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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c67851 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63704 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63704) diff --git a/old/63704-8.txt b/old/63704-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 61942cc..0000000 --- a/old/63704-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6228 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Some Impressions of My Elders, by St. John G. -(St. John Greer) Ervine - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Some Impressions of My Elders - - -Author: St. John G. (St. John Greer) Ervine - - - -Release Date: November 10, 2020 [eBook #63704] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME IMPRESSIONS OF MY ELDERS*** - - -E-text prepared by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/someimpressionso01ervi - - - - - -SOME IMPRESSIONS OF MY ELDERS - -by - -ST. JOHN G. ERVINE - - - - - -New York -The Macmillan Company -1922 - -All Rights Reserved - -Printed in the United States of America - -Copyright, 1920 and 1921, -by North American Review Corporation - -Copyright, 1922, -by St. John G. Ervine - -Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1922 - -Vail-Ballou Company -Binghamton and New York - - -TO - -ELIZABETH CUTTING - -who would not give me any peace until I had overcome my idle habits -and written all these impressions of my elders for the North American -Review. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -THE AUTHOR TO HIS READERS 3 - -A. E. (GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL) 25 - -ARNOLD BENNETT 61 - -G. K. CHESTERTON 90 - -JOHN GALSWORTHY 113 - -GEORGE MOORE 161 - -BERNARD SHAW 189 - -H. G. WELLS 240 - -W. B. YEATS 264 - - - - -SOME IMPRESSIONS OF MY ELDERS - - - - -THE AUTHOR TO HIS READERS - - -The matter which appears in the following pages was originally -contributed, in the shape of a series of articles under the general -title of "Some Impressions of My Elders," to the _North American -Review_ at intervals during the years 1920 and 1921. The order in which -the articles appear in this book is different from the order in which -they appeared in the _Review_: _this_ order is alphabetical whereas -_that_ was capricious. Some excisions and some additions have been made -to them and I hope that I have evaded the danger which besets all those -who reprint their journalism in book form, the danger of repetitions. -Why I reprint them at all is a point on which I am not able to offer -conclusive explanations. I have reached that period of my life when -my wish is rather _not_ to write a book than to write one, and I have -lost all the cheery conceit which caused me in my youth to feel that -anything I wrote ought to be published in a handsome volume. Indeed, -when I think of the great quantity of books there already are in this -world, it seems to me a sign of hopeless irresponsibility to add to -their number. There are so many books that ought to be read, but never -can be read because there is not enough time for any of us to do so, -that no author can plead justification for printing a book which does -not come within the catalogue of those that ought to be read unless he -needs the money which, presumably, he will get for it. I cannot urge -even that plea, for I have few needs and they are easily satisfied. I -have never been afflicted with the mania for owning things, as Walt -Whitman calls it, and therefore have no wish to accumulate either goods -or money. Were it not for the insistence of some of my friends, I do -not suppose I should issue this book to the public at all. We are too -prone, we scribblers, to put our casual writings between the covers -of a book, when regard for our craft would compel us to reserve that -dignity for our greatest efforts; and I have feared for several years -now to be one of these offenders. And yet, one likes to have an array -of books on a shelf and be able to say, "I wrote those." The profession -of writing gives degree and reputation to a man which is often greater -than his due, and people of ability will listen respectfully to the -opinions of a lesser person than themselves merely because he (or even -she) has printed a book. Many clever men and women actually paid good -American money to hear me talk on odds and ends of subjects, although -they probably had views on them that were at least as sound as mine -and no doubt a great deal sounder. I am afraid of this tribute to the -author. It may make us, a much assorted crowd, esteem ourselves more -highly than we are naturally prone to do. The mere fact that a man -has contracted a profitable habit of putting words together does not -entitle him to more of the world's respect that is due to one who has -contracted the habit of putting bits of metal together and calling the -result a motor-car. I do not know why a man who writes books should -regard himself as a better man than one who makes butter. Far less do -I know why the man who makes butter should consent to believe that he -is less worthy than the man who makes books. But undoubtedly some such -superstition fills the minds of most of us. When a man or woman of -ordinary appearance and uninteresting speech comes into our presence, -we say "How do you do!" and turn away; but when we are informed that -this same person has written a novel, immediately we become interested -and turn again to him or her in the expectation that something -profoundly illuminating will be said to us. Experience does not cure us -of that delusive hope. We do not prick up our ears when a man who owns -the largest motor-car factory in the world comes into our presence, -and we yawn in the face of a railway director. Yet either of these may -be far more entertaining company than any author. It is true that the -author is presumably more imaginative than the owner of the factory or -the president of the railroad, and perhaps the instinctive tribute paid -by mankind to the author, even when mankind omits to buy his books, -is a recognition of the value of imagination to human life. As such I -gladly accept it. Nevertheless, I could wish for more discrimination -in these tributes. On the whole, I would prefer to see our authors -neglected than over-estimated. No one on earth and probably no one in -heaven can prevent an author from making books while he has breath in -his body and energy in his brain and fingers. Therefore, neglect will -not greatly harm him. But too much praise, too much consideration of -his views, above all, too much profit from his work, will make a sad -mess of an excellent writer. I tell myself sometimes that no author -should be praised until he is dead, though he might occasionally be -dispraised during his lifetime. We should thus save our authors, though -there is no certainty in this, from excess of vanity. Let Shakespeare's -reputation grow to legendary proportions when he is safely within his -grave, but do not, if you desire the best that is in him, let him be -often or much praised while he is alive. We have come to a period of -time when authors feel that they must write so many books each year. -But I would have an author publish a book only when the compulsion -to publish it becomes greater than he can resist. Books would not -necessarily be better, but they would certainly be fewer, and they -might be better. - - -II - -I have written thus far, partly to resolve my own doubts (which, -however, are not resolved) but chiefly to excuse myself to those who -may buy this book. I beg of them to believe that I have not reprinted -these fugitive pieces without deliberation on their value. My friends -tell me that any impressions of men of quality and genius have value, -and undoubtedly Boswell's biography of Dr. Johnson confirms many -mediocrities in their intention to accept a man's hospitality for the -purpose of earning money by describing his personal habits in a public -journal. We would be very grateful for an account of Shakespeare no -better than any one of the chapters in this book. If an Elizabethan -had had a mind like Boswell's and had noted down all that he ever -heard Shakespeare say, had pressed him with questions on his work, -had noted his personal appearance, his habits of dress, his ways of -eating, his effect on women, his likes and dislikes, the thousand and -one small things which, when summed up, make a man out of a myth, -how happy we should all be, how many thousand commentators and -emendators and wrathful Baconians and cypher maniacs would be put out -of employment! One could cry with vexation at the thought that there -was no one with sufficient intelligence to keep a diary during those -last few mysterious years in Stratford-on-Avon when Shakespeare, though -still a young man as ages go, ceased to work at his trade and went in -silence to his grave. Such are the considerations which have affected -me in my decision to reprint these chapters, though they may add very -little to any one's knowledge of the men who are described in them. -It is, perhaps, an additional factor in the decision that they record -impressions made on the mind of a young man by his elders and betters -and expressed at a time when he was ceasing to be young. The generation -to which I belong was much impressed by the men whose work and beliefs -are sketched in this book. All young men, whatever their class or -culture, have heroes. The world, indeed, will end when young men cease -to have heroes. Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells, Mr. Chesterton and Mr. Belloc, -Mr. Yeats and Mr. Moore, Mr. Bennett and Mr. Galsworthy and, rather -more remotely, "A. E." were heroes worthy of emulation by me and the -likes of me. George Meredith and Mr. Hardy were too far up the slopes -of Olympus for us to hope ever to touch the hem of their garments, but -we were alive in the same world with them and sometimes spoke with -people who knew them. Once, even, on a hot Sunday morning I walked for -miles in Surrey, stiff with determination to see Meredith and to speak -with him, even if I should have to skulk about his house the entire day -and run the risk of being arrested for suspicious loitering; but my -heart failed me when, tired and thirsty, I came into his neighbourhood. -Who was I, I demanded of myself, that I should thrust my unimportant -person on the notice of a genius? And when I had made that demand of -myself, I realised that I could do no other than go away and leave the -old man in peace. And so I went, though now I regret that I did, for a -little while after I made my expedition to Box Hill, Meredith died and -I had lost for ever my hope of seeing him. Time has been kinder to me -over Mr. Hardy whose friendship I have the happiness to enjoy. - -I have described these men as our heroes, but of course the degree of -respect we gave to them varied. The feeling we had for Mr. Galsworthy, -for example, was diminished by the fact that we were afraid he would -turn aside and shed a few unaccountable tears. His work, particularly -"The Man of Property," "The Country House" and "The Silver Box," had -the great appeal which all passionately sincere work has, but it -left some of us in a state of chilled speculation. We were afraid of -the effect Mr. Galsworthy had on our emotions and we resisted him -more, perhaps, than we ought to have done because we suspected him of -sentimentality and were afraid he might let our minds down by pressing -too hardly on our hearts. His work excited a remote pity in us, but it -did not rouse us to wrath or warm our affections. His characters were -the creatures of an aloof, impassive and immovable Destiny; and it is -difficult to feel much interest in automatons. If a man is wronged by -another man, I may be stirred to his defence, but if he is thwarted -or crushed by some passionless Force which cannot be controlled or -persuaded or defeated, I am unlikely to do more than murmur "Poor -fellow!" and pass on my way. Spineless men, impotently submitting to -Circumstances, do not stir the blood, and Mr. Galsworthy's characters, -though they might excite our pity, killed our hope. Mr. Galsworthy -seemed to us to say, "Vain youths, it is idle to make any effort! -Things happen and they cannot be helped. You are doomed from the moment -of your birth to die frustrated!..." He is easily made indignant by -suffering, but we could not imagine him sounding a call to fight. -We could think of him only in the act of surrender. We asked for a -challenge; he counselled submission. He was a Tolstoyan, not of his -Free Will, for he had no Free Will, but because he could not help -himself. He turned the other cheek because he would not clench his -fist. Mr. Hardy did not fill our mouths with dust as Mr. Galsworthy -did, for his people, though they, too, were creatures of Destiny, were -gallant creatures and went to their end with a noble gesture. He left -us with the sensation that although we were obliged to submit to a doom -determined for us by a Power that understood neither Itself nor us, yet -we could put ribbons in our hats. We could die like men and not like -rats. When Mr. Hardy celebrated his eighty-first birthday, his younger -comrades in the craft of letters presented an address to him from which -I quote the following passages: - - - "In your novels and poems you have given us a tragic vision of - life which is informed by your knowledge of character and relieved - by the charity of your humour and sweetened by your sympathy with - human suffering and endurance. We have learned from you that the - proud heart can subdue the hardest fate, even in submitting to it. - When Mr. Justice Shallow sought to instruct Sir John Falstaff in - the choice of soldiers, the knight said: 'Care I for the limbs, - the thewes, the stature, bulk and big assemblance of a man? Give - me the spirit, Master Shallow.' So would you have answered him, - for in all that you have written you have shown the spirit of - man, nourished by tradition and sustained by pride, persisting - through defeat. You have inspired us both by your work and by the - manner in which it was done. The craftsman in you calls for our - admiration as surely as the artist, and few writers have observed - so closely as you have the Host's instruction in the Canterbury - Tales: - - - Your termes, your colours and your figures, - Keep them in store, till so be ye indite - High style, as when that men to kinges write. - - - From your first book to your last, you have written in the 'high - style, as when that men to kinges write,' and you have crowned a - great prose with a noble poetry." - - -Those extracts express, I think, some of the quiet quality of courage -discoverable in the determinism of Mr. Hardy, but absent from the -determinism of Mr. Galsworthy. - - -III - -Our attitude towards Mr. Shaw, Mr. Wells, Mr. Chesterton and Mr. Belloc -was very different from our attitude towards Mr. Galsworthy. These -challenging, fighting, protesting men were concerned less with pity -for the victims of life than with anger against or opposition to the -oppressors of life. They did not wring their hands; they put up their -fists. The Early Twentieth Century Youth listened respectfully to Mr. -Galsworthy, but he went out to fight with Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells and -Mr. Chesterton and Mr. Belloc. These four men did not move him in equal -measure. Mr. Wells stimulated him with the quick succession of his -ideas, but disconcerted him also with the rapidity with which he shed -one idea for another. While we were willing to challenge everything and -make it justify its existence, we were eager also to find firm ground -for our feet. We felt that Mr. Wells ought to make up his mind a little -more carefully before he took the public into his confidence. Mr. -Shaw's awful consistency, even when he took to religion, drew us to -him more than Mr. Wells's willingness to modify or enlarge his views. -Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton stimulated us in a different way from -that in which Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells stimulated us. Mr. Wells sent us -out into the world in search of new and more adequate formulæ; Mr. -Belloc and Mr. Chesterton checked us in headlong flights with words of -warning and remonstrance. They reminded us that man is of the earth, -earthy; that man does not live by Good Will alone; that society is -composed of a great variety of beings, generous and mean, exalted and -debased, hearty and miserable, noble and ignoble, self-sacrificing and -self-seeking, kind and cruel; and they reminded us also that unless -we took care to remember this vital fact of the variety of man, we -should lose our way in the deserts ahead of us. They told us that Mr. -Wells's "Good Will" was merely Godwin's "Universal Benevolence" all -over again, and that Godwin's doctrine had made the way easy for the -Utilitarians and the growth of a devitalizing political theory which -expressed itself in the brutal industrial system of the first half of -the nineteenth century. Mr. Wells sought to convict man of a sense -of stupidity and disorganization, but they sought to convict him of -a sense of sin. Mr. Wells reminded man of his power to aspire; they -reminded him of his lapse from grace. Mr. Wells said, "You can climb!" -They said, "You have fallen!" He said, "Think!" They said, "Repent!" -The world, in Mr. Wells's opinion, needed Love and Fine Thinking. In -the opinion of Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton it needed the love of God -and faith in the Catholic Church. There probably was less difference -in essentials between Mr. Wells and the Chesterbelloc, as Mr. Shaw -nicknamed them, than appeared on the surface of things. The Catholic -Church in its organized state may move Mr. Wells to admiration, though, -in its religious aspect, it probably moves him only to derision. It is -a shabby sort of faith, with a tendency to tawdriness which makes it -ultimately unsuitable to the spiritual needs of a gentleman, although -adequate to the needs of servant-girls and actors. No one who has -visited a Catholic church or witnessed the ceremonials in Rome can -help, if he or she be possessed of any culture at all, feeling that the -whole business is second-rate: the effort of an overblown actor-manager -to interpret Shakespeare in pretentious terms. The fundamental sanity -of Mr. Chesterton has, no doubt, saved him from the folly of secession -to Rome, but his partiality for it and Mr. Belloc's rigid attainment -to it, made the young men of my time suspicious of the Chesterbelloc. -Mr. Belloc said, on a public occasion, that he would support the Church -in an act of repression if the Church came into serious conflict with -an antagonist; and he proved that he meant what he said by applauding -the execution of Ferrer, the anti-clerical, in Spain. It was natural, -perhaps, that my Orange blood should boil when I heard Mr. Belloc -palliating the offences of his obsolete church, but my more tolerant -friends were as dashed by his behaviour as I was, and what respect -we had for him was considerably diminished by the knowledge that he -would always come to heel when some priest snapped fingers at him. -Neither he nor Mr. Chesterton, although their criticism interested and -on occasions checked us, ever established dominion over us because of -their preoccupation with Catholicism. They might spell the word with a -capital C, but we knew very well that Mr. Belloc in his heart spelt it -with a small one, and we were not going to deliver ourselves into the -hands of men who were priest-ridden, however "jolly" they might be or -however well they might write. - -We were not interested in their beer-swilling habits which we regarded -as queer nastinesses in otherwise reputable persons. Their efforts -to make a tenet of religion out of beer-swilling seemed to us to be -as ridiculous as would be an effort by a Chinaman to make a tenet of -religion out of opium-smoking. - -Mr. Shaw was incontestably the supreme figure among these men of mind -who stimulated and influenced the young men and women of the Early -Twentieth Century. I doubt whether any one has ever captured or held -the fancy of young men as Mr. Shaw captured and held our fancy. Dr. -Johnson had an influence as powerful in his time as Mr. Shaw had in -ours; but Dr. Johnson's influence was mainly exercised over men of -older years than we were, of more established habits than we had; and -I doubt very much whether he affected their thoughts and outlook on -life so profoundly as Mr. Shaw affected us. He could not persuade the -faithful Boswell to accept his view of the American colonists, and his -pamphlet, "Taxation No Tyranny" displeased his friends as much as it -appeared to gratify George III and his supporters. Dr. Johnson was a -critic and a scholar with very little creative ability; he was too -conservative a man to be a man of genius; and he looked back too often -for the liking of young men who are always looking forward. His love -of tradition and settled order, while it was pleasing to men of an age -when comfort and security and familiar things began to attract the mind -more than effort and adventure and change, made him unattractive to -the stirring minds of young men. Shelley derived from Godwin, not from -Johnson. - -There is a passage in Boswell's "Life of Dr. Johnson" in which Dr. -Johnson's peculiar views on the respect due to men of rank are set out -very clearly. - - - " ... a discussion took place, whether ... Lord Cardross did right - to refuse to go Secretary of the Embassy to Spain, when Sir James - Gray, a man of inferior rank, went Ambassador. Dr. Johnson said, - that perhaps in point of interest he did wrong; but in point of - dignity he did well.... Sir, had he gone Secretary, while his - inferior was Ambassador, he would have been a traitor to his rank - and family." - - -The question, to Dr. Johnson's mind, was not one of merit: Lord -Cardross was entitled to "go Ambassador," not because he was a more -skilful diplomatist than Sir James Gray, but because he was a lord -while Sir James was only a knight! This extraordinary doctrine, which -may be held accountable for much in British history, might appeal to -elderly men who love rules and regulations and like to have everything -neatly set out in books, but it certainly does not appeal to young men -who believe in conflicts won by superior qualities; for young men, as -Dr. Johnson himself said on one occasion, "have more virtue than old -men; they have more generous sentiments in every respect." - -Mr. Shaw is incapable of uttering such a remark as Dr. Johnson uttered -in support of Lord Cardross's inept behaviour. He has, indeed, said -and written foolish things and he is capable of making what are called -"debating" points and cheap scores and of saying things for the sake -of saying them or of annoying the complacent and the smug; but he is -incapable of saying anything which supports a belief that one man shall -have precedence over another, not because of his merit, but because -of his birth. Dr. Johnson's statement was not a casual, fantastic, -perverse statement; it was a natural result of his general theory of -society. It is recorded of him that he declined to leave a room until -a Bishop had done so on the ground that the Bishop's office gave him -a title to precedence over a man of greater mentality! It was not -humility that caused Dr. Johnson to behave thus, for he was an arrogant -man, nor was it indifference to such matters, for he was a stickler for -respect to himself even when he did not deserve respect: it was his -belief in the providential arrangement of society in settled grades -that caused him to behave in this way. The man was entitled to quit the -room first, not because he was a good man or a great man, but because -he was a bishop! There is probably some convenience in this belief, a -simple method of preventing incivility, but it is a small convenience -which does not greatly matter to youth. - -I can imagine Mr. Shaw refusing to go out of the room before the Bishop -has done so, in sheer humility or indifference, but I cannot imagine -him refusing to do so because of his regard for the man's office as -distinct from the man himself. And it is, I suppose, his irreverence -for office, more than anything else, which draws young men to him. -He is no respecter of persons or authorities: he criticizes them all, -high or low. His courage, his vitality, his arrogance, his humility, -his championship of persecuted persons, his impulse to help an -unpopular cause not, as stupid people imagine, because it is unpopular, -but because it seems to him to be a just cause, and his absolute -indifference to vested interests and the power of the majority--these -qualities of his draw young men to him as a magnet draws a needle. It -is significant, I think, that Dr. Johnson had a very strong dislike of -Dean Swift to whom, in many respects, Bernard Shaw bears a close mental -resemblance. It is very certain that had Bernard Shaw lived in the -eighteenth century, to which, in spirit, he really belongs, he would -have supported the Americans as fiercely as Johnson denounced them; and -I do not doubt that his would have been the most scathing and powerful -of the pamphlets written in reply to "Taxation No Tyranny." - - -IV - -These, then, were the men who guided in greater or less degree the -opinions of the young men and women of the Early Twentieth Century in -the islands of Great Britain and Ireland. "A. E." greatly influenced -young Irishmen who remained curiously unimpressed either by Mr. Moore -or Mr. Yeats. Rumours of his doctrine came to the ears of young -Englishman, but they had no personal contact with him as they had -with Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells and Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton. It is -not possible to calculate the extent to which these men moulded the -minds of my generation, but indisputably it was large. No one who grew -from youth to manhood between 1900 and 1914 could escape from their -influence, even if he were unconscious of it. The greater part of that -generation died in the War. The young men who drew their ideas chiefly -from Mr. Wells and Mr. Shaw, directly or indirectly, did not live to -make their world, and so we can never tell what good or ill would have -resulted to mankind had they succeeded to authority. Their bones are -buried in France and Italy, in Palestine and Turkey, in Russia and -East Africa, on the shores of Gallipoli and in the marshes of Salonica, -in the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean and the North Sea; and there -is nothing to remember them by but broken lands in France and the -broken vows of politicians the world over. These young men went out to -die in a mood of selflessness that has never, perhaps, been equalled or -excelled in the history of mankind; and when their backs were turned, -they were betrayed. We cannot look on them again, but we may find -comfort in our loss by remembering and considering the men who formed -the faith they held. - - - - -"A. E." - -(GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL) - - -I - -In all the books on Ireland, considered nationally, socially and -economically, that have been written in the past twenty years, two -men inevitably are mentioned: Sir Horace Plunkett and "A. E.," whose -lawful name is George William Russell. Men of affairs in most parts -of the world have heard of them, and I imagine that very few of the -people who go to Ireland with any serious purpose fail to visit them. -I saw Sir Horace Plunkett receive an ovation from a large audience in -New York which could only have been given to him by people who had -some knowledge and appreciation of his work for his country; and I -was impressed by the fact that many Americans asked me to tell them -something of "A. E." And yet, though the wide world is not ignorant -of their worth, it is very likely that they are less generally known -in Ireland than some paltry politician with a gift for street corner -rhetoric. Once, in Dublin, I praised Sir Horace Plunkett to a man from -the county of Cavan, who interrupted me to say that no one in his -village had ever heard of Sir Horace. He seemed to imagine that the -ignorance of his neighbours proved a demerit in the founder of the -co-operative movement in Ireland. Your villagers, said I, may never -have heard of Sir Horace Plunkett and are probably very familiar with -the names of Mr. Charles Chaplin and Miss Mary Pickford, but does -that prove that Mr. Chaplin is a greater man than Sir Horace? I am -not indifferent to the merits of Mr. Chaplin--I would go a long way -to see him in the movies--but I hope I shall never succumb to this -modern shoddy democracy which will not believe that a man possesses -quality unless his name is printed frequently in the newspapers and is -familiarly known to the rabble. It may be that Paudeen, unfit to do -more than "fumble in a greasy till," as Mr. Yeats wrote in his bitter -poem, "September, 1913," knows little or nothing of Sir Horace Plunkett -whose life labours have brought so much of comfort and prosperity to -him--but who cares what Paudeen knows? Let him grub in the soil, as -God made him to grub, while men of mind and quality look after his -affairs. It is sufficient for the knowledgeable minority that _they_ -know of Sir Horace and realize the value of the great work he has -done for his country. A false optimism bids us to believe that "we -needs must love the highest when we see it," but a sense of reality -convinces us that the highest has to fight harder for recognition than -the lowest, and that the way to the throne of heaven passes through -Golgotha, the place of a skull. - - -II - -If it be true that Sir Horace Plunkett is less known to his countrymen -than some fellow with flashy wits, it is more certain to be true that -his great colleague in co-operation, "A. E.," is still less known -to them. It would be difficult for any intelligent person to come -into the presence of "A. E." and remain unaware that he is a man of -merit. He fills a room immediately and unmistakably with the power -of his personality. A tall, bearded, untidy man, with full lips and -bulkily-built body, he draws attention by his deep, grey eyes. When -he speaks, other people listen. If you were to meet him in the street, -unaware of his identity, and he were to ask you for a match with which -to light his pipe, you would do more than civilly comply with his -request. You would certainly say to yourself, "That's a remarkable -man!" It is said, with what verity I cannot say, that Mr. Bernard Shaw -and "A. E." met for the first time in a picture-gallery in Dublin, -each ignorant of the other's identity, and that they began to talk -of Art. They impressed each other so greatly that they continued in -argument for a long time, and only, when they parted, did they become -known to each other. The mountains nod to each other over the heads -of the little hills; and men of merit, even when they are not easily -recognized by the multitude, are known to each other. One man of merit -may, indeed, belittle another man of merit, as Dr. Johnson belittled -Fielding, as George Meredith belittled Dickens, as Henry James -belittled Ibsen and Thomas Hardy; but at least they are aware of each -other. - - -III - -Very often have writers told the story of how Sir Horace Plunkett, -a tongue-tied, hesitant man with very delicate health, returned to -Ireland after a long stay in America, to begin the Co-operative -Movement, and found, in a Dublin shop, keeping accounts for a -tea-merchant, a poet and a painter, a mystic who was also an economist -with the capacity, as it afterwards proved, to become the ablest -journalist in Ireland. This man of multiple energies was George William -Russell, who was born in Lurgan, in the County of Armagh, on April 10, -1867. He is two years younger than Mr. Yeats, eleven years younger -than Mr. Shaw, and fifteen years younger than Mr. George Moore. The -order of these births is significant. Observe how an aloof artist has -been succeeded by a furious economist! Mr. Moore, who began life as a -realist after the manner, but not after the style, of Zola, and then -turned his back on Zola and sought the company of Turgeniev so that he -might pursue apt and beautiful words and delicate and elusive thoughts, -was followed by Mr. Shaw, who began life by filling his mind with the -ideas of Henry George and Karl Marx, and then turned his back on both -of them in order that he might consort with Mr. Sidney Webb. Mr. Yeats, -with his vague poetry and vague mysticism--none the less vague because -of the curious care for exactness which causes him to count the nine -and fifty swans at Coole and the nine bean rows on Innisfree--followed -Mr. Shaw, and in his turn was followed by "A. E." so closely connected -with economics that a wag, when asked what was the meaning of "A. E's." -pen-name, replied "agricultural economist."[1] - -One cannot, however, leave the matter as simply as that. Mr. Shaw likes -to think of himself as an economist, but he is more than an economist; -he is John the Baptist pretending to be Karl Marx. "A. E." likes to -think of himself as an expert on the price of butter and milk and cows -and sheep, but he is more than an expert on these things: he is Blake -pretending to be Sir Horace Plunkett. Or Walt Whitman pretending to be -President Wilson. It has always seemed to me that Sir Horace Plunkett -and "A. E.," colleagues in a great enterprise, are the embodiment of -the peculiarly interwoven strands of Irish character, of that queer -mingling of the material and the spiritual in the Irish people which -at once allures and astounds the Englishman, accustomed to keeping -his materialism and his spirituality in separate compartments. Sir -Horace has a neat and unexpected wit, but he does not appear to me -to have much feeling for poetry or for any other literature or art. -He has respect for these things and will talk on them sometimes with -singular incisiveness, but his interest in them is an outside interest. -If he had to choose between a co-operative creamery and the Heroic -Legends of Ireland, I do not doubt for a moment that he would choose -the co-operative creamery. "A. E.," on the contrary, would choose the -Heroic Legends and would give the good reason for so doing that without -the Heroic Legends, the co-operative creamery is useless. When "A. E." -pleads for the co-operative societies, he does so because he believes -that these are part of the means whereby the Irish people will be -restored to their ancient stature. - -Organize your industry, he said to the farmers, so that you may become -what your fathers were, fit company for the Shining Ones, for Lugh -and Balor and Manannan, the great and brave and beautiful Pagan gods. -Each by himself, Sir Horace or "A. E.," might have failed to make -much out of the co-operative movement in Ireland, but both together, -each possessed of a different, yet complementary, crusading spirit, -could not fail to make a happy issue of it. When Garibaldi appealed -for recruits for his Thousand, he offered them wounds and death. When -Sir Horace Plunkett appealed for helpers in the Irish Agricultural -Organization Society, he offered them hard and discouraging labour and -poor wages. Mankind, which responds to a noble appeal as readily as it -responds to a base appeal, offered its best to both of them. Garibaldi -got his Thousand, and Sir Horace Plunkett got his colleagues. - -They were diverse in character, and included Nationalists and -Unionists, Catholics and Protestants, peers and peasants. For the -first time in Irish history, Irishmen of all classes were united on a -matter which had no relationship with passions! There were no angry -emotions astir when the I. A. O. S. brought the diverse elements of -the Irish entity into accord as there had been when the union of the -North and the South was made many years earlier; and consequently -the movement could not be split, as that Union was, by the collision -of one angry emotion with another. In face of every conceivable -discouragement and even of active enmity and in spite of the grave -unhealth of Sir Horace himself, the movement grew in strength until now -it is indestructible.[2] Chief among the colleagues whom Sir Horace -gathered about him was "A. E." Mr. Russell could, without doubt, earn -a large income as a journalist if he were to offer his pen to a rich -newspaper proprietor--his weekly review, the _Irish Homestead_, is -the most ably-edited and skillfully-written organ in Ireland--and he -could probably earn as much as, if not more than, he receives from -his Co-operative work if he were to devote himself exclusively to -his mystical and poetical writings; but just as Mazzini felt himself -compelled to sacrifice his heart's desire, the life of a man of -letters, in order to devote himself to a political career which was -distasteful to him, so "A. E." felt compelled to hitch his star to Sir -Horace Plunkett's wagon, and for many years now he has preached, week -after week, the gospel of co-operation to Irish farmers when he would, -perhaps, have preferred exclusively to tell stories of the ancient gods -and heroes. - - -IV - -But the Co-operative Movement did not absorb the whole of his energies. -He is as many-sided as William Morris was, almost as many-sided as -Leonardo da Vinci. His work on the _Irish Homestead_ would seem to -be sufficient to employ all the vitality of a healthy, active man, -but "A. E." cannot be contained within the pages of a weekly review, -and so, while writing four or five pages every week of the finest -journalism to be found in Great Britain or Ireland, he has also -produced seven remarkable books and painted many pictures, engaged in -political and economic controversy, and sat as a member of the Irish -Convention which endeavoured, in 1917, to discover a solution of the -Irish Problem. In a strange and, to me, incomprehensible book, called -"The Candle of Vision," he has wrought his mysticism to such a pitch -of practicality that he is able to offer his readers an alphabet with -which to interpret the language of the Gods! It manifests itself in -some of his pictures, where strange, luminous and brightly-coloured -creatures are seen shining in some ordinary landscape, creatures that -seemed to me, when I first saw them, akin to Red Indians. In everything -that he writes and does, there is a consciousness of some spiritual -presence, not the spiritual presence of the Christian theology, but -of the Pagan Legends. One night, in his house in Dublin, I drew the -attention of a lady to one of his pictures, a dark landscape, in the -centre of which a very brilliant and beautiful creature was dancing. -"A. E." turned to us and said, "That's the one I saw!" and I remembered -the story I had been told earlier in the evening, that he saw fairies, -that he actually took penny tram-rides from Dublin to go up into the -mountains to see the fairies! I do not remember what the lady said, -but I remember that she looked exceedingly astonished, and, indeed, -I myself felt some astonishment. If Mr. Yeats had said that he had -seen a fairy, I should have smiled indulgently and should neither -have believed that he had seen one nor that he himself believed that -he had seen one. But while I do not believe that "A. E." saw a fairy, -otherwise than in his imagination, I am certain that he believes he saw -one, not as a creature of the mind, but as one having flesh and blood. -He claims no peculiar merit for himself in seeing visions. "There is -no personal virtue in me," he writes in "The Candle of Vision," "other -than this that I followed a path all may travel but on which few do -journey." He tells his readers how they, too, if they have the wish, -may see the things which he has seen, and he gives descriptions of some -of his visions. People as incredulous as I am can very easily dispose -of "A. E.'s" visions as the fantasies of a man suffering perhaps from -inadequate nourishment--for "A. E." was careless about his meals in -those days--just as the visions of St. Theresa and St. Catherine of -Sienna may be explained by the feverishness of mind that comes to -people who are starving themselves or are suffering from neurosis. Here -is an account of one of his visions. You are to understand that it is -not a dream such as you and I have when we are asleep, but something -seen by a man who is awake at broad of day, something actual, something -that you who read this might also see if you were to follow the path on -which he has travelled: - - - So did I feel one warm summer day lying idly on the hillside, - not then thinking of anything but the sunlight, and how sweet it - was to drowse there, when, suddenly, I felt a fiery heart throb, - and knew it was personal and intimate, and started with every - sense dilated and intent, and turned inwards, and I heard first a - music as of bells going away, away into that wonderous underland - whither, as legend relates, the Danaan gods withdraw; and then - the heart of the hills was opened to me, and I knew there was no - hill for those who were there, and they were unconscious of the - ponderous mountain piled above the palaces of light, and the winds - were sparkling and diamond clear, yet full of color as an opal, as - they glittered through the valley, and I knew the Golden Age was - all about me, and it was we who had been blind to it but that it - had never passed away from the world. - - -The Golden Age is here, at this moment, and all the noble creatures who -filled it with chivalry and beauty are crowding about us. We have only -to open our eyes and we shall see!... - - - Once, suddenly, I found myself on some remote plain or steppe, - and heard unearthly chimes pealing passionately from I know not - what far steeples. The earth-breath streamed from the furrows - to the glowing heavens. Overhead the birds flew round and round - crying their incomprehensible cries, as if they were maddened, and - knew not where to nestle, and had dreams of some more enraptured - rest in a diviner home. I could see a ploughman lift himself from - his obscure toil and stand with lit eyes as if he too had been - fire-smitten and was caught into heaven as I was, and knew for - that moment he was a god. - - -It is very vague, the disbeliever feels, and there is nothing in it to -make one accept it as a vision of a thing actually seen, rather than -fancied; but there can be no doubt of the intensity with which "A. E." -believes in the actuality of it. These visions form the foundation of -his political and economic faith. He advocates co-operative enterprise -because he believes in his visions as actual happenings. In a poem, -called "Earth Breath," he says: - - - From the cool and dark-lipped furrows breathes a dim delight - Through the woodland's purple plumage to the diamond night. - Aureoles of joy encircle every blade of grass - Where the dew-fed creatures silent and enraptured pass. - And the restless ploughman pauses, turns, and, wondering, - Deep beneath his rustic habit finds himself a king. - - -This verse is obviously a poetical account of the experience he -underwent "on some remote plain or steppe," and the final couplet of it -gives the explanation of his belief in democracy. If he had no faith in -the god in man, if he were not certain that "the restless ploughman ... -deep beneath his rustic habit finds himself a king," he would probably -offer his allegiance to autocracy and believe in government by a caste; -but since he has seen visions and is convinced that there is a god in -man, he cannot be other than a democrat. All his political strivings -have been directed towards making this "a society where people will -be at harmony in their economic life," as he writes in "The National -Being," and "will readily listen to different opinions from their own, -will not turn sour faces on those who do not think as they do, but -will, by reason and sympathy, comprehend each other, and come at last, -through sympathy and affection, to a balancing of their diversities, -as in that multitudinous diversity which is the universe, powers and -dominions and elements are balanced, and are guided harmoniously by the -Shepherd of the Ages." Whether such a world, balanced in that way, can -be rightly described as a democracy is not a matter on which I offer -any opinion here, though it seems to me to be a very long way from what -the common man considers a democracy to be. - - -V - -It is when we come to connect his visions and the beliefs he derives -from them with the actual circumstances in which we find ourselves -that we begin to be most dubious. "National ideals," he says in "The -National Being," "are the possession of a few people only." That is an -argument for aristocracy. - - - Yet we must spread them in wide commonalty over Ireland if we - are to create a civilisation worthy of our hopes and our ages - of struggle and sacrifice to attain the power to build. We - must spread them in wide commonalty because it is certain that - democracy will prevail in Ireland. The aristocratic classes with - traditions of government, the manufacturing classes with economic - experience, will alike be secondary in Ireland to the small - farmers and the wage-earners in the towns. We must rely on the - ideas common among our people, and on their power to discern among - their countrymen the aristocracy of character and intellect. - - -With the deletion of the word "Ireland" and the substitution of the -word "America," that quotation might stand just as effective for the -United States as for Ireland. Why is it certain that democracy will -prevail in Ireland? Because the small farmers and the wage-earners -in the towns will take precedence over the aristocracy and the -manufacturing classes! I do not follow that argument. I have seen -nothing in England or America or Ireland or France to convince me -that if the small farmers and the wage-earners in the towns were -authoritative they would be any more democratic than the aristocratic -or the manufacturing classes. I have seen much to make me feel certain -that they will use their authority as implacably in their own interests -as any aristocrat or manufacturer ever used or ever will use his. Mr. -G. K. Chesterton, in his book, "Irish Impressions," produces this -argument in favour of peasant proprietorship: - - - It may be that international Israel will launch against us out - of the East an insane simplification of the unity of Man, as - Islam once launched out of the East an insane simplification - of the unity of God. If it be so, it is where property is well - distributed that it will be well defended. The post of honor will - be with those who fight in very truth for their own land. - - -It is indisputable that a peasant will fight for his own land, the tiny -portion which he owns and cultivates, but will he fight for another -man's land when that man is unjustly to be bereft of it? There is -nothing meritable in a man who fights for his own goods and lands, nor -does it seem to me that a peasant will fight for his potato-patch with -any greater determination than a share holder in a railroad will fight -for the interest on his capital. There certainly is not anything more -noble or chivalrous in the peasant's desire to keep possession of his -means of livelihood than there is in that of the Liberty Bondholder. -The test of honour is, not what will you do for yourself, but what will -you do for other men? The French peasant proprietors, the Pennsylvania -Dutch, the Irish peasant proprietors may offer a guarantee of stability -to society, but the offer may carry with it obstinate reaction and -a gross disregard of the rights of those who are not possessors of -land. It will not guarantee the landless man against exploitation in -the price of food in times of war and necessity. It offers singularly -little hope that "national ideals" will be spread in wide commonalty, -if the peasants can help it. "A. E." will urge, perhaps, that while -"national ideals are the possession of a few people only," they may -be spread in wide commonalty if the "few people" will make the effort -to spread them. The soil lies ready for the seed. But what is there -in human affairs to justify any man in assuming that the mass of men -are likely to be long-suffering in idealism? Is it not a fact of human -nature that even when the multitude has been stirred to some act of -exaltation, the staying power of the multitude has not been sufficient -to maintain the exalted mood long enough to render the reactionaries -hopeless? Where are the generous ideals of 1914 now? Has not the war -that was to end war made war seem more probable? Is not the world at -this moment suffering to the point of distraction because the multitude -cannot live up to its own ideals long enough to make them practical? -"The gods departed," says "A. E.", "the half-gods also, hero and -saint after that, and we [i. e. the Irish people] have dwindled down -to a petty peasant nationality, rural and urban life alike mean in -their externals." But he does not despair. "Yet the cavalcade, for -all its tattered habiliments, has not lost spiritual dignity." And he -hopes "the incorruptible atom" in us will make us great again. Divine -optimism, but what is there in peasant society to justify it? - - -VI - -And here I make a wide digression to discourse on nationalism and -peasant states. The world conspires to believe that the spirit of -nationality is a desirable one, filling men with the purest ideals; -but we begin to realize now that the spirit of nationality, while -it has animated many noble men and brought them to a condition of -extraordinary selflessness, more often reduces a race to a state -of mean brutality and insufferable smugness. The self-satisfaction -of a Sinn Feiner is as sickening as the ruffianly behaviour of a -Black-and-Tan, and the outrages committed by the former are more -despicable than the outrages of the latter, because the Black-and-Tan -makes no pretences about himself, whereas the Sinn Feiner covers his -blackguardly behaviour with a cloak of virtuous nationalism and high -ideals. What is there to choose between the Sinn Feiners who seized -an old man of seventy and dragged him from a tram-car in Dublin and -murdered him in the presence of terrorized Irishmen (not one of whom -had the common pluck to risk his life in an effort to save him) and -the Black-and-Tans who dragged the Mayor of Limerick from his bed and -brutally murdered him? What is there to choose between the noble-minded -Sinn Feiners who took old Mrs. Lindsay, a woman of more than seventy -years, and shot her and her aged servant dead because she had done -what any spirited woman would do, warned soldiers who were on her -side, that they were walking into an ambush--what is there to choose -between them and the Orangemen who threw bombs into the midst of little -Catholic children playing games in Belfast? What is there to choose -between the Sinn Feiners who murdered four sick men (one of them dying -of pleurisy) in their beds in a Galway hospital and the Orangemen who -murdered the McMahon family in Belfast? Very little. If one side is -more condemnable than the other, it is those who, professing noble -motives, practice foul deeds. One may, perhaps, find excuses for the -evil acts of men whose minds are inflamed with patriotic emotions which -cannot be found for a civilized government committing similar deeds of -atrocity. Murder by the former may be less reprehensible than murder -by the latter, but the difference between them is too slight to be -worthy of consideration. Murder remains murder, whether it be done for -imperial or national purposes, and I confess to feeling more respect -for the plain Black-and-Tan, making no bones about his brutality and -his murders, than I do for the Sinn Feiner who commits crimes and -calls them acts of virtue. "A. E.'s" restless ploughman may pause and -turn and wonder, but is more likely to find himself, "deep beneath his -rustic habit" a Sinn Fein gunman than "a king." I do not know how "the -incorruptible atom" is to be developed in men who have made a virtue -of crime and covered up their infamies with hypocrisy; and "A. E." -amazingly omits to tell us how it is to be done. - -We Irish people--and I am as Irish in my origins and emotions as any -man--suffer from the sin which afflicts all subject peoples: the sin -of self-pity; and I desire self-government for Ireland, not because -I believe that the Irish people can govern themselves better than -the English have governed them--I take leave to doubt that when I -remember the achievements of the Irish in America--but because I can -see no hope of the Irish people acquiring a sense of reality until -they have freed themselves from the complacency, the smugness, the -self-satisfaction, the self-pity which are inevitable in subject -peoples. When they have discovered the truth about themselves, they may -be able to govern themselves. And the truth about the Irish people, -whether they be Protestant or Catholic, from the North or the South, -is that they are a brutal, cruel, greedy, mean and treacherous people -who have humbugged the rest of the world into the belief that they are -a faithful, generous, high-minded, kindly, noble and tolerant race. We -have our virtues, but by our insufferable contentment with ourselves -we have made vices of them. Our literature, particularly our modern -literature, plainly reveals the truth about us. Synge, Padraic Colum, -Lennox Robinson, Daniel Corkery, James Joyce--all these have shown us -an Irish people completely false to the world's common belief about -them. I remember, when Mr. Robinson's bitter comedy, "The White-Headed -Boy," was first performed in London, being asked by an English dramatic -critic whether I recognized my countrymen in Mr. Robinson's characters. -I said "Yes," and he replied in accents of disgust, "But they're -_horrible_ people! There isn't one of them for whom any decent person -can feel sympathy!..." "Exactly," I said. And what our literature is -now revealing, our acts and history have long made clear. We are at -the culmination of centuries of oppression and cruel treatment. To -the natural treachery and brutality of the Celt must be added the -treachery and brutality which are provoked by misgovernment. The broad -fact about us is that we have been so accustomed, by nature and by -circumstances, to occasions of harsh and violent conduct that we find -nothing startling in them, provided we can give them a patriotic gloss. -Our satisfaction with ourselves is so intense that we imagine our -little efforts in literature to be greater than those of the rest of -the world. We prate incessantly about the ancient Gælic literature, but -are reluctant to produce the evidence for our boasting. We forget that -the Irishmen of distinction in literature, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Wilde, -Shaw, Yeats, Moore and Synge, are not Celtic at all, but Anglo-Saxon -in origin.[3] All of them, with the exception of Mr. Moore, are -Protestant, and even Mr. Moore became a Protestant. "A. E." himself is -an Ulster Protestant with a Scotch name. The O's and the Macs, who are -reputed to be compounded of poetry and noble thoughts have furnished -the world with little but soldiers, cattle-drivers, Sinn Fein gunmen -and Tammany bosses. We have sponged upon the world, and the world is -utterly sick of us. - -Our absorption in ourselves is so complete that we demand consideration -for our academic grievances which rightly belongs to the ruined races -of Europe. Ireland is the only country in the world which made a profit -out of the War, yet her behaviour during it was that of an hysterical -woman who should rush into the presence of a man bleeding to death and -exclaim, "My God, I've got toothache!" Millions of Russians are dying -of disease and hunger with less complaint than a Sinn Feiner makes -about his obsolete language which he cannot speak, will not write -and does not wish to learn. Millions of Austrians are without the -elementary decencies of life, but they do not whine over their ills as -Sinn Feiners whine over ills which they have not got. Snivelling and -whining, indeed, are the most obvious characteristics of the modern -Irishman, Catholic or Protestant, added to an impudent demand that his -affairs shall be treated as of greater consequence than those of the -rest of mankind. - -To crown all, we are allowing ourselves to be dominated by peasant -ideals: the little narrow demands of men who care only for their own -interests and not at all for their neighbours'. We have seen how the -curse of nationality together with the curse of peasant principles -have helped to ruin Europe. When we are asked to believe in "the -incorruptible atom" of the peasant, we look to the Balkan States and -see a foulness which spread a plague across a continent. When we are -told of "the spiritual dignity" of the peasant community, we look to -France and see a nation so corrupted with peasant greed and peasant -fright that the Peace Treaty threatens to be a more potent force -for war and bloodshed than all the Kaisers that have ever lived put -together. And when we are told that the patriotic peasant "deep beneath -his rustic habit finds himself a king" we look to Ireland and see young -men, masked and armed, seizing old, unarmed men and old, unarmed women -and sick and dying men and little children, and brutally murdering -them. These be your Gods, O Israel. These be your high-minded patriots, -your selfless peasants, your noble army of idealists! - -If we are to govern ourselves, we can only hope to do so manfully -if we begin by humiliating ourselves before God and man. We have -made claims on the world's regard which we are not entitled to make -and cannot maintain. If "the incorruptible atom" is in our national -being at all--if we are not a foul and cantankerous race destined by -Almighty God to perish utterly from the earth because we are unfit to -survive--then for each of us the principal purpose of life must be a -prolonged process of purification. We have sinned, we have sinned, we -have sinned, but we have not repented. We have pretended that our sin -was a virtue and have demanded admission to the society of our betters -on the plea that we are their equals, if not their superiors, when in -fact we are not fit to be in their company at all; and our task now -and for a long time must be the bitter one of acknowledging the truth -to ourselves and striving to justify our boasting to other men. We -have to rid ourselves of vain-glory and self-pity, of cant and humbug, -of cruelty and hatred, of backbiting and slander, of false pride, of -whining and snivelling, of corrupt living and a mean religion. There -are evil things in our nature and more evil things in our circumstances -which we must somehow subdue if we are to come to equality with the -civilized races of the world, but they will not be subdued until we -have learned to acknowledge facts and have discovered that hatred is -a device of the devil whereby men are destroyed and the world is made -a wilderness. We can neither live nor let live until we have filled -our hearts with love and charity. Nor will there be any hope in our -lives until we have abandoned the mean divisions which keep the North -Irishman in bitter enmity with the South Irishman. These two are -necessary to each other, the first for his stability and judgment and -governing ability, the second for his vision and faith and docility. -There are millions of Irishmen or men of Irish origin in the United -States, yet no Irish Catholic or man of Irish Catholic origin has -risen to Presidency of his country. Three men of Ulster Protestant -origin have done this. The Irish Catholic has given corrupt politics -to America. He has not given anything else. The Ulster people, the -only compact people in Ireland, whose blood has hardly been mingled -with other blood in three centuries and more--there is not a drop of -English blood in my veins, a claim which cannot easily be maintained -by Irishmen south of the Boyne--contemplate the scene in Ireland now -with misgiving and astonishment. They, whatever their faults, chose -an Irishman for their leader, but the Sinn Feiners could not throw -up from among themselves a man to lead them. They chose, first, an -Englishman, called Padraic Pearse. They chose second, an American Jew, -called De Valera, whose principal adviser is an Englishman, called -Erskine Childers, whose domestic urge is his American wife, infatuated -with the thought that she is the reincarnation of Joan of Arc. And the -Ulstermen, free from dialectical intricacies, listen to the tortured, -worn-out sentiments uttered by Mr. De Valera, not in fear, but in -contempt. That long, lean Jew, trained by Jesuits, possessed in double -measure of the narrow, uninspired idealism of his race and furnished -with the casuistical devotion of his teachers, is an honest man, with -cold, humourless, fanatical eyes, whose unreceptive mind guards itself -against knowledge by barriers of bigotry, hatred, obstinacy, disbelief -and self-deception. He has the dishonesty that is sometimes found in -a very honest man, the dishonesty one might expect to find in a man -trained in a Jesuit school: for there are few acts of unscrupulousness -that he will not commit to achieve the end he devoutly desires. When -he was asked on one occasion what his attitude would be to the Ulster -people if they refused to give allegiance to an Irish Republic, he -replied that he would blast Ulster from his path, unaware seemingly -that blasting is a bad business in which more than one party can -participate. I put the question to him myself in the Commodore Hotel -in New York at a meeting of the League of Free Nations; and his reply -was that he would present the Ulster people with these alternatives: -they might remain in Ireland under the Republic or they might go out -of Ireland altogether with compensation for their property. It did -not occur to Mr. De Valera that of these alternatives, Ulstermen would -choose neither. How far he had considered the question of finance -involved in schemes of compensation, I do not know, although I suspect -his mind to be innocent of much financial knowledge; but I wonder how -he would raise the money with which to compensate a single firm in -Belfast, that of Harland and Wolff, the shipbuilders, if they elected -to build their ships in Southampton; and I wonder still more how he -would raise the men and the money to carry on those works after Harland -and Wolff had taken themselves away! But such suppositions are idle, -for Ulstermen will not let themselves be disturbed in their homes by -one who is not their countryman. The story of my family in Ulster is -typical of the story of hundreds and thousands of families there. -All my forefathers, on my mother's side and my father's side, for -three hundred years of which we have record and for a longer period -of which we have incomplete records, were born and bred and buried in -the County of Down, with the exception of my maternal grandfather who, -although born and bred in Down, died and was buried in America. And -we, so indigenous to the soil as that, are bidden to acknowledge Mr. -De Valera for our President or clear out of our homes, although Mr. -De Valera is an American citizen, born in New York, whose first act, -if he were President of the Irish Republic, would have to be one of -naturalization! We will see Mr. De Valera damned first. This strange -intruder into Irish politics has brought in his trail a terrible -procession of young men trained to take life lightly, to listen to no -argument but that of the revolver; and the end of that procession is -out of sight. It is more easy to train men to take life than it is to -train them to preserve it. We cannot say to a man, "Thus far shalt thou -kill, but no further!" and those whom we have taught to commit crime -in the name of patriotism, may continue to commit crime for personal -profit. "And so, to the end of history," as Cæsar says in Mr. Shaw's -play "murder shall breed murder, always in the name of right and honour -and peace, until the gods are tired of blood and create a race that can -understand." - - -VII - -Sometimes I say to myself that "A. E." has lived too long and -too exclusively in Ireland. He is not free from the mush of -sentimentality with which Irishmen regard themselves, this everlasting -self-congratulation that Irishmen are not as Englishmen, this smug -preoccupation with their own virtues and bland disregard of their -vices, this eternal denial that they have any demerits. If the Irish -people are to recover the dignity and the stature of the gods, they -must display god-like qualities or prove that they possess them. It -is not sufficient to assert that they possess these qualities, at the -same time denying them by nagging continually at their neighbours. I -have wished at times that "A. E." could be removed from the atmosphere -of adulation which envelopes him in Dublin, and sent, without letters -of introduction, on a tour round the world. He has probably travelled -less than any other educated man in Ireland. He passes from his -home in Rathmines, a suburb of Dublin, to the office of the _Irish -Homestead_ in Merrion Square, from one centre of adulation to another, -with occasional visits to the home of James Stephens, where he meets -the same people that visit him on Sunday nights, or to the Hermetic -Society, where he meets them again. He is too fine a spirit to be -seriously affected by the paltry gabble of the third-rate minds he -encounters on most occasions in Dublin, and perhaps it hardly matters -that he seldom leaves Dublin and hardly ever leaves Ireland; but even -so rare a man as "A. E." must suffer contraction within the narrow -limits of Dublin. He has resources that few men possess: a quiet mind, -a vivid faith and the love and respect of very dissimilar people. He -can turn from the consideration of agricultural prices in the _Irish -Homestead_ to the esoteric alphabet with which he speaks to the Gods, -or he can go off to the mountains of Donegal and make pictures. When -painting no longer delights him, he can spend his nights and days in -making poems. He is extravagantly generous to young writers, giving -greater praise to them sometimes than they deserve, giving less of -criticism than is necessary. There are minor poets in Dublin, authors -of thin books of thin verse, who have persuaded themselves, because of -"A. E's." praise, that they are more meritable than they are. There -are people in Dublin who seem to believe that Ireland has produced a -greater literature than England and will denounce you as a traitor to -your country if you protest that she cannot show poets of the stature -of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth, Browning -and Tennyson, with the exception of Mr. Yeats. I am the sort of patriot -who would like to see his country raise herself to the level of other -countries, but I am not the sort of patriot who will pretend that she -is on the level of England and France and Germany when, in fact, she -is far below it. "A. E." is not entirely free from blame for this. He -could have given Ireland a sense of proportion, had he cared to do so. - - -VIII - -I have a picture by "A. E." of an ascending road on the side of -a mountain. There is rain in the air, and the road has a lonely, -unfrequented look. Yet, though there is no living creature visible in -the picture, Life fills it. I feel sometimes when I sit back in my -chair and look at "The Mountain Road" that there are divine beings -behind the bushes, that if I could only climb up that road and turn -the corner of the mountain, I should come upon the Golden Age. Is it -not ungracious to make complaint, even if the complaint be a slight -one, of a man who can make the invisible world so powerfully felt as -that? And if he persuades me, by nature sceptical, almost to believe -in the Shining Ones, how much more strong must his influence be on -those who are eager to believe! When the evil temper which possesses -Ireland at this moment has subsided, the fine temper of "A. E." will -rise again and call Irishmen to a kindlier mood. The little town of -Lurgan, in which he was born, is notorious in Ulster for the harshness -of its religious dissensions. A base bigotry flourishes there. It is in -the nature of things that from a place of great bitterness should have -come a man of reconciliation, bidding Catholic and Protestant to meet, -not in Geneva or in Rome, but on the holy hills of Ireland, under the -protection of the ancient gods. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Mr. Darrell Figgis, in his book on "A. E.", explains the pen-name -thus: "Wanting at one time a new pen-name, he subscribed himself as -Aeon. His penmanship not at all times being of the legiblest, the -printer deciphered the first diphthong and set a query for the rest; -whereupon the writer, in his proof-sheets, stroked out the query and -stood by the diphthong." Since then, however, Mr. Russell has abandoned -the diphthong and prints his pen name as two separate letters. - -[2] I leave that passage unmodified, despite the fact that the -Black-and-Tans in the course of their fight with the Sinn Feiners -(equally disgraceful to both of them) burnt down many of the -creameries. They will be built again. Mr. Lloyd George jeered at Sir -Horace Plunkett soon after the Black-and-Tans had performed most of -their infamous work, but any decent person would infinitely prefer to -be Sir Horace with his burnt creameries than Mr. Lloyd George with his -burnt principles. - -[3] Parnell, the greatest political leader the Irish Catholics have -ever had, was a Protestant of Anglo-Saxon origin. Like Synge, he -belonged to a family which came to Ireland originally from Cheshire in -the North of England. - - - - -ARNOLD BENNETT - - -I - -One night, some years before the outbreak of the European War, I -arrived in the town of Hanley in the County of Stafford in the midlands -of England to deliver a lecture on some subject, the name of which -I do not now remember, although I suspect it was connected with the -general improvement of mankind. I had accepted the invitation to -lecture in Hanley, not because I had anything of importance to say to -its inhabitants, but because I had lately read "The Old Wives' Tale" -by Mr. Arnold Bennett, and was eager to see the place and the people -from which that great book had sprung. My recollections of the visit -are very vague now, but I remember that my host, a man of serious mind, -a little over-weighted, perhaps, by the troubles of the universe, took -me for a walk on Sunday morning through some of "the Five Towns," in -the course of which he displayed much knowledge of the topography of -Mr. Bennett's books without displaying much knowledge of the books -themselves. He informed me that the real name of "Trafalgar Road" in -"The Old Wives' Tale" is "Waterloo Road" and that the fictitious name -of Hanley is "Hanbridge." He speculated incuriously on the oddness -which had caused Mr. Bennett to alter real names in this palpable -manner, and ended his discourse with the statement that he seldom read -novels (which he persisted in calling "Works of Fiction") being more -inclined to the study of serious books. I learned that he read chiefly -in the writings of sociologists and political economists and similar -serious persons. I suggested to him that he might more profitably read -novels than sociological books if he wished to discover something -about human character. He was a polite and kindly man, and he did not -abruptly tell me of my folly, but I could see that he considered me to -be a fool or, at best, a flippant person, and I am sure that had he -not been my host he would not have troubled to attend my lecture that -evening. He smiled in the benign way men have when they abstain from -expressing their frank opinion, as he listened to me saying that he -would find in novels a greater fund of information about human nature -than he could hope to find in all the works that all the sociologists -in the world have written. Men of affairs, I said, spend their lives -in writing ponderous volumes on society which are out-of-date as -soon as they are published, whereas the novel or the play of a man -of genius remains true for ever. Henry Fielding and Adam Smith were -contemporaries, but I imagine few will deny that there is more durable -stuff, stuff more continuously applicable to human concerns, in "Tom -Jones" than there is in "The Wealth of Nations." But my friend would -have none of this, and seemed to think that any man who spent time in -reading Fielding's novel which might be spent in reading Adam Smith -was shamefully misusing his mind. He led me, I remember, through much -of the territory which is generically known as "the Five Towns." I saw -the Square in which the Baineses lived, and was told that although Mr. -Bennett called it "St. Luke's Square" in "The Old Wives' Tale," the -local authorities preferred to call it after St. John. So great was the -influence of the novel upon me that when I peered through the window -of the shop in which, so I was told, Constance and Sophia Baines were -born, I almost expected to see the half-heroic figure of Samuel Povey -behind the counter or to meet the cold, un-human glance of that frozen -spinster, Miss Marie Insull, who once, and once only, displayed signs -of human emotion--on the occasion when Mr. Critchlow brought her into -the presence of the widowed Constance to announce his betrothal to her: - - - The dog had leisurely strolled forward to inspect the edges of the - fiancé's trousers. Miss Insull summoned the animal with a noise of - the fingers, and then bent down and caressed it. A strange gesture - proving the validity of Charles Critchlow's discovery that in - Maria Insull a human being was buried. - - -My host led me up stony streets, in which every sort of domestic -architecture was visible--for "the Five Towns" are so independent -that even in the workmen's houses there is no uniformity of style or -harmony of design, a fact which makes, not for a pleasing diversity, -but for shapelessness and incoherence--and pointed to places in the -ground where, so he said, the earth had opened, owing to underground -operations, and swallowed whosoever should happen to be passing over -it. There was a story of a man who had set forth in the morning to go -to his work, but, before he had travelled many yards from his home, -was suddenly consumed by the opening earth and was never seen again. I -will admit that I trod those streets thereafter with trepidation and -considerable care! I had begun to tire of the ugly houses with their -insufferable architecture, and of the grime caused by innumerable -chimneys emitting thick, black smoke, when I was led up a steep street -at the top of which I was told to halt and gaze about me. I saw the -whole of "the Five Towns" and much of the surrounding country spread -out like the kingdoms of the world and realized how strangely moving -such a scene can be because of its suggestion of human presences. -It was not without beauty, in spite of the gloom of an industrial -area, but it impressed me most by its air of effort and power and -achievement. I became conscious of the activities of men and women, of -great labours, of confused strivings out of which some human need is -satisfied, and I came away, as I always come away from such sights, -immensely impressed by human organization and very satisfied with great -machines. When we had descended from that high street and had walked -elsewhere, I found myself suddenly confronting a railway station on -which I saw the romantic name of ETRURIA. - - -II - -Etruria, the country of the Etruscans in Italy, was, I suppose, a very -different place from Etruria, the small town between Hanley and Burslem -("Hanbridge" and "Bursley") where Josiah Wedgwood founded his pottery -in the eighteenth century, but the spirit which produced the Etruscan -ceramics was not dissimilar from the spirit which produces the famous -Wedgwood ware; and I thought to myself as I looked at the romantic name -of that grimy-looking town in Staffordshire that I had stumbled on the -secret of Mr. Bennett. Underneath the plain appearance of the pottery -town, there is a spirit which has persisted in the production of -beautiful things for the best part of two centuries, a spirit so much -in love with delicate ware that it calls an unsightly town by the name -of an ancient and reputedly beautiful one; and underneath the hard and -fact-ridden style of Mr. Bennett there is an ineradicable desire for -romance. I said of him once that he fights the battles of the romantic -with the weapons of the realist, and that description seems to me to be -strictly accurate. Mr. Bennett mingles, even in his Christian names, -the gritty and the graceful in a way that is singularly characteristic -of the people of his district. "Enoch Arnold Bennett" is a combination -of names not easily imagined, but it is not more unusual than the -combination of Etruria and Staffordshire, of lovely ceramics and "the -Five Towns." Mr. Bennett has many times been charged with addiction -to dusty realism, a dull love of facts. His critics say of him, after -reading such a book as "Your United States," that he must have spent -his time on the liner in which he went to America in counting the -rivets in her plates for the sheer love of counting them, and they -conclude that he is a materialist because of his interest in numbers -and in things. They even complain of him that he is infatuated with -largeness, just as Queen Victoria was, and that he imagines a thing -to be good when it is merely big. This is undiscerning criticism. -It is as if a child were charged with being a disciple of Haeckel -because it thinks that ten things are more wonderful than one thing. -We may think that Mr. Bennett is a fact-ridden modern, incapable of -romance, because he inordinately admires electricity, but to do so is -to announce ourselves as dunderheads for not discovering that his love -of electricity is the Romantic's love of the Magic Lamp! How easily -most of us are dissuaded from our faith in romantic things! We are -in ecstasies when we hear of St. Francis of Assisi preaching to the -fishes and the birds and addressing them as little brothers, but we -are horribly shocked and humiliated when Mr. Bernard Shaw makes the -mad priest in "John Bull's Other Island" speak of a pig as our little -brother! There is prettiness in the community of men and birds, even -of men and the smaller fish, but pigs--PORK!! We find romance in the -spectacle of a man rubbing a dirty lantern with his fingers in order -to summon up a serving genie, but cannot perceive the greater romance -found by Mr. Bennett in the spectacle of a man pressing a switch and -illuminating a room with power drawn by wires from a station many -miles away! We are enchanted with the thought of transport on Magic -Carpets, but unmoved by the thought that presently great ships will be -guided into New York Harbour, not by pilots, but by means of wireless -telegraphy! Some dullards have exclaimed despairingly of Mr. Bennett -because of what they called his trivial and commonplace interests as -revealed in that enthralling book, "Things That Have Interested Me," -failing utterly to discern that it is his interest in these things -which is so infallible a sign of his zest for life. Any one can be -interested in the Rocky Mountains, but it is only a superbly romantic -man who can be absorbed in Tarrytown. There is not anything in the -round world, made by God or by man, which does not interest Mr. -Bennett. Familiarity breeds contempt in most of us, but it does not -breed contempt in him. _He never gets used to things._ Most of us are -too dull of mind, too destitute of imagination to feel interest or -astonishment unless we are abruptly confronted with the unusual or the -violent, and our capacity for romantic enjoyment is limited and soon -exhausted. We would exclaim with astonishment on beholding an eruption -of Mount Vesuvius for the first time, but we would exclaim rather less -on perceiving the ninety-ninth eruption. Mr. Bennett would experience -as much excitement on the ninety-ninth occasion as he would on the -first. Nothing less than an earthquake is necessary to stir some of -us, but Mr. Bennett can be stirred by the sight of a taxicab. The -genesis of "The Old Wives' Tale," as described in the preface to one of -the later editions, is a clear illustration of his romantic possession: - - - In the autumn of 1903 [he writes], I used to dine frequently in a - restaurant in the Rue de Clichy, Paris. Here were, among others, - two waitresses that attracted my attention. One was a beautiful, - pale young girl, to whom I never spoke, for she was employed far - away from the table I affected. The other, a stout, middle-aged, - managing Breton woman, had sole command over my table and me, and - gradually she began to assume such a maternal tone towards me - that I saw I should be compelled to leave that restaurant. If I - was absent for a couple of nights running she would reproach me - sharply: "What! you are unfaithful to me?" Once when I complained - about some French beans, she informed me roundly that "French - beans were a subject which I did not understand...." - - -I break the quotation here to exclaim at the obtuseness of that Breton -woman who, in the course of her management of Mr. Bennett, failed -to discover that he loves to regard himself as an authority on such -matters as French beans. There is a kind of romantic pride which makes -some men believe that they know the one place in a city where the best -brand of a particular article is to be purchased. Mr. Bennett has that -pride. The heaviness of the Breton's blow to it can be imagined after -reading the next sentence in the passage from which I am making the -quotation: - - - I then decided to be eternally unfaithful to her, and I abandoned - the restaurant. A few nights before the final parting an old - woman came into the restaurant to dine. She was fat, shapeless, - ugly and grotesque. She had a ridiculous voice and ridiculous - gestures. It was easy to see that she lived alone, and that in - the long lapse of years she had developed the kind of peculiarity - which induces guffaws among the thoughtless. She was burdened with - a lot of small parcels which she kept dropping. She chose one - seat; and then, not liking it, chose another; and then another. - In a few moments she had the whole restaurant laughing at her. - That my middle-aged Breton should laugh was indifferent to me, - but I was pained to see a coarse grimace of giggling on the pale - face of the beautiful young waitress to whom I had never spoken. - I reflected, concerning the grotesque diner: This woman was - once young, slim, perhaps beautiful; certainly free from these - ridiculous mannerisms. Very probably she is unconscious of her - singularities. Her case is a tragedy. One ought to be able to - make a heartrending novel out of the history of a woman such as - she. Every stout, ageing woman is not grotesque--far from it!