OUR SNOBBERY

Evening Star, Issue 22252, 1 February 1936, Page 2

OUR SNOBBERY

[Written by Makv Scott, for the ‘ Evening Star.’]

Mr Aldous Huxley lias been declaiming against “ the inordinate snobbery of the English.” “ In no oilier country in lluropo do newspapers devoie so large a proportion of choicest space to a chronicle of tho activities id the merely rich or merely ennobled.” lie asks, with an amazement Unit is almost passionate, on whom do these “ snobbery - cxploiting weeklies” live?_ Obviously they are read and paid for by the chosen who are photographed therein; ami the ranks of the chosen, as he caustically points out, have been considerably enlarged during recent years. In search of subscribers these papers have been forced “ to rake the county hedges ” for material worthy to have their snapshots produced upon those onee-exclnsivo pages and their names upon their uhvaya-open subscription lists. But, as Mr Huxley realises, this class, though much largei and loss select than 50 years ago, is not numerous enough to account in any way for the considerable circulation of these so-called “ society journals.” Who, then, roads about tho doing of tho idle rich or enjoys them sufficiently to pay quite highly for the privilege? And why do they want to read of people with whom they have no thought of associating, or scan pictures amongst which their own has no earthly hope of ever appearing? Mr Huxley hopes that a certain proportion reads for the sake of “ sarcastically laughing,” but reflection forces him to add sadly: “ I fear, alas! that these arc* few.”

Very few, 1 fancy. Those who wish to jeer at the idle rich—supposing these pampered creatures still exist—would scarcely go to the expense of subscribing to a society journal to indulge that mockery. . The “ sarcastic laughers ” are too bitter to be as tolerant as this, too filled with earnest conviction to help support a parasitic industry by their subscriptions. When peopli feel very hotly about the wealthier classes they don’t content themselves with sitting at homo and laughing loudly and sarcastically at the pictures of their enemies. They go out and do something far more practical and often more violent.

No, I think the people who read and enjoy these rather foolish papers must belong to the far more numerous class that takes a simple and illogical joy in other people’s pleasures. You see them at the pictures, forgetting their own poverty and worries, the drabness of their lives, completely lost in the romance of the incredibly beautiful heroine, wallowing for a brief hour or two in the atmosphere of pleasure and of wealth It is they who are responsible for the popularity of a certain type of novel—the book-sellers call it “ the book that appeals to every woman ” —which reflects the film atmosphere faithfully and with greater detail; it is they who stand contentedly for hours to watch the favoured rich leave theii luxurious cars and enter some great house where a ball is given; it is they—but this time of the feminine gender only, and usually of the spinster class—who throng excitedly outside the door of any where a fashionable marriage is being solemnised. They are a loyal, humble, patient, kindly, tolerant people who, knowing little joy and excitement in their own lives, unselfishly welcome the reflection of it in other lives more fortunate.

v Mr Huxley scorns them. “They must find that snobbery, like virtue, is its own reward.” Ho speaks of their study of the fashionable _ journal; “ Reading, they enjoy vicariously the pleasures—those amazingly boring and monotonous pleasures—of the rich.” Of course he is right—he usually is—but I cannot feel quite like that about it. My reason tells me that it is all nonsense; that such an interest in the doings of the rich, the titled, or the celebrated is foolish, and, from the standpoint of logic, indefensible. Yet I find something very appealing about this unselfish enthusiasm, just as I find something infinitely touching about that crowd of poor people so pathetically content to gape at the fortunate few, knowing neither envy nor uncharitableness, grateful for the mere spectacle their wealth affords. What could be kinder, more patient, more irrational, more illogically sad? This, I fear, must be the sentimentalist point of view. Stern reason tells me that this blind acceptance of their lot, this unreasoning acquiescence in a distinction that is entirely wrong and indefensible, is the worst thing in the world for themselves. It is particularly maddening, also, for those who woulil wish to rouse them, to improve their lot, to enfranchise them. Such evangelists find this very interest and admiration of the rich degrading in itself. What have these people done to deserve it? Such complaisance, they tell us, can come only from ignorance and apathy. When they arc educated, awakened, enlightened, they will find nothing admirable in the spectacle _of mere wealth; the sight of beautiful frocks, expensive jewels and sleek, well-fed “ parasites ” will cease to allure. For the matter of that, such degrading sights will, it is to be hoped, have vanished altogether. I am afraid that all that is true and logical, _ yet 1 feel that in that millennium there will be losses as well as gains. “it may be,” says Aldous Huxley, “ that the English are snobs because they are traditionalists and hate to give up an old-established form of behaviour even when the facts that gave sense to that behaviour have long ceased to exist.” This is undeniable, yet our traditionalism is responsible for so much that is stable and admirable in our national life, for so much that is innate and essential to our characters, that we must bear with its illogical outcrops. Our monarchy and a great deal of our Constitution owe much to tradition. If all this is to be swept away, then our journals will go with them, and the logical amongst our critics will find cause for congratulation in the death of snobbery. The loyalty that the man in the street feels towards the Royal Family, the avidity with which his wife scans her “ society paper,” the love that the lower middle class has for every kind of spectacle that parades wealth, fashion, and beauty—all these are certainly illogical, perhaps even as ridiculous as Mr Huxley finds them; but they are as much a part of our national character as the monarchy is part oy our Constitution.

The Governments of many European countries have seen vast changes in this century; many kings are in exile, many societies in a state of flux. Revolutions and abdications ha, e become mere commonplaces, and new constitutions arc .p’.eiuiTul as blackberries. England alone has remained curiously unchanged; through all the turmoil the British Constitution has pursued its calm if slightly stolid course. Whether this is a matter for congratulation or regret is open to discussion; hut at least all must admit that it is remarkable. Certainly our Constitution has faults; there are inconsistencies, absurdities, grievances, injustices, as there are in all man-made things; yet only the extremist would wish to see it swent away. Rightly or wrongly, the majority of the nation is in tho main

content that things should remain as they are. There is no talk of revolution, and, compared to many European countries, little active discontent. It is just possible that the Constitution owes some of its stability to that very snobbery that enjoys looking at Lady A in tweeds or Lord B at the races.