"That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;
Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you."
James Lee's Wife.
There is a rare refreshment in the works of Leonard Merrick; graciousyet distinctive, his style has a polished leisure seldom enjoyed thesedays when perfection of literary form is at a discount. His art isimpossible of label; almost alone amongst the writers of to-day he hasthe insight and the courage at once to admit the pitiless facts of lifeand to affirm despite them—through hunger and loneliness, injusticeand disappointment—the spirit can and does remain unbroken; that ifthere be no assurance of success, neither is there certainty of failure.
There is no sentimental weakness in the method he employs. A raregenius for humour tempers all his work; he can record the progressivestarvation of an actor out of work in an economy of phrase that leavesno room for gratuitous appeal, trace the long-drawn efforts to outpacepersistent poverty of pence with a simplicity that enforces conviction.His pen is never so poignant or restrained as when he shows us a womansharpened and coarsened by cheap toil. But throughout the tale ofstruggle and triumph, defeat and attainment, there persists that senseof eternal quest which shortens the hardest road. Do you starve to-day?Opportunity of plenty may wait at the street corner, the chance of alifetime alight from the next bus; for Leonard Merrick is not concernedwith people of large incomes and small problems; the men and women ofwhom he writes earn their own living.
His most marked successes deal with stage life, indeed he is one of thevery few authors who convince one of the actuality of theatrical folk.He shows us the chorus girl in her lodgings, in the Strand bars, atthe dramatic agency; we understand her ambitions, become familiar withher unconquerable pluck and capacity for comradeship, even acquire aliking for the smell of grease-paint. We meet the same girl out of anengagement, follow her pilgrimage from Bloomsbury to Brixton seekingan ever cheaper lodging; we watch the mud and wet of the streets soakher inadequate boots, endure with her the pangs of hunger ill-allayedby a fugitive bun. We accompany her to the pawnbroker's, and experiencethe joys of combat with a recalcitrant "uncle" who refuses to lend morethan eighteenpence on a silk blouse. And still the sense of adventurepersists, the reality of romance endures, the joy of laughter remains.We realise the compensation of precarious tenure on sufficiency,appreciate the great truth that the adversity of to-day is lightened bythe uncertainty of to-morrow, that no matter how grim the struggle, howsharp the hardship—and the hunger—the sense of adventure companionsand consoles. Authors who concern themselves only with men and womenof assured position and regular incomes have forgotten the truth whichLeonard Merrick so triumphantly affirms. Romance is no respecter ofpersons. The freedom of the open road, its promise, its pitfalls,sudden ecstasies and fugitive glamours is not a preserve of the richbut the heritage of the people.
His psychological methods allure one by their seeming simplicity;quietly, with a delicate deliberation, he emphasises the outline ofhis characters until with sudden swift decision, in the utterance ofa phrase, the doing of some one of those small things that are life'sreal revelations, he shows you the soul of the