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wherein he followed his trade, serai rentier, he had written in that the traveller Borelli was his childhood, and wealth was justified of the compliment he almost in his grasp, when dispaid him. 6. The end of our ease and death overtook him. voyage,” said he,

was very

It was at Harrar-in 1891 different; he journeyed for his —that his weakness was first commerce, I journeyed for revealed. A swollen knee inscience and curiosity. How terrupted the activity of his far better would science have life. Unable to walk, he rode been served had we exchanged on horseback, and when

he our róles ?When, indeed, has could no longer put foot in science paid a more generous stirrup he transacted his busitribute to commerce !

ness from a window, whence he But all the while he was dis- could watch the scales and the satisfied with his lot. The hand that held them. But the romance of the East failed to disease increasing, he was forced satisfy his imagination, , to return to Alexandria, and a poetry itself had failed. Deep journey through the rainy desert down in his nature was the hastened the malady; and when common desire of a well-ordered he arrived at Marseilles, there life. “Is it not miserable,” he was no hope for his life save wrote, “this existence without amputation. How bitter and family, without intellectual oc- unexpected return to his cupation ?” Again and again native land ! Nearly twenty he formulates in his letters the years before, he had looked forsimple ambition which had at ward with pride and courage last taken hold of him. “Of to this return. “I shall come what use," he cries, “are these back," he had written in ‘Une comings and goings, these ad- Saison en Enfer,' _“I shall come ventures among strange people, back with limbs of iron, a dark these fatigues, these languages, skin, a fierce eye; by my mask, wherewith my memory is they will think I am

I packed, if I cannot, after many strange race. I shall have gold : years, seek

repose in some town I shall be lazy and brutal. that pleases me, and find a Women

take care of infirm family, or at least a son whom savages returned from a hot I shall educate to my view, country. I shall mix in poli

and see grow up a man tics. Saved !” And there he powerful and rich through lay in a hospital in Marseilles, science ?” To this end all his where amputation had put an efforts were bent. The “lost end for

to his tireless climates," of which he had activity! written so many years ago, had

But no tanned him to some purpose; cripple than he was devising he was weary of solitude, of means of transit. He would Africa, of money. If only he learn afresh to sit upon a could save enough to follow the horse; he would return inprofession which he had chosen stantly to Harrar, settle his at seven years of age! Moi, je affairs, come back to France,


of a




he a



marry, and write the works civilisation; he had known the that still moved inchoate in distant countries whereof his his brain. Alas! the struggle youth had dreamed. But what was over, the fight was fought, of his poetry? His own opinion or at least only one adversary was uncompromisingly fierce. was left — disease, at whose Had he lived, he would have hands he was to suffer defeat. taken up the pen again For a while he sought refuge much he declared in his last in his native Ardennes; then days. But he would not have he would move, all disabled, to continued the work of his Paris, and his journey across youth-that he found was abthe capital is the saddest epi- surd. Yet, posterity will not sode in a sad career.

He had indorse his verdict. Of course been there since the he was not among the great days of his early triumph, the poets of the world, —one does triumph which he was resolved not expect masterpieces at eighto forget, and yet hoped, it may teen. Much of his work was be, to renew. But it rained, marred by the arrogant bruand the day was cold, and the tality of boyhood ; now and streets affrighted him, and he again he disgusts his reader thought that at Marseilles he from sheer wantonness. None might see the sun. So he drove the less, such poems as the but from one station to another, “Bateau Ivre," "les Voyeles," crawling desolately back to the and half-a-dozen others, will hold hospital, where

weeks an eternal place in the Anthollater he died. And his noblest ogy of France; while his bold epitaph is the Ras Makonnen's treatment of verse, and his comment on his death: “God determination to discard the calls back to Himself those ancient trammels, have had a whom the earth is not worthy conspicuous influence upon the to bear."

literature of the last decade. So ended a strange and But it is in his prose-poetry strangely broken career, which that he is most genuinely himmay

be contemplated self. Here no comparison is without scandal or sentiment possible save with Walt Whitality. Reckless admirers have man; yet if Rimbaud be dedone their best to complicate scribed as the Walt Whitman the life of Arthur Rimbaud, but of France, the description must the man was as free from pose be made with the utmost reas the poet; above all, he was

Indeed he had a more one of the rare few who know delicate fancy, a finer feeling the excitement both of action for tradition, an infinitely better and of words. As a man of knowledge of literature, than the action he was

more nearly American, with whom he shares complete than as a poet. His certain tricks of style and a verses remain a fragment; his vague, brusque method of presadmirable work in Africa was entation. It is unlikely that wellnigh finished. He had he ever saw 'Leaves of Grass,' been the pioneer of a new though he had a perfect know




ledge of English, and was in converted him into a vicious London during 1872, when per- monster, when he was only a haps Walt Whitman's name youth of astounding industry was known to a few. But and undisciplined talent. His Whitman had hardly by that character, which might seem a time penetrated Soho, within tangle of contradictions, was in whose purlieus Rimbaud must reality a marvel of simplicity. have found refuge. However, Its note was sincerity—sincerity it is by his marvellous essays to his own nature. He was dein poetic prose that Rimbaud termined to reach his goal, at will be remembered, and their whatever cost, and in despite relation to Leaves of Grass' is of scruples. He wrote poetry, but a matter of curiosity. The because the impulse was imIlluminations' (an English title, perative. He refrained from borrowed from the gold and red publication, because in the scrolls of our childhood) are writing the impulse was satisrather experiments in folk-lore fied. He travelled on foot, than a record of life. • Une because the lack of money was Saison en Enfer,' on the other no hindrance to his wandering hand, is a medley of experience spirit.

