Published the 1st and 15th of each month.

THE EGOIST
AN I N D I V I D U A L I S T R E V I E W
Formerly the NEW FREE WOMAN.

No. 14.VOL. I.
Editor: HARRIET SHAW W E A V E R .

W E D N E S D A Y , JULY 15th, 1914.

SIXPENCE.
Contributing Editor:

Assistant Editor : RICHARD ALDINGTON.

DORA MARSDEN, B.A.

CONTENTS.
TRADITION AND O T H E R THINGS. By Remy de Gourmont V I E W S AND COMMENTS " DUBLINERS " AND M E . JAMES JOYCE. By Ezra Pound PASSING P A R I S . B y Saint Fiacre... 261 263 267 268 LIBERATIONS : Studies of Individuality in Contemporary Music. By Leigh Henry BLAST. By Richard Aldington ... SERIAL S T O R Y . A PORTRAIT OF THE A R T I S T AS A YOUNG M A N . B y James Joyce POEMS. By John Gould Fletcher . . . L U C I E D E L A R U E - MARDRUS. By Madame Ciolkowska NORTHCLIFFE'S N I C E P A P E R A G A I N CORRESPONDENCE 275 276 278 279

269 272

273

TRADITION AND OTHER THINGS.

By R E M Y DE GOURMONT. " Bouvard penchait vers le neptunisme ; Pcuchet, au contraire, tait plutonien." Flaubert.

E must n o t b o a s t t o o much of tradition. I t is n o great merit to place our feet exactly in the tracks which indicate the road ; it is a natural tendency. T h o u g h it is n o t v e r y w r o n g to give w a y to this tendency, it is better to attempt a new path. Necessarily, it b e c o m e s confounded here and there with the old. W e must resign ourselves, but without arrogance. The deed is less meritorious than unavoidable.

the seventeenth century was of refashioning Montaigne and Rabelais. Y o u take literary tradition as far b a c k as the seventeenth century. Why? Is it from ignorance of the past ? D o y o u n o t k n o w that our great literary centuries were the twelfth and thirteenth, otherwise g o o d j u d g e s would n o t give the " V i e de Saint A l e x i s " for a tragedy by Racine 1 C o m e n o w , y o u r tradition savours t o o much of the fools w h o put it into y o u r head. I like the seventeenth century so much that its most furious admirers will never succeed in disgusting me with it. But if I had t o pick o u t a unique b o o k I should take it from the nineteenth century. TraditionI find it everywhere. A l l the past can be a part of tradition. W h y this and not t h a t ? W h y the laborious mysticism of Bossuet and not the spontaneous irony of V o l t a i r e ? Tradition is a long chain with alternate rings o f g o l d and lead. Y o u d o n o t a c c e p t the w h o l e of tradition? Then tradition is a choice and n o t a fact. Considered as a fact tradition is merely a mass of contradictory tendencies. A s soon as w e choose w e c o m m i t an act of arbitrary criticism. The true masters of tradition are those w h o , like Saint-Beuve, have despised nothing, h a v e wished to understand everything.

Tradition is a great p o w e r opposing the originality of writers. That i s w h y the present so strangely resembles the immediate past, which again resembles the preceding past. This subjection, which is always very oppressive, even in e p o c h s of apparent literary innovation, tends t o b e c o m e a real y o k e w h e n the fashion is o b e d i e n c e t o tradition. H e n c e the literary eighteenth century, hence the literature of the First Empire. There is the continuous tradition and there is the renewed tradition. T h e y must n o t b e confounded. The seventeenth century believed that it was renewing the b o n d with antiquity. The Romanticists believed that they had rediscovered the Middle A g e s . These discontinued traditions are m o r e fertile when the period which is renewed is distant and unknown. It seems then that to-day would b e a propitious m o m e n t for renewing the seventeenth century. It is an illusion. The seventeenth century, with its appearance of distance, is infinitely near us. I t has served as a part of our education. It is k n o w n even t o those w h o have n o t frequented it. W e still breathe its atmosphere. Everything derived from it w o u l d savour of imitation.

D o y o u b e l i e v e that anyone w h o g o e s b a c k n o further than Flaubert and Baudelaire can possess a g o o d literary The seventeenth century is relative to the renaissance tradition? I k n o w such m e n and w o m e n , and they in the position that w e are t o romanticism : the astonish me with the delicacy of their taste. seventeenth century d o e s not continue the renaissance, there are erasures, changes in t a s t e ; it d o e s take up the renaissance again, but unconsciously and thanklessly. Tradition is sometimes nothing more than a bibliography, sometimes a library. Brunetire was a biblioD o e s it n o t seem to us that romanticism understood g r a p h y ; Saint-Beuve a library. nothing of its o w n w o r k 1 W e have attempted to refashion it with an unconsciousness comparable to that of the seventeenth century. The w o r k s of G e o r g e Sand and of " T h e best French writer o f the seventeenth century A l e x a n d r e D u m a s seem absurd to u s ; w e deny their is Hlisenne de C r e n n e , " I w a s informed b y a w o m a n genius, but w e refashion them. W e are as incapable w h o possessed a somewhat feminist erudition, and w h o , of refashioning the novels o f Balzac and of Stendhal as beside that, w a s a bibliophile.

P e o p l e w h o say t o m e , " Y o u are i n t h e tradition of M o n t a i g n e , " amuse m e , f o r I a m n o great reader of the " E s s a i s " a fact of which I am almost ashamed. T h e greater part of t h e discoveries of professors o n the formation and tradition of minds is of this sort. T h e traditional m a n cannot see analogous tendencies in t w o minds without thinking the later c o m e r is an imitator of the earlier. School habits. M y tradition is n o t only French ; it is European. I cannot deny Shakespeare, Dante, and B y r o n , who taught m e what poetry i s ; n o r G o e t h e , w h o enchanted m y r e a s o n ; n o r Schopenhauer, w h o b e g a n m y philosophic education : I cannot deny Nietzche, w h o g a v e a principle for m y repugnance t o spiritualist m o r a l i t y ; I cannot deny Swift and Cervantes. A n d y e t the t w o first b o o k s which o p e n e d the w o r l d t o m y soul w e r e Stendhal's " A m o u r " and Flaubert's " M a d a m e B o v a r y , " found in a c u p b o a r d of the house ! A curate w h o taught me Latin during the war, when the schools were shut, revealed Molire t o m e . I have always been grateful t o curates o n that account. T h e remainder of the classics w a s matter for lessons and impositions. I read them much later in life. Such is m y tradition. W h a t m o s t strikes m e in the y o u n g m e n of to-day is their docility. T h e y learn w h a t is taught them. I n m y time a professor h a d n o authority. W e recognised in him a mission for preparing us f o r a degree. In the second class I t o o k m y rhetoric (old s t y l e ) ; in rhetoric, m y p h i l o s o p h y ; in philosophy, verses. I w a s a boarder. M y k n o w l e d g e of French literature c a m e slowly. I preferred foreigners at first. W h e n I w a s thirty I still k n e w nothing of the seventeenth century, w h o s e pulpitsmell pursued me down t o the d a y when I handled t h e old editions. This kink in m y mind, this scorn of anything taught, has caused m e t o b e behindhand in certain things, in advance in others. I have only enjoyed that which d o e s n o t teach. plunged m e into t h e Latin of the Middle A g e s . This

The true " c l a s s i c s " of the seventeenth century, the m o d e l s f o r all m e n of taste, are to-day forgotten. T h e y w e r e Patru, Balzac, d ' A b l a n c o u r t . Boileau in his d a y w a s a breaker of dishes. T h e punishment of the tribe of professors is that i t is eternally destined t o despise L a Fontaine alive and t o venerate him dead. T h e great classic p o e t w a s first of all a kind o f P o n c h o n , w h o entered life with his h a t over o n e ear and with a girl o n each arm. H e has the reputation of a Thophile, b u t la Bruyre, at that time, still hesitated b e t w e e n Thophile and Malherbe. The true tradition of t h e French mind is the liberty of the mind. T o discuss all questions anew, t o admit none save those which can b e resolved pilori, only to admit t h e best reasons and t o consider as t h e best those which contain a principle of independence. T o rem e m b e r that n o tradition is worth t h e tradition of liberty. T o b e oneself, t o disregard those w h o speak to one in the name of a d o g m a , b u t n o t to b e o n e ' s o w n dupe, and n o t t o wish t o impose o n others that liberty of which the constitution of their brains renders them incapable. Preferences ! A g o o d Avord t o use in a matter of literary taste o r even philosophical. I t contains n o negation, n o dogmatism. Y e t some negations are n e c e s s a r y ; there must also b e a little dogmatism. D e n y bravely what y o u r taste does n o t relish. Affirm valiantly what y o u like. Y o u are, then y o u are also a tradition. A n d y o u are more c o m p l e x than y o u imagine. H o w ever religious y o u are, b e certain y o u are also slightly Voltairian. H o w e v e r positive y o u think yourself, y o u contain in yourself so much mysticism that y o u w o u l d b e terrified if y o u could see everything clearly. Y o u r admiration is f o r the great classics, b u t if y o u were quite sincere y o u w o u l d admit that nothing has so taken y o u as the beautiful works of romanticism. A t b o t t o m everything in literature is useless e x c e p t literary pleasure, b u t literary pleasure depends u p o n the quality of sensibility. A l l discussions d i e against the wall o f personal sensibility, which is flesh o n the inside and o n t h e outside is a wall o f stone. There is a w a y t o turn it about, b u t this y o u d o n o t k n o w . W e have p u t art a b o v e everything and it must remain there in spite of those w h o wish t o replace it b y opinions. I p u t Candide and Bene into m y sack. Take away your Voltairian b l a g u e and Chateaubriand faith; they have nothing t o d o with m e . T h e French tradition is so vast, so contradictory, that it lends itself t o all tastes. A famous p o e t o n c e told m e that his master was Dorat. W h y n o t ? I m i g h t have liked D o r a t myself if I had known him. H o w heavy is t h e burden of this literary tradition, which g o e s (let us n o t pass the fourteenth century) from Emile Deschamps t o Verlaine, across Villon, Rabelais, Ronsard, Montaigne, Malherbe, Corneille, Bossuet, Voltaire, Rousseau, Chateaubriand, H u g o , Saint-Beuve, Flaubert, and so many others. It is chaos, a b o g in t h e forest. W e can n o longer see the sky. C u t t h e m ! Cut them ! They have taken beforehand all m y words, all m y phrases, all m y ideas. Oh, these o b l i g a t o r y a n c e s t o r s ! T h e y bind m e . They suffocate m e . F a r from drawing tighter the b o n d s of tradition w e should release the brains which i t binds. Bend y o u r branches, great tree, F l e c t e ramos, arbor alta. W h a t w e n e e d is less m o d e l s and m o r e of the free light of life which y o u hide from us.
(Authorised translation by R I C H A R D ALDINGTON.)

I have never p u t f o o t in the S o r b o n n e e x c e p t t o look at picturesPuvis d e Chavannesand, the last time, the frescoes of Mile. Dufau. I t is apparent h o w much I. have b e e n impassioned b y t h e discussions o f the teaching at the Sorbonne. W h e n I see a hand painted o n a wall indicating a direction I instinctively l o o k the opposite way. I n the street I always w a l k against the c r o w d ; I g o where n o b o d y goes. T h e voice crying " F o l l o w the c r o w d " makes m e afraid. I have often fought against m y natural tendencies, often praised a state which was quite inaccessible t o me ; and several of m y b o o k s are merely protests against myself. F o r a long time I have h a d n o aggressive opinions on anything, b u t , with t h e dbris of m y o l d convictions, interior principles have been formed in m e with which I j u d g e even those matters on which I a m silent. T h e y are neo-classic; that is t o say that they wish t o b e classic immediately, without passing through a flatt e n i n g mill ! R o n s a r d has b e e n three hundred and fifty years b e c o m i n g a classic and the Chanson de R o l a n d eight hundred years. W e a r e always tempted to imitate w h a t w e love, when w e d o not love enough. Push love as far as admiration ; admiration discourages.

VIEWS

AND
n

COMMENTS.
of his limbs, and the law is so framed that even this c o m e s easily within the rich man's reach. T h e law is irrelevant as regards the rich who could have n o sane m o t i v e in c o m i n g b y possessions in the prohibited w a y s . Should they indulge in them it is, as a matter o f fact, regarded as insanity, and " k l e p t o m a n i a " is a r e c o g n i s e d feature of " p a t h o l o g i c a l c r i m e . " That there are n o laws against rent, interest, and profits, or against specu lating for profit p r o v e s that b y instinct the law has k e p t clear of any attempt t o put a term t o the obtaining o f the lavish rewards which fall t o the superiorly " u n e q u a l . " There is t o b e n o counting of heads and sharing up if the trend o f the law is t o count for any thing. It assumes that initiative is, and is likely t o remain, at a premium.

T H E n o t i o n which enables the Saviours of Society t o d e v e l o p their steamiest heads is. that o f " e q u a l i t y , and t o take this notion to pieces is a p r o c e s s after the nature of a cold d o u c h e which should d o much t o reduce the humanitarian temperature to the level of c o m m o n sense.

O n the face o f it the task is difficult because o f the elusive element in the enthusiasts' a d v o c a c y , for the first comment which they will make after affirming that all men are equal is that they are quite ready t o grant y o u that they are not. But one must have patience with a humanitarian: b e i n g a verbalist he must b e given ground-room t o set u p his catch-words, and labels : else what is h e ? A n d if with patience y o u let him run o n with his discourse, somewhere a p p r o a c h i n g the finish he will b e g i n t o show w h a t he means as o p p o s e d t o w h a t he originally has said. Out of the twisted phrases one gathers that what the egalitarians mean is n o t that " a l l men are e q u a l , " b u t that they are " e q u a l in the eyes of G o d , " o r that they are " e q u a l before the l a w , " o r that they ought (blessed w o r d ! ) t o have " e q u a l opportuni t i e s , " o r that t h e y have " a right t o equal t r e a t m e n t " ; Mr. Bernard Shaw would say that they o u g h t t o h a v e equal incomes. T h e r e are o t h e r turnings of the phrases, " l e v e l l i n g s u p " and " l e v e l l i n g s d o w n , " but these already cited will serve.

B e t w e e n them there is little in c o m m o n to serve as a c o n n e c t i n g link. Each requires t o b e taken singly o n its individual merit. T h e m o s t illuminating, if the m o s t vulnerable, is the one that men are " e q u a l b e f o r e G o d " : and w e n e e d not w o r r y t o ascertain the meaning of G o d b e f o r e seeking t o learn why. I t is enough t o k n o w w h e r e w e m a y find him. It is c o m m o n l y agreed that whatever G o d ' s nature, his a b o d e is in the human heart, and that w h a t e v e r response c o m e s from that intimate quarter will b e inflected with the v o i c e of G o d . N o w it is the heart which is the most e m p h a t i c in its denial that m e n are e q u a l : the tricks of verbalism m a y g o as far as they can but when feeling is m o r e than skind e e p it remains unaffected b y mere expression of opinion. Individual feeling is not merely aware that one is n o t equal to another but differs from all the rest : it acquiesces with a sense of satisfaction which is the secret of the hold which every form of genuine sport has u p o n the best elements of human nature. A desire to test and call into full evidence the amount of dis parity b e t w e e n one and another is the m o t i v e behind every competition. T o maintain a fair field and n o favour in order t o clinch the matter : t o b e satisfied t o l e t t h e b e s t man win in ungruding recognition o f " i n e q u a l i t y " : these are the b e s t traditions of virile peoples, and furnish the evidence t h a t w o r t h is shown n o t merely in the possession in a high d e g r e e of p o w e r , b u t also in intelligence which is c a p a b l e of recognising it even at its o w n expense. If the " e y e s o f G o d " have l o o k e d with favour o n anything it has b e e n upon the sporting instinct of g o o d losers as well as g o o d winners, and these same e y e s have b e e n always ready t o frown o n those w h o claimed t o b e equal with all men.

