433
THE NEW STATESMAN
JANUARY 13, 1923
11
——
—
Ante
—
As a rule, a book like this one, made up as it is of an almost
sums of moncy from my Aunt S., a rich pawnbroker who had
incredible number of isolated facts about innumerable pcople,
comnplete confidence in me. With this we pretended to establish
and baldly recording their incomes, accumulated fortunes and
a company. The swect, utterly depraved and consumptive
habits as teld to the diarist in the ordinary intercourse of daily
daughter of a reputed Baroness reminded me somehow of
life, requires a very substantial peg of the diarist’s own per¬
Fraülein Veronica, so I became her lover. From that moment
sonalitg en wlich it all can be made to nang. In a book unity
I lost all sense of reality. My aunt the pawnbroker, whlose
of some sort is demanded, and if unity of design is impossible,
relations with V. were of the most intimate, discovered that he
we expoct to find some other unity, either in the character of
and I had been defrauding her, and as we had spent all the moncy,
the chronicler or in the philosophy of his life, or, it may be, in
we decided to burgle her house. Unfortunately she interrupted
the nature of his opinions. But here no unity of any kind is
the burglary and was murdered by V. Though not present at
discernible. Vou cannot even say that Farington was a sad
the crime, I was implicated, and when confronted with my aunt’s
gossip like Walpole, though he tells you an immense deal of
body, its extreme ugliness brouglit me back to iny senses, and
gossip; nor can his records be disregarded as mere“ tittle-tattle.“
I realised the extent of my aberrations, I was in prison for six
He is not a cynie, nor is he spiteful or immoral. He is none of
years. When I came out, I married my present wife, and now
these things, or anything else you can discover, and therefore
live very happily above our little country shop. To-day I am
you look in vain for a peg on which to hang his diary. As for
chielly interested in bee-keeping and the growing of vegetables.
philosophy of life, or uniformity of opinion, they are nowhere
But I still have a romantic feeling for Veronica H.
to be found, and you have only to compare this diary with such
Hauptmann'’s understanding of the human mechanism and
a book as Hazlitt’s Conversations with Northcote, where many
his dramatie imagination are shown by little touches through¬
of Farington's names keep cropping up, to perceive the difference
out the book; it is written in short passages, sometimes
between a book of life and mere jottings about other people's
bare in style, sometimes fantastic, such as well express the
lives.
efforts of the patient to get this nightmare off his mind
But somchow Joseph Farington manages to keep his hand
once and for all. But the whiole tale, though quite con¬
upon our buttonholes, and to create the impression of a trust¬
crivable, and perhaps scientifically accurate, seems thin and
worthy witness well worthy of vour attention. Certainly he
unrelated to any ordinary emotions. It is interestingrather than
contrives after his bald fashion to throw cross-lights upon f#rnous
moving. In Casanova, even at his most scandalous, we feel a
Ciiaracters already known to most of us from other sourees.
sympathetie interest. For Hauptmann’s hero we feel only
But in sober truth how littie do we really kno# about anybody?
the remotest form of pity, hardly more than the cold curiosity
A fresh fact, an entirely new comnment upon à man we fancied
of the asylum doctor. Phankom is neither dull nor vulgar,
we knew, and then—in a moment—-the coach dur imagination
and is far better worth reading than most novels. It deser 7es
had constructed is upset and we are forced to scramble about
publication in England. If any publisher is enterprising endugh
and try to reconstruct what after all was only the work of our
to take it he should make certain alterations in the text. It
is right that for an American public the translation should be
Johnson, Reynolds, Burke, Goldsmith, Boswell, Horace
made into Amcrican; but to an Englishman, used though he
Walpole, King George, the Thrales, Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, aie
may be to hearing waiters and hairdressers in Italy and Germany
orly a few of the names of the men and women about whom tbis
address him in an accent acquired in Seattle or Milwankee, it
diary teils us things, or, at all events, reports to us things which
remains disconcerting to hear of the inhabitants of Breslau
wearing tuxedos' and exclaiming" Shucks.“ Still, all
give us pause and compel us, not, perhaps, to alter our judg¬
ments, but to take up our long abandoned paint-brush and adda
translations from the German, into whichever of the Anglo¬
Saxon dialects they are made, are to be encouraged: so many
touch or two of light or shading to the familiar portraits that
people read French fluently, so few German. Will no oue give
have long rested unaltered in the picturg-gallery of our minds.
us some Wedekind, some Keyserling, some Hoffmansthal, some
This diary may conveniently be divided into two parts; one
Thomas Manr and some of the unknown jeunes?
which deals with the affairs of the newly founded“ Royal
Ravnorn Moarmien.
