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diff --git a/old/64177-0.txt b/old/64177-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5cf0412..0000000 --- a/old/64177-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3944 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, September 1914 (Vol. 1, -No. 6), 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, September 1914 (Vol. 1, No. 6) - -Author: Various - -Editor: Margaret C. Anderson - -Release Date: December 30, 2020 [eBook #64177] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -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, http://www.modjourn.org. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, SEPTEMBER 1914 -(VOL. 1, NO. 6) *** - - - - - THE LITTLE REVIEW - - - _Literature Drama Music Art_ - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON - EDITOR - - SEPTEMBER, 1914 - - Poems Maxwell Bodenheim - Armageddon - Women in War Sonya Levien - Children of War Eunice Tietjens - Grocer Shops and Souls - The Democrat With Apologies to Mr. Galsworthy - The Constructive Reasoner " - The Crucified Dionysus Alexander S. Kaun - Poems Amy Lowell - The Poetry of Revolt Charles Ashleigh - The Nietzschean Love of Eternity George Burman Foster - The Restaurant Violin George Soule - Editorials - "Baboosya" - Obituary of a Poet Floyd Dell - Humbugging the Public Henry Blackman Sell - New York Letter George Soule - Book Discussion: - The Gospel According to Moore - Chekhov and Andreyev - Horace Traubel's Whitman - "Midstream" - A Defense of the Grotesque - The Reader Critic - - Published Monthly - - 15 cents a copy - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher - Fine Arts Building - CHICAGO - - $1.50 a year - - - - - THE LITTLE REVIEW - - - Vol. I - - SEPTEMBER, 1914 - - No. 6 - - Copyright, 1914, by Margaret C. Anderson. - - - - - Poems - - - MAXWELL BODENHEIM - - - After Feeling Deux Arabesques by Debussy - - I stuffed my ears with faded stars - From the little universe of music pent in me, - For your fiendish ripple must be heard but once: - Passing twice through ears, it looses - Its thin divine kinkiness.... - I felt it undulate my soul-- - Lavender water, pitted and heaved to huge, uneasy circles. - - - Let Me Not Live Too Long - - Never will my crumbling tongue hug the drying sides of the basin, - Slaying the last, delicate drops. - Fire have I tasted; - It has flicked me but never burnt-- - I shall leave it before it breaks into me. - One flame will I wrap about my browned skin--a deed accomplished-- - To speak to me on the way. - Then will I go quickly, lest the other fire-beings scorch my slow feet. - - - To the Violinist - - (_Mr. Bodenheim writes of the violinist described in our last - issue._) - - Pits a trillion times blacker than black, - Fringed with little black grasses, each holding - The jerking, smoldering ghost of a thought. - (O deep-aged pupils and lashes!) - At the bottom of the pits lay the phosphorescent bones, - Of many souls that have cried and died. - I think you clutched one of your soul-bones with irreverent hands, - And struck your cringing violin. - - - Gifts - - A dwindling gift are you, laughter. - Old men have I seen, counterfeiting you on street-corners. - Never shall I join them, - For not in scorn do I laugh, but in praise. - Only with my smiles am I lavish; - A different smile for each thought have I. - (O thousands of smiles waiting for the labor of birth!) - To my death-bed will come the wildest smile: - It will be moon-paint on a colorless house. - - - Hell - - (_A Part of Heaven Overlooked by Ford Madox Hueffer._) - - Heaven and Hell are together. - As we walk home on a street in Heaven, in the evening, - Those in Hell will stalk past us - (For Hell is a condition, not a place) - And when we return at dawn will we still see them-- - Men bearing infants born dead, - Kissing the inert purple cheeks; - (For the kiss will be the one punishment of Hell); - Men and women holding the severed heads of those they once spat on. - Before a king kissing the head of his queen will we stop, - To give him a kind word; - Or before an anarchist clasping the head of the king; - Or before a woman carrying the head of the anarchist-- - Each unaware of the other's presence. - We will see them walking up and down the streets of Heaven - For countless years, - Till the day when the heads will disappear, - And the head-bearers build homes next to our own. - - - To a Woman - - Lovers married a thousand years in Heaven - And in that which lies beyond Heaven - (For Heaven is but the first rest of a thirstless journey) - Know not each other as we do. - Knowledge is born of a second: - We had our slim second, - And it will live for millions of years. - Only when it reaches the suburbs of Eternity, will it die. - - - - - Armageddon - - -The greatest war of history flames away all other human concerns. Upon -the reaction of humanity to this gigantic thing depends the future. - -No one can foresee what will happen to the cultures and the peoples -which already crackle in its vortex. It is more profitable to search the -heart of America. - -A great newspaper has published a cartoon picturing Uncle Sam on a -harvesting machine, calmly saying "Giddap" to his horses, while a -neglected sheet with the inscription "European war" blows to one side. -As long as devastation and horror do not exist on his own piece of land, -Uncle Sam doesn't care--while he can harvest his wheat and sell it at a -good high price to starving people. Even the dramatic aspect of the -tremendous conflict does not impinge on his provincial consciousness. -Can this contemptible attitude represent that of any great number of our -people? One cannot escape the feeling that it is the usual reaction of -the newspaper to any thing outside of "business," whether it be social -misery, or an interesting idea. But in this case its brutish stupidity -is so flagrantly apparent that even the majority must revolt from it. - -A more creditable reaction is anger. With such titanic wrath blazing in -Europe, any sensitive person must reflect a little of it. Anger at what? -We don't know precisely until we stop to think. The emotion comes before -the intellectual objective. Anger perhaps at the terrific human waste. -Twenty-odd million men flying at each other's throats and destroying the -bitterly won triumphs of years of peace, without any good reason. We -hear phrases like "balance of power," "dynastic supremacy," "the life of -our country," "patriotism," "racial prejudice," "difference of -religion." Each individual nation is praying to God with profound -sincerity for its own success. Priests bless the arms. There is no -denying the reality of all this in the consciousness of Europe. Such -things do lead men to battle with the fire of conviction. - -Well, the brutal fact stands out like a giant against the sky, that if -such motives can produce such a result, they are working only for their -own destruction. Not a single nation, whether conqueror or victim, can -come out of the struggle as strong or as great as it went in. All alike -must be swept into destitution of all the things civilization has taught -us to value. And this is the result of civilization! It is a spectacle -or demoniac laughter. - -And shall the United States stand aloof with a feeling of pitying -superiority, thinking that, because we happen to have a president -instead of a king, and inhabit a different continent, such motives are -foreign to us? What folly of conceit! As long as we cultivate the ideal -of patriotism, as long as we put economic value above spiritual and -human value, as long as in our borders there exist dogmatic religions, -as long as we consider desirable the private ownership and exploitation -of property for private profit--whether by nations or by individuals--we -maintain those elements of civilization which have led Europe to the -present crisis. - -Do not think that we shall ever escape wrath, hatred, violence. The -so-called "primitive emotions" are giving incontrovertible proof of -strong present existence. The thing to do is to turn all the emotions, -which are eternal, into new forms which shall not be self-destructive, -which shall propel instead of oppose the starward march of mankind. -Violence? Yes, if it destroys something hateful. - -Nineteenth-century civilization has overwhelmingly and dramatically -failed. What shall we build now? - - - - - Women in War - - - (_By a spectator_) - - SONYA LEVIEN - -The suffragettes at Lincoln's Inn are skeptical of foreigners' sympathy. -I pleaded with those in authority to be taken in. - -"It is real war with us," I was told, "and we have reached the stage -where, even at the sacrifice of being regarded as insane and fools by -the world, we cannot stop to explain all over again." It was not -curiosity, I urged, or lack of understanding. I believed in votes, but I -believed in women more; I wanted to feel as well as understand their -great Purpose. - -My earnestness won their faith, and for two weeks my senses were -saturated with every emotion that prevailed in the Englishwomen's fight -against their own country and the rest of the world. - -I saw their ammunition stored in back bedrooms of hidden houses--cotton -soaked in kerosene, small bags of stone, bottles filled with -queer-smelling liquids, and now and then a small bomb filled with powder -or metal. All this I considered very formidable then and marvelled at -the women's courage in handling the material. - -Scared and horrified, I witnessed the burning of two famous old -churches; I helped in the heckling of public speakers, and remonstrated -with the police at their outrages upon unoffending women. - -The spiritual urge of the fighting women transmitted itself to me and I -found myself supporting them with a courage not natural to me. That the -character of their protest might be petty, tactless, unwomanly, or even -futile, mattered not--for one felt that they were soldiers fighting in a -great cause, the slogan of which was: "Give us a chance to develop a -better race of men and women." And the Englishmen looked on ashamed of -their womenkind, and the rest of the world snickered. - -And then the cataclysm of war descended upon all Europe and civilized -man went mad for murder--wholesale terrible murder without reason or -purpose. Sickened by the cry for blood, the women's fight became holy in -its significance to me. I saw England change in five minutes when on the -streets of London the first cry of war was heard. In a lightning shift -Trafalgar Square became a seething mass of gesticulating people--a mob -which seemed instantly to drop its sacred inheritance of "good form" and -give way to wild and ominous protest and speak eloquently of "an honor" -to be upheld; but just what "the honor" was no one seemed to know. - -Berlin sang all night to the tune of "Die Wacht Am Rhein," in -celebration of the opportunity given the fittest of the Vaterland to -slaughter and be slaughtered by the pick of the neighboring countries. -But the reason and purpose for the slaughter they did not know. - -Russia, famous for its barbaric cruelty to the Poles and Jews, asks for -the sacrifice of the races and thinks itself a generous Christian if in -return it promises to give what is left of them the right to their -mother-tongue and the privilege to worship God in their own way. - -And what of the women? For the first time I felt the real greatness of -the women's fight and the sad futility of it before man's ignorance. For -the first time I felt the real tragedy of the women of Europe whose -business it is to bring up sons for the man's _game of war_. And to see -them now is to see death--a calm bitter death surrounded by panic and -catastrophe. - - - - - Children of War - - - EUNICE TIETJENS - - Out of the womb of war we cry to you, - We who have yet to be, - We who lie waiting in the strong loins of time, unformed and hesitant, - We who shall be your sons and your slim daughters. - In the womb of war shall you beget us, and with the seal of the war-god - shall we be sealed; - In ditches shall we be begotten, of lust-crazed soldiers on the - screaming women of the enemy. - Of camp followers and scavengers shall we be conceived, of the weakling - and the sick. - We shall be begotten in secret, stolen meeting of man and wife, drunk - with weariness the man, and blind with terror the woman. - In bitterness of soul shall we be borne, and deeply shall we suck the - pap of hatred. Revenge shall be our daily bread, and with - blood-lust shall we be nourished. - Yea, in our bodies shall we bear the seal of the war-beast. - Our hearts shall be thin and naked as your sword-blades, and our souls - ruthless as your cannon. - And we shall pay--year by year, in our frail bodies and our twisted - souls shall we pay - For your glorious patriotism. - Out of the womb of war we cry to you, - We who have yet to be! - - - - - Grocer Shops and Souls - - -A very eminent American professor has recently declared that American -literary criticism is deficient, that the commercialism of publishers is -largely responsible. The first proposition is obvious, the second -defensible. The professor further argues for a criticism based on -academic standards, which he says are as immutable as the ten -commandments; and he couples this with the declaration that criticism -finds its justification in the desire of the public to know what it is -buying. The immutable standards are to correspond with the -government-approved weights and measures of the grocer-shop. - -It would be enlightening to give the professor an opportunity to try his -plan. Let some millionaire, instead of starting a new college, endow a -critical magazine for the professor. In the first number should be -announced the fixed standards by which all literature is to be judged. -Then would follow calm, irrefutable issues in which the principles of -unity, coherence, emphasis and perhaps one or two other measures, should -be applied to new literature. The public, eager for standard articles, -would, of course, never again read Hall Caine and Harold Bell Wright. -The commercialization of literature would be abolished, for would not -the professor declare it to be against the decalogue? And there would -arise a new generation of writers, carefully observing all academic -rules, and scrupulously giving the public full measure of what it wants. -A veritable Utopia, an apotheosis of the grocer-shop! - -But, however much we may doubt the possibility of such a thing, we -cannot oppose the professor, because he has disarmed opposition by -predicting it. Of course, he says in effect, there will arise hordes of -young, ill-seasoned, and irresponsible persons who will deny my sound -position. But don't let them trouble you; they are of a piece with all -the queer people who nowadays are advancing preposterous new ideas. As -if anything that is not sanctioned by tradition could possibly be taken -seriously! - -Very well, we won't oppose the professor. We are quite willing to let -him go ahead pigeon-holing the kind of literature that appeals to him, -and anything he may be able to do in turning the public taste from Hall -Caine deserves approbation. But in the meantime we shall assiduously -forget about him, and try some experiments of our own in the effort to -say vital things about literature. - -In the first place, we don't believe in the majority rule for writers. -We don't believe that a writer ever lived who wrote anything really good -because he thought the reading public wanted it. Our conviction is based -on the testimony of writers themselves. A writer should write what is in -him, not what is in the public. He has no excuse for writing unless he -is a stronger, more sensitive, and more intelligent man than either his -readers or his critics. That is the first distinction between the -manufacturer of sausages and the maker of books. - -In the second place, we don't believe in the subjection of writers to -critics, or to fixed standards, or to anything except themselves. -Whatever excuse there is for standards arises from the fact that writers -have furnished the examples on which the standards are founded. The -writer must find his authority in his own soul. The one thing he must do -is to say what he has to say in the way which seems to him right. The -history of art is one long example of the discarding by genius of rules -founded on previous work. When was a new technique ever predicted by the -academic critic? When has not the new genius been bitterly fought by the -academic critic? The natural history of art is this--first the artist, -then the intelligent critic, then the appreciative public. - -The function of the critic is to be a warrior for the artist. He must -understand profoundly, he must be quick to detect and denounce artistic -insincerity, he must declare the man who has attained the magic of real -aesthetic rightness. The recognition of artistic excellence does not -proceed by the scaffolding of academicism; it is instinctive, just as -its creation was instinctive, emotional. The critic may, if he likes, -oppose the artist, but his first duty is to make him known. He must say -to the public, not "you will like this man" but "you must like this man, -or at least you must experience him." No critic is fit to do these -things unless he understands the passionate independence of the real -artist, his service of no law except inner necessity. - -Our spiritual world is tangled up in mechanism. No sooner does a fresh -wind make itself known than we try to imprison it in a system, to impale -it with a classification. Let us have done with these futilities. The -important joy is to feel the mysterious and dynamic glory of the wind. -We need in our criticism, as in our literature, more insight, more -emotion, more of the power that is produced by virility and the -corresponding female quality for which there is as yet no adequate name. -The heightening of consciousness, the intensifying of essential -values--these shall be our critical aims. - -A sense of the obviousness of what we have said prevents us from -amplifying it. Our excuse for saying it is that there are still many -professors in the world! - - There is nothing sane about the worship of beauty. It is - something entirely too splendid to be sane.