W h e n the equality argument shifts t o claims of " r i g h t s t o equal o p p o r t u n i t y , " " r i g h t s t o receive equal t r e a t m e n t , " " e q u a l income", it b e c o m e s o b v i o u s t h a t the assertion a b o u t all m e n b e i n g " e q u a l " has in reality b e e n a b a n d o n e d , and the theory of what w e should call the " O t h e r P e r s o n s " has b e e n resorted t o . It is the shadow of the " O t h e r P e r s o n s " which hangs o v e r all these rights t o deserts which o n e ' s o w n p o w e r s fall short of obtaining. It has its roots in the d e p e n d e n c e on the feeding-bottle and apron-strings ; it is the refusal of responsibility which seeks f o r the p r o t e c t i o n of the fostering parent in the outer w o r l d at the age when the fostering of the parent would naturally c o m e t o an end. I t looks t o the w o r l d to press opportunity upon it as it aforetime found the p a r e n t pressing the bottle. I t is a misapprehension d u e t o a false analogy. O p p o r t u n i t y is n o t like cake which exists apart from o n e ' s ability t o eat it. A n opportunity only b e c o m e s one w h e n it is seized. I t is the p o w e r which can use it which strikes the hour f o r the advent of opportunity. Opportunity is the form in which p o w e r asserts itself. It is there or n o t a c c o r d i n g as p o w e r is there. T o ask for equal o p p o r tunity is t o ask t o b e e n d o w e d with the p o w e r s of some o n e else. W h a t can b e another's opportunity might n o t b e ours. W h a t shape our opportunity will take d e p e n d s upon what kind of p o w e r w e have. W h e t h e r w e have any opportunities or not depends upon whether w e have any p o w e r or not. If one has p o w e r in o n e ' s self everything will turn t o o p p o r t u n i t y ; if one has not, the m o s t o b viously o p e n avenues will appear b l o c k e d as with impas sable walls. P o w e r e x p l o i t s everything which is amenable t o it ; lack of it m e a n s just inability t o e x p l o i t anything. T o have an opportunity means t o b e able t o e x p l o i t ; i.e., t o use what is at hand. T o ask t o have opportunities p r o v i d e d is t o show inability to use an opportunity, as a fretting infant turning from one nourishing f o o d t o another will b e unable t o get benefit from any. A parent m a y care to protect and arduously k e e p alight the unhealthy flicker of life, but it is a mis take to imagine that others will d o this without demanding a price. W h a t the price is reveals itself in the sequel.

If in claiming t o b e equal in the eyes of G o d , inferiors have presumed on their merits overmuch, in maintaining that w e are all " e q u a l before the l a w , " the superiors have presumed overmuch u p o n our l a c k of understanding, for it is a catch which could deceive only the excessively stupid. B e f o r e the law was, w e wereunequal : that is why the law w a s necessary to perpetuate the inequalities of p o w e r and possessions. Consider, for instance, the l a w p r o h i b i t i n g theft, which is m a d e t o prevent those w h o h a v e little o r nothing from attacking those w h o have much. T h e p o o r man has scarcely anything that the rich man would care t o own. H e has the energy

A s for equal treatment. " T r e a t m e n t " is the retort according t o kind. G u n p o w d e r is treated as b e c o m e s g u n p o w d e r , gossamer as b e c o m e s gossamer. P e o p l e are treated a c c o r d i n g as they are, i.e., f o r w h a t they respond to. The egalitarian would have men treated as they imagine some ideal person called " M a n , " w h o m they have in mind, should b e t r e a t e d ; b u t as men are unlike this " M a n " as cheese is unlike chalk, the treat m e n t is n o t forthcoming. A person w h o is a shuffling hanger-on will n o t b e treated as though he were a strong independent self-reliant individual. H e will b e treated, i.e., used ; i.e., e x p l o i t e d for what he is, just as the strong m a n w i l l be e x p l o i t e d for what he is. H e will g e t as his total income w h a t he appears t o b e w o r t h to a n y o n e to w h o m he cares t o p u t the delicate question: t o his

employer, for instance. I n c o m e is the reverse side of " o u t g o " ; divorced from the latter the former is without meaning, and when Mr. Shaw p r o p o s e s making the first independent of the second he indulges a grotesque fancy for his o w n diversion which he could n o t reasonably e x p e c t to have any force with his fellows. F o r him it has force as a whim, and thathis o w n : just as arctic exploration has had force with certain explorers. Or rather it would b e possible t o argue that it had such force with him, did he make a bona fide attempt to practise i t : which unfortunately for the strengthening of o n e ' s belief in his genuine convictions regarding this matter, b u t unfortunately as regards one's belief in his general c o m m o n sense he shows n o sign of doing. And with the enthusiasm of its arch-prophet at this low heat w e feel justified in leaving " e q u a l i t y of i n c o m e s . "

that the soil in which it settled was so well prepared. T h e religious notion that there existed an external authority from which all bounties flowed had much to d o with the ready belief that rights and p o w e r s could b e conferred. The paternal version of faith was in keep ing with an extension which saw in the State the tem poral parent of the p e o p l e : a parental authority as p o t e n t to b e s t o w " f r e e d o m " as i t w a s to clap its members in goal. In fact, so superbly has the delusion flourished that far from giving w a y it has c o m p e l l e d the term " f r e e " to d e v e l o p a n e w meaning. In addition to its only efficient meaning of " e m p o w e r e d , " it has developed the meaning of " u n r e s t r i c t e d " ; making the termin consonance with all d e m o c r a t i c thought relevant to a duty laid upon the " O t h e r P e r s o n s " rather than to any change in the personal force in one self.

H o w e v e r difficult it may be to c o a x from the egali tarians a coherent statement as to their main position, it is n o t at all difficult to track the n o t i o n of equality in its modern preposterous democratic sense b a c k to its source. The grotesque misconceptions on which modern democratic theory is based are the o u t c o m e of a mis understanding of the forces behind a tiny social experi ment upon which sheer accident concentrated the attention of the civilised world. The nature of American political institutions following upon the successful issue of the W a r of Independence w a s n o t fixed under the influence of an underlying intellectual theory. I t was the natural adjustment to the fact that the American rebels were what they werecapable farmers o w n i n g and working their own land, bearing and knowing the effective use of arms. There was no large servant class amongst them. They came of a picked s t o c k ; self-assertive and p o w e r f u l ; t o o powerful to b r o o k controlas the history of the early American settlements offers sufficient evidence. If they were n o t the equals one of another, at least there were n o n e so inferior in native p o w e r a m o n g s t them as to encourage interference with impunity. It was because they were just what they were that the A m e r i c a n con stitution fitted their needs. T h e constitution was an adjustment fitted to free men, i.e., powerful men. The rights which it guaranteed them represented the terms of a bargain which each one could justly contract for. Their rights were a consequence of their individual might.

The European theorists, however, w h o were fired b y this spectacle of American " f r e e and e q u a l " in stitutions, failed to grasp the fact that those social arrangements were secondary: wholly relative to the particular conditions in which they t o o k rise. T h e y deluded themselves into imagining that the conditions of free and equal A m e r i c a n s could b e introduced holus bolus into ancient civilisations of which the foundations were fixed o n a basis of slavery, mitigated here and there b y local differences ; a truly fantastic mis conception. F r o m a highly particularised situation they risked an impossible generalisation; from the mights of picked Americans they generalised upon the Rights of Man. H o w this generalisation has broken d o w n it is n o w open for all to seenotwithstanding the fact that the " l i b e r t y " and " e q u a l i t y " elements of the A m e r i c a n experiment have been so e x c e e d i n g l y well lubricated with the " f r a t e r n i t y " element, a foreign element which, at the outset, it b e c o m e clear would b e necessary t o make the scheme w o r k at all in the slave states of Europe.

There is something patheticas well as ludicrous in this w o r d y attempt of m o d e r n d e m o c r a c y , b o l d l y to assert " r i g h t s " which they are bankrupt of p o w e r to validate, i.e., to justify, i.e., to make g o o d in p o w e r as well as in words. Its century and a half of a hearing is a standing monument of the extraordinary hypnotism which words wholly divorced from sense can exercise. Perhaps the delusion o w e s part of its success t o the fact

T o b e " f r e e " in its meaning of " u n r e s t r i c t e d " implies d e p e n d e n c e upon the exercise of an e m b a r g o p u t upon the forces of the " O t h e r P e r s o n s " in the interests of those persons w h o are t o b e k e p t " f r e e d . " It sets itself to the removal of obstacles b y others to m a k e clear the path of the particularised ones. B y virtue of those refraining from exercising p o w e r when they m i g h t , these are permitted to b e " f r e e . " T h e y are " u n restricted," " l e f t f r e e , " which b e i n g free is a fixed con dition, and a permission granted them beyond their p o w e r s , b y courtesy termed a " r i g h t . " Thus a status a c c o r d e d to the down-and-outs b y others of a different order is called " b e i n g f r e e . " This freedom extends e x a c t l y the length of the chain of permission. They b e c o m e " F r e e d m e n " : a permitted status very redolent of associations with another. A n d the higher o r d e r is very paternal, very p r o t e c t i v e , very anxious for the g o o d of its p r o t e g e s as l o n g as this does n o t interfere t o o much with its o w n . L e t there b e n o misunderstanding a b o u t the fraternal spirit, the sand upon which the edifice of d e m o c r a c y is built. To recognise it for what it is is n o t to under-value it. M o s t of us are very good-natured and fraternal when it c o m e s to the pinch, and when w e are in the m o o d for it can be protective and what not. Only, p e o p l e cannot have their c a k e and eat it. They c a n n o t press for the granting of b o g u s courtesy " r i g h t s " and then complain that the respect which g o e s with genuine ones is n o t a c c o r d e d them. They cannot cry out for the p r o tective offices o f a state and then cry out that the G o v ernment is grandmotherly. P e o p l e w h o argue to the effect that the G o v e r n m e n t of a community m a d e up nine-tenths of servants can b e called " f r e e " should b e the last p e o p l e in the w o r l d to mention the fact that such a state develops very servile aspects. It is, indeed, only at the present time that the d e m o cratic theorists, though always mistaken, have b e c o m e genuinely farcical. A protective G o v e r n m e n t , under which all l o o k after each, which delivers " r i g h t s " out of hand so to speak, accords opportunities, finds y o u w o r k , shelter, food, education, cannot let y o u run a m o k : it must l o o k after you. A parent does not let a bottlefed infant please itself : neither d o e s the democratic state. The cries of the " S e r v i l e S t a t e " alarmists latterly gathering volume a m o n g s t g o o d democrats are the v e x e d and disgusted c o m m e n t s which the creators have t o pass o n their creation. T h e y l o o k on their handi w o r k and see that it is b a d : which would b e all t o the g o o d n o d o u b t were they aware that they are the responsible progenitors. Unfortunately they understand so little what it is in the Servile State which disturbs them that it w o u l d b e t o o much to e x p e c t them to trace its parentage. W h e n these alarmed democrats under stand b e t t e r the m o t i v e of their o w n outcry, w e shall hear less n o t only of the Servile State but of d e m o c r a c y .

That the Servile State b o g e y promises t o have a little v o g u e is due to the fact that skilful use can b e m a d e of an ambiguity in the term " s e r v i l e . " The term, when used as implying a detestable quality, means that certain persons elect to m a k e a display of feebleness b e y o n d

what is necessary on account of their i n c o m p e t e n c e in o r d e r to flatter a stronger person with a v i e w to get ting m o r e out o f him. It is a sort of c o m m e r c e in lower ing of status in order to be a c c o r d e d a measure of charity, over and a b o v e the terms o f a bargain. In this conno tation, to b e servile is to crawl where necessity merely d e m a n d s a walking circumspectly, to lick the superior's b o o t s when the contract would b e filled b y merely brush i n g t h e m : an overfeigning of feebleness t o induce the t h r o w i n g of a b i g g e r b o n e of charity o u t o f the thank fulness in the superior o n e ' s heart, when seeing the crawling object he can exclaim " T h a n k G o d I am n o t as this o n e . " That servility of this sort is despised is just a matter of taste, for it usually turns in the l o n g run to an increase in the servile o n e ' s c o m p e t e n c e . Though he sinks very low he has the reasonable expecta tion that his plunge will enable him to climb a little h i g h e r : that is, if he d o e s n o t mistake his man and actually receive a sound kicking from the superior o n e ' s b o o t in a burst of repulsion against the figure he cuts. Nine out of ten even of the p o o r e s t prefer as a matter of taste n o t to descend in this particular kind of w a y , or to take such offensive risks.

make it increasingly difficult for them to b e c o m e any thing m o r e than hired men. That they realise this and seek to decorate the terms of hire, b y calling them salary, or pay, is evidence that the present generation at all eVents sees no p r o s p e c t of wage-earners showing any such increase in natural p o w e r as will urge them to cease to b e hirelings and b e c o m e their o w n masters.

B u t this meaning of servile is n o t the actual meaning as used in the phrase Servile State, though it is upon association with it that those w h o use it rely t o m a k e the n o t i o n o d i o u s . With utter futility, nevertheless, since the Servile S t a t e as intended b y the alarmists w h o use it, is merely the description of any community where the great disparity b e t w e e n the p o w e r and audacity of certain of its m e m b e r s and those of others is so great as to deter the latter from the exercise of initiative. W h e r e v e r this disparity exists there must e x i s t as the o u t c o m e of it t w o classes: o n e class which feels that it dare take certain risks; b r e a k a w a y from the herd and strike out on its o w n ; and another that dare n o t and therefore cannot. T h e latter will divide themselves up on terms of w a g e s t o serve on the former's schemes. S o there obtains on the one hand, initiative, imagination, k n o w l e d g e of human conditions and wants, and readiness for responsibility; on the other hand, toil, m o r e o r less heavy with skill m o r e o r less elementary ; the t w o classes b e i n g j o i n e d t o g e t h e r b y the b o n d of w a g e s for services rendered. O n e requires nothing m o r e than this to postulate of necessity a Servile State, which less flamboyantly labelled would b e a Servant State, since services are p a i d for in w a g e s ; just as w h e n services are paid for in kind it was a Slave-state. F o r the w a g e system is n o t a cause, it is an effect; indeed, it is mis leading to call the working for w a g e s a system at all. A system is a design planned beforehand and laid on a situation, as an irrigation system, o r a canal system, o r a railroad system is a design laid u p o n the natural lie of the land o r flow of the water. W o r k i n g f o r w a g e s is natural in the sense that the rivers of a primitive country are natural, o r as the circulatory system of the b o d y . It is b o u n d up with the heights and depths of human a b i l i t y ; the natural differences in e n d o w m e n t of p o w e r b a c k t o which all changes (i.e., all systems b y which it is o v e r l a i d ) , must revert in t h e l o n g run. It is n o t t o demand its destruction or t o assert that its destruction is possible, likely or desirable,it is only to describe itto say that the present wage-system is merely an adjustment of the old slave-system, where, on the one hand, the granting of a certain amount of leisure and freedom from surveillance is balanced on the other b y a corresponding disregard of the servant's wel fare outside the hours of service demanded in the w a g e contract. A d d t o this lack of responsibility for the ser vants' general welfare, the utter divorce m a d e necessary b y m o d e r n " p r o g r e s s " b e t w e e n men and p r o x i m i t y to any b a s e capable of furnishing an adequate yield of the elementary means of life, and o n e realises that the amount of initiative which w o u l d have b e e n consider able for the needs of the old slave d a y s , is relatively far less adequate faced with the needs of to-day. I t proves that the wage-earners have n o t only failed to exercise initiative on their o w n account, they have allowed the initiative of their superiors so to plunge ahead as t o

Consider the experiment of the letting direct to the w o r k m e n the c o n t r a c t for the n e w Theosophical Build ings. W h a t does i t p r o v e ? That the men can d o the w o r k off their o w n bat, and assert their p o w e r to a b s o r b profits ? N o t at all. I t merely p r o v e s that if a wealthy w o m a n has a fad that can b e run b y m o n e y she will b e able t o give it a run, with e x a c t l y the same incentive which m o v e s Sir Thomas Lipton, for instance, to keep on building n e w yachts. A s long as the m o n e y holds o u t one c a n d o as one p l e a s e s : p a y as g o o d prices as there are in the market, and so on. I d o n o t see h o w such a scheme can b e a failure. There is everything which ordinarily goes to make a j o b a success. Mrs. Besant supplies the initiative, places the order, dictates the t h e prices ( g o o d ones because it amuses her) she is willing and able to p a y and the " w o r k e r s " as usual w o r k on the scheme o f someone else. N o t only are they w o r k i n g on the lines of other p e o p l e ' s purposefulness and initiative : they are b a c k e d b y the m o s t skilful or ganiser of sentimental g o o d w i l l alive in this sentimental age. One hopes they like it : and like raising their caps and giving M y L a d y Beneficent three cheers when she graciously g o e s d o w n to the works to say g o o d - b y e to the " d e a r p o o r f e l l o w s " before her departure to India. It w o u l d perhaps b e t o o much to hope that they pro c e e d e d t o add a pious if silent prayer that she w o u l d g o to blazes, and felt a rebelling itch against this all t o o , t o o gentle touch : perhaps the democratic, paternal influence has g o n e t o o far to e x p e c t " w o r k e r s " t o b e anything other than crosses b e t w e e n lap-dogs and draught-horses in their relationships with employers.

