a psychological counter-current in recent fiction-第2章

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picture；　not　a　map；　that　Mr。　White　has　been　making；　and　the

photograph　itself；　though　it　may　include；　does　not　represent

everything。　　Some　years　ago　there　was　a　silly　attempt　to　reproach

the　true　painters　of　manners　by　calling　them　photographic；　but　I

doubt　if　even　then　Mr。　White　would　have　minded　any　such　censure

of　his　conscientious　work；　and　I　am　sure　that　now　he　would　count

it　honor。　　He　cannot　be　the　admirable　artist　he　is　without

knowing　that　it　is　the　inwardness　as　well　as　the　outwardness　of

men　that　he　photographs；　and　if　the　reader　does　not　know　it；　the

worse　for　the　reader。　　He　is　not　the　sort　of　reader　who　will　rise

from　this　book　humiliated　and　fortified；　as　any　reader　worthy　of

it　will。



The　author　has　put　his　best　foot　forward　in　the　opening　story；

〃The　Man　on　Horseback；〃　which；　when　I　read　it　a　few　years　ago　in

the　magazine　where　it　first　appeared；　seemed　to　me　so　perfect　in

its　way　that　I　should　not　have　known　how　to　better　it。　　Of

course；　this　is　a　good　deal　for　a　critic　to　say；　it　is　something

like　abdicating　his　office；　but　I　repeat　it。　　It　takes　rather

more　courage　for　a　man　to　be　honest　in　fiction　than　out　of　it；

for　people　do　not　much　expect　it　of　him；　or　altogether　like　it　in

him；　but　in　〃The　Man　on　Horseback〃　Mr。　White　is　at　every　moment

honest。　　He　is　honest；　if　not　so　impressively　honest；　in　the

other　stories；　〃A　Victory　for　the　People；〃　〃A　Triumph's

Evidence；〃　〃The　Mercy　of　Death；〃　and　〃A　Most　Lamentable　Comedy；〃

and　where　he　fails　of　perfect　justice　to　his　material；　I　think　it

is　because　of　his　unconscious　political　bias；　rather　than

anything　wilfuller。　　In　the　story　last　named　this　betrays　itself

in　his　treatment　of　a　type　of　man　who　could　not　be　faithful　to

any　sort　of　movement；　and　whose　unfaithfulness　does　not

necessarily　censure　the　movement　Mr。　White　dislikes。　　Wonderfully

good　as　the　portrait　of　Dan　Gregg　is；　it　wants　the　final　touch

which　could　have　come　only　from　a　little　kindness。　　His　story

might　have　been　called　〃The　Man　on　Foot；〃　by　the　sort　of

antithesis　which　I　should　not　blame　Mr。　White　for　scorning；　and　I

should　not　say　anything　of　it　worse　than　that　it　is　pitilessly

hard；　which　the　story　of　〃The　Man　on　Horseback〃　is　not；　or　any　of

the　other　stories。　　Sentimentality　of　any　kind　is　alien　to　the

author's　nature；　but　not　tenderness；　especially　that　sparing　sort

which　gives　his　life　to　the　man　who　is　down。



Most　of　the　men　whom　Mr。　White　deals　with　are　down；　as　most　men

in　the　struggle　of　life　are。　　Few　of　us　can　be　on　top　morally；

almost　as　few　as　can　be　on　top　materially；　and　probably　nothing

will　more　surprise　the　saints　at　the　judgment　day　than　to　find

themselves　in　such　a　small　minority。　　But　probably　not　the　saints

alone　will　be　saved；　and　it　is　some　such　hope　that　Mr。　White　has

constantly　in　mind　when　making　his　constant　appeal　to　conscience。　

It　is；　of　course；　a　dramatic；　not　a　didactic　appeal。　　He　preaches

so　little　and　is　so　effectively　reticent　that　I　could　almost　with

he　had　left　out　the　preface　of　his　book；　good　as　it　is。　　Yes；

just　because　it　is　so　good　I　could　wish　he　had　left　it　out。　　It

is　a　perfect　justification　of　his　purpose　and　methods；　but　they

are　their　own　justification　with　all　who　can　think　about　them；

and　the　others　are　themselves　not　worth　thinking　about。　　The

stories　are　so　bravely　faithful　to　human　nature　in　that　political

aspect　which　is　but　one　phase　of　our　whole　average　life　that　they

are　magnificently　above　all　need　of　excusing　or　defending。　　They

form　a　substantial　body　of　political　fiction；　such　as　we　have　so

