The Silver Spoon

by John Galsworthy. New. York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. 1926. 12mo. x+318 pp. $2.00.

'"TALKING of human nature,” said Michael, “here’s my father-in-law!”’ Here, indeed, he is again — Soames Forsyte, aged sixty-nine, absorbed more than ever in his daughter, who is absorbed in herself. Fleur is the authentic Forsyte: the possessive instinct with her expresses itself in a passion for collecting ‘lions.’ Hence the accusation that she is a ‘snob,’made by Marjorie Ferrar, who, besides being emancipated both in theory and in practice from conventional morality, is also the granddaughter of a marquess. Fleur strikes back in true Forsyte style; the result is a suit for slander which Galsworthy brings to a climax in one of his masterly trial scenes. The reader ‘listens’ to the tense dialogue breathlessly, and when the final question is put which entraps the modern adventuress of noble birth a quickened pulse is his tribute to the double spell of the novelist and the playwright.

Thus Fleur has the triumph to which she feels entitled as one born with a silver spoon in her mouth. But the legal victory proves immediately a social defeat. Society resents the selfrighteousness of the Forsyte position and sides with Marjorie Ferrar, who at least is not a hypocrite. ‘ Better the confessed libertine than those who brought her to judgment!' The selfcentred, jealous little female Forsyte, held up to public ridicule, is heartbroken: nothing will bring back her self-importance but a trip around the world. She suffers a further blow when Michael, her adoring husband, refuses to accompany her; it is Soames, the stay-at-home Britisher, who, to the astonishment of all concerned, offers himself as her escort. ‘Talking of human nature!'

The author’s title has another application. England is a country born with a silver spoon, and, like Fleur, does not know how to meet adversity. This is the concern of Michael — indeed, it is this concern which compels him to refuse Fleur’s request. Inspired by the writings of Sir James Foggart, a Carlylean philosopher, he puts before Parliament a programme much like that presented by Carlyle himself eightyodd years since: emigration of children on a large scale, and cultivation of the land so that the country may produce more of its own food. Michael is an impractical politician, taking things to heart; he carries on his shoulders the burden of the grave peril that England faces, and is oppressed by the fact that only a few can be found to take long-range views. The questions he asks about England are those raised and answered so emphatically about our whole civilization in Spengler’s Decline of the West. Is not the doctrine of Progress played out? Is not the fact of ‘ megalopolitanism ’ a sign that we have reached the final stage? Nearly six sevenths of the population of Great Britain, declares Michael in his maiden speech, live in towns. And his thoughts constantly find expression in such phrases as ‘town-ridden,’ ’town blight,”the town mind,’‘bloated town industrialism.’ How can a nation in this stage of what Spengler would term senescence have the vigor to address itself to the creative work that must be done if it is to survive? Michael cannot admit to himself that his country has lost the ‘will to live’; yet the words with which the book ends are a cry from him of wistful though amused despair: ‘England, my England! as the poet said.’

The brilliant play of satire upon the surface, the glimpses of troubled depths beneath — it is hard to pronounce which of these qualities of The Silver Spoon we are to admire more. As for social philosophy, will Wells, in his forthcoming three-volume production, really give us more wisdom than is enclosed in these three hundred and twenty pages? And as for human nature, when and where shall we meet Soames, Fleur, and Michael again? Will it be in ‘England, my England,’or in that new land, also born with a silver spoon in its mouth, in which Jon and Irene have taken refuge?

HENRY GREENLEAF PEARSON