THE INTEGRITY OF GEORGE MOORE

Thesis for the Degree cf M. A.
NUCHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY
Meredith Ray Basket?
1963

THESIS

LIBRARY

Michigan State
University

 

TEE INTEGRITY OF GEDRGE LDCRE

by

Meredit h Ray Baskett

A THESIS

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS

Department of English

1963

ACKZIOWEDGEEI‘PI‘S

I should like to express my gratitude to Dr. Richard Chapin for
fostering my scholastic ambitions, to Mr. Henry Koch for his
invaluable assistance in my search for texts, and particularly
to Professor Hazard Adams for his patience, helpful criticism,
and encouragement.

II

III

TABLE OF (DINETTS

Naturalist, Aesthete, Patriot, Stylist

The Harding I‘Iovels

_A_ Mmmner's Wife and Evelfl Innes

IV Esther Waters and The Lake

V

 

The Historical Novels

Conclusion

26

58

7‘7

90

108

Naturalist, Aesthete, Patriot, Stylist

For the purposes of criticism, George Moore has generally been
treated almost as if he were four separate novelists. This fragnen-
tation has been considered necessary in order to cope with the career
of a writer Whose work varies greatly in both subject matter and
style. One of Moore's major novels concerns the econunic struggles
of a kitchen maid married to a butler; another deals with the results
to philosOphy of the marriage of the brightest teenager in Paris to
one of the world's great philosophers. Some of the books are composed
of choppy, sometimes ungrammatical sentences, shile others exhibit
a style as moth as “toothpaste squeezed out of a tube.“- Never-
theless, it scans profitless to assume that the only feature comma
to the novels is “their excellence."8 Iherefore, failing to find a
pattern in either theme or form, most critics have turned to a study
of literary influences in order to provide a basis of organization.
Moore fostered the consideration of his sources through the
public announcement, in his autobiographical writings and essays,
and through the press, of his enthusiums and allegiances. In fact,
it is on the basis of Moore's own statanents about his novels that
his sork, spanning almost fifty years, has been arbitrarily divided
into four chronological periods according to the literary influence
1 Demond Sieve-Taylor, “The Achievement of George Macro,“ in
_T_I_1_c_£o_i_._f_e__o_f_ Geor e 35223.9; by Joseph Hone New York, 1936), p. 477.

3 Carl Van Doren and Mark Van Doren, american .929. British
Literature since 1820 (New York, 1925), p. 165.

3
assmed to predominate during those times. The three comonly
accepted watersheds of Moore's career are established according to
his announcement of a new fascination coupled with the public repu-
diation of an old master, and the four periods which result from this
division have taken both their names and their dates from these public
atatenents.’

Moore's early Iork, beginning with _A_ lbdern Ever is 1883, is
considered to be Naturalistic.4 Although these first novels were
written after his return to England, Moore felt that his seven-year
stay in Paris (1873-1880) entitled him to consider himself a Franch-
man.5 He affected French clothes, French ideas, a facility in the
French language greater than that in English, and referred to himself
as “Zola's offshoot in England."6 In addition, upon the publication
of ; Ma's Wife in 1885, he declared that he had written the first

‘1 Naturalistic novel in England. Reinforcing the impression created by
Moore's description of himself was the fact that the same publisher
who was criticized for publishing hbore's work was also prosecuted
for publishing translations of Zola's works. It is not remarkable,

3 One of the clearest statements of this compartmentalization is
in Charles Morgan's hitaph 21}. George there (New York, 1935), p. 9.
See also hlcolm Brown's George Moore (Seattle, 1955), p. xii. Despite
his introductory observation that Moore "embraced no fewer than seven
distinct literary styles and manners" (p. xiii), Brown adheres basic-
ally to the four usual categories in considering the novels since
only five of the seven styles are concerned with Bbore's fiction. The
fifth category is created in order to account for the belated Natural-

1am of Esther Waters.

4 Arnold T. Schwab, "Irish Author and American Critic: George
floors and James Huneker," Nineteenth Cantu}: Ficti , VIII (1954), 358.

5 Joseph Hone's Thg Life 2; George Iborg (New York, 1936) is the
Course of all biographical details cited unless another source is
specified.

6 Hone, Do 1010

 

5
thu , that critics have found extensive influence from the French
Naturalists in the work falling in the ”Zola period."

In 1885 Moore read Peter's ;lla__1_‘_i_u_s_ 33:0. Epicurean. So overwhelming
was his reaction to this mark, which he considered the "great atone-
ment for all the bad novels which have been written in the English
language,” that he repudiated Zola because of his stylistic crudities
and his failure to recognize that "mire is not more real than clouds,"8
and declared himself to be a disciple of Peter. He attributed to
the influence of Peter's writing a gowing interest in the attractive
aspects of environment and a new appreciation for "mildness in life."9
And, in an excess of admiratiai, he imitated Peter's style to the
point of parody by writing sentences "three inches long."10

Guided by hbore's remarks, critics have noticed a shift in style
sufficiently marked to provoke denunciations of his wark as mere
mimicry,11 a sincere devotion to two such diverse masters as Zola
and Peter being considered impossible. Even those critics who have
thought the new enthusiasm to be a sincere allegiance, however, have
tended to regard it as a total conversion Which involved the casting

off of all Zolsesque characteristics .13 Therefore, critics dealing

7 Bone, p. 112.

8 George Bbore, Eressigns and Opinions (New York, 1891), p. 123

9 George Moore, gnfessions p_§__a_ 3223M (New York, 1923), p. 446.
10 Brown, p. 185.

11 For example, see James Huneker, Variations (New York, 1924), pp.
23-37.

13 for example, see Walter Gilomen, ”George Moore and his friend-
Chip with W. B. Yeats," English Studies (Amsterdam), XIX (1937),117;
8can O'Faolain, "Pater and lbore, " bade nMercury, MINT (August,1936),

4
with the "Peter period" have seldom shown much concern with the
possibility that Zola's influence carried over from the earlier
period.

Pater, too, paled, however, and in 1900, in despair over the
"worn-out, defaced coin" which was the Emglish language and in fury
over the Boer War, Moore retreated to Ireland and its purer language.13
Somewhat to hbore's embarrassment, he could understand neither written
nor spoken Gaelic, but he considered his association with the Gaelic
speakers of the Irish movanent and his discovery of the folklore of
Ireland to be revitalizing influences.“ Moore dramatized his
changed intentions by moving to Ireland and insisting that his
nephews, under threat of disinheritance, learn Gaelic.15 These
grandiloquent gestures encouraged critics to see the true Irish
Moore in the exclusively Irish subjects of his writing during this
period and to notice the new style, which was smooth and lacking in
idiocyncracies.16 Rather than attempting a representation of Irish

dialect, he wrote with an eye to translation into Gaelic,17 as is

 

330-338; Robert Sechler, George Igor : "_A_ Disciplg 9; Walter Pater"
(Philadelphia, 1951), p. 19.

13 These ideas are deve10ped throughout the last third of Moore's
Hail 29. Farewell: Ave (New York, 1925); see especially pp. 243, 245,
872.276.

14 This idea is expressed throughout Ave.

15 Av , p. 244.

15 For example, see Henry-D. Davray, "George Nbore,” 322922-29. 513
.31'ancg, CCLII (15 March, 1955), 556—551; Horace Gregory, 1h: Shield
0‘1; Achillfl (ch York, 1944), p. 153; Susan L. Mitchell, George Moore
(Dublin, 1916), p. 40; or L. Paul-Dubois, ”George Moore, Irlandais,”
£e_ gprreeppndant, CCCIXXIII (October, 1933), 24.

17 Graham Hougi, Mmmeriancg (London, 1960), p. 204.

 

5
evident from his statement concerning translation. {is felt the lan-
guage most suited to this purpose to be "strong, flexible, but colour-
less,"18 a description which is as appropriate to his ”Irish" style
as to his theory of translation.

Bhore's impulse toward self-repatriation was eventually defeated,
however, by his basic hatred of his native land.1-9 His alienation
from Ireland was signalized by his elaboration of a theory that no
Catholic had ever written a piece of literature and that a country
whose brain was enslaved by the Catholic Church could not possibly
produces literature, no matter how vital its language. Having thus
formalized his estrangement past hope of repair, he declared that he
had “discovered" himself to be a Hotestant, and retreated to England
in 1911.20 There he found the relatively worn out language more than
compensated for by the mental freedom an! strength which resulted from
the absence of an oppressive Church. Once more established in London,
he set about to revitalize the English language by returning to what
he had come to think of as the source of language-uthe spoken word.
Through oral composition, dictating and redictating to a searetary,
he developed his final style, the “melodic line.“1 His denunciations
of Ireland and of Catholicism mphasized his new interests and encour-

aged his. readers to consider that he had entered yet another phase.”

13 gnfessions 9_1’_ .9. mpg nan, p. 389.
1° Esau-81 n8 sigma. p. 379-

80 The development and effects of this theory are treated through-
out the last half of there's Hail pp; Fargwgl_l: $11.9. (New York, 1923).

31 ShaweeTaylor, p. 469.

88 for example, see Brown, p. 171-2; Hone, p. 332-4; or William

York)Tindell, Forces _i_1_1_ lbdern British Literature, 1885-199; (New York,
I“? . p. 2870

6

These four periods, then, three of them highly derivative, have
been so generally accepted as inevitable categories for the study of
hbore's fiction that critics have usually either confined their
interest to only one of the four categories,33 or, if dealing with
the total canon, indicated their agreement with this division by
dealing with the novels in the same four blocks.24 Briefly stated,
the periods include the following novels:

The Zola period (1883-1885)

_A_ Loam mar (1885)
A Runner's Wife (1885)

 

_A_ m _i_n_ m (1886) (This novel was entirely planned
and the writing well begun before
more read m _t_h_g_ Epicurean,
and therefore it is considered to
precede the Peter period)

The Peter period (1886-1900)

.4. 1.33 Accident (1887)

992135 1331; (1888)

$33 Fletcher (1889)

M Fortune (1892)

m 3.9.1932 (1894)

m 113325 (1898)

35 For example, Sonja Nejdefors-Frisk, £29352 gore's Nature;-
m 3329;, Upsala Irish Studies, III (Lund, 1952); John Pick,
"Divergent Disciples of Walter Pater," Thougt, HIII (1948), 114-128.
Susan Mitchell 's _Ge_gr_ge_ m though referring to marks from other
periods, is largely concerned with the Irish phase.

3‘ For example, see John Freenan, _A_ Portrait 2; George M22
(New York, 1922), especially pp. 73, 105, 188.

_S_i_s_t_e_r_ Eggs; (1901) (Moore had nude considerable progress
on this novel before the journey to
Ireland, and since it is a sequel to
m ,I_n_n_§_§, it must be considered
part of the Peter group)
The Irish period (1901-1911)

2133 £21}; (1905) (This is the only novel included in the
Irish period, the bulk of Moore's writing
during these years being in other genres:
a collection of short stories entitled The
Untiged {1.9.1.1 (1905), and autobiography,
including Mermirs 9; £41224 L133 (1905)
and the first volume (512) of gay; fl
Forevell (1911). In addition, he collabor-
ated with both Yeats and Edward Martyn on
plays for the Abbey theater.)

The period of the "melodic line" (1912-1933)

Eng grog}; E91113 (1916)

Heloise 921d... Abelard (1921)

9119); £111. £8,212 (1926)

dmdite 11.1. Julio (1930)
The legitimacy of considering these periods as exclusive cate-

gories has been argued by the frequent citation of Bbore's descrip-
tion of himself as a "snooth sheet of wax, bearing no impress, but

capable of receiving any; of being moulded into all shapes.“35 Yet

35 Eggessions __f_ a Young m, p. 299.

8

if his remark indicates a lack of inherent form, it should not be
taken as a denial of continuity; he was not necessarily melted down
and re-impressed. And Just as it is unrealistic to assume that any-
one's life ever comes to a complete break and fresh start, so this
analysis of lbore's work in separate compartments, no matter how con-
venient such a framework may be, presents some serious problems.

Inevitably artificial, the division into groups according to date
is complicated by hbore's constant revision of work already published.
With the exception of Lake Fletcher, each of the novels was revised
at least once, most of the important books being published in several
editions}6 Some of the works were changed so extensively that more
felt the later version should be issued under a different title.
Since the revisions did not necessarily fall into the same time period
as the original work, they present a considerable problem in a compart-
mentalized analysis. For example, hbore's first novel, A M4029. £919.29
was reissued in 1917 as £911.; ngur 51.119.20.319. Men. The revision
cannot properly be considered as a manifestation of the melodic line,
though its date places it in that group, since its roots are in the
Zola period. However, the changes are sufficiently extensiventhe
u-iting is much smother, the irrelevancies of plot and description
have been removed, and the entire last third of the book has been
recast in order to achieve a characterization of the hero more
appropriate to the intent of the noveluthat the book cannot be
dealt with as simply another version of an item from the Zola period.

II'he placing of such a novel is more than a more technical difficulty.

3° Ibne, pp. 161, 498-502.

9
Since the theme and characters of his first novel were still sufficient-
ly interesting to )bore three “periods” later to engage him in the
labor of a total rewriting, it is apparent that his interest in his
subject matter continued regardless of any other changes.

But even if revised editions are arbitrarily excluded from con-
sideration, categories by date are subject to important "exceptions.”
lbore's Naturalistic masterpiece, m m, falls in the Pater
period. Thematically, Egg Fortune is as Naturalistic as any work
in the Zola period, even including _A_ Mmmer's ELL.- Similarly,

E123. _a_n_d_._ gracha, with its use of Irish setting, folklore and histor-
ical background, mist be considered to be out of place if here's
affinity for Ireland is thought to and upon his departure in 1911.

If arbitrary dates are not fixed, it is of course possible to
group the novels on the basis of their literary influences. Even so,
the extensive source study done on Moore indicates that his influences
were much more widely varied than would seem to be appropriate for a
man who went through only three periods of official indebtedness.
for example, A W 313.9. has been fmmd to be "truly Naturalistic.”z7
lbre specifically, Zola's Theresg 393311.91 has been credited with in-
spiring the general situation in the first third of the book, while
_L_a_ gngugttg _d_g_ Pigssans provided the idea that Dick Lennox should
be a ledger in the Ede household, and Egg gage, d'Amour provided a
model for the personality of Kate. The theatrical milieu as well as
the basic personality of actresses was suggested by N_a_n_a, Just as

Kate's alcoholism and degradation were derived from 1'Assommoir.88

87 Nejdefors-Frisk, p. 86.

33 Milton Chaikin, "George Bhore's _L_ Mmer's Wifg and Zola,”
Revue g3 Litterature Co ares, mm (1957), 87.

10
Another critic, however, has thought Kate's drunken decline was at
least as much influenced by Flaubert's Edema m as by Zola's
1'Assornznoir.89 Yet another theory gives Balzac credit for inspiring
the overall idea for the story, while the Specific details of Kate's
degeneration are no more than “a disciple's reproduction" of the
"clinical obsessions" of the Concourt brothersu?’0 It has also been
suggested that the novel is based on stories told by a boyhood friend
of Moore's}51 In other words, despite its position in the "Zola
period," _L_ aner's Mg reflects numerous influences other than the
”official" one.

M Inge}, from the Pater period, seems no more certain in
its ancestry. As could be expected, of course, the influence of Pater
has been seen in Evelyn's love of beauty, especially the loveliness
of neture.33 it the same time, a.strong evidence of the influence
of Humans has bem noted, in the 'abnormality" of Moore's ”sympa-
thetic treatment of‘a religious theme,'33 in the 'epieuresn discus-
sions,'34 particularly of hood, and in the "dislike of humanity"

and "disgust with vulgarity."3"5 The aestheticism of the book has

29 Walter Allen, The English Novel (London, 1954), pp. 283-4.

30 laser Pelhame.222.£22.21Lihsa89:21.12221JdflzzinLinnllhssnsni
3.189. (New York, 1953), p. 252.

31 Hone, p. 98.
38 Sechler, pp. 77-8.

53 Villiam 0. Frierson, "George Bbore compromised with the
Victorians," The Trgllopian, no. 4 (1957), 44.

5‘ S, M. Steward, 'J.-K Huysmans and George Nbore," 9;; Romania
Rgzig', m (1934). 204e

35 William C. Friarson, 1h; flush Novel in Transiti (Norman,
0kla., 1942), p. 75.

11

‘been attributed both to the influence of Gsutier36 and.to Moore's
efforts to write a "poet's prose" like Yeats.” On the other hand,
the style has been found to reflect Moore's “reverence for French
literature" in general, but particularly Flaubert and Balzac.58
Turgenev, in A Nest of Gentlefolk, has been suggested as a source of
the problem 'of conscience,”9 while some of the characters have been
considered to be modeled on various of Moore's friends, and on hbore‘s
own interests."0 Thus, not only is the reader given a variety of
sources appropriate to the different aspects of the book, but he may
even have a dloice between possible influences on the same point.

mpge, too, is held to derive from many meters. is a repre-
sentative of the Irish period, it is ”alive and breathing with the
atmosphere of poet and beg,”1 and of course, inevitably reflects
Bbore's own boyhood in the west of Ireland. The book as a whole has
been called "pure pantheism,"48 an expression of the ”spirit of

symbolism,“3 particularly under the influence of Mallarme,“ and

35 lhrio Press, The Romntic Agony (New York, 1951), p. 342.

37 Stephen Gwynn, "Ebb and Flow," Fortnightly Review, n.s.
GIIIIII (March, 1933), 388.

38 L muttoneBrock, Essays g Literaturg gal-if; (New York,
1926). pp. 169-70.

3’ Gilbert Phelps, 1h; Russian five; gm Fiction (London,
1956), Pp. 101.102e

‘0 Lloyd B. lbrris, gs: Celtic Dawn (New York, 1917), p. 178.
‘1 mcolm Elwin, 9);! Gods Falling (New York, 1939), p. 97.
‘3 Frierson, 1h; English Novel, p. 84.

43 Louis Cazamain, Smolisme 23. Pgisie (Neuchatel, 1947), p. 203.

44 finest Baker, 1h; History 9; £14 Egglish Ngvg, 11 (London,
1938), 164.

12

also an ”offshoot of Huysmans.'45 More specifically, Dujardin.has
been declared the model for the character of Ralph Ellis.46 And the
technique of using descriptions of nature for the creation.not of land-
scape but of character has been found to derive from Turgenev,“7
although these same descriptions of nature have also been attributed
to the influence of Pater.48

In other words, the result of extensive source study has been to
demonstrate that it is no more possible to adhere to these first
three periods on the basis of literary influence than it is to estab-
lish them on the basis of date. For one thing, it seems reasonable
to doubt that three periods are sufficient to represent the major
influences on the novels concerned. If the intent is to indicate
extensive dependence, would it not be more appropriate to declare a
”Hnysmans period" to account for 5 Egg; Accident,“ a "Balzac period"
for Evelyg,lpggg_in response to the extended panegyric in the first
part of the book, as well as a "Turgenev period" for an adequate
explanation of 1112.13.32? Yet such namentation of the canon results
in small help for the analysis of the total work. Therefore it may
be best, after all, if source study is to provide the pattern, arbi-
trarily to accept only those changes which are heralded'by a sea

voyage to a different country.

‘5 Steward, p. 206.

46 Francesco Cordasco, ”George Moore and Edouard DuJardin,"
MWL’M. L111 (1947). 947.

47 Phelps, p. 106.

48 Sechler, pp. 79-81.

49 so: a.discussion of extensive dependence, see Steward, p. 199.

13

Nevertheless, the search for influences has produced such diverse,
if not absolutely contradictory, results that one eventually begins
to wonder if the 91m does not exceed the total of the parts. No doubt
the attributions are, in the main, true. Unquestionably any writer
reflects, to sane extent, both his reading and his experiences in life,
and perhaps the evidence of lbore's influences are closer to the sur-
face because of his lack of formal schooling. Not having digested the
usual acadanic program, he adopted a reading program intended to
teach him how to write. Because of this plan for self-education, his
writing would inevitably reflect his masters. However, the fact that
the influences were more immediate and less well balanced would not
necessarily point to an unusually derivative writer.

Moore's own statements about his learning processes give helpful
clues to an analysis of his relation to his sources. Modifying the
comparison to a "smooth sheet of wax,” Micro adopted Edward lhrtyn's
idea that he develOped "from the mere sponge to the vertebrae and
upward.”50 When he began to try to write, he could scarcely complete
a sentence, as his letters demonstrate. His technique for solving
the problems of play construction was to read some plays in order
to discover how they should ”look."51 This process was not a matter
of mere imitation; he considered that he had “as perfect a digestive
apparatus . . . [as Nature] ever turned out of her workshop."53 In

Confessions of a Young Man he described the methods and effects of

50 George Macro, Hail gal; Fgewellz Vale (New York, 1923), p. 69.
51 m2, Pe 87s

53 gnfessions 935mg, p. 477.

14
his learning, or digestive, process:

The mind asked, received, and digested. So much was assim-

ilated, so much smelled; then, after a season, similar

demands were made, the same processes were repeated out of

sight, below consciousness, as is the case in a well-

ordered stomach. Shelley, who fired my youth with passion

. . . is now to me as nothing: not a dead or faded thing,

but a thing out of which I personally have drawn all the

sustenance I can draw from him; and, therefore, it (that

part which I did not absorb) concerns me no more. And the

same with Gautier. Mlle. de Maupin . . . is now, if I

take up the book and read, weary and ragged as a spider's

web, that has hung the winter through in the dusty, forgotten

corner of a forgotten room. My old rapture and my youth's

delight I can regain only when I think of that part of

Gautier which is now incarnate in me. (321)

‘ This theory of digestion is central to a study of )bore's sources,
for he considered his “digested" version, his memory, to be more impor-
tant than the piece of literature itself.53 And because he remanbered
his I”sources" as they were useful to him rather than as they actually
were, and because he remembered only those things which were congenial
to him, it seems unjustifiable to consider him more derivative than
any other writer who reads widely. It was more in the publicity he
gave to it than in the borrowing itself that he was excessive.

