Altar Fire

Christopher Benson Arthur

Description

The British author Arthur Christopher Benson was never content to fall back on the typical narrative structure when it came to his novels, and The Altar Fire is definitely no exception. In a series of letters, it tells the tale of a successful novelist who falls on hard times in the aftermath of finishing a large fiction project. But in addition to cataloguing tragedies, this is also a story of redemption -- though the path the protagonist takes to get to a better place is unexpected.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 septembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776585243
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

THE ALTAR FIRE

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ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON

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The Altar Fire First published in 1907 PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-524-3 Also available: Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-523-6 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved.

While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.

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Preface Introduction September 8, 1888 September 15, 1888 September 18, 1888 September 25, 1888 October 4, 1888 October 9, 1888 October 12, 1888 October 21, 1888 November 6, 1888 November 20, 1888 November 24, 1888 November 26, 1888 November 29, 1888 December 2, 1888 December 4, 1888 December 10, 1888 December 14, 1888 December 22, 1888 January 3, 1889 January 8, 1889 January 12, 1889 January 15, 1889 January 18, 1889 February 1, 1889 February 3, 1889

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February 7, 1889 February 20, 1889 February 24, 1889 February 28, 1889 March 3, 1889 March 8, 1889 March 14, 1889 March 20, 1889 March 28, 1889 April 4, 1889 April 9, 1889 April 14, 1889 April 25, 1889 May 2, 1889 May 8, 1889 May 14, 1889 May 23, 1889 June 4, 1889 June 8, 1889 June 14, 1889 June 20, 1889 June 28, 1889 July 1, 1889 July 8, 1889 July 15, 1889 July 18, 1889 July 28, 1889 August 8, 1889 August 11, 1889 August 12, 1889 August 13, 1889 August 19, 1889 August 28, 1889 August 30, 1889

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September 5, 1889 September 7, 1889 September 12, 1889 September 15, 1889 September 20, 1889 September 25, 1889 October 10, 1889 December 15, 1889 February 10, 1890 April 8, 1890 May 16, 1890 May 25, 1890 June 3, 1890 June 18, 1890 July 10, 1890 August 25, 1890 September 6, 1890 February 6, 1891 February 8, 1891 February 10, 1891 February 14, 1891 February 18, 1891 March 8, 1891 April 3, 1891 April 24, 1891 May 10, 1891 June 6, 1891 June 20, 1891 June 24, 1891 July 8, 1891 July 19, 1891 August 18, 1891 October 12, 1891

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Cecidit autem ignis Domini, et voravit holocaustum

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eface

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It will perhaps be said, and truly felt, that the following is a morbid book. No doubt the subject is a morbid one, because the book deliberately gives a picture of a diseased spirit. But a pathological treatise, dealing with cancer or paralysis, is not necessarily morbid, though it may be studied in a morbid mood. We have learnt of late years, to our gain and profit, to think and speak of bodily ailments as natural phenomena, not to slur over them and hide them away in attics and bedrooms. We no longer think of insanity as demoniacal possession, and we no longer immure people with diseased brains in the secluded apartments of lovely houses. But we still tend to think of the sufferings of the heart and soul as if they were unreal, imaginary, hypochondriacal things, which could be cured by a little resolution and by intercourse with cheerful society; and by this foolish and secretive reticence we lose both sympathy and help. Mrs. Proctor, the friend of Carlyle and Lamb, a brilliant and somewhat stoical lady, is recorded to have said to a youthful relative of a sickly habit, with stern emphasis, "Never tell people how you are! They don't want to know." Up to a certain point this is shrewd and wholesome advice. One does undoubtedly keep some kinds of suffering in check by resolutely minimising them. But there is a significance in suffering too. It is not all a clumsy error, a well-meaning blunder. It is a deliberate part of the constitution of the world.

Why should we wish to conceal the fact that we have suffered, that we suffer, that we are likely to suffer to the end? There are abundance of people in like case; the very confession of the fact

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may help others to endure, because one of the darkest miseries of suffering is the horrible sense of isolation that it brings. And if this book casts the least ray upon the sad problem—a ray of the light that I have learned to recognise is truly there—I shall be more than content. There is no morbidity in suffering, or in confessing that one suffers. Morbidity only begins when one acquiesces in suffering as being incurable and inevitable; and the motive of this book is to show that it is at once curative and curable, a very tender part of a wholly loving and Fatherly design.

A. C. B.

Magdalene College, Cambridge,

July 14, 1907.

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Introduction

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I had intended to allow the records that follow—the records of a pilgrimage sorely beset and hampered by sorrow and distress—to speak for themselves. Let me only say that one who makes public a record so intimate and outspoken incurs, as a rule, a certain responsibility. He has to consider in the first place, or at least he cannot help instinctively considering, what the wishes of the writer would have been on the subject. I do not mean that one who has to decide such a point is bound to be entirely guided by that. He must weigh the possible value of the record to other spirits against what he thinks that the writer himself would have personally desired. A far more important consideration is what living people who play a part in such records feel about their publication. But I cannot help thinking that our whole standard in such matters is a very false and conventional one. Supposing, for instance, that a very sacred and intimate record, say, two hundred years old, were to be found among some family papers, it is inconceivable that any one would object to its publication on the ground that the writer of it, or the people mentioned in it, would not have wished it to see the light. We show how weak our faith really is in the continuance of personal identity after death, by allowing the lapse of time to affect the question at all; just as we should consider it a horrible profanation to exhume and exhibit the body of a man who had been buried a few years ago, while we approve of the action of archaeologists who explore Egyptian sepulchres, subscribe to their operations, and should consider a man a mere sentimentalist who suggested that the mummies exhibited in museums ought to be sent back for interment in their original tombs. We think vaguely

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