John Galsworthy The Apple Tree
On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp. They had walked that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst’s football knee had given out, and according to their map they had still some seven miles to go. They were sitting on a bank beside the road, where a track crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee and talking of the universe, as young men will. Both were over six feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale, idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted, curly, like some primeval beast. Both had a literary bent; neither wore a hat. Ashurst’s was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on either side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Garton’s was a kind of dark unfathomed mop. They had not met a soul for miles.
«My dear fellow,» Garton was saying, «pity’s only an effect of self-consciousness; it’s a disease of the last five thousand years. The world was happier without.»
Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered:
«It’s the pearl in the oyster, anyway.»
«My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity. Look at animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional misfortunes; then look at ourselves-never free from feeling the toothaches of others. Let’s get back to feeling for nobody, and have a better time.»
«You’ll never practise that.» Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair.
«To attain full growth, one mustn’t be squeamish. To starve oneself emotionally’s a mistake. All emotion is to the good-enriches life.»
«Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?»
«Ah! That’s so English! If you speak of emotion the English always think you want something physical, and are shocked. They’re afraid of passion, but not of lust-oh, no!-so long as they can keep it secret.»
Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue flower, and was twiddling it against the sky. A cuckoo began calling from a thorn tree. The sky, the flowers, the songs of birds! Robert was talking through his hat! And he said:
«Well, let’s go on, and find some farm where we can put up.» In uttering those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the common just above them. She was outlined against the sky, carrying a basket, and you could see that sky through the crook of her arm. And Ashurst, who saw beauty without wondering how it could advantage him, thought: ‘How pretty!» The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt against her legs, lifted her battered peacock tam-o’-shanter; her greyish blouse was worn and old, her shoes were split, her little hands rough and red, her neck browned. Her dark hair waved untidy across her broad forehead, her face was short, her upper lip short, showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and dark, her lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her grey eyes were the wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day. She looked at Ashurst-perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along without a hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair flung back. He could not take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a salute, and said:
«Can you tell us if there’s a farm near here where we could stay the night? I’ve gone lame.»
«There’s only our farm near, sir.» She spoke without shyness, in a pretty soft crisp voice.
«And where is that?»
«Would you put us up?»
«Oh! I think we would.»
«Will you show us the way?»
«Yes, sir.» He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism.
«Are you a Devonshire girl?»
«Ah! I thought you were a Celt; so it’s not your farm?»
«And your uncle’s?»
«Who farms it, then?»
«My aunt, and my three cousins.»
«But your uncle was a Devonshire man?»
«Have you lived here long?»
«And how d’you like it after Wales?»
«I don’t know, sir.»
«I suppose you don’t remember?»
«Oh, yes! But it is different.»
Ashurst broke in suddenly:
«How old are you?»
«And what’s your name?»
«This is Robert Garton, and 1 am Frank Ashurst. We wanted to get on to Chagford.»
«It is a pity your leg is hurting you.»
Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful.
Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a long, low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard where pigs and fowls and an old mare were straying. A short steep-up grass hill behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front, an old orchard of apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched down to a stream and a long wild meadow. A little boy with oblique dark eyes was shepherding a pig, and by the house door stood a woman, who came towards them. The girl said:
«It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt.»
«Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt,» had a quick, dark eye, like a mother wild-duck’s, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck.
«We met your niece on the road,» said Ashurst; «she thought you might perhaps put us up for the night.»
Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered:
«Well, 1 can, if you don’t mind one room. Megan, get the spare room ready, and a bowl of cream. You’ll be wanting tea, I suppose.»
Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her peacock tam-o’-shanter bright thwart that rosy-pink and the dark green of the yews.
«Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg? You’ll be from college, perhaps?»
«We were, but we’ve gone down now.»
Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely.
The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so terribly clean. Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his lame knee between his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him. He was the only son of a late professor of chemistry, but people found a certain lordliness in one who was often so sublimely unconscious of them.
