JUMP TO 
 
 GLORY 
 
 JANE 
 
 BY GEORGE 
 MEREDITH 
 
 Edited 
 
 with a note by 
 
 Harry Quilter
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Kate Gordon Moore
 
 A>
 
 "A Revelation came on Jane.
 
 JUMP TO GLORY JANE. 
 BY GEORGE MEREDITH. 
 EDITED AND ARRANGED 
 BY HARRY QUILTER. 
 
 WITH FORTY- tMfS^ VENTED, 
 FOUR DE- (3c^S^ DRAWN, AND 
 
 SIGNS IN- ^gj&p^M WRITTEN 
 
 BY LAWRENCE HOUSMAN. 
 
 SWAN, SONNEN- 
 S C H E I N & CO. 
 PATERNOSTER 
 SQUARE, LONDON. 
 
 1892
 
 This Edition is limited to an issue 0/1,000 copies (250 oj 
 which have been ordered by MESSRS. MACMILLAN 
 AND Co. for the American market), and a special 
 issue of 100 copies on Van G elder paper, bound in 
 vellum and gold.
 
 ?& 
 
 JZ 
 
 To THE RIGHT HON BLE - JOHN MORLEY, 
 SECRETARY OF STATE FOR IRELAND; 
 in profound admiration of his intellect as a writer 
 and his honesty as a politician. Also in memory of 
 the days when George Meredith's work found in the 
 pages of the "Fortnightly Review" that welcome and 
 honour which were denied elsewhere : this book is 
 dedicated by 
 
 Harry Quilter. 
 
 854±<J<±
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Note on the Writing of George Meredith 
 
 II. A Word on the Birth, History, Illustrations, 
 
 and First Reception of "Jam;" ... 22 
 
 III. "Jump to Glory Jane" 29
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 I. "A Revelation came on Jane." To face verse I. 
 
 II. " Her first was Winny Earnes, a kind „ 8. 
 
 Of woman not to dance inclined." 
 
 III. '" Not long time after Jane was seen „ 12. 
 
 Directing jumps at Daddy Green. " 
 
 IV. " At morn they rose." „ 16. 
 
 V. " Those flies of boys disturbed them sore." „ 20. 
 
 VI. " In Apron suit the Bishop stood, „ 24. 
 
 The crowding people kindly viewed. 
 A gaunt grey woman lie saw rise 
 On air, ..." 
 
 VII. " Encircled by the men of might, „ 28. 
 
 The head of Jane like flickering light." 
 
 VIII. " Her end was beautiful : — " „ 36.
 
 A NOTE ON THE WRITING 
 OF GEORGE MEREDITH. 
 
 ^^ EARLY twenty years ago I turned out from the 
 i office of a celebrated newspaper into the wildest 
 roar of London a happy man. A secret ambition was 
 that day realized : I carried under my arm books given me 
 " for review." They were not perhaps the volumes I 
 should have chosen out of all upon the editor's side-table 
 — a new translation of Pindar's Odes, and a treatise on 
 Dutch Farming, however interesting and meritorious, are 
 not, from the journalist's point of view, either easy or gay 
 — but still they were indubitably "books" and "for review." 
 The subjects did not frighten me as they should have 
 done, for my Pindar had been unopened since Cambridge 
 days, and of Dutch Farming, or indeed of farming of any 
 kind my ignorance was both " extensive and peculiar." 
 But had the editor offered me the "Revised Version" itself, 
 or a certain enormous quarto on the Early History of 
 the Mongolian Dynasty, which encumbered the office for 
 ten years before he could get anybody to tackle it, I 
 should still have rejoiced, smiled, " retreated " (like Bret 
 Harte's frail heroine), and emerged into the Strand with 
 a new sense of dignity and importance. 
 
 To-day
 
 8 A Note on the Writing 
 
 To-day those feelings are recalled by contrast. Be- 
 tween then ami now there stretch many long years of 
 reviewing ; the sight of the long slips of paper with the 
 printer's queries no lunger fill me with pride or pleasure, 
 nor do I cany them about with me on my person, " like 
 an incidental disease," and do my corrections in the sight 
 of all men as was once, I fear, my habit. And in still 
 more unpleasant contrast to the old feeling of authority 
 and confidence with which I began my journalistic 
 office there has come to me as there comes to many of 
 us, who write much, doubt and hesitation. It is so diffi- 
 cult to do anything ; so easy to object, to misunder- 
 stand. Above all, the difficulty of setting down in plain 
 words our exact thought increases daily. Especially is 
 this the case where the work with which we are attempt- 
 ing to deal is of true literary quality. This is, I think, 
 partly the reason why so many critics in their later years 
 are apt to drop criticism and replace it by pleasant and 
 sympathetic gossip ; or else fly to the other extreme of un- 
 sparing condemnation. The public, too, likes both "gos- 
 sip " and "slanging" better than "appreciations." So the 
 temptation thereto is great ; the reward certain. To-day, 
 when I want to say a few words about George Meredith's 
 writing which shall neither be those of a partizan nor an 
 antagonist, there is little doubt but that I shall succeed 
 in displeasing both sides. Admirers will resent the 
 absence of the eulogy which they consider is essentially 
 due ; and those who dislike Air. Meredith's books will 
 consider that this paper ranks them too high, ami gives 
 
 them
 
 of George Meredith. 9 
 
 them an undeserved importance. I wish, therefore, to say 
 once for all that this very short paper does not in any 
 way profess to be a criticism of George Meredith's art ; 
 but only a few thoughts upon the question of this 
 author's comparatively slight appeal to the general 
 reader; in fact, of his unpopularity. In order to do this 
 I have dwelt with what must, I fear, seem unpleasant 
 iteration upon those qualities and peculiarities which 
 make his novels less attractive than one would suppose 
 possible, considering the high praise the}- receive and 
 merit from the best critical judgments of our day. 
 
