Delphi Complete Works of Jerome K. Jerome (Illustrated) (Series Four) (521 page)

I do not believe in the “Darby and Joan” of the song. They belong to song-land. To accept them I need a piano, a sympathetic contralto voice, a firelight effect, and that sentimental mood in myself, the foundation of which is a good dinner well digested; but there are Darbys and Joans of real flesh and blood to be met with — God bless them, and send more for our example — wholesome-living men and women, brave, struggling souls with common-sense. Ah, yes! they have quarrelled, had their dark hours of bitterness.... Darby expected too much; Darby had not made allowance for human nature which he ought to have done, seeing how much he had of it himself. Joan knows that he did not mean it. Joan has a nasty temper; she admits it. Joan will try, Darby will try. They kiss again with tears. It is a work-a-day world. Darby and Joan will take it as it is, will do their best. A little kindness, a little clasping of hands before night comes.

“All Roads Lead to Calvary” (published 1920) can hardly be called a novel in the general acceptance of the term, although, perhaps, a precise and satisfactory definition of a novel has yet to be arrived at. Someone has said that “Pickwick” is not a novel, but just a mass of Dickens’ personality that got itself into book form. So “All Roads Lead to Calvary” may be described as an outpouring of Jerome’s views of life and his outlook on the world. It combines fiction with politics. There are also several descriptions of nature scenes which are powerful and impressive.

This book was written at Bath shortly after the War. Jerome had volunteered for service in the French army. He had seen with his own eyes the horrors of war, and in this book he says much that is arresting about the social, political and religious problems, that, as a legacy of the War, needed solution.

He deals with these problems in a broad-minded, clear-sighted way. At times he leans towards Socialism, but he was far too shrewd a man to be carried away by those noisy people who are always so cocksure in their judgements and who know so much about what is good for their neighbours, but who generally shut their eyes to laws ordained by Providence and consequently get their interfering fingers caught in the economical machinery, and howl horribly when they get them hurt.

While he condemned the philanthropist who paid starvation wages, he also condemned those Socialists who travel first-class and spend their winter in Egypt and Monaco. He was too honest to shut his eyes to economic facts, while on the other hand, he offers suggestions that are worthy of the serious attention of statesmen.

The characters in this book are of the every-day kind. They are mouthpieces expressing the author’s views on some of the vital questions of the day. Freshness and variety are imparted to them, because each speaks in his or her own language.

Joan Allway, a clever London journalist, is the outstanding heroine. She and the other female characters give the impression that they are actual women whom the author has met and studied at first hand, because they express the ordinary sentiments and live the everyday life of ninety-nine women out of a hundred. Joan is natural and spontaneous. She is absorbingly interesting, and full of life and adventure. The little scene between Joan and poor, clumsy Mrs. Phillips, wife of a Labour leader (page 80), evinces more than shrewdness and wit; there is wisdom and beauty in it.

In 1920 Mr. Stanley Weiser, of Sioux Falls, U.S.A., wrote to Mr. Jerome in reference to his difficulty in obtaining a copy of “The Passing of the Third Floor Back” and at the same time expressing his indignation with a review of “All Roads Lead to Calvary”. He received the following reply:

25-4-20.

Dear Stanley Weiser, Thanks for your kind and generous letter which I shall always keep and value. My publishers are always promising to reprint “The Passing”, but just now there seems to be much difficulty as regards paper and binding. Dodd, Mead & Co., of New York, are the American publishers, you might wish to know. If you can get a copy, I will autograph it with pleasure.

I was especially glad that you — a young man — cared for “All Roads Lead to Calvary”. It is you youngsters that have the future of the world in your hands. If sufficient of you could only get together and come out boldly for fellowship and chivalry all the world over — The Brotherhood of Man, Black, White, and Yellow, Europe, Asia, and America — the old earth’s sorrow would fade away.

Yours sincerely, Jerôme K. Jerome.

On the 8th July, 1920, Mr. Weiser received a further reply from Mr. Jerome as follows:

Dear Mr. Weiser, It was very interesting to read your frank and friendly letter. We won’t bother about the critics. I’ve always tried to write for youth. If the young like and understand me, I feel that I have won through — I’ve influenced the New World. I am very glad you like “Calvary”, though I felt sad when I wrote it. The War has killed so many of my hopes, and left a world of hate and ruled by greed. You have life before you. Work for the Christ spirit. All good wishes.