The most serious objection to an analysis based on source study,
however, is not that it tends to diminish Maore's reputation, but
that it inevitably obscures the basic tendencies of his total work.
Whore addressed the point himself, insisting that a writer cannot be
Judged on less than his total work, for "a man's work is all of a
piece.'“ And, appropriately to his contention, on analysis of his

total work without regard to source does, indeed, yield a basic

53 confessions 9.2332928. Man, p. 343.

5‘ George more, Conversations gym Strggt (New York, 1924),
Fe 12.

15
pattern of both theme and form, despite the fluctuations of his style.

Thematically, Bbore's concern remained constant throughout his
career-Aha explored man's relation to his environment. That he did
not simply keep rewriting the same book, however, is guaranteed by
his shifting concept of environment. In his early work, he dealt
with the specific segment of society in which his characters were
placed. For example, in A 9.12% _i_a;_ 2% he was concerned only with
that portion of Irish landed gentry which was involved in the "marriage
market." In §pripglggyg he examined the effects of class and family
pride on a personality not suited to their demands.

But as his concept of the social environment broadened, Nborc
began to consider his characters in terms of their total.society.
Thus, Esther Waters' concern is not how to maintain her reputation
upon the loss of her virtue, but rather, how to provide for herself
and her son in a society where the typical fate is the workhouse for
her and the "babybfarmer," and probably death, for her child. On a
more intellectual level, Th3 Lag illustrates the same impulse to
analyze the whole of'society. Father'Gogarty's concern is not how to
be a successful priest, but rather, how to be of use to himself and
his society in a framework where his routine performance of "duty”
is destructive rather than beneficial.

This analysis of man's function in society gives way'ultimately
to a consideration simply of man's function: that, finally, is human
life about. The. B3935 gm, carrying for emphasis the shadow of
the Christian rationale of existence, considers.manls relation to
God. Jesus, rescued from.the cross, comes eventually to believe

that, in essence, one lives because he is alive. In Heloise and

16

Abelard, Moore carries this pro-existential concept perhaps a step
farther with the decision of Heloise against self-destruction: human
life is too inconclusive to Justify such a positive act as sudcide.
In order to declare a life to be a failure, as the act of suicide
implicitly does, one must first understand what the life was intended
to achieve. Yet Nbore found no easy answer to the problem of existence.
Unable to accept the Christian view, he could not achieve an affirma-
tion irrelevant to worldly events, and rejecting the pessimism.of
Zola, he was unwilling to find doomed mankind to be a sort of cosmic
whipping boy. His eventual solution was the creation of a totally
indifferent universe. Having postulated a universe which.does not
care either way, Moore had no recourse but to return to 8 considera-
tion of man himself in.his unquestionable defeats and his possible
successes, in order to discover the nature of mankind.

Interested in all the nuances of success and failure, Moore
used the inexorability'of cause and effect to depict the destruction
of a weak and foolish character in A M3113, the destruction
of a strong but ruthlessly selfish character in.!;kg,!;etcher, the
success of a strong, intellectual character in 313% and the success
of a strong but blindly enduring character in Estggg‘flgyg_g, His
overall intent can scarcely have been one of conventional morality-
the use of success as a foil.to accentuate the failure of the adul-
terous actress and the unprincipled roue--since the moral stature of
his ”successes," an.unwed motherland a renegade priest, would surely
have been called into question'by his readers. Nevertheless, the
reasonableness of their expectations from life, as well as their very

great, if unconventional, integrity, make than desirable personalities,

17
and, in toms of the framework of each, Justify their success.

However, hbore's universe did not always operate on the basis of
comprehensible, logical cuase and effect. Comic caprice also inter-
ested him, whether the result was unearned success or undeserved
failure. In examining this area, too, he used a variety of characters
to develop his ideas. Demonstrating the concept that results depend
less on the nature of the “luck” than on the nature of the person
involved, hbore shows, in lain Fortune, that success can produce
somewhat ambiguous results for a sensitive personality, while in _A_
Modern Ever, success proves to be positively destructive to a weaker
personality. In the same way, Moore represents the results of merit--
ed defeat as being equally varied. The ”accident” proves fatal in
A 39.22 Accident, while in Heloise g_n_d_ Abglard a series of defeats
merely provides greater opportunity for heroism.

Yet if Moore's universe did not operate strictly on the basis of
cause and affect, his characters always did. His inclusion of chance
in the environment was not intended as an examination of its role in
the schane of things, but rather, provided an additional opportunity
for the development of his characters. Having an ”almost excessive
interest" in human conduct,55 he intended always to show how people
reacted, both when they got what they deserved, whether those deserts
were good or bad, and when they did not. And the consistency of his
observation is attested to by the fact that, over a career of almst
fifty years, his concept of mankind altered almost not at all.

Moore's work gives the appearance of being much less unified

stylistically, however. It is hard to believe that the writing in

55 George Moore, Avowals (New York, 1923), p. 53.

18
the early'works, which is so unselfconsciously'inept, could have
some from.a man whose later reputation.rested on his stylistic
excellence. 'Yet even.though one cannot fail to note the stylistic
discrepancy between _A_ Modern Lover and Aphrodite g Aulis, a chron-
ological reading of the novels reveals a gradual development rather
than the series of abrupt shifts required by'a.division into periods.
No one book illustrates a change startling enough to Justify the
announcement of a totally new style.

The reapect in which.Nbore's style showed the greatest change
was in his handling of conversation. _1_ hbdern Ever is full of dull,
awkward conversation which only'remotely advances the plot or develops
character. For example, Moore imagines the following conversation
between the adulterous heroine and her estranged husband upon.his hav-
ing trailed her to her Paris hotel:

”I want to see you on business; now, will you give me
half-an-hour of your time? I believe you live on the

third floor?"

'I fancied all business between us had been concluded
long ago; if not, you should have applied to your
solicitor."

”There are things which cannot be confided to a

solicitor; will you lead the way?”

”Why not say what you have to say to me here?"

"Firstly,'because I am tired and would like to sit

down; secondly, because it blesserait mon amour ro re;

thirdly, because some one might come downstairs, and

then you would be compromised, for I should be taken

for your lover, or for another lover, and that would

be stupid.” (II, 41)56
No doubt the influence of Zola's lack of concern with style was
partly influential in the exceedingly pedestrian quality of this

writing. 'Yet the possibility that the style-or absence of it.-

56 A11 citations from the novels will refer to first editions.

19

may have been at least as much the result of inexperience and lack
of knowledge is indicated by the fact that, while still in the Zola
period, lbore revealed an interest in improving his technique.” In
5 m in m, althmgh the conversational exchanges are still
largely uninspired, they tmd to be shorter and are frequently given
some point by a trace of humor. For ample, the blossoming of
romance between the heroine and the doctor treating her sister is
indicated in the following sickroom Conversation:

“And do you think my sister is better to-day?”

“I am afraid she will not begin to mow signs of any

real improvement until the ninth day. The malady must
take its course."

“Still I do not think she suffers so much as she did
yesterday; I am sure her ankle is not so painful: the
bran-poultices have relieved her of much pain.’

"I know of nothing better for a sprain than a bran-
poultice."

‘Ihen they would speak of indifferent things—of their

friends, of the state of the caintry, of the Land Bill, of

Mr. Barton's pictures. But, yielding to their emotion,

they soon spoke of what was uppermost in their minds—of

the £88, on the table, of the London publisher (p. 296)
Thus even as early as his third novel, the idea had apparently occurr-
ed to Moore that the easiest solution to the problem of writing
dialogue might be simply to avoid the issue. He discovered that he
could make his point more skillfully by telling what people talked
about than he could by representing their actual conversation.

Another improvement was the absorption of conversation into

the general narrative With no pretense at a differentiation reflect-

ing the character of the speaker, For example, a characteristic

5" Milton Chaikin discovered a ”consciousness of language" even
in 5 Eden Ever, and thought an interest in structure was indicated
by the "fugal treatment" of the description of the ball in that book.

See his "The Composition of George Moore's _.l_ m Lover," figurative
Literatggg, VII (1955), ass-3.

30
conversational passage from The Lake presents Father Gogarty talking
to a fellow priest:

'Well, I was thinking at that moment that I've heard
you say that, evm though you gave way to drink, you never
had any doubts about the reality of the hell that awaited
you for your sins.’

"That's the way it is, Gogarty, one believes, but one
doesn't act up to one's belief. Human nature is inconsist-
ent. Nothing is queerer than human nature, and will you
be surprised if I tell you that I believe I was a better
priest when I was drinking than I am now that I'm sober?

. . . I looked upon drink as a sort of blackmail I paid

to the devil so that he might let me be a good priest in
everything else. . . . If there was not a bit of wicked-
ness in the world, there would be no modness. And as for
faith, drink never does any harm to one's faith whatsoever;
there's only one thing that takes a man's faith from him,
and that is woman. You remenber the expulsims at my-
nooth, and you know what they were for. Well, that sin

is a bad one, but I don't think it affects a man's faith
any more than drink does. It is woman that kills the
faith in men.’

'I think you're right: woman is the danger. The Church
dreads her. Woman is life.‘

!I don't quite understand you.’ (D. 287)

Although tending somewhat toward speechmaking, this passage demon-
strates a marked improvement over the earlier examples in avoiding their
obtrusive aimlessness and in maintaining a style which is so similar

to the general tone of the book that it blends snoothly into the
pattern of the story. The intent of the whole book—Moore's attitude
both toward Ireland and toward the Church-4s anbodied in this low-
keyed exchange. In other words, a further development of Moore's

early trend toward downgrading conversation and making it functional
resulted in a greatly improved technique by the time he wrote The

Lake.

 

Beginning in Evelyn lanes and becoming more marked in The Lake,
the tendency to make conversation as unobtrusive as possible reached

its final stage in The Brook Kerith where the conversational exchanges

 

21

are frankly absorbed into the narrative flow, both in manner of
diction and in punctuation. Quotation marks, whose atrophy began when
they dropped to single marks in The Lake, disappeared altogether in
The Back Kath. An excellmt exanple is the passage in which Jesus,
turned shepherd after his recovery from his ordeal on the cross,
accidentally comes upon some crucified robbers talking to their guards:

Put a lance into my side, a robber cried out, and God will

reward thee in heaven. Thou has not ceased to groan since

the first hour. But put a lance into my side, the robber

cried again. I dare not, the soldier answered. Thou 'lt

hang easier tomorrow. But all night I shall suffer; put a

lance into my side, for my heart is like a fire within me.

And do the same for me, cried the robbers hanging on either

side. All night long, cried the first robber, the pain an!

the ache and the torment will last; if mt a lance, give me

wine to drink, some strong, heady wine that Will dull the

pain. Thy brethren bear the cross better than thou. Take

courage and bear thy pain. I was not a robber because I

wished it, my house was set on fire as was many another to

obtain recruits. Yon shepherd is no better than I. Why

am I on the cross and not he? His turn may come, who knows,

though he stands so happy among his sheep. To-night he

will sleep in a cool cavern, but I shall linger in pain.)
(p. 340

Even more unabashedly than in 91%, as is indicated by the format,
conversation here is a function of the plot and is related to character
only insofar as the entire narrative is concerned with character devel-
opment. This passage, achieving its impact through the unobtrusive
inclusion of relevant dramatic elements, shows a remarkable change
from the diffuse, posturing, non-functional conversational pattern
in A Morn 19131;.

he elimination of the inappropriate, the technique more used
in solving his problems with conversation, is also basic to his hand-
ling of descriptive passages. A m L9_v_e_r_ is filled with exten-
sive descriptions whose only function is that of stage setting.

These lengthy accumulations of irrelevant details seriously mar the

22
book. That Moore later recognized this is indicated by his revisions.
For example, the long, detailed, but not particularly pointed descrip-
tion of the tennis courts is reduced, in mmmfiggim,
to a few sentences indicating whose eyes the sun shines into. By the
time Moore wrote _A_ Ma's 1;; he had already hit upon the idea of
using description symbolically, and throughout the rest of his career,
the main variation in his descriptive techniques was in the extent to
which he succeeded in excluding aimless description and in the relative
awkwardness or appropriateness of the symbolism. That his underlying
concept did not change is illustrated by the fact that one of the best
examples of his symbolic use of description occurs in A Mariner's Egg.
The early stages of the courtship of Dick and Kate take place during
a tour of the local pottery factory:

Tm rooms away a huge mound of chambers formed an astonish-

ing background, and against all this white effacement the

men who stood on high ladders dusting the crockery came out

like strange black climbing insects. (p. 81)

It would be hard to think of a happier choice of detail to suggest
both the Naturalistic framework of the novel and the eventual fate of
the heroine.

The presentation of detail carrying more than descriptive signif-
icance was not always so graceful, however. For example, in A m
in M13, the following sunset description brackets a discussion of
marriage and men by a group of naive girls on their last day at their
convent school:

he girdle of rubies had melted, had become the pale red

lining of a falling mantle; the large spaces of gild grew

dim; orange and yellow streamers blended; lilac and blue

pennons faded to deep greys; dark hoods and dark veils

were drawn closer; purple was gathered like garments about
the loins and the night fell. The sky, now decorated with

23

a cresent moon and a few stars, was filled With stillness
and adoration; the day's death was exquisite, even human;
and as she gazed on the beautiful Corpse lowered amid the
fumes of a thousand censors into an under-world, even
Violet's egotism began to dream. . . .

May and Violet continued the conversation; and over the
lingering waste of yellow, all that remained to tell where
the sun had set, the night fell like a heavy, blinding dust,
sadly, and regretfully, as the last handful of earth thrown
upon a young girl's grave. (pp. 18-19)

The concept is perhaps as clever as that used in _L_ Elmer's Wife, but
the grotesqueness of the statement calls attention to the figure of
speech instead of signalling the end of innocence and forewarning of
the deadly fate awaiting the girls.

Usually, however, Moore employed this technique to considerable
effect. For example, in Sister Teresa, the tn men when Evelyn Innes
is in love with are dining together. One is a mystic; but the agnostic
host also has his religion:

They sat down in a shadowy room, with two footmen besides

a butler attending upon than. The footmen moved mysterious-

ly in the shadows of the sideboard, obeying signs and

whispered words, and it seemed to Ulick as if they were

assisting at some strange ritual. . . . The butler's voice

acquired a strange resonance in the still room; he offered

Ulick many different kinds of wine, and Owen intervened

in vain-Ulick only drank water. (pp. 50-51)

The passage symbolises the fact that, for Owen, the practice of
materialism has taken on ritualistic overtones, serving him in the
same capacity that the Clmrch serves Evelyn.

Equally well done is hbore's use of natural scenery in The Egok
Keritg to provide mre than simply the backdrop for a Journey:

He proceeded by long descents into a land tossed into

numberless hills and torn up into such deep valleys that

it seaned to him to be a symbol of God's anger in a moment

of great provocaticn. Or maybe, he said to himself, these

valleys are the ruts of the celestial chariot that passed
this way to take llijah up to heaven? Or maybe . . . His

24

mind was wandering, and-.forgetml of the subject of his

meditation-he looked round and could see little else but

strange shapes of cliffs and boulders, rocks and lofty

scarps enwrapped in mist so thick that he fell to thinking

whence came the fume? . . . Joseph noticed the hills, but

the mule did not: he only knew the beginning and the end

of his Journey, whereas Joseph began very soon to be

concerned to learn how far they were come, and as there

was nobody about who could tell him he reined up his mule,

which began to seek herbage . . . While his rider meditated

on the whereabouts of the inn. The road, he said", winds

round the highest of these hills, reaching at last a

tableland half-way between Jerusalem and Jericho, and on

the top of it is the in. We mall see it as soon as you

cloud lifts. (pp. 65-66)
lhn's compulsive search for signs, the multiplicity of possible inter-
pretations of signs, the impossibility of a clear vision, the irrele-
vance of the search-mall these ideas are implicit in this quiet, under-
stated description of the Journey.

In each of these examples, Moore has not brought in material
which was irrelevant to the book in order to alpinsise his theme.
Rather, he has used only those symbols which arose naturallyuhe has
taken descriptions which were first necessary to provide fullness to
the work and used them additionally, but not inorganically, for symbol-
ism. In this intent to draw the thematic statanent of his novels out
of the materials inevitable to the plot, Moore did not change through-
out his career.

Thus despite a spectacular change in technical ability, Moore's
style was no more subject to capricious alteration than were his
themes. What really seems to have happened is that, in a career which
stretched over fifty years and included fifteen novels in addition to
numerous volumes of short stories, essays and plays, extensive practice

and serious concern with both theory and technique enabled him gradually

to replace the crudeness of a practically unschooled writer with the

85
effective, controlled writing of an exp art. And in style as well as
theme, the change reflects careful, discernible development rather
than whimsical, irrelevant fad.

Nevertheless, Moore's writing does not simply progress from bad
to good.58 some of his worst efforts occur in the middle of his career
when, ironically, he should have been most concerned with fine writing
because of Peter's influence. It is the explanation of this extreme
unevenness which presents one of the greatest problems to an analysis
of Moore's total Ibrk. It is difficult to understand how the diffuse,
unimportant _A_ Bbdern L219; can have been followed only two years later
by the excellent _L_ aner's Ell-’2: which in turn was followed only four
years later by the spectacularly bad Egg Fletcher. Yet if the canon
is to be considered as a whole, some understanding of this fluctuation
must be achieved. And since, in addition to the difficulties outlined
above, the four conventionally received categories do not solve the
problem, it seems that some more appropriate pattern nnlst be found.

In the following chapters, I muld like to show that an analysis of
the novels in relation to each other rather than in terms of their

sources does yield such a pattern.

53 Dorothy Anne Hicks Lee's contention that Moore's style
'improved steadily throughout his writing career" fails to recognize
the central chronological position of such spectacular failures as
Mike Fletcher and A More Accident. See her unpublished thesis, George

re's ngelopgent as a Novelist in Relation _t_e; French Realism
Cambridge, lines... 19557, p. 146.

II

The Harding Novels

0f the ten novels George more wrote before his return to Ireland
in 1901, all except m m are woven together by a variety of
connections. The plots of three of them, A mm, A 1.1-4 Acc -
5.1331 and MM thong: complete 0110qu to stand as separate works,
are continued in All; Fletcher. And though 9A1}; Fletch , too, can be
read separately, any understanding of it is mhanced by a knowledge of
the previous works, since Mike's friends consist, in large part, of
characters from four earlier works: Lewis Seymour, Lady Helen and Mrs.
Bentham from A m m, Alice Barton from A 2.11113. _i_n_ m,
John Norton from A Egg Accident, and Frank Escott, Lizzie Baker, the
Brookes sisters and Lady Seveley (mistakenly called Lady Seeley. in
fig Fletcher) from ME; Thus even though A mm, A

Drga A; mm, A E4; Accident and Spring Dan are not internally

related, the inclusion, in M Fletcher, of the main characters from
all four and the plot line from three points to the consideration of
these five novels as a group.

An additimal connection between these early books is furnished
by one recurring character. John Harding appears as either a foil or
a confidant for the main character in A hbderp m, A Ma's M
5 mm; in man. men. use ____.netcher inn _____...Fomme mam
I__n_n_gs_ and Sister '_1‘_e_r_e_s_g. However, Harding's importance in A Mummer's

Mend the pair of novels, Evelyn Innes and Sister Teresa, is suffi-

 

ciently different from his role in the other novels to warrant special
attention apart from the rest of the group.

26

27

In none of the novels is Harding fully drawn, his only defined
function usually being that of a coffee house aesthete. Even in A
m am, where he plays a larger part as both a mentor and
suitor to the heroine, his character is very sketchily portrayed.

In none of the novels does he function as much more than a psychiatric
ear or propounder of epigrams. The books therefore cannot in any way
be considered a series concerning Harding. Nevertheless, his presence
in these otherwise not obviously related novels must indicate some
connection in Moore's mind. .

The fact that nine of his books are united by two overlapping
strands of common characters might seem to indicate that lbore intend-
ed the creation of a total society. By re-introducing characters al-
ready described in earlier works, he could add depth to a social
group larger than could be characterized within the limits of a
single short novel. In fact, however, it has been noted that there
is no "more world” in the sense that there is a "Dickens world.”-
True, more does intmduce figures from a variety of economic back-
grounds. Glynnie Lloyd is a factory hand, Lizzie Baker a barmaid
and Mike Fletcher an Irish bogtrotter. Mr. Carver is of the social
climbing, shop keeping middle class while the Brookes are contentedly
middle class business men. The upper classes are represented by Lady
Helen, Lord Mount Rorke'and Lord Kilcarney. Such a cataloging of
characters indicates a greater range than is in fact represented by
the novels, however, in that the books are basically concerned with
members of the middle class and refer to representatives of other

classes only insofar as they are involved outside their own rank.

1 John Eglinton, prion Literagz Portraits (New York, 19:55), p. 106.

88

It is not remarkable then, that labors did not create a "world," since
he concerned himself with only one class of society. Yet the failure
of these novelsz-u-and there seems no question that, though their merits
vary, they are less successful than any of the other novels Ebore
notes-cannot be attributed simply to narrowness of scope. Instead,
their mediocrity seems to result partly from their failure to function
effectively as a group and partly from shared technical inadequacies

which render them individual failures.

