Socialism has lost a rare personality by the death of William Morris, famous by reason of his greatness as a poet, his great sense of beauty and many sidedness as an artist, and his wonderful executive ability. His power of production was marvellous and to see some of the hand work he did, one would think that it had been done in the Middle Ages, so beautiful it was. So much has been said of Morris's connection with the decorative arts, of his poetry, and of his unique position as a prose-writer, that further mention of them here is rendered unnecessary.
William Morris, son of a city merchant, was born at Walthamstow on the 24th of March, 1834, and in all probability the world would never have heard of him (how many hundreds of men and women as richly endowed are never heard of for the lack of opportunity?) but for the fact that his father had invested largely in 'Devon Great Consols', the value of which rose tremendously, and led to his becoming a very wealthy man. As a boy, Morris seems to have had pretty much his own way, roaming the forest which he learnt to love, riding half over Essex on his pony in search of old churches for the sake of their architecture, and mixing with the stable men in whose company he probably learnt the strong language which he used with such telling effect in after life. He was sent to Marlborough college, and from thence to Oxford with the intention of taking orders. He used to say that most of what he knew he learnt apart from the University. Be that as it may, he there formed the acquaintance of Faulkner and Burne Jones ; through the latter he became acquainted with Rossetti, which proved to he the turning point of their respective careers. In early life, Morris threw over his religious beliefs which consisted as he said 'more of a fear of the Devil than a belief in God'. When Morris left Exeter College, his father had been dead some years. Very wealthy, and free to follow his natural bent, his love of Gothic architecture compelled him to enter the office of Mr. George Edmund Street of Oxford, and there he made the acquaintance of Philip Webb, one of his future partners and lifelong friends. Mr. Street's office could not claim Morris for more than nine months; his artistic instincts and love of romance leading him to London there to throw himself into the pre-Raphaelite movement, poetry, and decorative art. However great Morris was as an artist, he was greater still as a Pagan. With his intense love of life, the world was to him 'a jolly old world' and one had but to dine with him, as I have often had the pleasure of doing to see how he enjoyed it. On one occasion he said to me, 'I always feel inclined to sing when I eat and drink', and with a few choice Socialist friends he was delightfully unreserved.
He would greet with boisterous laughter any happy hit at the idiosyncracies of the leading Socialists. I well remember one occasion when the talk turned on G. B. Shaw, the amusing way in which be told us how Shaw held certificates of ability which could only find its fitting scope in the office of Chancellor of the Exchequer, adding laughingly that Shaw was 'too damned clever'.
It is a great mistake to suppose that Morris changed his views with regard to parliamentary action. In a comparatively recent lecture at Kelmscott House he expressed his belief that the people were going that way, but he added with emphasis, 'Don't make the mistake of thinking this, Socialism!' It is true that he gave a donation to the S.D.F., and that he contributed later to the Freedom Fund. He was always ready to write for LIBERTY when asked, and only two months before his death, expressed his willingness to do so. Like his friend Walter Crane, he helped all, being too great a man to be sectarian. Francis Craig, (son of the late E. T. Craig) in an interview with him mentioned that Helen Taylor used to say that it took fifteen years to get an act passed in the interest of the workers, when Morris, blazing up and bringing his fist down on the table, said 'Say fifty years and you will be nearer the mark'.
While conversing with an artist friend who worked with him, and also tended him to the day of his death, Morris made his views on this subject still more clear. Speaking of the Fabian Society lectures, this friend remarked to Morris that in spite of lectures on economics and parliamentary action, he still found himself occupying the old position they did in the early days of the Socialist League. Morris replied, 'I also find myself in the same position.'
During the latter part of his life Morris, by reason of his ill health, took no active part in the Socialist movement. Last summer, I spent an afternoon with him at his request. During the afternoon he explained to me his views on physical force, 'I have no sympathy' he said, 'with those who threw a bomb into a cafe or into the Liceo Theatre, but I can understand the action of a Pallas.'
I intend publishing shortly other reminiscences of Morris, and his correspondence with me concerning his attitude towards Socialism.
Reminiscences of William Morris
James Tochatti
Liberty, December 1896, p. 7
Tochatti was unable to publish his further reminiscences of Morris in Liberty, which ceased publication after this issue.
Graham Seaman, September 2020.