The experiment itself m i g h t very well b e c o m p a r e d in o n e aspect at least with the system o f " p a y " in the Army. The very good-natured but excessively u n o b servant w o r k on the wage-system t o which w e referred at length in our last issue has this r e m a r k : " D o officers ever dream of wages? Do they say they are going on half-salary? No. They go on half-pay. . . . It is obvious, is it not, that these verbal distinctions disclose substantial material differences." N o w Mrs. Besant's p r o t g s m i g h t very well consider that they were receiving n o t w a g e s b u t pay, as they do in t h e A r m y . F o r the difference b e t w e e n the t w o appears to b e that w a g e s are w a g e s when the person w h o p a y s themthe initiator from the w o r k m a n ' s p o i n t of viewin doing so is comparing them with a total computation which he has in his mind which he calls w o r k i n g at a profit, and b y which he means that after computing his outlay upon w a g e s and other necessary expenses his income shall present a satisfactory balance. W h e n o n the other hand w a g e s are " p a y , " as, for instance, in the A r m y and Navy, the G o v e r n m e n t can g o into the business almost regardless of e x p e n s e : for the simple reason that they have sufficient m o n e y to d o so. So has Mrs. Besant. B o t h she and the politicians can afford to b e philanthropistsif they choose, and as long as the m o n e y lasts : that is as l o n g as Mrs. Besant's popu larity lasts, and the State's finances show n o immediate sign of tottering. There can, o f course, b e only a limited number of such philanthropists since the wherewithal must c o m e from somewhere. Mrs. Besant's supporters and the taxpayers t o the G o v e r n m e n t must get their surplus from somewhere before the former can b e in a position to d o the graceful thing. A n d " s u r p l u s " and philanthropists are inextricably b o u n d together. Not all employers could indulge in Mrs. Besant's h o b b y : as a matter of fact the Government at present does n o t p r o p o s e to. It is n o t their w h i m : their good-will at present elects to run into other channels. If only p e o p l e

understood the arbitrary character of good-will they would save themselves from calculations which can only lead them in pursuit o f a social m i r a g e . It is the failure to apprehend its spasmodic nature, and the fleeting and accidental conditions upon which it is based that keeps so many of us spending the best energies of our youth planning mistaken g o o d things for a mythical class called the p o o r . A n d making part and parcel with all this miscomprehended g o o d w i l l is a sinister meaning which has come to b e attached to the term " t o e x p l o i t , " which after all means nothing m o r e diabolical than " t o u s e " o r to " b r i n g out possible developments." It is n o t for those w h o k n o w h o w to e x p l o i t anything whatsoever to attend to their ways : it is for those w h o hitherto have known but m e a g r e l y how t o turn anything to use, to augment their p o w e r . It is their m o v e : their turn to exploit. Attempted e m b a r g o s upon other's exploitations will always fail in the l o n g run: for those w h o k n o w h o w to e x p l o i t k n o w that there are many m o r e ways than one to a desired end. Embargos are negative, e m p t y of positive p o w e r . T h e positive p o w e r shows itself in use : in creative activity. T o set about exploitation off o n e ' s o w n bat, is that initiative and enterprise on their o w n that the " w o r k e r s " need. It is the lack o f it which keeps them still in the serving class. It is its possession which makes masters.

author of " D o r i a n G r a y " makes clear. F o r a dazzling intelligence to suffer itself to b e shamed to death b y the rabble is a shocking and offensive thing. Yet a brilliantly audacious and adventurous life, only half-selfconscious, and consequently only half-expressed, must of its very nature invite it, andalmost as hard a thing allow of o n e ' s friends perpetuating the unintelligent grounds of attack even after the event. ( H e r e anent a recent trial in the courts b e a r i n g somewhat on this issue w e might point out that Oscar W i l d e spoke with the inaccuracy of impatience when he said that b o o k s were neither moral n o r immoral. A s a matter of fact they tend either one w a y o r the other: one w o u l d b e sorry to b e accused of writing a b o o k with a moral tendency. A n d b y a friend, t o o ! ) H o w e v e r , again c o m i n g b a c k to the subject, apart from the putting of oneself in such a position that, should the herd presume to issue a challenge, the cost shall b e theirs, the amoralist has n o message for the moralist. In any case, such a message would not arrive, and for the only valid egois tical reason: that if " t r u e , " it w o u l d n o t serve his purpose. It is therefore, f o r him, n o t true: the skin is still alive and sticks. A n d for the rest, w h a t does it matter 1 T h e situation is m e t when the amoralist has succeeded in making the moralist realise that it will b e well with him only if he minds his manners.

W e might here perhaps revert t o the question o f " m o r a l w r a p p i n g s " concerning which Mr. Stafford Hatfield raised some interesting considerations in o u r last issue. Before d o i n g so let us give a report of the progress egoist doctrine is making in the direction of the multitude. If any reader of T H E EGOIST b y chance saw a c o p y of the " N e w S t a t e s m a n " Literary Supplement of June 27th, he must have b e e n led t o w o n d e r h o w l o n g Mr. Bernard Shaw had b e e n a silent convert b e f o r e breaking silence thus : " T h e highest forms (i.e., of art), like the lowest, are necessarily immoral because the morals o f the c o m munity are simply its habits, g o o d and b a d ; and the highest habits, like the lowest, are n o t attained to b y enough p e o p l e to m a k e them general and therefore moral. Morality, in fact, is only p o p u l a r i t y ; and popular notions of virtuous c o n d u c t will n o m o r e k e e p a nation in the front rank of humanity than popular notions of science and art will keep it in the front rank of culture. R a g t i m e s are m o r e moral than Beethoven's S y m p h o n i e s . " What next? W e are in danger o f b e c o m i n g p o p u l a r ! It is true that the " N e w A g e " put the last sentence in a column which it calls " c u r r e n t c a n t , " but then is it n o t in the " N e w A g e " w h e r e one m a y read of the " c h a n g e l e s s laws of m o r a l i t y " ? However, to Mr. Hatfield. Mr. Hatfield's query in sub stance i s : " W h a t compensating values does the egoist offer to the moralist in e x c h a n g e for the depre ciated values of social authority ? " W e offer nothing and suggest no such e x c h a n g e .

Conscience and Mr. H a r p u r (see correspondence m last issue) must b e deferred t o a later. D. M.

ARCHITECTURE. The soul athirst for loveliness shall l o o k O n symmetries in stone ;pure spires and t o w e r s A r e eloquent to it as flowing curves o f Of the large gladness that G o d meant That w e should sleep and wrestle inthe plan F r o m which on the first m o r n i n g H e m a d e man A n d drew the perfect paths where planets went. That soul leaves w o r k one d a y and high and l o w Seeks through the c u m b e r e d t o w n , until somewhere It finds a piece of building gravely f a i r ; It stands at rest, as if it l o o k e d o n snow A n d hears the m e l o d y t o which w e g r o w . flowers,

TO ONE DEAD. So y o u have diedyou are n o t with us here ; Y o u have taken the last soft step, F r o m the deep dissolution, out from the f e a r ; Y o u have passed o u t there, humble, supreme ; W e had guessed at the mystery y o u had l o n g k n o w n , W e had wept, till y o u turned, sighed, and m a d e it

Let us b e clear. W e d o not conceive ourselves as offering egoist-vests in e x c h a n g e for popular moralistsovercoats. W e w o u l d n o t willingly m a k e a convert of one who found comfort in moral wrappings, which wrap pings w e conceive to b e of the nature of skins rather than g a r m e n t s : the outer layers o f which d r o p off only when the new skin is ready g r o w n underneath. W h e n ever an amoralist argument is addressed to the moralist c r o w d it is purely in self-defence: its intent is to splinter the fangs of their watch-dogs o n the hard b o n e of de rision where they e x p e c t e d to bury them deep into flesh : quite different from its intent when addressed to friends where it is merely for amusement and the pleasure of c o m m o n understanding. That it is necessary to b e able to state o n e ' s creed upon occasion t o the herd : to b e able to o p p o s e a single lightning stroke as a fit reply to innumerable pin-pricks and wasp-bites, the fate of the

your own, Y o u r b o d y lies clear in surrender, R e s t i n g and ready it g a v e up its charge, The passing w a s veiled in a splendour W e but guess atand n o w in y o u r face A r e newly pencilled shades, the holy trace Of ineffable experience as, at last, S o m e imminent encounter has b e e n passed, N o w fire, and earth must b r e a k y o u r i m a g e mild, l o v e pays the quiet due, Y o u have b e c o m e our master and G o d ' s child. W e wince not, w e kneel and think long, l o n g o f y o u .
M A R G A R E T MAITLAND RADFORD.

" D U B L I N E R S " AND JOYCE.

M R . JAMES

F R E E D O M from sloppiness is so rare in contem porary English prose that o n e m i g h t well say simply, " M r . J o y c e ' s b o o k of short stories is prose free from sloppiness," and leave the intelligent reader ready to run from his study immediately to spend three and sixpence o n the volume. Unfortunately o n e ' s credit as a critic is insufficient t o p r o d u c e this result. The readers of T H E EGOIST, having had Mr. J o y c e under their eyes for some months, will scarcely n e e d t o have his qualities pointed out t o them. B o t h they and the p a p e r have b e e n very fortunate in his collaboration. Mr. J o y c e writes a clear hard prose. H e deals with subjective things, but he presents them with such clarity of outline that he m i g h t b e dealing with l o c o m o t i v e s o r with builders' specifications. F o r that reason one can read Mr. J o y c e without feeling that one is con ferring a favour. I must put this thing m y o w n way. I k n o w about 168 authors. A b o u t once a year I read something c o n t e m p o r a r y without feeling t h a t I am softening the path for p o o r Jones or p o o r Fulano de Tal. I can lay d o w n a g o o d piece of French writing and p i c k u p a piece of writing b y Mr. J o y c e without feeling as if m y head were b e i n g stuffed through a cushion. T h e r e are still impressionists a b o u t and I dare say they claim Mr. J o y c e . I admire impressionist writers. English prose writers w h o h a v e n ' t g o t as far as impressionism (that is to say, 9 5 per cent, of English writers of prose and verse) are a b o r e . Impressionism has, h o w e v e r , t w o meanings, o r perhaps I h a d b e t t e r say, the w o r d " i m p r e s s i o n i s m " gives t w o different " i m p r e s s i o n s . " T h e r e is a school of prose writers, and of verse writers for that matter, w h o s e forerunner w a s Stendhal and w h o s e founder was Flaubert. The followers of Flaubert deal in e x a c t presentation. T h e y are often so intent on e x a c t presentation that they n e g l e c t intensity, selection, and concentration. T h e y are perhaps the m o s t clarifying and they have b e e n perhaps the m o s t beneficial force in m o d e r n writing. T h e r e is another set, mostly o f verse writers, w h o founded themselves n o t u p o n a n y b o d y ' s writing but upon the pictures of M o n e t . Every m o v e m e n t in painting p i c k s u p a few writers w h o try t o imitate in w o r d s what someone has d o n e in paint. Thus one writer saw a picture b y M o n e t and talked of " p i n k p i g s b l o s s o m i n g o n a hillside," and a later writer talked o f " s l a t e - b l u e " hair and " r a s p b e r r y - c o l o u r e d flanks." These " i m p r e s s i o n i s t s " w h o write an imitation of M o n e t ' s softness instead of writing in imitation of F l a u b e r t ' s definiteness, are a b o r e , a grimy, o r perhaps I should say, a rosy, floribund b o r e . T h e spirit of a d e c a d e strikes properly u p o n all of the arts. T h e r e are " p a r a l l e l m o v e m e n t s . " Their causes and their effects m a y n o t seem, superficially, similar. This mimicking of painting ten or twenty years late, is n o t in the least the same as the " l i t e r a r y m o v e m e n t " parallel to the painting m o v e m e n t imitated. T h e force that leads a p o e t t o leave out a moral reflection m a y lead a painter t o leave o u t representation. T h e resultant p o e m may n o t suggest the resultant painting. Mr. J o y c e ' s merit, I will n o t say his chief merit but his m o s t engaging merit, is that he carefully avoids telling y o u a lot that y o u d o n ' t w a n t t o k n o w H e presents his p e o p l e swiftly and vividly, he d o e s n o t sentimentalise over them, he d o e s n o t w e a v e convolutions H e is a realist. H e d o e s not believe " l i f e " would b e all right if w e s t o p p e d vivisection or if w e instituted a n e w sort of " e c o n o m i c s . " H e gives the thing as it is. H e is n o t b o u n d b y the tiresome convention that any p a r t of life, to be interesting, must be shaped into the conventional

form of a " s t o r y . " Since D e Maupassant w e have had so m a n y p e o p l e trying to write " s t o r i e s " and so few p e o p l e presenting life. Life for the m o s t p a r t d o e s n o t happen in neat little diagrams and nothing is m o r e tire some than the continual pretence that it does. Mr. J o y c e ' s " A r a b y , " for instance, is much b e t t e r than a " s t o r y , " it is a vivid waiting. It is surprising t h a t Mr. J o y c e is Irish. One is so tired of the Irish o r " C e l t i c " imagination (or " p h a n t a s y " as I think they n o w call it) flopping about. Mr. J o y c e does not flop about. H e defines. H e is n o t an institu tion for the p r o m o t i o n o f Irish peasant industries. He accepts an international standard of prose writing and lives up t o it. H e gives us Dublin as it presumably is. H e d o e s n o t descend t o farce. H e does n o t rely u p o n Dickensian caricature. H e gives us things as they are, n o t only for Dublin, b u t for every city. Erase the local names and a f e w specifically local allusions, and a few historic events of the past, and substitute a f e w different local names, allusions and events, and these stories could b e retold of any town. That is t o say, the author is quite capable of dealing with things a b o u t him, and dealing directly, y e t these details d o n o t engross him, he is c a p a b l e of getting at the universal element beneath them. The main situations o f " M a d a m e B o v a r y " o r of " D o n a P e r f e c t a " d o n o t depend on local colour or upon local detail, that is their strength. G o o d writing, g o o d presentation can b e specifically local, b u t it must n o t depend o n locality. Mr. J o y c e d o e s n o t present " t y p e s " b u t individuals. I m e a n he deals with c o m m o n emotions which run through all races. H e does not bank o n " I r i s h character." R o u g h l y speaking, Irish literature has g o n e through three phases in our time, the s h a m r o c k period, the dove-grey period, and the Kiltartan period. I think there is a n e w phase in the w o r k s of Mr. J o y c e , H e writes as a c o n t e m p o r a r y of continental writers. I d o n o t m e a n that he writes as a faddist, m a d for the last n o t e , he d o e s n o t imitate Strindberg, for instance, or Bang. H e is n o t ploughing the underworld for horror. H e is n o t presenting a macabre subjectivity. H e is classic in that he deals with normal things and with normal people. A committee r o o m , Little Chandler, a nonentity, a b o a r d i n g house full of clerksthese are his subjects and he treats them all in such a manner that they are w o r t h y subjects o f art. Francis Jammes, Charles V i l d r a c and D . H . L a w r e n c e have written short narratives in verse, trying, it would seem, t o present situations as clearly as p r o s e writers have done, y e t m o r e briefly. Mr. J o y c e is e n g a g e d in a similar condensation. H e has k e p t to prose n o t needing the privilege supposedly a c c o r d e d t o verse to justify his method. I think that he excels m o s t of the impressionist writers because of his m o r e rigorous selection, because of his exclusion of all unnecessary detail. There is a very clear demarcation b e t w e e n unnecessary detail and irrelevant detail. A n impressionist friend o f mine talks t o me a g o o d deal a b o u t " p r e p a r i n g effects," and o n that score he justifies much unnecessary detail, which is n o t " i r r e l e v a n t , " but which ends b y b e i n g wearisome and b y putting o n e out o f c o n c e i t with his narrative. Mr. J o y c e ' s m o r e rigorous selection of the presented detail marks him, I think, as b e l o n g i n g t o m y o w n generation, that is, t o the " n i n e t e e n - t e n s , " n o t t o the d e c a d e b e t w e e n " t h e ' n i n e t i e s " and to-day . A t any rate these stories and the novel n o w appearing in serial form are such as to w i n for Mr. J o y c e a very definite place a m o n g English c o n t e m p o r a r y prose writers, n o t merely a place in the " N o v e l s of the W e e k " column, and our writers of g o o d clear prose are so few that w e cannot afford to confuse or t o o v e r l o o k them.
E Z R A POUND.