--_Oscar Wilde._ - - - - - The Democrat - - - (_With apologies to Mr. Galsworthy_) - -He knew himself for a democrat. He might be with a crowd of what he -called "real people" and if he happened to pass a waiter who had served -him or a barber who had shaved him he would speak to them. He would do -it without the least embarrassment or condescension; anything else he -would have considered low. His friends knew him to be essentially -democratic; they would assure you of this quality in him as something -that only the morally courageous possess. - -To have explained that his attitude was a matter of common sense rather -than democracy would have left him bewildered. Surely every one -recognized that there were certain barriers that had to be maintained; -it was not a question of snobbishness, but simply of natural law. The -man who had pushed ahead and made something of himself was more entitled -to the respect of his fellows than the waiter who was content to spend -his life serving other people. Take himself, for example. He might have -been a bricklayer if he had not worked hard enough to be a power on the -Board of Trade. He had done it all himself and he knew the difficulties -of the struggle. He could remember the time when he would hire a taxi -and dash all over town to find the special brand of cigarettes he liked. -Of course he realized now that that was an extravagant and foolish thing -to do; but after all a boy must have his taste of "sporting." And then, -of course, there was nothing _harmful_ in chasing around town for -cigarettes in a taxi. He might have been doing something really wrong -instead--such as marrying a chorus girl or becoming one of those -revolutionists who worries his friends to death by fighting for the -proletariat and getting into jail as a consequence. No, thank heaven, he -had had his little flings, but he had always kept his head. He had never -really done anything to disgrace himself or his friends. But it was a -hard struggle, and he respected anyone who had come through it -successfully. That was the reason of his insistence on natural barriers. -That was the reason he felt it an honor to shake the hand of a great -man--the man who had made a million by his skilful corner of the wheat -market, for instance. He had a real respect for brains, for power, for -achievement, for all the things that keep a man from being a weakling. - -Not that he worshipped power or made a god of success. On the contrary, -he was something of an idealist himself--though not the sort literary -people talk about. He always made it a point to state that he had no use -for literary "ideas." Those people didn't really know what they were -talking about. They were so impractical; they wanted to change the face -of the earth and they seemed to think that ideas would do it. But even -for that sort of thing he had a certain tolerance: he remembered how he -had planned long ago to be a missionary--to go to the ends of the world -and help people. He did not remember just what he wanted to help them -to, but it was a sort of plan to ease his conscience when he felt he -wasn't doing any good in the world. However, he had got over that in the -same way he had given up his vision of the brown-stone mansion with -which he had planned at eighteen to delight the woman he married. - -He was very human, too; but he did demand certain standards of conduct. -There was nothing he hated like snobbishness--he would always speak to -anybody, no matter what he had done; but beyond that he respected -himself and his friends too much to venture. When the men at his club -pointed out, with their knowing winks, that a certain woman was -"outside"--well, that was enough for him. He would never do anything to -push her further down, but he could at least warn his friends. And he -had an infinite disgust, a pitying contempt for those who suggested that -circumstances may have had something to do with it. As though it were -not the prime business of every human being to fight circumstances; as -though he himself might not have been a regular Mark Lennan if he had -let himself go. Every man had these things in him. That was the trouble -with such writers as Galsworthy:--they helped people to tolerate -weakness, even to see a certain beauty in it. It had got to be the -fashion, especially among "literary" circles, to break away from -standardizations. The persons who did so were given credit for living a -fuller Life. How he hated their talk--what rot it was to suppose that -any life could be full or rich unless it were a good life. And if there -was anything in the world, in these hysterical times, to which a man -could anchor, it was the fact that good was good and bad was bad, and -even a child knew which was which. There was no arguing about it. - -But people seldom argued with him because he disarmed them beforehand by -declaring that it didn't matter what any one thought: all these things -had been settled for us long ago; they were the very bulwark of our -progress, our prosperity, our whole civilization. It was strange that -the people who most enjoyed the benefits of that civilization should be -the ones to abuse it. If one must know outcasts (and one might of course -be able to help them) let him confine the acquaintanceship to his office -or some place where he would not run the risk of influencing other -people. He remembered with horror a woman he had once known who could -never understand these distinctions. He had not tried to dissuade her -from knowing any one in the world she wanted to know; but he had begged -her to be discreet about it, at least--to remember her responsibilities -in the matter on account of her friends, and to be sure that "those -people" were made to feel the inevitable barrier between. "Good God!" he -had said, "I'm democratic and all that; but you can't let people of that -sort feel they're your equals!" Eventually he stopped worrying about the -woman--after she told him that she would be proud to be as big and fine -as those friends of hers. What was the use? She must have been a little -insane all the time; because he knew that she was a good woman, and -those "friends" of hers were the sort who believed in free love and that -kind of thing--some of them had even been in jail for preaching -anarchism. - -He had solved such problems in his own case much in the same way he had -solved the question of his family relationships. He had been brought up -in a home where card-playing, smoking, theatre-going, etc., were -forbidden. His life as a man had of course included all these evils. But -whenever he visited the old home he reverted to the old order. He would -no more think of smoking a cigarette in his mother's presence than he -would think of telling her how vital a part of his life the theatre had -become. He had too much respect for her. He knew it would hurt her, and -his love and reverence for her were too deep to allow of that. - -Something of the same simplicity and clarity colored his ideas of -property. Let each man work for his little plot of ground, own it, and -live on it. That would do away with all this fuss and competition. He -knew there were people who talked vaguely about property being robbery; -but what was there to keep the ambition in a man, make a good citizen of -him, if it were not his struggle for possession of something he might -call his own? If he had not had his little plot to look forward to, and -the thought of the woman who was to share it with him, he would long ago -have stopped working and started off to the South Sea Islands, wandering -about the earth aimlessly without any incentive. Incidentally, his idea -of the woman who was to share the plot was very interesting. He was not -one to talk bromidioms about woman's place being in the home, or to -discredit the achievements of the new woman. But the fact remained that -the new woman knew too much to be a comfortable companion. He refused to -be tyrannized; he would marry one of those sweet feminine women who -didn't know anything and live in peace and freedom. - -Sometimes he got rather sick of life and found himself in that "what's -the use?" mood. It worried him a little. In the same manner that he had -driven around in a taxi for cigarettes he now lounged about in hotel -corridors or at his club, watching the people, speculating about life. -It seemed a waste of time, rather; yet it harmed no one and it kept him -from a good many worse things. His conscience was clear--which was more -than most men could say. He knew men. The only thing that really weighed -upon him seriously was the fact that he was getting a little too fat. He -would have to try to eat less. - -True to his creed, his faith was in the people--the great mass of people -whose instincts always led them to the right thing. It was a safe rule -to go by--that of mistrusting the personality who did not measure up to -the decent average. It was the way to keep sane and healthful. -Socialists and anarchists and syndicalists and radicals in general--what -were they but abnormalities? He would never be guilty of the narrow -attitude that they ought to be hanged; they would quite naturally -fritter themselves out; for what they were all trying to achieve was -individualism pure and simple--and that would never buy bread for the -working-man or lift him to happiness. He might not be right about these -things, of course; but he had thought them out. Yes, he believed in the -people; he believed in their rights; and he believed in being kind to -them. There was no telling how much good a cheery smile might do, and so -he smiled constantly. A great man had once told him that he made it a -point to cultivate friendships only among those people who could help -him; and this seemed very sensible to the democrat. He practiced it -assiduously, with the result that he never lost that satisfying glow -which comes in with shaking a hand that belongs with a full dress shirt. - - M. C. A. - - - - - The Constructive Reasoner - - - (_A Non-Mythical Allegory_) - - GEORGE SOULE - -He was born in the glacial age. They originally called him something -else, but as soon as he was old enough to talk he lisped the tertiary -dialect for "constructive reasoner"--when they paid any attention to -him. Later he was recognized by his characteristic expression, "Yes, -but--". When he was ten years old he watched his father, with much skill -and heroism, slaying a musk ox. "Why did you kill him?" he asked. "To -eat," was the reply. "Yes," replied the prodigy, "but what will you put -in his place?" The misguided parent glared at his son without replying, -and passed him a second joint, which was consumed with relish. - -The tragedy of his early life was to watch the glaciers slowly leveling -mountains and laying up vast wastes of terminal moraine without -conscious purpose. All this destruction weighed on his soul. - -He was ever an observer. As time went on, his intellect grew more -ponderous. He saw mankind slay the dinosaurs, rob the earth of its -minerals, hew down vast trees, and agitate the earth with rude plows. -Agitators were particularly distasteful to him. He stood aloof from -these movements, because he did not believe in destruction. And when men -finally set sail on the seas, he was moved to poetic rancor. "You are -destroying the mystery of the ocean" he cried. But he built himself a -fine house from the products of their commerce. - -He was in Rome when the Goths swept down over Italy and sacked it. "What -will you give us instead?" he asked their leader. The Northerner frankly -did not know. "You have no right to sweep away something that has been -established so long unless you can put in its place something better," -he complained. The great Goth laughed and grabbed another handful of -jewels. - -Religions seemed to him peculiarly sacred. With great satisfaction he -watched the burning of the early Christian agitators, who were -attempting to tear in pieces the comfortable old hierarchy of Jove. -"What is this utopian theory of theirs?" he asked, derisively. "It won't -work. You can't change human nature in a day. When they give us a -program I can't pick flaws in, I will listen to them." Later he was -particularly incensed at Martin Luther and remonstrated with him for -undermining so many persons' simple faith without giving them something -that would exactly fill its place. - -In the modern world he found a very comfortable niche. A city of -tradesmen offered him the post of chief prophet. Not that they bothered -much about his great principle, but he always did his best to stave off -the destructive elements of society, who interfered with business. He -advised people to be comfortable and quiet. He deplored violence of any -kind. Sane progress was all very well, but he always demanded progress -of visionaries and theorists, and he always pointed out tremendous flaws -in their programs. He opposed bitterly anything in the nature of tariff -reform or anti-trust laws. Such things destroyed business confidence, -and were not the business men the great constructive element in society? -To women who wanted the vote, he said "Woman's place is in the home. If -you had your way, you would destroy the family." He supported practical -men for office. - -One day he came upon a workman wrecking an old building. The sight -filled him with pain. He went up to the man and asked him if he were -sure that the new building would be better than the old, if in fact it -would stand at all? To his great surprise the workman paid no attention -to him. Again the constructive reasoner put the question; he even -touched the workman on the shoulder. But it was as if the questioner did -not exist. He was angry and chagrined. Then it dawned on him that he was -dead. Unconsciously he had become a ghost. - -Jehovah appointed a private judgment day for him. The dead hero came -before the throne. "Who are you?" asked the ruler of the universe. "I am -the constructive reasoner," he replied proudly. "What have you -constructed?" was the next question. For the first time since his birth, -the mortal was at a loss. - -"Never mind," said Jehovah, "you have earned Heaven, for there all is -peace and perfection; there no one tears down or builds up." And so -Jehovah put him into a place which was labeled "Heaven," and locked the -gate on the outside. - -For a while the saved soul sat on a golden throne and was contented. But -soon he began to be a little bored. He went to an older inhabitant and -asked him what one does in Heaven. "Nothing," was the answer. "The place -is populated with souls who have done nothing but try to get here, and -now they must rest from their labors. What can there be to do, in a -place that is perfect?" - -For a moment the new arrival suspected for the first time that all these -years he had been mistaken. Would it not be better to be building -something, even if one had to destroy something else as a preliminary? -But he layed the suspicion aside as unworthy of him. "Before I can -logically object to Heaven," he thought, "I must propose something -better. And of course, that is impossible." So he sat down again, to -await Eternity. - - G. S. - - Patriotism, sir, is the last resort of scoundrels.--_Dr. - Johnson._ - - - - - The Crucified Dionysus - - - ALEXANDER S. KAUN - -Achad Ha'am, in his admirable essay, _Priest and Prophet_, -differentiates between the two ways of serving an Idea. The Prophet is -essentially one-sided; a certain idea fills his whole being, masters his -every feeling and sensation, engrosses his whole attention. His gaze is -fixed always on what _ought_ to be in accordance with his own -convictions; never on what _can_ be consistently with the general -condition of things outside himself. He is a primal force. The Priest -also fosters the Idea, and desires to perpetuate it; but he is not of -the race of giants. Instead of clinging to the narrowness of the -Prophet, and demanding of reality what it cannot give, he broadens his -outlook, and takes a wider view of the relation between his Idea and the -facts of life. Not what _ought_ to be, but what _can_ be, is what he -seeks. The Idea of the Priest is not a primal force; it is an accidental -complex of various forces, among which there is no essential connection. -Their temporary union is due simply to the fact that they have happened -to come into conflict in actual life, and have been compelled to -compromise and join hands. The Priest sooner or later becomes a dominant -force, an interpreter, a teacher; the Prophet remains all his life "a -man of strife and a man of contention to the whole earth," and is cried -after, "The Prophet is a fool, the spiritual man is mad." Throughout the -ages we have seen the repetition of this phenomenon: from Jeremiah to -Nietzsche, from Paul to Brandes. The narrow-minded, hapless giants have -been sowing seed for future generations; the broad-minded interpreters -have been cultivating the soil for their contemporaries. - -_Friedrich Nietzsche_, by George Brandes, recently published by the -Macmillan company, adds little new to the vast interpretative literature -on the creator of Zarathustra. The book contains a moderate essay on -Aristocratic Radicalism, written in 1889, a necrolog, a brief note on -_Ecce Homo_, and a few letters interchanged between the philosopher and -the critic. In the last twenty-five years life and literature (perhaps I -ought to say art in general) have been so profoundly influenced by -Nietzschean views that the source of those views has ceased to be -discernable. From Gorky's _Bosyaki_ and the types of D'Annunzio down to -the Manifestoes of the Futurists, the aphorisms and paradoxes of -Nietzsche have been sounded and resounded on various scales, and the -slogan of Transvaluation of Values has been echoed and re-echoed from -the college platform, from the pulpit, from the soap-box, from the -stage, even from the cabaret and music-halls (the _Ueberbrettl'_ -movement in central Europe). Perhaps the American public has been too -"busy" to be touched by that hurricane, so that it was left to Dr. -Foster to appear in our day and proclaim with prophetic fervor and -pathos the "new" Decalogue; but then our neophytes will hardly find -adequate Dr. Brandes' Essay written in 1889, when Nietzsche was -practically unknown. - -Yet this belated book in its somewhat belated English translation -contains an invaluable feature--the correspondence between Nietzsche and -Brandes. "The letters he sent me in that last year of his conscious -life" says the famous critic, "appear to me to be of no little -psychological and biographical interest." Indeed so, and what is more, -they reveal a bit of the reserved personality of Brandes and provoke the -reader to venture a comparison between the correspondents. - -From the very first we mark the distinct characteristics of the Priest -and the Prophet. The careful, correct, and clear interpreter, and the -bewildering, cascading revaluator of life, or, to use Ben-Zakkay's -metaphor, the plastered well that does not lose a drop, and the powerful -spring ever shooting forth new streams; the earnest professor offering -practical suggestions, telling of the book-binder, of the copyright -business, and of the big audiences at his lectures, and the seething, -"three parts blind" sufferer who swings his imagination on -revolutionizing Europe, bringing "the whole world into convulsions." The -difference in the style of writing is also characteristic. As against -Brandes' "free and graceful French way in which he handles the -language," Nietzsche thus explains his "difficult position." - - On the scale of my experiences and circumstances, the - predominance is given to the rarer, remoter, more attenuated - tones as against the normal, medial ones. Besides (as an old - musician, which is what I really am), I have an ear for - quarter-tones. Finally--and this probably does more to make my - books obscure--there is in me a distrust of dialectics, even of - reasons. What a person already holds "true," or has not yet - acknowledged as true, seems to me to depend mainly on his - courage, on the relative strength of his courage (I seldom have - the courage for what I really know). - -To which Brandes comments with his usual clarity. - - ... You write more for yourself, think more of yourself in - writing, than for the general public; whereas most non-German - writers have been obliged to force themselves into a certain - discipline of style, which no doubt makes the latter clearer and - more plastic, but necessarily deprives it of all profundity and - compels the writer to keep to himself his most intimate and best - individuality, the anonymous in him. I have thus been horrified - at times to see how little of my inmost self is more than hinted - at in my writings. - -The earnest tone of Brandes' letters is at times counteracted by a -humorous frolic on the part of his correspondent. I even suspect an -ironical smile curving around the Polish mustache, when, for instance, -Nietzsche confesses his "admiration for the tolerance of your judgment, -as much as for the moderation of your sentences." Or as when Brandes -confesses: - - At the risk of exciting your wrath ... Wagner's _Tristan und - Isolde_ made an indelible impression on me. I once heard this - opera in Berlin, in a despondent, altogether shattered state of - mind, and I felt every note. I do not know whether the impression - was so deep because I was so ill. - -Nietzsche mischievously retorts: - - As to the effect of _Tristan_, I, too, could tell strange tales. - A regular dose of mental anguish seems to me a splendid tonic - before a Wagnerian repast. The _Reichsgerichtsrath_, Dr. Wiener, - of Leipzig, gave me to understand that a Carlsbad cure was also a - good thing.... - -Only once irony passes into impatient sarcasm. Nietzsche expresses his -regret at not knowing either Swedish or Danish. Yet Brandes continuously -tantalizes him with such exclamations as, "What a pity that so learned a -philologist as you should not understand Danish." Back comes a flash: -"Ah, how industrious you are! And idiot that I am, not to understand -Danish!" - -I am tempted to bring another illustration of the profound earnestness -of the Priest as against the plausible light-mindedness of the Prophet. - -Brandes writes: - - I am delighted with the aphorism on the hazard of marriage. But - why do you not _dig_ deeper here? You speak somewhere with a - certain reverence of marriage, which by implying an emotional - ideal has idealized emotion--here, however, you are more blunt - and forcible. Why not for once say the _full_ truth about it? I - am of opinion that the institution of marriage, which may have - been very useful in taming brutes, causes more misery to mankind - than even the church has done. Church, monarchy, marriage, - property, these are to my mind four old venerable institutions - which mankind will have to reform _from the foundations_ in order - to be able to breathe freely. And of these marriage alone kills - the individuality, paralyzes liberty and is the embodiment of a - paradox. But the shocking thing about it is that humanity is - still too coarse to be able to shake it off. The most emancipated - writers, so called, still speak of marriage with a devout and - virtuous air which maddens me. And they gain their point, since - it is impossible to say what one could put in its place for the - mob. There is nothing else to be done but slowly to transform - opinion. What do you think about it? - -And this is what Nietzsche thinks about it: - - I feel for you in the North, now so wintry and gloomy; how does - one manage to keep one's soul erect there? I admire almost every - man who does not lose faith in himself under a cloudy sky, to say - nothing of his faith in "humanity," in "marriage," in "property," - in the "State".... In Petersburg I should be a nihilist: here I - believe, as a plant believes, in the sun. The sun of Nice--you - cannot call that a prejudice. We have had it at the expense of - all the rest of Europe. God, with the cynicism peculiar to Him, - lets it shine upon us idlers, "philosophers," and sharpers more - brightly than upon the far worthier military heroes of the - "Fatherland." - -Think of the _Lebensfreude_ that sparkles from these lines written by a -man who a few months later had to be shut out from the world, who had -suffered extremely painful and persistent headaches,--"hundred days of -torment in the year"! It was his keen sense that "a sick man had no -right to pessimism," it was his extravagant love of life that led him to -set for chorus and orchestra the _Hymn to Life_ written by Lou von -Salomé, from which we read an extract in the book of Brandes: - - So truly loves a friend his friend - As I love thee, O Life in mystery hidden! - If joy or grief to me thou send; - If loud I laugh or else to weep am bidden, - Yet love I thee with all thy changeful faces; - And shouldst thou doom me to depart, - So would I tear myself from thy embraces, - As comrade from a comrade's heart. - -And in conclusion: - - And if thou hast now left no bliss to crown me, - Lead on! thou hast thy sorrow still! - -George Brandes "discovered" Nietzsche in the last year of his conscious -life, after he had written his greatest works, unrecognized, repulsed by -his few former friends, suffering in solitude, yet with superhuman -enthusiasm casting new worlds, slaughtering old gods, fighting -mediocrity. His letters of that year reveal the final act of the -greatest of world-tragedies--the Nietzsche-Tragedy; they grant us a -glimpse into the torn soul of the joyous martyr. - - I lived for years in extreme proximity of death. This was my - great good fortune. I fought myself, I outlived myself.... - - ... After all, my illness has been of the greatest use to me: it - has released me, it has restored to me the courage to be - myself.... And, indeed, in virtue of my instincts, I am a brave - animal, a military one even.... Am I a philosopher, do you - ask?--But what does that matter!... - -How he created his greatest work, _Zarathustra_: - - Each part in about ten days. Perfect state of "inspiration." All - conceived in the course of rapid walks: absolute certainty, as - though each sentence were shouted to one. While writing the book, - the greatest physical elasticity and sense of power. - -In his first letter to Brandes, Nietzsche wrote: - - How far this mode of thought has carried me already, how far it - will carry me yet--I am almost afraid to imagine. But there are - certain paths which do not allow one to go backward and so I go - forward, because I _must_. - -And the path led him to the inevitable end. His mind reached the summit -of the heights and burst into bleeding fragments over the yet not -comprehending world. In the last letter but one we see "signs of -powerful exaltation," as Brandes chooses to name the obvious symptoms of -megalomania. January 4, 1889, is the date of an unstamped, unaddressed -letter written on a piece of paper ruled in pencil: - - To the friend Georg--When once you had discovered me, it was easy - enough to find me: the difficulty now is to get rid of me.... - - --_The Crucified._ - -In reading the letters of Nietzsche we follow the doomed one with -profound pain and awe unto his Golgotha; we witness the dire trials of -his spirit and body, we see the last flashes of Zarathustra's sun, -then--darkness. _Götter-dämmerung._ Self-crucified Dionysus. - -Nietzsche was by no means a child of his age. As a prophet, he hurled -his seeds far into the future, over the heads of many generations. -Mankind is still vegetating on the bottom of the Valley unable to reach -the Heights where Zarathustra is alone with himself, bathing in an abyss -of light. They who have exchanged the Prophet's pearls on up-to-date -glittering coins, are counterfeiters; they who presumptuously wrap -themselves in the crimson mantle of the Crucified Dionysus, as his -faithful followers, are impostors: the time for the Superman has not -come yet. Let us bear in mind these burning words from the farewell -message, _Ecce Homo_: - - Nun heiße ich euch, mich verlieren und euch finden; und erst, - _wenn ihr mich Alle verleugnet habt_, will ich euch wiederkehren. - - Soon, I believe, we shall once more receive a lively impression - that art cannot rest content with ideas and ideals for the - average mediocrity, any more than with remnants of the old - catechisms; but that great art demands intellects that stand on a - level with the most individual personalities of contemporary - thought, in exceptionality, in independence, in defiance, and in - artistic self-supremacy.--_George Brandes._ - - - - - Poems - - - AMY LOWELL - - - Clear, With Light Variable Winds - - The fountain bent and straightened itself - In the night wind, - Blowing like a flower. - It gleamed and glittered, - A tall white lily, - Under the eye of the golden moon. - From a stone seat, - Beneath a blossoming lime, - The man watched it. - And the spray pattered - On the dim grass at his feet. - - The fountain tossed its water, - Up and up, like silver marbles. - Is that an arm he sees? - And for one moment - Does he catch the moving curve - Of a thigh? - The fountain gurgled and splashed, - And the man's face was wet. - - Is it singing that he hears? - A song of playing at ball? - The moonlight shines on the straight column of water, - And through it he sees a woman, - Tossing the water-balls. - Her breasts point outwards, - And the nipples are like buds of peonies. - Her flanks ripple as she plays, - And the water is not more undulating - Than the lines of her body. - - "Come," she sings, "Poet! - Am I not worth more than your day ladies, - Covered with awkward stuffs, - Unreal, unbeautiful? - What do you fear in taking me? - Is not the night for poets? - I am your dream, - Recurrent as water, - Gemmed with the moon!" - She steps to the edge of the pool - And the water runs, rustling, down her sides. - She stretches out her arms, - And the fountain streams behind her - Like an opened vail. - - * * * * * - - In the morning the gardeners came to their work. - "There is something in the fountain", said one. - They shuddered as they laid their dead master - On the grass. - "I will close his eyes", said the head gardener, - "It is uncanny to see a dead man staring at the sun." - - * * * * * - - - Fool's Moneybags - - Outside the long window, - With his head on the stone sill, - The dog is lying, - Gazing at his Beloved. - His eyes are wet and urgent, - And his body is taut and shaking. - It is cold on the terrace; - A pale wind licks along the stone slabs, - But the dog gazes through the glass - And is content. - - The Beloved is writing a letter. - Occasionally she speaks to the dog, - But she is thinking of her writing. - Does she, too, give her devotion to one - Not worthy? - - - - - The Poetry of Revolt - - - CHARLES ASHLEIGH - - _Arrows in the Gale_, by Arturo Giovannitti. [Hillacre Bookhouse, - Riverside, Connecticut.] - -There are many ways in which we can approach this curious and portentous -volume. We may confine ourselves solely to the technique of the writing, -but, in so doing, we should ignore the most important and compelling -part of the book: its spirit. There is something which flames through -these poems that abashes one who would content himself with a sterile -commentary on the versification; only those who are afraid of life would -take refuge in such pedantic air-beating. - -In this book there is a combination of two of the most significant -personalities of our time. The preface is written by that miracle -incarnate: Helen Keller. In it she gives us the background of the -poems--a background of tumultuous class-conflict. The awakening of the -working-class, and its surprising growth of self-reliance and militancy, -is the inspiration of the book, and Helen Keller announces herself for -it and with it. - -Giovannitti himself is a remarkable man of remarkable antecedents. He -emigrated from his native Italy at the age of seventeen, and was -precipitated into our whirl of economic struggle. He worked in -Pennsylvania in the coal mines and, later, assumed the position which he -still holds: that of editor of the Italian revolutionary weekly, _Il -Proletario_. In the now famous Lawrence strike he was one of those who -were most valuable in stimulating the sense of solidarity among the -workers and in maintaining their enthusiasm. Together with Joseph J. -Ettor and Caruso, he spent several months in jail, awaiting his trial on -a faked-up murder charge. They were acquitted, not so much because of -the legal justice of their cause but because of the fact that their -condemnation would have resulted in the paralysis of the textile -industry. With their threat of general strike the workers forced the -courts of their masters to deliver up to them their captive spokesmen. -The excitement and publicity resultant from the Lawrence Strike brought -into prominence the ideas of Giovannitti and others who were espousers -of the Syndicalist idea, which in this country is expressed through the -organization known as the Industrial Workers of the World. - -It is necessary to have some idea of these matters in order to -appreciate the _leit motif_ of this book. All through it flares that -spirit of impatient revolt, that spurning of most of the scaffolding of -our decrepit civilization which is usually held up for admiration to the -budding youth of this country. Courts of law, churches, and parliaments -all fall under the blinding fire of the bitter contempt of this workman -in revolt. - -Despite occasional faults in form or stress--and we must remember that -Giovannitti is writing in an alien tongue--the poems are vibrant with -life and some of them express with truest art things which are not -always considered by our academic friends to be at all within the -province of poetry. - -Sometimes the formal verse forms are used and, at other times, the poet -has recourse to the free rhythmic mode of Whitman. Personally, I think -that the best work is in the free verse. _The Walker_, a jail experience -of Giovannitti's, is a wonderful piece of work and should be bracketed -with _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_. The finest thing in the book is _The -Cage_, a poem which appeared originally in _The Atlantic Monthly_, and -which is one of the few things which have preserved that journal from -irredeemable mediocrity. - -_The Cage_ expresses the thoughts and emotions of the writer when he -stood with his two comrades in the dock of Salem courthouse. The -contrast is drawn between the outworn formalities and rites of the law -and the lusty life of labor,--between the dead lives of the dismal -practitioners of a stilted and tyrannical formula and the life of -vigorous conflict of the awakening working-class. - -This is the inside of the court-room: - - In the middle of the great greenish room stood the green iron - cage. - All was old, and cold and mournful, ancient with the double antiquity - of heart and brain in the great greenish room, - Old and hoary was the man who sat upon the faldstool, upon the - fireless and godless altar, - Old were the tomes that mouldered behind him on the dusty shelves. - Old was the man upon his left who awoke with his cracked voice the - dead echoes of dead centuries, old the man upon his right - who wielded a wand; and old all those who spoke to him and - listened to him before and around the green iron cage. - Old were the words they spoke, and their faces were drawn and white - and lifeless, without expression or solemnity; like the - ikons of old cathedrals. - For of naught they knew, but of what was written in the old, yellow - books. And all the joys and the pains and the loves and - hatreds and furies and labors and strifes of man, all the - fierce and divine passions that battle and rage in the - heart of man, never entered into the great greenish room - but to sit in the green iron cage. - Senility, dullness and dissolution were all around the green iron - cage, and nothing was new and young and alive in the great - room, except the three men who were in the cage. - -And, then, when the prosecutor speaks, we have an insight into the -fervor with which Giovannitti greets the overthrow of the old and the -budding of the new: - - ... he said (and dreary as a wind that moans thru the crosses - of an old graveyard was his voice): - "I will prove to you that these three men in the cage are criminals - and murderers and that they ought to be put to death." - Love, it was then that I heard for the first time the creak of the - moth that was eating the old painting and the old books, - and the worm that was gnawing the old bench, and it was - then that I saw that all the old men around the great - greenish room were dead. - They were dead like the old man in the painting, save that they could - still read the old books he could read no more, and still - spoke and heard the old words he could speak and hear no - more, and still passed the judgment of the dead, which he - could no more pass, upon the mighty life of the world - outside that throbbed and thundered and clamored and roared - the wonderful anthem of human labor to the fatherly justice - of the Sun. - -To me such stuff as this means a hundred times more than a thousand -sonnets to a mistress' eye-lash, or than the weak maudlinities of an -absinthe-soaked eroto-dabbler, wailing puling repentance to a pale -Christ. It is compact of life--life as it is today, made, not for the -tittillation of dilletantes, but for the enjoyment and inspiration of -men who can appreciate the meat of life redolent of sweat and blood and -tears. - -This is Giovannitti's picture of the Republic, after it had been gained -with blood and sacrifice: - - When night with velvet-sandaled feet - Stole in her chamber's solitude, - Behold! she lay there naked, lewd, - A drunken harlot of the street, - - With withered breasts and shaggy hair - Soiled by each wanton, frothy kiss, - Between a sergeant of police - And a decrepit millionaire. - -Love poems also figure in the book, but the dominant note is that of -conflict. Giovannitti has realized the pregnant fact that in struggle is -the greatest joy, that the ecstasy of growth and striving is worth more -that the bovine placidity of "happiness." At the end of his love-song, -_The Praise of Spring_, he says: - - But shall I sing of love now, I who could only sing to the - tune of the clarions of war? - And shall I forget for a woman my black frothing horse that neighs - after the twanging arrows in the wind? - And shall I not lose my strength when her arms shall encircle me - where thou hast girt me with the sword, O Gea, my mother - immortal? - -Giovannitti makes no claim for inclusion in Parnassian galleries. He -believes that deeds count for more than words, and he essays but to make -a handful of war-songs for the pleasure of his comrades. - - Still may my song, before the sun's - Reveille, speed the hours that tire, - While they are cleaning up their guns - Around the cheery bivouac fire. - -And so, these are the rough-hewn songs of a man; of one who goes his way -with his love upholding him and the Vision burning within him and the -sound of battle forever in his ears and the whole-hearted hate of his -enemy to spur him, and the stalwart comradeship of his fellows to make -dear the thorny way. - - - - - The Nietzschean Love of Eternity - - - GEORGE BURMAN FOSTER - -After all, there have been great wars before this pan-European -cataclysm; and, naturally enough, according to the psychological law of -the expansion of the emotions, men have transferred their experiences of -time to the content of eternity. Thus, amid the abomination of -desolation which the Thirty Years' War brought upon the German -Fatherland, one Johannes Rist, a clergyman residing in the neighborhood -of Hamburg, sang his symptomatic song: - - "O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort! - Du Schwert, das durch die Seele bohrt! - O Anfang sonder Ende! - O Ewigkeit, Zeit ohne Zeit, - Ich weiss vor lauter Traurigkeit, - Nicht, wo ich mich hinwende!" - -The thunder and blood of war are in it. The horrors of the war long have -passed, but not those of the song. Today you may hear the old hymn sung -from new hymn-books in German churches. Today still, school children -commit it to memory in their schools--with what profound and terrible -impression, who can say? All the pains which little children feel so -quiveringly with their defenseless and susceptible natures, all these -will continue unbrokenly in eternity. On this bank and shoal of time, -children easily and happily forget the tribulations of a bygone hour--in -eternity, never, never again! But might there not be also an eternity of -childish play and joy? Even so, that could not tip the scale in view of -the possibility of a comfortless and cruel eternity; especially since -the possibility becomes a probability, and the probability a certainty, -owing to the fact that the children are taught to consider themselves as -lost and damned sinners--in Adam's fall they sinned all! Consequently -the remote hope of bliss in "Jerusalem the golden with milk and honey -blest" could not assuage the grief nor silence the terror and torture -that filled the child mind. "Would that there were no eternity!"