Published the 1st and 15th of each month.

THE
AN No.
Editors

EGOIST
INDIVIDUALIST REVIEW. Formerly the NEW FREEWOMAN. THURSDAY, JANUARY CONTENTS.
OF IDEAS SINCE ANTI-HELLENISM. B y Richard 35

2.

VOL.

I.

15th, 1 9 1 4 .
Editor: D O R A

SIXPENCE.
MARSDEN. B . A .

Assistant

RICHARD L E O N A R D

ALDINGTON. A . COMPTON-RICKETT.

SKYSCAPES

AND GOODWILL.

THE

DRAMA

V I E W S AND COMMENTS. M. A DE REGNIER'S LAST BOOK. THE

IBSEN.

B y Storm J a m e s o n .
Poem. By

Aldington.
PENULTIMATE POETRY. By 36

HOUSEKEEPER.

By Richard Aldington.
CURIOUS HISTORY. B y Ezra

Robert Frost.
THE P U B L I C O W N E R S H I P OF T H E

Richard Aldington.
Two FRENCH BOOKS. By 36

Pound. Serial
THE HORSES OF

Story
DIOMEDES. ON

ARTIST.

B y Huntly Carter.
WITH T H E B y Steven

B y R e m y de Gourmont. (Ch. 1 9 . ) L e a v e s .

INTERFERENCE ENVIRONMENT.

Madame Ciolkowska.
CORRESPONDENCE. 38

T . Byington.

SKYSCAPES

A N D GOODWILL.
A civilisation is the attempted w o r k i n g out of a Scheme of Salvation : a plan of escape. It is the im perfect form built up from the perfected plan which the religious philosophies of the " g r e a t " " c o n s t r u c t i v e " "thinkers " of its a g e have projected. F o r it is not merely that a race of men bleached white with the failure of courage would d o well with a prelaid scheme of action : they refuse to move on without one. They bleat for a Deliverera great construc tive thinkeras sheep for a shepherd. Being without prescience, without inner compelling desire, they wait to be told. T h e great world of audiences puts out its distracted agitated tentacles, s w a y i n g about aimlessly, dumb appeals to be told how to expend themselves, and where. Culture, training in the art of spending oneself, is the imperious necessity of the bleached race, whether lettered o r simple. Life without the c o u r a g e for it, is so b a d a business that they must needs approach it with caution. Earth is so little to their taste that they demand the construc tion of a heaven. T o construct the " N e w J e r u s a l e m , " work to the plan of the Deliverer, and make a heaven on earth is a task they can put their hands to. B u t to live for themselvesto lose " f a i t h " ? T h e y would as soon not live at all. So the heads steam with fresh purpose, and the

F the skill of a doctor were bespoken to effect the cure of a madman, and he proceeded to attempt the systematising of the insane r a v i n g s while g i v i n g no heed to the existence of the madness one would s a y there w a s little to choose from in sound ness of mind between doctor and patient. Y e t no one marvels when from all those w h o have a nostrum to offer a s a cure for the disease of civilisation and its complications no voice is heard d r a w i n g attention to the species of sickness which is its antecedent cause. It remains nameless and unsuspected, to be indicated only b y a description of its symptoms. It begins with the failure of the self-assertive principle of the vital power : a failure of c o u r a g e . Tolerated, it acts on the power of the heart and thins it out to a degree at which it is too light to retain its seat there, and forthwith mounts to the head where transmutation begins. T h e power of the heart, already g r o w n virtueless and thin, distills poisonous clammy v a p o u r s which emerge from the head. A s they g r o w denser they settle, a h e a v y cloud of mist about the herd. Descending, they breathe a film upon the eyes and dim the senses. W i t h i n , the heart left tenantless of power is contracted by ghostly handsthe hands of fear. T h e face becomes pallid under the Thought-wreaths with the chiliness of fear. T h e vapours become the breath of his nostrils and are breathed in a s Duty and Circumspection. T h e y penetrate each limb and fibre, inoculate with obedience and virtue. The hands fold m e e k l y : the m a n w a l k s with circumspec tion. H e is already civilised : he awaits merely the idiosyncracy of the particular civilisation.

thought-wreaths mount apace : until there is e n o u g h and to spare to build Heavens without end, Hells t o match and Attacking to shall up the storm is and Delivering and defend. Hosts What concern thinker of the shall save who Thoughts battalions be that drawn of

be named

and how they

nobody's

"constructive"

outlines the vaporous sketch.

H e maps out a bold

22

THE

EGOIST

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

s k y s c a p e in s m o k e , and the civilised g r o u p themselves under w h a t e v e r concept taste or convenience dictates. T h e y follow out the scheme a s a whole as they would the colour-scheme and revelries on the floor of some g r e a t hall in imitation of its painted ceiling. t h e y safe : linked up with heaven. concerns get neglected and somewhat S o are on If their earthly mixed

a c c o u n t of conducting their affairs on a pattern per t a i n i n g strictly to a heaven of thought w h o is to say they would not h a v e been more hopelessly confused had their turned their feeble temper upon them : and w h a t e v e r befalls, h a v e they not Faithin H e a v e n ? A n d does not their bemusedness g i v e the earthly sort their chance to use them, for what they are w o r t h ? It is the flexibility with apparently unlimited power t o m a k e adjustments according to order in human n a t u r e which the T h o u g h t - w e a v e r s w o r k upon when r i g g i n g out their c a n v a s e s . H u m a n nature can be accorded a summary treatment quite other from that which is g i v e n to inert matter. If the Thames flows e a s t and the S e v e r n west " t h i n k e r s " will acknow l e d g e and respect the stubborn tendency ; but human nature must set itself to all the points of the c o m p a s s if the Plan of Salvation demands it. A s it c a n if it w o r k s to it with Goodwill. T h e Goodwill c a n in fact accomplish all things. It is therefore the b a s e of every " c o n s t r u c t i v e " scheme of thought. It is the one factor indeed which makes them thinkable. T h a t is w h y it is so extolled. W h a t system is there w h i c h does not g i v e the palm to the Goodwill : the set intention to w o r k to pattern. If the w e a v e r s of s h a d o w s can count on this set intention, it is enough. T h e result they can safely leave to the slow w e a r i n g d o w n of habit and constant repetition. In time, with G o o d w i l l , the " plan " will be plotted out in conduct a s quantities are on squared paper to give a curve. T h i s " p l a n " plotted out by Goodwill into conduct will similarly " r e v e a l itself in our l i v e s . " T h e plans differ, and the " curves " of civilisations differ in consequence, but Goodwill is the same in them all. It is the amenable teachable will : the fluttering tentacle, beating about uncertainly, charged with e n e r g y but without direction. It stands for the intention to follow if only directions are given to it if the c a n v a s is stretched across its sky. T h e humanitarian skyscape under which w e w a l k n o w a d a y s and which w e are all expected to be " revealing in our lives " is the residue of rubbish left o v e r after the Revolution had enabled w h a t there w a s in it of egoistic temper to obtain the desired spoil under exceptionally favourable circumstances. This v a p o u r o u s d e s i g n is the maleficent legacy which has been bequeathed to succeeding centuries after the French bourgeoisie had acquired the sole benefits of the insurrection. T h e legatees have done handsomely by it, spreading it out and patching it up like old property, until now it is both neat and compact. It could b e sketched out on half a sheet of notepaper and leave plenty of available space. It demands first of course the Goodwill which is t a k e n for granted but encouraged in well-doing by an apothesis of a sort. Goodwill is so essential that the

