Published the 1st and 15th of each month.

T H E EGOIST
A N I N D I V I D U A L I S T
Formerly the NEW

REVIEW.

FREEWOMAN.
SIXPENCE. Editor: DORA M A R S D E N , B.A,

No. 9.

VOL.

I.

F R I D A Y , M A Y 1st, 1 9 1 4 .

Assistant: R I C H A R D A L D I N G T O N . Editors : LEONARD A. COMPTON-RICKETT.

PACK

C O N T E N T S
PAGE PA

POEMS. ton.

By

Richard Aiding-

161

PASSING Fiacre.

PARIS.

B y Saint

169 170I

POETRY. Mew.

B y Charlotte

M.

17

VIEWS AND COMMENTS. 162 Serial Stor < A _ *~ . PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A 1 6 5 YOUNG MAN. B y J a m e s J o y c e . LIBERATIONS: STUDIES OF IN- 167 DIVIDUALITY IN CoNTEMPORARY M u s i o B y L e i g h Henry.

REVOLT OF THE ANGELS. B y R f IT n MEMOIRS OF A CHARMING PERSON. B y M . DE V - M . ANDRC DUNOYER DE SEGONZAC, PAINTER. With illustrations. By Madame Ciolkowska.

171 173

CORRESPONDENCE. 17 Property and Theft. "Servants" and the " People." Divine Inspiration. T h e Hub of the Universe. Ideals and Idols. On this Spiritual Reality. M a r r i a g e and the R o m a n Catholic Church. M a r r i a g e and l l s R l v a I s

POEMS,
BY RICHARD ALDINGTON. AT MITYLENE. O Artemis, W i l l y o u not leave the d a r k fastness A n d set y o u r steel-white foot upon the foam, A n d come across the rustling sand S e t t i n g it adrift with the wind of your r a i m e n t ? F o r these w o m e n have laid out a purple cloth, And they h a v e builded you an altar Of white shells for the honey. O Artemis, Girdle the g o l d about y o u , Set the silver upon y o u r hair And remember u s W e , w h o h a v e g r o w n w e a r y even of music, W e w h o would scream behind the wild clogs of Scythia. A FAREWELL. ( F o r a few men of P o s e i d o n i a ; for a few of to-day.) M a n y h a v e wounded y o u with evil praise, O most h i g h g o d s , M a n y h a v e spoken a g a i n s t y o u ; M a n y h a v e uttered y o u r n a m e s . And y o u lie upon golden O l y m p u s Aphrodite, A p o l l o , H e r A n d y o u m u s e of l o v e or of fate, A n d y o u w a t c h the g o l d thin mist A s y o u lean by the golden c u p s . O most h i g h g o d s Artemis, Hermes, Z e u s W e h a v e A t e or I s i s for queen. P e r s e p h o n e h a s left u s , h a s left us. . . T h e voice of Apollo is still, O most high W e give you W e g i v e you W e g i v e you Our silence. gods; lor g a r l a n d s , for wine and for salt, for pa?ans and h y m n s , our tears,

0 most high g o d s , W e b r i n g you our silence. ENNUIES. T o A POET. M a y w e not be spared \ beseech y o u ; i i n t cult of " N a t u r e , " T h i s pitiless reiteration? M a y w e not accept T h e facts of v e g e t a t i o n and florescence W i t h o u t these r e m i n d e r s ? 1 g r a n t y o u that hyacinths ^ r e blue, and that olives A r e g r e e n in their s e a s o n , T h a t berries are juicy and vine-leaves delightful. B u t m a y w e not leave them to W o r d s w o r t h A n d caterpillars, A n d ourselves m a k e merry W i t h our o w n particular U n v e g e t a b l e artifices? June, 1 9 1 3 .
h s n s s t e

ENNUYES EXQUIS.

Our immaculate boredom M u s t h a v e no stain of emotion, A n d even our amours M u s t be fragile and curious. W e w o u l d l a n g u i d l y fashion T h e features of N e r o F r o m emerald and b a s a l t . L e t us be indolent But very remarkable.

M a n y men h a v e w r o n g e d y o u , O most high g o d s ; O u r p r a i s e is a s dust in y o u r w i n e - c u p s ;

1(32

THE EGOIST
SOLEMN MEDITATION.

May isi, 1914

T h e c l o t s of p e o p l e

Aljout P i c c a d i l l y A r e sordid a n d s w e a t y ; W e s u s p e c t them of v i c e s L i k e m a r r i a g e and business, A n d w e k n o w they a r e ignorant Of H o k k e i a n d R u f i n u s ; B u t w e c a n n o t be troubled T o protest, o r instruct them ; O u r i m m a c u l a t e boredom M u s t h a v e no stain of emotion.
VERONA.

I a m a - w e a r y of this fecundity, T h i s monstrous c l a m o u r of babes, This prodigious animality; F o r if I love W o m a n It must be a s the frail s t a r s A n d the l i g h t of c r y s t a l w a t e r s , N o t a s t w o rabbits In a domestic den. November, 1 9 1 2 . By Zeus,
I h a d liever be an e u n u c h !

T h e heat is s p r e a d over the land L i k e thick g o l d petals of a rose T h a t h a s the sun for h e a r t ; I t is s p r e a d out L i k e three b l a n k e t s too many On a s u m m e r bridal couch. W h e n they splash w a t e r O n the hot flag-stones Of the P i a z z a delle E r b e T h e old w o m e n l a u g h with pleasure. T h e y o u n g w o m e n complain ; T h e y b u y perfumes. 0 E n g l a n d , m y dull E n g l a n d , 1 a m g l a d to b e a w a y from y o u , A n d in a j o y o u s city W h e r e it is actually too hot.
A LIVER.

Sweet God, K e e p me u n w e d A n d sterile ! Eileithuia, B e thou a g o d d e s s U n k n o w n in my house, Neither be thou summoned B y howling of w o m e n . STODGE. Decency, Reverence, T h e home, T h e school, T h e university, T h e church, T h e l a w (especially), Property, T h e leisured c l a s s e s ,
Kensington,

April, 1 9 1 2 .

June, 1913.

T h e bible Y o u s a y " T h i s is not my lover ! " A h , dear little mistress, Y o u strive vainly to g o a d m y soul into g a i e t y ; It lies inert and bored, masculine, W i t h a sick horror of eternal d i s g u s t s . July, 1913. O phallus of the L a m p s a c e n e , O N e r o , Cybele, Isis, A t y s , O ithyphallic deities, H a v e mercy on u s . K u r i o i elei'sate.

September,

1913.

VIEWS

AND COMMENTS.
one's own. W h e n this h a s been solved, " collective " ownership will begin to show livelier s i g n s of being acceptable to blunt sense, but until then, " c o l l e c t i v e " ownership will remain w h a t it at present i s , and a l w a y s h a s been, the cover under which after w i n n i n g a more or less g r u d g i n g " c o n s e n t , " the few w h o are sufficiently powerful to mount to " control " will o w n the various properties which nominally a r e the possessions of the collective g r o u p . T h a t i s , the few will a s long a s they remain in p o w e r , w o r k their will on the " organisation "the Dead H a n d , and aforetime property, after h a v i n g been transmuted into " s u b s t a n c e , " will a g a i n become property : the properly of the controllers, $ 3 t$3 j3

On property. The mischief in all the debates which turn on property is that unconsciously the debaters are infected by the clerical habit of labelling a s to quality. T h e y are so put about to decide whether property is good l o r one or bad for one that they forget that their first concern is with w h a t property is. T h e subject is by this means landed in the thorny region of attitudes, oughts, and duties w h e r e the c o n t r o v e r s y born of ungranted assumptions takes the place of the unrestrained tale readily told. Out of the g r e a t clamour which in modern times h a s r a g e d about property t w o themes only can be picked oat : one, that property is " bad " for a m a n , therefore must men be influenced to acquiesce in the placing of their property in Mort main : in the Dead Hand which cannot be harmed b y , o r do harm to, itthe corporation, the commune, the state, the g u i l d ; and t w o , a fainter-sounding but more tenacious one that it is " g o o d " and that therefore the " influence " must be exercised to find out w a y s and means whereby once g o t , property m a y remain attached to its p o s s e s s o r s . N o w both these lines of theory become obviously futile if one starts from the point of what property P r o p e r t y , a s its name sufficiently indicates, is w h a t is o n e ' s o w n . W h a t m a k e s a thing into p r o perty is the fact that a person o w n s it. A p a r t from this p o w e r of the o w n e r to w o r k his will upon objects, " property " is not property : it is mere subs t a n c e p a r t of the objective world, w h a t e v e r w e will to name it. T h e tight little problem with which a modern tendency of thinking is faced i s , h o w at one and the s a m e time to retain and abolish property, h o w to m a k e commodities o n e ' s o w n and yet not

Property is " o n e ' s o w n , " and driven from one o w n e r it finds another a s inevitably a s w a t e r s e e k s its level. A n d an owner is a masterone w h o does with what he possesses according to his o w n nature, A c c o r d i n g l y when a g r o u p v e s t s its " property " in a Dead H a n d , the D e a d H a n d of necessity must elect living a g e n t s : the property finds its o w n e r s in the agents. It is inevitable. Should the official be one w h o cannot " own " on an extended scale he at once appears the " n i t h i n g , " the " w e a k m a n " in the system. T h e " g r o u p " detest him in a sense a n d a degree very far different from that in which they fear a tyrant, for he reflects their folly b a c k upon them, T h e " g r o u p " appreciate even if they could not explain the difference between being g o v e r n e d b y a Napoleon and a P r a i s e - G o d B a r e - b o n e s : even between a S i r E d w a r d C a r s o n and a L a b o u r M . P .

May 1st, 1914

THE

EGOIST

163

T h e reason is that w h a t one can o w n , i.e. control, g i v e s a m e a s u r e of w h a t one is : and the instinctive k n o w l e d g e w h i c h the m a s s e s h a v e , all phrases to the contrary n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g , that the official in control is the o w n e r is revealed by the fact that they reckon such a one, being elected to the position and not acting a s o w n e r merely p r o v e s himself to be incapable. T h e y realise that they h a v e not merely divested them selves of their o w n p o w e r s to o w n , but h a v e perpe trated the foolishness in the interest of one too feeble to profit by it. r T h e m i s u n d e r s t a n d i n g s which are rife in relation to the holding of property are due to the fact that w e endeavour to limit the area o v e r which it e x t e n d s . W e own not only land and money (supposing w e do) : our " property " e x t e n d s to the limits e x a c t l y of w h a t w e are : the nucleus of our property is w h a t w e are born with : instincts, family, g r a c e , beauty, manner, brains, and the original d o w e r of p o w e r which w e h a v e which puts them into evidence. These, are, in a more absolute sense than material posses sionsour property. In relation to w h a t these are, the toll w e can levy of such material p o s s e s s i o n s as w e desire will be. H u m a n calculations are likeliest to w o r k out aright if w e r e g a r d our " p r o p e r t y , " that is, our " o w n , " rather as a native endowment, than as something which c a n be post-natally con ferred, as for instance, our kind of e d u c a t i o n ; if w e r e g a r d it as fundamental, a hazard of which the die is cast at birth : like our breathing a p p a r a t u s rather than a muffler or artificial respirator. In fact, the a n a l o g y between the power to acquire property and the power to breathe m i g h t be usefully extended. Both are native e n d o w m e n t s ; both are necessary to continued e x i s t e n c e ; both are p o w e r s which can be adequately exercised only on o n e ' s o w n initiative; both require for their exercise access to a medium external to the body through which they e x e r c i s e ; both require their needs to be measured by their w a n t s : both invalidate the entire person by any failure to w o r k effectually, both h a v e a minimum of specific requirements which they d r a w from the environment in which they are p l a c e d ; and these failing in either c a s e , only an a d v a n c e d s t a g e of inanition explains the failure of fight to the last d e g r e e of s a v a g e r y in order to enable them to a u g ment their p o w e r s to the necessary d e g r e e . T h a t one acquires food and clothing for its first satisfaction while the other acquires fresh air m a k e s no real sort of difference to the parallel. T h e ones are as essen tial as the other and their acquisition to be considered as much a matter of course.

successful competition. Phrases " morality," " l e g a l i t y " f r o m the point of vision of the p e r s o n on the m a k e are negligible q u a n t i t i e s : they c o m e into the r e c k o n i n g only as possible factors with r e s i s ters one m i g h t encounter on the w a y . T h e y b e l o n g to the kind of forces w h i c h , while not respected, a r e r e c o g n i s e d : they enter into the calculation in the account of resistance to be met, but not in the account of the force which is to meet it. M o r a l and l e g a l forces are part of the machinery whereby those w h o think property " g o o d " try to m a k e us " r e s p e c t " our n e i g h b o u r ' s property : w h e r e a s the fit and feasible thing is for each of us to respect our o w n . T h e respect due to our n e i g h b o u r ' s property is the affair of our neighbour. M i n d i n g each other's busi nessand propertyis a dull laborious and irritating affair. M i n d i n g our o w n is our native interest; the proper affair of a s w a g g e r person. F o r the posses sion of property is nothing more than the e x p r e s s i o n of our personality and will, the material with which w e are able to do a s w e please. T h e s e e k i n g to acquire it is the endeavour to g e t a free scope for the e x e r c i s i n g of our own p o w e r : it is the avenue to self-expression and self-satisfaction. T h o s e w h o do not force open such an avenue to some extent, are those w h o h a v e nothing to e x p r e s s . A deterring " respect " that the avenue is other p e o p l e ' s property is a smug' e x c u s e provided for those w h o cannot attend to their own proper concerns. It does not hold with stronger p o w e r s , nor does human admiration g o out to it. It g o e s to the " strong " men : whether it is the exploiter w h o sets out to buy human stuff body and soulto e x p r e s s his will uponlike M r . F o r d ; or any " tyrant " w h o will sacrifice his fellows life and limbto please himself. T h e y like it. W h e n men g a t h e r up all their scattered conceptions of w h a t is admirable and create G o d , they create him in their i m a g e and g i v e him the w o r l d to play with. The world is his : w e and all that therein is. H e m a k e s his will through the world and us : a n y t h i n g less would be a derogation of his dignity and p o w e r . It is not an accident that men h a v e conceived " g o d " under such an i m a g e : he is the embodiment of the s t r o n g will which they fundamentally admire. That the i m a g e entails their being hustled s o m e w h a t is matter for g r i m satisfaction. T h e r e is a real pride in being treated sans ceremonie. If it is felt occasionally that G o d g o e s too far, he does not lack apologists. " M a y not G o d d o w h a t H e likes with H i s o w n ? " Of course G o d h a s the a d v a n t a g e over earthly strong men of b e i n g v e r y remote and is thus s a v e d from administering those a g g r a v a t i n g personal pushes for which well-beloved earthly tyrants usually p a y with their necks : though even a J o b ultimately cursed him, in spite of his g o o d opinion of him. In short he c e a s e d to respect him though he continued to like him : and that is pre cisely w h a t happens with the strong-willed here : the g r e a t of the earththose w h o w o r k their o w n will in the w o r l d a r e admired and liked but, of necessity, tripped up, kept as much as possible on a leash ; as for the small, the feeble-willed w h o respect their n e i g h b o u r ' s possessionsthey are neither liked nor r e s p e c t e d ; they are trodden upon : then actively dis liked b e c a u s e they appear so m e s s y and disfigured.
Cjj cj3 CjJ

It will of course be maintained that the power to acquire property and the actual coming by it are t w o very different t h i n g s ; it is because they are r e g a r d e d as so different that those debaters w h o uphold the " theme " that property is " g o o d " are so concerned with the w a y s and m e a n s of k e e p i n g property " s t a b l e " ; ready to g o to any length t o w a r d s the creation of an authority which will g u a r a n t e e that men shall remain secure in their property. Y e t after all their efforts the nature of property defeats them : it remains fluid. It g a t h e r s as a refulgence about the individual p o w e r s , g r o w s dense and dissipates exactly a c c o r d i n g to the force of the individual will about which it settles. T h e authority which w a s to keep it fluid, itself becomes the property of those w h o c h o o s e to exploit it. All properties are as fluid to the a c q u i r i n g as air i s : they k n o w only one authority : the will which can c o m m a n d them ; and the m e a n s which can c o m m a n d them can be as readily s o u g h t and found in the individual will, as can the force w h i c h primarily conceives them as desirable. T h e r e a r e no firm and fixed methods : there are merely convenient ones. W h a t e v e r method s e r v e s best to the g e t t i n g and holding is best. T h e line of least r e s i s t a n c e to actual possession is the line for

If then the person w h o respects only his o w n property, placing on his neighbour the onus of respecting his, is the one w h o instinctively is appre ciated as the worthier person, it r e m a i n s to c o n s i d e r w h y the apparent practical forcing into effect of such instinctive impulses is spoken of with d i s f a v o u r : w h y , in short, the seizing of property is r e g a r d e d with abhorrence. It is mainly accountable to the uncalculated effects of the efforts of those w h o s e e k to m a k e property stable, b y g u a r a n t e e i n g a m a n ' s " security " in his p o s s e s s i o n s . W h a t actually h a p pens is that property follows its natural trend in the w a k e of the s t r o n g will. T h e net which the i n v o k e d " authority " l a y s m a n a g e s only to e n s n a r e those too