_A_ 3319.933. Ever is the story of a mediocre artist who owes his

success to the efforts of three wamen. One idealizes him, one sees

3 I do not include .A_ aner's Wife and Eveln Logo; and its
sequel in this group because of the special except ions they require.

3 In brief, Brown's evaluation of the novels was that A More
Accident is "unsuccessful" (p. 114), Spring Days is "banal” (p. 110),
hike Fletcher is ”without literary merit" (p. xiv), and that although
_A_ Drama in Mislin and Vain Fortune are better than the average of these
books, they still are part of the "monotonous chain of unsuccessful
efforts" which proceeded Esther Waters (p. 125). On the other hand,
gather “store is among "the dozen most perfectly wrought novels to
appear in the English realistic tradition" (p. xi), and all the novels
Iritten in the manner of the "melodic line" are considered superior
because of the excellence of the technique, although Aprhodite in;
Lulis suffers from the effects of "illness and fatigue, not to mention
age“ (pp. 186-192). Hone describes A Modern Ever as being superficial
(p. 106), badly written and pretentious (p. 9'7), Ali-again Muslin as
uncertain of style (pp. 118-119), A E9. Accident as a ”dead failure”
(p. 130), firing 2312 as not as bad as contemwrary reviews would have
indicated, but still not successful (p. 148), Mike Flgtcher as a
“catastrophe" (p. 161) and Vain Fortune as a ”setback” though ”not the
worst" of bbore's novels (p. 1'74). In contrast, he considered that
Eggher Waters established Moore's reputation (p. 205), The Lake showed
“a great advance in . . . choice and command of lmguage" (p. 261),
while Ulick and Soragha included "many lovely episodes" (p. 403).
Desmond Shawe-Taylor added that _T]_i_e_ Brook Kerith and Heloise and. _;L_b_e_-
E are Moore's masterpieces (p. 469), while Aphrodite 2 £313.15 is
”vivid and delightful" though somewhat affected by weakening power
(p. 485). The opinions of these men seem representative.

29
through him but continues to love him, and one comes to have wntwpt
for him. Despite the title, there is remarkably little "love" in the
book. Though Lewis Seymour is apparently fond of Gwynnie Lloyd, his
chief interest in her is not in the least romantic. Toying with the
idea of suicide because he is reduced to his last shilling, in debt
to all his friends, and in doubt as to his talent because his paintings
have been rejected by a host undiscriminating art dealer, his thoughts
turn to Gwynnie: ”He remembered that it was Friday, tomorrow she
Iould have fifteen shillings” (I, 17). This statement is representa-
tive of Lewis's attitude toward women. Fran Gwynnie, Lewis receives
sympathy, encouragement and money, from Lucy Bentham he receives
affection, social polish and money, from Lady Helen he receives social
posit ion and money. In response to these offerings, he deserts tin
of the women and betrays the third. It is clear that his chief inter-
est in women is their usefulness to him. Insofar as he ”loves" any-
one it is himself.

Lewis is primarily interested in social status. This desire is
apparent even in the opening scenes. A major element in his interest
in suicide is the attention the newspaper notice would attract from
all the elegantly dressed people hurrying past him to the theater.
so intense is his ambition that he sacrifices both love and art to
attain the position he longs for as a socially acceptable artist.

His essential worthlessness is emphasized in conversations with
Harding and the school of ”moderns" he associates with. The shallow-
ness of Lewis' perceptions in both life and art soon elicit such con-
tempt from the group that he drifts away from them. Though Lucy's

decision is harsh, die seems more than Justified in deciding against

30
getting a divorce for him since he is m "utterly molish, so trivial”
(II, 59). That his unmerited election to the Acadany is a hollow
triumph is emphasized by the fact that Lady Helen, turning from him
With contempt, begins a flirtation with Harding on the eve of his
election. Indeed, the only person ilo manages to maintain belief in
him is Gwynnie, the ignorant working girl who lost track of him’ at
the very beginning of his career.

Moore, on reading this novel thirty-five years later, found
”extraordinary . . . the power of the anecdote; though imperfectly
written and illustrated with characters only faintly sketched.“
his power was sufficient to encourage him to revise the work under
the title _L_g_w_i_s_ Saucy; and mm (1917). No doubt the anecdote
appealed to Moore because of his interest in the definition and effect
of success. Yet the Justice of the latter part of the criticism is
more apparent. The writing is ”imperfect" to a distressing degree.
There are long descriptive passages which are irrelevant and obtru-
sive. For example, the interview in vhich Mrs. Bentham arranges With
an art dealer for the anonymous purchase of a certain quota of Lewis'
paintings each year is described too fully to serve a merely mechani-
cal, fact-giving function but is not pointed enough to be a complete
scene. The plot, too, is stretched to include awkwardly unnecessary
action: Mrs. Bentham annually makes secret trips to the continent
at the demand of her blackmailing estranged husband, but no reason is
given, nor are any repercussions indicated. And there are ridiculous

lapses of probability, such as the fortunate happenstance of Mrs.

4 George Moore, Lewis M and Some Women (London, 1917), p. v.

31
Benthamis having two identical pink ball gowns.

An additional distraction is Moore's habit of "lapsing into
French." This practice frequently takes the form of the unnecessary
introduction of French phrases into the writing, as in this descrip-
tion.of Lewis' conduct:

He squandered also a great deal of money in his 5213;;

laisirs, and when he got into full swing of Parisian

life, it pleased.hin.immensely'to drive about in a

voiture Qg_remise, imitating, as nearly as possible, the

223.13% craves of Grevin. (II, 60)

Another instance is his failure, in reporting a statement in French,
to render the narrative tag in English, as if the translation were
too tuing-or forgotten altogether:

'Oh, tree bien, tres bien,” disait il battant discrete-

ment les mains, 'alors tu veux te débarrasser de cette

grosse beta pour prendre un petit.nsri qui t'aimerait

toute la Journée. 0h, que c'est vilain.‘ (II, 49)

Perhaps most pretentious are his inappropriate "borrowings": ”the
sittingeroom.. . . ennuied themP (II, 18).

But the major weakness of the book is no doubt that the characters
are "faintly sketched.“ (Even Lewis' personality is not particularly
developed. He is presented simply as a rather feminine man who is
unflaggingly selfish and is an inadequate artist. And even so impor-
tant an aspect of his character as hislartistic failure is not well
represented. At times Hbore attributes his mediocrity to his lack
of talent and at other times seems to indicate laziness as the cause.
Since so little is given in description of Lewis, it is hard to
understand Why women mold be attracted to him. This problem is
particularly puZZling in that the women are not characterized either.

Geynnie's attachment antedates the opening chapter and therefore

38
requires less explanation, but the only visible cause is that they
are both young, alone, and live on the same floor of a roaming house.
Mrs. Bentham, most fully developed of the three, wants to mother and
inspire him. ‘Yet considering the strength of the urges assigned to
her, it is not likely that she would have waited for ten years to
find a protege. Lady Helen wishes to marry him apparently because
she enjoys kissing him and‘because Mme. Bentham stands in the way of
a serious attachment.

In short, all the characters are functional rather than real, and
Moore's grasp of his plot is too unsure even to make them consistent
stick figures. Thus Lewis studies so hard during the early part of
his stay in.Paris that when.Mrs. Bentham.joins him he does not know
anything about the city. Yet within a short time after her arrival,
he has completely deserted the sottnio and stays up until four o'clock
every night. That this shift was the result of Nbore's ineptitude
and not a desire to provide moral retribution is indicated by the
removal of the inconsistency in the revision, _L_e_w_i_g_ Samoa; £31,109;
lanes.-

The more expert handling of the revision helps point out the
weaknesses of the original work. Most of the pretentious absurdities
have been removed, and there is a general lightening of tone, as in
the replacement of the lumbering romantic passages by gently satiric
scenes. For example, the original describes the consumation of the
relationship between Mrs. Bentham and Lewis in this way:

Hrs. Bentham and Lewis were ill at ease, they could fix

their attention as the hours went by; their conversation

grew'more and more strained anduartificial; they were

possessed by desires from which they could not fly, and
at last, like the fisher conducts the tired fish to bank,

33

love led them to the carriage, and maliciously cried "a
l'hotel" to the coachman. (II, 28)

The corresponding passage in Lewis Seym_our and Some Women is led up
to by a discussion, on the way home, of the fact that Lewis posed
naked for his art class. Arriving at the hotel, ms. Bentham

passed into her room, and had not left the room more than
a minute when it began to seem to Lewis that she was gone
an hour. He was standing thinking of nothing in particular
when a thought came into his mind of Lily Saunders's draw-
ing. She had admired his figure, and Lucy would admire it
if she saw it. But she mustn't come back and catch him in
the middle of his undressing. . . . He was standing in the
pose of the dancing faun when the door of her bedroom
swung over the carpet and she came into the room.

'Lewis, Lewis! what have you done?’ and than she began
to laugh. 'Is that the pose you chose for the class?‘

'No,' he answered; 'it would be impossible to keep this
pose for long. The pose I took for the class is a simpler
one;' and he threw himself into the pose. 'Which do you
like better?’

'I don't know that I care for naked men.'
'We are so used to seeing people clothed,’ he answered,
'that nakedness seems comical to us; isn't that so? I will
show you another pose;' and when he had taken it he told
her the lines in his figure the class had appreciated. (II, 108)
h they lie in bed together "afterwards," Mrs. Bentham gives Lewis
a lecture on French history. The corresponding periods of time spent
with Lady Helen are whiled away by lectures from Lewis on art. The
improvement effected by these changes indicates that the book might
have worked out better as a satire.
That hbore's intentions were basically realistic, however, is
reaffirmed by the greater effort he made, when reVising the book,
to provide motivation: Lady Helen is impressed by Lewis' “aestheti-
cising' and also wants to shock and irritate her guardians, and Mrs.
Bentham does not begin struggling unsuccessfully with lover-like

jealousy until she and Lewis at least have an understanding. Never-

theless, the characters rennin subservient to the idea rather than

34
the theme and therefore are never more than functional, illustrative
shells.

Lacking any fully drawn sympathetic figure, the book fails to
achieve an emotional impact which might obscure Nbore's polemics. In
the framework of Lewis' rise, Moore is able to air his feelings about
bad artists, modern painting, the role of women, the evils of an econ-
omic structure oppressive to the poor, the drawbacks of Academy rule
in the arts, the emptiness of life in "society.” It is for Moore's
views on these subjects that the book must be read since his failure
to create either vivid caricatures or believable individuals prevents

the book fromomeriting attention as a novel.

_A_ Drama in Muslin is a study of marriage. Or perhaps more

 

precisely, it is a study of the role of sex in society from the point
of view of women. The book traces the experiences of a group of girls
during the five years following their graduation from convent school.
Resolving their lives on the basis of their differing reactions to

the specter of the "good match," Mbore represents various degrees of
social and emotional success and failure and analyzes the factors
contributing to each girl's destiny.

The greatest social success is achieved by Violet Scully. She
is not the most beautiful of the girls, nor does she have the largest
dowry, but her disadvantages are offset by'her gentleness and sympa-
thetic nature, so that she is able to catch the season's prize bache-
lor, the baronet. Nevertheless, the pitiable worthlessness of the
insignificant man who bears the title makes her future dubious.

Another beautiful girl, May Gould, is not sufficiently dazzled

35
‘by the expectations of society even to attempt to make an acceptable
marriage. .L likeable, unpretentious girl, more interested in romping
with friends and admiring her horses than in carrying on the calculat-
ed flirtation requisite for social cliabing, her prospects of marriage
are very slhn. 'Yet she is too high spirited to let her life "dribble
away in.maiden idleness” (p; 58) as do her friends, the hopelessly
unmarriageable Brennan sisters. And so she falls into a series of
degrading affairs, so hopeless that in response to a friend's question
as to whether she loved one of the man, she responds, ”No, no; it was
an old man" (p. 318).

The life of the obviously unmarriageable girl is best exemplified
by Cecelia Cullen's fate. .As a cripple, she cannot take part in the
general scramble for husbands. Intelligent enough to see the tawdri-
ness of the marriage customs and bitter enough, because of her social
isolation, to interpret all sex.relations in terms of the ”elegant
harlotry" (p. 205) of the marriage market, she turns to covert les-
bianism for gratification of her thwarted need for companionship.

Most fully developed are the careers of the sisters, Olive and
Alice Barton. Olive, because of her arresting'beauty, seems to have
excellent prospects in the marriage market and therefore, according
to the society, in life. 'Yet she is too foolish and vain either to
catch the baronet she pursues or to succeed in her attempt to slope
with a personally'more desirable but socially less prominent young
man. And since her mother is too ambitious to arrange, or even to
permit, less than the “best" marriage, Olive wears out her time in
an endless succession of useless days without ever realiZing what

has happened.

36

Alice, on the other hand, is considered hopeless by her mother.
She is too plain to attract any suitors. Nevertheless, since the
only available social life is geared to the effort to procure a hus-
band, she has no choice but to perform.all the rituals of dinner party
and Castle season which are appropriate to her beautiful sister.
Though she is apparently obedient to the social code, she, like Cecelia,
is too intelligent not to see it for what it is. Not willing to live
a life either of hopeless and.degrading flirtation or of "cruel
triviality' (p. 58), she spends her time writing. Nor is her writing
unrealistically ambitious; her calm, sensible essays and stories are
appropriate to her limited talents. Her contact with Harding, who
sneers at the marriage market and who lives in England, reinforces
her attitudes, since he demonstrates that it is possible to be happy
and successful while denying the validity of the social code accepted
by her entire social group. Too sensible to think she can be a sort
of female Harding, however, she realiZes that "a woman.could do
nothing without a husband. There is a reason for the existence of a
packAhorse, but none for that of an unmarried.woman" (p. 58). Always
realistic, she not so much defies as deserts society in.marrying a
socially unacceptable but personally suitable man and moving to
England.

In making Alice's the only successful life in the book, Moore
emphasized the necessity of escaping the society. Except for the
crippled and perverted Cecelia, who retreats to a convent, all the
rest of the girls remain in the society. And whether defiant as is
May, or obedient, as is Olive, the result is hysteria and despair,

or, as in the case of Violet, hollow triumph. There seems to be no

3'7
possibility of happiness within the society. For there is no one
with whom marriage would be both socially advantageous and personally
desirable. Therefore a "good" mrriage produces a distressing home
life while a "bad" marriage invites ostracism. And the normally kind-
hearted Violet's vicious reaction to her "triumph" indicates that the
system is self—perpetuating.

Although the book is a total denunciation of Irish society, it
is more than simply a diatribe. In some ways it is the most effective
book in this group. All the characters are carefully drawn, and al-
though they are always subservient to the plot—their illustrative
functions are at times painfully obvious-.each is given a personality
appropriate to her function. If the writing were better, Alice Barton
would be a good characterization. But her portrait lacks subtlety.

It is marred by such pretentiously inappropriate statements as that
'for the pain it caused her, she almost hated the invincible goodness
of her nature” (p. 140).

In addition to the basically superior conception of Alice's
character, the book includes some excellent scenes. When May Gould
returns from Dublin after the secret ordeal of bearing an illegitimate
child, her radiant good health and beauty contrast dramatically with
Alice's face, worn out and pale from the drudgery of supporting day.
And, though suffering from some conversational unrealities, the Jealous
confrontation of Alice by Cecelia upon her discovery of Alice's inter-
est in Dr. Reed is an arresting illustration of there's psychological
insight:

"There is neither purity nor peace in the world; the

same blackness, always the same blackness. The same
horrible passion that degrades, that disgraces, that

38

makes animals of us! There is no escaping from it—it is
everywhere, it is eternal, it is omnipotent. . . . My
last hope is gone, and I am alone in this horrible, this
ignominious mrld. Oh that I might die, for I can bear
With it no longer! And we all come, we all spring from
the same abomination--vile, loathsome, detestable. Take
pity, oh, take pity! let me die! Oh, God, take pity!"

"Cecelia, Cecelia, think, I beg of you, of what you
are saying." But when Alice approached and strove to
raise the defomed girl from the pillow upon which she
had thrown herself, she started up and savagely con-
fronted her.

”Don't touch me, don't touch me!“ she cried; "I can-
not bear it. What are you to me, what am I to you? It
is not with me you vould care to be, but With 22-2.- It
is not my kiss of friendship that would console you, but
his kiss of passicn that would chem you. . . . Go to him,
and leave me to die." (1:. 232)

Yet a sympathetic tone is not constant throughout the book. Represent-
ative of a satiric element is the delightful description of ”the chase”
at the Castle season, the high point of the use of the hunting meta-
phor in relation to the marriage market. To illustrate the shameless-
nees with which the social climbing women pursue the marquis, forcing
him into the company of their daughters whenever possible, and
relentlessly watching where he bestows his attention voluntarily,

more writes in a different vein:

Henceforth eye, ear, and nostril were open, and in the
quivering ardour of the chase they scattered through the
covers of Cork Hill and Merrion Square, passing from one
to the other, by means of sharp yelps and barkings,
every indication of the trail that came across their
way. Sometimes hearkening to a voice they had confidence
in, they would rally at a single point, and then an old
b-—-, her nose in the air, her capstrings hanging
lugubriously on either side of her weatherbeaten cheeks,
would utter a deep and prolonged baying; then a little
farther on the scent was recovered, and, with sterns
wagging and bristles erect, they hunted the quarry
vigorously. Every moment he was expected to break-—
fear was even expressed that he might end by being
chopped. (p. 209)

It is the difference in tone between these passages which is the

39
key to the book's major weakness. Unsure of his method, Ibore shifted
from sympathy to satire, causing the novel to suffer from a diffusion
of purpose. Apparently realizing that one of his failings was an
inability to offer a straightforward presentation of a dramatic scene,
Moore here used satire as a way out. And though his satire is in
itself effective, it seems inconsistent with his primarily dramatic
intentions.

In addition to the shifting focus, the book is hampered by bad
writing. Necessary background information, such as Irish economic
structure and the role of the peasant, is presented as dinner table
'conversation" in an undigested fonn. Moore's own prejudices, as
for example his hatred of Catholicism, are often included With a
Jarring inappropriateness, and he sometimes resorts to absurd epigrams,
such as describing Cecelia's having understood a situation "With the
quickness of the deformed” (p. 54).

Nevertheless, inadequate writing is much less frequent in this
novel than it was in A fidern £9193. And although the characters, with
the partial exception of Alice, remain static representations rather
than becoming fully achieved people, they are sufficiently consistent
and appropriate stock characterizations to make their lifeless sub-

servience to the plot less obtrusive.

In Confessions 932 293513 m, Moore wrote ”Chance: What a field
for psychical investigation is at once opened up; how we may tear to
shreds our past lives in search of-what? Of the Chance that made
us" (1). 320). A Mere Accident is an examination of the role of chance

in the lives of a pair of lovers. John Norton, in disgust at the

40
idea of marriage, determines to become a monk. While he is drawing
the plans which will convert his country estate into a monastery, he
falls in love with the neighbor girl, Kitty Hare. Shortly before
their wedding, Kitty is raped by'a casually'passing tramp. Reacting
in horror against all men, she retreats to her room, and when John
insists on visiting her there, leaps out the window to her death.

This is a peculiarly unsatisfactory book. Since the plot rests on
accident, Moore evidently felt character portrayal to be unnecessary.
Accordingly, John is Ascetic, Kitty is Innocent, and the other charac-
ters are simply names. They are all described too slightly even to
constitute stock characters. And although John does undergo a change
of heart in the end-she is again determined never to marry, but decides
to live in the world rather than the cloister--there is no particular
reason that he should do so. The reader is not even especially invited
to wonder if Kitty's accident took place so that John Would fulfill
his destiny as a celibate. His character is not sufficiently rounded
that one can discover his destiny.

The book is interesting because of two passages. On receiving
a guest at his college rooms, John launches into a thirty-five page
guided tour to world literature. As an indication of Moore’s progress
in self education and as a guide to his literary prejudices, the
passage is noteworthy, but its contribution to the story is negligible.

Kitty's nightmare sequence also is interesting. The passage
is composed of obvious symbols: roses, snakes, tombs, stained robes.

It is probable that.MOOre's affinity for the Decadents is reflected
here, as well as his personal interest in the grotesque. And although

snakes are conventional Christian symbols, in view of the panegyric

41
of Peter's Marius the hicurean earlier in the book, this figure
may well echo Marius' shocking encounter with the sexuality of snakes.5
The image is emphasized out of all proportion in view of the book's
general lack of development. In addition, the artificiality of the
symbolism forms a striking contrast with the subtlety of the symbolic
elements in Moore's later work. Therefore, it seens probable that
this extended passage is in effect an exercise in creative writing
Just as the passage cited above was an exercise in literary criticisn.
Too highly conventionalized to function as characterization and too
different from the overall pace of the book to serve the plot, these
two passages must be Judged as distinct from the story.

In spite of the improvement over earlier mrks in the actual
writing, this book is extremely inadequate in its total effect. John's
discussion of French art suggests that Moore m have been attempting
a sort of literary impressionism. But characterization is so totally
lacking and symbols are so completely conventional that the result
is an unsatisfactory 393; £13 32133. Nothing exists in the book

except the accident.

The preface of 5 Drama i_n_ Muslin promised that the book would

 

 

be followed by a companion piece focused on men rather than women.
firing Dan is a "prelude" to that work.6 gpring Dag describes
the efforts of two young men, Frank Escott and Willie Brookes, to find

their role in life. The promise of an inherited income reduces both

5 Walter Pater, Marius the Epicurean (London, 1920), I, 23.

6 See the title page.

42
men to a furtive, propitiatory life. Engagingly purposeless, Frank
does not pursue his artistic talent diligently enough to be anything
but a dilettante; painting to him.is largely a matter of having a
studio. In contrast to Frank's agreeable vagueness, Willis is a
marvel of records, keeping both diaries and ledgers. Yet the result
is much the same. Wanting to work, he does nothing but lose money
in picturesque and ingenious ways,.ranging from.the sale of artificial
manures and vegetables raised in the family garden to the breeding of
race horses.

