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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +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 +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b563ddd --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65948 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65948) diff --git a/old/65948-0.txt b/old/65948-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d9c1bc0..0000000 --- a/old/65948-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4675 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, February 1915 (Vol. -1, No. 11), 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, February 1915 (Vol. 1, No. 11) - -Editor: Margaret C. Anderson - -Release Date: July 28, 2021 [eBook #65948] - -Language: English - -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, FEBRUARY -1915 (VOL. 1, NO. 11) *** - - - - - - THE LITTLE REVIEW - - - _Literature Drama Music Art_ - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON - EDITOR - - FEBRUARY, 1915 - - Our First Year The Editor - Poems: Amy Lowell - Bright Sunlight - Ely Cathedral - Heaven’s Jester Mrs. Havelock Ellis - Green Symphony John Gould Fletcher - The Case of French Poetry Richard Aldington - The Last Woman George Soule - The Liberties of the People William L. Chenery - A Hymn to Nature (An Unpublished Goethe Poem) - My Friend, the Incurable: Alexander S. Kaun - On the Vice of Simplicity - John Cowper Powys - Muck and Music Alfred Knopf - While Hearing a Little Song Maxwell Bodenheim - A Hard Bed George Burman Foster - George Middleton’s One-Act Plays Clayton Hamilton - New York Letter George Soule - Music - Book Discussion - 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. 1 - - FEBRUARY, 1915 - - No. 11 - - Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson. - - - - - Our First Year - - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON. - -An interesting man said recently that the five qualities which go into -the making of the great personality—of the genius, perhaps—are (1) -energy, (2) imagination, (3) character, (4) intellect, (5) and charm. I -number them because the importance of his remark lies in the fact that -he arranged them in just that order. The more you think of it the keener -a judgment it seems. I can see only one possible flaw in it—a flaw that -would not be corrected, I am certain, by moving number four to the place -of number one, but by a reversal of number one and number two. Energy -does seem the prime requisite—after you’ve spent a few days with one of -those persons who has seething visions and a contempt for concentration. -But Imagination!—that gift of the far gods! There is simply no question -of its position in the list. It is first by virtue of every brave and -beautiful thing that has been accomplished in the world. - -Last March we began the publication of THE LITTLE REVIEW. Now, twelve -months later, we face the humiliating—or the encouraging—spectacle of -being a magazine whose function is not transparent. People are always -asking me what we are really trying to do. We have not set forth a -policy; we have not identified ourselves with a point of view, except in -so far as we have been quite ridiculously appreciative; we have not -expounded a philosophy, except in so far as we have been quite -outlandishly anarchistic; we have been uncritical, indiscriminate, -juvenile, exuberant, chaotic, amateurish, emotional, tiresomely -enthusiastic, and a lot of other things which I can’t remember now—all -the things that are usually said about faulty new undertakings. The -encouraging thing is that they are said most strongly about promising -ones. - -Of course THE LITTLE REVIEW has done little more than approach the ideal -which it has in mind. I am not proud of those limitations mentioned -above—(and I am far from being unconscious of them); I am merely glad -that they happen to be that particular type of limitation rather than -some other. For instance, I should much rather have the limitations of -the visionary or the poet or the prophet than those of the pedant or the -priest or the “practical” person. Personally, I should much rather get -drenched than to go always fortified with an umbrella and overshoes; I -should rather see one side of a question violently than to see both -sides calmly; I should rather be an extremist than a—well, it’s scarcely -a matter of choice: people are either extremists or nonentities; I -should far rather sense the big things about a cause or a character even -vaguely than to analyze its little qualities quite clearly; in short, I -should rather feel a great deal and know a little than feel a little and -know a lot. And so all this may serve to express our negative attitude. - -But what am I to say about our positive attitude—how possibly express -all the things we hope to do? Perhaps I need not try: Oscar Wilde made -explanations of such a position superfluous when he said that the -worship of beauty is something entirely too splendid to be sane. That is -our only attitude. I hope at least half the people who read this will -understand that I did not say our platform is merely the worship of -beauty. Beauty involves too many elements to be championed lightly. -Beauty from the aesthete’s point of view and beauty from the artist’s -point of view are two widely different things. I might paraphrase Wilde -and say that the new Beauty is the new Hellenism. Certainly I want for -THE LITTLE REVIEW, as I want from life, not merely beauty, not merely -happiness, but a quality which proceeds from the _intensity_ with which -both beauty and ugliness, pleasure and pain, are present. - -This much to start with. Now there are people who complain that within -their limited allowance of magazines they are forced to do without THE -LITTLE REVIEW because it gives them nothing definite, nothing finished, -nothing conclusive. But my idea of a magazine which makes any claim to -artistic value is that it should be conducted more or less on the lines -of good drama, or good fiction; that it should suggest, not conclude; -that it should stimulate to thinking rather than dictate thought. Most -magazines have efficient editors and definite editorial policies; that -is what’s wrong with them. I have none of the qualifications of the -editor; that’s why I think THE LITTLE REVIEW is in good hands. Because -the editorial tradition in this country has usurped the place of the -literary tradition we have lifted loyalty to policies into the place of -loyalty to ideals. A veteran editor—a man of letters—once told me that -there were fifty good writers to every good editor in America, and that -he would teach me to be the former. He proceeded to illustrate, not by -chucking out the poor stuff that was being written for his journal but -by showing how it could be stuck in where it wouldn’t be too noticeable! -When some manuscript that delighted his soul came in (he was very human -and out of sympathy with the crusted “policy” that had somehow grown up -around his own magazine) he taught me the “art” of reducing its policy -to a state of negativeness that would not be out of harmony with the -policy he was supposed to be supporting. Once he received some poetry -that was very strong and very beautiful. He treasured it so that he kept -it in his desk for months before returning it. It was so beautiful as to -be beyond the appreciation of his audience, he was sure; and anyhow his -journal had never gone in for publishing poetry—it merely printed -reviews of poetry; so what could he do but return it? I used to feel -that I was in the midst of some demoniacal scheme for achieving the -ultimate futility. And so I think that “policies” are likely to be, or -to become, quite damning things. Therefore instead of urging people to -read us in the hope of finding what they seek in that direction, it is -more honest to say outright that they will probably find less and less -of it. Because as “sanity” increases in the world THE LITTLE REVIEW will -strive more and more to be splendidly insane: as editors and lecturers -continue to compromise in order to get their public, as book-makers -continue to print rot in order to make fortunes, as writers continue to -follow the market instead of _doing their Work_, as the public continues -to demand vileness and vulgarity and lies, as the intellectuals continue -to miss the root of the trouble, THE LITTLE REVIEW will continue to -rebel, to tell the truth as we see it, to work for its ideal rather than -for a policy. And in the face of new magazines of excellent quality and -no personality we shall continue to soar and flash and flame, to be -swamped at intervals and scramble to new heights, to be young and -fearless and reckless and imaginative— - - ... chanter - Rêver, rire, passer, être seul, être libre, - Avoir l’œil qui regarde bien, la voix qui vibre.... - -—to die for these things if necessary, but to live for them vividly -first. - -There are other people who argue that we might be hugely successful by -being better: that we might borrow a lot of money (they always say this -so casually), pay high for contributions, become acutely sophisticated, -fill a wide-felt need, etc. Now the first thing we shall do, as soon as -we are able to pay our printer’s bills without paroxysms of terror, is -to pay for contributions; it is disgusting that writers who do real work -don’t make enough out of it to live on at least. But as things are now -no one can _live_ by writing unless he writes badly. The only exceptions -are cases which emphasize rather than disprove the point. In the -meantime a magazine ought to be started for the sole purpose of printing -the good things that the best magazines reject. Until we are on our feet -and able to pay for stuff we can at least do this. And never, we hope, -will we achieve that last emptiness: sophistication. - -But there is still another function, and it seems to me very important. -I have been reading a new book of Walter Lippmann’s called _Drift and -Mastery_, which has more of the quality known as straight thinking than -anything in the political-economic field published for a long time. Mr. -Lippmann says this in his preface: - - The issues that we face are very different from those of the last - century and a half. The difference, I think, might be summed up - roughly this way: those who went before inherited a conservatism - and overthrew it; we inherit freedom, and have to use it. The - sanctity of property, the patriarchal family, hereditary caste, - the dogma of sin, obedience to authority,—the rock of ages, in - brief, has been blasted for us. Those who are young today are - born into a world in which the foundations of the older order - survive only as habits or by default. So Americans can carry - through their purposes when they have them. If the standpatter is - still powerful amongst us it is because we have not learned to - use our power, and direct it to fruitful ends. The American - conservative, it seems to me, fills the vacuum where democratic - purpose should be. - - So far as we are concerned, then, the case is made out against - absolutism, commercial oligarchy, and unquestioned creeds. _The - Rebel program is stated._ Scientific invention and blind social - currents have made the old authority impossible in fact, the - artillery fire of the iconoclasts has shattered its prestige. We - inherit a rebel tradition. The dominant forces in our world are - not the sacredness of property nor the intellectual leadership of - the priest; they are not the divinity of the constitution, the - glory of the industrial push, Victorian sentiment, New England - respectability, the Republican party, or John D. Rockefeller.... - In the emerging morality the husband is not regarded as the - proprietor of his wife, nor the parents as autocrats over the - children.... There is a wide agreement among thinking people that - the body is not a filthy thing, and that to implant in a child - the sense of sin is a poor preparation for a temperate life. - - The battle for us, in short, does not lie against crusted - prejudice, but against the chaos of a new freedom. - -That is very good reasoning, if you grant the premise—which I do not. I -think the old authority is just as apparent as ever; its methods and -nature have merely changed. Mr. Lippmann lives among the small -minority—the people who have ideas. They represent about one tenth of -the population. Of the rest, five tenths have no ideas and the other -four tenths have something they call ideas: the rock of ages. It is -still there. The new authority is quite as strong as the old, and more -insidious because it is more subtle. Young people used to be -disinherited when they disagreed with their parents; now they are argued -with. The former method left their minds clear; the latter befogs -them—and they disinherit themselves. That is the difference. One worked -from without in; the other works from within out. Of course it’s much -better this way. But this is not the most important problem—this of the -old rock of ages. The horrible joke of modern life is that _we have been -presented with a new rock of ages_! - -The rebel program is stated—exactly. More than that, it is in action. -The difference between the new issues and the old, to Mr. Lippmann, is -that we have now learned what we must do; to me, it is that we must -learn to do something else. The battle lies not against the chaos of a -new freedom, but against the dangers of a new authority. - -Before I define, let me illustrate. About two months ago I spent four -days in one of our second-large cities—a place of about two hundred -thousand people. If I could only describe those four days and their -stimulation—to fresh rebellion! The people I saw belonged to the -supposedly enlightened inner circles—the representative upper middle -class: the ones that still loom very large in comparison to the thinking -minority from whom Mr. Lippmann draws his conclusions. Well, I had not -forgotten how ignorant people can be, but I had forgotten how cruel they -can be. I had not expected their knowledge to have increased, but their -hypocrisy to have lessened. I had not looked for vision but at least for -a beginning of sight; not for Truth, but perhaps for a willingness to -stop lying. And I found scarcely a glimmer of these things. It was -ghastly! But the strange part was this: all the time I found I was -thinking not of the great faults of their opinions but of the great -barrenness of their lives. Over and over the thought kept running -through my head: There is no poetry of living in this place! - -This brings me to my point. The new rock of ages is that wholly false -perspective which assumes that _what one thinks is more important than -what one feels_. It has been set up, quite unconsciously, by the very -people who have trying to blast the old one. It is that perspective -which the new generation must fight not only with the old, but in its -own ranks! Here is the interest of the new battle! Our next renaissance -will be concerned with changing that perspective; the genius of the -future must be directed toward that end. And that is why I think it is -not enough to say that there will come a time when men will think of -nothing but education. There will come a time when men will think of -nothing but education in imagination! And since there is no such thing -as _education_ in imagination, but only _procreation_ of it,—well, the -time will come when men will think of nothing but art. The crimes of -ignorance are not comparable to the crimes of philistinism: there is no -philosophy that will ever reach beyond that of the personality or of the -artist. - -The dominant forces in the new rock of ages are not of course the -intellectual leadership of the priest, the divinity of the constitution, -Victorian sentiment, or the Republican Party, but the intellectual -leadership of cleverness, the divinity of cults, no sentiment, and the -Practical Plan. They are endorsed by the most promising element in -modern life: the young intellectuals who are working valiantly to create -here what Europe has given to the arts and sciences,—and working in the -wrong direction. Our inferiorities to the other civilizations they -attribute to our puritanism, our speed, our economic evils. Oh, I get so -sick of their failure to reach to the real cause! It is so silly to keep -on insisting that we need poets like the French or philosophers like the -Germans or musicians like the Russians, etc., etc., if we don’t begin -soon to understand why we haven’t got them. We haven’t got them because, -in this curious country, we haven’t got people who feel.—Think of an -Irish peasant walking under the stars.... - -I grant you that it also becomes silly to talk eternally of “feeling” -without qualifying or defining. It is like taking refuge behind that -vaguest phrase in the language—“life itself.” But by “feeling” I mean -simply that flight of wings which makes walking unnecessary; that -dazzling tight-rope performance which takes you safely over the chasm of -Experience but leaves you as bruised as though you had fallen to its -depths. Feeling is that quality of spirit which will save any artist -from the philosophical redundancies of a _De Profundis_. The torturing -need of expressing something that far outstretches one’s capacity for -expression is the foundation of art. That’s why we have so little of it -in this country. There may be some Americans in whom the perspective has -retained its proper balance. I happen to know of one. - -It is for some such need as this that THE LITTLE REVIEW exists: to -create some attitude which so far is absolutely alien to the American -tradition. I have been going to the lectures of John Cowper Powys, which -are spoken of in other places in this issue, and that appreciative man -gave me an interesting idea the other day. I should like to see him as -editor of a literary magazine whose policy was to cut off the -subscription list everybody who speculated about his pose or his -insincerity and failed to miss the great beauty of his words. Now Mr. -Powys is as unstable as water: that is his value. He feels entirely too -much ever to be fully sane. His hypothetical magazine would gather an -audience that could fight successfully the great American crime which -may be described briefly as _missing the point_. Thus we might establish -a reign of imagination which would make stupid things as impossible as -cruel things, which would consider a failure to catch some new beauty or -a “moral lynching of great and independent spirits” as greater crimes -than murdering a man in a dark corner. - -On this basis we shall continue. If we must be sensible at least we -shall make it, in Shaw’s phrase, an ecstasy of common sense. And out of -all this chaos shall we produce our dancing star. - - - The supreme vice is shallowness. Whatever is realized is - right.—_Oscar Wilde._ - - - Before the scientific spirit can reach its full bloom, it will - have to acquire an honest sense of the rôle that fantasy plays in - all its work. This is especially true of the social sciences. We - are just beginning to realize the importance in economics of the - economist’s utopia. We are learning the determining influence of - the thinker’s dream.—_Walter Lippmann._ - - - - - Poems - - - AMY LOWELL - - - Bright Sunlight - - The wind has blown a corner of your shawl - Into the fountain, - Where it floats and drifts - Among the lily-pads - Like a tissue of sapphires. - But you do not heed it, - Your fingers pick at the lichens - On the stone edge of the basin, - And your eyes follow the tall clouds - As they sail over the ilex trees. - - - Ely Cathedral - - Anaemic women, stupidly dressed and shod - In squeaky shoes, thump down the nave to laud an expurgated God. - Bunches of lights reflect upon the pavement where - The twenty benches stop, and through the close, smelled-over air - Gaunt arches push up their whited cones, - And cover the sparse worshipers with dead men’s stones. - Behind his shambling choristers, with flattened feet - And red-flapped hood, the Bishop walks, complete - In old, frayed ceremonial. The organ wheezes - A moldy psalm-tune, and a verger sneezes. - - But the great Cathedral spears into the sky - Shouting for joy. - - What is the red-flapped Bishop praying for, by the bye? - - - - - Heaven’s Jester - or - The Message of a White Rose - - - MRS. HAVELOCK ELLIS - -“It is dawn! Men and women are in the city of sleep. Waken, thou strange -child of many dreams, and hear my message. A woman gave me to thee, a -woman thou lovest, whose fragrance for thee is as delicate as mine, -whose whiteness is thy strength and hope. But hark! the gods are -pitiless. Thy name is entered in the call-book of heaven by a woman thou -lovest also. In gentle jest she wrote the scrawl when thy soul passed -into Paradise with hers for one brief hour. She entered those gates in -the sweet sleep of Death and thou, by force of her love for thee, in the -sleep of life. “Heaven’s Jester” was inscribed in the registers of -Paradise and heaven’s jester thou must remain. Thy soul, after her -passing from Earth, had barely gained thy body again before the cap and -bells were donned by thee. Thy jests for men were written down. The -jingle of thy bells drew laughter and tears. God found he had need of -the fool the woman had signed to him. Hush! the jester of heavenly -courts must not lower his head or hide his face. Tears ill become the -piebald suit and trappings of mirth. Thou crazy clown! Didst think the -woman who gave me to thee needed thy heart? Hear the message the white -rose by thy bed gives to thee. She also needs thy cap and bells. It is -not for thee to choose thy way of love. God’s jester is neither man nor -woman nor child, but a singer of joys and woes to ease men’s souls and -dry the eyes of women. Play thy part, then, and laugh thy laugh. Men win -her lips, women crave her help, the world takes her service, and thou -her smiles. Wouldst thou have more, thou poet lover in the guise of a -fool? - -Then throw thy cloak down for a lover to kneel on if Fate shows thee his -face. Drown the world’s chatter with thy bells while lips kiss. In his -absence make songs and sing them to ease the travail of love in her -body. If no lover comes, then hearten and hasten even thine own enemy -into her service, if so be she gets strength and comfort from the -strange enterprise. Then make thine own soul white as the rose she has -given thee. On with thy cap and bells! Grow nimble and dance. Dance and -sing in thy jester’s way, for the homesickness of the heaven thou hast -seen will teach thee strange melodies. When death claims thee, and the -cap and bells are laid aside, God’s Jester shall sleep with a white rose -on his breast. - -“Dead,” they will say, but no! At last thou shalt hear the eternal song -of the souls of women and be satisfied! - - - HEAVEN’S JESTER TO THE BODY OF HIS LADY - -Heaven’s Jester said unto himself, “I have no need of my lady’s body, -her soul suffices. In the passionate pressure of lips the Fool has known -his God and the man has found the woman. Let that suffice!” - -In the dawn the white rose spoke once more to the jester. “Thou hast -lied. Thy lady’s unknown body is untried music to thee. Thy hands would -touch the strings, thy ear catch the vibrations her soul modulates to -sounds of sighs and sobs at the call of love. Look at my whiteness! -Think of thy unrest! The secrets of thy lady’s body are not learnt -through the strong desires common to the herd of men or the fainting -dreams of impassioned women. Fool! inscribed as thou art in the heavenly -registers by a woman as God’s Fool, thou must learn the mystic’s lore -about the body of thy Love. Thy desire is towards thy lady, and her -will, not thine, is thy law. Hearken then! It were the work of an -instant to close thy strong hands round her throat and bruise her into -forgetfulness that love is pain. To force her mouth, so much desired, -into an open well for slaking thine own thirst is love’s delicious -robbery. To hurtle to her breast, as if to rob and forestall the child -who may one day drink there, is to have found a shrine for prayer and -peace. Yes! even to rest in the hallowed forests of her body ere thou -storm the citadel where thy weapon shall break into the silent house of -life, is easy and has always been the way of men with woman. Woman the -abandoned, man the triumphant, woman the flower, man the gatherer, woman -the luscious wine and man the thirsty drinker. Thy old-world needs -desire thy lady in the way of men, though prayer before and after would -grace thy feasting. Listen to the secret the white rose whispers to -thee. It does not suffice that thou dost need thy lady or even that thy -lady needs thee. Thou must prepare thyself for her even if she has no -need of thee. The gateways of thy body must be clean, pure as snow and -free from taint. Thy thoughts must shine through thine eyes like stars, -thy passions burn with fires at white heat, without smoke or noise. -Heaven’s jester may not approach the Holy of Holies till Desire is as -white flame. The sacrament of thy Lady’s Body is precious bread and -wine, to be partaken of at her desire, not thine, and only in Heaven’s -good time. It is not for thee to choose. Thy part is to watch and pray -and laugh and sing, and maybe lead another in to the feast thou hast -prepared. Thou must bring to thy lady’s white feet frankincense and -myrrh, the spoils of the sorrows thou hast borne for the tired -travellers on thy journey. Precious stones, too, thou must gather for -her neck, from the shores of thy past desolations. Pearls thou must also -offer, burnished out of the memories of thy wayward desires which knew -not her chastity or her smiles. For her breasts thou must bring shields -forged from thy gluttonies and petty aims. For her arms crystals wrought -out of thy dreams. For her girdle rubies made from all thy heart’s -desire. For her eyes? Ah! perhaps thy kiss, delicate and passionate as -is the way of seas and clouds when the earth sleeps. For her forehead -thou mayest weave a crown of myrtle, for friendship, as thy Love is thy -Friend and is steadfast. For her ears I will tell thee the dreams of my -sister, almost black with the redness the sun has poured into her heart. -For her hair, only a wreath of “love in the mist,” for in that little -flower is the wonder of the Great Heart thou art learning to understand. -For her lips, only thy hopes made chaste and thy fears made passionate, -if God wills. - -Should thy Love waken with thy kisses on her closed eyes and turn -towards thee with wonder and joy at the things thou hast learned and the -gifts thou hast given to her, then have a care! Women are not drunk with -wine but with pity, and pity is no use to Heaven’s Jester. There are -signs, though, which even thou canst understand, and when Love is born, -the Fool is wise. If by chance, for there is no hope in this message of -the dawn, there is a resurrection day for thee, if by chance or God’s -pure will, she turns to thee as God allows one spirit to turn to another -spirit, when Love has prepared the altar, then clash thy cymbals, blow -thy trumpet, shout till the sleepy world rejoices, shake thy bells and -fling thy Jester’s cap and cloak aside, for to eat the sacramental bread -and drink the wine of thy love’s pure body thou wilt not need raiment, -and as thou wert born and as thou wilt die thou wilt enter into thy Holy -of Holies. And if thou die of joy, thou criest: - - What is Death? - Only Love freed. - - - THE FOOL TO THE SOUL OF HIS LADY - -The Jester said to himself, “If the body of my lady is so fair a -tabernacle for her soul, how can I, a Fool, understand the ways of her -spirit? My lute and pipes can only render the voices of the wind, the -sea, the trees and the cries of beasts in joy and pain. My bells are a -Jester’s toys for assuaging the griefs of the children of men. The -travailings of my lady’s spirit, like the snow on the mountains, are out -of reach of a fool’s understanding. For one brief hour I heard a faint -whisper in the halls of peace when my name was signed in the heavenly -registers, but, except in my heart, I carried no trophy to earth by -which I could tell men of the music I heard. - -This is the birthday of my Lady, the festival which calls for prayer and -joy. Prayer, because the paths of earth are hard for the feet of her -whose tread awakens a longing for wings in the Fool standing near. Joy, -because her eyes are mirrors of a time to come when love and peace will -renew earth into heaven, and men and women will become as wise as eagles -and children. Through her body, I love the soul of my lady, and through -her soul I love her body. Neither her soul nor her body may help and -comfort the Jester even though God leads and helps him by both grace and -mercy. Though his heart be sore and his body sick unto death and there -seems none to comfort him, he can still sing songs for men and pipe -melodies for women of the wonders revealed to him.” - -The White Rose, dying by the Jester’s bed, spoke once more to the Fool. - -“Cast self pity out of thine heart. Learn to live as I have learned to -die, and then learn to die as I have learned to live. For thee absence -seems death, but trace the meaning of the soul of the woman thou lovest. -Her soul is also absent from the Oversoul as her body is absent from a -Lover. Only through absence can the Oversoul draw its own to itself, and -only through loneliness can the Great Lover and the Lesser Lover -understand one another. Words confuse and touch enslaves. Souls speak -clearly in the silence. In absence a note becomes a chord, and in -silence the chord becomes a symphony. The discord dissolves into -harmony, and the darkness into dawn. The absence of Death is not -different from that of Life, for Death is Life, and Life the discord -making Death’s music. The soul of thy Lady will find thine by the aid of -both Life and Death, for it is not God’s Fool who hath declared that -there is no Love nor a Creater thereof. Thou art learning that all is -Love. In thy prayers today for thy Lady’s peace incline thy spirit -towards hers as both approach the maternal source of the Universe. It is -the Mother-Spirit of the world who has hidden thy love from thy sight, -and taken thine head from the touch of her hands and torn thy lips from -her kisses. Is it not always so that the mothers of the smaller world -wean their children into growth and knowledge? Thou art still hers even -if her body is out of sight and touch, for pure love is the simple -miracle of thine heritage as a son of man and of God. Nothing can take -from me what the sun made of me through his shining. Even as I die the -fragrance remains. Nothing can rob thee of the hours when all things -seem possible because of thy hopes and her vows. Love is pain but -over-love is peace. Turn thy tears into help and pity for those who weep -without thy hope and for those who dwell in dungeons and are not yet -registered in heaven as wise or foolish. Let thy longings for one break -into prayer for the weal of the world. Thou wert not sent here only for -thy pleasure or thy peace, nor was the body of thy Lady sent for thy -delight, or her soul for thy strength alone. Pain is ordained for the -bringers of good tidings and love lent for the redemption of the many -through the loneliness of the one. Accept thy lot and thy vision shall -make thee free. Resist thy fate and thy Love’s soul and thine shall -sleep embedded in flesh and with no power to grow wings. On thy knees -then and pray for strength and courage with thy cap and bells in -readiness by thy side, and joy within thy heart. As I die thou must -live.” - -The Jester took the rose in his hands, and, as its petals fell, a Fool’s -prayer broke the silence. - -“Maker of men,” he cried, “pour into a fool’s heart the understanding of -life’s joy and pain. Make my spirit at one with the great order. Let me -understand what is required of me and in understanding be at peace.” As -he prayed, the Jester slept, for a great weariness was on him from much -dancing. In his dream, a little child ran towards him. He opened his -Jester’s cloak, and the little one held the sleeves in her tiny hands. - -“Give all that thou hast and all that thou art even to one so small as -I,” cried the child and ran from his sight. - -The Jester was awakened by the opening and clanging of a door. He went -out into the courtyard. A beggar, unshaved, and swollen with dropsy, -stood before him. He had evil eyes and a mouth twisted by pain. He -looked at the Jester and laughed. - -“Give me thy cap and bells,” he said, “I have need of them.” - -The Jester took money from his pouch. - -“Take all this instead,” he cried. - -The old man laughed. - -“Any lord or lady can throw me that,” he said, “if only to keep me from -defiling them by my presence. Gold costs less to give than to gather. It -is dross and could only help my body to live and suffer. Thy cap and -bells would succour my spirit so that I could forget my body. With the -jingle of them I could smile at the curses of the healthy or the jibes -of the well-washed. Give them to me. Thou art well and happy and hast no -need of help.” - -The Jester bowed his head and gave up his cap and bells, but with sorrow -and pain in his heart. The beggar ran away shaking the bells and dancing -with glee, the Jester’s cap all awry on his swollen head. A sweet -melting tenderness and faintness took hold of the Jester and an ecstasy -swayed him so that he nearly fell. - -“It is the soul of my Lady speaking to mine,” he whispered. “What matter -the cap and bells? Let them go.” - -The woman he loved stood by him and her voice was like a lute on the air -as she grasped the Jester’s shoulders. - -“Give all thy music to me,” she whispered, “I am in sore travail because -of things a Fool cannot understand. Thy music ravishes me and makes me -know that love is a consuming fire in which one burns gladly. Thy wild -notes make desire in me a quenchless thirst which no drinking can -assuage. Thy soft piping fills my veins with a pain which is like joy -and with a joy which is like pain. Give me all, keep nothing back. I -would see as thou seest, hear as thou hearest, dream as thou dreamest, -so that I can play as thou, but I must tune thy pipes to the voice of my -heart.” - -The Jester drew his hood over his head and went to his cell. His Lady -had no doubt as to what he would bring back to her, for she had learnt -from him that love gives all things without question or regret. The -Jester quite simply collected all the instruments he had made during the -long years of his youth and his manhood. They were precious to him, for -he had not been able to buy as others because of his poverty. He had -gone even to the offal of the slaughter-houses, and to the dank banks of -the ponds, and the waste places in hills and valleys for the things -which gave his instruments such power over men with the strange cries he -evoked. The Jester’s sadness had been greater than even his poverty, but -the music had never failed to comfort and strengthen him. Voices from -the over-world and under-world spoke to him, and the strange secrets he -translated into sound. The Jester’s heart was glad at last. His Lady had -need of him and of what he had made. His music was hers as his heart was -hers. He laid all his precious instruments at her feet and looked in her -eyes. There were smiles for him there. She bent as he knelt and took his -head, as of old, between her long cool hands, and kissed his brow. - -“Happy, happy Fool,” she cried, “thus to be able to give all. I will -break hearts with the sweetness of these strings, I will bind others to -me and know it is thy gift. Happy Fool! Goodbye!” - -“May God comfort thee and me,” said the Jester, as he turned toward his -cell. - - - THE JESTER SLEEPS - -“The Jester is dead.” The words were said gravely, and the Lady who -heard them looked keenly in an old man’s face. - -“Dead,” she cried. - -“Yes! Found dead this morning. We could not find his cap and bells nor -the instruments he loved more than all other things. There seems no more -music in the world now, for we all grew happy through his music and the -sun.” - -“Dead!” she whispered. “May I....” - -She hesitated. “Yes, come.” - -The old man led the way. - -“He is there. We found nothing by him but the leaves of a dead white -rose and the wind from his window blew them on to his breast.” - -“He smiles,” said the Lady. - -There was silence in the cell except for the fierce howling of an April -wind and the tiny fluttering of the leaves on the breast of the Jester. - -The Lady turned towards the door. - -“His instruments are at the gate,” she said, impatiently. “Why did he -die, I wonder? The reeds are no use to me. I cannot play upon them ... -not a sound will come.” - - - - - Green Symphony - - - JOHN GOULD FLETCHER - - - I - - The glittering leaves of the rhododendrons - Balance and vibrate in the cool air; - While in the sky above them - White clouds chase each other. - - Like scampering rabbits, - Flashes of sunlight sweep the lawn; - They fling in passing - Patterns of shadow, - Golden and green. - - With long cascades of laughter, - The mating birds dart and swoop to the turf: - ’Mid their mad trillings - Glints the gay sun behind the trees. - - Down there are deep blue lakes: - Orange blossom droops in the water. - - In the tower of the winds, - All the bells are set adrift: - Jingling - For the dawn. - - Thin fluttering streamers - Of breeze lash through the swaying boughs, - Palely expectant - The earth receives the slanting rain. - - I am a glittering raindrop - Hugged close by the cool rhododendron. - I am a daisy starring - The exquisite curves of the close-cropped turf. - - The glittering leaves of the rhododendron - Are shaken like blue green blades of glass, - Flickering, cracking, falling: - Splintering in a million fragments. - The wind runs laughing up the slope - Stripping off handfuls of wet green leaves, - To fling in peoples’ faces. - Wallowing on the daisy-powdered turf, - Clutching at the sunlight, - Cavorting in the shadow. - - Like baroque pearls, - Like cloudy emeralds, - The clouds and the trees clash together; - Whirling and swirling, - In the tumult - Of the spring, - And the wind. - - - II - - The trees splash the sky with their fingers, - A restless green rout of stars. - - With whirling movement - They swing their boughs - About their stems: - Planes on planes of light and shadow - Pass among them, - Opening fanlike to fall. - - The trees are like a sea; - Tossing; - Trembling, - Roaring, - Wallowing, - Darting their long green flickering fronds up at the sky, - Subsiding, - Spotted with white blossom-spray. - - The trees are roofs: - Hollow caverns of cool blue shadow, - Solemn arches - In the afternoons. - The whole vast horizon - In terrace beyond terrace, - Pinnacle above pinnacle, - Lifts to the sky - Serrated ranks of green on green. - - They caress the roofs with their fingers, - They sprawl about the river to look into it; - Up the hill they come - Gesticulating challenge: - They cower together - In dark valleys; - They yearn out over the fields. - - Enamelled domes - Tumble upon the grass, - Crashing in ruin - Quiet at last. - - The trees lash the sky with their leaves, - Uneasily shaking their dark green manes. - - - III - - Far let the voices of the mad wild birds be calling me, - I will abide in this forest of pines. - - When the wind blows - Battling through the forest, - I hear it distantly, - Like the crash of a perpetual sea. - - When the rain falls, - I watch silver spears slanting downwards - From pale river-pools of sky, - Enclosed in dark fronds. - - When the sun shines, - I weave together distant branches till they enclose mighty circles, - I sway to the movement of hooded summits, - I swim leisurely in deep blue seas of air. - - I hug the smooth bark of stately red pillars - And with cones carefully scattered - I mark the progression of dark dial-shadows - Flung diagonally downwards through the afternoon. - - This turf is not like turf: - It is a smooth dry carpet of velvet, - Embroidered with brown patterns of needles and cones. - These trees are not like trees: - They are innumerable feathery pagoda-umbrellas, - Stiffly ungracious to the wind, - Teetering on red-lacquered stems. - - In the evening I listen to the winds’ lisping, - While the conflagrations of the sunset flicker and clash behind me, - Flamboyant crenelations of glory amid the charred ebony boles. - - In the night the fiery nightingales - Shall clash and trill through the silence: - Like the voices of mermaids crying - From the sea. - - Long ago has the moon whelmed this uncompleted temple. - Stars swim like gold fish far above the black arches. - - Far let the timid feet of dawn fly to catch me: - I will abide in this forest of pines: - For I have unveiled naked beauty, - And the things that she whispered to me in the darkness, - Are buried deep in my heart. - - Now let the black tops of the pine-trees break like a spent wave, - Against the grey sky: - These are tombs and memorials and temples and altars sunkindled for me. - - - - - The Case of French Poetry - - - RICHARD ALDINGTON - -It is with a feeling of regret and astonishment that I find nearly all -my English confrères so opposed to the spirit of French culture, so -mistaken in their views, and so curiously ignorant of the real facts of -the development of modern French literature. - -I am led to this reflection by reading Mr. Shanks’s excellent article in -your December number. It is a most ungracious task to criticise a man -who is about to hazard his life in the service of his country; and I -honor Mr. Shanks more than I can express. But if I felt as Mr. Shanks -does on the subject of French and German poetry I would not fight at all -or I would fight for Germany! To a poet poetry must be the great -business of life and, speaking for myself, I would emphatically support -the Germans if I thought they were better poets than the French and -English! (You will take that rhetorical statement for what it is worth.) - -Intellectually about fifty per cent of English people are Germanized -without knowing it. I should say the percentage is even higher in -America. I believe that no study is considered so frivolous or so -suspect in both countries as the study of French art and poetry. And -yet—Russia and one or two Anglo-Saxons put aside—the history of the art -of the last fifty years is the history of French art. You who have given -Whistler to the world do not need me to tell you what French art is. The -American painting at a recent Exhibition here was of so high a quality -that I felt my respect for the intellectual progress of America greatly -increased. I admit freely and regretfully that it was immeasurely better -than English painting. That is because most Americans study painting in -Paris. - -Why don’t they sometimes give a look at the poetry of France, for in no -country is poetry so cultivated, so well understood, and so honored? Mr. -Shanks apparently knows something of German poetry and nothing of -French. Of Liliencron I know nothing. But I do know something of -Hauptmann, Dehmel, and Stefan Georg. (I have no doubt Mr. Shanks -dislikes Georg because the latter got his training in France.) Well, I -will cheerfully wager that any more or less fair-minded person would -find three equally good poets in France to every one that can be -mentioned in Germany. - -“Kahn, Régnier, and the other Symbolistes”! What an odd statement! -Régnier is a Parnassian and Kahn a nobody. I am not going to write a -history of modern French poetry, nor speculate as to the effect of 1870 -or the probable effect of 1914 on poetry, especially French poetry. I -just want to give some names, and if anyone,—if Mr. Shanks,—can give me -half as many German poets of the same calibre, charm, and general -technical accomplishment I shall be delighted. - -Let us grant that Rimbaud, Verlaine, and the elder Parnassians were -products of the period of before 1870. Well, since that disastrous war -France has produced the following—I will not say great—delightful and -readable poets: Samain, Francis Jammes, Henri de Régnier, Jean Moréas, -Paul Fort, Laurent Tailhade, Jules Romains, Remy de Gourmont, Charles -Vildrac, Laforgue, Louys (translations), Mallarmé (pre-1870?) and -younger men like Guy-Charles Cros, Apollinaire, Castiaux, André Spire, -Carco, Divoire, Jouve, Luc Durtain, and dozens more. I do not mention -the Belgians Maeterlinck, Verhaeren, Elskamp, and Rodenbach, nor the two -Franco-Americans Vielé Griffin, and Merrill—though they also have -considerable reputations. (Did you ever hear of an American who wanted -to write German?) - -I have quoted off-hand twenty-six names from a period of about forty -years. And you must remember that there are scores and scores of names -only a little less known, and scores and scores beyond that which I may -have missed in my reading. - -But I think those few names prove beyond all doubt—and I would like -people to read them and contrast them with German poets—that French -poetry is the foremost in our age for fertility, originality, and -general poetic charm. - -It is not hatred of Germany but love of poetry which has called this -letter from me. I believe in France in the French tradition. And if -there is one thing which can reconcile me to this war it is the fact -that England has ranged herself beside France and Belgium, beside the -cosmopolite, graceful, humanizing, influences of France and French -civilization against the nationalist, narrow, and dehumanizing -influences of Berlin. I believe all Englishmen regret that they oppose -the gay, cultivated, cosmopolite Austrians; it is a misfortune. But of -the great issue between the nations—the great intellectual issue—there -can be no doubt. And Mr. Shanks, when he praises (unjustly I firmly -believe) the poets of Germany and disparages (equally unjustly) the -poets of France, is intellectually on the side of the enemy he is so -courageously opposing with physical force. I believe in the kindliness -of Germans; I know them to be excellent fathers and most generous -friends; I know them to be brave soldiers and sailors; I know they are -good chemists, reasonably good doctors, and very boring professors. At -the name of Heine all men should doff their hats, but that modern -Germany (Germany since 1870) has produced one-fiftieth of the poetry -that France has produced—in quality as well as quantity—that it has -added anything to the purely creative side of the arts, I utterly deny. - -I know that there is Nietzsche.... Perhaps I will write you another -letter on Nietzsche, if I may. - -I feel that this protest will be put down to “war-fever.” I must refer -you to my pre-war articles in English periodicals, and to the testimony -of my friends—some of whom are now in America—that such has always been -my attitude. It has always been a deep regret of mine that both American -and English literature, criticism and periodicals were so undermined -with German influences that all gentleness, all intentional good will, -all that we mean by the “Latin tradition” was anathema, and utterly -despised! - - - - - The Last Woman - - - GEORGE SOULE - - (_The second of a series of three Dramatic Extravaganzas to be - called “Plays for Irascibles.”