It seems to have something to do with the Celtic genius. One can always
understand a Scottish Celt better by comparing him with an Irish one or
a Welsh; and it will certainly prove illuminative in the present case to
remember Mr. W.B. Yeats while one is thinking of Fiona Macleod. To the
present writer it seems that the woman-soul is apparent in both, and
that she is singing the same tune; the only difference being, as it
were, in the quality of the voice, Fiona Macleod singing in high
soprano, and Mr. Yeats in deep and most heart-searching contralto.
The Fiona Macleod side of Sharp never throve well in London. Hers was
the fate of those who in this busy world have retained the faculty and
the need for dreaming. So Sharp had to get away from London--driven of
the spirit into the wilderness--that his other self might live and
breathe. One feels the power of this second self especially in certain
words that recur over and over again, until the reader is almost
hypnotised by their lilting, and finds himself in a kind of sleep. That
dreaming personality, with eyes half closed and poppy-decorated hair,
could never live in the bondage of the city cage.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123