Both men form romantic attachments considerably "beneath“ them,
selves. Neither very clever nor very status conscious, Frank does
not enjoy the class of people he should associate with as hair to
his uncle's title. Yet the friends he does enjoy are too middle
class to be acceptable to his uncle. Lacking the conviction to sacri-
fice either world for the other, he drifts pointlesaly between the
two. His involvement with maggie Brookes is an attempt at compmymise
between the world of‘Lord Mount Berke and Lizzie Baker, the'bannaid
whom he really is attracted to. It is a useless gesture, however,
since any woman would be unacceptable to hbunt Berke. Yet Mount
Rorke's attitude toward bachelorhood sits uneasily on Frank, who is
too spontaneous and too conventional to be comfortable as a dedicated
roue. In one of his forays into high life, he escorts Lady Seveley
to the theater where his unthinking chatter is shown up as both naive
and rude in contrast to the polished epigrams of Harding. Equally
unable to sustain a relationship with Maggie Brookes--he dreams of
being romantically drowned in the tide while she and her father are

speculating on the size of the marriage settlement-he eventually

43
returns to Lizzie Baker. It is on this level that he can be of use.
He cares for her when she is sick.

Willie is equally unsuccessful with the social group approPriate
to his family position. Retreating from the peeple who find him
boring and awkward, he involves himself with a woman of doubtful origin
who has a crippled child. Although his father's disapproval forces
Willie into a surreptitious life with her in rooms behind the "agency
for artificial manure," she and her child offer Willie a fenily life
he would be unable to achieve elseWhere.

Through the adventures of these two young men, Moore is able to
point out the disadvantages of inheritance: it weakens initiative,
it prolongs the period during which.a man must please his guardian
at any cost, it produces misfits by forcing men into roles not suited
to them, it hinders congenial marriages and promotes social climbing.

But this novel is not a social tract. Handled with a consistently
light touch, the book is often amusing. The inevitable suicide attempt
is a representative example. When Maggie Brookes refuses to marry
Frank, he stabs himself, and the neighbors speculate on the scene:

Poor young man-and.so goodlooking too-what will she do

if he should die?-and he must die-—there was no doubt of

it. Maria had met Mary-that was the housemaid at the Manor

House—it was Mary who had mopped up the blood. She said

there was a great pool right in the middle of the new carpet

under the windows-they were sitting there on the ottoman

when he said suddenly, "I have come to ask you to marry

me, if you won't I must die.” Notwithstanding this she

continued to play with himp-the cruel little minx-ahe

could stand it no longer, and he pulled out a dagger he

had brought from the East, and stabbed himself twice

close to the heart. What will she do?-—she will have to

go into a convent—aha won't go into a convent—she'll

brazen it out. (pp. 250-51)

The half humorous treatment, however, does not sufficiently relieve

44
the triteness of plot. Every event is too much the expected thing for
the book to be effective social satire, and the lack of character
development excludes the story from any more serious category. The
result is sometimes an awkward, usually an amusing examination of the

pretentiousness of society.

Although it is not announced as such either on the title page
or in the preface, _gld_i_k_e_ Fletcher appears to be the "Don Juan" to which
firing M was a prelude. Mike is the unhappy possessor of a charm
fatal to all-men as well as women. A nun about to be professed has
fled her convent for love of him. Even Alice Barton, the same sensible
sort she was in 5%}; Musflg, is attracted despite an initial
aversion. It is on the basis of this incredible charm that the little
boy from the bogs of Ireland rises to a seat in Parliament and a title
and luxurious estate.

Accenting his rise are the downfalls of all his friends. Lady
Helen commits suicide because of the desertion of her lover and be-
cause, in view of the emptiness of her life, she has not the strength
or incentive to begin again. Lewis Seymour, "Don Juan in . . . middle
age," has become simply "that fellow with the wide hips" (p. 80).

John Norton makes a short foray into the world, which, at the end of

_A_ $9. Accidgnt he had deemed his monastery. However, in a fit of
conscience after Lady Helen's death, he burns the poetry he had written
while he belonged to Mike's group and retreats to his country home.
Frank Escott finally marries Lizzie Baker and suffers the inevitable
disaster: hbunt Horke casts him out, he fails in his attempt to run

a newspaper, and he finally is reduced to a dreary scramble for exist-

45
mos on a tiny allowance from his uncle. Lily, the nun Mike enticed
out of her convent, dies before she can elepe with him.

Despite his own success, Mike finds that the social environment
which brought disaster to his friends has "grown hateful to him"
after Lily's death (p. 253). A retreat to the reality of the desert,
sharing the life of the Bedouins, reveals to him the shallowness of
his surroundings and the futility of his existence:

"Another day has begun. . . . Like a gray beast it cones

on soft velvet paws to devour. . . . I shudder when I

think of the new evils and abominaticns that this day

will bring.” . . . The temple, too, seemed to have lost

youth and gaiety. No longer did he meet his old friends

in the eating-houses and taverns. Everything had been

dispersed or lost. Some were married, some had died. (PP. 286-9)
Then, envying Lady Helen her resolution long ago which gave her "seven
years of peace and rest" (p. 272), he shoots himself, wondering all
the while if somehow he had missed his calling, if he "should have
lived and died a simple, honourable, God-fearing man, if he had not
been taken out of the life he was born in, if he had married in Ire-
land, for instance, and driven cattle to market, as did his ancestors"
(p. 280).

If _<__Mi_k_§_ Fletchgr is a disaster for the characters it includes,
it is an even greater disaster for its readers. Perhaps one of the
reasons for its failure is the sheer technical difficulty of including
so many plot lines in such a short novel. Although the pattern is
worked out with considerable care so that none of the information
seems particularly out of place, still, each denouement includes a
carryover of the defects of the earlier novel it refers to. Thus

the personalities of both Lady Helen and John Norton are too sketchy

to make their fates interesting. And the continuation of the plot

46
of m Days is as trite as was that novel. These tag ends are so
unsatisfactory'that it is hard to understand shy Moore thought then
worth working with.

Another failure is the portrayal of Mike. No doubt it is extreme-
ly difficult to create such a loveable character as Mike was meant to
be. The task is further complicated by'Mbore's desire to indicate that
a true Don Juan cannot exist in modern society. But the effort toward
such a portrayal need not have resulted in the representation of a
monster. And it is hard to imagine anyone being attracted to a person
such as Mike. That which was intended to represent the pride of charm:
and success appears to be arrogance, selfishness, willful eccentricity
and brutality. With the central character giving an impression.so
very different from the author's intenticn, the novel can scarcely
avoid failure.

Added to the book‘s other defects is the lack of taste shown in
the writing. Apparently assuming that Make would.be the best informed
on his own virtues, Moore has assigned to him.the major portion of the
analysis of his personality. The speeches which result are offensive
in the extreme:

"Why do they love me? I always treat then‘badlyx Often I

don't even pretend to love them, but it makes no difference.

Pious women, wicked.women, stupid women, clever women, high-

class women, lowaclass women, it is all the same-a11 love

me. . . . And what sudden fancies! I come into a room, and

every feminine eye fills Iith sudden appetite. I wonder

what it is. my nose is broken, and.my'chin sticks out like

a handle. And men like me Just as much as women do. It

is inexplicable. . . . People dislike me; I Speak:to them

for five minutes, and henceforth they run after me. I

make friends everywhere. . . . I wonder my I am liked!

How intangible, and yet how real: What a wonderful character

I would make in a novel!” (pp. 67—8)

Again, dazzled by his success upon receipt of the news of his inherit-

4'7
ance from Lady Seeley, he marvels: "I can make nothing of it; there
never was any one like me. . . . I could do anything, I might have
been Napoleon or Caesar” (p. 200). Finally, tortured by the emptiness
of his life, he exclaims: "I am alone: The whole world is in love with
me, and I'm utterly alone" (p. 263). The pretentiousness of such
speeches would render them unacceptable in almost any context. But
the dramatic structure of the book, which presumes that this postur-
ing will be viewed sympathetically, makes them additionally objection-
able.

This novel is more ponderously melodramatic even than A hbdern
19193;. A quiet humor, even though existing more between Moore and his
readers than as part of the structure of what was basically a serious
work, considerably ligatened the tone of ganglia Muslin and formed
the basis of the gently satiric gaging Pays. Yet there is no trace
of lightness in £11152 Fletcher. It is a series of offensive soliloquies
from Mike, heavy handed epigrams from Harding, and strained "aesthe-
ticising" from the group of young Journalists working on the Pilggim.
These unacceptable passages are strung together on the framework of
a hopelessly melodramatic plot which bears no basic relation to any
character, develOping only the unjustified rise and fall of Mike
Fletcher, a character as unbelievable as he is uninteresting. Despite
its central position, gathering together as it does four of Moore's
previous works, this novel must nevertheless be considered his worst

failure.

As with _A_ M29. Accident, Vain Fortune is mainly an effort to flesh

out a plot intended to illustrate the role in life of accidental quirks

4.8
of fate. It is also reminiscent of A Bbdern Lover in describing the
plight of an artist of inadequate talent-oin this case, a writer. The

caprice of fate in Vain Fortune concerns the will, cornposed in a final

 

moment of pique, in which Mr. Burnett disinherits his young adopted
daughter, Emily Watson, in favor of Hubert Price, a nephew who has
never entertained any expectations of inheritance. Though the lawyers,
the family, hily and her Companion, Mrs. Bentley, all feel that the
best arrangement would be for Hubert to marry Enily, he falls in love
with the intelligent and kindly Mrs. Bentley instead. The news that
Enily has killed herself in a fit of Jealous depression casts a pall
over their honeymoon, just as their future as a married couple is
darkened by Hubert's realization that he probably is not writing a
masterpiece.

Although Moore has taken much more pains to provide acceptable
motivations, the characters are really little better drawn than are
those of A $959 Accident. Enily is simply the empty-headed, sweet,
pretty youngster. Her suicide is less plausible than Kitty's since
it is hard to imagine that she would ever do anything other than
spend her life plaguing Hubert. Mrs. Bentley is gently self-sacrific-
ing with Enily and clever at recasting plays with Hubert, but none
of the incidents in the book gives opportunity for the display of
particular insigit or tact.

Hubert's inability to follow up his early success is not
explained. The impression is given that the poverty which prevented
his finishing his new work was really little mre than an excuse.
When his inheritance removes the financial problem, he attributes

his lack of productivity to the distractions of Emily's importunity.

49
But with Enily no longer an annoyance, he must face the fact that
he will never finish his revision properly and.must be compensated
for the "burden of life" by marriage to Mrs. Bentley (p. 296).

The change is not plausible. Hubert's urge to write is described
as so strong that he cane to the verge of starvation rather than waste
his time at other work. Yet he pennits himself to be distracted by
the whining of a teenager. And this interruption comes after he has
had one successful play Which established him.as "Chef d'Ecole” (p. 4)
and which the critics are "still thinking about" (p. 295). Yet he
comes to accept failure; he deviates from.resignation only so far as
to envy Emily her suicide. And although it would be acceptable to
indicate that Hubert does not know the reasons for his failure, it
scene a defect in characterization that Moore does not know; Harding's
epigram, that "Price is only an intentionist" (p. 65), is inadequate
as explanation.

The develOpment of the story is rendered even sketchier by the
triteness of many important passages. For example, Moore describes
family background in order presumably'to give depth to the character-
ization of Hubert:

When a child, Hubert had been shy, meditative, illusive,-

his mother's favourite, and the scorn of his elder brothers,

two rough boys, addicted in early youth to robbing orchards,

and later on to gambling and drinking. The elder, after

having broken his father's heart with debts and disgraceful

living, had gone out to the Cape. News of’his death came

to the Rectory soon after; but James's death did not turn

Henry from his evil courses, and one day his father and

mother had to go to London on his account, and they brought him

back a hepeless invalid. Hubert was twelve years of age when

he followed his brother to the grave. (p. 7)

‘Iet the brevity of this history, coupled with the obviousness of the

details, makes the passage so unimportant as to seem irrelevant.

50

The conversation between Hubert and Julia Bentley upon the dis-
covery of Emily's suicide is similarly inadequate:

”My heart is breaking," she said. "This is too cruel-
too cruel: And on my wedding night."
Their eyes met; and, divining each other's thought,

each felt ashamed, and Julia said,-

”Oh, what am I saying? This dreadful selfishness, from

which we cannot escape, that is with us even in such a

moment as this! That poor child gone to her death, and

yet amid it all we must think of ourselves."

”My dear Julia, we cannot escape fram our human nature;

but, for all that, our grief is sincere. We can do nothing.

Do not grieve like that."

“And why not? She was my best friend. How have I repaid
her? Alas: as woman always repays woman for kindness done.

The old story. I cannot forgive myself. No, no! do not

kiss me! I cannot bear it. Leave me. I can see nothing but

Enily's reproachful face.” She covered her face in her hands

and sobbed again. (pp. 293-294)

The scene is so completely obvious and the statements are so devoid
of sharpness that the climax lacks tension, thus reducing the effective-
ness of the book as a whole.

The same failures which weakened earlier books are evident in
Vain Fortung. Efforts st motivation and characterizaticn are trite
and perfunctory. The plot is thin and artificial, offering nothing
more organic to the story than a bare, functional framework for the
statement of the idea which is the primary intention of the novel.
Although the idea in itself is interesting, this development of it is
so sketchy that one wonders if it would not have been just as effective

if presented simply as one of Harding's epigrams.

All these novels deal with the same group of people-the moneyed
class. However, they do not so much depict that social group as pre-
sent Moore's attitude toward it. He did not strive for dramatic

representation of society's failings in order to create an emotional

51
appeal for reform. He was not dedicated to social reform, Rather,
in these books, he considered these aspects of society which were
interesting or annoying to him personally.

Full of happy menories of his days in the artist colony in Paris,7
he wrote into his books long passages on the theory of art and litera-
ture, including the obtrusive discussions in £14939, Accident as well
as the scattered cements on art in i Moder; 1.919; and §pring 22.15,
on literature in 5 Mg _i_r_i_ Muslin, and on drama in _V_a_i_._:_1_ Fortune. In
addition, disturbed that his own talent as a painter had proved to be
so slight, he analyzed the adjustments required of artists with limited
talents-the selling out to commercialism by Lewis Seymour, the sensible
limitation of goals by Alice Barton, the retreat to fantasy by Frank
Escott, the bitter despair of Hubert Price.

Thirty-one when his first novel was published, he had begun to
notice that some of his friends were getting married while he was
not.8 The recognition of this difference led him to endless consider-
ations of marriage, the reasons for it, its advantages and its draw-
backs. ,His attitude ranged from.the scathing criticism of the Irish
system of arranged marriages, which he considered to be little better
than a white slave trade, through the disastrous but incomprehensibly
happy marriage of Frank Escott to the dubious compensation for life
marriage offered to Hubert Price. The campaiion concern, celibacy,
received sympathetic consideration in the portraits of John Norton
and Mike Fletcher.

7 See the nostalgic autobiographies, Confessions 2i: amigo,
and Memoirs 9; Ag I_>_e_a_c_1_ _Igigg.

8 See Hone, especially pages 56-59, 99-100, 153-154, 197.

52

Moore strongly felt that he did not begin to live until his
father's death gave him legal and financial independence.9 His
interest in his father's death, both in the feeling of elation at
his new freedom.and in the feeling of guilt over that elation, is
reflected in his repeated considerations of the effects of inheritance.
The benefits of inheriting an adequate income are illustrated when
Mike Fletcher and Hubert Price experience a sudden freedom.to choose
a profession on the basis of inclination rather than need. The mis-
fortune of Frank Escott and Willie Brookes illustrates the degrading
and destructive aspects of the prolonged subservience to a benefactor
where the felicitous death is delayed. Another aspect of this concern
is the eventual failure of an inheritance long expected, a crisis
faced by Lewis Seymour and Emily Watson.

Suicide is considered in all these novels. It is in terms of
self-destruction that the justification of existence is dealt with.
Successful suicide is provoked by sexual violence, disappointment in
love, and boredom, while wishful thinking about suicide is brought
on by poverty, and disappointment in love and art. The frequency
with which suicide is either thought about or committed in these books
need not be taken to mean that moore was himself eternally on the
verge of killing himself. Nevertheless, he admitted that he "liked
to think" that his father had committed suicide,10 and he did seem to

feel generally that the problems of existence rose from the fact not

9 See Confessions Q£_E_Young Man, pp. 304-505.

 

1° Bone, p. 308.

53

that life is short, but that it is 1ong.11

In addition to such reflections of Moore's personal interests,
these books often derive specifically from the life around Moore.
For example, the general situation in _A_ Modern 1.919}; is almost certain-
ly based on the life of one of Moore's Paris friends}2 Edward Martyn
no doubt furnished the model for John Norton.13 The life of Mbore's
friends in Sussex supplied material for use in.§pring 2333,14 JMr.
Barton, in A M in M, is probably patterned after Jim Browne,
s relative of Moore's.15 Moore's own inability to follow up an early
literary success may have provoked the examination of literary failure
in 1113 Fortune.]-6 The reduction of Moore's income which resulted
from the mismanagement of his estate by a relative probably suggested
the incompetent uncle in Lewis Seymour's background.17

Nevertheless, this use of his own experiences does not indicate
that the novels are autobiographical in any strict sense. It is doubt-
ful even that the recurring minor character, John Harding, should be

11 See for example his statement that "life gets pleasanter as one
gets used to it," Hone, p. '75, and the indications of pessimism through-
out Confessions 9_f_' _a_ Youn Egg, especially in his thoughts of ”the hope-
lessness of life" (p. 322 and ”the inherent miseries of human life” (p.
348), and in the extended dialogue with his Conscience, pp. 464-467.

13 Brown, p. 89.

13 Hone, p. 130.

14 See the description of a relationship similar to that of Frank
Escott to the Brookes in Hone, pp. 125-126.

15 Hone, p. 35

16 His concern ever adverse criticism of his own novels appears in
letters quoted by Hone, see especially pp. 136, 148, 150, 161.

17 A description of this unpleasant episode involving hbore's
uncle, Joe Blake, appears in Hone, pp. 81-82.

54
considered autobiographical, as has been suggested.18 tRather, he seens
intended to serve as a standard of rationality against which the society
can be measured. He is able to form disinterested Judgments of his
surroundings since he is accepted socially even though he refuses
really to take part in the society. Thus his presence at the Castle
parties in A Mia Mugin indicates the existence of s mrld out-
side the restricted vision of the Irish upper class. And the fact
that it is Alice Barton whom he singles out for attention serves both
to emphasize his own disassociation from.the social code and to lend
authority to Alice's budding contenpt for>and rejection of the rituals
of her society.

'Yet Harding's function is not simply that of a proselytizer against
the society. Although he encourages Alice in.her dissatisfaction.and
helps her get started writing so that she can act upon her antipathy,
he is far less partisan than these facts alone would indicate. Rather,
he seems likely to have achieved a well rounded vision, since, while
living in England, he knows both the Bartons and.Mrs. Lawler, the
neighbor whom.one ”doesn't know;" Frequenting so many different
social groups, he is not likely to reflect the pressures of vested
interest in his Judgements. The very fact that he appears so briefly
and is so little characterized emphasizes his position as an observer
only; he comments upon but does not take part in the action of the
plot. And though Mme. Barton assumes he is her daughter's suitor,
neither Alice nor Harding entertains any false idea.of his role. His

most positive action is to reassure Alice of the sanity of her own

18 Brown, p. 92.

opinions.

This role of unentangled ob server is maintained whenever Harding
appears. NoWhere else daes he receive even the slight development
offered in A M in Muslin. He simply appears, comments tersely,
and accurately, on the action of the novel, and disappears without
having affected anything other than the reader's understanding. For
example, his contempt for Lewis Seymour, when Lewis first comes up to
London, neither drives Lewis from the Academy nor spurs him on to
greater efforts at understanding. Harding simply epitomizes a stance
which Levis rejects. And although Lady Helen turns to Harding in her
disenchantment with Lewis, this attachment seems less to indicate an
injury to Lewis than to show Lady Helen's discovery, in Harding, of
the true artist whom she vainly sought in Lewis.

Harding's function could scarcely be made more explicit than it
is in Spring Pm. In a short passage somewhat beside the main plot,
Harding, Mike Fletcher and Lady Seveley sit discussing Frank Escott
and Lizzie Baker:

"The phenomenon of love has hitherto eluded our most
eager investigation; when we have traced each desire to
its source and classified--'

”We women Will have ceased to take any interest in the
matter. What a humbug you are, Mr Harding; one never
knows when you are serious. But what has all this to do
with that poor boy who has gone off with his barmaid?“

”This: he is unquestionably good-looking, but I don't
think he possesses at all the magnetism, the power-acall
it what you will-that I have been speaking of. He Will
never influence either men or woman, he will never make
friends; that is to say, he will never make use of his
friends. He will, I should think, always remain a little
outside of success. It will never quite come to him; he
will be one of those muddled, dissatisfied creatures who
rail against luck and bad treatment. I cannot see him
really successful in anything; yes, I can, though, I
believe he would make an excellent husband. I have
spoken a great deal to him. He has told me a lot about

56

himself, and I can see that he asks and desires nothing

but leave to devote himself to a.woman, to pander to her

caprices. All that violent exterior will wear off, and he

will yield to and love to be led by a mman. He writes a

little, and he paints. I don't know if he has any talent;

but he will never be able to work until he is obliged to

work for a woman."

