By SHEILA KAYE - SMITH

THE TRAMPING METHOD ISTS TARBRACE

SPELL LANDISLE OF THORNSTHREE AGAINST THE WORLD

SUSSE! GORSE

BELLES LETTRESSAMUE L R ICHARDSON

WILLOWS FORGE AND OTHER POEMS

JOHN

GALSWORTHY

BY

SHEILA KAYE -SMITH

NEW YORKHENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIASANTA DART-I RA COM E 2

”! LIBRARY

CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTIONTHE PLAYS . I .THE PLAYS . II .THE NOVELS . I .THE NOVELS . I I.THE SKETCHES

GALSWORTHY THE ARTIST

BIBLIOGRAPHY

AMERICAN BIBLIOGRAPHY

INDE!

INTRODUCTION

CHARACTERISTIC of every ageis its group of popular writers.These writers at once concentrate

and give out the spirit of their age— theyare representative. Literature has manynames of pioneers and apostles, who wereahead of or out of sympathy with theirtimes, but these were never popular. The

popular writer is essentially a man whoconforms to his period ; it is true that hisconformity must have life and vigour

,it

must have nothing in it of the echo or theslave, it may even be disguised rathertransparently as revolt—but whatever enterprises and excursions he allows himself, heremembers that there are certain bases whichhe must keep, and to which after everyexpedition he must come back. These basesare either the conventional ideas of his time

,

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

or the conventional methods of attackingthem— the two are for such purposes thesame.So a glance at our most popular modern

writers ought to give us a clue as to thespirit of to day. But here there is something baffling—we find names as far apartas H. G. Wells and Florence Barclay, ArnoldBennett and Hall Caine. Surely the spiritof the age is not broad enough to includeboth Joseph Conrad and Marie Corelli.This brings us face to face with a moderncomplication ! we have two publics. Thespread of education, with other causes, hasbrought into being a mob - public, and theapproved of the mob - public have a popularity which could hardly have been realisedtwo generations ago. The most popularwriter of to day is he whose appeal is to theman in the street, and the largest sales aremade by those who are most successful incatering for this newly enfranchised reader

-with whom literature and art have nothitherto had much truck, but with whom

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INTRODUCTION

they will have to reckon more and more astime goes on.

There is, however, a public above thestreet, and this is large and importantenough to allow those who write for it tocall themselves popular. This public grantsits favour on grounds literary as well asemotional— itis notenough to stir its feelings,one must tickle its taste. It is fundamentally the same as the mob in its ideas

,

but it is very different in its methods of

criticism. The mob likes to see its prejudicesupheld, this public above the street—whichis the public that most writers of anyliterary aspiration supply—while holdingthe same prejudices as strongly at heart,rather enjoys seeing them overthrown on

paper. At the same time it demandsartistic quality, reality, and an occasionalshock. Wh ile not actually gourmet, it isfastidious in the matter of literary fare

,

and it is characteristically split up intocliques or smaller publics, each swearingby a particular writer, just as men who

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

are nice as to food swear by a particularrestaurant. There is a Wells public, differing slightly if not essentially from theBennett public ; there is a Kipling publicwith democratic foundations ; there is a

Conrad public, and a Galsworthy publiand the Galsworthy public is perhaps thesmallest of all.Indeed Galsworthy can hardly be called

a popular ” writer. I am not using theword in a contemptuous sense, but to describe a writer who is widely read. Galsworthy will never be widely read, for healienates two important sets of readersthose who insist that a book shall teachthem something, and those who with equalforce insist that it shall teach them nothing.

He fails the first class because, while supplying its demands, he does not satisfy theconditions it imposes. He undoubtedlyhas something to teach, but he avoids thedirect appeal, which is what the publicwants. Direct and Open championship isthe only way of making a cause popular

12

INTRODUCTION

let us be broad- minded, by all means, butagreeing that there may be something tosay on the other side is very different fromfinding out what that something is, andsaying it. Also he is too sensitive, toomoderate, too well balanced to please the! improvement above all things reader,whose perceptions are not of the subtlest.On the other hand , he puts himself out of

touch with those who do not want to betaught, because he undoubtedly has a pro

paganda, and is not an artist purely for art’ s

sake. Between himself and the numbers whowould unhesitatingly admire him as a manof letters he raises the barrier of ideas which

,

while too subtly expressedto satisfythose whoclamour for instruction, are quite decidedenough to cut off those who object to it.Thus Galsworthy’s public is whittled down

to those who either are in sympathy withhis aims and methods—and there must befew who understand both— or are able toswallow a small amount of propaganda forthe sake of art. He sets out to write

13

JOHN GALSWORTHY

deliberately for no man—he does not recruithis readers, they are volunteers. Theycome to him from widely different camps

,

and concentrate in an admiration which isperhaps as full of reserves as its object.He has deliberately rejected all public

snatching tricks, revealing his personalityin his work alone, avoiding the light of

popular curiosity and journalistic enterprise. He has treated his private life as hisown concern, not as a bait for readers. A

judicious use of his own personality andprivate affairs is, broadly speaking, indispensable to the seeker after popularity.

Galsworthy, by disliking this, has necessarilylimited his public to those who read himfor his work’s sake.In the bare facts of his life that he chooses

to give we shall find nothing so interestingas what we find in his books and plays.Born in 1867, at Coombe in Surrey, he waseducated at Harrow and at Oxford. He wascalled to the Bar in 1890, but practisedvery little.

14

INTRODUCTION

He has travelled a great deal, and widely—America and Egypt, Canada and theCape, British Columbia and Australia,Russia and the Fij i Islands. It was on thesailing ship which carried him fromAdelaideto South Africa twenty- two years ago thathe made friends with a sailor who now, asJoseph Conrad, has a fame equal to Galsworthy’s own. It is remarkable that, inspite of these wide wanderings, his playsand novels should almost invariably havean English background. Seldom, if ever,does he go afield, and then it is only tosome place more or less known to everyone

,

such as Austria in Villa Rubeln, The DarkFlower, and TheLittle Dream. He has never

,

like Conrad, given us the fruit of his voyagings on the far seas, or his tracks overRussian and Canadian plains.Perhaps this may be due to the fact that

no matter how far he may have wandered,his roots are English . Though born inSurrey, he is a Devon man. Galsworthy isof course a well- known Devon name, and

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

for many years now he has lived in Devon,on the eastern rim of Dartmoor.Again and again he gives Devon to us

there is A Man of Devon , with its tenderfreshness of the Devon soil sweetening thestrength of Devon hardihood ; there isABit0’

Love, with its living and poetic conceptionof Place ; and there is The Patrician, with allthe breadth of the moors in contrast withthe littleness of human passion and humanreasoning. Again, too, inRiding inMist, wehave a picture of a mood of the Devon torswhich has seldom been equalled and neversurpassed. Also his Moods, Songs and

Doggerels is full of the county, its scenery, itsmen and women, its dialect, its rains, itsheather gipsy”wind. Though Galsworthyis certainly not an interpreter of place, thoughhis great novels and plays deal with themysteries of human nature rather than withlocal subtleties—and the atmosphere he shedsover hiswork is generalrather thanparticular,the Spirit rather than the ghost— one feelsthat Devon is the background of his dreams.

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

drama, they are as effective on the stage asin the study ; in fact, they gain by acting,because, as I said, he has a tendency nowand then to subordinate the human interestto the moral, and this the actor can makegood.

He stands midway between the purelyliterary and the purely popular playwright,and he also occupies middle ground betweendrama which is entirely for instructionand that which is for amusement only.

Poles apart on one hand from the lightcomedies of H. H. Davies and SomersetMaugham,

he has very little in commonwith stage preachers such as Shaw andBarker. More polished and more subtlethan Houghton, he is less clear- eyed andheroic than Masefield . Undoubtedly hismost striking quality as a dramatist is hissense of form and craft, but he is far re

moved from that school of playwrights, of

which Pinero and H. A. Jones are leaders,

whose technique amounts to little morethan a working knowledge of the stage.

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THE PLAYS

Galsworthy loves, in his novels as wellas his plays, to deal with situations. Thisis to a certain extent detrimental to thenovelist, as it hampers development, and anovel which does not develop along someline or other has a tendency to stale or

solidify. But it is obvious that a sense ofsituation is one of the first essentials of adramatist, and Galsworthy has it in fullmeasure. It shows pre- eminently in his

central ideas, and subordinately in his apt

management of his curtains, which in hisbest plays are situations in themselves,epitomising the chief issues of the act or

scene.His central situation is the moral or social

problem at the bottom of the play. He

carries on his propaganda almost entirelyby situation, and this is what lifts his artabove that of Shaw and other missionarydramatists. He practically never relieson dialogue for introducing his theories,except so far as dialogue develops andexplains the situation. He depends on his

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

characters and their actions to enforce hismoral, and it is to this he owes his artisticsalvation.

Having chosen his situation, he proceedsto balance it with two contrasting groups

,

one on either side. Each group consists ofvarious types, embodying various pointsof view, which, while differing to a slightextent, are yet subordinate to the Point ofView of the group. The fact that his characters are types rather than individuals isall to his good as a dramatist, though weshall see later that it is a drawback in thenovels. Types are always more convincingon the stage than individuals, the necessarypersonal touch being given by the actor.There is no use criticising a play apart fromthe acting— the two are inextricably boundtogether, so that the author is in a senseonly the collaborator ; a play which wasnot written to be acted can scarcely becalled a play—it is a novel in dialogue.Perhaps the best example of Galsworthy’s

technique, and at the same time his finest20

THE PLAYS

achievement as a playwright, is Strife. Herewe have the central situation, the contrasting of groups, the combination of typesthe whole so perfectly balanced, and sosmooth- working, that it does not creak once.The central idea is the dispute between thedirectors of the Works and their employees,but it is impossible to consider this in itself,apart from the attitude of the two partiestowards it. Indeed we are given a veryvague idea of the nature of the difference ;all we know is that it has reduced manyof the workers to starvation, while thedirectors have to face angry shareholders andfailing dividends. Harness, the trades uniondelegate, acts as a go- between, and gradually both groups begin to see the allurementsof compromise. Various circumstancesdrive them towards it, with the exceptionof their respective leaders, Roberts, and oldAnthony. The end is pitiful— for the twosides surrender to each other simultaneously

,

breaking their leaders’ hearts. These menare of extraordinary character and ability,

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

and of the most splendid courage, but theyare betrayed by their cowardly followers

,

who have not grit or faith enough to see

that their only chance lies in no com33promise. There is a powerful scene be

tween Roberts, the men’s leader,and

Anthony, chairman of the directors, whenthey have both been abandoned by theirsupporters

ROBERTS !to ANTHONY]. Butye have notsigned them terms ! They can’t maketerms without their chairman ! Ye wouldnever Sign them terms ! !ANTHONY looksat him without speaking ] Don

’t tell me yehave ! for the love 0 ’ God !with passionateappeal] I reckoned on ye !HARNE SS !holding out the Directors’ copy

of the terms]. The Board has signed.