_) - - - CHARACTERS: - - THE SAGE OF THE GREEN EARS } - THE SAGE OF THE PURPLE HAIR } - THE SAGE OF THE BLUE FACE } - THE SAGE OF THE YELLOW HAT } FUTURIST SAGES - THE SAGE OF THE RED SWORD } - THE SAGE OF THE WHITE HEART } - THE WOMAN } - - - SCENE: - -_The Council Room of the Futurist Sages, decorated in brilliant colors -to suggest a battle of the minds at some far future date. The Sages are -seated about the walls in a parabolic curve. They are costumed with -appropriate inappropriateness. Green ears is in present day evening -dress; Purple hair in fiery green robes; Blue face in a pink business -suit; Yellow hat in a conventional futurist costume of mingled colors; -Red sword in a black monk’s gown, with a sword in his rope girdle; White -heart, who is young, in football armor._ - -BLUE FACE. Shall we give the woman a chance to defend herself? - -GREEN EARS. Why should we? If her defense is good, we shall be -prejudiced against her. And as we admit the rule of prejudice, the -defense will lose its judicial character. - -RED SWORD. Judicial? Who wants to be judicial? I abolished that word -last year. - -GREEN EARS. That’s just the point. We hate the judicial; therefore if -the defense loses its judicial character we may be forced to decide both -ways at the same time. Acquit on the ground of illogical defense; -convict on the grounds of prejudice against good defense. - -PURPLE HAIR. Red sword has abolished judicial. Well, we have also -abolished the past; we have abolished all abolishments! - -YELLOW HAT. Above all, we must guard against precedent. Let us look up -all previous trials, and take care to do the opposite. - -WHITE HEART. But again, that would entangle us in the past. I want to -see the woman! - -RED SWORD. He wants to see the woman! He is a reactionary! - -PURPLE HAIR. Do not argue, brothers. For if we argue, we shall either -settle the case by logic, which we repudiate, or by violence, so that we -shall kill each other before we have a chance to decide about the woman. - -RED SWORD. Time server! I shall kill you all, and decide for myself. - -BLUE FACE. Red cabbages, redness of blue cabbages, when breakfast is no -cabbage in a potato. Cocoa crinkles! - -YELLOW HAT. He is right, brothers. - -ALL. He is right. - -BLUE FACE. We, who have exalted ourselves above all modes of thought, we -who have cast aside all images and unfettered ourselves from all -language and all sequence, we who have repudiated humanity; we have a -right to fight a lower order with its own weapons. Caprice is our god; -let us then have a caprice to judge this woman with logic and judicial -procedure. Have you all this caprice? - -ALL. We have. - -RED SWORD. I object: This is democracy. - -GREEN EARS. We accept your objection, and act in opposition to it. - -BLUE FACE. Then let the woman be brought in. - -(_White Heart goes out right and brings in the woman. She is tall, of -beautiful face and figure, in a simple white Greek tunic. In her hair is -a gold fillet. She is led to the center, where she is left standing, as -White Heart resumes his seat._) - -BLUE FACE. Deliver the charge, Red sword! - -RED SWORD (_standing_). You are charged, first, with being a woman. And -as a woman you are the living incarnation of the past. You represent -conservatism and the anti-military virtues; you clog the wheels of -progress; you sap men’s energies and misdirect them from the triumphs of -achievement to the service of material things—or immaterial things. Your -effeminate beauty poisons art and furnishes countless photographic -realists with the means of selling paintings. The love of you has -vitiated poetry and music. Masquerading in the garments of caprice, you -have deceived man into accepting the traditional. As Futurists we detest -you. This is the first charge! (_A pause._) - -THE WOMAN. You accuse me of being a woman. It is a grave charge. But -first, in order that I may have a chance to disprove it, I suggest that -you tell me what a woman is. - -GREEN EARS. A woman is that whose place is in the home. - -PURPLE HAIR. A woman is that which is ruled by instinct. - -BLUE FACE. A woman is that which is beautiful. - -YELLOW HAT. A woman is that which men call a mystery. - -WHITE HEART (_rapturously_). A woman is that which men love. - -RED SWORD (_vehemently_). A woman is that which men hate. - -THE WOMAN. These are your definitions? - -BLUE FACE. They are. - -THE WOMAN. Then in order to prove that I am a woman you must prove that -they describe me. And you must prove that there is nothing else in me. - -RED SWORD. We must prove nothing. We act. - -THE WOMAN. Then why do you talk? - -RED SWORD (_heatedly_). I deny that you are beautiful. And if you are -beautiful, I deny beauty. - -YELLOW HAT. Is it not our caprice to be judicial? Come, Red Sword, do -not descend to flattery! - -PURPLE HAIR. All our definitions have been proved a million times. They -are unprovable. - -THE WOMAN. I admit them. What then? I will leave the home, I will learn -logic, I will cut off my nose, I will tell you my mystery, and I will -let your love and your hate kill each other. And I shall still be here. - -WHITE HEART. Then you will not be a woman, you will be a feminist! - -THE WOMAN. But I shall be I instead of what you think I am. - -RED SWORD. You can not be you unless you are what we think you are. - -BLUE FACE. Brothers, can we kill the woman and spare the feminist? - -WHITE HEART. If you kill the woman you will make the feminist. - -YELLOW HAT. No; the feminist is more female than the woman. The feminist -would inflict domesticity on the world. She wants all men for her -husband. She wants to tie pink ribbons on siege guns and abolish the -mountains to make room for the nursery. If we let the feminist live, man -can no longer find a place in which to be alone with his adventure. If -we let the feminist live we shall make the woman a giant. If we kill the -woman we shall kill them both at the same time. - -GREEN EARS. Show us the feminist without the woman. - -THE WOMAN. I will do so if you will cease to be men. - -BLUE FACE. We have ceased to be men. We are supermen. - -THE WOMAN. Then you see the subwoman. - -RED SWORD (_fiercely_). We must kill what we see. - -THE WOMAN. But have I not shown you that I am something besides a woman? - -RED SWORD. You might show us that you are everything, and still I would -hate you. Hate is not hate unless it exists for its own sake. - -THE WOMAN. At last you have spoken the truth. I am everything. And you -hate me because you hate me. - -BLUE FACE. Gentle pickles in a vacillating pink mound. Inkwell is not -ink. Ink is not inkwell. Flying postman leathers purple letters. - -THE WOMAN. But I have reserved my best defence to the last. I am a -descendant of Gertrude Stein! - -RED SWORD. Descendant! What heresy! Gertrude Stein had no descendants. -She has ascendants! - -YELLOW HAT. Deliver the rest of the charge. - -RED SWORD. Be it known unto you that we are the sole surviving members -of the human race. By a process of selection we have killed all except -the best stock. You alone remain of the female sex. We charge you not -only in your capacity as woman, but in your capacity as mother. In order -to prove your right to live, you must justify mankind. We accuse you of -being the perpetuator of human beings! Defend yourself! - -THE WOMAN. You are the sole surviving males? - -YELLOW HAT. We are. - -THE WOMAN. Then you may let me live. I shall not perpetuate the race. - -WHITE HEART. Do not despair; _I_ will marry you! - -GREEN EARS. Where are your manners? Has not Shaw taught us that women do -the wooing? - -BLUE FACE. What have we to do with Shaw? Let us be serious about -frivolous matters. - -RED SWORD. She is not to be trusted. It is necessary for her to defend -the race. Speak, woman! - -THE WOMAN. Now indeed you have given me a heavy burden. What could be -brought forward as a defence for humanity? Why should anything exist? - -YELLOW HAT. Why, indeed? That is for you to show. For aeons life has -perpetuated itself through a mere animal instinct. Yet through all that -time consciousness has been growing; will has at last come into the -ascendancy. Now for the first time man’s ego is really on the throne. -For the first time man, with power to extinguish himself, can demand an -adequate reason for his existence. And man is ready to hear the secret -of the sphinx. We have come to you, madam, as the last and most perfect -woman, as the final manifestation of the eternal mystery, to force you -on pain of death to divulge yourself. - -THE WOMAN. But I thought mankind existed for the purpose of creating the -superman. - -PURPLE HAIR. He did; but now he has created the superman. We are the -embodiment of the purpose. What next? - -BLUE FACE. As futurists we refuse to accept the old answer. If our -existence merely pushes the problem forward a few generations, it is -futile. If, on the other hand, we are the crowning goal of man’s -endeavor, there is no need to create further. - -THE WOMAN. You are superchildren using superlogic. How can a reason come -out of one who is ruled by instinct? How can a conservative satisfy a -futurist? But I will answer you, and my answer is this: I am a female so -that you may be males. I am a holder of traditions so that you may smash -them. And I perpetuate the race so that you may ask the reason. - -RED SWORD. Come, come, this will not do. We are above the fogs of -mysticism. We are talking of final things, and we must have a definite -answer. - -THE WOMAN. Then make a definite accusation. - -PURPLE HAIR. We hold the human race guilty until it is proved innocent. -We assume the position of an all-wise intelligence, as aloof from the -earth as the farthest star. And we see a race of ant-things crawling on -two legs and going through all sorts of meaningless antics. Why is one -ant exalted? Because he has led an army which has killed a million other -ants. Because he has discovered how to make ants live a few seconds -longer. Because he has written a rhyme with ant-words or put a few -senseless daubs on ant-canvas. And when the ant asked himself what his -purpose was, he answered first, “To exist.” And his second answer was -like the first: “To create something more like myself than I am.” There -is no validity in these which a superior intelligence can recognize. -What is the third answer? - -RED SWORD. Woman, defend yourself! - -WHITE HEART. Stop! I love the woman and I demand her (_He jumps from his -seat and embraces her_). - -THE WOMAN. Here, O supermen, is your answer! Man exists for that which -cannot be spoken, for that which cannot be thought. He exists for his -mystery, for that which he loves, for that which he hates. Man exists -for me! - -GREEN EARS. And if he denies you? - -THE WOMAN. You cannot have your future without your past. - -RED SWORD. You see, I was right; we shouldn’t have listened to her. She -is her own argument; and she has to bring in the past. Away with her! - -YELLOW HAT. Away with her; we exist for ourselves! - -BLUE FACE. Remarkable apples, apple black, apple pink, blossom apples in -squirming shrieks. Skyrockets deserve apples. Bang! - -RED SWORD. Stop using that antique language! I’m sick of it. It’s too -obvious. - -PURPLE HAIR. Yes, we have proved that we can be more obscure in good -English. - -RED SWORD. And now, brothers, the sentence! The execution! - -ALL. The sentence, the sentence! - -RED SWORD. Stand aside, White Heart, or I will kill you both at the same -time! - -WHITE HEART. I shall die with her! - -RED SWORD. You are not yet superman. We shall execute the last man and -the last woman together. (_To the woman_) Have you any last words? It is -traditional to have last words. - -THE WOMAN. I will match my silence against your silence, my eternity -against your eternity! - -RED SWORD. Come with me! (_He leads them out, right. There is an -oppressive silence. In a moment he returns, wiping his sword on his -gown. He takes his seat without a word. The light begins to fail, and -the room grows rapidly darker until the last few sentences are spoken in -an enveloping blackness._) - -GREEN EARS. Man has produced the superman, and the superman has put an -end to mankind. - -BLUE FACE. Brothers, we stand on an icy mountain peak in the twilight of -time. - -YELLOW HAT. We experience a breathless emotion which no one has had -before, which there will be no more to have. - -PURPLE HAIR. No longer do we feel the drag of the past; no longer do we -feel the lure of the future. - -RED SWORD. We are the future. We are the goal of consciousness. - -BLUE FACE. For this moment has mankind dragged out a million weary -years. - -GREEN EARS. For this moment have been the countless joys of love, the -countless pangs of death. - -YELLOW HAT. The thing-in-itself for which philosophers have sought—that -is here. - -PURPLE HAIR. We have broken the spell of cause and consequence. - -RED SWORD. Will has won its first and its last victory over fate. - -GREEN EARS. The stupid serpent of wisdom swallowing its own tail has -grown great and finished the task. - -BLUE FACE. Grubbing logic has looked into the mirror and discovered -itself to be gigantic caprice. - -YELLOW HAT. Infinity has turned inside-out and become nothingness. - -PURPLE HAIR. The great contradiction has annihilated itself. - -RED SWORD. Let us keep silence before the solution of the ancient -riddle. - -(_A long, dark silence. Slow curtain._) - - - There is something transitory in the moods evoked by rhyme. For - rhyme shimmers on the surface of language like sunlight on the - surface of a shallow stream; it conducts the mind as in a circle; - its sphere is a world of harmonious delights. Rhyme is to the - mind what sentimentality is to art.—_Francis Grierson._ - - - - - The Liberties of the People - - - WILLIAM L. CHENERY - -LORD VALIANT. The exercise of such tyranny over the minds of men has -been productive, in a great degree, of the miseries that have fallen -upon mankind. We have been happy in England since every man has been at -liberty to speak his mind. - -MEDROSO. And we are very quiet at Lisbon, where nobody is permitted to -say anything. - -LORD VALIANT. You are quiet but you are not happy. Your tranquility is -that of galley slaves who tug the oar, and keep time in silence. * * * - -MEDROSO. But what if I find myself quite at ease in galleys? - -LORD VALIANT. Nay, in that case, you deserve to continue there. - - _—Voltaire._ - -Sunday afternoon, January 17, Chicago was given a vivid picture of the -liberties allowed the people. On that occasion the freedom of assemblage -and the right of free speech were ruthlessly and brutally denied a great -host of people because forsooth they were poor and unemployed. - -Men and women whose crime was that they could not find work had -assembled at Hull House. After the meeting, it was suggested that a -parade would impress their needs upon the city. Immediately they were -attacked by the police, some of whom had been disguised in the tatters -of unemployed men and scattered into the crowd. Young girls were beaten, -women were knocked down, men were assaulted, and all in the name of law. - -The assistant chief of police, Herman F. Schuettler, directed the -official lawlessness. This exponent of anarchy detailed fifty mounted -police to charge the assemblage of hungry men and women. And here is the -explanation given by Schuettler: - -“We expected something like this to happen. We had refused these people -a permit and they took it upon themselves to violate the law. I have no -fault to find with the conduct of the policemen. Of course they may have -been a bit rough but I am sure they acted within their rights. They were -obeying orders.” - -And then, poltroon fashion, the anarchistic police attempted to conceal -their stupid crimes and cruelties by stressing the fact that Mrs. Lucy -Parsons, one of the philosophical anarchists of Chicago, was a speaker -at the Hull House meeting! Could bureaucracy go further? - -The episode is important because it is typical of what is going on all -over the United States. It is a by-product of our undigested industrial -order and also a promise of what the future has in store for us; it is -the prophecy of a future feudalism which is rising like a flood and -which will sweep us into impotency if we are not wise enough and strong -enough to plan a sound reconstruction. From San Diego to Portland, from -Los Angeles to New York, the fight is raging. In places the people have -definitely lost all the rights and privileges of a supposed democracy. -In Lead, S. D., in the Colorado coal fields, in parts of Montana, in -parts of the Michigan copper country, in West Virginia, in Pennsylvania, -and in Massachusetts, whole sections of the population have been -degraded by forces too strong for them to a condition of servility. A -servile people is not a threat of the future; it is a comment upon the -present. And among the servile peoples, the liberties have perished. The -question which now remains is only: “Is the remnant strong enough or -disciplined sufficiently to regain the fundamentals of freedom which -slipped away while we slept?” - -It is not only the poor unemployed who have been battered about and made -to cringe. Preachers and professors have also felt the stultifying -constraint exercised by tired business men in moods of irritation. -Howard Crosby Warren gave an appallingly lengthy list of professors who -have been discharged from universities all over the land within the last -two or three years because they exercised the most commonplace latitude -in the choice of their sentiments and their pronouncements. A Florida -professor had to forego his position because he doubted the finality of -the wisdom of the ante-bellum teachers in the South. A professor at -Marietta College, Ohio, was forced to resign because his political -opinions were displeasing to his masters. A professor at Wesleyan was -driven out on account of his opinion concerning the observance of the -Sabbath. But why go on? The number is tediously inclusive. - -So great has this evil become among teachers that an association of -University professors was organized in New York in early January. From -it college presidents and deans were expressly excluded. The members of -the association, actuated no doubt by motives of middle-class -respectability, announced that they were not to be considered a trade -union; but, for all their dislike of the dignity of labor, they have -found it necessary to fight as a body for the retention of the liberties -essential to self-respect. - -The attack on the Chicago unemployed, who made nothing like so much of a -parade as the visitors to a ball park any summer afternoon, nor so much -of a street jam as the fashionable attendants at a Mary Garden opera, -illustrated the direction in which the attack is being made. The real -government of men is industrial, and not political, as every one knows. -Consequently the genuine tyrannies, or abuses of government, can be -discovered naturally among the incidents of industry. - -Dr. Annie Marion MacLean of Adelphi College, Brooklyn, read a living -document upon this phase of the question at a conference held by the -economic and sociological associations at Princeton during Christmas -week. In the course of her investigation, says Paul U. Kellogg in his -report of the meetings in _The Survey_, Dr. MacLean had been told by -girls how their foremen had warned them against telling what their pay -was, of loft building doors locked, of foul air, and what not. The head -of an employer’s utopia had told her he would keep out unionism by -making examples of the talk leaders. How? By firing them. She told of -strikers suppressed by the police for what they said, while -strikebreakers inside the factory, hurling insults at them from the -windows, went unmolested. “Working women have the right to state the -beliefs they hold without forfeit of their livelihood,” said she. “They -need reassurance that liberty is more than a catch word. The box-maker, -the bobbin girl, and the doffer have the right not only to life but to -liberty and free speech in a land which is supposed to be the home of -freedom.” - -Professors are denied the right of free speech because colleges and -universities are organized on business principles. Scholars and teachers -are deprived of the franchise in all vital matters affecting university -life. They are clerks. Tired business men are the masters of education, -and tired business men have but one great principle: loyalty to the -organization. Criticism seems sacrilege. Incidentally, that accounts for -the fact that the great inventions in business have been made by -outsiders; but that is not my story. - -The same tired business men operating through the police take away the -essential liberties from trade unionists, from the unemployed, from -socialists, and from the I. W. W.’s when the occasion arises. The police -acquire the habit of tyranny and then set to work to practice it on -their own account. What reason under heaven could have persuaded Herman -F. Schuettler to order an attack on hungry men and women, inoffensive, -armed only with banners bearing fragments of the Lord’s Prayer? Surely a -Christian litany is not an incitement to riot. “Give us this day our -daily bread”—if this be treason, we may well pray for annihilation at -the touch of some vagrant comet. - -But the police are pawns in the great game of the modern world, the game -of hide and seek for sovereignty. Blind and stupid, they do the -occasional desires of their masters and then, filled by a lust for -repression, go on to satiate their unwholesome appetites. - -Hitherto I have assumed that the somewhat constitutional guaranties of -free speech and free assemblage—the two go hand in hand—were actual -rights. Theodore Schroeder, leader among the libertarians, has been -prominent long among the small group which has ceaselessly stressed our -fading freedom. Schroeder has an article in _The Forum_ in which he -makes a witty attack upon Comstockery and upon the censorship which has -grown up in the Post Office Department—a censorship prudish and powerful -enough to exclude the Chicago Vice Report from the mails. This -censorship of the imagined obscene is puerile and petty in sufficiency -for any appetite, but it is useless to discuss it here. The reaction is -always more potent than the action where obscenity is charged, as -witness our own September Morn. Schroeder, albeit, announces his freedom -of speech to be “a natural and a constitutional right.” - -Society, so far as I know, recognizes no natural rights and modern -philosophy seems to sanction none. As for constitutional rights, every -constitution, unless it be dead, is subject to amendment. The real -foundation for the liberties of speech and assemblage is discovered in -the social need for them. Without freedom the common weal withers and -perishes. That, then, is the basis and incidentally it affords a rod by -which any attempt at censorship, by the police, by factory foremen, by -the post office, by university trustees, and even by a sluggish popular -taste, may be measured. - -If the powers of Olympus would lend to men some creature of infinite -wisdom and taste, some creature versed in the weary evolutions of the -past, and pregnant with the unformulated tendencies of the future -through which an increasing happiness may be attained by men, then well -might that creature assume a censorship of human thought and speech. But -salvation cannot be won so lightly, for the seed of happiness is with -men. No one lives, or has lived, with the power to say what idea was -valuable to the world and what idea was baneful. The human substitutes -which have been commissioned during the absence of this all-wise and -all-prophetic authority have been uniformly dull, limited, and poisonous -to the best hopes of the future. - -Since, then, we may not have a wise authority, why not frankly face the -situation? We blame the police, and justly, for their cruelties; yet -upon them American society has imposed an impossible task. We have -demanded free speech and free assemblage by our fundamental law, and -privately we have told the police not to obey the constitution. Who’s at -fault? New York knows. Last winter at Madison Square Garden the same -sort of folly was enacted as that which disgraced Chicago on Sunday, -January 17. Then Arthur Woods, police commissioner, saw a great light. -He made an experiment in freedom. It worked hugely to his credit and, -parenthetically, to the discredit of some of those most noisy in -demanding the right. The emptiness of many of the speakers was exhibited -and that was all. The existing order was unruffled. - -As a result of his enlightenment Commissioner Woods made a request at -the conference on the old freedoms held at Princeton: “Policemen are -entitled to definite orders,” said the commissioner. “People in this -country have the constitutional right to freedom of assemblage and -freedom of speech. The police have not only the responsibility to permit -it—but to protect them in its exercise, and the police should be so -instructed.” - -The police should be so instructed; the welfare of the race demands it. -But they won’t get instructions until powerful organized groups of -citizens find expression. Upon this organization rests the future. - - - - - A Hymn to Nature - - - (_This fragment, a “Hymn to Nature,” unknown to us in the published - works of Goethe, was found in a little bookshop in Berlin, and - translated into English by a strong man and a strong woman whose - lives and whose creations have served the ideals of all humanity - in a way that will gain deeper and deeper appreciation._) - -Nature! - -We are encompassed and enveloped by her, powerless to emerge and -powerless to penetrate deeper. - -Unbidden and unwarned she takes us up in the round of her Dance and -sweeps along with us, until exhausted we fall from her Arms. - -She creates ever new Forms; what is, was never before; what was, comes -never again—everything is New and yet ever the Old. - -We live in the midst of her and are Strangers to her. - -She speaks incessantly with us and never betrays her Secret to us. - -We have unceasing Effect upon her and yet have no Power over her. - -She appears to have committed everything to Individuality and is -indifferent to the Individual. - -She builds ever and ever destroys and her Workshop is inaccessible. - -She is the very Children—and the Mother—where is she? - - * * * * * - -She is the only Artist. - -With the simplest Materials she arrives at the most sublime Contrasts. - -Without Appearance of Effort she attains utmost Perfection—the most -exact Precision veiled always in exquisite Delicacy. - -Each of her Works has its own individual Being—each of her Phenomena the -most isolated Conception, yet all is Unity. - -She plays a Drama. - -Whether or no she sees it herself we do not know and yet she plays it -for us who stand in the Corner. - -There is an eternal Life, Growth and Motion in her and yet she does not -advance. - -She changes ever, no Moment is stationary with her. - -She has no Conception of Rest and has fixed her Curse upon Inaction. - -She is Firm. - -Her Step is measured, her Exceptions rare, her Laws immutable. - -She has reflected and meditated perpetually; not however as Man but as -Nature. - -She has reserved for herself a specific all-embracing Thought which none -may learn from her. - - * * * * * - -Mankind is all in her and she in all. - -With all she indulges in a friendly Game and rejoices the more one wins -from her. - -She practices it with many, so occultly that she plays it to the End -before they are aware of it. - -And most unnatural is Nature. - -Whoever does not see her on every side, nowhere sees her rightly. - -She loves herself and ever draws to herself Eyes and Hearts without -number. - -She has set herself apart in order to enjoy herself. - -Ever she lets new Admirers arise, insatiable, to open her Heart to them. - -In Illusion she delights. - -Whoever destroys this in himself and others, him she punishes like the -most severe Tyrant. - -Whoever follows her confidently—him she presses as a child to her -Breast. - -Her Children are Countless. - -To none is she everywhere niggardly but she has Favorites upon whom she -lavishes much and to whom she sacrifices much. - -Upon Greatness she has fixed her Protection. - -She pours forth her Creations out of Nothingness and tells them not -whence they came nor whither they go; they are only to go; the Road she -knows. - -She has few Motive Impulses—never worn out, always effective, always -manifold. - -Her Drama is ever New because she ever creates new Spectators. - -Life is her most beautiful Invention and Death her Ruse that she may -have much life. - -She envelops Mankind in Obscurity and spurs him ever toward the Light. - -She makes him dependent upon the Earth, inert and heavy; and ever shakes -him off again. - -She gives Needs because she loves Action. - -It is marvelous how she attains all this Movement with so little. - -Every Need is a blessing, quickly satisfied, as quickly awakened again. - -If she gives another Need—then it is a new source of Desire; but soon -she comes to Equipoise. - -She starts every Moment upon the longest Race and every Moment is at the -Goal. - -She is Futility itself: but not for us for whom she has made herself of -the greatest importance. - -She lets every Child correct her, every Simpleton pronounce Judgment -upon her; she lets thousands pass callous over her seeing nothing and -her Joy is in all and she finds in all her Profit. - -We obey her Laws even when we most resist them, we work with her even -when we wish to work against her. - -She turns everything she gives into a Blessing; for she makes it -first—indispensable. - -She delays that we may long for her, she hastens on that we may not be -sated with her. - -She has no Speech nor Language; but she creates Tongues and Hearts -through which she feels and speaks. - -Her Crown is Love. - -Only through Love can we approach her. - -She creates Gulfs between all Beings and all wish to intertwine. - -She has isolated all that she may draw all together. - -With a few Draughts from the Beaker of Love she compensates a Life full -of Toil. - -She is Everything. - -She rewards herself and punishes herself, rejoices and torments herself. - -She is harsh and gentle, lovely and terrible, powerless and omnipotent. - -Everything is ever present in her. - -Past and Future she knows not—The Present is her Eternity. - -She is generous. - -I glorify her with all her Works. - -She is wise and calm. - -One drags no Explanation from her by Force, wrests no gift from her -which she does not freely give. - -She is cunning but for a good purpose and it is best not to observe her -Craft. - -She is complete and yet ever uncomplete; so as she goes on she can ever -go on. - -To Everyone she appears in special Form. - -She conceals herself behind a thousand Names and Terms and yet always is -the same. - -She has placed me here; she will lead me hence;— - -I confide myself to her. - -She may do with me what she will: she will not despise her Work. - -I speak not of her. No, what is true and what is false; She herself has -spoken all; - -All the Fault is hers; hers is all the Glory. - - - - - My Friend, the Incurable - - - IV. - - Pro domo mea: on the vice of simplicity. John Cowper Powys—a - revelation - -One of my critics sent me a New Year’s wish and admonition: “You are -hectic. Why not see things as they are? You must learn to be simple.” - -This is another attempt on the part of my good-wishers to cure me, in -defiance of my resolute declaration that I cannot and do not want to be -cured. Furthermore, I am in the position of a normal lunatic who -considers the whole world, except himself, insane; not only do I refuse -to learn the art of being simple, but I regard simplicity as a vice, a -defect, a misery. - -What is simplicity? I cannot define things; definitions are absurd, -limiting, simplifying. In this case perhaps I ought to adopt the method -of the school-boy who defined salt as “what makes potatoes nasty when -not applied to.” It is an English joke which I have tried with -discouraging results on the American sense of humor; it suits my purpose -nevertheless. How would this do: “Simplicity is that which makes life -dull when applied to?” No; decidedly, I cannot think in Procrustean -formulas. - -Nothing is simple. What nonsense it is to synonymize this word with -“natural,” as if nature were not most complex and complicated! Neither -is the primitive savage simple, for he conceives things not “as they -are,” but through a veil of awe and mystery. Nor is the child simple, -Messrs. and Mesdames Pedagogues; you may instruct it scientifically, -tell it “plain truths” and facts, but the not-yet-educated young mind -will distrust you and will continue to live in its illusionary, -fantastic world. Not even beasts may be accused of that vice: recall -Maeterlinck’s subtle dogs and horses. - -Nothing is simple, although civilization has attempted to simplify a -good deal. We have come to live in accordance with established -standards, customs, regulations; inertia and routine have replaced -impulse and initiative. Science has endeavored to explain away man’s -dreams, to do away with religion, soul, imagination, to prove away our -mysteries and wonders. Known stuff. Thus has come to be the -matter-of-fact multitude, the simple, the all-knowing, those who act and -think and feel “as everybody else does,” as they are taught and trained -by the ingenious apparatus of scientific, moral, and social -classifications, definitions, simplifications, in a word—the civilized -man. - -Yet side by side with civilization, machinization, automatonization, -there is another powerful force moving the world: culture. Culture -_versus_ civilization, this is how I gauge the issue. Do not ask me to -define these words: let Professor Herrick do it. We are all civilized, -of course; especially the Germans: witness their recent astounding -achievements. Now try to apply the term “culture” to the activities of -those _Kulturtraeger_ in Belgium and before Rheims—Q. E. D. -Michael Bakounin “tried” it in 1848, when he suggested to his -fellow-revolutionists in Dresden that they place on the besieged walls -Raphael’s Madonna in order to avert the canon of the cultured Prussians; -luckily the Saxons knew better their cousins, “the blond beasts.” Pardon -this paroxysm of my old disease, Prussophobia. Bakounin, you see, -belonged to the few, to the non-simple, to those who had an insight -beyond the apparent, the fact, to the hectic, to the abnormal, if you -please; “abnormal” is the label given to such individualities by the -many, the civilized. - -I am not so vulgar as to affect megalomania, when asserting that I am -cultured: this is an _apologia_, a confession of my sins before my -critic, the advocate of simplicity. When facing a sunset, I do not -simply see a display of colors, nor do I think of the simple explanation -of this phenomenon as offered by science, but I live through a world of -associations, recollections of diverse impressions and reactions -imprinted on my mind by Boecklin, Mallarmé, Debussy—by all the gods that -make up the religion of modern man. Life external, simple facts, are to -me an artless raw libretto, which, naturally, cannot in itself satisfy -one who has come into this world with the intention of enjoying -grandiose opera. I call it culture, this faculty of seeing things -_creatively_, not in monotones, not through window-panes, but through -multiplying lenses which collect the rays of all suns and concentrate -them on the focus. Now, pray, is there any hope for me “to learn how to -be simple?” - -Life is composed of hundreds of grey days interspersed with a few -scintillating moments, the few moments justifying our otherwise -superfluous existence. In this respect I am not a Croesus, but the half -dozen or so of meteoric flashes that have pierced through the -ordinariness of my life I treasure grudgingly, and would not exchange -them for years of continuous well-being. Congratulate me: I have become -enriched now with another moment of rare beatitude, of indelible -radiance. I was present at the transubstantiation of Oscar Wilde, -performed by John Cowper Powys. - -Was it a lecture? “Most certainly,” would advise me my simple friend. -What a dwarfish misnomer for the solemn rite that took place in the dark -temple, the “catacomb” of the Little Theatre! I close my eyes, and see -once more the galvanized demi-god vibrating in the green light, invoking -the Uranian Oscar. We, the worshipers, sit entranced, hypnotized, -demundanized, bewitched; the sorcerer makes us feel the presence in -flesh and spirit of the Assyrian half-god, half-beast, who had the moral -courage of living his life actively, to the full; we follow bewildered -the quaint meteor of Wilde’s genius illuminating the world for a moment, -dropping down into a hideous pit, reflaming in the pale glimmer of -discovered sorrow; we finally hear the sonorous requiem to Oscar’s -break-down from the shock of having discovered a heart in himself. The -lights are on, the sorcerer is gone, but we remain under the spell of -the hovering spirit. - -To quote Powys is as impossible as to _tell_ a symphony. It is the How -and the What and the stage background that combine in creating the -inexpressible charm of that experience. As to Oscar Wilde—well, what -does it matter whether we agree with Mr. Powys’s interpretation or not? -Wilde was my idol for a long time; I chanted dithyrambs to him and -worshiped him fanatically. Later, in the perpetual process of dethroning -gods, I observed the halo of the Prince of Paradoxes becoming paler in -my eyes. Mr. Powys rekindled in my heart the sacred flame, for a moment -at least, and gave me the rare sensation of reliving an old love. - -À propos of simplicity: Wilde proclaimed artificiality as the great -virtue, and certainly lived up to his theory. Compare his short but -italicized life with the last weary years of Tolstoy that were an -attempt for “simple life.” Need I tell you which I prefer? - - - - - Muck and Music - - - ALFRED A. KNOPF - - (_We disagree with Mr. Knopf in too many respects not to be eager to - print his interesting article._) - -Dr. Karl Muck resumed charge of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in the -fall of 1912. Looking over the twenty-two programs which he has given -since then one is forced to admit that his tastes are, to say the least, -peculiar. There have been frequent performances of Beethoven and Brahms -and occasional classical programs. These, perhaps, serve to keep his -feet on solid earth, but at other times he soars into the realm of -incomprehensible novelty and one can tell in advance where he will land -just about as easily as if he were a German Zeppelin headed for Paris. -One thing only seems certain—he cannot resist the virtuoso that is in -him; he gluts us with what can only be called virtuosity for its own -sake. If he offers a novelty (and when Brahms and Beethoven are taken -care of he chooses, for the most part, to offer little else) it is sure -to be some outrageously difficult affair—difficult both to play and to -listen to. One cannot reasonably object to music merely because it is -difficult to understand. The test is whether there is sufficient real -beauty in it to repay careful and painstaking attention. And my point is -simply that many of us feel that the beauty in Sibelius, Holbrooke, -Reger, Lendvai, Mraczek, Loeffler, Mahler, Schmitt and others is -disproportionately small. - -The reasons for the New Yorker’s peculiar bitterness against Dr. Muck -are not difficult to discover. He makes only ten appearances each -season: the Philharmonic and the New York Symphony each gives many more -concerts. From our point of view, would it not be better if we relied on -Stransky and Damrosch (the merits of the one and the fripperies of the -other are too apparent to call for comment here) for our first hearings -of novelties? Then, if a particular composition seemed to warrant it, -the Boston Orchestra could play it for us in its usual masterly manner. -Just so long as New York worships the men from Boston in the mad -feminine way it does, just that long will it resent Dr. Muck’s playing -what it doesn’t want to hear. It was Theodore Thomas, I think, who, -discovering that people cared very little for Wagner’s music, played it -until they changed their minds. That is all very well when you have a -Wagner, but I wonder just how heartily Dr. Muck admires the music he has -recently served up to his New York audiences. - -To begin with there was Sibelius’s Fourth Symphony. Now Sibelius is one -of the great living composers. He is a genuine musician—by which I mean -that you do not suffer all the agonies of stage fright when you hear a -composition of his for the first time. He knows the business of his -craft and you usually feel safe in his hands, thanks to three Symphonies -and Finlandia. But how rudely this fourth symphony shakes your -confidence! Call it musicianly: show how consistently-planned and -executed it is: you won’t like it any the more. To be sure, Sibelius is -a Finn and an intensely feeling one. He gives expression to the emotions -of that curiously unhappy race. But music to appeal must be more -universal than this angry symphony of ugly moods. You can’t explain it -on cubist grounds—unless the Finns also call it disagreeable. But one -ventures the guess that they, perchance, find it richly agreeable, in -which case its performance should, by International law (or what is left -of it) be confined to Finland. - -Then there was _Schlemihl_—a symphonic biography by one Emil Nikolaus -von Reznicek. This was the pièce de resistance at the evening concert. -It is scored for one piccolo, three flutes, three oboes, English horn, -three clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, double bassoon, four -horns, four trumpets, three trombones, contra bass tuba, two trumpets -off the stage, kettle drums, snare drums, bass drum and tambourine, -Glockenspiel, Cuckoo, Xylophone, cymbals, triangle, tam-tam, two harps, -celesta, organ, sixteen first violins, sixteen second violins, twelve -violas, ten violoncellos, eight double basses, and a tenor voice. This -huge orchestra, plus the detailed analysis of his work furnished by the -composer, explains _Schlemihl_. It is an attempt to out-Richard Richard -Strauss, and, like almost all such attempts, it fails. Reznicek recounts -the life and fate of a modern man pursued by misfortune who goes to -destruction in the conflict between his ideal and his material -existence. A compound essentially of _Tod und Verklärung_, _Tyll -Eulenspiegel_ and _Ein Heldenleben_, but at no time reaching the heights -attained by Strauss in all three of these tone poems. Imitators somehow -almost always fall down in two ways—they devote far too little attention -to what they want to say and far too much to their manner of saying it. -And as a not unnatural result of this, they forget, or appear to forget -at any rate, that melody is the prime essential in great music. Wagner -had melodic genius, as we all realize today, and that Strauss has it is -no longer open to very serious questioning. Reznicek hasn’t. His music -is all rather good, but none of it good enough to grip you as the finest -music does. It has no great moments but only moments of very great -sound. The house fairly quaked at some of the fortissimos. And yet -_Schlemihl_ would be pleasant enough were it not so pretentiously -bombastic and did it not last twice too long. But the mere existence of -_Ein Heldenleben_, _Tyll Eulenspiegel_ and _Tod und Verklärung_ deprives -_Schlemihl_ of any greater claim than that. - -After these two pieces Scheinpflug’s _Overture to a Comedy of -Shakespeare_ proved quite simple and enjoyable. It is a musicianly piece -of work lacking neither in melodic invention nor in skilful -orchestration. The Allegretto Graziosa, in which an old English tune -from the Fitz William Virginal Book is introduced, is wholly delightful. -And having said that much, one really has said all. The overture can -have no possible chance of immortality; it is not great music, it is not -intensely interesting or unusually delectable: one feels rather that -such compositions as this are the by-products of the daily practice of -the art of music by men of no little talent but very little genius. As -such, they demand an occasional hearing—today Scheinpflug has the stage: -tomorrow someone else—what matter who, since none are really masters. - -An occasional performance of Strauss’s early Symphonic Suite, _Aus -Italien_, is probably quite justifiable because of his imposing -importance among the composers of today. When a musician attains -greatness almost everything he ever wrote becomes of interest to his -disciples. _Aus Italien_ calls for little comment. First performed in -1887, it is difficult today to realize the great uproar and rage it -evoked. Now it seems quite tame. It was indeed Strauss’s “first step -towards independence,” and it is interesting as the connecting link -between his very early work and _Don Juan_ and its successors. Its first -movement “On The Campagna” is probably the most successful, reaching as -it does gravely grey and tragic heights. A sense of oppressiveness -fairly overwhelms the listener and there are chords that are exquisite. -“Amid Rome’s Ruins” is not nearly so sustained and well-knit. The -opening of the third movement, “On the Shore of Sorrento,” depicts with -wonderful effectiveness the brilliance of an Italian sea under a -dazzling sun—a brilliance that no one who has seen it is likely ever to -forget. Strauss, for all his reputed blare and noise, handles his -orchestra pianissimo in a manner immeasurably more impressive than -anyone else of his time. (The opening bars of _Tod und Verklärung_ and -the love scene in _Don Juan_ immediately come to mind). And you can -measure a generation’s progress in orchestration by the unruffled -placidity with which people nowadays listen to the at-one-time -“brilliant, tumultuous, audacious, unusual, and bold” finale—“Neapolitan -Folk-Life.” - -Even the casual concert-goer must notice the amazing duplications that -are being offered this season. For two or three seasons a particular -composition is neglected; then suddenly it is played five times in half -as many weeks. Stransky plays _Don Juan_; a week later Muck, as it were, -shows us how it ought to be played. The Symphony Society plays Brahms’s -Second Symphony and shortly thereafter Muck administers his reproach to -Damrosch. Is there any reason why conductors shouldn’t meet occasionally -and plan to avoid such ways? Muck appears the chief offender. His -program stated that he was playing Ropartz’s Fourth Symphony for the -first time in New York, but Stransky had played it only eight days -earlier. When will we hear it again? - -For this Symphony deserves another hearing. The only work by a Frenchman -that Dr. Muck has offered this season, it is far more satisfying than -any of his other novelties. The restless swing of the opening theme -grips you at once—and your curiosity is piqued as the violins sing -against the “Kernel” in the horns. The Adagio is not so successful—the -theme sung by the English horn is not sufficiently melodious. You need -only compare it with the heart-breaking Largo of Dvorak’s _Aus Der Neuen -Welt_. But there are the most engaging rhythms—many of them typically -Scotch in their snap. In fact did Ropartz’s gift for melody (it is far -from negligible) approach his rhythmic talent, he might produce really -great music. As it is, this Fourth Symphony interests and gratifies. But -it is too long. Its three movements are played without a pause and one’s -attention flags at times. It seems likely that this is inevitable in -absolute music: only a program can really hold one’s attention for -almost forty minutes. Strauss does it in _Ein Heldenleben_; but _Don -Juan_, _Tyll Eulenspiegel_ and _Tod und Verklärung_ last only about -twenty minutes each, despite the fascinating explanations that the -program notes always give of their musical contents. Ropartz’s Fourth -Symphony would be much better if played with pauses, and the sections -are so clearly indicated that this could be done without great -difficulty. But, on the whole, a hearing of his work makes one wish for -more French music, with its charming, clear-cut rhythms so typical of -the Gaul. (To my mind Ropartz’s indebtedness to César Franck is a matter -of comparative unimportance. Disciple or not, he has brought to his task -of writing music freshness and charm, a fund of melody and a quite -adequate technique). - -After listening to these five compositions, what effect would -Beethoven’s _Egmont_ Overture naturally have? Relief,—pure unalloyed -relief. And it confirms one in the feeling that relief is ever going to -be one of the prime functions thrust by the musicians of today upon the -greatest master of them all. Invariably he brings us back to earth, and -as we sit listening to him in smug contentment, we can say over, without -fear of contradiction: “This after all is music.” - - - - - While Hearing a Little Song - - - (_Solveigs Lied_) - - MAXWELL BODENHEIM - - A song flew lazily - Over my upturned head. - It dropped and I could see - The ivoried limbs, the spread - Of swaying, dream-colored wings, - And barely sense the drift - Of slender, cloud-voiced rings - Of notes which seemed to lift - The oval of my soul - Up to their lingering death ... - A purplish pallor stole - Down to my leaden breath,— - It was my melted soul - And the soft death of the throng - Of notes from the slim song. - - - - - A Hard Bed - - - GEORGE BURMAN FOSTER - -Warfare against suffering, this is man’s most natural fight. Suffering -is an attack upon man, upon his will to live. On this account, he has a -right to protect himself from suffering, to hold suffering far from him. - -But the struggle seems futile. The host of sufferings seems illimitable. -For each old suffering which we thought we had vanquished, ten new ones -come of which we had never dreamt. Indeed, the capacity to suffer grows -with the growth of man. The feeling of pain grows as the senses become -sharper and finer. The higher a man’s development, the stronger becomes -his ability to feel life’s pains. Even if we could exchange all the -sufferings of life for pure joy and bliss, this latter life would be -suffering still, a surfeit and a search, and I doubt not we would long -for an hour of some old anguish again that would redeem us from a -pleasure now grown oppressive and intolerable. - -Shall we, then, hate life? Shall we say that it were better not to be -than to be? We might, did we not find strength and comfort in and with -every suffering,—did we not allow every item or event of experience the -democratic right to a trial by a jury of its peers and to our trust that -it is worth while until it shall prove that it is not,—did we not -experience that up from the abyss of every suffering, painful as it -seems, a path leads to a summit where all sufferings are only shadows of -a blinding flood and fullness of light; that all articulate and fit into -the eternal process of an upward-striving life. - -There is no question but that this is the workable view of life to -present to the heart of man, draining, as one must, pain’s bitter cup -for one’s self. But the sufferings one feels for others, sufferings in -which one’s love, expressed in sympathy and pity, is complicated—this is -another matter, here one may fall into mischievous aberration. There can -be no doubt that the pain of our pity for others may be more painful -than the pain of our own lives. In the throes of such pity, the woes of -our own lives may seem small indeed, and finally fade away. To behold a -human being that is deeply dear to us suffer is worse than it would be -to suffer in his place. And if the man of moral elevation of soul feels -equal in the end to all that brings pain to his own life, all the more -defenseless does he feel with regard to the great all-prevailing misery -which, in pity, celebrates its triumphal entry into his heart. Love is -our noblest human power, and it is love that lets us feel such misery, -it is love whose wealth of recognition and experience renders it -possible for us to descry sorrow’s abysses, to anticipate them even in -advance of the poor sufferer himself. - -Now, may love be good, and pity bad? What a problem is here! May we war -a two-fold warfare, one against suffering and one against pity? Ought -we? War upon pity—would not that be in contradiction to all that our own -generation especially calls good and great? Our generation has done its -best to develop in the human heart an ever-enlarging capacity for -pity—what would it say to a warrior who pitilessly took up arms against -pity? - -_Friedrich Nietzsche_ was such a warrior, single-handed and alone! And -the venomous verbal onslaught upon Nietzsche by those who did not -understand him was equalled only by those who did. At first Nietzsche’s -own success consisted in supplying his opponents with new weapons -against himself. Of all the words which have been used as bludgeons to -break the