--but - there is an extreme pathos in the mere fact that every stout, - ageing woman was once a young girl with the unique charm of youth - in her form and movements and in her mind. And the fact that the - change from the young girl to the stout, ageing woman is made up - of an infinite number of infinitesimal changes, each unperceived - by her, only intensifies the pathos. It was at that instant that - I was visited by the idea of writing the book which ultimately - became "The Old Wives' Tale." ... - - -III - -In that passage there is revealed much, I think, of Mr. Bennett's -character and spirit. He dislikes the sensation of being managed -because he likes the sensation of managing. The Breton woman could have -won him to faithful service for ever if she had deferred to him in the -matter of French beans, and who knows what tricks of duplicity she -could have played upon him had she stooped to guile? But she wounded -him in his pride when she bluntly told him that her judgment on beans -was sounder than his, and thus lost the custom of the most interesting -of her diners. The first fact, therefore, that one discovers in this -passage is that Mr. Bennett has a profound respect for his own opinion: -he feels pretty sure of himself. This may be considered to be a sign -of conceit, but that consideration is not necessarily true. It could -only be a sign of conceit if Mr. Bennett's respect for his own opinion -were misplaced, and there is nothing in his record to show that it is -misplaced. There is, on the contrary, much to show that it is placed -with the utmost propriety. He has done many of the things which he said -he would do, and has done them exceedingly well. If all of us could -have faith in ourselves with as much justification as Mr. Bennett has -faith in himself, we would do well to practice our faith with fervour. -The second fact about Mr. Bennett which is revealed by this passage is -the romantic nature of him, but before I discuss it, I wish to point -out a third and minor fact which is something of a flaw in him, not -an important flaw, but one which must be remembered by his admirers. -It is his occasional tendency to let his romanticism degenerate into -sentimentality. Observe how he seems to have romanced about the pale -and beautiful waitress to whom he never spoke, how he assumes that -because she is beautiful she must also be generous and sympathetic and -kindly, with what dismay he discovers that, just as a man can smile -and smile and be a villain, so a woman can be pale and beautiful, and -yet be as cruel or lacking in perception as the ruddiest and least -lovely of her sex. He declares, indeed, that he quitted the restaurant -in the Rue de Clichy because of the insolence of the Breton woman who -disputed his authority on beans, but may he not be deceiving himself, -may he not in fact have quitted that place because his illusion -about the beautiful, pale young waitress was shattered by her coarse -grimaces, her unkindly giggles? After all, it is easy enough to live -with those who will not accept our estimate of ourselves, but how hard -it is to live with lost beliefs. One of the most painful things about -shell-shock cases resulting in mental derangement is that the patient -seems to loathe most those whom he formerly loved most, and here in -England many of us know of pitiful women who dare not go to see their -unbalanced husbands because the mere sight of them throws the unhappy -men into paroxysms of rage and anguish!... - -But it is when we come to consider Mr. Bennett's attitude towards -the foolish old woman who changed her seat and dropped her parcels so -often in the restaurant in the Rue de Clichy that we discover his chief -characteristic. If he were the fact-ridden realist that some of his -critics pronounce him to be, he could not possibly have perceived in -that old woman, "fat, shapeless, ugly and grotesque," the lineaments -of a girl, "young, slim, perhaps beautiful; certainly free from these -ridiculous mannerisms." A fact-ridden realist might not have joined in -the laughter of the Breton woman and the giggling pale waitress, but he -would have judged the old woman with harsh contempt, more intolerable -even than mocking laughter, and he would have turned away from her in -irritation and disgust because of her inefficiency, her clumsiness, -her indecision, her displeasing exterior. At best, he would have seen -her solely as a fat, ugly and grotesque person who had always been -incompetent, fat, ugly and grotesque. But Mr. Bennett, incorrigibly -romantic, regarding her closely and with kindliness, insists that -beneath the bulk of her body there is a soul, that the too, too solid -flesh once wore "the feature of blown youth," even as Ophelia found -it in Hamlet! She may not be beautiful now, he tells himself, but how -beautiful may she not once have been. That is the spirit of romance. -It is a certain sign of the romantic in a man that he will not permit -himself to be bluffed by appearances when appearances are bad, although -he may often be bluffed by them when they are good. Mr. Bennett was -not deceived by the old woman's looks, but he was terribly deceived by -the looks of the pale, young waitress, and it is true of him, I think, -that he is very easily deceived by youth, to which he is uncommonly -generous. Observe how he shows his willingness to be deceived by youth -in the passage which I have quoted. He tells himself that the old woman -was once "young, slim, perhaps beautiful," which is likely enough, -but he goes on, not romantically, but sentimentally, to add, that she -was "certainly free from these ridiculous mannerisms." Now, there is -no warrant in human experience for such an assumption. I am prepared -to believe that an old woman, "fat, shapeless, ugly and grotesque" -was once "slim, perhaps beautiful," but I am not prepared to believe -that an indecisive, footling old woman was, in her girlhood, any other -than indecisive and footling. We do not change our natures to that -extent as we grow older unless we lose our wits or suffer gravely in -health, and the tragedy of old age is that habits and mannerisms which -are charming and attractive in youth are merely silly and annoying in -age. We are amused by the violent opinions of a clever young man of -twenty, inclined even to applaud him for holding them because they are -significant of an active and developing mind, but they are less amusing -to us and win less applause if they are still being expressed by him -when he is thirty. We cease altogether to applaud or be amused when we -hear him still at them when he is forty. We no longer describe him as -a clever young man, but a damned fool. No one has any right to be a -clever young man all his life. The law should forbid any one to be a -clever young man after the age of twenty-seven. The world is entitled -to demand that its clever young men shall grow up and achieve some sort -of sanity and right judgment by the age of thirty, and if they refuse -to grow up, then they are not free to complain if the world revises -its judgment on them and inexorably thrusts them from its regard. Mr. -Bennett's old woman dropped her parcels and changed her seat just as -frequently in her youth as she did on that evening when he saw her -in the Rue de Clichy, but she was young and perhaps pretty then, and -people forgave her for her footling ways because of her youthfulness -and in the hope that someday she would acquire steadiness of character -and control over her packages. I think I can give a fairly accurate -description of that old woman when she was a girl. She was always late -for everything, but her demure ways and a sort of foal-like clumsiness -about her made men willing to wait and be gracious about it. She always -remembered at the last moment nineteen different things which she had -forgotten to do, which must immediately be done, which inevitably -caused greater delay. She could never find her railway ticket when the -inspector came round to examine it and frequently held up trains while -every one in her carriage hunted high and low for it. She persistently -dropped her gloves, her handkerchief and her vanity-bag or left them -behind her wherever she went. She never went out of doors without -losing something. She never had any small change, and invariably -tendered a ten-dollar bill, when buying a ten-cent newspaper, in the -fond belief that the clerk at the news stand or even the boy in the -street was certain to have plenty of change and be all too eager to -oblige her. She always got on to the wrong train or trolley-car and did -not discover her mistake until too late to dismount from it!... But -she succeeded in putting over that sort of fatuous behaviour on the -strength of her youth and prettiness; and men, who would go raving mad -if they had to live with a middle-aged or elderly woman of such habits, -readily excused her imbecilities because they were those of youth. - -I wondered often, when I was in America, why I saw so many old or -middle-aged husbands with girl-wives. People told me that the cost of -living is so high in America that young men cannot afford to marry -young girls, but must either marry older and richer women or refrain -from marriage until they are middle-aged. Young women, so I was told, -must marry the elderly and the bald, the slack and the flabby because, -otherwise, they cannot hope for a good time until they are no longer -of an age to enjoy it. I do not much esteem young women who refuse -the great adventure of marriage with young, poor men in order that -they may have a good time with unenthusiastic, tamed and middle-aged -men, especially when I remember that a good time in such circumstances -means only a fatly comfortable one, being well-fed, well-housed and -well-clothed without ever having had the fun of fighting for such -comforts. But I am not entirely convinced by the arguments which were -put to me in explanation of this singular and unnatural conjunction -of the young and the middle-aged. There may be truth in the statement -that American girls marry elderly men for the comfort they receive, -but I doubt whether the elderly men marry for that reason. I am very -certain that such marriages are made because the men are romantic and -will not believe that the young girl's "charming ways" will not be -retained by her when she is no longer young. The plain and undeniable -fact is that elderly men marry girls because they cannot believe that -a girl who has foolish habits will not cease to have them when she is -older. The romantic is a man who is everlastingly hoping for the best, -everlastingly striving to obtain the best. A romantic realist is a man -who, while striving for the best, knows that he may only obtain the -worst. The sentimentalist is a man who removes himself from the region -of reality and refuses to admit that there is a worst, who insists -that all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Mr. -Arnold Bennett is a romantic realist, with a slight tendency towards -sentimentalism. - - -IV - -His romantic realism seems to plunge desperately into sentimentalism -when he contemplates very old age and death. Dr. Johnson had a strange -horror of death, "so much so, Sir," as he said to Boswell, "that the -whole of life is but keeping away the thoughts of it." But he achieved -quietness of mind when his end came and his last recorded words were -of a benignant character. "God bless you, my dear!" he said to Miss -Morris, forbidden by his faithful negro servant, Francis, to come -nearer to his bed than the outer room. Mr. Bennett seldom, if ever, -permits his very old people to die placidly. Their disappointments -press hardly upon them, if they are not prevented from remembering them -by senility or gross disease. Paralysis claims many of them. Age does -not beautify them nor bring peace to them, nor do they face their -end with undiminished heads. He is remarkably consistent in this view -of old age and death, and perhaps it is natural that he should regard -it so gloomily when one remembers how completely he is enthralled by -youth. But his view is an unbalanced one. - -Old age is not always graceless and crabbed and unlovely. Such an -old man as Mr. Thomas Hardy has a grace and quietness and courage -discoverable only in those who have endured many things but have not -been conquered by them. Mr. Bennett, however, looks upon age as a -calamity which must, indeed, happen to all of us, if we live long -enough, but cannot possibly be mitigated. - -He is able to detect the "young, slim, perhaps beautiful" girl in -the "fat, shapeless, ugly and grotesque" old woman, but he cannot so -easily detect the gracious old man or woman in the boy and girl. I -am oppressed sometimes by the thought that if Mr. Bennett had seen -the "young, slim, perhaps beautiful" girl, his romantic nature would -have let him down, yielding place to his cynicism, and he would have -detected the coming wrinkles on her brow, would have seen that her eyes -would grow dull, might even have pointed out her tendency to obesity. -"Of course, I should!" Mr. Bennett may retort, "for I am a realist as -well as a romantic, and in this case, I should have been right!" And -so he would, but the trouble is that, while Mr. Bennett romantically -and rightly sees the slim, perhaps beautiful girl in the fat old woman, -he always realistically and wrongly sees the fat old woman in the slim -young girl! I think that the spirit of "the Five Towns" is entirely -responsible for the fact that Mr. Bennett never sees beauty in age. It -is a harsh, acquisitive spirit, busy principally in the accumulation -of material things (despite the fact that it produces lovely pottery) -and inclined to measure a man's worth by the amount of his fortune. The -leisurely and gracious things of life are not the immediate or even the -ultimate concerns of life in "the Potteries," and old age is likely, in -such places, to be harsh and acquisitive. When men and women, who have -spent their activities entirely in money-making, reach the age at which -they possess much money but are no longer able to employ themselves in -its acquisition, they become crabbed, unlovely, mean, for they have -no resources. You cannot derive pleasure from literature or music or -painting or any other art when you bring to its consideration only the -fag-end of your life. One has seen men who were notorious among their -neighbours for their hard work--always engaged in their employment from -early morning until late night--seldom, if ever, resting or taking -holiday. One has seen these men, after they have retired from business, -so helpless without their work to occupy their minds that they steadily -declined into a condition of misery which brought about premature -death! They lived for one thing, and when that thing was no longer -available for them, they perished because they had no other resources -and it was too late to acquire any! Mr. Bennett must have seen such -men many times during his early years in "the Five Towns" and the -pitiful spectacle so impressed his mind that old age has become to him -a terrifying thing, a complete debâcle of the brain and energies. This -life, this youth, is so wonderful, so full of romantic possibilities, -that age and death seem to him merely obscene interruptions of an -enthralling spectacle. - - -V - -Once only, so far as I can discover, did he make a poem. It was -published in _The English Review_ in the brave days when that magazine -was edited by Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer, and since it is singularly -characteristic, as a poem ought to be, of its author's outlook on life, -I quote it here in full. But first I must affirm my belief that _The -English Review_, under the editorship of Mr. Hueffer, was the greatest -magazine that this world has ever known. That is a tremendous title -to claim for any magazine, but I doubt whether any one, familiar with -great magazines, will seriously dispute it. The title of Mr. Bennett's -poem is "Town and Country." Here it is: - - - God made the country, and man made the town. - And so--man made the doctor, God the clown; - God made the mountain, and the ants their hill, - Where grinding servitudes each day fulfil. - God doubtless made the flowers, while in the hive - Unnatural bees against their passions strive. - God made the jackass and the bounding flea; - I render thanks to God that man made me. - Let those who recognize God's shaping power - Here but not there, in tree but not in tower, - In lane and field, but not in street and square, - And in man's work see nothing that is fair-- - Bestir their feeble fancy to the old - Conception of a "country" made by God; - Where birds perceive the wickedness of strife - Against the winds, and lead the simple life - Nestless on God's own twigs; and squirrels, free - From carking care, exist through February - On nuts that God has stored. Let them agree - To leave the fields to God for just a year, - And then of God's own harvest make good cheer. - - -If one were a sentimentalist, one could describe that poem as a sign -of a blankly materialistic mind, with a turn for blasphemy, but if one -is what one ought to be, a romantic with a sense of reality, it will -appear to be a confession of faith in God _and_ man. - - -VI - -Mr. Bennett, of all the men of letters with whom I am acquainted, -not even excluding Mr. Shaw, is the most generous and kindly to -young people. Mr. Wells likes young people, but his interest in them -is curiously impersonal. He likes youth in a lump, so to speak, -rather than youth in the individual, just as he seems to love mankind -more than he likes any man. But Mr. Bennett likes _you_, the youth, -personally. He is happier on the whole with young people than he is -with their elders, and he assiduously seeks their society. He is amused -by their extravagances, but not to the extent of sneering at them. He -likes youth to be dandiacal, to have an air, to be arrogant, but not -to be ill-bred or pretentious or third-rate. In spite of his notable -kindness, he can be merciless to humbugs, and stories are told of -devastating things said by him to presumptuous persons and fools. The -blunt speech of "the Five Towns" is native to his tongue, and he passes -judgment without mincing his words. He has a dry sort of wit which is -remarkably helped by a slight hesitation in his speech, and his general -conversation, without being markedly distinguished, is entertaining -and agreeable in a way that is very elusive when put upon paper. It is -natural, perhaps, that a man who loves youth so much as he does should -have a more potent sense of the present and of the future than -of the past, and this accounts for the fact that his books and -pictures are chiefly modern. I imagine that he has a greater number of -books and pictures by young authors and painters than any other man of -his calibre in England. He loves music, but is not "highbrow" about -it, and he has a passion for dancing which threatens now to keep him -jigging through ballrooms for the rest of his life. He paints quite -charming water-colour pictures, and is so fond of the sea that the -surest way in which any one can lose his friendship is to accompany him -for a trip on his yacht and be sea-sick during it! He is a keen man of -business, and he is full of contempt for the rather sloppy-minded man -of letters who allows himself to be worsted in a bargain. Most men of -quality are lonely men, oddly isolated in spirit, and Mr. Bennett is -not an exception to the rule, but more than his compeers, I think, he -is a companionable person in a small group, chiefly because of that -romantic interest he has in all things, animate and inanimate. He has a -wider knowledge of books than most men of letters. Most men of letters, -indeed, are remarkably ignorant of books. And he has the courage, the -supreme courage, to do what no other literary man I have ever met has -the courage to do: he keeps a gramophone. He likes the savor of life, -and life for him includes the pictures of Corot and the gramophone -and French poetry and the novels of George Moore and newspapers and -motor-cars and Balzac and Bernard Shaw and the right brand of French -beans. How can such a man help being romantic! - - - - -G. K. CHESTERTON - - -I - -There is a legend, much beholden to Shakespeare, that learning and -leanness are akin to each other, while dull wits flourish in company -with obesity. The curious submission sometimes made by Shakespeare -to common prejudices and ignorance, glorified by the name of legend, -caused him too often to forget the obligation of the aristocrat to -think for himself, and remember only to think with the mob; and the -singular fact about this forgetfulness of his is that when he chose -to think with the mob, he nearly always did so when the mob was in -the wrong. He preferred the judgment of the street to the judgment of -informed minds when he wrote "Richard the Third," and allowed himself -to malign that excellent and most capable prince and monarch. Richard -was one of the ablest of the kings of England, but Shakespeare, -forgetting his obligations to his own genius, portrays him as a -pervert with a mania for blood. He yields to the common view in his -references to fat men. Falstaff is fat and flighty and a coward, a -drunkard, a braggart and a misleader of young princes, although the -prototype of Sir John was himself a man of known courage. Cassius was -deemed to think too much because he had a lean and hungry look. Julius -Cæsar desired the society of fat men who, presumably, indulged but -seldom in thought and never in any that could be called dangerous. Fat -men are endowed with but one tolerable virtue: that of good nature; and -if any fat men ever enters heaven, it will be because of his equable -temper and in spite of his corpulence. - -Mr. Chesterton is a fat man. There is a rumour in England that many -Americans felt they had been defrauded of their money when they went to -hear him lecture lately because he was hardly so fat as they had been -led to believe! He certainly is not so bulky now, because of a serious -illness, as he was when I first knew him, but in those days he was -undeniably an enormous man. And in himself he is a complete refutation -of the legend that fat men are dull men. Dr. Johnson was another fat -man whose large flesh covered a large intellect. Dr. Johnson, indeed, -was so able a man that, in spite of an incorrigibly lazy character, -which kept him abed of mornings when he ought to have been improving -the shining hour, he compiled a dictionary with little assistance -which, so Frenchmen said, would have engaged the labours of forty -French scholars for a long time. - -These legends about men of wit and dull men need to be revised. There -have been as many fat men of genius as there have been lean men of -genius. There have been as many epicurean geniuses as there have been -ascetic geniuses. My experience is that men of great mental energy are -fonder of their food than many men with torpid minds; and some of the -ablest men I know are excessively addicted to the pleasures of the -table. Mr. Shaw is a fastidious feeder, with odd likes and dislikes, -but no one could say that he is indifferent to what he eats. It is, I -think, an ironic commentary on the legend that fat men are lacking in -cleverness, that much the cleverest of those who oppose the opinions of -the lean Mr. Shaw is the fat Mr. Chesterton. - -Mr. Chesterton, was sent into the world by an All-Just God for the -exclusive purpose of saying the opposite to Mr. Shaw. With the most -complimentary intention I say that Mr. Chesterton's job in the world -is, when Mr. Shaw speaks, to reply, "On the contrary!..." He has to -restore the balance which Mr. Shaw very vigorously disturbs. Mr. -Chesterton is considerably younger than Mr. Shaw, much younger than -most people, on seeing him, imagine him to be. He was born in London -in 1874. His book on Browning was published when he was twenty-nine, -and "The Napoleon of Notting Hill" when he was thirty. The bulk of his -work, and certainly the best of it, with the exception of the "Short -History of England," was published before he was forty. The bulk, and -certainly the best, of Mr. Shaw's work was published after he had -passed his fortieth year. A critic comparing the two writers ought to -remember that Mr. Shaw's work is mainly that of a mature man, whereas -that of Mr. Chesterton is mainly the work of a young man. - - -II - -Gilbert Keith Chesterton is commonly known as a writer of paradox. He -is something of a paradox himself, for he is half-Scotch, half-French, -and wholly English. This paradox is not any more startling than the -fact that yellow and blue, when mixed together, become green. England -is half-way between Scotland and France! He handles paradox very -skilfully, but there are times when he imagines he is making a paradox -and is only making a pun; and there are other times when he is merely -making nonsense. He states in a book called "What's Wrong With the -World" that "the prime truth of woman, the universal mother" is "that -if a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly." That is singular -paradox! I can understand a prime truth which declares that a thing is -worth doing, even if it be done badly, but I cannot understand a prime -truth which seems to make a merit of bad workmanship. - -Elsewhere in the same book, he says that "submission to a weak man -is discipline. Submission to a strong man is servility." The proper -commentary on that paradox can only be made by a soldier. I can -assure Mr. Chesterton that the discipline of a weak man is the nearest -approach to tyranny I know, and it flies to pieces in times of great -distress. Your strong man can hold thoroughly frightened men to -their manhood with a word and a wave of the hand, but your weak man -demoralizes them with the fretful tyranny which he calls strength. The -submission of strong men to a weak man may be called discipline, but -it would be better named self-assurance. But in the field itself, when -authority and strength are needed, that weak man is quietly pushed into -the background, and the really strong man, although he may be a private -soldier, takes command. One can, of course, pick holes in many of Mr. -Chesterton's paradoxes in that manner, but it is profitless to do so. -Our work now is to discover what is of value in his doctrine and to -describe what is unsound in it. - -Roughly, one may say that Mr. Chesterton stands for the common man -against the very clever man. He believes more in the People than he -believes in Particular Persons. As he himself would say, he trusts -Man more than he trusts any man, a statement which reads better than -it sounds. He believes in tradition, even in legend, which is the -wisdom accumulated by Man, not out of his mind so much as out of -his experience. He believes in the institution of private property, -provided that the property is widely distributed. In other words, he -believes in what is called Peasant Proprietorship. He does not believe -in Progress as Mr. Wells, for example, believes in it, and he will tell -you very emphatically that the common man was happier in the Middle -Ages than he is to-day. There are times when it seems to me that Mr. -Chesterton's "common man" is as mythical as the "average man" of the -newspapers and the "economic man" of the economists; and I am very -dubious about the happiness of the poor people of the Middle Ages. -It would be foolish to carry one's doctrine too far, but if there is -anything in this theory of Man deriving wisdom from experience, surely -it is reasonable to suppose that human beings, having discovered a -means of living which ensures some comfort and security to them, will -not easily be deprived of it. Mr. Chesterton asks us to believe that -the "common" man permitted the rich lord to rob him of his rights -almost in ignorance of the fact that he was being robbed of them. It -is just as probable that he was ignorant of them because he never had -them. - -Mr. Chesterton believes, too, in what he calls "the ancient and -universal things" as against what he calls "the modern and specialist -things." He has invented a theory which establishes man as the great -specialist and woman as the great amateur, and he would keep woman out -of the polling-booth, not because the vote is too good for her, but -because it is not good enough. He demands that the woman shall stay -in the home, not for the Teutonic reason that she is inferior to man -and must work in a narrow area, but for the Chestertonic reason that -she is capable of more varied work than man and can only find adequate -range for her variety in the broad dominions of the home. "Women were -not kept at home," he says, "in order to keep them narrow; on the -contrary, they were kept home in order to keep them broad." The effort -must seem to many persons to have been a singularly unsuccessful one, -but Mr. Chesterton will have none of this sophistry. "I do not even -pause to deny that woman was a servant; but at least she was a general -servant," he asserts; discovering in her "generalness" a virtue where -others would discover only a certainty of incompetence and muddle. - - - If drudgery only means dreadfully hard work, I admit the woman - drudges in the home, as a man might drudge at the Cathedral of - Amiens or drudge behind a gun at Trafalgar. But if it means that - the hard work is more heavy because it is trifling, colorless - and of small import to the soul, then, as I say, I give it up; I - do not know what the words mean. To be Queen Elizabeth within a - definite area, deciding sales, banquets, labors and holidays; to - be Whiteley within a certain area, providing toys, boots, sheets, - cakes and books; to be Aristotle within a certain area, teaching - morals, manners, theology and hygiene--I can understand how this - might exhaust the mind, but I cannot imagine how it could narrow - it. How can it be a large career to tell other people's children - about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one's own - children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same - thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No; - a woman's function is laborous, but because it is gigantic, not - because it is minute. I will pity Mrs. Jones for the hugeness of - her task; I will never pity her for its smallness. - - -I have quoted that extensive passage because it is a good example of -Mr. Chesterton's style and his thought. It is a mixture of soundness -and unsoundness, in which the two things merge so imperceptibly that -there is difficulty in distinguishing the one from the other. It is not -easy to see why the stenographer, travelling to an office every morning -at the same hour by the same underground railway, and typing more or -less the same sort of letter for a specified number of hours before she -returns every evening by the same underground railway to the home from -which she set out in the morning, should be more broad-minded than the -woman who stays at home performing a variety of jobs; and perhaps Mr. -Chesterton is justified in his faith by the fact that the stenographer -is most eager to escape from the office to the home by the way of -marriage. - -Nevertheless, I suspect that the home is not quite the broadening -influence Mr. Chesterton declares it to be, and Mr. Chesterton himself -provides me with the ground for my suspicion. To be Queen Elizabeth -within a certain area may be enlarging for the mind. To be Whiteley -(or Marshal Field, in America) within a certain area may be enlarging -for the mind. To be Aristotle within a certain area may he enlarging -for the mind. But to be Queen Elizabeth _and_ Whiteley _and_ Aristotle -within a certain area is paralyzing for the mind. The stenographer -who does one thing every day, has time to think of many things: the -wife and mother who does many things every day has time to think of -nothing. I do not believe that the stenographer, who accepts the -responsibilities of marriage and motherhood, regards the drudgery of -them as an unparalleled opportunity for exhibiting her versatility; and -I have observed that the people who are most keen on such "modern and -specialist things" as labour-saving devices, are just those women who, -in Mr. Chesterton's judgment, should be most reluctant to accept them. - - -III - -His praise of the "ancient and universal things" at the expense of the -"modern and specialist things" leads him to say that - - - If a man found a coil of rope in a desert he could at least think - of all the things that can be done with a coil of rope; and some - of them might be practical. He could tow a boat or lasso a horse. - He could play cat's cradle or pick oakum. He could construct - a rope-ladder for an eloping heiress, or cord her boxes for a - travelling maiden aunt. He could learn to tie a bow, or he could - hang himself. Far otherwise with the unfortunate traveller who - should find a telephone in the desert. You can telephone with a - telephone: you cannot do anything else with it. - - -He disparages the hot-water pipe in order to exalt the open fire. He -argues that "the ancient and universal things" can be turned to many -uses, but that the "modern and specialist things" are strictly limited -to one purpose. - -There may be much in his argument, though his examples hardly support -him, but how much is not apparent. Take the case of the man in the -desert who finds a coil of rope, and compare him with the man in the -desert who finds a telephone. Mr. Chesterton begs us to observe how -happy is the former compared with the latter, but is he one-half so -happy? The absorbing passion of a man's life in a desert would be the -desire to get out of the desert as quickly as possible. How far would a -rope help him to realize his desire? He could not tow a boat or lasso a -horse because there would not be any water on which to tow the boat or -any horse to lasso. If there were a horse to lasso it would either be -wild and unrideable or private property. He could play at cat's cradle -with the rope if it were not a rope at all--if, that is to say it were -twine; and perhaps this would help him to pass away the time before -he died of starvation. He could pick oakum if he wished to un-rope -the rope and had never been to prison to discover what a loathsome -job oakum-picking is. But he could not construct a rope-ladder for -an eloping heiress or cord her boxes for his travelling maiden aunt, -because the eloping heiress would not be eloping in a desert, and his -maiden aunt would hardly be packing her trunk in the Sahara. He might -be able to tie a bow. He might even be able to hang himself, though -that is doubtful, for trees are not prolific in deserts. But I cannot -see what comfort he would derive from either of these accomplishments. - -To sum up, a man in a desert with nothing but a coil of rope between -him and civilization would be in as complete a state of isolation -as it would be possible for a man to imagine. How different would -be the case of the man in a desert with the despised "modern and -specialist" telephone! For he, finding a telephone, would instantly -be able to communicate with other people and to direct them to his -rescue. If he were anxious to hang himself, he could more effectively -do so in the neighbourhood of a telephone than in the neighbourhood -of a coil of rope, for where there are telephones there are generally -telegraph-poles! - -Even in the case of the open fire and hot-water pipe, as much can be -said for the "modern and specialist thing" as can be said for the -"ancient and universal thing," and in some instances, more can be said -for it. We get a cheerful glow from an open fire that certainly is not -to be got from a hot-water pipe; but Mr. Chesterton must have noticed -on many occasions that whereas one gets tolerably toasted on one side -by an open fire, the other side is usually left cold. Thus a man, on a -wintry night, sitting before the fire, may be too warm in front, and -half-frozen behind. But a hot-water pipe creates an equable temperature -in a room and leaves a man warm on all sides. - - -IV - -He is a nationalist and therefore opposed to imperialism. His belief in -peasant proprietorship flows naturally from his belief in nationalism. -He defends peasant proprietorship in "Irish Impressions" because he -believes that a country controlled by peasants will survive long after -more majestically-governed nations have declined and fallen:-- - - - I do not know how far modern Europe really shows a menace of - Bolshevism, or how far merely a panic of Capitalism. But I know - that if any honest resistance has to be offered to mere robbery, - the resistance of Ireland will be the most honest and probably the - most important.... It is where property is well distributed that - it will be well defended. The post of honour will be with those - who fight in very truth for their own land. - - -Now, here we are on very debateable ground, as debateable as his -statement that "honour is a luxury for aristocrats, but it is a -necessity for hall-porters," which is surely an obscure rendering -of the entirely commercial statement that "honesty is the best -policy." Honour is not honour when a man uses it merely because it -is profitable to him, and I cannot see much virtue in him who fights -for his land simply because he owns it. Honour is admirable when it -brings not profit but loss to the man who wears it. Virtue is in the -man who fights for his country though he does not own an inch of it. -And here I come to my objection to Mr. Chesterton's beloved peasant -proprietorship, the cause of my dismay at the thought that my own -country of Ireland may soon be controlled by small farmers. - -It is true that a peasant will fight desperately for his own piece -of land, but he manifests a sturdy reluctance to fight for another -man's land; and I cannot understand why Mr. Chesterton regards his -determination to hold on to his property as more "honest," or more -"honourable" than the determination of a Victory bondholder to get -the last cent of interest out of the taxpayers. Peasants, no less -than other men, in fact more than other men, have itching palms, and -it is sheer sentimentalism to describe as "honest" or "honourable" -behaviour in them which is denounced as dishonest and dishonourable in -a stockbroker. It is true that Lenin's schemes collapsed completely -before the resistance of the Russian peasants, and that his plans for -the nationization of everything failed to include the principal thing -of all, namely, the land; but Mr. Chesterton will hardly maintain -that the Russian peasants had disinterested motives in offering this -resistance to Lenin. He may, indeed, insist that their motives were -entirely interested and base his case for the Distributive State, -as Mr. Belloc named it, on that very interest. But a nation should -be something more than a crowd of peasants digging in the earth for -their personal profit, and when Mr. Chesterton commends his peasant -proprietors to me, I ask not for the signs of their interested -behaviour, but for the signs of their disinterested behaviour. When -he tells me that the peasant will fight for his own land, I ask him -whether the peasant will fight for his neighbour's land? When he tells -me that the Irish peasant will resist the attempts of the Bolshevist to -communalize his land, I ask him whether the Irish peasant is equally -ready to defend the French peasant from Russian aggression? Mr. -Chesterton declares that France had claims on the gratitude of Ireland. -Did the Irish peasant farmer remember those claims on his gratitude? -Or did he find it more convenient and profitable to ejaculate, "Yah, -dirty atheist, go and fight your own battles!" In deriding the idea of -empire, Mr. Chesterton says in this book of "Irish Impressions" that -"the British combination" is "more lax and liable to schism" than a -combination of peasants. I do not believe there is any truth in this -statement, particularly when I remember that "the British combination" -held together for five years in circumstances that might have been -expected to shake it to pieces. Let me give you an example, out of -my experience during the War, of the way in which the Imperial idea -rallies men to its support to their own loss. While I was being trained -to be an officer, I shared a hut with twenty-five other men. Between -us, we represented every part of the British Empire. The twenty-six men -in that hut included Englishmen, Scotsmen, Welshmen and two Irishmen -(one of whom was an Orangeman, and the other, myself, a Home Ruler). In -addition to these, there were two Australians, a man from New Zealand, -two men from Canada, two from South Africa and a couple of men from -South America, one a Spaniard and the other the son of English parents. -Many of these men had travelled for thousands of miles at their own -expense in order to join the British Army. They were volunteers. I -would like to see the community of peasants that would travel ten -yards to defend anything but their own personal property, except under -compulsion. - -When I cited this case to Mr. Chesterton some time ago, in controversy -with him, he replied with characteristic amiability, that Serbia was a -community of peasants, and that Serbia had fought in the War. When I -asked whether Serbia would have fought for Montenegro, he replied that -she had done more than that, she had fought for "the wholly invisible -bond of all Christendom." But Serbia did nothing of the sort. She -fought for herself because she was invaded. That was a perfectly proper -thing to do, but there is no comparison between it and the behaviour -of men responding at their own cost to the Imperial idea, although -many hundreds of miles away from the place of argument and under no -compulsion to go to it. - -The truth about a peasant civilization is that it is a mean -civilization, in which mean virtues compete with mean vices, and the -small and local thing is esteemed above the big and worldwide thing. -There are many defects in empires, even in one so loosely-bound as the -British Empire, but although those who control an empire are often -guilty of cruel deeds, there is at least this to be said in their -defense, that they honestly believe themselves to be possessed of -greater wisdom than those whom they oppress, and do desire in their -stupid fashion to govern them for their good. - -On the whole, freedom may be defined as the right to choose; but that -definition must obviously be subject to limitations. There is a sort -of wild and woolly democrat who believes in the right of uninstructed -persons to choose wrong. It is not a right in which I believe. Mr. -Chesterton thinks, not without justification, that the common man can -choose in a right manner. If his creed were confined to that clause we -could accept it with heartiness, but there are times when he seems to -think that the common man chooses aright because he is a common man, -and he leaves us with the impression that he can never quite forgive -Magna Charta because it was won by peers, and not by peasants. He seems -not to realize that if Magna Charta had depended upon peasants, it -would never have been won. - - -V - -But he helps us to keep a balance. His service to us is that when we -are inclined to run frantically after the superman, he reminds us of -the existence of the common man. If he were not so well-padded with -flesh, I should describe him as the skeleton at a feast of supermen, -reminding them that even a superman can be a fool. - -There are times indeed, when his faith in the common man undergoes a -sea-change, and he utters sentiments that might be spoken by Mr. H. L. -Mencken, who cannot abide the common mind. In one of his essays, Mr. -Chesterton says, "I certainly would much rather share my apartments -with a gentleman who thought he was God than with a gentleman who -thought he was a grasshopper." So would Nietzsche. But I doubt whether -the Early Christians would have approved his preference. They, who were -ready to pronounce all flesh to be grass, would not have found anything -incompatible with their faith in a gentleman who regarded himself -as a grasshopper. They would certainly have considered his rival in -misapprehension to be a blasphemer. And if Mr. Chesterton would fail -to find pleasure in the company of a man who believed himself to be -that interesting but monotonous insect, how much less pleasure would he -derive from sharing his apartments with a man who believed not only -himself, but all men, to be worms? - -He is personally the most kindly and agreeable of men, in whom the -one virtue commonly ascribed to fat men, that of good nature, is -most highly developed. His anger is almost completely impersonal. -His pardon is on the heels of his condemnation. The sins of jealousy -and hatred are unknown to him, and he seems to be without the power -of resenting spiteful things done to himself. He said to me on one -occasion, "Arnold Bennett says I'm an imbecile!" in the tone of a man -who was not in the least annoyed by the statement, but puzzled by -the fact that any man should call another one an offensive name. We -are all children of the one God, in his belief, even if some of us -are Jews, and in some mystical manner he contrives, in his anger, to -discriminate between the human being and the thing which the human -being does. If ever he is moved to slay a sweater or an international -financier or a Prohibitionist, he will do so entirely without prejudice -to that person's right to be called a child of God. It is a tribute to -the charm of his character and the equability of his temper that his -stoutest admirers are those who most vigorously combat his opinions, -and that most of his friends are men who do not share any of his views, -except perhaps the only view that matters, the view that an ill deed -must be exposed and a wrong put right. He is Don Quixote in the body of -Sancho Panza. - - - - -JOHN GALSWORTHY - - -I - -It is sometimes said that an artist never intrudes his personality -into his work and that the great writers of the world have kept -themselves so closely to themselves that their readers have never been -able to discover anything of their faith or partialities. This is not -only untrue, but is also absurd, for how can any man hope to exclude -himself from his creations, since without him the creations would not -be? There never was a book of any sort which did not in some fashion -reveal the nature of its author to discerning readers, and I will -personally undertake to give a fairly accurate account of the general -character of any author after an attentive reading of all his writings. -There are authors, such as Mr. Bernard Shaw and Mr. H. G. Wells, who -do not make any pretence of excluding themselves from the notice of -their readers: they deliberately force themselves into their books; -and the habit has become so much a part of their nature that they -sometimes do it unconsciously. One may say of them, perhaps, that we -learn chiefly from their writings what their opinions are, but learn -nothing of their characters. But while it is true that we do receive -much information about their opinions, it is true also, I think, that -they unmistakably reveal themselves, something of the intimate parts of -them, to those who closely consider their books. Fielding formally held -up the course of his stories in order that he might state his views to -his readers, and Dickens and Thackeray followed his example; but all -three of them revealed more than their beliefs to their readers--they -revealed themselves. Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells are excellent examples of -what may be described as the Direct Revealers--writers who nakedly -manifest their opinions and, more or less nakedly, their personalities -in their books. The Indirect Revealers are best exemplified in two -poets, Shakespeare and John Millington Synge, and one novelist and -dramatist, Mr. John Galsworthy. We have very little documentary -evidence of Shakespeare's existence, and it is impossible, therefore, -to write his biography with the accuracy of detail with which one is -able to record the events of, say, Roosevelt's career; but there is -a clear and unmistakable account of his hopes and fears and beliefs -and disbeliefs, a most faithful portrait of his character, contained -in his poems and plays. How can any one fail to discover behind his -work the figure of a grave, fastidious, disdainful and distrustful and -solitary man whose spiritual solitude was concealed under an appearance -of gregariousness and cheerful living that made him a good companion -on most occasions without being excessively popular. Ben Jonson, -despite his quarrelsome character, was probably more deeply loved by -his contemporaries than Shakespeare was, because Shakespeare had more -of reserve and spiritual isolation than Ben had, and was less willing -to put faith in the virtue of the crowd; and I imagine that had one -interrogated any of Shakespeare's friends, they would have said of him, -"Oh, yes, I like William Shakespeare very much! Talks well! He's a good -chap, but a little odd ... queer ... at times. It isn't easy to make -friends with him. He always keeps us at our distance--not deliberately, -of course, but in some vague way. He understands us all right, and he -takes part in our revels, but he never completely descends to our -level. Now, old Ben ... he's a good, hearty chap! He is so comradely -that we frequently forget he is Ben Jonson and think of him as just one -of ourselves. Shakespeare's friendly enough, but we never forget that -he is Shakespeare. Sometimes, quite unintentionally, he makes us feel a -little common!..." - -The best biography of John Synge that I have read--and l have read -all of them--is contained in his plays and poems. It is impossible -to rise from his books without an impression of intense loneliness -and unachievable desires, of a man eager to be the hero of romantic -exploits, but totally unable to stand up to life and make himself a -hero because of some spiritual ineffectiveness, some lack of assertion -which results in fumbling and self-distrust; and one goes from the -plays and poems to the biographies and is not surprised at reading of -his lonely life. How often the word "lonesome" occurs in his writings, -and how deeply he insists on the terrors of solitude! Pegeen Mike in -the "The Playboy of the Western World" reproves her father for going -"over the sands to Kate Cassidy's wake" and leaving her alone in the -shebeen: - - - If I am a queer daughter, it's a queer father'd be leaving me - lonesome these twelve hours of dark, and I piling the turf with - the dogs barking, and the calves mooing, and my own teeth rattling - with the fear. - - -I imagine that there is some deep personal feeling of Synge's in the -speech he puts into the mouth of Christy Mahon in the second act of the -same play: - - - CHRISTY: And isn't it a poor thing to be starting again, and I a - lonesome fellow will be looking out on women and girls the way the - needy fallen spirits do be looking for the Lord? - - PEGEEN: What call have you to be lonesome when there's poor girls - walking Mayo in their thousands now? - - CHRISTY: It's well you know what call I have. It's well you know - it's a lonesome thing to be passing small towns with the lights - shining sideways when the night is down, or going in strange - places with a dog noising before you and a dog noising behind, or - drawn to the cities where you'd hear a voice kissing and talking - deep love in every shadow of the ditch, and you passing on with an - empty, hungry stomach failing from your heart. - - PEGEEN: I'm thinking you're an odd man, Christy Mahon. The oddest - walking fellow I ever set my eyes on to this hour to-day. - - CHRISTY: What would any be but odd men and they living lonesome in - the world? - - -The scene of all his plays is laid in a lonely place: the last cottage -at the head of a long glen in Wicklow; a small and remote island off -the west coast of Ireland; a distant hamlet in a mountainous district. -His people are possessed of a perpetual fear of death and old age, -and lead uneventful lives, having minds which continually crave for -the performance of splendid and unusual deeds. Few men have put their -longings and disappointments so boldly and plainly into their work as -John Synge put his. I do not suggest that an author may be identified -with every word and action of his creatures--a manifestly absurd -suggestion--but I do suggest that it is possible for an intelligent -reader to obtain a very clear and well-defined impression of the -character and beliefs of an author from a careful study of the whole -body of his work. - - -II - -Mr. John Galsworthy is the most sensitive figure in the ranks of -modern men of letters, but his sensitiveness is of a peculiar nature, -for it is almost totally impersonal. One thinks of Dostoievsky -eternally pitying himself in the belief that he was pitying humanity -and particularly that part of it which is Russian; or of Maxim Gorki, -as shown in his vivid and extraordinary study of Leo Tolstoi,[4] -preoccupied with himself to the extent of imagining that Tolstoi, the -aristocrat, related salacious stories in common speech to him, the -peasant, because he imagined that Gorki, being of vulgar origin, could -not appreciate refined conversation: - - - I remember my first meeting with him and his talk about "Varienka - Oliessova" and "Twenty-six and One." From the ordinary point of - view, what he said was a string of indecent words. I was perplexed - by it and even offended. I thought that he considered me incapable - of understanding any other kind of language. I understand now: it - was silly to have felt offended. - - -One thinks, too, of Mr. Shaw's lively interest in himself, and of Mr. -Wells's eagerness to remold the world nearer to his heart's desire. -And remembering these men, intensely individual and not reluctant -to speak of themselves, one is startled to discover how destitute -of egotism Mr. Galsworthy seems to be. It may even be argued that -his lack of interest in himself is a sign of inadequate artistry, -that it is impossible for a man of supreme quality to be so utterly -unconcerned about himself as Mr. Galsworthy is. He has written more -than a dozen novels and at least a dozen plays, but there is not one -line in any of them to denote that he takes any interest whatever in -John Galsworthy. The most obvious characteristic of his work is an -immense and, sometimes, indiscriminating pity, but I imagine that the -only creature on whom he has no pity is himself. Whatever of joy and -grief he has had in life has been closely retained, and the reticence -which was characteristic of the English people--I am now using the -word "English" in the strict sense--in pre-war times, but is hardly -characteristic of them now, is most clearly to be observed in Mr. -Galsworthy. And yet there are few among contemporary writers who reveal -so much of themselves as he does. Neither Mr. Shaw nor Mr. Wells, who -constantly expose their beliefs to their readers, do in the long run -tell so much about their characters as Mr. Galsworthy, who never makes -a conscious revelation of himself and is probably quite unaware that -he had made any revelations at all. How often have we observed in our -own relationships that some garrulous person, constantly engaged in -egotistical conversation, contrives to conceal knowledge of himself -from us, while some silent friend, with lips tightly closed, most -amazingly gives himself away. One looks at Mr. Galsworthy's handsome, -sensitive face and is immediately aware of tightened lips!... But the -lips are not tightened because of things done to him, but because of -things done to others. - -I remember, more than ten years ago, reading a notice of the first -performance of "Justice" in an English Sunday newspaper in which the -critic, who must have been terribly drunk when he wrote it, attacked -the play, making nine misstatements of fact about it in as many lines. -Those were the days when I took the field on the slightest provocation. -An insult offered to a man of letters for whom I had respect was an -insult offered to me, and I made much trouble for myself by smacking -faces with great ferocity for offences, not against me, but against my -friends and my betters. I wrote a letter to that critic which created -some havoc in his sodden brain, and I then posted a copy of it to Mr. -Galsworthy. He thanked me very civilly for what I had done, and added -that he never replied to criticism of any sort! I was astounded by his -statement and a little dashed. My faith in those days was, crudely, -two eyes for one tooth! Those who struck at me might expect two blows -in return. Like Mrs. Ferguson, in my play, "John Ferguson," I said to -myself, "If anyone was to hurt me, I'd do my best to hurt them back -and hurt them harder nor they hurt me!" I could not bring myself into -line with the meekness of Mr. Galsworthy until I discovered in it a -form of supreme arrogance!... Now that I know him and his work better, -I realize that I was wrong in my estimation of him both as excessively -meek and excessively arrogant. His rule never to reply to criticism, -however unfair, is a sign, not of humility or pride, but of complete -indifference to himself. I can believe in him becoming furious with -one who belittles a dog, but I cannot believe in him displaying any -feeling over one who belittles John Galsworthy. - -But when I look at his tightened lips, I feel certain that they are -drawn closely together, not to prevent himself from forgetting his -indifference to himself, but to prevent him from pouring out his anger -at wrong and cruelty suffered by other people. His hatred of injustice -possesses him like a fury, so that I expect to find his hands always -clenched. There are times, indeed, when he allows his feeling for -others, human and animal, to destroy his sense of proportion, and he -will sometimes imagine that people or beasts are suffering a great -deal more of pain than they really are, even that they are suffering -when in fact they are not suffering at all. This is the complaint most -commonly made of him by his critics, that he sometimes exaggerates the -extent to which people and, particularly, animals suffer. When I was -a child, I remember that I often read in sentimental Sunday-school -books of slum children who never smiled and had never seen grass. I -suppose that fundamentally I have a sceptical mind, for even then I -found myself doubting whether there were any children in the world who -had never seen grass. Grass is so persistent!... I knew that a street -had only to be free of traffic for a short while and little blades of -grass would begin to push up from between the cobbles!... It might be -that slum children never smiled--though I was dubious of that--but -all of them must have seen some grass sometime. Then I grew up and -left Ulster and went to England, and for two or three years I lived -on the confines of a slum in South London, where I discovered that my -sentimental authors were sentimental liars, that poor people do not -live lives of incessant misery, that they smile and laugh as often as, -if not more frequently than, rich people, and are fully as happy as -any one else. Happiness and unhappiness are conditions of the spirit, -and provided a man has sufficient food to eat and a decent shelter and -warm clothes, it matters very little whether he be rich or poor. Mr. -Galsworthy is not always as sensible of this as he might be. Like many -idealists he attaches more importance to material things than many -materialists do. He lets himself be too easily persuaded that a thing -is wrong because it looks wrong. If he had walked into the Valley of -Elah on that morning when the fair and ruddy youth, David, encountered -Goliath, he would certainly have run to David's side. What combat could -have seemed more unequal than that? David was young and slender and of -ordinary stature. He wore no armor and his weapons were a sling and -five pebbles casually picked from a brook. Goliath was five cubits and -a span high, and his huge body was covered with heavy armor. There was -a helmet of brass on his head, and there were greaves of brass on his -legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders. His weapons were -terrible: the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam, and his -spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron. A man walked in front -of him carrying a shield!... No wonder that Goliath mocked at David -and threatened to pick the flesh from his bones and give it to the -birds. He probably felt that one breath from his mouth would blow David -clean out of the valley. Mr. Galsworthy, had he been present on that -occasion, would have said to himself, "Poor David, young and slight -and ill-armed, has no chance whatever against this great hulking, -uncircumcized Philistine!..." The combat certainly was an unequal one, -but the advantage lay, not with Goliath, but with David. The giant had -the outward show of strength, but David had the Power of God in his -right arm, and before that Power Goliath was but a boneless beast. Mr. -Galsworthy makes Stephen More in his play "The Mob," revile the crowd -in these terms: - - - You are the thing that pelts the weak; kicks women; howls down - free speech. This to-day, and that to-morrow. Brain--you have - none! Spirit--not the ghost of it! If you're not meanness, there's - no such thing. If you're not cowardice, there is no cowardice. - - -Neither Stephen More nor Mr. Galsworthy appears to know that these -characteristics of the mob are the characteristics of weak things. -Strong men do not pelt the weak or kick women, nor do they prevent -free speech. It is weak men and timid men and ignorant, frightened -men--politicians and officials and guttersnipes and sinners--who do -these things, because they have neither the courage nor the strength -nor the intelligence to do otherwise. The mob-instinct of unreasoning -chivalry, the natural impulse to take the part of "the little 'un," -constitutes a very serious danger to Mr. Galsworthy's work: he is -becoming increasingly partisan in his opinions and sympathies, with -the result that his sentiment is in danger of degenerating into -sentimentalism, and he, so commonly considered impartial, is likely to -end in a state of hopeless and wrong-headed bias. He is beginning to -believe that a weak man is right because he is weak. He is forgetting -the truth enunciated, perhaps excessively, by Dr. Stockmann in "An -Enemy of the People" that "the strongest man in the world is the man -who stands absolutely alone." Or if he has not forgotten it, he is in -danger of believing that a minority is always in the right because it -is a minority: a belief which is as fallacious as that which Mr. G. K. -Chesterton sometimes seems to hold, that a majority is always in the -right because it is a majority. The plain and platitudinous truth is -that only those are in the right who are in the right, whether they be -in a majority or in a minority. Weakness, although it may endow a man -with cunning, does not endow him with moral authority. Mr. Galsworthy -at times lets his pity for weakness lead him into seeming to regard it -as a sign of infallible judgment. - - -III - -Mr. Galsworthy can create people and he can write natural dialogue. -"The Silver Box" is a testimony of his power to do so. But in his later -plays he has not always allowed his creatures to behave in a creditable -fashion, nor has he always written dialogue that exactly fits their -tongues. One suspects, too, that he is losing his sense of proportion, -that he is not so capable now as he was earlier in his career of -distinguishing between things which are important and things which are -not. He has developed an interest in trivial questions of sex and has -become so absorbed in dilemmas of colliding characters that he has lost -sight of the nature of his characters. He has been called a Determinist -because he shows his people as the creature of circumstances, but -in his later work, particularly in his play "The Fugitive," his -Determinism has become wilful: he seems to have made up his mind that -his characters shall become the victims of circumstances in defiance of -facts and the natures with which he has created them. He deliberately -ties their hands behind their backs and then exclaims: "These are -the victims of adverse circumstances!" And indeed they are, but the -circumstances have been artificially created by Mr. Galsworthy and not -by any force that governs the universe. He is so eager to bring Clare -Dedmond, in "The Fugitive," to her death in a restaurant frequented by -prostitutes that he totally neglects to consider the fact that with the -nature he gives her she is the last person on earth likely to end that -way. - -It is not in ideas that Mr. Galsworthy fails, so far as his later work -is concerned--it is in execution. The idea of "The Fugitive" is a -notable one. The play, which in its faults is significant of all Mr. -Galsworthy's later plays, deals with the tragic failure of a sensitive -woman to adjust her life to that of a dull, unimaginative man in whom, -although the conventions and traditions of his class have schooled -him into a certain decency of form, there is a very large measure of -coarseness. The collision is between the finely-perceptive and the -totally-imperceptive, and the theme is similar, in one respect, to -that of "The Doll's House," and in another to that of "The Shadow of -the Glen." But the treatment of it is very inferior to the treatment -of it by Ibsen and Synge. Ibsen plainly showed how impossible it was -for Nora to continue to live with her husband after she had suffered -her disillusionment. He showed with equal clarity how natural it was -that she should marry and love her husband, and yet in the end, turn -away from him. Mr. Galsworthy takes Clare Dedmond beyond the stage to -which Ibsen took Nora. Ibsen was content to end his play with Nora's -exit from her husband's home: he did not follow her from it nor show -what became of her thereafter. Mr. Galsworthy is concerned less with -the act of separation and more with the consequences of it. He is not -so interested in her flight from her husband as he is in what happens -to her after she has flown from him. He has taken a longer stretch of -Clare's life than Ibsen took of Nora's, but he has contrived to make it -smaller than Nora's. One derives an extraordinary sense of completeness -and space from "The Doll's House," but does not derive a similar sense -from "The Fugitive." Ibsen gives one a sense of familiarity with his -people, but Mr. Galsworthy hardly makes one more familiar with Clare -Dedmond and her husband than a reader of a newspaper is with the -principal parties to a divorce suit. - -Clare Dedmond, like Nora Burke in Synge's "The Shadow of the Glen," -is suffering from starved emotions, but Synge in his one-act play has -created the atmosphere of starved emotions far more successfully than -Mr. Galsworthy has done in his four acts. The antagonism between Nora -and Daniel Burke is instantly understood by the reader, who, however, -cannot immediately understand why it is that Clare and George Dedmond -do not "get on" together. The reader knows why Nora married Daniel. -"And how would I live and I an old woman if I hadn't a bit of a farm -with cows on it and sheep on the blackhills?" The sense of desolation -in this woman's life is so powerfully expressed that the reader of -the play does not ask questions. He does not stop to inquire why Nora -married her husband: he _knows_ why she married him, and this knowledge -is derived, not from the author's assertions, but from the woman's -behaviour. A sense of desolation is not created when the author says -that there is desolation, nor is it created when a character says: -"I am miserable!" It is created when the speech and behaviour of the -characters are such as one hears and sees when people are unhappy. It -would be absurd for a writer to make a character say: "I have a very -kindly disposition," and then show him in the normal habit of beating -his wife, kicking his grandmother, and ill-treating animals ... unless -he were trying to be funny or were portraying a madman. There must -be consistency between character and conduct, and the measure of a -writer's artistry is the degree to which he succeeds in reconciling the -one with the other. - -It is when Mr. Galsworthy's later work is tested in this manner that -one realizes how lamentably he has failed to create the illusion of -life. One goes through the pages of "The Fugitive" making notes of -interrogation! One does not ask: "Why did Ibsen's Nora marry her -husband?" "Why did Synge's Nora marry her husband?" because one knows -the answer to these questions from the beginning of the plays, and -it is not necessary to ask them. But why did Clare Dedmond marry her -husband? Because she loved him? Because she wished to be married and no -one else had asked her? For money? To escape from her parents? It is -impossible to say. Most of the faults which I find in Mr. Galsworthy's -work are to be found in this play and so I propose to examine it here -in detail. - -The story of "The Fugitive" is summarily this:-- - -Clare Huntington, the daughter of a poor parson, is married to George -Dedmond, a man of wealth and social position. When the play begins -these two have reached that point in their marital relationship when -their unhappiness is plain to their acquaintances. The husband, -irritated and puzzled, is eager to make a compromise which will not -involve legal separation and "talk." - - - CLARE (_softly_). I don't give satisfaction. Please give me notice. - - GEORGE. Pish! - - CLARE. Five years, and four of them like this! I'm sure we've - served our time. Don't you really think we might get on better - together--if I went away. - - GEORGE. I've told you I won't stand a separation for no real - reason, and have your name bandied about all over London. I have - some primitive sense of honour. - - -While travelling abroad the Dedmonds make the acquaintance of a -journalist named Kenneth Malise who is employed on a weekly review. -He and Clare become very friendly with each other, but George, who -declares that Malise is a bounder, does not share the friendship. -Malise knows that Clare is unhappy in her marriage and he incites her -to "spread your wings." He does not appear to have thought of what is -to become of her when she spreads her wings, nor does he manifest any -concern about her ability to remain in flight. His attitude towards her -may roughly be said to be: "It doesn't matter what happens to you so -long as you run away from your husband!" Clare eventually leaves her -husband, and in the second act she goes to Malise's rooms to ask for -his advice. She has taken his advice to spread her wings. What is she -to do? - -Mr. Malise very clearly does not know what she is to do. While he and -she are debating about her future his rooms are invaded by Dedmond's -parents, his solicitor, and, subsequently, by Dedmond himself. They -endeavour to persuade Clare to return to her husband, which she refuses -to do, and there is a scene in which George Dedmond, having offered to -take Clare back to his home, goes away threatening to divorce her and -cite Malise as co-respondent. After this scene Clare, in obedience to -her queer sense of honour, which impels her to make hateful returns -for favours received, offers herself in physical submission to Malise, -without, however, being able to conceal the fact that such submission -is loathsome to her. It is necessary, in studying this play, to take -considerable notice of Clare's attitude towards physical relationships. -Sexual submission is repulsive to her, not only in relation to her -husband, whom she dislikes, but also in relation to Malise, for whom -she has so much liking that eventually she falls in love with him. At -the moment at which the offer is first made, however, she is not in -love with Malise: she offers herself to him because she feels that, -having brought trouble upon him, she ought to make reparation for her -conduct! - - - CLARE. If I must bring you harm--let me pay you back. I can't bear - it otherwise! Make some use of me, if you don't mind! - - MALISE. My God! - - _She puts her face up to be kissed, shutting her eyes._ - - MALISE. You poor---- - - _He clasps and kisses her; then, drawing back, looks in her - face. She has not moved; her eyes are still closed. But she is - shivering; her lips are tightly pressed together, her hands - twitching._ - -MALISE (_very quietly_). No, no! This is not the house of a "gentleman." - -CLARE (_letting her head fall, and almost in a whisper_). I'm sorry-- - -MALISE. I understand. - -CLARE. I don't feel. And without--I can't, can't. - -MALISE (_bitterly_). Quite right. You've had enough of that. - - -That speech--"I don't feel. And without--I can't, can't"--is the -key-speech of Clare Dedmond's nature, and, in view of the end of the -play, must be remembered. - -Malise, recognizing that Clare cannot happily be his mistress otherwise -than in name, will not accept her offer of physical submission merely -as a return for what he may have to bear in her behalf, and so she -leaves his flat. She obtains employment as a shop-assistant, and is not -seen again, by her family or by Malise, for three months. Then, after -she has encountered a relative, she bolts in a panic from the shop and -returns to Malise's flat. She proposes to do typewriting and asks him -to find employment for her. He gives her some of his own MSS. to type, -and while they are discussing her prospects of employment she reveals -the fact that she now loves him. - - - MALISE. Can you typewrite where you are? - - CLARE. I have to find a new room, anyway. I'm changing--to be - safe. (_She takes a luggage ticket from her glove_). I took - my things to Charing Cross--only a bag and one trunk. (_Then, - with that queer expression on her face which prefaces her - desperations._) You don't want me now, I suppose? - - MALISE. What? - - CLARE (_hardly above a whisper_). Because--if you still wanted - me--I do--now. - - MALISE (_staring hard into her face that is quivering and - smiling_). You mean it? You _do_? You care? - - CLARE. I've thought of you--so much. But only--if you're sure. - - _He clasps her, and kisses her closed eyes._ - - -That love declaration is singularly unconvincing, more so to the -reader of the play than to the witness of it. It is not unlikely that -Clare's liking for Malise increased during the three months of their -separation, particularly as she regarded him as a benefactor to whom -she had brought trouble, but it seems to me to be improbable that she -would declare her love so casually. Mr. Galsworthy's stage directions -make the puzzle more involved. If Clare were in love with Malise to -the extent of overcoming her hatred of physical contacts, she would -hardly have "that queer expression on her face which prefaces her -desperations." When a man or woman is desperate he or she is hopeless -or almost hopeless, and if Mr. Galsworthy's stage directions are to be -taken seriously then they mean that Clare was willing to become the -mistress of Malise for much the same reason that a rat will fight in -a corner. But if her words mean what they would seem to mean, surely, -given her character and remembering what she has endured, her surrender -to Malise will not be accompanied by any signs of desperation at all, -but in sheer reaction, if nothing else, by every sign of jubilation and -relief. - -The attitude of Malise towards Clare does not appear to have undergone -any change at all; he is not any more in love with her in the third -act than he was in the first act, when, indeed, his love had a dubious -aspect. There is no warmth in the man, no glow. He is cold, not with -the hard, sharp, tingling cold of ice, but with the flabby chill of a -dead fish. When George Dedmond institutes divorce proceedings, citing -Malise as co-respondent, the fellow goes to pieces, and whines and -bleats to his charwoman because the proprietors of the review on which -he is employed propose to dismiss him. They have some scruples against -writers who become involved in scandals. The charwoman informs Clare -of Malise's misery, and she, knowing that her husband will abandon -the suit if she leaves Malise, goes quietly from his flat. Her next -appearance is in a restaurant, largely patronized by prostitutes. One -does not know what has happened to her in the meantime, but it is -plain that she must have suffered acutely, for this delicately bred -woman, sensitive to the point of morbidity about sexual relationships, -has decided to become a prostitute! We see her entering "The Gascony" -for the first time when the fourth act begins. A young man, ordinary, -decent, and uncommonly lustful, makes overtures to her, treating her -with kindliness when he discovers that he is her first customer. His -kindliness helps to reconcile her to her position, and she prepares to -leave the restaurant with him. While he is paying the bill two coarse -men leer at her, and one of them accosts her, making an appointment for -the following evening. As she watches his coarse face, inflamed with -lust, she realises the horror of the life she is about to lead, and -suddenly makes a decision--she takes a bottle of poison from her dress, -pours its contents into a wine-glass, and drinks it. She dies while -some sportsmen in an adjoining room play "the last notes of an old song -'This Day a Stag Must Die' on a horn." And that is the end of the play. - - -It seems to me to be incredible that Clare Dedmond should have gone -to that restaurant to sell herself to any casual purchaser. It seems -to me, given her nature, incredible that she should even have thought -of such a way of life or that, having thought of it, she should -not instantly poison herself rather than endure it. Mr. Galsworthy -insists throughout the play on her exceptional sensitiveness about -sex-relationships. I think that psychologically he has over-stated this -sensitiveness, but, assuming that he has not done so, is it conceivable -that a woman who shivers and twitches her hands when she is kissed by -a man whom she likes will consent to put on fine clothes and go to a -notorious restaurant and sit at a table while men inspect her?... (I -leave out of consideration such questions as: "Where did she obtain the -fine clothes?" "How did she acquire her knowledge of 'The Gascony'?") -If she were prepared to endure that last of all defilements, why did -she run away from her husband? If she were capable of selling her -embraces, why did she shiver and twitch when Malise kissed her? George -Dedmond was not a "bad" man. He did not ill-treat her nor was he -faithless to her. He insisted, indeed, on sexual submissions, but one -has difficulty in believing that her horror of these, "unless I feel," -was very strong since she was willing to suffer the casual amours of -"The Gascony." There would have been something pitiable in her if, -after leaving Malise, she had returned to George. There would have -been something tragical in her if, reluctant to return to George, she -had killed herself when she found that she could not maintain herself -in decency. But there is nothing either pitiable or tragical in the -end devised for her by Mr. Galsworthy. It is an arranged and schemed -destiny that overwhelms Clare Dedmond, arranged and schemed not by -Circumstance but by Mr. Galsworthy, and having no relation whatever to -the nature of the woman. Mr. Galsworthy wanted to poison her in "The -Gascony," and so he thrust her into the restaurant in plain disregard -of her character and of common facts. - -There is a phrase in the play which is intended to illuminate Clare's -nature. "You're too fine," Mrs. Fullarton says to her, "and you're -not fine enough to endure things." How can one be too fine to endure -a thing and yet not fine enough to endure it? And, having begun to -question in that fashion, one goes on again to wonder why she married -her husband. "Five years" (of marriage), she says to her husband, "and -four of them like this!" Here is no case of slow transformation of love -into dislike or of instant disillusionment. Clare does not suddenly -discover or slowly discover that George is not the sort of man she -had imagined him to be, for he remains throughout the play exactly -the sort of man he was when she was wooed and married by him. He did -not become prosaic, unimaginative, and coarse after marriage: he was -always like that; and Clare, so sensitive as she was, must have been -jarred by him as much before marriage as she was a year after marriage. -There is no suggestion in the play that she married for money. Had she -done so, surely she would, when we remember the depths to which she -was subsequently prepared to descend, have borne his dullness and -coarseness, not gladly, perhaps, but with fortitude? - -The processes of attraction and repulsion are so complicated that it -is difficult to say where one begins and the other ends, but this -difficulty is hardly to be experienced in cases where the personalities -are so marked and divergent as were the personalities of Clare and -George Dedmond. If one were to take a man like Squire Western in "Tom -Jones" and marry him to Mélisande in "Pelléas et Mélisande," one -could prophesy with some certainty what would be the result of such a -marriage. It would be disastrous. Left to the ordinary processes of -nature, however, such a marriage would not take place at all. - -But the difficulty of fathoming Clare's relationships does not end -with her husband. It is equally difficult to understand her attitude -towards Malise. What attracted her to this extraordinarily ill-bred man -who sneers openly at her relatives and friends, mocking and insulting -them to her and to their faces? The Dedmonds, parents and son, are -dense, but they are decent. They live by rule because they cannot live -by any other means. It is not their fault that they cannot understand -Clare's point of view, any more than it is the fault of a blind man -that he falls over an obstacle which he cannot see. Malise regards them -as malignant people, deliberately imprisoning an aspiring woman. His -vision of them is as narrow as is theirs of him, and, since he has not -got their breeding or kindliness, his conduct is caddish where theirs -is merely stupid. There is no magnitude or charity in this man. He -spends his days and nights in writing petulant screeds in the style of -Thomas Carlyle: windy stuff, blowing out of a noisome mind; and when -he has induced one helpless, incompetent woman to follow his creed he -fails her completely. - -The last sentences of the play show that Mr. Galsworthy had set his -mind on Clare's death in disregard of the probabilities. Clare, having -swallowed the poison, is lying back in her chair, presumably dead. - - - _The Young Man has covered his eyes with his hands; Arnaud is - crossing himself fervently; the Languid Lord stands gazing with - one of the dropped gardenias twisted in his fingers; and the woman - bending over Clare, kisses her forehead._ - - -That is a piece of theatricality. It has no relationship to real -things. Those people, in life, would not have stood about in -sentimental attitudes watching a woman die of poison. The young man -would have flown for a doctor; the waiter would have rushed off for an -emetic; the languid lord would have lost his languid airs in his desire -to get away from the restaurant in fear lest he might be summoned as a -witness at the inquest; and the woman would promptly have had hysterics. - - -IV - -He seems to be most impressed, in viewing the human scene, by the sense -of property which he discovers in mankind. In his best work, the novels -of the Forsyte Saga, beginning with "The Man of Property" and ending -with "To Let" one finds him attributing this sense to human beings to a -degree which is, in my belief, entirely excessive. Soames Forsyte, "the -man of property," is portrayed to us as a man who regards all things, -human and otherwise, as things to be owned. His wife is a piece of -property just as a picture or a dog is. When he obtains a divorce from -her and marries a young French girl, Annette, he treats the latter -as a piece of valuable property useful for the purpose of producing -a still more valuable piece of property; and when Annette bears a -daughter to him, he is left exclaiming almost passionately that this -child is _his_, not hers and his, but _his_! All the members of the -Forsyte family, described with great particularity, are possessed of -this sense of property, but it is more highly developed in Soames than -in any of them. Even those members of it, like young Jolyon Forsyte, -who break with the family tradition, concentrate on this property -point. They only differ from the rest of the family in being anti-, -rather than pro-, property. None of them seems to be indifferent to -property. The dominating influence in their lives, either for happiness -or for misery, is property. Mr. Galsworthy states of them that as -they watched the funeral of Queen Victoria, they felt that they were -burying more history for their money than had ever been buried before. -One of the Forsyte women loves the statement of Christ that "In My -Father's house are many mansions" because it comforts her sense of -property. Most of the conflict in the Galsworthy novels springs from -the reactions of the characters to this sense, and it is laboured -to the point of attenuation. The temperamental differences between -Soames and Irene Forsyte in "The Man of Property" are obscurely stated, -and still more obscurely stated in the dramatized version of their -relationship called "The Fugitive," in which Soames and Irene become -George and Clare Dedmond, and Bosinney, the architect-lover, becomes -Malise, the journalist-lover. It is true that the differences which -break a marriage are sometimes the result of fundamental things which -cannot be described with the clarity of the items in an auctioneer's -catalogue; but the business of an artist is to make obscure things -plain and understandable, and the success of his work depends upon the -way in which he impresses his readers with the vagueness and obscurity -of these things and yet at the same time makes them realize how -substantial they are. Soames and Irene Forsyte may not be able to say -why they cannot live together, but Mr. Galsworthy must be able to do so -and he must empower his readers to do so, too. A novelist gives a sense -of inarticulateness in a character, not by making him so inarticulate -that the readers cannot hear or understand a word he is saying, but -by making his inarticulateness articulate. The danger into which many -writers tumble headlong is that they will spend all their energies on -getting the details right and will leave the general effect obscure. -One sees signs of this in Mr. Galsworthy's work. He is so busy endowing -his people with a sense of property that he occasionally omits to endow -them with a sense of humanity. If one compares the Forsyte novels, -say, "In Chancery," with Mrs. Edith Wharton's latest book, "The Age of -Innocence," one discovers that in each case, the theme is concerned -with the institution of the family, with the tribal instinct which -makes the majority of minds seek identity rather than dissimilarity. -But in Mrs. Wharton's book, this tribal instinct is humanly expressed, -whereas in Mr. Galsworthy's it is not. I recognize Mrs. Wharton's -people as human beings, but I am sceptical about Mr. Galsworthy's -people. Old Mrs. Mingott, in "The Age of Innocence," has affinity with -old Jolyon Forsyte in "The Man of Property" and "The Indian Summer of -a Forsyte." (He is the most human figure in the Saga.) But the rest -of the cast in the Forsyte Saga has less relevance to humanity than -the rest of the cast in "The Age of Innocence," and the reason is, I -think, that Mr. Galsworthy has allowed his theory to get the better of -his people, whereas Mrs. Wharton, whatever her theory may be, has kept -her eye very steadfastly on human beings. The Countess Olenska in "The -Age of Innocence" has verisimilitude which is absent from the figure -of Irene Forsyte in "The Man of Property" or Clare Dedmond in "The -Fugitive." We can comprehend Ellen Olenska, but Irene Forsyte utterly -eludes us. - - -V - -One entertains oneself with noting how differently an experience -of life presents itself to Mr. Galsworthy from the way in which it -presents itself to Mr. Bernard Shaw. Mr. Galsworthy sends Falder, -in his play "Justice," to prison and flattens him out. Mr. Shaw -sends Margaret Knox and Bobby Gilbert, in "Fannie's First Play," to -prison and amazingly enlarges their lives. What utterly depresses Mr. -Galsworthy, stimulates and even exalts Mr. Shaw. If Mr. Galsworthy -tortures us to the point at which we wish to rush out of the theatre -and raze Wormwood Scrubbs and Pentonville to the ground, Mr. Shaw -causes us to feel that each of us might be considerably benefitted by a -sojourn there. Mr. Galsworthy sees a gaol as a place where thought is -destroyed or embittered: Mr. Shaw sees it as a place where thought is -provoked and clarified; and between them, a simple-minded person cannot -make up his mind whether to subscribe to the funds of the Howard League -for Penal Reform or to advocate penal servitude for every one in the -interests of Higher Thought. Adversity, says Mr. Galsworthy, knocks a -man down. Adversity, says Mr. Shaw, braces him up. The first statement -may fill a man with pity, but the latter is more likely to make a hero -of him. - - -VI - -I like "The Country House" and "Five Tales" and "To Let" better than -anything else that Mr. Galsworthy has written. The human sense is more -truly felt in these books than in any others that he has done. There -are few figures in modern fiction so tender and beautiful as Mrs. -Pendyce in "The Country House" and few figures so immensely impressive -and indomitable as the old man in the story called "The Stoic" which -is the first of the "Five Tales." The craftsmanship of "To Let" is -superb--this novel is, perhaps, the most technically-correct book of -our time--but its human value is even greater than its craftsmanship. -In a very vivid fashion, Mr. Galsworthy shows the passing of a -tradition and an age. He leaves Soames Forsyte in lonely age, but he -does not leave him entirely without sympathy; for this muddleheaded -man, unable to win or to keep affection on any but commercial terms, -contrives in the end to win the pity and almost the love of the reader -who has followed his varying fortunes through their stupid career. -The frustrate love of Fleur and Jon is certainly one of the tenderest -things in modern fiction. Mr. Galsworthy has a love of beauty which -permeates everything that he writes and reconciles his more critical -readers to his dubious characterization. I suppose the truth about his -work is that he has not sufficiently disciplined his feelings and, -for this reason, allows his sympathies with his suffering people to -swamp his judgments. He is, in every act and thought, a chivalrous -man, and his instinct is, not to examine the facts of a case, but to -rush instantly and hotly to the defence of the seemingly defenceless. -An artist is never indifferent to the wrongs of men, but his artistry -prevents him from making mistakes about the persons who are suffering -the wrongs. One's fear is that Mr. Galsworthy is inclined to allow his -philanthropy to take the place of his artistry. Even in that fine book, -"The Country House," he sometimes makes a formula or a trick out of -some fine, instinctive sentiment. In the fourth chapter of part II, Mr. -Pendyce, during a period of stress, treads on a spaniel's foot. - - - The spaniel yelped. "D----n the dog! Oh, poor fellow, John!" said - Mr. Pendyce. - - -Now, in those words, one has exemplified the acute penetration into -people's minds and emotions which is discoverable in Mr. Galsworthy; -but he is not content to leave the incident in its simplicity and -nature. Before we have reached the end of the chapter, that instinctive -utterance by Mr. Pendyce has become a rather threadbare literary trick -by Mr. Galsworthy. Mr. Pendyce treads on the dog again two pages -later, and Mr. Pendyce repeats himself exactly: "D----n the dog! Oh, -poor fellow, John!" And five pages later, he treads on the spaniel -a third time, and a third time he says, "D----n the dog! Oh, poor -fellow, John!" It is obvious, surely, that on the first occasion, Mr. -Galsworthy made Mr. Pendyce speak from his heart, but on the second -and third occasions he made him speak like a ventriloquist's doll. -One can find many similarly inapt things even in this book, where Mr. -Galsworthy keeps very close to humanity. Mr. Pendyce ejaculates, on -hearing that his son has gone after illicit love, "What on earth made -me send George to Eton?" when he himself had been educated at another -school. One knows what Mr. Galsworthy is here trying to do, to express -the love of tradition and custom which governs the life of such a man -as Mr. Pendyce, but he does not achieve the effect by such speeches. -The reader feels certain that whatever else Mr. Pendyce may have said -on that occasion, he did not say, "What on earth made me send George -to Eton?" Too many of his people make impotent gestures, and it is -remarkable that these important people are nearly always his most -idealistic characters. Such an one is Gregory Vigil in "The Country -House" who constantly clutches his forehead and tilts his face towards -the sky and generally strikes attitudes of despair until one begins to -feel that he is the weakest of weaklings. And it is extraordinary to -observe what havoc Mr. Galsworthy, ordinarily a very fastidious writer, -sometimes makes of the English language. In "The Man of Property" he -gives a detailed description of Mrs. Septimus Small in the course of -which he states that "an innumerable pout clung all over" her face, -and on the page immediately succeeding the one on which that queer -description occurs, he states that Mrs. Small "owned three canaries, -the cat Tommy, and half a parrot--in common with her sister Hester...." -We may, perhaps, pass "an innumerable pout" as an impressionistic -phrase, but it is quite clear that carelessness caused Mr. Galsworthy -to say that Mrs. Septimus Small owned "half a parrot--in common with -her sister Hester" when what he wished to say was that Hester and she -were joint owners of a parrot! He sometimes uses images which are -almost ludicrous. In "Saints Progress," we get this curious account of -an old woman in tears: - - - A little pasty woman with a pinched yellowish face was already - sitting there, so still, and seeming to see so little, that Noel - wondered of what she could be thinking. While she watched, the - woman's face began puckering, and tears rolled slowly down, - _trickling from pucker to pucker_.... - - -The italics are mine. - -It is his sincerity and his chivalry and his pity and his sense of -beauty, a little too conscious, perhaps, which, much more than his -powers of thought, make us read his novels and witness the performance -of his plays. These qualities tend to become obsessions in him with the -result that his sense of proportion and his verity are disorganized and -he is led into sentimentalities, some of which, on first sight, have an -impressive appearance which is not maintained after closer scrutiny. -In one of his plays, "A Bit o' Love," he makes the chief character, a -young clergyman, end the play with this prayer: - - - God, of the moon and the sun; of joy and beauty, of loneliness and - sorrow--Give me strength to go on, till I love every living thing. - - -That is a prayer which sounds impressive until it is critically -considered. It is not possible for a man to love every living thing. -There are certain things which he hates with his mind and certain -things which he hates with his instincts, and it is either very -difficult or impossible for him to control those hatreds. The best -he can hope for is the power to restrain his hatred from active -demonstrations. There are hatreds which he ought to possess, hatreds -which Mr. Galsworthy himself possesses in a high degree; hatred -of cruel men, hatred of oppressive men, hatred of men who promote -discord out of sheer devilish delight; but these hatreds are feeble -in comparison with the instinctive hatreds most of us have without -understanding why we have them. To pray for strength to go on until -one loves every living thing is, therefore, to pray for the moon, -and exalted desires which are insusceptible of realization become -banalities. There are times, in his anger at coarseness and cruel -insult and lack of pity, when Mr. Galsworthy attributes a degree -of ruffianliness to people which is lacking in verity. In "Saint's -Progress," he causes "two big loutish boys" to jeer at the old -clergyman, Pierson, whose daughter has had a war-baby without being -married. The two "loutish boys" shout after him, "Wot price the -little barstard?" Now, I simply do not believe that such a thing -happened or could have happened in London during the war. Cruelty -did not manifest itself in just that way, and it is here, I think, -that one discovers Mr. Galsworthy's chief disability, the fact that -his powers of observation are not so acute as one might reasonably -expect them to be. There is an old saying that the looker-on sees -most of the game--and there is some truth in it; but it is true -also that the looker-on may be totally ignorant of, or misinformed -about, the game, whereas those who are engaged in it have a fairly -comprehensive notion of what they are doing. Mr. Galsworthy gives -me the impression of being a looker-on at the game rather than a -participator in it, and although he is sometimes a very impassioned -spectator, yet he suffers from the disability of all spectators that -they are not clearly instructed in the principles and the prejudices -of the contest. He is praying for strength to love every living thing -when he should be praying for the power to distinguish between what is -lovable and what is detestable, between true things and false things. -There are few people who can depict the helplessness of dull men so -skilfully and movingly as Mr. Galsworthy can. I doubt whether any of -his contemporaries could so revealingly describe the state of mind -of a man, spiritually imperceptive and puzzled by his inability to -understand, as Mr. Galsworthy in his novel "In Chancery" has described -Soames Forsyte after he has obtained a divorce from his first