Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: Storyteller, Historian and Psychologist
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: Storyteller, Historian and Psychologist is an article written by W. P. published in To-Day on 23 december 1916.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
One evening, some years ago, it was my privilege to hear Sir A. Conan Doyle speak to an audience. composed mostly of boys. A well-meaning, but some-what blundering, cleric introduced the speaker as "the creator of Sherlock Holmes." I fancy I may have been wrong — but I fancy I saw our subject wince. Perhaps "wince" is not quite the right word, for he is not the kind of man to wince, whatever happens to him, so we will say that he permitted his audience to see for a moment that he was not altogether delighted at hearing that description of himself.
I imagine that he does not care to be labelled as "the man who wrote Sherlock Holmes," for although he is the author of some of the best detective stories that have been written in the English language, he has written other things which give him the right to a much higher place in the literary world — historical novels, a book of strenuous verses, the official — or, at any rate, semi-official — history of the Boer War, some first-rate short stories (has he not been for many years one of the pillars of the Strand Magazine?) and other things which go to show that his interest in crimes and the detection of crimes is only a very small "side line" in his activities.
A Friend of Meredith.
There are those who assert that the imagination of a literary man is in the nature of a disease — an interesting disease, it is true, but, still, something which is not found in the normal, healthy man — a man who possesses a perfectly healthy mind and body. Whenever I have wanted to refute that suggestion I have always held up two examples of authors whose works and ways point to its falsity — George Meredith and Arthur Conan Doyle.
The two men were friends. I recall an anecdote that the younger man told of the older at a dinner. I think it was at the Authors' Club. During the later part of his life Meredith's doctor advised him not to touch wine. One day, when he was entertaining Sir A. Conan Doyle. Meredith produced a bottle of very excellent wine, and took a real pleasure in seeing his guest drinking it. Afterwards Meredith told his guest that it did him good to see a man drink that wine with proper appreciation.
"I told him," said Sir Arthur, "that if I could do him any good by doing any little thing of that sort, I should be most happy——" The rest of the sentence was drowned in laughter.
War and Drama.
Of course, merely to see the subject of this article is to disprove the theory that the imagination of the literary man is an abnormal thing, not to be found in a healthy mind ; rather, you would infer that it is a growth only possible in the mind of a man who secures full play for all his activities, physical and mental. Breezy seems to be the right adjective to apply to Conan Doyle, for in spite of his years — he is 57 — he is as fit and active as a man half his age. He is always extremely alert, mentally and physically. When the Boer war broke out he was one of the first to offer his services to his country, and at the outbreak of the present war he was first in the field with a scheme for training all men to shoot. His visit to South Africa during the Boer War enabled him to write an account of the cause and conduct of the war. The book was translated in twelve foreign languages and one hundred thousand copies were given away.
In the same year our author broke new ground, and, with "The Story of Waterloo," produced one of the finest one-act plays that has ever been put on an English stage. It was written, of course, expressly for Sir Henry Irving, who made one of his biggest successes in it. Playgoers will always treasure the memory of Sir Henry's wonderful picture of the old soldier in this little play, and will recall its dramatic closing line — "The Guards want powder, and, by God! they shall have it!"
Early Struggle with the Pen.
Some years ago our author contributed an article to a very fascinating series of articles in the Idler, entitled "My First Book." There he set down in racy language an account of his early struggles with the pen. He began as a boy, with the healthy boy's passion for stories of adventure, and his first book was begun — but never finished when he was six.
His second book was told — but never written. Between these two books there passed a period of four years, during which the young author spent most of his spare time in reading. "It is rumoured," wrote Conan Doyle, "that a special meeting of a library committee was held in my honour, at which a bye-law was passed that no subscriber should be permitted to change his book more than three times a day. Yet, even with these limitations, by the aid of a well-stocked bookcase at home, I managed to enter my tenth year with a good deal in my head that I could never have learned in the class-rooms."
His second book, the one told but never written was enjoyed by the boys at his school. "I was bribed with pastry to continue these efforts, and I remember that I always stipulated for tarts down and strict business, which shows that I was born to be a member of the Authors' Society. Sometimes I would stop dead in the very thrill of a crisis, and could only be set going again by apples."