«Is there a stream where we could bathe?»
«There’s the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin’ down you’ll not be covered!»
«Well, ’tis about a foot and a half, maybe.»
«Oh! That’ll do fine. Which way?»
«Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an’ the pool’s by the big apple tree that stands by itself. There’s trout there, if you can tickle them.»
«They’re more likely to tickle us!»
Mrs. Narracombe smiled. «There’ll be the tea ready when you come back.»
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The apple tree questions
The Apple Tree (1917) is a long short story written by a prominent English novelist, playwright and short story writer John Galsworthy. His most famous novels are The Man of Property, A Modern Comedy and The Forsyte Saga. In his works, he gives a truthful picture of English bourgeois society at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries. The Apple Tree is called «most finely crafted, most symbolic, and most poetic tale».
The extract under analysis shows us two no-longer-students Frank Ashurst and Robert Garton who want to get to Chagford, Ashurst having an aching knee. On their way, they decide to put up for a night on some farm. They see a girl who invites them in her aunt’s farm and whom Ashurst find quite attractive. On the farm, they ask for a stream to have a bath and are told about one near an apple tree.
In the given extract, there is no conflict; it is only an exposition of the story, where we can see only the beginning of the relationship between Ashurst and Megan. In this part, the author shows us the contrast between people of different social classes.
The main characters are Frank Ashurst and Megan David. He is a representative of the upper class, a graduate from the university, he is «pale, idealistic», and he has a bent for literature. As an educated person, he loves talking about philosophical matters. The girl they meet is different. She’s wearing a «dark frieze skirt», «worn and old greyish blouse», «split shoes» and a Scottish bonnet worn usually by men, her hands are «rough and red», and her neck is «browned» because of working under the sun. She is, surely, not that educated as Ashurst is.
Two more characters reflecting this contrast are Ashurst’s friend Garton and Megan’s aunt Mrs. Narracombe. Garton is opposed to Ashurst to some extent (he is «like some primeval beast» and very communicative, while Ashurst is more meditative), but mostly for diversity of characters. He is also well-educated and intellectual and may even seem somewhat haughty. Mrs. Narracombe is hospitable, and this trait of character is more often demonstrated by representatives of the lower class.
In order to prove his point of view, the author uses stylistic devices. Firstly, there are a number of epithets in descriptions («peacock tam-o’-shanter», «crisp voice», «round-the-corner», «dewy eyes»), idioms («talking through his hat»), metaphors («haven’t met a soul for miles»), similes, trite and genuine («thin as rails», «like some primeval beast»). All these devices are used to create the atmosphere, to make the descriptions more artistic and underline the characters’ peculiarities in a more accurate way. There are also some poetic words («maiden»).
Galsworthy uses such a graphic means as graphon («I thought you were a Celt»). The reason to italicize the word «thought» is to show that Garton makes a special stress on it as if emphasizing his knowledge. There is one more graphon of different kind, which serves to create the atmosphere. The author uses dialectal forms «strame, sittin’, an'» instead of «stream, sitting, and» to show that the action takes place in Devonshire.
Besides, in order to reveal Ashurst’s feelings and meditation at the end of extract, the author uses enumeration of things which belong to different spheres: «He thought of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden with dewy eyes». Here we can see also an example of polysyndeton which makes the sentence smoother and more poetic.
As for syntactic structure, there are both simple and complex sentences. The former are used in dialogues accompanied by ellipsis (which, alongside the absence of the author’s speech, makes them more vivid and natural), and the latter are used mostly in descriptions. In the description of Megan there is also anaphora («her shoes were, . her little hands, . her neck…») and some chaotic repetitions («her face was short, her upper lip short», «her brows were straight and dark, her lashes long and dark, her nose straight»). Those repetitions of simple adjectives create rhythm and, probably, make us think that Ashurst’s eyes are quickly jumping from one part of Megan’s body to another. In addition, there is an example of inversion («by the house door stood a woman») for the purpose of smoother narration.
