LITERATURE.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 17038, 23 June 1917, Page 2

LITERATURE.

A CAUSERIE. ' Br Constant Reader. AN ULSTERMAN'S STORY.* "Do you remember that story by H. G. Wells, called 'In the Days oi the Comet'?" "Is. that the green "vapour story?" "Yes. Well wo want a green vapour very badly in Ireland, something to" obliterate every memory and leave us all "with fresh minds!" These _ sentences of a conversation in ' Changing Winds," a now novel by Mr St. John G. Ervine, stamp it as essentially one of the book 3 to be read to-day when the British Government, by summoning an Irish Convention and by granting an amnesty to the Irish rebels, is making a determined effort to" settle the Homo Rule question and to bring peace to a distressful nation. As a prelude and introduction to the novel, I know nothing better than Mr St. John .Ervine's little book on "Sir Edward Carson and the Ulster Movement" in the "Irishmen of To-day" series. This brilliant brochure contains very little about Sir Edward Carson, but it says a great deal ,pl)Out tho Ulster Movement, and in extenuation the author writes:—"Anyhow, it is not'my . fault that thero is so little to say about Sir Edward Carson. I would have said more if thero had been moro to say." The promise of Mr !pt. John Ervine's writing, however, is in such a passage as this, which has direct reference to tho conversation already quoted:— The world is lull of deadly vapours, and tho history of mankind is a long epic of the attempts that men make to dispel thorn. It sometimes happens that poisoned men behave, in a way that makes tho task of dispelling these vapours more difficult, but tho Force that animates the world will not bo over-ruled forever by little angry men, inflamed by poisons which they mistake for healmg potions. Thero will come great gales out of heaven that will blow tho vapours from the valleys and leave the hill-tops clear to every eye. Every act of reconciliation is a gale from God, and when. Protestants and Catholics, Orangemen and Ancient Hibernians put their hands together, and the four beautiful fields of Cathleen-ni-Houli-han become ono pasture there will be no poisonous vapour left in Ireland to obscure the destiny of Irishmen.

Three years ago, just before the war began, Mr Ervine made his debut as a novelist with "Mrs Martin's Man," a story which ■was exceedingly well received on its first appearance, and which excited keen anticipation of things to come. Three years earlier, in 1911, Mr Ervine came before tho public in connection with tho Ulster Literary Theatre, which staged his "Mixed Marriages," a play setting forth tho essential Ulster problem of the conflict between Catholic and Protestant, a theme aJready handled by another Ulster playwright, Mr Lewis rureell, in "Tho Enthusiast." In 1912 Mr Ervino followed up his initial dramatic success with "The Magnanimous Lover," a play which, by its use of tho word "bastard," provoked, upon its public performance, a hulla-baJoo reminiscent of tho heroic days of Syngc's "Playboy of tho

Wastern World" and Norrcys Connoll's "Piper." Other plays to Mr Ervine's credit ' include "The Critic," "The Orangeman," '"Jane Clegs," and "John Ferguson," all published between 1914- and 1915. His book of short stories, "Eight O'clock and Other Studies," was written in 1012, and his second oo»ol, "Alice and a Family," ■ which craved rather a disappointment, m 1915. sVith "Changing Winds," however, this Ulster man has como definitely into his : ■ own. and bids fair to take his placo in the forefront of the writers of to-day. Mr Ernest A. Boyd, in "Ireland's Literary ' Henaissrmce," • is severe in his judgment : upon Mr Er vine's earlier efforts. He eaya, fcr msLanco:—

St. John Ervine's "Four Irish Plays" can hardly be so described, for they are about Ulster rather than of it, as must happen when the expatriate' Irishman looks to his country for literary material. Tho success of "Mixed Marriages" has already been noticed, and the remaining piays call for no specific reference ■in a

