The Quest for Corvo: An Experiment in Biography (Valancourt eClassics)

by A. J. A. Symons

  A curious, not entirely convincing defence. What of the cheques that had not been met, the attempted purchase of Gleeson White’s house, the suggestion that he might invest a thousand pounds in the photographic firm in Aberdeen? Yet ‘from a much more thorough knowledge of his whole career than any other of his friends [possessed]’, Dr Hardy had spoken unhesitatingly for Rolfe. In search of further light, I turned to the letters.

  They helped me very little. As I expected, they were written in that fascinating hand which I already knew; and ranged from 1894, perhaps six months after the Aberdeen ordeal ended, to eleven years later, just after Hadrian was published. But in the main they were concerned with the literary activities of Rolfe’s later life, not with the period of the attack and the opening of his career as a writer, with which, at that moment, I was most concerned. If I were to print them here, they would confuse the reader, as they did me: I shall therefore reserve them for their chronological place. At least, however, they confirmed my feelings that there must be a Rolfe other than the rascal exposed in the Aberdeen Free Press.

  It was not by accident, I was certain, that these letters selected for me by Mr Herbert Rolfe threw no light on his brother’s end in Venice. Evidently the same motives had dictated his choice as those which were behind the refusal of The Desire and Pursuit of the Whole; and, remembering the Millard letters, it was not difficult to guess what they were. But in any event it seemed useless to attempt to break down Mr Rolfe’s reluctance till I had learned what there was to be learned from my other correspondents. Mr Shane Leslie was an obvious source: he must have made inquiries over the whole ground before writing his biographical survey. Perhaps he had notes which would set me on fresh paths. I wrote to him.

  CHAPTER 5: THE THEOLOGICAL STUDENT

  In reply I received an amiably worded invitation to lunch a week later. I wished that the interval had been briefer; but, as there was no way of abridging it, I occupied myself meanwhile in reviewing the notes I had gathered. Up to 1894 my information covered most of Rolfe’s movements; he was never out of sight for long. From his birth in 1860 till the end of his schooldays in 1875 I had only his brother’s brief description, it is true; but it seemed to me sufficient: sufficient for the moment, at least. My interest in the early years of the eminent is far less than that which the tradition of biographical writing painfully imposes on its devotees. The facts of infancy may be vital when they refer to a prodigy such as Mozart, interesting when relevant to a rebel such as Shelley, valuable when they show the growth of a man out of his place, as Poe; but in Rolfe’s case I felt that his childhood was by much the least interesting part of his life. Moreover, it is possible to reason backwards as well as forwards, to infer the child from the man; and I proposed to do so. I knew enough to picture the bright attractive boy, a natural Catholic in a household of Dissenters, interested in drawing, music and the arts, not over-given to sport, and with that love of experiment which so frequently seems instability in youth. I could well understand his cutting short his schooldays from a desire to be in, and to see, the world; he was precocious, not in ability to pass examinations, but in the general development of his personality. On the other hand, the period between leaving school and becoming a schoolmaster was more interesting; and I hoped that later I should learn more of those formative years. But here again one can to some extent reason backwards; the choice of schoolmastership is significant, particularly in one whose own schooldays were cut short. What sort of master, I wondered, had he made? A good one, at least so far as Grantham was concerned, or his headmaster Hardy would not have spoken so highly of him in later years. No doubt I should find traces at his other schools.