ROBERTS . Then you’re no longer Chairman of this Company ! !Breaking into halfmad laughter.] Ah, ha—Ah , ha, ha !They’ve thrown ye over—thrown over theirChairman ! ah—ha—ha ! !With a sudden

dreadful calm ] So—they’ve done us bothdown, Mr Anthony.

22

THE PLAYS

There is also a social problem at the

bottom of Justice, but this time it is inconnection with the English law. In Justicewe have a bitter, tragic indictment of thepenal system. We are given the psychologyof a crime, but not so much of its committalas of its expiation. We are shown the effectof prison life on the clerk Falder, and of itsconsequences following him after his release,and driving him at last to suicide. It isa wonderfully temperate statement of cruelfacts. Throughout it Galsworthy retainsa perfect command of his art ; above allhe avoids any cheap identification of theministers of a system with the system itself.The officials of the court and of the prison areall shown as wise and humane men ; they dotheir best, according to their powers, forthose wretches whose lives are harassed bythe system they administrate. It is thesystem alone which is in fault.Perhaps Galsworthy has made a mistake

in choosing Balder as his victim. The manis of a type which would go under with a

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

very slight push, weak and changeable,an extreme case. On the other hand

,he

shows the effect ofLawon the poor and weakit is ostensibly there to protect. He is oneof those for whom Justice, as understoodin this country, and indeed most countries,makes no provision. He is a special case,and it is characteristic of systems and institutions that they ignore—are to a certainextent forced to ignorea —the special case,which is almost always better worth con

sidering than the general mass tOwhich thesystem is adapted. Galsworthy suggestsno remedy, no alternative. He does nothint anywhere that Falder has been badlytreated. He has been treated as well asJustice will allow ; as many men are thevictims of injustice, so is he the victim ofjustice itself .

The play is not quite so well constructedas Strife. The first and second acts covermostly the same ground, and the action isnot so compact or the climax so inevitable.On the other hand, there are some fine

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

!RUTH faces round athim ]COKESON. No one’ll touch him now !

Never again ! He’s safe with gentle Jesus.!RUTH stands as though turned to stone

in the doorway, staring at COKE SON,

who, bending humbly before her, holdsouthis hand as onewould toa lostdog. ]

Justice and Strife both dealwith social andeconomic questions in the larger sense, butin the majority of the plays the issues aremore personal. The Silver Box and TheEldest Son, for instance, both show thedifierentstandards ofmorality expected fromthe poor and from the rich . The Fugitiveis a study of the helplessness of a beautifulwoman, not specially trained, when she isdriven to make her own way in life. J 0g

shows the essential selfishness which we allbring into our relations both with one

another and with problems of conduct.The Silver Boa; runs Strife close as Galsworthy’s masterpiece. There is a strongresemblance between its central idea and

that of The Eldest'Son, a far inferior play.

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THE PLAYS

In The Silver Boa! the charwoman’s husbandis sent to gaol for stealing, whereas theM.P.

’

S

son, who has also committed a theft, underfar more unforgivable circumstances, escapesbecause of his superior position and wealth.

InTheEldestSon, the poor gamekeeper isthreatened with dismissal if he will not marrythe girl he has betrayed, while the eldestson of the house brings his father’s wrathupon his head for standing by the lady’smaid he has put in the same position.

The Silver Boss is much the clearer sightedof the two plays ; in the second the issuesare occasionally confused, and both theconstruction and dramatic effect are inferior.The Silver Box is practically flawless. The

two contrasting groups, the rich and important Barthwicks, and the poor, good- fornothing Joneses, are perfectly balanced.

There is no crude over- emphasis of the situation, nor inopportune enforcement of themoral, though perhaps in the trial sceneGalsworthy is a little too anxious to pointout the similarity of the positions of Jack

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

Barthwick and Jem Jones, and the difference of their treatment Dad ! that’swhat you said to me says young Barthwick, more pointedly than naturally, whenthe magistrate tells Jones he is a nuisanceto the community.

”

The characters are drawn with greatvividness and restraint. Mrs Jones is particularly successful— pale, quiet, downtrodden

,she has about her a certain dignified

pathos which is perfectly human and natural.She does not pose as a martyr, she does notpretend that she would not leave her husbandif she could and dared ; the fact is not hiddenfrom us that her sad- eyed silences must beparticularly irritating to him . She does notcomplain over much, but she has nothing ofstoical endurance—she endures rather because she has been battered into submissionand sees the uselessness of revolt. She

would revolt if she could.

One of the most direct and convincingscenes in the play is that between these two,in their home, when Mrs Jones discovers

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THE PLAYS

that her husband has stolen the Silverbox.

JONE S . I’ve had a bit of luck. Picked upa purse— seven pound and more.MRS JONE S . Oh, James !JONES . Oh, James ! What about oh ,

James I picked it up, I tell you. This islost property, this is.MRS JONE S . But isn’t there a name in it

or something !JONE S . Name ! N0 , there ain’t no name.This don’t belong to such as ’ave visitin

’

cards. This belongs to a perfec’

lidy. Tikean’ smell it. Now, you tell me what Iought to have done. You tell me that.You can always tell me what I ought toha’ done.MRS JONES . I can’t say what you ought

to have done, James. Of course the moneywasn’t yours ; you’ve taken somebodyelse’s money.

JONE S . Ih'

nding’

s keeping. I’ll take it aswages for the time I’ve gone about thestreets asking for what’s my rights. I’lltake it for what’s overdue, d

’ye hear ! I’vegot money in my pocket, my girl. Moneyin my pocket ! And I’m not going to waste

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

it. With this ’ere money I’m going toCanada. I

’

llletyou have apound . You’veoften talked of leavin’ me. You’ve oftentold me I treat you badly—well I ’ope you

’llbe glad when I’m gone.MRS JONE S . You have treated me verybadly, James, and of course I can

’t preventyour going but I can’t tell whether I shallbe glad when you’re gone.JONE S . It’ll change my luck. I’ve ’

ad

nothing but bad luck since I took up with

you. And you’ve ’

ad no bloomin’ picnic.

MRS JONE S . Of course it would have beenbetter for us if we had never met. Weweren’t meant for each other. But you’reset against me, that

’s what you are, andyou have been for a long time. And youtreat me so badly, James, going after thatRosie and all. You don’t ever seem tothink of the children that I’ve had to bringinto the world, and of all the trouble I’vehad to keep them, and what

’ll become of

them when you’re gone.JONE S . If you think I want to leave the

little beggars you’re bloomin’ well mistaken.

MRS JONE S . Of course I know you’refond of them.

JONES . Well then, you stow it, old girl.30

THE PLAYS

The kids’

ll get along better with you thanwhen I’m here. If I’d ha’ known as muchas I do now, I

’d never ha’ had one o’ them.

What’s the use 0 ’ bringin’ ’em into a state0’ things like this ! It’s a crime, that

’s whatit is ; but you find it out too late ; that

’swhat’s the matter with this ’ere world.

MRS JONES . Of course it would have beenbetter for them, poor little things ; butthey’re your own children, and I wonder at

you talkin’ like that. I should miss them

dreadfully if I was to lose them.

JONES . And you ain’t the only one. IfI make money out there —!Looking up hesees her shaking out his coat—in a changed

voice ] Leave that coat alone !!The silver box drops from the pocket,scattering the cigarettes upon the bed .

Taking up the box, she stares at it ;he rushes at her, and snatches the box

away ]MRS JONE S . Oh, Jem ! Oh, Jem !JONE S . You mind what you’re sayin’Wh en I go out I’ll take and chuck it in thewater along with that there purse. I ’

adit when I was in liquor, and for what youdo when you’re in liquor you

’re not responBible—and that’s Gawd’s truth as you ought

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to know. I don’t want the thing— I won’thave it. ‘ I took it out 0

’ spite. I’m nothief, I tell you ; and don

’t you call me one,or it’ll be the worse for you.

MRS JONE S . It’sMrBarthwick’s ! You’vetaken away my reputation. Oh, Jem,

whatever made you !JONE S . What d’you mean !MRS JONE S . It’s been missed ; they think

it’s me. Oh, whatever made you do it,JemJONE S . I tell you I was in liquor. I don’t

want it ; what’s the good of it to me If I

were to pawn it they’d only nab me. I’mno thief. I’m no worse than what youngBarthwick is ; he brought

’ome that purseI picked up—a lady’s purse—’

ad it off ’

er ina row, kept sayin

’

e’

d scored ’

er off. WellI scored ’

im off. Tight as an owl’

e was !And d’you think anything

’

llhappen to him !MRS JONE S . Oh, Jem ! It’s the bread

out of our mouths.JONES . Is it, then ! I’ll make it hot for

’em yet. What about that purse. Whatabout young Barthwick.

!MRS JONE S comes forward to the table,and tries to take the bow JONE Sprevents her.]

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

has not the grip or the reality of The SilverBox.

