Have You Anything to Declare by Maurice Baring

My first introduction to Maurice Baring was in a book called Literary Converts by Joseph Pearce which was sent to me by my friend Paul. The book is about men and women who converted to the Catholic faith during the Catholic Intellectual Revival of the early 20th century. I remember thinking at the time that I would like to read something by Baring, but not why, and so I was very glad when Paul also sent me Have You Anything to Declare? I was so excited that I read about three pages and then put it on the shelf for something like nine years.

The book begins with a description of a dream. 

I dreamed once that, like Clarence, I had "pass'd the melancholy flood, with that grim Ferryman that poets write of", and that, when we reached the other side, there was a Customs House and an official who had inscribed in golden letters on his cap Chemins de fer de l'Enfer, who said to me, "Have you anything to declare?"

I want to pause here for a minute to note that in the first sentence Baring expects us to know who Clarence is (I knew it was the Duke of Clarence and from Shakespeare and figured it must be Richard III, so I passed.), that the "grim Ferryman" was Charon (That's pretty easy.), and how to translate that French (I'm sure I knew at some point that chemins de fer was a train, but I couldn't remember. Hell, I recognized.) At any rate, this gives you some idea of what might be ahead.

The Customs House official from the Trains of Hell wasn't interested in objects that Baring was bringing along, but in literary gleanings that he had brought with him through his life: both things he had written down, and things he had committed to memory. On awakening, Baring decided that it would be a good thing to make this declaration. The result is a sort of commonplace book that begins with Homer, and proceeds to authors who were contemporaries of Baring, closing with several passages on death, ultimately:  

Et à l’heure de ma mort soyez le refuge de mon âme étonnée et recevez-la dans sein de votre miséricorde.

Which translated (although he doesn't translate it) is:

And at the hour of my death be the refuge of my astonished soul and receive it into the midst of Thy mercy.

This, though Baring doesn't cite it, is St. Margaret Mary Alacoque.

So that you can see how the book is laid out (You can see this better if you click once on the picture):

Sometimes a comment from Baring

The quote in the original language

Sometimes a translation which may be Baring's, because he was a translator, or may be from someone else

Perhaps a closing comment from Baring or someone else

This is the general layout of the pages. Many are this short, and some are shorter, for instance, the last page contains only the two French lines quoted above. Sometimes the whole page will be filled and very occasionally part of the next page also.

The quotes contained in the book may be in Greek, Latin, Italian, French, German, Russian, or even English. There may be other languages that I have forgotten. Some are translated; others are not. If I am remembering correctly he always translates the Greek, Latin, and Russian, and seldom the French. Sometimes I would try to work out the French, but other times, I just passed on to the next thing.

The first section from Homer pretty much left me cold. I'm not sure why this is because I like Homer, but it has been a good while since I read it and perhaps I just couldn't connect with the disembodied fragments. I couldn't help thinking that at another time, I might enjoy this section more. 

As we moved on to other Greeks and Romans, it got a bit better, and about the time we got to George Eliot I was hooked. There are three pages about George Eliot. Apparently, she had gone out of style in 1937 when Baring was writing, but he liked her very much. He also wrote here about George Meredith, who was also out of fashion. If you have read Elizabeth Goudge you may remember that her characters love Meredith.

Pretty soon after this, I was reading the book a with highlighter and sticky flags close at hand as you can see from the picture above. I had originally planned to get rid of the book, but now I plan to keep it, flags attached.

Baring talks about the 20th century rediscovery of Trollope, but he isn't sure that Trollope is much read because:

I only know that whenever I have asked for a volume of Trollope at the London Library, I have never failed to get it, except once or twice when I have been told the book was being read by Mr. Belloc, and he has told me that the only time that he has failed to get a Trollope from the London Library is when the book has been in my hands. 

Baring was a friend of Belloc and Chesterton. I read somewhere that there was a portrait of the three of them in the National Portrait Gallery. While looking for this portrait, which is very nice, I found a similar photograph that I liked even better.

One thing I learned from Baring is that there was an author, one John Oliver Hobbes (a pen-name. Her real name was Pearl Mary Teresa Craigie), about whose work he says:

It carries on the panorama of English country and county life which was begun by Miss Austen and carried on until the end of the 'seventies by Anthony Trollope. 

Baring thinks she will be rediscovered and that people will be surprised at her wit. From The Sinner's Comedy on the death of one of the characters:

He did not speak again until just before he died, when he kissed his wife's hand with a singular tenderness, and called her Elizabeth. She had been christened Augusta Frederica, but then, as the doctors explained, dying men often make mistakes.

I have found that some of John Oliver Hobbes's novels are available on Google books and am looking forward to investigating them sooner or later.

A few quotes. 

There are some lovely descriptions of nature in the book, but when I go looking for them I find that most of them are in French. Here is one from Robert Louis Stevenson in The Ebb-Tide that is not. It reminds me of something I once saw.

There was little or no morning bank. A brightening came in the east; then a wash of some ineffable, faint nameless hue between crimson and silver; and then coals of fire. These glimmered a while on the sea-line, and seemed to brighten and darken and spread out, and still the night and stars reigned undisturbed; it was as though a spark should catch and glow and creep along the foot of some heavy and almost incombustible wall-hanging; and the room itself be scarce menaced. Yet a little after, and the whole east glowed with gold and scarlet, and the hollow of heaven was filled with daylight.

I find that most of the quotes that I have marked have to do with the Church. I didn't do this on purpose. It just happened.

Here is one from Is Life Worth Living? by William Hurrell Mallock that brings to mind a conversation I am trying to have with someone, and which is difficult for the very reason Mallock is discussing.

. . . and the explanation or the account of anything is always far more intricate than the apprehension of the thing itself. Not only does the intricacy of Catholicism described blind them to the simplicity of Catholicism experienced, but they confuse with the points of faith not only the scientific accounts of them which theologians give, but the mere rules of discipline and pious opinions.

And from Fr. Vincent McNabb

Into the great Temple of Truth, the Church of God, there are two gates--the gate of wisdom and the gate of beauty. I am inclined to think that the narrow gate is the gate of wisdom, and the wide gate, through which millions pass, is the gate of beauty. The Catholic Church has these portals ever open. She welcomes from time to time the few philosophers and thinkers who crucify themselves by thought, but she welcomes unceasingly the countless numbers who come for her colour, for her song, for her smile--as they go afield for the warmth and light of the spring sun. I believe the way of beauty is the wiser as well as the wider way. It is God's own most perfect thoroughfare--God's way to Himself.

At the end of almost every book review, I find myself wanting to say something like, "I would recommend this book to anyone who likes this sort of thing." And it is true. Sifting through page after page of quotes, especially when some of them are in languages one does not understand, will not be everybody's cup of tea, but I found it delightful.

AMDG

P. S. I have an extra copy of the book, and if you would like it, especially if you live 

        close to me, I would be glad to give it to you.