”Then you think he will marry that barmaid?”
”Most probably." (pp. 152-153)

These comments, particularly in view of Frank's fate, read more like
an author's notebook, the character outline he prepares for his own
use, than a summer afternoon's idle conversation about a.friend. But
the abruptly introduced analysis is typical of Harding; it is as
”prephet and oracle" that he figures in these books. And it is
because of his unbiased and true vision that the young men of the
Pilgrim and aspiring dramatists such as Hubert Price try to impress
him, seeking his concurrence before relyinglon their own opinions.

Although the accuracy of Harding's prophecies and the validity
of his judgements indicate that he has access to Moore's vision of
the plot, still, the fact that he really’does not exist except through
his epigrams and prophecies makes him more editorial than autobio-
graphical. And since he never seems to affect the plots he comments
on so cogently, he cannot be thougit an example of deus 9; machine. .
In fact, however, Moore did use him as another sort of crutch. The
intention of each book is.made clear either through Harding's comments
or througm.the explanations offered by other characters to him as an
intelligent listener.

‘Yet to assign the role of commentator and expositor to so un-
developed a character seems extremely ill advised. It would probably
be preferable to create a genuinely autobiographical character in

order to lend weight to his opinions. However, Moore leaves it to

57
the reader to decide that, since Harding's views on such things as
art, drama, creativity and love are Moore's own, as expressed in his
autobiographical writings, his estimates of character should carry
the weight of Moore's authority; Or, perhaps, Moore felt that the
opinions he entrusted to Harding were so manifestly ”right" that they
needed no vindication.

Whatever the cause, the treatment of Harding is characteristic
of Moore's handling of the novels generally. Just as Harding's
importance is in his opinions and not in his character or conduct,
so the importance of'the novels is in the idea rather than in the
plot or character. .Lnd it is this basically expository intention
of the books which is their greatest weakness. Although they concern
the society which surrounded Moore, they are not autobiographical in
much the same way that Harding is not autobiographical: they are
comments upon the society rather than a representation of the society.

These books are basic to an understanding of hbore's attitude
toward all the topics he treats in theme-artistic and literary
creativity, marriage relations, inheritance laws, Irish society,
suicide. Yet they do not offer any very adequate context for the
ideas presented. A knowledge of the society is assumed as a back-

ground for Moore's thoughts. These books are Moore's epigrams.

III
_L_ Mmer's Wife and Evem Innes

Although they are exceptional for different reasons, three of
the novels in which Harding appears-.5 Runner's Egg, and the pair,
Evglm I__n_n_e_s_ and _S_i§_t_e_r_ Teresa-.demand a consideration apart from the
group already described. _A_ Mummer's life differs from the other
books in which Harding figures in that it deals with a social back-
ground totally outside Moore's own experience. Working on a topic
suggested by his publisher, Moore set about an investigation of the
lives of strolling players. He spent several weeks with a touring
company of players in search both of material about the mundane details
of their lives and of a town sufficiently dull and ugly to furnish the
setting for the opening scene.1 Henley, where the only recreation
was church attendance and the only eight to see was a pottery factory,
offered a life totally alien to bore. He was equally unacquainted
with the life of touring actors, an indigent bohemianisn very differ-
ent from the privileged form he had experienced in Paris. Lttenpting
to deal with an unfamiliar character in an unknown environment, Moore
depended on meticulous observation to provide a substitute for the
casual references to his om general way of life Which he had thought
sufficient framework for A Madern £0193.

In this most naturalistic of his novels,2 Macro evidently relied

on Zola for more than his fact-gathering technique. Like Gervaise,

1 Bone, p. 98.

59
in ;!Aaaommoir,3 Kate skids from respectability to prostitution by
way of alcoholism and association with amoral companions. And more
documents the fall as carefully as did Zola. Yet the parallel is no
more than superficial. 1Where Gervaise is degraded by bad luck and
the evil intentions of her companions, Kate's troubles are more
nearly her am. Not even Kate, in her more rational moments, is
able really to blame her predicament on outside influences, for, as
she explains to one of her friends, ”everybody has, all my life-long,
been very good to me; it is I alone who am to blame, who am in fault"
(p. 407).

Yet if her environment cannot be blamed for her defeat, it is
nevertheless a provoking agent. Fibers speculated that "had she re-
mained in Manchester, or had she even bee: placed in surroundings
that would have rendered possible the existence of a fixed set of
principles, she might have cured herself of her vice" (p. 345). The
lack of a favorable framework constitutes an environment which,
epitomized by her easy-going second husband, Dick, is "huge, kind
and indifferent" (p. 398), and its harmfulness to her is clearly
illustrated in the description of one of her drunken, jealous rages.
After a day of solitary drinking, she lashes Dick for her misery,
and, having sent him for a bottle of gin, lies in wait for him,
armed with a large stick:

Making neither sign nor stir, she allowed him to get
past her, and then, raising the brush-handle, she landed

him one across the back. The poor man uttered a long cry,
and the crash of broken glass was heard. . . . [Dick] felt

3 The similarity in general plot line has been extensively
described by Georges-Paul Collet in George fibers .93. _l_s_._ France
(Paris, 1957), pp. 127-132.

6O

uneasily at his pockets, through which he could feel the
gin dripping down his legs.

"Well, have you brought the drink I sent you for? “here
is it?"

”Well," replied Dick, desirous of conciliating at any
price, “it was in my pocket, but When you hit me with that
stick you broke it.”

"I broke it?” cried Kate, her eyes glistening with fire.

”Yes, dear, you did; it wasn't my fault."

”Wasn't your fault! Oh, you horrid wretch! you put it
there on purpose that I should break it."

"Oh! now really, Kate," he cried, shocked by the illogical-
ness of the accusation, "how could I know that you were going
to hit me there?"

. . . But Dick . . . was interrupted by a heavy blow across
the face, and like a panther that has tested blood, she rushed
at him again, screaming all the while. . . . The patience with
which he bore with her was truly angelic. With one stroke he
might have easily felled her to the ground, but he contented
himself with merely warding off the blows she aimed at him.
This, from his great height and strength, he was easily able
to do, and she struck at him with her little womanish arms
as she might against a door.

"Take down your hands," she screamed, exasperated to a
last degree. "You would strike me, would you? You beast: . . . "

How long this combat might have lasted it is difficult to
say, had not Dick's attention, at a critical moment, whm
Kate was using the poker by turns as spear and sabre, been
interrupted by the view of the landlady's face at the door,
and so touched was he by the piteous dismay expressed in the
usually placid face of the poor little woman men she looked
round at her broken furniture, that he forgot to guard him-
self from the poker, and Kate, taking advantage of the
occasion, whirled the weapon round her head. He saw it
descending in time, and half worded off the blow; but it
came down with awful force on the forearm, and glancing
off, inflicted a severe scalp wound. The landlady screamed
“Minder!" and Dick, then seeing that matters had come to s
crisis, closed in upon Kate, and undeterred by yells and
struggles, pinioned her and forced her into a chair. . . .
Dick never released his hold of her, and his blood dripped
upon her, trickling in large drops into her ears, and down
into her neck and bosom.

"You are spitting on me, you beast: You filthy beast!

I'll pay you out for this."

Then, perceiving that it was blood, the intonation of
the voice changed, and in terror she screamed, "Minder!
murder! He is murdering me: Is there no one here to save
me?” (pp. 391-4)

Thus Kate's environment destroys her in that it is passive while an

envelope of active benevolence would be required for the survival of

61
such a person. Weak minded and weak willed, romantic and irrational,
she cannot cope with life. In.her first marriage, a dull hquand, a
devout mother-in-law and the routines of‘shopkeeping restrict her to
a stable, if dull, life, which she can escape safely through daydream-
ing and novel reading. But when she actually does escape to an.environ-
ment where no one expects anything of her, where there are no rules
forcing her life into shape, where she lives her daydreams both on the
stage and in the carefree vagabondage of touring players, she dis-
integrates. Unable to impose form on her own life, she is destroyed
by an environment which, in its kindly indifference, refuses to disci-
pline her.

Such destruction, however, is far removed from the dogged cruelty
of the environment of l'Assommgir. And the difference points to the
importance of Moore's book. Not primarily interested in emphasizing
the scientific view of the universe, not intent upon pushing for
economic or moral reform, he concentrated on the analysis of character.

Nevertheless, the book undoubtedly benefits enormously from the
fact that, by copying the fact finding and descriptive techniques of
his French master, Moore created a vivid and objectively existing
environment for Kate's story. Thus, the novel begins with a minute
description of the sights, sounds and smells of a sick room. Yet
unlike the relatively aimless descriptions typical of 5 kdern 1.9193,
this opening passage in A Mummer's Eff; is not intended simply to
provide a setting. Instead, because of its climax in the asthmatic
seizure of Kate's first husband, it becomes an embodiment of the

novel ' s theme:

62

He was a piteous object. A long pallid face crushed.under
a shock of dark matted hair, a dirty nightdress draggling
round a pair of thin legs, was the meagre reality; but for
the moment the grandeur of human suffering covered him,
lifted him beyond the pale of loving or loathing, and
invested and clothed him in the pity of tragic things. The
room, too, seemed transfigured. The bare wide floor, the
gaunt bed, the poor walls plastered with religious prints
cut from.journals, even the ordinary furniture of everyday
use--the little washhand-stand with the common delf ewer,
the chest of drawers that might have been bought for thirty
shillings-lost their coarseness; their triviality dis-
appeared, until nothing was seen or felt but this one
suffering.man. (p. 17)

More than in any other of his novels, Moore here attempts fully

to describe, rather than simply to suggest, the routine action of his

characters. For example, the description of Kate's elopement constitutes

almost a handbook on the routine of enbarkation for travelling players.

Yet after everyone is on the train and settled.down, Mbore uses the

passage for quite a different purpose. Riding opposite the "tenor,

conductor, and second low comedian,“ Kate looks out the window, seeing

that

they were passing through the most beautiful part of
Staffordshire, and she saw, for the first time, the
places she had so often read of in.her novels. . . .
The day was full of mist, and the long soft meadows
reposed peacefully in the sunlight. Along the edges
of the woods the white vapours heaved, half concealing
the forms of the grazing kine; and the light shadows
floated on the grass, long and prolonged, even as the
memories that were new [aid] filling the mind of this
sentimental workwoman. Her heart beat; and silent with
expectation, she savored a joy that was ineffable. It
seemed to her that she was now on, or almost on, the
threshold of a new life--the life of which she had so
long dreamed. Her lever was sitting opposite to her,
but she asked herself why they were not walking together,
side by side, in those fair grassgrown places, plucking
as they went the wet leaves that brushed across their
way. No doubt there were birds singing there; yet in
her dreams of them the clicking of needles and the
rustling of silk supplied the place of their songs; and
forgetting the landscape, with a sigh, she set to think-
ing of what they were saying of her at hone. (p.176)

63

Rather than being simply a description of a necessary piece of action,
the passage becomes a contribution to the deveIOpment of Kate's
character, illustrating as it does her basically romantic outlook on
life and her inability to graSp the importance of the difference between
her dreams and reality.

Another example of action described in order to develcp character
is the detailing of Kate's drunken pursuit of Dick to the theatre in
Manchester where he is conducting a rehersal:

Her head . . . seemed as if it were going to roll off
her shoulders, but a good sponging would do it good, and
then a bottle or two of soda would put her quite straight-
so straight that nobody would know that aha had touched a
drop.

It took Kate about half an hour to make her arrange-
ments. In a basin she drenched herself, and regardless of her
dress, let her hair lie dripping on her shoulders. The
landlady brought her up the soda-water, and seeing what a
state her lod or was in, placed it on the table without a
word. . . . [Eeaving the house] Kate was . . . much more
sober, and weak and sick she leaned back upon.the hard
cushions of the clattering cab. Her mouth was full of
water, and the shifting angles of the streets produced
upon her an effect that was very similar to sea-sickness.
The rattle of London rang in her ears, and she could hear
a piano tinkling, and she saw Dick directing the movements
of a line of girls until her dream was brought to an end
by a gulp. Oh! the fearful nausea! There was no doubt
but she was terribly ill, and she did not feel better
until, flooding her dress and ruining the red velvet seats,
all that she had drunk came up. The vomit, however, brought
her great relief, and had it not been for a little dizziness
and weakness, she would have felt quite right when she
arrived at the stage-door. (pp. 372-373)

Far from.reflecting simply a morbid interest in the disgusting details
of alcoholism, this passage furnishes information important for develop-
ing the scene which is climaxed by Kate's mad singing of the narcis-
sistic song of her heyday: "Look at me here, look at me there,/
Criticise me everywhere./ I am so sweet . . ." (p. 379). The contrast

with the days when she had to be reminded that she was supposed to

64
portray a ”bit of a romp" is rendered both more pathetic and more
horrifying as, disheveled and filthy, che "dances” in the gutter.
In addition, her revolting appearance emphasizes the hopelessness
of her approach to Dick in an exchange which, nevertheless, indicates
to Harding the ”great passion of a life" (p. 378). Because of the
way in which the description of Kate's filth and depravity is handled,
she becomes, as Mr. Ede did in the opening scene, something more than
simply a sick and dirty woman.

Thus, although in this novel.more than.in any of the others, moors
closely followed Zola's pattern of careful description of action and
physical surroundings, his reason for using the technique was differ-
ent from.Zola's. Rather than the intention to achieve the "exact
description of a linen draper's shep" which he attributed to Zola}
Moore was attempting the exact creation of a linen draper's shopkeeper.
And'by keeping always in mind his goal of character creation, he was
able to achieve a unity in this book which is not present in any of
the other books including Harding. Because of the care with which
description and action are related to character development, and
because of the detail with which the environment is created, the

novel constitutes an excellently vivid and living portrait.

Harding does not appear'to be so out of place in Evelyg.gggg§
and Sister Teresa, since, in these two novels, Moore returns to a
consideration of the world of the artist: Evelyn Innes is an cpera
singer. Yet Evelyn's eventual retreat to a convent points to the

fact that the world Harding represents is not the central concern

4 Confessions gig Ygung Man, p. 380.

 

65

of the novels. The separation of the pair of novels into two units
is appropriately indicated by the two titles, although the division
is much more organic and less tidy than can be indicated simply by
format. In giving the books the names Evelyn used in her double life
rather than presenting the work as a two wolume novel, Moore emphasized
the dual nature of the work. Yet the titles are misleading, since the
formal division invites the reader to assume that the two novels
represent the two stages of Evelyn's life, while in fact, her two
worlds--religious and secular--are present throughout both works.

During the course of the two novels, Evelyn is transformed from
a naive, musically talented girl into a sophisticated prime donna who
finally gives up the stage to become a nun. Although in plot summary
it seems unlikely, the shift from self-centered hedonist to happy
nun is so carefully developed that it comes to seem inevitable.
Except for the episodes which are focused more on Owen Asher, Evelyn's
first lover, than upon Evelyn herself, the novels constitute an exam-
ination of the religious impulse in the form of an elaborately con-
structed character study. Obediently Zolaesque, Moore analyzed the
contribution of Evelyn's inheritance in indicating her original
position, subservient to, though not dominated by, her father. Though
realizing that her talents are in vocal rather than instrumental music,
she involves herself in her father's interest until Owen offers her
an escape. It is a desire to pursue her destiny’more than the lure
of Owen's romantic life or a wish to be free of her father which
prompts her to accept Owen's offer. Always more influenced by men
than by ideas, Evelyn wholeheartedly and consciously adopts the values

of the man who, much more than her music teacher, has ”made something

66
wonderful” of her (E1, 141). At his bidding she studies atheism, and
she imitates him in materialisn. But although the surface pattern of
her life shows her to be totally Owen's disciple, the sight of a
church in Rome causes her to backslide toward Christianity.

Once again, however, she does not really consider acting upon her
disaffection from the life she is leading until another man appears
to lead her. Ulick Dean, a lover who "hardly thought of her at all
as a woman to be kissed" (ST, 52), helps her to escape from Owen's
worldliness. He forms a sort of way station for Evelyn between the
world and the cloister, since he offers her both mysticism and sex.
But though Ulick's "simple dignity made Owen's artificial dignities
seem small and almost mean" (ST, 30), and though her love of nature
provokes her to respond eagerly to his pantheism, eventually Ulick,
too, is an insufficient guide: ”He seemed to her like some woodland
creature who, hearing monks chanting in his woodland, divines in
some half-conscious way that an idea in which he has no part has come
into the world" (ST, 30).

Turning from the woodland creature to the monk, rather the: from
one idea to the other, Evelyn becomes fascinated by TabnSignor Mustyn,
who determines to triumph over his old school mate, Owen Asher, by
leading his mistress into the cloister. And although she is an
eager convert as long as her new duties involve simply the discussion
of her lovers with her confessor, Evelyn finds that the anonymity of
the cloister, far from helping her toward selflessness, merely empha-
sizes the galling strength of her egotism. Unable to sacrifice her
individuality, she deliberately breaks rules so that she can be

singled out by punishment. In additicn, she insists that religious

67
vocations are not all alike, in reflection of’their uniform destina-
tion, but are instead as varied as the nuns are individual. This
theory enables her to feel superior to the nuns Who have passed direct-
ly from.their homes into the convent without a taste of the world.
She is disappointed when her singing has attracted enough donations
to pay off the debts of the convent, feeling that "henceforth there
was nothing to strive for, nothing to hope for, and every day would
be the fellow of the same as the day before" (ST, 190). Her religious
impulse is not able to convince her that a woman in a convent might
reasonably be supposed to be waiting and hoping for God.

Unable to distinguish between real selflessness and grandiloquent
self-sacrifice, Evelyn accompanies her flamboyant self-abasement with
cements on how much she has given up for her new vocation. At the
same time, she clearly feels herself superior to the lay sisters,
whom.ahe describes to her father as ”humble folk who strive in a humble
way to separate themselves from the animal, and they see heaven from
the wash-tub plainly" (ST, 102). Gradually she realizes that she has
not achieved the ecstatic awareness of God experienced by her sisters.
And as her contact with Mensignor Hbstyn dwindles after her entry
into the convent, she realizes that Christianity appeals to her
intellect only. Denied the emotional involvement implicit in the
role of a "bride of Christ," she finds that for the first time she
has pursued an idea which is not embodied in a personal relationShip.
The situation seems so unnatural to her that it shakes her faith.

Her route to acceptance of a less personal commitment, one not
involving any particular individual, is through an awareness of the

hOpelessness of egotism. She has taken pride in having supported

68

the convent as a contemplative order, both through direct donation
and by singing to attract other donors. When the convent adds a
school and becomes self-supporting, she feels personally defeated, for
it is only as an enclosed order that the nuns are dependent upon her
and therefore constitute a tribute to her generosity and her abilities
as a provider. Learning of the decision to establish the school, she
feels that her work ”had undone itself, it had Just crumbled away, and
she saw it scattering like a little heap of dust” (ST, 231). It is
this recognition of the temporary quality of the individual effort
which enables her finally to escape her ego and, in so doing, to
achieve peace.

Evelyn's metamorphosis is rendered plausible by the subtlety
with which Hbore indicates her status through.slightly shifting
interpretations of relatively stable objects. His most elaborate use
of this technique is in the development of Evelyn's personal relations
ships. As a naive girl she is attracted by’Owen's worldly’gdamour.
And when the dazzling shopping tour in Which Owen buys her wardrobe
is echoed by a shopping spree with Ulick, it is clear how'completely
she has absorbed Owen's values: she seems materialistic and vulgar
in comparison to Ulick's other-worldliness. Yet by the time Evelyn
enters the Convent, it is Ulick who seems worldly, pleading for
marriage and pantheistic enjoyment of natural wonders in contrast to
the pure spirituality Evelyn seeks in the cloister. Within the
convent walls, however, Evelyn once again is on.the»worldly side of
the comparison. Her egocentricity and realized sexuality not only
trouble her, but even threaten the vocations of some of her sisters.

It is the eventual renunciation of personal involvement, with either

69
men or vomen, which produces the final state of peace: a "broken
spirit”_(ST, 236).

A much simpler, and therefore perhaps more obvious, eMple of
this technique is the career of Evelyn's chestnut horses. On the day
she elOpes with Owen, Evelyn enviously eyes the chestnuts belonging
to an obviously sophisticated woman. In Paris, although Owen must
provide Eyelyn with transportation, she decides that a pair of chest-
nut horses is too ostentatious for a nmsic student—they will come
later. On her triumphant entry into London, she rides behind her
chestnut horses. Finally, locked in her convent, feeling she has
lost her vocation and without even the contemptible Ave Maria to
sing, she remembers her past life and thinks "Ah! those chestnut
horses, what had happened to them? were they dead? Maybe they
were drawing cabs" (ST, 184). Building on such recurring but slightly
shifting motifs, Moore achieves a totally convincing story of
psychological change.

