As to himself, who can say how much he gained or lost by
quitting so early this world of the living, which he knew how to set
before us in the terms of his own artistic vision? Perhaps he did not
lose a great deal. The recognition he was accorded was rather languid
and given him grudgingly. The worthiest welcome he secured for his tales
in this country was from Mr. W. Henley in the _New Review_ and later,
towards the end of his life, from the late Mr. William Blackwood in his
magazine. For the rest I must say that during his sojourn in England he
had the misfortune to be, as the French say, _mal entoure_. He was beset
by people who understood not the quality of his genius and were
antagonistic to the deeper fineness of his nature. Some of them have
died since, but dead or alive they are not worth speaking about now. I
don't think he had any illusions about them himself: yet there was a
strain of good-nature and perhaps of weakness in his character which
prevented him from shaking himself free from their worthless and
patronising attentions, which in those days caused me much secret
irritation whenever I stayed with him in either of his English homes.
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