The San Francisco call., 1899-04-09
IAN MACLAREN AS A
PREACHER And NOVELIST

i
California. The uniformed page boy Of
the Palace staggered into the parlor
under the weight of a huge paper par
eel And little Mrs. Watson, Ian Mac
Iaren's wife. received it in her lap,
wealth of glorious blossoms rolling out
from the loosened cover. There were
roses. carnations. lilies, lilacs and
dozen other glowing blooms, not for
getting the far-famed eschscholtZla,
California's favorite flower.
what a splendid welcome" ex-
claimed Mrs. Watson as she bent over
the fragrant heap. And there's no
card either. Just imagine! Last night
we plowed our way through twelve
feet of snow and this morning we are
in the land of sunshine and flowers.
It's too wonderful.
Ian Maclaren, the novelist, sat at the
table opposite and smiled pleasantly,
not in too pronounced a manner, but
with Just that subdued grace charac-
teristic of the cultured cleric How
ever. YOU must not confuse the Rev.
DR.. John Watson Of the Presbyterian
church with Ian Maclaren, the writer
of "Beside the Bonnie Briar Bush,
and nanv other famous Scotch stories
of the hdllydEQ SCIlOOA' AZ w.
men lead a kind Of idealized Jekyll and
Hyde existence. In the pulpit OF MS
crowded church at Seton Park, Liver
pool, DR.. Watson is the earnest
nreacher. the skilled theologian; here,
on his lecturing tour through the
United States; he is the eloquent
spea ker, the genial man Of the world,
whose reputation is magnetic enough
to draw crowds wherever he goes, even
through snowstorms and blizzards.
L am travelling now purely as a ci-
william, and not as clergyman ne
The doctors dress indicates as much.
He has dropped the clerical broadcloth
for the loose, easy fitting tweed OF the
experienced traveller; and, as II 70 ac-
centuate the change of costume, he mas
even gone so far as to don red neck
tie. a color which sets at defiance all
the traditions Of the Scottish Kirk.
Still. costume notwithstanding, his
clean shaven face, his broad, thought
full forehead, his keen dark eyes. hair
hidden under bushy eyebrows, marx
him as one set apart for the service OF
the church In fact, with his tall, mas
sive frame, his firm step, his general
air of one born to command, Dr. wat
son. attired in suitable canonlcaIs,
would have made an ideal English
Bishop. And that he is not on the high
road to this dignity is not the fault OF
the PRESBYTERIAN church Of Scotland.
"I have been tried twice before the
theological court" he remarked, 'On
account of a religious work l wrote four.
years ago The Mind Of the Master.
They charged me with heresy because
of the doctrines I expressed, but in each
instance the charge failed. They have
still the right to try me again, on the
general merits of the case, but" he
added with grim smile, I do not
think they will
And what would have happened had
they found you guilty?"
Il should have been divested of my
orders, and Of course expelled from my
church"
"And then?"
why, then, it would have been the
Church of England. shall never aban-
don my religious vocation. and of all
churches lean most toward the Anglt-
can.
Now you must not imagine" con-
tinued the doctor, that this prosecu-
ton had anything to do with my
Scotch stories. If there is one thing
more than another which I abOminate,
it is theology in fiction. Theology is a
science and should be treated as a
thing apart, in its proper place. That
is why I always publish my religious
writings under my own name, John
Watson, while for my imaginative stO-
ries I use the nom de plume Of Ian
Maclaren There are three different
theologies in my tales, according to the
beliefs of the characters whom have
portrayed.
mo, they are not taken from real
life, my people of DrumtOchty; that IS
a popular fallacy They are composite
photographs built up. a bit here and
bit there. Probably there are in Scot
land women like Kate Carnegie. or doc
tors like Mcclure and Davidson bur
there are none which are identical in
every detail. I consider that no novel
list has ever made a success who ac1u-
ally copied from real life. Why, you
cut out at once all the imaginative and
creative element. That was Disraeli's
great fault. He merely described liv-
ing individuals instead of creating
ideals of his own. And in recent years
there have been cases of the same kind,
though I would rather not speak of
my contemporaries in fiction Not to
mention the bad taste of the thing, we
may draw an analogy from art. The
difference between real and created
character is exactly that between a
photograph and an artistic sketch.
! The one merely shows US things just
as they are; the other WHITES them, in
vests them with an atmosphere OF ro-
nance; gives them an air of fascina-
ton.
Look at Kipling's people. created by
his wonderful genius. They are abso-
lutely lifelike; yet, venture to say,
not one Of them is an actual copy from
real existence. The master hand has
touched them and they breathe Why.
I have been so closely identified with
! some of my characters that only the
other day. in the East. a university
| chancellor introduced me to the audi
ence as Mrs. Carnegie's husband. Ans
they have asked me many times to
write a novel about the subsequent life
of this lady and her husband. But 1
do not think 1 shall; my forte is the
short story"
In planning his prospective work Ian
Maclaren frankly admits the decadence
of what adverse critics term the kali
yard school" Of fiction. There has
been enough written about the sub
ject," he said. Barrie and Crockett
and myself, not to mention numerous
other writers, have quite exhausted it.
I shall turn my attention to other mat
ters. In my last volume 'Afterward'
there We're only two Scotch stories; all
the rest We're English. And now that
I have finished the annals of Drum
tochty, there is nothing left to write
about. BY the way. speaking Of imag-
N