Evil of Obscenity

The irruption into England of the "realistic" novels of M. Emile Zola and kindred writers, for the publication of which Mr. Vizetelly has lately been fined £100, is but one of the many symptoms of a disease which eats out the heart of the body politic. Not that we think too grave a view has been taken of the corrupting influence of these particular books, or that too hard measure has been dealt out to their English translator and publisher. The tu quoque argument on which, as appeared from an extract recently given in our columns from the Philadelphia Times, M. Zola mainly relies for his defence, goes a very little way in the direction of personal exculpation, but it goes a very great way in the direction of inculpating the world of literature and of society at large. In so far as M. Zola is right in his charge of English "hypocrisy and vice"—an odd charge from a man who lives upon, and does his best to promote what he objects to—in so far this question ceases to be one of defence against externally introduced evils, and becomes the vital question of deliverance from a curse, home or foreign grown is of little consequence, that is cherished in our bosom, and is already gnawing at our vitals. Of the deadliness of the curse there can be no question. Mr. Samuel Smith, M.P., who has done so much to keep the subject before the British Parliament, probably does not go too far when he declares that the social misery and degradation caused by the circulation of corrupt literature is far greater than that arising from all the political evils of the day, and that nothing but increased degradation and social disturbance can be looked for unless the evil is stayed. But there can be as little question of the extent of the evil as of its deadliness. In literature it spreads far beyond M. Zola's works and far beyond the yellow backs. It crops up in forms more or less offensive—especially more—in the lower-class weeklies and penny-dreadfuls, whose circulation in London is enormous ; it is hawked with more or less impunity at the corners of lanes and by-streets, and the sale is as large as it is remunerative ; it passes into circulation under the garb of philosophy and medicine, and our youth find themselves depraved almost before they have become aware that the process is begun. Of what avail against the progress of this multifold abomination— open and concealed—is the legal interdict of such books as Zola's? So far as the law's interposition is concerned we fear it is worse than useless. Expurgation of this kind must be thorough if it is to be effective. The old Bible-burning process went a deal further than this, and yet it failed. To stop the influx of Zola's books by one publisher, and in English dress, while the public appetite is whetted by the prohibition, is but to lead to new enterprise, and haply to the rubbing up of half-forgotten French. To our mind the interdict is valuable only as an indication of public opinion, on which ultimately law must rest. The public conscience is ashamed of this sort of thing, even when it is secretly enticed by it. It is significant that just when Zola's works were being condemned as "obscene libels," and their English publisher interdicted and fined in court, the proposal to introduce en bloc the works of his great English imitator, George Moore, to the library of the Cambridge Union, was rejected by 196 votes to 131. Quite likely Moore was read in private—he must have been read to be judged —but it was felt that a great public library would be disgraced by his admission. This, no doubt, is what Zola would call hypocrisy ; just as he calls that hypocrisy which declines to perpetually place the night side of life in the glare of day. But to our mind it is wholesome sense. To confound night with day is to confound vice with virtue. Let the things which seek the night lie there, and do not let us parade them as if they also could look the day in the face. And it is to the growth of this sense that we must look for the putting down of literary obscenities. So long as it is distinctly said to such productions as to bastards, " You may, if you will, exist ; but you shall not be admitted to the place of honour," we hold to the distinction between literary virtue and vice, and we give authors the strongest inducement to keep their pens out of M. Zola's ink bottle.

But literature itself, wide as the word is, is but one phase of the protean evil of obscenity. Beside literature we are compelled to arraign her companion art. The elevating influence of art, as of literature, is a common-place ; but it has to be owned that the first, as well as the second, can degrade, and perhaps (from its models) it comes more easily to the stage of degradation. Let anyone pass through the museums and art galleries of Italy, and he will get considerably involved as to the moral influence of art. Of late, the protrusion of the nude both in painting and sculpture has become more intolerable than ever. It is absurd to tell us that " to the pure all things are pure " when we are dealing with average humanity. Plainly put, the effect of a naked woman exposed in canvas in a shop window is, in so far as it is lifelike i.e., a good picture—the effect of the same woman in the flesh. Is it not unreasonable to relentlessly punish the one as "indecent exposure," and yet excuse or commend the other as " elevating art ?" Oddly enough our tobacconist shop windows are worse in this respect than any others. Is it that these nastily suggestive pictures are meant for male eyes only ? That the great wholesale houses and designers who cater for tobacconists should yield themselves so extensively to this trade in obscenity—for it is nothing else—is an unhappy indication of the tendencies of our youth. Yet we cannot help thinking that the tobacconist who would set his face utterly against it would gain the largest custom from the respectable community. Of other forms of the evil, as e.g., it appears on the stage, too often prostituted to be a school of pruriency, we cannot stay to write. But as we close we must take occasion to point out the prevalence of the vice in the language of our streets. Day after day we have to blot our page with the miserable record of police convictions for obscenity. Sometimes the sinners are hoary and hopeless; sometimes—it happened very lately—they are mere children, hall-marked with this stamp of vice before they are out of their teens ; is there to be no escape for them ? This form of the evil connects itself closely with the abuse of intoxicants, and the two will probably stand and fall together. The man obscene at heart may speak decorously till drink has loosened his tongue or his self-restraint, and then the inner fountain of foulness pours itself out to the horror of the listeners. Our police court obscenists are almost all guilty also of drunkenness and disorderly conduct. This is just another of the many links of union between the great companion evils of intemperance and sensuality, and another proof that both of them must be vigorously assailed if either is to be overcome.

 The Brisbane Courier 5 January 1889,