THE
feeble to b r e a k t h r o u g h it. It is like a s p i d e r ' s n e w h i c h will c a t c h flies but t h r o u g h which a man': boot rips w i t h o u t r e c o g n i s i n g its presence. In effec the p a i n s and penalties w h i c h the state attaches tc a t t a c k s on p r o p e r t y turn out to be h a n d i c a p s attachec to the s l o w e s t runners. P r i s o n is the potential hom< of the poor : the c r u s t and h a ' p e n n y stealers. Th< b i g t h i e v e s r e g a r d prison as o u t w o r k s of their variou: enterprises : the h o u s e s of correction which a kindl) state for s o m e unaccountable reason supplies then with gratuitously. It is not s t r a n g e that the strong a n d rich believe in the state and the penalties 11 i m p o s e s : b e c a u s e these t h i n g s suit t h e m ; there is nc need for them to be hypocritical : they believe with all their heart and soul that the poor should noi steal : it w o u l d be quite a w k w a r d if they b e g a n to : like t w o people both t r y i n g to g e t through a stile al the s a m e time. S o to e n c o u r a g e them they will, unless it happens to be seriously inconvenient at the moment, o b s e r v e the demeanour of one w h o does noi c o m m i t petty thefts : in fact they would honestly be a s h a m e d to. L e t J u s t i c e be done and p r e s e r v e the Law-Courts! T h e really queer and odd factor concerned in the m o r a l s clustered about " theft " is that the propertyless t a k e so readily to them. T h e praiseworthy efforts of the rich in maintaining the " tale as it is t o l d , " are b a s e d on common sense and are compre hensible, but the acquiescence of the " poor " is only explained by failure in intelligence. N o t only do their instincts fail to prompt them to the adequate asser tion of their will to acquire : they are not strong e n o u g h to resist the laying-on of such an interpreta tion of their situation a s m a k e s a bad case hopeless. T h e y permit themselves to be bamboozled into the belief that the piping voice of the m a g i s t r a t e s a y i n g to the poor, " H e that takes w h a t isn't his'n, W h e n h e ' s cotched'll g o to p r i s ' n , " is the thundering voice of the L o r d s a y i n g from everlasting to everlasting " T h o u shalt not s t e a l . " W h a t really means nothing more than " Mind your m a n n e r s , " g e t s mixed up with odd queer things like Universal L-aw, R e l i g i o n , S p a c e and E v e r l a s t i n g T i m e , into which mixture the figure of the policeman and h a n g m a n appear as the a g e n t s of an E t e r n a l J u s t i c e which deflects them mere s p e c k s i n t o time. N o t all the " poor " h o w e v e r are thus pathetically and bemusedly silly. T h e y are not all putty made for the m o u l d e r ' s hand, ready to be shaped by the " statesmanship " of the perfect statesman. Quite a g o o d l y proportion would be able to appreciate M r . W i n s t o n Churchill's r e m a r k s anent S i r E d . Carson : appreciate them perhaps a shade more caustically than they doubtless appeared to their author. " T h e g r e a t democracy is w a t c h i n g . S o often w e u r g e these millions to be patient with their bare necessities of lifethe audience in Indiain E g y p t all are w a t c h i n g , notingnative soldiers, native officers the d e v a s t a t i n g doctrines of M r . B o n a r L a w . . . . I thank G o d that I h a v e not to play for the stakes to which you are committed. ' W e are T o r i e s , ' you s a y , ' no l a w s apply to us. L a w s are made for w o r k ing peopleto keep them in. their proper places. We are the dominant c l a s s and it will be time enough for us to talk about l a w and order when w e g e t back to office.'" Y e s , indeed! " D a i l y N e w s , " W e d . , April 29th. W h a t the intelligent " poor " in their present perilous position are set to solve is the calculation a s to c o n s e q u e n c e s . " T h e b o o m e r a n g effect of any a g g r e s s i v e e x p r e s s i o n of the will returns on them in the shape of consequencesa bill to p a y . The a n t a g o n i s m s , the r a g e of frustrated schemes are roused in j u s t those persons w h o are empowered to g e t their own b a c k with interest. A n accepted " v a l u e " which more than any other to-day stands in need of o v e r h a u l i n g is that of a guaranteed s e c u r i t y : more particularly that of security from physical violence. In the civilised w o r l d this supposed g o o d " has long o u t w e i g h e d
1 1 1 1

EGOIST

May 1st, 1914

every consideration which m i g h t h a v e s e e m e d to v i e with it. It h a s become the sacredest of the s a c r e d . It h a s had a l o n g runa fact which h a s the m e r i t of l e a v i n g its effects too defined for doubt, and its p r e sent sublimation in modern democracies and modern industrial civilisations calls out for j u d g m e n t to b e p a s s e d on its w o r t h . T h r e e main c h a r g e s can b e brought a g a i n s t it. It d e s t r o y s the s t a m i n a of the people, w h o s e y o u n g men fritter a w a y their strength in talk. T h e y a r e a s g a r r u l o u s a s old w o m e n , far more sentimental and far less s h r e w d . T h e i r battles are foughtin talk. It e n c o u r a g e s the p e o p l e s ' most d a n g e r o u s vices : they become self-deceptive : at once c o c k s u r e and timorous, s w a g g e r i n g y e t h a v i n g to seek a vicarious v i n d i c a t i o n ; vain of their " f r e e d o m " which is yet merely " freedom " to obey and submit. It provides a system which offering a c o m m o n protec tion for all alike defeats the ends of contests in which men might become apprised of their true level. T h e y are all " equal " because " security " at once m a k e s unnecessary and forbids the putting of their full p o w e r s to the proof. B u t more than t h e s e : the promised benefits which w e r e the considerations which led to this apotheosis of G u a r a n t e e d S e c u r i t y turn out to be a complete h o a x . A g a i n s t w h o m do the " p e o p l e " seek to " s e c u r e " t h e m s e l v e s ? Not a g a i n s t each other, but a g a i n s t the top d o g s : which they do by doffing off responsibility for their own defence, and l e a v i n g themselves b a r e and w e a p o n l e s s with their defence left in the c h a r g e o f w h o m ? J u s t these top d o g s . T h e w o r k i n g s of the machinery inside the heads of these democratic peoples is e x t r a ordinary and funny. T h e y are like men w o r k i n g in a pit filled with poisonous g a s e s supplied with the necessary fresh air by men at the surface w h o s e only concern is to keep them toiling down there for their benefit. At any moment they can switch off the supply, and the w o r k i n g s of the c a g e which would bring the toilers to the surface they are p l a c i n g in their e m p l o y e r s ' hands also. A n d they i m a g i n e that m a k i n g g r e a t to-do banding together in the depths of the pit will h a v e an effect, not r e a l i s i n g that they must approach more nearly to equal terms before their o r g a n i s i n g together c a n do much for them. T o abandon a straining simile : the reassumption of responsibility for self-defence, the selfprovisioning of w e a p o n s of offence and defence which will c o m p a r e with those of their present m a s t e r s is the first concern of the propertyless w h o now depend upon " employment " by others as a m e a n s of livelihood. A correspondent, M r . H e n r y Meulen, a s k s h o w f a r the advice g i v e n to s t a r v i n g strikers to seize food would g o with persons in less desperate straits. No distance at all w e should s a y , since for unarmed men to take to courses of violence is to court the possi bility of desperate reprisals, and c o m m o n sense justifies such action only on the understanding that it is an alternative to an otherwise still more desperate situation. M o r e o v e r , it stands some c h a n c e of success because of its suddenness, its o b v i o u s need, and from a wholesome fear which sees in it a lesser evil than a more ferocious which m i g h t come later. B u t it remains an affair of wild impulse, and impulse cannot be adopted as a policy in a d a n g e r o u s situa tion. Our v i e w is that all men and w o m e n should equip themselves with w e a p o n s of offence and defence as deadly as the deadliest of which they can hear tell : that only by this m e a n s can the people be in a position to m a k e terms with those w h o c a n call in such to support them : that under such conditions the " property " question would cease to be the festering class problem which it now is, but w o u l d unravel itself on the lines of natural ability, h u m a n selfrespect and kindliness. T h e present p a r a l y s e d con dition of an unarmed " protected " mob in the p o w e r of a handful of armed protectors " supplied b y the state, and called a condition of l a w and order, p e a c e and security, is the real problem : not a " property " problem but a " p o w e r " problem.
1 1

May 1st, . I 4
9

THE

EGOIST

165

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

By JAMES JOYCE.

II. U N C L E C H A R L E S smoked such black twist that at l a s t his nephew s u g g e s t e d to him to enjoy his m o r n i n g s m o k e in a little outhouse at the end of the g a r d e n . V e r y g o o d , S i m o n . All serene, S i m o n , said the old man tranquilly. A n y w h e r e you like. T h e out house will do me nicely : it will be more salubrious. D a m n me, said M r . D e d a l u s frankly, if I k n o w how you c a n smoke such villainous awful tobacco. I t ' s like g u n p o w d e r , by G o d . I t ' s v e r y nice, S i m o n , replied the old man. V e r y cool and mollifying. E v e r y m o r n i n g , therefore, uncle C h a r l e s repaired to his outhouse but not before he had creased and brushed scrupulously his b a c k hair and brushed and put on his tall hat. W h i l e he s m o k e d the brim of his tall hat and the bowl of his pipe w e r e just visible beyond the jambs of the outhouse door. H i s arbour, as he called the reeking outhouse which he shared with the cat and the g a r d e n tools, served him also as a sounding-box : and every morning he hummed contentedly one of his favourite s o n g s : O, twine me a bower, or Blue eyes and golden hair, or The Groves of Blarney, while the g r e y and blue coils of s m o k e rose slowly from his pipe and vanished in the pure air. D u r i n g the first part of the summer in B l a c k r o c k uncle Charles w a s S t e p h e n ' s constant companion. Uncle Charles w a s a hale old man with a well-tanned skin, r u g g e d features and white side w h i s k e r s . On week d a y s he did m e s s a g e s between the house in Carysfort A v e n u e and those shops in the main street of the town with which the family dealt. Stephen w a s g l a d to g o with him on these errands for uncle Charles helped him v e r y liberally to handfuls of w h a t e v e r w a s e x p o s e d in open b o x e s and barrels out side the counter. H e would seize a handful of g r a p e s and s a w d u s t or three or four A m e r i c a n apples and thrust them generously into his g r a n d n e p h e w ' s hand while the shopman smiled u n e a s i l y ; and on S t e p h e n ' s feigning reluctance to t a k e them, he would frown and s a y : T a k e them, S i r . D o you hear me, S i r ? T h e y ' r e g o o d for y o u r b o w e l s . W h e n the order list had been booked the t w o would g o on to the p a r k w h e r e an old friend of S t e p h e n ' s father, M i k e F l y n n , would be found seated on a bench, w a i t i n g for them. T h e n would begin S t e p h e n ' s run round the p a r k . M i k e F l y n n would stand at the g a t e near the r a i l w a y station, w a t c h in hand, while Stephen ran round the track in the style M i k e F l y n n f a v o u r e d , his head high lifted, his knees well lifted and his hands held s t r a i g h t d o w n by his sides. W h e n the m o r n i n g practice w a s over the trainer would m a k e his comments and sometimes illustrate them b y shuffling a l o n g for a y a r d or so comically in an old pair of blue c a n v a s shoes. A small r i n g of w o n d e r s t r u c k children and nursemaids would g a t h e r to w a t c h him and linger even when he and uncle C h a r l e s had sat d o w n a g a i n and w e r e t a l k i n g athletics and politics. T h o u g h he had heard his father s a y that M i k e F l y n n had put some of the best runners of modern times t h r o u g h his hands Stephen often g l a n c e d at his t r a i n e r ' s flabby, stubblecovered face, as it bent o v e r the long stained fingers t h r o u g h which he rolled his c i g a r e t t e , and with pity at the mild lustreless blue e y e s which would look up suddenly from the t a s k and g a z e v a g u e l y into the blue distance while the long swollen fingers ceased their rolling and g r a i n s and fibres of tobacco fell b a c k into the pouch.

On the w a y home uncle C h a r l e s w o u l d often p a y a visit to the chapel and, as the font w a s a b o v e S t e p h e n ' s reach, the old man would dip his hand and then sprinkle the w a t e r briskly about S t e p h e n ' s clothes and on the floor of the porch. W h i l e he p r a y e d he knelt on his red handkerchief and read above his breath from a thumb-blackened p r a y e r book wherein c a t c h w o r d s w e r e printed at the foot of e v e r y p a g e . Stephen knelt at his side respecting, though he did not share his piety. H e often wondered w h a t his granduncle prayed for so seriously. P e r haps he p r a y e d for the souls in p u r g a t o r y or for the g r a c e of a happy death : or perhaps he p r a y e d that God m i g h t send him back a part of the b i g fortune he had squandered in C o r k . On S u n d a y s Stephen with his father and his g r a n d uncle took their constitutional. T h e old man w a s a nimble w a l k e r in spite of his corns and often ten or twelve miles of the road w e r e covered. T h e little v i l l a g e of S t i l l o r g a n w a s the p a r t i n g of the w a y s . E i t h e r they went to the left t o w a r d s the Dublin mountains or along the G o a t s t o w n road and thence into D u n d r u m , c o m i n g home by S a n d y f o r d . T r u d g ing along the road or standing in some g r i m y w a y side public house his elders spoke constantly of the subjects nearer their hearts, of Irish politics, of Munster and of the legends of their o w n family, to all of which Stephen lent an avid ear. W o r d s which he did not understand he said over and over to him self till he had learnt them by h e a r t : and through them he had g l i m p s e s of the real world about him. The hour when he too would take part in the life of that w o r l d seemed d r a w i n g near and in secret he b e g a n to m a k e ready for the g r e a t part which he felt awaited him the nature of which he only dimly apprehended. His e v e n i n g s w e r e his o w n ; and he pored o v e r a r a g g e d translation of The Count of Monte Cristo. The figure of that dark a v e n g e r stood forth in his mind for w h a t e v e r he had heard or divined in childhood of the s t r a n g e and terrible. A t night he built u p on the parlour table an i m a g e of the wonderful island c a v e out of transfers and paper flowers and coloured tissue paper and strips of the silver and golden paper in which chocolate is w r a p p e d . W h e n he had broken up this scenery, w e a r y of its tinsel, there would c o m e to his mind the bright picture of M a r s e i l l e s , of sunny trellises and of Mercedes. Outside B l a c k r o c k , on the road that led to the mountains, stood a small w h i t e w a s h e d house in the g a r d e n of which g r e w m a n y rose-bushes : and in this house, he told himself, another M e r c e d e s lived. B o t h on the outward and on the h o m e w a r d journey he measured distance by this l a n d m a r k : and in his imagination he lived through a long train of a d v e n tures, marvellous as those in the book itself, t o w a r d s the close of which there appeared an i m a g e of him self, g r o w n older and sadder, standing in a moonlit g a r d e n with M e r c e d e s , w h o had so many y e a r s before slighted his love, and with a sadly proud g e s t u r e of refusal, s a y i n g : M a d a m , I never eat muscatel g r a p e s . H e became the ally of a boy named A u b r e y Mills and founded with him a g a n g of adventurers in the avenue. A u b r e y carried a whistle d a n g l i n g from his buttonhole and a bicycle lamp attached to his belt while the others had short sticks thrust d a g g e r w i s e through theirs. Stephen, w h o had read of N a p o l e o n ' s plain style of d r e s s , chose to remain unadorned and thereby heightened for himself the pleasure of t a k i n g counsel with his lieutenant before g i v i n g orders. T h e g a n g m a d e f o r a y s into the g a r d e n s of old m a i d s or went down to the castle and fought a battle on the sh a g g y w e e d - g r o w n r o c k s , c o m i n g home after it w e a r y s t r a g g l e r s with the stale odours of the fore shore in their nostrils and the r a n k oils of the s e a w r a c k upon their h a n d s and in their hair.

