Commonplace 108 George & The Honeymoon PART TWO.
In the previous post, we left Phyllis reeling from the shock news that her husband married under false pretences: that he did not love her for her Self, and that he did not value her creativity or her natural character, and that he married intending to mould her to his preferences when she was legally and powerlessly bound to him. If this sounds like how George went about wooing Edith, and probably Marianne aka Nell, we must accept we are wandering into 'leopards don't change their spots' territory: George was always of the mindset that a woman really only becomes a woman with the intervention of a man, the way Eve was conjured from Adam's unwanted body parts.
So, Phyllis is stunned and Waldron looks at her and thinks:
It was not a face of pure refinement. Rude ancestry might still be discovered in certain of the lines, which, in their unison, tended to a noble type of beauty; and stress of harsh feeling naturally gave prominence to this impress. Moreover, the features announced a character yet unripe – a girlishness which lingered too long – a prey waywardness that called for the restraint of circumstance.
But, Phyllis is dreaming up a cunning plan, with her maid's help. George quickly has Phyllis abandon her life's work purely because Waldron’s opinion of it was so low, so it is now a matter of:
The question which tormented her was, whether she had been wooed and wedded out of mere interest, with mockery of love. Twelve hours ago, she had imagined herself a potentate, infinitely beloved, profoundly admired. Sheer shock of astonishment left her indifferent to the loss of admiration; the poignancy of that disaster was still to be tasted; but if not even love remained to her? Why, that meant an exchange of boundless rule for lowest servitude, and all the instincts of a long courted heiress rose in revolt.
The next day, she watches him walking back up the road after his trip.
In the previous post, we left Phyllis reeling from the shock news that her husband married under false pretences: that he did not love her for her Self, and that he did not value her creativity or her natural character, and that he married intending to mould her to his preferences when she was legally and powerlessly bound to him. If this sounds like how George went about wooing Edith, and probably Marianne aka Nell, we must accept we are wandering into 'leopards don't change their spots' territory: George was always of the mindset that a woman really only becomes a woman with the intervention of a man, the way Eve was conjured from Adam's unwanted body parts.
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| The Witches Sabbath: Muse of the Night by Luis Ricardo Falero 1880 |
It was not a face of pure refinement. Rude ancestry might still be discovered in certain of the lines, which, in their unison, tended to a noble type of beauty; and stress of harsh feeling naturally gave prominence to this impress. Moreover, the features announced a character yet unripe – a girlishness which lingered too long – a prey waywardness that called for the restraint of circumstance.
Here, George is working through all his thoughts on
the laws of heredity – the expression on Phyllis’ face is evidence of a throwback
to a more humble past. Her family are described as merchants, and so are ‘new’
money, and not long-established ‘aristocracy’. George is channelling the work of Alphonse Bertillon, one of the fathers of forensics, and the ‘science’
of anthropometry – the diagnosing of moral characteristics by measuring aspects
of the body, especially the face. It was believed villains subscribed to types –
that a prospective criminal or ruffian could be identified by certain measurable features.
This chimed with George’s interest in social sciences, and social science’s
need to measure and produce evidence in the form of statistics. In Commonplace 101 we touched on this. Now, George was a smart fellow (up to a point!) and
must have, at some stage, taken himself off for a bit of introspection and
wondering where did his own thieving, lying ways originate.
His mother seems to have been a solid rock on which the Gissing family was built; his father seems much less stable. certain biographers have it in for Mrs Gissing the mother, but we know so little about the woman, it would be unfair to attribute to her any specific characteristic. In many ways, father and son were similar – had George inherited some trait from his father that produced erratic, even dysfunctional, behaviour? In 1870, when George was thirteen, his father took him for a phrenological test. Now, why would a parent do that? Amongst the results was this less than prophetic offering: that the boy would 'always be a good judge of his own conduct' - so, presumably, all that insomnia suffered in later years by our man was down to a guilty conscience haha. George always reckoned he was a boy who needed a firm hand, which he never seems to have been given. Are we left with a child who was a wilful, selfish, arrogant prig? Or, did that sort of thing come out much later in his life? haha.
Could all George’s various defects be laid at the door of inheritance by bad blood? In this case, it would be possible that the shame of it presented via his fiction as projection – the mental mechanism of seeing and criticising in others, one's own faults.
