Bon chic bon genre

"...Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
Ha, ha, quoth he, full plain I see
The Devil knows how to row.
Farewell, farewell, but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding Guest:
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast."
Samuel T. Coleridge

To many of every type and station in life in many parts of the world the death of Denys Finch Hatton means the loss of something that can never be replaced. All through his life he had an amazingly attractive personality: no one who ever met him, whether man or woman, old or young, white or black, failed to come under his spell, and one and all were proud to know him.

He was different from every one else. Always and everywhere absolutely himself, he was neither selfish nor self-centred, yet he seemed always to do everything that he wanted to do and never to do anything that he did not want. Anyone else, leading such a life, would have deteriorated; he remained considerate, sympathetic, humorous, cultured, and always had time somehow to spend in small acts of kindness for most unlikely people of any age or type. He was an ideal companion at the Russian Ballet or at a game of chess, while, of course, in times of difficulty or danger in the open air he was obviously supreme, the direct, ready master of the situation.

What in others might seem odd, even swagger, in him was absolutely natural, simple, and genuine. From some unpronounceable and possibly illegible address in the wilds of Africa he wrote long letters, chiefly about the books he was reading. He was a skilful mechanic and a lover of poetry and music; he had a wide and first-hand knowledge of birds and animals, and he was a shrewd observer of his fellow men and women. He could talk for hours of native life and customs, in which he was deeply interested, and his knowledge and experience of the people and country and his intensely practical schemes have already been of great service to the Government.

He always left an impression of greatness--there is no other word--and aroused interest as no one else could. It was not only his magnificent physique and striking features; there was the ready intuition and sympathy with every type of character, a wonderful sense of humour, determination; and yet behind it all, indefinite but ever present, a feeling of waste. Something more must come form one so strong and gifted; and in a way it did, for no one inspired more love and admiration, truer or deeper confidence or friendship.

He died, as he would have chosen, in the open air, amid the wide spaces that he loved, fearless and free to the end; and the charm of his wonderful personality and companionship is something which those who knew him will treasure throughout their lives. London Times, 1931

brunoventana