Since 1893, when he made his first tour through the country as a
lecturer, F. Marion Crawford has become a somewhat familiar figure to
many Americans, who have noted his athletic form, his handsome face,
his melodious voice, his polished deportment. He is easily the best
known of the American authors who make their homes abroad.
In Major Pond's "Reminiscences," by the way, they who have heard Mr.
Crawford read from his novels or recite his description of Pope Leo
XIII, will find a very interesting account of the author's experiences
during his American tours.
Mr. Crawford is a cosmopolite of the first rank. He was born in Bagni
di Lucca, Italy, August 2, 1854. His father was Thomas Crawford,
the famous sculptor, who, born in the west of Ireland and reared in
America, had, some years before, been sent to Rome to master his
profession. He had finished studying with the great Thorwaldsen, and
had made a reputation of his own, when he met and married Miss Louisa
Ward, who was visiting Rome with Dr. Samuel G. Howe and his wife,
Julia Ward Howe. Marion was the youngest of four children. One of his
sisters, Mrs. Fraser, has made no small name for herself as a writer.
At the age of two, Marion was sent to live for awhile with kinsfolk in
Bordentown, N. J. "Among the earliest things that I remember," he said
once to an interviewer, "is my great delight in watching the coming and
going of the trains as they shot across the farm near the old house."
His father died in 1857, and then Marion was taken back to Italy, where
he spent his early days.
"Most of my boyhood," he said, to an interviewer, when he was in this
country on his first lecture tour, "was spent under the direction of a
French governess. Not only did I learn her language from her, but all
of my studies, geography, arithmetic, and so forth, were taught me in
French, and I learned to write it with great readiness, as a mere boy,
because it was the language of my daily tasks. The consequence is that
to this day I write French with the ease of English. There have been
times when I know that I have lost some of my facility in speaking
French through long absence from the country, but the acquirement of
writing is always with me, which shows the value of early impressions
in that direction."
When twelve years old Marion was sent to St. Paul's School, Concord,
N. H., where he remained for two years. Readers familiar with his
portraits will remember that in most of them he is represented as
smoking. This inveterate habit he acquired during his first year's
residence at St. Paul's.
The age of fifteen found the migrant youth back in Rome again, where
he took up the study of Greek and mathematics. Later he studied with a
private tutor at Hatfield Broadoak, in Essex, England, and from this
school he went to Trinity College, Cambridge, where he passed four
terms. There he perfected himself in German, Swedish and Spanish. He
found German of good use when, later, he studied at Karlsruhe and at
Heidelberg. At the age of twenty-two he returned to Rome to study at
the University of Rome. There one of the professors interested him
in Buddhism and the other Oriental mysteries. This professor, who
recognized the young pupil's aptitude in languages, advised him to
go to India and study Sanscrit, and then returning, he could readily
obtain a professorship. The advice appealed to young Crawford, and he
borrowed a hundred pounds and sailed for Bombay. There he occasionally
wrote articles for one of the newspapers, but his employment was
uncertain, and two pounds represented all his worldly possessions when
the editor of the _Bombay Gazette_ informed him that the editor of the
_Allahabad Indian Herald_ was in need of a "good man." Would he take
the position? "Would a duck swim?" said Mr. Crawford; and off he went
to Allahabad, a thousand miles away. There he learned that the "good
man" was supposed to fill the posts of reporter, managing editor and
editorial writer, with now and then a turn at type-setting. Thus none
of the sixteen hours of the working day would be wasted. But Mr.
Crawford couldn't afford to grumble. Instead he buckled down to what he
describes as the hardest eighteen months' work of his life.
In 1880, at the age of twenty-six, with no valuable possessions except
his experience, he returned to Rome, and thence, early in 1881, he set
out for America. The old steamship in which he took passage broke down
in mid-ocean, and Mr. Crawford's great physical strength and nervous
energy were in constant demand. As the only cabin passenger on board,
he had the honor of alternating on deck with the captain and the mates.
At Bermuda, where the ship put in for repairs, he narrowly escaped
drowning. Finally, at the end of two months, the ship reached New
York. In this country he made his home at times with his uncle, Samuel
Ward, the Horace of "Dr. Claudius," and at times with his aunt, Mrs.
Julia Ward Howe. He had not been long in the country before he entered
Harvard College, where he took a special course in Sanscrit under Prof.
Charles Lanman.
He left Harvard in a state of uncertainty. He was ready to do anything
to earn a living. He tried unsuccessfully to place some articles on
philology. He reviewed books, principally for the _New York Times_. He
lectured on "The Origin of Sacrifice." He won a small sum of money with
an article on the silver question. One day early in May, 1882, his kind
uncle, Samuel Ward, asked him to dinner at the New York Club, which was
then situated in Madison Square. But here is where Mr. Crawford should
come in to tell his own interesting story:
"As was perfectly natural, we began to exchange stories while
smoking, and I told him (Mr. Ward), with a great deal of detail, my
recollections of an interesting man whom I met in Simla. When I had
finished, he said to me: 'That is a good two-part magazine story,
and you must write it out immediately.' He took me around to his
apartments, and that night I began to write the story of 'Mr. Isaacs.'
Part of the first chapter was written afterward, but the rest of that
chapter and several succeeding chapters are the story I told to Uncle
Sam. I kept at it from day to day, getting more interested in the work
as I proceeded, and from time to time I would read a chapter to Uncle
Sam. When I got through the original story I was so amused with the
writing of it that it occurred to me that I might as well make Mr.
