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diff --git a/old/64083-0.txt b/old/64083-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7116681..0000000 --- a/old/64083-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3876 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, July 1914 (Vol. 1, No. -5), by Margaret C. Anderson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Little Review, July 1914 (Vol. 1, No. 5) - -Author: Various - -Editor: Margaret C. Anderson - -Release Date: December 22, 2020 [eBook #64083] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Image source(s): https://library.brown.edu/pdfs/1289240673312500.pdf - -Produced by: Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from images made - available by the Modernist Journal Project, Brown and Tulsa - Universities. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, JULY 1914 (VOL. -1, NO. 5) *** - - - - - THE LITTLE REVIEW - - - _Literature Drama Music Art_ - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON - EDITOR - - JULY, 1914 - - Poems Charles Ashleigh - The Renaissance of Parenthood The Editor - "Des Imagistes" Charles Ashleigh - Of Rupert Brooke and Other Matters Arthur Davison Ficke - The New Loyalty George Burman Foster - The Milliner (Poem) Sade Iverson - "Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt" Margaret C. Anderson - Editorials - New York Letter George Soule - Dostoevsky's Novels Maurice Lazar - Book Discussion: - An Unreeling Realist De Witt C. Wing - The Revolt of the "Once Born" Eunice Tietjens - Verlaine and Tolstoy Alexander S. Kaun - Conrad's Quote Henry B. Sell - "Clark's Field" Marguerite Swawite - The "Savage" Painters A. S. K. - Sentence Reviews - - Published Monthly - - 25 cents a copy - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher - CHICAGO - Fine Arts Building - - $2.50 a year - - - - - THE LITTLE REVIEW - - - Vol. I - - JULY, 1914 - - No. 5 - - - - - POEMS - - - CHARLES ASHLEIGH - - - BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL - - (_A Mystery Rime for Little Children of All Ages_) - - The rain comes down and veils the hills. - Ah, tender rain for aching fields! - - The hills are clothed in a mist of rain. - (My heart is clothed in a mist of pain.) - Ah, mother rain, that laves the field, - If I to you my poor soul yield, - Will you not cleanse it, soothe it, tend it, - Weep upon it 'til 'tis mended? - 'Twas sweet to sow, 'tis hard to reap. - Come, mother rain, and lull me to sleep. - Lull me to sleep and wash me away, - Out of the realm of Night and Day, - Back to the bourne from whence I came, - Seeming alike yet not the same.... - - Rain, you are more than rain to me. - And Lash of Pain may be a Key. - Ope, then, the door and tread within. - The double Door of Good and Sin - Is vanquished. Lo, with bread and wine, - The table's spread! The feast is Mine! - - - LOVE IN THE ABYSS - - Amidst the buzz of bawdy tales - And the laughter of drinking men, - I sat and laughed and shouted also. - Yet was I not content. - My seared and restless eyes, turning here and there,-- - Like my tired soul,-- - Seeking new joys and finding them not,-- - How oft swept you unseeing. - - Until, suddenly,-- - And now I know not how I could have missed it,-- - My eyes saw into yours, - And plumbed the deep wells of newly born desire. - - Ah, dear my heart, what things your eyes did speak! - Not God's own music of creation's dawn, - Revealed to mystic in a holy trance, - Could pleasure me more sweetly. - - So dear were your lips-- - Your lips so kind and regal red. - My memory of your lips I cherish - As a great possession ... - - Ah, flying joy, - Caught on the wings of Time ... - Tender oasis, - Ingemmed in a wilderness of grey! - - Kisses, kisses,-- - Kisses upon your red lips in the black night ... - - When, alone in the long, quiet street, - By the door of the tavern, - Shielded from sight of those within, - The soft rain falling on our heads like a mother's blessing,-- - We bartered the clinging kisses of new desire. - And, as I held you to me, - The whole universe - Became informed of God, - And lay within my arms. - - - JEALOUSY - - You are possessed by another. - How I hate him! - - Hear the rational people say: "Jealousy is a primitive thing. A - thing of the emotions; not of reason." - Fools! You do not know scarlet desire, full-flooded! - - Ah, my dearest, Graal of my heart's longing, - Your stolen kiss is fresh upon my neck. - My lips are full of my secret kiss upon your neck. - - You are with another, whom I hate; whom I like well for himself, but - hate because he possesses you ... - - Your possessor is old and ugly; - He can not love you as I can. - I can pour out for you the scented treasures of my young love. - - Dear night of hope, when you gave me the whispered promise to come - to me ... - - Stealthy was I and cunning. - Friendly and attentive was I to your old lover (if lover he may be - called, who is almost incapable of love). - And, all the time, I was scheming for you. - When the old man was away for an instant-- - Oh, golden moment,-- - I poured my whispered passion into your ears. - When he looked away, or, for a moment, was distracted, with swift - undertones I declared myself to you. - How dear was your welcoming glance and your quickly toned assent! - You had a face so proud. - So quiet and poised among the throng. - Yet, for once, you gave me your eyes and, in so doing, gave me your - priceless body and warm, comradely soul. - Ah, flash of answering love that transformed your face! - As a jewel of my memory's treasure-casket may it be preserved. - - When the drinking-place was closed, we walked along the dark street. - Do you remember? - We were four, luckily, and the old man was kept busy in conversation, - half drunken as he was. - - And we, with our secret between us, walked behind. - Our hands were tight clasped in the folds of our dress. - Tight clasped with the clinging hand caress; you and I trying to put - into our hands all the longing that was in us. - All the time we were apprehensive of a sudden turning of the old man or - the other ... - - Then, the whispered troth, and the meeting-place appointed. - - And, then, later, boldly, so openly and audaciously it brought no - suspicion, - Under seeming of wine-induced jollity, we kissed. - And they laughed; it seemed a trivial jest to them. - But to us it was a sacrament. - - But, best of all, my beloved, was the hurried clasping and kissing - when we were alone in the dark. - Promise of joy to come. - Foretaste of the coming ecstasy. - - And then we had to part. - I and my unaware friend. - You and the old man. - - As I walked home that night, - How I hated him! - How I looked up at the pale-golden moon high-hung in the purple sky, and - sang in my heart your praise and cursed in my heart your - possessor ... - - But we will out-wit him. - - Young I am and young are you and the Law of Life bids us mate. - And a whole world standing between us would be melted and destroyed by - the fire of our youth's desire. - - - THE GLORIOUS ADVENTURE OF GLORIOUS ME - - I swim with the tide of life towards the new; - I reach out hungered arms to flowing change.-- - I smash the awesome totems of my kind; - My smarting vision bursts its cramping range. - - A thousand voices yell within my soul; - A thousand hymns are chanting in my heart.-- - I blast the mist of worlds and years apart; - I sense the blending glory of the whole. - - The sap of flowers and trees, it mounts in me. - I feel the child within me cry and turn; - The crimson thoughts within me writhe and burn.-- - I stand, with craving arms high-flung, before the rimless sea. - - And every whirling, passionate star sings melodies to Me; - And every bud and every leaf has sought my private ear; - And to the quickening soul of Me has told its mystery, - As I sit in state in the heart of the world, - As I proudly hug the core of the world, - As I make me a boat of the whole, wide world ... - - And then for new worlds steer. - - - - - THE RENAISSANCE OF PARENTHOOD - - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON - -There seems to be a kind of renaissance of motherhood in the air. Ellen -Key has just done a book with that title which has come to us too late -to be reviewed adequately in this issue; Mrs. Gasquoine Hartley has -written _The Age of Mother Power_ which will be brought out in the fall; -and in Shaw's new volume of plays (_Misalliance_, _Fanny's First Play_ -and _The Dark Lady of the Sonnets_) there is a preface of over a hundred -pages devoted to a discussion of parents and children which says some of -the most refreshing and important things about that relationship I have -ever read. - -The home, as such, is rapidly losing its old functions--perhaps it is -more accurate to say that it is changing its standards of functioning, -and that the present distress merely heralds in a wonderful new -conception of family potentiality. But a generalization of this sort can -be disputed by any family egotist, so let's get down to particulars. -It's all right for the enlightened of the older generation to preach -violently that the family is a humbug, as Shaw does; that the child -should have all the rights of any other human being, and that there is -nothing so futile or so stupid as to try to "control" your children. -It's not only all right; it's glorious! But what I'm more interested in, -still being of the age that must classify as "daughter," is this:--what -are "the children" themselves doing about it? Have their rebellions been -anything more than complaints; have they made any real stand for -liberty; have they proved themselves worthy of the Shavian championship? - -Well--I got hold recently of a human document which answered these -questions quite in the affirmative. It was a rather startling thing -because, while it offered nothing new on the theory side of the matter, -it showed the theory in thoughtful action--which, for all the talk on -the subject, is still rare. It was a letter of some twenty pages written -by a girl to her mother at the time of a domestic climax when all the -bonds of family affection, family idealism and obligation were tending -to smother the human truth of the situation, as the girl put it. She was -in her early twenties; she had a sister two or three years younger, and -both of them had reached at least a sort of economic independence. She -had come to the conclusion, after a good many years of rebellion, that -the whole fabric of their family life was wrong; and since it was -impossible to talk the thing out sensibly--because, as in all families -where the children grow up without being given the necessary -revaluations, real talk is no more possible than it is between -uncongenial strangers--she had decided to discuss it in a letter. That -medium does away with the patronage of the parents' refusal to listen -seriously:--that "Oh, come now, what do you know about these things?" If -the child has anything interesting to say, if he puts any of his -rebellion into his writing, the chances are that the parent will read -the letter through; and the result is that he'll know more about his -child than he has learned in all the years they've been trying to talk -with each other and not succeeding. I'm enthusiastic about this kind of -family correspondence; it's good training in expression and it clears -the air--jolts the "heads" of the family into realizing that the -thinking and planning are not all on one side. I once did it myself to -my father--put ten pages of closely-written argument on his office desk -(so that he'd open it with the same impersonality given to a business -communication), in which I explained why I wanted to go away from home -and learn to _work_, and why I thought such a course was an intelligent -one. The letter accomplished what no amount of talking would have done, -because in our talk we rarely got beyond the "Oh, now, you're just a -little excited, it will look different in the morning" stage. Father -said it was rather a shock to him because he didn't know I had ever -figured things out to that extent; but we always understood each other -better after that. - -However--not to get lost in personalities--this is the letter the girl -showed me and which she allows me to quote from partially: - - If we are to continue living together in any sort of happiness - and growth the entire basis of our present life will have to be - changed. We can do it if we're brave enough to do what people - usually do only in books:--face the fact squarely that our family - life is and has been a failure, and set about to remedy it. It - will mean an entire change of home conditions, and these are the - terms of the new arrangement: - - When I said to you the other day that things would have to go - _my_ way now, you were horrified at the conceit of it. To get to - facts, there's no conceit in it--because my way is simply the - practise of not imposing one's will upon other people. I made the - remark merely as a common sense suggestion, and made it out of a - seriousness that is desperate. I say "desperate" because I mean - that literally: the situation isn't a question of a mere - temporary adjustment--just some sort of superficial arrangement - so that we can get on pleasantly for a while before the next - outbreak comes. The plans Betty and I have discussed have been - made in the interest of our whole future lives:--whether we're - going to submit (either by surrender or compromise or by just - drifting along and not doing anything) to an existence of - bickering, nagging, hours spent in the discussion of - non-essentials, hideous lack of harmony--the whole stupid - programme we've watched working for years and achieving nothing - but unhappiness, folly, and a terrible "human waste." You ask us - to continue in your way; but from at least three points of view - that way has been a failure. I ask you to adopt my way--which has - not yet failed. That's why I say it's not conceit, but common - sense. - - My way is simply this: that we three can live together and work - in peace and harmony if this awful bugbear of Authority is - dropped out of the scheme. Each of us must go her own way; we're - all different, and there's no reason why one should impose her - authority on the lives of the others. You say that you should - because you're our mother. But that's the thing I want to - discuss. - - Motherhood isn't infallibility. If a woman is a wise woman she's - a wise mother; if she's a foolish woman she's a foolish mother. - Because you're our mother doesn't mean that you must always be - right; before being a mother you're a human being, and any human - being is likely to be wrong. To get down to brutal facts, we - think you are _not_ right about the whole thing. We've thought so - for years, but now it's come to the time when our thinking must - be put into action. We're no longer children; but even as mere - infants we thought these things--without having the right to - express them. What I'm trying to do now is to express them not as - a daughter, but quite impersonally as a human being, as a mere - friend, a sister, or anyone who might come to you stating that - she believed with all her soul that you were wrong, and also - stating, just as impersonally, that she wouldn't think of - modeling her line of conduct after that pattern which appeared to - her so wrong. We _must_ face the facts; if you do that squarely - it doesn't seem so bad, and you stop flinching about it. You get - to the point where you're not afraid to face them boldly, and - then you begin to _construct_. And this is the only way to clear - up the kind of rottenness and decay that flourishes in our family - life. - - It's in the interest of this achievement that I say the thing a - girl isn't supposed to say to her mother--namely, that Betty and - I will not any longer subscribe to the things you expect us to. - The fact to face just as quickly as possible is this: it's the - starting point. When you realize that we feel it's a question of - doing this or laying a foundation for lives that are just _half_ - lives--hideous perverted things which miss all the beauty that - you can put into the short life given you--I think you'll see how - serious we are. We're at least two intelligent human beings, if - we're nothing else. And why should you ask or expect that we'll - submit to a system which to us means stupidity, misery, - pettiness--all those things which we've seen working out for - years and which, being at least intelligent, we want to keep away - from? - - That much settled, we can continue to live together in just one - way--as three sisters or friends; the motherhood, in so far as it - means authority or an attempt to mould us to _your_ way, must be - eliminated. A complete new family idealism can be built on such a - basis. You will say that it's an abnormal basis for any mother to - accept. Of course it is; but the situation is abnormal, and the - orthodox remedies aren't applicable. - - The reason I say the situation is abnormal is this: usually when - a mother objects to her daughters' behavior it is on some - definite basis of opposing the things they _do_--like going to - too many parties or falling in love with the wrong man. You have - very little fault to find with the things we do. Your objections - are on a basis of what we _are_--or, rather, of what we _are - not_: that we are not orthodox, that we are not hypocrites, that - we are not the kind of daughters the Victorians approved of. - "Hypocrites" will sound paradoxical; but you have confessed that - you would rather have us lie to you than to disagree with you; - that you would rather have us be sentimental about "the way a - girl should treat her mother" than to learn how we ought to treat - ourselves. You call that being "respectful" and think that - harmony is possible only under such conditions. We call it being - "insulting," and think that it's the one sure way of destroying - any chance of harmony. If we respect you it must be because we - think you worthy of the truth: anything else is degrading to both - sides. - - You'll say you can't be satisfied to live with us and not give - advice and all the other things that are part of a mother's duty. - You may give all the advice you want to; the keynote of the new - situation will be that we'll take the advice if we believe it's - right; if not we'll ignore it, just as a man ignores his friend's - advice when he feels it to be wrong. Of course the wise person - doesn't give much advice; he simply lives his life the best way - he knows how. That's the only bid he can make for emulation. If - we tell you that we don't approve of the creed you have made you - mustn't be surprised if we try to formulate one of our own. - There's no reason for us to ask you to change just because we're - your daughters. You must do as you believe. But you must grant us - the same privilege. - - We disagree about fundamentals. If our beliefs were merely the - vague, unformed ideas of children you might try to change them. - But it's too late now. So we can live together harmoniously only - if we give up the foolish attempts at "influencing." - - We're not living three generations ago. We've had Shaw since - then, and parents and children aren't doing the insulting things - to each other they used to do. Among intelligent people some of - the old issues can never raise their heads again. And so, it's - for you to decide:--whether we shall build on the new foundation - together or separately. - -It might be