wife. -The dumb animal bewilderment of this man, still in love with Irene but -utterly confounded by her complete revulsion from him, is done with the -most extraordinary penetration; and it is scenes such as this, which -cause his readers all the more to marvel at his obsessions and their -attendant failures. - -One rises from a consideration of his work in the belief that he -pities mankind, but does not love it. He is a spectator of our -struggles rather than a comrade in them. He stands at the side of -the road or perhaps on an eminence a little way off and watches the -procession as it goes by. We feel certain that if we are in trouble -he will display signs of sorrow for us, but we are equally certain -that he will never share our common qualities and faults. Rabelais -would have been self-conscious in the presence of Mr. Galsworthy, had -they been contemporaries, and Mr. Galsworthy might have despised, -would certainly have been uncomfortable with that foul physician who, -nevertheless, corresponded more closely to this various clay we call -mankind, would have known and understood more certainly the ups and -downs of human character, the mixture of coarseness and refinement, -of falsity and faith, of chivalry and treachery, of generosity and -meanness, of selfishness and unselfishness, of rare and common, than -Mr. Galsworthy is ever likely to do. Mr. Hardy, in a preface to "Tess -of the D'Urbervilles" declares that "a novel is an impression, not an -argument" and in those eight words has summarized the whole business -of story-telling. Mr. Galsworthy can tell a story very skilfully. His -technique is remarkable, as any one who has read "To Let" or seen -a performance of "Loyalties" can testify; but there are too many -occasions when he seems to have let go his hold on reality and to be -writing out of dim memories which are growing dimmer. His characters -resemble people who are hurriedly seen through a window by one who -is ignorant of their identity and anxious, chiefly, to be at home. -They are making gestures and their lips move, but the hasty footfarer -outside cannot hear what they are saying and he sees only the gestures, -incomplete, perhaps, but does not know why they are made; and because -he knows so little, he is likely to misunderstand all. I imagine that -when Mr. Galsworthy goes into a garden, his delight in it is dashed by -the thought that somewhere near at hand a thrush is killing a snail!... - -FOOTNOTE: - -[4] _Reminiscences of Leo Nicolayevitch Tolstoi_, by Maxim Gorki. - - - - -GEORGE MOORE - - -I - -I was in Dublin on the day when the news of the Battle of Jutland was -announced in such abrupt terms that most people imagined the British -Fleet had been irretrievably defeated. The affairs of the Abbey -Theatre, of which I was then in control, had been brought to a pause -because of the military regulations imposed upon the city after the -Easter Rising, and Mr. Moore, new from London, asked me to employ -some of my leisure in making a reconciliation between Lady Gregory -and Mr. Yeats on the one hand and himself on the other. I foolishly -consented to see what could be done, chiefly because of the innocent -wonder which I detected in Mr. Moore at the fact that any one could -possibly take offence at anything he might say, however revelatory -of private affairs it might be; and I spent some time in the pursuit -of peace. Lady Gregory declared that she had no feeling against Mr. -Moore because of what he had said about her in his trilogy, "Hail and -Farewell," but that she could never forgive the insults it contained to -Mr. Yeats. Mr. Yeats, endeavouring to think deeply about the Rising, -declared that he had forgotten, if indeed he had ever remembered, the -insults to himself in the trilogy, but that he could not pardon those -offered to Lady Gregory. Moore had broken bread in her house, and then -had gone away and made fun of her! Worse than that, he had belittled -her work. He had said that her plays were not great plays and that her -"Kiltartan" dialect was not the dialect of the people of Ireland, but a -tortured, unrhythmic invention of her own!... I proposed to them that -they should pool their pardons and receive him into the fold again, -but my proposal was not accepted, and so I set off from Lady Gregory's -lodgings in Dublin to tell Mr. Moore, staying in the Shelbourne Hotel, -of the failure of my mission. On the way, I encountered newspaper -boys, carrying placards on which was printed the news of the Battle -of Jutland. When I got to the hotel and was shown into Mr. Moore's -private sitting-room, I found assembled there, Mr. Moore, white with -anger and dismay, "A. E.," "John Eglinton" (William Magee) and the -late W. F. Bailey, a Land Commissioner, a Privy Councillor and a -Trustee of the Abbey Theatre, who had the most extensive acquaintance -of any man I have ever known. Mr. Moore was seated in the middle of the -room, looking very like a portrait of himself, facing his friends, who -were huddled together on a sofa in the shadow as if they were three -misbehaving schoolboys receiving a severe rebuke from their master. I -could not tell Mr. Moore at that moment of the result of my mission, -and in the excitement of the subsequent argument I forgot to do so, but -I doubt whether he was then in a mood to care whether he was forgiven -or not. - - -II - -It is several years now since that day when I heard Mr. Moore -haranguing Mr. Russell and Mr. Magee and Mr. Bailey on the Battle of -Jutland, but my recollection of the occasion is very vivid, partly -because I have a good memory for things which interest me (and none -at all for things in which I am not interested) but chiefly because -it seemed to me that on that day Mr. Moore definitely became an old -man. His age is not stated in the books of reference, for Mr. Moore -is as reticent as an actress on this point, but he is older than -Mr. Shaw, who is much older than Mr. Yeats or "A. E." It may seem -singular that he, so destitute of reserve in other and more intimate -matters, should be secretive on this, but I fancy that his failure -to publish the number of his years is due less to vanity than to -inability to believe that he is as old as they denote. Judged by the -rules of arithmetic his age is--so much; but judged by his feelings, -it is--much less. Facts are stubborn things, so we are told, demanding -acceptance and unquestioned admission, but Mr. Moore declines to accept -the fact of time: he ignores it. But on the day on which the news of -the Battle of Jutland was made public, the fact of time ceased to be -ignorable, and Mr. Moore, for the first moment in his life, yielded to -his years. He looked old and he talked as old men talk. There was a -note of panic in his voice, of frightened urgency, and he complained -bitterly of those who saw importance in a mean brawl in Dublin, but -remained indifferent to an event which might result in the destruction -of a desirable civilization. I doubt whether anything in the world -had ever until that day been serious to Mr. Moore in the sense that -loss and suffering and great grief are serious. I am certain that he -never understood why people were angry with him because of "Hail and -Farewell." The resentment manifested against him by Lady Gregory and -Mr. Yeats was to him incomprehensibly petty: the deeper resentment of -other people, more grievously wounded by his revelations which they -declared to be untrue, filled him with astonishment. The spectacle of -life was so much of a spectacle to him that he could not conceive of -it as anything else to others. He had made himself so completely, not -a participant in affairs, but an observer of them, that he had lost -the faculty of personal feeling. His interest in acts and motives -was so intense that he could not understand any one objecting to his -prying into the more entertaining of their private relationships. -Equally difficult was it for him to understand that they should deeply -disrelish the idea of having their affairs, intimate and even secret, -used as material for a book by Mr. Moore. Any human experience, he -seems to argue, particularly when narrated in his exquisite style, is -of value to mankind, and it must have seemed to him that there was -something, not only absurd, but also disgraceful in the objection many -people had to the publication of their private concerns. Had he not -paid tribute to privacy by omitting names or inventing others than the -proper ones? True, everyone knew who were the persons portrayed, but -was that his fault? And since every one knew already of the affairs, -what possible harm could there be in his putting them into perfect -and publishable prose? The objection raised by some persons that the -incidents narrated by him as facts were pure inventions was frivolous! -What was truth? Mr. Moore, like jesting Pilate, asked the question, -but did not wait for a reply: he published as quickly as he could. The -three volumes which make up "Hail and Farewell" are remarkable and have -much value, but it is necessary to remember that Mr. Moore has not -always been careful in them to distinguish between the historian and -the novelist, between the recorder and the inventor. There are many -dull passages in the trilogy, especially those in which he relates -his experiences with his kinsman, Mr. Edward Martyn, a charge which -Mr. Moore would not deny, but, on the contrary, proudly admit, for he -insists that dullness is a prominent feature of all great books. It -is only the newspapers and ephemeral books which are interesting from -beginning to end, he asserts--a statement which implies that Mr. Moore -has been happier in his newspapers than most people have. In this -matter of privacies, Mr. Moore was, and still is, the most complete and -consistent of communists. He believes in private property, but not in -private feelings. One imagines him, in the days before the Battle of -Jutland, asking in puzzled fashion, "What do you mean when you say you -_feel_ things? What _is_ feeling? Why should it ever be _private_?" -"This lady is in love with that gentleman who is not her husband! How -interesting! I shall write a book about their love for each other. -They may object! But why? Her husband's feelings!... Now, isn't that -absurd!" And so on. Miss Susan Mitchell, in a very entertaining, but -not entirely sympathetic book, entitled "George Moore," declares -that he seceded from the Roman Catholic Church because be objected -to the secrecy of the confessional. His sins, he considered, were so -absorbingly interesting that they ought to be publicly confessed rather -than confided to an undivulging priest. The flaw in Miss Mitchell's -argument is her assumption that Mr. Moore had any sins to confess!... - - -III - -But on this day when the news of the Battle of Jutland was announced, -Mr. Moore seemed, for the first time in his life, to realize that -men and women do feel and suffer and bear loss; and the discovery -instantly aged him. The War which had so teasingly disturbed the -amenities of Ebury Street became in a moment something more than an -irritating scuffle in the dark--it became an immense disaster which -might make amenities forever impossible. The solidities of life were -in process of dissolution. Literary style amazingly mattered less than -the power of the commonest guttersnipe to kill. Mr. Bernard Shaw, in -the preface to "Heartbreak House," exclaims, "Imagine exulting in -the death of Beethoven because Bill Sykes dealt him his death blow!" -in a rebuke administered to the people who rejoiced in the news of -appalling death-rolls among Germans during the War. But on the field -itself, Beethoven and Bill Sykes cease to be Beethoven and Bill Sykes -and become, each, a very frightened man with a rifle and bayonet and -a strong desire to live. In that dreadful encounter, Bill Sykes would -not be thinking to himself, "Here comes Beethoven, a great master of -music, by whom it will be an honor to be killed!" but "'Ere comes a -bloody 'Un who will kill me unless I kill 'im!" The perception of -what was happening in Europe, of the horrible reduction of Beethovens -to the level of Sykeses, of Shakespeares to the level of Prussian -drill-sergeants (for they had to come down to those levels if they were -to have any hope of survival) made an old man of Mr. Moore. He threw up -his hands and made submission to his years. I listened to him while he -talked volubly and bitterly to "A. E." and "John Eglinton" and "Bill" -Bailey, as people called him, and marvelled to find him displaying so -much emotion over the naval disaster and its probable consequences. He -had written a preface for his brother, Colonel Moore's life of their -father, in which he had romantically stated that George Henry Moore, -his father, had committed suicide because his heart was broken by the -dishonourable behaviour of politicians. Colonel Moore printed the -preface, but denied the statement about his father, to which, however, -George still romantically clings. An English newspaper, _The Observer_, -in its issue for Sunday, April 10, 1921, printed the preface which Mr. -Moore had written for a new book to be published very soon thereafter. -In this preface, he very interestingly described the way in which he -was educated, and in the course of it occurred this paragraph: - - - He was unhappy in the strife, for he loved his father; his father - was always, and still is, the intimate and abiding reality of his - life, and the evening that his father started for Ireland for the - last time is quick among his memories. George's father returned - from the front door to bid his son good-bye, and in obedience to - a sudden impulse he took a sovereign out of his pocket and put it - into the boy's hand, and went away to his death resolute, for he - had come to see that his death was the only way to escape from his - embarrassments, without injury to his family, and I can imagine - him walking about the lake shores bidding them good-bye for ever. - - -I suppose that if George Henry Moore were to rise from the grave and -deny that he had died by his own hand, his son and heir, George, would -murmur aggrievedly, "You know, father, you are spoiling a very charming -story!..." He is still sufficiently insensitive not to understand that -life is something more than material for the storyteller's art--he -may, perhaps have relapsed from the state of understanding to which the -Battle of Jutland brought him,--but for that time, at all events until -the news of the Battle was amended, George Moore knew what private -feelings were, even although he could not keep them to himself. "A. -E.," looking woolly and worried, seemed to be completely deprived of -his powers of speech by Mr. Moore's angry rhetoric. "John Eglinton," a -scholarly essayist and the sanest man in Dublin, having much respect -for, but no delusion about, the ancient Gaelic literature of which we -hear so much and see so little, remained customarily mum. Mr. Bailey, -nervously garrulous as a rule, uttered jerky, but inarticulate, sounds -to which Mr. Moore paid absolutely no heed. I discreetly sat in a -corner and did not make a sound. The words flowed steadily from Mr. -Moore's lips--hot denunciation of the Rising, contemptuous references -to Kuno Meyer, rebukes for "A. E." (discovered to have flaws) and a -tremendous indictment of German culture, with a proviso in favour of -German music, together with admiring references to France, to French -literature and to the French Impressionists, particularly Manet. A -waiter intruded into the room for some purpose and was ordered out -again.... - - -IV - -Of all that Mr. Moore said on that extraordinary occasion, I remember -most his sudden outburst into what he called practical politics. -He demanded the impeachment of Mr. Asquith, the restoration of the -Coronation Oath and the abolition of all dogs! The comic incongruity of -those three items in a plan to win the war was apparent neither to him -nor his three elderly auditors, or so it seemed, and I deemed it wise -to control my laughter. Mr. Moore declared that Mr. Asquith's inertia, -of which we were hearing so much then, was certain to bring defeat to -the Allies. One of Mr. Asquith's daughters had sat beside Mr. Moore at -dinner one night in London and had informed her neighbour that "Father -is bored with the War!" whereupon Mr. Moore informed her (or so he -said) that her father's boredom might cause the Allies to lose the War. -Mr. Asquith was guilty of more serious crimes than that: he had ruined -the Irish gentleman and delivered the country over to hobbledehoys and -low minded peasants. Not content with ruining Ireland, no longer fit -to be inhabited by gentlemen, fit only to be the country of publicans, -pawnbrokers, priests and politicians, Mr. Asquith had tried to make -equal ruin in England. He has abolished the Coronation Oath which, -until his advent, had always been administered to the kings of England -at their crowning. In this Oath, they declare their belief that the -Mass is an idolatrous ceremony, not to be acknowledged by reasonable -persons and likely to be accepted only by vulgar Papists. Mr. Asquith, -mindful of the fact that many hundreds of thousands of Catholics are -members of the British Commonwealth of Nations, decided that the kings -of England should not be humiliated and embarrassed at their coronation -by the compulsion to insult the faith of many of their subjects; and so -he introduced a Bill into Parliament to abolish the Oath, which was, -in due time, abolished. Mr. Moore seemed to think that all the evils -from which mankind has suffered since 1914 directly sprang from that -political achievement. - -As for dogs, these abominable animals, he said, are nuisances at any -time, but during a war and period of food shortage, they are a positive -menace to the country. He begged us to consider (a) the great quantity -of food consumed by dogs, (b) the amount of nervous irritability -brought about by their incessant yapping, and (c) the extent to which -they defile the streets. He threatened us with famine, insanity and, -finally, plague!... There is an English poet who is also a breeder -of bulldogs. Whenever he reads one of Mr. Moore's periodical canine -denunciations, he becomes so enraged that only the strongest efforts of -his friends prevent him from emptying the contents of his kennels on to -Mr. Moore's doorstep that they may there do their worst. The ambition -of his life is to see one of his bulldogs fasten its teeth firmly in -the calf of Mr. Moore's venerable leg.... - - -V - -All that has been written here so far will seem to support the -superstition that Mr. Moore is a trifler with life, that he is a man -destitute of serious purposes; but I am anxious to make plain to -my readers that this superstition is a superstition. His lack of -reticence about his own and other people's affairs and his perverse -incursions into what he imagines to be practical politics are obviously -responsible for the belief that he is what is called "a typical -Irishman," that is to say, a man without a sense of responsibility. -My experience is that "typical Irishmen" are generally discovered -to be Englishmen or Welshmen or New York East Side Jews--the late -Padraic Pearse, Mr. Arthur Griffith and Mr. de Valera correspond to -those descriptions--but it is undeniable that Mr. Moore, not without -deliberation, has helped to maintain the legend that Irishmen are -without a sense of responsibility. When, for example, during one of -the many Home Rule crises, he suggested that the trouble between the -two islands of Great Britain and Ireland might easily be settled by -intelligent engineers, many persons were of the opinion that a man -who could talk such twaddle, as they called it, in a time of much -difficulty ought to be imprisoned. The proposal, when the details were -disclosed, confirmed pessimists in their profound belief that the -unsurmountable obstacle to the solution of Irish affairs is the Irish -themselves! What Mr. Moore suggested was this: that a thick wall -should be built across the North Channel between the Giant's Causeway -and the Mull of Kintyre, and that another thick wall should be built -across St. George's Channel between Carnsore Point and St. David's -Head. These operations completed, the engineers should then pump out -all the water in the Irish Sea, fill in the resultant gap with earth, -and make one island out of two! He seemed not to have considered the -case of Liverpool. What, some one jestingly demanded, would become -of that great port when deprived of its "pool"? What also, he might -have added, would become of Belfast and Dublin, deprived, the one of -its Lough, and the other, of its Bay? Mr. Moore might have retorted -that what Ireland lost on Belfast Lough it would more than gain on -Galway Bay, but he preferred to remain silent. One could, of course, -draw a conclusion, packed with thought and judgment, from Mr. Moore's -playful proposal, and I do not doubt that such was his intention; but -the average person is either too busy or disinclined to draw such -conclusions from anything; and so, having glanced casually at the -details of Mr. Moore's plan to settle the Irish Question, he turned -impatiently away, convinced (a) that Mr. Moore was an incorrigible -buffoon, and (b) that the government of Ireland must ever remain an -unsolved problem because of the Irish people's amazing inability to -conduct themselves reasonably! - -But Mr. Moore has a serious purpose in life, and he pursues that -serious purpose with indefatigable industry. The immediate and -unmistakable fact about him is that he is an artist. There are few -writers in English, not even excepting Mr. Conrad, who have so much -power over words as is possessed by George Moore, and this power has -been achieved, as all power is achieved, by incessant labour and the -most pure devotion. He is, in the real sense, a self-made man. The -artistry that is undeniably his has been wrought not only in the sweat -of his brain, but in face of powerful obstacles. His position as the -heir of a fairly well-to-do landowner in Ireland might have resulted -in him becoming a minor poet, publishing tiny verses in tiny volumes, -or a small author of fragile essays about butterflies and pierrots. -He did, in fact, begin his writing career, as most reputable writers -do, by composing poems, but he speedily turned to prose. He actually -published verses in books entitled "Flowers of Passion"--a name which -incongruously suggests Baudelaire and Ella Wheeler Wilcox--and "Pagan -Poems," but, so far as I have been able to discover, no one has ever -seen these books or read the poems contained in them. The first was -published in 1877 and the second in 1881 and we may conclude that they -have been dissolved by the chemicals of time. Miss Mitchell, in the -book to which reference has already been made, states that "nobody in -Ireland has ever seen any of Mr. Moore's paintings except 'A. E.' to -whom he once shyly showed a head, remarking that it had some 'quality.' -'A. E.' remained silent." The poems remain under the same kindly -condemnation. The favourable fortune which might have made a minor -poet, and nothing but a minor poet, out of Mr. Moore was one of the -powerful obstacles to his becoming a master of prose. - -The other was the attempt made by his father to influence his mind. -In the preface from which I have already made a brief quotation, he -gives an account of his education at the Roman Catholic school of -Oscott. George, it seemed, had a reticence in his childhood which he -remarkably lost in maturity: he refused to confess his sins on the -singular ground that he had not got any sins to confess. He had not -then learned, seemingly, that he who has not got any sins to confess, -can easily invent a few. The story of this episode is fully narrated -in "Hail and Farewell," but in the new preface Mr. Moore summarizes it -and tells how his father was summoned to Oscott by the president of -the school "to inquire into his son's lack of belief in priests and -their sacraments." The upshot of the business was that the boy, "not -only the last boy in the class, but in the last class in the school--in -a word, the dunce of the school" was removed from Oscott for private -instruction at home in Mayo. "George's case is really very alarming," -the president wrote to his father, and the letter contained the -admission that he did not know whether George would not or could not -learn. - -It is exceedingly illuminating to observe how his prose style has grown -through a series of very diverse books into its present condition. One -of his most remarkable novels, as it is also one of his earliest, "A -Mummers Wife," was clearly written under the influence of Zola, but -with such individual quality that Zola might profitably have taken -lessons from his pupil. The difference between Emile Zola and George -Moore is that while Zola never forgot to be a doctrinaire, Moore never -forgot to be an artist. "A Mummer's Wife" was unaccountably banned by -the circulating libraries in England, and, such is the conservatism -of these remarkable institutions, that I believe the ban is still -maintained, although a generation has arisen which regards it as very -restrained indeed. The style in which it is written is somewhat arid, -and the reader is not carried forward by the flow of the story itself, -but is forced along by its weight. A comparison between "A Mummer's -Wife," or "Esther Waters," and such later books as "The Lake" or "The -Brook Kerith" reveals such a difference in manner that the critic has -some difficulty in believing that all four novels came from the mind -of the same author. Mr. Wells is a writer with many manners, but the -reader can discover a unifying characteristic, unmistakably Wellsian, -in all of them. Mr. Shaw, a more consistent author than most men of his -quality, has kept so closely to one level that the difference between -his earliest, his best and his latest work is merely the difference -of degree between growing powers, highest powers and declining powers. -The style in the novels, "Love Among the Artists," "The Unsocial -Socialist," "The Irrational Knot" and "Cashel Byron's Profession" -is the same style, under less control, as the style of "Man and -Superman," "John Bull's Other Island," "Heartbreak House" and "Back To -Methuselah." But in Mr. Moore's case the style of "A Mummer's Wife" has -no obvious relationship to that of "The Lake" or "The Brook Kerith." -The difference between the earlier books and the later ones is the -difference between the flow of a river through a canal and the flow of -a river through its natural bed. - - -VI - -"A Mummer's Wife" is a powerful story, told in a skilful and impressive -fashion, but it leaves the reader less conscious of life than of -mechanics. As a piece of construction it is a better novel than "The -Brook Kerith," but as a piece of literature it is not. The quality -of life is dusty and arranged in the early book, but it is alert and -vibrant and natural in the later one. One notable feature of "A -Mummer's Wife" is the display of knowledge by Mr. Moore of things -and of places with which one would not expect him to be familiar. -His acquaintance with grooms and horse-racing, manifested in "Esther -Waters," is understandable in a man who was reared in a country-house -where the language of the stable must have been familiar. But how did -Mr. Moore obtain his intimacy with the interior of a small draper's and -milliner's shop in one of the Five Towns in Staffordshire, together -with his knowledge of the details of life lived by a touring theatrical -company? Mr. Arnold Bennett's knowledge of the Five Towns and the -interior of a small shop is explained by the fact that he was born in -such circumstances in one of the Five Towns. Mr. Leonard Merrick's -intimate knowledge of the life of a travelling theatrical company is -explained by the fact that he was once an actor in such a company. -But how did Mr. Moore, the son of a prosperous Irish landowner of -aristocratic origin, acquire his close intimacy with the details of -such life? It is this aspect of the book which reveals the existence -in Mr. Moore of a high faculty which was absent from the mind of his -first master, Zola, the faculty of imagination. Zola made his novels -out of things actually witnessed or learned from books, but Mr. Moore -made his novels out of his own imagination. Zola could only write about -life in a small shop in a small town after he had actually lived in it, -but Mr. Moore wrote "A Mummer's Wife," with no more knowledge of Hanley -than a person passing through it might possess, and gave his readers an -impression of deep intimacy with it. - -This book, notable in itself, had a notable result. It was read by a -young writer, named Enoch Arnold Bennett, then engaged in journalism -and the production of semi-sensational novels. Bennett was a native -of "the Five Towns" district, born in a place called Shelton to the -north-east of the town of Hanley which is the scene of "A Mummer's -Wife." Mr. Bennett himself told me that until he read "A Mummer's Wife" -he never thought of writing about "the Five Towns." The Staffordshire -people had no literary significance to him until that significance -was revealed by "A Mummer's Wife." Mr. Bennett probably exaggerates -the extent of his debt to Mr. Moore. He would, sooner or later, have -explored the rich mine from which he produced the ore of "The Old -Wives' Tale" and "Clayhanger"--it is ludicrous to imagine that but for -the happy accident of reading "A Mummer's Wife" he would never have -done so--but it is not improbable that Mr. Moore's story brought him -to his proper milieu earlier than he might otherwise have reached it. -The reader can profitably entertain himself by comparing "the Five -Towns," the places and the people, of "A Mummer's Wife" with "the Five -Towns," places and people of "The Old Wives' Tale" and "Clayhanger." -The difference between Mr. Moore's account and Mr. Bennett's is the -difference between careful and acute observation by an intelligent -stranger, alien in birth and tradition and training, and the knowledge, -inherited from his forefathers and acquired in childhood and youth, of -a native. Mr. Moore had to "mug up" his subject, as schoolboys say, -but Mr. Bennett was born with most of it. The description of Hanley -in the first chapter of "The Old Wives' Tale" (where it is named -Hanbridge by Mr. Bennett) contrasts remarkably with the description -of the same town in "A Mummer's Wife," as does the description of a -pottery seen through Mr. Bennett's eyes in "Leonora" with that of -a pottery seen through Mr. Moore's eyes in the fourth chapter of "A -Mummer's Wife." These differences of description are, of course, the -result of a difference in temperament between the two men which is -perhaps most clearly revealed in the way in which they portray old -women in their books and deal with scenes of suffering. An intelligent -reader of "A Mummer's Wife" and "The Old Wives' Tale," having made -allowance for the fact that the first-named was written by a young man -beginning his career, and the second by a man approaching middle-age -and the apex of his power, could draw up a fairly accurate statement -of the character of each of the authors by comparing the figure of -old Mrs. Ede in Mr. Moore's novel with that of old Mrs. Baines in Mr. -Bennett's. The contrast between the scene of suffering pictured in -the first chapter of "A Mummer's Wife" and that in the first chapter -of "The Old Wives' Tale" would considerably assist him in making the -statement. The painful insistence on the details of the asthma which -afflicted Mr. Ede is in sharp opposition to the almost jocular fashion -in which Mr. Povey's toothache is described. Both books end with the -death of the principal figures. Kate Ede dies disquietly. One might -say that Constance and Sophia Baines also die disquietly. But there -is a difference in the disquiet. Constance and Sophia had had their -share of disappointment and trouble and had lost their illusions, but -at least they had had their fill of life, each as she desired it, and -if there had been disappointment, there had also been satisfaction: -the illusions were lost, but while they lasted they were agreeable. -Kate died before she had had her fill of life, without illusions and -also, which is worse, without agreeable memories. Youth insists that -life is either very gay or very dismal--and "A Mummer's Wife" was -written by a young man; but Maturity knows that the colours of life are -mingled rather than uniform, and that even when the end is a dismal -one, the journey to it has not been without moments of fragrance -and pleasure--and "The Old Wives' Tale" was written by a man in his -maturity. The similarities between these two books are as interesting -as their differences, and a close study of them leaves the reader at -once aware of very dissimilar personalities and with enhanced respect -for both of them. - - -VII - -It is when we come to such novels as "The Lake" and "The Brook Kerith" -that we discover Mr. Moore at his greatest. Zola is forgotten and only -the strength of Mr. Moore himself is now displayed. "The Lake" is -among the most beautiful stories of our time, a finely-conceived and -finely-wrought book, more complete and unified than "The Brook Kerith," -which, in spite of much beauty and scholarship, is marred organically -by a dispersal of the interest. The latter novel is in three sections, -the first dealing with Joseph of Arimathea, the second with Jesus, and -the third with Paul. Each of these sections by itself is well and even -superbly done, although in my judgment, the first of them is much the -best of the three; but the interest which the reader has in any one -of the three sections is not felt in the whole book because the three -great figures are not grouped together. We begin with Joseph and then, -at the point when we are absorbed in him, are hurried on to Jesus, -undergoing a similar experience with Him when we are hurried off to -Paul. The book is not a closely-knit drama in which the characters -constantly act and re-act upon each other, but is more akin to three -separate plays in which certain figures recur in greater or less -positions. Mr. Moore, in short, was uncertain whether to make Joseph -or Jesus or Paul the hero of his story, and he unwisely compromised -by making each of them hero for a portion of it, with the result -that each is of supreme importance for a third of the book and of -subordinate importance for the remainder of it. "The Brook Kerith" is, -nevertheless, a considerable achievement and is in itself sufficient to -secure a high place in English letters for its author. - -The legend is that Mr. Moore is a trifler with life, a man without -purpose, immensely egotistical, having some of the simplicity of the -buffoon. The truth is that he is an audacious, exceedingly adroit and -utterly unthwartable artist who bends the visible world to his purpose -of discovering and perfecting a formula of words with which to express -his vision of the invisible world. He has, indeed, a simplicity of -character, but it is not the simplicity of the buffoon: it is the -immense and dissolving simplicity of the man of genius. - - - - -BERNARD SHAW - - -I - -There is a kind of shy, embarrassed man of merit who cannot keep or -even reach to his proper position in the world without making some -sort of pretence about himself. Mr. Bernard Shaw is such a man. He has -created his legend with such extraordinary skill that those who know -him well have great difficulty in persuading the general public, which -has neither the time nor the intelligence to understand a man of marked -personality, to believe that the legend _is_ a legend, that the reputed -Bernard Shaw is not the real Bernard Shaw. The common notion is that -he has an insatiable craving for publicity, is immensely conceited and -self-centred, and does not care what folly of thought or conduct he -commits if by so doing he draws attention to himself. The truth about -him is that he is a shy and nervous man, singularly humble-minded -and sincere, very courageous and full of quick, penetrating wisdom, -and so generous and kindly that he may be said to be willing to do -more for his friends than his friends will do for themselves. He is -a Don Quixote without illusions. When he tilts at windmills, he does -so because they are _wind_mills in private ownership, and he wishes -them to be driven by electricity and owned by the local authority. In -print and on platforms, Mr. Shaw brags and boasts and lays claim to -an omniscience that would scandalize most deities, but no one who has -the ability to distinguish between sincerity and mere capering is in -the least deceived by his platform conceit. He is one of the very few -men in the world who can brag in public without being offensive to his -auditors. He can even insult his audience without hurting its feelings. -There is a quality of geniality and kindliness in his most violent -and denunciatory utterance that reconciles all but the completely -fat-headed to a patient submission to his chastisement; and his most -perverse statements are so swiftly followed by things profoundly true -and sincerely said that those who listen to him are less conscious of -his platform tricks than are those who merely read newspaper reports -of his speeches. This is largely due to the fact that the newspapers -print only his flippant and fantastic stuff, and omit his vital matter. -I have seen reporters at one of his meetings sitting with their pencils -loosely dangling from their fingers while Mr. Shaw spoke wisely and -deeply, and then, when he uttered some trivial or outrageous thing, -coming to life and hastily scribbling the jape into their notebooks. - -It is my purpose here to insist that Mr. Shaw is a shy man with a -large element of the gawky school boy in him so that he is awkward -and embarrassed when he comes suddenly into the presence of strangers -without having been warned that strangers are to be encountered. I have -seen him blush like a boy on finding people in a room which he had -expected to find unoccupied, and when one meets him casually in the -street he is at first nonplussed and without conversation or power to -do more than smile amiably. It is not easy to make this shyness of his -plain to those who have met him once or twice because he has remarkable -powers of recovery and can cover up his initial embarrassment with very -great skill; and also because his platform manners are very easy and -his general social manners are exceedingly gracious. He has made many -pretences in his life, but the one pretence that he has never succeeded -in maintaining is the pretence that he is a bad-mannered man. There are -stories told of him that seem to show him in a graceless, even cruel, -character, but these are no more than might be expected from a man of -nervous temperament who is being bothered excessively by the demands of -people who have no right to make demands on him at all. Against those -stories may be set far more stories of acts of exceptional kindliness -to those who are in trouble or in need of advice and encouragement. -Very few great men have given so generously of their time and strength -to helping young men of talent to obtain recognition as Mr. Shaw has -done. - -His awkwardness of manner when taken unawares is very different from -that of Mr. Yeats in similar circumstances. Mr. Shaw is shy and -awkward with strangers, but Mr. Yeats, who has never been shy in his -life, is only awkward. Mr. Shaw, because he is naturally gracious, -recovers himself more quickly than Mr. Yeats, who has cultivated his -graciousness; and it may be said of them that Mr. Shaw has the manners -of a man instinctively gentle, whereas Mr. Yeats has the manners of a -man who has practised deportment before a cheval glass. - - -II - -It is obvious that a man so shy and easily embarrassed as Mr. Shaw is -cannot hope to make a swift impression upon his contemporaries unless -he commits an outrage upon his own nature. A world which regards -modesty as a sign of incompetence, if not of actual imbecility, is -slow to recognize the real merits of a man unless he lays claim to -merits which he has not got. In the long run, the crowd pays tribute to -great men, but Mr. Shaw was anxious that tribute should be paid to him -immediately. Fame at the age of eighty offered few inducements to him, -and posthumous fame offered no inducements at all. He had something to -say to a world disinclined to listen to him, and he felt that he could -not persuade it to do so unless he first of all performed some unusual -platform tricks to catch its attention. Something of his principle -seemed to be in the mind of a tipster whom I saw on Epsom racecourse -before the war began. I was walking in the crowd on the course, which -the police were not yet clearing, when suddenly a very well-dressed man -in my neighbourhood seemed to go out of his mind. He whirled violently -round, uttered a fierce yell, flung an expensive silk hat into the -air and waved his gold-headed cane in a very disturbing fashion. He -then began to chant in a manner not unlike the way in which Mr. Vachel -Lindsay recites his poem on the Congo!... By the time he had finished -this performance, a considerable crowd had collected around him. I was -in the forefront of it, and while I was wondering how long it would -be before the police arrived to take charge of the demented man, he -recovered his sanity and proceeded to sell tips for the two-thirty -race. I bought one of them. I put money that was rare and precious -on the horse which he commended to my patronage. And the horse lost -the race!... Mr. Shaw climbed on to platforms and into newspapers, -shouting at the top of his voice, "I am better than Shakespeare" in the -hope that he might convince the world that he had any merit at all. -He performed tricks in public in order to make people believe that he -could think in the theatre. He wore comic clothes and refused to shave -and conducted a rebellion against evening dress and silk hats and -boiled shirts. He declined to eat meat, to smoke tobacco or to drink -wine. He said that he was an atheist and an immoral writer. He tried to -train his eyebrows into the shape which is called Mephistophelian. He -saw himself in the role of the Fat Boy in "Pickwick Papers" trying to -make men's flesh creep, and was disgusted to find that the Fat Boy's -most valuable asset, his obesity, had been denied to him and given to -Mr. Gilbert Chesterton, who would not make any one's flesh creep for -the value of the world! Finally, he announced that he was a Socialist. -His Socialism was not a platform trick: it was his serious faith; but -it became so associated in the public mind with his platform tricks -that he had only to say in public that he was a Socialist and his -audience would giggle as if that were the most amusing thing they had -ever heard. This habit of performing platform tricks undoubtedly drew -a large crowd to listen to him, and he did not fail to deliver himself -of his peculiar faith to that crowd when he had collected it; but -there were considerable drawbacks to his method of securing attention. -The crowd could never quite rid itself of the belief that he was "one -of those comic chaps." It admitted that he was a very clever "comic -chap," but firmly at the back of the popular mind was the belief that -he did not mean one half of what he said and was not entirely sincere -about the remaining half. It liked to see him performing in public, -and it paid large sums of money to hear him lecture in behalf of -causes that were abhorrent to it. Duchesses, for example, contributed -heavily to the funds of Socialist societies simply for the privilege -of hearing him speak, and duchesses do not love Socialist societies. -The crowd talked about him to a remarkable extent; it read his books; -it attended performances of his plays; it went to hear him lecture -... but it insisted that what was important about him was, not his -advocacy of this or that, but his power to excite laughter. When he was -most in earnest, the crowd said, "He's so witty!" and left the matter -there. That, perhaps, is why "Common Sense and the War" aroused so -much wrath in England. The crowd, accustomed to tittering behind its -hand or laughing outright at Mr. Shaw's wit, was disconcerted by the -serious way in which he dealt with the War in that notorious pamphlet. -It was so shocked by what he said that it professed to be indignant -that any man could cut comic capers at so awful a moment. Mr. Shaw was -not cutting any capers, comic or otherwise, but the crowd, trained by -him to believe that he was a comedian, could not believe that he was -capable of being anything else. That pamphlet, ill-timed, perhaps, in -some respects, was yet well-timed in this respect, that it reminded -the British people of their most priceless privilege, the right of -free speech. The whole of the British press collapsed before the Press -Censor, and editors were afraid to open their mouths about things which -were scandalous. Mr. Shaw restored the freedom of the press. He said -what he had to say and he said it with the utmost courage and force, -and within a week or two from the date of publication of his pamphlet, -the timid editors were rearing up their heads and daring to say "Bo!" -to the political geese. - -There were times, perhaps, when he seemed to be yielding to the mob's -desire to be tickled, when the one thing apparently that moved him -was his delight in making the crowd giggle and guffaw; and now and -then his friends felt that he was overdoing the tricks, that he was -monotonously informing people that he was "better than Shakespeare," a -statement that seemed as idle as if Anatole France were to say that he -was "better than" Victor Hugo, when in fact the men are so dissimilar -that there is no means of comparing them. But the danger, such as it -was, amounted to little, for when all the discount is made that can -be made for possible charlatanry in his character, there remains this -indisputable fact that he has left a mark on the thought and life -not only of the English-speaking world, but of the whole of Western -civilization, which cannot be eradicated. We may go to the theatre to -laugh at Mr. Shaw, but we remain to think with him. - - -III - -Oddly enough, there was another dramatist, also an Irishman, whose -practice was precisely the opposite of Mr. Shaw's: a shy, nervous man -who permitted himself to be cheated of a position of authority because -of his modesty. John Millington Synge was what Mr. Shaw might have -been had he allowed his nature to run off to dark corners and hide -itself. Synge could not compel himself to climb on to platforms or make -extravagant boasts. He may have had the desire to make boasts, but he -had not the courage to do so. An excellent comrade for an individual -on a country road, he was so nervous in the presence of an audience of -more than six people that he was in danger of physical sickness, and -he may be said to have died of sheer inability to assert himself. Had -it not been that Mr. Yeats was by to do Synge's boasting for him, the -world might never have heard of that singular man of twisted talent. -Mr. Yeats, indeed, boasted so loudly of Synge's gifts that superficial -persons began to believe that Synge was the greater man of the two, and -I remember on one occasion hearing young women, fresh from Newnham, -boldly declaring that Mr. Yeats's chief title to remembrance would -lie in the fact that he had discovered Synge! I have never been able -to convince myself that Synge was a great man of genius; it is not -necessary to convince oneself that Mr. Yeats is a great man of genius: -the fact is obvious. Synge was a man of peculiar and interesting -talent whose work smelt too strongly of the medicine bottle to be of -supreme merit. He was the sick man in literature, and he had the sick -man's interest in cruelty and harshness and violent temperaments. He -had the weak man's envy of strength and the weak man's tendency to -mistake violence for strength. His plays are better than Mr. Yeats's -plays--"Riders to the Sea" is immeasurably better than "Kathleen ni -Houlihan"--but Mr. Yeats is a greater poet than Synge was a dramatist. -I am disinclined to believe that Synge was a _great_ dramatist. He -brought a desirable element of bitterness and acrid beauty into the -sticky mess of self-satisfaction and sentimentalism which is known as -Irish Literature, but I feel that he was lacking in staying-power. He -shot his bolt when he wrote "The Playboy of the Western World," the -chief value of which lay in the fact that it ripped up the smugness of -the Irish people, than whom there are no other people in the world so -pleased with themselves on such slender grounds, and taught them the -much-needed lesson that they are very like the rest of God's creatures. -Synge portrayed the Irish people faithfully as he saw them: he put in -the element of poetry in the Celtic character, but he also put in the -element of cruelty; he put in the wit and generosity, but he also put -in the dullness and the greed; he put in the gallantry, but he also -put in the cowardice; he put in the nobility, but he also put in the -gross brutality. In other words, he saw at the same time the idealism -of Padraic Pearse and Thomas MacDonagh permeated by the incredible -brutality of De Valera's ruffians. He knew the delicate sense of beauty -which suffuses the poetry of Mr. Padraic Colum and he smelt the odour -of the charnel-house that rises from the work of Mr. James Joyce, -and had he been able to keep the two sides of Irish character justly -poised, he would have been a great man of genius; but he was not able -to keep the balance between them. He tended more and more to see merit -in cruelty and harshness, and he turned away from the sensitive and -delicate beauty of Mr. Colum to the sewer-revelations of Mr. Joyce, who -may fitly be described as Rabelais after a nervous breakdown. People -tell me that "Deirdre of the Sorrows," his unfinished play, is the -greatest of all the plays that have been written about that unhappy -and romantic lady; and perhaps what they say is true, for none of the -plays that have been written about her, Mr. Herbert Trench's or "A. -E.'s" or Mr. Yeats's, are in the great line, though all of them are -interesting. But judged by itself or in relation to plays generally, -it does not seem to me to be a great drama nor is it so meritable as -some of Synge's own plays of earlier origin. It marks to me the limit -of his range, and shows signs of drooping energy. Some may say that I -am attributing to failing powers what should be attributed to sickness -and the imminence of death, but I think I am dealing justly with this -odd intruder into the realm of letters when I say that his talent was a -small one and that had he lived for twice as many years as he actually -did live, he would not have produced anything of greater note than he -had written when he died. - - -IV - -Platform tricks saved Mr. Shaw from falling to the Synge level. Contact -with rude men and ruder women in public places kept him in familiar -alliance with normal things, and so it came about that his genius, -though it soared, never soared out of sight. He marched ahead of the -crowd, but he never went so far ahead of it that it could not catch -up with him. He urged reluctant men and women to follow him along the -paths that were obscure and difficult, but he never urged them to try -a path which he had not himself explored, or was unwilling to explore. -Not all of his advice was accepted ... not all of it was worthy of -acceptance ... but all of it, accepted or rejected, was listened to. -He would have found a readier agreement to take his advice if he had -been less logical in his arguments, but his mind governs his life so -completely that he cannot make any allowances for the wayward character -of the average man. He has given himself so completely to his mind that -his feelings seem to have atrophied. He is incapable, apparently, of -understanding the beauty and fascination of mere irrelevancy. A study -of his work reveals no consciousness on his part of natural beauty. He -seems not to know that a tree is a lovely thing, that its loveliness is -entirely without moral or sociological significance. He would probably -agree with Dr. Johnson that one field is very like another field, that -water in one part of the world is identical with water in another part -of the world ... and would be just as remote from the truth as Dr. -Johnson was: for one field is not like another field, and water in one -place can be very dissimilar in look from water in some other place. -Mr. Shaw would not suffer one pang at the destruction of St. Paul's -Cathedral if he felt that its destruction made the processes of life -more convenient to the ordinary citizen. If he had to choose between -Rheims Cathedral and an improved drainage system for France ... a thing -which France very badly needs, as any one with a nose can tell ... he -would choose the drainage system. The College of Cardinals is less -lovely in the eyes of Mr. Shaw than the members of a Borough Council. -He would rather possess a good fountain-pen than the first folio of -Shakespeare's plays. There was a man in Dublin who singularly resembled -him in everything except wit. Francis Sheehy Skeffington, who was -wrongly executed in the Easter Rising in Dublin in 1916, had Mr. Shaw's -logical faculty without Mr. Shaw's redeeming wit. He was a very honest, -courageous, and personally attractive man, just as Mr. Shaw is, but he -was also a very wrong-headed man and totally incapable of any sort of -concerted action with other people. Mr. Shaw's wit brings him into more -cordial relationship with other human beings than Sheehy Skeffington -would ever have achieved. I remember, just before the war began, -meeting Skeffington in North Wales. He, too, was insensible to natural -beauty and was without respect for tradition or ancient institutions. -I took him one evening to a lake in Anglesey where many reeds grew. I -asked him to watch while I clapped my hands, and when I had done so, -thousands of starlings flew out of the reeds with a great fluttering -of wings, making a tremendous disturbance because they had been roused -from their sleep. Skeffington gazed at these birds as if he had never -seen a starling before. I judged by the look of astonishment in his -face that if he could have persuaded himself to believe in magic, he -would have regarded me as a magician. By merely smiting my hands, I had -filled the air with fluttering birds! This experience so interested -me that I decided to make other experiments with Skeffington, and -so, on the following day, I took him to a field outside the village -where some very fine druidical remains were to be seen. I led him -up to the stones and waited to see what effect they would have upon -him. He looked at them for a few moments, and then, quite unmoved by -the fact that they had been standing there for more than a thousand -years and were all that was left of an ancient religion, he took a -piece of paper from his pocket and, murmuring in his high-pitched -Ulster voice, "I think I'll do a little propaganda!" thrust it into a -crevice of the old altar. The paper had VOTES FOR WOMEN on it! He was -totally incapable of understanding why this act of his disgusted me. -His mind was indifferent to such things as tradition; he simply could -not visualize those stones as anything other than a remarkably useful -hoarding on which to advertise his latest enthusiasm. I suppose that if -he thought of the druids at all, he thought contemptuously of them as -barbarians to whom had been denied the enlightenment that he enjoyed; -and his desperately logical mind, working on the fact that many persons -would visit these remains, suggested to him that here was an excellent -opportunity of thrusting his propaganda upon the attention of people -reluctant to give any heed to it!... - -I cannot conceive of Mr. Shaw doing just that thing because his wit -would save him from it; but I feel that if his wit were taken from him -or had been denied to him, he would have behaved exactly as Sheehy -Skeffington behaved then. It is his superb, spontaneous wit that keeps -him in continuous contact with normal men. Synge had no wit, and -because he had not, was thrust into solitude. Skeffington had no wit -... there never was on earth a man so destitute of a sense of humour -as Francis Skeffington ... and because he had not, he lived a life of -intellectual isolation from his fellows in spite of the fact that most -people liked him. Skeffington's courage and honesty ... and I have -known few men so courageous and honest as he was ... served him partly, -but not wholly, as Mr. Shaw's wit serves him. Mr. Shaw has great -intellectual courage and is a very honest man, but these qualities, -though they win respect in the long run, have an isolating effect on a -man in such a world as this, and were it not for his wit, he would be -an Ishmael, too. Take the wit from Mr. Shaw and the courage from Sheehy -Skeffington, substitute for them a fractious sense of beauty, and the -result is ... John Millington Synge. - - -V - -Mr. Chesterton has illustrated the peculiar quality of the English -mind by comparing the roads of France with the roads of England; and -the comparison might be used to illustrate the difference between -the mind of Mr. Shaw and the mind of the average man. Mr. Chesterton, -with that startling profundity that is to be discovered in much of -his writing that seems at first merely to be conjuring stuff, asserts -that the design of English and French roads, the first all winding and -irregular, the second straight as if drawn with the aid of a ruler, -shows a fundamental difference between the two races: the English as -wayward and casual as their roads, going lazily and easily to their -journey's end; the French as logical and well-defined as their roads, -going without any circumlocution to their journey's end. Mr. Shaw's -mind goes directly to its goal, and he tries to persuade the rest of -mankind to follow his example. But the rest of mankind does not wish -to go by the most direct route to any goal: it wants to dally on the -ways; it wants to explore all the little bye-paths and hidden corners; -it even wants to turn back on its course to examine again some place -that it has already seen; and above all, it wants to waste time. When -Mr. Shaw contemplates the world engaged in this careless way of living, -he bursts into a passion of wit where less gifted men, such as Sheehy -Skeffington, would burst into anger; and he lashes the world with -his tongue. Mankind, because Mr. Shaw is a genius, listens to him, as -mankind always has listened to men of genius, in a puzzled fashion, and -even speculates on whether it ought not to follow his advice; but it is -in the nature of man to be illogical, and so, after a little thought, -man goes on being wayward and casual. Even in France, where logic has -become an obsession, men are more illogical than Mr. Shaw would have -them be; and it is a very curious commentary on his work that in so -logical a country as France, his plays make far less stir than in any -other country in Europe. I imagine that the French are so cursed with -logic that their minds revolt from the extreme reasoning of Mr. Shaw as -an overloaded stomach revolts from rich food. Once, in France, when my -battalion was marching along a road towards a part of the country in -which we had been some weeks before, I heard a soldier in my platoon -saying to his comrade as we came to familiar places, "Thank God, -they've cut down those bloody trees!" and immediately I understood why -the French roads bored the British soldier. That inexorable logic, all -that neatness, those terribly straight roads with the trees growing -at regular intervals ... "dressing by the right" as the soldiers said, -and looking as if the men who planted them had performed the operation -according to some mathematical formula ... all these things, inhumanly -tidy and well-ordered, nauseated the mind. I have done much walking -on English and French roads, and I will wager that boredom will seize -the traveller on a French road long before his interest on an English -road has been exhausted. And in their unintellectual, instinctive, -wayward fashion, the English are more right about life than the French -are. Mr. Shaw, I imagine, is incapable of understanding the state of -mind of my soldier who thanked God that the neatly-arranged trees on -the neatly-designed French road had been cut down. To him it would -seem right that if trees are to be grown at all, they should be grown -according to formula. He sees something stupid and wrong in the English -method of planting an acorn in any hole that is visible and letting the -tree grow as it pleases. - - -VI - -In the chapter on Mr. Wells, I have printed an account of Mr. Shaw's -religious faith which ought properly to be printed here, but since the -reader can more easily turn to the next chapter than I can re-write -it, I will leave the account where it is and proceed with an account -of the latest developments of this faith as set forth in "Heartbreak -House" and "Back to Methusaleh." These two plays are notable for a -growth of religious conviction in their author which has brought him to -a condition resembling, in the eyes of some, that of John the Baptist -and, in the eyes of others (as I heard a clergyman of the Church of -Ireland angrily assert) that of a religious fanatic. They are also -notable for a weakening of technical skill as a dramatist. Mr. Shaw -has set himself so ably to the task of rejecting drama from his plays, -that unconsciously he ruins the effect of his lines by an excess of -garrulity. No one, reading and particularly seeing, "Heartbreak House" -and "Back to Methusaleh" can escape from the belief that Mr. Shaw is -using more words than are necessary to express his thought. Either -he despises us as people who are not sufficiently intelligent to -understand his meaning unless it is delivered to us in a variety of -sentences or he has lost his artistic sense and cannot understand that -a fine morning is not any finer for being described somewhat in this -fashion: "A fine morning is one on which the sun shines from a blue -sky in which occasional white clouds may be seen. _This_ morning is -such a morning as that. Therefore, this is a fine morning. What a fine -morning!" The whole of that extravagant speech, invented by me, not by -Mr. Shaw, is contained in the last four words. The rest is not only -excess, but insult, for it implies an ignorance in the person listening -to it which is not human. There are many passages in these two plays -which are not unlike that invented passage of mine. There is a passage -near the beginning of the second act of "Heartbreak House" which seems -to me to indicate a real decline in Mr. Shaw's sense of the theatre. -Ellie Dunn and Boss Mangan, to whom she is thinking of getting engaged, -are discussing themselves and marriage. He has just described himself -in terms which show that he is one of those financial ruffians who -are the modern equivalent, (not of highwaymen, for they were gay and -adventurous fellows,) but of slave-drivers: - - - MANGAN. ... Now what do you think of me, Miss Ellie? - - ELLIE (_dropping her hands_): How strange! that my mother, who - knew nothing at all about business, should have been quite right - about you! She always said--not before papa, of course, but to us - children--that you were just that sort of a man. - - MANGAN (_sitting up much hurt_): Oh! did she? And yet she'd have - let you marry me. - - ELLIE: Well, you see, Mr. Mangan, my mother married a very good - man--for whatever you may think of my father as a man of business, - he is the soul of goodness--and she is not at all keen on my doing - the same. - - -The parenthetical clause in each of Ellie's speeches is unnecessary, -and in the second speech, it has the effect of ruining a very good -"line." I assert, as a dramatist with some technical skill, that -Ellie's second speech, minus the parenthetical clause, will rouse -laughter every time it is spoken. I assert, with equal confidence, -that this speech, _with_ the parenthetical clause, will not provoke -more than a strangled laugh and may not provoke any laughter at all. -Mr. Shaw is entitled to reject laughter if he thinks it is likely -to destroy the thought in his speech, but no one can believe that -the parenthetical clause to which I object adds anything to Ellie's -thought. It is mere redundance, and redundance is destructive of drama. -It is also destructive of thought for a man is more likely to be -irritated than to be stimulated by hearing a thing repeated to excess. - - -I may, perhaps, note another matter of technical interest to the -student of the Shavian drama, namely, Mr. Shaw's economy in characters. -He has or had a strong sense of the theatre which is almost as strong -as that possessed by Mr. Galsworthy. The difficulty a critic has -in estimating Mr. Shaw's sense of the theatre is increased by the -wilfulness with which he rejects technique: one is not always able to -decide whether the lack of technique in the later plays is the result -of intention or weakness. Mr. Galsworthy is nearly the cleverest -technician now writing for the English theatre. He cannot think as -clearly as Mr. Shaw can, but he can construct much better. When Mr. -Galsworthy treats a theme dramatic in itself, such as the theme of -"Loyalties," and does not entangle the drama with arguments, he writes -an uncommonly good play. "Loyalties" has been called a "crook" play and -in a sense it is one, but the difference between it and such a piece as -"The Bat" by Mrs. Mary Roberts Rinehart and Mr. Avery Hopwood is the -difference between a crook play written in terms of reality and a crook -play written in terms of trick. When, however, Mr. Galsworthy treats -a theme not dramatic in itself, such as the theme of "Windows," and -entangles any drama it has with much argument, the result is something -extraordinarily diffuse and nebulous. Mr. Galsworthy leaves you with -a sensation, not only that you do not know what he means, but also -that _he_ does not know what he means. Mr. Shaw, in his later pieces, -leaves you with the sensation that he knows only too well what he -means, but he will never admit that you are capable of understanding -him. His economy in characters is a certain sign of his mysticism. Mr. -Yeats told me on one occasion that when Sir Horace Plunkett invited "A. -E." to take a prominent position in the organization of co-operative -agriculture in Ireland, Mr. Arthur Balfour commended the choice on the -ground that a mystic is the most practical of men since he is willing -to use any instrument that will serve his purpose, whereas your plain, -blunt business man, destitute of imagination and firm purpose, will -quarrel with his tools and end up by botching his job. The mystic, -moreover, serves his purpose more than himself, whereas your plain, -blunt business man serves only himself. Mr. Shaw's method of working -is singularly interesting as a demonstration of the way in which the -mystic achieves his purpose. I do not know of any writer who is so -thrifty with his means as Mr. Shaw. Shakespeare, compared with him, -is a prodigal and a spendthrift. Mr. Shaw, compared with Shakespeare, -is a miser, uniquely stingy. But it is not stinginess which has made -Mr. Shaw so economical in his characters and even in his situations. -It is his mysticism which makes him extraordinarily indifferent to his -means. Any old plot, however disreputable it might be, would serve -Shakespeare for drawing on to the stage a crowd of dissimilar persons -and enriching their lives with his verse; and any old character, -however remote from human semblance will serve Mr. Shaw as a vent for -opinions. Shakespeare primarily was interested in people. Mr. Shaw -primarily is interested in doctrine. The principal difference between a -dramatist who is interested in people and a dramatist who is interested -in doctrines, is that the former will delight in the creation of the -greatest variety of characters whereas the latter will not trouble to -create a new character if an old one will do. I doubt whether there -are more than twelve distinct persons in the whole of Mr. Shaw's work. -When he began his career as a dogmatist, he set himself to writing -novels, but found after he had written five, of which only four have -been published, that he could not use this instrument so effectively -for his purpose as he could use the instrument of the play. And so he -turned his attention to the stage. But he did not waste his novels: -he dramatised them. He lifted passages from his books and put them -into his plays. He took some of the novel-characters and, after he had -tidied them and changed their names, forced them from between their -covers on to the stage. There is little in the thirty-eight plays -he has written which is not to be found, developed or suggested, in -his four novels. He has preached one doctrine all his life, and has -preached it with singular consistency. It is set out in the succeeding -chapter to this one. The parsimoniousness with which it has been -preached is remarkable. The whole of the first act of "Major Barbara" -is almost identically a repetition of the first act of "You Never Can -Tell." Lady Britomart Undershaft, of the first piece, is Mrs. Clandon, -of the second, under another name. The situation of two women is nearly -the same. They are living apart from their husbands whom they have -not seen for a number of years. Lady Britomart and Mrs. Clandon have -each two daughters and a son with the haziest or no recollections of -their fathers. A meeting between the two parents and their children -is arranged, in each case, on a flimsy pretext. Lady Britomart, like -Mrs. Clandon, is one of those strong-minded, silly women who flourish, -nowadays, more commonly in America than in England. (She is the sort of -dense female who belongs to the Lucy Stone League and refuses to bear -the name of the man she has chosen to be her husband although she is -willing to bear the name of the man whom she did not choose to be her -father!) Lady Britomart, like Mrs. Clandon, has abandoned her husband -for a particularly fatuous cause. Mr. Crampton (for Mrs. Clandon -is really Mrs. Crampton) was deprived of his wife's society (which -was probably no great loss) and that of his children (which probably -was) because he very properly spanked his elder daughter when she had -been naughty. Lady Britomart left her husband because he declined to -change the basis of his armaments-factory in the interests of his son. -Her excuse for her behaviour was more natural than Mrs. Clandon's -excuse for hers, for we are all susceptible to the attractions of -primogeniture; but a more sensible woman might have achieved her -purpose in being less headstrong. Barbara Undershaft, her elder -daughter, is Gloria Clandon, a little older and less priggish. Sarah -Undershaft, her younger daughter, is a chastened and spiritless Dolly -Clandon. There is a difference, however, between Stephen Undershaft -and Philip Clandon so remarkable that I can only surmise that Mr. Shaw -in transferring the Clandon family into the Undershaft family mislaid -Philip and, in searching for him, discovered another youth, this -Stephen, who was the product of an illicit love affair between Mrs. -Clandon and the austere Finch McComas! Adolphus Cusins, the Professor -of Greek who beats the big drum in the Salvation Army so that he may be -near to Barbara, is Valentine, the dentist, dragged out of "You Never -Can Tell," after a brief and misguided career as John Tanner in "Man -and Superman." - -It is easy, I think, to trace the life of each one of the twelve -Shavian characters in this fashion. Consider, for example, the vivid -and very interesting career of that brutal ruffian, Bill Walker, in -"Major Barbara." Bill began his life in "Widowers' Houses" under -the name of Lickcheese and flourished so well as a speculative -property-owner that he was able to climb into middle-class society, -under the name of Burgess, and marry his daughter Candida to the -Reverend James Mavor Morell. His association with the clergy, however, -must have had a disastrous effect on him for we find him, in "Captain -Brassbound's Conversion," leading an adventurous, but misunderstood, -career under the name of Drinkwater. Religion had peculiar allurements -for Drinkwater, understandably enough when one remembers his former -association with his son-in-law, the clergyman, and we are not -surprised, therefore, to find him in the Salvation Army's West Ham -Shelter, now named Bill Walker and looking less than his years. He -suffers terribly from the spiritual garrulity of Major Barbara. The -reader who is familiar with the play will remember that Bill cruelly -misused a little Salvation Army lass, called Jenny Hill, who _would_ -keep on praying for him and turning the other cheek. He struck her -on the mouth and twisted her arm and almost tore her hair out by the -roots. She cried with the pain, but she went on praying for him!... -Then Major Barbara twisted Bill's heart for him as cruelly as he had -twisted Jenny Hill's arm, by preaching with terrible iteration the -doctrine of forgiveness and non-resistance. We know how Bill, at the -penultimate moment, escaped from the penitent form, but few of us -realise what happened to him after he had fled, precipitately and full -of bitter cynicism, from that Salvation Army Shelter in West Ham. Who -could have believed, after witnessing his behaviour in the presence of -Barbara and snivelling Jenny Hill, that Jenny Hill herself would be the -means of his undoing in the wilds of America to which he had hurried -under the name of Blanco Posnet? And here we discover a characteristic -example of Mr. Shaw's sardonic humour. For Bill was nabbed, not by -the strong Barbara, not even by the weak, though willing, Jenny, but -by Jenny's helpless, croup-stricken child. The lion is caught by the -mouse; the strong are brought down by the weak; a little child shall -lead them into a trap. God, in Mr. Shaw's religion, is not a just God: -he is a God determined to have His own way and entirely indifferent -to the desires of His creatures. If man will not help God to fulfil -His purpose, then God will destroy man and invent another and more -submissive instrument whereby He may do so. Such is the Shavian gospel. -In what respect does it differ from the most devastating and blasting -form of Calvinism? When I was a child in Belfast, I was taught that if -I persisted in being a wicked boy, I would be roasted for ever in a -red-hot hell. Is there any real difference between the Calvinist who -tells a child that he will be burned for all eternity and Mr. Shaw -who tells it that it will be scrapped for all eternity. There is one -difference, in favour of the Calvinist. I was taught to believe in the -All-Perfection of God. Even if I persisted in being a wicked child and -thus damned myself for ever, my relatives could comfort themselves -with the reflection that God would fulfil Himself in His own time. -Somewhere, somewhen, there would be "peace, perfect peace." But Mr. -Shaw's God offers no such guarantee. He cannot assure us, even if we -help Him by every means in our power, that He will ever become perfect. -He makes inexorable demands upon our service, but cannot offer us any -hope that our labour will not be in vain. Serve me without question -or be scrapped, says the Shavian God, but he will not assure us that -we are not being bilked. And is not the desolation of desolations a -religious faith in which there is no certainty and very little hope? I -prefer the romantic delusions of my Ulster forefathers to the practical -religion of Mr. Shaw. I dislike the thought that I may be roasted for -ever in a red-hot hell, but I like even less the coal-black nullity -with which Mr. Shaw threatens me if I persist in my evil courses. There -will at least be colour and excitement in Calvin's hell, but there will -be nothing whatever in Mr. Shaw's. And I am not sure, after all, that -God, Perfect or Imperfect, will not prefer to spend eternity in the -company of people like me who decline to accept life on any but their -own terms, rather than in the society of servile instruments. - -Mr. Shaw's thirty-eight plays are not thirty-eight separate plays but -one long, continuous piece, in which his twelve characters, in every -conceivable disguise and situation, strive to elude the hand of God but -are nabbed by Him in the end. Twist how you may, He'll get you in the -end, unless, indeed, He wearies of trying to make use of you, when, -inexorably, without a pang, He will cast you on to the scrap-heap where -you will perish utterly as your little brothers, the mammoth beasts, -perished long ago. - - -VII - -Mr. Shaw has some of Shakespeare's carelessness over details. I have -sometimes wondered why Claudius succeeded to his brother's throne when -Hamlet was alive to do so. There is an explanation of this curious -succession in Frazer's "The Golden Bough," but I do not suppose that -the facts cited by Sir James Frazer were known to Shakespeare and even -if it were, he has not made the matter dramatically clear. Hamlet -does not appear to resent his uncle's accession to the throne of -Denmark. His resentment is roused by the marriage of his mother to her -brother-in-law. He probably never liked his uncle, but he is willing -to live in his castle as his heir. Shakespeare was always ready to -sacrifice verisimilitude to dramatic effects. Ophelia, for example, -is denied complete Christian burial because the Church authorities -suspect her of having committed suicide, although the account of her -death clearly establishes that she was accidentally drowned through -the breaking of a branch. Hamlet, too, is unaware of Ophelia's death -or dementia when he arrives in the graveyard where she is to be -buried, although he has been in the company of Horatio for some time, -and Horatio is fully acquainted with the circumstances of Ophelia's -misfortunes and death and knows that there have been passages of love -between Hamlet and her. Very little trouble was needed to put these -minor matters right, but when a god is creating a universe, he is -unlikely to trouble himself greatly about specks of dust. Mr. Shaw -shows himself equally indifferent to details when they no longer -serve his purpose. He has been charged with spoofing his audience on -occasion, notably in the first act of "Man and Superman" where he -trumps up a case of impending maternity for shocking effects, and -then, his purpose achieved, says no more about it for the remainder -of the play! He brings the Undershaft family together in the first -act of "Major Barbara" in the pretence that they are about to discuss -important questions of family finance which are never once discussed -during the act! I do not believe that Mr. Shaw had any intention of -spoofing his audience when he invented these situations. He simply did -not bother about the details. He had used the effect for his purpose, -and since it was no longer serviceable to him, he scrapped it without -even troubling to clear away the debris--which, presumably, is what -His God will do with us when He no longer needs us. Less happens in -the first act of "Major Barbara" than in any other first act by Mr. -Shaw. It is a protasis from which all mention of plot is deliberately -omitted. Bottom, had he been at Mr. Shaw's elbow while the play was -being written, might have begged him to "grow to a point," but Bottom -would have had less success with Mr. Shaw than he had with Quince, for -Bottom's point was a dramatic one, whereas Mr. Shaw's is doctrinal; and -a propounder of doctrine pays little heeds to the laws of stagecraft -or anything else. The mystic gets his way because he can neither be -frightened nor disconcerted. Death and Tradition have no terrors -for him. That is why, in face of the opposition of common sense and -practical experience, he always does what he wants to do. - - -VIII - -One might profitably compare Mr. Shaw to Cassius in "Julius Cæsar." -Marcus Brutus, in that play, is surely the prototype of all muddlers -and gentlemanly idiots. It was he who, against the pleas of Cassius, -insisted that the life of Mark Anthony should be spared. It was he who, -disregarding the dissuasions of Cassius, permitted Anthony to speak in -the forum. It was he who, over-ruling the arguments of Cassius, ordered -the disastrous march to Phillipi. Cassius was the wise man of the two, -though his heart was made impotent by his asperities. The resemblance -between him and Mr. Shaw must not be drawn too closely, but it is -sufficient, as stated in Shakespeare's terms, to be interesting: - - - He reads much; - He is a great observer, and he looks - Quite through the deeds of men. - - -Cassius, of course, loved no plays and heard no music and smiled with -difficulty; and these disabilities prevent him from complete ancestry -to Mr. Shaw; but, if, like Cassius, Mr. Shaw sometimes feels that -he has lived "to be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus," he can, -like Cassius again, comfort himself with the thought that he was in -the right when Brutus was in the wrong, and that he told him so. His -Cassius mood is plainest in "Heartbreak House." This play is described -as "a Fantasia in the Russian manner on English themes," and was -written, presumably, after Mr. Shaw had witnessed performances of plays -by Chekhov. That is not to say, however, that there is any resemblance -between the work of Mr. Shaw and the Russian dramatist. There isn't. -Mr. Shaw is as talkative as Chekhov was reticent. Chekhov's purpose -is to make his people say as little as possible: Mr. Shaw's purpose -is to make his people say a great deal more than necessary. Chekhov -suggests _inactivity_ through dialogue: Mr. Shaw suggests through -argumentativeness. Chekhov writes drama: Mr. Shaw debates. No receptive -person can come away from a performance of "The Cherry Orchard" -unimpressed by a vision of life. A moderately-intelligent person, -having seen this play with eyes of understanding, could write a true -summary of the state of Russia in the last hundred years. I doubt -whether as much can be said of "Heartbreak House," the whole action -of which (though _action_ is an inappropriate word to use about it) -takes place in the course of an afternoon and evening, inside six or -seven hours, in England soon after the outbreak of the War. There is, -however, no mention of the War in the play, and the only link between -them is the sudden interruption of the conversation in the last act by -an air-raid, as a result of which two of the characters are blown to -pieces. There is some clumsiness in the use of this device for ending -the play, artistically at all events, though that is a consideration -which is unlikely to move Mr. Shaw much, but, ethically and socially, -it is not clumsy at all, for "Heartbreak House" is less a play than -a parable. The bombs drop as suddenly, and with as little warning, -on the gifted conversationalists sitting in the dusky garden as the -War burst upon Europe in 1914. There we were, all of us, living -pleasantly, as Burke begged us to live, and committing our affairs into -the hands of men concerning whose abilities to conduct them we had no -certificates--and suddenly the ship ran on to the rocks, the train went -off the rails, the ceiling fell. "I'm always expecting something," -says Ellie Dunn in the last act. "I don't know what it is; but life -must come to a point some time." And while she and her companions are -arguing about the responsibility for the mess in which the world is, -bombs drop out of heaven and life comes to a full stop: - - - HECTOR: And this ship that we are all in? This soul's prison we - call England? - - CAPTAIN SHOTOVER: The captain is in his bunk, drinking bottled - ditch-water; and the crew is gambling in the forcastle. She will - strike and sink and split. Do you think the laws of God will be - suspended in favour of England because you were born in it? - - HECTOR: Well, I don't mean to be drowned like a rat in a trap. I - still have the will to live. What am I to do? - - CAPTAIN SHOTOVER: Do? Nothing simpler. Learn your business as an - Englishman. - - HECTOR: And what may my business as an Englishman be, pray? - - CAPTAIN SHOTOVER: Navigation. Learn it and live; or leave it and - be damned. - - -In other words of Mr. Shaw's, if you do not help God to perfect -Himself, He will scrap you. This play, in some respects the best that -Mr. Shaw has written, is full of mad laughter, of bitter, self-mocking, -torturing laughter. I knew a man who burst into shrieks of laughter -when he saw a comrade blown into the air by a German shell; but if -any one imagines that that man's terrible mirth came from an unkindly -heart, he imagines without understanding; for "even in laughter the -heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness." I feel -about "Heartbreak House" exactly as I felt about my friend who laughed -when his comrade was blown up and dismembered: that here is a depth -of feeling which cannot be fathomed. Like Job, Mr. Shaw cries out, -"changes and war are against me," but, unlike Job, he finds no comfort -in the end. "If men will not learn until their lessons are written -in blood, why, blood they must have, their own for preference." As -for him, he throws up the sponge. Our culture is but the plaything of -fribbles; our democracy is merely government of fools by fools. "The -question is," said Boswell to Dr. Johnson and Mr. Cambridge, "which is -worst, one wild beast or many?" And the answer, in Mr. Shaw's terms, -is "Both!" He sees man, according to this play, refusing to help God -to perfect Himself, deliberately thwarting God, and he almost sees him -already on the scrap-heap. - - -In "Back to Methusaleh," he seems to me to have suffered a spiritual -set-back, and to be preoccupied by material considerations. We are -no longer concerned with Man's destiny and God's purpose, but with -matters of mere longevity. "So much to do--so little time in which to -do it!" If man could live for three hundred or three thousand or thirty -thousand years, he would then have time in which to profit by his -experience--so Mr. Shaw's argument seems to run. But would he? Do any -of us profit by our experience? If we could go back to the beginning of -our lives and start again with the knowledge we had acquired in the -previous existence, we might be able to avoid this or that mistake. -But we cannot do that. Each experience is a new one, and the wisdom we -have gained from those through which we have passed is of little help -to us in dealing with the new one, particularly if it comes upon us, -as most of the critical events of life do come upon us, unexpectedly, -without warning. There is not much difference, except physically, -between the Mr. Shaw who wrote "Candida" and the Mr. Shaw who wrote -"Back to Methusaleh," and I do not believe that he would be much, if -any different, at the age of three hundred or thirty thousand from what -he now is. Man may develop this or that aspect of himself more than -another, but essentially he remains the same. It is not length of years -that is important to us, but what we do in them. Keats and Shelley were -young when they died: Tennyson was old; but the length of their years -seems immaterial to their reputation. Mr. Shaw tells us that if we -_will_ hard enough, we can achieve longevity, but, apart from the fact -that longevity first happens in his play to people who have not willed -it, but had it thrust upon them, I am puzzled to understand how Mr. -Shaw expects mankind to will a state of existence which, portrayed by -him, is extraordinarily repellent. I do not wish to be born at the age -of seventeen out of an egg so that I may become a He-Ancient and live -for thousands of years in a state of inactive ratiocination. And if a -life of thought without action does not attract my fancy, how can I be -expected to aspire to it? I cannot find anything in the long lives of -Mr. Shaw's characters which seems to me likely to excite the desire and -hope of mankind. The He-Ancients and the She-Ancients are morose and -sterile, ugly and unsociable, hairless and unhappy, liable to death by -discouragement, long, lean and hopeless. I would rather be scrapped!... -Nor is there any greater virtue in the long-lived than there is in us. -In "The Tragedy of an Elderly Gentleman" (the fourth act of "Back to -Methusaleh") where mankind is divided into two classes, the long-lived -and the short-lived, we discover that the long-lived spend their three -hundred years of existence in humbugging the short-lived.... Man that -is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. -He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower: he fleeth as it were a -shadow, and never continueth in one place; but, in spite of his misery -and the shortness of his life, he gets more fun and satisfaction than -are likely to be enjoyed by man that is born out of an egg. - - -IX - -I remember very vividly the first occasion on which I saw and heard Mr. -Shaw. He was lecturing on "Some Necessary Repairs to Religion" to a -religious organization, now defunct, called "The Guild of St. Mathew." -His lecture was extraordinarily startling to a young man, fresh from -Belfast and still influenced by his fathers' faith, although in revolt -against much of it. When the lecture was over, a lady asked him to say -what his belief was about the Resurrection, and he replied, that if she -would promise not to tell any one, he would say that he did not believe -it ever took place. And then came one of those strange lapses from -serious argument which are characteristic of him. Another questioner -asked him if he believed in the Immaculate Conception. "Of course I -do," he said. "I believe that all conceptions are immaculate!" The -questioner was so paralysed by this reply that she sat down without -pointing out to him that the Catholic Church believes in the Immaculate -Conception on the assumption that all conceptions are not immaculate. -On many occasions, Mr. Shaw has brilliantly dodged the point in that -manner; but they are not occasions that need be remembered against -him. Ever and always he has given his best and hardest thought to the -service of mankind. He has practiced what he preaches, and if we are -thrown on the scrap-heap, it will not be because Mr. Shaw has failed to -do his uttermost to help God to realise Himself. What a shock it will -be to him to find that the scrap-heap is a more likeable place than his -God's heaven! - - -X - -He is greatly generous to young men. Like most of my contemporaries I -have imposed upon his good nature very often. I sent "Jane Clegg" and -"John Ferguson" in manuscript