If more had confined his attention to Evelyn's develOpment,
he might have avoided the Split which mars the novel. Even the
extensive passages of musical analysis and criticism, although not
apparently connected with the story, in fact are carefully woven
into the account of Evelyn's development—her increasing sophisti-
cation, her self-awareness--so that they function as part of Evelyn's
story. The real division in the novels involves Moore's concern,
not with the separate segments of Evelyn's personality, as the tWo
titles indicate, but with the over-development of Owen's role.
Apparently unable to resist the temptation to tell once again the

familiar story, more introduces into this basically unCongenial

70

environment a representat ion of the clever, meretricious, hedonistic,
cynical world of John Harding. Not only is this final description
of that way of life repetitive, it also suffers from the same failures
which marred the earlier books.

that of the problans in Evelyn Inns; and Sister Teresa seem to
be provoked by inappropriateness and lapses of taste. Perhaps trying
to make Owen seem real, Moore succeeds only in making him seem un-
pleasant:

Lwaking from his reverie, he raised himself from the mantel-
piece. . . . Never had he thought so brilliantly, and he
regretted that no magical stenographer should be there to
register his thoughts as they passed. But they were gone.
. . . Resuming his position against the mantelpiece, he
continued his interrupted train of thoughts. . . . That
God should concern himself at all in our affairs was
strange enough, that he should do so seemed little credit-
able to him, but that he should manage us to the extent of
the mere registration of a cohabitation in the parish books
was... Owen flung out his arms in an admirable gesture of
despair and crossed the room. (E1, 72-73)

That Owen rivals even Mike Fletcher in narcissism as well as vanity
is indicated by Owen's thoughts While waiting to go to his mistress'
bedroom:

Standing before the glass, his heart was swollen With a

great pride. He remarked in his eyes the strange, enigmatic
look which he admired in Titian and Vandyke, and he thought
of himself as a principle-mas a force; he Wondered if he were
an evil influence, and lost himself in moody meditations
concerning the mystery of the attractions he presented to
women. (El, 146)

But though such attempts to characterize Owen are repellent, the
disruptive elements are not always intrinsically undesirable. The
monologue with which Lady Duckle is introduced is charming in itself:

'I heard 'Lohengrin" last season. I was in has Ayre's
box. . . . She had a supper party afterwards, and when she

asked me what I'd have to eat, I said, "Nothing with wings"
. . . . Oh, that swani'

71

. . . There had been moments, she said, when she
thought the people on the stage were making fun of them-—
'such booing:'--they had all shouted themselves hoarse-
such wandering from key to key.
'Hoping, I suppose, that in the and they'd hit off
the right ones. And that trick of going up in fifths.
And then they go up in fifths on the half notes. I
said if they do that again, 1'11 leave the theatre.' (II, 143)

This short insertion is the sort of writing which was amusing in
Confessions 93 3mg; but seems out of place in the more muted
context of EvelE M-

Because most of these Jarring passages reflect Maore's own
prejudices and postures, it seems likely that they were provoked
largely by an inability to weed himself out of the work.5 For example,
the theme of the book dictates that he maintain a generally sympathe-
tic attitude toward the Church. The violence of his own anti-Catholi-
cism, however, makes him unable to avoid redressing the balance
occasionally with such inconspicuous but no doubt satisfying Jibes
as the information, gratuitous since canaries do not figure in the
story, that after evening prayers ”the nuns and the canaries were

asleep in their cells and cages" (ST, 160), or Owen's announcenent

5 Charles hbrgan copes with this split by attributing Maore's
bad writing to "Amico Moorini,“ Moore's "anew." (p. 13). However,
I think there's own designation of Amico Moorini as a “disciple" is
more appropriate. For one thing, not all the "bad" writing is in
itself bad. Much of it is simply inappropriate. Further, even when
they are actually had, these unacceptable passages closely resemble
the autobiographical writing in tone. Therefore, a struggle between
Moore and anti-Moore is not indicated. Rather, the conflict seems to
be between Iibore the outrageous poseur and Moore the serious artist.
A segregation into different genres solves the conflict. Though it
is shocking for the author of Esther Waters to say "I don't care how
the poor live; my only regret is that they live at all," in its con-
text in Confessions 95 _a__Y_o_1_1ng _Mgg (p. 483), it is the expected atti-
tude. It is because of their similarity to the impudent tone of the
autobiographical writing that I assign the inappropriate passages in
the novels to hbore himself rather than to an anti-self.

 

72
that ”that damned, stupid creed, which has reduced half Europe to
decrepitude, has robbed me of her" (ST, 43).
lbore's struggles with religion are aired formally, too. The
problem of morality is examined in what amounts to an essay:

It is true that man is a moral animal, but it is not
true that there is but one morality; there are a thousand,
the morality of each race is different, the morality of
every individual differs. The origin of each sect is the
desire to affirm certain moral ideas which particularly
appeal to it; every change of faith is determined by the
moral temperament of the individual; we prefer this
religion to that religion because our moral ideas are
more implicit in these affirmations than in those.

The restriction of sexual intercourse is the moral
ideal of Western Europe. It is the one point on which
all Christians are agreed; it is the one point on 1hich
they all feel alike. So inherent is the idea of sexual
continence in the Western hemisphere that even those
whose practice does not coincide with their theory rarely
impugn the wisdom of the law which they break; they prefer
to plead the weakness of the flesh as their excuse, and it
is With reluctance that they admit that without an appeal
to conscience it would be impossible to prove that it is
wrong for tm unmarried peeple to live together. It is
not perceived that the fact that no material proof can
be produced strengthens rather than weakens the position
of the moralist. . . . That we cannot bring abstract
moralities into the focus of our understanding is no
argument. As well daiy the stars because we cannot
understand them. (E1, 328)

Moore attMpts to Justify this passage by attributing it to Evelyn
es an interior monologue. Yet the shift in tone makes it obtrusive
and the formality of the logical pattern is not in keeping with the
usual pattern of Evelyn's thoughts.

Sister Teresa offers the most surprising breach of tone. An
extended description of the sale of Evelyn's belongings prior to
her entrance into the convent could scarcely be less appropriate to

a representation of the moral struggles of e penitent:

73

Lady Ascott's literary critic . . . was a man of sixtY.
gaunt, and wrinkled like a pelican about the throat. He
meditated, as he walked, on Harding's objections to his
article on style. Harding had said he did not believe in
the possibility of writing ineptitudes in good style.
Harding had said that he had known Hugo, Banville and
Tourgueneff and that they had never spoken of style. He
had said that the gods do not talk theology: 'they leave
theology to the inferior saints and the clergy,‘ and the
critic was distressed in his chocolate-coloured overcoat.
. . . It was expected that Sir Owen would blaspheme, but
he was unexpectedly gentle and sad; and eventually he took
Lady Southwick round the roan, and explained to her that
Wedgwood and Hogarth were England's great artists. He
pressed a Wedgwood dinner-service upon her, urging that
it would be a souvenir of himself and Evelyn. He told
her that the satinwood card tables, which he had bought
for ten shillings a-piece, would be sold for thirty or
forty pounds a-piece, and that night at dinner Lady
SouthWick raised a laugh at his expense, so anusingly
did she tell how his sentimental affliction would be
alleviated if the sale should prove a vindication of

his taste. (ST, 17-19)

This posturing, vainglorious tone, which usually surrounds me and
societimes extends to Evelyn when she is exhibiting Owen's influence,
contrasts sharply wiih the manner Moore uses in his nore serious
examination.

The discrepancy in style between the presentation of Owen's
world and the rest of the book is more'than a matter of occasional
lapses, however. There is a difference in tone which is evident
in almost every sentence. The parallel passages in which Evelyn
goes to the picture gallery in Dulwich with each of her lovers
illustrate the shift. The passage involving Owen is typically
cynical:

The tale of a past love affair often served Owen as

a plank of transition to another. . . . It seemedto him

extraordinary because it had happened to him, and it seemed

to Evelyn very extraordinary, because it was her first

experience of the ways of love.

'Then it was she who got tired of you? . . .'
He Judged it necessary to dissemble, and he advanced the

74

theory which.he always made use of on these occasions-
that women were more capricious than men, that so far as
his own experience counted for anything, he had invariably
been thrown over. The object of this theory was two-fold.
It impressed his listener with an.idea of his fidelity,
which was essential if she were a woman. It also suggested
that he had inspired a large number of caprices, thereby he
gratified his vanity and inspired hope in the lady that as
a lover he would prove equal to her*desire. It also helped
to establish the moral atmosphere in which an intrigue miglt
develop.

'Did you love her very mudfl'

rYes, I was crazy about her. If I hadn't been, should
I here rushed off in.my old yacht for a tour round the
world?’

He felt the light of romance fell upon hhm, and this, he
thought, was how he ought to appear to her.

‘Yet he was sincere. He admired Evelyn, he thought he
might like to be her lover, and he regarded their present
talk as a necessary subterfuge, the habitual comedy in which
we live. So, when Evelyn asked him.if’he still loved Georgina,
he answered that he hated her, which was only'partly true;
and when she asked him.if he would go back to her if she were
to invite him, he said that nothing in the world would induce
him to do so, whidn was wholly untrue. . . .

Evelyn's story of her mother's death would.have interested
him if he had been able to bestow sufficient attention upon
it, but the intricacy of the intrigue he was entering upon
engrossed his thoughts. There were her love of her father,
her duty towards him, and her piety to be overcome. Against
these three considerable influences there were her personal
ambition and her love of him. A very evenly matched game,
he thought, and for nothing in the world would he have
missed this love adventure.

hat that moment the words, it few days later she died,‘
caught on his ear. So he called all the sorrow and reverence
he could into his eyes, sighed, and raised his eyebrows
expressing such philosophic resignation.in our.mortal lot
as might suffice to excuse a change in the conversation. . . .

He was not without a suspicion that the pictures [in the
gallery] were a secondary interest; but as it was clear that
to hear him.talk excited her admiration, he favoured her
with all he knew regarding the Dutch school. She followed
attentive as a peahen, he spreading a gorgeous tail of accumulated
information. (EI, 51-55)

Although essentially the same material is covered in the interview
with Ulick, even.to the description of an old and still painful love-

affair, the manner and effect are totally different:

75

It was easy to tell Ulick of the story of the three days
of hesitation which had preceded her elopement.

'The Colonnade,‘ and 'The Lady playing the Virginal,' had
seened to her symbols of the different lives which that day
had been pressed upon her choice. Ulick explained that Fate
and free will are not as irreconcilable as they seem. For
before birth it is given.to us to decide whether we shall
accept or reject the gift of life. So we are at once the
creatures and the arbiters of'destiny. These metaphysics
excited and then eluded her perceptions. . . . She remembered
the girl With whom Ulick used to play szart in a drawing-
room.hung with faded tapestries, . . . or, beguiled'by the
sunshine, they had walked in the park. When Evelyn asked
him.what they said, he answered simply, 'We said that we
loved each other.‘ But when he returned to Dieppe three
months later, all was changed. When.he spoke of their
marriage she laughed the question away, and he perceived
that his visits were not desired; on returning to England,
all his letters were returned to him.

'You were very fond of her?‘

'I was in love with her. . . .'

'But you have not told me what you used.to talk to her
about. You used to talk abait your music. . . . Then she,
what did she say?'

'We used to say that we loved each other.’

'I can hardly fancy your only saying that. . .you
are still very fond of her? I can see you are.‘

He experienced a sense of discomfort in speaking of
Eliane to Evelyn. Suddenly he remenbered a Journey to
Brittany, whidi they had planned together, in search of
folk tales, and she asked him.of what he‘was thinking. He
noticed the slight change of expression which passed in her
eyes. It passed quickly, like a light cloud, blotting the
sunlight out. She was Jealous of the long conversations
that this unaccomplished Journey to Brittany must have
entailed. (EI, 249-252)

This passage, both in its sense of integrity and in its gentle,
abstracted tone, is representative of the general style of the two
bookS.

The pervasiveness of the stylistic variation is illustrated by
the different ways in which extraneous material is used to enrich the
plot. For example, Owen's appreciation of Balzac might be intended
to furnish a background for Evelyn's Parisian life. However, the

passage is 80 extended, and so very slightly related to their life,

'76
that it becomes apparent that its function is something quite differ-
ent. It is not that Evelyn, and in passing, the reader, is to be
enlightened about Balzac, but that she is to be impressed by Owen's
knowledge and insight.

In a totally different vein is the Reverend Mother's telling of
the story of the little sisters of the poor. So carefully is the
story woven into the flow of the narrative that it is not until Evelyn
has reached her final stage of understanding that the story assumes
its full importance as an illustration of’the difference between the
individual and the total view.

In an analysis of Moore's total work, Evelyn Inggg,and Sister
Teresa constitute much more than.simply very uneven novels. Since
the unevenness is a reflection of the major shift in hbore's writing
during his career, these books offer an excellent opportunity for
studying that shift. And the fact that both the good writing and
the bed are represented in the one work emphasizes how unaware Moore
was of the difference in.merit between the two-a fact already
illustrated by the random.scattering of good novels among the
generally bad writing of his early career. However, it is possible
that he, too, realized, on reading Evelyg‘lgggg.and.§i§ter Teresa,
where the merits of the work lay, for these books mark the end of
Harding, while the style of Evelyn's private world points directly

to the writing of his last, highly successful, work.

IV
Esther Waters and The Lake

Sixzof George Moore's novels do not share in either the set of
common characters or the common social milieu represented by Harding.
Unlike the earlier works, these novels are in no way interrelated,
each dealing with an individual problem. It is in these novels,
which entirely depart from the entanglement of an autobiographical
frame of reference, that Nbore's talents as a novelist are fully
developed. Of the six, only two—Esther Water; and lagging—have

a contemporary setting.

Upon a casual examination, a novel like Esther Waters seems out
of place among George Moore's works. Rather than being a subtle
examination of the development of a personality, it is a representa-
tion of dogged, even sullen, perseverance. Instead of describing a
sensitive artist, it presents a rather unfeeling workingwoman. Not
concerned with cultivated pleasures or social graces, it deals in
social evils. Bearing little relation either to the pretentiously
epigrammatic clumsy writing of the early work or to the intricately
allusive, mood creating writing of the later work, its style is
shnple, blunt without being awkward. Despite its position as his
“masterpiece,”1 Esther Waters seems almost to be the antithesis,
rather than the epitome, of Moore‘s work.

Yet it is not really so solitary a performance as these

1 See Malcolm Brown's introduction to the Norton edition (1958),
p. Y.

77

78
differences would make it seem. As is characteristic of Moore's
better work, the novel is basically a character study. Esther Waters
is a kitchen maid whose "knowledge of life was strictly lhnited to
her experience of life" (p. 20). She is too unimaginative to dream
of a more successful life, humorless to the point of being unable to
take part in the sharp-tongued kitchen chatter, too insensitive to
realize even that she is being courted, too literal-minded to be
stirred by her religion. The only life in her otherwise unrelievedly
drab personality is a violent temper which results in--appropriately--
sullen rages.

Inevitably, then, the ”romance" of Esther's life story inwolves
neither ecstasy nor venom, Responding With anger and religious guilt
to her more casual than romantic seduction, she so sullenly rebuffs
her seducer, the footmen, that he gives up his plan to marry her and
runs off with another woman. Thus, it is through her OWn fault that
she is deserted and must try to rear her son alone. Although her
struggle to survive and to keep her son is a long and difficult one,
her difficulties are the result of economic pressures only. Unlike
similar struggles in Diskens, or in Zola, she is not faced with
vicious people: usually she encounters kindness, and at worst,
indifference. Mrs. Barfield gives her enough money to see her
through her confinement. Ers. Lewis keeps Esther's son, Jackie, for
nothing.more than his expenses. Miss Rice hires Esther at higher
wages than she really can afford to pay simply in order to help her.
And even the ”villains" are not really of evil intent. The baby
farmer, although.more or less a murderer, is complying with the wishes

of the majority of her patrons. And it is surely'not unnatural for

79

the upper class mother who employs Esther as a wetnurss to worry
about the possibility of the transmission of disease from a sick,
dirty baby to a clean, healthy one.

When William Latch returns, spoiling Esther's chances of'making
a marriage which would enable her to realize the only dream she has
ever had about life-—the security to devote her time to the church-
he intends not to annoy or persecute her, but merely to reassert his
honorable intentions. And if the offer he makes is, in conventional
terms, neither honorable nor glamorous-Abe asks her to wait on the
bar at his public house and to live with him.ao that his wife will
have grounds for divorce-it is made in the wholly laudable intention
of assuming responsibility for the family he did not know he had.
Although Esther's life with William.is an easy and even happy one,
she is never truly comfortable in it, disapproving as she does of
both drinking and gambling. It is therefore not without a certain
awareness of justice that she returns, at William's death, to her
fermer station of futureless drudge. Eventually returning to Mrs.
Barfield as general servant and companion, she finds in the church
the contentment that she had dreamed of achieving with Fred Parsons,
and, in addition, she finds the means of rearing her son to man's
estate.

decanting the dead level of Esther's emotional life-in the
beginning she wants to rear her son; in the end she is glad to have
reared her son-is the curve of William.Latch's career. Starting
as a footmen, he becomes the full owner of a prospering public house,
only to slide back into poverty, eventually being too poor even to

buy a ticket to Egypt where he might recover from tuberculosis.

80
Yet his final station is no lower than his beginning. And although
he rose above his normal expectations for a time, the racehorses
which were his undoing were the same agent Which made his fortune.
Far from.being dogged by misfortune, he was at least as lucky on the
horses as he could have reasonably expected to be—-certainly much
luckier than some of his companions.

Though gambling is “filliam's downfall, Moore carefully'does not
deal in stereotypes: William works hard for his money. To be sure,
he deve10ps consmmption from.standing around the race tracks in bad
weather, but it is not the betting itself which is to blame. Rather,
the fault is with the law which renders bookmaking illegal when
carried out in the comfort and security of the'bar, thus driving
the bookies to the track. And although William.comes in the end to
think in terms of sin and avenging angels, such retribution resides
in his own feverish thought rather than in the structure of the book.
The wasting away of Miss Dhry seems to hint that, even if he had
.miraculously won enough.money to get to Egypt, a second miracle could
not have been expected there. llthough.he feels that he has failed
in his duty to Esther in not having left bar’s competence, the
failure of an inheritance which she, as a workingwoman, can scarcely
have expected in no way tarnishes the contentment of her final stage.

Thus, although Esther's stolidity makes her unique among Moore's
characterizations, the rise and fall of William.point to the possibil-
ity of considering Esther Waters to be a companion piece to _L_ anmer's
Ease, william's romantic vision of a better life, assumed to be a
possibility largely because he washes for it, like Kate's daydreaming,

brings him, not success, but discontent. Esther's success therefore

81
seems almost an answer to William and Kate. Recognizing that "we
don't choose our lives, we just makes the best of then" (p. 294),
she governs her every choice, after her initial disastrous temper
flareup, in terms of the rationally discovered sacrifice. Her life
revolves around her desire to keep her son. Toward this end, she
sacrifices her own comfort to keep him from the baby farmer, she
endures the disgrace of the workhouse until she can make enough to
support them both, she wears rags in order to provide for him, she
sacrifices her dream of life with Fred since it would cause the even-
tual alienation of her son. At each opportunity to choose, Esther
sacrifices the seeming shortcut to success. Yet in the end, it
comes to the same thing; she can finally live at peace with a
congenial companion in the canfort of her church and the knowledge
of having reared her son.

In a sense, Esther was as much a gambler as 1William, for she
determined to keep her son in the face of forbidding odds. Yet her
success is the result of having made always reasonable sacrifices
toward an attainable goal. William, on the other hand, sacrifices
his health in the pursuit of the good fortune which is his only
route to an unattainable goal. The hopelessness of William's struggle
is epitomized by the dinner party on Derby Day:

”Which is the best dinner here?" he asked the commission-
airs'lhe East Room is reckoned the best, sir.”

The fashion of the shaded candles and the little tables,
and the beauty of an open evening bodice and the black and
white elegance of the young men at dinner, took the servants
by surprise, and made them feel that they were out of place
in such surroundings. Old John looked like picking up a
napkin and asking at the nearest table if anything was wanted.

Ketley proposed the grill room, but William, who had had a
glass more than was good for him, declared that he didn't

82

care a damn-that he could buy up the whole blooming show.

. . . Journeyman suggested a sluice, and they inquired their

way to the lavatories. Esther and Sarah were away longer

than the men, and stood dismayed at the top of the room

till William.called for than. . . . William had ordered

champagne, but it had not proved to any one's taste except

perhaps to Sarah, whom it rendered unduly hilarious; nor

did the delicate food afford much satisfaction; the servants

played with it, and left it on their plates; and it was not

until William.ordered up the saddle of mutton and carved it
himself that the dinner began to take hold of the company.
(p. 269)
Even when his winnings enable him.temporarily to live in a way which
is "above himself," he remains fundamentally a servant.

William seems unconsciously to have admitted the hopelessness of
the struggle in having chosen the two most glamorous of shortcuts to
wealth and, therefore, to position: marriage into the leisure class,
and betting the horses. But his first wife cannot really abide
marriage to a servant, as he himself taunts her, and one cannot always
win on the horses, as he knows. Therefore, “Mlliam's real failure
is not the economic one of having lost his money, but instead is
the psychological one of having failed to reach an unattainable goal
through miraculous means.

Esther Water§.was accepted by George Moore's contemporaries to
be a "good" book:.2 it pointed out the evils of drink and gambling,
and presented motherhood and the church triumphant in the face of a
multitude of social ills. In fact, however, the book is an intensely
bitter picture of'men's fate. The "success" in the book is a strictly
biological one: Esther rears her child. And although he is a soldier
and.may be killed tomorrow, still, she has reared him. This limited

triumph has been achieved at the sacrifice of every less fundamental

3 Brown, George Moore, p. 129.

83
concern. Indicative of Esther's total impoverishment in every area
except physical surVival is the loss of her mother's books and a pair
of earrings Fred had given her. Although she could not learn to read,
she loved the books as a reminder of the life she had enjoyed before
her father's death. And her courtship with Fred, though she did not
love him, offered a brief hepe of return to that earlier withdrawal
into the church. In choosing to marry William rather than Fred, she
realizes that she is choosing the way of life rather than withdrawal.
Nevertheless, as soon as she has achieved her biological triumph in
rearing her son, she does gladly accept the chance to retreat into
the church.