Academy of the Arts,'’ and with the painters, engravers and
architects of the day, and the other with the more general
public of authors, critics, actors, seldiers, etc. As already said,
there is much to be learnt from the diary under both these
THE FARINGTON DIARY
heads.
To give any useful notion of the varie l contents of this book, of
The Farington Diary. By Josern Faninorow, R.A. July, 1793,
which another volume may soon be ex.pected, is impossible from
to August, 1802. First Volume. With Illustrations.
the very nature of the case. One extract, however, I feel Imust
Hutchinson. 218.
give, though it is not characteristic of the diary, being longer
The discovery of this diary and its subsequent purchase and
and more intimate than usual, and is therefore in no way to be
day-by-day publication in the lively columns of the Morning
taken as a sample of the bulk.
Post deserve to be chronicled as cheerful and pleasure-giving
This extract relates to a great man about whom some harsh—
events in dismal days. The pleasure this publication has already
and, I trust, not entirely truthful—things are reported in other
given in what may be called its newspaper days is agrecably
parts of the diary, and also does justice to a young man about
evidenced by the notes with which this volume is liberally be¬
whom very little to his credit has hitherto been recorded. I
spattered, contributed by readers of the Morning Post, who,
refer to Edmrund Burke and his son Richard:
being either descendants or collateral relatives, or old family
September 30, 1794.—Lady Inchiquin this morning described to
friends of the huge army of persons named in the diary, were
me the death of Young Burke. Two days only before his death
delighted to encounter after all these years familiar names; and
he was removed to Brompton, and it was not till then that his
even those who were not altogether pleased with what they read
Father was sensible of his danger. On the day he died he heard
vere at all everts intensely interested; and to be intensely
his Fath#r so loud in his expressions of grief in the rext room as
mierested in what ene reads is in itself a pleasure. We all like
himself to be much moved by it. He ordered bis servant to driss
to be reminded of names and places which recall a buried past
him and make him appearas well as he could. He then walked into
and create a flutter amongst the grave-clothes of half-forgotten
the next room to his Father and addressed him on his allowing his
memories. That Foringfon’s Diary has done and is still doing
grief so to pvercome him.“ You unman me, sir, by it; recollect
this is plain and intelligible enough.
yourself; come into me and talk to me of religion or on some other
As for the book itself, it is one hard to deseribe or classify.
subject.'' They reu#rued together. and being scated, the young
The Editor in his very useful and instructive, though short,
man said My heart Gutters.“ Hearirg a noise like rain, he said:
Introduction stumbles, as perhaps was inevitable, for do not all
Docs it rain?“ His Father replied: “o; it is the wind.?' Again
diaries begin with a*D? before the names of Pepys and
hearing it, he said: Surely it rains.“' His Father replied: No;
Evelyn, and opines that Furingion’s Diury will take rank with
it is the wind among the trees.'' The son then began to repeat that
part of the morning hymn from Milton (Paradise Lost, book v.,
theirs; and so indeed it may in catalogues, but nowhere eise.
lines 192-7), beginning with:
Pepys and Evelyn stand self-revealed in their diaries and are
in truth the most interesting ligures in them, but Joseph Faring¬
* His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
ton escapes our grasp. That he was a good-looking man his
Breathe soft, or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines!
portrait by Lawrence agrecably certilies, and that he was an
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains! and ye that warble as ye flow
affectionate onc his touching entry, to be found on p. 287, on the
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise.)
death of his wifr, amiably attests; but little else can be gleaned
While proceeding in repeating that hyin he sunk forward into his
about him save that, like the late John Forster, the biographer
Father’s arms and expired. Mrs. Burke came in at this distressing
of Diekens, he was an arbitrary gent,“’ and for many years
moment (p. 67).
ruled the roast in that childish coterie, the Royal Academy.