a play; it's certainly rather good for reality. And what -happened? The mother refused to "accept the terms"--which is not -surprising, perhaps; and the household broke up into two establishments -with results that will disappoint the conservative who thinks those -girls should have been soundly beaten. The first wrench of it, the -girl said, reminded her of George's parting with Marion in -_Tono-Bungay_:--that sense of belonging to each other immensely, that -"profound persuasion of irreparable error" in the midst of what seemed -profoundly right. "Nothing is simple," Wells wrote in that connection; -"every wrong done has a certain justice in it, and every good deed has -dregs of evil." But the girl and her mother have learned to be friends -as a result of that break, and the latter will tell you now that it was -the right thing to have done. - -The preface to _Misalliance_ has such a wealth of quotable things in it -that the only way to get them appreciated is to quote. Shaw has said -much of this before, but it is all so valuable that it ought to be -shouted from the housetops: - - The people against whom children are wholly unprotected are those - who devote themselves to the very mischievous and cruel sort of - abortion which is called bringing up a child in the way it should - go. Now nobody knows the way a child should go. - - What is a child? An experiment. A fresh attempt to produce the - just man made perfect: that is, to make humanity divine. And you - will vitiate the experiment if you make the slightest attempt to - abort it into some fancy figure of your own: for example, your - notion of a good man or a womanly woman. If you treat it as a - little wild beast to be tamed, or as a pet to be played with, or - even as a means to save you trouble and to make money for you - (and these are our commonest ways), it may fight its way through - in spite of you and save its soul alive; for all its instincts - will resist you, and possibly be strengthened in the resistance; - but if you begin with its own holiest aspirations, and suborn - them for your own purposes, then there is hardly any limit to the - mischief you may do. - - Francis Place tells us that his father always struck his children - when he found one within his reach.... Francis records the habit - with bitterness, having reason to thank his stars that his father - respected the inside of his head whilst cuffing the outside of - it; and this made it easy for Francis to do yeoman's service to - his country as that rare and admirable thing, a Free-thinker: the - only sort of thinker, I may remark, whose thoughts, and - consequently whose religious convictions, command any respect. - - Now Mr. Place, senior, would be described by many as a bad - father; and I do not contend that he was a conspicuously good - one. But as compared with the conventionally good father who - deliberately imposes himself on his son as god; who takes - advantage of childish credulity and parent worship to persuade - his son that what he approves of is right and what he disapproves - of is wrong; who imposes a corresponding conduct on the child by - a system of prohibitions and penalties, rewards and eulogies, for - which he claims divine sanction; compared to this sort of - abortionist and monster maker, I say, Place appears almost as a - Providence. - - A gentleman once wrote to me and said, with an obvious conviction - that he was being most reasonable and high minded, that the only - thing he beat his children for was failure in perfect obedience - and perfect truthfulness. On these attributes, he said, he must - insist. As one of them is not a virtue at all, and the other is - the attribute of a god, one can imagine what the lives of this - gentleman's children would have been if it had been possible for - him to live down to his monstrous and foolish pretensions. - - The cruelty (of beating a child) must be whitewashed by a moral - excuse, and a pretense of reluctance. It must be for the child's - good. The assailant must say "This hurts me more than it hurts - you." There must be hypocrisy as well as cruelty. - - The most excusable parents are those who try to correct their own - faults in their offspring. The parent who says to his child: "I - am one of the successes of the Almighty: therefore imitate me in - every particular or I will have the skin off your back" (a quite - common attitude) is a much more absurd figure than the man who, - with a pipe in his mouth, thrashes his boy for smoking. - - If you must hold yourself up to your children as an object lesson - (which is not at all necessary), hold yourself up as a warning - and not as an example. But you had much better let the child's - character alone. If you once allow yourself to regard a child as - so much material for you to manufacture into any shape that - happens to suit your fancy you are defeating the experiment of - the Life Force. You are assuming that the child does not know its - own business, and that you do. In this you are sure to be wrong. - The child feels the drive of the Life Force (often called the - Will of God); and you cannot feel it for him. - - Most children can be, and many are, hopelessly warped and wasted - by parents who are ignorant and silly enough to suppose that they - know what a human being ought to be, and who stick at nothing in - their determination to force their children into their moulds. - - Experienced parents, when children's rights are preached to them, - very naturally ask whether children are to be allowed to do what - they like. The best reply is to ask whether adults are to be - allowed to do what they like. The two cases are the same. The - adult who is nasty is not allowed to do what he likes: neither - can the child who likes to be nasty. There is no difference in - principle between the rights of a child and those of an adult: - the difference in their cases is one of circumstance. - - Most working folk today either send their children to day schools - or turn them out of doors. This solves the problem for the - parents. It does not solve it for the children, any more than the - tethering of a goat in the field or the chasing of an unlicensed - dog in the streets solves it for the goat or the dog; but it - shows that in no class are people willing to endure the society - of their children, and consequently it is an error to believe - that the family provides children with edifying adult society, or - that the family is a social unit. - - The family is in that, as in so many other respects, a humbug. - Old people and young people cannot walk at the same pace without - distress and final loss of health to one of the parties.... And - since our system is nevertheless to pack them all into the same - house and pretend that they are happy, and that this particular - sort of happiness is the foundation of virtue, it is found that - in discussing family life we never speak of actual adults or - actual children, or of realities of any sort, but always of - ideals such as The Home, a Mother's Influence, a Father's Care, - Filial Piety, Duty, Affection, Family Life, etc., etc., which are - no doubt very comforting phrases, but which beg the question of - what a home and a mother's influence and a father's care and so - forth really come to.... Women who cannot bear to be separated - from their pet dogs send their children to boarding school - cheerfully. They may say and even believe that in allowing their - children to leave home they are sacrificing themselves for their - children's good.... But to allege that children are better - continually away from home is to give up the whole popular - sentimental theory of the family.... - - If you compel an adult and a child to live in one another's - company either the adult or the child will be miserable. There is - nothing whatever unnatural or wrong or shocking in this fact, and - there is no harm in it if only it be sensibly faced and provided - for. The mischief that it does at present is produced by our - efforts to ignore it, or to smother it under a heap of - sentimental and false pretenses. - - The child's rights, being clearly those of any other human being, - are summed up in the right to live.... And the rights of society - over it clearly extend to requiring it to qualify itself to live - in society without wasting other people's time.... - - We must reconcile education with liberty. We must find out some - means of making men workers and, if need be, warriors, without - making them slaves. - - In dealing with children what is needed is not logic but sense. - - A child should begin to assert itself early, and shift for itself - more and more not only in washing and dressing itself, but in - opinions and conduct.... And what is a tyrant? Quite simply a - person who says to another person, young or old, "You shall do as - I tell you." - - Children are extremely cruel without intending it; and in - ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the reason is that they do not - conceive their elders as having any human feeling. Serve the - elders right, perhaps, for posing as superhuman! The penalty of - the imposter is not that he is found out (he very seldom is) but - that he is taken for what he pretends to be and treated as such. - - The family ideal is a humbug and a nuisance: one might as - reasonably talk of the barrack ideal, or the forecastle ideal, or - any other substitution of the machinery of social for the end of - it, which must always be the fullest and most capable life: in - short, the most Godly life. - - Even apart from its insufferable pretensions, the family needs - hearty discrediting; for there is hardly any vulnerable part of - it that could not be amputated with advantage. - - Do not for a moment suppose that uncultivated people are merely - indifferent to high and noble qualities. They hate them - malignantly.... - - Whether the risks to which liberty exposes us are moral or - physical our right to liberty involves the right to run them. A - man who is not free to risk his neck as an aviator or his soul as - a heretic is not free at all; and the right to liberty begins, - not at the age of 21 years, but of 21 seconds. - -You may have as much fun at Shaw's expense as you want on the grounds -that he has never had to train a child and therefore doesn't know the -difficulties. But if you want to laugh last don't read this preface or -the play that follows it, because he will make a laughing-stock or a -convert of you as surely as he will prove that he is far cleverer than -you can ever hope to be. - -Shaw and Ellen Key preach practically the same doctrine about the home; -both are temperamentally incapable of Charlotte Perkins Gilman's -programme--education outside the home: Shaw because the school is as big -a humbug as the family, and Miss Key because "even if institutions can -thus rough-plane the material that is to become a member of society, -nevertheless they cannot--if they take in the major part of the child's -education--accomplish that which is needed first of all if we are to -lift ourselves to a higher spiritual plane in an economically just -society: they cannot deepen the emotional life." Her insistence is -strongly upon the education of the feelings as the most important factor -in the soul-life. In her vision of the renaissance of motherhood she -begins with Nietzsche's dictum that "a time will come when men will -think of nothing except education." Not that any one can be educated -_to_ motherliness; but that our sentimentalization of motherhood as the -ever holy, ever infallible power, must be abandoned, and a quality of -intelligent mother-power cultivated by definite courses of training -which she lays out in detail. - -In view of the number of homes I know of that come legitimately under -the Shaw denunciation I feel sometimes that any socialization of home -life is more hopeful than an attempt to remodel the hopeless conditions -inside the home. Regard the parents you know--the great mass of them -outside the exceptions that encourage you to believe spasmodically in -the beauty and noble need of parenthood. If they are not cruel or stupid -or ignorant or smug or righteous or tyrannical or dishonest or -unimaginative or weak or quiet ineffectual, they are something else just -as bad. It has come to the point where a good parent is as hard to find -as an honest man. - -Very seriously, however, there is hope in the situation--there is -renaissance in the air. And it has its foundation in the sensible and -healthy (though so far only tacit) admission that it doesn't matter so -much what your child becomes as that he shall _become something_! You -can't do much with him, anyhow, and you may as well face it. You can -give him, during his first few years, the kind of foundation you think -will help him; and for the rest of the time you can do only one thing -that he will really need from you: you can develop your own personality -as richly as you want him to develop his. You can refuse to worry about -him--since that does neither of you any good--and thereby save stores of -energy that he may draw upon for _your mutual benefit_. It becomes a -sort of game for two, instead of the uninteresting kind in which one -player is given all the advantages. Compared with it the old-fashioned -game in which the mother sacrificed everything, suffered everything, -wore herself out trying to help her child win, looks not only very -unfair and very unnecessary, but very _wasteful_. And have you ever -noticed how the man who sentimentalizes about the wonderful mothers we -used to have--his own in particular--is the one whose life is lived at -the opposite pole of the mother's wise direction? - -If you disagree with all this, there is still one other method by which -you may produce a child who will be a credit to himself and to society. -You may be so utterly stupid and wrong-headed that he will rebel to the -point of becoming something different. If you prefer this course no one -need worry much about your child, because he'll probably found a system -of child education that will cause him to be famous; and if you have a -daughter, she'll probably become a Montessori. - -The new home is a recognition that the child is not the only factor in -society that needs educating. It assumes that no one's education is -finished just because he's been made a parent. It means that we can all -go on being educated together. It means the elimination of all kinds of -domestic follies--for one, the ghastly embarrassment of growing up to -discover that you're different from the rest of your family, and for -that reason something of a criminal. It means the kind of understanding -that develops a child's feeling instead of suppressing it, so that he -won't be ashamed, for instance, of having such glorious things as dreams -and visions. It means artistic education: and Shaw says that we all grow -up stupid or mad to just the extent to which we have not been -artistically educated. - - - - - THE SWAN - - - Under the lily shadow - and the gold - and the blue and mauve - that the whin and the lilac - pour down on the water, - the fishes quiver. - - Over the green cold leaves - and the rippled silver - and the tarnished copper - of its neck and beak, - toward the deep black water - beneath the arches, - the swan floats slowly. - - Into the dark of the arch the swan floats - and into the black depth of my sorrow - it bears a white rose of flame. - - _F. S. Flint._ - - - - - "DES IMAGISTES" - - - CHARLES ASHLEIGH - -A new and well born recruit has been added to the ranks of the -Insurgents. It is true he appeared before we did, but we welcome him -before he welcomes us, and thus are things evened. THE LITTLE REVIEW, -_The Masses_, _Poetry_, _The International_--all bearers of the sacred -fire,--and now cometh _The Glebe_, heralding his approach with the -chanting of many-colored strains. And, among the good things which _The -Glebe_ has put forth, is a book of portent: _Des Imagistes_. - -The Imagistes form one of the latest schools, and it is meet that, -before we read their work, we get some idea of their doctrine. Therefore -I transcribe here some statements of representative Imagiste poets, -which I have culled from _Poetry_, _The Egotist_, and other sources. -Richard Aldington gives the following rules: - - I. Direct treatment of subject. We convey an emotion by - presenting the object and circumstance of the emotion without - comment. For example, we do not say, "O how I admire that - exquisite, that beautiful, that--25 more adjectives--woman." But - we present that woman, we make an "Image" of her, we make the - scene convey the emotion.... - - II. As few adjectives as possible. - - III. A hardness as of cut stone. No slop, no sentimentality. When - people say the Imagiste poems are "too hard" ... we know we have - done something good. - - IV. Individuality of rhythm. We make new fashions instead of - cutting our clothes on the old models. - - V. The exact word. We make quite a heavy stress on that. It is - most important. All great poetry is exact. All the dreariness of - nineteenth century poetry comes from their not quite knowing what - they wanted to say and filling up the gaps with portentous - adjectives and idiotic similes. - - Here is a definition by Ezra Pound which helps us: "An Image is - that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in an - instant of time." - -The book, _Des Imagistes_, is an anthology, presumably of Imagist (let -us, once for all, Anglicize the French word and have done with it) -poetry. Yet, one of the foremost imagists, Richard Aldington, in a -critique of this book,--comparatively modest, owing to the fact that his -own poems formed a sumptuous fraction of the volume,--says that five of -those whose poems are there included are not true Imagists. These are -Cournos, Hueffer, Upward, Joyce, and Cannell. Mr. Aldington says he -doesn't mean that these poems are not beautiful--on the contrary, he -admires them immensely--but they are not, "strictly speaking," Imagist -poems. - -I agree that the poems of these five men are beautiful, especially the -_I hear an army_ of James Joyce and the _Nocturnes_ of Skipwith Cannell; -and I also maintain that, all unconsciously, the publishers of _The -Glebe_ have dealt a deadly blow to sectarian Imagism by including these -non-Imagist poems in their anthology. Because, unless a school can prove -that it alone has that unnameable wonder which excites us to deepest -emotional turmoil, and which we call poetry, it has but little right to -isolate itself or to separate its adepts from the bulk of poets. This -may sound sententious, but is, nevertheless, true. Speak you in whatever -mode or meter you will, if you arouse me to exultation, or to horror, or -to the high pitch of any feeling,--if in me there is that responsive -vibration that only true art can produce--then are you a poet. - -Whitman does it to me. Poe does it to me. Baudelaire and Henley do it. -To all of these there is in me a response. I'm awfully sorry, but that's -how it is. I think them all poets. - -The Imagists believe in the direct presentation of emotion, preferably -in terms of objectivity. They abhor an excess of adjectives, and, after -a satiety of the pompous Victorian stuff, I am much inclined to -sympathize with that tenet of their faith. - -I wish, however, to make clear my own position, which is the one that -most counts when I am writing. I am an anarchist in poetry: I recognize -no rules, no exclusions. - -If the expression of a certain