The failure lies in a certain lack of

cohesion and inevitableness in the whole.The rehearsal of Caste, which is introducedin the second act, points the moral rathertoo obviously. Also the central idea ishampered by the fact that the two illustrative cases are not really parallel. In TheSilver Box the theft by young Barthwick isjust as blameworthy as that by Jones.Their positions are quite the same, exceptthat

,indeed, it is the man of wealth who is

the more despicable and deserving of punishment. But no one can say that BillCheshire and Freda Studdenham are inthe same position as the gamekeeper andthe village girl. There are objections to themarriage of Bill and Freda which do not

exist in the other case. Certainly thereare obj ections to that too, but the factremains that the two examples are not

parallel.

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THE PLAYS

HERE are social and economic ideasat the bottom of The Fugitive,wh ich is to a certain extent sym

bolical—a study of woman’s position when,for any reason, she is separated from theherd. But in this, as in other of his laterplays, Galsworthy

’s command of his art isnot equal to his enthusiasm ! for his subject.Moving and forcible as it all is, it has notthe balance, the inevitableness, of Strife or

The Silver Box. We feel that events arebeing arranged to suit the basic theory.

The career of Clare Dedmond, from her

revolt to her down fall, is not a thing foreseen, a thing of fate. We feel somehow thather end is arbitrary—at all events we are notshown the steps that lead to it. The actualcatastrophes we witness do not demand it.

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

None the less the study of Clare is arresting—the woman who is fine, but not fineenough.

”She alienates our sympathies a

little in the first act ; there is no denyingthat She behaves childishly, and her husband,uncongenial as he may be, is not quite sucha bounder as Malise, in whom, apparently,she finds satisfaction. But somehow thatwhole first act has an air of unreality aboutit, a remoteness from life, and a staginesswe do not expect from Galsworthy. Lateron the movement becomes swifter, and wehave the sense of impending tragedy, whichis realised in the scene where Clare leavesMalise, though She loves him and he is heronly protector, because she discovers thatShe has become a drag on him and is spoilinghis career.The scene at the Restaurant, too, has its

fine points, thought it is spoilt by a riot ofsymbolism and a tendency towards falsesentiment. The continuous singing of ThisDay a Stag must die by the revellers atanother table is rather an obvious and cheap

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THE PLAYS

effect, so too the courtesan’s kiss as the

curtain falls. On the whole one feels thatThe Fugitive is a play in which the author

’splan has been better conceived than carriedout.

The central situations of Joy and of The

Mob have nothing to do with any social oreconomic problem, even in a narrowed,personal sense. They deal with conduct,and special cases of conduct. Joy and TheMob, with ABit0

’

Love, stand at the bottomof the scale at the top of which are Justiceand Strife. The interest of the two latter iscentred in the social and industrial problemsthey are built on ; then come The SilverBox, The Eldest Son, and The Fugitive, inwhich the social problem undoubtedly exists

,

but which depend for interest on its personalvariations ; then come Joy, The Mob, andA Bit 0

’

Love, in which the interest is purelypersonal and unconnected with any socialidea.

Joy is a play built round an attitude ratherthan a problem. A Play on the Letter I

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

is the sub- title, and from first to last we seehow the consideration of self is the governing motive of widely different characters.We see it working Openly, in charactersthat are frankly and aggressively egotistic ;we see it acting more subtly in charactersof a different stamp. The one person whois free from it is the old governess, MissBeech, who lives only in her interest inthose around her. Somehow, as is often thecase with characters purposely in contrastwith his general scheme, Galsworthy isoccasionally artificial in dealing with MissBeech. Her devilishness ” is more thanonce a trifle forced—the author so obviouslywants her to be original, unlike both theconventional stage governess, and the conventionally selfless person. She fills to acertain extent the position of Chorus, andher vocation takes from her humanity.

She becomes, as the play goes on, more andmore of a Voice.On the other hand, there is a great deal of

humanity about Joy herself and her mother.38

THE PLAYS

Mrs Gwyn’s lover, Maurice Lever, is alsoreal enough, though the same cannot alwaysbe said of Joy’s Dick. The scenes betweenthe young people ring true, but the boyloses reality when away from Joy ; hebecomes more a part of stage machinery.

In Spite of some languors, the play isquick moving and closely knit, and the

author keeps the central situation well inhand. There are one or two haunting scenes—the scenes of young love between Joy andDick, the scenes of older, sadder love, morepassionate and more disillusioned, betweenMrs Gwyn and Lever—and one particularlygood scene between Mrs Gwyn and Joy,after the girl has discovered her mother

’

s

secret.

JOY !covering her face]. I’m I’mashamed.

MRS GWYN. I brought you into the world ;and you say that to me ! Have I been abad mother to you !JOY. Oh, mother !MRS GWYN. Ashamed ! Am I to live

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

all my life like a dead woman because you’reashamed ! Am I to live like the deadbecause you’re a child that knows nothingof life ! D’yon think—because Isuffered when you were born and becauseI’ve suffered since with every ache you everhad, that gives you the right to dictate tome now ! I’ve been unhappy enough, andI Shall be unh appy enough in the time tocome. Oh, you untouched things, you

’reas hard and cold as iron.

JOY. I would do anything for you, mother.MRS GWYN. Except—let me live, Joy.

That’s the only thing you won’t do for me,

I quite understand.

JOY ! in a despairing whisper]. But it’

s

wrong of yous—it’s wicked.

MRS GWYN. If it’s wicked, I shall pay forit, not you.

JOY. But I want to save you, mother !MRS GWYN. Save me ! !Breaking into

laughter.]JOY. I can’t bear it that you—if you

’llonly—I’ll never leave you oh, mother !I feel—I feel soawful—as if everybody knew.

MRS GWYN. You think I’m a monster tohurt you. Ah ! yes ! You’ll understandbetter some day.

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

Stephen More is merely of secondary andartificial importance. He meets his deathat its hands, it is true, but it plays littlepart in the spiritual fight he wages. The

exhibition, in a final tableau, of its changingfancy—in the statue it erects to his memory—is dangerously near anti climax, and no

integral part of the whole. One cannot seethat the mob is anywhere a dominant force—it is an incident, far less important herethan in Strife, though there is one scene inwhich Galsworthy shows again, as he showedin Strife, his power of dealing with stagecrowds !

!MORE turnsand mounts the steps ]TALL YOUTH. You blasted traitor.!MORE faces round atthe volley of jeeringthat follows the chorus of booingswells, then gradually dies, as if theyrealised that they were spoiling their

own sport. ]A ROUGH GIRL. Don’t frighten the poorfeller.!A girl beside her utters a shrill laugh ]MORE . Well, what do you want !

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THE PLAYS .

VOICE . A Speech.

MORE . Indeed ! That’s new.

ROUGH VOICE . Look at his white liver.You can see it in his face.ABIG NAVVY. Shut it. Give ’im a chanst.TALL YOUTH. Silence for the blasted

traitor !!A youth plays on the concertina there

is laughter, then an abrupt silence ]

and so on.

The whole of this scene is vigorous andconvincing, so too the scene ofMore

’s death ;but again and again we are irritated by theway Galsworthy misses his chances. Take,for instance, the scene in which Katherineuses her beauty and his love for her to temptMore from his ideal - it is full of magnificentOpportunities, and there is some fine stuff

in it, but somehow it misses fire. This maybe partly due to the fact that in his laterplays Galsworthy’s restraint occasionallyseems to lose its force. Economy of wordsand emotion is effective only when used tocontrolthe riches of both .

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ABit0’Love is in a sense themost personal

of all the plays—I say in a sense, because,for the first time, we find Galsworthy definitely exploiting Place . The importanceOf Place in literature is a comparativelynew discovery, for we must not count thedescriptive and local novels which have beenwith us more or less from the first. Studiesin Place

,which set out deliberately to bring

forward the personality—if I may use theterm—of Place, are only just beginning , andGalsworthy ,withABit0

’Love , comes among

the pioneers. It is his latest play, and itwill be interesting to watch if he chooses todevelop along th is line.We have the Devonshire village as acentral character in the piece—the varioustypes which compose it are just so manyparts of thewhole , and it would be amistaketo treat them as separate persons. The

village is at once sturdy and sweet andfoolish

,it is curious, it is pig- headed—it is

built of the wisps ofmoon- and- dew cobwebs,

and of the sty- door stakes from which they

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float. It is the common life of the villagewh ich is dealt with h ere, rather thansubtleties of atmosphere—the actual localityhas no definite existence apart from itsinhabitants

,which is a milder practice of the

art of Place . But the central idea is thesame as in all Place studies—the effect ofthe Place on the Man.

The man here is Michael Strangway,curate of the village , a gentle creatureburnt with in, who plays the flute

,and

loves dumb animals , and acts St Franciswithout the adorable Franciscan coarseness.H is wife pleads with him not to ruin herlover’s career by bringing a divorce , andfor love of her he promises . Unfortunatelythe interview is overheard by a little gossiping village girl who has a grudge againsthim because he had set free her imprisonedSkylark. The news is Spread, and the

village is righteously indignant,wrath

culminating when the curate crowns hisimpious toleration by falling upon the manwho has used a few plain words about his

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wife in a public - house. Attacked andshunned on all S ides for his attempt at aliteral gospel, and betrayed within by theache and emptiness of his heart, the curateresolves on suicide , but is rather tritelysaved at the last moment by the littleche - ild of such occasions, who offers hima bit 0 ’ love.”

There is some good work in the play, anatmosphere of beautiful wistfulness

,tenderly

combined with the bumpkin clump and flit.The dance in the big barn has its full effectof mystic and rustic beauty ; there is infinite pathos in Strangway and Cremersetting out for a long tramp together in thelink of their bruised hearts—and Galsworthyhas done nothing more kindly- humorousthan the meeting at the village inn , with So]Potter uneasily in the chair.The play is beautifully written

,but it

would seem as if the author had scarcely aclear idea himself of Strangway, and a littlemore planning might have saved himfrom one or two banalities. The extreme

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individuality, so to Speak , of the curate’s

problem—for no one can deny that his wasan exceptional case— is a bit in the way of

a writer whose chief concern is the socialand general . Butwe must give a particularwelcome to A Bit 0

’Love, because it is

Galsworthy’ s first real experiment in Place,

and one has a feeling that here is a grandnew road for him to tread.

