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diff --git a/old/65826-0.txt b/old/65826-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4847542..0000000 --- a/old/65826-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3730 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, January 1915 (Vol. -1, No. 10), by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Little Review, January 1915 (Vol. 1, No. 10) - -Author: Various - -Editor: Margaret C. Anderson - -Release Date: July 11, 2021 [eBook #65826] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at http://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from images - made available by the Modernist Journal Project, Brown and - Tulsa Universities, modjourn.org. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, JANUARY -1915 (VOL. 1, NO. 10) *** - - - - - - THE LITTLE REVIEW - - - _Literature Drama Music Art_ - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON - EDITOR - - JANUARY, 1915 - - The Allies Amy Lowell - The Logical Extreme George Soule - Little Flowers from a Milliner’s Box Sade Iverson - My Friend, the Incurable: Ibn Gabirol - On Personalities: Villon, Verhaeren, - Parnell, Rolland, Dostoevsky - A Note on Paroxysm in Poetry Edward J. O’Brien - The New Beauty Nicolas Beauduin - The Artist as Master Henry Blackman Sell - Evolution versus Stagnation Herman Schuchert - Dawn in the Hills Florence Kiper Frank - The Bestowing Virtue George Burman Foster - Editorials and Announcements - Mrs. Havelock Ellis’s “The Love of Tomorrow” Herman Schuchert - London Letter Edward Shanks - New York Letter George Soule - I Am Woman Marguerite Swawite - Albert Spalding Herman Schuchert - Book Discussion - Sentence Reviews - The Reader Critic - - Published Monthly - - 15 cents a copy - - MARGARET C. ANDERSON, PUBLISHER - FINE ARTS BUILDING - CHICAGO - - $1.50 a year - - Entered as second-class matter at Postoffice, Chicago. - - - - - THE LITTLE REVIEW - - - Vol. I - - JANUARY, 1915 - - No. 10 - - Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson. - - - - - The Allies - - - (_August 14th, 1914_) - - AMY LOWELL - -Into the brazen, burnished sky the cry hurls itself. The zigzagging cry -of hoarse throats, it floats against the hard winds, and binds the head -of the serpent to its tail, the long snail-slow serpent of marching men. -Men weighted down with rifles and knapsacks, and parching with war. The -cry jars and splits against the brazen, burnished sky. - -This is the war of wars, and the cause? Has this writhing worm of men a -cause? - -Crackling against the polished sky is an eagle with a sword. The eagle -is red and its head is flame. - - * * * * * - -In the shoulder of the worm is a teacher. - -His tongue laps the war-sucked air in drought, but he yells defiance at -the red-eyed eagle, and in his ears are the bells of new philosophies, -and their tinkling drowns the sputter of the burning sword. He shrieks, -“God damn you! When you are broken the world will strike out new -shoots.” - -His boots are tight, the sun is hot, and he may be shot, but he is in -the shoulder of the worm. - - (_Over_) - -A dust speck in the worm’s belly is a poet. - -He laughs at the flaring eagle and makes a long nose with his fingers. -He will fight for smooth, white sheets of paper and uncurdled ink. The -sputtering sword cannot make him blink, and his thoughts are wet and -rippling. They cool his heart. - -He will tear the eagle out of the sky and give the earth tranquility, -and loveliness printed on white paper. - - * * * * * - -The eye of the serpent is an owner of mills. - -He looks at the glaring sword which has snapped his machinery and struck -away his men. - -But it will all come again, when the sword is broken to a million dying -stars, and there are no more wars. - - * * * * * - -Bankers, butchers, shopkeepers, painters, farmers,—men, sway and sweat. -They will fight for the earth, for the increase of the slow, sure roots -of peace, for the release of hidden forces. They jibe at the eagle and -his scorching sword. - -One! Two!—One! Two! clump the heavy boots. The cry hurtles against the -sky. - - * * * * * - -Each man pulls his belt a little tighter, and shifts his gun to make it -lighter. Each man thinks of a woman, and slaps out a curse at the eagle. -The sword jumps in the hot sky, and the worm crawls on to the battle, -stubbornly. - -This is the war of wars, from eye to tail the serpent has one cause: - - PEACE! - - - - - The Logical Extreme - - - GEORGE SOULE - - (_The first of a series of three Dramatic Extravaganzas to be called - “Plays for Irascibles.”_) - - - CHARACTERS: - - GENERAL HEINRICH VON BUHNE - MARYA RUDINOFF - - - SCENE: - -A private dining room in the General’s house in Berlin. It is decorated -in black and white, and designed to impress one with the luxury of -austerity. A chaotic but strong cubist bust in black onyx is at the -left. The dining table, right center, is prepared for a meal. The effect -of the room is that of a subtle beauty compressed and given terrific -force by a military severity. There is a door at the rear and an -entrance for servants at the left. - -The General enters rear, followed by Marya. He is tall, with a large -mustache and gray hair; his face and figure are in striking harmony with -the room. A man of high intellectual quality; the lines and angles of -his jaw, his mouth, his brows, are almost terrifying in their -massiveness. He is in evening dress, and wears a single crimson order. -Marya likewise is tall, a young woman with dark hair, and of a tense -beauty. She is subtle, yet apparently lacks utterly fear and the softer -qualities. She moves about with an unemphasized superiority over her -surroundings. She wears a red evening gown, low cut to show her superb -shoulders, yet without daring for its own sake. One feels that she would -be equally at ease as a nude Greek goddess. - -The General seats her at the right of the table, bows, and sits opposite -her. Two servants enter with appetizers; they continue serving the -dinner as the dialogue progresses. - -GENERAL VON BUHNE (_lifting his glass_). To a good day’s work. (_She -touches hers to her lips_) Fräulein Rudinoff, you are superb! I do not -refer to your beauty; any dog could see that. I don’t believe in praise. -But as a sculptor to his statue, allow me to say that of the many secret -agents I have employed, you are the most subtly efficient—cold as ice -and blazing as fire. - -MARYA. Please, Heinrich! I don’t believe in praise either. - -GENERAL. Not even when it is for myself? But you are right. Man does not -become strong until he ceases to wonder at his strength. - -MARYA. That is your secret, I believe. - -GENERAL. My secret, Marya? I do not have secrets. A secret is something -guarded, kept. My mystery, perhaps, yes. That is something which the -many are incapable of discovering—even when it is flaunted in their -faces. - -MARYA. But we flaunt nothing, you and I. - -GENERAL. No, we stand for everyone to see. My enemies think you are -their spy, and I—know what you are. - -MARYA. And so, we have them at last where your iron fist can close on -them. - -GENERAL. Yes, I have them, thanks to you. The poor visionary fools shall -not assassinate the chancellor and blow up the churches. - -MARYA. You know, we women are supposed to worship the poets. Well, we -do, but we are fascinated and held by men like you. I loved the -comrades, but—as you see—— - -GENERAL. You are right, Marya. I love them, too; that is why—I crush -them. (He laughs shortly.) And perhaps that is why I dominate you. It is -not an effort; it is an instinct. There is something—inevitable—about -our love. That, I think, is because I—am inevitable. - -MARYA. When I first came to you, Heinrich, I hated you. I think I do -still, a little. There is always the zest of hate about the greatest -love. - -GENERAL. How you echo me! (_A silence_) Would it surprise you, my -beautiful one, to know that I, like you, was once an anarchist? - -MARYA. You! - -GENERAL. Yes, I, the bugaboo of the democrats, the great reactionary, -the militarist, the apostle of repression, the fortress of the German -Empire. I was once a revolutionist, and I plotted to kill your Czar! - -MARYA. And yet you failed! - -GENERAL. I am in a whimsical mood tonight. Shall I explain to you the -paradox? - -MARYA. Tell me! - -GENERAL. When I was a young chap I was restless, full of that driving -spirit all healthy youngsters have. The methodical occupations they gave -me in the Fatherland disgusted me. I had money, and I traveled. So I -came to Russia and took up with one of your artistic groups in an -interior city—I won’t tell you which. Believe me, I was fascinated, -lifted out of myself! The great, clean spirit of your intellectual -anarchists, the daily dangers they thrived on, the nonchalance with -which they met death or exile, their daring minds, which ripped the veil -from the future, their beautiful art productions—these things carried me -to the height of inspiration. They represented the highest human quality -of which it was possible to dream. - -MARYA (_covering her eyes with her hand_). You have known that, too! - -GENERAL. Yes, and love along with it. It was a boy-like worship. And -when my beloved one went to the scaffold it burned into me a white-hot -scar of fearlessness and severity I shall never lose. The love, I see -now, was ephemeral; the scar is eternal. - -MARYA. And why did you leave them? Why did you leave them? - -GENERAL. I had heard of America; I wished to go there and study the -freedom we desired to create in Russia. - -MARYA. So you went; what then? - -GENERAL. I found a country without a hereditary ruler, one rich in -opportunity, where all men are theoretically equal before the law. I -found a country where even the peasants read and have their magazines, a -country without a state church. It was a land won from the wilderness by -heroic struggle, whose freedom men had died to create, and whose unity -men had died to preserve. - -MARYA. Did you not breathe more freely there? - -GENERAL. Ah, Marya, that was the tragedy! I suffocated! For it was also -a country without a poet, without a musician, without a sculptor, -without a philosopher. The cities were run for loot, and the people, in -whose power everything lay, could not seize the reins. And -business—business—business, everywhere. As I went along the railroads I -saw nothing beside the track but dirty wooden shanties in the cities, -nothing in the country but ugly advertising signs. What do you think was -the best paid and most highly honored profession? Advertising! - -MARYA. Are you lying to me! - -GENERAL. No, it is the truth. Heroism, the love of beauty, the love of -truth—except convenient truth—any sort of high endeavor for its own -sake, was laughed at and crushed in those people by the dull weight of -prosperity. That whole nation was an ugly monument to the triumph of the -commonplace, a stone over the grave of godlike aspiration. - -MARYA. But surely they have improved since then? - -GENERAL. Do you know why they put up new buildings? Because some -millionaire who sells worthless things for five and ten cents wishes to -make money renting offices; because some railroad or insurance company -wishes to get advertising space in the papers without paying for it. Do -you know why the clergymen preach honesty? So that business conditions -may not be disturbed! Do you know for what purpose the magazines accept -stories and articles? So that they may gain the largest possible public -to offer up to their advertising men! Whenever an artist appears, he is -either ignored or scoffed at by that bestial monster, the majority! It -is like a prehistoric animal taking up the whole earth with his vast -bulk, seizing everything beautiful for food with which to stuff his maw, -and poisoning the air with the breath of his indigestion. (_He rises and -goes to the sideboard, where he busies himself selecting a cigar. As his -back is turned, Marya quickly empties a powder into his glass. As he -comes back and seats himself, she lifts her glass._) - -MARYA. Then let us toast Russia, General! (_They drain their glasses._) - -GENERAL. Would you mind telling me, Marya, how long I have to live? (_He -lights his cigar._) You are surprised? But that does not suit you. You -should have known me better than to think I did not know what you would -do when I turned my back tonight. - -MARYA (_rising, pale_): About a minute, General. - -GENERAL. Then let us use the time well. Now we can be perfectly frank. -Why have you—(_He waves his hand in the direction of the empty glass._) - -MARYA. Because I am true to my cause! Because you are the scourge of -Germany; you represent everything we hate, every cruelty, every -oppression, every evil thing of the past. I have lived for this moment -for years! - -GENERAL. Ah, you are beautiful! In you is my reward! And do you renounce -your love, too? - -MARYA. I have loved you—more than I knew how to bear. Do not think I -shall live after you. And yet—I had to kill you! - -GENERAL. Now I am ready to die. My work is done. I have produced the -beauty I desired! - -MARYA. You? What do you mean? - -GENERAL. You, who know how to kill what you love, can ask that? To -produce the rebellion in Germany, to make heroes with the scourge—that -has been my life! I, too, have lived for this moment! To be loved by a -woman with a flaming soul, a woman who is greater than her love! - -MARYA (_Springing to him as he weakens_): Stay with me! Come back to me! -O Heinrich, Heinrich, I have wronged you! - -GENERAL. No, Marya, you would have wronged me if you had not carried -your faith to its end. I—I—am the greatest anarchist of you all! (_He -dies. She looks at him a moment, puts her arms across her eyes, then -rises and speaks levelly to the servant who enters._) - -MARYA. Peter, I have killed your master. No, do not be afraid, I shall -sit here quietly. Lock me in, if you like, and send for the authorities. -(_The servant stands stupidly staring at her._) Do as I say, at once! -(_He tumbles out. She sits slowly at her place, her elbows on the table, -looking dumbly into the distance._) - - _Slow curtain_ - - - - - Little Flowers From a Milliner’s Box - - - SADE IVERSON - - - Reminders - - I have been making a little hat; - A hat for a little lady. - Red and brown leaves edge it, - And the crown is like brown moss. - If I might, I would say to her: - “Pay me nothing, pay me nothing— - I have been paid in full, lady— - I have been paid in memories. - Ah, the sweep of the sun-burned meadow - Rising above the woodland! - Ah, the drift of golden beech-leaves, - Fluttering the still hour through! - I can hear them falling, softly, - Softly, falling on the tawny ground. - The nuts, too, are falling, pad-pad, - Mischievously on the earth. - Never was sky so blue, so deep, - So unbearably perfect! - I throw up my hands to it, - I fling kisses heavenward, - To Something, to Somebody, - Who made beauty—who made Youth! - Take your hat, little lady, - Wear it smilingly; - It is all sewn with dreams, - And looped with memories. - Little dead joys, like mists, - Float about it invisibly, - Making it miraculous. - You lack the money to pay for these things. - It is I who owe you for the little hat - You commissioned, made of red and of brown leaves, - With a crown like sun-dried moss - In the woods where I once wandered.” - But I cannot afford to be kind, - Or strange, or mad, or merry. - She will give me purse-worn bills - For the little dream hat, the fairy-sewn hat, - And I shall say with formality: - “Thank you, madam; I am glad - You are pleased with the little hat.” - - Stale, stale, flat, flat! - - Will there never again come a day - When I shall be throwing kisses to the sky, - Hoping they will reach up to Him - Who made beauty, and little golden leaves, - And brown nuts falling in the Autumn woods? - - - Eidolons - - I have been looking at the sun-ball, - Red as a Japanese lantern - Swinging low in the West - On a bed of saffron sky. - And now I have come into my room - With grey and lonely walls all about me, - And everywhere I look, behold, - Little wonderful bright balls are swinging! - My room is gay with them, - My wall is dancing. - Who could guess this little grey room could be so gay? - - - Voices - - I awake in the night to the sound of voices— - Voices of strangers passing in the street. - I cannot hear what they are saying, - But it is easy to see that they are happy. - Perhaps they have been to a party, - Dancing to music—or remembering the birthday - Of some one whom they love. - I am glad to have heard them, - Glad they were laughing. - It fretted the silence - As the bright balls of a rocket - Fret the black sky of night. - As for me, I am shut up in silence, - Like a fly in odorous amber. - No one hails me, no one calls me; - No one tells me the day is fair - Or wishes me happy dreams. - - Sometimes I fall to wondering, - What if I should run out onto the street, - Crying to some passerby: - “I would make a good friend to you! - I am one who understands friendship; - Try me and see!” - Oh, what would happen? - Should I be scorned? - Oh, silence, silence, - You are but a grey bubble, and I could break you - With one breath of impatience. Yet I dare not. - Something witholds me. Still must I waken - In the lonely night-time, - Taking joy from the voices of strangers - Passing in the street, talking, laughing. - Joy? - It mocks me like the sound of falling water - That tricks the ear of the thirst-mad wretch - Dying in the desert. - - My desert is Silence! - It covers the bleak rotundity of the earth. - - - Ten Square Feet of Garden - - Did you ever see my garden? See my mallow? See my larkspur? - My petunias like censers, snowy white and full of honey? - And my phlox, a summer snow-bank, and my haughty purple asters? - - Did you ever see my flocks and herds, all my little golden - creatures? - Dusky honey-bees in plenty, golden bumble-bees a few? - Have you never seen them feeding on my larkspur and my mallow? - - Some day I shall have a fountain, or a tiny pool for lilies. - And I’ll sit there, hidden safely, all alone and full of fancies, - Playing I’m a lovely princess, resting by her carven fountain. - - I shall like to be a princess, to have friends and lovers by me! - I can praise them, I can chide them, tell them secrets if I like, - Flinging back their happy laughter like a handful of clear water. - - Oh, my little treasured garden, ten square feet of haunting perfume, - Ten square feet of tossing blossoms, all my feoff and own dominion, - How I love you, with your old-gold, noisy, honey-bearing herds! - - - - - My Friend, the Incurable - - - III. - - Personalities: Villon; Verhaeren; Parnell; Romain Rolland; - Dostoevsky - -How do you do? Or, as Oscar Wilde preferred it, How do you think? It is -so much more interesting. Tell me, if you can, spontaneously, freely, -about your thoughts, reveal your personality, and we shall enjoy a most -engaging conversation, as charming as any good novel or essay. Speak -about yourself; people do this so much better than when they discuss -others. To me the most enchanting reading has always been literature of -Personality, such as subjective lyrics or chatty essays of the Montaigne -category; but