--often -this must have been the secret thought of German children, and not of -these alone. - -This is the eternity of fear. - -From the nursery and school to the world of thought! From gruesome -pictures and poetry of the enigma of eternity to the solution in systems -of the philosophers and theologians. From Rist of the Thirty Years' War -to Spinoza with imperturbable philosophic calm--such was the great -change through which many a German child passed--Spinoza who won his -deepest insight into life by viewing all things _sub specie -aeternitatis_. Or from Rist to Schleiermacher, who unveiled the august -mystery of humanness as eternity in the heart--as eternity internal, -dynamic, living, present, not external, mechanical, fixed, and future. -It was the great transition from orthodoxy to romanticism. - -Or else from all these men to _Friedrich Nietzsche_, him that was the -godless one, who, in the end of the ages, also sang a song, a new song, -of eternity. He both celebrated eternity in song and made no problem of -it. He lived it and loved it as his first and truest love--plighted his -soul's troth in unwavering loyalty: "Denn ich liebe dich, o Ewigkeit!" -From dull and gloomy dreams and anxious fears did this eternity awaken -him, from mortal ills did it redeem his life. Nietzsche had wistfully -peered into the world's enigmatic darkness, his seeking and skeptical -soul had chafed over the riddles and contradictions of life--no meaning, -he cried, in this senseless play of life and death, truth and error; and -only illusion and folly in all that men called joy and sorrow. There -came to him, then, revelation of a new, of an eternal life. The present, -with all the kaleidoscopic changes of life's little day, makes ready its -own recurrence, each part of time being but a ring linked with the next, -the whole becoming the ring of eternity, the true marriage ring of -humanity--the seal and stay of an eternal bond between man and -Ever-creative, Ever-reincarnating Life! - -Ich liebe dich, o Ewigkeit. Perfect love casts out fear. This is the -eternity of love. The godless one would lead the German heart, and all -hearts, from "_Donnerworte_" and "_Schwerte_," from the _fear_ of -eternity to the _love_ of eternity. - -That is what Nietzsche would do. But is such an undertaking worth while -in a day like ours? What does man care about eternity--his life so swift -and short that he does not know on one day what he did or thought or -wanted the day before? His treasures in time, will not his heart be -there also, seeking its right and content there? Money ruling the world, -time ruling money, why talk of eternity at all? A jolly hour, a sprig of -mirth plucked by the way, is not that what the man of modern culture -longs for, is it not enough to satisfy such longing as his? The earth -overpopulated as it is with _Augenblicksmenschen_, as Nietzsche would -say, and not with _Ewigkeitsmenschen_, why recall the love and hope of a -long lost past? - -Such queries may give us pause, but they may not stampede us. We may not -forget that Professor Münsterberg, of Harvard, has written a great book -bearing the impressive title, _The Eternal Values_. Nor may we be blind -to the evidence that the thought so clearly and singularly espoused by -the bearers of the better ideals of our new time is that of _the -imminent and constant eternity in the human heart_, as unfolded by -Spinoza and Schleiermacher and Nietzsche. Indeed, the question as to -_what values are eternal values_, this eternity question, is central in -our modern culture. Very superficial indeed would be our evaluation of -modern life, most un-understood indeed would be the riddle of the soul -of this life, did we ignore the ever clearer, ever mightier longing for -eternity in this soul's abyss, and the unification of all deeper spirits -upon the high task of giving an eternal content to our culture. - -By taking some illustrations, one can see the need to supply the latter -profound view to the former superficial judgment, if one is to do -justice to the new movements of life in the modern world. - -There is your modern poet. At first sight he seems to lack the -illumination of that eternal light which never was on land or sea. You -see the scorching sun beating upon the lone pilgrim as he plods through -the burning sand to a goalless goal. You see faded, pale shadows. You do -not meet with an idea that makes you feel that the poet yearns to -interpret some eternal thought to this life of ours. Instead, life -speaks only of itself and from itself. This is an abomination in the -eyes of those who call themselves _Ewigkeitsmenschen_. They call it -naturalistic, materialistic art. They upbraid an era in which a poet may -dare to dissociate his poetry from the eternal ideal. Then you look -again, you read more carefully, and you see the whole matter -differently. The eternity that men claimed for their _thought_ is indeed -gone. But eternity itself, the eternity of life, that is not gone, that -abides. This realistic man of modern poetry, the more really he is -apprehended, stands before us as the embodiment of a _necessity_, a -necessity that transcends the individual, yet lives and weaves in him, a -necessity that enunciates the law of life in the destiny of the -individual--power of darkness or dawn of a new day! But necessity, law -of life, this is but another name for eternity. - -And there again is your modern painter. He, too, presents us with a bit, -often a tiny bit, of reality, of nature. A rotten trunk of some old -tree; a dilapidated hut on a ledge; some God-forsaken nook of earth, -lost and forgotten of man; a bent and broken man with his hoe; some poor -wretch with pistol against his skull; some traveller bleeding unbandaged -by the roadside--there they all are in the galleries of our modern -realism. But look again, and you will see that the keen observant eye of -your artist serves an artist's heart, seeks and finds eternity, and -directs our slower vision to the eternal mystery he has found, the most -inspiring of all mysteries--viz., greatness in the least and lowest, -glory and beauty in the offensive and repellant, invaluable human worth -and nobility in the depraved and downtrodden! - -There also is your man of science as he moves out along new paths. -Storming the sky, unlocking all the eternities so long sought for behind -the world, what does the scientist's supreme power and consecration -consist in but his steadfast and strenuous search for eternity? He not -only seeks, he finds. He finds eternal life and eternal love in the -daintiest fern, in the tiniest lichen. In the very dust beneath our feet -he descries what was there before men were at all. He points us to men -as they emerge from the unplumbed æonian abyss, bearing in their bodies -still visible and tangible traces of an eternal life. He reveals an -eternal content of being in all that lives and weaves and moves. - -Truly, if there is no sign of an eternity in which we live, there is no -sign of an eternity at all. But if you were to bring to its simplest and -truest expression all that is great and overmastering in the life of the -human spirit today, you would then have once again the exultant -Zarathustra song: "Ich liebe dich, o Ewigkeit!" All that lends true -worth to the life that now is and is to be, is contained in this song. A -_present_ eternity we seek as the one thing needful. What we love must -be near us, we must feel it and grasp it. Be it never so remote, it is -the magic of love to bring the remote nigh our hearts, or, better still, -to conquer space and time, so that there is no near and no far, only a -life and love that is eternal! - -To create such Ewigkeitsmenschen is the great goal of the new life, the -prophecy of a new culture. For this new culture we need men who feel -something in their own being that uplifts them above all the experience -of the present, much as they may seem imprisoned therein, men who -dominate life in a royal fashion, men who in confident freedom do not -mind the storms which would hurl them from their path. We need men who -survey the great connections of the world from peak to peak and -overbridge them with their own souls, men who release destiny from its -isolation and articulate it in the eternal cycle of human life, men -whose own being contains all life according to its eternal substance, -uttering their "yea and amen" to all that is called life as they -blissfully surrender to the beauty of existence. This is the great -apocalypse, life's cryptic mystery-manual, whose seven seals the -poet-prophet of this new culture, Friedrich Nietzsche, has broken. - -What is yet to be? What will a day, a year, bring forth? If the eye is -far-seeing and far-seeking, what will the next century bring forth? The -darkness tenting like thick clouds upon the mountains of the future -mystifies, and the days, the times, the years, the centuries, coerce man -under the burden of all their darknesses until he is a-weary even before -he has taken up his pilgrimage into the untrodden. Then there flashes -from the love of eternity a clear light which kindles the light of the -future: _we ourselves are this light!_ Our existence is the cloud -hanging heavily over the hills, cloud with prophetic and positive light, -from which redeeming beams shall break. - -Behind us lies the whole long grim past, a huge grave, with countless -gravestones--the silent city of the dead which holds all that has been -ever dear to the heart, all youth with their glad faces and forms, all -glances of love, all divine moments. And all the dead compel all the -living to conflict that the living may be controlled by life and not by -death. From their graves the dead direct their deadliest shafts at the -heart, at the living, to drag them down into the embrace of death. But -something stirs in man that cannot be wounded, cannot be buried--_man's -will_. The will bursts all tombs hewn from rocks, demolishes all graves, -creates resurrections out of them, smashes churches and abbeys that -heaven's pure eye may gaze through their rent roofs--the will building -and bearing eternities! And who, through love of eternity, controls -future and past, finds the earth quivering with new creative words, is -himself such a word, even binds good and evil together, making the -evilest worthy of being the sauce of life. - -Ewigkeitsmensch!--the wind from the unexplored swells his sail, -seafarer's gale roaring in from the boundless. When time and space -vanish from sight, vanish coasts also, the last fetters drop away: the -body feels its weight and burden is past! How shall we go about rescuing -ourselves from this torture and casting off this oppression? - -In a strange fanatical vision, Nietzsche shows how he became an -eternity-preacher, an eternity-sculptor. The vision is more novel than -that of the Ascension which biblical legends narrate. The disciples of -Jesus gaze upon their Master mounting heavenward into the clouds, and -they hear strange words of the Christ coming down from heaven again to -abide with them all the days till the end of the world. Nietzsche does -not speak of the second advent of the Christ, of a recurrence of a -single item of being, but of an eternal recurrence of all things, of all -men, all moments and happenings of all life! Eternal return--to live -life so that we would live each and all of it over again--to live it all -so that it would be worth being not once but once again forever and -forever--to be joint creator of a cosmos in which what is shall be -fit--to be once yet again everlastingly--that is our, and Being's, final -flawless test, passing which, no Great White Throne may fill us with -dismay! There is the heart's harrowing cry: Could I but begin and live -it--all over again, how different I would do! Would we like to do all -that we have done over again? do them again eternally? Would we like to -say and hear all the senseless prattle over again forever? Horrible -thought! It were well to live and speak so that our existence can stand -the fiery test of a Nietzschean eternity--live now in a way that it -would be worth while to live again. It were indeed well to fill each -fleeting moment of time with what is worthy to be the content of -eternity. Eternity the criterion of time--that is really a great -thought. To be sure, there is no eternal recurrence, and it is not clear -that Nietzsche meant to say that there was. Faith in the eternal -recurrence of all things, Nietzsche means this,--so at all events it -seems to me,--to be a mirror in which we may recognize the true full -worth of our life, a life in which there is nothing to be forgotten, -nothing to be regretted, nothing done to be undone, because all is freed -from the limitations of space and time and from external contingencies, -and stands there in its great eternal necessity, because eternal, good, -and godly even, in this necessity itself. Then we would not only live -our life over again precisely as we lived it, we would live it in the -light of the eternity again, ever again. No error, and folly would we -then wish out of our life, because in this love of eternity it is -precisely from error and folly that the truth grows which lights our -faith. No weakness, no stumbling and falling, would we wish out of our -life, because in the eternal illumination, power grows from all these -experiences which enables us to mount above them, and gives us the -victory in every bitter battle of life. No, our life is not lived from -the right point of view, until we can sing it out in the song whose name -is--Recurrence! We do not know the worth of the honor until we can -dedicate to it that song whose meaning is: "_In alle Ewigkeit!_" - - Ye say that a good cause will even sanctify war! I tell you, it - is the good war that sanctifies every cause!--_Nietzsche._ - - - - - The Restaurant Violin - - - GEORGE SOULE - - (_Another picture of our violinist_) - - A brook - Which murmured me to high afternoon fields, - Where came a shower, - And after that, the long, straight call of the low sun - To the green-gold and winking purple of every leaf - And the long shadows between the hills. - And every leaf was glad - And the earth was comforted, - Breathing up freshly, - And the hills were full of joy, - And the clouds remained in the west - In ecstasy of color because of the sun. - Out of hidden trees - A wood-thrush sang. - - And then I heard the restaurant-- - Crashing of spoons on trays, - The dip, dip, dip, of the big rotary fans, - The chink of the cash-register, the clatter of money into the tray, - And people talking loudly, with mirthless laughter, - And munching, munching, munching. - - Over it mocked the violin-- - The rain fell and the sun called, - And there returned unto the violin, - And entered with glory into the violin - Final loneliness. - Then the pianist selected something from a musical comedy. - - - - - Editorials - - - _Our Third New Poet_ - -Maxwell Bodenheim was born in Natchez, Mississippi, twenty-two years -ago, was educated in the Memphis, Tennessee, schools, served three years -in the U. S. regular army, and is at present studying law and art in -Chicago. He has written poetry for six years without having had a single -poem accepted--in fact, he has had exactly three hundred and seventeen -rejection slips from the astute editors of American magazines. He -addresses to them the following poem: - - - _The Poet Speaks To Those Who Scorn Him_ - - I have taken tons of carbon in my hand, - Shriveled them, with a thought, to a small diamond: - And tried to sell it to men who call it glass. - It was glass in a sense-- - Glass which with terrible exactness, - Showed them big, hideous souls - Dwarfed by the splendor of its immense clarity, - Like forests pressed to specks by the height of a mountain. - -His first acceptance came from Miss Harriet Monroe, who prints five of -his poems in the August issue of _Poetry_. "My creed," says Mr. -Bodenheim "(if I can be said to have one), is this: Most of the things -which men call beautiful are ugly to me, and some of the things they -call ugly are beautiful. Men and deeds are subjects for prose, not -poetry. I am not concerned with life, but with that which lies behind -life. I am an intense admirer of Ezra Pound's," he always adds; "I -worship him." - - - _Sade Iverson, Unknown_ - -We wish the mysterious poet who sent us _The Milliner_--which we liked -profoundly and printed in our last issue--would come in to see us. The -poem arrived one day in April with a modest little note: "Something -about your magazine--perhaps the essential actuality of it--has moved me -to make 'the simple confession' which I enclose. Print it if it is good -enough; throw it in the waste basket if it is not." But though we have -tried various investigations we have not been able to find out who this -remarkable Sade Iverson is. She was the first person to send us a -congratulatory letter about THE LITTLE REVIEW. In it she warned us that -restraint is better than expression; but _The Milliner_ will stand as a -stronger refutation of that advice than anything we can say. We want -very much to know Sade Iverson. After reading her poem Mr. Bodenheim -wrote the following: - - - _To Sade Iverson_ - - I wonder if you scooped out your entire melted soul - With shaking hands, and spilled it into this - Slim-necked but bulging-bodied flagon-- - So slim-necked that my sticking lips - Must fight for wonderful drops. - - - "_Blast_" - -The typical gamin, the street-urchin with his tongue in his cheek, -crying in an infinitely wise childish treble that the world is an -exciting place after all, and that even if you are so burned out that -you can't taste your gin straight any more you can still put pepper in -it,--this street-urchin has at last invaded the quarterlies. We have -known him already in the dailies, the weeklies, the monthlies, the bound -volume; but up to now the quarterlies have seemed dignified and safe. -But the last bulwark of conservatism has fallen; the march of progress -is unchecked! - -_Blast_ is the name of the new magazine, published in London by John -Lane. Let us take it as it comes. The cover--after you have seen the -cover you know all--is of a peculiar brilliancy, something between -magenta and lavender, about the color of an acute sick-headache. Running -slantingly across both the front and the back is the single word BLAST -in solid black-faced type three inches high. That is all, but it is -enough. - -Inside there is much food for thought. At least one feels sure there -must be much food for thought, if only one could come near enough to -understanding it to think about it. - -First there are twelve pages of what seem to be the rare-bit dream of a -type-setter, but which on closer inspection prove to be a table of -curses, much like the old table which has now been cut from the Anglican -prayer-book. "BLAST" they say "CURSE! DAMN"--"England, France, Humor, -Sport, years 1837 to 1900, Rotten Menagerie, castor-oil." "CURSE" also -"those who will hang over this manifesto with SILLY CANINES exposed." -After these twelve pages come half the number of blessings, again from -the prayer-book. "BLESS" they say "England, all ports, the Hairdresser, -Humor, France, and castor-oil." - -Then comes the Manifesto. No woman of the olden times found without a -shift could be more shamed than a new cult today found without a -Manifesto. This one begins: "Beyond action and reaction we would -establish ourselves." It proceeds with jaunty violence to settle the -artistic problems of the world. Nonetheless there is much wisdom in the -Manifesto. But you must read it for yourselves to understand it. This -announcement is signed with eleven names, of which the best-known in -this country are probably Ezra Pound, Wyndham Lewis (the editor), -Richard Aldington, and Gaudier Brzeska. - -A group of poems by Ezra Pound follows. After the mental indigestion of -the first few pages we cannot be too grateful to Mr. Pound for putting -English words together in such a manner that they at least make -sentences. More than that, they make in places excellent satire. Then -follows a long prose play (at least we should guess it to be prose) by -Wyndham Lewis, called _The Enemy of the Stars_. Seven-tenths of it -consists of stage directions. Here is a sample: - - Fungi of sullen violet thoughts, investing primitive vegetation. - Groping hands strummed Byzantine organ of his mind, producing - monotonous black fugue. - -The plot unfortunately escaped our perusal, hiding itself in verbiage. -But undoubtedly there is one. - -The number also contains the beginning of a serial story by Richard -Aldington, a remarkably vivid short story by Rebecca West called _The -Indissolubility of Matrimony_, and _Vortices_ by the editor. The whole -is copiously sown with Cubist drawings which must be seen to be -appreciated. - -So the quarterly street-urchin makes his bow on the literary stage. How -much of his singular make-up will prove to be juvenile spleen and how -much genuine integrity only time can tell. In the meanwhile his tongue -is in his cheek.