A lost MS.
He freely admits that his literary experiences might have ended there if he had not afterwards been taken in hand by "that good old harsh-faced schoolmistress Hard Times." He began to write, when he was a young doctor, for the best of all reasons, Chambers' Journal was one of the first magazines to accept his work, and although some of his earlier stories did not hit the mark at the first attempt all of them eventually appeared in print.
In those days, magazines had a habit of omitting to print their authors' names, and Conan Doyle was one of the first authors to perceive the drawback of that custom to authors. With the object of bringing his name before the public he wrote a book. The MS. was lost in the post and has never been found, but as the book steered very near to the wind known as the law of libel the author is not sorry.
This was followed by a sensational novel, written in the intervals of attending to a busy practice. The conditions were not favourable to the production of a sensational novel ; anyhow, it did not appear.
Micah Clarke.
Then, after an interval, came a very fine book one that is regarded by most of his readers as one of his best, if not the best — "Micah Clarke."
The author's own confession about this book is:— "A year's reading and five months' writing finished it." For a time it seemed as though the seventeen months' work were to be wasted. The book was refused by several publishers, but eventually it was sent to Messrs. Long-mans, where it had the good fortune to fall into the hands of Mr. Andrew Lang. The rest everyone knows.
With the publication of "Micah Clarke" the author's name was made, but he quickly consolidated his position with "The Captain of the Polestar," "The Sign of Four," "The White Company," and "The Firm of Girdlestone." Then, in 1891, came his most popular success, "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" — a success that has since been twice repeated with "The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes" and "The Return of Sherlock Holmes." Many thousands of readers will also be grateful to the author for his "The Refugees," "The Great Shadow," "[[Round the Red Lamp]," "The Stark Munro Letters," "The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard," "Rodney Stone," "Uncle Bernac," "The Tragedy of the Korosko," "The Hound of the Baskervilles," "The Lost World," and "The Poison Belt."
The labour involved by producing these books did not prevent the author from using his pen for the benefit of others. His great interest is the Beck Case will he remembered, and it was largely owing to his efforts that wrong was turned into right.
The Solid Core of Spiritualism.
Within the past few weeks the many friends and admirer, of the author have been somewhat surprised to hear that he has taken his stand on the side or the spiritualists. His views on this creed were expressed in two articles which he contributed to Light. There he tells us that after "thirty years of thought," his "conclusions can be expressed concisely in one sentence. In spite of occasional fraud and wild imaginings, there remains a solid core in this whole spiritual movement which is infinitely nearer to positive proof than any other religious development with which, I am acquainted. The days see past when the considered opinions of such men as Crookes, Wallace, Flammarion, Lodge, Barrett, Generals Drayson and Turner, Serjeant Ballantyne, W. T. Stead, Judge Edmonds, Vice-Admiral Usborne Moore, the late Arch-deacon Wilberforce, and such a cloud of other witnesses, can be dismissed with the empty-headed 'all rot' formula." At the conclusion of this confession of faith there appears this extraordinary passage:—
"But when one knows, as I know, of widows who are assured that they hear the loved voice once again, or of mothers whose hands, groping in the darkness, clasp once again those of the vanished child, and when one considers the loftiness of their intercourse and the serenity of spirit which succeeds it, I feel sure that a fuller knowledge would calm the doubt of the most scrupulous conscience. Men talk of a great religious revival after the war. Perhaps it is in this direction that it will be."
Truth Clad in a Robe.
Well, this is not the place in which to open up a controversy as to the truths or untruths of spiritualism, but possibly the words "groping in the darkness" in the above passage will not pass unnoticed by the average reader. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is about the last man on earth whom one would suspect of being a spiritualist, and his fellow-believers are to be congratulated on having won him over to their way of thinking. A larger public will be more interested in the latest work of one of the most popular authors of the day. It is "the" history of the present war, a true narrative. And there the wise reader will discern the spirit of Truth clad the robe woven by a master of the art of fiction.
W. P.