head of this most resolute rebel against our previous moral -view of life, Nietzsche’s piercing words concerning pity and the pitiful -have most occupied the attention of his enemies. This may not deter us -from looking unabashed the great question squarely in the face. In the -end, is pity something to be overcome, a disease of the old culture? -Does the path of the new culture lead men out and beyond and above pity? -This is no longer a Nietzsche question merely. This is a question of the -moral life of our time. Perhaps this is the last weightiest question -which our time can put to men of dignity and depth of thought. - -However, it is only fair to say at the outset that no one has any right -to fly into a rage at Nietzsche in particular for summoning men to arms -against pity, since, if rage is in order at all, the conventional -practices of our previous life furnished therefor occasion enough. Aye, -there is an old wide-spread fashion of averting the strain of pity which -is so mean and cool that almost anybody could fly into a frenzy over -it—the fashion, not of triumphing over pity, but of cowardly flight from -pity. Consider the whole conception of life of the so-called favorites -of fortune. To what lengths do they go that they may be spared the sight -of misfortune, that they may not be agitated by a touch of pity! How -they avoid, if at all possible, every place that would remind them that -there are want and misery, hunger and sorrow, in the world—as the -Parisians did, until Zola, the most calumniated author of the nineteenth -century, dragged these things, with their ensuing vices, out into the -light of day and made the French people look at them! How furious they -are, as the French were at great Zola, at anybody who dares to open -their eyes to the sad and harrowing realities of life! Nay, they have -invented a special art and religion that shall succeed in sparing them -pity; the former to conjure up a make-believe world in which life shall -be all sunshine and gladness; the latter to advocate the doctrine that -all pain is punishment from God, and that, since God must be just, He -will properly parcel out and administer pain and suffering. We do not -need to bestir ourselves in behalf of sufferers; that would be a wrong -against God; a doubt of the Everlasting Justice; hence all may not feel -pity for the wicked man upon whom God visits His wrath and punishment! -Thus the “good people” and the just harden their hearts. They have -stones which they heave at the poor sinner—especially at a “sinful -woman”—but no mercy, no pity, for those who are not as they are, and do -not think and feel and act as they do. They grow chesty: “Yes, if others -were as good as we are, then it would be as well with them as it is with -us!” With such pride they choke all feeling of kinship and connection -with others. Where pride grows, no pity can thrive. And at last pity -itself becomes a kind of pride, a sorry self-reflection as in a mirror. -The most subtle and dangerous way for men to free themselves from the -pain of pity, when they cannot stave it off completely, is to make it a -thing of pride and praise: “I thank Thee, God, that I am not like the -hard-hearted!” Then they revel and riot in their pity, then they rejoice -that they are so good-hearted, so tender-hearted, because they can see -no suffering without being touched and melted to tears. And the pitiful -call this their morality and their virtue. They make a “delicacy” of -their pity to set before themselves at the table of life when all of -life’s other gratifications and indulgences begin to grow stale and -tasteless. The tears of emotion that gush generously forth at the -spectacle of suffering humanity—even of frail and faulty humanity—taste -so good! Many is the time they have felt the weary weight of this -unintelligible world on listening to a sad story or seeing a play, and -screwed up melancholy and doleful countenances—maybe pity can be put -among the things that can make life, always requiring to be braced up a -bit, a trifle more interesting. And so pity is at last honored with a -place among the articles of luxury with which they enrich and adorn -their lives—their lives, always surprising them with some fresh sign of -poverty and patches! - -But if all guilt be revenged upon earth, punishment of this misuse of -pity may not be stayed. It is doubly punished and revenged—upon him who -practices it and upon him upon whom it is practiced. Or do we not know -that the pharisees of pity become ever more feeble and sentimental men, -losing all power and energy of will through pure emotionality? Or do we -not know that most crafty business speculation, speculation in pity, in -which sufferers magnify their least pains, expert in making an -impression with their “cases” in order to arouse the interest of the -pitiful, an interest which need not always be relieved by the clink of -coin, but which makes ready its punishment much more frequently with -idle hours spent in dreaming and weeping, with the unprofitable -breathing-out of pathos and reproach? Often enough the enthusiasts of -the kind and tender heart do not know what they do, but they rob men of -the marrow of life, they emasculate and coddle the soul; and the -emotional debauchery in which they live, requires ever stronger stimulus -which ever operates more enervatingly still. - -Contemplating these devastations wrought everywhere in life by love’s -softness, one begins to cherish some respect for a Nietzsche who -preached to men “a hard bed,” love’s hardness. To be sure, if one is to -understand this preaching, one must keep in mind what the preacher says: -“My brethren, give heed unto each hour, in which your spirit wisheth to -speak in parables: there is the origin of your virtue.” Nietzsche speaks -in parables. For instance, his words on war and warriors—a good war -hallowing every cause—these, too, are parables. And hardness, bravery, -praised by him as the strength and consecration of life, truly this is -not the barbarity of prize-fighting or the brutality of lynching; this -is the high mind fearlessly going its own way, stampeded by no danger -into thinking and acting and being other than what it holds to be right. -Danger is but the acid test which such a mind applies to the ingredients -of its life. To such a mind, hardness is the characteristic of the gem, -of the diamond, which thus guarantees its genuineness, its sparkling -worth. Zarathustra-Nietzsche loves everything which steels the will and -augments life’s force. Therefore he loves his foe, for, thanks to his -foe, he never comes to a standstill and stagnates. Therefore his true -friend is the one who has become his best foe, who makes him sweat, who -summons him to risk hot war with him, to break a lance with him in an -intellectual passage at arms in which the soul struggles for its own yea -and nay. So, similarly, this Zarathustra-Nietzsche hates pity. Why? Not -because he is a brute. “Kind unto the sick is Zarathustra.... Would that -they were convalescent and conquering and creating a higher body for -themselves!” Not because, as we have seen, so much of pity is for self’s -sake and not for the sake of service, though this is an essential part -of the answer. Then why? Because it works an embarrassment for man, -because it knows no shame, no reverence, in the presence of the giant -forces which, for every brave soul, is concealed in great and deep pain. -Therefore he combats pity because it is a passion and not an action, and -yet life is not for passionists but for pragmatists. “All great love is -lifted above all its pity, for it seeketh to create what it loveth.... -But all creators are hard.” “If thou hast a suffering friend, be a couch -for his suffering, but a hard bed, as it were, a field-bed; thus thou -wilt be of most use for him.” - -Hearken ye, O Reader, to another Transvaluer of values Whose Person -Nietzsche “the Crucified,” excoriated at ill-starred moments, but did so -on the basis of that very “high mind” for which He, rejecting pity, went -to His Crucifixion! “And Jesus, Pilate handed over to their will. As -they led him off he was followed by a large multitude of the people and -also of women who beat their breasts and lamented him; but Jesus turned -to them and said, ‘Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me!’” - -Now, as it seems to me, this Nietzsche preaching is not so far removed -from that other preaching which we are otherwise wont to call a gospel, -a good, a glad message! For this glad message was not a lamentation, but -a hymn of heroism and of victory, a call to creation! And I take the -liberty to repeat that the Preacher of this glad message forbade pity -for himself even in his dark and desolate hour—do you think what that -hour was?—when he appealed to weak and wailing and weeping womanly -souls, Weep not for me, weep for yourselves! And He Who Himself wills no -pity, Who bears in Himself a greatness which is elevated above all pity, -would he have willed to have men so weak and pitiful as we often enough -today imagine the Ideal of a Christ-man to be? - -What, now, if the true pitiful love, the true mercy to men, were to -_harden_ them, to make them free from what meant only suffering to them? -It is, to be sure, very much more difficult to make men themselves -“hard,” so that the burden lying on their backs can not crush them than -it is to indulge their weakness and sensitiveness and to leave them as -they are. Indulgent parental hearts would a thousand times rather remove -all life’s burdens from their children than to place burdens upon their -children which they might learn to bear. So often our pity plays us a -sorry trick—we would rather do something for men than to repress our -pity, silence it, and then teach men how they themselves can do what is -good and necessary for them. We speak of a ministrant love, meaning a -love which knows nothing higher than to provide comforts, avert trials, -spare vexations, and everything which could shake a man to his -foundations. How much greater a service of love it would be to lead man -to himself, make him strong that he might be equal to what we had -thought we must take away from him! Pray, not for easier tasks, lighter -burdens, but for more power! This Nietzschean love is not only a greater -love, it also requires a greater, more tiresome work, it requires a -constant conquest of our pitying weakness, it requires a courageous -faith in man and a firm earnest appraisal of his power. And how entirely -different a service of friendship do we render a friend if we show a -hard love to him, if he break a tooth on us, as Nietzsche says, because -we do not flatter and fit him, but compel him, out of love compel him, -to assert himself against us, and to withstand our defense of our rights -against him! Foolish men seek their friends among the _Jasagern_, most -preferably, among those who are of their own opinion in everything. They -then call this an ideal friendship: two souls and one thought, two -hearts and one beat! But in such a friendship, their best, their own -soul, their sense of truth, and their courage for the truth, soon rusts. -To spare a friend the disillusion which he would suffer if he felt an -antagonism, an opposition, in the friendship, they have pity on him, -they learn to keep silent, and silence soon becomes a lie. Since they -dare not cause the friend the grief of discovering to him these lies, -they lie more, lie life-long,—all out of pity, out of their weak tender -love. How much nobler and greater that friendship whose ideal Nietzsche -sketches for us, in which we are gripped from the outset in a friend’s -contradiction and hostility! We seek and love in him precisely what is -not attuned to us, but is his own, and must forever remain his very own. -Such hard love which gives the friend a “camp-bed” and not one as “soft -as downy pillows are” and requires the like in return is the proudest -manliest friendship, is alone what brings our sluggish and pampered -natures forward, and makes us stronger, freer, richer in understanding -and experience. Every genuine love should be a spur, freedom, to us, not -an easy berth and a trammel in life. - -We cannot, we ought not, refrain from pity in life. We cannot, we ought -not, stave it artificially from us. Pity belongs to man as man. It comes -stealing upon him, and ought so to come. But when it has come, he ought -not to be enmeshed in it. Still less ought he to let it grow rank. He -should ennoble it, overcome it, with strong will and energetic deed. For -pity is yet _suffering_ and all suffering summons men to conflict, to -defense. The sign that such overcoming has succeeded is that -_rejoicing-together_ has been born of _suffering-together_—is that the -conflict has issued in a victory in which hard militant love triumphs -over every weakness, and is grateful to the hardness which has given it -such a victory! - -In his brilliant book on Nietzsche, “Who Is to Be Master of the World,” -Ludovici writes powerfully as follows: “What the units of a herd most -earnestly seek and find, is smug ease, not necessarily mastership. For -mastership entails responsibility, insight, nerve, courage and -_hardness_ towards one’s self, that control of one’s self which all good -commanders must have, and which is the very antithesis of the gregarious -man’s attitude towards himself.... Hardness?—He knows nothing of the -hardness that can command his heart, his mouth, before it attends to the -command of others; he knows nothing of the hardness that can dispel the -doubts of a whole continent, that can lead the rabble and the ruck to -deeds of anomalous nobility, or that can impose silence upon the -overweening importunities of an assembled nation. He knows _this_ -hardness, that he could coldly watch the enemy of his private and -insignificant little interests, burnt at the stake; he knows _this_ -hardness, that he would let a great national plan miscarry for the sake -of a mess of pottage;—the gregarious man and future socialist has this -so-called hardness; but so have all those who burn with resentment,—so -have all parasites and silent worm-gnawers at the frame-work of great -architecture.” - -But not Nietzsche’s interpreter, but Nietzsche himself, shall have the -last word: “Praises are what maketh hard!—I do not praise the land where -butter and honey—flow! To learn to look away from one’s self is -necessary in order to see many things: this hardener is needed by every -mountain climber.” - -_Also Sprach Aristoteles—Zarathustra!_ - - - - - George Middleton’s One-Act Plays - - - CLAYTON HAMILTON - -The one-act play is an art-form that is worthy of careful cultivation. -It shows the same relation to the full-length drama as the short-story -shows to the novel. It makes a virtue of economy of means. It aims to -produce a single dramatic effect with the greatest economy of means that -is consistent with the utmost emphasis. A one-act play, in exhibiting -the present, should imply the past and intimate the future. The author -has no leisure for laborious exposition; but his mere projection of a -single situation should sum up in itself the accumulated results of many -antecedent causes. The one-act play, at its best, can no more serve as a -single act of a longer drama than the short-story can serve as a single -chapter of a novel. The form is complete, concise, and self-sustaining; -and it requires an extraordinary focus of imagination. - -No other American dramatist has so carefully cultivated this special -type of drama as George Middleton. His recently-published volume of -one-act plays, entitled _Possession_, was preceded by two other volumes, -called _Embers_ and _Tradition_. Each of these books contains half a -dozen plays. From the fact that Mr. Middleton has chosen to publish -these eighteen one-act plays in advance of their production, it is not -to be inferred that he is a believer in the closet-drama. A closet-drama -may be defined as a play that, being unfit for production in the -theatre, is fit only to be locked up in a closet. Mr. Middleton is not a -literary amateur, but a professional and practical playwright. He has -produced more than half a dozen full-length plays in the commercial -theatre; and such artists as Julia Marlowe, Margaret Anglin, George -Fawcett, and the late E. M. Holland have appeared in dramas of his -composition. All of Mr. Middleton’s one-act plays are written for the -stage; and—to quote from his own preface to _Possession_—he conceives -“the value of play publication not as a substitute for production but as -an alternative for those whose dramas may offer little attraction to the -manager because of theme or treatment.” - -At present there is, unfortunately, scarcely any market in the American -theatre for one-act plays that take life seriously. It is against our -custom to provide a full-length drama with a curtain-raiser or an -after-piece; and the field for one-act plays in vaudeville is restricted -to slap-stick comedies and yelling melodramas. It is for this reason -that Mr. Middleton has been required to choose publication as an -alternative for production, in the case of these diminutive dramas. The -trouble is not at all that his pieces are unsuited to the stage: they -are admirable in technique, and—like all good plays—they would be more -interesting in the theatre than in the library. The trouble is only -that—for wholly artificial and accidental reasons—the commercial theatre -in America at present is inhospitable to the one-act play. - -Mr. Middleton’s one-act plays reveal a wide range of subject-matter and -a corresponding versatility of treatment. No one of them is similar to -any of the others. Yet, pervading this variety of subject and of mood, -there is discernible an underlying unity. Each of them deals essentially -with woman—and with modern woman in relation to our modern social -system. Woman is, at present, a transitional creature, evolving from the -thing that man considered her to be in the far-away period of wax -flowers and horse-hair furniture to the being that she considers herself -about to become in the unachieved, potential future; and Mr. Middleton -has caught her in this period of transition, and has depicted her, under -many different lights, colored with her virtues and discolored with her -faults. - -Many of the most poignant and dramatic problems of present-day society -arise from the fact that the evolution of woman is proceeding more -rapidly than the evolution of her environment. While individuals -advance, traditions linger. Mr. Middleton’s favorite subject seems to be -a conflict between an advanced woman and a lingering tradition. The -author is himself a radical, and his sympathy is forever on the side of -the revolutionary individual; but his technical treatment is so fair to -both sides of the contention that it remains possible for conservative -readers to rank themselves against the individual on the side of the -lingering tradition. Scarcely any of Mr. Middleton’s women would be -pleasant to have around the house. Since most of them are discontented -with the conditions of their lives, they naturally make the worst of -these conditions instead of making the best of them. Hell hath no fury -like a woman in revolt; and many readers may dislike Mr. Middleton’s -heroines more heartily than he seems to like them himself. But to be -able to dislike a character is a proof that that character is real, and -must be considered as a tribute to the author’s art. The heroine of _The -Unborn_, in Mr. Middleton’s latest volume, refuses to have children -because motherhood might interfere with “her work,”—the work, in this -case, being merely a habit of attending to minor matters in her -husband’s photographic studio; but the intensity of impatience with -which the reader listens to her twaddle is an indication that this -character is really representative of a silly type of creature that is -not infrequently encountered in actual life. Again, in the play called -_Possession_, a woman who has been divorced for adultery attempts to -kidnap her little daughter from the house of her former husband, to -whose custody the child had, of course, been awarded by the courts. Her -adultery was inexcusable, because it had been occasioned not by an -irresistible and overwhelming love but merely by a superfluity of -leisure; and her attempt to kidnap the child was treacherous and -ignominious. She excuses herself, however, by telling her husband that -the process of child-birth had been painful, and that, therefore, -despite the judgment of the courts, their little daughter belonged more -to her than to him. The reader is, of course, annoyed by all this -nonsense; but this annoyance, once again, must be regarded as a tribute -to the reality of the author’s characterization. No heroine who was not -a living human being could make the auditor so ardently desire to climb -upon the stage and talk back to her. - -Fortunately, it is not at all necessary to like Mr. Middleton’s women in -order to like his plays. One may admire Ibsen’s _Hedda Gabler_ without -wishing to be married to the heroine; and the pleasant thing about Mr. -Middleton’s women is that, while the reader is permitted to observe and -study them, he is also allowed to realize with hearty thankfulness that -he will never have to live with any of them. The world in which his -women move is a world of discontent. This discontent is truly -representative of the present transitional period in the evolution of -society; but it is not representative of that perennial reality of life -that remains oblivious of periods and dates. At all times, the really -womanly woman has been a lover of her life and has not found it -difficult to feel at home at home. - - - - - New York Letter - - - GEORGE SOULE - -It would be difficult to imagine a more fantastic occasion than a debate -in New York on the justice of the cause of the Allies vs. that of -Germany between Cecil Chesterton and George Sylvester Viereck. The gods -permitted it to happen last week, much to the chagrin of the Allies, for -the hyphenated Germans took good care to fill the hall and hiss every -offensive statement. Mr. Chesterton, an honest fighter and a clever -polemicist, who has leapt through every phase of radicalism into the -enfolding charity of the Catholic Church, deserves to be known for his -journalistic achievements and his exposure of graft in high places -almost as much as for his brother Gilbert. Mr. Viereck, a sublime -egotist, has come into sudden favor with his countrymen by editing _Das -Vaterland_, although before that he had taken every known means to -secure notoriety for a naturally obscure individual. He began as a poet -of strange verse, both in German and English. When it became apparent -that it wasn’t going to sell, he issued a last volume which he called -his “swan song,” with the announcement that as this commercial age was -unappreciative of his poetry he would write no more, and anyone who -wanted a last chance to value him at it must buy this book. For himself, -he was going to get in line with the genius of the century and become a -Big Business Man, for he must make himself felt. He announced in a -stentorian wail his admiration for Theodore Roosevelt, and was much -chagrined when that celebrity would not let him trail along on the -skirts of his ample publicity. Later on, when Alfred Noyes began to sell -in large quantities, Mr. Viereck resumed his dictatorship of poetry, and -by scurrilous attacks attempted to draw Mr. Noyes’s fire—and newspaper -space. Now German Patriotism has lifted him to the headlines. - -If Poetic Justice was present at the debate, she probably did not -receive much enlightenment on the questions which are now vexing her in -Europe. To quote any of the substance of the debate would be an insult -to her intelligence. - -A more serious event was Richard Bennet’s recent production of Brieux’s -_Maternity_. Considering the deadly earnestness with which author and -cast struggled to inculcate lessons, the apathy of the public in respect -to moral instruction was pathetic. On the night of my visit there was -exactly one normal “theatre-goer” in the house. There was a sprinkling -of people who had long admitted what Brieux has to say, and went from -“high-brow” reasons. There was a young society matron who had escaped -from her husband for the evening and is taking an amateurish interest in -social questions. There were numerous persons who are always on the -lookout for a chance to cackle at what they consider broad humor. These -blonde ladies furnished an interesting refutation of one of Brieux’s -theories. In one scene various women tell their troubles, emphasizing -the fact that all women are united in their sorrows and understand them, -whereas men do not. Immediately after this the drunken husband returns -and disgusts and outrages the wife. There were many laughs in the -audience to greet him—but not one from a man. Even the blonde ladies’ -fat escorts tried to quiet them while the rest of us were hissing. - -Granville Barker opens this week with _Androcles and the Lion_ and some -of the other recent London productions. A number of the backers of the -old “New Theatre” are guaranteeing his expenses, a fact which is a -historical corroboration for Mr. Barker’s wit. When he was brought over -as the chosen manager for that institution, he objected to the immense -size of the house. “But the alterations you suggest would cost us a -million dollars,” he was told. “If you don’t make them, it will cost you -three million,” he replied, and sailed back to London. His popularity -with the New Theatre guarantors has been steadily increasing from that -day to this. - -There is even a rumor that if the present experiment succeeds, the New -Theatre project will be resumed. This whisper aroused an answering howl -from the American managers and actors. Why should good American money be -spent in encouraging English talent, especially in such a disastrous -season? they wailed. The answer was, in effect, the one that should be -made to the whole “made in America” propaganda. What has American -production done that it should be encouraged? When “made in America” -comes to have any relation to honesty and intelligence, it will be time -enough to invoke “patriotism” in its favor. In the meantime, the more -disastrous foreign competition can be to our present shoddy products, -the better. - -This ironic year has produced few more strange reversals than the one -which has brought Mr. McClure to the status of an employee of Mr. -Munsey. When a man has apparently won his life campaign and written so -engagingly of it as has Mr. McClure in his Autobiography, we begin to -regard him as beyond the touch of the fates. Perhaps the present -eventuality should be taken, however, merely as another proof that in -our present arrangement of things it is less profitable to have a touch -of genius than to become the owner of trust companies. At any rate -_McClure’s Magazine_ has apparently not profited much in recent years by -Mr. McClure’s separation from its editorial policy. - -There is one real consolation in a season which has brought such -material devastation to commercial managers and magazines. When -conventionally-planned “successes” don’t succeed, success comes to have -less meaning. People who are after money in the promotion of artistic -products are in their desperation more ready to try less “safe” ways of -getting it, while the others have a decidedly better chance of gaining a -respectful public attention. - - - - - Music - - - KREISLER AND SHATTUCK - -In certain realms, words are opaque and stupid things. In others—oh, -comforting thought!—they seem to become transparent and almost -intelligent. Following this out consistently, it becomes easy to write a -page about Arthur Shattuck, pianist, and very difficult to say anything -at all about Fritz Kreisler, violinist. - -Arthur Shattuck was a disappointment. His faults, in a lesser man, would -have been considered the sign of mere mediocrity; but in himself, they -are obtrusive and disagreeable. An exasperating contrast existed between -what may be called his style, with its rhythmic sureness and its -admirable perspectives, and his great lack of tonal beauty. He cracks -out hard tones. Any particular phrase of Mr. Boyle’s concerto for piano -with orchestra, when passed on from the orchestra to the solo -instrument, lost its lyric curve and became flat and lifeless under Mr. -Shattuck’s long, aggressive hands. When another pianist, Ernest -Hutcheson, played the same work with the composer conducting the New -York Philharmonic, a certain phenomenon was lacking which appeared when -Frederick Stock conducted the work with the Chicago Symphony. This -phenomenon (let it be whispered) was a strange prominence of the brass -choir of the orchestra in certain portions of the work which led one to -believe that Mr. Stock was, perhaps, more interested in the orchestral -accompaniment than in the performance of the soloist. If this were as -true as it appeared, it is on a par with another startling fact:—that -the public is really learning something about tone-values and the -possible beauties of piano music. What else could account for the -numerous confessions caught in snatches in the corridors and stairways, -the composite of which was, “He left me cold”?... Arthur Shattuck is a -millionaire. - -A compassionate attitude toward Chicago was considerably relieved by the -sight of the Auditorium-full which paid to hear Kreisler. Think of so -many people being moved by such good taste! And, what was better still, -they all behaved well. Kreisler deserved their tribute of attentive -silence. Such violin playing hasn’t been heard in Chicago since the same -artist was here last season. There is no describing Kreisler’s tone; a -magic circle of stillness encloses it, which words have not learned to -cross. In the memory it is a living beauty, penetrant and bewitching. -Praise and appreciation are miserable things in the presence of this -man’s music. Fritz Kreisler is a genius. - - HERMAN SCHUCHERT. - - - - - Book Discussion - - - Ellen Key’s Steady Vision - - _The Younger Generation, by Ellen Key._ [_G. P. Putnam’s, New - York._] - -In the present amusing reign of boisterous propagandic voices, it is -good to find a thinker who describes the exciting truth in simple terms. -The many are able to catch glimpses of the truth; between glimpses, they -shout and wave their inefficient arms for the enlightenment of their -brothers, and for their own joy. The few see the truth steadily and, -because they see steadily, become so passionately enthusiastic that they -are driven to express themselves in quiet, mighty phrases. Such phrases -imprint vital ideas upon the mind of the seeker, while pitiable -confusion alone results from the shouts and wavings. In _The Younger -Generation_, Ellen Key tells simply and surely her conclusions about -vital things. - -Conservative judgment is at once a splendid balance and a terrific -barrier in the world of ideas. Intense enthusiasm, when it displays -itself, often combines blindness with sight. It has always seemed to be -asking too much to expect in one person a finely balanced enthusiasm in -which the conservative element does not hamper the divine qualities of -youth—courage, impetuosity, and an ever-fresh perception. Not to be -extravagant, but to characterize her fairly, one may say that this -Swedish woman writes as if she possessed the virtues commonly attributed -to both age and youth. She is vigorous, free-hearted, and -calm—enthusiastic, fiery, and sane—a champion of revolution when and -wherever it breaks the path for evolution. - -Reaching deftly into anarchism, christianity, feminism, individualism, -socialism, and other good glimpses of the truth, she secures the -elements for a strangely consistent wisdom. - - Parents of the new generation will feel it to be a blasphemy - against life—another name for God—that the beings their love has - called into existence, the beings who bear the heritage of all - past generations and the potentialities of all those to come, - should be prematurely torn from the chain of development. Every - such link that is wrenched away from unborn experiences, from - unfinished work, was a beginning which might have had the most - far-reaching effects within the race.... It is not death that the - men of the new age are afraid of, but only premature and - meaningless death. - -“Women ought not to be content until governments have been deprived of -the power of plunging nations into war.”—Ellen Key doesn’t ask the -ladies to fidget and whimper at afternoon teas, nor to operate upon -male-kind with their verbal lancets, nor to adopt circuitous resolutions -about affairs of which they know nothing; but her suggestion, here as -elsewhere, is simple and practical—so very simple that the ladies will -smile down upon it as something delightfully girlish and -unsophisticated. It is safe to speculate that not one of the smilers -could, in her comfortable condescension, live up to this humble and -powerful procedure:—“Women can always and everywhere ennoble the -feelings, refine an idea of justice, and sharpen the judgment of those -who come under their influence. The indirect result of this influence -will then be that war will become more and more insufferable to the -feelings, repugnant to the sense of justice, and absurd to the -intelligence. When thus the eyes of the best among the nation are opened -to the true nature of war, they will be finally opened also to the way -to real, not armed, peace.” And as it is the secret and boasted and -forgotten desire of every woman to influence a man, or men, these -profoundly plain suggestions would seem to be sown in a fertile field. -There is hope in this. Then she says, on another page: “To win over -men’s brains to the idea of solidarity, that is the surest way of -working for peace.” And this, being a more complex remark, will probably -upset everything gained by the clarity of the preceding quotations; but -it is given here to repay the time otherwise wasted by the many for whom -simplicity has lost its god-like charm. Solidarity is a great idea, -partly because it is something to be shouted about. But the first -element in solidarity, human kindness, has never seemed “strong” to a -shouting age. - -One of the firm demands which Ellen Key makes in her future “Charter for -Children” is “the right of all children to disinheritance; in other -words, their being placed in the beneficent necessity of making full use -of their completely developed powers.” After reminding us of the -strenuous manners of a past age in which the children of any conquered -city were dashed hideously against the walls, she claims that “the -judgment upon our time will be more severe. For the people of antiquity -knew not what they did, when they caused the blood of children to flow -like water. But our age allows millions of children to be worn out, -starved, maltreated, neglected, to be tortured in school, and to become -degenerate and criminal; and yet it knows the consequences, to the race -and to the community, that all this involves. And why? Because we are -not yet willing to reckon in life-values instead of in gold-values.” - -What a frantic rage must there be in the souls of the truly -social-minded when this terrific indictment is pronounced in their -hearing! But the appalling nightmare will go on until the frantic -element is overcome, and the rage is focused to a point of white heat—an -intense simplicity. - - HERMAN SCHUCHERT. - - - Two Conrad Reviews - - _Joseph Conrad: A Study, Richard Curle._ [_Doubleday, Page and - Company, New York._] - -“The business of criticism,” says Mr. Curle, “is to surmount this -_impasse_ between conviction and the power to convince.” Judged by this -test, his study of Joseph Conrad is undoubtedly successful: it is hard -indeed to imagine any reader reaching the end of it without believing -that Conrad is a very great writer. A careful reading of the numerous -and often lengthy quotations from Conrad’s books should alone convince -the persons Mr. Curle is most anxious to convert—those who know nothing -about them. - -But _Joseph Conrad_ has two obvious faults. In the first place, Mr. -Curle is quite too modest—almost haltingly so. His pages abound in such -phrases as “I dare say”, “I cannot help”, “I think”, and the like. -That’s all very honest, but Americans prefer the more lordly manner. One -feels really, that while the critic may speak in such fashion to -himself, he should give us only his conclusions—and no apologies for -them to boot. In the second place, Mr. Curle seems to think that he is -very brave in putting forth this book, that the critics haven’t -appreciated Conrad at all, and that since _he_ does there must be a real -quarrel between him and them. Now as a matter of fact this is not so. -Probably no living writer has had a fraction of the hearty recognition -from the best critics that Conrad has. True, he has (until six months -ago) woefully lacked anything like popularity and the material rewards -it brings—but very few of those whose opinion carries weight will -hesitate to agree with most of the fine things that Mr. Curle says about -the author of _Chance_. Mr. Curle’s attitude simply arouses unfriendly -antagonism on the part of his readers who know and love their Conrad. - -So much for its faults. They are not of serious importance and should -not obscure the really splendid qualities of Mr. Curle’s book. It -abounds in acutely perceptive remarks—often extremely well put. In the -course of seven chapters on Conrad’s Psychology, Men, Women, Irony and -Sardonic Humour, Prose and the Artist, he piles up an overwhelming -evidence of the man’s greatness. Is there a man alive, has any English -novelist ever lived about whom one could wax so easily, so madly -enthusiastic? True, to some Conrad does not appeal. They have never -caught the glorious glamour of his pages—the solemn grandeur of his -magnificent prose. Probably the surest way to win converts would be to -compile a small book of extracts from his works, carefully graded -according to their difficulty. - -When I was still at college I was curious about Conrad. A well-meaning -bookseller sold me _Lord Jim_. I tried to read it, but fifty pages was -as far as I could go. I tried again, but with even less success. Then -one day at Interlaken I found a Tauchnitz copy of _A Set of Six_. Before -I had quite finished the last story I lost the book—changing trains. But -Conrad has never since seemed obscure to me. A beginner in French would -never try to appreciate the shimmering pages of Flaubert; nor would even -the Yankee farm-hand feed his baby pie. More than any living writer has -Conrad needed some one to _present_ him to the public. This his American -publishers have tried of late to do. Mr. Curle’s book will add to their -success in so far as they manage to persuade people to read it. Except -for those who have begun with _Lord Jim_, _Nostromo_, or _Chance_, I -have never found anyone, who, having read one book by Conrad, was -content to stop there. Mr. Curle thinks _Nostromo_ Conrad’s greatest -work. It is now, with Europe in the throes of a bloody conflict, that -one realizes more and more how Conrad’s men and women, far removed from -the problems of a Wells, a Chesterton, or a Shaw—problems which _appear_ -suddenly to be of very little importance after all—bulk great and ever -greater. There they loom—like Rodin’s _Balzac_ against the glowering -sky. - - ALFRED KNOPF. - - _A Set of Six, by Joseph Conrad._ [_Doubleday, Page and Company, - New York._] - -In this first American edition of his _Set of Six_, Conrad is revealed -as an artist _par excellence_. You find no subjective emotionalism on -the part of the author in any of his six tales, in spite of their -subtitles—_Romantic_, _Indignant_, _Pathetic_, and the like. You see in -him the wistful observer of characters and situations, which he presents -with impassionate objectivity, with the impartiality of a painter who -lovingly draws his object, whether it is ugly or beautiful, whether it -is a villain or a saint. Conrad possesses a wonderful skill in setting -up a background, which, at times, appears of more importance than the -plot. He makes you feel equally at home in the atmosphere of Napoleonic -France and of France of the Restoration, of revolutionary Peru and of a -Neapolitan amusement garden. You enjoy the tales greatly, you admire the -clever craftsmanship of the story-teller, but you close the book with an -empty feeling, as if you had listened to brilliant anecdotes in a -bachelors’ club. - - K. - - - Amy Lowell’s Poetry - - _Sword Blades and Poppy Seed, by Amy Lowell._ [_The Macmillan - Company, New York._] - -In one of his letters, Byron says: “To withdraw myself from myself has -ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.” -Such a confession seems strange coming from a poet, and it is a -confession of quite a different character which is written on every page -of Miss Lowell’s book of poems. There one finds in every line the -expression of a personality which tries to realize itself and succeeds -in doing so. The unity as well as the interest of the book is in this -very development of a strong personality, of which a new and original -aspect is revealed in every poem. - -What charms us at once in this personality, and renders the reading of -the book a constant enchantment, is a most wonderful imagination—an -imagination at the same time creative and representative, rich, varied, -overflowing with images and themes. All that life and nature offer is -the domain of this imagination; it wakes up at the most unexpected -moment and seizes the unseen detail, giving us an idea of the wonderful -wanderings through which it must take the person fortunate enough to -possess it. Now it is a temple; now a church; now a beggar; a blue -scarf; the distant notes of a flute; or the nocturnal noises of a London -street, which starts it on its way. At other times we find the -imagination at play with itself, so to speak, creating out of nothing a -historical or legendary atmosphere, or opening a philosophical vista, as -in _The Great Adventure of Max Breuck_, _The Basket_, or the poem from -which the book takes its name. Each one of these poems (and several -others also) has its own special atmosphere, precise in its complexity -and different from all the others. - -In the style itself, in the development of the subjects, one finds the -same quality. It seems as if the pen were too slow to note the multiple -images which offer themselves to the mind of the poet. They accumulate -themselves, sometimes, in a manner not unlike that of Victor Hugo, -forming long periods in which the idea is turned in all possible ways, -presented from all angles and in every natural or artificial light. - -It is not only the richness of the images, but their quality, which -reveals the power of Miss Lowell’s imagination. We all experience at -every minute of our lives an infinity of sensations of which we are more -or less conscious. It might almost be said that we are poets in exactly -the measure that we realize and enjoy our sensations. The real poet not -only registers his sensations, but is able to awaken in the mind of his -readers the sudden recollection of those visual or auditive impressions -which have never before reached his consciousness. This is what often -delights us in _Sword Blades and Poppy Seed_. It gratifies us to feel -that we are able to understand these subtle comparisons, these curious -and unexpected alliances of words, such as those in the first poem of -the book, where, to define certain shades of porcelains the poet speaks - - Of lustres with so evanescent a sheen - Their colours are felt, but never seen. - -Also in the first poem entitled _Miscast_, where she speaks of her mind -as - - So keen, that it nicks off the floating fringes of passers-by, - So sharp, that the air would turn its edge - Were it to be twisted in flight. - -To help her imagination, Miss Lowell possesses a faculty which belongs -only to the happy few: the gift of words. The astonishing description of -arms and vases in the first poem is but one example, if one of the best, -of this rare gift. - -It is necessary also, in order to study thoroughly this interesting and -complex personality, to mention the great dramatic quality of some of -the long poems in the book. From that point of view, _The Great -Adventure of Max Breuck_ seems to me the most interesting. And there is -much to be said of the sincerity and depth of sentiment in such poems as -_A Gift_, _Stupidity_, _Patience_, _Absence_. All these short poems have -something unique about them and constitute one of the greatest charms, -and an important part of the value, of the book. It is almost incredible -that a little poem like _Obligation_, for example, should contain such a -world of thought and restrained sentiment in its ten short lines. I have -chosen this poem as the type of this genre, because it characterizes -perhaps better than any other this very special trait of Miss Lowell’s -talent: - - Hold your apron wide - That I may pour my gifts into it, - So that scarcely shall your two arms hinder them - From falling to the ground. - - I would pour them upon you - And cover you, - For greatly do I feel this need - Of giving you something, - Even these poor things. - - Dearest of my heart. - -There is, in these few lines, a simplicity so naive, a sincerity so -complete, and at the same time such an intensity of feeling, that we -almost feel while reading it as if we were composing it ourselves. And -everybody knows that this is the mark of genius. It is rare to attain -such perfection in thought and in form as we find in these short poems, -which stand on their stems, straight and pure, like wild flowers opening -their hearts to the sun. - -I should like, in conclusion, to speak of the very new and effective -attempts of the author in the free use of all possible rhythms. The -preface presents the author’s point of view, but I may add that she has -been especially skilful in the adaptation of the rhythms to the -subjects, a thing which requires great poetic tact and musical sense. To -study this side of the book would carry us too far, for to do it -properly a long article written especially on the subject would be -necessary. - -To those who love poetry, and who are at the same time interested in the -progress of new schools, this book must be of the greatest value. - - MAGDELAINE CARRET. - - - The Man and the Artist - - _Achievement, by E. Temple Thurston._ [_D. Appleton and Company, - New York._] - -“Every man knows himself; but there are few women with all their -experience of men who act as if they knew anything about them.” “For it -is only in moments that men are dispassionate about women, while half -their lives through women are being dispassionate about men.” Why is it -that such glistening generalities prove invariably attractive to the -“general reader”? Perhaps the poor maligned g. r. fancies he is getting -“tips” on the values of his neighbors’ lives, or interminable “good -leads” as to his own adventures. Perhaps the fatuous distinctions merely -tickle the sex-vanity. Undoubtedly the same word-wisdom, offered in -regard to mankind and without the alluring distinction between man and -woman, would secure but half the attention. This attention seems no whit -slackened if the generalities are manifestly unfair by reason of their -fealty to traditionalism, as Mr. Thurston’s statements of this ilk are -apt to be. - -The foregoing generality is not unfair to Mr. Thurston, since this -attractive bait is offered without stint in his latest novel -_Achievement_. In fact, the theme of the book is that ancient perennial -among popular themes: the conflict between a man and his loves; in this -case finding its redemption from the usual in that the protagonist is -the man’s work rather than the man. - -Yet, in spite of these sops to Cerberus, the book does not hold. It is -but another of the multiplying outputs of today which are interesting to -the critic alone, and to him only as a study in the pathology of the -creative instinct. The lay-reader will find himself nodding over the -crucial scenes or will lose his place time and again, if he persist in -reading to the end. If a sense of justice will not permit him to judge -the whole by a part, his persistence is tribute only to the undeniable -sincerity of aim felt throughout the work. A stronger tribute, of -course, is the mere length of this review; the fact, that is, that -whatever of critic be in the reading mind is drawn to reiterate -questions and puzzle over their answer, as to the reason for the falling -short of this novel from the better standards, manifestly striven after. - -The reader who does concern himself, then, with _Achievement_ will be -puzzled, perhaps irritated, by the insistent question: “But what is the -matter?” There is a certain mastery of words; there is honesty and -sensitiveness of treatment, to a degree beyond the usual; moreover, side -by side with the theme proper, is carried a sympathetic and reverent -revelation of the mind of a creative artist, in this case, a painter; a -study alone sufficient to redeem the work from the stigma of triteness. -These qualities should carry any novel into favor at least; might be -expected to overshadow the noticeable unevenness of work, astonishing in -an author of E. Temple Thurston’s apprenticeship. But the book fails to -convince. The only lasting impression it leaves is the question, “Why -inadequate?” - -Perhaps the answer lies in the inadequacy of the theme itself. This may -be voiced, in both its major and minor keys, through Mr. Thurston’s own -words, “For as it is the tragedy of women when the romance of love is -gone from them, so it is the tragedy of men, when their work is done.” -Had the author juggled the words of that sentence a bit—had it read so: -“The realization that the romance of love has gone out from one’s life -is no more a tragedy than the instant when one knows that his work is -done”; could the author have conceived this theme, the subject of -achievement would have compelled a more worthy treatment. Had he been -able to think of women and men as alike potent, whether creators or -lovers, then his picture of the creator in Richard Furlong fertilized by -the lover in him might have been adequate. - -The greatest need of today is a pronoun of the common gender. It is -beginning to be recognized that the generation now growing up to face -the ultimate issues of living is one which will declare that spiritual -experience is basically an unsexed phenomenon. Woman of today has been -heard to declare that whatever charge can be made about man’s -potentialities, even his propensities, can be charged alike to the -woman. This is no meaningless attitude. Neither is it naive nor -amusingly unscientific, when the young girl of the future lifts her -voice and sings out, “Before she is woman or he is a man, man and woman -are alike persons.” In this theorem, difficult to word, lies the fertile -germ of suffrage, feminism, suffragettism, militantism, and all the -other lifted voices of woman. - -No one of the women of Mr. Thurston’s portrayal is of value to herself -or to the lives about her, except as a woman, a slave or queen of man, -his toy or his inspiration, life’s parasite. The author would answer -that he is not attempting a study of woman, but of an artist achieving -by means of woman. None the less, if all the women who influence his -artist were drawn in as hunchbacks, we would resent the distorted -picture, the hypothesis that woman is essentially hunchbacked. Thus, -since all the women in _Achievement_ are traditionally paralyzed women, -we resent the generic theme of art under influence of womanhood. In -order to receive serious audience today, any portrayal of woman, -indirectly or directly, must recognize that there are genuine women as -there are men, who live in terms of selfhood rather than in terms of -sex. - -The denouement is the usual stock company curtain. However, if so many -pistol shots per volume is a stipulation in the novelist’s contract, it -must be conceded him that his telling of the murder is admirably simple. -A more admirable simplicity is attained in the trenchant description of -the murderer’s psychology after the deed. The author is to be -congratulated for missing that “opportunity” for analysis, of which the -usual fiction writer spins chapter after chapter, morbid, a snare to -catch cheap horror and pity, a spider-web for flies. - -That the scene of the last two pages should have been written once is -regrettable. That these pages were not cut out hastily as soon as -written is unforgivable in an author who desires so profoundly to be in -sympathy with the artist who has achieved. - - R. - - - Ethel Sidgwick’s Books - - [_Small, Maynard and Company, Boston._] - -I cannot let another issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW go to press without some -mention of Ethel Sidgwick. Last year, with a sense of worship, I read -_Succession_, the second volume of a trilogy devoted to the story of a -boy-wonder violinist. To find such subtlety, such radiance, such art—to -find such music!