succeeds, it can only be because of strength in other elements, or
because of
partialblindness and
partially paralysed moral sense in
the case of those who accept it and joy in it. If Mr Pinero
directly disputes this, then he and I have no common standing-
ground, and I need not follow the matter any further. Of course,
the
dramatist may, under
mistakensympathy and in the midst of
complex and bewildering concatenations, give wrong readings to his
audience, but he must not be always doing even that, or doing it on
principle or
system, else his work, however careful and
concentrated, will before long share the fate of the Stevenson-
Henley dramas confessedly
wrought when the authors all too
definitely held bad-heartedness was strength.
CHAPTER XV - THEORY OF GOOD AND EVIL
WE have not
hithertoconcerned ourselves, in any express sense,
with the ethical elements involved in the
tendency now dwelt on,
though they are, of necessity, of a very vital
character. We have
shown only as yet the effect of this mood of mind on
dramaticintention and effort. The position is simply that there is,
broadlyspeaking, the
endeavour to
eliminate an element which is
essential to successful
dramatic p
resentation. That element is the
eternal
distinction,
speakingbroadly, between good and evil -
between right and wrong - between the secret
consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识;觉悟;知觉">
consciousness of
having done right, and the
consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识;觉悟;知觉">
consciousness of mere strength and force
in certain other ways.
Nothing else will make up for vagueness and cloudiness here - no
technical skill, no apt dialogue nor
concentration, any more than
"fine speeches," as Mr Pinero calls them. Now the
dramatic demand
and the ethical demand here meet and take each other's hands, and
will not be separated. This is why Mr Stevenson and Mr Henley -
young men of great
talent, failed - utterly failed - they thought
they could make a hero out of a shady and dare-devil yet really
cowardly
villain generally - and failed.
The spirit of this is of the clever youth type - all too ready to
forego the moral for the sake of the fun any day of the week, and
the unthinking
selfishness and self-
enjoyment of youth - whose
tender mercies are often cruel, are transcendent in it. As
Stevenson himself said, they were young men then and fancied bad-
heartedness was strength. Perhaps it was a sense of this that made
R. L. Stevenson speak as he did of the EBB-TIDE with Huish the
cockney in it, after he was
powerless to recall it; which made him
say, as we have seen, that the closing chapters of THE MASTER OF
BALLANTRAE "SHAME, AND PERHAPS DEGRADE, THE BEGINNING." He himself
came to see then the great error; but, alas! it was too late to
remedy it - he could but go forward to essay new tales, not
backward to put right errors in what was done.
Did Mr William Archer have anything of this in his mind and the
far-reaching effects on this side, when he wrote the following:
"Let me add that the
omission with which, in 1885, I mildly
reproached him - the
omission to tell what he knew to be an
essential part of the truth about life - was abundantly made good
in his later writings. It is true that even in his final
philosophy he still seems to me to underrate, or rather to shirk,
the
significance of that most compendious parable which he thus
relates in a letter to Mr Henry James:- 'Do you know the story of
the man who found a
button in his hash, and called the
waiter?
"What do you call that?" says he. "Well," said the
waiter, "what
d'you expect? Expect to find a gold watch and chain?" Heavenly
apologue, is it not?' Heavenly, by all means; but I think
Stevenson relished the
humour of it so much that he 'smiling passed
the moral by.' In his
enjoyment of the
waiter's effrontery, he
forgot to sympathise with the man (even though it was himself) who
had broken his teeth upon the
harmful, unnecessary
button. He
forgot that all the apologetics in the world are based upon just