--E. T. - - - _The Stigma of Knowing It All_ - -One of the most exasperating things that can happen to a thinking person -is to be told this: "You would be much more forceful if you weren't so -sure you knew it all." How much time we all waste in vague, unthoughtful -generalizations of this sort! The only person who really thinks he -"knows it all" is that misguided soul who is always asking for advice, -always giving advice, and eternally ignoring both that which he gives -and which he receives. He is as muddled as a clear pool that has been -stirred up with a stick; but the ripples convince him that the -stirring-up has touched many shores. The person to whom the stigma of -"knowing it all" is most often attached is he who believes that he knows -something about himself and very little about anybody else. He is that -person who takes care of his own problems with a certain ardor, with a -sense of keen clearness, like the shining of a star through his deep, -unmuddled pool. He has realized Arnold's _Self-Dependence_. But the -muddled ones can never forgive him for that joy with which the stars -perform their shining; nor can they ever understand the stupor of -helplessness which descends upon him when he is asked to direct some one -else's shining. Therefore, they argue, he is self-sufficient; and the -adjective is a curse. Some one has said, quite untruly, that people -never know the important things about themselves. But the only thing in -the world a man can _really_ know is himself; and it is his chief -business to push self-knowledge beyond its obvious boundaries to those -reaches where even change becomes a comprehended element. The gist of -the whole matter is this: People who know themselves are the only ones -with whom we are wholly protected from that stupid and offensive -practice of dictatorship; also, they are the only ones capable of -receiving counsel with intelligence. - - - My Middle Name - - My middle name rhymes not with satchel, - So please do not pronounce it "Vatchel." - My middle name rhymes not with rock hell, - So please do not pronounce it "Vock Hell." - My middle name rhymes not with hash hell, - So please do not pronounce it "Vasch Hell." - My middle name rhymes not with bottle, - So please do not pronounce it "Vottle," - My name is just the same as Rachel, - With V for R; - Please call me Vachel. - - _Nicholas Vachel Lindsay._ - - - - - "Baboosya" - - -Catherine Breshkovskaya is a legendary woman even for Russia. She is now -seventy-three years old; about half of her life has been spent in prison -and exile; in 1910 she was once more arrested on the ground of her -revolutionary activity, but thanks to the intercession of prominent -European and American liberals, the verdict was mild:--Siberia, but -without hard labor. Last year the ever-young Babooshka ("little -grandmother," her pet name among the revolutionists) attempted to -escape, failed, and was subsequently transferred to the terrible Yakutsk -region, where she is now slowly dwindling away. The _Russkoye Bogatstwo_ -prints two letters--two human documents--miraculously smuggled through -the rigid net of the Siberian police system. One is a letter written by -Breshkovskaya to a friend; it reveals a great woman--great even in -little things. She speaks at length on the miserable life of the exiles; -on her plans to mitigate their sufferings by planting vegetables to be -used for food and also to be sold on the market; and on other apparently -little matters--little when we consider the grandiose activity of the -gray revolutionist in the recent past. Her letter is full of love and -anxiety for her comrades, but she refers very little to herself. The -only plaintive note is heard in these lines: - - My wanderings around the little island have come to a stop. I - seldom see mountains, water, and woods, and on the streets there - is either dust or mud--which I have no desire to look upon. Soon - the steamers will discontinue their course. The mail comes only - once a week. - -This is all she says about her own existence in the dead land, but we -hear more about it from the second letter, written by a young exile: - - ... Her flight was discovered, she was recaptured, and she is - imprisoned now in Irkutsk. She holds herself bravely, but I know - this bravery. I fear that this flight will kill the Baboosya; she - has been ill so often and has had to suffer for herself and for - others.... Yakutsk will completely ruin her health. - - Most of the exiles feel bereaved. Despite the sharply-defined - individuality of each of them, the Babooshka appeared as a - spiritual mother to them all, able to encourage, to lift up, to - console. The weak asked her for strength; the strong--for - counsel. How much endurance and patience she must have had to - assist each and every one, to appeal for money, for clothes, etc. - Her heart went out to the hapless exiles, oppressed, moneyless, - bootless, under the grim Siberian conditions. And how great was - her joy at the receipt of a package from some good friends! She - spread out the things, looked at them, and sang "Oy, how full, - how full is the coffer" (a popular folk-song), with tears of joy - in her eyes. Then she proceeded to distribute the bounty: to one - a warm shirt, to the other woolen stockings, or a fur-hat. To the - children she sent milk.... - -What a simple tale, friends. - -I recall a few lines from a clumsy poem written by an American woman -after the trial of Breshkovskaya. Upton Sinclair considered it one of -the twenty-five greatest! - - In all the world this day there is no soul - Freer than you, Breshkovskaya.... - For you are free of self and free of fear.... - - ... You are too great for pity. After you - We send not sobs but songs; and all our days - We shall walk bravelier knowing where you are. - - - - - Obituary of a Poet - - - FLOYD DELL - -Adonais is dead--dead in the flush of youth, with all of life before -him. - -Yes, but perhaps that is not such a bad thing. - -"He had so much of promise!" That's the trouble. When the promise -petered out--as it usually does--what then? - -As it is, he will never have to see his great hopes dwindle. He will -never have to bolster himself against disillusion. - -Adonais has known the sweet of life--he has known the glory of youth, -and the gay companionship of men, and the taste of good liquor in the -mouth. He has known the joy of hard work, and the joy of roaming the -streets, idle and curious, feeling the beauty of the world; he has known -the joy of love. - -Fortunate Adonais! - -He did not know that it was possible for the love of women to become to -him a cheap article, to be appraised with practiced eye and perhaps -tossed carelessly aside; he was a lover-- - -And now he will never be cruel or careless about love, an exploiter and -parasite of women. He will never have to emerge, with false hope and -courage, from the humiliation of the Keeley cure. He will never parade -the streets with a dyed moustache--a broken-down boulevardier. - -He will never read with secret malignant envy the enthusiastic words of -reviewers about the writings of younger men. He will never foregather -with other has-beens in the charitable precincts of a club, to exchange -compliments and listen hungrily to the accents of praise. He will never -be a perambulating tombstone to a forgotten poet. - -He is dead in the flush of youth-- - -Lucky Adonais! - - - - - Humbugging the Public - - - HENRY BLACKMAN SELL - -In the palmy days of the sideshow P. T. Barnum let fall a pat little -phrase which might be called the Great American Excuse: "the public -likes to be humbugged." The showman referred directly to the -amusement-seeking public, and applied his half truth to that rural -pageant, the circus; but it was an easy phrase, it suited the purpose of -men who were anxious to deceive and to mountebank, and it was snapped -up. Today, when a man is caught with a shameful misrepresentation he -laughs sheepishly and repeats that the public likes to be humbugged. - -But does it? - -We are The Public, you are The Public, and none of us likes to be -humbugged! - -Then how is it that this proverbialism has gained such credence in this -country? - -We are a new people. Our country is a great international whirlpool of -ideas. New music, old music, new theories, old theories, new pictures, -old pictures, new standards, old standards meet here and are spun about -us with hysteria-like speed. - -We do not want to appear ignorant of the newest thought or the oldest -convention. We strive for an impossible universalism, and we accept many -a mountebank at his face value because we are unable to settle his true -worth, immediately, and because we feel that we must give a decision -immediately. - -Our credulity is stretched almost to the breaking point every hour of -every day of the year, for wonders seem never to cease and the quality -of the genuine has given rise to the quantity of the false. - -We are gullible because we as a nation are alive to the possibility of -the impossible. - -We have gained a reputation for loving to be cheated because we have the -almost national virtue of being able to lose, smile, and again strive, -BUT we do not love it. And in the end the only one who really loses is -the charlatan who sooner or later awakens to a realization of the bare -hollowness of his false and petty philosophy, "the public likes to be -humbugged." - - - - - The New York Letter - - - GEORGE SOULE - -The future of _The Century_ is the engrossing topic among the writers -and publishers in New York. No startling change in editorial policy is -contemplated. Possibly the perception of the modern and future world -which the magazine has begun to show under the guidance of Mr. Yard will -be more apparent. The principal topic for speculation, however, is -whether a "high-class" illustrated magazine selling for thirty-five -cents can be a financial success, or even self-supporting. It is an open -secret that none of them has been making money for some time. With this -question readers who are interested in the contents of _The Century_ -have no concern except the single rather important one that if present -conditions continue long enough the magazine will cease to exist, at -least in its present form. - -Here, as in every other literary field, the strengthening of the -machinery of commerce has enabled the product of transient popularity to -interfere seriously with the thing that is done for its own sake. The -"lowbrow" rules. An illustrated magazine is made possible by its -advertising, and the advertisers want large circulation. Some of them -do, it is true, look also for "quality" of circulation, but their -standard of quality has nothing to do with taste, literary or otherwise; -it measures merely "spending power." And the aristocracy of intellect -has only a shadowy identity with the aristocracy of wealth. There are -thousands of "automobile owners" who would never think of wading through -even an _Atlantic Monthly_ article. - -Are there enough people in the United States who will buy an ably edited -"high-class" magazine to attract a profitable number of advertisers? -That is the question which remains to be answered. A probable answer is -that there may be enough, but that it will be a herculean task to get -them all buying the same magazine. The people who will pay thirty-five -cents for the privilege of reading literature of real thought and ideals -are now pretty well divided into parties, ranging all the way from -old-line republicans to anarchists. Twenty years ago we had a much more -homogeneous culture:--people who had any consciousness of their minds -were allied in their fundamental ideals. If an intelligent magazine -prints anything vital now, it is bound to offend a large portion of its -public. Quite possibly in ten more years there will be only two kinds of -general magazines left--those which are frankly "lowbrow," and those -which do not care for large profits, depend on uncommercial writers, and -are manufactured so cheaply that they do not need much advertising in -order to exist. Mr. Yard has a strong belief in the success of his -attempt to prove the contrary. It will indeed be a glorious victory if -without compromise _The Century_ can weld together a large, intelligent -public. - -The plight of the theatres is strictly analogous to that of the -magazines. The moving-pictures have wiped out their galleries and -decimated their balconies. A well-filled orchestra is not quite enough -to support the usual production. The managers have either capitulated to -the films entirely by putting "movies" on their stages, or have -attempted to get the deserters back by competing with the films through -the use of cheapened drama. Melodramatic farce, with an abundance of -action, is the only form of play which is not now a drug on the -managerial market. That is, to be sure, a respectable form of amusement, -but there are some of us who would like occasionally to see something -else. Perhaps the little theatres, like the little reviews, will become -our refuge. Some of us believe that the managers who still stick to live -actors would be better off if they would stop trying to compete with the -moving-picture on its own ground and produce solid work for which the -legitimate stage is alone adapted. We can substantiate our theory by the -fact that at one time this spring nearly the only successful plays in -New York were the revivals of Fitch's _The Truth_ and Wilde's _Lady -Windermere's Fan_. But the temper of most managers and playwrights is -not encouraging. Not many days ago a group of successful writers were -gathered for the week-end at the house of a producer. One of them was -reading a new manuscript. Another interrupted him to say quite -seriously: "That's not right, old chap. You ought to get a laugh -two-thirds of the way down that page." Whereupon the reader inserted a -"joke" about a Ford car and an automobile. - -There is a danger, however, in the little theatre idea. Little theatres -may grow to have the same sort of insincere "style" and disgusting -appeal to social snobbery which are the characteristics of magazines -like _Vogue_. As in the case of the magazines, the best thing that could -happen would be the appearance of a genius of so much life and power -that he could drive the crowds before him and produce his plays in the -open air of real public appreciation. The coming of the moving-picture -has only aggravated a problem which was previously acute. The crisis is -here; for that we must be grateful to the films and the cheap magazines. -Shall the rule of the people produce nothing better than a race of -commercial craftsmen whose only thought is to make money by exploiting -the least worthy instincts of the people? Or shall we produce at least a -few courageous leaders who, speaking out of their own authority, shall -lead the people after them? The faithful can, while they are waiting, -keep alive the sacred fires and scan the horizon for the new prophet. -His victory can come, not by compromise, but by aggressive power. - -There is one growing form of drama which is genuine in its art and may -become popular in its appeal; the development of this is being carefully -watched by those who are alert. It is but a step from a moving-picture -such as D'Annunzio's Cabiria to a spectacle such as Reinhardt's _The -Miracle_. The latter is coming to us next winter; Madison Square Garden -will be its stage. Sheldon has written an unusual spectacle play which -George Tyler will produce. Let these things not be confused with such -orgies of stage-setting as _The Garden of Allah_; it is quite possible -to use the visual element as a principal means of "getting over" the -dramatic expression without doing so badly. To condemn all such -productions because some of them happen to be over-realistic, is to -condemn all painting because of Meissonier. - -May it not be that a great trouble of our drama has been the failure to -recognize the fact that the picture is just as important an element of -the stage as the dialogue? Every French actress receives a thorough -training in pantomime; in America anyone with a sensitive eye will -squirm under the inept and ugly line-compositions presented by our -actresses in their gestures. And as for stage-setting, the height of our -ambition has seemed to be to get a door that will really slam, or to -fill the stage with pink apple-blossoms--the audience will always -applaud pink. The resolution of these crude attempts into something that -really makes a good appeal to the eye is no new thing; but for a long -time we have not been ready for the work of Reinhardt or Gordon Craig on -the one side or of the Russian Ballet on the other. Now the -moving-pictures are at once educating our eyes to watch drama, and are -undermining the support of old-fashioned plays which, through their very -excellent mediocrity, prevented the encroachment of new ideas. Let us go -to the theatres next fall prepared to trace the beginnings of a new -stage art in this country; in the meantime, however, not hoping to -escape the flood of cheap and artistically vicious stuff with which the -commercial managers and producers will attempt to drown our -sensibilities. - - There is more active charity in the egoism of a strenuous, - far-seeing soul than in the devotion of a soul that is helpless - and blind.--_Maeterlinck._ - - - - - Book Discussion - - - The Gospel According to Moore - - _Ave_, by George Moore. [D. Appleton and Company, New York.] - -Mr. George Moore has finished his autobiographic triology, _Hail and -Farewell_, and has shaken the dust of Ireland from his feet. The Celtic -Renaissance must make its way without his help or hindrance. He came, he -pondered, he withdrew. In these astonishing volumes we have the whole -story of his adventures and his thoughts, and an unrivalled series of -impressionistic portraits of his friends. We see Yeats in his long -cloak, looking like a melancholy rook; Lady Gregory, the poet's devoted -disciple; Edward Martyn and his soul; Plunkett and Gill, the Bouvard and -Pécuchet of real life; AE "who settles everybody's difficulties and -consoles the afflicted"; Colonel Moore, the author's brother; and we -catch an occasional glimpse of Arthur Symons, Synge, James Stephens, and -many others. But the book is very different from the ordinary _Sunlights -and Shadows of My Short Life_. It is a remarkable piece of -self-portraiture and an explanation of the author's attitude toward art -and the Christian religion. - -It was during the composition of the stories contained in _The Untilled -Field_ that Mr. Moore came to realize that the Celt was but a herdsman, -and that art had steadily declined in Ireland since the Irish Church was -joined to Rome. But what was the reason for this decline? Was it due to -the race or to Catholicism? Mr. Moore and his friends discussed this -question at length and considered the history of literature in relation -to the Roman Catholic Church. Their discoveries astonished him, for the -case against Catholicism was even stronger than he had hoped for. - -About two thousand years ago the Ecclesiastic started out to crush life, -and "in three centuries humility, resignation and obedience were -accepted as virtues; the shrines of the gods were abandoned; the -beautiful limbs of the lover and athlete were forbidden to the sculptor -and the meagre thighs of dying saints were offered him instead. -Literature died, for literature can but praise life. Music died, for -music can but praise life, and the lugubrious _Dies Irae_ was heard in -the fanes. What use had a world for art when the creed current among men -was that life is a mean and miserable thing? So amid lugubrious chant -and solemn procession the dusk thickened until the moment of deepest -night was reached in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries. In the -fifteenth century the dawn began in Italy, and sculptors and painters -turned their eyes toward Greece." Dante was a Catholic, although not a -very orthodox one, and Catholicism can make a valid claim to the -cathedrals and the choral music of Vittoria and Palestrina. But the -painters of the Renaissance were as pagan as Cæsar Borgia and only chose -religious subjects as a pretext for drawing and to meet a certain -demand. In fact, the whole spirit of the Renaissance was pagan and -progressive, and a return to the Middle Ages was averted when "that -disagreeable monk, Savonarola," was burned at the stake. After this new -birth came the Reformation, resulting in the Council of Trent, which -forbade all speculation on the meaning and value of life and arranged -"the Catholic's journey from the cradle to the grave as carefully as any -tour planned by that excellent firm, Messrs. Cook and Sons." As a result -there has been practically no Catholic literature since that time. - -"Art is but praise of life, and it is only through the arts that we can -praise life. Life is a rose that withers in the iron fist of dogma, and -it was France that forced open the deadly fingers of the Ecclesiastic -and allowed the rose to bloom again." Descartes, Rabelais, Montaigne, -Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Montesquieu, Hugo, Balzac, Gautier, Renan, -Taine, Merimee, George Sand, Flaubert, Zola, and Maupassant are all -agnostics. The most important Christians are Pascal, Racine, and -Corneille, who wrote mere imitations of the Greek drama without any -criticism of life, and Verlaine, who embraced the Church in an ecstasy -more sensuous than religious. In Germany