•" Changing Winds: 4 Morel." By Si. John ft* ??rinq> PfltjUa.: Mgpnad «pd Co. (1»0

study of the Irish Theatre. They belong the later type of "Abbey" melodrama, with the exception of "The Critic," an unfortunate attempt at innovation. "The Orangeman," the play next in interest to 'Mixed Marriages," was imported from the English to tho Irish stage, a fact which indicates the unintimate relation between the author and the Irish Movement. He writes with equal facility for tho theatres of his own and his adopted country, and seems to find Cockney London 110 less familiar than Belfast. Ilis work can no more be identified with the literature of the Revival than can that of Bernard Shaw, to whom ho has dedicated his latest play, of lower middle-class English life. Mrs Martin's Man" was tho occasion of much favourable comment, and it was believed that an Ulster novelist had been discovered in St. John G. Ervine.- ilis second novel, however, dispelled the illusion, and one more_ name was added 'to the list of "circulationists." The very qualities in Mr Ervine at which j\lr IJoycl cavils combine to make his latest novel of real value to students of tho Irish question and of Great Britain's relation to lrolana. The contemptuous epithet " expatriate Irishman" simply means that the author was-hke Homy Quinn, the. hero Charing Winds"—educated at an English public school before going to Trinity College, Diiblin. It also means that no has studied high and low life in London and in the English provinces, as well as in Belfast, Dublin, and County Antrim. He also commits—from Mr Boyd's point of view—tho unpardonable sin by poking fun a £i c^ 7 'i Yeats, Lady Gregory, and other of the prominent Dorsonagcs "in tho Irish literary movement. Especially does he wax satirical where jVIr Yeats is concerned. " I will arise how and go—to Euston road" is one of the sentences in ? e r St i? ry " 'This ' s mild comnared with the following, attributed to his hero, Henrv 1 Quinn: — . lie remembered that ho had invented ■ a bitter phrase ono night when he had j seen tho poet in a house in Dublin. Yeats is behaving as if he wore the ' Archangel Gabriel making tho Annunoia- i tion! he had said, and the man to whom ho had said it had laughed, and asked what Henry thought Yeats was announcing. A fresh version of one of his lyrics," he had replied. " a. S* vc the world," he said now, to bo able to put on his pontifical air." ■nrT 11 ! 3 outstanding defect, of "Changing Winds 'is the almost ill-natured bitterness to which A:.r krvinc, in his attempt to ' point his satire, sometimes descends As '/ conscious of this fault, ho makes Mr Quinn, Henry's father, exclaim: "Don't mind me, Henry. Sure, I'm like all the Ulstermen; my tongue's more bitter nor my behaviour." This may be taken as an explanation of the unfair and unkind attack upon the " fashionable novelists, Ernest Lonsley and Boltt"—obviously from the context Mr E. ,F. Benson and Mr W. J. Locke—and of the reference to Mr Hilairo Belloc as " a fat Papist." These arc some of the blemishes in an otherwise brilliant, if bitter, book. Fortunately for tho interest of tho story, they aro but minor blemishes, and are moro than atoned for by the wonderful study presented in its pages of England and Ireland before and during war time. The .theme is capitally conceived, the characters are artistically creatcd and the -ictinn is competently carried out. There is enrao little confusion owing to tho darin"artifice of tho author in placing actual and well-known people cheek by jowl with his creat"d characters, and tho result is startling at times Four young men—Henry Quinn. Gillian Graham, Roger Carey, and Gilbert Farlowe—bccomo fast friends at an English public school, Rumpell's—probablv Rugby. | Henry, in tlefcrerico to his father's wishes 1 goes to Trinity College, Dublin; the other ! three to Cambridge, and all four subsequently foregather in London, whve--, they dream of establishing an " Improved Tory Party." Their attempts at self-education may be illustrated bv tho following extract : ! "You see.," said Roger, "my notion is to restore tho prestige of tin; Tories. Somehow, they've let. themselves .ret the reputation of being consciously heartless. The Liberals go about proclaiming that they are the friends of the poor, and the inference is that the Tories arc the fricuida -* the xioUl" j

