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padding: 1px 4px 1px 4px; - display: inline; } - -div.centerpic { text-align:center; text-indent:0; display:block; } -img { max-width:50%; } -div.centerpic.bent { max-width:40%; } -div.centerpic.bent img { max-width:100%; } - -@media handheld { - body { margin-left:0; margin-right:0; } - div.frontmatter { max-width:inherit; } - - div.poem-container div.poem { display:block; margin-left:2em; } - div.poem-container div.tabulated { display:block; margin-left:2em; } - div.editorials { border:0; padding:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } - div.excerpt { font-size:1em; margin-left:2em; } - - div.ads { max-width:inherit; border:0; border-top:1px solid black; padding:0; - padding-top:0.5em; } - - div.ads div.ib { clear:both; display:block; } - - a.pagenum { display:none; } - a.pagenum:after { display:none; } - - .trnote { margin:0; } - - span.firstchar { clear:left; float:left; } - div.ads .fl { float:left; } - 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, April 1916 (Vol. 3, No. 2), 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, April 1916 (Vol. 3, No. 2)</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</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: January 15, 2023 [eBook #69805]</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.</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, APRIL 1916 (VOL. 3, NO. 2) ***</div> - -<div class="frontmatter chapter"> -<h1 class="title"> -<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> -</h1> - -<p class="subt"> -<em>Literature</em> <em>Drama</em> <em>Music</em> <em>Art</em> -</p> - -<p class="ed"> -<span class="line1">MARGARET C. ANDERSON</span><br /> -<span class="line2">EDITOR</span> -</p> - -<p class="issue"> -APRIL, 1916 -</p> - - <div class="table"> -<table class="tocn" summary=""> -<tbody> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#FOURPOEMS">Four Poems:</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Carl Sandburg</em></td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#GONE">Gone</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#GRAVES">Graves</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#CHOICES">Choices</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#CHILDOFTHEROMANS">Child of the Romans</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#PORTRAIT">Portrait of Carl Sandburg</a></td> - <td class="col2">by Elizabeth Buehrmann</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#DREISER">Dreiser</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Sherwood Anderson</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#TOJOHNCOWPERPOWYS">To John Cowper Powys</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Arthur Davison Ficke</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#ALETTERFROMLONDON">A Letter from London</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Ezra Pound</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#ASORROWFULDEMON">A Sorrowful Demon</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Alexander S. Kaun</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THEPOETSPEAKS">The Poet Speaks</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Margaret C. Anderson</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#POEMS">Poems:</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Elizabeth Gibson Cheyne</em></td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THECRY">The Cry</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THEEXCUSE">The Excuse</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr class="i"> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THECROSS">The Cross</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#WHATTHEN">What Then—?</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>R. G.</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#GERMANPOETRY">German Poetry</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>William Saphier</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#ANISAIAHWITHOUTACHRIST">An Isaiah Without a Christ</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Charles Zwaska</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#ANNOUNCEMENTS">Announcements</a></td> - <td class="col2"> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#FLAMINGODREAMS">Flamingo Dreams</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Lupo de Braila</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#NEWYORKLETTER">New York Letter</a></td> - <td class="col2"><em>Allan Ross Macdougall</em></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#THETHEATRE">The Theatre</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> - <tr> - <td class="col1"><a href="#AVERSLIBREPRIZECONTEST">Vers Libre Prize Contest</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. III -</p> - -<p class="issue"> -APRIL, 1916 -</p> - -<p class="number"> -NO. 2 -</p> - - </div> - </div> -<p class="cop"> -Copyright, 1916, by Margaret C. Anderson -</p> - -</div> - -<h2 class="article1" id="FOURPOEMS"> -Four Poems -</h2> - -<p class="aut"> -CARL SANDBURG -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="GONE"> -Gone -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Everybody loved Chick Lorimer in our town.</p> - <p class="verse5">Far off</p> - <p class="verse3">Everybody loved her.</p> - <p class="verse">So we all love a wild girl keeping a hold</p> - <p class="verse3">On a dream she wants.</p> - <p class="verse">Nobody knows now where Chick Lorimer went.</p> - <p class="verse">Nobody knows why she packed her trunk: a few old things</p> - <p class="verse">And is gone....</p> - <p class="verse5">Gone with her little chin</p> - <p class="verse5">Thrust ahead of her</p> - <p class="verse5">And her soft hair blowing careless</p> - <p class="verse5">From under a wide hat,</p> - <p class="verse">Dancer, singer, a laughing passionate lover.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Were there ten men or a hundred hunting Chick?</p> - <p class="verse">Were there five men or fifty with aching hearts?</p> - <p class="verse3">Everybody loved Chick Lorimer.</p> - <p class="verse7">Nobody knows where she’s gone.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="GRAVES"> -<a id="page-2" class="pagenum" title="2"></a> -Graves -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">I dreamed one man stood against a thousand,</p> - <p class="verse">One man damned as a wrongheaded fool.</p> - <p class="verse">One year and another he walked the streets,</p> - <p class="verse">And a thousand shrugs and hoots</p> - <p class="verse">Met him in the shoulders and mouths he passed.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse3">He died alone</p> - <p class="verse">And only the undertaker came to his funeral.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Flowers grow over his grave anod in the wind,</p> - <p class="verse">And over the graves of the thousand, too,</p> - <p class="verse">The flowers grow anod in the wind.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse3">Flowers and the wind,</p> - <p class="verse">Flowers anod over the graves of the dead,</p> - <p class="verse">Petals of red, leaves of yellow, streaks of white,</p> - <p class="verse">Masses of purple sagging ...</p> - <p class="verse">I love you and your great way of forgetting.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="CHOICES"> -Choices -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">They offer you many things,</p> - <p class="verse3">I a few.</p> - <p class="verse">Moonlight on the play of fountains at night</p> - <p class="verse">With water sparkling a drowsy monotone,</p> - <p class="verse">Bare-shouldered, smiling women and talk</p> - <p class="verse">And a cross-play of loves and adulteries</p> - <p class="verse">And a fear of death</p> - <p class="verse4">and a remembering of regrets:</p> - <p class="verse">All this they offer you.</p> - <p class="verse">I come with:</p> - <p class="verse3">salt and bread</p> - <p class="verse3">a terrible job of work</p> - <p class="verse3">and tireless war;</p> - <p class="verse">Come and have now:</p> - <p class="verse3">hunger</p> - <p class="verse3">danger</p> - <p class="verse3">and hate.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="centerpic" id="PORTRAIT"> -<a id="page-3" class="pagenum" title="3"></a><img src="images/003.jpg" alt="" /> -<p class="u cap"> -Carl Sandburg<br /> -<em>From a silhouette photograph by Elizabeth Buehrmann</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="CHILDOFTHEROMANS"> -<a id="page-4" class="pagenum" title="4"></a> -Child of the Romans -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The dago shovelman sits by the railroad track</p> - <p class="verse">Eating a noon meal of bread and bologna.</p> - <p class="verse2">A train whirls by and men and women at tables</p> - <p class="verse2">Alive with red roses and yellow jonquils,</p> - <p class="verse2">Eat steaks running with brown gravy,</p> - <p class="verse2">Strawberries and cream, eclairs and coffee.</p> - <p class="verse">The dago shovelman finishes the dry bread and bologna,</p> - <p class="verse">Washes it down with a dipper from the water-boy</p> - <p class="verse">And goes back to the second half of a ten-hour day’s work,</p> - <p class="verse">Keeping the road-bed so the roses and jonquils</p> - <p class="verse">Shake hardly at all in the cut glass vases</p> - <p class="verse">Standing slender on the tables in the dining cars.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="DREISER"> -<a id="page-5" class="pagenum" title="5"></a> -Dreiser -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -SHERWOOD ANDERSON -</p> - -<div class="epi"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse"><em>Heavy, heavy, hangs over thy head.</em></p> - <p class="verse"><em>Fine, or <a id="corr-2"></a>superfine.</em></p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">heodore</span> Dreiser is old—he is very, very old. I do not know -how many years he has lived, perhaps thirty, perhaps fifty, but he is -very old. Something gray and bleak and hurtful that has been in the world -almost forever is personified in him. -</p> - -<p> -When Dreiser is gone we shall write books, many of them. In the -books we write there will be all of the qualities Dreiser lacks. We shall -have a sense of humor, and everyone knows Dreiser has no sense of humor. -More than that we shall have grace, lightness of touch, dreams of beauty -bursting through the husks of life. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, we who follow him shall have many things that Dreiser does not -have. That is a part of the wonder and the beauty of Dreiser, the things -that others will have because of Dreiser. -</p> - -<p> -When he was editor of <em>The Delineator</em>, Dreiser went one day, with -a woman friend, to visit an orphans’ asylum. The woman told me the -story of that afternoon in the big, gray building with Dreiser, heavy and -lumpy and old, sitting on a platform and watching the children—the terrible -children—all in their little uniforms, trooping in. -</p> - -<p> -“The tears ran down his cheeks and he shook his head,” the woman -said. That is a good picture of Dreiser. He is old and he does not know -what to do with life, so he just tells about it as he sees it, simply and -honestly. The tears run down his cheeks and he shakes his head. -</p> - -<p> -Heavy, heavy, the feet of Theodore. How easy to pick his books -to pieces, to laugh at him. Thump, thump, thump, here he comes, Dreiser, -heavy and old. -</p> - -<p> -The feet of Dreiser are making a path for us, the brutal heavy feet. -They are tramping through the wilderness, making a path. Presently -the path will be a street, with great arches overhead and delicately carved -spires piercing the sky. Along the street will run children, shouting -“Look at me”—forgetting the heavy feet of Dreiser. -</p> - -<p> -The men who follow Dreiser will have much to do. Their road is -long. But because of Dreiser, we, in America, will never have to face the -road through the wilderness, the road that Dreiser faced. -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse"><em>Heavy, heavy, hangs over thy head.</em></p> - <p class="verse"><em>Fine, or superfine.</em></p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="TOJOHNCOWPERPOWYS"> -<a id="page-6" class="pagenum" title="6"></a> -To John Cowper Powys, on His “Confessions” -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="I"> -I. -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Old salamander basking in the fire,</p> - <p class="verse1">Winking your lean tongue at a coal or two,</p> - <p class="verse">Lolling amid the maelstroms of desire,</p> - <p class="verse1">And envying the lot of none or few—</p> - <p class="verse">Old serpent alien to the human race,</p> - <p class="verse1">Immune to poison, apples, and the rest,</p> - <p class="verse">Examining like a microbe each new face</p> - <p class="verse1">And pawing, passionless, each novel breast—</p> - <p class="verse">Admirer of God and of the Devil,</p> - <p class="verse1">Hater of Heaven, Purgatory, and Hell,</p> - <p class="verse">Skeptic of good, more skeptic yet of evil—</p> - <p class="verse1">Knowing the sick soul sounder than the well—</p> - <p class="verse">We mortals send you greeting from afar—</p> - <p class="verse1">How very like a human being you are!</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="II"> -II. -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Impenetrably isolate you stand,</p> - <p class="verse1">Tickling the world with a long-jointed straw.</p> - <p class="verse">Lazy as Behemoth, your thoughts demand</p> - <p class="verse1">No cosmic plan to satisfy your maw;</p> - <p class="verse">But as the little shining gnats buzz by</p> - <p class="verse1">You eat the brightest and spit out the rest,</p> - <p class="verse">Then streak your front with ochre carefully</p> - <p class="verse1">And dance, a Malay with a tattooed breast.</p> - <p class="verse">There are no sins, no virtues left for you,</p> - <p class="verse1">No strength, no weakness, no apostasy.</p> - <p class="verse">You know the world, now old, was never new,</p> - <p class="verse1">And that its wisdom is a shameless lie.</p> - <p class="verse">So in the dusk you sit you down to plan</p> - <p class="verse1">Some fresh confusion for the heart of man.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="III"> -<a id="page-7" class="pagenum" title="7"></a> -III. -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Lover of Chaos and the Sacred Seven!</p> - <p class="verse1">Scorner of Midas and St. Francis, too!</p> - <p class="verse">Wearied of earth, yet dubious of Heaven,</p> - <p class="verse1">Fain of old follies and of pastures new—</p> - <p class="verse">Why should the great, whose spirits haunt the void</p> - <p class="verse1">Between Orion and the Northern Wain,</p> - <p class="verse">Make you their mouthpiece? Why have they employed</p> - <p class="verse1">So brassed a trumpet for so high a strain?</p> - <p class="verse">Perhaps, like you, they count it little worth</p> - <p class="verse1">To pipe save for the piping; so they take</p> - <p class="verse">You weak, infirm, uncertain as the earth,</p> - <p class="verse1">And down your tubes the thrill of music wake.</p> - <p class="verse">Well, God preserve you!—and the Devil damn!—</p> - <p class="verse1">And nettles strew the bosom of Abraham!</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="ALETTERFROMLONDON"> -A Letter from London -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -EZRA POUND -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">I</span> should be very glad if someone in America could be made to realize -the sinister bearing of the import duty on books. I have tried in vain -to get some of my other correspondents to understand the effect of this iniquity -... but apparently without success. It means insularity, stupidity, -backing the printer against literature, commerce and obstruction -against intelligence. I have spent myself on the topic so many times that -I am not minded to write an elaborate denunciation until I know I am -writing to someone capable of understanding and willing to take up the battle. -Incidentally the life of a critical review depends a good deal on controversy -and on having some issue worth fighting. Henry IV. did away -with the black mediaevalism of an octroi on books, and the position of -Paris is not without its debt to that intelligent act. No country that needs -artificial aid in its competition with external intelligence is fit for any creature -above the status of pig. -</p> - -<p> -The tariff should be abolished not only for itself but because dishonest -booksellers shelter themselves behind it and treble the price of foreign books, -and because it keeps up the price of printing. -</p> - -<p> -If there is one thing that we are all agreed upon: It is that the canned -goods of Curtis and Company and Harper and Company and all the business -<a id="page-8" class="pagenum" title="8"></a> -firms should be set apart from the art of letters, and the artist helped -against the tradesman. -</p> - -<p> -As a matter of fact a removal of the tariff wouldn’t much hurt even -publishers, as the foreign books we really want in America are the sort -which the greed of American business publishers forbids their publishing -... but that is no matter. -</p> - -<p> -It affects every young writer in America, and every reader whether -he wish merely to train his perceptions or whether he train them with a -purpose, of, say, learning what has been done, what need not be repeated, -what is worthy of repetition. There is now the hideous difficulty of getting -a foreign book, and the prohibitive price of both foreign and domestic -publications. I don’t know that I need to go on with it. -</p> - -<p> -Again and yet again it is preposterous that our generation of writers -shouldn’t have the facility in getting at contemporary work, which one -would have in Paris or Moscow. It’s bad enough for the American to -struggle against the dead-hand of the past generation composed of clerks -and parasites and against our appalling <em>decentralization</em>, i. e., lack of -metropoles and centers, having full publishing facilities and communication -with the outer world—(which last is being slowly repaired)—also our -scarcity of people who know. -</p> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -When all the world goes mad, one must -accept madness as sanity, since sanity is, in the -last analysis, nothing but the madness on which -the whole world happens to agree.—<em>Bernard -Shaw</em>, 1916. -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="ASORROWFULDEMON"> -<a id="page-9" class="pagenum" title="9"></a> -A Sorrowful Demon<a class="fnote" href="#footnote-1" id="fnote-1">[1]</a> -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -ALEXANDER S. KAUN -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">H</span><span class="postfirstchar">ow</span> he hates us, ordinary mortals! No, he seldom hates; he reserves -his hatred for God, for life, for the universe. For us, weak bubbles -driven on the surface by uncontrollable forces, he has only contempt. Yet, -though hating and despising, he is infinitely dear to us: the thick melancholy -vein that bulges across his wildcat forehead makes him almost human; -the taut string of his remote harp vibrates at times with such yearning -and pain that we feel nearly at home with that alien-on-earth, Mikhail -Lermontov. We are glad with a petty gladness whenever we discover in -him this weakness, his humaneness; we chuckle at the comfortable feeling -of being able to observe him on the level plane, freed from the necessity of -throwing our heads far back in order to perceive him on the lonely peak. -He is our brother, we boast; and we inflict on him the severest punishment -for a genius—forgiveness. -</p> - -<p> -But his contemporaries could not forgive him. A general sigh of relief -echoed the official announcement of his death “in a fearful storm accompanied -by thunder and lightning on the Beshta mountain in the Caucasus”. -“Bon voyage”, exclaimed Nicholas I, rubbing his hands in glee -over the departure of one of his most undesirable subjects, the uncompromising -mutineer. The church refused to bury the arrogant denier. Society -applauded Major Martinov whose bullet snapped the life of the unapproachable -aristocrat, the mocker of customs and conventions, the maimer of -feminine hearts, the careless, fearless duellist who played with life, his own -or that of others, as with a valueless toy. The people—there was not such -a thing in Russia of 1841. -</p> - -<p> -Society organism cannot digest a foreign element. We are too local -in our terrestrial standards to tolerate an individual who is made not of -the same stuff that we are made of. Lermontov was a child of a different -planet who fell upon our earth by some crude mistake, doomed to chafe -twenty-six years among humans. As a child he protested against the fatal -misplacement; he discharged his venom in demolishing flower-beds, in torturing -animals with tears in his eyes, in brandishing his tiny fists against his -grandmother, when he observed her mistreating the serfs. When he grew -up—and he grew up early: at ten he loved a girl; at fifteen he conceived his -<a id="page-10" class="pagenum" title="10"></a> -greatest poems, <em>Mtzyri</em> and <em>Demon</em>—his protest had calmed down. He -no longer wept or raged—he hated God and despised mankind. His contemporaries -tell us that no one could stand his heavy penetrating look. Men -hated and feared him; women hated and loved him, as they always do extraordinary -things. Lermontov took revenge for his accidental association -with mankind; he left behind him a long row of broken hearts and -wounded ambitions. His rebellious spirit sought rest in chaos, in torturing -others and himself, in creating around him an atmosphere of tragedy, in -reckless fighting with the wild Caucasian mountaineers. -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">And he, the mutinous, seeks storm,</p> - <p class="verse">As if in storm he may find peace.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -Pechorin, the hero of his autobiographical sketches collected in <em>A -Hero of Our Time</em>, is the first Nietzschean in literature. His terse, unpretentious -maxims and paradoxes have been re-echoed by Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, -Przybyszewski, and other writers of the superman-literature. As always -is the case with deliberate or unconscious commentators, they liquefy -the original. One carelessly dropped sentence of Lermontov is elaborated -in tons of Dostoevsky’s gallous psychology, in mountains of Nietzsche’s -brain-splittering philosophy, in cognac-oceans of the vivisectionist-Przybyszewski. -Pechorin does not talk much; he is too aristocratic for extravagance -in words. Pechorin does not compromise; he is not made of that -stuff. He neither repents nor seeks atonement; in his hatred for reality -he does not erect a consoling phantom in the image of a Superman; he -would dismiss with a contemptible shrug Falk’s matrimonial and sexual -tribulations. Pechorin is eternally alone. Those who approach him are -scorched with his unhuman flame. Alone, in the steppe, after a mad -ride which kills his horse, Pechorin hugs the soil and weeps “like a child”. -Like a child pressing to its mother’s bosom, plaintively demanding the Why -and the Wherefore of existence among strangers. Shall we chuckle at -the suddenly-discovered weakness of our enemy? Or shall we modestly -turn away our eyes from the stolen sight of a god in his nudity? -</p> - -<p> -I once called Lermontov a sorrowful demon. Not a Lucifer, not a -Mephistopheles, but a Russian demon, as the sculptor Antokolsky conceived -him. Lermontov-Demon-Pechorin, a quaint superman, neither god -nor devil, a pluralistic being, a combination of cruelty and compassion, of -contempt and sympathy, of cynicism and sentimentalism, of the loftiest and -the basest, of the unhuman and of the human-all-too-human. Dostoevsky? -</p> - -<hr class="footnote" /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a class="footnote" href="#fnote-1" id="footnote-1">[1]</a> A Hero of Our Time, by M. Y. Lermontov. New York, Alfred A. -Knopf. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="THEPOETSPEAKS"> -<a id="page-11" class="pagenum" title="11"></a> -The Poet Speaks -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -MARGARET C. ANDERSON -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">here</span> are people in the world who like poetry if they know the poet. -There are a good many people in Chicago just now who understand -and enjoy Amy Lowell’s poetry because she read it to them at the Little -Theatre. -</p> - -<p> -I know a poet who could make nothing of Vachel Lindsay’s things -until Lindsay chanted them to him one day. And I know another who said -to me, when I remarked that I didn’t like Alfred Kreymborg’s verse, “Oh, -but you would if you knew him.” I am puzzled, because I know this man -to be an intelligent being. And somehow I have always been under the -naive impression that poetry was a matter of art. -</p> - -<p> -But there are worse things. There is one type of person we always -eject promptly from the office of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>. He is the person -who says that Amy Lowell’s poetry has no feeling in it. Now please -listen: I want to quote you something. It is called <em>Vernal Equinox</em>, it -was written by Miss Lowell, and it appeared in the September issue of -<em>Poetry</em>; but I want to see it put down in these pages so that we may -actually know it has been in <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book;</p> - <p class="verse">And the South Wind, washing through the room,</p> - <p class="verse">Makes the candles quiver;</p> - <p class="verse">My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,</p> - <p class="verse">And I am uneasy at the bursting of green shoots</p> - <p class="verse">Outside, in the night.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -A poet whose new book will soon be talked of said to me, when I -showed this to him, “Yes, it’s very clever, but it has no feeling.” He -left the office gladly in three minutes. -</p> - -<p> -Still there are worse things. <em>The Chicago Tribune</em> sent a reporter -to the Little Theatre to hear Miss Lowell read and to record his impression -<a id="page-12" class="pagenum" title="12"></a> -of her work and personality for those who still peruse the newspapers. -You may have seen the reporter’s article.... -</p> - -<p> -And still worse?... Lots of people have been splitting hairs over -Amy Lowell’s work, but no human being has been heard to remark: “A -beautiful thing is happening in America. Amy Lowell is writing poetry -for us.” -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="POEMS"> -Poems<a class="fnote" href="#footnote-2" id="fnote-2">[2]</a> -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -ELIZABETH GIBSON CHEYNE -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THECRY"> -The Cry -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Whenever there is silence around me,</p> - <p class="verse">By day or by night,</p> - <p class="verse">I am startled by the cry</p> - <p class="verse">“Take me down from the cross!”</p> - <p class="verse">The first time I heard it</p> - <p class="verse">I went out and searched</p> - <p class="verse">Till I found a man in the throes of crucifixion,</p> - <p class="verse">And I said, “I will take you down,”</p> - <p class="verse">And I tried to take the nails out of his feet,</p> - <p class="verse">But he said “Let be;</p> - <p class="verse">For I cannot be taken down</p> - <p class="verse">Till every man, every woman, and every child</p> - <p class="verse">Come together to take me down.”</p> - <p class="verse">And I said, “But I cannot bear your cry—</p> - <p class="verse">What can I do?”</p> - <p class="verse">And he said “Go about the world,</p> - <p class="verse">Telling everyone you meet</p> - <p class="verse">‘There is a man upon the cross.’”</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="THEEXCUSE"> -<a id="page-13" class="pagenum" title="13"></a> -The Excuse -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">I go about the world</p> - <p class="verse">Telling all the rich,</p> - <p class="verse">And all the happy, and all the comfortable,</p> - <p class="verse">“There is a man upon the cross.”</p> - <p class="verse">But they all say</p> - <p class="verse">“We are sure you are mistaken;</p> - <p class="verse">There was a man upon the cross</p> - <p class="verse">Two thousand years ago;</p> - <p class="verse">But he died, and was taken down</p> - <p class="verse">And was decently buried;</p> - <p class="verse">And a miracle happened,</p> - <p class="verse">So that he rose again</p> - <p class="verse">And ascended into Heaven,</p> - <p class="verse">And is happy evermore.”</p> - <p class="verse">Still I go about the world saying</p> - <p class="verse">“There is a man upon the cross.”</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="THECROSS"> -The Cross -</h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Any groveller</p> - <p class="verse">May be straightened by a cross</p> - <p class="verse">If he lies down upon it at night,</p> - <p class="verse">And sleeps upon it with outstretched arms;</p> - <p class="verse">If he rises in the morning,</p> - <p class="verse">And shoulders it bravely,</p> - <p class="verse">Neither resenting it</p> - <p class="verse">Nor being ashamed of it,</p> - <p class="verse">He will find that he can bring his eyes</p> - <p class="verse">To look upon life</p> - <p class="verse">Instead of upon the grave,</p> - <p class="verse">And that he will even be able</p> - <p class="verse">To lift them to the stars;</p> - <p class="verse">And that he can live</p> - <p class="verse">On the levels he is able to look upon.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="footnote" /> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a class="footnote" href="#fnote-2" id="footnote-2">[2]</a> I do not know whether these poems have been published elsewhere -or not. They were read by Ellen Gates Starr in a mass meeting in Kent -Theatre on the University of Chicago campus—a mass meeting in protest -against police brutality during the garment strike. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="WHATTHEN"> -<a id="page-14" class="pagenum" title="14"></a> -What Then—? -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -R. G. -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">here</span> are signs of life at the Art Institute. In throwing out Charles -Kinney, it stated the case against itself more emphatically than Kinney -ever could have done. When an “institution” becomes violent over -criticism there is too much work for one reformer. -</p> - -<p> -This seems to have been a season for things Art to be stating the case -against themselves. At the last meeting of the Chicago Society of Artists, -when there was a slight murmur of dissatisfaction with the management -of the Institute, one of the older men quickly reminded the painters that -they were but guests of the Institute—and there was silence. Art has -come by hard ways, but never to worse than this:—the guest of the Corn -Exchange Bank! -</p> - -<p> -Again at a meeting for the formation of the new Arts Club, before the -matter of the Club could be discussed there had to be a speech assuring -the Art Institute that the artists would never, in any way, <em>ever</em> do anything -on their own, but would always conform to the ideas of the directors -of the Institute. But where they really proved themselves was at -the annual dinner, at the opening of the Chicago Artists’ Exhibition. -Herded into a room they meekly submitted to oyster stew and a speech -by a minister of the Gospel. Artists! That is their case as stated by -themselves. -</p> - -<p> -Kinney blames the directors pro tem., and the Dean, for the “factory -system” in the school. Knowing that all the small towns in the West and -Middle West having any kind of an Art School pattern after the Art -Institute, he is excited and fears the factory system will prevail everywhere. -But he might have hope that here and there accidentally a few -artists may get mixed up among the other students and frustrate this plan. -</p> - -<p> -It would be interesting to know whether the administration by its -methods has so completely discouraged artists that they no longer seek -the Art Institute as a place of study, or whether the administration is -simply changing its methods to meet the demands of the kind of student -now attending the Institute. -</p> - -<p> -This much is certain: no administration could take away every ancient -prerogative of art students; lead them gently into organization; impose -discipline upon them; and appoint God a chaperone over their play—in -fact make a crêche of the school—if there were any of the stuff in them -of which artists are made. -</p> - -<p> -<a id="page-15" class="pagenum" title="15"></a> -There always has been a fight on the part of the school to get what it -wanted from the directors; but things can be done. Read the list of “illustrious -names” of visiting instructors, years ago, and then compare the student -roll of the same time. Once the Art Institute was an art school with -art students, who were artists, who in spite of everything led the life of -artists, knew the analogy between painting and the other Arts, swarmed to -concerts and the theatres, and created their own atmosphere. That was -the time when Bernhardt came to the school in her yellow-wheeled carriage -and walked down a double line of quaking, adoring art students. -And when Calvé came to sing.... How many students there now -know these names, know anything beyond fashion drawing? -</p> - -<p> -They have indicted themselves. If there were artists the Art Institute -could seek exhibitions. If there were art students we could have an -art school, not a “factory.” And if the directors of the Art Institute and -its patrons really wanted Art, and the directors would throw the Institute -open to all kinds of exhibitions, we might even in time find Art. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="GERMANPOETRY"> -German Poetry -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -WILLIAM SAPHIER -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">L</span><span class="postfirstchar">earned</span> essays on this or that poetry make little red devils dance -in my brain and my right hand reach for a Japanese sword. They -are invariably inferior to the spirit, and occupy only a small section of the -horizon of their subject. I have translated these three poems because I -felt that they were as good or better than the best things published in this -country, and because so little is known of this kind of German poetry here. -The first is by Julius Berstl and the second two are by Fritz Schnack. I -know of many more, but I am unable to get their work just now. As you -perhaps know, they are engaged at present in a different direction. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="HIGHLAND"> -Highland -</h3> - -<p class="subt"> -(<em>From the German of Julius Berstl</em>) -</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Early light reflexes climb with rose fingers up the cliffs.</p> - <p class="verse">The chilly valley slumbers and cowers in its white fog bed,</p> - <p class="verse">But nude and cool, unearthly fine and clear,</p> - <p class="verse">Glitter the glacier chains.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<a id="page-16" class="pagenum" title="16"></a> - <p class="verse">The morning wind faint-heartedly plays a lyre,</p> - <p class="verse">No bird strikes screaming through the distance;</p> - <p class="verse">It is as if the sound of a timid harp</p> - <p class="verse">Spreads with bird-like wings</p> - <p class="verse">Along the stone cliffs and over the valley.</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">And now, as if breathed by the fragrance and dew,</p> - <p class="verse">Out of fog blossoms a wreath of meadows;</p> - <p class="verse">Behind them blooms a crystal glacier blue,</p> - <p class="verse">And a dream-laden delicate purple grey</p> - <p class="verse">Plays all around the giant mountains.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="YOUNGDAYS"> -Young Days -</h3> - -<p class="subt"> -(<em>From the German of Fritz Schnack</em>) -</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Soft, delicate morning air ripplings</p> - <p class="verse">Sway between the willow bushes</p> - <p class="verse">Rustling, as if a woman in silk ruchings</p> - <p class="verse">Passes over the meadows ...</p> - <p class="verse">Without end and blessedly far</p> - <p class="verse">Purls the cajoling sweetness.</p> - <p class="verse">O! how anxiously do I bear this air.</p> - <p class="verse">Like chords from the cloudland</p> - <p class="verse">Fall the deep shining days</p> - <p class="verse">Resounding in my trembling hand.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="ONEMORNING"> -One Morning -</h3> - -<p class="subt"> -(<em>From the German of Fritz Schnack</em>) -</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">The light,</p> - <p class="verse">Flows spring-like out of the night,</p> - <p class="verse">And the big splashing wave</p> - <p class="verse">Spreads over the earth’s surface ...</p> - <p class="verse">White villas glisten in the light</p> - <p class="verse">Glowing all around with red roses;</p> - <p class="verse">Laughing young beauty blooms</p> - <p class="verse">On every threshold ...</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">At a distance I stand and watch</p> - <p class="verse">And think: whoever thus can build ...</p> - <p class="verse">And longingly go my way.</p> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="ANISAIAHWITHOUTACHRIST"> -<a id="page-17" class="pagenum" title="17"></a> -An Isaiah Without A Christ -</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="epi"> -<p class="noindent"> -<em>And the word of the Lord came unto me, -saying, Son of Man, prophesy, and say thou -unto them that prophesy out of their own hearts, -hear ye the word of the Lord; thus sayeth the -Lord God: woe unto the foolish prophets that -follow their own spirit and have seen nothing. -O Israel, thy prophets are like foxes in the desert.—Ezekiel -13:1-4.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -CHARLES ZWASKA -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="I3"> -I. -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">A</span><span class="postfirstchar">nd</span> the youth returned to his village and found it vile. In the City -he had seen visions of what a town might be.... Nicholas Vachel -Lindsay had been studying Art in Chicago and on his return to Springfield -published, in the fall of 1910, <em>The Village Magazine</em>: a scattering of verse, -prose, sketches, and ornamental designs and propaganda. “Talent for -poetry, deftness in inscribing, and skill in mural painting were probably -gifts of the same person”, he tells us later, in speaking of the ancient Egyptians. -“Let us go back”—the village must be redeemed. The first editorial -in the magazine was <em>On Conversion</em>. The people of Springfield -“should build them altars to the unknown God, the radiant one; He whom -they radiantly worship should be declared unto them in His fullness.” The -next was <em>An Editorial on Beauty for the Village Pastor</em>—it expressed the -belief that the Sunday-school, the Christian Endeavor Society, the Brotherhood, -Anti-Saloon League, and the Woman’s Aid were the forces that -were to bring about beauty. Springfield was to be the new Athens! A -broadside was distributed throughout the village: <em>The Soul of the City -receives the gift of the Holy Spirit</em>: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Builders, toil on,</p> - <p class="verse">Make all complete.</p> - <p class="verse">Make Springfield wonderful</p> - <p class="verse">Make her renown</p> - <p class="verse">Worthy this day,</p> - <p class="verse">Till, at God’s feet—</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -<p class="note"> -(<em>Etc., the poetry of the thing will not -be spoiled by omitting some lines here.</em>) -</p> - - <div class="poem-container"> -<a id="page-18" class="pagenum" title="18"></a> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Heaven come down</p> - <p class="verse">City, dead city,</p> - <p class="verse">Arise from the dead.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -Verses like the above aside, here was revealed to us a poet; the foundations -were laid, it seemed, for a future. But the youth did dream and see -visions. Much was said about Utopias and the New Jerusalem, and poetry -languished in the youth that he might materialize some ultimate world state. -The most inexcusable optimism of them all—“Rome was not built in a -day.” True, but it <em>was built</em>: not merely talked about or prophesied. And -the youth remembered not that it hath been said in Isaiah: “For, behold, -I create a new heaven and a new earth: and the former shall not be remembered -nor come into mind.” Yet the youth remembered the former still -and did say much about the recoming of those civilizations which had been, -at last to stay forever! His day, or the great poet who proceeded him by -but a few years, he seemed to notice not: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">What do you think endures?