" D u b l i n e r s , " by James Joyce. Grant Richards. 3s. 6d.

PASSING

PARIS.

O escape realism and attain art it is necessary to have steeped in reality (I believe it is given t o few). The finite o p e n s o u t the infinite,truth is fond of hiding under word-play. P o e t r y that d o e s not bear the stamp of e x p e r i e n c e d emotion m a y still b e poetryinstance that of E d g a r Allan P o e . Though n o t born of emotion it m a y impel it. There are emotions and emotions : the c h e a p and the rare. W h i l e rejecting the former d o n o t let us ignore the latter, for without them w h e r e would b e the w o r l d 1 A s I am n o t intending to enumerate negations I will only say that much socalled p o e t r y which is n o t linear, subjectively o r objectively emotive, o r musical, can, at best, only b e an inventory o f observations, a glossary of metaphor, or a m e r e technical feat. But everyone knows this. H e w h o transcends reality is he w h o has the keenest perception of it. The m o r e intimate our c o n t a c t with life the more distant our flights b e y o n d m a y b e . One of the most imaginative artists in the world to-day, of Celtic birth, would, as a child, lie o n the ground with her ears and eyes as near the earth, as near the b l a d e of grass, the creeping insect, as she could, questioning there what others seek in the skies. W e obtain views as vast b y l o o k i n g inwards as b y l o o k i n g outwards. It is n o t the object seen which reveals, but the eye which sees. There are expressions which, o w i n g to a rupture of balance between the physical and the spiritual, the conc r e t e and the abstract, are as valueless through their lack of form as, at the opposite pole, are realism and materialism. T h e y are aimless, diffused, obscure, distressing and often reiterating like feverish dreams. If e x a m p l e s are w a n t e d I will mention, at haphazard, many o f the drawings and some of the writings of Blake, R i m b a n d ' s poetry, the illustrations of Odilon R e d o n , some of Gustave M o r e a u ' s paintings. These expressions are from minds which have, as the French say, lost their foothold. They are, a c c o r d i n g t o the popular term, b u t not in the popular sense, unbalanced. A n d art is b a l a n c e : harmonious, and, if possible, exact, balance b e t w e e n perception and reason, abstract spirituality and c o n c r e t e reality. In a wordconsciousness. A r t and p o e t r y w h i c h are n o t conscious d o n o t answer their purpose, and have as little effect o r consequence as the hallucinations alluded to. They bring no n e w light. T h e y are mere accumulations o f uneloquent, sterile, mental chaos, as uselesssince they are without keyas R o b i n s o n Crusoe's store of m o n e y was to him on his island. This balance, failing which a w o r k of art is without stamina and c o n d e m n e d in advance, whatever its other attractions may b e , w e find in the p o e m s of Guy-Charles Cros,* recently quoted here b y Mr. A l d i n g t o n , and classed b y him as " f a n t a i s i s t e s . " If this term implies that Mr. Cros is a p o e t a m o n g poets then it m a y b e granted him, but if it catalogues him in some particular faction, sect, or schism, then it must b e corrected, for Mr. Cros is affiliated to none such, and w o u l d resent being thus herded. H e follows his o w n independent direction, and if, as he has said, Nous voulons la beaut nouvelle, nous qui dansons sur les t o m b e a u x ! Gardez M o z a r t et Raphal, Beethoven, Shakespeare, Marc-Aurle ; moi, j ' a i choisi d'tre infidle, j e ne salue pas vos drapeaux,+ h e wishes " t h e w o r l d ' s beauty to rise afresh in him each m o r n i n g , " and partisanship means stagnation. His independence permits him to vary his metre, to * Familiar to readers of the Mercure de France, Vers et Prose, etc. Author of Le Soir et Le Silence (Sansot), etc. Les Ftes Quotidiennes (Editions du Mercure de France).

pass from " v e r s l i b r e s " to Alexandrines, to rhyme or not a c c o r d i n g t o his m o o d . Briefly, his freedom is his strength, as it always is : Que mes pomes soient rimes ou non, cadencs fortement ou d e faon insensible, j e sais que j ' c r i s des vers qui resteront, et je me ris des thories et des doctrines. H e has, doubtless, written many poemsand perhaps the a b o v e may b e of thesewhich are " f a n t a i s i s t e s " and whimsical in the sense that are Verlaine's, b u t o n e of his latest, published in Le Double Bouquet for June, can hardly b e so qualified : Tt nous avions quitt la petite maison d o n t le bas mur ventru aux houles des moissons o p p o s e un mur infranchissable, et nous avions gagn l'abri de la fort vers o, tous ses buissons perleux encore, grimpait un paresseux chemin de sable. L a carrire s'ouvrait, blanche, au soleil nouveau ; l'arabesque rapide e t nue d'un chant d'oiseau s'inscrivait sur le bleu silence. N o u s montions lentement, et le peuple des feuilles, plus dense chaque pas, nous saluait au seuil enchant de ses nefs immenses. etc. N o r can this o n e : V o u s qui ne connaissez ni regrets ni remords, qui ne pensez jamais aux affres de la mort, que le n o m d e l'Enfer n ' a jamais fait trembler, quand la faux de douleur moissonnera vos bls, quand la dcrpitude aura glac v o s veines, quels m o t s sauront b e r c e r votre incurable peine si l'ardent souvenir de v o s jours de soleil n'enchante pas l'horreur de v o s nuits sans sommeil? Amassez d o n c les joies, s'il en est temps encore, aimez chaque couchant, adorez c h a q u e aurore, respirez longuement la minute qui fuit, cueillez tous les dsirs, gotez tous les fruits, avant que la vieillesse o v o u s allez descendre n e souffle entre v o s dents l e noir g o t de la cendre, car ni poisons, ni or, ni lauriers, ni vertu, rien ne peut c o n s o l e r qui n'aura pas vcu. While conveying the sensation procured b y certain scenes, Guy-Charles Cros has also a fine knack for evoking the scene itself in pictorial fashion. F o r instance : Un oiseau nage dans le ciel longs et paresseux coups d'aile ; il glisse, appuy sur le vent. Et le silence ensoleill de ce jour si beau n ' e s t troubl que d'un frisson de branches lent. U n nuage aussi v o g u e et passe, Lger, au plus haut de l'espace o tout est p a i x et l i b e r t ; A l'horizon un toit seul fume vers le fin croissant de la lune trac en clair dans la clart. Finally, I will make a very banal remark about the p o e m s of Guy-Charles Crospoems quivering with subdued excitement, burning with aspiration, o r w h i p ping forth irony, impertinent with devil-may-careness, often distinctly sensual, but the sensuality is a means, n o t an end : L'amour, non, ce n'est pas ces femmes possdes jusqu'au soubresaut, jusqu' la plainte ; ce n ' e s t pas ces cris, ce n'est pas ces treintes, ni ces ardeurs si vite extnues. Ce n'est pas ces mains q u ' o n baise, ni ces corps q u ' o n dnude avec une triste hte dj due, ni ces pauvres joies dont on ne se souvient plus

sitt que quelques jours ont passs, lents, sur elles. N o n . C ' e s t un battement d'ailes, un essor du corps et de l'me vers plus haut, vers on ne sait quoi de divinement fraternel, d'absurdement abstrait et de follement charnel, vers quelque sommet blanc plus vierge que les m o t s ! C'est la chanson de l'arbre en juillet, sous l ' a v e r s e ; c'est un clair intermittent qui n o u s traverse, et qui rien ne c o r r e s p o n d hors de nous-mmes, sinon que le soleil, plus vivant, nous transperce, et que la nuit est plus toile, quand on aime. (love, he writes, " i s a nutter of w i n g s " ) p o e m s stingingly sad, always in exquisite taste, since the emotions they reflect are never strained and the theme is never unduly dilutedbut it is m o r e than can b e said of much poetry, h o w e v e r otherwise distinguished it m a y b e : they are interesting, for a breath of life always animates, w i t h o u t disturbing, the art of their fine, easy, polished f o r m ; and n o t one of them but is nourished with savorous substance. But h o w inadequate, h o w unfair is quotation, h o w utterly unsatisfactor is criticism, unless borne o u t b y the c o m p l e t e work. H o w can o n e extract the juice and flavour from fruit w h i c h is all juice and flavour?

LIBERATIONS :
S T U D I E S O F I N D I V I D U A L I T Y IN C O N T E M P O R A R Y MUSIC.
V I . T H E D R A M A T I C CONCEPTIONS OF ALEXANDER SCRIABINE.

H E fundamental importance of an art w o r k to-day lies n o t so much in the exploitation of the technical resources of the branch of art e m p l o y e d as in the force of the intellectual conception which it expresses. The w h o l e trend of evolution evinces with persistently increasing emphasis the g r o w i n g necessity for mental p o w e r and perception. Humanity, evolving from the materially measurable obstacles and p r o b l e m s of the past is b r o u g h t to-day, o w i n g to the progress of science and mechanical invention, into direct c o n t a c t with hitherto unsuspected elements, which being as y e t impossible to equate materially require continual mental concentration to enable mankind to estimate and regulate their effect. This necessity for synthetic investigation has resulted in the birth of a n e w spirit which perceives in all things not only their external aspect, b u t the direct indication or revelation of the force which animates them. H e n c e it follows that art-creation, b e i n g the immediate result of the individual experience p r o d u c e d b y the e p o c h into which the artist is born, is to-day marked b y a mental consciousness which has n o accurate parallel in the history of the past. F o l l o w i n g on this it will b e apparent that the hitherto existing standards of values, technical or intellectual, are insufficient to estimate adequately or comprehend contemporary art creation which is the direct production of developments absolutely unimagined at the time of their institution. T o appreciate fully the development of art, it is necessary to recognise that all values are relative and that the belief in a fixed standard, technical or aesthetic, denotes a negation of the evolution of life as a whole. Technical artifice b e i n g merely the means b y which the artist attains t o the convincing and forcible e x p o s i t i o n of his individual ideas, must of necessity admit of continual expansion to convey adequately the evolution of thought. L a n g u a g e itself, the primary m e d i u m of human expression and communication, is continually undergoing changes which are necessitated b y the discovery and development of hitherto unrealised factors in human existence. It therefore follows that to a t t e m p t definitely to restrict art within the technical limitations of any epoch is to incapacitate its full and comprehensive expression of those which follow after. The discoveries of every period are the c o m m o n p l a c e s of the next, and the reiteration of the c o m m o n p l a c e is the mark of mediocrity resulting artistically in a m o n o t o n y which is incompatible with the virile function of creation. H e n c e it is evident that all truly significant art e x pression must b e something in the nature of experiment as c o m p a r e d with the w o r k preceding it, and it is therefore necessary in dealing with artistic innovations t o discern and analyse the mental motives which influence the artist producing them in o r d e r to arrive at a just estimate of their values and proportions. T h e true criticism of an art-work is n o t regulated b y its conformity with p r e c o n c e i v e d conceptions or standards, b u t b y the force and originality o f its internal quality and the adequacy with which it conveys the individuality of personal thought resultant from the e p o c h in which it is created. The w o r k of A l e x a n d e r Scriabine (born at M o s c o w , January 10th, 1872) affords striking proof of the imperative need for this quality, being in its later development a v o w e d l y and definitely intellectual in essence, the record of the c o m p o s e r ' s p s y c h o l o g i c a l experience and his ever-increasing perception of the dramatic significance of the vital forces o f life. Although framed in accordance with the conceptions of theosophy, it is of e x t r e m e interest as the expression of a mental individuality, nor is it less valuable because it treats of the general significance of fundamental impulses rather than of their personal application and concentration.

Monsieur Guy-Charles Cros b e l o n g s to an e x c e p t i o n a l family, the m o s t e x c e p t i o n a l m e m b e r of which was his father, Charles Cros, a semi-Hindoo, an extraordinary m a n b o t h of science and of letters. " H i s personality should b e as familiar as that of the greatest celebrities," w r o t e a chronicler of his life ( M . de Bersaucourt) recently. A s a child of eleven he studied Eastern languages from b o o k s he found on the quays and at the public courses at the Sorbonne. A t sixteen he t a u g h t H e b r e w and Sanskrit. Later he b e c a m e teacher of chemistry t o a class of deaf and dumb pupils, then studied medicine and practised without taking his degree, which he always declined to b e troubled with. This m o d e r n Paracelsus m a d e a number of discoveries which he did n o t think worth e x p l o i t i n g . Thus he p r e c e d e d Edison in the invention of the p h o n o g r a p h , depositing the secret in a sealed envelope with the A c a d m i e des Sciences on A p r i l 30, 1876. Shortly after, a paper called La Semaine du Clerg published a description of the instrument according to the details Cros h a d given a friend. Ten months later Edison t o o k out his patent, which differed from Cros's invention only in so far that the former used a sheet of tin-plate where the latter e m p l o y e d glass c o v e r e d with lamp-black. Charles Cros also anticipated the re-constitution of certain precious stones, invented coloured p h o t o g r a p h y , and c o m p l e t e d his resemblance with the alchemists of old b y claiming t o have found a means for interplanetary correspondence, asserting, m o r e o v e r , that M a r s and Venus have l o n g b e e n m a k i n g signs to the Earth. H e w r o t e an enormous b o o k called " L a Mcanique Crbrale," comic m o n o l o g u e s for Coquelin cadet, the great popularity of which in Paris society benefited the actor alone, all the credit and m o n e y g o i n g t o him, and p o e m s which survive in a volume entitled " L e Coffret de S a n t a l . " Cros did not, of course, resist the temptation so many clever but foolish men fall intothe most hazardous enterprise after building a housenamely, the founding of a literary review. " L a R e v u e du M o n d e N o u v e a u " (published in 1871) ran t o three numbers, but during this m e t e o r i c existence shone v e r y brilliantly, for the contributors included, besides himself and his m o r e exclusively poet-brother A n t o i n e Gros, a third brother, H e n r i Cros, an artist and s c u l p t o r ; T h o d o r e de Banville, L o n D i e r x , L e c o n t e de Lisle, Villiers de L'Isle A d a m , Emile Zola, Sully Prudhomme, Stphane Mallarm, Jos-Mari a de Hrdia, A l p h o n s e Daudetin fact, all the writers through w h o m the period lives in our memories.
SAINT FIACRE.

