HUGH WALPOLE (continued 2)

There are, we may thankfully maintain, other possible views of life, and it is, surely, Conrad's harshest limitation that he should never be free from this certain obsession of the vanity of human struggle. So bound is he by this that he is driven to choose characters who will prove his faith. We can remember many fine and courageous characters of his creation, we can remember no single one who is not foredoomed to defeat. Jim wins, indeed, his victory, but at the close: "And that's the end. He passes away under a cloud, inscrutable at heart, forgotten, unforgiven, and excessively romantic.... He goes away from a living woman to celebrate his pitiless wedding with a shadowy ideal of conduct."

Conrad's ironical smile that has watched with tenderness the history of Jim's endeavours, proclaims, at the last, that that pursuit has been vain—as vain as Stein's butterflies.

And, for the rest, as Mr Curle in his study of Conrad has admirably observed, every character is faced with the enemy for whom he is, by character, least fitted. Nostromo, whose heart's desire it is that his merits should be acclaimed before men, is devoured by the one dragon to whom human achievements are nothing—lust of treasure.

McWhirr, the most unimaginative of men, is opposed by the most tremendous of God's splendid terrors and, although he saves his ship from the storm, so blind is he to the meaning of the things that he has witnessed that he might as well have never been born. Captain Brierley, watching the degradation of a fellow-creature from a security that nothing, it seems, can threaten, is himself caught by that very degradation.... The Beast in the Jungle is waiting ever ready to leap—the victim is always in his power.

It comes from this philosophy of life that the qualities in the human soul that Conrad most definitely admires are blind courage and obedience to duty. His men of brain—Marlowe, Decoud, Stein—are melancholy and ironic: "If you see far enough you must see how hopeless the struggle is." The only way to be honestly happy is to have no imagination and, because Conrad is tender at heart and would have his characters happy, if possible, he chooses men without imagination. Those are the men of the sea whom he has known and loved. The men of the land see farther than the men of the sea and must, therefore, be either fools or knaves. Towards Captain Anthony, towards Captain Lingard he extends his love and pity. For Verloc, for Ossipon, for old De Barral he has a disgust that is beyond words. For the Fynes and their brethren he has contempt. For two women of the land, Winnie Verloc and Mrs Gould, he reserves his love, and for them alone, but they have, in their hearts, the simplicity, the honesty of his own sea captains.

This then is quite simply his philosophy. It has no variation or relief. He will not permit his characters to escape, he will not himself try to draw the soul of a man who is stronger than Fate. His ironic melancholy does not, for an instant, hamper his interest—that is as keen and acute as is the absorption of any collector of specimens—but at the end of it all, as with his own Stein: "He says of him that he is 'preparing to leave all this: preparing to leave ...' while he waves his hand sadly at his butterflies."

Utterly opposed is it from the philosophy of the one English writer whom, in all other ways, Conrad most obviously resembles—Robert Browning. As philosophers they have no possible ground of communication, save in the honesty that is common to both of them. As artists, both in their subjects and their treatment of their subjects, they are, in many ways, of an amazing resemblance, although the thorough investigation of that resemblance would need far more space than I can give it here. Browning's interest in life was derived, on the novelist's side of him, from his absorption in the affairs, spiritual and physical, of men and women; on the poet's side, in the question again spiritual and physical, that arose from those affairs. Conrad has not Browning's clear-eyed realisation of the necessity of discovering the individual philosophy that belongs to every individual case—he is too immediately enveloped in his one overwhelming melancholy analysis. But he has exactly that eager, passionate pursuit of romance, a romance to be seized only through the most accurate and honest realism.

Browning's realism was born of his excitement at the number and interest of his discoveries; he chose, for instance, in Sordello the most romantic of subjects, and, having made his choice, found that there was such a world of realistic detail in the case that, in his excitement, he forgot that the rest of the world did not know quite as much as he did. Is not this exactly what we may say of Nostromo? Mr Chesterton has written of Browning: "He substituted the street with the green blind for the faded garden of Watteau, and the 'blue spirt of a lighted match' for the monotony of the evening star." Conrad has substituted for the lover serenading his mistress' window the passion of a middle-aged, faded woman for her idiot boy, or the elopement of the daughter of a fraudulent speculator with an elderly, taciturn sea captain.

