VI
NOVELS OF "GAY LIFE," WITH THE PROSTITUTE HEROINE, ARE, QUITEOBVIOUSLY, STRONG MORAL INTOXICANTS.
One does not pronounce the subject forbidden. We know, and recognize,that a man's mistress _may_ be a nobler woman than his wife, the lovebetween them more real; we know and recognize where mere passion maylead; and we do not carelessly push beyond the pale, those whom ahundred different circumstances—quite different degrees of moralweakness or reckless defiance through special trouble—may have led tolive on man's desires. We do not dismiss them from thought, reading,and conversation.
Nevertheless many novels now written use these most grave issues formere dramatic effect, or to confound morality; and, to these ends,offer a falsely attractive picture of emotional adventure. In histerrible _Bed of Roses_, on the other hand, Mr. W. L. George treatshis theme with the definite object of exposing the tragedy of a youngwoman with no training, suddenly forced to earn her living; and ofexpressing his righteous anger against the conditions of civilization.Because, he declares, "a woman can scratch up a living but not afuture; and the only job she's really fit for is to be a man's keep,legal or illegal, permanent or temporary." The narrative itself ismost emphatically not free from offence, but the motive is honest andsincere.
Mr. Gilbert Cannan, again, with less earnest intention but stilllegitimately, seems to have written _Pink Roses_ to illustrate thedemoralizing effects of the war on a quite decent, average young man,who was "left out" of things—through a weak heart. He drifts into anexperiment of lust, but is not finally destroyed, because he recognizedfrom the first that he had only sought the adventure—to fill the blankyears.
The frail "Cora" of Mr. Snaith's _Sailor_ merely stands for temptation,which no novelist can omit. The episode is not shirked, but it istreated with all the traditional reticence, which puts it outside ourdiscussion here.
In these examples the motive may be acknowledged towardsjustification; but such books as Mr. W. L. George's _Confessions ofUrsula Trent_ only respond to a morbid preference for melodramaticatmosphere: they assume, and encourage, our interest in the unclean.
To heighten the effect, they are—almost inevitably—untrue. Theattractions and drama are exaggerated, giving a false glamour to thegravest tragedy of human nature. There is here obvious adventure,and far greater variety or colour than we can, most of us, reach inordinary respectable life. There is even some real liberty for theindividual (though far less than these superficial narratives suggest),in dramatic contrast to the slaving drudgery and imprisoned minds—ofunderpaid long hours of toil and drab unloving homes.
The hopeless tragedy, the bitter knowledge, the utter weariness and theslavery of the soul do not provide the novelist with dramatic material,and are—to a large extent—left out of the picture. He slurs over,or altogether ignores, the blunting of moral sense, the coarsening ofmoral fibre, the lowering of all ideals: the gradual loss of powerover oneself, loss of will, loss of freedom, loss—even—of desire.He may use the more obvious foulness and brutality as an occasion fordrama—naturally not wishing to be transparently unreal. The moraltragedy is not _there_.
But by his own art standard, that demands the exact truth, he iscondemned; and he is guilty of just that falsehood which he set outto expose and revile—of treating his characters as a _class apart_,rather types than individuals. As the Victorians assumed, withoutcharity, they were always lower than the "respectable"; he almostconveys the impression that they are necessarily higher—as careless,and far more dangerous, an assumption.
We can perhaps see more clearly where this perverse attack uponconvention really leads from another example of fiction, franklydesigned to sell.
It is, indeed, hard to detect the serious object or thought behind suchbooks as _The Age of Consent_. The publisher claims "extraordinarydelicacy" for its treatment of a "difficult, perilous, and excitingsituation," which is "modern in the fullest sense." There is, we admit,nothing coarse here in language or thought, a welcome exception to-day;and the combination of essential purity, in a very real sense, with acourageous acceptance of life, is revealed with real understanding ofmorality and of our natural instincts.
In other words, Pamela is a true woman; with exceptional possession ofherself, heroic impulse and a clean mind; capable of sustained, genuineself-sacrifice and self-restraint.
_But when we consider the tests by which her nature is revealed anddeveloped, the sordid vice in which she grew from girl to woman;the whole impression is reversed._ Circumstances and atmosphere areviolently morbid and also quite abnormal. We have not only everyconceivable variety in the cruel and profit-sharing intrigues of lust(with no sudden impulse to excuse, if not condone); but illustrationand discussion of the most extreme and vile form of criminal mania thatserves no purpose but to heighten the crude sensationalism.
The legal problem suggested by the title (a "practical" issue ofgrave importance to public morality) is only used for the mechanismof the plot; and spiritual purity is fertilized by manure. This, ofcourse, may be achieved by a strong nature: virtue does sometimestriumph against long odds. But such books without doubt imply that thesurroundings of loathly sin _provide the most favourable soil_ for thegrowth and strengthening of a girl's innocence to perfect womanhood.Which is a lie.
_Can we finally hesitate to proclaim that too many novels, writtenround "gay life," create moods and stimulate emotions, by which truthand the Right are hidden or denied?_