I am particularly interested in Letters and Memoirs, where -the writer reaches transparency, unless he deliberately uses his pen as -a masque for self-concealment, as is the case, to my mind, in _De -Profundis_. True, an artist reveals his best in his artistic creation; -you discover autobiographical contours of Goethe in Faust and Werther; -Tolstoy’s restless searchings are mirrored in Besukhov, in Levin, in -Nekhludov; Zarathustra and _Ecce Homo_ allow you a glimpse into the very -crater of Vesuvius-Nietzsche. Yet through this medium you see the artist -in his royal garb, so to speak, in his regalia; he seldom appears to you -in his unceremonious morning-gown and slippers, to let you contemplate -him not at his _best_ but in his quotidian intimate aspect. Exceptions? -I admit a legion. - -To be sure, Francois Villon[1] wore no stage array. His childish -frankness and spontaneity account for the fact that he is to this very -day an outcast among _bon ton_ salons, and even Robert Louis Stevenson -stooped to condemn him. Of course he is a disgrace for the fraternity of -writers: a thief, a robber, a murderer, a tramp, a debauchee, who -possessed less tact than even his by-no-means puritanic confrère, -Rabelais, and chanted most exquisite verses on most base topics. Villon -is not in the least detached from his poetry: he is it, his very life -was a song, a ballad. Filthy fifteenth century Paris, licentious monks, -mercenary courtesans, tavern sages, knights of the road and candidates -of the gibbet—in such an atmosphere the poet breathed, lived, and sang -in the old picturesque French. Every adventure, every experience, -impression, and emotion, Villon reflected in a ballad or a rondel, with -equal beauty and sincerity; with equal compassion and loyalty he chanted -to his religious mother and to the faded courtesan, to the duck-thief -and to the creaking gibbet; and he poured a world of tender humor and -sympathy into his greatest _Ballade des Pendus_, an epitaph for himself -and his companions expecting to be hanged. You may love him, you may -condemn him, but you cannot deny his absolute truthfulness, for his soul -is unreservedly denuded, a quivering, appealing, humane soul. - - [1] _The Poems of Francois Villon_, translated by H. DeVere - Stacpoole. [John Lane Company, New York.] - - Ayez pitie, Ayez pitie de moy. - A tout les moins, si vous plaist, mes amis! - -Villon is justly called “the father of French poetry”; his influence has -been felt for nearly five centuries, from Rabelais to Verhaeren. Indeed, -in the savage cosmic rhythm of the “enormous” Belgian I often hear the -echo of the medieval “_Pauvre Villon_.” Verhaeren.... I must close my -eyes when I think of this Titan. You cannot gauge him, you cannot see -him in his entirety: an Atlas, bigger than our planet, detached from it. -I think Verhaeren has been best loved, and perhaps best understood in -Russia,—a land where realities are looked upon as symbols, else life -would become a horrible absurdity. There he is endeared as the lyricist -of the modern soul rent with eternal contradictions in the great task of -transvaluation of values: a mystic with no God, a prophet with no -blessing, a positivist without faith in man, a socialist without a -political program, an anarchist without “action,” an urbanite longing -for his village, a villager craving for the city. Verhaeren destroys -rather than creates, wills rather than believes, yearns rather than -attains. His movement lacks gracefulness; his attack, firmness; his -flight, lightness; his love, tenderness; his architecture is without -system, his system without method. And the more profound, the more -palpitating and irresistible is the chaos of his titanic images heaped -in masses, the more sincere are his wails, the more burning his tears. I -think it was the admirable French critic, René Ghil, who observed that -to Verhaeren the world appears as if in a flash of lightning, in an -enormous, exaggerated form, and as such he embodies it in his work—also -exaggerated, also enormous; that his poetry resembles the genius of -Rodin hewing his Balzac out of marble and powerful dreams. - -How differently is Verhaeren conceived in the Teutonic mind! The -Austrian poet, Stefan Zweig,[2] has written an interesting book on the -Belgian, an elaborate study of his personality and works, which -substantiates my claim that people speak much more successfully about -themselves than about others. Herr Zweig appreciates Verhaeren highly -(and let me tell you sub rosa, my friend, that his general estimation of -the Poet is but a pale echoing of the brilliant Léon Bazalgette in his -book _Les célébrités d’aujourd hui_); he considers him the greatest poet -living, he names him _the_ European poet in the same sense as Whitman is -_the_ American poet. Soon, however, he falls into the Teutonic fallacy -of preciseness-by-all-means, of violently accurate definitions which -_must_ suit the facts, else—_desto schlimmer für die Fakten_. He wishes -us to believe with him that Verhaeren is the poet of socialism, of -democracy, that he has proclaimed his great Aye to contemporary life, -with its greed, factories, and smoke; that a poet who wants “to be -necessary to our time must feel that everything in this time is -necessary, and therefore beautiful.” Thus with the German skill in -fencing with Hegelian dialectics the critic endeavors to persuade us -that Verhaeren must needs love modern life in all its aspects, that he -is enraptured with all manifestations of contemporary spirit, from the -urban “multitude” to that most hideous platitude, the Eiffel Tower. Mr. -Zweig has utterly failed to see that Verhaeren does not feel the -present, the contemporary, that he lives spiritually in the past and in -the future, while the fleeting present is for him but a _symbol_, an -alphabet of monstrous hieroglyphs, the mysteries of which he interprets -prophetically. Has he not expressed his endless despair and maddening -grief over the tragedy of the all-absorbing monster-city? Has the world -not been to him a Golgotha, “an eternal illusion”? To Mr. Zweig -Verhaeren is a happy, satisfied lover of all and everything. The poet -and the painter, Maximilian Voloshin (one of whose poems appeared in THE -LITTLE REVIEW), relates his impression of the Belgian: “When you see him -for the first time you notice before anything else a deep furrow -cleaving his brow, resembling two wide-spread wings of a flying bird. -This furrow is himself. In it is his sorrow, his flight.” I wonder -whether Mr. Zweig has observed the furrow; or did he deliberately -overlook it in order to save his “structure”? - - [2] _Emile Verhaeren_, by Stefan Zweig. [Houghton Mifflin - Company, Boston.] - -Yes, my friend, people seldom succeed in their attempt to interpret -others. Would you classify biographies as literature of personality? -Perhaps in the sense that they reveal the personality of the biographer, -but then it depends upon the value of that personality. Here is an -instance. The brother of Parnell writes his Memoirs[3], bringing forth a -mass of details and anecdotes of “Charley’s” life. Charles Parnell has -always been a fascinating personality to me. Long ago I heard a lecturer -speaking on the great Irishman before a European audience of -revolutionists; the listeners (by no means Irish!) were enchanted with -the figure of the unique leader, with his powerful individuality and -skillful strategy. I have pondered many a time over his portrait -revealing the mysterious face of a medieval sorcerer, and have looked -forward to a work that would help me in gaining a clearer idea of the -“uncrowned King of Ireland.” His brother’s memoirs gave me a wealth of -information about their family pedigree and about each individual member -(their number is considerable), particularly about the writer’s business -undertakings. About Charles Parnell I have learned numerous external -facts and figures, but his intrinsic self is as little known to me now -as before. Of what value is such a book which succeeds merely in -introducing to you Mr. John Howard, an Irish gentleman of no particular -interest? - - [3] _Charles Steward Parnell: A Memoir_, by his brother, John - Howard Parnell. [Henry Holt and Company, New York.] - -It is totally different when you are confronted with such a wonderful -individuality as Romain Rolland[4]. Apparently it is a book of essays on -Berlioz, Wagner, Saint-Saëns, D’Indy, Strauss, Debussy, and on some -aspects of modern music; in reality you come to know the rich -personality of Rolland and the reactions of his sensitive, graceful soul -on the musical productions of our best-known composers. I am delighted -with his influence on my views; not that he has altered them: musical -opinions do not let themselves be proved or disproved; but he has -_enhanced_ my attitudes, he has made me admire my favorites more -profoundly and hate my torturers more thoroughly. Do not let your Editor -know that Brahms’s symphonies prove as indigestible to Rolland as they -have been to your humble Incurable. It is the reading of such a book -that offers me the joy of looking into a great soul, and it reminds me -of the exalted experience I have had in reading Wilde’s _Intentions_, or -the essays of Przybyszewsky and Arthur Symons. - -The unceremonious self-revealment of a great man, of which I spoke in -the beginning, does not always appeal to my aesthetic sense. At times my -feeling of delicacy is scalded at the sight of a repulsive negligee. It -has painfully irritated me to read Dostoevsky’s letters[5] in the -English translation: would that the Russians kept their dirty linen at -home. The book reveals a petty tragedy of a great personality; eternal -want, indebtedness, whimpering, small jealousy, narrowness, intolerance. -We learn how most of his books were written in a hurry, under pressure -of need, the author being aware of their inadequacy; we learn of his -petty envy towards Turgeniev, his slighting of Tolstoy, his bigoted -hatred of everything liberal, European, his sturdy opposition to the -revolutionists, his obsequious demeanor before high officials. With the -exception of a few bright spots, the pages produce the nauseating effect -of a pathological museum. Such a pity. - -Come, now, friend: _How do you think?_ - - IBN GABIROL. - - [4] _Musicians of To-Day_, by Romain Rolland. [Henry Holt - Company, New York.] - - [5] _Letters of Fyodor Michailovitch Dostoevsky._ [The Macmillan - Company, New York.] - - - - - A Note on Paroxysm in Poetry - - - EDWARD J. O’BRIEN - -Paroxysm is the poetic expression of that modern spirit which finds its -most notable expression in other arts in the sculpture of Meunier, the -polyphonic music of Strauss, the philosophy of Bergson, and the American -skyscraper. It is the application of dynamics to poetry. It stands -midway between romanticism, which is an escape into the past, and -futurism, which is a flight into the future. Paroxysm is deep-rooted in -to-day. - -M. Nicolas Beauduin, its most noteworthy French exemplar, has many -noteworthy disciples in France and Germany, and paroxysm is a well-known -force in every literature except that of America, where its unconscious -expression in life has been most remarkable. Students will find its -philosophy set forth and its current phases in literature duly -chronicled in M. Beauduin’s quarterly review, _La Vie des Lettres_. It -is only possible here to offer a few very brief hints as to its literary -aims and materials: - - It aims to be a synthesis of modern industrial and mechanical - effort. - - It repudiates the ivory tower. - - It handles the materials of modern life directly, not in symbols. - - It responds to the roar of factories and trains. - - The poet is to be “an active lyric,” representing his age. - - The poet’s vision is the cinematograph of modern life with its - continual mechanical transfiguration. - - It is not sentimental. - - To art for art’s sake, and art for truth’s sake, it opposes art - for life’s sake. - - It discards personal sensation; it is not ashamed to be “cosmic.” - - The evolution of poetry is to be as rapid and terrible henceforth - as material evolution. - - It will sing the new man, the man-machine, the multiplied man, - the Man-Bird. - - It exalts motion and repudiates equilibrium. - - It is social. - - It feels the need for violent motives of faith, and finds them in - the passion of the cities. - - It cultivates a scientific technique. - - It does not reject any words in forming a vocabulary. - - It seeks swift, hurtling, dynamic rhythms. - - It is based on “dynamic notions of qualitative duration, of - heterogeneous continuity, of multiple and mobile states of - consciousness.” - - It perceives the elements of poetry contained in modern cities, - locomotives, aëroplanes, dreadnoughts, and submarines; in a stock - exchange, a Wall Street, or a wheat pit; and in every scientific - marvel and in the sonorous song of factories and railways. - - It emphasizes their dynamic consciousness. - -To sum up: It aims to attain and express with the quick, keen vigor and -strength of steel, the whirling, audacious, burning life of our epoch in -all the paroxysm of the New Beauty. - -When M. Beauduin’s new volume, _La Cité des Hommes_, is translated and -published in America, it will be less difficult to estimate the success -with which paroxyst poetry may be achieved. - - - - - The New Beauty - - - NICOLAS BEAUDUIN - - (_Authorized translation from the French by Edward J. O’Brien_) - - Long years the poet had not understood - This powerful art bursting from forces in sight, - From the tamed element which revolts in cries, - From the victory of the spirit - Over the passive immensity of matter. - - The modern beauty of joy and madness, - Of triumph and truth, - He saw her, in a passionate rhythm, - Flinging down the palaces of doubt and silence, - Vanquishing black scepticisms and torpors, - Rekindling the universe under her jets of vapor, - Destroying the vain mystery that disappears, - Covering the entire world with her network of iron, - Launching her towers, her bridges, her tunnels, her dockyards, - Over all the exasperated continents of the globe. - - Ah! the new beauty, ardent, insatiate, - Strained toward conquest and the vastest life, - She was indeed the god whom nothing resists, - Dynamic beauty of swiftness and hope, - Rushing ever beyond, out of the blackness, - Dancing and paroxyst humanity. - He saw her at last, superb before him, - Entrapping error, mowing night; - She erected on the old barbaric soil - Her cathedral with its vertiginous walls, - Lit by the mad and whirling suns of the searchlights. - - Beauty of brass, beauty of fire, - She was there visible as a god. - Beauty of vapor, geometric beauty, - Modern beauty who builds for her temple and landscape - High furnaces casqued with purple and gold, - Cities mad beneath their electric lamps, - Launching at conquered heaven in spirals of pride, - The rut of dynamos and the bustle of windlasses, - The multiplied brutal effort of the machines, - The fiery flight of aeroplanes in the air, - The frantic trolleys under their sheaves of lightnings, - And dominating the night of silence and hatred, - The terrible thunderous flight of hertzian waves. - - - - - The Artist as Master - - - _The Japanese Print: An Interpretation, by_ Frank Lloyd Wright. - [Ralph Fletcher Seymour Company, Chicago.] - - HENRY BLACKMAN SELL - -“‘A flower is beautiful,’ we say—but why? Because in its geometry and -its sensuous qualities it is an embodiment and significant expression of -that precious something in ourselves which we instinctively know to be -Life, ‘an eye looking out upon us from the great inner sea of beauty,’ a -proof of the eternal harmony in the nature of a universe which is too -vast and intimate and real for the mere intellect to grasp.” - -Yet our materialists would solve the Problem with their material -intellects. And our theologians would solve it with their ecclesiastical -deductions. The one would put Life in the cold hands of the scientist, -expert in fact and figure; the other, gropingly indefinite, in the hands -of the spiritual formulaist. Yet both are wrong. The Problem can be -solved. The literal, objective guesses of the materialist are but flimsy -realisms far from true. The indefinite, abstract dreams of the -theologian are but the futile inaptitudes of man calculated to define -that which cannot be defined. - -But definitions are not what the world needs. The Solution would be -interesting, but the Problem is fascinating. It is the Going and not the -Goal that holds us to the bitter and the sweet, through mornings, noons, -and nights, year by year. - -If, then, we grant the Solution but a cold conclusion, and the Goal but -a stagnation point, to whom can we turn but to the artists—those -spiritual children of that great master who wept when he could find no -imperfection in his masterpiece. - -The artist, whose interests are in the _interpretations_, and not in the -_translations_ of Life, and whose interpretations have given Life all -that it holds sacred. - - There is no power but has its root in his .... - There is no power - But his can withold the crown or give it - Or make it reverent in the eyes of men. - -Written philosophies of artist craftsmen are rare. Their busy lives find -little time for penning rules; but when one does speak, it is with the -captivating force of original thought: the summary of attainments -through many trials and many failures. - -And it is with this sure touch of deep artistic experience that Frank -Lloyd Wright draws from the geometric beauty of the mystic Japanese -prints his philosophy of the artist as master of the Problem. - -“Real civilization means for us a right conventionalizing of our -original state of nature, just such a conventionalizing as the true -artist imposes on natural forms. The law-giver and reformer of social -customs must have, however, the artist soul, the artist eye in directing -this process, if the light of the race is not to go out. So, art is not -alone the expression, but in turn the great conservator and transmitter -of the finer sensibilities of a people. More still, it is to show those -who shall understand just where and how we shall bring coercion to bear -upon the material of human conduct. So the indigenous art of a people is -their only prophecy and their school of anointed prophets and kings. Our -own art is the only light by which this conventionalizing process we -call “civilization” may eventually make its institutions harmonious with -the fairest conditions of our individual and social life. - -“I wish I might use another word than ‘conventionalizing’ to convey the -notion of this magic process of the artist mind, which is the constant -haunting reference of this paper, because it is the perpetual, insistent -suggestion of this particular art we have discussed. Only an artist, or -one with genuine artistic training, is likely, I fear, to realize -precisely what the word as here used connotes. Let me illustrate once -more. To know a thing (what we can really call knowing), a man must -first love the thing and sympathize vividly with it. Egypt thus knew the -lotus, and translated the flower to the dignified stone forms