August 26, 1893. Dauntless Anthology.
It is really very difficult to know what to say to Mr. Maynard
Leonard, editor of _The Dog in British Poetry_ (London: David Nutt).
His case is something the same as Archdeacon Farrar's. The critic who
desires amendment in the Archdeacon's prose, and suggests that
something might be done by a study of Butler or Hume or Cobbett or
Newman, is met with the cheerful retort, "But I have studied these
writers, and admire them even more than you do." The position is
impregnable; and the Archdeacon is only asserting that two and two
make four when he goes on to confess that, "with the best will in the
world to profit by the criticisms of his books, he has never profited
in the least by any of them."
Now, Mr. Leonard has at least this much in common with Archdeacon
Farrar, that before him criticism must sit down with folded hands. In
the lightness of his heart he accepts every fresh argument against
such and such a course as an added reason for following it:--
"While this collection of poems was being made," he tells us, "a
well-known author and critic took occasion to gently ridicule
(_sic_) anthologies and anthologists. He suggested, as if the
force of foolishness could no further go, that the next anthology
would deal with dogs."
"Undismayed by this," to use his own words, Mr. Leonard proceeded to
prove it. Now it is obvious that no man can set a term to literary
activity if it depend on the Briton's notorious unwillingness to
recognize that he is beaten. I might dare, for instance, a Scotsman to
compile an anthology on "The Eel in British Poetry"; but of what avail
is it to challenge an indomitable race?
I am sorry Mr. Leonard has not given the name of this critic; but have
a notion it must be Mr. Andrew Lang, though I am sure he is innocent
of the split infinitive quoted above. It really ought to be Mr. Lang,
if only for the humor of the means by which Mr. Leonard proposes to
silence him. "I am confident," says he, "that the voice of the great
dog-loving public in this country would drown that of the critic in
question." Mr. Leonard's metaphors, you see, like the dyer's hand, are
subdued to what they work in. But is not the picture delightful? Mr.
Lang, the gentle of speech; who, with his master Walton, "studies to
be quiet"; who tells us in his very latest verse
"I've maistly had my fill
O' this world's din"--
--Mr. Lang set down in the midst of a really representative dog show,
say at Birmingham or the Crystal Palace, and there howled down! His
_blandi susurri_ drowned in the combined clamor of mongrel, puppy,
whelp, and hound, and "the great dog-loving public in this country"!
"_Solvitur ululando_," hopes Mr. Leonard; and we will wait for the
voice of the great dog-loving public to uplift itself and settle the
question. Here, at any rate, is the book, beautiful in shape, and
printed by the Constables upon sumptuous paper. And the title-page
bears a rubric and a reference to Tobias' dog. "It is no need," says
Wyclif in one of his sermons, "to busy us what hight Tobies' hound";
but Wyclif had never to reckon with a great dog-loving public. And Mr.
Leonard, having considered his work and dedicated it "To the
Cynics"--which, I suppose, is Greek for "dog-loving public"--observes,
"It is rather remarkable that no one has yet published such a book as
this." Perhaps it is.
But if we take it for granted (1) that it was worth doing, and (2)
that whatever be worth doing is worth doing well, then Mr. Leonard has
reason for his complacency. "It was never my intention," he says, "to
gather together a complete collection of even British poems about
dogs."--When will _that_ come, I wonder?--"I have sought to secure a
representative rather than an exhaustive anthology." His selections
from a mass of poetry ranging from Homer to Mr. Mallock are judicious.
He is not concerned (he assures us) to defend the poetical merits of
all this verse:--
"--O, the wise contentment
Th' anthologist doth find!"
--but he has provided it with notes--and capital notes they are--with
a magnificent Table of Contents, an Index of Authors, an Index of
First Lines, an Index of Dogs Mentioned by Name in the Poems, and an
Index of the Species of Dogs Mentioned. So that, even if he miss
transportation to an equal sky, the dog has better treatment on earth
than most authors. And Mr. Nutt and the Messrs. Constable have done
their best; and everyone knows how good is that best. And the wonder
is, as Dr. Johnson remarked (concerning a dog, by the way), not that
the thing is done so well, but that it should be done at all.