166

THE

EGOIST

May 1st, 1914

A u b r e y and S t e p h e n h a d a c o m m o n m i l k m a n and often they d r o v e out in the m i l k c a r to C a r r i c k m i n e s w h e r e the c o w s w e r e at g r a s s . W h i l e the men w e r e m i l k i n g the b o y s w o u l d t a k e turns in riding the tractable h o r s e round the field. B u t when autumn c a m e the c o w s w e r e driven home from the g r a s s : and the first s i g h t of the filthy c o w y a r d at S t r a d b r o o k with its foul g r e e n puddles and clots of liquid dung and s t e a m i n g bran t r o u g h s sickened S t e p h e n ' s heart. T h e cattle which h a d seemed so beautiful in the c o u n t r y on sunny d a y s revolted him and he could not e v e n look at the milk they yielded. T h e c o m i n g of S e p t e m b e r did not trouble him this y e a r for he w a s not to be sent b a c k to C l o n g o w e s . T h e practice in the p a r k c a m e to an end when M i k e F l y n n went into hospital. A u b r e y w a s at school and had only an hour or t w o free in the e v e n i n g . The g a n g fell asunder and there w e r e no more nightly f o r a y s or battles on the r o c k s . Stephen sometimes w e n t round with the car which delivered the evening milk : and these chilly drives blew a w a y his memory of the filth of the c o w y a r d and he felt no repugnance at seeing the c o w hairs and h a y s e e d s on the milk man's coat. W'henever the c a r drew up before a house he waited to catch a g l i m p s e of a well-scrubbed kitchen or of a softly-lighted hall and to see how the s e r v a n t would hold the j u g and how she would close the door. H e thought it should be a pleasant life e n o u g h , d r i v i n g along the roads every evening to deliver milk, if he had w a r m g l o v e s and a fat b a g of g i n g e r n u t s in his pocket to eat from. B u t the same f o r e k n o w l e d g e which had sickened his heart and made his l e g s s a g suddenly as he raced round the p a r k , the s a m e intuition which had made him glance with mistrust at his t r a i n e r ' s flabby stubble-covered face as it bent heavily o v e r his long stained fingers, dissipated any vision of the future. In a v a g u e w a y he understood that his father w a s in trouble and that this w a s the reason w h y he himself had not been sent b a c k to C l o n g o w e s . F o r some time he had felt the slight c h a n g e in his house ; and those c h a n g e s in what he had deemed unchangeable, w e r e so many slight s h o c k s to his boyish conception of the world. T h e ambition which he felt astir at times in the darkness of his soul, sought no outlet. A dusk like that of the outer w o r l d , obscured his mind as he heard the m a r e ' s hoofs clattering along the tramtrack on the R o c k R o a d and the g r e a t car s w a y i n g and rattling behind him. H e returned to Mercedes and, as he brooded upon her i m a g e , a s t r a n g e unrest crept into his blood. S o m e t i m e s a fever gathered within him and led him to r o v e alone in the e v e n i n g a l o n g the quiet avenue. T h e peace of the g a r d e n s and the kindly lights in the w i n d o w s poured a tender influence into his restless heart. T h e noise of children at play annoyed and their silly voices made him feel, even more keenly than he had felt at C l o n g o w e s , that he w a s different from others. H e did not w a n t to play. H e wanted to meet in the real world the unsubstantial i m a g e which his soul so constantly beheld. H e did not know w h e r e to seek it or h o w but a premonition which led him on told him that this i m a g e would, without any overt act of his, encounter him. T h e y would meet quietly as if they had known each other and had made their t r y s t , perhaps at one of the g a t e s or in some more secret place. T h e y would be alone, sur rounded by d a r k n e s s and silence : and in that moment of supreme tenderness he would be transfigured. He would fade into something impalpable under her eyes and then in a moment, he would be transfigured. W e a k n e s s and timidity and inexperience would fall from him in that m a g i c moment. # # # * T w o g r e a t yellow c a r a v a n s had halted one morning before the door and men had come t r a m p i n g into the house to dismantle it. T h e furniture had been hustled out through the front g a r d e n which w a s strewn with

w i s p s of s t r a w and rope ends, and into the h u g e v a n s at the g a t e . W h e n all had been safely s t o w e d the v a n s h a d set off noisily d o w n the a v e n u e : and from the w i n d o w of the r a i l w a y c a r r i a g e , in w h i c h he had sat with his red-eyed mother, S t e p h e n h a d seen them lumbering a l o n g the M e r r i o n R o a d . T h e parlour fire would not d r a w that e v e n i n g and M r . D e d a l u s rested the p o k e r a g a i n s t the b a r s of the g r a t e to attract the flame. Uncle C h a r l e s dozed in a corner of the half furnished uncarpeted room a r c near him the family portraits leaned a g a i n s t the w a d . T h e lamp on the table shed a w e a k light o v e r the boarded floor, muddied by the feet of the v a n men. Stephen sat on a footstool beside his father listening to a long and incoherent m o n o l o g u e . H e understood little or nothing of it at first but he b e c a m e slowly a w a r e that his father had enemies and that some fight w a s g o i n g to t a k e place. H e felt, too, that he w a s being enlisted for the fight, that s o m e duty w a s being laid upon his shoulders. T h e sudden flight from the comfort and revery of B l a c k r o c k , the p a s s a g e through the g l o o m y f o g g y city, the t h o u g h t of the bare cheerless house in which they w e r e now to live made his heart h e a v y : and a g a i n an intuition, a f o r e k n o w l e d g e of the future c a m e to him. He understood also w h y the s e r v a n t s had often w h i s pered together in the hall and w h y his father had often stood on the h e a r t h r u g , with his b a c k t o the fire, talking loudly to uncle C h a r l e s , w h o u r g e d him to sit down and eat his dinner. T h e r e ' s a c r a c k of the whip left in me yet, Stephen, old c h a p , said M r . D e d a l u s , p o k i n g at the dull fire with fierce e n e r g y . W e ' r e not dead yet, sonny. N o , by the L o r d J e s u s (God f o r g i v e me) nor half dead. Dublin w a s a new and complex sensation. Uncle Charles had g r o w n so witless that he could no l o n g e r be sent out on errands and the disorder in settling in the new house left Stephen freer than he had been in B l a c k r o c k . In the beginning he contented him self with circling timidly round the neighbouring square or, at most, g o i n g half w a y d o w n one of the side streets : but when he had made a skeleton m a p of the city in his mind he followed boldly one of its central lines until he reached the Custom H o u s e . He passed unchallenged a m o n g the docks and along the q u a y s wondering at the multitude of c o r k s that lay bobbing on the surface of the w a t e r in a thick yellow scum, at the c r o w d s of quay porters and the rumbling carts and the ill-dressed bearded policeman. The vastness and s t r a n g e n e s s of the life s u g g e s t e d to him by the bales of merchandise stocked a l o n g the w a l l s or s w u n g aloft out of the holds of steamers w a k e n e d a g a i n in him the unrest which had sent him w a n d e r ing in the evening from g a r d e n to g a r d e n in search of Mercedes. A n d amid this new bustling life he might h a v e fancied himself in another M a r s e i l l e s but that he missed the bright s k y and the sunw a r m e d trellisses of the w i n e s h o p s . A v a g u e dis satisfaction g r e w up within him a s he looked on the q u a y s and on the river and on the l o w e r i n g skies and yet he continued to w a n d e r up and d o w n day after day as if he really s o u g h t someone that eluded him. H e went once or twice with his mother to visit their relatives : and though they p a s s e d a jovial a r r a y of shops lit up and adorned for C h r i s t m a s his mood of embittered silence did not l e a v e him. T h e c a u s e s of his embitterment w e r e m a n y , remote and near. H e w a s a n g r y with himself for being y o u n g and the prey of restless foolish impulses, a n g r y a l s o with the c h a n g e of fortune which w a s r e s h a p i n g the w o r l d about him into a vision of squalor and insincerity. Y e t his a n g e r lent nothing to the v i s i o n . He chronicled with patience w h a t he s a w , d e t a c h i n g himself from it and t a s t i n g its mortifying flavour in secret. (To be continued.)

May 1 st, 1914

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folk rhythms, themes and modes, it remained for a period, purely decorative w o r k closely allied to the ' ' absolute ' ' school of m u s i c ; the rhythm b e i n g intro duced as a novelty into the accepted musical f o r m s and the themes and modes being utilised mainly by alien composers as a basis for musical v a r i a t i o n s and melodic innovations. E x a m p l e s of this type e x i s t in l a r g e numbers, a m o n g the most notable being the R o n d o all' O n g a r e s e in the G minor trio N o . 1 of H a y d n , the Alia T u r c a in the A major pianoforte sonata by Mozart, the Divertissement a la H o n g r o i s e Op. 54, the F a n t a s i a Op. 1 5 , the A minor stringquartette and the C major S y m p h o n y by S c h u b e r t , and in later times the R h a p s o d i e s H o n g r o i s e s of L i s z t , the H u n g a r i a n D a n c e s , S e x t e t s for S t r i n g s , G minor Pianoforte quartette, and P i a n o f o r t e v a r i a tions of B r a h m s , L a J o t a A r a g o n e s e by G l i n k a , the S y m p h o n i e E s p a g n o l a by L a l o , the C a p r i c e A n d a l o u by S a i n t - S a e n s , the S l a v o n i c D a n c e s , D u m k a E l e g y and Bohemian D a n c e s [ F u r i a n t i ] by D v o r a k , and the S p a n i s h Capriccio by R i m s k y K o r s a k o v , and a host of kindred compositions. B u t it will be apparent that while enriching the material and widening the scope of musical artifice this method of appropriation tended to result in the establishment of a fresh type of formalism, by the subordination of racial characteristics to the accepted conventions and requirements of a technique which w a s based in many cases on a totally alien and antagonistic outlook. A s a result of this incongruous treatment vital qualities of racial idiom suffered severely, purely external features being seized upon and exploited to the detriment of the development of their internal qualities. T h e necessity for a new manner of treatment became evident and w a s supplied by the adoption of the written p r o g r a m m e . F o l l o w i n g on the R o m a n t i c movement of 1 8 3 0 c a m e the S y m p h o n i c innovations of L i s z t , which, by the introduction of literary incidents, l e g e n d a r y and historical, g a v e a fresh impetus to racial feeling in music and resulted in the production of many impor tant compositions. T h e symphonic poems M a z e p p a by L i s z t , W a l l e n s t e i n ' s C a m p by S m e t a n a , T h e W i n d ' s Bride by Z l e n k o Fibich, S a d k o by R i m s k y K o r s a k o v , S t e n k a R a z i n e by Glazounov, and Holoubek [The W o o d - d o v e ] by D v o r a k , together with a number of similar w o r k s belong to the phase, being based purely on mythical, l e g e n d a r y or historical themes. T h e increased artistic perception brought about by this infusion of literary ideas became rapidly apparent in all branches of music and resulted in a new type of art creation which, while adhering to the depiction of dramatic incidents, had in addition an under current of symbolic or philosophic m e a n i n g . T h u s in the S y m p h o n i c P o e m N o . 1 1 [The B a t t l e of the H u n s ] by L i s z t , is typified the conflict between heathendom and Christianity intensified by national symbols, while in the cycle of six symphonic poems by S m e t a n a collectively entitled M a V l a s t [ M y F a t h e r l a n d ] the glories of B o h e m i a are symbolised by the invocation of national i m a g e s , the R i v e r Moldau and the citadels and mountains of that country. S i m i l a r instances m a y be found in m a n y other national w o r k s . T h i s capacity for dual expression becoming generally recognised, the racial idiom in music under went rapid development. T h e materialism of the early sixties, crude though it w a s in e x p r e s s i o n , proved valuable by reason of the rational s t a n d a r d of values which it innovated. F e t t e r e d by the supersti tion and sentimentalism of the past, and the p o s t u r e s of the R o m a n t i c cult, art w a s in d a n g e r of s t a g n a t i o n and s e g r e g a t i o n from life. T h e a p p e a r a n c e of the scientific spirit resulted in a scrutiny of the actual a s e x p r e s s e d in the ordinary life of humanity and a rejec tion of all illusive conceptions which distort the truth in order to conform to an ideal. T h i s spirit, first musically evident in compositions such a s G o l d m a r k ' s R u s t i c W e d d i n g S y m p h o n y , T h e I n v a l i d and similar

Liberations:
Studies of Individuality in Contemporary Music.
I I I . B e l a B a r t 6 k and the A n a l y s i s of R a c i a l Psychology. THE influence of racial idiom on musical composi tion is one of the most significant features of modern art development, reflecting as it does the g e n e r a l tendency to revolt a g a i n s t the ideas of divine inspiration and supernatural artistic creation which h a v e dominated so m a n y . a r t i s t s of the past. R a c i a l idiom, being the expression evolved by a particular portion of humanity e x i s t i n g in a defined environment and developing characteristics in accord ance with the conditions and experience, of that environment, is naturally material and human in essence and affords opportunities for concentrated investigation, e x a c t i m a g e r y , and individual interpre tation which w e r e impossible under the influence of the older conceptions. T h e g r a d u a l p r o g r e s s of racial e x p r e s s i o n in music from the primitive folk-song to the subtle and highly refined w o r k of the modern national c o m p o s e r s is therefore of e x t r e m e interest since by a study of it w e are enabled to arrive at a just estimation of the purely material elements under l y i n g the development of national thought and the moods e m a n a t i n g therefrom. It is because of this fact that the w o r k of the H u n g a r i a n composer, B e l a B a r t 6 k , is particularly valuable. F o l k - m u s i c and folk-art of every kind attains its most forceful and permanent expression a m o n g races which by reason of g e o g r a p h i c a l position or the effect of political conditions are untouched by or a n t a g o nistic to cosmopolitan uniformity. T h e spirit gene rated by such a state of affairs while mainly retro g r e s s i v e or obstructionary in its effect, creates a certain individuality for these particular races a m o n g other nationalities, and when utilised rationally and with a sane sense of proportion as a basis for the c r e a t i v e w o r k of an individual mind often results in an intensifying medium for personal expression. T h i s is particularly evident in the literary w o r k of T u r g e n e v , D o s t o i e v s k y , G o r k y and other writers of the R u s s i a n school. B u t while providing unique material for artistic creation racial characteristics, by reason of the insular tendencies from which they are formed, g e n e r a l l y result in a distortion of mental perspective. In short, the race becomes s t a g n a n t within the limits of patriotism and national traditions. A s a result of this the outlook of the race becomes totally l a c k i n g in a true sense of values and its ener g i e s are directed t o w a r d s the preservation and per petuation of accepted traditions without consideration of the development and expansion which the evolution of humanity a s a whole m a k e s necessary. F r o m this lack of proportion and isolation from contemporary influences arises the sentimental attitude which is evident in so much of the w o r k of the contemporary Celtic school and in the folk themes and modes employed by certain B r i t i s h composers. S u c h w o r k , by reason of the limited scope of primitive expression and the retrospective spirit underlying all r e v i v a l s , is of little v a l u e to the intellectual development of art. T o prevent this degeneration it is necessary for the artist not only to realise the inherent qualities of his race but also to contrast them proportionately with those of other r a c e s , s e e k i n g not only to infuse his racial idiom a s a liberating influence into art as a whole but a l s o to revivify it by the force of his o w n personality and by the introduction of innovations which i n c r e a s e its capacity for expression while in no w a y interfering with its intrinsic force. T o affect this the necessity for c o m p a r a t i v e vision is apparent, coupled with the faculty for a n a l y s i s demanded by the peculiar p s y c h o l o g y which each r a c e g e n e r a t e s . N a t i o n a l or racial music, in common with purely personal and invididual composition, has been g r a d u a l in its d e v e l o p m e n t . C o m m e n c i n g with the use of

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s o n g s by the S w e d i s h c o m p o s e r Adolf L i n d b l a d , and c e r t a i n w o r k s by G l i n k a , w a s further developed by S v e n d s e n and N o r d r a a k and particularly by G r i e g in w o r k s such as T h e N o r w e g i a n D a n c e s for Orchestra O p . 35> g " cycle A u s Fjeld und F j o r d , the P i c t u r e s from F o l k l i f e Op. 1 9 and certain numbers in the e i g h t b o o k s of L y r i c P i e c e s for pianoforte. B u t its most m a t u r e e x p r e s s i o n w a s attained in the w o r k s of the R u s s i a n c o m p o s e r s D a r j o m i j s k y and Moussorgsky. D a r j o m i j s k y by l a y i n g stress on realism and by d e v e l o p i n g melodic recitative, sought to reform the a b s u r d i t i e s of conventional operatic forms and create in them a c a p a c i t y for natural emotion, thereby open i n g up a field for the wider and more c o n v i n c i n g e x p r e s s i o n of racial c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s . T h e essentials of these principles he embodied in his opera T h e Stone Guest. M o u s s o r g s k y c o m m e n c i n g to write according to this theoretical p r o g r a m m e developed therefrom in a r e m a r k a b l e manner and brought into consciousness new musical elements. H i s earlier w o r k s , the music to CEdipus, an orchestral fantasia N i g h t on the B a r e Mountain [based on a scene from the third act of S a l a m m b o , an abandoned o p e r a ] , the first act of an inocmplete " opera dialogue " based on G o g a l ' s c o m e d y T h e M a t c h - m a k e r , an Intermezzo, S c h e r z o and T u r k i s h M a r c h for orchestra, and T h e D e s t r u c tion of S e n n a c h e r i b for chorus and orchestra, do not present any features strikingly in advance of his con temporaries, though a tendency to extend the concep tions of D a r j o m i j s k y is evident in the fragment of the " opera d i a l o g u e . " B u t in a number of s o n g s composed between 1 8 6 5 and 1 8 7 0 M o u s s o r g s k y turned his attention to the purely human aspects of his race and opened the w a y for an entirely new epoch in music. T h e motive u n d e r l y i n g this departure is excellently expressed by M o u s s o r g s k y himself in a letter to V l a d i m i r S t a s s o v wherein he s a y s , T o seek assiduously the most delicate and subtle features of human nature and the human c r o w d ; to follow them into unknown r e g i o n s ; to m a k e them our own ; this seems to me the true vocation of the a r t i s t . " T h e songs themselves [ N i g h t , T h e P e a s a n t Cradle S o n g , T h e I d i o t ' s S o n g or Savishna 1865, Gopak, The \\ish, and T h e S e m i n a r i s t 1 8 6 6 , M u s h r o o m i n g , T h e Little Feast, The Swaggerer, The Classicist 1 8 6 7 , The Orphan, T h e N u r s e and Child and the C y c l e of S e v e n S o n g s entitled the N u r s e r y 1 8 6 8 1 8 7 0 ] are vivid presentations of R u s s i a n types and incidents rendered with a marvellous fidelity to nature and the sardonic humour and subtle atmospheric treatment that are without parallel in the w o r k s of any preceding composer. T h i s concentration on the significant incidents and types of national life reached full maturity in the music d r a m a s B o r i s G o d o u n o v 1 8 7 0 and K h o v a n stchina 1 8 7 2 to 1 8 8 0 , where, although the themes are historical, the most dramatic situations arise from and are controlled by the emotional and psychological episodes through which the characters p a s s . The s o n g cycles W i t h o u t S u n l i g h t , 1 8 7 4 - 5 , d D a n c e s of D e a t h , together with certain numbers of the ten s o n g s published posthumously, display the same characteristics presented in a more personal and p o i g n a n t manner. It will, h o w e v e r , be apparent that the uncom p r o m i s i n g realism and fidelity to detached types which M o u s s o r g s k y imposed upon himself, though c o n d u c i v e to e x a c t n e s s , were also something in the nature of limitations. T h e vivid delineation neces s a r y to g i v e full force to his observations of humanity, resulted in w h a t can only be described as realistic impressionism ; subtly and naturally d r a w n pictures of the daily life of his race revealing an acute perception of all the thoughts and acts which men betray in ordinary intercourse, but which, being realisations and not interpretations, fail to g i v e the full significance of racial life or a complete a n a l y s i s of the moods which e m a n a t e from its development and thought.
t h e s o n a n