—in a piece of fiction was an unforgettable experience. -Music has never been so richly treated in fiction—except in _Jean -Christophe_, which of course is the master work of the last years. I -felt that I had never comprehended any character so fully as I did -little Antoine, and I still feel that way. This year on Christmas day, -as a sort of special celebration, I read the first volume, _Promise_. It -is just as interesting, though there is not such a brilliant -concentration of art in it. But isn’t there some way to make these books -known? They will never be popular; but it is tragic to think of their -not getting to the people who would value them. Their publishers would -far rather advertise their cheap fiction than to try to force Ethel -Sidgwick on a nation that does not demand good work of novelists. - - - Oxford and Genius - - _Sinister Street, by Compton Mackenzie._ [_D. Appleton and - Company, New York._] - -E. Temple Thurston attracted attention here before Compton Mackenzie -did, but the latter is as far ahead of him now as is Gilbert Canaan, -whose _Peter Homunculus_ came out about the time of Thurston’s _City of -Beautiful Nonsense_. These three young Englishmen know how to write -English prose; Mackenzie and Canaan know how to tell big stories. -_Sinister Street_ is much too important a book to be reviewed in less -than three or four pages at least. The first part of it tells of the -modern man at Oxford—“a more complete account of the mind of a young man -of our day than has been written previously in English, an account which -presents some of the things that Thackeray meant when he complained that -his public would not permit him to tell all he wished about Pendennis, -and a good many more besides,” as Lucien Cary has said. It is so -extremely well done that the second part of the volume—the hero’s -reactions to life after Oxford—comes with a sense of forced writing. -Perhaps the war had something to do with it. We shall try to review this -book more at length later. - - - “Without Machiavellian Subtlety” - - _The War and Culture, by John Cowper Powys._ [_G. Arnold Shaw, - New York._] - -Among all the patriotic rubbish that has been heaped upon the book -market since the outbreak of the European war, Mr. Powys’s pamphlet -presents at least not dull reading. The brilliant lecturer unmasques the -underlying motives of German statesmen who have accepted Machiavellian -principles, “without acquiring Machiavellian subtlety.” He successfully -attacks Münsterberg and other apologists for the Fatherland, who -endeavor to present their country in the image of an innocent lamb -dragged into the bloody struggle by greedy barbarians. Mr. Powys’ -mission is a negative one, and there it ends. He falls flat as soon as -he attempts to idealize and to glorify the Allies. His speculation that -the present war is a struggle of ideas, of individualism versus state, -of soul versus machine, is far fetched. - - - - - The Reader Critic - - - Mr. Powys on Dostoevsky - - (_A reader sends us these jottings from one of Mr. Powys’s - lectures._) - -Shudders of life.... - -I have only one thing to do—to bring you into a strange mass of palpable -darkness with something moving in it. Dostoevsky is really a great mass, -a volume, not a cloud nor a pillar of fire nor a puff of smoke, but a -vast, formless, shapeless mass of darkness, palpable and drawing you -towards itself. - -Reading him is dangerous because of the inherent sense of fear likely to -be accentuated in those who are a little mad and whose madness takes on -the form of fear. We go on a visit to a mad house, to hospitals with -Dostoevsky. But with him this whole world suddenly changes into a mad -house. It is all haunting mad houses and hospitals filled with us -maniacs of the particular fear we are subject to. - -(Life is all a running away—a distraction. We are running away when we -are talking, when we are making love—then more than ever, perhaps.) - -In Dostoevsky we suddenly realize that these Russians are ourselves. If -the religion, mysticism, liberalism, despotism they possess were only -Russian there are excellent books written by travellers in Russia for us -to read. But Dostoevsky is different. If I could but mesmerize you.... -It is like reading the gospels in childhood, being overrun and -overthrown by fate and then after one has lived meeting the words of the -childhood situations and making associations. - -I do not think of him as an artist, though he is a great one. You do not -_think_ of him.... In ordinary life we suppress half the things and more -we might say. Vanity and fear are the ultimate things. In Dostoevsky the -people tug and scrape at one anothers’ vain nerves with adder’s poison. -He gives one the sensation of discovering one’s self and betraying one’s -self. He reveals as friends talking and discussing in the small hours of -the morning reveal themselves to one another. The talk may be a -describing of the animal functions of the human body. But in reality it -is the psychic tingling, electric vibrations which the physiological -structure exerts upon mind! Mind! Mind! Dostoevsky is interested in what -people actually feel. He is more with people who have written diaries -than with so-called realistic novelists. One gets from him a sense of -perversion of human imagination.... He is the most important of -novelists; full of ripples and vibrations of imagination. Everybody has -imagination. The things we do are nothing. Imagination is the only thing -over which Will has no power. - -Nietzsche says that he got all his contemporary philosophy from -Dostoevsky. He got from him even his idea of the inner circle of -aristocratic souls who really rule the world, are themselves unhappy, -and take with others to places which they (these others) cannot enter. -Dostoevsky thinks that the secret of the world is in abandonment, -perversion; Nietzsche in harness, stiffness, the gay, the strong, the -beautiful, aristocratic, dominant.... Nietzsche with all his reality -does not describe life as it is. Zarathustra is a dream—impossible -perhaps. But Dostoevsky does describe life. Nietzsche’s man is -absolutely alone—has his own hell. Dostoevsky’s has that too, but in a -different way. He gives the feeling of a third person where two are -alone. Do not think that Dostoevsky is a mystic. The essential thing is -that you have this sense of a third person to which genius appeals. -Dostoevsky is a stronger as well as a truer one than even Nietzsche -himself. - -Nietzsche is as a skater upon the ice, a dancer upon a tight rope who -remains a white, balanced figure on the surface. Dostoevsky plunges—into -a darkness full of voices. You must get there by a form of perversion. -Every one of his characters is incurably hurt. Nietzscheans harden their -hearts and live on the surface. All Dostoevsky people are weak. He -thinks that only out of weakness will redemption come; abandonment to -every emotion. In that he is Dionysian.... Dostoevsky I cannot put into -words. Perversion; Disease; God is Disease; God is Pain; Dostoevsky -depicts how Disease gives one illumination. We have an idea that we must -be well. Even Nietzsche says that. The Greeks said it ages ago. -Dostoevsky says “No; I offer you a new value.” He has a lust for -fools—understands the mania that people have of making fools of -themselves. God is Folly; God is Cruelty—perhaps an epicene God. - -Dostoevsky is a cerebralist. His specialty is imaginative reactions. All -the lusts that have stretched their wailing arms, all the hopes, all the -goblins.... In sex as in everything else people are not what they are -doing; they are in that vortex of what they imagine themselves. -Dostoevsky understands all that. Those frank-spoken people who think -they know sex are puritans on the other side. They have no imagination. - -We can overestimate what Dostoevsky has from Russia and not attribute -what he is to himself. Other Russians are Russians—Turgeniev, Tolstoy, -Andreyev, Chekhov, Gorky—but they are not as big as he is; perhaps they -are more of the broader stamp. - -... Constance Garnett’s translations are masterpieces. The French are -too artistic to translate Dostoevsky.... No one can approach Dostoevsky -in creating a saint. Russia as the spiritual bringer-back of the world -to Christianity—this runs through his works. He is _the_ Christian. His -books are full of translations from Scripture. He understands the -underlying psychology of the gospels. Nietzsche said that putting the -gospels with the art of the Old Testament was a crime in the name of -Art. The Old Testament is undoubtedly finer art, but the New is -psychology—masterly. - - - VERS LIBRE AND COMMON SENSE - -_Clinton Masseck, St. Louis_: - -_Vers Libre_ has no inconsiderable tradition in English verse, as Mr. -Arthur Ficke has recently pointed out in THE LITTLE REVIEW. Its progress -in French poetry, particularly among modern writers, is familiar to all -students. And if we were inclined to forget or to forgive Whitman -(meaning in politer terms to accept him and his followers), the recent -verse of the Imagiste group and such writers as Miss Amy Lowell and Mr. -Max Bodenheim in our own midst would be likely to force our attention to -this interesting form—if I may employ this word in no paradoxical sense. - -But _vers libre_ is of the moment—new, if you will, in its present -appeal. Its modern themes, its unique figures of speech, its wide -practice, both in this country and in England, mark it as a new -movement, or at least a new recrudescence. - -Anything new invites attack; anything new in literature perhaps warrants -attack. If it can stand the test, by just such a token, it is worth -consideration. But there are those to whom the new is always a thing to -be attacked—because it is new, because it is inexplicable according to -their own canons of emotion and intellect. Francis Jeffrey, with his -famous caption on Wordsworth, “This will never do,” has his echo, futile -and otherwise, in every generation of critics. And so we have Mr. -Llewellyn Jones, in the January issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW, sending up -his protest against _vers libre_ in general and Mr. Bodenheim in -particular. - -Mr. Jones is markedly distressed. If he were not so much in earnest and -so decently—or indecently—polite, so “suedy,” so suave, even scholastic -in his handling, he might be amusing. He is also distinctly pugnacious -and, as most pugnacious people are inclined to be, he is curiously -inconsistent. - -In fact, it is a little difficult to determine why Mr. Jones cannot -accept Bodenheim. (He is guilty of reading Meredith, “popularly supposed -to be obscure.”) Because our poet writes of “a world of growing sieves, -slim squares, powdered souls, cool, colorless struggles, the obstetrical -adventures of white throats, and green and yellow dins,” and because Mr. -Jones, in the smallness of his soul or environment, has never been able -to concoct or to conceive of poetry couched in this garb—let us grant -the idea behind it—he straightway announces “This will never do.” -Wordsworth, after being so thoroughly “sieved” by the critics, still -lives; the divine essence of romanticism was not killed by Jeffrey and -his thunder-pellet phrase. Courage, Mr. Bodenheim! - -Yet in a really admirable paragraph of summary as to the function of -poetry and the relation of a poet to his audience, Mr. Jones lays down -the dictum that “the poet sees the world as we do not see it. -Consequently, he can put a new complexion on it for us. The world is -pluralistic, and so are we. Intellectually we may be of the twentieth -century, but emotionally we may be born out of our due season. Then let -the poet of that due season mediate to us the emotional life that we -need.... By his aid alone we may get outside of our own skins and into -the very heart of the world.” - -The last words of this statement are peculiarly significant in this -connection. “By his aid alone we may get outside of our skins into the -very heart of the world.” What is the heart of the world? I do not know -it all, emotionally or intellectually, although if I were to trust one -of these endowments in order to render judgment upon poetry, I should -choose the first. On the other hand, Mr. Jones does not know the entire -heart of the world; nor does Mr. Bodenheim. But we may each of us know -some little corner of this heart that the other does not or cannot ever -know. For some of us poetry remains but the supreme expression of mere -external beauty, for others the expression in consummate form of a -purely intellectual process; to others poetry is a weapon wherewith to -pierce the veil of externality and to expose the hidden but the real -reality. The late William James once declared that we were standing on -the verge of new discoveries in feeling and knowledge; that just beyond -us lies a world of new adjustments and new experiences. Of course, in -this instance, James had reference to our new appreciation and estimate -of the value of mysticism in the judgment of certain phases of religious -experiences. But the thing holds true even in poetry; the line between -the poet and the mystic has yet to be drawn. I, for one, should not want -to think myself incapable of enlarging either my soul or my -appreciation. If anybody can show me whether in new terms or not a -hitherto unsuspected and unknown aspect of beauty, I shall be content to -accept that person. I would go further; I should be very thankful that I -had obtained a new point of view with which to regulate both my emotions -and my intellect. - -I, for one, saw and felt and appreciated the appeal of the -much-discussed “sieve” poem. To be sure, along with Mr. Jones, I had -previously thought of a sieve only in relation to ashes and garden -earth—and even of that “little triangular sieve that fits into kitchen -sinks.” But if some one can come along and convince me that this -hitherto vulgar and despised implement has inherent in it the -possibilities of metaphysical development, and that a certain person can -be likened to a sieve, why, then I have learned a new aspect of beauty. - -And hence, it would seem to me that Mr. Bodenheim has fulfilled every -single requirement that Mr. Jones has put upon the poet. And the only -reason Mr. Jones cannot appreciate these little poems is because, -intellectually and emotionally, he is “born out of due season.” - -After all, “All art is convention.” The Alaskan Indian, with his -grotesque—to us—totem poles, cannot understand the smooth and plastic -strength of much of classic sculpture. The African Negro, with his -Campbell-soup-can earrings and his Connecticut-made curtain ring -bracelets, cannot appreciate the effect of simple unadornment. Yet in -any case the point of view, the impelling instinct that leads toward -beauty, is the same for any person, any race, any civilization. Let us -be honest and admit this. Let us sincerely seek and discover the -philosophy that guides every new movement, whether in fashion or food or -poetry. - -Yet it seems to me that we are too prone to accept poetry and to judge -it from a too utilitarian point of view. We would make it stand the same -test that we apply to religion, to household furnaces, and other things -that have been long tried. We ask ourselves when some new manifestation -of it arises: “Will it do the trick? Will it comfort and warm and -sustain us in the way that we have been accustomed to being comforted, -warmed, and sustained by that which has already been accepted?” Yet if a -new form discovers a new idea, if it tears away the covering with rough -and clumsy hands in order to show the emotions, a fresh significance or -a bold interpretation, we jump back in terror and horror. - -So it is with _vers libre_ at the present moment. Because it shows us -new things, and a new and perhaps at times an awkward manner, critics -fed on the diluted sentimentality of Longfellow—or even the classic and -obscure Meredith—revolt. Eventually they will accept it; they must. -Those that are not fools must remember that history repeats itself; that -to cite but a recent instance, Manet and Monet and Sisley, in painting, -are accepted where forty-five years ago they were characterized as fools -and madmen. After time has crystalized the unusual into the -conventional, and the crystals are as common and as pretty as only time -and much practice can make them, the critic, along with the man in the -street, will be content to partake and to appreciate. It will be then -too late; what was once unique and rare will be common and banally -uninteresting; a new awakening will then take place, and once more the -world will witness the same absurd attack of the critics. - -In this connection, in our future judgment of _vers libre_, let us -recall the wise and simple words of R. A. M. Stevenson: “The test of a -new thing is not utility, which may appear at any moment like a shoot -with the first favouring breath of spring. The test is the kind and -amount of human feeling and intellect put into the work. Could any fool -do it? Now, in this matter of depicting truth, there are eyesights of -all grades and breadth, of grandeur, of subtlety, and art has more than -the delicacy of a tripos examination in tailing out as in a footrace all -the talents and capabilities of the competitors.” - -Go to it, Mr. Bodenheim! - - - - - SCRIBNER PLAYS - - - PLAYS - BY - LEONID - ANDREYEFF - - The Life of Man - The Sabine Women - The Black Maskers - - Translated from the Russian, with an Introduction, by F. - N. SCOTT and C. L. 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Price $2.00. - - LYRICS OF A LAD - - BY - SCHARMEL IRIS - - The first published volume, containing the short, imaginative and - unusually impassioned work of a young Italian poet, Scharmel - Iris, who promises to win a similar place in the ranks of the - more important American poets to that held by Rossetti, in - England. - - Of those whose work has received general or convincing - recognition no one has been distinguished by more genuine or - appreciative criticism and comment than Scharmel Iris. Such men - as John Ruskin, Algernon Swinburne, and Edmund Gosse have - expressed their belief in the inspired nature and in the power of - this young poet. - - Printed in a well designed edition. Price $1.00. Postage 8c. - - Seymour, Daughaday & Co., - - Successors to - - RALPH FLETCHER SEYMOUR CO. - THE ALDERBRINK PRESS - - Fine Arts Building CHICAGO - - - POETRY - - - A Magazine of Verse - - Publishes the finest work of contemporary poets. 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Of - “The Duel,” (formerly “The Point of Honor”) Mr. Curle, in his - critical work on Joseph Conrad writes: - - “It is a work of wide imaginative impulse—a wonderful - reconstruction of the Napoleonic atmosphere. As a sustained - effort in Conrad’s sardonic later style it is unmatched.” - - _Now Ready in the “Deep Sea” Limp Leather Edition of Conrad. - Net, $1.50; in cloth, net, $1.35_ - - - Other Volumes in the “Deep Sea Edition” of Conrad - - Bound in rich sea-blue limp leather - - Chance - - “‘Chance’ is a book that could have been written by no one but a - master—a book which it is well nigh a duty for every lover of - good writing to read.”—BASIL KING, author of “The Inner Shrine,” - etc. - - Youth - - _Contains “Youth,” “Heart of Darkness,” and “End of the - Tether.”_ - - “To read it is in some sense to live again, and that, I think, is - the highest praise that can be laid upon a work of the - imagination.”—HENRY L. MENCKEN. - - Lord Jim - - “‘Lord Jim’ is the greatest psychological study of cowardice that - I have ever read.”—DAVID BELASCO. - - The Nigger of the Narcissus - - “The sea, in his hands, fades to a background—sometimes smooth - and blue—sometimes white and furious—but always a background - against which are silhouetted the haunting figures in which he - interprets man’s endless struggle.”—Chicago _Evening Post_. - - ’Twixt Land and Sea - - AND TWO OTHER SEA STORIES - - “Mr. Conrad has never painted more vivid scenes of nature or - looked more deeply into the hearts of his characters than in this - moving book.”—_The Outlook._ - - Almayer’s Folly, and An Outcast of the Islands - - _Mr. Conrad’s first and second novels_ - - “The figures in these books live for us, and above and beyond - them are the power of presentment, the marvellous faculty for the - absolute creation of atmosphere, the genius for description, and - the individual, finished style which these, Mr. Conrad’s earliest - works, display.”—Sir HUGH CLIFFORD, K.C.M.G., in the _North - American Review_. - - Falk - - _Contains “Falk,” “Amy Foster,” and “To-morrow.”_ - - “‘Falk’ leaves one inclined to declare that the writing of that - one story would be sufficient to place him among the - immortals.”—_New York Times._ - - Typhoon - - “To read a story like ‘Typhoon’ is to undergo an almost physical - experience. It is unforgettable, even as the experience it - pictures and interprets must be unforgettable.”—HILDEGARDE - HAWTHORNE. - - Romance - - (_With_ FORD MADOX HUEFFER) - - “‘Romance’ is indeed a work of blazing imagination. It is a sheer - novel of adventure, and the glory of it lies in its color and - shifting lights.”—RICHARD CURLE, in “Joseph Conrad.” - - Each Volume, Net, $1.50. Set of Eleven Volumes, Boxed, Net, - $16.50 - - Published by DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY Garden City, N. Y. - - - - - Published February Sixth, 1915 - - Carranza and Mexico - - by CARLO DE FORNARO - - “Carranza and Mexico” tells the story of the Mexican revolt - during the last three years—the true story of the fifteen million - peons who are making history, breaking tradition and waging a - vigorous battle for liberty and common justice. - - To the student of sociological problems, Mexico is probably the - most fascinating spot in the universe. Its problem is so - complicated that very few people indeed know what the trouble - really is about. Mr. Fornaro does. He has lived for a long time - in Mexico, and his book, which tells of the overthrow of Madero, - the campaign against Huerta, Wilson’s Mexican Policy, and other - matters of immediate interest, is the result of a labor extending - over a period of ten years. - - _With Illustrations and Map, $1.25_ - - Creation - - _Post Impressionist Poems_ - - By Horace Holey - - This is a notable volume of verse, called “Post Impressionist,” - because in spirit it is based upon a warm sympathy for the art of - the greater Post-Impressionists. Symmetric form is disregarded - for the more characteristically modern effects of rhythm. - - It is distinguished throughout by clear convinced thought, strong - and definite emotion and a fine mastery of rhythmic phrase. It is - not passionate in the romantic sense—that is, the thought is not - a mere decoration of the mood, but it certainly is passionate in - the sense that thought and emotion are continually welded - together by the white heat of personal conviction. - - _75 cents_ - - The Primal Law - - _A Novel_ - - By ISABEL OSTRANDER - - An engrossing story of a woman’s way through the third decade of - her life—and of the various men with whom she comes in contact. - Ben Donahue, a fellow mill-worker in a small New England town; - Marcus Beeman, the salesman who takes her to New York; Frank - Kelly, the famous horse-trainer with whom she sees Saratoga, - Paris, London and Dublin; Baron Georges Iverskoi of Russia, whose - companion she is in Biarritz, Monte-Carlo, Aix, Trouville, Rome, - Ostende and other places; Captain Cecil Cope-Herrington; Senor - Delvajo, the Spanish painter; Richard Dangerfield, the American - sculptor, whose career her love unwittingly ruins—these are but a - few of the characters that are intimately pictured in these - pages. “The Primal Law” presents a rare panorama of the - cosmopolitan life that the European War has now brought abruptly - to an end. And withal, it is a book written with a serious - underlying motive. - - _$1.35_ - - The World of H. G. Wells - - By Van Wyck Brooks - - Certainly no writer has of late been more in the public eye than - H. G. Wells. It is high time, therefore, that a complete and - trenchant study of his work and personality in all their various - phases should be published. And that is just what Mr. Brooks has - written. To his task he has brought rare gifts of analysis and - synthesis, together with no little charm. The result is a book - which will be welcomed as one of the most informative and - interesting in critical literature. A clear understanding of H. - G. Wells is imperative for all thoughtful men and women, and no - more appropriate time than the present could be found for issuing - a book that fully satisfies that need. - - _$1.25_ - - - MITCHELL KENNERLEY’S RAILROAD NOVELS - - Most people when they are traveling like to read—nothing heavy or - too serious—but a good yarn that will amuse and interest them. To - supply just this want I have started my series of “Railroad - Novels.” Each volume is a rattling tale, well told, and the books - are printed in large type on light paper, and bound in limp - cloth. They will fit most pockets, and weigh very little. They - are uniform in appearance and price. - - Can a Man Be True? - - By WINIFRED GRAHAM - - A good old-fashioned tale of adventure and intrigue, which in - some ways recalls “The Prisoner of Zenda,” and the romances of - the great Dumas. The sort of story that is passing now, but which - every one enjoys once in a while. No sex, no problem, but lots of - plot and counterplot and excitement. A book that may be read and - enjoyed by every member of the family. - - _$1.00_ - - MITCHELL KENNERLEY PUBLISHER NEW YORK - - - - - Books By Havelock Ellis - - Mr. Ellis is one of the most distinguished psychologists, and men - of letters in the world today. He is a scientist with a vision - and a sense of humor, a traveler who sees below the surface, and - a scholar who has read and digested a great part of the world’s - literature without becoming a pedant. To readers of THE LITTLE - REVIEW who are not familiar with his work we confidently - recommend any of the four books below. - - IMPRESSIONS AND COMMENTS - - “A book of random observations, thoughts, and half-thoughts, - crotchets, hobbies, guesses, and whims. One day Mr. Ellis muses - over a drunken woman and on another he descants on the evolution - of furniture, having in the meanwhile declared his taste in - architecture, the women of Normandy, the ugliness of modern - civilization, and the music of Franck and Elgar, and his opinion - of the devil, Cornishmen, George Meredith, Raphael, Gaby Deslys, - war, and nakedness.” - - F. M. Colby in The North American Review. - - $1.50 net. - - THE TASK OF SOCIAL HYGIENE - - A discussion of the changing status of woman, the emancipation of - woman in relation to romantic love, the significance of the - falling birth-rate, and other aspects of sex and society. “It is - an inspiring and reassuring volume, which deserves not one but - several readings from everyone who takes anything more than a - predatory interest in the social organism.” - - Waldo R. Browne in the Chicago Dial. - - $2.50 net. - - THE WORLD OF DREAMS - - A scholarly, yet entertaining study of just the peculiarities and - curiosities of the world of dreams which everybody has wondered - at. It describes them with the vividness and fantastic imagery - which combine so charmingly in Kipling’s “The Brushwood Boy,” and - at the same time interprets them in the light of a psychologist’s - special knowledge. - - $2.00 net. - - THE SOUL OF SPAIN - - This brilliant volume on the romance, the woman, the art, the - dancing, and the gardens of Spain, and especially on the Spanish - character, is probably the most illuminating as well as the most - readable interpretation of this inscrutable people in literature. - - With photogravure frontispiece, $2.00 net. - - Order at your bookstore or direct from the publishers - - 4 Park Street HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY Boston - - - - - 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 original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical -errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here -(before/after): - - [p. 11]: - ... of good tidings and love leant for the redemption of the many - through the ... - ... of good tidings and love lent for the redemption of the many - through the ... - - [p. 15]: - ... Hallow caverns of cool blue shadow, ... - ... Hollow caverns of cool blue shadow, ... - - [p. 29]: - ... to the descredit of some of those most noisy in demanding the - right. The ... - ... to the discredit of some of those most noisy in demanding the - right. The ... - - [p. 30]: - ... Unbidden and unwarmed she takes us up in the round of her - Dance and sweeps along with us, until exhausted we fall from - her Arms. ... - ... Unbidden and unwarned she takes us up in the round of her - Dance and sweeps along with us, until exhausted we fall from - her Arms. ... - - [p. 31]: - ... If she gives another Need—then it is a new source of - Desire; but soon she come to Equipoise. ... - ... If she gives another Need—then it is a new source of - Desire; but soon she comes to Equipoise. ... - - [p. 36]: (multiple cases) - ... von Rezñicek. This was the pièce de resistance at the - evening concert. ... - ... von Reznicek. This was the pièce de resistance at the - evening concert. ... - - [p. 36]: - ... first violins, sixteen second violins, twelve violas, ten - violincellos, eight double ... - ... first violins, sixteen second violins, twelve violas, ten - violoncellos, eight double ... - - [p. 36]: (multiple cases) - ... existence. A compound essentially of Tod und Verkläring, - Tyll Eulenspiegel ... - ... existence. A compound essentially of Tod und Verklärung, - Tyll Eulenspiegel ... - - [p. 37]: - ... Tod und Verkläring deprives Schlëmihl of any greater claim - than that. ... - ... Tod und Verklärung deprives Schlemihl of any greater claim - than that. ... - - [p. 39]: - ... (Solvieg’s Lied) ... - ... (Solveigs Lied) ... - - [p. 48]: - ... favor with his countrymen by editing Der Vaterland, although - before that ... - ... favor with his countrymen by editing Das Vaterland, although - before that ... - - [p. 60]: - ... to glorify the Allies. His speculation that the present war - as a struggle of ... - ... to glorify the Allies. His speculation that the present war - is a struggle of ... - - [p. 62]: - ... Dostoevsky is a celebralist. His specialty is imaginative - reactions. All ... - ... Dostoevsky is a cerebralist. His specialty is imaginative - reactions. All ... - - [p. 63]: - ... England, mark it as a new movement, or at least a new - recrusence. ... - ... England, mark it as a new movement, or at least a new - recrudescence. ... - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, FEBRUARY -1915 (VOL. 1, NO. 11) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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} -div.chance p { font-size:0.8em; text-align:center; } - -/* @media handheld */ - body.x-ebookmaker { margin-left:0; margin-right:0; } - .x-ebookmaker div.frontmatter { max-width:inherit; } - - .x-ebookmaker div.poem-container div.poem { display:block; margin-left:2em; } - .x-ebookmaker div.editorials { border:0; padding:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } - .x-ebookmaker div.excerpt { font-size:1em; margin-left:2em; } - - .x-ebookmaker table.dpers td.col2 { color:white; } - - .x-ebookmaker div.ads { max-width:inherit; border:0; border-top:1px solid black; - padding:0; padding-top:0.5em; } - - .x-ebookmaker a.pagenum { display:none; } - .x-ebookmaker a.pagenum:after { display:none; } - - .x-ebookmaker .trnote { margin:0; } - - .x-ebookmaker span.firstchar { clear:left; float:left; } - .x-ebookmaker div.ads .fl { float:left; } - .x-ebookmaker div.ads .fr { float:right; } - -</style> -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, February 1915 (Vol. 1, No. 11), by Margaret C. Anderson</p> -<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> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Little Review, February 1915 (Vol. 1, No. 11)</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Margaret C. Anderson</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 28, 2021 [eBook #65948]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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.</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, FEBRUARY 1915 (VOL. 1, NO. 11) ***</div> - -<div class="frontmatter chapter"> -<h1 class="title"> -<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> -</h1> - -<p class="subt"> -<em>Literature Drama Music Art</em> -</p> - -<p class="ed"> -<span class="line1">MARGARET C. ANDERSON</span><br /> -<span class="line2">EDITOR</span> -</p> - -<p class="issue"> -FEBRUARY, 1915 -</p> - - <div class="table"> -<table class="tocn" summary="TOC"> -<tbody> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#OURFIRSTYEAR">Our First Year</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>The Editor</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#POEMS">Poems:</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Amy Lowell</em></td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#BRIGHTSUNLIGHT">Bright Sunlight</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#ELYCATHEDRAL">Ely Cathedral</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#JESTER">Heaven’s Jester</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Mrs. Havelock Ellis</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#GREENSYMPHONY">Green Symphony</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>John Gould Fletcher</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THECASEOFFRENCHPOETRY">The Case of French Poetry</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Richard Aldington</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THELASTWOMAN">The Last Woman</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>George Soule</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THELIBERTIESOFTHEPEOPLE">The Liberties of the People</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>William L. Chenery</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#HYMN">A Hymn to Nature (An Unpublished Goethe Poem)</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#MYFRIENDTHEINCURABLE">My Friend, the Incurable:</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Alexander S. Kaun</em></td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#VICE">On the Vice of Simplicity</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#POWYS">John Cowper Powys</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#MUCKANDMUSIC">Muck and Music</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Alfred Knopf</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#WHILEHEARINGALITTLESONG">While Hearing a Little Song</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Maxwell Bodenheim</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#AHARDBED">A Hard Bed</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>George Burman Foster</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#GEORGEMIDDLETONSONEACTPLAYS">George Middleton’s One-Act Plays</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Clayton Hamilton</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#NEWYORKLETTER">New York Letter</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>George Soule</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#MUSIC">Music</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#BOOKDISCUSSION">Book Discussion</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THEREADERCRITIC">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"> -<a id="page-1" class="pagenum" title="1"></a> -<p class="tit"> -<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> -</p> - - <div class="table"> - <div class="issue"> -<p class="vol"> -Vol. 1 -</p> - -<p class="issue"> -FEBRUARY, 1915 -</p> - -<p class="number"> -No. 11 -</p> - - </div> - </div> -<p class="cop"> -Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson. -</p> - -</div> - -<h2 class="article1" id="OURFIRSTYEAR"> -Our First Year -</h2> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">Margaret C. Anderson.</span> -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">A</span><span class="postfirstchar">n</span> interesting man said recently that the five qualities which go into -the making of the great personality—of the genius, perhaps—are (1) -energy, (2) imagination, (3) character, (4) intellect, (5) and charm. I -number them because the importance of his remark lies in the fact that he -arranged them in just that order. The more you think of it the keener a -judgment it seems. I can see only one possible flaw in it—a flaw that would -not be corrected, I am certain, by moving number four to the place of number -one, but by a reversal of number one and number two. Energy does seem -the prime requisite—after you’ve spent a few days with one of those persons -who has seething visions and a contempt for concentration. But Imagination!—that -gift of the far gods! There is simply no question of its position -in the list. It is first by virtue of every brave and beautiful thing that has -been accomplished in the world. -</p> - -<p> -Last March we began the publication of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>. Now, -twelve months later, we face the humiliating—or the encouraging—spectacle -of being a magazine whose function is not transparent. People are always -asking me what we are really trying to do. We have not set forth a policy; -we have not identified ourselves with a point of view, except in so far as -we have been quite ridiculously appreciative; we have not expounded a -philosophy, except in so far as we have been quite outlandishly anarchistic; -we have been uncritical, indiscriminate, juvenile, exuberant, chaotic, amateurish, -emotional, tiresomely enthusiastic, and a lot of other things which -I can’t remember now—all the things that are usually said about faulty -new undertakings. The encouraging thing is that they are said most strongly -about promising ones. -</p> - -<p> -Of course <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> has done little more than approach -<a id="page-2" class="pagenum" title="2"></a> -the ideal which it has in mind. I am not proud of those limitations mentioned -above—(and I am far from being unconscious of them); I am merely glad -that they happen to be that particular type of limitation rather than some -other. For instance, I should much rather have the limitations of the -visionary or the poet or the prophet than those of the pedant or the priest -or the “practical” person. Personally, I should much rather get drenched -than to go always fortified with an umbrella and overshoes; I should rather -see one side of a question violently than to see both sides calmly; I should -rather be an extremist than a—well, it’s scarcely a matter of choice: people -are either extremists or nonentities; I should far rather sense the big things -about a cause or a character even vaguely than to analyze its little qualities -quite clearly; in short, I should rather feel a great deal and know a little -than feel a little and know a lot. And so all this may serve to express our -negative attitude. -</p> - -<p> -But what am I to say about our positive attitude—how possibly express -all the things we hope to do? Perhaps I need not try: Oscar Wilde made -explanations of such a position superfluous when he said that the worship -of beauty is something entirely too splendid to be sane. That is our only -attitude. I hope at least half the people who read this will understand that -I did not say our platform is merely the worship of beauty. Beauty involves -too many elements to be championed lightly. Beauty from the aesthete’s -point of view and beauty from the artist’s point of view are two widely -different things. I might paraphrase Wilde and say that the new Beauty -is the new Hellenism. Certainly I want for <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>, as I want -from life, not merely beauty, not merely happiness, but a quality which -proceeds from the <em>intensity</em> with which both beauty and ugliness, pleasure -and pain, are present. -</p> - -<p> -This much to start with. Now there are people who complain that -within their limited allowance of magazines they are forced to do without -<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> because it gives them nothing definite, nothing finished, -nothing conclusive. But my idea of a magazine which makes any claim -to artistic value is that it should be conducted more or less on the lines of -good drama, or good fiction; that it should suggest, not conclude; that it -should stimulate to thinking rather than dictate thought. Most magazines -have efficient editors and definite editorial policies; that is what’s wrong -with them. I have none of the qualifications of the editor; that’s why I -think <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> is in good hands. Because the editorial tradition -in this country has usurped the place of the literary tradition we have lifted -loyalty to policies into the place of loyalty to ideals. A veteran editor—a -man of letters—once told me that there were fifty good writers to every -good editor in America, and that he would teach me to be the former. He -proceeded to illustrate, not by chucking out the poor stuff that was being -written for his journal but by showing how it could be stuck in where it -wouldn’t be too noticeable! When some manuscript that delighted his soul -came in (he was very human and out of sympathy with the crusted “policy” -<a id="page-3" class="pagenum" title="3"></a> -that had somehow grown up around his own magazine) he taught me the -“art” of reducing its policy to a state of negativeness that would not be -out of harmony with the policy he was supposed to be supporting. Once -he received some poetry that was very strong and very beautiful. He -treasured it so that he kept it in his desk for months before returning it. -It was so beautiful as to be beyond the appreciation of his audience, he was -sure; and anyhow his journal had never gone in for publishing poetry—it -merely printed reviews of poetry; so what could he do but return it? I -used to feel that I was in the midst of some demoniacal scheme for achieving -the ultimate futility. And so I think that “policies” are likely to be, or to -become, quite damning things. Therefore instead of urging people to read -us in the hope of finding what they seek in that direction, it is more honest -to say outright that they will probably find less and less of it. Because as -“sanity” increases in the world <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> will strive more and -more to be splendidly insane: as editors and lecturers continue to compromise -in order to get their public, as book-makers continue to print rot in -order to make fortunes, as writers continue to follow the market instead of -<em>doing their Work</em>, as the public continues to demand vileness and vulgarity -and lies, as the intellectuals continue to miss the root of the trouble, <span class="smallcaps">The -Little Review</span> will continue to rebel, to tell the truth as we see it, to work -for its ideal rather than for a policy. And in the face of new magazines of -excellent quality and no personality we shall continue to soar and flash and -flame, to be swamped at intervals and scramble to new heights, to be young -and fearless and reckless and imaginative— -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse15">... chanter</p> - <p class="verse">Rêver, rire, passer, être seul, être libre,</p> - <p class="verse">Avoir l’œil qui regarde bien, la voix qui vibre....</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -—to die for these things if necessary, but to live for them vividly first. -</p> - -<p> -There are other people who argue that we might be hugely successful -by being better: that we might borrow a lot of money (they always say -this so casually), pay high for contributions, become acutely sophisticated, -fill a wide-felt need, etc. Now the first thing we shall do, as soon as we -are able to pay our printer’s bills without paroxysms of terror, is to pay -for contributions; it is disgusting that writers who do real work don’t make -enough out of it to live on at least. But as things are now no one can <em>live</em> -by writing unless he writes badly. The only exceptions are cases which -emphasize rather than disprove the point. In the meantime a magazine ought -to be started for the sole purpose of printing the good things that the best -magazines reject. Until we are on our feet and able to pay for stuff we can -at least do this. And never, we hope, will we achieve that last emptiness: -sophistication. -</p> - -<p> -But there is still another function, and it seems to me very important. -I have been reading a new book of Walter Lippmann’s called <em>Drift and -<a id="page-4" class="pagenum" title="4"></a> -Mastery</em>, which has more of the quality known as straight thinking than -anything in the political-economic field published for a long time. Mr. -Lippmann says this in his preface: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> -<p class="noindent"> -The issues that we face are very different from those of the last century and a -half. The difference, I think, might be summed up roughly this way: those who went -before inherited a conservatism and overthrew it; we inherit freedom, and have to use -it. The sanctity of property, the patriarchal family, hereditary caste, the dogma of sin, -obedience to authority,—the rock of ages, in brief, has been blasted for us. Those who -are young today are born into a world in which the foundations of the older order -survive only as habits or by default. So Americans can carry through their purposes -when they have them. If the standpatter is still powerful amongst us it is because -we have not learned to use our power, and direct it to fruitful ends. The American -conservative, it seems to me, fills the vacuum where democratic purpose should be. -</p> - -<p> -So far as we are concerned, then, the case is made out against absolutism, commercial -oligarchy, and unquestioned creeds. <em>The Rebel program is stated.