The extract is written in a third-person narrative. The author helps us to see the action with Ashurst’s eyes and listen to his inner thoughts. Those thoughts characterize him well enough: we could do even without his direct description to understand that he is «full of absence». His thoughts change their direction quickly, e.g.: «The sky, the flowers, the songs of birds! Robert was talking through his hat.»
There is also a symbol in this story — the apple tree (the title is not occasional, of course). In Celtic culture (Megan is a Celt), the apple tree deals with love, truth, beauty, remembrance, purity. These meanings are only hinted at in this extract, but we can see them fully in the whole story.
I cannot help admiring this work. I am charmed by the style and the master use of expressive means and stylistic devices, especially syntactic ones. They make me want to read the story again and again. I am also attracted by symbolism and poetics of the story. Besides, it is necessary to say that Galsworthy managed to create a good image of people from different social classes and living in different places.
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«The Apple Tree» ending and the meaning behind it
I’ve recently been tasked with analysing «The Apple Tree» by John Galsworthy. I’ve had no major issues with understanding the text, but I really can’t grasp the ending.
Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch, over, out of sight, he lay down on his face. So had his virtue been rewarded, and «the Cyprian,» goddess of love, taken her revenge! And before his eyes, dim with tears, came Megan’s face with the sprig of apple blossom in her dark, wet hair. ‘What did I do that was wrong?’ he thought. ‘What did I do?’ But he could not answer. Spring, with its rush of passion, its flowers and song-the spring in his heart and Megan’s! Was it just Love seeking a victim! The Greek was right, then—the words of the «Hippolytus» as true to-day!
What exactly is going on here? Is he confused about what he did wrong and blaming the goddess of love?
1 Answer 1
Yes, he cannot see his own wrong and instead blames the goddess of love.
For context here, it’s useful to know a little about the classical reference that Frank Ashurst is making. It’s first put into the reader’s mind all the way back at the beginning, in the epigraph of this story:
«The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold.»
Murray’s «Hippolytus of Euripides»
This refers to the ancient Greek tragic play Hippolytus by Euripides, as translated into English by Gilbert Murray (translated version available on Project Gutenberg). The quote used for this epigraph comes from a chorus spoken in the play just as Phaedra, wife of Theseus, is about to kill herself after being spurned by Theseus’s son Hippolytus whom she loves. In the context of the play, this line refers to the idea of fleeing to the garden of the Hesperides with their singing and their golden apple trees.
The same line has inspired other authors: Jean Nordhaus wrote a poem entitled «The Apple Tree, the Singing, and the Gold», which again is about death and loss, referring also to unrequited love.
The reference to Hippolytus is emphasised again in Galsworthy’s story, as Ashurst is reading it (in Murray’s translation) while sitting on the moor and waiting for his wife to finish her sketching. In this story, «The Apple Tree» refers to a real apple tree in the Devon countryside, the place where Frank and Megan consummated their relationship, as well as the place supposedly haunted by the «gipsy bogle» that scares Megan so much. This is the most important physical location in the story, but to refer to it in the context of Euripides’s Hippolytus emphasises the connection with romantic tragedy.
Skipping ahead to the paragraph you quoted near the very end of the story, this immediately precedes a longer quote from Hippolytus:
For mad is the heart of Love,
And gold the gleam of his wing;
And all to the spell thereof
Bend, when he makes his spring;
All life that is wild and young
In mountain and wave and stream,
All that of earth is sprung,
Or breathes in the red sunbeam;
Yea, and Mankind. O’er all a royal throne,
Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!
