When Winter Comes to Main Street Part 16

CHAPTER XV

FRANK SWINNERTON: a.n.a.lYST OF LOVERS

=i=

It is as an a.n.a.lyst of lovers, I think, that Frank Swinnerton claims and holds his place among those whom we still sometimes call the younger novelists of England.

I do not say this because his fame was achieved at a bound with _Nocturne_, but because all his novels show a natural preoccupation with the theme of love between the s.e.xes. Usually it is a pair of young lovers or contrasted pairs; but sometimes this is interestingly varied, as in September, where we have a study of love that comes to a woman in middle life.

The unique character of _Nocturne_ makes it very hard to write about Swinnerton. It is true that Arnold Bennett wrote: "I am prepared to say to the judicious reader unacquainted with Swinnerton's work, 'Read _Nocturne_,' and to stand or fall, and to let him stand or fall by the result." At the same time, though the rule is that we must judge an artist by his finest work and a genius by his greatest masterpiece, it is not entirely just to estimate the living writer by a single unique performance, an extraordinary piece of virtuosity, which _Nocturne_ unquestionably is. For anyone who wishes to understand and appreciate Swinnerton, I would recommend that he begin with _Coquette_, follow it with _September_, follow that with _Shops and Houses_ and then read _Nocturne_. That is, I would have made this recommendation a few months ago, but so representative of all sides of Swinnerton's talent is his new novel, _The Three Lovers_, that I should now prefer to say to anyone unacquainted with Swinnerton: "Begin with _The Three Lovers_." And after that I would have him read _Coquette_ and the other books in the order I have named. After he had reached and finished _Nocturne_, I would have him turn to the several earlier novels--_The Happy Family_, _On the Staircase_, and _The Chaste Wife_.

=ii=

_The Three Lovers_, a full-length novel which Swinnerton finished in Devonshire in the spring of 1922, is a story of human beings in conflict, and it is also a picture of certain phases of modern life. A young and intelligent girl, alone in the world, is introduced abruptly to a kind of life with which she is unfamiliar. Thereafter the book shows the development of her character and her struggle for the love of the men to whom she is most attracted. The book steadily moves

[Ill.u.s.tration: FRANK SWINNERTON]

through its earlier chapters of introduction and growth to a climax that is both dramatic and moving. It opens with a characteristic descriptive pa.s.sage from which I take a few sentences:

"It was a suddenly cold evening towards the end of September.... The street lamps were sharp brightnesses in the black night, wickedly revealing the naked rain-swept paving-stones. It was an evening to make one think with joy of succulent crumpets and rampant fires and warm slippers and noggins of whisky; but it was not an evening for cats or timid people. The cats were racing about the houses, drunken with primeval savagery; the timid people were shuddering and looking in distress over feebly hoisted shoulders, dreadfully prepared for disaster of any kind, afraid of sounds and shadows and their own forgotten sins.... The wind shook the window-panes; soot fell down all the chimneys; trees continuously rustled as if they were trying to keep warm by constant friction and movement."

The imagination which sees in the movement of trees an endeavour to keep warm is not less sharp in its discernment of human beings. I will give one other pa.s.sage, a conversation between Patricia Quin, the heroine, and another girl:

"'Do you mean he's in love with you?' asked Patricia. 'That seems to be what's the matter.'

"'Oho, it takes two to be in love,' scornfully cried Amy. 'And I'm not in love with him.'

"'But he's your friend.'

"'That's just it. He won't recognise that men and women _can_ be friends.

He's a very decent fellow; but he's full of this sulky jealousy, and he glowers and sulks whenever any other man comes near me. Well, that's not my idea of friendship.'

"'Nor mine,' echoed Patricia, trying to reconstruct her puzzled estimate of their relations. 'But couldn't you stop that? Surely, if you put it clearly to him....'

"Amy interrupted with a laugh that was almost shrill. Her manner was coldly contemptuous.

"'You _are_ priceless!' she cried. 'You say the most wonderful things.'

"'Well, _I_ should.'

"'I wonder.' Amy moved about, collecting the plates. 'You see ... some day I shall marry. And in a weak moment I said probably I'd marry him.'

"'Oh, Amy! Of _course_ he's jealous.' Swiftly, Patricia did the young man justice.

"'I didn't give him any right to be. I told him I'd changed my mind. I've told him lots of times that probably I sha'n't marry him.'

"'But you keep him. Amy! You do encourage him.' Patricia was stricken afresh with a generous impulse of emotion on Jack's behalf. 'I mean, by not telling him straight out. Surely you can't keep a man waiting like that? I wonder he doesn't _insist_.'

"'Jack insist!' Amy was again scornful. 'Not he!'

"There was a moment s pause. Innocently, Patricia ventured upon a charitable interpretation.

"'He must love you very much. But, Amy, if you don't love him.'

"'What's love got to do with marriage?' asked Amy, with a sourly cynical air.

"'Hasn't it--everything?' Patricia was full of sincerity. She was too absorbed in this story to help Amy to clear the table; but on finding herself alone in the studio while the crockery was carried away to the kitchen she mechanically shook the crumbs behind the gas-fire and folded the napkin. This was the most astonishing moment of her day.

"Presently Amy returned, and sat in the big armchair, while, seated upon the podger and leaning back against the wall, Patricia smoked a cigarette.

"'You see, the sort of man one falls in love with doesn't make a good husband,' announced Amy, as patiently as if Patricia had been in fact a child. She persisted in her att.i.tude of superior wisdom in the world's ways. 'It's all very well; but a girl ought to be able to live with any man she fancies, and then in the end marry the safe man for a ... well, for life, if she likes.'

"Patricia's eyes were opened wide.

"'I shouldn't like that,' she said. 'I don't think the man would either.'

"'Bless you, the men all _do_ it,' cried Amy, contemptuously. 'Don't make any mistake about that.'

"'I don't believe it,' said Patricia. 'Do you mean that my father--or _your_ father...?'

"'Oh, I don't know. I meant, nowadays. Most of the people you saw last night are living together or living with other people.'

"Patricia was aware of a chill.

"'But _you've_ never,' she urged. 'I've never.'

"'No.' Amy was obviously irritated by the personal application. 'That's just it. I say we _ought_ to be free to do what we like. Men do what they like.'

"'D'you think Jack has lived with other girls?'

"'My dear child, how do I know? I should hope he has.'

"'Hope! Amy, you do make me feel a prig.'

"'Perhaps you are one. Oh, I don't know. I'm sick of thinking, thinking, thinking about it all. I never get any peace.'

"'Is there somebody you _want_ to live with?'

"'No. I wish there was. Then I should _know_'

"'I wonder if you would know,' said Patricia, in a low voice. 'Amy, do you really know what love is? Because I don't. I've sometimes let men kiss me, and it doesn't seem to matter in the least. I don't particularly want to kiss them, or to be kissed. I've never seen anything in all the flirtation that goes on in dark corners. It's amusing once or twice; but it becomes an awful bore. The men don't interest you. The thought of living with any of them just turns me sick.'"

=iii=

The a.n.a.lysis, in _The Three Lovers_, of Patricia Quin is done with that simplicity, quiet deftness and inoffensive frankness which is the hallmark of Mr. Swinnerton's fiction. And, coming at last to _Nocturne_, I fall back cheerfully upon the praise accorded that novel by H. G. Wells in his preface to it. Said Mr. Wells: