Essays on Life, Art and Science | Page 6

such constant obligation, none which I can so ill spare, and none
which I would choose so readily if I were allowed to select one single
volume and keep it for my own.
On finding myself asked for a contribution to the Universal Review, I
went, as I have explained, to the Museum, and presently repaired to
bookcase No. 2008 to get my favourite volume. Alas! it was in the
room no longer. It was not in use, for its place was filled up already;
besides, no one ever used it but myself. Whether the ghost of the late
Mr. Frost has been so eminently unchristian as to interfere, or whether
the authorities have removed the book in ignorance of the steady
demand which there has been for it on the part of at least one reader,
are points I cannot determine. All I know is that the book is gone, and I
feel as Wordsworth is generally supposed to have felt when he became
aware that Lucy was in her grave, and exclaimed so emphatically that
this would make a considerable difference to him, or words to that
effect.
Now I think of it, Frost's "Lives of Eminent Christians" was very like
Lucy. The one resided at Dovedale in Derbyshire, the other in Great
Russell Street, Bloomsbury. I admit that I do not see the resemblance
here at this moment, but if I try to develop my perception I shall
doubtless ere long find a marvellously striking one. In other respects,
however, than mere local habitat the likeness is obvious. Lucy was not
particularly attractive either inside or out--no more was Frost's "Lives
of Eminent Christians"; there were few to praise her, and of those few
still fewer could bring themselves to like her; indeed, Wordsworth
himself seems to have been the only person who thought much about
her one way or the other. In like manner, I believe I was the only reader
who thought much one way or the other about Frost's "Lives of
Eminent Christians," but this in itself was one of the attractions of the
book; and as for the grief we respectively felt and feel, I believe my
own to be as deep as Wordsworth's, if not more so.
I said above, "as Wordsworth is generally supposed to have felt"; for

any one imbued with the spirit of modern science will read
Wordsworth's poem with different eyes from those of a mere literary
critic. He will note that Wordsworth is most careful not to explain the
nature of the difference which the death of Lucy will occasion to him.
He tells us that there will be a difference; but there the matter ends. The
superficial reader takes it that he was very sorry she was dead; it is, of
course, possible that he may have actually been so, but he has not said
this. On the contrary, he has hinted plainly that she was ugly, and
generally disliked; she was only like a violet when she was half-hidden
from the view, and only fair as a star when there were so few stars out
that it was practically impossible to make an invidious comparison. If
there were as many as even two stars the likeness was felt to be at an
end. If Wordsworth had imprudently promised to marry this young
person during a time when he had been unusually long in keeping to
good resolutions, and had afterwards seen some one whom he liked
better, then Lucy's death would undoubtedly have made a considerable
difference to him, and this is all that he has ever said that it would do.
What right have we to put glosses upon the masterly reticence of a poet,
and credit him with feelings possibly the very reverse of those he
actually entertained?
Sometimes, indeed, I have been inclined to think that a mystery is
being hinted at more dark than any critic has suspected. I do not happen
to possess a copy of the poem, but the writer, if I am not mistaken, says
that "few could know when Lucy ceased to be." "Ceased to be" is a
suspiciously euphemistic expression, and the words "few could know"
are not applicable to the ordinary peaceful death of a domestic servant
such as Lucy appears to have been. No matter how obscure the
deceased, any number of people commonly can know the day and hour
of his or her demise, whereas in this case we are expressly told it would
be impossible for them to do so. Wordsworth was nothing if not
accurate, and would not have said that few could know, but that few
actually did know, unless he was aware of circumstances that precluded
all but those implicated in the crime of her death from knowing the
precise