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Chapter nineteen of the Spirit of the Age or Contemporary
Portraits by William Haslett. This is a LibriVox recording. All
LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information
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Garfield de Sousa, Chapter nineteen, James Sheridan Knowles. We should
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not feel that we had discharge obligations to truth or
friendship if we were to let this volume go without
introducing into it the name of the author of Virginius.
This is the more proper inasmuch as he is a
character by himself, and the only poet now living that
is a mere poet. If we were asked what sort
of a man mister Knowles is, we could only say
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he is the writer Virginius. His most intimate friends see
nothing in him by which they could trace the work
to the author. The seeds of dramatic genius are contained
and fostered in the warmth of the blood that flows
in his veins. His heart dictates to his head, the
most conscious, the most unpretending, the most artless of mordals.
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He instinctively obeys the impulses of natural feeling and produces
perfect work of art. He has hardly read a poem
or a play, or seen anything of the world, but
he hears the anxious beatings of his own heart and
makes others feel him by the force of sympathy. Ignorant
alike of rules, regardless of models, he follows the steps
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of truth, and simplicity and strength, proportion, and delicacy are
the infallible results. By thinking of nothing but his subject,
he rivets the attention of the audience to it. All
his dialog tends to action. All his situations form classic groups.
There is no doubt that Virginius is the best acting
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tragedy that has been produced on the modern stage. Mister
Knowles himself was a player at one time, and this
circumstance has probably enabled him to judge of the picturesque
and dramatic effect of his lines, as we think it
might have assisted Shakespeare. There is no impertinent display, no
flaunting poetry. The writer immediately conceives how a thought would
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tell if he had to speak it himself. Mister Knowles
is the first tragic writer of the age. In other respects,
he is a common man and divides his time and
his affections between his plots and his fishing tackle, between
the muses of spring and those mountain streams which sparkle
like his own eye, that gush out like his own
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voice at the sight of an old friend. We have
known him almost from a child, and we must say
he appeals to us the same boy poet that he
ever was. He has been gradled in song and rocked
in it as in a dream, forgetful of himself and
of the word. End of Chapter nineteen, End of the
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Spirit of the Age of Contemporary Portraits by William Haslett