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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
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+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #64758 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64758)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, November 1914 (Vol. 1,
-No. 8), 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, November 1914 (Vol. 1, No. 8)
-
-Author: Various
-
-Editor: Margaret C. Anderson
-
-Release Date: March 08, 2021 [eBook #64758]
-
-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, NOVEMBER 1914
-(VOL. 1, NO. 8) ***
-
-
-
-
- THE LITTLE REVIEW
-
-
- Literature Drama Music Art
-
- MARGARET C. ANDERSON
- EDITOR
-
- NOVEMBER, 1914
-
- Lyrics of an Italian Scharmel Iris
- Zarathustra Vs. Rheims George Soule
- The Cost of War Clarence Darrow
- A Social Comedy Lawrence Langner
- “The Immutable” Margaret C. Anderson
- Poems Maxwell Bodenheim
- The Spiritual Dangers of Writing Vers Libre Eunice Tietjens
- Tagore’s “Union” Basanta Koomar Roy
- War, the Only Hygiene of the World Marinetti
- Noise George Burman Foster
- The Birth of a Poem Maximilian Voloshin
- Editorials  
- My Friend, the Incurable Ibn Gabirol
- London Letter E. Buxton Shanks
- New York Letter George Soule
- The Theatre  
- Harold Bauer in Chicago Herman Schuchert
- A Ferrer School in Chicago Rudolf von Liebich
- The Old Spirit and the New Ways in Art William Saphier
- Book Discussion  
- Sentence Reviews  
- The Reader Critic  
-
- Published Monthly
-
- 15 cents a copy
-
- MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher
- Fine Arts Building
- CHICAGO
-
- $1.50 a year
-
- Entered as second-class matter at Postoffice, Chicago.
-
-
-
-
- THE LITTLE REVIEW
-
-
- Vol. I
-
- NOVEMBER, 1914
-
- No. 8
-
- Copyright, 1914, by Margaret C. Anderson.
-
-
-
-
- Lyrics of an Italian
-
-
- SCHARMEL IRIS
-
-
- The Forest of the Sky
-
- High in the forest of the sky
- The stars and branches interlace;
- As cloth-of-gold the fallen leaves lie
- Where twilight-peacocks lord the place,
- Spendthrifts of pride and grace.
-
- The grapes on vines are rubies red,
- They burn as flame, when day is done.
- The Dusk, brown Princess, turns her head
- While sunset-panthers past her run
- To caverns of the Sun.
-
- She throws cord-reins of sunbeams wrought,
- About the sunset-panthers, fleet,
- And rides them joyously, when caught,
- Across the poppied fields of wheat—
- Their hearts with terror beat.
-
- They reach the caverns of the Sun,
- The raven-clouds above them fly;
- Dame Night her tapestry’s begun.
- High, o’er the forest of the sky
- The moon, a boat, sails by.
-
-
- Iteration
-
- My son is dead and I am going blind,
- And in the Ishmael-wind of grief
- I tremble like a leaf;
- I have no mind for any word you say:
- My son is dead and I am going blind.
-
-
- April
-
- I loved her more than moon or sun—
- There is no moon or sun for me;
- Of lovely things to look upon,
- The loveliest was she.
-
- She does not hear me, though I sing—
- And, oh, my heart is like to break!
- The world awakens with the Spring,
- But she—she does not wake!
-
-
- Scarlet—White
-
- (_Struck at the double standard_)
-
- The woman who is scarlet now
- Was soul of whiteness yesterday;
- A void is she wherein a man
- May leave his lust to-day.
-
- ’Twas with the kiss Ischariot
- A traitor bore her heart away;
- Her body now is leased by men
- That kneel at church to pray.
-
-
- Three Apples
-
- I who am Giver of Life
- Out of the cradle of dawn
- Bring you this infant of song.—
- He has a golden tongue
- And wings upon his feet.
-
- The apple of silver he holds
- Once lay at the breast of the moon;
- I give him an apple of gold
- ’Twas forged in the fires of the sun;
- This apple of copper I give
- That Sunset concealed in her hair.
-
- When from the husk of dusk I shake the stars,
- Down slumber’s vine I’ll send him dreams in dew,
- And peace will overtake him like a song
- Like thoughts of love invade a lover’s mind.
- The spear-scars of the red world he will wear
- As women in their hair may wear a rose.
-
- On the rosary of his days
- He will say a prayer for your sake,
- The hounds-o’-wonder will lie at his side,
- And lick the dust-o’-the-world from his feet.
-
- The apple of silver will work him a charm
- When under his pillow he lays it at night;
- The apple of copper will warm his heart
- When a heart he loves grows cold on his own;
- The apple of gold will teach him a song
- For children to sing when he blows on a reed;
- The dew will hear and run to the sun,
- The sun will whisper it in my ear,
- And you, being dead, the song will hear.
-
-
-
-
- Zarathustra Vs. Rheims
-
-
- GEORGE SOULE
-
-Hauptmann and Rolland have quarreled about the war, Hæckel has
-repudiated his English honorary degrees, and now Thomas Hardy has placed
-on Nietzsche the responsibility for the destruction of the cathedral of
-Rheims. The tragedy of nationalism, it seems, is not content with
-ruining lives and art; it must also vitiate philosophy and culture.
-
-“Nietzsche and his followers, Treitschke, Von Bernhardi, and others,”
-writes Hardy. In the next sentence he speaks of “off-hand assumptions.”
-One is tempted to write, “Christ and his followers, Czar Nicholas,
-Kaiser Wilhelm, and others!”
-
-Nietzsche has been claimed as a prophet by hereditary aristocrats, by
-anarchists, by socialists, by artists, and by militarists. There is even
-a book to prove that he who called himself “the Antichrist” was a
-supporter of the Catholic Church. One suspects, however, that the Jesuit
-who wrote it had a subtle sense of truth.
-
-The most fundamental truth about Nietzsche is that the torrent of his
-inspiration is open to everyone who can drink of it. His value, his
-quality, consist not in the fact that he said this or that, but that
-life in him was strong and beautiful. This is true of all prophets; how
-much more so, then, of the one who threw to the winds all stiffness of
-orthodoxy and insisted on a transvaluation of all values! “O my soul, to
-thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and also all
-immemorially old strong wines of wisdom,” said Zarathustra.
-
-But even in his teachings we can find no justification of the present
-shame of Europe. It was Darwin who laid the foundation for the
-philosophy of the survival of the fittest and the struggle for
-existence. With the shallow inferences from these conceptions Nietzsche
-had no patience. If the fittest survives, the fittest is not necessarily
-the best. The brute force which makes for survival had no attraction for
-Nietzsche. He called upon man’s will to make itself the deciding factor
-in the struggle. When he argued for strength, he argued for the strength
-of the beautiful and noble, not strength for its own sake. Of what avail
-is a great individual to the world if he makes himself weak and
-sacrifices himself to an inferior enemy? The French gunners who defended
-the Cathedral of Rheims might justly claim the approval of Nietzsche. If
-the Allies had turned the other cheek and allowed their countries to be
-overrun by German militarism, they would then have proved themselves
-Christian and truly anti-Nietzschean.
-
-Moreover, Nietzsche uncompromisingly opposed the supremacy of mere
-numbers, the supremacy of non-spiritual values. He argued after the war
-of 1870 that the victory of Prussian arms endangered rather than helped
-Prussian culture. Culture is a thing of the spirit; it was undermined by
-the tide of smug satisfaction in the triumph of militarism.
-
-“You say that a good cause will even justify war; I tell you that it is
-the good war that justifies all causes,” wrote Nietzsche. It is the
-logic of the newspaper paragrapher which makes this statement a
-justification of militarism. _The good war_—what is that? It is the
-quality of heroism, the unreckoning love of beauty, the pride of the
-soul in its own strength and purity. It is the opponent of mere
-contentment and sluggishness. It is the militant virtue which has
-inspired great souls since the beginning of the world; it is the hope of
-future man. If a cause is not justified by the good war what can be said
-for it? It is a pathetic absurdity to think that Nietzsche would have
-found the good war in the present struggle for territory and commercial
-supremacy. No, gentlemen of letters, fight the Kaiser if you must, but
-do not aim your clods at the prophets in your hasty partisanship!
-
-For it is in this very Nietzsche and his good war that mankind will now
-find its spirit of hope. We who see that wars of gunpowder are evil, we
-who intend to abolish them, cannot do so by denying our own strength and
-appealing helplessly to some external power in the sky. We must say with
-Zarathustra,
-
-“How could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the composer, the
-riddle-reader, and the redeemer of chance!
-
-“To redeem what is past, and to transform every ‘It was’ into ‘Thus
-would I have it!’ that only do I call redemption!
-
-“Will—so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I taught
-you, my friends!”
-
-
- In _Ecce Homo_ the word “German” has become something like his
- worst term of abuse. He believes only in French culture; all
- other culture is a misunderstanding. In his deepest instincts
- Nietzsche asserts to be so foreign to everything German, that the
- mere presence of a German “retards his digestion.” German
- intellect is to him indigestion. If he has been so enthusiastic
- in his devotion to Wagner, this was because in Wagner he honored
- the foreigner, because in him he saw the incarnate protest
- against all German virtues, the “counter-poison” (he believed in
- Wagner’s Jewish descent). He allows the Germans no honor as
- philosophers: Leibnitz and Kant were “the two greatest clogs upon
- the intellectual integrity of Europe.” No less passionately does
- he deny to the Germans all honor as musicians: “A German _cannot_
- know what music is. The men who pass as German musicians are
- foreigners, Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen, or Jews.” He
- abhors the “licentiousness” of the Germans in historical matters:
- “History is actually written on Imperial German and Antisemitic
- lines, and Mr. Treitschke is not ashamed of himself.” The Germans
- have on their conscience every crime against culture committed in
- the last four centuries (they deprived the Renaissance of its
- meaning; they wrecked it by the Reformation). When, upon the
- bridge of two centuries of decadence, a _force majeure_ of
- genius and will revealed itself, strong enough to weld Europe
- into political and economic unity, the Germans finally with their
- “Wars of Liberation,” robbed Europe of the meaning of Napoleon’s
- existence, a prodigy of meaning. Thus they have upon their
- conscience all that followed, nationalism, the _névrose
- nationale_ from which Europe is suffering, and the perpetuation
- of the system of little states, of petty politics.—_George
- Brandes in “Friedrich Nietzsche.”_
-
-
-
-
- The Cost of War
-
-
- CLARENCE DARROW
-
-Along with the many other regrets over the ravages of war is the sorrow
-for the destruction of property. As usual, those who have nothing to
-lose join in the general lamentation. There is enough to mourn about in
-the great European Holocaust without conjuring up imaginary woes. So far
-as the vast majority of people is concerned, the destruction of property
-is not an evil but a good.
-
-The lands and houses, the goods and merchandise and money of the world
-are owned by a very few. All the rest in some way serve that few for so
-much as the law of life and trade permit them to exact. At the best,
-this is but a small share of the whole. All the property destroyed by
-war belongs to the owners of the earth; it is for them that wars are
-fought, and it is they who pay the bills. When the war is over, the
-property must be re-created. This, the working men will do. In this
-re-building, they will work for wages. Then, as now, the rate of wages
-will be fixed by the law of demand and supply—the demand and supply of
-those who toil. The war will create more work and less workmen.
-Therefore labor can and will get a greater share of its production than
-it could command if there was less work and more workmen. The wages must
-be paid from the land and money and other property left when the war is
-done. This will still be in the hands of the few, and these few will be
-compelled to give up a greater share. The destruction of property,
-together with its re-creation means only a re-distribution of wealth—a
-re-distribution in which the poor get a greater share. It is one way to
-bring about something like equality of property—a cruel, wasteful, and
-imperfect way, but still a way. That the equality will not last does not
-matter, for in the period of re-construction the workman will get a
-larger share and will live a larger life.
-
-As the war goes on, the funds for paying bills will be met in the old
-way by selling bonds. These too will be paid by the owners of the earth.
-True, the property from which the payment comes must be produced by
-toil, but if the bonds that must be paid from the fruits of labor had
-never been issued this surplus would not have gone to labor, but would
-have been absorbed by capital. This is true for the simple reason that
-the return to labor is not fixed by the amount of production, the rate
-of taxation, the price of interest and rents, but by the supply and
-demand of labor, and nothing else.
-
-If labor shall sometime be wise enough, or rather instinctive enough to
-claim all that it produces, it will at the same time have the instinct
-or wisdom to leave the rulers’ bonds unpaid.
-
-But all of this is far, far away; in determining immediate effects we
-must consider what is, not what should be. And the jobless and
-propertyless can only look upon the destruction of property as giving
-them more work and a larger share of the product of their labor. Chicago
-was never so prosperous, or wages so high, as when her people were
-re-building it from the ashes of a general conflagration. San Francisco
-found the same distribution of property amongst its workmen after the
-earthquake and the fire had laid it waste, and her people were called
-upon to build it up anew.
-
-Carlyle records that during the long days of destruction in the French
-Revolution the people were more prosperous and happy than they had ever
-been before. True, the Guilotin was doing its deadly work day after day,
-but its victims were very few. The people got used to the guilotin, and
-heeded it no more than does the crowd heed a hanging in our county jail,
-when they gayly pass in their machines.
-
-After the first shock was over, during the four years of our Civil War,
-wages were higher, men were better employed, production greater, and
-distribution more equal than it had been at any time excepting in the
-extreme youth of the Republic. Then land was free.
-
-Then again, this world has little to destroy. After centuries of
-so-called civilization, the human race has not accumulated enough to
-last a year should all stop work. The world lives, and always has lived,
-from hand to mouth. This is not because of any trouble in producing
-wealth, but because things are made not to use, but to sell. And the
-wages of the great mass of men does not permit them to buy or own more
-than they consume from day to day.
-
-It is for this reason that half the people do not really work; that the
-market for labor is fitful and uncertain, and never great enough; and
-that all are poor. After a devastation like a great war, the need of
-re-creating will turn the idle and the shirkers into workmen, because
-the rewards will be greater. This will easily and rapidly produce more
-than ever before. From this activity, invention will contrive new
-machines to compete with men, going once more around the same old
-circle, until the world finds out that machines should be used to
-satisfy human wants and not to build up profits for the favored few.
-
-One may often regret the impulses that bring destruction of property,
-but before any one mourns over the destruction of property, purely
-because of its destruction, he should ask whose property it is.
-
-
-
-
- Wedded:
-
-
- A Social Comedy
-
- LAWRENCE LANGNER
-
-
- CHARACTERS
-
- MRS. RANSOME.
- JANET RANSOME: Her daughter.
- REV. MR. TANNER: A Clergyman.
-
-
- SCENE
-
-(The “best” parlor of the Ransomes’ house, in a cheap district of
-Brooklyn. There is a profusion of pictures, ornaments, and miscellaneous
-furniture. A gilded radiator stands in front of the fireplace. Table,
-center, on which are some boxes and silver-plated articles arranged for
-display. Over the door hangs a horseshoe. White flowers and festoons
-indicate that the room has been prepared for a wedding. To the left is a
-sofa, upon which lies the body of a dead man, his face covered with a
-handkerchief. There is a small packing-case at his side, upon which
-stand two lighted candles, a medicine bottle, and a tumbler. The blinds
-are drawn.)
-
-
- AT RISE
-
-(Janet, dressed in a white semi-bridal costume, is on her knees at the
-side of the couch, quietly weeping. After a few moments the door opens,
-admitting a pale flood of sunshine. The murmur of conversation in the
-passage without is heard. Mrs. Ransome enters. She is an intelligent,
-comfortable-looking middle-aged woman. She wears an elaborate dress of
-light gray, of a fashion of some years previous, evidently kept for
-special occasions. She is somewhat hysterical in manner and punctuates
-her conversation with sniffles.)
-
-MRS. RANSOME. My dear child, now do stop cryin’. Won’t you stop cryin’?
-Your Aunt Maud’s just come, and wants to know if she can see you.
-
-JANET. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see nobody.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. But your aunt, my dear—
-
-JANET. No, mother, not nobody.
-
-(_Mrs. Ransome goes to door and holds a whispered conversation with
-somebody outside. She then returns, closing the door behind her, and
-sits on chair close to Janet._)
-
-MRS. RANSOME. She’s goin’ to wait for your father. He’s almost crazy
-with worry. All I can say is—thank God it was to have bin a private
-wedding. If we’d had a lot of people here, I don’t know what I should
-have done. Now, quit yer cryin’, Janet. I’m sure we’re doin’ all we can
-for you, dear. (_Janet continues to weep softly._) Come, dear, try and
-bear up. Try and stop cryin’. Your eyes are all red, dear, and the
-minister’ll be here in a minute.
-
-JANET. I don’t want to see him, mother. Can’t you see I don’t want to
-see nobody?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. I know, my dear. We tried to stop him comin’, but he says
-to your father, he says, “If I can’t come to her weddin’, it’s my duty
-to try to comfort your daughter”; and that certainly is a fine thing for
-him to do, for a man in his position, too. And yer father—he feels it as
-much as you do, what with the trouble he’s been to in buying all that
-furniture for you and him, and one thing and another. He says that Bob
-must have had a weak heart, an’ it’s some consolation he was took before
-the weddin’ and not after, when you might have had a lot of children to
-look after. An’ he’s right, too.
-
-JANET (_Talks to body_). Oh, Bob! Bob! Why did you go when I want you
-so?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Now, now! My poor girl. It makes my heart bleed to hear
-you.
-
-JANET. Oh, Bob! I want you so. Won’t you wake up, Bob?
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Puts her arms around Janet and bursts into sobs_).
-There—you’re cryin’ yer eyes out. There—there—you’ve still got your old
-mother—there—there—just like when you was a baby—there—
-
-JANET. Mother—I want to tell you something—
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Well, tell me, dear, what is it?
-
-JANET. You don’t know why me and Bob was goin’ to get married.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Why you and Bob was goin’ to get married?
-
-JANET. Didn’t you never guess why we was goin’ to get married—sort of
-_all of a sudden_?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. All of a sudden? Why, I never thought of it. (_Alarmed._)
-There wasn’t nuthin’ wrong between you and him, was there? (_Janet weeps
-afresh._) Answer me. There wasn’t nuthin’ wrong between you and him, was
-there?
-
-JANET. Nuthin’ _wrong_.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. What do you mean, then?
-
-JANET. We was goin’ to get married—because we _had_ to.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. You mean yer goin’ to have a baby?
-
-JANET. Yes.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Are you sure? D’ye know how to tell fer certain?
-
-JANET. Yes.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Oh, Lor’! Goodness gracious! How could it have happened?
-
-JANET. I’m glad it happened—_now_.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. D’ye understand what it means? What are we goin’ to do
-about it?
-
-JANET (_Through her tears_). I can’t help it. I’m glad it happened. An’
-if I lived all over again, I’d want it to happen again.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. You’d _want_ it to happen? Don’t you see what this means?
-Don’t you see that if this gets out you’ll be disgraced ’till your dying
-day?
-
-JANET. I’m glad.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Don’t keep on sayin’ you’re glad. Glad, indeed! Have you
-thought of the shame and disgrace this’ll bring on me an’ your father?
-An’ after we’ve saved and scraped these long years to bring you up
-respectable, an’ give you a good home. You’re glad, are you? You
-certainly got a lot to be glad about.
-
-JANET. Can’t you understand, mother? We wasn’t thinking of you when it
-happened—and now it’s all I have.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Of course you wasn’t thinkin’ of us. Only of yourselves.
-That’s the way it is, nowadays. But me and your father is the ones
-that’s got to face it. We’re the ones that’s got to stand all the
-scandal and talk there’ll be about it. Just think what the family’ll
-say. Think what the neighbors’ll say. I don’t know what we done to have
-such a thing happen to us. (_Mrs. Ransome breaks into a spell of
-exaggerated weeping, which ceases as the door-bell rings._) There!
-That’s the minister. God only knows what I’d better say to him. (_Mrs.
-Ransome hurriedly attempts to tidy the room, knocking over a chair in
-her haste, pulls up the blinds half-way and returns to her chair. There
-is a knock at the door. Mrs. Ransome breaks into a prolonged howl._)
-Come in.
-
-(_Enter Rev. Mr. Tanner. He is a stout, pompous clergyman, with a rich,
-middle-class congregation and a few poorer members, amongst which latter
-he numbers the Ransomes. His general attitude is kind but patronizing;
-he displays none of the effusive desire to please which is his correct
-demeanor towards his richer congregants. The elder Ransomes regard him
-as their spiritual leader, and worship him along with God at a
-respectful distance._)
-
-TANNER (_He speaks in a hushed voice, glancing towards the kneeling
-figure of Janet_). Bear up, Mrs. Ransome. Bear up, I beg of you! (_Mrs.
-Ransome howls more vigorously; Tanner is embarrassed._) This is very
-distressing, Mrs. Ransome.
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Between her sobs_). It certainly is kind of you to come,
-Mr. Tanner, I’m sure. We didn’t expect to see you when my husband
-’phoned you.
-
-TANNER. Where is your husband now?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. He’s gone to send some telegrams to Bob’s family,
-sir—_his_ family. We’d planned to have a quiet wedding, sir, with only
-me and her father and aunt, and then we was goin’ to have the rest of
-the family in, this afternoon.
-
-TANNER. It’s a very sad thing, Mrs. Ransome.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. It’s fairly dazed us, Mr. Tanner. Comin’ on top of all the
-preparation we’ve bin makin’ for the past two weeks, too. An’ her
-father’s spent a pile o’ money on their new furniture an’ things.
-
-TANNER (_Speaking in an undertone_). Was he insured?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. No, sir, not a penny. That’s why it comes so hard on us
-just now, havin’ the expense of a funeral on top of what we’ve just
-spent for the weddin’.
-
-TANNER. Well, Mrs. Ransome, I’ll try to help you in any way I can.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Thank you, Mr. Tanner. It certainly is fine of you to say
-so. Everybody’s bin good to us, sir. She had all them presents given
-her—most of them was from _my_ side of the family.
-
-TANNER. Did he have any relatives here?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Not a soul, poor fellow. He came from up-state. That’s why
-my husband’s gone to send a telegram askin’ his father to come to the
-funeral.
-
-TANNER. How long will your husband be? (_He glanced at his watch._)
-
-MRS. RANSOME. I don’t think he’ll be more than half an hour. He’d like
-to see you, if you could wait that long, I know.
-
-TANNER. Very well. I have an engagement later, but I can let that go if
-necessary.
-
-(_Tanner and Mrs. Ransome sit down in front of the table._)
-
-MRS. RANSOME. It certainly is a great comfort havin’ you here, Mr.
-Tanner. I feel so upset I don’t know what to say.
-
-TANNER. Bear up, Mrs. Ransome. You are not the greatest sufferer. Let me
-say a few words to your daughter. (_He rises, goes to Janet, and places
-his hand on her shoulder, but she takes no notice of him._) Miss
-Ransome, you must try to bear up, too. I know how hard it is, but you
-must remember it’s something that must come to all of us.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. She takes it so bad, Mr. Tanner, that the Lord should have
-took him on their weddin’ mornin’.
-
-TANNER (_Returning to his chair_). We must not question, Mrs. Ransome,
-we must not question. The Almighty has thought fit to gather him back to
-the fold, and we must submit to His will. In such moments as these we
-feel helpless. We feel the need of a Higher Being to cling to—to find
-consolation. Time is the great healer.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. But to expect a weddin’ (_Sobs_) and find it’s a
-funeral—it’s awful; (_Sobs_) and besides—Mr. Tanner, you’ve always been
-good to us. We’re in other trouble, too. Worse—worse even than this.
-
-TANNER. In other trouble?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Yes, much worse. I just can’t bear to think about it.
-
-TANNER. Your husband’s business?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. No, sir. It’s—I don’t know how to say it. It’s her and
-him.
-
-TANNER. Her and him?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Yes, sir—I’m almost ashamed to tell you. She’s goin’ to
-have a baby.
-
-TANNER (_Astounded_). She’s going to be a mother?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Yes. (_Sobs._) Oh, you don’t know how hard this is on us,
-Mr. Tanner. We’ve always bin respectable people, sir, as you well know.
-We’ve bin livin’ right here on this block these last ten years, an’
-everybody knows us in the neighborhood. Her father don’t know about it
-yet. What he’ll say—God only knows.
-
-TANNER. I’m terribly sorry to hear this, Mrs. Ransome.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. I can forgive her, sir, but not him. They say we shouldn’t
-speak ill of the dead—but I always was opposed to her marryin’ him. I
-wanted her to marry a steady young fellow of her own religion, but I
-might as well have talked to the wall, for all the notice she took of
-me.
-
-TANNER. It’s what we have to expect of the younger generation, Mrs.
-Ransome. Let me see—how long were they engaged?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Well, sir, I suppose on and off it’s bin about three
-years. He never could hold a job long, an’ me and her father said he
-couldn’t marry her—not with our consent—until he was earnin’ at least
-twenty dollars a week—an’ that was only right, considerin’ he’d have to
-support her.
-
-TANNER. I quite agree with you. I’m sorry to see a thing of this sort
-happen—and right in my own congregation, too. I’ve expressed my views
-from the pulpit from time to time very strongly upon the subject, but
-nevertheless it doesn’t seem to make much difference in this
-neighborhood.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. I know it’s a bad neighborhood in some ways, sir. But you
-got to remember they was going to get married, sir. If you’d bin here
-only an hour earlier, Mr. Tanner, there wouldn’t have bin no disgrace.
-(_Points to official-looking book lying on table._) Why, sir—there’s the
-marriage register—Mr. Smith brought it down from church this morning—all
-waiting for you to fix it. If you’d only come earlier, sir, they’d have
-bin properly married, an’ there wouldn’t have bin a word said.
-
-TANNER. That’s true. They might have avoided the immediate disgrace,
-perhaps. But you know as well as I do that _that_ isn’t the way to get
-married. It isn’t so much a matter of disgrace. That means nothing. It’s
-the principle of the thing.
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Eagerly_). Oh, Mr. Tanner, do you mean it? Do you mean
-that the disgrace of it means nothin’?
-
-TANNER. Well—not exactly nothing—but nothing to the principle of the
-thing.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. An’ would you save her from the disgrace of it, if you
-could, Mr. Tanner, if it don’t mean nothin’?
-
-TANNER. I’ll do anything I can to help you, within reason, Mrs. Ransome,
-but how can I save her?
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Eagerly pleading_). Mr. Tanner, if she has a child, as
-she expects, you know that respectable people won’t look at us any more.
-We’ll have to move away from here. We’ll be the laughing stock of the
-place. It’ll break her father’s heart, as sure as can be. But if you
-could fill in the marriage register as though they’d bin married, Mr.
-Tanner, why, nobody’s to know that it isn’t all respectable and proper.
-They had their license, and ring, and everything else, sir, as you know.
-
-TANNER (_Astounded_). _Me_ fill in the marriage register? Do you mean
-that you want _me_ to make a fictitious entry in the marriage register?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. It wouldn’t be so very fictitious, Mr. Tanner. They’d have
-bin married regular if you’d only come half an hour earlier. Couldn’t
-you fill it in that they was married before he died, sir?
-
-TANNER. But that would be forgery.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. It would be a good action, Mr. Tanner—indeed, it would.
-Her father an’ me haven’t done nothing to deserve it, but we’ll be
-blamed for it just the same. It wouldn’t take you a minute to write it
-in the register, Mr. Tanner. Look at all the years we’ve bin goin’ to
-your church, and never asked you a favor before.
-
-TANNER. My good woman, I’m sorry; I’d like to help you, but I don’t see
-how I can. In the first place, don’t you see that you’re asking me to
-commit forgery? But what’s more important, you’re asking me to act
-against my own principles. I’ve been preaching sermons for years, and
-making a public stand too, against these hasty marriages that break up
-homes and lead to the divorce court—or worse. The church is trying to
-make marriage a thing sacred and apart, instead of the mockery it is in
-this country today. I sympathize with you. I know how hard it is. But
-for all I know, you may be asking me to help you thwart the will of God.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. The will of God?
-
-TANNER. Mind you, I don’t say that it is, Mrs. Ransome, but it may very
-well be the Hand of the Almighty. Your daughter and her young man, as
-she has confessed herself, have tried to use the marriage ceremony—a
-_holy_ ceremony, mind you—to cover up what they’ve done.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Oh, don’t talk like that before her, Mr. Tanner.
-
-TANNER. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I’m sorry I can’t
-help you. It wouldn’t be _right_.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. But they was goin’ to get married, sir. You got to take
-that into consideration. My girl ain’t naturally bad. It isn’t as though
-she’d pick up any feller that happened to come along. Hundreds and
-thousands do it, sir, indeed they do, and most of them much worse than
-she and him, poor fellow.
-
-TANNER. Yes, there you are right. Thousands _do_ do it, and I’ve been
-making a stand against it in this neighborhood for years. I may seem
-hard, Mrs. Ransome, but I’m trying my best to be fair. I sincerely
-believe that no minister of the Gospel should ever legalize or
-condone—er—misconduct—that is, before marriage.
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Pleading hard_). You can’t know what this means to us,
-sir—or you’d pity us, indeed you would. Her father’ll take on somethin’
-dreadful when he hears about it. He’ll turn her out of the house, sir,
-as sure as can be. You know him, sir. You know he’s too good a Christian
-to let her stay here after she’s disgraced us all. And then, what’s to
-become of her? She’ll lose her job, and who’ll give her another—without
-a reference—an’ a baby to support? That’s how they get started on the
-streets, sir (_Sobs_), an’ you know it as well as I do.
-
-TANNER. Yes, I know. I wish I could help you. It’s very distressing—but
-we all have to do our duty as we see it. But I do pity you, indeed I do.
-From the bottom of my heart. I’ll do anything I can for you—within
-reason.
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Almost hysterical, dragging Janet from the side of the
-body_). Janet, Janet! Ask him yourself. Ask him on your bended knees.
-Ask him to save us! (_Janet attempts to return to side of the body._)
-Janet, do you want to ruin us? Can’t you speak to him? Can’t you ask
-him? (_Mrs. Ransome breaks into sobs._)
-
-TANNER. It is as I feared, Mrs. Ransome. Her heart is hardened.
-
-JANET (_Rises and turns fiercely on him_). Whose heart’s hardened?
-
-TANNER. Come, come. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I can’t tell
-you how sorry I am for you, and your parents, too.
-
-JANET. Well, I’ll tell you flat, I don’t want none of your pity.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Janet, don’t speak like that to him. You’re excited. (_To
-Tanner_). She don’t mean it, sir—she’s all worked up.
-
-JANET (_Her excitement increasing, and speaking in loud tones_). All
-right, mother—I’ll tell him again—I don’t want none of his pity. I c’n
-get along without it. An’ if you and him think that writin’ a few words
-in his marriage register—or whatever he calls it—is going to make any
-difference, well—you’re welcome to.
-
-TANNER. My dear girl. Don’t you understand, if it was merely a question
-of writing a few words, I’d do it in a minute. But it’s the principle of
-the thing.
-
-JANET (_Bitingly_). Huh! Principle of the thing! I heard it all. You
-preached against it, didn’t yer? It’s a pity you never preached a sermon
-on how me and him could have gotten married two years ago, instead of
-waiting till now, when it’s too late.
-
-TANNER. Others have to wait.
-
-JANET. We did wait. Isn’t three years long enough? D’ye think we was
-made of stone? How much longer d’ye think we could wait? We waited until
-we couldn’t hold out no longer. I only wish to God we hadn’t waited at
-all, instead of wastin’ all them years.
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Shocked_). Janet, you don’t know what you’re sayin’.
-
-JANET. I do, an’ I mean it. We waited, an’ waited, an’ waited. Didn’t he
-try all he could to get a better job? ’Twasn’t his fault he couldn’t. We
-was planning to go West, or somewhere—where he’d have more of a
-chance—we was savin’ up for it on the quiet. An’ while we was waiting,
-we wanted one another—all day an’ all night. An’ what use was it? We
-held out till we couldn’t hold out no longer—an’ when we knew what was
-goin’ to happen, well—we had to get married—an’ that all there’s to it!
-
-TANNER (_Making a remarkable discovery, supporting all his personal
-theories on the subject_). Ah! Then your idea was to marry _simply_
-because you were going to have a baby!
-
-JANET. Of course it was. D’ye think we wanted to marry an’ live here on
-the fifteen a week he was getting? We’d have bin starvin’ in a month.
-But when this happened—we had to get married—starve or not. What else
-could we do?
-
-TANNER. Well, I don’t know what to say. It seems to me that you should
-have thought of all this before. You knew what it would mean to have a
-baby.
-
-JANET. D’ye think I wanted a baby? I didn’t want one. I didn’t know how
-to stop it. If you don’t like it—it’s a pity you don’t preach sermons on
-how to stop havin’ babies when they’re not wanted. There’d be some sense
-in that. That’d be more sense than talkin’ about waitin’—an’ waitin’—an’
-waitin’. There’s hundreds of women round here—starvin’ and sufferin’—an’
-havin’ one baby after another, and don’t know the first thing about how
-to stop it. ’Tisn’t my fault I’m going to have one. I didn’t want it.
-
-TANNER. Miss Ransome, your views simply astound me.
-
-JANET. I can’t help it. People may think it wrong, an’ all that, but it
-ain’t his fault and it ain’t mine. Don’t you think we used to get sick
-of goin’ to movies, an’ vaudeville shows, an’ all them other places—time
-after time? I wanted him to love me, an’ I ain’t ashamed of it, neither.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Janet, how dare you talk like that in front of Mr. Tanner?
-(_To Tanner._) She don’t mean it, Mr. Tanner. She don’t know what she’s
-saying. I’ve always brought her up to be innercent about things. She
-must have got all this from the other girls at the store where she
-works. She didn’t get it in her home, that’s sure.
-
-JANET. No, that I didn’t. Nor nothing else, neither. You was always
-ashamed to tell me about anything, so I found out about things from
-other girls, like the rest of ’em do. I’ve known it for years and years,
-an’ all the while I suppose you’ve bin thinkin’ I didn’t know anything,
-I’ve known everything—all except what’d be useful to me. If I’m going to
-have a baby it’s your fault, mother, as much as anybody. You only had
-one yourself—but you never told _me_ nothin’.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Janet!
-
-TANNER. Miss Ransome, this is not a subject I ordinarily discuss, but
-since you know what you do know, let me tell you that there is nothing
-worse than trying to interfere with the workings of nature, or—if I may
-say so—of God.
-
-JANET. Well, Bob said the rich people do it. He said they must know how
-to do it, because they never have more’n two or three children in a
-family; but you’ve only got to walk on the next block—where it’s all
-tenements—to see ten and twelve in every family, because the workin’
-people don’t know any better. But I don’t want no pity from anybody. I
-can take a chance on it. I got a pair of hands, an’ I c’n take care of
-myself.
-
-TANNER. Mrs. Ransome, it’s no good my talking to your daughter while
-she’s in this frame of mind. She appears to have most extraordinary
-views. Mind you, I don’t blame you for it. She _seems_ to be an
-intelligent girl. There’d be some hope for her if she’d show a little
-penitence—a little regret for what’s been done and can’t be undone. You
-know I don’t like preaching out of church, but you’ve often heard me say
-in the pulpit that God is always willing to forgive the humble and the
-penitent.
-
-JANET (_With fine scorn_). “God” indeed. Don’t make me laugh. (_Points
-to body of Bob._) Look at him lyin’ there. God? What’s God got to do
-with it? (_She kneels again at the side of the couch, rigid and silent.
-After an uncomfortable interval, Tanner rises._)
-
-TANNER. Well, I’m afraid I must be going. I feel very pained by what
-your daughter has said, Mrs. Ransome. You know I have a deep regard for
-you and your husband. I’m frank to say that if your daughter had shown
-some signs of penitence—some remorse for what has happened—I might even
-have gone so far as to have made the entry in the register—seeing the
-punishment she’s already had. But as she is now, I don’t see what good
-it would do. Really I don’t, so I think I’d better go.
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Appealingly_). Oh, don’t go, Mr. Tanner. Wait just a
-minute while I talk to her, please. Janet, can’t you say you’re sorry
-for what you done? Can’t you see that Mr. Tanner only wants to be fair
-with you? Come, do it for our sakes—your father and me. You know how
-hard he’s worked, how he’s keep teetotal an’ everything. You don’t want
-to ruin us, do you? Can’t you see it isn’t only yourself that’s got to
-be considered? Think of what we’ve done for you. Tell him you’re sorry
-for it, _do_!
-
-TANNER (_Rising_). It’s no use, Mrs. Ransome. I can see it’s of no use.
-I really must go.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Just one minute more. Please wait one minute more. Janet,
-what’s the matter with you? Can’t you see the disgrace it’ll be to all
-of us? Can’t you see it will ruin us to our dying days? They’ll all
-laugh at us—an’ jeer at us. It’ll follow us around wherever we go. You
-know how the folk round here make fun of your father—because he keeps
-himself respectable—an’ saves his money. Do you want them to laugh at
-him? Do you want them to be laughin’ at you an’ talkin’ about you? Do
-you want them to be making fun of your baby—an’ calling it a bastard—an’
-asking who it’s father was?
-
-JANET (_Nervously_). They wouldn’t.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Yes, they would. An’ all the time he’s growin’ up, the
-other children in school’ll be tormentin’ him, and callin’ him names.
-Didn’t the same thing happen with Susan Bradley’s boy? Didn’t they have
-to go an’ live out in Jersey, cos she couldn’t stand it no longer? You
-know it as well as I do.
-
-JANET (_Defiantly_). They went away ’cos he was always gettin’ sick.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Of course he was always gettin’ sick—with all them devils
-makin’ fun of him—an’ makin’ his life a misery. Didn’t we used to see
-him goin’ down the block—with the tears runnin’ down his cheeks—an’ all
-of ’em yellin’ names after him. Just think of the baby you’re goin’ to
-have. D’ye want that to happen to _your_ baby? D’ye want them to make
-_its_ life a misery—same as the other one?
-
-JANET (_Lifelessly_). They wouldn’t.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Of course they would. They’ll tease an’ torment it, just
-like the other—an’ when he’s old enough to understand—who’ll he blame
-for it? He’ll blame _you_ for it. (_Inspired_) He’ll blame Bob for
-it—he’ll hate him for it. D’ye want your boy—Bob’s boy—to be hatin’ his
-own father? What’d Bob say? What’d _he_ think of you—ruinin’ his baby’s
-life—an’ all just because you’re obstinate an’ won’t listen to reason.
-Can’t you see it? Just think—if you’d only say you was in the wrong—an’
-do what Mr. Tanner asks you—he’d forgive you an’ make everything all
-right. Oh, Janet—can’t you see it? Ask him—beg him!
-
-JANET. Oh, dear. Well—how c’n Mr. Tanner make it all right?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. You know what I mean. Oh, Janet, it won’t take him a
-minute to write it. If he don’t, can’t you see it’ll ruin us all our
-lives?
-
-JANET. Only a minute to write it—or it’ll ruin us all our lives.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Oh, Janet, this is your last chance. Tell him you’re
-sorry. (_To Tanner, who has edged towards the door, and is about to
-leave._) Oh, Mr. Tanner, please don’t go. Just wait another minute.
-
-TANNER. Really, I must go.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Oh, sir! I can see she’s sorry. You won’t go back on your
-word, sir?
-
-JANET (_Unwillingly feigning remorse_). Let me think a bit. Oh, Mr.
-Tanner, I suppose I’m in the wrong—if you say so. It didn’t seem to me
-to be wrong—that’s all I got to say. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m sorry
-for the way I spoke—and what I done.
-
-TANNER (_Returning_). My child, it’s not for me to forgive you. I knew I
-could appeal to something higher in you, if you’d only listen to me. Are
-you truly repentant—from the bottom of your heart?
-
-JANET. Yes, sir.
-
-TANNER. As I said to your mother just now, I don’t like preaching
-sermons, but I hope this has taught you that there can be no
-justification for our moments of passion and wilfulness. We must all try
-to humble our pride and our spirit. I won’t go back on my word, but when
-you start out afresh you must try to wipe out the past by living for the
-future.
-
-JANET. I’ll try to, sir.
-
-TANNER. And now, Mrs. Ransome, I suppose I’ll have to make the entry as
-though it had happened an hour or so ago. I know I may seem soft-hearted
-about it. But I feel I am doing my duty. This may save your daughter
-from a life of degradation. I think the end justifies the means. But
-first, let me ask you, who knows that the ceremony wasn’t performed
-before he died?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Only me—an’ her father—an’ my sister outside.
-
-TANNER. Can she be relied upon to hold her tongue?
-
-MRS. RANSOME. She surely can, sir.
-
-TANNER. Well, you understand this is a very serious thing for me to do.
-If it becomes public I shall be faced with a very unpleasant situation.
-
-MRS. RANSOME. Oh, I promise you, Mr. Tanner, not a soul will know of it.
-We’ll take our dyin’ oaths, sir, all of us.
-
-TANNER. All right. But first let me lend your daughter this prayer-book.
-(_Takes prayer-book out of pocket; addressing Janet._) Here’s a
-prayer-book, Miss Ransome. I’ll go with your mother now into the
-back-parlor, and meanwhile I want you to read over this prayer. Try to
-seek its inner meeting. Come, Mrs. Ransome, you can carry the register,
-and we’ll come back later and discuss the funeral arrangements.
-
-MRS. RANSOME (_Takes the marriage register_). Oh, Mr. Tanner, I don’t
-know how to thank you.
-
-TANNER. Well, Mrs. Ransome—I shall expect your husband to send us
-something for our new mission to spread Christianity amongst the
-Chinese.
-
-(_Exit Tanner and Mrs. Ransome. Janet closes the door. She walks towards
-the couch, looks at the prayer-book, then at the couch. She flings the
-prayer-book to the other end of the room, smashing some of the ornaments
-on the mantle-shelf, and throws herself upon the side of the couch,
-sobbing wildly._)
-
- SLOW CURTAIN.
-
-
-
-
- “The Immutable”
-
-
- MARGARET C. ANDERSON
-
-In a world where flippancies arrange an effective concealment of beauty
-there are still major adventures in beauty to be had beneath the
-grinning surface. One of them is the discovery of those rare persons to
-whom flippancies are impossible—those splendid persons who take life
-simply and greatly. Several months ago I tried to write an impression of
-Emma Goldman, from an inadequate background of having merely heard two
-of her lectures. Since then I have met her. One realizes dimly that such
-spirits live somewhere in the world: history and legend and poetry have
-proclaimed them, and at times we hear of their passing; but to meet one
-on its valiant journey is like being whirled to some far planet and
-discovering strange new glories.
-
-Emma Goldman is one of the world’s great people; therefore, it is not
-surprising to find her among the despised and rejected. Of course she is
-as different from the popular conception of her as anyone could be. The
-first thing you feel in meeting her is that indefinable something which
-all great and true people have in common—a quality which seems to
-proceed on some a priori principle that anything one feels deeply is
-sublime. Then a sense of her great humanity sweeps upon you, and the
-nobility of the idealist who wrenches her integrity from the grimest
-depths. A terrible sadness is in her face—as though the suffering of
-centuries had concentrated there in some deep personal struggle; and
-through it shines that capacity for joy which becomes colossal in its
-intensity and tragic in its disappointments. But the thing which takes
-your heart in a grip, and thrusts you quickly into the position of the
-small boy who longs to die for the object of his worship, is that
-imperative gift of motherhood which is hers and which spends itself with
-such utter prodigality upon all those who come to her for inspiration.
-Emma Goldman has ministered to every kind of human being from convicts
-to society women. She has no more idea of conservation than a lavish
-springtime; and where she draws courage and endurance and inspiration
-for it all will remain one of those mysteries which only the artist can
-explain. A mountain-top figure, calm, vast, dynamic, awful in its
-loneliness, exalted in its tragedy—this is Emma Goldman, “the daughter
-of the dream,” as William Marion Reedy called her in an appreciation
-written several years ago. “A dream, you say?” he asked, after sketching
-her gospel. “Yes; but life is death without the dream.” In that rich
-book of Alexander Berkman’s, _Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist_, she is
-given a better name. “I have always called you the Immutable,” is the
-way the author closes one of his letters to her. And this is the quality
-which distinguishes Emma Goldman—a kind of eternal staunchness in which
-one may put his fundamental trust.
-
-This is the woman America has hated and persecuted, thrown into jail,
-deprived of her citizenship, and held up as an example of all that is
-ignorant, coarse, and base. America will recognize its failure some day,
-after the brave spirit has done its work—after the spasm of the new war
-has ushered in quite simply some of the changes which Emma Goldman has
-been pleading for during her years of fighting. But it takes education
-to produce such awakenings, and there is no immediate hope of such a
-general enlightenment. The stupidity of the situation regarding Emma
-Goldman is that other prophets have raised their spears to the same
-heights and have been misunderstood or ignored but not outraged by the
-peculiar ignorance which Americans alone seem capable of. Had Ibsen
-appeared among us to lecture on the rightness of Nora’s rebellion or to
-denounce the pillars of society as he did in his writing, he, too, would
-have been thrown into prison for free speech or accused of a president’s
-assassination. The cruelty of the situation regarding Emma Goldman is
-that she has so much work to do which so many people need, and that she
-cannot break through the prejudice and the superstition surrounding her
-to get at those dulled ones who need it most. Ten years ago she was
-preaching, under the most absurd persecution, ideas which thinking
-people accept as a matter of course today. Now the ignorant public still
-shudders at her name; the “intellectuals”—especially those of the
-Greenwich Village radical type—dismiss her casually as a sort of good
-Christian—one not to be taken too seriously: there are so many more
-daring revolutionists among their own ranks that they can’t understand
-why Emma Goldman should make such a stir and get all the credit; the
-Socialists concede her a personality and condone her failure to attach
-herself to that line of evolutionary progress which is sure to establish
-itself. “Unscientific” is their damning judgment of her; her Anarchism
-is a metaphysical hodge-podge, the outburst of an artistic rather than a
-scientific temperament. And so they all miss the real issue, namely,
-that the chief business of the prophet is to usher in those new times
-which often appear in direct opposition to scientific prediction,
-and—this above all!—that life in her has a great grandeur.
-
-How do such grotesque misconceptions arise? Why should it have happened
-that all this misapprehension and ignorance should have grown up about a
-personality whose mere presence is a benediction and whose friendship
-compels you toward high goals you had thought unattainable? There is no
-use asking how or why it happened; it is a perfectly consistent thing to
-have happened, for it happens to everyone, in greater or less degree,
-who strives for a new ideal. But if I could only get hold of all the
-people who are unwilling to understand Emma Goldman and _force_ them to
-listen to her for an hour:—what a sweet triumph comes with their “Oh,
-but she’s wonderful!”
