Fiction
BY L. A. G. STRONG WREN, in the course of the next few years, a systematic attempt is made to estimate the significance of Arnold Bennett, I prophesy that one of its first efforts will be to restore to its due place that greatly underrated novel, The Pretty Lady. The unfinished work now before us does not belong to the same class, but it is written out of the same side of Bennett's interests. Its women have more in common with Queen than with Hilda Lessways. The value of such novels lies in the appeal their subjects made, not only to Bennett's innocence, but to the streak of poetry and mysticism in his nature. The curiosity that got to the bottom of Imperial Hotel, that recon- structed secrets from the shavings of every literary workshop, was baffled here : and men like Bennett often do their best work when confronted with a subject which they do not fully understand.
I have no doubt that many astute readers will foresee exactly how Dream of Destiny would have ended. I cannot, and remain tantalized to know how the affair between Roland and Phoebe was to develop. Roland Smith, the wealthy bachelor (a younger, rather less polished version of G. J. Hoape) met at a party a young woman of whom he had dreamed that he was married to her and that she died in childbirth. The " pretty lady " turned out, this time, to be a star actress named Phoebe Friar. Roland obviously got on more than well with her ; she achieved a great success, and had a breakdown immediately after the first night. In a brief, hysterical encounter, she expressed sudden animosity against Roland. . . .
The early chapters have the old gusto and love of detail, but Bennett seems to be writing, half fatigued, to please himself :
" They talked dressing-gowns, and then hosiers generally, and then curved off to bootmakers. The men's shops of the West End were judged and classed. The complex and secret existence of well- dressed males who entered their clubs as carelessly as though their clothes grew on them by the aid of nature alone, was laid bare with all ite tragedies and its brief triumphs. All these matters were settled. But beneath the floating bubbles of the chatter of the two cronies ran the slow, deep stream of their ideas concerning women. Roland especially, against his superficial inclination, was still seriously preoccupied by the great and terrible subject and the myopic wrong-headedneas of Tommy thereon. He deemed it his duty as a true friend to utter a few remarks to Tommy. He would ; yet he would not ; yet he would. At last the words came out- of themselves."
It is with real sadness that one realizes that the companion- able stream of writing can flow no longer. A long short story, Venus Rising from the Sea, also has the stage for a background.
Mr. Joseph Shearing, studying an historical murder case in which a duchess was the victim and a governess " the other woman," has sought to reconstruct imaginatively the life and personality of the governess. His Lucille owes more than a little to Becky Sharpe, and the original story, with the duke's suicide and the long and fruitless interrogation of the governess, has given him great opportunities : but he deserves all credit for contriving, out of it all, a first-class murder story and psychological study combined. Forget-Me-Not is an excellent piece of work—vigorous, definite, and unusual.
Miss Margaret Irwin goes one further. She gives us an historical novel in which " none of the characters is imaginary." The story of " Madame," sister of Charles H of England, and her marriage to " Monsieur," the vain and perverted younger brother of Louis XIV of France, is well known in outline. Miss Irwin, having first soaked her imagination in the period, uses it to fill the outline : and so well has she prepared herself for her task that the reader readily believes that not a person could speak out of character in her pages. Here is Monsieur, welcoming back his Minettc
" ' Yon did not like my Lucrece,' he said, and she could not think at first Ivhat he Was talking of. ' Oh yes,' he told her, I saw you go out into the garden to avoid speaking to me, I see everything, everything that is to do with you. Will you not see a little too See how women have sickened me, always teasing one to pay atten- tion to their charms or their virtues ? If I could tell you how women have pestered me ! And to one who absolutely demanded that I should make love to her, I replied languidly—" If you will first per. mit me to put on my gloves." Yet they go on. Only you are different. I feel I can say anything to you. Besides you, all other women seem like false fat slugs.' "
And then, presently, the truth :
"'They should not have married me to you,' said Monsieur, ' they should not have married me at all.' " Royal Flush is too full to summarize. Charles, Monsieur, Buckingham (" the dragonfly "), Moliere, live and move and have their authentic being in its pages : the intrigues are most happily recorded, making us share in their urgency. I am unresponsive to historical novels as a class, but this is an exception : the Book Society has chosen advisedly.
Mr. George Slocombe, who ought to know a great deal about these things, tells us in Dictator how a certain Anarchist, re- turning as a revolutionary to Thalia, plays a trick upon his people and has himself appointed Dictator. The story of Hannibal's career is uncannily interesting, and he comes out well at its climax : but it is hard not to feel, at times, that one kind of writing has been superimposed upon another. Any- one who has ever attempted to take castor oil in hot water will know exactly what I mean—and I leave the intelligent reader to infer what train of thought, suggested by Mr. Slocombe's story, put into my head so unsavoury a simile.
Dr. Aicadre, whose clinic at Deux Estaings had for some time been attracting favourable attention, loved and married Laure Teterger for the beauty of her hands. Laure's mother, Madame Teterger, was a woman of uncompromising manner and appearance, and, given fresh status by the marriage, she asserted herself to some purpose. She cowed her unfortunate son-in-law on every point save one, the new wing he had resolved to build to his clinic. He won, but not for long. An accident put him totally in her power ; he suffered endless humiliation ; Laure was a broken reed, the unwilling accessory to his final betrayal. The background of Miss Harris' novel, pointing, perhaps over-emphatically, the contrast between French and English family life, is supplied by the village and the English club which takes the place of the clinic after Aicadre's accident. A sound, interesting story.
Mrs. Elinor Mordaunt is a clever and accomplished writer, and it is pleasant to see her recover her true form. Her Cross Winds blow strangely, with the scent of the South Seas and the tropics, in a story that keeps close to fever heat. Lilith had been well and truly acquitted of the murder of the in- famous Kofft, but Sir Francis Graeme, who married her, was not satisfied with the evidence. He brooded over it, torturing himself, till at last the faithful Mugsy set his mind at rest. The theme is well suited to Mrs. Mordaunt's talent, and she makes much of it.
The Nine cafe in Soho had a bad name when Frasco took it over, and it continued to keep it, despite all his efforts towards respectability. It was crowded with out-of-works, prostitutes, shoddy shop-assistants, so-called journalists, and all the riff- raff of the quarter. Mr. Scott Moncrieff's book has neither hero nor plot, but the café, his unit, enables him to build a pattern of squalor that compels and hold our attention. He cannot always resist a phrase for its own sake (e.g., the stoat watching its young), but he is a good, businesslike writer with a sense of character which at its best is vivid and strong. Prominent in his rogues' gallery are Larry the journalist, who, after nights of tramping the streets (brilliantly told), becomes a crook and is caught at last ; Porlock, once an artist, who comes down to passing dud half-crowns in teashops ; Mercurio, once a Strong Man, now professor of phrenology, astrology, philosophy, and communism ; Captain Artz, the swindler with a stammer ; Jane, who wanted to do what she could for Larry, but without success ; and Frasco himself, torn between loyalty to the Nine and to his wife. Café Bar is not exactly reading for the schoolroom, but it is good stuff, and its account of the underwOrld rings true..
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