Published

Monthly

THE
No. 1.VOL. I V .
WEAVER. ALDINGTON. Editor : H A R R I E T S H A W Assistant Editors : RICHARD H. D.
PASSING PARIS. Two POEMS. THE B y Madame Ciolkowska . D. . . By H . SCENE-MODELS OF NORMAN MACDERMOTT.

EGOIST
JANUARY 1917. SIXPENCE.
Contributing Editor : D O R A MARSDEN, B.A.

CONTENTS
PAQB . 1 2 B y Margaret PAGE

E Z R A P O U N D (Illustrated). Jean de Bosschre

STREET LAMPS.

Translated . . .

from the French of . . . . 7

9

B y D . H. Lawrence

Storm Jameson

3 5
. . 5 6

DEMO-INDIVIDUALISM.
AMERICAN POEMS.

B y Huntly Carter

.
.

.
.

.
.

.
.

9
10

D I A L O G U E S OF F O N T E N E L L E IX.
F R E N C H POEMS. THE DEATH B y O. W . Milosz

Translated by E z r a Pound
. . . . . .

B y Max Michelson

OF FUTURISM.

B y J o h n Cournos

SERIAL S T O R Y TARR.

B y Wyndham Lewis

10

PASSING PARIS
THE conferring of the Nobel (so easily spelt " N o b l e " ) prize on M . Romain Rolland has not been taken as a compliment on the literature of France b y a l l his countrymen. A s typically voicing the two parties who, the one, approve and, the other, disapprove, I will quote two newspapers Les Hommes du Jour and L'Echo de Paris. The latter heralded the news with disgust :
I t appears that the committee of the Nobel prize has chosen M . R o m a i n R o l l a n d for its literary reward. It had been rumoured some time, b u t it was not easy to believe such information which seemed to savour of a coarse joke. . . . T h e extremely pacifist commission which solemnly distributes the legacy of M r . Nobel, courage which induced him from the early days of the war to keep burning, above instincts r u n riot, the light that shall not fail. W e cannot here exhaust our gratification at having been among the first to protest against the stupidity which barked at his heels and the infamous Press whose only purpose it is to calumniate the pure a n d to soil the beautiful. A s often as we could, b u t not as often as we should, we have c r i e d : " R o m a i n R o l l a n d has remained the exemplary m a n , the enviable m a n , because bis conscience has not vascillated, a n d for this reason he is of all Frenchmen the one who most draws love to France. T h e future will endorse this opinion," etc.

I do not say that either of these views is the equitable one, for the first is couched i n such a form as to the famous war manufacturer, is most scrupulous about its exclude consideration ; while the second, by the neutrality. N o doubt i t endeavoured to avoid recompensing, superiority i n tone over the other, tends to win the during the war, a m a n of science or of letters belonging to a cause rather by its comparatively alluring advocacy belligerent nation. B u t the whole of E u r o p e is i n flames. I n than by the unexceptionable wisdom of its plea. these circumstances the neutral has become a rarity of price. Like so much that is over- or under-rated Au-dessus T h e point was to discover the most remarkable neutral. Thus it de la Mle is neither as good nor as evil, neither as was that M . R o l l a n d occurred to the committee, of all neutrals black nor as white, as i t is painted. Bursting with the most neutral, and n o t merely a neutral b y chance of birth, but passion, animated by quite other motives, its partisans neutral b y free choice : neutral while the country i n which he was and critics merely use i t as a bone of contention, as a born suffers invasion and which, for its deliverance and salvation, peg on which to hang their politics. Many have not has spared nought. T h e only F r e n c h m a n who has the sorry read it at all, passing their judgment on hearsay or the f a t u i t y to keep aloof of the medley . . ." title ; others who have, read i t through the distortions of their temper. I n the discussions Romain Rolland and so on from the pen of one who has, apparently, is rather the pretext than the object for the display of since he is among us to write this un-noble article, the preferences, politics, and prejudices. The views of the French branch of the R e d Cross luck to keep himself i f not " a l o o f " at least on one side of the medley, i n that worthy army of soldiers, I Society to which M . Romain Rolland has handed over the entire value of his prize remain to be heard. mean goaders, of the tongue and pen. The paragraph i n Les Hommes du Jour might have been written i n another planet : From the standpoint of the Nobel prize clauses T h e news of the conferring of the Nobel prize for 1915 o n Mr. Clutton-Brock might have been, i t would seem, a R o m a i n R o l l a n d is given out as ascertained. T h e decision was likely candidate, and some of us might have cared to foreseen. I t has earned sufficient insults to our friend to remove elect M r . G . K . Chesterton, whose Crimes of England, all doubts o n his p a r t that the surest honour had been conferred for instance, shows what ought to be said at this time on him. H e deserves i t for a work of which it m a y be said that rather than what ought to be left unsaid (as i n Auit is T r u t h a n d B e a u t y ; he deserves it, too, for the incomparable dessus de la Mle). This book, which has just

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received a faultless rendering by M . Charles Grolleau at the firm of Crs et Cie, may quite well be compared w i t h M . Holland's far more discussed and yet far less defined essay, for both are distinctly war essays and quite otherwise than bellicose. M . Rolland has not, as his detractors would have, turned his head away from the battle, rather has he tried to consider it from a sufficient distance to grasp it. A n d he has probably not succeeded. It is the chief grievance one may nurse against his book. B u t M r . Chesterton, being a great lyricist with a most practical mind, while M . Rolland is a fluent prosaist with an idealistic mind, M . Rolland is taken far more seriously than M r . Chesterton. Here again the form deludes. M r . Chesterton is always in the right because he is a poet, but M . Rolland is not necessarily either right or wrong because he is not.

TWO
BY

POEMS
H . D.

T H E GOD I I A S K E D of your face : is it dark, set beneath heavy locks, circled with stiff ivy-fruit, clear, cut with great hammer-stroke, brow, nose and mouth, mysterious and far distant from my sense. I asked: can he from his portals of ebony carved with grapes, turn toward the earth? I even spoke this blasphemy in my thoughts: the earth is evil, given over to evil we are lost. II A n d in a moment you have altered this. Beneath my feet, the rocks have no weight against the rush of cyclamen, fire-tipped, ivory-pointed, white. Beneath my feet the flat rocks have no strength against the deep purple flower-embers, cyclamen, wine-spilled. III As I stood among the bare rocks where salt lay, peeled and flaked in its white drift, I thought I would be the last you would want, I thought I would but scatter salt on the ripe grapes. I thought the vine-leaves would curl under, leaf and leaf-point at my touch, the yellow and green grapes would have dropped, my very glance must shatter the purple fruit. I had drawn away into the salt, myself, a shell emptied of life. IV I pluck the cyclamen red by wine-red and place the petals

The deaths of Sinkiewicz and Verhaeren, both of international fame, each of peculiarly national character, followed close upon each other. They illustrate the theory that nationalism (in its racial and artistic, not political or social, expression) at its supremest joins the universal. The production of a national writer is so powerful, so insistent and irresistible that it cannot fail to reach far. Sinkiewicz personified Poland, and the world claims him (his most popular book was not his greatest), and Verhaeren's tune was Flemish, yet the French are proud to claim his genius in part theirs. Those who set out with universal aims fall into " N o Man's L a n d . " A n d they are flavourless like forced fruits.

I have begun these notes with quotations of some nonsense and some semi-sense. I will conclude them with some full-sense by Rachilde as she expresses herself i n La Vie for December. " I don't very well understand French as she is being spoke just now," she writes. " F o r instance, I always hear about embusqus. . . . Now I can never accustom myself to this mingling of public malignity in people's private life [or do you mean private malignity in their public life, Madame Rachilde?]. Every other minute a wellinformedif ill-formed, on account of the fashion a well-informed lady whispers into my ear: ' H i s cousin is the brother of the wife of the Minister's secretary,' and then adds: ' D ' y o u c a t c h ? ' I don't catch anything, for if he's there, that young man, he is no doubt obeying instructions, and even though the Minister himself were his cousin, he must stay there." Some one said, " W a r changes no one : the sensible remain sensible; the fools, fools." I fear the war makes fools more foolish and of the wise fools too. . . . For think of all the folly we have all said and written since the war, while what might have been sense once is not necessarily sense now. Perhaps it is a war against sense? M . C. P.S.Three books : Le Vent des Cimes by Isabelle Kaiser (Perrin, Paris, 3 fr. 50). Every one knows Switzerland but few know the Swiss. These cleancut stories will introduce them and are worth attempting. Un Roman Civil en 1914 by Lucie Delarue-Mardrus (Fasquelle, Paris, 3 fr. 50.) A n oblique view of the war, lively and touching. Almanack Crs (Crs, 3 fr. 50). " Specimens " in prose and picture.
NOTICE

Chapter V of the " L i n g u a l P s y c h o l o g y " series by Miss Marsden, " S e v e n Related Definitions," will be continued i n the next issue of T H E E G O I S T .

January

1917

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stiff ivory and bright fire against my flesh. Now I am powerless to draw back for the sea is cyclamen-purple, cyclamen-red, colour of the last grapes, colour of the purple of the flowers, cyclamen-coloured and dark. ADONIS of us like you has died once, each of us like you has passed through drift of wood-leaves, cracked and bent and tortured and unbent in the winter frost then burnt into gold points, lighted afresh, crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf, gold turned and rewelded in the sun-heat.
EACH

Each of us like you has died once, each of us has crossed an old wood-path and found the winter leaves so golden in the sun-fire that even the live wood-flowers were dark. Not the gold on the temple-front where you stand, is as gold as this, not the gold that fastens your sandal, nor the gold reft through your chiselled locks is as gold as this last year's leaf, not all the gold hammered and wrought and beaten on your lover's face, brow and bare breast is as golden as this. E a c h of us like you has died once, each of us like you stands apart, like you fit to be worshipped.

T H E SCENE-MODELS OF NORMAN MACDERMOTT

IT is possible to go round all the theatres in London without being alarmed by any sugges tion of modern ideals i n stage decoration. Once at the Savoy a play resembling A Midsummer Night's Dream was staged in a fashion resembling, if anything, a crazy Russian ballet. Also there is a theatre at Birmingham in which the pictorial conven tions of the Munich Kunstler Theater are attempted. A n d there are the scene-models of M r . Norman Macdermott to be seen in the foyer of the Liverpool Repertory Theatre. That Liverpool in Lancashire should house them may surprise you. It need not. It is true that they are beautiful, but thenone can rest coffee-cups in them, and i n other ways make them useful. Speaking very broadly, it may be said that modern stage decoration has followed two paths. There has been the determination to produce an illusion of greater naturalness i n the setting of plays. This has been done not only by the walling-up of those four

or five doors through which wives and maids retreated madly into bedrooms, but by attempts to suggest an illusory perspective i n the place of the stark absur dities of the back drop. B u t while the master craftsmen of the Russian A r t Theatre have produced some beautiful and some impressive settings, this effort after naturalness does not promise the greatest things, and has not achieved the finest. That is not to be expected from imitation, however skilful. The significant work i n the theatre is being done by the men who have another ideal than that of producing a successful illusion. They have under stood that i n setting a scene from Macbeth it is not enough to build a castle that does not obviously flap in the wind from the wings, with a few men-at-arms in the correct costume of the period. Such a setting is at best not disagreeably obtrusive. A t worst, it becomes the horrid medley of the production of Ibsen's Pretenders at the H a y market, which with its noisy warriors and feudal trappings suggested nothing more than a cinematograph film of Beowulf. When the craftsman of the new ideal designs a setting for Macbeth he attempts to express through it the spirit that broods and mutters in the words and actions of the two driven murderers. H e attempts and achieves simplicitybecause simplicity, that is, the insistence on essentials, the creation of a clear, significant image, is the first condition of art. H e attempts and achieves beauty, because form and line are beautiful even in the service of tragedy and sin. B u t more than this, he attempts, by means of his setting, to concentrate eye and ear on the dominant mood or emotion of the scene, or to fashion a symbol of the spirit beneath the external action. H e attempts, in fact, to create a rhythm of which words, action, and setting are all parts. From a mass of conflicting emotions he selectsby virtue of intellect and of intuition, which is the intellect of the heartthe dominant emotion, the soul of the action, thus making order out of disorder, and a purposeful unity out of purposeless confusion. M r . Macdermott's setting for the Courtyard scene in Macbeth has simplicity, as i t has beauty; but beyond this it expresses and interprets the mood of the scene. From the cold grey-blue spaces of the Courtyard, steps lead up to a great open door, through which the two dark figures pass into a fierce flamelike gloweven as they are passing from the calm of reason to their passionate resolve to murder the king. There is a danger i n this insistence on line and beauty of formdanger from the selfishness of the artist. It is always possible that the setting created to express and emphasize the spirit of a dramatic action may end i n swallowing up the whole of the emphasis, reducing the action to a mime, and the words to an echo sent back from the hollow vaults of space. E v e n as in M r . Craig's well-known design, the colossal door swallows up the anger and the fierce-flung vengeance of Elektra, until she seems a puny wretch, mouthing and ranting to the air. It would be difficult to overestimate the strength of the impulse given to stage decoration by M r . Craig. It would be unwise to leave unnoted its dangers. A t the end M r . Craig, not content that his settings should interpret the drama, would have drama written to fit his artistic vision. H i s characteristic designs do not merely dwarf the actors, as those vast curtains of his overpower the tortured Hamlet : by absorbing a disproportionate amount of interest and emphasis they destroy the unity of the whole produc tion, and put a violent end to the dramatic move ment. M r . Craig is very insistent on the need for movement in the theatre. The tendency of his own work is towards the purely static. M r . Macdermott's worksharing the common debt of stage decorators to M r . Craighas avoided this pitfall. M r . Craig's Macbeth is a feeble ghost overwhelmed by the shadow of huge rocks. The younger artist's setting