The characters upon whom Robert Browning lavished his affection are precisely Conrad's characters. Is not Waring Conrad's man?

And for the rest, is not Mr Sludge own brother to Verloc and old De Barrel? Bishop Blougram first cousin to the great Personage in The Secret Agent, Captain Anthony brother to Caponsacchi, Mrs Gould sister to Pompilia? It is not only that Browning and Conrad both investigate these characters with the same determination to extract the last word of truth from the matter, not grimly, but with a thrilling beat of the heart, it is also that the worlds of these two poets are the same. How deeply would Nostromo, Decoud, Gould, Monyngham, the Verlocs, Flora de Barrel, McWhirr, Jim have interested Browning! Surely Conrad has witnessed the revelation of Caliban, of Childe Roland, of James Lee's wife, of the figures in the Arezzo tragedy, even of that bishop who ordered his tomb at St Praxed's Church, with a strange wonder as though he himself had assisted at these discoveries!

Finally, The Ring and the Book, with its multiplied witnesses, its statement as a "case" of life, its pursuit of beauty through truth, the simplicity of the characters of Pompilia, Caponsacchi and the Pope, the last frantic appeal of Guido, the detail, encrusted thick in the walls of that superb building—here we can see the highest pinnacle of that temple that has Chance, Lord Jim, Nostromo amongst its other turrets, buttresses and towers.

Conrad is his own master—he has imitated no one, he has created, as I have already said, his own planet, but the heights to which Browning carried Romantic-Realism showed the author of Almayer's Folly the signs of the road that he was to follow.

If, as has often been said, Browning was as truly novelist as poet, may we not now say with equal justice that Conrad is as truly poet as novelist?

IV

ROMANCE AND REALISM

I

The terms, Romance and Realism, have been used of late years very largely as a means of escape from this business of the creation of character. The purely romantic novel may now be said to be, in England at any rate, absolutely dead. Mr Frank Swinnerton, in his study of Robert Louis Stevenson, said: "Stevenson, reviving the never-very-prosperous romance of England, created a school which has brought romance to be the sweepings of an old costume-chest;... if romance is to be conventional in a double sense, if it spring not from a personal vision of life, but is only a tedious virtuosity, a pretence, a conscious toy, romance as an art is dead. The art was jaded when Reade finished his vociferous carpet-beating; but it was not dead. And if it is dead, Stevenson killed it!"

We may differ very considerably from Mr Swinnerton with regard to his estimate of Stevenson's present and future literary value without denying that the date of the publication of St Ives was also the date of the death of the purely romantic novel.

But, surely, here, as Mr Swinnerton himself infers, the term "Romantic" is used in the limited and truncated idea that has formed, lately the popular idea of Romance. In exactly the same way the term "Realism" has, recently, been most foolishly and uncritically handicapped. Romance, in its modern use, covers everything that is removed from reality: "I like romances," we hear the modern reader say, "because they take me away from real life, which I desire to forget." In the same way Realism is defined by its enemies as a photographic enumeration of unimportant facts by an observant pessimist. "I like realism," admirers of a certain order of novel exclaim, "because it is so like life. It tells me just what I myself see every day—I know where I am."

