George Bernard Shaw.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIII, Issue 26, 29 December 1909, Page 8

George Bernard Shaw.

A MONODY.

(By

C.A. YOUNG.)

George Bernard Shaw is a bow writer, who is striving by an old road to reach the consciences of his readers. His method is by inference and innuendo to suggest what is occasionally called wicked. In this days, when we affect a virtue if we have it not, when we are all striving by appearance to be what we are not, when, in fact, everything is bowdlerised; when Wycherly is tapu, Shakespeare is read in silence, and Boccaccio mentioned with bated breath; when even the Old Testament is expurgated by the polite clergymen in the pulpit, it may seem strange that this new writer should dare to tell the old story of the tyranny of the rich to the poor, that he should sing “The Song of Hie Shirt,” tell the story of Aspasia, and picture “The Bridge of Sighs” on the stage. His courage is equalled by his pertinacity, and it would appear that at last the Press, which so far has been on the same side of the road as the Pharisee, is inclining a favourable ear to what he has to say. After all, it is a new sensation, and that is what so many are ever on the lookout for. From Savonarola to Father Vaughan, enthusiasts and propagandists have striven to lessen the world’s unrighteousness; and human nature still remains rebellious to the restraints of civilisation and conventionalism. “Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn.” Thus it was, thus it is, and thus it will be till the end of time. Air. Shaw’s method is to hold the mirror up to Nature. He desires to show how hideous vice is, and, alas! Bo common, in the hope the young will avoid it; at the same time, he shows that poverty and gilded vice leadt to the same goal; only the latter is the more pleasant way. He would impress the lesson that wealth and idleness beget vice and provide temptation; that the self-indulgence of the gilded youth means the temptation and fall into misery, and an early death of the daughters of poverty; that the self-indulgence of the wealthy woman means the misery of her poorer sister, by reason of sweated labour. In fact, he pictures the same social conditions which have existed in an overcivilised society since the beginning of civilisations. Of course, he is a Socialist, and believes in the Socialist’s remedy, the Millennium. Tn holding the mirror up to Nature, he shows us some very dirty pictures, which, to many people, will suggest that his remedy is worse than the disease. In effect, he suggests that if we were all comfortable and well-to-do, there would be no incentive to crime; and yet he professes to understand human nature. Certainly, the wonder is that there should be any demand for the dirty material out of which Mr. Shaw manufactures his dramatie works, when the world insists upon bowdlerising the many superior literary works of the past. Is this also hypocrisy? It is true the English Censor has been trying to suppress Mr. Shaw and his works, but that, like the outery in America against (his) “Mrs. Warren’s Profession,” merely gives him greater notoriety. If there were a tittle of proof that the presentation of such works as "How He Lied to Her Husband ” ami “Mrs. Warren’s Profession” on the stage made the lives of the people of our civilised world any cleaner, there would be excuse for their continuance; but the truth is that little or more vice portrayed in the action of a drama or tragedy only the more ensures its popularity. Hence we flock to see “The Second Mrs. Tanqueray ” “The Notorious- Mrs. Ebbemith,” “Iris,” “The Dominion of Darkness,” and all the pieces where sexual crimes rebel against the conventionalities of our civilisation. Satire and ridicule were once considered an antidote to the foibles and vices of Society, but even such past masters as Dean Swift. Pope, and Jeffcrys of the “Edinburgh Review,” did little else than to leave on record pictures of the times in which they wrote. Even if the imbecile “Philanderers” of the Ibsen Club, G. B. S. pictures so cleverly, were to read or see his “Topical Comedy,” would H dissolve that club of foolish women and vicious men?

No! If the stage is to improve the morals of the world and keep clean its own records, it can only do so by the efforts of such men as Henry Irving. But Ibsen! Anathema! And now we find the poison of the upas tree has reached New Zealand. G. B. Shaw’s works are to be had at the book shops, a-nd “How He Hied to Her Husband ” is advertised for public recital. It may be asked will the hearing of this very elever brochure deter any young man from making a fool of himself with a foolish woman? Will it teach him to avoid association with those who would lead him to outrage divine and human law? Or will it teach him how to lie to her husband? Will it warn any silly woman against the consequences of amusing herself with an equally silly youth? Or will it suggest how she also may lie to her trustful husband? And the husband, will it make him more trustful in human nature? Experience would answer No. Mr. Shaw’s works are not like good wine that needs no bush, and a remarkable feature about them is, that half of such volumes as “How He Lied to Her Husband ” and “Mrs Warren’s Profession ” are occupied with an apology from the author. It is surely a sorry case which requires so much argument to justify its existence. And is Mr. Shaw in earnest? Is he to be taken seriously? Is he honest in all he writes? Presumably he writes to live, and only incidentally to teach? Such a shrewd observer of human nature must admit that the book of knowledge of good and evil which he has read lies open to all, and most of all to the class which suffers most from indulgence in the vices which bring their own punishments, and which, according to his teaching, they should therefore avoid. But when has the sad experience of those who have fallen from grace acted as a warning to others looking on? It is even conceivable one may feel shocked when witnessing a theatrical representation of “Mrs. Warren’s Profession,” and yet leave the theatre to wallow in vice. If, as he writes, members of rescue work “know that as long as poverty makes virtue tedious and the spare pocket money of rich baehelordom makes vice dazzling, their daily hand-to-hand fight against prostitution with prayers and persuasion, shelters and scanty alms, will be a losing one,” why does he think he will succeed with his pen? But was it not ever thus? Has the fear of any punishment other than that of the law ever acted as a deterrent when indulgence in any of the sins tempted human nature? In all times, amongst all peoples, savage and civilised, crimes against society have been punished by law. Of course purists may advance that the mission of religion is to educate people so that they offend not, but Mr. Shaw does not take religion into account. Such moralists as he contend that excess of civilisation is emptying the churches, and that it is for religionists to prove that religion has or is improving our morals. Perhaps it could more easily be proved that interference of religionists with the law has entailed endless misery and disease upon mankind —as, for instance, the repeal of the Contagious Disease Act, which kept the social evil under control. And, after all, what does he mean? Whether the chureh or the stage teaches, surely the knowledge of good and evil is ever with us; and what is wanting is, some system of ethies which would teach us to discriminate, which would clothe that which is good in attractive ideas, and cause us to loathe that which is evil. Unfortunately for humanity, the sad experiences of life is the only knowledge which impresses itself upon us; and this generally conies too late. Should the mother shield her darling from all knowledge of evil lest the good in her be defiled, or would she be acting more wisely were she to council her child in necessary knowledge as her years advance, is a social problem which time has apparently decided in favour of the latter; and the stage is being generally accepted as the more popular teacher. But in each instance the result is yet doubtful; and it is a sad knowledge, whether it comes to the child of the slums, or the darling of the West End, for it implants the first seeds of doubt and distrust, and so hardens the heart. Instilling a knowledge of good and evil into the minds of the young, so that it may bear good fruit in after years, has hitherto been the accepted system of training in morals, but G. B. S. appears to ignore this system as he does the influences of religion; and, finding all his