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for Macbeth holds the balance between action and setting, and achieves a perfect dramatic harmony. Further, M r . Macdermott's work shows a delight in colour, w i t h a mastery of its uses. The glory of sunlight, the radiance of a noon sky, the myriadshaded darkness of a summer nightall these are in his models ; and as well as these, a deft use of colour to produce a pictorial beauty, something after the manner of George Fuchs of Munich. There are two models for Andriev's A Merry Death. One is the grey curtain before which Pierrot, in grey and lemonyellow, speaks the Prologue and Epilogue. Above his head a gaunt yellow mask gleams i n the sombre folds. The other is Harlequin's house. Here, all is a v i v i d elfin-green, at once subdued and emphasized b y a subtle use of black. The bed, set in a recess at the back, has a green coverlet with the gaunt mask stencilled i n black. The black mask stares from the green curtain at the right and the green door on the left. The slender, black lines of a grandfather clock thrust upwards against the curtain, two chairs, a table, all starkly black and simple of line, complete the balance of colour. I n a scene for a Salome dance is the same conventional beauty with more of audacity i n the colouring. Again black is the unifying motif of the colour-scheme. A v i v i d blue light shines behind the black pillars of the door at the back, and the black of the two thrones set at the left, repeated i n the black and white mosaic of the floor, gives weight and depth to the deep orange curtains with which the whole is hung. There is another danger in the path of the modern theatre artist. It lies i n the attempt to transport to the stage the charm of the pictured scene. In its more fantastic forms this has led to the creation of such scenes as Bakst's design for Hlne de Sparte. Crazy shrines, and rocks full of grinning human and animal faces start i n barbaric colours from the back drop. I n its more conventional forms it has prompted various devices for giving life and naturalness to the painted canvas by the dexterous use of lighting. N o w it is clear that colour painted on canvas whatever beauty it may have of its owncan never have either the depth or the flexibility of colour produced by light thrown on a neutral surface. It is equally clear that to achieve the finest effects a theatrical craftsman should study intimately the nature of the materials in which he must worksilks and cloths, colour and light. M r . Macdermott draws no designs for his settings: he works direct in the actual material of his art, so that his scene-models, with their extraordinary illusion of space and depth, give a clear and accurate idea of their possibilities in the larger spaces of the theatre. A n d further, in his recognition of the tremendous possibilities of light in stage settings, he stands in the foremost line of European producers. H e says of his w o r k : " I n my own scene-models colour has to a great extent deserted the actual canvas, cloth, etc., of the scene and is embodied in the light thrown thereon. There is one which, unlit, is ivory-white even to the sky, but when lit it is bathed in a warm orange sunniness with a dry blue summer sky. Another, unlit, is entirely a neutral grey, lit is a " s t o n e w o r k " i n bright moonlight, with a warm orange light glowing inside a great doorway. Still another, unlit, is a dull blue, but when l i t a translucent green light falling down a great corridor impinges on the purplish blue of the foreground." Impossible to overestimate the value of light i n the creation of magnificent artistic effects. Modern methods of lighting have already a subtlety and beauty beyond the hopes of the old stage. The experiments of the most skilful of mechanicians and artists have achieved much, and suggested more. I n this rediscovery of light the possibilities are almost unlimited. Light can bind together the diverse elements of a scene : it can make the subtlest and

most impressive use of shadow: it gives suppleness to the human body impossible in the crude glare of the footlights : and above and beyond all this, it can express in finer modulations than are possible by any other means changes of thought and feeling. It can make visible the spiritual progress of the action : it is in the highest sense a dynamic force in the theatre, harmonizing and rendering expressive every element in the dramatic whole. Take, for instance, some others of Mr. Macdermott's models. The setting for the first scene of M . Maeterlinck's Mary Magdalen is flooded with sunlight quivering blazing sunlightnot the yellow glare by which the thousands of unenlightened and thoughtless producers imitate it. The white pillars, walls, and railings, catch and reflect it beneath a translucent southern sky. Sunlight againnot quite so v i v i d floods the setting of M r . Granville Barker's Prunella, striking on the white walls of the house with its green shuttered windows. The fountain is placed to the left, and the gateway, standing squarely at the back, is given for once its due importance as the entrance for the forces of change and disintegration. Conventional olive-green trees give depth to the brilliance of the white walls and the skyan English summer sky. Again, in The King's Threshold (W. B . Yeats) white steps lead up to the flaming light inside the black portals of the great doorway. I n the setting for The Death of Tintagiles a sombre blue-lit corridor leads down to the great door, a quivering metallic green door. Along the corridor the girl rushes after her brother. In a moment she will be beating with her hands in the terrible anguish of regret. Now, while she is still unseen, the dark shadow of her foreboding falls across the door. One scene there is which for beauty and power of suggestion surpasses the others. It is the setting for a night scene in The Vikings at Helgland. On the edge of cliffs above the sea a group of pines stands out against the dusky blue of a night sky. They are not black, but a deep living brown. Beyond them the darkness goes out to the edge of the world : below them lies the unseen verge of the sea. I do not know a more impressive or a more beautiful setting i n the work of any European producer. In his masterly use of lighting, and his sense of artistic balance and harmony, M r . Macdermott comes at once into line with the forward movement throughout Europe. This movement towards a finer and nobler dramatic rhythm is seen most clearly of all i n the work of the stage decorator. Among the dramatists who have attempted it only two have achieved a measure of success. The words and action of Tchekov's plays formimperfectly, it is truea rhythm through which his characters and his concept of life struggle for expression. A n d i n the changing verse of his dipus und die Sphinx, Hofmannsthal attempts to create a dramatic form responsive to every change of mood and action. There are, on the other hand, everywhere i n Europe, groups of artists who have done more than dream of harmony i n stage-setting : they have achieved it. A t the last it may be said that when the great dramatist of the future reaches the theatre he will find the artists waiting for him, already i n possession of a supple and highly expressive means of interpreting his vision. A n d among these artists, Englandfor all the banality of her theatresmay take an honourable place by virtue of the work of two men, of M r . Craig and M r . Macdermott. MARGARET STORM JAMESON

Peasant

Pottery
Row)

Shop

41 Devonshire Street, Theobald's Road, W.C.

(Close to Southampton

Interesting British and Continental : Peasant Pottery on sale : Brightly coloured plaited felt Rugs.

J a n u a r y 1917

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DIALOGUES O F F O N T E N E L L E
TRANSLATED B Y EZRA POUND IX HELEN AND FULVIA HELEN. I must hear your side of a story which Augustus told me a little while ago. Is it true, F u l v i a , that you looked upon him with some favour, but that, when he did not respond, you stirred up your husband, Mark Antony, to make war upon h i m ? Fulvia. Very true, my dear Helen, and now that we are all ghosts there can be no harm in confessing it. Mark Antony was daft over the comedienne Citherida, I would have been glad to avenge myself by a love affair with Augustus; but Augustus was fussy about his mistresses, he found me neither young enough nor sufficiently pretty, and though I showed him quite clearly that he was undertaking a civil war through default of a few attentions to me, it was impossible to make him agreeable. I will even recite to you, if you like, some verses which he made of the matter, although they are not the least complimentary : Because Mark Antony is charmed with the Glaphira, [It was by that name that he called Citherida.] Fulvia wants to break me with her eyes, Her Antony is faithless, what? Who cries : Augustus pays Mark's debts, or he must fear her. Must I, Augustus, come when Fulvia calls Merely because she wants me ? At that rate, I'd have on my back A thousand wives unsatisfied. Love me, she says, or fight. The fates declare : She is too ugly. Let the trumpets blare. Helen. Y o u and I, then, between us have caused the two greatest wars on record ? Fulvia. W i t h this difference : you caused the Trojan W a r by your beauty, I that of Antony and Augustus by the opposite quality. Helen. B u t still you have an advantage, your war was much more enjoyable. M y husband avenged himself for an insult done him by loving me, which is quite common, yours avenged himself because a certain man had not loved you, and this is not ordinary at all. Fulvia. Yes, but Antony didn't know that he was making his war on my account, while Menelaus knew quite well that his was on your account. That is what no one can pardon him. F o r Menelaus with all the Greeks behind him besieged Troy for ten years to tear you from Paris's arms yet if Paris had insisted on giving you up, would not Menelaus, instead of all this, have had to stand ten years siege i n Sparta to keep from taking you back? Frankly I think your Trojans and Greeks deficient i n humour, half of them silly to want you returned, the other half still more silly to keep you. W h y should so many honest folk be immolated to the pleasures of one young man who was ignorant of what he was doing? I cannot help smiling at that passage in Homer where after nine years of war wherein one had just lost so many people, he assembles a council before Priam's palace. Antenor thinks they should surrender you, I should have thought there was scant cause for hesitation, save that one might have regretted not having thought of this expedient long before. However, Paris bears witness that he mislikes the proposal, and Priam, who was, as Homer tells us, peer to the gods in wisdom, being embarrassed to see his Cabinet divided on such a delicate matter, not knowing which side to choose, orders every one to go home to supper.

Helen. The Trojan W a r has at least this in its favour, its ridiculous features are quite apparent, but the war between Augustus and Anthony did not show its reality. When one saw so great a number of Imperial eagles surging about the land, no one thought of supposing that the cause of their mutual animosity was Augustus's refusal to you of his favours. Fulvia. So it goes, we see men in great commotions, but the sources and springs are for the most part quite trivial and ridiculous. It is important for glory of great events that their causes be hidden.

FRENCH POEMS
[The following poems are taken by the author's permission from Pomes by O. W . Milosz, "Collection de Vers et Prose" (Eugene Figuire et Cie., Paris ; 1915 ; 3 fr. 50).]

UNE

ROSE

UNE rose pour la douce, un sonnet pour l'ami, Le battement de mon cur pour guider le rythme des rondes ; L'ennui pour moi, le v i n des rois pour mon ennui, Mon orgueil pour la vanit de tout le monde, O noble nuit de fte au palais de ma v i e ! E t la complainte, pour mon secret, dans le lointain, De la citronnelle, et de la rue, et du romarin . . . Le rubis d'un rire dans l'or des cheveux, pour elle, L'opale d'un soupir, dans le clair de lune, pour l u i ; U n nid d'hermine pour le corbeau du blason ; Pour la moue des anctres ma forme qui chancelle D'illusions et de vins dans les miroirs couleur de pluie, E t pour consoler mon secret, le son Des rouets qui tissent la robe des moribonds. U n quart d'heure et une bague pour la plus rieuse, U n sourire et une dague pour le plus discret; Pour la croix du blason, une parole pieuse. Le plus large hanap pour la soif des regrets, Une porte de verre pour les yeux des curieuses. E t pour mon secret, la litanie dsole Des vieilles qui grelottent au seuil des mausoles. Mon salut pour la rvrence de l'trangre, M a main baiser pour le confident, U n tonneau de gin pour la gaie misre Des fossoyeurs ; pour l'vque luisant D i x monnaies d'or pour chaque mot de prire E t pour la fin de mon secret U n grand sommeil de pauvre dans un cercueil dor. LE CHANT D E L A MONTAGNE COMME la fconde aux larges hanches ensoleilles Je suis, Comme la grande et fire moissonneuse dans la paix De midi, Comme l'pouse aux bras puissants du laboureur, leve Avant le jour, Comme la mre des hros, vigilante au sommet De la tour. Mon paule est dans la nue, ma tte renverse Dans l'azur. Aussi loin que va mon regard, dans la mer thre Tout est calme, profond et pur. Hommes de la ville couche mes pieds de granit E t vous Qui haletez dans le chaleur des hameaux endormis Sur mes genoux, Levez-vous, j ' a i dvoil le beau visage svre De l'espace,

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Venez, je veux vous enseigner la plus haute prire, L'officace! D u Sina spirituel qui touche la hasmal J e suis le grand reflet, la sainte image. O F i l s ! avant que de voler, apprenez gravir ! Vous les lus de demain, aujourd'hui soyez mes sages. O doutes, souvenirs, regrets, venez vous reposer Sur mon sein, et toi, ple passion, Viens, viens purifier ton cur dans l'immense rose Des constellations! C'est d ' i c i qu'il faut adorer ce puissant univers Que je contemple. C'est moi qui suis l'arche de salut, le trne du Pre, Le temple! Venez, vous tous, saluer, pieusement le retour D u sage, du profond silence, Venez, hros, goter la joie de ce suprme amour, L a Confiance ! O. W . MILOSZ