to him and asked him if he would read -them and tell me what his opinion of them might be. Probably a dozen -or more young men were doing exactly the same thing with their MSS. -He could spend the whole of his time reading other men's plays, if he -were to let his good nature go uncontrolled. But he read my plays and -wrote long, valuable letters of advice about them to me. I hesitate to -mention this fact lest it should cause an avalanche of MSS. to fall -upon him, but I am trying to draw his portrait, and unless I mention -his generosity to young men, the portrait will not be a faithful one. -I am under personal obligations to him of many sorts, and I do not -know of any man who so freely helps his friends and says so little -about it. He is now sixty-six years old, but there are no signs of age -about him other than the fact that his hair and his beard, once red, -have turned white. He still has the mind and eagerness of a young man. -His walk is as springy and alert as it was when I first knew him, as -I am sure it has always been. When I see him in the street sometimes, -tall, lean, very tidy and almost foppish in an unusual way, walking -with great assurance and ease, examining now and then his very shapely -hands, and gazing about him with that queer, quizzical, kindly look in -his pleasant eyes that is so significant of him, I feel that although -he is thirty years older than I am, according to the official records, -he is, in spirit, thirty years younger. He will never be old. If he -lives to be a centenarian, he will still be talking like a young man; -and perhaps it is his extraordinary youth and vitality, as much as his -disrespect for established things, that draws young men inevitably to -him. His fearless, challenging spirit attracted all those who were -in revolt against stagnant beliefs; and even now, when the multitude -seems to have caught up with him and his views are less startling -than they were a few years ago, he still stimulates the minds of the -young and the eager and sends them bounding forward. "You should so -live," he once said, "that when you die, God is in your debt!" He -bids men and women strive to put more into the common pool than they -take out, and he asserts with something like moral fury that any one -who is taking more from the common pool than he puts in, is cheating -both God and man. There are querulous persons who say that his work -will not live. Their forefathers probably said that Shakespeare's work -would not live, that Cervantes's work would not live, that Fielding's -work would not live, that Dickens's work would not live; and no doubt -they produced sound arguments to support their faith. Who could have -believed that "Don Quixote," a mere skit on contemporary novelettes, -would win universal favor, or that "Pickwick Papers," mere verbiage -for a set of pictures drawn by a popular artist, would live? Yet these -local, topical, and very contemporary things will not perish. Mr. Shaw -has indisputably affected the thoughts and lives of thinking men and -women on two continents for thirty years. He is a very daring fellow -who asks us to believe that this brilliant, original, forceful mind -will not continue to affect the thoughts and lives of men and women for -generations to come. - - - - -H. G. WELLS - - -I - -There are men, such as Dr. Johnson, who are mentally active and -physically torpid, and there are other men, such as Mr. Jack Johnson, -who are very alert physically, but not quite so alert in their minds. -It seldom happens that a man combines great physical energy with great -intellectual energy. Such a man is Mr. Bernard Shaw. So is Mr. H. G. -Wells. I imagine that Mr. Wells is more active, both in body and in -mind, than Mr. Shaw, despite the fact that the latter is the slender -man of the two and that his tongue works more rapidly in conjunction -with his brain; for Mr. Shaw feels fatigue sooner than Mr. Wells. -I doubt whether Mr. Wells suffers from fatigue at all or to any -serious extent. He takes few, if any, holidays, works for many hours -every day, plays games very assiduously, and is unhappy if he has -not got some work on hand. He begins to write a new book immediately -he has completed its predecessor, having no belief, seemingly, in -fallow time. When he is not working or playing, he is talking. His -conversation has a curious resemblance in its shape, if I may use -that word, to the style of his writing. One listens for the suspended -sentence, for the dots with which, in his prose, he breaks a thought so -that the reader may himself complete it. Mr. Shaw once told me that he -could not work at creative writing for more than two hours every day, -and I suspect that he suffers more from physical fatigue than he will -admit. Mr. Wells works for considerably more than two hours every day -(and sometimes during the night) though I do not suppose he works for -two consecutive hours at any time. If you are a guest in his house, you -will see him engaged in some game, tennis or hockey or that wild game -of his own invention, "barn-ball," or perhaps playing demon patience; -and when you are inclined to imagine that he is settling down to a long -day of games, you discover that he is no longer with the players, but -back in his study working on a manuscript. - -One expects a certain amount of sluggishness in every man, and probably -there are days when Mr. Wells's mind and body go to sleep or lie about -supine, but I do not believe that any one has ever seen him asleep or -supine. His mind is so active that one can almost see ideas leaping -off his tongue as he talks, and he has a very remarkable capacity for -engaging the attention of his auditors without making any perceptible -effort to do so. His conversation, unlike that of Mr. Yeats or Mr. -George Moore, is unrehearsed conversation. It has not the swift -brilliance of Mr. Shaw's talk, and it goes to its point rather jerkily, -but it reaches its destination. He is not so easily distracted from his -course as Mr. Gilbert Chesterton is, or perhaps I ought to say that he -does not take so long to get to his destination. Mr. Chesterton seems -to me to be falling with great amiability on his subject, whereas Mr. -Wells is eagerly struggling up to it. Mr. Chesterton defers to others -with great courtesy, but his mind, I imagine, is already made up. He -listens to a controversialist, not because he thinks he is likely to be -converted to an opposite opinion--he is fairly certain that he will not -be converted--but because he has excellent manners and an exceptionally -kindly character. It is hard to believe that any man of merit is -without some malice in his nature, some element of cattishness, but -if there is a man of merit without these things then that man is Mr. -Chesterton. If he could bring himself to throttle the creature he -most detests, the international financier, the man without a country, -he would, I am sure, do so entirely without prejudice. Mr. Wells -listens, not out of politeness, but in the hope that he will receive -information, and this hope of his causes him to listen very patiently -even to bad or inexpert talkers. He has the additional merit, rare -among men of genius, of being an uncommonly good host, very punctilious -about the comfort and pleasure of his guests. He is a sociable man, -mingling easily with very various people, gregarious where Mr. Yeats -and Mr. Shaw are solitary, and he is instinctively friendly. His -hospitality is lavish and with something of the Dickensian tradition -in it. He has none of the chilly aloofness of Mr. Yeats nor of the shy -constraint of Mr. Shaw nor of the nervous coldness of Mr. Galsworthy. -Were it not for a degree of cruelty in his nature, I should say that -Mr. Chesterton and he were as near to each other in temperament as any -two men of merit can be. It is this strain of cruelty in him which -makes him so attractive when he loses his temper, for he seems only to -be witty when he is about to hit some one very severely on the head. -I do not know any man who can lose his temper in print with so much -effect and so entertainingly as Mr. Wells can lose his. He is hardly a -witty man, as Mr. Shaw and Mr. Yeats and even Mr. Gilbert Chesterton -are witty men, but he has a neat, malicious humour which delights him -as much as it delights his friends, and is most often displayed when he -is attacking some one. - - -II - -If a writer wished to create a character who would most aptly personify -the past thirty years of English or of world history, he would have -to create a character very like Mr. Wells: a questioning, variable, -demanding person, with some impatience and testiness of temper, with, -at times, a fantastic and wayward manner, but always superimposed on -these superficialities, an eager and unthwartable desire for a true -belief. Mr. Chesterton said of him once that "you lie awake at night -and hear him grow," and fundamentally that is true, in spite of the -temptation one has at times to believe that one lies awake at night -and merely hears him changing his mind. One could, were one silly -enough to do so, construct a plausible indictment of Mr. Wells of -hurriedly accepting a belief and as hurriedly rejecting it; but to do -so would be to charge oneself with a superficial mind. Mr. Wells, in -his eagerness to discover a reasonable and sane society in which the -spirit of man may grow and develop and achieve, has sometimes accepted -a theory too swiftly, but his scientific mind has come, sooner or -later, to the rescue of his eager heart and has caused him to reject -proposals which he had previously found acceptable. - -In "First and Last Things" he decides against the community of -austere aristocrats who won his advocacy in "A Modern Utopia." The -self-disregard of the Samurai of Japan had pleased him as it must -please all who contemplate it, and he imagined a state in which -the best men would govern "the average, sensual men," formulating -their laws and doctrines from the sanctuary of a sort of monastic -establishment in which their fleshly desires would be chastened and -perhaps eliminated. Mr. Wells, having felt the allure of a select -company of selfless aristocrats, devoting themselves to the good -government of less gifted men, soon discovered that good government -cannot be administered by men who are remote from the emotions and -desires of the governed and so, with characteristic courage, he -abandoned his Samurai and boldly marched into the company of the crowd. -Can any one find ground for sneering in such behaviour as that? Are not -those who try to find solutions to puzzles more likely to be successful -in their efforts because Mr. Wells has offered one solution and then, -finding it useless, repudiated it and tried another? - -There was a time when he saw hope for the world in the establishment -of a universal language, but I doubt whether he holds to that hope -now. A common speech does not keep men at peace any more than a common -purpose does, and, in any event, man's incorrigible habit of localizing -universal things until they cease to be universal tends in time to -make a common speech an impossible possession. The Catholic Church has -a common speech in the Latin tongue, but an Italian priest can preach -to an English priest in that language and remain incomprehensible. -The British and the American people have a common speech, but it has -become so permeated with local words that very often the two races are -unintelligible to each other, apart altogether from the difficulty of -accent. - -Mr. Wells has plunged into a few bog-holes of that sort, but he has -always extricated himself from them, and less and less, as he develops, -does he insist upon uniformity and machinery, and more and more does -he insist on diversity and spirit. "Let us be Catholics in this great -matter," Mr. Birrell writes on Browning's poetry, "and burn our candles -at many shrines. In the pleasant realms of poesy, no liveries are worn, -no paths prescribed; you may wander where you will, stop where you -like, and worship whom you love. Nothing is demanded of you, save this, -that in all your wanderings and worships, you keep two objects steadily -in view--two, and two only--truth and beauty." It may fairly be said of -Mr. Wells that in all his "wanderings and worships" he has tried to do -so. - - -III - -There is a photograph of Mr. Bernard Shaw and Mr. H. G. Wells, taken -by an American photographer, Mr. Alvin Langdon Coburn, in which the -two men are shown sitting side by side. It is the most illuminating -interpretation of their characters that I have ever seen. Mr. Shaw, -with something of the look of a prophet, sits beside Mr. Wells who has -a smile of disbelief on his face; Mr. Shaw shows a countenance full of -faith, while Mr. Wells shows one full of inquiry. Mr. Shaw accepts the -pose quite naturally, but Mr. Wells is deprecating. I felt when I saw -that photograph in Mr. Wells's study that while Mr. Shaw accepted the -status of a great man as his right, Mr. Wells felt uncomfortable about -the pose, not because he doubts his right to be regarded as a great -man, but because he is reluctant to live on pedestals. "I'm human just -as much as you are," he seems to be saying to the photographer, and -the smile of deprecation on his face means, if it means anything, that -while Mr. Shaw accepts the great man's altitude without a qualm, Mr. -Wells feels that the whole thing is humbug. "Shaw is taken in by this -Great Man business," the Wells of the photograph says as plainly as if -the picture were to take life and utter words, "but don't you imagine -I'm deluded by it!..." - -These two men, one Irish, one English, George Bernard Shaw and Herbert -George Wells, between them have done more to influence the minds -of the young men of my generation than any other two men of their -time. Their attitude towards life may, perhaps, be summarized in an -account of the way in which they interpret the doctrine of Evolution. -Mr. Shaw believes that the Life Force, which ordinary men call God, -is an Imperfect Thing seeking to make Itself Perfect. How, when you -contemplate the miseries and inequalities and cruelties of existence, -can you believe in an All-Powerful God? he says. You must believe -that these horrible things happen because God cannot prevent them -from happening. The blind-alley argument that the Almighty inflicts -pain upon us for our good is insupportable when one considers that an -earthly father would not subject his child to convulsions or cause a -cancer to consume its life or endow it with a cruel disposition if such -things were within his powers of disposal. If, one reasonably argues, -an earthly father is incapable of such acts, how less likely is God -to be capable of them if He be All-Powerful and All-Good? Since these -inexplicable cruelties and horrors occur and recur, surely, argues -Mr. Shaw, it is only common sense to assume that they do so in spite -of God's good will towards man. Starting from this premise, he goes on -to argue that God seeks to obtain that control over material things -which He has not yet succeeded in obtaining. He imagines God engaged in -a magnificent research, the discovery of a harmonious universe, much -in the way in which one imagines a biologist in his laboratory seeking -for a preventative of disease. The Life Force uses such instruments -for its purpose as are to be found lying at hand. When these prove -abortive or useless or insufficient, the Life Force invents a new -instrument which it uses until that instrument, too, is found to be -useless or inadequate and is scrapped in favour of a new instrument. -Like all creators, God must express Himself through His creatures, and -the whole of Time has been spent so far in finding a suitable means -of expression. In the beginning, God used mammoth beasts, but finding -them unsuitable for His purpose, He scrapped them and invented other -creatures until at last He achieved His best instrument, Man. God's -latest and finest creature differs from all His other creatures in -this respect that he is conscious of God's purpose and can help it -forward or hold it back. God concealed His intention from all the -instruments that preceded the advent of Man, but, in the development -of His Being, He found that greater advantage would accrue to Him if -He made His instrument aware of its purpose. So we get the reason of -Man. God, before the creation of Man, had depended upon Himself. After -the creation of Man, he depended partly upon Himself, partly upon -His creature. _Man, in short, was the first of God's instruments to -have the power to help God to realize Himself._ To Mr. Shaw, it is an -obscuring of God's purpose for Man continually to pray, "God help me!" -when it is part of his purpose and duty to affirm, "I will help God!" I -have already quoted his dictum that we should so live that when we die, -God is in our debt. - -It is obvious, from this belief, that Mr. Shaw does not believe in the -inevitable march of mankind from bad to good and from good to better. -We may be marching towards Utopia or the New Jerusalem, or we may be -marching back to Chaos. Man, having the choice between helping God and -thwarting Him, may so vex the Deity that He will become impatient with -him and throw this instrument away as he has thrown away other useless -instruments, and seek for a better one. God scrapped the mammoth beasts -because they were not adequate for the execution of His design; He -_may_ scrap Man for the same reason or because Man, while adequate, -wilfully refuses to help. This theory is expressed continually in -Mr. Shaw's plays and prefaces, for example, in a speech by Cæsar in -"Cæsar and Cleopatra," where the Emperor gives expression to a violent -antipathy to war. War, in Mr. Shaw's mind, is a plain perversion of -God's purpose, and he would probably declare that Man, in the Great War -whose end may yet be a bloody battle between the Allies, almost reached -the end of God's patience. In five years, the British alone had eight -hundred thousand of her most valuable men _killed_. France lost double -that number _killed_. Germany lost more even than France _killed_. -All the potentialities for good, all the fervour and chivalry and -idealism and courage that was in those men, their ability to help God -to achieve perfection, has vanished utterly from the world; and there -is nothing left of it. Most of them died without progeny, and so there -is not even the hope that their spirit has passed on to their children -and that, at the worst, God's purpose has only been suspended for a -generation. They have gone, irretrievably gone. Another such war and -Western civilization must perish, if, indeed, it has not already begun -to decay. In other words, God, sickened by Man's perversity and wilful -obstruction, will have scrapped him.... - -That is the Shavian doctrine of the Life Force, put plainly and simply. - -Mr. Wells differs very sharply from Mr. Shaw in his doctrine. Mr. Shaw -believes that the progress from bad to good is not inevitable: Mr. -Wells believes that it is, and he produces the records of history to -support his belief. Mankind, at this moment, he will admit, is in a -very bloody mess, but that mess is not so frightful as, say, the mess -after the Thirty Years' War. We, who contemplate the organized Murder -of Youth which began in August, 1914, may fairly feel that mankind -has sunk very low in barbarism, but when we survey the whole range -of humanity so far as it has been recorded, the depths of 1914, deep -though they are, appear to be slightly less dreadful than the depths -of other days. There is a greater revolt from organized Murder to-day -than there was after the Thirty Years' War. There are fewer people -to-day who prate about the glories of war than there were then. (Oddly -enough, or perhaps naturally enough, most of the people who still -think of war as a jolly adventure live in America.) We are a little -nearer to a realization of the commandment, "Thou Shalt Not Kill" than -we were before 1914. We are learning that there are no qualifications -or exceptions to that commandment. It does not say, "Thou shalt not -kill--except in defence of small nationalities!" It does not say, -"Thou shalt not kill--except for the purpose of self-determination!" -It does not say, "Thou shalt not kill--except for the establishment of -a Republic in Ireland!" It does not say, "Thou shalt not kill--except -for the purpose of preserving the Empire!" Tersely and without -modification, it states that "Thou Shalt Not Kill" in any circumstances -whatever. - -Here is a dilemma from which the Christian cannot easily escape, and -the difficulty of doing so, apart from all ordinary considerations of -decency, is bringing man sharply face to face with the fundamentals of -human existence. In spite of much occasion for pessimism to-day, there -is occasion for greater optimism than man ever before has had. There -is a social consciousness at work in our minds and hearts that will -yet deliver us from the wicked man. How few are the years since the -days when men in one part of England made war on men in another part! -How unthinkable it is that men in Lancaster should make war to-day in -Yorkshire! True, it is less than a century since men in the Northern -States of America made war on men in the Southern States. True, it is -less than ten years since men in Ulster prepared themselves to make war -on men in the rest of Ireland. True, at this moment, Russian fights -Russian, and Sinn Feiner slays Orangeman, and Orangeman slays Sinn -Feiner. True, that white man burns black man, that Christian persecutes -Jew, true all this and worse, yet it remains true that when the records -of time are made up and just balances are drawn in the accounts of -Mankind, there is seen to be a greater perception of common purpose -to-day than there was a century ago. - -His scientific and historic sense keeps Mr. Wells secure in his belief -that Man, although he may hinder the development of God's purpose, -cannot thwart it. Mr. Shaw would perhaps agree with Mr. Wells in his -belief that God's Will must ultimately find adequate expression, but -he would insist that that expression may be through another instrument -than man. Mr. Wells, however, would not yield to him on this point; he -would insist that God's Will must ultimately find adequate expression -through man. Man may, indeed be obliterated by plague and pestilence or -cosmic disaster, but, failing those, man must achieve God's purpose. - - -IV - -When one brings the Wellsian doctrine down to the details of life, -one discovers what I may call a _local_ pessimism in it. The anger -which breaks out of his work is directed against the incompetence -and stupidity of man which hold him back from the desirable country -towards which he is marching. The greatest optimists--the men who are -convinced that man's end is good and seemly--are almost always the -most bitter pessimists when they are considering contemporary affairs. -The visionary loves mankind in the abstract so much that when he -contemplates mankind in the concrete he loses his temper. The Utopian, -full of his dream of a decent and free civilization in which every man -may move easily to his proper station, feels a dreadful depression when -he looks upon society as it exists here and now; and there are times -when, in spite of his sure and certain hope that life will ultimately -find its level, he feels that man, that perverse, wayward, thwarting -creature, will never fulfill the promise of his potentialities because -he is too closely concerned with some tiny, personal vanity, because he -allows wickedness and stupidity to influence him to a greater degree -than goodness and fine thought. Who, thinking over the Big Four in -Paris, and remembering that millions of young men of all nations died -so that the Big Four might meet and make a more enduring peace than -this world has yet known, can feel anything but anger and humiliation -at what they did? Clemenceau, the "Tiger" who, having tasted blood, -seemed eager to taste more; Lloyd George, who never remembers a friend -or forgets an enemy; Orlando, shamelessly extending his itching -palm; and Wilson, the man who went to Europe to ask for the moon -and returned to America, having accepted a match ... can any of us, -contemplating those four men, given by God the greatest opportunity -that has ever been offered to men, that may ever be offered to men, -help feeling that this world is dead and damned and that the sooner a -disgusted God smashes it to pieces, the better will be the universe? -Mr. Wells cannot escape, any more than the rest of us, this tendency to -despair of human effort, and here and there in his books his _local_ -pessimism is expressed; but his universal optimism remains unimpaired, -and one comes away from his writings in the knowledge that he believes -that man sooner or later will achieve a high destiny. He whips the -stupid and the selfish and the idle, but he will not permit them to -persuade him from his belief that even out of these elements, a finer -Man will yet be made. - - -V - -There is a cartoon by Mr. Max Beerbohm in which he shows himself being -conducted through a gallery where Mr. Wells, Mr. Shaw, Mr. Galsworthy, -Mr. Bennett and many other eminent writers are standing on inverted -tubs, haranguing the universe. Having listened to the preachers and -propagandists, Mr. Beerbohm turns to his guide and says, "But where -are the artists?" only to be informed that "_These_ are the artists!" -It has been said that Mr. Shaw would rather be known as a great -political economist than as a great dramatist, that Mr. Arnold Bennett -would rather be known as an eminent business man than as an eminent -novelist, that Mr. Galsworthy would prefer to be a reformer than a man -of letters, and that Mr. Wells seeks fame as a sociologist and not as -an artist. There is enough truth in this statement to give pause to -those about whom it is made, but not sufficient to frighten us who -admire them. Mr. Wells, for example, can no more elude artistry than -he can refrain from thinking. He is extraordinarily indifferent to -literary style, seems almost to delight in making a clumsy sentence -rather than a shapely one, and, so far as one can discover, does not -spend a single second on "finding the right word." The idea is his -chief concern, and he cares very little for the way in which it is -expressed. Nevertheless, he remains an artist, with a gift for apt -expressions and a far greater gift for selection. In one of his -books, he describes the prostitute as "that painted disaster of the -street." In "First and Last Things," in describing the inability of -the intellect to free itself from bias, he says, "the forceps of the -mind is a clumsy instrument and crushes the truth a little in seizing -it." At the end of "Tono-Bungay" there is an account of a trip down -the Thames which is among the great pieces of prose writing. In "The -Undying Fire," he gives an account of the purposeless cruelty of Nature -and an account of the state of mind of a young German who goes from -his remote village to join the Army at the beginning of the war, full -of patriotic ardour, offering for this service and for that until at -last he becomes a member of the crew of a submarine and his patriotism -suffers a sea-change and becomes the desperate courage of a rat in a -trap ... and these two accounts are so vivid that it is impossible for -any one to rise from them unaware that they have been written by a man -of genius, possessed of artistry. - -He is probably the most prolific writer of his quality in the world, -and if I had exact knowledge of the world's greatest authors, I should -probably say that he is the most varied of them. Consider how very -dissimilar his books are in range and interest. Consider that the man -who wrote "The Time Machine," wrote also "The History of Mr. Polly" -and the "The Undying Fire." How many writers have shown such variety -as has been shown by the author of "The War in the Air," "Kipps" (that -beautiful and tender book), "Tono-Bungay" and "The Soul of a Bishop." -At one moment, Mr. Wells is writing "Bealby" and at the next, he -is writing "God, the Invisible King." He turns from "The Wonderful -Visit" to "The Outline History of the World," and writes "The Future -in America" in the trail of "Love and Mr. Lewisham." ("The Future -in America" is perhaps the best book of its kind that has ever been -written on the problems that lie before the American people.) Queen -Victoria, having been enchanted by "Alice in Wonderland," sent to a -book-seller for the remainder of "Lewis Carroll's" writings, and was -considerably disconcerted when she received "Plane Trigonometry" and -"Curiosa Mathematica" by the Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. What -that excellent old lady would have thought, if having read and liked -"The Sea Lady," she had been supplied with "Mankind in the Making" and -"The Island of Dr. Moreau" and "Joan and Peter" by the same author, -I cannot imagine. Mr. Wells faces life very fairly and squarely, -regarding it from all angles of vision. There is only one Truth, but it -may be approached by many different paths; and Mr. Wells has attempted -most of them. It may seem to some of his readers at times that he is -running away from things towards which he formerly ran, but it is more -likely that he is merely trying another way of getting to the same -point. - - -VI - -One remembers men by odd things. I remember Mr. Yeats chiefly as a dark -image, obscurely seen, and Mr. Shaw as a shy, erect man with fine, -shapely hands, who talks emphatically because otherwise he would not -be talking at all. I remember Mr. Galsworthy as one who is biting his -lips or clenching his teeth lest he should say too much, and Mr. George -Moore as one who is consumed with the fear that he will not say enough. -Mr. Wells comes into my mind as an eager, friendly man, whose speech, -thinly uttered, suggests continual testing. But mostly I remember his -fine eyes because it is in them that most of his strength is stored. - - - - -WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS - - -I - -I have been acquainted with Mr. Yeats for a longer time than I have -with any other man named in this book, but I seem to myself to know -very little about him, for he is extraordinarily aloof from life. His -aloofness is different from that of Mr. Galsworthy who is perturbed -about mankind. Mr. Yeats is totally unconcerned about problems of -any sort. He is more interested in the things men do than in men -themselves. He prefers the symbol to the thing symbolized. The -harshest condemnation I ever heard him utter was delivered on "A. E." -of whom he said that he had ceased to be a poet in order to become a -philanthropist! I met him last in Chicago, and I felt when we parted -that I knew no more of him then than I knew when I first met him ten -years earlier. Our meeting followed on the fact that I had sent a -one-act play, entitled "The Magnanimous Lover," to him. It seems to -me now to be a crudely-contrived, ill-written and violent piece, but -when I sent it to Mr. Yeats I thought it was a remarkable work. It was -performed after the production of Stanley Houghton's "Hindle Wakes" -and Mr. Galsworthy's "The Eldest Son," which have similar themes, but -was written several years before they were performed. One evening, a -few weeks after I had sent the manuscript of "The Magnanimous Lover" -to him, I received a letter from Mr. Yeats, written in that queer, -illegible, thick style which is so difficult to read. Many of the words -were incomplete: all of them were badly-formed. The contrast between -the handwriting of Mr. Shaw and Mr. Yeats is remarkable. Mr. Shaw's -is very clear and neat and most beautifully-shaped, as delicate as a -spider's web, but Mr. Yeats's writing is obscure, untidy, sprawling -and hard to decipher, looking as if it had been done with a blunt -pen. Mr. Wells writes in a small, clean, but not very clear hand, -a deceptive fist, for it seems easier to read than it is. There is -some oddness in the fact that the handwriting of the poet should be -so coarse and ungainly, while the handwriting of the dramatist, with -so little of poetic emotion in him, is fine and shapely. The letter -from Mr. Yeats was to say that he liked my play, but could not make a -definite decision about it until he had consulted his co-director at -the Abbey Theatre, Lady Gregory. It had the formal, distant tone which -is characteristic of his speech and writing, but it had a postscript -which gave me great pleasure. In this postscript, he said that my -play was the only example of "wayward realism" that he had ever read. -I did not quite understand what he meant by the phrase, but it was a -compliment from a distinguished man and compliments from distinguished -men had never come my way before. I have had many praising letters from -him since then about my work, but none that ever raised me to such a -state of dizzy delight as that first letter did. He told me, in another -postscript, that he found in my "dialogue a quality of temperament, -as distinguished from the usual impersonal logic. You have more than -construction, and it is growing rare to have more." He thought highly -of "John Ferguson"--so did Mr. Shaw and "A.E."--and when I was attacked -in Dublin because of this play, I comforted myself with the thought -that my betters liked what was denounced by my inferiors. Mr. Yeats -wrote to me that "John Ferguson" was "a fragment of life, fully -expounded and without conventionality or confusion. I think it is the -best play you have done, though not likely to be the most popular." -His criticism is especially valuable when it is adverse. I had written -a play called "Mrs. Martin's Man" which I now know to have been a -dreadful mess of motives. I sent it to Mr. Yeats in the hope that he -would permit it to be done at the Abbey. He wrote lengthily to me about -it, and when I had read his letter I put my play in the fire, though -afterwards I used the theme, purged of the faults he had found in it, -for a novel with the same title. "I believe," he wrote, - - - "I believe that the play is an error. I am very sorry indeed to - say this, for I know what a blow it is to any dramatist to be - told that about work which must have taken many weeks. Shaw has - driven you off your balance, and instead of giving a vision of - life, which is your gift and a most remarkable gift to have, you - have begun to be topical, to play with ideas, to construct outside - of life. Shaw has a very unique mind, a mind that is a part of a - logical process going on all over Europe but which has found in - him alone its efficient expression in English. He has no vision of - life. He is a figure of international argument. There is an old - saying, 'No angel can carry two messages. You have the greater - gift of seeing life itself....'" - - -I print that extract from his letter, partly as a corrective to my own -pride, but chiefly because of its commentary on Mr. Shaw. Later, in -this chapter I will make specific reference to Mr. Yeats's relationship -to Mr. Shaw's work, but here I may say that, in spite of his sincere -regard and admiration for Mr. Shaw, Mr. Yeats seems to be totally -incapable of comprehending his work. He is able to communicate with -ghosts, but he cannot communicate with Mr. Shaw. He can understand -astrologers and necromancers and spiritualists and thimble-riggers of -all sorts and conditions, but he cannot understand Mr. Shaw. He told -me on one occasion of an experience he had with a medium, a young girl -who differed from all other mediums known to him in being a member -of the upper class. The spirits, seemingly, prefer to communicate -their messages through the lower orders. This girl's family were -ashamed of her cataleptic powers and tried to conceal them from their -neighbours, but they were persuaded to permit Mr. Yeats to see her in -a trance. "While she was in the trance," he said to me, "her fingers -closed on her palm. Then they opened again, and I saw a small green -pebble in the centre of her palm!" That was all! Immortal souls had -disturbed the harmony of the universe and thrown a young girl of the -upper class into a trance in order that they might place a small -green pebble in the centre of her palm! And Mr. Yeats saw something -wonderful and significant in that performance, but is unable to see -anything significant in the work of Mr. Shaw. That to me is a thing -so incomprehensible that I have abandoned all attempts to understand -it. But all of this is digression and anticipation. Soon after I -had received the letter in which he praised my "wayward realism," -I heard from Mr. Yeats again. He invited me to call on him on the -following Sunday evening at his rooms in Woburn Buildings, behind the -Euston Road, in London; and thither, in a state of some excitement, I -repaired. I had no trouble in finding the house, for Mr. Yeats, who, in -some ways, is much more precise and clear-minded than people imagine or -his handwriting indicates, had given me very explicit directions how -to get to it, and had even drawn a rough sketch of the neighbourhood -so that I should not fail to find him. Woburn Buildings consists of -a number of tall houses in a narrow passage off Southampton Row, and -running parallel with the Euston Road. It is a dingy, dark place, -with an air of furtive poverty about it, and on Sunday nights it is -depressing enough to fill a man's mind with plots for drab dramas. -I have heard that H. G. Wells thought of the plot of that clever, -devilish story of his, "The Island of Dr. Moreau," in the Tottenham -Court Road on a Bank Holiday when he was in a mood of discontent. I -believe that the whole of the "drab drama" was first conceived on Mr. -Yeats's doorstep! - -Shops form the ground floor of these houses, little, huckstering shops -that just contrive to support their proprietors, and Mr. Yeats's rooms -were on the third and fourth floors of a house which had a cobbler's -shop on the ground floor. The cobbler was a pleasant, bearded man, -wearing spectacles who had some share in the management of his affairs; -for when one, unable to obtain admission to the poet's rooms, required -information about him, the cobbler invariably supplied it. He could -tell whether Mr. Yeats had gone to Ireland or was merely taking the -air, and when he was likely to return, and he would offer, with great -courtesy, to take a message from you to be faithfully delivered to him -on his arrival. - -Mr. Yeats has poor and failing sight, and in the dusk of the Sunday -evening on which I called on him, he could barely discern me. He stood -in the hall, holding the door, looking very tall and dark, and said in -that peculiar, tired and plaintive voice of his, "Who is it?" and I -answered "St. John Ervine." There is always something conspiratorial -about the manner in which he admits you to his rooms. You felt that you -want to give the countersign. - -"Oh, yes!" he said, without any interest, and bade me enter. - -In one of his books, he writes that life seems to him to be a -preparation for something that never happens; and the quality of his -voice suggests that thwarted desire which is expressed in so much of -his work. He is, in poetry, what Mr. Galsworthy is, in fiction: he -surrenders to life. I do not know of any one who can speak verse so -beautifully and yet so depressingly as he can. The very great beauty -that is in all his work does not stir you: it saddens you. There is no -sunrise in his writing: there is only sunset. In his lyrics, there -is the cadence of fatigue and of the lethargy that comes partly from -disappointment, partly from loneliness, partly from doubt, and partly -from inertia. "Innisfree," the beauty of which has not been diminished -by familiarity, does not sound glad: it sounds tired. The poets wish to -return to the lake island is not due to any pleasurable emotion, but -to weariness and exhaustion: he dreams of the island, not as a place -in which to work and to achieve, but in which to retire from work and -achievement that has not brought with it the gratification for which -he hoped; and the final impression left on the mind of the reader is -that the poet is too tired and disappointed to do more than wish that -he might go to Innisfree. One reads the beautiful poem in the sure and -certain belief that Mr. Yeats will not "arise and go now, and go to -Innisfree," but that he will remain where he is. There is no impulse -or movement in the poem: there is only a passive wish and a plaintive -resignation. - -And all that inertia and negation and inactive desire is sounded in his -voice. It is very palpable in his manner. - -He warned me not to make a noise as I ascended the uncarpeted -stairs: the people on the second floor might be disturbed. They were -working-people, I understood, and either there was a fretful baby -asleep or the people retired early because they had to rise early, -and he did not wish to break their rest. Yeats can be very harsh and -inconsiderate with his associates, but his bearing to poor men and -women, in my experience, is very courteous and very considerate. -He could not have been more gracious to a duchess--he probably was -sometimes less gracious to a duchess--than he was to the middle-aged -woman who cooked his meals and kept his rooms clean. I have seen -distinguished men being gracious to poor, unlettered men, but most -of them had an air of ... not exactly condescension in doing so, but -of altering their attitude slightly, of relaxing and unbending, of -modifying their style, as it were, and making it simpler. I did not -observe any effort at condescension in his manner towards that plain -and simple woman. He spoke to her in the same way that he would speak -to "A. E." or to Lady Gregory. I suppose that Queen Victoria was the -only woman in the world to whom Yeats ever spoke in a condescending -fashion. - - -II - -He is a tall man, with dark hanging hair that is now turning grey, and -he has a queer way of focussing when he looks at you. I do not know -what is the defect of sight from which he suffers, but it makes his -way of regarding you somewhat disturbing. He has a poetic appearance, -entirely physical, and owing nothing to any eccentricity of dress; for, -apart from his neck-tie, there is nothing odd about his clothes. It is -not easy to talk to him in a familiar fashion, and I imagine that he -has difficulty in talking easily on common topics. I soon discovered -that he is not comfortable with individuals: he needs an audience to -which he can discourse in a pontifical manner. If he is compelled to -remain in the company of one person for any length of time, he begins -to pretend that the individual is a crowd listening to him. His talk is -seldom about common-place things: it is either in a high and brilliant -style or else it is full of reminiscences of dead friends. I do not -believe that any one in this world has ever spoken familiarly to him -or that any one has ever slapped him on the back and said "Helloa, old -chap!" His relatives and near friends call him "Willie" but it has -always seemed to me that they do so with an effort, that they feel -that they ought to call him "Mr. Yeats!" I doubt very much whether he -takes any intimate interest in any human being. It may be, of course, -that he took less interest in me than he took in any one else for I am -not a very interesting person; but I always felt that when I left his -presence, it was immaterial to him whether he ever saw me again or not. -I felt that, on my hundredth meeting with him, I should be no nearer -intimacy with him than I was on my first meeting. My vanity has since -been soothed by the knowledge that he has given a similar impression -regarding themselves to other people who know him better than I do. -I have seen him come suddenly into the presence of a man whom he had -known for many years, and greet him awkwardly as if he did not know -what to say. He never offers his hand to a friend: he will often stand -looking at one without speaking, and then bow and pass on, with perhaps -a fumbled "Good evening!" but never with a "How are you?" or "I'm glad -to see you!" - -It is, I suppose, the result of some natural clumsiness of manner. -He has trained himself to an elegance of demeanour, an elaborate -courteousness, which is very pleasing to a stranger, but he has spent -so much time in achieving this elegance that he has forgotten or never -learned how to greet a friend. - -He was expecting other people to come to his rooms that Sunday -evening.... I remember he mentioned that Madame Maud Gonne McBride -was expected to arrive in London from Paris on her way to Ireland, -and might call on her way to Euston Station ... but no one else came. -He talked to me about my play and told me that he liked it very much, -but that Lady Gregory did not greatly care for it. "She is a realist -herself," he said, "and all realists hate each other. Synge would have -disliked your play, and Robinson does not like it, but I do!" (Lennox -Robinson, himself a dramatist, was then manager of the Abbey Theatre.) -He asked me if I had written any other plays, and I told him that I -was half-way through a four-act play, called "Mixed Marriage," and I -described the theme of it to him. He urged me to complete this play -and bring the MS. to his rooms and read it to him. "The difficulty -about 'The Magnanimous Lover,'" he said, "is that it may provoke some -disturbance among the audience, and as our patent expires shortly we -do not wish to give the authorities any ground for refusing to renew -it. They were very angry over our production of Bernard Shaw's 'Blanco -Posnet' after the Censor refused to license it in England. We'll leave -the production of 'The Magnanimous Lover' until the patent has been -renewed. If your new play were ready, we could do it first and create a -public for you!..." - -Mr. Yeats is one of the best advertising agents in the world, and I -did not doubt his ability to "create a public" for me, although I -thought that Lady Gregory would probably be more skilful even that he -could be. When one remembers that she has established a considerable -reputation as a dramatist on two continents entirely on the strength -of half-a-dozen one-act plays, it is impossible to doubt that she is -at least as skilful as he in drawing attention to herself. A great -amount of their advertising energy has, of course, been expended on -the Abbey Theatre and the Irish Literary Renaissance, and a great many -Irish writers, myself included, have derived advantage, personal and -pecuniary, from their activities. It would have been better for us, -perhaps, if Mr. Yeats had employed his critical ability more freely -than his eulogy on our work. There is an immense amount of creative -power in Ireland, but it is raw, untutored, tumid stuff, and because -the critical faculty in Ireland is almost negligible, this creative -power is wasted in violent explosive plays and books or violent, -explosive beliefs. - -I have always believed in the interdependence of all men and minds. It -seems to me that an ill-conceived, foolish political scheme must in -some manner react on every other department of man's life, and that -the labourer who is doing his job badly in a remote village is in -some measure adversely affecting the welfare of his countrymen miles -away. Violent, crude plays are inevitable in a land of violent, crude -beliefs; and it is, I think, not without significance that some of -the most violent, crude plays in the Abbey repertory were written by -dramatists who professed the violent, crude beliefs of Sinn Fein. When -one thinks of the generosity and courage and nobility of many of the -Sinn Feiners, it is hard not to lose faith in human perfectibility when -one considers how foolish are the political schemes they devise. If -men so good and exalted as these men are can produce schemes so stupid -and sometimes so cruel, how can we hope for any progress in the world -when we remember how many bad men there are? And have we not seen how -men of lofty ideals can tumble into cruelty and become brutal ruffians -in the name of patriotism? - - -III - -But there is an explanation of all this crudity and violence in -Ireland. For all sorts of reasons, political, social, historical and -religious, the critical faculty has rarely been employed and certainly -has not been developed. Either you are for a thing or you are against -it. Doubt is treated as if it were antagonism. Reluctance to commit -oneself to any scheme however fantastic or ill-considered it may -be, is treated as treason to the national spirit. A man who asserts -his belief in the establishment of an Irish Republic, by force, if -necessary, is an Irishman, even though he be a "dago," and any one who -is doubtful of the feasibility of this proposal is denounced as a West -Briton, an anglicised Irishman, even, on occasions, as "not Irish at -all," although his forbears have lived in Ireland for generations. -The state of affairs in Ireland is not unlike the state of affairs in -Russia, where literary criticism, as a Russian writer has stated, has -always tended to be the handmaid of political faction. "Any writer of -sufficient talent" says a reviewer in the _Times Literary Supplement_, -"who adopted a liberal attitude was certain of the appreciation of the -_intelligentsia's_ acknowledged critical leaders, and hence of a wide -and enthusiastic audience. But writers whose instinct for the truth -led them to doubt the sufficiency of doctrinaire discontent with the -established order were debarred from the aids to literary advancement, -and had to struggle against the grain of popular, and even academic, -valuation." - -It is even worse than that in Ireland, for there, generally speaking, -there is hardly any criticism at all, although there is plenty of -abuse. In great measure this lack of criticism is due to the fact that -all the mind of Ireland has been obsessed by the demand for, or the -opposition to, self-government. There has not been any reality in Irish -electoral contests for a great many years. Until the growth of Sinn -Fein, there seldom were any contests at all. Candidates for parliament -were nearly always returned unopposed. Contests, if there were any, -were between one Nationalist and another, concerned with matters of -detail and not with matters of principle, or, at the most, between -a Nationalist and a Unionist, concerned with the advocacy of, or -opposition to, Home Rule. Sinn Fein has, indeed, brought a contest to -every constituency, but even here the contest is concerned with the old -obsession, self-government in one form or self-government in another: -Home Rule within the British Commonwealth or a Republic outside it. -If one considers that this obsession was nearly always expressed in -bitter language, it is not difficult to understand how deplorable its -effects have been on the general life of the Irish people. It has -temporarily incapacitated them from judging any proposition in a sane -and dispassionate fashion; and so the critical faculty in Ireland has -languished until at times one fears that it has decayed. - -Mr. Yeats is a great creative artist: he is also a great critic. Had he -chosen to do so, he could have had an enormous influence on the minds -of his countrymen. His pride in his craft, his desire for perfect -work, his contempt for subterfuges and makeshifts and ill-considered -schemes, his knowledge and his skill, all these would have affected the -faith and achievements of his countrymen, imperceptibly, perhaps, but -very surely. It is unfortunate that he was not appointed to the Chair -of Literature in Trinity College, Dublin. I know that he wished to -receive this appointment and was disappointed that he did not receive -it. The mind that might have disciplined and developed the imagination -of young Irishmen was rejected by Trinity College, and it has turned to -tiresome preoccupation with disembodied beings, to table-turning and -ouija-boards and the childish investigation of what is called spiritual -phenomena, but is, in fact, mere conjurer's stuff. - - -IV - -I saw Mr. Yeats many times after that first visit. He told me that he -was always at home to his friends on Monday evening, and he invited -me to dine with him on the Monday immediately following the Sunday on -which I first met him. No one came on that evening. He talked about -acting and the theatre, and I said something that pleased him, and -he complimented me in his grave, courteous manner. "That was well -said," he exclaimed, and I flushed with pleasure. The praise of one -distinguished man is more than the applause of a multitude of common -men. His talk about the theatre, though interesting, was often remote -from reality. He was then interested in the more esoteric forms of -drama, and was eager to put masks on the actors' faces. He wished -to eliminate the personality of the player from the play, and had -borrowed some foolish notions from Mr. Gordon Craig about lighting and -scenery and dehumanised actors. He had a model of the Abbey Theatre -in his rooms and was fond of experimenting with it. There was some -inconsistency in his talk about acting: at one moment he was anxious -for anonymous, masked players, "freed" from personality, and at the -next moment, he was demanding that players should act with their entire -bodies, not merely with their voices and faces. Hazlitt, advocates -anonymity on the stage, and when one considers how excessive is the -regard paid to-day to the actor in comparison with that paid to the -play, one is tempted to support Hazlitt's demand; but I have never -understood why one should decline to exploit a personality that is rare. - -There is a school of thinkers which holds that the best theatre is -that one in which a player may be the hero of the piece to-night and -the "voice off" to-morrow night. This is a ridiculous theory. Even -if it were practicable, which it is not, it would be a disgraceful -waste of material. The manager who consented to a proposal that Madame -Sarah Bernhardt should play the part of the servant with one line to -say would be an ass and a wastrel. It is, perhaps, unfair to treat a -man's "table-talk" as if it were a serious proposal, and I once got -into trouble with Mr. Gordon Craig for doing this; but so much of Mr. -Yeats's talk and writing is related to this matter of disembodiment and -passionless action, that it is difficult not to treat it seriously. For -my part, I have always been unable to understand how it is possible for -a human being to behave as if he were not a human being. - -Most of the talking was done by Mr. Yeats, and he talked -extraordinarily well. He is one of the best talkers I have ever -listened to, in spite of the fact that his conversation tends to become -a monologue. But if you cannot talk well yourself, you are wise to -listen to a man who can. He spoke at length about the men who had -been his friends when he was a young man: of Oscar Wilde and Aubrey -Beardsley and Arthur Symons and Lionel Johnson and Ernest Dowson; of -Henley and Whistler and Mr. Bernard Shaw and of a host of others. He -had a puzzled, bewildered admiration for "that strange man of genius, -Bernard Shaw," but I never felt that he understood Mr. Shaw or was -happy with Mr. Shaw's mind. He could not make head or tail of "John -Bull's Other Island" when he read it in MS. Mr. Shaw, in a debate with -Mr. Belloc, which I had heard a night or two before the meeting with -Mr. Yeats, had said "I am a servant," and this statement pleased Mr. -Yeats very much. He was moved by the humility of it. Mr. Shaw, however, -hardly entered into Mr. Yeats's early life, and most of the talk that -evening was about Beardsley and Wilde and Lionel Johnson and Ernest -Dowson and the members of the Rhymers' Club. "Most of them," he said, -"died of drink or went out of their minds!" - -It was late when I prepared to leave him. He had been saying that a man -should always associate with his equals and superiors and never with -his inferiors, when I recollected that the hour was late and that I -might miss the last tram from the Thames Embankment and so have to walk -several miles. I was tired, too, and a little depressed, for he seemed -to be a lonely man and an uneasy man. He had survived all his friends, -but had not succeeded in making any intimacy with their successors. -I sometimes feel about him that he is a lost man wandering around -looking for his period. When I had announced that I was going home, he -astonished me by saying that he would walk part of the way with me. He -had not had any exercise all day and felt that he needed some air and -movement. (He hates open windows and always keeps his tightly closed.) -We walked to the Embankment together, saying little, for silence had -fallen on him, and walked along it for a short while. I said some banal -thing about Waterloo Bridge, but he did not make any answer; and I did -not speak again, but contented myself with observing the difference -between his walk when he is moving slowly and his walk when he is -moving quickly. He is very dignified in his movements when he walks -slowly: he holds his head erect and carries his hands tightly clenched -behind his back; but when he begins to move quickly, the dignity -disappears and his walk becomes a tumbling shuffle. That, I suppose, is -because of his poor sight. - -My tram came along, and I said "Good-night" to him, and he answered -"Good-night" in a vague fashion. I think he had completely forgotten me. - - -V - -He had told me that he was going on the following day to Manchester to -lecture to some society there, and I was sufficiently interested in -his opinions to get a copy of the "Manchester Guardian" containing a -report of what he had said. I was amused to find that his lecture was -a repetition of all that he had said to me on the Monday before the -day on which he lectured. He had "tried it on the dog," and I was the -dog. All his speeches are carefully rehearsed before they are publicly -delivered. He told me once that Oscar Wilde rehearsed his conversation -in the morning and then, being word-perfect, went forth in the evening -to speak it. I imagine that he does that, too, on occasions. It is a -laudable thing to do in many respects, although it tends to make talk -somewhat formal and liable to be scattered by an interruption. When -Mr. Yeats rehearses a speech before making it in public, he is paying -a great tribute to his audience by declining to offer them scamped or -hastily-contrived opinions. Those who listen to him may be deceived -into believing that he is speaking spontaneously, but they may be -certain that what he says has been carefully considered, that he is -speaking of things over which he has pondered and not just "saying the -first thing that comes into his head." - -Most men of letters do something of this sort. I have listened to Mr. -Moore saying things which I subsequently read in the preface to the -revised version of one of his novels; and I remember meeting "A. E." in -Nassau Street, Dublin, one evening and being told a great deal about -co-operation which I read in his paper, "The Irish Homestead" on the -following morning. - -I saw Mr. Yeats many times after that. I completed the MS. of "Mixed -Marriage" and, much embarrassed, read it to him in his rooms. I read -it very badly, too, and I am sure I bored him a great deal; but he -was kind and patient and he made some useful suggestions to me which I -did not accept. I had too much conceit, as all young writers have, to -be guided by a better man than myself. I know now that I should have -done well to take his advice. He warned me against topical things and -against politics and urged me to flee journalism as I would flee the -devil; and he advised me to read Balzac. He was always advising me to -read Balzac, but I never did.... - - -VI - -My memories of those days when I first knew him begin to be -disconnected, and I find myself putting down things which happened -after other things which I have still to relate; but I have never found -a consecutive narrative very interesting, which, perhaps, is why I -cannot read Pepys' Diary or Evelyn's Diary. I like to take things out -of their turn, to go forward to one thing and then back to an earlier -thing. I can only connect one incident or memory with another by taking -them out of their order and doing violence to the natural sequence of -things. Life is not so interesting when all the factors between 1 and -100 are in sequence as it is when 26 and 60 are taken out of their -place and put into coherence, temporary or permanent, with each other. - -He said to me one evening that a man does not make firm friendships -after the age of twenty-five. There is a good deal of truth in that -statement, but I doubt whether it is generally true. It is true of -him, for his mind turns back continually to the men who were his -contemporaries twenty-five years ago, but it was not true of Dr. -Johnson, who shed his friends as he grew in stature of mind. And -perhaps what Dr. Johnson said to Sir Joshua Reynolds is more generally -true than what Mr. Yeats said to me. "If a man does not make new -acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself -alone. A man, Sir, should keep his friendship in constant repair." I -do not think that anything is so remarkable about Mr. Yeats as his -aloofness from the life of these times. He has very little knowledge of -contemporary writing. I doubt whether he has read much or even anything -by Mr. H. G. Wells or Mr. Arnold Bennett or Mr. John Galsworthy or Mr. -Joseph Conrad. He said to me one night that after thirty a man ought -to read only a few books and read them continually. Some one had said -this to him--I have forgotten who said it--and he passed on the advice -to me; but he added, after a while, that "perhaps the age of thirty is -too young," and suggested that the age should be raised to forty. It -seemed very wrong advice to me. - -An active mind will surely keep itself acquainted with new books -and familiar with old books. I have heard many men, particularly -schoolmasters and classical scholars, say with pride that they never -read modern books. Such people boast that when a new book is published, -they read an old one. They are, in my experience, dull people, -sluggardly in mind, and pompous and set in manner. In many cases, -particularly if they are schoolmasters, they neither read new books -nor old ones. Dr. Johnson and his friends, however, appear to have -been familiar with all the current literature of their time: history, -fiction, poetry, drama, philosophy and theology; as well as with the -ancient writings. They would not have _boasted_ of their ignorance of -the work of their contemporaries. In Mr. Yeats's case, however, this -unfamiliarity with the work of men writing to-day is explainable when -one remembers that he cannot read easily because of his sight. When I -first knew him, a friend came several times a week to read to him out -of a copy of the Kelmscott Press edition to William Morris's "Earthly -Paradise." - -He had, like most young men of his time, been much influenced by -William Morris, the only man for whom I ever heard him profess anything -like affection, but I remember hearing him say once that he no longer -got pleasure from reading or listening to Morris's poetry. - - -VII - -One night, I was at his rooms when Mr. G. M. Trevelyan, the historian -and biographer of Garibaldi and John Bright, was present with his wife, -a daughter of Mrs. Humphry Ward. Mr. Yeats talked much and well, and I -remember his story of a dream he had had. He often told stories of his -dreams, but some of them smelt of the midnight oil. A friend of his, he -said, was contemplating submission to the Catholic Church. He had tried -to dissuade her from this, but she went away to another country in a -state of irresolution. One night, he dreamt that he saw her entering -a room full of beautiful people. She walked around the room, looking -at these beautiful people who smiled and smiled and smiled, but said -nothing. "And suddenly, in my dream," he said, "I realized that they -were all dead!" "I woke up," he proceeded, "and I said to myself, 'She -has joined the Catholic Church,' and she had." Mr. Trevelyan thought -that the description of the Catholic Church as a room full of beautiful -people, all smiling and all dead, was the most apt he had ever heard. -He chuckled with contented anti-clericalism. Another night, when I -was in his rooms, Miss Ellen Terry's son, Mr. Gordon Craig, came to -see him; and a model of the Abbey Theatre was brought down from his -bedroom to the candle-lit sitting room, where Mr. Craig experimented -with lighting effects. Mr. Craig is a man of genius, but he is a very -difficult and childish person, whose view of the theatre is nearly as -damnable as that of the most vain of the lost tribe of actor-managers -or their successors, the shop-keeper syndicates. Scenery and lighting -effects were of greater consequence to Mr. Craig than the play itself! -His designs for scenery were very beautiful, indeed, but they were -suitable only to romantic and poetical plays. - -I remember that when he had manipulated Mr. Yeats's model theatre to -his liking, he stood back from the scene, and said, "What a good thing -it would be if we were to take all the seats out of the theatre so that -the audience could move about and see my shadows!" Mr. Yeats dryly -replied that this was hardly a practical proposal. I was irritated by -Mr. Craig's remark which was in keeping with his general theory of the -theatre. It seemed to me that he would, were he less difficult to work -with, be as great a nuisance and danger to drama as any actor-manager -in London. Sir Henry Irving and Sir Herbert Tree, turning the attention -of the audience away from the play to the player and the scenery, -were not any worse than Mr. Craig, anxious to turn the attention of -the audience to his shadows. I was glad when this remarkable man was -carried off by Mr. Albert Rutherston and Mr. Ernest Rhys to exhibit -himself somewhere else. - -Mr. Yeats was bitten with Mr. Craig's theories about lighting and -scenery, and a large sum of money for so poor a theatre as the Abbey, -was spent on some of his "screens" for use in plays like "Deirdre." -They were never used for anything else. When I went to Dublin to -manage the Abbey, I was very anxious that we should employ a competent -scene-builder to make some good "sets" for us, but Mr. Yeats said that -scenery was of no consequence: the dirty hovel which we always employed -to represent an Irish cottage or farm house would do well enough. I -thought there was some oddness in this opinion when I remembered that -the theatre had been almost bankrupted in order to purchase "screens" -for occasional performances of his own one-act plays. He would spend -hours in rehearsing the lighting of a scene for one of them: this -"lime" was too strong and that "lime" was too weak or there was too -much colour or there was not enough or the mingling of colours was -not sufficiently delicate. One day, when he had worn out the patience -of every one in the theatre, with his fussing over the lighting, he -suddenly called out to the stage-manager, "That's it! That's it! -You've got it right now!" "Ah, sure the damned thing's on fire," the -stage-manager answered. - - -VIII - -I have written already that he is not happy with an individual: he must -have an audience; and I remember now something that he said to me which -supports my belief. We had been talking about Synge and his habit of -listening at key-holes and cracks in the floor in order to hear scraps -of conversation that he might put into his plays. I said I had been -told that Synge, though excessively shy and silent in company, was a -very companionable person with an individual. He was a good comrade -on a country road, talking easily and naturally, and had the gift of -friendliness with plain and simple people. Labourers and countrymen -would talk to him as easily as they talked to one another, and would -confide in him. I wondered whether there were as many entertaining -tales to be heard from working-people in England as were to be heard -from working-people in Ireland. Mr. Yeats thought that perhaps there -were. He told me that the woman who cooked his meals and cleaned his -rooms had begun to tell some story of a love affair to him, but that he -had been too diffident to encourage her to go on with it. He thought -that if he had talked to her more than he had, she would have told him -many stories of her youth in the country; but all his talk to her had -been of food and household things. He is not a man in whom poor men and -women confide. His civility to them is magnificent, but it overawes -them and makes them as uneasy in one way as it pleases them in another. -He is an excellent entertainer in a crowded room, but he is a poor -companion on a road. He can talk well to a company of educated men and -women, but he is tongue-tied in the presence of those who have little -learning. When I survey my acquaintance with Yeats, I find strangely -diverse thoughts rising in my mind. I am drawn to him and repelled by -him. He stimulates me and depresses me. I am moved by the beauty of -his work and distracted by its vagueness. I find in his writing and in -his speech, great spiritual loveliness but curiously little humanity, -and I have often wondered why it is that while Irishmen, even such as -I am, are deeply moved by his little play, "Kathleen ni Houlihan," -men of other countries--not only Englishmen--are left unmoved by it, -unable, without a note in the program, to understand it. I have seen -this play performed very many times. I never missed seeing it, when -it was done at the Abbey during the time that I was manager there. It -moved me as much when I last saw it as it did when I first saw it; and -I do not doubt that if I live to be an old man, it will move me as much -in my old age as it has moved me in my youth. But it does not move men -of other races. That is a singular thing. It denotes, I suppose, that -while there is much that is national in Mr. Yeats's work, there is less -that is universal. - -One rises from his work, as one comes from his company, with a feeling -of chilled respect that may settle into disappointment. It is as if -one had been taken into a richly-decorated drawing-room when one had -hoped to be taken into a green field. I have read Blake's poems and -then I have read his and sought to see the resemblance that I am told -is between them, but have not always found it. Blake wrote about -things that he felt, but Mr. Yeats writes about the things that he -thinks; and thought changes and perishes, but feeling is permanent and -unchangeable; thought separates and divides men, but feeling brings -them together; and it may be that Mr. Yeats's aloofness from men is -due to the fact that he thinks too much and feels too little. - - -IX - -I think of him as a very lonely, isolated, aloof man. He is, so far as -I am aware, the only English-speaking poet who did not write a poem -about the War, a fact which is at once significant of the restraint -he imposes upon himself and of his isolation from the common life of -his time. I have never met any one who seems so unaware of temporary -affairs as Mr. Yeats, and this unawareness is due, not to affectation, -but to sheer lack of interest. He probably would not have known of the -War at all had not the Germans dropped a bomb near his lodgings off the -Euston Road. When Macaulay's New Zealander comes to examine the ruins -of London, he will probably see Mr. Yeats, disembodied and unaware that -he is disembodied or that London is in ruins, sitting on a slab with a -planchette. He is younger than Mr. Shaw by ten years, but might be ten -years older. His verse and his speech and his manner are all elderly, -and his conversation is composed chiefly of reminiscences of men who -have been dead for many years, so that one imagines he has not had a -friend since 1890. There is absolutely no suggestion of youth in his -writings. In the poem entitled, "To a Child Dancing in the Wind," he -says: - - - I could have warned you, but you are young, - So we speak a different tongue - - -and again: - - - But I am old and you are young, - And I speak a barbarous tongue. - - -I do not know what age Mr. Yeats was when he wrote those lines, but -they are included in a collection of poems, dated "1912-1914," and at -most he could not have been fifty, for he was born in Dublin in 1865. - -The sense of age seems to have oppressed his mind for many years, -perhaps for the whole of his creative life. He feels that he has -outlived his generation and is lost in a period of time peculiarly -alien to him. - - - When I was young, - I had not given a penny for a song - Did not the poet sing it with such airs - That one believed he had a sword upstairs: - Yet would be now, could I but have my wish, - Colder and dumber and deafer than a fish. - - -This coldness closing on his heart and congealing all his generous -emotions, causes him, at the end of a graceful book, "Reveries Over -Childhood and Youth" (in itself, significant of the age-obsession -which possesses his mind) to declare that "all life, weighed in the -scales of my own life, seems to me a preparation for something that -never happens," and leaves his readers wondering why a man who began -his life by singing songs with such airs "that one believed he had a -sword upstairs" should stumble into dismal prose towards the end of it, -pronouncing life to be a cheerless deceit. - -His effect on young men is peculiar. His brilliant conversation is very -attractive to them, but his insensibility to the presence of human -beings repels them. "A. E." once told me that Mr. Arthur Griffith, the -founder of the Sinn Fein movement, drew young people to him by the -strength of his hatred, but finally repelled them by his complete lack -of charity and love. A nature compounded principally or exclusively -of hatred must be destructive. No man can construct anything unless -love and charity predominate in his heart. Mr. Griffith, throughout his -career, has never been notable for his power to make things. He could -not even make his own movement grow, for Sinn Fein became a popular -and appealing force only after Padraic Pearce and Thomas Macdonagh -and James Connolly had put a fire into the machinery of it on Easter -Monday, 1916. There is something terribly ironical in the fact that -James Connolly, to whom Mr. Griffith offered every possible opposition -in his lifetime, should by his death have helped to put Mr. Griffith -in a position of authority to which his own intellectual and spiritual -qualities could never have raised him. Mr. Yeats has something of the -unhumanity of Mr. Griffith. His talk is brilliant, indeed, but it is -not comradely talk. It never lapses from high quality to the easy -familiarities which humanize all relationships. He is more fastidious -about his speech than he is about his friends. It would shock him more -to use a bad word than to make a bad friend, because he is more aware -of bad words than of bad men; and he would be quicker to forgive a -crime than to forgive a vulgar phrase. I have never heard him use a -common expression. He once repeated an angry speech of William Morris -to me with an air almost apologetic for using profane language, not -because it was profane but because it was inelegant. He never says -"Damn!" or "Blast!" when he is angry.... He is one of the loneliest -men in the world, for he cannot express himself except in a crowd. Dr. -Stockman said that the strongest man in the world is the man who stands -absolutely alone--a feat which is surely impossible--and this specious -statement has supported many ineffective egoists in their belief that -neurosis is strength and misbehaviour a sign of individuality. But -the penalty of isolation is that the isolated cannot dispense with -an amenable crowd. The hermit must have a succession of respectful -pilgrims to his cave, each one murmuring, "There is but one God and -Thou art His Prophet!" until at last the hermit begins to believe -that _he_ is God and God is _his_ prophet. Hermits have followers, -or, perhaps one ought to say, curious visitors, but they have no -friends. Why should they have friends? They have not got the social -sense nor can they take part in the common labours of mankind. They -live in caves and desert places because they are not fit to live in -houses and places that are inhabited. But even the hermits, wrapped in -self-sufficiency, realize that no man is effective without his fellows, -and so, though they cannot make friends, they make disciples. This is a -truth which all the great lonely men from Adam to Robinson Crusoe have -discovered, that a man by himself is ineffective and without interest. -Life for Adam remained uneventful until the arrival of Eve: the island -of Juan Fernandez was livelier after Man Friday came to keep Crusoe -company. For fellowship is life, as Morris said, and lack of fellowship -is death. - -There is no poet, not even Keats or Shelley, who has so much of pure -poetry in his work as Mr. Yeats has in his, and perhaps that is -enough; but there is no other poet, not even Mr. Kipling, who has so -little understanding of human kind. It is an odd commentary on his -relationship to his countrymen that while he was writing the bitter -poem, entitled "September, 1913," with the desolating refrain: - - - Romantic Ireland's dead and gone-- - It's with O'Leary in the grave. - - -Thomas Macdonagh and Padraic Pearse and James Connolly were preparing -themselves for a romantic death. - -John Davidson, in a book called "Sentences and Paragraphs," writes of -Keats that, "beginning and ending his intemperate period with the too -ample verge and room, the trailing fringe and sample-like embroidery of -'Endymion,' he was soon writing the most perfect odes in the language." -Mr. Yeats, in spite of some reluctant instructions into enthusiastic -movements, escaped "the intemperate period"; but he did so at the cost -of his youth and ardour. Like the Magi in his poem of that name, he, -"being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied," seeks "to find once more" -"the uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor"; but it eludes him, -and will always elude him, because he thinks of its habitation as "a -bestial floor." It can only be found by a poet who, whatever happens, -still believes that the earth is a place where God may yet walk in -safety. Mr. Yeats is the greatest poet that Ireland has produced, but -he has meant very little to the people of Ireland, for he has forgotten -the ancient purpose of the bards, to urge men to a higher destiny -by reminding them of their high origin, and has lived, aloof and -disdainful, as far from human kind as he can conveniently get. - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME IMPRESSIONS OF MY ELDERS*** - - -******* This file should be named 63704-8.txt or 63704-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/3/7/0/63704 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: Some Impressions of My Elders</p> -<p>Author: St. John G. (St. John Greer) Ervine</p> -<p>Release Date: November 10, 2020 [eBook #63704]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME IMPRESSIONS OF MY ELDERS***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4 class="pgx" title="">E-text prepared by Martin Pettit<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (https://www.pgdp.net)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (https://archive.org)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/someimpressionso01ervi - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>SOME IMPRESSIONS<br /> OF MY ELDERS</h1> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">ST. JOHN G. ERVINE</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">New York<br />THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br />1922</p> - -<p class="bold"><i>All Rights Reserved</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> - -<p class="center space-above"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1920 and 1921,<br /> -By</span> NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW CORPORATION</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1922,<br /> -By</span> ST. JOHN G. ERVINE<br />———<br /> -Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1922</p> - -<p class="center space-above">VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY<br />BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="box"> -<p class="center">TO<br />ELIZABETH CUTTING</p> - -<p>who would not give me any peace until I had overcome my idle habits -and written all these impressions of my elders for the North American -Review.</p></div> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td class="left">THE AUTHOR TO HIS READERS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">A. E. (GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL)</td> - <td><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">ARNOLD BENNETT</td> - <td><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">G. K. CHESTERTON</td> - <td><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">JOHN GALSWORTHY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">GEORGE MOORE</td> - <td><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">BERNARD SHAW</td> - <td><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">H. G. WELLS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">W. B. YEATS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">SOME IMPRESSIONS OF MY ELDERS </p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE AUTHOR TO HIS READERS</h2> - -<p>The matter which appears in the following pages was originally -contributed, in the shape of a series of articles under the general -title of "Some Impressions of My Elders," to the <i>North American -Review</i> at intervals during the years 1920 and 1921. The order in which -the articles appear in this book is different from the order in which -they appeared in the <i>Review</i>: <i>this</i> order is alphabetical whereas -<i>that</i> was capricious. Some excisions and some additions have been made -to them and I hope that I have evaded the danger which besets all those -who reprint their journalism in book form, the danger of repetitions. -Why I reprint them at all is a point on which I am not able to offer -conclusive explanations. I have reached that period of my life when -my wish is rather <i>not</i> to write a book than to write one, and I have -lost all the cheery conceit which caused me in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> my youth to feel that -anything I wrote ought to be published in a handsome volume. Indeed, -when I think of the great quantity of books there already are in this -world, it seems to me a sign of hopeless irresponsibility to add to -their number. There are so many books that ought to be read, but never -can be read because there is not enough time for any of us to do so, -that no author can plead justification for printing a book which does -not come within the catalogue of those that ought to be read unless he -needs the money which, presumably, he will get for it. I cannot urge -even that plea, for I have few needs and they are easily satisfied. I -have never been afflicted with the mania for owning things, as Walt -Whitman calls it, and therefore have no wish to accumulate either goods -or money. Were it not for the insistence of some of my friends, I do -not suppose I should issue this book to the public at all. We are too -prone, we scribblers, to put our casual writings between the covers -of a book, when regard for our craft would compel us to reserve that -dignity for our greatest efforts; and I have feared for several years -now to be one of these offenders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> And yet, one likes to have an array -of books on a shelf and be able to say, "I wrote those." The profession -of writing gives degree and reputation to a man which is often greater -than his due, and people of ability will listen respectfully to the -opinions of a lesser person than themselves merely because he (or even -she) has printed a book. Many clever men and women actually paid good -American money to hear me talk on odds and ends of subjects, although -they probably had views on them that were at least as sound as mine -and no doubt a great deal sounder. I am afraid of this tribute to the -author. It may make us, a much assorted crowd, esteem ourselves more -highly than we are naturally prone to do. The mere fact that a man -has contracted a profitable habit of putting words together does not -entitle him to more of the world's respect that is due to one who has -contracted the habit of putting bits of metal together and calling the -result a motor-car. I do not know why a man who writes books should -regard himself as a better man than one who makes butter. Far less do -I know why the man who makes butter should consent to believe that he -is less worthy than the man who makes books. But undoubtedly some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> such -superstition fills the minds of most of us. When a man or woman of -ordinary appearance and uninteresting speech comes into our presence, -we say "How do you do!" and turn away; but when we are informed that -this same person has written a novel, immediately we become interested -and turn again to him or her in the expectation that something -profoundly illuminating will be said to us. Experience does not cure us -of that delusive hope. We do not prick up our ears when a man who owns -the largest motor-car factory in the world comes into our presence, -and we yawn in the face of a railway director. Yet either of these may -be far more entertaining company than any author. It is true that the -author is presumably more imaginative than the owner of the factory or -the president of the railroad, and perhaps the instinctive tribute paid -by mankind to the author, even when mankind omits to buy his books, -is a recognition of the value of imagination to human life. As such I -gladly accept it. Nevertheless, I could wish for more discrimination -in these tributes. On the whole, I would prefer to see our authors -neglected than over-estimated. No one on earth and probably no one in -heaven can prevent an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> author from making books while he has breath in -his body and energy in his brain and fingers. Therefore, neglect will -not greatly harm him. But too much praise, too much consideration of -his views, above all, too much profit from his work, will make a sad -mess of an excellent writer. I tell myself sometimes that no author -should be praised until he is dead, though he might occasionally be -dispraised during his lifetime. We should thus save our authors, though -there is no certainty in this, from excess of vanity. Let Shakespeare's -reputation grow to legendary proportions when he is safely within his -grave, but do not, if you desire the best that is in him, let him be -often or much praised while he is alive. We have come to a period of -time when authors feel that they must write so many books each year. -But I would have an author publish a book only when the compulsion -to publish it becomes greater than he can resist. Books would not -necessarily be better, but they would certainly be fewer, and they -might be better.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>I have written thus far, partly to resolve my own doubts (which, -however, are not resolved) but chiefly to excuse myself to those who -may buy this book. I beg of them to believe that I have not reprinted -these fugitive pieces without deliberation on their value. My friends -tell me that any impressions of men of quality and genius have value, -and undoubtedly Boswell's biography of Dr. Johnson confirms many -mediocrities in their intention to accept a man's hospitality for the -purpose of earning money by describing his personal habits in a public -journal. We would be very grateful for an account of Shakespeare no -better than any one of the chapters in this book. If an Elizabethan -had had a mind like Boswell's and had noted down all that he ever -heard Shakespeare say, had pressed him with questions on his work, -had noted his personal appearance, his habits of dress, his ways of -eating, his effect on women, his likes and dislikes, the thousand and -one small things which, when summed up, make a man out of a myth, -how happy we should all be, how many thousand commentators<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> and -emendators and wrathful Baconians and cypher maniacs would be put out -of employment! One could cry with vexation at the thought that there -was no one with sufficient intelligence to keep a diary during those -last few mysterious years in Stratford-on-Avon when Shakespeare, though -still a young man as ages go, ceased to work at his trade and went in -silence to his grave. Such are the considerations which have affected -me in my decision to reprint these chapters, though they may add very -little to any one's knowledge of the men who are described in them. -It is, perhaps, an additional factor in the decision that they record -impressions made on the mind of a young man by his elders and betters -and expressed at a time when he was ceasing to be young. The generation -to which I belong was much impressed by the men whose work and beliefs -are sketched in this book. All young men, whatever their class or -culture, have heroes. The world, indeed, will end when young men cease -to have heroes. Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells, Mr. Chesterton and Mr. Belloc, -Mr. Yeats and Mr. Moore, Mr. Bennett and Mr. Galsworthy and, rather -more remotely, "A. E." were heroes worthy of emulation by me and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> the -likes of me. George Meredith and Mr. Hardy were too far up the slopes -of Olympus for us to hope ever to touch the hem of their garments, but -we were alive in the same world with them and sometimes spoke with -people who knew them. Once, even, on a hot Sunday morning I walked for -miles in Surrey, stiff with determination to see Meredith and to speak -with him, even if I should have to skulk about his house the entire day -and run the risk of being arrested for suspicious loitering; but my -heart failed me when, tired and thirsty, I came into his neighbourhood. -Who was I, I demanded of myself, that I should thrust my unimportant -person on the notice of a genius? And when I had made that demand of -myself, I realised that I could do no other than go away and leave the -old man in peace. And so I went, though now I regret that I did, for a -little while after I made my expedition to Box Hill, Meredith died and -I had lost for ever my hope of seeing him. Time has been kinder to me -over Mr. Hardy whose friendship I have the happiness to enjoy.