fluttering little tentacle is elevated to the r a n k of the sacred, and a s fraternity takes its place in the humanitarian Olympus. In the deification c e r e m o n y Godwill unequivocally a s s e r t s its intentions, and proves itself so completely at the service of the Scheme of T h i n g s and above the level of suspicion, by divorcing itself completely from its o w n selfish interests, cutting itself off at the v e r y outset from the P l a n ' s only serious rival, the natural bent of the Self. A s the hymn puts it, it plumps for " N o n e of Self and all ofthe P l a n . " (There is no form of literature so profoundly informing a s a hymn-book.) T h e ceremony is the formal abandonment of the Selfwill by which Goodwill becomes Goodwill in earnest as Fraternity, in which rle it will reappear later in the sketch as the divine parent of Humanity. F r o m this point all is plain sailing. T o love one's neighbour a s oneself: to love the Public G o o d , i.e., all one's neighbours put together, better than ourselves : that is the fruitful spirit in which lis begotten the " more than B r o t h e r h o o d , " the Oneness of H u m a n i t y and the R a c e , when w e shall " a l l one body b e . " Then shall each little one b e a s a limb to the great body, each well-pleased that he pleases not himself but serves the W h o l e . The design grows. Dimension has entered into it, and with it a g r e a t e r and a less : a standard of measurement therefore and a seat of authority : a scale of values which indicates automatically when a " m e m b e r " offends. If the smaller frets the g r e a t e r : perish the smaller or let it amend its w a y s . W h a t is the g r e a t e r ? W h a t can it be but H u m a n i t y , the T y p e , the generalisation, the thing with capitals, high conception and lofty thought. H o w the heads steam, and thoughts mountrise to the " A l l , " the " each and every " pounded out of recognition into sameness, bound together by the fraternal cement intoMan : the master-achievement to accomplish which we sink our mean differences and forget our inequalities. H a s not each become equal in willing ness to s e r v e M a n . E q u a l then, w e are : with equal " rights " to protection of our " freedom " to perform our " d u t i e s " t o w a r d s M a n ; receiving equal dues from a blindfolded " Justice " with even scales. T h e tableau g r o w s complete : Goodwill : Fraternity : Humanity : P e a c e : Order : Law : R i g h t s : J u s t i c e : L i b e r t y : Manthe Humanitarian Heaven, so balanced and symmetrical that it requires an unregarding e g o i s m to break into it. Unfor tunately for the picture's stability, the p o w e r of Goodwill is not equal to its intentions. It is like the God of Arnold's Empedocles who " would do all things well, but some times fails in s t r e n g t h . " When it abandons self-will to enter the empyrean of the g o d s , it d o c s not annihilate it, and the " obtuse unreason of the she-intelligence " which is the temper of men w h o s e intelligence has had strength to resist the tortur ings of intellectual feebleness, b r e a k s r e g a r d l e s s into the pretty thought tight s y s t e m s , only to leave them lying in the path of history broken and a w r y like shat tered mechanical toys. T h e spikes and burrs on the garment of the selfish man rip into the g o s s a m e r thought meshes which stretch like cobwebs a c r o s s

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

THE

EGOIST
which would c h a n g e them to our liking. One m a k e s effort to remove unsightly features which disaffect us in those about us from a motive like that which would impel us to remove an unsightly structure which faced one's window. Not for the sake of the structure, but for the sake of our personal comfort. But with more than that no one has truck with. Any thing beyond that must be left to be indicated on the " Plan " : as n is left to indicate the power of a number increased to infinity. W i t h the breaking of the thread of Goodwill, the humanitarian philosophy would unravel at a single pull, like a chain-stitched seam would if the right thread were seized. Humanity is robbed of its " p r i n c i p l e " and dissolves soulless when egoists break in upon fraternity. It falls apart into its component individuals like the sand from mortar, if the cohering lime were removed. Its " p r o g r e s s , " become the progress of a non-entity, vanishes and with it the source of authority which in its name advised and admonished individuals. What " progress " there may be, becomes a progression in the individuals themselves, which follows individual laws, each being a law to himself. Authority gone, " protection " goes, and " rights " g o with it. There are no rights without protection. Anything of " rights " which is not might is " b e s t o w e d , " " per mitted," and only with the protection of Authority can there be adequate bestowal and permission. Authority shattered, the only right is mightright to what one can get, that is : o n e ' s just dues. The easy assumption that one has a right to anything, livelihood, " equitable r e t u r n s , " comfort, liberty, or life itself shrink like phantoms in daylight. When Goodwill is gone rights can be had for the com mandingfor the power to enforce themand no cheaper. Liberty too is impossible without protection. Liberty is nine parts coercion, and the coercion of the w e a k , the only ones who make appeal for libertyis e x e r cised through authority. Liberty, the plaint of the feeble, is the " a s s u m p t i o n " that the strong must stay the strength of their arm : if they refuse, authority must compel them. Of course authority and the powerful run together, as like to l i k e ; but that does not enlighten the libertarians. T h e y still appeal that the right hand shall shackle the left : it is their trustfulness. T h e tenth part of liberty is the claim to be " f r e e . " All claims are e a s y , but the claim to be tree is e a s y of enforcement : which not all claims are. B y the simple process of abandonment, one can be free of most things. Relatively very few persons are held captive in prisons or beleagured cities. Most can have as much freedom as they w a n t : the truth is that they do not want it. Freedom even as a concept is negative, and the things one truly wants are positive. People are not greatly agitated by that which they desire to be rid of ; it is the desire to have possession which makes their problem, and those w h o call out for freedom desire, not freedom, but property, and property is won and held only in virtue of the possession of power. T h e plaintive appeals of those w h o say they want liberty but w h o mean that they want to be presented with property and to be supported in its possession can De met only

the field of action. It is the selfish man w h o reduces all the s y s t e m s to inoperation : w h o is the despair of the " c o n s t r u c t i v e " thinkers. T h e power to annul any and e v e r y thought-system is founded in the absence of Goodwill. T h e streak of self-determina tion cuts the selfish man off from the well-intentioned from the outset. Unless the docile temper is avail able to w o r k it on to the w a r p of reality, the " P l a n " is futile. Its beginning and end rest on the Goodwill, which will plod along like an industrious mole to " realise " the " philosophic " scheme fashionable to its d a y and generation. T e m p e r , which is energy self-conscious of its direction, has plans and insight of its own : it is not amenable to direction, or to moral suasion. Instead of an intention to serve M a n , its intention is to serve itself and its own soul as suits itself : it has no " standard " save its own satisfac tion. It s a v e s its soul alive by respecting it ; by preventing it from being merged with blunted char acteristics into anything elsethe whole or anything other. It holds by the instinct that emergence from the herd is the proof positive that it is not of the herd ; that to be conscious of its emergence is its distinction and master achievement, and to maintain and accentuate it is its supreme business ; to make it more and more of its " own " kind, unique; to weed out that which is alien to itself; to be " s i n c e r e " through and through ; to free itself from all elements non-selfish : this is the w o r k to which it finds it has a natural bent, and by it, it makes itself impregnable ; incapable of being broken into or broken down. It is the instinct for its o w n permanence, its immortality m a y be, which, without regard, eats up or casts out every particle of Goodwill. Hence the futility for all save the herd, of all schemes of salvation based on Goodwill, and the value which temper sets upon its antagonisms equally with its attractions. The one is as essential as the other for that light and shade in which individual differentiation finds itself clear. T o be incapable of being repelled by any of the brethren is at least as much death in life as to be incapable of being attracted. Antagonism, not for what is bad for the fancy picturethe community and the race but for that which repels the something within one self, independent of its relation to the scheme of values, is as valuablemore exciting if not as com fortableas attraction. Oh universal brotherhood, universal love, sameness, monotony, extinction ! Mankind pressing onward to Unity, swept forward as by one impulse to the bosom of the T y p e ! L i k e those swine which it says somewhere, were swept into the G a d a r e n e S e a !