long　sighed　for；　and　such　as　some　of　us　will　still　go　on　sighing

for　quite　as　if　it　had　not　been　supplied。　　Some　others　will　be

aware　that　it　has　been　supplied　in　a　form　as　artistically　fine　as

the　material　itself　is　coarse　and　common；　if　indeed　any　sort　of

humanity　is　coarse　and　common　except　to　those　who　themselves　are

so。



The　meaning　that　animates　the　stories　is　that　our　political

opportunity　is　trammelled　only　so　far　as　we　have　trammelled　it　by

our　greed　and　falsehood；　and　in　this　aspect　the　psychology　of　Mr。

White　offers　the　strongest　contrast　to　that　of　the　latest　Russian

master　in　fiction。　　Maxim　Gorky's　wholly　hopeless　study　of

degeneracy　in　the　life　of　〃Foma　Gordyeeff〃　accuses　conditions

which　we　can　only　imagine　with　difficulty。　　As　one　advances

through　the　moral　waste　of　that　strange　book　one　slowly　perceives

that　he　is　in　a　land　of　No　Use；　in　an　ambient　of　such　iron　fixity

and　inexorable　bounds　that　perhaps　Foma's　willingness　to　rot

through　vice　into　imbecility　is　as　wise　as　anything　else　there。　

It　is　a　book　that　saturates　the　soul　with　despair；　and　blights　it

with　the　negation　which　seems　the　only　possible　truth　in　the

circumstances；　so　that　one　questions　whether　the　Russian　in　which

Turgenieff　and　Tolstoy；　and　even　Dostoyevsky；　could　animate　the

volition　and　the　expectation　of　better　things　has　not　sunk　to

depths　beyond　any　counsel　of　amelioration。　　To　come　up　out　of

that　Bottomless　Pit　into　the　measureless　air　of　Mr。　White's

Kansas　plains　is　like　waking　from　death　to　life。　　We　are　still

among　dreadfully　fallible　human　beings；　but　we　are　no　longer

among　the　damned；　with　the　worst　there　is　a　purgatorial

possibility　of　Paradise。　　Even　the　perdition　of　Dan　Gregg　then

seems　not　the　worst　that　could　befall　him；　he　might　again　have

been　governor。





IV。　



If　the　human　beings　in　Dr。　Weir　Mitchell's　very　interesting　novel

of　〃Circumstance〃　do　not　seem　so　human　as　those　Russians　of　Gorky

and　those　Kansans　of　Mr。　White；　it　is　because　people　in　society

are　always　human　with　difficulty；　and　his　Philadelphians　are

mostly　in　society。　　They　are　almost　reproachfully　exemplary；　in

some　instances；　and　it　is　when　they　give　way　to　the　natural　man；

and　especially　the　natural　woman；　that　they　are　consoling　and

edifying。　　When　Mary　Fairthorne　begins　to　scold　her　cousin；　Kitty

Morrow；　at　the　party　where　she　finds　Kitty　wearing　her　dead

mother's　pearls；　and　even　takes　hold　of　her　in　a　way　that　makes

the　reader　hope　she　is　going　to　shake　her；　she　is　delightful；　and

when　Kitty　complains　that　Mary　has　〃pinched〃　her；　she　is

adorable。　　One　is　really　in　love　with　her　for　the　moment；　and　in

that　moment　of　nature　the　thick　air　of　good　society　seems　to　blow

away　and　let　one　breathe　freely。　　The　bad　people　in　the　book　are

better　than　the　good　people；　and　the　good　people　are　best　in

their　worst　tempers。　　They　are　so　exclusively　well　born　and　well

bred　that　the　fitness　of　the　medical　student；　Blount；　for　their

society　can　be　ascertained　only　by　his　reference　to　a　New　England

ancestry　of　the　high　antiquity　that　can　excuse　even　dubious　cuffs

and　finger…nails　in　a　descendant　of　good　principles　and　generous

instincts。



The　psychological　problem　studied　in　the　book　with　such　artistic

fineness　and　scientific　thoroughness　is　personally　a　certain　Mrs。

Hunter；　who　manages　through　the　weak…minded　and　selfish　Kitty

Morrow　to　work　her　way　to　authority　in　the　household　of　Kitty's

uncle；　where　she　displaces　Mary　Fairthorne；　and　makes　the　place

odious　to　all　the　kith　and　kin　of　Kitty。　　Intellectually；　she　is

a　clever　woman；　or　rather；　she　is　a　woman　of　great　cunning　that