 For this apparent ungraciousness towards a great author, 
 whose books have given me great and lasting pleasure, I 
 wish to express my regret ; probably, I may find excuse 
 in his eyes more easily than in those of the somewhat in- 
 discreet eulogists who have lately founded, on Browning 
 Society principles, a George Meredith Cult. 
 
 First let me say that my acquaintance with our author's 
 novels, poems, and satirical sketches is not of yesterday, 
 but has been a long though hardly an intimate one. I 
 have never been either a Meredith student or a Meredith 
 worshipper (the races are distinct) though admiration has 
 led me to wonder sometimes why I was neither, and 
 being neither, have for that very reason read his books 
 determinedly seldom. Some in truth have passed into 
 the inner circle, known to all bookmen, the circle of 
 volumes toward which our hand unconsciously gravitates 
 in vacant hours, and of these " The Ordeal of Richard 
 Feverel," "Beauchamp's Career," and "Harry Richmond" 
 
 are
 
 io A Note on the Writing 
 
 arc the chief : " stories " primarily and chiefly, and, with 
 the exception of the first, not the volumes dearest to the 
 accomplished and earnest Meredithian. Mr. Richard le 
 Gallienne, who may certainly bear in full the honour of 
 both accomplishment and earnestness in his study of this 
 author, even alludes to " Richard Fcvcrel " with a manifest 
 diminution of enthusiasm, as the one novel by Mr. 
 Meredith "which can in an)- sense be said to be popular," 
 a fact which he evidently considers detracts from it-, 
 otherwise supreme merits. There is to the present writer 
 something a little comic in this species of judgment, and 
 throughout the criticism, in man}' ways intelligent and 
 thoughtful, of Mr. Le Gallienne's study, the tendency to 
 a perfervid and indiscriminating eulogy is unpleasingly 
 evident, and is most marked where the subject of the 
 "study" becomes least easily intelligible. Though I have 
 but little space to quote, Mr. Le Gallienne's attitude is in 
 this respect so typical of that of the more intense school 
 of Meredith critics that it is worth while to give his 
 own words. 
 
 " There is no reason why he should do his work in the 
 vernacular. It is time the superstition of ' good plain 
 Saxon ' were exploded. To do much with little is well, 
 but to do is the essential, and once done, neither number 
 nor variety of tools, nor prodigality of materials, can 
 depreciate perfection. 
 
 "That Mr. Meredith does not write the vernacular — at 
 least in that of his work which is most really his — does 
 not matter so much as would at first sight appear ; for 
 
 supposing
 
 of George Meredith. 1 1 
 
 supposing it imaginable as written in any other style, in 
 their own ' plain Saxon,' would ' The Egoist ' have any 
 stronger appeal for ' the general ' than it has at present ? " 
 
 And so on with much more in the same strain till two 
 or three pages further on Mr. Le Gallienne arrives at the 
 notable conclusion familiar to all readers of Mr. Pater, 
 and oh, so dear to the most modern school of criticism, 
 that the work of a critic is limited to an explanation of 
 what the work criticised means to him ! To which I can 
 well understand the " good plain Saxon " saying, " My 
 dear sir, I don't care a brass farthing what the work is to 
 you. I don't know you, and don't want you to stand in 
 the light between Mr. George Meredith and myself, but 
 what I do want, if you can give it me, is to tell me what 
 George Meredith is to me — or should be — and why? 
 What he is to literature and art — what is his relation to 
 his predecessors and his contemporaries, and what place 
 he is likely to hold in the future." 
 
 Many years ago, in a letter I have never forgotten and 
 once quoted, John Morley said to me (in kindest rejec- 
 tion of a very young essay), " exposition is not wanted 
 for well-known living writers, but vital criticism referring 
 them to their predecessors and their school," and that 
 distinction touches the root of the matter. And surely 
 if exposition of the author himself is excluded, exposition 
 of the critic's personal feelings of admiration and plea- 
 sure are nihil ad rem — in criticism. 
 
 So in the present instance I think we may very well 
 decline to accept as final, or even as temporary, Mr. Le 
 
 Gallienne's
 
 [2 ./ Note on the Writing 
 
 Gallienne's condonation of Mr. Meredith's phraseology, 
 
 unless he can find us some better reason than that it is 
 not personally displeasing to him. The right question 
 to ask is, is the phraseology such as answers some suffi- 
 cient purpose, literary or dramatic, which will make up 
 for the eccentricity, the difficulty, or, as Mr. Barrie says, 
 the "intellectual coxcombry of its manner?" And if 
 this question be answered in the negative, we shall have 
 to face this further and still more invidious one, — Is the 
 extravagance and complication of the style wantonly 
 assumed, or is it only to be reckoned as a natural defect 
 out of the author's power to reined}? In other words, 
 is it a blemish ? and if so, is it a wilful one? 
 
 Of course the first of these queries opens up an old 
 discussion, older than Carlyle, or Browning, or than even 
 my old friend Pindar, who used to mix his metaphors with 
 ultra un-Saxon involution, and it will always be answered 
 differently by different temperaments. Some people abs< >- 
 lutely like literary algebra ; the mere finding the value of 
 x is a delight to them. Others don't like any phrase- 
 problems at all, and directly they see a trace of one will 
 shut up the book. A third class — the class which the 
 present writer prefers to call the truly critical one — takes 
 the problem on its merits, and if x is worth the trouble, 
 and can't be discovered in any simpler manner, will sit 
 down to the equation with equanimity, if not satisfaction. 
 