Happily the nightmare lives mainly only in the picture : in reality, individuals pair off in two and threes o r scrap among themselves. Liniversal brotherhood is mainly subscribed to by people very capable of g i v i n g the salutary cut to the simple brother foolish enough to assume that they mean it. T h e fact which misleads, and encourages the notion that Goodwill is more than a thought-mist for any not of the herd is the extension of the imaginative area by the w i d e sweep of the senses, whereby things which one sees, hears or hears of, become part of the mental l a n d s c a p e ; and as such are subjected to efforts

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THE

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January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

w h e n the pathetic pleaders decide to increase their p o w e r to get and hold ; o r to support in power a s t r o n g authority to which they can m a k e appeal for appropriation and protection ; o r to persuade the powerful already in possession to a voluntary act of g r a c e t o w a r d s the w e a k and non-possessing. T h e second method has been tried, is being and is likely to be for some time to come ; the third is the method which by common consent of all orators and c l e r g y sounds the best : on all occasions sacred or profane : it is the method firmly believed in by all the feeble and none of the strong. It is the millenium arrived at by w a y of L i b e r t y , L o v e and Humanity. T h e first is the one the poor in spirit and pocket h a v e no heart for ; it has no friends ; it dismays the rich as much as it sickens the poor, and in the long interval which is likely to elapse before it is put on its trial, the ravelling thread of the humanitarian c a n v a s will be caught up and the array of vaporous c o m b a t a n t s in the army of Humanity, the entire a s s e m b l a g e of the Delivering H o s t s of T h o u g h t will wreathe themselves out like a painted battle until the real flesh and blood combat is ready to begin. T h e poor will continue to lay claim to rightsto look for

the advent of a liberty they can never s e e ; they will " claim " an equality with those with whom they are not equal ; claim the " justice " which assumes a nonexisting equality : a justice which is not just. And as they assume their possession of " r i g h t s " in these claims, they w i l l - b e i n g in truth a humble and in doctrinated peopleassume the duties to correspond, and perform the services. Their services will be accepted : the claims rejected. T h e quid pro quo they will obtain will be a clear title to the virtues, the reward for which is laid up in H e a v e n , high and a w a y behind the S k y - s c a p e and the stout form of Humanity. Of the property which they w a n t when they a s k for libertynot one jot. T o get that they would require to seize and thieve, and thieving is not prescribed on the Sky-scape. N o r is it compatible with virtue when exercised on a humble scale, and w h o can hope they will ever rob on the noble one, generously and like gentlemen? If one of them were c a u g h t redhanded, he would be found to be s m u g g l i n g a w a y a can of milk : which is hopeless a s thieving. Scarcely in our time will they need to take in and pack a w a y the humanitarian c a n v a s u n l e s s indeed there is force and a sting in irony.

VIEWS

AND C O M M E N T S .
W e can now consider Mr. Meulen's dictum that " e g o i s m is the doctrine that the motive of e v e r y human action is the pleasure of the p e r f o r m e r . " T H E E G O I S T is an odd quarter wherein to present a word like " Pleasure " as the main term in a defini tion. W h a t is " P l e a s u r e ? " T h e text-books even will point out that there is a confusion : that there are concrete activities which may be called " p l e a s u r e s , " which however vary with person, mood and circumstances, and if insisted upon are likely to be classed as nuisances and a bore. But " P l e a s u r e " the v a g u e generalisation it is impossible to define. It is of the order of the static concept which have the function of tombstones among w o r d s . Tombstones, as Mr. Allan U p w a r d points out in his illuminating " D i v i n e M y s t e r y , " a r e intended to keep the spirit down : imprisoned underneath in the vault, and that is what w o r d s like " P l e a s u r e " m a n a g e to do. T h e y blur over with an abstract generality the positive active element in that which they pretend to name. Their only use is to create seemingly irreconcilable opposites, playing with which m a n a g e s t o keep the professors and scholars from swelling the r a n k s of the unemployed. T h e y g o in pairs : and " selfsacrifice" is the verbal opposite which nicely balances " P l e a s u r e . " Both represent mental confusion, and we s u g g e s t to Mr. Meulen the advisability of abandoning both to the e x c l u s i v e use of scholars and clergymen : putting in their place the active verbal form which comes nearest to e x p r e s s i n g w h a t they s u g g e s t rather than what they possess of m e a n i n g . T o " please " oneself is t o set o n e ' s e n e r g i e s moving in a channel in which they run readily and with comfort : that is a definition which for the moment will d o for " P l e a s u r e " ; to sacrifice oneself is to set them on enterprises where they move reluctantly and with hardship. T h e motor-power in both cases comes from the self : the motive is selfsatisfaction and fulfilment. W h e t h e r the issue i s satisfactory or not is more or less accidental : with judgment it tends to become less rather than more. T o " please oneself " and to " sacrifice oneself " are in the main, activities by the w a y , like the p a s s i n g through roads of v a r y i n g quality in the c o u r s e of a long journey. A sturdy traveller will take them a s

H I S time it is hedonism. It was nominalism, and has been realism, intuitionism, individualism, Socialism. Given time, and the catholicity of these p a g e s , w e shall in the opinion of one or other off our readers rehearse the entire procession of isms and schisms, whether ancient, mediaeval or modern. T h e compliment paid to the wealth of our erudition would no doubt be pleasantand wholly undeserved did it not clash with our egoistic temper, which compels us to protest as to our status. Our modesty notwithstanding, w e protest that w e brew our own malt : w e are not bottlers and retailers : w e are in the wholesale and producing line of business. If our beer bears a resemblance in flavour to other brands, it is due to the similarity of taste in the makers. " Stirnerian " therefore is not the adejective fittingly to be applied to the e g o i s m of T H E E G O I S T . What the appropriate term would be w e can omit to state. H a v i n g said this, w e d o not seek t o minimise the amount of Stirner which may be traced herein. The contrary rather, since h a v i n g no fear that creative genius folded its w i n g s when Stirner laid down his pen, w e w o u l d gladly credit to himunlike so many of the individualists w h o have enriched themselves somewhat at his handsthe full measure of his astounding creativeness. F o r it is not the smallness in m e a s u r e of what one takes a w a y from genius one admires which is creditable. It is a very old story the comedy of discipleshipthat though the banquet of w i s d o w is spread and open to all-comers the number of the foolish abroad does not materially diminish. W e may take from w h e r e w e please, but " how much " depends on how much w e can. The wealth of the feast is the affair of the hosts : capacity to take from it concerns only the guest. Since then w e recognise his v a l u e , w h y protest that we h a v e d r a w n at the stream of his creation into thimbles? W e take w h a t w e c a n , and our capacity is not measured by thimblefuls. And because it is not, " Stirnerian egoism " has not as M r . Meulen s u g g e s t s in the correspondence columns " t a k e n such a firm hold " of us. If that appears a paradox to our correspondent w e ask him to w o r k it out. It is really v e r y simple and straightforward if he will bear in mind that w e are very g r e a t pots and can therefore afford to be honest. S o few people c a n .