There remain two plays, which are calledrespectively A Fantasy ” and An

Allegory The Pigeon and The Little

Dream.

The first is a fantasy based on sober facts.Indeed it would be rightly called a satire.It is a study—carried through in a spirit ofcomedy, in spite of drunkenness

, vice,

poverty, and suicide—of three irreclaimables,and of those who would reclaim them.

Old Timson, the drunkard Mrs Megan,

born light of love, who even while drowningthinks of dancing ; Ferrand, the vagabond,the wanderer of quaint philosophy—they area fantastic trio, because the sorrow and

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sordidn ess of their lives is all hazed over bythis half- comic, half- satiric glow in whichtheir creator chooses to see them. In themselves more hopeless and tragic than any of

the characters in Strife or Justice, they raisesmiles instead of tears. It would seemalmost as if the tragedy of the outcast hadstirred in Galsworthy those depths beyondsorrow, wh ich can find no expression save inlaughter.Various theorists argue about these three

outcasts, and one good- natured man befriends them. Wellwyn is a kindly study,and his easy methods, however much hispractical little daughter may blame him,

do more to humanise the poor wretches thanthe sterner tactics of Professor Calway or

Sir Thomas Huxton. But as a matter offact no generosity will meet the case, notheory. We can only laugh, and throughlaughter learn a little more of pity.

There is some delightful humour in ThePigeon. AS a rule Galsworthy’s humour istoo deeply tinged with bitterness to ring

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SECOND HUMBLE - MAN.

’

Uman be ing, Icall ’im .

CHI EE HUMBLE -MAN ! taking three glassesfrom the last packing

- case, and pouring veryequally into them]. That

’s right. Tell youwot, I

’d never ’

a’ touched this unless ’

c’

d

told me, I wouldn’

t—not with ’

im .

SECOND HUMBLE - MAN . Ditto to that !This is a bit of or] right !Raising his glass ]Good luckTHIRD HUMBLE - MAN. Same ’ere !!Simultaneously they place their lips

smartly against the liquor, and at once

letfall their faces and their glasses ]CHIEF HUMBLE - MAN !with greatsolemnity].

Crikey ! Bill ! Tea ! E’s got us !!The stage is blotted dark ]

TheLittle Dream is rather a bitter allegoryof the adventures of the soul in search of

life and happiness. Seelchen, the littlemountain girl, hears the call of the WineHorn, typifying the delights of the town andthe world, and the Cow Horn, typifyingthe pleasures of her mountain home, butthere is a strange resemblance in the harddisillusions they are bound to offer after their

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gifts, and only the lonely Great Horn behindpoints to something finer and higher. Thereis really not much interest, or indeed, muchoriginality in the little sketch, but there issome beautiful language, and Galsworthyis able to give free rein to his sense of wordsand poetic faculty. There is real poetry insome of the lyrics, and by them, rather thanby his published volume of verse, one judgeshim poet as well as playwright.

O flame that treads the marsh of time,Flitting for ever low,

Where, through the black enchanted slime,We, desperate, following go

Untimely fire, we bid thee stay !Into dark air above,

The golden gipsy thins awaySo has it been with love.

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HOUGH undoubtedly Galsworthyowes his position as an artist and asa thinking force to his plays, he still

carries considerable weight as both in hisnovels. That his novels have not the value

,

whether social or literary, of his plays—thatindeed his position as a novelist is largelydue to his fame as a playwright—does notmake away with the fact that he has givenus some half dozen novels of standing, whichare worth consideration in themselves, apartfrom anything their author may have donein other fields.His lack of complete success as a novelist

is partly due to those characteristics whichhave made him so successful as a playwright.The drama is a lawful means of propaganda,the novel is not—Galsworthy’s plays gain

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enormously from the social or moral problems at their base, while the same problemshave a tendency to constrict or impede thedevelopment of his novels. A play is dependent mainly on its craft, for this is apoint which lies solely with the author, inwhich no actor, however skilful, can helphim ; on the other hand, a novel dependschiefly on its human interest, and this theauthor must supply himself, since he has nointermediaries to make good where he fails.There is little doubt that abstract ideas donot help the human interest of a novel. Itis remarkable how small a part the abstractplays in the lives of even the most thoughtfulof us, and anything in the nature of aproblem or an idea, of anything belongingto the brain rather than to the heart, has atendency to destroy the illusion of real lifewh ich it is the chief object of a novelist tocreate.

Another reason why Galsworthy is moresuccessful in his plays than in his novelsis that most good plays are founded on a

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situation, most good novels on the development of a situation, and development is not acharacteristic of Galsworthy’s art. He likesto take a situation, examine it from characteristic and conflicting points of view, andshow the effect it has on different lives, buthe never attempts to develop it, to start achain of events from it, mould charactersby it. Practically every character in aGalsworthy novel, with the possible exception of The Dark Flower, is the same at theend as at the beginning. This means thatin his novels he is still a playwright as faras both Situation and character are concerned. He develops neither, he never goesforward, he goes round. The result is thathis novels are mostly plays in novel form, andthey suffer in consequence.In fact all the drawbacks of the novelsmay be said to arise from defects in thehuman interest so essential to a novelist.It is not that Galsworthy does not feel, andmost passionately, for his characters, neitheris it that they are not flesh and blood, nor

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that their stories are not real and moving.

It is rather because they are types, notindividuals, and types chosen to fit someparticular Situation which has been alreadyselected. They are never mere pegs or merepuppets, but somehow there is nothingcreative about them they lack the individualtouch which the actor can impart to a character in a play, but which the author alonecan give in a novel. Also they repeat themselves, there is not enough diversity ; thesame groups arrange themselves in different novels. Of course there are exceptionsLord Miltoun in The Patrician, Mr Stone inFraternity—but these, on examination, proveto be only a fining down of the type till itis almost an individual ; there is no defin itecreation.

However, against this defect, which isdue to the intrusion of the playwright intothe novelist’s Sphere, we must set a wonderful and seldom- failing craft, which goes farto justify that intrusion. There are fewnovelists with a finer sense of form than

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Galsworthy, few with a finer sense of style— the conciseness of the dramatist teacheshim the need Of arrangement and the fullvalue to be wrung out of a word. In one

point only does the dramatist fail thenovelist, and that, strange to say, is indialogue. Again and again the dialogue inthe novels falls flat, or is stilted, or irrelevant—and it is curious, when we remember howstrong the plays are in this respect.There is a certain inequality about theseven novels The I sland Pharisees, TheMan

of Property, The Country House, Fraternity,The Patrician, The Dark Flower, and TheFreelands. In every way the first is theweakest, but, on the other hand, the lastis not the most successful. The finestare The Man of Property and Fraternity.

Undoubtedly Galsworthy is at his bestwhen his technique is at its highest pitchof excellence, and weakest when his senseof form most fails him. Form is neverused by him to cover defects of interest,beauty

,or reality. Fraternity, which is

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which is scarcely ever dispelled by thoseilluminating phrases and flashes of insightinto his Opponents’ cause, which elsewheremake him so appealing.

There is little doubt that if The I slandPharisees were Galsworthy’s average insteadof his low- water mark, his position as anovelist would be negligible. But his othernovels, without exception, are so superiorin technique, in human interest, in beauty,and in force, that we cannot consider TheIsland Pharisees as anything but the firstuncertain step of one who is feeling his way.

In The Man of Property we have the sameidea—the satire of a class—but it is broughtbefore us so differently that comparison isimpossible.The Forsyte family are representatives

of that section of the middle class whosechief aim is Possession. The Forsytespossess many things—they possess money,they possess artistic treasures, houses,wives, and children, they even possesstalents ; but with them the verb I have is

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of more importance than its obj ect. Thisinterests me, not in itself, but because it ismine ”—is their motto. In many waysthey are less heartless, less hypocriticalthan the country Pharisees ; the consciousness of possession brings a certain stamina,a worth and solidarity, which compel admiration. Also Galsworthy has been far moretolerant in their portrayal. The Forsytesare human, they are not like the Dennants ;they are undoubtedly types, even theirdifferentiations are typical, but they aretypes of flesh and blood, not merely of pointsof V iew. There is something in the grouping of them too which is impressive. TheseSix Old brothers whose god is property havea certain greatness ; though they and theirlust of possession are satirised in manytelling episodes, we feel that neverthelessthe nation would do badly without them .

The chief representative of Forsytism

belongs, however, to one of the youngerbranches of the family. Soames Forsyteis essentially the Man of Pro perty, because

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we see the lust of possession world ng in himnot only through the splendid house he isbuilding, but through his wife Irene. It isin his attitude towards Irene that he declareshimself most definitely theMan of Property.

He is not unkind to her, he is not untrue toher, but she is his in the sense that the RobinHill house is his, and it is this realisationwhich fills her with bitterness and loathing.

Irene belongs to the contrasting groupwhich Galsworthy uses in his novels as inhis plays. She and her lover Bosinneystand for all that is antagonistic to theForsytes. In many ways Irene is one of

Galsworthy’s most vivid creations. She isa type we meet elsewhere in the novels, yetshe has about her certain elements of originality. Something individual creeps intothe magnetic softness, the passion- haunted

quietness, which are characteristic of somany Galsworthy women. She is human,and she is in revolt—but not strenuously oreffectively. Galsworthy has little sympathy

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defeats circumstances or handles them withcapable cunning. In his delineation of

June Forsyte, who belongs to this class, heis sometimes reluctantly admiring, but neversympathetic.June Forsyte, with her decided chin and

managing ways, is the antithesis of Irene,strong only In her softness. It is easy tounderstand how this very contrast wouldhave switched Bosinney

’

s love from one tothe other, but the change itself is not veryconvincingly brought about . Perhaps thisis partly due to the fact that Bosinneyhimself is not a success. He is the representative of the contrast group ; propertyto him is nothing, he spends his time andtalent—in the end risking his career—on

the house which is Soames Forsyte’s . Onthe other hand, it is his sudden knowledgethat another also owns the woman of whomhe had thought himself the sole possessorthat drives him to madness and suicide.Property makes its appeal even to him.

There is throughout the book a depth of

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

gloom, as if the Shadows of great possessionslay over it. None of the characters is reallyattractive, except, perhaps, Old Jolyon

Forsyte ; there is something subtly caddishabout them all, and the author

’s lack of

sympathy sours the whole. Studied in thelight especially of his novels, it is a strangeerror to call Galsworthy detached.

”The

Side he takes is always apparent, in Spite ofwhat he says on the other, and his lack of

sympathy with the human representativesof the Opposite point of view is Often so greatas to put them out of drawing. Fine asthe Forsytes are, they would have been muchfiner if the author had penetrated in somedegree beneath their outer skin, shownsympathy with the springs of their natureas well as understanding of their mentalattitude. His sympathies in The Man ofProperty are undoubtedly with Irene Forsyteand with Bosinney— though it would seemthat this character sometimes repelled andbaffled even his creator.On the whole there is something haunting

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about the book— something in the gloom of

its ending which makes us shudder after itis closed. Property triumphs. Bosinney isbeaten and killed by the Man of Property,and Irene is brought back to the Slaveryfrom which she revolted.

Huddled in her grey fur against thesofa- cushions, she had a strange resemblanceto a captive owl, bunched in its soft feathersagainst the wires of a cage. The suppleerectness of her figure was gone, as thoughshe had been broken by cruel exercise ; asthough there were no longer any reasonfor being beautiful, and supple, and erect.

”

Thus the curtain rings down on IreneForsyte, crushed under the heel of

prosperity,robbed of her love by a sudden

awakening of the sense of property in the

heart of the man She had thought cleanof it.The CountryHouse also deals with a class,

and it is the country equivalent of theForsytes. The Pendyces are big country

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proprietors, but the property is to them agood deal more than material possession.

It is their Position in the county that theythink of, their Standing ; Dignity is withthem almost as important as Land, and moreimportant than Money. Also they are not

quite SO much a type as the Forsytes—incertain broad characteristics they may befound in dozens of country manors, but inothers they are unique. They do everythingwith the greatest amount of unnecessarytrouble to themselves and other people.Pendyce, says Paramor to Vigil, when

discussing the threatened divorce, he’dgive his eyes for the case not to come on,

but you’ ll see he’ll rub everything up thewrong way, and it

’ll be a miracle if wesucceed. That’s Pendycitis

Even George, who in some ways breaksfree from the family tradition, is afflictedby it. It is largely owing to Pendycitisthat he loses Helen Bellew. He tires herwith that dogged quality Of his, which sparesneither himself nor her, but sends him

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charming character in Galsworthy’s novels.She is the Mother— not the Mother ! in herelemental form, but the Mother as civilisation and education and pain have madeher ; not very different from the primitivetype, perhaps, but dainty with a score of

sweet refinements. ! uieted by her longsubj ection in the school of Pendyce, She yethas the invincible courage Of gentleness ;accustomed for years to yield where her owncomfort and happiness only are concerned,she takes an impregnable stand at last whenher children’s welfare is at stake. There issomething heroic in this gentle, soft gowned,lavender- scented figure, moving so peacefully among her roses, caring so dutifully forher household and her husband, and thensuddenly putting them all from her, to takeher place beside her outcast son.

I have gone up to London to be withGeorge” (she writes simply to Pendyce) ,you will remember what I said last night.Perhaps you did not quite realise that Imeant it. Take care of poor old Roy, and

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THE NOVELS

don’t let them give him too much meat thishot weather. Jackman knows better thanEllis how to manage the roses. Please donot worry about me. Good- bye, dearHorace ; I am sorry if I grieve you.

”

Margery Pendyce is the chief of the contrast group in this novel ; with her isGregory Vigil, the idealist, who looks at thesky when it would be better if he looked atthe street and saw where he was going.

Unselfishness, quietness, and idealism arethe contrasts of Pendycitis. The ReverendHussell Barter, who is a kind of clericalPendyce, is one of Galsworthy

’s most successful attempts at humour. He is drawn withmany a memorable satiric flick, and doubtless this is a reason why he succeeds, forGalsworthy’s humour without irony is aptto be trivial.Another striking character is the Spaniel

John— here Galsworthy has succeeded in

giving a dog a very definite personality.

John is not only a dog, he is a spaniel—thedistinct psychology of the spaniel works in

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him,and we could never think of him as a

terrier or a collie. Indeed the author hastaken as much trouble over the SpanielJohn as over any character in the book, andbeen as successful.

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NE can say without much fear of

contradiction that after The Manof Property the finest of Gals

worthy’s novels is Fraternity. Indeed itcomes as near being a perfect work of

art as any novel ever written. Therehave been many novels with a strongerappeal, a wider comprehension, a greaterdepth and force, but few of which it canbe said that they fulfil more completely thecanons of novel- writing. And this is to beunderstood not only of the letter but of thespirit—Fraternity is no mere triumph oftechnique, it is a moving, human and beautiful story, about people who are real, ifdrawn in pale colours, and situations whichare Life, in spite of their elusiveness.In its perfection of balance, Fraternity

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reminds one of the plays . There is a centralsituation, flanked by two contrasting groups.It IS not of mere industrial or moral Significance, nor is it the satirisation of anyparticular class ; it is a problem which hasalways occupied human minds, and will doso till the end of time—the problem of therich and the poor. It is embodied in OldMr Stone, with his great unfinished—and,we suspect, ever to be unfinished—work on

Brotherhood. Each one of us has a shadowin those places—in those streets. MrStone is one of Galsworthy’s finest achievements. In him the author shows what fewhave even attempted to show, the infinitepathos of moral greatness. There is nodenying the greatness ofMr Stone, in spiteof his mental kink, and his pathos is asevident. He is alone, it is his own doing ;he cannot, if he would, bind himself up withothers. He writes of Fraternity, but inlife he never touches a brother’s hand—hedoes nothing to unite those two brotherswhose embrace he writes of, and his own

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life is equally remote from either. Theycome near him, they put out tentative,appealing hands—and with a wistful sighhe turns to his book.

The Classes are represented by the twoDallison families, theMasses by the Hughes,Creed, and the little model. It is remarkablehow tightly the whole fabric is drawntogether—Hilary and Stephen Dallison havemarried two sisters, Bianca and Cecilia, andtheir Shadows live together under the sameroof. We know what would be, with anaverage novelist, the result of such an effortat concentration, but nothing could bemore natural, more inevitable, than theknitting up Of these groups.The little model is not a common Gals

worthy type ; in fact, she stands almostalone in his novels. ! uiet and soft she undoubtedly is, like most Of his women, butthe meek vulgarity of her little mind is something new. She is drawn with a wonderfulsympathy, as indeed are all the charactersin the book ; for in Fraternity, Galsworthy

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does not seem to have been so much struckby the irony of his theme as by its pathos.There is one beautiful account of her

,leav

ing Hilary’s house, which sheds a tenderlight like a Spring sunset over her figure,making it at once terribly pathetic andterribly young.

She kept turning her face back as shewent down the path, as though to show hergratitude. And presently, looking up fromhis manuscript, he saw her face still atthe railings, peering through a lilac bush.

Suddenly she skipped, like a child let outof school. Hilary got up, perturbed. The

sight of that skipping was like the rays of alantern turned on the dark street of anotherhuman being’s life. It revealed, as in aflash, the loneliness of this child, withoutmoney and without friends, in the midst Ofthis great town.

”

The Hughes group is in its units to befound in many of Galsworthy’s works ! thebullying husband, gross, selfish, an animalbut an animal broken— the meek wife who

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struggle In the webs of their own natures,giving here a start, there a pitiful smallj erking, long sustained, and falling intostillness. Enmeshed they were born, en

meshed they die, fighting according to theirstrength to the end ; to fight in the hOpe offreedom,

their j oy ; to die, not knowingthey are beaten, their reward.

”

The Patrician is scarcely equal to Fraternity. In it the bitterness, which seemed tohave slumbered for a while, awakes, andhelps to distort the picture. Also in nonovel

,I think, is more obvious Galsworthy

’slack of sympathy with certain of his characters. The book suffers in having for itscentral figure a man whom the author admires but does not really understand. LordMiltoun is a noble conception, butGalsworthydoes not get to the bottom of his struggle.One feels all the way through that he admires him

,but cannot sympathise with him,

and the result is that the real grounds of

Miltoun’s actions are seldom displayed.

We never penetrate beneath the surface of74

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this character, whose inner mind we nevertheless would know rather than manywhose workings are shown us.There is also a group, the Valleys group,

whom Galsworthy is passionately wantingto treat fairly, but for whom he cannot conceal a bitterness not unflavoured with contempt. Lord Valleys, his wife, his sons, hisdaughters, are drawn with a painstakingeffort to h ide his real feeling towards them,

but the effort often breaks down ; evenBarbara, splendid and brave, has a repellinghardness in which stick one or two irOnicarrows of her creator. Courtier, who represents the Other Point of View, is sometimes rather vaguely drawn, and suffersin the Opposite way to Miltoun, for Galsworthy, while apparently sympathising withhis attitude, does not seem to have the sameadmiration for his character.The only person in the book who is both

admired and understood isMrs Noel. Herewe have a very appealing figure, tragic yetquiet, courageous yet soft, made for love,

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vibrant with passion, full of an infin itedelicacy and self- respect. Self- respect isan unfailing characteristic Of Galsworthy’sgood women ; he has no sympathy with thewoman who in times of stress loses herpersonal dignity, and forgets all those littletrivial refinements of body which are partof her greatness. Audrey Noel incorrigibly loved to look as charming as she could ;and even if no one were going to see her

,she

never felt that she looked charming enough.

”

He realises that for a woman who respectsherself it is not enough to be merely cleanand tidy, she must be as beautiful as circumstances will allow—it is not vanity but herdignity which demands it. Mrs Noel appeals because her courage is so infinite, andbecause it is so essentially a woman’s courage

,

a thing Of gentleness and soft endurance,

not of the stiff but of the smiling lip.

