Evening star., 1937-07-10

Uels," compiled for the young.
probation Of the sorrowful human
values involved in the young favorite' S
| downfall.
For EsseXs story, as Mr.. Harrison
shows it, is the story Of youth taken
unaware by the ruthless Sophistries Of
power. The earl at the end tried 10
| plead that he had been the victim of a
conspiracy. This was not true; he had
no enemy at court except himself-hls
good looks and his incorruptible pride.
The first had sufficed to win him the
| old Queens favor; he was such long
| lad as she was from time to time
| pleased to honor. The second prevent
ed him from reaping the reward that
her favor might have yielded him. For,
having raised him up, she found it
necessary to her feline humor to hum
Bile him from time to time to box his
ears in council and order him, before
| the assembled lords, to go and be
hanged These were the endearments
of a lioness a trifle difficult to bear.
Serious, devoted to honor and, above
all, proud, the young soldier could not
forget that he had spent his life in
the dangers of her service He could
not bring himself either to adopt the
wise advice of Francis Bacon and give
over some of the glories he had won
and insinuate new favorite into the
royal regard so that he might himself
retire-While yet there was time! An
older man would have done that E.s-
sex, however, had the youthful craving
for justice He brooded over his
wrongs and, brooding, botched his
Irish campaign. 1t can only be
thought, after that, that his reason
| gave way, if indeed it had not done so
earlier, and that, in his pitiful rebel
lion, he was half crazed and incapable
of seeing any act save as an attempt
| to injure him.
Mr.. Harrison shows him at the end
a beWildered and weeping boy trying
| to recapture the childhood comforts
of faith and prayers. He had known
but one friend and she had been all
powerful. He had met her too early
in life. When, incredibly, after long
Indulgence, she turned on him, he
had no resources whatsoever. He had
learned nothing but her service. His
folly of putting faith in princes
though perhaps the point should be
elaborated to bring out that the
prince in question was an aged Tudor
sudden and ferocious" as was the
habit of her name.
The author makes it clear, however,
that it is difficult to see how Eliza beth
could have taken different course and
precisely in that difficulty lies the
excellence of the story. For it is not
merely the one-sided story of Essex S
wrongs but also that of Tudor pride
put again and again to severer tests
than any realistic thinker would have
dreamed of essaying For repeatedly,
after giving rough blows, the lioness
returned to purring and, contemptu-
ously, Essex came to believe his
power over her limitless-a perilous
conclusion. It is the story of two
natures essentially opposed. endeavor-
ing for selfish reasons on both sides to
agree-the story of the impersonal
unthinking pride of youth pitted
against the highly personal calculat-
ing vanity of age; it is the story too
of that most unnatural and unlovely
ppoSition-male against female,
since Elizabeth was queen who
would insist upon being woman too
and woman who had pitifully little
to commend her 1t is likely that
when Essex characterized her as
having "a mind as crooked as her
carcass" he secured full revenge, even
though he signed his death warrant.
She must have remembered those
words to the day Of her own demise.
They marked one of the few occa-
sions when she heard plain truth
about herself from a man, and she
was too much of a realist not to know
in her heart that Essex was far from
being the only one who held such an
opinion of her. Like her royal
father, she could only cut off a head.
1t did not make her particularly
happy.
1t is indeed story in which there
Is a great richness Of moving forces.
Yet all these forces are in such har-
mony in their course toward the in
evitable end that the plot itself seems
simple as one reads it. The present
| version lays the whole lamentable
case bare once again. 1t is recon-
mended for its impartial and excel
lent narration.
PIPE ALL HANDS. BY H. M. Tom
linson. New York: Harper Bros
r EADERS who share the reviewers s
inordinate enthusiasm for the
writing of H. M Tomlinson will be pre-
pared, like her, to ignore those faults
Of construction which prevent his
novels from being more than a series
of exquisite paragraphs, and will
again like her, derive pleasure aplenty
from Mr.. TomlinSon's superb mastery
of words. AS stylist, he probably has
no peer today. His prose has texture
that is almost tangible; taking it into
ones mind, one is as aware of its quail
ity as if one had taken it between ones
hands; it is like that fine wool cloth
(that inimitable tweed which is 50
greatly imitated) which feels like
velvet and wears like iron, which
makes garments worthy Of the proud
and the discerning and which is at all
times unobstrusively beautiful. And
yet, having the genius to weave this
marvellous fabric of the language, Mr..
Tomlinson lacks somehow the ability
to cut garment from it. He cannot
devise novel.
His finest books Chough they are all
fine) are those in which he writes OF
what his eyes have seen around the
world without attempting to bind these
memories together with any imagined
plot. His less tine workf"srs those tn
Il