William's fate reinforces the grimness of this picture. Althougi
he approaches life with higher hopes, he comes to Esther's position
in the end. As he lies in the hospital, dying of consumption, Esther
tells him of the defeat of the horse on when his hopes of survival
are pinned:

all“. knew, I can't tell you how, but I knew the mare
wouldn't win. One always seems to know. Even when I
backed her I didn't feel about her like I did about the
other one, and ever since I've been feeling more and more
sure that it wasn't to be. Somehow it didn't seem likely,
and to-day something told me that the game was up, so I
asked for this book. . . . There's wonderful beautiful
things in it."

"There is indeed, Bill; and I hope you mn't get tired
of it, but will go on reading it.”

“It's extraordinary how consoling it is. . . ."

"I was saying that I never had that feeling about
Chasuble as one 'as about a winner. Did she run second?
Just like my luck if she did. Let me see the paper."

Esther handed it to him

”Bramble, a fifty to one chance, not a man in a
hundred backed her; King of Trumps, there was some place-
money lost on him; Young Hopeful, a rank outsider. What
a day for the bookies!"

"You mustn't think of them things no more," said Esther.
"You've got the Book. . . ." (pp. 347-348)

84
That pun is the only trace of humor in the book, and it suggests the
bleakness of Moore's intent. Placing it in opposition to the ”deer
gold" which rejuvinates Shoreham (p. 61), and the "bet on" which
brings hope to the poor (p. 293), he uses the Bible as a symbol of
the loss of hope: the dying William says 'Look 'ere, do you know what
book this is?-this is the Bible; that'll prove to you that I knew
the game was up" (p. 347). The church is a refuge only in despair,
for it offers neither guidance nor relief but only promises another
world. In the present world, the only success is physical existence
and the only relief from despair is the renunciation of hepe.

The bleakness of the theme is reinforced by the austerity of the
style. The rariting is simple and direct and reflects the emotionless-
ness of the heroine. The shifting focus of the book also emphasizes
Moore's point. Thus although Esther's struggle is the central plot,
Esther herself is of varying importance: in the beginning, she is the
center of the action, but after her marriage to William, whei her own
efforts are no longer of importance to the survival of her son, it
is the general life surrounding the bar which is described-the
different characters who frequent the bar, the techniques of gambling-
and finally, whm she has retreated to Woodview, a biological success,
Esther becomes part of the general scene. Like the fallen trees and
the neglected garden, the is one more natural item past its prime in
the broad view of the countryside.

If Esther Waters is mt read in terms of the spirit of reform
general in England at the time of its publication, it will reveal
itself to be not so different from Moore's other work after all.

Though more bitter, and unrelieved by aesthetic sidelights, its theme

85
is essentially the same as that of the novel Which granted peace to
Evelyn Innes only upon her sacrifice of hope for personal expression.
And in the accuracy with which the style and mood reflect the theme,
the book points to the later work where a mre unusual style makes
this technique more obvious. Though the book may suffer somewhat
from the fact that Moore chose as his heroine a character so totally
lacking in light, nevertheless, the skill of the technical achievement,
coupled with the vividness of Esther's very dullness, constitute a

work of outstanding merit.

flip Lag, fitting more obviously into the general trend of Moore's
work, clearly grows out of the better half of Evelyn 1133;; and Sister
Tgesa. Like them, it is a study of the religious impulse, but in
this novel the develOpment is away from, rather than toward, the
church. _Thg 13-143 is the story of a young priest, Father Gogarty, who
has driven the school teacher, Rose Leicester, out of the parish be-
cause ehe is carrying an illegitimate child. Vaguely conscious that
the violence of his reaction may have been provoked by a more manly
than priestly interest in the woman, he is unable to dismiss the
eipsode from his mind. Upon the discovery of Rose's address after
several months of anguished uncertainty over her fate, Father Gogarty
begins a correspondence with her. At first, the letters are in
apology and in atonement. However, he is unable to conquer the feel-
ing that Rose is a kindred spirit. And so he continues to write to
her out of loneliness and a growing fascination with her view that
life involves self fulfillment more than duty.

is with Evelyn Innes, Father Gogsrty's development is indicated

86

in terms of a gradually shifting relationship to a relatively con-
stant personality. Starting from a conviction of and devotion to
absolute right and wrong, Father Gogarty becomes aware, through the
urging of his own conscience and through the reprimand of a fellow
priest, that his understanding has bee: too rigid. Then, under a
barrage of theological argument from Rose, he begins to find the
rules themselves too inflexible. When his position is further
undermined by Rose's obvious enjoyment of her life in contrast to
his admitted discontent, he finally sheds his priestly garb, in doubt
as to whether the ritual of the Church has any validity. Originally
intending to chastise and instruct, he comes to seek guidance. The
progression from conviction through bewilderment and increasing
depression to a new, tentative, conviction is represented by the
shifting tone of his interior monologue and of his letters to Rose.

Except for this shifting frame of mind, there is very little
action in the book, and the few incidents that do take place are
closely involved in character development. For example, the curate,
Father Miran, feels driven, for no apparent reason, to visit Father
Gogarty on the night he had planned to swim the lake. Had it not been
for Father Ibran's visit, Father Gogarty would have been drowned by
a suddenly rising Wind. Clearly the visit was an omen. But were
the visit and the wind warnings that he mould main faithful to
his duty in Garranard, or was the visit God-sent to save him from
the already scheduled wind? In the end, he can conclude only: "Of
what use are sigis and omens if the interpretation is always
obscure?” (p. 299)

Similarly, Father Gogarty's last contacts with his parishioners

8'7

serve to illustrate his final attitude toward his priestly function.
His last priestly duty is to baptise Philip Bean lilo, stolen by one
grandmother and already baptised by the protestant minister, has been
half an hour a protestant. The other grandmother insists on the
second ceremony not for the sake of the child's soul—although even
that might have seemed questionable to Father Gogarty--but to prevent
his becoming a "Black Protestant.” In contrast to this ridiculous
scene, which makes a travesty of the sacrament, is the human and
valuable contact with Pat Kearney. Father Gogarty writes a note
directing Father Moran not to chrage more than a pound for the marriage
ceremony of this man who is too poor even to cover himself decently
enough to apply for vork. It is significant that the materialistic
help takes the form of an attempt to protect the people from the
clergy. In these two contacts is summed up Father Gogarty's contribu-
tion to Garranard. The uselessness of the misunderstood religious
ceremony contrasts sharply with the gmuine contribution he can make
on the human, materialistic level, and helps to clarify his choice.

Description, as well as action, is devoted to character develop-
ment. Although by the end of the book the reader has gathered a
vivid picture of the mods and the lake, these physcial surroundings
are never deliberately described in terms of stage setting, but are
simply suggested, aspect by aspect, as they become appropriate to the
progression of the mood. Thus, even the central image, the lake
itself, fluctuates in significance, according to the state of mind
of the observer, Father Gogarty. Early in the book, when he is first
struggling With the accusations of Father O'Grady, he looks at the

lake and meditates:

88

He wondered what this lake reminded him of: it mund in and
out of gray mores and headlands, fading into dim pearl-
coloured distance, and he compared it to a shroud, and then
to a ghost, but neither comparison pleased him. It was like
something, but the image he sought eluded him. At last he
remembered how in a dream he had seen Rose drowned. She wore
a white dress, and this lake seemed like her; there were her
knees, and the white gown floating, filling the stream. '1
am only thinking nonsense, but no matter. Yes, the lake
reminds one of one's guilt. ”Every man has a lake in his
heart.“ He had not sought the phrase, it had come suddenly
into his mind. Yes, 'every man has a lake in his heart.' (p. 5'7)

Later, in a last minute quandary as to whether he should stay in his
parish or go to America, he stares at the lake which is as warm as a
bath, and decides that, even if, in America, "he ranained to the end
of his day a humble reporter, he would still have the supreme satis-
faction of knowing that he had not resigned himself body and soul to
the life of the pool, to a frog-like acquiescence in the stagnant
pool" (p. 327). And finally, the lake becomes the destiny determining
challenge, for, resting after having swum across the lake to his new

fre edom ,

he looked across the lake. 'A queer dusky night,‘ he said,
'with hardly a star, and that great moon pouring silver down
the lake.‘ He could hear the lake's warble, 'singing,' he
said, 'in the dim silence, and the lake shadowy and distant
as my past life. . . .'

As he dozed in the train, in a corner of an empty carriage,
the spectral light of the lake awoke him, and when he arrived
at Cork it seemed to him that he was being engulfed in the
deep pool by the Joycetown shore. 0n the deck of the steamer
he heard the lake's warble above the violence of the waves.
'There is a lake in every man's heart,‘ he said, clinging to
a wet rope; he added, 'And every man must ungird his loins
for the crossing.’ (pp. 333-334)

Thus, in its concern With the religious problem and in its
technique of presenting neither action nor description for any purpose
other than the development of character and mood, Th2 Lake is closely

related to Evelyn Innes. Yet in total achievement it is far superior

89
to the earlier work, for it avoids the unevenness represented by the
Owen Asher sections of Evelyn _In_n_<_a_§_ and, by abandoning plot almost
entirely, emphasizes the use of mood to establish unity. The excellence
of the results may have impressed there both with his weaknesses and
his strengths, for throughout the rest of his novel writing career,
he capitalized upon the unifying possibilities of muted action and of

mOOde

The Historical Nevels

All of Moore's new novels, after T39 _I_._a_k_e_, were historical
novels. Yet as he pointed out, his intention was not didactic.1
He attanpted simply to give a sense of history, for his use of the
historical framework had very little to do with the recreation of the
past. Choosing past time and, in two instances, well known stories,
he reduced the importance of plot by lessening its immediacy. Such
a downgrading of plot is related to the technique he developed in
Egg L_a_k_§_, where plot was rendered unimportant by an almost total
absence. Relieved of the anxiety to know how the book ends, Lbore's
readers could be expected to devote more attention to his style.
And certainly it is the manner in which these later stories are told,
rather than the stories themselves, which makes them worthy of atten-
tion.

£h_§_ 1_3_1_~_Q_g_1_<_ Kerith, for example, is not primarily an attack on
Christianity, Just as Esther Waters is not really a tract intended to
alleviate the plight of unwed mothers. Instead, it is a retelling
of the Christ legend in a version whose alterations make it acceptable
to Moore. Taken from the cross in a coma rather than in death, Jesus
is nursed back to health by Joseph of Arimathea and returns to his
old monastery where he develops a new philosophy emphasizing the
multiplicity of man's truth and the self-sufficiency of God. The

1 See his letter to Edmund Gosse, reprinted in Charles Joseph
Burkhardt's unpublished dissertation, Th; Letters 9; George Moore 3;

Edmund Gosse, E. 2. Yeats, 3. 1. Best, Miss Nancy Cunard, and Mrs.
Mary Hutchinson (College Park, ML, 1958), p. 188.

90

91
importance of the book is not this philosophy itself-despite the
differences between Jesus and an opera singer, there is, in the phil-
OSOphies they present, a close kinship between TQgDEEng.Kerith and
Sister Teresa-but rather the consistency with which this philosophy
is embodied in the structure of the book.

Taking the basic premise of Jesus' teaching to be brotherly love-
the sacrifice of one's self for others-—Moore exmnines its good and
bad points, and indicates its ultimate irrelevance. Jesus advocates
selflessness to the point of suicide; Pilate defensively explains
to Joseph that it was Jesus himself who forced the crucifixion. Never-
theless Jesus demands fanatical devotion from his followers, devotion
to the point of deserting Wives and children and ailing fathers. He
eventually comes to realize that he sought his crucifixion, not to
lead the way in self-sacrifice, but to call attention to himself as
divinely appointed: he suffered from overweening pride, not excessive
humility.

Another aspect of the falseness of Jesus' original peeition is
illustrated by the encounter between Jesus, recovered from the ordeal
on the cross and from the hallucinations of his preaching career, and
Paul, the follower of Christ. Having intended to die in order to
give point to his insistence that men should stop wrangling over
points of the law, Jesus learns from Paul's report that he has merely
triggered an entirely new set of quibbling arguments. Thus his
attempted sacrifice is twice vain: once because it is motivated by
false pride and again because it results in no real reconstruction
of religious attitudes.

In replacement of the traditional death on the cross, which he

92

has shown to be self-aggrandizing and insane, there substitutes the
genuine self-sacrifice of Joseph of Arimathea. Despite a denuncia-
tion from Jesus for returning to his father's sickbed, Joseph follows
Jesus to the point, eventually, of deserting his father. Defying
public animosity, he pleads for Jesus' body from.Pilate. And, finding
Jesus to be still alive on his removal from the cross, Joseph risks
his life to nurse Jesus back to health. He entertains further danger
by granting Jesus' wish to stay in his house even after he is physically
well. And ultimately he is killed because cf his connection with
Jesus. Joseph's is the true self-sacrifice, for he takes his fatal
risk knowing that Jesus is lost to him because of the psychic changes
wrought by his ordeal. Honor and fame are no more accessible to him
than is the personal gain of Jesus' friendship, for Joseph's death
comes in a street fight reported only by lepers and beggars. And ten
years later, he is not even called by name, but is referred to simply
as ”Caddi's partner" (p. 352). In contrast to the acclaim.accorded
to Jesus, who did not really die on the cross, it is a singularly
ignominious death for one who did truly give up his life for another.

Impelled by the physical ordeal on the cross and the emotional
suffering occasioned by the loss of his friend, Joseph, Jesus comes
ultimately to repudiate his earlier preaching and the invalid extremes
to which it led him. Yet the change does not depend solely on these
two fearful shocks. It is prepared for by a number of minor situations,
in addition. Instead of the recurring physical items typical of
earlier works-AEsther Waters' books, Evelyn Innes' chestnut horses--
the repeated items in Thg_§£ggk_Kerith are, appropriately enough,

scraps of philosophy, both stated and embodied. For example, the idea

93

present in Evelyn Innes that suffering cannot be reduced but only
spread around is frequently present here. The first lesson the young
Joseph has from his teacher, Azariah, is that ”it is hard . . . to do
good without doing wrong to another" (p. 18). And when he is grown,
he realizes that ''giving . . . to the poor in Galilee . . . would
deprive my camel-drivers of their living" (p. 186). Unable to bring
himself to desert his father's sickbed, he cannot keep himself from
thinking that Jesus taught that "one must learn to hate one's father
and one's mother, one's wife and one's children before one can love
God" (p. 182). Incidents in the lives of the characters demonstrate
the validity of these thoughts. Joseph prevails upon Pilate to put
an end to the robbing of caravans by crucifying the robbers. After
Pilate's departure and Joseph's death, it is Jesus who organizes the
shepherds in a protest at the upsurge of robbing, thus triggering a
new series of crucifixions. And it is Jesus' recognition of what he
has done, When he accidentally comes upon one of the crucified, that
finally starts his mind to working again after the long period follow-
ing his own crucifixion during which he self-protectively avoids
thoughts both of the past and of the future. Emphasizing the idea
that it is at this moment of recognition that Jesus finally begins to
grasp the truth, the narrative for the first time shifts to Jesus'
point of view. And in the series of interior monologues which follows,
Jesus works out his new philosophy.

As he did in Esthgg Waters, Moore manipulates the focus of this
novel throughout, to emphasize the point he is making. Thus, early
in the book, when.Jesus was more concerned.with teaching than with

understanding, he is presented through the eyes of those he would

94
teach. Joseph learns of him.first through hearsay and.by witnessing
the ecstatic vision of’a locust chewing hermit. And, except for the
accidental encounter by the lakeside, he must make his way to Jesus,
significantly, through the wrangling of his disciples. During Jesus'
long period of shock after his crucifixion, the story is largely
concerned with the details of the life around him. Told from.his
point of view only until he has achieved his new Vision of the meaning
of life, the story shifts away from Jesus again after his meeting
with Paul. The futility of his hope of atonement through testifying
against Paul is emphasized in the final focus on Paul, whose preaching
persuaded everyone ”on all matters concerning Jesus, his birth, his
death and his resurrection" (p. 391).

Another of Meore's techniques which reappears in this novel is
the use of verbal echoes for a cumulative effect. For example, Joseph
tells his father of one of Jesus' exploits involving a "fool” Who is
"clearly possessed by many devils," a "poor, naked creature [hand
would take a beating or a gift of food for his singing with the same
gentle grace” (p. 168). The refrain of his song is "woe: woe! woe!”
and when he is not singing, he wails and cries "woe: woe: woe! unto
thee Jerusalem, woe: woe!” (p. 168). Shortly after the contact with
this poor crazed creature, Jesus is pictured in a violent denunciation
of Joseph's attendance to his ailing father. Jesus' frenzy culminates
in an annunciation of general doom.with the shout: "woe, woe, woe, I
say unto you . . . Woe! woe! woe! unto thee, Chorazin, Bethsaida and
Magdala" (p. 185). Coupled with the obviously indefensible attack on
Joseph, the verbal echo suggests a madness which, though never flatly

stated, is implied throughout the book.

95

Despite all the critical notice of its monotony and uniformity,
the style, too, reflects the import of the story. Thus, embodying
the advice of Esora, Jesus' nurse, the passages dealing with Jesus'
recovery are written in simple language and deal with ”actual things”:
the raking of leaves, the puppies, the homemade crutches Joseph
fashions. When the story concerns Mathias, the most philosophically
concerned of the brothers at the monastery, the language completely
deserts the actual and.refers to metaphysics only:

Mathias's face lighted up, and, foreseeing his Opportunity
to make show of his Greek proficiency, he began: heaven is
our intelligence and the earth our sensibility. The spirit
descended into matter, and God created man according to his
image, as Moses said and said well, for no creature is more
like to God than man: mt in bodily form (God is without
body), but in his intelligence; for the intelligence of
every man is in a little the intelligence of the universe,
and it may be said that the intelligence lives in the flesh
that hears it as God himself lives in the universe, being
in some sort a God of the body, which carries it about like
an image in a shrine. Thus the intelligence occupies the
same place in man as the great President occupies in the
universe-—being itself invisible while it sees everything,
and having its own essence hidden While it penetrates the
essences of all other things. Also, by its arts and sciences,
it finds its way through the earth and through the seas, and
searches out everything that is contained in then. And then
again it rises on wings and, looking down upon the air and
all its commotions, it is borne upwards to the sky and the
revolving heavens and accompanies the choral dances of the
planets and stars fixed according to the laws of music. And
led by love, the guide of wisdom, it proceeds still onward
till it transcends all that is capable of being apprehended
by the senses, and rises to that which is perceptible only
by the intellect. And there, seeing in their surpassing
beauty the original ideas and archetypes of all the things
which sense finds beautiful, it becomes possessed by a sober
intoxication, like the Corybantian revellers, and is filled
with a still stronger longing, which bears it up to the
highest summit of the intelligible world till it seems to
approach to the great king of the intelligible world himself.
(pp. 388-389)

'Yet when Jesus is thinking about much the same problem as that absorb-

ing Mathias, the reference is to his own life, in keeping With his

96
early habit of talking in parables:

In the desert he had looked for God in the flowers that the
sun called forth and in the clouds that the Wind shepherded,
and he had learnt to prize the earth and live content among
his sheep, all things being the gift of God and his holy will.
He had not placed himself above the flowers and grasses of
the earth, nor the sheep that fed upon them, nor above the
men that fed upon the Sheep. He had striven against the
memory of his sin, he had desired only one thing, to acknowledge
his sin, and to repent. But is seemed to him that anger and
shame and sorrow, and desire of’repentence had dropped out of
his heart. It seemed to him as he turned and pursued his
way that some new thought was striving to speak through him.
Rites and observances, all that comes under the name of
religion, estranges us from God, he repeated. God is not
here, nor there, but everywhere: in the flower, and in the
star, and in the earth underfoot. He has often been at my
elbow, God or this vast Providence that upholds the work;
but shall we gather the universal will into an image and
call it God?-for by doing this do we not drift back to the
starting-point of all our misery? We again become the dupes
of illusion and desire; God and his heaven are our old enemies
in disguise. He who yields himself to God goes forth to
persuade others to love God, and very soon his love of God
impels him to violent words and cruel deeds. It cannot be
else, for God is but desire, and whosoever yields to desire
falls into Sin. To be without sin.we must'be without God.
(pp. 356-357)

Appropriately to the habits of Jesus, the whole book comes finally to
seem a parable. It is the representation of’a familiar thing-the
Christ story-—with a new significance. The story is filtered through
an oral storybteller's style in a way which reduces its violence but
creates a sense of history without the necessity of meticulous period
detail. It is the appropriateness of style which is the keynote to
Moore's success in the novel. Since it harmonizes with Moore's total
intent of telling an old story With a new twist and reflects his
specific intention in each scene in choice of word and detail, the
style produces a sense of unity otherwise lacking in moore's work.
Thus, in The Brook,Kerith, moors demonstrated that he could use style

to cope with the prOblens of plot as effectively as he used it to

97

compensate for the lack of plot in The Lake.