</p> - <p class="verse">Do you think a great city endures? ...</p> - <p class="verse">Away! these are not to be cherished in themselves,</p> - <p class="verse">They fill their hour, the dancers dance, the musicians play for them,</p> - <p class="verse">The show passes, all does well enough of course,</p> - <p class="verse">All does very well till one flash of defiance ...</p> - <p class="verse">A great city is that which has the greatest men and women;</p> - <p class="verse">If it be a few ragged huts it is still the greatest city in the whole world.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -But the youth was at heart the poet, the dreamer, attempting to convince -by arguments, similes, rhymes; not as the great Poet, by mere presence! -Nor could he stand the offer of rough new prizes, preferring the -smooth old prizes. He clung to the organizations of the day, and to -augment their “influence toward the Millennium” he published <em>The Village -Magazine</em>. That, gentle reader, was in 1910. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="II3"> -II. -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -In the year 1912 there went forth from Springfield this same lad. Into -the West he went—through Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and into New -Mexico. He went preaching a gospel,—his own “Gospel of Beauty.” His -sustenance he earned by reciting his own rhymes to those who were willing, -in exchange, to give him bread. Thus did he make us uncomfortably -imagine him a new John the Baptist, François Villon, or even Saint Francis -of Assisi.... In the year 1914 his account of this adventure was -published. Three rhymes, he claims, contained his “theory of American -civilization.” This is from one of them: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> -<a id="page-19" class="pagenum" title="19"></a> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">O you who lose the art of hope,</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">. . . . . .</p> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">Turn to the little prairie towns,</p> - <p class="verse">Your high hope shall yet begin.</p> - <p class="verse">On every side awaits you there</p> - <p class="verse">Some gate where glory enters in.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -And “At the end of the Road”—by faith and a study of the signs—he -proclaimed the New Jerusalem for America, particularly for his home-village.... -Now, there is a peculiar value attached to this journey—the -influence on the poet, not the preacher’s influence on the people. It -was after this trip that we got <em>The Santa Fé Trail</em>, <em>The Fireman’s Ball</em>, -written in a style in which were later written <em>The Chinese Nightingale</em> and -<em>The Congo</em>. And, because of the relation of its style to these, we even -judge <em>I heard Emmanuel Singing</em> a good thing. This, then, is Lindsay’s -importance among us; his contribution of this style of vaudeville chanting. -This is the poet. He does not count when writing <em>Galahad</em>, <em>Knight Who -Perished</em>, <em>King Arthur’s Men Have Come Again</em>, <em>Incense</em>, <em>Springfield Magical</em>, -or declaring “by faith and a study of the signs.” -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="III3"> -III. -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -On November first, 1915, at Springfield, Illinois, Vachel Lindsay -signed a book on <em>The Art of the Moving Picture</em>. The last chapter was -called “The Acceptable Year of the Lord.” From having seen forecastings -in photoplay hieroglyphics the children in times-to-come can rise and -say: “This day is the scripture fulfilled in your ears”: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> -<p class="noindent"> -Scenario writers, producers, photoplay actors, endowers -of exquisite films, sects using special motion pictures -for a predetermined end, all you who are taking the -work as a sacred trust, I bid you God-speed. Consider -what it will do to your souls, if you are true to your -trust.... The record of your ripeness will be found -in your craftsmanship. You will be God’s thoroughbreds. -</p> - -<p> -It has come then, this new weapon of men, and the -face of the whole earth changes. In after centuries its beginning -will be indeed remembered. -</p> - -<p> -It has come, this new weapon of men, and by faith -and a study of the signs we proclaim that it will go on and -on in immemorial wonder. -</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -This, then, is the prophecy, and thus has he proclaimed it: “By my -hypothesis, Action Pictures are sculpture-in-motion, Intimate Pictures are -paintings-in-motion, Splendour Pictures are architecture-in-motion.... -<a id="page-20" class="pagenum" title="20"></a> -The rest of the work is a series of after thoughts and speculations not -brought forward so dogmatically.” -</p> - -<p> -Now, the Arts are complete in themselves; they contain all. The moving -picture has come to be a parasite on them. -</p> - -<p> -Sculpture has become a vital thing to this age because of August Rodin. -Meunier has moved us too. Also Monolo and Fagi. Now comes -Lindsay: “I desire for the moving picture not the stillness but the -majesty of sculpture.... Not the mood of Venus de Milo, but let -us turn to that sister of hers—the great Victory of Samothrace”. -</p> - -<p> -... I have seen much of Lindsay’s advice followed word for -word since this book of his was published. Tyrone Power in <em>The Dream -of Eugene <a id="corr-14"></a>Aram</em>. Power’s face and figure were more majestic on the -stage than in this picture. There was a “sculpture-group,” as you would -call it, in this picture—a farmer and two squires on a hilltop. It was in -silhouette, a <em>sketch</em> and not sculpture. The nearest I have seen to the -majesty and immobility of sculpture, marble or otherwise, was the head -of William S. Hart in <em>The Aryan</em>. The picture was shadowed so as to -center on his poetic face, the fascination of which none but Forbes Robertson’s -has. Hart’s face on the screen, his eyes looking into the eyes -of you, at his throat a handkerchief of white—a bust by an artist indeed! -But the shadows parted, and the hieroglyphic-crowded background came -into view. Hart’s head moved, became part of a <em>moving picture</em> and sculpture -was no more. The moment was worth it—but it <em>moved</em>.... -“Moving pictures are pictures and not sculpture”, says Lorado Taft in a -public statement, objecting to Lindsay’s phrase. “To a sculptor the one -thing cherished as most essential to his art is its static quality, its look of -absolute quiescence. It is the hint of eternity which marks and makes all -monumental art”.... Has Lindsay no feeling for sculpture? -</p> - -<p> -Frank Lloyd Wright has models in plaster of some of his buildings—“modern” -skyscrapers, hotels, and homes, growing, rising upward, white -and beautiful. It was these works of architecture which called forth the -phrase “flowers in stone”. He alone, it seems, has made art of architecture -in our day. He objects to Lindsay saying his art can be that of moving -pictures; its very literalness, its actualness being the very negation of -the soul and constitution of art. In <em>The Dumb Girl of Portici</em> the Smalleys, -as inspired as any of the producers, used the entire Field Museum in -Jackson Park, Chicago, as a background for a pageant of Italian royalty, -of the middle ages. Insisting on architecture can spoil pictures. It did -this one. -</p> - -<p> -Painting-in-motion—rhythm. Rhythm seems alien to the application -of the theory of jerky fade-away close-ups. “Intimate Dutch interior” -scenes fading into the close-up and then back into the entire scene again. -Intimate, friendly, and moving, but lacking in rhythm and the flow of naturalness. -<a id="page-21" class="pagenum" title="21"></a> -Some think that “moving lines”, made an art in themselves, -will be an achievement of the moving film. Have you ever been struck -dumb by the lines made by a dancer across the stage, the moving of life -across life? I have seen it in the moving-picture only in the flight of gulls -(unconscious actors) or in pictures of rivers and trees and the sea; in -short—nature. But nature is nature. The painter’s art! Botticelli’s -<em>Spring</em>, or <em>The Birth of Venus</em>—pictures containing the essence of rhythmic -natural movement. Never yet have the movies given us this. If Lindsay -must prophesy and “take the masses back to art” there <em>are</em> artists living today—who -are for today. Lindsay seems to know nothing of them. His -knowledge of painting seems to have stopped with his art school days. The -later work of Jerome Blum, for example, has this movement, this rhythm, -not only in composition and line but in the <em>color</em> as well. Reds and greens -and blues that vibrate, paintings that live. -</p> - -<p> -The rest of this might be entitled: “An open letter to Vachel Lindsay”, -for it is “not so dogmatically set forth” and is mere man-to-man -talk. -</p> - -<p> -I have seen most of your suggestions swallowed whole by moving-picture -makers.... Your hieroglyphics idea—well, James Oppenheim -was an accomplice in that. “On Coming Forth by Day” or your suggestion -to use the Book of the Dead—a Chicago woman, the patient, too-patient, -beautifully reverent Lou Wall Moore has been working for years on an -adaptation of one of the books which, when it does appear on the stage, -will have more rhythm and terrible swiftness than ever your moving picture -could, the splendor of color, space, height, distance, and most magical -of all, the voice: -</p> - -<div class="excerpt"> - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="tabulated"> -<p class="speaker"> -Priest: -</p> - - <div class="stanza"> -<p class="verse"> -Men pass away since the time of Ra -</p> - -<p class="verse"> -And the youths come in their stead. -</p> - -<p class="verse"> -As Ra reappears every morning -</p> - -<p class="verse"> -And Tum sets in the west, -</p> - -<p class="verse"> -Men are begetting and women conceiving; -</p> - -<p class="verse"> -Each nostril inhales once the breeze of the dawn; -</p> - -<p class="verse"> -But all born of women go down to their places. -</p> - - </div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -As for your “too ruthless a theory” of having silence in the theatre, -or rather just the hum of conversation, let me tell you of the “midnight-movies” -in our town: Can you imagine a crowd of people standing in -line outside a theatre at one or a quarter after in the morning? And inside -an audience—or optience?!—which for interest and variety can equal -any of the moving-pictures shown or yet to be shown. I wish you could -hear the ludicrous, cutting, knowing remarks made by these people about -your pictures, when, after twelve-thirty the piano stops, and the oppressive -<a id="page-22" class="pagenum" title="22"></a> -silence outweighs the interest of the picture. (The piano formerly stopped -at eleven, but the management decided that the only way to maintain order -was to keep the piano going.) Well, the silence never lasts: snoring, -wheezing, roaring, shouting and laughing and calls for “Silence”, “Wake -up, the rest of us wanna sleep”, “You’re off key”, or “What time shall I -call, sir?” These people are here: business men; newsboys, hobos, drunks, -who sleep here all night; salesmen; night clerks; telegraphers; bell-boys; -hotel and restaurant maids; scrub-women; actors; <a id="corr-16"></a>vaudevillians; cabaret -singers; pressmen; newspapermen; chauffeurs, teamsters; traveling men; -gentlemen of leisure; painted youths and scented women. They “get” the -psychology of the pictures. Helen’s hazards call forth telegraph tappings -to each other; close-ups showing jealousy, rage, or overdone emotion get -“woof-woofs” and howls and hoots; the murder prevented “just in time” -gets its sarcasms; and “immoral situations” their due appreciation. But—this, -which seemed on the way to become our most individual phase of -night-life, is passing. The jolly manager, who passed up and down the -aisle like a hen among her brood, keeping us awake until one o’clock, has -been replaced by a uniformed policeman; the council has legislated women -out after two o’clock; and a “ride in the wagon” or ejection faces the one -who would “get gay”. Now, as a place of interest, it is passing in this -day of short-lived gayety and censored originality. The Law, Lindsay, will -not allow your plan to work. In the neighborhoods?—the audiences themselves -do not know why they are there. Why disturb them? -</p> - -<p> -Your educational film also I have seen applied. <em>Saved From the -Flames</em> worked out in co-operation with the New York Fire department. -It teaches a lesson. So does <em>The Human Cauldron</em>—your own phrase, I -believe, taken from the first line of page forty-two, your book. This picture -was done with the aid of the New York Police department. Both -were stupid, inane in story and treatment, and on the whole a bore. Even -Walthall couldn’t save <em>The Raven</em> from cardboard clouds and angels and -“visions”. -</p> - -<p> -Your scenario, the “second cousin to the dream that will one day come -forth”, seems quite symbolic of your prophecies. Pallas Athena, Jeanne -D’Arc, and Our Lady Springfield; a treeless hill top in Washington Park: -this then is the rank of the Goddesses. Springfield is to have secular -priests and her patriots are irresolute! “Without prophecy there can be -no fulfillment. Without Isaiah there can be no Christ”.