-
-And now about her ideas. If you have read Wilde’s _Soul of Man Under
-Socialism_ you know the essence of Emma Goldman’s Anarchism. What is
-there about it to cause an epidemic of terror? It is merely the highest
-ideal of human conduct that has ever been evolved. Well, it is possible
-to get even the prejudiced to admit this much. Nearly everyone can see
-that government in its essence is tyranny; that one human being’s
-authority over another is a degrading thing; that no man should have the
-power to force his neighbor into a dungeon on the flimsy pretext that
-punishment is a prevention and a protection; that no man should dare to
-take the life of another man, on any basis whatever; that crime is
-really misdirected energy and “criminal types” usually sick people who
-should be treated as such; that “abnormal” people are those who have not
-found their work; that people who work should have some share of their
-production; that the holding of property is a source of many evils; that
-possessiveness and “bargaining” are mean qualities; that co-operation
-and sharing are splendid ones; that there should be an equality between
-giving and taking; that nothing worth while was ever born outside of
-freedom; and that men _might_ live together on this basis more
-effectively than on the present one. Even your “reasonable” man will
-grant you this premise; but then he plays his trump card: It may all be
-very beautiful—of course it is; _but it can never happen_! Oscar Wilde
-answered him in this way: “Is this Utopian? A map of the world that does
-not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out the
-one country at which Humanity is always landing. And when Humanity lands
-there, it looks out, and, seeing a better country, sets sail. Progress
-is the realization of Utopias.”
-
-Emma Goldman believes this. She does not belong with the rank and file
-of Anarchists. Cults and “isms” are too restrictive for her. “But you
-are an extreme Individualist,” the Socialists tell her. “No, I am not,”
-she answers them. “I hate your rigid Anglo-Saxon individualism. It is
-just because I am so deeply social that I put my hope in the
-individual.” It is because she hates injustice of any sort so
-passionately that she adopted Anarchism as the soundest method of
-combating it. If you have laws you must accept the abuses of law. Why
-not be more completely simple—why keep on pretending that we need a
-machinery which fosters tyrannies instead of giving freedom an
-unhandicapped path to begin upon its great responsibilities? This was
-the idealism upon which the American founders built—a minimum of
-government, at least, when that evil seemed to become a necessity. In
-her remarkable book that has just been published, Voltarine de Cleyre
-discusses this phase of the matter brilliantly in a chapter called
-“Anarchism and American Traditions.” There is no possibility of going
-into it minutely here, except to ask those who insist upon regarding
-Anarchism as an unconstructive force to read it.
-
-These are the things Emma Goldman is trying to preach. She does not
-expect to see a new order spring up in response to her vision; so the
-facetious ones who poke their stale jokes at the unspeakable humor of a
-communistic society might save their wit for more legitimate
-provocations. All she hopes is to quicken the consciousness of those
-through whom such changes will come—to improve the individual quality.
-It reminds you of Comte’s suggestion, at the time when he fell
-deliriously in love, that all the problems of society could be solved on
-that divine principle. It is like Tolstoy’s dream prophecy—his
-prediction of the time when there will be neither monogamy nor polygamy,
-but simply a poetogamy under which people may live freely and
-beautifully.
-
-And so Emma Goldman continues her work, talking passionately to crowds
-of people, sickened by audiences who listen merely out of curiosity,
-disheartened by the vapid applause of those who make their own
-incapacities the burden of their rebellion, heartbroken by the masses
-who cannot respond to any ideal, cheered by the few who understand,
-dedicated to an eternal hope of new values. This is the real Emma
-Goldman—a visionist, if you will, but at the same time a woman with a
-deep faith in the superiority of reality to imagination. How she has
-lived life! How gallantly she makes the big out of the little and
-accepts without complaining the perverted role which has been thrust at
-her. To have seen her in her home with its hundreds of books and its
-charming old pictures of Ibsen and Tolstoy and Nietzsche and Kropotkin;
-to have seen her friends, her nephews and nieces offering her their high
-adoration; to have watched her gigantic tenderness, her gorgeous
-flinging away of self on every possible pretext; to have listened with
-her to great music in a kind of cosmic hush that music is made by and
-for such spirits; to have heard her, “the crucified,” talk of the ideal
-she cherishes and how her expression of it has been so far below her
-dream; to have compared her, an artist in life, as incapable of
-spiritual vulgarity as a Rodin or a Beethoven, with a sensitiveness
-which makes her almost fear beauty, with a sweetness that is
-overwhelming—to compare her with the vulgarians who denounce her is to
-fall into a mad rage and long to insult them desperately. I said before
-that Emma Goldman was the most challenging spirit in America. But she is
-so much more than that: she is many wonderful things which this article
-merely touches upon, because it is impossible to express them all.
-
-
- Science is after all but a reassuring and conciliatory expression
- of our ignorance.—_Maeterlinck._
-
-
-
-
- Poems
-
-
- MAXWELL BODENHEIM
-
-
- Expressions of a Child’s Face
-
- Dawn?—no, the stunted transparency of dawn—
- Color taken from the birth of a white throat
- And shaken in a still cup till it gradually reaches strength
- A sudden scattering of strained light—
- The smile has lived and seemed to die.
-
- Thought?—no, the invisible shudder of a perfume
- Trying to leave the shadowy pain of a flesh-flower
- A whisp of it whips itself away,
- And leaves the rest—a cool, colorless struggle.
-
- Sadness?—no, the growth of a pale inclination
- Which knows not what it is;
- Which tries to form the beginning of a swift question,
- But has not yet developed trim lips.
-
- And then what seems a smile
- But is the sleeping body of a laugh.
- It almost awakes, and throws out
- Long breaths, in a green and yellow din.
-
-
- Emotions
-
-
- I
-
- His anger was a strained yellow wire.
- You leapt into it thinking to snap it,
- But it flung you off silently.
-
-
- II
-
- Her happiness was too apparent—
- Pleasant flesh in which you sensed heavy blood-clots.
-
-
- III
-
- Veering, weary birds were her hatreds.
- They rested on you for years,
- Then circled away, still weary.
-
-
- IV
-
- Her sorrows were clumsy, black bandages
- Which seemed to hide wide wounds,
- But only covered scratches.
-
-
- To ——
-
- You are a broad, growing sieve.
- Men and women come to loosen your supple frame,
- And weave another slim square into you—
- Or perhaps a blue oblong, a saffron circle.
- People fling their powdered souls at you:
- You seem to loose them, but retain
- The shifting shadow of a stain on your rigid lines.
-
-
- To Handpainted Chinaware
-
- Distorted ducks, smirking women and potshaped blossoms
- Fastened to pale plates, you are dreary symbols of those who painted
- you.
- O ducks, you were made by women
- Who sway in and out of the waters of life,
- Content to catch morsels of food from birds flying overhead.
- And you smirking women, were painted by men
- Who unrolled little souls on plates,
- Gave them faces which could not quite hide their ugliness ...
- You alone almost baffle me, potshaped blossoms—
- Were you fashioned by childless women, who made you the infants
- Denied them by life?
-
-
- Study of a Face
-
- Her forehead is the wind-colored, sun-stilled wall of a country
- church.
- Trailing cloud-shudders overhead narrow it to a thin band of vague
- light:
- Two tarnished, exultant cerements of earth—cheeks—meet it,
- And the three speak clearly, languidly.
-
-
- An Old Man Humming a Song
-
- Life was a frayed, pampered lily to him—
- A lily which still clung to his gray coat,
- Like an unbidden word whitening the death of a smile.
- The half-smooth perfume of it touched the slanting, cambric curtain of
- his soul,
- And stirred it to low song.
-
-
-
-
- The Spiritual Dangers of Writing Vers Libre
-
-
- EUNICE TIETJENS
-
-The spiritual dangers that beset a struggling poet are almost as
-numerous as his creditors, and quite as rampant. And woe unto him who
-falls a prey to any one of them! For poetry, being the immediate
-reflection of the spiritual life of its author, degenerates more quickly
-than almost any other form of human expression when this inner life goes
-astray.
-
-There is first of all the danger of sentimentality, an ever-present,
-sticky danger that awaits patiently and imperturbably and has to be met
-afresh every day. True, if the poet yields to this danger and embraces
-it skillfully enough, the creditors aforementioned may sometimes be paid
-and much adulation acquired into the bargain—witness Ella Wheeler
-Wilcox—but it is at the price of artistic death.
-
-There is the danger of giving the emotions too free rein, of producing,
-as Arthur Davison Ficke has said in a former number of THE LITTLE
-REVIEW, merely “an inarticulate cry of emotion” which moves us like “the
-crying of a child.” Much of our sex poetry is of this type. On the
-other hand, there is the equally present danger of becoming
-over-intellectualized—of drying up and blowing away before the wind of
-human vitality. Edmund Clarence Stedman went that way. Then there is the
-danger of determined modernity, of resolutely setting out to be “vital”
-at all costs and crystallizing into mere frozen impetuosity, as Louis
-Untermeyer has done—and the other danger of dwelling professorially in
-the past with John Myers O’Hara. There is too the new danger of
-“cosmicality,” of which John Alford amusingly accuses our American poets
-of to-day. And there are many, many other pitfalls that the unsuspecting
-poet must meet and bridge before he can hope to win to the heights of
-immortality.
-
-But there seems to be a whole new set of dangers, especially virulent,
-that attend the writing of _vers libre_, free verse, polyrhythmics, or
-whatever else one may choose to call the free form so prevalent to-day.
-These dangers are inherent in the form itself and are directly traceable
-to it. For contrary to the general notion on the subject, it takes a
-better balanced intellect to write good _vers libre_ than to write in
-the old verse forms. It is essentially an art for the sophisticated, and
-the tyro will do well to avoid it.
-
-The first of these dangers, and the one in which all the others take
-root, is a very insidious peril, and few there be who escape it. It is
-the danger of being obvious.
-
-In writing rhymed or even rhymeless poetry of a conventional rhythmical
-pattern the mind is constantly obliged to sift and sort the various
-images which present themselves—to test them, and turn them this way and
-that, as one does pieces in a mosaic, till they at last fit more or less
-perfectly into the pattern. This process, although it sometimes, owing
-to the physical formation of the language, distorts the poet’s meaning a
-little, has the great artistic advantage of eliminating many casual
-first associations, which on careful thought are found not worth saying.
-It is precisely this winnowing, weighing process which the form of free
-verse lacks. Anything that comes to mind can be said at once, and with a
-little instinct for rhythm, is said. The result of this mental laziness
-is that the ideas expressed are often obvious.
-
-But here a curious phenomenon of the human mind comes into play. Just as
-a physically lazy man will often perform great mental exertions to avoid
-moving, so the mind will frequently go to quite as great lengths to find
-unusual methods of expression to conceal, even from itself, this
-laziness of first thinking. The result is the attempt to cover with
-words the fundamental paucity of the ideas.
-
-There are several principal effects which may result from this. One is
-brutality. A conception which, if spoken simply, is at once recognized
-as trite, may if said brutally enough pass muster as surprising and
-“strong.” A crude illustration of this is to be found in the recent war
-poetry of “mangled forms” and “gushing entrails.” Ezra Pound furnishes
-the most perfect example. Another effect is the tendency to the
-grotesque. This device is more successful in deceiving the poet himself
-than the other, though it has less general appeal. For it is possible,
-by making a thing grotesque enough, to cover almost completely the
-underlying conception. Skipwith Cannéll runs this danger, along with
-lesser men. A third peril is that which besets some of the Imagistes—the
-danger of reducing the idea to a minimum and relying entirely on the
-sound and color of the words to carry the poem.
-
-Still another result of the complete loosening of the reins possible in
-_vers libre_ is the immediate enlargement of the ego. It is not so easy
-to see why this should result, but it almost invariably does, and has
-since the days of Whitman. It usually goes to-day with the effect of
-brutality. The universe divides itself at once into two portions, of
-which the poet is by far the greater half. “I”—“I”—“I” they say, and
-again “I”—“I”—“I.” And having said it they appear to be vastly relieved.
-
-The next step is to lay about them gallantly at every person or tendency
-that has ever annoyed them. “I have been abused” they say, “I have been
-neglected! You intolerable Philistines, I will get back at you!” It is
-odd that it never seems to occur to these young men that they can only
-hit those persons who read them, and that every person who reads them is
-at least a prospective friend. Those who neglect them they can never
-reach—and slapping one’s friends is an unprofitable amusement.
-
-Examples of these unfortunate spiritual results of abandoning oneself
-too recklessly to the free verse form are numerous. James Oppenheim’s
-latest volume, _Songs for the New Age_—although it is in many ways an
-excellent work and deserves endorsement by all who really belong to the
-new age and are not merely accidentally alive to-day—nevertheless shows
-in places the tendency to obviousness and slack work.
-
-More flagrant examples are to be found elsewhere. Take for instance
-Orrick Johns. Here are some stanzas from his long poem, _Second Avenue_,
-which took the prize in Mitchell Kennerley’s _Lyric Year_:
-
- “How often does the wild-bloom smell
- Over the mountained city reach
- To hold the tawny boys in spell
- Or wake the aching girls to speech?
-
- The clouds that drift across the sea
- And drift across the jagged line
- Of mist-enshrouded masonry—
- Hast thou forgotten these are thine?
-
- That drift across the jagged line
- Which you, my people, reared and built
- To be a temple and a shrine
- For gods of iron and of gilt—
-
- Aye, these are thine to heal thy heart,
- To give thee back the thrill of Youth,
- To seek therein the gold of Art,
- And seek the broken shapes of Truth.”
-
-The same Orrick Johns wrote this blatant bit of free verse in _Poetry_ a
-few months later. Both the paucity of ideas and the enlarged ego are
-very well shown here:
-
- No man shall ever read me,
- For I bring about in a gesture what they cannot fathom in a life;
- Yet I tell Bob and Harry and Bill—
- It costs me nothing to be kind;
- If I am a generous adversary, be not deceived, neither be devoted—
- It is because I despise you.
- Yet if any man claim to be my peer I shall meet him,
- For that man has an insolence that I like;
- I am beholden to him.
- I know the lightning when I see it,
- And the toad when I see it ...
- I warn all pretenders.
-
-But to see the tendencies of which we have spoken in their most
-exaggerated form it is necessary to go to Ezra Pound, the young
-self-expatriated American who wails because “that ass, my country, has
-not employed me.” His earlier work was clean-cut, sensitive poetry, some
-of it very beautiful. This for example:
-
-
- PICCADILLY
-
- Beautiful, tragical faces,
- Ye that were whole, and are so sunken;
- And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved,
- That are so sodden and drunken,
- Who hath forgotten you?
-
- O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many!
-
- The gross, the coarse, the brazen,
- God knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should do,
- But, oh, ye delicate, wistful faces,
- Who hath forgotten you?
-
-This, from _Blast_, the new English quarterly, is the latest from the
-same hand. The capitals are his own. The contrast needs no comment:
-
-
- SALUTATION THE THIRD
-
- Let us deride the smugness of “The Times”:
- GUFFAW!
- So much the gagged reviewers,
- It will pay them when the worms are wriggling in their vitals;
- These were they who objected to newness,
- HERE are their TOMB-STONES.
-
- They supported the gag and the ring:
- A little black BOX contains them.
- SO shall you be also,
- You slut-bellied obstructionist,
- You sworn foe to free speech and good letters,
- You fungus, you continuous gangrene.
-
- * * * * *
-
- I have seen many who go about with supplications,
- Afraid to say how they hate you
- HERE is the taste of my BOOT,
- CARESS it, lick off the BLACKING.
-
-To attempt to lay the entire onus of so flagrant a spiritual and
-cerebral degeneration to the writing of _vers libre_ alone is of course
-impossible. But the tendency is clear. Fortunately, however, we are not
-all Ezra Pounds and there are still poets balanced enough to appreciate
-these dangers and to make of free verse the wonderful vehicle it can be
-in the hands of a genius.
-
-
-
-
- Union
-
-
- RABINDRANATH TAGORE
-
- (_Translated from the original Bengali by Basanta Koomar Roy, author
- of “Rabindranath Tagore: The Poet and His Personality.”_)
-
-Beloved, every part of my being craves for the corresponding part of
-yours. My heart is heavy with its own restlessness, and it yearns to
-fall senseless on yours.
-
-My eyes linger on your eyes, and my lips long to attain salvation by
-losing their existence on your lips.
-
- * * * * *
-
-My thirsty heart is crying bitterly for the unveilment of your celestial
-form.
-
- * * * * *
-
-The heart is deep in the ocean of being, and I sit by the forbidding
-shore and moan for ever.
-
-But to-night, beloved, I shall enter the mysteries of existence with a
-bosom heaving with love supreme, and my entire being shall find its
-eternal union in thine.
-
-
-
-
- War, the Only Hygiene of the World
-
-
- F. T. MARINETTI
-
- (_Translated from the French by Anne Simon_)
-
-I want to explain to you the difference between Futurism and Anarchism.
-
-Anarchism, denying the infinite principle of human evolution, suspends
-its impulse at the ideal threshold of universal peace, and before the
-stupid paradise of interlocked embraces in the open fields and midst the
-waving of palms.
-
-We, the Futurists, on the contrary, affirm as one of our absolute
-principles the continuous growth and the unlimited physiological and
-intellectual progress of Man.
-
-We aim beyond the hypothesis of the amicable fusion of the different
-races, and we admit the only possible hygiene of the World: War.
-
-The distant goal of the anarchistic conception (a kind of sweet
-tenderness, sister to baseness) appears to us as an impure gangrene
-preluding the agony of the races.
-
-The anarchists are satisfied in attacking the political, judicial, and
-economical branches of the social tree. We strive to do much more than
-that. We want to uproot and burn its very deepest roots; those that are
-planted in the brain of man, and are called:
-
-Mania for order.
-
-The desire for the least effort.
-
-The fanatical adoration of the family.
-
-The undue stress laid on sleep, and the repast at a fixed hour.
-
-Cowardly acquiescence or quietism.
-
-Love for the antique and the old.
-
-The unwise preservation of everything that is wicked and sick.
-
-The horror of the new.
-
-Contempt for youth.
-
-Contempt for rebellious minorities.
-
-The veneration for time, for accumulated years, for the dead, and for
-the dying.
-
-The instinctive need of laws, chains, and impediments.
-
-Horror of violence.
-
-Horror of the unknown and the new.
-
-Fear of a total liberty.
-
-Have you never seen an assemblage of young revolutionaries or
-anarchists?... _Eh bien_: there is no more discouraging spectacle.
-
-You would observe that the urgent, immediate mania, in these red souls,
-is to deprive themselves quickly of their vehement independence, to give
-the government of their party to the oldest of their number; that is to
-say, to the greatest opportunist, to the most prudent, in a word, to the
-one who having already acquired a little force, and a little authority,
-will be fatally interested in conserving the present state of things, in
-calming violence, in opposing all desire for adventure, for risk, and
-heroism.
-
-This new president, while guiding them in the general discussion with
-apparent equity, shall lead them like sheep to the fold of his personal
-interest.
-
-Do you still believe seriously in the usefulness or desirability of
-conventions of revolutionary spirits?
-
-Content yourself then, with choosing a director, or, better still, a
-leader of discussion. Choose for that post the youngest amongst you, the
-least known, the least important; only his role must never supersede the
-simple distribution of the word, with an absolute equality of time that
-he shall control, the watch in his hand.
-
-But that which digs the deepest ditch between the futuristic and
-anarchistic conception, is the great problem of love, with its great
-tyranny of sentiment and lust, from which we want to extricate humanity.
-
-
- Genius-worship is the infallible sign of an uncreative
- age.—_Clive Bell._
-
-
- The least that the state can do is to protect people who have
- something to say that may cause a riot. What will not cause a
- riot is probably not worth saying.—_Clive Bell._
-
-
-
-
- Noise
-
-
- GEORGE BURMAN FOSTER
-
-There is a discovery, by no means pleasing or edifying, that the student
-makes as he broadly surveys the history of humanity. All the great
-turning-points of that history seem to be inwardly associated with
-violent upheavals and fearful revolutions. And of all these revolutions,
-it may be doubted whether history records any one on so large a scale as
-that which confronts us under the name of Christianity, in the
-transition from ancient to mediæval ecclesiastical culture. It was not a
-single Crucified One that gave Christianity the sacred symbol of its
-religion; unnumbered thousands—mostly slaves—breathed out their poor
-lives on martyrs’ crosses. The old culture went down in rivers of
-blood—not too figuratively meant—and a new arose, or, better, was
-created. Now, what is true of this most important revolution of our
-antecedent cultural life is true also, in corresponding measure, of
-every new “becoming” in the history of peoples. No state, no church, no
-social form, has ever arisen but that the path of the new life has
-passed over ruins and graves.
-
-Must this be so? Must it be eternally so? Is it a thing of historical
-inevitability, is it even a law of the very order of the world itself?
-The answer—first answer, at all events—is, Yes! To affirm itself, to
-persist as life,—this belongs as nothing else does to life’s very
-nature. What newly arises negates what has already arisen. All that is
-living pronounces a sentence of death upon all that has been alive and
-that now sets itself against the new life. Accordingly, we are wont to
-call life a struggle for existence. Old Greeks coined a phrase, _Polemos
-pater panton_: war is the father of all things. The right to life is the
-right of the strong.
-
-In view of these things, may we fairly raise the question as to whether
-there are exceptions to so universal a rule? Were we to set up a
-different right, would it not be the right of the weak? Would it not be
-to make the sick and the infirm masters over the well and the strong?
-Would it not be to preach a decadent morality as do all the
-pusillanimous and the hirelings who beg for the protection of their
-weakness because they do not have the strength to drive and force their
-way through life?
-
-The man who, for a generation, has been called the prophet of a new
-culture, this _Friedrich Nietzsche_, is he not, then, precisely the
-apostle of this man of might and mastery, of ill-famed _Herrnmoral_,
-master’s morality, especially? Napoleon, his Messiah—do you think? Did
-he not gloat and glory over the time when the wild roving _blonde
-Bestie_ was still alive in the old Germans? Did he not worship the beast
-of prey, memorialize the murderer, stigmatize the morality of
-Christianity as a crime against life, because of its saying, Blessed are
-the poor and the sick, the peaceable and the meek? If, now, the word of
-this new prophet should make disciples, should even revolutionize the
-times, should we close our churches and stop our preaching, as the first
-thing to be done? For the churches preach goodness and love, not might
-and dominion; see in man child of God, not beast of prey.
-
-If all this were a partisan matter—for or against Nietzsche—I would have
-nothing to do with it. To join in the damnatory fulminations against
-this man, or to advertise mitigating circumstances for his thought, and
-to re-interpret the whole from such a standpoint, until the whole should
-seem less brutal and less dangerous—to do either the one or the other is
-not for me, but for those polemicists and irenicists who are adding to
-the gayety of nations in these otherwise heartbreaking times, by the
-high debate as to whether Nietzsche be both the efficient and the final
-cause of our present world war. Not to defend Nietzsche, not to condemn
-him, but to wrestle for a firm, clear, moral view of life in our
-seething times, this alone is most worth while, and this too is my task.
-
-But for all that, I do believe we must penetrate much, much deeper into
-this new prophet’s spirit than either friend or foe has yet done, if we
-are to win from Nietzsche a deepening of our own and our time’s moral
-view of life.
-
-Would that we might forget, for a moment at least, all that partisan
-praise and blame have scraped together respecting this most modern of
-all philosophers; would that we might accompany him into the most hidden
-workshop of his own thoughts and hearken to the personal confessions of
-his wonderful soul! And what would we hear there? This preacher of crash
-and catastrophe and cataclysm, temporal and eternal, speaking of
-“thoughts which come with dove’s feet and steer and pilot the world”; of
-“the stillest hours which bring the storm.” Zarathustra-Nietzsche hears
-the _Höllenlärm_, the hellish alarum, that men make in life, that life
-itself makes; he observes how men lend their ears to this noise, how
-they are frightened by it, or exult over it, how they think that the
-truth is the truer where the noise is the louder, how the howling of the
-storm signifies to men that something good and great must be taking
-place, some great event of history must be under way. Then Nietzsche
-sets himself like a flint against this evaluation of things: “The
-greatest experiences, these are not our noisiest, but our stillest
-hours. It is not around the inventor of new noise, it is around the
-inventor of new values that the world revolves, inaudibly revolves.” I
-speak for myself alone, but these are words, Nietzsche words, for which
-I would gladly sacrifice whole volumes of moral and theological works.
-These words sharpen the eye and the ear for life-values which the
-majority of men today pass by—pass by more heedlessly perhaps than ever.
-These great words supply us with a criterion for the evaluation of
-questions of the moral life, a criterion that no one will cast aside who
-once comes to see what it means. It is a criterion without which we do
-not yet comprehend life in its depths, because we so constantly
-contemplate things from a false angle of vision. Something of the men
-who are carried away by “hellish alarum” lives in all of us. Let there
-be stillness without, and we think that there is nothing going on. Let
-nature peal and groan outside there, so that all gigantic forces seem to
-be released; then we have respect for her, we discern in such over-power
-even a divine creative force or a divine destructive will. Let people
-collide, the earth quake from thunder of cannon, and we signalize such a
-day in our history, pass it down from child to child, and we call such
-and such a battle a world-historical event.
-
-But we forget the best. A blustering and brewing pervades nature when
-Spring comes over the land to conquer Winter. When we hear the conflict
-we cry: “Spring has come!” Not so. The true, genuine Spring-life,
-nascent underneath the fury, makes no noise at all, weaves away
-inaudibly, invisibly, in tiny seeds, and conceals in itself the
-noiseless new germs of life.
-
-Thomas Carlyle, though a trifle noisy himself at times, could finely
-write: “Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves
-together; that at length they may emerge, full-formed and majestic, into
-the daylight of Life, which they are thenceforth to rule.” Wordsworth,
-not unmindful of
-
- “The silence that is in the starry sky”
-
-yet, gazing on the earth about him, sang
-
- “No sound is uttered,—but a deep
- And solemn harmony pervades
- The hollow vale from steep to steep
- And penetrates the glades.”
-
-And for Longfellow there is
-
- “Hoeder, the blind old god
- Whose feet are shod with silence.”
-
-But the chief study of mankind is still man, not nature and the gods.
-Man’s silences! Yes, amid the smoke of powder and clink of swords,
-peoples slash each other; and the men who make such uproar the people
-call great. But the might and work of a people are to be found in that
-quiet heroism, of which no one can discern anything outwardly—that quiet
-heroism to which no one can unveil monuments in our cities. It is the
-inaudible battles of the heart that this heroism fights; and the quieter
-it is, the more gloriously it shines. Men with big voices and mighty
-lungs we hear. Their words excite, move to tears, arouse boisterous and
-voluble antagonisms. These who assemble about them such billowy mobs, we
-are tempted to think that they are the leading spirits, that a vast
-power must live in them, since they are so able to move inert men. But
-another prophet, modern also, has said to these bawlers in market
-places: “Do you think that he who stirs up scandal moves the world?”
-Nothing easier than to start a scandal! Also, nothing jollier for
-numerous men, to say nothing of women. But scandal is a roaring in the
-ears. It does not reach the heart. It irritates, over-irritates the
-nerves. It creates no blessings, no life. A tiny word that sinks down
-into the deep of the soul, and quietly does its work there of
-germinating and sprouting—this means infinitely more for the world than
-the “alarum” of all the professional and unprofessional bawlers. Deep
-rivers make least din. Light cares speak; mighty griefs are dumb. A
-heart must be profane indeed, in which there is nothing sacred to
-silence and the solemn sea. Once more, to quote Carlyle: “Under all
-speech that is good for anything lies a silence that is better. Silence
-is deep as eternity; speech is shallow as time.”
-
-It were well to begin at home, and learn to evaluate experience aright
-in our own being. There are moments in our lives when everything that we
-encounter disconcerts us; nay, when our whole being seems to be off the
-hinges, out of joint. Pain plows up our innermost selves. We could
-shriek from heartbreak and woe. We stand there undone. And men who see
-us and hear us moaning so piteously, groaning so painfully, have the
-feeling: “No pain like this!” But how mistaken they are! For there is a
-cry of the soul, heard of no one, more painful than all that can be
-pitied or lamented. There are labors and battles of the soul wherein
-nothing is hammered and driven, and yet _something new_ is formed. It is
-never so still in a man as when he makes up his mind to have done
-inwardly with some experience. As long as there is foaming and
-blustering within, we accomplish nothing. True work tolerates no
-tempest. We must be still. And when old values are broken, when we must
-lead life to new goals, the quiet hour must come in which a divine child
-of the spirit is conceived by the holy spirit; and the brightest light
-which we can kindle within will burn so quietly and clearly that no
-cloud of smoke shall ascend therefrom, and there shall be no flickering
-to bear witness of contact with the restless world. “There the true
-Silence is, self-conscious and alone.”
-
-Behold, then, this Nietzsche, who flees all “alarum” and execrates all
-din as a falsification of the moral values of life; who lives preferably
-thousands of feet above the world there below, who lingers on the
-loftiest lands of life whither no whirring rattle of the day could rise!
-Could this Nietzsche find joy in men mauling and making a mess of each
-other? Could this Nietzsche preach a culture in which battalions in
-uniform should line up against those in blouse to see who knew best how
-to deal the deadly blow? Could he gloat over the field where the thunder
-of battle thundered the loudest? “Inventor” Krupp’s “new noise”—would
-that appeal to Nietzsche who wanted all silent save the dripping rain,
-and who worshipped sunshine alone? One might answer these questions in
-the light of one’s own experience. Let us suppose that we comprehend the
-meaning of the _stillsten Stunden_, the quietest hours, and the worth of
-those great happenings of which nothing reaches the newspapers, and
-which no _avant-coureur_ trumpets. Tell me, could we then detect even
-the slightest inclination to be our own heralds, and to sacrifice our
-quietest hours to the gaping and squabbling of men? Men—so the old
-gospels say—ought not to cast their pearls before swine, or give that
-which is holy to the dogs. But what is pearl, what is holy, if not what
-the Nietzschean still hour contains and produces? There is something so
-tender and beautiful in that hour that we shrink from expressing it,
-from translating it into thought, lest word and thought tincture its
-best perfume. Silence is sweeter than speech, more musical than song.
-Whoever has a deep in himself into which he alone descends and
-penetrates, a _plus_ of his life that remains after we have known and
-weighed all his words and deeds, protects this deep and this _plus_ from
-everything that could make a noise, from all mere words, from all
-intrusive and obtrusive tittle-tattle. _Sich eine Oberfläche
-anheucheln_, to feign a surface, to wear a mask, this is the original
-and fine insight into such psychology. Man envelops himself in
-unneighborliness, not to hold haughtily other men away from him, but to
-save himself from them, so that they may not clumsily finger some pearl
-which could not stand so rude a touch. Why speak in parables? Because it
-is not given unto them to know the mystery of the kingdom, said the
-Nazarene. Parables were a protecting shell encasing the most intimate
-kernel, which ignorance or awkwardness might otherwise corrupt or
-destroy. Nietzsche and the Nazarene held a deep and a _plus_ so uniquely
-their own that they intentionally sought, not to be understood, but to
-be misunderstood, with reference thereto.
-
-Yes, there is a “surface” which only the man knows and uses who bears
-about a deep in his own being. There, hypocrisy becomes a protection of
-truthfulness; surface a protection of depth. Whoever “feigns such
-surface,” wears such mask, is infinitely more honest and veracious than
-he who has no silence in his deep which cannot be speech on his tongue—a
-speech which is often only motions and noises of the tongue of him who
-pries curiously into what he is inwardly incompetent to understand, or
-offers a superficial and voluble sympathy for griefs of which he is as
-innocent as a babe unborn, or a jaunty appreciation of values and
-verities and virtues for which he has never sweat even a drop of blood.
-To wear a mask, to lie, lie, lie,—that is the _truth_ of the soul as it
-hides its treasures and its sanctities from vulgarity and volubility!
-
- ‘The suitor of _truth_? Thou?’ Thus they mocked.
- ‘Nay! Merely a poet!
- An animal, a cunning, preying, stealing one,
- Which must lie,
- Which must lie, consciously, voluntarily,
- Longing for prey,
- _Disguised in many colours,_
- _A mask unto itself,_
- _A prey unto itself._
- _That_—the suitor of truth?
- Only a fool! a poet!
- Only a speaker in many colours
- Speaking in many colours out of fools’ masks,
- Stalking about on deceitful word bridges,
- On deceitful rain-bows,
- Between false heavens
- Wandering, stealing about—
- _Only_ a fool! a poet!
-
- (_Italics_ mine.)
-
-Thus, it is the Deep, the Unique, the Abyss within, that is the great
-Isolator. Nietzsche was indeed “the eagle that long, long gazeth
-benumbed into abysses, into _its own_ abysses!”
-
-And he spoke in parables. Give heed—so Zarathustra counsels his
-disciples—to the times when your spirits speak in parables, for in these
-times is the origin of your virtue.
-
-I said I would not vindicate Nietzsche. But what if his deification of
-force-humanity, of master-humanity, were _Oberfläche_, “surface,” mask,
-which he “feigned” or wore, in order to protect his pearls from sows,
-his holy of holies from hounds? What if _this_—scandalizing the
-scandalous!—were but picture and parable which Nietzsche flaunted to the
-people that they might wreak their vengeance thereupon? And the parable
-is so pertinently chosen that it says everything to men of sense and
-seriousness, hides everything from fools; that the pearls can be
-recognized if right eyes behold, but protectingly concealed from rude
-eyes and awkward hands.
-
-Of course, Nietzsche was a homicide! So must we be! If thy right eye
-offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee; if thy right hand
-offend thee, hew it off, and cast it from thee. And there are things
-more offensive than an eye or a hand! These are the weaknesses which we
-pamper and grow in ourselves: thought-lessness which we wink at; old pet
-habits which have come to be just too dear for anything, especially for
-us to knife; above all, sickly sentiments, self-pity, from which even
-all our joys cannot rescue us—so that we do not have the courage to join
-those warriors who turn their weapons against their own selves, and to
-swear an “_I will_,” that is hard as steel, against all these softnesses
-and humors and self-commiserations. Surely, it were well to be
-force-men, master-men, so that we would not coddle our impotency or
-carry on a pleasure-pain play with our weakness.
-
-Yes, in these “stillest hours” there is also a “still” homicide and
-interment, a plucking out and a hacking off, and the warrior-hero does
-not betray the least pathos as he does this—there is no plaintive note
-in his voice. The greatest thing about the dying Socrates, sipping away
-at his cup of hemlock, was the total absence of pathos and self-pity.
-Ah, if we but took half the pains to marshal forces of will in
-ourselves, that we now devote to conserving our weak wills, and to
-adducing all sorts of plausible reasons for their impuissance! If we but
-actually learned _Herrenmoral_, master-morality, that were indeed
-masterful and understood mastership! We are called to be masters by our
-creator, not only masters of the earth, but also masters of the spirit.
-And mastership is a great sacred thing, which we ought to learn from
-world-masters. We ought to be hammers in life and not anvils. The great
-calamity among men is that they shrink from being hammers, and call the
-virtue of the anvil that lets itself be struck by the name of
-“patience.”
-
-It is just not true that Christianity abhors master-morality and
-preaches a _Sclavenmoral_, a slave-morality. Yes it _is_ true of the
-cowardly and inert thing that men call Christianity, this religion of
-the study-chair and the barracks which can make use of no master,
-because it summons just those powers to rule whose whole strength
-consists only in the weakness of others. But there _is_ a Christianity
-which has been outright mighty force, outright master-instinct, this
-kingly Christianity, in whose presence a Pilate, and a Herod, with the
-entire host of their war-slaves, were feeble folk indeed; a Christianity
-of love and gentleness and meekness,—aye, aye, sir! But one can have
-gentleness in the heart,—and yet lay on with a club! That was indeed
-master-morality when the Son of Man made himself master of the Sabbath;
-when he with a whip of cords scourged the money-changers and mammonists
-out of the Temple! That was a force-man and a master-man who hurled his,
-“Get thee behind me, Satan!” against the weak heart of Peter.
-
-How would it do for our churches to have a new festival, a festival of
-“the stillest hour,” memorializing the “invention of new values, around
-which the world revolves, noiselessly revolves”? Noises enough, often
-enough _Höllenlärm_, have there been in our churches, are yet, God
-knows! But it is not noise that rules the world. It is stillness which
-ultimately is the spiritual and moral might of the men who will possess
-the kingdom of earth. What if even the history of peoples “feigns a
-surface,” wears a mask, for those who having eyes see not, having ears
-hear not? What if men mistake _Höllenlärm_ for messages of great
-occurrences in history, and on this account hold themselves aloof from
-those phenomena and experiences in which _something new_, a life of the
-heart, presses on to its birth-hour? Yet the human race will not always
-need or require noise and masks as its history rolls on. The more men
-kill what is really worthy of death, the less will they set out to kill
-each other. The more powerfully the will becomes conscious of its
-calling to master, the more strenuously men strive after greatness,
-human greatness, the more ridiculous will it come to seem to them in the
-course of time that the force of man should be sought in the force of
-his muscles, the mastership of man in the hoarded prerogative of powder
-and lead. The day will yet come—as come it shall—when we will estimate
-our life, not according to its noisiest, but according to its stillest
-hours. And then a great and pure life will be created by what is done in
-the heart of man.
-
-
-
-
- The Birth of a Poem
-
-
- (_Translated from the Russian of Maximilian Voloshin by A. S. K._)
-
- In my soul is a fragrant dusk of coming thunder...
- Heat-lightnings coil there like blue-birds...
- Lighted windows burn...
- And fibres, long,
- Slow-singing,
- Grow in the gloom...
- O the odor of flowers that reaches a scream!
- Lo! lightning in a white zig-zag...
- And at once all became bright and great...
- How radiant is the night!
- Words dance, then flash in couples
- In an enamored harmony.
- Out of the womb of consciousness, from the bottom of the labyrinth—
- Visions crowd in a quailing host...
- And the verse blossoms into a hyacinth-flower,
- Cold, fragrant, white.
-
-
-
-
- Editorials
-
-
- _Why Socialists Went to War_
-
-We have listened with much interest to the excuses for the German
-Socialists who went to war, as well as to the attacks on them for doing
-so. Now, though hesitating to obtrude our ignorance into the muddle of a
-complicated discussion, we can’t refrain from offering a suggestion.
-
-The bottom reason for sudden activity under the stress of unusual
-circumstances is to be found, not in a conscious mental decision, but in
-the previously-formed habits of the individual mind. We are referring
-partly to the mob-emotion which has swept away so many even of the
-greatest souls of Europe. We are thinking more of the essence of
-Socialism, and the sort of emotional method which has been produced
-among its adherents—the material upon which mob-psychology had to work.
-
-There is no essential difference between the method of German
-Imperialism and the method of German Socialism; the only difference lies
-in the objectives. Both insist on the supreme importance of the state,
-both work through cohesive organization and the almost unquestioning
-following of leaders. The habit of obedience, the instinct for
-organization, the gregarious mode of action—these are the very qualities
-of the individual German which have made it possible for the German
-Social Democratic Party to grow to such size and strength. What more
-inevitable, when the mobilization order went up, when flags flew and
-drums beat, than that the individual German Socialist should in his
-excitement shoulder his gun and march to war?
-
-Of course, we don’t really know anything about it, and we haven’t the
-resources to make anything like a scientific investigation. But we
-strongly suspect that the morals of organized humanity will remain
-inferior to the morals of the individual until the individual habit of
-mind becomes one which denies to organized humanity supreme authority
-over the will.
-
- G. H. S.
-
-
- _Even Galsworthy!_
-
-In _Scribner’s Magazine_ for November, Mr. Galsworthy has a stunning
-article on the War. And then at its close:—“Your Prussian supermen of
-Nietzsche’s cult...!”
-
-
- _Another New Poet_
-
-Mr. Scharmel Iris is a young Italian poet, born in Florence, who at the
-tender age of ten, and later, was praised by Ruskin, Swinburne, Francis
-Thompson, Edmund Gosse, and other men who may be assumed to know what
-good poetry is. Ruskin wrote: “He is a youth of genius and his poems are
-marvelously beautiful. His heart has felt the pathos of life and he has
-set this pathos to music.” Swinburne said: “He writes with imaginative
-ardor, and impassioned is the word which best illustrates his utterance.
-He is genuine and sincere, and his lovely poems display energy of
-emotion and a true sense of poetic restraint.” Thompson was more
-superlative: “I believe Scharmel Iris to be a poet of the first rank,”
-he stated. “His poems are sublime in conception, rich in splendid
-imagery, full of remarkable metaphors and new figures, and musical in
-expression.” Of course it has been difficult for a young man of such
-talent to find a publisher or a public; but at last a volume of his work
-is to be brought out by the Ralph Fletcher Seymour Company. The book
-will be called _Lyrics of a Lad_, and will be ready about Christmas
-time. Beside a preface by Maurice Francis Egan and an interesting
-title-page decoration by Michele Greco, it will have a frontispiece
-portrait by Eugene R. Hutchinson, the photographer who should never be
-referred to by any noun except “artist.” Personally, we love Mr. Iris’s
-work; we use the verb thoughtfully, because his poetry is not merely the
-sort which interests or attracts; it remains in your mind as part of
-that art treasure-house which is your religion and your life.
-
-
- _Prizes for Poetry_
-
-An interesting announcement comes from _Poetry_ in regard to two prize
-offers. One—the Helen Haire Levinson prize of two hundred dollars for
-the best poetry by a citizen of the United States published in the
-magazine during its second year—has been awarded to Mr. Carl Sandburg
-for his _Chicago Poems_. This is a particularly gratifying decision, for
-Mr. Sandburg’s is a new voice which must be reckoned with in American
-poetic production. The second is a one hundred dollar offer for the best
-war or peace poem on the present European situation, and has been given
-to Miss Louise Driscoll of Catskill, New York, for a poem called _Metal
-Checks_, which appears in the November issue.
-
-
-
-
- My Friend, the Incurable
-
-
-At dusk I pass an ugly red building with shrieking fat black letters on
-its façade—Home for Incurables. Shrill grass, narcotic carnations, hazy
-figures in rocking chairs and on the balconies, melting in the liquid
-gold of autumn twilight—a harmony of discord that screams for the
-spiritual brush of Kandinsky. There are no signs of pain or grief on the
-faces of the doomed: a profound calmness they bear, a resolute
-quiescence, reminding us of Dante after he had seen hell or of
-Andreyev’s resurrected Lazarus. “To be sure, they are quite happy,”
-explained the obliging Doctor. “These men and women have come to be free
-of struggles, of doubts, and of the anguish of hopes. The knowledge of
-their fate, the ultimate, irrevocable truth, is a relieving balm for the
-tired spirits—nay, even for the hopeless bodies, for as soon as they
-cease fighting their disease they learn to adapt themselves to that
-disease, to consider it an inseparable part of their existence. I can
-show you a number of patients who are actually in love with their
-affliction, who would resent the idea of being turned normal. Look at
-the hilarious face of that fellow yonder at the fountain; he is
-intoxicated with sunset, and appears to be the happiest of mortals,
-despite his terrible disease. A queer case, an un-American case.”
-
-The doctor uttered a fearful Latin term and told me the history of that
-patient. A European, he has been for many years afflicted with something
-like “sentimentalomania,” a peculiarly Continental ailment. Skilful
-physicians had tried in vain to cure him; change of climate and
-environment had been of no avail: even in Siberian tundras and in foggy
-London his disposition remained unaltered. In despair he went to Berlin,
-where, he was advised, the gravest case of sentimentality would be
-annihilated; the reaction proved almost fatal, for the Spree and the
-_Sieges Allee_ made such a nauseating impression upon the poor fellow
-that his illness was complicated by a severe outbreak of Germanophobia.
-As a last resort, the famous specialist, Herr Dr. Von Bierueberalles,
-bade him taste the influence of the sanest atmosphere on earth, that of
-the States. When even the harshest and most practical American treatment
-had failed to knock out the unfortunate’s folly, he was pronounced
-hopeless and offered a place among the incurables, which offer he
-willingly accepted, and acquiesced. He has since become accustomed to
-his disease and bears it rather with defiant joy.
-
-At times, when I seek relief from practical values and sane standards, I
-come to have a chat with my friend, the Incurable. Henceforth he will
-have the floor.
-
- * * * * *
-
-With whom do I side in the War? Why, of course, with Germany! Perhaps my
-attitude shows that I have not been completely cured from the
-Prussophobia that I had contracted in Berlin; as it is, I sincerely wish
-to see the German boot victorious on the whole continent and over the
-mouldy Britons, a rude, dreamless, wingless Napoleon brooding over old
-napping Europe. Picture the ruined cathedrals of Belgium and France
-“restored” into comfortable barracks for the braves of the Fatherland;
-picture the boulevards of Paris and Brusselles, the quays of the Neva
-and the Thames, ornated with the statues of the most Christian Wilhelm
-and of his illustrious ancestors down to the Great Elector of
-Brandenburg; picture the excellent _Schutzman_ reigning supreme,
-physically and spiritually, from Vladivostock to Glasgow,—think what an
-abyss of hatred, of stirring electrifying hatred will arise among the
-rotting nations, and out of hatred self consciousness, endeavors,
-cravings, to be crystallized in torrents of new art creations! As for
-Germany, I have no fear for the duration of her hegemony; she will
-undoubtedly choke from indigestion. But oh, how I dread the reverse
-outcome! The victory of the Allies will push Progress a century
-backward; it will strengthen the tottering absolutism in Russia; it will
-swell the piggish arrogance of the French bourgeois; it will augment the
-insular hypocricity of the English Philistine; it will still more, if it
-is possible, vulgarize international diplomacy and greed, arousing the
-appetites of the so-called Democracies.
-
-Democracy—who was it that recently stated with charming aplomb that
-“Individualism and democracy are synonymous terms?” Yes, I recall: it
-came from the pen of the author of _Incense and Splendor_ and _To the
-Innermost_. I confess this statement, especially when considering its
-authorship, came to me as a revelation. To me the word “democracy,” as
-many another beautiful word, has lost its original lofty meaning and has
-come to rhyme with mediocrity, with the strangling of the Few of the
-Mountain by the Many of the Valley. Could you name many great things
-that the most democratized countries, like America and Switzerland, have
-produced outside of Schweitzer-cheese and Victrolas? Has there ever been
-a great individualist who appeared as a child of his age, as an
-outgrowth and a reflection of a democracy? I do not know of such
-instances. Of course, I grant that the writer of that statement put into
-the word “Democracy” a higher, a more idealistic meaning. Words, like
-music, like practically every medium of art, express the author’s
-personality, and, provided he is an artist, he binds us to share his
-interpretation. Take, for example, that popular song, “_Oh, You
-Beautiful Doll_”; apparently there is nothing tragic in it, yet my
-emotions were stirred when I heard its French interpretation by Olga
-Petrova (it was before the kind American entrepreneurs had forced her to
-perform stunts in Panthea). She had managed to put so much sorrow and
-tenderness into “_O Ma Grande Belle Poupée!_” that one forgot the
-triteness of the words and felt gripping sadness. Or take a less vulgar
-illustration—Gertrude Stein’s _Tender Buttons_.[1] It is an exquisite
-little thing in cream covers, with a green moon in the center, implying
-the yolk of an egg with which “something is the matter,” and it gave me
-rare pleasure to witness the first attempt to revolutionize the most
-obsolete and inflexible medium of Art—words. The author has endeavored
-to use language in the same way as Kandinsky uses his colors: to discard
-conventional structure, to eliminate understandable figures and forms,
-and to create a “spiritual harmony,” leaving to the layman the task of
-discovering the “_innerer Klang_.” Both iconoclasts have admirably
-succeeded; both the “Improvisations” and the little “essays” on
-roast-beef and seltzer-bottles have given me the great joy of
-cocreating, allowing me to interpret them in my own autonomous way. Says
-the Painter:[2]
-
- The apt use of a word, repetition of this word, twice, three
- times or even more frequently, will not only tend to intensify
- the inner harmony but also to bring to light unsuspected
- spiritual properties of the word itself. Further than that,
- frequent repetition of a word deprives the word of its original
- external meaning.
