Galsworthy as a Greek

Do you read Arthur Guiterman’s rhymed reviews? They are not to be taken too seriously, of course, though they are generally sane; but in the one on The Dark Flower he asks if such things don’t tend to weaken our moral fiber! Wow! Probably Homer might be said to do the same thing; we’d better take it out of the schools, hadn’t we? There’s an episode I recall about a female person named Helen, who was torn from her adoring husband, etc., etc. You know I don’t believe in weakening moral fiber, but beauty is beauty. All I could think of, in reading The Dark Flower, was Greek classics. Do you remember that exquisite thing (is it Euripides?)—

Galsworthy’s hero was just a Greek, swayed by Aphrodite. There’s no question of morals. And besides, he behaved pretty well—for a man!

The Case of Rupert Brooke

I can’t share The Little Review’s estimate of Rupert Brooke. I’m reminded immediately of something I found not long ago by Herbert Trench:

Swinburne’s

I like better so far as the music of it is concerned; and fully as well, perhaps, as far as ideas go. There is something rather conscious and posing in Mr. Trench’s effort. And you see why I think of him when I read Rupert Brooke. There is the same memento mori, the same hopelessness of outlook. It seems a pity to me, when a man can write as well as Brooke does in The Hill and in that exquisite sonnet beginning “Oh! Death will find me, long before I tire of watching you,” that he should waste his time on stupid, unpleasant cynicisms like Wagner and that Channel Passage, in which he doesn’t know which pain to choose—nausea or memory. I believe an Englishman can’t achieve just the right degree of mockery and brutality necessary for such an effort. Take Heine, if you will—(I’m a Heine enthusiast); he could do it with supreme artistry. Do you remember the sea poems—especially the one where he looks into the depths of the sea, catches sight of buried cities and sees his lost love (“ein armes, vergessenes Kind”)? It finishes with the captain pulling him in by the heels, crying, “Doktor, sind Sie des Teufels?” Heine can touch filth and offer it to you, and you are rather amused—as at a child. But Englishmen are too self-conscious for anything of that sort. You are shocked and ashamed when they try it, feeling in a way defiled yourself by reading. It irritates me, and I wish Mr. Brooke would stop it, right away. He’s too worth while to waste himself.

The Feminist Discussions

Do you know the story of the man, elected by some political pull to a judgeship in Indiana, who, after listening to the argument for the plaintiff, refused to hear anything further. “That feller wins,” he said decisively. On being told that it was customary and necessary to hear the defendant’s side also, he duly listened, with growing amazement. “Don’t it beat all?” he said, pathetically, at the close; “now the other feller wins.”

In much the same frame of mind I read the articles that are appearing in the current magazines on the subject of feminism and militancy. Edna Kenton’s in The Century is the only one that is content to give one side of the case. Decidedly, you will say on reading it, “That feller wins.” The Atlantic prints an admirable article by W. L. George on Feminist Intentions, and follows it hastily with a rebuttal by E. S. Martin (Much Ado About Women), fearing, I imagine, lest it would seem to be bowing its venerable head before new, profane altars. Life gets out a really excellent suffrage number, sane and logical and reasonable, and has followed it up ever since with all the flings it can collect against suffrage, militancy, or feminism in any form. A recent amusing instance of this is a letter by one Thomas H. Lipscomb, who signs himself, alack! A Modern Man, and adds that his name is legion. Judging by the terror in the communication Mr. Lipscomb’s modernity goes back as far as the Old Testament Proverbs, and the womanly ideal he so passionately upholds is in all respects the one the writer of this particular proverb acclaims. I have heard it used as a text so often, and have had it grounded into the very framework of my being so consistently, that it seems almost strange and irreverent to regard it with an alien and critical eye. And yet—just see what is expected of the poor thing: She

She

together with a few other airy trifles such as bearing and rearing children, I suppose. But most significant of all—

I should think so indeed! There seems to be little else left for him to do.

I can almost hear the writer smacking his lips over this description, which no doubt tallies closely with Mr. Lipscomb’s own notions.

For all this she is to

Possibly women have tired a little of letting their own works praise them—and nothing else! But I am taking the letter too seriously.

To go back to The Atlantic, I find Mr. George, who is in full sympathy with the movement of which he writes, classifying the demands of the feminists as follows: Economically, they intend to open every occupation to women; they intend to level the wages of women; in general, they wish to change the attitude of those who regard women’s present inferiority to men (they frankly admit that there is inferiority in many respects) as inherent and insuperable, by demonstrating that it is due merely to long lack of thorough training—(an old friend, apparently, in a new dress!) They wish also gradually to modify and change existing marriage laws so that they will be equally fair to both sexes.

A careful re-reading of Mr. Martin’s article fails to reveal much in the way of counter argument to Mr. George’s forcible appeal. There’s a great deal of courteous agreement and some rather good satire, but against the specific counts of the feminists’ intentions Mr. Martin raises no telling argument. We hear that whereas fathers wish all earthly blessings for their daughters, mothers do not, as women are jealous of women; also that mothers fear the modern woman on account of their sons, for whom they in turn wish all possible good: the modern woman will not make a good wife! Angels and ministers of grace defend us! In a double quality as daughter to a devoted and loving mother, and as a devoted and loving mother to a most precious daughter, I throw down my glove.

I am sure Mr. Martin has never acted in either of these capacities, so precious little he knows about it! Besides, I do want my son to have everything that the world provides in the way of blessings and happiness, so I want him to have as a wife a thoroughly modern woman with an awakened soul and a high ideal, to finish the good work in him which I have at least endeavored to begin.

As I read further, however, the cat begins to poke a cautious head out of the bag. Women, Mr. Martin argues, are not responsible for the blessings the feminist movement is trying to bring them. It is men! That is why he is so particular to tell us of the careful solicitude of a father for his daughters. Men, right along, have procured all happiness for women; or, if not men exactly, at least a sort of Zeit Geist—I believe he calls it “necessity.” And the poor deluded feminists are simply the little boys running along by the side of the procession and hollering. The procession is made up of vague forces, “working nowadays for the enlargement and betterment of life for women”—forces, he quaintly complains, that are “making things go too fast their way already.”

So we must take all credit from Luther and Knox and Calvin and the reformers of all times and give it to the Zeit Geist. They, too, are little boys, I suppose, who ran along and hollered. At least they hollered lustily and well, and the feminists are in good company.

And the peroration—every true woman will appreciate this: “What a husband sees in forty years, maybe, of the good and bad of life for a woman; what a father sees in his daughters and the conditions of modern life as they affect girls—those are the things which count in forming or changing the convictions of men about woman’s errand in this current world.”

Well! However far the Zeit Geist has progressed in other directions, it is plain that it has not made inroads on Mr. Martin’s consciousness of the present state of affairs. Who has given men the power and right to decide about woman’s errand in the world? For lo! these many years we have been letting husbands, fathers, and brothers decide for us just what it were best for us to do; and if the new idea has any significance at all it is just this: that we feel able to decide for ourselves what we most want and need.

M. H. P.