Modes and Morals

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ried to point ou eird who proce does not h g history. Hild monster from t s for Audrey

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Now, I may well be accused, by M nett's admirers, of a belated Victorian cause I do not like his Hildas and I and Audreys. Well, I do not like Balz érie Marneffe; yet surely La Cousin is one of the great novels of the ni century. Henry James, some years ag a distinction between Thackeray and B their treatment of unpleasant charac sisting that Thackeray did not give hi chance. "Balzac loved his Valérie as eray did not love his Becky," said Mr However much Balzac loved his Val did not love her to the point of trying us think her delightful. The love he was a love as impersonal as the rig of Rhadamanthus: a love that cons be just. Balzac may have loved his V Thackeray did not love his Becky; bu not love his Valérie as Mr. Bennett 1 Hilda and his Audrey. He loved her, in a quite different sense. Mr. Benn tively seems to think that Hilda is a [223].

се

seriously. He is merely runny; the

or of him is the moral equivalent of an
cle race or the pursuit of a greased pig.
only Mr. Bennett would keep to his
ys! For in the realm of extravaganza he
esistible. Also, when he does the detail of
ive Towns, he is delightful for sheer con-
igness. But he must stick to concrete de-
He must not deal with the human soul,
hen he comes to moral reactions, he shows
he has no conception of differences. Mr.
ett's world, frankly, seems to me like the
of the dead as described by the poet:

Outside of all the worlds and ages,
here where the fool is as the sage is,
There where the slayer is clean of blood;
No end, no passage, no beginning,
There where the sinner leaves off sinning,
There where the good man is not good.

There is not one thing with another,
But Evil saith to Good: My brother,
My brother, I am one with thee.

world is a world where Evil saith to Good:
brother, I am one with thee." If he can-

it; H pren own

that sho

reco pos old

her

can

him he

per log

act

his

the

s merely funny
al equivalent of
t of a greased
would keep to
of extravaganza:
e does the detail
htful for sheer
tick to concrete
h the human s
reactions, he shor
of differences. M
eems to me like t

ed by the poet:

nd ages,
the sage is,
s clean of blood;
ginning,
es off sinning,
an is not good.
another,
My brother,
ith thee.

it; people who think their own en premely valuable simply because the

own.

The realists, I know, have always that an author should be impersona should not have an "attitude"; that record life as it is, without commen possibility or impossibility of that old technical controversy) we nee here and now. The general opinion can tell where an author stands, i him. Certainly Mr. Bennett is not in he does have an attitude. Not in a permitted ways (comment of other logical and retributive results of acts, etc.) does he show himself sus his people's real natures, or disapp their odiousness. If he were only satirist-fashion, the egotism of ma could bear it. But no: Mr. Bennett love his Yahoos. If he does not 1 then, as I say, his methods are at f

Another author who has gone dv Mr. Galsworthy. Tremendous hop [225]

Nature, when it gets into a book, is ow sacred. Perhaps it is Wordsworth's Literary pieties die hard. Anyhow, always are long descriptions of nature

Galsworthy's novels, and if they are ely confused with mating animals and sex impulses, and all the connotation -ing sap and swelling buds and the like, ill certainly not make them any less r. Yet the fact is that Mr. Galsworthy ne on, from book to book, steadily bemore sentimental and more flabby. -peaking here of his novels. His Five hold their own with The Man of PropHis work cannot be called rich in situaince he has never, so far, failed to repeat k I am not mistaken) the same situation: in love with some woman he has no ight to be in love with. Often, that is interesting situation; but it is not the urce of drama in life, and one does get f it. And I do not think that Mr. Galsmakes it any more interesting or sym[226]

ng descripos:
s into a bock:
is Wordswom
hard Amba

iptions of un and if they st ting animals ani the connotation cuds and the e them any less Mr. Galsworthy ock, steadily be d more fabby ovels. His Fat e Man of Prop Med rich in situ , failed to reper e same situation man he has mo Often, that is ut it is not the nd one does ge that Mr. Gals eresting or sym

With Thomas Hardy, one feels reality of this intrusion of exter because, as some critic (I think, Dawson) has said, his people are the soil in no trite sense. They are landscape in which they move; they is, to have a personal relation to mortals in an old myth; to be half rock or tree. They are apotheo power of natural environment. But worthy's civilized people run down to hold hands amid the bracken b feel that they are somehow justi fact of sap. It is all vague, of c thing of that sort is bound to be if you are going to lean heavily on you want first to be sure that d'appui is not a spot where the c has chosen to manifest itself in va

Mr. Galsworthy seems not to k least what he thinks about life. Th maze may be satisfying to a hyp soul, but it does not make for sty Mr. Galsworthy is old enough to

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