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

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25

o v e r a f a v o u r a b l e tract will be undertaken and re peated solely to enjoy the e a s e and facility with which it c a n b e c o v e r e d : a s in a d v a n c e the dancers will move continuously round the floor. And on the other hand, a difficult stretch will be undertaken and repeated in order t o enjoy the ultimate satisfaction at not h a v i n g been defeated by its r i g o u r s : a s in the more difficult feats of mountain-climbing or in any of the " t a s k s " of " self-sacrifice " which men will set themselves to prove they can g o through with them. It is a healthy method of hardening and w e a t h e r i n g , and great fun as long as no one is mis taken by it. Whether men are " p l e a s i n g " them selves or " sacrificing " themselves they are enjoying themselves very well indeed, particularly in the latter if they h a v e an audience. Probably because in the long history of experience the " hardening " process makes men more fit and inclined to venture into new fields than does the lingering over the facile and comfortable, the " hardening " a l w a y s wins the applause of general common-sense, and it is because of this that instead of calling itself d o g g e d n e s s or sport, the " hardeners " h a v e become accustomed to get their solatium in a left-handed w a y by calling their form of amusement " s e l f - s a c r i f i c e . " If anyone speaks of " s e l f - s a c r i f i c e " it is a certainty they are speaking to an audience, real or imaginary. T h e y are getting at someone. T h e y would call it a good old sport if they felt they were quite, quite alone. W e have of course been speaking of " pleasures " definitely entered upon as diversions and " selfsacrifice " adopted as a tonic with a strong probability of amusement in the form of applause rounding it off at the finish. Both are hobbies, off the track of life's main courses. T h e " s e l f - s a c r i f i c e " which has sprung up by instinct and veined itself into the mesh of life without any thought of pleasure or an audience is not so e a s y to explain. Perhaps the feature which best helps to explain it is the fact that it never r e g a r d s itself as " self-sacrifice." T h e term is applied by onlookers after the event. T h e " sacrifices " of love in any of its forms in the eyes of the makers of them are desires whose frustration would be resented in a degree which itself explains the sacrifice. Of the desire to alleviate suffering, and the supposed existence of goodwill we have already spoken. In relation to the former it is to be noted that sensitive ness, the form to which vital power runs, and the power to inflict suffering is curbed by the sensitiveness which makes the imagination of the suffering caused proportionately hateful. W e mind our manners and o u r w a y s for our o w n sake. A s for goodwill, it has no real existence. Sensitiveness, stupidity, and fear explain e v e r y form of its seeming appearance. T h e feeble or unintelligent man is ready to be persuaded into a belief that it exists because the schemes which are erected on it as a basis seem to meet his difficulties. B u t he is thinking of goodwill as existent not so much in himself as in the powerful : he expects them to adopt its precepts : whereas they, on the con trary, merely see in it, a happy psychology for " g o v e r n m e n t by c o n s e n t . " T h e poor expect " good will " to g i v e them " liberty " ; the rich look to it to secure a docile serving community. In a few thousand y e a r s , after experimenting with every " c o n s t r u c t i v e " scheme of government, " d i v i n e " and human, men will begin to understand that the only will existent is Self-will. T h e r e remains the concept of chivalry : the strongest evidence to be offered in support of " selfs a c r i f i c e . " If w e allow the activity s u g g e s t e d by c h i v a l r y to emerge from under the w e i g h t y slab of the concept, it stands as the fairly habitual practice a m o n g men and women of voluntarily stepping into a position of d a n g e r in order to allow some other w e a k e r than themselves to take up the more advan t a g e o u s position. T h e difficulty about chivalry is that the chivalrous are at once so noble and modest that

they really cannot be run through a cross-examination. One is thrown back upon one's own feebly chivalrous tendencies about which to be brutally honest. First,perhaps foremoston spectacular occasions at any rate, one is chivalrous because it is the tradition : one is courageous for lack of the pluck to be a c o w a r d . And then its action is not reliable : it is jumpy and at the mercy of nerves : it is not likely that there are many " heroes " who cannot conceive the possibility of m a k i n g one in a stampede. N e r v e s , " in fact, appear to be an integral concern ( " nerves " in the popular sense, that is) in chivalrous conduct. Unless caught in one's feebler moments, there is something steadying in the spectacle of distraught nerves in another person : even when they are occasioned by a d a n g e r in which both share. Terror has the appearance of being out of all proportion to the occasion, no matter how serious : and the feeling puts the situation in a new perspective. W h a t e v e r the danger is, so g r e a t a fear appears excessive. It is strange how commonplace a matter death may look upon occasion, and it is on an occasion when the terror of others has made it assume such diminished significance that the genuinely chivalrous action is performed. It is prompted by pity and a sense of superior tranquility; and the act of " sacrifice " becomes easier than the imagination of another's excessive distress. " Chivalry " becomes a question of sensitiveness therefore, which accepts the lesser of two evils. If that is not the frame of mind of " chivalry " one would like an account of it from one who is chivalrous. T h e " w a y s of men " are complex and various, but they are not past finding out. S p e a k i n g humbly as in the presence of " constructive " thinkers, one would s u g g e s t that, observed as an artist observes and not as a moralist, they would be as explicit as the " w a y s of t h i n g s , " that it is only the overlaying by the " constructive " plan that confuses the simple self-assercive principle. R e m o v e the plan, with its unreal labels of sins and virtues, its duties, its " oughts " and " s h o u l d s , " and the human riddle will have its chance to declare itself. Mr. Tucker has informed us that the argument cannot proceed until we have explained something, and on looking through the issues of October 1 s t , November 15th and later, to find the something, w e gather that M r . T u c k e r " t h i n k s that w e t h i n k " it is a sign of insanity for people to " associate for mutual protection on a basis of a contract defining the protective s p h e r e , " because w e said P r o u d h o n ' s outline of the Social Contract with the pains and penalties attaching thereto seemed as valuable as a scheme for " building a block of flats as high as S t . P a u l ' s with lily-stalks for materials, with a pro spectus describing the joys of living therein and the penalties for occupants who damaged the j o i n e r y . " Weil our comment implies nothing of the kind. It is as natural to make contractswhich are nothing more than mutual promises writ impressive with penalties attachedas it is for men to laugh, talk and sigh or d o g s to bark. T h a t men make promises anew in face of a world of broken promises shows how ineradicable the instinct is. But as a matter of fact we had not arrived at the point of considering whether contracts w e r e good or bad. The theatricality of Proudhon's style with its faked matter and pompous manner rendered it impossible. One would h a v e had to imagine oneself Cromwell refusing the c r o w n , or Mr. Beerbohm T r e e , or a poached e g g , before entering into its spirit. A s for the lilystalks (it is as horrible as a dental operation to h a v e to apply a two-month-old joke) they were intended to refer to M . Proudhon's assumptions r e g a r d i n g human nature. W e meant that the kind of people he describes never w a l k e d on earth : that they w e r e unreal : figures with no genuine insides, stuffed out with tracts from the Church of H u m a n i t y and the Ethical Society.