-
-Gertrude Stein has beautifully followed this recipe. Words, plain
-everyday words, have lost their “external meaning” under her skilful
-manipulation, and in their grotesque arrangement, frequent repetition,
-and intentional incoherence they have come to serve as quaint ephemeral
-sounds of a suggestive symphony, or, if you please, cacophony. The
-_Tender Buttons_ arouse in the sympathetic reader a limitless amount of
-moods, from scherzo to maestoso. I shall recall for you a few lines of
-one peculiar motive:
-
- (From _A Substance in a Cushion_.)
-
- What is the use of a violent kind of delightfulness if there is
- no pleasure in not getting tired of it.
-
- (From _Red Roses_.)
-
- A cool red rose and a pink cut pink, a collapse and a sole hole,
- a little less hot.
-
- Aider, why aider why whow, whow stop touch, aider whow, aider
- stop the muncher, muncher munchers.
-
- (From _Breakfast_.)
-
- What is a loving tongue and pepper and more fish than there is
- when tears many tears are necessary.
-
- Why is there more craving than there is in a mountain.... Why is
- there so much useless suffering. Why is there.
-
-Do you not feel the deep melancholy underlying these incongruities? I
-could quote places that would bring you into a totally different mood,
-most hilarious at times. These “exaggerated cranberries,” to paraphrase
-an expression of one of my incurable colleagues, should be chanted to
-the music of another great iconoclast, Schoenberg. But I observe an
-indulgent sneer on your face. Of course, I am an Incurable—_Adieu_!
-
- IBN GABIROL.
-
- [1] _Tender Buttons_, by Gertrude Stein [Claire Marie, New York].
-
- [2] _The Art of Spiritual Harmony_, by W. Kandinsky [Houghton
- Mifflin, Boston].
-
-
-
-
- London Letter
-
-
- E. BUXTON SHANKS
-
- _London, Sept. 11, 1914._
-
-We are all soldiers now and literature, for the time, has disappeared.
-The publishing business is at a standstill, reviews are cutting down
-their size, and all the best poets are sedulously learning to form fours
-in the squares of London. It is, by itself, a remarkable thing, which
-will have an effect on all of us when the war stops and we begin to
-write again. To leave your pens and paper, to know that you have before
-you in the day, not an endless struggle with rhythm, rhyme, and editors,
-but a few hours’ drilling that is laborious and terminable—it is a
-rousing experience for a poet, mentally as well as physically.
-
-Meanwhile the literary result of the war is nothing but disastrous. All
-our more or less “official” poets—Mr. Bridges, Mr. Newbolt, Mr. Binyon,
-Mr. Watson, Mr. Phillips, and so on—have come forward with amazing
-arrays of abstract nouns. Mr. Bridges, who is almost the worst as well
-as almost the best of living poets, printed a copy of verses in _The
-Times_ which rhymed far less often than is proper in a ceremonial piece
-and ended thus:
-
- Up, careless, awake!
- Ye peacemakers, fight!
- ENGLAND STANDS FOR HONOUR:
- GOD DEFEND THE RIGHT.
-
-Mr. William Watson has been prodigal of poetry and has reached his
-highest level in a poem which contains the following singular lines:—
-
- We bit them in the Bight,
- The Bight of Heligoland.
-
-It is a very sad business. These gentlemen have retired to their
-studies, determined to feel what is proper, and they come out having
-done their best; but they will be heartily ashamed of it—I hope—in a few
-months. Unfortunately, Mr. John Lane has collected their verses in a
-volume and is selling their shame for charity. Three good poems have
-come out of the welter, one by Mr. G. K. Chesterton—_The Wife of
-Flanders_, a very fine composition—and two by Mr. De La Mare.
-
-The trouble is that a poet does not feel war fever very acutely in a
-general sense. Patriotic poetry is nearly always bad. If there is a
-worthy reference to the Armada in Elizabethan poetry, it has escaped me;
-and the English resistance to Napoleon has never been a very happy
-subject for English writers. The good poetry that is provoked by war is
-of a different character: it is personal, visual, and concrete. It never
-expresses any general aspect of war, but only such subjects as have been
-personally observed and felt by the poet. I would give as instances
-Rudyard Kipling and the German poet Liliencron, both of whom have
-written well about soldiers and fighting, but foolishly about War and
-Patriotism.
-
-Yet any poet going about the streets today must see and feel a quantity
-of poetical things. A week or so ago, I saw an endless baggage-train
-belonging to the artillery, as it passed through Barnet. It had come
-from Worcester, commandeering horses and wagons on the way; it was going
-to Brentwood and thence—God knows! It was very long and uneven—the carts
-had bakers’ and butchers’ names on them—the horses were ridden with
-halters and sacks for saddles—the men were tired and dishevelled. I
-spoke to one of them who was watering his horse at a trough, offered to
-bring him beer from a public-house close by; but someone had given him
-tea farther back on the road and he would rot. He thanked me and rode
-away, drooping very much over his horse’s neck. It was all a poem in
-itself or it gave me the emotions of a poem, because it had none of the
-conventional glitter of war. It was poetical because it was
-business-like, just as our khaki service uniforms are more beautiful
-than the bright clothes the troops wear in peace.
-
-If the war-poets would confine themselves to real and tangible things
-like this, they might well express the experience through which we are
-now passing. But they seem unhappily obsessed with the idea of
-expressing an obstreperous valour and self-confidence and bluster which
-the nation is very far from feeling. The nation, so far as I can gauge
-it, is showing an obstinate, workmanlike silence and does not either
-make light of, or grumble at, the hardships it has to suffer: the
-baggage-train of which I have spoken was a very adequate symbol of this.
-But no one is ever so greatly out of touch with the people as a popular
-poet.
-
-At the beginning of the war, the musical in London were shocked by an
-announcement that no German or Austrian music would be played at the
-famous Queen’s Hall Promenade Concerts. We were naturally a little
-upset, as we depend on these performances for solid and regular
-entertainment: and it seemed hard and unnecessary to renounce Bach,
-Mozart, Beethoven, Wagner, and even Schönberg. Luckily good sense and
-humour killed the absurd idea, but not before a French and Russian
-programme had been substituted for the first Wagner night. Now, much as
-I shrink from the thought of having to hear Tschaikowsky instead of
-Wagner, I do believe that we have a cause for national resentment
-against the second of these composers. His ridiculous and windy
-prose-works have been among the writings which have provoked the war.
-With Nietzsche, and with the renegade Englishman, Houston Stewart
-Chamberlain, he has encouraged the notion that there is a special
-Teutonic culture which is superior to any other and which deserves to be
-spread at any cost. Such an idea has never appealed to the true Germans
-(e. g., Goethe, who knew what he owed to France and England), but it has
-been useful to the Prussian soldiers, who have debased and vulgarized
-true German culture. Perhaps I am exceeding the duties of a London
-letter-writer and becoming an advocate; but I think I am giving you an
-accurate account of the feelings of those here who admire German poetry
-and music. I am not a Chauvinist in art—few people are. I read Goethe
-impenitently in the public trains and trams, to the disgust of my
-neighbours, and I continue to sing German songs, a little out of tune:
-unless my Territorial uniform is served out to me very soon, I shall
-probably be arrested as a spy.
-
-
-
-
- New York Letter
-
-
- GEORGE SOULE
-
-Some years ago a good woman, who would like to be foster-mother to all
-struggling heroes, was sitting at midnight in her down-town flat.
-Suddenly there was a noise at the front door, someone leapt up the
-staircases two steps at a time, and rushed into her room shouting “I’ve
-got it! I’ve got it!” She turned around and saw the dark face of a young
-actor, shining with excitement. He immediately burst into a superb
-interpretation of a passage from _Hamlet_. He had been working over it
-for two weeks without being able to satisfy himself, but it had come to
-him that evening. He could not wait to let his good friend know, had
-jumped on an elevated train, and after being carried two stations too
-far in his elation, was there with his prize.
-
-No, this is not the beginning of a magazine story, nor is it a passage
-from the biography of a deceased European celebrity. It is the simple
-truth about a young American dramatist who is known only to a few;—and
-he is of New England stock!
-
-Later the young Hamlet, having completed his acting apprenticeship,
-began to write, and went into the real estate business to support
-himself. Nobody wanted his plays; they were too “highbrow.” So he began
-to build a theatre of his own. The managers’ trust put every difficulty
-in his way, and finally, when the building was nearly done and the
-company was engaged, succeeded in crushing him. The next attempt was a
-repertory company on the East side, but this wiped out what little was
-left of his resources before it got fairly started. One play was
-produced on Broadway;—it ran two weeks. Last year another was rehearsed
-for nine weeks, but it was withdrawn on the day of the dress rehearsal,
-because the author refused to make a change insisted on by the manager.
-Now the writer has retired to his farm in the Connecticut hills, where
-he and a companion have with their own hands built a little theatre. In
-this, on Sunday afternoons during the summer, he reads from his fifteen
-manuscript plays to such few people as can get there to hear him. And as
-he reads, there is on his face much the same enthusiasm as on the night
-years ago when he got his passage from _Hamlet_.
-
-I visited Butler Davenport for the third time last Sunday. The main
-house is a rambling mid-Victorian affair, with queer crannies and cupola
-rooms from which one can look far across the hills to the Sound. On its
-left is an old farmhouse of the eighteenth century, furnished as Mr.
-Butler’s grandfather left it, and with a musty smell which no
-old-furniture shop could counterfeit. Between the two is an
-old-fashioned garden, in midsummer filled with larkspur, cosmos, and a
-hundred other flowers which few but our grandmothers could name. At the
-intersection of walks at its center is a crab-apple tree, surrounded by
-a bench. A formal garden with high, thick cedar hedges, bird-houses,
-unsuspected grass walks and an avenue of woodbine arches lies on the
-other side of the main house. In the rear, stretching out towards the
-wide valley, is a long, hedged walk ending in an arch, between fields of
-wild flowers. Down it one could go to any kind of distant mystery.
-
-The theatre is a simple, strong little building behind the old
-farmhouse. Its most expert bit of carpentry is the balcony, but that is,
-of course, unpretentious. The seats are ordinary kitchen chairs, and
-there is nothing on the stage but a reading desk. But the luxury of
-sitting between wide-open doors in the hill-breeze, full of grass odors
-and wing sounds, is better than the comfort of plush seats and much
-gilded fresco.
-
-This time, however, as there were only four of us, we sat out under an
-apple tree. Except for a moment when a tragic passage was interrupted to
-shoo away a loud-voiced and ill-mannered hen, it was the most nearly
-perfect theatre I have known.
-
-And the play? It is impossible to do more than hint at the nature of
-unpublished plays. This one dealt with the “white slave” question, but
-in a way infinitely superior to the melodrama of _The Lure_ or _The
-Fight_. There was another, of subtler treatment, called _Deferred
-Payment_, showing the natural retribution seeking out a man who looked
-for everything in a woman except companionship. _Keeping Up
-Appearances_—the one actually produced—pictures a middle-class family
-engaged in a tragic struggle with the pocket book on account of the
-false ideals of the community. _Justice_, written before Galsworthy’s
-play of the same name, draws a parallel between society’s persecution of
-a woman who is consecrated to a fine love without marriage, and
-society’s punishment of the unfortunate victims of prostitution. Mr.
-Davenport’s best work is in _The Importance of Coming and Going_, a
-satirical tragi-comedy which contrasts the exaggerated emphasis we lay
-on death with the casual way we regard birth. When a person who never
-should have come into the world leaves it, perhaps gladly, we weep
-copiously and buy showy funerals; but mothers let their daughters marry
-any kind of man of wealth or position, without giving them any insight
-into the mysteries of birth.
-
-Mr. Davenport’s plays do not rank with Ibsen’s or even with
-Galsworthy’s. But thousands of worse plays have been produced and have
-succeeded—simply because they contained no ideas. Mr. Davenport is
-master of a technique which would make it easy for him to write a
-popular success if he did not insist on saying something. One manager
-has told him that he is ten years ahead of his time, but that if he were
-only European his work could be produced. A publisher wrote him that his
-plays could be issued in book form if he were only well-known. Mr.
-Davenport’s question, “My dear Mr. ——, how am I to become well known?”
-has not elicited a reply.
-
-This man’s spirit will remain just as eager and strong as when he began;
-he may get before the public eventually. Even this year hopeful new
-plans are under way. But whether he ever succeeds or not, he will have
-found in life a thousand times more than the obtuse millions who are
-deaf to him. It would be an insult to offer him sympathy.
-
-And it would be stupid to place final blame on the managers or the
-publishers, or to think that such things as drama leagues can furnish a
-fundamental remedy for the apathy of the public. The whole structure of
-society must be altered, and the quality of the individual human spirit
-must be quickened, before our leaders can find any adequate reaction in
-the crowds. We have denied ourselves the artistic stimulus of a cohesive
-aristocracy. How shall we vitalize our democracy?
-
-
- If they (men) were books, I would not read them.—_Goethe._
-
-
- Some people term a book poor and unreal because it happens to be
- outside the reality with which they themselves happen to be
- acquainted—a reality which is to actual reality what a duck-pond
- is to the ocean.—_George Brandes._
-
-
-
-
- The Theatre
-
-
- Forbes-Robertson’s Hamlet
-
- (_Blackstone Theatre_)
-
-One of the noblest things I have ever seen on the stage—or ever expect
-to see—is the Hamlet of Forbes-Robertson. The poet, the scholar, the
-philosopher, the great gentleman, the lover, the brilliant talker, the
-anguished boy—they are all there in the tall man in black with the
-graven face and the wonderful hands and the voice of surpassing
-richnesses—the tall, graceful, impetuous, humorous, agonized man in
-black who reads Shakespeare as if he were improvising and makes a true
-and charming human being out of a character that has had the misfortune
-to become a problem. “And please observe,” writes Bernard Shaw, “that
-this is not a cold Hamlet. He is none of your logicians who reason their
-way through the world because they cannot feel their way through it; his
-intellect is the organ of his passion; his eternal self-criticism is as
-alive and thrilling as it can possibly be.” His moment of expiation,
-alone at the back of the stage, with his arms raised to the vaulted
-heavens; and his gallant last moment on the throne with its single
-silver sentence, “The rest is silence”—these things are too moving to be
-articulate about. Richard Le Gallienne has expressed it all as well as
-it can be done: “All my life I seem to have been asking my friends,
-those I loved best, those who valued the dearest, the kindest, the
-greatest, and the strongest, in our strange human life, to come with me
-and see Forbes-Robertson die in _Hamlet_. I asked them because, as that
-strange young dead king sat upon his throne, there was something,
-whatever it meant—death, life, immortality, what you will—of a
-surpassing loneliness, something transfiguring the poor passing moment
-of trivial, brutal murder into a beauty to which it was quite natural
-that that stern Northern warrior, with his winged helmet, should bend
-the knee. I would not exchange anything I have ever read or seen for
-Forbes-Robertson as he sits there so still and starlit upon the throne
-of Denmark.”
-
- M. C. A.
-
-
- “The Yellow Ticket”
-
- (_Powers’ Theatre_)
-
-A bleeding chunk of reality is not art, but it is a bleeding chunk of
-reality; your aesthetic emotions may sleep at the sight of a tortured
-animal, but your humane emotions will roll up to your throat when you
-witness the simple tragedy of a Jewish girl in St. Petersburg, presented
-in Michael Morton’s play, _The Yellow Ticket_. To me such a realistic
-play in such a realistic presentation has as little to do with dramatic
-art as a reporter’s story has to do with literature; but I brushed aside
-my memories of Rheinhardt and Komissarzhevskaya when I went to see a
-piece of Russian life at Powers’. And I saw it indeed—real, nude,
-appalling.
-
-Some of my acquaintances have asked me whether the tragedy could be
-true, whether a Jewish girl has no right to live in St. Petersburg,
-unless she has bought her protection from the police by selling her
-reputation—that is by procuring a yellow ticket, the trade-licence of a
-prostitute. Yes, it is true. A Jew is forbidden to abide outside the
-Pale of Settlement, with the exception of certain merchants and persons
-of a university education, and prostitutes. The latter form the most
-desirable element in the eyes of government officials, since their
-occupation does not generally presuppose any predilections for
-revolutionary ideas or free thought. I have known instances where women
-involved in the Revolution, gentiles as well as Jewesses, obtained
-yellow tickets which served them the rôle of a _carte blanche_ from the
-molestations of the police. There are many anecdotic facts in Russian
-life that seem incredible to the outsider, and Mr. Morton has produced
-in his play a mass of such facts with photographic verisimilitude. It
-must be said to the credit of the actors that they have escaped the
-slippery path of melodramatic overdoing.
-
- K.
-
-
- “Jael”
-
- (_The Little Theatre_)
-
-“Hosanna!” I felt like shouting, when the curtains slowly concealed the
-mysterious stage. I am still under the spell of the oriental atmosphere,
-not yet cooled off for objective criticism. What Florence Kiper Frank
-has done with the biblical subject may terrify the orthodox student of
-the Bible, but I greeted her daring heresy and free manipulation of
-epochs and styles. She has skilfully blended the bloodthirsty, gloating
-outcries of Deborah’s Song with the idyllic lyrics of Solomon’s Songs,
-and has presented in _Jael_ a composite type, a mixture of the savage
-tent-woman, of the passionate yet gentle Shulamite, and of the eternal
-jealous female. The result, as far as the creation of an atmosphere
-goes, is a positive success.
-
-A word about the staging. Maurice Browne, on the privilege of a pioneer,
-may be congratulated on the progress he has made in leaving behind
-mouldy conventions and approaching the state where he can produce pure
-aesthetic emotions. The three one-act plays on the present bill,
-regardless of their merits or demerits, demonstrate the great
-possibilities of an artistic stage manager, who can do away with
-elaborate accessories and produce suggestive illusions with the aid of
-an ultramarine background and calico apple blossoms. Yet, as in all
-pioneering, there are signs of hesitation and of half-measures. I am
-sure that the effect of _Jael_ would not in the least diminish (it would
-rather be intensified), if we were spared the inevitable
-storm-pyrotechnics. The verses in themselves imply the idea of battle
-and tempest, and Miss Kiper in the title rôle has the voice and diction
-to serve the purpose.
-
- K.
-
-
-
-
- Harold Bauer in Chicago
-
-
- HERMAN SCHUCHERT
-
-There yet remain certain pianists and other opinionated craftsmen in
-music who will say, when approached on the subject of Harold Bauer’s
-piano playing: “Oh, yes; but you know Bauer is—well, shall we say?—a
-monotonist. His playing is all of one style—beautiful tone, to be sure;
-but, oh, such a sameness! He shades beautifully—yes, surely, but it’s
-all too colorless.” And it probably never occurs to these critics that a
-pianist who uses an entirely beautiful tone, who shades delicately, and
-who is definitely individual in his playing, might not seem monotonous
-to the admirers of true piano-artistry. And it is quite certain that
-these carpers failed to attend Bauer’s last Sunday afternoon recital in
-Orchestra Hall, when and where the above composite quotation was put to
-shame.
-
-The program was headed by that most unequal set of little
-pieces—interesting, dull, graceful, and often clumsy:—Brahm’s Waltzes.
-The Brahms faddists may sacrifice all the credit to their idol, but he
-deserves only a part of it; for Bauer made these waltzes float as
-lightly and pleasantly as the material permitted, and invested them with
-all possible contrast and pulse. There was no lack of what pianists call
-“point,” either in this opening number or in the remainder of the
-program; and it is this quality of “point,” which is the season more in
-evidence in Bauer’s work than ever before, which makes the carpers
-appear rather uninformed. “Point” is nothing mysterious; it means
-definite and crisp rhythm, brightness of tone designed to contrast with
-richness and warmth of tone, sharp shadings artistically brought out,
-and a deeply satisfying precision in tempi. This man’s work deserves
-this inclusive term. Whatever lack there might have been in seasons past
-(there has been a fragile foundation for the criticism mentioned at the
-beginning of this appreciation, when, as late as three years ago, his
-tonal ideals apparently did not include great brilliance), this Sunday
-recital went far to establish the fact that Bauer has a happy variety of
-tone-colors at his command, which variety includes no little brilliance.
-Sheer facility and digital expertness have never seemed to occupy the
-attention of this master-pianist, except insofar as such facility and
-expertness would give expression to purely musical content; and now if
-the carpers continue to shrug their shoulders at the praise of Bauer, it
-will be because they miss the usual bombast and key-swatting of esteemed
-mediocrity, and certainly not because of any inadequacy of technic for
-musical purposes, or lack of pianistic lustre. No mediocrity of a
-technic-worshipper or piano-eater ever gave a performance of Beethoven’s
-Opus 3 that could compare with that of Bauer on Sunday afternoon; for he
-then projected a deeply significant art, particularly in the first
-movement of the sonata, which must be inexplicable in words. Schumann’s
-_Scenes from Childhood_ were given a highly imaginative treatment—a
-treatment which penetrated even the academics. And Schumann’s
-Toccata—that battered veteran of many an ivory struggle—ceased for once
-to be an endurance stunt, and hummed forth (as the composer hoped and
-indicated) as a strangely beautiful bit of music. Bauer’s playing of
-this will remain long in the awakened music-receptacles. So will his
-interpretation of his own arrangement of César Franck’s Prelude, Choral,
-and Fugue—which are three movements vieing with each other for supreme
-religious solidity—and his nonchalant handling of the tricky D-flat
-Study of Liszt. The Chopin Scherzo in C-sharp minor closed a program
-which would surely have been sombre and sleepy under the fingers of any
-less than a pianistic musician. In certain splendid moments Bauer seems
-like a high priest performing a tonal miracle, or like a potent magician
-weaving curious and impossible dream-fabrics. And, with all pleasant
-fancies put aside, he is an exponent of modern pianism at its best.
-
-
- In music a light blue is like a flute, a darker blue a ’cello, a
- still darker a thunderous double bass; and the darkest blue of
- all—an organ.—_Kandinsky._
-
-
- Color is a power which directly influences the soul. Color is the
- key-board, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with
- many strings. The artist is the hand which plays, touching one
- key or another, to cause vibrations of the soul.—_Kandinsky._
-
-
-
-
- A Ferrer School in Chicago
-
-
- DR. RUDOLF VON LIEBICH
-
-The Havasupai Indian mother says: “I must not beat my boy. If I do, I
-will break his will.” Unlike her pale-faced friends, she is not obsessed
-with the mania for governing. We, in our insane subservience to
-traditions, continue to train our children to obey. Slaves they shall
-be; that is the slogan. We no longer whip men; we whip children only
-because they are weaker than we are. So, a child is the slave in
-successive stages of home, church, school, government, and either boss
-or “superior officer.” Could Europe be at war unless its men were made
-molluscous by discipline and their mental paralysis completed through
-_respectability_?
-
-Children are born materialists, poets, and joy-worshippers. We tame them
-and they grow up philistines, supernaturalists, and respectable
-believers in the disinterested love of dullness. Instead of teaching
-them theories and superstitions, we should tell them that they are parts
-of the universe; that the carbon, iron, sulphur, phosphorus, oxygen,
-hydrogen, nitrogen, the zero-gases, and the dozen other elements of
-which our bodies are made are also the main elements of sun, moon, and
-stars,—of the whole material universe. The next step might be to show
-the child, through actual experiments, the known physical and chemical
-properties of these elements, thus preparing its mind for the greatest
-of all poetries—the poetry of evolution. These things need but be shown,
-not laboriously learned by rote; they need only to be told, not to be
-taught; and if the child’s healthy inquisitiveness has not been ruined
-by repression, it will delight in feeling the pull of the magnet; in
-watching the electric spark that unites oxygen and hydrogen into water;
-in drawing the marvelous beauties of snow flakes and other crystal
-formations; in watching and aiding the growth of birds, beasts, flowers,
-or fruits; in the thrill of blended voices or in other forms of
-voluntary co-operation. All these things, all the realities need but be
-shown to delight the untainted mind of childhood; while daily free
-association with other children will soon give to each child a practical
-working knowledge of ethics (quite impossible to attain under the
-boss-system of the government schoolmistress) from which, as a basis,
-the errors of our economic and social systems can be pointed out and
-discussed. In the minds and hearts of these free children, ideals can
-then be formulated which will tend toward their development into the
-free society of the future, whose coming their own efforts will hasten.
-For it is only through the successive enslavement of each succeeding
-generation that governments can retain their powers.
-
-Such should be some of the activities of a Ferrer or Modern School, free
-from the noxious taint of authority, superstition, or respectability. If
-we cannot do better let us begin, at least, with a Sunday school.
-However that may be, and whatever the future of such a school, all those
-interested in establishing it are cordially invited to communicate with
-the editor of THE LITTLE REVIEW, with William Thurston Brown, 1125 N.
-Hoyne Ave., with Anthony Udell, 817½ N. Clark St., or with the writer,
-1240 Morse Ave.
-
-
-
-
- The Old Spirit and the New Ways in Art
-
-
- WILLIAM SAPHIER
-
-Full of visions and ideals and eager to express them in their own way, a
-group of striving young painters and sculptors in this city is working
-industriously without regard for applause from either the crowd or the
-few. Just as there are religious and social rebels—people who refuse to
-accept the old dogmas and habits merely because they were successful at
-a certain time and fit for a certain period in human history—these young
-artists refuse to adopt methods and views of the past for the purpose of
-expressing their views on modern subjects.
-
-In striving to realize the new idea in form and color they are of
-necessity passing through that period in which the intellect discerns
-and style is chosen—the period of experiment. And if they do not achieve
-as great a success as the old masters, they certainly work in the spirit
-of a Monet or a Rembrandt. We print this month reproductions of work
-done by four of these artists. They have nothing in common except that
-they are all trying to express themselves in their own way.
-
-Jerome S. Blum, the oldest and best known of the group, is an
-extraordinary painter of the usual. He does not rely on a dramatic
-subject, or on a sensational technic, to arouse interest in his work. It
-is his unusual way of looking at people and nature, and his vigorous and
-interesting color schemes, that have made his paintings notable. Mr.
-Blum is far too imaginative to be natural, far too poetic to be “real.”
-All his work strikes one as a spontaneous expression of almost childish
-delight in color.
-
-_The Orator_ is the work of Stanislaw Szukalski, a boy of nineteen, who
-comes from Russian Poland. He studied at the Krakau Academy, where he
-received two gold medals and five other prizes. On entering his studio
-your amazement grows as you wander from one thought or emotion to
-another in plaster. Each one grips and holds you vigorously.
-_Impressions of Praying_, _Sleeping_, _Hurling_, and _Bondage_, a few
-very interesting portraits of Max Krammer and Professor Chiio, and also
-a full figure of Victor Hugo tell of the spiritual insight of this young
-sculptor—the unexpected in every one. His works are full of life and
-imagination. The fact that some of our able nonentities have
-characterized them as caricatures proves how narrow-minded some of our
-sculptors are today.
-
-C. Raymond Johnson is only twenty-three years old, and in all the work
-he has done so far purity, brilliance of color and spaciousness
-predominate. It is the suggestion in his present work of great
-possibilities in the near future that makes them interesting. The one in
-this issue shows the highly decorative effects of his ideas. Besides
-painting Mr. Johnson finds time to experiment with colored lighting and
-the making of most original posters for the Chicago Little Theatre.
-
-Christian Abrahamsen, the young and independent portrait painter, has
-done some very remarkable work. His portraits are the result of
-penetrating study of his subject and adaptation on the part of the
-painter to the moods of the sitter. He varies his style with his
-subject. His portrait of Michael Murphy sparkles with life and vigor and
-holds your attention as few of the portraits of older painters can.
-Beside portraits Mr. Abrahamsen paints sunny landscapes in the open air
-and under clear skies. The large canvas filled with the freshness,
-strength, and beauty of a clearing in northern Wisconsin, reproduced in
-this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW, represents some of the work done last
-summer.
-
- [Illustration: JEROME S. BLUM, _The Trickster_.]
-
- [Illustration: STANISLAW SZUKALSKI, _The Orator._]
-
- [Illustration: C. RAYMOND JOHNSON.]
-
-[Illustration: CHRISTIAN ABRAHAMSEN, _A Clearing in Northern
-Wisconsin._]
-
-
- To name is to destroy. To suggest is to create.—_Stéphane
- Mallarmé._
-
-
- Art is a form of exaggeration, and selection, which is the very
- spirit of art, is nothing more than an intensified ode of
- over-emphasis.—_Oscar Wilde._
-
-
-
-
- Book Discussion
-
-
- Vachel Lindsay’s Books
-
- _The Congo and Other Poems_, by Vachel Lindsay. [The Macmillan
- Company, New York.]
-
-It is not too much to say that many of us are watching Vachel Lindsay
-with the undisguised hope in our hearts that he may yet prove to be the
-“Great American Poet.” He has come so fast and far on the road to art
-and sanity since the early days when he drew minute, and seemingly
-pathological, maps of the territories of heaven, and grinning grotesques
-of the Demon Rum! He has carved his own way with so huge and careless a
-hand! And his work, in spite of its strangeness, is so deeply rooted in
-the crude but stirring consciousness that is America to-day! Surely
-there is ground for hope.
-
-Like every artist who creates a new form, Mr. Lindsay has had to educate
-his public. And the task is not by any means accomplished yet. We have
-had to overcome an instinctive feeling that poetry should be dignified,
-and to look the fact in the face that it must first of all be telling,
-and that in cases where these two elements conflict, dignity is a
-secondary consideration. We have been rudely jostled out of our academic
-position that poetry must be condensed, poignant, and literary, and we
-have been shown that by going back to the primitive conception—which
-included as the principal element the half-chant of the bard—true poetry
-may be diffuse, full of endless iterations and strangely impassioned
-over crude and even external objects. So much we have learned, and after
-the first shock of surprise, learned gladly. It has opened to us whole
-new reaches of enjoyment. We hope sincerely that we are not yet done
-with Mr. Lindsay’s educative process.
-
-_The Congo_ is the title poem of his new volume. To describe the poem
-adequately would require almost as much space as the nine pages it
-occupies. So it must suffice to say that it is perilously near great
-poetry, broad in sweep, imaginative, full of fire and color,
-psychological—and very strange. Much in the same vein are _The Firemen’s
-Ball_ and _The Santa Fe Trail_, which appeared originally in _Poetry_.
-
-Several of the poems in this volume, among them _Darling Daughter of
-Babylon_ and _I Went Down Into the Desert_, are already familiar to
-readers of THE LITTLE REVIEW, as they were first published in the June
-number. The volume contains also a delightful section of poems for
-children, and a group dealing with the present European war.
-
-Both _The Congo_ and Mr. Lindsay’s earlier volume, _General Booth Enters
-Heaven_, are extraordinarily interesting books. Every mind which is
-truly alive to-day should know at least one of them.
-
-
- _Adventures While Preaching the Gospel of Beauty_, by Nicholas
- Vachel Lindsay.
-
- [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.]
-
-Almost simultaneously with _The Congo_ has appeared a prose volume by
-Mr. Lindsay, _Adventures while Preaching the Gospel of Beauty_. It is an
-account, in the form of a diary, of a walk through Missouri and Kansas,
-and into Colorado. Its value is almost purely personal. To anyone who is
-interested in Mr. Lindsay’s striking personality, this book will serve
-as a spiritual Baedeker. As literature its value is comparatively
-slight. It contains, however, one of his most striking poems, _The
-Kallyope Yell_, which appeared originally in _The Forum_. This alone is
-worth the price of the volume.
-
- EUNICE TIETJENS.
-
-
- Pumpernickel Philosophy
-
- _The Man of Genius_, by Herman Tuerck. [The Macmillan Company, New
- York.]
-
-Professor Tuerck, a very normal German, has been writing critical essays
-since the end of the eighties, and he has not changed a bit—the same
-good old idealist of the sissy category. In this book he makes a study
-of Genius, and comes to the magnificent conclusion that the chief
-characteristics of a genius must be goodliness, loving kindness,
-respect, and loyalty to existing institutions, obedience to the law,
-objectivity, and truth. Naturally, those who do not possess these
-delicacies are villains. The professor demonstrates two groups of
-thinkers, one in angelic white, the other in devilish black. Among the
-first, the real geniuses, we find beside Christ, Buddha, Shakespeare,
-Goethe, Byron, also Alexander, Cæsar, and Napoleon. But oh, Mr. Wilson,
-what German atrocities! Mr. Tuerck mercilessly disfigures his victims
-and pastes upon them with his saliva accurate, uniform labels. In
-_Hamlet_, in _Faust_, in _Manfred_, in the mentioned law-givers and
-warriors, the author manages to discover goody-goody traits of exemplary
-burghers. In the Black Gallery we face the lugubrious sinners—Stirner,
-Nietzsche, and Ibsen. “Woe to him who follows these modern antisophers!”
-cries Mr. Tuerck, for they are enemies of humanity, of the state, of
-society, of reality, of truth, for they are selfish and subjective. “The
-Devil, the Father of Lies, is great and Friedrich Nietzsche is his
-prophet.”
-
-A word of reassurance for Mr. Thomas Hardy. This Sauerkraut-gem, _The
-Man of Genius_, has had _seven_ editions in Germany, and has aroused
-wide enthusiasm there, as witnessed by the numerous press-notices
-exaltingly praising the great idealist Tuerck, written by professors,
-Geheimraths, Hofraths, catholics, protestants, and even by socialists!
-Now, pray, ought there be any fear for the Nietzscheanization of the
-Fatherland?
-
- K.
-
-
- Kilmer’s Confession
-
- _Trees, and Other Poems_, by Joyce Kilmer. [George H. Doran Company,
- New York.]
-
-Mr. Kilmer furnishes the following prose account of his convictions: “I
-am catholic in my tastes and Catholic in religion, am socially a
-democrat and politically a Democrat. I am a special writer on the staff
-of the _New York Times Sunday Magazine_, the _Times Review of Books_ and
-the _Literary Digest_. I am bored by Feminism, Futurism, Free Love.”
-This is perhaps a more succinct expression of his facility of faith than
-can be found in his verse. Readers should thank him for it, because it
-renders unnecessary any further attempt to discover what he believes.
-
-At the opening of the volume, Mr. Kilmer quotes the following stanza
-from Coventry Patmore:
-
- Mine is no horse with wings, to gain
- The region of the Spheral chime
- He does but drag a rumbling wain,
- Cheered by the coupled bells of rhyme.
-
-This, too, is useful, because it frankly warns us against looking in his
-verse for anything which is not there.
-
-Within his self-imposed limitations, Mr. Kilmer has done good work. The
-amusing couplets about _Servant Girl and Grocer’s Boy_ have pleased
-countless newspaper readers, _The Twelve-Forty-Five_ is a graphic
-description of the feeling produced by a late suburban train, _To a
-Young Poet Who Killed Himself_ is an obvious rebuke to the small-hearted
-versifier, and _Old Poets_ is a comfortable exposition of the philosophy
-of comfort. The religious poems will probably not be moving to anyone
-who does not share Mr. Kilmer’s creed.
-
-Mr. Kilmer’s work is glossy with a simplicity more easy-going than
-profound. Though he is young himself, he obviously does not sympathize
-with young poets, of whom he writes:
-
- There is no peace to be taken
- With poets who are young,
- For they worry about the wars to be fought
- And the songs that must be sung.
-
-His ideal is that of the “old poet”:—
-
- But the old man knows that he’s in his chair
- And that God’s on His throne in the sky.
- So he sits by his fire in comfort
- And he lets the world spin by.
-
- G. S.
-
-
- Hilarious Iconoclasm
-
- _Art_, by Clive Bell. [Frederick A. Stokes Company, New York.]
-
-It is an exquisite pleasure to disagree with Clive Bell! Like a fierce
-Hun he whirls through the art galleries of Europe, and smashes all
-venerated masterpieces into a heap of rubbish, sparing but the Byzantine
-Primitives and some of the Post-Impressionists. Between these two epochs
-he sees a hideous gap; not more than one in a hundred of the works
-produced between 1450 and 1850 is he willing to accept as a work of art.
-It naturally hurts to witness the slaughter of your old friends, such as
-Michelangelo, Velasquez, Whistler; but our Attila performs his massacre
-so beautifully, with such a charming sense of humor, that you cannot
-help admiring the paradoxical feats. What but a good-humored smile will
-provoke in you such a prank, e. g.: “Nietzsche’s preposterous nonsense
-knocked the bottom out of nonsense more preposterous and far more vile”?
-The best part of it is the fact that the author does not attempt to
-convince you in anything, for neither is he convinced in the
-infallibility of his hypotheses. The book is a relucent gem among the
-recent dull and heavy works of art.
-
-
- Comments of an Idler on Three New Books
-
-_Eris: A Dramatic Allegory_, by Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff (Moffatt,
-Yard), is, we are told on the cover, “full of vigorous enthusiasm, and
-embodies the philosophy of Henri Bergson,” to whom on a flyleaf the book
-is duly dedicated. It is in careful rhythmic blank verse; a dialogue,
-principally, between “Man” and “Thought,” with “Past” and “Future” now
-and then interrupting. The allegory is prefaced by a portrait of the
-author by Helleu; we trust an unfair one. A strangely bovine expression
-greets us from under a plumed black hat and from over shoulders and arms
-drawn like a Goops. Helleu made lovely things once; why this?
-
-In _Eris_ we find Man hurling defiance at Thought, who taunts him, “You
-cannot vanquish me while Life endures.” Discussion between them on this
-point covers some forty pages of melodious argument. Six of these (and
-they are consecutive) form a fairly comprehensive guide-book to a trip
-around the world, as Man, distracted, stops off at many well-known
-points seeking to escape pursuing Thought.
-
- In Venice I spread sail with Capulet
- And plied an oar across the green lagoons
- The soft air vibrant with the minstrels’ song:
- I dreamed in Pisa’s woodland and the gulf
- Of Lerici, where once again I heard
- The lyrich echo of pure Shelley’s voice.
- On Pæstum’s glory and on Dougga’s mount
- I studied metope and fluted frieze—
-
-And so on. “Man” finally reaches Mount Parnassus—
-
- The mighty throne of Zeus
- Hides like a cloud-veiled mist within the heavens;
- I am so near divinity it seems
- That I could tread the pathway of the stars;
-
-but “Thought” comes hurrying along, two pages later. Man cries to him
-desperately:
-
- Envelope me within the cosmic heart
- Freed of my separate hideous entity,
- Blown with the wingéd dust from whence I came!
-
-They struggle together, and Man plunges over the cliff. Thought,
-“assuming a sudden intenser magnitude, rises out of the dust of Man”
-(the stage directions seem a little confused here) and shouts:
-
- At last to conquer after æons of strife—
- The reeling stars man’s silent sepulchre.
-
-There are graceful lines and pictures, occasionally a good simile.
-Technically the lines are too smooth, too neatly finished, each in its
-little five-iambic jacket. The lyrics lack singing quality. There is a
-tedious list, two pages, of famous ladies—Helen, Sappho, Salammbo, from
-Eve to the Virgin Mary—as Man cries to Past, “What woman are you in
-disguise?” Swinburne did this gorgeously somewhere, making each speak;
-but these do not—they do not even live.
-
-Totally different is my second volume of verse—_The Sea is Kind_, by T.
-Sturge Moore (Houghton Mifflin). A letter from the publishers suggests
-that “like Noyes and Masefield, T. Sturge Moore may have a message to
-American lovers of poetry.” I am an American lover of poetry and an
-eager one; therefore, I was hopeful; but I am oppressed by the
-obligation of doing justice to the initial poem in the book, viz.: _The
-Sea is Kind_, because I cannot tell at all what it is about. Several
-people, by name Evarne and Plexaura, females, and Menaleas and Eucritos,
-males, seem to be talking high talk by the edge of the sea—about ships
-and storms and nymphs and kindred things. Evarne speaks at great length
-in rough pentameters, quoting others more obscure, if possible, than
-herself.
-
- The handsome scowler smiled.
- Then with a royal gesture of content
- Addressed our wonder.
-
- * * * * *
-
- “But devastation from mine inroads stretches
- “Across Euphrates further than they dare.
- “The industrious Ninevite, the huckster grey
- “With watching scored tale lengthen down his wall
- “Beneath his hatred Median debtor’s name,
- “Dread me, and hang near casement, over door,
- “To guard each southward-facing aperture,
- “Rude effigies smaller than this of me.—
- “Charm bootless ’gainst my veering pillared dust
- “Which chokes each sluice in vainly watered gardens,
- “Dessicates the velvet prudency of roses,
- “And leaves green gummy tendrils like to naught
- “But ravelled dry and dusty ends of cord”;
-
-and so on for a long, long while. It may be wonderful; I dare say it is.
-
-The last two-thirds of the volume is taken up with short poems arranged
-in groups addressed to various persons—Tagore, Yeats, and Moore, among
-them. There is more clarity here. One discerns an autobiographic
-wistfulness in these stanzas entitled: _A Poet in the Spring Regrets
-Having Wed So Late in Life_.
-
- Some things, that we shall never know,
- Are eloquent today,
- Belittling our experience, though
- We loved and were gay:
-
- For those, whose younger hands are free
- With a body not their own,
- Taste delicacies of intimacy
- Which we have not known.
-
- Primrose, narcissus, daffodil,
- In sudden April plenty,
- Flourish as tender fancies thrill
- Spouses at twenty!
-
-There seems something strangely improper about this, considering the
-strict propriety of the theme.
-
-One group of two is addressed to Charles Ricketts. _The Serpent_ begins
-
- Hail Pytho; thou lithe length of gleaming plates!
-
-and _The Panther_ thus:
-
- Consider now the Panther, such a beast.
-
-One question addressed to the Panther is:
-
- Dost, cloyed by rich meats spicy as the south,
- Expose thy fevered palate to the cool,
- Which, like snow melting in an emperor’s mouth,
- Helps make excess thy life’s ironic rule?
-
-Consider now Sturge Moore, our bewilderment in trying to ascertain what
-you wish us to think about such things as these, and consider too a
-transposition of the first line of a well-known poem about a Tiger, to
-read, “Consider now the Tiger.”
-
-The group to Yeats has one called _The Phantom of a Rose_. An
-explanatory footnote tells us that a girl returning from a ball drops a
-rose from her bosom and dreams that a youth, the perfect emanation of
-the flower, rises and invites her to dance.
-
- She ached to rise, she yearned to speak,
- She strove to smile, but proved too weak;
- As one in quicksand neck-deep,
- Wild with the will, has no power to leap;
- Her limbs like a sunken ferry-boat
- Lay logged with sleep, and could not float.
- She had danced too often at the ball,
- She had fluttered, nodded, and smiled too much.
- Tears formed in her heart: they did not fall.
-
- * * * * *
-
- He rose, and danced a visible song;
- With rhythmic gesture he contended
- Against her trance; and proved so strong
- That the grapes of his thought wore the bloom of his mood,
- While her soul tasted and understood.
-
-“Her limbs like a sunken ferry-boat.” A happy simile! We recognize the
-sensation.
-
-In _Judith_, one of the group to Moore, a vigorous note is sounded. This
-is good, and maybe the rest is too; I do not know. It rolls above my
-head.
-
-_The Spirit of Life_, a series of nine essays by Mowry Saben (Mitchell
-Kennerley), is the kind of book that makes me savagely controversial and
-then cross for heeding it at all. Its platitudinous optimism meanders
-along through some two hundred and fifty pages under various chapter
-headings: Nature, Morals, Sex, Heroes, etc. The first sentence is:
-“There are many great Truths that can be expressed only by means of
-paradox”; and the last, “If life means nothing, if the universe means
-nothing, then reform is only an illusory word, which has come to confuse
-us upon the highway of Despair; but if in our highest ideals we may find
-the real meaning of our personal lines, because they are the
-quintessence of the spiritual universe, whose avatars we should be,
-there is nothing too glorious for the heart of man to conceive.” All in
-between is just like that.
-
-All persons, and there are many, who are determined willy nilly to
-believe the world a nice place; who, confronted with the unlovely, the
-stark, gaping and horrid, cast down their eyes exclaiming “It is not
-there,” will take solid comfort in _The Spirit of Life_. It is like the
-millions of sermons droned out one day in seven all over the land to
-patient folk who no longer know why they come nor why they stay to hear.
-
-But this is a review, not a diatribe—so “consider now” the Spirit.
-
-The first essay is called _Nature_. It quotes freely from Peter Bell,
-and also reprints something about tongues in trees and sermons in
-stones. Turning the leaves we catch the names of Burroughs, Whitman, and
-Thoreau. Toward the end is this:
-
- Everything exists for him who is great enough to envisage it. The
- life that now is reveals man as the crowning glory of Nature, the
- goal of evolution. In the end the earth does but shelter our
- bones, not our thoughts and aspirations.
-
-Skipping the rest, we turn quickly to _Sex_, hoping something from the
-vitality of the theme, and come to this:
-
- To attack Sex as one of the joys of life would be foolish and
- deservedly futile.... I am certain that sex is a sweetener of the
- cup of life, but one must not therefore infer that there can
- never be too much sweetening, for there can be, even to the point
- of danger from spiritual diabetes.
-
-Immortal phrase, “Spiritual diabetes.” Several pages of this essay are
-devoted to episodes in the life of insects, all pointing a painful
-lesson to man:
-
- ... and there are spiders doomed to be eaten by the female as
- soon as they have demonstrated their masculinity. Thus are we
- taught how little permanence is possessed by an organization
- which yields only the instinct of passionate desire for sex.
-
-Here is boldness,—
-
- I cannot indorse the ascetic ideal that holds the love of man for
- woman to be but a snare for the spirit. The great poetry of Dante
- alone is sufficient to refute so baseless a claim.
-
-Why quote further? There are indubitably certain good things in the
-book, but they are by Goethe, Carlyle, Emerson, Dante, Shakespeare,
-Whitman, et al.
-
- A. M.
-
-
- An Unacademic Literary Survey
-
- _Modern English Literature_: From Chaucer to the Present Day, by G.
- H. Mair. [Henry Holt and Company, New York.]