—A truly Christian -interpretation of the Hebrew’s great Isaiah, to whom Christ was but a -disciple! But so you will have it.... We need Isaiahs and John -the Baptists, but they were prophets and fore-runners of a Christ, a personality—not -a Utopia, World State or International Brotherhood. If -you appear before us as an Isaiah we demand to hear of your Christ. -<a id="page-23" class="pagenum" title="23"></a> -You recognize the demand of Confucius for rectification of names. Do -you realize Nietzsche’s transvaluations for our day? Faith as opposed to -affirmation! Zarathustra has spoken! There is now the mountain peak—and -you are still rhyming about a hill top. -</p> - -<div class="editorials chapter"> -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="editorials" id="ANNOUNCEMENTS"> -Announcements -</h2> - -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="THEWEAVERS"> -“<em>The Weavers</em>” -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">G</span><span class="postfirstchar">erhardt</span> Hauptmann’s Weavers is coming to Chicago! -It begins a limited engagement at the Princess Theatre -Sunday night, April 2. If you don’t go—well, we will pray for you. -</p> - -<p> -It is to be the same production with which Emanuel Reicher -stirred New York this winter. Mr. Reicher is no longer with the -company, having finally given up the struggle of trying to make a -financial success of art and truth. His stage director, Augustin -Duncan, who is a man of vision and ability, has formed the actors -into a co-operative company, and they have been struggling through -various cities where their efforts have been intensely though not -largely appreciated. This is to be expected; but surely in Chicago -they ought to find an audience. -</p> - -<p> -P. S.—Since I wrote the above <em>The Weavers</em> has opened, and -I have heard how the first-night audience laughed where it should -have applauded and guffawed when it should have recognized something -fine. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="MARGARETSANGERINCHICAGO"> -<em>Margaret Sanger in Chicago</em> -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">here</span> is an announcement on the cover page of two of Margaret -Sanger’s lectures in Chicago, and others may be arranged -after she gets here. We have got into the habit of looking upon -birth control as a thing in which everybody believes, and which -almost everybody practices whether they believe in it or not. It -seems quite superfluous to keep on talking about it. But then you -remember that Emma Goldman has been arrested for talking about -it, and that when her trial comes up—some time this month or in -May—it is quite within the possibilities that she may spend a year -in prison for her crime. That is something none of us could face -without a kind of insanity. So please don’t be content with merely -<a id="page-24" class="pagenum" title="24"></a> -abusing the government: send your protests to the District Attorney -and it may help a great deal. -</p> - -<p> -Any one who wishes to arrange for further lectures by Mrs. -Sanger may write to Fania Mindell, care <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THERUPERTBROOKEMEMORIAL"> -<em>The Rupert Brooke Memorial</em> -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">I</span><span class="postfirstchar">t</span> has been decided to set up in Rugby Chapel, England, a -memorial of Rupert Brooke in the form of a portrait-medallion -in marble. The medallion will be the work of Professor J. -Havard Thomas, and is to be based on the portrait by Schell. Contributions -not exceeding five dollars may be sent to Maurice Browne, -Chicago Treasurer, Rupert Brooke Memorial Fund, 434 Fine Arts -Building, Michigan Avenue, and will be sent to England without -deduction. Money left over after the completion of the medallion -will be given to the Royal Literary Fund. Mr. Browne adds that -the nickels and dimes of those who wish to make their offering, -but cannot afford the larger sum, will be welcomed in the spirit of -their giving; also that he believes there are many admirers of -Rupert Brooke and his work in Chicago who will welcome the -opportunity to pay in some measure their debt to the poet, particularly -remembering that this city stimulated and interested him more -than any other in America. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="JEROMEBLUMSNEWWORK"> -<em>Jerome Blum’s New Work</em> -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">B</span><span class="postfirstchar">eginning</span> April 15 Mr. Blum will have a two-weeks’ exhibit -of paintings done on a recent trip through China and Japan, -at O’Brien’s Art Galleries, 334 South Michigan Avenue. At the -same time Mrs. Blum will exhibit some Chinese and Japanese -figures—and there is one especially that we prophesy will be talked -of. It is of a weary-eyed Chinese philosopher, the art of which has -been put into words by a painter: “He has seen everything, so he -doesn’t look any more; he has done everything—so he folds his -hands.” -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THEVERSLIBREPRIZECONTEST"> -<a id="page-25" class="pagenum" title="25"></a> -<em>The Vers Libre Prize Contest</em> -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">wo</span> of the judges for our contest have been chosen. They will -be Helen Hoyt and <a id="corr-20"></a>Zoë <a id="corr-21"></a>Akins. The third will be announced -in the next issue, and the contest will be continued until August 15, -as it seems wiser not to close it before it has been fully heralded. -All details will be found on page 40. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="ALOSTTUNE"> -“<em>A Lost Tune</em>” -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">B</span><span class="postfirstchar">etween</span> April 25 and May 7 Mr. Stanislaw Saukalski will -give our soft teeth a chance to crack a hard nut at the Art -Institute. The “Lost Tune” will lead the flaming lava of this young -volcano. Will the readers of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> send in their -impressions of this sculptor’s work? We may print some of them.—<em>L. -de B.</em> -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="WHENYOUBUYBOOKS"> -<em>When You Buy Books</em>— -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">W</span><span class="postfirstchar">on’t</span> readers remember to order their books through the -Gotham Book Society? You can get any book you want -from them, whether it is listed in their advertisement or not, and -<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> makes a percentage on the sales. Our margin -of profit per book is small, but it all helps very much and the continuation -of the magazine depends upon just such co-operation. We -have two thousand subscribers. If each one of them would order -one dollar’s worth of books a month we should make about two -hundred dollars out of it,—which would pay for two issues of the -magazine and enable us to eat regularly besides. Will you please -remember? -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THERUSSIANLITERATUREGROUP"> -<a id="page-26" class="pagenum" title="26"></a> -<em>The Russian Literature Group</em> -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">A</span><span class="postfirstchar">lexander</span> Kaun’s next lecture on Russian Literature will -be on Dostoevsky, and will be given April 16, at 8:30 P. M., -in 612 Fine Arts Building. Mr. Kaun is becoming more interesting -with each lecture—by which I mean that he is revealing more of -Kaun the artist, and less of Kaun the professor. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="INDEPENDENTSOCIETYOFARTISTS"> -<em>Independent Society of Artists</em> -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">T</span><span class="postfirstchar">he</span> first international exhibition of this new organization will -be held on April 4 in the Ohio Building, Wabash Avenue and -Congress Street, from three to seven P. M. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="BECAUSEOFTHEWAR"> -“<em>Because of the War</em>”— -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">P</span><span class="postfirstchar">aper</span> is going up. We can’t help looking ugly this month. -</p> - -<p class="cb vspace"> - -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -The Beautiful and the Terrible. Which is -which will never be put into words. But I am -free to tell myself; and let me but preserve the -senses—my eyes, my ears, my touch, and all -shall be well—all shall seem far more beautiful -than terrible—<em>Gordon Craig.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -Only fanaticism is possible for phlegmatic -natures.—<em>Nietzsche.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="FLAMINGODREAMS"> -<a id="page-27" class="pagenum" title="27"></a> -Flamingo Dreams -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="aut"> -LUPO DE BRAILA -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">A</span> burst of passion in a pagan god’s eye was the sunrise as I saw -it from the top of Mount Rose one morning last summer. Trembling -and with squinting eyes I looked at the grand spectacle, fearing to -go blind if I opened my eyes. -</p> - -<p> -The sun stretched its arms and with flaming fingers lifted the bluish-grey -blanket from the Nevada hills and the Truckee Valley. Feeling that -the beauty of this moment could not be surpassed, I turned my face -toward California and ran down the western side of Mount Rose. -</p> - -<p> -One day last week when the massive shoulders of Jerome Blum -stepped in between me and a canvas that had transformed his studio -into a strange land for me, I wanted to hold his hands for fear the next -canvas would take the joy produced by the one in front of me. He -came back from an eight-months’ trip through Japan and China recently, -and he brought with him over twenty paintings with pulsating nature and -unrestrained joy in every one of them. The rhythmic lines dance through -the curling roofs and weird trees—and all of them are bathed in sunshine. -At the same time they are a close study of this strange land, its people -and their habits, by a forceful and unusual artist—a man who says “yes” -to nature in no uncertain terms. His bold colors are handled in a most -sensitive manner, and when I wanted to place him among the Chicago -artists I found that he belongs to an entirely different class and could -not even be compared to some of the vacillating and doubtful men who -paint in this town. -</p> - -<p> -He has a portrait of a Chinese girl in a green gown, and some scenes -along a canal and in a Chinese garden, that have tempted my usually -honest mind to some queer contemplations. I have found myself wandering -to the windows and other unusual entrances to his studio, figuring out -how one might find access to that place without a key and at a certain -dark hour. I have only one hope left now of owning one in a figurative -way, and it is that the trustees of the Art Institute may see the light -and.... -</p> - -<p> -I hope Jerome Blum will not be compelled, like some of the best -men this country has produced, to go to other shores to gain the recognition -due a man of his ability. A few weeks ago I saw one of the older -trustees spend considerable time before a canvas by a Boston painter that -lacked all that goes to make a work of art,—a canvas on which the -artist, with the aid of a pointed stick, had tried to prod his dead and -<a id="page-28" class="pagenum" title="28"></a> -colorless paint into some kind of motion. In spite of this I still believe -that they will rise to the high intellectual and artistic understanding that -they are supposed to possess, but which they have failed to display up -to the present, as far as modern art is concerned. -</p> - -<p> -It is impossible for me to describe any of Blum’s canvases except -to say that they tear you away from the dirty grey and ill-smelling Chicago, -to a country you have seen in your dreams as a child. We will have -a chance to see this artist’s work, beginning April fifteenth, at O’Brien’s, -on Michigan Boulevard. -</p> - -<p> -Lucille Swan Blum will exhibit at the same time and place some very -graceful Japanese dancers, Chinese children, Corean, Chinese, and Japanese -mothers with their babies and other far-eastern types. Best of all is a -Chinese philosopher, reduced almost to design to emphasize the idea of -the age and wisdom of this people—folded hands, an emotionless face, -all seeing eyes.... -</p> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -In the end one experienceth nothing but -himself.—<em>Nietzsche.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="NEWYORKLETTER"> -<a id="page-29" class="pagenum" title="29"></a> -New York Letter -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="note"> -(<em>A scattering of words anent Washington Square, “Henry VIII”, -Yvette Guilbert, “The Merry Wives of Windsor”, and sundry other things -and people, as far as space and time allow.</em>) -</p> - -<p class="aut"> -ALLAN ROSS MACDOUGALL -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">F</span><span class="postfirstchar">rom</span> my garret window I look out on Washington Square. Snow -and ice still lie there, and the trees are black and mean. -</p> - -<p> -On the first page of his new book, “<em>Moby Lane and Thereabouts</em>”, Neil -Lyons says: “Spring has many ushers, and is heralded by divers signs. -Some people look for these signs among the hedgerows; others seek them -in the sky, or listen for them in the night, whilst other people neither look -or listen, but go smelling about, or stand upon hill-tops, tasting.” My sign -shall be, I think, the grimy trees of the Square. And sometimes as I sit -here looking out on the icy barrenness I wonder if, when Spring’s breath -does touch the earth, whether flowers will come up—flowers that I long to -see: crocuses, anemones, daffodils. It’s all very well to see them in shop -windows, but God! to see them come up out of the earth and unfold! But -I fear our Square is too sophisticated. I know a man will come—a common -tobacco-chewing man with a stunted soul who belongs to a Union -and gets paid so much coin by the hour—and he will arrange squares, and -oblongs, and diamond shaped plots of earth. Then will he proceed laboriously -and without joy to stick tulips or some other straight official flower -into these geometrical, soulless patterns. And throughout the year in the -Square, nature will be kept in bounds and orders. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="HENRYVIII"> -“<em>Henry VIII</em>” -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -It seems scarcely possible that Sir Herbert Tree would have the calm -artistic audacity to come to this country and present his production of -“Henry VIII” in the moth-eaten scenery and costumes that were used -in the London production in the year 1910. Yet he did, and oh! the wearisome -drab antiquity of it all! But the “People” liked it and gave the beknighted -actor-manager “one of the greatest premieres that New York -has witnessed these many years”. -</p> - -<p> -Mention is made in the programme of “the inspiring aerchiological advice” -of Percy Macquoid, R. I. The advice may have been quite inspiring. -I do not doubt it. But the results of that advice! That medley of costumes! -Those photo scenes of Windsor Castle and Blackfriars Hall and -<a id="page-30" class="pagenum" title="30"></a> -Westminster Abbey! They were bad when first conceived and painted, -and five years in a London storeroom has not improved them to any degree -compatible with their presentation to an audience that has looked upon -the work of <a id="corr-24"></a>Bakst, Urban, Jones, Sime, and Rothenstein. -</p> - -<p> -And what can be said of the lighting? There was one comic spotlight -that followed Sir Herbert (or ought I to say Wolsey? I hardly -know; they were never quite distinct) around the stage like a little motherless -puppy. Sometimes it went before, sometimes it frisked after, on the -tail of his magnificent scarlet gown. It had a grand time! But it never -seemed to be doing the thing it ought to be doing. -</p> - -<p> -But let me not bore you as these things bored me. Pass we now to -the acting. In London the honors of the play were carried off by Arthur -Bouchier as Henry, and his wife, Violet Vanburgh, as Katherine. A repetition -was performed here. Lyn Harding as Henry, and Edith Wynne -Matheson as Katherine, carried every one before them. And Tree? Well, -he had his moments. There was his superb entrance with the look he -flashed at Buckingham: fine too was the acting in the scene of his downfall. -Between these two highlights such ordinary acting has seldom been -seen in a man of Tree’s reputation. In a cold classic way Miss Matheson -was splendid. I liked her much, and but for her some of the scenes in -the play would have been colourless. There was the usual mob of supers -who got caught in doorways and tripped over furniture, but on the whole -they behaved as well as an ordinary stage manager can make such people -behave. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="YVETTEGUILBERT"> -<em>Yvette Guilbert</em> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -Five years ago I saw Yvette Guilbert in London. I loved her all. -Her red hair; the skinny arms of her, clothed in long black gloves; and -her Gallic body with the low-necked white crinoline that gowned it. And -how she sang!! And her acting! For five years I have carried the memory -of her around with me, matching other people up with her but never -finding her equal. On Sunday, March nineteenth, I saw her again. The -black gloves and the white crinoline were gone, and she had grown a little -stouter. The red hair was there, and the smile. Her voice had changed a -bit and her personality had mellowed. She sang songs that were grave -and moving, like Fiona Macleod’s <em>Prayer of Women</em>, and others that were -gay and jocular, like <em>The Curé Servant</em>. But whatever she sang—and I -didn’t know a word of what she sang—carried me away completely. Not a -mood did I miss—not a suggestion of a mood. Perfect is her art. She -has my adoration. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THEMERRYWIVESOFWINDSOR"> -“<em>The Merry Wives of Windsor</em>” -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -The latest addition to the Shakespeare Festival that is being thrust -upon the apathetic people of this place is the Hackett-Allen production of -<a id="page-31" class="pagenum" title="31"></a> -<em>The Merry Wives of Windsor</em>. Three things can be said without any -further comment. Joseph Urban did the stage settings. Richard Ordynski -directed the production. Willy Pogany designed the costumes. Gordon -Craig says somewhere that any medium is easier to work in than human -beings. After seeing the work expended on <em>The Merry Wives of Windsor</em> -by three geniuses, and watching the actors in that play, we understand completely. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="SOULLESSNEWYORK"> -<em>Soulless New York</em> -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -Witter Bynner, grown somber and blase,—the effect of living in -soulless New York, he says—has become a sort of Greek Chorus to me. -In various strophes with divers variations, in sundry public and private -places, he chants the dismal fact that New York is soulless and that there -is a danger of it robbing me of my joy in life. Not while its streets remain -as they are will I lose the joy I possess! I cannot remember any -city that I have been in where my sense of the comic has been tickled so -often by happenings in the streets. So many comedies are enacted by the -curbstone, so many quaintly funny things happen every hour on the streets, -that it would be impossible for me to forget how jolly life really is. Of -course I see tragedies too, but they seem to be there only for the purpose -of balance! -</p> - -<p> -For some time to come I’ll Dalcroze down the avenues and numerical -by-ways of this “soulless” city. And my smile will always be handy; and -my whistle wet, ready to pipe <em>Gathering Peascods</em> or <em>The Parson’s Farewell</em> -or anything merry and bright to dance to. -</p> - -<div class="filler"> -<p class="noindent"> -To save the theatre, the theatre must be -destroyed, the actors and actresses must all die -of the plague. They poison the air, they make -art impossible. It is not drama they play, but -pieces for the theatre. We should return to the -Greeks, play in the open air; the drama dies of -stalls and boxes and evening dress, and people -who come to digest their dinner.—<em><a id="corr-25"></a>Eleonora -Duse.</em> -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="THETHEATRE"> -<a id="page-32" class="pagenum" title="32"></a> -The Theatre -</h2> - -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="OVERTONES"> -“Overtones” -</h3> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">A</span><span class="postfirstchar">lice</span> Gerstenberg, who dramatized <em>Alice in Wonderland</em>, wrote <em>Overtones</em>, -evidently as an experiment, and had it produced in New York. Now -it is crowding vaudeville houses. As an experiment only is it important. -Cyril Harcourt intends collaborating with Miss Gerstenberg to produce a -three-act play on the same lines: characters being followed by their “real -selves”, veiled, with voices confused. A Shaw play might be done this -way—it is a method effective for moralizing and bringing home a point. -But why would Darling Dora need an overtone or an undertone; or Blanco -Posnet or Fanny’s Father? If there is any reason for the dramatic -presentation of characters at all it is the drama of themselves—their actions -and their thoughts as opposed to those of others.... Imagine -Rebecca West being followed through three acts by a “real self”; or Ulric -Brendel—“... I am homesick for the mighty nothingness”. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="THENEWMANNER"> -“The New Manner” -</h3> - -<p class="subt"> -(<em>Vague Questionings</em>) -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -It evidently means—this phrase—“that which is <em>accepted</em> as new”.... -There are signs of our dangerously settling down to flat brilliant -backgrounds, spots of vivid color, and much <em>mention</em> of “important as -decoration”. It seems an unhealthy acquiescence.... “Is desire a -thing of nothing, that a five-years’ quest can make a parody of it? Your -whole life is not too long, and then only at the very end will some small -atom of what you have desired come to you.”—Gordon Craig in his <em>Art -of the Theatre</em>. It looks as if we are due for a period of the old, old, -three-walled room with the new, new, “new” color.... I don’t believe -we will find the future in Michael Carr’s butterfly proscenium and -moving-picture screen shadows; but, surely, it is not <em>The Man Who Married -a Dumb Wife</em>, or <em>Androcles and the Lion</em>, although Barker’s <em>Midsummer -Night’s Dream</em> costumes are the most far-reaching originalities yet -seen. Nor will it be like <em>A Pair of Silk Stockings</em>, <em>The Sabine Women</em>, -<em>Overtones</em>, <em>The Charity that Began at Home</em>, <em>The Taming of the Shrew</em>, nor -Urban and his present enormous New York output of “designs” and “follies”. -Our only light seems to come from Gordon Craig’s work in Florence. -“In his work is the incalculable element; the element that comes of -itself and cannot be coaxed into coming”. Or from Sam Hume’s enthusiasm -<a id="page-33" class="pagenum" title="33"></a> -over the “Dome”; Reinhardt, of course, has almost acquired his -permanent “angle of repose”—the newness of the American stage being, in -fact, the Reinhardt of yesterday. If I had my way, I’d destroy all books -about the theatre excepting those of Gordon Craig, for inspiration, or -those of Arthur Symons for appreciation.... Then, perhaps, we -should begin to understand the Theatre. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="BERNHARDTONREINHARDT"> -Bernhardt on Reinhardt -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -Sarah Bernhardt has been playing a patriotic play, <em>Les Cathedrales</em>, -in London. “It is such a great play I intend taking it into the provinces -and then back to London again”, she says. We have said it is a patriotic -play; nothing more need be said. Bernhardt plays one of the seven cathedrals, -<em>Strasburg</em>. In the interview, quoted above, given to the London -magazine, <em>Drawing</em>, Bernhardt has also this to say: “And now, it seems -to me that artists in the Allied Countries, and also authors, painters, composers, -and all those concerned in the theatre have to bind themselves into -a league for removing all traces of German nature and influence from our -plays and theatres.... Now the German showman Reinhardt flooded -Paris and London with the Berliner deluge of the spectacular. He claims -artistic superiority on the grounds of having introduced several novel trivialities. -But to trace the real curve of truth I must say that he did nothing -of the kind. He merely revived, in <em>Sumurun</em> and <em>Oedipus Rex</em>, certain -outworn conventions which existed before his time! But he has not the -honesty to acknowledge it.” Later she does say something worth thinking -over: “What he has done is to use Eastern methods for Western ideas -when he should have used Eastern ideas for Western methods.” Plagiarism -is an irrelevant charge to bring against an artist, but acknowledging an -artistic right to adaptation means expansion and, despite nationalism, a -universal one-ness. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="BOOKDISCUSSION"> -Book Discussion -</h2> - -</div> - -<h3 class="section" id="ANDLESSERTHINGS"> -“And Lesser Things” -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>“—— and Other Poets”, by Louis Untermeyer. New York: Henry -Holt and Company.</em> -</p> - -<p class="first"> -<span class="firstchar">V</span><span class="postfirstchar">ery,</span> very clever. The ultimate emptiness of cleverness. These parodies -are “not a piece of buffoonery so much as a critical exposition”,—the -poet expects them to approach this “elevated and illuminating” standard; -but they never reach satire, which is really the thing that is covered by the -above quotation from Isaac Disraeli. -</p> - -<p> -Untermeyer’s verse, including <em>Challenge</em> and that so quantitatively -<a id="page-34" class="pagenum" title="34"></a> -published in the magazines,—still speaking comparatively,—has the same -relation to poetry as Urban’s scenery for <em>The Follies</em> has to his Boston -Opera settings; or of all of Urban’s work to that of the numerous German -poster school of five or eight years ago. Untermeyer is lenient in parodying -poets of his own ilk—but it is easy to determine which of those he -does not respect by his obvious, spiteful absurdities. -</p> - -<p> -For years now newspaper paragraphers, “poets”, and editors have been -saying such things as “It is time we are getting ourselves talked about” -when mentioning Ezra Pound. Untermeyer stoops to it; he is still the -“once born” when being “critical” about Amy Lowell: “A blue herring -sings”. What he is really parodying here is his colleague Walt Mason’s -prose-printed jingles which are syndicated throughout newspaperdom; he -is not giving a “critical exposition” of polyphonic prose. It will need a -keener critic or poet than he to do it—or to produce a parody or satire -whose art equals that of the thing satired—Masters’s things for example. -By ambling through thirty-seven lines Untermeyer imagines that he is -being master of the situation as regards Masters. And the last line of -the parody on James Oppenheim might very well have been written by -Untermeyer himself as one of his own: “Clad in the dazzling splendor of -my awakened self”.... No matter what may have been your attitude -toward the poets parodied these things leave your feelings unchanged—except -that he makes more definite your attitude towards him. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="IMPARTIALANDOTHERWISE"> -Impartial and Otherwise -</h3> - -<p class="book"> -<em>The Making of Germany, by Ferdinand Schevill. Chicago: A. C. McClurg -and Company.</em> -</p> - -<p class="book"> -<em>Great Russia, by Charles Sarolea. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.</em> -</p> - -<p class="book"> -<em>Imperial Germany and the Industrial Revolution, by Thorstein Veblen. -New York: Macmillan.</em> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -These books are not war-literature—a compliment not often deserved -in these days of ink-war demoralization. The lay, unbiased reader, who is -inclined to learn facts rather than to find interpretations substantiating his -prejudices, will enjoy the three books as a rare treat. They are very much -unlike. Mr. Schevill is a historian par excellence, and lends a broad perspective -to the related facts. He also lends a rich romantic flavor to his -narrative, an emotional undercurrent—so unfrequent a feature with academic -writers. His point of view may not be universally acceptable; even -in history there are events and phenomena which belong to the autonomous -region of taste and opinion. The scene of the triumphant Prussians solemnizing -their victory in Versailles, for example, may arouse differing -emotions and reflections. Mr. Schevill bows in reverence before the three -<a id="page-35" class="pagenum" title="35"></a> -heroic figures of Emperor William (“not unlike the legendary Barbarossa”), -Bismarck, and Moltke. We may likewise not share his enthusiasm -for the German idea of State, as superior to Anglo-Saxon individualism. -But we cannot help admiring the general brilliancy of the treatment -of the gigantic subject, and if we are capable of getting instructed, -our reading of the book will amply reward us. -</p> - -<p> -M. Sarolea is a Belgian, hence pro-Ally and anti-German, hence unreservedly -Russophil, hence not wholly impartial. It is a poor service to -Russia, the unqualified praise of all her institutions and traits on the part -of her friends. Exaggerated eulogy is apt to arouse suspicion. If M. Sarolea -had interchanged his Mercurian sprightliness for Professor Veblen’s -solidity, both would have gained considerably. Mr. Veblen takes us as -far back as the pre-historic Baltic tribes in order to prove his point of the -peculiar aptitude of the Prussians for borrowing. He certainly succeeds -in his attempt, but at the expense of the reader’s patience and eye-sight -which is subjected to the perusal of endless pages of miniature type. His -scientific style is surcharged with profound sarcasm, and if you are fond -of delicate subtleties the book will afford you “great sport.” Schevill, historian; -Sarolea, publicist; Veblen, economist—the common feature of the -three, particularly of the first and of the last, is respect for the reader -who is treated with facts and not with phantoms for the sake of argument. -</p> - -<p class="sign"> -K. -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="article" id="THEREADERCRITIC"> -The Reader Critic -</h2> - -</div> - -<div class="letters"> -<h3 class="section" id="SPIRITUALADVENTURES"> -“SPIRITUAL ADVENTURES” -</h3> - -<p class="from"> -<em>Anonymous</em>: -</p> - -<p> -At your suggestion I have begun to read Arthur Symons’s “Spiritual Adventures.” -</p> - -<p> -“Christian Trevelga” strikes me, as you predicted, most strongly so far. Symons -is one of the subtlest of minds; everything he writes is worth reading. This is of -his best certainly. What is one to make of him? I don’t know. I don’t know -whether his kind of subtlety is of any earthly value, or whether it is as valuable -as Shelley’s. I can never give up faith in the human race quite as completely as -he does, nor adopt his attitude of autocratic detachment; yet I never seem to have -any real faith, either.—<em>Vae victis!</em> -</p> - -<p> -He is removed from all sense of human values, and lost, always, in abstract -patterns. This particular story is an extraordinary expression of him—of the prizes -and peril of such a state. Oh, hell! what an insult is put upon us when we are -invited to live, and to make such a choice. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps one makes it: then he is not happy until he has lost himself in an art -that is “something more than an audible dramatization of human life.” Perhaps he -is right. But— -</p> - -<p> -But—but— -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes I <em>know</em> that for the greatest artist there would be no chasm between -what the heart desires and what the mind constructs. Tell me how to do that in -<a id="page-36" class="pagenum" title="36"></a> -poetry and I’ll give you a dollar. Perhaps it can be done in music—I don’t know. -But in poetry the human heart and the mathematical soul are always fighting—and -so far as I know they have not yet come to an agreement—not in English poetry, -at least. The artist and the human being never get to be bedfellows. It’s either -sickening humanitarianism or stark designing—the second is the less painful. -</p> - -<p> -Well!—I loathe the world, including Symons and all the arts. -</p> - -<p class="from"> -<em>Ezra Pound, London</em>: -</p> - -<p> -Thanks for the January-February issue. Your magazine seems to be -looking up. A touch of light in Dawson and Seiffert—though <span class="smallcaps">The Little -Review</span> seems to me rather scrappy and unselective. I thought you started -out to prove Ficke’s belief that the sonnet is “Gawd’s own city.” However, he seems -to have abandoned that church. I still don’t know whether you send me the magazine -in order to encourage me in believing that my camp stool by Helicon is to be left -free from tacks, or whether the paper is sent to convert me from error. -</p> - -<p> -I am glad to see in it some mention of Eliot, who is really of interest. -</p> - -<p> -<em>The Egoist</em> is about to publish Joyce’s “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” -in volume form (since no grab-the-cash firm will take it) and do Lewis’s “Tarr” -as a serial. I think you will be interested in the two novels, and I hope you will -draw attention to them, and to the sporting endeavor of <em>The Egoist</em> to do in this dark -isle what the <em>Mercure</em> has so long done in France, i. e., publish books as well as a -magazine. -</p> - -<p> -Incidentally, Chicago should not depend on New York for its books. -</p> - -<p class="from"> -<em>Anonymous</em>: -</p> - -<p> -Will you ask that Lollipop Vender man, in the March issue, what -happened to his little dirigible? He was sailing along dropping bombs, hitting the -mark every time, when something seemed to happen and he came limply wobbling -down to—nothing. -</p> - -<p> -I hope the last half of that article was not meant to be satire or wit or anything -like that. He speaks with too much authority to have much sense of humor, and—ye -gods!—the situation is far too desperate for wit—of that kind. Now there’s -Bartlett—read what he says of Bartlett! Haven’t we answered all attacks for years -with “There’s Bartlett”? It was only intuition and self-preservation on our part at -first, perhaps—but now hasn’t Bartlett proved that he is a “real artist”? He is off -to New York to live. -</p> - -<p> -How he does wobble when he comes to his list of “able and honest”. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Parker! that he should have to go into the list of best men, too—that list! -The man <em>can</em> paint—technic seems to be only a <a id="corr-29"></a>superstition now but it once had a -place in Art. Parker has that at least. Wendt, Buehr, Ravlin, and Davis should be -rescued from the “able and honest” before your critic collapses completely in referring -to Clarkson and Oliver Dennet Grover as some of “their best men.” Ask him -anyway—what happened? -</p> - -<p class="from"> -<em>Alice Groff, Philadelphia</em>: -</p> - -<p> -Why did not Sherwood Anderson write up “Vibrant Life” clean and true? Why -did he not have the courage to paint every one of those emotions in clear color—to -outline every one of those actions in the beauty of naturalness? Why does he -artificialize everything? Is he afraid of the crouching tigers of conventional morality? -</p> - -<p> -Why should not vibrant life assert itself after its kind, even in the presence of -death? What desecration was there in this man and woman coming together in -such presence, drawn by the invincible magnetism of sex? What of falsity to life -was there in the lawyer’s giving and answering the call of life as to this woman, -even though he had a wife whom he loved? -</p> - -<p> -Why conjure up an atmosphere of guilt that neither man nor woman felt? -Why suggest such hair-bristling horror as to the accidental overturning of a dead -man’s body, any more than over the accidental upsetting of a vase, or a statue, in -the course of a dance? Why such strained effort to make that specialized expression -<a id="page-37" class="pagenum" title="37"></a> -of vibrant life which is the very pivotal centre of all life appear as the degradation of -degradation, degrading everything else, even death? -</p> - -<p> -Will you answer that there is an eternal and universal sense of the fitness of -things with which every soul may be lightened that cometh into the world? Shall -I not reply to you that this is a lie against life—that life is sacrificed every day to -this lie? Shall I not say to you that vibrant life must not allow itself to be sacrificed -to such lies—that vibrant life must create anew continually a sense of the -fitness of things for itself and for its every new expression—that it must do this -with authority, shaking itself bravely free from the clutch of the dead hand, whether -as to traditions, standards, customs, morals, ideals or love even? Shall I not say -to you that Life must assert its right to Live? Shall we not organize life on such -basis? -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="REVIEWINGTHELITTLEREVIEW"> -REVIEWING “THE LITTLE REVIEW” -</h3> - -<p class="from"> -<em>Virginia York in “The Richmond Evening Journal”</em>: -</p> - -<p> -As we said a couple of months ago, <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>, published in windy -Chicago, is claimed by its editors and readers to be the very, very last word in -prose and poetry. Also, it is the organ, the mouth organ, perhaps, of that unsustained -tune known as “vers libre.” In a criticism of some of the Review’s lurid, foolish -contents we poked a good deal of fun at the publication in general and one piece -of loose, or free, verse in particular. This gem, entitled, “Cafe Sketches,” by Arthur -Davison Ficke, said, in part: -</p> - - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse4">Presently persons will come out</p> - <p class="verse">And shake legs.</p> - <p class="verse">I do not want legs shaken.</p> - <p class="verse">I want immortal souls shaken unreasonably.</p> - <p class="verse">I want to see dawn spilled across the blackness</p> - <p class="verse">Like a scrambled egg on a skillet;</p> - <p class="verse">I want miracles, wonders.</p> - <p class="verse">Tidings out of deeps I do not know, ...</p> - <p class="verse">But I have a horrible suspicion</p> - <p class="verse">That neither you</p> - <p class="verse">Nor your esteemed consort</p> - <p class="verse">Nor I myself</p> - <p class="verse">Can ever provide these simple things</p> - <p class="verse">For which I am so patiently waiting</p> - <p class="verse">Base people.</p> - <p class="verse">How I dislike you!</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -<p class="noindent"> -As we said a couple of months ago, “Maybe you think this is funny, but certainly -it is not intended to be. Seriousness, thick, black, dense seriousness is the keynote of -<span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>.” However, the current issue of said magazine carries our -editorial remarks in full, and with our hand on our heart we make a deep courtesy -for the honor conferred upon us. Though we distinctly deplore the fact that absolutely -no comment is made upon our criticism of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> and Mr. Ficke’s -remarkable “pome.” It is as if we were taken by the editorial legs and shaken. -And we do not want legs shaken. We are a lady. We would far rather have our -immortal editorial soul shaken unreasonably and spilled across the literary blackness -and blankness “like a scrambled egg on the skillet.” Yet, we have a horrible idea -“that neither you,” nor our esteemed contemporary, “nor I myself,” know what -it is all about; but we do wish that Margaret Anderson and the other editors of “Le -Revue Petite” had made a few caustic remarks on our feeble attempts to be funny. -“Base people! How I dislike you!” -</p> - -<p> -But to show that we can be generous and heap coals of fire upon the heads -of our enemies, we propose to reproduce two short, sweet poems from this month’s -(beg pardon, the January-February issue, lately out, “on account of having no funds -during January,” as the Review editors admit) issue of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>. The -first selection on our program, ladies and gentlemen, is by Harriet Dean and is called -“The Pillar,” though much more effectively it might have been headed “The Pillow” -or “The Hitching-Post.” Here goes: -</p> - - <div class="poem-container"> -<a id="page-38" class="pagenum" title="38"></a> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">When your house grows too close for you,</p> - <p class="verse">When the ceilings lower themselves, crushing you,</p> - <p class="verse">There on the porch I shall wait,</p> - <p class="verse">Outside your house.</p> - <p class="verse">You shall lean against my straightness,</p> - <p class="verse">And let night surge over you.