T H E D E A T H OF FUTURISM
B Y J O H N COURNOS ART is the expression of one's desire. When that desire is fulfilled i n life, that is to say when it has ceased being an imaginative expression and has passed into actuality, the art which had been its prophetic expression is dead as an art. A r t is not life. A n art when it has passed over into life has ceased being an art. A n art fulfilled is an art dead, just as a fulfilled prophecy is dead. Nothing is easier to prove than that Futurism is deadas an art. A n d not alone Futurism, but also Vorticism and all those " b r o t h e r " arts, whose masculomaniac spokesmen spoke glibly in their green-red-and-yellow-becushioned boudoirs of "the glory of w a r " and "contempt for women," of the necessity of "draughts," "blasts," and "blizzards," of " m a x i m u m energy" and "dispersed energy," etc. etc. I am quite well aware that the Futurists and the Vorticists offer different theories as to the application of "energy," but that one energy is " d i s p e r s e d " and the other " s t a t i o n a r y " is of small present concern. If the theorists of these two schools disagree on the adjective, they agree at least on the noun : energy was the great cry of both schools. A n d W A R was in the minds of both. Marinetti openly talked war. A n d one has but to look through the pages of the first number of Blast to read praises of modern invention, and see pictures entitled " P l a n of W a r " and " S l o w A t t a c k " curiously abstract representations of modern warfare, which now seem like wonderful prophecies. A n d the Vorticist manifesto even speaks of a " l a u g h like a bomb." To talk of a laugh like that was all very well in times of peace, even very natural. Even we in London know what a bomb's laugh is like. A n d it is very natural to want a different kind of laugh now. F o r art is the expression of one's desire. I dare say there are a good many artists who would like an opportunity to express themselves on the beauties of peace just now. B u t I am coming to that. The fact is, the artists, like the rest of the world, had hardly realized that the true exponents of modern art were the men on the German General Staff, holding periodical meetings at Potsdam, or some other " d a m . " These people knew better what " m a x i m u m energy" was. Their " v o r t e x " first sucked in millions of German young men, then it was sent spinning like a huge top through Belgium and France, where in its first momentum it " d i s p e r s e d " millions of other young men. Little " d r a u g h t s " came along in all countriesthey call them " d r a f t s " nowand sent thousands of young

men flying toward death like so many withered leaves. What Futurist, either in the trenches or at home, honestly desires war to continue? What Vorticist? A t least one English Futurist, judging from his new pictures, answers my question in the only way it can be answered. It is M r . C . R . W . Nevinson, whose fine war pictures exhibited recently at the Leicester Galleries are, it is generally agreed, the best pictorial protest against war that has yet been shown, and M r . Nevinson has seen the war at first hand. A n d this protest is effective precisely because the artist has expressed it in unfuturistic terms. I do not want to overstate my case, or do injustice to M r . Nevinson, who, except for a half-dozen purely abstract pictures, preserves just enough of the geometric touch to give poignancy to the mechanical nature of our age and to the machine-like qualities of our armies. It is a question whether he means to praise that, though it is true he finds decorative values in wire entanglements and in the busy docks at Southampton. It is also true that he has made a Bursting Shell look like a glorified catherine-wheel, and an Explosion like the sharp rays of a sunrise: had not the artist supplied a name to this picture it might just as easily have been taken to represent " P e a c e on earth, goodwill to men." Indeed the writer of the introduction to the catalogue, Sir Ian Hamilton, ascribes all sorts of mystic qualities to Mr. Nevinson's paintingsbut what Futurist ever wanted to be connected with mysticism? After all, whether these paintings are a protest against war or not matters little, they are by their method a protest against Futurism. B y his return to representation the artist proclaims in them a confession of Futurism's failure, and incidentally his own success as an artist. A n d as no art is distinct from its methodindeed the method is always the artso the Futuristic theory falls with the structure. Peace to its ashes. But the good impression M r . Nevinson makes with his paintings he somewhat spoils with his " note " i n the catalogue. To quote a few sentences :
E v e r y a r t i s t of l i v i n g force h a s a l w a y s b e e n a n d m u s t be a n o u t g r o w t h a n d s p o k e s m a n of h i s t i m e . I t i s i m p o s s i b l e to express the scientific a n d m e c h a n i c a l s p i r i t of t h i s t w e n t i e t h century war with the l a n g u i s h i n g or obsolete s y m b o l i s m of M e d i a e v a l o r C l a s s i c A r t . . . . A l r e a d y l o n g b e f o r e t h e war y o u n g artists i n L a t i n countries a n d E n g l a n d were seeking a w i d e r i n s p i r a t i o n t h a n i n t h e s i c k l y w o r s h i p o f t h e n u d e a n d the over-sensual broodings of o u r elders w h i c h s h o w e d themselves in t h e l i t e r a t u r e a n d a r t of t h e Yellow Book, i n " a d v a n c e d d r a m a s , " a n d i n s o m e of t h e P r e - R a p h a e l i t e s , a t e n d e n c y l a r g e l y d u e to t r i v i a l l i v e s possessing n o o t h e r c o n c e p t i o n o f a d v e n t u r e or emotion than sex. . . . T h e i n t e n s i t y o f t h e p r e s e n t time is p r o d u c i n g a v i t a l art in E n g l a n d . . . .

A l l this is very sweeping, very confusing, a mixture of half-truths. As for the last statement I quote from Mr. Nevinson I defy any one to prove that there is any truth in it at all. In the first place, M r . Nevinson assumes that all art falls in with life, moreover that life imposes its will upon art and the artist, and that art at best can only serve as a handmaiden to life. That is an old quarrel which Oscar Wilde has answered handsomely in his Decay of Lying. The plausible theory set forth in this essay is that art is not life, that art is greater than life, that artthe world of the imagination created by the artist's willprojects itself into life, the world of reality, to which it gives colour and i n which it inspires a spirit of emulation. But what is M r . Nevinson's ideal? It is that this is a scientific age, and that art must therefore adopt a scientific formula. To say this is to imply that art is always the result of environment, whereas the opposite is nearer the t r u t h : great art is nearly always a reaction from environment. Only little

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artists are content to wallow i n the mud of reality. If the Pre-Raphaelites failed it was not necessarily because their theory was wrong but more likely because their limited genius applied its principles externally to an acquired, not sufficiently deep-rooted emotion. It is hard to see how this obsession w i t h machinery is i n any way superior to the obsession with sex. One man likes a woman, another likes a machine. Women were before machines. Just how the machine-lover can crow over a woman-lover is something that I fail to see. A t the risk of seeming irrelevant I will recall a day when loitering near a bookstall I ran across two books i n different parts of the stall written by two different authors and published by two different firms : one book was entitled: Motor-cycles Sow to Manage Them, the other, WomenHow to Manage Them. Each writer, it may be assumed, wrote about what he knew best; I am not sure that the second did not have the harder task. A n d really there is no reason at all why one man should not have written both books, provided he knew how to manage one and the other. Indeed there was once a very great artist who knew very much about science and made all sorts of discoveries and inventions and even discussed the possibilities of submarines and flying machines in a practical way. This artist "also painted a l i t t l e " t o use Whistler's phrase about a Royal Academicianand in some of his paintings he showed an intense preoccupation, even obsession, with strange feminine beauty. This was Leonardo da Vinci, a true Futurist in that he forestalled modernity, and at the same time a great artist in that he reacted from it in his art with an oppositeness that was like the swing of a pendulum. Some day a book may be written to show how closely war is allied with sex. F o r the Futuristic juxtaposition of the glorification of war and " c o n tempt for w o m e n " is no mere accident. This contempt does not imply indifference, but the worst form men's obsession with sex can take, that is rape! A n honest statement concerning Futurism's present position was made some months ago by Russia's most gifted Futurist, Mayakovsky, who, after admitting frankly that Futurismwhich contained the idea of the coming war, for which alone it indeed lived has died in the fulfilment of the idea and therefore lost its raison d'tre, nevertheless gloats on the "absence of a single orderly corner." "Everywhere there is devastation and anarchy. The inhabitants laughed at this as at the antics of madmen, but it proved to be a diabolic intuition incarnated in the stormy to-day. The war broadening the boundaries of kingdoms and the brain compels to break into frontiers yesterday unknown." (The grammatical construction of the last sentence is Mayakovsky's own.) Then he goes on to say that " F u t u r i s m has died as a particular group, but it has poured itself out in every one in a flood. To-day all are Futurists. The people is Futurist." Here we have a clear logical statement of the position of Futurism to-day. A r t , such as it is, is indeed " u p o n the town," i n Whistler's phrase. In this msalliance with life, art has been dragged down to a position from which it must react i n the end. A n d i n this reaction lies our greatest hope. It is nonsense to talk about obsession with sex as the only alternative to Futurism. Rembrandt and Turner and Millet and V a n Gogh have shown that art can thrive without the convention of the nude. This does not mean that others should paint like them for that would be plagiarismbut it does show that great artists, "spokesmen of their time," will always evolve individual formulae, without knuckling down too slavishly to life. After all, the Futurists themselves, by forming a group and adopting a formula based on the mechanical and industrial nature of our age, were drifting dangerously toward an academy on new lines.

EZRA POUND
TRANSLATED FROM THE F R E N C H OF J E A N DE BOSSCHERE I I H A V E been able to draw a picture of E z r a Pound in a very few lines, with the help of poor Gaudier Brzeska. Such a few lines cannot also give the poet's work ; one must first make a series of sketches, then a portrait. The sketches are an analysis of the successive influences which he voluntarily underwent; the portrait is the praise of his last book, Lustra. There has been an odd insistence in the way Pound has invoked the domination of the great writers. W i t h the exception of those old writers who influenced his youth, he has treated other poets with a savage familiarity. I can believe that some of his inspirers might have found him disturbing, rather intemperate, often impertinent. E z r a Pound is the bite of the champagne. It is not the best part of the wine, but the most important. It is the charm of the wine, its piquant though superficial spirit. Just for a few seconds the foam has something which the full-bodied wine can never have. The foam shows what the wine is like. A n d that is what Pound's intelligence does with the wine of his work. I mean, for instance, that when he imitated the Troubadours he did not take their genius from them, but assumed the characteristics of a special fashion of expression. H e is a Troubadour, but in spite of meaning to be faithful he is freer than his old models of the south. E v e n while trying to obey a foreign inspiration his mind was always noting a thousand modern resemblances of thought and word, and one finds traces of this untimely vision i n several poems. H e is the translator essentially unfaithful. H i s active intelligence goes beyond mere bookish imitation. When he brings the old wine out of the bottle, the atmosphere in which he lives, his quick mind, naturally biting in its methods, in a word, the ardent quality of his whole personality, are fused in the old wine, and make this witty, delicate, often sarcastic effervescence. The wine itself, however, almost disowns this sparkle. Pound does not interfere with the genius of foreign w o r k ; but whatever intelligence and liberty of thought, the destructive spirit, and imagination can add to a work of art, that Pound adds. One can only regret one thing, that the poet should have used this, so personal an effervescence, on work that is not his o w n ; but one regrets it only in the long poems, i n the Troubadour manner, which foreshadow the cloistered romance of Petit Jehan de la Saintr. A n unfaithful translator! Nevertheless no other jeune has given himself so generously up to influence. Pound thinks it is a good thing to submit to it in full awareness of the fact. This is, no doubt, true for many of us, as it is certain that copying the best drawings of the masters is good for the pupil. One must choose between Michelangelo and A l m a Tadema, between Dante and Milton. A t about seventeen Pound admires Dante, for must one not first admire God and the Mystery? Before becoming united with the universal Mystery, one must worship it as an external thing. W e cannot take a young man seriously who has not adored some formal God quite simply. It is easy to guess that Pound's depth of thought led him to find more human and approachable masters. In any case it showed him Milton. B u t the encumbered, heavy rhetoric of Paradise Lost must certainly have driven him to the hardness, the incisive form of the Divine

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Comedy. Moreover the clearness and strength of precision struck his imagination from the first. H e was always thinking about freeing himself from any indirect construction of phrase, and with a view to this he translated Guido Cavalcanti. H e wanted to examine the crude, sincere manner of the poet, and enjoyed studying his keen method of expression ; he admired the way i n which this Italian wrote of love and reality, and though there are many images in Guido's

attracted by the qualities of clearness and firmness in the old writers. Further, they are less surprising if one knows the poems which he published later, and especially those of to-day. I n Exultations the virile note sounds with strange and rather crude strength, and the poet was reproached for it. The Goodly Fere was perhaps the finest thing in the book, with Pierre Vidal and Sestina Altaforte. P o u n d here shows himself i n process of becoming as we now know him. To the translation of Guido, which he undertook in order to free himself from a certain stiffness and rudeness of style with which he might be charged, we must add his third selection of verses, Canzoni. In making the translation he was thinking of the public, of the good judge, or even of those who merely make a claim to be good judges. I n writing Canzoni he did the same. The love of fighting in the cause of liberty which one always finds i n Pound is here very marked, and even more so i n the following collection, Ripostes. In Canzoni the protest is still a latent argument ; he seems to want to prove that though he writes vers libre he is still capable of writing i n regular metre. It is only about five years since vers libre has ceased to be looked upon in England either as the art of a madman or a practical joker. H a v e not Virgil and Shakespeare both written vers libre? A n d yet till Swinburne, poetry was only a rigid vehicle for ideas, and nearly always for morals. But Ripostes ought, it seems to me, to give its title to the book that follows it. Between the writing of the two, Pound has had a revelation. H e sees the world in harder outline, its grin is changed. I find some "sweetness" i n Ripostes which is not i n Lustra. Still, the value of Ripostes lies i n the poet's point of view. H i s style is formed, he awaits a shock. The energy which we find all through Lustra is shown i n the poem called Return; and in Doria and A Girl, out of that same Ripostes of 1912, he seems, having got his strength, to put away the old harmonies of poetryso well, too well known to us. pages, they are never Petrarchian metaphors, pretty Here is enough, but with no claim to be anything but metaphor. AQPIA I should be invading the province of the critic if I Be in me as the eternal moods here analysed the way in which Pound was influenced, of the bleak wind, and not and what were those influences?if I told all the As transient things are accidents and adventures of his literary life. I could gaiety of flowers. not, and I do not wish to do it. Here a poet speaks of Have me in the strong loneliness a poet. Still, E z r a Pound's past is very near his of sunless cliffs present; his last books are very near his first. That And of grey waters. is why I must speak of them rapidly, leaving it to Let the gods speak softly of us the good critics of the future to make impartial In days hereafter. judgments and comparisons, and to build up the The shadowy flowers of Orcus whole structure of the poet's workadorned, defended, Remember thee. qualified, and commentated. * * * * One must add to all the successive influences which he experiences that of the Chinese poets, as we shall see later ; that of the youngest French poets, and of William Butler Yeats, the great living poet to whom all the jeunes have listened. Pound, no doubt, admired him when he first came to London. Pound was then twenty-two. After having been a professor in America he embarked for Europe. H e went to Venice, where he published A lume spento i n 1908. H e only stayed five months i n Venice, but has since been back every year to Italy. Before writing about his last book I think i t is important to point out that he has published a very suggestive memoir of Gaudier Brzeska, and that he was one of the Blast contributors. It is less important to mention the studies i n one volume (The Spirit of Romance) which form a sort of thesis. They contain a great deal of learning and knowledgethe work of a very good scholar. L e t us go on to the very good poet. (To be continued)

Browning, solid, unornamented, historical, first charmed him by his frank simplicity. I think one might say that a k i n d of rusticity in the Camberwell poet attracted Pound's attention, but not for long. P o u n d perhaps owes his early discovery of the Troubadours to a young professor, who loved their poetry.* For at the university i n America, one has to discover the Troubadours, also life and art, for oneself. In Person, published i n the spring of 1909, and Exultations, in the autumn of the same year, the reader can find subtile traces of the Troubadour influence. Bead La Fraisne, Na Audiart, A Villonaud. Ballad of the Gibbet, etc. The names of several will help the critic. The latter may be puzzled by certain strong characteristics i n Exultations, work of the first year Pound spent i n L o n d o n ; but they are not really surprising, given the way i n which he was
* Pound was the first m a n i n E n g l a n d to use five of the

T r o u b a d o u r forms.