Sibelius, in the tone poems F i n l a n d i a , E i n S a g a , and particularly the V a r s a n g , as well as certain of the s y m p h o n i e s , h a s by atmospheric treatment and by the personal application of racial idiom and the renunciation of musical depiction, g i v e n a w i d e r significance to national t h o u g h t ; but it h a s remained for B e l a B a r t o k to reveal and a n a l y s e minutely and comprehensively the complex under-current of racial psychology. Unlike the majority of musical innovators, B a r t o k g i v e s no indication of ever h a v i n g been restricted within the accepted bounds of theoretical limitations. B a s i n g his musical structure on M a g y a r r h y t h m s and scales, of which latter the most characteristic is that containing two superfluous seconds [i.e., the har monic minor with a sharp fourth] he h a s apparently assimilated the most a d v a n c e d musical conceptions and developed them individually before issuing any original compositions. T h u s his published w o r k is, from the earliest numbers, distinguished by a novelty and originality which, apart from all natural charac teristics, serve to g i v e it a unique place a m o n g con temporary compositions. S u b t l y and delicately con ceived, his music is r e m a r k a b l e , not only for the technical originality which it d i s p l a y s but also for the sensitive thought which is persistently evident beneath it. In contradistinction to the national writers preceding him, w h o s o u g h t either to portray racial characteristics or to present personal concep tions through the medium of racial idiom, B a r t o k has directed his energies to the development and investigation of his own personality, realising that this is the only means by which he can a r r i v e at a just estimation of the elements of racial thought. Hence it follows that his music is more mental and introspective than that of any other national com poser. E x t e r n a l i m a g e r y and realistic depiction seldom enter into his w o r k and in the r a r e c a s e s where they are present are never the dominant features, being so pregnant with subjective thought that they become transformed by and subordinate to the ideas which h a v e evolved from them. T h u s in the fifth number of the T e n L i g h t P i a n o Pieces, E v e n i n g in the Country, w e h a v e not merely a pastoral picture or an atmospheric study, but the synthesis of a number of emotions e m a n a t i n g from generations of racial existence in a particular environ ment. T h e seventh number, A u r o r a , also p o s s e s s e s a peculiar significance, being in its internal dimen sions not merely the musical depiction of d a w n but a symbol of that national a w a k e n i n g which connects the M a g y a r R a c e with the new c o n s c i o u s n e s s which is universally evident. T h e tenth number, B e a r D a n c e , is a striking study in primitive mirth, being not only a delineation of an external scene, but also an exposition of the crude and strenuous traits of barbarism which find relaxation in diversions which seem childish to more sophisticated minds. The H u n g a r i a n S o n g s and D a n c e s which form the second, third, sixth and eighth numbers, by the intensity of personal emotion concentrated in their harmonic treatment, attain proportions which g r e a t l y exceed their original folk-form, and become s u b t l y - w r o u g h t studies of the forces behind primitive emotion. The same applies also to the four b o o k s of M a g y a r F o l k s o n g s and P i e c e s for Children, in which the treat ment is distinguished by a structural simplicity which g i v e s to each number an intimate and inde scribable appeal. B a r t o k here embodies in music not only the v e r y spirit of childhood interpreted with absolute s y m p a t h y and sincerity, but also all the subtle influences which connect mature t h o u g h t with early and remote conceptions, and the M a g y a r idiom, being originally the product of simple and n a i v e minds, adds a c o n v i n c i n g quality to his w o r k . In the fourteen B a g a t e l l e s for the piano O p . 6, w e h a v e a wide r a n g e of purely racial m o o d s treated from personal investigation with such sure a n a l y s i s that their general import becomes immediately a p p a rent. T h e first number, M o l t o S o s t e n u t o , g i v e s us a g l i m p s e of the dormant and almost sinister f o r c e s

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behind the external aspects of H u n g a r i a n folk life, concentrated into an e x t r e m e simplicity of utterance which is intensely and essentially dramatic. The s a m e applies to the third number, Andante, with its solemn theme outlined a g a i n s t a restless chromatic accompaniment, the fourth number, G r a v e , which is based on an old M a g y a r folk-song, and the sixth number, L e n t o . E x u b e r a n t vitality and emotion pre sented in their potential aspects are the outstanding characteristics of the fifth, seventh, tenth and eleventh numbers [ V i v o , Allegretto molto capriccioso, A l l e g r o , and A l l e g r e t t o molto rubato], while an even more ecstatic and dionysian spirit p e r v a d e s the second, ninth and twelfth numbers [ A l l e g r o g i o c o s o , Allegretto g r a z i o s o and R u b a t o ] . T h e eighth number [Andante sostenuto] while national in general feeling is more personal and introspective than the other numbers. T h e integral qualities of the H u n g a r i a n idiom g i v e an almost unbearable p o i g n a n c y to the subtle intimacy of the thirteenth number [Lento F u n e b r e " Elle est morte " ] , while the fourteenth number [ V a l s e p r e s t o " M a mie qui danse " ] is masterly in its s u g g e s t i o n of superimposed lightness on a passionate undercurrent of thought. B u t it is in the T w o E l e g i e s , Op. 8, and the F u n e r a l M a r c h that B a r t o k reaches the height of his dramatic expression in pianoforte composition. The t r a g i c emotional intensity of these w o r k s places them above the limitations of their technical structure and g i v e s them a significance which is truly epic in essence. Here a g a i n the a d v a n t a g e of B a r t 6 k ' s racial medium is evident. T h e F u n e r a l M a r c h is scarcely so much a lamentation a s a passionate pro test a g a i n s t death, and an apotheosis of that heroic spirit which transcends death by the perpetuation of achievement in the memory of mankind. These elements, interpreted through the musical idiom of a race which revolts a g a i n s t all attempts to s u b m e r g e it, reveal a deeper meaning when viewed in relation to the universal protest a g a i n s t oblivion. T h e T w o P o r t r a i t s , Op. 5, for orchestra and the S k e t c h e s , Op. 9, for pianoforte are more personal in feeling and g i v e intimate studies in the relative effects of individual introspection and racial p s y c h o l o g y , and although N o s . 5 and 6 are definitely based on national themes, there is no trace of the subjection of artistic purpose to the limitations of F o l k - m o d e s . T h e M a g y a r idiom, a l w a y s apparent in the w o r k of B a r t 6 k , is never treated as an end in itself, but a l w a y s as a subject for investigation and a n a l y s i s . A s S c h o n b e r g by the projection of concentrated intro spection enables us to appreciate individual p s y c h o l o g y , so B a r t o k , by persistent examination of the racial characteristics present in his own personality, enables us to estimate the forces controlling national feeling which, impossible to connect and correlate when viewed as a turbulent, emotional whole, admit of full a n a l y s i s and interpretation by comparison with individual thought and experience. A b o v e all things his w o r k h a s no taint of the insularity which h a s marred so much national music. W h e r e a s racial feeling in the past has been an insuperable obstacle to the appreciation of extraneous development, the purpose of B e l a B a r t o k seems to be centred not on the separation, but on the correla tion of H u n g a r i a n thought with that of the bulk of contemporary humanity, with the object of p r o v i d i n g a wider field for the development of the qualities inherent in his race. A s the logical conclusion of this v i e w he h a s directed his e n e r g i e s to the a n a l y s i s of racial p s y c h o l o g y , realising that by this method nations and races become thoroughly k n o w n quanti ties and m a y in consequence be considered in their relation to humanity as a whole, even as, by the e x a m i n a t i o n of introspective p s y c h o l o g y , the indi vidual is enabled to realise not only his relation to other individuals, but also the relations of those individuals to himself, and thus is ultimately capable of a n a l y s i n g the p s y c h o l o g y of society as a whole.
LEIGH HENRY,

Passing Paris.
THE d i s o r g a n i s a t i o n in the c i t y ' s life caused by the presence of royalty s u g g e s t e d a visit to the earlier and smaller of the t w o spring S a l o n s . After h a v i n g m a d e a s conscientious a round of the usual a r r a y of pictures a s a more or less victorious s t r u g g l e with my ennui permitted, pictures painted mostly with s o a p , b e e s w a x , cosmetics and s y r u p , illustrative of the usual scenes in B r i t t a n y , V e n i c e , S p a i n , of c a t s , m i l k m a i d s , toreadors, k i n g s and princes (there is no safer introduction to these holy sanctuaries than an e n l a r g e m e n t d'apres photographie of any royalty, s a v e only, in F r a n c e , the E m p e r o r William, as a recent incident has shown), ladies in eveningdress though painted in broad d a y l i g h t , the President of the R e p u b l i c , the C o m t e s s e Mathieu de Noailles and similar feats by M e s s r s . J a c q u e s B l a n c h e - B o l d i n i , L a Gandara, Laszlo-Lavery & C o . , Lucien Simon, Menard-Cottet & C o . , and other rival or branch firmsafter h a v i n g m a d e the round of these I h a d occasion to observe to myself that the most beautiful things in the w o r l d cannot, apparently, be painted. F o r instance, soldiers and horses. N o one, since the A s s y r i a n s , the E g y p t i a n s , Chinese and J a p a n e s e has rendered them satisfactorily yet, whether it be in picture or in sculpture. N o doubt the F u t u r i s t s h a v e claimed to, but, since I do not find in their w o r k s the shadow of anything I h a v e experienced or c a n imagine, they do not help me. These thoughts occurred to me as I unwontedly found m y p r o g r e s s through the streets by the military m a r c h i n g b a c k to b a r r a c k s after h a v i n g done honour to the K i n g and Queen, of E n g l a n d and all their modest persons represent in their ideal and official character. A most touching thing is the army of F r a n c e . A n d there is no sight more m o v i n g than that of the man in the street saluting the flag. (I s a w a gentleman take the elastic-bound hat off the head of his little son a g e d about three.) T h e F r e n c h officer, in par ticular, is sympathetic. H e is so much more intelli gent, individual and human than his stiffer, auto matic, cut all-of-a-piece British or G e r m a n prototype. H i s little v i v a c i o u s face s p e a k s not only of duty but of resourcefulness and capacity for t a k i n g initiative. A n d he is, besides his m e n ' s commander, their comrade. T h e British soldiery m o v e s you to aesthetic admira tion, it is picturesque and pathetic as are t o y s . T h e more democratic and less s h o w y F r e n c h soldiery in certain instances only is fine to look at, but it stirs the heart, especially such an one a s h a s learnt to mingle its emotions with those of the nation. E v e n t s like this royal visit, absurd as they seem, considered from a certain a n g l e , h a v e their utility for the reason that the spectacular ceremonies they involve g i v e rise to a fusion of similarly and simul taneously directed sentiments and enthusiasm. The sight of its m a s s e d regiments, of a f e w persons in beautiful and symbolical uniform, the idea that so and so is a K i n g , that a more or less hidden p o w e r in its very midst is omnipotent enough to impose these rites, rouse a people to its o w n significance and w h i p up its prestige. T h e s e collective manifestations a w a k e n the individual to himself. P a t r i o t i s m is an expression of self-affirmation. Internationalism, in its general n e g a t i v e n e s s , also annihilates the indi vidual. Y e t , as though to p a s s through h e d g e s of soldiery b e a r i n g a r m s w e r e not a sufficiently r e m a r k a b l e experience for any man, the usual cheap and t a w d r y " d e c o r a t i o n s , " so-called, in paper, card-board, and match-wood, eloquent of the sham in these demon strations, had to be b r o u g h t out in honour of the t w o representatives of B r i t a i n ' s success in the w o r l d .

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T h i s rubbish w o u l d seem to indicate that alone the m o r e puerile a s p e c t s of these events strikes the public mind a n d , consequently, it c a n only celebrate them in a puerile w a y . T h i s i m p r e s s i o n of the puerility constantly pene t r a t i n g t h r o u g h modern life is confirmed in a visit to a picture g a l l e r y r e v e a l i n g , as it does, the utter c o m m o n p l a c e n e s s of the minds of those w h o are s u p p o s e d to be the flower of h u m a n i t y a r t i s t s ! T h e y w o u l d s e e m , those w h o form w h a t is called the S a l o n , " for instance (the name is appropriate !) to fear to strain their souls, but the truth is, the majority h a v e no souls to strain, and others sold the little of soul they m a y once h a v e possessed long a g o . How h a v e these tiny folk dared to assume professions e x a c t i n g the m a x i m u m of spiritual and intellectual effort? B u t there is nothing so audacious as the p i g m y . If this is w h a t you e x p e c t from artists do not g o to an A c a d e m y or a S a l o n . T h e r e is hardly anyone here h a s e y e s for reality, far less for ideality, and it is m o s t d e p r e s s i n g to reflect that persons of such p o v e r t y and v u l g a r i t y should be c o v e r e d with honours, fame, money on the assumption that art is the noblest of m a n ' s attainments. A n y cobbler is w o r t h ten of these.
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poor interpreters. T h e y prefer poor p l a y s well acted, to the contrary, and in truth they are r i g h t for it is acting y o u g o to the theatre for. " T h e p l a y s I r e a d are a l w a y s well a c t e d , " J e a n Dolent used to s a y and so stayed at home. B u t M r . C a r r is careful in the choice of his p l a y s , t a k i n g them from old as well as modern masters, such as S y n g e w h o s e " P l a y - b o y in the W e s t e r n W o r l d ' has, by the w a y , been most admirably translated into b rench by a certain M . B o u r g e o i s . H e h a s g i v e n an equivalent to the E n g l i s h spoken in S y n g e ' s w o r k in F r e n c h peasant-talk and the result is most c o n v i n c i n g . T h e translation is dedicated to one w h o , in " T h e E n g l i s h R e v i e w , " said the PlayB o y " could not be properly translated. T h e more credit to M . B o u r g e o i s if this w e r e the c a s e .
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A t this time of A n g l o - F r e n c h effusions it is a m u s i n g read the list of stars w h o will figure in the A n g l o - A m e r i c a n season " of opera at the T h e a t r e des C h a m p s E l y s e e s . T h e y are : M e l b a , M a r y Garden, E d v i n a , M a g g i e T e y t e , but whoever triumphs here is sure to be classed of A m e r i c a n nationality as the F r e n c h will not admit that a note of music can come out of a British voice. to
44

