tentously moral
significance.
The one charge that may with truth be brought against "Amaryllis at the
Fair" is that its digressions damage the artistic illusion of the whole.
The book shows the carelessness, the haste, the roughness of a sketch, a
sketch, moreover, which Jefferies was not destined to carry to the end
he had planned, but we repeat, let us be thankful that its artistic
weaknesses are those of a sketch direct from nature, rather than those
of an ambitious studio picture. And these digressions are an integral
part of the book's character, just as the face of a man has its own
blemishes: they are one with the spirit of the whole, and so, if they
break somewhat the illusion of the scenes, they do not damage its
spiritual unity. It is this spiritual unity on which we must insist,
because "Amaryllis" is indeed Jefferies' last and complete testament on
human life. He wrote it, or rather dictated it to his wife, as he lay in
pain, slowly dying, and he has put into it the frankness of a dying man.
How real, how solid, how deliciously sweet seemed those simple earthly
joys, those human appetites of healthy, vigorous men to him! how intense
is his passion and spiritual hunger for the beauty of earth! Like a
flame shooting up from the log it is consuming, so this passion for the
green earth, for the earth in wind and rain and sunshine, consumes the
wasted, consumptive body of the dying man. The reality, the solidity of
the homely farmhouse life he describes spring from the intensity with
which he clings to all he loves, the cold March wind buffeting the face,
the mating cries of the birds in the hot spring sunshine. Life is so
terribly strong, so deliciously real, so full of man's unsatisfied
hungry ache for happiness; and sweet is the craving, bitter the
knowledge of the unfulfilment. So, inspiring and vivifying the whole, in
every line of "Amaryllis" is Jefferies' philosophy of life. Jefferies
"did not understand human nature," say the accomplished critics. Did he
not? "Amaryllis at the Fair" is one of the truest criticisms of human
life, oh reader, you are likely to meet with. The mixedness of things,
the old, old human muddle, the meanness and stupidity and
shortsightedness of humanity, the good salty taste of life in the
healthy mouth, the spirituality of love, the strong earthy roots of
appetite, man's lust of life, with circumstances awry, and the sharp
wind blowing alike on the just and the unjust--all is th
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