</p> - -<p>I have described these men as our heroes, but of course the degree of -respect we gave to them varied. The feeling we had for Mr. Galsworthy, -for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>example, was diminished by the fact that we were afraid he would -turn aside and shed a few unaccountable tears. His work, particularly -"The Man of Property," "The Country House" and "The Silver Box," had -the great appeal which all passionately sincere work has, but it -left some of us in a state of chilled speculation. We were afraid of -the effect Mr. Galsworthy had on our emotions and we resisted him -more, perhaps, than we ought to have done because we suspected him of -sentimentality and were afraid he might let our minds down by pressing -too hardly on our hearts. His work excited a remote pity in us, but it -did not rouse us to wrath or warm our affections. His characters were -the creatures of an aloof, impassive and immovable Destiny; and it is -difficult to feel much interest in automatons. If a man is wronged by -another man, I may be stirred to his defence, but if he is thwarted -or crushed by some passionless Force which cannot be controlled or -persuaded or defeated, I am unlikely to do more than murmur "Poor -fellow!" and pass on my way. Spineless men, impotently submitting to -Circumstances, do not stir the blood, and Mr. Galsworthy's characters, -though they might excite our pity, killed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> our hope. Mr. Galsworthy -seemed to us to say, "Vain youths, it is idle to make any effort! -Things happen and they cannot be helped. You are doomed from the moment -of your birth to die frustrated!..." He is easily made indignant by -suffering, but we could not imagine him sounding a call to fight. -We could think of him only in the act of surrender. We asked for a -challenge; he counselled submission. He was a Tolstoyan, not of his -Free Will, for he had no Free Will, but because he could not help -himself. He turned the other cheek because he would not clench his -fist. Mr. Hardy did not fill our mouths with dust as Mr. Galsworthy -did, for his people, though they, too, were creatures of Destiny, were -gallant creatures and went to their end with a noble gesture. He left -us with the sensation that although we were obliged to submit to a doom -determined for us by a Power that understood neither Itself nor us, yet -we could put ribbons in our hats. We could die like men and not like -rats. When Mr. Hardy celebrated his eighty-first birthday, his younger -comrades in the craft of letters presented an address to him from which -I quote the following passages: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p>"In your novels and poems you have given us a tragic vision of -life which is informed by your knowledge of character and relieved -by the charity of your humour and sweetened by your sympathy with -human suffering and endurance. We have learned from you that the -proud heart can subdue the hardest fate, even in submitting to it. -When Mr. Justice Shallow sought to instruct Sir John Falstaff in -the choice of soldiers, the knight said: 'Care I for the limbs, -the thewes, the stature, bulk and big assemblance of a man? Give -me the spirit, Master Shallow.' So would you have answered him, -for in all that you have written you have shown the spirit of -man, nourished by tradition and sustained by pride, persisting -through defeat. You have inspired us both by your work and by the -manner in which it was done. The craftsman in you calls for our -admiration as surely as the artist, and few writers have observed -so closely as you have the Host's instruction in the Canterbury Tales:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Your termes, your colours and your figures,</div> -<div>Keep them in store, till so be ye indite</div> -<div>High style, as when that men to kinges write.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>From your first book to your last, you have written in the 'high -style, as when that men to kinges write,' and you have crowned a -great prose with a noble poetry."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Those extracts express, I think, some of the quiet quality of courage -discoverable in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>determinism of Mr. Hardy, but absent from the -determinism of Mr. Galsworthy.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Our attitude towards Mr. Shaw, Mr. Wells, Mr. Chesterton and Mr. Belloc -was very different from our attitude towards Mr. Galsworthy. These -challenging, fighting, protesting men were concerned less with pity -for the victims of life than with anger against or opposition to the -oppressors of life. They did not wring their hands; they put up their -fists. The Early Twentieth Century Youth listened respectfully to Mr. -Galsworthy, but he went out to fight with Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells and -Mr. Chesterton and Mr. Belloc. These four men did not move him in equal -measure. Mr. Wells stimulated him with the quick succession of his -ideas, but disconcerted him also with the rapidity with which he shed -one idea for another. While we were willing to challenge everything and -make it justify its existence, we were eager also to find firm ground -for our feet. We felt that Mr. Wells ought to make up his mind a little -more carefully before he took the public into his confidence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> Mr. -Shaw's awful consistency, even when he took to religion, drew us to -him more than Mr. Wells's willingness to modify or enlarge his views. -Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton stimulated us in a different way from -that in which Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells stimulated us. Mr. Wells sent us -out into the world in search of new and more adequate formulæ; Mr. -Belloc and Mr. Chesterton checked us in headlong flights with words of -warning and remonstrance. They reminded us that man is of the earth, -earthy; that man does not live by Good Will alone; that society is -composed of a great variety of beings, generous and mean, exalted and -debased, hearty and miserable, noble and ignoble, self-sacrificing and -self-seeking, kind and cruel; and they reminded us also that unless -we took care to remember this vital fact of the variety of man, we -should lose our way in the deserts ahead of us. They told us that Mr. -Wells's "Good Will" was merely Godwin's "Universal Benevolence" all -over again, and that Godwin's doctrine had made the way easy for the -Utilitarians and the growth of a devitalizing political theory which -expressed itself in the brutal industrial system of the first half of -the nineteenth century. Mr. Wells<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> sought to convict man of a sense -of stupidity and disorganization, but they sought to convict him of -a sense of sin. Mr. Wells reminded man of his power to aspire; they -reminded him of his lapse from grace. Mr. Wells said, "You can climb!" -They said, "You have fallen!" He said, "Think!" They said, "Repent!" -The world, in Mr. Wells's opinion, needed Love and Fine Thinking. In -the opinion of Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton it needed the love of God -and faith in the Catholic Church. There probably was less difference -in essentials between Mr. Wells and the Chesterbelloc, as Mr. Shaw -nicknamed them, than appeared on the surface of things. The Catholic -Church in its organized state may move Mr. Wells to admiration, though, -in its religious aspect, it probably moves him only to derision. It is -a shabby sort of faith, with a tendency to tawdriness which makes it -ultimately unsuitable to the spiritual needs of a gentleman, although -adequate to the needs of servant-girls and actors. No one who has -visited a Catholic church or witnessed the ceremonials in Rome can -help, if he or she be possessed of any culture at all, feeling that the -whole business is second-rate: the effort of an overblown actor-manager -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> interpret Shakespeare in pretentious terms. The fundamental sanity -of Mr. Chesterton has, no doubt, saved him from the folly of secession -to Rome, but his partiality for it and Mr. Belloc's rigid attainment -to it, made the young men of my time suspicious of the Chesterbelloc. -Mr. Belloc said, on a public occasion, that he would support the Church -in an act of repression if the Church came into serious conflict with -an antagonist; and he proved that he meant what he said by applauding -the execution of Ferrer, the anti-clerical, in Spain. It was natural, -perhaps, that my Orange blood should boil when I heard Mr. Belloc -palliating the offences of his obsolete church, but my more tolerant -friends were as dashed by his behaviour as I was, and what respect -we had for him was considerably diminished by the knowledge that he -would always come to heel when some priest snapped fingers at him. -Neither he nor Mr. Chesterton, although their criticism interested and -on occasions checked us, ever established dominion over us because of -their preoccupation with Catholicism. They might spell the word with a -capital C, but we knew very well that Mr. Belloc in his heart spelt it -with a small one, and we were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> not going to deliver ourselves into the -hands of men who were priest-ridden, however "jolly" they might be or -however well they might write.</p> - -<p>We were not interested in their beer-swilling habits which we regarded -as queer nastinesses in otherwise reputable persons. Their efforts -to make a tenet of religion out of beer-swilling seemed to us to be -as ridiculous as would be an effort by a Chinaman to make a tenet of -religion out of opium-smoking.</p> - -<p>Mr. Shaw was incontestably the supreme figure among these men of mind -who stimulated and influenced the young men and women of the Early -Twentieth Century. I doubt whether any one has ever captured or held -the fancy of young men as Mr. Shaw captured and held our fancy. Dr. -Johnson had an influence as powerful in his time as Mr. Shaw had in -ours; but Dr. Johnson's influence was mainly exercised over men of -older years than we were, of more established habits than we had; and -I doubt very much whether he affected their thoughts and outlook on -life so profoundly as Mr. Shaw affected us. He could not persuade the -faithful Boswell to accept his view of the American colonists, and his -pamphlet, "Taxation No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> Tyranny" displeased his friends as much as it -appeared to gratify George III and his supporters. Dr. Johnson was a -critic and a scholar with very little creative ability; he was too -conservative a man to be a man of genius; and he looked back too often -for the liking of young men who are always looking forward. His love -of tradition and settled order, while it was pleasing to men of an age -when comfort and security and familiar things began to attract the mind -more than effort and adventure and change, made him unattractive to -the stirring minds of young men. Shelley derived from Godwin, not from -Johnson.</p> - -<p>There is a passage in Boswell's "Life of Dr. Johnson" in which Dr. -Johnson's peculiar views on the respect due to men of rank are set out -very clearly.</p> - -<blockquote><p>" ... a discussion took place, whether ... Lord Cardross did right -to refuse to go Secretary of the Embassy to Spain, when Sir James -Gray, a man of inferior rank, went Ambassador. Dr. Johnson said, -that perhaps in point of interest he did wrong; but in point of -dignity he did well.... Sir, had he gone Secretary, while his -inferior was Ambassador, he would have been a traitor to his rank -and family."</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<p>The question, to Dr. Johnson's mind, was not one of merit: Lord -Cardross was entitled to "go Ambassador," not because he was a more -skilful diplomatist than Sir James Gray, but because he was a lord -while Sir James was only a knight! This extraordinary doctrine, which -may be held accountable for much in British history, might appeal to -elderly men who love rules and regulations and like to have everything -neatly set out in books, but it certainly does not appeal to young men -who believe in conflicts won by superior qualities; for young men, as -Dr. Johnson himself said on one occasion, "have more virtue than old -men; they have more generous sentiments in every respect."</p> - -<p>Mr. Shaw is incapable of uttering such a remark as Dr. Johnson uttered -in support of Lord Cardross's inept behaviour. He has, indeed, said -and written foolish things and he is capable of making what are called -"debating" points and cheap scores and of saying things for the sake -of saying them or of annoying the complacent and the smug; but he is -incapable of saying anything which supports a belief that one man shall -have precedence over another, not because of his merit, but because -of his birth. Dr. Johnson's statement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> was not a casual, fantastic, -perverse statement; it was a natural result of his general theory of -society. It is recorded of him that he declined to leave a room until -a Bishop had done so on the ground that the Bishop's office gave him -a title to precedence over a man of greater mentality! It was not -humility that caused Dr. Johnson to behave thus, for he was an arrogant -man, nor was it indifference to such matters, for he was a stickler for -respect to himself even when he did not deserve respect: it was his -belief in the providential arrangement of society in settled grades -that caused him to behave in this way. The man was entitled to quit the -room first, not because he was a good man or a great man, but because -he was a bishop! There is probably some convenience in this belief, a -simple method of preventing incivility, but it is a small convenience -which does not greatly matter to youth.</p> - -<p>I can imagine Mr. Shaw refusing to go out of the room before the Bishop -has done so, in sheer humility or indifference, but I cannot imagine -him refusing to do so because of his regard for the man's office as -distinct from the man himself. And it is, I suppose, his irreverence -for office, more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> than anything else, which draws young men to him. -He is no respecter of persons or authorities: he criticizes them all, -high or low. His courage, his vitality, his arrogance, his humility, -his championship of persecuted persons, his impulse to help an -unpopular cause not, as stupid people imagine, because it is unpopular, -but because it seems to him to be a just cause, and his absolute -indifference to vested interests and the power of the majority—these -qualities of his draw young men to him as a magnet draws a needle. It -is significant, I think, that Dr. Johnson had a very strong dislike of -Dean Swift to whom, in many respects, Bernard Shaw bears a close mental -resemblance. It is very certain that had Bernard Shaw lived in the -eighteenth century, to which, in spirit, he really belongs, he would -have supported the Americans as fiercely as Johnson denounced them; and -I do not doubt that his would have been the most scathing and powerful -of the pamphlets written in reply to "Taxation No Tyranny."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>These, then, were the men who guided in greater or less degree the -opinions of the young men and women of the Early Twentieth Century in -the islands of Great Britain and Ireland. "A. E." greatly influenced -young Irishmen who remained curiously unimpressed either by Mr. Moore -or Mr. Yeats. Rumours of his doctrine came to the ears of young -Englishman, but they had no personal contact with him as they had -with Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells and Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton. It is -not possible to calculate the extent to which these men moulded the -minds of my generation, but indisputably it was large. No one who grew -from youth to manhood between 1900 and 1914 could escape from their -influence, even if he were unconscious of it. The greater part of that -generation died in the War. The young men who drew their ideas chiefly -from Mr. Wells and Mr. Shaw, directly or indirectly, did not live to -make their world, and so we can never tell what good or ill would have -resulted to mankind had they succeeded to authority. Their bones are -buried in France and Italy, in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Palestine and Turkey, in Russia and -East Africa, on the shores of Gallipoli and in the marshes of Salonica, -in the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean and the North Sea; and there -is nothing to remember them by but broken lands in France and the -broken vows of politicians the world over. These young men went out to -die in a mood of selflessness that has never, perhaps, been equalled or -excelled in the history of mankind; and when their backs were turned, -they were betrayed. We cannot look on them again, but we may find -comfort in our loss by remembering and considering the men who formed -the faith they held.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<h2>"A. E."</h2> - -<p class="bold">(GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL)</p> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>In all the books on Ireland, considered nationally, socially and -economically, that have been written in the past twenty years, two -men inevitably are mentioned: Sir Horace Plunkett and "A. E.," whose -lawful name is George William Russell. Men of affairs in most parts -of the world have heard of them, and I imagine that very few of the -people who go to Ireland with any serious purpose fail to visit them. -I saw Sir Horace Plunkett receive an ovation from a large audience in -New York which could only have been given to him by people who had -some knowledge and appreciation of his work for his country; and I -was impressed by the fact that many Americans asked me to tell them -something of "A. E." And yet, though the wide world is not ignorant -of their worth, it is very likely that they are less generally known -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> Ireland than some paltry politician with a gift for street corner -rhetoric. Once, in Dublin, I praised Sir Horace Plunkett to a man from -the county of Cavan, who interrupted me to say that no one in his -village had ever heard of Sir Horace. He seemed to imagine that the -ignorance of his neighbours proved a demerit in the founder of the -co-operative movement in Ireland. Your villagers, said I, may never -have heard of Sir Horace Plunkett and are probably very familiar with -the names of Mr. Charles Chaplin and Miss Mary Pickford, but does -that prove that Mr. Chaplin is a greater man than Sir Horace? I am -not indifferent to the merits of Mr. Chaplin—I would go a long way -to see him in the movies—but I hope I shall never succumb to this -modern shoddy democracy which will not believe that a man possesses -quality unless his name is printed frequently in the newspapers and is -familiarly known to the rabble. It may be that Paudeen, unfit to do -more than "fumble in a greasy till," as Mr. Yeats wrote in his bitter -poem, "September, 1913," knows little or nothing of Sir Horace Plunkett -whose life labours have brought so much of comfort and prosperity to -him—but who cares<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> what Paudeen knows? Let him grub in the soil, as -God made him to grub, while men of mind and quality look after his -affairs. It is sufficient for the knowledgeable minority that <i>they</i> -know of Sir Horace and realize the value of the great work he has -done for his country. A false optimism bids us to believe that "we -needs must love the highest when we see it," but a sense of reality -convinces us that the highest has to fight harder for recognition than -the lowest, and that the way to the throne of heaven passes through -Golgotha, the place of a skull.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>If it be true that Sir Horace Plunkett is less known to his countrymen -than some fellow with flashy wits, it is more certain to be true that -his great colleague in co-operation, "A. E.," is still less known -to them. It would be difficult for any intelligent person to come -into the presence of "A. E." and remain unaware that he is a man of -merit. He fills a room immediately and unmistakably with the power -of his personality. A tall, bearded, untidy man, with full lips and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>bulkily-built body, he draws attention by his deep, grey eyes. When -he speaks, other people listen. If you were to meet him in the street, -unaware of his identity, and he were to ask you for a match with which -to light his pipe, you would do more than civilly comply with his -request. You would certainly say to yourself, "That's a remarkable -man!" It is said, with what verity I cannot say, that Mr. Bernard Shaw -and "A. E." met for the first time in a picture-gallery in Dublin, -each ignorant of the other's identity, and that they began to talk -of Art. They impressed each other so greatly that they continued in -argument for a long time, and only, when they parted, did they become -known to each other. The mountains nod to each other over the heads -of the little hills; and men of merit, even when they are not easily -recognized by the multitude, are known to each other. One man of merit -may, indeed, belittle another man of merit, as Dr. Johnson belittled -Fielding, as George Meredith belittled Dickens, as Henry James -belittled Ibsen and Thomas Hardy; but at least they are aware of each other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Very often have writers told the story of how Sir Horace Plunkett, -a tongue-tied, hesitant man with very delicate health, returned to -Ireland after a long stay in America, to begin the Co-operative -Movement, and found, in a Dublin shop, keeping accounts for a -tea-merchant, a poet and a painter, a mystic who was also an economist -with the capacity, as it afterwards proved, to become the ablest -journalist in Ireland. This man of multiple energies was George William -Russell, who was born in Lurgan, in the County of Armagh, on April 10, -1867. He is two years younger than Mr. Yeats, eleven years younger -than Mr. Shaw, and fifteen years younger than Mr. George Moore. The -order of these births is significant. Observe how an aloof artist has -been succeeded by a furious economist! Mr. Moore, who began life as a -realist after the manner, but not after the style, of Zola, and then -turned his back on Zola and sought the company of Turgeniev so that he -might pursue apt and beautiful words and delicate and elusive thoughts, -was followed by Mr. Shaw, who began life by filling his mind with the -ideas of Henry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> George and Karl Marx, and then turned his back on both -of them in order that he might consort with Mr. Sidney Webb. Mr. Yeats, -with his vague poetry and vague mysticism—none the less vague because -of the curious care for exactness which causes him to count the nine -and fifty swans at Coole and the nine bean rows on Innisfree—followed -Mr. Shaw, and in his turn was followed by "A. E." so closely connected -with economics that a wag, when asked what was the meaning of "A. E's." -pen-name, replied "agricultural economist."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>One cannot, however, leave the matter as simply as that. Mr. Shaw likes -to think of himself as an economist, but he is more than an economist; -he is John the Baptist pretending to be Karl Marx. "A. E." likes to -think of himself as an expert on the price of butter and milk and cows -and sheep, but he is more than an expert on these things: he is Blake -pretending to be Sir Horace Plunkett. Or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> Walt Whitman pretending to be -President Wilson. It has always seemed to me that Sir Horace Plunkett -and "A. E.," colleagues in a great enterprise, are the embodiment of -the peculiarly interwoven strands of Irish character, of that queer -mingling of the material and the spiritual in the Irish people which -at once allures and astounds the Englishman, accustomed to keeping -his materialism and his spirituality in separate compartments. Sir -Horace has a neat and unexpected wit, but he does not appear to me -to have much feeling for poetry or for any other literature or art. -He has respect for these things and will talk on them sometimes with -singular incisiveness, but his interest in them is an outside interest. -If he had to choose between a co-operative creamery and the Heroic -Legends of Ireland, I do not doubt for a moment that he would choose -the co-operative creamery. "A. E.," on the contrary, would choose the -Heroic Legends and would give the good reason for so doing that without -the Heroic Legends, the co-operative creamery is useless. When "A. E." -pleads for the co-operative societies, he does so because he believes -that these are part of the means whereby the Irish people will be -restored to their ancient stature. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> - -<p>Organize your industry, he said to the farmers, so that you may become -what your fathers were, fit company for the Shining Ones, for Lugh -and Balor and Manannan, the great and brave and beautiful Pagan gods. -Each by himself, Sir Horace or "A. E.," might have failed to make -much out of the co-operative movement in Ireland, but both together, -each possessed of a different, yet complementary, crusading spirit, -could not fail to make a happy issue of it. When Garibaldi appealed -for recruits for his Thousand, he offered them wounds and death. When -Sir Horace Plunkett appealed for helpers in the Irish Agricultural -Organization Society, he offered them hard and discouraging labour and -poor wages. Mankind, which responds to a noble appeal as readily as it -responds to a base appeal, offered its best to both of them. Garibaldi -got his Thousand, and Sir Horace Plunkett got his colleagues.</p> - -<p>They were diverse in character, and included Nationalists and -Unionists, Catholics and Protestants, peers and peasants. For the -first time in Irish history, Irishmen of all classes were united on a -matter which had no relationship with passions! There were no angry -emotions astir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> when the I. A. O. S. brought the diverse elements of -the Irish entity into accord as there had been when the union of the -North and the South was made many years earlier; and consequently -the movement could not be split, as that Union was, by the collision -of one angry emotion with another. In face of every conceivable -discouragement and even of active enmity and in spite of the grave -unhealth of Sir Horace himself, the movement grew in strength until now -it is indestructible.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Chief among the colleagues whom Sir Horace -gathered about him was "A. E." Mr. Russell could, without doubt, earn -a large income as a journalist if he were to offer his pen to a rich -newspaper proprietor—his weekly review, the <i>Irish Homestead</i>, is -the most ably-edited and skillfully-written organ in Ireland—and he -could probably earn as much as, if not more than, he receives from -his Co-operative work if he were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> to devote himself exclusively to -his mystical and poetical writings; but just as Mazzini felt himself -compelled to sacrifice his heart's desire, the life of a man of -letters, in order to devote himself to a political career which was -distasteful to him, so "A. E." felt compelled to hitch his star to Sir -Horace Plunkett's wagon, and for many years now he has preached, week -after week, the gospel of co-operation to Irish farmers when he would, -perhaps, have preferred exclusively to tell stories of the ancient gods -and heroes.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>But the Co-operative Movement did not absorb the whole of his energies. -He is as many-sided as William Morris was, almost as many-sided as -Leonardo da Vinci. His work on the <i>Irish Homestead</i> would seem to -be sufficient to employ all the vitality of a healthy, active man, -but "A. E." cannot be contained within the pages of a weekly review, -and so, while writing four or five pages every week of the finest -journalism to be found in Great Britain or Ireland, he has also -produced seven remarkable books and painted many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> pictures, engaged in -political and economic controversy, and sat as a member of the Irish -Convention which endeavoured, in 1917, to discover a solution of the -Irish Problem. In a strange and, to me, incomprehensible book, called -"The Candle of Vision," he has wrought his mysticism to such a pitch -of practicality that he is able to offer his readers an alphabet with -which to interpret the language of the Gods! It manifests itself in -some of his pictures, where strange, luminous and brightly-coloured -creatures are seen shining in some ordinary landscape, creatures that -seemed to me, when I first saw them, akin to Red Indians. In everything -that he writes and does, there is a consciousness of some spiritual -presence, not the spiritual presence of the Christian theology, but -of the Pagan Legends. One night, in his house in Dublin, I drew the -attention of a lady to one of his pictures, a dark landscape, in the -centre of which a very brilliant and beautiful creature was dancing. -"A. E." turned to us and said, "That's the one I saw!" and I remembered -the story I had been told earlier in the evening, that he saw fairies, -that he actually took penny tram-rides from Dublin to go up into the -mountains to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> fairies! I do not remember what the lady said, -but I remember that she looked exceedingly astonished, and, indeed, -I myself felt some astonishment. If Mr. Yeats had said that he had -seen a fairy, I should have smiled indulgently and should neither -have believed that he had seen one nor that he himself believed that -he had seen one. But while I do not believe that "A. E." saw a fairy, -otherwise than in his imagination, I am certain that he believes he saw -one, not as a creature of the mind, but as one having flesh and blood. -He claims no peculiar merit for himself in seeing visions. "There is -no personal virtue in me," he writes in "The Candle of Vision," "other -than this that I followed a path all may travel but on which few do -journey." He tells his readers how they, too, if they have the wish, -may see the things which he has seen, and he gives descriptions of some -of his visions. People as incredulous as I am can very easily dispose -of "A. E.'s" visions as the fantasies of a man suffering perhaps from -inadequate nourishment—for "A. E." was careless about his meals in -those days—just as the visions of St. Theresa and St. Catherine of -Sienna may be explained by the feverishness of mind that comes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> to -people who are starving themselves or are suffering from neurosis. Here -is an account of one of his visions. You are to understand that it is -not a dream such as you and I have when we are asleep, but something -seen by a man who is awake at broad of day, something actual, something -that you who read this might also see if you were to follow the path on -which he has travelled:</p> - -<blockquote><p>So did I feel one warm summer day lying idly on the hillside, -not then thinking of anything but the sunlight, and how sweet it -was to drowse there, when, suddenly, I felt a fiery heart throb, -and knew it was personal and intimate, and started with every -sense dilated and intent, and turned inwards, and I heard first a -music as of bells going away, away into that wonderous underland -whither, as legend relates, the Danaan gods withdraw; and then -the heart of the hills was opened to me, and I knew there was no -hill for those who were there, and they were unconscious of the -ponderous mountain piled above the palaces of light, and the winds -were sparkling and diamond clear, yet full of color as an opal, as -they glittered through the valley, and I knew the Golden Age was -all about me, and it was we who had been blind to it but that it -had never passed away from the world.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The Golden Age is here, at this moment, and all the noble creatures who -filled it with chivalry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> and beauty are crowding about us. We have only -to open our eyes and we shall see!...</p> - -<blockquote><p>Once, suddenly, I found myself on some remote plain or steppe, -and heard unearthly chimes pealing passionately from I know not -what far steeples. The earth-breath streamed from the furrows -to the glowing heavens. Overhead the birds flew round and round -crying their incomprehensible cries, as if they were maddened, and -knew not where to nestle, and had dreams of some more enraptured -rest in a diviner home. I could see a ploughman lift himself from -his obscure toil and stand with lit eyes as if he too had been -fire-smitten and was caught into heaven as I was, and knew for -that moment he was a god.</p></blockquote> - -<p>It is very vague, the disbeliever feels, and there is nothing in it to -make one accept it as a vision of a thing actually seen, rather than -fancied; but there can be no doubt of the intensity with which "A. E." -believes in the actuality of it. These visions form the foundation of -his political and economic faith. He advocates co-operative enterprise -because he believes in his visions as actual happenings. In a poem, -called "Earth Breath," he says:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>From the cool and dark-lipped furrows breathes a dim delight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></div> -<div>Through the woodland's purple plumage to the diamond night.</div> -<div>Aureoles of joy encircle every blade of grass</div> -<div>Where the dew-fed creatures silent and enraptured pass.</div> -<div>And the restless ploughman pauses, turns, and, wondering,</div> -<div>Deep beneath his rustic habit finds himself a king.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This verse is obviously a poetical account of the experience he -underwent "on some remote plain or steppe," and the final couplet of it -gives the explanation of his belief in democracy. If he had no faith in -the god in man, if he were not certain that "the restless ploughman ... -deep beneath his rustic habit finds himself a king," he would probably -offer his allegiance to autocracy and believe in government by a caste; -but since he has seen visions and is convinced that there is a god in -man, he cannot be other than a democrat. All his political strivings -have been directed towards making this "a society where people will -be at harmony in their economic life," as he writes in "The National -Being," and "will readily listen to different opinions from their own, -will not turn sour faces on those who do not think as they do, but -will, by reason and sympathy, comprehend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> each other, and come at last, -through sympathy and affection, to a balancing of their diversities, -as in that multitudinous diversity which is the universe, powers and -dominions and elements are balanced, and are guided harmoniously by the -Shepherd of the Ages." Whether such a world, balanced in that way, can -be rightly described as a democracy is not a matter on which I offer -any opinion here, though it seems to me to be a very long way from what -the common man considers a democracy to be.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>It is when we come to connect his visions and the beliefs he derives -from them with the actual circumstances in which we find ourselves -that we begin to be most dubious. "National ideals," he says in "The -National Being," "are the possession of a few people only." That is an -argument for aristocracy.</p> - -<blockquote><p>Yet we must spread them in wide commonalty over Ireland if we -are to create a civilisation worthy of our hopes and our ages -of struggle and sacrifice to attain the power to build. We -must spread them in wide commonalty because it is certain that -democracy will prevail in Ireland. The aristocratic classes with -traditions of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> government, the manufacturing classes with economic -experience, will alike be secondary in Ireland to the small -farmers and the wage-earners in the towns. We must rely on the -ideas common among our people, and on their power to discern among -their countrymen the aristocracy of character and intellect.</p></blockquote> - -<p>With the deletion of the word "Ireland" and the substitution of the -word "America," that quotation might stand just as effective for the -United States as for Ireland. Why is it certain that democracy will -prevail in Ireland? Because the small farmers and the wage-earners -in the towns will take precedence over the aristocracy and the -manufacturing classes! I do not follow that argument. I have seen -nothing in England or America or Ireland or France to convince me -that if the small farmers and the wage-earners in the towns were -authoritative they would be any more democratic than the aristocratic -or the manufacturing classes. I have seen much to make me feel certain -that they will use their authority as implacably in their own interests -as any aristocrat or manufacturer ever used or ever will use his. Mr. -G. K. Chesterton, in his book, "Irish Impressions," produces this -argument in favour of peasant proprietorship: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p>It may be that international Israel will launch against us out -of the East an insane simplification of the unity of Man, as -Islam once launched out of the East an insane simplification -of the unity of God. If it be so, it is where property is well -distributed that it will be well defended. The post of honor will -be with those who fight in very truth for their own land.</p></blockquote> - -<p>It is indisputable that a peasant will fight for his own land, the tiny -portion which he owns and cultivates, but will he fight for another -man's land when that man is unjustly to be bereft of it? There is -nothing meritable in a man who fights for his own goods and lands, nor -does it seem to me that a peasant will fight for his potato-patch with -any greater determination than a share holder in a railroad will fight -for the interest on his capital. There certainly is not anything more -noble or chivalrous in the peasant's desire to keep possession of his -means of livelihood than there is in that of the Liberty Bondholder. -The test of honour is, not what will you do for yourself, but what will -you do for other men? The French peasant proprietors, the Pennsylvania -Dutch, the Irish peasant proprietors may offer a guarantee of stability -to society, but the offer may carry with it obstinate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> reaction and -a gross disregard of the rights of those who are not possessors of -land. It will not guarantee the landless man against exploitation in -the price of food in times of war and necessity. It offers singularly -little hope that "national ideals" will be spread in wide commonalty, -if the peasants can help it. "A. E." will urge, perhaps, that while -"national ideals are the possession of a few people only," they may -be spread in wide commonalty if the "few people" will make the effort -to spread them. The soil lies ready for the seed. But what is there -in human affairs to justify any man in assuming that the mass of men -are likely to be long-suffering in idealism? Is it not a fact of human -nature that even when the multitude has been stirred to some act of -exaltation, the staying power of the multitude has not been sufficient -to maintain the exalted mood long enough to render the reactionaries -hopeless? Where are the generous ideals of 1914 now? Has not the war -that was to end war made war seem more probable? Is not the world at -this moment suffering to the point of distraction because the multitude -cannot live up to its own ideals long enough to make them practical? -"The gods departed," says "A. E.",<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> "the half-gods also, hero and -saint after that, and we [i. e. the Irish people] have dwindled down -to a petty peasant nationality, rural and urban life alike mean in -their externals." But he does not despair. "Yet the cavalcade, for -all its tattered habiliments, has not lost spiritual dignity." And he -hopes "the incorruptible atom" in us will make us great again. Divine -optimism, but what is there in peasant society to justify it?</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>And here I make a wide digression to discourse on nationalism and -peasant states. The world conspires to believe that the spirit of -nationality is a desirable one, filling men with the purest ideals; -but we begin to realize now that the spirit of nationality, while -it has animated many noble men and brought them to a condition of -extraordinary selflessness, more often reduces a race to a state -of mean brutality and insufferable smugness. The self-satisfaction -of a Sinn Feiner is as sickening as the ruffianly behaviour of a -Black-and-Tan, and the outrages committed by the former are more -despicable than the outrages of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>latter, because the Black-and-Tan -makes no pretences about himself, whereas the Sinn Feiner covers his -blackguardly behaviour with a cloak of virtuous nationalism and high -ideals. What is there to choose between the Sinn Feiners who seized -an old man of seventy and dragged him from a tram-car in Dublin and -murdered him in the presence of terrorized Irishmen (not one of whom -had the common pluck to risk his life in an effort to save him) and -the Black-and-Tans who dragged the Mayor of Limerick from his bed and -brutally murdered him? What is there to choose between the noble-minded -Sinn Feiners who took old Mrs. Lindsay, a woman of more than seventy -years, and shot her and her aged servant dead because she had done -what any spirited woman would do, warned soldiers who were on her -side, that they were walking into an ambush—what is there to choose -between them and the Orangemen who threw bombs into the midst of little -Catholic children playing games in Belfast? What is there to choose -between the Sinn Feiners who murdered four sick men (one of them dying -of pleurisy) in their beds in a Galway hospital and the Orangemen who -murdered the McMahon family in Belfast? Very little. If one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> side is -more condemnable than the other, it is those who, professing noble -motives, practice foul deeds. One may, perhaps, find excuses for the -evil acts of men whose minds are inflamed with patriotic emotions which -cannot be found for a civilized government committing similar deeds of -atrocity. Murder by the former may be less reprehensible than murder -by the latter, but the difference between them is too slight to be -worthy of consideration. Murder remains murder, whether it be done for -imperial or national purposes, and I confess to feeling more respect -for the plain Black-and-Tan, making no bones about his brutality and -his murders, than I do for the Sinn Feiner who commits crimes and -calls them acts of virtue. "A. E.'s" restless ploughman may pause and -turn and wonder, but is more likely to find himself, "deep beneath his -rustic habit" a Sinn Fein gunman than "a king." I do not know how "the -incorruptible atom" is to be developed in men who have made a virtue -of crime and covered up their infamies with hypocrisy; and "A. E." -amazingly omits to tell us how it is to be done.</p> - -<p>We Irish people—and I am as Irish in my origins and emotions as any -man—suffer from the sin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> which afflicts all subject peoples: the sin -of self-pity; and I desire self-government for Ireland, not because -I believe that the Irish people can govern themselves better than -the English have governed them—I take leave to doubt that when I -remember the achievements of the Irish in America—but because I can -see no hope of the Irish people acquiring a sense of reality until -they have freed themselves from the complacency, the smugness, the -self-satisfaction, the self-pity which are inevitable in subject -peoples. When they have discovered the truth about themselves, they may -be able to govern themselves. And the truth about the Irish people, -whether they be Protestant or Catholic, from the North or the South, -is that they are a brutal, cruel, greedy, mean and treacherous people -who have humbugged the rest of the world into the belief that they are -a faithful, generous, high-minded, kindly, noble and tolerant race. We -have our virtues, but by our insufferable contentment with ourselves -we have made vices of them. Our literature, particularly our modern -literature, plainly reveals the truth about us. Synge, Padraic Colum, -Lennox Robinson, Daniel Corkery, James Joyce—all these have shown us -an Irish people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> completely false to the world's common belief about -them. I remember, when Mr. Robinson's bitter comedy, "The White-Headed -Boy," was first performed in London, being asked by an English dramatic -critic whether I recognized my countrymen in Mr. Robinson's characters. -I said "Yes," and he replied in accents of disgust, "But they're -<i>horrible</i> people! There isn't one of them for whom any decent person -can feel sympathy!..." "Exactly," I said. And what our literature is -now revealing, our acts and history have long made clear. We are at -the culmination of centuries of oppression and cruel treatment. To -the natural treachery and brutality of the Celt must be added the -treachery and brutality which are provoked by misgovernment. The broad -fact about us is that we have been so accustomed, by nature and by -circumstances, to occasions of harsh and violent conduct that we find -nothing startling in them, provided we can give them a patriotic gloss. -Our satisfaction with ourselves is so intense that we imagine our -little efforts in literature to be greater than those of the rest of -the world. We prate incessantly about the ancient Gælic literature, but -are reluctant to produce the evidence for our <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>boasting. We forget that -the Irishmen of distinction in literature, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Wilde, -Shaw, Yeats, Moore and Synge, are not Celtic at all, but Anglo-Saxon -in origin.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> All of them, with the exception of Mr. Moore, are -Protestant, and even Mr. Moore became a Protestant. "A. E." himself is -an Ulster Protestant with a Scotch name. The O's and the Macs, who are -reputed to be compounded of poetry and noble thoughts have furnished -the world with little but soldiers, cattle-drivers, Sinn Fein gunmen -and Tammany bosses. We have sponged upon the world, and the world is -utterly sick of us.</p> - -<p>Our absorption in ourselves is so complete that we demand consideration -for our academic grievances which rightly belongs to the ruined races -of Europe. Ireland is the only country in the world which made a profit -out of the War, yet her behaviour during it was that of an hysterical -woman who should rush into the presence of a man bleeding to death and -exclaim, "My God, I've got toothache!" Millions of Russians are dying -of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>disease and hunger with less complaint than a Sinn Feiner makes -about his obsolete language which he cannot speak, will not write -and does not wish to learn. Millions of Austrians are without the -elementary decencies of life, but they do not whine over their ills as -Sinn Feiners whine over ills which they have not got. Snivelling and -whining, indeed, are the most obvious characteristics of the modern -Irishman, Catholic or Protestant, added to an impudent demand that his -affairs shall be treated as of greater consequence than those of the -rest of mankind.</p> - -<p>To crown all, we are allowing ourselves to be dominated by peasant -ideals: the little narrow demands of men who care only for their own -interests and not at all for their neighbours'. We have seen how the -curse of nationality together with the curse of peasant principles -have helped to ruin Europe. When we are asked to believe in "the -incorruptible atom" of the peasant, we look to the Balkan States and -see a foulness which spread a plague across a continent. When we are -told of "the spiritual dignity" of the peasant community, we look to -France and see a nation so corrupted with peasant greed and peasant -fright that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> Peace Treaty threatens to be a more potent force -for war and bloodshed than all the Kaisers that have ever lived put -together. And when we are told that the patriotic peasant "deep beneath -his rustic habit finds himself a king" we look to Ireland and see young -men, masked and armed, seizing old, unarmed men and old, unarmed women -and sick and dying men and little children, and brutally murdering -them. These be your Gods, O Israel. These be your high-minded patriots, -your selfless peasants, your noble army of idealists!</p> - -<p>If we are to govern ourselves, we can only hope to do so manfully -if we begin by humiliating ourselves before God and man. We have -made claims on the world's regard which we are not entitled to make -and cannot maintain. If "the incorruptible atom" is in our national -being at all—if we are not a foul and cantankerous race destined by -Almighty God to perish utterly from the earth because we are unfit to -survive—then for each of us the principal purpose of life must be a -prolonged process of purification. We have sinned, we have sinned, we -have sinned, but we have not repented. We have pretended that our sin -was a virtue and have demanded admission to the society<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> of our betters -on the plea that we are their equals, if not their superiors, when in -fact we are not fit to be in their company at all; and our task now -and for a long time must be the bitter one of acknowledging the truth -to ourselves and striving to justify our boasting to other men. We -have to rid ourselves of vain-glory and self-pity, of cant and humbug, -of cruelty and hatred, of backbiting and slander, of false pride, of -whining and snivelling, of corrupt living and a mean religion. There -are evil things in our nature and more evil things in our circumstances -which we must somehow subdue if we are to come to equality with the -civilized races of the world, but they will not be subdued until we -have learned to acknowledge facts and have discovered that hatred is -a device of the devil whereby men are destroyed and the world is made -a wilderness. We can neither live nor let live until we have filled -our hearts with love and charity. Nor will there be any hope in our -lives until we have abandoned the mean divisions which keep the North -Irishman in bitter enmity with the South Irishman. These two are -necessary to each other, the first for his stability and judgment and -governing ability, the second for his vision and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> faith and docility. -There are millions of Irishmen or men of Irish origin in the United -States, yet no Irish Catholic or man of Irish Catholic origin has -risen to Presidency of his country. Three men of Ulster Protestant -origin have done this. The Irish Catholic has given corrupt politics -to America. He has not given anything else. The Ulster people, the -only compact people in Ireland, whose blood has hardly been mingled -with other blood in three centuries and more—there is not a drop of -English blood in my veins, a claim which cannot easily be maintained -by Irishmen south of the Boyne—contemplate the scene in Ireland now -with misgiving and astonishment. They, whatever their faults, chose -an Irishman for their leader, but the Sinn Feiners could not throw -up from among themselves a man to lead them. They chose, first, an -Englishman, called Padraic Pearse. They chose second, an American Jew, -called De Valera, whose principal adviser is an Englishman, called -Erskine Childers, whose domestic urge is his American wife, infatuated -with the thought that she is the reincarnation of Joan of Arc. And the -Ulstermen, free from dialectical intricacies, listen to the tortured, -worn-out sentiments uttered by Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> De Valera, not in fear, but in -contempt. That long, lean Jew, trained by Jesuits, possessed in double -measure of the narrow, uninspired idealism of his race and furnished -with the casuistical devotion of his teachers, is an honest man, with -cold, humourless, fanatical eyes, whose unreceptive mind guards itself -against knowledge by barriers of bigotry, hatred, obstinacy, disbelief -and self-deception. He has the dishonesty that is sometimes found in -a very honest man, the dishonesty one might expect to find in a man -trained in a Jesuit school: for there are few acts of unscrupulousness -that he will not commit to achieve the end he devoutly desires. When -he was asked on one occasion what his attitude would be to the Ulster -people if they refused to give allegiance to an Irish Republic, he -replied that he would blast Ulster from his path, unaware seemingly -that blasting is a bad business in which more than one party can -participate. I put the question to him myself in the Commodore Hotel -in New York at a meeting of the League of Free Nations; and his reply -was that he would present the Ulster people with these alternatives: -they might remain in Ireland under the Republic or they might go out -of Ireland <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>altogether with compensation for their property. It did -not occur to Mr. De Valera that of these alternatives, Ulstermen would -choose neither. How far he had considered the question of finance -involved in schemes of compensation, I do not know, although I suspect -his mind to be innocent of much financial knowledge; but I wonder how -he would raise the money with which to compensate a single firm in -Belfast, that of Harland and Wolff, the shipbuilders, if they elected -to build their ships in Southampton; and I wonder still more how he -would raise the men and the money to carry on those works after Harland -and Wolff had taken themselves away! But such suppositions are idle, -for Ulstermen will not let themselves be disturbed in their homes by -one who is not their countryman. The story of my family in Ulster is -typical of the story of hundreds and thousands of families there. -All my forefathers, on my mother's side and my father's side, for -three hundred years of which we have record and for a longer period -of which we have incomplete records, were born and bred and buried in -the County of Down, with the exception of my maternal grandfather who, -although born and bred in Down, died and was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>buried in America. And -we, so indigenous to the soil as that, are bidden to acknowledge Mr. -De Valera for our President or clear out of our homes, although Mr. -De Valera is an American citizen, born in New York, whose first act, -if he were President of the Irish Republic, would have to be one of -naturalization! We will see Mr. De Valera damned first. This strange -intruder into Irish politics has brought in his trail a terrible -procession of young men trained to take life lightly, to listen to no -argument but that of the revolver; and the end of that procession is -out of sight. It is more easy to train men to take life than it is to -train them to preserve it. We cannot say to a man, "Thus far shalt thou -kill, but no further!" and those whom we have taught to commit crime -in the name of patriotism, may continue to commit crime for personal -profit. "And so, to the end of history," as Cæsar says in Mr. Shaw's -play "murder shall breed murder, always in the name of right and honour -and peace, until the gods are tired of blood and create a race that can -understand."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>Sometimes I say to myself that "A. E." has lived too long and -too exclusively in Ireland. He is not free from the mush of -sentimentality with which Irishmen regard themselves, this everlasting -self-congratulation that Irishmen are not as Englishmen, this smug -preoccupation with their own virtues and bland disregard of their -vices, this eternal denial that they have any demerits. If the Irish -people are to recover the dignity and the stature of the gods, they -must display god-like qualities or prove that they possess them. It -is not sufficient to assert that they possess these qualities, at the -same time denying them by nagging continually at their neighbours. I -have wished at times that "A. E." could be removed from the atmosphere -of adulation which envelopes him in Dublin, and sent, without letters -of introduction, on a tour round the world. He has probably travelled -less than any other educated man in Ireland. He passes from his -home in Rathmines, a suburb of Dublin, to the office of the <i>Irish -Homestead</i> in Merrion Square, from one centre of adulation to another, -with occasional visits to the home of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> James Stephens, where he meets -the same people that visit him on Sunday nights, or to the Hermetic -Society, where he meets them again. He is too fine a spirit to be -seriously affected by the paltry gabble of the third-rate minds he -encounters on most occasions in Dublin, and perhaps it hardly matters -that he seldom leaves Dublin and hardly ever leaves Ireland; but even -so rare a man as "A. E." must suffer contraction within the narrow -limits of Dublin. He has resources that few men possess: a quiet mind, -a vivid faith and the love and respect of very dissimilar people. He -can turn from the consideration of agricultural prices in the <i>Irish -Homestead</i> to the esoteric alphabet with which he speaks to the Gods, -or he can go off to the mountains of Donegal and make pictures. When -painting no longer delights him, he can spend his nights and days in -making poems. He is extravagantly generous to young writers, giving -greater praise to them sometimes than they deserve, giving less of -criticism than is necessary. There are minor poets in Dublin, authors -of thin books of thin verse, who have persuaded themselves, because of -"A. E's." praise, that they are more meritable than they are. There -are people in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>Dublin who seem to believe that Ireland has produced a -greater literature than England and will denounce you as a traitor to -your country if you protest that she cannot show poets of the stature -of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth, Browning -and Tennyson, with the exception of Mr. Yeats. I am the sort of patriot -who would like to see his country raise herself to the level of other -countries, but I am not the sort of patriot who will pretend that she -is on the level of England and France and Germany when, in fact, she -is far below it. "A. E." is not entirely free from blame for this. He -could have given Ireland a sense of proportion, had he cared to do so.</p> - -<h3>VIII</h3> - -<p>I have a picture by "A. E." of an ascending road on the side of -a mountain. There is rain in the air, and the road has a lonely, -unfrequented look. Yet, though there is no living creature visible in -the picture, Life fills it. I feel sometimes when I sit back in my -chair and look at "The Mountain Road" that there are divine beings -behind the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> bushes, that if I could only climb up that road and turn -the corner of the mountain, I should come upon the Golden Age. Is it -not ungracious to make complaint, even if the complaint be a slight -one, of a man who can make the invisible world so powerfully felt as -that? And if he persuades me, by nature sceptical, almost to believe -in the Shining Ones, how much more strong must his influence be on -those who are eager to believe! When the evil temper which possesses -Ireland at this moment has subsided, the fine temper of "A. E." will -rise again and call Irishmen to a kindlier mood. The little town of -Lurgan, in which he was born, is notorious in Ulster for the harshness -of its religious dissensions. A base bigotry flourishes there. It is in -the nature of things that from a place of great bitterness should have -come a man of reconciliation, bidding Catholic and Protestant to meet, -not in Geneva or in Rome, but on the holy hills of Ireland, under the -protection of the ancient gods.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Mr. Darrell Figgis, in his book on "A. E.", explains the -pen-name thus: "Wanting at one time a new pen-name, he subscribed -himself as Aeon. His penmanship not at all times being of the -legiblest, the printer deciphered the first diphthong and set a query -for the rest; whereupon the writer, in his proof-sheets, stroked out -the query and stood by the diphthong." Since then, however, Mr. Russell -has abandoned the diphthong and prints his pen name as two separate -letters.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> I leave that passage unmodified, despite the fact -that the Black-and-Tans in the course of their fight with the Sinn -Feiners (equally disgraceful to both of them) burnt down many of the -creameries. They will be built again. Mr. Lloyd George jeered at Sir -Horace Plunkett soon after the Black-and-Tans had performed most of -their infamous work, but any decent person would infinitely prefer to -be Sir Horace with his burnt creameries than Mr. Lloyd George with his -burnt principles.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Parnell, the greatest political leader the Irish Catholics -have ever had, was a Protestant of Anglo-Saxon origin. Like Synge, he -belonged to a family which came to Ireland originally from Cheshire in -the North of England.</p></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ARNOLD BENNETT</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>One night, some years before the outbreak of the European War, I -arrived in the town of Hanley in the County of Stafford in the midlands -of England to deliver a lecture on some subject, the name of which -I do not now remember, although I suspect it was connected with the -general improvement of mankind. I had accepted the invitation to -lecture in Hanley, not because I had anything of importance to say to -its inhabitants, but because I had lately read "The Old Wives' Tale" -by Mr. Arnold Bennett, and was eager to see the place and the people -from which that great book had sprung. My recollections of the visit -are very vague now, but I remember that my host, a man of serious mind, -a little over-weighted, perhaps, by the troubles of the universe, took -me for a walk on Sunday morning through some of "the Five Towns," in -the course of which he displayed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> much knowledge of the topography of -Mr. Bennett's books without displaying much knowledge of the books -themselves. He informed me that the real name of "Trafalgar Road" in -"The Old Wives' Tale" is "Waterloo Road" and that the fictitious name -of Hanley is "Hanbridge." He speculated incuriously on the oddness -which had caused Mr. Bennett to alter real names in this palpable -manner, and ended his discourse with the statement that he seldom read -novels (which he persisted in calling "Works of Fiction") being more -inclined to the study of serious books. I learned that he read chiefly -in the writings of sociologists and political economists and similar -serious persons. I suggested to him that he might more profitably read -novels than sociological books if he wished to discover something -about human character. He was a polite and kindly man, and he did not -abruptly tell me of my folly, but I could see that he considered me to -be a fool or, at best, a flippant person, and I am sure that had he -not been my host he would not have troubled to attend my lecture that -evening. He smiled in the benign way men have when they abstain from -expressing their frank opinion, as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> listened to me saying that he -would find in novels a greater fund of information about human nature -than he could hope to find in all the works that all the sociologists -in the world have written. Men of affairs, I said, spend their lives -in writing ponderous volumes on society which are out-of-date as -soon as they are published, whereas the novel or the play of a man -of genius remains true for ever. Henry Fielding and Adam Smith were -contemporaries, but I imagine few will deny that there is more durable -stuff, stuff more continuously applicable to human concerns, in "Tom -Jones" than there is in "The Wealth of Nations." But my friend would -have none of this, and seemed to think that any man who spent time in -reading Fielding's novel which might be spent in reading Adam Smith -was shamefully misusing his mind. He led me, I remember, through much -of the territory which is generically known as "the Five Towns." I saw -the Square in which the Baineses lived, and was told that although Mr. -Bennett called it "St. Luke's Square" in "The Old Wives' Tale," the -local authorities preferred to call it after St. John. So great was the -influence of the novel upon me that when I peered through the window -of the shop in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> which, so I was told, Constance and Sophia Baines were -born, I almost expected to see the half-heroic figure of Samuel Povey -behind the counter or to meet the cold, un-human glance of that frozen -spinster, Miss Marie Insull, who once, and once only, displayed signs -of human emotion—on the occasion when Mr. Critchlow brought her into -the presence of the widowed Constance to announce his betrothal to her:</p> - -<blockquote><p>The dog had leisurely strolled forward to inspect the edges of the -fiancé's trousers. Miss Insull summoned the animal with a noise of -the fingers, and then bent down and caressed it. A strange gesture -proving the validity of Charles Critchlow's discovery that in -Maria Insull a human being was buried.</p></blockquote> - -<p>My host led me up stony streets, in which every sort of domestic -architecture was visible—for "the Five Towns" are so independent -that even in the workmen's houses there is no uniformity of style or -harmony of design, a fact which makes, not for a pleasing diversity, -but for shapelessness and incoherence—and pointed to places in the -ground where, so he said, the earth had opened, owing to underground -operations, and swallowed whosoever should happen to be passing over -it. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> a story of a man who had set forth in the morning to go -to his work, but, before he had travelled many yards from his home, -was suddenly consumed by the opening earth and was never seen again. I -will admit that I trod those streets thereafter with trepidation and -considerable care! I had begun to tire of the ugly houses with their -insufferable architecture, and of the grime caused by innumerable -chimneys emitting thick, black smoke, when I was led up a steep street -at the top of which I was told to halt and gaze about me. I saw the -whole of "the Five Towns" and much of the surrounding country spread -out like the kingdoms of the world and realized how strangely moving -such a scene can be because of its suggestion of human presences. -It was not without beauty, in spite of the gloom of an industrial -area, but it impressed me most by its air of effort and power and -achievement. I became conscious of the activities of men and women, of -great labours, of confused strivings out of which some human need is -satisfied, and I came away, as I always come away from such sights, -immensely impressed by human organization and very satisfied with great -machines. When we had descended from that high street and had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> walked -elsewhere, I found myself suddenly confronting a railway station on -which I saw the romantic name of <span class="smaller">ETRURIA</span>.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Etruria, the country of the Etruscans in Italy, was, I suppose, a very -different place from Etruria, the small town between Hanley and Burslem -("Hanbridge" and "Bursley") where Josiah Wedgwood founded his pottery -in the eighteenth century, but the spirit which produced the Etruscan -ceramics was not dissimilar from the spirit which produces the famous -Wedgwood ware; and I thought to myself as I looked at the romantic name -of that grimy-looking town in Staffordshire that I had stumbled on the -secret of Mr. Bennett. Underneath the plain appearance of the pottery -town, there is a spirit which has persisted in the production of -beautiful things for the best part of two centuries, a spirit so much -in love with delicate ware that it calls an unsightly town by the name -of an ancient and reputedly beautiful one; and underneath the hard and -fact-ridden style of Mr. Bennett there is an ineradicable desire for -romance. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> said of him once that he fights the battles of the romantic -with the weapons of the realist, and that description seems to me to be -strictly accurate. Mr. Bennett mingles, even in his Christian names, -the gritty and the graceful in a way that is singularly characteristic -of the people of his district. "Enoch Arnold Bennett" is a combination -of names not easily imagined, but it is not more unusual than the -combination of Etruria and Staffordshire, of lovely ceramics and "the -Five Towns." Mr. Bennett has many times been charged with addiction -to dusty realism, a dull love of facts. His critics say of him, after -reading such a book as "Your United States," that he must have spent -his time on the liner in which he went to America in counting the -rivets in her plates for the sheer love of counting them, and they -conclude that he is a materialist because of his interest in numbers -and in things. They even complain of him that he is infatuated with -largeness, just as Queen Victoria was, and that he imagines a thing -to be good when it is merely big. This is undiscerning criticism. -It is as if a child were charged with being a disciple of Haeckel -because it thinks that ten things are more wonderful than one thing. -We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> may think that Mr. Bennett is a fact-ridden modern, incapable of -romance, because he inordinately admires electricity, but to do so is -to announce ourselves as dunderheads for not discovering that his love -of electricity is the Romantic's love of the Magic Lamp! How easily -most of us are dissuaded from our faith in romantic things! We are -in ecstasies when we hear of St. Francis of Assisi preaching to the -fishes and the birds and addressing them as little brothers, but we -are horribly shocked and humiliated when Mr. Bernard Shaw makes the -mad priest in "John Bull's Other Island" speak of a pig as our little -brother! There is prettiness in the community of men and birds, even -of men and the smaller fish, but pigs—PORK!! We find romance in the -spectacle of a man rubbing a dirty lantern with his fingers in order -to summon up a serving genie, but cannot perceive the greater romance -found by Mr. Bennett in the spectacle of a man pressing a switch and -illuminating a room with power drawn by wires from a station many -miles away! We are enchanted with the thought of transport on Magic -Carpets, but unmoved by the thought that presently great ships will be -guided into New York<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> Harbour, not by pilots, but by means of wireless -telegraphy! Some dullards have exclaimed despairingly of Mr. Bennett -because of what they called his trivial and commonplace interests as -revealed in that enthralling book, "Things That Have Interested Me," -failing utterly to discern that it is his interest in these things -which is so infallible a sign of his zest for life. Any one can be -interested in the Rocky Mountains, but it is only a superbly romantic -man who can be absorbed in Tarrytown. There is not anything in the -round world, made by God or by man, which does not interest Mr. -Bennett. Familiarity breeds contempt in most of us, but it does not -breed contempt in him. <i>He never gets used to things.</i> Most of us are -too dull of mind, too destitute of imagination to feel interest or -astonishment unless we are abruptly confronted with the unusual or the -violent, and our capacity for romantic enjoyment is limited and soon -exhausted. We would exclaim with astonishment on beholding an eruption -of Mount Vesuvius for the first time, but we would exclaim rather less -on perceiving the ninety-ninth eruption. Mr. Bennett would experience -as much excitement on the ninety-ninth occasion as he would on the -first.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Nothing less than an earthquake is necessary to stir some of -us, but Mr. Bennett can be stirred by the sight of a taxicab. The -genesis of "The Old Wives' Tale," as described in the preface to one of -the later editions, is a clear illustration of his romantic possession:</p> - -<blockquote><p>In the autumn of 1903 [he writes], I used to dine frequently in a -restaurant in the Rue de Clichy, Paris. Here were, among others, -two waitresses that attracted my attention. One was a beautiful, -pale young girl, to whom I never spoke, for she was employed far -away from the table I affected. The other, a stout, middle-aged, -managing Breton woman, had sole command over my table and me, and -gradually she began to assume such a maternal tone towards me -that I saw I should be compelled to leave that restaurant. If I -was absent for a couple of nights running she would reproach me -sharply: "What! you are unfaithful to me?" Once when I complained -about some French beans, she informed me roundly that "French -beans were a subject which I did not understand...."</p></blockquote> - -<p>I break the quotation here to exclaim at the obtuseness of that Breton -woman who, in the course of her management of Mr. Bennett, failed -to discover that he loves to regard himself as an authority on such -matters as French beans. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> is a kind of romantic pride which makes -some men believe that they know the one place in a city where the best -brand of a particular article is to be purchased. Mr. Bennett has that -pride. The heaviness of the Breton's blow to it can be imagined after -reading the next sentence in the passage from which I am making the -quotation:</p> - -<blockquote><p>I then decided to be eternally unfaithful to her, and I abandoned -the restaurant. A few nights before the final parting an old -woman came into the restaurant to dine. She was fat, shapeless, -ugly and grotesque. She had a ridiculous voice and ridiculous -gestures. It was easy to see that she lived alone, and that in -the long lapse of years she had developed the kind of peculiarity -which induces guffaws among the thoughtless. She was burdened with -a lot of small parcels which she kept dropping. She chose one -seat; and then, not liking it, chose another; and then another. -In a few moments she had the whole restaurant laughing at her. -That my middle-aged Breton should laugh was indifferent to me, -but I was pained to see a coarse grimace of giggling on the pale -face of the beautiful young waitress to whom I had never spoken. -I reflected, concerning the grotesque diner: This woman was -once young, slim, perhaps beautiful; certainly free from these -ridiculous mannerisms. Very probably she is unconscious of her -singularities. Her case is a tragedy. One ought to be able<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> to -make a heartrending novel out of the history of a woman such as -she. Every stout, ageing woman is not grotesque—far from it!—but -there is an extreme pathos in the mere fact that every stout, -ageing woman was once a young girl with the unique charm of youth -in her form and movements and in her mind. And the fact that the -change from the young girl to the stout, ageing woman is made up -of an infinite number of infinitesimal changes, each unperceived -by her, only intensifies the pathos. It was at that instant that -I was visited by the idea of writing the book which ultimately -became "The Old Wives' Tale." ...</p></blockquote> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>In that passage there is revealed much, I think, of Mr. Bennett's -character and spirit. He dislikes the sensation of being managed -because he likes the sensation of managing. The Breton woman could have -won him to faithful service for ever if she had deferred to him in the -matter of French beans, and who knows what tricks of duplicity she -could have played upon him had she stooped to guile? But she wounded -him in his pride when she bluntly told him that her judgment on beans -was sounder than his, and thus lost the custom of the most interesting -of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> diners. The first fact, therefore, that one discovers in this -passage is that Mr. Bennett has a profound respect for his own opinion: -he feels pretty sure of himself. This may be considered to be a sign -of conceit, but that consideration is not necessarily true. It could -only be a sign of conceit if Mr. Bennett's respect for his own opinion -were misplaced, and there is nothing in his record to show that it is -misplaced. There is, on the contrary, much to show that it is placed -with the utmost propriety. He has done many of the things which he said -he would do, and has done them exceedingly well. If all of us could -have faith in ourselves with as much justification as Mr. Bennett has -faith in himself, we would do well to practice our faith with fervour. -The second fact about Mr. Bennett which is revealed by this passage is -the romantic nature of him, but before I discuss it, I wish to point -out a third and minor fact which is something of a flaw in him, not -an important flaw, but one which must be remembered by his admirers. -It is his occasional tendency to let his romanticism degenerate into -sentimentality. Observe how he seems to have romanced about the pale -and beautiful waitress to whom he never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> spoke, how he assumes that -because she is beautiful she must also be generous and sympathetic and -kindly, with what dismay he discovers that, just as a man can smile -and smile and be a villain, so a woman can be pale and beautiful, and -yet be as cruel or lacking in perception as the ruddiest and least -lovely of her sex. He declares, indeed, that he quitted the restaurant -in the Rue de Clichy because of the insolence of the Breton woman who -disputed his authority on beans, but may he not be deceiving himself, -may he not in fact have quitted that place because his illusion -about the beautiful, pale young waitress was shattered by her coarse -grimaces, her unkindly giggles? After all, it is easy enough to live -with those who will not accept our estimate of ourselves, but how hard -it is to live with lost beliefs. One of the most painful things about -shell-shock cases resulting in mental derangement is that the patient -seems to loathe most those whom he formerly loved most, and here in -England many of us know of pitiful women who dare not go to see their -unbalanced husbands because the mere sight of them throws the unhappy -men into paroxysms of rage and anguish!...</p> - -<p>But it is when we come to consider Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> Bennett's attitude towards -the foolish old woman who changed her seat and dropped her parcels so -often in the restaurant in the Rue de Clichy that we discover his chief -characteristic. If he were the fact-ridden realist that some of his -critics pronounce him to be, he could not possibly have perceived in -that old woman, "fat, shapeless, ugly and grotesque," the lineaments -of a girl, "young, slim, perhaps beautiful; certainly free from these -ridiculous mannerisms." A fact-ridden realist might not have joined in -the laughter of the Breton woman and the giggling pale waitress, but he -would have judged the old woman with harsh contempt, more intolerable -even than mocking laughter, and he would have turned away from her in -irritation and disgust because of her inefficiency, her clumsiness, -her indecision, her displeasing exterior. At best, he would have seen -her solely as a fat, ugly and grotesque person who had always been -incompetent, fat, ugly and grotesque. But Mr. Bennett, incorrigibly -romantic, regarding her closely and with kindliness, insists that -beneath the bulk of her body there is a soul, that the too, too solid -flesh once wore "the feature of blown youth," even as Ophelia found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -it in Hamlet! She may not be beautiful now, he tells himself, but how -beautiful may she not once have been. That is the spirit of romance. -It is a certain sign of the romantic in a man that he will not permit -himself to be bluffed by appearances when appearances are bad, although -he may often be bluffed by them when they are good. Mr. Bennett was -not deceived by the old woman's looks, but he was terribly deceived by -the looks of the pale, young waitress, and it is true of him, I think, -that he is very easily deceived by youth, to which he is uncommonly -generous. Observe how he shows his willingness to be deceived by youth -in the passage which I have quoted. He tells himself that the old woman -was once "young, slim, perhaps beautiful," which is likely enough, -but he goes on, not romantically, but sentimentally, to add, that she -was "certainly free from these ridiculous mannerisms." Now, there is -no warrant in human experience for such an assumption. I am prepared -to believe that an old woman, "fat, shapeless, ugly and grotesque" -was once "slim, perhaps beautiful," but I am not prepared to believe -that an indecisive, footling old woman was, in her girlhood, any other -than indecisive and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> footling. We do not change our natures to that -extent as we grow older unless we lose our wits or suffer gravely in -health, and the tragedy of old age is that habits and mannerisms which -are charming and attractive in youth are merely silly and annoying in -age. We are amused by the violent opinions of a clever young man of -twenty, inclined even to applaud him for holding them because they are -significant of an active and developing mind, but they are less amusing -to us and win less applause if they are still being expressed by him -when he is thirty. We cease altogether to applaud or be amused when we -hear him still at them when he is forty. We no longer describe him as -a clever young man, but a damned fool. No one has any right to be a -clever young man all his life. The law should forbid any one to be a -clever young man after the age of twenty-seven. The world is entitled -to demand that its clever young men shall grow up and achieve some sort -of sanity and right judgment by the age of thirty, and if they refuse -to grow up, then they are not free to complain if the world revises -its judgment on them and inexorably thrusts them from its regard. Mr. -Bennett's old woman dropped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> her parcels and changed her seat just as -frequently in her youth as she did on that evening when he saw her -in the Rue de Clichy, but she was young and perhaps pretty then, and -people forgave her for her footling ways because of her youthfulness -and in the hope that someday she would acquire steadiness of character -and control over her packages. I think I can give a fairly accurate -description of that old woman when she was a girl. She was always late -for everything, but her demure ways and a sort of foal-like clumsiness -about her made men willing to wait and be gracious about it. She always -remembered at the last moment nineteen different things which she had -forgotten to do, which must immediately be done, which inevitably -caused greater delay. She could never find her railway ticket when the -inspector came round to examine it and frequently held up trains while -every one in her carriage hunted high and low for it. She persistently -dropped her gloves, her handkerchief and her vanity-bag or left them -behind her wherever she went. She never went out of doors without -losing something. She never had any small change, and invariably -tendered a ten-dollar bill, when buying a ten-cent <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>newspaper, in the -fond belief that the clerk at the news stand or even the boy in the -street was certain to have plenty of change and be all too eager to -oblige her. She always got on to the wrong train or trolley-car and did -not discover her mistake until too late to dismount from it!... But -she succeeded in putting over that sort of fatuous behaviour on the -strength of her youth and prettiness; and men, who would go raving mad -if they had to live with a middle-aged or elderly woman of such habits, -readily excused her imbecilities because they were those of youth.</p> - -<p>I wondered often, when I was in America, why I saw so many old or -middle-aged husbands with girl-wives. People told me that the cost of -living is so high in America that young men cannot afford to marry -young girls, but must either marry older and richer women or refrain -from marriage until they are middle-aged. Young women, so I was told, -must marry the elderly and the bald, the slack and the flabby because, -otherwise, they cannot hope for a good time until they are no longer -of an age to enjoy it. I do not much esteem young women who refuse -the great adventure of marriage with young, poor men in order that -they may have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> a good time with unenthusiastic, tamed and middle-aged -men, especially when I remember that a good time in such circumstances -means only a fatly comfortable one, being well-fed, well-housed and -well-clothed without ever having had the fun of fighting for such -comforts. But I am not entirely convinced by the arguments which were -put to me in explanation of this singular and unnatural conjunction -of the young and the middle-aged. There may be truth in the statement -that American girls marry elderly men for the comfort they receive, -but I doubt whether the elderly men marry for that reason. I am very -certain that such marriages are made because the men are romantic and -will not believe that the young girl's "charming ways" will not be -retained by her when she is no longer young. The plain and undeniable -fact is that elderly men marry girls because they cannot believe that -a girl who has foolish habits will not cease to have them when she is -older. The romantic is a man who is everlastingly hoping for the best, -everlastingly striving to obtain the best. A romantic realist is a man -who, while striving for the best, knows that he may only obtain the -worst. The sentimentalist is a man who removes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> himself from the region -of reality and refuses to admit that there is a worst, who insists -that all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Mr. -Arnold Bennett is a romantic realist, with a slight tendency towards -sentimentalism.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>His romantic realism seems to plunge desperately into sentimentalism -when he contemplates very old age and death. Dr. Johnson had a strange -horror of death, "so much so, Sir," as he said to Boswell, "that the -whole of life is but keeping away the thoughts of it." But he achieved -quietness of mind when his end came and his last recorded words were -of a benignant character. "God bless you, my dear!" he said to Miss -Morris, forbidden by his faithful negro servant, Francis, to come -nearer to his bed than the outer room. Mr. Bennett seldom, if ever, -permits his very old people to die placidly. Their disappointments -press hardly upon them, if they are not prevented from remembering them -by senility or gross disease. Paralysis claims many of them. Age does -not beautify them nor bring peace to them, nor do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> they face their -end with undiminished heads. He is remarkably consistent in this view -of old age and death, and perhaps it is natural that he should regard -it so gloomily when one remembers how completely he is enthralled by -youth. But his view is an unbalanced one.</p> - -<p>Old age is not always graceless and crabbed and unlovely. Such an -old man as Mr. Thomas Hardy has a grace and quietness and courage -discoverable only in those who have endured many things but have not -been conquered by them. Mr. Bennett, however, looks upon age as a -calamity which must, indeed, happen to all of us, if we live long -enough, but cannot possibly be mitigated.