26

THE

EGOIST

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

M. de Rgnier's Last Book.

I T H the modesty natural to a man with a E u r o pean reputation and with the same languid g r a c e he used in offering us his " C o r b e i l l e s d e s H e u r e s , " M . de R g n i e r * now beckons a slave to lay before us a lacquered tray. L e Plateau de L a q u e is not the most significant of the w o r k s for which he h a s found an aesthetic title, but it contains many c u r i o u s trifles and not a few beautiful little pieces. S o m e o n e once spoke of the G r e e k Anthology as the " c a r v e n c h e r r y - s t o n e s " of Greek p o e t r y ; the Plateau d e L a q u e contains the carven cherry-stones of M . de R g n i e r ' s prose. E v e n a foreigner could never fail to preceive and delight in the w o r k m a n s h i p of these sketches ; h o w e v e r slight they are, h o w e v e r incredible o r bizarre, you have a l w a y s in reading them the pleasure of their incomparable style. If you would k n o w how to make a little story out of t w o old ladies p l a y i n g bezique, out of an old bachelor in love with an acacia tree, out of the most artificial of V e n e t i a n incidents, you must e x a m i n e the bric-abrac extended on this lacquered tray and note carefully the method and expression of the artist. It would h a v e been very e a s y to m a k e them b a n a l ; it w a s difficult to m a k e them effective; but in spite of the " d e l ' A c a d m i e F r a n a i s e " after his name, in spite of the c l a m o u r s of les jeunes, an impartial readeror one prejudiced in his favourwill allow at once that M . de R g n i e r has lost neither his imagination nor his technique. If w e do not recommend him for the Nobel prize it is because w e feel he m a y be more fittingly honoured in the lofty seclusion of those old Italian gardens assigned to him by one of his contemporaries.

tecures palladiennes de l ' g l i s e du Redentore, dont les cloches mlent si bien leurs harmonies ariennes aux sifflets des vaporetti et au g m i s s e m e n t des sirnes m a r i n e s . " I do not think M . de R g n i e r would offer this book as the flower of his genius ; it contains his " epidciktika" that is, pieces written to display a delicate talent of description. T h e story called " E x - V o t o " is far too slender to be anything more than a brilliant technical accomplishment, and I feel almost certain that L e S a b r e w a s written solely for the purpose of permitting M . de R g n i e r the pleasure of describing a bazaar at D a m a s c u s which he had never seen. On the other hand, it might be asserted that the " Revolt of Tai'-Pou " is almost diadactic, if it had not such a perfectly acceptable moral. T h e reflections and acts of T a - P o u a r e admirable in the extreme. T o power, he s a y s , it is permitted us to sacrifice virtue and love and oneself, but beauty should be preferred to everything. M a y w e suspect that this also is M . de R g n i e r ' s belief? I should be happy to think so, for beauty has now become a very deserted queen indeed.
RICHARD ALDINGTON.

A Curious History.

H E following statement h a v i n g been received by me from an author of known and notable talents, and the state of the c a s e being now, so far as I know, precisely what it w a s at the date of his last letter (November 30th), I h a v e thought it more appropriate to print his communication entire than to indulge in my usual biweekly comment upon books published during the fortnight. Mr. J o y c e ' s statement is a s follows : The following letter, which g i v e s the history of a book of stories, w a s sent by me to the P r e s s of the United K i n g d o m two years a g o . It w a s published by two newspapers so far as I know : " Sinn F e i n " (Dublin) and the " Northern W h i g " (Belfast). V i a della B a r r i e r a V e c c h i a 32 I I I . , Trieste, Austria.
SIR,

M . de R g n i e r is very imaginative ; he loves the past with an epicurean relish, and tolerates the present with a kind of polished contempt. It a m u s e s him to supply the deficiencies which belong to e v e r y present time by means of this lively faculty ; he finds, I should imagine, little pleasure in c a t a l o g u i n g the types of the banlieu or the appearance of the houses in the Boulevard R a s p a i l . It is for this reason that he prefers V e n i c e to every other city in the world and invents a mythical China and a fabulous Orient as a s t a g e for his imaginary c h a r a c t e r s . H i s love of V e n i c e is quite touching ; he seems to know e v e r y rio and calle, is as much at home in the Z a t t e r e as in the Piazza of Saint M a r k . H e seems never so happy as when setting out in his g o n d o l a to some i m a g i n a r y garden on the Giudecca, o r perhaps to the real one there which he conceals under another name. T h e Venetian stories in L e Plateau de L a q u e are some of the best in the book. T h e Testament of Count Arminati is quite the sort of grisly story one would expect to hear of the crumbling palaces of V e n i c e , and the idea of hiding the skeleton under the clothes of the masked mannekin w a s admirable, especially to anyone w h o knows the w a x figures at the Museo Civico, which M . de R g n i e r assures us w e r e the companions of this other horrible one. And the curious tale of the maniac, and the other half cynical one of the " Collier de V e r r e " are admirably Venetian. T h e r e is a g r e a t deal of V e n i c e in this short description : " Elle (the view) offrait toujours mes y e u x le canal de la Giudecca avec ses g r o s bateaux a m a r r s le long du quai, et, au del du canal, dominant les faades barioles de l'autre rive, les nobles archi* L e P l a t e a u de L a q u e , par Henri de R g n i e r , de l'Acadmie Franaise. Paris Mercure de France.

May I ask you to publish this letter, which throws some light on the present conditions of authorship in E n g l a n d and I r e l a n d ? Nearly six years a g o M r . Grant R i c h a r d s , publisher, of London, signed a contract with me for the publication of a book of stories written by me, entitled " D u b l i n e r s . " S o m e ten months later he wrote a s k i n g me to omit one of the stories and p a s s a g e s in others which, as he said, his printer refused to set up. I declined to d o either, and a correspondence began between M r . Grant R i c h a r d s and myself which lasted more than three months. I went to an international jurist in R o m e (where I lived then) and w a s advised to omit. I declined to do so, and the M S . w a s returned to me, the publisher refusing to publish, notwithstanding his pledged printed word, the contract remaining in my p o s s e s sion. S i x months afterwards a M r . Hone w r o t e to me from Marseilles to a s k me to submit the M S . to M e s s r s . Maunsel, publishers, of Dublin. I did s o ; and after about a y e a r , in J u l y , 1 9 0 9 , M e s s r s . Maunsel signed a contract with me for the publication of the book on or before 1st September, 1 9 1 0 . In December, 1 9 0 9 , M e s s r s . M a u n s e l ' s m a n a g e r b e g g e d me to alter a p a s s a g e in one of the stories, " I v y D a y in the Committee R o o m , " wherein some reference w a s made to E d w a r d V I I . I agreed to do so, much