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STREET LAMPS
G O L D , w i t h a n i n n e r m o s t speck O f silver, s i n g i n g afloat Beneath the night, L i k e balls of t h i s t l e - d o w n Wandering up and down O v e r the w h i s p e r i n g t o w n S e e k i n g where t o a l i g h t . S l o w l y , a b o v e the street A b o v e the ebb of feet D r i f t i n g i n flight, S t i l l , i n the p u r p l e distance T h e g o l d of t h e i r strange persistence, A s t h e y cross a n d p a r t a n d meet A n d pass out of sight. T h e seed-ball of the sun Is b r o k e n at last, a n d done Is the orb of d a y . N o w to its separate ends Seed after day-seed wends Its separate w a y . N o sun w i l l ever rise A g a i n o n the w o n t e d skies I n the m i d s t of the spheres. T h e globe of day, over-ripe, Is shattered at last beneath the stripe Of the w i n d , a n d its oneness veers Out myriad-wise. Seed after seed after seed D r i f t s over the t o w n , i n its need T o s i n k a n d h a v e done, T o settle at last i n the d a r k , T o b u r y its potent spark W h e r e days are b e g u n . D a r k n e s s , a n d d e p t h of sleep, N o t h i n g to k n o w or to weep, W h e r e the seed sinks i n T o the e a r t h of the u n d e r - n i g h t W h e r e a l l is silent, q u i t e S t i l l , a n d the darknesses steep O u t a l l the s i n .
D. H . LAWRENCE

DEMO-INDIVIDUALISM
BY HUNTLY CASTER

I T H I N K t h a t i f there is a general g r o u n d o n w h i c h the w a r m a y be c o n g r a t u l a t e d , the q u i c k e n i n g of a u n i v e r s a l s p i r i t of d e m o c r a t i c i n d i v i d u a l i s m w o u l d be the t h i n g . I t w o u l d be the s p i r i t b r e a k i n g u p large organizations a n d u n i t i n g m e n b y a n act of intelligence r a t h e r t h a n of i n t e l l e c t , i n s m a l l individualized democratic groups. In E n g l a n d , w h i c h is u n d e r g o i n g a p r o f o u n d i n d u s t r i a l t r a n s f o r m a t i o n , we k n o w i t is the case, for there a m o v e m e n t t o w a r d s t h e r e o r g a n i z a t i o n of N a t i o n a l G r o u p s c o m p o s e d of i n d i v i d u a l i z e d y e t socially c o m m u n i c a t i n g u n i t s , has a c t u a l l y a n d a c t i v e l y begun. I n more t h a n a t h e o r e t i c a l w a y , p r e - w a r i n d u s t r i a l f o r m a t i o n s are b e i n g p r o f o u n d l y shattered, a n d there is, i n fact, a v e r y great p r o m i s e t h a t t h e y soon w i l l be r e p l a c e d b y others set i n m o t i o n b y s o m e t h i n g r e m i n d i n g us of a r e s t o r a t i o n of the Mediaeval G u i l d s y s t e m u p o n a n i n d u s t r i a l g r o u n d r a r e l y refined b y p r e s e n t - d a y e c o n o m i c a n d w a r - t i m e experiences. So w e c e r t a i n l y are g o i n g to get, p r e s e n t l y , i n d e p e n d e n t a n d economically complete industrial communities, self-subsisting, a n d self-governed so far as these p o w e r s c a n be a t t r a c t e d f r o m a t o t a l l y w r o n g , b u t

c h a n g i n g , c o n c e p t i o n of c i v i l i z e d life. A c o n c e p t i o n , t h a t is, s t i c k i n g fast i n a b y s m a l q u a n t i t y , i n s t e a d of p l a y i n g h a p p i l y r o u n d engaging a n d i n s p i r i n g q u a l i t y . T h e case of F r a n c e , where social interest is c o n cerned j u s t n o w , is somewhat s i m i l a r . A desire for d e c e n t r a l i z a t i o n has set i n m o t i o n a b r e a k i n g - u p f r o m w h i c h i n d i v i d u a l i z e d a n d e c o n o m i c a l l y complete g r o u p forms m a y be e x p e c t e d to emerge. The F r e n c h g r o u p i n g , however, is n o t l i k e l y to proceed precisely o n the same l i n e as the E n g l i s h o n a c c o u n t of its p o l i t i c a l a n d social origins being so different from o u r o w n . E n g l a n d is, as yet, o n l y d u s t i n g the l i d of p o l i t i c a l interests, beneath w h i c h l i e concealed o u r v a s t s p i r i t u a l inheritances. F r a n c e , o n the other h a n d , stands u p r o o t e d from the p o l i t i c a l soil con t e m p l a t i n g its w o n d r o u s s p i r i t u a l inheritance. So one m a y say t h a t i n E n g l a n d the economic is s t i l l the e n d ; i n F r a n c e i t is the means. W h a t the F r e n c h d e c e n t r a l i z i n g tendency has s p r u n g f r o m is r e a l l y a n acute discontent w i t h the N a p o l e o n i c system of c e n t r a l a d m i n i s t r a t i o n ; a r e a c t i o n against machine-age m a t e r i a l i s m ; the c i v i c renaissance w h i c h caught F r a n c e o n its crest some years a g o ; a n d the more recent discovery of the secret of the greatness of F r a n c e . I believe the discontent was c l e a r l y described b y J . C . B o d l e y i n his r e m a r k a b l e v o l u m e o n France. Professor M a r k B a l d w i n has confirmed the news of the r e b i r t h a n d g r o w t h of a fruitful i d e a l i s m u r g i n g F r a n c e f o r w a r d to s p i r i t u a l excellence, offering i t a r e v a l u a t i o n of i n d i v i d u a l freedom, a n d cancelling the o p i n i o n con t a i n e d i n M r . B o d l e y ' s v e r y significant book, Cardinal Manning and Other Essays, t h a t the soul of F r a n c e is s i n k i n g u n d e r the dreadful weight of strengthening m a t e r i a l i s m a n d d e c l i n i n g force of s p i r i t u a l ideals. T h e c i v i c w a v e lifted F r a n c e i n sight of the C i t y S t a t e i d e a of the early Greeks, the d e v e l o p m e n t of t o w n - p l a n n i n g a n d v i l l a g e c o m m o n w e a l t h ideals, where the M i d d l e Ages left t h e m , the geographic d e t e r m i n i s m of L e P l a y a n d its offspring, the science of h u m a n geography, as its i n v e n t o r , G . E . E n o c k , describes i t i n The Tropics, his i m p o r t a n t c o n t r i b u t i o n to c o n s t r u c t i v e economics. T h e s a i d momentous d i s c o v e r y faced F r a n c e w i t h the requirements of its n a t i v e genius, a n d t o l d i t h o w i t h a d g r o w n more a n d more i n s p i r i n g i n the past, a n d m i g h t , i f i t l i k e d , c o n t i n u e its v i v i d career i n the future. Clearly, i n this, F r a n c e h a d h i t u p o n one of the choicest phases of its eternal l u c k . T h i n k w h a t m i g h t h a p p e n to E n g l a n d i f some one were to discover the secret of its greatnessdiscover its soul. T h e n i n d e e d i t c o u l d score off the a b o u n d i n g t r u t h s a y e r s w h o sit ever u p o n its b a c k , l i n k a S i n d b a d , e x c l a i m i n g , " B a h ! Y o u h a v e no s o u l o n l y legs." A n d t h e n i t c o u l d ask itself one or t w o straight questions a n d l i v e v i v i d l y ever after answering t h e m . F r a n c e has a life of the sort before i t . Those w h o discovered its secretProfessor H . J . F l e u r e foremost a m o n g t h e m a r e i n v i t i n g i t to p a y strict a t t e n t i o n to v i t a l facts of place a n d circumstance, a n d to derive sustenance a n d d i r e c t i o n from t h e m . W h a t are these facts? I n sum t h e y reveal t h a t F r a n c e always has a n d w i l l enjoy a singular felicity of p o s i t i o n a n d c i r c u m s t a n c e . A n d this felicity enables i t to m a k e the most effective c o n t r i b u t i o n to the s p i r i t u a l a d v a n c e of the W e s t e r n w o r l d . I t lies, l i k e a h i g h l y sensitized i n s t r u m e n t of t r a n s m i s s i o n , d i r e c t l y i n the p a t h of the great s p i r i t u a l influences t h a t h a v e ever flowed n o r t h w a r d from the M e d i t e r r a n e a n . I t lies i n the p a t h of E n g l a n d to most things t h a t can b e c k o n i t to s p i r i t u a l s a l v a t i o n . I t lies beneath v a r i e d a n d t r a n s f o r m i n g climates a n d i n this respect is l i k e a v e r y finely w r o u g h t sensitized i n s t r u m e n t composed of m a n y sensitized i n s t r u m e n t s a l l w o r k i n g separately y e t together. E a c h of the regions so fashioned has a d i s t i n c t people, f o u n d e d i n peasantry, a n d a d i s t i n c t life of its o w n . W h e t h e r b y accident or design, one k n o w s not, t h i s u n i t y i n d i v e r s i t y has been specially

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a p p o i n t e d for t h e m o s t i m p o r t a n t office c o n c e i v a b l e . S o t h a t , as I say, F r a n c e m i g h t a l w a y s operate as the r e f i n i n g a g e n c y of t h e W e s t e r n w o r l d . I t follows of c o u r s e t h a t i f t h e d i v e r s i t y be n o t m a i n t a i n e d , t h e a d v a n t a g e w h i c h characterizes i t disappears also. S o f a r t h e a f o r e s a i d c e n t r a l a d m i n i s t r a t i o n has failed to m a i n t a i n it. H e n c e the reaction.

O r to raise a p l a y f u l spray, to i n h a l e t h e o d o u r . I t finds there a m i l d i n e b r i e t y A n d some strength. - TREES IN THE TENEMENT DISTRICT

I h a v e r e f e r r e d t o the t w o streams of g r o u p develop I T were as t h o u g h the e a r t h m e n t flowing side b y side i n E n g l a n d a n d F r a n c e , n o t F o r g i v i n g the u g l y houses t h e y b u i l t o v e r i t so m u c h because I w i s h t o i n d i c a t e t h e i r fo u n t a n d A n d the sidewalks a n d thoroughfares n a t u r e , b u t because I feel t h e y m e a n ever so m u c h A n d compassionate t o w a r d the m e n a n d w o m e n drudges m o r e t o u s t h a n appears at t h e surface. They mean a g r e a t d e a l m o r e t h a n a n y one has v e n t u r e d to t e l l H a d tendered t h e m these S t r o n g , rugged a n d large flowers. us. W h a t t h e y m e a n is a r e n e w a l of i n d i v i d u a l m a n . P e r h a p s I s h a l l be b e t t e r u n d e r s t o o d i f I say a restora OFF! t i o n of q u a l i t y i n s t e a d of q u a n t i t y . Impressed upon GOD, t h i s p r o p o s e d n e w group f o r m a t i o n of m a n k i n d is O v e r our u g l y b u i l d i n g s s u r e l y t h e i m a g e of t h e self-controlled, self-subsisting W h y d i d y o u bend out i n d i v i d u a l , t h e e c o n o m i c a l l y c o m p l e t e m a n , i f we Y o u r beautiful ravishing sky. l i k e . A n i m a g e r e p r e s e n t i n g the r e u n i o n of a l l those T a k e i t off. fine p a r t s of i n d i v i d u a l m a n w h i c h the gross super L e t them jag s t i t i o n of s o c i a l service has separated. Is this v i s i o n T h e emptiness. of c o m i n g events so fanciful i n the l i g h t of a c t u a l h a p p e n i n g s ? I t h i n k not. L e t me say of the n e w M A X MICHELSON g r o u p s t h a t each g r o u p w i l l be designed to f o r m a u n i t of associated a c t i v i t y . T h i s u n i t is a n i d e a l c o n c e i v e d b y t h e v e r y latest i n d u s t r i a l a n d e c o n o m i c TARR r e f o r m e r t o p r o m o t e the p r o d u c t i o n b y m e n i n highest association of t h e m a x i m u m a m o u n t of B Y WYNDHAM LEWIS e n e r g y - w e a l t h , or q u a l i t y - w e a l t h , n o t m o n e y or quantity-wealth. So each u n i t of the g r o u p - u n i t PART V represents so m u c h energy, a n d together the group represents the i d e a l s u m of energy. Y e t , w h e n we A MEGRIM OF HUMOUR c o m e t o t h i n k of i t , a l l these u n i t s f o r m i n g one u n i t t o g e t h e r o n l y represent a n e x p a n d e d u n i t , a n d a l l CHAPTER I t h i s energy represents b u t a n e x p a n s i o n of energy. T h a t is t o say, a n e x p a n s i o n of the i d e a l m a n a n d his O M E days later, i n the e v e n i n g , T a r r was t o be i d e a l energy, o r o f the perfect m a n towards w h i c h f o u n d i n a strange place. D e c i d e d l y h i s hosts N a t u r e ever directs it's k i n d e s t glance. So the u n i t c o u l d not h a v e e x p l a i n e d h o w he got there. of u n i t s is s i m p l y t h e e x p a n d e d f o r m of i d e a l m a n H e d i s p l a y e d no consciousness of t h e a n o m a l y . before s e r v i l i t y a n d d e p u t i z i n g arose to break h i m H e h a d i n t r o d u c e d h i m s e l f n o w for t h e second i n t o i n f i n i t e s i m a l social pieces. N o w suppose the t i m e i n t o F r a u l e i n L i p m a n n ' s aesthetic saloon, after p r e s e n t t e n d e n c y t o w a r d s c o n t r a c t i o n infects the new d i n i n g w i t h her a n d her f o l l o w i n g at F l o b e r t ' s R e s t a u g r o u p s after t h e y are f o r m e d . W h a t t h e n is t o r a n t . A s i n e x p l i c a b l e as K r e i s l e r ' s former v i s i t s , p r e v e n t q u a l i t y squeezing a n d squeezing t h e m t i l l a l l these ones t h a t T a r r began to m a k e were n o t so q u a n t i t y is squeezed out a n d n o t h i n g remains b u t perfectly u n w e l c o m e . There was a g l i m m e r i n g of o n e - m a n groups. T h i s w o u l d be i n strict accordance m e a n i n g i n t h e m for B e r t h a ' s w o m e n friends. He w i t h the proper direction towards salvation. F r o m h a d just w a l k e d i n t w o nights before, as t h o u g h he S t a t e - a p p r o p r i a t i o n a n d S o c i a l - a p p r o p r i a t i o n to Self- were an o l d a n d established v i s i t o r there, s h a k e n a p p r o p r i a t i o n . H i g h e r t h a n t h i s no m a n c o u l d g o hands a n d sat d o w n . H e t h e n l i s t e n e d t o t h e i r e v e n o n w i n g s . A n y h o w , i t is a f a s c i n a t i n g m a t t e r m u s i c , d r a n k t h e i r coffee a n d w e n t a w a y a p p a r e n t l y for reflection. T h e r e I leave i t . satisfied. D i d he consider t h a t his so close c o n n e x i o n w i t h B e r t h a e n t i t l e d h i m to t h i s ? I t was at a l l events a p r e r o g a t i v e he h a d never before a v a i l e d himself of, except o n one or t w o occasions at first, i n her c o m p a n y . AMERICAN P O E M S T h e w o m e n ' s e x p l a n a t i o n of t h i s eccentric s u d d e n frequentation was t h a t T a r r was i n despair. His separation from B e r t h a (or her c o n d u c t w i t h K r e i s l e r ) PORTRAIT h a d h i t h i m h a r d . H e w i s h e d for c o n s o l a t i o n o r I K E a n o l d i s h wooden w a l l i n the summer mediation. daylight N e i t h e r of these guesses was r i g h t . I t w a s r e a l l y Y o u s t a n d ; the shadows w i t h t h e i r fleshly s o m e t h i n g absurder t h a n t h a t t h a t h a d b r o u g h t h i m g l a m o u r are gone ; there. O n l y persistent s c r u t i n y O n l y a week or t e n days a w a y f r o m h i s l o v e affair W i l l find a b i t of t r e m u l o u s blue or a faint streak of w i t h B e r t h a , T a r r was n o w c o m i n g b a c k t o t h e o l d orange h a u n t s a n d precincts of his i n f a t u a t i o n . H e was O n the v e i n e d boards. l i v i n g i t a l l over a g a i n i n m e m o r y , t h e c e n t r a l a n d a l l the accessory figures s t i l l i n e x a c t l y t h e same p l a c e . Y o u r soul is l i k e the d r i e d a n d s l i g h t l y c r u m p l e d S u d d e n l y , e v e r y t h i n g to do w i t h " those d a y s , " as he t h o u g h t of a week or t w o before (or w h a t h a d petals ended officially then) h a d become v e r y p l e a s i n g . W h i c h are y o u r eyes. B e r t h a ' s w o m e n friends were d e l i g h t f u l l a n d m a r k s . Y e t there is a s m a l l b r o o k T a r r c o u l d not u n d e r s t a n d h o w i t was he h a d n o t W i t h m a n y l i t t l e groves of corrugated sunlight t a k e n a n interest i n t h e m before. T h e y h a d so m u c h A n d t i n g e d here a n d there w i t h sprawls of colour : of the G e r m a n s a v o u r of t h a t life lived with Bertha P a l e t r e m b l i n g blue, dashes of rose, g o l d a n d p u r p l e , about them ! S h i v e r i n g , b r o k e n as i n a Chinese design,