</p> - -<p>He is able to detect the "young, slim, perhaps beautiful" girl in -the "fat, shapeless, ugly and grotesque" old woman, but he cannot so -easily detect the gracious old man or woman in the boy and girl. I -am oppressed sometimes by the thought that if Mr. Bennett had seen -the "young, slim, perhaps beautiful" girl, his romantic nature would -have let him down, yielding place to his cynicism, and he would have -detected the coming wrinkles on her brow, would have seen that her eyes -would grow dull, might even have pointed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> out her tendency to obesity. -"Of course, I should!" Mr. Bennett may retort, "for I am a realist as -well as a romantic, and in this case, I should have been right!" And -so he would, but the trouble is that, while Mr. Bennett romantically -and rightly sees the slim, perhaps beautiful girl in the fat old woman, -he always realistically and wrongly sees the fat old woman in the slim -young girl! I think that the spirit of "the Five Towns" is entirely -responsible for the fact that Mr. Bennett never sees beauty in age. It -is a harsh, acquisitive spirit, busy principally in the accumulation -of material things (despite the fact that it produces lovely pottery) -and inclined to measure a man's worth by the amount of his fortune. The -leisurely and gracious things of life are not the immediate or even the -ultimate concerns of life in "the Potteries," and old age is likely, in -such places, to be harsh and acquisitive. When men and women, who have -spent their activities entirely in money-making, reach the age at which -they possess much money but are no longer able to employ themselves in -its acquisition, they become crabbed, unlovely, mean, for they have -no resources. You cannot derive pleasure from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> literature or music or -painting or any other art when you bring to its consideration only the -fag-end of your life. One has seen men who were notorious among their -neighbours for their hard work—always engaged in their employment from -early morning until late night—seldom, if ever, resting or taking -holiday. One has seen these men, after they have retired from business, -so helpless without their work to occupy their minds that they steadily -declined into a condition of misery which brought about premature -death! They lived for one thing, and when that thing was no longer -available for them, they perished because they had no other resources -and it was too late to acquire any! Mr. Bennett must have seen such -men many times during his early years in "the Five Towns" and the -pitiful spectacle so impressed his mind that old age has become to him -a terrifying thing, a complete debâcle of the brain and energies. This -life, this youth, is so wonderful, so full of romantic possibilities, -that age and death seem to him merely obscene interruptions of an -enthralling spectacle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Once only, so far as I can discover, did he make a poem. It was -published in <i>The English Review</i> in the brave days when that magazine -was edited by Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer, and since it is singularly -characteristic, as a poem ought to be, of its author's outlook on life, -I quote it here in full. But first I must affirm my belief that <i>The -English Review</i>, under the editorship of Mr. Hueffer, was the greatest -magazine that this world has ever known. That is a tremendous title -to claim for any magazine, but I doubt whether any one, familiar with -great magazines, will seriously dispute it. The title of Mr. Bennett's -poem is "Town and Country." Here it is:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>God made the country, and man made the town.</div> -<div>And so—man made the doctor, God the clown;</div> -<div>God made the mountain, and the ants their hill,</div> -<div>Where grinding servitudes each day fulfil.</div> -<div>God doubtless made the flowers, while in the hive</div> -<div>Unnatural bees against their passions strive.</div> -<div>God made the jackass and the bounding flea;</div> -<div>I render thanks to God that man made me.</div> -<div>Let those who recognize God's shaping power</div> -<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>Here but not there, in tree but not in tower,</div> -<div>In lane and field, but not in street and square,</div> -<div>And in man's work see nothing that is fair—</div> -<div>Bestir their feeble fancy to the old</div> -<div>Conception of a "country" made by God;</div> -<div>Where birds perceive the wickedness of strife</div> -<div>Against the winds, and lead the simple life</div> -<div>Nestless on God's own twigs; and squirrels, free</div> -<div>From carking care, exist through February</div> -<div>On nuts that God has stored. Let them agree</div> -<div>To leave the fields to God for just a year,</div> -<div>And then of God's own harvest make good cheer.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>If one were a sentimentalist, one could describe that poem as a sign -of a blankly materialistic mind, with a turn for blasphemy, but if one -is what one ought to be, a romantic with a sense of reality, it will -appear to be a confession of faith in God <i>and</i> man.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>Mr. Bennett, of all the men of letters with whom I am acquainted, -not even excluding Mr. Shaw, is the most generous and kindly to -young people. Mr. Wells likes young people, but his interest in them -is curiously impersonal. He likes youth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> in a lump, so to speak, -rather than youth in the individual, just as he seems to love mankind -more than he likes any man. But Mr. Bennett likes <i>you</i>, the youth, -personally. He is happier on the whole with young people than he is -with their elders, and he assiduously seeks their society. He is amused -by their extravagances, but not to the extent of sneering at them. He -likes youth to be dandiacal, to have an air, to be arrogant, but not -to be ill-bred or pretentious or third-rate. In spite of his notable -kindness, he can be merciless to humbugs, and stories are told of -devastating things said by him to presumptuous persons and fools. The -blunt speech of "the Five Towns" is native to his tongue, and he passes -judgment without mincing his words. He has a dry sort of wit which is -remarkably helped by a slight hesitation in his speech, and his general -conversation, without being markedly distinguished, is entertaining -and agreeable in a way that is very elusive when put upon paper. It is -natural, perhaps, that a man who loves youth so much as he does should -have a more potent sense of the present and of the future than of the -past, and this accounts for the fact that his books and </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<p>pictures are chiefly modern. I imagine that he has a greater number of -books and pictures by young authors and painters than any other man of -his calibre in England. He loves music, but is not "highbrow" about -it, and he has a passion for dancing which threatens now to keep him -jigging through ballrooms for the rest of his life. He paints quite -charming water-colour pictures, and is so fond of the sea that the -surest way in which any one can lose his friendship is to accompany him -for a trip on his yacht and be sea-sick during it! He is a keen man of -business, and he is full of contempt for the rather sloppy-minded man -of letters who allows himself to be worsted in a bargain. Most men of -quality are lonely men, oddly isolated in spirit, and Mr. Bennett is -not an exception to the rule, but more than his compeers, I think, he -is a companionable person in a small group, chiefly because of that -romantic interest he has in all things, animate and inanimate. He has a -wider knowledge of books than most men of letters. Most men of letters, -indeed, are remarkably ignorant of books. And he has the courage, the -supreme courage, to do what no other literary man I have ever met has -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> courage to do: he keeps a gramophone. He likes the savor of life, -and life for him includes the pictures of Corot and the gramophone -and French poetry and the novels of George Moore and newspapers and -motor-cars and Balzac and Bernard Shaw and the right brand of French -beans. How can such a man help being romantic!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> - -<h2>G. K. CHESTERTON</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>There is a legend, much beholden to Shakespeare, that learning and -leanness are akin to each other, while dull wits flourish in company -with obesity. The curious submission sometimes made by Shakespeare -to common prejudices and ignorance, glorified by the name of legend, -caused him too often to forget the obligation of the aristocrat to -think for himself, and remember only to think with the mob; and the -singular fact about this forgetfulness of his is that when he chose -to think with the mob, he nearly always did so when the mob was in -the wrong. He preferred the judgment of the street to the judgment of -informed minds when he wrote "Richard the Third," and allowed himself -to malign that excellent and most capable prince and monarch. Richard -was one of the ablest of the kings of England, but Shakespeare, -forgetting his obligations to his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> genius, portrays him as a -pervert with a mania for blood. He yields to the common view in his -references to fat men. Falstaff is fat and flighty and a coward, a -drunkard, a braggart and a misleader of young princes, although the -prototype of Sir John was himself a man of known courage. Cassius was -deemed to think too much because he had a lean and hungry look. Julius -Cæsar desired the society of fat men who, presumably, indulged but -seldom in thought and never in any that could be called dangerous. Fat -men are endowed with but one tolerable virtue: that of good nature; and -if any fat men ever enters heaven, it will be because of his equable -temper and in spite of his corpulence.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chesterton is a fat man. There is a rumour in England that many -Americans felt they had been defrauded of their money when they went to -hear him lecture lately because he was hardly so fat as they had been -led to believe! He certainly is not so bulky now, because of a serious -illness, as he was when I first knew him, but in those days he was -undeniably an enormous man. And in himself he is a complete refutation -of the legend that fat men are dull men. Dr. Johnson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> was another fat -man whose large flesh covered a large intellect. Dr. Johnson, indeed, -was so able a man that, in spite of an incorrigibly lazy character, -which kept him abed of mornings when he ought to have been improving -the shining hour, he compiled a dictionary with little assistance -which, so Frenchmen said, would have engaged the labours of forty -French scholars for a long time.</p> - -<p>These legends about men of wit and dull men need to be revised. There -have been as many fat men of genius as there have been lean men of -genius. There have been as many epicurean geniuses as there have been -ascetic geniuses. My experience is that men of great mental energy are -fonder of their food than many men with torpid minds; and some of the -ablest men I know are excessively addicted to the pleasures of the -table. Mr. Shaw is a fastidious feeder, with odd likes and dislikes, -but no one could say that he is indifferent to what he eats. It is, I -think, an ironic commentary on the legend that fat men are lacking in -cleverness, that much the cleverest of those who oppose the opinions of -the lean Mr. Shaw is the fat Mr. Chesterton.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chesterton, was sent into the world by an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> All-Just God for the -exclusive purpose of saying the opposite to Mr. Shaw. With the most -complimentary intention I say that Mr. Chesterton's job in the world -is, when Mr. Shaw speaks, to reply, "On the contrary!..." He has to -restore the balance which Mr. Shaw very vigorously disturbs. Mr. -Chesterton is considerably younger than Mr. Shaw, much younger than -most people, on seeing him, imagine him to be. He was born in London -in 1874. His book on Browning was published when he was twenty-nine, -and "The Napoleon of Notting Hill" when he was thirty. The bulk of his -work, and certainly the best of it, with the exception of the "Short -History of England," was published before he was forty. The bulk, and -certainly the best, of Mr. Shaw's work was published after he had -passed his fortieth year. A critic comparing the two writers ought to -remember that Mr. Shaw's work is mainly that of a mature man, whereas -that of Mr. Chesterton is mainly the work of a young man.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Gilbert Keith Chesterton is commonly known as a writer of paradox. He -is something of a paradox himself, for he is half-Scotch, half-French, -and wholly English. This paradox is not any more startling than the -fact that yellow and blue, when mixed together, become green. England -is half-way between Scotland and France! He handles paradox very -skilfully, but there are times when he imagines he is making a paradox -and is only making a pun; and there are other times when he is merely -making nonsense. He states in a book called "What's Wrong With the -World" that "the prime truth of woman, the universal mother" is "that -if a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly." That is singular -paradox! I can understand a prime truth which declares that a thing is -worth doing, even if it be done badly, but I cannot understand a prime -truth which seems to make a merit of bad workmanship.</p> - -<p>Elsewhere in the same book, he says that "submission to a weak man -is discipline. Submission to a strong man is servility." The proper -commentary on that paradox can only be made by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> soldier. I can -assure Mr. Chesterton that the discipline of a weak man is the nearest -approach to tyranny I know, and it flies to pieces in times of great -distress. Your strong man can hold thoroughly frightened men to -their manhood with a word and a wave of the hand, but your weak man -demoralizes them with the fretful tyranny which he calls strength. The -submission of strong men to a weak man may be called discipline, but -it would be better named self-assurance. But in the field itself, when -authority and strength are needed, that weak man is quietly pushed into -the background, and the really strong man, although he may be a private -soldier, takes command. One can, of course, pick holes in many of Mr. -Chesterton's paradoxes in that manner, but it is profitless to do so. -Our work now is to discover what is of value in his doctrine and to -describe what is unsound in it.</p> - -<p>Roughly, one may say that Mr. Chesterton stands for the common man -against the very clever man. He believes more in the People than he -believes in Particular Persons. As he himself would say, he trusts -Man more than he trusts any man, a statement which reads better than -it sounds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> He believes in tradition, even in legend, which is the -wisdom accumulated by Man, not out of his mind so much as out of -his experience. He believes in the institution of private property, -provided that the property is widely distributed. In other words, he -believes in what is called Peasant Proprietorship. He does not believe -in Progress as Mr. Wells, for example, believes in it, and he will tell -you very emphatically that the common man was happier in the Middle -Ages than he is to-day. There are times when it seems to me that Mr. -Chesterton's "common man" is as mythical as the "average man" of the -newspapers and the "economic man" of the economists; and I am very -dubious about the happiness of the poor people of the Middle Ages. -It would be foolish to carry one's doctrine too far, but if there is -anything in this theory of Man deriving wisdom from experience, surely -it is reasonable to suppose that human beings, having discovered a -means of living which ensures some comfort and security to them, will -not easily be deprived of it. Mr. Chesterton asks us to believe that -the "common" man permitted the rich lord to rob him of his rights -almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> in ignorance of the fact that he was being robbed of them. It -is just as probable that he was ignorant of them because he never had -them.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chesterton believes, too, in what he calls "the ancient and -universal things" as against what he calls "the modern and specialist -things." He has invented a theory which establishes man as the great -specialist and woman as the great amateur, and he would keep woman out -of the polling-booth, not because the vote is too good for her, but -because it is not good enough. He demands that the woman shall stay -in the home, not for the Teutonic reason that she is inferior to man -and must work in a narrow area, but for the Chestertonic reason that -she is capable of more varied work than man and can only find adequate -range for her variety in the broad dominions of the home. "Women were -not kept at home," he says, "in order to keep them narrow; on the -contrary, they were kept home in order to keep them broad." The effort -must seem to many persons to have been a singularly unsuccessful one, -but Mr. Chesterton will have none of this sophistry. "I do not even -pause to deny that woman was a servant; but at least she was a general<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> -servant," he asserts; discovering in her "generalness" a virtue where -others would discover only a certainty of incompetence and muddle.</p> - -<blockquote><p>If drudgery only means dreadfully hard work, I admit the woman -drudges in the home, as a man might drudge at the Cathedral of -Amiens or drudge behind a gun at Trafalgar. But if it means that -the hard work is more heavy because it is trifling, colorless -and of small import to the soul, then, as I say, I give it up; I -do not know what the words mean. To be Queen Elizabeth within a -definite area, deciding sales, banquets, labors and holidays; to -be Whiteley within a certain area, providing toys, boots, sheets, -cakes and books; to be Aristotle within a certain area, teaching -morals, manners, theology and hygiene—I can understand how this -might exhaust the mind, but I cannot imagine how it could narrow -it. How can it be a large career to tell other people's children -about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one's own -children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same -thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No; -a woman's function is laborous, but because it is gigantic, not -because it is minute. I will pity Mrs. Jones for the hugeness of -her task; I will never pity her for its smallness.</p></blockquote> - -<p>I have quoted that extensive passage because it is a good example of -Mr. Chesterton's style and his thought. It is a mixture of soundness -and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>unsoundness, in which the two things merge so imperceptibly that -there is difficulty in distinguishing the one from the other. It is not -easy to see why the stenographer, travelling to an office every morning -at the same hour by the same underground railway, and typing more or -less the same sort of letter for a specified number of hours before she -returns every evening by the same underground railway to the home from -which she set out in the morning, should be more broad-minded than the -woman who stays at home performing a variety of jobs; and perhaps Mr. -Chesterton is justified in his faith by the fact that the stenographer -is most eager to escape from the office to the home by the way of marriage.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, I suspect that the home is not quite the broadening -influence Mr. Chesterton declares it to be, and Mr. Chesterton himself -provides me with the ground for my suspicion. To be Queen Elizabeth -within a certain area may be enlarging for the mind. To be Whiteley -(or Marshal Field, in America) within a certain area may be enlarging -for the mind. To be Aristotle within a certain area may he enlarging -for the mind. But to be Queen Elizabeth <i>and</i> Whiteley <i>and</i> Aristotle -within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> a certain area is paralyzing for the mind. The stenographer -who does one thing every day, has time to think of many things: the -wife and mother who does many things every day has time to think of -nothing. I do not believe that the stenographer, who accepts the -responsibilities of marriage and motherhood, regards the drudgery of -them as an unparalleled opportunity for exhibiting her versatility; and -I have observed that the people who are most keen on such "modern and -specialist things" as labour-saving devices, are just those women who, -in Mr. Chesterton's judgment, should be most reluctant to accept them.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>His praise of the "ancient and universal things" at the expense of the -"modern and specialist things" leads him to say that</p> - -<blockquote><p>If a man found a coil of rope in a desert he could at least think -of all the things that can be done with a coil of rope; and some -of them might be practical. He could tow a boat or lasso a horse. -He could play cat's cradle or pick oakum. He could construct -a rope-ladder for an eloping heiress, or cord her boxes for a -travelling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> maiden aunt. He could learn to tie a bow, or he could -hang himself. Far otherwise with the unfortunate traveller who -should find a telephone in the desert. You can telephone with a -telephone: you cannot do anything else with it.</p></blockquote> - -<p>He disparages the hot-water pipe in order to exalt the open fire. He -argues that "the ancient and universal things" can be turned to many -uses, but that the "modern and specialist things" are strictly limited -to one purpose.</p> - -<p>There may be much in his argument, though his examples hardly support -him, but how much is not apparent. Take the case of the man in the -desert who finds a coil of rope, and compare him with the man in the -desert who finds a telephone. Mr. Chesterton begs us to observe how -happy is the former compared with the latter, but is he one-half so -happy? The absorbing passion of a man's life in a desert would be the -desire to get out of the desert as quickly as possible. How far would a -rope help him to realize his desire? He could not tow a boat or lasso a -horse because there would not be any water on which to tow the boat or -any horse to lasso. If there were a horse to lasso it would either be -wild and unrideable or private<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> property. He could play at cat's cradle -with the rope if it were not a rope at all—if, that is to say it were -twine; and perhaps this would help him to pass away the time before -he died of starvation. He could pick oakum if he wished to un-rope -the rope and had never been to prison to discover what a loathsome -job oakum-picking is. But he could not construct a rope-ladder for -an eloping heiress or cord her boxes for his travelling maiden aunt, -because the eloping heiress would not be eloping in a desert, and his -maiden aunt would hardly be packing her trunk in the Sahara. He might -be able to tie a bow. He might even be able to hang himself, though -that is doubtful, for trees are not prolific in deserts. But I cannot -see what comfort he would derive from either of these accomplishments.</p> - -<p>To sum up, a man in a desert with nothing but a coil of rope between -him and civilization would be in as complete a state of isolation -as it would be possible for a man to imagine. How different would -be the case of the man in a desert with the despised "modern and -specialist" telephone! For he, finding a telephone, would instantly -be able to communicate with other people and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> direct them to his -rescue. If he were anxious to hang himself, he could more effectively -do so in the neighbourhood of a telephone than in the neighbourhood -of a coil of rope, for where there are telephones there are generally -telegraph-poles!</p> - -<p>Even in the case of the open fire and hot-water pipe, as much can be -said for the "modern and specialist thing" as can be said for the -"ancient and universal thing," and in some instances, more can be said -for it. We get a cheerful glow from an open fire that certainly is not -to be got from a hot-water pipe; but Mr. Chesterton must have noticed -on many occasions that whereas one gets tolerably toasted on one side -by an open fire, the other side is usually left cold. Thus a man, on a -wintry night, sitting before the fire, may be too warm in front, and -half-frozen behind. But a hot-water pipe creates an equable temperature -in a room and leaves a man warm on all sides.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>He is a nationalist and therefore opposed to imperialism. His belief in -peasant proprietorship flows naturally from his belief in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>nationalism. -He defends peasant proprietorship in "Irish Impressions" because he -believes that a country controlled by peasants will survive long after -more majestically-governed nations have declined and fallen:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>I do not know how far modern Europe really shows a menace of -Bolshevism, or how far merely a panic of Capitalism. But I know -that if any honest resistance has to be offered to mere robbery, -the resistance of Ireland will be the most honest and probably the -most important.... It is where property is well distributed that -it will be well defended. The post of honour will be with those -who fight in very truth for their own land.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Now, here we are on very debateable ground, as debateable as his -statement that "honour is a luxury for aristocrats, but it is a -necessity for hall-porters," which is surely an obscure rendering -of the entirely commercial statement that "honesty is the best -policy." Honour is not honour when a man uses it merely because it -is profitable to him, and I cannot see much virtue in him who fights -for his land simply because he owns it. Honour is admirable when it -brings not profit but loss to the man who wears it. Virtue is in the -man who fights for his country though he does not own an inch of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -And here I come to my objection to Mr. Chesterton's beloved peasant -proprietorship, the cause of my dismay at the thought that my own -country of Ireland may soon be controlled by small farmers.</p> - -<p>It is true that a peasant will fight desperately for his own piece -of land, but he manifests a sturdy reluctance to fight for another -man's land; and I cannot understand why Mr. Chesterton regards his -determination to hold on to his property as more "honest," or more -"honourable" than the determination of a Victory bondholder to get -the last cent of interest out of the taxpayers. Peasants, no less -than other men, in fact more than other men, have itching palms, and -it is sheer sentimentalism to describe as "honest" or "honourable" -behaviour in them which is denounced as dishonest and dishonourable in -a stockbroker. It is true that Lenin's schemes collapsed completely -before the resistance of the Russian peasants, and that his plans for -the nationization of everything failed to include the principal thing -of all, namely, the land; but Mr. Chesterton will hardly maintain -that the Russian peasants had disinterested motives in offering this -resistance to Lenin. He may, indeed, insist that their motives were -entirely <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>interested and base his case for the Distributive State, -as Mr. Belloc named it, on that very interest. But a nation should -be something more than a crowd of peasants digging in the earth for -their personal profit, and when Mr. Chesterton commends his peasant -proprietors to me, I ask not for the signs of their interested -behaviour, but for the signs of their disinterested behaviour. When -he tells me that the peasant will fight for his own land, I ask him -whether the peasant will fight for his neighbour's land? When he tells -me that the Irish peasant will resist the attempts of the Bolshevist to -communalize his land, I ask him whether the Irish peasant is equally -ready to defend the French peasant from Russian aggression? Mr. -Chesterton declares that France had claims on the gratitude of Ireland. -Did the Irish peasant farmer remember those claims on his gratitude? -Or did he find it more convenient and profitable to ejaculate, "Yah, -dirty atheist, go and fight your own battles!" In deriding the idea of -empire, Mr. Chesterton says in this book of "Irish Impressions" that -"the British combination" is "more lax and liable to schism" than a -combination of peasants. I do not believe there is any truth in this -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>statement, particularly when I remember that "the British combination" -held together for five years in circumstances that might have been -expected to shake it to pieces. Let me give you an example, out of -my experience during the War, of the way in which the Imperial idea -rallies men to its support to their own loss. While I was being trained -to be an officer, I shared a hut with twenty-five other men. Between -us, we represented every part of the British Empire. The twenty-six men -in that hut included Englishmen, Scotsmen, Welshmen and two Irishmen -(one of whom was an Orangeman, and the other, myself, a Home Ruler). In -addition to these, there were two Australians, a man from New Zealand, -two men from Canada, two from South Africa and a couple of men from -South America, one a Spaniard and the other the son of English parents. -Many of these men had travelled for thousands of miles at their own -expense in order to join the British Army. They were volunteers. I -would like to see the community of peasants that would travel ten -yards to defend anything but their own personal property, except under -compulsion.</p> - -<p>When I cited this case to Mr. Chesterton some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> time ago, in controversy -with him, he replied with characteristic amiability, that Serbia was a -community of peasants, and that Serbia had fought in the War. When I -asked whether Serbia would have fought for Montenegro, he replied that -she had done more than that, she had fought for "the wholly invisible -bond of all Christendom." But Serbia did nothing of the sort. She -fought for herself because she was invaded. That was a perfectly proper -thing to do, but there is no comparison between it and the behaviour -of men responding at their own cost to the Imperial idea, although -many hundreds of miles away from the place of argument and under no -compulsion to go to it.</p> - -<p>The truth about a peasant civilization is that it is a mean -civilization, in which mean virtues compete with mean vices, and the -small and local thing is esteemed above the big and worldwide thing. -There are many defects in empires, even in one so loosely-bound as the -British Empire, but although those who control an empire are often -guilty of cruel deeds, there is at least this to be said in their -defense, that they honestly believe themselves to be possessed of -greater wisdom than those whom they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> oppress, and do desire in their -stupid fashion to govern them for their good.</p> - -<p>On the whole, freedom may be defined as the right to choose; but that -definition must obviously be subject to limitations. There is a sort -of wild and woolly democrat who believes in the right of uninstructed -persons to choose wrong. It is not a right in which I believe. Mr. -Chesterton thinks, not without justification, that the common man can -choose in a right manner. If his creed were confined to that clause we -could accept it with heartiness, but there are times when he seems to -think that the common man chooses aright because he is a common man, -and he leaves us with the impression that he can never quite forgive -Magna Charta because it was won by peers, and not by peasants. He seems -not to realize that if Magna Charta had depended upon peasants, it -would never have been won.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>But he helps us to keep a balance. His service to us is that when we -are inclined to run frantically<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> after the superman, he reminds us of -the existence of the common man. If he were not so well-padded with -flesh, I should describe him as the skeleton at a feast of supermen, -reminding them that even a superman can be a fool.</p> - -<p>There are times indeed, when his faith in the common man undergoes a -sea-change, and he utters sentiments that might be spoken by Mr. H. L. -Mencken, who cannot abide the common mind. In one of his essays, Mr. -Chesterton says, "I certainly would much rather share my apartments -with a gentleman who thought he was God than with a gentleman who -thought he was a grasshopper." So would Nietzsche. But I doubt whether -the Early Christians would have approved his preference. They, who were -ready to pronounce all flesh to be grass, would not have found anything -incompatible with their faith in a gentleman who regarded himself -as a grasshopper. They would certainly have considered his rival in -misapprehension to be a blasphemer. And if Mr. Chesterton would fail -to find pleasure in the company of a man who believed himself to be -that interesting but monotonous insect, how much less pleasure would he -derive from sharing his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>apartments with a man who believed not only -himself, but all men, to be worms?</p> - -<p>He is personally the most kindly and agreeable of men, in whom the -one virtue commonly ascribed to fat men, that of good nature, is -most highly developed. His anger is almost completely impersonal. -His pardon is on the heels of his condemnation. The sins of jealousy -and hatred are unknown to him, and he seems to be without the power -of resenting spiteful things done to himself. He said to me on one -occasion, "Arnold Bennett says I'm an imbecile!" in the tone of a man -who was not in the least annoyed by the statement, but puzzled by -the fact that any man should call another one an offensive name. We -are all children of the one God, in his belief, even if some of us -are Jews, and in some mystical manner he contrives, in his anger, to -discriminate between the human being and the thing which the human -being does. If ever he is moved to slay a sweater or an international -financier or a Prohibitionist, he will do so entirely without prejudice -to that person's right to be called a child of God. It is a tribute to -the charm of his character and the equability of his temper that his -stoutest admirers are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> those who most vigorously combat his opinions, -and that most of his friends are men who do not share any of his views, -except perhaps the only view that matters, the view that an ill deed -must be exposed and a wrong put right. He is Don Quixote in the body of -Sancho Panza.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<h2>JOHN GALSWORTHY</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>It is sometimes said that an artist never intrudes his personality -into his work and that the great writers of the world have kept -themselves so closely to themselves that their readers have never been -able to discover anything of their faith or partialities. This is not -only untrue, but is also absurd, for how can any man hope to exclude -himself from his creations, since without him the creations would not -be? There never was a book of any sort which did not in some fashion -reveal the nature of its author to discerning readers, and I will -personally undertake to give a fairly accurate account of the general -character of any author after an attentive reading of all his writings. -There are authors, such as Mr. Bernard Shaw and Mr. H. G. Wells, who -do not make any pretence of excluding themselves from the notice of -their readers: they deliberately force themselves into their books; -and the habit has become so much a part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> their nature that they -sometimes do it unconsciously. One may say of them, perhaps, that we -learn chiefly from their writings what their opinions are, but learn -nothing of their characters. But while it is true that we do receive -much information about their opinions, it is true also, I think, that -they unmistakably reveal themselves, something of the intimate parts of -them, to those who closely consider their books. Fielding formally held -up the course of his stories in order that he might state his views to -his readers, and Dickens and Thackeray followed his example; but all -three of them revealed more than their beliefs to their readers—they -revealed themselves. Mr. Shaw and Mr. Wells are excellent examples of -what may be described as the Direct Revealers—writers who nakedly -manifest their opinions and, more or less nakedly, their personalities -in their books. The Indirect Revealers are best exemplified in two -poets, Shakespeare and John Millington Synge, and one novelist and -dramatist, Mr. John Galsworthy. We have very little documentary -evidence of Shakespeare's existence, and it is impossible, therefore, -to write his biography with the accuracy of detail with which one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> is -able to record the events of, say, Roosevelt's career; but there is -a clear and unmistakable account of his hopes and fears and beliefs -and disbeliefs, a most faithful portrait of his character, contained -in his poems and plays. How can any one fail to discover behind his -work the figure of a grave, fastidious, disdainful and distrustful and -solitary man whose spiritual solitude was concealed under an appearance -of gregariousness and cheerful living that made him a good companion -on most occasions without being excessively popular. Ben Jonson, -despite his quarrelsome character, was probably more deeply loved by -his contemporaries than Shakespeare was, because Shakespeare had more -of reserve and spiritual isolation than Ben had, and was less willing -to put faith in the virtue of the crowd; and I imagine that had one -interrogated any of Shakespeare's friends, they would have said of him, -"Oh, yes, I like William Shakespeare very much! Talks well! He's a good -chap, but a little odd ... queer ... at times. It isn't easy to make -friends with him. He always keeps us at our distance—not deliberately, -of course, but in some vague way. He understands us all right, and he -takes part in our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> revels, but he never completely descends to our -level. Now, old Ben ... he's a good, hearty chap! He is so comradely -that we frequently forget he is Ben Jonson and think of him as just one -of ourselves. Shakespeare's friendly enough, but we never forget that -he is Shakespeare. Sometimes, quite unintentionally, he makes us feel a -little common!..."</p> - -<p>The best biography of John Synge that I have read—and l have read -all of them—is contained in his plays and poems. It is impossible -to rise from his books without an impression of intense loneliness -and unachievable desires, of a man eager to be the hero of romantic -exploits, but totally unable to stand up to life and make himself a -hero because of some spiritual ineffectiveness, some lack of assertion -which results in fumbling and self-distrust; and one goes from the -plays and poems to the biographies and is not surprised at reading of -his lonely life. How often the word "lonesome" occurs in his writings, -and how deeply he insists on the terrors of solitude! Pegeen Mike in -the "The Playboy of the Western World" reproves her father for going -"over the sands to Kate Cassidy's wake" and leaving her alone in the shebeen: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p>If I am a queer daughter, it's a queer father'd be leaving me -lonesome these twelve hours of dark, and I piling the turf with -the dogs barking, and the calves mooing, and my own teeth rattling -with the fear.</p></blockquote> - -<p>I imagine that there is some deep personal feeling of Synge's in the -speech he puts into the mouth of Christy Mahon in the second act of the -same play:</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Christy</span>: And isn't it a poor thing to be starting again, -and I a lonesome fellow will be looking out on women and girls the -way the needy fallen spirits do be looking for the Lord?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pegeen</span>: What call have you to be lonesome when there's -poor girls walking Mayo in their thousands now?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Christy</span>: It's well you know what call I have. It's well -you know it's a lonesome thing to be passing small towns with -the lights shining sideways when the night is down, or going in -strange places with a dog noising before you and a dog noising -behind, or drawn to the cities where you'd hear a voice kissing -and talking deep love in every shadow of the ditch, and you -passing on with an empty, hungry stomach failing from your heart. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pegeen</span>: I'm thinking you're an odd man, Christy Mahon. -The oddest walking fellow I ever set my eyes on to this hour -to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Christy</span>: What would any be but odd men and they living -lonesome in the world?</p></blockquote> - -<p>The scene of all his plays is laid in a lonely place: the last cottage -at the head of a long glen in Wicklow; a small and remote island off -the west coast of Ireland; a distant hamlet in a mountainous district. -His people are possessed of a perpetual fear of death and old age, -and lead uneventful lives, having minds which continually crave for -the performance of splendid and unusual deeds. Few men have put their -longings and disappointments so boldly and plainly into their work as -John Synge put his. I do not suggest that an author may be identified -with every word and action of his creatures—a manifestly absurd -suggestion—but I do suggest that it is possible for an intelligent -reader to obtain a very clear and well-defined impression of the -character and beliefs of an author from a careful study of the whole -body of his work.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Mr. John Galsworthy is the most sensitive figure in the ranks of -modern men of letters, but his sensitiveness is of a peculiar nature, -for it is almost totally impersonal. One thinks of Dostoievsky -eternally pitying himself in the belief that he was pitying humanity -and particularly that part of it which is Russian; or of Maxim Gorki, -as shown in his vivid and extraordinary study of Leo Tolstoi,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> -preoccupied with himself to the extent of imagining that Tolstoi, the -aristocrat, related salacious stories in common speech to him, the -peasant, because he imagined that Gorki, being of vulgar origin, could -not appreciate refined conversation:</p> - -<blockquote><p>I remember my first meeting with him and his talk about "Varienka -Oliessova" and "Twenty-six and One." From the ordinary point of -view, what he said was a string of indecent words. I was perplexed -by it and even offended. I thought that he considered me incapable -of understanding any other kind of language. I understand now: it -was silly to have felt offended.</p></blockquote> - -<p>One thinks, too, of Mr. Shaw's lively interest in himself, and of Mr. -Wells's eagerness to remold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> the world nearer to his heart's desire. -And remembering these men, intensely individual and not reluctant -to speak of themselves, one is startled to discover how destitute -of egotism Mr. Galsworthy seems to be. It may even be argued that -his lack of interest in himself is a sign of inadequate artistry, -that it is impossible for a man of supreme quality to be so utterly -unconcerned about himself as Mr. Galsworthy is. He has written more -than a dozen novels and at least a dozen plays, but there is not one -line in any of them to denote that he takes any interest whatever in -John Galsworthy. The most obvious characteristic of his work is an -immense and, sometimes, indiscriminating pity, but I imagine that the -only creature on whom he has no pity is himself. Whatever of joy and -grief he has had in life has been closely retained, and the reticence -which was characteristic of the English people—I am now using the -word "English" in the strict sense—in pre-war times, but is hardly -characteristic of them now, is most clearly to be observed in Mr. -Galsworthy. And yet there are few among contemporary writers who reveal -so much of themselves as he does. Neither Mr. Shaw nor Mr. Wells,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> who -constantly expose their beliefs to their readers, do in the long run -tell so much about their characters as Mr. Galsworthy, who never makes -a conscious revelation of himself and is probably quite unaware that -he had made any revelations at all. How often have we observed in our -own relationships that some garrulous person, constantly engaged in -egotistical conversation, contrives to conceal knowledge of himself -from us, while some silent friend, with lips tightly closed, most -amazingly gives himself away. One looks at Mr. Galsworthy's handsome, -sensitive face and is immediately aware of tightened lips!... But the -lips are not tightened because of things done to him, but because of -things done to others.</p> - -<p>I remember, more than ten years ago, reading a notice of the first -performance of "Justice" in an English Sunday newspaper in which the -critic, who must have been terribly drunk when he wrote it, attacked -the play, making nine misstatements of fact about it in as many lines. -Those were the days when I took the field on the slightest provocation. -An insult offered to a man of letters for whom I had respect was an -insult offered to me, and I made much trouble for myself by smacking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -faces with great ferocity for offences, not against me, but against my -friends and my betters. I wrote a letter to that critic which created -some havoc in his sodden brain, and I then posted a copy of it to Mr. -Galsworthy. He thanked me very civilly for what I had done, and added -that he never replied to criticism of any sort! I was astounded by his -statement and a little dashed. My faith in those days was, crudely, -two eyes for one tooth! Those who struck at me might expect two blows -in return. Like Mrs. Ferguson, in my play, "John Ferguson," I said to -myself, "If anyone was to hurt me, I'd do my best to hurt them back -and hurt them harder nor they hurt me!" I could not bring myself into -line with the meekness of Mr. Galsworthy until I discovered in it a -form of supreme arrogance!... Now that I know him and his work better, -I realize that I was wrong in my estimation of him both as excessively -meek and excessively arrogant. His rule never to reply to criticism, -however unfair, is a sign, not of humility or pride, but of complete -indifference to himself. I can believe in him becoming furious with -one who belittles a dog, but I cannot <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>believe in him displaying any -feeling over one who belittles John Galsworthy.</p> - -<p>But when I look at his tightened lips, I feel certain that they are -drawn closely together, not to prevent himself from forgetting his -indifference to himself, but to prevent him from pouring out his anger -at wrong and cruelty suffered by other people. His hatred of injustice -possesses him like a fury, so that I expect to find his hands always -clenched. There are times, indeed, when he allows his feeling for -others, human and animal, to destroy his sense of proportion, and he -will sometimes imagine that people or beasts are suffering a great -deal more of pain than they really are, even that they are suffering -when in fact they are not suffering at all. This is the complaint most -commonly made of him by his critics, that he sometimes exaggerates the -extent to which people and, particularly, animals suffer. When I was -a child, I remember that I often read in sentimental Sunday-school -books of slum children who never smiled and had never seen grass. I -suppose that fundamentally I have a sceptical mind, for even then I -found myself doubting whether there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> were any children in the world who -had never seen grass. Grass is so persistent!... I knew that a street -had only to be free of traffic for a short while and little blades of -grass would begin to push up from between the cobbles!... It might be -that slum children never smiled—though I was dubious of that—but -all of them must have seen some grass sometime. Then I grew up and -left Ulster and went to England, and for two or three years I lived -on the confines of a slum in South London, where I discovered that my -sentimental authors were sentimental liars, that poor people do not -live lives of incessant misery, that they smile and laugh as often as, -if not more frequently than, rich people, and are fully as happy as -any one else. Happiness and unhappiness are conditions of the spirit, -and provided a man has sufficient food to eat and a decent shelter and -warm clothes, it matters very little whether he be rich or poor. Mr. -Galsworthy is not always as sensible of this as he might be. Like many -idealists he attaches more importance to material things than many -materialists do. He lets himself be too easily persuaded that a thing -is wrong because it looks wrong. If he had walked into the Valley of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> -Elah on that morning when the fair and ruddy youth, David, encountered -Goliath, he would certainly have run to David's side. What combat could -have seemed more unequal than that? David was young and slender and of -ordinary stature. He wore no armor and his weapons were a sling and -five pebbles casually picked from a brook. Goliath was five cubits and -a span high, and his huge body was covered with heavy armor. There was -a helmet of brass on his head, and there were greaves of brass on his -legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders. His weapons were -terrible: the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam, and his -spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron. A man walked in front -of him carrying a shield!... No wonder that Goliath mocked at David -and threatened to pick the flesh from his bones and give it to the -birds. He probably felt that one breath from his mouth would blow David -clean out of the valley. Mr. Galsworthy, had he been present on that -occasion, would have said to himself, "Poor David, young and slight -and ill-armed, has no chance whatever against this great hulking, -uncircumcized Philistine!..." The combat certainly was an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>unequal one, -but the advantage lay, not with Goliath, but with David. The giant had -the outward show of strength, but David had the Power of God in his -right arm, and before that Power Goliath was but a boneless beast. Mr. -Galsworthy makes Stephen More in his play "The Mob," revile the crowd -in these terms:</p> - -<blockquote><p>You are the thing that pelts the weak; kicks women; howls down -free speech. This to-day, and that to-morrow. Brain—you have -none! Spirit—not the ghost of it! If you're not meanness, there's -no such thing. If you're not cowardice, there is no cowardice.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Neither Stephen More nor Mr. Galsworthy appears to know that these -characteristics of the mob are the characteristics of weak things. -Strong men do not pelt the weak or kick women, nor do they prevent -free speech. It is weak men and timid men and ignorant, frightened -men—politicians and officials and guttersnipes and sinners—who do -these things, because they have neither the courage nor the strength -nor the intelligence to do otherwise. The mob-instinct of unreasoning -chivalry, the natural impulse to take the part of "the little 'un," -constitutes a very serious danger to Mr. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>Galsworthy's work: he is -becoming increasingly partisan in his opinions and sympathies, with -the result that his sentiment is in danger of degenerating into -sentimentalism, and he, so commonly considered impartial, is likely to -end in a state of hopeless and wrong-headed bias. He is beginning to -believe that a weak man is right because he is weak. He is forgetting -the truth enunciated, perhaps excessively, by Dr. Stockmann in "An -Enemy of the People" that "the strongest man in the world is the man -who stands absolutely alone." Or if he has not forgotten it, he is in -danger of believing that a minority is always in the right because it -is a minority: a belief which is as fallacious as that which Mr. G. K. -Chesterton sometimes seems to hold, that a majority is always in the -right because it is a majority. The plain and platitudinous truth is -that only those are in the right who are in the right, whether they be -in a majority or in a minority. Weakness, although it may endow a man -with cunning, does not endow him with moral authority. Mr. Galsworthy -at times lets his pity for weakness lead him into seeming to regard it -as a sign of infallible judgment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Mr. Galsworthy can create people and he can write natural dialogue. -"The Silver Box" is a testimony of his power to do so. But in his later -plays he has not always allowed his creatures to behave in a creditable -fashion, nor has he always written dialogue that exactly fits their -tongues. One suspects, too, that he is losing his sense of proportion, -that he is not so capable now as he was earlier in his career of -distinguishing between things which are important and things which are -not. He has developed an interest in trivial questions of sex and has -become so absorbed in dilemmas of colliding characters that he has lost -sight of the nature of his characters. He has been called a Determinist -because he shows his people as the creature of circumstances, but -in his later work, particularly in his play "The Fugitive," his -Determinism has become wilful: he seems to have made up his mind that -his characters shall become the victims of circumstances in defiance of -facts and the natures with which he has created them. He deliberately -ties their hands behind their backs and then exclaims: "These are -the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>victims of adverse circumstances!" And indeed they are, but the -circumstances have been artificially created by Mr. Galsworthy and not -by any force that governs the universe. He is so eager to bring Clare -Dedmond, in "The Fugitive," to her death in a restaurant frequented by -prostitutes that he totally neglects to consider the fact that with the -nature he gives her she is the last person on earth likely to end that way.</p> - -<p>It is not in ideas that Mr. Galsworthy fails, so far as his later work -is concerned—it is in execution. The idea of "The Fugitive" is a -notable one. The play, which in its faults is significant of all Mr. -Galsworthy's later plays, deals with the tragic failure of a sensitive -woman to adjust her life to that of a dull, unimaginative man in whom, -although the conventions and traditions of his class have schooled -him into a certain decency of form, there is a very large measure of -coarseness. The collision is between the finely-perceptive and the -totally-imperceptive, and the theme is similar, in one respect, to -that of "The Doll's House," and in another to that of "The Shadow of -the Glen." But the treatment of it is very inferior to the treatment -of it by Ibsen and Synge. Ibsen plainly showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> how impossible it was -for Nora to continue to live with her husband after she had suffered -her disillusionment. He showed with equal clarity how natural it was -that she should marry and love her husband, and yet in the end, turn -away from him. Mr. Galsworthy takes Clare Dedmond beyond the stage to -which Ibsen took Nora. Ibsen was content to end his play with Nora's -exit from her husband's home: he did not follow her from it nor show -what became of her thereafter. Mr. Galsworthy is concerned less with -the act of separation and more with the consequences of it. He is not -so interested in her flight from her husband as he is in what happens -to her after she has flown from him. He has taken a longer stretch of -Clare's life than Ibsen took of Nora's, but he has contrived to make it -smaller than Nora's. One derives an extraordinary sense of completeness -and space from "The Doll's House," but does not derive a similar sense -from "The Fugitive." Ibsen gives one a sense of familiarity with his -people, but Mr. Galsworthy hardly makes one more familiar with Clare -Dedmond and her husband than a reader of a newspaper is with the -principal parties to a divorce suit. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> - -<p>Clare Dedmond, like Nora Burke in Synge's "The Shadow of the Glen," -is suffering from starved emotions, but Synge in his one-act play has -created the atmosphere of starved emotions far more successfully than -Mr. Galsworthy has done in his four acts. The antagonism between Nora -and Daniel Burke is instantly understood by the reader, who, however, -cannot immediately understand why it is that Clare and George Dedmond -do not "get on" together. The reader knows why Nora married Daniel. -"And how would I live and I an old woman if I hadn't a bit of a farm -with cows on it and sheep on the blackhills?" The sense of desolation -in this woman's life is so powerfully expressed that the reader of -the play does not ask questions. He does not stop to inquire why Nora -married her husband: he <i>knows</i> why she married him, and this knowledge -is derived, not from the author's assertions, but from the woman's -behaviour. A sense of desolation is not created when the author says -that there is desolation, nor is it created when a character says: -"I am miserable!" It is created when the speech and behaviour of the -characters are such as one hears and sees when people are unhappy. It -would be absurd for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> writer to make a character say: "I have a very -kindly disposition," and then show him in the normal habit of beating -his wife, kicking his grandmother, and ill-treating animals ... unless -he were trying to be funny or were portraying a madman. There must -be consistency between character and conduct, and the measure of a -writer's artistry is the degree to which he succeeds in reconciling the -one with the other.</p> - -<p>It is when Mr. Galsworthy's later work is tested in this manner that -one realizes how lamentably he has failed to create the illusion of -life. One goes through the pages of "The Fugitive" making notes of -interrogation! One does not ask: "Why did Ibsen's Nora marry her -husband?" "Why did Synge's Nora marry her husband?" because one knows -the answer to these questions from the beginning of the plays, and -it is not necessary to ask them. But why did Clare Dedmond marry her -husband? Because she loved him? Because she wished to be married and no -one else had asked her? For money? To escape from her parents? It is -impossible to say. Most of the faults which I find in Mr. Galsworthy's -work are to be found in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> this play and so I propose to examine it here -in detail.</p> - -<p>The story of "The Fugitive" is summarily this:—</p> - -<p>Clare Huntington, the daughter of a poor parson, is married to George -Dedmond, a man of wealth and social position. When the play begins -these two have reached that point in their marital relationship when -their unhappiness is plain to their acquaintances. The husband, -irritated and puzzled, is eager to make a compromise which will not -involve legal separation and "talk."</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Clare</span> (<i>softly</i>). I don't give satisfaction. Please give -me notice.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">George.</span> Pish!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clare.</span> Five years, and four of them like this! I'm sure -we've served our time. Don't you really think we might get on -better together—if I went away.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">George.</span> I've told you I won't stand a separation for no -real reason, and have your name bandied about all over London. I -have some primitive sense of honour.</p></blockquote> - -<p>While travelling abroad the Dedmonds make the acquaintance of a -journalist named Kenneth Malise who is employed on a weekly review. -He and Clare become very friendly with each other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> but George, who -declares that Malise is a bounder, does not share the friendship. -Malise knows that Clare is unhappy in her marriage and he incites her -to "spread your wings." He does not appear to have thought of what is -to become of her when she spreads her wings, nor does he manifest any -concern about her ability to remain in flight. His attitude towards her -may roughly be said to be: "It doesn't matter what happens to you so -long as you run away from your husband!" Clare eventually leaves her -husband, and in the second act she goes to Malise's rooms to ask for -his advice. She has taken his advice to spread her wings. What is she -to do?</p> - -<p>Mr. Malise very clearly does not know what she is to do. While he and -she are debating about her future his rooms are invaded by Dedmond's -parents, his solicitor, and, subsequently, by Dedmond himself. They -endeavour to persuade Clare to return to her husband, which she refuses -to do, and there is a scene in which George Dedmond, having offered to -take Clare back to his home, goes away threatening to divorce her and -cite Malise as co-respondent. After this scene Clare, in obedience to -her queer sense of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> honour, which impels her to make hateful returns -for favours received, offers herself in physical submission to Malise, -without, however, being able to conceal the fact that such submission -is loathsome to her. It is necessary, in studying this play, to take -considerable notice of Clare's attitude towards physical relationships. -Sexual submission is repulsive to her, not only in relation to her -husband, whom she dislikes, but also in relation to Malise, for whom -she has so much liking that eventually she falls in love with him. At -the moment at which the offer is first made, however, she is not in -love with Malise: she offers herself to him because she feels that, -having brought trouble upon him, she ought to make reparation for her conduct!</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Clare.</span> If I must bring you harm—let me pay you back. I -can't bear it otherwise! Make some use of me, if you don't mind!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malise.</span> My God!</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>She puts her face up to be kissed, shutting her eyes.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malise.</span> You poor——</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>He clasps and kisses her; then, drawing back, looks in her -face. She has not moved; her eyes are still closed. But she is -shivering;</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> <i>her lips are tightly pressed together, her hands -twitching.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malise</span> (<i>very quietly</i>). No, no! This is not the house of a -"gentleman."</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clare</span> (<i>letting her head fall, and almost in a whisper</i>). I'm -sorry—</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malise.</span> I understand.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clare.</span> I don't feel. And without—I can't, can't.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malise</span> (<i>bitterly</i>). Quite right. You've had enough of that.</p></blockquote> - -<p>That speech—"I don't feel. And without—I can't, can't"—is the -key-speech of Clare Dedmond's nature, and, in view of the end of the -play, must be remembered.</p> - -<p>Malise, recognizing that Clare cannot happily be his mistress otherwise -than in name, will not accept her offer of physical submission merely -as a return for what he may have to bear in her behalf, and so she -leaves his flat. She obtains employment as a shop-assistant, and is not -seen again, by her family or by Malise, for three months. Then, after -she has encountered a relative, she bolts in a panic from the shop and -returns to Malise's flat. She proposes to do typewriting and asks him -to find employment for her. He gives her some of his own MSS. to type, -and while they are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> discussing her prospects of employment she reveals -the fact that she now loves him.</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Malise.</span> Can you typewrite where you are?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clare.</span> I have to find a new room, anyway. I'm -changing—to be safe. (<i>She takes a luggage ticket from her -glove</i>). I took my things to Charing Cross—only a bag and one -trunk. (<i>Then, with that queer expression on her face which -prefaces her desperations.</i>) You don't want me now, I suppose?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malise.</span> What?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clare</span> (<i>hardly above a whisper</i>). Because—if you still -wanted me—I do—now.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Malise</span> (<i>staring hard into her face that is quivering and -smiling</i>). You mean it? You <i>do</i>? You care?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Clare.</span> I've thought of you—so much. But only—if you're -sure.</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>He clasps her, and kisses her closed eyes.</i></p></blockquote></blockquote> - -<p>That love declaration is singularly unconvincing, more so to the -reader of the play than to the witness of it. It is not unlikely that -Clare's liking for Malise increased during the three months of their -separation, particularly as she regarded him as a benefactor to whom -she had brought trouble, but it seems to me to be improbable that she -would declare her love so casually. Mr. Galsworthy's stage directions -make the puzzle more involved.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> If Clare were in love with Malise to -the extent of overcoming her hatred of physical contacts, she would -hardly have "that queer expression on her face which prefaces her -desperations." When a man or woman is desperate he or she is hopeless -or almost hopeless, and if Mr. Galsworthy's stage directions are to be -taken seriously then they mean that Clare was willing to become the -mistress of Malise for much the same reason that a rat will fight in -a corner. But if her words mean what they would seem to mean, surely, -given her character and remembering what she has endured, her surrender -to Malise will not be accompanied by any signs of desperation at all, -but in sheer reaction, if nothing else, by every sign of jubilation and relief.</p> - -<p>The attitude of Malise towards Clare does not appear to have undergone -any change at all; he is not any more in love with her in the third -act than he was in the first act, when, indeed, his love had a dubious -aspect. There is no warmth in the man, no glow. He is cold, not with -the hard, sharp, tingling cold of ice, but with the flabby chill of a -dead fish. When George Dedmond institutes divorce proceedings, citing -Malise as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>co-respondent, the fellow goes to pieces, and whines and -bleats to his charwoman because the proprietors of the review on which -he is employed propose to dismiss him. They have some scruples against -writers who become involved in scandals. The charwoman informs Clare -of Malise's misery, and she, knowing that her husband will abandon -the suit if she leaves Malise, goes quietly from his flat. Her next -appearance is in a restaurant, largely patronized by prostitutes. One -does not know what has happened to her in the meantime, but it is -plain that she must have suffered acutely, for this delicately bred -woman, sensitive to the point of morbidity about sexual relationships, -has decided to become a prostitute! We see her entering "The Gascony" -for the first time when the fourth act begins. A young man, ordinary, -decent, and uncommonly lustful, makes overtures to her, treating her -with kindliness when he discovers that he is her first customer. His -kindliness helps to reconcile her to her position, and she prepares to -leave the restaurant with him. While he is paying the bill two coarse -men leer at her, and one of them accosts her, making an appointment for -the following evening. As she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> watches his coarse face, inflamed with -lust, she realises the horror of the life she is about to lead, and -suddenly makes a decision—she takes a bottle of poison from her dress, -pours its contents into a wine-glass, and drinks it. She dies while -some sportsmen in an adjoining room play "the last notes of an old song -'This Day a Stag Must Die' on a horn." And that is the end of the play.</p> - -<p class="space-above">It seems to me to be incredible that Clare Dedmond should have gone -to that restaurant to sell herself to any casual purchaser. It seems -to me, given her nature, incredible that she should even have thought -of such a way of life or that, having thought of it, she should -not instantly poison herself rather than endure it. Mr. Galsworthy -insists throughout the play on her exceptional sensitiveness about -sex-relationships. I think that psychologically he has over-stated this -sensitiveness, but, assuming that he has not done so, is it conceivable -that a woman who shivers and twitches her hands when she is kissed by -a man whom she likes will consent to put on fine clothes and go to a -notorious restaurant and sit at a table while men inspect her?... (I -leave out of consideration such questions as: "Where did she obtain the -fine clothes?" "How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> did she acquire her knowledge of 'The Gascony'?") -If she were prepared to endure that last of all defilements, why did -she run away from her husband? If she were capable of selling her -embraces, why did she shiver and twitch when Malise kissed her? George -Dedmond was not a "bad" man. He did not ill-treat her nor was he -faithless to her. He insisted, indeed, on sexual submissions, but one -has difficulty in believing that her horror of these, "unless I feel," -was very strong since she was willing to suffer the casual amours of -"The Gascony." There would have been something pitiable in her if, -after leaving Malise, she had returned to George. There would have -been something tragical in her if, reluctant to return to George, she -had killed herself when she found that she could not maintain herself -in decency. But there is nothing either pitiable or tragical in the -end devised for her by Mr. Galsworthy. It is an arranged and schemed -destiny that overwhelms Clare Dedmond, arranged and schemed not by -Circumstance but by Mr. Galsworthy, and having no relation whatever to -the nature of the woman. Mr. Galsworthy wanted to poison her in "The -Gascony," and so he thrust<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> her into the restaurant in plain disregard -of her character and of common facts.</p> - -<p>There is a phrase in the play which is intended to illuminate Clare's -nature. "You're too fine," Mrs. Fullarton says to her, "and you're -not fine enough to endure things." How can one be too fine to endure -a thing and yet not fine enough to endure it? And, having begun to -question in that fashion, one goes on again to wonder why she married -her husband. "Five years" (of marriage), she says to her husband, "and -four of them like this!" Here is no case of slow transformation of love -into dislike or of instant disillusionment. Clare does not suddenly -discover or slowly discover that George is not the sort of man she -had imagined him to be, for he remains throughout the play exactly -the sort of man he was when she was wooed and married by him. He did -not become prosaic, unimaginative, and coarse after marriage: he was -always like that; and Clare, so sensitive as she was, must have been -jarred by him as much before marriage as she was a year after marriage. -There is no suggestion in the play that she married for money. Had she -done so, surely she would, when we remember the depths to which she -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> subsequently prepared to descend, have borne his dullness and -coarseness, not gladly, perhaps, but with fortitude?</p> - -<p>The processes of attraction and repulsion are so complicated that it -is difficult to say where one begins and the other ends, but this -difficulty is hardly to be experienced in cases where the personalities -are so marked and divergent as were the personalities of Clare and -George Dedmond. If one were to take a man like Squire Western in "Tom -Jones" and marry him to Mélisande in "Pelléas et Mélisande," one -could prophesy with some certainty what would be the result of such a -marriage. It would be disastrous. Left to the ordinary processes of -nature, however, such a marriage would not take place at all.</p> - -<p>But the difficulty of fathoming Clare's relationships does not end -with her husband. It is equally difficult to understand her attitude -towards Malise. What attracted her to this extraordinarily ill-bred man -who sneers openly at her relatives and friends, mocking and insulting -them to her and to their faces? The Dedmonds, parents and son, are -dense, but they are decent. They live by rule because they cannot live -by any other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> means. It is not their fault that they cannot understand -Clare's point of view, any more than it is the fault of a blind man -that he falls over an obstacle which he cannot see. Malise regards them -as malignant people, deliberately imprisoning an aspiring woman. His -vision of them is as narrow as is theirs of him, and, since he has not -got their breeding or kindliness, his conduct is caddish where theirs -is merely stupid. There is no magnitude or charity in this man. He -spends his days and nights in writing petulant screeds in the style of -Thomas Carlyle: windy stuff, blowing out of a noisome mind; and when -he has induced one helpless, incompetent woman to follow his creed he -fails her completely.</p> - -<p>The last sentences of the play show that Mr. Galsworthy had set his -mind on Clare's death in disregard of the probabilities. Clare, having -swallowed the poison, is lying back in her chair, presumably dead.</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>The Young Man has covered his eyes with his hands; Arnaud is -crossing himself fervently; the Languid Lord stands gazing with -one of the dropped gardenias twisted in his fingers; and the woman -bending over Clare, kisses her forehead.</i></p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - -<p>That is a piece of theatricality. It has no relationship to real -things. Those people, in life, would not have stood about in -sentimental attitudes watching a woman die of poison. The young man -would have flown for a doctor; the waiter would have rushed off for an -emetic; the languid lord would have lost his languid airs in his desire -to get away from the restaurant in fear lest he might be summoned as a -witness at the inquest; and the woman would promptly have had hysterics.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>He seems to be most impressed, in viewing the human scene, by the sense -of property which he discovers in mankind. In his best work, the novels -of the Forsyte Saga, beginning with "The Man of Property" and ending -with "To Let" one finds him attributing this sense to human beings to a -degree which is, in my belief, entirely excessive. Soames Forsyte, "the -man of property," is portrayed to us as a man who regards all things, -human and otherwise, as things to be owned. His wife is a piece of -property just as a picture or a dog is. When he obtains a divorce from -her and marries a young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> French girl, Annette, he treats the latter -as a piece of valuable property useful for the purpose of producing -a still more valuable piece of property; and when Annette bears a -daughter to him, he is left exclaiming almost passionately that this -child is <i>his</i>, not hers and his, but <i>his</i>! All the members of the -Forsyte family, described with great particularity, are possessed of -this sense of property, but it is more highly developed in Soames than -in any of them. Even those members of it, like young Jolyon Forsyte, -who break with the family tradition, concentrate on this property -point. They only differ from the rest of the family in being anti-, -rather than pro-, property. None of them seems to be indifferent to -property. The dominating influence in their lives, either for happiness -or for misery, is property. Mr. Galsworthy states of them that as -they watched the funeral of Queen Victoria, they felt that they were -burying more history for their money than had ever been buried before. -One of the Forsyte women loves the statement of Christ that "In My -Father's house are many mansions" because it comforts her sense of -property. Most of the conflict in the Galsworthy novels springs from -the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>reactions of the characters to this sense, and it is laboured -to the point of attenuation. The temperamental differences between -Soames and Irene Forsyte in "The Man of Property" are obscurely stated, -and still more obscurely stated in the dramatized version of their -relationship called "The Fugitive," in which Soames and Irene become -George and Clare Dedmond, and Bosinney, the architect-lover, becomes -Malise, the journalist-lover. It is true that the differences which -break a marriage are sometimes the result of fundamental things which -cannot be described with the clarity of the items in an auctioneer's -catalogue; but the business of an artist is to make obscure things -plain and understandable, and the success of his work depends upon the -way in which he impresses his readers with the vagueness and obscurity -of these things and yet at the same time makes them realize how -substantial they are. Soames and Irene Forsyte may not be able to say -why they cannot live together, but Mr. Galsworthy must be able to do so -and he must empower his readers to do so, too. A novelist gives a sense -of inarticulateness in a character, not by making him so inarticulate -that the readers cannot hear or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> understand a word he is saying, but -by making his inarticulateness articulate. The danger into which many -writers tumble headlong is that they will spend all their energies on -getting the details right and will leave the general effect obscure. -One sees signs of this in Mr. Galsworthy's work. He is so busy endowing -his people with a sense of property that he occasionally omits to endow -them with a sense of humanity. If one compares the Forsyte novels, -say, "In Chancery," with Mrs. Edith Wharton's latest book, "The Age of -Innocence," one discovers that in each case, the theme is concerned -with the institution of the family, with the tribal instinct which -makes the majority of minds seek identity rather than dissimilarity. -But in Mrs. Wharton's book, this tribal instinct is humanly expressed, -whereas in Mr. Galsworthy's it is not. I recognize Mrs. Wharton's -people as human beings, but I am sceptical about Mr. Galsworthy's -people. Old Mrs. Mingott, in "The Age of Innocence," has affinity with -old Jolyon Forsyte in "The Man of Property" and "The Indian Summer of -a Forsyte." (He is the most human figure in the Saga.) But the rest -of the cast in the Forsyte Saga has less relevance to humanity than -the rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> of the cast in "The Age of Innocence," and the reason is, I -think, that Mr. Galsworthy has allowed his theory to get the better of -his people, whereas Mrs. Wharton, whatever her theory may be, has kept -her eye very steadfastly on human beings. The Countess Olenska in "The -Age of Innocence" has verisimilitude which is absent from the figure -of Irene Forsyte in "The Man of Property" or Clare Dedmond in "The -Fugitive." We can comprehend Ellen Olenska, but Irene Forsyte utterly -eludes us.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>One entertains oneself with noting how differently an experience -of life presents itself to Mr. Galsworthy from the way in which it -presents itself to Mr. Bernard Shaw. Mr. Galsworthy sends Falder, -in his play "Justice," to prison and flattens him out. Mr. Shaw -sends Margaret Knox and Bobby Gilbert, in "Fannie's First Play," to -prison and amazingly enlarges their lives. What utterly depresses Mr. -Galsworthy, stimulates and even exalts Mr. Shaw. If Mr. Galsworthy -tortures us to the point at which we wish to rush out of the theatre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -and raze Wormwood Scrubbs and Pentonville to the ground, Mr. Shaw -causes us to feel that each of us might be considerably benefitted by a -sojourn there. Mr. Galsworthy sees a gaol as a place where thought is -destroyed or embittered: Mr. Shaw sees it as a place where thought is -provoked and clarified; and between them, a simple-minded person cannot -make up his mind whether to subscribe to the funds of the Howard League -for Penal Reform or to advocate penal servitude for every one in the -interests of Higher Thought. Adversity, says Mr. Galsworthy, knocks a -man down. Adversity, says Mr. Shaw, braces him up. The first statement -may fill a man with pity, but the latter is more likely to make a hero -of him.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>I like "The Country House" and "Five Tales" and "To Let" better than -anything else that Mr. Galsworthy has written. The human sense is more -truly felt in these books than in any others that he has done. There -are few figures in modern fiction so tender and beautiful as Mrs. -Pendyce in "The Country House" and few figures so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>immensely impressive -and indomitable as the old man in the story called "The Stoic" which -is the first of the "Five Tales." The craftsmanship of "To Let" is -superb—this novel is, perhaps, the most technically-correct book of -our time—but its human value is even greater than its craftsmanship. -In a very vivid fashion, Mr. Galsworthy shows the passing of a -tradition and an age. He leaves Soames Forsyte in lonely age, but he -does not leave him entirely without sympathy; for this muddleheaded -man, unable to win or to keep affection on any but commercial terms, -contrives in the end to win the pity and almost the love of the reader -who has followed his varying fortunes through their stupid career. -The frustrate love of Fleur and Jon is certainly one of the tenderest -things in modern fiction. Mr. Galsworthy has a love of beauty which -permeates everything that he writes and reconciles his more critical -readers to his dubious characterization. I suppose the truth about his -work is that he has not sufficiently disciplined his feelings and, -for this reason, allows his sympathies with his suffering people to -swamp his judgments. He is, in every act and thought, a chivalrous -man, and his instinct is, not to examine the facts of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> case, but to -rush instantly and hotly to the defence of the seemingly defenceless. -An artist is never indifferent to the wrongs of men, but his artistry -prevents him from making mistakes about the persons who are suffering -the wrongs. One's fear is that Mr. Galsworthy is inclined to allow his -philanthropy to take the place of his artistry. Even in that fine book, -"The Country House," he sometimes makes a formula or a trick out of -some fine, instinctive sentiment. In the fourth chapter of part II, Mr. -Pendyce, during a period of stress, treads on a spaniel's foot.</p> - -<blockquote><p>The spaniel yelped. "D——n the dog! Oh, poor fellow, John!" said -Mr. Pendyce.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Now, in those words, one has exemplified the acute penetration into -people's minds and emotions which is discoverable in Mr. Galsworthy; -but he is not content to leave the incident in its simplicity and -nature. Before we have reached the end of the chapter, that instinctive -utterance by Mr. Pendyce has become a rather threadbare literary trick -by Mr. Galsworthy. Mr. Pendyce treads on the dog again two pages -later, and Mr. Pendyce repeats himself exactly: "D——n the dog! Oh, -poor fellow, John!" And five pages later, he treads on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> the spaniel -a third time, and a third time he says, "D——n the dog! Oh, poor -fellow, John!" It is obvious, surely, that on the first occasion, Mr. -Galsworthy made Mr. Pendyce speak from his heart, but on the second -and third occasions he made him speak like a ventriloquist's doll. -One can find many similarly inapt things even in this book, where Mr. -Galsworthy keeps very close to humanity. Mr. Pendyce ejaculates, on -hearing that his son has gone after illicit love, "What on earth made -me send George to Eton?" when he himself had been educated at another -school. One knows what Mr. Galsworthy is here trying to do, to express -the love of tradition and custom which governs the life of such a man -as Mr. Pendyce, but he does not achieve the effect by such speeches. -The reader feels certain that whatever else Mr. Pendyce may have said -on that occasion, he did not say, "What on earth made me send George -to Eton?" Too many of his people make impotent gestures, and it is -remarkable that these important people are nearly always his most -idealistic characters. Such an one is Gregory Vigil in "The Country -House" who constantly clutches his forehead and tilts his face towards -the sky and generally strikes attitudes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> of despair until one begins to -feel that he is the weakest of weaklings. And it is extraordinary to -observe what havoc Mr. Galsworthy, ordinarily a very fastidious writer, -sometimes makes of the English language. In "The Man of Property" he -gives a detailed description of Mrs. Septimus Small in the course of -which he states that "an innumerable pout clung all over" her face, -and on the page immediately succeeding the one on which that queer -description occurs, he states that Mrs. Small "owned three canaries, -the cat Tommy, and half a parrot—in common with her sister Hester...." -We may, perhaps, pass "an innumerable pout" as an impressionistic -phrase, but it is quite clear that carelessness caused Mr. Galsworthy -to say that Mrs. Septimus Small owned "half a parrot—in common with -her sister Hester" when what he wished to say was that Hester and she -were joint owners of a parrot! He sometimes uses images which are -almost ludicrous. In "Saints Progress," we get this curious account of -an old woman in tears:</p> - -<blockquote><p>A little pasty woman with a pinched yellowish face was already -sitting there, so still, and seeming to see so little, that Noel -wondered of what she could be thinking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> While she watched, the -woman's face began puckering, and tears rolled slowly down, -<i>trickling from pucker to pucker</i>....</p></blockquote> - -<p>The italics are mine.</p> - -<p>It is his sincerity and his chivalry and his pity and his sense of -beauty, a little too conscious, perhaps, which, much more than his -powers of thought, make us read his novels and witness the performance -of his plays. These qualities tend to become obsessions in him with the -result that his sense of proportion and his verity are disorganized and -he is led into sentimentalities, some of which, on first sight, have an -impressive appearance which is not maintained after closer scrutiny. -In one of his plays, "A Bit o' Love," he makes the chief character, a -young clergyman, end the play with this prayer:</p> - -<blockquote><p>God, of the moon and the sun; of joy and beauty, of loneliness and -sorrow—Give me strength to go on, till I love every living thing.</p></blockquote> - -<p>That is a prayer which sounds impressive until it is critically -considered. It is not possible for a man to love every living thing. -There are certain things which he hates with his mind and certain -things which he hates with his instincts, and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> is either very -difficult or impossible for him to control those hatreds. The best -he can hope for is the power to restrain his hatred from active -demonstrations. There are hatreds which he ought to possess, hatreds -which Mr. Galsworthy himself possesses in a high degree; hatred -of cruel men, hatred of oppressive men, hatred of men who promote -discord out of sheer devilish delight; but these hatreds are feeble -in comparison with the instinctive hatreds most of us have without -understanding why we have them. To pray for strength to go on until -one loves every living thing is, therefore, to pray for the moon, -and exalted desires which are insusceptible of realization become -banalities. There are times, in his anger at coarseness and cruel -insult and lack of pity, when Mr. Galsworthy attributes a degree -of ruffianliness to people which is lacking in verity. In "Saint's -Progress," he causes "two big loutish boys" to jeer at the old -clergyman, Pierson, whose daughter has had a war-baby without being -married. The two "loutish boys" shout after him, "Wot price the -little barstard?" Now, I simply do not believe that such a thing -happened or could have happened in London during the war. Cruelty -did not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>manifest itself in just that way, and it is here, I think, -that one discovers Mr. Galsworthy's chief disability, the fact that -his powers of observation are not so acute as one might reasonably -expect them to be. There is an old saying that the looker-on sees -most of the game—and there is some truth in it; but it is true -also that the looker-on may be totally ignorant of, or misinformed -about, the game, whereas those who are engaged in it have a fairly -comprehensive notion of what they are doing. Mr. Galsworthy gives -me the impression of being a looker-on at the game rather than a -participator in it, and although he is sometimes a very impassioned -spectator, yet he suffers from the disability of all spectators that -they are not clearly instructed in the principles and the prejudices -of the contest. He is praying for strength to love every living thing -when he should be praying for the power to distinguish between what is -lovable and what is detestable, between true things and false things. -There are few people who can depict the helplessness of dull men so -skilfully and movingly as Mr. Galsworthy can. I doubt whether any of -his contemporaries could so revealingly describe the state of mind -of a man, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>spiritually imperceptive and puzzled by his inability to -understand, as Mr. Galsworthy in his novel "In Chancery" has described -Soames Forsyte after he has obtained a divorce from his first wife. -The dumb animal bewilderment of this man, still in love with Irene but -utterly confounded by her complete revulsion from him, is done with the -most extraordinary penetration; and it is scenes such as this, which -cause his readers all the more to marvel at his obsessions and their -attendant failures.