</em> Scientific -invention and blind social currents have made the old authority impossible in fact, -the artillery fire of the iconoclasts has shattered its prestige. We inherit a rebel -tradition. The dominant forces in our world are not the sacredness of property nor -the intellectual leadership of the priest; they are not the divinity of the constitution, -the glory of the industrial push, Victorian sentiment, New England respectability, the -Republican party, or John D. Rockefeller.... In the emerging morality the -husband is not regarded as the proprietor of his wife, nor the parents as autocrats -over the children.... There is a wide agreement among thinking people that -the body is not a filthy thing, and that to implant in a child the sense of sin is a poor -preparation for a temperate life. -</p> - -<p> -The battle for us, in short, does not lie against crusted prejudice, but against -the chaos of a new freedom. -</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -That is very good reasoning, if you grant the premise—which I do -not. I think the old authority is just as apparent as ever; its methods and -nature have merely changed. Mr. Lippmann lives among the small minority—the -people who have ideas. They represent about one tenth of the population. -Of the rest, five tenths have no ideas and the other four tenths have -something they call ideas: the rock of ages. It is still there. The new -authority is quite as strong as the old, and more insidious because it is -more subtle. Young people used to be disinherited when they disagreed with -their parents; now they are argued with. The former method left their -minds clear; the latter befogs them—and they disinherit themselves. That -is the difference. One worked from without in; the other works from -within out. Of course it’s much better this way. But this is not the most -important problem—this of the old rock of ages. The horrible joke of -modern life is that <em>we have been presented with a new rock of ages</em>! -</p> - -<p> -The rebel program is stated—exactly. More than that, it is in action. -The difference between the new issues and the old, to Mr. Lippmann, is -that we have now learned what we must do; to me, it is that we must learn -to do something else. The battle lies not against the chaos of a new freedom, -but against the dangers of a new authority. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-5" class="pagenum" title="5"></a> -Before I define, let me illustrate. About two months ago I spent four -days in one of our second-large cities—a place of about two hundred -thousand people. If I could only describe those four days and their stimulation—to -fresh rebellion! The people I saw belonged to the supposedly -enlightened inner circles—the representative upper middle class: the ones -that still loom very large in comparison to the thinking minority from whom -Mr. Lippmann draws his conclusions. Well, I had not forgotten how -ignorant people can be, but I had forgotten how cruel they can be. I had -not expected their knowledge to have increased, but their hypocrisy to have -lessened. I had not looked for vision but at least for a beginning of sight; -not for Truth, but perhaps for a willingness to stop lying. And I found -scarcely a glimmer of these things. It was ghastly! But the strange part -was this: all the time I found I was thinking not of the great faults of their -opinions but of the great barrenness of their lives. Over and over the -thought kept running through my head: There is no poetry of living in -this place! -</p> - -<p> -This brings me to my point. The new rock of ages is that wholly false -perspective which assumes that <em>what one thinks is more important than -what one feels</em>. It has been set up, quite unconsciously, by the very people -who have trying to blast the old one. It is that perspective which the -new generation must fight not only with the old, but in its own ranks! -Here is the interest of the new battle! Our next renaissance will be concerned -with changing that perspective; the genius of the future must be -directed toward that end. And that is why I think it is not enough to say -that there will come a time when men will think of nothing but education. -There will come a time when men will think of nothing but education in -imagination! And since there is no such thing as <em>education</em> in imagination, -but only <em>procreation</em> of it,—well, the time will come when men will think -of nothing but art. The crimes of ignorance are not comparable to the -crimes of philistinism: there is no philosophy that will ever reach beyond -that of the personality or of the artist. -</p> - -<p> -The dominant forces in the new rock of ages are not of course the -intellectual leadership of the priest, the divinity of the constitution, Victorian -sentiment, or the Republican Party, but the intellectual leadership of cleverness, -the divinity of cults, no sentiment, and the Practical Plan. They are -endorsed by the most promising element in modern life: the young intellectuals -who are working valiantly to create here what Europe has given to -the arts and sciences,—and working in the wrong direction. Our inferiorities -to the other civilizations they attribute to our puritanism, our speed, our -economic evils. Oh, I get so sick of their failure to reach to the real cause! -It is so silly to keep on insisting that we need poets like the French or -philosophers like the Germans or musicians like the Russians, etc., etc., if -we don’t begin soon to understand why we haven’t got them. We haven’t -<a id="page-6" class="pagenum" title="6"></a> -got them because, in this curious country, we haven’t got people who feel.—Think -of an Irish peasant walking under the stars.... -</p> - -<p> -I grant you that it also becomes silly to talk eternally of “feeling” -without qualifying or defining. It is like taking refuge behind that vaguest -phrase in the language—“life itself.” But by “feeling” I mean simply that -flight of wings which makes walking unnecessary; that dazzling tight-rope -performance which takes you safely over the chasm of Experience but leaves -you as bruised as though you had fallen to its depths. Feeling is that quality -of spirit which will save any artist from the philosophical redundancies of -a <em>De Profundis</em>. The torturing need of expressing something that far -outstretches one’s capacity for expression is the foundation of art. That’s -why we have so little of it in this country. There may be some Americans -in whom the perspective has retained its proper balance. I happen to know -of one. -</p> - -<p> -It is for some such need as this that <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> exists: to -create some attitude which so far is absolutely alien to the American tradition. -I have been going to the lectures of John Cowper Powys, which are -spoken of in other places in this issue, and that appreciative man gave me -an interesting idea the other day. I should like to see him as editor of a -literary magazine whose policy was to cut off the subscription list everybody -who speculated about his pose or his insincerity and failed to miss the great -beauty of his words. Now Mr. Powys is as unstable as water: that is his -value. He feels entirely too much ever to be fully sane. His hypothetical -magazine would gather an audience that could fight successfully the great -American crime which may be described briefly as <em>missing the point</em>. Thus -we might establish a reign of imagination which would make stupid things -as impossible as cruel things, which would consider a failure to catch some -new beauty or a “moral lynching of great and independent spirits” as -greater crimes than murdering a man in a dark corner. -</p> - -<p> -On this basis we shall continue. If we must be sensible at least we -shall make it, in Shaw’s phrase, an ecstasy of common sense. And out of -all this chaos shall we produce our dancing star. -</p> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -The supreme vice is shallowness. Whatever is realized is right.—<em>Oscar Wilde.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -Before the scientific spirit can reach its full bloom, it will have to acquire an honest -sense of the rôle that fantasy plays in all its work. This is especially true of the -social sciences. We are just beginning to realize the importance in economics of the -economist’s utopia. We are learning the determining influence of the thinker’s dream.—<em>Walter -Lippmann.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="POEMS"> -<a id="page-7" class="pagenum" title="7"></a> -Poems -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">Amy Lowell</span> -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="BRIGHTSUNLIGHT"> -Bright Sunlight -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The wind has blown a corner of your shawl</p> - <p class="verse">Into the fountain,</p> - <p class="verse">Where it floats and drifts</p> - <p class="verse">Among the lily-pads</p> - <p class="verse">Like a tissue of sapphires.</p> - <p class="verse">But you do not heed it,</p> - <p class="verse">Your fingers pick at the lichens</p> - <p class="verse">On the stone edge of the basin,</p> - <p class="verse">And your eyes follow the tall clouds</p> - <p class="verse">As they sail over the ilex trees.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="ELYCATHEDRAL"> -Ely Cathedral -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Anaemic women, stupidly dressed and shod</p> - <p class="verse">In squeaky shoes, thump down the nave to laud an expurgated God.</p> - <p class="verse">Bunches of lights reflect upon the pavement where</p> - <p class="verse">The twenty benches stop, and through the close, smelled-over air</p> - <p class="verse">Gaunt arches push up their whited cones,</p> - <p class="verse">And cover the sparse worshipers with dead men’s stones.</p> - <p class="verse">Behind his shambling choristers, with flattened feet</p> - <p class="verse">And red-flapped hood, the Bishop walks, complete</p> - <p class="verse">In old, frayed ceremonial. The organ wheezes</p> - <p class="verse">A moldy psalm-tune, and a verger sneezes.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">But the great Cathedral spears into the sky</p> - <p class="verse">Shouting for joy.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">What is the red-flapped Bishop praying for, by the bye?</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article l3" id="JESTER"> -<a id="page-8" class="pagenum" title="8"></a> -<span class="line1">Heaven’s Jester</span><br /> -<span class="line2">or</span><br /> -<span class="line3">The Message of a White Rose</span> -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Havelock Ellis</span> -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar"><span class="prefirstchar">“</span>I</span><span class="postfirstchar">t</span> is dawn! Men and women are in the city of sleep. Waken, thou -strange child of many dreams, and hear my message. A woman gave me -to thee, a woman thou lovest, whose fragrance for thee is as delicate as -mine, whose whiteness is thy strength and hope. But hark! the gods are -pitiless. Thy name is entered in the call-book of heaven by a woman thou -lovest also. In gentle jest she wrote the scrawl when thy soul passed into -Paradise with hers for one brief hour. She entered those gates in the -sweet sleep of Death and thou, by force of her love for thee, in the sleep -of life. “Heaven’s Jester” was inscribed in the registers of Paradise and -heaven’s jester thou must remain. Thy soul, after her passing from Earth, -had barely gained thy body again before the cap and bells were donned by -thee. Thy jests for men were written down. The jingle of thy bells drew -laughter and tears. God found he had need of the fool the woman had -signed to him. Hush! the jester of heavenly courts must not lower his -head or hide his face. Tears ill become the piebald suit and trappings of -mirth. Thou crazy clown! Didst think the woman who gave me to thee -needed thy heart? Hear the message the white rose by thy bed gives to -thee. She also needs thy cap and bells. It is not for thee to choose thy way -of love. God’s jester is neither man nor woman nor child, but a singer -of joys and woes to ease men’s souls and dry the eyes of women. Play thy -part, then, and laugh thy laugh. Men win her lips, women crave her help, -the world takes her service, and thou her smiles. Wouldst thou have more, -thou poet lover in the guise of a fool? -</p> - -<p> -Then throw thy cloak down for a lover to kneel on if Fate shows -thee his face. Drown the world’s chatter with thy bells while lips kiss. -In his absence make songs and sing them to ease the travail of love in her -body. If no lover comes, then hearten and hasten even thine own enemy -into her service, if so be she gets strength and comfort from the strange -enterprise. Then make thine own soul white as the rose she has given -thee. On with thy cap and bells! Grow nimble and dance. Dance and -sing in thy jester’s way, for the homesickness of the heaven thou hast seen -will teach thee strange melodies. When death claims thee, and the cap -and bells are laid aside, God’s Jester shall sleep with a white rose on his -breast. -</p> - -<p> -“Dead,” they will say, but no! At last thou shalt hear the eternal song -of the souls of women and be satisfied! -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="HEAVENSJESTERTOTHEBODYOFHISLADY"> -<a id="page-9" class="pagenum" title="9"></a> -HEAVEN’S JESTER TO THE BODY OF HIS LADY -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -Heaven’s Jester said unto himself, “I have no need of my lady’s body, -her soul suffices. In the passionate pressure of lips the Fool has known his -God and the man has found the woman. Let that suffice!” -</p> - -<p> -In the dawn the white rose spoke once more to the jester. “Thou hast -lied. Thy lady’s unknown body is untried music to thee. Thy hands would -touch the strings, thy ear catch the vibrations her soul modulates to sounds -of sighs and sobs at the call of love. Look at my whiteness! Think of thy -unrest! The secrets of thy lady’s body are not learnt through the strong -desires common to the herd of men or the fainting dreams of impassioned -women. Fool! inscribed as thou art in the heavenly registers by a woman -as God’s Fool, thou must learn the mystic’s lore about the body of thy -Love. Thy desire is towards thy lady, and her will, not thine, is thy law. -Hearken then! It were the work of an instant to close thy strong hands -round her throat and bruise her into forgetfulness that love is pain. To -force her mouth, so much desired, into an open well for slaking thine own -thirst is love’s delicious robbery. To hurtle to her breast, as if to rob and -forestall the child who may one day drink there, is to have found a shrine -for prayer and peace. Yes! even to rest in the hallowed forests of her -body ere thou storm the citadel where thy weapon shall break into the silent -house of life, is easy and has always been the way of men with woman. -Woman the abandoned, man the triumphant, woman the flower, man the -gatherer, woman the luscious wine and man the thirsty drinker. Thy old-world -needs desire thy lady in the way of men, though prayer before and -after would grace thy feasting. Listen to the secret the white rose whispers -to thee. It does not suffice that thou dost need thy lady or even that thy -lady needs thee. Thou must prepare thyself for her even if she has no -need of thee. The gateways of thy body must be clean, pure as snow and -free from taint. Thy thoughts must shine through thine eyes like stars, -thy passions burn with fires at white heat, without smoke or noise. Heaven’s -jester may not approach the Holy of Holies till Desire is as white flame. -The sacrament of thy Lady’s Body is precious bread and wine, to be partaken -of at her desire, not thine, and only in Heaven’s good time. It is not -for thee to choose. Thy part is to watch and pray and laugh and sing, and -maybe lead another in to the feast thou hast prepared. Thou must bring to -thy lady’s white feet frankincense and myrrh, the spoils of the sorrows -thou hast borne for the tired travellers on thy journey. Precious stones, -too, thou must gather for her neck, from the shores of thy past desolations. -Pearls thou must also offer, burnished out of the memories of thy wayward -desires which knew not her chastity or her smiles. For her breasts thou -must bring shields forged from thy gluttonies and petty aims. For her -arms crystals wrought out of thy dreams. For her girdle rubies made from -all thy heart’s desire. For her eyes? Ah! perhaps thy kiss, delicate and -<a id="page-10" class="pagenum" title="10"></a> -passionate as is the way of seas and clouds when the earth sleeps. For -her forehead thou mayest weave a crown of myrtle, for friendship, as -thy Love is thy Friend and is steadfast. For her ears I will tell thee the -dreams of my sister, almost black with the redness the sun has poured into -her heart. For her hair, only a wreath of “love in the mist,” for in that -little flower is the wonder of the Great Heart thou art learning to understand. -For her lips, only thy hopes made chaste and thy fears made passionate, -if God wills. -</p> - -<p> -Should thy Love waken with thy kisses on her closed eyes and turn -towards thee with wonder and joy at the things thou hast learned and the -gifts thou hast given to her, then have a care! Women are not drunk -with wine but with pity, and pity is no use to Heaven’s Jester. There are -signs, though, which even thou canst understand, and when Love is born, -the Fool is wise. If by chance, for there is no hope in this message of the -dawn, there is a resurrection day for thee, if by chance or God’s pure will, -she turns to thee as God allows one spirit to turn to another spirit, when -Love has prepared the altar, then clash thy cymbals, blow thy trumpet, -shout till the sleepy world rejoices, shake thy bells and fling thy Jester’s cap -and cloak aside, for to eat the sacramental bread and drink the wine of -thy love’s pure body thou wilt not need raiment, and as thou wert born -and as thou wilt die thou wilt enter into thy Holy of Holies. And if thou -die of joy, thou criest: -</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">What is Death?</p> - <p class="verse">Only Love freed.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="THEFOOLTOTHESOULOFHISLADY"> -THE FOOL TO THE SOUL OF HIS LADY -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -The Jester said to himself, “If the body of my lady is so fair a tabernacle -for her soul, how can I, a Fool, understand the ways of her spirit? -My lute and pipes can only render the voices of the wind, the sea, the trees -and the cries of beasts in joy and pain. My bells are a Jester’s toys for -assuaging the griefs of the children of men. The travailings of my lady’s -spirit, like the snow on the mountains, are out of reach of a fool’s understanding. -For one brief hour I heard a faint whisper in the halls of peace -when my name was signed in the heavenly registers, but, except in my -heart, I carried no trophy to earth by which I could tell men of the music -I heard. -</p> - -<p> -This is the birthday of my Lady, the festival which calls for prayer -and joy. Prayer, because the paths of earth are hard for the feet of her -whose tread awakens a longing for wings in the Fool standing near. Joy, -because her eyes are mirrors of a time to come when love and peace will -renew earth into heaven, and men and women will become as wise as -eagles and children. Through her body, I love the soul of my lady, and -through her soul I love her body. Neither her soul nor her body may help -and comfort the Jester even though God leads and helps him by both grace -<a id="page-11" class="pagenum" title="11"></a> -and mercy. Though his heart be sore and his body sick unto death and -there seems none to comfort him, he can still sing songs for men and pipe -melodies for women of the wonders revealed to him.” -</p> - -<p> -The White Rose, dying by the Jester’s bed, spoke once more to the -Fool. -</p> - -<p> -“Cast self pity out of thine heart. Learn to live as I have learned -to die, and then learn to die as I have learned to live. For thee absence -seems death, but trace the meaning of the soul of the woman thou lovest. -Her soul is also absent from the Oversoul as her body is absent from a -Lover. Only through absence can the Oversoul draw its own to itself, and -only through loneliness can the Great Lover and the Lesser Lover understand -one another. Words confuse and touch enslaves. Souls speak clearly -in the silence. In absence a note becomes a chord, and in silence the chord -becomes a symphony. The discord dissolves into harmony, and the darkness -into dawn. The absence of Death is not different from that of Life, -for Death is Life, and Life the discord making Death’s music. The soul -of thy Lady will find thine by the aid of both Life and Death, for it is not -God’s Fool who hath declared that there is no Love nor a Creater thereof. -Thou art learning that all is Love. In thy prayers today for thy Lady’s -peace incline thy spirit towards hers as both approach the maternal source -of the Universe. It is the Mother-Spirit of the world who has hidden thy -love from thy sight, and taken thine head from the touch of her hands -and torn thy lips from her kisses. Is it not always so that the mothers -of the smaller world wean their children into growth and knowledge? Thou -art still hers even if her body is out of sight and touch, for pure love is -the simple miracle of thine heritage as a son of man and of God. Nothing -can take from me what the sun made of me through his shining. Even as -I die the fragrance remains. Nothing can rob thee of the hours when all -things seem possible because of thy hopes and her vows. Love is pain -but over-love is peace. Turn thy tears into help and pity for those who -weep without thy hope and for those who dwell in dungeons and are not -yet registered in heaven as wise or foolish. Let thy longings for one break -into prayer for the weal of the world. Thou wert not sent here only for -thy pleasure or thy peace, nor was the body of thy Lady sent for thy -delight, or her soul for thy strength alone. Pain is ordained for the bringers -of good tidings and love <a id="corr-1"></a>lent for the redemption of the many through the -loneliness of the one. Accept thy lot and thy vision shall make thee free. -Resist thy fate and thy Love’s soul and thine shall sleep embedded in flesh -and with no power to grow wings. On thy knees then and pray for strength -and courage with thy cap and bells in readiness by thy side, and joy within -thy heart. As I die thou must live.” -</p> - -<p> -The Jester took the rose in his hands, and, as its petals fell, a Fool’s -prayer broke the silence. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-12" class="pagenum" title="12"></a> -“Maker of men,” he cried, “pour into a fool’s heart the understanding -of life’s joy and pain. Make my spirit at one with the great order. Let -me understand what is required of me and in understanding be at peace.” -As he prayed, the Jester slept, for a great weariness was on him from much -dancing. In his dream, a little child ran towards him. He opened his -Jester’s cloak, and the little one held the sleeves in her tiny hands. -</p> - -<p> -“Give all that thou hast and all that thou art even to one so small -as I,” cried the child and ran from his sight. -</p> - -<p> -The Jester was awakened by the opening and clanging of a door. He -went out into the courtyard. A beggar, unshaved, and swollen with dropsy, -stood before him. He had evil eyes and a mouth twisted by pain. He -looked at the Jester and laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“Give me thy cap and bells,” he said, “I have need of them.” -</p> - -<p> -The Jester took money from his pouch. -</p> - -<p> -“Take all this instead,” he cried. -</p> - -<p> -The old man laughed. -</p> - -<p> -“Any lord or lady can throw me that,” he said, “if only to keep me -from defiling them by my presence. Gold costs less to give than to gather. -It is dross and could only help my body to live and suffer. Thy cap and -bells would succour my spirit so that I could forget my body. With the -jingle of them I could smile at the curses of the healthy or the jibes of -the well-washed. Give them to me. Thou art well and happy and hast -no need of help.” -</p> - -<p> -The Jester bowed his head and gave up his cap and bells, but with -sorrow and pain in his heart. The beggar ran away shaking the bells and -dancing with glee, the Jester’s cap all awry on his swollen head. A sweet -melting tenderness and faintness took hold of the Jester and an ecstasy -swayed him so that he nearly fell. -</p> - -<p> -“It is the soul of my Lady speaking to mine,” he whispered. “What -matter the cap and bells? Let them go.” -</p> - -<p> -The woman he loved stood by him and her voice was like a lute on -the air as she grasped the Jester’s shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -“Give all thy music to me,” she whispered, “I am in sore travail because -of things a Fool cannot understand. Thy music ravishes me and makes me -know that love is a consuming fire in which one burns gladly. Thy wild -notes make desire in me a quenchless thirst which no drinking can assuage. -Thy soft piping fills my veins with a pain which is like joy and with a joy -which is like pain. Give me all, keep nothing back. I would see as thou -seest, hear as thou hearest, dream as thou dreamest, so that I can play -as thou, but I must tune thy pipes to the voice of my heart.” -</p> - -<p> -The Jester drew his hood over his head and went to his cell. His Lady -had no doubt as to what he would bring back to her, for she had learnt -from him that love gives all things without question or regret. The Jester -quite simply collected all the instruments he had made during the long -<a id="page-13" class="pagenum" title="13"></a> -years of his youth and his manhood. They were precious to him, for he -had not been able to buy as others because of his poverty. He had gone -even to the offal of the slaughter-houses, and to the dank banks of the ponds, -and the waste places in hills and valleys for the things which gave his instruments -such power over men with the strange cries he evoked. The Jester’s -sadness had been greater than even his poverty, but the music had never -failed to comfort and strengthen him. Voices from the over-world and -under-world spoke to him, and the strange secrets he translated into sound. -The Jester’s heart was glad at last. His Lady had need of him and of what -he had made. His music was hers as his heart was hers. He laid all his -precious instruments at her feet and looked in her eyes. There were smiles -for him there. She bent as he knelt and took his head, as of old, between -her long cool hands, and kissed his brow. -</p> - -<p> -“Happy, happy Fool,” she cried, “thus to be able to give all. I will break -hearts with the sweetness of these strings, I will bind others to me and know -it is thy gift. Happy Fool! Goodbye!” -</p> - -<p> -“May God comfort thee and me,” said the Jester, as he turned toward -his cell. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THEJESTERSLEEPS"> -THE JESTER SLEEPS -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -“The Jester is dead.” The words were said gravely, and the Lady who -heard them looked keenly in an old man’s face. -</p> - -<p> -“Dead,” she cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes! Found dead this morning. We could not find his cap and bells -nor the instruments he loved more than all other things. There seems no -more music in the world now, for we all grew happy through his music and -the sun.” -</p> - -<p> -“Dead!” she whispered. “May I....” -</p> - -<p> -She hesitated. “Yes, come.” -</p> - -<p> -The old man led the way. -</p> - -<p> -“He is there. We found nothing by him but the leaves of a dead white -rose and the wind from his window blew them on to his breast.” -</p> - -<p> -“He smiles,” said the Lady. -</p> - -<p> -There was silence in the cell except for the fierce howling of an April -wind and the tiny fluttering of the leaves on the breast of the Jester. -</p> - -<p> -The Lady turned towards the door. -</p> - -<p> -“His instruments are at the gate,” she said, impatiently. “Why did he -die, I wonder? The reeds are no use to me. I cannot play upon them -... not a sound will come.” -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="GREENSYMPHONY"> -<a id="page-14" class="pagenum" title="14"></a> -Green Symphony -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">John Gould Fletcher</span> -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="I"> -I -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The glittering leaves of the rhododendrons</p> - <p class="verse">Balance and vibrate in the cool air;</p> - <p class="verse">While in the sky above them</p> - <p class="verse">White clouds chase each other.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Like scampering rabbits,</p> - <p class="verse">Flashes of sunlight sweep the lawn;</p> - <p class="verse">They fling in passing</p> - <p class="verse">Patterns of shadow,</p> - <p class="verse">Golden and green.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">With long cascades of laughter,</p> - <p class="verse">The mating birds dart and swoop to the turf:</p> - <p class="verse">’Mid their mad trillings</p> - <p class="verse">Glints the gay sun behind the trees.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Down there are deep blue lakes:</p> - <p class="verse">Orange blossom droops in the water.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">In the tower of the winds,</p> - <p class="verse">All the bells are set adrift:</p> - <p class="verse">Jingling</p> - <p class="verse">For the dawn.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Thin fluttering streamers</p> - <p class="verse">Of breeze lash through the swaying boughs,</p> - <p class="verse">Palely expectant</p> - <p class="verse">The earth receives the slanting rain.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">I am a glittering raindrop</p> - <p class="verse">Hugged close by the cool rhododendron.</p> - <p class="verse">I am a daisy starring</p> - <p class="verse">The exquisite curves of the close-cropped turf.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The glittering leaves of the rhododendron</p> - <p class="verse">Are shaken like blue green blades of glass,</p> - <p class="verse">Flickering, cracking, falling:</p> - <p class="verse">Splintering in a million fragments.</p> -<a id="page-15" class="pagenum" title="15"></a> - <p class="verse">The wind runs laughing up the slope</p> - <p class="verse">Stripping off handfuls of wet green leaves,</p> - <p class="verse">To fling in peoples’ faces.</p> - <p class="verse">Wallowing on the daisy-powdered turf,</p> - <p class="verse">Clutching at the sunlight,</p> - <p class="verse">Cavorting in the shadow.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Like baroque pearls,</p> - <p class="verse">Like cloudy emeralds,</p> - <p class="verse">The clouds and the trees clash together;</p> - <p class="verse">Whirling and swirling,</p> - <p class="verse">In the tumult</p> - <p class="verse">Of the spring,</p> - <p class="verse">And the wind.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="II"> -II -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The trees splash the sky with their fingers,</p> - <p class="verse">A restless green rout of stars.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">With whirling movement</p> - <p class="verse">They swing their boughs</p> - <p class="verse">About their stems:</p> - <p class="verse">Planes on planes of light and shadow</p> - <p class="verse">Pass among them,</p> - <p class="verse">Opening fanlike to fall.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The trees are like a sea;</p> - <p class="verse">Tossing;</p> - <p class="verse">Trembling,</p> - <p class="verse">Roaring,</p> - <p class="verse">Wallowing,</p> - <p class="verse">Darting their long green flickering fronds up at the sky,</p> - <p class="verse">Subsiding,</p> - <p class="verse">Spotted with white blossom-spray.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The trees are roofs:</p> - <p class="verse"><a id="corr-2"></a>Hollow caverns of cool blue shadow,</p> - <p class="verse">Solemn arches</p> - <p class="verse">In the afternoons.</p> - <p class="verse">The whole vast horizon</p> - <p class="verse">In terrace beyond terrace,</p> - <p class="verse">Pinnacle above pinnacle,</p> - <p class="verse">Lifts to the sky</p> - <p class="verse">Serrated ranks of green on green.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<a id="page-16" class="pagenum" title="16"></a> - <p class="verse">They caress the roofs with their fingers,</p> - <p class="verse">They sprawl about the river to look into it;</p> - <p class="verse">Up the hill they come</p> - <p class="verse">Gesticulating challenge:</p> - <p class="verse">They cower together</p> - <p class="verse">In dark valleys;</p> - <p class="verse">They yearn out over the fields.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Enamelled domes</p> - <p class="verse">Tumble upon the grass,</p> - <p class="verse">Crashing in ruin</p> - <p class="verse">Quiet at last.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The trees lash the sky with their leaves,</p> - <p class="verse">Uneasily shaking their dark green manes.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="III"> -III -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Far let the voices of the mad wild birds be calling me,</p> - <p class="verse">I will abide in this forest of pines.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">When the wind blows</p> - <p class="verse">Battling through the forest,</p> - <p class="verse">I hear it distantly,</p> - <p class="verse">Like the crash of a perpetual sea.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">When the rain falls,</p> - <p class="verse">I watch silver spears slanting downwards</p> - <p class="verse">From pale river-pools of sky,</p> - <p class="verse">Enclosed in dark fronds.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">When the sun shines,</p> - <p class="verse">I weave together distant branches till they enclose mighty circles,</p> - <p class="verse">I sway to the movement of hooded summits,</p> - <p class="verse">I swim leisurely in deep blue seas of air.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">I hug the smooth bark of stately red pillars</p> - <p class="verse">And with cones carefully scattered</p> - <p class="verse">I mark the progression of dark dial-shadows</p> - <p class="verse">Flung diagonally downwards through the afternoon.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<a id="page-17" class="pagenum" title="17"></a> - <p class="verse">This turf is not like turf:</p> - <p class="verse">It is a smooth dry carpet of velvet,</p> - <p class="verse">Embroidered with brown patterns of needles and cones.</p> - <p class="verse">These trees are not like trees:</p> - <p class="verse">They are innumerable feathery pagoda-umbrellas,</p> - <p class="verse">Stiffly ungracious to the wind,</p> - <p class="verse">Teetering on red-lacquered stems.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">In the evening I listen to the winds’ lisping,</p> - <p class="verse">While the conflagrations of the sunset flicker and clash behind me,</p> - <p class="verse">Flamboyant crenelations of glory amid the charred ebony boles.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">In the night the fiery nightingales</p> - <p class="verse">Shall clash and trill through the silence:</p> - <p class="verse">Like the voices of mermaids crying</p> - <p class="verse">From the sea.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Long ago has the moon whelmed this uncompleted temple.</p> - <p class="verse">Stars swim like gold fish far above the black arches.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Far let the timid feet of dawn fly to catch me:</p> - <p class="verse">I will abide in this forest of pines:</p> - <p class="verse">For I have unveiled naked beauty,</p> - <p class="verse">And the things that she whispered to me in the darkness,</p> - <p class="verse">Are buried deep in my heart.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Now let the black tops of the pine-trees break like a spent wave,</p> - <p class="verse">Against the grey sky:</p> - <p class="verse">These are tombs and memorials and temples and altars sunkindled for me.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="THECASEOFFRENCHPOETRY"> -<a id="page-18" class="pagenum" title="18"></a> -The Case of French Poetry -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">Richard Aldington</span> -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">t</span> is with a feeling of regret and astonishment that I find nearly all my -English confrères so opposed to the spirit of French culture, so mistaken -in their views, and so curiously ignorant of the real facts of the development -of modern French literature. -</p> - -<p> -I am led to this reflection by reading Mr. Shanks’s excellent article in -your December number. It is a most ungracious task to criticise a man who -is about to hazard his life in the service of his country; and I honor Mr. -Shanks more than I can express. But if I felt as Mr. Shanks does on the -subject of French and German poetry I would not fight at all or I would -fight for Germany! To a poet poetry must be the great business of life and, -speaking for myself, I would emphatically support the Germans if I thought -they were better poets than the French and English! (You will take that -rhetorical statement for what it is worth.) -</p> - -<p> -Intellectually about fifty per cent of English people are Germanized -without knowing it. I should say the percentage is even higher in America. -I believe that no study is considered so frivolous or so suspect in both countries -as the study of French art and poetry. And yet—Russia and one or -two Anglo-Saxons put aside—the history of the art of the last fifty years -is the history of French art. You who have given Whistler to the world do -not need me to tell you what French art is. The American painting at a -recent Exhibition here was of so high a quality that I felt my respect for the -intellectual progress of America greatly increased. I admit freely and -regretfully that it was immeasurely better than English painting. That is -because most Americans study painting in Paris. -</p> - -<p> -Why don’t they sometimes give a look at the poetry of France, for in -no country is poetry so cultivated, so well understood, and so honored? -Mr. Shanks apparently knows something of German poetry and nothing of -French. Of Liliencron I know nothing. But I do know something of -Hauptmann, Dehmel, and Stefan Georg. (I have no doubt Mr. Shanks dislikes -Georg because the latter got his training in France.) Well, I will -cheerfully wager that any more or less fair-minded person would find three -equally good poets in France to every one that can be mentioned in Germany. -</p> - -<p> -“Kahn, Régnier, and the other Symbolistes”! What an odd statement! -Régnier is a Parnassian and Kahn a nobody. I am not going to write a history -of modern French poetry, nor speculate as to the effect of 1870 or the -probable effect of 1914 on poetry, especially French poetry. I just want to -give some names, and if anyone,—if Mr. Shanks,—can give me half as -many German poets of the same calibre, charm, and general technical accomplishment -I shall be delighted. -</p> - -<p> -Let us grant that Rimbaud, Verlaine, and the elder Parnassians were -products of the period of before 1870. Well, since that disastrous war -<a id="page-19" class="pagenum" title="19"></a> -France has produced the following—I will not say great—delightful and -readable poets: Samain, Francis Jammes, Henri de Régnier, Jean Moréas, -Paul Fort, Laurent Tailhade, Jules Romains, Remy de Gourmont, Charles -Vildrac, Laforgue, Louys (translations), Mallarmé (pre-1870?) and younger -men like Guy-Charles Cros, Apollinaire, Castiaux, André Spire, Carco, -Divoire, Jouve, Luc Durtain, and dozens more. I do not mention the Belgians -Maeterlinck, Verhaeren, Elskamp, and Rodenbach, nor the two Franco-Americans -Vielé Griffin, and Merrill—though they also have considerable -reputations. (Did you ever hear of an American who wanted to write German?) -</p> - -<p> -I have quoted off-hand twenty-six names from a period of about forty -years. And you must remember that there are scores and scores of names -only a little less known, and scores and scores beyond that which I may have -missed in my reading. -</p> - -<p> -But I think those few names prove beyond all doubt—and I would like -people to read them and contrast them with German poets—that French -poetry is the foremost in our age for fertility, originality, and general poetic -charm. -</p> - -<p> -It is not hatred of Germany but love of poetry which has called this -letter from me. I believe in France in the French tradition. And if there -is one thing which can reconcile me to this war it is the fact that England -has ranged herself beside France and Belgium, beside the cosmopolite, -graceful, humanizing, influences of France and French civilization against -the nationalist, narrow, and dehumanizing influences of Berlin. I believe -all Englishmen regret that they oppose the gay, cultivated, cosmopolite Austrians; -it is a misfortune. But of the great issue between the nations—the -great intellectual issue—there can be no doubt. And Mr. Shanks, when he -praises (unjustly I firmly believe) the poets of Germany and disparages -(equally unjustly) the poets of France, is intellectually on the side of the -enemy he is so courageously opposing with physical force. I believe in the -kindliness of Germans; I know them to be excellent fathers and most generous -friends; I know them to be brave soldiers and sailors; I know they are -good chemists, reasonably good doctors, and very boring professors. At -the name of Heine all men should doff their hats, but that modern Germany -(Germany since 1870) has produced one-fiftieth of the poetry that -France has produced—in quality as well as quantity—that it has added anything -to the purely creative side of the arts, I utterly deny. -</p> - -<p> -I know that there is Nietzsche.... Perhaps I will write you -another letter on Nietzsche, if I may. -</p> - -<p> -I feel that this protest will be put down to “war-fever.” I must refer -you to my pre-war articles in English periodicals, and to the testimony of -my friends—some of whom are now in America—that such has always been -my attitude. It has always been a deep regret of mine that both American -and English literature, criticism and periodicals were so undermined with -German influences that all gentleness, all intentional good will, all that we -mean by the “Latin tradition” was anathema, and utterly despised! -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="THELASTWOMAN"> -<a id="page-20" class="pagenum" title="20"></a> -The Last Woman -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">George Soule</span> -</p> - -<p class="note"> -(<em>The second of a series of three Dramatic Extravaganzas to be called -“Plays for Irascibles.”</em>) -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="CHARACTERS"> -CHARACTERS: -</h3> - -<div class="table"> -<table class="dpers" summary="Table-1"> -<tbody> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><span class="smallcaps">The Sage of the Green Ears</span></td> - <td class="col2 bracket" rowspan="7">}</td> - <td class="col3 collect" rowspan="7"><span class="smallcaps">Futurist Sages</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><span class="smallcaps">The Sage of the Purple Hair</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><span class="smallcaps">The Sage of the Blue Face</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><span class="smallcaps">The Sage of the Yellow Hat</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><span class="smallcaps">The Sage of the Red Sword</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><span class="smallcaps">The Sage of the White Heart</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><span class="smallcaps">The Woman</span></td> - </tr> -</tbody> -</table> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="SCENE"> -SCENE: -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -<em>The Council Room of the Futurist Sages, decorated in brilliant colors -to suggest a battle of the minds at some far future date. The Sages are -seated about the walls in a parabolic curve. They are costumed with appropriate -inappropriateness. Green ears is in present day evening dress; Purple -hair in fiery green robes; Blue face in a pink business suit; Yellow hat in a -conventional futurist costume of mingled colors; Red sword in a black monk’s -gown, with a sword in his rope girdle; White heart, who is young, in football -armor.</em> -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Shall we give the woman a chance to defend herself? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> Why should we? If her defense is good, we shall be -prejudiced against her. And as we admit the rule of prejudice, the defense -will lose its judicial character. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Judicial? Who wants to be judicial? I abolished that -word last year. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> That’s just the point. We hate the judicial; therefore -if the defense loses its judicial character we may be forced to decide both -ways at the same time. Acquit on the ground of illogical defense; convict -on the grounds of prejudice against good defense. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> Red sword has abolished judicial. Well, we have also -abolished the past; we have abolished all abolishments! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> Above all, we must guard against precedent. Let us -look up all previous trials, and take care to do the opposite. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">White Heart.</span> But again, that would entangle us in the past. I want -to see the woman! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> He wants to see the woman! He is a reactionary! -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-21" class="pagenum" title="21"></a> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> Do not argue, brothers. For if we argue, we shall -either settle the case by logic, which we repudiate, or by violence, so that -we shall kill each other before we have a chance to decide about the woman. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Time server! I shall kill you all, and decide for myself. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Red cabbages, redness of blue cabbages, when breakfast -is no cabbage in a potato. Cocoa crinkles! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> He is right, brothers. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">All.</span> He is right. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> We, who have exalted ourselves above all modes of -thought, we who have cast aside all images and unfettered ourselves from all -language and all sequence, we who have repudiated humanity; we have a -right to fight a lower order with its own weapons. Caprice is our god; let -us then have a caprice to judge this woman with logic and judicial procedure. -Have you all this caprice? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">All.</span> We have. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> I object: This is democracy. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> We accept your objection, and act in opposition to it. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Then let the woman be brought in. -</p> - -<p> -(<em>White Heart goes out right and brings in the woman. She is tall, of -beautiful face and figure, in a simple white Greek tunic. In her hair is a -gold fillet. She is led to the center, where she is left standing, as White -Heart resumes his seat.</em>) -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Deliver the charge, Red sword! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword</span> (<em>standing</em>). You are charged, first, with being a woman. -And as a woman you are the living incarnation of the past. You represent -conservatism and the anti-military virtues; you clog the wheels of progress; -you sap men’s energies and misdirect them from the triumphs of achievement -to the service of material things—or immaterial things. Your effeminate -beauty poisons art and furnishes countless photographic realists with -the means of selling paintings. The love of you has vitiated poetry and -music. Masquerading in the garments of caprice, you have deceived man -into accepting the traditional. As Futurists we detest you. This is the first -charge! (<em>A pause.</em>) -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> You accuse me of being a woman. It is a grave charge. -But first, in order that I may have a chance to disprove it, I suggest that you -tell me what a woman is. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> A woman is that whose place is in the home. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> A woman is that which is ruled by instinct. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> A woman is that which is beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> A woman is that which men call a mystery. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">White Heart</span> (<em>rapturously</em>). A woman is that which men love. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword</span> (<em>vehemently</em>). A woman is that which men hate. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> These are your definitions? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> They are. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-22" class="pagenum" title="22"></a> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> Then in order to prove that I am a woman you must -prove that they describe me. And you must prove that there is nothing else -in me. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> We must prove nothing. We act. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> Then why do you talk? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword</span> (<em>heatedly</em>). I deny that you are beautiful. And if you are -beautiful, I deny beauty. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> Is it not our caprice to be judicial? Come, Red Sword, -do not descend to flattery! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> All our definitions have been proved a million times. -They are unprovable. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> I admit them. What then? I will leave the home, I -will learn logic, I will cut off my nose, I will tell you my mystery, and I will -let your love and your hate kill each other. And I shall still be here. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">White Heart.