Commencing to write under the immediate influence o f an intimate acquaintance with the w o r k s of Chopin, his earlier compositions are but little m o r e than re flections of t h e Polish c o m p o s e r , though occasionally they display a tendency t o w a r d s a m o r e advanced technical structure, and are often m o r e direct in expres sion. W r i t t e n almost without e x c e p t i o n in the form of lyrical pianoforte p i e c e s ( W a l t z , O p . 1; Etudes, O p p . 2 and 8; Mazurkas, O p p . 3 and 2 5 ; A l l e g r o A p p a s sionata, O p . 4 ; Preludes and Nocturnes, O p p . 8, 9, 11, 13, 15, 16, 17, and 22 ; Impromptus, O p p . 7, 10, 12, and 14; A l l e g r o de Concert, O p . 18; and Polonaise, O p . 21), they are seldom more than delicate but somewhat super ficial t o y i n g with sentimental emotion and technical brilliancy, the productions of a conscious possession of e x e c u t i v e facility and the artificial associations of the salon. The Sonatas Nos. 1 and 3, O p p . 6 and 23, Sonata Fantasia N o . 2, Op. 19, and the Concerto in F sharp for pianoforte and orchestra Opus 20, while displaying deeper emotion and stronger' technical texture than the w o r k s of the c o m p o s e r upon which they are in general modelled, give n o indication o f the intel lectual consciousness which is so apparent in Scriabine's later work, although the third S o n a t a evinces a marked development in the c o m p o s e r ' s perception of harmonic significance. Following o n this initial phase, Scriabine came under the influence of Liszt and, as a natural sequence though in a reflective manner, of W a g n e r also, the effect of the latter c o m p o s e r being small in c o m p a r i s o n with the evident influence of the former. This development, while of little value to his purely musical evolution, was productive of an increased depth of utterance which can only b e ascribed to a tentative search for the funda mentals of emotional expression. The R e v e r i e for orchestra, O p . 24, though distinguished by sensitive instrumentation is almost as sentimental and unreal in its c o n t e x t as anything p r o d u c e d b y Liszt in his earlier affected style, though it must b e admitted that it does not descend to the bathos of the Liebestraum a n d kindred works. T h e Fantasia, O p . 28, and the Preludes, O p p . 27, 31 and 33, are little m o r e than ex ploitations of the pianoforte as a m e d i u m for executive skill, though decidedly on a higher level than the R a p s o d i e s H o n g r o i s e s and the sensational Concert Studies of the earlier composer. The Sonata N o . 4, O p . 30, although containing m o r e thoughtful material than in m o s t of Scriabine's preceding works, is marred b y a somewhat melodramatic straining after effect; b u t the T w o P o e m s , O p . 32, and the T r a g i c P o e m , O p . 34, contain much which worthily reflects the sincerity e v i n c e d in Liszt's Petracha Sonnet and the S y m p h o n i c P o e m s , while the Satanic P o e m approaches in spirit, but with m o r e reserve, the sinister dramatic quality o f the same c o m p o s e r ' s Nocturne and Mephisto W a l t z from the T w o Episodes from " F a u s t " after Nicolaus Lenau. But in all these w o r k s the full expression of Scriabine is o b v i o u s l y limited b y the bias of the executive pianist ; the symphonic w orks for orchestra, b e i n g unaffected b y this o b s t a c l e , are m o r e truly indicative of his mental development. T h e Symphony in E major N o . 1, O p . 26, may b e traced directly to the intellectual influence exercised b y an increasing acquaintance with the serious and thoughtful work of Liszt's later period. It is the first w o r k b y Scriabine which definitely presents an intellectual pro g r a m m e and is the logical o u t c o m e of the t y p e of composition represented b y the Hungarian c o m p o s e r ' s Symphonic P o e m N o . 12 (The Ideal). W h i l e having b u t little in c o m m o n with the intricate and subtle quality of Scriabine's later w o r k it is of extreme interest in that it denotes a definite realisation of the intellectual elements o f music and a wider dramatic significance which surrounds all truly individual art-work. S c o r e d for full orchestra and chorus the c o m p l e x mental elements which c o m b i n e in artistic creations are sug gested in the t e x t u r e and combinations of the instru mental writings, a b o v e which the chorus enunciates a thoughtful e x p o s i t i o n o f the c o m p o s e r ' s intellectual motives culminating in an apotheosis o f the interpretative
T

function o f art at the w o r d s " G l o r y b e to A r t for E v e r and E v e r . " T h e Second Symphony in C major, O p . 29, is scored for orchestra alone, and is marked b y a much greater concentration of thought and expression. Here Scriabine presents the c o m b i n e d introspective and spiritual influences which are the sources o f mental per sonality, and in a subtle undercurrent of thought analyses and indicates the significance of their w i d e r dramatic import. Technically the music is considerably in advance of the symphony p r e c e d i n g it and evinces in the tentative e x p e r i m e n t a l trend of its harmonic material and the freedom o f its instru mental treatment a manifestation of the c o m p o s e r ' s realisation of the progressive force of conscious individuality. T h e signs of intellectual consciousness first evident in these works g r o w persistently stronger in those fol lowing. The Preludes, O p p . 37 and 39, and the P o e m , O p . 41, f o r pianoforte are marked b y a concentrated attention to and search for tonal significance and a con tinual striving towards the elimination o f all artificiality which might o b s c u r e the mental c o n c e p t i o n animating the work. There is also evident an intensified p e r c e p t i o n of the dramatic significance of musical colour which is shown in the vivid and often violent contrast of harmonic material, which, while o c c a s i o n a l l y abortive o w i n g to crude manipulation, is of e x t r e m e interest when regarded as an attempt to correlate and e x t e n d the interpretative capacity of art expression. These efforts t o w a r d s a truly comprehensive e x p o s i t i o n o f creative impulse, which are further denoted b y the rhythmic quality of the Eight Studies, O p . 42, attain their first perfectly coherent realisation in the Third Symphony in C major, Op. 43 (The Divine P o e m ) . This w o r k presents the realisation of the c o m p l e x m o t i v e s which m a k e up the b r o a d dramaticism of creative activity and marks the true appearance of Scriabine as a liberated and indi vidual thinker in music. Presenting a number of mental incidents through the medium o f a novel harmonic and thematic expression, it enables us to realise the dramatic outline b y which such incidents are embraced, and thus contains the first definite postulation o f the subtle creative style which gives to the later w o r k o f Scriabine a distinct and significant character. T h e qualities first evident in this w o r k are d e v e l o p e d with increasing surety in the Fantastic P o e m , O p . 45, the F o u r Pieces (Fragility, Prelude, W i n g e d P o e m , and Languid D a n c e ) , O p . 51, and the Sonata N o . 5, O p . 53. T h e fourth symphonic w o r k , the P o e m of Ecstasy, O p . 54, which is n o t described as a symphony proper, presents the w i d e r dramatic aspect of the elements resulting in e c s t a s y ; the state which arises from and transcends all portentious and comprehensive c o n c e p tions, and which has given birth t o the curious visionary quality so evident in the older mystical writings and the later w o r k of Friedrich Nietzsche. It is peculiarly in teresting in that it first displays Scriabine's discovery of the luminous colour-attributes o f certain harmonic combinations and also contains the initial free use of the new six-tone chord-scale (roughly describable as the first, second, third and sixth intervals of the diatonic scale, with s h a r p fourth and flat seventh, the fifth b e i n g o m i t t e d ) which Scriabine has constructed from the fundamental series o f overtones. The d e v e l o p m e n t o f the expressive qualities of this innovation is a m a r k e d feature of the F o u r Pieces (Prelude, Ironies, Nuances, and Etude), O p . 56, T w o Pieces (Desire and Caresse Danse), O p . 57, and T w o Pieces ( P o e m and Prelude, marked " s a v a g e and b e l l i c o s e " ) , O p . 59. The fifth symphonic w o r k , P r o m e t h e u s : The P o e m o f Fire, is the m o s t complete e x p o s i t i o n up to the present of b o t h Scriabine's philosophic c o n c e p t i o n s and technical methods. F o r those of us w h o are n o t theosophists the m o t i v e underlying it m a y b e c o m p a r e d t o the doctrine of Aspiration, which inspires the p o e t i c w o r k of A l b e r t Mockel, whose literary m e t h o d s a p p r o x i m a t e closely t o the musical devices e m p l o y e d b y Scriabine. The pro g r a m m e of the w o r k seeks t o c o n v e y the d e v e l o p m e n t of conscious creative p o w e r which, a c c o r d i n g t o theosophical c o n c e p t s , w as awakened b y the Promethean gift
r

of fire, the sacred spark which ignites human intelligence and self-consciousness, and its full significance can b e s t be appreciated b y a brief outline of its general scheme. The opening m o v e m e n t , L e n t o , c o m m e n c e s with a harmonic c o m b i n a t i o n (the chord of the ninth with an augmented fifth) directly derived from the new scale material, inaugurated b y Scriabine. The nebulous atmosphere created b y this chord is reinforced b y sus tained string t r e m o l o s and vague passages for w o o d wind, a b o v e the roll of timpani, creating an effect of primeval chaos. A theme for horns, marked " c a l m and c o n t e m p l a t i v e , " emerges from this chaotic b a c k g r o u n d and is succeeded b y the Prometheus m o t i v e , given to trumpets and marked " i m p e r i o u s , " which is intended to convey the spirit of creative will. The shadowy atmosphere b e c o m e s impregnated with increasing vitality, while a n e w theme marked " c o n t e m p l a t i v e " is given out b y flutes and horns and alternates with the Promethean theme which is n o w taken up by the pianoforte. This section, indicative of the process of mental awakening, is followed b y a joyous and animated passage for pianoforte, which conveys the growth of human self-consciousness. This gives place to a languorous m o t i v e for w o o d - w i n d , indicating a thirst for m o r e intense vitality, after which the pianoforte continues in a passage marked " v e r y animated, g l i t t e r i n g " to express material and intellec tual development. Later human love and desire, with the consciousness of pain, enter, the pianoforte having a passage marked " v o l u p t u o u s , almost with anguish," while a rapturous motive for solo flute and c o r inglese, a b o v e viola and harp, is frequently recurrent. T o this succeed themes of enthusiasm, fascination and defiance, each significant m o o d - s e c t i o n b e i n g preceded b y a fresh announcement of the Promethean theme. Conflict enters and g r o w s to a stormy c l i m a x which ends in a passage marked " p i e r c i n g as a c r y . " Thenceforward a m o r e purely intellectual animation, significant of man's subjugation of material complexities, dominates the music, succeeded b y a triumphant inter-climax which is followed b y a series of extremely liquid passages in which the earlier theme of j o y o u s animation is greatly employed. T h e musical colouring g r o w s persistently m o r e intense until the entrance of the final rapid and soaring theme, which is marked " d a n c i n g , w i n g e d as in flight," which w o r k s u p from an initial murmur t o a h u g e tone climax that brings the w o r k to a conclusion. T h e w o r k is of very large dimensions, being scored for full orchestra and pianoforte, with o r g a n and m i x e d chorus ad libitum, with the unusual addition of an arrangement of lights to b e attached to the pianoforte k e y b o a r d , which is Scriabine's o w n invention. This has never b e e n demonstrated in public, but has under g o n e successful experimental tests in private. Scriabine has personally p r o v i d e d a list o f the colours which he p r o v e d t o b e yielded b y the various notes. H i s table reads as follows : Cred. Grosy orange. Dyellow. Agreen. E pearl blue with a sheen B of moonlight. Fdark red. F sharp*bright blue. D flatviolet. A flatpurple. E flat steely with a glint B flat J of metal.

The investigation of this chromatic quality of t o n e is a very apparent feature of the T w o P o e m s (Masque and Etranget), O p . 63, the P o e m Nocturne, O p . 61, the succeeding five sonatas, O p p . 66, 68, and 70, and the P o e m s , O p . 69. F o l l o w i n g logically o n the innovations of his previous w o r k Scriabine is at present e n g a g e d on an entirely unprecedented art c o n c e p t i o n which he has pre-named " A M y s t e r y , " with a separate introductionary p o r t i o n entitled "Preliminary Action." In this w o r k he purposes a synthesis of aesthetic sensations, proposing to e x t e n d the scope of this combination b y a fusion of primary and secondary arts, introducing n o t only gesture, m o v e m e n t and lights, in addition to the ordinary chorus and orchestra, b u t a sub-orchestra o f perfumes also. H e further aims b y a novel disposition of this material at removing the barriers which separate

executants and audience, rendering the latter passive performers b y enclosing them in a circle of interpretive sensations. A s the w o r k is n o t y e t c o m p l e t e it is impossible to pass any opinion u p o n its merits ; b u t the writings of the ancient and modern mystics c o m b i n e d with the results of recent scientific investigations seem to p o i n t t o w a r d s a c o m m o n element in colour, light, scent, and sound. Furthermore, the correlative trend of art expression to-day makes evident the c o m m o n impulses of all its branches. The e m p l o y m e n t ( b y Sibelius, Koechlin, S c h b e r g , and others) of p o l y p h o n y , b y harmonic streams which has replaced the older m e t h o d of writing in imitative or melodic parts, t o g e t h e r with the harmonic development in p o l y t o n i c chords postulated b y M. Villermin, have their direct analogy in the free use of colour and disin tegration of form and light e m p l o y e d b y the m o d e r n Parisian g r o u p of Simultanist painters, whose theories are so admirably interpreted b y their creator, M a d a m e Sonia Delaunay, in her Premier Livre Simultan, and which have their literary counterpart in the n e w p o e t i c aesthetic of Simultaneity originated b y H . M. Barzun. This latter conception m a y b e summarised briefly as a rendering of incidents and sensations simultaneously as they actually occur, and n o t in the sequential manner which has been customary in the p o e m s of the past. Then also w e have musical elision, o r elimination o f superfluous transitions, a m e t h o d which closely approxi mates n o t only to elliptical painting, b u t t o direct imagism and the condensed metaphors and w o r d s at liberty a d v o c a t e d b y Marinetti and the Italian Futurists. The simplification which is a feature of P o s t Impressionism and of m o d e r n scenic settings has an evident and close relationship to the free use of unre solved dissonnances and negation of key-relationships which characterise the w o r k s of D e b u s s y , R o l a n d Manuel, and other French c o m p o s e r s , while the o c t a v e leaps in S c h n b e r g ' s pianoforte w o r k s have a direct analogy in the m e t h o d s of the Pointellists. In addition to these developments w e have the l a t e r p o e m s of Guillaume Apollinaire, which dispense with punctuation, and the form of which is, in spirit, closely allied to the repudiation of b a r divisions and time signa tures evinced in the w o r k of Ernest Austin and Erik Satie. Furthermore, in the polyrhythmic innovations of Pratella, Sibelius, and Strawinsky, is evinced n o t o n l y the strong relationship with the liberated verse form instituted b y Verhaenen and Gustave Kahn, but an evident musical emanation from the same forces as have given birth to the Italian Futurist c o n c e p t i o n s o f simul taneous states of animation, line-force and dynamic sensations which are rendered in their painting and sculpture. Scriabine also, b y his experiments with the intellec tual colour significance and relationship of tones, shows himself to b e the musical equation of the Polish painter Wassily Kandinsky, w h o is endeavouring t o render the spiritual force of colour in musical dimensions, and of the literary c o n c e p t i o n of symbolic vowel c o l o u r expressed b y Alfred Rimbaud. It is impossible to treat exhaustively of c o n t e m p o r a r y art analogies in the space of a s u m m a r y : e n o u g h has been demonstrated to show the close consistency of impulse, purpose and e x p r e s s i o n which characterises the hitherto separate branches of art to-day, and to indicate the signs which p o i n t t o w a r d s their ultimate fusion. T h e o p e r a s o f W a g n e r , though courageously and intel lectually conceived as a c o m b i n a t i o n of the arts, d o n o t survive the test of actual production. Their dramatic outline, b y r e m o v i n g the necessity for a close attention to musical architectonics, gives a certain freedom t o intellectual expression, but they are essentially of a hybrid nature with the preponderance of one dominant strain. The over-attention given b y t h e c o m p o s e r to musical d e v e l o p m e n t and elaboration hinders the pro portionate m o v e m e n t of the dramatic action and renders the stage wearisome b y the consequent unnecessary and incongruous length of the scenes.