 We have no right to blame a writer if he elects to 
 work for the first or second class only ; we may have a 
 mild opinion as to his choice of an audience, but that 
 
 reflects
 
 of George Meredith. 1 3 
 
 reflects upon his idiosyncrasy, rather than on his literary 
 meritoriousness. In either case we judge the work from 
 its own limited point of view. But if he elects to work 
 for our third class, that is, to be tried by our highest 
 standard, then the question of form appears to me to be 
 very certainly essential, and we shall be right in con- 
 sidering all complication and elaboration which does not 
 result in a clear gain of beauty or meaning as a literary 
 deficiency of the gravest kind. For if anything in the 
 world of literature is certain, it is that form outlasts 
 matter : that only by form can matter be made more 
 than momentarily alive. 
 
 Facts are the veriest ephemera of our perceptiveness. 
 Millions are born and die within the year, but all perfect 
 form is of a quasi eternity, tor: form is only another name 
 for art. Two words, two colours, two sounds, two lines 
 perfectly put together, live for ever, and with the same 
 appeal as on the first day of their juxtaposition ; directly 
 the attention is directed towards them their perfection 
 is revealed and convincing : it is only the second and 
 lower classes of work over which the critics fight and the 
 public doubt. 
 
 Let me therefore say a few words on the question of 
 George Meredith's style considered merely as a vehicle for 
 the expression of his thought, for I suppose all readers 
 will grant the truth of the dogma, that the instru- 
 ment which most completely fulfils the primary purpose 
 for which it was constructed is, if obtainable, the best. 
 Now we have the admission not only of Mr. Le Gal- 
 
 lienne,
 
 14 A Note on the Writing 
 
 lienne, but of all Meredith admirers, amongst whom I 
 beg to be included, that our author's style presents diffi- 
 culties to the uninitiate : that in fact the uninitiate dis- 
 like, and, so to speak, puke at it. Now this can only be 
 for one of two chief reasons : either because the style is 
 in itself harsh and unpleasing, or because it is com- 
 plicated, unintelligible, or affected. Both these weir, we 
 may remember, urged against the work of Browning. 
 The first defect is not Mr. Meredith's. His words, fre- 
 quently abrupt and jerky in intellectual sequence, are 
 neither harsh in sound nor awkward in collocation. The 
 author attains the management of his words securely and 
 invariably. Nor do I think that for those who care to 
 take literature seriously — almost as task -work — this 
 author's writing can be called unintelligible. Language 
 is rarely unintelligible when thought is clear, and Mere- 
 dith's thoughts are precise, sharp-cut, essentially dog- 
 matic in their nature. On the last point, however, the 
 present writer can but feel that Mr. Meredith stands con- 
 demned. Thoughts which other men might and do have, 
 and find only ordinary difficulty in setting down in plain 
 language, receive from him frequently such complicated, 
 almost terrifying epithets, and are so bewigged and furbe- 
 lowed, that their very mother would scarcely know them- 
 If ever a novelist loved to twist a simple statement 
 into a dialectical exercise, if ever a poet cherished an 
 unexpected epithet, that novelist and that poet is the 
 author of " The Egoist " and " Modern Love." If ever a 
 writer in general more sedulously and intentionally endea- 
 voured
 
 of George Meredith. 1 5 
 
 voured to endow all his work with personal and elaborate 
 peculiarities of diction and construction, I at least have 
 never known his writing. From Meredith's very first pub- 
 lished book this predisposition towards strangeness for 
 strangeness' sake is evident, and very frequently the 
 complication appears to have been sought at the expense 
 of meaning rather than the elucidation. 
 
 Here, for instance, within twenty lines of " Farina" 1 we 
 have the following. The old rocks " put up their horns 
 to blue heaven once more ; " " The heart of the river 
 fondled with the image of the moon in its depths ; " 
 " Rising on Farina's back and stirruping his legs on. the 
 youth, he cried aloud," etc. None of these phrases are 
 unintelligible, but each is elaborate and on the borders 
 of affectation. The right word for the phraseology is, I 
 think, " pretentious," and perhaps this points the way 
 to one prevailing characteristic (from the bad side) of 
 Meredith's work. As a whole both the thoughts and 
 their expression are the product of one who does not 
 live in the ordinary give-and-take struggle of human 
 life. Commercialism we are apt to forget — we, I mean, 
 whose tastes lead us towards art and books — has in some 
 respects a good effect upon the character, as upon the 
 well-being of the nation. It defines dishonesty, as well 
 as occasionally betrays it ; it eliminates much phantasy, 
 and quiets a too querulous egoism ; it knits the bonds of 
 fellowship and induces a certain tolerance, a certain com- 
 
 1 Meredith's " First Book of Stories," published forty-one years 
 ago.— H. Q. 
 
 munity
 
 1 6 A Note on the Writing: 
 
 .-> 
 
 munity of feeling : making perhaps man more of a 
 machine ; it keeps him in better working order. 
 
 A good inan_\' people with whom I have spoken on 
 various occasions of Meredith's work have felt in him this 
 eclecticism, this rejection, which politely avoids all sign 
 of disgust, which gives an air of delicate fastidiousness, 
 apt to be irritating when a philosophy of life is being con- 
 structed, or rather indicated as being based thereon. In 
 this connection I am tempted to quote Meredith himself: — 
 
 "To talk nonsense, or poetry, or the dash between the 
 two, in a tone of profound sincerity, and to enunciate 
 solemn discordances with received opinion so seriously as 
 to convey the impression of a spiritual insight, is the 
 peculiar gift by which monomaniacs, having first persuaded 
 themselves, contrive to influence their neighbours, and 
 through them make a conquest of a good half of the 
 world for good or for ill." ' 
 
 If we may grant that the affectation of Meredith's 
 phraseology is indubitable, the question naturally follows, 
 of what importance this should be held in the estimation 
 of a man who has done such a large quantity of memo- 
 rable work, and this I think can only be answered by 
 considering on what ground it is that we wish to consider 
 our author, whether as novelist, essayist and philosopher, 
 or as poet, for Meredith has claims in each of these 
 capacities, and the question of style enters into each 
 in different fashion. The majority of our author's 
 writings have been stones. Many of them cannot be 
 
 1 " Richard Fevercl." 
 
 rightly
 
 of George Meredith. 1 7 
 
 rightly called novels. So let us first speak of him as 
 novelist. 
 