of her -architecture. Thus was the lotus conventionalized. Greece knew and -idealized the acanthus in stone translations. Thus was the acanthus -conventionalized. If Egypt or Greece had plucked the flowers as they -grew, and given us a mere imitation of them in stone, the stone forms -would have died with the original. In translating, however, its very -life’s principle into terms of stone well adapted to grace a column -capital, the Egyptian artist made it pass through a rarifying spiritual -process, whereby its natural character was really intensified and -revealed in terms of stone adapted to an architectural use. The lotus -gained thus imperishable significance; for the life-principle in the -flower is translated—transmuted to terms of building stone to idealize a -real need. This is conventionalization. It is reality because it is -poetry. As the Egyptian took the lotus, the Greek the acanthus, and the -Japanese every natural thing on earth, as we may take and adapt to our -highest use in our own way a natural flower or thing, so civilization -must take the natural man, to fit him for his place in this great piece -of architecture we call the social state. And today, as centuries ago, -it is the prophetic artist mind that must reveal this natural state -idealized, conventionalized harmoniously with the life-principle of all -men. How otherwise shall it be discerned? All the sheer wisdom of -science, the cunning of politics and the prayers of religion can but -stand and wait for the revelation,—awaiting at the hands of the artist -that conventionalization of the free expression of life-principle which -shall make our social living beautiful,—organically true. Behind all -institutions or dogmatic schemes, whatever their worth may be, or their -venerable antiquity,—behind them all is something produced and preserved -for its aesthetic worth; the song of the poet, some artist vision, the -pattern seen in the mount. - -“Now speaking a language all the clearer because not native to us, -beggared as we are by material riches, the humble Japanese artist has -become greatly significant because he is the interpreter of the one -permanent thing in the life of his people; that one permanent thing -being the principle of a right conventionalization of life which makes -of their native forms the most humanly significant, and most humanly -joy-giving as in its ever varied moods and in evanescent loveliness he -has made Fujiyama—that image of man in the vast—the God of Nippon.” - - - - - Evolution versus Stagnation - - - (_Being a Debate, with Rare Illustrations, by Major Funkhouser, Mr. - Lucian Cary, and The Camera, reported for_ THE LITTLE REVIEW _by - Herman Schuchert_.) - -Place: Fullerton Hall. - -Time: Thursday afternoon, December 10, 1914. - -Characters: Mere and supporting members of the Drama League, and others -mentioned above; also guards, committees, and a few men. - - * * * * * - -MAJOR FUNKHOUSER (_his remarks, condensed_). - -Censorship of the movies is necessary because it must be. - -Buildings, public rights, and milk are censored, and it is good. - -Fifty per cent of a movie audience is under fifteen years of age. - -I may be wrong sometimes, but I pass what I think they should see. - -We must be big-brothers to our citizens of lesser intelligence. - -I told my four daughters only what I thought they should know. - -I believe in telling women as little as they may really need. - -The working class wants salacious stuff; we must prevent. - -These excerpts from banned films will illustrate my points: - - * * * * * - -THE CINEMATOGRAPH (_its pictures, briefly mentioned_). - -Woman and man clutching each other in a raging, although amiable, -passion. - -Boy being taught how to pick pockets. - -Hold-up. - -Woman and man in furious love-experiments. - -Mexicans burning bodies of dead rebels. - -Doctors dressing Mexican battle-wounds. - -Woman and man preparing the furnace of love. - -Woman and man .... - -Woman .... - -Man .... - - * * * * * - -MR. LUCIAN CARY (_his ideas, pieced together_). - -These pictures are positively abominable. - -No human being could possibly want to see them. - -If we must have censorship, the Major’s is as good as any. - -Censorship with flaws is preferable to perfect censorship because -perfect censorship would abolish the necessity of one’s judgment. - -Imperfect censorship permits us, by its slips, to exercise our minds. - -In no other civilized country is there such restriction. - -Artists in America must keep their keenest visions to themselves. - -Censorship deadens human perceptions. - -Who wants cloistered virtues when true health is possible? - -Man must learn to judge for himself; and he surely will do so. - -America is unprecedented in its timidity of tastes and convictions. - - * * * * * - -MRS. HENDERSON _(in a bored manner)_. - -It isn’t a question of arbitrary standard; it’s purely aesthetic. - -The Major passes films of the most flagrant sentimentality. - -Only legal restrictions are made, and these are futile. - -The only satisfactory standard is that of individual taste. - -Of course, the title of this debate was not quite the one used on this -article. It was very tame—the title. But not so with the films. The -Major had evidently selected his choicest ones—and a goodly number of -these—which were reeled off in swift succession. Murder trod on the -heels of love. Flaming moments of lust were split up by stage-robbers. -Nigger babies, whose crime was that they didn’t need clothes, followed -suicides. - -Your reporter was fortunate enough to find an acquaintance, sitting in -the rear of the hall. This lady married a man of millions. He liked the -way she did _Florodora_—liked it so well that he gave her a chance, -which she has since made much of. She is charming, because she has -retained the frankness of the stage and merely exchanged the shoddy furs -and diamonds for the real thing. She confided that _The Follies_ were -simply right, and that the Drama League was radically opposed to the -movies in any or all forms, and that she adored winter because it kept -reminding her of Christmas. She is a supporting member of the League, -and the only one present who waived her constitutional prerogative of a -front seat. Her sisters-in-league were availing themselves of their -privilege. They wanted to be where they could not get out, in case the -pictures were really good. - -And they were—sickening. Not a member left. Not a whisper. All eyes -focused upon the screen, where horrors of war and of love (in which -there seemed to be nothing fair) were showing. When their nervous -systems could stand no more, some lady’s locomotive and oral powers -returned, and the reel was stopped. - -Then came Mr. Cary, who found it difficult not to speak over their heads -with his simple language and big ideas. The audience whispered and began -to show the tips of countless yellow-feathers. They could stand horrible -pictures; but this talk was too much. It was too sane and calm and -cutting. Yellow feathers showed, full length. Women left in twos and -threes, although the first person to go out was a male. Cary’s short, -admirable paragraphs were divided in this manner:—three ladies on the -right of the hall would balance their departure under cover, as it were, -of the departure of three sisters on the left. This mental cowardice was -worse than the pictures. - -An intolerable discussion followed. A huge wave of ancient yet -ever-modern philistinism raised itself among the majority of those who -remained, and surged across the hall to drown Mr. Cary and Mrs. -Henderson. Major Funkhouser found his feet again, and assumed the -big-brother-protector attitude, to repeated grand-stand advantages. As -long as they had seen the pictures, what matter if the public didn’t? -Evolution lost the day. Stagnation was an immediate success. Your -reporter left, grinning. - - - Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, - and not that thou hast escaped from a yoke.—_Nietzsche._ - - - - - Dawn in the Hills - - - FLORENCE KIPER FRANK - - Out of the vast, - Flooding and flowering the cool, skyey vast, - Day, day at last! - Squandering, spilling, pouring white-flecked fire, - Higher and higher - The light of the sun mounts into the dim of the sky. - And all the little fields that lie - At the foot of the hills that hold them in mothering tender, - Sweet with translucent, shimmering green, - Lay themselves bare to the sun, and the hill-trees slender, - Upward reaching thin arms of prayer, - A-shiver with ecstasy, tipped with sheen, - Sway to the quivering call of the fresh-stirring air. - - Through the night have I waited Thy summons, through the night have - I lain - Racked with unutterable, ancient, blackening pain. - And the soul of me touched not Thy presence nor felt Thee about me, - And the soul of me, sick with its hate and dismay, was minded to rout - Thee, - Yea, from itself to tear Thee, enduring without Thee. - But now have I found Thee again, O my Comrade, again! - In the light of the morning and white of the dawn I behold Thee. - See, with my arms outstretched, I enclose and enfold Thee. - With a shout that the darkness is light, I enclose and enfold Thee. - - Now feed me with life as with rain is nourished the flower! - Crown me with ecstasy, drench me with power! - See, I am bare to Thee as the fields are bare to the sun. - Resplendent, vivid, ever-living One, - This is the moment, this the creative hour! - Lo, I am one with thee, - I partake, I am washed anew. - Out of lies this is true, - Out of the dark of lies and entangling hates this is true, - That Thou who art ever-living, out of death shall create anew. - - What weakling spirit knew thee gray and old, - Thou flaming one, - Thou fructifying sun, - Thou trumpet-call of morning to the blood, - Thou surge of the earth flood! - Youth of the universe art Thou, militant, bold. - - Naught to Thee is decay, - When the spirit rots in its shroud, - And the horrible thoughts of night have way, - And life is a noisome cloud; - A noisome cloud of the fen, - Dank with the spirit’s decay! - O out of the morning laughest Thou then, - Out of the singing day. - Out of the morning leapest Thou, - Laughing at fear and pain, - And the horrible thoughts of night give way, - And the soul is created again. - - The hills now are flooded with light and the trees rejoice - With happy voice. - The smell of the sweet, green things is in the air. - The breeze is a prayer. - And my soul, O my Comrade, my living soul is a prayer. - - And rapture gives way to peace. - The dawning faints into the day. - Out of night have I found release, - Out of death, the way. - And my heart is calm with Thee, my heart that went forth with a shout. - Thou hast compassed me wholly about. - With the floods of Thy peace Thou hast compassed me wholly about. - I am elate with power. - Past is the creative hour. - I am calm for the ways of men. - Shall I not proclaim Thee then - To the doubting lives of men! - Out of the dawn have I plucked Thee. - I go to the world of men. - - - - - The Bestowing Virtue - - - GEORGE BURMAN FOSTER - -The thou is older than the I; the thou hath been proclaimed holy, but -the I not yet; thus spake Zarathustra. - -In times most ancient—at culture’s dawn of day—the individual was -swallowed up and lost in the life of the tribe. He did not count as an -individual, but was valued only as a member of the group to which he -happened to belong. Subsequently, man’s endowment to personality entered -upon its unfolding—the first syllables of the long human story were -stammered. Man began to become a self. To be a self was to specialize -into a difference from all other men. From that moment on, the entire -course of evolution may be considered as a progressive differentiation -and specialization of the human personality. At the outset there were -only a few splendidly and highly endowed natures that felt a distinct -life of their own welling up in themselves from mysterious springs of -being. They took up the gauge of battle against others, against the mass -which attempted to subject and assimilate them to its peculiarity. Mass -meant monotony. But the differentiating energy and impetus encroached -further and further, passing from the great to the small, pushing into -the mass whose members no longer wanted to be mass, herd, but men. The -might of spiritual personality opposed itself to the superiority of -corporeal peculiarity. Psychical feeling more and more became personal. -Character increasingly received a distinctive stamp. Along with this, -the impulse to self-dependence began to stir even in those men who were -outclassed in physical strength by their stronger human brothers. Later, -when the head and heart, and no longer the fist, formed the strength of -man, woman pressed into the circle of life’s evolution. She was no -longer a mere exemplar of the genius. She, too, would be personality. -This course of events signified an infinite refinement and enrichment of -cultural life on the one side; on the other, it gave rise to the -question as to how, in this differentiation of men into even more -decidedly pronounced personalities, a cohesiveness could be originated -among them that would save life from disintegration and consequent -decay. At bottom, the individual is not sufficient unto himself. -Self-dependent, he would be miserably impoverished and stunted—of this -there can be no doubt, according to the most elementary laws of life. -Hence, along with the formation of human personality, there is a -refinement of those forces of life which seem summoned to secure a bond -of fellowship among men: law, custom, a benevolent disposition toward -others, the feeling of sympathy for others. Even Nietzsche, who foresees -a future in which all these older group forces and moral impulses shall -be obliterated, and every man pander to his own self alone and his own -peculiarity in willing and feeling, in thinking and speaking—even -Nietzsche cannot help preaching a new love that shall bind men together. -Even Zarathustra confesses: “I love men! My will, my ardent will to -creation, impels me constantly to men—as the hammer to the stone!” To be -sure, this Zarathustra-love is to grow out beyond and above what we call -love to-day, what we call Christian love. There is to be a Beyond -Christianity. The new love will be as high above the old love as -Above-Man will be above man. Beyond-man means Beyond-love. How earnestly -and ominously does this preaching of a new love pierce like a sword into -the heart of our time! A new test of the worth or unworth of our moral -view of life! Were we even convinced that the best and purest features -of the old Christian love would re-appear in any new love, still the -question would not be elucidated—the question whether this old love -would thereby become new again, would become living again, save through -a storm of thunder and lightning that should purify the heavy, stuffy -atmosphere which has gathered about the word love itself. - -You will know them by their fruits—of nothing is this so true as of -love. Where there is power, an effect must ensue, and in the effect, not -only the right of the power, but the kind as well, manifests itself. -Now, love wills to promote the life of another with its own life. Love -wills to do good to its object, to redress some wrong, supply some lack, -help some need, remedy some defect, and the like. Therefore, the fruits -of love are gifts—hence, _die schenkende Tugend_, the bestowing or the -giving virtue, of Nietzsche’s phrase. Accordingly, only a possessor can -give. Who possesses most—the rich—give most! Who needs gifts is poor, -and since poverty is great, becoming ever greater, gifts are needed to -meet the needs. Thus, human love has become the practice of -beneficence—the work of the rich by which they help the poor. The -greatness of benefactions, this becomes a criterion for the greatness of -love. We have but to think of the “foundations” and “benevolent funds” -and “charitable institutions” and “unions” for the care and keeping of -the poor, as well as of the incalculable sums which are given in private -for the relief of want, in order to be impressed with the “fruits” which -have grown on the tree of human love. How magnificent, how imposing -these “fruits” are! How much love there is in the world today, in this -world in which so much good is done! Who could doubt it? Who could deny -it? Who? Who but Friedrich Nietzsche! - -The loathsome vanity and the refined hypocrisy with which this -beneficence is prosecuted, such obvious strictures as these, Nietzsche -passes over without a word. This genus “benefactor” that does what it -does just to benefit itself, is so lowdown to the Zarathustra-poet that -he will not honor it with a notice. He simply classed it with the gilded -and counterfeit rabble, _Pöbel_, with the culprits of wealth, who pick -their profits from sweepings. Then there is the criterion of the -numerical worth of the gift, not the ratio of the gift to the -possessions of the giver, this criterion for the evaluation of love was -so external, so deceptive, to Nietzsche, that he left it, too, out of -account. What impelled Nietzsche to his depreciation of this whole -species of beneficence was something different, something deeper. All -these gifts, great and numerical as they may be, are alms, and who has -only alms to give to man is a poor man, and Zarathustra feels—well, -listen to what he says to the saint! - -Zarathustra answered: “I love men.” - -“Why,” said the saint, “did I go to the forest and desert? Was it not -because I loved men greatly over-much? Now I love God: men I love not. -Man is a thing far too imperfect for me. Love of men would kill me.” - -Zarathustra answered: “What did I say of love! I am bringing gifts to -men.” - -“Do not give them anything,” said the saint. “Rather take something from -them and bear their burdens along with them—that will serve them best; -if it only serve thyself well! And if thou art going to give them aught, -give them no more than an alms, and let them beg even for that.” - -“No,” said Zarathustra, “I do not give alms. I am not poor enough for -that.” - -_I am not poor enough for that._ Priceless words! You read these words -and you think of truly kindhearted men who sigh: If I were only rich so -I could do good! They envy the rich their possessions, not for the sake -of the pleasures and comforts which possessions permit their possessors -to provide, but in the wholly honest feeling of the blessings which they -could scatter with their wealth. Then comes Nietzsche, and says to these -kindhearted men, You are only poor noodles, if you have nothing better -to bring the world and men than this blessing of wealth. Then he points -them to gifts the least of which outweighs a million donations. - -Now, Nietzsche had no contempt of wealth with which to insult his -fellowmen’s intelligence. Nor was he a socialistic indicter of -beneficence. Nor was he even a rigorous critic of the doubtful -disposition, so often manifest in such benevolent activities. But -perhaps his plain words on the poverty of almsgiving seem so weighty -precisely because he must be acquitted without further ado of speaking -from contempt, from the standpoint of