thought, vision, or what not, requires -twenty adjectives, then let us have them. If it be better expressed -without adjectives, then let us abjure them--temporarily. - -I am myself a poet (whether performance equals desire is doubtful). My -object as a poet is to express the things which are closest to me. This -sounds banal, but is better than rhetoric; words exist not with which to -define with superclarity the poet's function, source, and performance. - -In the true expression of myself I might write Images which would be -worshipped for their perfection by the Imagists. A moment after, I might -gloat and wallow in the joy of my cosmic oneness (anathema to Imagists!) -and, perhaps recall Whitman. The next minute, chronicling some shadowy -episode of my variegated past, I may out-decay the decadent Baudelaire. -But, this is always poetry if, by the magic of its words and the music -of its arrangement, it speaks directly and beautifully to you, giving -you that indescribable but unmistakeable sense of liberation and -soul-expansion which comes on the contemplation of true art. - -I think I have made myself clear. There is no quarrel with the Imagists, -who have done some beautiful work, as such. But, if they claim monopoly -of inspiration or art, as some of them appear to do, then--! Therefore, -as a restricted and doctrinaire school, "a bas les Imagistes!" But, as -an envigored company of the grand army of poets, "Vivent les Imagistes!" - - - - - OF RUPERT BROOKE AND OTHER MATTERS - - - ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE - -Since even to poets--and poets are erroneously supposed to sing their -hearts out--there remains a certain right of privacy, I am not sure that -we do well in writing so much of their personalities and their -individual views of life. When we read a poem, we feel a temperament -behind it; but the effort to catalogue and label that mind and its -"message" is a little impertinent, and very futile. Mr. Rupert Brooke is -an excellent illustration. His fondness for this or that--whether in -landscape, food, ideas, or morals--is hardly our concern. He deserves to -be treated not as a natural-history specimen,--a peculiar group of likes -and dislikes and convictions,--but as an artist. - -Mr. Brooke has the distinction, rare for a young poet, of not having -written any bad verse, or of not having printed it. His sole volume, -_Poems_ (Sidgwick and Jackson, London, 1913), manifests in even its -least notable pieces a creative spirit not allowed to run riot, but -chastened and restrained by a keen sense of the obscure laws whose -workings turn passion into a decorative pattern, and the emotions of the -blood into intelligible designs. - -Unless one is deeply concerned with such things, one is not likely to -recognize the fundamental difference between those poets whose work is -merely a more or less interesting emotional cry, and those nobler and -more mature poets in whose work the crude elements of emotion are -subordinated to the exigencies of an artistic conception. Only the -latter have written fine poetry. The former may move us, as a crying -child may move us; but they cannot exalt us to a peak that rises above -the region of mere sympathetic response. They can never bring us a wind -of revelation, or a flame from beyond the world. They are never the -poets to whom other poets--and these are the only final judges--turn for -inspiration or for fellowship. - -For after all, there is no magic in any theme or in the emotion behind -it; what is magical lies wholly in the design, the mould, in which the -poet embodies a feeling that is probably common to all. No thought is so -profound, no intimation so subtle, that it alone suffices as the stuff -of poetry. But any thought, any intimation, if it be justly correlated -and moulded into an organic and expressive shape, will serve to awaken -echoes of a forgotten or unknown loveliness, and pierce its way into the -very soul of the listener. - -This sense of design of which I speak is not a hard, formal, conscious -thing in the mind of the poet; but rather a carefully trained instinct, -like the instinct that guides the hand of a fine draughtsman in the -drawing of a curve of unexpected beauty. There is a right place to begin -the curve, and a right place to end it; and at every instant of its -length it is swayed and governed by a sense of relation to preceding and -succeeding moments,--a sense subject to laws that defy mathematical -formulation, but are perilously definite nevertheless. This sense of -control is a rare thing to find in the work of so young a man as Mr. -Brooke. Most young writers seem to approach their work as an -unrestrained expression of themselves,--which it should be: but they -forget that, for real self-expression, the most scrupulous mastery of -the medium of expression is necessary. They regard the writing of verse -as something in the nature of a joy-ride with an open throttle,--instead -of seeing in it a piece of difficult driving, to be achieved only by the -use of every subtlety of modulated speed and controlled steering that -the mind is capable of employing. - -That Mr. Brooke needs no such warning, let the following fine sonnet -bear witness: - - - SUCCESS - - I think if you had loved me when I wanted; - If I'd looked up one day, and seen your eyes, - And found my wild sick blasphemous prayer granted, - And your brown face, that's full of pity and wise, - Flushed suddenly; the white godhead in new fear - Intollerably so struggling, and so shamed; - Most holy and far, if you'd come all too near, - If earth had seen Earth's lordliest wild limbs tamed, - Shaken, and trapped, and shivering, for _my_ touch-- - Myself should I have slain? or that foul you? - But this the strange gods, who had given so much, - To have seen and known you, this they might not do. - One last shame's spared me, one black word's unspoken; - And I'm alone; and you have not awoken. - -It is significant that for his sonnets Mr. Brooke frequently chooses the -Shakesperian form,--a form which, strangely, English poets have -generally for at least a century discarded in favor of the Petrarchan -model. The common feeling appears to be that the Petrarchan (a-b-b-a, -a-b-b-a, c-d-e-c-d-e or some variation on that scheme) is musical and -emotional; and that the Shakesperian (a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g) is -harsh, cold, mechanical, and incapable of subtle harmonies. The exact -reverse of this is the case. It is perhaps too much to ask the reader to -write a sequence of a hundred sonnets in each form, as a test; but I am -confident that after such an experience, he would agree with me. The -Petrarchan form is capable of only one successful effect; a rising on -the crest of a wave, whose summit is the end of the eighth line; and a -subsidence of the wave, in the course of the last six lines. The -Shakesperian form, on the other hand, is capable of a literally infinite -variety of effects: no pattern is set arbitrarily in advance, but, as in -blank verse, any pattern may be created. The first twelve lines--which -are nothing but three quatrains--can be moulded into a contour that fits -any shape or size of thought whatsoever; and the couplet at the end--a -device despised by the ignorant--may be used either to clinch the -purport of the preceding twelve lines, or to blend with them, or -startlingly to refute them, or to serve any other end that the genius of -the writer is capable of imagining. The mere novice will like this form -because of its simple rhyme-scheme and its superficial ease of working; -the experienced amateur will prefer the Petrarchan form because, while -the more complex rhyme-scheme presents for him no difficulties, the -basic inadequacies of his thought-structure are fairly well concealed by -the arbitrary sonnet-structure; but the master of imagination and -expression is likely to follow Shakespeare and the novice in preferring -the true English form, wherein he can with perfect freedom create a -subtly modulated movement that will answer to every sway and leap of his -thought. Mr. Brooke, whose sense of form is keen, is one of those who -can safely and wisely try the more interesting and more dangerous -medium. - -I have thought it worth while to talk a good deal of the sonnet in -connection with Mr. Brooke for the reason that several of his very -finest pieces are in this form. The following is one that stands a good -chance of being in the anthologies a hundred years from now: - - - THE HILL - - Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill, - Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass. - You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass; - Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still, - When we are old, are old ..." "And when we die - All's over that is ours; and life burns on - Through other lovers, other lips," said I, - "Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!" - - "We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here. - Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said; - "We shall go down with unreluctant tread - Rose-crowned into the darkness!" ... Proud we were, - And laughed, that had such brave, true things to say. - --And then you suddenly cried, and turned away. - -Perhaps as magical as any of Mr. Brooke's work is a longer poem called -_The Fish_,--a remarkable and original piece of fantasy that makes the -sub-aqueous universe vivid and real to the senses of the reader, and -opens to him a new world of imaginative experience. Even the opening -lines will serve to indicate something of the curious trance-quality: - - In a cool curving world he lies - And ripples with dark ecstasies. - The kind luxurious lapse and steal - Shapes all his universe to feel - And know and be; the clinging stream - Closes his memory, glooms his dream, - Who lips the roots o' the shore, and glides - Superb on unreturning tides ... - -In other of these poems, one is struck by Mr. Brooke's passion for -ugliness. He loves to take the most hideous and base facts of life and -give them a place in his work alongside the things of beauty. It would -be hard to find anything more humorous and at the same time more -repulsive than this: - - - WAGNER - - Creeps in half wanton, half asleep, - One with a fat wide hairless face. - He likes love music that is cheap; - Likes women in a crowded place; - And wants to hear the noise they're making. - - His heavy eyelids droop half-over, - Great pouches swing beneath his eyes. - He listens, thinks himself the lover, - Heaves from his stomach wheezy sighs; - He likes to feel his heart's a-breaking. - - The music swells. His gross legs quiver. - His little lips are bright with slime. - The music swells. The women shiver, - And all the while, in perfect time - His pendulous stomach hangs a-shaking. - -Now, a passion for ugliness like this is really a revolt against -ugliness,--not the tender-skinned æsthete's revolt, which consists in -denying ugliness and escaping into a remote dream, but the strong man's, -the poet's,--the revolt that is in effect a seizing of ugliness in all -its repulsiveness and giving it a reason for existence by embodying it -in a chosen pattern that is beautiful. By this method the poet masters -emotion, even unpleasant emotion, making it subservient to a decorative -design dictated by his own sense of proportion. It is thus that he is -able to endure the world of actualities, and to find it comparable in -interest with the world of his own thoughts. And by this process he -saves himself from the sharpest bite of evil. For there is a curious -consolation in transforming a spontaneous cry into a calculated work of -art. By such a process one can give, to elements that before seemed only -parts of a torturing chaos, their ordered places in a known scheme. One -can impose propitious form upon one's recollections, and create a little -world of design-relations where the poignancy of experience is lost in -the discipline of beauty. It is for this reason that the poet must be -considered, in spite of everything, the happiest of men. - - - - - THE NEW LOYALTY - - - GEORGE BURMAN FOSTER - -Back to the Old Greek for a starting-point! Two seeds, of the same -species, though distant in space and time, go through an identical -development. Root corresponds with root, stem with stem, flower with -flower, fruit with fruit. Something seems to control all this change. It -is not mere change. It is change with a plan, a purpose, a pattern. -Hence the Greek said that there must be an unchanging type, a fixed -"idea," a spiritual, invisible norm, the "first" and "final" cause of -all this change, to which all concrete, particular plants of the species -are true. Back of the visible tangible plant must be its _Eidos_, its -eternal norm, form, idea, "species." So with everything. An elaboration -of this conclusion gives the real unchanging, fixed eternal world back -of, underpinning, supporting this visible changing, temporal world. - -Such a world-view as this was made more valuable and more imperative by -the break-up of the traditional morals and religion of the Greek state. -The search for the _meaning_ of life was precipitated by the -disintegration of social sanctions and of the guarantees of custom. This -search was voiced in the questionings of Socrates. It was made serious -by the menacing individualism of the sophists. The outcome was that -stability, security, confidence were found in the Platonic doctrine. -Back of this ephemeral world is the real world of "ideas," the -unchanging and eternal, upon which we may rest our minds and hearts amid -all this disappointing and desperate flux. - -Passing by the Middle Ages, which, _mutatis mutandis_, appropriated this -scheme, we pause over the significance of the Renaissance period. Two -things are uppermost in one's mind and as one thinks of the tumultuous -beginnings of modern life which characterized the fourteenth, fifteenth, -and sixteenth centuries. For one thing, the Renaissance was the -culmination of a long period of absorption in which men had been -gradually working their way back, by intellectual assimilation, towards -the beginnings of the rich tradition which Church and Empire had stored -up. This period of absorption was that five hundred years during which -pagan hordes that had conquered Rome were conquered by the knowledge, -faith, custom, civilization of their victims. From the cultural -standpoint the new nations were hungry, the larder of the old -civilization was replete, and hence authority on one side and absorption -on the other became natural and inevitable. Thus, the philosophical -preconceptions, the cosmological ground-principles, the whole general -attitude toward life's problems of the whole old world were fastened -upon the mind of the young European peoples. _It must not be forgotten_ -that all this was _aat_ the _hatural_ achievement of the new European -life and genius, but as foreign to it, as inherited (and at first as -cherished) as grandfatherly ideas are in the mind of a child. If some -day the child must shake off the old conceptions because he hears the -call of life to go forth and achieve his own inner world, it would be -only natural to expect that this young European giant should some day -struggle to cast aside his intellectual inheritance and go forth to -conquer reality for himself, in his own way, with his own weapons. - -Well--and this is the second matter--it was just that very thing that -was happening in the early "teens" of our era. The young western world -began to look at life for itself, and a curious, astonished, wild-eyed -look it was. Europe had learned at its mother's knee to say: "The true -world is fixed and final. Reality is static." But looking out now in -wonderment, seeing farther than the ancient world had ever seen, the new -world said: "Ah, no! The world is not static. The world _moves_. Things -change." - -Two well-known anecdotes are told of Galileo, which, if not authentic, -are well invented. The one tells how, in the dome at Pisa during -worship, the litany or the sermon boring him, he observed the cathedral -chandelier move by the wind and, studying its vibrations, discovered a -basic law of mechanics. The profound meaning of this anecdote is, -obviously, that God spoke to the man more effectively through the -_self-moving_ pendulum than in the rigid, immobile litany from a rigid, -immobile, hieratic heart; and that, if we do not understand such litany, -and it bores us, we may still devoutly worship by meditating upon what -we can understand. - -The other narrative tells how, imprisoned, tortured inwardly by a -compulsory recantation, Galileo gathered himself together and declared: -"_E pu se muove_" ("it moves though"). Galileo never uttered these -words; but the history of the world has uttered them for him! Yes, it -moves _itself_, this earth, and in its motion it knocks everything down -that is in its way. Not the earth alone moves--all that is in the world -is eternal motion! - -Man moves--in space, and time, extensively and intensively. Truth moves, -and, moving, demolishes thrones and altars. Morality moves, making -ancient good uncouth. Faith moves, the human heart putting into it the -pulse beat of its life, and there is no way to stop this self moving -Faith. - -Those old stories are not true to fact, but they are true to truth. -Galileo _did_ say: "It is my opinion that the earth is very noble and -admirable by reason of so many and so different generations and -alterations which are incessantly made therein." And Descartes joined -him: "The nature of things physical is much more easily conceived when -they are beheld coming gradually into existence, than when they are only -considered as produced at once in a finished and perfect state." Thus -these men--and many others--voiced the changed temper that was coming -over the world,--the transfer of interest from the permanent to the -changing. - -Slowly the new attitude was adopted in many departments of knowledge, -but the facts of biology were apparently all against its becoming a -general philosophical movement. The species of plants and animals had -every appearance of being fixed and final, unchangeably stamped once for -all upon the sentient world by the Creator. Not only so, but the -wonderful adaptation of organism to environment, of organ to organism, a -marvelous and delicate complexity of teleological adjustment, seemed to -testify unanswerably to the reality of fixed and final types, to a -static underpinning for all this changing order. - -_Origin of_ Species! That was the bomb with which Charles Darwin -destroyed the last stronghold of a static world-view. "Species" is the -scholastics' translation of the Greek _Eidos_, the fixed and final type -or idea which is first and final cause of the changing life of each -creature. Species is a synonym and epitome of fixity and finality; it is -the key-word of a static other-world reality. When Darwin said, -"_Origin_ of Species," he was cramming the conflict of the ancient -wisdom and the modern knowledge into a bursting phrase. When he said of -species what Galileo said of the earth, _e pu se muove_, he emancipated -once for all genetic and experimental ideas as an _organon_ of asking -questions and looking for explanations. He lifted the biological gates -which had kept back the flood of change from inundating the old fields -of fixity. - -In sum: The world of thought is slowly, painfully making a change in its -fundamental attitude