Further obstacles in the w a y of theatrical dramatic expression, operatic o r otherwise, are the reconstructions necessitated b y the e m p l o y m e n t of gesture, movement, musical commentary, elocution or vocalisation, and scenic setting, which generally result in a combination which obliterates or disrupts the original conception o f the dramatist. The metachoric d a n c e creation of Valentine de Saint P o i n t is the m o s t coherent a t t e m p t at art fusion up t o the p r e s e n t ; b u t notwithstanding its comprehensive character it fails to include or g i v e just importance to the sensatory intellectual mediums o f light and scent. These omissions are supplied in the plan of Scriabine's Mystery. W h e t h e r successful or n o t in their ultimate art form it is necessary to approach these innovations with the sincere consideration merited b y the fine interpretive quality and high state of sensitive develop m e n t e v i n c e d in the existing works of o n e w h o has done so much to realise his a v o w e d purpose the creation in music of " a dramatic world without need of words or acts."
LEIGH HENRY.

BLAST.
By R I C H A R D ALDINGTON.

Press intentionally misrepresents the purpose and achievement of a periodical like " B l a s t . " A n d what is this art likethis purely English a r t ? Quite naturally it is energetic, tremendously energetic, serious mostly, but with frequent British grins, and rather religious. L e t us examine these qualities in the literary and artistic works of Mr. Lewis and Mr. W a d s w o r t h . T o me the most portentous, the surprising piece of w o r k in the w h o l e volume is Mr. L e w i s ' " E n e m y o f the Stars.' It stirs o n e up like a red-hot poker. Of course, I d o n ' t " u n d e r s t a n d " it, in the sense that I cannot tell y o u e x a c t l y w h a t the characters looked like, w h a t they dressed in, o r quite what they did. I t d o e s n ' t seem t o m e necessary that o n e should " u n d e r s t a n d " a w o r k o f art in t h e sense that one understands a g e o m e t r i c p r o b lem or a legal document. The important thing is that one should realise the artist's personality, and u n d e r g o the emotions he intended y o u t o undergo in the contem plation of his work. I d o perceive a strong, unique personality in Mr. L e w i s ' " E n e m y of the S t a r s " ; I d o receive all manner of peculiar and intense emotions from it. I d o n o t like the abstract in art on principleI am a sensualist. A n d Mr. L e w i s ' play o r story o r p o e m o r

T seems incredible b u t there must b e in all of us something of what is k n o w n as national sentiment. W e are the children of our soil and climate, and h o w e v e r much w e m a y detest them, however much w e m a y feel that w e really b e l o n g to other latitudes, some thing in this islandits soil and climate, as I saystill c o m p e l s us to prefer those w h o are like us to any other people. That is putting it rather s t r o n g l y ; it might b e better to take an illustration and say that w e would rather an Englishman w o n the D i a m o n d s than a foreigner. I n the same w a y we rather like to think that Shakespeare is the greatest p o e t in the w o r l d and Turner the greatest landscape painter.

If y o u feel that w a y it is rather a shock to g o to the exhibition o f pictures at the A n g l o - A m e r i c a n exhibition and see h o w much better the A m e r i c a n artists are than the Englishwhy, even Mr. Epstein is an A m e r i c a n ! It is humiliating to think that n o Englishman has ever written a novel. It is terribly humiliating for m e to see the kind of stuff that is called p o e t r y over here, so that for m y articles I am c o m p e l l e d to take German p o e t s and French poets and A m e r i c a n poets, b u t hardly ever an English poet. I almost fancy that Mr. W . S. Blunt and I are the only English poets livingbut lots of p e o p l e will o b j e c t if I say that ! Because of all this I am extremely glad to w e l c o m e the appearance of " B l a s t " a periodical which is designed to be the organ for new, v i g o r o u s art in England. I t is true that even " B l a s t " contains such alien names as Gaudier Brzeska and Ezra Pound, that Mr. Lewis is half Welsh, and Mr. W a d s w o r t h half S c o t c h ; b u t still the paper is an effort t o l o o k at art from an A n g l o S a x o n point of view instead of from a b o r r o w e d foreign standpoint. Its editor, Mr. W y n d h a m Lewis, has care fully and wittily c o m p i l e d a series of manifestosto to which w e have all gleefully set our namesin which the distressing and cow-like qualities o f this nation are successfully blasted, and the admirable, unique and dominating characteristics piously blessed. It is n o t in the least surprising that such an effort on the part of English artists should arouse a dismal h o w l of protest from the reviewers and an extraordinary amount o f interest in a fairly large section o f the public. The protest of the reviewers is the time-honoured, o r rather dishonoured, cry of the slavish against the free, of the unenterprising against the original, o f the sluggish against the active. That the interest of the public is keen I can myself testify. On t w o occasions I have seen c o p i e s of " B l a s t " b r o u g h t into c r o w d e d roomsfull of ordinary sort of peopleand from that m o m e n t " B l a s t " has b e e n the sole t o p i c of conversation. A l l that, perhaps, d o e s not matter, and y e t it is rather important for p e o p l e generally to realise that the

T H E LEWIS-BRZESKA-POUND TROUPE.

Blasting their own trumpets before the walls of Jericho. whatever it is does n o t seem abstract to me. The parts I like best in it are the sudden clear images which break across itflashes o f lightning suddenly displaying forms a b o v e the dark abysmal conflict. F o r e x a m p l e , this from " T h e Y a r d " : " T h r e e trees, a b o v e canal, sentimental, b l a c k and conventional in number, drive leaf flocks, with jeering cry. " O r they slightly b e n d their joints, impassible a c r o b a t s ; step rapidly forward, faintly incline their heads. " A c r o s s the mud in p o d of the canal their shadows are gauky t o y crocodiles, sawed up and d o w n b y infant giant." This much for the energyat presentwhich I think no one will deny. It seems to me that this hard, tele graphic sort of writing expresses pretty well o n e side of our m o d e r n life. I d o n ' t k n o w t h a t I shall write like that myself, because I always write grammatically con structed telegramsbut in our day w h e n w e are much t o o impatient to read stuff like " S i r Charles G r a n d i s o n , "

when w e w a n t t o g e t the crux of the matter, the intensity of emotion, as quickly as possible, the tele graphic m e t h o d seems t o me to have very serious recommendations. It is a b o r e t o read a novel, because novelists drag in a whole lot of extraneous matter which s o m e h o w deadens the e m o t i o n received as a thick c o t t o n p a d deadens a b l o w . A n d poetry, written in " p o e t i c d i c t i o n " is a b o r e , simply because it is affected and lifeless. Y o u have, then, the p r o b l e m o f c o n v e y i n g e m o t i o n s in such a w a y as n o t t o b o r e the reader with miles of prose and n o t to b o r e him with obsolete tra ditional diction. Mr. L e w i s ' play solves it in one w a y ; I think the best of the Imagiste p o e m s d o so, t o o . I w o n ' t p i c k o u t little spots of humour for quotation readers will find them quick enough. R e m e m b e r that o n e of the manifestos says, " W e only want tragedy if it can clench its side-muscles like hands on its belly, and bring to the surface a laugh like a b o m b . " A s t o the religious part of this movementI d o n ' t e x p e c t the other m e m b e r s will agree with m e on this point, and y e t it seems t o m e the one danger of the thing. S o m e p e o p l e like r e l i g i o n ; I don't. A n d it seems to m e t h a t the profound intellectuality, the love o f abstract design, of abstract colour, the serious revolt against the Renaissance and all sensuousnessall o f which I a g r e e is perfectly and truthfully Englishgive to this m o v e m e n t something which I can only call religious. I a m toldnot b y a Vorticistthat religion is exactly the thing that is n e e d e d n o w . A l l that m a y or m a y n o t b e true, and for all immediate purposes it d o e s n ' t much matter. I imagine Mr. Lewis has t o o much c o m m o n s e n s e for him to b e drawn into any religious revival. A s to Mr. P o u n d , I am n o t so sure. A s the uncleanness of his language increases to an almost laughable point the m o r a l sentiment of his writing b e c o m e s m o r e and m o r e marked. I understand that some p e o p l e are o b j e c t i n g strongly to certain w o r d s in o n e o f Mr. P o u n d ' s p o e m s in " B l a s t " ; that, of course, is their affair, b u t the amusing thing to m e is that this p o e m w a s obviously written with a strong moral purpose. It is n o t m y business t o abuse Mr. Poundhe gets enough of it from other peopleand I shall p r o b a b l y b e called all kinds o f sad names if I say that his contri butions to " B l a s t " are quite unworthy o f their author. It is n o t that o n e w a n t s Mr. P o u n d t o repeat his P r o v e n a l feats, t o echo the 'ninetieshe has d o n e that t o o much alreadyit is simply the fact t h a t Mr. P o u n d cannot write satire. Mr. P o u n d is o n e of the gentlest, m o s t m o d e s t , bashful, kind creatures w h o ever walked this earth ; so I cannot help thinking that all this enor mous arrogance and petulance and fierceness are a pose. A n d it is a w e a r i s o m e pose. Mr. Gaudier Brzeska is really a wild, unkempt barbarian, with a love o f form and a very clear know l e d g e of the comparative history of sculpture. H e is the sort o f person w h o w o u l d dye his statues in the g o r e of g o a t s if he thought it w o u l d g i v e them a m o r e virile appearance ; if he w e r e a Naturalist he w o u l d chain slaves t o r o c k s in order t h a t he m i g h t reproduce their contortions. Fortunately h e is n o t a Naturalist, and his w o r s t crimes consist in a somewhat terrifying abuse of all G r e e k sculpture whatsoever, and of everything which is n o t tremendously virile and cannibalistic and geometric. His " V o r t e x " is extremely g o o d reading, even if y o u d o n ' t understand it ; though I see n o reason w h y any reasonably intelligent person should n o t under stand it. H e thinks in formabstract forminstead of in things o r ideas. H e is perhaps the m o s t promising artist w e have. If he ever b e c o m e s civilised he will lick creation. A s to the rest of the volume it is divided b e t w e e n a story b y Miss Rebecca, W e s t , part of a novel b y Mr. F o r d M a d o x Hueffer, and various n o t e s b y the Editor. The reproductions of some fine pictures b y various members of the Vorticist g r o u p are one of the m o s t valuable con tributions to the study of modern art. I particularly like Mr. L e w i s ' " P l a n of W a r " and Mr. W a d s w o r t h ' s " M a r c h . " Mr. W a d s w o r t h is personally so retiring and generous to his fellow painters that his o w n w o r k is sometimes a little under-estimated. H e has a very energetic c o n c e p t i o n of design. His w o o d c u t of " N e w -

c a s t l e - o n - T y n e " is a fine piece of g e o m e t r i c abstraction. I am n o t a n art critic, so I suppose I have n o right to praise o r dispraise these works, still it seems t o m e , as an outsider, that these Vorticist painters have created something like a new form of art. In the 'nineties it w a s said that only an auctioneer admired all schools of art. I suppose I am an auctioneer, because m y liking for the pictures of Picasso or Mr. W a d s w o r t h , o r even Mr. Etchells does n o t in the least spoil m y old literary liking for such terribly over-suave, over-sweet, o v e r graceful productions as Tanagra statuettes and Japanese prints. W h a t Vorticism d o e s kill is any lingering feeling for imitative artI mean art which was n o t the expres sion of anything of its o w n time but merely a c o p y of some earlier period. Thus, the sculpture o f the eighteenth century and the paintings of m o s t o f the preRaphaelites have n o longer the least meaning for me. Vorticism is the death of n e c r o l o g y in art. W h a t m o r e is there t o s a y ? Only, I think, a pious wish that these painters and writers will continue to publish stuff as g o o d as that in the first number. I regret to say that this important p r o d u c t i o n has r o b b e d m e of space which w a s promised to o t h e r b o o k s . I h o p e authors will forgive a further delay.

A PORTRAIT OF T H E A R T I S T AS A YOUNG MAN,

By JAMES JOYCE.

T E P H E N ' S m o t h e r and his b r o t h e r and one of his cousins waited at the corner of quiet F o s t e r Place while he and his father went u p the steps and along the c o l o n a d e where the Highland sentry was parading. W h e n they had passed into the great hall and s t o o d at the counter Stephen drew forth his orders on the G o v e r n o r of the B a n k of Ireland for thirty and three p o u n d s ; and these sums, the m o n e y s of his exhibi tion and essay prize, were paid o v e r to him rapidly b y the teller in notes and in coin respectively. H e be s t o w e d them in his p o c k e t s with feigned composure and suffered the friendly teller, to w h o m his father chatted, to take his hand across the b r o a d counter and wish him a brilliant career in after-life. H e was impatient o f their voices and could not k e e p his feet at rest. But the teller still deferred the serving of others to say he w a s living in changed times and that there w a s nothing like giving a b o y the best education that m o n e y could buy. Mr. Dedalus lingered in the hall gazing about him and up at the roof, and telling Stephen, w h o u r g e d him to c o m e out, that they w e r e standing in the H o u s e of C o m m o n s of the old Irish parliament. G o d help us ! he said piously, t o think of the men of those times, Stephen, H e l y Hutchinson and F l o o d and H e n r y Grattan and Charles Kendal Bushe, and the n o b l e m e n w e have n o w , leaders of the Irish p e o p l e at home and abroad. W h y , b y G o d , they w o u l d n ' t b e seen dead in a ten-acre field with them. N o , Stephen, old chap, I ' m sorry to say that they are only as I r o v e d out one fine morning in the merry month of sweet July. A keen O c t o b e r wind was b l o w i n g round the bank. The three figures standing at the e d g e of the m u d d y path had pinched cheeks and watery eyes. Stephen l o o k e d at his thinly clad mother and remembered that a few days before he had seen a mantle priced at twenty guineas in the w i n d o w s of Barnardo's. W e l l that's done, said Mr. Dedalus. W e had b e t t e r g o to dinner, said Stephen. W h e r e 1 D i n n e r ? said Mr. Dedalus. W e l l , I suppose w e had better, w h a t ? S o m e place that's not t o o dear, said Mrs. Dedalus. Underdone's? Y e s . S o m e quiet place. C o m e along, said Stephen quickly. It d o e s n ' t matter about the dearness. H e walked on b e f o r e them with short nervous steps, smiling. T h e y tried t o keep up with him, smiling also at his eagerness.