 A coign of vantage for the groundwork of criticism 
 may perhaps be found in two facts about which both the 
 readers and the non-readers of Mr. Meredith are agreed. 
 All admit that the novels are intensely clever, and that 
 they are, nevertheless, unpopular with people in general. 
 All critics and cultivated people admire them we are 
 told, but they are not intended for or appreciated by the 
 majority, which in this case is frequently indicated to be 
 equivalent to the literary residuum. Continued critical 
 "cuffs and kicks" have, Mr. Le Gallienne and others 
 tell us, to be bestowed upon this immovable, recalcitrant 
 public, before it can be made to swallow a new Meredith. 
 Why this reluctance to accept the work of a more than 
 clever, an intensely brilliant and thoughtful writer? 
 
 Let us see whether we may not arrive at a solution by 
 the help of John Stuart Mill and his "Method of Residues." 
 What are the characteristics of a good novel (from the 
 popular point of view) which Mr. Meredith's work does 
 not possess ? Originality of plot, bold and clear drawing 
 of character, fertile invention, brilliant dialogue, pregnant 
 and unhackneyed reflection, vivid description, wit and 
 humour, subtle analysis, experience, knowledge, and obser- 
 vation, is there a single one of these good things in which 
 our author is lacking ? On the contrary, it were easy to 
 take dozens of passages from his works to illustrate each 
 excellence. Is the fault in his subjects ? Scarcely ; 
 though here we approach more closely to a possible 
 
 B reason,
 
 1 8 A Note on the / I T riting 
 
 reason, since his subjects are somewhat bizarre : a little 
 complicated in motive. But a public which will shut its 
 eyes ami swallow "She" whole as a work of imagination, 
 which eushes over Miss Marie Corelli's maunderings of 
 
 a wandering soul, and sends into a dozen editions the 
 extraordinary rhodomontade entitled "The Naulahka," 
 is little likely to be deterred by any vagaries of theme. 
 What then are we to say ? 
 
 1 [ere are the critics on the one side saying these are 
 good novels, and here is the public on the other saying, 
 eood or bad, it won't have them. Which are right? 
 Where lies the way of salvation for an earnest inquirer^ 
 Both are right and both wrong — in a measure. True, we 
 can pick out of these books enough admirable matter to 
 furnish forth a score of story-tellers ; true, we can prove to 
 demonstration the fine quality of the wit, the eloquence 
 of the description, the profundity of the observation, the 
 ingenuity of the satire, the keenness of the analysis — but 
 what we cannot prove, and what the public with all its 
 blundering and all its ignorance feels the want of, and 
 feeling the want, passes by on the other side, is — the 
 power of telling a story ; and, I will even dare to add, 
 Mr. Le Gallienne notwithstanding, that this is after all the 
 novelist's first duty, and the chief criterion of his merit. 
 
 Now if we come to examine the stories of Mr. 
 Meredith, to discuss why they " do not march," to use 
 the French phrase, I think we shall find that the reason 
 lies primarily in the peculiar structure and involution of 
 the phraseology employed. Keen and original thought s 
 
 have
 
 of George Meredith. 19 
 
 have to any reader a sufficient difficult}- of their own : 
 his attention, his brain, is kept on the stretch, in ever 
 watching Apollo bend his bow. But original thoughts in 
 great profusion, expressed in an unexpected and ex- 
 tremely personal manner, necessitate not only an amount 
 but a kind of attention which as a rule the story-reader 
 cares not to give, and if he does give it he is almost 
 bound to put in the second place the story itself. We 
 see around us to-day many examples of the novel de- 
 parting from its olden mission, and seeking to do im- 
 perfectly the work of the essayist, the preacher, the 
 historian, or the man of science ; and in every case we find 
 that the new object, be it psychological study, theological 
 controversy, metaphysical speculation, historical record, 
 or scientific analysis, gets in the way of the story proper. 
 The realistic school of fiction errs in a precisely similar 
 way ; for the addition of detail, relevant or irrelevant, is 
 scarcely better than the introduction of unnecessary 
 theorizing when it is used in the slightest excess. 
 
 All fine art is elective, discriminate ; is based upon 
 selection and elimination. And all art whatever has strict 
 limitations determined by the nature of its medium. To 
 transcend these limitations is not to make a masterpiece, 
 but — a monstrosity. 
 
 One more remark about a peculiarity of this author's 
 which goes far to account for his unpopularity, and 
 that is his intellectual and unsympathetic abstraction 
 from the characters he creates ; an abstraction which 
 from the first repels the reader, and ends by wearying 
 
 him.
 
 20 - / SVo/t' on the \ I r riting 
 
 him. There is a pastime which was some years ago in 
 much vogue at Christmas time in country houses where 
 young people were met together, called, I believe, " Mrs. 
 Jarlev's Waxworks." The point of this not too exhilara- 
 ting pastime was that each member of the company 
 should be dressed up to resemble a celebrated character, 
 and should be put in some supposedly appropriate 
 (and certainly painful) attitude, and remain therein till 
 the principal performer, usually the funny man of the 
 part}', came and wound him up, and spoke in his name 
 whatever things he could conceive. Meredith's characters 
 are not treated in a very dissimilar way, they remain some- 
 what stiffly posed waiting for their turn in dialogue or 
 action ; the showman comes, the winding up process is 
 gone through, generally with a paradox or epigram 
 for a key, and lo, the figure breathes, walks, lives and 
 speechifies its appointed time. 
 