Yours sincerely, Jerome K. Jerome.

Mr. Weiser points out that the pronunciation marks over the signature are a reply to his question regarding the accent of the name.

The following is taken from a New York journal:

A PSYCHOLOGICAL STUDY

In Jerome K. Jerome’s “All Roads Lead to Calvary” he speaks of a newsboy vending papers containing a sensational murder story. His heroine, Joan, watched the papers selling like hot cakes, the purchasers too eager even to wait for their change. She wondered with a little lump in her throat how many would have stopped to buy had he been calling instead: “Discovery of a new sonnet by Shakespeare. Extra special.”

The following pathetic little story is taken from “Calvary”:

An old Scotch peasant farmer. A mean, cantankerous old cuss, whose curious pride it was that he had never given anything away; not a crust, nor a sixpence, nor a rag, and never would. Many had been the attempts to make him break his boast, some for the joke of the thing, and some for the need; but none had ever succeeded. It was his one claim to distinction, and he guarded it. One evening it struck him that a milk-pail standing just inside the window had been tampered with. Next day he marked a scratch on the inside of the pan, and returning later, found the level of the milk had sunk by half an inch. So he hid himself and waited, and at twilight the next day the window was stealthily pushed open, and two small, terror-haunted eyes peered round the room. They satisfied themselves that no one was about, and a tiny hand clutching a cracked jug was thrust swiftly in and dipped into the pan, and the window softly closed.

He knew the thief, the grandchild of an old, bedridden dame who lived some miles away on the edge of the moor. The old man stood long, watching the small cloaked figure till it was lost in the darkness. It was not till he lay upon his dying bed that he confessed it, but each evening from that day he would steal into the room and see to it himself that the window was left ajar.

“The Observations of Henry and Others”, published 1901.

The observations are both serious and humorous and are made under ten headings including “Evergreens”, “Clocks”, “Tea Kettles”, “A Pathetic Story”, “Dreams”, etc. Two extracts follow:

There are evergreen men and women in the world — not many of them, but a few. They are not the showy folk; they are not the clever, attractive folk. (Nature is an old-fashioned shopkeeper, she never puts her best goods in the window.) They are only the quiet, strong folk, they are stronger than the world, stronger than life and death, stronger than fate.

It is not the brilliant men and women, but the simple, strong, restful men and women that make the best travelling companions for the road of life.

“Anthony John” was written at “Monks’ Corner”, Marlow Common, and was published in 1923. Here Jerome is once more the Christian idealist of “The Passing of the Third Floor Back”. Generally speaking, idealists are swayed by intellectual and spiritual considerations, and the world would be infinitely the poorer without men, who, sheltered from the stress of life, work out their theories in politics and religion and point out new paths for practical people to explore.

Jerome’s idealism, however, was distinctly practical. He was by no means one of those shallow talkers who attempt to realize a Utopia out of nebulous and mystical day-dreams.

In the ‘Forties, novelists wrote stories around social abuses. Charles Kingsley wrote “Yeast” with the object of calling attention to the condition of the agricultural labourer. Charles Dickens had a definite social and political purpose in writing “Hard Times”. Charles Reade wrote powerful stories directed against other evils in the social order; but when “Anthony John” was written the social problems were of an entirely different character. After the War there came the inevitable industrial depression. Unemployment was widespread, and poverty, like a ghastly octopus, fastened itself upon the poor. Jerome saw with his own eyes the plight of many who had fought for their country and he heard the cries of their children. “Anthony John” was Jerome’s contribution to the amelioration of an appalling state of things.

This novel contains a story of a small boy, Anthony John, son of a struggling engineer in the great iron district of Millsborough. The boy was poor, but remarkably astute and determined to get on. By hard work and sheer force of character he became a partner in a wealthy and highly successful firm. Anthony’s rise in the world culminated in his marriage to the daughter of a baronet.

Both Anthony and his wife had a passionate desire to serve humanity; this desire was inspired by religion, which is the highest motive that can actuate anyone. They both dreamed of a world in which there would be no poor; where the haunting terror of unemployment would be lifted from their lives, where all would know the meaning of the word “home”.