In the a s s e m b l a g e of mediocrity called the Societe N a t i o n a l e des B e a u x A r t s one is thankful to meet with t w o such as O l g a B o z n a n s k a and A m a n - J e a n w h o s e w o r k contains distinction of feeling, a some thing not p a r t a k i n g of mere technical fireworks or trivial illustration, w o r k s which are comments and s h o w i n g some of the exquisite resources of the craft of oil painting. W e used to consider M . M a u r i c e D e n i s as one of the few in this society gifted with an artistic temperament but he h a s been g r a d u a l l y sub m e r g e d also and, while p r e s e r v i n g some of his knack for fresco effects, h a s g i v e n w a y to careless d r a w i n g and that gesticulation in his figures which is entirely opposed to the decorative. Interpretation which is the result of reasoning s e e m s to be easier to find a m o n g the sculptors. Bourdelle, J a n e Poupelet, H a l o n , M a r k o w i t c h , W i t t i g and J . B r o n i e w s k a respond, in more or less degree, a c c o r d i n g to their respective competence, to this aspiration. In the most deplorable of all sections, that where busybodies twist and torture n a t u r e ' s elements into purposes for which G o d never designed them, I found one really guiltless of cruelties, Mile. O ' K i n , who treats her material (chiefly ivory) like a friend and not a s do others theirs, like a foe. B e t t e r things in this line are to be seen at a f r a g mentary little exhibition of specimens from the B r i t i s h school of arts and crafts being held at the M u s e e des A r t s D e c o r a t i f s . It is a wonder it is so g o o d for E n g l i s h manifestations abroad are usually ridiculous failures. T h e textiles by W i l l i a m M o r r i s , the cabinet painter by B u r n e - J o n e s , the exquisite g o u a c h e s by that perfect artist the late Charles C o n d e r ; e x a m p l e s from the adorable K a t e G r e e n a w a y , the prestidigipus Caldecott, the noble W a l t e r Crane ; d e s i g n s by J a m e s Guthrie, K a t h e r i n e A d a m s and D o u g l a s Cockerell ; several originals by B e a r d s l e y , fine l i t h o g r a p h s by P r y d e ; illustrations etc. by S y d n e y Lee, Morley Fletcher, B e l l i n g h a m , Margaret M a c d o n a l d M a c k i n t o s h , and J e s s i e M . K i n g , some excellent furniture and g l a s s - w a r e , these and other contributions will not fail to enchant the F r e n c h and inform them as to the evolution a c r o s s the Channel in the particular a r t s which are u n d e r g o i n g an energetic renaissance over here. W h e t h e r this modern renewed curiosity in things E n g l i s h will g o so far as to m a k e a success of the " Little E n g l i s h T h e a t r e " M r . Philip C a r r is endea v o u r i n g to launch in P a r i s , I cannot s a y . B u t he will h a v e to see to it that the performances he g i v e s a r e well acted for the F r e n c h will not put up with

One of the most brilliant things I h a v e ever read is a biographical e s s a y , in " P o r t r a i t s de Sentiment " by M . E d m o n d Pilon (Mercure de F r a n c e ) , of Daniel Defoe whose L a d y R o x a n a " and " Moll F l a n d e r s " (translated by M . M a r c e l S c h w o b and how he is to be admired for his patience !) are about to be published by G e o r g e C r e s et C i e . Of the m a n y F r e n c h m e n familiar with E n g l a n d and E n g l a n d ' s literature, from V o l t a i r e , T a i n e and B a u d e l a i r e w h o discovered E d g a r Allan P o e d o w n to a host of c o n t e m p o r a r y names, no one has written with more feeling and understanding than M . Pilon. If I had space I should be tempted to quote whole p a g e s from his admirable piece of w o r k . M . Pilon belongs to a c a t e g o r y of F r e n c h m e n they seem to form a little race a p a r t w h o s e natural sympathy with things E n g l i s h illuminates and g u i d e s an objective view impossible to a man of the country whose view is subjective, necessarily. A n d an E n g lishman can " learn " i f I m a y be allowed to e x p r e s s myself in this w i s e h i s own country from such a foreignei. I may say that I k n o w personally of an instance where a F r e n c h m a n revealed E n g l a n d to one of E n g l i s h race and heart but w h o , for this v e r y reason, had not had occasion to stand back from it as is necessary to obtain a v i e w . In his e s s a y of Daniel Defoe, M . Pilon identifies himself with his h e r o ' s personality, life, time, w o r k s , sufferings and enthusiasms, as also with those of the country at that period, to an extent so l y r i c a l , so moving that it reads more like the passionate cry of a confession than a history.
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SAINT

FIACRE.

The Revolt of the Angels.

A N E W novel by M . Anatole F r a n c e . That announcement is sufficient to secure a sale of some sixty-eight editions in a few w e e k s . And that in spite of the r e v i e w e r s , w h o , with their characteristic hatred of g o o d w r i t i n g , h a v e spent much ink and little intelligence in d e p r e c a t i n g La R e v o k e des A n g e s . " I h a v e not read m a n y p r e s s notices of the book but in the few I h a v e seen it w a s said to be " S e n s u a l , " i n d e c e n t , " " t r i v i a l , " " with out c h a r a c t e r i s a t i o n , " the w o r s t of M . F r a n c e ' s books." One gentleman regretted the " lack of taste " which presents the fallen a n g e l s " s m o k i n g c i g a r e t t e s " and " w e a r i n g soiled g a r m e n t s " t h e author apparently believing that even a fallen angel is too lofty a creature to t a k e tobacco or to need a laundry. One might continue these quotations indefi nitely. T h e y are only interesting b e c a u s e they p r o v e that although the " public " has rushed to buy the
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May 1st, 1914

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book, the r e v i e w e r s v a g u e l y feel that " all is not well." E a c h man developing the peculiar stupidity of his c h a r a c t e r h a s handed forth some new " objec t i o n , " i.e. banality. " A l a r u m ! for w e are b e t r a y e d , " s e e m s to be the c r y of the r e v i e w e r s . A n d p e r h a p s they are not w r o n g . T h e fact is that L a R e v o k e des A n g e s is the most irreligious book of modern times. It is c h a r m i n g . . . And so w i c k e d j u s t as the church, headed by S t . J e a n n e d ' A r c and M . M a u r i c e B a r r e s , w a s reconquer ing the w o r l d . W h a t is to be d o n e ? M . F r a n c e is obviously the g r e a t e s t novelist in E u r o p e , and his w o r d s are not disregarded. B u r n the b o o k ? Uselessbesides, how man}' women would then read it w h o otherwise would keep their faith p u r e ! B a n it? I g n o r e it? U s e l e s s . A g o o d book cannot be hid and a keen idea has untiring w i n g s . Before the Church spiritual an.l temporal once more l a y s hold upon us and the neoNeo-Catholics and the neo-Neo-Platonists hale us to the high altar of heavenly contemplation they will have to crush this last flower of eighteenth-century wit and g o o d - s e n s e , " this last ironic s p a r k l e from the spirit of the g r e a t V o l t a i r e . T h e r e is not much plot in the story, as plot is understood by the yarn-spinning " school. A r c a d e , the g u a r d i a n - a n g e l of M a u r i c e d ' E s p a r v i e u , loses faith in God through reading controversial literature in the l a r g e library of the E s p a r v i e u family. The angel materialises himself so as to live the life of men, to g a t h e r together the fallen a n g e l s , w h o still " rain daily upon P a r i s , " and to seat S a t a n on the throne of G o d . V a r i o u s minor c h a r a c t e r s P e r e Guinardon, Gilberte, M . Sariette, various a n g e l s , N e c t a i r e , w h o is P a n a n d a m u s i n g incidents fill up the n a r r a t i v e . E v e n t u a l l y the a n g e l s come to S a t a n , w h o is D i o n y sios, and he dreams in a terrible dream that Satan became G o d , G o d S a t a n . " F i n i s a la V o l t a i r e S a t a n s a y s , " N e c t a i r e , w e fought together before the birth of the w o r l d . W e were conquered because w e did not understand that victory is in the spirit and that in us and in us alone can Ialdabaoth be attacked and d e s t r o y e d . " T h a t is all. B u t it is so beautifully constructed that the interest is a l w a y s refreshed by some new incident and the mind delighted by some fr^sh devilry in the w a y of odd situations. It is interesting to the student of form to notice how M . F r a n c e introduces his scenes of profane lovethese, by the w a y , the sources of the cries of " i n d e c e n c y , " though to a man w h o l a c k s the moral elevation of a journalist they will seem s o m e w h a t humiliating presentations of human frailty, wherein w e see the proud spirit of men and angels prostrate before w o m a n and the soul that soared so high g l a d l y descending so low. It is all a matter of view-point. Still, the chapters " de l ' a m o u r " will probably be read more attentively and more often than the othersthey will be read in so many places from the bedroom to the study that I hesitate to enumerate them. A n d this p r o v o k e s the reflection that h o w e v e r skilfully w e mingle the wisdom of philosophy with the carnal attractiveness of Aristophanes, it inevitably happens that the base world neglects the divine w i s d o m of the former to divert itself with the pleasing sensualities of the latter. F o r this digression I a s k pardon. Return to the construction of the book. It opens with a chapter on the E s p a r v i e u family. I can fancy myself w r i t i n g quite a little treatise on that chapter, e x p o u n d i n g the principles of the perfect prose-artist, and a d m i r i n g the skill which drew for us the E s p a r v i e u dwelling, the E s p a r v i e u library, the E s p a r v i e u family, p a s t and presentall in less than nine p a g e s ! After this there are three chapters on the library, s e r v i n g to introduce certain c h a r a c t e r s , to g i v e scope for those descriptions of books and old authors so d e a r to M . F r a n c e , and to open the story with the m y s t e r y of the b o o k s used by an invisible p e r s o n a g e . C h a p t e r 5in S a i n t - S u l p i c e under D e l a c r o i x ' painting
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of the a n g e l s . T h e r e is an a r g u m e n t on p a i n t i n g an opportunity for M . F r a n c e to discuss the fine a r t s with the same fine connoisseurship which he d i s p l a y e d in L e s D i e u x ont Soif. It seems an error, t h o u g h , to m a k e M a u r i c e a devotee of M a t i s s e and M e t z i n g e r . C h a p t e r s 6 and 7, the library. T h e reader b e g i n s to tire of this interminable library. Chapter 8 W h e r e i n love is treated, which will please, b e c a u s e a story without love is like a p i g ' s pudding without mustardit is i n s i p i d . " A n d Chapter nine s h o w s that as an old G r e e k poet s a y s , ' N o t h i n g is more sweet than Aphrodite the g o l d e n . ' " And so o n . F i v e more chapters and then one on the g r e a t and only subject of interest to both s e x e s . E i g h t c h a p t e r s and more amour, & c .
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T h e r e is no outstanding c h a r a c t e r in the b o o k n o J e r o m e C o i g n a r d , no Monsieur B e r g e r e t , no GodetL a t e r r a s s e . All the characters debate and hail with enthusiasm or ill-disguised admiration the ideas of M . F r a n c e , wherein they resemble the c h a r a c t e r s of M r . B e r n a r d S h a w , w h o only d i s a g r e e with him at their peril. A r c a d e alone has secured an unfair a d v a n t a g e over the others in the following w a y . W h e n he revolts from God he appears to M a u r i c e and Gilberte, his mistress. After he h a s explained his intellectual scepticism they ask his name, and he replies " Abdiel to saints and a n g e l s , A r c a d e to m e n . " Abdiel ! " A m o n g the faithless faithful only he " ! M . F r a n c e has a v e n g e d for us the v u l g a r piety of Milton. A s in all his books the style here is beautiful. Of course, in reading a foreign book one can never be quite certain that one's c o m p a r a t i v e unfamiliarity with the l a n g u a g e may not lead to an over-estimation of stylistic beauties which would be merely normally expected by the native reader. A n d one h a s a corre sponding disgust with one's o w n l a n g u a g e . T h u s to the later G r e e k s the finest p a s s a g e s of H o m e r and the Attic dramatists were h a c k n e y e d , just as S h a k e s p e a r e and the V i c t o r i a n s are to us. H e n c e , in those d a y s , s p r a n g the cult of oriental literature in A l e x a n d r i a and the cult of curious, over-refined, fantastic forms of w r i t i n g ; and hence, to-day, the s t r i v i n g for novelty at any cost and the pleasure w e take in b o o k s written in a foreign l a n g u a g e . P o e t r y in G r e e k sounds to us a hundred times finer and more delicate than poetry in our own l a n g u a g e where e v e r y w o r d is w o r n thin as a century-old coin and where w e h a v e a p h r a s e for every occurrence in life stereotyped in a perpetual inanity. B u t M . F r a n c e ' s sweet clarid speech h a s a beauty which familiarity cannot destroy, a quality of sim plicity and charm which delights some and seems to others almost insipid. T h a t sounds an absurd adjec tive to apply to M . F r a n c e ' s prose, but I distinctly remember a w o m a n of some intelligence though corrupt in literary taste s a y i n g that she could not admire Anatole F r a n c e , " It all looks so e a s y , as if a child had written i t . " I tried to convince her that she had paid u n k n o w i n g l y the g r e a t e s t compliment one could g i v e a master of prose, but she w a s dis satisfied, and in spite of all I could s a y she w e n t a w a y murmuring something about d'Annunzio and Dickens ! A. R .

Memoirs of a Charming Person.

11.
THIRD CONVERSATION-.

T H E R E w a s no use, I k n e w , in t r y i n g to reason with a C a b a l i s t , nor could I quote the church to him with any effect, and yet I w a n t e d to lead the Count b a c k into a more sober vein of t h o u g h t . It suddenly occurred to me that his substitution of S y l p h s and other elementals for demons, m i g h t b e refuted by the oracles of the heathen, which H o l y S c r i p t u r e a l w a y s treats as d e m o n s ; but as I w a s not

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sure of his opinion of these oracles, I led him on to s a y w h a t he t h o u g h t of them. H e b e g a n with some r e m a r k s about the statues in the g a r d e n , to which we had returned. T h e y had been bought, at a high price, by s o m e cardinal, under the delusion that they had been used as the mouthpieces of o r a c l e s ; which is impossible, said he, because the demons are kept under the earth, and h a v e never been allowed to s p e a k in the oracles. I a n s w e r e d that I knew a con ference had been held on the subject, and the most enlightened people contended that all these so-called o r a c l e s w e r e really only a trickery of the priests, or a political manoeuvre. The Count a s k e d , rather m o c k i n g l y , if the meeting had been one of M a h o m e t a n s , since the frequent mention of oracles in Holy W r i t counted for nothing with them. " J u s t s o , " said I , " 1 myself spoke of the oracles S a u l banished, and which c a m e back just before he died, but they wouldn't listen. T h e y decided there were no oracles." T h e Count then broke out into a defence of oracles, taken from the c l a s s i c s , in which he showed g r e a t learning, and quoted more authorities than I can remember ; but I do recall the v i r g i n s w h o became d o v e s , and told the future Colombes Dondonidcs; and some of later date w h o , besides g i v i n g oracles, could control the sea, and heal incurable diseases. E v e n if my w i s e men, cried he, could not accept tradition, what did they make of the oracles g o i n g on at the present moment in P a r i s itself ! I expressed my disbelief; and he went on to tell me of wonderful things done in P a r i s at that very day : what he called aquatic divination through w a t e r in a g l a s s or b a s i n ; aerial divination by means of mirrors and reading in a v i r g i n ' s hand. T h e absent were seen, he said, and far-off countries, and he could bring thousands of eye-witnesses to prove his facts. I s u g g e s t e d that the magistrate:-, would h a v e interfered long a g o were all he said true, to stop such idolatry. At this word he exclaimed that G o d would not allow these remains of the old W i s d o m to be d e s t r o y e d ; and that the g r e a t magical name of A G L A , which could w o r k w o n d e r s in the mouth of a Cabalist, would still remain powerful. He regretted that I hadn't tried to convince the learned men of the reality of oracles by turning to the E a s t , calling this g r e a t n a m e ; I ought also to have quoted Celius R h o d i g i n u s , who had himself seen an oracle w o r k i n g about the end of the last century. " That would have been too p e d a n t i c , " said I, " and it is w o r s e to say that devils did not speak through the oracles than to deny there being any oracles at all. I a g r e e with the F a t h e r s and the theologians on this p o i n t . " In a n s w e r to this he told me the oldest of the S i b y l s , S a m b e t h a , w a s the daughter of X o a h , and that Plutarch s a y s the oracle of Apollo at Delphi first spoke through the oldest of the Sibyls : and further, the Devil couldn't be responsible for the sacred b o o k s of the Sibyls ; from which the F a t h e r s quoted proofs of true religion. Again, a great C a r d i n a l had spoken of a m a r r i a g e between D a v i d and the S i b y l , which cannot be dismissed lightly, for the Cardinal would not h a v e joked on such a serious matter. He then put forth another argument : the Devil, he affirmed, could not be divided a g a i n s t himself; cither he had never spoken through oracles at all, or he had never spoken through them a g a i n s t his own interests : so it follows that if the oracles have spoken a g a i n s t the interests of the Devil, it w a s n ' t the Devil himself w h o w a s s p e a k i n g . I suggested that perhaps God had made him do so. " B u t , " said the Count, " a g a i n , supposing he did n o t ? " " In that c a s e , " replied I , " you are right and the theologians are w r o n g . " " W e cannot take the theologians as trusthworthy w i t n e s s e s t h e n , " said he. " T h e y m a y h a v e been p r e j u d i c e d ; but I can g i v e you an unimpeachable