 A few years ago a French artist of indisputable genius 
 as a designer, who had created men and women, giants, 
 fairies, angels and devils by the thousand, who pub- 
 lished illustrations of Dante and Rabelais, Cervantes, 
 Balzac, Chateaubriand, Tennyson, Milton, while even- 
 one wondered at his marvellous fertility, his extra- 
 ordinary inventiveness, came in course of time to the 
 "Bible," and thought he would illustrate that, and be- 
 hold — a failure ! He could create, he could not humanize 
 his characters ; he could not make us care for their per- 
 sonality, or for what became of them. We felt the un- 
 reality of his conceptions, and admired them from the 
 
 outside.
 
 of George Meredith. 2 1 
 
 outside. In this respect, if in no other, Gustave Dore and 
 George Meredith are akin — both are wanting in tender- 
 ness, perhaps in heart. They live on a different and, from 
 their own point of view, a higher plane than the person- 
 ages of their dramas. They show us people and tell us 
 many things concerning them, and then send our new 
 friends unconcernedly about their business. Is this de- 
 scription exaggerated? It may well be so, for the truth 
 on such a subject as this is too many-sided, too intricate, 
 to be expressed without much limitation. 
 
 In the above paper I may, perhaps, have given the 
 impression that the present writer thinks little of Mr. 
 Meredith's genius. This is not so. But where eulogy and 
 admiration have been so frequently and so well expressed 
 as they have of late, and by critics who have made this 
 subject their special stud}-, it would have been a mere im- 
 pertinence for an outsider to echo their praise. Such an 
 one could only hope to say a few words, spoken as it 
 were by " the man in the street," on what appeared to 
 him to be the cause, or the partial cause, why eulogy and 
 admiration were not more universal. 
 
 I have thought it the more necessary to do this as I 
 consider that both the defects and the merits of Mr. 
 Meredith's writings are those which require to be most 
 carefully considered at the present day if we are not to 
 let the old art of story-telling die, and replace it with a 
 neuratico, psychologico, politico, sociologico or theologico 
 disquisition, which may make the critics laugh but must 
 cause the judicious public to grieve.
 
 A WORD ON Til i: 15 1 RT1I, 
 HISTORY, ILLUSTRATIONS, AND 
 FIRST RECEPTION OE ••JANE." 
 
 WHEN this poem first appeared, in the " Universal 
 Review," it shared the fate which has attended 
 many of Mr. Meredith's novels ; the critics were puzzled, 
 the public doubtful. Demands for explanation flowed 
 in upon me by every post ; clergymen remonstrated : not 
 very clear as to their grievance these last, but "doubtful 
 of the tendency," a happy phrase which has in its time 
 covered as many sins as charity. The very artist 1 wished 
 to illustrate the poem, not only began but continued to 
 make excuse, and finally confessed that he could not do 
 justice to the verses, and would rather not undertake 
 them. Somehow this got abroad, and certain journals 
 made themselves merry over the artist's incapability to 
 understand the text submitted to him. Then the Journal- 
 istic word went forth that this poem was " a satire on the 
 Salvation Army," and as such it was gravely characterized 
 in several papers. " Forced, feeble and vulgar " was this 
 "tedious doggerel" according to one authority; "silly 
 and incomprehensible," growled a second ; " scarcely 
 
 likely
 
 First Reception of '" Jane." 23 
 
 likely to add to the author's reputation" sighed a third, 
 and so on throughout the list. If a kind word was spoken 
 of "Jane" here and there, it was not written ; my very 
 publisher asked me privately what it meant, and friends 
 and relations looked grave, discreetly avoided the subject, 
 as one which was undoubtedly painful. 
 
 And vet thev were wrong— and will have to " own 
 up." Friends and relations, critics and all, must one day 
 confess that this is a good piece of work, and a not in- 
 comprehensible one. It is, however, no "satire on the 
 Salvation Arm}-," and has no connection with that 
 estimable but unpleasant organization ; and if it be a 
 satire at all, which must be left to the perception of the 
 reader, the poem is also, as Meredith calls it, " one of the 
 pictures of our England." 
 
 I feel that it would be superfluous to offer any ex- 
 planation of what is probably the real, and what seems 
 to me the obvious meaning of Air. Meredith's verses, 
 and certainly I do not press my interpretation as being 
 in all respects that which the author himself would 
 give. For all works of art we know, almost in pro- 
 portion as they are fine, abound in meanings, various 
 as they are indefinite, subtle as they are convincing to 
 each interpreter. If "Jump-to-Glory Jane" said the same 
 to all of us, the satire of the poem might be clear but 
 could scarcely be profound, and if the satire were unmixed 
 with reality, the power and the appeal would both be 
 weakened. With such excuse here is what the poem 
 says to me. Its motive, probably, was the Mrs. Girling 
 
 episode,
 
 24 A Word on tJw />//■///, History, Illustrations, 
 
 episode, and <>nc object was to give a sly reductio ad 
 absurdum to the doctrine which Kingsley set such store 
 by ; the connection between physical health and religious 
 feeling. Jane has felt lajoie de vivre, and its increase by 
 continual exercise ; she mistakes her increase of happiness 
 for increase of virtue, " to enjoy is to obey " is her spiritual 
 creed ; a simple one ; and so, suited to her simple con- 
 verts. (Jnsuitedj too, to those she would convert who 
 arc not simple ; unsuited to the world, either social or 
 religious, embodied in the squire and parson ; and un- 
 comprehended by her very converts, most of whom accept 
 the new creed (the practice rather) for other motives than 
 those which influence their leader. The Janeites are 
 persecuted, laughed at, called mad after the old fashion, 
 and they too take up their parable against the powers 
 that be, personified here by the squire and bishop, until 
 their founder and leader dies by the roadside, and — the 
 rest is silence. 
 
 What then is the moral — where the satire? 
 