Christianity, or from the milieu -of poor folk. And yet it was this most soaring spirit of the nineteenth -century, this aristocrat from top to toe, compared with whom even a -Goethe seems like a plebeian, it was precisely he who—as from an aerie -up among the eagles—looked down with such abysmal contempt upon the -highest and noblest triumph of riches—namely, the ability to bestow -benefits—that he detected, even in this triumph, only testimony to the -poverty of riches. Along with this, at all events, Nietzsche passed -damnatory judgment upon a _Kultur_ which estimates the distances among -men, the measure of their greatness according to the distinctions of -possession, and therefore derives the right of the influence which it -accords the individual from the sums which he donates by way of alms. -Then, too, what has the man to do with his possession! It is not his -_personality_ which has assigned him a place in life where a confluence -of industrial goods crystallize around him! What does it signify as to -the worth of a man that he has cast his baited hook into the stream of -life just where a big hungry fish swims by and bites! And if, now, this -most contingent of all contingencies, that a man should get rich, is -considered by his generation as the peculiar deed of a hero, the deed -which he was in a position to compass in life,—if the mere fact that a -man releases, in the shape of benefits and alms, a part of this wealth -which he could not spend upon himself if he would is a phenomenon around -which the conversation of the day revolves, of which newspapers in -special articles and telegraphic dispatches have so much to say, then -this is a sign of the decay of our moral culture, and we cannot be -thankful enough to the man who has jolted us out of such aberration of -ideas and made us see with eyes no longer blinded by the glitter of -gold! - -Aye, wealth a man does need who wants to give. Wealth he needs for the -sake of his giving love. But he must create this wealth himself. He must -wrest wealth from all values. He must coerce all things to himself and -into himself. All these things must stream back from the well of living -water within him as the gifts of his love. Insatiably does the soul seek -after treasures and gems because her virtue is insatiable in her will to -give. This is the soul’s thirst to be an offering and a gift, and hence -she thirsts to house all wealth in herself. - -Vulgar souls give what they have, noble souls what they are—this is the -well known saying that mirrors the meaning of Nietzsche. Love’s highest -labor is to create something great out of its ownself, that it may be -able to give unceasingly out of its own fulness and yet never be -exhausted! No mountain is too steep and no valley too deep for love, -because love herself must know heights and depths that she may give to -others what she has seen and known there. Do we fear lest we succumb to -a weakness? Then we must force the weakness underneath our feet because -we need our strength to give strength to others. Would we say to virtue: -Thou art too hard for us; take thy laurel and let us sin? Now, the -hardest is spur to our love, to steel our wills, our courage, so that -courage may gush into the souls of others also. What we have made out of -our own selves, this, this alone, is our wealth, this is the gift by -whose bestowal men can become rich. A thought of our own which we have -acquired; a light of our own, which we have kindled in our innermost -being; a lofty enthusiasm for what is great; an energetic aversion to -all that is common and base,—this is our true wealth, the gift that -enriches us while it is given to others. Poor indeed are the people who -can give only alms; rich indeed are those who give themselves to men, -who proffer their most intimate gifts to men, who say to men’s hidden -hearts and hopes: Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have, I -give unto thee! - -Why are we so deeply involved in hard necessity that our life can not -dispense with alms and therefore with the people who make a virtue out -of this giving of alms! Simply because we have so few such truly rich -men who thirst to become offerings and gifts for man! These men can we -have, can we become ourselves, only when duty and righteousness, and not -benevolence and inclination, shall decide in an ordering and helpful -way, as to the requirement of life. Behind every benefit which is -necessary there is concealed an unrighteousness of life which makes the -benefit necessary. All alms with which the world cannot dispense today -is an accusation against our culture, a confession of how poor we are in -the midst of all our wealth. It will be the first great step towards a -new culture when we first learn to measure the unworth of these benefits -by the eternal worths which alone are worthy of man, which man forms in -himself as new fructifying deeds, as the lightning of thought which -detonates from his soul, as living beauty to which he gives shape in his -own being. - -Then if all duties which are based on right and law, shall cease to be -considered as something special, something great, if their fulfilment -shall be no longer marveled at as a feat of virtue, because these duties -shall have become self-evident and natural, then shall man be illumined -by new and greater duties which shall make him a debtor to life, then -shall he call his wealth and the fulness of his being his debt which he -can pay only in constant creation for man, in ceaseless giving to man! -“Therefore, nobler souls will it: they will to have nothing _gratis_, -least of all life! Whoever is of the _Pöbel_ wills to live _gratis_, but -we others to whom life gave itself—we ever meditate as to what we can -best give in return and, verily, that is a noble saying which says: what -life promises us, that will we keep for life!” In simpler language: Not -to merit a reward, heavenly or earthly, will we give, will we assemble -in ourselves the highest gifts, to lay them down as offerings upon the -altars of men, but we will give to return thanks for all that we have -undeservedly received. Bickering and calculating as to whether we have -had our just dues, haggling over hopes which have not done what they -promised, we will have none of this, but thanks, thanks, that as men we -have gained some material from the saddest life, created joys out of its -pains, wealth and worth out of its weakness and loss. This, this, in -Nietzsche’s immortal words, is _eine Umwertung der Werte_, a -transvaluation of values in the moral life, from which a new moral -culture can issue. In our labors we are ever shadowed by the still, -lurking thought of returns and rewards, we calculate, and calculate ever -in our own favor, that somewhere life has left us in the lurch. Could we -but once reverse this matter: It is not life that is obligated and -indebted to us—we are obligated and indebted to life! In the former way -of counting we always come out with a deficit, with a poverty: in the -later, with a balance, with a wealth: we still have something for which -we gave nothing, did nothing, with which we have done no good! - -How would it do to put such thankfulness to the test? When the heart is -shaken with sorrow’s power—it is life’s gift to feel such shaking, in -such shaking love can feel the storm raging. Even such gift you would -not have _gratis_. You would make some return—the bravery with which you -settle for it. You come to know despondency, a new deed, and your thanks -therefor is that you have been permitted to overcome a paralysis of your -energy. If, with freer vision and with broader heart, your eye has -become alert and keen for human folly and lamentation, and these attack -you as cowardice and disgust of life, then you take this as a gift that -you will not have _gratis_, you will give something as counter-gift and -thanks: a more energetic will, that will go to the bottom of folly and -grief, with the fineness of feeling which has been bestowed upon you—you -will dig deeper, search out more earnestly the genuine values of life, -so that your cowardice and your _ennui_ at life may become a new -strength and a new joy for life. If you feel your hands tied, if the -world seems a prison at whose bars you lunge, but whose rods you cannot -break, if then a horrible feebleness befalls you, and your best will -confesses that you are too weak,—then take this, too, as a gift for -which you learn to give thanks, for even the restriction of your power -creates a new freedom, the pressure of the impossible ceases with your -learning, thus, the possible, the necessary, of your life. Poor? You may -be rich, immeasurably rich, not for yourself indeed, but for others, -that you may communicate to them, give to them and yet never give out! -Be debtor of life, that in your poverty you may make many rich. Be -debtor of love, that you may never be able to pay your great eternal -debt. Confessing and obligating yourself to such debt, your life gains -that eternal worth which increases the more you spend of it, which -receives, the more you give of it. Poor, yet having all things; poor, -yet making many rich—_also sprach Paulus-Nietzsche_. - -After this Zarathustra went back into the mountains and the solitude of -his cave and withdrew from men, waiting like a sower who hath thrown out -his seed. But his soul was filled with impatience and longing for those -he loved; for he had still many gifts for them. For this is the hardest: -to shut one’s open hand because of love. - - - It is the business of the very few to be independent: it is the - privilege of the strong, and whoever attempts it, even with the - best regret but without being obliged to do so, proves that he is - probably not only strong, but also daring beyond measure. He - enters into a labyrinth, he multiplies a thousand-fold the - dangers which life itself already brings with it; not the least - of which is that no one can see how and where he loses his way, - becomes isolated, and is torn piecemeal by some minotaur of - conscience. Supposing such a one comes to grief, it is so far - from the comprehension of men that they can neither feel it nor - sympathize with it, and he cannot any longer go back! He cannot - ever go back again to the sympathies of men.—_Nietzsche._ - - - - - Editorials and Announcements - - - _Mrs. Havelock Ellis_ - -Mrs. Ellis’s visit to Chicago has been a series of revelations. At first -she was a little disappointing: in her lecture on James Hinton and his -sex ethics—particularly in the discussion which followed it—Mrs. Ellis -did not loom as large as some of her more “destructive” contemporaries. -The thing was beautifully done, of course—a gorgeous bit of -interpretative art; for Mrs. Ellis chooses words with a poet’s care and -presents ideas with an economy that is invigorating and restful at the -same time. But in so far as the lecture reflected her own ideas it had -some of the limitations to which the eugenist point of view is always -open: the failure to go quite the whole distance. Compared with the -directness and honest thoroughness of the few pioneers who are -advocating birth control—like Margaret Sanger, whose little pamphlet on -the subject will cost her ten years imprisonment if the authorities can -get hold of her—the ideas of Mrs. Ellis came with a certain inadequacy. -But later she cleared herself of the charge of cultism by her laughing -remark to some one who discussed eugenics with her: “Eugenics? A mere -spoke in the wheel, and a very dogmatic spoke at that. Heaven knows we -don’t want a race of averages.” One of her most delightful afternoons -was given over to her Cornish stories. She read one called _The -Idealist_, which ought to be studied by all those who draw their rigid -distinctions between “normal” and “abnormal”. As Mrs. Ellis said, “This -story is an attempt to show that those people we so piously consider the -worst of us are sometimes the best of us.” And so this charming woman -with her simplicity, her humor, her frankness, her idealism, and her -fine boyishness is a personality one must not fail to know. She returns -to Chicago on February 4, to lecture on sex and eugenics in Orchestra -Hall. That lecture will be given exclusively to women and will include a -discussion of sex abnormalities, as well as a paper on the subject -written especially for the occasion by her husband, which Mrs. Ellis -will read. - - - _A Journal of Ideas_ - -The New Republic is the first weekly in America which has dared to -assert that ideas are interesting, even if they are new. We have had one -kind of weekly whose main purpose is to pay dividends to its owners. -Dividends demand advertising, advertising demands large circulation, -circulation demands pleasing as many people as possible, pleasing many -people has seemed to demand piffle and dishonesty. We have had another -kind of weekly which confines itself to academic criticism and frankly -gives up any attempt to speak to the nation. _The New Republic_ is run -neither for dividends nor for ancient prestige. It proceeds on the -assumption that we can find writers who are both honest enough and -intelligent enough to speak things of a value not determined either by -capital or by the mob. It hopes that their product may be so interesting -that the people who want to read it will be sufficiently numerous to -support the paper. It hopes vastly more that the ideas and opinions so -enunciated will introduce a powerful and much-needed element of -disinterested intelligence into American public life. The way in which -these hopes are put into print will have much to do with the success of -the attempt. But it is hopeful that somebody with adequate resources and -equipment is actually engaged in the attempt to relate honesty and -intelligence with the democracy. - - - _John Cowper Powys_ - -When the Welshman, John Cowper Powys, comes to the Chicago Little -Theatre for his lectures during January and February a great many people -ought to fall under the spell of this man whose methods spoil one for -almost all other lectures. Mr. Powys’s intellect has that emotional -character which is likely to be the quality of the man of genius rather -than the man of talent. He might be called the arch-appreciator: he -relies upon the inspiration of the moment, and when violently -enthusiastic or violently the reverse (he is usually one of the two) he -never stops with less than ten superbly-chosen adjectives to express his -emotion exactly. His subjects will be Dostoevsky, Wilde, Milton, Lamb, -Hardy, Henry James, Dante, Rabelais, Hugo, Verlaine, Goethe, and Heine. -The dates may be had at the Little Theatre. - - - - - Mrs. Havelock Ellis’s “The Love of Tomorrow” - - - HERMAN SCHUCHERT - -One’s sense of the general or the particular fitness of things is -disturbed when an attempt is made to paraphrase or condense the spoken -words of Mrs. Ellis. It is seldom that this sense of fitness is at all -troubled, because it is a simple matter to extract from the average -lecture enough coherent material for second-hand purposes. On the -subject given above Mrs. Ellis compels continuous attention. It is not -enough to say that she steadily advances her ideas by means of careful -phrases, for every phrase seems to be an idea in itself. She is an -artist. Her words are like so many focussed lights, not one of which is -superfluous. And the illumination which she obtains is a grateful -brightness. In listening to her one’s powers of receptivity, while never -strained, are not for one moment allowed to rest. As she says, “It’s all -solid meat.” Hence, the feeling of futility in an attempt to present -justly her observations and schemes of social betterment. - -What an absurdity might be suggested to the reader by the statement that -Mrs. Ellis advocates a form of “trial marriage” or a “probation for -engaged lovers”! And yet her plan of such a pre-ceremonial arrangement -is as practical as it is badly needed—practical and entirely reasonable, -in that she has apparently overlooked nothing, from the subtleties of -human nature to the future laws of the land. And how faddish might she -appear if one told of her attacks upon latter-day Puritanism, lust in -the guise of love, prostitution within marriage, the evils of both -repression and brutish or premature expression, the abomination of -smirking elders and cowardly guardians, and so forth. Truly, these -things constitute a fad of today, but—Mrs. Havelock Ellis was writing -and preaching these ideas longer than twenty-five years ago. In -questions of love, marriage, and the possible beauty of human relations, -she is a splendid, unhurrying pioneer. It would be impossible to measure -the courage, the fine perseverance, it has taken to work on patiently -and forcefully in the midst of leering society, infallible -misunderstanding, and a great ocean of evil-mindedness. What daring! to -speak plainly of the beauty of love-passion. And how hopeless! Here, -evolution endlessly proves itself a laggard process. - -Until one hears Mrs. Ellis it is easy to overestimate the “building” -powers of Emma Goldman, although it is always too easy to consider only -Miss Goldman’s sturdy “wrecking” capacity. But the percentage of -constructive element in Mrs. Ellis’s work is much more apparent than in -Miss Goldman’s. Clearly, each woman is superlative in her own sphere. By -virtue of its tested strength, Mrs. Ellis’s constructive machinery may -be said to destroy naturally whatever gets in its way. And in addition -to this she does some direct, incisive battling as well. Her humor has -carbolic in it. Her sarcasm is a spiritual antiseptic. - -In the realm of the child, Mrs. Ellis agrees with that grand Swedish -woman—Ellen Key. These two coincide upon the supreme importance of full -and proper education for the coming generation, including eugenics, -hygiene, and kindred topics. It is a joy to know of so much sanity -abroad in the world. - -But even today, when a number of more or less important writers and -speakers are taking up her ideas, when Chicago is having the truths of -humanity forced down its tonsilitic throat, it was still possible—on a -Sunday night in the Little Theatre—for Mrs. Ellis to have in her -audience many whose deep sighs of boredom it was scarcely necessary to -observe before tagging them as a lower class of mentality, while no -doubt their jewels and furs were quite necessary to indicate their -social standing. What curious gropings of psychology brought these -people to such a lecture? Or was it fashion? In the faces of these might -a dozen Saviours have found ample pity-material. Yawns and dull looks! -Something between a Cross and a Bomb was wanting to awaken these -unthinking ones, asleep while superb ideas—ideas of admirable vitality -and development—were being put before them by the clear and earnest -voice of a great woman. - - - What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and - evil.