Isaacs fall in love with an English girl, and then I kept on writing to
see what would happen. By and by I remembered a mysterious Buddhist
whom I had met once in India, and so I introduced him, still further to
complicate matters. I went to Newport to visit my aunt, Mrs. Julia Ward
Howe, while I was in the midst of the story, and continued it there.
It was on June 13, 1882, while in her home, that I finished the last
chapter of 'Mr. Isaacs,' and, Uncle Sam appearing in Newport at that
time, I read him the part of the story which he had not heard. 'You
will give it to me,' he said, 'and I shall try to find a publisher.' He
had for many years frequented the bookstore of Macmillan, and was well
acquainted with the elder George Brett. He took the manuscript to Mr.
Brett, who forwarded it to the English house, and in a short time it
was accepted.
"Having tasted blood, I began, very soon after finishing 'Mr. Isaacs,'
to write another story for my own amusement, 'Dr. Claudius.' Late in
November I was advised by the Messrs. Macmillan that in order to secure
an English copyright, as well as an American copyright, I must be on
English soil on the day of publication. So I went to St. John, New
Brunswick, where I had a very pleasant time, and continued to write the
story of 'Dr. Claudius,' which I finished in December. 'Mr. Isaacs'
was published on December 6, and I, of course, knew nothing about its
reception. However, toward the end of the month I started on my return
journey to the United States, and when I arrived in Boston on the
day before Christmas, and stepped out of the train, I was surprised
beyond measure to find the railway news stand almost covered with great
posters announcing 'Mr. Isaacs.' The next morning, at my hotel, I found
a note awaiting me from Thomas Bailey Aldrich, then editor of _The
Atlantic Monthly_, asking me for an interview, at which he proposed
that I write a serial for his magazine. I felt confident then, and do
now, that 'Dr. Claudius' would not be a good serial story. However, I
promised that Mr. Aldrich should have a serial, and began soon after to
write 'A Roman Singer,' which was completed in February, 1883."
That is Mr. Crawford's own story of his start as a novelist, told to
us nine years ago in a Boston hotel. The original of Mr. Isaacs was a
diamond dealer in Simla named Jacobs. We have heard it related that the
chief figure in "A Roman Singer" was partly sketched from a musician
now resident in Boston, whom the novelist had known intimately in Rome.
The American scenery of "Dr. Claudius" was, of course, fresh in the
author's mind.
Mr. Crawford said last year: "What a novelist needs in order to succeed
is energy above all else. But he also needs to be very poor. No man
with money will work hard enough when he is young to succeed. He needs
to begin early, work hard, and sit long in one place. If he has money
he won't sit long in one place." Mr. Crawford had no money when he
started, but he had abundant energy, and he could sit for a day in one
place. Hence his success. In "The Three Fates" the close reader will
discern a glimpse of the foundation of Mr. Crawford's literary career.
In May, 1883, the rising author went back to Italy, where he wrote "To
Leeward" and "Saracinesca." The next year he spent in Constantinople,
and there he was married to Miss Elizabeth Berdan, the daughter of
General Berdan. In 1885 he settled permanently at Sorrento. "Villa
Crawford," his home, stands on a high bluff, overlooking the Bay of
Naples. There, in a room padded to keep out sound, the author of "Mr.
Isaacs" has done most of his literary work for the last fifteen years.
Mr. Crawford has frequently been called "a born novelist," and we
have yet to find a critic who, judging him by all that he has done,
is inclined to deny him the right to that high title. His dialogue is
vivid, his problems, as a rule, logically worked out, his dramatic
situations strong and timely. Not all his works, however, are of
even power or attractiveness; and no one recognizes this fact more
clearly than the novelist himself. He has said that the book which he
enjoyed writing most is "Mr. Isaacs"; the book which has for him the
most reality is "Pietro Ghisleri," and the book of the most polish is
"Zoroaster." In years gone by "Zoroaster" was studied in the English
departments of many colleges.
"I believe," said Mr. Crawford, last year, "that the novelist is the
result of a demand. Consequently, I believe that it is the province
of the novel to amuse, to cultivate, mainly to please. I do not
believe that the novel should instruct. The story is the great thing.
Therefore, I do not believe in problem novels, or what they call
realism. It is disagreeable to the people." Yet, in his thirty-six
works, he has said, to use his own words, some "pretty tall things."
Mr. Crawford attributes much of his skill in writing English to the
letters which his mother used to write to him when he was away at
school. After she had married Mr. Terry, her home in Rome, the Palazzo
Odescalchi, became the meeting-place of many brilliant men and women.
Artists, poets and literarians crowded her house every Wednesday
afternoon, and this choice admiration of her ended only with her
death. Of French, German, and, of course Italian, her brilliant son is
as sure a master as he is of English; he writes Turkish and Russian
readily, and he converses fluently in most of the Eastern tongues. His
recreation is yachting. Indeed he holds a shipmaster's certificate
entitling him to navigate sailing vessels on the high seas. Five years
ago he proved his seamanship by navigating his yacht, an old New York
pilot boat, across the seas to Sorrento.
All in all, a delightful and accomplished author and
gentleman-at-large.
[Illustration: Photo by Hollinger, N. Y.