</span> Then you will not be a woman, you will be a feminist! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> But I shall be I instead of what you think I am. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> You can not be you unless you are what we think you are. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Brothers, can we kill the woman and spare the feminist? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">White Heart.</span> If you kill the woman you will make the feminist. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> No; the feminist is more female than the woman. The -feminist would inflict domesticity on the world. She wants all men for her -husband. She wants to tie pink ribbons on siege guns and abolish the mountains -to make room for the nursery. If we let the feminist live, man can no -longer find a place in which to be alone with his adventure. If we let the -feminist live we shall make the woman a giant. If we kill the woman we -shall kill them both at the same time. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> Show us the feminist without the woman. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> I will do so if you will cease to be men. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> We have ceased to be men. We are supermen. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> Then you see the subwoman. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword</span> (<em>fiercely</em>). We must kill what we see. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> But have I not shown you that I am something besides -a woman? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> You might show us that you are everything, and still I -would hate you. Hate is not hate unless it exists for its own sake. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> At last you have spoken the truth. I am everything. -And you hate me because you hate me. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Gentle pickles in a vacillating pink mound. Inkwell is -not ink. Ink is not inkwell. Flying postman leathers purple letters. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> But I have reserved my best defence to the last. I am -a descendant of Gertrude Stein! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Descendant! What heresy! Gertrude Stein had no -descendants. She has ascendants! -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-23" class="pagenum" title="23"></a> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> Deliver the rest of the charge. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Be it known unto you that we are the sole surviving -members of the human race. By a process of selection we have killed all -except the best stock. You alone remain of the female sex. We charge you -not only in your capacity as woman, but in your capacity as mother. In -order to prove your right to live, you must justify mankind. We accuse -you of being the perpetuator of human beings! Defend yourself! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> You are the sole surviving males? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> We are. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> Then you may let me live. I shall not perpetuate the -race. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">White Heart.</span> Do not despair; <em>I</em> will marry you! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> Where are your manners? Has not Shaw taught us -that women do the wooing? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> What have we to do with Shaw? Let us be serious about -frivolous matters. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> She is not to be trusted. It is necessary for her to defend -the race. Speak, woman! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> Now indeed you have given me a heavy burden. What -could be brought forward as a defence for humanity? Why should anything -exist? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> Why, indeed? That is for you to show. For aeons -life has perpetuated itself through a mere animal instinct. Yet through all -that time consciousness has been growing; will has at last come into the -ascendancy. Now for the first time man’s ego is really on the throne. For -the first time man, with power to extinguish himself, can demand an adequate -reason for his existence. And man is ready to hear the secret of the -sphinx. We have come to you, madam, as the last and most perfect woman, -as the final manifestation of the eternal mystery, to force you on pain of -death to divulge yourself. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> But I thought mankind existed for the purpose of creating -the superman. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> He did; but now he has created the superman. We -are the embodiment of the purpose. What next? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> As futurists we refuse to accept the old answer. If our -existence merely pushes the problem forward a few generations, it is futile. -If, on the other hand, we are the crowning goal of man’s endeavor, there is -no need to create further. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> You are superchildren using superlogic. How can a -reason come out of one who is ruled by instinct? How can a conservative -satisfy a futurist? But I will answer you, and my answer is this: I am a -female so that you may be males. I am a holder of traditions so that you may -smash them. And I perpetuate the race so that you may ask the reason. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-24" class="pagenum" title="24"></a> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Come, come, this will not do. We are above the fogs of -mysticism. We are talking of final things, and we must have a definite -answer. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> Then make a definite accusation. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> We hold the human race guilty until it is proved innocent. -We assume the position of an all-wise intelligence, as aloof from the -earth as the farthest star. And we see a race of ant-things crawling on two -legs and going through all sorts of meaningless antics. Why is one ant -exalted? Because he has led an army which has killed a million other ants. -Because he has discovered how to make ants live a few seconds longer. -Because he has written a rhyme with ant-words or put a few senseless -daubs on ant-canvas. And when the ant asked himself what his purpose -was, he answered first, “To exist.” And his second answer was like the -first: “To create something more like myself than I am.” There is no -validity in these which a superior intelligence can recognize. What is the -third answer? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Woman, defend yourself! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">White Heart.</span> Stop! I love the woman and I demand her (<em>He jumps -from his seat and embraces her</em>). -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> Here, O supermen, is your answer! Man exists for -that which cannot be spoken, for that which cannot be thought. He exists -for his mystery, for that which he loves, for that which he hates. Man exists -for me! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> And if he denies you? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> You cannot have your future without your past. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> You see, I was right; we shouldn’t have listened to her. -She is her own argument; and she has to bring in the past. Away with her! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> Away with her; we exist for ourselves! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Remarkable apples, apple black, apple pink, blossom -apples in squirming shrieks. Skyrockets deserve apples. Bang! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Stop using that antique language! I’m sick of it. It’s -too obvious. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> Yes, we have proved that we can be more obscure in -good English. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> And now, brothers, the sentence! The execution! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">All.</span> The sentence, the sentence! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Stand aside, White Heart, or I will kill you both at the -same time! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">White Heart.</span> I shall die with her! -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> You are not yet superman. We shall execute the last -man and the last woman together. (<em>To the woman</em>) Have you any last -words? It is traditional to have last words. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">The Woman.</span> I will match my silence against your silence, my eternity -against your eternity! -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-25" class="pagenum" title="25"></a> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Come with me! (<em>He leads them out, right. There is an -oppressive silence. In a moment he returns, wiping his sword on his gown. -He takes his seat without a word. The light begins to fail, and the room -grows rapidly darker until the last few sentences are spoken in an enveloping -blackness.</em>) -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> Man has produced the superman, and the superman has -put an end to mankind. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Brothers, we stand on an icy mountain peak in the twilight -of time. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> We experience a breathless emotion which no one has -had before, which there will be no more to have. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> No longer do we feel the drag of the past; no longer -do we feel the lure of the future. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> We are the future. We are the goal of consciousness. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> For this moment has mankind dragged out a million weary -years. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> For this moment have been the countless joys of love, -the countless pangs of death. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> The thing-in-itself for which philosophers have sought—that -is here. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> We have broken the spell of cause and consequence. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Will has won its first and its last victory over fate. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Green Ears.</span> The stupid serpent of wisdom swallowing its own tail -has grown great and finished the task. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Blue Face.</span> Grubbing logic has looked into the mirror and discovered -itself to be gigantic caprice. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Yellow Hat.</span> Infinity has turned inside-out and become nothingness. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Purple Hair.</span> The great contradiction has annihilated itself. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Red Sword.</span> Let us keep silence before the solution of the ancient -riddle. -</p> - -<p> -(<em>A long, dark silence. Slow curtain.</em>) -</p> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -There is something transitory in the moods evoked by rhyme. For rhyme shimmers -on the surface of language like sunlight on the surface of a shallow stream; it -conducts the mind as in a circle; its sphere is a world of harmonious delights. Rhyme -is to the mind what sentimentality is to art.—<em>Francis Grierson.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="THELIBERTIESOFTHEPEOPLE"> -<a id="page-26" class="pagenum" title="26"></a> -The Liberties of the People -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">William L. Chenery</span> -</p> - -<div class="epi"> -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Lord Valiant.</span> The exercise of such tyranny over the minds of men has -been productive, in a great degree, of the miseries that have fallen upon mankind. -We have been happy in England since every man has been at liberty to -speak his mind. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Medroso.</span> And we are very quiet at Lisbon, where nobody is permitted to -say anything. -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Lord Valiant.</span> You are quiet but you are not happy. Your tranquility is -that of galley slaves who tug the oar, and keep time in silence. * * * -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Medroso.</span> But what if I find myself quite at ease in galleys? -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smallcaps">Lord Valiant.</span> Nay, in that case, you deserve to continue there. -</p> - -<p class="attr"> -<em>—Voltaire.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">S</span><span class="postfirstchar">unday</span> afternoon, January 17, Chicago was given a vivid picture of -the liberties allowed the people. On that occasion the freedom of assemblage -and the right of free speech were ruthlessly and brutally denied a -great host of people because forsooth they were poor and unemployed. -</p> - -<p> -Men and women whose crime was that they could not find work had -assembled at Hull House. After the meeting, it was suggested that a parade -would impress their needs upon the city. Immediately they were attacked -by the police, some of whom had been disguised in the tatters of unemployed -men and scattered into the crowd. Young girls were beaten, women -were knocked down, men were assaulted, and all in the name of law. -</p> - -<p> -The assistant chief of police, Herman F. Schuettler, directed the official -lawlessness. This exponent of anarchy detailed fifty mounted police -to charge the assemblage of hungry men and women. And here is the -explanation given by Schuettler: -</p> - -<p> -“We expected something like this to happen. We had refused these -people a permit and they took it upon themselves to violate the law. I have -no fault to find with the conduct of the policemen. Of course they may -have been a bit rough but I am sure they acted within their rights. They -were obeying orders.” -</p> - -<p> -And then, poltroon fashion, the anarchistic police attempted to conceal -their stupid crimes and cruelties by stressing the fact that Mrs. Lucy Parsons, -one of the philosophical anarchists of Chicago, was a speaker at the -Hull House meeting! Could bureaucracy go further? -</p> - -<p> -The episode is important because it is typical of what is going on all -over the United States. It is a by-product of our undigested industrial -order and also a promise of what the future has in store for us; it is the -prophecy of a future feudalism which is rising like a flood and which will -sweep us into impotency if we are not wise enough and strong enough to -plan a sound reconstruction. From San Diego to Portland, from Los -<a id="page-27" class="pagenum" title="27"></a> -Angeles to New York, the fight is raging. In places the people have definitely -lost all the rights and privileges of a supposed democracy. In Lead, -S. D., in the Colorado coal fields, in parts of Montana, in parts of the Michigan -copper country, in West Virginia, in Pennsylvania, and in Massachusetts, -whole sections of the population have been degraded by forces too -strong for them to a condition of servility. A servile people is not a threat -of the future; it is a comment upon the present. And among the servile -peoples, the liberties have perished. The question which now remains is -only: “Is the remnant strong enough or disciplined sufficiently to regain -the fundamentals of freedom which slipped away while we slept?” -</p> - -<p> -It is not only the poor unemployed who have been battered about and -made to cringe. Preachers and professors have also felt the stultifying -constraint exercised by tired business men in moods of irritation. Howard -Crosby Warren gave an appallingly lengthy list of professors who have -been discharged from universities all over the land within the last two or -three years because they exercised the most commonplace latitude in the -choice of their sentiments and their pronouncements. A Florida professor -had to forego his position because he doubted the finality of the wisdom -of the ante-bellum teachers in the South. A professor at Marietta College, -Ohio, was forced to resign because his political opinions were displeasing -to his masters. A professor at Wesleyan was driven out on account of his -opinion concerning the observance of the Sabbath. But why go on? The -number is tediously inclusive. -</p> - -<p> -So great has this evil become among teachers that an association of -University professors was organized in New York in early January. From -it college presidents and deans were expressly excluded. The members of -the association, actuated no doubt by motives of middle-class respectability, -announced that they were not to be considered a trade union; but, for all -their dislike of the dignity of labor, they have found it necessary to fight -as a body for the retention of the liberties essential to self-respect. -</p> - -<p> -The attack on the Chicago unemployed, who made nothing like so much -of a parade as the visitors to a ball park any summer afternoon, nor so -much of a street jam as the fashionable attendants at a Mary Garden opera, -illustrated the direction in which the attack is being made. The real government -of men is industrial, and not political, as every one knows. Consequently -the genuine tyrannies, or abuses of government, can be discovered -naturally among the incidents of industry. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Annie Marion MacLean of Adelphi College, Brooklyn, read a living -document upon this phase of the question at a conference held by the -economic and sociological associations at Princeton during Christmas week. -In the course of her investigation, says Paul U. Kellogg in his report of the -meetings in <em>The Survey</em>, Dr. MacLean had been told by girls how their -foremen had warned them against telling what their pay was, of loft building -doors locked, of foul air, and what not. The head of an employer’s -<a id="page-28" class="pagenum" title="28"></a> -utopia had told her he would keep out unionism by making examples of the -talk leaders. How? By firing them. She told of strikers suppressed by -the police for what they said, while strikebreakers inside the factory, hurling -insults at them from the windows, went unmolested. “Working women -have the right to state the beliefs they hold without forfeit of their livelihood,” -said she. “They need reassurance that liberty is more than a catch -word. The box-maker, the bobbin girl, and the doffer have the right not -only to life but to liberty and free speech in a land which is supposed to be -the home of freedom.” -</p> - -<p> -Professors are denied the right of free speech because colleges and -universities are organized on business principles. Scholars and teachers -are deprived of the franchise in all vital matters affecting university life. -They are clerks. Tired business men are the masters of education, and tired -business men have but one great principle: loyalty to the organization. Criticism -seems sacrilege. Incidentally, that accounts for the fact that the great -inventions in business have been made by outsiders; but that is not my -story. -</p> - -<p> -The same tired business men operating through the police take away -the essential liberties from trade unionists, from the unemployed, from -socialists, and from the I. W. W.’s when the occasion arises. The police -acquire the habit of tyranny and then set to work to practice it on their -own account. What reason under heaven could have persuaded Herman -F. Schuettler to order an attack on hungry men and women, inoffensive, -armed only with banners bearing fragments of the Lord’s Prayer? Surely -a Christian litany is not an incitement to riot. “Give us this day our daily -bread”—if this be treason, we may well pray for annihilation at the touch -of some vagrant comet. -</p> - -<p> -But the police are pawns in the great game of the modern world, the -game of hide and seek for sovereignty. Blind and stupid, they do the -occasional desires of their masters and then, filled by a lust for repression, -go on to satiate their unwholesome appetites. -</p> - -<p> -Hitherto I have assumed that the somewhat constitutional guaranties of -free speech and free assemblage—the two go hand in hand—were actual -rights. Theodore Schroeder, leader among the libertarians, has been prominent -long among the small group which has ceaselessly stressed our fading -freedom. Schroeder has an article in <em>The Forum</em> in which he makes a -witty attack upon Comstockery and upon the censorship which has grown up -in the Post Office Department—a censorship prudish and powerful enough -to exclude the Chicago Vice Report from the mails. This censorship of -the imagined obscene is puerile and petty in sufficiency for any appetite, but -it is useless to discuss it here. The reaction is always more potent than the -action where obscenity is charged, as witness our own September Morn. -Schroeder, albeit, announces his freedom of speech to be “a natural and a -constitutional right.” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-29" class="pagenum" title="29"></a> -Society, so far as I know, recognizes no natural rights and modern -philosophy seems to sanction none. As for constitutional rights, every constitution, -unless it be dead, is subject to amendment. The real foundation -for the liberties of speech and assemblage is discovered in the social need -for them. Without freedom the common weal withers and perishes. That, -then, is the basis and incidentally it affords a rod by which any attempt at -censorship, by the police, by factory foremen, by the post office, by university -trustees, and even by a sluggish popular taste, may be measured. -</p> - -<p> -If the powers of Olympus would lend to men some creature of infinite -wisdom and taste, some creature versed in the weary evolutions of the past, -and pregnant with the unformulated tendencies of the future through which -an increasing happiness may be attained by men, then well might that creature -assume a censorship of human thought and speech. But salvation -cannot be won so lightly, for the seed of happiness is with men. No one -lives, or has lived, with the power to say what idea was valuable to the -world and what idea was baneful. The human substitutes which have -been commissioned during the absence of this all-wise and all-prophetic -authority have been uniformly dull, limited, and poisonous to the best hopes -of the future. -</p> - -<p> -Since, then, we may not have a wise authority, why not frankly face -the situation? We blame the police, and justly, for their cruelties; yet upon -them American society has imposed an impossible task. We have demanded -free speech and free assemblage by our fundamental law, and privately we -have told the police not to obey the constitution. Who’s at fault? New -York knows. Last winter at Madison Square Garden the same sort of -folly was enacted as that which disgraced Chicago on Sunday, January 17. -Then Arthur Woods, police commissioner, saw a great light. He made an -experiment in freedom. It worked hugely to his credit and, parenthetically, -to the <a id="corr-5"></a>discredit of some of those most noisy in demanding the right. The -emptiness of many of the speakers was exhibited and that was all. The -existing order was unruffled. -</p> - -<p> -As a result of his enlightenment Commissioner Woods made a request -at the conference on the old freedoms held at Princeton: “Policemen are -entitled to definite orders,” said the commissioner. “People in this country -have the constitutional right to freedom of assemblage and freedom of -speech. The police have not only the responsibility to permit it—but to -protect them in its exercise, and the police should be so instructed.” -</p> - -<p> -The police should be so instructed; the welfare of the race demands it. -But they won’t get instructions until powerful organized groups of citizens -find expression. Upon this organization rests the future. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="HYMN"> -<a id="page-30" class="pagenum" title="30"></a> -A Hymn to Nature -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="note"> -(<em>This fragment, a “Hymn to Nature,” unknown to us in the published -works of Goethe, was found in a little bookshop in Berlin, and translated into -English by a strong man and a strong woman whose lives and whose creations -have served the ideals of all humanity in a way that will gain deeper -and deeper appreciation.</em>) -</p> - -<div class="hang"> -<p class="noindent"> -Nature! -</p> - -<p> -We are encompassed and enveloped by her, powerless to emerge and powerless to penetrate deeper. -</p> - -<p> -Unbidden and <a id="corr-6"></a>unwarned she takes us up in the round of her Dance and sweeps along with us, until exhausted we fall from her Arms. -</p> - -<p> -She creates ever new Forms; what is, was never before; what was, comes never again—everything is New and yet ever the Old. -</p> - -<p> -We live in the midst of her and are Strangers to her. -</p> - -<p> -She speaks incessantly with us and never betrays her Secret to us. -</p> - -<p> -We have unceasing Effect upon her and yet have no Power over her. -</p> - -<p> -She appears to have committed everything to Individuality and is indifferent to the Individual. -</p> - -<p> -She builds ever and ever destroys and her Workshop is inaccessible. -</p> - -<p> -She is the very Children—and the Mother—where is she? -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="noindent"> -She is the only Artist. -</p> - -<p> -With the simplest Materials she arrives at the most sublime Contrasts. -</p> - -<p> -Without Appearance of Effort she attains utmost Perfection—the most exact Precision veiled always in exquisite Delicacy. -</p> - -<p> -Each of her Works has its own individual Being—each of her Phenomena the most isolated Conception, yet all is Unity. -</p> - -<p> -She plays a Drama. -</p> - -<p> -Whether or no she sees it herself we do not know and yet she plays it for us who stand in the Corner. -</p> - -<p> -There is an eternal Life, Growth and Motion in her and yet she does not advance. -</p> - -<p> -She changes ever, no Moment is stationary with her. -</p> - -<p> -She has no Conception of Rest and has fixed her Curse upon Inaction. -</p> - -<p> -She is Firm. -</p> - -<p> -Her Step is measured, her Exceptions rare, her Laws immutable. -</p> - -<p> -She has reflected and meditated perpetually; not however as Man but as Nature. -</p> - -<p> -She has reserved for herself a specific all-embracing Thought which none may learn from her. -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a id="page-31" class="pagenum" title="31"></a> -Mankind is all in her and she in all. -</p> - -<p> -With all she indulges in a friendly Game and rejoices the more one wins from her. -</p> - -<p> -She practices it with many, so occultly that she plays it to the End before they are aware of it. -</p> - -<p> -And most unnatural is Nature. -</p> - -<p> -Whoever does not see her on every side, nowhere sees her rightly. -</p> - -<p> -She loves herself and ever draws to herself Eyes and Hearts without number. -</p> - -<p> -She has set herself apart in order to enjoy herself. -</p> - -<p> -Ever she lets new Admirers arise, insatiable, to open her Heart to them. -</p> - -<p> -In Illusion she delights. -</p> - -<p> -Whoever destroys this in himself and others, him she punishes like the most severe Tyrant. -</p> - -<p> -Whoever follows her confidently—him she presses as a child to her Breast. -</p> - -<p> -Her Children are Countless. -</p> - -<p> -To none is she everywhere niggardly but she has Favorites upon whom she lavishes much and to whom she sacrifices much. -</p> - -<p> -Upon Greatness she has fixed her Protection. -</p> - -<p> -She pours forth her Creations out of Nothingness and tells them not whence they came nor whither they go; they are only to go; the Road she knows. -</p> - -<p> -She has few Motive Impulses—never worn out, always effective, always manifold. -</p> - -<p> -Her Drama is ever New because she ever creates new Spectators. -</p> - -<p> -Life is her most beautiful Invention and Death her Ruse that she may have much life. -</p> - -<p> -She envelops Mankind in Obscurity and spurs him ever toward the Light. -</p> - -<p> -She makes him dependent upon the Earth, inert and heavy; and ever shakes him off again. -</p> - -<p> -She gives Needs because she loves Action. -</p> - -<p> -It is marvelous how she attains all this Movement with so little. -</p> - -<p> -Every Need is a blessing, quickly satisfied, as quickly awakened again. -</p> - -<p> -If she gives another Need—then it is a new source of Desire; but soon she <a id="corr-7"></a>comes to Equipoise. -</p> - -<p> -She starts every Moment upon the longest Race and every Moment is at the Goal. -</p> - -<p> -She is Futility itself: but not for us for whom she has made herself of the greatest importance. -</p> - -<p> -She lets every Child correct her, every Simpleton pronounce Judgment upon her; she lets thousands pass callous over her seeing nothing and her Joy is in all and she finds in all her Profit. -</p> - -<p> -We obey her Laws even when we most resist them, we work with her even when we wish to work against her. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-32" class="pagenum" title="32"></a> -She turns everything she gives into a Blessing; for she makes it first—indispensable. -</p> - -<p> -She delays that we may long for her, she hastens on that we may not be sated with her. -</p> - -<p> -She has no Speech nor Language; but she creates Tongues and Hearts through which she feels and speaks. -</p> - -<p> -Her Crown is Love. -</p> - -<p> -Only through Love can we approach her. -</p> - -<p> -She creates Gulfs between all Beings and all wish to intertwine. -</p> - -<p> -She has isolated all that she may draw all together. -</p> - -<p> -With a few Draughts from the Beaker of Love she compensates a Life full of Toil. -</p> - -<p> -She is Everything. -</p> - -<p> -She rewards herself and punishes herself, rejoices and torments herself. -</p> - -<p> -She is harsh and gentle, lovely and terrible, powerless and omnipotent. -</p> - -<p> -Everything is ever present in her. -</p> - -<p> -Past and Future she knows not—The Present is her Eternity. -</p> - -<p> -She is generous. -</p> - -<p> -I glorify her with all her Works. -</p> - -<p> -She is wise and calm. -</p> - -<p> -One drags no Explanation from her by Force, wrests no gift from her which she does not freely give. -</p> - -<p> -She is cunning but for a good purpose and it is best not to observe her Craft. -</p> - -<p> -She is complete and yet ever uncomplete; so as she goes on she can ever go on. -</p> - -<p> -To Everyone she appears in special Form. -</p> - -<p> -She conceals herself behind a thousand Names and Terms and yet always is the same. -</p> - -<p> -She has placed me here; she will lead me hence;— -</p> - -<p> -I confide myself to her. -</p> - -<p> -She may do with me what she will: she will not despise her Work. -</p> - -<p> -I speak not of her. No, what is true and what is false; She herself has spoken all; -</p> - -<p> -All the Fault is hers; hers is all the Glory. -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="MYFRIENDTHEINCURABLE"> -<a id="page-33" class="pagenum" title="33"></a> -My Friend, the Incurable -</h2> - -</div> - -<h3 class="section firstline" id="VICE"> -<span class="firstline">IV.</span><br /> -Pro domo mea: on the vice of simplicity. John Cowper -Powys—a revelation -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">O</span><span class="postfirstchar">ne</span> of my critics sent me a New Year’s wish and admonition: “You -are hectic. Why not see things as they are? You must learn to be -simple.” -</p> - -<p> -This is another attempt on the part of my good-wishers to cure me, -in defiance of my resolute declaration that I cannot and do not want to be -cured. Furthermore, I am in the position of a normal lunatic who considers -the whole world, except himself, insane; not only do I refuse to learn the -art of being simple, but I regard simplicity as a vice, a defect, a misery. -</p> - -<p> -What is simplicity? I cannot define things; definitions are absurd, -limiting, simplifying. In this case perhaps I ought to adopt the method of -the school-boy who defined salt as “what makes potatoes nasty when not -applied to.” It is an English joke which I have tried with discouraging -results on the American sense of humor; it suits my purpose nevertheless. -How would this do: “Simplicity is that which makes life dull when applied -to?” No; decidedly, I cannot think in Procrustean formulas. -</p> - -<p> -Nothing is simple. What nonsense it is to synonymize this word with -“natural,” as if nature were not most complex and complicated! Neither is -the primitive savage simple, for he conceives things not “as they are,” but -through a veil of awe and mystery. Nor is the child simple, Messrs. and -Mesdames Pedagogues; you may instruct it scientifically, tell it “plain truths” -and facts, but the not-yet-educated young mind will distrust you and will -continue to live in its illusionary, fantastic world. Not even beasts may be -accused of that vice: recall Maeterlinck’s subtle dogs and horses. -</p> - -<p> -Nothing is simple, although civilization has attempted to simplify a -good deal. We have come to live in accordance with established standards, -customs, regulations; inertia and routine have replaced impulse and initiative. -Science has endeavored to explain away man’s dreams, to do away -with religion, soul, imagination, to prove away our mysteries and wonders. -Known stuff. Thus has come to be the matter-of-fact multitude, the simple, -the all-knowing, those who act and think and feel “as everybody else does,” -as they are taught and trained by the ingenious apparatus of scientific, moral, -and social classifications, definitions, simplifications, in a word—the civilized -man. -</p> - -<p> -Yet side by side with civilization, machinization, automatonization, there -is another powerful force moving the world: culture. Culture <em>versus</em> civilization, -this is how I gauge the issue. Do not ask me to define these words: -let Professor Herrick do it. We are all civilized, of course; especially the -<a id="page-34" class="pagenum" title="34"></a> -Germans: witness their recent astounding achievements. Now try to apply -the term “culture” to the activities of those <em>Kulturtraeger</em> in Belgium and -before Rheims—Q. E. D. Michael Bakounin “tried” it in 1848, when he -suggested to his fellow-revolutionists in Dresden that they place on the -besieged walls Raphael’s Madonna in order to avert the canon of the cultured -Prussians; luckily the Saxons knew better their cousins, “the blond -beasts.” Pardon this paroxysm of my old disease, Prussophobia. Bakounin, -you see, belonged to the few, to the non-simple, to those who had an insight -beyond the apparent, the fact, to the hectic, to the abnormal, if you please; -“abnormal” is the label given to such individualities by the many, the -civilized. -</p> - -<p> -I am not so vulgar as to affect megalomania, when asserting that I am -cultured: this is an <em>apologia</em>, a confession of my sins before my critic, the -advocate of simplicity. When facing a sunset, I do not simply see a display -of colors, nor do I think of the simple explanation of this phenomenon as -offered by science, but I live through a world of associations, recollections -of diverse impressions and reactions imprinted on my mind by Boecklin, -Mallarmé, Debussy—by all the gods that make up the religion of modern -man. Life external, simple facts, are to me an artless raw libretto, which, -naturally, cannot in itself satisfy one who has come into this world with -the intention of enjoying grandiose opera. I call it culture, this faculty of -seeing things <em>creatively</em>, not in monotones, not through window-panes, but -through multiplying lenses which collect the rays of all suns and concentrate -them on the focus. Now, pray, is there any hope for me “to learn -how to be simple?” -</p> - -<p> -<a id="POWYS"></a>Life is composed of hundreds of grey days interspersed with a few -scintillating moments, the few moments justifying our otherwise superfluous -existence. In this respect I am not a Croesus, but the half dozen or so of -meteoric flashes that have pierced through the ordinariness of my life I -treasure grudgingly, and would not exchange them for years of continuous -well-being. Congratulate me: I have become enriched now with another -moment of rare beatitude, of indelible radiance. I was present at the transubstantiation -of Oscar Wilde, performed by John Cowper Powys. -</p> - -<p> -Was it a lecture? “Most certainly,” would advise me my simple friend. -What a dwarfish misnomer for the solemn rite that took place in the dark -temple, the “catacomb” of the Little Theatre! I close my eyes, and see -once more the galvanized demi-god vibrating in the green light, invoking the -Uranian Oscar. We, the worshipers, sit entranced, hypnotized, demundanized, -bewitched; the sorcerer makes us feel the presence in flesh and spirit -of the Assyrian half-god, half-beast, who had the moral courage of living -his life actively, to the full; we follow bewildered the quaint meteor of -Wilde’s genius illuminating the world for a moment, dropping down into a -hideous pit, reflaming in the pale glimmer of discovered sorrow; we finally -hear the sonorous requiem to Oscar’s break-down from the shock of having -<a id="page-35" class="pagenum" title="35"></a> -discovered a heart in himself. The lights are on, the sorcerer is gone, but -we remain under the spell of the hovering spirit. -</p> - -<p> -To quote Powys is as impossible as to <em>tell</em> a symphony. It is the How -and the What and the stage background that combine in creating the inexpressible -charm of that experience. As to Oscar Wilde—well, what does it -matter whether we agree with Mr. Powys’s interpretation or not? Wilde -was my idol for a long time; I chanted dithyrambs to him and worshiped -him fanatically. Later, in the perpetual process of dethroning gods, I -observed the halo of the Prince of Paradoxes becoming paler in my eyes. -Mr. Powys rekindled in my heart the sacred flame, for a moment at least, -and gave me the rare sensation of reliving an old love. -</p> - -<p> -À propos of simplicity: Wilde proclaimed artificiality as the great virtue, -and certainly lived up to his theory. Compare his short but italicized life -with the last weary years of Tolstoy that were an attempt for “simple life.” -Need I tell you which I prefer? -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="MUCKANDMUSIC"> -Muck and Music -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">Alfred A. Knopf</span> -</p> - -<p class="note"> -(<em>We disagree with Mr. Knopf in too many respects not to be eager to print -his interesting article.</em>) -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">D</span><span class="postfirstchar">r.</span> Karl Muck resumed charge of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in -the fall of 1912. Looking over the twenty-two programs which he -has given since then one is forced to admit that his tastes are, to say the -least, peculiar. There have been frequent performances of Beethoven and -Brahms and occasional classical programs. These, perhaps, serve to keep -his feet on solid earth, but at other times he soars into the realm of incomprehensible -novelty and one can tell in advance where he will land just -about as easily as if he were a German Zeppelin headed for Paris. One -thing only seems certain—he cannot resist the virtuoso that is in him; he -gluts us with what can only be called virtuosity for its own sake. If he -offers a novelty (and when Brahms and Beethoven are taken care of he -chooses, for the most part, to offer little else) it is sure to be some outrageously -difficult affair—difficult both to play and to listen to. One cannot -reasonably object to music merely because it is difficult to understand. -The test is whether there is sufficient real beauty in it to repay careful and -painstaking attention. And my point is simply that many of us feel that -the beauty in Sibelius, Holbrooke, Reger, Lendvai, Mraczek, Loeffler, -Mahler, Schmitt and others is disproportionately small. -</p> - -<p> -The reasons for the New Yorker’s peculiar bitterness against Dr. Muck -are not difficult to discover. He makes only ten appearances each season: -<a id="page-36" class="pagenum" title="36"></a> -the Philharmonic and the New York Symphony each gives many more -concerts. From our point of view, would it not be better if we relied on -Stransky and Damrosch (the merits of the one and the fripperies of the -other are too apparent to call for comment here) for our first hearings -of novelties? Then, if a particular composition seemed to warrant it, the -Boston Orchestra could play it for us in its usual masterly manner. Just -so long as New York worships the men from Boston in the mad feminine -way it does, just that long will it resent Dr. Muck’s playing what it doesn’t -want to hear. It was Theodore Thomas, I think, who, discovering that -people cared very little for Wagner’s music, played it until they changed -their minds. That is all very well when you have a Wagner, but I wonder -just how heartily Dr. Muck admires the music he has recently served up -to his New York audiences. -</p> - -<p> -To begin with there was Sibelius’s Fourth Symphony. Now Sibelius -is one of the great living composers. He is a genuine musician—by which -I mean that you do not suffer all the agonies of stage fright when you hear -a composition of his for the first time. He knows the business of his craft -and you usually feel safe in his hands, thanks to three Symphonies and -Finlandia. But how rudely this fourth symphony shakes your confidence! -Call it musicianly: show how consistently-planned and executed it is: you -won’t like it any the more. To be sure, Sibelius is a Finn and an intensely -feeling one. He gives expression to the emotions of that curiously unhappy -race. But music to appeal must be more universal than this angry symphony -of ugly moods. You can’t explain it on cubist grounds—unless the -Finns also call it disagreeable. But one ventures the guess that they, perchance, -find it richly agreeable, in which case its performance should, by -International law (or what is left of it) be confined to Finland. -</p> - -<p> -Then there was <em>Schlemihl</em>—a symphonic biography by one Emil Nikolaus -von <a id="corr-8"></a>Reznicek. This was the pièce de resistance at the evening concert. -It is scored for one piccolo, three flutes, three oboes, English horn, three -clarinets, bass clarinet, three bassoons, double bassoon, four horns, four -trumpets, three trombones, contra bass tuba, two trumpets off the stage, -kettle drums, snare drums, bass drum and tambourine, Glockenspiel, Cuckoo, -Xylophone, cymbals, triangle, tam-tam, two harps, celesta, organ, sixteen -first violins, sixteen second violins, twelve violas, ten <a id="corr-9"></a>violoncellos, eight double -basses, and a tenor voice. This huge orchestra, plus the detailed analysis -of his work furnished by the composer, explains <em>Schlemihl</em>. It is an attempt -to out-Richard Richard Strauss, and, like almost all such attempts, it fails. -Reznicek recounts the life and fate of a modern man pursued by misfortune -who goes to destruction in the conflict between his ideal and his material -existence. A compound essentially of <em>Tod und <a id="corr-11"></a>Verklärung</em>, <em>Tyll Eulenspiegel</em> -and <em>Ein Heldenleben</em>, but at no time reaching the heights attained -by Strauss in all three of these tone poems. Imitators somehow almost -always fall down in two ways—they devote far too little attention to what -<a id="page-37" class="pagenum" title="37"></a> -they want to say and far too much to their manner of saying it. And as a -not unnatural result of this, they forget, or appear to forget at any rate, -that melody is the prime essential in great music. Wagner had melodic -genius, as we all realize today, and that Strauss has it is no longer open to -very serious questioning. Reznicek hasn’t. His music is all rather good, -but none of it good enough to grip you as the finest music does. It has -no great moments but only moments of very great sound. The house fairly -quaked at some of the fortissimos. And yet <em>Schlemihl</em> would be pleasant -enough were it not so pretentiously bombastic and did it not last twice too -long. But the mere existence of <em>Ein Heldenleben</em>, <em>Tyll Eulenspiegel</em> and -<em>Tod und Verklärung</em> deprives <em><a id="corr-15"></a>Schlemihl</em> of any greater claim than that. -</p> - -<p> -After these two pieces Scheinpflug’s <em>Overture to a Comedy of Shakespeare</em> -proved quite simple and enjoyable. It is a musicianly piece of work -lacking neither in melodic invention nor in skilful orchestration. The Allegretto -Graziosa, in which an old English tune from the Fitz William -Virginal Book is introduced, is wholly delightful. And having said that -much, one really has said all. The overture can have no possible chance -of immortality; it is not great music, it is not intensely interesting or -unusually delectable: one feels rather that such compositions as this are -the by-products of the daily practice of the art of music by men of no little -talent but very little genius. As such, they demand an occasional hearing—today -Scheinpflug has the stage: tomorrow someone else—what matter -who, since none are really masters. -</p> - -<p> -An occasional performance of Strauss’s early Symphonic Suite, <em>Aus -Italien</em>, is probably quite justifiable because of his imposing importance -among the composers of today. When a musician attains greatness almost -everything he ever wrote becomes of interest to his disciples. <em>Aus Italien</em> -calls for little comment. First performed in 1887, it is difficult today to -realize the great uproar and rage it evoked. Now it seems quite tame. It -was indeed Strauss’s “first step towards independence,” and it is interesting -as the connecting link between his very early work and <em>Don Juan</em> and its -successors. Its first movement “On The Campagna” is probably the most -successful, reaching as it does gravely grey and tragic heights. A sense -of oppressiveness fairly overwhelms the listener and there are chords that -are exquisite. “Amid Rome’s Ruins” is not nearly so sustained and well-knit. -The opening of the third movement, “On the Shore of Sorrento,” -depicts with wonderful effectiveness the brilliance of an Italian sea under -a dazzling sun—a brilliance that no one who has seen it is likely ever to -forget. Strauss, for all his reputed blare and noise, handles his orchestra -pianissimo in a manner immeasurably more impressive than anyone else -of his time. (The opening bars of <em>Tod und Verklärung</em> and the love scene -in <em>Don Juan</em> immediately come to mind). And you can measure a generation’s -progress in orchestration by the unruffled placidity with which people -<a id="page-38" class="pagenum" title="38"></a> -nowadays listen to the at-one-time “brilliant, tumultuous, audacious, unusual, -and bold” finale—“Neapolitan Folk-Life.” -</p> - -<p> -Even the casual concert-goer must notice the amazing duplications that -are being offered this season. For two or three seasons a particular composition -is neglected; then suddenly it is played five times in half as many weeks. -Stransky plays <em>Don Juan</em>; a week later Muck, as it were, shows us how it -ought to be played. The Symphony Society plays Brahms’s Second Symphony -and shortly thereafter Muck administers his reproach to Damrosch. -Is there any reason why conductors shouldn’t meet occasionally and plan to -avoid such ways? Muck appears the chief offender. His program stated -that he was playing Ropartz’s Fourth Symphony for the first time in New -York, but Stransky had played it only eight days earlier. When will we -hear it again? -</p> - -<p> -For this Symphony deserves another hearing. The only work by a -Frenchman that Dr. Muck has offered this season, it is far more satisfying -than any of his other novelties. The restless swing of the opening theme -grips you at once—and your curiosity is piqued as the violins sing against -the “Kernel” in the horns. The Adagio is not so successful—the theme -sung by the English horn is not sufficiently melodious. You need only compare -it with the heart-breaking Largo of Dvorak’s <em>Aus Der Neuen Welt</em>. -But there are the most engaging rhythms—many of them typically Scotch -in their snap. In fact did Ropartz’s gift for melody (it is far from negligible) -approach his rhythmic talent, he might produce really great music. -As it is, this Fourth Symphony interests and gratifies. But it is too long. -Its three movements are played without a pause and one’s attention flags at -times. It seems likely that this is inevitable in absolute music: only a program -can really hold one’s attention for almost forty minutes. Strauss -does it in <em>Ein Heldenleben</em>; but <em>Don Juan</em>, <em>Tyll Eulenspiegel</em> and <em>Tod und -Verklärung</em> last only about twenty minutes each, despite the fascinating -explanations that the program notes always give of their musical contents. -Ropartz’s Fourth Symphony would be much better if played with pauses, -and the sections are so clearly indicated that this could be done without -great difficulty. But, on the whole, a hearing of his work makes one wish -for more French music, with its charming, clear-cut rhythms so typical of -the Gaul. (To my mind Ropartz’s indebtedness to César Franck is a -matter of comparative unimportance. Disciple or not, he has brought to his -task of writing music freshness and charm, a fund of melody and a quite -adequate technique). -</p> - -<p> -After listening to these five compositions, what effect would Beethoven’s -<em>Egmont</em> Overture naturally have? Relief,—pure unalloyed relief. And it -confirms one in the feeling that relief is ever going to be one of the prime -functions thrust by the musicians of today upon the greatest master of them -all. Invariably he brings us back to earth, and as we sit listening to him -in smug contentment, we can say over, without fear of contradiction: “This -after all is music.” -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="WHILEHEARINGALITTLESONG"> -<a id="page-39" class="pagenum" title="39"></a> -While Hearing a Little Song -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="subt"> -(<em><a id="corr-16"></a>Solveigs Lied</em>) -</p> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">Maxwell Bodenheim</span> -</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">A song flew lazily</p> - <p class="verse">Over my upturned head.