There is a certain unsatisfactoriness inthe tragedy of her relations with Miltoun .

He falls from his ideal, but only half-way,so to speak— the rest of his difficulty is

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solved by her abnegation. One is giventhe impression, in Spite of much talkingbetween the characters, that the vital heartof the matter has never been reached. Ifthe lark’s song means nothing— if that skyis a morass of our invention—if we arepettily creeping on, furthering nothingpersuade me of it, and I

’ll bless you. Thatdesperate cry of Miltoun seems to givemore of the essence of his struggle than anyarguments about Religion and Authority.

One feels that both were only names onlips—it was not merely a respect for

authority that madeMiltoun first deny himself Audrey, and then when he had takenher

,believe himself bound to throw aside

his public life. The appeal of Authority isnot made convincing enough, the appeal toReligion not spiritual enough, for a man of

Miltoun’

s type—one sees him acting, generally at least, according to the dead letterof both ; one knows there must have beena quickening spirit behind to drive such a

man,but one is not shown it.

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

The Dark Flower ’ is in some ways adeparture from his usual methods. Itlacks the central problem, with its balancedand contrasted groups. It is not a studyof a Situation nor of a class ; it is a studyof passion. There has always been plenty ofpassion in Galsworthy’s books ; he is nota cold writer, and though his central ideais often social or intellectual, in his treatment of it he never loses sight of the factthat human emotions are stronger thanhuman intellects, and play a more important part in all situations

,no matter

how purely technical and general these mayappear. But in The Dark Flower, passion isnot an incident or a moulding force, it isthe central theme. We are shown its growthin three different stages—its first kindlingin the heart of a boy, its consummation inthe young man and woman, its last flickerin the man who sees old age approachingand to whom youth calls.To carry Out his idea Galsworthy is forced

to put aside much of that compactness which78

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is so effective in his other novels. IndeedThe Dark Flower is really three separatestories, of which the hero, Mark Lennan, isthe connecting link. A really fine charactermight have held these three episodes together, but Lennan is vaguely drawn. Heis most convincing as boy and middle- agedman ; in the central part he is swamped inthe vehemence of his own love. Indeedthe passion of Lennan and Olive Cramieris far the greatest th ing about them— takenapart from it they are both a little colourless.Olive is much less life - like than Audrey Noel

,

Irene Forsyte, and others of her kind ; sheis vague and shadowy beside the heroines ofthe two other episodes, Anne Stormer andNell Dromore.These women are in many ways the

best- drawn characters in the book. AnneStormer, caught on the fringe of middle ageby the gust of her passion for a boy of

eighteen, swept by it, rocked by it, but conscious all the time of its hopelessness withregard to herself, its cruelty with regard to

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him, in the end gives him up to the littlegirl Of his own age, with whom he climbstrees, and in whose presence he forgets thedark flower whose scent in her bosom hadgiven him his first staggering draught of life.She is a character fine through her pathos,through the inevitableness Of her renunciation, which is not made from any highspirit of courage or self - sacrifice, but simplybecause she must.Very different is Nell Dromore, who sends

themocking cry of youth afterLennan when,

having passed through the storm of his lovefor Olive Cramier, and married his boyhood’splayfellow, Sylvia Doone, he sees old agecreeping towards him , passionless and ad

ventureless. She is an extraordinary studyof mingled abandonment and innocence.She leads him on by methods which wouldnot disgrace a courtesan if they had notabout them all the delicious shamelessnessof a child. In the end he has the strengthto wrench himself from her, knowing thatshe brings him but a false hOpe, for which his

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

legitimate way. Its structure reminds oneofTheMan of Preperty, and its environmentof The Country House. As in the first ofthese the web was spun over the frameworkof the six brothers Forsyte, so here we havethe four brothers Freeland to serve as pegs

- and they live In Circumstances that recallthe Pendyces and their problems. Not thatthey are all four country people—Felix is asuccessful author and lives at Hampstead

,

and John is in the Home Oflice ; but thefamily meets at Becket, where Stanley whohas made a fortune by exporting ploughs

,

has an estate, and Tod, the eccentric andrevolutionary

,lives the simple life

,freehold .

Then there is the old mother, one of thosetender

,sturdy, Odd patricians whom the

author can draw so clearly, and there is theyoung genereration as represented byNedda,Felix’s inquiring daughter, and Tod’ sanarchistic Derek and Sheila—also thewives of three Freelands , especially Tod

’

s

Kirsteen.

These characters are not considered so

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THE NOVELS

much in relation to each other as in relationto the central problem , which is TheLandand The Land with Galsworthy is , of course ,not the good earth but the slaves that toilon it. He studies the labouring man inconnection with his employers

,the petty

tyrannies of Manor, Parsonage, and Farm.

Bob Tryst is evicted because his marriagewith his deceased wife’ s sister displeases theSquiress, Lady Malloring , and the poorGaunts are hounded from pillar to postbecause the daughter has got into trouble.”

Galsworthy pillories Feudalism,which he

sees rampant over English rusticity, andparts ofThe Freelands read like a GladstoneLeague pamphlet.However, to any one who loathes ! the

People,

”whether of fields or streets, the cen

tral interest of TheFreelands is Galsworthy’sstudy of a modern English family. He israther fond of this especial study—we haveit in The Man of Property , The CountryHouse , andThePatrician we see it hoveringnear Fraternity. The combinations and

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

permutations of blood relationship seem tointerest him enormously—the modern pushand individualism

,half attacking, half com

bining with old - fashioned ideas of kinshipand unity. He shows how the family Ideasurvives , in spite of actual disruptions, andcan outlive even an utter lack of commonlife, interest, or sympathy—so that the unloved brother must come somehow beforethe loved stranger, simply because he isOne of the Family. It is probably a lurkingof the primitive clan instinct, and one wouldlike to see it treated of even more thoroughlythan Galsworthy has done. It is interestingto watch him with these Freelands, linkedby their family tie , and also , In this case, bythe wise

,kindly

,foolish old mother of them

all—who is,however, Tod

’s in particular.In other matters The Freelands makes its

predecessor, The Dark Flower, stand out

even more as an exception or parenthesis.In his latest novel we have all his early,usual traits ! all his old defects of toogeneral a characterisation, too careful a

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THE NOVELS

balance , too deliberate a sacrifice of theartist to the moralist, but at the same timethe virtues of these defects—restraint

,craft

,

and purpose, and, besides, those intrinsicqualities which are the real building- stuffof his work.

The characters of these four brothers,

their wives and children and associates,are

drawn with a firm touch lightened by muchsatire of the kinder sort. There is that senseand grasp of beauty which we find so inevitably in Galsworthy

’s treatment of eventhe stufliest theme. We have , too , a senseof aloofness wh ich , if it is sometimes irritating

,is occasionally majestic , and lit by

warm, sudden flashes of penetration intocharacters one would have thought, by othersigns

,to be beyond his sphere of understandi‘

ing. The book may not be so good asFraternity, it is certainly not so great as

TheMan ofProperty, but it is, nevertheless ,among the best he has given us, which isencouraging , since it is , though only temporarily, one hopes, the last.

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THE SKETCHES

LLA RUBEIN and four shortstories under the title of A Man

of Devon were published anonymously. All early efforts, they are not on aline with Galsworthy’s later work, but theyhave about them a certain beauty and individuality which makes them worth considering. Perhaps their chief characteristicis delicacy 5 they are water colours, in manyways exquisitely conceived and shaded, butperhaps a trifle pale and washed out, a trifle—it must be owned—uninteresting.Villa Rubein, describing with much sensi

tive charm the life of a half Austrian household, is full of tenderness, but lacking somehow in grip. The characters are moreattractive than most of Galsworthy’s—infact

,in no work of his do we meet such a

uniformly charming group of people. They86

THE SKETCHES

are sketched, even the less pleasing, with anentire absence of bitterness

,and the heroine,

Christian, and her little half German sisterare delightful in their freshness and gravesweetness. Miss Naylor and old Nic Treffryare also drawn with a loving and convincinghand. The book seems to have beenwrittenin a mellow mood which passed with it.Yet we pay for any absence of bitterness,propaganda or pessimism, by a corresponding lack of force. It must be confessed thatGalsworthy is most effective when he ismost gloomy, most penetrating when heis most bitter, most humorous when heis most satirical.The short stories call for no special comment exceptThe Salvation ofa Forsyte, wherewe meet for the first time Swithin Forsyte,later to figure in TheMan of Property. Weare introduced to an early adventure of his,which is treated with some technical skilland an impressive irony. The tale hasgrip, and is not far off French excellenceof craft. The other stories are too long for

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

their themes,which, if not actually thin in

themselves, are dragged out in the telling.

Of very different stuff are the fourvolumes of sketches—A Commentary, A

Motley, The Inn of Tranquillity,and The

Little Man. In these, except, perhaps, inthe last, we have some of Galsworthy

’s bestwork, much of it equal, in its different way,to the finest of the plays and novels.A Commentary deals chiefly with the lifeof the very poor, showing the intimacy of

the author’s knowledge, and the depths ofhis sympathy. Some of the sketches areindictments of the social order which favoursthose who have money and tramples thosewho have none. Justice, for instance, is afresh exposure of the oft- exposed inequalityof the divorce laws where rich and poor areconcerned. AMother is a piteous revelationof those depths of horror and humiliationwhich form the daily life of many. Con

tinually, in the plays and in the novels,Galsworthy reveals the utter brutishness Ofsome of these submerged ones. He never

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together by the central idea, which is theexposure—ironic, indignant, embittered, infinitely pitying— of the inequalities betweenthe poor and the rich. True, there is atmos

phere, style, a sense of character ; but inA Commentary the artist takes second place.AMotley

'

is, as the title implies, a collection linked up by no central view- point.Character sketches, episodes of the streetsand Of the fields, reflections on life, art,manners, anything, and all widely differentin style and length, crowd together betweenthe covers, without any definite scheme.