toward reality such as is not made oftener than -once in several millennia: One general conception of reality was -all-controlling for 2,000 years. Then from Copernicus to Darwin many -factors in a world-subversive change were struggling for recognition. -Conceptions that had reigned in the philosophy of nature and of -knowledge for 2,000 years rested in the superiority of the fixed and -final: they rested on treating change and origin as signs of defect and -unreality. In laying hands upon the sacred ark of absolute permanency; -in treating forms that had been regarded as types of fixity and -perfection as originating and passing away, the "origin of species" -introduced a mode of thinking that in the end was bound to transform the -logic of knowledge, and hence the treatment of all our values and -verities and virtues. - -But heaven and earth and species are not all. Shall there be no -Copernicus of the moral heavens, no Galileo of the moral earth, no -Darwin of the moral life? - -Hove now Friedrich Nietzsche into sight! - -Loyalty has ever been the basic virtue, foundation of life and of law. -Naturally, in the moral world, the objects to which loyalty shall be -related will be objects that are real. But, as we have seen, in the old -world, the real was the unchangeable, the immobile, the finished, the -final, the absolute. To these, therefore, the old loyalty was directed -and dedicated. - -Comes now Friedrich Nietzsche, a man in whose name the entire moral -revolution of our time has found its most pregnant expression, and -declares war upon that old loyalty, and does so in the name of a new -culture, a new humanity. To him this loyalty is not only an empty folly; -it is more than that--a crime against life, a weakening of human power. -To him, not stationariness, but _self-changing_, is the life task of -man. He feels himself akin only to him who changes. Every moment of life -has an existence, a right, a content of its own. No present point of -time has a right to lay claim, on its own account, to the next point. -From what we now will, think, feel, no man may presume to require us to -will, think, feel the same way tomorrow. And this preaching of -Nietzsche's on the duty of change as against the old duty to change -never has found more ears to listen and more hearts to believe than any -other preaching of our time. This new preaching is at once most -influential and most dangerous. But its very dangerousness is a most -wholesome and necessary part of the modern moral view of life. - -Is loyalty, then, something about which there is nothing to be learned? -Is there no counterfeit and caricature of loyalty? No mask behind which -men hide their indolence and complacency and thoughtlessness? You meet a -man whom you have not seen in long years, and you say to him: "Why, you -have not changed a bit, you are precisely the same as in the old days." -Have you praised him, necessarily? If he left you as a child, looking -and speaking and thinking and acting like a child, ought he not to have -changed? Does a fruit remain what it was as bud and blossom? Life is -development--but development is a constant _self-changing_. Development -is an incessant _dis_-loyalty to what is already there. And if man, just -because he is man, and has a will of his own and can set himself against -the law of development, should sell his life to the force of -inertia--would not that be a crime against life? And yet, even such a -deed men call loyalty! Men say that they want to be faithful to the -heritage of the fathers. Which is often enough simply to say that they -mean to store away their heritage where it will be kept from the world's -light and air that would destroy it--but where, also, it can enter into -no human intercourse, serve no life, fulfil no end of life. This loyalty -of unchangeableness to the heritage puts the talent in a napkin, and -there can be no increase. Men say that they mean to abide faithful to -their faith unto death. Often enough this is only stubbornness and -narrowness. It requires no art and no merit to exercise such -faithfulness. All one needs to do is to close one's eyes and ears to -what lies beyond the bounds of this faith, to forego the questionings -and uncertainties that others must pass through,--and then to send in -one's claim to the reward and gratitude due such loyalty! Today it is -quite the thing at college commencements to spy out the men who are -models of such loyalty and to say: "Look how firm and steadfast and -rock-like they are!" But it cannot be denied that much of this -illustrious loyalty is nothing but natural or voluntary incapacity to -think more widely than others have taught them to think, or, for the -matter of that, permitted them to think. Back of this bragging about -principles which are vainly declared to be unshakable, there is -frequently nothing but an ill-natured obstinacy whose so-called -principles have no other basis than the self-interest to which they are -contributary. It was this loyalty to the finished,--finished cult, -finished belief, finished customs and practices, finished religion and -morality,--that stoned the prophets and crucified Jesus. It was this -kind of loyalty that the mediaeval church imposed upon the "Faithful," -imprisoning the conscience therein for time and for eternity. Bound by -an oath of loyalty, the priest renounced the world; the monk and nun -under monastic vows dedicated their lives to the church, their services -to "heaven." And hence it marked an epoch when Luther called their -loyalty a sin, and went forth into the world, the home, the vocation, -the business, breaking the vows of priest and cloister. Was such -disloyalty to a sacred obligation loyalty in the sixteenth century, and -shall it be blasphemy in the twentieth? Is it not rather a blasphemy to -preach to men a loyalty which obligates them to forego the use of their -best and noblest powers, which condemns them to spiritual standstill in -the eternal progressive movement of life? - -Take some illustrations which will test insight and courage. There is -the constitution of the United States. Shall we assume toward it the -loyalty of fixedness and finality, or the loyalty of change? No man of -veneration and equipoise would favor capricious or precipitate or -superfluous change in so noble a document. But, for all that, the -experience of life made the constitution for life's sake, and the maker -is more than the made. If our national life pass--as pass it has--into -new seas and under new stars, where life needs a change of the -constitution, then the principle which prompted the people to frame the -constitution in the first place requires them to change it to meet the -new needs of our growing and changing national life. The superficial -loyalty to the changeless letter must yield to the profound loyalty to -the ever-changing spirit. The constitution is for the sake of the -people, not the people for the sake of the constitution. They, rather -than it, are sacred. - -Similarly, there is the modern problem of marriage, the family, and the -home. Shall ours be the old loyalty that holds the customs of the past -inviolable, marriage indissoluble, the inherited patterns of home and -family unchangeable--the loyalty of fixedness and finishedness; or shall -it be the loyalty of change in all these matters to meet the changing -needs and situations of our burdened and bewildered modernity? Again, no -man of sanctity and sanity and stability of soul can favor any arbitrary -radicalism that is subversive of time-honored institutions _for no -better reason_ than a fleeting fancy, or the passing of the romance of -the honeymoon, or raw self-will, or an unanticipated burden or hardship. -But, for all that, the marriage institution, like all others, is for the -sake of man and not man for the sake of the institution. It was _life_ -that originated our domestic ideas and customs and conventions and -codes; and if ever life, in the interest of its well-being and progress, -requires changes suited to new needs and new days, then the "new -loyalty" to life that ever changes must replace the old loyalty to codes -that never change. Codes, too, are for the sake of life, not life for -the sake of codes. No loyalty to the letter that means disloyalty to the -spirit. - -And there is the everlasting problem of education. Education in the past -had for its subject matter symbols--reading, writing, arithmetic, -grammar, rhetoric, logic, and the like. The new education has for its -subject matter realities--nature and history. The old education taught -topics or subjects; the new education teaches boys and girls. According -to the old education, knowledge precedes action; according to the new -education, action precedes knowledge. In the old education things were -done to the pupils; in the new education the pupils do things. - -The old school teacher was a "star and dwelt apart"--that is, his -aloofness and superiority were indispensable. He taught from above. The -new school teacher is down among the students, a democrat of democrats. -The old school teacher communicated knowledge from without; the new -school teacher develops interest from within. The old education was -atomistic, the new organic. The old education was a donation to the -pupils, the new is an achievement by them. The old education proceeded -on the assumption that man is primarily intellect; the new that he is -primarily will. The old education preceded life and fitted for it; the -new education is a part of life itself. - -It is a great change. According to the old theory, there was perfection -to start with, perfection at the top. All that we needed was to pipe it -down through aqueducts so well constructed that nothing that was in -could get out, nothing that was without could get in; and thus--thus -only--would the vain and empty world and life be filled with value and -verity and virtue--donation on the one side, reception on the other. - -But the time came when men asked: if there is perfection to start with, -why start? Why paint the lily? And if there is perfection to start with, -how does there come to be imperfection? How can imperfection come from -perfection? Ugly questions, these! Soon the world was turned upside -down. - -The new theory holds that matters began very humbly and struggled and -fought their way slowly upward. Ascent from below, not descent from -above. No values or verities or virtues donated, all achieved. Education -an evolution, not a communication. - -Some business men favor the old education. Their world is one of -mechanism and authority. They think that they do not need men with -initiative, spontaneity, freedom. That is their prerogative, as it was -of the king of old. They need the mechanical, the automatic, the -impersonal in man. This fits into their world. This is what the old -education stands for. The new education unfolds and matures -personalities. Personalities make good masters but poor servants. - -Business men as a class are perhaps our best men. But the very -conditions of business economy and certainty are the impersonal, the -unfree, the mechanical. So business has warped the judgment of some good -men and led them astray on the most fundamental problem in the history -of the race. - -Were it not multiplying illustrations, the same point might be urged as -to politics. Does not party loyalty often mean personal servility? As a -matter of fact what is loyalty in one situation, or one age, may be -simple cowardice or abjectness in another. - -The upshot is that the modern man has to endure the reproach of not -thinking and feeling and judging and acting as men formerly did--the -reproach of perfidy toward the past, its solutions and its sanctities. -In consequence, it would not be a bad idea for him to cultivate respect -for the past, gratitude for its achievements, appreciation for its -unfinished tasks. Still, he should learn to accept the reproach as -praise,--recognition that, though problems remain the same, solutions -change; though sanctity abide, the objects which are sacred change. -_Evolutionism no longer recognizes any fact as sacred._ Man is inwardly -working on ever farther, ever overcoming the old and conquering ever the -new--this must also be recognized. - -It is said that we ought to love the old, the finished. But is love -blind? Does it consist in advocating the point of view of one's friend, -not because it seems true, but just because love requires it? Is loyalty -of love the faculty of adaptation with which we remodel ourselves after -the image of another? Is one disloyal in love if one affirm one's self -against another, or if another affirm himself against one? Surely -fidelity of friendship, even of marriage, ought not to be the grave of -one's own being. Surely loyalty should be the life and not the death of -one's self! Surely we must all see with our own eyes, hear with our own -ears, judge with our own judgments, love with our own hearts, for the -quite plain reason that we have no others with which we can do these -things. - -And so, if we take up this great subject in a large way, as Nietzsche -has done, we see that we have all broken with the old loyalty, and that -the consummation of this breach has been life and blessing to us. -We moderns all somehow live in a disloyalty which we have -committed--imputed to us as transgression, viewed by us as our strength -and pride. We have all become unfaithful,--as children to our parents, -as pupils to our teachers, as disciples to our masters. We felt -ourselves bound to them; we loosed ourselves from them. The paths they -walked we have forsaken. In the strange untrodden land whither our -vagrant feet have wandered, we "came to ourselves" in declaring -disobedience to the laws of tradition, in breaking loyalty to the rules -of the schools. It is precisely on this account that once again we have -won spiritual life, a living art and science, a living religion and -morality. We have snapped the fetters fastened upon us in the name of -the old loyalty, and all that is great and fruitful and constructive in -the life of the modern spirit is a monument of the disloyalty which its -creators have built thereto. Nothing is gained any longer by our -screening ourselves behind this word loyalty, and making believe that we -shall not be found out! We owe it to ourselves and we owe it to the -world to confess frankly that we have done with the old loyalty to the -unchangeable and the finished, for that is to be loyal to an unreality, -_since there is no such thing_. Even God, if he be the living God, -cannot be the same yesterday, today, and forever. But we owe it even -more to ourselves and to the world to strive for a clear position in -reference to this question which is so profoundly agitating our entire -moral world today. We may not abandon the field to those who would -demolish the temple of the old goddess simply that they may celebrate -upon its ruins the orgies of their caprice and inconstancy and -characterlessness. If ever there was a doctrine whose right is easily -turned into a wrong, whose truth into an error, whose blessing into a -curse, it is this Nietzschean doctrine of the right and the duty of -ceaseless change, of self-dependence, by which we are redeemed from -slavery to the past. If the old loyalty--loyalty to the past--no longer -holds men, wherewith shall they be held? Shall they be like the -weathervane blown hither and thither by every wind of doctrine, or like -the rudderless ship driven aimless and planless over the high seas by -the midnight hurricane? Better a thousand times be tethered to the old -loyalty than to be doomed to such a life of levity and poiselessness and -flightiness. - -But the new loyalty which we seek, without which we go forward into no -future, should it not be more stable and enduring and loyal than the -old? If a moment releases itself from what to it is past, and validates -its right as a self-dependent life to its predecessor, a birth has -transpired in man, and birth means pain. Without such pain, man has -changed his situation, but not himself. A new color has come upon the -motly manifoldness of his life--_he_ has remained the same. Trees do not -have their roots in the air. Weaklings cannot make the real change--it -needs a strength that they do not have. The strength to change -really--only he has this who bears the new loyalty in his own bosom; -loyalty not to his opinion, not to his learning and heritage, but -loyalty to his _growth_, to the great eternal goal of life, to the great -sacred task which he has yet to fulfil in life. - -Loyal to ourself? Would that it might be so! But the self that we would -at first be loyal to is not our self at all. It is foreign wares, loaded -upon us,--first even in the nursery, slyly slipped subsequently upon our -shoulders,--foreign words, foreign worths! Loyalty to what satiates, not -the better loyalty to our hunger! We begin to live only when we live in -our hunger; our hunger is we ourselves. It is a good satiety only if a -new hunger comes from it. Loyalty to our self--this is to keep our life -alive in us--a young glad life, that never grows old, because the old is -ever transmuted into a new. This loyalty to ourself,--it is to expel -from every truth its error, from every boundary its limit which blocks -the vision into the wide world, the blue sky, and the distant sea. - -Loyalty to men? Would that it might be so! But such loyalty costs so -much trouble and toil. For the faithfulness that is genuine and living, -there is no law, no binding _I must_, only a glorious _I will_. One day -we shall have done with the loyalty which means master and servant, -leader and led--the loyalty of the dog that is loyalest to him who feeds -him best or beats him hardest. One day we shall understand what the -loyalty of man means--this new loyalty toward man, in which souls meet -and chime and work together, and live in each other, yet each remains -itself and true to itself. - -So, then, the law of change and of growth is the law of the new loyalty, -as the law of fixedness and finishedness and finality was of the old. It -is the duty of such new loyalty to protect itself against the deadening -force of habit and of petrifaction, to guard itself against any -obedience by which it would become disloyal to itself. Such loyalty is -too honorable to humor inertia and laziness under its banner, too -courageous to conceal cowardice behind a slave's patience. - -But thought on our theme is usually lifted up to where the sky keeps -company with the granite and the grass, to a religious elevation. Nor do -we need stop short here. Ultimately the new loyalty is loyalty to God, -the new God, of whom something must be said later. The God in whom all -fulness dwells summons us to ever new truths, and reveals underground -wells of living water throwing its spray aloft on life's ferns and -flowers. To be loyal to him is never to sunder ourselves from his -fulness and freshness, but to co-work with him who is forever making all -things new. - -And now I think we are at the end. The result? It is needless to state -it, but I would not shrink from the thankless task. In a word, then, the -new loyalty--in harmony with the whole great changed view of the world -and of life--is loyalty to change and becoming rather than to -finishedness and finality; to the future rather than to the past; to -ideals rather than to conventions; to freedom rather than to authority; -to personality rather than to institution; to character rather than to -respectability; to our hunger rather than to our satiety; to the God -that is to be rather than to the God that is. Thus the loyalty abides, -but the objects of loyalty change and pass. - - - - - THE MILLINER - - - SADE IVERSON - - All the day long I have been sitting in my shop - Sewing straw on hat-shapes according to the fashion, - Putting lace and ribbon on according to the fashion, - Setting out the faces of customers according to fashion. - Whatever they asked for I tried to give them; - Over their worldly faces I put mimic flowers - From out my silk and velvet garden; I bade Spring come - To those who had seen Autumn; I coaxed faded eyes - To look bright and hard brows to soften. - - Not once, while they were looking in the glass, - Did I peep over their shoulders to see myself. - It would have been quite unavailing for me, - Who have grown grey in service of other women, - To have used myself as any sort of a model. - Had I looked in the mirror I should have seen - Only a bleached face, long housed from sunshine, - A mouth quick with forced smiles, eyes greyly stagnant, - And over all, like a night fog creeping, - Something chill and obscuring and dead-- - The miasmatic mist of the soul of the lonely. - - When night comes and the buyers are gone their ways, - I go into the little room behind my shop. - It is my home--my silent and lonely home; - But it has fire, it has food; there is a bed; - Pictures are on the walls, showing the faces - I kissed in girlhood. I am myself here; - All my forced smiles are laid away with the moline - And the ribbon and roses. I may do as I please. - If I beat with my fists on the table, no one hears; - If I lie in my bed, staring, staring, - No one can know; I shall not suffer the pity - Of those who, passing, see my light edge the grey curtain. - - One night, long ago, merely for madness - I stripped myself like a dancing girl; - I draped myself with rose-hued silks - And set a crimson feather in my hair. - There were twists of gold lace about my arms - And a girdle of gold about my waist. - I danced before the mirror till I dropped! - (Outside I could hear the rain falling - And the wind crept in beneath my door - Along my worn carpet.) - - I folded my finery - And prayed as if kneeling beside my mother. - Whether there was listening I cannot say. - There was praying! There was praying! - Never again shall I dance before the mirror - Bedizened like a dancing girl--never, my mother! - - I have a low voice and quiet movements, - And early and late I study to please. - As long as I live I shall be adorning other women, - I shall be decking them for their lovers - And sending them upon women's adventures. - But none of them shall see behind this curtain - Where I have my little home, where I weep - When I please, and beat upon the table with my fists. - - - - - "NUR WER DIE SEHNSUCHT KENNT" - - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON - -In one of Chicago's big department stores of the cheaper type you -may--provided you're something of a poet--walk straight into the heart -of a musical adventure. It is that amazing, resentful, and very -satisfying adventure of discovering genius at work, under the by no -means unique condition of being unrecognized. - -You go to one of the upper floors where the big lunch-room is. You find -a table near a platform in the center, on which sit four musicians--a -pianist, a 'cellist, a clarinet_ist_ (if there is such a thing), and a -second violinist. You expect the usual clamor.... - -Suddenly you notice a fifth figure who has been sitting quietly in the -background. She comes forward with a violin in her hand, and stands -ready to play. There is something still about her--that quality of -stillness which is invariably the first thing you notice in any dynamic. -She seems not scornful of her surroundings, but quite indifferent to -them; not arrogant, but sure of power; not timid, and yet incredibly -soft and shy and serious. She is plainly foreign; she is German, looks -French, and plays like a Viennese. Or, to be exact, she merges the -German "heaviness" with the Viennese gay-sadness, and the result is a -sensuousness that is both deep and clear, with the haunting wail that -distinguishes all the music which comes from Vienna. She looks almost -like a little girl; but you would notice her any place because of that -stillness and the haunting appeal that always attaches to a certain type -of eyes and mouth--the kind which seem to say: "I will make music for -you; I will take you to a new world. I will do it because I can dream -intensely." - -She begins to play, and you understand why you watched her. The depth of -it startles you at first--it is so big, so moving, so almost uncanny -coming from such a small person, whose hands seem scarcely large enough -to hold a violin. It is playing of the Mischa Elman type, without his -emotional extravagances and with something that is more soul-shaking. If -I were an Imagist I could find the right word; but this music eludes me. -It is sure and simple. It grips you till you don't know whether you are -listening to music or to the urge of some hidden inner self. It is a -divine thing. - -In the midst of it the waitresses rush back and forth, the patrons eat -their food with interest, only pausing to applaud when some tawdry -vaudevillian sings a particularly vulgar song. The dishes clang, some -one upsets a tray with a great crash, and at intervals there is a tango -outrage by a couple who know nothing about dancing. Underneath it all -the violin throbs its deep accompaniment. - -I wish I could make a poem of it. I have thought of taking my poet -friends there and having the thing done. But almost without exception -the poets I know don't care for music essentially; though why a mind -keyed to the tone qualities of words should be so tone-deaf in another -medium has always been a mystery to me. And what a poet's opportunity -here: "the boom and squeal," and out of it music that is as sacred as an -organ meditation and as passionate as a Russian slave song! - -However, generalizations will not serve to give any musician's special -quality, and this one is so emphatically individual as to make -description easy. To begin with, she was concertising in Europe as a -wonder-child at the age of six. For a number of years her playing -brought forth a chorus of superlatives from the critics: "her full -blooming tone, her great taste in phrasing, economic use of the bow, -glowing passion of interpretation; her fiery temperament, remarkable -earnestness and will power, the soul, life, and emotion in her -presentations." The verdict of a "a veritable artist soul" appeared to -be unanimous; and one man summed up with admirable insight and -simplicity: "Her chief excellence is in this: that she seeks her main -task to be an artist in the real and earnest sense of the word, and -whosoever comes to hear music does not go empty from her." - -Friedrich Spielhagen wrote a sonnet to her, of which I have a careful, -but metrically inadequate, translation: - - Thou standst before us, a picture of wondrous charm; - The little violin thou holdst, in tenderess, - Half maidenly, half like a child in dress - Hast soared away from Heaven's angel-farm - Toward where thy large mild eye is dreaming. - -And he ended it with these lines: - - Thou movest thy bow; - No sounds are these of nicely movéd strings, - No, No! Thy own sweet soul rings out and sings - The melodies that have with you come - From yon high wide-sphered home, - To where thy longing soul swings upward now. - -Our apologies to Mr. Spielhagen for that more than atrocious twelfth -line and for the other deficiencies! But the last line is particularly -keen in its photography. It has the spirit of her. - -After much touring in Europe she came to this country and played under -the same promising conditions. The critics predicted that if she should -decide to stay here she would probably out-rival our own few noted women -violinists. And then came a period of sorrow, bereavement, hardship, and -illness--and in the meantime the problem of living. That problem becomes -a real one when an artist loves life just a bit more than her art and -refuses to make that spiritual compromise which life tries to wrest from -one in the hard places. One must live, and it takes money to do it -rather than art. The romantic notion that all genius has to do is to -stand up and make itself heard is one of the silliest notions the great -public suffers from. Only the hundredth person recognizes genius when it -proclaims itself; the rest are as blind as this department-store -audience until the sign-posts have been put up, with letters large -enough to be easily read. Also, the amount of machinery and money -involved in the arrangement of concert engagements would surprise the -public as much as the true stories of what it costs the "wealthy patron" -to get his artist started toward recognition. - -And so this particular genius will continue for a while to cast her -pearls in a lunch-room, and a few of the discerning will find her out -and thank their stars that they may hear such beauty at the small cost -of a bad club sandwich and a worse cup of coffee. - -If you go there you will be haunted by music for days afterward. I say -"haunted" because that is the only word to describe your feeling of -pursuit by melody. And I think I have discovered the reason for it. A -poet once said that the only permanent emotion we human beings are -capable of is--not love, as we like to imagine--but _longing_. And that -is what this music says to you. It is the very essence of longing--the -eternal seeking, the rapturous satisfaction, the disappointment, and the -renewed quest. I have never heard such a quality of _sehnsucht_ in any -music; it is almost more than you can bear. Of course, in these -surroundings, you must listen to the complete gamut of new popular -songs; but at intervals, when the managerial demand for "noise" can be -ignored for a moment, you will be rewarded by the Thais _Meditation_ or -a Schutt waltz or that exquisite Saint-Saens poem called _The Swan_--or -even a Tschaikowsky song. Where does the tone come from, you keep -wondering? Not from a wooden instrument, not from small human fingers, -surely. It is tone of such richness and depth that you sometimes have -the illusion of each note being sung twice. "It transcends music to me -entirely and becomes a matter of life--or of soul," said a critic who -listened with me the other day. - -Through it all the artist's earnest face is still and unchanging. That -is part of the fascination--the contrast of that tumultuous singing and -the thoughtful, dreaming face that seems to control it all. "My violin -belongs to me--yes," she says, "but that is such a cold word. It is part -of my body. I feel it is growing on me just like my arms and hands. I -could not live without it." If you watch her closely you will decide -that her playing is the result of an extraordinary sensitiveness to -life. If you know her, as I do, you will expand that judgment to this -one: an extraordinary strength about life; for she is both deep and -strong--qualities that are supposed to be inseparable, but which are so -rarely found together that their combination means--a great spirit. - - I am afraid I am too much of a musician not to be a romanticist. - With out music life to me would be a mistake.--_Nietzsche to - Brandes, 1888._ - - * * * * * - - All restlessness, misery, all crime, is the result of the - betrayal of one's inner life.--_Will Lexington Comfort in - "Midstream."_ - - - - - EDITORIALS - - - Our New Poet - -Charles Ashleigh, who makes his appearance in this issue, was born in -London twenty-five years ago. He was educated in England, Switzerland, -and Germany, and speaks French, German, and Spanish, "as well as two or -three varieties of English and American slang." He has wandered in -Europe, South America and this country, traveling on foot through -Argentine, Chile, and Peru, and in the States as a hobo. He has been -sailor, newspaper man, tramp, actor, farm hand, railroad clerk, -interpreter, and a few other things. He has written verse, short -stories, social studies, literary criticism, and lectured on his travels -as well as on sociological, literary, and dramatic subjects. Quite -unlike those poets who insist that they have no opinions on any -subject--that they simply photograph life--Mr. Ashleigh states his creed -in this way: "I am interested in Labor, literature, and many other -aspects and angles of Life. Men and deeds are to me of primary -importance and books secondary." We look for big things from this young -man. - - - Two Important Books - -Mary Austin has written a study of marriage which she calls _Love and -the Soul Maker_. It appears to be about as big a thing on the subject as -any American woman has done. Will Lexington Comfort has written an -autobiographical novel which he calls _Midstream_. It tells the truth -about a man's life, and is also a big thing. Both will be reviewed in -the August issue. - - - The Congo - -Nicholas Vachel Lindsay's new poem, _The Congo_, is to appear in _The -Metropolitan_ for August. Mr. Lindsay's opinion is that the best effect -will be got by reading it aloud. - - - The Basis for a New Painting - -Truly these Imagists are enchanting! The following examples are selected -from the anthology published by _The Glebe_: - - - Fan-Piece for Her Imperial Lord - - O fan of white silk, - clear as frost on the grass-blade, - You also are laid aside. - - Ezra Pound. - - - In A Garden - - Gushing from the mouths of stone men - To spread at ease under the sky - In granite-lipped basins, - Where iris dabble their feet - And rustle to a passing wind, - The water fills the garden with its rushing, - In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns. - - Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone, - Where trickle and splash the fountains, - Marble fountains, yellowed with much water. - - Splashing down moss-tarnished steps - It falls, the water; - And the air is throbbing with it; - With its gurgling and running; - With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur. - - And I wished for night and you. - I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool, - White and shining in the silver-flecked water. - While the moon rode over the garden - High in the arch of night, - And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness. - - Night and the water, and you in your whiteness, bathing! - - Amy Lowell. - - - Au Vieux Jardin - - I have sat here happy in the gardens, - Watching the still pool and the reeds - And the dark clouds - Which the wind of the upper air - Tore like the green leafy bough - Of the divers-hued trees of late summer; - But though I greatly delight - In these and the water lilies, - That which sets me nighest to weeping - Is the rose and white colour of the smooth flag-stones, - And the pale yellow grasses - Among them. - - Richard Aldington. - - - Ts'ai Chi'h - - The petals fall in the fountain, - the orange coloured rose-leaves, - Their ochre clings to the stone. - - Ezra Pound. - - - Liu Ch'e - - The rustling of the silk is discontinued, - Dust drifts over the courtyard, - There is no sound of footfall, and the leaves - Scurry into heaps and lie still, - And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them. - - A wet leaf that clings to the threshold. - - Ezra Pound. - - - - - NEW YORK LETTER - - - GEORGE SOULE - - - GEORGE BRANDES--A HASTY IMPRESSION - -The man who fought the big battle for Ibsen and Nietzsche should have -filled Madison Square Garden; as it was, the little Comedy Theatre -wasn't large enough to hold the audience, although Scandinavian -patriotism accounted for a good deal of it. He came on the stage with -Brander Matthews, the apotheosis of the academic, and the contrast was -striking. Matthews was tall, dull, professional. Brandes, with his keen -face, alert eyes, and shock of grayish hair, was possibly the most fully -alive person in the room. He radiated interest--human connection with -anything vital. - -We were all a little sorry his subject was Shakespeare; we wanted to -hear of something modern. And when the first part of the lecture was -read, couched in scholarly but terse English, we felt cheated. It was -good criticism, and informing, but it wasn't the sort of thing we had -expected from Brandes. Suddenly a spark shot out. (The quotation is from -memory): - - We cannot emphasize too strongly the fact that all works of - literature which have a real effect on mankind, all works which - endure hundreds of years, find their inspiration not in books, - but in life. - -The words were pronounced with excited intensity. Soon came another: - - We used to define the genius as the man who interprets his age; - now we know that the genius is the man who, working against his - age, creates new times. - -Dr. Brandes broke into a lively sally at the Baconians. He spoke of -Shakespeare's errors in scholarship. These Bacon would surely have -avoided, but of Shakespeare's great lines Bacon could not possibly have -written one. He ended that section with something like this: - - The Baconian theory was founded by the uneducated, it was - developed by the half-educated, and it is now held solely by - idiots. - -The audience was immensely pleased at his sharp fire. - -Dr. Brandes' epigrams sometimes sound as if he substituted wit for -wisdom. But that is because the epigrams stick and are repeated. His -method is to open with an epigram to catch the attention, to proceed -with a line of sound argument, and at the end to finish superbly with a -sentence that contains his conclusions and impales his opponent at the -same time. - -With Frank Harris, Dr. Brandes was no more gentle. By parallel quotation -Harris was made to appear ridiculous. Brandes showed that whatever in -his writings is sound has been said before. This was the end of the -lecture: - - Mr. Harris says that it is possible to admire Shakespeare, but - that it is impossible to worship him. Ladies and gentlemen, I do - the impossible. - -Afterwards came a supper of the Scandinavian Society, at which the guest -of honor made a speech that looked brilliant and was lively even as a -piece of pantomime--but it was in Danish. Dr. Brandes was beaming and -unaffectedly cordial with everybody. He smilingly interrupted one of the -pompous addresses in his honor to correct a quotation from Goethe. He -proposed a toast to the charming young lady who acted as his American -manager, and said that the success of his tour was due entirely to her. -Later a consul made a highly complimentary, but exceedingly tedious, -speech. Dr. Brandes fidgeted until he could stand it no longer, then he -quickly got up, took his champagne glass, ran over to the orator and -slapped him on the shoulder, saying, "You are a very nice man." The rest -was drowned in the toast. - - - A NEW LITERATURE - -The other day an illustrator saw a hand-mirror in a publisher's office. -He put the mirror against a book cover and held it at arm's length. -"There," he said, "is the ideal jacket for a novel. Every woman likes to -imagine herself the heroine of the book she is reading." But the -publisher was wiser. "You are half right," he answered. "But she wants -to be a Gibson heroine. To see her own face, without flattery, would -startle her into disapproval of the book." - -A recent symposium in _The Sun_ bore the impressive title, _The -Sentimentalization of Woman in American Fiction_. All the authors