Wandering around the leafy regions of St John's Wood, on the trail of Ernest Dowson's customary place of worship (see "In-and-Out-of-Print"), not far from the Hospital of St John and St Elizabeth, where Francis Thompson died in 1907, and Melina Place, where Arthur Machen lived, this Lost Club correspondent found himself near 8 Abercorn Place: an address associated with that remarkable bibliographer, bookseller and socialist Christopher Millard and with a momentous, if undramatic, event in the annals of literature. It was here, in Millard's garden one summer afternoon, that A.J.A. Symons' famous quest for Corvo began. Symons was a friend of Millard, and on this particular day the two were talking of little-known books which "miss their just reward of praise". Symons cited Le Fanu's Wylder's Hand and Fantastic Fables by Ambrose Bierce. Then Millard asked if he'd ever read Hadrian the Seventh. Millard lent him the book, and thus Symons "took the first step on a trail that led into very strange places" - and, of course, it led to the creation of a classic, as anyone who knows The Quest for Corvo (1934) will be aware. (Anyone who hasn't read the Quest should put down this opuscule at once and rush out to acquire a copy.) Alas, as with most wonderful tales, there's always a sequel which undermines the legend. In his memoir of his brother, A.J.A. Symons: His Life and Speculations (1950), Julian Symons says that although the meeting with Millard may well have occurred, this was not the first time A.J. had heard of Corvo: "The encounter with Millard seemed to him a good stepping-off place for his tale, and he used it accordingly." (A.J. in fact admits in the Quest that he had already read one story of Frederick Rolfe's and planned to read more.)
Christopher Sclater Millard was born in 1872 at Basingstoke, the son of a Canon. He studied at Keble College, Oxford, and at Salisbury Theological College, but his conversion to Catholicism put an end to his plans for ordination. He subsequently became a schoolmaster in Bournemouth and later head of St Catherine's College, Woodford Green, Essex.
His first book on Wilde, the translation of an essay by André Gide, appeared in 1905 under the pseudonym Stuart Mason. Moving to London, he worked in a bookshop in the Edgware Road, then as an assistant editor for the Burlington Magazine. His 600-page bibliography of Wilde appeared in two volumes in 1914. Earlier he had helped Robert Ross edit Wilde's collected works. After serving in France with the Royal Fusiliers for a time before his health gave way, and working as a record clerk at the War Office, Millard was jailed for the second time for homosexuality: he had received a three-month sentence in 1906 for gross indecency.
In the 1920s Millard found the retreat at Abercorn Place: a bungalow behind No. 8, then as now an imposing Victorian villa. From here a stream of catalogues issued over the next few years. Millard's first catalogue, published at Christmas 1919, bore the epigraph "Books to be interesting must be at least second-hand."
It was in one of these catalogues that Millard listed Frederick Rolfe's Venice letters, sent to an unnamed correspondent. "In this summary it is impossible to do more than hint at the amazing scenes of debauchery described in some detail in some of these letters," he wrote. Symons bought the collection, and later resold them to the Corvo enthusiast Maundy Gregory (who lived not far away from Millard, at the house which is now the EMI recording studios in Abbey Road. This scribe has been sorely tempted to add a line or two on the remarkable Maundy to the unsightly graffiti festooning the walls here; but the honour of the Lost Club prevailed.) Millard corresponded with the young Anthony Powell, telling him: "A sordid business selling books, but very amusing."
Symons paints a sympathetic portrait of Millard in the Quest:
At Oxford he flouted the authorities in acts of noisy folly; in early manhood he became an enthusiastic Jacobite, ostentatiously laying his white rose at King Charles the First's feet every year, and acknowledging Prince Rupert of Bavaria as his rightful sovereign; in later years he became an ardent Socialist, wore flaming ties, and (to the astonishment of yokels) sang "The Red Flag" very loudly in quiet country inns. Yet, despite his Oxford antics, he took a good degree; despite his Jacobite feelings he fought very loyally for King George; and his Socialist views did not prevent him from incarnating most of the Conservative virtues.
...despite his cramping poverty, he continued to live almost entirely as he pleased. He rose early or late, and idled or worked, according to his mood. When the successful sale of a book brought him a profit, he would live in perfect contentment until the money was gone; not till then would he look about for more. Much of his time he spent in correspondence with literary Americans on points of bibliographical research: he had an eighteenth-century appetite for that pastime... [Millard's amusing correspondence with Vincent Starrett, dealing with Starrett's fanatical search for elusive titles by Machen, was published as Containing a Number of Things by Tartarus Press in 1993.]
In person this natural philosopher was a striking figure. More than six feet tall, always hatless, dressed in dark blue shirt, grey flannel trousers, and green jacket (all of which he mended and patched with his own hands when necessary), he had an air and dignity which never left him. A deep voice and abundant, greying, curling hair, set off his confident carriage; he was perhaps the most self-possessed man I have ever known... A queer character in modern London; but such was the man to whom I owe my first knowledge of the life and work of Baron Corvo. Alas, that he did not live to learn the end of the story.
Millard died in November 1927, in the Hospital of St John and St Elizabeth, and left the bulk of his money to the St Marylebone branch of the Labour Party. In his will he requested that his party associates sing "The Red Flag" over his grave. He lies in an unmarked grave - he wished to be buried at the least possible expense - at Kensal Green cemetery.
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