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

THE

EGOIST

27

a g a i n s t my will, and altered one or t w o phrases. M e s s r s . M a u n s e l continually postponed the date of publication and in the end wrote, a s k i n g me to omit the p a s s a g e or to c h a n g e it radically. I declined to do either, pointing out that M r . Grant R i c h a r d s , of L o n d o n , had raised no objection to the p a s s a g e when E d w a r d V I I . w a s alive, and that I could not see w h y an Irish publisher should raise an objection to it when E d w a r d V I I . had passed into history. I s u g g e s t e d arbitration or a deletion of the p a s s a g e with a prefatory note of explanation by me, but M e s s r s . Maunsel would a g r e e to neither. A s M r . H o n e (who had written to me in the first instance) disclaimed all responsibility in the matter and any connection with the firm I took the opinion of a solicitor in Dublin, who advised me to omit the p a s s a g e , informing me that as I had no domicile in the United K i n g d o m I could not sue M e s s r s . Maunsel for breach of contract unless I paid 100 into court, and that even if I paid 100 into court and sued them, I should h a v e no chance of getting a verdict in my favour from a Dublin jury if the p a s s a g e in dispute could be taken as offensive in any w a y to the late K i n g . I wrote then to the present K i n g , G e o r g e V . , enclosing a printed proof of the story, with the p a s s a g e therein marked, and b e g g i n g him to inform me whether in his view the p a s s a g e (certain allusions made by a person of the story in the idiom of his social class) should be withheld from publication as offensive to the memory of his father. His M a j e s t y ' s private secretary sent me this reply : Buckingham Palace. T h e private secretary is commanded to acknow ledge the receipt of M r . J a m e s J o y c e ' s letter of the 1st instant, and to inform him that it is inconsistent with rule for his Majesty to e x p r e s s his opinion in such c a s e s . T h e enclosures are returned herewith. 11th A u g u s t , 1 9 1 1 . (The p a s s a g e in dispute is on pp. 1 9 3 and 194 of this edition from the words But look to the words play fair.) I wrote this book seven y e a r s a g o and hold two contracts for its publication. I am not even allowed to explain my c a s e in a prefatory note : wherefore, as I cannot see in any quarter a chance that my rights will be protected, I hereby g i v e M e s s r s . Maunsel publicly permission to publish this story with what c h a n g e s or deletions they may please to m a k e , and shall hope that what they may publish may resemble that to the writing of which I g a v e thought and time. Their attitude as an Irish publishing firm may be judged by Irish public opinion. I , as a writer, protest a g a i n s t the systems (legal, social, and cere monious) which h a v e brought me to this pass. T h a n k i n g you for your courtesy, I am, S i r , Y o u r obedient servant,
JAMES JOYCE.

such were called for. T h e n M e s s r s . Maunsel a s k e d me to pay into their bank a s security 1,000 o r to find t w o sureties of 500 each. I declined to d o either ; and they then wrote to me, informing me that they would not publish the book, altered or un altered, and that if I did not m a k e them an offer to cover their losses on printing it they would sue me to recover same. I offered to pay sixty per cent, of the cost of printing the first edition of one thousand copies if the edition were made over to my order. T h i s offer w a s accepted, and I arranged with my brother in Dublin to publish and sell the. book for me. On the morning when the draft and a g r e e ment were to be signed the publishers informed me that the matter w a s at an end because the printer refused to hand o v e r the copies. I took legal advice upon this, and w a s informed that the printer could not claim the money due to him by the publisher until he had handed over the copies. I then went to the printer. His foreman told me that the printer had decided to forego all claim to the money due to him. I asked whether the printer would hand over the complete edition to a London or Continental firm or to my brother or to me if he were fully indemnified. He said that the copies would never leave his printing-house, and added that the type had been broken up, and that the entire edition of one thousand copies would be burnt the next d a y . I left Ireland the next day, bringing with me a printed copy of the book which I had obtained from the publisher.
JAMES JOYCE.

V i a Donato B r a m a n t e 4, I I , Trieste, 30th November, 1 9 1 3 . T h e other events in the world of publication have been the appearance of a new volume of poems by Arthur S y m o n s . T h e publisher neglects to send it to us for review. A similar complaint a g a i n s t him appeared recently in " T h e O u t l o o k , " over a popular novel. " T h e English R e v i e w " for the month contains the outpourings of M e s s r s . C r o w l e y , E d m u n d G o s s e , and G e o r g e Moore. M r . Moore has succeeded in falling below even his usual level of mendacious pusillanimity.
EZRA POUND.

SONG

0 '

LOVE.

W e will g o out together, you and I , T o look at the flowers ; W e will w a l k over the white r o c k s , L o v i n g the g r a s s blades, And look together at the creek-ripples W h e r e they sing to the w a t e r - c r e s s ; And the little blue flower under the rock ledge W i l l be a friend to us. W e will g o out together, you and I , W h e r e are new flowers. W e will say soft things to the little white one W i t h the five petals, And whisper the mystery T o the blue-bells, And the apple of the cactus-plant W e will not forget. W e will g o out together, you and I , W h i s p e r i n g to the flowers. W e will say wonderful things T o the golden-rod, And tell it all T o the mint-flower; And over the little dead thing that the W e will say a m a s s . [ w e e d s choked One d a y , w e will g o out together, you and I , T o look at the flowers. Jack MCCLURE.

18th A u g u s t , 1 9 1 1 . I waited nine months after the publication of this letter. T h e n I went to Ireland and entered into negotiations with M e s s r s . Maunsel. T h e y asked me to omit from the collection the story, " An E n c o u n t e r , " p a s s a g e s in " T w o G a l l a n t s , " the " B o a r d i n g H o u s e , " " A Painful C a s e , " and to c h a n g e e v e r y w h e r e through the book the names of restaurants, cake-shops, railway stations, publichouses, laundries, b a r s , and other places of business. After h a v i n g argued a g a i n s t their point of view day after d a y for six w e e k s and after h a v i n g laid the matter before t w o solicitors (who, while they informed me that the publishing firm had made a breach of contract, refused to t a k e up my c a s e or to allow their names to be associated with it in any w a y ) , I consented in despair to all these c h a n g e s on condition that the book w e r e brought out without delay and the original text w e r e restored in future editions, if

28

THE

EGOIST

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

" T h e Horses of Diomedes."

By REMY DE GOURMONT.