  His becoming Catholic I could easily understand. The attraction of the Catholic Faith for the artistic temperament is a phenomenon which has been the subject of many novels, and is one of the facts of psychology. Even among Rolfe’s immediate contemporaries, Francis Thompson, Aubrey Beardsley, Ernest Dowson and Lionel Johnson had followed the same path, a path which has been charted by Joris Karl Huysmans. Rolfe had become a Catholic at twenty-six; and, shortly afterwards, aspired to priesthood. That, undoubtedly, was more unusual than his conversion; and yet perhaps it is not surprising that one in whom nature had not implanted a love for women should embrace a celibate career. And then Rolfe, as his books showed, was a mediaevalist, an artist, and a scholar in temperament; so that to him the tradition of the Catholic Church, with its championship of learning and beauty, must have been a real and living thing. On reflection it seemed reasonable enough that he should have desired to ally himself more intimately than as a layman with an institution that represented the best side of his character and his hopes. Yet somehow he had met squalls at Oscott, which he had left hurriedly; though squalls clearly not severe enough to deprive him of the chance of ordination, or he would never have been sent to Rome. His expulsion from the Scots College was plainly a matter that I must investigate. As for his assumption of baronial rank, it might have been a bad joke, as his brother said, inspired by an impish sense of humour and a desire for picturesque; or the story he had told Mr Kains-Jackson might be true. At all events, his clerical career from 1887 to 1890, from twenty-seven to thirty, was dated, and might be documented. His period in Christchurch, and his vicissitudes in Aberdeen, lasting from 1891 to 1894, were also plain enough. From that point my knowledge was more hazy. He had found his way to Wales, how or why I knew not; he had become a writer; and, four years after the end of his adventures in Aberdeen, he had endured the newspaper attack. With what consequences? Was it that which had provoked the suspicions and touchiness clouding his later years? I knew very little of his life as an author beyond what could be gleaned from the letters to his family. In 1904-5 he was busily engaged in writing; in 1913 he died.

  I made a similar mental tabulation of his writings. The first was Stories Toto Told Me, published in 1898 after a previous appearance in The Yellow Book. Rolfe had been moved by their success to write more, and so form his second book, In his Own Image. The same year (1901) had seen his Chronicles of the House of Borgia. Then in 1903, 1904, 1905, his translation of Omar, Hadrian the Seventh, and Don Tarquinio had successively appeared. After that, nothing till 1912 (a gap concurrent with that in his biography), when his last-published work, The Weird of the Wanderer, seemed to have fallen flat. The ground on which I should question Mr Leslie began to be clear.

  It was with a certain excitement that I rang Mr Leslie’s bell: I knew him well by name, by his writings, by the commendations of friends, but we had never met. His smile of welcome was reassuring after the reserve of Mr Rolfe; and I discovered with delight at lunch that my host (though he grieved me by leaving his excellent hock untasted) shared my own sense of verbal humour, and neither reserved all his intelligence for his writings, nor all his cordiality for those whom he knew well. Moreover, voices have always been one of my tests for new acquaintances: Mr Leslie’s intonations charmed my ear.

  As to helping me, he was wholly at my service, though he thought Rolfe’s life impossible to write. As before I was asked, what did I want to know? I put my questions under two heads: first: Rolfe’s life at Oscott and Rome; secondly, his last years. As to the second, Mr Leslie professed himself hardly wiser than I; he knew little more as to how Rolfe spent his time in Venice than could be derived from those letters belonging to Millard which I had read for myself. Regarding Rome and Oscott, however, he could be more helpful. He handed me a manuscript of several pages, written by a contemporary of Rolfe’s at the Scots College, and numerous addresses of Catholics who had known Rolfe at one time or another in his life. In particular he recommended me to approach Fr Martindale, S.J., biographer of Robert Hugh Benson. Concerning Benson, Mr Leslie gave me a few details, which I reserve for their appropriate chapter. I left him with the feeling that my quest for Corvo had made me a new friend.

  I will not impede this narrative with an account of my numerous letters beseeching information from those who had been, or might have been
, at either of his two clerical colleges with Rolfe. Some came back marked ‘Gone Away’; some to whom I wrote were dead; some refused to help me. But I did not draw all blanks, as will be seen.

  Abbot’s Salford

  Near Evesham

  Dear Sir,

  I am afraid that I cannot send you much information concerning Frederick Rolfe that will be of value. I will, however, tell you what I can remember, in the hope that you may possibly be able to pick out something which may perhaps corroborate some piece of information you already possess.