-
-Good histories of English literature are rare, and Mr. Mair’s book
-should accordingly be given a warm welcome, for it combines brevity with
-comprehensiveness of treatment in a very unusual manner. Mr. Mair not
-only writes well and knows his subject, but he seems instinctively to
-know what his readers will want—and he supplies it.
-
-For instance, we do not remember that popular histories of English
-literature bother to tell such a detail as how the chronological order
-of Shakespeare’s plays is determined, but Mr. Mair’s telling of that
-will show the layman just what literary scholarship means, and in
-conjunction with his other remarks on our knowledge of Shakespeare it
-will rescue the uninformed from the chance of falling into such errors
-as the Baconian theory.
-
-The book, however, is not one of higher and textual criticism and
-chronology. It is a work of appreciation, and the appreciation is that
-of a modern man. It is obvious that Chaucer might be treated in a manner
-quite alien to the interests of the man of today who is not a scholar,
-but the treatment of his work which ends in joining his hands to those
-of Charles Dickens as workers in a kindred quest is one that is well
-calculated to persuade even the philistine that Chaucer is a figure of
-passable interest to him.
-
-It is the mark of the live man to recognize genius, and the manner in
-which Mr. Mair treats the genius of that great poet, John Donne, is in
-vivid contrast to the way in which it is usually treated in histories of
-English literature. For example:
-
- Very different ... is the closely packed style of Donne, who,
- Milton apart, is the greatest English writer of the century,
- though his obscurity has kept him out of general reading. No
- poetry in English, not even Browning’s, is more difficult to
- understand. The obscurity of Donne and Browning proceed from such
- similar causes that they are worth examining together. In both,
- as in the obscure passages in Shakespeare’s later plays,
- obscurity arises not because the poet says too little, but
- because he attempts to say too much. He huddles a new thought on
- the one before it, before the first has had time to express
- itself; he sees things or analyzes emotions so swiftly and subtly
- himself that he forgets the slower comprehension of his readers;
- he is for analyzing things far deeper than the ordinary mind
- commonly can. His wide and curious knowledge finds terms and
- likenesses to express his meaning unknown to us; he sees things
- from a dozen points of view at once and tumbles a hint of each
- separate vision in a heap out on to the page; his restless
- intellect finds new and subtler shades of emotion and thought
- invisible to other pairs of eyes, and cannot, because speech is
- modeled on the average of our intelligences, find words to
- express them; he is always trembling on the brink of the
- inarticulate. All this applies to both Donne and Browning, and
- the comparison could be pushed farther still. Both draw the
- knowledge which is the main cause of their obscurity from the
- bypaths of mediævalism. Browning’s _Sordello_ is obscure because
- he knows too much about mediæval Italian history: Donne’s
- _Anniversary_ because he is too deeply read in mediæval
- scholasticism and speculation. Both make themselves more
- difficult to the reader who is familiar with the poetry of their
- contemporaries by the disconcerting freshness of their point of
- view. Seventeenth-century love poetry was idyllic and idealist;
- Donne’s is passionate and realistic to the point of cynicism. To
- read him after reading Browne and Johnson is to have the same
- shock as reading Browning after Tennyson. Both poets are salutary
- in the strong and biting antidote they bring to sentimentalism in
- thought and melodious facility in writing. They are corrective of
- lazy thinking and lazy composition.
-
-Another feature in which this book differs from others of its kind is
-that the author is not afraid to bring the record down to the work of
-his contemporaries, and the struggles of Mr. Shaw with the bourgeois
-world, and the era opened by M. J. Synge and the Irish literary
-renascence, are here sympathetically dealt with.
-
- L. J.
-
-
- Overemphasized Purity
-
- _Love’s Legend_, by Fielding Hall. [Henry Holt and Company, New
- York.]
-
-With a somewhat overemphasized regard for purity, Fielding Hall
-approaches the narration of this honeymoon trip down a Burmese river.
-The novel—if such a dissertation on the early marriage state could be
-called a novel—is told in rather peculiar fashion, by the man and woman
-alternately, at first, and later on with the help of two more people.
-
-The man is prone to burst forth into fairy tales to explain every point
-of argument to Lesbia. He tells her of a beautiful princess who was
-blindfolded and kept within an enclosed garden that she might never know
-the ways of man.
-
- “They told her that the bandage made her see more clearly than if
- her eyes were free. For they had painted images upon the inside
- of her bandage and told her they were real.”
-
- Silence.
-
- “And she believed it. Then came a Prince. He wooed the Princess
- and he won her. So he took her with him out of her garden. They
- came into the world and passed into a forest. There they were
- quite alone.
-
- “Take off your bandage,” said the Prince. “Look at the world and
- me.”
-
- “I am afraid,” she sighed; “the world is evil.”
-
- “It is God’s world,” the Prince replied. “He lives in it.”
-
- “They told me that God lived in Heaven, far off, not here,” she
- answered.
-
- “They told you wrong; open and you will see.”
-
- “I will not look,” she said, “I fear the devil.”
-
- “Your beauty is all cold,” he said, “your heart beats not!”
-
- “What is a heart?” she asked.
-
- “That which gives life,” he answered; “my heart beats strongly
- and it longs for an answer. You have a heart as strong maybe as
- mine. But it is sealed. Will you not let me loose it?”
-
- “I am afraid,” she answered.
-
- “Then I will tell you what he did. He held the Princess in his
- arms all despite herself and tore the bandage from her eyes.”
-
- ... “Did she let him do it?”
-
- “She heard his voice and all despite herself she let him do his
- will.”
-
-Mr. Hall voices these inanities with the appalling conceit of one who
-rushes in where even the best of writers tread with circumspection. And
-the worst of it is, that his rash feet have carried him nowhere, except,
-perhaps, into a limelight that is likely to prove embarrassing.
-
- W. T. HOLLINGSWORTH.
-
-
-
-
- Sentence Reviews
-
-
-_Russia: The Country of Extremes_, by N. Jarintzoff. [Henry Holt & Co.,
-New York.] A mosaic of essays on various aspects of Russian life, some
-of them of tremendous interest. Of particular importance are the
-chapters on “Studentchestvo” and on “Agents Provocateurs,” which deal
-with the political movements of the country. Although the book lacks
-unity, the English reader will find in it a wealth of information and a
-helpful interpretation of Russian misty reality. Reproductions from
-several great Russian paintings are excellent.
-
-_New Songs of Zion_; a Zionist Anthology, edited by S. Roth, New York.
-If this anthology was intended to serve as an echo of the Zionist
-movement, it will appear as a _testimonia pauperitatis_. The lofty ideal
-of forming a cultural center in Palestine for the Wandering Jew is very
-pallidly reflected in the naive verses of American boys and girls.
-Israel Zangwill is also represented with a few shallow effusions to the
-astonishment of those who admire his sense of humor. The translations
-from _Byalik_ are tolerable, and I heartily recommend the English reader
-to get acquainted through them with one of the greatest living poets who
-is known only to readers of Hebrew.
-
-_The Two Great Art Epochs_, by Emma Louise Parry. [A. C. McClurg &
-Company, Chicago.] Complete and instructive as a text-book for the
-history of art from earliest Egypt down to the decline of Renaissance—if
-there is still need for such text-books. The wretchedness of the
-reproductions is irritating.
-
-_Changing Russia_, by Stephen Graham. [John Lane Company, New York.]
-Sentimental observations of a poetic tramp who bewails the inevitable
-transformation of patriarchal, agricultural Russia into a capitalistic
-state. Excellent descriptions of the picturesque shore of the Black Sea;
-interesting, though often erroneous, notes on the “Intelligentzia.” Mr.
-Graham has been religiously tramping the globe for many years, and his
-love for nature and primitive life is manifest in every book of his.
-
-_Bellamy_, by Elinor Mordaunt. [John Lane Company, New York.] Cleverly
-written, this chronicle of Walter Bellamy, a dynamic English obviosity,
-exploiter of silk pajamas, exhibits a man who is sufficiently honest to
-devote his life to himself.
-
-_Hebrew and Babylonian Traditions_, by Morris Jastron. [Charles
-Scribner’s Sons, New York.] An exhaustive, cool, cautious treatment of
-the much-polemised question as to the primacy of one or the other of the
-two ancient civilizations. Of great value to the student of comparative
-religion.
-
-_The Rise of the Working Class_, by Algernon Sidney Crapsey. [The
-Century Company, New York.] An optimistic book by an ex-clergyman. Many
-things are cited as working class gains and benefits which that class
-would willingly reject. As appendix, there is a long panegyric of that
-mountebank, Lloyd George, in which he is hailed as a social and economic
-savior of the “People.”
-
-_American Labor Unions_, by a Member. By Helen Marot. [Henry Holt &
-Company, New York.] The first book on the American labor movement which
-takes tolerant and detailed notice of its later developments. The new
-Syndicalist tendency in the American Federation of Labor and the rise
-and growth of the Industrial Workers of the World are both discussed, as
-are also the much disputed questions of political action, violence, and
-sabotage. A book that merits the study of those who believe there is no
-other way of remedying economic conditions except through the periodical
-dropping of a paper ballot through a slit.
-
-_Life’s Lure_, by John G. Niehardt. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] A
-novel of Western mining life which has the same note of virile realism
-as has the very worthy verse of the same author. A healthy contrast to
-the usual Western compound of Deadwood Dick and puling sentimentality.
-One of the best pieces of red-blooded stuff that has recently been
-written. Jack London had better look to his laurels.
-
-_Change_, by J. O. Francis. [Doubleday, Page & Company, New York.] A
-play to be read. Life here without affection states itself in its own
-terms. The timid and the frivolous may read this and have their eyes
-opened. Labor’s struggle for freedom is forcefully depicted. The scene
-is laid in a little Welsh mining town, and the characters are drawn with
-simple charm and beauty. A play that breaths life and truth.
-
-_Everybody’s Birthright_, by Clara E. Laughlin. [Fleming H. Revell
-Company, New York.] Miss Laughlin has both sympathy and understanding
-for the ideals of young girls. In this little book she makes clever use
-of the Jeanne d’Arc story as a means toward helping another Jean to bear
-the loss of a twin sister.
-
-_Myths and Legends of the Mississippi Valley and the Great Lakes_, by
-Katharine B. Judson. [A. C. McClurg & Co., Chicago.] Here are some old
-friends: Hiawatha, Nokomis, and Minnehaha—also Bre’r Rabbit and the Tar
-Baby; and some myths of fire, wild rice, and Mondamin the Corn Woman,
-which furnish a fascinating comparison with Prometheus and Demeter over
-in the Aegean. A careful arrangement of material overcomes in part the
-misfortune of fragmentariness.
-
-_The Twenty-Fourth of June_, by Grace S. Richmond. [Doubleday, Page &
-Co., New York.] A study of love at first sight—or just before. Rich
-Kendrick came into the house by the back door and saw a rose-colored
-scarf on the hatrack; but the poor young millionaire had to wait weeks
-before meeting its owner, and then months until _Midsummer’s Day_ for
-his answer. Incidentally he discovered the charms of work, home and good
-women.
-
-_Tansy_, by Tickner Edwardes. [E. P. Dutton & Co., New York.] A charming
-story of the Sussex downs, by a man who lives among them. The background
-of village characters, of rural incidents, and of the Sussex countryside
-is exquisitely done. Tansy Firle is not a Watteau shepherdess—quite the
-contrary; she has a compelling personality and a beauty of the sturdy
-upland variety.
-
-_La Vie des Lettres_: Collection anthologique et critique de poèmes et
-de proven Neuilly, Paris.
-
-The July issue of this important quarterly is both breezy and
-instructive. Two exotic poems by the Roumanian, Alexander Macedonski; a
-cycle of poems by Nicolas Beaudrien (who was introduced to English
-readers by Richard Aldington in the June _Egotist_); a few
-dainty-grotesque _Images de la Capitale_, by Carlos Larronde,—they form
-what I called the breezy part. Of great charm also are the “ponderous”
-features. Among others there is an article by William Berteval on
-_Tolstoi et L’Art pour L’Art_; an attempt of a modernist to justify the
-Russian’s point of view on art. In its international review the
-Quarterly mentions THE LITTLE REVIEW, with a “memento” for the poems of
-Nicolas Vachel Lindsay and Arthur Davison Ficke.
-
-
-
-
- The Reader Critic
-
-
-_Rev. A. D. R., Chicago_:
-
-I earnestly request you to discontinue sending your impertinent
-publication to my daughter who had the folly of undiscriminating youth
-to fall in the diabolical snare by joining the ungodly family of your
-subscribers. As for you, haughty young woman, may the Lord have mercy
-upon your sinful soul! Have you thought of the tremendous evil that your
-organ brings into American homes, breaking family ties, killing respect
-for authorities, sowing venomous seeds of Antichrist-Nietzsche-Foster,
-lauding such inhuman villains as Wilde and Verlaine, crowning with
-laurels that bloodthirsty Daughter of Babylon, Emma Goldman, and
-committing similar atrocities? God hear my prayer and turn your wicked
-heart to repentance.
-
-_A. Faun, Paris_:
-
-In one of your issues I read with delight Wilde’s paradox: “There is
-nothing sane about the worship of beauty. It is entirely too splendid to
-be sane.” I fear you are getting too sane—you, who some time ago invited
-us “to watch, in the early morning, a bird with great white wings fly
-from the edge of the sea straight up into the rose-colored sun.” In my
-illusion I pictured you enthroned in a tower, high above the street and
-the crowd, perceiving reality through dim stained glass walls. Alas,
-there is evidently an accommodating lift that connects your tower with
-the sidewalk. You have become so sane, so logical, so militant in
-attacking the obvious.... Oh, Pan and Apollo!
-
-_A Proletarian_:
-
-Glad to see your magazine getting more and more revolutionary and
-courageously attacking the rotten capitalistic order. But why not dot
-the i’s? Why shrink from discussing economic problems? Why not give us
-the real dope? Go ahead, we are with you!
-
-_David Rudin, New York_:
-
-Permit me to voice a different opinion from that expressed by Charles
-Ashleigh in his review of Galsworthy’s _The Mob_. It is my contention
-that Mr. Galsworthy has sympathetically and powerfully portrayed the
-uncompromising idealist, the champion of an unpopular idea in this
-virile disrobing of the spangled strumpet Patriotism.
-
-In these stirring times of destruction to appease insatiable kaisers,
-czars, kings and the uncrowned masters of despotism _The Mob_ comes as
-an opportune declaration of the minority against war, against invasion,
-and against “Love of country.”
-
-Stephen More, the type of man whose conscience and sense of justice
-cannot realize that “idealism can be out of place,” makes a brave,
-aggressive stand against the allied forces of position, friends, love,
-and the blind hatred of the despicable mob, armed only with an
-unprejudiced, faithful ideal. Such passion and sincerity of purpose
-surely should presage victory. The real victory is won at the moment
-when More dies for his idea at the hands of the very mob that many years
-later erects a monument to him—and worships. They await the next victim
-of the crucifix—and it begins again: inflammatory patriotism,
-destruction, and a chaotic, purposeless Hell on earth.
-
-_D. G. King, Chicago_:
-
-Your article _To The Innermost_ in the October number is a manly poke
-at the snug, smug, dead-alive ones, the mollycoddles, the
-got-in-a-rut-can’t-get-out-without-considerable-effort ones, and others
-of the won’t-do-and-dare class that this farcical world of ours is
-plentifully sprinkled with! It’s the best thing I’ve seen yet from your
-militant pen.
-
-
-
-
- “THE RAFT”
-
- BY CONINGSBY DAWSON
-
- Author of “The Garden Without Walls,” “Florence on a
- Certain Night,” etc.
-
- “Life at its beginning and its end is bounded by a haunted wood.
- When no one is watching, children creep back to it to play with
- the fairies and to listen to the angels’ footsteps. As the road
- of their journey lengthens, they return more rarely. Remembering
- less and less, they build themselves cities of imperative
- endeavor. But at night the wood comes marching to their walls,
- tall trees moving silently as clouds and little trees treading
- softly. The green host halts and calls—in the voice of memory,
- poetry, religion, legend or, as the Greeks put it, in the faint
- pipes and stampeding feet of Pan.”
-
- $1.35 Net
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-
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-
- A criticism and interpretation of the new art by Gauguin’s
- foremost disciple.
-
- “Kandinsky is painting music. That is to say, he has broken down
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- and the essential interest of every comment and suggestion,
- account for an altogether exceptional success that his book on
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- _With 24 full-page illustrations from the author’s drawings
- in charcoal._
-
- The reader of this volume will, in effect, have the delightful
- experience not only of visiting those London scenes frequented by
- Charles Dickens himself, but also those used by him as scenes in
- his novels and familiar through them in connection with Alfred
- Jingle, Nancy, Bob Sawyer, Sam Weller, Quilp, The Marchioness,
- Mr. Pickwick, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, and so on, in the company of
- that most sympathetic and eloquent guide, the author-artist.
-
- _$3.50 net; postage extra._
-
- A Diary of James Gallatin in Europe
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- FROM THE AMERICAN PEACE THROUGH THE Downfall of Napoleon
- and the Following YEARS.
-
- This journal of the son and secretary of Albert Gallatin, who
- accompanied his father during the negotiation of the Treaty of
- Ghent and afterward during his ministries to France, 1815-23, and
- to England, 1826-27, is at least _one_ of the most entertaining
- and enlightening commentaries on that period ever written.
-
- _Illustrated. 8vo. $2.50 net; postage extra._
-
- CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
- Fifth Avenue at 48th Street, New York
-
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- SWORD BLADES _and_ POPPY SEED
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- _By_ AMY LOWELL
-
- Author of “A DOME OF MANY-COLOURED GLASS,” Etc.
-
- _In “The Boston Herald” Josephine Preston Peabody writes of
- this unusual book_:
-
- “First, last and all inclusive in Miss Amy Lowell’s poetic
- equipment is vitality enough to float the work of half a score of
- minor poets.... Against the multitudinous array of daily verse
- our times produce ... this volume utters itself with a range and
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- sympathies, gorgeously wrought, full of macabre effects (as many
- of the poems are) and brilliantly worked out ... personally I
- cannot see that Miss Lowell’s use of unrhymed vers libre has been
- surpassed in English. This breadth and ardor run through the
- whole fabric of the subject matter.... Here is the fairly
- Dionysiac revelry of a tireless workman. With an honesty as whole
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- _Price $1.25 net. At all bookstores._
-
- PUBLISHED
- BY
-
- 64-66 5th Avenue
- NEW YORK
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- THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
-
- By Paul Claudel
-
- THE EAST I KNOW
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- _Translated into English by_ TERESEA FRANCES _and_ WILLIAM
- ROSE BENÉT.
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- Yale
- University
- Press
-
- 109 Elm Street
- NEW HAVEN,
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- 225 Fifth Ave.
- NEW YORK
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- Paul Claudel was for many years in the French Government Service
- in Cochin, China. “The East I Know” is a translation into English
- of his “La Connaissance de l’Est.” It is a series of word
- pictures of life in the Far East written by a poet whose
- individuality and originality are bound to make a profound
- impression on American as they have already done on Continental
- readers. The translators have captured with complete success the
- author’s exquisitely delicate feeling for words which give the
- color and soul of the East with poetic modulation yet
- unmistakable truthfulness.
-
- This is the first of M. Claudel’s work to appear in English and
- is expressly authorized by him.
-
- _8vo. Cloth binding. 199 pages. Price $1.50 net postpaid._
-
- By William Rose Benét
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- THE FALCONER OF GOD
- AND OTHER POEMS
-
- Mr. Benét’s sensitive appreciation of human interest, and his
- ability to frame his thoughts each in the style best suited to
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- of the Century, Scribner’s, Harper’s, The Outlook, The
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- The present volume is a collection of virile and impressive poems
- enhanced by the fantastic color and charm which Mr. Benét has
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-
- _12mo. Board binding. 122 pages. Price $1.00 net postpaid.
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- A noteworthy manifestation of the interest in the stage and its
- literature is the work, both in writing of plays and their
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-
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- A book of personal experience more entertaining than a novel,
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- Colonial Mansions of Maryland and Delaware
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- Essays Political and Historical
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- By CHARLEMAGNE TOWER, LL. D., former Minister of the U. S.
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- The True Ulysses S. Grant
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- Heroes and Heroines of Fiction
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- Modern Prose and Poetry
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- The Mystery of the Oriental Rug
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- Shakspere and Sir Walter Ralegh
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- The Cuckoo Clock
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- Maria L. Kirk. Ornamental cloth. $1.25 net.
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- OXFORD
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- Edition de Luxe, limited to 350 copies. $6.00 net.
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- LONDON
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- By SIR LAURENCE L. GOMME, F.S.A. With many unique
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-
- Publishers J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY Philadelphia
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- HAROLD
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- Recognized throughout the world as one of the greatest pianists
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- Mason & Hamlin Pianos for sale only at the warerooms of the
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- _READERS of The Little Review will, we think, be interested in
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- The House of the Dawn
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- By MARAH ELLIS RYAN
-
- Exquisite beauty of style, rich descriptive passages, so filled
- with melody that they read like wonderful prose poems, mark this
- brilliant tale of Spanish Mexico by Marah Ellis Ryan.
-
- Essentially, however, is it a romance—a romance of unusual
- quality—of young love and courage. The love of one noble mind for
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- freedom and righteousness. _Illustrated by Hanson Booth. Crown
- 8vo._
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- Indian Blankets and Their Makers
-
- By GEORGE WHARTON JAMES
-
- One of the most interesting artistic expressions of native
- American life is the Indian blanket. The present volume, written
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- the Oriental rug. _With color and half-tone illustrations. Large
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-
- Net $5.00
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- Golden Poems (India Paper Edition)
-
- By FRANCIS F. BROWNE
-
- It is more than thirty years since the first edition of “Golden
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-
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- _Morocco. Red-under-gold edges_ Net $4.00
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- Playing With Love and The Prologue to Anatol
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- By ARTHUR SCHNITZLER
-
- “Anatol” has been spoken of as the comedy of Light Love, but
- “Liebelei” is its tragedy. If it is not Schnitzler’s ripest
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- emotionalism. _12mo._
-
- Net $1.00
-
- Masters of English Literature
-
- By E. W. CHUBB
-
- Professor Chubb’s studies of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton,
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- attractive exposition of the studies will impress all readers.
- _12mo._
-
- Net $1.50
-
- Myths and Legends of the Mississippi Valley and the Great
- Lakes
-
- By KATHARINE B. JUDSON
-
- The collection includes records made from recitals by members of
- the Winnebago, Chitimacha, Wyandot, Biloxi, Ojibwa, Mandan,
- Menomini, Ottawa, Cherokee, Choctaw and Knisteneaux Indian
- tribes, all well worthy of preservation. It gives in the original
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- quarto._
-
- Net $1.50
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- In picture and in story an Oz Book to carry on the fame of L.
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- THE GREAT WAR
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- _The First Phase_
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- [FROM THE ASSASSINATION OF THE ARCHDUKE TO THE FALL OF
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-
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- $1.25 net
-
- By FRANK H. SIMONDS
- of The New York Evening Sun
-
- This is the first real history of what has actually happened
- since the great War began. There have been books a-plenty dealing
- with the underlying causes and ambitions, and with the Europe of
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- first phase of the War—from the murder of the Austrian Archduke
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- each hoped to achieve success and what the measure of that
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-
- Frank H. Simonds’ editorial comments on the War, as they have
- appeared in The New York Evening Sun, have attracted nation-wide
- attention. No one has better succeeded in showing people what the
- fighting is all about. Here is his book. The publisher hopes to
- follow it later with other volumes dealing with succeeding phases
- of the War.
-
- DRIFT AND MASTERY
-
- AN ATTEMPT TO DIAGNOSE THE CURRENT UNREST
-
- AT ALL
- BOOKSHOPS
-
- $1.50 net
-
- By WALTER LIPPMANN
- Author of “A Preface to Politics”
-
- This is a book at once comprehensive, shrewd, vigorous,
- searching, and interesting—with always a saving humor. In the
- course of sixteen chapters, Mr. Lippmann discusses practically
- all the more important problems of our political, social, and
- economic life, and the factors that have brought about that
- curious unrest everywhere so noticeable.
-
- In one paper he shows that we are accustomed to methods in
- business that we would not for a moment tolerate in politics. In
- another he submits Woodrow Wilson to an analysis that seems to
- get under the man’s very skin. He analyzes proposed panaceas for
- our ills (as well as the ills themselves) and show why they won’t
- work. In “A Note on the Woman’s Movement” he explains with
- crystal clearness what it is all about.
-
- But Mr. Lippmann is a great deal more than a brilliant
- iconoclast—he deals not only with the signs and cause of the
- present unrest, but with the order which is emerging from it.
-
- Send for full list of new books
-
- MITCHELL KENNERLEY PUBLISHER NEW YORK
-
-
-
-
- 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 four plates belonging to The Old Spirit and the New Ways in Art on
-page 55 have been moved directly after the article. They were originally
-included pairwise after page 32 and page 48, respectively;
-
-The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical
-errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here
-(before/after):
-
- [p. 33]: (multiple cases)
- ... the Höllenlarm, the hellish alarum, that men make in life,
- that life itself ...
- ... the Höllenlärm, the hellish alarum, that men make in life,
- that life itself ...
-
- [p. 38]:
- ... impuissance! If we but actually learned Herrenmoral,
- master-mortality, that ...
- ... impuissance! If we but actually learned Herrenmoral,
- master-morality, that ...
-
- [p. 38]:
- ... a Schlavenmoral, a slave-morality. Yes it is true of the
- cowardly and inert ...
- ... a Sclavenmoral, a slave-morality. Yes it is true of the
- cowardly and inert ...
-
- [p. 56]:
- ... CHRISTIAN ABRAHAMSEN, A Clearing in Northern Wiscon ...
- ... CHRISTIAN ABRAHAMSEN, A Clearing in Northern Wisconsin. ...
-
- [p. 60]:
- ... paradoxical feats. What but a good-humorer smile will provoke
- in you ...
- ... paradoxical feats. What but a good-humored smile will provoke
- in you ...
-
- [p. 60]:
- ... from under a plued black hat and from over shoulders and arms
- drawn ...
- ... from under a plumed black hat and from over shoulders and
- arms drawn ...
-
- [p. 60]:
- ... like a Goops. Hellen made lovely things once; why this? ...
- ... like a Goops. Helleu made lovely things once; why this? ...
-
- [p. 61]:
- ... directions seem a little confused here) and shoutes: ...
- ... directions seem a little confused here) and shouts: ...
-
-
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-
-<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, November 1914 (Vol. 1, No. 8), by Margaret C. Anderson</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Little Review, November 1914 (Vol. 1, No. 8)</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Margaret C. Anderson</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 08, 2021 [eBook #64758]</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>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.</div>
-
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, NOVEMBER 1914 (VOL. 1, NO. 8) ***</div>
-
-<div class="frontmatter chapter">
-<h1 class="title">
-<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>
-</h1>
-
-<p class="subt">
-<em>Literature</em> <em>Drama</em> <em>Music</em> <em>Art</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ed">
-<span class="line1">MARGARET C. ANDERSON</span><br />
-<span class="line2">EDITOR</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="issue">
-NOVEMBER, 1914
-</p>
-
- <div class="table">
-<table class="tocn" summary="TOC">
-<tbody>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#LYRICS_OF_AN_ITALIAN">Lyrics of an Italian</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Scharmel Iris</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#ZARATHUSTRA_VS_RHEIMS">Zarathustra Vs. Rheims</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>George Soule</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#THE_COST_OF_WAR">The Cost of War</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Clarence Darrow</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a class="link" href="#WEDDED">Wedded: A Social Comedy</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Lawrence Langner</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#THE_IMMUTABLE">“The Immutable”</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Margaret C. Anderson</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#POEMS">Poems</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Maxwell Bodenheim</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#THE_SPIRITUAL_DANGERS_OF_WRITING_VERS_LIBRE">The Spiritual Dangers of Writing Vers Libre</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Eunice Tietjens</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#UNION">Tagore’s “Union”</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Basanta Koomar Roy</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#WAR_THE_ONLY_HYGIENE_OF_THE_WORLD">War, the Only Hygiene of the World</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Marinetti</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#NOISE">Noise</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>George Burman Foster</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#THE_BIRTH_OF_A_POEM">The Birth of a Poem</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Maximilian Voloshin</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#EDITORIALS">Editorials</a></td>
- <td class="col2"> </td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#MY_FRIEND_THE_INCURABLE">My Friend, the Incurable</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Ibn Gabirol</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#LONDON_LETTER">London Letter</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>E. Buxton Shanks</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#NEW_YORK_LETTER">New York Letter</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>George Soule</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#THE_THEATRE">The Theatre</a></td>
- <td class="col2"> </td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#HAROLD_BAUER_IN_CHICAGO">Harold Bauer in Chicago</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Herman Schuchert</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#A_FERRER_SCHOOL_IN_CHICAGO">A Ferrer School in Chicago</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>Rudolf von Liebich</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#OLDSPIRIT">The Old Spirit and the New Ways in Art</a></td>
- <td class="col2"><em>William Saphier</em></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#BOOK_DISCUSSION">Book Discussion</a></td>
- <td class="col2"> </td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#SENTENCE_REVIEWS">Sentence Reviews</a></td>
- <td class="col2"> </td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><a href="#THE_READER_CRITIC">The Reader Critic</a></td>
- <td class="col2"> </td>
- </tr>
-</tbody>
-</table>
- </div>
-<p class="monthly">
-Published Monthly
-</p>
-
- <div class="table">
- <div class="footer">
-<p class="pricel">
-15 cents a copy
-</p>
-
-<p class="pub">
-MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher<br />
-Fine Arts Building<br />
-CHICAGO
-</p>
-
-<p class="pricer">
-$1.50 a year
-</p>
-
- </div>
- </div>
-<p class="postoffice">
-Entered as second-class matter at Postoffice, Chicago.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="frontmatter chapter">
-<p class="tit">
-<a id="page-1" class="pagenum" title="1"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>
-</p>
-
- <div class="table">
- <div class="issue">
-<p class="vol">
-Vol. I
-</p>
-
-<p class="issue">
-NOVEMBER, 1914
-</p>
-
-<p class="number">
-No. 8
-</p>
-
- </div>
- </div>
-<p class="cop">
-Copyright, 1914, by Margaret C. Anderson.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<h2 class="article1" id="LYRICS_OF_AN_ITALIAN">
-Lyrics of an Italian
-</h2>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Scharmel Iris</span>
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="THE_FOREST_OF_THE_SKY">
-The Forest of the Sky
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">High in the forest of the sky</p>
- <p class="verse2">The stars and branches interlace;</p>
- <p class="verse">As cloth-of-gold the fallen leaves lie</p>
- <p class="verse2">Where twilight-peacocks lord the place,</p>
- <p class="verse2">Spendthrifts of pride and grace.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The grapes on vines are rubies red,</p>
- <p class="verse2">They burn as flame, when day is done.</p>
- <p class="verse">The Dusk, brown Princess, turns her head</p>
- <p class="verse2">While sunset-panthers past her run</p>
- <p class="verse2">To caverns of the Sun.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">She throws cord-reins of sunbeams wrought,</p>
- <p class="verse2">About the sunset-panthers, fleet,</p>
- <p class="verse">And rides them joyously, when caught,</p>
- <p class="verse2">Across the poppied fields of wheat—</p>
- <p class="verse2">Their hearts with terror beat.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">They reach the caverns of the Sun,</p>
- <p class="verse2">The raven-clouds above them fly;</p>
- <p class="verse">Dame Night her tapestry’s begun.</p>
- <p class="verse2">High, o’er the forest of the sky</p>
- <p class="verse2">The moon, a boat, sails by.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="ITERATION">
-<a id="page-2" class="pagenum" title="2"></a>
-Iteration
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">My son is dead and I am going blind,</p>
- <p class="verse">And in the Ishmael-wind of grief</p>
- <p class="verse">I tremble like a leaf;</p>
- <p class="verse">I have no mind for any word you say:</p>
- <p class="verse">My son is dead and I am going blind.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="APRIL">
-April
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">I loved her more than moon or sun—</p>
- <p class="verse2">There is no moon or sun for me;</p>
- <p class="verse">Of lovely things to look upon,</p>
- <p class="verse2">The loveliest was she.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">She does not hear me, though I sing—</p>
- <p class="verse2">And, oh, my heart is like to break!</p>
- <p class="verse">The world awakens with the Spring,</p>
- <p class="verse2">But she—she does not wake!</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="SCARLETWHITE">
-Scarlet—White
-</h3>
-
-<p class="subt">
-(<em>Struck at the double standard</em>)
-</p>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The woman who is scarlet now</p>
- <p class="verse2">Was soul of whiteness yesterday;</p>
- <p class="verse">A void is she wherein a man</p>
- <p class="verse2">May leave his lust to-day.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">’Twas with the kiss Ischariot</p>
- <p class="verse2">A traitor bore her heart away;</p>
- <p class="verse">Her body now is leased by men</p>
- <p class="verse2">That kneel at church to pray.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="THREE_APPLES">
-<a id="page-3" class="pagenum" title="3"></a>
-Three Apples
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">I who am Giver of Life</p>
- <p class="verse">Out of the cradle of dawn</p>
- <p class="verse">Bring you this infant of song.—</p>
- <p class="verse">He has a golden tongue</p>
- <p class="verse">And wings upon his feet.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The apple of silver he holds</p>
- <p class="verse">Once lay at the breast of the moon;</p>
- <p class="verse">I give him an apple of gold</p>
- <p class="verse">’Twas forged in the fires of the sun;</p>
- <p class="verse">This apple of copper I give</p>
- <p class="verse">That Sunset concealed in her hair.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">When from the husk of dusk I shake the stars,</p>
- <p class="verse">Down slumber’s vine I’ll send him dreams in dew,</p>
- <p class="verse">And peace will overtake him like a song</p>
- <p class="verse">Like thoughts of love invade a lover’s mind.</p>
- <p class="verse">The spear-scars of the red world he will wear</p>
- <p class="verse">As women in their hair may wear a rose.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">On the rosary of his days</p>
- <p class="verse">He will say a prayer for your sake,</p>
- <p class="verse">The hounds-o’-wonder will lie at his side,</p>
- <p class="verse">And lick the dust-o’-the-world from his feet.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The apple of silver will work him a charm</p>
- <p class="verse">When under his pillow he lays it at night;</p>
- <p class="verse">The apple of copper will warm his heart</p>
- <p class="verse">When a heart he loves grows cold on his own;</p>
- <p class="verse">The apple of gold will teach him a song</p>
- <p class="verse">For children to sing when he blows on a reed;</p>
- <p class="verse">The dew will hear and run to the sun,</p>
- <p class="verse">The sun will whisper it in my ear,</p>
- <p class="verse">And you, being dead, the song will hear.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="ZARATHUSTRA_VS_RHEIMS">
-<a id="page-4" class="pagenum" title="4"></a>
-Zarathustra Vs. Rheims
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">George Soule</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">H</span><span class="postfirstchar">auptmann</span> and Rolland have quarreled about the war, Hæckel has
-repudiated his English honorary degrees, and now Thomas Hardy has
-placed on Nietzsche the responsibility for the destruction of the cathedral
-of Rheims. The tragedy of nationalism, it seems, is not content with ruining
-lives and art; it must also vitiate philosophy and culture.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“Nietzsche and his followers, Treitschke, Von Bernhardi, and others,”
-writes Hardy. In the next sentence he speaks of “off-hand assumptions.”
-One is tempted to write, “Christ and his followers, Czar Nicholas, Kaiser
-Wilhelm, and others!”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Nietzsche has been claimed as a prophet by hereditary aristocrats, by
-anarchists, by socialists, by artists, and by militarists. There is even a book
-to prove that he who called himself “the Antichrist” was a supporter of
-the Catholic Church. One suspects, however, that the Jesuit who wrote it
-had a subtle sense of truth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The most fundamental truth about Nietzsche is that the torrent of his
-inspiration is open to everyone who can drink of it. His value, his quality,
-consist not in the fact that he said this or that, but that life in him was
-strong and beautiful. This is true of all prophets; how much more so, then,
-of the one who threw to the winds all stiffness of orthodoxy and insisted
-on a transvaluation of all values! “O my soul, to thy domain gave I all
-wisdom to drink, all new wines, and also all immemorially old strong wines
-of wisdom,” said Zarathustra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But even in his teachings we can find no justification of the present
-shame of Europe. It was Darwin who laid the foundation for the philosophy
-of the survival of the fittest and the struggle for existence. With the shallow
-inferences from these conceptions Nietzsche had no patience. If the
-fittest survives, the fittest is not necessarily the best. The brute force which
-makes for survival had no attraction for Nietzsche. He called upon man’s
-will to make itself the deciding factor in the struggle. When he argued for
-strength, he argued for the strength of the beautiful and noble, not strength
-for its own sake. Of what avail is a great individual to the world if he
-makes himself weak and sacrifices himself to an inferior enemy? The
-French gunners who defended the Cathedral of Rheims might justly claim
-the approval of Nietzsche. If the Allies had turned the other cheek and
-allowed their countries to be overrun by German militarism, they would
-then have proved themselves Christian and truly anti-Nietzschean.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Moreover, Nietzsche uncompromisingly opposed the supremacy of mere
-numbers, the supremacy of non-spiritual values. He argued after the war
-of 1870 that the victory of Prussian arms endangered rather than helped
-Prussian culture. Culture is a thing of the spirit; it was undermined by the
-tide of smug satisfaction in the triumph of militarism.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-5" class="pagenum" title="5"></a>
-“You say that a good cause will even justify war; I tell you that it is
-the good war that justifies all causes,” wrote Nietzsche. It is the logic of
-the newspaper paragrapher which makes this statement a justification of militarism.
-<em>The good war</em>—what is that? It is the quality of heroism, the unreckoning
-love of beauty, the pride of the soul in its own strength and purity.
-It is the opponent of mere contentment and sluggishness. It is the militant
-virtue which has inspired great souls since the beginning of the world; it is
-the hope of future man. If a cause is not justified by the good war what
-can be said for it? It is a pathetic absurdity to think that Nietzsche would
-have found the good war in the present struggle for territory and commercial
-supremacy. No, gentlemen of letters, fight the Kaiser if you must, but
-do not aim your clods at the prophets in your hasty partisanship!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For it is in this very Nietzsche and his good war that mankind will now
-find its spirit of hope. We who see that wars of gunpowder are evil, we
-who intend to abolish them, cannot do so by denying our own strength and
-appealing helplessly to some external power in the sky. We must say with
-Zarathustra,
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“How could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the composer,
-the riddle-reader, and the redeemer of chance!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“To redeem what is past, and to transform every ‘It was’ into ‘Thus
-would I have it!’ that only do I call redemption!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“Will—so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I taught
-you, my friends!”
-</p>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-In <em>Ecce Homo</em> the word “German” has become something like his worst term of
-abuse. He believes only in French culture; all other culture is a misunderstanding.
-In his deepest instincts Nietzsche asserts to be so foreign to everything German,
-that the mere presence of a German “retards his digestion.” German intellect is to
-him indigestion. If he has been so enthusiastic in his devotion to Wagner, this was
-because in Wagner he honored the foreigner, because in him he saw the incarnate
-protest against all German virtues, the “counter-poison” (he believed in Wagner’s
-Jewish descent). He allows the Germans no honor as philosophers: Leibnitz and
-Kant were “the two greatest clogs upon the intellectual integrity of Europe.” No
-less passionately does he deny to the Germans all honor as musicians: “A German
-<em>cannot</em> know what music is. The men who pass as German musicians are foreigners,
-Slavs, Croats, Italians, Dutchmen, or Jews.” He abhors the “licentiousness” of the
-Germans in historical matters: “History is actually written on Imperial German
-and Antisemitic lines, and Mr. Treitschke is not ashamed of himself.” The Germans
-have on their conscience every crime against culture committed in the last four centuries
-(they deprived the Renaissance of its meaning; they wrecked it by the Reformation).
-When, upon the bridge of two centuries of decadence, a <em>force majeure</em>
-of genius and will revealed itself, strong enough to weld Europe into political and
-economic unity, the Germans finally with their “Wars of Liberation,” robbed Europe
-of the meaning of Napoleon’s existence, a prodigy of meaning. Thus they have
-upon their conscience all that followed, nationalism, the <em>névrose nationale</em> from which
-Europe is suffering, and the perpetuation of the system of little states, of petty
-politics.—<em>George Brandes in “Friedrich Nietzsche.”</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="THE_COST_OF_WAR">
-<a id="page-6" class="pagenum" title="6"></a>
-The Cost of War
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Clarence Darrow</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">A</span><span class="postfirstchar">long</span> with the many other regrets over the ravages of war is the
-sorrow for the destruction of property. As usual, those who have nothing
-to lose join in the general lamentation. There is enough to mourn
-about in the great European Holocaust without conjuring up imaginary
-woes. So far as the vast majority of people is concerned, the destruction
-of property is not an evil but a good.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The lands and houses, the goods and merchandise and money of
-the world are owned by a very few. All the rest in some way serve that
-few for so much as the law of life and trade permit them to exact. At
-the best, this is but a small share of the whole. All the property destroyed
-by war belongs to the owners of the earth; it is for them that
-wars are fought, and it is they who pay the bills. When the war is
-over, the property must be re-created. This, the working men will do.
-In this re-building, they will work for wages. Then, as now, the rate
-of wages will be fixed by the law of demand and supply—the demand and
-supply of those who toil. The war will create more work and less workmen.
-Therefore labor can and will get a greater share of its production
-than it could command if there was less work and more workmen.
-The wages must be paid from the land and money and other property
-left when the war is done. This will still be in the hands of the few,
-and these few will be compelled to give up a greater share. The destruction
-of property, together with its re-creation means only a re-distribution
-of wealth—a re-distribution in which the poor get a greater share.
-It is one way to bring about something like equality of property—a cruel,
-wasteful, and imperfect way, but still a way. That the equality will
-not last does not matter, for in the period of re-construction the workman
-will get a larger share and will live a larger life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-As the war goes on, the funds for paying bills will be met in the old
-way by selling bonds. These too will be paid by the owners of the earth.
-True, the property from which the payment comes must be produced
-by toil, but if the bonds that must be paid from the fruits of labor had
-never been issued this surplus would not have gone to labor, but would
-have been absorbed by capital. This is true for the simple reason that
-the return to labor is not fixed by the amount of production, the rate of
-taxation, the price of interest and rents, but by the supply and demand of
-labor, and nothing else.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If labor shall sometime be wise enough, or rather instinctive enough
-to claim all that it produces, it will at the same time have the instinct
-or wisdom to leave the rulers’ bonds unpaid.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-7" class="pagenum" title="7"></a>
-But all of this is far, far away; in determining immediate effects
-we must consider what is, not what should be. And the jobless and
-propertyless can only look upon the destruction of property as giving
-them more work and a larger share of the product of their labor. Chicago
-was never so prosperous, or wages so high, as when her people
-were re-building it from the ashes of a general conflagration. San Francisco
-found the same distribution of property amongst its workmen
-after the earthquake and the fire had laid it waste, and her people were
-called upon to build it up anew.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Carlyle records that during the long days of destruction in the
-French Revolution the people were more prosperous and happy than they
-had ever been before. True, the Guilotin was doing its deadly work
-day after day, but its victims were very few. The people got used to
-the guilotin, and heeded it no more than does the crowd heed a hanging
-in our county jail, when they gayly pass in their machines.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-After the first shock was over, during the four years of our Civil
-War, wages were higher, men were better employed, production greater,
-and distribution more equal than it had been at any time excepting in the
-extreme youth of the Republic. Then land was free.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Then again, this world has little to destroy. After centuries of so-called
-civilization, the human race has not accumulated enough to last
-a year should all stop work. The world lives, and always has lived, from
-hand to mouth. This is not because of any trouble in producing wealth,
-but because things are made not to use, but to sell. And the wages of
-the great mass of men does not permit them to buy or own more than
-they consume from day to day.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It is for this reason that half the people do not really work; that
-the market for labor is fitful and uncertain, and never great enough;
-and that all are poor. After a devastation like a great war, the need of
-re-creating will turn the idle and the shirkers into workmen, because the
-rewards will be greater. This will easily and rapidly produce more than
-ever before. From this activity, invention will contrive new machines to
-compete with men, going once more around the same old circle, until
-the world finds out that machines should be used to satisfy human wants
-and not to build up profits for the favored few.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One may often regret the impulses that bring destruction of property,
-but before any one mourns over the destruction of property, purely
-because of its destruction, he should ask whose property it is.
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="WEDDED">
-<a id="page-8" class="pagenum" title="8"></a>
-Wedded:
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="subt">
-A Social Comedy
-</p>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Lawrence Langner</span>
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="CHARACTERS">
-CHARACTERS
-</h3>
-
-<div class="center">
-<p class="dpers">
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span><br />
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet Ransome</span>: Her daughter.<br />
-<span class="smallcaps">Rev. Mr. Tanner</span>: A Clergyman.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="SCENE">
-SCENE
-</h3>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-(The “best” parlor of the Ransomes’ house, in a cheap district of Brooklyn.
-There is a profusion of pictures, ornaments, and miscellaneous furniture.
-A gilded radiator stands in front of the fireplace. Table, center, on
-which are some boxes and silver-plated articles arranged for display. Over
-the door hangs a horseshoe. White flowers and festoons indicate that the
-room has been prepared for a wedding. To the left is a sofa, upon which
-lies the body of a dead man, his face covered with a handkerchief. There is
-a small packing-case at his side, upon which stand two lighted candles, a
-medicine bottle, and a tumbler. The blinds are drawn.)
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="AT_RISE">
-AT RISE
-</h3>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-(Janet, dressed in a white semi-bridal costume, is on her knees at the
-side of the couch, quietly weeping. After a few moments the door opens,
-admitting a pale flood of sunshine. The murmur of conversation in the
-passage without is heard. Mrs. Ransome enters. She is an intelligent, comfortable-looking
-middle-aged woman. She wears an elaborate dress of light
-gray, of a fashion of some years previous, evidently kept for special occasions.
-She is somewhat hysterical in manner and punctuates her conversation
-with sniffles.)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> My dear child, now do stop cryin’. Won’t you stop
-cryin’? Your Aunt Maud’s just come, and wants to know if she can see
-you.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see nobody.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> But your aunt, my dear—
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> No, mother, not nobody.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-(<em>Mrs. Ransome goes to door and holds a whispered conversation with
-somebody outside. She then returns, closing the door behind her, and sits on
-chair close to Janet.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-9" class="pagenum" title="9"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> She’s goin’ to wait for your father. He’s almost crazy
-with worry. All I can say is—thank God it was to have bin a private wedding.