THE NEW STATESMAN
JANUARY 13, 1923
11
——
—
Ante
—
As a rule, a book like this one, made up as it is of an almost
sums of moncy from my Aunt S., a rich pawnbroker who had
incredible number of isolated facts about innumerable pcople,
comnplete confidence in me. With this we pretended to establish
and baldly recording their incomes, accumulated fortunes and
a company. The swect, utterly depraved and consumptive
habits as teld to the diarist in the ordinary intercourse of daily
daughter of a reputed Baroness reminded me somehow of
life, requires a very substantial peg of the diarist’s own per¬
Fraülein Veronica, so I became her lover. From that moment
sonalitg en wlich it all can be made to nang. In a book unity
I lost all sense of reality. My aunt the pawnbroker, whlose
of some sort is demanded, and if unity of design is impossible,
relations with V. were of the most intimate, discovered that he
we expoct to find some other unity, either in the character of
and I had been defrauding her, and as we had spent all the moncy,
the chronicler or in the philosophy of his life, or, it may be, in
we decided to burgle her house. Unfortunately she interrupted
the nature of his opinions. But here no unity of any kind is
the burglary and was murdered by V. Though not present at
discernible. Vou cannot even say that Farington was a sad
the crime, I was implicated, and when confronted with my aunt’s
gossip like Walpole, though he tells you an immense deal of
body, its extreme ugliness brouglit me back to iny senses, and
gossip; nor can his records be disregarded as mere“ tittle-tattle.“
I realised the extent of my aberrations, I was in prison for six
He is not a cynie, nor is he spiteful or immoral. He is none of
years. When I came out, I married my present wife, and now
these things, or anything else you can discover, and therefore
live very happily above our little country shop. To-day I am
you look in vain for a peg on which to hang his diary. As for
chielly interested in bee-keeping and the growing of vegetables.
philosophy of life, or uniformity of opinion, they are nowhere
But I still have a romantic feeling for Veronica H.
to be found, and you have only to compare this diary with such
Hauptmann'’s understanding of the human mechanism and
a book as Hazlitt’s Conversations with Northcote, where many
his dramatie imagination are shown by little touches through¬
of Farington's names keep cropping up, to perceive the difference
out the book; it is written in short passages, sometimes
between a book of life and mere jottings about other people's
bare in style, sometimes fantastic, such as well express the
lives.
efforts of the patient to get this nightmare off his mind
But somchow Joseph Farington manages to keep his hand
once and for all. But the whiole tale, though quite con¬
upon our buttonholes, and to create the impression of a trust¬
crivable, and perhaps scientifically accurate, seems thin and
worthy witness well worthy of vour attention. Certainly he
unrelated to any ordinary emotions. It is interestingrather than
contrives after his bald fashion to throw cross-lights upon f#rnous
moving. In Casanova, even at his most scandalous, we feel a
Ciiaracters already known to most of us from other sourees.
sympathetie interest. For Hauptmann’s hero we feel only
But in sober truth how littie do we really kno# about anybody?
the remotest form of pity, hardly more than the cold curiosity
A fresh fact, an entirely new comnment upon à man we fancied
of the asylum doctor. Phankom is neither dull nor vulgar,
we knew, and then—in a moment—-the coach dur imagination
and is far better worth reading than most novels. It deser 7es
had constructed is upset and we are forced to scramble about
publication in England. If any publisher is enterprising endugh
and try to reconstruct what after all was only the work of our
to take it he should make certain alterations in the text. It
is right that for an American public the translation should be
Johnson, Reynolds, Burke, Goldsmith, Boswell, Horace
made into Amcrican; but to an Englishman, used though he
Walpole, King George, the Thrales, Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, aie
may be to hearing waiters and hairdressers in Italy and Germany
orly a few of the names of the men and women about whom tbis
address him in an accent acquired in Seattle or Milwankee, it
diary teils us things, or, at all events, reports to us things which
remains disconcerting to hear of the inhabitants of Breslau
wearing tuxedos' and exclaiming" Shucks.“ Still, all
give us pause and compel us, not, perhaps, to alter our judg¬
ments, but to take up our long abandoned paint-brush and adda
translations from the German, into whichever of the Anglo¬
Saxon dialects they are made, are to be encouraged: so many
touch or two of light or shading to the familiar portraits that
people read French fluently, so few German. Will no oue give
have long rested unaltered in the picturg-gallery of our minds.
us some Wedekind, some Keyserling, some Hoffmansthal, some
This diary may conveniently be divided into two parts; one
Thomas Manr and some of the unknown jeunes?
which deals with the affairs of the newly founded“ Royal
Ravnorn Moarmien.