</p> - -<p>One rises from a consideration of his work in the belief that he -pities mankind, but does not love it. He is a spectator of our -struggles rather than a comrade in them. He stands at the side of -the road or perhaps on an eminence a little way off and watches the -procession as it goes by. We feel certain that if we are in trouble -he will display signs of sorrow for us, but we are equally certain -that he will never share our common qualities and faults. Rabelais -would have been self-conscious in the presence of Mr. Galsworthy, had -they been contemporaries, and Mr. Galsworthy might have despised, -would certainly have been uncomfortable with that foul physician who, -nevertheless, corresponded more closely to this various clay we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> call -mankind, would have known and understood more certainly the ups and -downs of human character, the mixture of coarseness and refinement, -of falsity and faith, of chivalry and treachery, of generosity and -meanness, of selfishness and unselfishness, of rare and common, than -Mr. Galsworthy is ever likely to do. Mr. Hardy, in a preface to "Tess -of the D'Urbervilles" declares that "a novel is an impression, not an -argument" and in those eight words has summarized the whole business -of story-telling. Mr. Galsworthy can tell a story very skilfully. His -technique is remarkable, as any one who has read "To Let" or seen -a performance of "Loyalties" can testify; but there are too many -occasions when he seems to have let go his hold on reality and to be -writing out of dim memories which are growing dimmer. His characters -resemble people who are hurriedly seen through a window by one who -is ignorant of their identity and anxious, chiefly, to be at home. -They are making gestures and their lips move, but the hasty footfarer -outside cannot hear what they are saying and he sees only the gestures, -incomplete, perhaps, but does not know why they are made; and because -he knows so little, he is likely to misunderstand all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> I imagine that -when Mr. Galsworthy goes into a garden, his delight in it is dashed by -the thought that somewhere near at hand a thrush is killing a snail!...</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Reminiscences of Leo Nicolayevitch Tolstoi</i>, by Maxim -Gorki.</p></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<h2>GEORGE MOORE</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>I was in Dublin on the day when the news of the Battle of Jutland was -announced in such abrupt terms that most people imagined the British -Fleet had been irretrievably defeated. The affairs of the Abbey -Theatre, of which I was then in control, had been brought to a pause -because of the military regulations imposed upon the city after the -Easter Rising, and Mr. Moore, new from London, asked me to employ -some of my leisure in making a reconciliation between Lady Gregory -and Mr. Yeats on the one hand and himself on the other. I foolishly -consented to see what could be done, chiefly because of the innocent -wonder which I detected in Mr. Moore at the fact that any one could -possibly take offence at anything he might say, however revelatory -of private affairs it might be; and I spent some time in the pursuit -of peace. Lady Gregory declared that she had no feeling against Mr. -Moore because of what he had said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> about her in his trilogy, "Hail and -Farewell," but that she could never forgive the insults it contained to -Mr. Yeats. Mr. Yeats, endeavouring to think deeply about the Rising, -declared that he had forgotten, if indeed he had ever remembered, the -insults to himself in the trilogy, but that he could not pardon those -offered to Lady Gregory. Moore had broken bread in her house, and then -had gone away and made fun of her! Worse than that, he had belittled -her work. He had said that her plays were not great plays and that her -"Kiltartan" dialect was not the dialect of the people of Ireland, but a -tortured, unrhythmic invention of her own!... I proposed to them that -they should pool their pardons and receive him into the fold again, -but my proposal was not accepted, and so I set off from Lady Gregory's -lodgings in Dublin to tell Mr. Moore, staying in the Shelbourne Hotel, -of the failure of my mission. On the way, I encountered newspaper -boys, carrying placards on which was printed the news of the Battle -of Jutland. When I got to the hotel and was shown into Mr. Moore's -private sitting-room, I found assembled there, Mr. Moore, white with -anger and dismay, "A. E.," "John Eglinton" (William Magee)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> and the -late W. F. Bailey, a Land Commissioner, a Privy Councillor and a -Trustee of the Abbey Theatre, who had the most extensive acquaintance -of any man I have ever known. Mr. Moore was seated in the middle of the -room, looking very like a portrait of himself, facing his friends, who -were huddled together on a sofa in the shadow as if they were three -misbehaving schoolboys receiving a severe rebuke from their master. I -could not tell Mr. Moore at that moment of the result of my mission, -and in the excitement of the subsequent argument I forgot to do so, but -I doubt whether he was then in a mood to care whether he was forgiven or not.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>It is several years now since that day when I heard Mr. Moore -haranguing Mr. Russell and Mr. Magee and Mr. Bailey on the Battle of -Jutland, but my recollection of the occasion is very vivid, partly -because I have a good memory for things which interest me (and none -at all for things in which I am not interested) but chiefly because -it seemed to me that on that day Mr. Moore definitely became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> an old -man. His age is not stated in the books of reference, for Mr. Moore -is as reticent as an actress on this point, but he is older than -Mr. Shaw, who is much older than Mr. Yeats or "A. E." It may seem -singular that he, so destitute of reserve in other and more intimate -matters, should be secretive on this, but I fancy that his failure -to publish the number of his years is due less to vanity than to -inability to believe that he is as old as they denote. Judged by the -rules of arithmetic his age is—so much; but judged by his feelings, -it is—much less. Facts are stubborn things, so we are told, demanding -acceptance and unquestioned admission, but Mr. Moore declines to accept -the fact of time: he ignores it. But on the day on which the news of -the Battle of Jutland was made public, the fact of time ceased to be -ignorable, and Mr. Moore, for the first moment in his life, yielded to -his years. He looked old and he talked as old men talk. There was a -note of panic in his voice, of frightened urgency, and he complained -bitterly of those who saw importance in a mean brawl in Dublin, but -remained indifferent to an event which might result in the destruction -of a desirable civilization. I doubt whether anything in the world -had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> ever until that day been serious to Mr. Moore in the sense that -loss and suffering and great grief are serious. I am certain that he -never understood why people were angry with him because of "Hail and -Farewell." The resentment manifested against him by Lady Gregory and -Mr. Yeats was to him incomprehensibly petty: the deeper resentment of -other people, more grievously wounded by his revelations which they -declared to be untrue, filled him with astonishment. The spectacle of -life was so much of a spectacle to him that he could not conceive of -it as anything else to others. He had made himself so completely, not -a participant in affairs, but an observer of them, that he had lost -the faculty of personal feeling. His interest in acts and motives -was so intense that he could not understand any one objecting to his -prying into the more entertaining of their private relationships. -Equally difficult was it for him to understand that they should deeply -disrelish the idea of having their affairs, intimate and even secret, -used as material for a book by Mr. Moore. Any human experience, he -seems to argue, particularly when narrated in his exquisite style, is -of value to mankind, and it must have seemed to him that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> was -something, not only absurd, but also disgraceful in the objection many -people had to the publication of their private concerns. Had he not -paid tribute to privacy by omitting names or inventing others than the -proper ones? True, everyone knew who were the persons portrayed, but -was that his fault? And since every one knew already of the affairs, -what possible harm could there be in his putting them into perfect -and publishable prose? The objection raised by some persons that the -incidents narrated by him as facts were pure inventions was frivolous! -What was truth? Mr. Moore, like jesting Pilate, asked the question, -but did not wait for a reply: he published as quickly as he could. The -three volumes which make up "Hail and Farewell" are remarkable and have -much value, but it is necessary to remember that Mr. Moore has not -always been careful in them to distinguish between the historian and -the novelist, between the recorder and the inventor. There are many -dull passages in the trilogy, especially those in which he relates -his experiences with his kinsman, Mr. Edward Martyn, a charge which -Mr. Moore would not deny, but, on the contrary, proudly admit, for he -insists that dullness is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> prominent feature of all great books. It -is only the newspapers and ephemeral books which are interesting from -beginning to end, he asserts—a statement which implies that Mr. Moore -has been happier in his newspapers than most people have. In this -matter of privacies, Mr. Moore was, and still is, the most complete and -consistent of communists. He believes in private property, but not in -private feelings. One imagines him, in the days before the Battle of -Jutland, asking in puzzled fashion, "What do you mean when you say you -<i>feel</i> things? What <i>is</i> feeling? Why should it ever be <i>private</i>?" -"This lady is in love with that gentleman who is not her husband! How -interesting! I shall write a book about their love for each other. -They may object! But why? Her husband's feelings!... Now, isn't that -absurd!" And so on. Miss Susan Mitchell, in a very entertaining, but -not entirely sympathetic book, entitled "George Moore," declares -that he seceded from the Roman Catholic Church because be objected -to the secrecy of the confessional. His sins, he considered, were so -absorbingly interesting that they ought to be publicly confessed rather -than confided to an undivulging priest. The flaw in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> Miss Mitchell's -argument is her assumption that Mr. Moore had any sins to confess!...</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>But on this day when the news of the Battle of Jutland was announced, -Mr. Moore seemed, for the first time in his life, to realize that -men and women do feel and suffer and bear loss; and the discovery -instantly aged him. The War which had so teasingly disturbed the -amenities of Ebury Street became in a moment something more than an -irritating scuffle in the dark—it became an immense disaster which -might make amenities forever impossible. The solidities of life were -in process of dissolution. Literary style amazingly mattered less than -the power of the commonest guttersnipe to kill. Mr. Bernard Shaw, in -the preface to "Heartbreak House," exclaims, "Imagine exulting in -the death of Beethoven because Bill Sykes dealt him his death blow!" -in a rebuke administered to the people who rejoiced in the news of -appalling death-rolls among Germans during the War. But on the field -itself, Beethoven and Bill Sykes cease to be Beethoven and Bill Sykes -and become,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> each, a very frightened man with a rifle and bayonet and -a strong desire to live. In that dreadful encounter, Bill Sykes would -not be thinking to himself, "Here comes Beethoven, a great master of -music, by whom it will be an honor to be killed!" but "'Ere comes a -bloody 'Un who will kill me unless I kill 'im!" The perception of -what was happening in Europe, of the horrible reduction of Beethovens -to the level of Sykeses, of Shakespeares to the level of Prussian -drill-sergeants (for they had to come down to those levels if they were -to have any hope of survival) made an old man of Mr. Moore. He threw up -his hands and made submission to his years. I listened to him while he -talked volubly and bitterly to "A. E." and "John Eglinton" and "Bill" -Bailey, as people called him, and marvelled to find him displaying so -much emotion over the naval disaster and its probable consequences. He -had written a preface for his brother, Colonel Moore's life of their -father, in which he had romantically stated that George Henry Moore, -his father, had committed suicide because his heart was broken by the -dishonourable behaviour of politicians. Colonel Moore printed the -preface, but denied the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>statement about his father, to which, however, -George still romantically clings. An English newspaper, <i>The Observer</i>, -in its issue for Sunday, April 10, 1921, printed the preface which Mr. -Moore had written for a new book to be published very soon thereafter. -In this preface, he very interestingly described the way in which he -was educated, and in the course of it occurred this paragraph:</p> - -<blockquote><p>He was unhappy in the strife, for he loved his father; his father -was always, and still is, the intimate and abiding reality of his -life, and the evening that his father started for Ireland for the -last time is quick among his memories. George's father returned -from the front door to bid his son good-bye, and in obedience to -a sudden impulse he took a sovereign out of his pocket and put it -into the boy's hand, and went away to his death resolute, for he -had come to see that his death was the only way to escape from his -embarrassments, without injury to his family, and I can imagine -him walking about the lake shores bidding them good-bye for ever.</p></blockquote> - -<p>I suppose that if George Henry Moore were to rise from the grave and -deny that he had died by his own hand, his son and heir, George, would -murmur aggrievedly, "You know, father, you are spoiling a very charming -story!..." He is still sufficiently insensitive not to understand that -life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> is something more than material for the storyteller's art—he -may, perhaps have relapsed from the state of understanding to which the -Battle of Jutland brought him,—but for that time, at all events until -the news of the Battle was amended, George Moore knew what private -feelings were, even although he could not keep them to himself. "A. -E.," looking woolly and worried, seemed to be completely deprived of -his powers of speech by Mr. Moore's angry rhetoric. "John Eglinton," a -scholarly essayist and the sanest man in Dublin, having much respect -for, but no delusion about, the ancient Gaelic literature of which we -hear so much and see so little, remained customarily mum. Mr. Bailey, -nervously garrulous as a rule, uttered jerky, but inarticulate, sounds -to which Mr. Moore paid absolutely no heed. I discreetly sat in a -corner and did not make a sound. The words flowed steadily from Mr. -Moore's lips—hot denunciation of the Rising, contemptuous references -to Kuno Meyer, rebukes for "A. E." (discovered to have flaws) and a -tremendous indictment of German culture, with a proviso in favour of -German music, together with admiring references to France, to French -literature and to the French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> Impressionists, particularly Manet. A -waiter intruded into the room for some purpose and was ordered out -again....</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Of all that Mr. Moore said on that extraordinary occasion, I remember -most his sudden outburst into what he called practical politics. -He demanded the impeachment of Mr. Asquith, the restoration of the -Coronation Oath and the abolition of all dogs! The comic incongruity of -those three items in a plan to win the war was apparent neither to him -nor his three elderly auditors, or so it seemed, and I deemed it wise -to control my laughter. Mr. Moore declared that Mr. Asquith's inertia, -of which we were hearing so much then, was certain to bring defeat to -the Allies. One of Mr. Asquith's daughters had sat beside Mr. Moore at -dinner one night in London and had informed her neighbour that "Father -is bored with the War!" whereupon Mr. Moore informed her (or so he -said) that her father's boredom might cause the Allies to lose the War. -Mr. Asquith was guilty of more serious crimes than that: he had ruined -the Irish <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>gentleman and delivered the country over to hobbledehoys and -low minded peasants. Not content with ruining Ireland, no longer fit -to be inhabited by gentlemen, fit only to be the country of publicans, -pawnbrokers, priests and politicians, Mr. Asquith had tried to make -equal ruin in England. He has abolished the Coronation Oath which, -until his advent, had always been administered to the kings of England -at their crowning. In this Oath, they declare their belief that the -Mass is an idolatrous ceremony, not to be acknowledged by reasonable -persons and likely to be accepted only by vulgar Papists. Mr. Asquith, -mindful of the fact that many hundreds of thousands of Catholics are -members of the British Commonwealth of Nations, decided that the kings -of England should not be humiliated and embarrassed at their coronation -by the compulsion to insult the faith of many of their subjects; and so -he introduced a Bill into Parliament to abolish the Oath, which was, -in due time, abolished. Mr. Moore seemed to think that all the evils -from which mankind has suffered since 1914 directly sprang from that -political achievement.</p> - -<p>As for dogs, these abominable animals, he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> are nuisances at any -time, but during a war and period of food shortage, they are a positive -menace to the country. He begged us to consider (a) the great quantity -of food consumed by dogs, (b) the amount of nervous irritability -brought about by their incessant yapping, and (c) the extent to which -they defile the streets. He threatened us with famine, insanity and, -finally, plague!... There is an English poet who is also a breeder -of bulldogs. Whenever he reads one of Mr. Moore's periodical canine -denunciations, he becomes so enraged that only the strongest efforts of -his friends prevent him from emptying the contents of his kennels on to -Mr. Moore's doorstep that they may there do their worst. The ambition -of his life is to see one of his bulldogs fasten its teeth firmly in -the calf of Mr. Moore's venerable leg....</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>All that has been written here so far will seem to support the -superstition that Mr. Moore is a trifler with life, that he is a man -destitute of serious purposes; but I am anxious to make plain to -my readers that this superstition is a superstition.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> His lack of -reticence about his own and other people's affairs and his perverse -incursions into what he imagines to be practical politics are obviously -responsible for the belief that he is what is called "a typical -Irishman," that is to say, a man without a sense of responsibility. -My experience is that "typical Irishmen" are generally discovered -to be Englishmen or Welshmen or New York East Side Jews—the late -Padraic Pearse, Mr. Arthur Griffith and Mr. de Valera correspond to -those descriptions—but it is undeniable that Mr. Moore, not without -deliberation, has helped to maintain the legend that Irishmen are -without a sense of responsibility. When, for example, during one of -the many Home Rule crises, he suggested that the trouble between the -two islands of Great Britain and Ireland might easily be settled by -intelligent engineers, many persons were of the opinion that a man -who could talk such twaddle, as they called it, in a time of much -difficulty ought to be imprisoned. The proposal, when the details were -disclosed, confirmed pessimists in their profound belief that the -unsurmountable obstacle to the solution of Irish affairs is the Irish -themselves! What Mr. Moore suggested was this: that a thick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> wall -should be built across the North Channel between the Giant's Causeway -and the Mull of Kintyre, and that another thick wall should be built -across St. George's Channel between Carnsore Point and St. David's -Head. These operations completed, the engineers should then pump out -all the water in the Irish Sea, fill in the resultant gap with earth, -and make one island out of two! He seemed not to have considered the -case of Liverpool. What, some one jestingly demanded, would become -of that great port when deprived of its "pool"? What also, he might -have added, would become of Belfast and Dublin, deprived, the one of -its Lough, and the other, of its Bay? Mr. Moore might have retorted -that what Ireland lost on Belfast Lough it would more than gain on -Galway Bay, but he preferred to remain silent. One could, of course, -draw a conclusion, packed with thought and judgment, from Mr. Moore's -playful proposal, and I do not doubt that such was his intention; but -the average person is either too busy or disinclined to draw such -conclusions from anything; and so, having glanced casually at the -details of Mr. Moore's plan to settle the Irish Question, he turned -impatiently away, convinced (a)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> that Mr. Moore was an incorrigible -buffoon, and (b) that the government of Ireland must ever remain an -unsolved problem because of the Irish people's amazing inability to -conduct themselves reasonably!</p> - -<p>But Mr. Moore has a serious purpose in life, and he pursues that -serious purpose with indefatigable industry. The immediate and -unmistakable fact about him is that he is an artist. There are few -writers in English, not even excepting Mr. Conrad, who have so much -power over words as is possessed by George Moore, and this power has -been achieved, as all power is achieved, by incessant labour and the -most pure devotion. He is, in the real sense, a self-made man. The -artistry that is undeniably his has been wrought not only in the sweat -of his brain, but in face of powerful obstacles. His position as the -heir of a fairly well-to-do landowner in Ireland might have resulted -in him becoming a minor poet, publishing tiny verses in tiny volumes, -or a small author of fragile essays about butterflies and pierrots. -He did, in fact, begin his writing career, as most reputable writers -do, by composing poems, but he speedily turned to prose. He actually -published<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> verses in books entitled "Flowers of Passion"—a name which -incongruously suggests Baudelaire and Ella Wheeler Wilcox—and "Pagan -Poems," but, so far as I have been able to discover, no one has ever -seen these books or read the poems contained in them. The first was -published in 1877 and the second in 1881 and we may conclude that they -have been dissolved by the chemicals of time. Miss Mitchell, in the -book to which reference has already been made, states that "nobody in -Ireland has ever seen any of Mr. Moore's paintings except 'A. E.' to -whom he once shyly showed a head, remarking that it had some 'quality.' -'A. E.' remained silent." The poems remain under the same kindly -condemnation. The favourable fortune which might have made a minor -poet, and nothing but a minor poet, out of Mr. Moore was one of the -powerful obstacles to his becoming a master of prose.</p> - -<p>The other was the attempt made by his father to influence his mind. -In the preface from which I have already made a brief quotation, he -gives an account of his education at the Roman Catholic school of -Oscott. George, it seemed, had a reticence in his childhood which he -remarkably lost in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> maturity: he refused to confess his sins on the -singular ground that he had not got any sins to confess. He had not -then learned, seemingly, that he who has not got any sins to confess, -can easily invent a few. The story of this episode is fully narrated -in "Hail and Farewell," but in the new preface Mr. Moore summarizes it -and tells how his father was summoned to Oscott by the president of -the school "to inquire into his son's lack of belief in priests and -their sacraments." The upshot of the business was that the boy, "not -only the last boy in the class, but in the last class in the school—in -a word, the dunce of the school" was removed from Oscott for private -instruction at home in Mayo. "George's case is really very alarming," -the president wrote to his father, and the letter contained the -admission that he did not know whether George would not or could not learn.</p> - -<p>It is exceedingly illuminating to observe how his prose style has grown -through a series of very diverse books into its present condition. One -of his most remarkable novels, as it is also one of his earliest, "A -Mummers Wife," was clearly written under the influence of Zola, but -with such <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>individual quality that Zola might profitably have taken -lessons from his pupil. The difference between Emile Zola and George -Moore is that while Zola never forgot to be a doctrinaire, Moore never -forgot to be an artist. "A Mummer's Wife" was unaccountably banned by -the circulating libraries in England, and, such is the conservatism -of these remarkable institutions, that I believe the ban is still -maintained, although a generation has arisen which regards it as very -restrained indeed. The style in which it is written is somewhat arid, -and the reader is not carried forward by the flow of the story itself, -but is forced along by its weight. A comparison between "A Mummer's -Wife," or "Esther Waters," and such later books as "The Lake" or "The -Brook Kerith" reveals such a difference in manner that the critic has -some difficulty in believing that all four novels came from the mind -of the same author. Mr. Wells is a writer with many manners, but the -reader can discover a unifying characteristic, unmistakably Wellsian, -in all of them. Mr. Shaw, a more consistent author than most men of his -quality, has kept so closely to one level that the difference between -his earliest, his best and his latest work is merely the difference<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> -of degree between growing powers, highest powers and declining powers. -The style in the novels, "Love Among the Artists," "The Unsocial -Socialist," "The Irrational Knot" and "Cashel Byron's Profession" -is the same style, under less control, as the style of "Man and -Superman," "John Bull's Other Island," "Heartbreak House" and "Back To -Methuselah." But in Mr. Moore's case the style of "A Mummer's Wife" has -no obvious relationship to that of "The Lake" or "The Brook Kerith." -The difference between the earlier books and the later ones is the -difference between the flow of a river through a canal and the flow of -a river through its natural bed.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>"A Mummer's Wife" is a powerful story, told in a skilful and impressive -fashion, but it leaves the reader less conscious of life than of -mechanics. As a piece of construction it is a better novel than "The -Brook Kerith," but as a piece of literature it is not. The quality -of life is dusty and arranged in the early book, but it is alert and -vibrant and natural in the later one. One notable feature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> of "A -Mummer's Wife" is the display of knowledge by Mr. Moore of things -and of places with which one would not expect him to be familiar. -His acquaintance with grooms and horse-racing, manifested in "Esther -Waters," is understandable in a man who was reared in a country-house -where the language of the stable must have been familiar. But how did -Mr. Moore obtain his intimacy with the interior of a small draper's and -milliner's shop in one of the Five Towns in Staffordshire, together -with his knowledge of the details of life lived by a touring theatrical -company? Mr. Arnold Bennett's knowledge of the Five Towns and the -interior of a small shop is explained by the fact that he was born in -such circumstances in one of the Five Towns. Mr. Leonard Merrick's -intimate knowledge of the life of a travelling theatrical company is -explained by the fact that he was once an actor in such a company. -But how did Mr. Moore, the son of a prosperous Irish landowner of -aristocratic origin, acquire his close intimacy with the details of -such life? It is this aspect of the book which reveals the existence -in Mr. Moore of a high faculty which was absent from the mind of his -first master, Zola,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> the faculty of imagination. Zola made his novels -out of things actually witnessed or learned from books, but Mr. Moore -made his novels out of his own imagination. Zola could only write about -life in a small shop in a small town after he had actually lived in it, -but Mr. Moore wrote "A Mummer's Wife," with no more knowledge of Hanley -than a person passing through it might possess, and gave his readers an -impression of deep intimacy with it.</p> - -<p>This book, notable in itself, had a notable result. It was read by a -young writer, named Enoch Arnold Bennett, then engaged in journalism -and the production of semi-sensational novels. Bennett was a native -of "the Five Towns" district, born in a place called Shelton to the -north-east of the town of Hanley which is the scene of "A Mummer's -Wife." Mr. Bennett himself told me that until he read "A Mummer's Wife" -he never thought of writing about "the Five Towns." The Staffordshire -people had no literary significance to him until that significance -was revealed by "A Mummer's Wife." Mr. Bennett probably exaggerates -the extent of his debt to Mr. Moore. He would, sooner or later, have -explored the rich mine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> from which he produced the ore of "The Old -Wives' Tale" and "Clayhanger"—it is ludicrous to imagine that but for -the happy accident of reading "A Mummer's Wife" he would never have -done so—but it is not improbable that Mr. Moore's story brought him -to his proper milieu earlier than he might otherwise have reached it. -The reader can profitably entertain himself by comparing "the Five -Towns," the places and the people, of "A Mummer's Wife" with "the Five -Towns," places and people of "The Old Wives' Tale" and "Clayhanger." -The difference between Mr. Moore's account and Mr. Bennett's is the -difference between careful and acute observation by an intelligent -stranger, alien in birth and tradition and training, and the knowledge, -inherited from his forefathers and acquired in childhood and youth, of -a native. Mr. Moore had to "mug up" his subject, as schoolboys say, -but Mr. Bennett was born with most of it. The description of Hanley -in the first chapter of "The Old Wives' Tale" (where it is named -Hanbridge by Mr. Bennett) contrasts remarkably with the description -of the same town in "A Mummer's Wife," as does the description of a -pottery seen through Mr. Bennett's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> eyes in "Leonora" with that of -a pottery seen through Mr. Moore's eyes in the fourth chapter of "A -Mummer's Wife." These differences of description are, of course, the -result of a difference in temperament between the two men which is -perhaps most clearly revealed in the way in which they portray old -women in their books and deal with scenes of suffering. An intelligent -reader of "A Mummer's Wife" and "The Old Wives' Tale," having made -allowance for the fact that the first-named was written by a young man -beginning his career, and the second by a man approaching middle-age -and the apex of his power, could draw up a fairly accurate statement -of the character of each of the authors by comparing the figure of -old Mrs. Ede in Mr. Moore's novel with that of old Mrs. Baines in Mr. -Bennett's. The contrast between the scene of suffering pictured in -the first chapter of "A Mummer's Wife" and that in the first chapter -of "The Old Wives' Tale" would considerably assist him in making the -statement. The painful insistence on the details of the asthma which -afflicted Mr. Ede is in sharp opposition to the almost jocular fashion -in which Mr. Povey's toothache is described. Both books end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> with the -death of the principal figures. Kate Ede dies disquietly. One might -say that Constance and Sophia Baines also die disquietly. But there -is a difference in the disquiet. Constance and Sophia had had their -share of disappointment and trouble and had lost their illusions, but -at least they had had their fill of life, each as she desired it, and -if there had been disappointment, there had also been satisfaction: -the illusions were lost, but while they lasted they were agreeable. -Kate died before she had had her fill of life, without illusions and -also, which is worse, without agreeable memories. Youth insists that -life is either very gay or very dismal—and "A Mummer's Wife" was -written by a young man; but Maturity knows that the colours of life are -mingled rather than uniform, and that even when the end is a dismal -one, the journey to it has not been without moments of fragrance -and pleasure—and "The Old Wives' Tale" was written by a man in his -maturity. The similarities between these two books are as interesting -as their differences, and a close study of them leaves the reader at -once aware of very dissimilar personalities and with enhanced respect -for both of them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>It is when we come to such novels as "The Lake" and "The Brook Kerith" -that we discover Mr. Moore at his greatest. Zola is forgotten and only -the strength of Mr. Moore himself is now displayed. "The Lake" is -among the most beautiful stories of our time, a finely-conceived and -finely-wrought book, more complete and unified than "The Brook Kerith," -which, in spite of much beauty and scholarship, is marred organically -by a dispersal of the interest. The latter novel is in three sections, -the first dealing with Joseph of Arimathea, the second with Jesus, and -the third with Paul. Each of these sections by itself is well and even -superbly done, although in my judgment, the first of them is much the -best of the three; but the interest which the reader has in any one -of the three sections is not felt in the whole book because the three -great figures are not grouped together. We begin with Joseph and then, -at the point when we are absorbed in him, are hurried on to Jesus, -undergoing a similar experience with Him when we are hurried off to -Paul. The book is not a closely-knit drama in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> which the characters -constantly act and re-act upon each other, but is more akin to three -separate plays in which certain figures recur in greater or less -positions. Mr. Moore, in short, was uncertain whether to make Joseph -or Jesus or Paul the hero of his story, and he unwisely compromised -by making each of them hero for a portion of it, with the result -that each is of supreme importance for a third of the book and of -subordinate importance for the remainder of it. "The Brook Kerith" is, -nevertheless, a considerable achievement and is in itself sufficient to -secure a high place in English letters for its author.</p> - -<p>The legend is that Mr. Moore is a trifler with life, a man without -purpose, immensely egotistical, having some of the simplicity of the -buffoon. The truth is that he is an audacious, exceedingly adroit and -utterly unthwartable artist who bends the visible world to his purpose -of discovering and perfecting a formula of words with which to express -his vision of the invisible world. He has, indeed, a simplicity of -character, but it is not the simplicity of the buffoon: it is the -immense and dissolving simplicity of the man of genius.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BERNARD SHAW</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>There is a kind of shy, embarrassed man of merit who cannot keep or -even reach to his proper position in the world without making some -sort of pretence about himself. Mr. Bernard Shaw is such a man. He has -created his legend with such extraordinary skill that those who know -him well have great difficulty in persuading the general public, which -has neither the time nor the intelligence to understand a man of marked -personality, to believe that the legend <i>is</i> a legend, that the reputed -Bernard Shaw is not the real Bernard Shaw. The common notion is that -he has an insatiable craving for publicity, is immensely conceited and -self-centred, and does not care what folly of thought or conduct he -commits if by so doing he draws attention to himself. The truth about -him is that he is a shy and nervous man, singularly humble-minded -and sincere, very courageous and full of quick, penetrating wisdom, -and so generous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> and kindly that he may be said to be willing to do -more for his friends than his friends will do for themselves. He is -a Don Quixote without illusions. When he tilts at windmills, he does -so because they are <i>wind</i>mills in private ownership, and he wishes -them to be driven by electricity and owned by the local authority. In -print and on platforms, Mr. Shaw brags and boasts and lays claim to -an omniscience that would scandalize most deities, but no one who has -the ability to distinguish between sincerity and mere capering is in -the least deceived by his platform conceit. He is one of the very few -men in the world who can brag in public without being offensive to his -auditors. He can even insult his audience without hurting its feelings. -There is a quality of geniality and kindliness in his most violent -and denunciatory utterance that reconciles all but the completely -fat-headed to a patient submission to his chastisement; and his most -perverse statements are so swiftly followed by things profoundly true -and sincerely said that those who listen to him are less conscious of -his platform tricks than are those who merely read newspaper reports -of his speeches. This is largely due to the fact that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> newspapers -print only his flippant and fantastic stuff, and omit his vital matter. -I have seen reporters at one of his meetings sitting with their pencils -loosely dangling from their fingers while Mr. Shaw spoke wisely and -deeply, and then, when he uttered some trivial or outrageous thing, -coming to life and hastily scribbling the jape into their notebooks.</p> - -<p>It is my purpose here to insist that Mr. Shaw is a shy man with a -large element of the gawky school boy in him so that he is awkward -and embarrassed when he comes suddenly into the presence of strangers -without having been warned that strangers are to be encountered. I have -seen him blush like a boy on finding people in a room which he had -expected to find unoccupied, and when one meets him casually in the -street he is at first nonplussed and without conversation or power to -do more than smile amiably. It is not easy to make this shyness of his -plain to those who have met him once or twice because he has remarkable -powers of recovery and can cover up his initial embarrassment with very -great skill; and also because his platform manners are very easy and -his general social manners are exceedingly gracious.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> He has made many -pretences in his life, but the one pretence that he has never succeeded -in maintaining is the pretence that he is a bad-mannered man. There are -stories told of him that seem to show him in a graceless, even cruel, -character, but these are no more than might be expected from a man of -nervous temperament who is being bothered excessively by the demands of -people who have no right to make demands on him at all. Against those -stories may be set far more stories of acts of exceptional kindliness -to those who are in trouble or in need of advice and encouragement. -Very few great men have given so generously of their time and strength -to helping young men of talent to obtain recognition as Mr. Shaw has done.</p> - -<p>His awkwardness of manner when taken unawares is very different from -that of Mr. Yeats in similar circumstances. Mr. Shaw is shy and -awkward with strangers, but Mr. Yeats, who has never been shy in his -life, is only awkward. Mr. Shaw, because he is naturally gracious, -recovers himself more quickly than Mr. Yeats, who has cultivated his -graciousness; and it may be said of them that Mr. Shaw has the manners -of a man instinctively gentle, whereas Mr. Yeats has the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> manners of a -man who has practised deportment before a cheval glass.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>It is obvious that a man so shy and easily embarrassed as Mr. Shaw is -cannot hope to make a swift impression upon his contemporaries unless -he commits an outrage upon his own nature. A world which regards -modesty as a sign of incompetence, if not of actual imbecility, is -slow to recognize the real merits of a man unless he lays claim to -merits which he has not got. In the long run, the crowd pays tribute to -great men, but Mr. Shaw was anxious that tribute should be paid to him -immediately. Fame at the age of eighty offered few inducements to him, -and posthumous fame offered no inducements at all. He had something to -say to a world disinclined to listen to him, and he felt that he could -not persuade it to do so unless he first of all performed some unusual -platform tricks to catch its attention. Something of his principle -seemed to be in the mind of a tipster whom I saw on Epsom racecourse -before the war began. I was walking in the crowd on the course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> which -the police were not yet clearing, when suddenly a very well-dressed man -in my neighbourhood seemed to go out of his mind. He whirled violently -round, uttered a fierce yell, flung an expensive silk hat into the -air and waved his gold-headed cane in a very disturbing fashion. He -then began to chant in a manner not unlike the way in which Mr. Vachel -Lindsay recites his poem on the Congo!... By the time he had finished -this performance, a considerable crowd had collected around him. I was -in the forefront of it, and while I was wondering how long it would -be before the police arrived to take charge of the demented man, he -recovered his sanity and proceeded to sell tips for the two-thirty -race. I bought one of them. I put money that was rare and precious -on the horse which he commended to my patronage. And the horse lost -the race!... Mr. Shaw climbed on to platforms and into newspapers, -shouting at the top of his voice, "I am better than Shakespeare" in the -hope that he might convince the world that he had any merit at all. -He performed tricks in public in order to make people believe that he -could think in the theatre. He wore comic clothes and refused to shave -and conducted a rebellion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> against evening dress and silk hats and -boiled shirts. He declined to eat meat, to smoke tobacco or to drink -wine. He said that he was an atheist and an immoral writer. He tried to -train his eyebrows into the shape which is called Mephistophelian. He -saw himself in the role of the Fat Boy in "Pickwick Papers" trying to -make men's flesh creep, and was disgusted to find that the Fat Boy's -most valuable asset, his obesity, had been denied to him and given to -Mr. Gilbert Chesterton, who would not make any one's flesh creep for -the value of the world! Finally, he announced that he was a Socialist. -His Socialism was not a platform trick: it was his serious faith; but -it became so associated in the public mind with his platform tricks -that he had only to say in public that he was a Socialist and his -audience would giggle as if that were the most amusing thing they had -ever heard. This habit of performing platform tricks undoubtedly drew -a large crowd to listen to him, and he did not fail to deliver himself -of his peculiar faith to that crowd when he had collected it; but -there were considerable drawbacks to his method of securing attention. -The crowd could never quite rid itself of the belief that he was "one -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> those comic chaps." It admitted that he was a very clever "comic -chap," but firmly at the back of the popular mind was the belief that -he did not mean one half of what he said and was not entirely sincere -about the remaining half. It liked to see him performing in public, -and it paid large sums of money to hear him lecture in behalf of -causes that were abhorrent to it. Duchesses, for example, contributed -heavily to the funds of Socialist societies simply for the privilege -of hearing him speak, and duchesses do not love Socialist societies. -The crowd talked about him to a remarkable extent; it read his books; -it attended performances of his plays; it went to hear him lecture -... but it insisted that what was important about him was, not his -advocacy of this or that, but his power to excite laughter. When he was -most in earnest, the crowd said, "He's so witty!" and left the matter -there. That, perhaps, is why "Common Sense and the War" aroused so -much wrath in England. The crowd, accustomed to tittering behind its -hand or laughing outright at Mr. Shaw's wit, was disconcerted by the -serious way in which he dealt with the War in that notorious pamphlet. -It was so shocked by what he said that it professed to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> indignant -that any man could cut comic capers at so awful a moment. Mr. Shaw was -not cutting any capers, comic or otherwise, but the crowd, trained by -him to believe that he was a comedian, could not believe that he was -capable of being anything else. That pamphlet, ill-timed, perhaps, in -some respects, was yet well-timed in this respect, that it reminded -the British people of their most priceless privilege, the right of -free speech. The whole of the British press collapsed before the Press -Censor, and editors were afraid to open their mouths about things which -were scandalous. Mr. Shaw restored the freedom of the press. He said -what he had to say and he said it with the utmost courage and force, -and within a week or two from the date of publication of his pamphlet, -the timid editors were rearing up their heads and daring to say "Bo!" -to the political geese.</p> - -<p>There were times, perhaps, when he seemed to be yielding to the mob's -desire to be tickled, when the one thing apparently that moved him -was his delight in making the crowd giggle and guffaw; and now and -then his friends felt that he was overdoing the tricks, that he was -monotonously informing people that he was "better than Shakespeare,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> a -statement that seemed as idle as if Anatole France were to say that he -was "better than" Victor Hugo, when in fact the men are so dissimilar -that there is no means of comparing them. But the danger, such as it -was, amounted to little, for when all the discount is made that can -be made for possible charlatanry in his character, there remains this -indisputable fact that he has left a mark on the thought and life -not only of the English-speaking world, but of the whole of Western -civilization, which cannot be eradicated. We may go to the theatre to -laugh at Mr. Shaw, but we remain to think with him.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>Oddly enough, there was another dramatist, also an Irishman, whose -practice was precisely the opposite of Mr. Shaw's: a shy, nervous man -who permitted himself to be cheated of a position of authority because -of his modesty. John Millington Synge was what Mr. Shaw might have -been had he allowed his nature to run off to dark corners and hide -itself. Synge could not compel himself to climb on to platforms or make -extravagant boasts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> He may have had the desire to make boasts, but he -had not the courage to do so. An excellent comrade for an individual -on a country road, he was so nervous in the presence of an audience of -more than six people that he was in danger of physical sickness, and -he may be said to have died of sheer inability to assert himself. Had -it not been that Mr. Yeats was by to do Synge's boasting for him, the -world might never have heard of that singular man of twisted talent. -Mr. Yeats, indeed, boasted so loudly of Synge's gifts that superficial -persons began to believe that Synge was the greater man of the two, and -I remember on one occasion hearing young women, fresh from Newnham, -boldly declaring that Mr. Yeats's chief title to remembrance would -lie in the fact that he had discovered Synge! I have never been able -to convince myself that Synge was a great man of genius; it is not -necessary to convince oneself that Mr. Yeats is a great man of genius: -the fact is obvious. Synge was a man of peculiar and interesting -talent whose work smelt too strongly of the medicine bottle to be of -supreme merit. He was the sick man in literature, and he had the sick -man's interest in cruelty and harshness and violent temperaments.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> He -had the weak man's envy of strength and the weak man's tendency to -mistake violence for strength. His plays are better than Mr. Yeats's -plays—"Riders to the Sea" is immeasurably better than "Kathleen ni -Houlihan"—but Mr. Yeats is a greater poet than Synge was a dramatist. -I am disinclined to believe that Synge was a <i>great</i> dramatist. He -brought a desirable element of bitterness and acrid beauty into the -sticky mess of self-satisfaction and sentimentalism which is known as -Irish Literature, but I feel that he was lacking in staying-power. He -shot his bolt when he wrote "The Playboy of the Western World," the -chief value of which lay in the fact that it ripped up the smugness of -the Irish people, than whom there are no other people in the world so -pleased with themselves on such slender grounds, and taught them the -much-needed lesson that they are very like the rest of God's creatures. -Synge portrayed the Irish people faithfully as he saw them: he put in -the element of poetry in the Celtic character, but he also put in the -element of cruelty; he put in the wit and generosity, but he also put -in the dullness and the greed; he put in the gallantry, but he also -put in the cowardice; he put in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>nobility, but he also put in the -gross brutality. In other words, he saw at the same time the idealism -of Padraic Pearse and Thomas MacDonagh permeated by the incredible -brutality of De Valera's ruffians. He knew the delicate sense of beauty -which suffuses the poetry of Mr. Padraic Colum and he smelt the odour -of the charnel-house that rises from the work of Mr. James Joyce, -and had he been able to keep the two sides of Irish character justly -poised, he would have been a great man of genius; but he was not able -to keep the balance between them. He tended more and more to see merit -in cruelty and harshness, and he turned away from the sensitive and -delicate beauty of Mr. Colum to the sewer-revelations of Mr. Joyce, who -may fitly be described as Rabelais after a nervous breakdown. People -tell me that "Deirdre of the Sorrows," his unfinished play, is the -greatest of all the plays that have been written about that unhappy -and romantic lady; and perhaps what they say is true, for none of the -plays that have been written about her, Mr. Herbert Trench's or "A. -E.'s" or Mr. Yeats's, are in the great line, though all of them are -interesting. But judged by itself or in relation to plays generally, -it does not seem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> to me to be a great drama nor is it so meritable as -some of Synge's own plays of earlier origin. It marks to me the limit -of his range, and shows signs of drooping energy. Some may say that I -am attributing to failing powers what should be attributed to sickness -and the imminence of death, but I think I am dealing justly with this -odd intruder into the realm of letters when I say that his talent was a -small one and that had he lived for twice as many years as he actually -did live, he would not have produced anything of greater note than he -had written when he died.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>Platform tricks saved Mr. Shaw from falling to the Synge level. Contact -with rude men and ruder women in public places kept him in familiar -alliance with normal things, and so it came about that his genius, -though it soared, never soared out of sight. He marched ahead of the -crowd, but he never went so far ahead of it that it could not catch -up with him. He urged reluctant men and women to follow him along the -paths that were obscure and difficult, but he never urged them to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> try -a path which he had not himself explored, or was unwilling to explore. -Not all of his advice was accepted ... not all of it was worthy of -acceptance ... but all of it, accepted or rejected, was listened to. -He would have found a readier agreement to take his advice if he had -been less logical in his arguments, but his mind governs his life so -completely that he cannot make any allowances for the wayward character -of the average man. He has given himself so completely to his mind that -his feelings seem to have atrophied. He is incapable, apparently, of -understanding the beauty and fascination of mere irrelevancy. A study -of his work reveals no consciousness on his part of natural beauty. He -seems not to know that a tree is a lovely thing, that its loveliness is -entirely without moral or sociological significance. He would probably -agree with Dr. Johnson that one field is very like another field, that -water in one part of the world is identical with water in another part -of the world ... and would be just as remote from the truth as Dr. -Johnson was: for one field is not like another field, and water in one -place can be very dissimilar in look from water in some other place. -Mr. Shaw would not suffer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> one pang at the destruction of St. Paul's -Cathedral if he felt that its destruction made the processes of life -more convenient to the ordinary citizen. If he had to choose between -Rheims Cathedral and an improved drainage system for France ... a thing -which France very badly needs, as any one with a nose can tell ... he -would choose the drainage system. The College of Cardinals is less -lovely in the eyes of Mr. Shaw than the members of a Borough Council. -He would rather possess a good fountain-pen than the first folio of -Shakespeare's plays. There was a man in Dublin who singularly resembled -him in everything except wit. Francis Sheehy Skeffington, who was -wrongly executed in the Easter Rising in Dublin in 1916, had Mr. Shaw's -logical faculty without Mr. Shaw's redeeming wit. He was a very honest, -courageous, and personally attractive man, just as Mr. Shaw is, but he -was also a very wrong-headed man and totally incapable of any sort of -concerted action with other people. Mr. Shaw's wit brings him into more -cordial relationship with other human beings than Sheehy Skeffington -would ever have achieved. I remember, just before the war began, -meeting Skeffington in North Wales. He, too, was insensible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> to natural -beauty and was without respect for tradition or ancient institutions. -I took him one evening to a lake in Anglesey where many reeds grew. I -asked him to watch while I clapped my hands, and when I had done so, -thousands of starlings flew out of the reeds with a great fluttering -of wings, making a tremendous disturbance because they had been roused -from their sleep. Skeffington gazed at these birds as if he had never -seen a starling before. I judged by the look of astonishment in his -face that if he could have persuaded himself to believe in magic, he -would have regarded me as a magician. By merely smiting my hands, I had -filled the air with fluttering birds! This experience so interested -me that I decided to make other experiments with Skeffington, and -so, on the following day, I took him to a field outside the village -where some very fine druidical remains were to be seen. I led him -up to the stones and waited to see what effect they would have upon -him. He looked at them for a few moments, and then, quite unmoved by -the fact that they had been standing there for more than a thousand -years and were all that was left of an ancient religion, he took a -piece of paper from his pocket and, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>murmuring in his high-pitched -Ulster voice, "I think I'll do a little propaganda!" thrust it into a -crevice of the old altar. The paper had VOTES FOR WOMEN on it! He was -totally incapable of understanding why this act of his disgusted me. -His mind was indifferent to such things as tradition; he simply could -not visualize those stones as anything other than a remarkably useful -hoarding on which to advertise his latest enthusiasm. I suppose that if -he thought of the druids at all, he thought contemptuously of them as -barbarians to whom had been denied the enlightenment that he enjoyed; -and his desperately logical mind, working on the fact that many persons -would visit these remains, suggested to him that here was an excellent -opportunity of thrusting his propaganda upon the attention of people -reluctant to give any heed to it!...</p> - -<p>I cannot conceive of Mr. Shaw doing just that thing because his wit -would save him from it; but I feel that if his wit were taken from him -or had been denied to him, he would have behaved exactly as Sheehy -Skeffington behaved then. It is his superb, spontaneous wit that keeps -him in continuous contact with normal men. Synge had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> wit, and -because he had not, was thrust into solitude. Skeffington had no wit -... there never was on earth a man so destitute of a sense of humour -as Francis Skeffington ... and because he had not, he lived a life of -intellectual isolation from his fellows in spite of the fact that most -people liked him. Skeffington's courage and honesty ... and I have -known few men so courageous and honest as he was ... served him partly, -but not wholly, as Mr. Shaw's wit serves him. Mr. Shaw has great -intellectual courage and is a very honest man, but these qualities, -though they win respect in the long run, have an isolating effect on a -man in such a world as this, and were it not for his wit, he would be -an Ishmael, too. Take the wit from Mr. Shaw and the courage from Sheehy -Skeffington, substitute for them a fractious sense of beauty, and the -result is ... John Millington Synge.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>Mr. Chesterton has illustrated the peculiar quality of the English -mind by comparing the roads of France with the roads of England; and -the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>comparison might be used to illustrate the difference between -the mind of Mr. Shaw and the mind of the average man. Mr. Chesterton, -with that startling profundity that is to be discovered in much of -his writing that seems at first merely to be conjuring stuff, asserts -that the design of English and French roads, the first all winding and -irregular, the second straight as if drawn with the aid of a ruler, -shows a fundamental difference between the two races: the English as -wayward and casual as their roads, going lazily and easily to their -journey's end; the French as logical and well-defined as their roads, -going without any circumlocution to their journey's end. Mr. Shaw's -mind goes directly to its goal, and he tries to persuade the rest of -mankind to follow his example. But the rest of mankind does not wish -to go by the most direct route to any goal: it wants to dally on the -ways; it wants to explore all the little bye-paths and hidden corners; -it even wants to turn back on its course to examine again some place -that it has already seen; and above all, it wants to waste time. When -Mr. Shaw contemplates the world engaged in this careless way of living, -he bursts into a passion of wit where less gifted men, such as Sheehy -Skeffington, would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> burst into anger; and he lashes the world with -his tongue. Mankind, because Mr. Shaw is a genius, listens to him, as -mankind always has listened to men of genius, in a puzzled fashion, and -even speculates on whether it ought not to follow his advice; but it is -in the nature of man to be illogical, and so, after a little thought, -man goes on being wayward and casual. Even in France, where logic has -become an obsession, men are more illogical than Mr. Shaw would have -them be; and it is a very curious commentary on his work that in so -logical a country as France, his plays make far less stir than in any -other country in Europe. I imagine that the French are so cursed with -logic that their minds revolt from the extreme reasoning of Mr. Shaw as -an overloaded stomach revolts from rich food. Once, in France, when my -battalion was marching along a road towards a part of the country in -which we had been some weeks before, I heard a soldier in my platoon -saying to his comrade as we came to familiar places, "Thank God, -they've cut down those bloody trees!" and immediately I understood why -the French roads bored the British soldier. That inexorable logic, all -that neatness, those terribly straight roads with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> the trees growing -at regular intervals ... "dressing by the right" as the soldiers said, -and looking as if the men who planted them had performed the operation -according to some mathematical formula ... all these things, inhumanly -tidy and well-ordered, nauseated the mind. I have done much walking -on English and French roads, and I will wager that boredom will seize -the traveller on a French road long before his interest on an English -road has been exhausted. And in their unintellectual, instinctive, -wayward fashion, the English are more right about life than the French -are. Mr. Shaw, I imagine, is incapable of understanding the state of -mind of my soldier who thanked God that the neatly-arranged trees on -the neatly-designed French road had been cut down. To him it would -seem right that if trees are to be grown at all, they should be grown -according to formula. He sees something stupid and wrong in the English -method of planting an acorn in any hole that is visible and letting the -tree grow as it pleases.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>In the chapter on Mr. Wells, I have printed an account of Mr. Shaw's -religious faith which ought properly to be printed here, but since the -reader can more easily turn to the next chapter than I can re-write -it, I will leave the account where it is and proceed with an account -of the latest developments of this faith as set forth in "Heartbreak -House" and "Back to Methusaleh." These two plays are notable for a -growth of religious conviction in their author which has brought him to -a condition resembling, in the eyes of some, that of John the Baptist -and, in the eyes of others (as I heard a clergyman of the Church of -Ireland angrily assert) that of a religious fanatic. They are also -notable for a weakening of technical skill as a dramatist. Mr. Shaw -has set himself so ably to the task of rejecting drama from his plays, -that unconsciously he ruins the effect of his lines by an excess of -garrulity. No one, reading and particularly seeing, "Heartbreak House" -and "Back to Methusaleh" can escape from the belief that Mr. Shaw is -using more words than are necessary to express his thought. Either -he despises us as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> people who are not sufficiently intelligent to -understand his meaning unless it is delivered to us in a variety of -sentences or he has lost his artistic sense and cannot understand that -a fine morning is not any finer for being described somewhat in this -fashion: "A fine morning is one on which the sun shines from a blue -sky in which occasional white clouds may be seen. <i>This</i> morning is -such a morning as that. Therefore, this is a fine morning. What a fine -morning!" The whole of that extravagant speech, invented by me, not by -Mr. Shaw, is contained in the last four words. The rest is not only -excess, but insult, for it implies an ignorance in the person listening -to it which is not human. There are many passages in these two plays -which are not unlike that invented passage of mine. There is a passage -near the beginning of the second act of "Heartbreak House" which seems -to me to indicate a real decline in Mr. Shaw's sense of the theatre. -Ellie Dunn and Boss Mangan, to whom she is thinking of getting engaged, -are discussing themselves and marriage. He has just described himself -in terms which show that he is one of those financial ruffians who -are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> modern equivalent, (not of highwaymen, for they were gay and -adventurous fellows,) but of slave-drivers:</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Mangan.</span> ... Now what do you think of me, Miss Ellie?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellie</span> (<i>dropping her hands</i>): How strange! that my -mother, who knew nothing at all about business, should have been -quite right about you! She always said—not before papa, of -course, but to us children—that you were just that sort of a man.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mangan</span> (<i>sitting up much hurt</i>): Oh! did she? And yet -she'd have let you marry me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellie</span>: Well, you see, Mr. Mangan, my mother married a -very good man—for whatever you may think of my father as a man of -business, he is the soul of goodness—and she is not at all keen -on my doing the same.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The parenthetical clause in each of Ellie's speeches is unnecessary, -and in the second speech, it has the effect of ruining a very good -"line." I assert, as a dramatist with some technical skill, that -Ellie's second speech, minus the parenthetical clause, will rouse -laughter every time it is spoken. I assert, with equal confidence, -that this speech, <i>with</i> the parenthetical clause, will not provoke -more than a strangled laugh and may not provoke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> any laughter at all. -Mr. Shaw is entitled to reject laughter if he thinks it is likely -to destroy the thought in his speech, but no one can believe that -the parenthetical clause to which I object adds anything to Ellie's -thought. It is mere redundance, and redundance is destructive of drama. -It is also destructive of thought for a man is more likely to be -irritated than to be stimulated by hearing a thing repeated to excess.</p> - -<p class="space-above">I may, perhaps, note another matter of technical interest to the -student of the Shavian drama, namely, Mr. Shaw's economy in characters. -He has or had a strong sense of the theatre which is almost as strong -as that possessed by Mr. Galsworthy. The difficulty a critic has -in estimating Mr. Shaw's sense of the theatre is increased by the -wilfulness with which he rejects technique: one is not always able to -decide whether the lack of technique in the later plays is the result -of intention or weakness. Mr. Galsworthy is nearly the cleverest -technician now writing for the English theatre. He cannot think as -clearly as Mr. Shaw can, but he can construct much better. When Mr. -Galsworthy treats a theme dramatic in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> itself, such as the theme of -"Loyalties," and does not entangle the drama with arguments, he writes -an uncommonly good play. "Loyalties" has been called a "crook" play and -in a sense it is one, but the difference between it and such a piece as -"The Bat" by Mrs. Mary Roberts Rinehart and Mr. Avery Hopwood is the -difference between a crook play written in terms of reality and a crook -play written in terms of trick. When, however, Mr. Galsworthy treats -a theme not dramatic in itself, such as the theme of "Windows," and -entangles any drama it has with much argument, the result is something -extraordinarily diffuse and nebulous. Mr. Galsworthy leaves you with -a sensation, not only that you do not know what he means, but also -that <i>he</i> does not know what he means. Mr. Shaw, in his later pieces, -leaves you with the sensation that he knows only too well what he -means, but he will never admit that you are capable of understanding -him. His economy in characters is a certain sign of his mysticism. Mr. -Yeats told me on one occasion that when Sir Horace Plunkett invited "A. -E." to take a prominent position in the organization of co-operative -agriculture in Ireland, Mr. Arthur Balfour commended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> the choice on the -ground that a mystic is the most practical of men since he is willing -to use any instrument that will serve his purpose, whereas your plain, -blunt business man, destitute of imagination and firm purpose, will -quarrel with his tools and end up by botching his job. The mystic, -moreover, serves his purpose more than himself, whereas your plain, -blunt business man serves only himself. Mr. Shaw's method of working -is singularly interesting as a demonstration of the way in which the -mystic achieves his purpose. I do not know of any writer who is so -thrifty with his means as Mr. Shaw. Shakespeare, compared with him, -is a prodigal and a spendthrift. Mr. Shaw, compared with Shakespeare, -is a miser, uniquely stingy. But it is not stinginess which has made -Mr. Shaw so economical in his characters and even in his situations. -It is his mysticism which makes him extraordinarily indifferent to his -means. Any old plot, however disreputable it might be, would serve -Shakespeare for drawing on to the stage a crowd of dissimilar persons -and enriching their lives with his verse; and any old character, -however remote from human semblance will serve Mr. Shaw as a vent for -opinions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> Shakespeare primarily was interested in people. Mr. Shaw -primarily is interested in doctrine. The principal difference between a -dramatist who is interested in people and a dramatist who is interested -in doctrines, is that the former will delight in the creation of the -greatest variety of characters whereas the latter will not trouble to -create a new character if an old one will do. I doubt whether there -are more than twelve distinct persons in the whole of Mr. Shaw's work. -When he began his career as a dogmatist, he set himself to writing -novels, but found after he had written five, of which only four have -been published, that he could not use this instrument so effectively -for his purpose as he could use the instrument of the play. And so he -turned his attention to the stage. But he did not waste his novels: -he dramatised them. He lifted passages from his books and put them -into his plays. He took some of the novel-characters and, after he had -tidied them and changed their names, forced them from between their -covers on to the stage. There is little in the thirty-eight plays -he has written which is not to be found, developed or suggested, in -his four novels. He has preached one doctrine all his life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> and has -preached it with singular consistency. It is set out in the succeeding -chapter to this one. The parsimoniousness with which it has been -preached is remarkable. The whole of the first act of "Major Barbara" -is almost identically a repetition of the first act of "You Never Can -Tell." Lady Britomart Undershaft, of the first piece, is Mrs. Clandon, -of the second, under another name. The situation of two women is nearly -the same. They are living apart from their husbands whom they have -not seen for a number of years. Lady Britomart and Mrs. Clandon have -each two daughters and a son with the haziest or no recollections of -their fathers. A meeting between the two parents and their children -is arranged, in each case, on a flimsy pretext. Lady Britomart, like -Mrs. Clandon, is one of those strong-minded, silly women who flourish, -nowadays, more commonly in America than in England. (She is the sort of -dense female who belongs to the Lucy Stone League and refuses to bear -the name of the man she has chosen to be her husband although she is -willing to bear the name of the man whom she did not choose to be her -father!) Lady Britomart, like Mrs. Clandon, has abandoned her husband -for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> particularly fatuous cause. Mr. Crampton (for Mrs. Clandon -is really Mrs. Crampton) was deprived of his wife's society (which -was probably no great loss) and that of his children (which probably -was) because he very properly spanked his elder daughter when she had -been naughty. Lady Britomart left her husband because he declined to -change the basis of his armaments-factory in the interests of his son. -Her excuse for her behaviour was more natural than Mrs. Clandon's -excuse for hers, for we are all susceptible to the attractions of -primogeniture; but a more sensible woman might have achieved her -purpose in being less headstrong. Barbara Undershaft, her elder -daughter, is Gloria Clandon, a little older and less priggish. Sarah -Undershaft, her younger daughter, is a chastened and spiritless Dolly -Clandon. There is a difference, however, between Stephen Undershaft -and Philip Clandon so remarkable that I can only surmise that Mr. Shaw -in transferring the Clandon family into the Undershaft family mislaid -Philip and, in searching for him, discovered another youth, this -Stephen, who was the product of an illicit love affair between Mrs. -Clandon and the austere Finch McComas! Adolphus Cusins, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> Professor -of Greek who beats the big drum in the Salvation Army so that he may be -near to Barbara, is Valentine, the dentist, dragged out of "You Never -Can Tell," after a brief and misguided career as John Tanner in "Man -and Superman."</p> - -<p>It is easy, I think, to trace the life of each one of the twelve -Shavian characters in this fashion. Consider, for example, the vivid -and very interesting career of that brutal ruffian, Bill Walker, in -"Major Barbara." Bill began his life in "Widowers' Houses" under -the name of Lickcheese and flourished so well as a speculative -property-owner that he was able to climb into middle-class society, -under the name of Burgess, and marry his daughter Candida to the -Reverend James Mavor Morell. His association with the clergy, however, -must have had a disastrous effect on him for we find him, in "Captain -Brassbound's Conversion," leading an adventurous, but misunderstood, -career under the name of Drinkwater. Religion had peculiar allurements -for Drinkwater, understandably enough when one remembers his former -association with his son-in-law, the clergyman, and we are not -surprised, therefore, to find him in the Salvation Army's West Ham -Shelter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> now named Bill Walker and looking less than his years. He -suffers terribly from the spiritual garrulity of Major Barbara. The -reader who is familiar with the play will remember that Bill cruelly -misused a little Salvation Army lass, called Jenny Hill, who <i>would</i> -keep on praying for him and turning the other cheek. He struck her -on the mouth and twisted her arm and almost tore her hair out by the -roots. She cried with the pain, but she went on praying for him!... -Then Major Barbara twisted Bill's heart for him as cruelly as he had -twisted Jenny Hill's arm, by preaching with terrible iteration the -doctrine of forgiveness and non-resistance. We know how Bill, at the -penultimate moment, escaped from the penitent form, but few of us -realise what happened to him after he had fled, precipitately and full -of bitter cynicism, from that Salvation Army Shelter in West Ham. Who -could have believed, after witnessing his behaviour in the presence of -Barbara and snivelling Jenny Hill, that Jenny Hill herself would be the -means of his undoing in the wilds of America to which he had hurried -under the name of Blanco Posnet? And here we discover a characteristic -example of Mr. Shaw's sardonic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>humour. For Bill was nabbed, not by -the strong Barbara, not even by the weak, though willing, Jenny, but -by Jenny's helpless, croup-stricken child. The lion is caught by the -mouse; the strong are brought down by the weak; a little child shall -lead them into a trap. God, in Mr. Shaw's religion, is not a just God: -he is a God determined to have His own way and entirely indifferent -to the desires of His creatures. If man will not help God to fulfil -His purpose, then God will destroy man and invent another and more -submissive instrument whereby He may do so. Such is the Shavian gospel. -In what respect does it differ from the most devastating and blasting -form of Calvinism? When I was a child in Belfast, I was taught that if -I persisted in being a wicked boy, I would be roasted for ever in a -red-hot hell. Is there any real difference between the Calvinist who -tells a child that he will be burned for all eternity and Mr. Shaw -who tells it that it will be scrapped for all eternity. There is one -difference, in favour of the Calvinist. I was taught to believe in the -All-Perfection of God. Even if I persisted in being a wicked child and -thus damned myself for ever, my relatives could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> comfort themselves -with the reflection that God would fulfil Himself in His own time. -Somewhere, somewhen, there would be "peace, perfect peace." But Mr. -Shaw's God offers no such guarantee. He cannot assure us, even if we -help Him by every means in our power, that He will ever become perfect. -He makes inexorable demands upon our service, but cannot offer us any -hope that our labour will not be in vain. Serve me without question -or be scrapped, says the Shavian God, but he will not assure us that -we are not being bilked. And is not the desolation of desolations a -religious faith in which there is no certainty and very little hope? I -prefer the romantic delusions of my Ulster forefathers to the practical -religion of Mr. Shaw. I dislike the thought that I may be roasted for -ever in a red-hot hell, but I like even less the coal-black nullity -with which Mr. Shaw threatens me if I persist in my evil courses. There -will at least be colour and excitement in Calvin's hell, but there will -be nothing whatever in Mr. Shaw's. And I am not sure, after all, that -God, Perfect or Imperfect, will not prefer to spend eternity in the -company of people like me who decline to accept life on any but their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -own terms, rather than in the society of servile instruments.</p> - -<p>Mr. Shaw's thirty-eight plays are not thirty-eight separate plays but -one long, continuous piece, in which his twelve characters, in every -conceivable disguise and situation, strive to elude the hand of God but -are nabbed by Him in the end. Twist how you may, He'll get you in the -end, unless, indeed, He wearies of trying to make use of you, when, -inexorably, without a pang, He will cast you on to the scrap-heap where -you will perish utterly as your little brothers, the mammoth beasts, -perished long ago.</p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>Mr. Shaw has some of Shakespeare's carelessness over details. I have -sometimes wondered why Claudius succeeded to his brother's throne when -Hamlet was alive to do so. There is an explanation of this curious -succession in Frazer's "The Golden Bough," but I do not suppose that -the facts cited by Sir James Frazer were known to Shakespeare and even -if it were, he has not made the matter dramatically clear. Hamlet -does not <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>appear to resent his uncle's accession to the throne of -Denmark. His resentment is roused by the marriage of his mother to her -brother-in-law. He probably never liked his uncle, but he is willing -to live in his castle as his heir. Shakespeare was always ready to -sacrifice verisimilitude to dramatic effects. Ophelia, for example, -is denied complete Christian burial because the Church authorities -suspect her of having committed suicide, although the account of her -death clearly establishes that she was accidentally drowned through -the breaking of a branch. Hamlet, too, is unaware of Ophelia's death -or dementia when he arrives in the graveyard where she is to be -buried, although he has been in the company of Horatio for some time, -and Horatio is fully acquainted with the circumstances of Ophelia's -misfortunes and death and knows that there have been passages of love -between Hamlet and her. Very little trouble was needed to put these -minor matters right, but when a god is creating a universe, he is -unlikely to trouble himself greatly about specks of dust. Mr. Shaw -shows himself equally indifferent to details when they no longer -serve his purpose. He has been charged with spoofing his audience on -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>occasion, notably in the first act of "Man and Superman" where he -trumps up a case of impending maternity for shocking effects, and -then, his purpose achieved, says no more about it for the remainder -of the play! He brings the Undershaft family together in the first -act of "Major Barbara" in the pretence that they are about to discuss -important questions of family finance which are never once discussed -during the act! I do not believe that Mr. Shaw had any intention of -spoofing his audience when he invented these situations. He simply did -not bother about the details. He had used the effect for his purpose, -and since it was no longer serviceable to him, he scrapped it without -even troubling to clear away the debris—which, presumably, is what -His God will do with us when He no longer needs us. Less happens in -the first act of "Major Barbara" than in any other first act by Mr. -Shaw. It is a protasis from which all mention of plot is deliberately -omitted. Bottom, had he been at Mr. Shaw's elbow while the play was -being written, might have begged him to "grow to a point," but Bottom -would have had less success with Mr. Shaw than he had with Quince,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> for -Bottom's point was a dramatic one, whereas Mr. Shaw's is doctrinal; and -a propounder of doctrine pays little heeds to the laws of stagecraft -or anything else. The mystic gets his way because he can neither be -frightened nor disconcerted. Death and Tradition have no terrors -for him. That is why, in face of the opposition of common sense and -practical experience, he always does what he wants to do.</p> - -<h3>VIII</h3> - -<p>One might profitably compare Mr. Shaw to Cassius in "Julius Cæsar." -Marcus Brutus, in that play, is surely the prototype of all muddlers -and gentlemanly idiots. It was he who, against the pleas of Cassius, -insisted that the life of Mark Anthony should be spared. It was he who, -disregarding the dissuasions of Cassius, permitted Anthony to speak in -the forum. It was he who, over-ruling the arguments of Cassius, ordered -the disastrous march to Phillipi. Cassius was the wise man of the two, -though his heart was made impotent by his asperities. The resemblance -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>between him and Mr. Shaw must not be drawn too closely, but it is -sufficient, as stated in Shakespeare's terms, to be interesting:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="i8">He reads much;</div> -<div>He is a great observer, and he looks</div> -<div>Quite through the deeds of men.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Cassius, of course, loved no plays and heard no music and smiled with -difficulty; and these disabilities prevent him from complete ancestry -to Mr. Shaw; but, if, like Cassius, Mr. Shaw sometimes feels that -he has lived "to be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus," he can, -like Cassius again, comfort himself with the thought that he was in -the right when Brutus was in the wrong, and that he told him so. His -Cassius mood is plainest in "Heartbreak House." This play is described -as "a Fantasia in the Russian manner on English themes," and was -written, presumably, after Mr. Shaw had witnessed performances of plays -by Chekhov. That is not to say, however, that there is any resemblance -between the work of Mr. Shaw and the Russian dramatist. There isn't. -Mr. Shaw is as talkative as Chekhov was reticent. Chekhov's purpose -is to make his people say as little as <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>possible: Mr. Shaw's purpose -is to make his people say a great deal more than necessary. Chekhov -suggests <i>inactivity</i> through dialogue: Mr. Shaw suggests through -argumentativeness. Chekhov writes drama: Mr. Shaw debates. No receptive -person can come away from a performance of "The Cherry Orchard" -unimpressed by a vision of life. A moderately-intelligent person, -having seen this play with eyes of understanding, could write a true -summary of the state of Russia in the last hundred years. I doubt -whether as much can be said of "Heartbreak House," the whole action -of which (though <i>action</i> is an inappropriate word to use about it) -takes place in the course of an afternoon and evening, inside six or -seven hours, in England soon after the outbreak of the War. There is, -however, no mention of the War in the play, and the only link between -them is the sudden interruption of the conversation in the last act by -an air-raid, as a result of which two of the characters are blown to -pieces. There is some clumsiness in the use of this device for ending -the play, artistically at all events, though that is a consideration -which is unlikely to move Mr. Shaw much, but, ethically and socially, -it is not clumsy at all, for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>"Heartbreak House" is less a play than -a parable. The bombs drop as suddenly, and with as little warning, -on the gifted conversationalists sitting in the dusky garden as the -War burst upon Europe in 1914. There we were, all of us, living -pleasantly, as Burke begged us to live, and committing our affairs into -the hands of men concerning whose abilities to conduct them we had no -certificates—and suddenly the ship ran on to the rocks, the train went -off the rails, the ceiling fell. "I'm always expecting something," -says Ellie Dunn in the last act. "I don't know what it is; but life -must come to a point some time." And while she and her companions are -arguing about the responsibility for the mess in which the world is, -bombs drop out of heaven and life comes to a full stop:</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Hector</span>: And this ship that we are all in? This soul's -prison we call England?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Captain Shotover</span>: The captain is in his bunk, drinking -bottled ditch-water; and the crew is gambling in the forcastle. -She will strike and sink and split. Do you think the laws of God -will be suspended in favour of England because you were born in it?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hector</span>: Well, I don't mean to be drowned like a rat in a -trap. I still have the will to live. What am I to do? </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Captain Shotover</span>: Do? Nothing simpler. Learn your -business as an Englishman.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hector</span>: And what may my business as an Englishman be, pray?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Captain Shotover</span>: Navigation. Learn it and live; or leave -it and be damned.