</p> - <p class="verse">It dropped and I could see</p> - <p class="verse">The ivoried limbs, the spread</p> - <p class="verse">Of swaying, dream-colored wings,</p> - <p class="verse">And barely sense the drift</p> - <p class="verse">Of slender, cloud-voiced rings</p> - <p class="verse">Of notes which seemed to lift</p> - <p class="verse">The oval of my soul</p> - <p class="verse">Up to their lingering death ...</p> - <p class="verse">A purplish pallor stole</p> - <p class="verse">Down to my leaden breath,—</p> - <p class="verse">It was my melted soul</p> - <p class="verse">And the soft death of the throng</p> - <p class="verse">Of notes from the slim song.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="AHARDBED"> -A Hard Bed -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">George Burman Foster</span> -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">W</span><span class="postfirstchar">arfare</span> against suffering, this is man’s most natural fight. Suffering -is an attack upon man, upon his will to live. On this account, -he has a right to protect himself from suffering, to hold suffering far from -him. -</p> - -<p> -But the struggle seems futile. The host of sufferings seems illimitable. -For each old suffering which we thought we had vanquished, ten new ones -come of which we had never dreamt. Indeed, the capacity to suffer grows -with the growth of man. The feeling of pain grows as the senses become -sharper and finer. The higher a man’s development, the stronger becomes -his ability to feel life’s pains. Even if we could exchange all the sufferings -of life for pure joy and bliss, this latter life would be suffering still, a surfeit -and a search, and I doubt not we would long for an hour of some old anguish -again that would redeem us from a pleasure now grown oppressive and -intolerable. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-40" class="pagenum" title="40"></a> -Shall we, then, hate life? Shall we say that it were better not to be than -to be? We might, did we not find strength and comfort in and with every -suffering,—did we not allow every item or event of experience the democratic -right to a trial by a jury of its peers and to our trust that it is worth -while until it shall prove that it is not,—did we not experience that up from -the abyss of every suffering, painful as it seems, a path leads to a summit -where all sufferings are only shadows of a blinding flood and fullness of -light; that all articulate and fit into the eternal process of an upward-striving -life. -</p> - -<p> -There is no question but that this is the workable view of life to present -to the heart of man, draining, as one must, pain’s bitter cup for one’s -self. But the sufferings one feels for others, sufferings in which one’s -love, expressed in sympathy and pity, is complicated—this is another matter, -here one may fall into mischievous aberration. There can be no doubt -that the pain of our pity for others may be more painful than the pain of -our own lives. In the throes of such pity, the woes of our own lives may -seem small indeed, and finally fade away. To behold a human being that -is deeply dear to us suffer is worse than it would be to suffer in his place. -And if the man of moral elevation of soul feels equal in the end to all that -brings pain to his own life, all the more defenseless does he feel with regard -to the great all-prevailing misery which, in pity, celebrates its triumphal -entry into his heart. Love is our noblest human power, and it is love that -lets us feel such misery, it is love whose wealth of recognition and experience -renders it possible for us to descry sorrow’s abysses, to anticipate them even -in advance of the poor sufferer himself. -</p> - -<p> -Now, may love be good, and pity bad? What a problem is here! May -we war a two-fold warfare, one against suffering and one against pity? -Ought we? War upon pity—would not that be in contradiction to all that -our own generation especially calls good and great? Our generation has -done its best to develop in the human heart an ever-enlarging capacity for -pity—what would it say to a warrior who pitilessly took up arms against -pity? -</p> - -<p> -<em>Friedrich Nietzsche</em> was such a warrior, single-handed and alone! And -the venomous verbal onslaught upon Nietzsche by those who did not understand -him was equalled only by those who did. At first Nietzsche’s own -success consisted in supplying his opponents with new weapons against himself. -Of all the words which have been used as bludgeons to break the -head of this most resolute rebel against our previous moral view of life, -Nietzsche’s piercing words concerning pity and the pitiful have most occupied -the attention of his enemies. This may not deter us from looking -unabashed the great question squarely in the face. In the end, is pity -something to be overcome, a disease of the old culture? Does the path -of the new culture lead men out and beyond and above pity? This is no -longer a Nietzsche question merely. This is a question of the moral life -<a id="page-41" class="pagenum" title="41"></a> -of our time. Perhaps this is the last weightiest question which our time -can put to men of dignity and depth of thought. -</p> - -<p> -However, it is only fair to say at the outset that no one has any right -to fly into a rage at Nietzsche in particular for summoning men to arms -against pity, since, if rage is in order at all, the conventional practices of -our previous life furnished therefor occasion enough. Aye, there is an -old wide-spread fashion of averting the strain of pity which is so mean -and cool that almost anybody could fly into a frenzy over it—the fashion, -not of triumphing over pity, but of cowardly flight from pity. Consider -the whole conception of life of the so-called favorites of fortune. To what -lengths do they go that they may be spared the sight of misfortune, that -they may not be agitated by a touch of pity! How they avoid, if at all possible, -every place that would remind them that there are want and misery, -hunger and sorrow, in the world—as the Parisians did, until Zola, the most -calumniated author of the nineteenth century, dragged these things, with -their ensuing vices, out into the light of day and made the French people -look at them! How furious they are, as the French were at great Zola, -at anybody who dares to open their eyes to the sad and harrowing realities -of life! Nay, they have invented a special art and religion that shall succeed -in sparing them pity; the former to conjure up a make-believe world -in which life shall be all sunshine and gladness; the latter to advocate the -doctrine that all pain is punishment from God, and that, since God must -be just, He will properly parcel out and administer pain and suffering. We -do not need to bestir ourselves in behalf of sufferers; that would be a -wrong against God; a doubt of the Everlasting Justice; hence all may not -feel pity for the wicked man upon whom God visits His wrath and punishment! -Thus the “good people” and the just harden their hearts. They -have stones which they heave at the poor sinner—especially at a “sinful -woman”—but no mercy, no pity, for those who are not as they are, and -do not think and feel and act as they do. They grow chesty: “Yes, if -others were as good as we are, then it would be as well with them as it is -with us!” With such pride they choke all feeling of kinship and connection -with others. Where pride grows, no pity can thrive. And at last pity itself -becomes a kind of pride, a sorry self-reflection as in a mirror. The most -subtle and dangerous way for men to free themselves from the pain of -pity, when they cannot stave it off completely, is to make it a thing of pride -and praise: “I thank Thee, God, that I am not like the hard-hearted!” -Then they revel and riot in their pity, then they rejoice that they are so -good-hearted, so tender-hearted, because they can see no suffering without -being touched and melted to tears. And the pitiful call this their morality -and their virtue. They make a “delicacy” of their pity to set before themselves -at the table of life when all of life’s other gratifications and indulgences -begin to grow stale and tasteless. The tears of emotion that gush -generously forth at the spectacle of suffering humanity—even of frail and -<a id="page-42" class="pagenum" title="42"></a> -faulty humanity—taste so good! Many is the time they have felt the weary -weight of this unintelligible world on listening to a sad story or seeing a -play, and screwed up melancholy and doleful countenances—maybe pity -can be put among the things that can make life, always requiring to be -braced up a bit, a trifle more interesting. And so pity is at last honored -with a place among the articles of luxury with which they enrich and adorn -their lives—their lives, always surprising them with some fresh sign of -poverty and patches! -</p> - -<p> -But if all guilt be revenged upon earth, punishment of this misuse -of pity may not be stayed. It is doubly punished and revenged—upon -him who practices it and upon him upon whom it is practiced. Or do we -not know that the pharisees of pity become ever more feeble and sentimental -men, losing all power and energy of will through pure emotionality? Or -do we not know that most crafty business speculation, speculation in pity, -in which sufferers magnify their least pains, expert in making an impression -with their “cases” in order to arouse the interest of the pitiful, an interest -which need not always be relieved by the clink of coin, but which makes -ready its punishment much more frequently with idle hours spent in dreaming -and weeping, with the unprofitable breathing-out of pathos and reproach? -Often enough the enthusiasts of the kind and tender heart do not know -what they do, but they rob men of the marrow of life, they emasculate and -coddle the soul; and the emotional debauchery in which they live, requires -ever stronger stimulus which ever operates more enervatingly still. -</p> - -<p> -Contemplating these devastations wrought everywhere in life by love’s -softness, one begins to cherish some respect for a Nietzsche who preached -to men “a hard bed,” love’s hardness. To be sure, if one is to understand -this preaching, one must keep in mind what the preacher says: “My -brethren, give heed unto each hour, in which your spirit wisheth to speak -in parables: there is the origin of your virtue.” Nietzsche speaks in parables. -For instance, his words on war and warriors—a good war hallowing -every cause—these, too, are parables. And hardness, bravery, -praised by him as the strength and consecration of life, truly -this is not the barbarity of prize-fighting or the brutality of lynching; -this is the high mind fearlessly going its own way, stampeded by no -danger into thinking and acting and being other than what it holds to -be right. Danger is but the acid test which such a mind applies to the -ingredients of its life. To such a mind, hardness is the characteristic of the -gem, of the diamond, which thus guarantees its genuineness, its sparkling -worth. Zarathustra-Nietzsche loves everything which steels the will and -augments life’s force. Therefore he loves his foe, for, thanks to his foe, -he never comes to a standstill and stagnates. Therefore his true friend -is the one who has become his best foe, who makes him sweat, who summons -him to risk hot war with him, to break a lance with him in an intellectual -passage at arms in which the soul struggles for its own yea and nay. -<a id="page-43" class="pagenum" title="43"></a> -So, similarly, this Zarathustra-Nietzsche hates pity. Why? Not because -he is a brute. “Kind unto the sick is Zarathustra.... Would that -they were convalescent and conquering and creating a higher body for themselves!” -Not because, as we have seen, so much of pity is for self’s sake -and not for the sake of service, though this is an essential part of the -answer. Then why? Because it works an embarrassment for man, because -it knows no shame, no reverence, in the presence of the giant forces which, -for every brave soul, is concealed in great and deep pain. Therefore he -combats pity because it is a passion and not an action, and yet life is not -for passionists but for pragmatists. “All great love is lifted above all its -pity, for it seeketh to create what it loveth.... But all creators are -hard.” “If thou hast a suffering friend, be a couch for his suffering, but -a hard bed, as it were, a field-bed; thus thou wilt be of most use for him.” -</p> - -<p> -Hearken ye, O Reader, to another Transvaluer of values Whose Person -Nietzsche “the Crucified,” excoriated at ill-starred moments, but did -so on the basis of that very “high mind” for which He, rejecting pity, went -to His Crucifixion! “And Jesus, Pilate handed over to their will. As they -led him off he was followed by a large multitude of the people and also of -women who beat their breasts and lamented him; but Jesus turned to -them and said, ‘Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me!’” -</p> - -<p> -Now, as it seems to me, this Nietzsche preaching is not so far removed -from that other preaching which we are otherwise wont to call a gospel, -a good, a glad message! For this glad message was not a lamentation, but -a hymn of heroism and of victory, a call to creation! And I take the liberty -to repeat that the Preacher of this glad message forbade pity for himself -even in his dark and desolate hour—do you think what that hour was?—when -he appealed to weak and wailing and weeping womanly souls, Weep -not for me, weep for yourselves! And He Who Himself wills no pity, -Who bears in Himself a greatness which is elevated above all pity, would -he have willed to have men so weak and pitiful as we often enough today -imagine the Ideal of a Christ-man to be? -</p> - -<p> -What, now, if the true pitiful love, the true mercy to men, were to -<em>harden</em> them, to make them free from what meant only suffering to them? -It is, to be sure, very much more difficult to make men themselves “hard,” -so that the burden lying on their backs can not crush them than it is to -indulge their weakness and sensitiveness and to leave them as they are. -Indulgent parental hearts would a thousand times rather remove all life’s -burdens from their children than to place burdens upon their children which -they might learn to bear. So often our pity plays us a sorry trick—we -would rather do something for men than to repress our pity, silence it, -and then teach men how they themselves can do what is good and necessary -for them. We speak of a ministrant love, meaning a love which knows -nothing higher than to provide comforts, avert trials, spare vexations, and -everything which could shake a man to his foundations. How much greater -<a id="page-44" class="pagenum" title="44"></a> -a service of love it would be to lead man to himself, make him strong that -he might be equal to what we had thought we must take away from him! -Pray, not for easier tasks, lighter burdens, but for more power! This -Nietzschean love is not only a greater love, it also requires a greater, more -tiresome work, it requires a constant conquest of our pitying weakness, it -requires a courageous faith in man and a firm earnest appraisal of his -power. And how entirely different a service of friendship do we render a -friend if we show a hard love to him, if he break a tooth on us, as Nietzsche -says, because we do not flatter and fit him, but compel him, out of love -compel him, to assert himself against us, and to withstand our defense -of our rights against him! Foolish men seek their friends among the -<em>Jasagern</em>, most preferably, among those who are of their own opinion in -everything. They then call this an ideal friendship: two souls and one -thought, two hearts and one beat! But in such a friendship, their best, -their own soul, their sense of truth, and their courage for the truth, soon -rusts. To spare a friend the disillusion which he would suffer if he felt -an antagonism, an opposition, in the friendship, they have pity on him, -they learn to keep silent, and silence soon becomes a lie. Since they dare -not cause the friend the grief of discovering to him these lies, they lie -more, lie life-long,—all out of pity, out of their weak tender love. How -much nobler and greater that friendship whose ideal Nietzsche sketches for -us, in which we are gripped from the outset in a friend’s contradiction and -hostility! We seek and love in him precisely what is not attuned to us, -but is his own, and must forever remain his very own. Such hard love -which gives the friend a “camp-bed” and not one as “soft as downy pillows -are” and requires the like in return is the proudest manliest friendship, is -alone what brings our sluggish and pampered natures forward, and makes -us stronger, freer, richer in understanding and experience. Every genuine -love should be a spur, freedom, to us, not an easy berth and a trammel in -life. -</p> - -<p> -We cannot, we ought not, refrain from pity in life. We cannot, we -ought not, stave it artificially from us. Pity belongs to man as man. It -comes stealing upon him, and ought so to come. But when it has come, he -ought not to be enmeshed in it. Still less ought he to let it grow rank. He -should ennoble it, overcome it, with strong will and energetic deed. For pity -is yet <em>suffering</em> and all suffering summons men to conflict, to defense. The -sign that such overcoming has succeeded is that <em>rejoicing-together</em> has been -born of <em>suffering-together</em>—is that the conflict has issued in a victory in -which hard militant love triumphs over every weakness, and is grateful to -the hardness which has given it such a victory! -</p> - -<p> -In his brilliant book on Nietzsche, “Who Is to Be Master of the World,” -Ludovici writes powerfully as follows: “What the units of a herd most -earnestly seek and find, is smug ease, not necessarily mastership. For mastership -entails responsibility, insight, nerve, courage and <em>hardness</em> towards -<a id="page-45" class="pagenum" title="45"></a> -one’s self, that control of one’s self which all good commanders must have, -and which is the very antithesis of the gregarious man’s attitude towards -himself.... Hardness?—He knows nothing of the hardness that can -command his heart, his mouth, before it attends to the command of others; -he knows nothing of the hardness that can dispel the doubts of a whole -continent, that can lead the rabble and the ruck to deeds of anomalous nobility, -or that can impose silence upon the overweening importunities of an -assembled nation. He knows <em>this</em> hardness, that he could coldly watch the -enemy of his private and insignificant little interests, burnt at the stake; -he knows <em>this</em> hardness, that he would let a great national plan miscarry -for the sake of a mess of pottage;—the gregarious man and future socialist -has this so-called hardness; but so have all those who burn with resentment,—so -have all parasites and silent worm-gnawers at the frame-work -of great architecture.” -</p> - -<p> -But not Nietzsche’s interpreter, but Nietzsche himself, shall have the -last word: “Praises are what maketh hard!—I do not praise the land where -butter and honey—flow! To learn to look away from one’s self is necessary -in order to see many things: this hardener is needed by every mountain -climber.” -</p> - -<p> -<em>Also Sprach Aristoteles—Zarathustra!</em> -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="GEORGEMIDDLETONSONEACTPLAYS"> -George Middleton’s One-Act Plays -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">Clayton Hamilton</span> -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">he</span> one-act play is an art-form that is worthy of careful cultivation. -It shows the same relation to the full-length drama as the short-story shows -to the novel. It makes a virtue of economy of means. It aims to produce -a single dramatic effect with the greatest economy of means that is consistent -with the utmost emphasis. A one-act play, in exhibiting the present, should -imply the past and intimate the future. The author has no leisure for -laborious exposition; but his mere projection of a single situation should -sum up in itself the accumulated results of many antecedent causes. The -one-act play, at its best, can no more serve as a single act of a longer drama -than the short-story can serve as a single chapter of a novel. The form -is complete, concise, and self-sustaining; and it requires an extraordinary -focus of imagination. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-46" class="pagenum" title="46"></a> -No other American dramatist has so carefully cultivated this special -type of drama as George Middleton. His recently-published volume of -one-act plays, entitled <em>Possession</em>, was preceded by two other volumes, called -<em>Embers</em> and <em>Tradition</em>. Each of these books contains half a dozen plays. -From the fact that Mr. Middleton has chosen to publish these eighteen one-act -plays in advance of their production, it is not to be inferred that he is -a believer in the closet-drama. A closet-drama may be defined as a play -that, being unfit for production in the theatre, is fit only to be locked up -in a closet. Mr. Middleton is not a literary amateur, but a professional and -practical playwright. He has produced more than half a dozen full-length -plays in the commercial theatre; and such artists as Julia Marlowe, Margaret -Anglin, George Fawcett, and the late E. M. Holland have appeared in -dramas of his composition. All of Mr. Middleton’s one-act plays are written -for the stage; and—to quote from his own preface to <em>Possession</em>—he -conceives “the value of play publication not as a substitute for production -but as an alternative for those whose dramas may offer little attraction to -the manager because of theme or treatment.” -</p> - -<p> -At present there is, unfortunately, scarcely any market in the American -theatre for one-act plays that take life seriously. It is against our custom -to provide a full-length drama with a curtain-raiser or an after-piece; and -the field for one-act plays in vaudeville is restricted to slap-stick comedies -and yelling melodramas. It is for this reason that Mr. Middleton has been -required to choose publication as an alternative for production, in the case -of these diminutive dramas. The trouble is not at all that his pieces are -unsuited to the stage: they are admirable in technique, and—like all good -plays—they would be more interesting in the theatre than in the library. -The trouble is only that—for wholly artificial and accidental reasons—the -commercial theatre in America at present is inhospitable to the one-act play. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Middleton’s one-act plays reveal a wide range of subject-matter -and a corresponding versatility of treatment. No one of them is similar to -any of the others. Yet, pervading this variety of subject and of mood, -there is discernible an underlying unity. Each of them deals essentially -with woman—and with modern woman in relation to our modern social -system. Woman is, at present, a transitional creature, evolving from the -thing that man considered her to be in the far-away period of wax flowers -and horse-hair furniture to the being that she considers herself about to -become in the unachieved, potential future; and Mr. Middleton has caught -her in this period of transition, and has depicted her, under many different -lights, colored with her virtues and discolored with her faults. -</p> - -<p> -Many of the most poignant and dramatic problems of present-day -society arise from the fact that the evolution of woman is proceeding more -rapidly than the evolution of her environment. While individuals advance, -traditions linger. Mr. Middleton’s favorite subject seems to be a conflict -between an advanced woman and a lingering tradition. The author is himself -<a id="page-47" class="pagenum" title="47"></a> -a radical, and his sympathy is forever on the side of the revolutionary -individual; but his technical treatment is so fair to both sides of the contention -that it remains possible for conservative readers to rank themselves -against the individual on the side of the lingering tradition. Scarcely any -of Mr. Middleton’s women would be pleasant to have around the house. -Since most of them are discontented with the conditions of their lives, they -naturally make the worst of these conditions instead of making the best -of them. Hell hath no fury like a woman in revolt; and many readers may -dislike Mr. Middleton’s heroines more heartily than he seems to like them -himself. But to be able to dislike a character is a proof that that character -is real, and must be considered as a tribute to the author’s art. The heroine -of <em>The Unborn</em>, in Mr. Middleton’s latest volume, refuses to have children -because motherhood might interfere with “her work,”—the work, in this -case, being merely a habit of attending to minor matters in her husband’s -photographic studio; but the intensity of impatience with which the reader -listens to her twaddle is an indication that this character is really representative -of a silly type of creature that is not infrequently encountered in -actual life. Again, in the play called <em>Possession</em>, a woman who has been -divorced for adultery attempts to kidnap her little daughter from the house -of her former husband, to whose custody the child had, of course, been -awarded by the courts. Her adultery was inexcusable, because it had been -occasioned not by an irresistible and overwhelming love but merely by a -superfluity of leisure; and her attempt to kidnap the child was treacherous -and ignominious. She excuses herself, however, by telling her husband -that the process of child-birth had been painful, and that, therefore, despite -the judgment of the courts, their little daughter belonged more to her than -to him. The reader is, of course, annoyed by all this nonsense; but this -annoyance, once again, must be regarded as a tribute to the reality of the -author’s characterization. No heroine who was not a living human being -could make the auditor so ardently desire to climb upon the stage and talk -back to her. -</p> - -<p> -Fortunately, it is not at all necessary to like Mr. Middleton’s women -in order to like his plays. One may admire Ibsen’s <em>Hedda Gabler</em> without -wishing to be married to the heroine; and the pleasant thing about Mr. -Middleton’s women is that, while the reader is permitted to observe and -study them, he is also allowed to realize with hearty thankfulness that he -will never have to live with any of them. The world in which his women -move is a world of discontent. This discontent is truly representative of -the present transitional period in the evolution of society; but it is not representative -of that perennial reality of life that remains oblivious of periods -and dates. At all times, the really womanly woman has been a lover of her -life and has not found it difficult to feel at home at home. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="NEWYORKLETTER"> -<a id="page-48" class="pagenum" title="48"></a> -New York Letter -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -<span class="smallcaps">George Soule</span> -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">t</span> would be difficult to imagine a more fantastic occasion than a debate -in New York on the justice of the cause of the Allies vs. that of Germany -between Cecil Chesterton and George Sylvester Viereck. The gods -permitted it to happen last week, much to the chagrin of the Allies, for the -hyphenated Germans took good care to fill the hall and hiss every offensive -statement. Mr. Chesterton, an honest fighter and a clever polemicist, who -has leapt through every phase of radicalism into the enfolding charity of -the Catholic Church, deserves to be known for his journalistic achievements -and his exposure of graft in high places almost as much as for his -brother Gilbert. Mr. Viereck, a sublime egotist, has come into sudden -favor with his countrymen by editing <em><a id="corr-18"></a>Das Vaterland</em>, although before that -he had taken every known means to secure notoriety for a naturally obscure -individual. He began as a poet of strange verse, both in German and -English. When it became apparent that it wasn’t going to sell, he issued a -last volume which he called his “swan song,” with the announcement that -as this commercial age was unappreciative of his poetry he would write -no more, and anyone who wanted a last chance to value him at it must buy -this book. For himself, he was going to get in line with the genius of -the century and become a Big Business Man, for he must make himself felt. -He announced in a stentorian wail his admiration for Theodore Roosevelt, -and was much chagrined when that celebrity would not let him trail along -on the skirts of his ample publicity. Later on, when Alfred Noyes began -to sell in large quantities, Mr. Viereck resumed his dictatorship of poetry, -and by scurrilous attacks attempted to draw Mr. Noyes’s fire—and newspaper -space. Now German Patriotism has lifted him to the headlines. -</p> - -<p> -If Poetic Justice was present at the debate, she probably did not receive -much enlightenment on the questions which are now vexing her in Europe. -To quote any of the substance of the debate would be an insult to her -intelligence. -</p> - -<p> -A more serious event was Richard Bennet’s recent production of -Brieux’s <em>Maternity</em>. Considering the deadly earnestness with which author -and cast struggled to inculcate lessons, the apathy of the public in respect -to moral instruction was pathetic. On the night of my visit there was -exactly one normal “theatre-goer” in the house. There was a sprinkling -of people who had long admitted what Brieux has to say, and went from -“high-brow” reasons. There was a young society matron who had escaped -from her husband for the evening and is taking an amateurish interest in -social questions. There were numerous persons who are always on the -lookout for a chance to cackle at what they consider broad humor. These -<a id="page-49" class="pagenum" title="49"></a> -blonde ladies furnished an interesting refutation of one of Brieux’s theories. -In one scene various women tell their troubles, emphasizing the fact that -all women are united in their sorrows and understand them, whereas men -do not. Immediately after this the drunken husband returns and disgusts -and outrages the wife. There were many laughs in the audience to greet -him—but not one from a man. Even the blonde ladies’ fat escorts tried -to quiet them while the rest of us were hissing. -</p> - -<p> -Granville Barker opens this week with <em>Androcles and the Lion</em> and -some of the other recent London productions. A number of the backers -of the old “New Theatre” are guaranteeing his expenses, a fact which is -a historical corroboration for Mr. Barker’s wit. When he was brought -over as the chosen manager for that institution, he objected to the immense -size of the house. “But the alterations you suggest would cost us a million -dollars,” he was told. “If you don’t make them, it will cost you three -million,” he replied, and sailed back to London. His popularity with the -New Theatre guarantors has been steadily increasing from that day to -this. -</p> - -<p> -There is even a rumor that if the present experiment succeeds, the -New Theatre project will be resumed. This whisper aroused an answering -howl from the American managers and actors. Why should good American -money be spent in encouraging English talent, especially in such a disastrous -season? they wailed. The answer was, in effect, the one that should be -made to the whole “made in America” propaganda. What has American -production done that it should be encouraged? When “made in America” -comes to have any relation to honesty and intelligence, it will be time enough -to invoke “patriotism” in its favor. In the meantime, the more disastrous -foreign competition can be to our present shoddy products, the better. -</p> - -<p> -This ironic year has produced few more strange reversals than the one -which has brought Mr. McClure to the status of an employee of Mr. -Munsey. When a man has apparently won his life campaign and written -so engagingly of it as has Mr. McClure in his Autobiography, we begin to -regard him as beyond the touch of the fates. Perhaps the present eventuality -should be taken, however, merely as another proof that in our present -arrangement of things it is less profitable to have a touch of genius than -to become the owner of trust companies. At any rate <em>McClure’s Magazine</em> -has apparently not profited much in recent years by Mr. McClure’s separation -from its editorial policy. -</p> - -<p> -There is one real consolation in a season which has brought such -material devastation to commercial managers and magazines. When conventionally-planned -“successes” don’t succeed, success comes to have less -meaning. People who are after money in the promotion of artistic products -are in their desperation more ready to try less “safe” ways of getting it, -while the others have a decidedly better chance of gaining a respectful -public attention. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="MUSIC"> -<a id="page-50" class="pagenum" title="50"></a> -Music -</h2> - -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="KREISLERANDSHATTUCK"> -<span class="smallcaps">Kreisler and Shattuck</span> -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">n</span> certain realms, words are opaque and stupid things. In others—oh, -comforting thought!—they seem to become transparent and almost intelligent. -Following this out consistently, it becomes easy to write a page about -Arthur Shattuck, pianist, and very difficult to say anything at all about -Fritz Kreisler, violinist. -</p> - -<p> -Arthur Shattuck was a disappointment. His faults, in a lesser man, -would have been considered the sign of mere mediocrity; but in himself, -they are obtrusive and disagreeable. An exasperating contrast existed -between what may be called his style, with its rhythmic sureness and its -admirable perspectives, and his great lack of tonal beauty. He cracks out -hard tones. Any particular phrase of Mr. Boyle’s concerto for piano with -orchestra, when passed on from the orchestra to the solo instrument, lost -its lyric curve and became flat and lifeless under Mr. Shattuck’s long, -aggressive hands. When another pianist, Ernest Hutcheson, played the same -work with the composer conducting the New York Philharmonic, a certain -phenomenon was lacking which appeared when Frederick Stock conducted -the work with the Chicago Symphony. This phenomenon (let it be whispered) -was a strange prominence of the brass choir of the orchestra in -certain portions of the work which led one to believe that Mr. Stock was, -perhaps, more interested in the orchestral accompaniment than in the performance -of the soloist. If this were as true as it appeared, it is on a par -with another startling fact:—that the public is really learning something -about tone-values and the possible beauties of piano music. What else -could account for the numerous confessions caught in snatches in the corridors -and stairways, the composite of which was, “He left me cold”?... -Arthur Shattuck is a millionaire. -</p> - -<p> -A compassionate attitude toward Chicago was considerably relieved by -the sight of the Auditorium-full which paid to hear Kreisler. Think of so -many people being moved by such good taste! And, what was better still, -they all behaved well. Kreisler deserved their tribute of attentive silence. -Such violin playing hasn’t been heard in Chicago since the same artist was -here last season. There is no describing Kreisler’s tone; a magic circle -of stillness encloses it, which words have not learned to cross. In the memory -it is a living beauty, penetrant and bewitching. Praise and appreciation -are miserable things in the presence of this man’s music. Fritz Kreisler is -a genius. -</p> - -<p class="sign"> -HERMAN SCHUCHERT. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="BOOKDISCUSSION"> -<a id="page-51" class="pagenum" title="51"></a> -Book Discussion -</h2> - -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="ELLENKEYSSTEADYVISION"> -Ellen Key’s Steady Vision -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>The Younger Generation, by Ellen Key.</em> [<em>G. P. Putnam’s, New York.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">n</span> the present amusing reign of boisterous propagandic voices, it is -good to find a thinker who describes the exciting truth in simple terms. -The many are able to catch glimpses of the truth; between glimpses, they -shout and wave their inefficient arms for the enlightenment of their brothers, -and for their own joy. The few see the truth steadily and, because they -see steadily, become so passionately enthusiastic that they are driven to -express themselves in quiet, mighty phrases. Such phrases imprint vital -ideas upon the mind of the seeker, while pitiable confusion alone results -from the shouts and wavings. In <em>The Younger Generation</em>, Ellen Key -tells simply and surely her conclusions about vital things. -</p> - -<p> -Conservative judgment is at once a splendid balance and a terrific barrier -in the world of ideas. Intense enthusiasm, when it displays itself, often -combines blindness with sight. It has always seemed to be asking too much -to expect in one person a finely balanced enthusiasm in which the conservative -element does not hamper the divine qualities of youth—courage, -impetuosity, and an ever-fresh perception. Not to be extravagant, but to -characterize her fairly, one may say that this Swedish woman writes as if -she possessed the virtues commonly attributed to both age and youth. She -is vigorous, free-hearted, and calm—enthusiastic, fiery, and sane—a champion -of revolution when and wherever it breaks the path for evolution. -</p> - -<p> -Reaching deftly into anarchism, christianity, feminism, individualism, -socialism, and other good glimpses of the truth, she secures the elements -for a strangely consistent wisdom. -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> -<p class="noindent"> -Parents of the new generation will feel it to be a blasphemy against life—another -name for God—that the beings their love has called into existence, the -beings who bear the heritage of all past generations and the potentialities of all -those to come, should be prematurely torn from the chain of development. Every -such link that is wrenched away from unborn experiences, from unfinished work, -was a beginning which might have had the most far-reaching effects within the -race.... It is not death that the men of the new age are afraid of, but only -premature and meaningless death. -</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -“Women ought not to be content until governments have been deprived -of the power of plunging nations into war.”—Ellen Key doesn’t ask the -ladies to fidget and whimper at afternoon teas, nor to operate upon male-kind -with their verbal lancets, nor to adopt circuitous resolutions about affairs -of which they know nothing; but her suggestion, here as elsewhere, is simple -and practical—so very simple that the ladies will smile down upon it as -<a id="page-52" class="pagenum" title="52"></a> -something delightfully girlish and unsophisticated. It is safe to speculate -that not one of the smilers could, in her comfortable condescension, live up -to this humble and powerful procedure:—“Women can always and everywhere -ennoble the feelings, refine an idea of justice, and sharpen the judgment -of those who come under their influence. The indirect result of this -influence will then be that war will become more and more insufferable to -the feelings, repugnant to the sense of justice, and absurd to the intelligence. -When thus the eyes of the best among the nation are opened to the true -nature of war, they will be finally opened also to the way to real, not armed, -peace.” And as it is the secret and boasted and forgotten desire of every -woman to influence a man, or men, these profoundly plain suggestions -would seem to be sown in a fertile field. There is hope in this. Then she -says, on another page: “To win over men’s brains to the idea of solidarity, -that is the surest way of working for peace.” And this, being a more complex -remark, will probably upset everything gained by the clarity of the -preceding quotations; but it is given here to repay the time otherwise wasted -by the many for whom simplicity has lost its god-like charm. Solidarity -is a great idea, partly because it is something to be shouted about. But the -first element in solidarity, human kindness, has never seemed “strong” to -a shouting age. -</p> - -<p> -One of the firm demands which Ellen Key makes in her future “Charter -for Children” is “the right of all children to disinheritance; in other words, -their being placed in the beneficent necessity of making full use of their -completely developed powers.” After reminding us of the strenuous manners -of a past age in which the children of any conquered city were dashed -hideously against the walls, she claims that “the judgment upon our time -will be more severe. For the people of antiquity knew not what they did, -when they caused the blood of children to flow like water. But our age -allows millions of children to be worn out, starved, maltreated, neglected, -to be tortured in school, and to become degenerate and criminal; and yet -it knows the consequences, to the race and to the community, that all this -involves. And why? Because we are not yet willing to reckon in life-values -instead of in gold-values.” -</p> - -<p> -What a frantic rage must there be in the souls of the truly social-minded -when this terrific indictment is pronounced in their hearing! But the -appalling nightmare will go on until the frantic element is overcome, and -the rage is focused to a point of white heat—an intense simplicity. -</p> - -<p class="sign"> -HERMAN SCHUCHERT. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="TWOCONRADREVIEWS"> -<a id="page-53" class="pagenum" title="53"></a> -Two Conrad Reviews -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>Joseph Conrad: A Study, Richard Curle.</em> [<em>Doubleday, Page -and Company, New York.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -“The business of criticism,” says Mr. Curle, “is to surmount this <em>impasse</em> -between conviction and the power to convince.” Judged by this test, his -study of Joseph Conrad is undoubtedly successful: it is hard indeed to -imagine any reader reaching the end of it without believing that Conrad is -a very great writer. A careful reading of the numerous and often lengthy -quotations from Conrad’s books should alone convince the persons Mr. -Curle is most anxious to convert—those who know nothing about them. -</p> - -<p> -But <em>Joseph Conrad</em> has two obvious faults. In the first place, Mr. Curle -is quite too modest—almost haltingly so. His pages abound in such phrases -as “I dare say”, “I cannot help”, “I think”, and the like. That’s all very -honest, but Americans prefer the more lordly manner. One feels really, -that while the critic may speak in such fashion to himself, he should give -us only his conclusions—and no apologies for them to boot. In the second -place, Mr. Curle seems to think that he is very brave in putting forth this -book, that the critics haven’t appreciated Conrad at all, and that since <em>he</em> -does there must be a real quarrel between him and them. Now as a matter -of fact this is not so. Probably no living writer has had a fraction of the -hearty recognition from the best critics that Conrad has. True, he has -(until six months ago) woefully lacked anything like popularity and the -material rewards it brings—but very few of those whose opinion carries -weight will hesitate to agree with most of the fine things that Mr. Curle -says about the author of <em>Chance</em>. Mr. Curle’s attitude simply arouses -unfriendly antagonism on the part of his readers who know and love their -Conrad. -</p> - -<p> -So much for its faults. They are not of serious importance and should -not obscure the really splendid qualities of Mr. Curle’s book. It abounds -in acutely perceptive remarks—often extremely well put. In the course of -seven chapters on Conrad’s Psychology, Men, Women, Irony and Sardonic -Humour, Prose and the Artist, he piles up an overwhelming evidence of the -man’s greatness. Is there a man alive, has any English novelist ever lived -about whom one could wax so easily, so madly enthusiastic? True, to -some Conrad does not appeal. They have never caught the glorious glamour -of his pages—the solemn grandeur of his magnificent prose. Probably the -surest way to win converts would be to compile a small book of extracts -from his works, carefully graded according to their difficulty. -</p> - -<p> -When I was still at college I was curious about Conrad. A well-meaning -bookseller sold me <em>Lord Jim</em>. I tried to read it, but fifty pages was as -far as I could go. I tried again, but with even less success. Then one -<a id="page-54" class="pagenum" title="54"></a> -day at Interlaken I found a Tauchnitz copy of <em>A Set of Six</em>. Before -I had quite finished the last story I lost the book—changing trains. But -Conrad has never since seemed obscure to me. A beginner in French would -never try to appreciate the shimmering pages of Flaubert; nor would even -the Yankee farm-hand feed his baby pie. More than any living writer -has Conrad needed some one to <em>present</em> him to the public. This his American -publishers have tried of late to do. Mr. Curle’s book will add to their success -in so far as they manage to persuade people to read it. Except for -those who have begun with <em>Lord Jim</em>, <em>Nostromo</em>, or <em>Chance</em>, I have never -found anyone, who, having read one book by Conrad, was content to stop -there. Mr. Curle thinks <em>Nostromo</em> Conrad’s greatest work. It is now, -with Europe in the throes of a bloody conflict, that one realizes more and -more how Conrad’s men and women, far removed from the problems of -a Wells, a Chesterton, or a Shaw—problems which <em>appear</em> suddenly to be -of very little importance after all—bulk great and ever greater. There they -loom—like Rodin’s <em>Balzac</em> against the glowering sky. -</p> - -<p class="sign"> -ALFRED KNOPF. -</p> - -<p class="book"> -<em>A Set of Six, by Joseph Conrad.</em> [<em>Doubleday, Page and -Company, New York.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -In this first American edition of his <em>Set of Six</em>, Conrad is revealed as -an artist <em>par excellence</em>. You find no subjective emotionalism on the part -of the author in any of his six tales, in spite of their subtitles—<em>Romantic</em>, -<em>Indignant</em>, <em>Pathetic</em>, and the like. You see in him the wistful observer of -characters and situations, which he presents with impassionate objectivity, -with the impartiality of a painter who lovingly draws his object, whether -it is ugly or beautiful, whether it is a villain or a saint. Conrad possesses -a wonderful skill in setting up a background, which, at times, appears of -more importance than the plot. He makes you feel equally at home in the -atmosphere of Napoleonic France and of France of the Restoration, of -revolutionary Peru and of a Neapolitan amusement garden. You enjoy the -tales greatly, you admire the clever craftsmanship of the story-teller, but -you close the book with an empty feeling, as if you had listened to brilliant -anecdotes in a bachelors’ club. -</p> - -<p class="sign"> -K. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="AMYLOWELLSPOETRY"> -<a id="page-55" class="pagenum" title="55"></a> -Amy Lowell’s Poetry -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>Sword Blades and Poppy Seed, by Amy Lowell.</em> [<em>The Macmillan -Company, New York.