 T a k e it easy like a g o o d y o u n g fellow, said his father. W e ' r e n o t out for the half mile, are w e 1 F o r a swift season o f merrymaking t h e m o n e y of his prizes ran through Stephen's fingers. G r e a t parcels of groceries and delicacies and dried fruits arrived from the city. Every day h e d r e w up a bill of fare for the family and every n i g h t led a party of three o r four to the theatre t o see Ingomar o r The Lady of Lyons. In his coat p o c k e t s he carried squares of V i e n n a c h o c o l a t e for his guests while his trousers' pockets b u l g e d with masses o f silver and c o p p e r coins. H e b o u g h t presents for everyone, overhauled his r o o m , w r o t e out resolutions, marshalled his b o o k s u p and d o w n their shelves, p o r e d upon all kinds of p r i c e lists, drew up a form of common wealth for the household b y which every m e m b e r of it held some office, o p e n e d a loan bank for his family and pressed loans on willing b o r r o w e r s so that he m i g h t have the pleasure of making out receipts and reckoning the interests o n the sums lent. W h e n he could d o n o m o r e he drove up and d o w n the city in trams. Then the season of pleasure came to an end. T h e p o t of pink enamel paint g a v e out and the wainscot of his b e d r o o m remained with its unfinished and ill-plastered c o a t . His household returned to its usual w a y of life. H i s mother had n o further occasion to upbraid him for squandering his money. H e , t o o , returned to his old life at school and all his novel enterprises fell to pieces. The commonwealth fell, the loan b a n k closed its coffers and its b o o k s on a sensible loss, the rules of life which he had drawn about himself fell into desuetude. H o w foolish his aim had b e e n ! H e had tried to build a breakwater of order and elegance against the s o r d i d ' tide of life without him and to dam u p , b y rules of conduct and active interests and n e w filial relations, the powerful recurrence of the tide within him. Useless. F r o m without as from within the water had flowed over his barriers : their tide b e g a n o n c e m o r e to jostle fiercely above the crumbled m o l e . H e saw clearly, t o o , his o w n futile isolation. H e had n o t g o n e o n e step nearer the lives he had sought t o approach, n o r b r i d g e d the restless shame and rancour that had divided him from m o t h e r and brother and sister. H e felt that he was hardly of the one b l o o d with them but s t o o d to them rather in the mystical kinship of fosterage, foster child and foster brother. H e turned to appease the fierce longings of his heart before which everything else was idle and alien. H e cared little that he was in mortal sin, that his life had g r o w n t o b e a tissue of subterfuge and falsehood. Beside the savage desire within him to realise the enor mities which he b r o o d e d on nothing w a s sacred. H e b o r e cynically with the shameful details of his secret riots in which he exulted to defile with patience whatever image had attracted his eyes. B y day and b y night he m o v e d a m o n g distorted images of the outer world. A figure that had seemed t o him b y day demure and innocent came towards him b y night through the w i n d i n g darkness o f sleep, her face transfigured b y a lecherous cunning, her eyes b r i g h t with brutish j o y . Only the morning pained him with its dim m e m o r y of dark orgiastic riot, its keen and humiliating sense of trans gression. H e returned to his wanderings. T h e veiled autumnal evenings led him from street t o street as they had led him years before along the quiet avenues of Blackrock. But n o vision of trim front gardens or of kindly lights in the windows poured a tender influence upon him n o w . Only at times, in the pauses of his desire, w h e n the luxury that was wasting him g a v e r o o m to a softer languor, the image of M e r c e d e s traversed the b a c k ground o f his memory. H e saw again the small white house and the garden of rosebushes on the road t h a t led to the mountains and he remembered the sadly proud gesture of refusal which he was t o make there, standing with her in the m o o n l i t garden after years of estrange ment and adventure. A t those m o m e n t s the soft speeches of Claude Melnotte rose to his lips and eased his unrest. A tender premonition t o u c h e d him of the tryst he had then l o o k e d forward t o , and, in spite o f the horrible reality which lay b e t w e e n his h o p e of then and now, of the holy encounter he had then imagined at

which weakness and timidity and inexperience w e r e to fall from him. Such m o m e n t s passed and the wasting fires of lust sprang u p again. The verses passed from his lips and the inarticulate cries and the unspoken brutal w o r d s rushed forth from his brain t o force a passage. H i s b l o o d was in revolt. H e w a n d e r e d up and d o w n the dark slimy streets peering into the g l o o m of lanes and doorways, listening eagerly for any sound. H e m o a n e d to himself like some baffled prowling beast. H e v/anted to sin with another of his kind, to force another b e i n g t o sin with him and t o exult with her in sin. H e felt some dark presence m o v i n g irresistibly upon him from the darkness, a presence subtle and murmurous as a flood filling him wholly with itself. Its murmur b e s i e g e d his ears like the murmur of some multitude in s l e e p ; its subtle streams penetrated his being. His hands clenched convulsively and his teeth set t o g e t h e r as he suffered the a g o n y of its penetration. H e stretched out his arms in the street to hold fast the frail swooning form that eluded him and incited him : and the cry that he had strangled for so long in his throat issued from his lips. It b r o k e from him like a wail of despair from a hell of sufferers and died in a wail of furious entreaty, a cry for an iniquitous abandonment, a cry which w a s b u t the echo of o b s c e n e scrawl which he had read on the o o z i n g wall of a urinal. H e had wandered into a maze of narrow and dirty streets. F r o m the foul laneways he heard bursts of hoarse riot and wrangling and the drawling of drunken singers. H e walked onward, undismayed, w o n d e r i n g whether he had strayed into the quarter of the Jews. W o m e n and girls dressed in l o n g vivid g o w n s traversed the street from house to house. They were leisurely and perfumed. A trembling seized him and his eyes g r e w dim. T h e yellow gasflames arose b e f o r e his troubled vision against the vapoury sky, burning as if b e f o r e an altar. Before the doors and in the lighted halls groups were gathered arrayed as for some rite. H e w a s in another w o r l d : he had awakened from a slumber of centuries. H e stood still in the m i d d l e of t h e r o a d w a y , his heart clamouring against his b o s o m in a tumult. A y o u n g w o m a n dressed in a l o n g pink g o w n laid her hand o n his arm to detain him and gazed into his face. She said gaily : G o o d night, W illie dear ! H e r r o o m was w a r m and lightsome. A h u g e doll sat with her legs apart in the copious easychair beside the bed. H e tried t o b i d his t o n g u e speak that he m i g h t seem at ease, w a t c h i n g her as she undid her g o w n , n o t i n g the proud conscious m o v e m e n t s of the perfumed head. A s he s t o o d silent in the middle of the r o o m she came over t o him and e m b r a c e d him gaily and gravely. H e r round arms held him firmly t o her, and he, seeing her face lifted t o him in serious calm and feeling the w a r m calm rise and fall of her breast, all b u t burst into hysterical weeping. Tears of j o y and of relief shone in his delighted eyes and his lips parted though they w ould n o t speak. She passed her tinkling hand through his hair, calling him a little rascal. Give m e a kiss, she said. H i s lips w o u l d n o t b e n d to kiss her. H e wanted to b e held firmly in her arms, to b e caressed slowly, slowly, slowly. In her arms he felt that he had suddenly b e c o m e strong and fearless and sure of himself. B u t his lips would n o t b e n d to kiss her. W i t h a sudden m o v e m e n t she b o w e d his head and joined her lips to his, and he read the meaning of her m o v e m e n t s in her frank uplifted eyes. It was t o o much for him. H e closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her, b o d y and mind, conscious of nothing in the w o r l d b u t the dark pressure of her softly parting lips. T h e y pressed upon his brain as u p o n his lips as though they were the vehicle of a vague speech ; and b e t w e e n them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odour.
T T

(To be

continued.)

POEMS.
By J O H N GOTJLD F L E T C H E E . EXCURSION.II. LONDON

M y roses are battered into p u l p : A n d there swells up in m e Sudden desire for something changeless, Thrusts of sunless r o c k Unmelted b y hissing wheels. ARRIVAL. H e r e is t o o swift a m o v e m e n t , T h e rest is t o o still. I t is a red sea Licking T h e housefronts. T h e y quiver gently F r o m base t o summit. R i p p l e s of impulse run through them, Flattering resistance. S o o n they will fall ; A l r e a d y smoke yearns upward. Clouds of dust, Crash of collapsing cubes. I prefer deeper patience, M o n o t o n y of stalled beasts. 0 angle-builders, Vainly have y o u p r o l o n g e d y o u r effort, F o r I descend amid y o u , Past rungs and slopes of curving slippery steel. WALK. Sudden struggle for foothold on the pavement, Familiar ascension. I do n o t heed the city any m o r e , I t has given me a duty to perform. I pass along nonchalantly, Insinuating myself into self-baffling movements. Impalpable charm of b a c k streets In which I find m y s e l f : C o o l spaces filled with shadow. Passers-by, white hammocks in the sunlight. Bulging outcrush into old t u m u l t ; Attainment, as of a narrow harbour, Of some shop forgotten b y traffic W i t h c o o l - c o r r i d o r e d walls. 'BUS-TOP. Black shapes bending, T a x i c a b s crush in the crowd. T h e tops are each a shining square Shuttles that steadily press through w o o l l y fabric. D r o o p i n g blossom, Gas-standards o v e r Spray out jingling tumult Of white-hot rays. M o n o t o n o u s d o m e s of bowler-hats V i b r a t e in the heat. Silently, easily w e sway through b r a y i n g traffic, D o w n the c r o w d e d street. T h e tumult crouches o v e r us, O r suddenly drifts to one side. TRANSPOSITION. I am b l o w n like a leaf Hither and thither.

'BUS. Great walls of green, City that is afar. W e g a l l o p along A l e r t and penetrating, R o a d s o p e n a b o u t us, H o u s e t o p s keep at a distance. Soft-curling tendrils, Swim b a c k w a r d s from our i m a g e : W e are a red bulk, P r o j e c t i n g the angular city, in shadows, at our feet. B l a c k coarse-squared shapes, H u m p and g r o w l and assemble. It is the city that takes us to itself, V a s t thunder riding d o w n strange skies. A n arch under which w e slide D i v i d e s our lives for u s : A f t e r w e have passed it W e k n o w w e have left something behind W e shall n o t see again. Passivity, Gravity, A r e c h a n g e d into hesitating, clanking pistons and wheels. T h e trams c o m e w h o o p i n g u p one b y o n e , Y e l l o w pulse-beats spreading through darkness. Music-hall posters squall out : T h e passengers shrink together, I enter indelicately into all their souls. I t is a glossy skating rink, O n which w i n g e d spirals clasp and b e n d each other : A n d suddenly slide b a c k w a r d s t o w a r d s the centre, A f t e r a too-brief release. A second arch is a wall T o separate o u r souls from rotted cables Of stale greenness. A s h a d o w cutting off the country from us, Out of it rise red walls. Y e t I r e v o l t : I b e n d , I twist myself, I curl into a million c o n v o l u t i o n s : Pink shapes without angle, A n y t h i n g to be soft and woolly, A n y t h i n g to escape. Sudden lurch of clamours, T w o m o r e viaducts Stretch out red y o k e s of steel, Crushing m y rebellion. M y soul Shrieking Is j o l t e d forwards b y a long hot bar I n t o direct distances. It pierces the small of m y back. APPROACH. Only this m o r n i n g I sang of r o s e s ; N o w I see with a swift stare, T h e city forcing u p through the air B l a c k c u b e s close piled and some half-crumbling over.

T h e city a b o u t me Resolves itself into sound of many voices, Rustling and fluttering, Leaves shaken b y the breeze. A million forces i g n o r e m e , I k n o w n o t w h y , I am drunken with i t all. Suddenly I feel an immense will Stored u p hitherto and unconscious till this instant, Projecting my b o d y A c r o s s a street, in the face of all its traffic. I dart and d a s h : I do not know why I go. These p e o p l e w a t c h me, I yield them m y adventure Lazily I lounge through labyrinthine corridors, A n d with eyes suddenly altered, I peer into an office I d o n o t k n o w , A n d w o n d e r at a startled face that penetrates m y own. Rosespavement I will take all this city away with me P e o p l e uproar the pavement jostling and flickering W o m e n with incredible eyelids : Dandies in s p a t s : Hard-faced throng discussing meI k n o w them all. I will take them a w a y with m e , I insistently r o b them of their essence, I must have it all b e f o r e night, T o sing amid m y green. I would glide out unobservant In the midst of the traffic B l o w n like a leaf Hither and thither, Till the city resolves itself into a clamour of voices, C r y i n g hollowly, like the wind rustling through the forest, A g a i n s t the frozen housefronts: L o s t in the glitter of a million movements. PERIPETEIA. I can n o longer find a place for myself : I go. There are t o o many things to detain m e , But the force behind is reckless. Noise, uproar, m o v e m e n t Slide m e outwards, Black sleet shivering D o w n red walls. In thick jungles of green, this gyration, M y centrifugal folly, Through roaring dust and futility spattered, Will find its o w n repose. G o l d e n lights will gleam out sullenly into silence, Before I return. MID-FLIGHT. W e rush, a b l a c k throng, Straight upon darkness: M o t e s scattered B y the arc's rays. Over the b r i d g e fluttering, I t is theatre-time, N o one heeds.

L o s t amid greenness W e will sleep all n i g h t ; A n d in the morning C o m i n g forth, w e will shake wet wings Over the settled dust o f to-day. The city hurls its c o b b l e d streets after us, T o drive us faster. W e must attain the night Before endless processions Of lamps Push us b a c k . A c l o c k with quivering hands Leaps to the trajectory-angle of our

departure.

W e leave behind pale traces of a c h i e v e m e n t : Fires that w e kindled but w e r e t o o tired to p u t out, B r o a d g o l d fans brushing softly o v e r dark walls, Stifled uproar o f night. W e are already c a s t forth : The signal o f o u r departure Jerks d o w n b e f o r e w e have learned w e are to g o . STATION. W e descend Into a wall of green Straggling s h a p e s : Afterwards none are seen. I find myself Alone. I look back : The city has g r o w n One grey wall W i n d o w e d , unlit. Heavily, n i g h t Crushes the face of it. I g o on. M y memories freeze Like b i r d s ' cry In hollow trees. I g o on U p and outright T o the hostility Of night.

LUCIE DELARUE-MARDRUS.
E C A U S E , n o doubt, she is n o t dull and p o m p o u s , far-fetched, o r abstract and symbolical, M m e . Delarue-Mardrus (in her aspect as novelist, for she is also a p o e t ) has n o t the popularity, o r " p r e s s , " as they say in France, she deserves. She is read b y all but she is criticised b y many. Y e t her last b o o k , " L e C a n c r e " (Fasquelle), m i g h t b e signed b y a G o r k i "or an A n d r e i e f w i t h o u t a whit o f dishonour t o them. Lucie Delarue-Mardrus is the greatest French realist since Rousseau and Flaubert. F o r there ia much to b e d o n e with plain, v i g o r o u s reality, b u t few can d o it. M o s t realists h a v e tried to render life b y enumeration o f facts and detailsthis is life catalogued, pinned, stuffed, and sterilised like specimens in museums. T h e y used the m i n d ' s e y e t o see life, thus reality escaped them, for N a t u r e is n o t a p p r o a c h e d with the reason, b u t with the senses and intuition. Therefore, o n e m i g h t suppose, did n o t numerous e x c e p t i o n s contradict the theory, that the novelwhich is another w o r d for realism was particularly w o m a n ' s sphere. M a n w o u l d seem to b e a t o o intellectual animal for this form o f litera-

