Gilbert

by Michael Coren

  My last American tour consisted of inflicting no less than ninety lectures on people who never did me any harm; and the remainder of the adventure, which was very enjoyable, breaks up like a dream into isolated incidents. An aged negro porter, with a face like a walnut, whom I discouraged from brushing my hat, and who rebuked me saying “Ho, young man. Yo’s losing yo dignity before yo times. Yo’s got to look nice for de girls.” A grave messenger who came to me in a Los Angeles hotel, from a leading film magnate, wishing to arrange for my being photographed with the Twenty-four Bathing-Beauties, Leviathan among the Nereids, an offer which was declined amid general surprise. An agonising effort to be fair to the subtleties of the evolutionary controversy, in addressing the students of Notre Dame, Indiana, in a series on “Victorian Literature,” of which no record remained except that one student wrote in the middle of his blank note-book, “Darwin did a lot of harm.” I am not at all certain that he was wrong; but it was something of a simplification of my reasons for being agnostic about the agnostic deductions in the debates about Lamarck and Mendel. A debate about the history of religion with a very famous sceptic; who, when I tried to talk about Greek cults or Asiatic asceticism, appeared to be unable to think of anything except about Jonah and the Whale. But it is the curse of this comic career of lecturing that it seems to bring on the lighter stage nothing except comedies; and I have already said that I do not think America takes them any more seriously than I do …

  Anxiety only broke into the proceedings on one occasion. In January, in Chattanooga, Frances was taken ill. Her health began to deteriorate, and after a few days of amateur nursing she was taken into hospital, under the supervision of two specialists. It appeared that she might not live, and Gilbert rushed back to her side. He had had to cancel lectures at the last moment, had lost his ticket, and had not slept in nights. It was pointed out to him that for each lecture cancellation he would have to pay compensation to Mr Keedick of £100. The cancellations were mounting up, and so were Gilbert’s bills. The point of the tour had been to earn enough money to maintain G. K.’s Weekly and build enough savings for domestic stability. At this rate Gilbert would return to Britain both exhausted and poor. A recovering Frances urged him to continue the tour, with Dorothy as his guide and helper. Reluctantly, he did so. The lectures took him to California and back to New York. He was completely drained. By the time he arrived back in England he was once again an ill man, in dire need of rest and peace. British friends expecting a rejuvenated Gilbert Chesterton were shocked to greet such a worn figure. Frances blamed herself, Gilbert blamed nothing at all. More than that, he initiated another series of talks, speaking to the highly demanding Oxford Union in October. Dorothy Collins finally took matters into her own hands, cancelling short-term engagements. Ronald Knox was one of those disappointed. “It is so maddening,” he wrote. “I shall begin to believe you have a down on me …”

  With his Illustrated London News column still in great demand, Gilbert decided to publish a further collection of the pieces. It was titled All Is Grist, appeared in late October 1931, and reflected his increasing age and declining ebullience. Articles for G. K.’s Weekly, broadcasts for the BBC and occasional free-lance work kept him busy, but the crowning achievement of the period was the biography of Chaucer in early 1932. The subject suited Gilbert more appositely than almost any other. Here was the England of the Roman Church, the England of chivalry, the England of Gilbert’s imagination. The idea of the book came originally from Richard de la Mare, the son of a famous father, who was employed by the publishers Faber and Faber. Gilbert received an advance payment of 1000 pounds, the highest of his career, and the writing of the book proved to be equally rewarding. It would be his final tribute to his England. Although the bulk of the Chaucer book was the result of some form of atavistic empathy, a natural disposition, there was still a great deal of research, writing and dictating to be done. By the time of its completion Gilbert’s health was in a terrible state, and he was finding relaxation difficult. The Chestertons travelled across the Irish Sea to Dublin, to be present at the Eucharistic Congress in Dublin. The vocal support from the Irish people for the couple, and the comforting atmosphere of a mass meeting of kindred spirits went a little way to restoring Gilbert’s mental ease. Physically however he was suffering and deteriorating.

  Sidelights on New London and Newer York and Christendom in Dublin, based on the recent trip, appeared by the middle of 1932, and Gilbert was fighting his pain to appear on the BBC and speak to the Distributists, the Detective Club and a plethora of Catholic and literary societies. He once more broke down. Dorothy Collins, on holiday in France, wrote to Frances: “It seems almost inevitable that he should have these attacks at stated intervals. I suppose it is Nature’s warning to him that he is not made of cast-iron and that he must be careful.” It was increasingly apparent to increasingly large numbers of people that Gilbert’s health had to break once and for all before too long.

  Yet there was still a feeling that something was still to be done, to be achieved, to be finished. The tangible atmosphere of expectation and finality frightened Frances. In 1933 All I Survey, another collection of essays, appeared; this was surely not the final statement from such a man. With Hitler about to grip the once-stately, noble Germany by the throat, and Europe about to decay into dictatorial politics and fascistic remorse; and, to the East, with a murderous regime hiding in the obfuscation of social engineering, Chesterton let fly two more shots at the madmen who ran the asylum. The first was a biography of St Thomas Aquinas, that most stable and sensible of saints. If the rules and laws and philosophies of Aquinas had been followed, contemporaries said, the world would not be preparing for slaughter.