one in the person of P o r p h y r y , w h o w a s not a heathen like L u c r e t i u s , or L u c i a n , or the E p i c u r e a n s , but a believer in g o d s and demons, a g r e a t m a g i c i a n , and consequently a partisan of the D e v i l . I will quote one of the oracles he r e p o r t s . " I will only g i v e the substance of this o r a c l e , and of some others he repeated to me. T h e first one w a s " all P o r p h y r y k n e w of G o d , " whom he said w a s a flame which permeated all creation, sun, moon, and s t a r s ; and from w h o m man cannot hide. " A i l is full of G o d ; G o d is every where. " In another oracle G o d w a s " an immense a b y s s of f l a m e , " but this fire m a k i n g for the h a r m o n y of the world, the soul need not fear it, for it is God him self. " W e are but a small part of G o d . " I objected a g a i n that G o d m a y h a v e forced the Devil to bear witness to the t r u t h . " " A h , " said the Count, " here is an oracle which will dispose of that theory. A l a s ! ( J tripos, weep and speak the funeral oration of y o u r Apollo. He is mortal, lie will die, lie will be extinguished, because the light of the celestial flame e x t i n g u i s h e s h i m . ' Y o u s e e , " pursued the Count, " that w h o e v e r spoke through that oracle o w n s he is mortal, and is only a spark of the E s s e n c e of G o d . It cannot be S a t a n s p e a k i n g , for he is immortal, and he would not say there is but one G o d , when he w a n t s to be worshipped as a g o d h i m s e l f . " " B u t perhaps he lied out of mischief when he said he w a s mortal, or said the truth willy-nilly when he spoke of G o d , " said I , " and after all, to what do your Cabalists attribute the o r a c l e s ? D o they think them exhalations from the earth, like Aristotle, Cicero, and P l u t a r c h ? " T h i s remark roused the C o u n t to an attack on the whole theory of exhalations, which he declared to be false, on the ground that such a c a u s e would never account for the sublime t h o u g h t s and flights of the Pythian g i v e r s of oracles. A g a i n , if the theory were true, the oracles would h a v e been spoken through anyone who happened to g o near the S a c r e d Tripod ; not only through one girl, and she a v i r g i n : also, they would have been r e g u l a r and permanent, as an exhalation is a natural thing, a l w a y s w o r k i n g in the same w a y ; w h e r e a s the priestess w a s only moved when consulted. L a s t l y , he a s k e d , w h y does the earth no longer g i v e out those divine v a p o u r s ? Has she changed her nature, and stopped up her p o r e s ? Plutarch finally g i v e s an explanation of oracles in which he maintains that the exhalation from the earth w a s a divine spirit. " T h i s divining v a p o u r , " s a y s he, " is a breath, and a v e r y sacred and holy spirit.'' " But Pomponatius, Lueillus and the modern atheists w o n ' t hear of such a t h i n g , " the Count con tinued. " T h e y say these e x h a l a t i o n s are of the same nature a s the v a p o u r s which affect atrabilious people, who speak in l a n g u a g e s they d o n ' t under stand. And although F c r n a l refutes this theory by s a y i n g that it is impossible for the bile to c a u s e any such results, he too falls into the m i s t a k e of attri buting them to the D e v i l . " " O h , " said I , " then to w h a t can w e attribute them? I'm waiting for this C a b a l i s t i c secret ! " " T h e P h i l o s o p h e r s , " a n s w e r e d he, " h a v e e x plained the matter by establishing the fact of the existence of an order of b e i n g s between G o d and man, to whom e v e r y t h i n g can be attributed Which is super-human, but less than divine. A n ancient philosophy held this view : the P l a t o n i s t s , the P y t h a g o r e a n s , w h o had it from the E g y p t i a n s , w h o a g a i n had it from J o s e p h the S a v i o u r , and the i i e b r e w s , before their p a s s a g e through the R e d S e a . T h e H e b r e w s called these S u b s t a n c e s Sadaim, and the G r e e k s , transposing the syllables and a d d i n g one letter, called them Daitnonas. T h e s e demons, or daimons, w e r e a people of the air, u n k n o w n to, or misunderstood by those w h o are ignorant of the C a b a l a and its t e a c h i n g . "
4

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T o the man in the street M . de S e g o n z a c is an " A n d so y o u g e t b a c k to your S y l p h s , " said I . ultra-modern painter v e r g i n g on the species called H e a s s e n t e d , and went on to explain that the "cubist." B u t he is not a " c u b i s t . " T h e latter J e w i s h T e r a p h i m w a s nothing but the vehicle used in labours under the delusion that art, being abstract in this c o m m e r c e with the E l e m e n t a l s . * T h e s e latter g a v e their oracles through little statues, called idols, ' its conception, must remain abstract in its e x p r e s s i o n . A pet a r g u m e n t a m o n g s t cubists is that art must not but there w a s no real idolatry in the w o r s h i p of these be called upon to represent the concrete object but fetiches, as they w e r e only vehicles for inspiration. its abstract idea. A t t e m p t s to render a fourth dimen T h e E l e m e n t a l s , whilst G o d w a s neglecting the sion, motion & c , are sometimes claimed also. A s salvation of the w o r l d in order to punish m a n ' s first these aspirations sound very clever many people are sin, took a pleasure in e x p l a i n i n g all they k n e w ol impressed by them, including some of the cubists G o d , through the o r a c l e s ; they taught men to live themselves whose own intellectuality turns their well and g a v e them w i s e and useful a d v i c e , such as heads, lor the cubists (and many other modern can be read in Plutarch and all the historians. But artists) are, at best, w o r k i n g brains, not first and as soon as G o d took pity on the w o r l d , and himself foremost artists g o v e r n e d by artistic instinct. They became its S a v i o u r , the lesser b e i n g s retired. Hence are so intoxicated with r e a s o n i n g that they ignore the the silence of the oracles. elementary consideration that form c o n v e y s an " T h e n all you say g o e s to p r o v e that there abstract idea, while the abstract cannot under any certainly were o r a c l e s , " r e m a r k e d I , " and that circumstances m a k e itself manifest otherwise than S y l p h s g a v e them, and are still doing so through through the concrete. A s soon as an idea is carried g l a s s e s and m i r r o r s . " out it r a n k s with the concrete. (Painting is concrete " Y e s , " said the Count. " S y l p h s or S a l a m a n in itself, inevitably, and the most intellectual cubist ders, G n o m e s or U n d i n e s . " cannot help representing the s u g g e s t i o n of something " If that is s o , " I retorted, " they are all very substantial). Of such is creation and art is creation, dishonest people, as they a l w a y s g i v e a n s w e r s with i.e. the concrete rendering of the abstract conception. a double m e a n i n g . " B u t art is of supreme indifference to these people, for H e denied this, and spoke of v a r i o u s oracles that whom I have every r e g a r d when they are not mere had come t r u e ; of a R o m a n in A s i a , to whom it " climbers " seeking to b r i n g themselves into promi w a s foretold that he would come back a P r o - C o n s u l , nence, but many of w h o m , were they not cubists, which is a fact stated by T a c i t u s ; of R o d e r i g o , the would be totally incapable of producing anything in curious and incontinent K i n g of S p a i n , w h o w a s another form of art worth attention. T h i s is a point threatened with an invasion of black men ; and w a s which cannot be too much emphasised. T h e y m a y not S p a i n over-run and conquered by the M o o r s ? not all be fools, but they are seldom artists, though " Y o u s e e , " pursued the Count, " that oracle could they m a y be philosophers, mathematicians, or engi not h a v e been delivered by the D e v i l , but certainly neers. A t the back of the (more serious) cubist c a m e through some g r e a t Cabalist, w h o had it from movement there is merely intelligence and r e a s o n i n g , a wise S a l a m a n d e r ; for S a l a m a n d e r s are g r e a t lovers and, while only the bigoted will withhold e v e r y of chastity, and like pointing a moral. A s for the interest in it, the artist at once realises the fallacy on obscurity to which you object, isn't truth generally which the theory tries to base itself. T h e sum of concealed by d a r k n e s s a n d isn't Holy W r i t itself cubist reasoning, when e x p r e s s e d with concrete paint so obscure as to put off the haughty and p r e s u n u on concrete c a n v a s e s , with sometimes the addition of tuous, and to guide the h u m b l e ? " such concrete elements as piano-keys, hair, teeth, T h e Count ended our talk by a s k i n g me to consider & c . i s a negation of form, therefore a negation pure w h a t kind of Elemental I should first prefer. He and simple. T h e cubists' reasoning leads to nothing, recommended me to associate first with a S a l a m a n w h e r e a s the purpose of art is precisely to lead to der, because I had M a r s in the mid-heaven in my something, i.e. a positive construction. T h e v e r y need h o r o s c o p e : as for m a r r i a g e , he advised a S y l p h , for explanation condemns it, for art justifies and because J u p i t e r w a s in the ascendant with V e n u s explains itself. Y o u may be able to explain cubism ; sextile. B u t , he added, I must consult my heart in it is more difficult to explain art. the matter, because the S a g e g o v e r n s his actions by that inner m a p of the stars, which is in every man Is not creation concerned with affirmation and does the external aspects only s h o w i n g more surely what not the mystic (whose most e x p r e s s i v e medium is are the internal aspects. I asked for time to think drawing)that is, one w h o is curious of the under it over, to which he readily a g r e e d , and w e went lying idea, l a w , principle or essencedoes he not back to P a r i s . H e talked admirably all the w a y on recognise, as M r . G . K . Chesterton has so well the nature of G o d , and I w a s lost in surprise at the demonstrated in his book on B l a k e , the need of man, w h o w a s at once so strong, and so w e a k ; so emphasising and glorifying f o r m ? F o r , if form requires much to be admired, and yet so ridiculous. the intangible, life-giving soul to bring it into e x i s M. DE V . - M . tence, the soul needs the tangible form to e x p r e s s * T r a n s l a t o r ' s Note : J u d g e s x v i i . ; E z e k i e l , x x i . , 2 1 ; itself, the form being it< symbol and complement. H o s e a iii., 4. It follows that denial of representation in plastic and g r a p h i c art is a fallacy, because without representa tion it is impossible to interpret. F o r w e w a d e so deeply in a confusion of idle reasoning that it is necessary to indulge in such elementary observations and constantly b r i n g the rambling modern mind b a c k to first principles. A M O N G the v a r i o u s artists w h o h a v e sprung from Another fault of the modern mind is its e x t r e m e the Cezanne root M . D u n o y e r de S e g o n z a c is timidity. Certain w o r d s frighten it very much. T h u s the most a r r e s t i n g . T h i s y o u n g artist has the w o r d " representation " (confused with illustra m a d e himself k n o w n through his participation at the t i o n ) ; thus the w o r d " b e a u t y " (confused with the S a l o n s d ' A u t o m n e and des Independants and the insipid). It fails to recognise that constructiveness publication of m a n y r e m a r k a b l e d r a w i n g s , in par in art necessarily implies representation, so intent is ticular a series representing I s a d o r a D u n c a n * in the it to escape the humiliating accusation of c o p y i n g . different p h a s e s of her dance ( d r a w i n g s disowned, by Therefore, too poor to create, too proud to c o p y , the the w a y , by M i s s D u n c a n , a circumstance illustrative modern artist relies on negation under the delusion he of the difference between creator and critic). is discovering abstraction, as one might kill a m a n to

Andre Dunoyer de Segonzac, Painter.

* A first series was published by " L a Belle Edition " ; a second, together with some nudes, boxers, and sketches of Ida Rubinstein, by " L e Temps Eresent."

discover his soul. tion the modern yielding O.

It is not abstraction, it is subtrac artist g o e s in for, subtraction

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ISADORA

DUNCAN.

* F r o m A n d r e de S e g o n z a c . X X X . Dessius. * The drawings are reproduced with acknowledgments to the publishers of " Editions du Temps Present," Paris.

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A similar fate h a s befallen the belief in beauty or idealism. T h e modern artist fears beauty like a c h a s t e and timid youth a n x i o u s for his virtue fears a w o m a n , or a teetotaller, l a c k i n g confidence in his temperance, fears w i n e . It t a k e s a m i g h t y deal of c o u r a g e n o w a d a y s to proclaim the beauty of beauty. T h e cult of humanity, pity and reason has led us to this conviction and w e are in dire need of a new saviour to redeem the betrampled beautiful, strong, healthy and h a u g h t y for the diseased in body and poor in spiritnot to speak about the intellectuals with their five senses stuntedhave been too long our conquerors. T h e artist should fear nought, neither G o d nor the devil, neither beauty nor u g l i n e s s , neither the con crete nor the abstract. H e should be in touch with all that is. T h e w o r l d h e a v e n , earth and hellis his to plunder from and w h a t e v e r will s e r v e his purpose of affirmation and construction is g o o d . He has no heed for traps and ambushes for he k n o w s where safety liesif he is an artist. It is this bold, direct march upon his art which is so impressive in the w o r k of M . de S e g o n z a c . H e is modern in so far that he lays a new brick on the edifice, but he does not stop at absurd considerations about the artist being identified with his period. For w h a t cant is t h i s ? W h e r e is the time in which w e l i v e ? H o w does it e x p r e s s itself? In w h a t w a y can a painter represent it? H o w can he avoid using the past a s a springboard for another l e a p ? Is it his duty to illustrate aeroplanes or to e x p r e s s the spirit of his a g e ? B u t neither he nor anyone else can lay hands on that. H e cannot e x p r e s s to-day or this minute because both h a v e g o n e before he has realised them. H e cannot represent the next day or minute because he is ignorant of them. F o r p i t y ' s sake let us be honest about this s t r a i g h t f o r w a r d , precise, revealing and finite thing, art, and admit, once for all that the best a painter can do is to paint as well as he possibly can w h a t e v e r interests him most and for w h a t e v e r he is most gifted and recog nise that the distinction between one period and another is either too conventional and superficial to affect art, or too mobile, v a r i o u s , general and com plex to find its w a y therein except occultly. M . de S e g o n z a c is an e x a m p l e of the difference between the intelligent painter and the painter w h o is merely intelligent. Needless to say he r a n k s with the former. H e does not paint with a method only but he has a method too. H i s mind is not preoccupied with insane j a r g o n about the evocation of the idea of an object, or the rendering of a fourth dimension, motion & c . W h e n he paints a j a r he paints a j a r for all it is worth and with all his might, realising, for he is honest besides intelligent, that the idea of a j a r can only be e x p r e s s e d through a j a r and by no stretch of the imagination through a door, for instance, or anything else ! A b o v e all, in M . de S e g o n z a c ' s mind, the picture is the thing. T h e leading qualities presented in his w o r k are good faith, a sense of the monumental expressed with g i g a n t i c p o w e r a p o w e r he will moderate by degrees for, like an unwise horse y o u n g to the shafts, he now g i v e s the full measure of his strength rhythm both in tone and line, a broad vision of m a s s e s and correspondences, science in elimination, intelli gence allied to candour (an artist must be candid), and absence of the v u l g a r polychromatic effects to be met with in most oil-paintingpainters i m a g i n i n g that, because they dispose of colours they should use themyet all M . de S e g o n z a c ' s w o r k s are sonorous. H e is a builder of pictures w h o battles with his paintwhich, by the w a y , he l a y s on the c a n v a s by handfuls, m o u l d i n g it like a sculptor his c l a y . In his pen and pencil sketches of feminine nudity he strikes another and a subtler chord. In these a sensitive, pure, flexible and elegant line renders flashes of acute, delicate perception, at t i m e s a s , especially, in the d r a w i n g s of I s a d o r a D u n c a n and I d a R u b i n s t e i n o f a m a z i n g dexterity, beauty and

synthetical e x p r e s s i o n . Of the same family a s the d r a w i n g s of Rodin they are more poetic than these and less dynamic, consequently more pictorial and decorative. M . de S e g o n z a c ' s unusual gifts would seem to be borne out by sound qualities of character. It is to be supposed, therefore, that he will be unready to m a k e concessions c o m p r o m i s i n g his artistic probity and that his career lies in steady and determined hands, hands.
MURIEL CIOLKOWSKA.

Poetry.
THE FETE.

T o - n i g h t a g a i n the M o o n ' s white mat Stretches a c r o s s the dormitory floor W h i l e outside, like an evil cat T h e pion p r o w l s down the dark corridor, P l a n n i n g , I k n o w , to pounce on me, in spite F o r getting leave to sleep in town last night. B u t it w a s none of us w h o made that noise, Only the old brown owl that hoots and flies Out of the i v y h e will s a y it w a s us b o y s Seigneur mon Dieu ! the sacre" soul of spies ! H e would like to catch each dream that lies Hidden behind our sleepy e y e s : Their d r e a m ? B u t mineit is the Moon and W o o d that s e e s ; All my long life how I shall hate the trees !

the

In the Place d'Armes, the dusty planes, all S u m m e r through Dozed with the market women in the sun and scarcely stirred T o see the quiet things that c r o s s e d the S q u a r e A tiny funeral, the flying shadow of a bird, T h e hump-backed barber Celestin L e m a i r e , Old M a d a m e Michel in her three-wheeled chair, And filing past to V e s p e r s , t w o and t w o , T h e demoiselles of the Pensionnat. T o w e d like a ship through the harbour bar, S a f e into port, where le petit Jesus P e r h a p s m a k e s nothing of the look they shot at y o u : Si, c'est defendu, mais que voulez-vous? It w a s the sun. T h e sunshine w e a v e s A pattern on dull stones : the sunshine l e a v e s T h e portraiture of dreams upon the e y e s Before it dies : All summer through T h e dust hung white upon the d r o w s y planes Till suddenly they w o k e with the A u t u m n rains. It is not only the little b o y s W h o have hardly g o t a w a y from toys B u t I , w h o am seventeen next y e a r , S o m e nights, in bed, h a v e g r o w n cold to hear T h a t lonely passion of the rain W h i c h m a k e s you think of being dead And of somewhere living to lay your head A s if you were a child a g a i n C r y i n g for one thing, k n o w n and near Y o u r empty heart to still the h u n g e r and the fear T h a t pelts and beats with it a g a i n s t the pane. B u t I remember smiling too At all the S u n ' s soft tricks and those Autumn dreads In W i n t e r time when the g r e y light b r o k e slowly through T h e frosted window-lace to d r a g us s h i v e r i n g from our beds. A n d when at dusk the s i n g i n g wind s w u n g d o w n S t r a i g h t from the stars to the darkf country r o a d s beyond the twinkling town, S t r i k i n g the leafless poplar b o u g h s a s he w e n t by L i k e some poor stray d o g by the w a y s i d e l y i n g dead W e left behind us the old w o r l d of d r e a d , I and the wind a s w e strode w h i s t l i n g on under the Winter sky.