ture, had w e n o t T h o m a s H a r d y , the Russians, and so m a n y w o m e n m o r e gifted for the science, than the r o m a n c e , o f life ! Notwithstanding these reservations t h e first n o v e l w a s written b y a womanfor M m e . d e Lafayette p r e c e d e d R i c h a r d s o n b y half a centuryand so, n o doubt, will b e the last. G i v e n the scope of a novel, I d o n o t see h o w it is possible t o show o n e superior t o this portrait of a dullard. It is everything a novel can b e and nothing it should not. It has all the qualities, and none of the faults, to b e found in m a n y a so-called masterpiece (by D i c k e n s , Thackeray, Balzac, Maupassant, for i n s t a n c e ) ; b u t there are few w h o w o u l d a g r e e to this. T h e " d u l l a r d " is the son of a country gentleman w h o had rural tastes and " a m o d e r n soul in spite of his n a m e , " and w h o , as was chronicled b y an old governess in her memoirs of the family, " d i e d h e r o i c e x a m p l e !on a m o w i n g - and binding-machine of the latest t y p e in the p r e s e n c e of his routine-crusted t e n a n t s . " A n a t t e m p t t o educate the b o y after his father's death, and the family's desertion of the estate, in the customary civilised and citadine way, fails, and the y o u n g nobleman is put as a c o m m o n agricultural labourer on a farm within sight of the chteau which w o u l d h a v e b e e n his inheritance had his m o t h e r n o t sold it o v e r his head. T h e a c c o u n t o f his hard, lonely life, in a district which is the author's dearly-loved native land, gives her o p p o r tunities f o r description as full of flavour as is h o m e m a d e bread, and such as have characterised previous o f her b o o k s n o t a b l y " M a r i e , Fille-mre," the finest and m o s t tragic piece o f French fiction since " M a d a m e B o v a r y " (I w o n d e r h o w many p e o p l e will start at this a s s e r t i o n ? ) , and the equivalent in p a t h o s to " T e s s of the D u r b e r v i l l e s . " If y o u w a n t to k n o w w h a t the N o r m a n peasant is likethat race which has inherited from its Scandinavian ancestors a trait epitomised b y H a m l e t and expressed in their familiar locution, "peut-tre bien que oui, peuttre bien n o n " " I l y a, dans cette phrase grossire, c o m m e dans c e t t e p e n s e p r o f o n d e , un seul et mme principe. D e ce grand d o u t e mtaphysique procde en ligne directe c e t t e dfiance madre, et, dans les d e u x , vit un pareil esprit de lutte a b s t r a i t e . " (The p o p u l a r N o r m a n phrase and H a m l e t ' s famous " T o b e . " ) " N ' y a-t-il pas l l'origine de toute la plaidoirie n o r m a n d e ? L e p o u r y contredit le c o n t r e j u s q u ' a u x extrmes limites de la chicane, et ce sont d e u x a v o c a t s d ' g a l e force dont on n e v e r r a jamais finir l e dbat. D e cette parole-i cette parole-l, on p a r c o u r t d'un b o u t l'autre les d e g r s d ' u n e unique c h e l l e : en haut, l'effrayante casuistique d'un prince gnial ; en bas, la finauderie d'un pauvre g a r s d e ferme. Mais l'un et l'autre, de telles distances, m e t t e n t toute leur ruse fuir un s e m b l a b l e spectre, bien autrement terrible qu'un pre a s s a s s i n e la dcision prendre." read L u c i e D e l a r u e - M a r d r u s : the N o r m a n peasant suspicious, grasping, harsh, but touchingly patriarchal, as witness that sonin all other circumstances rough and brutalwho, rather than c o n t r a d i c t his father w h e n n o t of his opinion, will leave the r o o m , and w h o will lie b y his side h o l d i n g his hand through a w h o l e n i g h t of sickness. If y o u think, with H e i n e , that art flows from wounds, then y o u will find art in Lucie DelarueMardrus, and scathing criticism of human pettinessby o n e w h o m n o nonsense can deceive, in w h o m there is n o affectation, n o pose, n o mincing of w o r d s , one gifted with a sound, sensible, and, therefore, often humorous judgmentyou will also find in her b o o k s . B u t quotation will convey m o r e than mere praise. This a c c o u n t of a peasant's meal gives y o u an idea of the book's "local colour": " N o u s ne n o u s rendons pas c o m p t e des mille raffinements qui nous entourent, nous autres de la v i e bourgeoise. Ce diner ! . . . Sur une table d e b o i s blanc sans n a p p e ni toile cire, parmis des convives en sabots

et d o n t l e s o n g l e s rogns sont noirs, m a n g e r une soupe, puis des lgumes, dans une mme paisse assiette, a v e c un c o u v e r t de p l o m b , un couteau de p o c h e ; retourner cette assiette au m o m e n t du f r o m a g e ; ne voir ensuite apparatre aucun dessert, aucun fruit; b o i r e le cidre dans un g r o s verre o u dans un b o l ; se sentir t r o p correct, t r o p droit, parfaitement tranger vis vis des autres qui, les bras sur la table, le v i s a g e baiss v e r s l a nourriture, mastiquent a v e c bruit sans parler ni se regarder, tandis q u e l a mnagre et l a servante, sans cesse, v o n t et viennent d'un air morne, que tout cela confre au r e p a s grossire, utilitaire, triste a l l u r e ! " F o r e m o t i o n read t h i s : " I l sentit qu'il ne pourrait rien dire de plus, jamais rien dire de plus. L e grand drame d e la timidit vivait en lui. T o u t ce qu'il avait raconter de lui-mme : ses hauts, ses bas, ses dsillusions, ses surprises, et cette ivresse de la solitude qu'il ressentait chaque j o u r plus violemment, t o u t cela, c'tait t r o p compliqu p o u r tre exprim par son vocabulaire de gamin. Il faudrait un esprit fait, plein d ' e x p r i e n c e e t riche de mots subtils, p o u r dire ce qui se passe dans un me d'enfant. Quand nous l'avons acquise, c e t t e maturit, il n ' e s t plus t e m p s d e n o u s en servir. N o u s avons oubli notre enfance. N o u s n ' a v o n s plus rien r a c o n t e r sur elle. L e s enfants, ces grands passionns, ces grands mystrieux, sont d e s muets. Leur vie intense est sans p a r o l e s . " " L ' a u t o m n e ! U n tourment trange agite l'adolescent. Il lui semble qu'il ne peut pas laisser perdre cette beaut, qu'il faut la retenir par quelque moyenoui, la retenir, la fixer. I l ramasse des feuilles mortes, ardentes et belles c o m m e d e s fleurs. Il les regarde, il les presse contre ses joues. Il ne sait que faire. Un jour, b o u t d'motion, il arrache un feuillet au petit carnet de p o c h e o les commissions et les c o m p t e s sont inscrites. C'est une sorte de folie qui le prend. A v e c s o n crayon, il griffonne nerveusement sur le b o u t de p a p i e r : ' L e s feuilles. L e s arbres. Jaune. Jaune . . . R o u g e . D e s flammes, des flammes aux arbres. D e s langues de feu comme le Saint Esprit. Je n e sais pas . . . ' E t c ' e s t le besoin d'crire qui vient d e natre en lui, prpar par des mois de songel'instinct, irrsistible, c o m m e une force naturelle, de faire des pomes. . . . Que faire? Il v e u t offrir la beaut d e l'automne quelqu'un, Dieu, peut-tre ; ou bien lui-mme. L'offrir . . . L'offrir . . . Et c'est une angoisse qui le brise, qui le tient veill toute la nuit, enfantin et lyrique, o u b l i e u x de tout, p o s s d . " " G e o r g e s A n t o i n e pria D i e u de le dlivrer d e ses perplexits, de le rendre fort et noble. T o u t son tre aspirait vers quelque prcision. I l n ' e n pouvait plus de se sentir v a g u e c o m m e les nuages, c o m m e le vent, c o m m e la m e r . " This for critique de murs: " P r s e n t e m e n t , musiciens, peintres, crivains, savants, hommes d'Etat, ne v i v e n t que d e parti-pris. L e s uns disent ' c o l e , ' les autres ' s y s t m e , ' les autres ' n u a n c e s politiques,' et tous pensent, au fond, ' r c l a m e . ' M e s quinerie et mesquinerie. . . . Qu'est-ce qu'est d e v e n u l ' a m o u r ? Et sans chercher si haut, qu'est-ce qu'est d e v e n u e la simple et b o n n e b o h m e des prdcesseurs? Il n ' y a mme plus d'incompris aux longs c h e v e u x . Il n ' y a plus d'originaux. Ds vingt ans, o n est tous corrects, mais plus o u m o i n s ridicules. T o u t est antipathique, sec c o m m e une conversation de boursicotiers. . . . C e t t Deauville, un demi-castor m ' a dit ce m o t a d m i r a b l e : ' L a saison est vraiment intressante cette anne. H y a tant de perles autour du c o u des femmes q u ' o n croirait q u ' o n les d o n n e . ' Ainsi, l ' o n ne dit plus d'une f e m m e qu'elle e s t j o l i e o u laide. On dit, ' E l l e a des perles ou elle n ' e n a p a s . " A n d , b e t w e e n the realist and the satirist peers p o e t in the following l i n e s : Certains jours, j e ne suis sur terre Qu'un sombre revenant, Qui par le pays cheminant, S'avance solitaire. the

Je suis, de m e s m o r t s oublis, L'me toujours en peine, Tandis qu'ils sont, b r a s replis, D a n s la terre prochaine. J e cherche, l e l o n g d e s chemins, Leur fugitive trace, J e sens en m o i hurler m a race, Et j e m e tords les mains. J e dis t o u s les coins d e route D e m o n terroir n o r m a n d : " I l s o n t pass par l, sans doute, D a n s leur ge c h a r m a n t . " Je dis : " O pres d e m o n pre, Revivez-vous en m o i ? E t toi, le dernier dans la terre, Depuis si l o n g t e m p s froid? " D a n s m o n souvenir j e v o u s porte, L o u r d e paternit. M o n me est parfois dj morte D e v o t r e ternit. R p o n d e z lui qui hante seul Les b o i s , les prs, les eaux. L e lourd t o m b e a u , c o m m e une meule, A-t-il tu v o s o s ? " N ' e s t - c e que de p a r m e s vertbres Q u e v o u s revivez tout, E t suis-je, sort des plus funbres, Une tombe d e b o u t ? " This b o o k is vivid because it v i b r a t e s with the personality of its author, for it is the artist's life which lends conviction to his w o r k far m o r e than the c o n scientious fidelity e m p l o y e d in the rendering o f the subject. T h e narrative is b u t the form without the spirit. T h e life-current n e e d e d to animate it, to m a k e it viable, has its source in, flows directly from, the narrator.
MURIEL CIOLKOWSKA.

" S W E D E N IN S U M M E R . " Idem. " A c r o s s this scene of incipient terror waltzes, as airy as a sylph, the Austrian attach," The same. " M r . Baring writes for t h e average m a n . " The same. " A s he confesses in a dedicatory letter to Mr. H . G . Wells, the author w a s p i q u e d at discovering b y accident h o w v e r y greatly Russia m a y b e misunderstood in this country." Times Literary Supplement. in

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" L e a d s us out of the little aims and the conventional considerations t o the simple duty of following the call of what w e k n o w to b e the t r u t h . " Y e t again. " N . B . T h e s e Novels are a m o n g the successes o f the Season, and are all in 2nd Editions, e x c e p t " Sunrise V a l l e y , " which has reached, e t c . " Times Literary Supplement advt. " T h i s b o o k e m b o d i e s t h e results of an inquiry suggested b y the Birmingham City Council into the causes of the deterioration in character and earning capacity ' which has b e e n o b s e r v e d to take place in a great number of the w o r k i n g b o y s o f t h a t city within t w o o r three years from the time at which they l e a v e the elementary school. The author o b t a i n e d from the Juvenile L a b o u r E x c h a n g e names and particulars, e t c . "
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" T h i s fiction ranges the w o r l d ' s oceans. Its m e n and w o m e n are of divers races, o f four continents. E v e n its simplest seaman is something of a rare b i r d . "

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" G r e a t n e s s o f birth a n d fine correctness o f manners c a m e natural t o h i m . " Times Literary Supplement.

Times, of course. " I n spite o f all this never were sheep m o r e rigorously divided from g o a t s than w e r e G r e e k s from Turksas perhaps m a y b e shown b y A u n t Kalliro's a t t i t u d e . " Times Literary Supplement. " B u t c o m e d y , flourishing in a w o r l d which gravely d o u b t s the necessity o f laughter, has t o o often b e e n held in an undeserved s u s p i c i o n . " Same. " T h i s is n o t b i o g r a p h y . Well, then, is it science ? Expende Hannibalem: w e i g h Galton, a c c o u n t for h i m : discover in him the P r o m e t h e a n particulam undique decerptam: g o b a c k to all the stocks and strands and b l o o d s and blends that y o u can find: are y o u n o t landed, at last, in surmises and hypotheses, in p r o b a bilities and possibilities ? Same.

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CORRESPONDENCE.
To the Editor, NOTE TO CORRESPONDENTS. While quite willing to publish letters under noms de plume, we make it a condition of publication that the nains and address of each correspondent should be supplied to the Editor.ED. THE ORIGIN OF D I S T R U S T OF PLEASURE.
MADAM,

"THE

SPIDER'S W E B . "

T H E EGOIST.

To the Editor,
MADAM,

T H E EGOIST.

First allow me to apologise to Mr. Harpur for thinking that he attempted no explanation of the strange distrust which human beings have of some pleasures (that they do not distrust all is something for Mr. Harpur to explain). But that explana tion is certainly one of the queerest I ever heard offered for -anything. To assert that "Chastity, generally speaking, is immoral because it is a refusal to increase the amount of pleasure in the world," is simply to beg the whole question. If licence in sexual relations would increase happinessif that could be provedeveryone would agree that we need not restrain our selves. But it is just this proof that I ask for and look for in vain from my opponents. Instead of trying to give it, they busy themselves striving to hide the deficiency with all sorts of rubbish about the relative desires of men and women ; about the looseness of Old Testament men, and of Walpole and Marl borough; about Ormuzd and Ahriman. If Mr. Harpur can prove, his assertions about this last extra ordinary pair, especially if he can prove that the only reason for chastity is the command of a stupid, cruel tyrant, whom human beings worship and obey because they worship power, and power is more easily exhibited in causing pain than happiness, then his contention may need a more detailed con sideration. A t present, I must say I cannot believe that Mr. Harpur is serious in his cock-and-bull yarn of the origin of the world and wickedness. When I am convinced that he is, and that he really cannot see its absurdities, I shall take the trouble to point out some of them to Kim. R. R. W. "THE To the Editor,
MADAM,

On the first page of the preface to " T h e Spider's W e b , " Mr. Kauffman, speaking of his series of novels, " T h e House of Bondage," " T h e Sentence of Silence," "Running Sands," and " T h e Spider's W e b , " says:"In what I had to say I believed burningly, as I still believe deeply, and the great thing with me was not to say it in the manner that most people would call Art, but to say it in the manner that would convert as many readers as possible to my way of thinking. I did not want to produce the effect of a work of A r t ; I wanted to produce con viction of truth." I think I may be excused for assuming that the views given to Huber were the author's own. As to Mr. Kauffman's three replies I would say of (1) That it is off the point. But if Huber is not a hero, will Mr. Kauffman show me a novel that has one? (2) The review stated that a passage in the preface gave one the impression that Huber's views were supposedly identical with those of Miss Marsden. (3) The offence lay, not in the failure to interpret, but in the claim that it did interpret, Miss Marsden's philosophy. Mr. Kauffman now says he was not trying ("was unaware he was trying") to interpret Miss Marsden's philosophy. I can merely repeat I got this impression. But there was another indictment, viz., that the book, while setting out to produce conviction of truth, used means of a sort to defeat the purpose. This, Madam, is my sentence on Mr. Kauffman: That he try another way of producing conviction of truth; that he try the rejected way ; that he try to produce a work of Art. H . S. W .

EDITORIAL. Letters, &c, to intended Oakley for the Editor should be

addressed SPIDER'S W E B . " T H E EGOIST. PUBLICATION.

House,

Bloomsbury

Street,

London, W . C .

I find that a recent issue of T H E EGOIST contains a twocolumn accusation of my novel, " T h e Spider's W e b . " I am indicted on the charge that my " h e r o " does not interpret Dora Marsden's philosophy. I want now to plead to this indictment. It is true that my " L u k e H u b e r " was intended to agree with Miss Marsden in onejust onephase of his final outlook upon life : that phase which is indicated in the preface by what is, I may add, a direct quotation, carefully so labelled, from an article by Miss Marsden herself in no less a paper than THE EGOIST. It is also true that nobody admires Miss Marsden's philosophy more than I do ; that I am more nearly in accord with some of it than with some of "Huber's," and that I fancied that a novelist would not be held personally responsible for his characters' opinions. It seems, however, that I erred. I may, therefore, make but this reply to the charge that my Tiero does not interpret Miss Marsden's philosophy : (1) I was unaware that the book had a hero; (2) I was unaware that he was trying to interpret Miss Marsden's philosophy; (3) I was unaware that a failure to interpret Miss Marsden's philosophy constituted an offence. Ignorance of the law is no excuse ; and innocence of intention is less. I plead guilty. Pray sentence me. Scarborough. REGINALD W R I G H T KAUFFMAN.

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