Nevertheless, impatient though we may be of these utterly false ideas of Romance and Realism, a definition of those terms that will satisfy everyone is almost impossible. I cannot hope to achieve so exclusive an ambition—I can only say that to myself Realism is the study of life with all the rational faculties of observation, reason and reminiscence—Romance is the study of life with the faculties of imagination. I do not mean that Realism may not be emotional, poetic, even lyrical, but it is based always upon truth perceived and recorded—it is the essence of observation. In the same way Romance may be, indeed must be, accurate and defined in its own world, but its spirit is the spirit of imagination, working often upon observation and sometimes simply upon inspiration. It is, at any rate, understood here that the word Romance does not, for a moment, imply a necessary divorce from reality, nor does Realism imply a detailed and dusty preference for morbid and unagreeable subjects. It is possible for Romance to be as honestly and clearly perceptive as Realism, but it is not so easy for it to be so because imagination is more difficult of discipline than observation. It is possible for Realism to be as eloquent and potential as Romance, although it cannot so easily achieve eloquence because of its fear of deserting truth. Moreover, with regard to the influence of foreign literature upon the English novel, it may be suggested that the influence of the French novel, which was at its strongest between the years of 1885 and 1895, was towards Realism, and that the influence of the Russian novel, which has certainly been very strongly marked in England during the last years, is all towards Romantic-Realism. If we wished to know exactly what is meant by Romantic-Realism, such a novel as The Brothers Karamazov, such a play as The Cherry Orchard are there before us, as the best possible examples. We might say, in a word, that Karamazov has, in the England of 1915, taken the place that was occupied, in 1890, by Madame Bovary....

II

It is Joseph Conrad whose influence is chiefly responsible for this development in the English novel. Just as, in the early nineties, Mr Henry James and Mr Rudyard Kipling, the one potential, the other kinetic, influenced, beyond all contemporary novelists, the minds of their younger generation, so to-day, twenty-five years later, do Mr Joseph Conrad and Mr H. G. Wells, the one potential, the other kinetic, hold that same position.

Joseph Conrad, from the very first, influenced though he was by the French novel, showed that Realism alone was not enough for him. That is to say that, in presenting the case of Almayer, it was not enough for him merely to state as truthfully as possible the facts. Those facts, sordid as they are, make the story of Almayer's degradation sufficiently realistic, when it is merely recorded and perceived by any observer. But upon these recorded facts Conrad's imagination, without for a moment deserting the truth, worked, beautifying, ennobling it, giving it pity and terror, above all putting it into relation with the whole universe, the whole history of the cycle of life and death.

As I have said, the Romantic novel, in its simplest form, was used, very often, by writers who wished to escape from the business of the creation of character. It had not been used for that purpose by Sir Walter Scott, who was, indeed, the first English Romantic-Realist, but it was so used by his successors, who found a little optimism, a little adventure, a little colour and a little tradition go a long way towards covering the required ground.

Conrad had, from the first, a poet's—that is to say, a romantic—mind, and his determination to use that romance realistically was simply his determination to justify the full play of his romantic mind in the eyes of all honest men.

In that intention he has absolutely succeeded; he has not abated one jot of his romance—Nostromo, Lord Jim, Heart of Darkness are amongst the most romantic things in all our literature—but the last charge that any critic can make against him is falsification, whether of facts, of inference or of consequences.

The whole history of his development has for its key-stone this determination to save his romance by his reality, to extend his reality by his romance. He found in English fiction little that could assist him in this development; the Russian novelists were to supply him with his clue. This whole question of Russian influence is difficult to define, but that Conrad has been influenced by Turgéniev a little and by Dostoievsky very considerably, cannot be denied. Crime and Punishment, The Idiot, The Possessed, The Brothers Karamazov are romantic realism at the most astonishing heights that this development of the novel is ever likely to attain. We will never see again heroes of the Prince Myshkin, Dmitri Karamazov, Nicolas Stavrogin build, men so real to us that no change of time or place, age or sickness can take them from us, men so beautifully lit with the romantic passion of Dostoievsky's love of humanity that they seem to warm the whole world, as we know it, with the fire of their charity. That power of creating figures typical as well as individual has been denied to Conrad. Captain Anthony, Nostromo, Jim do not belong to the whole world, nor do they escape the limitations and confinements that their presentation as "cases" involves on them. Moreover, Conrad does not love humanity. He feels pity, tenderness, admiration, but love, except for certain of his sea heroes, never, and even with his sea heroes it is love built on his scorn of the land. Dostoievsky scorned no one and nothing; as relentless in his pursuit of the truth as Stendhal or Flaubert, he found humanity, as he investigated it, beautiful because of its humanity—Conrad finds humanity pitiable because of its humanity.