Academy of the Arts,'’ and with the painters, engravers and
architects of the day, and the other with the more general
public of authors, critics, actors, seldiers, etc. As already said,
there is much to be learnt from the diary under both these
THE FARINGTON DIARY
heads.
To give any useful notion of the varie l contents of this book, of
The Farington Diary. By Josern Faninorow, R.A. July, 1793,
which another volume may soon be ex.pected, is impossible from
to August, 1802. First Volume. With Illustrations.
the very nature of the case. One extract, however, I feel Imust
Hutchinson. 218.
give, though it is not characteristic of the diary, being longer
The discovery of this diary and its subsequent purchase and
and more intimate than usual, and is therefore in no way to be
day-by-day publication in the lively columns of the Morning
taken as a sample of the bulk.
Post deserve to be chronicled as cheerful and pleasure-giving
This extract relates to a great man about whom some harsh—
events in dismal days. The pleasure this publication has already
and, I trust, not entirely truthful—things are reported in other
given in what may be called its newspaper days is agrecably
parts of the diary, and also does justice to a young man about
evidenced by the notes with which this volume is liberally be¬
whom very little to his credit has hitherto been recorded. I
spattered, contributed by readers of the Morning Post, who,
refer to Edmrund Burke and his son Richard:
being either descendants or collateral relatives, or old family
September 30, 1794.—Lady Inchiquin this morning described to
friends of the huge army of persons named in the diary, were
me the death of Young Burke. Two days only before his death
delighted to encounter after all these years familiar names; and
he was removed to Brompton, and it was not till then that his
even those who were not altogether pleased with what they read
Father was sensible of his danger. On the day he died he heard
vere at all everts intensely interested; and to be intensely
his Fath#r so loud in his expressions of grief in the rext room as
mierested in what ene reads is in itself a pleasure. We all like
himself to be much moved by it. He ordered bis servant to driss
to be reminded of names and places which recall a buried past
him and make him appearas well as he could. He then walked into
and create a flutter amongst the grave-clothes of half-forgotten
the next room to his Father and addressed him on his allowing his
memories. That Foringfon’s Diary has done and is still doing
grief so to pvercome him.“ You unman me, sir, by it; recollect
this is plain and intelligible enough.
yourself; come into me and talk to me of religion or on some other
As for the book itself, it is one hard to deseribe or classify.
subject.'' They reu#rued together. and being scated, the young
The Editor in his very useful and instructive, though short,
man said My heart Gutters.“ Hearirg a noise like rain, he said:
Introduction stumbles, as perhaps was inevitable, for do not all
Docs it rain?“ His Father replied: “o; it is the wind.?' Again
diaries begin with a*D? before the names of Pepys and
hearing it, he said: Surely it rains.“' His Father replied: No;
Evelyn, and opines that Furingion’s Diury will take rank with
it is the wind among the trees.'' The son then began to repeat that
part of the morning hymn from Milton (Paradise Lost, book v.,
theirs; and so indeed it may in catalogues, but nowhere eise.
lines 192-7), beginning with:
Pepys and Evelyn stand self-revealed in their diaries and are
in truth the most interesting ligures in them, but Joseph Faring¬
* His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
ton escapes our grasp. That he was a good-looking man his
Breathe soft, or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines!
portrait by Lawrence agrecably certilies, and that he was an
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains! and ye that warble as ye flow
affectionate onc his touching entry, to be found on p. 287, on the
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise.)
death of his wifr, amiably attests; but little else can be gleaned
While proceeding in repeating that hyin he sunk forward into his
about him save that, like the late John Forster, the biographer
Father’s arms and expired. Mrs. Burke came in at this distressing
of Diekens, he was an arbitrary gent,“’ and for many years
moment (p. 67).
ruled the roast in that childish coterie, the Royal Academy.