 The question is a perilous one to answer in this day- 
 dream, as in " Lady Flora's." But evidently certain 
 thoughts are not entirely irrelevant. That, for instance, 
 revelations are of main- kinds, to many people ; that all 
 will find some converts and some antagonists. That 
 most of the former will have something to gain, and of 
 the latter something to lose ; that there are worse things 
 for the world than mistaken ideals — to wit, no ideals at 
 all ; that even wayside deaths may be cheerful, and not 
 insignificant ; that earnestness is not all unsuccessful, 
 
 even
 
 and First Reception of '" Jane" 25 
 
 even though it ma}' not gain the object sought. " Yes," 
 I fancy the cautious critic saying, "all these platitudes 
 are doubtless true, but what have they to say to the 
 satire ? " To which, without questioning whether the 
 truth be not satire enough, one might answer — that 
 possibly Mr. Meredith may have intended to hint at 
 the essential resemblance of all revelations in their 
 inception, their course, and their conclusion ; to ex- 
 press in another form Gibbon's celebrated aphorism 
 respecting the view taken of the heathen mythology at a 
 certain period of the Roman Empire. Be this, however, 
 as it ma}', the poem is good enough on its merits to need 
 no other recommendation, and has just that touch of 
 tragi-comedy which renders the story possible. 
 
 The following extracts show Mr. Meredith's own point 
 of view. The}' were written to me when the subject of 
 illustration was under discussion. It will be noticed that 
 my suggestions as to the author's meaning are to some 
 extent founded upon his own description thereof. I had 
 suggested Linley Sambourne as the right man to do the 
 drawings, and Meredith wrote : 
 
 "Box Hill, Dorking, 
 
 August 1 ;///. 1889. 
 " Dear Mr. Quitter, 
 
 Sambourne is excellent for Punch, he miglit Jiit the 
 
 mean. Whoever does it should be warned against giving 
 
 burlesque outlines. It is a grave narration of events in 
 
 English country {? life), fane, though a jumping \isa thought- 
 
 ful woman. She has discovered that the circulation of the 
 
 blood 

 
 26 ./ Word on the Birth, History, Illustrations, 
 
 blood is best brought about by a continual exercise, and con- 
 duces to happy sensations, which arc to her as the being of 
 angels in her frame. She has wistful eyes in a touching, 
 but bony face." 
 
 For -tunc reason or other Sambourne could not do the 
 drawings. I forget whether he was away, or too busy, 
 and the next man we tried for was Bernard Partridge, a 
 clever young actor and draughtsman, a relation, 1 think, 
 at all events a namesake of, Xutcombe Gould of the St. 
 James's Theatre. His heart failed him, and we gave up 
 the notion of having the poem illustrated in the "Review." 
 It was in relation to this second artist that Meredith once 
 more gave me his own interpretaton of "Jane." 
 
 - Box Hill. Dorking, 
 
 "September lot/i, 1889. 
 
 " Yes, they are a Satire, but one of the pictures of our 
 England as well. Remember Mrs. Girling and her follow- 
 ing, and the sensations of fane with her blood at the spin 
 with activity, warranted her feeling of exaltation. An 
 English middle-class Blavitzky maniac would also be in- 
 structive, though less pathetic than poor fane.' 
 
 It has been my endeavour to preserve the feeling in- 
 dicated in the above sentences in the verse designs and 
 other illustrations. It occurred to me a short time since 
 that a young artist, called Lawrence Housman, who had 
 done some very clever imaginative work for me on the 
 " Universal," might be able to succeed here. He liked 
 the idea, and did one or two preparatory drawings, and, 
 
 as
 
 and First Reception of "" Jane." 27 
 
 as I thought, with such success, that I decided to entrust 
 him with the whole poem. Fortunately, Mr. Meredith had 
 not only, as above quoted, long since previously sketched 
 out his own view of how the illustrations should be 
 treated, but had indicated the subjects he thought ad- 
 visable; considering all things, the cuts do, I think, em- 
 bod}- his views with considerable fidelity. The idea of 
 having the whole poem written by hand, instead of using 
 type, and making each verse of text part of an illustrative 
 design, came to me later; I hope it will be found a not 
 unattractive departure from established custom. Had 
 there been more time there are several of these smaller 
 drawings which might have been re-drawn and re- 
 engraved advantageously. The truth is that drawing for 
 these mechanical processes is an art in itself, and the 
 difficulty of knowing exactly what you ma)', or may not 
 do, in respect of fine and mingled lines almost insuper- 
 able " without long practice." There are, however, great 
 compensations on the score of celerity, fidelity, and cheap- 
 ness ; and at all events " process," as it is briefly called, 
 has " got us " now and has, I fear, " come to stay." 
 
 However, this is for the public to decide. 
 
 Mr. Housman has been kind enough to work in ac- 
 cordance with my ideas, and is to be held responsible 
 only for the drawings, of which I may be allowed to 
 express the hope that the public will think them as good 
 as I do. They are not perfect by any means, and in many 
 parts are open to serious criticism, but the root of the 
 matter is in them — they have the rare qualities of ima- 
 gination
 
 28 First Reception of "Jane." 
 
 gination and sympathy, and from the technical point of 
 view, they shew that this artist has only to work to 
 become an admirable designer. 
 
 \\ hether the world will let him work quietly — whether 
 he will let himself — arc questions only to he solved in 
 the future, the future which is now chiefly in his own 
 hands, to make or mar. I need only add that Mr. 
 Meredith is fully aware of, and consentient to my inten- 
 tion to re-issue his poem. 
 
 Harry Quilter.
 