-If we’d had a lot of people here, I don’t know what I should have
-done. Now, quit yer cryin’, Janet. I’m sure we’re doin’ all we can for you,
-dear. (<em>Janet continues to weep softly.</em>) Come, dear, try and bear up. Try
-and stop cryin’. Your eyes are all red, dear, and the minister’ll be here in a
-minute.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> I don’t want to see him, mother. Can’t you see I don’t want to
-see nobody?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> I know, my dear. We tried to stop him comin’, but
-he says to your father, he says, “If I can’t come to her weddin’, it’s my duty
-to try to comfort your daughter”; and that certainly is a fine thing for him
-to do, for a man in his position, too. And yer father—he feels it as much as
-you do, what with the trouble he’s been to in buying all that furniture for
-you and him, and one thing and another. He says that Bob must have had
-a weak heart, an’ it’s some consolation he was took before the weddin’ and
-not after, when you might have had a lot of children to look after. An’ he’s
-right, too.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Talks to body</em>). Oh, Bob! Bob! Why did you go when I want
-you so?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Now, now! My poor girl. It makes my heart bleed
-to hear you.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Oh, Bob! I want you so. Won’t you wake up, Bob?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Puts her arms around Janet and bursts into sobs</em>).
-There—you’re cryin’ yer eyes out. There—there—you’ve still got your old
-mother—there—there—just like when you was a baby—there—
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Mother—I want to tell you something—
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Well, tell me, dear, what is it?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> You don’t know why me and Bob was goin’ to get married.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Why you and Bob was goin’ to get married?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Didn’t you never guess why we was goin’ to get married—sort
-of <em>all of a sudden</em>?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> All of a sudden? Why, I never thought of it.
-(<em>Alarmed.</em>) There wasn’t nuthin’ wrong between you and him, was there?
-(<em>Janet weeps afresh.</em>) Answer me. There wasn’t nuthin’ wrong between
-you and him, was there?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Nuthin’ <em>wrong</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> What do you mean, then?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> We was goin’ to get married—because we <em>had</em> to.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> You mean yer goin’ to have a baby?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Yes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Are you sure? D’ye know how to tell fer certain?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Yes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-10" class="pagenum" title="10"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Oh, Lor’! Goodness gracious! How could it have
-happened?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> I’m glad it happened—<em>now</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> D’ye understand what it means? What are we goin’
-to do about it?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Through her tears</em>). I can’t help it. I’m glad it happened. An’
-if I lived all over again, I’d want it to happen again.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> You’d <em>want</em> it to happen? Don’t you see what this
-means? Don’t you see that if this gets out you’ll be disgraced ’till your dying
-day?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> I’m glad.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Don’t keep on sayin’ you’re glad. Glad, indeed! Have
-you thought of the shame and disgrace this’ll bring on me an’ your father?
-An’ after we’ve saved and scraped these long years to bring you up respectable,
-an’ give you a good home. You’re glad, are you? You certainly got a
-lot to be glad about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Can’t you understand, mother? We wasn’t thinking of you when
-it happened—and now it’s all I have.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Of course you wasn’t thinkin’ of us. Only of yourselves.
-That’s the way it is, nowadays. But me and your father is the
-ones that’s got to face it. We’re the ones that’s got to stand all the scandal
-and talk there’ll be about it. Just think what the family’ll say. Think what
-the neighbors’ll say. I don’t know what we done to have such a thing happen
-to us. (<em>Mrs. Ransome breaks into a spell of exaggerated weeping, which
-ceases as the door-bell rings.</em>) There! That’s the minister. God only
-knows what I’d better say to him. (<em>Mrs. Ransome hurriedly attempts to tidy
-the room, knocking over a chair in her haste, pulls up the blinds half-way and
-returns to her chair. There is a knock at the door. Mrs. Ransome breaks
-into a prolonged howl.</em>) Come in.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-(<em>Enter Rev. Mr. Tanner. He is a stout, pompous clergyman, with a rich,
-middle-class congregation and a few poorer members, amongst which latter
-he numbers the Ransomes. His general attitude is kind but patronizing; he
-displays none of the effusive desire to please which is his correct demeanor
-towards his richer congregants. The elder Ransomes regard him as their
-spiritual leader, and worship him along with God at a respectful distance.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>He speaks in a hushed voice, glancing towards the kneeling
-figure of Janet</em>). Bear up, Mrs. Ransome. Bear up, I beg of you! (<em>Mrs.
-Ransome howls more vigorously; Tanner is embarrassed.</em>) This is very distressing,
-Mrs. Ransome.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Between her sobs</em>). It certainly is kind of you to come,
-Mr. Tanner, I’m sure. We didn’t expect to see you when my husband ’phoned
-you.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Where is your husband now?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-11" class="pagenum" title="11"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> He’s gone to send some telegrams to Bob’s family, sir—<em>his</em>
-family. We’d planned to have a quiet wedding, sir, with only me and
-her father and aunt, and then we was goin’ to have the rest of the family in,
-this afternoon.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> It’s a very sad thing, Mrs. Ransome.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> It’s fairly dazed us, Mr. Tanner. Comin’ on top of all
-the preparation we’ve bin makin’ for the past two weeks, too. An’ her father’s
-spent a pile o’ money on their new furniture an’ things.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>Speaking in an undertone</em>). Was he insured?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> No, sir, not a penny. That’s why it comes so hard on
-us just now, havin’ the expense of a funeral on top of what we’ve just spent
-for the weddin’.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Well, Mrs. Ransome, I’ll try to help you in any way I can.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Thank you, Mr. Tanner. It certainly is fine of you to
-say so. Everybody’s bin good to us, sir. She had all them presents given
-her—most of them was from <em>my</em> side of the family.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Did he have any relatives here?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Not a soul, poor fellow. He came from up-state.
-That’s why my husband’s gone to send a telegram askin’ his father to come
-to the funeral.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> How long will your husband be? (<em>He glanced at his watch.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> I don’t think he’ll be more than half an hour. He’d like
-to see you, if you could wait that long, I know.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Very well. I have an engagement later, but I can let that go
-if necessary.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-(<em>Tanner and Mrs. Ransome sit down in front of the table.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> It certainly is a great comfort havin’ you here, Mr.
-Tanner. I feel so upset I don’t know what to say.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Bear up, Mrs. Ransome. You are not the greatest sufferer.
-Let me say a few words to your daughter. (<em>He rises, goes to Janet, and
-places his hand on her shoulder, but she takes no notice of him.</em>) Miss Ransome,
-you must try to bear up, too. I know how hard it is, but you must
-remember it’s something that must come to all of us.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> She takes it so bad, Mr. Tanner, that the Lord should
-have took him on their weddin’ mornin’.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>Returning to his chair</em>). We must not question, Mrs. Ransome,
-we must not question. The Almighty has thought fit to gather him
-back to the fold, and we must submit to His will. In such moments as these
-we feel helpless. We feel the need of a Higher Being to cling to—to find
-consolation. Time is the great healer.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> But to expect a weddin’ (<em>Sobs</em>) and find it’s a funeral—it’s
-awful; (<em>Sobs</em>) and besides—Mr. Tanner, you’ve always been good to us.
-We’re in other trouble, too. Worse—worse even than this.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-12" class="pagenum" title="12"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> In other trouble?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Yes, much worse. I just can’t bear to think about it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Your husband’s business?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> No, sir. It’s—I don’t know how to say it. It’s her
-and him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Her and him?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Yes, sir—I’m almost ashamed to tell you. She’s goin’
-to have a baby.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>Astounded</em>). She’s going to be a mother?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Yes. (<em>Sobs.</em>) Oh, you don’t know how hard this is on
-us, Mr. Tanner. We’ve always bin respectable people, sir, as you well know.
-We’ve bin livin’ right here on this block these last ten years, an’ everybody
-knows us in the neighborhood. Her father don’t know about it yet. What
-he’ll say—God only knows.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> I’m terribly sorry to hear this, Mrs. Ransome.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> I can forgive her, sir, but not him. They say we
-shouldn’t speak ill of the dead—but I always was opposed to her marryin’
-him. I wanted her to marry a steady young fellow of her own religion, but
-I might as well have talked to the wall, for all the notice she took of me.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> It’s what we have to expect of the younger generation, Mrs.
-Ransome. Let me see—how long were they engaged?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Well, sir, I suppose on and off it’s bin about three years.
-He never could hold a job long, an’ me and her father said he couldn’t marry
-her—not with our consent—until he was earnin’ at least twenty dollars a
-week—an’ that was only right, considerin’ he’d have to support her.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> I quite agree with you. I’m sorry to see a thing of this sort
-happen—and right in my own congregation, too. I’ve expressed my views
-from the pulpit from time to time very strongly upon the subject, but nevertheless
-it doesn’t seem to make much difference in this neighborhood.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> I know it’s a bad neighborhood in some ways, sir. But
-you got to remember they was going to get married, sir. If you’d bin here only
-an hour earlier, Mr. Tanner, there wouldn’t have bin no disgrace. (<em>Points
-to official-looking book lying on table.</em>) Why, sir—there’s the marriage register—Mr.
-Smith brought it down from church this morning—all waiting
-for you to fix it. If you’d only come earlier, sir, they’d have bin properly
-married, an’ there wouldn’t have bin a word said.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> That’s true. They might have avoided the immediate disgrace,
-perhaps. But you know as well as I do that <em>that</em> isn’t the way to get
-married. It isn’t so much a matter of disgrace. That means nothing. It’s
-the principle of the thing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Eagerly</em>). Oh, Mr. Tanner, do you mean it? Do you
-mean that the disgrace of it means nothin’?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-13" class="pagenum" title="13"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Well—not exactly nothing—but nothing to the principle of the
-thing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> An’ would you save her from the disgrace of it, if you
-could, Mr. Tanner, if it don’t mean nothin’?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> I’ll do anything I can to help you, within reason, Mrs. Ransome,
-but how can I save her?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Eagerly pleading</em>). Mr. Tanner, if she has a child, as
-she expects, you know that respectable people won’t look at us any more.
-We’ll have to move away from here. We’ll be the laughing stock of the place.
-It’ll break her father’s heart, as sure as can be. But if you could fill in the
-marriage register as though they’d bin married, Mr. Tanner, why, nobody’s
-to know that it isn’t all respectable and proper. They had their license, and
-ring, and everything else, sir, as you know.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>Astounded</em>). <em>Me</em> fill in the marriage register? Do you mean
-that you want <em>me</em> to make a fictitious entry in the marriage register?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> It wouldn’t be so very fictitious, Mr. Tanner. They’d
-have bin married regular if you’d only come half an hour earlier. Couldn’t
-you fill it in that they was married before he died, sir?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> But that would be forgery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> It would be a good action, Mr. Tanner—indeed, it
-would. Her father an’ me haven’t done nothing to deserve it, but we’ll be
-blamed for it just the same. It wouldn’t take you a minute to write it in the
-register, Mr. Tanner. Look at all the years we’ve bin goin’ to your church,
-and never asked you a favor before.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> My good woman, I’m sorry; I’d like to help you, but I don’t
-see how I can. In the first place, don’t you see that you’re asking me to
-commit forgery? But what’s more important, you’re asking me to act against
-my own principles. I’ve been preaching sermons for years, and making a
-public stand too, against these hasty marriages that break up homes and lead
-to the divorce court—or worse. The church is trying to make marriage a
-thing sacred and apart, instead of the mockery it is in this country today.
-I sympathize with you. I know how hard it is. But for all I know, you
-may be asking me to help you thwart the will of God.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> The will of God?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Mind you, I don’t say that it is, Mrs. Ransome, but it may
-very well be the Hand of the Almighty. Your daughter and her young man,
-as she has confessed herself, have tried to use the marriage ceremony—a <em>holy</em>
-ceremony, mind you—to cover up what they’ve done.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Oh, don’t talk like that before her, Mr. Tanner.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. I’m sorry I
-can’t help you. It wouldn’t be <em>right</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> But they was goin’ to get married, sir. You got to take
-that into consideration. My girl ain’t naturally bad. It isn’t as though she’d
-<a id="page-14" class="pagenum" title="14"></a>
-pick up any feller that happened to come along. Hundreds and thousands
-do it, sir, indeed they do, and most of them much worse than she and him,
-poor fellow.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Yes, there you are right. Thousands <em>do</em> do it, and I’ve been
-making a stand against it in this neighborhood for years. I may seem hard,
-Mrs. Ransome, but I’m trying my best to be fair. I sincerely believe that
-no minister of the Gospel should ever legalize or condone—er—misconduct—that
-is, before marriage.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Pleading hard</em>). You can’t know what this means to
-us, sir—or you’d pity us, indeed you would. Her father’ll take on somethin’
-dreadful when he hears about it. He’ll turn her out of the house, sir, as sure
-as can be. You know him, sir. You know he’s too good a Christian to let
-her stay here after she’s disgraced us all. And then, what’s to become of
-her? She’ll lose her job, and who’ll give her another—without a reference—an’
-a baby to support? That’s how they get started on the streets, sir (<em>Sobs</em>),
-an’ you know it as well as I do.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Yes, I know. I wish I could help you. It’s very distressing—but
-we all have to do our duty as we see it. But I do pity you, indeed I do.
-From the bottom of my heart. I’ll do anything I can for you—within
-reason.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Almost hysterical, dragging Janet from the side of the
-body</em>). Janet, Janet! Ask him yourself. Ask him on your bended knees.
-Ask him to save us! (<em>Janet attempts to return to side of the body.</em>) Janet,
-do you want to ruin us? Can’t you speak to him? Can’t you ask him?
-(<em>Mrs. Ransome breaks into sobs.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> It is as I feared, Mrs. Ransome. Her heart is hardened.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Rises and turns fiercely on him</em>). Whose heart’s hardened?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Come, come. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I can’t
-tell you how sorry I am for you, and your parents, too.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Well, I’ll tell you flat, I don’t want none of your pity.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Janet, don’t speak like that to him. You’re excited.
-(<em>To Tanner</em>). She don’t mean it, sir—she’s all worked up.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Her excitement increasing, and speaking in loud tones</em>). All
-right, mother—I’ll tell him again—I don’t want none of his pity. I c’n get
-along without it. An’ if you and him think that writin’ a few words in his
-marriage register—or whatever he calls it—is going to make any difference,
-well—you’re welcome to.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> My dear girl. Don’t you understand, if it was merely a
-question of writing a few words, I’d do it in a minute. But it’s the principle
-of the thing.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Bitingly</em>). Huh! Principle of the thing! I heard it all. You
-preached against it, didn’t yer? It’s a pity you never preached a sermon on
-<a id="page-15" class="pagenum" title="15"></a>
-how me and him could have gotten married two years ago, instead of waiting
-till now, when it’s too late.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Others have to wait.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> We did wait. Isn’t three years long enough? D’ye think we
-was made of stone? How much longer d’ye think we could wait? We
-waited until we couldn’t hold out no longer. I only wish to God we hadn’t
-waited at all, instead of wastin’ all them years.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Shocked</em>). Janet, you don’t know what you’re sayin’.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> I do, an’ I mean it. We waited, an’ waited, an’ waited. Didn’t
-he try all he could to get a better job? ’Twasn’t his fault he couldn’t. We
-was planning to go West, or somewhere—where he’d have more of a chance—we
-was savin’ up for it on the quiet. An’ while we was waiting, we wanted
-one another—all day an’ all night. An’ what use was it? We held out till
-we couldn’t hold out no longer—an’ when we knew what was goin’ to happen,
-well—we had to get married—an’ that all there’s to it!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>Making a remarkable discovery, supporting all his personal
-theories on the subject</em>). Ah! Then your idea was to marry <em>simply</em> because
-you were going to have a baby!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Of course it was. D’ye think we wanted to marry an’ live here
-on the fifteen a week he was getting? We’d have bin starvin’ in a month.
-But when this happened—we had to get married—starve or not. What else
-could we do?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Well, I don’t know what to say. It seems to me that you
-should have thought of all this before. You knew what it would mean to
-have a baby.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> D’ye think I wanted a baby? I didn’t want one. I didn’t know
-how to stop it. If you don’t like it—it’s a pity you don’t preach sermons on
-how to stop havin’ babies when they’re not wanted. There’d be some sense
-in that. That’d be more sense than talkin’ about waitin’—an’ waitin’—an’
-waitin’. There’s hundreds of women round here—starvin’ and sufferin’—an’
-havin’ one baby after another, and don’t know the first thing about how
-to stop it. ’Tisn’t my fault I’m going to have one. I didn’t want it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Miss Ransome, your views simply astound me.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> I can’t help it. People may think it wrong, an’ all that, but it
-ain’t his fault and it ain’t mine. Don’t you think we used to get sick of goin’
-to movies, an’ vaudeville shows, an’ all them other places—time after time?
-I wanted him to love me, an’ I ain’t ashamed of it, neither.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Janet, how dare you talk like that in front of Mr.
-Tanner? (<em>To Tanner.</em>) She don’t mean it, Mr. Tanner. She don’t know
-what she’s saying. I’ve always brought her up to be innercent about things.
-She must have got all this from the other girls at the store where she works.
-She didn’t get it in her home, that’s sure.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> No, that I didn’t. Nor nothing else, neither. You was always
-<a id="page-16" class="pagenum" title="16"></a>
-ashamed to tell me about anything, so I found out about things from other
-girls, like the rest of ’em do. I’ve known it for years and years, an’ all the
-while I suppose you’ve bin thinkin’ I didn’t know anything, I’ve known everything—all
-except what’d be useful to me. If I’m going to have a baby it’s
-your fault, mother, as much as anybody. You only had one yourself—but
-you never told <em>me</em> nothin’.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Janet!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Miss Ransome, this is not a subject I ordinarily discuss, but
-since you know what you do know, let me tell you that there is nothing
-worse than trying to interfere with the workings of nature, or—if I may say
-so—of God.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Well, Bob said the rich people do it. He said they must know
-how to do it, because they never have more’n two or three children in
-a family; but you’ve only got to walk on the next block—where it’s all tenements—to
-see ten and twelve in every family, because the workin’ people
-don’t know any better. But I don’t want no pity from anybody. I can take
-a chance on it. I got a pair of hands, an’ I c’n take care of myself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Mrs. Ransome, it’s no good my talking to your daughter while
-she’s in this frame of mind. She appears to have most extraordinary views.
-Mind you, I don’t blame you for it. She <em>seems</em> to be an intelligent girl.
-There’d be some hope for her if she’d show a little penitence—a little regret
-for what’s been done and can’t be undone. You know I don’t like preaching
-out of church, but you’ve often heard me say in the pulpit that God is
-always willing to forgive the humble and the penitent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>With fine scorn</em>). “God” indeed. Don’t make me laugh.
-(<em>Points to body of Bob.</em>) Look at him lyin’ there. God? What’s God got
-to do with it? (<em>She kneels again at the side of the couch, rigid and silent.
-After an uncomfortable interval, Tanner rises.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Well, I’m afraid I must be going. I feel very pained by what
-your daughter has said, Mrs. Ransome. You know I have a deep regard for
-you and your husband. I’m frank to say that if your daughter had shown
-some signs of penitence—some remorse for what has happened—I might even
-have gone so far as to have made the entry in the register—seeing the punishment
-she’s already had. But as she is now, I don’t see what good it
-would do. Really I don’t, so I think I’d better go.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Appealingly</em>). Oh, don’t go, Mr. Tanner. Wait just
-a minute while I talk to her, please. Janet, can’t you say you’re sorry for
-what you done? Can’t you see that Mr. Tanner only wants to be fair with
-you? Come, do it for our sakes—your father and me. You know how hard
-he’s worked, how he’s keep teetotal an’ everything. You don’t want to ruin
-us, do you? Can’t you see it isn’t only yourself that’s got to be considered?
-Think of what we’ve done for you. Tell him you’re sorry for it, <em>do</em>!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-17" class="pagenum" title="17"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>Rising</em>). It’s no use, Mrs. Ransome. I can see it’s of no use.
-I really must go.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Just one minute more. Please wait one minute more.
-Janet, what’s the matter with you? Can’t you see the disgrace it’ll be to all
-of us? Can’t you see it will ruin us to our dying days? They’ll all laugh at
-us—an’ jeer at us. It’ll follow us around wherever we go. You know how
-the folk round here make fun of your father—because he keeps himself
-respectable—an’ saves his money. Do you want them to laugh at him? Do
-you want them to be laughin’ at you an’ talkin’ about you? Do you want
-them to be making fun of your baby—an’ calling it a bastard—an’ asking
-who it’s father was?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Nervously</em>). They wouldn’t.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Yes, they would. An’ all the time he’s growin’ up, the
-other children in school’ll be tormentin’ him, and callin’ him names. Didn’t
-the same thing happen with Susan Bradley’s boy? Didn’t they have to go
-an’ live out in Jersey, cos she couldn’t stand it no longer? You know it as
-well as I do.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Defiantly</em>). They went away ’cos he was always gettin’ sick.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Of course he was always gettin’ sick—with all them
-devils makin’ fun of him—an’ makin’ his life a misery. Didn’t we used to
-see him goin’ down the block—with the tears runnin’ down his cheeks—an’
-all of ’em yellin’ names after him. Just think of the baby you’re goin’ to
-have. D’ye want that to happen to <em>your</em> baby? D’ye want them to make <em>its</em>
-life a misery—same as the other one?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Lifelessly</em>). They wouldn’t.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Of course they would. They’ll tease an’ torment it,
-just like the other—an’ when he’s old enough to understand—who’ll he blame
-for it? He’ll blame <em>you</em> for it. (<em>Inspired</em>) He’ll blame Bob for it—he’ll hate
-him for it. D’ye want your boy—Bob’s boy—to be hatin’ his own father?
-What’d Bob say? What’d <em>he</em> think of you—ruinin’ his baby’s life—an’ all
-just because you’re obstinate an’ won’t listen to reason. Can’t you see it?
-Just think—if you’d only say you was in the wrong—an’ do what Mr. Tanner
-asks you—he’d forgive you an’ make everything all right. Oh, Janet—can’t
-you see it? Ask him—beg him!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Oh, dear. Well—how c’n Mr. Tanner make it all right?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> You know what I mean. Oh, Janet, it won’t take him
-a minute to write it. If he don’t, can’t you see it’ll ruin us all our lives?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Only a minute to write it—or it’ll ruin us all our lives.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Oh, Janet, this is your last chance. Tell him you’re
-sorry. (<em>To Tanner, who has edged towards the door, and is about to leave.</em>)
-Oh, Mr. Tanner, please don’t go. Just wait another minute.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Really, I must go.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Oh, sir! I can see she’s sorry. You won’t go back on
-your word, sir?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-18" class="pagenum" title="18"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet</span> (<em>Unwillingly feigning remorse</em>). Let me think a bit. Oh, Mr.
-Tanner, I suppose I’m in the wrong—if you say so. It didn’t seem to me
-to be wrong—that’s all I got to say. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m sorry for
-the way I spoke—and what I done.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner</span> (<em>Returning</em>). My child, it’s not for me to forgive you. I
-knew I could appeal to something higher in you, if you’d only listen to me.
-Are you truly repentant—from the bottom of your heart?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> Yes, sir.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> As I said to your mother just now, I don’t like preaching
-sermons, but I hope this has taught you that there can be no justification for
-our moments of passion and wilfulness. We must all try to humble our
-pride and our spirit. I won’t go back on my word, but when you start out
-afresh you must try to wipe out the past by living for the future.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Janet.</span> I’ll try to, sir.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> And now, Mrs. Ransome, I suppose I’ll have to make the
-entry as though it had happened an hour or so ago. I know I may seem
-soft-hearted about it. But I feel I am doing my duty. This may save your
-daughter from a life of degradation. I think the end justifies the means.
-But first, let me ask you, who knows that the ceremony wasn’t performed
-before he died?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Only me—an’ her father—an’ my sister outside.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Can she be relied upon to hold her tongue?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> She surely can, sir.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Well, you understand this is a very serious thing for me to
-do. If it becomes public I shall be faced with a very unpleasant situation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome.</span> Oh, I promise you, Mr. Tanner, not a soul will know
-of it. We’ll take our dyin’ oaths, sir, all of us.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> All right. But first let me lend your daughter this prayer-book.
-(<em>Takes prayer-book out of pocket; addressing Janet.</em>) Here’s a
-prayer-book, Miss Ransome. I’ll go with your mother now into the back-parlor,
-and meanwhile I want you to read over this prayer. Try to seek its
-inner meeting. Come, Mrs. Ransome, you can carry the register, and we’ll
-come back later and discuss the funeral arrangements.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Ransome</span> (<em>Takes the marriage register</em>). Oh, Mr. Tanner, I don’t
-know how to thank you.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">Tanner.</span> Well, Mrs. Ransome—I shall expect your husband to send us
-something for our new mission to spread Christianity amongst the Chinese.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-(<em>Exit Tanner and Mrs. Ransome. Janet closes the door. She walks
-towards the couch, looks at the prayer-book, then at the couch. She flings
-the prayer-book to the other end of the room, smashing some of the ornaments
-on the mantle-shelf, and throws herself upon the side of the couch,
-sobbing wildly.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p class="center">
-<span class="smallcaps">Slow Curtain.</span>
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="THE_IMMUTABLE">
-<a id="page-19" class="pagenum" title="19"></a>
-“The Immutable”
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Margaret C. Anderson</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">n</span> a world where flippancies arrange an effective concealment of beauty
-there are still major adventures in beauty to be had beneath the grinning
-surface. One of them is the discovery of those rare persons to whom flippancies
-are impossible—those splendid persons who take life simply and
-greatly. Several months ago I tried to write an impression of Emma Goldman,
-from an inadequate background of having merely heard two of her
-lectures. Since then I have met her. One realizes dimly that such spirits
-live somewhere in the world: history and legend and poetry have proclaimed
-them, and at times we hear of their passing; but to meet one on its valiant
-journey is like being whirled to some far planet and discovering strange
-new glories.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Emma Goldman is one of the world’s great people; therefore, it is not
-surprising to find her among the despised and rejected. Of course she is
-as different from the popular conception of her as anyone could be. The
-first thing you feel in meeting her is that indefinable something which all
-great and true people have in common—a quality which seems to proceed
-on some a priori principle that anything one feels deeply is sublime. Then
-a sense of her great humanity sweeps upon you, and the nobility of the
-idealist who wrenches her integrity from the grimest depths. A terrible
-sadness is in her face—as though the suffering of centuries had concentrated
-there in some deep personal struggle; and through it shines that
-capacity for joy which becomes colossal in its intensity and tragic in its
-disappointments. But the thing which takes your heart in a grip, and
-thrusts you quickly into the position of the small boy who longs to die for
-the object of his worship, is that imperative gift of motherhood which is
-hers and which spends itself with such utter prodigality upon all those who
-come to her for inspiration. Emma Goldman has ministered to every kind
-of human being from convicts to society women. She has no more idea
-of conservation than a lavish springtime; and where she draws courage and
-endurance and inspiration for it all will remain one of those mysteries which
-only the artist can explain. A mountain-top figure, calm, vast, dynamic,
-awful in its loneliness, exalted in its tragedy—this is Emma Goldman, “the
-daughter of the dream,” as William Marion Reedy called her in an appreciation
-written several years ago. “A dream, you say?” he asked, after
-sketching her gospel. “Yes; but life is death without the dream.” In that
-rich book of Alexander Berkman’s, <em>Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist</em>, she
-is given a better name. “I have always called you the Immutable,” is the
-way the author closes one of his letters to her. And this is the quality
-which distinguishes Emma Goldman—a kind of eternal staunchness in
-which one may put his fundamental trust.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-20" class="pagenum" title="20"></a>
-This is the woman America has hated and persecuted, thrown into jail,
-deprived of her citizenship, and held up as an example of all that is ignorant,
-coarse, and base. America will recognize its failure some day, after
-the brave spirit has done its work—after the spasm of the new war has
-ushered in quite simply some of the changes which Emma Goldman has
-been pleading for during her years of fighting. But it takes education to
-produce such awakenings, and there is no immediate hope of such a general
-enlightenment. The stupidity of the situation regarding Emma Goldman
-is that other prophets have raised their spears to the same heights and have
-been misunderstood or ignored but not outraged by the peculiar ignorance
-which Americans alone seem capable of. Had Ibsen appeared among us to
-lecture on the rightness of Nora’s rebellion or to denounce the pillars of
-society as he did in his writing, he, too, would have been thrown into prison
-for free speech or accused of a president’s assassination. The cruelty of
-the situation regarding Emma Goldman is that she has so much work to do
-which so many people need, and that she cannot break through the prejudice
-and the superstition surrounding her to get at those dulled ones who need
-it most. Ten years ago she was preaching, under the most absurd persecution,
-ideas which thinking people accept as a matter of course today. Now
-the ignorant public still shudders at her name; the “intellectuals”—especially
-those of the Greenwich Village radical type—dismiss her casually as a sort
-of good Christian—one not to be taken too seriously: there are so many
-more daring revolutionists among their own ranks that they can’t understand
-why Emma Goldman should make such a stir and get all the credit;
-the Socialists concede her a personality and condone her failure to attach
-herself to that line of evolutionary progress which is sure to establish itself.
-“Unscientific” is their damning judgment of her; her Anarchism is a metaphysical
-hodge-podge, the outburst of an artistic rather than a scientific
-temperament. And so they all miss the real issue, namely, that the chief
-business of the prophet is to usher in those new times which often appear
-in direct opposition to scientific prediction, and—this above all!—that life
-in her has a great grandeur.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How do such grotesque misconceptions arise? Why should it have
-happened that all this misapprehension and ignorance should have grown
-up about a personality whose mere presence is a benediction and whose
-friendship compels you toward high goals you had thought unattainable?
-There is no use asking how or why it happened; it is a perfectly consistent
-thing to have happened, for it happens to everyone, in greater or less degree,
-who strives for a new ideal. But if I could only get hold of all the people
-who are unwilling to understand Emma Goldman and <em>force</em> them to listen
-to her for an hour:—what a sweet triumph comes with their “Oh, but she’s
-wonderful!”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And now about her ideas. If you have read Wilde’s <em>Soul of Man
-<a id="page-21" class="pagenum" title="21"></a>
-Under Socialism</em> you know the essence of Emma Goldman’s Anarchism.
-What is there about it to cause an epidemic of terror? It is merely the highest
-ideal of human conduct that has ever been evolved. Well, it is possible
-to get even the prejudiced to admit this much. Nearly everyone can see
-that government in its essence is tyranny; that one human being’s authority
-over another is a degrading thing; that no man should have the power to
-force his neighbor into a dungeon on the flimsy pretext that punishment is
-a prevention and a protection; that no man should dare to take the life of
-another man, on any basis whatever; that crime is really misdirected energy
-and “criminal types” usually sick people who should be treated as such;
-that “abnormal” people are those who have not found their work; that people
-who work should have some share of their production; that the holding
-of property is a source of many evils; that possessiveness and “bargaining”
-are mean qualities; that co-operation and sharing are splendid ones; that
-there should be an equality between giving and taking; that nothing worth
-while was ever born outside of freedom; and that men <em>might</em> live together
-on this basis more effectively than on the present one. Even your “reasonable”
-man will grant you this premise; but then he plays his trump card:
-It may all be very beautiful—of course it is; <em>but it can never happen</em>! Oscar
-Wilde answered him in this way: “Is this Utopian? A map of the world
-that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out
-the one country at which Humanity is always landing. And when Humanity
-lands there, it looks out, and, seeing a better country, sets sail.
-Progress is the realization of Utopias.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Emma Goldman believes this. She does not belong with the rank and
-file of Anarchists. Cults and “isms” are too restrictive for her. “But you
-are an extreme Individualist,” the Socialists tell her. “No, I am not,” she
-answers them. “I hate your rigid Anglo-Saxon individualism. It is just
-because I am so deeply social that I put my hope in the individual.” It is
-because she hates injustice of any sort so passionately that she adopted
-Anarchism as the soundest method of combating it. If you have laws you
-must accept the abuses of law. Why not be more completely simple—why
-keep on pretending that we need a machinery which fosters tyrannies instead
-of giving freedom an unhandicapped path to begin upon its great
-responsibilities? This was the idealism upon which the American founders
-built—a minimum of government, at least, when that evil seemed to become
-a necessity. In her remarkable book that has just been published, Voltarine
-de Cleyre discusses this phase of the matter brilliantly in a chapter called
-“Anarchism and American Traditions.” There is no possibility of going
-into it minutely here, except to ask those who insist upon regarding Anarchism
-as an unconstructive force to read it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-These are the things Emma Goldman is trying to preach. She does not
-expect to see a new order spring up in response to her vision; so the facetious
-<a id="page-22" class="pagenum" title="22"></a>
-ones who poke their stale jokes at the unspeakable humor of a communistic
-society might save their wit for more legitimate provocations. All
-she hopes is to quicken the consciousness of those through whom such
-changes will come—to improve the individual quality. It reminds you of
-Comte’s suggestion, at the time when he fell deliriously in love, that all the
-problems of society could be solved on that divine principle. It is like
-Tolstoy’s dream prophecy—his prediction of the time when there will be
-neither monogamy nor polygamy, but simply a poetogamy under which people
-may live freely and beautifully.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And so Emma Goldman continues her work, talking passionately to
-crowds of people, sickened by audiences who listen merely out of curiosity,
-disheartened by the vapid applause of those who make their own incapacities
-the burden of their rebellion, heartbroken by the masses who cannot respond
-to any ideal, cheered by the few who understand, dedicated to an eternal
-hope of new values. This is the real Emma Goldman—a visionist, if you
-will, but at the same time a woman with a deep faith in the superiority of
-reality to imagination. How she has lived life! How gallantly she makes
-the big out of the little and accepts without complaining the perverted role
-which has been thrust at her. To have seen her in her home with its hundreds
-of books and its charming old pictures of Ibsen and Tolstoy and
-Nietzsche and Kropotkin; to have seen her friends, her nephews and nieces
-offering her their high adoration; to have watched her gigantic tenderness,
-her gorgeous flinging away of self on every possible pretext; to have
-listened with her to great music in a kind of cosmic hush that music is
-made by and for such spirits; to have heard her, “the crucified,” talk of the
-ideal she cherishes and how her expression of it has been so far below her
-dream; to have compared her, an artist in life, as incapable of spiritual vulgarity
-as a Rodin or a Beethoven, with a sensitiveness which makes her
-almost fear beauty, with a sweetness that is overwhelming—to compare her
-with the vulgarians who denounce her is to fall into a mad rage and long
-to insult them desperately. I said before that Emma Goldman was the most
-challenging spirit in America. But she is so much more than that: she is
-many wonderful things which this article merely touches upon, because it
-is impossible to express them all.
-</p>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-Science is after all but a reassuring and conciliatory expression of our ignorance.—<em>Maeterlinck.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="POEMS">
-<a id="page-23" class="pagenum" title="23"></a>
-Poems
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Maxwell Bodenheim</span>
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="EXPRESSIONS_OF_A_CHILDS_FACE">
-Expressions of a Child’s Face
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Dawn?—no, the stunted transparency of dawn—</p>
- <p class="verse">Color taken from the birth of a white throat</p>
- <p class="verse">And shaken in a still cup till it gradually reaches strength</p>
- <p class="verse">A sudden scattering of strained light—</p>
- <p class="verse">The smile has lived and seemed to die.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Thought?—no, the invisible shudder of a perfume</p>
- <p class="verse">Trying to leave the shadowy pain of a flesh-flower</p>
- <p class="verse">A whisp of it whips itself away,</p>
- <p class="verse">And leaves the rest—a cool, colorless struggle.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Sadness?—no, the growth of a pale inclination</p>
- <p class="verse">Which knows not what it is;</p>
- <p class="verse">Which tries to form the beginning of a swift question,</p>
- <p class="verse">But has not yet developed trim lips.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">And then what seems a smile</p>
- <p class="verse">But is the sleeping body of a laugh.</p>
- <p class="verse">It almost awakes, and throws out</p>
- <p class="verse">Long breaths, in a green and yellow din.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="EMOTIONS">
-Emotions
-</h3>
-
-<h4 class="subsection" id="I">
-I
-</h4>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">His anger was a strained yellow wire.</p>
- <p class="verse">You leapt into it thinking to snap it,</p>
- <p class="verse">But it flung you off silently.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h4 class="subsection" id="II">
-II
-</h4>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Her happiness was too apparent—</p>
- <p class="verse">Pleasant flesh in which you sensed heavy blood-clots.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h4 class="subsection" id="III">
-<a id="page-24" class="pagenum" title="24"></a>
-III
-</h4>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Veering, weary birds were her hatreds.</p>
- <p class="verse">They rested on you for years,</p>
- <p class="verse">Then circled away, still weary.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h4 class="subsection" id="IV">
-IV
-</h4>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Her sorrows were clumsy, black bandages</p>
- <p class="verse">Which seemed to hide wide wounds,</p>
- <p class="verse">But only covered scratches.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="TO_">
-To ——
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">You are a broad, growing sieve.</p>
- <p class="verse">Men and women come to loosen your supple frame,</p>
- <p class="verse">And weave another slim square into you—</p>
- <p class="verse">Or perhaps a blue oblong, a saffron circle.</p>
- <p class="verse">People fling their powdered souls at you:</p>
- <p class="verse">You seem to loose them, but retain</p>
- <p class="verse">The shifting shadow of a stain on your rigid lines.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="TO_HANDPAINTED_CHINAWARE">
-To Handpainted Chinaware
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Distorted ducks, smirking women and potshaped blossoms</p>
- <p class="verse">Fastened to pale plates, you are dreary symbols of those who painted you.</p>
- <p class="verse">O ducks, you were made by women</p>
- <p class="verse">Who sway in and out of the waters of life,</p>
- <p class="verse">Content to catch morsels of food from birds flying overhead.</p>
- <p class="verse">And you smirking women, were painted by men</p>
- <p class="verse">Who unrolled little souls on plates,</p>
- <p class="verse">Gave them faces which could not quite hide their ugliness ...</p>
- <p class="verse">You alone almost baffle me, potshaped blossoms—</p>
- <p class="verse">Were you fashioned by childless women, who made you the infants</p>
- <p class="verse">Denied them by life?</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="STUDY_OF_A_FACE">
-<a id="page-25" class="pagenum" title="25"></a>
-Study of a Face
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Her forehead is the wind-colored, sun-stilled wall of a country church.</p>
- <p class="verse">Trailing cloud-shudders overhead narrow it to a thin band of vague light:</p>
- <p class="verse">Two tarnished, exultant cerements of earth—cheeks—meet it,</p>
- <p class="verse">And the three speak clearly, languidly.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="AN_OLD_MAN_HUMMING_A_SONG">
-An Old Man Humming a Song
-</h3>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Life was a frayed, pampered lily to him—</p>
- <p class="verse">A lily which still clung to his gray coat,</p>
- <p class="verse">Like an unbidden word whitening the death of a smile.</p>
- <p class="verse">The half-smooth perfume of it touched the slanting, cambric curtain of his soul,</p>
- <p class="verse">And stirred it to low song.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="THE_SPIRITUAL_DANGERS_OF_WRITING_VERS_LIBRE">
-The Spiritual Dangers of Writing
-Vers Libre
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Eunice Tietjens</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">he</span> spiritual dangers that beset a struggling poet are almost as numerous
-as his creditors, and quite as rampant. And woe unto him who falls a
-prey to any one of them! For poetry, being the immediate reflection of
-the spiritual life of its author, degenerates more quickly than almost any
-other form of human expression when this inner life goes astray.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There is first of all the danger of sentimentality, an ever-present, sticky
-danger that awaits patiently and imperturbably and has to be met afresh
-every day. True, if the poet yields to this danger and embraces it skillfully
-enough, the creditors aforementioned may sometimes be paid and much
-adulation acquired into the bargain—witness Ella Wheeler Wilcox—but it
-is at the price of artistic death.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There is the danger of giving the emotions too free rein, of producing,
-as Arthur Davison Ficke has said in a former number of <span class="smallcaps">The Little</span>
-<a id="page-26" class="pagenum" title="26"></a>
-<span class="smallcaps">Review</span>, merely “an inarticulate cry of emotion” which moves us like “the
-crying of a child.” Much of our sex poetry is of this type. On the other
-hand, there is the equally present danger of becoming over-intellectualized—of
-drying up and blowing away before the wind of human vitality. Edmund
-Clarence Stedman went that way. Then there is the danger of determined
-modernity, of resolutely setting out to be “vital” at all costs and crystallizing
-into mere frozen impetuosity, as Louis Untermeyer has done—and the other
-danger of dwelling professorially in the past with John Myers O’Hara.
-There is too the new danger of “cosmicality,” of which John Alford amusingly
-accuses our American poets of to-day. And there are many, many
-other pitfalls that the unsuspecting poet must meet and bridge before he can
-hope to win to the heights of immortality.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But there seems to be a whole new set of dangers, especially virulent,
-that attend the writing of <em>vers libre</em>, free verse, polyrhythmics, or whatever
-else one may choose to call the free form so prevalent to-day. These dangers
-are inherent in the form itself and are directly traceable to it. For contrary
-to the general notion on the subject, it takes a better balanced intellect to
-write good <em>vers libre</em> than to write in the old verse forms. It is essentially
-an art for the sophisticated, and the tyro will do well to avoid it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The first of these dangers, and the one in which all the others take root,
-is a very insidious peril, and few there be who escape it. It is the danger
-of being obvious.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In writing rhymed or even rhymeless poetry of a conventional rhythmical
-pattern the mind is constantly obliged to sift and sort the various images
-which present themselves—to test them, and turn them this way and that,
-as one does pieces in a mosaic, till they at last fit more or less perfectly into
-the pattern. This process, although it sometimes, owing to the physical
-formation of the language, distorts the poet’s meaning a little, has the great
-artistic advantage of eliminating many casual first associations, which on
-careful thought are found not worth saying. It is precisely this winnowing,
-weighing process which the form of free verse lacks. Anything that comes
-to mind can be said at once, and with a little instinct for rhythm, is said.
-The result of this mental laziness is that the ideas expressed are often
-obvious.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But here a curious phenomenon of the human mind comes into play.
-Just as a physically lazy man will often perform great mental exertions to
-avoid moving, so the mind will frequently go to quite as great lengths to find
-unusual methods of expression to conceal, even from itself, this laziness
-of first thinking. The result is the attempt to cover with words the fundamental
-paucity of the ideas.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There are several principal effects which may result from this. One
-is brutality. A conception which, if spoken simply, is at once recognized as
-trite, may if said brutally enough pass muster as surprising and “strong.”
-<a id="page-27" class="pagenum" title="27"></a>
-A crude illustration of this is to be found in the recent war poetry of “mangled
-forms” and “gushing entrails.” Ezra Pound furnishes the most perfect
-example. Another effect is the tendency to the grotesque. This device
-is more successful in deceiving the poet himself than the other, though it has
-less general appeal. For it is possible, by making a thing grotesque enough,
-to cover almost completely the underlying conception. Skipwith Cannéll
-runs this danger, along with lesser men. A third peril is that which besets
-some of the Imagistes—the danger of reducing the idea to a minimum and
-relying entirely on the sound and color of the words to carry the poem.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Still another result of the complete loosening of the reins possible in
-<em>vers libre</em> is the immediate enlargement of the ego. It is not so easy to see
-why this should result, but it almost invariably does, and has since the days
-of Whitman. It usually goes to-day with the effect of brutality. The universe
-divides itself at once into two portions, of which the poet is by far the
-greater half. “I”—“I”—“I” they say, and again “I”—“I”—“I.” And having
-said it they appear to be vastly relieved.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The next step is to lay about them gallantly at every person or tendency
-that has ever annoyed them. “I have been abused” they say, “I have been
-neglected! You intolerable Philistines, I will get back at you!” It is odd
-that it never seems to occur to these young men that they can only hit those
-persons who read them, and that every person who reads them is at least a
-prospective friend. Those who neglect them they can never reach—and
-slapping one’s friends is an unprofitable amusement.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Examples of these unfortunate spiritual results of abandoning oneself
-too recklessly to the free verse form are numerous. James Oppenheim’s
-latest volume, <em>Songs for the New Age</em>—although it is in many ways an
-excellent work and deserves endorsement by all who really belong to the
-new age and are not merely accidentally alive to-day—nevertheless shows
-in places the tendency to obviousness and slack work.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-More flagrant examples are to be found elsewhere. Take for instance
-Orrick Johns. Here are some stanzas from his long poem, <em>Second Avenue</em>,
-which took the prize in Mitchell Kennerley’s <em>Lyric Year</em>:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">“How often does the wild-bloom smell</p>
- <p class="verse1">Over the mountained city reach</p>
- <p class="verse">To hold the tawny boys in spell</p>
- <p class="verse1">Or wake the aching girls to speech?</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The clouds that drift across the sea</p>
- <p class="verse1">And drift across the jagged line</p>
- <p class="verse">Of mist-enshrouded masonry—</p>
- <p class="verse1">Hast thou forgotten these are thine?</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">That drift across the jagged line</p>
- <p class="verse1">Which you, my people, reared and built</p>
- <p class="verse">To be a temple and a shrine</p>
- <p class="verse1">For gods of iron and of gilt—</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
-<a id="page-28" class="pagenum" title="28"></a>
- <p class="verse">Aye, these are thine to heal thy heart,</p>
- <p class="verse1">To give thee back the thrill of Youth,</p>
- <p class="verse">To seek therein the gold of Art,</p>
- <p class="verse1">And seek the broken shapes of Truth.”</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-The same Orrick Johns wrote this blatant bit of free verse in <em>Poetry</em>
-a few months later. Both the paucity of ideas and the enlarged ego are very
-well shown here:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">No man shall ever read me,</p>
- <p class="verse">For I bring about in a gesture what they cannot fathom in a life;</p>
- <p class="verse">Yet I tell Bob and Harry and Bill—</p>
- <p class="verse">It costs me nothing to be kind;</p>
- <p class="verse">If I am a generous adversary, be not deceived, neither be devoted—</p>
- <p class="verse">It is because I despise you.</p>
- <p class="verse">Yet if any man claim to be my peer I shall meet him,</p>
- <p class="verse">For that man has an insolence that I like;</p>
- <p class="verse">I am beholden to him.</p>
- <p class="verse">I know the lightning when I see it,</p>
- <p class="verse">And the toad when I see it ...</p>
- <p class="verse">I warn all pretenders.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-But to see the tendencies of which we have spoken in their most exaggerated
-form it is necessary to go to Ezra Pound, the young self-expatriated
-American who wails because “that ass, my country, has not employed me.”
-His earlier work was clean-cut, sensitive poetry, some of it very beautiful.