(Translated by C . Sartoris,) XIX.LEAVES. " Oh ! how my life is shedding its l e a v e s . "

I w a s w r o n g . Intelligence and stupidity are, without doubt, forms and not degrees of the mind. The superstition which shocks us, and the act of liberty which moves us, can have equally deep or equally void meanings. . . . W h a t do you t h i n k ? H e had stopped suddenly, looking at Diomedes, who answered : I think that you have just contradicted yourself and that you are a w a r e of it. Y e s , yes. . . . I would wish to blend con tradictions, I would wish to unite F a i t h and Intelli gence. - In disclaiming intelligence ! N o , I have spoken nonsense. . . . A n d y e t ? It is not nonsense, resumed D i o m e d e s ; it is one way of looking at things and quite tenable, for intelligence is a ladder and stupidity is a wheel barrow. . . Pellegrin began to laugh : M y dear Diomedes, if you interweave metaphors in a philosophical discussion, night will fall, a night thronged with dreams. A night thronged with dreams. . . . T h a t , that is truly the semblance of my life. And of all lives, resumed l'abb Quentin. As soon as a brain wishes to think, twilight descends on it. One seeks, amidst the darkness, one's fallen keys. Y e s , said Diomedes, you would wish to open the door of the chamber in which Truth contemplates herself eternally, in several mirrors hung upon the walls. S h e smiles at herself and trifles with her companions whom she despises, for she is T r u t h . H a v e you read P a l a f o x ? Y o u must read Palafox. Y o u drive me back towards m a g i c , Monsieur, answered the priest who thought he perceived a raillery. But I know what I want. I want to help men to suffer and I will help them to unburden them selves of suffering. T h a t is why I spoke to your dying friend the words that you heard. But that w a s m a g i c , that also ; it w a s a conjuration. N o , it w a s the encouragement of a soul to a soul. W a s I r i g h t ? Y o u r little poem w a s agreeable, Monsieur, answered Diomedes, but less so than the w o r d s of the liturgy. And precisely in that, it seemed to me that you exiled yourself from harmony. T h i n k that, of these words, many doubtless are older than all known religions, very old stammerings of the primitive terror ! T h a t which you disdainfully qualify as formulas is really verbal beauty crystallised in the memory of the centuries. There are in the Z e n d - A v e s t a , a few sentences that could still console me and bless my life and my bread ; but they are unused and perhaps ineffectual. W o r d s have their m a g i c , Monsieur, and I v e r y sincerely believe that some verses of V i r g i l i u s h a v e produced incantations. T h e priest seemed to pursue some inward discourse. He uttered with an inspired look : God and life. . . . Life within God, serious, cordial, rich with love and j o y s . . . . It is death that made me love life. It is through seeing death that I came to understand how solemn life is and h o w happy it should be, to justify death. Having known injustice, I believed in the infinite where all is annulled and in the supremacy of God w h o is infinite pain and the absolute of our sufferings. God suffers from not being able to know himself and w e suffer from not being able to know G o d . L e t us love G o d , and w e shall know him ; let us g o to his rescue ; beloved of men, he will know himself in the love of men and all life of suffering shall cease and all souls, human souls and the divine soul, shall be beatified in the Infinite. T h e creation of life is the means of salvation that God in the beginning of centuries

N c o m i n g out of the cemetery, Pellegrin joined their hands. Alone of men, Diomedes, the v a g a b o n d poet, and the chance priest had followed the little p a u p e r ' s hearse in the shape of a coffer that candid flowers made falsely virginal ; all three went under the bower of green leaves whence the s i g h t of recumbent slabs vouched for the certain and dignified end of all activity and of all love. P e l l e g r i n , remembering a previous meeting, intro duced l'abb Quentin as being an unparalleled priest, far superior to the clerical herd ; but the priest pro tested, affirming himself the most modest of apostles albeit tormented by the singular ideas of art, of liberty and of beauty. T u r n i n g t o w a r d s Diomedes he said : M y attitude in the presence of death may have seemed s t r a n g e to you, Monsieur, for it is probable that y o u are neither ignorant of the liturgies nor of their m a g i c formulae? T h a t power however can exercise itself only on intelligences capable of under standing both the recited words and the intentional value of the formula. T h e simple words " Y o u are s a v e d " can s a v e , but their strength is intellectual, not verbal. T h e syllables that the mind does not spiritualise are without power, either to condemn, or to absolve. It is not the priest who delivers from sin, it is the sinner who frees himself by the know l e d g e that his bonds h a v e just been torn asunder ; to that voluntary act the priest brings but the aid of his hands and the encouragement of his presence and of a tone of solemnity. T h e people, that is to say, all mankind, believes eternally in m a g i c : believes that it is the w o r d s that are important ; that there are in the code and in the ritual rubrics of which the recita tion seals a m a r r i a g e ; that one needs a costume for killing and a costume for blessing ; that a piece of stuff flying at the end of a staff is protective ; that silk is to be worshipped when embroidered with the figure of a woman in white (and linen, admirable as a tricolour, is, when of one hue, nothing but a curtain) ; that the communion with the infinite requires bread stamped with the seal of God ; that water combined with salt is purifying, and combined with a c r o s s , exorcising ; that a bridge would collapse if its first stone w a s not laid with ceremonial gestures. T h e r e is a papal m a g i c , a state magic, and a popular m a g i c . All three despise one another without under standing that they are but one and the same chame leon, varied in colours but unique in name : F a i t h . It is beautiful because it is cordial, human, natural and universal. H a p p y is he w h o believes ! The simplicity of his Soul asserts the accomplishment of his S a l v a t i o n , according to the modus by which he can be s a v e d . B u t let that one w h o does not believe, act as if he did believe, so as not to break a w a y from harmony and so as not to die alone on the sand like an acaleph w a s h e d up by the sea. H e spoke gently, in a slow, precise, and somewhat oratorical voice, without hesitation or pause except when intentional. Pellegrin drank in his w o r d s . Diomedes listened attentively, interested also by the wilful chin, the broad mouth, the firm nose and the arched forehead under which the eyes were fitted like precious stones in the tiara of a barbaric k i n g . H e continued : One day I terrified a curate, occupied in practices of which w e could hardly justify a n e g r o , by s a y i n g to him : G o d is not as stupid as you think him to be.

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

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EGOIST

29

chose for himself ; it is the mirror in which he wished to see himself but the w i c k e d n e s s of mankind obscured the face of the earth. A n d in face of death, I dream of the uselessness of suffering and of all these a n g u i s h e d lives, eternally sacrificed. I await the reign of L o v e . A n d when a soul is severed from the life of flesh, it g o e s in the peaceful darkness to a w a i t the reign of L o v e . It suffers not, it w a i t s and not in v a i n . D i o m e d e s praised such sentiments, finding however this theology somewhat curious. Secretly he j u d g e d the ecclesiastic as being rather incoherent, and would h a v e preferred a country curate capable of p l a y i n g "bowls." Then : " A bad tempered opinion. . . . W h a t a dis p a r a g i n g mind I h a v e ! " Then : " Still another day during which I shall h a v e thought v e r y little of myself. . . . A letter from N o a w a i t s me, certainly. A l s o , I must take a w a y my portrait and those of F a n e t t e before the advent of stupid heirs. . . . T h e reign of L o v e . Fanette w a s thatrather. P o o r child ! " Abruptly, he deserted Pellegrin and the priest : after a few steps, he repented : I should h a v e kept Pellegrin. I shall bore myself to tears. H e came back ; they had gone. " Oh ! how my life is shedding its leaves ! " H e did not dare g o back to F a n e t t e ' s apartment, to see once more the forlornness of the bed and that arm-chair in which the S i s t e r of M e r c y seemed to have seated herself for all eternity. W h e r e could such vocations be recruited, he mused. W h a t horn, sounding in the night, could sound loud enough to call together a herd of such woeful women ? T o g i v e the whole of one's life up to death, to h a v e no other care than the dressing of corpses, the solitary vigil near rigid bodies and cold faces where the shadow of the nostrils m a r k s an immutable hour on the putrefaction of the cheek ! T h e s e creatures chose such a painful task probably from several motives. F i r s t l y it w a s necessary and traditional, inherited from the ancient mortuary cor porations w h o s e pious spade had delved so many catacombs. T h e n Diomedes admitted the imperative need for salvation which inclines beings either towards sacrifice, or t o w a r d s crime, if, as with the Mussulmen, crime is one of the paths to P a r a d i s e . B u t especially the reason of such a choice, w a s v o c a tion, the instinctive m a r c h i n g at the call of the horn, the absurd human tendency to obey the V o i c e s . . . . " T h e s e S i s t e r s and the men w h o live similarly on death, are the coleopterous beetles of humanity. Their destiny is insuperable. Their nerves thrill at the perfumes of decay a s other nerves thrill at all the perfumes of life, and, as l'abb Quentin said, it is beautiful because it is cordial and human. . . ." P o n d e r i n g o v e r males and females living thus together without corporal communion, in colonies of one only s e x , Diomedes succeeded at last in under standing : being of different s e x e s , their derma recoiled, being of the same s e x they attracted each other but chastely, as the motive of such an exile w a s precisely s e x u a l inaptitude. " Chastity is by no means the necessary companion of intelligence, and yet it is perhaps one of intelli g e n c e ' s least equivocal friends. The principal pleasure of that state being the total absence of sentimentalism, a state upon which souls freed from v i c e , can glorify themselves. V i c e is sentimental and, perhaps, that alone m a k e s its u g l i n e s s . " T h e n Diomedes judged himself with severity, a s h a m e d of h a v i n g neglected ideas for sentiments, of h a v i n g accomplished acts of love in which he had