His mother seems to have been a solid rock on which the Gissing family was built; his father seems much less stable. certain biographers have it in for Mrs Gissing the mother, but we know so little about the woman, it would be unfair to attribute to her any specific characteristic. In many ways, father and son were similar – had George inherited some trait from his father that produced erratic, even dysfunctional, behaviour? In 1870, when George was thirteen, his father took him for a phrenological test. Now, why would a parent do that? Amongst the results was this less than prophetic offering: that the boy would 'always be a good judge of his own conduct' - so, presumably, all that insomnia suffered in later years by our man was down to a guilty conscience haha. George always reckoned he was a boy who needed a firm hand, which he never seems to have been given. Are we left with a child who was a wilful, selfish, arrogant prig? Or, did that sort of thing come out much later in his life? haha.
Could all George’s various defects be laid at the door of inheritance by bad blood? In this case, it would be possible that the shame of it presented via his fiction as projection – the mental mechanism of seeing and criticising in others, one's own faults.
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Bertillon's own results
So, we
have Phyllis and Waldron face-to-face debating his extraordinary views on their marriage, which includes the abandoning of her literary ambitions. She is studying him and he, her:
Waldron, who had never seen her in
anything but radiant humour, studied this expression before continuing the
dialogue; it did not perturb him.
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The conversation continues with Waldron obviously
showing his hand at being a controlling sadist.
‘…are you prepared to accept my advice in this matter
of the novel?’
‘Advice?’ She laughed with disdain. ‘It didn’t sound
like advice.’
‘Good. Then let us say: are you willing to obey me?’
Phyllis is aghast, and suggests she doesn't know him
at all – ‘I feel as if I were talking with a total stranger.’
Waldron says in reply: ‘…You may give me a kiss, Phyl,
if you like.’
She walked away.
He eventually follows, demanding an answer about her
novel. She states that he has never loved her; that he is guilty of deceit, and she can’t
respect him.
‘Good. But all that is no reply to my distinct
question.’
She tells him she has to think about things – he suggests
he leave her alone for a while – ‘In the meantime you will do nothing, merely
reflect; that’s understood.’ He sets off for an overnight trip.
Phyllis is left alone to contemplate her future.
Eventually, she calls her maid and they spend an
evening discussing Phyllis’ predicament. As she unburdens herself to her maid::
The well-meaning, but fussy and effusive listener,
poured forth sympathy and counsel; much study of penny fiction provided her
with unctuous phraseology, soothing to the ears of one whose literary erotics
had just been so rudely criticised.
But, Phyllis is dreaming up a cunning plan, with her maid's help. George quickly has Phyllis abandon her life's work purely because Waldron’s opinion of it was so low, so it is now a matter of:
The question which tormented her was, whether she had been wooed and wedded out of mere interest, with mockery of love. Twelve hours ago, she had imagined herself a potentate, infinitely beloved, profoundly admired. Sheer shock of astonishment left her indifferent to the loss of admiration; the poignancy of that disaster was still to be tasted; but if not even love remained to her? Why, that meant an exchange of boundless rule for lowest servitude, and all the instincts of a long courted heiress rose in revolt.
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| Boadicea and Her Daughters by Thomas Thorneycroft 1856-83 click |
Perhaps he had hardly given a thought to
her since they parted. A cold, deceitful, tyrannous man!
And, then George completely trumps the neutering of Phyllis as an Artist - Art, not being woman's work in his opinion - by whipping her back into the female's submissive role:
And, on that account,
doubtless the very man to succeed brilliantly.
Then we have one of George's weather metaphors:
Sunshine was breaking through the clouds;
the thin rain would presently cease.
He offered her a kiss, but it was
disregarded. Phyllis had not quite made up her mind to this course; with a
feeling of surprise at herself she passed straight on, and went upstairs.
Later, they chat and she seems to defer to him about small things, as if the shock of his revelation has deflated her. She declines his offer of a walk, and plans to go out on her own.