—_Nietzsche._ - - - - - London Letter - - - EDWARD SHANKS - - _London, Dec. 1, 1914._ - -I have to humiliate myself at the beginning of this letter. Nietzsche -did not provoke the war; he did not imagine there was ever any -specifically “Teutonic” culture, worthy of being spread at any cost; and -he seems to have disliked Prussia as much or more than I do. I say this -not to inform the readers of THE LITTLE REVIEW, who know it all already -from the number in which my error appeared, but to unburden my soul. I -sinned like a daily journalist and spoke from hearsay—for I confess I -have never been able to read Nietzsche with sufficient attention to gain -more than a vague notion of his ideas. Two persons set me right—Mr. -Harold Monro, the editor of _Poetry and Drama_, with some heat and -indignation, and, more gently, Mr. A. R. Orage, the editor of _The New -Age_, who was in old days one of the first to bring Nietzsche to -England. It would seem that his efforts were of little use, for my -blunder was merely an incident in a carnival of misapprehension which is -now engaging our pseudo-intellectual critics. I have sinned in numerous, -if evil, company. - -I must withdraw another statement—namely, that the war has produced no -adequate and agreeable verse. Mr. Maurice Hewlett’s _Sing-songs of the -War_ (published by the Poetry Bookshop) is an admirable little volume. -Wisely pitching his note neither too high nor too vulgarly, he has -struck closer to the mark than he has ever in any attempt. He has -achieved an excellent patriotic song, beginning - - O, England is an island, - The fairest ever seen: - They say men come to England - To learn that grass is green. - -That needs only supporting music to be a fine song of the pleasant -boisterousness and exaggeration that it should be. Of the others, _The -Drowned Sailor_ and _Soldier, Soldier_, have caught a wonderful and -touching note of the folk-song. Mr. Hewlett’s work here is not -ambitious, he has profited enormously by not keeping in his mind the -necessity of producing a fine piece of literature. He has tried honestly -to produce “something that will do” and much good poetry has been -written in that way. - -Mr. Harold Monro’s new book, _Children of Love_, which he has published -himself at the Poetry Bookshop, contains also four gloomy war poems as -far removed from Mr. Hewlett’s as from the verse of the newspapers. They -are vivid and real impressions of fighting and, as appeals for -recruiting, enormously inapt. But poetry does not exist for that. The -title poem is a lovely piece, Mr. Monro’s very best, the composition -which settled, or should have settled, all our doubts concerning his -genius. The others display that sombre misery which is the -characteristic note of his writing, which is extremely uncomfortable -and, after a little while, extremely impressive. - -I may seem to have devoted too much space to the publications of the -Poetry Bookshop. But I think that, with luck, as time goes on, it may -bulk yet more largely in English letters. Mr. Monro, if he is careful, -may have the position that the _Mercure de France_ held in Paris until -quite recently: that is, he may publish about ninety per cent of all the -good poetry that is published. - -The war—again—disturbing our lives as a great tidal wave disturbs sea -and shore, has brought to the surface, as waves will, many things of -beauty. Among these, one that is not regarded, is Thomas Hardy’s -_Dynasts_, which has been abridged and produced by Mr. Granville Barker. -It is printed in three volumes and nineteen acts, with innumerable -choruses and semi-choruses. Mr. Barker has reduced the play to three -acts and the chorus to two persons who sit enthroned, one on each side -of the stage. Mr. Henry Ainley sits at a reading-desk lower down in -front and declaims the descriptive stage-directions. The setting is a -conventional design in grey to which slight additions are made from time -to time, but which remains for the most part unchanged. Thus you see the -men and women of Wessex in fear of invasion by “Boney,” the victory and -death of Nelson, the death and burial of Sir John Moore, Wellington at -Salamanca, Napoleon signing his abdication at Fontainebleau, Wellington -and Napoleon at Waterloo. The Napoleon was bad: he laughed sardonically -in the fashion of melodrama, but the play transcended him. The tragedy -was profoundly moving, the comedy not less so. It is an extraordinary -work, written in Mr. Hardy’s graceless style, and probably the greatest -of his compositions. One thing only was wanting—an audience. That which -is essentially impressive must have something to impress—the listeners -have a place in a good play—and the grandeur of the occasion was -sensibly diminished. When we went, we asked the box-office attendant if -we might go in at half-price, on account of our uniforms, and he -answered indifferently that “we might if we liked.” When we got in, we -understood. There were about two rows in the stalls and two more in the -pit. The boxes were empty as far as I could see. I cannot understand the -English public. What more do they want now than to see Nelson on the -_Victory_ and Wellington at Waterloo? Is it a cause of offence to them -that the play is by a great man? - - - - - New York Letter - - - GEORGE SOULE - -If I were a Japanese journalist looking for notoriety, I should -translate sections from Theodore Roosevelt, Henry Cabot Lodge, Richmond -P. Hobson, _et al._, and publish them under the title “America and the -Next War.” There is no question that these gentlemen put together are -ten times as influential in the United States as von Bernhardi was in -Germany. And there is no question that their utterances are just as -inciting to militarism. If to them were added editorials from the Hearst -newspapers, with their millions of circulation, and the books of certain -prominent army officers, no one could convince the Japanese that the -United States is not a conceited, hot-headed, and militarist nation. -After the outbreak of a war we should plead in vain that we are -peace-loving and fight only in self-defence. “Have you not the second -largest navy in the world?” the Japanese would say. “Was any nation -threatening you? Did you not capture the Philippines by force and subdue -them against their will, practicing against the innocent natives -horrible atrocities? Would you not do the same to Japan if you had the -chance? Fortunately we are forewarned, and seize a favorable occasion to -free the Philippines, since you have broken your promise to give them -independence.” And we should feel that the Japanese were monsters hiding -their aggressive spirit under humanitarian humbug. - -Most of us have forgotten the spasm of “divine mission” that swept over -this country at the time of the Spanish-American war. We were appointed -by God to conquer or absorb the world, and bestow upon it, willing or -unwilling, our American _Kultur_. “Civilization” was, indeed, the -precise word we used, although we sometimes varied it with “free -institutions.” At the same time the beef trust was furnishing “embalmed -beef” to the army, and our economic system was at its very depth of -unsavoriness. The Spanish papers cartooned us, quite justly, as “the -American hog,” and the cartoons were reproduced broadcast over this -country to feed the fires of hate. A Spaniard became to us the very -impersonation of demoniacal cruelty. The country ran high with the spy -fever, while the Atlantic coast waited in some trepidation for the -imagined approach of Cervera’s squadron. We were prey to all the -grinning illusions of war. - -European opinion was at this time largely against us. To most Europeans -we seemed a combination of pious humbug and bumptious conceit. To be -actively dangerous we should have needed only a powerful armament. As it -was, they regarded us with only distant apprehension. But they were not -for a moment deceived by our high-sounding phrases. We were the most -dollar-worshipping nation in the world, had often proved ourselves so. -They recalled the unpleasant experiences they had had at the hands of -Americans—vulgar tourists. The thing was perfectly obvious. We had -little fineness of feeling. What we were fighting for was really dollars -and cents, not the freedom of subject peoples. At this time they set -themselves to watch us very carefully. Canada and the rest of America -shared their feelings, with more bitterness. - -Since then there has been little visible and striking change. We still -live under an inchoate and un-idealistic commercialism. The world can -thank us for very few treasures of literature, philosophy, or art. Not a -single great nation has any particular occasion to love us. To most of -them we are blasphemous and hateful. Hearst has more millions and more -newspapers than ever, and we are still subject to strong popular -hysteria—such as the recently-shown hatred of Germany. We sit as judges -on the world. We calmly assume that we could do no such terrible things -as other nations; that our _Kultur_ is the best. At any time we may -again be ready to spread it by force of arms. - -Now all the powerful nations of the world, except us, are weakening each -other in a terrific struggle. The occasion is seized in America by the -armament makers and a political party without an issue. To defend -ourselves we must arm! they say. Anyone who has taken the trouble to -read Bernhardi’s books will know that it is the precise argument he -employed. Political parties under commercialism are unscrupulous, and we -shall doubtless see the agitation raised to a national issue. Anything -to get the Democrats out of office. The probability is that the hysteria -will succeed. The only hope to the contrary is that it may be allayed, -not by opposition, but by prompt action on the part of the -administration which shall mend our present fences without committing us -to any definite policy of armament. - -Suppose, however, that a President should be elected on the issue of -larger armament immediately after the European war. It is an insult to -the intelligence to pursue the logic of events further. The “defensive” -alliance against us, the “defensive” alliance for us—if, indeed we could -induce anybody to enter one—the constantly-increasing tension, the -_casus belli_, the repetition of history. But such a disastrous war -would not be a tragedy if we had so deserved it. The tragedy would be -that we should have no such intrinsic worth as has Germany to offer as a -defence. The tragedy would be that we had been so concerned about the -mote in our brother’s eye that we had failed to remove the beam in our -own. - - - - - I Am Woman - - - MARGUERITE SWAWITE - - I am woman: - Old as Lebanon cedars—and far older; - Young as the freshest green shoot - That peeps through the snow in the March time. - My face is turned to the East - Pink with the dawn of my promise; - My hands are clutched from behind - By the fettering fingers of her who was woman alone, - Molded and spurred by desire, - Knowing only the need - Of a kiss for the cup of her throat, - Of a child for the curve of her arm. - - To-day I am woman, - Less—yet a little more; - For I am learning to sing - Not his, nor another’s, but mine own song, - That has lain in my heart since the first day. - A great golden song it shall be - Though not always soft with sweet cadence, - For I must travail to sing: - I am learning - To feed upon nothing, yet fill me; - To warm my chill limbs without fire; - To go on my way, without kiss, without child, - Though my lip is red, my arm willing. - Yet I know I shall never cease - Till I have sung it all— - All to the very last note. - - Still I shall be woman - In all the long days to come - That beckon to me in the pink dawn; - My song shall grow sweetly familiar, - And he who was frightened shall draw near - Singing his separate song, - Ever his own and yet blending - Its virile strains with mine; - So we shall raise a great harmony - Enfolding the world in our music, - Rejoicing again in our marriage. - - One day that shall be .... - But to-day - I am weary— - The East is rosy with promise of dawn. - - - (_The following is one of the poems in Edgar Lee Master’s - “Spoon River Anthology” which has been running in Reedy’s - St. Louis Mirror and attracting such wide-spread attention. - In our opinion it is in the first ranks of fine poetry._) - - - - - Caroline Branson - - - With our hearts like drifting suns, had we but walked - As often before the April fields till star-light - Silkened over with viewless gauze the darkness - Under the rock, our trysting place in the wood, - Where the brook turns! Had we but passed from wooing - Like notes of music that run together, into winning - In the inspired improvisation of love! - But to put back of us as a canticle ended - The rapt enchantment of the flesh, - In which our souls swooned, down, down, - Where time was not, nor space, nor ourselves— - Annihilated in love! - To leave these behind for a room with lamps; - And to stand with our Secret mocking itself, - And hiding itself amid flowers and mandolins, - Stared at by all between salad and coffee. - And to see him tremble, and feel myself - Prescient, as one who signs a bond— - Not flaming with gifts and pledges heaped - With rosy hands over his brow. - And then, O night! deliberate! unlovely! - With all of our wooing blotted out by the winning - In a chosen room in an hour that was known to all. - Next day he sat so listless, almost cold, - So strangely changed, wondering why I wept, - Till a kind of sick despair and voluptuous madness - Seized us to make the pact of death. - - A stalk of the earth sphere, - Frail as star-light, - Waiting to be drawn once again - Into creation’s stream. - But next time to be given birth - Gazed at by Raphael and St. Francis - Sometimes as they pass. - For I am their little brother, - To be known clearly face to face - Through a cycle of birth hereafter run. - You may know the seed and the soil; - You may feel the cold rain fall. - But only the earth-sphere, only heaven - Knows the secret of the seed - In the nuptial chamber under the soil. - Throw me into the stream again, - Give me another trial— - Save me, Shelley! - - - - - Music - - - The Kneisel Quartet and Hofmannized Chopin - - - ALBERT SPALDING - -What more felicitous combination could be desired than this: Albert -Spalding playing the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto, with the Thomas -Orchestra! Twice, four thousand people were warmed to genuine -enthusiasm; and at both the Friday and Saturday concerts the orchestra -men (whose utterly bored manner is their usual tribute) awakened and -showed the strongest appreciation for the young man’s art. Frederick -Stock beamed, fatherly, while he clapped his hands. - -The displayers of sophisticated conceit and blasé judgment still choose -to regard Albert Spalding as a student. Their criticism, superficial as -it is, might have been based upon his playing of three or more years -back, when, along with the most marked talent, there was an element of -the conservatoire in his work. But the pupil has disappeared, and there -is now purely the artistic individual. And it follows naturally that, -for these same critics, unless one draws from a violin a tone as big as -a string bass, it cannot be beautiful. - -For his two Chicago appearances he chose a work which is completely -suited to him. Spalding can play Mendelssohn. This composer, with his -happy delicacy, beauty, and rhythmic finesse, was safe in the hands of -the artist. A sturdier or a more sensuous fiddler might have soiled the -concerto. For Spalding is a spiritual aristocrat, a musician whose tonal -excellencies are not florid, but elegant; not passionate, but of a fine -intensity. - -Technic?—One speaks of technic only when there is too much or too -little. Albert Spalding has, at the age of twenty-six, learned the -supreme art of self-expression; and both the self which he expresses and -the medium he employs for it are of the first order of fine things. - - HERMAN SCHUCHERT. - - - - - Book Discussion - - - Love’s Highway - - _Love and the Soul Maker_, by Mary Austin. [D. Appleton and Company, - New York.] - -There is a certain generic myth, outcropping whenever the discovery of -some mysterious, hidden treasure is in question, which is that the -discoverer may possess only so much of it as he can carry away on his -own person. Whenever I met this climax in my childish reading my greedy -little soul rebelled because the hero might not have all that his eyes -could see instead of the negligible bit that he could handle with his -own muscles. Experience has taught that under no circumstances can a man -own more than he possesses within himself; this is as true of material -art forms as it is of culture and education. It is almost tragic in its -truth when we look about and see such a wealth of apparent happiness and -love and then look into our own impoverished hearts. We may not covet -either our neighbor’s automobile or his wife, but frequently we do -covet, in spite of good intentions, the happiness that he derives from -that automobile and that wife. Particularly weak are we when we look -down love’s highway and see what we believe to be limitless and ideal -joy. The little orbit in which we move seems sadly askew, and it takes a -book like Mary Austin’s _Love and the Soul Maker_ to make us understand -that all the topsy-turviness of the present is but the labor-pain of a -saner, truer, happier future. - -The author combines science and sentiment in a new way. Her facts show -that she has read widely; her conclusions show that she has thought -deeply; her sentiments show that she has felt—at least potentially—most, -if not all, of the joys and sorrows which the practice and malpractice -of love produce. And the one shining truth that she has discovered in -all this hidden treasure of sex happiness is that “_we’ve a right to as -much love as we can work up into the stuff of a superior personality_.” -This truth is thrown out as independently of conventions, prejudices, -religious beliefs or practices as a searchlight is independent of the -hinges that hold it in place. It is the ultimate measure of what is good -or what is bad in love; it is the standard by which all sex problems -must finally be adjusted. She goes on to say that “taking anything over -what we can give back in some form or other to the social sum is my -notion of sinning”—and an inspired notion of sinning it is, too. We are -all searching for the treasure of love happiness, yet no one may justly -take more than he can carry away in inspiration and the impulse of -creating something within or without that will add to the sum total of -human happiness. - -Between facts and sentiment Mrs. Austin leans to sentiment—yet why not? -She is not writing for the elect body of sex students, but for ordinary -men and women. Those who have read little or nothing of sex psychology -would find cold, uncompromising facts too difficult a diet. Offering -them such an argument would be like comforting a bumped child with the -multiplication table. By means of such a book as _Love and the Soul -Maker_ it may be possible for even the ossifying brains of dogmatists to -catch a glimmer of light on our present sex problems, while such -dazzlingly and ruthlessly true books as Havelock Ellis writes may -petrify several additional lobes. - -Although not openly propagandic, Mrs. Austin has a decided philosophy of -life which she sets forth in a dozen different ways and which, without -saying so, she hopes her reader will accept. She insists that “the -proper end of loving is not personal but racial; it is the Soul Maker’s -most precious commodity,” and that love pirates or love grafters commit -their most venal sin by believing that love is its own excuse. As Mrs. -Austin expresses it, “Love for love’s sake is the shibboleth by which -they blunt the unassailable fact that love was not invented for love’s -sake but for life’s.” Here, of course, is a radical point of departure -which will turn many readers away from her pages; it may, however, -induce an equal number to read further. - -The flaws in our modern system of marriage are more closely seen and -more cleverly pointed out than are the remedies offered. For example, -the author shows that modern society asks of marriage “things it was -never meant to pay”; yet her remedy is vague. And again: “The initial -mistake about marriage is in regarding it as a condition, a state, when -it is primarily a relation” and may exist in spite of very unfavorable -conditions and quite apart from them. Delightfully, indeed, does she -puncture the time-worn fallacy of platonic friendships: “I doubt that -there can be any informing intimacy between men and women unless there -exists also the potentiality of passionate experience.” Yet many of her -views are completely radical. “There never has been a time since man -stood up and knew himself for man,” she writes, “that the major process -of love has been reproductive,” and later she points out that “chief -among the uses of passion is the raising of the percentage of values in -those who entertain it.” She cuts off all the frills of convention, -ceremony, tradition; strips away all but the essential naked truth germ -and declares: “Marriage is an agreement between any pair to practice -mate-love toward one another, with intention.” - -Marriage, thus simplified, would not, indeed could not, be the failure -which modern society so widely accepts with resignation instead of -combating with thoughtful dissatisfaction. We have become so racially -hypnotized that we do not distinguish between associated facts (such as -food, shelter, religious sanction, obedience, etc.) and the essential -truth of mate-love. “The primary obligation of lovers is to love,” she -says. This done, all will adjust itself; and yet lest any should draw -the over-quick conclusion that Mrs. Austin advocates free love, let me -also add that she says: “To love and to keep on loving. This is the one -way of making marriage do its work in the world.” - -As a remedy she begs women to open their eyes to the fact that marriage -is not now the only career for them. That marriage does not fill the -lives of those who enter it is evidenced by the divorce courts. -Tentatively Mrs. Austin suggests that instead of dissolving so many -marriages it would be wiser to unload the excessive strain put upon -them. Let economics take hold of the problem of the mother, who for the -sake of providing bread for herself and her children crucifies her own -personality, ignores her own right to happiness upon the racial -conception of marriage. Very frankly she explains what marriage should -do for us: “First of all to satisfy the hunger of the body for its -natural mate ... and finally it must satisfy the need of companionship -on the intimate and personal side of life.” She hints that “it is -immensely more important that a mating pair should relish kissing -together than that they should both be Presbyterian.” - -She is hopeful concerning the final abolishing of prostitution if the -present marriage customs are changed. She is emphatic in the need of -young people being enlightened in regard to marital experiences and -problems, but her suggestions are indefinite and inconclusive. However, -much may be overlooked for her emphasis of the fact that sex is an -active principal and that the best love-life is that which makes the -best use of love’s activities. She admonishes us to “play fair alike in -loving and unloving,” which means that love is not a light thing of a -day, but must be great enough and strong enough to control itself, even -to sacrifice itself for the greatest racial good—and never to sell -itself from a motive of personal selfishness, or for the bliss of an -hour. - -The highway that Mrs. Austin lays out for love is rough and stony in -spots, and yet its goal of racial betterment through achievement as well -as by means of offspring is not to be despised. - - MARY ADAMS STEARNS. - - - Dutch Bourgeoisie - - _Small Souls_, by Louis Couperus. [Dodd, Mead and Company, New - York.] - -Rain, rain.... It is always raining in Holland; the skies are ever -hidden behind muddy clouds, and in the damp, bleak atmosphere straggle -grey figures with stony faces. It is painful to follow Couperus through -the four hundred odd pages of his gloomy novel, to meet only “small -souls,” petty men and women whose sole interest lies in dinner parties -and endless gossip. Empty, tedious, stupid “society,” without even the -piquant vice that makes attractive the bourgeoisie of Balzac, -Maupassant, or Zola. The least boring figure among the asinine menagerie -is that of the heroine, Constance, whose sole virtue consists in the -fact that she had committed adultery in her early life. The author has -not brought in a single positive type of Holland’s artistic or -intellectual circles to counteract the general gloom of the picture; he -has evidently determined to hold his readers within the frame of a -family-epic, to focus their attention on one particular aspect of life -in the Hague, the shallowest, the palest. As this novel presents the -translation of the first part of the author’s tetralogy, we must be -patient and consider the book as a prelude to the developing drama. -Already we see at the end of this volume promising symptoms of a new, -real life, to be manifested in the growing boy, Adrian—big, healthy, -sturdy, who despises his petty relatives with their noisy intrigues, and -whose “boyish lips, with their faint shading of dawn, curve into a -scornful smile as he says: ‘It’s all about nothing!’” We shall eagerly -look forward to the following volumes, for Couperus is an artist, a deep -psychologist, a follower of Zola; his method may be old, arch-realistic, -but, as I say, he is an artist, hence thrilling. - - K. - - - James Stephens: Poet and Pagan - - _The Demi-Gods_, by James Stephens. [The Macmillan Company, New - York.] - -God’s most high messengers and certain Irish loafers nest well together. -James Stephens was the first man to discern this and other plain, albeit -unique, facts; and in the _Demi-Gods_ he takes the reader into a -delightful confidence, telling him the inmost thoughts of three angels, -their two companions (also Irish), a philosophic donkey, an ecstatic -crow, and the like of them. The angels learn table-manners and similar -ethics from the two Celtic vagabonds, whom they chance upon when they -touch foot to earth, one dark night. The father-vagabond gets daily food -for the party, paying for it when he isn’t temperamentally swept into -stealing; the other, who is the dearest kind of an Irish girl, naturally -in love with the youngest angel, does the cooking and mothering for them -all,—and celestial wisdom is shelved during the acquirement of so much -worldly knowledge. - -How can the astonishing charms of this book be described? In the first -place, there is poetry—neither cadent nor decadent poetry, but the sort -of prose that conveys the most finely imagined poetic thought. And there -is contrast. Such contrast! From the calm conversation of angels to the -braying of an ass is the easiest jump for Stephens. It is a gentle slide -from paragraphs of delicate dawn-picturing to a peasant’s narration of -brawls and thieving, or a description of the angels attired in Pat -McCann’s trousers. And, given the latitude of half a dozen quotations, -one might prove that this same Stephens was a deep-gazing mystic. Nor -would his extreme paganism be difficult to establish. But to avoid all -the inevitable shruggings of literary shoulders, if one really said -these things about the man, let it be quickly stated that James Stephens -is before all else an artist, a writer with a superlative sense of humor -and a pleasantly incomprehensible imagination. - -While a deeper probing of his mysticism or paganism (as such) would -perhaps bring about a sudden discounting of his humor and his poetic -sensibilities, it is necessary to remember that Stephens is Irish, with -all the implied values of that temperament. Therefore, it is well to -consider the author of _The Demi-Gods_ to be this day’s most unique -literary light. The combination stands alone. - - HERMAN SCHUCHERT. - - - Unfulfilled Expectations - - _A Lady of Leisure_, by Ethel Sidgwick. [Small, Maynard and - Company, Boston.] - -Long, diffuse, sometimes clever, sometimes pointless conversations mark -this latest book of an author from whom we had come to expect only the -best. Miss Sidgwick could not write anything that did not have passages -of keen insight and shrewd handling of our commonplace humanity, but -here their value is hidden under an avalanche of words—words—words. The -slight plot—which of course is no fault—deals with the whims of the -daughter of a great London surgeon. She overcomes parental objection and -enters a dressmaking establishment; but we are given no particularly -vital picture of this life. There are several young people whose love -affairs become mutually mixed, but ultimately untangled—all of which is -done by means of conversations, jerky, exclamatory, unrestrained. This -method is true to life because such chatter is exactly the way modern -people talk, but nevertheless our ears ache with it, and we find -ourselves longing for a paragraph of straightaway description or -narration, which never comes. - -The frivolous and empty atmosphere is all well enough for a relish, but -it is unsatisfying as a total, particularly from one who can give too -much that is worth while. It is like a continuous afternoon tea, or a -lemon meringue pie with nothing but the meringue. - - M. A. S. - - - Interpretation of Music - - _Nature in Music_, by Lawrence Gilman. [John Lane Company, New - York.] - - Its thin divine kinkiness ... - I felt it undulate my soul— - Lavender water, pitted and heaved to huge, uneasy circles. - -The readers of THE LITTLE REVIEW may remember these lines: they were -meant to interpret Debussy. I challenge Llewellyn Jones to “object” to -this gem and to question its “sense”! The staunchest conservative will -agree that of all arts music presents the widest liberty for subjective -interpretation, especially for such an autonomous artist as a poet. -“There is some music which should be described by poets rather than -exposed by inquisitive aestheticians. Of such is the magical music of -Debussy.” This from Lawrence Gilman’s latest book. Mr. Gilman evidently -considers himself a good member in both categories, for he follows up -the quoted remark with unrestrained effusions of colorful descriptions -of Landscape-music, Sea-music, Death-music. It is charming reading, -though at times the unbridled Pegasus causes you dizziness; not that you -are encountered with daringly-new views or dazzling ideas: Mr. Gilman is -too much of an American for such extravagance. It is the manner of his -exposition, the ravishing richness of his style, that endangers your -mental equilibrium. Judge for yourself: - - Debussy, when he wrote this delectable and adorable music - (_Rondes de Printemps_), sent his spirit into the woods and - fields, through gardens and orchards and petal-showered lanes, - and upon the moors and hills; he trod the brown soil of the - earth, but he also looked long up into the green branches and the - warm, gusty sky of May, and savored the fragrant winds. - -Is it not enchanting? But when you are treated to such nectar on nearly -every page, you sigh for the elegant, reserved Romain Rolland, who -expresses his enthusiasm for Debussy in a cooler, yet by no means less -convincing, way. - -Aside from this purely external characteristic the book contains very -interesting remarks on the treatment of natural elements and phenomena -by various composers. The invention of new instruments, the development -of the art of orchestration, and general new conceptions of our age, -have drawn a sharp line of distinction between the old and the new -interpretations of nature in music. While the old composers (among the -old the author places not only Hayden and Beethoven, but also Wagner and -Grieg) approached Nature either as a subject to be faithfully rendered, -or as a provocator of direct emotional reactions in themselves, to the -new composers (Debussy, d’Indy, Loeffler, MacDowell) Nature “is a -miraculous harp, an instrument of unlimited range and inexhaustible -responsiveness, upon which the performer may improvise at his pleasure,” -to quote the inimitable original. The classification is rather -hazardous; the importance of Loeffler is greatly exaggerated, but as a -purely subjective view the work of Mr. Gilman is interesting. - - K. - - - A Pasteurized “Man and Superman” - - _The Raft_, by Coningsby Dawson. [Henry Holt and Company, New - York.] - -_The Raft_ is based on the same idea as Shaw’s—_minus_ moral shocks, -mental exhilaration, and the Superman. The theory is served as strong -drink in the one, as good boy’s tea in the other. The same idea receives -such different treatment that the person who would pronounce _Man and -Superman_ a “corrupt play” might speak of _The Raft_, as a beautiful -story, provided a few courageous truths which it was necessary for the -author to state in order to refute, could be forgiven. It is a harmless -compromise between the belief that no literature has a right to exist -that is not suitable for a girl in her teens, and the conviction that -men and women must face life as it is. - -In _The Raft_, we read this figurative suggestion of the theory: - - We’re girls adrift on a raft and we can’t swim. Over there’s the - land of marriage with the children, the homes and the husbands; - we’ve no means of getting to it. Unless some of the men see us - and put out in boats to our rescue, we’ll be swept into the - hunger of mid-ocean. But they’re too busy to notice us.... Always - wanting, wanting, wanting the things that only men can give.... - Did men ever want to be married or was it always necessary to - catch them? - -In _Man and Superman_ we find a more liberal statement: - - To a woman, a man is only a means to the end of getting children - and rearing them. Vitality in woman is a blind fury of creation. - What other work has she in life but to get a husband? It is a - woman’s business to get married as soon as possible, and a man’s - to keep unmarried as long as he can.... You think that you are - the pursuer, and she pursued. Fool, it is you who are the - pursued, the destined prey. - -During the last few years stories and plays exploiting this doctrine -have been hurled thick and fast in the attempt to batter down so-called -romantic love, romantic though fortified not only by the fancies of the -poets and novelists but also by the analyses of the scientists and the -experiences of life. According to these stories, love is nothing more or -less than a passion for reproduction, a desire for children. This idea -is being emphasized by two very different types for two very different -reasons: one tries to make a Don Quixote of romantic love and hopes by -ridicule to eliminate it as the great motive and to give some of the -other passions a chance in literature; the other considers everything -even suggestive of sex unmoral, and so searches for an excuse to justify -the gratification of a natural craving. Neither satire nor platitudes -can alter nature. - -Love, they say, considered as intense personal affection is an idea -purely fanciful, romantic. If so to consider it is romantic, scientists -are romantic; for such men as Lankester and Pycraft say “the view that -the sequel of mate hunger is the dominant instinct has no foundation in -fact. Desire for the sake of the pleasure of its gratification, not its -consequences, is the only hold on life which any race possesses. Love is -the attribute upon which this preservation of the race depends.” - -In other words it is a case of cause and effect. That the joy of -motherhood is greater than any other joy in a woman’s life has -absolutely nothing to do with the question as to whether or not the hope -of that joy was the reason for the selection of a mate. The question is -not one of superiority but priority; not which is the greater, but which -came first; which is the cause and which the effect. If the desire for -children is the cause of what we call love, the only logical outcome is -that in selection any woman could not refuse any man fit to be the -father of her children on the ground that he did not appeal to her -personally. Life does not support such a conclusion. - -Why woman’s choice is not impersonal is only one of the many things that -cannot be explained by the theory that makes her desire for children the -sole cause of attraction. It does not explain too many things: faithless -wives, some childless marriages, children found on door-steps, -abortions, some prostitution, why some women never marry for fear of -children, or why man is not the coy, reluctant, elusive creature -defined, though not pictured, by Dawson and Shaw. - -No wonder it fails to explain; for children, instead of being the whole -cause are the result of only a part of the cause, mate hunger—a hunger -of body, mind, and spirit. Love is the feeling for the one that seems to -supply those needs, the impulse toward that one. The sooner we realize -that the attraction between men and women is not all physical any more -than it is all mental and spiritual, and that sex is in all three -phases, the sooner shall we reach the truth; the sooner shall we hear -the last of one type that prudishly denies physical attraction or else -tries to “purify” it by making it a means to an end, and of the other -type that sees in marriage only physical union. - -The theory will not stand either a logical or an emotional test. Not -only can it not explain this confusion of cause and effect, this -mistaking the part of love for its whole; but it also cannot answer why -it should look to the future for a cause when love is so vitally a thing -of the present; nor why it was ever thought necessary to find any -explanation outside of itself for the attraction between men and women. -If there is any passion in the world that does not need a justification -other than its mere existence, it is love. For though realizing the -exaltation of moral passion, the exhilaration of mental passion, no one -can deny that it is through love we know intense, vivid personal -happiness—happiness that is vibrant, full of color, rapturous. - -But it is absurd to try to analyze it; it is even more so to argue about -it: but really women have grown very tired of having men tell them why -they marry, tired of this confusion of result with cause, of a part with -the whole, tired of the belittling of love by people who have never -experienced it, tired of this sex obsession. It