-This for example:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<h3 class="excerpt" id="PICCADILLY">
-PICCADILLY
-</h3>
-
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Beautiful, tragical faces,</p>
- <p class="verse">Ye that were whole, and are so sunken;</p>
- <p class="verse">And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved,</p>
- <p class="verse">That are so sodden and drunken,</p>
- <p class="verse4">Who hath forgotten you?</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many!</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The gross, the coarse, the brazen,</p>
- <p class="verse">God knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should do,</p>
- <p class="verse">But, oh, ye delicate, wistful faces,</p>
- <p class="verse4">Who hath forgotten you?</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-This, from <em>Blast</em>, the new English quarterly, is the latest from the
-same hand. The capitals are his own. The contrast needs no comment:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<h3 class="excerpt" id="SALUTATION_THE_THIRD">
-SALUTATION THE THIRD
-</h3>
-
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Let us deride the smugness of “The Times”:</p>
- <p class="verse">GUFFAW!</p>
- <p class="verse">So much the gagged reviewers,</p>
- <p class="verse">It will pay them when the worms are wriggling in their vitals;</p>
- <p class="verse">These were they who objected to newness,</p>
- <p class="verse">HERE are their TOMB-STONES.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
-<a id="page-29" class="pagenum" title="29"></a>
- <p class="verse">They supported the gag and the ring:</p>
- <p class="verse">A little black BOX contains them.</p>
- <p class="verse">SO shall you be also,</p>
- <p class="verse">You slut-bellied obstructionist,</p>
- <p class="verse">You sworn foe to free speech and good letters,</p>
- <p class="verse">You fungus, you continuous gangrene.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza tb">
- <p class="tb">. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">I have seen many who go about with supplications,</p>
- <p class="verse">Afraid to say how they hate you</p>
- <p class="verse">HERE is the taste of my BOOT,</p>
- <p class="verse">CARESS it, lick off the BLACKING.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-To attempt to lay the entire onus of so flagrant a spiritual and cerebral
-degeneration to the writing of <em>vers libre</em> alone is of course impossible. But
-the tendency is clear. Fortunately, however, we are not all Ezra Pounds
-and there are still poets balanced enough to appreciate these dangers and to
-make of free verse the wonderful vehicle it can be in the hands of a genius.
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="UNION">
-Union
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Rabindranath Tagore</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="note">
-(<em>Translated from the original Bengali by Basanta Koomar Roy, author of
-“Rabindranath Tagore: The Poet and His Personality.”</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">B</span><span class="postfirstchar">eloved,</span> every part of my being craves for the corresponding part of
-yours. My heart is heavy with its own restlessness, and it yearns to fall
-senseless on yours.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-My eyes linger on your eyes, and my lips long to attain salvation by
-losing their existence on your lips.
-</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p class="noindent">
-My thirsty heart is crying bitterly for the unveilment of your celestial
-form.
-</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p class="noindent">
-The heart is deep in the ocean of being, and I sit by the forbidding
-shore and moan for ever.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But to-night, beloved, I shall enter the mysteries of existence with a
-bosom heaving with love supreme, and my entire being shall find its eternal
-union in thine.
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="WAR_THE_ONLY_HYGIENE_OF_THE_WORLD">
-<a id="page-30" class="pagenum" title="30"></a>
-War, the Only Hygiene of the World
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">F. T. Marinetti</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="note">
-(<em>Translated from the French by Anne Simon</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">I</span> want to explain to you the difference between Futurism and Anarchism.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Anarchism, denying the infinite principle of human evolution, suspends
-its impulse at the ideal threshold of universal peace, and before the
-stupid paradise of interlocked embraces in the open fields and midst the
-waving of palms.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-We, the Futurists, on the contrary, affirm as one of our absolute principles
-the continuous growth and the unlimited physiological and intellectual
-progress of Man.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-We aim beyond the hypothesis of the amicable fusion of the different
-races, and we admit the only possible hygiene of the World: War.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The distant goal of the anarchistic conception (a kind of sweet tenderness,
-sister to baseness) appears to us as an impure gangrene preluding
-the agony of the races.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The anarchists are satisfied in attacking the political, judicial, and economical
-branches of the social tree. We strive to do much more than that.
-We want to uproot and burn its very deepest roots; those that are planted in
-the brain of man, and are called:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mania for order.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The desire for the least effort.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The fanatical adoration of the family.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The undue stress laid on sleep, and the repast at a fixed hour.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Cowardly acquiescence or quietism.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Love for the antique and the old.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The unwise preservation of everything that is wicked and sick.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The horror of the new.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Contempt for youth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Contempt for rebellious minorities.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The veneration for time, for accumulated years, for the dead, and for
-the dying.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The instinctive need of laws, chains, and impediments.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Horror of violence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Horror of the unknown and the new.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Fear of a total liberty.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Have you never seen an assemblage of young revolutionaries or anarchists?...
-<em>Eh bien</em>: there is no more discouraging spectacle.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-You would observe that the urgent, immediate mania, in these red souls,
-<a id="page-31" class="pagenum" title="31"></a>
-is to deprive themselves quickly of their vehement independence, to give the
-government of their party to the oldest of their number; that is to say, to the
-greatest opportunist, to the most prudent, in a word, to the one who having
-already acquired a little force, and a little authority, will be fatally interested
-in conserving the present state of things, in calming violence, in
-opposing all desire for adventure, for risk, and heroism.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This new president, while guiding them in the general discussion with
-apparent equity, shall lead them like sheep to the fold of his personal interest.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Do you still believe seriously in the usefulness or desirability of conventions
-of revolutionary spirits?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Content yourself then, with choosing a director, or, better still, a
-leader of discussion. Choose for that post the youngest amongst you, the
-least known, the least important; only his role must never supersede the
-simple distribution of the word, with an absolute equality of time that he
-shall control, the watch in his hand.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But that which digs the deepest ditch between the futuristic and anarchistic
-conception, is the great problem of love, with its great tyranny of
-sentiment and lust, from which we want to extricate humanity.
-</p>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-Genius-worship is the infallible sign of an uncreative age.—<em>Clive Bell.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-The least that the state can do is to protect people who have something to say
-that may cause a riot. What will not cause a riot is probably not worth saying.—<em>Clive
-Bell.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="NOISE">
-<a id="page-32" class="pagenum" title="32"></a>
-Noise
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">George Burman Foster</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">here</span> is a discovery, by no means pleasing or edifying, that the student
-makes as he broadly surveys the history of humanity. All the great turning-points
-of that history seem to be inwardly associated with violent upheavals
-and fearful revolutions. And of all these revolutions, it may be doubted
-whether history records any one on so large a scale as that which confronts
-us under the name of Christianity, in the transition from ancient to mediæval
-ecclesiastical culture. It was not a single Crucified One that gave Christianity
-the sacred symbol of its religion; unnumbered thousands—mostly slaves—breathed
-out their poor lives on martyrs’ crosses. The old culture went
-down in rivers of blood—not too figuratively meant—and a new arose, or,
-better, was created. Now, what is true of this most important revolution
-of our antecedent cultural life is true also, in corresponding measure, of every
-new “becoming” in the history of peoples. No state, no church, no social
-form, has ever arisen but that the path of the new life has passed over ruins
-and graves.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Must this be so? Must it be eternally so? Is it a thing of historical
-inevitability, is it even a law of the very order of the world itself? The
-answer—first answer, at all events—is, Yes! To affirm itself, to persist as
-life,—this belongs as nothing else does to life’s very nature. What newly
-arises negates what has already arisen. All that is living pronounces a sentence
-of death upon all that has been alive and that now sets itself against
-the new life. Accordingly, we are wont to call life a struggle for existence.
-Old Greeks coined a phrase, <em>Polemos pater panton</em>: war is the father of all
-things. The right to life is the right of the strong.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In view of these things, may we fairly raise the question as to whether
-there are exceptions to so universal a rule? Were we to set up a different
-right, would it not be the right of the weak? Would it not be to make the
-sick and the infirm masters over the well and the strong? Would it not be
-to preach a decadent morality as do all the pusillanimous and the hirelings
-who beg for the protection of their weakness because they do not have the
-strength to drive and force their way through life?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The man who, for a generation, has been called the prophet of a new
-culture, this <em>Friedrich Nietzsche</em>, is he not, then, precisely the apostle of this
-man of might and mastery, of ill-famed <em>Herrnmoral</em>, master’s morality,
-especially? Napoleon, his Messiah—do you think? Did he not gloat and
-glory over the time when the wild roving <em>blonde Bestie</em> was still alive in the
-old Germans? Did he not worship the beast of prey, memorialize the murderer,
-stigmatize the morality of Christianity as a crime against life, because
-of its saying, Blessed are the poor and the sick, the peaceable and the meek?
-<a id="page-33" class="pagenum" title="33"></a>
-If, now, the word of this new prophet should make disciples, should even
-revolutionize the times, should we close our churches and stop our preaching,
-as the first thing to be done? For the churches preach goodness and love,
-not might and dominion; see in man child of God, not beast of prey.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If all this were a partisan matter—for or against Nietzsche—I would
-have nothing to do with it. To join in the damnatory fulminations against
-this man, or to advertise mitigating circumstances for his thought, and to
-re-interpret the whole from such a standpoint, until the whole should seem
-less brutal and less dangerous—to do either the one or the other is not for
-me, but for those polemicists and irenicists who are adding to the gayety
-of nations in these otherwise heartbreaking times, by the high debate as to
-whether Nietzsche be both the efficient and the final cause of our present
-world war. Not to defend Nietzsche, not to condemn him, but to wrestle
-for a firm, clear, moral view of life in our seething times, this alone is most
-worth while, and this too is my task.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But for all that, I do believe we must penetrate much, much deeper
-into this new prophet’s spirit than either friend or foe has yet done, if we
-are to win from Nietzsche a deepening of our own and our time’s moral
-view of life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Would that we might forget, for a moment at least, all that partisan
-praise and blame have scraped together respecting this most modern of all
-philosophers; would that we might accompany him into the most hidden
-workshop of his own thoughts and hearken to the personal confessions of
-his wonderful soul! And what would we hear there? This preacher of
-crash and catastrophe and cataclysm, temporal and eternal, speaking of
-“thoughts which come with dove’s feet and steer and pilot the world”; of
-“the stillest hours which bring the storm.” Zarathustra-Nietzsche hears
-the <em><a id="corr-10"></a>Höllenlärm</em>, the hellish alarum, that men make in life, that life itself
-makes; he observes how men lend their ears to this noise, how they are
-frightened by it, or exult over it, how they think that the truth is the truer
-where the noise is the louder, how the howling of the storm signifies to men
-that something good and great must be taking place, some great event of
-history must be under way. Then Nietzsche sets himself like a flint against
-this evaluation of things: “The greatest experiences, these are not our
-noisiest, but our stillest hours. It is not around the inventor of new noise,
-it is around the inventor of new values that the world revolves, inaudibly
-revolves.” I speak for myself alone, but these are words, Nietzsche words,
-for which I would gladly sacrifice whole volumes of moral and theological
-works. These words sharpen the eye and the ear for life-values which the
-majority of men today pass by—pass by more heedlessly perhaps than ever.
-These great words supply us with a criterion for the evaluation of questions
-of the moral life, a criterion that no one will cast aside who once comes to
-see what it means. It is a criterion without which we do not yet comprehend
-<a id="page-34" class="pagenum" title="34"></a>
-life in its depths, because we so constantly contemplate things from a false
-angle of vision. Something of the men who are carried away by “hellish
-alarum” lives in all of us. Let there be stillness without, and we think that
-there is nothing going on. Let nature peal and groan outside there, so that
-all gigantic forces seem to be released; then we have respect for her, we
-discern in such over-power even a divine creative force or a divine destructive
-will. Let people collide, the earth quake from thunder of cannon, and we
-signalize such a day in our history, pass it down from child to child, and we
-call such and such a battle a world-historical event.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But we forget the best. A blustering and brewing pervades nature
-when Spring comes over the land to conquer Winter. When we hear the
-conflict we cry: “Spring has come!” Not so. The true, genuine Spring-life,
-nascent underneath the fury, makes no noise at all, weaves away inaudibly,
-invisibly, in tiny seeds, and conceals in itself the noiseless new
-germs of life.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Thomas Carlyle, though a trifle noisy himself at times, could finely
-write: “Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves together;
-that at length they may emerge, full-formed and majestic, into the
-daylight of Life, which they are thenceforth to rule.” Wordsworth, not
-unmindful of
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">“The silence that is in the starry sky”</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-yet, gazing on the earth about him, sang
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">“No sound is uttered,—but a deep</p>
- <p class="verse">And solemn harmony pervades</p>
- <p class="verse">The hollow vale from steep to steep</p>
- <p class="verse">And penetrates the glades.”</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-And for Longfellow there is
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">“Hoeder, the blind old god</p>
- <p class="verse">Whose feet are shod with silence.”</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-But the chief study of mankind is still man, not nature and the gods.
-Man’s silences! Yes, amid the smoke of powder and clink of swords,
-peoples slash each other; and the men who make such uproar the people
-call great. But the might and work of a people are to be found in that
-quiet heroism, of which no one can discern anything outwardly—that quiet
-heroism to which no one can unveil monuments in our cities. It is the inaudible
-battles of the heart that this heroism fights; and the quieter it is,
-the more gloriously it shines. Men with big voices and mighty lungs we
-hear. Their words excite, move to tears, arouse boisterous and voluble
-antagonisms. These who assemble about them such billowy mobs, we are
-tempted to think that they are the leading spirits, that a vast power must live
-in them, since they are so able to move inert men. But another prophet,
-<a id="page-35" class="pagenum" title="35"></a>
-modern also, has said to these bawlers in market places: “Do you think
-that he who stirs up scandal moves the world?” Nothing easier than to
-start a scandal! Also, nothing jollier for numerous men, to say nothing of
-women. But scandal is a roaring in the ears. It does not reach the heart.
-It irritates, over-irritates the nerves. It creates no blessings, no life. A tiny
-word that sinks down into the deep of the soul, and quietly does its work
-there of germinating and sprouting—this means infinitely more for the world
-than the “alarum” of all the professional and unprofessional bawlers. Deep
-rivers make least din. Light cares speak; mighty griefs are dumb. A heart
-must be profane indeed, in which there is nothing sacred to silence and the
-solemn sea. Once more, to quote Carlyle: “Under all speech that is good
-for anything lies a silence that is better. Silence is deep as eternity; speech
-is shallow as time.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It were well to begin at home, and learn to evaluate experience aright in
-our own being. There are moments in our lives when everything that we
-encounter disconcerts us; nay, when our whole being seems to be off the
-hinges, out of joint. Pain plows up our innermost selves. We could shriek
-from heartbreak and woe. We stand there undone. And men who see us
-and hear us moaning so piteously, groaning so painfully, have the feeling:
-“No pain like this!” But how mistaken they are! For there is a cry of the
-soul, heard of no one, more painful than all that can be pitied or lamented.
-There are labors and battles of the soul wherein nothing is hammered and
-driven, and yet <em>something new</em> is formed. It is never so still in a man as
-when he makes up his mind to have done inwardly with some experience.
-As long as there is foaming and blustering within, we accomplish nothing.
-True work tolerates no tempest. We must be still. And when old values
-are broken, when we must lead life to new goals, the quiet hour must come
-in which a divine child of the spirit is conceived by the holy spirit; and the
-brightest light which we can kindle within will burn so quietly and clearly
-that no cloud of smoke shall ascend therefrom, and there shall be no flickering
-to bear witness of contact with the restless world. “There the true Silence
-is, self-conscious and alone.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Behold, then, this Nietzsche, who flees all “alarum” and execrates all
-din as a falsification of the moral values of life; who lives preferably thousands
-of feet above the world there below, who lingers on the loftiest lands
-of life whither no whirring rattle of the day could rise! Could this
-Nietzsche find joy in men mauling and making a mess of each other? Could
-this Nietzsche preach a culture in which battalions in uniform should line
-up against those in blouse to see who knew best how to deal the deadly blow?
-Could he gloat over the field where the thunder of battle thundered the
-loudest? “Inventor” Krupp’s “new noise”—would that appeal to Nietzsche
-who wanted all silent save the dripping rain, and who worshipped sunshine
-alone? One might answer these questions in the light of one’s own experience.
-<a id="page-36" class="pagenum" title="36"></a>
-Let us suppose that we comprehend the meaning of the <em>stillsten Stunden</em>,
-the quietest hours, and the worth of those great happenings of which
-nothing reaches the newspapers, and which no <em>avant-coureur</em> trumpets. Tell
-me, could we then detect even the slightest inclination to be our own heralds,
-and to sacrifice our quietest hours to the gaping and squabbling of men?
-Men—so the old gospels say—ought not to cast their pearls before swine,
-or give that which is holy to the dogs. But what is pearl, what is holy, if
-not what the Nietzschean still hour contains and produces? There is something
-so tender and beautiful in that hour that we shrink from expressing it,
-from translating it into thought, lest word and thought tincture its best perfume.
-Silence is sweeter than speech, more musical than song. Whoever
-has a deep in himself into which he alone descends and penetrates, a <em>plus</em>
-of his life that remains after we have known and weighed all his words and
-deeds, protects this deep and this <em>plus</em> from everything that could make a
-noise, from all mere words, from all intrusive and obtrusive tittle-tattle.
-<em>Sich eine Oberfläche anheucheln</em>, to feign a surface, to wear a mask, this is
-the original and fine insight into such psychology. Man envelops himself
-in unneighborliness, not to hold haughtily other men away from him, but
-to save himself from them, so that they may not clumsily finger some pearl
-which could not stand so rude a touch. Why speak in parables? Because
-it is not given unto them to know the mystery of the kingdom, said the
-Nazarene. Parables were a protecting shell encasing the most intimate
-kernel, which ignorance or awkwardness might otherwise corrupt or destroy.
-Nietzsche and the Nazarene held a deep and a <em>plus</em> so uniquely their own
-that they intentionally sought, not to be understood, but to be misunderstood,
-with reference thereto.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yes, there is a “surface” which only the man knows and uses who bears
-about a deep in his own being. There, hypocrisy becomes a protection of
-truthfulness; surface a protection of depth. Whoever “feigns such surface,”
-wears such mask, is infinitely more honest and veracious than he who
-has no silence in his deep which cannot be speech on his tongue—a speech
-which is often only motions and noises of the tongue of him who pries
-curiously into what he is inwardly incompetent to understand, or offers a
-superficial and voluble sympathy for griefs of which he is as innocent as
-a babe unborn, or a jaunty appreciation of values and verities and virtues for
-which he has never sweat even a drop of blood. To wear a mask, to lie, lie,
-lie,—that is the <em>truth</em> of the soul as it hides its treasures and its sanctities
-from vulgarity and volubility!
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">‘The suitor of <em>truth</em>? Thou?’ Thus they mocked.</p>
- <p class="verse">‘Nay! Merely a poet!</p>
- <p class="verse">An animal, a cunning, preying, stealing one,</p>
- <p class="verse">Which must lie,</p>
- <p class="verse">Which must lie, consciously, voluntarily,</p>
- <p class="verse">Longing for prey,</p>
-<a id="page-37" class="pagenum" title="37"></a>
- <p class="verse"><em>Disguised in many colours,</em></p>
- <p class="verse"><em>A mask unto itself,</em></p>
- <p class="verse"><em>A prey unto itself.</em></p>
- <p class="verse"><em>That</em>—the suitor of truth?</p>
- <p class="verse">Only a fool! a poet!</p>
- <p class="verse">Only a speaker in many colours</p>
- <p class="verse">Speaking in many colours out of fools’ masks,</p>
- <p class="verse">Stalking about on deceitful word bridges,</p>
- <p class="verse">On deceitful rain-bows,</p>
- <p class="verse">Between false heavens</p>
- <p class="verse">Wandering, stealing about—</p>
- <p class="verse"><em>Only</em> a fool! a poet!</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza attr">
- <p class="verse">(<em>Italics</em> mine.)</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Thus, it is the Deep, the Unique, the Abyss within, that is the great Isolator.
-Nietzsche was indeed “the eagle that long, long gazeth benumbed into
-abysses, into <em>its own</em> abysses!”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And he spoke in parables. Give heed—so Zarathustra counsels his
-disciples—to the times when your spirits speak in parables, for in these
-times is the origin of your virtue.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-I said I would not vindicate Nietzsche. But what if his deification of
-force-humanity, of master-humanity, were <em>Oberfläche</em>, “surface,” mask,
-which he “feigned” or wore, in order to protect his pearls from sows, his
-holy of holies from hounds? What if <em>this</em>—scandalizing the scandalous!—were
-but picture and parable which Nietzsche flaunted to the people that
-they might wreak their vengeance thereupon? And the parable is so pertinently
-chosen that it says everything to men of sense and seriousness, hides
-everything from fools; that the pearls can be recognized if right eyes behold,
-but protectingly concealed from rude eyes and awkward hands.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of course, Nietzsche was a homicide! So must we be! If thy right
-eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee; if thy right hand offend
-thee, hew it off, and cast it from thee. And there are things more offensive
-than an eye or a hand! These are the weaknesses which we pamper and
-grow in ourselves: thought-lessness which we wink at; old pet habits which
-have come to be just too dear for anything, especially for us to knife; above
-all, sickly sentiments, self-pity, from which even all our joys cannot rescue
-us—so that we do not have the courage to join those warriors who turn
-their weapons against their own selves, and to swear an “<em>I will</em>,” that is
-hard as steel, against all these softnesses and humors and self-commiserations.
-Surely, it were well to be force-men, master-men, so that we would
-not coddle our impotency or carry on a pleasure-pain play with our weakness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yes, in these “stillest hours” there is also a “still” homicide and interment,
-a plucking out and a hacking off, and the warrior-hero does not betray
-the least pathos as he does this—there is no plaintive note in his voice. The
-greatest thing about the dying Socrates, sipping away at his cup of hemlock,
-<a id="page-38" class="pagenum" title="38"></a>
-was the total absence of pathos and self-pity. Ah, if we but took half the
-pains to marshal forces of will in ourselves, that we now devote to conserving
-our weak wills, and to adducing all sorts of plausible reasons for their
-impuissance! If we but actually learned <em>Herrenmoral</em>, master-<a id="corr-11"></a>morality, that
-were indeed masterful and understood mastership! We are called to be masters
-by our creator, not only masters of the earth, but also masters of the
-spirit. And mastership is a great sacred thing, which we ought to learn
-from world-masters. We ought to be hammers in life and not anvils. The
-great calamity among men is that they shrink from being hammers, and
-call the virtue of the anvil that lets itself be struck by the name of “patience.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It is just not true that Christianity abhors master-morality and preaches
-a <em><a id="corr-12"></a>Sclavenmoral</em>, a slave-morality. Yes it <em>is</em> true of the cowardly and inert
-thing that men call Christianity, this religion of the study-chair and the
-barracks which can make use of no master, because it summons just those
-powers to rule whose whole strength consists only in the weakness of others.
-But there <em>is</em> a Christianity which has been outright mighty force, outright
-master-instinct, this kingly Christianity, in whose presence a Pilate, and a
-Herod, with the entire host of their war-slaves, were feeble folk indeed; a
-Christianity of love and gentleness and meekness,—aye, aye, sir! But one
-can have gentleness in the heart,—and yet lay on with a club! That was
-indeed master-morality when the Son of Man made himself master of the
-Sabbath; when he with a whip of cords scourged the money-changers and
-mammonists out of the Temple! That was a force-man and a master-man
-who hurled his, “Get thee behind me, Satan!” against the weak heart of
-Peter.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-How would it do for our churches to have a new festival, a festival of
-“the stillest hour,” memorializing the “invention of new values, around which
-the world revolves, noiselessly revolves”? Noises enough, often enough
-<em>Höllenlärm</em>, have there been in our churches, are yet, God knows! But it is
-not noise that rules the world. It is stillness which ultimately is the spiritual
-and moral might of the men who will possess the kingdom of earth.
-What if even the history of peoples “feigns a surface,” wears a mask, for
-those who having eyes see not, having ears hear not? What if men mistake
-<em>Höllenlärm</em> for messages of great occurrences in history, and on this account
-hold themselves aloof from those phenomena and experiences in which
-<em>something new</em>, a life of the heart, presses on to its birth-hour? Yet the
-human race will not always need or require noise and masks as its history
-rolls on. The more men kill what is really worthy of death, the less will
-they set out to kill each other. The more powerfully the will becomes conscious
-of its calling to master, the more strenuously men strive after greatness,
-human greatness, the more ridiculous will it come to seem to them
-in the course of time that the force of man should be sought in the force of
-his muscles, the mastership of man in the hoarded prerogative of powder
-<a id="page-39" class="pagenum" title="39"></a>
-and lead. The day will yet come—as come it shall—when we will estimate
-our life, not according to its noisiest, but according to its stillest hours.
-And then a great and pure life will be created by what is done in the heart
-of man.
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="THE_BIRTH_OF_A_POEM">
-The Birth of a Poem
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="note">
-(<em>Translated from the Russian of Maximilian Voloshin by A. S. K.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">In my soul is a fragrant dusk of coming thunder...</p>
- <p class="verse">Heat-lightnings coil there like blue-birds...</p>
- <p class="verse">Lighted windows burn...</p>
- <p class="verse">And fibres, long,</p>
- <p class="verse">Slow-singing,</p>
- <p class="verse">Grow in the gloom...</p>
- <p class="verse">O the odor of flowers that reaches a scream!</p>
- <p class="verse">Lo! lightning in a white zig-zag...</p>
- <p class="verse">And at once all became bright and great...</p>
- <p class="verse">How radiant is the night!</p>
- <p class="verse">Words dance, then flash in couples</p>
- <p class="verse">In an enamored harmony.</p>
- <p class="verse">Out of the womb of consciousness, from the bottom of the labyrinth—</p>
- <p class="verse">Visions crowd in a quailing host...</p>
- <p class="verse">And the verse blossoms into a hyacinth-flower,</p>
- <p class="verse">Cold, fragrant, white.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class="editorials chapter">
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="editorials" id="EDITORIALS">
-<a id="page-40" class="pagenum" title="40"></a>
-Editorials
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="WHY_SOCIALISTS_WENT_TO_WAR">
-<em>Why Socialists Went to War</em>
-</h3>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">W</span><span class="postfirstchar">e</span> have listened with much interest to the excuses for the
-German Socialists who went to war, as well as to the attacks
-on them for doing so. Now, though hesitating to obtrude
-our ignorance into the muddle of a complicated discussion, we
-can’t refrain from offering a suggestion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The bottom reason for sudden activity under the stress of unusual
-circumstances is to be found, not in a conscious mental decision,
-but in the previously-formed habits of the individual mind. We are
-referring partly to the mob-emotion which has swept away so many
-even of the greatest souls of Europe. We are thinking more of
-the essence of Socialism, and the sort of emotional method which
-has been produced among its adherents—the material upon which
-mob-psychology had to work.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-There is no essential difference between the method of German
-Imperialism and the method of German Socialism; the only difference
-lies in the objectives. Both insist on the supreme importance
-of the state, both work through cohesive organization and the almost
-unquestioning following of leaders. The habit of obedience, the
-instinct for organization, the gregarious mode of action—these are
-the very qualities of the individual German which have made it possible
-for the German Social Democratic Party to grow to such size
-and strength. What more inevitable, when the mobilization order
-went up, when flags flew and drums beat, than that the individual
-German Socialist should in his excitement shoulder his gun and
-march to war?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Of course, we don’t really know anything about it, and we
-haven’t the resources to make anything like a scientific investigation.
-But we strongly suspect that the morals of organized humanity will
-remain inferior to the morals of the individual until the individual
-habit of mind becomes one which denies to organized humanity
-supreme authority over the will.
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-G. H. S.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="EVEN_GALSWORTHY">
-<em>Even Galsworthy!</em>
-</h3>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">n</span> <em>Scribner’s Magazine</em> for November, Mr. Galsworthy has a stunning
-article on the War. And then at its close:—“Your Prussian
-supermen of Nietzsche’s cult...!”
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="ANOTHER_NEW_POET">
-<a id="page-41" class="pagenum" title="41"></a>
-<em>Another New Poet</em>
-</h3>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">M</span><span class="postfirstchar">r.</span> Scharmel Iris is a young Italian poet, born in Florence,
-who at the tender age of ten, and later, was praised by Ruskin,
-Swinburne, Francis Thompson, Edmund Gosse, and other men who
-may be assumed to know what good poetry is. Ruskin wrote: “He
-is a youth of genius and his poems are marvelously beautiful. His
-heart has felt the pathos of life and he has set this pathos to music.”
-Swinburne said: “He writes with imaginative ardor, and impassioned
-is the word which best illustrates his utterance. He is genuine
-and sincere, and his lovely poems display energy of emotion and a
-true sense of poetic restraint.” Thompson was more superlative:
-“I believe Scharmel Iris to be a poet of the first rank,” he stated.
-“His poems are sublime in conception, rich in splendid imagery, full
-of remarkable metaphors and new figures, and musical in expression.”
-Of course it has been difficult for a young man of such talent
-to find a publisher or a public; but at last a volume of his work
-is to be brought out by the Ralph Fletcher Seymour Company. The
-book will be called <em>Lyrics of a Lad</em>, and will be ready about Christmas
-time. Beside a preface by Maurice Francis Egan and an interesting
-title-page decoration by Michele Greco, it will have a frontispiece
-portrait by Eugene R. Hutchinson, the photographer who
-should never be referred to by any noun except “artist.” Personally,
-we love Mr. Iris’s work; we use the verb thoughtfully, because
-his poetry is not merely the sort which interests or attracts; it remains
-in your mind as part of that art treasure-house which is your
-religion and your life.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="PRIZES_FOR_POETRY">
-<em>Prizes for Poetry</em>
-</h3>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">A</span><span class="postfirstchar">n</span> interesting announcement comes from <em>Poetry</em> in regard
-to two prize offers. One—the Helen Haire Levinson prize of
-two hundred dollars for the best poetry by a citizen of the United
-States published in the magazine during its second year—has been
-awarded to Mr. Carl Sandburg for his <em>Chicago Poems</em>. This is a
-particularly gratifying decision, for Mr. Sandburg’s is a new voice
-which must be reckoned with in American poetic production. The
-second is a one hundred dollar offer for the best war or peace poem
-on the present European situation, and has been given to Miss Louise
-Driscoll of Catskill, New York, for a poem called <em>Metal Checks</em>,
-which appears in the November issue.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="MY_FRIEND_THE_INCURABLE">
-<a id="page-42" class="pagenum" title="42"></a>
-My Friend, the Incurable
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">A</span><span class="postfirstchar">t</span> dusk I pass an ugly red building with shrieking fat black letters on
-its façade—Home for Incurables. Shrill grass, narcotic carnations, hazy
-figures in rocking chairs and on the balconies, melting in the liquid gold of
-autumn twilight—a harmony of discord that screams for the spiritual brush
-of Kandinsky. There are no signs of pain or grief on the faces of the
-doomed: a profound calmness they bear, a resolute quiescence, reminding us
-of Dante after he had seen hell or of Andreyev’s resurrected Lazarus. “To
-be sure, they are quite happy,” explained the obliging Doctor. “These men
-and women have come to be free of struggles, of doubts, and of the anguish
-of hopes. The knowledge of their fate, the ultimate, irrevocable truth, is a
-relieving balm for the tired spirits—nay, even for the hopeless bodies, for as
-soon as they cease fighting their disease they learn to adapt themselves to
-that disease, to consider it an inseparable part of their existence. I can show
-you a number of patients who are actually in love with their affliction, who
-would resent the idea of being turned normal. Look at the hilarious face of
-that fellow yonder at the fountain; he is intoxicated with sunset, and appears
-to be the happiest of mortals, despite his terrible disease. A queer case, an
-un-American case.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The doctor uttered a fearful Latin term and told me the history of that
-patient. A European, he has been for many years afflicted with something
-like “sentimentalomania,” a peculiarly Continental ailment. Skilful physicians
-had tried in vain to cure him; change of climate and environment had
-been of no avail: even in Siberian tundras and in foggy London his disposition
-remained unaltered. In despair he went to Berlin, where, he was advised,
-the gravest case of sentimentality would be annihilated; the reaction
-proved almost fatal, for the Spree and the <em>Sieges Allee</em> made such a nauseating
-impression upon the poor fellow that his illness was complicated by a
-severe outbreak of Germanophobia. As a last resort, the famous specialist,
-Herr Dr. Von Bierueberalles, bade him taste the influence of the sanest atmosphere
-on earth, that of the States. When even the harshest and most practical
-American treatment had failed to knock out the unfortunate’s folly,
-he was pronounced hopeless and offered a place among the incurables, which
-offer he willingly accepted, and acquiesced. He has since become accustomed
-to his disease and bears it rather with defiant joy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At times, when I seek relief from practical values and sane standards,
-I come to have a chat with my friend, the Incurable. Henceforth he will
-have the floor.
-</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p class="noindent">
-With whom do I side in the War? Why, of course, with Germany! Perhaps
-my attitude shows that I have not been completely cured from the
-<a id="page-43" class="pagenum" title="43"></a>
-Prussophobia that I had contracted in Berlin; as it is, I sincerely wish to see
-the German boot victorious on the whole continent and over the mouldy Britons,
-a rude, dreamless, wingless Napoleon brooding over old napping
-Europe. Picture the ruined cathedrals of Belgium and France “restored”
-into comfortable barracks for the braves of the Fatherland; picture the boulevards
-of Paris and Brusselles, the quays of the Neva and the Thames,
-ornated with the statues of the most Christian Wilhelm and of his illustrious
-ancestors down to the Great Elector of Brandenburg; picture the excellent
-<em>Schutzman</em> reigning supreme, physically and spiritually, from Vladivostock
-to Glasgow,—think what an abyss of hatred, of stirring electrifying hatred
-will arise among the rotting nations, and out of hatred self consciousness,
-endeavors, cravings, to be crystallized in torrents of new art creations! As
-for Germany, I have no fear for the duration of her hegemony; she will undoubtedly
-choke from indigestion. But oh, how I dread the reverse outcome!
-The victory of the Allies will push Progress a century backward; it will
-strengthen the tottering absolutism in Russia; it will swell the piggish arrogance
-of the French bourgeois; it will augment the insular hypocricity of the
-English Philistine; it will still more, if it is possible, vulgarize international
-diplomacy and greed, arousing the appetites of the so-called Democracies.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Democracy—who was it that recently stated with charming aplomb
-that “Individualism and democracy are synonymous terms?” Yes, I recall:
-it came from the pen of the author of <em>Incense and Splendor</em> and <em>To the Innermost</em>.
-I confess this statement, especially when considering its authorship,
-came to me as a revelation. To me the word “democracy,” as many another
-beautiful word, has lost its original lofty meaning and has come to rhyme
-with mediocrity, with the strangling of the Few of the Mountain by the
-Many of the Valley. Could you name many great things that the most
-democratized countries, like America and Switzerland, have produced outside
-of Schweitzer-cheese and Victrolas? Has there ever been a great individualist
-who appeared as a child of his age, as an outgrowth and a reflection
-of a democracy? I do not know of such instances. Of course, I grant that
-the writer of that statement put into the word “Democracy” a higher, a more
-idealistic meaning. Words, like music, like practically every medium of art,
-express the author’s personality, and, provided he is an artist, he binds us to
-share his interpretation. Take, for example, that popular song, “<em>Oh, You
-Beautiful Doll</em>”; apparently there is nothing tragic in it, yet my emotions
-were stirred when I heard its French interpretation by Olga Petrova (it was
-before the kind American entrepreneurs had forced her to perform stunts
-in Panthea). She had managed to put so much sorrow and tenderness into
-“<em>O Ma Grande Belle Poupée!</em>” that one forgot the triteness of the words
-and felt gripping sadness. Or take a less vulgar illustration—Gertrude
-Stein’s <em>Tender Buttons</em>.<a class="fnote" href="#footnote-1" id="fnote-1">[1]</a> It is an exquisite little thing in cream covers, with
-<a id="page-44" class="pagenum" title="44"></a>
-a green moon in the center, implying the yolk of an egg with which “something
-is the matter,” and it gave me rare pleasure to witness the first attempt
-to revolutionize the most obsolete and inflexible medium of Art—words. The
-author has endeavored to use language in the same way as Kandinsky uses
-his colors: to discard conventional structure, to eliminate understandable
-figures and forms, and to create a “spiritual harmony,” leaving to the layman
-the task of discovering the “<em>innerer Klang</em>.” Both iconoclasts have admirably
-succeeded; both the “Improvisations” and the little “essays” on roast-beef
-and seltzer-bottles have given me the great joy of cocreating, allowing
-me to interpret them in my own autonomous way. Says the Painter:<a class="fnote" href="#footnote-2" id="fnote-2">[2]</a>
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="noindent">
-The apt use of a word, repetition of this word, twice, three times or even more
-frequently, will not only tend to intensify the inner harmony but also to bring to
-light unsuspected spiritual properties of the word itself. Further than that, frequent
-repetition of a word deprives the word of its original external meaning.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Gertrude Stein has beautifully followed this recipe. Words, plain everyday
-words, have lost their “external meaning” under her skilful manipulation,
-and in their grotesque arrangement, frequent repetition, and intentional incoherence
-they have come to serve as quaint ephemeral sounds of a suggestive
-symphony, or, if you please, cacophony. The <em>Tender Buttons</em> arouse in the
-sympathetic reader a limitless amount of moods, from scherzo to maestoso.
-I shall recall for you a few lines of one peculiar motive:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="note">
-(From <em>A Substance in a Cushion</em>.)
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-What is the use of a violent kind of delightfulness if there is no pleasure in
-not getting tired of it.
-</p>
-
-<p class="note">
-(From <em>Red Roses</em>.)
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-A cool red rose and a pink cut pink, a collapse and a sole hole, a little less hot.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Aider, why aider why whow, whow stop touch, aider whow, aider stop the
-muncher, muncher munchers.
-</p>
-
-<p class="note">
-(From <em>Breakfast</em>.)
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-What is a loving tongue and pepper and more fish than there is when tears
-many tears are necessary.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Why is there more craving than there is in a mountain.... Why is there so much
-useless suffering. Why is there.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Do you not feel the deep melancholy underlying these incongruities?
-I could quote places that would bring you into a totally different mood, most
-hilarious at times. These “exaggerated cranberries,” to paraphrase an expression
-of one of my incurable colleagues, should be chanted to the music of
-another great iconoclast, Schoenberg. But I observe an indulgent sneer on
-your face. Of course, I am an Incurable—<em>Adieu</em>!
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-<span class="smallcaps">Ibn Gabirol.</span>
-</p>
-
-<hr class="footnote" />
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a class="footnote" href="#fnote-1" id="footnote-1">[1]</a> <em>Tender Buttons</em>, by Gertrude Stein [Claire Marie, New York].
-</p>
-
-<p class="footnote">
-<a class="footnote" href="#fnote-2" id="footnote-2">[2]</a> <em>The Art of Spiritual Harmony</em>, by W. Kandinsky [Houghton Mifflin,
-Boston].
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="LONDON_LETTER">
-<a id="page-45" class="pagenum" title="45"></a>
-London Letter
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">E. Buxton Shanks</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="date">
-<em>London, Sept. 11, 1914.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">W</span><span class="postfirstchar">e</span> are all soldiers now and literature, for the time, has disappeared.
-The publishing business is at a standstill, reviews are cutting down their
-size, and all the best poets are sedulously learning to form fours in the
-squares of London. It is, by itself, a remarkable thing, which will have an
-effect on all of us when the war stops and we begin to write again. To
-leave your pens and paper, to know that you have before you in the day,
-not an endless struggle with rhythm, rhyme, and editors, but a few hours’
-drilling that is laborious and terminable—it is a rousing experience for a
-poet, mentally as well as physically.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Meanwhile the literary result of the war is nothing but disastrous. All
-our more or less “official” poets—Mr. Bridges, Mr. Newbolt, Mr. Binyon,
-Mr. Watson, Mr. Phillips, and so on—have come forward with amazing
-arrays of abstract nouns. Mr. Bridges, who is almost the worst as well
-as almost the best of living poets, printed a copy of verses in <em>The Times</em>
-which rhymed far less often than is proper in a ceremonial piece and ended
-thus:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Up, careless, awake!</p>
- <p class="verse1">Ye peacemakers, fight!</p>
- <p class="verse">ENGLAND STANDS FOR HONOUR:</p>
- <p class="verse1">GOD DEFEND THE RIGHT.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Mr. William Watson has been prodigal of poetry and has reached his highest
-level in a poem which contains the following singular lines:—
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">We bit them in the Bight,</p>
- <p class="verse1">The Bight of Heligoland.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-It is a very sad business. These gentlemen have retired to their studies,
-determined to feel what is proper, and they come out having done their best;
-but they will be heartily ashamed of it—I hope—in a few months. Unfortunately,
-Mr. John Lane has collected their verses in a volume and is selling
-their shame for charity. Three good poems have come out of the welter,
-one by Mr. G. K. Chesterton—<em>The Wife of Flanders</em>, a very fine composition—and
-two by Mr. De La Mare.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The trouble is that a poet does not feel war fever very acutely in a
-general sense. Patriotic poetry is nearly always bad. If there is a worthy
-reference to the Armada in Elizabethan poetry, it has escaped me; and the
-English resistance to Napoleon has never been a very happy subject for
-English writers. The good poetry that is provoked by war is of a different
-<a id="page-46" class="pagenum" title="46"></a>
-character: it is personal, visual, and concrete. It never expresses any general
-aspect of war, but only such subjects as have been personally observed
-and felt by the poet. I would give as instances Rudyard Kipling and the
-German poet Liliencron, both of whom have written well about soldiers and
-fighting, but foolishly about War and Patriotism.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Yet any poet going about the streets today must see and feel a quantity
-of poetical things. A week or so ago, I saw an endless baggage-train belonging
-to the artillery, as it passed through Barnet. It had come from
-Worcester, commandeering horses and wagons on the way; it was going to
-Brentwood and thence—God knows! It was very long and uneven—the
-carts had bakers’ and butchers’ names on them—the horses were ridden
-with halters and sacks for saddles—the men were tired and dishevelled. I
-spoke to one of them who was watering his horse at a trough, offered to
-bring him beer from a public-house close by; but someone had given him
-tea farther back on the road and he would rot. He thanked me and rode
-away, drooping very much over his horse’s neck. It was all a poem in
-itself or it gave me the emotions of a poem, because it had none of the
-conventional glitter of war. It was poetical because it was business-like,
-just as our khaki service uniforms are more beautiful than the bright clothes
-the troops wear in peace.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-If the war-poets would confine themselves to real and tangible things
-like this, they might well express the experience through which we are now
-passing. But they seem unhappily obsessed with the idea of expressing an
-obstreperous valour and self-confidence and bluster which the nation is very
-far from feeling. The nation, so far as I can gauge it, is showing an obstinate,
-workmanlike silence and does not either make light of, or grumble at,
-the hardships it has to suffer: the baggage-train of which I have spoken was
-a very adequate symbol of this. But no one is ever so greatly out of touch
-with the people as a popular poet.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the beginning of the war, the musical in London were shocked by
-an announcement that no German or Austrian music would be played at the
-famous Queen’s Hall Promenade Concerts. We were naturally a little
-upset, as we depend on these performances for solid and regular entertainment:
-and it seemed hard and unnecessary to renounce Bach, Mozart,
-Beethoven, Wagner, and even Schönberg. Luckily good sense and humour
-killed the absurd idea, but not before a French and Russian programme had
-been substituted for the first Wagner night. Now, much as I shrink from
-the thought of having to hear Tschaikowsky instead of Wagner, I do believe
-that we have a cause for national resentment against the second of these
-composers. His ridiculous and windy prose-works have been among the
-writings which have provoked the war. With Nietzsche, and with the renegade
-Englishman, Houston Stewart Chamberlain, he has encouraged the
-notion that there is a special Teutonic culture which is superior to any other
-<a id="page-47" class="pagenum" title="47"></a>
-and which deserves to be spread at any cost. Such an idea has never
-appealed to the true Germans (e. g., Goethe, who knew what he owed to
-France and England), but it has been useful to the Prussian soldiers, who
-have debased and vulgarized true German culture. Perhaps I am exceeding
-the duties of a London letter-writer and becoming an advocate; but I think
-I am giving you an accurate account of the feelings of those here who
-admire German poetry and music. I am not a Chauvinist in art—few people
-are. I read Goethe impenitently in the public trains and trams, to the
-disgust of my neighbours, and I continue to sing German songs, a little out
-of tune: unless my Territorial uniform is served out to me very soon, I shall
-probably be arrested as a spy.
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="NEW_YORK_LETTER">
-New York Letter
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">George Soule</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">S</span><span class="postfirstchar">ome</span> years ago a good woman, who would like to be foster-mother
-to all struggling heroes, was sitting at midnight in her down-town flat.
-Suddenly there was a noise at the front door, someone leapt up the staircases
-two steps at a time, and rushed into her room shouting “I’ve got it!
-I’ve got it!” She turned around and saw the dark face of a young actor,
-shining with excitement. He immediately burst into a superb interpretation
-of a passage from <em>Hamlet</em>. He had been working over it for two weeks
-without being able to satisfy himself, but it had come to him that evening.
-He could not wait to let his good friend know, had jumped on an elevated
-train, and after being carried two stations too far in his elation, was there
-with his prize.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-No, this is not the beginning of a magazine story, nor is it a passage
-from the biography of a deceased European celebrity. It is the simple
-truth about a young American dramatist who is known only to a few;—and
-he is of New England stock!
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Later the young Hamlet, having completed his acting apprenticeship,
-began to write, and went into the real estate business to support himself.
-Nobody wanted his plays; they were too “highbrow.” So he began to build
-a theatre of his own. The managers’ trust put every difficulty in his way,
-and finally, when the building was nearly done and the company was
-engaged, succeeded in crushing him. The next attempt was a repertory
-company on the East side, but this wiped out what little was left of his
-<a id="page-48" class="pagenum" title="48"></a>
-resources before it got fairly started. One play was produced on Broadway;—it
-ran two weeks. Last year another was rehearsed for nine weeks,
-but it was withdrawn on the day of the dress rehearsal, because the author
-refused to make a change insisted on by the manager. Now the writer has
-retired to his farm in the Connecticut hills, where he and a companion
-have with their own hands built a little theatre. In this, on Sunday afternoons
-during the summer, he reads from his fifteen manuscript plays to
-such few people as can get there to hear him. And as he reads, there is
-on his face much the same enthusiasm as on the night years ago when he
-got his passage from <em>Hamlet</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-I visited Butler Davenport for the third time last Sunday. The main
-house is a rambling mid-Victorian affair, with queer crannies and cupola
-rooms from which one can look far across the hills to the Sound. On its
-left is an old farmhouse of the eighteenth century, furnished as Mr. Butler’s
-grandfather left it, and with a musty smell which no old-furniture shop
-could counterfeit. Between the two is an old-fashioned garden, in midsummer
-filled with larkspur, cosmos, and a hundred other flowers which
-few but our grandmothers could name. At the intersection of walks at its
-center is a crab-apple tree, surrounded by a bench. A formal garden with
-high, thick cedar hedges, bird-houses, unsuspected grass walks and an avenue
-of woodbine arches lies on the other side of the main house. In the
-rear, stretching out towards the wide valley, is a long, hedged walk ending
-in an arch, between fields of wild flowers. Down it one could go to any
-kind of distant mystery.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The theatre is a simple, strong little building behind the old farmhouse.