were -agreed that realism doesn't go because of the desire of the reader to be -flattered. If she isn't, the novel is "unpleasant," "depressing." You -may paint your villainess black, but, as your reader will take her for -an enemy, you must see that she is properly punished. But if your -heroine does anything unconventional, it must be of the kind that your -reader enjoys by imagination, though she wouldn't have the courage to do -it. Only you must not make the thrills so strong as to shock the reader -into self-consciousness and self-disapproval. Georg Brandes said that -our novels are written by old maids for old maids. If we would only put -into our literature the same genius and daring that we put into our -skyscrapers! - -The thing none of the authors seemed to see is that it is futile to stop -at blaming the readers. Of course the great public is comparatively -stupid. It is everywhere, it always has been and always will be. What is -a leader if he is not someone in advance of the others? And the -essential act for a leader is to lead. He can't get a following until he -does that. Only a coward stays behind and flatters the crowd because he -is afraid they will not come after him. Perhaps they won't follow his -particular route. But if he goes on fearlessly he has done the best that -is in him, anyway. The chances are that if he has a sincere conviction -and marches far enough in one direction they will at least struggle -along after a while. They may even follow in hordes. What we need first -is not a more intelligent public, but courageous writers. - -Naturally the matter is not simple. Your artist has to be fed and -clothed. If he is creating a new medium--as did Wagner--he even needs -large resources to produce his art. The solution used to be the wealthy -patron. The petty monarch maintained a musician or a painter to enhance -the glory of his court. The noble supported a writer from personal -pride. The monastery afforded a refuge for the unworldly creator. It -would be difficult to find a great artist before the last century who -did not have some such subsidy, unless he had means of his own. - -Since then democracy has permeated the world. Fast presses, advertising, -and royalties have been invented. Now the public is the writer's patron. -Music is often subsidized, to be sure, and painters can still sell their -canvases to the wealthy. But the earnings of the writer are in strict -proportion to the number of copies of his books that can be sold. - -There is a distinct advantage in this situation. The virtue of democracy -is not the government of the majority, but the opportunity of the -minority. The minority becomes, not a defensive close corporation, but a -body of fighting visionaries. The emphasis is placed on growth. The -eternal impulse of the minority to turn itself into a majority prevents -a static age. The strongest lead, instead of the highly born. - -So it must be with our writers. Difficulty insures heroes. We can -discount at once the truckling commercial writers. But the others must -be deeply sincere and strong in order to exist at all. There is little -room for the dilletante. Let our young people who have something to say -recognize the situation. They must dedicate themselves to a probable -poverty. They must gird their loins and sharpen their weapons. They must -be prepared to wait years, if need be, even for recognition. Every -energy must be devoted to saying as well as may be the thing that is in -them. And so, hoping nothing, fearing nothing, living simply, supporting -themselves as best they may, but always doing the thing that is worth -while for its own sake, they may produce a literature that has not been -equalled since the world began. - -Others of us can share in this glorious undertaking. Discerning critics -must sift the true from the false. They must lay aside the twin -snobberies of praising or blaming a work because of its popularity. They -must fight eternally for the sincere. They must point out directions, -they must prize meanings above methods. They must give a nucleus to the -intelligent reading public and constantly augment it. They must bear -sturdy witness to the fact that art is not an amusement for idle -moments, but the consciousness of the race. They must show its relation -to life as well as to living. They must be predisposed in favor of no -work on account of its nationality, school or tendency. Just as Brandes -enlarged the conception of literature by showing it as a world -phenomenon, they must rid it of petty divisions in the realm of thought. -No more should such a statement as "Galsworthy is a poet rather than a -novelist" be allowed to pass as criticism. A novelist may be a poet or a -philosopher or a psychologist or a historian or a sociologist. Any of -these may combine the intrinsic abilities of any or all of the others. -He is greater for doing so. The only test of his work is its -effectiveness. A work of art is an organism, the highest product of -nature, infinitely more real, more beautiful, more potent, than any -flower. Only when we see it as such, and not as a collection of petals -and stamens, or as a member of a species, shall we know it. - -The whole problem of creating a literature, as of doing anything else, -is one of direction and power. If we blame someone else for our -deficiencies, if we stand aloof, if we bow to circumstances and are -afraid to pay for what we want, we shall of course do nothing. And we -shall not enjoy ourselves or the world much either. But if we fix on a -goal that is worth a life, and set out for it with the joyous spirit of -adventurers, risking everything, enduring everything, sleeping under the -stars, staying hard and keen, we shall command the fates. What more -could we ask of the world? - - - - - DOSTOEVSKY'S NOVELS - - - MAURICE LAZAR - - _The Idiot_, _The Brothers Karamazov_, _Crime and Punishment_, etc., - translated by Constance Garnett. [The Macmillan Company, New - York.] - - It's not a matter of intellect or logic, it's loving (life) with - one's inside, with one's stomach.... - - --Ivan Karamazov. - -Chiefly concerned with the fester of civilization, literature, music, -painting, all the modern forms of individual expression are elliptical -in the sense that the old æsthetic values of emotional beauty seem to -have become nullified, or else congealed, in the artist's direct -application of his instrument to the repudiation of fixed social values -or moralities; to the expansion of life-interests. We today want more -than beauty of external form; we want the beauty of depth! - -The true artist is such primarily because of his engrossing appetite for -life, because (as Flaubert said) of the chaos in his soul. And although -Flaubert kept on chiseling words around the lives of men and women -totally devoid of inspirating individuality, his dictum has been nobly -exemplified in the life and writings of Fyodor Dostoevsky, that -great-hearted epileptic Russian of whose psychological powers Nietzsche -admittedly availed himself. - -Tolstoy was reported to have said, in conversation with a writer for _Le -Temps_, "A woman who has never suffered pain is a beast." He could have -stretched the allegation to include the other sex, if only by way of -illusion to that intense spiritual quality in modern Russian -literature--a literature that has never been (notably) an off-shoot of, -as much as a protest against, the retrogressive structures of its -respective periods. - -This spiritual, or psychical, concern with the individual's adjustment -to the functioning of life has been revealed to highest degree in -Dostoevsky's novels. It is also manifest in the analytical mould assumed -by the creative arts of our time. - -While Dostoevsky's personality is separably bound up with his work, -profitable appreciation of the latter can be considerably amplified with -knowledge of the important facts of his life and the conditions with -which he struggled. I will record the more essential facts of his life -as I have gathered them, and try to explain the causes that have made -for the distinction in his work from that of all other writers. - -He was born in a charity-hospital in Moscow, in 1821. His father was an -army-surgeon, his mother a store-keeper's daughter. I like to think that -he derived his expressive powers, or rather the nebulæ out of which they -subsequently developed, from his mother, perhaps partly because of my -theory that men of acute genius ultimately do transcend the difference -of sex in the quality of their personalities as well as in that of their -work. - -Like most imaginative youths who come into contact with fine art, -Dostoevsky was stimulated to literary expression by his study of -classical and contemporaneous European literature. He had lived -twenty-three years when he graduated from a St. Petersburg school of -military engineering. His first novel, _Poor Folk_, was published three -years later, and served to focus upon him the attention of the critics. - -In 1849 Dostoevsky was arrested, with members of a radical organization, -on governmental charges of sedition. The terrible suffering he sustained -while awaiting his execution (he was first confined in prison for eight -months) have been set forth in striking passages of his novels, _The -Idiot_ and _Letters from a Dead House_. The sentence of death was -finally, and very unexpectedly, commuted to one of imprisonment in -Siberia for four years. At the expiration of this period he served -perforce as a private soldier in the Russian army for three more years. -When he was permitted to return to St. Petersburg he was accompanied by -his first wife, whom he had loved and married while in exile. - -Dostoevsky's interminable suffering from epileptic seizures (it has been -suggested that these fits originated in a beating administered to him by -his father when Fyodor was a boy); his poverty, and the constant -accumulation of debt; the terrific haste with which he found it -necessary to write his most profound books--all have made it natural to -him, in dwelling upon any physiological aspect of his characters, to be -as unconvincing as the eremite attempting an analysis of conditions of -sex life. - -In short, Dostoevsky's nervous disorders pervaded his "sensual sense" of -beauty--of beauty in all its manifestations. At the same time it must be -remarked that this negation of physical responsiveness surely -intensified the acuteness of his mental vision, which was otherwise -refined emotionally by the results of his imprisonment and life-long -hardships. And this also explains why Dostoevsky's novels are lacking so -singularly in the tingle of the physical contact of his characters; why -the suffering of his men and women move us so profoundly; why his -writings are so uneven, his dialogues of such elemental power, and his -purely descriptive passages so ordinary. - -The elemental power in his dialogues is due chiefly to the vigor of -action accredited his characters. In his work is not to be found the -picturesque phrase, the adroitly-turned period, the illuminating -metaphor, the sequence of construction, the tone or shading offered by -the commingling of his objects. Dostoevsky has no style of form, his -outlines are amorphous. It is in his power of transcribing the living -voice, of recording in never-failing reflex emotionalism the lives and -deeds of his startling figures that he is supreme. - -If you have read one of his books you know much of what he has to say. -His other works are repetitions, mainly. For Dostoevsky does not attempt -to paint character, and rarely does he stop to show the subtly-reacting -influence of environment upon his men and women. Always he is concerned -with the idea of the individual's personal adjustments to life. Each -book of his throbs with the discordant elements that clash over the -establishment of this idea; and always its conclusions are recognized. -That is why I regard Dostoevsky as an optimist. And his emphasis on -humanity's spiritual conception of life, no matter what the cost, grew -more and more pronounced in his later works. - -His faith in human beings is expressed in one set theme, which can be -conveniently resolved into terms of comparison: on one hand the -individual's evasion of life's realities by the exercise of material -(and therefore fictitious) values; and on the other hand, the frank -acceptance of life's realities for the attainment of a proportionate -spiritual balance. - -In _Crime and Punishment_, Dr. Raskolnikov is in doubt as to the -ultimate worth of this attainment, until he expiates his crime -in killing the old moneylender (I forget her name) not by -confessing,--Dostoevsky is too fine a realist for that,--but by -obtaining personal solace from the regenerating qualities of his -resignation. And it is characteristic of our writer's method that -Raskolnikov is assisted toward this state of resignation by his love, -Sonia, the prostitute, whose regard for the murderer is based upon the -confirmation evidenced in him of the faith that has been stimulated in -herself. - -Similar in thesis, though expressed in terms of minor differences, is -Dostoevsky's last and unquestionably finest work, _The Brothers -Karamazov_. It is incomplete, actually one-third as long as he had -intended it to be. He died before he could finish the book. Nevertheless -it is compactly-formed material as the work now stands, and superior to -his other novels not because his outlines are more constrained, his -movement more co-ordinate, and the actual writing of a more intensive -quality, but because here he defines his own conception of spiritual -beauty in a distinctive fashion not to be found in his other books. - -He offers us the history of a family,--and what a family! Each figure in -this domestic (?) group embodies conflicting phases of his great idea. -Fyodor Karamazov, the father, is a sensualist of the lowest type -imaginable. His three sons are Dmitri, Ivan, and Alyosha. There is also -another (illegitimate) son, Smerdyakov, an epileptic. - -Dmitri Karamazov inherits his father's passion for wine, women, and -song, but the son's pursuit of this tame and conventional item is -tempered by frequent lapses, by periods of misgiving. The second son is -a materialist and a cynic. He changes his mind after a severe illness, -and his materialistic beliefs are all but supplanted by intense -spiritual curiosity. The third and youngest son is an idealist, lovable -and loving. Here again we have Dostoevsky's discordant elements conveyed -in terms of human characterizations. The plot of the story is as -formless as life itself, for it is with life, not with plots, that -Dostoevsky deals. - -Dmitri's hatred of his father is intensified by the rivalry that exists -between the two in their common pursuit of Grushenka's affections. -Grushenka is a woman of the demi-monde. The author, I think, tried to -draw her in lines that would reveal a physical zest of life, as -evidenced, for example, in Tolstoy's _Anna Karenina_. His failure to -make Grushenka a convincing individual, as an individual, is typical, -for the reasons I have already advanced. - -Development of the story shows how Dmitri's repeatedly avowed -determination to kill his father bears fruit. The elder Karamazov is -found dead one night, with his skull crushed. Dmitri is imprisoned. And -the rest of the book, which is devoted to Dmitri's trial, the moral -regeneration of Ivan, and the urge of life in Alyosha, approaches -psychological heights (or depths) that have not been surpassed to this -day. Small wonder that Nietzsche referred so affectionately to the -"giant spirit." - -I have made reference to Dostoevsky's "optimism." A better word for it -is faith--faith of a new high order. He is the most cheerful, -sunlight-giving writer in Russian literature. "The essence of religious -feeling," says Prince Myshkin in _The Idiot_, "does not come under any -sort of reasoning or atheism, and has nothing to do with any crimes or -misdemeanors." - -Prince Myshkin is the central figure of the novel; he is the "idiot," -and everybody abuses him. He is insulted and beaten, and robbed and -deceived and loved. He is the most singular figure in literature--he is -Dostoevsky himself. - -But he is not an idiot in any sense. He is so profoundly simple and -wise, and has such great faith in human beings, that he is mistaken by -the men and women of ordinary passions as a fool. While he can be -readily toyed with by women--a significant phase of the writer's own -attitude toward the sex--Prince Myshkin is regarded by them from a -common basis of understanding. For them he holds no quality of sex. -"Perhaps you don't know that, owing to my illness," he says (he too is -an epileptic), "I know nothing of women." - -It is in _The Idiot_ that Dostoevsky's women are at least life-like. The -Epanchin sisters, especially the youngest, Aglaia, are not "types" in -the usual sense, but preconceived studies. The pages devoted to Aglaia's -love affair with Prince Myshkin are of the happiest in the book. - -Besides the books I have already mentioned, the more important works are -_The Possessed_, in which national politics play a large part; _Poor -Folk_, the story of a poor clerk's love for a poor woman who eventually -turns from him; and _Letters from a Dead House_. This last is a book of -personal experiences, and reveals Dostoevsky's relations with the -criminals with whom he was imprisoned in Siberia. The mental temper of -men who disregard and break the common and social laws, is set forth -with the passionate curiosity that lies behind all his probings of the -human soul. I am strongly tempted to offer quotations; to show, in this -passage or that, how deeply Dostoevsky looked into the most extreme -boundaries of human sensibilities; but on the whole extracts from his -writings would do more harm than good. His work is so disconnected, -though not in any sense detached, that extracts could not serve here to -indicate the amazing clarity of his vision. - -His books arouse a feeling of wonder that there can be so many things in -our own individual emotions with which we never before came into -contact. He moves us so profoundly because he tears his men and women -out of their morally-bound lives and makes them confront stupendous -questions--the questions of life. He plies detail upon detail of human -misery until one feels that the whole world is reeling from him--then -grows aware of the sweet white glow of Dostoevsky's faith, and feels -that life can hold no terrors--that he is above the petty miseries of -human strife! That is why I say Dostoevsky's optimism is of the new high -order. - -Dostoevsky purges one's mind. He makes you conscious of the beauty of a -soul. - - - - - BOOK DISCUSSION - - - AN UNREELING REALIST - - _The Titan_, by Theodore Dreiser [John Lane Company, New York] - -Theodore Dreiser possesses none of the standard qualifications for the -art of fiction writing. He is not imaginative but inventive; he is not -clever but clear; he is not excited but calm. Whatever the flaws in his -considerable body of work no fair-minded reader may say that it is made -to catch popular applause. Its tremendous distinction is sincerity. -Another characteristic which his novels exhibit is resolute purpose. -Dreiser is aiming at something, and in _The Titan_, the second book in -an unfinished trilogy, he takes a long if wobbly step toward it. -Previously to the publishing of this volume he had not even hinted at -what he intended to work out. One