ete,"
that is to say, he was consciously objective. Whenever he tried to write
drama without dialect he wrote badly, and he made several attempts,
because only through dialect could he escape self-expression, see all that
he did from without, allow his intellect to judge the images of his mind
as if they had been created by some other mind. His objectivity was,
however, technical only, for in those images paraded all the desires of
his heart. He was timid, too shy for general conversation, an invalid and
full of moral scruple, and he was to create now some ranting braggadocio,
now some tipsy hag full of poetical speech, and now some young man or girl
full of the most abounding health. He never spoke an unkind word, had
admirable manners, and yet his art was to fill the streets with rioters,
and to bring upon his dearest friends enemies that may last their
lifetime.

No mind can engender till divided into two, but that of a Keats or a
Shelley falls into an intellectual part that follows, and a hidden
emotional flying image, whereas in a mind like that of Synge the emotional
part is dreaded and stagnant, while the intellectual part is a clear
mirror-like technical achievement.

But in writing of Synge I have run far ahead, for in 1896 he was but one
picture among many. I am often astonished when I think that we can meet
unmoved some person, or pass some house, that in later years is to bear a
chief part in our life. Should there not be some flutter of the nerve or
stopping of the heart like that Macgregor experienced at the first meeting
with a phantom?

XX

Many pictures come before me without date or order. I am walking somewhere
near the Luxembourg Gardens when Synge, who seldom generalises and only
after much thought, says, "There are three things any two of which have
often come together but never all three; ecstasy, asceticism, austerity; I
wish to bring all three together."

* * * * *

I notice that Macgregor considers William Sharp vague and sentimental,
while Sharp is repelled by Macgregor's hardness and arrogance. William
Sharp met Macgregor in the Louvre, and said, "No doubt considering your
studies you live upon milk and fruit." And Macgregor replied, "No, not
exactly milk and fruit, but very nearly so;" and now Sharp has lunched
with Macgregor and been given nothing but brandy and radishes.

* * * * *

Macgregor is much troubled by ladi