I n w h i c h y o u r soul loves t o retire : t o s w i m c o y l y

B u t n o t o n l y w i t h t h e m , b u t w i t h Bertha

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w a s l i k e w i s e c a r r y i n g o n this m y s t e r i o u s retrospective life. H e was so d e l i g h t e d , as a fact, t o be free of B e r t h a t h a t he p o e t i z e d herself a n d a l l her b e l o n g ings. O n t h i s p a r t i c u l a r second v i s i t t o F r a u l e i n L i p m a n n ' s he m e t A n a s t a s y a V a s e k . She, at least, was n o t h i n g t o do w i t h his souvenirs. Y e t , not r e a l i z i n g h e r as a n absolute new-comer at once, he accepted her as a n o t h e r p r o o f of h o w d e l i g h t f u l these people i n t r u t h were. H e h a d been a v e r y silent guest so far. T h e y were curious to hear w h a t t h i s e n i g m a s h o u l d e v e n t u a l l y say, w h e n i t d e c i d e d to speak. " H o w is B e r t h a ? " t h e y h a d a s k e d h i m . " She h a s got a c o l d , " he h a d answered. I t was a fact t h a t she h a d caught a s u m m e r c o l d several days b e f o r e . " H o w strange ! " t h e y t h o u g h t . " So he sees her s t i l l ! " " She h a s n ' t been t o F l o b e r t ' s l a t e l y , " Rene L i p m a n n s a i d . " I ' v e been so b u s y , or I ' d h a v e gone r o u n d t o see her. She's n o t i n b e d , is she ? " " O h , no, she's just got a slight c o l d . She's v e r y w e l l o t h e r w i s e , " T a r r answered. B e r t h a disappears. T a r r t u r n s u p t r a n q u i l l y i n her place. W a s he a substitute ? W h a t c o u l d a l l this m e a n ? T h e i r first flutter over, t h e i r t r a d i t i o n a l h o s t i l i t y for h i m r e a w a k e n e d . H e h a d a l w a y s been a n arrogant, eccentric, a n d unpleasant person : " H o m m e goste ! H o m m e sensuel ! " i n V a n B e n c k ' s famous words. O n seeing h i m t a l k i n g w i t h new liveliness, not d i s p l a y e d w i t h t h e m , to A n a s t a s y a , suspicions began to germinate. E v e n such shrewd i n t u i t i o n , a developm e n t from the r e a l i t y , as this : " Perhaps getting to like Germans, and losing his first, he had come here to find another." C o m f o r t a b l e i n his l i b e r t y , he was s t i l l e n j o y i n g , b y p r o x y or otherwise, the satisfaction of slavery. T h e arrogance i m p l i e d b y his i n f a t u a t i o n for the c o m m o n p l a c e was taboo. H e m u s t be more h u m b l e , he felt, a n d t a k e a n interest i n his equals. H e h a d been " H o m m e goste " so far, b u t " H o m m e sensuel " was a n exaggeration. H i s concupiscence h a d been undeveloped. H i s B e r t h a , i f she h a d n o t been a joke, w o u l d not h a v e satisfied h i m . She d i d not succeed i n w a k i n g his senses, a l t h o u g h she h a d a t t r a c t e d t h e m . There was no more r e a l i t y i n t h e i r sex relations t h a n i n t h e i r other relations. H e n o w h a d a closer e x p l a n a t i o n of his a t t a c h m e n t to s t u p i d i t y t h a n he h a d been able to g i v e L o w n d e s . I t was t h a t his artist's asceticism c o u l d n o t support a n y t h i n g more serious t h a n such a n elementary r i v a l , a n d , w h e n sex was i n the ascendant, i t t u r n e d his eyes a w a y from the highest b e a u t y a n d d u l l e d the e x t r e m i t i e s of his senses, so t h a t he h a d n o t h i n g b u t r u d i m e n t a r y i n c l i n a t i o n s left. B u t i n the interests of his a n i m a l i s m he was t u r n i n g to b e t r a y the artist i n h i m . F o r he h a d been s a y i n g to h i m s e l f l a t e l y t h a t a more suitable l a d y - c o m p a n i o n must be f o u n d ; one, t h a t is, he. need n o t be a s h a m e d of. H e felt t h a t the t i m e h a d a r r i v e d for L i f e to come i n for some of the benefits of Consciousness. A n a s t a s y a ' s b e a u t y , bangles, a n d good sense were the v e r y t h i n g . D e s p i t e himself, S o r b e r t was dragged out of his l u x u r y of reminiscence w i t h o u t k n o w i n g i t , a n d b e g a n d i s c r i m i n a t i n g between the B e r t h a enjoyment felt t h r o u g h t h e p u n g e n t G e r m a n m e d i u m of her friends, a n d t h i s n o v e l sensation. Y e t this sensation was a n i n t r u d e r . I t was as t h o u g h a m a n h a v i n g w a n d e r e d s e n t i m e n t a l l y a l o n g a n a b a n d o n e d route, a tactless a n d g u s h i n g a c q u a i n t a n c e h a d been discovered i n u n l i k e l y possession. T a r r a s k e d h e r f r o m w h a t p a r t of G e r m a n y she came. " M y p a r e n t s are R u s s i a n . I was b o r n i n B e r l i n a n d brought up i n America. W e live i n Dresden," she a n s w e r e d .

T h i s a c c o u n t e d for her j a r r i n g o n his m a u d l i n G e r m a n reveries. " L o t s of Russian families h a v e settled l a t t e r l y i n G e r m a n y , h a v e n ' t t h e y ? " he asked. " Russians are s t i l l rather savage. T h e more bourgeois a place or t h i n g is the more i t a t t r a c t s t h e m . G e r m a n w a t e r i n g places, m u s i c a l centres a n d so o n , t h e y l i k e a b o u t as w e l l as a n y t h i n g . . T h e y often settle t h e r e . " " D o y o u r e g a r d yourself as a R u s s i a n o r a German " " O h , a Russian. I " " I ' m g l a d of t h a t , " said T a r r , quite forgetting where he was, a n d forgetting the nature of his occupation. " D o n ' t y o u like Germans then ? " " W e l l , n o w y o u r e m i n d me of i t , I do : v e r y m u c h , i n f a c t , " H e shook himself w i t h self-reproach a n d gazed r o u n d b e n i g n a n t l y a n d c o m f o r t a b l y at his hosts. " E l s e I s h o u l d n ' t be here ! T h e y ' r e such a nice, modest, a s s i m i l a t i v e race, w i t h a n a d m i r a b l e sense of d u t y . T h e y are b o r n servants ; excellent mercenary troops, I understand. T h e y s h o u l d always be used as s u c h . " " I see y o u k n o w t h e m fond." She laughed i n the d i r e c t i o n of the L i p m a n n . H e made a deprecating gesture. " N o t m u c h . B u t t h e y are an accessible a n d friendly people." " Y o u are E n g l i s h ? " " Yes." H e treated his hosts w i t h a w a r m b e n i g n i t y w h i c h sought, perhaps, to m a k e u p for past affronts. It appeared o n l y to gratify p a r t i a l l y . H e was t r e a t i n g t h e m l i k e p a r t a n d p a r c e l of B e r t h a . T h e y were not ready to accept this v a l u a t i o n , t h a t of chattels of her world. The t w o K i n d e r b a c h s came over a n d m a d e a n affectionate d e m o n s t r a t i o n a r o u n d a n d u p o n A n a s t a s y a . She got u p , scattering t h e m a b r u p t l y , a n d went over to the p i a n o . " W h a t a b i g brute ! " T a r r thought, " She w o u l d be just as good as B e r t h a to kiss. A n d y o u get a respectable h u m a n being i n t o the b a r g a i n ! " H e was not i n t i m a t e l y c o n v i n c e d t h a t she w o u l d be as satis factory. L e t us see h o w i t w o u l d be ; he considered. T h i s larger machine of repressed, m o p i n g senses d i d a t t r a c t . T o t a k e i t to pieces, b i t b y b i t , a n d penetrate to its i n t i m a c y , m i g h t give a similar pleasure to undressing B e r t h a ! Possessed of such an intense life as A n a s t a s y a , w o m e n a l w a y s appeared o n the verge of a d a r k spasm of unconsciousness. W i t h their organism of fierce m e c h a n i c a l reactions, t h e i r self-possession was rather bluff. So m u c h more a c c o m p l i s h e d socially t h a n m e n , y e t t h e y were not the social creatures, b u t m e n . Surrender to a w o m a n was a sort of suicide for a n artist. N a t u r e , w h o never forgives a n artist, w o u l d never allow her to forgive. W i t h any " superior " w o m a n he h a d ever met, this feeling of being w i t h a p a r v e n u never left h i m . A n a s t a s y a was not a n e x c e p t i o n . O n l e a v i n g , T a r r no longer felt t h a t he w o u l d come b a c k to enjoy a diffused form of B e r t h a there. The prolongations of his B e r t h a p e r i o d h a d passed a climax. O n l e a v i n g Rene L i p m a n n ' s , nevertheless, T a r r went to the Caf de l ' A i g l e , some distance a w a y , b u t w i t h a n object. T o m a k e his present frequentation quite complete, i t o n l y needed K r e i s l e r . O t t o was there, v e r y m u c h o n his present v i s i t i n g list. H e v i s i t e d h i m r e g u l a r l y at the Caf de l ' A i g l e , where he was c o n s t a n t l y to be f o u n d . T h i s is h o w T a r r h a d got to k n o w h i m .

