In the end the character
is shown in the demeanour; and the demeanour is a consequence of the
character and resembles the character. So with style and matter.
You may argue that the blunt, rough man's demeanour is unfair to his
tenderness. I do not think so. For his churlishness is really
very trying and painful, even to the man's wife, though a moment's
tenderness will make her and you forget it. The man really is
churlish, and much more often than he is tender. His demeanour is
merely just to his character. So, when a writer annoys you for ten
pages and then enchants you for ten lines, you must not explode
against his style. You must not say that his style won't let his
matter "come out." You must remember the churlish, tender man. The
more you reflect, the more clearly you will see that faults and
excellences of style are faults and excellences of matter itself.
One of the most striking illustrations of this neglected truth is
Thomas Carlyle. How often has it been said that Carlyle's matter
is marred by the harshness and the eccentricities of his style? But
Carlyle's matter is harsh and eccentric to precisely the same degree
as his style is harsh and eccentric. Carlyle was harsh and eccentric.
His behaviour was frequently ridiculous, if it were not abominable.
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