is doubly absurd to -waste time in arguing when the best argument I can offer against the -Raft theory is the book itself, where the author spends most of his time -disproving his own definitely-stated idea through the actions of his -characters. It is interesting to see that both Dawson and Shaw should, -by methods diametrically opposite, show how fallacious is their -statement by exactly the same circumstance,—that is, by having the woman -care passionately for _the_ man, not _a_ man. That fact alone routs the -whole theory. Certainly Cherry and Jehane have very decided personal -preferences regardless of the next generation; moreover the Golden Woman -and “heaps of other well-bred women” will not marry for fear of -children; and Peter, Ockey, and the Faun Man insist on being ardent -lovers that vainly pursue. - -Notwithstanding these contradictions throughout the book, the author -keeps on bravely and inartistically reiterating his Raft motives, as if -to keep up his courage. Possibly because he realizes that he is losing -his theme, he starts another which is really the one consistently -developed. This second theme is that love is never reciprocal: that at -the best it is a case of one loving, the other allowing; that usually it -is a case of one loving and the other not even allowing. He starts an -endless chain of unrequited affection: Glory loves Peter; Peter loves -Cherry; Cherry, the Faun Man; the Faun the Golden Woman; the Golden -Woman, herself—or is it Peter? That is one chain; and another is Ockey -loves Jehane; Jehane, Barrington; Barrington, Nan. - -These two themes working at cross purposes are typical of the book which -is a mass of contradictions of this author’s own definitely expressed -ideas, and of life. So many things do not ring true: the labored, -morbid, commonplace treatment of Peter, “the ’maginative child,” as an -exponent of the artistic temperament; the lack of love as the sole cause -of Ockey’s failure, when he needs so many other things to make a man of -him; the marriage of Nan and Barrington as the ideal union, when neither -one has a nature intense enough to feel a great love, when even such -love as they know has never been put to the merciless tests that life -uses; the brooding, year in and year out, of the unmarried women over -the loss of the joys of motherhood, and their lack of interest in any -other phase of life; Jehane’s unworthiness, emphasized by the author in -person and through his characters, when her actions with different -treatment might have made her almost a heroine; the declared finality of -so many things that are really only initial steps; platitudes as answers -to the vital questions of life. - -Most of these false notes come from the fact that the theories of the -author and the actions of his characters are not in harmony. Whenever I -hear writers talking of such discords and saying that they are obliged -to let their characters work out their own salvations, I always consider -the attitude an affectation. But I have changed my mind. Dawson seems to -be left alone on his Raft, shouting his untenable theories till he is -hoarse; while his characters, ignoring him, have reached land and are -living their own lives. I found myself in the absurd position of -resenting the author’s interference with those vivid, distinctive, -powerful characters he had created; of wanting to tell him to keep his -hands off, and let them tell their own story. - -And left to themselves they tell it unflinchingly. What if the treatment -is obvious and conventional? It is obvious treatment of the great -mysteries of life; conventional treatment of its beauties. - - - The advancement of science at the expense of man is one of the - most pernicious things in the world. The stunted man is a - retrogression in the human race: he throws a shadow over all - succeeding generations. The tendencies and natural purpose of the - individual science become degenerate, and science itself is - finally shipwrecked: it has made progress, but has either no - effect at all on life or else an immoral one.—_Nietzsche._ - - - - - Sentence Reviews - - -_Gustave Flaubert_, by Emile Faguet. _Balzac_, by the same author. -[Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston.] Emile Faguet is a critic of the old -school, an academician. He analyzes the writers thoroughly, profoundly, -comprehensively, applying a uniform scholarly method. He gives the -biographies of Flaubert and Balzac, reviews their works, and finally -discusses their general importance for literature. You do not find any -sparkling revelations or extraordinary insight, but you form an adequate -opinion of the chief characteristics of the two great Frenchmen. The -translations are good; Mr. Thorley, who did the Balzac, has proved that -in the rôle of a translator he runs less risk than when undertaking to -interpret Verlaine. - -_Bahaism: The Modern Social Religion_, by Horace Holley. [Mitchell -Kennerley, New York.] Another example of overestimation of Oriental -thought. The success of Tagore’s second-rate allegories gave Mr. Holley -the idea of displaying before the ever-thirsting Western mind another -Eastern “great”. Bahaism, as interpreted by the writer, is one of the -“57 varieties” of the blessed Christian Socialism. The world must be -reformed, nicely, humbly, altruistically, without causing any damage to -State and Society. Naive and dull like a Sunday sermon at an Ethical -Society. - -_Woman and War_, by Olive Schreiner. [Frederick A. Stokes Company, New -York.] A timely pamphlet, reprinted as a fragment from the famous book -_Woman and Labor_. The author claims that woman can carry on war as well -as man, considering modern war implements; but as a sculptor would -resent the idea of hurling his creations on the ramparts to stop the -breaches made by the enemy, so does the human child-bearer instinctively -antagonize the reckless destruction of that which she has at so much -cost produced; for “men’s bodies are our woman’s work of art.” - -_Appearances_, by G. Lowes Dickinson. [Doubleday, Page and Company, New -York.] The title vindicates the author’s superficiality. Impressions of -India, China, Japan, America, are bewilderingly crowded in a dazzling -bouquet, revealing charming brilliance on the part of the observer, but -lack of profound insight. A rapidly-changing panorama of faces and -places, a cinematograph. “All America is Niagara. Force without -direction, noise without significance, speed without accomplishment.” -Such aphorisms lavishly scattered throughout the pages make the book -ideal train reading. - -_Psychology General and Applied_, by Hugo Münsterberg. [D. Appleton and -Company, New York.] This new text-book by the Harvard professor -summarizes various aspects of psychology and will be of help to the -student who seeks facts rather than speculation. Mr. Münsterberg is at -his best when he deals with a college audience; his reputation and -prestige would be quite safe if he limited his activity to that field -and did not indulge in pro-German pamphleteering. - -_The Story-Life of Napoleon_, by Wayne Whipple. [The Century Company, -New York.] The life of the “Man of Destiny” is an inexhaustible source -for historians and biographers. Mr. Whipple has compiled a new biography -of the Corsican, based exclusively on stories and anecdotes as related -by various authorities. Those for whom Napoleon is the grandest -phenomenon in history will feel grateful to the author for his enormous -work performed lovingly and inspiringly. - -_Stories from Northern Myths_, by Emilie Kip Baker. [The Macmillan -Company, New York.] I enjoy reading Greek mythology in spring, Hindu -legends in summer, the Bible at any time, Norse sagas in winter nights. -This book is a skillful composition of the most interesting myths of the -North, written with irresistible charm. It is ideal reading in the -blissful moments of mental relaxation, when you dismiss temporarily all -“problems” and plunge into the enchanting abyss of the Non-Real. - -_The Architecture of Humanism_, by Geofry Scott. [Houghton Mifflin -Company, Boston.] A cold, merciless wielding of the scythe that the -author admits is dogmatic criticism. Even the crucified Ruskin has more -thorns added to his crown; but still we fail to see the object of this -book in holding up all architectural ideals as “fallacies”. - -_Father Ralph_, by Gerald O’Donovan. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] -Ralph O’Brien was born to be a priest. One might almost say, considering -his mother’s attitude, that he was a priest before he was born, and his -bringing up was single-eyed to that end. Only as he grows older does he -begin to find flaws in the supposedly flawless church of God. Then as he -brings his keen young mind to these problems he fights against the -religious decadence of Ireland, and causes the author’s pen to rush -along through a torrent of socialistic and revolutionary indignation. - -_Balshazzar Court_; or, Village Life in New York City, by Simon -Strumsky. [Henry Holt and Company, New York.] These eight connected -essays concern the modern apartment house filled with strange families -which become linked together by the telegraphy of domestics; the street, -Broadway, teeming with its interest in unnatural things; with the show -which one knows perfectly beforehand through the kindness of the -newspaper reporters; and others. The author sees the unimportant trifles -that make up urban life, and lifts them into whimsical prominence. - -_The Wonderful Romance_, by Pierre de Coulevain. [Dodd, Mead and -Company, New York.] “To America, country of new thoughts”—thus does the -author dedicate her last book. Almost as if she could foresee her death, -Mlle. Fabre (Pierre de Coulevain was her pen name) wrote of conclusions -and impressions long stored up in her brain. Like her previous books, -this is a collection of thoughts and observations set down in a charming -but desultory way. - -_To-Day’s Daughter_, by Josephine Daskam Bacon. [D. Appleton and -Company, New York.] _To-Day’s Daughter_ is an utterly American book -dealing with our peculiar present-day problems. Mrs. Bacon forces no -conclusions upon the reader, for each case is “different.” The author -limits her modern woman in no way except to make her choose one purpose -and to show her that she cannot be a dozen different women and achieve -success in all directions. She proves that woman must have a cohering -line, a central motive to which other things are subservient, and a due -regard to the environment where Fate has placed her. - -_Lucas’ Annual_, edited by E. V. Lucas. [The Macmillan Company, New -York.] Of course, the correct literary pose toward even the best -“collections” is one of indulgent condescension. Nevertheless, we must -admit that in Lucas’s collection Ruskin’s criticism of one of Browning’s -poems gives us a good laugh and an intellectual challenge; that Barrie’s -_Hyphen_ and the prize novel, _Spoof_, are clever satires on literary -style; that Browning’s letter emphasizes what we felt while prying into -the Browning Letters: that our self-respect could never again be the -same;—that as a whole the book appeals to our sense of humor and to our -literary taste. - -_Nothing Else Matters_, by William Samuel Johnson. [Mitchell Kennerley, -New York.] That jaded epithet, “like champagne,” should have been -reserved for this novel, for it bubbles and sparkles and leaves a -luxurious taste in one’s literary mouth; and, while under its -pleasurable influence, one is eager to declare that heroines of today -should all bear resemblance to the charming little human who laughs and -loves through these pages. - -_The Bird-Store Man_, by Norman Duncan. [Fleming H. Revell Company, New -York.] The old, Sabbath-scented story, practically told by the title, is -in this case partially redeemed by a binding of tan, cream, and pale -green. - -_Altogether Jane_, by Herself. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] When a -sane, intelligent woman speaks frankly and cleverly, with neither lush -nor morbidity, the public owes itself the pleasure of hearing her; and, -given that hearing, Jane, in this healthy chronicle, will be found -convincing. - -_Personality Plus_, by Edna Ferber. [Frederick A. Stokes Company, New -York.] One or two personalities plus slang raised to the nth power minus -profundity gives the readable, salable unit which Edna Ferber presents -in this story of a blossoming college chap. - -_The True Ulysses S. Grant_, by Gen. Charles King. [J. B. Lippincott -Company, Philadelphia.] Some patriotic hawker should get the idea and -the permission to sell this informative volume at that sight-seen tomb -on Riverside Drive, for Grant can’t have too many friends. - -_Nancy the Joyous_, by Edith Stowe. [Reilly and Britton, Chicago.] -Nancy, one animated beam of bookish sunlight, is just too sweet and -frank and “wholesome” for anything—even to read. - -_The Torch Bearer_, by Reina Melcher Marquis. [D. Appleton and Company, -New York.] Once again the reader is asked to consider a married woman -with a talent—a situation which has become epidemic. In this case the -plot is too big for the writer’s ability and the whole story is shallow -and sketchy. - -_Selina_, by George Madden Martin. [D. Appleton and Company.] Like so -many writers who achieve a first success, Mrs. Martin has not done -nearly so well with Selina as she did with Emmy Lou. Selina is natural -but colorless. The Mid-Victorian setting (which is repeatedly -emphasized) is of Mid-Victorian mediocrity. The plot is merely a series -of unstartling incidents. - -_Essays.—Political and Historical_, by Charlemagne Tower. [J. B. -Lippincott Company, Philadelphia.] Those who have been taught to believe -government is the most important thing in our existence and is an -institution founded on truth, justice and human needs will if they read -this book at all sincerely, close it in wonder. Despite the “skill and -thoroughness” with which the book is written one cannot help questioning -the meaning of all this petty, diplomatic scheming and complicated -governmental legislating. - -_Coasting Bohemia_, by J. Comyns Carr. [The Macmillan Company, New -York.] Essays, some of which appeared in an English daily, the real -value and literary worth of which compel us, who live in America, to -realize our lack of journalistic criticism. Millais, Alma-Tadema, -Burne-Jones, Whistler, and many others are written about in a manner -that surely must have aided in public understanding and appreciation. - -_Anne Feversham_, by J. C. Snaith. [D. Appleton and Company, New York.] -“Delightful,” “charming,” “entertaining,” and all the rest of the usual -publishers’ adjectives for usual books. They try to justify this one -because of its historical background, which, however, is too slight to -save it. - -_The Commodore_, by Maud Howard Peterson. [Lothrop, Lee and Shepard -Company, Boston.] A lean-on-me-Grandpapa little boy, plenty of -sentiment, a style which some people consider adorable, incidents of -wholesome morality pinned to a background of naval stations and marine -affairs, make this a book which the young may read with impunity—and, if -young enough, with satisfaction and a grim resolve to go and do -likewise. - -_The Grand Assize_, by Hugh Carton. [Doubleday, Page and Company, New -York.] Milton built a heaven for his highest imaginings; Dante dug a -hell and cast all his personal enemies into it; the author of _The Grand -Assize_ puts the Last Judgment into a municipal court room and tries the -Plutocrat, the Derelict, the Daughter of Joy, the Drunkard, and all his -other pet aversions. This he does with an intellect less alive to the -essence of human nature than that of the most biased, graft-elected -judge of the last decade, for he treats life as a theory and people as -classified emotions. - -_Wintering Hay_, by John Trevena. [Mitchell Kennerley, New York.] This -tragedy of weakness will hold everyone who has ever tried to pour -success into some sieve-like character, too negative to stand alone. So -well is Cyril Rossingall depicted that the reader loses the consummate -art of the author in his seeming artlessness. Its setting is life in -London and Dartmoor; its plot is life as lived by English gentlefolk; -its theme is the reflex effect of events on life; its essence is -simply—life. - -_The Story of Beowulf_, translated from the Anglo-Saxon by Ernest J. B. -Kirtland. [Thomas Y. Crowell Company, New York.] Once again the ancient -Anglo-Saxon manuscript, treasured through centuries in the British -Museum, has been made over into up-to-date English with all the -trimmings of introduction, foot-notes, appendix and frontispiece. As a -mere layman, we believe it to be well done. - -_Stories without Tears_, by Barry Pain. [Frederick A. Stokes Company, -New York.] Trivial of plot, sometimes hardly more than an incident, -these stories capture some poise, pose, or feature of life and cast it -masterfully into a medallion of delightful symmetry. Sad, gay, amusing, -pathetic, they have the de Maupassant twist with all its perennial -fascination. - -_Marta of the Lowlands_, by Angel Guimera. [Doubleday, Page and Company, -New York.] What Lady Gregory has done for the Irish, Angel Guimera has -done for the Catalan drama (Catalonia is a province in Spain) by -picturing the characteristics of the people in various dramatic -situations. In _Marta of the Lowlands_ he has shown the tragic and -absolute ownership of the landed proprietor over the peasants who live -on his territory. - -_A Soldier of The Legion_, by C. N. and A. M. Williamson. [Doubleday, -Page and Company, New York.] The Williamsons know Northern Africa and if -you know them—you surely do, this being their fifteenth book—you will -know what to expect here. Those people who still can find time for -nothing but war “literature” may be interested to know that the Legion -described in this book is fighting in France for the Allies in the -present war. - -_Private Affairs_, by Charles McEvoy. [Houghton Mifflin Company, -Boston.] It is human to be curious, and when we get a chance we like to -know all about the intimate affairs of other people. In this book the -affairs are told in such a direct, interesting manner, without the -pettiness of gossip, that we find sufficient excuse for our human -weakness. - - - - - The Reader Critic - - -_George Middleton, New York_: - -I read _Wedded_ with much interest and really want to congratulate you -upon your courage in producing it. As I told the author, whom I recently -met, I do not think technically it is perfect: he has overdrawn the -minister and made an author’s comment in his lines. I feel the last line -absolutely out of key; for the effect, in my judgment, would have been -much stronger if the minister had been less obviously the hypocrite. -Aside from a little bungling in the opening, I think, however, that its -sincerity is much more important than this captious criticism. I feel he -put over quite clearly a situation in human life which should be -presented. And it was courageous of you to affront public opinion, as -you no doubt have, and give place to such a sincere little piece of -life. I wonder when the world is going to let us talk about all the -things