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EGOIST

January

1917

CHAPTER

II

T A R R h a d a r r i v e d a t B e r t h a ' s p l a c e a b o u t seven i n t h e e v e n i n g o n h i s first r e t u r n f r o m M o n t m a r t r e . H e h u n g a b o u t for a l i t t l e . I n t e n m i n u t e s ' t i m e he h a d his r e w a r d . S h e came out, followed b y K r e i s l e r . B e r t h a d i d n o t see h i m at first. H e followed o n the o t h e r side of t h e street, some fifteen y a r d s b e h i n d . H e d i d t h i s w i t h sleepy g r a t i f i c a t i o n . A l l was w e l l . R e l a t i o n s w i t h her were n o w , i t m u s t be clear, s u b s t a n t i a l l y at a n e n d . A k i n d of g o o d sensation of a l t e r n a t i n g jealousy a n d regret m a d e h i m w a n d e r a l o n g w i t h o b e d i e n t g r a t i t u d e . S h o u l d she t u r n r o u n d a n d see h i m , h o w u n c o m f o r t a b l e she w o u l d be ! H o w naturally alike i n their mechanical marching g a i t she a n d the G e r m a n w e r e ! H e was a d i s t i n c t third party. B e i n g a stranger, w i t h v e r y different appearance, t h r i l l e d h i m agreeably. B y a l i t t l e m a n u v r e of short cuts he w o u l d get i n front of t h e m . T h i s he d i d . B e r t h a saw h i m as he d e b o u c h e d from his t u r n i n g . S h e s t o p p e d dead, a n d appeared to astonished K r e i s l e r to be a b o u t to t a k e to her heels. I t was flattering i n a w a y t h a t his mere presence s h o u l d p r o d u c e t h i s effect. H e w e n t u p t o her. H e r p a l m a s e n t i m e n t a l i n s t r u m e n t of weak, a c h i n g , h e a v y tissues, she gave h i m her h a n d , face fixed o n h i m i n a m a s k of regret a n d r e p r o a c h . F a s c i n a t e d b y the i n t e n s i t y of t h i s , he h a d been s t a r i n g at her a l i t t l e t o o l o n g , perhaps w i t h some of the reflection of her expression. H e turned towards Kreisler. H e found a, t o h i m , c o n v e n t i o n a l l y G e r m a n indifferent countenance. " H e r r K r e i s l e r , " B e r t h a said w i t h l a c o n i c energy, as t h o u g h she were u t t e r i n g some f a t a l name. H e r " H e r r K r e i s l e r " said hollowly, " I t ' s d o n e ! " It also h a d a n i n f l e x i o n of " W h a t s h a l l I d o ? " A sick energy s a t u r a t e d her face, the hps were i n d e c e n t l y compressed, the eyes wide, "dull, w i t h r e d rims. T a r r b o w e d to K r e i s l e r as B e r t h a said his name. K r e i s l e r r a i s e d his hat. T h e n , w i t h a curious feeling of a l r e a d y t h r u s t i n g himself o n these people, he began to w a l k a l o n g beside B e r t h a . She m o v e d l i k e a n u n c o n v i n c e d p a r t y to a b a r g a i n , w h o consents to w a l k u p a n d d o w n a l i t t l e , p r e l i m i n a r y to a final considerat i o n of the affair. " Y e s , b u t w a l k i n g w o n ' t help m a t t e r s , " she m i g h t h a v e been s a y i n g . K r e i s l e r ' s indifference was absolute. T h e r e was an element of t h e c h i l d ' s p r i v i l e g e i n T a r r ' s m a k i n g himself of the p a r t y ( " S o r b e t , t u es si jeune"). There was the c l a i m for i n d u l g e n c e of a s p i r i t not entirely s e r i o u s ! T h e childishness of this t u r n i n g u p as t h o u g h n o t h i n g h a d h a p p e n e d , w i t h such w i l f u l resolve not to recognize t h e seriousness of things, B e r t h a ' s d r a m a , the significance of the a w f u l words, " H e r r K r e i s l e r ! " a n d so on, was present to h i m . B e r t h a m u s t k n o w the m e a n i n g of his r a p i d resurrectionshe k n e w h i m too w e l l n o t to k n o w t h a t . So t h e y w a l k e d on, w i t h o u t c o n v e r s a t i o n . T h e n T a r r i n q u i r e d i f she were " q u i t e well." " Y e s , Sorbert, quite w e l l , " she r e p l i e d , w i t h soft tragic banter. A s t h o u g h b y design, he a l w a y s f o u n d just the w o r d s or tone t h a t w o u l d give a n opening for this s e n t i m e n t a l i r o n y of hers. B u t the least h i n t t h a t he h a d come to reinstate h i m s e l f m u s t n o t r e m a i n . I t m u s t be clearly unders t o o d t h a t Kreisler was the p r i n c i p a l figure now. H e , T a r r , was o n l y a p r i v i l e g e d friend. W i t h u n f l a t t e r i n g r a p i d i t y somebody else h a d been f o u n d . H e r pretension to heroic a t t a c h m e n t was c o m p r o m i s e d . S h o u l d n o t he p u t i n for the v a c a t e d berth? H e h a d a n a i r of w e l c o m i n g K r e i s l e r . "Make y o u r s e l f at h o m e ; d o n ' t m i n d m e , " his m a n n e r s a i d . A s to s h o w i n g h i m o v e r the premises he was t a k i n g

possession ofhe h a d m a d e the i n s p e c t i o n , himself, no d o u b t ! " W e have a m u t u a l friend, L o w n d e s , " T a r r said to K r e i s l e r , p l e a s a n t l y . " A week o r t w o ago he w a s g o i n g to i n t r o d u c e m e to y o u , b u t i t was f a t e d " " A h , yes, L o w n d e s , " s a i d K r e i s l e r , " I k n o w h i m . " " H a s he left P a r i s , do y o u k n o w ? " " I t h i n k not. I t h o u g h t I saw h i m y e s t e r d a y , there, i n the B o u l e v a r d du P a r a d i s . " K r e i s l e r n o d d e d over his shoulder, i n d i c a t i n g precisely the spot o n w h i c h t h e y h a d met. H i s gesture i m p l i e d t h a t L o w n d e s m i g h t s t i l l be f o u n d t h e r e a b o u t . B e r t h a shrank i n " s u b t l e " pantomime from their affability. F r o m the glances she p a w e d h e r G e r m a n friend w i t h , he m u s t deserve n o t h i n g b u t h o r r i f i e d avoidance. Sorbert's astute a n d m i s c h i e v o u s w a y of s a d d l i n g her w i t h K r e i s l e r , a c c e p t i n g t h e i r b e i n g together as the most n a t u r a l t h i n g i n life, r o u s e d h e r c o m b a t i v i t y . T a r r h o n o u r e d h i m , c l e a r l y o u t of politeness to her. V e r y w e l l : a l l she c o u l d do for the m o m e n t was to be n o t i c e a b l y d i s t a n t w i t h K r e i s l e r . She m u s t d i s p l a y t o w a r d s h i m the d i s g u s t a n d r e p r o b a t i o n t h a t T a r r s h o u l d feel, a n d w h i c h he refused, i n order to v e x her. K r e i s l e r d u r i n g the last few days h a d p e r s i s t e d a n d persisted. H e h a d d i s p l a y e d some cleverness i n h i s choice of means. A s a result of overtures a n d manuvres, B e r t h a h a d n o w consented to see h i m . H e r d e m o r a l i z a t i o n was complete. She c o u l d n o t s t a n d u p a n y longer against the result, personified b y K r e i s l e r , of her i d i o t i c actions. A t present she transferred her self-hatred from herself to K r e i s l e r . T a r r ' s former relations w i t h B e r t h a were k n o w n to him. H e resented the E n g l i s h m a n ' s a i r of p r o p r i e t o r ship, the sort of pleasant " h a n d i n g - o v e r " t h a t was going o n . I t h a d for object, he t h o u g h t , to cheapen his l i t t l e success. " I d o n ' t t h i n k , H e r r K r e i s l e r , I ' l l come to d i n n e r after a l l . " She stood s t i l l a n d r o l l e d h e r eyes w i l d l y i n several directions, a n d s t u c k one of her h a n d s stiffly out from her side. " V e r y w e l l , Frulein," he r e p l i e d e v e n l y . T h e dismissal a n n o y e d h i m . H i s eyes t o o k i n T a r r c o m pendiously i n passing. W a s this a r e s u s c i t a t i o n of o l d love at his e x p e n s e ? T a r r h a d perhaps come to c l a i m his p r o p e r t y . T h i s was n o t t h e w a y t h a t is u s u a l l y done. " A d i e u , H e r r K r e i s l e r , " sounded l i k e h i s d i s m i s s a l . A " n e v e r let me see y o u a g a i n ; u n d e r s t a n d t h a t here things e n d ! " was w r i t t e n b a l d l y i n her v e r y b a l d eyes. W i t h i r o n y he b i d good d a y to T a r r . " I hope we s h a l l meet a g a i n " : T a r r shook h i m w a r m l y b y the h a n d . " I t is l i k e l y , " K r e i s l e r r e p l i e d at once. A s y e t K r e i s l e r was u n d i s t u r b e d . H e i n t e n d e d not to r e l i n q u i s h his a c q u a i n t a n c e w i t h B e r t h a L u n k e n . If the E n g l i s h m a n ' s a m i a b i l i t y were a p o l i t e w a y of r e c l a i m i n g p r o p e r t y left ownerless a n d therefore susceptible of new r i g h t s b e i n g d e p l o y e d as regards i t , t h e n i n t i m e those later r i g h t s w o u l d be v i n d i c a t e d . K r e i s l e r ' s first i m p r e s s i o n of T a r r was n o t flattering. B u t no d o u b t t h e y w o u l d meet a g a i n , as he h a d s a i d .

CHAPTER

III

B E R T H A h e l d o u t her h a n d b r u t a l l y , i n a sort of s p a s m of w i l l : said, i n the v o i c e of " f i n a l i t y , " " G o o d - b y e , Sorbet : g o o d - b y e ! " H e d i d not t a k e i t . She left i t there a m o m e n t , saying again, " G o o d - b y e ! " " G o o d - b y e , i f y o u l i k e , " he s a i d at l e n g t h . "But I see no reason w h y we s h o u l d p a r t i n t h i s m a n n e r . If K r e i s l e r w o u l d n ' t m i n d " h e l o o k e d after h i m " w e m i g h t go for a l i t t l e w a l k . O r w i l l y o u c o m e and have an apritif?"

January

1917

THE

EGOIST

13

" N o , S o r b e r t , I ' d r a t h e r n o t . L e t us say good-bye at once ; w i l l y o u ? " " M y dear g i r l , d o n ' t be so s i l l y ! " H e t o o k her a r m a n d dragged her t o w a r d s a caf, the first o n the b o u l e v a r d t h e y were a p p r o a c h i n g . S h e h u n g b a c k , p r o l o n g i n g the p e r s o n a l contact, y e t p r e t e n d i n g to be resisting i t with wonder. " I c a n ' t , Sorbert. J e ne peux p a s ! " p u r r i n g her lips o u t a n d r o l l i n g her eyes. She w e n t to the caf i n the e n d . F o r some t i m e c o n v e r s a t i o n h u n g b a c k . " H o w is Frulein L i p m a n n g e t t i n g o n ? " " I d o n ' t k n o w . I h a v e n ' t seen h e r . " " A h ! " T a r r felt he h a d five pieces to p l a y . H e h a d p l a y e d one. T h e other four he t o y e d w i t h i n a l a z y way. "Van Bencke?" " I h a v e n o t seen h e r . " T h a t left three. " H o w is I s o l d e ? " "I d o n ' t k n o w . " " S e e n the K i n d e r b a c h s ? " " O n e of t h e m . " " H o w is Clare? " " C l a r e ? She is q u i t e well, I t h i n k . " T h e solder for the pieces of this dialogue was a dreary grey m a t t e r t h a t B e r t h a s u p p l i e d . T h e i r t a l k was a n unnecessary c o l u m n o n the t o p of w h i c h she perched herself w i t h glassy quietude. She t u r n e d to h i m a b r u p t l y as t h o u g h he h a d been h i d i n g b e h i n d her, a n d t i c k l i n g her neck w i t h a piece of feather-grass. " W h y d i d y o u leave me, S o r b e r t ? W h y d i d y o u leave m e ? " H e filled his pipe, a n d t h e n said, feeling l i k e a b a d actor: " I went a w a y at t h a t p a r t i c u l a r m o m e n t , as y o u k n o w , because I h a d h e a r d t h a t H e r r K r e i s l e r " " D o n ' t speak to me about K r e i s l e r d o n ' t m e n t i o n his name, I beg y o u . I hate t h a t m a n . U g h ! " G e n u i n e vehemence made T a r r have a look at her. O f course she w o u l d say t h a t . She was u s i n g too m u c h genuineness, t h o u g h , not to be rather flush of i t for the m o m e n t . " B u t I don't s e e " "Don't; don't!" She sat u p s u d d e n l y i n her c h a i r a n d shook her finger i n his face. " I f y o u m e n t i o n K r e i s l e r a g a i n , Sorbert, I shall hate you too! I especially pray y o u not to m e n t i o n h i m . " She collapsed, m o u t h d r a w n d o w n at corners. " A s y o u l i k e . " I n i n s i s t i n g he w o u l d appear to be d e m a n d i n g a n e x p l a n a t i o n . A n y h i n t of excep t i o n a l claims o n her confidence m u s t be a v o i d e d . "Why d i d y o u leave m e ? Y o u d o n ' t k n o w . I h a v e been m a d ever since. O n e is as helpless as c a n b e W h e n y o u are here once more, I feel h o w weak I a m w i t h o u t y o u . I t has not been fair. I h a v e felt j u s t as t h o u g h I h a d got o u t of a s i c k - b e d . I a m n o t
BLAMING you."

from M o n t m a r t r e at a r a t h e r earlier hour. H e i n v i t e d h i m s e l f to t e a w i t h her. T h e y t a l k e d as t h o u g h p o s i n g for t h e i r late personalities. H e t o o k u p d e l i b e r a t e l y one o r t w o c o n t r o v e r s i a l pointe. I n a s p i r i t of superfluous courtesy he went b a c k to the subject of several of t h e i r o l d t y p i c a l disputes, a n d argued against himself. A l l t h e i r difficulties seemed swept a w a y i n a r e l a x e d h u m i d atmosphere, most p a i n f u l a n d dis agreeable to her. H e agreed entirely w i t h her, n o w agreeing no longer m e a n t a n y t h i n g ! B u t the k e y was elsewhere. E n j o y m e n t of a n d acquiescence i n e v e r y t h i n g B e r t h a e s q u e a n d T e u t o n i c was where i t was to be f o u n d . J u s t as n o w he went to see B e r t h a ' s v e r y G e r m a n friends, a n d said " H o w d e l i g h t f u l " to himself, so he appeared to be resolved to come b a c k for a week or t w o a n d to a d m i r e e v e r y t h i n g f o r m e r l y he h a d f o u n d most i r r i t a t i n g i n B e r t h a herself. Before r e t i r i n g definitely, l i k e a m a n w h o hears t h a t the r i n d of the fruit he has just been eating is good, a n d comes b a c k to his plate to devour the p a r t he h a d discarded, T a r r r e t u r n e d to h a v e a last t a n k a r d of G e r m a n beer. O r s t i l l nearer the figure, his c l a i m i n the unexcep t i o n a b l e p a r t of her n o w lapsed, he h a d returned d e m a n d i n g to be a l l o w e d to l i v e just a little while longer o n the a b s u r d a n d disagreeable section. B e r t h a suffered, o n her side, more t h a n a l l the rest of the t i m e she h a d spent w i t h h i m p u t together. To t e l l the whole K r e i s l e r story m i g h t lead to a fight. I t was too late now. She c o u l d not, she felt, i n honour, seek to re-entangle T a r r , nor c o u l d she d i s o w n K r e i s l e r . She h a d been f o u n d w i t h K r e i s l e r : she h a d no means of k e e p i n g h i m a w a y for good. A n a t t e m p t at suppressing h i m m i g h t produce a n y result. S h o u l d she h a v e been able, or desired to resume her relations w i t h T a r r , K r e i s l e r w o u l d not h a v e left h i m u n i n formed of things t h a t h a d happened, shown i n the most u n c o n g e n i a l l i g h t . I f left alone, a n d not d r i v e n a w a y l i k e a dog, he m i g h t g r a d u a l l y quiet d o w n a n d disappear. Sorbert w o u l d be gone, too, b y t h a t time! T h e i r g r a n d , never-to-be-forgotten friendship was e n d i n g i n s h a b b y shallows. T a r r h a d the best rle, a n d d i d not deserve i t . K r e i s l e r was the i m p l a c a b l e remote c r e d i t o r of the s i t u a t i o n .