spirit. He visited Africa, a and prophecy. It was Rim- slave to the Orient, and he baud's literary ambition to be stayed to make a fortune, beless a poet than a voyant, a cause, after all his voyages, the seer, and in this strange pamph- desire to live a well-ordered life let, which alone he committed in his own land survived all the to type, we have a vision of passions of his turbulent spirit. what he might have accom- When he was sixteen he wrote plished had not activity killed two lines which may serve as inspiration. In some such form a key to unlock the secret of his

. as this, we may imagine, he career :would have translated the knowledge which he had gained Je regrette l'Europe aux anciens para

“ Fileur eternel des immobilités bleues, under the African sun, and

pets." therefore we

may the more bitterly regret his untimely Yes, he explored the “blue death.

immobilities," and he regretted And side by side with the Europe, as he might once again instinct of creation there grew have sighed for Africa, had he always the faculty of acquisi- returned well and wealthy to tion. As he said himself, his the Ardennes. His biographer head was full of strange lan- describes him, with some justice, guages; at Harrar he mastered as a kind of Peer Gynt. the elements of many

sciences. Once, in his childhood, when a

Qu'il vienne, qu'il vienne

Le temps dont on s'éprenne,” piano was denied him, he learned that instrument by practising he sang; and it is the worst upon a painted board; and the tragedy of his life that this time strange irony, which made him

never came to him. a myth long before he died,





FAR out in the Western At- ence of the sea. You have it lantic, separated from the main- all round you, lying placidly land—as some of us have too glistening under the bright good reason to know—by very winter sun, or rolling in great stormy seas, lie a number of waves — tearing and striving islands which differ greatly in with the rocks, always-stormy their natural characteristics, or quiet, dull or bright-of a and especially in their fauna, beautiful pale green. But then from the rest of Scotland. You you have it inland as welllook in vain here for the or- miles inland you come across it dinary features of a High- finding its way by thousands land landscape.

There are no

of narrow crooked channels far great pine-woods covering the into the country, carrying its hills with their sombre green; shells and seaweed into the no fringe of graceful birches middle of the moors. along the burn-sides and round It takes a stranger a long the lochs ;

well- time to get into his head and defined straths and glens. On understand the ways of this some of these islands - great far - wandering salt water : stretches of country, thirty or though it helps him in his forty miles long—you will not sport, it sometimes causes him see a tree at all, large or small. a good deal of trouble and On a particular shooting of extra labour. You stand in the some 30,000 acres a ten weeks' middle of seemingly flat residence has so far only re- plain, miles away from the sea vealed to the writer one proper,

proper, which you can hear stunted willow struggling for sullenly roaring outside. For its existence by a small lochan miles around you lies a level far out on the moor. Picture expanse of brown-yellow land. -instead of these great main- This land is dotted over, it is land woods, and high mountains, true, with innumerable sheets and rich pastures, and arable- of water, large and small; but a a country for the most part man who knew only Caithness flat, nowhere for many miles Flows or the Moor of Rannoch rising above 500 or 600 feet. would think he would have little Dot over it countless fresh- difficulty in threading his way water lochs, from tiny tarns between them, and getting a gunshot across to big three- safely to the lodge. He knows or four- or five-mile stretches, in which direction that harbour and then throw the sea all over of refuge lies. But let him try it, so that every hollow which it—for the first time—by himis not filled with fresh water self. When he reaches it, it is, at high tide, filled with salt. will be at cost of walking Nothing strikes a stranger more which will cause him no little than the almost universal pres- astonishment and vexation. If



a wild goose

it lies to the north you may



and your progress have to start by going due is made by a series of jumps south, --not for a few hundred

jumpable places

places and yards to get round a lochan, scrambles over deeper obstacles. but perhaps for a couple of This description of what is miles, for the sea is all round really a very fascinating disyou. You are on what is in trict, though it perhaps hardly reality an island, and in get- sounds so from what we have ting off it, by a stony natural related of it, does not, of course, track or a wade through soft apply to anything but the flat grey mud beloved of widgeon, lands. On some of the islands you only get on to another there are fine bold - peaked island. The sea runs up nar- mountains, which often look row channels, and then opens higher than they really are, out into a loch. At low tide, ex- owing to their rising so directly cept for lines of seaweed here from the sea-level. and there, you might be tempted There are many good sportsto drink at such a place. At men, counting the cartridges low tide no salt water gets they fire each year by the into these lochans, at high tide thousand, who have never shot it fills them, and there is one

perhaps never place, and one place only, where seen one, unless high up in the you can win across.

heavens, working his clamorWhen this obstacle to pro- ous way south or west in the gress has been overcome, an- autumn, or north in the spring. other presents itself. The It was once the fortune of the place is like a maze, and the present writer—a rare fortune ground — the dry ground, or it was, and little likely to be what there is of it — is very repeated—to find himself, on a rough. It looks level, but it is wild December afternoon, standin reality the roughest and ing—in a heaped-up position, it most tiring country to walk is true, but still on his legs-on over we have ever seen. Every- a perfectly level, bare, mud flat, thing must be carried on men's within fifty yards of probably a backs. No comfortable fat thousand brent geese. All day pony can follow you here, with he had been watching them cartridges and coats and lunch: from behind dykes and rushes the surest-footed and most ex- and knolls on the shore of the perienced pannier pony in the Cromarty Firth, and when the Highlands would be of no use short day began to wane he at all. In hot weather this is had reluctantly to make up his a drawback to shooting, for mind that it was impossible to there is no drinking-water in do anything with them, and all this region - no springs; that it would be well for him and the loch-water, even where to start on his long tramp home,

cannot get at it, is gooseless. The tide was runbrackish and disagreeable. The ning out, and the geese were ground is soft, and after rain left sitting in a dense phalanx very wet and exceedingly on a sort of mud island. The

the sea

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