 "Her first was Winny Earnes, a kind 
 Of woman not to dance inclined.' 3
 
 JUMP-TO 
 
 GLORY 
 
 JANE 
 
 
 
 ?:#plll,EVELATION came on Jane, 
 i-Jro\£The widow of a labourinq swain; 
 And Jirst her body trembled sharp, 
 Then all the woman was a harp 
 With winds along the strings; she heard,, 
 Though there was neither tone nor word. 
 
 For
 
 por past our hearing was the air, 
 geyond our speaking what* it bare, 
 And she within herselj had sight 
 Of heaven at work to cleanse outright; 
 To make oj her a mansion f\t 
 por angel hosts inside to sit. 
 
 '-' 1# $ S 
 
 
 "VX**-***' 
 
 They
 
 i, «" iiit /f ' ''< 
 
 ■ » ■'■' w> y t 
 
 St- 
 
 I'.rl'litj hi'i%,-i" 
 #4»*#»* 
 
 
 
 * ■* *" ^ <4 ' 
 
 They entered, and forthwith entranced, 
 Her body braced, her members danced; 
 Surprisingly the womaa leapt; 
 And countenance composed she kept; 
 As gossip neighbours in the lane 
 Declared,, who saw and pitied Jane. 
 
 3 
 
 These
 
 These knew she had been readin9 books, 
 
 The which was witnessed by her looks 
 
 Of late: she had a mania 
 
 For mad Jolk in America, 
 
 And said jx>r sure they led the. way, 
 
 But meat and beer were meant to stay. 
 
 That
 
 That she had visited a jair, 
 Hod seen a gau^y lady there, 
 Alive with tricks on legs alone,, 
 As good as wings, was also known: 
 
 And longwhiles in a sullen mood, 
 Before her jumping, Jane would brood. 
 
 5 
 
 A
 
 As 00 ^ knee s heisht, they say, she sprang; 
 J4er arms and jeef like those v\?ho han^: 
 As ij ajare the body sped, 
 And neither pair contributed. 
 She jumped in silence, she was thought 
 A corpse to resurrection caught. 
 
 . * * 
 
 
 ■»*V„ t> *»*/, 
 
 " '"'('ill, "" •'( 
 V"""' Z«'*'<<\\ 
 
 » ♦' ^ .< >!► >?■ 4 
 
 The
 
 '/, v, 4 *. 
 
 -s • A' -' 
 
 ^J Jjjf W K\ ''*' „ 
 
 1 w 
 
 t at 
 
 ■jr. i 
 
 */* 
 
 
 •?, 
 
 \ ^ - 
 
 The villagers were mostly clawed; 
 They jeered, they wondered^tKey praised 
 Twas guessed by some she was inspired, 
 And some would haVe it she had hired 
 An engine in her petticoats, 
 To turn their wits and win their votes. 
 
 7 
 
 Her
 
 Her Jirst was Wlnny Earnes, a kind 
 Of woman not to dance inclined ; 
 But she went up, entirejy won, 
 Ere Jump-to-glory Jane had done; 
 And once a vixen wild Jor speech, 
 She Jbund the better way to preach.
 
 Not long time after Jane was seen 
 Directing jumps at Daddy Green."
 
 No long time offer, Jane was seen 
 Directing jumps at Daddy Green; 
 And that old man, to watch her jly, 
 Had eyebrows made of arches high j 
 Till homeward he likewise did hop, 
 Oft calling on himself to stop! 
 
 II*
 
 If was a scene when man and maid. 
 Abandoning all ofher trade, 
 And careless of the Qxiii to meals, 
 Went jumping at the woman's heels. 
 By dozens they were counted soon. 
 Without a sound to tell their tune. 
 
 10 
 
 Along
 
 Along the roads they came, and crossed 
 The jklds. and o'er the hills were lost, 
 And in the evening reappeared; 
 Then short like hobbled horses reared, 
 And down upon the grass they plumped 
 Alone their Jane to glory jumped. 
 
 n 
 
 At
 
 At morn fhey rose, to see her spring 
 AH going as an engine thing; 
 And lighter than the gossamer 
 She led the bobbers Jollowing her, 
 Past old acquaintances, and where 
 They made the stranger stupid stare. 
 
 12 When
 
 
 
 ' ; At morn they rose."
 
 When turnips were a jilling crop, 
 |n scorn they jumped a butcher's shop: 
 Or, spite of threats to Jlog and souse^ 
 They jumped Jor shame a public-house: 
 And much their Ie3s were seized with 
 TJ passing by the vicara9e. [rage 
 
 The
 
 The tightness of a hempen rope 
 Their bodies got; but laundry soap 
 Not handsomer con rub the skin 
 For token oj^ the washed within. 
 Occasionally coughers cast 
 A leg aloft and coughed their last. 
 
 14 
 
 - *< 
 
 ■ 
 1.1 • 
 
 | S > AT v 
 
 5 -i> =-.'■? <■-'■'<■■ '■ 
 
 The
 
 I"" ■■& 
 
 ' I I.I ii' 1 I " 
 
 SIS?- 
 
 '-griffs 
 
 
 
 ^i^/ty/'H,:, 
 
 The weaker maids and some old men, 
 F^equirin9 rajters for the pen 
 On rainy night's, were those who /ell. 
 The rest were quite a miracle, 
 Rejreshed as__you may search all round 
 On Oub-Jeast days and cry, Notjound! 
 
 15 
 
 For
 
 For these poor innocent's^ that slept 
 Against the sky, sojt women wept: 
 For never did they any thejt; [lejt, 
 Twas known when they their camping 
 And jumped the told out oj their rags; 
 In spirit" rich as money-bags. 
 
 They
 
 They jumped the question, jumped reply; 
 And whether. to insist, deny, 
 Reprove, persuade, they jumped in ranks 
 Or singly, straight the arms to jlanks, 
 And straight the legs, with just a knee 
 For bending in a mild degree. 
 
