course I am sorry that he
should be such a beast, but I can't help that. I have done my best to
make it up--but it is hopeless." And it was clear from the way he
changed the subject that he had banished the whole matter from his mind.
At a later date, when the letters to him grew more abusive, I was told
by one who was living with him, that he would even put one up on his
chimney-piece and point it out to visitors.
I always thought that he had a very conspicuous and high sort of
courage, not only in facing disagreeable and painful things, but in not
dwelling on them either before or after. This was never more entirely
exemplified than by the way he faced his operation, and indeed, most
heroically of all, in the way in which he died. There was a sense of
great adventure--there is no other word for it--about that, as of a man
going on a fateful voyage; a courage so great that he did not even lose
his interest in the last experiences of life. His demeanour was not
subdued or submissive; he did not seem to be asking for strength to bear
or courage to face the last change. He was more like the happy warrior
"Attired
With sudden brightness, as a man inspired."
[Illustration: ROBERT HUGH BENSON
IN 1912. AGED 41]
He did not lose control of himself, nor was he carried helplessly down
the stream. He was rather engaged in a conflict which was not a losing
one. He had often thought of death, and even thought that he feared it;
but now that it was upon him he would taste it fully, he would see what
it was like. The day before, when he thought that he might live, there
was a pre-occupation over him, as though he were revolving the things he
desired to do; but when death came upon him unmistakably there was no
touch of self-pity or impressiveness. He had just to die, and he devoted
his swift energies to it, as he had done to living. I never saw him so
splendid and noble as he was at that last awful moment. Life did not ebb
away, but he seemed to fling it from him, so that it was not as the
death of a weary man sinking to rest, but like the eager transit of a
soldier to another part of the field.
"Could it have been avoided?" I said to the kind and gentle doctor who
saw Hugh through the last days of his life, and loved him very tenderly
and faithfully. "Well, in one sense, 'yes,'" he replied. "If he had
worked less, rested more, taken things more easily, he might have lived
longer. He had a great vitality; but most people die of being
themselves; and we must all live as we are made to live. It was
Monsignor's way to put the work of a month into a week; he could not do
otherwise--I cannot think of Monsignor as sitting with folded hands."
INDEX
Barnes, Monsignor, 154
Bashkirtseff, Marie, quoted, 249
Bec, Bishop Anthony, 18
Belloc, Mr., 183
Benson, Archbishop (father), 15-17, 20, 46-47, 56, 63, 82, 86, 91, 116;
characteristics, 34-39;
letters quoted, 53-55, 71-74;
ordains his son, 87;
death, 97
---- Mrs. (mother), 19, 28, 74-80, 108, 120, 128, 146, 149-150, 182, 209;
quoted, 31-32, 118-119, 227;
visit to Egypt, 98
---- Fred (brother), 16, 26-27, 34, 68, 80, 184, 209
---- Maggie (sister), 16, 28, 40, 98, 120, 126, 184, 196, 217
---- Martin (brother), 16, 57;
death, 35
---- Nelly (sister), 16, 27, 40;
death, 79-80
Beth (nurse), 20-24, 39, 106;
letter quoted, 23
Bradley, Dr., 200, 201;
quoted, 260-261
_By What Authority_, 114
Carlyle, Thomas, quoted, 147
Carter, Archbishop William, 91
_Confessions of a Convert, The_, 47, 114, 130, 140
_Conventionalists, The_, 186
Cornish, Mr., 42
_Coward, The_, 181
Decemviri _Club_, 156
Donaldson, Archbishop St. Clair, 91, 95
Edward VII; King, 114
Elizabeth, Queen, 179
Eton, influence of, 48-51
---- Mission, 89 seq., 99, 134-136, 236, 238
George V, H. M. King, 98
Gladstone, W. E., 98
---- Mrs., 98
Gore, Bishop, 103, 108-109, 130
Gorman, Father, 194
Halifax, Lord, 128
Hare Street, 168 seq., 189, 193, 210, 227;
village, 12
_Hill of Trouble, The_, 177
Hogg, Sir James McGarel (afterwards Lord Magheramorne), 32
Hormead Mission, 168
Hornby, Provost, 149
House of the Resurrection. _See_ under Mirfield Community
Job, quoted, 49
John Inglesant, 75, 85
Johnson, Dr., quoted, 150, 175
Jowett, B., 150
Kenmare, Lord, 172
Leith, Dr., 67
_Light Invisible, The_, 106, 177, 187, 240
Lindsay, Ken, 168-169
Lyttelton, Edward, 44
Maclagan, Archbishop, 103
Marshall (family), 190
Martin, Sir George, 58
Mason, Canon Arthur, 34, 80, 88
Maturin, Father, 96, 100
Meynell, Mr., 245
Mirfield Community, 103-104, 130, 137, 227, 239
Morris, William, 250
Murray, Prof., 199
Norway, King of, 98
Parsons, Rev. Mr., 16
Peel, Sidney, 50
Penny, Mr., 19
Persia, Shah of, 55
Pippet, Gabriel, 13, 168
Pitt Club, 156
Potter, Norman, 171
Reeman, Joseph, 14, 193
Reeve, Rev. John, 34, 128
_Richard Raynal, Solitary_, 178, 181, 185, 187
Ritual, 60-63
Roddy, _collie_, 126-128, 217
St. Hugh, 17
---- Monastery of, 129
Salford Cathedral, 209
Scott, Canon, 161
Selborne, Lord, quoted, 54
Sessions, Dr., 168
Sharrock, Canon, 173, 196, 199, 205, 207
Sidgwick, Arthur, 20
---- Henry (uncle), 20, 71, 73, 223
---- Mrs. (grandmother), 20
---- Nora (Mrs. Henry Sidgwick) (aunt), 73, 121
---- William (uncle), 20
Skarratt, Rev. Mr., 101
Spiers, Mr., 54-55
Stanmore, Lord, 95
Stevenson, R. L., 121
_Streets and Lanes of the City_, 79
Tait, Miss Lucy, 120
Temple, Archbishop, 103
Tennyson's "Mort d'Arthur," 179
Todd, Dr., Ross, 193
Tyrell, Father, 144
Vaughn, Dean, 81-84
Vaughn, Mrs., 83-85
Victoria, Queen, 114, 153
Wales, Prince and Princess of, 54
Walpole, Bishop G. H. S., 34
Warre, Dr., 46
Watson, Bishop, 154
Watt, Father, 168
Wellington College, 15, 19, 20
Westcott, Bishop, 86
Westminster, Cardinal Archbishop of, 209
Whitaker, Canon G. H., 34
Wilkinson, Bishop, 48, 128, 150
Woodchester Dominican Convent, 146
Wordsworth, Bishop John, 128
Wren, Mr., 52