And, so the cunning plan is put into operation. Late that night, Phyllis goes for her walk, and doesn't come back as expected. The maid becomes anxious and suggests that she go to look for her mistress. When she doesn't find her, she wants to raise the alarm and find others to help in the search, but Waldron affects indifference. He strolls out to walk around, ostensibly to look for her. There follows a drawn-out filler of paragraphs describing the landscape, and the meandering walk round until Waldron bumps into Phyllis. She accuses him of not loving her, of lying about his affections for her, and probably wishing she had fallen off a cliff. He responds via the medium of condescension:
‘Well, no; I didn’t.’ He drew nearer, and
leaned on his stick (George’s use of sticks as symbols of the male phallus are
in force here.) ‘The possibility just crossed my mind; which is much as saying
that I felt uncertain of the measure of your folly. Had such a thing happened,
I should very soon have congratulated myself on release from a crazy person. As
you are merely a simpleton, I am for better things.’
‘Is it possible for a man of your
intellect to speak – to think- so brutally?’
‘Evidently…’
It is certainly possible for George to speak this way - and to use his stick as a weapon on his first wife, and probably his second.
He walks off and she follows behind, then he grabs her, sweeps her up in his arms...
A cry of alarm, a useless struggle, and
Phyllis surrendered. When she had become perfectly quiet, he carried her for a
few yards further, then set her down.
‘Now answer me: which of us two is
stronger?’
‘In brute force?’ she returned bitterly.
‘In human force. As much as I excel you in
bodily strength, so much, and more, am I your superior in every other quality.
When you have learnt that, we shall get on admirably.’
‘Oh, I deny it – a thousand times!’
‘Continue to do so, dear girl, till you
have learnt the truth of what I say.’
‘How dare you call me dear?’
‘Why, because I like you very much, and wouldn’t
lose you for a good deal.’
‘You love no one but yourself.’
‘I didn’t say ‘love’. I don’t love you.’
.Now – now you are speaking the truth! Oh,
what man have I married!’
‘A very good sort of man. A capital
fellow, in his way.’
‘A hypocrite – a base…’ her tongue checked
itself.
‘And you,’ he continued, ‘do you love me?’
‘No!’
‘Then we start on equal terms. In love
with me you certainly were; as I was with you….It is more than likely that some
day we shall love each other; in five years’ time, say. Love is slow in
growing. I want to love you, if possible, and I hope you will love me. But I
can’t love a girl who hasn’t got over her girlish conceit and silliness.’
‘Nor I a man who is heartless.’
‘Heaven forbid!’
They walk on, then he says:
‘I don’t like that maid of yours. She must
go.’
‘Go? Oh, that she shall not!’
‘She will leave us tomorrow,’ said Waldron
quietly.
‘Why?’
‘Because she entered into a silly plot
with her silly mistress. It was your fault, of course; but she must suffer for
it…. Come, little girl, take my arm, and let’s get ahead sharply….’
He drew her towards him, and she was
passive. So without further speech they walked homewards through the divine
night.
I can't think of anything good to say about this short story. But, sad as it is that George believed in what he was writing down, he must have taken it for granted that there was an audience for it - that like-minded fellows would nod in agreement and swallow every misogynistic sentiment piecemeal.
If you ever wondered what sort of a life George's first two wives had, read this sort of amoral filth, masquerading as Art. Gabrielle was spared the worst of him because she had witnesses, and he dare not (durst not haha) overstep the line. But Marianne and Edith, always prevented from making friends or having social intercourse out of George's control, must have suffered terrible loneliness and despair with no one but their tormentor to know of their suffering. He removed them both from the outside world, and denied them existence by failing to integrate either into his life - the one he lived to the outside world. Marianne was expunged from the record when he destroyed his Diaries up to the year she died; his account of her is not as harsh as the one constructed for him by his biographers. Edith, reviled by George and represented to the world as almost sub-human, ended her days in isolation and madness. Overwhelming a woman's natural character - 'civilising' them by force - he considered a moral obligation to the human race, and an imperative of Darwinian thinking.
It was New Grub Street's Jasper Milvain who said: As a rule, marriage is the result of a mild preference, encouraged by circumstances, and deliberately heightened into strong sexual feeling... the same kind of feeling could be produced for almost any woman who wasn't repulsive. |
| Saint Rita of Cascia, patron saint of, amongst other things, abused wives. |
You may well believe some essence of George exists in his characters and that Arthur Golding, the hapless Workers In The Dawn doofus, is a thinly-veiled portrait of our man. I would suggest that a more authentic George lurks in the characters who populate his short stories. Waldron is just one of them, and one of the most repugnant.