characters ready made, proceeds to expose their foibles and vices for the betterment (?) of humanity at large. And his weapons are cynicism, satire and ridicule, lightened, as in “Major Barabara,” with an occasional gleam of dry humour. The process is sometimes amusing, and only sometimes instructive; but it never touches the heart; there is never a tender memory left of his puppets; as the power to evoke emotion is denied this writer; neither is there a wholesome cheery humanity in his teaching. His method is a curious perversion or natural law —only to be understood because it is more reasonable and profitable to appeal to the larger audience of grown people. For one can hardly suppose he expects the young to understand the inuendos and suggestions conveyed in such a book as “ Mrs. Warren’s Profession,” or to draw the inferences intended. Indeed, Mr. G. B. Shaw’s works are so obviously intended for the blase and world-worn, who, by the way, already know all he would convey, that one is again tempted to ask why has he written them ? Like the problem plays before mentioned, such works as “ Mrs. Warren’s Profession ” will have a certain vogue for a time; but the aspirations for higher ideals, whieh are always latent in the human heart, will condemn them as unfit to be seen on the stage or read in the drawing-room. Cynicism never appeals to youth, and but little to human nature at large; and G. B. S. is both cynic and socialist. He would pul! down, he would reduce the sad social world preached at by Father Vaughan to tears and repentance, but what will his works raise instead? He has no high* ideals. Even " Candida,’ his finest woman character, tells her model parson husband: “Ah, James, how little you understand me, to talk of your confidence in my goodness and purity; I would give them both to poor Eugene willingly as I would give my shawl to a beggar dying of eold, if there were noth-

ing else to restrain me. Put your tronfl in my love for you, James; for if that west I should care very little for your sermons —mere phrases that you cheat yo«rself and others with every day.” He is a cynic, socialist, iconoclast, but he does not teach people to make of their sins stepping-stones to rise to higher things. Let who will read his works; they cannot be discussed between the sexes; a parent cannot explain their meaning to his child. There was a greater lesson conveyed in the pathetic misery of Grant Alien’s “Woman Who Did” than in anything G. B. S. has written. Humanity would extend pitying sympathy to the “ Woman Who Did” and her daughter, but would turn away in shame and sadness from Vivie and her shameless mother, Mrs. Warren. Surely, therefore, it were more profitable to consider the lilies how they grow, to expand one’s desire for higher things by. seeing the good the sun shines upon, rather than to peer into noisome darkness and evil. A few words as to the method of using his materials, and I have done. The characters are clear eut and vivid', but are superficial, and, such as are not dummies, are either foolish or vicious; and mostly of an objectionable type. They lack the ease of natural speech and action, being often stilted and wooden, the men especially so, and move as the pieces on the chess-board after long consideration as to possible results. The language they use being of their place of birth and station in life, an effort is made to express this phonetically, the effect of whieh is whimsical and sometimes unintelligible, as in the Americanisms of Captain Kearney, whose conduce is spelt cawndooce; charm is chahm; certainly is sertnly; while the attempt to spell Felix Dangerfield’s cockney dialect phonetically becomes ludicrous. Indeed it appears to be the author’s idea that English in all cases should be written as it

is spoken. His English spelling is afflicted with odious American innovations, as itl for it will, youd for you would, thatldo for that will do, valor for valour, theyre for they are, H, Ive, etc. The situations axe forced and unnatural. It is difficult to admit that the Rev. James Mavor Morell (in “Candida”) could become so weak as to forget his dignity as head of his house. Again, one could imagine such a character as Lady Waynflete in a grocer’s widow, but not in an earl’s daughter. It is true “ Captain Brassbound’s Conversion ” is * farce. Finally the plays are everywhere overloaded with a maze of directions in italics as to the setting of the stage, scenic and property effects, and a running commentary is constantly explaining what the author means to convey. But if any will read George Bernard Shaw’s works, and yet desire to remain virtuous, let them begin with “ Major Barbara.” They may not acquire a high or a deep philosophy of life, but they will be happy. And I would recommend them to skip “First Aid to Critics.” Morbid souls, who wish to lose the little virtue and faith in human nature they jnay yet possess, may begi n with “Mrs. Warren’s Profession.”