Here «Love» refers to Eros, the ancient Greek god of love, while «Cyprian» refers to Aphrodite, the ancient Greek goddess of love, sometimes known as Cyprian since she was supposedly born in Cyprus. The context of this quote in Hippolytus is again a chorus, this time spoken after Theseus hears of his son’s mortal injury without remorse, and just before Artemis arrives to tell him the truth about his wife and son. This chorus sets up the goddess of love as an all-powerful entity who brought about all the tragedy of the story, as Artemis confirms moments later.
In Galsworthy’s story, Ashurst is using the words of the ancient Greek play as a high-brow way to excuse his own behaviour. He appeals to ancient philosophy in order to make the case (even if only to himself) that Love, either as an abstract concept or a personified deity, is to blame for the tragic death of Megan, rather than the actions of people — more specifically, his own actions.
Was it just Love seeking a victim! The Greek was right, then—the words of the «Hippolytus» as true to-day!
The capitalisation of Love, along with the reference to a «victim», shows that, like Euripides in Hippolytus, he places the blame for events on the shoulders of an abstract or deified Love. He tells himself openly that «The Greek [Euripides] was right», and quotes the passage which exalts Aphrodite as holding power over all. The «victim» referred to is of course the poor dead Megan, but he would like to see himself as a victim also: a victim of the whims of the love goddess, just like both Phaedra and Hippolytus.
Even earlier, near the beginning of the story, Ashurst ponders on «the apple-tree, the singing, and the gold», and the supposed unachievability of lasting happiness for mortal men:
Maladjusted to life—man’s organism! One’s mode of life might be high and scrupulous, but there was always an undercurrent of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste. Did women have it too? Who could tell? And yet, men who gave vent to their appetites for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new risks, new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of starvation, from surfeit. No getting out of it—a maladjusted animal, civilised man! There could be no garden of his choosing, of «the Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold,» in the words of that lovely Greek chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven of happiness for any man with a sense of beauty—nothing which could compare with the captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for ever, so that to look on it or read was always to have the same precious sense of exaltation and restful inebriety. Life no doubt had moments with that quality of beauty, of unbidden flying rapture, but the trouble was, they lasted no longer than the span of a cloud’s flight over the sun; impossible to keep them with you, as Art caught beauty and held it fast. They were fleeting as one of the glimmering or golden visions one had of the soul in nature, glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit.
Re-reading this passage in light of the revelations later in the story about his past life, this might reflect Ashurst’s lasting dissatisfaction with his own life. Even when starting to read about him and Stella, before learning of his past with Megan, I got the impression of a married couple who were content but not truly loving. The description of both spouses is rather clinical and emotionless, the only positive words about Stella being «comely and faithful», and even these are sandwiched between remarks on how she is no longer young (and even her youthful self is never described as exceptionally beautiful or attractive). Perhaps Ashurst believes that «civilised man» has no chance of lasting happiness because he himself gave up that chance, gave up passion and romance for a steady orthodox life with a steady orthodox wife.
Comparing the plots of Euripides’s Hippolytus and Galsworthy’s «The Apple Tree», the conclusion is quite damning for Ashurst.
- The ancient Greek characters are truly manipulated by malicious gods; Phaedra’s love for her stepson Hippolytus is forbidden and impossible, and he does not return her love. It is the manipulation of her heart by a jealous Aphrodite, and his lack of affection due to Artemis, that causes tragedy. The whole series of events is almost inevitable after Phaedra falls in love with Hippolytus.
- The English characters, on the other hand, are much more free agents. Ashurst could have left the Hallidays and continued his romance with Megan as he planned. The reason he fails to do so is his own indecision; the reason he ultimately decides against Megan is the difference in their social class, surely a much less compelling reason not to marry someone (whom he also loves!) than her being his father’s wife. He knows that Megan loves him, and his own feeling for her seems much stronger than for Stella, but he lacks the backbone even to go and tell her that he is abandoning her.
Now, as a forty-eight-year-old man in the framing story, he seeks to justify his own actions by telling himself that they all — he, Megan, and perhaps Stella too — were only victims of a cruel prank of the goddess of Love.
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