Heloise and Abelard is an illustration of how totally Moore was
concerned with the effects of events rather than with the events them-
selves. In contrast to his approach to the story of Jesus, he accepted
the basic facts concerning Heloise and Abelard, freeing himself almost
completely from the reaponsibility of telling what happened. This
factual similarity emphasizes the difference in tone between Ezbore's
story and the historical version. In Moore's hands, the original love
affair, although developing rapidly, is not a matter of calculated
betrayal.2 Heloise's ecstatic response to Lbelard's lecture, publicly
kissing his hands, and her secret trip to the Cathedral to see him,
make the affair more a matter of mutual provocation than of seduction.
Moore's revision of Heloise's reasons for becoming a nun also makes
Abelard seem less coldblooded. Lbore presents her retreat as her own
idea, a renunciation designed to nullify their marriage and thereby
free Abelard for a career as a philosopher in the Church. This is
a considerable softening of the historical image of Abelard ridding
himself of Heloise so that he can retire to a monastery after his
mutilation.

labore's characterization of Heloise is softened too. She sends
for her son, Astrolabe, as soon as he is old enough to travel and finds
relief from the monastic life in rearing him. Rewriting Astrolabe's
life, Moore has him lured away to the children's crusade by a mad
priest, picturing Heloise as a bereaved mother instead of the neglect-

2 I have derived my estimation of the historical situation from
Etienne Henry Gilson's Heloise and Abelard (Ann Arbor, Liichigan, 1960).

98
ful parent history indicates.3 The effect of such changes is to ren-
der more attractive the characterizations of both Heloise and Abelard.
Instead of the coldly self-seeking, violent, ambitious philosopher,
Abelard becomes a tenderly devoted lover, mainly interested in writing
and singing love songs. And rather than being a fish-wife and preda-
tory female, Heloise becomes a loving wife, anxious to contribute
to her husband's reputation.

These changes enable Ebore to make a familiar point about life.
On their last Journey together toward their separate monasteries,
Abelard and Heloise "rode in the sad belief that their lives were
wasted and that their last hope was heaven" (1). 252). Once again,
Moore is pointing out that it may be heroic to try to control your
life and gallant to sacrifice yourself for your vision, but the
partiality of man's knowledge renders the attempt inevitably destruc-
tive. In ironic contradiction of their ”sad belief," Heloise and
Abelard achieved the fame they sought at such great price, but since
they could not know of it, their ultimate success did not alter the
fact that their lives were a waste to them.

It is interesting to read Heloise _ap_d_ Abelard in connection with
Evel 2.11.1221» for it contains the same dual focus on music and re-
ligion. Abelard is depicted as a man who is Just as eager to write
and sing love songs as to teach philosophy. Yet the division does
not detract from the unity of the plot, for the dual interests are
presented as aspects of Abelard's character rather than as a shift

in the intention of the novel. Thus Abelard's irresponsible tour

3 See Joseph McCabe‘s Page}; Abelerg. (New York, 1901), p. 250.

99
as a gleemen.immediately following his having left Heloise in Brittany
seems an understandable reaction against all the pressure she has
been applying toward a struggle for fame as a.philosopher. In
addition, the digression emphasizes his reluctance to return to the
school in which he has lost interest.

Moore was criticized for gullibility in his literal use of the
tradition of the gleemen and the courts of love.4 And although the
criticism.may be Justified, it is also possible, particularly in view
of Moore's concept that historical novels need not recreate history,
that he simply found the tradition a useful device. For the passages
which concern the trouveres offer him.the opportunity to discuss
theories of love and marriage without specifically speculating about
Heloise and Abelard. For example, at one court of love, the principle
is affirmed that love cannot exist in marriage, and therefore, if
lovers marry, their love dies. This edict emphasizes Heloise's efforts
to avoid marriage and suggests the possibility that their love would
not have assumed such mythic proportions if they had not renounced
their marriage vows. In losing their happiness, they preserved their
love. The point becomes important in terms of’their final belief in
their wasted lives.

It is true that the passages concerning gleemen detract from
the book in being too long and meandering. They do not affect the
unity of the structure, however, partly'because they are related in
theme, but also because the uniformity of the style renders the side

excursions and the main plot in the smne mood.

4 Brown, George Moore, p. 179.

100

The gleemen do not represent the only deviation from an orderly
organization. As is characteristic of moore's later work, the narra-
tive is saturated with apparent digressions and asides which, although
individually insignificant, cummlate to support and illustrate char-
acter and theme. Thus, Madelon, the earthy servant, points out that
fields are really yellow, not green. And when Heloise and Abelard
stop romantically on their journey to Brittany to listen to the caw-
ing of the rooks, Madelon insists that stopping results not in enjoy-
ing the song but in being covered with the birds' droppings. The
introduction of her common sense emphasizes the romanticism of Heloise
and Abelard.

Heloise's idealistic approach to life is illustrated by her
reverie on looking out the window of her uncle's house. Watching the
river, she thinks, "I should not have known how beautiful they [the
ducks] are when swimming in a river if I had not read Virgil" (p. 81).
It is the literary image rather than the physical fact which she
reaponds to. Virgil promotes a further exanple of the constancy with
Which she separates the flesh and the spirit: "If it had not been for
'Virgil, she repeated, all I should have known.of love was the fact
that Sister Paula had had a baby and put it out to nurse in the
village--a more physical experience that befell her as it might any
animal" (pp. 49-50). Working with such insignificant details, hbore
unobtrusively establishes Heloise's character as so unworldly that
her idealistic renunciation of’her lover, and in effect, of her life,
can be accepted.

Although the style of this novel is less noticeably that of the

spoken narrative than was true of The Brook Kerith, it shares the long,

lOl
interlocking sentences and the overlapping trains of thought. Yet
the tone is more nearly that of reverie than of monologue. The
composition of a song and the theft of a child are described at the
same pitch. If violence loses much of its vividness, it gains in
horror. It is at least as painful to observe Heloise mending Astro-
labe's clothes to try to convince herself he will return as it would
be to follow him as he struggled along the road to Jerusalem. The
result of the style is to anplnsize not events themselves, but their
results. It is this concern with the materials of reverie, as well
as the length and structure of the sentences, which produces the
mood.

The success of Heloise g_x_1_<_i_ Abelard is particularly interesting
in that the novel is in many ways quite similar to Evegm m and
Sister Teresa. In addition to the dual interests in music and
religion, both books concern a woman's struggle to endure monastic
life Without any real vocation. And in each case the struggle ends
not with reconciliation to God but in loss of hope. There is a
further though less obvious link in the fact that the historical
character of Abelard before his calamity seems to have been remarkably
similar to the introductory portrait of Owen Asher in coldness, arro-
gance and self-esteem. Yet Moore, disturbed by the harshness of Abe-
lard's character, altered him sufficiently to suit the novel, there-
by avoiding a repetition of the cause of a former failure. The
adjusted portrait of Abelard, contributing to rather than detracting

from the novel, furnishes a key to Moore's success.

Ulick and Sorache constitutes almost an illustrated lecture by

 

102
Moore on his creative techniques. Discussions between l'oore and
Alec Trusselby concerning theories of story telling bracket the tale
and add to its importance. And although the story of Ulick and
Soracha is in itself perhaps too much a matter of the trouveres of
Heloise £122. Abgard transplanted to Ireland to be particularly
significant in itself, it finnishes delightful illustrative material
for Moore's running commentary.

Working for the effect of the folk tale, {whore achieves a flowing
conversational style which, tith its long, loosely connected sentences,
is obviously the product of his ”melodic line." Nevertheless the
style is clearly distinct from that of either E3 M Kerith or
Heloise and Abelard. Although vague in general effect, the focus of
the narrative is highly concrete. Becoming absorbed in a small number
of specific details, the style of this book falls somewhere between
the Naturalistic description of A Mummer's Egg and the complete sub-
Jectivity of 11113 M Kerith: the narrative does depend on factual
description, and yet the representation of the surroundings is not
sufficiently inclusive to present a total picture. This technique
gives the story very much a folk tale flavor.

An example of Lbore's method is the description of Ulick's tour
of Castle Carra. 'me only details about the castle are contained in
the first half sentence, yet the passage is not lacking in concrete-
ness:

On our way to the men‘s quarters we shall pass through the

kitchens, sir, and coming from France you will be able to

tell that there are other ways of cooking pork than boiling

it. . . . Our cook, though a Frenchman, is very Irish through

no fault of his om, for his father died when he was on the
breast. In how many ways, Tadhg, canst thou prepare beans

103
and pork? Ulick asked. In a dozen, Tadhg answered. Then,
Tadhg, thou'lt instruct the cook, for he lmows but one. I'd
do it gladly, your honour, if I had more bench on the tongue.
Around the pots and pans you will come to an understanding!
And on these words they passed through the great door into the
sunny air and waited on top of the steps to admire better the
pink bellies of the pigs, whose enjoyment in the sun Landrey
explained by the fact that they had just come from the trough
and were digesting their meal. I cast no blame upon the pigs,
air (they do all they can to become good pork), but upon the
cook and an iron pot. Tadhg, said Ulick, thou'lt impart thy
cooking to the wretched Norman who boils pork in a pot. I
would not have believed your story, Captain Landrey, had I
not heard it from your own lips! Such stories are sad, but
lose some of their sadness when told on a lovely autumn
morning on steps above an orchard, when damsons are darkening
in the branches and the mint bed loses its scent, and the
season of pork in all its multiple varieties is about to
begin. (pp. 79-80)

The tendency to pay excessive attention to irrelevant detail is justi-
fied by the passage in which Ulick upbraids Tadhg for taking as an
oracle "every stick and every stone, every hare and every rabbit"
(P. 123). When sigis and portents are omnipresent, any object or
event may have some supernatural meaning in addition. to its factual
existence and this possibility of universal mystical connectedness
renders everything appropriate. On the other hand, as Moore points
out to Alec in the Opening passage, a story teller cannot be etpected
to remember all the details every time he tells the story. There-
fore, although he is devoted to Specific facts, the weakness of his
memory and the fluid nature of his art make it impossible to present
all the details. The result is an intensely concrete narrative which
is too incomplete to represent a whole, except, perhaps, on the level
of mysticism where a raven and a pig can indicate a universe.

This reliance on minute detail to indicate the story as a whole
is echoed in the relationship of Sir Ulick's quest to the invasion

of Ireland by the Bmces. In a consultation inserted into the middle

104

of the story, Alec upbraids fibers that ”we are mostly through the
story without Coming to a battle" (p. 137), and adds "I'd have had
12de Bruce the hero of the story" (p. 138). This "criticism” enables
Moore to point out that he is not writing the history of Ireland.
Instead, he is reflecting the history in the pillaged farmers who must
live on cress, the assumed fate of the nuns of Soracha's convent at
the hands of the invaders, Ulick's shocking sight of his defeated and
humbled father, the superstitions of Tadhg. These incidents epitomize
all Moore's familiar attitudes toward Ireland. But the mingled pity
and contemt are only suggested here, not stated as in Am in Muslin.

Although the folk tale of Ulick and Soracha has a plot, Moore has
not deserted his interest in downgrading plot. Rather than telling
the story to its end, he confesses that he has run out of ideas and
asks Also to provide an ending. In thus illustrating the idea that
a plot is merely a backbone invented to support a tale, he anphasizes
his Concept of the greater importance of the story teller's marmer.
Further, he proves his point by creating an entertaining story while
grandiloquently refusing the assi stance of the suspense mich a more

conventional handling would have provided.

It is not surprising, considering the age and health of the author,
that Aphrodite LEM adds little to Moore's total work. In general,
it simply constitutes a reassertion of ideas, both thematic and stylis-
tic, already present in earlier works. Ostensibly a tale of classic
Greece, it is really more concerned with the relation of celebacy, or
at least continence, to artistic creativity. Developing in considerable

detail an idea present in Heloise and Abelard, Evelyn Innes, Vain For-

105
Egg and _r.i_k_e_ Fletcher, Ebore here presents marriage as being destruc-
tive to artists. Kebren, an actor, is completely devoured by marriage.
Instead of devoting his youth to the public reading and interpretation
of literature, he accepts a marriage which defeats his interest in
dramatic performances by demanding his attention to his father-in-law‘s
shipping business. In contrast to Kebren's gradual change from.artist
to uxorious materialist are the lives of his two sons. As a sculptor
and an architect, they would have avoided marriage in their deVOtion
to art. But their mother, Biote, vmo with the help of her father more
or less trapped Kebren into the marriage which was his artistic down-
fall, also connives at the marriage of her sins.

Rhesos, the sculptor and the better artist, is more concerned than
his brother over the threat which marriage constitutes to his genius.
Though he does marry, he thinks of his wife more as a model than as a
wife. His mother observes that "he had.little more from.Earine than
he would have had from.any other girl coming to his workshop as a
pattern" (p. 286). Throughout his artistic career, he is "barely a
husband" (p. 377), And 11; is only after the completion of his major
work, the statue to Aphrodite, that he will commit himself to his
marriage-a ccmmitment symbolized by his eventual willingness to have
children.

0n the other hand, Rhesos’ brother Thrasillos, the father of
twins, is less dedicated to art and has more in common with his father.
Moorerdoes not indicate a causal relationship between children and
lessened artistic achievement. Thrasillos is, from his birth, the
lesser of the brothers: Otanes, the grandfather, declared the newaorn

Rhesos to have ”a poet's head" (p. 91), while "Thrasillos's head was

106
not a good one. He'll always be behind Rhesos, always a laggard, with-
out instincts" (p. 92). Evidently in Thrasillos' case an interest in
marriage accompanies rather than causes diminiShed.talent. On the other
hand, Kebren's marriage to the Willful and demanding Bhote seens to have
caused his failure of artistic achievement.

The book is more than simply'three illustrations of the premise
that artists should not marry. Its unhurried pace includes literary
criticism, philosophical Speculation, artistic theory, historical
description and religious analysis. Fbr example, Kebren, as an a8piring
actor, discusses the way in Which Haneric legend emerged from.tradition-
a1 folk stories. Also concerning the relation of literature to fblk
lore is Moore's editorial comment: "The posts write twenty different
plays on the same subject; everything is in the telling” (p. 195). The
remark is interesting in conjunction with Mbore's use of historical
tales. Another interesting rephrasing of one of Moore's familiar themes
is Kebrml's speculation on the reason behind his summons to Aulis:

"The power of the Gods over men is not stinted to one generation and
it may be that this journey to Aalis lies beyond the scope and business
of my life, that I am but an instrument, to be throm aside when that
which is decreed is on its way to fulfillment" (p. 3). Tb replace
Chance, which concerrsd him in his earlier vork, Moore here analyzes
the role of Fate in human affairs. The inclusion of such related but
by no means essential material is rendered permissible by the relaxed
tone of the work.

The first sentence of the book indicates the futility of reading
for plot: ”About an hour after midnight Kebren was roused from his

sleep by a voice crying in his ear: To Aulis! To Aulis! Why to

107
Aulis? he asked, as he lay betwem slewing and waking, certain that
he must obey the voice,'but uncertain whether'he Should wait till morn-
ing or begin the journey now" (p. 1). Since the general tone is one
of such casual unconcern with causes and such a bland acceptance of
Fate, suspense is virtually nonexistent. Prophecy need not destroy
suspense since it may prove to be right, wrong, or irrelevant. Still,
the acceptance of rather than the search for Destiny and the prophesies
which are right, and are never assumed not to be, render the end appar-
ent from the beginning. Thus, though he has not availed himself of an
already used device--1ack of action, the reader's foreknowledge of a
well known story or an autobiographical narrator's tag at beginning
and end-Abore nevertheless continues here the low-keyed tone character-

istic of his last works.

VI
Conclu 8 ion

Thmughout his long career, Moore dealt always with the same
concern: man' s relation to his environment. His concept of environ-
ment shiftedufor Lewis Seymur and Kate Ede it was the society, While
for Evelyn Innes and Jesus it was the universe-—but his concept of the
relationship never altered. Whether the book described the sullen
Esther Waters or the learned Heloise, the mnsideration is the same:
each character is confront ed with a universe neither hostile nor bene-
ficient and is analyzed in terms of his ability to recognize and cope
with the indifference.

His work was by no means a uniform performance, however. At his
worst, his characters were stilted, inconsistent and shadowy. Their
conversations were awkward and pretentious. The plots were illogical
and wandering. During his early career, Moore experimented with a
number of techniques to overcome these difficulties. Satire furnished
a tanporary and partial solution, for it does not demand rounded, but
merely consistent, characters. In addition, lbore's biting sense of
humor rendered it an obvious possibility. But this solution, used in
Spring 231; and in parts of .4. 23111333 Muslin and A Mlmer's £122, was
not acceptable to him, for his purpose in writing was a sore dramatic
one. The trappings of Naturalism also offered a temporary success.
Yet, as A Mummer's Wife demonstrates, Naturalism was not congenial to
him. Even this most Naturalistic of his novels is not truly Zolaesque
in theme, despite the derivation of its outward appearance. Moore's
efforts at self—improvement were not markedly successml so long as he

108

109
remained within the conventional framework of plot and character
deveIOpment through dialogue and action. It was only when he learned
to avoid his weaknesses rather than struggle with them that his talents
could develop.

In Confessions _q_f__§_c_i_u_n_g 31g, Lbore referred to the ”parasites
of artistic work--ideas' (p. 456). The concept is informing. His
failures are filled with these "parasites .“ hip Fortune and AIS-gr;
Accident really constitute little more than a bare idea. And though
such novels as _L_ Ifbdern Lager and 51.12% Fletcher are much less sparsely
presented, still they lose little in plot summary: the "fiCtion" has
added almost nothing to the idea.

In contrast, Maore's successful novels almost defy synopsis, for
they are not primarily concerned With either action or idea. In Avaals,
f-bore wrote that ”real literature is concerned with description of life
and thoughts about life rather than with acts” (p. 111). If his earlier
denunciation of ideas is added, the sentence can stand as a description
of Moore's successful work. It is on this basis of primary intention
rather than on differences in style that the good work separates itself
from the inferior. Moore's ”Naturalistic masterpiece” makes the distinc-
tion important. Judged stylistically, Esther Waters is more akin to
Moore's unsatisfactory early work than to his achievements in the manner
of the melodic line. However, if judged on the area of its concern-—
whether with ideas and acts or with life-its kinship to gem Kerith,
for example, is obvious.

This distinction does not indicate that the successful work is

devoid of ideas, as has, indeed, been suggested.1 Rather, much the

(

1 Joseph Hone, ”George h'bore," Times Literary Supplement (London)
LI (February 29, 1952), 149.

110
same ideas are presait, but in a different form. For example, on the
one hand, Moore's anti-religious feeling takes the form.of irrelevant
lectures by Owen Asher and Mike Fletcher. Yet Mbore is capable of
subtle handling. In Esther Waters he establishes the Christian pro-
selytizer as a sort of Heavenly bookmaker. In Heloise gng,Abelard,
he introduces a mad and sadistic priest. And in _Tjgg M Kerith, he
maintains complete plausibility While climaxing Jesus' philosophical
soliloquy With the speculation that God may be ”the last uncleanliness
of the mind" (p. 357).

Mbore's anti-Irish sentiments are similarly indicative. In;§
93.231529. Muslin, Irish society is criticized directly, both in editorial
comment by the author and in.Harding's epigrsmmatic attack. In gligk
‘gng.soracha the apparent attitude is more kindly. Yet Tadhg falls in
love with a goose; if his sex disqualifies him from‘being one, he is
evidently to be equated with one, nevertheless. Thus, in the success-
ful work, ideas neither disappear nor lose their violence. They merely
change their form and function.

Moore wrote to Gosse that "life would not be so wonderful or so
beautiful were it not that everything is linked and I think it unwise
not to recognize these links."2 This concept of cosmic relatedness
is the key to Xbore's successful fiction. If everything is related,
the links form a webbing rather than a chain. Plot, therefore, need
not progress inflexibly from cause to effect. Rather than a straight
forward chain of events, a central focus from vhich thought and

action radiate would seem appropriate. Operating on such a basis,

2 Burkhardt, p. 64-65.

111
Moore could include almost any thought or act, for he was not limited
to a logical progression which would require economy of action. Rather,
apparently extraneous material was rendered actually necessary in order
to demonstrate this universal linking. If everything is related to
everything else, concepts can be expressed more accurately in the
accumulation of endless detail than in the statanent of ideas. Thematic
development thus becomes a matter of secretion rather than exposition.
In such a framework, asides do not hinder the progress of the work,
they add another fragment to the 310le gathering Significance.

It is this concept of structure as accumulation which gives Moore's
superior work its distinctive texture. And in the melodic line, the
long, overlapping sentences, endlessly strung together, reflect the
idea that all things are linked. The only requirement of such a
structure is that every event be presented in such a way that the
universal links are revealed. Moore discovered that a uniform mood
would guarantee the appropriateness of'his thoughts and illustrations.
Thus he found that mood was the only unity required.

In addition to helping to form the dividing line between failure
and success, this formulation contributes to an understanding of
lbore's final achievement. There would seem to be little common
ground between a nobleman of ancient Greece and a mdern British
charwoman. DeSpite the differences in their social environment, how—
ever, they do meet at one point: they confront the same universe.

It is this concept, evidently, which concerned Moore. And it seems
just, therefore, to say that though there is no "More world," there
distinctly is a Moore universe. It is in the vivid and artistic

representation of this universe that Moore's contribution lies.

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Brown, Malcolm. George Moore. Seattle, 1955.

----... "Introduction" to Esther Waters, by George Moore.

 

New York, 1958.

Burkhardt, Charles Joseph. The Letters 2; George Moore 1:2 Edmund
20332, E. .13.- };eggg, 3. _I_. Best, Miss Nancy Cunard, and 32:3.
Mary Hutchinson. College Park, Md” 1958.

Cazamain, Louis. Sym_bolisne _e_1_:_ Poisie. Neuchatel, 1947.

Chaikin, Milton. ”The Composition of George Moore's A bbdern m,"
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--—-- "George Moore's _A_ Mmmer's flag and Zola," 5m _d_e_
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Frierson, William C. ”George Moore Compmmised with the Victorians,"
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-..-... _'I'1_1__e_ £i_f_e_ 9_i_'_ George Ibore. New York, 1936.

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