thing was certain: he was not a -trifler; he was not trying to write best sellers; literary success was -not in his mind. He had set out seriously and indefatigably to write, -not so much what he felt and thought, as what he saw. Some day he would -try to get at the realities that lay back of their representations. He -would probably undertake to reveal the soul of the American nation. He -would pass through the growth stages of a nation, and achieve some kind -of spiritual national life. In the last two pages of _The Titan_ this -guess at his purpose receives appreciable encouragement. Moreover, it is -made evident for the first time, in these concluding paragraphs, that -Dreiser's prosaic realism springs not only from a vague, deep idealism -but a large, hidden spirituality. For at the core of him Dreiser is a -profoundly religious person. - -Neither his style nor his stuff is far above the dead level of -mediocrity; in fact, Dreiser's rhetoric is often inexcusably -atrocious--intentionally crude, one is tempted to assert. Obviously he -is not interested in style; he is conscious of something bigger than -that revealing itself in a huge, ugly, unfinished moving picture--a net -result symbolical of a young, raw, riotous, unsynthesized national life. -One is therefore tempted to say that Dreiser, more than any other -author, is the personification of America. He represents the composite -personality of Uncle Sam. - -After reading _The Financier_ and running far into the interminable -pages of _The Titan_ I felt that in the absence of cameras, kodaks, -Baedekers, and historians Dreiser would be worth while. His endless -reels of pictorial facts did not impress me as possessing sufficient -animation successfully to compete with these odd rivals, but I admired -his consistent sincerity and simplicity and felt that something -important was promised by the mere unfinishedness of his pictures. I was -sure that he did not write as one inspired, and certainly not as one -fired. And after finishing _The Titan_ I felt that here was a work -having the aspects of a seriously performed duty, exacted by fidelity to -some personal theory of industrial change. I could not imagine the -author happy as an artist is happy in his creative work; he was too -conscious of service to a cause. But in the last paragraph I discovered -a big, personal note which introduced an attitude that extends beyond -the borders of materialism. It presented another Dreiser--an author who -was much more than a cinematograph, snapping superficial impressions of -a vast panorama. Two years ago I should not have attributed the -following words to Theodore Dreiser: - - In a mulch of darkness is bedded the roots of endless - sorrows--and of endless joys. Canst thou fix thine eye on the - morning? Be glad. And if in the ultimate it blind thee, be glad - also! Thou hast lived. - -After laboring through arid deserts of description, this memorable -passage, fraught with recognition, satisfaction, challenge, hope, and -promise, stands out as an oasis. - -_The Titan_, by virtue of its bold, graphic strokes, loses its identity -as a tree, with sharply defined individual characters, and represents -the forest. It is more like a jungle, and the jungle is our national -life, into which the morning sun inevitably will shine. - - --DeWitt C. Wing. - - - THE REVOLT OF THE "ONCE BORN" - - _Challenge_, by Louis Untermeyer. [The Century Company, New York] - -There has recently appeared a volume of verse by Louis Untermeyer which -is an excellent example of the determinedly young and eupeptic -philosophy so prevalent today--the philosophy of revolt. The book is -named _Challenge_ and as challenge it must be considered. To be sure it -is rhymed, but the fact seems quite incidental. To rhyme a polemic does -not make it poetry, and one feels sure that Mr. Untermeyer is more proud -of the spiritual attitude than of the artistry. - -The book is a revolt, but a careful perusal of its pages fails to reveal -against what it revolts. At first glance one might think it socialistic, -but it is not clearly enough visualized for that. Socialism has at least -found the enemy. Mr. Untermeyer manfully girds on his armor and sets -forth to war, shouting his challenge lustily the while. And why, after -all, be particular about having an actual enemy? Life, with a capital L, -can do duty for that, or "the scornful and untroubled skies," or the -"cold complacency of earth." The revolt is the point, and Mr. Untermeyer -drives it home with all the phrases of frozen impetuosity to be -discovered in a very useful vocabulary. "Athletic courage," "eager -night," "Life's lusty banner," "impetuous winds," "raging mirth," etc., -are scattered carefully through the pages. But unfortunately, -virility--with all due respect to the reviewer who mentioned these poems -in the June number of The Little Review--has a way of oozing out of such -phrases, leaving them empty of everything save a painful determination -to be manly at all costs. - -But though Mr. Untermeyer is not quite clear on some subjects he is very -clear on others. Several things seem to have struck him with peculiar -force--that city streets are dirty, for instance; that strife is tonic -for young blood; and that it is difficult for the human soul to conceive -of complete annihilation. These things he proclaims passionately and -challenges the world to disprove them. A little couplet from Kipling's -_Jungle Book_ suggests itself rather maliciously as the probable -attitude of the world towards this outbreak: - - "There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his - earliest kill; - But the Jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think and be - still. - -Seriously, however, Mr. Untermeyer's attitude is what William James -calls the attitude of the "once born." One feels that he thinks in one -dimension, that he does not see around his subject, nor hear the -overtones which surround every happening for a man of deep intellect. -The revolt is Walt Whitman's magnificent revolt, which is overpowering -in a giant, cropping out in a man of very ordinary stature, where it -sits a little ridiculously. - -As philosophy much of this, printed on a neat little card, would do -splendidly to hang in a business office for the encouragement of the -employees. As poetry it is negligible. Mr. Untermeyer lacks entirely the -one gift which could redeem it--the gift of poignancy. This lack is -particularly striking in the middle section, called _Interludes_, in -which he pauses for a little from revolt. These are love songs and -lyrics, a field in which anything not perfect is no longer acceptable. -And Mr. Untermeyer's are not perfect. His sense of rhythm is extremely -primitive and his lyrics are full of words. Only now and then, when he -forgets for a moment how manly he is, does he say anything simply enough -to strike home. These lines, for instance, from _Irony_ stick: - - There is no kind of death to kill - the sands that lie so meek and still ... - But man is great and strong and wise-- - And so he dies. - -But in the main it is unfortunate that Mr. Untermeyer, who writes so -much and so readably on the subject of poetry, should put out so -pretentious and undeveloped a volume as this is. It is inevitable that -it should affect his standing as a critic, and there seems little doubt -that his work in that field is really valuable to the cause of poetry in -America today. - - --Eunice Tietjens. - - - TWO BIOGRAPHIES: VERLAINE AND TOLSTOY - - _Paul Verlaine_, by Wilfred Thorley; _Tolstoy: His Life and - Writings_, by Edward Garnett. [Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston.] - -When autumn is in your heart--not that of the golden delirium of exotic -agony, but bleak weeping autumn of crucifixion and dead leaves--what -dirge, what note haunts you in accompaniment to your grief? Maddening -darts from Tchaikowsky's _Pathétique_, or _Weltschmerz_-moans from -Beethoven's _Marchia Funebre_, or an unuttered accord known only to your -soul? Or, if you are a brother of mine, do your lips soundlessly mutter -this? - - Les sanglots longs - Des violons - De l'automne - Blessent mon coeur - D'une langueur - Monotone. - -Don't you hear the resonance of the tolling bells in Chopin's _Funeral -March_? Your sorrow grows crescendo as you proceed, recalling Massenet's -_Elégie_: - - Tout suffocant - Et blême, quand - Sonne l'heure, - Je me souviens - Des jours anciens - Et je pleure; - - Et je m'en vais - Au vent mauvais - Qui m'emporte - Deçà, delà - Pareil à la - Feuille morte. - -When I think of Paul Verlaine I invariably recall Oscar Wilde, despite -or because of the abysmal dissimilarity of the two personalities. The -sincere, ingenuous, all-loving child Paul, and the thoroughly -artificial, paradoxical Oscar; the typical Bohemian with the -criminal-face like that of Dostoevsky, and the salon-idol, the refined -and gorgeous bearer of the sun-flower. Fate had somewhat reconciled the -two contrasts. Both had been "sinners," both were condemned by society -and imprisoned, both had "repented"--one in _De Profundis_ where the -haughty humility of the self-enamored artist stirs us with its -artificial beauty; the other in the primitive-Christian--nay, -Catholic--_Sagesse_: - - _Mon Dieu m'a dit: Mon fils, il faut m'aimer ...._ - -Some months ago in reviewing Edmond Lepelletier's voluminous book, -(_Paul Verlaine: His Life and Work_) I remarked that the Poet of -Absinthe and Violets was still awaiting his Boswell. My view has not -changed after reading Wilfrid Thorley's monograph on Verlaine; but my -wish for an adequate biography of the signer of _Romances sans Paroles_ -has now become counterbalanced by an earnest prayer that the memory of -the poet may be saved from such indelicate manipulators as Mr. Thorley. -Why this respectable Englishman should have attempted to treat the life -of the most wayward French poet since Villon can be explained by no -other reason than that it was a case of "made to order." When a -Velasquez is pierced by a fanatical suffragette the whole civilized -world is roused to indignation; but when an honest philistine -unceremoniously puffs his cheap smoke into the face of a dead poet there -is not a single protest against that sort of vandalism. Fear of the -editor's blue pencil restrains me from putting my attitude more -outspokenly. - -A conscientious compilator would have found sufficient material for an -unpretentious sketch of the life of Verlaine and for an appreciation of -his works. Lepelletier gives an amazing mass of facts and personal -reminiscences (you may ignore his naive interpretations); Arthur Symons -in _The Symbolist Movement in Literature_ has a masterpiece essay on -Verlaine, not to mention a number of other French and English writers -who have given us glimpses of the imperceptible image of the -poet--writers who _knew what they were taking about_. Mr. Thorley has -made use of various sources, but in a peculiar way. He fished out the -anecdotal scraps, the piquant details, the filthy hints, and patched up -a caricature-portrait of a lewd, perverse "undesirable," whose poetry (I -quote reluctantly) "was born solely of the genitals," whose "life is but -the trite old story of the emotions developed at the expense of domestic -peace and civic order; of art for art's sake made to condone the manner -of its begetting, and the trend of its appeal; of the hushed -acquiescence in emotion as a sacred thing, whatever the quality of the -impulse from which it ripens or the level of ideas on which it feeds." -Out of the ninety-odd pages of stuff seventy-nine are devoted to -"biography" sufficiently spicy to make any toothless old rake chuckle; -the rest is given over to "criticism"--a mutilated melange of some of -the views of Symons, George Moore, and others, flavored with the -compilator's own commonplaces. I quote from the closing lines: - - A specious and high-sounding phrase has been invented to excuse - the perversities of imaginative genius by speaking of its - achievement as a "conquest of new realms for the spirit." But the - worth of such acquisitions depends on the nature of the - territory, and if it be, morally, a malarial swamp conducive only - to a human type found subversive in our normal world, it will - always appear to the English mind that we shall do well to forego - the new kingdom and to withhold our homage from its - discoverer.... That "nice is nasty, nasty nice," and the creative - artist the sole arbiter, must be hotly opposed so long as a - social conscience survives. - -And this was written in Anno Domini 1914! - -A sense of fairness urges me to rehabilitate the "English mind" by -recalling a passage from Mr. Thorley's compatriot, Arthur Symons: - - The artist, it cannot be too clearly understood, has no more part - in society than a monk in domestic life: he cannot be judged by - its rules, he can be neither praised nor blamed for his - acceptance or rejection of its conventions. Social rules are made - by normal people for normal people, and the man of genius is - fundamentally abnormal. - -It is high time that this axiom became a truism and that we cease to -measure the artist with the yard-stick of conventional morality. "L'art, -mes enfants, c'est d'être absolument soi-même," sang Verlaine, and -somewhere else he reveals a bit of that self with his usual sincerity: - - I believe, and I sin in thought as in action; I believe, and I - repent in thought, if no more. Or again, I believe, and I am a - good Christian at this moment; I believe, and I am a bad - Christian the instant after. The remembrance, the hope, the - invocation of a sin delights me, with or without remorse, - sometimes under the very form of sin, and hedged with all its - natural consequences.... This delight ... it pleases us to put to - paper and publish more or less well expressed: we consign it, in - short, into literary form, forgetting all religious ideas, or not - letting one of them escape us. Can any one in good faith condemn - us as poets? A hundred times no. - -"And, indeed, I should echo, a hundred times no!" exclaims the -Englishman, Arthur Symons. - -I cannot resist the temptation of quoting the happiest definition of -Verlaine's personality written by Charles Morice back in 1888: - - The soul of an immortal child, that is the soul of Verlaine, with - all the privileges and all the perils of so being: with the - sudden despair so easily distracted, the vivid gaieties without a - cause, the excessive suspicions and the excessive confidences, - the whims so easily outwearied, the deaf and blind infatuations, - with, especially, the unceasing renewal of impressions in the - incorruptible integrity of personal vision and sensation. Years, - influences, teachings, may pass over a temperament such as this, - may irritate it, may fatigue it; transform it, never--never so - much as to alter that particular unity which consists in a - dualism, in the division of forces between the longing after what - is evil and the adoration of what is good; or rather, in the - antagonism of spirit and flesh.... - -I have not mentioned the most striking "feature" of Mr. Thorley's ... -production--the appendix. Six of Verlaine's poems are translated by him -for the benefit of those who do not understand French "intimately." "To -offer them to other readers, would, of course, be an impertinence," he -modestly admits. Impertinence is not the word for that outrage. I have -experienced physical pain at the sight of the Hunnish sacrilege -committed by this well-wishing moralist. The poet, for whom "De la -musique avant toute chose; De la musique encore et toujours!" who had -pleaded, "Car nous voulons la nuance encore, Pas la couleur, rien que -la nuance!" has been mercilessly crucified in the form of -quasi-Tennysonian, taffy-like verses. One recalls with gratitude the -careful albeit pale translations of Gertrude Hall, who at least had the -sense of æsthetic propriety in endeavoring to remain true to the -master's meter and rhythm. - - * * * * * - -From Tolstoy's diary in 1855: - - ... a great, a stupendous idea, to the realization of which I - feel myself capable of devoting all my life. The idea is the - foundation of a new religion corresponding to the development of - mankind--_the religion of Jesus, but purified from dogma and - mysticism; a practical religion, not promising bliss in future, - but giving happiness on earth_.... To work consciously for _the - union on earth_ by religion.... - -From a letter to the poet Fet in 1898: - - I am so different to things of this life that life becomes - uninteresting.... I hope you will love me though I be black. - -From the fragment _There are no guilty people_: - - There was a time when I tried to change my position which was not - in harmony with my conscience, but the conditions created by the - past, by my family and its claims upon me, were so complicated - that I did not know how to free myself. I had not the strength. - Now that I am over eighty and have become feeble I have given up - trying to free myself. Strange to say, as my feebleness increases - I realize more and more strongly the wrongfulness of my position, - and it grows more and more intolerable to me. - -On his death-bed at the railroad station Astapovo, November, 1910: - - I am tired of this world of men. - -Tolstoy's failure was inevitable, for he had approached life with the -uncompromising logic of a child or a god. For fifty years he preached -his religion, and during all that time he remained splendidly -inconsistent. He opposed private property and proceeded to live on his -estate; he had denounced marriage and was a father to thirteen children. -Notwithstanding his deadly hatred for the Russian government, he -bitterly denounced the liberals and the revolutionists for their -"un-Christian" ways of fighting the enemy; but his greatest -contradiction, to the joy of the intellectual world, consisted in the -victory of the artist over the moralist as manifested in his numerous -novels and plays. - -The work of Edward Garnett is conscientious and is, to my knowledge, the -best short biography of Tolstoy. It was a happy idea to discard the -traditional portrait and use a reproduction of Kramskoy's painting, -which dates back to the sixties, if I am not mistaken. It is when -looking at this portrait, a great piece of art in itself, that we -envisage the author of _War and Peace_. A few words from the description -of Tolstoy's face by P. A. Terzeyeonvo: - - His face was a true peasant's face: simple, rustic, with a broad - nose, a weather-beaten skin, and thick overhanging brows, from - beneath which small, keen, grey eyes peered sharply forth.... One - instantly divines in Tolstoy a man of the highest society--with - polished, unconstrained manners. - - ... On the one hand an insatiable thirst for power over people, - and on the other an unconquerable ardor for inward purity and the - sweetness of meekness.... - - In this chain of seething, imperious instincts linked with - delicate spiritual organization lies the profound tragicness of - Tolstoy's personality. - -Mr. Garnett succeeds in giving the quintessence of Tolstoy's works and -teachings in less than a hundred pages. Like most of the Russian's -eulogistic biographers, Mr. Garnett has not escaped the fallacy of -exaggerating the moral power that Tolstoy exercised over the government. -To say that the Czar and his ministers "dared not touch" the outspoken -anarchist and heretic "out of dread of Europe--nay, of Russia," is to -reveal