we now smirk over and know. Once we can place these sex matters -on the same plane of conversation as we do pork and cheese then they -will really cease to be important. I believe in the reticences of taste -and proportion—but not those of subject matter. And sooner or later the -question of birth control must be given wide publicity, so that only -wanted children will come into the world. So long as functionally the -woman must bear the labour and thus suffer unequally in parenthood, so -should we do everything through education to arm her against assuming -unwilling burdens. When children are born of free choice in marriage -then they will partake of a higher dignity, and parenthood itself will -mean more than a functional disturbance and a matter of rebellion it now -is with many. Any play which makes us question our nice polite functions -about morality should be accessible to those not afraid of new ideas. It -is curious how little faith the innate conservative has in human nature -and the finer things of life. So afraid are they that they would bind -people by old traditions and not personally-achieved opinions. _Wedded_ -presents in vivid phrase a fragment of life which has no doubt come to -many a woman, and I heartily congratulate you for the courage which -prompted you to give the author a hearing. - -_S. H. G., New York_: - -The November number is the best yet. I don’t like Iris’s work as well as -I do Bodenheim’s; judging by these poems I think he has been too much -praised. Bodenheim makes some superb contributions to language and -imagery. Langner’s play doesn’t escape the querulous note in spots, but -it is worth doing and is done well on the whole. Darrow’s article is -well-knit and presents an idea. The best thing in the issue is Kaun’s -translation. And I dislike very much your article on Emma Goldman, -because it falls so far below the hardness of thought it should have -had. - -I have taken much to heart two articles in the first _New Republic_: -Rebecca West’s _The Duty of Harsh Criticism_ and the editors’ _Force and -Ideas_. We who are saying things in public have a simply tremendous -responsibility not only to feel, but to know, and to use the acid test -on everything we say. Your article shows that you have been carried away -by a personality to approval of a social program, and is the most -convincing proof I have ever seen that belief in anarchism is a product -of the artistic temperament rather than the result of an intelligent -attempt to criticise and remould society. I know you did not intend it -to be so; that is the reason it annoys me so much. It was a wise and -necessary thing to correct misapprehensions about Emma Goldman’s -personality; that you have done fairly well; though even that is marred -by too much protesting and a substitution of a somewhat sentimental -elation for power of mind and emotion. But your offhand generalities on -the top of the third page are just the sort of shoddy thinking that -justifies conservatives in dismissing social theorists with a sneer, and -imprisoning them when they get dangerous. These generalities do not even -accurately represent Wilde’s essay. It is not that I disagree with you; -I recognize a fundamental truth in these things if it could only be -disentangled, made definite, and applied. But to a discerning and -unprejudiced reader it is quite evident that in order to save yourself -the trouble and unromantic grind of doing this, you have made a lot of -meaningless assumptions without really knowing very much about history -or anthropology or psychology or any of the other wonderful tools which -modern heroes have put at the service of the human will. You have the -blind faith of a Catholic saint in divine revelation; the only -difference is that the terms of the revelation are altered. - -As a thing entirely apart from the above objection, the sporadic -violence of the anarchists is puerile and ridiculous. The whole muddle -in which the anarchists find themselves on account of their -disagreements as to violence is an example of the necessity of efficient -and intelligent organization—which is exactly what government in its -essence is, to me (but is not now). My own position on anarchism has -become more clearly defined than before. I stand fundamentally with -Montessori on the position that the beginning and the end of revolution -is improvement of the individual. I should be prepared to endorse a -brutal autocracy if that bred better human stock. I am thoroughly -convinced that Emma Goldman could preach until she lost her voice -without producing an appreciable effect. The world has had too much -preaching. There would be something finally tragic about the waste of -such a personality as hers unless there were a better way of -accomplishing her object. She has been working for years, yet -ninety-nine per cent of Americans regard her as a sort of Carrie Nation. -The more we long for her success the more we appreciate her personality, -the more keenly we must criticise her method. - -The question of how race hygiene must be applied is a profound and -complex matter, impossible of solution by any individual. It will be -solved gradually, and as a resultant of honest intellectual work by all -forward looking people—more especially by your despised scientists. It -will be a matter of inspired scientific education, of proper industrial -conditions, of profound art stimulus, of sex reform, in short, of most -of the things advocated today by the socialist party. I have a -fair-to-middling imagination, but I totally fail to see how these things -may properly be put into action without intelligent governmental -organization. We simply must not narrow our minds by perfectionist -generalities. It is the duty—and the inspiration—of the poet to -understand and use science, of the scientist to develop the poet in -himself, of all to face grimly every fact which concerns him and banish -forever from his mind sentimentalism. Sentimentalism about ribbons and -candy is sometimes pretty, but sentimentalism about the human race is a -terrible form of blasphemy and the greatest of the sins of pettiness. - -Now that I have spoken honestly, don’t think I have joined the ranks of -irascible conservatives, and that I yell because I’ve been prodded. No -one realizes more than I the necessity of greater emotion, or more -sweeping vision. But let’s not make our vision sweeping by the simple -process of cutting off our view! - - - OBLOMOFFDOM - -_Minnie Lyon, Chicago_: - -We are told by literary authorities that a certain Goncharoff occupies -the place next to Turgeniev and Tolstoy in Russian literature. As to -this I cannot vouch, but I can say that he has written a most profound -and wonderful book called _Oblomoff_ wherein he has depicted in -convincing terms the enthralling bondage of Russia’s intellectuals in -her days of stagnant inactivity. From this book was coined the -phrase—“Russian Malady of Oblomoffdom”, so well did it dissect her -diseased and irresolute will—a malady so universal as to make one feel -that _Oblomoff_ was written for us as well as for Russia. It certainly -is a direct emphasis upon a condition which prevails so largely both in -our personal and social life that few can read this inimitable pen -portrait without a sneaking feeling that some of his own lineaments are -limned therein. - -Goncharoff writes of his hero: “The joy of higher inspiration was -accessible to him—the miseries of mankind were not strange to him.... -Sometimes he cried bitterly in the depths of his heart about human -sorrows. He felt unnamed, unknown sufferings and sadness, and a desire -of going somewhere far away,—probably into that world towards which -Stoltz had tried to take him in his younger days. Sweet tears would then -flow upon his cheek. It would also happen that he would feel hatred -towards human vices, towards deceit, towards the evil which is spread -all over the world; and he would then feel the desire to show mankind -its diseases. Thoughts would then burn within him, rolling in his head -like waves in the sea; they would grow into decisions which would make -all his blood boil; his muscles would be ready to move, his sinews would -be strained, intentions would be on the point of transforming themselves -into decisions.... Moved by a moral force he would rapidly change over -and over again his position in his bed; with a fixed stare he would lift -himself from it, move his hand, look about with inspired eyes ... the -inspiration would seem ready to realize itself, to transform itself into -an act of heroism—and then, what miracle, what admirable results might -one not expect from so great an effort! But—the morning would pass away, -the shades of evening would take the place of broad daylight—and with -them the strained forces of Oblomoff would incline towards rest—the -storm in his soul would subside—his head would shake off the worrying -thoughts—his blood would circulate more slowly in his veins—and Oblomoff -would slowly turn over and recline on his back; look sadly through his -window upon the sky, following sadly with his eyes the sun which was -setting gloriously.... And how many times had he thus followed with his -eyes that sunset!” - -How easy to fall back upon a soft bed of _concessions_—and drift into a -world of forgetfulness! It is just into terrible inertia—this every day -and _every_ day humdrum conservatistic acceptance of things as they -are—that THE LITTLE REVIEW comes with its laughter of the gods; it is so -joyous, so fearless, so sure of its purpose, and hurls itself against it -with its vital young blood and its burning young heart, and pleads with -it for a re-creation of ideals in living, life, and art, and a bigger -comprehension of what life and art can mean to the individual and to the -race, if the individual will only open his heart and mind to these -limitless freedoms. And it does not say: “Look, this is the only way;” -but “come all ye who have something to offer—only let it be sincere, -true, and unafraid.” And because of this big inclusiveness, we sometimes -hear our friend, the sophisticated critic, say: “It lacks -sophistication.”—What is sophistication anyway? Isn’t it something that -has been baked and dried a long time? I wonder if every thoughtful -reader does not grow weary of petty criticism! It is the twin sister (it -has not the virility to be a boy twin) of Oblomoffdom, and lives as a -parasite upon the brains of others. (I like that word _Oblomoffdom_; it -covers such a multitude of indictments with an economy of words.) Let us -have criticism—yes, by all means; but let it _be_ criticism—critical in -values, illuminating in meaning, clear in exposition, telling us how and -_why_. Then we’ll give you our respectful and unbiased attention. Too -much of the stuff that passes as criticism is merely a “personal -attitude,” a channel for expressing a prejudice for (often) something -too big for the critic’s grasp. How often, too, does one grow a bit -heart-weary on hearing some big personality, some fine intellect limit -itself to one vision—its own. - -Why not throw that attitude aside as an outworn garment, and welcome any -force, simply and gladly, that can stimulate a spark of life-urge within -us? A more courageous and intense love of truth, of men, of life. - -And so, we welcome you, LITTLE REVIEW, with a _Happy New Year_ and a -_long life_—as a Rebel spirit amongst us, fighting our deadly -Oblomoffdom. - - - Statement of Ownership, Management, - Circulation, Etc., required by the Act - of August 24, 1912 - - of _THE LITTLE REVIEW_ published monthly at - _Chicago, Ill._, for _October 1st, 1914_. - - Editor, _Margaret C. Anderson, 917 Fine Arts - Building, Chicago_. - - Managing Editor, _Same_. - - Business Manager, _Same_. - - Publisher, _Same_. - - Owners: (If a corporation, give its name and - the names and addresses of stockholders holding - 1 per cent or more of total amount of stock. If - not a corporation, give names and addresses of - individual owners.) - - _Margaret C. Anderson_ - _917 Fine Arts Building, Chicago._ - - Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other - security holders, holding 1 per cent or more of - total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other - securities: _None_. - - _MARGARET C. ANDERSON._ - - Sworn to and subscribed before me this _17th_ - day of _Sept., 1914_. - - _MICHAEL J. O’MALLEY_, - _Notary Public_. - (My commission expires _March 8, 1916._) - - - - - SCRIBNER BOOKS - - Memories - - By John Galsworthy - - This is a charmingly sympathetic biographical sketch of a dog—a - cocker spaniel that came into the author’s possession almost at - birth and remained with him through life. It has none of the - imaginative exaggeration common in modern animal stories—records - nothing improbable at all. But the author’s insight and his power - of interpretation individualize the little spaniel and bring him - into the reader’s intimate sympathy. - - Illustrated with four full-page colored illustrations and a - large number in black and white by Maud Earl, $1.50 net; - postage extra. - - Half Hours - - By J. M. Barrie - - From the delightful, romantic fantasy of “Pantaloon” to the - present-day realism of “The Twelve Pound Look” represents the - wide scope of Mr. Barrie’s dramatic work. All four of the plays - in this volume, though their subjects are quite diverse, are - beautifully suggestive of Barrie at his best with all his keenest - humor, brightest spontaneity, and deepest insight. - - “Pantaloon,” “The Twelve Pound Look,” “Rosalind” and “The - Will.” $1.25 net; postage extra. - - Notes on Novelists - - With Some Other Notes - - By Henry James - - Here is a book which describes with penetrating analysis and in a - thoroughly entertaining manner of telling the work not only of - the great modern novelists of the last century, Stevenson, Zola, - Balzac, Flaubert, and Thackeray, but also takes up in a chapter - entitled “The New Novel” the work of Galsworthy, Mrs. Wharton, - Conrad, Wells, Walpole, Bennett and the other more important - contemporary novelists. This chapter gives in a short space as - keen and authoritative a criticism of present-day fiction as can - be found. - - $2.50 net; postage extra. - - Artist and Public - - And Other Essays on Art Subjects - - By Kenyon Cox - - There is no one writing of art today with the vitality that fills - every paragraph of Mr. Cox’s work. Its freedom from what has - become almost a conventional jargon in much art criticism, and - the essential interest of every comment and suggestion, account - for an altogether exceptional success that his book on The - Classic Spirit has had within the last few years, and that will - be repeated with this volume. - - Illustrated. $1.50 net; postage extra. - - The Poems of Edgar Allen Poe - - With an Introduction by E. C. Stedman and Notes by Professor - G. E. Woodberry. - - Nearly half a century passed after the death of Poe before the - appearance of the Stedman-Woodberry Edition of his works, which - embodies in its editorial departments critical scholarship of the - highest class. In this volume of Poe’s “Poems” the introduction - and the notes treat not only of the more significant aspects of - Poe’s genius as a poet, but his technical methods, and of scores - of bibliographical and personal matters suggested by his verses. - Entirely reset in larger type. - - Half morocco, $4.00 net; half calf, $3.50 net; cloth, with - portrait, $2.00 net. - - In Dickens’ London - - By F. Hopkinson Smith - - The rare versatility of an author who can transfer to paper his - impressions of atmosphere as well in charcoal sketch as in - charmingly told description has made this book an inspiration to - the lover of Dickens and to the lover of London. The dusty old - haunts of dusty old people, hid forever but for Dickens, are - visited again and found little changed. 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Ciolkowska. - - CONTRIBUTORS: Dora Marsden, Ford Madox Hueffer, Allen Apward, - James Joyce, Remy de Gourmont, Ezra Pound, Richard Aldington, - Mme. Ciolkowska, J. G. Fletcher, H. D., Amy Lowell, F. S. Flint, - Leigh Henry, Huntly Carter, R. W. Kauffman, William Carlos - Williams, Frances Gregg, Robert Frost, etc., etc. - - TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION: Yearly, U. S. A. $3.25; six months, $1.65; - three months, 85 cents. Single copies, post free, 7d cents. - - Subscriptions should be sent to Miss H. S. Weaver, Oakley House, - Bloomsbury Street, London, W. C. - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - -At the bottom of page 1, within Amy Lowell's _The Allies_, there is the -centered word - - (_Over_) - -which seems out of place and is not found in later editions of the text. -Speculating whether this was printed on purpose, e.g., to inform the -reader to turn over the page to read the rest, we decided to reproduce -it here as it was printed. - -Advertisements were collected at the end of the text. - -The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect -correctly the headings in this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW. - -The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical -errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here -(before/after): - - [p. 10]: - ... My petunias like censors, snowy white and full of honey? ... - ... My petunias like censers, snowy white and full of honey? ... - - [p. 18]: - ... of the spiritual formulalist. Yet both are wrong. The Problem - can be ... - ... of the spiritual formulaist. Yet both are wrong. The Problem - can be ... - - [p. 18]: - ... imposes on matural forms. The law-giver and reformer of - social customs ... - ... imposes on natural forms. The law-giver and reformer of - social customs ... - - [p. 31]: - ... of his cane and withdrew from men, waiting like a sower who - hath thrown ... - ... of his cave and withdrew from men, waiting like a sower who - hath thrown ... - - [p. 31]: - ... loses his way, becomes isolated, and is torn piecemeal by - some manatour of conscience. ... - ... loses his way, becomes isolated, and is torn piecemeal by - some minotaur of conscience. ... - - [p. 41]: - ... Under the rock, our trusting place in the wood, ... - ... Under the rock, our trysting place in the wood, ... - - [p. 49]: - ... rather than expose by inquisitive aestheticians. Of such is - the magical ... - ... rather than exposed by inquisitive aestheticians. Of such is - the magical ... - - [p. 53]: - ... morbid, commonplace treatment of Peter, “the maginative - child,” as an ... - ... morbid, commonplace treatment of Peter, “the ’maginative - child,” as an ... - - [p. 55]: - ... Mr. Thorley, who did the Balzac, has proved that in the rôle - or a translator he runs ... - ... Mr. Thorley, who did the Balzac, has proved that in the rôle - of a translator he runs ... - - [p. 58]: - ... for the Catlan drama (Catalonia is a province in Spain) by - picturing the characteristics ... - ... for the Catalan drama (Catalonia is a province in Spain) by - picturing the characteristics ... - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, JANUARY 1915 -(VOL. 1, NO. 10) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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