NOVELS.
ELIZA GETTING ON.•
THIS is a very short book, but it is just seven pages too long, and, unluckily, those seven pages come at the very beginning. There are certain subjects out of which fun ought only to be extracted in desperate emergencies, such as funerals, and Mr. Barry Pain has not the excuse of being gravelled for lack of humorous matter. Like Swift, he could write a poem on a broomstick, and this reminds us that Swift was responsible for the saying which more than anything else has helped to keep alive this cadaverous type of joke— viz., that the merriest faces were to be seen in mourn- ing coaches. Anyhow, when Eliza's husband begins with a few words on the subject of Eliza's mother's funeral, and describes the condition of the driver of one of the coaches, the lettering on the coffin plate, the lack of sherry and sandwiches, the colour of his brother-in-law's trousers, and the genuineness of the tail of the near-side horse in the second coach, we have Mr. Barry Pain at his very worst. Fortunately this fit does not last long, and, to adapt the narrator's own phrase, we "will not pursue the subject further." We "prefer to wipe the whole thing " out of our mind.
The motive of the book is simple enough. Eliza's husband, a conscientious clerk in a City office, has had his salary raised and Eliza has come in for a small legacy of furniture, so they de3ide to move into a house more appropriate to their class of life and take a suburban residence named " Meadowsweet." " The previous tenant had made rather a hobby of the bit of the garden at the back, but the agent overdid it in calling it Old-world.' " Then we have the move, in which Eliza's husband devised a patent scheme for numbering the furniture, which of course broke down. This is typical of the man throughout ; he is methodical to a fault, but his schemes are generally upset by his having neglected to take the human factor into account. His brain works in vacuo, like a child's ; he is also extremely credulous, pompous, and quite devoid of humour. Eliza, on the other hand, has a sense of humour, not very distinguished in quality, it is true, but still genuine ; and that is where the trouble comes in. When her husband suggests that it would be more in accordance with their altered circumstances if they kept two servants, " Call it three," replied Eliza. " Three girls, besides the butler, of course. The chauffeur will have to sleep in the orchid-house, but that can be arranged. Right away. Toot-toot !" These sallies only distress her husband, but, defeated in one scheme, he at once starts a fresh one. He initiates Eliza in the use of finger-bowls, only to find them used for planting bulbs in. He induces her to combat a plague of flies by the purchase of fly-strings, with the result that he is himself entangled therein, to the serious damage of his wardrobe. His anxiety to climb in the social scale, coupled with his extreme credulity, renders him a prey to practical jokers and impostors. He accepts an
• Eliza Getting On. By Barry Pain. London: Cassell and Co. [1s.]
invitation to recite at a smoking concert, and laboriously commits to memory a poem of Browning, only to find that the rendezvous does not exist. Here, as in everything else, his preparations are admirably complete :— " The piece selected by me for recitation was Incident of the French Camp.' This is a poem by Robert Browning, an author of the highest class ; now, unfortunately, dead. This piece is specially recommended by Mrs. Bewley in her admirable work, for three reasons : it begins quietly, and then works up ; it gives the reciter an opportunity to imitate Napoleon, a great general, though of doubtful morality ; it provides a fine dramatic climax. In fact, the frontispiece is an actual photograph of Miss Agnes Bewley in this piece, giving her imitation of Napoleon, with the words underneath:
" With neck out•thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind.
A very curious phenomenon of the human memory occurred in connection with this piece. On Monday night I repeated it to• Eliza, and had every word perfect. To make assurance doubly sure, I studied it again in the train going to and from the City on Tuesday. On the evening of that day ftried to repeat it again, and the only line I got right was the last one, Smiling the boy fell dead.' Some scientific gentleman may like to give an explana- tion of this. Cobbold said definitely that every great actor had suffered from it at one time or another. I had some difference of opinion with Eliza as to this last line. It was a question of facial expression. She said, Why do you grin when you say the last line ?" Because it says, as distinctly as words can speak, " Smiling the boy fell dead." I do it on purpose. It's a sort of illustration. I smile because the boy smiled.' Then I suppose you'll fall dead too, because that's what the boy did ? " Enough of that,' I said. ' If you merely wish to play the fool I will take it into the garden and study it there.' I won't say anything else,' said Eliza. 'But don't go and do it in the garden. We are so overlooked.'" Then we have the episode of the bogus club, the tragedy of the grey flannel trousers and the Tyrolese exercises, and the purchase of the wonderful " Aquapen." But as the diverting chronicle proceeds, the hero ceases to be the invariable butt of his wife and others. He plays up nobly to Eliza in her splendidly mendacious plan of spending their holiday at home and giving out that they had gone to a romantic village in Sussex ; and be wins the reluctant respect of his crusty employer by refusing to be victimised for his benefit.
The little book suggests inevitable comparisons with the Messrs. Grossmiths' famous Diary of a Nobody, but there is no need to labour what is, after all, only a family resemblance. Eliza Getting On appeals by its own consider- able merits as a faithful and entertaining presentation of the homely eccentricities that enliven essentially commonplace temperaments.
Previous page