rises　at　times　to　sagacity；　but　she　is　limited　by　a　bad　heart　and

an　absence　of　conscience。　　She　is　bold　up　to　a　point；　and　then

she　is　timid；　she　will　go　to　lengths；　but　not　to　all　lengths；　and

when　it　comes　to　poisoning　Fairthorne　to　keep　him　from　changing

his　mind　about　the　bequest　he　has　made　her；　she　has　not　quite　the

courage　of　her　convictions。　　She　hesitates　and　does　not　do　it；

and　it　is　in　this　point　she　becomes　so　aesthetically　successful。　

The　guilt　of　the　uncommitted　crimes　is　more　important　than　the

guilt　of　those　which　have　been　committed；　and　the　author　does　a

good　thing　morally　as　well　as　artistically　in　leaving　Mrs。　Hunter

still　something　of　a　problem　to　his　reader。　　In　most　things　she

is　almost　too　plain　a　case；　she　is　sly；　and　vulgar；　and　depraved

and　cruel；　she　is　all　that　a　murderess　should　be；　but；　in

hesitating　at　murder；　she　becomes　and　remains　a　mystery；　and　the

reader　does　not　get　rid　of　her　as　he　would　if　she　had　really　done

the　deed。　　In　the　inferior　exigencies　she　strikes　fearlessly；　and

when　the　man　who　has　divorced　her　looms　up　in　her　horizon　with

doom　in　his　presence；　she　goes　and　makes　love　to　him。　　She　is　not

the　less　successful　because　she　disgusts　him；　he　agrees　to　let

her　alone　so　long　as　she　does　no　mischief；　she　has；　at　least；

made　him　unwilling　to　feel　himself　her　persecutor；　and　that　is

enough　for　her。



Mrs。　Hunter　is　a　study　of　extreme　interest　in　degeneracy；　but　I

am　not　sure　that　Kitty　Morrow　is　not　a　rarer　contribution　to

knowledge。　　Of　course；　that　sort　of　selfish　girl　has　always　been

known；　but　she　has　not　met　the　open　recognition　which　constitutes

knowledge；　and　so　she　has　the　preciousness　of　a　find。　　She　is　at

once　tiresome　and　vivacious；　she　is　cold…hearted　but　not

cold…blooded；　and　when　she　lets　herself　go　in　an　outburst　of

passion　for　the　celibate　young　ritualist；　Knellwood；　she　becomes

fascinating。　　She　does　not　let　herself　go　without　having　assured

herself　that　he　loves　her；　and　somehow　one　is　not　shocked　at　her

making　love　to　him；　one　even　wishes　that　she　had　won　him。　　I　am

not　sure　but　the　case　would　have　been　a　little　truer　if　she　had

won　him；　but　as　it　is　I　am　richly　content　with　it。　　Perhaps　I　am

the　more　content　because　in　the　case　of　Kitty　Morrow　I　find　a

concession　to　reality　more　entire　than　the　case　of　Mrs。　Hunter。　

She　is　of　the　heredity　from　which　you　would　expect　her　depravity；

but　Kitty　Morrow；　who　lets　herself　go　so　recklessly；　is；　for　all

one　knows；　as　well　born　and　as　well　bred　as　those　other

Philadelphians。　　In　my　admiration　of　her；　as　a　work　of　art；

however；　I　must　not　fail　of　justice　to　the　higher　beauty　of　Mary

Fairthorne's　character。　　She　is　really　a　good　girl；　and　saved

from　the　unreality　which　always　threatens　goodness　in　fiction　by

those　limitations　of　temper　which　I　have　already　hinted。



　

V。　



It　is　far　from　the　ambient　of　any　of　these　imaginary　lives　to

that　of　the　half…caste　heroine　of　〃A　Japanese　Nightingale〃　and

the　young　American　whom　she　marries　in　one　of　those　marriages

which　neither　the　Oriental　nor　the　Occidental　expects　to　last

till　death　parts　them。　　It　is　far；　and　all　is　very　strange　under

that　remote　sky；　but　what　is　true　to　humanity　anywhere　is　true

everywhere；　and　the　story　of　Yuki　and　Bigelow；　as　the　Japanese

author　tells　it　in　very　choice　English；　is　of　as　palpitant

actuality　as　any　which　should　treat　of　lovers　next　door。　　If　I

have　ever　read　any　record　of　young　married　love　that　was　so

frank；　so　sweet；　so　pure；　I　do　not　remember　it。　　Yet；　Yuki；

though　she　loves　Bigelow；　does　not　marry　him　because　she　loves

him；　but　because　she　wishes　with　the　money　he　gives　her　to　help

her　brother　throug