 The
 
 1 
 
 \ 
 
 -■ 
 
 
 ty 
 
 
 
 The villagers might call them mad: 
 An endless holiday they had. 
 Of pleasure in a serious work : 
 They taught by leaps when perils lurk, 
 And with the lambkins practised sports 
 For scaping Satan's pounds and auarts. 
 
 18 
 
 It
 
 " Those flies of boys disturbed them sore."
 
 |f really seemed on certain days,, 
 When they bobbed up their Lord to praise^ 
 And bobbin9 up they cai^ht the ajance 
 Of li3ht, our secret is to dance, 
 And hold the tongue^from hindering peace; 
 To dance out preacher and police. 
 
 *9 
 
 B Wivi. :■ 
 . ' , i«j n 'ft/// 
 
 1 «i ; i * 
 
 v. ■ ! 
 
 "A S 
 
 
 
 Those
 
 Those Jlies of boys disturbed them sore 
 On Sundays and when daylight wore: 
 With withies cutjrom hedge or copse. 
 They treated them as whipping-rops. 
 And jlung big sfones with cruel aim ; 
 Yet* all the flock jumped on the same. 
 
 20 
 
 For
 
 y •• . 
 
 For what could persecution do 
 To worry such a blessed crew, 
 On whom it was as wind to fire, 
 Which set them always jumping ruq,her? 
 
 The parson and the lavvyer tried, 
 By meek persistency dejied. 
 
 21 
 
 But
 
 ■S\ it 3* 
 
 
 But if they bore, they could pursue 
 As well, and this the Bishop too; 
 When inner warnings proved him plain 
 The chase /or Jump-to-gtory Jane. 
 She knew it by his being sent 
 To bless the /easting in the tent. 
 22 Not
 
 Not" less than ji/ty _years on end, 
 The Squire had been the Bishop's jriend: 
 And his poor tenants, harmless ones, 
 With souls to save! Jed not on buns, 
 But angry meats: she took her place 
 Outside to show the way to grace. 
 
 23 
 
 In
 
 In apron suit the Bishop stood; 
 The crowding people kindly viewed. 
 A gaunt grey woman he sow rise 
 On air, with most beseeching eyes: 
 And evident as light in dark 
 It was, she set to him Jor mark. 
 
 24 Her
 
 " In Apron suit the Bishop stood, 
 The crowding people kindly viewed, 
 A gaunt grey woman he saw rise 
 On air, . . ." 

 
 Her highest leap hod come: with cose 
 She jumped to reach the Bishop's knees: 
 
 Compressing tight her arms or.dl.ps 
 She sought to jump the B.shopsh.ps. 
 
 Her aim flew at his apron-band, 
 That he might see and understand. 
 
 The
 
 The mild inquiry of his ga3e 
 Was altered to a peaked ama^e, 
 At sight of thirty in ascent; 
 To gain his notice dearly hent : 
 And greatly Jane at heart was vexed 
 By his ploughed look ojmind perplexed. 
 26 In
 
 In jumps that said. Beware the pit! 
 J/Iore eloquent than speaking it— 
 That said, Avoid the boiled, the roast; 
 The heated nose on /ace oj ghost, 
 Which comes oj drinking- up and o'er 
 Thejtesh with me! did Jane implore. 
 
 27 o
 
 She jumped him high as huntsmen go 
 Across the gate; she jumped him low, 
 To coax him to begin and Jeel 
 His infant* steps returning, peel 
 His mortal pride, exposing fruity 
 A n d off with hat and apron suit.
 
 " Encircled by the men of might, 
 The head of Jane like flickering light."
 
 x i,;<« i!^N' v *'i 
 
 We need much patience, well she knew, 
 And out & out; and through & through. 
 When we would gentiejolk address, 
 However we may seek to bless: 
 At times they hide them like the beasts 
 From sacred beams; and mostly priests. 
 29 He
 
 He gave no sign of making bare, 
 Nor she of Jaintness or despair 
 Inflamed with hope that she might 
 1/ she but coaxed him to begin, [win, 
 She used all arts /or making Jain ; 
 The mother with her babe was Jane. 
 
 Now
 
 Now stomped the Squire, & knowing not 
 Her business, waved her from the spot. 
 Encircled by the men oj 7 might, 
 The head oj Jane, like flickering light*, 
 As in g charger, they beheld 
 Ere she was from the park expelled. 
 
 31 
 
 Her
 
 Her griej, in jumps of earthly weight, 
 Did Jane around communicate: 
 For that the moment when began 
 The holy but mistaken man, 
 In view 0/ light, to take his lift. 
 They cut him jrom her charm adrijV! 
 32 And
 
 And he was lost: a banished /ace 
 For ever jrom the ways oj (jrace, 
 Unless pinched hard by dreams in jright. 
 They saw the Bishop's wavering sprite 
 Within her look, at come and go, 
 Long after he had caused her woe. 
 
 35^
 
 Her graying eyes (until she sank 
 At* Fredsham on the wayside bank, 
 Like cinder heaps that whitened lie 
 From coals that shot the Jlame to sky) 
 Had glassy vacancies, which yearned 
 For one in memory discerned. 
 
 May
 
 May those who ply the tongue that cheat's, 
 And those who rush to beer and meats, 
 And those whose mean ambition aims 
 At palaces and titled names, 
 Depart in' such a cheerful strain 
 As did our Jump-to-cjlory Jane. 
 
 35 
 
 Her
 
 JHer end was beautiful : one sigh. 
 She jumped a jbot when it was nigh. 
 y\ lily in a linen clout qJ^O [out 
 She looked when they had laid her 
 Jt is a lily- light she bears 
 pbr England up the ladder-stairs. 
 
 **£♦' 
 
 
 •♦ *i* * * £ ****** « * * . 
 
 c"c * * "i *J 
 
 The end.
 
 " Her end was beautiful :—
 
 (y
 
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