They Show extraordinary powers of observation and intuition, and at the same time acertain lack of grip, which is always the firstof Galsworthy’s weaknesses to come to lightin a failing Situation. Some of the sketchesare too slight, over- fined . On the otherhand

,some have true poetry and true pathos

in their conception. The style is morepolished, the pleading less special, the knowledge less embittered than inA Commentary.

Particularly successful isA Fisher ofMen, in

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THE SKETCHES

which Galsworthy is at his best, giving us asympathetic and tragic picture of a typewith which we know he has little sympathy

- there is no bitterness here, just pathos.Once More is a study of lower class lifeslightly recalling A Mother, but here againis far more tenderness, due partly, no doubt,to the wistfulness of youth that creeps intothe story. Then there are sketches of lifeand the furtive love of the London parks ;no one has realised more poignantly thanGalsworthy all the tragedy of hidden meetings and hidden partings with which our

public places are filled.

The Inn of Tranquillity is also a mixedcollection, and in it we see far more of Galsworthy the poet and the artist than of

Galsworthy the social reformer. There arein the book fragments of sheer beauty whichwould be hard to beat anywhere in modernprose. Take, for instance, the painting of

dawn In Wind in the Rocks

That god came slowly, stalking across91

JOHN GALSWORTHY

far over our heads from top to top ; then,of a sudden, his flame- white form was seenstanding in a gap of the valley walls ; thetrees flung themselves along the groundbefore him, and censers of pine gum beganswinging in the dark aisles, releasing theirperfumed steam. Throughout these happyravines where no man lives, he shows himselfnaked and unashamed, the colour of palehoney ; on his golden hair such shining asone has not elsewhere seen ; his eyes likeold wine on fire. And already he had swepthis hand across the invisible strings, for therehad arisen the music of uncurling leaves andflitting things.”

Take also just this sentence from A

Novelist’

s Allegory those pallid gleamsremain suspended like a handful of

daffodils held up against the black stuffs ofsecrecy.

”

Galsworthy allows himself to play withwords, blend them, contrast them, savourtheir sweet sound and the roll and suckof them under the tongue he becomes

a poet in prose. But it is not only words92

THE SKETCHES

that make his poetry. He seizes aspects ofbeauty and gives them to us palpitating

,

fresh from their capture, a poet’s prey. Such

isRiding inMist, a consummate study of themisty moor, damp, sweet, and dangerous.

There is, too, a wonderful sense of localityin That Old -Time Place—it throbs withatmosphere.Butwe have many studies besides ofwords

and place. There is Memories, in whichGalsworthy uses his real understanding of

dog nature, faithful and true. There is TheGrand Jury, in which he shows the fullnessof his sympathy for the human dog, thebottom dog, so generally and necessarilyignored by laws which are inevitably madefor the upper layer of humanity. We have

,

too, some illuminating comments on theworld of letters. In AboutCensorship thereis fine irony, and in Some Platitudes Concerning the Drama plenty of illumination. In

deed, in this article we are given a plainenough statement of the rules which evidently govern Galsworthy

’s own work. For

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instance A good plot is that sure edificewhich slowly rises out of the interplay of

circumstance on temperament and temperament on circumstance, within the enclosingatmosphere of an idea.

” There could be noclearer definition of the plan governingStrife and The Silver Box. The pronouncement on dramatic dialogue, too, appliesadmirably to much of Galsworthy’s own

achievement

The art of writing true dramaticdialogue is an austere art, denying itselfall license, grudging every sentence devotedto the mere machinery of the play, suppressing all j okes and epigrams severed fromcharacter, relying for fun and pathos on

the fun and tears of life. From‘ start tofinish good dialogue is hand made, like goodlace ; clear, of fine texture, furthering witheach thread the harmony and strength of adesign to which all must be subordinated.

”

In his last book of sketches—The LittleMan and otherSatires—Galsworthy hasmadea. deliberate sacrifice of beauty. He has

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left the luminous Italian backgrounds of

The Inn ofTranquillity , the rustling Englishtwilights ofAMotley , for the midnight lampon his study table. This is why

,perhaps

,

The Little Man depresses me. Galsworthyhas not stood the test—he has grown bitter.His satire is more akin to that of Swiftthan Samuel Butler, but without Swift

’

s

redeeming largeness , his tumbling restlessness. Galsworthy’s bitterness is the wellbred bitterness Of the pessimist at afternoontea ; Swift is the pessimist in the tavern,raging round and breaking pots .However, an author

’s point of view is nota fair subj ect for criticism, any more thanthe shape of his head ; he probably cannothelp it. But it may be deplored.

The most striking thing about the bookitself is the subdivision titled S tudies inEatravagance. Here we have some re

morseless, if only partial, truth—the fierceglow of the searchlight, more concentratedthough more limited than the wide shiningof the sun. We have The Writer, The

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Housewife, The Plain Man , etc. , all piercedthrough to their most startling worst.Galsworthy will make no concessions—hewill not Show us a single motherly redeemingvirtue in that woman of schemes and coverthorribleness whom he presents as a possiblevariety of British matron. SO too with hisWriter—those flickers of amiable naivetywh ich occasionally humanise the writersmost of us know are Shut out from thisportrait of an ape playing with the ABC.

It is clever, fierce, vindictive , and partly true.There are some gentler sketches in the

book—for instance, the name - piece, in whichwe have a really witty and typical pictureof an American, with his God

’ s own giftof admiring good deeds he will not do himself . There is also Abracadabra,

in whichthe satire is fimdamentally tender, and withlittle significant bitterness—though in timeone comes to resent Galsworthy’s inalienableidea that every woman is ill -used in marriage.There is also such genuine wit, terseness,and point inHallMarked that one can afford

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not to find in Moods, Songs and Doggerels,anything of permanent quality, or worthyto stand beside his other work. There aresome delightful songs of the country, of

Devon, one or two little fragrant snatches,like puffs of breeze. Butthe more ambitiouspieces, the Moods, are for the most partwanting in inspiration. They are just prose,and not nearly such fine prose as we have aright to expect from Galsworthy. One or

two stand out as poetry, and these are

mostly studies in atmosphere, such as

StreetLamps

Lamps, lamps ! Lamps ev’rywhere !You wistful, gay, and burning eyes,You stars low driven from the skiesDown on the rainyair.

Youmerchant eyes, that never tireOf spying out our little ways ;Of summing up our little daysIn ledgerings of fire

98

Inscrutable your nightly glance,

Your lighting and your snufling out,Your flicker through the windy rout,Guiding this mazy dance.

0 watchful, troubled gaze of gold,Protecting us upon our beatsYou piteous glamour of the streets,Youthless, and never old

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GALSWORTHY THE ARTIST

ALSWORTHY is an artist before heis a social reformer. It is a mistaketo consider him chiefly from the

second point of V iew ; for he is not so mucha thinker spreading his propaganda byartistic methods as an artist whose excellence is grounded in ideas. Strife, for instance, was not written to expose the evilsof our present industrial system so much asfrom the impulse to create, grounding itselfin an economic problem—which the artistdisplays and analyses, just as others, and heat other times, would display and analyseany problem of love, manners, life, or humannature, in the name of plot.For this reason his propaganda interferesvery little with his art. Moreover, it is ageneral propaganda, which lends itself moredirectly to artistic purposes than a particular

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

so as to have a Spire of meaning. Every

grouping of life and character has its inherent moral ; and the business of the dramatist is so to pose the group as to bring thatmoral poignantly to the light of day.

This ideal is completely fulfilled in Strifeand The Silver Boa, also in Fraternity, TheMan of Property, and some of the sketches

- hence it is in these that we must look forhis best work. Now and then the ideacarries away the artist, warping his vision,and we have instances of special pleading,such as Justice, The Fugitive, andThe IslandPharisees.

In a sense Galsworthy’s propaganda is apart of his technical equipment. He uses itchiefly in laying his bases ; the solidity andcentralisation of his work is due largely tothe economic and social ideas on which herears the structure of human passion andfrailty. He does not make Shaw’s mistakeof using dialogue, rather than situation, asa means of propaganda, neither does he relymuch on character. His moral is inherent in

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his situations, and he fails only when he letsit stray from the basic idea into the superstructure of character and dialogue.As an artist pure and simple his chief

assets are a sense of situation, a sense of

atmosphere, and the power of presentingboth beautifully. His sense of characteris not particularly wide or profound. Hedeals with types rather than individuals,and the same types repeat themselves a triflemonotonously. Though he has great giftsof intuition, and occasional penetratingflashes, he does not work much below thesurface. It is astonishing, when one con

siders the force and passion of so much ofhis work, to realise that it is all got fromsurface- workings—not that he ever suggeststhe shallow or superficial, it is simply a

reluctance to dig.

Take, for example, Miltoun, in The Patrician ; here he has attempted to draw a

character whose actions spring from the in

most recesses of his being, and the result isa certain unconvincingness marring a fine

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achievement, for Galsworthy can penetrateonly in swi ft spasms Of intuition, and thedelineation of a character like Miltoun’

s

requires no spasmodic descent, but a per

petual working in the buried and profound.

Galsworthy is a psychological analyst of

some skill ; he is sensitive to psychologicalvariations, but he catches these only in theirexterior manifestations, and the result isnot so much a lack of profundity as a lackof grip. For this reason his characters,charming as they sometimes are, interestingas they always are, never succeed in beingabsolutely Life—we never come to knowthem really intimately, they are more ao

quaintances than friends.This surface- working in character is liable

to impair situation, since the two are interdependent. Galsworthy is a master of situation, but occasionally, when the depths oughtto be sounded, we are put off with a consummate skill of arrangement, a perfectionof combination and interplay. This is soSplendidly done that it is generally not till

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

restraint, with almost too much restraint,but he has a wonderful power of suggestingthe heavy sweetness of passion, its j oys,its languors, its delicacies rather than itsferocities.Take, for example, the scene in TheMan of

Property, when Irene returns to her husband,after having for the first time met Bosinneyas a lover

He hardly recognised her. She seemedon fire, so deep and rich the colour of hercheeks, her eyes, her lips, and of the unusualblouse she wore. She was breathing fastand deep, as though she had been running,and with every breath perfume seemed tocome from her hair, and from her body, likeperfume from an Opening flower. Helifted his finger towards her breast, but shedashed his hand aside. Don’t touch me !she cried. He caught her wrist ; shewrenched it away. And where have youbeen ! he asked. In heaven—out of thishouse With those words she fled upstairs.