" So they are," said Ninian. " So are the Liberals 1" said Roger. " So's everybody," said Gilbert. " But the Tories aren't culpably the friends of the rich," Roger continued. "I mean they don't go into Parliament with the intention of exploiting poor men for the benefit of rich men. It isn't true that they are indifferent to the fate of poor men; but they have allowed tho Liberals to give them that character. I've always said that the Tories have tho courage of the Liberals' convictions. . . Well. I want tho Tory party to remember that, it is the custodian of tho decency of England. It isn't decent that thero should be hungry children and unemployed men and badly-housed families. That kind of thins is intolerable to a gentleman, and a Tory is a gentleman. It seems to me inconceivable that a Tory shou'd bo wilb'nor to mako' money by cheating a child of a meal, . . . but there are plenty of Liberals who do that. An'l I'm against all til's which makes some nniblic author : ty do things for people which they ought to be doing for themselves. . . They spent tho remainder of the evening in_ argument. their talk ranging over the wide field of human activity. TTiey a system of continual eriticism of ex : stin<r " Ch-illenge everything," said Gilbert; " make it justify its existence." They fried to discuss the truth about th'nTS, to shed their prejudices and to see the facts of life exactly as they were. " Tho, gr°nt tiling is t.o get rid of ' Plnn!' " said Roger. "' We've got to convince the iudcro as well as move the iurv. It isn't enough to make the jivv feel slor>py. . . . Any ass can do that. You've cot to convince tbe old chan on the bench.. That's my belief, and' I believ". too, that the iury . is more likely to listen to reason than pror.le imn;Hno!" Tbev did not finish their arcrument that evening, nor on any particular evenincr. Thev were sorend over a loner period and were part of th-e process of clearing their minds of cobwebs. Tho chapters devoted to recording tho arguments and conversations of these four young men are amongst the most brilliant in a very br'lliant, book. Gilbert, who is a playwright and dramatic critic, is reproached by his editor for not getting more of " the human note" into "his stuff." This caused Gilbert to exolain: "When he talks of the human note he means the greasy touch." " Slop, in fact!" said Roger. " That's it. Slop! My God. these journalists do love to splash about in their emotions." And Gilbert ciuoted the case of a leader-writer on ono of the dailv papers who earned ' a counle of thousand a year for organising sniffs for the million." The four friends, deterni'i.ed to complete their education, organised Thursday evening dMiner parties end hivited all f=orts of notabilities to address them on every subiref, under tho sun. They firsf. tried the politicians, but found fbmv. " liV" New Zeal-ml limb—frozen." At the end of six months. Gilbert revolted against politicians "These aren't the people who really matter," ho said, "they don't start things. We want to get hold of tho people with new ideas . . . tho men who begin movements, and the men who aren't always wondering what their constituents will say if they hear about it!" Then followed a term with men who might have been called cranks. Bernard Shaw declined to dine with them. . . . lie preferred to eat at home. . . . "Yciuptuous vegetarian!" said Gilbert . . . but he talked to them , ,>r an hour on "Equality," and tried to persuade them to advocate equal incomes for all, asserting thai; this was desirable from every point of vio-.v. biological, social, mid economic. Following Bernard Shaw came Edward Carpenter, vary gentle and very gracious, denouncing modern civilisation in words vvliiidi were spoken quickly, but which in print read like, a thunderstorm. ... Then caino 11. G. Wells, smiling [ and very deprecatory, and almost inarticulate. to teil them of the enormous imI )>ortauce of the novelist. They got him ( into a cor.irr of the room when ho had finished reading his paper and persuaded him t<> make caricatures of them—and while he was making the caricatures, he talked to them far moro brilliantly tlian he Had read to them. G. K. Chesterton am' .VfUfiire Belloc came to lecture, and stayed to drink. , Chesterton's lecture wnuh.l have been funny, they agreed, if they hail been able to hear it, but ho laughed so heartily at. his jokes, as he, so to speak, saw them approaching, that ho I £or«fot to mako them. Hk method oi

speech was a mixture of giggle and whisper. "Chuckle and squeak" Gilbert called it. . . .

"Let's get Garvin," Gilbert suggested. So they invited the editor of the Observer to dine and talk with them, and he came — a quick, eager, intense man, with large, startling eyes, who spoke so quickly that his words became entangled and were wrecked on his teeth.

"Changing Winds" is dedicated to the memory of Rupert Brooke. To these four young men, their lives full of promise and their hearts filled with dreams of future activities, even as they were fitting themselves for careers of usefulness, came the call of the great war. In two or three vivid, intense chapters Mr Ervinc pictures an England startled and transformed by Britain's reply to Germany's challenge. Gilbert and Ninian were amongst tho earlyvolunteers, and soon, all too soon, they fell in the fight. Roger, married and with a young child, hesitated at first, but went. Henry, constitutionally a physical coward, fearing death and dreading danger, had a bitter struggle. There is nothing finet in the whole of this story than the subtle psychology of the battle between the will and the body—the will urging forward, tho body shrinking back. Henry, hesitating between these two powerful impulses, goes to Ireland, and is in Dublin during tho time of the insurrection. Not even James Stephens has penned a better and truer description of tho Dublin rising than is contained in the closing chapter of "Changing \Y inds." It will help the average man to understand Ireland and tho Irish as nothing else can. _ There are other outstanding features of this strong and stirring story which _ have not even been mentioned— portraits of English women, some to glory in and others to cause a freling of shame; men, also, who come under similar categories. There are pictures of Ireland and of Irishmen drawn from life, and comments on it all, full of insight and of tho reflection that comes from accurate knowledge. The book closes with Henrv Quinn looking upon Dublin after the collapse of the re°bellion : —

Henry did not speak. He glanccd about him at the ruin aud wrock of a city which, though ifc had many times filler! him with anger, yet filled him also with love; and for a while he could not see clearly. . . . Somewhere in this street John Marsh had been killed. He had died, as he had desired, for Ireland, and a man can do no more than give his life for his country . . . .but what was the good of his It was not enough that a man should die ... he must also die well and to some purpose. . . .

There was a strange quietness in his heart. He had lived through a terror and had not been afraid, lie had seen men immolating themselves gladly because they had believed that by eo doing tliey would make their country a finer ono to live in.

"It was the wrong way," he said to himself, "but, in the end, nothing matters but that a man shall offer his life for his belief!"

Ciilbert Farlowe and Ninion Graham had not sought, as he had sought, to cscape from destiny or to elude death. It was fore-ordained that old men would make wars and that young men would pay the price of them .... and it is of no use to try to save oneself. ... If youth has-had committed to itself the task of rcdeeminEr tho world from the follies of the Old, Youth must not shrink from the iabour, even though it may feel that the Old should redeem themselves. .... As the mail boat steamed out of tho harbour, lie climbed to the top deck and stood gazing back at the shore. Exquisitely bcnulful Ireland looked in the evening glow. Up tho river, in an opal mist, ho could see Dublin, still sore from her latest wounds, and here, closc at hand, he saw tho waves of mountains reaching fur inland, cach mountain shining in the light with a great mingling of colours. Beautiful, but more than beautiful! Other lands had beauty too, more beauty, perhaps, than Ireland, but if lie were leaving them as he was now leaving Ireland ho should not feel the grief that he now felt. This was his land .... his own country . . . .

and the elements which had been mingled to make it had been mingled also to make him, and he and it were one. . . . The boat was almost out of sight of land. He had stood at tho end of the deck, gazing back at Ireland until only tho clouclod head of a mountain could be seen, and then that, too had been hidden. I-Ie turned and looked forward, and as ho did so, ho saw ia the distance, low in

the sea, the hulls of threo ships of war. The mail boat slowed down, as they approached, to let them pass. Naked and lithe they looked, as they thrust their bodies through the sea, sending the water up from their bows in shining arches. He could sec the men standing alxmt thu decks, looking steadily ahead . . . . and then the warships passed on to their work, and the mail boat gathered up speed and plunged on towards Wales. Over there, he thought, somewhere in that haze, is England, and beyond England. France and Flanders, and the fields of blood and pain. . . . .