JOHN M. SYNGE

A FEW PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS, WITH BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES

BY JOHN MASEFIELD




JOHN M. SYNGE


I first met John M. Synge at the room of a common friend, up two
pairs of stairs, in an old house in Bloomsbury, on a Monday night
of January, 1903. When I entered the room, he was sitting in a
rush-bottomed chair, talking to a young man just down from Oxford.
My host introduced me, with the remark that he wanted us to know
each other.

Synge stood up to shake hands with me. He was of the middle
height, about five feet eight or nine. My first impression of him
was of a dark, grave face, with a great deal in it, changing from
the liveliness of conversation to a gravity of scrutiny. After we
had shaken hands, I passed to the other end of the room to greet
other friends. We did not speak to each other again that night.

When I sat at the other end of the room my chair was opposite
Synge's chair. Whenever I raised my eyes I saw him, and wondered
who he could be. Disordered people look disordered, unusual people
look unusual. A youth with long hair, a velvet coat, extravagant