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -In one of his letters, Byron says: “To withdraw myself from myself -has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.” -Such a confession seems strange coming from a poet, and it is a confession -of quite a different character which is written on every page of Miss Lowell’s -book of poems. There one finds in every line the expression of a -personality which tries to realize itself and succeeds in doing so. The unity -as well as the interest of the book is in this very development of a strong -personality, of which a new and original aspect is revealed in every poem. -</p> - -<p> -What charms us at once in this personality, and renders the reading -of the book a constant enchantment, is a most wonderful imagination—an -imagination at the same time creative and representative, rich, varied, overflowing -with images and themes. All that life and nature offer is the domain -of this imagination; it wakes up at the most unexpected moment and seizes -the unseen detail, giving us an idea of the wonderful wanderings through -which it must take the person fortunate enough to possess it. Now it is -a temple; now a church; now a beggar; a blue scarf; the distant notes of a -flute; or the nocturnal noises of a London street, which starts it on its way. -At other times we find the imagination at play with itself, so to speak, creating -out of nothing a historical or legendary atmosphere, or opening a philosophical -vista, as in <em>The Great Adventure of Max Breuck</em>, <em>The Basket</em>, or -the poem from which the book takes its name. Each one of these poems -(and several others also) has its own special atmosphere, precise in its complexity -and different from all the others. -</p> - -<p> -In the style itself, in the development of the subjects, one finds the -same quality. It seems as if the pen were too slow to note the multiple -images which offer themselves to the mind of the poet. They accumulate -themselves, sometimes, in a manner not unlike that of Victor Hugo, forming -long periods in which the idea is turned in all possible ways, presented -from all angles and in every natural or artificial light. -</p> - -<p> -It is not only the richness of the images, but their quality, which reveals -the power of Miss Lowell’s imagination. We all experience at every minute -of our lives an infinity of sensations of which we are more or less conscious. -It might almost be said that we are poets in exactly the measure that we -realize and enjoy our sensations. The real poet not only registers his sensations, -but is able to awaken in the mind of his readers the sudden recollection -of those visual or auditive impressions which have never before reached -his consciousness. This is what often delights us in <em>Sword Blades and -Poppy Seed</em>. It gratifies us to feel that we are able to understand these -<a id="page-56" class="pagenum" title="56"></a> -subtle comparisons, these curious and unexpected alliances of words, such -as those in the first poem of the book, where, to define certain shades of -porcelains the poet speaks -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Of lustres with so evanescent a sheen</p> - <p class="verse">Their colours are felt, but never seen.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -Also in the first poem entitled <em>Miscast</em>, where she speaks of her mind as -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">So keen, that it nicks off the floating fringes of passers-by,</p> - <p class="verse">So sharp, that the air would turn its edge</p> - <p class="verse">Were it to be twisted in flight.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -To help her imagination, Miss Lowell possesses a faculty which belongs -only to the happy few: the gift of words. The astonishing description of -arms and vases in the first poem is but one example, if one of the best, of -this rare gift. -</p> - -<p> -It is necessary also, in order to study thoroughly this interesting and -complex personality, to mention the great dramatic quality of some of the -long poems in the book. From that point of view, <em>The Great Adventure of -Max Breuck</em> seems to me the most interesting. And there is much to be -said of the sincerity and depth of sentiment in such poems as <em>A Gift</em>, <em>Stupidity</em>, -<em>Patience</em>, <em>Absence</em>. All these short poems have something unique -about them and constitute one of the greatest charms, and an important -part of the value, of the book. It is almost incredible that a little poem like -<em>Obligation</em>, for example, should contain such a world of thought and -restrained sentiment in its ten short lines. I have chosen this poem as the -type of this genre, because it characterizes perhaps better than any other -this very special trait of Miss Lowell’s talent: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Hold your apron wide</p> - <p class="verse">That I may pour my gifts into it,</p> - <p class="verse">So that scarcely shall your two arms hinder them</p> - <p class="verse">From falling to the ground.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">I would pour them upon you</p> - <p class="verse">And cover you,</p> - <p class="verse">For greatly do I feel this need</p> - <p class="verse">Of giving you something,</p> - <p class="verse">Even these poor things.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Dearest of my heart.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -There is, in these few lines, a simplicity so naive, a sincerity so complete, -and at the same time such an intensity of feeling, that we almost feel -while reading it as if we were composing it ourselves. And everybody -knows that this is the mark of genius. It is rare to attain such perfection -in thought and in form as we find in these short poems, which stand on their -stems, straight and pure, like wild flowers opening their hearts to the sun. -</p> - -<p> -I should like, in conclusion, to speak of the very new and effective -<a id="page-57" class="pagenum" title="57"></a> -attempts of the author in the free use of all possible rhythms. The preface -presents the author’s point of view, but I may add that she has been -especially skilful in the adaptation of the rhythms to the subjects, a thing -which requires great poetic tact and musical sense. To study this side of -the book would carry us too far, for to do it properly a long article written -especially on the subject would be necessary. -</p> - -<p> -To those who love poetry, and who are at the same time interested in -the progress of new schools, this book must be of the greatest value. -</p> - -<p class="sign"> -MAGDELAINE CARRET. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THEMANANDTHEARTIST"> -The Man and the Artist -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>Achievement, by E. Temple Thurston.</em> [<em>D. Appleton and -Company, New York.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -“Every man knows himself; but there are few women with all their -experience of men who act as if they knew anything about them.” “For it -is only in moments that men are dispassionate about women, while half their -lives through women are being dispassionate about men.” Why is it that -such glistening generalities prove invariably attractive to the “general -reader”? Perhaps the poor maligned g. r. fancies he is getting “tips” on -the values of his neighbors’ lives, or interminable “good leads” as to his -own adventures. Perhaps the fatuous distinctions merely tickle the sex-vanity. -Undoubtedly the same word-wisdom, offered in regard to mankind -and without the alluring distinction between man and woman, would secure -but half the attention. This attention seems no whit slackened if the generalities -are manifestly unfair by reason of their fealty to traditionalism, as -Mr. Thurston’s statements of this ilk are apt to be. -</p> - -<p> -The foregoing generality is not unfair to Mr. Thurston, since this -attractive bait is offered without stint in his latest novel <em>Achievement</em>. In -fact, the theme of the book is that ancient perennial among popular themes: -the conflict between a man and his loves; in this case finding its redemption -from the usual in that the protagonist is the man’s work rather than the -man. -</p> - -<p> -Yet, in spite of these sops to Cerberus, the book does not hold. It is -but another of the multiplying outputs of today which are interesting to -the critic alone, and to him only as a study in the pathology of the creative -instinct. The lay-reader will find himself nodding over the crucial scenes -or will lose his place time and again, if he persist in reading to the end. -If a sense of justice will not permit him to judge the whole by a part, his -persistence is tribute only to the undeniable sincerity of aim felt throughout -the work. A stronger tribute, of course, is the mere length of this review; -the fact, that is, that whatever of critic be in the reading mind is drawn -to reiterate questions and puzzle over their answer, as to the reason for the -<a id="page-58" class="pagenum" title="58"></a> -falling short of this novel from the better standards, manifestly striven -after. -</p> - -<p> -The reader who does concern himself, then, with <em>Achievement</em> will be -puzzled, perhaps irritated, by the insistent question: “But what is the -matter?” There is a certain mastery of words; there is honesty and sensitiveness -of treatment, to a degree beyond the usual; moreover, side by side -with the theme proper, is carried a sympathetic and reverent revelation -of the mind of a creative artist, in this case, a painter; a study alone sufficient -to redeem the work from the stigma of triteness. These qualities -should carry any novel into favor at least; might be expected to overshadow -the noticeable unevenness of work, astonishing in an author of E. Temple -Thurston’s apprenticeship. But the book fails to convince. The only lasting -impression it leaves is the question, “Why inadequate?” -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps the answer lies in the inadequacy of the theme itself. This -may be voiced, in both its major and minor keys, through Mr. Thurston’s -own words, “For as it is the tragedy of women when the romance of love -is gone from them, so it is the tragedy of men, when their work is done.” -Had the author juggled the words of that sentence a bit—had it read so: -“The realization that the romance of love has gone out from one’s life is -no more a tragedy than the instant when one knows that his work is done”; -could the author have conceived this theme, the subject of achievement -would have compelled a more worthy treatment. Had he been able to think -of women and men as alike potent, whether creators or lovers, then his -picture of the creator in Richard Furlong fertilized by the lover in him might -have been adequate. -</p> - -<p> -The greatest need of today is a pronoun of the common gender. It is -beginning to be recognized that the generation now growing up to face the -ultimate issues of living is one which will declare that spiritual experience -is basically an unsexed phenomenon. Woman of today has been heard to -declare that whatever charge can be made about man’s potentialities, even -his propensities, can be charged alike to the woman. This is no meaningless -attitude. Neither is it naive nor amusingly unscientific, when the young -girl of the future lifts her voice and sings out, “Before she is woman or -he is a man, man and woman are alike persons.” In this theorem, difficult -to word, lies the fertile germ of suffrage, feminism, suffragettism, militantism, -and all the other lifted voices of woman. -</p> - -<p> -No one of the women of Mr. Thurston’s portrayal is of value to herself -or to the lives about her, except as a woman, a slave or queen of man, his -toy or his inspiration, life’s parasite. The author would answer that he is -not attempting a study of woman, but of an artist achieving by means of -woman. None the less, if all the women who influence his artist were drawn -in as hunchbacks, we would resent the distorted picture, the hypothesis that -woman is essentially hunchbacked. Thus, since all the women in <em>Achievement</em> -are traditionally paralyzed women, we resent the generic theme of -<a id="page-59" class="pagenum" title="59"></a> -art under influence of womanhood. In order to receive serious audience -today, any portrayal of woman, indirectly or directly, must recognize that -there are genuine women as there are men, who live in terms of selfhood -rather than in terms of sex. -</p> - -<p> -The denouement is the usual stock company curtain. However, if -so many pistol shots per volume is a stipulation in the novelist’s contract, it -must be conceded him that his telling of the murder is admirably simple. A -more admirable simplicity is attained in the trenchant description of the -murderer’s psychology after the deed. The author is to be congratulated -for missing that “opportunity” for analysis, of which the usual fiction writer -spins chapter after chapter, morbid, a snare to catch cheap horror and pity, -a spider-web for flies. -</p> - -<p> -That the scene of the last two pages should have been written once is -regrettable. That these pages were not cut out hastily as soon as written -is unforgivable in an author who desires so profoundly to be in sympathy -with the artist who has achieved. -</p> - -<p class="sign"> -R. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="ETHELSIDGWICKSBOOKS"> -Ethel Sidgwick’s Books -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -[<em>Small, Maynard and Company, Boston.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -I cannot let another issue of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> go to press without -some mention of Ethel Sidgwick. Last year, with a sense of worship, I -read <em>Succession</em>, the second volume of a trilogy devoted to the story of a -boy-wonder violinist. To find such subtlety, such radiance, such art—to -find such music!—in a piece of fiction was an unforgettable experience. -Music has never been so richly treated in fiction—except in <em>Jean Christophe</em>, -which of course is the master work of the last years. I felt that I had -never comprehended any character so fully as I did little Antoine, and I -still feel that way. This year on Christmas day, as a sort of special celebration, -I read the first volume, <em>Promise</em>. It is just as interesting, though there -is not such a brilliant concentration of art in it. But isn’t there some way to -make these books known? They will never be popular; but it is tragic to think -of their not getting to the people who would value them. Their publishers -would far rather advertise their cheap fiction than to try to force Ethel -Sidgwick on a nation that does not demand good work of novelists. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="OXFORDANDGENIUS"> -<a id="page-60" class="pagenum" title="60"></a> -Oxford and Genius -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>Sinister Street, by Compton Mackenzie.</em> [<em>D. Appleton -and Company, New York.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -E. Temple Thurston attracted attention here before Compton Mackenzie -did, but the latter is as far ahead of him now as is Gilbert Canaan, whose -<em>Peter Homunculus</em> came out about the time of Thurston’s <em>City of Beautiful -Nonsense</em>. These three young Englishmen know how to write English -prose; Mackenzie and Canaan know how to tell big stories. <em>Sinister Street</em> -is much too important a book to be reviewed in less than three or four pages -at least. The first part of it tells of the modern man at Oxford—“a more -complete account of the mind of a young man of our day than has been -written previously in English, an account which presents some of the things -that Thackeray meant when he complained that his public would not permit -him to tell all he wished about Pendennis, and a good many more besides,” -as Lucien Cary has said. It is so extremely well done that the second part -of the volume—the hero’s reactions to life after Oxford—comes with a -sense of forced writing. Perhaps the war had something to do with it. -We shall try to review this book more at length later. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="MACHIAVELLIAN"> -“Without Machiavellian Subtlety” -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>The War and Culture, by John Cowper Powys.</em> [<em>G. Arnold -Shaw, New York.</em>] -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Among all the patriotic rubbish that has been heaped upon the book -market since the outbreak of the European war, Mr. Powys’s pamphlet -presents at least not dull reading. The brilliant lecturer unmasques the -underlying motives of German statesmen who have accepted Machiavellian -principles, “without acquiring Machiavellian subtlety.” He successfully -attacks Münsterberg and other apologists for the Fatherland, who endeavor -to present their country in the image of an innocent lamb dragged into the -bloody struggle by greedy barbarians. Mr. Powys’ mission is a negative -one, and there it ends. He falls flat as soon as he attempts to idealize and -to glorify the Allies. His speculation that the present war <a id="corr-29"></a>is a struggle of -ideas, of individualism versus state, of soul versus machine, is far fetched. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="THEREADERCRITIC"> -<a id="page-61" class="pagenum" title="61"></a> -The Reader Critic -</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="letters"> -<h3 class="section" id="MRPOWYSONDOSTOEVSKY"> -Mr. Powys on Dostoevsky -</h3> - -<p class="note"> -(<em>A reader sends us these jottings from one of Mr. Powys’s lectures.</em>) -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">S</span><span class="postfirstchar">hudders</span> of life.... -</p> - -<p> -I have only one thing to do—to bring you into a strange mass of palpable -darkness with something moving in it. Dostoevsky is really a great mass, -a volume, not a cloud nor a pillar of fire nor a puff of smoke, but a vast, -formless, shapeless mass of darkness, palpable and drawing you towards -itself. -</p> - -<p> -Reading him is dangerous because of the inherent sense of fear likely -to be accentuated in those who are a little mad and whose madness takes -on the form of fear. We go on a visit to a mad house, to hospitals with -Dostoevsky. But with him this whole world suddenly changes into a mad -house. It is all haunting mad houses and hospitals filled with us maniacs -of the particular fear we are subject to. -</p> - -<p> -(Life is all a running away—a distraction. We are running away when -we are talking, when we are making love—then more than ever, perhaps.) -</p> - -<p> -In Dostoevsky we suddenly realize that these Russians are ourselves. -If the religion, mysticism, liberalism, despotism they possess were only -Russian there are excellent books written by travellers in Russia for us to -read. But Dostoevsky is different. If I could but mesmerize you.... -It is like reading the gospels in childhood, being overrun and overthrown -by fate and then after one has lived meeting the words of the childhood -situations and making associations. -</p> - -<p> -I do not think of him as an artist, though he is a great one. You do -not <em>think</em> of him.... In ordinary life we suppress half the things and -more we might say. Vanity and fear are the ultimate things. In Dostoevsky -the people tug and scrape at one anothers’ vain nerves with adder’s poison. -He gives one the sensation of discovering one’s self and betraying one’s self. -He reveals as friends talking and discussing in the small hours of the -morning reveal themselves to one another. The talk may be a describing -of the animal functions of the human body. But in reality it is the psychic -tingling, electric vibrations which the physiological structure exerts upon -mind! Mind! Mind! Dostoevsky is interested in what people actually -feel. He is more with people who have written diaries than with so-called -realistic novelists. One gets from him a sense of perversion of human -imagination.... He is the most important of novelists; full of ripples -and vibrations of imagination. Everybody has imagination. The things -we do are nothing. Imagination is the only thing over which Will has no -power. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-62" class="pagenum" title="62"></a> -Nietzsche says that he got all his contemporary philosophy from -Dostoevsky. He got from him even his idea of the inner circle of aristocratic -souls who really rule the world, are themselves unhappy, and take with -others to places which they (these others) cannot enter. Dostoevsky thinks -that the secret of the world is in abandonment, perversion; Nietzsche in -harness, stiffness, the gay, the strong, the beautiful, aristocratic, dominant.... -Nietzsche with all his reality does not describe life as it is. Zarathustra -is a dream—impossible perhaps. But Dostoevsky does describe life. -Nietzsche’s man is absolutely alone—has his own hell. Dostoevsky’s has -that too, but in a different way. He gives the feeling of a third person -where two are alone. Do not think that Dostoevsky is a mystic. The -essential thing is that you have this sense of a third person to which genius -appeals. Dostoevsky is a stronger as well as a truer one than even Nietzsche -himself. -</p> - -<p> -Nietzsche is as a skater upon the ice, a dancer upon a tight rope who -remains a white, balanced figure on the surface. Dostoevsky plunges—into -a darkness full of voices. You must get there by a form of perversion. -Every one of his characters is incurably hurt. Nietzscheans harden their -hearts and live on the surface. All Dostoevsky people are weak. He thinks -that only out of weakness will redemption come; abandonment to every -emotion. In that he is Dionysian.... Dostoevsky I cannot put into -words. Perversion; Disease; God is Disease; God is Pain; Dostoevsky -depicts how Disease gives one illumination. We have an idea that we must -be well. Even Nietzsche says that. The Greeks said it ages ago. Dostoevsky -says “No; I offer you a new value.” He has a lust for fools—understands -the mania that people have of making fools of themselves. God is Folly; -God is Cruelty—perhaps an epicene God. -</p> - -<p> -Dostoevsky is a <a id="corr-30"></a>cerebralist. His specialty is imaginative reactions. All -the lusts that have stretched their wailing arms, all the hopes, all the goblins.... -In sex as in everything else people are not what they are doing; -they are in that vortex of what they imagine themselves. Dostoevsky -understands all that. Those frank-spoken people who think they know sex -are puritans on the other side. They have no imagination. -</p> - -<p> -We can overestimate what Dostoevsky has from Russia and not -attribute what he is to himself. Other Russians are Russians—Turgeniev, -Tolstoy, Andreyev, Chekhov, Gorky—but they are not as big as he is; -perhaps they are more of the broader stamp. -</p> - -<p> -... Constance Garnett’s translations are masterpieces. The French -are too artistic to translate Dostoevsky.... No one can approach -Dostoevsky in creating a saint. Russia as the spiritual bringer-back of the -world to Christianity—this runs through his works. He is <em>the</em> Christian. -His books are full of translations from Scripture. He understands the -underlying psychology of the gospels. Nietzsche said that putting the gospels -with the art of the Old Testament was a crime in the name of Art. The -Old Testament is undoubtedly finer art, but the New is psychology—masterly. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="VERSLIBREANDCOMMONSENSE"> -<a id="page-63" class="pagenum" title="63"></a> -VERS LIBRE AND COMMON SENSE -</h3> - -<p class="from"> -<em>Clinton Masseck, St. Louis</em>: -</p> - -<p> -<em>Vers Libre</em> has no inconsiderable tradition in English verse, as Mr. Arthur Ficke -has recently pointed out in THE LITTLE REVIEW. Its progress in French poetry, -particularly among modern writers, is familiar to all students. And if we were inclined -to forget or to forgive Whitman (meaning in politer terms to accept him and -his followers), the recent verse of the Imagiste group and such writers as Miss Amy -Lowell and Mr. Max Bodenheim in our own midst would be likely to force our attention -to this interesting form—if I may employ this word in no paradoxical sense. -</p> - -<p> -But <em>vers libre</em> is of the moment—new, if you will, in its present appeal. Its modern -themes, its unique figures of speech, its wide practice, both in this country and in -England, mark it as a new movement, or at least a new <a id="corr-31"></a>recrudescence. -</p> - -<p> -Anything new invites attack; anything new in literature perhaps warrants attack. -If it can stand the test, by just such a token, it is worth consideration. But there are -those to whom the new is always a thing to be attacked—because it is new, because it -is inexplicable according to their own canons of emotion and intellect. Francis Jeffrey, -with his famous caption on Wordsworth, “This will never do,” has his echo, futile -and otherwise, in every generation of critics. And so we have Mr. Llewellyn Jones, -in the January issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW, sending up his protest against <em>vers -libre</em> in general and Mr. Bodenheim in particular. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Jones is markedly distressed. If he were not so much in earnest and so -decently—or indecently—polite, so “suedy,” so suave, even scholastic in his handling, -he might be amusing. He is also distinctly pugnacious and, as most pugnacious people -are inclined to be, he is curiously inconsistent. -</p> - -<p> -In fact, it is a little difficult to determine why Mr. Jones cannot accept Bodenheim. -(He is guilty of reading Meredith, “popularly supposed to be obscure.”) Because our -poet writes of “a world of growing sieves, slim squares, powdered souls, cool, colorless -struggles, the obstetrical adventures of white throats, and green and yellow dins,” and -because Mr. Jones, in the smallness of his soul or environment, has never been able -to concoct or to conceive of poetry couched in this garb—let us grant the idea behind -it—he straightway announces “This will never do.” Wordsworth, after being so thoroughly -“sieved” by the critics, still lives; the divine essence of romanticism was not -killed by Jeffrey and his thunder-pellet phrase. Courage, Mr. Bodenheim! -</p> - -<p> -Yet in a really admirable paragraph of summary as to the function of poetry and -the relation of a poet to his audience, Mr. Jones lays down the dictum that “the poet -sees the world as we do not see it. Consequently, he can put a new complexion on it -for us. The world is pluralistic, and so are we. Intellectually we may be of the twentieth -century, but emotionally we may be born out of our due season. Then let the -poet of that due season mediate to us the emotional life that we need.... By -his aid alone we may get outside of our own skins and into the very heart of the -world.” -</p> - -<p> -The last words of this statement are peculiarly significant in this connection. “By -his aid alone we may get outside of our skins into the very heart of the world.” What -is the heart of the world? I do not know it all, emotionally or intellectually, although -if I were to trust one of these endowments in order to render judgment upon poetry, -I should choose the first. On the other hand, Mr. Jones does not know the entire -heart of the world; nor does Mr. Bodenheim. But we may each of us know some -little corner of this heart that the other does not or cannot ever know. For some of -us poetry remains but the supreme expression of mere external beauty, for others the -expression in consummate form of a purely intellectual process; to others poetry is a -weapon wherewith to pierce the veil of externality and to expose the hidden but the -real reality. The late William James once declared that we were standing on the -<a id="page-64" class="pagenum" title="64"></a> -verge of new discoveries in feeling and knowledge; that just beyond us lies a world -of new adjustments and new experiences. Of course, in this instance, James had -reference to our new appreciation and estimate of the value of mysticism in the judgment -of certain phases of religious experiences. But the thing holds true even in -poetry; the line between the poet and the mystic has yet to be drawn. I, for one, should -not want to think myself incapable of enlarging either my soul or my appreciation. -If anybody can show me whether in new terms or not a hitherto unsuspected and -unknown aspect of beauty, I shall be content to accept that person. I would go further; -I should be very thankful that I had obtained a new point of view with which to -regulate both my emotions and my intellect. -</p> - -<p> -I, for one, saw and felt and appreciated the appeal of the much-discussed “sieve” -poem. To be sure, along with Mr. Jones, I had previously thought of a sieve only in -relation to ashes and garden earth—and even of that “little triangular sieve that fits -into kitchen sinks.” But if some one can come along and convince me that this -hitherto vulgar and despised implement has inherent in it the possibilities of metaphysical -development, and that a certain person can be likened to a sieve, why, then -I have learned a new aspect of beauty. -</p> - -<p> -And hence, it would seem to me that Mr. Bodenheim has fulfilled every single -requirement that Mr. Jones has put upon the poet. And the only reason Mr. Jones -cannot appreciate these little poems is because, intellectually and emotionally, he is -“born out of due season.” -</p> - -<p> -After all, “All art is convention.” The Alaskan Indian, with his grotesque—to us—totem -poles, cannot understand the smooth and plastic strength of much of classic -sculpture. The African Negro, with his Campbell-soup-can earrings and his Connecticut-made -<a id="page-65" class="pagenum" title="65"></a> -curtain ring bracelets, cannot appreciate the effect of simple unadornment. -Yet in any case the point of view, the impelling instinct that leads toward -beauty, is the same for any person, any race, any civilization. Let us be honest and -admit this. Let us sincerely seek and discover the philosophy that guides every new -movement, whether in fashion or food or poetry. -</p> - -<p> -Yet it seems to me that we are too prone to accept poetry and to judge it from a -too utilitarian point of view. We would make it stand the same test that we apply -to religion, to household furnaces, and other things that have been long tried. We ask -ourselves when some new manifestation of it arises: “Will it do the trick? Will it -comfort and warm and sustain us in the way that we have been accustomed to being -<a id="page-66" class="pagenum" title="66"></a> -comforted, warmed, and sustained by that which has already been accepted?” Yet -if a new form discovers a new idea, if it tears away the covering with rough and -clumsy hands in order to show the emotions, a fresh significance or a bold interpretation, -we jump back in terror and horror. -</p> - -<p> -So it is with <em>vers libre</em> at the present moment. Because it shows us new things, -and a new and perhaps at times an awkward manner, critics fed on the diluted sentimentality -of Longfellow—or even the classic and obscure Meredith—revolt. Eventually -they will accept it; they must. Those that are not fools must remember that history -repeats itself; that to cite but a recent instance, Manet and Monet and Sisley, in painting, -are accepted where forty-five years ago they were characterized as fools and -madmen. After time has crystalized the unusual into the conventional, and the crystals -are as common and as pretty as only time and much practice can make them, the -critic, along with the man in the street, will be content to partake and to appreciate. -It will be then too late; what was once unique and rare will be common and banally -uninteresting; a new awakening will then take place, and once more the world will -witness the same absurd attack of the critics. -</p> - -<p> -In this connection, in our future judgment of <em>vers libre</em>, let us recall the wise and -simple words of R. A. M. Stevenson: “The test of a new thing is not utility, which -may appear at any moment like a shoot with the first favouring breath of spring. The -test is the kind and amount of human feeling and intellect put into the work. Could -any fool do it? Now, in this matter of depicting truth, there are eyesights of all -grades and breadth, of grandeur, of subtlety, and art has more than the delicacy of a -tripos examination in tailing out as in a footrace all the talents and capabilities of the -competitors.” -</p> - -<p> -Go to it, Mr. Bodenheim! -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="ads chapter"> -<p class="h1 adh"> -SCRIBNER PLAYS -</p> - -<p class="h2 u adh"> -PLAYS<br /> -BY<br /> -LEONID<br /> -ANDREYEFF -</p> - -<p class="u c adb"> -The Life of Man<br /> -The Sabine Women<br /> -The Black Maskers -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -Translated from the Russian, -with an Introduction, by <span class="smallcaps">F. -N. Scott</span> and <span class="smallcaps">C. L. 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Each with -frontispiece -</p> - -<p class="h3 adh"> -SECOND SERIES -</p> - -<p> -“Love and Geography,” “Beyond -Human Might,” “Laboremus.” -</p> - -<p class="h3 adh"> -FIRST SERIES -</p> - -<p> -“The New System,” “The Gauntlet,” “Beyond -Our Power.” -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -<em>Each, $1.50 net; postage extra</em> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Plays by August Strindberg -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -Translated from the Swedish, with Introductions, -by <span class="smallcaps">Edwin Björkman</span> -</p> - -<p class="h3 adh"> -FIRST SERIES -</p> - -<p> -“The Dream Play,” “The Link,” “The Dance -of Death.” -</p> - -<p class="h3 adh"> -SECOND SERIES -</p> - -<p> -“Creditors,” “Pariah,” “Miss Julia,” “The -Stronger,” “There Are Crimes and Crimes.” -</p> - -<p class="h3 adh"> -THIRD SERIES -</p> - -<p> -“Advent,” “Simoom,” “Swanwhite,” “Debit and -Credit,” “The Thunderstorm,” “After the Fire.” -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -<em>Each, $1.50 net; postage extra</em> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Half Hours -</p> - -<p class="ada"> -<span class="smallcaps">By J. 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Of “The Duel,” (formerly -“The Point of Honor”) Mr. Curle, in his critical work on Joseph Conrad writes: -</p> - -<p class="s"> -“It is a work of wide imaginative impulse—a wonderful reconstruction of the Napoleonic atmosphere. As a -sustained effort in Conrad’s sardonic later style it is unmatched.” -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -<em>Now Ready in the “Deep Sea” Limp Leather Edition of Conrad. Net, $1.50; in cloth, net, $1.35</em> -</p> - -<p class="h2 adh"> -Other Volumes in the “Deep Sea Edition” of Conrad -</p> - - <div class="chance fr"> -<div class="centerpic"> -<img src="images/chance.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p> -Bound in rich sea-blue limp leather -</p> - - </div> -<p class="adb"> -Chance -</p> - -<p> -“‘Chance’ is a book that could have -been written by no one but a master—a -book which it is well nigh a duty for every -lover of good writing to read.”—<span class="smallcaps">Basil -King</span>, author of “The Inner Shrine,” etc. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Youth -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -<em>Contains “Youth,” “Heart -of Darkness,” and “End of -the Tether.”</em> -</p> - -<p> -“To read it is in some sense to live -again, and that, I think, is the highest -praise that can be laid upon a work of the -imagination.”—<span class="smallcaps">Henry L. Mencken.</span> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Lord Jim -</p> - -<p> -“‘Lord Jim’ is the greatest psychological -study of cowardice that I have ever -read.”—<span class="smallcaps">David Belasco.</span> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -The Nigger of the Narcissus -</p> - -<p> -“The sea, in his hands, fades to a background—sometimes -smooth and blue—sometimes -white and furious—but always -a background against which are -silhouetted the haunting figures in which -he interprets man’s endless struggle.”—Chicago -<em>Evening Post</em>. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -’Twixt Land and Sea -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -AND TWO OTHER SEA STORIES -</p> - -<p> -“Mr. Conrad has never painted more -vivid scenes of nature or looked more -deeply into the hearts of his characters -than in this moving book.”—<em>The Outlook.</em> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Almayer’s Folly, and -An Outcast of the Islands -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -<em>Mr. Conrad’s first and second novels</em> -</p> - -<p> -“The figures in these books live for us, -and above and beyond them are the -power of presentment, the marvellous -faculty for the absolute creation of atmosphere, -the genius for description, and -the individual, finished style which these, -Mr. Conrad’s earliest works, display.”—Sir -<span class="smallcaps">Hugh Clifford</span>, K.C.M.G., in the -<em>North American Review</em>. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Falk -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -<em>Contains “Falk,” “Amy Foster,” -and “To-morrow.”</em> -</p> - -<p> -“‘Falk’ leaves one inclined to declare -that the writing of that one story would -be sufficient to place him among the immortals.”—<em>New -York Times.</em> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Typhoon -</p> - -<p> -“To read a story like ‘Typhoon’ is to -undergo an almost physical experience. -It is unforgettable, even as the experience -it pictures and interprets must be unforgettable.”—<span class="smallcaps">Hildegarde -Hawthorne.</span> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Romance -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -(<em>With</em> <span class="smallcaps">Ford Madox Hueffer</span>) -</p> - -<p> -“‘Romance’ is indeed a work of blazing -imagination. It is a sheer novel of -adventure, and the glory of it lies in its -color and shifting lights.”—<span class="smallcaps">Richard -Curle</span>, in “Joseph Conrad.” -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -Each Volume, Net, $1.50. Set of Eleven Volumes, Boxed, Net, $16.50 -</p> - -<p class="ade"> -Published by DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY Garden City, N. Y. -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="ads chapter"> -<a id="page-73" class="pagenum" title="73"></a> -<p class="h1 adh"> -Published February Sixth, 1915 -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Carranza and Mexico -</p> - -<p class="ada"> -by CARLO DE FORNARO -</p> - -<p> -“Carranza and Mexico” tells the story of the Mexican revolt during the last three -years—the true story of the fifteen million peons who are making history, breaking -tradition and waging a vigorous battle for liberty and common justice. -</p> - -<p> -To the student of sociological problems, Mexico is probably the most fascinating -spot in the universe. Its problem is so complicated that very few people indeed know -what the trouble really is about. Mr. Fornaro does. He has lived for a long time in -Mexico, and his book, which tells of the overthrow of Madero, the campaign against -Huerta, Wilson’s Mexican Policy, and other matters of immediate interest, is the -result of a labor extending over a period of ten years. -</p> - -<p class="r adp"> -<em>With Illustrations and Map, $1.25</em> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Creation -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -<em>Post Impressionist Poems</em> -</p> - -<p class="ada"> -By Horace Holey -</p> - -<p> -This is a notable volume -of verse, called “Post Impressionist,” -because in -spirit it is based upon a -warm sympathy for the -art of the greater Post-Impressionists. -Symmetric -form is disregarded -for the more characteristically -modern effects of -rhythm. -</p> - -<p> -It is distinguished -throughout by clear convinced -thought, strong -and definite emotion and -a fine mastery of rhythmic -phrase. It is not passionate -in the romantic -sense—that is, the thought -is not a mere decoration -of the mood, but it certainly -is passionate in the -sense that thought and -emotion are continually -welded together by the -white heat of personal -conviction. -</p> - -<p class="r adp"> -<em>75 cents</em> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -The -Primal Law -</p> - -<p class="ads"> -<em>A Novel</em> -</p> - -<p class="ada"> -By ISABEL OSTRANDER -</p> - -<p> -An engrossing story of a woman’s way -through the third decade of her life—and of -the various men with whom she comes in -contact. Ben Donahue, a fellow mill-worker -in a small New England town; Marcus -Beeman, the salesman who takes her to New -York; Frank Kelly, the famous horse-trainer -with whom she sees Saratoga, Paris, London -and Dublin; Baron Georges Iverskoi of Russia, -whose companion she is in Biarritz, -Monte-Carlo, Aix, Trouville, Rome, Ostende -and other places; Captain Cecil Cope-Herrington; -Senor Delvajo, the Spanish painter; -Richard Dangerfield, the American sculptor, -whose career her love unwittingly ruins—these -are but a few of the characters that -are intimately pictured in these pages. “The -Primal Law” presents a rare panorama of -the cosmopolitan life that the European War -has now brought abruptly to an end. And -withal, it is a book written with a serious underlying -motive. -</p> - -<p class="r adp"> -<em>$1.35</em> -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -The World of -H. G. Wells -</p> - -<p class="ada"> -By Van Wyck Brooks -</p> - -<p> -Certainly no writer has -of late been more in the -public eye than H. G. -Wells. It is high time, -therefore, that a complete -and trenchant study of -his work and personality -in all their various phases -should be published. And -that is just what Mr. -Brooks has written. To -his task he has brought -rare gifts of analysis and -synthesis, together with -no little charm. The result -is a book which will -be welcomed as one of the -most informative and interesting -in critical literature. -A clear understanding -of H. G. Wells is -imperative for all thoughtful -men and women, and -no more appropriate time -than the present could be -found for issuing a book -that fully satisfies that -need. -</p> - -<p class="r adp"> -<em>$1.25</em> -</p> - -<p class="h2 adh"> -MITCHELL KENNERLEY’S RAILROAD NOVELS -</p> - -<p> -Most people when they are traveling like to read—nothing heavy or too serious—but a good yarn that -will amuse and interest them. To supply just this want I have started my series of “Railroad Novels.” -Each volume is a rattling tale, well told, and the books are printed in large type on light paper, and bound -in limp cloth. They will fit most pockets, and weigh very little. They are uniform in appearance and price. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -Can a Man Be True? -</p> - -<p class="ada"> -By WINIFRED GRAHAM -</p> - -<p> -A good old-fashioned tale of adventure and intrigue, which in some ways recalls “The Prisoner of -Zenda,” and the romances of the great Dumas. The sort of story that is passing now, but which every -one enjoys once in a while. No sex, no problem, but lots of plot and counterplot and excitement. A -book that may be read and enjoyed by every member of the family. -</p> - -<p class="r adp"> -<em>$1.00</em> -</p> - -<p class="ade"> -MITCHELL KENNERLEY PUBLISHER NEW YORK -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="ads chapter"> -<a id="page-74" class="pagenum" title="74"></a> -<p class="h1 adh"> -Books By Havelock Ellis -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Ellis is one of the most distinguished psychologists, and men of -letters in the world today. He is a scientist with a vision and a sense of -humor, a traveler who sees below the surface, and a scholar who has read -and digested a great part of the world’s literature without becoming a pedant. -To readers of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> who are not familiar with his work we -confidently recommend any of the four books below. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -IMPRESSIONS AND COMMENTS -</p> - -<p> -“A book of random observations, thoughts, and half-thoughts, crotchets, -hobbies, guesses, and whims. One day Mr. Ellis muses over a drunken -woman and on another he descants on the evolution of furniture, having -in the meanwhile declared his taste in architecture, the women of Normandy, -the ugliness of modern civilization, and the music of Franck and -Elgar, and his opinion of the devil, Cornishmen, George Meredith, Raphael, -Gaby Deslys, war, and nakedness.” -</p> - -<p class="r"> -F. M. Colby in The North American Review. -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -$1.50 net. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -THE TASK OF SOCIAL HYGIENE -</p> - -<p> -A discussion of the changing status of woman, the emancipation of woman -in relation to romantic love, the significance of the falling birth-rate, and -other aspects of sex and society. “It is an inspiring and reassuring volume, -which deserves not one but several readings from everyone who takes anything -more than a predatory interest in the social organism.” -</p> - -<p class="r"> -Waldo R. Browne in the Chicago Dial. -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -$2.50 net. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -THE WORLD OF DREAMS -</p> - -<p> -A scholarly, yet entertaining study of just the peculiarities and curiosities -of the world of dreams which everybody has wondered at. It describes -them with the vividness and fantastic imagery which combine so charmingly -in Kipling’s “The Brushwood Boy,” and at the same time interprets them -in the light of a psychologist’s special knowledge. -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -$2.00 net. -</p> - -<p class="adb"> -THE SOUL OF SPAIN -</p> - -<p> -This brilliant volume on the romance, the woman, the art, the dancing, -and the gardens of Spain, and especially on the Spanish character, is probably -the most illuminating as well as the most readable interpretation of this inscrutable -people in literature. -</p> - -<p class="adp"> -With photogravure frontispiece, $2.00 net. -</p> - -<p class="c"> -Order at your bookstore or direct from the publishers -</p> - -<p class="ade"> -4 Park Street <span class="larger">HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</span> Boston -</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 original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors -were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here (before/after): -</p> - - - -<ul> - -<li> -... of good tidings and love <span class="underline">leant</span> for the redemption of the many through the ...<br /> -... of good tidings and love <a href="#corr-1"><span class="underline">lent</span></a> for the redemption of the many through the ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... <span class="underline">Hallow</span> caverns of cool blue shadow, ...<br /> -... <a href="#corr-2"><span class="underline">Hollow</span></a> caverns of cool blue shadow, ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... to the <span class="underline">descredit</span> of some of those most noisy in demanding the right. The ...<br /> -... to the <a href="#corr-5"><span class="underline">discredit</span></a> of some of those most noisy in demanding the right. The ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... Unbidden and <span class="underline">unwarmed</span> she takes us up in the round of her Dance and sweeps along with us, until exhausted we fall from her Arms. ...<br /> -... Unbidden and <a href="#corr-6"><span class="underline">unwarned</span></a> she takes us up in the round of her Dance and sweeps along with us, until exhausted we fall from her Arms. ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... If she gives another Need—then it is a new source of Desire; but soon she <span class="underline">come</span> to Equipoise. ...<br /> -... If she gives another Need—then it is a new source of Desire; but soon she <a href="#corr-7"><span class="underline">comes</span></a> to Equipoise. ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> - (multiple cases)<br /> -... von <span class="underline">Rezñicek</span>. This was the pièce de resistance at the evening concert. ...<br /> -... von <a href="#corr-8"><span class="underline">Reznicek</span></a>. This was the pièce de resistance at the evening concert. ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... first violins, sixteen second violins, twelve violas, ten <span class="underline">violincellos</span>, eight double ...<br /> -... first violins, sixteen second violins, twelve violas, ten <a href="#corr-9"><span class="underline">violoncellos</span></a>, eight double ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> - (multiple cases)<br /> -... existence. A compound essentially of Tod und <span class="underline">Verkläring</span>, Tyll Eulenspiegel ...<br /> -... existence. A compound essentially of Tod und <a href="#corr-11"><span class="underline">Verklärung</span></a>, Tyll Eulenspiegel ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... Tod und Verkläring deprives <span class="underline">Schlëmihl</span> of any greater claim than that. ...<br /> -... Tod und Verklärung deprives <a href="#corr-15"><span class="underline">Schlemihl</span></a> of any greater claim than that. ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... (<span class="underline">Solvieg’s</span> Lied) ...<br /> -... (<a href="#corr-16"><span class="underline">Solveigs</span></a> Lied) ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... favor with his countrymen by editing <span class="underline">Der</span> Vaterland, although before that ...<br /> -... favor with his countrymen by editing <a href="#corr-18"><span class="underline">Das</span></a> Vaterland, although before that ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... to glorify the Allies. His speculation that the present war <span class="underline">as</span> a struggle of ...<br /> -... to glorify the Allies. His speculation that the present war <a href="#corr-29"><span class="underline">is</span></a> a struggle of ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... Dostoevsky is a <span class="underline">celebralist</span>. His specialty is imaginative reactions. All ...<br /> -... Dostoevsky is a <a href="#corr-30"><span class="underline">cerebralist</span></a>. His specialty is imaginative reactions. All ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... England, mark it as a new movement, or at least a new <span class="underline">recrusence</span>. ...<br /> -... England, mark it as a new movement, or at least a new <a href="#corr-31"><span class="underline">recrudescence</span></a>. ...<br /> -</li> -</ul> -</div> - - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, FEBRUARY 1915 (VOL. 1, NO. 11) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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