CHAPTER IV T A R E , left B e r t h a p u n c t u a l l y at seven. She l o o k e d v e r y i l l . H e resolved not to go there a n y more. H e felt upset. Lejeune's, w h e n he got there, was full of A m e r i c a n s . I t was l i k e h a v i n g dinner a m o n g a lot of c a n n y c h i l d r e n . K r e i s l e r was not there. H e went o n a h u n t for h i m afterwards, a n d r a n h i m to earth at the Caf de l ' A i g l e . K r e i s l e r was not c o r d i a l . H e e m i t t e d sounds of surprise, shuffled his feet a n d b l i n k e d . B u t T a r r sat d o w n i n front of h i m o n his o w n i n i t i a t i v e . T h e n K r e i s l e r , c a l l i n g the garon, offered h i m a d r i n k . A f t e r w a r d s he settled d o w n to contemplate B e r t h a ' s E n g l i s h m a n , a n d a w a i t developments. H e was a l w a y s rather softer w i t h people w i t h w h o m he c o u l d converse i n his o w n h a r s h tongue. T h e causes at the root of T a r r ' s present t h r u s t i n g of h i m s e l f u p o n K r e i s l e r were the same as his later v i s i t s at the L i p m a n n ' s . A sort of b a t h of G e r m a n s was his p r e s c r i p t i o n for himself, a v o l u p t u o u s i m mersion. T o heighten the effect, he was being G e r m a n himself : b e i n g B e r t h a as w e l l . B u t he was more G e r m a n t h a n the G e r m a n s . M a n y aspects of his c o n d u c t were so u n - G e r m a n t h a t K r e i s l e r d i d not recognize the p o r t r a i t or h a i l h i m as a fellow. Successive lovers of a certain w o m a n f r a t e r n i z i n g ; husbands h o b n o b b i n g w i t h t h e i r w i v e s ' lovers or husbands of t h e i r u n m a r r i e d days is a c o m m o n p l a c e of G e r m a n or S c a n d i n a v i a n society.

T h e y w e n t to F l o b e r t ' s f r o m the caf. I t was after n i n e o ' c l o c k , a n d the place was e m p t y . She b o u g h t a w i n g of c h i c k e n ; at a d a i r y some s a l a d a n d eggs ; t w o rolls at the baker's, to m a k e a c o l d supper at h o m e . I t was m o r e t h a n she w o u l d need for herself. S o r b e r t d i d n o t offer to share the expense. A t the gate l e a d i n g to her house he left her. I m m e d i a t e l y afterwards, w a l k i n g t o w a r d s the ter m i n u s of the M o n t m a r t r e o m n i b u s , he r e a l i z e d t h a t he was w e l l i n the p a t h t h a t l e d a w a y , as he h a d not done w h i l e s t i l l w i t h her. H e was g l a d a n d sorry, d o i n g h o m a g e t o h e r a n d the future together. She h a d a f a s c i n a t i o n as a m o r i b u n d B e r t h a . T h e i m m o b i l e short sunset of t h e i r friendship s h o u l d be e n j o y e d . A r i c h t h r o w i n g u p a n d congesting of s o u v e n i r s on t h i s t h r e s h o l d were a l l the b e t t e r for the w e a k a n d s i l l y sun. O h w h a t a d e l i g h t f u l , i m p e r turbable clockwork orb ! T h e n e x t d a y he a g a i n m a d e his w a y across P a r i s

14

THE

EGOIST

January

1917

K r e i s l e r h a d n o t r e t u r n e d t o B e r t h a ' s . H e was t o o l a z y t o p l a n c o n s c i e n t i o u s l y . B u t he c o n c l u d e d t h a t she h a d b e t t e r be g i v e n scope for a n y t h i n g t h e r e t u r n of T a r r m i g h t suggest. H e , O t t o K r e i s l e r , m i g h t be s u p p o s e d no l o n g e r t o exist. H i s m i n d was w o r k i n g u p a g a i n for some t r u c u l e n t a c t i o n . T a r r was no obstacle. H e w o u l d just walk through T a r r l i k e a ghost w h e n he saw fit t o " a d v a n c e " a g a i n . " Y o u met Lowndes i n Rome, didn't y o u ? " Tarr asked h i m . Kreisler nodded. " H a v e y o u seen F r a u l e i n L u n k e n t o - d a y ? " " N o . " A s T a r r was c o m i n g to t h e p o i n t K r e i s l e r c o n d e s c e n d e d to speak : " I s h a l l see her t o - m o r r o w morning." A space for p r o t e s t o r c o m m e n t seemed to be left after t h i s sentence, i n K r e i s l e r ' s s t i l l v e r y " s p e a k i n g " expression. T a r r s m i l e d at t h e t o n e of t h i s piece of i n f o r m a t i o n . K r e i s l e r a t once g r i n n e d , m o c k i n g l y , i n r e t u r n . " Y o u c a n get o u t of y o u r h e a d a n y i d e a t h a t I h a v e t u r n e d u p t o interfere w i t h y o u r p r o c e e d i n g s , " Tarr then s a i d . " Affairs l i e e n t i r e l y between Frulein L u n k e n a n d y o u r s e l f . " K r e i s l e r m e t t h i s assurance t r u c u l e n t l y . " Y o u c o u l d n o t interfere w i t h m y proceedings. I do w h a t I w a n t to do i n t h i s life ! " " H o w s p l e n d i d . Wunderbar ! I a d m i r e y o u ! "j " Y o u r a d m i r a t i o n is n o t a s k e d for ! " " I t leaps u p i n v o l u n t a r i l y ! P r o s i t ! B u t I d i d n o t m e a n , H e r r K r e i s l e r , t h a t m y desire to interfere, h a d s u c h desire e x i s t e d , w o u l d h a v e been tolerated. O h , no ! I m e a n t t h a t no such desire e x i s t i n g , we h a d no cause for q u a r r e l . P r o s i t ! " T a r r a g a i n r a i s e d his glass e x p e c t a n t l y a n d coaxi n g l y , p e e r i n g s t e a d i l y at the G e r m a n . H e said, " P r o s i t " as he w o u l d h a v e said, " P e e p - o h ! " P r o s ' t ! " K r e i s l e r answered w i t h a l a r m i n g sud denness, a n d a n a l a r m i n g d i a b o l i c a l smile. " P r o s i t ! " with finality. H e p u t his glass d o w n . " T h a t is a l l r i g h t . I h a v e no desire,''' he w i p e d a n d struck u p h i s moustaches, " to quarrel w i t h a n y b o d y . I w i s h t o be left alone. T h a t is a l l . " " T o be left alone t o enjoy y o u r friendship w i t h B e r t h a t h a t is y o u r m e a n i n g 1 A m I not r i g h t ? I see." " T h a t is m y business. I w i s h to be left alone" " O f course i t ' s y o u r business, m y dear chap. H a v e another drink ! " H e called the garon. K r e i s l e r agreed t o a n o t h e r d r i n k . W h y was t h i s E n g l i s h m a n s i t t i n g there a n d t a l k i n g t o h i m ? I t was i n t h e G e r m a n style a n d y e t i t w a s n ' t . W a s K r e i s l e r to be shifted, was he meant t o go ? H a d t h e t a s k of d o i n g t h i s been p u t o n B e r t h a ' s shoulders ? H a d T a r r come there to ask h i m , or i n t h e h o p e t h a t he w o u l d v o l u n t e e r a promise, n e v e r t o see B e r t h a a g a i n ? O n t h e other h a n d , was he b e i n g a p p r o a c h e d b y T a r r i n t h e c a p a c i t y of a n o l d friend of B e r t h a ' s , or i n h e r interests or at her i n s t i g a t i o n ? W i t h f r o w n i n g i m p a t i e n c e he bent f o r w a r d q u i c k l y once o r t w i c e , a s k i n g T a r r to repeat some r e m a r k . T a r r ' s G e r m a n was not g o o d . S e v e r a l glasses of beer, a n d K r e i s l e r became engagingly expansive. " H a v e y o u ever been to E n g l a n d ? " T a r r a s k e d him. " E n g l a n d ? N o I s h o u l d like~ to go there ! I l i k e E n g l i s h m e n ! I feel I s h o u l d get o n better w i t h t h e m t h a n w i t h these F r e n c h . I h a t e t h e F r e n c h ! T h e y are a l l a c t o r s . " " Y o u s h o u l d go to L o n d o n . " " A h , t o L o n d o n . Y e s , I s h o u l d go to L o n d o n ! I t m u s t be a w o n d e r f u l t o w n ! I h a v e often m e a n t t o go there. Is i t expensive ? " " The journey ? " " W e l l , life there. D e a r e r t h a n i t is here, I h a v e been t o l d . " K r e i s l e r forgot his circumstances for

t h e m o m e n t . T h e E n g l i s h m a n seemed to h a v e h i t o n a means of escape for h i m . H e h a d n e v e r t h o u g h t of E n g l a n d ! A h a z y n o t i o n of i t s u n t o l d w e a l t h m a d e i t easier for h i m to p u t aside m o m e n t a r i l y t h e fact of his t o t t e r i n g finances. P e r h a p s t h i s E n g l i s h m a n h a d been sent h i m b y t h e Schicksal. H e h a d a l w a y s got o n w e l l w i t h Englishmen ! T h e p e c u l i a r n o t i o n t h e n crossed h i s m i n d t h a t T a r r perhaps w a n t e d to get him out of Paris, a n d h a d come t o m a k e h i m some offer of h o s p i t a l i t y i n E n g l a n d . I n a b a r g a i n i n g s p i r i t he began t o r u n E n g l a n d d o w n . H e m u s t n o t a p p e a r too a n x i o u s t o go there. " They say, though, things have changed. E n g l a n d ' s not w h a t i t w a s , " he s a i d . " N o . B u t i t has c h a n g e d for t h e b e t t e r . " " I d o n ' t believe i t ! " " Q u i t e true. T h e last t i m e I was there i t h a d i m p r o v e d so m u c h t h a t I t h o u g h t of s t o p p i n g . M e r r y E n g l a n d is foutu ! T h e r e w o n ' t be a r e g u l a r P u b . i n the w h o l e c o u n t r y i n fifty years. A r t w i l l flourish ! There's not a real g i p s y left i n t h e c o u n t r y . T h e sham art-ones are d w i n d l i n g ! " " A r e t h e Zigeuner d i s a p p e a r i n g ? " " J e v o u s crois ! R a t h e r ! " " T h e o n l y E n g l i s h m e n I k n o w are v e r y sympathisch." T h e y p o t t e r e d about o n the subject of E n g l a n d for some t i m e . K r e i s l e r was v e r y t i c k l e d w i t h t h e i d e a of E n g l a n d . " E n g l i s h w o m e n w h a t are t h e y l i k e ? " K r e i s l e r t h e n a s k e d w i t h a g r i n . T h e i r relations m a d e t h i s subject delightfully delicate a n d yet, K r e i s l e r t h o u g h t , v e r y n a t u r a l . T h i s E n g l i s h m a n was e v i d e n t l y a description of pander, a n d no d o u b t he w o u l d be as i n c l i n e d to be hospitable w i t h his c o u n t r y w o m e n i n t h e abstract as w i t h his late fiance i n m a t e r i a l detail. " A friend of m i n e w h o h a d been there t o l d me t h e y were v e r y ' p r e t t y ' "he p r o n o u n c e d t h e E n g l i s h w o r d w i t h m i n c i n g slowness a n d m i s c h i e v o u s i n t e r rogation m a r k s i n his d i s t o r t e d face. " Y o u r friend d i d not exaggerate. T h e y are l i k e l a n g u i d nectarines ! Y o u w o u l d enjoy y o u r s e l f there." " B u t I c a n ' t speak E n g l i s h o n l y a l i t t l e . ' I spik Ingleesh a leetle,' " he a t t e m p t e d w i t h pleasure. " V e r y good ! Y o u ' d get o n s p l e n d i d l y ! " K r e i s l e r b r u s h e d his moustaches u p , s t i c k i n g h i s lips out i n a h a r d gluttonous w a y . T a r r w a t c h e d him w i t h sympathetic curiosity. " B u t m y friend t o l d m e t h e y ' r e notvery easy ! T h e y are great flirts. So f a r a n d t h e n bouf! Y o u are sent flying ! " " Y o u w o u l d n o t find a n y t h i n g to c o m p a r e w i t h the facilities of y o u r o w n c o u n t r y . B u t y o u w o u l d not w i s h for t h a t ? " " N o ? B u t , t e l l me, t h e n , t h e y are c o l d ? T h e y are of a c a l c u l a t i n g n a t u r e ? " " T h e y are p r a c t i c a l , I suppose, u p to a c e r t a i n p o i n t . B u t y o u m u s t go a n d see." Kreisler ruminated. " W h a t do y o u find p a r t i c u l a r l y a t t r a c t i v e a b o u t B e r t h a ? " T a r r a s k e d i n a d i s c u r s i v e w a y . " I ask y o u as a G e r m a n . I h a v e often w o n d e r e d w h a t a G e r m a n w o u l d t h i n k of h e r . " K r e i s l e r l o o k e d at h i m w i t h resentful u n c e r t a i n t y for a m o m e n t . " Y o u w a n t to k n o w w h a t I t h i n k of t h e L u n k e n ? She's a sly p r o s t i t u t e , t h a t ' s w h a t she is ! " h e announced loudly and challengingly. " Ah ! " W h e n he h a d g i v e n T a r r t i m e for a n y p o s s i b l e d e m o n s t r a t i o n , he t h a w e d i n t o his sociable self. H e then added : " She's n o t a b a d g i r l ! B u t she t r i c k e d y o u , m y friend ! She never cared that " h e s n a p p e d h i s fingers i n e x p e r t l y " for y o u ! She t o l d m e so ! "

