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A French Appreciation of Mr. W. T. Stead. 



Among all the countless tributes which have been published in various lands none is more striking than that 

 which appeared in "La Revue" from the pen of M. Jean Finot, who was one of the closest friends of 

 Mr. Stead. There were few matters which he did not discuss with M. Finot, either by word of mouth or by 

 letter. We give here the most notable passages of a notable appreciation. 



WITH \V. T. Stead has disappeared not only 

 a great writer, an illustrious journalist, but 

 also one of the best men who ever lived. 

 I do not intend to analyse the intellectual 

 inheritance bequeathed to us by the dear departed 

 one. An impossible task 1 A great stirrer-up of ideas. 

 Stead has sown them in handfuls throughout the 

 world. As in the forest you cannot see the trees for 

 the wood, so his ever-stirring activity, which embraced 

 the whole of life and human proclivities, has hidden 

 his talent as a writer of rare and sparkling originality, 

 full of the unexpected as to form and inspiration. A 

 hundred little books, written in honour of and inspired 

 by the love of children, would alone have procured for 

 anyone else an envied place amongst the most adored 

 writers. 



His ghost-stories,, masterpieces of unheard-of and 

 poignant terror, should have their place amongst the 

 most thrilling pages of an Edgar Allan Poe or a 

 Hoffmann. Stead considered them authentic, attri- 

 buted them to real spirits, and humanity took him at 

 his word. These jewels of imagination have not been 

 appraised at their true value, coming in a direct line 

 from the other world. They were a subterfuge to the 

 professionals and a simple transmission of the words 

 of the dead to the credulous. So the glory of Stead 

 as a writer of phantasies has been strangled between 

 his readers, of whom some believed in themselves too 

 much, and the others were decidedly too weak to 

 understand. 



A MILLIONAIRE OF GENIUS. 



In Burderland, a. stnxn^e and fascinating periodical, 

 which, as a most mysterious star, shone upon the occult 

 firmament of two worlds, scattering amongst its readers 

 dreams and follies, Stead e.xpended an imagination 

 worthv of a millionaire of genius, who neither troubled 

 about his own resources nor the receptiveness of those 

 who followed him. It contained an e.xtravagant story 

 of a double which, after giving me delicious night- 

 mares during a series of summer nights, almost deprived 

 of reason a friend of mine, a logician, and one of the 

 greatest unbelievers in any manifestations of the 

 spirit world. 



Add to this the collection of some twcntv \ears of 

 the Review of Reviews, fifteen or so of political 

 works, pamphlets without number, and thousands ot 

 articles scattered in the English and American Press, 

 and vou will get an approximate idea of the i areer of 

 this prolific writer. Nothing can compare with this 

 richness and originality of literary production, except, 

 perhaps, that life so worthily fulfilled that he deserves 

 to pass into posterity as one of the most interesting 

 personalities of our time. 



The catastrophe of the Titanic has shown this — we 

 know how to die worthily, but we do not know how to 

 live humanly. We must salute as heroes those who 

 in their daily life offer the unusual spectacle of men 

 living by and for a great ideal. It is from this point of 

 view that I like to examine some episodes in Stead's 

 ''fs. t * * * 



the white slave trade. 



Then one fine day he began his Homeric fight against 

 the white sla\e trade and the terrific hunt of the 

 souteneurs of London ; of the unavowed vices of the 

 Vioble, very noble lords, and of opulent, all-powerful 

 men. Europe and the whole world followed with 

 passionate curiosity the superhuman acts of courage 

 of this journalist. That which increased their sym- 

 pathy for the writer was his evident good faith, his 

 inspired prophetic style, unlimited devotion for justice, 

 and his boundless temerity. These were, perhaps, the 

 most heroic and the happiest hours of Stead's life. He 

 alone succeeded in rousing his country against vice of 

 all sorts, in saving the existence of thousands of women, 

 in branding innumerable sins, and in causing the 

 triumph of virtue, his idol always. 



What mattered to him the risk of his life ? — the 

 dangers which assailed him on all sides? He loved a 

 real fight in any shape ; not that imaginary peril which 

 gives delicious soul-trouble, hut that real danger which 

 might have and did almost cost him his life. On him 

 was inflicted one day the punishment of several months' 

 hard labour. His soul, athirst for martyrdom and 

 suffering for the truth, thence drew fresh strength. 

 Those months passed in prison were, perhaps, the most 

 symbolic of his life ; anyway, they decided his future 

 activities. 



THE effect of prison. 



His convict dress caused him to think much about 

 modern society. In the light of this outward humilia- 

 tion, for him a divine reward. Stead realised more fully 

 the beauty and happiness of sacrifice for one's fellow- 

 creatures, of this struggle, splendid above all others, to 

 bring heaven upon earth. He understood also the 

 power of reflection and the inner life. From this time 

 he glorified the beautv of solitude. Thence he drew his 

 strength, his inspiration, and his thoughts for more 

 inten.se fight. His predisposition to the mystie there- 

 became immeasurably exalted, and side by side with 

 the man of action grew the imiterate dreamer, an 

 easy prey to touchingly nai\e manifestations, which 

 sometimes mastered his lucid mind and his proved 

 knowledge of men and ideas. 



Stead was considered a sort of king of journalists. 

 Never was title more justified or more merited. From 

 all countries people went to Stead to ask him to defend 