there are Goethe, Schiller, -Heine, Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer, Wagner, and Nietzsche--no Catholics -and mainly agnostic. In Russia we find the utterly unmoral Turgenev and -Tolstoy, who professed to be a Christian, but, as Mr. Moore points out, -did not believe in the Resurrection of the Body. In Italy the main -figure since the Reformation is an artist of today, the pagan -D'Annunzio. In Spain there is one great Catholic work, _Don Quixote_, -but it is completely unethical. Among the Scandinavians, Ibsen, -Bjornson, and Strindberg are agnostics. In England the main evidence for -the defence is found in Pope, who called himself a Christian, but wrote -_The Essay on Man_, and Cardinal Newman, who, according to Carlyle, had -a brain like a half-grown rabbit. In America there are Hawthorne, -Emerson, Poe, and Whitman--Protestant and agnostic. - -The reason for all this has been explained by Mr. Moore again and again. -It lies in the fact that the Church has always preferred the obedient -and poor in spirit to the courageous and the wise. Religion is strongest -among ignorant and weak-minded people, and as far back as the book of -Genesis we read of God's anger at the man and woman who ate of the -forbidden fruit. "The two great enemies of religion are the desire to -live and the desire to know," and the whole tendency of art is to -increase and strengthen these desires. Another thing for which the -Church is responsible is the present attitude toward love. Mr. Moore -writes with pride of "the noble and exalted world that must have existed -before Christian doctrine caused men to look upon women with suspicion -and bade them to think of angels instead." He insists with Gautier that -earth is as beautiful as heaven. - -When he had decided that literature was incompatible with dogma, Mr. -Moore found himself in a decidedly unpleasant situation. He had changed -the course of his life to take part in the Irish Renaissance, and now he -realized that the Irish Renaissance was a mere bubble. The whole history -of the world showed that literature could not be produced in a Roman -Catholic country. The only thing for him to do was to leave Ireland, but -in the meanwhile he felt that he must declare himself a Protestant. -Between art and religion there could be but one choice for him; the -religion must be changed. It is true that he had never acquiesced in any -of the dogmas of the Catholic Church, but he had been baptized in that -Church, and he had always been considered a Catholic. Protestantism -seemed much preferable, because Protestantism leaves the mind very -nearly free. In the _Confessions of a Young Man_, he had already -expressed his prejudice in its favor. "Look at the nations that have -clung to Catholicism, starving moonlighters and starving brigands. The -Protestant flag floats on every ocean breeze, the Catholic banner hangs -limp in the incensed silence of the Vatican." And so Mr. Moore after -several futile interviews with the Anglican priest wrote to _The Irish -Times_ announcing his change from the Church of Rome, and began the -composition of _Hail and Farewell_ as the best means in his power to -liberate his country priestcraft. - - P. M. HENRY. - - - Smile and Scream: Chekhov and Andreyev - - _Stories of Russian Life_, by Anton Tchekoff; translated by Marian - Fell. [Charles Scribner's Sons, New York.] - - _Savva_ and _The Life of Man_, by Leonid Andreyev; translated from - the French (!) by Thomas Seltzer. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] - -A French critic characterized Russian literature as Heroic. Tragic would -perhaps be a happier definition; what has been Russian life, and hence -its literature, but a continuous tragedy? Gogol looked into that life -and burst into a homeric laughter which ultimately drove him insane; the -"repenting nobleman" Turgenyev was devoured by melancholy over his sad -heroes and heroines; the "cruel genius" of Dostoyevsky convulsively -writhed in contemplation of the "humiliated and offended"; Chekhov, who -had begun his career in the gayest humor, turned eventually gloomy and -pronounced his diagnosis: Such life is impossible; even Gorky, the -chanter of hymns to the proud Man, was crushed and silenced by grim -reality, and his scepter of the idol of young Russia passed into the -hands of the most pessimistic writer, Andreyev. - - O forgive me, my unfortunate people: - Not one gay song have I sung for you yet! - - _Frug._ - - * * * * * - -Tutchev found a mysterious beauty in the brightness of autumn evenings: - - Wane, enfeeblement, and on all-- - That mild smile of decay - Which in sensible creatures we call - Exalted meekness of suffering. - -Such was the smile of Anton Chekhov. Run through his works, look at the -sad faces of his heroes, listen to the yearning effusions of his women, -observe _his_ Nature, his skies and steppes, and your heart will shrink -before that smile of fading autumn. He knew and understood Russian life -better than any other writer, and keenly felt its tragicness and ... -hopelessness. Therefore he did not protest or advocate, did not denounce -or propagate, did not shout or curse, as most of his colleagues did: for -what is the use? He only smiled, a sad gripping smile that maddens the -sensitive reader--a smile of ennui and helplessness characteristic of -the Russian "soilless" intellectual. I believe it was this smile, which -masqued an abyss of sorrow and pain, that early extinguished Chekhov's -life; it is so much easier and more healthful to scream and howl than to -smile under torture. - -The stories translated by Miss Fell are far not of the best (by the way: -why not use a correct transliteration? Why that half-German, -half-English "Tchekoff"?). I suspect that the translator endeavored to -choose the least typically-Russian sketches in the hope that they would -be more "understandable" to the foreign reader; such attempts generally -fail to convey the real atmosphere. "If you wish to know the Poet, you -must go into the Poet's land," said Goethe. On the whole, however, the -book is imbued with the Chekhovian _leit-motif_--the longing, -struggling, crippled Russian soul. - -Leonid Andreyev is of a dual personality: the artist, and the mouthpiece -of society. In his early sketches, in his short stories, and in his -greatest achievement, _The Seven Who Were Hanged_, he is the wonderful -psychologist, the unveiler of the soul mysteries with an art that -approaches that of Maeterlinck. Russian reality, however, is a Moloch -clamoring victims; the powerful tragedy of life absorbs and subjugates -all individual forces, and it requires great artistic strength to -preserve aloofness from the burning problems of the day. Andreyev has -witnessed the most appalling epoch in his country's history: disastrous -war, revolution, reaction, famine, national demoralization. He has been -tempted to interpret the passing events, a perilous path for an artist -whose field of observation must lie either in the crystallized past or -in the dim future, never in chronicling the floating present. In his -stories and plays of that later period, Andreyev revealed such horrors, -such gruesome scenes, that we have felt as if we were in a Gallery of -Tortures. Horror shrieks, screams, beats upon our senses, maddens us. -But the colors are too loud, the medium of tickling our sensations too -vulgar. I recall a passage from Merezhkovsky, a description of one of -the museums in Florence. There is a head of Dante; the face is calm, -almost indifferent, yet one sees at once that it is a face of one who -saw hell. In the same room hangs a wax-image of Plague, with hideous -details--rotting cadavers with outpouring bowels in which swarm enormous -worms. The Sunday-visitors pass by Dante's head yawning, but wistfully -crowd at the wax Plague. I confess this scene, at times, makes me draw -an analogy with Chekhov and Andreyev. - -As a playwright Andreyev has utterly failed; he lacks dramatic -constraint and proportion. He puts into the mouths of his actors -bombastic phrases, to the delight of the gallery; but there is -absolutely too much talking in his plays, with very little drama. The -two plays published in the book now before me, _Savva_ and _Life of -Man_, have caused more discussion than any of his other plays,--a fact -due not to their particular merit, but to their pyrotechnic effects and -"understandableness." - -Savva, a young man "with a suggestion of the peasant in his looks," has -a modest intention to annihilate everything. - - Man is to remain, of course. What is in his way is the stupidity - that, piling up for thousands of years, has grown into a - mountain. The modern sages want to build on this mountain, but - that, of course, will lead to nothing but making the mountain - still higher. It is the mountain itself that must be removed. It - must be levelled to its foundation, down to the bare earth. - - ... Annihilate everything! The old houses, the old cities, the - old literature, the old art.... All the old dress must go. Man - must be stripped bare and left on a naked earth! Then he will - build up a new life. The earth must be denuded; it must be - stripped of its hideous old rags. It deserves to be arrayed in a - king's mantle; but what have they done with it? They have dressed - it in coarse fustian, in convict clothes. They've built cities, - the idiots! - - ... Believe me, monk, I have been in many cities and in many - lands. Nowhere did I see a free man. I saw only slaves. I saw the - cages in which they live, the beds on which they are born and - die; I saw their hatreds and their loves, their sins and their - good works. And I saw also their amusements, their pitiful - attempts to bring dead joy back to life again. And everything - that I saw bore the stamp of stupidity and unreason. He that is - born wise turns stupid in their midst: he that is born cheerful - hangs himself from boredom and sticks out his tongue at them. - Amidst the flowers of the beautiful earth--you have no idea how - beautiful the earth is, monk--they have erected insane asylums. - And what are they doing with their children? I have never yet - seen parents who do not deserve capital punishment; first because - they begot children, and secondly, because, having begot them, - they did not immediately commit suicide. - -Well, how is this _enfant terrible_--the trumpeter of a popularized -edition of Schopenhauer, Bakounin, Stirner, Nietzsche, etc., etc.--how -is this "bad man" going to carry through his gigantic plans? In a very -simple manner: he will destroy the wonder-working ikon of the Saviour, -that made the monastery of his native town famous; he will place a bomb -behind the ikon, and its explosion will open the eyes of the ignorant -believers. A tempest in a cup of water! But hark and tremble: - - When we are through with God, we'll go for fellows like him. - There are lots of them--Titian, Shakespeare, Byron. We'll make a - nice pile of the whole lot and pour oil over it. Then we'll burn - their cities. - -Monologues, long and pretentious like those quoted, fill up the play to -a point of dizziness; yet there are a few oases in that unhappy work, -where you find the real Andreyev, the unrivalled painter of sorrow and -suffering. Here is, for instance, one of the pilgrims, a man who had -killed accidentally his son and has since been wandering from monastery -to monastery, fasting, wearing heavy chains, and indulging in all sorts -of self-chastisement. The cynical monks give him the cruel nickname of -King Herod, which he bears, like his other burdens, with the joy of a -martyr. Listen to his unsophisticated talk: - - _King Herod_: I am wise. My sorrow has made me so. It is a great - sorrow. There is none greater on earth. I killed my son with my - own hand. Not the hand you are looking at, but the one which - isn't here. - - _Savva_: Where is it? - - _King Herod_: I burnt it. I held it in the stove and let it burn - up to my elbow. - - _Savva_: Did that relieve you? - - _King Herod_: No. Fire cannot destroy my grief. It burns with a - heat that is greater than fire.... No, young man, fire is weak. - Spit on it and it is quenched. - -Our hero, Savva, is naturally offended, for his motto is _Ignis sanat_, -and he is determined to cure the world with fire. The pilgrim calmly -rejoinds: - - No, boy. Every fire goes out when its time comes. My grief is - great, so great that when I look around me I say to myself: good - heavens, what has become of everything else that's large and - great? Where has it all gone to? The forest is small, the house - is small, the mountain is small, the whole earth is small, a mere - poppy seed. You have to walk cautiously and look out, lest you - reach the end and drop off. - - .......... - - _Speransky_: I feel blue. - - _King Herod_: Keep still, keep still, I don't want to listen. You - are suffering? Keep still. I am a man too, brother, so I don't - understand. I'll insult you if you don't look out. - - ... Here I am with my sorrow. You see what it is--there is no - greater on earth. And yet if God spoke to me and said, "Yeremy, I - will give you the whole earth if you give me your grief," I - wouldn't give it away. I will not give it away, friend. It is - sweeter to me than honey; it is stronger than the strongest - drink. Through it I have learned the truth. - - _Savva_: God? - - _King Herod_: Christ--that's the one! He alone can understand the - sorrow that is in me. He sees and understands. "Yes, Yeremy, I - see how you suffer." That's all. "I see." And I answer Him: "Yes, - O Lord, behold my sorrow!" That's all. No more is necessary. - - _Savva_: What you value in Christ is His suffering...? - - _King Herod_: You mean His crucifixion? No, brother, that - suffering was a trifle. They crucified him--what did that matter? - The important point was that thereby He came to know the truth. - As long as He walked the earth, He was--well--a man, rather a - good man--talking here and there about this and that.... But when - these same fellows carried Him off to the cross and went at Him - with knouts, whips, and lashes, then His eyes were opened. "Aha!" - He said, "so that's what it is!" And He prayed: "I cannot endure - such suffering. I thought it would be a simple crucifixion; but, - O Father in Heaven, what is this?" And the Father said to Him: - "Never mind, never mind, Son! Know the truth, know what it is." - And from then on He fell to sorrowing, and has been sorrowing to - this day. - - ... And everywhere, wherever I go, I see before me His pure - visage. "Do you understand my suffering, O Lord?" "I understand, - Yeremy, I understand everything. Go your way in peace." I am to - Him like a transparent crystal with a tear inside. "You - understand, Lord?" "I understand, Yeremy." "Well, and I - understand you too." So we live together. He with me, I with him. - I am sorry for Him also. When I die, I will transmit my sorrow to - Him. "Take it Lord." - -In depicting individual sorrow Andreyev approaches Dostoevsky; it is -when he raises general, universal questions, that he miserably fails in -answering them. The Russian public has "spoiled" him, has crowned him -with the title of a genius, when he is only a man of big talent. -Unfortunately Andreyev took the flattery of the beast-public seriously; -he said to himself: Who knows? Maybe I am, indeed, an Atlas. Let me try -and shake the world. And he did try! As a result we have, among his -other sore failures, the loudest commonplace--_Life of Man_. - -I think it was Maurice Baring, a Russologue and an admirer of the -playwright, who defined _Life of Man_ as an algebraic play, with Man -standing for _x_ and Fate for _y_. Not the tragedy of a certain life -under certain conditions, but Life in general, under all circumstances, -was the object of the drama. It is the world-old problem, the futility -of man's struggles in the face of blind unreasoning fate that may at any -moment overthrow his toy-castles. Perhaps a Goethe might attempt to say -something new on that subject, or at least to put it in a new way. With -Andreyev the task proved to be not "up to his shoulder," as the Russians -say. The annoying pretentiousness of the play appears a hundred times -more convex when on the stage. I saw it once in the "symbolized" theatre -of Mme. Kommissarzhevskaya in St. Petersburg, and another time in the -performance of the Moscow Artistic Theatre. On the first occasion I was -bored to death, and pitied the gifted manager, Mr. Meyerhold, in his -futile attempt to veil the platitudes of the play in mysticism, to -create an atmosphere, a "_Stimmung_." The Moscow people succeeded in -emphasizing the ridiculous awkwardness of the drama, the shrill -incongruities of the situations and styles,--and I shall ever be -grateful to them for the minutes of hearty laughter that they caused me -then and which I cannot escape even now, as soon as I recall the harmony -between the symbolicized Someone in Gray (sh-sh ...--Fate!) and the -super-realistic shrieks of the mother giving birth to a child. The -actors did their best, but no miracle could have saved the doomed loud -nothingness. - -As I have mentioned, Andreyev's "heel of Achilles" demonstrates its -vulnerability when he obeys the call of the public and speaks on -up-to-date topics. _Life of Man_ was written, evidently, in response to -the symbolistic moods that became noticeable among Russian society at -the beginning of the twentieth century. For more than ten years the -group of Symbolists, under the leadership of Valery Brusov, had been -ridiculed and unrecognized. Then came the reaction: All began to talk -symbols; the press, the stage, the art galleries, the public lectures, -became symbolistic over night. A torrent of parodies and imitations -gushed on the market, and the public did not differentiate between the -real and false coins. It became _bon-ton_ to quote Brusov, Balmont, -Viacheslav Ivanov, Sollogub; schoolboys declaimed about "the ostrich -feathers that wave in my brains," and janitors whined to "the moon, in a -white bonnet with embroidery." - -_Life of Man_ reaped broad success, a fact that speaks volumes on the -taste of the Public. I am sure that in this country Andreyev's play -would be a more "paying proposition" for the producer than even -"Everywoman." The plaintive philosophy of Job clothed in modern -phraseology; Maeterlinckian Fates dancing in a saloon around the drunken -Man; symbolization of Destiny and squeals of the new-born Man; -quasi-primitiveness turned into wood-cut allegory and melodramatic -effects (of course, there occur several deaths: there is not a single -play by Andreyev not spiced with two or three natural or unnatural -deaths),--is it any wonder that _Life of Man_ vied in popularity with -its contemporary, _The Merry Widow_? - -No, messrs. stage-managers and publishers, we reject your popular -Andreyev. - - ALEXANDER S. KAUN. - - - Horace Traubel's Whitman - - _With Walt Whitman in Camden_, by Horace Traubel. [Mitchell - Kennerley, New York.] - -The wheat that eager work extricates from huge masses of chaff is worth -what it costs. _Leaves of Grass_ does not contain all the solid -nutrition that stands for Whitman's durable contribution to the literary -food supply of America: he added to it substantially by talking to his -friend, Horace Traubel, during the poet's residence at Camden, N. J., -from 1888 to the end of his life in 1892, and that comrade, who jotted -down every word, has scattered the resultant wheat through its own -chaff. Three of the eight volumes through which the mixture is to run -have been published. - -It is inevitable that inconsequential stuff--sheer nonsense in -instances--should find its way into this morbidly complete story of the -harvest years of Whitman's life; but it is surprising how much -personality and interpretative value lie hidden in some of his most -commonplace utterances. A tremendous personality descends to occasional -banality because of the inadequacy and commonness of words. It is too -much to expect Whitman even to revitalize the vocabulary of a democracy. -But great as he was as a cosmic voice, Whitman exhibited and confessed -kinship with common clay. In fact, _Leaves of Grass_ could never have -grown out of an artificial soil, inoculated with classic cultures; it -sprang as the first vegetation upon the surface of a wild, primal clay. -Whitman was first of all a big, magnificent animal-man; he was -secondarily a powerful