Nevertheless he has been influenced by the Russian writer continuously and sometimes obviously. In at least one novel, Under Western Eyes, the influence has led to imitation. For that reason, perhaps, that novel is the least vital of all his books, and we feel as though Dostoievsky had given him Razumov to see what he could make of him, and had remained too overwhelmingly curious an onlooker to allow independent creation. What, however, Conrad has in common with the creator of Raskolnikov is his thrilling pursuit of the lives, the hearts, the minutest details of his characters. Conrad alone of all English novelists shares this zest with the great Russian. Dostoievsky found his romance in his love of his fellow-beings, Conrad finds his in his love of beauty, his poet's cry for colour, but their realism they find together in the hearts of men—and they find it not as Flaubert, that they make of it a perfect work of art, not as Turgéniev, that they may extract from it a flower of poignant beauty, not as Tolstoi, that they may, from it, found a gospel—simply they pursue their quest because the breathless interest of the pursuit is stronger than they. They have, both of them, created characters simply because characters demanded to be created. We feel that Emma Bovary was dragged, painfully, arduously, against all the strength of her determination, out of the shades where she was lurking. Myshkin, the Karamazovs, and, in their own degree, Nostromo, Almayer, McWhirr, demanded that they should be flung upon the page.

Instead of seizing upon Romance as a means of avoiding character, he has triumphantly forced it to aid him in the creation of the lives that, through him, demand existence. This may be said to be the great thing that Conrad has done for the English novel—he has brought the zest of creation back into it; the French novelists used life to perfect their art—the Russian novelists used art to liberate their passion for life. That at this moment in Russia the novel has lost that zest, that the work of Kouprin, Artzybashev, Sologub, Merejkovsky, Andreiev, shows exhaustion and sterility means nothing; the stream will soon run full again. Meanwhile we, in England, know once more what it is to feel, in the novel, the power behind the novelist, to be ourselves in the grip of a force that is not afraid of romance nor ashamed of realism, that cares for life as life and not as a means of proving the necessity for form, the danger of too many adjectives, the virtues of the divorce laws or the paradise of free love.

III

Finally, what will be the effect of the work of Joseph Conrad upon the English novel of the future? Does this Romantic-Realism that he has provided for us show any signs of influencing that future? I think that it does. In the work of all of the more interesting younger English novelists—in the work of Mr E. M. Forster, Mr D. H. Lawrence, Mr J. D. Beresford, Mr W. L. George, Mr Frank Swinnerton, Mr Gilbert Cannan, Miss Viola Meynell, Mr Brett Young—this influence is to be detected. Even with such avowed realists as Mr Beresford, Mr George and Mr Swinnerton the realism is of a nature very different from the realism of even ten years ago, as can be seen at once by comparing so recent a novel as Mr Swinnerton's On the Staircase with Mr Arnold Bennett's Sacred and Profane Love, or Mr Galsworthy's Man of Property—and Mr E. M. Forster is a romantic-realist of most curious originality, whose Longest Journey and Howard's End may possibly provide the historian of English literature with dates as important as the publication of Almayer's Folly in 1895. The answer to this question does not properly belong to this essay.

It is, at any rate, certain that neither the old romance nor the old realism can return. We have been shown in Nostromo something that has the colour of Treasure Island and the reality of New Grub Street. If, on the one hand, the pessimists lament that the English novel is dead, that everything that can be done has been done, there is, surely, on the other hand, some justification for the optimists who believe that at few periods in English literature has the novel shown more signs of a thrilling and original future.

For signs of the possible development of Conrad himself one may glance for a moment at his last novel, Victory.

