Musgrave's one object is to discover what he
calls the truth; Herries thrives and battens upon illusions.
Musgrave is fond of the details of life, loves food and drink,
conviviality and social engagements, new people and unfamiliar
places--Herries is quite indifferent to the garniture of life,
lives in great personal discomfort, dislikes mixed assemblies and
chatter, and has a fastidious dislike of the present, whatever it
is, from a sense that possibilities are so much richer than
performances. Musgrave admits that he has been more successful as a
writer than he deserves; Herries is likely, I think, to disappoint
the hopes of his friends, and will not do justice to his
extraordinary gifts, from a certain dreaminess and lack of
vitality. Musgrave loves the act of writing, and is always full to
the brim of matter. Herries dislikes composition, and is yet drawn
to it by a sense of fearful responsibility. Neither have,
fortunately, the least artistic jealousy. Herries regards a man
like Musgrave with a sort of incredulous stupefaction, as a stream
of inexplicable volume.
Pages:
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287