poetic instrumentality, giving sound and -articulation to the wee sma' voices exhaled by the earth. That is why -the essence of his message was an appeal and a challenge to and an -expression of democracy. (Of course, I do not mean the institutionalized -democracy of politicians, for no Jeffersonian goes to Whitman for solace -when his faith is wobbling; I mean the bio-economic democracy that some -of us believe in as a part of natural law.) - -As a man and as a poet Whitman was simply, daringly, and resolutely -himself. He had achieved a large, strong selfhood before Traubel began -to Boswellize him, and to that intimate friend he revealed in the -languages of pen, tongue, countenance, and silence all the bigness and -littleness that a long and intimate relationship could evoke. It would -therefore be unfair to ascribe to Whitman all the sapless hay with which -these three volumes are padded; it is largely a product of mutual -reactions. But in relation to Traubel more than to any other person, -Whitman was consistently, habitually, and subconsciously himself, and -the result is that this discursive, unedited "story" of the poet's life -and work will live as the most personal and valuable revealment of his -character. It is the last word about him as a man. Whitman the poet -effected his supreme expression in the poem beginning with the words, "I -celebrate myself." Other features which give permanent distinction to -these volumes are the letters to Whitman from noted men and women in -America and Great Britain, and numerous portraits of himself and some of -his friends. - -Despite the fact that this work is padded with arid minutæ, which I -should be the last person to abridge, every page is interesting to -readers of Whitman and students of American literature. The first page -of the first volume, for example, contains an allusion to Emerson's -senility that is worth reading--in Whitman's words. Reading at random in -the third volume I found this striking quotation: - - Breaking loose is the thing to do: breaking loose, resenting the - bonds, opening new ways: but when a fellow breaks loose or starts - to or even only thinks he thinks he'll revolt, he should be quite - sure he knows what he has undertaken. I expected hell: I got it: - nothing that has occurred to me was a surprise. - -Turning back a hundred pages I found this: - - I have always had an idea that I should some day move off--be - alone: finish my life in isolation. - -This is the thought of the natural man who would die like a man. One -could quote indefinitely from this extraordinary autobiography of the -most outstanding figure in American literature. - - DEWITT C. WING. - - - Midstream - - _Midstream_, by Will Levington Comfort. [George H. Doran Company, - New York.] - -A direct, big thing--so simple that almost no one has done it -before--this Mr. Comfort has dared. He gives us the story of his own -life to the mid-way mark. It is not an autobiography--one of those -deferential veilings of truth, a blinding of the spectator by the -scattering of fact-dust. After reading it one does not remember clearly -the author's various removals from Detroit to other centers of activity; -one remembers the vital events in his consciousness, the shames, -triumphs, and searchings of his body and soul. Here is a man's life laid -absolutely bare. - -There is no use in explaining the value of such a book to those who do -not admit it. People to whom reserve is more important than truth; -people who are made uncomfortable by intimate grasp of anything--these -will not read _Midstream_ through. - -The others will see here a chance to understand. And they will emerge -from the book with a sense of the absolute nobility of Mr. Comfort's -frankness. If a thousand writers should give us such books we should -understand better the much-befogged basis of all human problems--"human -nature." Every man draws his own conclusions about vital matters from -just such introspection as this, whether it be conscious or unconscious. -But every man does not have the candor and the hard-won insight of the -trained writer. - -It would be possible to enter into futile discussions about the -"artistic" value of such a book--whether naturalism can give us as fine -a work as imagination. Whatever might be the result of such a -discussion, Mr. Comfort's book remains interesting, and interest is the -first value of any written work. He is neither a Wilde nor a Turgenev, -but he is a true writer. - -To recapitulate the adventures of the sensitive and often unwholesome -boy, the degradations and victories of the young newspaper reporter, the -soldier, the war correspondent, the husband, and the writer, would be to -undermine the novel itself. If you want to experience them, let Mr. -Comfort be the narrator. - -It may not be out of place, however, to quote a few of the conclusions, -in order to give a taste of the book's direction. - -This of man: - - A man is clean alone, if he is clean at all. - - It isn't being superman to learn to listen to the real self--just - the beginnings of manhood proper. - -This of publishers and the public: - - In many, not all, editorial offices, the producer is paid well - and swiftly alone for that which is common, in which plots are - pictured, and all but greedy imagination put to death.... I saw - that it was not enough for me to get down to the parlance of men, - but to leave all hope behind--not only possible intellectual - authority--but, by all means, any spiritual in sight; that only - frank "down writing" would do. - -This of woman's status: - - The soul of woman dies if it may not sometimes aspire. A periodic - possession of devils on a man's part will not break the waiting - quiescence of his woman, but the sordid routine of downtown - methods will set her into screaming destruction at the last. - - The creature who eight times the year obeys the tradesmen's - instinct for style; who has broken her bearing with centuries of - clothes-bondage, fed her brain upon man's ideas of sex, her body - upon food bought for her and prepared by people whom she does not - respect; who has not yet heard the end of a dollar-discussion - begun when her baby ears first noted sounds; who holds in shame - all that is mighty in her genius, and who has finally accepted as - a mate one of her male familiars--she is a man-made creature, in - whom is buried a woman. She is man's ignorance and effrontery - incarnate--the victim of his mania for material proprieties, - which, from the beginning, have utterly desecrated spiritual - truth. - -And this of the future: - - By every observation, law and analogy in life, the constructive - purpose at work in the world is toward the end of the increase of - spiritual receptivity in every creature, a continual heightening - vibration toward the key-rhythm. - - G. S. - - - A Defense of the Grotesque - - _Sonnets from the Patagonian_, by Donald Evans. [Claire Marie, New - York.] - -It has become the fashion, even among intelligent people, to fling -tawdry sneers at something not understood--especially the intensely -grotesque. The indulgent smile has disappeared, and the little peevish -joke has taken its place. Perhaps this is obvious, but some obvious -things cannot be made too obvious. - -_Sonnets from the Patagonian_ is a type of book which will be almost -universally laughed at. Yet it is something like a gold nugget: one must -use his mind as a pick with which to isolate streaks of poetry from the -coarse rock. The rock is simply grotesqueness. The gold is protesqueness -mixed with unconscious simplicity. - -I took out my pick one night and started the mental manual-labor. At the -end I had extracted six of the most startling, clutching, beautiful -lines of verse ever written in English. Perhaps the twisted dreariness -of their surroundings made them stand out more vividly, gave them a -false value to me. I shall let the reader judge. - - And life was just an orchid that was dead. - - Her hidden smile was full of little breasts. - - Gnawed by the mirage of an opening night. - - And a fawn-colored laugh sucks in the night. - - And like peach-blossoms blown across the wind, - Her white words made the hour seem cool and kind. - -Six lines almost lost in the mirage the poet speaks off, but well worth -finding. - - M. B. - - Patriotism is a superstition artificially created and maintained - through a net-work of lies and falsehoods; a superstition that - robs man of his self-respect and dignity, and increases his - arrogance and self-conceit.--_Emma Goldman._ - - - - - The Reader Critic - - -_Emma Goldman, Los Angeles_: - - _Readers have a legitimate interest in the truth of critical - articles. We therefore believe they will welcome these comments - by Miss Goldman on the article about herself. If Miss Goldman had - been displeased, we should have printed her letter with equal - frankness._ - -A Chicago friend sent me THE LITTLE REVIEW for May, which contains your -very excellent article on _The Challenge of Emma Goldman_. I cannot -begin to tell you how much I appreciate what you have to say about my -work and myself, not because of your sympathetic interpretation but -because of your deep grasp of the purpose which is urging my work and -permeating my life. I hope you will not mistake it as conceit on my part -when I tell you that more has been written about me than perhaps about -any other woman in this country, but that most of it has been trash. The -only person who came near the fundamental urge in my personality was -William Marion Reedy of _The St. Louis Mirror_, who wrote _The Daughter -of the Dream_. I do not know whether you have ever seen it, but even his -splendid write-up does not compare with yours, because it contains much -more flattery than understanding. You can, therefore, imagine my joy in -finding that it was a woman who demonstrated so much depth and -appreciation of the cardinal principles in my work. - -_S. H. G., New York_: - -It's getting banal for me to praise the magazine--I'm sorry, but I can't -help it. The thing has assumed the nervous importance to me of an -emotional experience foreseen and inevitable. And now that I've finished -reading the June issue I can truthfully say there isn't a line in it I -wouldn't have been poorer without. That couldn't be said of any other -magazine ever published. - -Your June "leader" is not only true and big, but absolutely timely. The -essentially immoral thing should be the thing which does not contribute -in some way, however obscure, to the main current. You call it "waste." -The reason vice is disgusting is because it turns human stuff off into -an inescapable pocket. My idea is a sort of spiritual utilitarianism, -you see. Yet without the flat associations of utilitarianism because it -recognizes so many things as means to the end--joy and pain and -rebellion, for instance. - -Dr. Fosters' article is superb! The fallacy of all ethical systems is -that they set up an abstract word as a virtue under all conditions. -"Unselfishness," for instance. Sometimes a fine virtue--sometimes not, -according to circumstances. We must decide, not the rigid word. Almost -all present-day fallacies proceed from a failure to recognize the fact -that the world is fluid. The individual is worthless except for his -dynamic. The static (vice) leads to death; death is merely -disorganization of the individual, so that life may be cast in new forms -better fitted to proceed. - -_W. M., New York_: - -I am reading THE LITTLE REVIEW month by month with much interest, and -have found many things that gave me pleasure. I admire the intellectual -standard. There is plenty of good, earnest thought in each issue. I -should like, however, to see a little more of what, for want of a better -word, I term "human." THE REVIEW is still in the colder currents of -intellectualism. I think it can stand a little more warm feeling, even -if you get it in the way of a controversy. - -_F. R.-W., New York_: - -I am distinctly of the opinion that THE LITTLE REVIEW is worth while. It -is one of the very few periodicals I read through from cover to cover. -If this can be made to go it will be a greater triumph for the American -people than for you. So many magazines of this type have been based upon -unsound premises. They have become the vehicle for irrepressible self -expression; they have followed freak paths of every variety; they have -turned Pegasus into a mechanical hydro-aeroplane and have flattered -themselves that, Icarus-like, they were scaling the summits to the sky -and endangering their pinions near the sun, when, as a matter of fact, -they were plunging through the sloughs below and the only evidence of -the sun was its reflection upon the mud by which they were surrounded. -With THE LITTLE REVIEW, however, I have a fine sense of clarity. - -_F. D., New York_: - -Not long ago I wrote you a long, long letter about THE LITTLE REVIEW. -But I didn't send it, because who am I to dogmatize about criticism? -Anyway, I was severe upon you, because I was disappointed. I really -don't think THE LITTLE REVIEW is critical at all. It is exuberantly -uncritical--enthusiastic about the wrong things. But you will probably -get tired of just being enthusiastic after a time, and start in to -criticise. I'm sorry I don't like it better. It has had some good things -in it. What I principally object to is your own editorial attitude. - -_Constance Skinner, New York_: - -I have just read your first issue and want to send my godspeed to this -magazine that _feels_. I am so sick of callousness and sneers and -flippancy. - -Your Paderewski article touches me nearly. Shall I send you a brief -little picture of Paderewski playing one summer morning at Modjeska's -home in St. Ana Canon, California? Her face so fine, so sweet, with the -"so be it" and imperishable sounding memory of broken harp chords, as -she sat by silent and listened and looked across the years to Poland, to -the heart of humanity as she had held it and shaped it in those days of -her own power, ere she picked this starving boy from his attic and said -to Warsaw: "_Ecce homo_." Her husband listening better, because watching -her, to what the long fingers, like lights flashing, were bringing from -the depths. His (the player's) beautiful wife leaning upon the piano, -where he always wished to have her, where he could see her face as he -played. Outside the sloping canyon wall beginning in a rare rioting, -rose garden and reaching to a silver and blue rugged granite where -mountain lions sometimes pace restlessly. A great clump of live oaks, -four monster trees, their size ranging from ninety to one hundred and -twenty feet from bough to bough, roofing with bronze and green leafage -this last retreat of the woman who had been hailed greatest of all in -three countries. Among the roses by the low open windows of the piano -alcove the Polish maid standing, weeping, and the old lame man, her -brother, limping along from his work, taking off his hat and standing -there, too, unashamed of the tears flooding. And when he had finished -playing they came in and caught his hands and kissed them and spoke. The -lame man said: "I was in church, but it was holier. It was a rosary, but -every head was a light." The maid said: "Poland is not dead." This madam -translated to me, and the fire and mist in her eyes--surely the most -wonderful eyes ever made--was something I could not look away from. She -added: "Poland is not dead while Poles can weep. We must bless grief, it -has given us our art." - -_H. G. S., Chicago_: - -I am going to ask you to please discontinue my subscription to THE -LITTLE REVIEW, as your ideas which you set forth in your leading -articles are so entirely crude and so vastly different from my own that -I do not care to be responsible for its appearance in my home any -longer. - - [_This reader has the honor of sending in the first cancellation. - We might take his denunciation more seriously if it were not for - our suspicion that what he really meant to say was this: "Your - ideas are entirely crude because so vastly different from my - own."--The Editor._] - - _The following is typical of the older generation's response to - the new order. It is a perfectly consistent letter, a perfectly - sincere one, and a perfectly impossible one. But it is not to be - taken so lightly as it deserves: first, because it has all the - poison the younger generation hates most; second, because its - perplexities are perfectly natural ones; and third, because - education, in order really to be effective, must begin upon just - such attitudes. It may be as well to answer at least one of the - writer's arguments by quoting Shaw. In his new preface, in a - chapter called The Risks of Ignorance and Weakness, he says very - neatly: "The difficulty with children is that they need - protection from risks they are too young to understand, and - attacks they can neither avoid nor desist. You may on academic - grounds allow a child to snatch glowing coals from the fire once. - You will not do it twice. The risks of liberty we must let - everyone take; but the risks of ignorance and self-helplessness - are another matter. Not only children but adults need protection - from them." Following the mother's letter is one from a boy which - ought to throw some light on the subject from the young - generation's standpoint._ - -_Margaret Pixlee, Indianapolis_: - -I feel impelled to reply to your article entitled _The Renaissance of -Parenthood_. I wonder what could have been the home-life of such a girl -as you quote from, that she should write that kind of a letter. Shaw -says, "there is nothing so futile or so stupid as to try to control your -children." Your opinion that Shaw's ideas are "glorious" shows at once -that you have only touched the surface of what motherhood is. Can you -honestly believe that a parent is doing his duty if he allows a child to -rush in front of a moving automobile attracted by the bright lights, -knowing nothing of the danger ahead--which certainly would mean death if -the child had its own way? Irrespective of what Shaw or Ellen Key write, -it is the parents' absolute duty to train and educate a child until he -is capable of using his own reasoning powers. And, too, there is but one -way. Principle and Truth with Love and Charity are the only way. Let me -here quote from your article on Emma Goldman. If you do not agree with -Emma Goldman, you say in effect, let us at least be broadminded and see -both sides. But are you doing this? From my point of view, you seem to -take the side only of free thinking, and, as you call it, independent -thought. There is no independent thought, except doing right. I can see -your point of view. As we look about us among the people of the social -world, many are indeed selling their children in marriage to some man -for the petty consideration of high social position and money. Many -times when an engagement is announced the first question is how well off -is the man, instead of what are his principles and is he worthy of the -girl. These poor children are indeed the offspring of foolish parents, -and are to be pitied. If as they advance on life's highway they are -given to see what principle means, then is it right to separate and go -their own way? We all must develop the spiritual within; but to break -loose from home ties, as this girl seems to desire, from selfishness -alone, will lead to a worse death than that of being crushed by the -automobile. I have admitted that to sell a child in wedlock to a man -whose only attraction is a fat bank account and social position is crime -of the blackest. But taking the other course is equally as bad, for -passionate love is always selfish and soon burns out. Let us consider -for one moment a child born out of wedlock. As I understand it, -so-called free thinkers consider this right. They disregard the law, and -honestly think they have done a fine thing. "All for love and the world -well lost." A daughter is born, and from some remote ancestor she -inherits a love of the conventional. Can you picture to yourself what -the suffering would be to see the daughter you love an outcast always -from the things she cares for through what you call the grand -passion--nothing more or less than the supreme selfishness of two human -beings, no matter what you and the girl you are privileged to quote from -"think you believe"? It will not be possible to do the deeds you write -about as they are