The conclusion of Chance and the last volume of short stories had shown that there was some danger lest romance should divorce him, ultimately, from reality. Victory, splendid tale though it is, does not entirely reassure us. The theme of the book is the pursuit of almost helpless uprightness and innocence by almost helpless evil and malignancy; that is to say that the strength and virtue of Heyst and Lena are as elemental and independent of human will and effort as the villainy and slime of Mr Jones and Ricardo. Conrad has here then returned to his old early demonstration that nature is too strong for man and I feel as though, in this book, he had intended the whole affair to be blown, finally, sky-high by some natural volcanic eruption. He prepares for that eruption and when, for some reason or another, that elemental catastrophe is prevented he consoles himself by strewing the beach of his island with the battered corpses of his characters. It is in such a wanton conclusion, following as it does immediately upon the finest, strongest and most beautiful thing in the whole of Conrad—the last conversation between Heyst and Lena—that we see this above-mentioned divorce from reality. We see it again in the more fantastic characteristics of Mr Jones and Ricardo, in the presence of the Orang-Outang, and in other smaller and less important effects. At the same time his realism, when he pleases, as in the arrival of the boat of the thirst-maddened trio on the island beach, is as magnificent in its austerity and truth as ever it was.

Will he allow his imagination to carry him wildly into fantasy and incredibility? He has not, during these last years, exerted the discipline and restraint that were once his law.

Nevertheless, at the last, when one looks back over twenty years, from the Almayer's Folly of 1895 to the Victory of 1915, one realises that it was, for the English novel, no mean nor insignificant fortune that brought the author of those books to our shores to give a fresh impetus to the progress of our literature and to enrich our lives with a new world of character and high adventure.

A SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY OF JOSEPH CONRAD'S PRINCIPAL WRITINGS

[The date is given of the first edition of each book. New edition signifies a change of format or transference to a different publisher.]

Almayer's Folly: A Story of an Eastern River (Unwin). 1895. New editions: (Nash). 1904; (Unwin). 1909, 1914, 1915.

An Outcast of the Islands (Unwin). 1896. New edition, 1914.

The Nigger of the "Narcissus": A Tale of the Sea (Heinemann). 1897. New edition, 1910.

Tales of Unrest (Unwin). 1898. New edition, 1909.

Lord Jim: A Tale (Blackwood). 1900. New edition, 1914.

The Inheritors: An Extravagant Story. By Joseph Conrad and Ford M. Hueffer (Heinemann). 1901.

Youth: a Narrative, and Two Other Stories (Blackwood). 1902.

Typhoon and Other Stories (Heinemann). 1903. New edition, 1912.

Romance: A Novel. By Joseph Conrad and Ford Madox Hueffer (Smith, Elder). 1903. New edition (Nelson). 1909.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard (Harper). 1904.

The Mirror of the Sea: Memories and Impressions (Methuen). 1906. New editions, 1913, 1915.

The Secret Agent: A Simple Tale (Methuen). 1907. New edition, 1914.

A Set of Six: Tales (Methuen). 1908.

Under Western Eyes (Methuen). 1911. New edition, 1915.

Some Reminiscences (Nash). 1912.

'Twixt Land and Sea: Tales (Dent). 1912. New edition, 1914.

Chance: A Tale in Two Parts (Methuen). 1914.

Within the Tides: Tales (Dent). 1915.

Victory: An Island Tale (Methuen). 1915.

AMERICAN BIBLIOGRAPHY

Almayer's Folly: A Story of an Eastern River (Macmillan). 1895. New editions, 1912; (Doubleday). 1914.

An Outcast of the Islands (Appleton). 1896. New edition (Doubleday). 1914.

Children of the Sea: A Tale of the Forecastle (Dodd, Mead). 1897. New edition, 1912. New edition under English title: "The Nigger of the 'Narcissus'" (Doubleday). 1914.

Tales of Unrest (Scribner). 1898.

Lord Jim (Doubleday) 1900. New edition, 1914.

The Inheritors. By Joseph Conrad and Ford M. Hueffer (McClure Co.). 1901.

Typhoon (Putman). 1902. New edition (Doubleday). 1914.

Youth, and two Other Stories (McClure Co. Afterwards transferred to Doubleday). 1903.