-Its most expert bit of carpentry is the balcony, but that is, of course, unpretentious.
-The seats are ordinary kitchen chairs, and there is nothing on the
-stage but a reading desk. But the luxury of sitting between wide-open
-doors in the hill-breeze, full of grass odors and wing sounds, is better than
-the comfort of plush seats and much gilded fresco.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This time, however, as there were only four of us, we sat out under
-an apple tree. Except for a moment when a tragic passage was interrupted
-to shoo away a loud-voiced and ill-mannered hen, it was the most nearly
-perfect theatre I have known.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And the play? It is impossible to do more than hint at the nature of
-unpublished plays. This one dealt with the “white slave” question, but in
-a way infinitely superior to the melodrama of <em>The Lure</em> or <em>The Fight</em>. There
-was another, of subtler treatment, called <em>Deferred Payment</em>, showing the
-natural retribution seeking out a man who looked for everything in a woman
-except companionship. <em>Keeping Up Appearances</em>—the one actually produced—pictures
-a middle-class family engaged in a tragic struggle with the
-pocket book on account of the false ideals of the community. <em>Justice</em>,
-written before Galsworthy’s play of the same name, draws a parallel between
-<a id="page-49" class="pagenum" title="49"></a>
-society’s persecution of a woman who is consecrated to a fine love without
-marriage, and society’s punishment of the unfortunate victims of prostitution.
-Mr. Davenport’s best work is in <em>The Importance of Coming and
-Going</em>, a satirical tragi-comedy which contrasts the exaggerated emphasis
-we lay on death with the casual way we regard birth. When a person who
-never should have come into the world leaves it, perhaps gladly, we weep
-copiously and buy showy funerals; but mothers let their daughters marry
-any kind of man of wealth or position, without giving them any insight into
-the mysteries of birth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mr. Davenport’s plays do not rank with Ibsen’s or even with Galsworthy’s.
-But thousands of worse plays have been produced and have succeeded—simply
-because they contained no ideas. Mr. Davenport is master
-of a technique which would make it easy for him to write a popular success
-if he did not insist on saying something. One manager has told him that
-he is ten years ahead of his time, but that if he were only European his work
-could be produced. A publisher wrote him that his plays could be issued
-in book form if he were only well-known. Mr. Davenport’s question, “My
-dear Mr. ——, how am I to become well known?” has not elicited a reply.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This man’s spirit will remain just as eager and strong as when he
-began; he may get before the public eventually. Even this year hopeful
-new plans are under way. But whether he ever succeeds or not, he will have
-found in life a thousand times more than the obtuse millions who are deaf
-to him. It would be an insult to offer him sympathy.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-And it would be stupid to place final blame on the managers or the
-publishers, or to think that such things as drama leagues can furnish a
-fundamental remedy for the apathy of the public. The whole structure
-of society must be altered, and the quality of the individual human spirit
-must be quickened, before our leaders can find any adequate reaction in
-the crowds. We have denied ourselves the artistic stimulus of a cohesive
-aristocracy. How shall we vitalize our democracy?
-</p>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-If they (men) were books, I would not read them.—<em>Goethe.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-Some people term a book poor and unreal because it happens to be outside the
-reality with which they themselves happen to be acquainted—a reality which is to
-actual reality what a duck-pond is to the ocean.—<em>George Brandes.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="THE_THEATRE">
-<a id="page-50" class="pagenum" title="50"></a>
-The Theatre
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="FORBESROBERTSONS_HAMLET">
-Forbes-Robertson’s Hamlet
-</h3>
-
-<p class="note">
-(<em>Blackstone Theatre</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">O</span><span class="postfirstchar">ne</span> of the noblest things I have ever seen on the stage—or ever expect
-to see—is the Hamlet of Forbes-Robertson. The poet, the scholar, the
-philosopher, the great gentleman, the lover, the brilliant talker, the anguished
-boy—they are all there in the tall man in black with the graven face
-and the wonderful hands and the voice of surpassing richnesses—the tall,
-graceful, impetuous, humorous, agonized man in black who reads Shakespeare
-as if he were improvising and makes a true and charming human
-being out of a character that has had the misfortune to become a problem.
-“And please observe,” writes Bernard Shaw, “that this is not a cold Hamlet.
-He is none of your logicians who reason their way through the world because
-they cannot feel their way through it; his intellect is the organ of his
-passion; his eternal self-criticism is as alive and thrilling as it can possibly
-be.” His moment of expiation, alone at the back of the stage, with his
-arms raised to the vaulted heavens; and his gallant last moment on the
-throne with its single silver sentence, “The rest is silence”—these things
-are too moving to be articulate about. Richard Le Gallienne has expressed
-it all as well as it can be done: “All my life I seem to have been asking my
-friends, those I loved best, those who valued the dearest, the kindest, the
-greatest, and the strongest, in our strange human life, to come with me and
-see Forbes-Robertson die in <em>Hamlet</em>. I asked them because, as that strange
-young dead king sat upon his throne, there was something, whatever it
-meant—death, life, immortality, what you will—of a surpassing loneliness,
-something transfiguring the poor passing moment of trivial, brutal murder
-into a beauty to which it was quite natural that that stern Northern warrior,
-with his winged helmet, should bend the knee. I would not exchange anything
-I have ever read or seen for Forbes-Robertson as he sits there so still
-and starlit upon the throne of Denmark.”
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-M. C. A.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="THE_YELLOW_TICKET">
-“The Yellow Ticket”
-</h3>
-
-<p class="note">
-(<em>Powers’ Theatre</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-A bleeding chunk of reality is not art, but it is a bleeding chunk of reality;
-your aesthetic emotions may sleep at the sight of a tortured animal, but
-your humane emotions will roll up to your throat when you witness the
-simple tragedy of a Jewish girl in St. Petersburg, presented in Michael Morton’s
-play, <em>The Yellow Ticket</em>. To me such a realistic play in such a realistic
-<a id="page-51" class="pagenum" title="51"></a>
-presentation has as little to do with dramatic art as a reporter’s story has to
-do with literature; but I brushed aside my memories of Rheinhardt and
-Komissarzhevskaya when I went to see a piece of Russian life at Powers’.
-And I saw it indeed—real, nude, appalling.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Some of my acquaintances have asked me whether the tragedy could
-be true, whether a Jewish girl has no right to live in St. Petersburg, unless
-she has bought her protection from the police by selling her reputation—that
-is by procuring a yellow ticket, the trade-licence of a prostitute. Yes, it
-is true. A Jew is forbidden to abide outside the Pale of Settlement, with
-the exception of certain merchants and persons of a university education,
-and prostitutes. The latter form the most desirable element in the eyes of
-government officials, since their occupation does not generally presuppose
-any predilections for revolutionary ideas or free thought. I have known
-instances where women involved in the Revolution, gentiles as well as Jewesses,
-obtained yellow tickets which served them the rôle of a <em>carte blanche</em>
-from the molestations of the police. There are many anecdotic facts in
-Russian life that seem incredible to the outsider, and Mr. Morton has produced
-in his play a mass of such facts with photographic verisimilitude.
-It must be said to the credit of the actors that they have escaped the slippery
-path of melodramatic overdoing.
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-K.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="JAEL">
-“Jael”
-</h3>
-
-<p class="note">
-(<em>The Little Theatre</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-“Hosanna!” I felt like shouting, when the curtains slowly concealed
-the mysterious stage. I am still under the spell of the oriental atmosphere,
-not yet cooled off for objective criticism. What Florence Kiper Frank has
-done with the biblical subject may terrify the orthodox student of the Bible,
-but I greeted her daring heresy and free manipulation of epochs and styles.
-She has skilfully blended the bloodthirsty, gloating outcries of Deborah’s
-Song with the idyllic lyrics of Solomon’s Songs, and has presented in <em>Jael</em> a
-composite type, a mixture of the savage tent-woman, of the passionate yet
-gentle Shulamite, and of the eternal jealous female. The result, as far
-as the creation of an atmosphere goes, is a positive success.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A word about the staging. Maurice Browne, on the privilege of a pioneer,
-may be congratulated on the progress he has made in leaving behind
-mouldy conventions and approaching the state where he can produce pure
-aesthetic emotions. The three one-act plays on the present bill, regardless
-of their merits or demerits, demonstrate the great possibilities of an artistic
-stage manager, who can do away with elaborate accessories and produce
-suggestive illusions with the aid of an ultramarine background and calico
-apple blossoms. Yet, as in all pioneering, there are signs of hesitation and of
-half-measures. I am sure that the effect of <em>Jael</em> would not in the least
-<a id="page-52" class="pagenum" title="52"></a>
-diminish (it would rather be intensified), if we were spared the inevitable
-storm-pyrotechnics. The verses in themselves imply the idea of battle and
-tempest, and Miss Kiper in the title rôle has the voice and diction to serve
-the purpose.
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-K.
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="HAROLD_BAUER_IN_CHICAGO">
-Harold Bauer in Chicago
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Herman Schuchert</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">here</span> yet remain certain pianists and other opinionated craftsmen
-in music who will say, when approached on the subject of Harold
-Bauer’s piano playing: “Oh, yes; but you know Bauer is—well, shall
-we say?—a monotonist. His playing is all of one style—beautiful tone,
-to be sure; but, oh, such a sameness! He shades beautifully—yes, surely,
-but it’s all too colorless.” And it probably never occurs to these critics
-that a pianist who uses an entirely beautiful tone, who shades delicately,
-and who is definitely individual in his playing, might not seem monotonous
-to the admirers of true piano-artistry. And it is quite certain that
-these carpers failed to attend Bauer’s last Sunday afternoon recital in
-Orchestra Hall, when and where the above composite quotation was
-put to shame.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The program was headed by that most unequal set of little pieces—interesting,
-dull, graceful, and often clumsy:—Brahm’s Waltzes. The
-Brahms faddists may sacrifice all the credit to their idol, but he deserves
-only a part of it; for Bauer made these waltzes float as lightly
-and pleasantly as the material permitted, and invested them with all possible
-contrast and pulse. There was no lack of what pianists call “point,”
-either in this opening number or in the remainder of the program; and
-it is this quality of “point,” which is the season more in evidence in
-Bauer’s work than ever before, which makes the carpers appear rather
-uninformed. “Point” is nothing mysterious; it means definite and crisp
-rhythm, brightness of tone designed to contrast with richness and
-warmth of tone, sharp shadings artistically brought out, and a deeply
-satisfying precision in tempi. This man’s work deserves this inclusive
-term. Whatever lack there might have been in seasons past (there has
-been a fragile foundation for the criticism mentioned at the beginning
-of this appreciation, when, as late as three years ago, his tonal ideals apparently
-did not include great brilliance), this Sunday recital went far to
-establish the fact that Bauer has a happy variety of tone-colors at his
-command, which variety includes no little brilliance. Sheer facility and
-<a id="page-53" class="pagenum" title="53"></a>
-digital expertness have never seemed to occupy the attention of this
-master-pianist, except insofar as such facility and expertness would give
-expression to purely musical content; and now if the carpers continue
-to shrug their shoulders at the praise of Bauer, it will be because they
-miss the usual bombast and key-swatting of esteemed mediocrity, and
-certainly not because of any inadequacy of technic for musical purposes,
-or lack of pianistic lustre. No mediocrity of a technic-worshipper or
-piano-eater ever gave a performance of Beethoven’s Opus 3 that could
-compare with that of Bauer on Sunday afternoon; for he then projected
-a deeply significant art, particularly in the first movement of the sonata,
-which must be inexplicable in words. Schumann’s <em>Scenes from Childhood</em>
-were given a highly imaginative treatment—a treatment which penetrated
-even the academics. And Schumann’s Toccata—that battered
-veteran of many an ivory struggle—ceased for once to be an endurance
-stunt, and hummed forth (as the composer hoped and indicated) as a
-strangely beautiful bit of music. Bauer’s playing of this will remain
-long in the awakened music-receptacles. So will his interpretation of
-his own arrangement of César Franck’s Prelude, Choral, and Fugue—which
-are three movements vieing with each other for supreme religious
-solidity—and his nonchalant handling of the tricky D-flat Study of Liszt.
-The Chopin Scherzo in C-sharp minor closed a program which would
-surely have been sombre and sleepy under the fingers of any less than
-a pianistic musician. In certain splendid moments Bauer seems like a
-high priest performing a tonal miracle, or like a potent magician weaving
-curious and impossible dream-fabrics. And, with all pleasant fancies
-put aside, he is an exponent of modern pianism at its best.
-</p>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-In music a light blue is like a flute, a darker blue a ’cello, a still darker a thunderous
-double bass; and the darkest blue of all—an organ.—<em>Kandinsky.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-Color is a power which directly influences the soul. Color is the key-board, the
-eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the
-hand which plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations of the soul.—<em>Kandinsky.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="A_FERRER_SCHOOL_IN_CHICAGO">
-<a id="page-54" class="pagenum" title="54"></a>
-A Ferrer School in Chicago
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">Dr. Rudolf von Liebich</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">he</span> Havasupai Indian mother says: “I must not beat my boy. If I
-do, I will break his will.” Unlike her pale-faced friends, she is not obsessed
-with the mania for governing. We, in our insane subservience to traditions,
-continue to train our children to obey. Slaves they shall be; that is the
-slogan. We no longer whip men; we whip children only because they are
-weaker than we are. So, a child is the slave in successive stages of home,
-church, school, government, and either boss or “superior officer.” Could
-Europe be at war unless its men were made molluscous by discipline and
-their mental paralysis completed through <em>respectability</em>?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Children are born materialists, poets, and joy-worshippers. We tame
-them and they grow up philistines, supernaturalists, and respectable believers
-in the disinterested love of dullness. Instead of teaching them
-theories and superstitions, we should tell them that they are parts of the
-universe; that the carbon, iron, sulphur, phosphorus, oxygen, hydrogen,
-nitrogen, the zero-gases, and the dozen other elements of which our bodies
-are made are also the main elements of sun, moon, and stars,—of the whole
-material universe. The next step might be to show the child, through
-actual experiments, the known physical and chemical properties of these
-elements, thus preparing its mind for the greatest of all poetries—the poetry
-of evolution. These things need but be shown, not laboriously learned by
-rote; they need only to be told, not to be taught; and if the child’s healthy
-inquisitiveness has not been ruined by repression, it will delight in feeling
-the pull of the magnet; in watching the electric spark that unites oxygen and
-hydrogen into water; in drawing the marvelous beauties of snow flakes and
-other crystal formations; in watching and aiding the growth of birds,
-beasts, flowers, or fruits; in the thrill of blended voices or in other forms
-of voluntary co-operation. All these things, all the realities need but be
-shown to delight the untainted mind of childhood; while daily free association
-with other children will soon give to each child a practical working
-knowledge of ethics (quite impossible to attain under the boss-system of
-the government schoolmistress) from which, as a basis, the errors of our
-economic and social systems can be pointed out and discussed. In the minds
-and hearts of these free children, ideals can then be formulated which will
-tend toward their development into the free society of the future, whose coming
-their own efforts will hasten. For it is only through the successive enslavement
-of each succeeding generation that governments can retain their
-powers.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Such should be some of the activities of a Ferrer or Modern School,
-<a id="page-55" class="pagenum" title="55"></a>
-free from the noxious taint of authority, superstition, or respectability. If
-we cannot do better let us begin, at least, with a Sunday school. However
-that may be, and whatever the future of such a school, all those interested in
-establishing it are cordially invited to communicate with the editor of <span class="smallcaps">The
-
-Little Review</span>, with William Thurston Brown, 1125 N. Hoyne Ave., with
-Anthony Udell, 817½ N. Clark St., or with the writer, 1240 Morse Ave.
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="OLDSPIRIT">
-The Old Spirit and the New Ways in Art
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="aut">
-<span class="smallcaps">William Saphier</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">F</span><span class="postfirstchar">ull</span> of visions and ideals and eager to express them in their own way,
-a group of striving young painters and sculptors in this city is working industriously
-without regard for applause from either the crowd or the few.
-Just as there are religious and social rebels—people who refuse to accept the
-old dogmas and habits merely because they were successful at a certain time
-and fit for a certain period in human history—these young artists refuse to
-adopt methods and views of the past for the purpose of expressing their
-views on modern subjects.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In striving to realize the new idea in form and color they are of necessity
-passing through that period in which the intellect discerns and style is
-chosen—the period of experiment. And if they do not achieve as great a
-success as the old masters, they certainly work in the spirit of a Monet or a
-Rembrandt. We print this month reproductions of work done by four of
-these artists. They have nothing in common except that they are all trying
-to express themselves in their own way.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Jerome S. Blum, the oldest and best known of the group, is an extraordinary
-painter of the usual. He does not rely on a dramatic subject, or on
-a sensational technic, to arouse interest in his work. It is his unusual way
-of looking at people and nature, and his vigorous and interesting color
-schemes, that have made his paintings notable. Mr. Blum is far too imaginative
-to be natural, far too poetic to be “real.” All his work strikes one as
-a spontaneous expression of almost childish delight in color.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>The Orator</em> is the work of Stanislaw Szukalski, a boy of nineteen, who
-comes from Russian Poland. He studied at the Krakau Academy, where
-he received two gold medals and five other prizes. On entering his studio
-your amazement grows as you wander from one thought or emotion to
-another in plaster. Each one grips and holds you vigorously. <em>Impressions
-of Praying</em>, <em>Sleeping</em>, <em>Hurling</em>, and <em>Bondage</em>, a few very interesting portraits
-<a id="page-56" class="pagenum" title="56"></a>
-of Max Krammer and Professor Chiio, and also a full figure of Victor
-Hugo tell of the spiritual insight of this young sculptor—the unexpected
-in every one. His works are full of life and imagination. The fact
-that some of our able nonentities have characterized them as caricatures
-proves how narrow-minded some of our sculptors are today.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-C. Raymond Johnson is only twenty-three years old, and in all the work
-he has done so far purity, brilliance of color and spaciousness predominate.
-It is the suggestion in his present work of great possibilities in the
-near future that makes them interesting. The one in this issue shows the
-highly decorative effects of his ideas. Besides painting Mr. Johnson finds
-time to experiment with colored lighting and the making of most original
-posters for the Chicago Little Theatre.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Christian Abrahamsen, the young and independent portrait painter, has
-done some very remarkable work. His portraits are the result of penetrating
-study of his subject and adaptation on the part of the painter to the
-moods of the sitter. He varies his style with his subject. His portrait of
-Michael Murphy sparkles with life and vigor and holds your attention as
-few of the portraits of older painters can. Beside portraits Mr. Abrahamsen
-paints sunny landscapes in the open air and under clear skies. The large
-canvas filled with the freshness, strength, and beauty of a clearing in northern
-Wisconsin, reproduced in this issue of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>, represents
-some of the work done last summer.
-</p>
-
-<div class="centerpic fullpage chapter" id="after">
-<img src="images/032a.jpg" alt="" />
-<p class="cap">
-JEROME S. BLUM, <em>The Trickster</em>.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="centerpic fullpage chapter">
-<img src="images/032b.jpg" alt="" />
-<p class="cap">
-STANISLAW SZUKALSKI, <em>The Orator.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="centerpic fullpage chapter">
-<img src="images/048a.jpg" alt="" />
-<p class="cap">
-C. RAYMOND JOHNSON.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="centerpic fullpage chapter">
-<img src="images/048b.jpg" alt="" />
-<p class="cap">
-CHRISTIAN ABRAHAMSEN, <em>A Clearing in Northern <a id="corr-25"></a>Wisconsin.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-To name is to destroy. To suggest is to create.—<em>Stéphane Mallarmé.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="filler">
-<p class="noindent">
-Art is a form of exaggeration, and selection, which is the very spirit of art, is
-nothing more than an intensified ode of over-emphasis.—<em>Oscar Wilde.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="article" id="BOOK_DISCUSSION">
-<a id="page-57" class="pagenum" title="57"></a>
-Book Discussion
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="VACHEL_LINDSAYS_BOOKS">
-Vachel Lindsay’s Books
-</h3>
-
-<p class="book">
-<em>The Congo and Other Poems</em>, by Vachel Lindsay. [The Macmillan Company,
-New York.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="first">
-<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">t</span> is not too much to say that many of us are watching Vachel Lindsay
-with the undisguised hope in our hearts that he may yet prove to be the
-“Great American Poet.” He has come so fast and far on the road to art
-and sanity since the early days when he drew minute, and seemingly pathological,
-maps of the territories of heaven, and grinning grotesques of the
-Demon Rum! He has carved his own way with so huge and careless a hand!
-And his work, in spite of its strangeness, is so deeply rooted in the crude but
-stirring consciousness that is America to-day! Surely there is ground for
-hope.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Like every artist who creates a new form, Mr. Lindsay has had to
-educate his public. And the task is not by any means accomplished yet. We
-have had to overcome an instinctive feeling that poetry should be dignified,
-and to look the fact in the face that it must first of all be telling, and that
-in cases where these two elements conflict, dignity is a secondary consideration.
-We have been rudely jostled out of our academic position that poetry
-must be condensed, poignant, and literary, and we have been shown that by
-going back to the primitive conception—which included as the principal element
-the half-chant of the bard—true poetry may be diffuse, full of endless
-iterations and strangely impassioned over crude and even external objects.
-So much we have learned, and after the first shock of surprise, learned gladly.
-It has opened to us whole new reaches of enjoyment. We hope sincerely
-that we are not yet done with Mr. Lindsay’s educative process.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>The Congo</em> is the title poem of his new volume. To describe the poem
-adequately would require almost as much space as the nine pages it occupies.
-So it must suffice to say that it is perilously near great poetry, broad in
-sweep, imaginative, full of fire and color, psychological—and very strange.
-Much in the same vein are <em>The Firemen’s Ball</em> and <em>The Santa Fe Trail</em>,
-which appeared originally in <em>Poetry</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Several of the poems in this volume, among them <em>Darling Daughter of
-Babylon</em> and <em>I Went Down Into the Desert</em>, are already familiar to readers
-of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>, as they were first published in the June number.
-The volume contains also a delightful section of poems for children, and a
-group dealing with the present European war.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Both <em>The Congo</em> and Mr. Lindsay’s earlier volume, <em>General Booth
-Enters Heaven</em>, are extraordinarily interesting books. Every mind which is
-truly alive to-day should know at least one of them.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="ADVENTURES_WHILE_PREACHING_THE_GOSPEL_OF_BEAUTY_BY_NICHOLAS_VACHEL_LINDSAY">
-<a id="page-58" class="pagenum" title="58"></a>
-<em>Adventures While Preaching the Gospel of Beauty</em>, by Nicholas Vachel Lindsay.
-</h3>
-
-<p class="book">
-[Mitchell Kennerley, New York.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Almost simultaneously with <em>The Congo</em> has appeared a prose volume
-by Mr. Lindsay, <em>Adventures while Preaching the Gospel of Beauty</em>. It is an
-account, in the form of a diary, of a walk through Missouri and Kansas,
-and into Colorado. Its value is almost purely personal. To anyone who is
-interested in Mr. Lindsay’s striking personality, this book will serve as a
-spiritual Baedeker. As literature its value is comparatively slight. It contains,
-however, one of his most striking poems, <em>The Kallyope Yell</em>, which
-appeared originally in <em>The Forum</em>. This alone is worth the price of the
-volume.
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-<span class="smallcaps">Eunice Tietjens.</span>
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="PUMPERNICKEL_PHILOSOPHY">
-Pumpernickel Philosophy
-</h3>
-
-<p class="book">
-<em>The Man of Genius</em>, by Herman Tuerck. [The Macmillan Company, New
-York.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Professor Tuerck, a very normal German, has been writing critical
-essays since the end of the eighties, and he has not changed a bit—the same
-good old idealist of the sissy category. In this book he makes a study of
-Genius, and comes to the magnificent conclusion that the chief characteristics
-of a genius must be goodliness, loving kindness, respect, and loyalty to existing
-institutions, obedience to the law, objectivity, and truth. Naturally, those
-who do not possess these delicacies are villains. The professor demonstrates
-two groups of thinkers, one in angelic white, the other in devilish black.
-Among the first, the real geniuses, we find beside Christ, Buddha, Shakespeare,
-Goethe, Byron, also Alexander, Cæsar, and Napoleon. But oh, Mr.
-Wilson, what German atrocities! Mr. Tuerck mercilessly disfigures his
-victims and pastes upon them with his saliva accurate, uniform labels. In
-<em>Hamlet</em>, in <em>Faust</em>, in <em>Manfred</em>, in the mentioned law-givers and warriors,
-the author manages to discover goody-goody traits of exemplary burghers.
-In the Black Gallery we face the lugubrious sinners—Stirner, Nietzsche,
-and Ibsen. “Woe to him who follows these modern antisophers!” cries
-Mr. Tuerck, for they are enemies of humanity, of the state, of society, of
-reality, of truth, for they are selfish and subjective. “The Devil, the Father
-of Lies, is great and Friedrich Nietzsche is his prophet.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A word of reassurance for Mr. Thomas Hardy. This Sauerkraut-gem,
-<em>The Man of Genius</em>, has had <em>seven</em> editions in Germany, and has aroused
-wide enthusiasm there, as witnessed by the numerous press-notices exaltingly
-praising the great idealist Tuerck, written by professors, Geheimraths,
-Hofraths, catholics, protestants, and even by socialists! Now, pray, ought
-there be any fear for the Nietzscheanization of the Fatherland?
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-K.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="KILMERS_CONFESSION">
-<a id="page-59" class="pagenum" title="59"></a>
-Kilmer’s Confession
-</h3>
-
-<p class="book">
-<em>Trees, and Other Poems</em>, by Joyce Kilmer. [George H. Doran Company,
-New York.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Mr. Kilmer furnishes the following prose account of his convictions:
-“I am catholic in my tastes and Catholic in religion, am socially a democrat
-and politically a Democrat. I am a special writer on the staff of the <em>New
-York Times Sunday Magazine</em>, the <em>Times Review of Books</em> and the <em>Literary
-Digest</em>. I am bored by Feminism, Futurism, Free Love.” This is perhaps
-a more succinct expression of his facility of faith than can be found in his
-verse. Readers should thank him for it, because it renders unnecessary any
-further attempt to discover what he believes.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-At the opening of the volume, Mr. Kilmer quotes the following stanza
-from Coventry Patmore:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Mine is no horse with wings, to gain</p>
- <p class="verse2">The region of the Spheral chime</p>
- <p class="verse">He does but drag a rumbling wain,</p>
- <p class="verse2">Cheered by the coupled bells of rhyme.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-This, too, is useful, because it frankly warns us against looking in his
-verse for anything which is not there.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Within his self-imposed limitations, Mr. Kilmer has done good work.
-The amusing couplets about <em>Servant Girl and Grocer’s Boy</em> have pleased
-countless newspaper readers, <em>The Twelve-Forty-Five</em> is a graphic description
-of the feeling produced by a late suburban train, <em>To a Young Poet Who
-Killed Himself</em> is an obvious rebuke to the small-hearted versifier, and <em>Old
-Poets</em> is a comfortable exposition of the philosophy of comfort. The religious
-poems will probably not be moving to anyone who does not share Mr. Kilmer’s
-creed.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mr. Kilmer’s work is glossy with a simplicity more easy-going than
-profound. Though he is young himself, he obviously does not sympathize
-with young poets, of whom he writes:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">There is no peace to be taken</p>
- <p class="verse2">With poets who are young,</p>
- <p class="verse">For they worry about the wars to be fought</p>
- <p class="verse2">And the songs that must be sung.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-His ideal is that of the “old poet”:—
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">But the old man knows that he’s in his chair</p>
- <p class="verse2">And that God’s on His throne in the sky.</p>
- <p class="verse">So he sits by his fire in comfort</p>
- <p class="verse2">And he lets the world spin by.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="sign">
-G. S.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="HILARIOUS_ICONOCLASM">
-<a id="page-60" class="pagenum" title="60"></a>
-Hilarious Iconoclasm
-</h3>
-
-<p class="book">
-<em>Art</em>, by Clive Bell. [Frederick A. Stokes Company, New York.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-It is an exquisite pleasure to disagree with Clive Bell! Like a fierce Hun
-he whirls through the art galleries of Europe, and smashes all venerated
-masterpieces into a heap of rubbish, sparing but the Byzantine Primitives
-and some of the Post-Impressionists. Between these two epochs he sees a
-hideous gap; not more than one in a hundred of the works produced
-between 1450 and 1850 is he willing to accept as a work of art. It naturally
-hurts to witness the slaughter of your old friends, such as Michelangelo,
-Velasquez, Whistler; but our Attila performs his massacre so beautifully,
-with such a charming sense of humor, that you cannot help admiring the
-paradoxical feats. What but a good-<a id="corr-28"></a>humored smile will provoke in you
-such a prank, e. g.: “Nietzsche’s preposterous nonsense knocked the bottom
-out of nonsense more preposterous and far more vile”? The best part of it
-is the fact that the author does not attempt to convince you in anything, for
-neither is he convinced in the infallibility of his hypotheses. The book is a
-relucent gem among the recent dull and heavy works of art.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="COMMENTS_OF_AN_IDLER_ON_THREE_NEW_BOOKS">
-Comments of an Idler on Three New Books
-</h3>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-<em>Eris: A Dramatic Allegory</em>, by Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff (Moffatt,
-Yard), is, we are told on the cover, “full of vigorous enthusiasm, and
-embodies the philosophy of Henri Bergson,” to whom on a flyleaf the book
-is duly dedicated. It is in careful rhythmic blank verse; a dialogue, principally,
-between “Man” and “Thought,” with “Past” and “Future” now
-and then interrupting. The allegory is prefaced by a portrait of the author
-by Helleu; we trust an unfair one. A strangely bovine expression greets us
-from under a <a id="corr-29"></a>plumed black hat and from over shoulders and arms drawn
-like a Goops. <a id="corr-30"></a>Helleu made lovely things once; why this?
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In <em>Eris</em> we find Man hurling defiance at Thought, who taunts him,
-“You cannot vanquish me while Life endures.” Discussion between them
-on this point covers some forty pages of melodious argument. Six of these
-(and they are consecutive) form a fairly comprehensive guide-book to a
-trip around the world, as Man, distracted, stops off at many well-known
-points seeking to escape pursuing Thought.
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">In Venice I spread sail with Capulet</p>
- <p class="verse">And plied an oar across the green lagoons</p>
- <p class="verse">The soft air vibrant with the minstrels’ song:</p>
- <p class="verse">I dreamed in Pisa’s woodland and the gulf</p>
-<a id="page-61" class="pagenum" title="61"></a>
- <p class="verse">Of Lerici, where once again I heard</p>
- <p class="verse">The lyrich echo of pure Shelley’s voice.</p>
- <p class="verse">On Pæstum’s glory and on Dougga’s mount</p>
- <p class="verse">I studied metope and fluted frieze—</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-And so on. “Man” finally reaches Mount Parnassus—
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The mighty throne of Zeus</p>
- <p class="verse">Hides like a cloud-veiled mist within the heavens;</p>
- <p class="verse">I am so near divinity it seems</p>
- <p class="verse">That I could tread the pathway of the stars;</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-but “Thought” comes hurrying along, two pages later. Man cries to him
-desperately:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Envelope me within the cosmic heart</p>
- <p class="verse">Freed of my separate hideous entity,</p>
- <p class="verse">Blown with the wingéd dust from whence I came!</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-They struggle together, and Man plunges over the cliff. Thought, “assuming
-a sudden intenser magnitude, rises out of the dust of Man” (the stage
-directions seem a little confused here) and <a id="corr-31"></a>shouts:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">At last to conquer after æons of strife—</p>
- <p class="verse">The reeling stars man’s silent sepulchre.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-There are graceful lines and pictures, occasionally a good simile.
-Technically the lines are too smooth, too neatly finished, each in its little
-five-iambic jacket. The lyrics lack singing quality. There is a tedious
-list, two pages, of famous ladies—Helen, Sappho, Salammbo, from Eve to
-the Virgin Mary—as Man cries to Past, “What woman are you in disguise?”
-Swinburne did this gorgeously somewhere, making each speak; but these
-do not—they do not even live.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Totally different is my second volume of verse—<em>The Sea is Kind</em>, by
-T. Sturge Moore (Houghton Mifflin). A letter from the publishers suggests
-that “like Noyes and Masefield, T. Sturge Moore may have a message
-to American lovers of poetry.” I am an American lover of poetry and an
-eager one; therefore, I was hopeful; but I am oppressed by the obligation
-of doing justice to the initial poem in the book, viz.: <em>The Sea is Kind</em>, because
-I cannot tell at all what it is about. Several people, by name Evarne
-and Plexaura, females, and Menaleas and Eucritos, males, seem to be talking
-high talk by the edge of the sea—about ships and storms and nymphs
-and kindred things. Evarne speaks at great length in rough pentameters,
-quoting others more obscure, if possible, than herself.
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">The handsome scowler smiled.</p>
- <p class="verse">Then with a royal gesture of content</p>
- <p class="verse">Addressed our wonder.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza tb">
- <p class="tb">. . . . . . . .</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
-<a id="page-62" class="pagenum" title="62"></a>
- <p class="verse">“But devastation from mine inroads stretches</p>
- <p class="verse">“Across Euphrates further than they dare.</p>
- <p class="verse">“The industrious Ninevite, the huckster grey</p>
- <p class="verse">“With watching scored tale lengthen down his wall</p>
- <p class="verse">“Beneath his hatred Median debtor’s name,</p>
- <p class="verse">“Dread me, and hang near casement, over door,</p>
- <p class="verse">“To guard each southward-facing aperture,</p>
- <p class="verse">“Rude effigies smaller than this of me.—</p>
- <p class="verse">“Charm bootless ’gainst my veering pillared dust</p>
- <p class="verse">“Which chokes each sluice in vainly watered gardens,</p>
- <p class="verse">“Dessicates the velvet prudency of roses,</p>
- <p class="verse">“And leaves green gummy tendrils like to naught</p>
- <p class="verse">“But ravelled dry and dusty ends of cord”;</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-and so on for a long, long while. It may be wonderful; I dare say it is.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The last two-thirds of the volume is taken up with short poems arranged
-in groups addressed to various persons—Tagore, Yeats, and Moore, among
-them. There is more clarity here. One discerns an autobiographic wistfulness
-in these stanzas entitled: <em>A Poet in the Spring Regrets Having Wed So
-Late in Life</em>.
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Some things, that we shall never know,</p>
- <p class="verse1">Are eloquent today,</p>
- <p class="verse">Belittling our experience, though</p>
- <p class="verse1">We loved and were gay:</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">For those, whose younger hands are free</p>
- <p class="verse1">With a body not their own,</p>
- <p class="verse">Taste delicacies of intimacy</p>
- <p class="verse1">Which we have not known.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Primrose, narcissus, daffodil,</p>
- <p class="verse1">In sudden April plenty,</p>
- <p class="verse">Flourish as tender fancies thrill</p>
- <p class="verse1">Spouses at twenty!</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-There seems something strangely improper about this, considering the strict
-propriety of the theme.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One group of two is addressed to Charles Ricketts. <em>The Serpent</em>
-begins
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Hail Pytho; thou lithe length of gleaming plates!</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-and <em>The Panther</em> thus:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Consider now the Panther, such a beast.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-One question addressed to the Panther is:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">Dost, cloyed by rich meats spicy as the south,</p>
- <p class="verse">Expose thy fevered palate to the cool,</p>
- <p class="verse">Which, like snow melting in an emperor’s mouth,</p>
- <p class="verse">Helps make excess thy life’s ironic rule?</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-<a id="page-63" class="pagenum" title="63"></a>
-Consider now Sturge Moore, our bewilderment in trying to ascertain what
-you wish us to think about such things as these, and consider too a transposition
-of the first line of a well-known poem about a Tiger, to read,
-“Consider now the Tiger.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The group to Yeats has one called <em>The Phantom of a Rose</em>. An explanatory
-footnote tells us that a girl returning from a ball drops a rose from
-her bosom and dreams that a youth, the perfect emanation of the flower,
-rises and invites her to dance.
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
- <div class="poem-container">
- <div class="poem">
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">She ached to rise, she yearned to speak,</p>
- <p class="verse">She strove to smile, but proved too weak;</p>
- <p class="verse">As one in quicksand neck-deep,</p>
- <p class="verse">Wild with the will, has no power to leap;</p>
- <p class="verse">Her limbs like a sunken ferry-boat</p>
- <p class="verse">Lay logged with sleep, and could not float.</p>
- <p class="verse">She had danced too often at the ball,</p>
- <p class="verse">She had fluttered, nodded, and smiled too much.</p>
- <p class="verse">Tears formed in her heart: they did not fall.</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza tb">
- <p class="tb">. . . . . . . .</p>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <p class="verse">He rose, and danced a visible song;</p>
- <p class="verse">With rhythmic gesture he contended</p>
- <p class="verse">Against her trance; and proved so strong</p>
- <p class="verse">That the grapes of his thought wore the bloom of his mood,</p>
- <p class="verse">While her soul tasted and understood.</p>
- </div>
- </div>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-“Her limbs like a sunken ferry-boat.” A happy simile! We recognize
-the sensation.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In <em>Judith</em>, one of the group to Moore, a vigorous note is sounded.
-This is good, and maybe the rest is too; I do not know. It rolls above my
-head.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>The Spirit of Life</em>, a series of nine essays by Mowry Saben (Mitchell
-Kennerley), is the kind of book that makes me savagely controversial and
-then cross for heeding it at all. Its platitudinous optimism meanders along
-through some two hundred and fifty pages under various chapter headings:
-Nature, Morals, Sex, Heroes, etc. The first sentence is: “There are many
-great Truths that can be expressed only by means of paradox”; and the last,
-“If life means nothing, if the universe means nothing, then reform is only
-an illusory word, which has come to confuse us upon the highway of
-Despair; but if in our highest ideals we may find the real meaning of our
-personal lines, because they are the quintessence of the spiritual universe,
-whose avatars we should be, there is nothing too glorious for the heart of
-man to conceive.” All in between is just like that.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All persons, and there are many, who are determined willy nilly to
-believe the world a nice place; who, confronted with the unlovely, the stark,
-gaping and horrid, cast down their eyes exclaiming “It is not there,” will
-take solid comfort in <em>The Spirit of Life</em>. It is like the millions of sermons
-droned out one day in seven all over the land to patient folk who no longer
-know why they come nor why they stay to hear.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-64" class="pagenum" title="64"></a>
-But this is a review, not a diatribe—so “consider now” the Spirit.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The first essay is called <em>Nature</em>. It quotes freely from Peter Bell, and
-also reprints something about tongues in trees and sermons in stones. Turning
-the leaves we catch the names of Burroughs, Whitman, and Thoreau.
-Toward the end is this:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="noindent">
-Everything exists for him who is great enough to envisage it. The life that now
-is reveals man as the crowning glory of Nature, the goal of evolution. In the end
-the earth does but shelter our bones, not our thoughts and aspirations.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Skipping the rest, we turn quickly to <em>Sex</em>, hoping something from the
-vitality of the theme, and come to this:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="noindent">
-To attack Sex as one of the joys of life would be foolish and deservedly
-futile.... I am certain that sex is a sweetener of the cup of life, but one
-must not therefore infer that there can never be too much sweetening, for there
-can be, even to the point of danger from spiritual diabetes.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Immortal phrase, “Spiritual diabetes.” Several pages of this essay are
-devoted to episodes in the life of insects, all pointing a painful lesson to
-man:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="noindent">
-... and there are spiders doomed to be eaten by the female as soon as they
-have demonstrated their masculinity. Thus are we taught how little permanence
-is possessed by an organization which yields only the instinct of passionate desire
-for sex.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Here is boldness,—
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="noindent">
-I cannot indorse the ascetic ideal that holds the love of man for woman to be
-but a snare for the spirit. The great poetry of Dante alone is sufficient to refute so
-baseless a claim.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Why quote further? There are indubitably certain good things in the
-book, but they are by Goethe, Carlyle, Emerson, Dante, Shakespeare, Whitman,
-et al.
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-A. M.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="AN_UNACADEMIC_LITERARY_SURVEY">
-An Unacademic Literary Survey
-</h3>
-
-<p class="book">
-<em>Modern English Literature</em>: From Chaucer to the Present Day, by G. H. Mair.
-[Henry Holt and Company, New York.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Good histories of English literature are rare, and Mr. Mair’s book
-should accordingly be given a warm welcome, for it combines brevity with
-comprehensiveness of treatment in a very unusual manner. Mr. Mair not
-only writes well and knows his subject, but he seems instinctively to know
-what his readers will want—and he supplies it.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-For instance, we do not remember that popular histories of English
-literature bother to tell such a detail as how the chronological order of
-Shakespeare’s plays is determined, but Mr. Mair’s telling of that will show
-<a id="page-65" class="pagenum" title="65"></a>
-the layman just what literary scholarship means, and in conjunction with
-his other remarks on our knowledge of Shakespeare it will rescue the uninformed
-from the chance of falling into such errors as the Baconian theory.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The book, however, is not one of higher and textual criticism and chronology.
-It is a work of appreciation, and the appreciation is that of a
-modern man. It is obvious that Chaucer might be treated in a manner
-quite alien to the interests of the man of today who is not a scholar, but
-the treatment of his work which ends in joining his hands to those of
-Charles Dickens as workers in a kindred quest is one that is well calculated
-to persuade even the philistine that Chaucer is a figure of passable interest
-to him.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It is the mark of the live man to recognize genius, and the manner
-in which Mr. Mair treats the genius of that great poet, John Donne, is
-in vivid contrast to the way in which it is usually treated in histories of
-English literature. For example:
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="noindent">
-Very different ... is the closely packed style of Donne, who, Milton apart,
-is the greatest English writer of the century, though his obscurity has kept him out
-of general reading. No poetry in English, not even Browning’s, is more difficult to
-understand. The obscurity of Donne and Browning proceed from such similar causes
-that they are worth examining together. In both, as in the obscure passages in
-Shakespeare’s later plays, obscurity arises not because the poet says too little, but
-because he attempts to say too much. He huddles a new thought on the one before
-it, before the first has had time to express itself; he sees things or analyzes emotions
-so swiftly and subtly himself that he forgets the slower comprehension of his readers;
-he is for analyzing things far deeper than the ordinary mind commonly can. His
-wide and curious knowledge finds terms and likenesses to express his meaning unknown
-to us; he sees things from a dozen points of view at once and tumbles a hint
-of each separate vision in a heap out on to the page; his restless intellect finds new
-and subtler shades of emotion and thought invisible to other pairs of eyes, and cannot,
-because speech is modeled on the average of our intelligences, find words to
-express them; he is always trembling on the brink of the inarticulate. All this applies
-to both Donne and Browning, and the comparison could be pushed farther still. Both
-draw the knowledge which is the main cause of their obscurity from the bypaths of
-mediævalism. Browning’s <em>Sordello</em> is obscure because he knows too much about
-mediæval Italian history: Donne’s <em>Anniversary</em> because he is too deeply read in
-mediæval scholasticism and speculation. Both make themselves more difficult to the
-reader who is familiar with the poetry of their contemporaries by the disconcerting
-freshness of their point of view. Seventeenth-century love poetry was idyllic and
-idealist; Donne’s is passionate and realistic to the point of cynicism. To read him
-after reading Browne and Johnson is to have the same shock as reading Browning
-after Tennyson. Both poets are salutary in the strong and biting antidote they bring
-to sentimentalism in thought and melodious facility in writing. They are corrective of
-lazy thinking and lazy composition.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Another feature in which this book differs from others of its kind is
-that the author is not afraid to bring the record down to the work of his
-contemporaries, and the struggles of Mr. Shaw with the bourgeois world,
-and the era opened by M. J. Synge and the Irish literary renascence, are
-here sympathetically dealt with.
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-L. J.
-</p>
-
-<h3 class="section" id="OVEREMPHASIZED_PURITY">
-<a id="page-66" class="pagenum" title="66"></a>
-Overemphasized Purity
-</h3>
-
-<p class="book">
-<em>Love’s Legend</em>, by Fielding Hall. [Henry Holt and Company, New York.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-With a somewhat overemphasized regard for purity, Fielding Hall
-approaches the narration of this honeymoon trip down a Burmese river.
-The novel—if such a dissertation on the early marriage state could be called
-a novel—is told in rather peculiar fashion, by the man and woman alternately,
-at first, and later on with the help of two more people.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The man is prone to burst forth into fairy tales to explain every point
-of argument to Lesbia. He tells her of a beautiful princess who was blindfolded
-and kept within an enclosed garden that she might never know the
-ways of man.
-</p>
-
-<div class="excerpt">
-<p class="noindent">
-“They told her that the bandage made her see more clearly than if her eyes were
-free. For they had painted images upon the inside of her bandage and told her they
-were real.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Silence.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“And she believed it. Then came a Prince. He wooed the Princess and he
-won her. So he took her with him out of her garden. They came into the world
-and passed into a forest. There they were quite alone.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“Take off your bandage,” said the Prince. “Look at the world and me.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“I am afraid,” she sighed; “the world is evil.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“It is God’s world,” the Prince replied. “He lives in it.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“They told me that God lived in Heaven, far off, not here,” she answered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“They told you wrong; open and you will see.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“I will not look,” she said, “I fear the devil.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“Your beauty is all cold,” he said, “your heart beats not!”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“What is a heart?” she asked.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“That which gives life,” he answered; “my heart beats strongly and it longs for
-an answer. You have a heart as strong maybe as mine. But it is sealed. Will you
-not let me loose it?”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“I am afraid,” she answered.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“Then I will tell you what he did. He held the Princess in his arms all despite
-herself and tore the bandage from her eyes.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-... “Did she let him do it?”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“She heard his voice and all despite herself she let him do his will.”
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class="noindent">
-Mr. Hall voices these inanities with the appalling conceit of one who
-rushes in where even the best of writers tread with circumspection. And
-the worst of it is, that his rash feet have carried him nowhere, except, perhaps,
-into a limelight that is likely to prove embarrassing.