portrayed by free thinkers. Truth will be revealed to -your innermost self. You cannot do otherwise than follow the Divine -Revelation, which alone leads to real happiness, for all material -pleasures are swept away sooner or later. - -_A boy reader, Chicago_: - -In the preface of his latest _Quintessence of Ibsenism_, Shaw expresses -his astonishment that the book changed peoples' minds. He has perhaps by -now collected abundant evidence that his books really have changed -peoples' minds and whole life courses. What would, perhaps, be more -astonishing to him is the fact that the first hearing of one of his -plays did it--and without the aid of a preface. - -_Fanny's First Play_ started me thinking about family relationship. Long -before the play was published, with the lengthy preface on parents and -children, the very things he advises were happening. The preface was -undoubtedly written after long contemplation of the play--as was my -action; proving that the generalizations he makes are not as impossible -or absurd as the family egotist so pathetically argues. - -I do not doubt that this play, the beginning of my knowledge of Shaw, -was the most important event of my youth. It is, of course, most -important as a woman's play, but why Margaret Knox's revolt could not be -mine I do not see. - -The family in which I was being "brought up" was all that Shaw says the -present day family is--and worse, for there were also brothers and a -sister to aid in the "bringing up." These were all brought up in dutiful -submission to mother's influence and father's care. They had "arrived" -or gone just as far as they ever thought of going just as I was starting -for my goal. Their present condition had received parental commendation; -but what I saw, on looking about me, made me shudder--and think. I would -find out the reason for their condition and see if their fate was to be -mine. Of one thing I was certain:--if "family duty" or "filial piety" -were responsible for the state of things I would have none of it--and I -said so. - -"You'll see--you'll bump your head some day; you'll see what good it -does to have foolish visions or dreams; you just do what you're told and -you'll be better off. Mother and father know more than you--they're -older." All this I had patronizingly handed out to me. Somehow all this -was horrible to me--this idea of contemplating a future such as -theirs--a colorless life built on "doing what you're told" and not -"having foolish dreams." For it struck me as an existence that mocked -the very system that was responsible for it. The only thing by which I -could judge the worth of the advice was the finished result. - -Of course when I presented my case to my parents I was met with that -attitude always displayed toward youthful self-assertion. To make my -case clear to their somewhat bewildered minds I drew up a list of -grievances: there were thirty-three concrete faults in the existing -order that must be stamped out or radically changed. - -They fell into four groups. Foremost was my education; there were ten in -that group:--all as unintelligent and old as thinking that a city -grammar school education was enough for any boy. As soon as I was old -enough to work it would be useless to educate myself any further. I -wouldn't need it any way. It would be wasting time that should be spent -in learning a trade. They had decided that the "building line" was the -safest to work in and therefore I must become a bricklayer or a -carpenter or something that "pays good." That I should have some say as -to what I should take up for life they thought foolish--I would only -pick out something that wouldn't bring enough salary. "Look at your big -brother--he's got a nice steady job as a mailman; he didn't need any -extra, expensive schooling." - -Next were my religious and spiritual ideals. There were four in that -group. They were quite as dogmatic in their "thou must nots" as those in -the church ritual they wished us to believe explicitly. Superstition -played a big part in the religion they wanted us to believe. Theirs was -a Sunday religion, and, not practicing it themselves, it was absurd for -them to ask our respect on that score. - -Economically they were quite positive that only they were capable of -taking care of things. We were not able to spend our own money in a -sensible way and were not to be trusted with deciding what should be -done with what was saved or earned. As to their ideas on the subject, -there were six ways in which I showed them where I differed. - -The longest and most significant group was that dealing with the way -things were being run in the home. Methods that were retarding my -growth--mentally and physically. There were thirteen of them, each with -their minor details--such as the one "My Room." Without being meanly -selfish I asked for at least a little privacy while studying or at -sleep; that the room not be used as a wardrobe for quite the entire -family; and that I be allowed to take care of it, as to arrangement, -decorations, and airing. Which last word reminds me that their ideas of -hygiene were quite antiquated, and must be changed and enlarged upon. -Absurd as it may seem, they still insisted that night air was dangerous; -that one towel, tooth brush, bar of soap, and brush and comb were enough -for one family (those I got for my personal use were immediately -appropriated by the rest of the family); that too much bathing is -dangerous; and as for swimming, mother heard of a boy drowning with the -cramps when she was a girl,--therefor her son must not go near the -water; that exercising is "nonsense"; that _menus_ must contain meat and -numerous other heavy foods at every meal; and that children, no matter -how young, are able to digest whatever adults can. These are a few -instances of parental ideas that were useless so far as I was concerned. -Was a rebellion necessary? It was in my case and I may as well add that -it has already had results--to give the details would, I fear, be -getting too personal. I have been so already, perhaps, but it may induce -those who called the Preface absurd to read it again. - - - _Significant Books of the Season_ - - WHAT MEN LIVE BY - - By - Dr. Richard C. Cabot - - "If anyone wants good advice or good stimulus to fair thinking on - vital subjects, he will find it here.... It is as a contribution - to the values of life that this readable volume deserves a - popular career. It is sound doctrine for the body, good wholesome - sense for the mind, a balanced and not a specious optimism for - the soul."--_The Dial, Chicago._ $1.50 net. Postage extra. - - RELIGIOUS CONFESSIONS AND CONFESSANTS - - By - Anna Robeson Burr - - Readers of Mrs. Burr's able literary and psychological study of - "The Autobiography" will be in a measure prepared for the wealth - of material that she has brought together in her account of the - religious confession throughout the ages. $2.50 net. Postage - extra. - - THE MINISTRY OF ART - - By - Ralph Adams Cram - - These papers all embody and eloquently exploit that view of the - relation of mediæval ideals to modern life which has made the - author the most brilliant exponent of Gothic architecture in - America. $1.50 net. Postage extra. - - WHAT IS IT TO BE EDUCATED? - - By - C. Hanford Henderson - - A substantial contribution both to the art of education and to - the art of reasonable living. While addressed primarily to - parents and teachers, its rich content and admirable style - recommend it warmly to all mature readers. $1.50 net. Postage - extra. - - MEMOIRS OF YOUTH - - By - Giovanni Visconti Venosta - - Translated by Rev. William Prall, D.D. With an Introduction - by William Roscoe Thayer - - These memoirs, now translated into English, represent the - aristocratic attitude among the patriotic Italians, and give a - personal and vivid account of the abuses of Austrian clerical - rule; of the outbreaks of 1848-50, their failure and cruel - repression. Illustrated. $4.00 net. Postage extra. - - THE NEW POLITICS - - By - William Garrott Brown - - "These papers, sound and logical, written with the literary - distinction not often possessed by students of political affairs, - present not only in Lord Bryce's words, 'a memorial to a young - writer of great promise,' but as well a valuable addition to the - literature of contemporary political and social affairs that - touch the future."--_Boston Transcript._ With portrait. $1.75 - net. 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Postage extra. - - _4 Park St. - Boston_ - - _16 E. 40th St. - New York_ - - _Houghton Mifflin Company_ - - - - - - - The Forerunner - - - A Monthly Magazine - - _$1.00 a Year_ - - _10c a Copy_ - - by - Charlotte Perkins Gilman - - "I think the Woman Movement would have a tougher intellectual - fiber and a more widely and deeply conscious scope, would be more - of sustaining inspiration, if the multitude of women who _think_ - they know what that movement means were to know Charlotte Perkins - Gilman and her FORERUNNER. All forward-looking women should know - them both, and both can be found by letter at 67 Wall Street, New - York City." - - --Wm. Marion Reedy in the _St. Louis Mirror_. - - THE FORERUNNER carries Mrs. Gilman's best and newest work; her - social philosophy, her verse, satire, fiction, ethical teaching, - humor and comment. It stands for Humanness in Women and in Men; - for better methods in Child-culture; for the Home that is no - Workshop; for the New Ethics, the New Economics, the New World we - are to make--are making. - - - Find enclosed 25c in stamps for a - 4-months' trial subscription to - "The Forerunner." - - - Name.............................. - - - Address........................... - - - .................................. - - Charlton Company - 67 Wall Street - New York City - - - - - "THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY BOOK OF THE PERIOD" - - Letters from a Living Dead Man - - Written down by ELSA BARKER - - These letters contain a minute and intimate account of life - beyond the grave as it is being lived by at least one man. Elsa - Barker calls him X---- in the book, but his identity has since - been disclosed. X---- is Judge David P. Hatch who died in Los - Angeles, February 21, 1912. He was an eminent corporation lawyer, - a former Judge of the Superior Court and one of the best known - citizens of Los Angeles. - - Not long after his death Elsa Barker began to receive - communications from him describing his life in the world beyond. - These letters she collected and issued as "Letters from a Living - Dead Man." - - When Bruce Hatch, a son of the Judge, read the book, he - recognized the letters as his Father's work. In part Bruce Hatch - says: "Overwhelming as the thought is I cannot escape the - conclusion that my Father did dictate these letters and that they - tell of his actual adventures in another world." - - It would be difficult indeed to give a better indication than - this, of the great significance for every man and woman of - "Letters from a Living Dead Man." 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To me it has in some measure the great qualities of - Meredith's "Richard Feverel." - - One reader's report was in part as follows: "I announce to you a - great book; a book beautiful, noble, thrilling. It has held my - feebleness awake all night and left me tingling so I can scarce - write steadily ... could anyone, any normal person, read it - coldly? No, it has the grip, the thrill." - - And from my second reader: "A truly remarkable book ... the - romance of young love handled with distinction and grace." This - man thought it too good to sell. Then I read "The Lay Anthony" - and knew that it must be published. - - A fourth reader, as enthusiastic as any of the others, is - convinced that the book _will_ sell; he feels that readers will - be quick to take advantage of an exciting story, well told, that - happens in addition to have two perfectly stunning heroines as - well as to possess many of the qualities of great literature. - - _Mitchell Kennerley._ - - At all Bookstores, $1.25 net. - - MITCHELL KENNERLEY PUBLISHER NEW YORK - - - Vol. IV PRICE 15 CENTS No. IV - - Poetry - - A Magazine of Verse - - Edited by Harriet Monroe - - - HAVE YOU READ - - On Heaven Ford Madox Hueffer - Chicago Poems Carl Sandburg - Eros Turannos Edwin Arlington Robinson - The Code--Heroics Robert Frost - Nishikigi Ernest Fenollosa - Running To Paradise W. B. Yeats - Songs of Deliverance Orrick Johns - A Woman and Her Dead Husband D. H. 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The odd - volumes offered to those who wish to perfect their sets are very - much reduced in quantity--in many instances less than 100 copies - remain--and none will ever be reprinted once the supply on hand - is exhausted. - - With the completion of _The Bibelot_ in 20 volumes and an - exhaustive General Index the work as I believe will be subscribed - by an appreciative public, without whose constant encouragement I - could never have gone on and brought to its conclusion this - "Reprint of Poetry and Prose for Book Lovers, chosen in part from - scarce editions and sources not generally known." - - _Descriptive list and special terms on request._ - - Thomas B. Mosher - Portland, Maine - - In the Greek language strong affection can be expressed in over - 1600 different ways. - - - _The CAROLA INNER-PLAYER_ - - expresses it in all languages, especially in the language of the - Home. It is a particularly appropriate expression if there be - children in that home, to whom the Player will open up the entire - range of music. - - _For sale by - the Makers_ - - - _Cable Piano Company_ - - _Wabash & - Jackson_ - - - - - The - Glebe - Monthly - - A New Book of Permanent Literary Value - - The GLEBE publishes twelve or more complete books a year. It is - an attempt on the part of the editors and publishers to issue - books entirely on their own merit and regardless of their chance - for popular sale. Once a month--and occasionally more - frequently--the GLEBE brings out the complete works of one - individual arranged in book form and free from editorials and - other extraneous matter. - - Prominent among numbers for the year 1914 are _Des Imagistes_, an - anthology of the Imagists' movement in England, including - _Pound_, _Hueffer_, _Aldington_, _Flint_ _and others_; essays by - ELLEN KEY; a play by FRANK WEDEKIND; collects and prose pieces by - HORACE TRAUBEL; and THE DOINA, translations by MAURICE AISEN of - Roumanian folk-songs. The main purpose of the GLEBE is to bring - to light the really fine work of unknown men. These will appear - throughout the year. - - Single Copies 50c - Subscription, $3 per year - - TRIAL SUBSCRIPTION - FOUR MONTHS $1.00 - - Des Imagistes - - _$1.00 net. Postpaid $1.10_ - - An anthology of the youngest and most discussed school of English - poetry. 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Herron: "It is a book of the highest value and beauty - that Horace Traubel proposes to give us, and I can only hope that - it will be read as widely and appreciatively as it more than - deserves to be; for it is with a joy that would seem extravagant, - if I expressed it, that I welcome 'Chants Communal.'" - - Not Guilty _A Defence of the Bottom Dog_ - - BY ROBERT BLATCHFORD - - _Cloth 50c. Paper 25c._ - - A humanitarian plea, unequalled in lucidity and incontrovertible - in its logic. - - Our Irrational Distribution of Wealth - - BY BYRON C. MATHEWS - - _Cloth $1.00 net._ - - The author undertakes to show that the agencies which are used in - distributing the products of industry and are responsible for the - extremes in the social scale have never been adopted by any - rational action, but have come to be through fortuitous - circumstances and are without moral basis. The wage system, as a - means of distribution, is utterly inadequate to measure the - workers' share. The source of permanent improvement is found in - social ownership, which transfers the power over distribution - from the hands of those individuals who now own the instruments - of production to the hands of the people. - - ALBERT AND CHARLES BONI - _PUBLISHERS AND BOOK SELLERS_ - NINETY-SIX FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY - - - New Books of Reilly & Britton - - Nancy the Joyous - - By Edith Stow - - Her romance shattered by her own hand, Nancy creeps away into - secluded Swaggerty Cove. There, among the child-hearted - mountaineers, where externals count for nothing, she tries to - fashion a new life. She finds a bigness where she expected - barrenness; she learns that being is more than having. And then, - when life has grown fuller and richer, when contact with other - aches has soothed her own--why, then in a very satisfying way - Nancy's heart comes into its own. - - The heart interest is genuine; the story is natural and sincere. - Its optimism, its winsome simplicity, its intrinsic merit will - win the love of readers. We have great faith in Nancy the Joyous. - - _12mo, illustrated; $1.00 net._ - - The New Mr. Howerson - - By Opie Read - - A significant figure in American letters is Opie Read--the "Dean - of American Humorists," whose "Starbucks," "The Jucklins," etc., - hold an enviable place in the affections of readers. The New Mr. - Howerson will gain him new friends and confirm the old ones. It - has all his mastery of style, his mellow humor, his rich - philosophy, his fertile imagination. It is Opie Read at his - mature best, revealing a personality and a power that makes his - new book a masterly piece of writing. - - It is the story of a big man and a little boy, of a rich man and - a poor failure, of a lovely woman and a miserable rebel against - society--it is life, recorded by a humorous observer whose - analysis is all the keener for its kindliness. - - _12mo; 460 pages; $1.35 net._ - - For a Lift on the Road to Happiness - _read_ - Nancy the Joyous - A Novel of pure Delight - - Little Wizard Stories of Oz - - By L. Frank Baum - - Oz in miniature, with all the charm of the big Oz Books. Here are - six short stories, each just right bedtime length. Entertaining, - jolly--a dozen readings will not exhaust the child's interest. An - assured success as a popular-price 208-page twelvemo. - - _With 36 full-page and 6 double-page pictures in full color - by John R. Neill. Pictorial jacket and cover inlay in four - colors._ - - _60 cents._ - - The Mother Goose Parade - - By Anita de Campi - - A big book, 11×17½ inches, 160 pages, with features of hand and - mind and eye entertainment without limit for youngsters. The - Mother Goose jingles pictured in gay colors, with key drawings - for painting in. May be used as cut-outs to form a nursery border - or decorative frieze. A money's-worth child book whose - merchandise value has a strong appeal to grown-ups. - - _Illuminated boards._ $1.50. - - Tik-Tok of Oz - - By L. Frank Baum - - Setting the pace as well as the fashion in illustrated juveniles, - the new Oz Book, Tik-Tok of Oz, carries out the Oz - tradition--each book better than the last. True, it has many of - the old characters--all the old favorites--but at least a - half-dozen delightfully new ones are there to take the hearts of - the children by storm. The success of the Oz Books has been - phenomenal--the new one makes the reason clear. - - _Illustrations by John R. Neill. 46 full-page pictures, 12 in - full color. Special decorations, chapter headings, - tailpieces--a picture book of high order._ $1.25. - - Publishers Reilly & Britton Chicago - - - - - 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 heading "Defense of the Grotesque" was added on page 53 for -consistency. - -The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical -errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here -(before/after): - - [p. 25]: - ... O Ewigkeit, Leit ohne Leit, ... - ... O Ewigkeit, Zeit ohne Zeit, ... - - [p. 28]: - ... To create such Ewigkeitsmenscher is the great goal of the new - life, the ... - ... To create such Ewigkeitsmenschen is the great goal of the new - life, the ... - - [p. 33]: - ... in it,--this street-urchin has at last invaded the - quarterlies. We ... - ... in it,--this street-urchin has at last invaded the - quarterlies. We have ... - - [p. 42]: - ... and painters turned their eyes toward Greece. "Dante was a - Catholic, ... - ... and painters turned their eyes toward Greece." 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