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EGOIST

May 1st, 1914

And then in S p r i n g for three d a y s c a m e the fair J u s t as the planes w e r e s t a r t i n g into Dud A b o v e the c a r a v a n s : you s a w the d a n c i n g b e a r P a s s on his c h a i n ; and heard the j i n g l e and the thud. Only four d a y s a g o T h e y let y o u out of this dull s h o w T o slither d o w n the montane russe and chaff the man d la tete de Veau H i t , slick, the b u l l ' s - e y e at the T i r , S p i n round and round till y o u r head w e n t queer On the porcs-roulants. Oh \ la la I la Fete ! Va pour du vin, et le tete-a-tete W i t h the g i r l w h o s u g a r s the quafres ! Pauvrette> H o w thin she w a s ; but she smiled, you bet, A s she took y o u r t i p " One does not f o r g e t T h e g o o d d a y s , M o n s i e u r . " S a i d with a g r a c e , B u t sacrebleu ! w h a t a g h o s t of a face ! And no fun too for the demoiselles Of the Pensionnat, w h o w e r e hurried past, W i t h their " Oh, que c'est beauAh, que c'est belle !" A l a p - d o g ' s life from first to last ! The g o o d nights are not made for sleep, nor the g o o d d a y s for d r e a m i n g in, And at the end in the b i g C i r c u s tent w e sat and shook and stewed like sin ! S o m e children there had gotbut w h e r e ? S e n t from the S o u t h , p e r h a p s a red bouquet Of r o s e s sweetening the fetid air W i t h scent from g a r d e n s by far a w a y blue b a y . T h e y threw one at the dancing bear. The white c l o w n c a u g h t it. F r o m S t . R 6 m y ' s tower The deep slow bell tolled out the hour. The black clown, with his dirty grin L a y , s p r a w l i n g in the dust, as S h e rode in. She stood on a white horseand suddenly you s a w the bend Of a far-off road at d a w n , with knights riding b y A field of s p e a r s a n d then the gallant day Go out in storm, with r a g g e d clouds low down, sullen and g r e y A g a i n s t red h e a v e n s : wild and awful, such a sky A s w i t n e s s e s a g a i n s t you at the end Of a g r e a t battle, bugles b l o w i n g , blood and dust The old Morte d' Arthur, fight you must ! It died in a n g e r . B u t it w a s not death T h a t had you by the throat, stopping your breath. She looked like V i c t o r y . S h e rode my w a y . She

H e r finger t i p s ; but as she slackened p a c e And turned and looked at you it g r e w quite b a r e : T h e r e w a s not a n y t h i n g you did not d a r e : L i k e trumpeters the hours p a s s e d until the last day of the F a i r . In the Place d'Armes all afternoon The building birds h a d s u n g " S o o n , s o o n , " The shuttered streets slept sound that n i g h t , It w a s full moon : The path into the w o o d w a s almost w h i t e , The trees w e r e v e r y still and seemed to stare : N o t far before y o u r soul the D r e a m flits on, But when you touch it, it is g o n e And quite alone y o u r soul stands there. Mother of Christ, no one h a s seen y o u r e y e s : how can men p r a y E v e n to y o u ? T h e r e w e r e only w o l v e s ' e y e s in the w o o d My Mother is a w o m a n too : N o t h i n g is true that is not g o o d W i t h that quick smile of hers, I h a v e heard her s a y ; I wish I had g o n e b a c k home to-day, I should h a v e w a t c h e d the light that s o g e n t l y dies F r o m our high w i n d o w , in the P a r i s s k i e s , The l o n g s t r a i g h t chain Of lamps hung out along the S e i n e : I would h a v e turned to her and let the rain B e a t on her breast as it does a g a i n s t the p a n e ; Nothing will be the same a g a i n ; T h e r e is something s t r a n g e in my little M o t h e r ' s eyes, T h e r e is something new in the old heavenly air of Spring The smell of beasts, the smell of dust The Enchanted Thing ! All my life long I shall see moonlight on the fern And the black t r u n k s of trees. Only the hair Of any w o m a n can belong to G o d . The stalks are cruelly broken w h e r e w e trod, T h e r e had been violets there, I shall not care As I used to do when I see the b r a c k e n burn.
CHARLOTTE M. MEW.

Correspondence.
N O T E TO C O R R E S P O N D E N T S . While quite willing to publish letters under 710ms de plume, ~<ve make it a condition of publi cation that the name and address of each correspondent should be supplied to the Editor.ED.
PROPERTY AND THEFT.

l a u g h e d at the black clown and then she flew A bird above us on the w i n g Of her white a r m s , and you s a w through A rent in the old tent, a patch of s k y W i t h one dim star. S h e flew, but not so h i g h And then she did not fly. She stood in the bright moonlight at the door Of a s t r a n g e roomshe threw her slippers on the floor Again, again Y o u heard the patter of the rain, T h e s t a r v i n g rainit w a s this T h i n g , S u m m e r w a s this, the g o l d mist in y o u r e y e s ; Oh G o d ! it dies, But after d e a t h ? T o - n i g h t , the splendour and the sting B l o w s b a c k and catches at y o u r breath, The smell of b e a s t s , the smell of dust, the scent of all the roses in the w o r l d , the sea, the Spring The beat of drums, the pad of hoofs, music, the D r e a m , the D r e a m , the E n c h a n t e d T h i n g ! At first y o u scarcely s a w her face, Y o u k n e w the maddening feet w e r e there, W h a t called w a s that half-hidden, white unrest T o which now and then she pressed

To

the Editor
MADAM,

T H E EGOIST.

It is pleasant to praise : permit me therefore to congratulate Mr. Byington upon the matter and manner of his letter published in your issue of the 15th inst. And, whilst I rejoice at his remarks on Bergson, the science of economics is so important to-day that I should be glad if you would elaborate a little your criticism of that portion of his letter dealing with the question of private property. You protest, and I am in cordial agreement, that the assump tion of all property by the State would be disastrous to the individual. In the present stage of morality, at all events, the individual can only make some show of resistance to the all too prevalent interference from others if he possess private property. But it seems to me that you negate the entire usefulness of this attitude when you declare that " if you are in lack of it (private property), obtain it by any available m e a n s . " The statement is flamboyant and startling ; but you will surely not let it stand without some qualification. Apparently you will refrain from demanding reparation from those who take your property with out your permission. Do you mean this? Or is it "only a certain class of " honest and deserving poor " that you invite? If so, what is the test of entry to this class? Forgive these prosaic enquiries. Bread and butter are so important to most of us, and we may be pardoned a little anxiety at your sweeping proposal regarding the means of our subsistence.
London. HENRY M E U L E N .

[The

subject referred to in the above letter is dealt with in the current " V i e w s and C o m m e n t s ' . ' E D . ]

May 1st, 1914

"SERVANTS" AND T H E

THE
"PEOPLE."

EGOIST

177

To the Editor
MADAM,

T H E EGOIST.

Y o u r comments on Mr. Lansbury may be illustrated by an experience of mine. Twenty-five years ago I drew the attention of the Labour Party to the law which requires jurymen to live in a house with fifteen windows, and pointed out that this accounted for the reckless convictions in Labour cases. By their request I drafted a Bill to reform the law, which was unanimously adopted by the Trades Congress, and is still, I believe, one of the hardy annuals of the House of Commons. Not long ago a Royal Commission was appointed to deal with the subject, and I wrote to the Labour representative on the Commission, Mr. Snowden, placing my services at his disposal. He replied urging me to wait upon some clerk in the Home Office, appointed as secretary to the Commission, and try to obtain his (the clerk's !) consent to my appearing as a witness. It did not enter into Mr. Snowden's mind, apparently, that this clerk was his servant, and that it was for him, as Royal Commissioner, to decide what evidence he desired to have laid before him. We place authority in the hands of these " privates," and they promptly and tamely surrender it into those of the very " university class " against whom they agitate on platforms. In the same way if we appointed one of Mr. Lansbury's pro teges colonel of a regiment he would insist on taking orders from his own adjutant. I did not call on Mr. Snowden's master. I prefer giving orders to the Home Office in my capacity as an individual publicist, to cringing to it in the capacity of a tribune of the " People."
London. ALLEN UPWARD.

"DIVINE

INSPIRATION."

something which is " Thought " or " Thought Stream " and which vaguely exists, somewhere and somehow, ever attempting to enter a few chosen people who are thereby formed into " Great Artists." Miss Defries says that " Nature, observing from Her V a n t a g e ground, must w o n d e r ! " If nature wonders at the sight of an artist patiently and systematically examining the secret recesses of his own nature, capturing each elusive thought and feeling .observing each colour, form or sound, and by aid of his mental activity defin ing, sorting and arranging his impressions, and afterwards, in the most precise and economic forms, recording his " v i s i o n , " so that it becomes a work of artif nature wonders at this spectacle, how much more must she wonder at the grotesque figure of the artist, brush or pen in hand, awaiting the " Thought Stream " which he expects to descend upon him no, I crave pardon" to well up within h i m . " Personally I believe that thought and the creative faculty is entirely human and personalthe result of that self-conscious ness which is common to all mankind, but which is particularly acute in those who are truly artists. In fact it is this very faculty for thought which created the idea of " Divinity," the " God I d e a , " and which becoming more perfected will again destroy it. The fresco of God creating Adam should be matched by a modern study of Adarn creating God. It is precisely this faculty for creation, this so far highest point in natural develop ment, this supreme manifestation of the egoist nature of man which makes a work of art valuable to humanity. So much time has been wasted and so much harm done to art that I think the time has come when these old terms and ideas should be thrown upon the rubbish heap of useless anachronisms. Miss Defries craves a new term to supersede the word " Divine " : I offer the term " H u m a n . "
[ M R S . ] NANCY H E N R Y .

To the Editor
MADAM,

T H E EGOIST.

I have read with interest and not a little amusement the letters re " Divine Inspiration " in Art, and shall be grateful if you can find space in your columns for this letter. It seems to me that it is a case of defining the term " D i v i n i t y . " Such terms as " D i v i n i t y , " " G o d , " " S p i r i t " or " Soul " have become so vague in their meaning that it is now almost impossible to use them with any exacluude. This leads to such situations as that of the man who, at the conclu sion of a fruitless argument, exclaimed, " Ah, sir, I see we are really in agreementonly your God is my D e v i l . " In this case in question, I think both writers are agreed upon one pointthat a work of art is of a dual nature, consisting of an Idea and the material expression of that Idea. Both also are agreed that the technical expression, exact, precise, definite, and shorn of all superfluous and vague generalities, is human in origin, consisting of that skill of hand, acute observation of eye or ear, mental clarity and subtlety in the finding and using of exact words, and all the rest of the outfit which toil and hard training bring to the artist, and which separate him from other users of paint, words, marble, or sounds, and without wheih no Idea (however large its capital be written) can crystallise into a work of art. Being so far agreed, it remains to track this mysterious Idea to its human or divine origin. At this point Miss Defries says, " The fact is that Art is a natural development, and has its origins in the Origin of the Other World-Growths. Y o u may call this ' God ' and ' Divine ' or you may call it Creation ' or ' Force ' or ' Evolution,' ' First Cause ' orwith Leonardo' II Primo Motore.' " Mr. Aldington is more modest. He does not go so far as to state his theory as a fact; he hazards a guess. " I should say some definite experience, emotional or physical. That is merely a guess ; it would be easier to say, ' This is a mystery and all answers are equally heretical.' " Here we have " some definite experience " opposed to " a natural development . . . God . . . Force . . . e t c . " Certainly, viewed from one standpoint, every experience, every moment of life, every vibration of being must, of necessity, be linked up with all the past experience of the world, and can therefore be termed a natural development. But if this con stitutes " Divinity," then every experience, however trivial or absurd, whether of man, beast, or plant, is " Divine," and there is no reason to distinguish a work of art by qualifying it with this adjective. So we are forced to the conclusion that Miss Defries believes that a vague " something " happens to an artist, a " some thing " which is not mere experience but which " sets going the machines of Art Creation," some " winged messengers from the Infinite Unknown with tidings for u s , " or something " which wells up our inmost being and which we who are artists strive to share with o t h e r s " ; or it is something which causes a man to " catch and weave the shuttle of the Miracle Worker whom to-day we call N a t u r e . " I must confess that the tracking of this vague " Idea " to its lairto its real and tangible meaning, shorn of all indefinite generalities, gives me a feeling something akin to that inspired by a reading of " J a b b e r w o c k y . " But this is beside the point. Does Miss Defries really believe that a great artist relies not upon his own experience and mental energy, but upon some outside " t h o u g h t s t r e a m , " the origin of " Greatness of Concep tion," or "Inspiration in the T h o u g h t " ? If so, she believes that " thought " exists (and I suppose has always existed) apart from and independent of humanitysome intangible, indefinite
1

"DIVINE

INSPIRATION."

To the Editor
MADAM,

T H E EGOIST.

Might I, very humbly, propose myself as arbitrator between two such brilliant disputants as Amelia Dorothy Defries and Richard Aldington by suggesting that the point on which they differ is simply contained in the word " divine " and not in the word " inspiration " ? For, though no one can deny " inspi ration " without necessarily accepting it, no one can be so bold as to define where " divinity " begins or ends. But your correspondent " J a c k McClure " has most admirably dealt with this same ever-present problem. Paris. S. F . "THE H U B OF T H E UNIVERSE."

To the Editor
MADAM,

T H E EGOIST.

Mr. Aldington has set me off againbut this time I am not controversial. In his article for April 15th, he says : " I had supposed that one only went to the theatre to escape doing something which requires thought." I can only wish that he may tell this to . Craig ! Now, I have been writing plays for ten years, and I have found it takes thought, and what is more, I find it needs energy, insight, a great deal of emotion, restraint, knowledge of all the arts and of everyday life of every kind ; contemporary thought and original ideas, andmore perhaps than any other artthat thing so dear to Mr. Aldington : " the exact w o r d . " There can be few things more exhausting than play-writing and yet it is as Mr. Aldington says, and he is not the only one who goes to the theatre " to escape doing something that requires thought." Everybody (except those who work in or for the theatre) goes to see plays for the same reason ! And I believe, if the truth be known, that all people who do not write poetry, read poetry for this reasonto escape their own thoughts. I believe people g o to music, to pictures, to novels, for this reason, more than for any other. And why not? If we by our efforts can provide something by which other people can escape the effort and get the pleasurewhy not? They expend their effortsif they are fit to liveon some other thing, that spares us. . . I would be glad if I couldwithout messing in stuff too low for human intelligencewrite a play which would, for hundreds of nights, amuse and delight thousands and thousands, and by thinking for them, empty their heads of their heavy thoughts, and send them home to a good night's sleep, refreshed. But it takes a finer play than I have ever written yet, to have this effect ! I would still sooner write a play which, while doing all this to them, would haunt them and re-vitalise them, follow them mould their future actsgive them an Ideal ! But all this is Art . . this, and much more too. And this we do not often get in the theatre. In the theatre a great writer like Israel Zangwill can produce as bad a play with as fine an idea in itas " The Melting P o t . " It amazes me how such an artist, such a good critic too, can have written so bad a play. Technically belonging to 1890, and not good enough, at that. How the managers could have let so big an emotional appeal be so clumsily written, with no sense of the stageand so abominably producedso pitifully acted !

178

THE

EGOIST
IDEALS AND IDOLS.

May 1st, 1914

T H E EGOIST.