</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -<p class="noindent"> -Now if it were only a nice slim lamp-post of a man giving such an invitation -we should pray that the ceilings would descend, and should hasten to the porch—strangely -enough on the outside of the house—and we should love to lean, and lean, -and lean, surge what may. -</p> - -<p> -The second, an “Asperity,” by Mitchell Dawson, is labeled “Teresa,” and madly -singeth as follows: -</p> - - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">“Do you remember Antonio—</p> - <p class="verse">Swift-winged, green in the sun?</p> - <p class="verse">Into the snap-dragon throat of desire</p> - <p class="verse">Flew Antonio.</p> - <p class="verse">Snap!...</p> - <p class="verse">The skeleton of Antonio has made</p> - <p class="verse">A good husband, a good provider.”</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -<p class="noindent"> -La, la, la! At first we thought “Antonio” was a green dragon fly, but, finally, -by exercising a bit of common sense, we know that Tony is a locust and left his -“skeleton,” or “shell,” behind; and that Mrs. Tony must have subsisted on the -“leavings.” -</p> - -<p> -Oh, this nut sundae, chocolate fudge, marshmallow whip vers libre poetry! Isn’t -it just too lovely? Snap! “Into the snap-dragon throat of desire, Flew Antonio.” -Honestly now, Tony, don’t you wish the lady had kept her mouth shut? -</p> - -<p> -We should like to comment upon these remarks, but surely they are too good -to spoil. -</p> - -<p class="from"> -<em>A Boy, Chicago</em>: -</p> - -<p> -I am a boy sixteen years old, and one could not expect me to know much about -poetry—especially free verse. But I have heard of your magazine as a magazine -that was ready to print what all kinds of people thought. So I have written a little -verse—it is not a poem—telling you something about what is going on inside my mind, -for these matters trouble every boy’s mind, although you may think that we are -light-minded at my age. -</p> - -<h3 class="section" id="BLINDNESS"> -BLINDNESS -</h3> - - <div class="poem-container"> - <div class="poem"> - <div class="stanza"> - <p class="verse">I suppose I must be blind.</p> - <p class="verse">People say continually that the world is a wicked place;</p> - <p class="verse">I hear them talking about it all the time.</p> - <p class="verse">They say our city streets reek</p> - <p class="verse">With sin and sorrow</p> - <p class="verse">And all manner of misery and filth,</p> - <p class="verse">And yet I do not see any of it.</p> - <p class="verse">I go up and down these streets every day</p> - <p class="verse">And I see that they are ugly and that many people</p> - <p class="verse">Are deformed and sick and hungry;</p> - <p class="verse">But I close my eyes to it.</p> - <p class="verse">I suppose somebody will call me cowardly, but what shall I do?</p> - <p class="verse">I have no money to give the poor, and perhaps</p> - <p class="verse">That is not getting at their real trouble anyway.</p> - <p class="verse">I cannot heal the sick and deformed.</p> - <p class="verse">I cannot make the streets cleaner.</p> - <p class="verse">So I just think of other things.</p> - <p class="verse">Of my books at home, or the tennis courts in the park,</p> - <p class="verse">Or my pretty sister or anything.</p> - <p class="verse">There is nothing wrong in my own world.</p> - <p class="verse">I am happy. I like my school well enough.</p> - <p class="verse">I have my boy friends, and they are healthy athletic boys.</p> -<a id="page-39" class="pagenum" title="39"></a> - <p class="verse">All the girls I know are good girls,</p> - <p class="verse">With charming and high minds.</p> - <p class="verse">And yet it is true that many boys lie and steal,</p> - <p class="verse">And girls run away and are dragged into lives of shame.</p> - <p class="verse">Why do I not see it? Why do I not do anything?</p> - <p class="verse">Why am I so helpless, if I have any duty to others?</p> - </div> - </div> - </div> -<h3 class="section" id="FROMTHEINTERSTATEMEDICALJOURNAL"> -FROM “THE INTERSTATE MEDICAL JOURNAL” -</h3> - -<p class="noindent"> -A case in point showing how little has been achieved by our medical men who -have gone among the people, torch in hand, to lead them to the Promised Land of -happiness and content and physical and mental health has been well illustrated in a -poem, recently published in <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> (Chicago), wherein the authoress, -Mary Aldis, unwittingly indicts the whole medical profession for still allowing the -sale of a patent medicine to reduce obesity. The strange title of the poem in homely -and unadorned “free verse” is “Ellie: The Tragic Tale of An Obese Girl.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Aldis—thus runs the poem—had a manicurist who was “a great big lummox -of a girl—a continent,” with “silly bulging cheeks and puffy forehead,” and who -one day said to the poetess, weeping and distraught: “I’m so fat, so awful, awful fat! -The boys won’t look at me.” She asked Mrs. Aldis for help and Mrs. Aldis suggested, -“A doctor’s vague advice to bant and exercise,” and “Ellie and her woes passed from -my mind. Until, as summer dawned again, I heard that she was dead.” Mrs. Aldis -went to the funeral and saw Ellie lying in her coffin and was told by Ellie’s mother, -“She must a made it [the dress] by herself. It’s queer it fitted perfectly, An’ her -all thin like that.” Later in the evening Mrs. Aldis received the following confidences -from Ellie’s mother: “’Twas the stuff she took that did it, I never knew -till after she was dead. The bottles in the woodshed, hundreds of ’em, All labelled -‘Caldwell’s Great Obesity Cure Warranted Safe and Rapid.’” -</p> - -<p> -To sermonize here, we have Mrs. Aldis, who we know to be a highly intelligent -woman and one not only interested in the uplift of the drama but also in the uplift -of the common (?) people, merely saying to a girl, who is wretchedly unhappy about -her elephantine size: All that I can give you is a doctor’s vague advice to bant -and exercise. She might have given her Vance Thompson’s epoch-making book “Eat -and Grow Thin,” or read chapters from it to the unhappy girl, thereby convincing -her that starvation is unnecessary and also a patent medicine. But with a coldness -that is most reprehensive, she gave “a doctor’s vague advice to bant and exercise,” -and evidently Ellie would none of this. She might also have consulted the hundred -and one doctors in Chicago or elsewhere who specialize in the reduction of fat, and -who could have given her for “the continent” a diet chart or perhaps a pill to effect -the desired change. But she did not think this necessary; she did not feel it her -duty. But if we have only adverse criticism for Mrs. Aldis’ uncharitable act, what -direful words of commination should we not visit on the doctor who gave the -“vague advice.” In an age when the cult of slimness is uppermost in everybody’s -mind, is it possible that the doctor consulted by Mrs. Aldis was so untrue to his -mission as a public benefactor that he gave only “vague advice,” or is Mrs. Aldis -maligning the whole medical profession and trying to show that by his “vague advice” -the doctor was really responsible for Ellie’s death by driving her into taking “the -bottles in the woodshed, hundreds of ’em. All labelled ‘Caldwell’s Great Obesity -Cure Warranted Safe and Rapid.’”? -</p> - -<p> -The lesson contained in the poetic lines of Mrs. Aldis’ little tragedy is a bitter -one for all those medical men who have made strenuous efforts to let the public -share their deep and vast knowledge without so much as asking for the slightest -compensation. It shows beyond a doubt that not only are the Ellies of this world -unwilling to imbibe science in a popular form, but also the Aldises of a much -higher intelligence. It shows that the lure of patent medicine is a very strong one -and that a doctor’s “vague advice” cannot offset it. Strange, indeed, that a doctor’s -“vague advice” should be so inconsequential opposite so patently fraudulent a preparation -as “Caldwell’s Great Obesity Cure,” but stranger still is what we are about -to record—namely, the failure of our medical propagandists to combat in an intelligent -way that most simple of all our metabolic disturbances—obesity! -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="editorials chapter"> -<a id="page-40" class="pagenum" title="40"></a> -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="editorials" id="AVERSLIBREPRIZECONTEST"> -A Vers Libre Prize Contest -</h2> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent"> -Through the generosity of a friend, <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span> -is enabled to offer an unusual prize for poetry—possibly the -first prize extended to free verse. The giver is “interested in all -experiments, and has followed the poetry published in <span class="smallcaps">The Little -Review</span> with keen appreciation and a growing admiration for the -poetic form known as <em>vers libre</em>.” -</p> - - <div class="linespace"> -<p> -The conditions are as follows: -</p> - -<p> -Contributions must be received by August 15th. -</p> - -<p> -They must not be longer than twenty-five lines. -</p> - -<p> -They must be sent anonymously with stamps for return. -</p> - -<p> -The name and address of the author must be fixed to the -manuscript in a sealed envelope. -</p> - -<p> -It should be borne in mind that free verse is wanted—verse -having beauty of rhythm, not merely prose separated into lines. -</p> - -<p> -There will be three judges, the appointing of whom has been -left to the editor of <span class="smallcaps">The Little Review</span>. (Their names will be -given in the next issue, as we are hurrying this announcement to -press without having had time to consult anyone.) -</p> - -<p> -There will be two prizes of $25 each. 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These Letters bear particularly upon the interests<br /> -and education of modern women. -</p> - -<p class="u c"> -MADAME CIOLKOWSKA will continue the “<em>PARIS CHRONICLE</em>”<br /> -and her new series of articles on “<em>THE FRENCH<br /> -WORD IN MODERN PROSE</em>.” -</p> - -<p class="u c"> -Further prose contributors will include: H. S. WEAVER, RICHARD<br /> -ALDINGTON (also poetry), A. W. G. RANDALL (studies in modern<br /> -German poetry), JOHN COURNOS, F. S. FLINT,<br /> -LEIGH HENRY (studies in contemporary<br /> -music), M. MONTAGU-NATHAN,<br /> -HUNTLY CARTER, MARGARET<br /> -STORM<br /> -JAMESON<br /> -and others. -</p> - -<p class="u c"> -<em>THE EGOIST</em> will also continue to publish regularly the work of <em>Young<br /> -English and American Poets</em>, and poems (in French)<br /> -by <em>Modern French Poets</em>. -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"> -PUBLISHED MONTHLY -</p> - -<p class="u adp"> -Price—Fifteen cents a number<br /> -Yearly subscription, One Dollar Sixty Cents -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="ade"> -OAKLEY HOUSE, BLOOMSBURY STREET, LONDON, W. C. -</p> - -</div> - -<div class="ads chapter"> -<a id="page-42" class="pagenum" title="42"></a> -<div class="centerpic bent fl"> -<img src="images/bent.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="h1 adh"> -<span class="smallcaps">Piano Triumphant</span> -</p> - -<p> -The artistic outgrowth -of forty-five years of -constant improvement—a -piano conceived to -better all that has -proven best in others. -</p> - -<p class="h2 adh"> -GEO. P. 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Send $1.10. -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="u ade"> -<span class="larger">GOTHAM BOOK SOCIETY</span><br /> -Marlen E. Pew, Gen. Mgr., Dept. K, 142 West 23rd St., New York<br /> -“You Can Get Any Book on Any Subject” -</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> -... Fine, or <span class="underline">Superfine</span>. ...<br /> -... Fine, or <a href="#corr-2"><span class="underline">superfine</span></a>. ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... of Eugene <span class="underline">Araam</span>. Power’s face and figure were more majestic on the ...<br /> -... of Eugene <a href="#corr-14"><span class="underline">Aram</span></a>. Power’s face and figure were more majestic on the ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... hotel and restaurant maids; scrub-women; actors; <span class="underline">vaudevillains</span>; cabaret ...<br /> -... hotel and restaurant maids; scrub-women; actors; <a href="#corr-16"><span class="underline">vaudevillians</span></a>; cabaret ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... be Helen Hoyt and <span class="underline">Zöe</span> <span class="underline">Aikens</span>. The third will be announced ...<br /> -... be Helen Hoyt and <a href="#corr-20"><span class="underline">Zoë</span></a> <a href="#corr-21"><span class="underline">Akins</span></a>. The third will be announced ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... the work of <span class="underline">Baskt</span>, Urban, Jones, Sime, and Rothenstein. ...<br /> -... the work of <a href="#corr-24"><span class="underline">Bakst</span></a>, Urban, Jones, Sime, and Rothenstein. ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... who come to digest their dinner.—<span class="underline">Elenora</span> ...<br /> -... who come to digest their dinner.—<a href="#corr-25"><span class="underline">Eleonora</span></a> ...<br /> -</li> - -<li> -... The man can paint—technic seems to be only a <span class="underline">superstitian</span> now but it once had a ...<br /> -... The man can paint—technic seems to be only a <a href="#corr-29"><span class="underline">superstition</span></a> now but it once had a ...<br /> -</li> -</ul> -</div> - - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, APRIL 1916 (VOL. 3, NO. 2) ***</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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