</p></blockquote> - -<p>In other words of Mr. Shaw's, if you do not help God to perfect -Himself, He will scrap you. This play, in some respects the best that -Mr. Shaw has written, is full of mad laughter, of bitter, self-mocking, -torturing laughter. I knew a man who burst into shrieks of laughter -when he saw a comrade blown into the air by a German shell; but if -any one imagines that that man's terrible mirth came from an unkindly -heart, he imagines without understanding; for "even in laughter the -heart is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness." I feel -about "Heartbreak House" exactly as I felt about my friend who laughed -when his comrade was blown up and dismembered: that here is a depth -of feeling which cannot be fathomed. Like Job, Mr. Shaw cries out, -"changes and war are against me," but, unlike Job, he finds no comfort -in the end. "If men will not learn until their lessons are written -in blood, why, blood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> they must have, their own for preference." As -for him, he throws up the sponge. Our culture is but the plaything of -fribbles; our democracy is merely government of fools by fools. "The -question is," said Boswell to Dr. Johnson and Mr. Cambridge, "which is -worst, one wild beast or many?" And the answer, in Mr. Shaw's terms, -is "Both!" He sees man, according to this play, refusing to help God -to perfect Himself, deliberately thwarting God, and he almost sees him -already on the scrap-heap.</p> - -<p class="space-above">In "Back to Methusaleh," he seems to me to have suffered a spiritual -set-back, and to be preoccupied by material considerations. We are -no longer concerned with Man's destiny and God's purpose, but with -matters of mere longevity. "So much to do—so little time in which to -do it!" If man could live for three hundred or three thousand or thirty -thousand years, he would then have time in which to profit by his -experience—so Mr. Shaw's argument seems to run. But would he? Do any -of us profit by our experience? If we could go back to the beginning of -our lives and start again with the knowledge we had acquired in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> the -previous existence, we might be able to avoid this or that mistake. -But we cannot do that. Each experience is a new one, and the wisdom we -have gained from those through which we have passed is of little help -to us in dealing with the new one, particularly if it comes upon us, -as most of the critical events of life do come upon us, unexpectedly, -without warning. There is not much difference, except physically, -between the Mr. Shaw who wrote "Candida" and the Mr. Shaw who wrote -"Back to Methusaleh," and I do not believe that he would be much, if -any different, at the age of three hundred or thirty thousand from what -he now is. Man may develop this or that aspect of himself more than -another, but essentially he remains the same. It is not length of years -that is important to us, but what we do in them. Keats and Shelley were -young when they died: Tennyson was old; but the length of their years -seems immaterial to their reputation. Mr. Shaw tells us that if we -<i>will</i> hard enough, we can achieve longevity, but, apart from the fact -that longevity first happens in his play to people who have not willed -it, but had it thrust upon them, I am puzzled to understand how Mr. -Shaw expects mankind to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> will a state of existence which, portrayed by -him, is extraordinarily repellent. I do not wish to be born at the age -of seventeen out of an egg so that I may become a He-Ancient and live -for thousands of years in a state of inactive ratiocination. And if a -life of thought without action does not attract my fancy, how can I be -expected to aspire to it? I cannot find anything in the long lives of -Mr. Shaw's characters which seems to me likely to excite the desire and -hope of mankind. The He-Ancients and the She-Ancients are morose and -sterile, ugly and unsociable, hairless and unhappy, liable to death by -discouragement, long, lean and hopeless. I would rather be scrapped!... -Nor is there any greater virtue in the long-lived than there is in us. -In "The Tragedy of an Elderly Gentleman" (the fourth act of "Back to -Methusaleh") where mankind is divided into two classes, the long-lived -and the short-lived, we discover that the long-lived spend their three -hundred years of existence in humbugging the short-lived.... Man that -is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. -He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower: he fleeth as it were a -shadow, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> never continueth in one place; but, in spite of his misery -and the shortness of his life, he gets more fun and satisfaction than -are likely to be enjoyed by man that is born out of an egg.</p> - -<h3>IX</h3> - -<p>I remember very vividly the first occasion on which I saw and heard Mr. -Shaw. He was lecturing on "Some Necessary Repairs to Religion" to a -religious organization, now defunct, called "The Guild of St. Mathew." -His lecture was extraordinarily startling to a young man, fresh from -Belfast and still influenced by his fathers' faith, although in revolt -against much of it. When the lecture was over, a lady asked him to say -what his belief was about the Resurrection, and he replied, that if she -would promise not to tell any one, he would say that he did not believe -it ever took place. And then came one of those strange lapses from -serious argument which are characteristic of him. Another questioner -asked him if he believed in the Immaculate Conception. "Of course I -do," he said. "I believe that all conceptions are immaculate!" The -questioner was so paralysed by this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> reply that she sat down without -pointing out to him that the Catholic Church believes in the Immaculate -Conception on the assumption that all conceptions are not immaculate. -On many occasions, Mr. Shaw has brilliantly dodged the point in that -manner; but they are not occasions that need be remembered against -him. Ever and always he has given his best and hardest thought to the -service of mankind. He has practiced what he preaches, and if we are -thrown on the scrap-heap, it will not be because Mr. Shaw has failed to -do his uttermost to help God to realise Himself. What a shock it will -be to him to find that the scrap-heap is a more likeable place than his -God's heaven!</p> - -<h3>X</h3> - -<p>He is greatly generous to young men. Like most of my contemporaries I -have imposed upon his good nature very often. I sent "Jane Clegg" and -"John Ferguson" in manuscript to him and asked him if he would read -them and tell me what his opinion of them might be. Probably a dozen -or more young men were doing exactly the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> thing with their MSS. -He could spend the whole of his time reading other men's plays, if he -were to let his good nature go uncontrolled. But he read my plays and -wrote long, valuable letters of advice about them to me. I hesitate to -mention this fact lest it should cause an avalanche of MSS. to fall -upon him, but I am trying to draw his portrait, and unless I mention -his generosity to young men, the portrait will not be a faithful one. -I am under personal obligations to him of many sorts, and I do not -know of any man who so freely helps his friends and says so little -about it. He is now sixty-six years old, but there are no signs of age -about him other than the fact that his hair and his beard, once red, -have turned white. He still has the mind and eagerness of a young man. -His walk is as springy and alert as it was when I first knew him, as -I am sure it has always been. When I see him in the street sometimes, -tall, lean, very tidy and almost foppish in an unusual way, walking -with great assurance and ease, examining now and then his very shapely -hands, and gazing about him with that queer, quizzical, kindly look in -his pleasant eyes that is so significant of him, I feel that although -he is thirty years older than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> I am, according to the official records, -he is, in spirit, thirty years younger. He will never be old. If he -lives to be a centenarian, he will still be talking like a young man; -and perhaps it is his extraordinary youth and vitality, as much as his -disrespect for established things, that draws young men inevitably to -him. His fearless, challenging spirit attracted all those who were -in revolt against stagnant beliefs; and even now, when the multitude -seems to have caught up with him and his views are less startling -than they were a few years ago, he still stimulates the minds of the -young and the eager and sends them bounding forward. "You should so -live," he once said, "that when you die, God is in your debt!" He -bids men and women strive to put more into the common pool than they -take out, and he asserts with something like moral fury that any one -who is taking more from the common pool than he puts in, is cheating -both God and man. There are querulous persons who say that his work -will not live. Their forefathers probably said that Shakespeare's work -would not live, that Cervantes's work would not live, that Fielding's -work would not live, that Dickens's work would not live; and no doubt -they produced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> sound arguments to support their faith. Who could have -believed that "Don Quixote," a mere skit on contemporary novelettes, -would win universal favor, or that "Pickwick Papers," mere verbiage -for a set of pictures drawn by a popular artist, would live? Yet these -local, topical, and very contemporary things will not perish. Mr. Shaw -has indisputably affected the thoughts and lives of thinking men and -women on two continents for thirty years. He is a very daring fellow -who asks us to believe that this brilliant, original, forceful mind -will not continue to affect the thoughts and lives of men and women for -generations to come.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> - -<h2>H. G. WELLS</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>There are men, such as Dr. Johnson, who are mentally active and -physically torpid, and there are other men, such as Mr. Jack Johnson, -who are very alert physically, but not quite so alert in their minds. -It seldom happens that a man combines great physical energy with great -intellectual energy. Such a man is Mr. Bernard Shaw. So is Mr. H. G. -Wells. I imagine that Mr. Wells is more active, both in body and in -mind, than Mr. Shaw, despite the fact that the latter is the slender -man of the two and that his tongue works more rapidly in conjunction -with his brain; for Mr. Shaw feels fatigue sooner than Mr. Wells. -I doubt whether Mr. Wells suffers from fatigue at all or to any -serious extent. He takes few, if any, holidays, works for many hours -every day, plays games very assiduously, and is unhappy if he has -not got some work on hand. He begins to write a new book immediately -he has completed its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> predecessor, having no belief, seemingly, in -fallow time. When he is not working or playing, he is talking. His -conversation has a curious resemblance in its shape, if I may use -that word, to the style of his writing. One listens for the suspended -sentence, for the dots with which, in his prose, he breaks a thought so -that the reader may himself complete it. Mr. Shaw once told me that he -could not work at creative writing for more than two hours every day, -and I suspect that he suffers more from physical fatigue than he will -admit. Mr. Wells works for considerably more than two hours every day -(and sometimes during the night) though I do not suppose he works for -two consecutive hours at any time. If you are a guest in his house, you -will see him engaged in some game, tennis or hockey or that wild game -of his own invention, "barn-ball," or perhaps playing demon patience; -and when you are inclined to imagine that he is settling down to a long -day of games, you discover that he is no longer with the players, but -back in his study working on a manuscript.</p> - -<p>One expects a certain amount of sluggishness in every man, and probably -there are days when Mr. Wells's mind and body go to sleep or lie about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -supine, but I do not believe that any one has ever seen him asleep or -supine. His mind is so active that one can almost see ideas leaping -off his tongue as he talks, and he has a very remarkable capacity for -engaging the attention of his auditors without making any perceptible -effort to do so. His conversation, unlike that of Mr. Yeats or Mr. -George Moore, is unrehearsed conversation. It has not the swift -brilliance of Mr. Shaw's talk, and it goes to its point rather jerkily, -but it reaches its destination. He is not so easily distracted from his -course as Mr. Gilbert Chesterton is, or perhaps I ought to say that he -does not take so long to get to his destination. Mr. Chesterton seems -to me to be falling with great amiability on his subject, whereas Mr. -Wells is eagerly struggling up to it. Mr. Chesterton defers to others -with great courtesy, but his mind, I imagine, is already made up. He -listens to a controversialist, not because he thinks he is likely to be -converted to an opposite opinion—he is fairly certain that he will not -be converted—but because he has excellent manners and an exceptionally -kindly character. It is hard to believe that any man of merit is -without some malice in his nature, some element of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> cattishness, but -if there is a man of merit without these things then that man is Mr. -Chesterton. If he could bring himself to throttle the creature he -most detests, the international financier, the man without a country, -he would, I am sure, do so entirely without prejudice. Mr. Wells -listens, not out of politeness, but in the hope that he will receive -information, and this hope of his causes him to listen very patiently -even to bad or inexpert talkers. He has the additional merit, rare -among men of genius, of being an uncommonly good host, very punctilious -about the comfort and pleasure of his guests. He is a sociable man, -mingling easily with very various people, gregarious where Mr. Yeats -and Mr. Shaw are solitary, and he is instinctively friendly. His -hospitality is lavish and with something of the Dickensian tradition -in it. He has none of the chilly aloofness of Mr. Yeats nor of the shy -constraint of Mr. Shaw nor of the nervous coldness of Mr. Galsworthy. -Were it not for a degree of cruelty in his nature, I should say that -Mr. Chesterton and he were as near to each other in temperament as any -two men of merit can be. It is this strain of cruelty in him which -makes him so attractive when he loses his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> temper, for he seems only to -be witty when he is about to hit some one very severely on the head. -I do not know any man who can lose his temper in print with so much -effect and so entertainingly as Mr. Wells can lose his. He is hardly a -witty man, as Mr. Shaw and Mr. Yeats and even Mr. Gilbert Chesterton -are witty men, but he has a neat, malicious humour which delights him -as much as it delights his friends, and is most often displayed when he -is attacking some one.</p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>If a writer wished to create a character who would most aptly personify -the past thirty years of English or of world history, he would have -to create a character very like Mr. Wells: a questioning, variable, -demanding person, with some impatience and testiness of temper, with, -at times, a fantastic and wayward manner, but always superimposed on -these superficialities, an eager and unthwartable desire for a true -belief. Mr. Chesterton said of him once that "you lie awake at night -and hear him grow," and fundamentally that is true, in spite of the -temptation one has at times to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> believe that one lies awake at night -and merely hears him changing his mind. One could, were one silly -enough to do so, construct a plausible indictment of Mr. Wells of -hurriedly accepting a belief and as hurriedly rejecting it; but to do -so would be to charge oneself with a superficial mind. Mr. Wells, in -his eagerness to discover a reasonable and sane society in which the -spirit of man may grow and develop and achieve, has sometimes accepted -a theory too swiftly, but his scientific mind has come, sooner or -later, to the rescue of his eager heart and has caused him to reject -proposals which he had previously found acceptable.</p> - -<p>In "First and Last Things" he decides against the community of -austere aristocrats who won his advocacy in "A Modern Utopia." The -self-disregard of the Samurai of Japan had pleased him as it must -please all who contemplate it, and he imagined a state in which -the best men would govern "the average, sensual men," formulating -their laws and doctrines from the sanctuary of a sort of monastic -establishment in which their fleshly desires would be chastened and -perhaps eliminated. Mr. Wells, having felt the allure of a select -company of selfless aristocrats, devoting <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>themselves to the good -government of less gifted men, soon discovered that good government -cannot be administered by men who are remote from the emotions and -desires of the governed and so, with characteristic courage, he -abandoned his Samurai and boldly marched into the company of the crowd. -Can any one find ground for sneering in such behaviour as that? Are not -those who try to find solutions to puzzles more likely to be successful -in their efforts because Mr. Wells has offered one solution and then, -finding it useless, repudiated it and tried another?</p> - -<p>There was a time when he saw hope for the world in the establishment -of a universal language, but I doubt whether he holds to that hope -now. A common speech does not keep men at peace any more than a common -purpose does, and, in any event, man's incorrigible habit of localizing -universal things until they cease to be universal tends in time to -make a common speech an impossible possession. The Catholic Church has -a common speech in the Latin tongue, but an Italian priest can preach -to an English priest in that language and remain incomprehensible. -The British and the American people have a common speech, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> it has -become so permeated with local words that very often the two races are -unintelligible to each other, apart altogether from the difficulty of accent.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wells has plunged into a few bog-holes of that sort, but he has -always extricated himself from them, and less and less, as he develops, -does he insist upon uniformity and machinery, and more and more does -he insist on diversity and spirit. "Let us be Catholics in this great -matter," Mr. Birrell writes on Browning's poetry, "and burn our candles -at many shrines. In the pleasant realms of poesy, no liveries are worn, -no paths prescribed; you may wander where you will, stop where you -like, and worship whom you love. Nothing is demanded of you, save this, -that in all your wanderings and worships, you keep two objects steadily -in view—two, and two only—truth and beauty." It may fairly be said of -Mr. Wells that in all his "wanderings and worships" he has tried to do so.</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>There is a photograph of Mr. Bernard Shaw and Mr. H. G. Wells, taken -by an American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> photographer, Mr. Alvin Langdon Coburn, in which the -two men are shown sitting side by side. It is the most illuminating -interpretation of their characters that I have ever seen. Mr. Shaw, -with something of the look of a prophet, sits beside Mr. Wells who has -a smile of disbelief on his face; Mr. Shaw shows a countenance full of -faith, while Mr. Wells shows one full of inquiry. Mr. Shaw accepts the -pose quite naturally, but Mr. Wells is deprecating. I felt when I saw -that photograph in Mr. Wells's study that while Mr. Shaw accepted the -status of a great man as his right, Mr. Wells felt uncomfortable about -the pose, not because he doubts his right to be regarded as a great -man, but because he is reluctant to live on pedestals. "I'm human just -as much as you are," he seems to be saying to the photographer, and -the smile of deprecation on his face means, if it means anything, that -while Mr. Shaw accepts the great man's altitude without a qualm, Mr. -Wells feels that the whole thing is humbug. "Shaw is taken in by this -Great Man business," the Wells of the photograph says as plainly as if -the picture were to take life and utter words, "but don't you imagine -I'm deluded by it!..." </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<p>These two men, one Irish, one English, George Bernard Shaw and Herbert -George Wells, between them have done more to influence the minds -of the young men of my generation than any other two men of their -time. Their attitude towards life may, perhaps, be summarized in an -account of the way in which they interpret the doctrine of Evolution. -Mr. Shaw believes that the Life Force, which ordinary men call God, -is an Imperfect Thing seeking to make Itself Perfect. How, when you -contemplate the miseries and inequalities and cruelties of existence, -can you believe in an All-Powerful God? he says. You must believe -that these horrible things happen because God cannot prevent them -from happening. The blind-alley argument that the Almighty inflicts -pain upon us for our good is insupportable when one considers that an -earthly father would not subject his child to convulsions or cause a -cancer to consume its life or endow it with a cruel disposition if such -things were within his powers of disposal. If, one reasonably argues, -an earthly father is incapable of such acts, how less likely is God -to be capable of them if He be All-Powerful and All-Good? Since these -inexplicable cruelties and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>horrors occur and recur, surely, argues -Mr. Shaw, it is only common sense to assume that they do so in spite -of God's good will towards man. Starting from this premise, he goes on -to argue that God seeks to obtain that control over material things -which He has not yet succeeded in obtaining. He imagines God engaged in -a magnificent research, the discovery of a harmonious universe, much -in the way in which one imagines a biologist in his laboratory seeking -for a preventative of disease. The Life Force uses such instruments -for its purpose as are to be found lying at hand. When these prove -abortive or useless or insufficient, the Life Force invents a new -instrument which it uses until that instrument, too, is found to be -useless or inadequate and is scrapped in favour of a new instrument. -Like all creators, God must express Himself through His creatures, and -the whole of Time has been spent so far in finding a suitable means -of expression. In the beginning, God used mammoth beasts, but finding -them unsuitable for His purpose, He scrapped them and invented other -creatures until at last He achieved His best instrument, Man. God's -latest and finest creature differs from all His other creatures in -this respect that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> is conscious of God's purpose and can help it -forward or hold it back. God concealed His intention from all the -instruments that preceded the advent of Man, but, in the development -of His Being, He found that greater advantage would accrue to Him if -He made His instrument aware of its purpose. So we get the reason of -Man. God, before the creation of Man, had depended upon Himself. After -the creation of Man, he depended partly upon Himself, partly upon -His creature. <i>Man, in short, was the first of God's instruments to -have the power to help God to realize Himself.</i> To Mr. Shaw, it is an -obscuring of God's purpose for Man continually to pray, "God help me!" -when it is part of his purpose and duty to affirm, "I will help God!" I -have already quoted his dictum that we should so live that when we die, -God is in our debt.</p> - -<p>It is obvious, from this belief, that Mr. Shaw does not believe in the -inevitable march of mankind from bad to good and from good to better. -We may be marching towards Utopia or the New Jerusalem, or we may be -marching back to Chaos. Man, having the choice between helping God and -thwarting Him, may so vex the Deity that He will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> become impatient with -him and throw this instrument away as he has thrown away other useless -instruments, and seek for a better one. God scrapped the mammoth beasts -because they were not adequate for the execution of His design; He -<i>may</i> scrap Man for the same reason or because Man, while adequate, -wilfully refuses to help. This theory is expressed continually in -Mr. Shaw's plays and prefaces, for example, in a speech by Cæsar in -"Cæsar and Cleopatra," where the Emperor gives expression to a violent -antipathy to war. War, in Mr. Shaw's mind, is a plain perversion of -God's purpose, and he would probably declare that Man, in the Great War -whose end may yet be a bloody battle between the Allies, almost reached -the end of God's patience. In five years, the British alone had eight -hundred thousand of her most valuable men <i>killed</i>. France lost double -that number <i>killed</i>. Germany lost more even than France <i>killed</i>. -All the potentialities for good, all the fervour and chivalry and -idealism and courage that was in those men, their ability to help God -to achieve perfection, has vanished utterly from the world; and there -is nothing left of it. Most of them died without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> progeny, and so there -is not even the hope that their spirit has passed on to their children -and that, at the worst, God's purpose has only been suspended for a -generation. They have gone, irretrievably gone. Another such war and -Western civilization must perish, if, indeed, it has not already begun -to decay. In other words, God, sickened by Man's perversity and wilful -obstruction, will have scrapped him....</p> - -<p>That is the Shavian doctrine of the Life Force, put plainly and simply.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wells differs very sharply from Mr. Shaw in his doctrine. Mr. Shaw -believes that the progress from bad to good is not inevitable: Mr. -Wells believes that it is, and he produces the records of history to -support his belief. Mankind, at this moment, he will admit, is in a -very bloody mess, but that mess is not so frightful as, say, the mess -after the Thirty Years' War. We, who contemplate the organized Murder -of Youth which began in August, 1914, may fairly feel that mankind -has sunk very low in barbarism, but when we survey the whole range -of humanity so far as it has been recorded, the depths of 1914, deep -though they are, appear to be slightly less dreadful than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> the depths -of other days. There is a greater revolt from organized Murder to-day -than there was after the Thirty Years' War. There are fewer people -to-day who prate about the glories of war than there were then. (Oddly -enough, or perhaps naturally enough, most of the people who still -think of war as a jolly adventure live in America.) We are a little -nearer to a realization of the commandment, "Thou Shalt Not Kill" than -we were before 1914. We are learning that there are no qualifications -or exceptions to that commandment. It does not say, "Thou shalt not -kill—except in defence of small nationalities!" It does not say, -"Thou shalt not kill—except for the purpose of self-determination!" -It does not say, "Thou shalt not kill—except for the establishment of -a Republic in Ireland!" It does not say, "Thou shalt not kill—except -for the purpose of preserving the Empire!" Tersely and without -modification, it states that "Thou Shalt Not Kill" in any circumstances -whatever.</p> - -<p>Here is a dilemma from which the Christian cannot easily escape, and -the difficulty of doing so, apart from all ordinary considerations of -decency, is bringing man sharply face to face with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>fundamentals of -human existence. In spite of much occasion for pessimism to-day, there -is occasion for greater optimism than man ever before has had. There -is a social consciousness at work in our minds and hearts that will -yet deliver us from the wicked man. How few are the years since the -days when men in one part of England made war on men in another part! -How unthinkable it is that men in Lancaster should make war to-day in -Yorkshire! True, it is less than a century since men in the Northern -States of America made war on men in the Southern States. True, it is -less than ten years since men in Ulster prepared themselves to make war -on men in the rest of Ireland. True, at this moment, Russian fights -Russian, and Sinn Feiner slays Orangeman, and Orangeman slays Sinn -Feiner. True, that white man burns black man, that Christian persecutes -Jew, true all this and worse, yet it remains true that when the records -of time are made up and just balances are drawn in the accounts of -Mankind, there is seen to be a greater perception of common purpose -to-day than there was a century ago.</p> - -<p>His scientific and historic sense keeps Mr. Wells secure in his belief -that Man, although he may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> hinder the development of God's purpose, -cannot thwart it. Mr. Shaw would perhaps agree with Mr. Wells in his -belief that God's Will must ultimately find adequate expression, but -he would insist that that expression may be through another instrument -than man. Mr. Wells, however, would not yield to him on this point; he -would insist that God's Will must ultimately find adequate expression -through man. Man may, indeed be obliterated by plague and pestilence or -cosmic disaster, but, failing those, man must achieve God's purpose.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>When one brings the Wellsian doctrine down to the details of life, -one discovers what I may call a <i>local</i> pessimism in it. The anger -which breaks out of his work is directed against the incompetence -and stupidity of man which hold him back from the desirable country -towards which he is marching. The greatest optimists—the men who are -convinced that man's end is good and seemly—are almost always the -most bitter pessimists when they are considering contemporary affairs. -The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> visionary loves mankind in the abstract so much that when he -contemplates mankind in the concrete he loses his temper. The Utopian, -full of his dream of a decent and free civilization in which every man -may move easily to his proper station, feels a dreadful depression when -he looks upon society as it exists here and now; and there are times -when, in spite of his sure and certain hope that life will ultimately -find its level, he feels that man, that perverse, wayward, thwarting -creature, will never fulfill the promise of his potentialities because -he is too closely concerned with some tiny, personal vanity, because he -allows wickedness and stupidity to influence him to a greater degree -than goodness and fine thought. Who, thinking over the Big Four in -Paris, and remembering that millions of young men of all nations died -so that the Big Four might meet and make a more enduring peace than -this world has yet known, can feel anything but anger and humiliation -at what they did? Clemenceau, the "Tiger" who, having tasted blood, -seemed eager to taste more; Lloyd George, who never remembers a friend -or forgets an enemy; Orlando, shamelessly extending his itching -palm; and Wilson, the man who went to Europe to ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> for the moon -and returned to America, having accepted a match ... can any of us, -contemplating those four men, given by God the greatest opportunity -that has ever been offered to men, that may ever be offered to men, -help feeling that this world is dead and damned and that the sooner a -disgusted God smashes it to pieces, the better will be the universe? -Mr. Wells cannot escape, any more than the rest of us, this tendency to -despair of human effort, and here and there in his books his <i>local</i> -pessimism is expressed; but his universal optimism remains unimpaired, -and one comes away from his writings in the knowledge that he believes -that man sooner or later will achieve a high destiny. He whips the -stupid and the selfish and the idle, but he will not permit them to -persuade him from his belief that even out of these elements, a finer -Man will yet be made.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>There is a cartoon by Mr. Max Beerbohm in which he shows himself being -conducted through a gallery where Mr. Wells, Mr. Shaw, Mr. Galsworthy, -Mr. Bennett and many other eminent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> writers are standing on inverted -tubs, haranguing the universe. Having listened to the preachers and -propagandists, Mr. Beerbohm turns to his guide and says, "But where -are the artists?" only to be informed that "<i>These</i> are the artists!" -It has been said that Mr. Shaw would rather be known as a great -political economist than as a great dramatist, that Mr. Arnold Bennett -would rather be known as an eminent business man than as an eminent -novelist, that Mr. Galsworthy would prefer to be a reformer than a man -of letters, and that Mr. Wells seeks fame as a sociologist and not as -an artist. There is enough truth in this statement to give pause to -those about whom it is made, but not sufficient to frighten us who -admire them. Mr. Wells, for example, can no more elude artistry than -he can refrain from thinking. He is extraordinarily indifferent to -literary style, seems almost to delight in making a clumsy sentence -rather than a shapely one, and, so far as one can discover, does not -spend a single second on "finding the right word." The idea is his -chief concern, and he cares very little for the way in which it is -expressed. Nevertheless, he remains an artist, with a gift for apt -expressions and a far greater gift for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> selection. In one of his -books, he describes the prostitute as "that painted disaster of the -street." In "First and Last Things," in describing the inability of -the intellect to free itself from bias, he says, "the forceps of the -mind is a clumsy instrument and crushes the truth a little in seizing -it." At the end of "Tono-Bungay" there is an account of a trip down -the Thames which is among the great pieces of prose writing. In "The -Undying Fire," he gives an account of the purposeless cruelty of Nature -and an account of the state of mind of a young German who goes from -his remote village to join the Army at the beginning of the war, full -of patriotic ardour, offering for this service and for that until at -last he becomes a member of the crew of a submarine and his patriotism -suffers a sea-change and becomes the desperate courage of a rat in a -trap ... and these two accounts are so vivid that it is impossible for -any one to rise from them unaware that they have been written by a man -of genius, possessed of artistry.</p> - -<p>He is probably the most prolific writer of his quality in the world, -and if I had exact knowledge of the world's greatest authors, I should -probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> say that he is the most varied of them. Consider how very -dissimilar his books are in range and interest. Consider that the man -who wrote "The Time Machine," wrote also "The History of Mr. Polly" -and the "The Undying Fire." How many writers have shown such variety -as has been shown by the author of "The War in the Air," "Kipps" (that -beautiful and tender book), "Tono-Bungay" and "The Soul of a Bishop." -At one moment, Mr. Wells is writing "Bealby" and at the next, he -is writing "God, the Invisible King." He turns from "The Wonderful -Visit" to "The Outline History of the World," and writes "The Future -in America" in the trail of "Love and Mr. Lewisham." ("The Future -in America" is perhaps the best book of its kind that has ever been -written on the problems that lie before the American people.) Queen -Victoria, having been enchanted by "Alice in Wonderland," sent to a -book-seller for the remainder of "Lewis Carroll's" writings, and was -considerably disconcerted when she received "Plane Trigonometry" and -"Curiosa Mathematica" by the Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. What -that excellent old lady would have thought,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> if having read and liked -"The Sea Lady," she had been supplied with "Mankind in the Making" and -"The Island of Dr. Moreau" and "Joan and Peter" by the same author, -I cannot imagine. Mr. Wells faces life very fairly and squarely, -regarding it from all angles of vision. There is only one Truth, but it -may be approached by many different paths; and Mr. Wells has attempted -most of them. It may seem to some of his readers at times that he is -running away from things towards which he formerly ran, but it is more -likely that he is merely trying another way of getting to the same point.</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>One remembers men by odd things. I remember Mr. Yeats chiefly as a dark -image, obscurely seen, and Mr. Shaw as a shy, erect man with fine, -shapely hands, who talks emphatically because otherwise he would not -be talking at all. I remember Mr. Galsworthy as one who is biting his -lips or clenching his teeth lest he should say too much, and Mr. George -Moore as one who is consumed with the fear that he will not say enough. -Mr. Wells comes into my mind as an eager, friendly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> man, whose speech, -thinly uttered, suggests continual testing. But mostly I remember his -fine eyes because it is in them that most of his strength is stored.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> - -<h2>WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>I have been acquainted with Mr. Yeats for a longer time than I have -with any other man named in this book, but I seem to myself to know -very little about him, for he is extraordinarily aloof from life. His -aloofness is different from that of Mr. Galsworthy who is perturbed -about mankind. Mr. Yeats is totally unconcerned about problems of -any sort. He is more interested in the things men do than in men -themselves. He prefers the symbol to the thing symbolized. The -harshest condemnation I ever heard him utter was delivered on "A. E." -of whom he said that he had ceased to be a poet in order to become a -philanthropist! I met him last in Chicago, and I felt when we parted -that I knew no more of him then than I knew when I first met him ten -years earlier. Our meeting followed on the fact that I had sent a -one-act play, entitled "The Magnanimous Lover," to him. It seems to -me now to be a crudely-contrived, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>ill-written and violent piece, but -when I sent it to Mr. Yeats I thought it was a remarkable work. It was -performed after the production of Stanley Houghton's "Hindle Wakes" -and Mr. Galsworthy's "The Eldest Son," which have similar themes, but -was written several years before they were performed. One evening, a -few weeks after I had sent the manuscript of "The Magnanimous Lover" -to him, I received a letter from Mr. Yeats, written in that queer, -illegible, thick style which is so difficult to read. Many of the words -were incomplete: all of them were badly-formed. The contrast between -the handwriting of Mr. Shaw and Mr. Yeats is remarkable. Mr. Shaw's -is very clear and neat and most beautifully-shaped, as delicate as a -spider's web, but Mr. Yeats's writing is obscure, untidy, sprawling -and hard to decipher, looking as if it had been done with a blunt -pen. Mr. Wells writes in a small, clean, but not very clear hand, -a deceptive fist, for it seems easier to read than it is. There is -some oddness in the fact that the handwriting of the poet should be -so coarse and ungainly, while the handwriting of the dramatist, with -so little of poetic emotion in him, is fine and shapely. The letter -from Mr. Yeats was to say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> that he liked my play, but could not make a -definite decision about it until he had consulted his co-director at -the Abbey Theatre, Lady Gregory. It had the formal, distant tone which -is characteristic of his speech and writing, but it had a postscript -which gave me great pleasure. In this postscript, he said that my -play was the only example of "wayward realism" that he had ever read. -I did not quite understand what he meant by the phrase, but it was a -compliment from a distinguished man and compliments from distinguished -men had never come my way before. I have had many praising letters from -him since then about my work, but none that ever raised me to such a -state of dizzy delight as that first letter did. He told me, in another -postscript, that he found in my "dialogue a quality of temperament, -as distinguished from the usual impersonal logic. You have more than -construction, and it is growing rare to have more." He thought highly -of "John Ferguson"—so did Mr. Shaw and "A.E."—and when I was attacked -in Dublin because of this play, I comforted myself with the thought -that my betters liked what was denounced by my inferiors. Mr. Yeats -wrote to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> me that "John Ferguson" was "a fragment of life, fully -expounded and without conventionality or confusion. I think it is the -best play you have done, though not likely to be the most popular." -His criticism is especially valuable when it is adverse. I had written -a play called "Mrs. Martin's Man" which I now know to have been a -dreadful mess of motives. I sent it to Mr. Yeats in the hope that he -would permit it to be done at the Abbey. He wrote lengthily to me about -it, and when I had read his letter I put my play in the fire, though -afterwards I used the theme, purged of the faults he had found in it, -for a novel with the same title. "I believe," he wrote,</p> - -<blockquote><p>"I believe that the play is an error. I am very sorry indeed to -say this, for I know what a blow it is to any dramatist to be -told that about work which must have taken many weeks. Shaw has -driven you off your balance, and instead of giving a vision of -life, which is your gift and a most remarkable gift to have, you -have begun to be topical, to play with ideas, to construct outside -of life. Shaw has a very unique mind, a mind that is a part of a -logical process going on all over Europe but which has found in -him alone its efficient expression in English. He has no vision of -life. He is a figure of international argument. There is an old -saying, 'No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> angel can carry two messages. You have the greater -gift of seeing life itself....'"</p></blockquote> - -<p>I print that extract from his letter, partly as a corrective to my own -pride, but chiefly because of its commentary on Mr. Shaw. Later, in -this chapter I will make specific reference to Mr. Yeats's relationship -to Mr. Shaw's work, but here I may say that, in spite of his sincere -regard and admiration for Mr. Shaw, Mr. Yeats seems to be totally -incapable of comprehending his work. He is able to communicate with -ghosts, but he cannot communicate with Mr. Shaw. He can understand -astrologers and necromancers and spiritualists and thimble-riggers of -all sorts and conditions, but he cannot understand Mr. Shaw. He told -me on one occasion of an experience he had with a medium, a young girl -who differed from all other mediums known to him in being a member -of the upper class. The spirits, seemingly, prefer to communicate -their messages through the lower orders. This girl's family were -ashamed of her cataleptic powers and tried to conceal them from their -neighbours, but they were persuaded to permit Mr. Yeats to see her in -a trance. "While she was in the trance," he said to me, "her fingers -closed on her palm. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> they opened again, and I saw a small green -pebble in the centre of her palm!" That was all! Immortal souls had -disturbed the harmony of the universe and thrown a young girl of the -upper class into a trance in order that they might place a small -green pebble in the centre of her palm! And Mr. Yeats saw something -wonderful and significant in that performance, but is unable to see -anything significant in the work of Mr. Shaw. That to me is a thing -so incomprehensible that I have abandoned all attempts to understand -it. But all of this is digression and anticipation. Soon after I -had received the letter in which he praised my "wayward realism," -I heard from Mr. Yeats again. He invited me to call on him on the -following Sunday evening at his rooms in Woburn Buildings, behind the -Euston Road, in London; and thither, in a state of some excitement, I -repaired. I had no trouble in finding the house, for Mr. Yeats, who, in -some ways, is much more precise and clear-minded than people imagine or -his handwriting indicates, had given me very explicit directions how -to get to it, and had even drawn a rough sketch of the neighbourhood -so that I should not fail to find him. Woburn Buildings consists<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> of -a number of tall houses in a narrow passage off Southampton Row, and -running parallel with the Euston Road. It is a dingy, dark place, -with an air of furtive poverty about it, and on Sunday nights it is -depressing enough to fill a man's mind with plots for drab dramas. -I have heard that H. G. Wells thought of the plot of that clever, -devilish story of his, "The Island of Dr. Moreau," in the Tottenham -Court Road on a Bank Holiday when he was in a mood of discontent. I -believe that the whole of the "drab drama" was first conceived on Mr. -Yeats's doorstep!</p> - -<p>Shops form the ground floor of these houses, little, huckstering shops -that just contrive to support their proprietors, and Mr. Yeats's rooms -were on the third and fourth floors of a house which had a cobbler's -shop on the ground floor. The cobbler was a pleasant, bearded man, -wearing spectacles who had some share in the management of his affairs; -for when one, unable to obtain admission to the poet's rooms, required -information about him, the cobbler invariably supplied it. He could -tell whether Mr. Yeats had gone to Ireland or was merely taking the -air, and when he was likely to return, and he would offer, with great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> -courtesy, to take a message from you to be faithfully delivered to him -on his arrival.</p> - -<p>Mr. Yeats has poor and failing sight, and in the dusk of the Sunday -evening on which I called on him, he could barely discern me. He stood -in the hall, holding the door, looking very tall and dark, and said in -that peculiar, tired and plaintive voice of his, "Who is it?" and I -answered "St. John Ervine." There is always something conspiratorial -about the manner in which he admits you to his rooms. You felt that you -want to give the countersign.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes!" he said, without any interest, and bade me enter.</p> - -<p>In one of his books, he writes that life seems to him to be a -preparation for something that never happens; and the quality of his -voice suggests that thwarted desire which is expressed in so much of -his work. He is, in poetry, what Mr. Galsworthy is, in fiction: he -surrenders to life. I do not know of any one who can speak verse so -beautifully and yet so depressingly as he can. The very great beauty -that is in all his work does not stir you: it saddens you. There is no -sunrise in his writing: there is only sunset. In his lyrics, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> -is the cadence of fatigue and of the lethargy that comes partly from -disappointment, partly from loneliness, partly from doubt, and partly -from inertia. "Innisfree," the beauty of which has not been diminished -by familiarity, does not sound glad: it sounds tired. The poets wish to -return to the lake island is not due to any pleasurable emotion, but -to weariness and exhaustion: he dreams of the island, not as a place -in which to work and to achieve, but in which to retire from work and -achievement that has not brought with it the gratification for which -he hoped; and the final impression left on the mind of the reader is -that the poet is too tired and disappointed to do more than wish that -he might go to Innisfree. One reads the beautiful poem in the sure and -certain belief that Mr. Yeats will not "arise and go now, and go to -Innisfree," but that he will remain where he is. There is no impulse -or movement in the poem: there is only a passive wish and a plaintive -resignation.</p> - -<p>And all that inertia and negation and inactive desire is sounded in his -voice. It is very palpable in his manner.</p> - -<p>He warned me not to make a noise as I ascended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> the uncarpeted -stairs: the people on the second floor might be disturbed. They were -working-people, I understood, and either there was a fretful baby -asleep or the people retired early because they had to rise early, -and he did not wish to break their rest. Yeats can be very harsh and -inconsiderate with his associates, but his bearing to poor men and -women, in my experience, is very courteous and very considerate. -He could not have been more gracious to a duchess—he probably was -sometimes less gracious to a duchess—than he was to the middle-aged -woman who cooked his meals and kept his rooms clean. I have seen -distinguished men being gracious to poor, unlettered men, but most -of them had an air of ... not exactly condescension in doing so, but -of altering their attitude slightly, of relaxing and unbending, of -modifying their style, as it were, and making it simpler. I did not -observe any effort at condescension in his manner towards that plain -and simple woman. He spoke to her in the same way that he would speak -to "A. E." or to Lady Gregory. I suppose that Queen Victoria was the -only woman in the world to whom Yeats ever spoke in a condescending fashion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>He is a tall man, with dark hanging hair that is now turning grey, and -he has a queer way of focussing when he looks at you. I do not know -what is the defect of sight from which he suffers, but it makes his -way of regarding you somewhat disturbing. He has a poetic appearance, -entirely physical, and owing nothing to any eccentricity of dress; for, -apart from his neck-tie, there is nothing odd about his clothes. It is -not easy to talk to him in a familiar fashion, and I imagine that he -has difficulty in talking easily on common topics. I soon discovered -that he is not comfortable with individuals: he needs an audience to -which he can discourse in a pontifical manner. If he is compelled to -remain in the company of one person for any length of time, he begins -to pretend that the individual is a crowd listening to him. His talk is -seldom about common-place things: it is either in a high and brilliant -style or else it is full of reminiscences of dead friends. I do not -believe that any one in this world has ever spoken familiarly to him -or that any one has ever slapped him on the back and said "Helloa, old -chap!" His relatives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> and near friends call him "Willie" but it has -always seemed to me that they do so with an effort, that they feel -that they ought to call him "Mr. Yeats!" I doubt very much whether he -takes any intimate interest in any human being. It may be, of course, -that he took less interest in me than he took in any one else for I am -not a very interesting person; but I always felt that when I left his -presence, it was immaterial to him whether he ever saw me again or not. -I felt that, on my hundredth meeting with him, I should be no nearer -intimacy with him than I was on my first meeting. My vanity has since -been soothed by the knowledge that he has given a similar impression -regarding themselves to other people who know him better than I do. -I have seen him come suddenly into the presence of a man whom he had -known for many years, and greet him awkwardly as if he did not know -what to say. He never offers his hand to a friend: he will often stand -looking at one without speaking, and then bow and pass on, with perhaps -a fumbled "Good evening!" but never with a "How are you?" or "I'm glad -to see you!"</p> - -<p>It is, I suppose, the result of some natural clumsiness of manner. -He has trained himself to an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> elegance of demeanour, an elaborate -courteousness, which is very pleasing to a stranger, but he has spent -so much time in achieving this elegance that he has forgotten or never -learned how to greet a friend.</p> - -<p>He was expecting other people to come to his rooms that Sunday -evening.... I remember he mentioned that Madame Maud Gonne McBride -was expected to arrive in London from Paris on her way to Ireland, -and might call on her way to Euston Station ... but no one else came. -He talked to me about my play and told me that he liked it very much, -but that Lady Gregory did not greatly care for it. "She is a realist -herself," he said, "and all realists hate each other. Synge would have -disliked your play, and Robinson does not like it, but I do!" (Lennox -Robinson, himself a dramatist, was then manager of the Abbey Theatre.) -He asked me if I had written any other plays, and I told him that I -was half-way through a four-act play, called "Mixed Marriage," and I -described the theme of it to him. He urged me to complete this play -and bring the MS. to his rooms and read it to him. "The difficulty -about 'The Magnanimous Lover,'" he said, "is that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> may provoke some -disturbance among the audience, and as our patent expires shortly we -do not wish to give the authorities any ground for refusing to renew -it. They were very angry over our production of Bernard Shaw's 'Blanco -Posnet' after the Censor refused to license it in England. We'll leave -the production of 'The Magnanimous Lover' until the patent has been -renewed. If your new play were ready, we could do it first and create a -public for you!..."</p> - -<p>Mr. Yeats is one of the best advertising agents in the world, and I -did not doubt his ability to "create a public" for me, although I -thought that Lady Gregory would probably be more skilful even that he -could be. When one remembers that she has established a considerable -reputation as a dramatist on two continents entirely on the strength -of half-a-dozen one-act plays, it is impossible to doubt that she is -at least as skilful as he in drawing attention to herself. A great -amount of their advertising energy has, of course, been expended on -the Abbey Theatre and the Irish Literary Renaissance, and a great many -Irish writers, myself included, have derived advantage, personal and -pecuniary, from their activities. It would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> been better for us, -perhaps, if Mr. Yeats had employed his critical ability more freely -than his eulogy on our work. There is an immense amount of creative -power in Ireland, but it is raw, untutored, tumid stuff, and because -the critical faculty in Ireland is almost negligible, this creative -power is wasted in violent explosive plays and books or violent, -explosive beliefs.</p> - -<p>I have always believed in the interdependence of all men and minds. It -seems to me that an ill-conceived, foolish political scheme must in -some manner react on every other department of man's life, and that -the labourer who is doing his job badly in a remote village is in -some measure adversely affecting the welfare of his countrymen miles -away. Violent, crude plays are inevitable in a land of violent, crude -beliefs; and it is, I think, not without significance that some of -the most violent, crude plays in the Abbey repertory were written by -dramatists who professed the violent, crude beliefs of Sinn Fein. When -one thinks of the generosity and courage and nobility of many of the -Sinn Feiners, it is hard not to lose faith in human perfectibility when -one considers how foolish are the political schemes they devise. If -men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> so good and exalted as these men are can produce schemes so stupid -and sometimes so cruel, how can we hope for any progress in the world -when we remember how many bad men there are? And have we not seen how -men of lofty ideals can tumble into cruelty and become brutal ruffians -in the name of patriotism?</p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>But there is an explanation of all this crudity and violence in -Ireland. For all sorts of reasons, political, social, historical and -religious, the critical faculty has rarely been employed and certainly -has not been developed. Either you are for a thing or you are against -it. Doubt is treated as if it were antagonism. Reluctance to commit -oneself to any scheme however fantastic or ill-considered it may -be, is treated as treason to the national spirit. A man who asserts -his belief in the establishment of an Irish Republic, by force, if -necessary, is an Irishman, even though he be a "dago," and any one who -is doubtful of the feasibility of this proposal is denounced as a West -Briton, an anglicised Irishman, even, on occasions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> as "not Irish at -all," although his forbears have lived in Ireland for generations. -The state of affairs in Ireland is not unlike the state of affairs in -Russia, where literary criticism, as a Russian writer has stated, has -always tended to be the handmaid of political faction. "Any writer of -sufficient talent" says a reviewer in the <i>Times Literary Supplement</i>, -"who adopted a liberal attitude was certain of the appreciation of the -<i>intelligentsia's</i> acknowledged critical leaders, and hence of a wide -and enthusiastic audience. But writers whose instinct for the truth -led them to doubt the sufficiency of doctrinaire discontent with the -established order were debarred from the aids to literary advancement, -and had to struggle against the grain of popular, and even academic, valuation."</p> - -<p>It is even worse than that in Ireland, for there, generally speaking, -there is hardly any criticism at all, although there is plenty of -abuse. In great measure this lack of criticism is due to the fact that -all the mind of Ireland has been obsessed by the demand for, or the -opposition to, self-government. There has not been any reality in Irish -electoral contests for a great many years. Until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> the growth of Sinn -Fein, there seldom were any contests at all. Candidates for parliament -were nearly always returned unopposed. Contests, if there were any, -were between one Nationalist and another, concerned with matters of -detail and not with matters of principle, or, at the most, between -a Nationalist and a Unionist, concerned with the advocacy of, or -opposition to, Home Rule. Sinn Fein has, indeed, brought a contest to -every constituency, but even here the contest is concerned with the old -obsession, self-government in one form or self-government in another: -Home Rule within the British Commonwealth or a Republic outside it. -If one considers that this obsession was nearly always expressed in -bitter language, it is not difficult to understand how deplorable its -effects have been on the general life of the Irish people. It has -temporarily incapacitated them from judging any proposition in a sane -and dispassionate fashion; and so the critical faculty in Ireland has -languished until at times one fears that it has decayed.</p> - -<p>Mr. Yeats is a great creative artist: he is also a great critic. Had he -chosen to do so, he could have had an enormous influence on the minds -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> his countrymen. His pride in his craft, his desire for perfect -work, his contempt for subterfuges and makeshifts and ill-considered -schemes, his knowledge and his skill, all these would have affected the -faith and achievements of his countrymen, imperceptibly, perhaps, but -very surely. It is unfortunate that he was not appointed to the Chair -of Literature in Trinity College, Dublin. I know that he wished to -receive this appointment and was disappointed that he did not receive -it. The mind that might have disciplined and developed the imagination -of young Irishmen was rejected by Trinity College, and it has turned to -tiresome preoccupation with disembodied beings, to table-turning and -ouija-boards and the childish investigation of what is called spiritual -phenomena, but is, in fact, mere conjurer's stuff.</p> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>I saw Mr. Yeats many times after that first visit. He told me that he -was always at home to his friends on Monday evening, and he invited -me to dine with him on the Monday immediately following the Sunday on -which I first met him. No one came on that evening. He talked about -acting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> and the theatre, and I said something that pleased him, and -he complimented me in his grave, courteous manner. "That was well -said," he exclaimed, and I flushed with pleasure. The praise of one -distinguished man is more than the applause of a multitude of common -men. His talk about the theatre, though interesting, was often remote -from reality. He was then interested in the more esoteric forms of -drama, and was eager to put masks on the actors' faces. He wished -to eliminate the personality of the player from the play, and had -borrowed some foolish notions from Mr. Gordon Craig about lighting and -scenery and dehumanised actors. He had a model of the Abbey Theatre -in his rooms and was fond of experimenting with it. There was some -inconsistency in his talk about acting: at one moment he was anxious -for anonymous, masked players, "freed" from personality, and at the -next moment, he was demanding that players should act with their entire -bodies, not merely with their voices and faces. Hazlitt, advocates -anonymity on the stage, and when one considers how excessive is the -regard paid to-day to the actor in comparison with that paid to the -play, one is tempted to support <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>Hazlitt's demand; but I have never -understood why one should decline to exploit a personality that is rare.</p> - -<p>There is a school of thinkers which holds that the best theatre is -that one in which a player may be the hero of the piece to-night and -the "voice off" to-morrow night. This is a ridiculous theory. Even -if it were practicable, which it is not, it would be a disgraceful -waste of material. The manager who consented to a proposal that Madame -Sarah Bernhardt should play the part of the servant with one line to -say would be an ass and a wastrel. It is, perhaps, unfair to treat a -man's "table-talk" as if it were a serious proposal, and I once got -into trouble with Mr. Gordon Craig for doing this; but so much of Mr. -Yeats's talk and writing is related to this matter of disembodiment and -passionless action, that it is difficult not to treat it seriously. For -my part, I have always been unable to understand how it is possible for -a human being to behave as if he were not a human being.</p> - -<p>Most of the talking was done by Mr. Yeats, and he talked -extraordinarily well. He is one of the best talkers I have ever -listened to, in spite of the fact that his conversation tends to become -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> monologue. But if you cannot talk well yourself, you are wise to -listen to a man who can. He spoke at length about the men who had -been his friends when he was a young man: of Oscar Wilde and Aubrey -Beardsley and Arthur Symons and Lionel Johnson and Ernest Dowson; of -Henley and Whistler and Mr. Bernard Shaw and of a host of others. He -had a puzzled, bewildered admiration for "that strange man of genius, -Bernard Shaw," but I never felt that he understood Mr. Shaw or was -happy with Mr. Shaw's mind. He could not make head or tail of "John -Bull's Other Island" when he read it in MS. Mr. Shaw, in a debate with -Mr. Belloc, which I had heard a night or two before the meeting with -Mr. Yeats, had said "I am a servant," and this statement pleased Mr. -Yeats very much. He was moved by the humility of it. Mr. Shaw, however, -hardly entered into Mr. Yeats's early life, and most of the talk that -evening was about Beardsley and Wilde and Lionel Johnson and Ernest -Dowson and the members of the Rhymers' Club. "Most of them," he said, -"died of drink or went out of their minds!"</p> - -<p>It was late when I prepared to leave him. He had been saying that a man -should always associate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> with his equals and superiors and never with -his inferiors, when I recollected that the hour was late and that I -might miss the last tram from the Thames Embankment and so have to walk -several miles. I was tired, too, and a little depressed, for he seemed -to be a lonely man and an uneasy man. He had survived all his friends, -but had not succeeded in making any intimacy with their successors. -I sometimes feel about him that he is a lost man wandering around -looking for his period. When I had announced that I was going home, he -astonished me by saying that he would walk part of the way with me. He -had not had any exercise all day and felt that he needed some air and -movement. (He hates open windows and always keeps his tightly closed.) -We walked to the Embankment together, saying little, for silence had -fallen on him, and walked along it for a short while. I said some banal -thing about Waterloo Bridge, but he did not make any answer; and I did -not speak again, but contented myself with observing the difference -between his walk when he is moving slowly and his walk when he is -moving quickly. He is very dignified in his movements when he walks -slowly: he holds his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> head erect and carries his hands tightly clenched -behind his back; but when he begins to move quickly, the dignity -disappears and his walk becomes a tumbling shuffle. That, I suppose, is -because of his poor sight.</p> - -<p>My tram came along, and I said "Good-night" to him, and he answered -"Good-night" in a vague fashion. I think he had completely forgotten me.</p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>He had told me that he was going on the following day to Manchester to -lecture to some society there, and I was sufficiently interested in -his opinions to get a copy of the "Manchester Guardian" containing a -report of what he had said. I was amused to find that his lecture was -a repetition of all that he had said to me on the Monday before the -day on which he lectured. He had "tried it on the dog," and I was the -dog. All his speeches are carefully rehearsed before they are publicly -delivered. He told me once that Oscar Wilde rehearsed his conversation -in the morning and then, being word-perfect, went forth in the evening -to speak it. I imagine that he does that, too, on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> occasions. It is a -laudable thing to do in many respects, although it tends to make talk -somewhat formal and liable to be scattered by an interruption. When -Mr. Yeats rehearses a speech before making it in public, he is paying -a great tribute to his audience by declining to offer them scamped or -hastily-contrived opinions. Those who listen to him may be deceived -into believing that he is speaking spontaneously, but they may be -certain that what he says has been carefully considered, that he is -speaking of things over which he has pondered and not just "saying the -first thing that comes into his head."</p> - -<p>Most men of letters do something of this sort. I have listened to Mr. -Moore saying things which I subsequently read in the preface to the -revised version of one of his novels; and I remember meeting "A. E." in -Nassau Street, Dublin, one evening and being told a great deal about -co-operation which I read in his paper, "The Irish Homestead" on the -following morning.</p> - -<p>I saw Mr. Yeats many times after that. I completed the MS. of "Mixed -Marriage" and, much embarrassed, read it to him in his rooms. I read -it very badly, too, and I am sure I bored him a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> great deal; but he -was kind and patient and he made some useful suggestions to me which I -did not accept. I had too much conceit, as all young writers have, to -be guided by a better man than myself. I know now that I should have -done well to take his advice. He warned me against topical things and -against politics and urged me to flee journalism as I would flee the -devil; and he advised me to read Balzac. He was always advising me to -read Balzac, but I never did....</p> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>My memories of those days when I first knew him begin to be -disconnected, and I find myself putting down things which happened -after other things which I have still to relate; but I have never found -a consecutive narrative very interesting, which, perhaps, is why I -cannot read Pepys' Diary or Evelyn's Diary. I like to take things out -of their turn, to go forward to one thing and then back to an earlier -thing. I can only connect one incident or memory with another by taking -them out of their order and doing violence to the natural sequence of -things. Life is not so <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>interesting when all the factors between 1 and -100 are in sequence as it is when 26 and 60 are taken out of their -place and put into coherence, temporary or permanent, with each other.</p> - -<p>He said to me one evening that a man does not make firm friendships -after the age of twenty-five. There is a good deal of truth in that -statement, but I doubt whether it is generally true. It is true of -him, for his mind turns back continually to the men who were his -contemporaries twenty-five years ago, but it was not true of Dr. -Johnson, who shed his friends as he grew in stature of mind. And -perhaps what Dr. Johnson said to Sir Joshua Reynolds is more generally -true than what Mr. Yeats said to me. "If a man does not make new -acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself -alone. A man, Sir, should keep his friendship in constant repair." I -do not think that anything is so remarkable about Mr. Yeats as his -aloofness from the life of these times. He has very little knowledge of -contemporary writing. I doubt whether he has read much or even anything -by Mr. H. G. Wells or Mr. Arnold Bennett or Mr. John Galsworthy or Mr. -Joseph Conrad. He said to me one night that after thirty a man ought -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> read only a few books and read them continually. Some one had said -this to him—I have forgotten who said it—and he passed on the advice -to me; but he added, after a while, that "perhaps the age of thirty is -too young," and suggested that the age should be raised to forty. It -seemed very wrong advice to me.</p> - -<p>An active mind will surely keep itself acquainted with new books -and familiar with old books. I have heard many men, particularly -schoolmasters and classical scholars, say with pride that they never -read modern books. Such people boast that when a new book is published, -they read an old one. They are, in my experience, dull people, -sluggardly in mind, and pompous and set in manner. In many cases, -particularly if they are schoolmasters, they neither read new books -nor old ones. Dr. Johnson and his friends, however, appear to have -been familiar with all the current literature of their time: history, -fiction, poetry, drama, philosophy and theology; as well as with the -ancient writings. They would not have <i>boasted</i> of their ignorance of -the work of their contemporaries. In Mr. Yeats's case, however, this -unfamiliarity with the work of men writing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> to-day is explainable when -one remembers that he cannot read easily because of his sight. When I -first knew him, a friend came several times a week to read to him out -of a copy of the Kelmscott Press edition to William Morris's "Earthly Paradise."</p> - -<p>He had, like most young men of his time, been much influenced by -William Morris, the only man for whom I ever heard him profess anything -like affection, but I remember hearing him say once that he no longer -got pleasure from reading or listening to Morris's poetry.</p> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>One night, I was at his rooms when Mr. G. M. Trevelyan, the historian -and biographer of Garibaldi and John Bright, was present with his wife, -a daughter of Mrs. Humphry Ward. Mr. Yeats talked much and well, and I -remember his story of a dream he had had. He often told stories of his -dreams, but some of them smelt of the midnight oil. A friend of his, he -said, was contemplating submission to the Catholic Church. He had tried -to dissuade her from this, but she went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> away to another country in a -state of irresolution. One night, he dreamt that he saw her entering -a room full of beautiful people. She walked around the room, looking -at these beautiful people who smiled and smiled and smiled, but said -nothing. "And suddenly, in my dream," he said, "I realized that they -were all dead!" "I woke up," he proceeded, "and I said to myself, 'She -has joined the Catholic Church,' and she had." Mr. Trevelyan thought -that the description of the Catholic Church as a room full of beautiful -people, all smiling and all dead, was the most apt he had ever heard. -He chuckled with contented anti-clericalism. Another night, when I -was in his rooms, Miss Ellen Terry's son, Mr. Gordon Craig, came to -see him; and a model of the Abbey Theatre was brought down from his -bedroom to the candle-lit sitting room, where Mr. Craig experimented -with lighting effects. Mr. Craig is a man of genius, but he is a very -difficult and childish person, whose view of the theatre is nearly as -damnable as that of the most vain of the lost tribe of actor-managers -or their successors, the shop-keeper syndicates. Scenery and lighting -effects were of greater consequence to Mr. Craig than the play itself! -His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> designs for scenery were very beautiful, indeed, but they were -suitable only to romantic and poetical plays.</p> - -<p>I remember that when he had manipulated Mr. Yeats's model theatre to -his liking, he stood back from the scene, and said, "What a good thing -it would be if we were to take all the seats out of the theatre so that -the audience could move about and see my shadows!" Mr. Yeats dryly -replied that this was hardly a practical proposal. I was irritated by -Mr. Craig's remark which was in keeping with his general theory of the -theatre. It seemed to me that he would, were he less difficult to work -with, be as great a nuisance and danger to drama as any actor-manager -in London. Sir Henry Irving and Sir Herbert Tree, turning the attention -of the audience away from the play to the player and the scenery, -were not any worse than Mr. Craig, anxious to turn the attention of -the audience to his shadows. I was glad when this remarkable man was -carried off by Mr. Albert Rutherston and Mr. Ernest Rhys to exhibit -himself somewhere else.</p> - -<p>Mr. Yeats was bitten with Mr. Craig's theories about lighting and -scenery, and a large sum of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> money for so poor a theatre as the Abbey, -was spent on some of his "screens" for use in plays like "Deirdre." -They were never used for anything else. When I went to Dublin to -manage the Abbey, I was very anxious that we should employ a competent -scene-builder to make some good "sets" for us, but Mr. Yeats said that -scenery was of no consequence: the dirty hovel which we always employed -to represent an Irish cottage or farm house would do well enough. I -thought there was some oddness in this opinion when I remembered that -the theatre had been almost bankrupted in order to purchase "screens" -for occasional performances of his own one-act plays. He would spend -hours in rehearsing the lighting of a scene for one of them: this -"lime" was too strong and that "lime" was too weak or there was too -much colour or there was not enough or the mingling of colours was -not sufficiently delicate. One day, when he had worn out the patience -of every one in the theatre, with his fussing over the lighting, he -suddenly called out to the stage-manager, "That's it! That's it! -You've got it right now!" "Ah, sure the damned thing's on fire," the -stage-manager answered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> - -<h3>VIII</h3> - -<p>I have written already that he is not happy with an individual: he must -have an audience; and I remember now something that he said to me which -supports my belief. We had been talking about Synge and his habit of -listening at key-holes and cracks in the floor in order to hear scraps -of conversation that he might put into his plays. I said I had been -told that Synge, though excessively shy and silent in company, was a -very companionable person with an individual. He was a good comrade -on a country road, talking easily and naturally, and had the gift of -friendliness with plain and simple people. Labourers and countrymen -would talk to him as easily as they talked to one another, and would -confide in him. I wondered whether there were as many entertaining -tales to be heard from working-people in England as were to be heard -from working-people in Ireland. Mr. Yeats thought that perhaps there -were. He told me that the woman who cooked his meals and cleaned his -rooms had begun to tell some story of a love affair to him, but that he -had been too diffident to encourage her to go on with it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> He thought -that if he had talked to her more than he had, she would have told him -many stories of her youth in the country; but all his talk to her had -been of food and household things. He is not a man in whom poor men and -women confide. His civility to them is magnificent, but it overawes -them and makes them as uneasy in one way as it pleases them in another. -He is an excellent entertainer in a crowded room, but he is a poor -companion on a road. He can talk well to a company of educated men and -women, but he is tongue-tied in the presence of those who have little -learning. When I survey my acquaintance with Yeats, I find strangely -diverse thoughts rising in my mind. I am drawn to him and repelled by -him. He stimulates me and depresses me. I am moved by the beauty of -his work and distracted by its vagueness. I find in his writing and in -his speech, great spiritual loveliness but curiously little humanity, -and I have often wondered why it is that while Irishmen, even such as -I am, are deeply moved by his little play, "Kathleen ni Houlihan," -men of other countries—not only Englishmen—are left unmoved by it, -unable, without a note in the program, to understand it. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> have seen -this play performed very many times. I never missed seeing it, when -it was done at the Abbey during the time that I was manager there. It -moved me as much when I last saw it as it did when I first saw it; and -I do not doubt that if I live to be an old man, it will move me as much -in my old age as it has moved me in my youth. But it does not move men -of other races. That is a singular thing. It denotes, I suppose, that -while there is much that is national in Mr. Yeats's work, there is less -that is universal.</p> - -<p>One rises from his work, as one comes from his company, with a feeling -of chilled respect that may settle into disappointment. It is as if -one had been taken into a richly-decorated drawing-room when one had -hoped to be taken into a green field. I have read Blake's poems and -then I have read his and sought to see the resemblance that I am told -is between them, but have not always found it. Blake wrote about -things that he felt, but Mr. Yeats writes about the things that he -thinks; and thought changes and perishes, but feeling is permanent and -unchangeable; thought separates and divides men, but feeling brings -them together; and it may be that Mr. Yeats's aloofness from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> men is -due to the fact that he thinks too much and feels too little.</p> - -<h3>IX</h3> - -<p>I think of him as a very lonely, isolated, aloof man. He is, so far as -I am aware, the only English-speaking poet who did not write a poem -about the War, a fact which is at once significant of the restraint -he imposes upon himself and of his isolation from the common life of -his time. I have never met any one who seems so unaware of temporary -affairs as Mr. Yeats, and this unawareness is due, not to affectation, -but to sheer lack of interest. He probably would not have known of the -War at all had not the Germans dropped a bomb near his lodgings off the -Euston Road. When Macaulay's New Zealander comes to examine the ruins -of London, he will probably see Mr. Yeats, disembodied and unaware that -he is disembodied or that London is in ruins, sitting on a slab with a -planchette. He is younger than Mr. Shaw by ten years, but might be ten -years older. His verse and his speech and his manner are all elderly, -and his conversation is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> composed chiefly of reminiscences of men who -have been dead for many years, so that one imagines he has not had a -friend since 1890. There is absolutely no suggestion of youth in his -writings. In the poem entitled, "To a Child Dancing in the Wind," he says:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>I could have warned you, but you are young,</div> -<div>So we speak a different tongue</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and again:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>But I am old and you are young,</div> -<div>And I speak a barbarous tongue.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I do not know what age Mr. Yeats was when he wrote those lines, but -they are included in a collection of poems, dated "1912-1914," and at -most he could not have been fifty, for he was born in Dublin in 1865.</p> - -<p>The sense of age seems to have oppressed his mind for many years, -perhaps for the whole of his creative life. He feels that he has -outlived his generation and is lost in a period of time peculiarly -alien to him.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="i6">When I was young,</div> -<div>I had not given a penny for a song</div> -<div>Did not the poet sing it with such airs</div> -<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>That one believed he had a sword upstairs:</div> -<div>Yet would be now, could I but have my wish,</div> -<div>Colder and dumber and deafer than a fish.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This coldness closing on his heart and congealing all his generous -emotions, causes him, at the end of a graceful book, "Reveries Over -Childhood and Youth" (in itself, significant of the age-obsession -which possesses his mind) to declare that "all life, weighed in the -scales of my own life, seems to me a preparation for something that -never happens," and leaves his readers wondering why a man who began -his life by singing songs with such airs "that one believed he had a -sword upstairs" should stumble into dismal prose towards the end of it, -pronouncing life to be a cheerless deceit.</p> - -<p>His effect on young men is peculiar. His brilliant conversation is very -attractive to them, but his insensibility to the presence of human -beings repels them. "A. E." once told me that Mr. Arthur Griffith, the -founder of the Sinn Fein movement, drew young people to him by the -strength of his hatred, but finally repelled them by his complete lack -of charity and love. A nature compounded principally or exclusively -of hatred must be destructive. No man can construct <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>anything unless -love and charity predominate in his heart. Mr. Griffith, throughout his -career, has never been notable for his power to make things. He could -not even make his own movement grow, for Sinn Fein became a popular -and appealing force only after Padraic Pearce and Thomas Macdonagh -and James Connolly had put a fire into the machinery of it on Easter -Monday, 1916. There is something terribly ironical in the fact that -James Connolly, to whom Mr. Griffith offered every possible opposition -in his lifetime, should by his death have helped to put Mr. Griffith -in a position of authority to which his own intellectual and spiritual -qualities could never have raised him. Mr. Yeats has something of the -unhumanity of Mr. Griffith. His talk is brilliant, indeed, but it is -not comradely talk. It never lapses from high quality to the easy -familiarities which humanize all relationships. He is more fastidious -about his speech than he is about his friends. It would shock him more -to use a bad word than to make a bad friend, because he is more aware -of bad words than of bad men; and he would be quicker to forgive a -crime than to forgive a vulgar phrase. I have never heard him use a -common <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>expression. He once repeated an angry speech of William Morris -to me with an air almost apologetic for using profane language, not -because it was profane but because it was inelegant. He never says -"Damn!" or "Blast!" when he is angry.... He is one of the loneliest -men in the world, for he cannot express himself except in a crowd. Dr. -Stockman said that the strongest man in the world is the man who stands -absolutely alone—a feat which is surely impossible—and this specious -statement has supported many ineffective egoists in their belief that -neurosis is strength and misbehaviour a sign of individuality. But -the penalty of isolation is that the isolated cannot dispense with -an amenable crowd. The hermit must have a succession of respectful -pilgrims to his cave, each one murmuring, "There is but one God and -Thou art His Prophet!" until at last the hermit begins to believe -that <i>he</i> is God and God is <i>his</i> prophet. Hermits have followers, -or, perhaps one ought to say, curious visitors, but they have no -friends. Why should they have friends? They have not got the social -sense nor can they take part in the common labours of mankind. They -live in caves and desert places because they are not fit to live in -houses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> and places that are inhabited. But even the hermits, wrapped in -self-sufficiency, realize that no man is effective without his fellows, -and so, though they cannot make friends, they make disciples. This is a -truth which all the great lonely men from Adam to Robinson Crusoe have -discovered, that a man by himself is ineffective and without interest. -Life for Adam remained uneventful until the arrival of Eve: the island -of Juan Fernandez was livelier after Man Friday came to keep Crusoe -company. For fellowship is life, as Morris said, and lack of fellowship -is death.</p> - -<p>There is no poet, not even Keats or Shelley, who has so much of pure -poetry in his work as Mr. Yeats has in his, and perhaps that is -enough; but there is no other poet, not even Mr. Kipling, who has so -little understanding of human kind. It is an odd commentary on his -relationship to his countrymen that while he was writing the bitter -poem, entitled "September, 1913," with the desolating refrain:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Romantic Ireland's dead and gone—</div> -<div>It's with O'Leary in the grave.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Thomas Macdonagh and Padraic Pearse and James<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> Connolly were preparing -themselves for a romantic death.</p> - -<p>John Davidson, in a book called "Sentences and Paragraphs," writes of -Keats that, "beginning and ending his intemperate period with the too -ample verge and room, the trailing fringe and sample-like embroidery of -'Endymion,' he was soon writing the most perfect odes in the language." -Mr. Yeats, in spite of some reluctant instructions into enthusiastic -movements, escaped "the intemperate period"; but he did so at the cost -of his youth and ardour. Like the Magi in his poem of that name, he, -"being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied," seeks "to find once more" -"the uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor"; but it eludes him, -and will always elude him, because he thinks of its habitation as "a -bestial floor." It can only be found by a poet who, whatever happens, -still believes that the earth is a place where God may yet walk in -safety. Mr. Yeats is the greatest poet that Ireland has produced, but -he has meant very little to the people of Ireland, for he has forgotten -the ancient purpose of the bards, to urge men to a higher destiny -by reminding them of their high origin, and has lived, aloof and -disdainful, as far from human kind as he can conveniently get.</p> - -<p> </p> -<hr /> -<p> </p> - - -<div class ="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME IMPRESSIONS OF MY ELDERS***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 63704-h.htm or 63704-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/3/7/0/63704">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/7/0/63704</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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