  In a recent introduction to an American edition of the book Raymond Dennehy stated:

  There is praise and there is praise. It is one thing for a book to be widely praised by laymen, quite another thing for it to be praised by experts in the field and quite another thing yet for it to be praised by the members of both groups. Chesterton’s book on Aquinas has not only earned the praise of laymen and expert alike but has also earned the praise of the expert’s expert, the late Etienne Gilson, the greatest of all the historians of medieval thought. His studies on Thomas Aquinas are the benchmark for all subsequent Thomistic scholarship. After reading Chesterton’s St Thomas Aquinas Gilson remarked: “For many years I have studied St Thomas and written on him and now a journalist writes a better book about him that I have.” [Gilson continued] “I consider it as being without comparison the best book ever written on St Thomas. Nothing short of genius can account for such an achievement. Everybody will no doubt admit that it is a ‘clever’ book, but few readers who have spent twenty or thirty years in studying St Thomas Aquinas, and who, perhaps, have themselves, published two or three volumes on the subject, can fail to perceive the so-called ‘wit’ of Chesterton has put their scholarship to shame. He has guessed all that they had tried to demonstrate, and he has said all that which they were more or less clumsily attempting to express in academic formulas.”

  It is a deceptively simple book, relying, not on esoteric analysis and archaic nomenclature, but on strong, clean and sharp penetration of Aquinas and his works. Gilbert “understood” Aquinas, and when he was in such a position he found it relatively straightforward to convey such an understanding. He defends and explains St Thomas Aquinas’s realism and common sense, the way in which he stressed the ultimate “goodness” of Christianity and its philosophy, and the link between Aquinas and contemporary Catholic thinking. Far from this being liberation theology, it was the liberating of theology. His approach to the actual writing of the book was delightful. He would break off from other writing and say to Dorothy Collins with a grin on his face, “Shall we do a bit of Tommy?” and then dictate to her and talk to himself. He asked his secretary to obtain some books on Aquinas to aid his research; she replied, quite naturally, that he would have to tell her which books he wanted. His reply? “I don’t know.” A le
tter to Father O’Connor resulted in a list of suggested reading, and a trip to London produced the books themselves. Gilbert barely looked at them, and the only mark he made was to draw a picture of Aquinas on one of the pages. There were elements of self-identification in the book. Here was St Thomas, “The Dumb Ox,” a large, obese man who as a youngster was laughed at and thought to be stupid. It was a labour of love, a tribute to Aquinas and a tribute to Gilbert. As was usual, he set his subject firmly in the age from which he came.

  Thomas Aquinas, in a strange and rather symbolic manner, sprang out of the very centre of the civilised world of his time; the central knot or coil of the powers then controlling Christendom. He was closely connected with all of them; even with some of them that might well be described as destroying Christendom. The whole religious quarrel, the whole international quarrel, was for him a family quarrel. He was born in the purple; almost literally on the hem of the imperial purple; for his own cousin was the Holy Roman Emperor. He could have quartered half the kingdoms of Europe on his shield — if he had not thrown away the shield …

  With what energy he had remaining Gilbert delivered some more broadcasts, eased his bulk onto the lecturing platform for the last few times, and then fired his last optimistic, sure, steadfast cannonade. The Scandal of Father Brown was published in 1935. It contains few of the thrusts and lunges of the earlier detective stories, and is surely the weakest of the collection. But its essence remains unchanged. Father Brown — unimposing, stoical, witty and wise — continues to tread his path and right other’s wrongs. Both Gilbert and Frances’s mothers were dead now, and the lustre of younger days had somehow been misplaced down the years; or was it lost? They were happy together, and content. Gilbert continued to work on his autobiography, which was to be published after his death. He concluded it thus

  The story, therefore, can only end as any detective story should end with its own particular questions answered and its own primary problems solved. Thousands of totally different stories, with totally different problems, have ended in the same place with their problems solved. But for me my end is my beginning, as Maurice Baring quoted of Mary Stuart, and this overwhelming conviction that there is one key which can unlock all doors brings back to me my first glimpse of the glorious gift of the senses; and the sensational experience of sensation. And there starts up again before me, standing sharp and clear in shape as of old, the figure of a man who crosses a bridge and who carries a key; as I saw him when I first looked into fairyland through the window of my father’s peepshow. But I know that he who is called Pontifex, the Builder of the Bridge, is called also Claviger, the Bearer of the Key; and that such keys were given him to bind and loose when he was a poor fisher in a far province, beside a small and almost secret sea.

  Gilbert complained to Frances that he was tired; more than in the past, and more frequently. She understood. The long sleep began. It was so deserved, so full of peace and grace.