And Soames stood motionless. Whatprevented him from following her ! Was

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it that, with the eyes of faith, he sawBosinney looking down from that highwindow in Sloane Street, straining his eyesfor yet another glimpse of Irene’s vanishedfigure, cooling his flushed face, dreaming ofthe moment when she flung herself on hisbreast—the scent of her still in the air aroundand the sound of her laugh that was like asob !

Next to a sense of situation Galsworthymust be granted a sense of atmosphere.This is due to the extraordinary sensitiveness he brings into his work, as distinct frompenetration.

Strong sunlight was falling on thatlittle London garden, disclosing its nativeshadowiness ; streaks and smudges such asLife smears over the faces of those wholive too consciously. The late perfume of

the lilac came stealing forth into the airfaintly smeethed with chimney smoke.There was brightness but no glory, in thatlittle garden ; scent, but no strong air blownacross golden lakes of buttercups, from seasof springing clover, or the wind silver of

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young wheat ; music, but no full choir ofsound, no hum .

”

This passage from Fraternity shows Galsworthy’s peculiar grasp of subtleties, thosepseudo- expressions Of emotion in Nature,which only the sensitive can find in theirless obvious aspects. For the more obviousaspects, he has not so much attention. Hedeals little with storms and furies, withnature as a power. Nature to him is ratheran influence, a thing of crafty workings ;and he loves above all others hours of palesunlight, faint dawn , or, more still, twilight languid and hushed, full of troubledperfumes

All things waited. The creatures of

night were slow to come forth after thatlong bright summer’s day, watching for theshades of the trees to sink deeper and deeperinto the now chalk- white water ; watchingfor the chalk- white face of the sky to bemasked with velvet. The very black plumedtrees themselves seemed to wait in suspensefor the grape- bloom of night. All things

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Sometimes, even in the plays, the conversation of his gentlefolk is apt to be stiltedor to drag. On the other hand, the speechof the poor is always both spontaneous andsignificant. He has a wonderful power of

economy in words. Throughout the plays,

and in the most memorable dialogues in thenovels, there is not a word too much, andyet there is nothing jerky or scrappy in thegeneral impression.

Galsworthy is not a writer who owes muchto outside influence. The first thought of! influence ” in his case calls up ideas of

French and Russian literature, but it wouldbe surer to say that the resemblance is dueto French and Russian qualities in theauthor’s outlook and state of mind than todiscipleship either unconscious or deliberate.Certainly he has that infinite pity, almost

reverence, for suffering which characterisesRussian ideas. But the same pity andreverence are not expressed in the large,straightforward manner of Tolstoy or

Dostoevsky, but with Gallic subtlety and

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irony, recalling Flaubert. The writer withwhom he has greatest affinity, to whomhe may be said to be to a certain extentindebted, is Turguenev. In Turguenev wesee the meeting ground of French andRussian art . There is the breadth, thetenderness, the mysticism of the Slav,mingling with the Frenchman’s sense of

humour and sense of form. Every writerwho sets store on form must expect to becredited with French influences. Englishart is essentially naive in technique. Galsworthy has few, if any, English affinities.But, on the other hand, he has anglicisedthe foreign influences. The Russian pity isshorn of its mysticism, the French ironyof its gaiety. These two combinations arecharacteristic of the countries of their origin,and Galsworthy splits them, choosing thepity and the irony, leaving the mysticismand the gaiety—thus asserting both his

personality and his race.Galsworthy is a pessimist—not in the

spirit of fire and revolt, but in the spirit of111

JOHN GALSWORTHY

an artist, sad, rather hopeless, and com

passionate. Everywhere he sees ills—thetrampling of the weak and poor, the conflictof instinct and civilisation, the pariahdomof the enlightened, the tyranny of un

imaginativeness, hypocrisy and greed Hesuggests no remedy—in fact, he insists continually on the difficulty of finding anyremedy which shall be at once permanentand adequate—he just exposes the sore

,and

shows at the same time his burning pity forit, kindling our own.

But if he realises with painful vividnessthe evil and sorrow of life, and if a certaintired hopelessness and dislike of interferencekeep him from dreaming a brighter future,his eyes are not blind to beauty, to tenderness

,and charm. Though his fine char

acters are almost always in revolt, though hisbeauty is always softened with pathos, hisrare humour twisted with satire, we mustacknowledge that he has a true sense of thesplendour

,the loveliness, and the fun of

life. He sees them, so to speak, through a112

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A SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY OF

JOHN GALSWORTHY’

S PRINCIPAL WRITINGS

! The date is given of the firsted ition of each book. New

ed ition signifies a revision of text, change of format or

transference to a d ifferent publish er. ]From the Four Winds ! stories] (Unwin) . 1897.

Jocelyn (Duckworth) . 1898 .

Villa Rubein (Duckworth) . 1900 .

A Man of Devon !and other stories] (Blackwood) .1901.

The Island Pharisees (Heinemann) . 1904. New

edition, 1908.

The Man of Property (Heinemann) . 1906. New

editions ! 1907. (Hodder and Stoughton) . 1911.

(Heinemann) . 1915 .

The CountryHouse (Heinemann) . 1907 New edition,

1911.

A Commentary (Richards) . 1908. New edition(Duckworth) . 1910.

Fraternity (Heinemann) . 1908.

Plays. Volume I . !The Silver Box ; Joy ; Strife](Duckworth) . 1909.

! These four books were written under th e pseudonymJohn Sinjohn.

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JOHN GALSWORTHY

VillaRubein !and other stories] (Duckworth) . 1909 .

New edition, 1911. !This contains the stories

previously issued in the two volumes enumeratedabove, ! Villa Rubein and A. Man of

Devon.

The Silver Box ! separate issue] (Duckworth) . 1910.

Joy ! separate issue] (Duckworth) . 1910.

Strife ! separate issue] (Duckworth) . 1910.

Justice! play] (Duckworth) . 1910.

A Motley (Heinemann). 1910.

The Patrician (Heinemann) . 1911.

The Little Dream ! play] (Duckworth) . N.D.

The Pigeon ! play] (Duckworth) . 1912.

Moods, Songs and Doggerels (Heinemann) . 1912.

The Inn of Tranquillity ! Studies and Essays(Heinemann) . 1912.

The Eldest Son ! play] (Duckworth) . 1912.

Plays. Volume II . !The Eldest Son ; The LittleDream ; Justice] (Duckworth) . 1912.

The Fugitive ! play] (Duckworth) . 1913.

The Dark Flower (Hcinema/rm) . 1913.

The Mob ! play] (Duckworth) . 1914.

Plays. Volume III. !The Fugitive ; The Pigeon ;The Mob] (Duckworth) . 1914.

Some Slings and Arrows from John Galsworthy.

Selected by Elsie E. Morton (Elkin Mathews) .1914.

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AMERICAN BIBLIOGRAPHY

The IslandPharisees (Putnam) . 1904. New edition,1908.

The Man of Property (Putnam) . 1906.

The Country House (Putnam) . 1907. New edition(Scribner) . 1914.

Villa Rubein (Putnam) . 1908.

A Commentary (Putnam) . 1908.

Fraternity (Putnam) . 1909 .

Plays ! First Series (Putnam) . 1909.

Joy ! play] (Scribner) . 1910.

A Motley (Scribner) . 1910.

Justice ! play] (Scri bner) . 1910.

The Patrician (Scribner) . 1911.

The Little Dream ! play] (Scribner) . 1911.

The Pigeon ! play] (Scribner) . 1912.

Moods, Songs and Doggerels (Scribner) . 1912.

The Eldest Son ! play] (Scribner) . 1912.

The Inn of Tranquillity (Scribner) . 1912.

Plays ! Second Series (Scribner) . 1913.

The Fugitive ! play] (Scribner) . 1913.

The Dark Flower (Scribner) . 1913

The Mob ! play] (Scribner) . 1914.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Plays ! Third Series (Scribner) . 1914 .

Memories ! an illustrated reprint of a single studyfrom ! The Inn of Tranquillity (Scribner) .1914 .

The Little Man, and other Satires (Scri bner) . 1915 .

A Bit 0 ’ Love ! play] (Scribner) . 1915 .

The Freelands (Scribner) . 1915.

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Inn of Tranquillity , The, 88 , 91- 94 , 95

I sland Pharisees, The, 56, 57, 58, 102Jones, H A 18

J oy, 26, 37- 41, 49 , 81

Justice, 23 - 26, 37- 48 , 102

Justice (in A Commentary ) , 88

Kipling, 12Little Dream, The, 15 , 47, 50, 51, 98

LittleMan, The, 88, 94 - 97

Man of Devon , A , 16 , 86

Man of Prop erty, The, 56 , 58- 63, 69, 8°

Masefield , John, 18

Maugham , Somerset, 18Memories, 93Mob, The, 37, 41- 43

Moods, Songs and Doggerels, 16 98, 99

Mother, A, 89, 91

Motley, A, 88 , 90- 91, 94 , 97

Noveh st’s Allegory, A, 92

OnceMore, 91

Patrician, The, 16 , 55, 56, 74 77, 83, 103

P igeon, The, 47- 50

PlainMan, The, 96

Riding inMist, 16, 93

Salvation of a Forsyte, The, 87Silver Box , The, 26- 33, 34 , 35 , 37, 94 , 102

Shaw, Bernard , 18, 19, 102Some Platitudes Concerning the Drama, 93, 101

122

StreetLamp s, 98, 99Strif e, 21, 22, 24 , 26, 35 , 37, 42, 48, 94Stud ies in Extravagance, 95

ThatOld Time Place, 93Tolstoy , 110

Turguenev, 111

U ltima Thule, 97Villa Rubein and Other Stories 15, 86

W ells, H. G. , 10, 12

Wind in the Rocks, 91, 92

Writer, The, 95