one's ignorance of the brazen defiance displayed by Muscovite -autocrats in regard to public opinion. As the Germans put it: "Herr -Kossack, schämen Sie sich!" Tolstoy, as a matter of fact, had helped to -check the revolutionary spirit of his compatriots in a greater degree -than the tyrannic persecutions of Von-Plehve. Had he not appealed time -and again to embrace his doctrine of Non-Resistance? Had he not -denounced the revolutionists as violent prototypes of their hangers? -Could the government see any danger in a man who wrote in _The Times_ -during the revolution of 1905: "To free oneself from the government it -is only necessary to abstain from participating in it and supporting it. -Our consciousness of the law of God demands from us only one thing: -moral self-perfection, i. e., the liberation of oneself from all those -weaknesses and vices which make one the slave of governments and the -participation in their crimes"? Another tragic contradiction of the -restless soul of the anarchist who, despite himself, renders aid to the -despots. - - --Alexander S. Kaun. - - - INTROSPECTION - - _Chance_, by Joseph Conrad. [Doubleday, Page & Company, New - York.] - -Did you ever take supper in the apartments of a dear bachelor friend, on -a night when the wind howled outside the window, and the rain beat -against the pane? And after the satisfying meal, whose perfect -appointment made you forget all save the luxury of living, did you -retire to the spacious living room, and after accepting an aromatic -Havana, stretch your feet out to the crackling log fire, and as the -smoke from your cigar crawled upward listen to the philosophical -analyses of your cultured host on that marvelously simple and profoundly -complex servant and master of man, the human mind? Of such an evening is -the atmosphere of _Chance_. Not academically deep, but deep from the -standpoint of a full life and an active intelligence. - -Everyone loves to analyze his fellow creatures. Some do it well, some do -it badly, but we all do it. Conrad does it masterfully. There doesn't -seem to be a type which holds a mystery for him. The village pillar; the -frail, ill-fated maid; the buxsom housewife; the silent captain ashore -and afloat; the opinionated, retired old gentleman; the cynical, -good-natured man of thirty-five; the flat, tintless fraud. Into the -mental realm of all these he makes expeditions long and short. His -characters live. They mingle good and bad, and, as strong characters -should, weave for themselves a charming story of love, adventure, trial, -and victory, never trite, and always surprising. It is a tale built of -character studies and garnished with odd conjective philosophy. - - Our new acquaintance paused, then added meditatively: - - "Queer man. As if it made any difference. Queer man." - - "It's certainly unwise to admit any sort of responsibility for - our actions, whose consequences we are never able to foresee," - remarked Marlow by way of assent. - - "The consequence of his action was that I got a ship," said the - other. "That could not do much harm," he added with a laugh which - argued a probably unconscious contempt of general ideas. - - But Marlow was not put off. He was patient and reflective. He had - been at sea many years and I verily believe he liked sea-life - because upon the whole it is favourable to reflection. I am - speaking of the now nearly vanished sea-life under sail. To those - who may be surprised at the statement I will point out that this - life secured for the mind of him who embraced it the inestimable - advantages of solitude and silence. Marlow had the habit of - pursuing general ideas in a peculiar manner, between jest and - earnest. - - "Oh, I wouldn't suggest," he said, "that your namesake, Mr. - Powell, the Shipping Master, had done you much harm. Such was - hardly his intention. And even if it had been he would not have - had the power. He was but a man, and the incapacity to achieve - anything distinctly good or evil is inherent in our earthly - condition. Mediocrity is our mark. And perhaps it's just as well, - since, for the most part, we cannot be certain of the effect of - our actions." - - "I don't know about the effect," the other stood up to Marlow - manfully. "What effect did you expect anyhow? I tell you he did - something uncommonly kind." - - "He did what he could," Marlow retorted gently, "and on his own - showing that was not a very great deal. I cannot help thinking - that there was some malice in the way he seized the opportunity - to serve you. He managed to make you uncomfortable. You wanted to - go to sea, but he jumped on the chance of accommodating your - desire with a vengeance. I am inclined to think your cheek - alarmed him. And this was an excellent occasion to suppress you - altogether. For if you accepted he was relieved of you with every - appearance of humanity, and if you made objections (after - requesting his assistance, mind you) it was open to him to drop - you as a sort of impostor. You might have had to decline that - berth for some very valid reason. From sheer necessity, perhaps. - The notice was too uncommonly short. But under the circumstances - you'd have covered yourself with ignominy." - - Our new friend knocked the ashes out of his pipe. - -There is something about Conrad which gives a warm feeling about the -heart. A certain fineness of humor, a certain fullness of sympathy. He -never mixes his similes; they always take the same tone and the same -color. For instance: - - I took a piece of cake and went out to bribe the Fyne dog into - some sort of self-control. His sharp, comical yapping was - unbearable, like stabs through one's brain, and Fyne's deeply - modulated remonstrances abashed the vivacious animal no more than - the deep, patient murmur of the sea abashes a nigger minstrel on - a popular beach. Fyne was beginning to swear at him in low, - sepulchral tones when I appeared. The dog became at once wildly - demonstrative, half-strangling himself in his collar, his eyes - and tongue hanging out in the excess of his uncomprehensible - affection for me. This was before he caught sight of the cake in - my hand. A series of vertical springs high up in the air - followed, and then, when he got the cake, he instantly lost his - interest in everything else. - -No, this illustration is not of Conrad's finest, but in a homely way it -illustrates a deep sympathy with life, which this strong worker and -writer gives in such bountiful measure in all his literature; and, to -quote an eminent writer, "Literature and Conrad are interchangeable -terms." - - --Henry Blackman Sell. - - - AN AMERICAN NOVEL - - _Clark's Field_, by Robert Herrick. [Houghton Mifflin Company, - Boston.] - -It was but the other day that Mr. Herrick told us what he thought about -the American novel. Those who read the trenchant article found not only -a criticism of our machine-like fictionists and their half-baked -methods, but also a sturdy conviction that the day was surely -approaching when we should demand and receive a truer and more vital -presentation of our national life in our literature. And if Mr. Herrick, -long since tagged an apostate to our national creed of turgid optimism, -believes this, we can safely trust to his cool vision and be glad that -the tide has turned. The rich human material lies ready at hand, and the -audience is fast growing intelligent and discriminating. As yet, -however, "we await the writer or writers keen enough to perceive the -opportunity, powerful enough to interest the public in what it has been -unwilling to heed, and of course endowed with sufficient insight to -comprehend our big new world." - -Whatever may be said for our other novelists, surely not one of them can -exhibit a mingling of the powers of insight and artistry equal to that -of Robert Herrick. His work from the beginning has been an honest and -incisive attempt to interpret our life in its peculiar and universal -aspects, in spite of the clamor of the public at his tearing away of the -veils of sentimentality and prudery. The errors into which he fell were -due to the ardor of his spiritual vision, which drove him into an -impassioned taking of sides. He has emerged from that stage into what -his critics call his "old manner," a more objective treatment of his -material. But in the process of change something was lost--the element -of flaming intensity which gave the reader a similar capacity to feel. -In this latest performance, as well as in _One Woman's Life_, he is -always cool, clear-sighted, and admirably efficient in the task he sets -himself; but never passionate. On the contrary, despite the pervading -atmosphere of earnestness, he often assumes a playful satiric tone, -mordant but not bitter,--a method well suited to his matter and purpose. - -_Clark's Field_ tells the story of the influence of property upon the -human beings who own it and hope to reap gold from its increasing value. -All that is left of the great Clark farm is a fifty-acre field in a -growing New England town, bequeathed jointly to the two brothers, Edward -and Samuel, the former of whom has emigrated to the West and wholly -disappeared from the ken of his relatives. So at first the tale is of -the baleful influence of expectation delayed again and again: in the -case of Samuel who cannot sell the land because of his brother's -half-interest, and who in consequence sinks into a sodden inertia; in -his son's disintegration into a lazy and drunken "Vet"; in his sister -Addie's sordid and pathetic sally into life resulting in the birth of -another human being destined to taste of the fruit of their tree and to -find it, one day, very bitter. - -The greater portion of the novel, then, deals with the influence of the -realized wealth upon the unformed, colorless little girl, Adelle, the -last of the Clarks. It is a masterly piece of work--the gradual -development of the pale rooming-house drudge into the silly and insolent -woman of fashion, and slowly but certainly into a human being with a -soul. Less promising stuff for a heroine neither fate nor Mr. Herrick -could have chosen; the latter delights in ample admissions throughout -the book of Adelle's lack of beauty, brains, and charm. Yet he is always -sufficiently temperate to escape the danger of caricature. Adelle is a -convincing figure. The slow dawning upon her consciousness of the power -of money, her "magic lamp" which she need only rub to gratify any -desire, is followed by swift and constant use of the new weapon. It -brings her a fresh assurance, a few scatter-brained friends, some -stylish clothes, and, at length, a callow youth for a husband. It never -brings her contact with a real person or friendship with a stimulating -individual; nor can it save her from the failure of her marriage, nor -compensate her for the death of her little boy. - -Adelle's story, then, turns out to be what we least expected it,--a -hopeful one. It leaves us with almost a sense of security, for is she -not one of those who can "derive good from her mistakes," and therefore -"the safest sort of human being to raise in this garden plot of souls"? -And although we are still saddled with "that absurd code of inheritance -and property rights that the Anglo-Saxon peoples have preserved from -their ancient tribal days in the gloomy forests of the lower Rhine," the -situation is not without hope, since it has yielded a man of the judge's -type, in whom the beauty of a past idealism is coupled with the -freshness of a new vision of responsibility. - -To hark back to the recent article in _The Yale Review_, we believe that -Mr. Herrick himself has given us an American novel--thoroughly American -in situation, character, treatment, and even in philosophy. We, as a -people, are beginning to suspect our boastful optimism as we become -aware of the sordidness beneath the fair exterior of our glorious -civilization. And in accordance with the western temperament, the -awareness of wrong leads not to bitter cynicism but to sturdy efforts -toward amelioration. Such, then, is the spirit of _Clark's Field_--a -hopefulness in the power of courage, and labor, and a growing sense of -social responsibility to move mounds that seem to have become immovable -mountains through a tenacious fostering of tradition. - - --Marguerite Swawite. - - - THE "SAVAGE" PAINTERS - - _Cubists and Post Impressionism_, by Arthur Jerome Eddy. [A. C. - McClurg and Company, Chicago.] - -An attempt to explain the new schools in art "in plain, every-day -terms." An earnest appeal for tolerance in regard to seemingly -perversive forms. The book has a wealth of material and numerous -quotations from Picasso, Picabia, Cézanne, Matisse, and others, -considerably more interesting and instructive than Mr. Eddy's own -truisms. Although the author repeatedly resents any accusation in his -adherence to Cubism, the reader gets the impression that the Cubistic -movement has received a more thorough and fair treatment than the other -new schools. Of the sixty-nine reproductions of Post-Impressionistic -paintings and sculpture, only five represent the Futurists. Idillon -Redon, who gave us the greater delight in last year's International -Exhibition, is totally ignored. Among the Self-Portraits that of Matisse -is sorely missed--a work that helps greatly in understanding the quaint -painter of the Woman in Red Madras. Whether Mr. Eddy will succeed in -convincing the prejudiced conservatives is doubtful; but in those who -have appreciated the daring attempts of the new schools his book will -arouse a renewed longing for the foreign "savages" and an ardent hope -for their further invasions in our "sane and healthful" galleries. - - - THE SAME BOOK FROM ANOTHER STANDPOINT - - (With apologies to the author of _Tender Buttons_) - - _Oil and Water_ - -Enough water is plenty and more, more is almost plenty enough. -Enthusiastically hurting sad size, such size, same size slighter, same -splendor simpler, same sore sounder. Glazed glitter, eddy eddies -discover discovered discoveries, discover Mediterranean sea, large print -large. Small print small, picked plumes painters and penmen, pretty -pieces Picasso, Picabia plus Plato, Hegel, Cézanne, Kandinsky, more -plenty more, small print single sign of oil supposing shattering scatter -and scattering certainly splendidly. Suppose oil surrounded with watery -sauce, suppose spare solely inside, suppose the rest. - - --A. S. K. - - - - - SENTENCE REVIEWS - - - (Inclusion in this category does not preclude a more extended - notice.) - -_The Return of the Prodigal_, by May Sinclair. [The Macmillan Company, -New York.] Eight short stories, all subtly done. _The Cosmopolitan_ -proves beyond a doubt that women, or at least the thousandth woman, is -capable of a disinterested love of life and of nature. It is a big story -and a very finished one. - -_John Addington Symonds_, by Van Wyck Brooks. [Mitchell Kennerley, New -York.] A biography of rare charm and distinction in which Mr. Brooks -builds a clear picture of Symonds's life as it is related to our day. - -_The Sister of the Wind_, and _Other Poems_, by Grace Fallow Norton. -[Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston.] Some of this will disappoint lovers -of _Little Gray Songs From St. Joseph's_--in fact, none of the poems -here has such extraordinary poignancy. But there are many that are worth -knowing. - -_The Continental Drama of Today_, by Barrett H. Clark. [Henry Holt and -Company, New York.] Invaluable to the student of continental drama. A -half dozen pages of critical analysis devoted to each of thirty modern -playwrights. - -_Stories and Poems and Other Uncollected Writing_, by Bret Harte, -compiled by Charles Meeker Kozlay, with an introductory account of -Harte's early contributions to the California press. [Houghton Mifflin -Company, Boston.] A very beautiful Riverside Press volume with -photogravures. - -_I Should Say So_, by James Montgomery Flagg. [George H. Doran Company, -New York.] Yes, he is silly; but Mr. Flagg is so nicely naughty and so -naughtily human that you simply must laugh. - -_Broken Music_, by Phyllis Bottome. [Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston.] -Charming and well done. The story of a young French boy's struggle to -create music, and his success after the tradition of a "broken heart" -had been fulfilled. - -_The Old Game_, by Samuel G. Blythe. [George H. Doran Company, New -York.] A temperance tract by a man who knows; minus sanctimoniousness -and plus a punch. - -_Dramatic Portaits_, by P. P. Howe. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] One -man's opinion of the modern dramatists. A "shelf book" for occasional -reference. - -_Billy and Hans_, by W. J. Stillman. [Thomas B. Mosher, Portland, -Maine.] A charming story of the most temperamental of pets, the -squirrel. A Mosher book bound in a cover dark enough to stand wear. A -distinct relief from the Alice blue and pale old rose of Mr. Mosher's -more delicate periods. - -_Billy_, by Maud Thornhill Porter. [Thomas B. Mosher, Portland, Maine.] -The true story of a canary bird. One of those little documents written -for the enjoyment of a family circle and read on winter evenings. -Bright, human, and personal. - -_The Social Significance of the Modern Drama_, by Emma Goldman. [Richard -G. Badger, Boston.] Miss Goldman discusses Ibsen, Strindberg, Sudermann, -Hauptmann, Wedekind, Maeterlinck, Rostand, Brieux, Shaw, Galsworthy, -Stanley Houghton, Githa Sowerby, Yeats, Lenox Robinson, T. G. Murray, -Tolstoy, Tchekhof, Gorki, and Andreyev, outlining the plays of each and -emphasizing their relation to the problem of modern society. She is the -interpreter here rather than the propagandist, and her interpretations -are not academic discourses. They give you the plays partly by -quotation, partly in crisp narrative, and they are not the kind of -interpretations that make the authors wish they had never written plays. -Whether you like Emma Goldman or not, you will get a more compact and -comprehensive working-knowledge of the modern drama from her book than -from any other recent compilation we know of. - - - - - DEDICATED - TO THAT HISTORIC MOMENT - WHEN - THEODORE ROOSEVELT - THE GREAT AMERICAN CHANTECLIER - SHALL AWAKE - TO FIND - THE SUN HIGH IN HEAVEN - AND THAT - HE - HAD CROWED NOT - - - - - A CHANGE OF PRICE - - -With the August issue, the sixth month of our very flourishing life, we -have decided to make one important change in _The Little Review_. We are -reducing the subscription price to $1.50 a year, and that of single -copies to 15 cents. There will be no change in size or appearance. 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For particulars address William Saphier, - circulation manager, The Little Review, 917 Fine Arts Building, - Chicago. - - _Beginning in August, $1.50 a year; 15 cents a copy_ - - - - - Transcriber's Notes - - -Advertisements were collected at the end of the text. - -The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect -correctly the headings in this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW. - -The article THE NEW LOYALTY--in the print interrupted on page 31--was -continued on page 66. Page 66 was therefore moved directly after page -31. - -The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical -errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here -(before/after): - - [p. 56]: - ... Pas la coulem rien que la nuance!" has been mercilessly - crucified ... - ... 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