-</p>
-
-<p class="sign">
-<span class="smallcaps">W. T. Hollingsworth.</span>
-</p>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="editorials" id="SENTENCE_REVIEWS">
-<a id="page-67" class="pagenum" title="67"></a>
-Sentence Reviews
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="sentrev">
-<p class="noindent">
-<em>Russia: The Country of Extremes</em>, by N. Jarintzoff. [Henry Holt
-&amp; Co., New York.] A mosaic of essays on various aspects of Russian life,
-some of them of tremendous interest. Of particular importance are the chapters
-on “Studentchestvo” and on “Agents Provocateurs,” which deal with the
-political movements of the country. Although the book lacks unity, the
-English reader will find in it a wealth of information and a helpful interpretation
-of Russian misty reality. Reproductions from several great Russian
-paintings are excellent.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>New Songs of Zion</em>; a Zionist Anthology, edited by S. Roth, New
-York. If this anthology was intended to serve as an echo of the Zionist
-movement, it will appear as a <em>testimonia pauperitatis</em>. The lofty ideal of
-forming a cultural center in Palestine for the Wandering Jew is very pallidly
-reflected in the naive verses of American boys and girls. Israel Zangwill
-is also represented with a few shallow effusions to the astonishment of
-those who admire his sense of humor. The translations from <em>Byalik</em> are
-tolerable, and I heartily recommend the English reader to get acquainted
-through them with one of the greatest living poets who is known only to
-readers of Hebrew.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>The Two Great Art Epochs</em>, by Emma Louise Parry. [A. C. McClurg
-&amp; Company, Chicago.] Complete and instructive as a text-book for the
-history of art from earliest Egypt down to the decline of Renaissance—if
-there is still need for such text-books. The wretchedness of the reproductions
-is irritating.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Changing Russia</em>, by Stephen Graham. [John Lane Company, New
-York.] Sentimental observations of a poetic tramp who bewails the inevitable
-transformation of patriarchal, agricultural Russia into a capitalistic
-state. Excellent descriptions of the picturesque shore of the Black Sea;
-interesting, though often erroneous, notes on the “Intelligentzia.” Mr. Graham
-has been religiously tramping the globe for many years, and his love
-for nature and primitive life is manifest in every book of his.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Bellamy</em>, by Elinor Mordaunt. [John Lane Company, New York.]
-Cleverly written, this chronicle of Walter Bellamy, a dynamic English obviosity,
-exploiter of silk pajamas, exhibits a man who is sufficiently honest to
-devote his life to himself.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Hebrew and Babylonian Traditions</em>, by Morris Jastron. [Charles Scribner’s
-Sons, New York.] An exhaustive, cool, cautious treatment of the
-much-polemised question as to the primacy of one or the other of the two
-ancient civilizations. Of great value to the student of comparative religion.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-68" class="pagenum" title="68"></a>
-<em>The Rise of the Working Class</em>, by Algernon Sidney Crapsey. [The
-Century Company, New York.] An optimistic book by an ex-clergyman.
-Many things are cited as working class gains and benefits which that class
-would willingly reject. As appendix, there is a long panegyric of that
-mountebank, Lloyd George, in which he is hailed as a social and economic
-savior of the “People.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>American Labor Unions</em>, by a Member. By Helen Marot. [Henry
-Holt &amp; Company, New York.] The first book on the American labor movement
-which takes tolerant and detailed notice of its later developments. The
-new Syndicalist tendency in the American Federation of Labor and the
-rise and growth of the Industrial Workers of the World are both discussed,
-as are also the much disputed questions of political action, violence,
-and sabotage. A book that merits the study of those who believe there is no
-other way of remedying economic conditions except through the periodical
-dropping of a paper ballot through a slit.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Life’s Lure</em>, by John G. Niehardt. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.]
-A novel of Western mining life which has the same note of virile realism as
-has the very worthy verse of the same author. A healthy contrast to the
-usual Western compound of Deadwood Dick and puling sentimentality. One
-of the best pieces of red-blooded stuff that has recently been written. Jack
-London had better look to his laurels.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Change</em>, by J. O. Francis. [Doubleday, Page &amp; Company, New York.]
-A play to be read. Life here without affection states itself in its own terms.
-The timid and the frivolous may read this and have their eyes opened.
-Labor’s struggle for freedom is forcefully depicted. The scene is laid in a
-little Welsh mining town, and the characters are drawn with simple charm
-and beauty. A play that breaths life and truth.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Everybody’s Birthright</em>, by Clara E. Laughlin. [Fleming H. Revell Company,
-New York.] Miss Laughlin has both sympathy and understanding
-for the ideals of young girls. In this little book she makes clever use of
-the Jeanne d’Arc story as a means toward helping another Jean to bear the
-loss of a twin sister.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Myths and Legends of the Mississippi Valley and the Great Lakes</em>, by
-Katharine B. Judson. [A. C. McClurg &amp; Co., Chicago.] Here are some old
-friends: Hiawatha, Nokomis, and Minnehaha—also Bre’r Rabbit and the
-Tar Baby; and some myths of fire, wild rice, and Mondamin the Corn
-Woman, which furnish a fascinating comparison with Prometheus and
-Demeter over in the Aegean. A careful arrangement of material overcomes
-in part the misfortune of fragmentariness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<a id="page-69" class="pagenum" title="69"></a>
-<em>The Twenty-Fourth of June</em>, by Grace S. Richmond. [Doubleday,
-Page &amp; Co., New York.] A study of love at first sight—or just before.
-Rich Kendrick came into the house by the back door and saw a rose-colored
-scarf on the hatrack; but the poor young millionaire had to wait weeks before
-meeting its owner, and then months until <em>Midsummer’s Day</em> for his
-answer. Incidentally he discovered the charms of work, home and good
-women.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<em>Tansy</em>, by Tickner Edwardes. [E. P. Dutton &amp; Co., New York.] A
-charming story of the Sussex downs, by a man who lives among them. The
-background of village characters, of rural incidents, and of the Sussex
-countryside is exquisitely done. Tansy Firle is not a Watteau shepherdess—quite
-the contrary; she has a compelling personality and a beauty of the
-sturdy upland variety.
-</p>
-
-<p class="cnt">
-<em>La Vie des Lettres</em>: Collection anthologique et critique de poèmes et
-de proven Neuilly, Paris.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The July issue of this important quarterly is both breezy and instructive.
-Two exotic poems by the Roumanian, Alexander Macedonski; a cycle
-of poems by Nicolas Beaudrien (who was introduced to English readers by
-Richard Aldington in the June <em>Egotist</em>); a few dainty-grotesque <em>Images de
-la Capitale</em>, by Carlos Larronde,—they form what I called the breezy part.
-Of great charm also are the “ponderous” features. Among others there is
-an article by William Berteval on <em>Tolstoi et L’Art pour L’Art</em>; an attempt of
-a modernist to justify the Russian’s point of view on art. In its international
-review the Quarterly mentions <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>, with a “memento” for
-the poems of Nicolas Vachel Lindsay and Arthur Davison Ficke.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-
-<h2 class="editorials" id="THE_READER_CRITIC">
-The Reader Critic
-</h2>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="letters">
-<p class="from">
-<em>Rev. A. D. R., Chicago</em>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-I earnestly request you to discontinue sending your impertinent publication to my
-daughter who had the folly of undiscriminating youth to fall in the diabolical snare
-by joining the ungodly family of your subscribers. As for you, haughty young woman,
-may the Lord have mercy upon your sinful soul! Have you thought of the tremendous
-evil that your organ brings into American homes, breaking family ties, killing
-respect for authorities, sowing venomous seeds of Antichrist-Nietzsche-Foster, lauding
-such inhuman villains as Wilde and Verlaine, crowning with laurels that bloodthirsty
-Daughter of Babylon, Emma Goldman, and committing similar atrocities?
-God hear my prayer and turn your wicked heart to repentance.
-</p>
-
-<p class="from">
-<em>A. Faun, Paris</em>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In one of your issues I read with delight Wilde’s paradox: “There is nothing
-sane about the worship of beauty. It is entirely too splendid to be sane.” I fear you
-are getting too sane—you, who some time ago invited us “to watch, in the early morning,
-<a id="page-70" class="pagenum" title="70"></a>
-a bird with great white wings fly from the edge of the sea straight up into the
-rose-colored sun.” In my illusion I pictured you enthroned in a tower, high above
-the street and the crowd, perceiving reality through dim stained glass walls. Alas,
-there is evidently an accommodating lift that connects your tower with the sidewalk.
-You have become so sane, so logical, so militant in attacking the obvious.... Oh,
-Pan and Apollo!
-</p>
-
-<p class="from">
-<em>A Proletarian</em>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Glad to see your magazine getting more and more revolutionary and courageously
-attacking the rotten capitalistic order. But why not dot the i’s? Why shrink from
-discussing economic problems? Why not give us the real dope? Go ahead, we are
-with you!
-</p>
-
-<p class="from">
-<em>David Rudin, New York</em>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Permit me to voice a different opinion from that expressed by Charles Ashleigh
-in his review of Galsworthy’s <em>The Mob</em>. It is my contention that Mr. Galsworthy
-has sympathetically and powerfully portrayed the uncompromising idealist, the champion
-of an unpopular idea in this virile disrobing of the spangled strumpet Patriotism.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In these stirring times of destruction to appease insatiable kaisers, czars, kings
-and the uncrowned masters of despotism <em>The Mob</em> comes as an opportune declaration
-of the minority against war, against invasion, and against “Love of country.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Stephen More, the type of man whose conscience and sense of justice cannot
-realize that “idealism can be out of place,” makes a brave, aggressive stand against
-the allied forces of position, friends, love, and the blind hatred of the despicable mob,
-armed only with an unprejudiced, faithful ideal. Such passion and sincerity of purpose
-<a id="page-71" class="pagenum" title="71"></a>
-surely should presage victory. The real victory is won at the moment when
-More dies for his idea at the hands of the very mob that many years later erects a
-monument to him—and worships. They await the next victim of the crucifix—and it
-begins again: inflammatory patriotism, destruction, and a chaotic, purposeless Hell on
-earth.
-</p>
-
-<p class="from">
-<em>D. G. King, Chicago</em>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Your article <em>To The Innermost</em> in the October number is a manly poke at the
-snug, smug, dead-alive ones, the mollycoddles, the got-in-a-rut-can’t-get-out-without-considerable-effort
-ones, and others of the won’t-do-and-dare class that this farcical
-world of ours is plentifully sprinkled with! It’s the best thing I’ve seen yet from
-your militant pen.
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="ads chapter">
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-
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-</p>
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-<p class="narrow">
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-Pan.”
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-WASSILI KANDINSKY
-</p>
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-<p class="c">
-<em>Translated from the German by M. T. H. Sadler</em>
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-
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-A criticism and interpretation of the new
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-</p>
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-<p class="narrow">
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-<p class="i c">
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-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
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-</p>
-
-<p>
-The first authoritative biography, based on his letters and journals, of a man who was not
-only a great inventor, but a notable painter as well, and the intimate of many famous persons.
-His son has done his work with skill and intelligence, and the result is a notable
-addition to American biography. 2 vols. Fully illustrated. $7.50 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-A Far Journey
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY. “Mr.
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-of the American melting pot.”—<em>Chicago
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-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Pan-Germanism
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By ROLAND G. USHER. This remarkable book
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-of the forces that made it inevitable. It is intended
-for popular reading and is absolutely impartial.
-$1.75 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
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-<p class="adb">
-Rutherford B. Hayes
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By CHARLES RICHARD WILLIAMS. A full
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-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Meditations on
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-</p>
-
-<p>
-By SAMUEL M. CROTHERS. A quiet consideration
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-conservative measure. $1.25 <em>net</em>.
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-
-<p class="adb">
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-the Eighteenth Century
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By WILLIAM E. MEAD. A quaint, amusing
-and instructive account of the modes and conditions
-of travel in eighteenth-century Europe. Illustrated.
-$4.00 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-On the Cosmic Relations
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By HENRY HOLT. This study covers with extraordinary
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-the whole ground of psychic phenomena,
-so-called, as a basis for the belief in the immortality
-of the soul. 2 vols. $5.00 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
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-<p class="adb">
-War’s Aftermath
-</p>
-
-<p>
-By DAVID STARR JORDAN and HARVEY
-ERNEST JORDAN. An authoritative study of
-the effect of the American Civil War on the quality
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-the present conflict. 75 cents <em>net</em>.
-</p>
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-</p>
-
-<p>
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-told by the man chiefly responsible for its existence.
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-</p>
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-</p>
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-women living under the conditions of modern life.
-$1.50 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
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-<p>
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-the greatest pictures of Michelangelo, Titian,
-Raphael, Correggio, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, and
-Murillo. With 105 handsomely reproduced full-page
-illustrations. $3.50 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
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-<p class="adb">
-A Century’s Change in Religion
-</p>
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-<p>
-By GEORGE HARRIS. A comparison of religious
-beliefs and practices of today with those of
-the first half of the nineteenth century. $1.25 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The Lure of the Camera
-</p>
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-<p>
-By CHARLES S. OLCOTT. All who have felt
-the lure of the camera will enjoy this account of
-the rambles and adventures of an amateur photographer
-both in the Old World and in the New. With
-48 full-page illustrations. $3.00 <em>net</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-<em>The postage on each of the above is extra</em>
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-</p>
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-Century of Peace Following the Treaty
-of Ghent</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<span class="smallcaps">By William Archibald Dunning</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-With an introduction by the <b>Right Honorable
-Viscount Bryce</b> and a preface by
-<b>Nicholas Murray Butler</b>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This is the psychological moment for the
-appearance of a book which explains the century
-of peace between Great Britain and the
-United States. When nearly every world
-power except the United States is at war, the
-history of our relations with a country, one of
-whose dominions borders ours for a distance
-of 3,000 miles, cannot help being intensely interesting
-and helpful to an
-understanding of war and
-peace and their underlying
-causes.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-<em>$2.00 net; postage extra.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The End of the Trail
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<span class="smallcaps">By E. Alexander Powell</span>, F. R. G. S.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-<em>With 45 full-page illustrations and map,
-$3.00 net; postage extra.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In this volume Mr. Powell treats of those
-portions of the West which have not been
-hackneyed by tourists and railway companies
-in the same vivid, entertaining, and acute
-manner in which he treated Africa in “The
-Last Frontier.” The volume is, incidentally,
-a narrative of the most remarkable journey
-ever made by automobile on this continent—a
-narrative upon which are strung descriptions
-of the climate, customs, characteristics,
-resources, problems, and prospects of every
-state and province between Texas and Alaska
-in such a manner as to form the only comprehensive
-and recent volume on the Far
-West. The narrative is
-brightened by what is probably
-the most striking collection
-of pictures of American
-frontier life that have
-ever been gathered together.
-</p>
-
- <div class="fl w30">
-<p class="adb">
-On Acting
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<span class="smallcaps">By Brander Matthews</span>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The result of the author’s
-observation is that there is
-no art the principles of
-which are so little understood
-(even by hardened
-playgoers) as that of acting.
-And he has tried to
-declare some of the elements
-of the art, illustrating
-by “apt anecdote and
-unhackneyed stories.”
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-<em>75 cents net; postage extra.</em>
-</p>
-
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-Una Mary
-</p>
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-<span class="smallcaps">By Una A. Hunt</span>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here is child idealism
-beautifully described in personal
-reminiscences. A sensitive
-and imaginative child
-creates in her fancy a second
-self embodying her
-dearest ideals. The two
-selves grow up together
-and eventually become one.
-</p>
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-<em>A Book of Four Plays</em>
-</p>
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-<p class="u h1 adb">
-HALF<br />
-HOURS
-</p>
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-</p>
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-<span class="smallcaps">By Henry van Dyke</span>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This collection of Dr. van Dyke’s recent
-verse takes its title from that impressive description
-of the Grand Canyon of Arizona at
-daybreak, which stands among the most beautiful
-of Dr. van Dyke’s poems. The rest of
-the collection is characterized by those rare
-qualities that, as <em>The Outlook</em> has said, have
-enabled the author “to win the suffrage of
-the few as well as the applause of the many.”
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-the Higher Animals of North America.</span>
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-</p>
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-</p>
-
-<p>
-Here is a book which describes with penetrating
-analysis and in a thoroughly entertaining
-manner of telling, the work not only of
-the great modern novelist of the last century,
-Stevenson, Zola, Balzac, Flaubert and Thackeray,
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-</p>
-
-<p>
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-years devoted her life to
-the study of prisons and
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-<p>
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-work. Its freedom from what
-has become almost a conventional
-jargon in much art criticism,
-and the essential interest
-of every comment and suggestion,
-account for an altogether
-exceptional success that his book
-on The Classic Spirit has had
-within the last few years and
-that will be repeated with this
-volume.
-</p>
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-<p class="adp">
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-</p>
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-<p class="h2 adb">
-MEMORIES
-</p>
-
-<p>
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-number in black and white by</em>
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-<p>
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-at birth and remained with him
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-<p class="cb adb">
-In Dickens’s London
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-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-<em>With 24 full-page illustrations from the
-author’s drawings in charcoal.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The reader of this volume will, in effect, have
-the delightful experience not only of visiting those
-London scenes frequented by Charles Dickens
-himself, but also those used by him as scenes in
-his novels and familiar through them in connection
-with Alfred Jingle, Nancy, Bob Sawyer,
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-Downfall of Napoleon and the Following
-Years.</span>
-</p>
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-<p>
-This journal of the son and secretary of Albert
-Gallatin, who accompanied his father during the
-negotiation of the Treaty of Ghent and afterward
-during his ministries to France, 1815-23, and to
-England, 1826-27, is at least <em>one</em> of the most
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-<p class="h1 adb">
-SWORD BLADES <em>and</em> POPPY SEED
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<em>By</em> AMY LOWELL
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-Author of “A DOME OF MANY-COLOURED GLASS,” Etc.
-</p>
-
-<p class="i ads">
-<em>In “The Boston Herald” Josephine Preston Peabody writes of this unusual book</em>:
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“First, last and all inclusive in Miss Amy Lowell’s poetic equipment is vitality
-enough to float the work of half a score of minor poets.... Against the multitudinous
-array of daily verse our times produce ... this volume utters itself
-with a range and brilliancy wholly remarkable.... A wealth of subtleties and
-sympathies, gorgeously wrought, full of macabre effects (as many of the poems
-are) and brilliantly worked out ... personally I cannot see that Miss Lowell’s
-use of unrhymed vers libre has been surpassed in English. This breadth and ardor
-run through the whole fabric of the subject matter.... Here is the fairly
-Dionysiac revelry of a tireless workman. With an honesty as whole as anything in
-literature she hails any and all experience as stuff for poetry. The things of splendor
-she has made she will hardly outdo in their kind.”
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-<em>Price $1.25 net. At all bookstores.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="s u fl ade">
-PUBLISHED<br />
-BY
-</p>
-
-<p class="s u fr ade">
-64-66 5th Avenue<br />
-NEW YORK
-</p>
-
- <div class="c">
- <div class="ib">
-<p class="ade">
-<span class="larger">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span>
-</p>
-
- </div>
- </div>
-<p class="fl ada">
-By Paul Claudel
-</p>
-
-<p class="fr adb">
-THE EAST I KNOW
-</p>
-
-<p class="cb ads">
-<em>Translated into English by</em> <span class="smallcaps">Teresea Frances</span> <em>and</em> <span class="smallcaps">William Rose Benét</span>.
-</p>
-
- <div class="c fr cb">
- <div class="ib box s">
-<div class="centerpic yale">
-<img src="images/yale.jpg" alt="" /></div>
-
-<p class="u ade">
-Yale<br />
-University<br />
-Press
-</p>
-
-<p class="s u ade">
-109 Elm Street<br />
-NEW HAVEN,<br />
-CONN.
-</p>
-
-<p class="s u ade">
-225 Fifth Ave.<br />
-NEW YORK<br />
-CITY
-</p>
-
- </div>
- </div>
-<p>
-Paul Claudel was for many years in the French Government Service in
-Cochin, China. “The East I Know” is a translation into English of his “La
-Connaissance de l’Est.” It is a series of word pictures of life in the Far East
-written by a poet whose individuality and originality are bound to make a profound
-impression on American as they have already done on Continental
-readers. The translators have captured with complete success the author’s
-exquisitely delicate feeling for words which give the color and soul of the East
-with poetic modulation yet unmistakable truthfulness.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This is the first of M. Claudel’s work to appear in English and is expressly
-authorized by him.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-<em>8vo. Cloth binding. 199 pages. Price $1.50 net postpaid.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="fl cb ada">
-By William Rose Benét
-</p>
-
-<p class="u fr adb">
-THE FALCONER OF GOD<br />
-AND OTHER POEMS
-</p>
-
-<p class="cb">
-Mr. Benét’s sensitive appreciation of human interest, and his ability to frame
-his thoughts each in the style best suited to convey it, have already made him
-known to a large public. Readers of the Century, Scribner’s, Harper’s, The
-Outlook, The Independent, and other magazines are familiar with the appeal
-of his poetry.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The present volume is a collection of virile and impressive poems enhanced
-by the fantastic color and charm which Mr. Benét has already made his own.
-It contains two poems which should be of especial interest in the present European
-crisis, reflecting as they do the spirit of the Franco-German War of
-1870.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-<em>12mo. Board binding. 122 pages. Price $1.00 net postpaid. Limp leather binding.
-Price $1.50 postpaid.</em>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="ads chapter">
-<p class="h1 adh">
-<a id="page-75" class="pagenum" title="75"></a>
-<em>Important New Books</em>
-</p>
-
- <div class="box inner">
-<p class="adb">
-Love and the Soul-Maker
-</p>
-
-<p class="l ada">
-<b>By Mary Austin</b>, <em>Author of “The Arrow Maker.”</em>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In this new book the author makes one of the strongest pleas for the home that has ever
-been voiced. Mrs. Austin discusses frankly the problems of sex differences that are being encountered
-everywhere today in our social life, and proves that the balance of the social relations
-can be accomplished only by the same frank handling of the so-called problem of the double
-standard of morality. Every serious minded man and woman should read it.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<em><b>$1.50 net</b></em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Hail and Farewell—A Trilogy
-</p>
-
-<p class="h3 adh">
-“Ave,” “Salve” and “Vale”
-</p>
-
-<p class="l ada">
-<b>By George Moore.</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In these three volumes the author brings us into very close touch with many men and
-women who have helped to make the history of art and literature during the last decade.
-“It is a wonderful tour de force in literary art, with scarcely a parallel since Rousseau’s Confessions.”—<em>North
-American</em>, Philadelphia.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<em><b>$1.75 each vol.</b></em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Insurgent Mexico
-</p>
-
-<p class="l ada">
-<b>By John Reed.</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This is the true story of the Mexico of today; showing the peon in war and in peace;
-intimately portraying the character of this little understood people and their leaders; describing
-many of the scenes along the march of Villa’s victorious army, and offering to the reader
-the only up-to-date and accurate account of the Mexican situation available.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<em><b>$1.50 net</b></em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Americans and the Britons
-</p>
-
-<p class="l ada">
-<b>By Frederick C. De Sumichrast.</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A timely book discussing the differences between American and British social order; The
-American Woman; Education; Foreign Relations; Journalism in America and Britain; Militarism;
-Patriotism; Naturalization, and many other important subjects of interest to all English
-speaking people. The author is a strong believer in Democracy, though he sees many faults
-in it, and these he discusses frankly, with a hopeful outlook for the future.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<em><b>$1.75 net</b></em>
-</p>
-
- </div>
-<p class="h1 adh">
-<em>Notable New Novels</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="s c">
-<em>By the Author of “Richard Furlong.”</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Achievement
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<b>By E. Temple Thurston</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The story of an artist whose character develops
-under the influence of different women. His trials,
-temptations, ideals and triumphs are described,
-showing that each man as he works is subject to
-feminine influence, whether he works for a woman
-or in despite of her. A true picture of studio life
-in London, and peopled with real men and women
-worth knowing.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<em><b>$1.35 net</b></em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="s c">
-<em>By the Author of “The Inheritance.”</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-To-Day’s Daughter
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<b>By Josephine Daskam Bacon</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-To do something worth while in the world is
-Lucia Stanchon’s ambition. In search of a career
-she is led into many interesting experiences. Falling
-in love is one of them, and her conclusions
-after this unexpected happening are especially interesting
-from the viewpoint of a very modern
-young woman.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-Illustrated, <em><b>$1.35 net</b></em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="s c">
-<em>By the Author of “Broke of Covenden.”</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Anne Feversham
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<b>By J. C. Snaith</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Piqued by her punishment for sauciness, Anne
-Feversham elopes with Heriot, who is falsely accused
-of a serious crime against his Queen. Disguised,
-they join a troup of players, but they are
-discovered and brought before the Queen for trial.
-Exciting events follow, and things look grave for
-the culprits. The climax, however, is both original
-and charming. The author has drawn a splendid
-picture of the Elizabethan period.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<em><b>$1.35 net</b></em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="s c">
-<em>The Romance of An Ambitious Woman.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The Torch Bearer
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-<b>By Reina Melcher Marquis</b>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The story of Sheila Caldwell, a girl of rare
-literary gift and passionate idealism who realizes
-too late that she has married a man intellectually
-and spiritually her inferior. Her husband’s discovery
-that his wife continues to cherish literary
-ambitions creates discord that grows with each succeeding
-day. Mrs. Marquis’ handling of this difficult
-situation is decidedly illuminating.
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<em><b>$1.30 net</b></em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ade">
-D. APPLETON &amp; COMPANY, NEW YORK
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="ads chapter">
-<div class="centerpic huebsch">
-<a id="page-76" class="pagenum" title="76"></a><img src="images/huebsch.jpg" alt="" /></div>
-
-<p class="h1 adh">
-DRAMATIC WORKS
-</p>
-
-<p class="h2 adh">
-VOLUME V
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-BY GERHART HAUPTMANN
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-$1.50 NET
-WEIGHT 22 OUNCES
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-<em>Contains</em>: “<em>Schluck and Jau</em>;” “<em>And Pippa Dances</em>;” “<em>Charlemagne’s
-Hostage</em>.”
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The second group of Hauptmann’s Symbolic and Legendary
-Dramas gains unity by a recognizable oneness of inspiration. The
-poet has become a seeker; he questions the nature and quality of
-various ultimate values; he abandons the field of the personal
-and individual life and traces for us, through the poetic fabric,
-the universal search for beauty, the problem of moral evil and
-the transitoriness of earthly glory. [A special circular, with contents
-of the preceding volumes, will be mailed upon request to the
-publisher.]
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-WISCONSIN PLAYS
-</p>
-
-<p class="adp">
-$1.25 net; weight about 18 oz.
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-<em>Contains</em>: <em>“The Neighbors,” by Zona Gale</em>; <em>“In Hospital,” by Thomas H.
-Dickinson</em>; <em>“Glory of the Morning,” by
-William Ellery Leonard</em>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A noteworthy manifestation of the interest in the stage and its
-literature is the work, both in writing of plays and their performance,
-of the gifted band organized as the Wisconsin Dramatic
-Society. The three one-act plays in this volume are fruits of the
-movement. Having met with success in the theatre, they are now
-offered to the creative reader to whose imagination dramatic literature
-is a stimulus.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-These may be had from booksellers or from the publisher upon
-application, to whom a list of interesting publications of 1914
-may be obtained.
-</p>
-
-<p class="ade">
-B. W. HUEBSCH, 225 Fifth avenue, New York
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="ads ads077 chapter">
-<p class="h1 adh">
-<a id="page-77" class="pagenum" title="77"></a>
-New Books on a Wide Variety of Interests
-</p>
-
-<p class="h3 adh">
-<em>MISCELLANEOUS</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Our Philadelphia
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Elizabeth Robins Pennell</span>. Illustrated by
-<span class="smallcaps">Joseph Pennell</span>. (Regular Edition.) 105 illustrations
-from lithographs. Quarto. In a box.
-$7.50 net. (Autographed Edition.) Signed by
-both author and artist, with ten additional lithographs.
-Special buckram binding, in a box.
-$18.00 net. Carriage charges extra. (<em>This edition
-limited to advance subscribers. After publication
-no order will be filled.</em>)
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A book of personal experience more entertaining
-than a novel, with Mr. Pennell’s illustrations
-made especially for this volume.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Colonial Mansions of Maryland and
-Delaware
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">John Martin Hammond</span>. Limited Edition,
-printed from type, which has been distributed.
-With 65 illustrations. Octavo. In a box, $5.00
-net. Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This volume is uniform in style and price with
-others in the Limited Edition Series—“Colonial
-Homes of Philadelphia and its Neighborhood,”
-“Manors of Virginia in Colonial Times,” and
-“Historic Homes of New Jersey”—all of which
-are now out of print and at a premium.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Essays Political and Historical
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Charlemagne Tower</span>, LL. D., former Minister
-of the U. S. to Austria-Hungary, Ambassador to
-Russia and Germany. 12mo. Cloth. $1.50 net.
-Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Essays upon vital subjects by one of our greatest
-figures in the diplomatic world will demand instant
-attention. The book will be widely read for its
-important revelations in the light of the present
-disturbed conditions.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The True Ulysses S. Grant
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">General Charles King</span>. 24 illustrations. Octavo.
-Buckram. $2.00 net. Half levant. $5.00
-net. Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This new volume in the True Biography and
-History Series is the work of a writer peculiarly
-fitted to deal with Grant. Not only Grant, the
-general, but Grant, the man, and Grant, the president,
-are treated with the same regard for truth
-that characterizes all the volumes in the series.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Heroes and Heroines of Fiction
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-Modern Prose and Poetry
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">William S. Walsh</span>. Crown. 8vo. Half morocco.
-$3.50 net. Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Mr. Walsh has compiled the famous characters
-and famous names in modern novels, romances,
-poems and dramas. These are classified, analyzed
-and criticised and supplemented with citations from
-the best authorities.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The Mystery of the Oriental Rug
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-Including the Prayer Rug and Advice to Buyers
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Dr. G. Griffin Lewis</span>. Frontispiece in color
-and 21 full-page plates. Octavo. Cloth. $1.50
-net. Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This charming volume is compact with information
-and no one should buy rugs without its aid.
-Those already possessing the author’s “Practical
-Book of Oriental Rugs” should not fail to secure
-it as an interesting supplement.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Shakspere and Sir Walter Ralegh
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Henry Pemberton, Jr.</span>, M.A. Including also
-several essays previously published in the New
-Shakespeareana. Illustrated. $1.50 net. Postage
-extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-All those who are in anywise interested in the
-greatest problem in English literature, i. e., the
-Shakespearean authorship, must necessarily consult
-this book, which presents the picturesque and tragic
-figure of Sir Walter Raleigh as the true author.
-</p>
-
-<p class="h3 adh">
-<em>GOOD FICTION</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-<em>A Novel of Unusual Distinction</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The Three Furlongers
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Sheila Kaye-Smith</span>. Frontispiece. $1.25 net.
-Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">New York Times</span>: “Her story is written with
-such sincerity of feeling and appreciation of moral
-beauty and contains so much human truth that the
-author deserves warm commendation. For she
-... has given it also dramatic moments and
-strong emotional tension.... An achievement
-worth while.”
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The Ward of Tecumseh
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Crittenden Marriott</span>. Illustrated. $1.25 net.
-Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The author of “Sally Castleton, Southerner,”
-has here written a novel of the American wilderness
-that has the tang and flavor of a James Fenimore
-Cooper tale. It is intensely exciting—the
-heroine, a charming French girl, mysteriously disappears
-among the Indians, and one reads the
-story with the same eagerness that the hero feels
-in his attempt to find the lost girl.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The Duke of Oblivion
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">John Reed Scott</span>. Frontispiece in color. $1.25
-net. Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-<span class="smallcaps">New York Times</span>: “There are plots and counterplots,
-hand-to-hand fights, and many thrilling
-adventures.... Until the end the reader is
-kept in a high state of doubt as to whether or not
-they will all escape in safety.”
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Betty’s Virginia Christmas
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Molly Elliot Seawell</span>. Illustrated in color,
-with page decorations, artistic cloth binding.
-$1.50 net. Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-A captivating picture of Southern life of ante-bellum
-days. Betty wins the reader on the first
-page and holds him to the last, while the story
-has the true Christmas spirit of dancing, merrymaking,
-song and sport.
-</p>
-
-<p class="h3 adh">
-<em>FOR BOYS AND GIRLS</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-<em>Boys of All Ages Will Enjoy</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Buffalo Bill and the Overland Trail
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Edwin L. Sabin</span>. Illustrated in color and black
-and white. $1.25 net. Postage extra.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This new volume in the Trail Blazer’s Series in
-addition to being a thrilling story of the adventures
-of a boy in the days of the Overland Trail,
-is also a true sketch of the great pioneer Indian
-fighter, Colonel William F. Cody.
-</p>
-
-<p class="ads">
-<em>A New Volume in STORIES ALL CHILDREN
-LOVE SERIES</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The Cuckoo Clock
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Molesworth</span>. 8 full-page illustrations in
-color by Maria L. Kirk. Ornamental cloth.
-$1.25 net.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This famous book is one of the most delightful
-children’s stories ever written. The story has much
-of the charm of “Alice in Wonderland,” and can
-justly be called a classic. The boy or girl who
-does not read it misses one of the greatest treats
-of childhood.
-</p>
-
-<p class="h3 adh">
-<em>TWO EXCELLENT EDITIONS</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-OXFORD
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Andrew Lang</span>. Illustrated
-in color by
-George F. Carline, R.
-B. A. Crown quarto.
-Cloth. $3.00 net.
-Edition de Luxe, limited
-to 350 copies.
-$6.00 net.
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-LONDON
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By <span class="smallcaps">Sir Laurence L.
-Gomme</span>, F.S.A. With
-many unique illustrations
-and plates specially
-reproduced by
-photogravure. Octavo,
-$2.00 net.
-</p>
-
-<p class="ade">
-Publishers <span class="larger">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> Philadelphia
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="ads chapter">
-<div class="centerpic bauer fr">
-<a id="page-78" class="pagenum" title="78"></a><img src="images/bauer.jpg" alt="" /></div>
-
-<p class="h1 adh">
-<span class="underline">HAROLD<br />
-BAUER</span>
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Recognized throughout
-the world as one of the
-greatest pianists of all
-times, writes of the
-</p>
-
-<p class="h1 adh">
-Mason &amp;<br />
-Hamlin
-</p>
-
- <div class="letter cb">
-<p class="addr">
-Mason &amp; Hamlin Co.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Gentlemen: It gives me keen pleasure
-to testify once more to the excellence
-of your pianos.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Since my first visit to this
-country eight years ago, my admiration
-for these noble instruments has increased
-with each successive tour.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The instruments I have used this
-year not only represent the most perfect
-examples of the piano maker’s
-art, but fulfill every imaginable
-requirement from the point of view of
-both pianist and audience, and are the
-most superbly beautiful instruments
-that I know.
-</p>
-
-<p class="l sign">
-(Signed) <span class="bauer-sign"><img src="images/bauer-sign.jpg" alt="Harold Bauer" /></span>
-</p>
-
- </div>
-<p class="c">
-<b>Mason &amp; Hamlin</b> Pianos for sale only at the warerooms of the
-</p>
-
-<p class="h3 adh">
-<span class="underline"><em><b>Cable Piano Company</b></em></span>
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="ads chapter">
-<p class="h2 first l adh">
-<a id="page-79" class="pagenum" title="79"></a>
-<em><span class="firstchar">R</span><span class="postfirstchar">EADERS</span> of The Little Review will, we think, be interested in the following selected list of new books.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-<b>The House of the Dawn</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r ada">
-By MARAH ELLIS RYAN
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Exquisite beauty of style, rich descriptive passages, so filled with melody that
-they read like wonderful prose poems, mark this brilliant tale of Spanish Mexico by
-Marah Ellis Ryan.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Essentially, however, is it a romance—a romance of unusual quality—of young
-love and courage. The love of one noble mind for another. The courage, born of
-high principle that dares all for freedom and righteousness. <em>Illustrated by Hanson
-Booth. Crown 8vo.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<b>Net $1.35</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-<b>Indian Blankets and Their Makers</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r ada">
-By GEORGE WHARTON JAMES
-</p>
-
-<p>
-One of the most interesting artistic expressions of native American life is the
-Indian blanket. The present volume, written by an expert on Indian life and art,
-and beautifully and faithfully illustrated, is a full and adequate guide to the whole of
-this little known field. Mr. James’ volume should give the Indian blanket a status
-among art collectors similar to that of the Oriental rug. <em>With color and half-tone
-illustrations. Large Crown 8vo. Boxed.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<b>Net $5.00</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-<b>Golden Poems</b> (India Paper Edition)
-</p>
-
-<p class="r ada">
-By FRANCIS F. BROWNE
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It is more than thirty years since the first edition of “Golden Poems” appeared.
-Immediate success was at once accorded it, and every passing year has found this
-favorite collection of “What is good in poetry” more firmly established in popular
-favor.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-It has been found worthy of the dignity of a special India paper edition, suitable
-alike for a traveling companion, and a beautiful gift.
-</p>
-
- <div class="table">
-<table class="table079" summary="Table-1">
-<tbody>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><em>Flexible cloth</em></td>
- <td class="col2"><b>Net $2.75</b></td>
- </tr>
- <tr>
- <td class="col1"><em>Morocco. Red-under-gold edges</em></td>
- <td class="col2"><b>Net $4.00</b></td>
- </tr>
-</tbody>
-</table>
- </div>
-<p class="adb">
-<b>Playing With Love and The Prologue to Anatol</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r ada">
-By ARTHUR SCHNITZLER
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“Anatol” has been spoken of as the comedy of Light Love, but “Liebelei” is its
-tragedy. If it is not Schnitzler’s ripest achievement, it is so far his finest play. Had
-he written nothing else, his fame would be secure, for there is among modern plays
-none with a deeper human note, none with less of false emotionalism. <em>12mo.</em>
-</p>
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-<p class="adb">
-<b>Masters of English Literature</b>
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-By E. W. CHUBB
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Professor Chubb’s studies of Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, Swift, Pope,
-Johnson, Burns, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth, Scott, Dickens, Thackeray,
-George Eliot, Carlyle, Ruskin, Tennyson, and Browning, are marked by the understanding
-that comes of deep interest and long study, by independence of judgment,
-and vigorous expression. He has chosen his subjects to illustrate the eight great
-movements in English Literature, and the plan of the work, as well as the manner in
-which it has been carried out, will commend the volume to all students. The definite
-purpose, comprehensive view, searching analysis, and attractive exposition of the
-studies will impress all readers. <em>12mo.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<b>Net $1.50</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-<b>Myths and Legends of the Mississippi Valley and the Great Lakes</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r ada">
-By KATHARINE B. JUDSON
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The collection includes records made from recitals by members of the Winnebago,
-Chitimacha, Wyandot, Biloxi, Ojibwa, Mandan, Menomini, Ottawa, Cherokee,
-Choctaw and Knisteneaux Indian tribes, all well worthy of preservation. It gives
-in the original form many of the legends used by Longfellow in “Hiawatha,” and
-others as strikingly curious, quaint and poetical. <em>Small quarto.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="r adp">
-<b>Net $1.50</b>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ade">
-<em><span class="larger">A. C. McClurg &amp; Co.,</span> <span class="tb">PUBLISHERS</span> <span class="larger">Chicago</span></em>
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-THE GOODYEAR TIRE &amp; RUBBER COMPANY, AKRON, OHIO
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-<div class="centerpic nancy fl">
-<a id="page-81" class="pagenum" title="81"></a><img src="images/nancy.jpg" alt="" /></div>
-
-<p class="u hidden c">
-For a Lift on the Road to Happiness<br />
-<em>read</em><br />
-Nancy the Joyous<br />
-A Novel of pure Delight
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-
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-Second Large Edition
-</p>
-
-<p class="h1 adb">
-<span class="larger">Nancy</span> the <span class="larger">Joyous</span>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By Edith Stow
-</p>
-
-<p>
-“For those who enjoy bright, wholesome fiction,”
-says The Denver News, “is recommended ‘Nancy the
-Joyous.’” Readers are saying the same. <b>Nancy the Joyous</b> is the object of an unsolicited
-reader-campaign of friend-to-friend commendation. Here is a book whose genuine human
-heart-appeal—its very simplicity and lack of artificial climax—touches the reader who likes to
-<em>know</em> his fiction people.
-</p>
-
-<p class="narrow">
-<em>Extra cloth, stamped in gold and blind. Jacket to match. Special decorations. Frontispiece
-in full color. 12mo. $1.00 net.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="b c">
-A Fresh, Clean, Worth-While Addition
-to Current Fiction
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Diane of the Green Van
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By Leona Dalrymple
-</p>
-
-<p>
-An outdoor love story, refreshing in atmosphere
-and sentiment, bright and original
-in theme and style. A captivating romance
-of love, laughter, adventure, mystery. The
-$10,000 prize novel, the “sort of story no one
-willingly lays down till the last page is
-turned,” says the Philadelphia North American.
-</p>
-
-<p class="narrow">
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-by Reginald Birch. Jacket in color.
-Cover in gold and blind. $1.35 net.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="b c">
-A Big Book—A Strong Book
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-The New Mr. Howerson
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By Opie Read
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Even ardent admirers of Opie Read in the
-past were hardly prepared for a work of the
-force and virility of “<b>The New Mr. Howerson</b>.”
-Without a doubt it is his best work. It
-is a book American readers cannot and will
-not ignore. It has qualities of climax and
-suspense, of vital action and forceful personalities,
-linked with those inimitable Read characteristics,
-whimsicality and humor. The
-book will live.
-</p>
-
-<p class="narrow">
-<em>Standard novel size; cover stamped
-in gold. Jacket in full color. 460
-pages. $1.35 net.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="b c">
-Will Delight the Children
-</p>
-
-<p class="adb">
-Tik-Tok of Oz
-</p>
-
-<p class="ada">
-By L. Frank Baum
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In picture and in story an Oz Book to carry on the fame of <b>L. Frank Baum’s</b> popular
-series. <b>Tik-Tok of Oz</b> has unique features of adventure, humor, quaint characters, queer countries,
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-the old favorites.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Pictures by <b>John R. Neill</b>—46 full-page, 12 of them in full color. Many special decorations,
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-and real map colors.
-</p>
-
-<p class="narrow">
-<em>Other Oz Books:</em> <em>The Land of Oz</em>, <em>The Road to Oz</em>, <em>Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz</em>,
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-in color; handsome bindings. Each, $1.25.</em>
-</p>
-
-<p class="ade">
-Publishers <span class="larger">Reilly &amp; Britton</span> Chicago
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-
- <div class="c">
- <div class="ib">
-<p class="u ada">
-<span class="larger"><b>By FRANK H. SIMONDS</b></span><br />
-of The New York Evening Sun
-</p>
-
- </div>
- </div>
-<p>
-This is the first real history of what has actually happened since the great War
-began. There have been books a-plenty dealing with the underlying causes and ambitions,
-and with the Europe of July, 1914.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-This book is not one of them; it deals specifically with the first phase of the War—from
-the murder of the Austrian Archduke to the fall of Antwerp. It traces the course
-of the different armies—English, German, French, Austrian, and Belgian—in language at
-once simple, clear, and vigorous; shows you what moves they have made and why they
-have made them; by what plan of campaign each hoped to achieve success and what the
-measure of that success has been. There are numerous simple maps specially prepared to
-make clearer the military operations.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Frank H. Simonds’ editorial comments on the War, as they have appeared in The New
-York Evening Sun, have attracted nation-wide attention. No one has better succeeded
-in showing people what the fighting is all about. Here is his book. The publisher hopes
-to follow it later with other volumes dealing with succeeding phases of the War.
-</p>
-
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-DRIFT AND MASTERY
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-
- <div class="c">
- <div class="ib">
-<p class="u ada">
-<span class="larger"><b>By WALTER LIPPMANN</b></span><br />
-Author of “A Preface to Politics”
-</p>
-
- </div>
- </div>
-<p>
-This is a book at once comprehensive, shrewd, vigorous, searching, and interesting—with
-always a saving humor. In the course of sixteen chapters, Mr. Lippmann discusses
-practically all the more important problems of our political, social, and economic life, and
-the factors that have brought about that curious unrest everywhere so noticeable.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-In one paper he shows that we are accustomed to methods in business that we would
-not for a moment tolerate in politics. In another he submits Woodrow Wilson to an
-analysis that seems to get under the man’s very skin. He analyzes proposed panaceas for
-our ills (as well as the ills themselves) and show why they won’t work. In “A Note on
-the Woman’s Movement” he explains with crystal clearness what it is all about.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-But Mr. Lippmann is a great deal more than a brilliant iconoclast—he deals not only
-with the signs and cause of the present unrest, but with the order which is emerging
-from it.
-</p>
-
-<p class="i c">
-Send for full list of new books
-</p>
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-<p class="ade">
-MITCHELL KENNERLEY PUBLISHER NEW YORK
-</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class="trnote chapter">
-<p class="transnote">
-Transcriber’s Notes
-</p>
-
-<p>
-Advertisements were collected at the end of the text.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect correctly the
-headings in this issue of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>.
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The four plates belonging to
-<a href="#OLDSPIRIT">The Old Spirit and the New Ways in Art</a>
-on <a href="#page-55">page 55</a> have been moved directly <a href="#after">after the article</a>. They were originally
-included pairwise after page 32 and page 48, respectively;
-</p>
-
-<p>
-The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors
-were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here (before/after):
-</p>
-
-
-
-<ul>
-
-<li>
- (multiple cases)<br />
-... the <span class="underline">Höllenlarm</span>, the hellish alarum, that men make in life, that life itself ...<br />
-... the <a href="#corr-10"><span class="underline">Höllenlärm</span></a>, the hellish alarum, that men make in life, that life itself ...<br />
-</li>
-
-<li>
-... impuissance! If we but actually learned Herrenmoral, master-<span class="underline">mortality</span>, that ...<br />
-... impuissance! If we but actually learned Herrenmoral, master-<a href="#corr-11"><span class="underline">morality</span></a>, that ...<br />
-</li>
-
-<li>
-... a <span class="underline">Schlavenmoral</span>, a slave-morality. Yes it is true of the cowardly and inert ...<br />
-... a <a href="#corr-12"><span class="underline">Sclavenmoral</span></a>, a slave-morality. Yes it is true of the cowardly and inert ...<br />
-</li>
-
-<li>
-... CHRISTIAN ABRAHAMSEN, A Clearing in Northern <span class="underline">Wiscon</span> ...<br />
-... CHRISTIAN ABRAHAMSEN, A Clearing in Northern <a href="#corr-25"><span class="underline">Wisconsin.</span></a> ...<br />
-</li>
-
-<li>
-... paradoxical feats. What but a good-<span class="underline">humorer</span> smile will provoke in you ...<br />
-... paradoxical feats. What but a good-<a href="#corr-28"><span class="underline">humored</span></a> smile will provoke in you ...<br />
-</li>
-
-<li>
-... from under a <span class="underline">plued</span> black hat and from over shoulders and arms drawn ...<br />
-... from under a <a href="#corr-29"><span class="underline">plumed</span></a> black hat and from over shoulders and arms drawn ...<br />
-</li>
-
-<li>
-... like a Goops. <span class="underline">Hellen</span> made lovely things once; why this? ...<br />
-... like a Goops. <a href="#corr-30"><span class="underline">Helleu</span></a> made lovely things once; why this? ...<br />
-</li>
-
-<li>
-... directions seem a little confused here) and <span class="underline">shoutes</span>: ...<br />
-... directions seem a little confused here) and <a href="#corr-31"><span class="underline">shouts</span></a>: ...<br />
-</li>
-</ul>
-</div>
-
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, NOVEMBER 1914 (VOL. 1, NO. 8) ***</div>
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