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R,CHARD MONCKTON MILNES was born in the year - OUDL Home

R,CHARD MONCKTON MILNES was born in the year - OUDL Home

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34 Hugh Walpolere<strong>in</strong>vestigation of m<strong>in</strong>or and forgotten Victorians it isra<strong>the</strong>r astonish<strong>in</strong>g I th<strong>in</strong>k that <strong>the</strong>se two men have foundnei<strong>the</strong>r critics nor biographers of merit.This paper will be justified should it lead an <strong>in</strong>vestigator—sucha one as Mr Michael Sadleir for example—to a detailed thorough study of <strong>the</strong> work and personalityof ei<strong>the</strong>r.The men of whom I speak are Charles Reade andHenry K<strong>in</strong>gsley.Charles Reade is cry<strong>in</strong>g out for his biography, for hisnovels are both curious and perplex<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong>ir comb<strong>in</strong>ationof quite opposite qualities, and his personality <strong>in</strong> itsodd violences, generosities, impetuosities both provok<strong>in</strong>gand endear<strong>in</strong>g.He <strong>was</strong> a melodramatist of <strong>the</strong> <strong>the</strong>atre and <strong>in</strong> that hefollowed both Dickens and Wilkie Coll<strong>in</strong>s. There <strong>was</strong> <strong>in</strong>him a great deal of that odd mixture of sawdust, variegatedwaistcoats and amateur <strong>the</strong>atricals that belongs toMr Crummies at one end and The Frozen Deep at <strong>the</strong>o<strong>the</strong>r.But it <strong>was</strong> not merely amateur <strong>the</strong>atricals that heldhim; he had a very real traffic with <strong>the</strong> real <strong>the</strong>atre andit <strong>was</strong> unquestionably this real <strong>the</strong>atre—felt at a timewhen <strong>the</strong> English drama <strong>was</strong> at its lowest ebb—that <strong>was</strong>responsible for <strong>the</strong> gravest faults <strong>in</strong> his tempestuousnovels. His fame also has been hampered by <strong>the</strong> excessivepopularity of his most famous novel. Had henever written The Cloister and <strong>the</strong> Hearth <strong>the</strong>re is no doubtbut that Griffith Gaunt, Put Yourself <strong>in</strong> His Place andFoul Play would be awarded a higher critical positionthan <strong>the</strong>y are. In many ways <strong>in</strong>deed Griffith Gaunt is <strong>the</strong>best novel that he ever wrote; it has less of his melodrama—although<strong>the</strong>re is plenty—and more real tragedyhav<strong>in</strong>g its source <strong>in</strong> character ra<strong>the</strong>r than <strong>in</strong> event, thanany of <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>rs. And it is strangely typical of its period.

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