They had great possessions, but they both definitely decided to give them up. Anthony declined a peerage, resigned the chairmanship of this, that and the other prosperous concern, gave up his directorship in half a dozen high-dividend paying companies, got rid of vast holdings in twenty sound, profitable enterprises; gave up his great office, furniture, fittings and good-will all included; took a small house and lived among the poor.

He did not do this entirely with the idea of giving
all
to the poor. He knew that if all the riches of the world were gathered together and given to the poor it would be but a stirring of the waters. From time immemorial the rich had flung money to the poor, and the poor had increased in number, had become even poorer. It was partly for his own sake that Anthony took this step — to escape from many hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition, that he must flee from his great possessions — only in common poverty, in common contentment, could there be brotherhood, love.... One day man will wake up and find to his joy that he loves his fellow man, and the tears of the world will be wiped away. It needs only a few to set the example. Fighting for God, fighting with God to save the world.

The story, in this necessarily abridged form, is shorn of much of its force. As presented by Jerome “Anthony John” is a powerful appeal for sacrifice, brotherhood and the Christ spirit as a means of solving the world’s problems.

This appeal is on a higher level and is more arresting than that of “All Roads Lead to Calvary”, in which the solution of the world’s problems is based upon politics.

In “Anthony John”, Jerome writes:

I warn you, Politics will never reform the world.

They appeal only to men’s passions and hatreds.

They divide us.

Jerome’s last book, “My Life and Times”, was published in 1926. This is an example of autobiography at its best. It is a very human book, and so full of wit, wisdom and humour that the reader who peruses every page of it will be well repaid. Not only are Jerome’s experiences and career recorded, but the story of the eventful and evolutionary times through which he passed makes interesting history. He recalled the time when London was much less crowded, less sordid, and a more comfortable place to live in. He had seen old landmarks disappear — whole districts, once fields and country lanes leading to outlying villages, each having its market cart — and become thickly populated suburbs of greater London. He recollected the time when, as far as he knew, there were only three places in London where a cup of tea could be obtained; also when Gladstone put up the income-tax to eightpence, and, in consequence, the predicted ruin of the country; also the introduction of the typewriter, telephone, electric light and other things that were to put an end to all life’s troubles.

He tells of the characteristics of some of his literary friends. H. G. Wells had a prodigious capacity for work. He would write a new book while his last one was being read, and invent a new religion in less time that it must have taken his godparent to teach him his prayers. Jerome once mentioned to Wells that he was a bit run down. “Come and spend a few days with me at Folkestone,” said Wells, “and have a rest.” Jerome says that to “rest” in the neighbourhood of Wells “is like curling yourself up and trying to go to sleep in the centre of a cyclone”.

He says of Mr. G. B. Shaw that he is never at rest unless he is working. His chief exercise is public speaking and his favourite recreation thinking. He once admitted to Jerome that, at times, he thinks too much. He was driving his motor in Algiers, his chauffeur sitting beside him, when an idea for a play occurred to him. “What do you think of this?” he said to the chauffeur, and told him all about it. He usually found the man a helpful critic; but the man suddenly threw himself upon Shaw, took the wheel out of his hands and sat down upon him. “Excuse me, Mr. Shaw,” the man said, “but it’s such a damn good play that I didn’t want you to die before you’d written it.” They were on the edge of a precipice which Shaw had not noticed.

Jerome writes that Sir James Barrie once explained to Mrs. Jerome how much more intelligent lambs are than is generally supposed. He was thinking out a story, and coming to a stile had sat down and was making notes on the back of an envelope. In the field where Barrie sat there were lambs. One of them strayed away from its mother, turned round three times and was lost. It was a terrible to-do, and Barrie had to put down his story and lead it back to its mother. Hardly had he returned to his stile before another lamb did just the same. The bleating was terrific. There was nothing else to do but for Barrie to put down his work and take it back to its mother. They kept on doing this, one after another. But the wonderful thing was that after a time, instead of looking for their mothers themselves, they just came to Barrie and insisted on his coming with them and finding their mothers for them. It saved their time but wasted Barrie’s.