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Arthur
Machen
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Born
in Caerleon, 1863, Arthur
Machen is
known for his horror fiction. Indeed, H
P Lovecraft,
in his essay "Supernatural
Horror in Literature",
wrote: "Of living creators of cosmic fear raised to its most
artistic pitch, few if any can hope to equal the versatile Arthur
Machen."
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Arthur
Machen (1863 - 1947) was descended from a line of Anglican priests
in South Wales including a grandfather - see later in this column-
who was vicar of St Cadocs, Caerleon for many years. The house
next door to the Priory Hotel carries a plaque commemorating Machen's
birth there when it was the home of his widowed grandmother and
her daughters.
In this extract from his autobiography, 'Far Off Things', the
places mentioned will be familiar to Caerleon residents:
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"I
shall always esteem it as the greatest piece of fortune that has
fallen to me, that I was born in that noble, fallen Caerleon-on-Usk,
in the heart of Gwent. My greatest fortune, I mean, from that
point of view which I now more especially have in mind, the career
of letters. For the older I grow the more firmly am I convinced
that anything which I may have accomplished in literature is due
to the fact that when my eyes were first opened in earliest childhood
they had before them the vision of an enchanted land. As soon
as I saw anything I saw Twyn Barlwm, that mystic tumulus, the
memorial of peoples that dwelt in that region before the Celts
left the Land of Summer. This guarded the southern limit of the
great mountain wall in the west; a little northward was Mynydd
Maen - the Mountain of the Stone - a giant, rounded billow; and
still to the north mountains, and on fair, clear days one could
see the pointed summits of the Holy Mountain by Abergavenny. It
would shine, I remember, a pure blue in the far sunshine: it was
a mountain peak in a fairy tale. And then to eastward the bedroom
window of Llanddewi Rectory looked over hill and valley, over
high woods, quivering with leafage like the beloved Zacynthus
of Ulysses, away to the forest of Wentwood, to the church tower
on the hill above Caerleon. Through a cleft one might see now
and again a bright yellow glint of the Severn Sea, and the cliffs
of Somerset beyond. And hardly a house in sight in all the landscape,
look where you would. Here the gable of a barn, here a glint of
a whitewashed farmhouse, here blue wood-smoke rising from an orchard
grove, where an old cottage was snugly hidden: but only so much
if you knew where to look. And of nights, when the dusk fell and
the farmer went his rounds, you might chance to see his lantern
glimmering a very spark on the hillside. This was all that showed
in a vague, dark world: and the only sounds were the faint distant
barking of the sheepdog and the melancholy cry of the owls from
the border of the brake."
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Machen's
life and writing reflect a deep commitment to the Orthodox Anglo
Catholic faith and his books frequently explore aspects of the
Old Religion and the Celtic Church whose colourful saints were
of such interest to him. One such church was that of Llantrissant
which appears in his writing from time to time, for example The
Great Return. Machen's interest in spirituality was broader than
that of a formal, regular church-goer as he sought to examine
the often alarmingly close 'world beyond the veil' which manifests
itself to those who are prepared and open to deep experiences
of a psychic nature. An enjoyment of wine and tobacco was felt
to be one way of entering this state of consciousness.
Because of the nature of his writing and the priority of altered
states of consciousness amongst his 'tools of inspiration' Machen
has been widely admired by other writers, musicians and people
who recognise his efforts to explore the wellspring of creative
thought. Many respected writers have acknowledged warmly the debt
they owe to his work including horror writers such as Clive Barker
and Ramsay Campbell, novelist and biographer Peter Ackroyd and
entertainer Barry Humphries whilst the composer John Ireland dedicated
some of his best music to Machen. More details of the 'Great and
The Good' who claim to have got their inspiration from the Caerleon
writer will be listed here later.
The following extract comes from "The Novel Of The Black Seal".
The setting is very clearly the Usk Valley, though this is not
stated in the text. (In fact the location is given as "the west
of England, not far from Caermaen, a quiet little town, once a
city, and the headquarters of a Roman Legion.")
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"The
days passed quickly; I could see that the professor was all quivering
with suppressed excitement, and I could scarce credit the eager
appetence of his glance as we left the old manor-house behind
us and began our journey. We set out at midday, and it was in
the dusk of the evening that we arrived at a little country station.
I was tired and excited, and the drive through the lanes seems
all a dream. First the deserted streets of a forgotten village,
while I heard Professor Gregg's voice talking of the Augustan
Legion and the clash of arms, and all the tremendous pomp that
followed the eagles; then the broad river swimming to full tide
with the last afterglow glimmering duskily in the yellow water,
the wide meadows, the cornfields whitening, and the deep lane
winding on the slope between the hills and the water. At last
we began to ascend, and the air grew rarer. I looked down and
saw the pure white mist tracking the outline of the river like
a shroud, and a vague and shadowy country; imaginations and fantasy
of swelling hills and hanging woods, and half-shaped outlines
of hills beyond, and in the distance the glare of the furnace
fire on the mountain, glowing by turns a pillar of shining flame
and fading to a dull point of red. We were slowly mounting a carriage
drive, and then there came to me the cool breath and the secret
of the great wood that was above us; I seemed to its
deepest depths, and there was the sound of trickling water, the
scent of the green leaves, and the breath of the summer night.
The carriage, stopped at last, and I could scarcely distinguish
the form of the house, as I waited a moment at the pillared porch.
The rest of the evening seemed a dream of strange things bounded
by the great silence of the wood and the valley and the river.
The next morning, when I awoke and looked out of the bow window
of the big, old-fashioned bedroom, I saw under a grey sky a country
that was still all mystery. The long, lovely valley, with the
river winding in and out below, crossed in mid-vision by a mediaeval
bridge of vaulted and buttressed stone, the clear presence of
the rising ground beyond; and the woods that I had only seen in
shadow the night before, seemed tinged with enchantment, and the
soft breath of air that sighed in at the opened pane was like
no other wind. I looked across the valley, and beyond, hill followed
on hill as wave on wave, and here a faint blue pillar of smoke
rose still in the morning air from the chimney of an ancient grey
farmhouse, there was a rugged height crowned with dark firs, and
in the distance I saw the white streak of a road that climbed
and vanished into some unimagined country. But the boundary of
all was a great wall of mountain, vast in the west, and ending
like a fortress with a steep ascent and a domed tumulus dear against
the sky…"
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The
mood becomes more foreboding as the Professor's investigations
approach their conclusion ...
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"When
the next morning I came down, I found Professor Gregg pacing the
terrace in his eternal walk.
"Look at that bridge," he said, when he saw me; "observe the quaint
and Gothic design, the angles between the arches, and the silvery
grey of the stone in the awe of the morning light. I confess it
seems to me symbolic; it should illustrate a mystical allegory
of the passage from one world to another."
"Professor Gregg," I said quietly, "it is time that I knew something
of what has happened, and of what is to happen."
For the moment he put me off, but I returned again with the same
question in the evening, and then Professor Gregg flamed with
excitement. "Don't you understand yet?" he cried. "But I have
told you a good deal; yes, and shown you a good deal; you have
heard pretty nearly all that I have heard, and seen what I have
seen; or at least," and his voice chilled as he spoke. "enough
to make a good deal clear as noonday…"
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Machen's
writing was a source of inspiration to, amongst others, the American
exponent of horror H P Lovecraft, who continued the love affair
with inscriptions which lead the reader into a world of demonic
evil and horror. |
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