  I left Stonyhurst College in 1885 and came to Oscott in that year, while it was still a lay-College under the presidency of Mgr Souter. It was about that time, before Oscott was changed into a seminary, that Rolfe arrived and joined the ‘Divines’. The ‘Divines’ were the Church students of the College, wearing the cassock and biretta and studying for the priesthood. So far as I can remember, Rolfe was with us only a short time – a thin, somewhat emaciated, rather good-looking young man. In the course of his first week he took us by surprise one dinner-time by exclaiming aloud, in an interval of silence – ‘Oh! what lovely legs!’ This, in those far-off days of the past, was considered a somewhat outrageous exclamation to come from the lips of a Church student, and Frederick McClement expostulated with him. But it turned out that the legs he was referring to were those of a small insect which was creeping towards his soup-plate. (Fr McClement is still alive, I believe. He followed me from Stonyhurst to Oscott, and was ordained for a Scotch diocese: he has changed his name to McClymont.) Several of us figured in Hadrian the Seventh – I was Mr Whitehead, having in those days fair golden hair; but I cannot remember further details. We also figured in some of his illustrations, which were excellent and very true portraits. The painting of John Jennings as an Angel was particularly lifelike. (Jennings, afterwards Canon of Flint, is now dead.) In fact there are so few of Rolfe’s contemporaries alive to-day that I can be of very little help to you. Possibly Fr Grafton, Blackmore Park, Hanley Swan, near Worcester, might remember something about him. Rolfe left Oscott unlamented, and at that time I never thought to hear of him again. But not long afterwards I went with my brother to visit some people at Seaton, Aberdeen, named Hay, and there I saw him once more. He was tutor to the two little boys Malcolm and Cuthbert Hay. He was leaving, however, that very day, so I had no opportunity of an interview. I regret I can give you no further first-hand information. I heard that he spent several months in the Poor Law Workhouse somewhere near Southport, and occupied his time writing bitterly about the Jesuits, who had refused to accept him as a student; but that may be quite incorrect.

  Yours faithfully

  Gerald G. Jackson

  Fr Grafton proved a disappointment, but I was luckier with Fr McClymont:

  Ardcolm, Kingussie,

  Inverness-shire

  Dear Sir,

  I received your letter regarding a life you are writing of F. W. Rolfe. I think Fr Jackson could have given you as much as I can about him. However I will give you my slight recollections. Rolfe was only at Oscott for a short time, as doubtless you know. He was regarded by us students as eccentric and a subject of jokes, perhaps because he was so different from everybody else. He kept much to himself, and seemed more interested in art than in theology. I remembered he was engaged in painting a picture on some historical subject, and used to get one or more of the boys from the lay school which at that time formed part of Oscott to stand for his picture. My impression of the picture is that it was good to a high degree for anyone not a qualified artist. He also went in for beating out brasswork. I suppose you know that before coming to Oscott, the late Lord Bute had engaged him to take charge of the Catholic Choir in Oban? Amongst his books he had Lord Bute’s translation of the Breviary, no doubt given him by Lord Bute. His outstanding eccentricity was to stamp everything available with his crest, the raven (Corvo). But most noticeable was a stuffed raven which had the place of honour on his table. He explained to me about his name that ‘Rolfe’ really came from ‘Rollo’, the common ancestor of himself and William the Conqueror. He had an overweening vanity. His usual mood was taciturnity. Amongst his lighter achievements he professed a knowledge of palmistry, and for fun we used to get our fortunes told. I believe I was to have a mental illness – I may mention that it has not come off yet. I don’t think I can tell any more. The main thing is that it was and is a wonder to me why he ever became a clerical student.

  Yours sincerely

  F. B. McClymont, o.s.b.

  The Bishop of Shrewsbury was also able to tell me something:

  Bishop’s House,

  Shrewsbury

  My dear Sir,

  I fear I cannot tell you much about poor Rolfe at Oscott, although he had a room next but one to me. I am afraid we boys looked upon him as a poseur. Before he came to Oscott he was heralded as an ‘Oxford man’, and we looked forward to such a one who would take interest in cricket; and when we found he took no interest in games, and when rumour went round that he had not been at the University but had lived there for a short time in the City, his stock fell badly. He was to me personally very kind, but most of his fellow-students in ‘Divinity’ were afraid of his caustic tongue and his unmistakable sense of superiority.

  He came out to Rome early in 1889 (I think) and lived for a short time at the Scots College. As the English College men and Scots went to the same University I saw a little of him there, but he was just the same F. W. R. The morning that I remember best was after he had had a stormy interview the night before with the Rector of the Scots College – Mgr Campbell. I think the cause of it must have been that Rolfe had not paid for his pension and had been given hurried notice to quit. Rolfe said to me, ‘The man is fully paid really. He has seized a meerschaum pipe that I value at forty pounds.’