T h i s sort of thing is only tolerated in the theatre. W h y ? Because the theatre is in the hands of capitalists and is run for profit. Profit at any cost. And so short-sighted is the policy of these profit-hunters that they have more financial failures in a year than any other business could stand over twenty years. Except perhaps on the Stock Exchange, I do not suppose more money is L O S T yearly over anything (short of actual bona-fide g a m b l i n g ) than is lost in the theatre world. Experienced men of business who have been in the theatre all their lives put on plays which no one wants to see ; plays which run three weeks. They s a y : " No one can ever tell what will succeed." But I say that the whole thing is because T H E P L A Y S are not good enough ; and because no one seems to realise the right relation between the theatre and the citybetween the infinite variety of publics who want to be amused and entertained in an infinite variety of different ways, and the infinite variety of minds capable of entertaining them, and few seem to realise what the theatre IS among the Arts. T o Mr. C r a i g the theatre is the Temple of Art. T o me it is The Great Meeting Place, where all the Arts meetwhere artist and public meet, where all classes and kinds are under one roof, joining in one expression of one art, all at the same moment. If you want to g a u g e what a city is thinking : g o to its theatres. T h e theatre is the Mirror of the City's Life as it is being lived at the moment. Of course it changesof course few things in it lastof course much of it is stale at the end of the year. That is inevitable. Also, some of the greatest art ever produced in words can, from lime to time, be found there ; and some of the noblest interpretations of such works. But the high moments are rare. And this, I feel, is largely because of two things : 1 . The existing commercial conditions do not draw the best men to write for the theatre, or (except in the case of Mr. C r a i g ) to design for the theatre. This is the fault of the publics. If the theatres would all specialise, as one or two low ones do now with great financial success, and if the theatre-goers would become subscribers (as in the modern German and Russian theatres) an end could be put to capitalism in the theatre, and the real artists encouraged to train themselves to come in, where they are much needed. 2. There is no place where a writer can practise or experi ment in stage technique ; writing for the stage is not the same thing as writing for print. Designing for the stage is another matter to painting or drawing on walls or on paper or canvas. The possibilities of the stage are infinite, but even the greatest artists must be trained or must be able to train themselves, if they are to be sure of their work when it gets to the stage. A great deal of this has been said by Mr. Craig in his books. But, naturally, he sees with his own eyes, and, so far, has not considered the writing of plays, but only the producing of them ; a very big and highly technical matter in itself. When you come to consider the way one may go on for many years sitting in one's room writing playswith, at best, only tiny mannikins and a model stage, and most generally with only a pen and a few sheets of paperis it any wonder that nearly all the plays are faulty? Every art has its difficulties, but at least in the other arts you can work in the material in which you will finally express yourself. Even in architecture you can have a working model which can be exact in every detail to your design. Not so the dramatist. His is the position of the sculptor who can get neither marble nor clay, no wood or putty, even. His the position of the painter painting forever, in the pitch dark, works which he may never see ; and when at last a play gets accepted what then ? He has no experience . . . other people run off with his work and make what they please out of it. Managers have told me with pride and laughter how they have " had to re-write the whole thing themselves " before the first night came round ! As if a manager ought to touch a finished play ! Managers and Public, and artists like Mr. Aldington, com plain of the poverty of the plays, but I myself wonder we get as many almost good ones as we do, seeing how theatrical matters are run. The Intellectuals complain when People will not g o to dull problematic plays ; the artists complain when they find no spark of beauty of conception in the plays. People complain that plays are boring : that interesting plays are too heavy : that light plays are too empty and so on and so on. YYhat I think is, that few managers know a good play when they read one (and they leave most of the reading to unskilled subordinates) and few writers know how to write for the stage (for reasons which I have explained). There should immediately be a training school and experi mental studio for Dramatists if the Drama of to-morrow is to be better than that of to-day ; and the best theatrical managers should form a committee and reorganise their business, relating the theatre to the city and to the people's life : and letting each set of theatres specialise for a certain kind of play and the public, so that those wno want " c o m i c relief," who like that sort of thing, can get it always at certain places (and there is no earthly reason why " comic relief " should not be Artlife is full of " comic relief " !), and those who want other kinds of drama can also get it at their special haunts. I do not know if I have made my meanings clear?
London. AMELIA DOROTHY DEFRIES.

To the Editor,
MADAM,

As you are ever w a g i n g war on " Concepts " it might be interesting to consider whether Idealsthe form in which con cepts generally present themselves to the ordinary personare not in fact something closely akin to Idols. The very way people treat their Idealsputting them on the top shelf of their minds and bringing them down to look at when they have a leisure momentstrongly suggests the analogy. If an Ideal were not a kind of Idol it would be used as a prescription and not cherished as something precious, which is what most people do with it. Directly a man believes in and honours an ideal it means he worships it, and if he worships it, he is worshipping something made by man and thereby con demns himself to the fate of all idolators, viz. mental stagnation. For Ideals are just as much man-made things as the idols, that we despise the savage for regarding as his gods. H o w did Idols probably come into existence? The savage like an artist wanted to emphasize and memorize something pleasant by making a reproduction of it. He liked men and found that by modelling clay or hacking stone he could make something that reminded him of men, and so he made him images. A savage was however probably always haunted too by a great fear and curiosity in regard to the unknown forces of Nature and he had also a strong desire to subjugate them. One day he made the fatal mistake of supposing his own handiwork had a direct connection with these forces, forgetting that the images were made by himself for his own pleasure, and that the mysterious force he felt to hang over them was not inherent in the images but emanated from the mysteriousness of his own pleasure. So he became an idolator. Now it seems to me words and concepts are just as much man's brainwork as images are his handiwork. The letters of the alphabet were in fact first pictures and words in turn are only compounded pictures and ideas compounded words. One fatal day civilised man like the savage forgets their origin and attributes to them the power of standing for something alto gether outside man. He thinks of concepts as standing for some forces which he can propitiate by worshipping and sacrificing to just in the same way as the savage sought to win the favour of his idols. Actually he is only worshipping a result of his o w n mental activity which he expresses as a Concept. He imagines falsely by so doing that he is penetrating into the mystery of life, whereas the only way man can penetrate the mystery of life is by facing life with his whole mind working in complete union with itselfin short, by living. It seems that Ideals are just records of the directions men have taken in that process of living and a man should check for himself the usefulness of the Ideals or frankly throw them over if he cannot. If a man do anything more with an ideal than use it, he becomes an Idolator and a vampirean idolator because by honouring it, he endows a man-made prescription with a supposed force it does not possess, and a vampire because he wants to propitiate this force by sacrificing others to it. The reason no independent man will stand being preached at by anyone is because rightly the man who preaches is always " suspect " of not really desiring to promote the welfare of the man whom he is advising but of wanting to use him as an offering to his Ideal which he treats as an Idol. Those who really desire to help do not set about it by recom mending an ideal but by giving actual experience ; instinctively they know an Ideal is not a force outside action, but only an instrument, in the use of which they can give no help, unless they themselves are dexterous. I will try and illustrate these remarks by taking a very simple Idealistthe Temperance Reformer. It suddenly strikes a man that temperance in the use of alcohol is extraordinarily desirable. He wishes to acquire the habit and finds it easier to do so by joining up with others who are similarly minded and the whole business is conveniently called by him Temperance Reform. Now so long as he and his friends find Temperance as a concept helpful for acquiring the habit of being temperate and thereby making themselves more effective well and good. As a rule, however, they do not stop there. They find the acquisition of a desirable habit no doubt useful but a tame thing compared with an act of worship which is far more satisfying to the emotions and easier to do. Temperance ceases to be thought of as a habit and becomes a Cause. It is regarded as a force, just like the s a v a g e ' s idol, that will endow men with power if only they will sacrifice to it. Reformers begin to talk about spreading the cause, and the people they try to rope in are puppets that they try to sacrifice to the Idol of Temperance and so gain great reward for themselves. That is the slough that most Reformers end in by losing sight of origins. In any case we so seldom really want to help our neighbours, they are for the most part our rivals and do we want more efficientrivals? Our neighbours are useful as servants or puppets, yes, that is another matter. Directly we begin to think of any abstract concept as a force and treat it with deference we are setting up an Idol. It is of small importance whether it be an ancient concept or a modern oneit is the act of worship that is amiss instead of the free and easy utilisation of a prescription handed down by our forefathers.
London. HONOR M . P U L L E Y .

May 1st, 1914

ON THIS SPIRITUAL
T H E EGOIST.

THE
REALITY.

EGOIST

179

To the Editor

J a c k McClure's interesting letter on " spiritual reality " in T H E EGOIST for April 1 5 referred incidentally to conversations he had held upon the subject with a friend, a Bahaist. 1 am the friend, and claim the privilege of a reply. The complex science we call astronomy existed before astrono mers, and doubtless there are other sciences yet unperceived and unsuspected which will be revealed by further advances in1 intellectual refinement and invention. In other words, the universe was before men were, and will be when men are not. From this point of view, man is a Time-product, and fellow to dogs and wisps of smoke. Nevertheless, although life seems to have appeared progressively, by evolution, it does not follow that life worked along an unbroken path from amoeba to man. If types are not fixed, we should expect some day to see a inoiKfy become rational, and some man or men beco-i e an;<h<r lend of being. T h e type, I believe, is not the trut unit of creation, but rather the stagemineral, vegetable, animal, man. I am quite willing to grant a certain degree of " awareness " to the three lower stages, but this awareness differs from man's not only in degree but in kind. It is not reason which sepa rates man from the other stages, it is his awareness of "spiritual reality."

This particular awareness is neither sensuous nor rational, but comes into being through the activity of soul. The difficulty here is like the difficulty in discussions about art. Once the thing has been named, it becomes the sport of rational and emotional natures who, never having experienced its particular reality in themselves, discuss it in terms of some other, more easily acquired order of experience. There is no such thing as " a r t , " but only the occasional contact of artists with a medium. And in the same way, there is no such thing as " soul," but only the occasional contact of some part of man's consciousness with an environment other than nature. That is, soul does not and by itself, but McClure .and cannot is exist inconfusing the its existence two depends upon contact with something call "spiritual reality." Most his particular contact with universality and thatwc universality western mystics identify this reality with God, speaking of their experience of the new awareness in terms of union, marriage, the fusion of two parties similar in essence though unequal in degree. But if we define God as thus susceptible of contact and fusion, we are led into the difficulty that if St. Catherine and St. John, by mystical experience, both become " G o d , " it follows that St. Catherine thereby becomes St. John. A way out of this difficulty opens up if we consider " spiritual reality " as an environment, a universe in which the " soul " is native and at home just as the body is native to the universe of nature. T h e attributes of this " spiritual " universe must be sought in the experience of those who realise it. These attri butes, timelessness, energy beyond nature's, and their correla tives in souljoy, intuitive knowledge and lovereplace the conditions of nature for those who attain. Such a concept as " heaven " is merely the fossilised shell of old spiritual experi ence cast upon the shores of rational mind. Your true mystic knows that " heaven " has no relation to time, but every rela tion to development. It is on account of the duality of mind itself that men have referred the reality inherent in the term to -a state beyond death. Mind, unchanged by experience, functions with equal readi ness upon material supplied to it from the natural order through the senses and upon that provided from the spiritual order through the soul. It creates reality from whichever sphere stands nearest and most habitually at the threshold. This ten dency of mind is clearly seen in works of art, for it is the velocity of the mind-stream, not its direction, which makes men artistically creative. So far at least, the experience of saints has not served to set the mind-stream in greater velocity than' the experience of materialists, and consequently the testimony of art can be used by either party indifferently. I speak of the duality of mind, but this condition is not fixed. Duality is only a condition when and as long as neither reality has permeated consciousness to the complete exclusion of the other. I agree with McClure that spiritual reality utterly transcends human psychology, for psychology still implies experience of the natural universe alone; but I part from him in believing that many a man has also transcended " human " psychology. These, indeed, are the true egoists. There can be no more difficult act of egoism than the development of soul within a consciousness weakened and divided by the simultaneous percep tion of two conflicting realities. Nor can there be a more profitable egoism than that which gives one joy in his contact with others rather than hate or disgust. A complete egoist is constructive rather than destructive to others because he requires a perfect society to complete his own range of self-expression. Man is a Time-product. Evolution is attempting to discard men for a superior tvpe. But men themselves contain the organism for infinite further development. It is poor thinking to imagine that superman must be organically different from man. Upon man a tremendously greater range of influences for selection is acting than upon the other orders. Indeed, the most powerful influences have nothing whatever to do with the social " struggle for existence," but are subjective, personal, and felt entirely within the innermost chamber of self, even as they arise from that self in its own writhings toward adjust ment. Suicide eliminates more unfit than murder, oppression or even w a r . But I do not mean by suicide merely the one particular act which destroys physical life ; I mean rather that long-drawn-out surrender, that gradual acknowledgment of unfitness which scarcely formulates itself as a thought in the mind, and whose outward manifestation may be nothing more
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conscious than habitual irritability or a need for much tea. These live long after they have no life, and their presence offers no opportunity to evolution. They are ships with furled sails, and can only rock when the wind bloweth. If one could only chart or graphically describe from the point of view of availability for spiritual evolution the first hundred people that pass along the street ! Centuries would separate first and last, and the supreme human virtueadaptabilitybe shown so clearly that none could doubt our inherent racial ability to evolve to supermanand beyond. One word more. McClure calls the environment of spiritual awareness the Ghost. The western mystic calls it God ; I have preferred to call it spiritual universe, a universe co-existing with nature, contacting with nature through one single agency, the soul, yet entirely self-sufficient and with its own laws or conditions which abrogate natural laws at certain occasions. B u t however one calls it, the question arises as to its relation with nature and with time. Are there two universes, one fitting within the other like a nest of boxes, or interwoven like the warp and woof of rugs, or interpenetrative like vibrations of different wave-length? Or is there but one universe seen in two different ways, by different organs of perception? The latter case would remove all conflict" of laws, since a natural law like gravitation would not be abrogated but merely set aside in the case (if conceivable) of a substance without w e i g h t ; while other laws would come into operation the moment consciousness were fitted to respond to their efforts. As for the dog, I see no injustice done the beastie by denying him access to spiritual consciousness any more than in denying him access to Oxford or the Church of Englandor the tax list. Does McClure want justice in terms of the dog or in terms of his own egoism? After all, life offers itself on the same conditions to dogs and men : what one desires he shall possessor become. Perhaps the dog doesn't want the Ghost ! And finally, in saying that " b e f o r e Abraham was I a m , " terms of the equation, identifying itself. But I do not mean to be critical. It is such a relief to find a man of McClure's temperament in T H E EGOIST , that I am tempted to destroy this letter and content myself with a glad Hurrah ! The Egoist has found an eqo at last !
Paris. HORACE HOLLEY.

M A R R I A G E AND T H E ROMAN C A T H O L I C C H U R C H .

To the Editor

T H E EGOIST.

Mr. H . S. C . ' s answer is not absolutely satisfactory, for though he may have found his information in the book men tioned, this does not infer that the author he quotes based his knowledge on the authority of R . C . decrees. This remains to be discovered. Paris. C . S. H . MARRIAGE AND ITS RIVALS.

To the Editor,

T H E EGOIST.

No doubt the Porters will answer " R . R . \ V . " but I would like to answer one question of his. He asks why human beings have always and everywhere forbidden or hampered sexpleasures. I answer, because they are pleasures. Distrust of pleasure is deep-rooted in human nature. The savage chief does not like his inferior to have as warm a fur or as pretty a wife as he has himself, and the inferior, being a meek tail-wagging sort of creature, thinks it his duty to go without. The Jealous (iod of so many religions is a magnified savage chief (or perhaps the chief is a diminished copy of the Jealous God, whom I believe to be a real and evil powerbut this is not a theological paper). This Jealous (iod naturally frowns on all pleasures, and as sex-pleasures are the keenest, he frowns most on them. Indeed if the human race could have been kept going without them, he and his servants would have forbidden them entirely, as they have forbidden many other harmless pleasures. Those who are on the side of Ormuzd rather than Ahriman will facilitate sex-p!easures (and all others) as much as they can. This will make the world better, as I can show in a few lines. In a free world people will assort themselves thus. Out of every 100 men and 100 women, about 30 pairs will prefer to pair for life and breed. These are the attractive people, and mostly the best people. Call them A ' s . About 8 men and 20 women, the C's, will not care to pair at all. About S men and S women, the B's, attractive but fickle or avaricious, will prefer to distribute or sell their attractions. The remaining 54 men and 42 women, the D's, a.re unattractive people. No one falls in love with them. They fall in love with A ' s , and are refused. Mrs. Grundy bids the D's marry each other. They often do, and from these marriages come all domestic tragedies and nearly all inferior children, who inherit bad temper, poor physique, o r whatever other quality made their parents D ' s . Kill Mrs. Grundy (this letter is one bullet against her thick hide), and the D ' s will mostly seek B'sseveral D ' s to each B . It is done now, under the name of prostitution, but so much persecuted that its ood effects are small. With freedom the result would be that B ' s , C ' s , and D ' s would have hardly any children, and the next generation would be 00 per cent, children of A's and So per cent. A ' s themselves. May it be soon ! The worship of Ahriman and Pain and selfdeniaJ has held back the triumph of good for 3000 years ; but it cannot do so for ever. I hope the theory is understood. I have boiled it down to its bones.
Cumberland. CALDWELL HARPUR.

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THE

EGOIST

May 1st, 1914

* DRAWINGS BY ANDRE DUNOYER DE SEGONZAC.

* IDA R U B I N S T E I N .

LES

BOXEURS.

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