  Know you what earth shall lose to-night, what rich un-counted loans,

  What heavy gold of tales untold you bury with my bones?

  My loves in deep dim meadows, my ships that rode at ease,

  Ruffling the purple plumage of strange and secret seas.

  To see this fair earth as it is to me alone was given,

  The blow that breaks my brow to-night shall break the dome of heaven.

  The skies I saw, the trees I saw after no eyes shall see.

  To-night I die the death of God: the stars shall die with me:

  One sound shall sunder all the spears and break the trumpet’s breath:

  You never laughed in all your life as I shall laugh in death.

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  Bibliography

  Primary Sources

  Students of Gilbert Chesterton are privileged enough to have John Sullivan’s two volumes of bibliography within easy reach. Entitled G.K. Chesterton, a Bibliography, and Chesterton Continued — A Bibliographical Supplement, these works are indispensable, if in need of constant updating. The bulk of Gilbert’s note-books, drawings, diary material and first draft books are still at Top Meadow, under the supervision of Revd Henry Reed. Although some organisation of the papers has taken place in recent years there is still a lot of work to be done. Sadly, a great many documents have been destroyed or lost over the years, partly by accident, partly by design. This diaspora of Chestertonian work has made research difficult. I attempted to supplement the Top Meadow collection by writing letters to the Catholic press, the literary press, major newspapers and various journals within the areas where Gilbert lived and worked. The result was hundreds of letters from members of the public who had firsthand or inherited anecdotes and memories. Some of these were original, others were well-known. The light they threw on Gilbert’s personal life was extremely illuminating. I also used this method of discovering information in Ontario, Canada, and New York State, U.S.A.

  The chapter on anti-Semitism owes a great debt to the Wiener Library in London, where a file on Gilbert exists. This institution catalogues anti-Jewish statements and actions, and is an essential source both for facts and for understanding. The Chesterton Review, published from Canada, is one of those rare journals, a literary magazine concentrating on one author, which is not eccentric or foolishly esoteric. It publicises most new findings, often publishing them. Of Gilbert’s own works, only a small number are currently in print; of the others, some are virtually impossible to obtain. The Ignatius Press in New York is engaged in issuing the complete works of Gilbert Chesterton, an enterprise which will take years. The first volumes have already been published, and are expertly edited and organised. This will guarantee access to the entire canon.

  I have listed Gilbert’s published books, in chronological order; so few are currently in print that I have not listed publishing houses.

  1900

  Greybeards at Play

  The Wild Knight and Other Poems

  1901

  The Defendant

  1902

  Twelve Types

  1903

  Robert Browning

  Varied Types

  1904

  G.F. Watts

  The Napoleon of Notting Hill

  1905

  The Club of Queer Trades

  Heretics

  1906

  Charles Dickens

  1908

  The Man Who Was Thursday

  All Things Considered

  Orthodoxy

  1909

  George Bernard Shaw

  Tremendous Trifles

  1910

  The Ball and the Cross

  What’s Wrong With The World

  Alarms and Discursions

  William Blake

  1911

  A Chesterton Calendar

  Appreciations and Criticism of the Works of Charles Dickens

  The Innocence of Father Brown

  The Ballad of the White Horse

  1912

  Manalive

  A Miscellany of Men

  1913

  The Victorian Age in Literature

  Magic

  1914

  The Flying Inn

  The Wisdom of Father Brown

  The Barbarism of Berlin

  1915

  Letters to an Old Garibaldian

  Poems

  Wine, Water and Song

  The Crimes of England

  1917

  Lord Kitchener

  A Short History of England

  1919

  Irish Impressions

  1920

  The Superstition of Divorce

  The Uses of Diversity

  The New Jerusalem

  1922

  Eugenics and Other Evils

&nbs
p; What I Saw in America

  The Ballad of St Barbara and Other Verses

  The Man Who Knew Too Much

  1923

  Fancies Versus Fads

  St. Francis of Assisi

  1925

  Tales of the Long Bow

  The Everlasting Man

  William Cobbett

  1926

  The Incredulity of Father Brown

  The Outline of Sanity

  The Queen of Seven Swords

  1927

  The Return of Don Quixote

  Collected Poems

  The Secret of Father Brown

  The Judgement of Dr Johnson

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  1928

  Generally Speaking

  1929

  The Poet and the Lunatics

  The Thing

  G.K.C. as M.C.

  1930

  Four Faultless Felons

  The Resurrection of Rome

  Come to Think of It

  1931

  All Is Grist

  1932

  Chaucer

  Sidelights on New London and Newer York

  1933

  All I Survey

  St. Thomas Aquinas

  1934

  Avowals and Denials

  1935

  The Scandal of Father Brown

  The Well and the Shallows

  1936

  As I Was Saying

  Posthumous

  Autobiography

  The Paradoxes of Mr. Pond

  The Coloured Lands

  The End of the Armistice

  The Common Man

  A Handful of Authors

  The Glass Walking-Stick

  Lunacy and Letters