January

1917

THE

EGOIST

15

" Really? T h a t ' s i n t e r e s t i n g . B u t I expect y o u ' r e o n l y t e l l i n g lies. A l l G e r m a n s do ! " " A l l G e r m a n s lie ? " "' Deutscher-volkthe folk t h a t deceives ! ' is y o u r p h i l o s o p h e r N i e t z s c h e ' s account of t h e o r i g i n of t h e w o r d D e u t s c h . " K r e i s l e r s u l k e d a m o m e n t t i l l he h a d recovered. "No. W e d o n ' t lie! W h y s h o u l d w e ? We're n o t afraid of the truth, so w h y s h o u l d w e ? " " P e r h a p s , as a t r i b e , y o u l i e d to b e g i n w i t h , b u t have now given it up ? " " What ? " " T h a t m a y be t h e e x p l a n a t i o n of N i e t z s c h e ' s e t y m o l o g y . A l t h o u g h he seemed v e r y s t i m u l a t e d at t h e i d e a of y o u r n a t i o n a l certificate of untruthfulness. H e felt t h a t , as a t r u e p a t r i o t , he s h o u l d react against y o u r b l u e eyes, beer, a n d c h i l d i s h frankness." " Quatch ! N i e t z s c h e was a l w a y s p a r a d o x a l . H e w o u l d say a n y t h i n g to amuse himself. Y o u E n g l i s h are t h e greatest liars a n d h y p o c r i t e s o n t h i s e a r t h ! " " ' See t h e C o n t i n e n t a l Press ' ! Y o u s h o u l d not swallow t h a t rubbish. I only dispute y o u r statement because I k n o w i t is not first-hand. W h a t I mean a b o u t t h e G e r m a n s was t h a t , l i k e the J e w s , t h e y are e x t r e m e l y p r o u d of success i n deceit. N o enthu siasm of t h a t sort exists i n E n g l a n d . H y p o c r i s y is u s u a l l y a selfish s t u p i d i t y , r a t h e r t h a n the result of cunning." " T h e E n g l i s h are stupid h y p o c r i t e s t h e n ! We agree. P r o s i t ! " " T h e G e r m a n s are u n c o u t h b u t zealous liars ! Prosit ! " H e offered K r e i s l e r a cigarette. A pause o c c u r r e d t o a l l o w the acuter n a t i o n a l susceptibilities to cool. " Y o u h a v e n ' t y e t g i v e n me y o u r o p i n i o n of B e r t h a . Y o u p e r m i t t e d yourself a t r u c u l e n t flourish t h a t evaded the question." " I w i s h t o evade the question.I t o l d y o u t h a t she has t r i c k e d y o u . She is v e r y malin ! She is t r i c k i n g me n o w ; or she is t r y i n g to. She w i l l n o t succeed w i t h me ! ' W h e n y o u go to t a k e a w o m a n y o u s h o u l d be careful not to forget y o u r whip ! ' That N i e t z s c h e said too ! " " A r e y o u going to give her a b e a t i n g ? " T a r r asked. K r e i s l e r l a u g h e d i n a ferocious a n d i r o n i c a l manner. " Y o u consider t h a t y o u are b e i n g fooled, i n some way, b y Frulein L u n k e n ? " " She w o u l d i f she c o u l d . She is n o t h i n g b u t deceit. She is a snake. fui ! " " Y o u consider her a v e r y c u n n i n g a n d doublefaced w o m a n ? " Kreisler nodded sulkily. " W i t h the soul of a p r o s t i t u t e ? " " She has a n i n n o c e n t face, l i k e a M a d o n n a . B u t she is a p r o s t i t u t e . I h a v e t h e proofs of i t ! " " I n w h a t w a y has she t r i c k e d me ? " " I n the w a y t h a t w o m e n a l w a y s t r i c k m e n ! " W i t h resentment p a r t l y a n d w i t h h a r d p i c t u r e s q u e l e v i t y K r e i s l e r met T a r r ' s discourse. T h i s s o l i t a r y d r i n k e r , p a r t i c u l a r l y shabby, w h o c o u l d be " d i s m i s s e d " so easily, w h o m B e r t h a w i t h accents of s i n c e r i t y , " hated, h a t e d ! " was so different to t h e sort of m a n t h a t T a r r expected m i g h t a t t r a c t her, t h a t he began to wonder. A c e r t a i n satisfaction a c c o m p a n i e d these observations. F o r t h a t week he saw K r e i s l e r n e a r l y e v e r y d a y . A partie trois t h e n began. B e r t h a (whom T a r r saw c o n s t a n t l y too) d i d not a c t u a l l y refuse a d m i t t a n c e to K r e i s l e r ( a l t h o u g h he u s u a l l y h a d first to k n o c k a g o o d m a n y t i m e s ) , y e t she p r a y e d h i m repeatedly not to come a n y more. S t a n d i n g a l w a y s i n a d r o o p i n g a n d desperate c o n d i t i o n before h i m , she d i d her best t o a v e r t a n e w o u t b u r s t o n his p a r t . She sought t o m o l l i f y h i m as m u c h as was consistent w i t h the m o s t a b s o l u t e refusal. T a r r , u n a w a r e of h o w t h i n g s a c t u a l l y stood, seconded his successor. K r e i s l e r , o n h i s side, was rendered obstinate b y

her often t e a r f u l refusal to h a v e a n y t h i n g more what ever to do w i t h h i m . H e h a d come to regard T a r r as p a r t of B e r t h a , a sort of m a s c u l i n e extension of her. A t t h e caf he w o u l d l o o k out for h i m , a n d d r i n k deeply i n his presence. " I will h a v e her. I will have her ! " he once shouted t o w a r d s t h e e n d of the evening, s p r i n g i n g u p a n d c a l l i n g l o u d l y for the garon. I t was a l l T a r r c o u l d do to p r e v e n t h i m from going, w i t h assur ances of intercession. H i s suspicions of T a r r at last awoke once more. W h a t was the m e a n i n g of this E n g l i s h m a n always there ? W h a t was he there for ? I f i t h a d not been for h i m , several times he w o u l d h a v e rushed off a n d h a d his w a y . B u t he was a l w a y s there between t h e m . A n d i n secret, too, p r o b a b l y , a n d a w a y from h i m K r e i s l e r h e was w o r k i n g o n B e r t h a ' s feelings, a n d p r e v e n t i n g her from seeing h i m . T a r r was any how the obstacle. A n d y e t there he was, t a l k i n g a n d p a l a v e r i n g , a n d offering to act as a n inter m e d i a r y , a n d p r e v e n t i n g h i m from a c t i n g . H e alone was the obstacle, a n d y e t he t a l k e d as t h o u g h he were n o t h i n g to do w i t h i t , or at the most a casually interested t h i r d p a r t y . T h a t is h o w K r e i s l e r felt o n his w a y h o m e after h a v i n g d r u n k a good deal. B u t so l o n g as T a r r p a i d for d r i n k s he staved h i m off his p r e y . (To be continued)

"A

PORTRAIT OF T H E ARTIST AS A YOUNG M A N "

W e are g l a d to be able to announce t h a t arrange ments h a v e n o w been completed for the p u b l i c a t i o n i n book form of M r . J a m e s J o y c e ' s n o v e l , A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, w h i c h appeared i n serial form i n T H E E G O I S T ( F e b r u a r y 1914 to Sep tember 1915). T h e book is being p u b l i s h e d i n L o n d o n b y T H E E G O I S T a n d w i l l be r e a d y i n M a r c h (price 6s.).

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T h e new monthly that has been called " the most unique journal in existence." T H E L I T T L E R E V I E W is a magazine that believes in Life for Art's sake, in the Individual rather than in Incomplete People, in an Age of Imagination rather than of Reasonableness ; a magazine interested in Past, Present, and Future, but particularly in the New Hellenism ; a magazine written for Intelligent People who can Feel, whose philosophy is Applied Anarchism, whose policy is a Will to Splendour of Life, and whose function isto express itself.

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THE

THE

EGOIST

January 1917

POETRY JOURNAL
EDITORS

POETRY
Edited by H A R R I E T MONROE

A
Magazine of Verse

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I F y o u are a reader of poetry, this is the one magazine you cannot afford to miss. E v e r y issue contains twenty to t h i r t y pages of new p o e t r y ; important reviews of new books of verse; selectionsin the Counsellors' Tavern from the poetic opinion of all t i m e ; selections from new v o l u m e s ; lists of a l l new books and magazine articles on p o e t r y ; and poems of distinction i n the current maga zines selected for The Poetry Journal b y W i l l i a m Stanley Braithwaite. I n making a selection of poetry to print, the Editors are not restricted b y considerations of subject, school, or length. Complete plays, long narrative poems, odes, and shorter pieces of all kinds and of all schools are published. The Poetry Journal represents an anthology of the best verse produced b y modern poets, and is a complete record of the poetic renaissance. Monthly. Fifteen cents a copy. Canada $1.62. $1.50 per year

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POETS' TRANSLATION

SERIES

THE CONTEMPORARY SERIES

I M A G E S - O L D AND NEW By Richard Aldington
T H E only volume of verse b y one of the most important contemporary poets.

FIVE MEN AND POMPEY By Stephen Vincent Benet

A SERIES of dramatic portraits, being moments i n the lives of Sertorius, Lucillus, Cicero, Caesar, Crassus, and Pompey, outlining the drama of the Republic's fall.

THE

ENGLISH TONGUE By Lewis Worthington Smith

1. (Ready) The complete poems (25) of Anyte of Tegea, now brought together i n English for the first time : translated by Richard Aldington. (8 pages) 2d. net (3d. post free). 2. (Ready) A n entirely new version of the poems and new fragments, together with the more important of the old frag ments, of Sappho : translated by Edward Storer. (12 pages) 4d. net (5d. post free). 3. (Ready) Choruses from the " I p h i g e n i a i n A u l i s " of Euripides : translated by H . D . 6d. net (7d. post free). 4. (Ready) A choice of the Latin poetry of the Italian Renais sance, many now translated for the first time, by Richard A l d i n g ton. 4d. net (5d. post free). 5. (Ready) The Poems of Leonidas of Tarentum, now collected and many translated for the first time i n Englishby James W h i t a l l . 6d. net (7d. post free). 6. (Ready) The " M o s e l l a " of Ausonius, translated by F . S. Flint. 6d. net (7d. post free). All the pamphletsexcept the firstare twelve to twentyeight pages long and cost 4d. or 6d. net ; 5d. or 7d. post free. The series of six 2S. net post free. To be obtained f r o m : The Egoist, Oakley House, Bloomsbury Street, W . C . The Second Series is unavoidably postponed. EDITORIAL L e t t e r s , etc., i n t e n d e d for the E d i t o r of T H E E G O I S T s h o u l d be addressed t o O a k l e y H o u s e , B l o o m s b u r y Street, L o n d o n , W . C . T E R M S OF SUBSCRIPTION. Yearly, 6 / 6 ; U . S . A . $1.60. Six months, 3 / 3 ; U . S . A . $ .80. Three months, 1/9 ; U . S . A . $ .40. S i n g l e copies 7d., p o s t free to a l l c o u n t r i e s . Cheques, p o s t a l a n d m o n e y orders, etc., s h o u l d be p a y a b l e t o T H E E G O I S T , L I M I T E D , a n d crossed " Parr's Bank, Bloomsbury Branch." ADVERTISEMENT RATES. P e r page 4. Q u a r t e r page 1 I s . Od. Per i n c h single c o l u m n , 4s. H a l f rates after first i n s e r t i o n . A l l a d v e r t i s e m e n t s m u s t be p r e p a i d .

WAR poemsa group of inspiring and fiery lyrics of the modern ballad type.

HORIZONS.

By Robert Alden Senborn

A FIRST volume of poems i n which many critics see unmistakable signs of genius.

JUDGMENT.

By Amelia J. Burr

P L A Y in one act i n verse, by the author of The Roadside Fire. A poignant tragedy of Salem witchcraft days.

THE

HOMECOMING By Paul Eldridge

T w o one-act plays of the Great W a r . E A C H volume about 5 by 7 inches; printed on heavy antique paper; bound with coloured wrapper over boards; covers ornamented with designs. Send for complete descriptive catalogue. Price 60 cents each at all booksellers. Postage extra. F o r sale at The Poetry Bookshop, London. THE F O U R S E A S C O M P A N Y , PUBLISHERS Cornhill, Boston, U . S . A .

Printed by T H E COMPLETE PRESS, West Norwood, and published by the Proprietors, T H E EGOIST, LIMITED, at Oakley House, Bloomsbury Street, London, W.C.