Falk: Amy Foster: To-morrow [Three Stories] (McClure Co.). 1903. New edition (Doubleday). 1914.

Romance. By Joseph Conrad and Ford Madox Hueffer (McClure Co. Afterwards transferred to Doubleday). 1904.

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard (Harper). 1904.

The Mirror of the Sea: Memories and Impressions (Harper). 1906.

The Secret Agent: A Simple Tale (Harper). 1907.

A Point of Honour: A Military Tale (McClure Co. Afterwards transferred to Doubleday). 1908.

Under Western Eyes: A Novel (Harper). 1911.

A Personal Record (Harper). 1912.

'Twixt Land and Sea: Tales (Doran). 1912. New edition (Doubleday). 1914.

Chance: A Tale in Two Parts (Doubleday). 1914.

A Set of Six [Tales: one, "The Duel," previously issued as "A Point of Honour"] (Doubleday). 1915.

Victory: An Island Tale (Doubleday). 1915.

Within the Tides: Tales (Doubleday). 1916.

INDEX Almayer's Folly, 9, 12, 13, 14, 22, 38, 75, 119 Bennett, Arnold, 59, 83 Beresford, J. D., 116 Brothers Karamazov, The, 109 Browning, 84, 101, 102, 103, 104 Chance, 14, 16, 21, 43, 53, 56, 119 Cherry Orchard, The, 60, 109 Chesterton, G. K., 84 Conrad, J., birth, 8; naturalised, 8 Curle, R., 99 Dickens, 85 Dostoievsky, 20, 84, 113, 114 Eliot, George, 85 End of the Tether, The, 56 Evan Harrington, 38 Eve of St Agnes, The, 81 Flaubert, 77, 114 Form, 40 Forster, E. M., 117 Freya of the Seven Islands, 35 Galsworthy, J., 59 George, W. L., 116 Hardy, 38, 59, 93 Heart of Darkness, 17, 56, 75, 79, 81 Hueffer, F. M., 14 Irony, 55 James, Henry, 38, 41, 42, 59, 110 Keats, 81 Kipling, R., 38, 110 Lord Jim, 13, 16, 43, 56, 75, 86 Lyrical impulse, 82 Madame Bovary, 38, 77, 110 Meredith, 38, 84 Method in fiction, 41, 48, etc. Mid-Victorian English novel, 58 Mirror of the Sea, The, 16, 21, 27, 30, 32 Nature, 78 Nigger of the Narcissus, The, 13, 15, 27, 56, 63, 75, 86 Nostromo, 14, 18, 43, 49, 56, 79, 90, 96, 97, 102 Outcast of the Islands, An, 14, 19, 73, 79, 82, 85 Philosophy, 57 Poland, 9, 24 Realism, 108, 110 Return, The, 75 Richard Feverel, 38 Romance, 14, 70 Romance, 108. Russian Influence, 109, 112, etc. Sea, 8, 28 Secret Agent, The, 14, 19, 57, 72, 82, 103 Secret Sharer, The, 20 Set of Six, A, 20, 82 Shaw, Bernard, 39 Ships, 33 Smile of Fortune, A, 20 Some Reminiscences, 21, 22, 26 Sordello, 102 Spectator, The, 12 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 38, 93 Style, 82 Swinnerton, Frank, 106, 107, 116 Tales of Unrest, 15, 75 Tchekov, 60 Themes, 54 Tolstoi, 114 T. P.'s Weekly, 18 Tremolino, 35 Trollope, Anthony, 93 Turgéniev, 20, 84, 114 'Twixt Land and Sea, 20, 56 Typhoon, 14, 17, 30, 56, 61, 75, 79, 80, 82 Under Western Eyes, 19, 57, 72, 82 Une Vie, 38 Victory, 14, 118 Wells, H. G., 39, 59, 110 Wharton, Mrs, 59, 83 Whitman, 81 Yellow Book, The, 38 Youth, 14, 17, 30, 75, 79, 80, 82