woven that sort of pity that women w i s h to contem plate on bended knees before the altar of their g r a c e . H e resolved, without neglecting any of the social attentions that his attitude t o w a r d s Nobelle rendered necessary, to treat her only as an intellectual animal without other surrenderings than those of the flesh and of the mind. Y e t almost immediately he thought himself stupid : " T h u s I should be the dupe of my principles and I would suffer that a concern of what is logical should dictate my conduct? N o ! I shall contradict myself if I please. B e s i d e s which I must experience e v e r y sentiment as well as every sensation. N o t h i n g must surprise me but nothing must be indifferent to me. T o set the sail and a w a i t the w i n d ' s pleasure and if it heads me t o w a r d s a reef and t o w a r d s a shipwreck, I shall still be superior to those w h o h a v e never sailed but on the saddened w a t e r s of canals choked with dead leaves. "
(To be continued.)

The Drama of Ideas since Ibsen.

H E dramatists of the North girded up their loins to pillage Ibsen. F r o m the outer r i n g of the immortals, his spirit, bending to w a t c h them, smiled, serene in the k n o w l e d g e of their v a n i t y . E x u l t a n t or doubtful, they bore a w a y an empty chalice. S o m e of them w e r e dissatised with its form, and made clumsy efforts to reshape it. All w e r e assured of one thing : that it had held R e a l i t y . A n d into a thousand copies of it they b e g a n to pour their m e a s u r e of dramatic truths. One and all, they w e r e ignorant of its high significance, and d r a m a that wailed or grimaced within their T h e a t r e w a s a thing without soul or form. F o r R e a l i t y is of the spirit, born of a need to g i v e form and meaning to the dis order confronting the inartistic view of life. The d r a m a of these men w a s born of intellectual restlessness, or a desire for easy fame, or a belief in the v a l u e of their simian skill. At the best, they offered a partial Reality of the intellect, replacing the spiritual coherence of I b s e n ' s art by the conflict of opinion. At the w o r s t , they copied facts, and imitated g e s t u r e s and habits of speech. L i f e , in their p l a y s , s a n k from a spiritual vision to an idea or an unmeaning collec tion of small events and small people. M a g n a n i m o u s , w e set aside those e a r l y p l a y w r i g h t s w h o attempted psychological study after the N o r w e g i a n fashion. M a g n a n i m o u s in v e r y truth, since still w e suffer the d r e a r y procession that stretches from P a u l a T a n q u e r a y and A g n e s E b b s m i t h . In these p l a y w r i g h t s w a s little understanding and no vitality. B u t there w e r e others w h o seized the heritage of I b s e n ' s g e n i u s with firmer hands and clearer brains. Of these, some w e r e conscious alike of their deficiency and the need for c o n c e a l i n g it. T h e y had neither the power of personality nor the supreme d r a m a t i c vision to m a s t e r the life they took. T h e y relinquished the attempt, and concerned them selves with its conditions. M r . S h a w b r o u g h t to the task intellectual g r e a t n e s s : life in his d r a m a is torn in r a g s by the d i s i n t e g r a t i n g forces of his ideas. Y e t his plays remain the highest achievement of this theatre of " i n t e l l e c t u a l s . " F u r t h e r , he and others with him m a d e use of a trick much in f a v o u r with writers of the secondary d r a m a . T h e y cried R e a l i s m and Social R e f o r m , filling the T h e a t r e with the shouts of the market-place and the political cockpit. M a r r i a g e and s e x u a l d i s e a s e , the h o u s i n g of the poor and the evils of betting, free love and forced mother hood : a n y t h i n g that m i g h t b e forced within t h e limits of a " p r o b l e m , " finely human o r stupidly banal, they took to m a k e their petty conflict of the

30

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EGOIST

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

d e b a t i n g - r o o m and the F a b i a n K i n d e r g a r t e n . Out side the p o r t a l s of their L i t t l e T h e a t r e s , t r a g e d y and c o m e d y , g r a v e - b r o w e d , g a v e their A v e atque V a l e to the h i g h g o d s and the g r e a t n e s s of man. F o r within is neither divine nor human significance, only the a r r o g a n c e of restless minds and the p r y i n g stupidity of the district visitor. T h a t is the d r a m a of ideas. Other p l a y w r i g h t s t h e r e w e r e , honest men, w h o disdained the doubtful methods of the reformers. T h e y claimed a curious quality of sincerity, intimating that although they h a d no p o w e r to re-create life, they could yet copy faithfully their partial view of it. T o their d r a m a , a flickering vision lends w h a t measure of coherence it has. H e r e , one of them holds for a moment the spirit of the social s y s t e m , his d r a m a at the same time indictment and w a r n i n g . T h e r e , another, fair poet and incompetent p l a y w r i g h t , b r e a k s the restless g r a c e of his art in the hard service of the s t a g e . T h e s e h a v e not that supreme need to create new forms which is the d r a m a t i s t ' s gift to life. B u t at least they h a v e k n o w n that life is more than the dialectician's idea of it, more than the disorder of its conditions. B y virtue of that k n o w l e d g e , the gifts of their w o r k are a little order in disorder, partial interpretation, and a dim vision of reality. After them, c o m e the many w h o h a v e no such understanding of dramatic truth. W i t h more or less skill, these harnessed life and the " new " ideas to the business m a n ' s demand for an effective p l a y , and the v a g u e needs of the pseudo-intellectual. T h e y exploited life, adding an appearance of social philosophy to the sensation and false emotion of the h i g h e r melodrama. In this w a y they flattered the a d v a n c e d and delighted the plain man. Character to these clever charlatans is no more than the p e g for an emotional appeal, the means to a pre-arranged c l i m a x . T h e i r dramatic form is not beauty of line, the restraint of strength, but the mechanical neatness of a commercial p l a y w r i g h t . R e a l i t y is sacrificed to an appearance of real life, dramatic truth to a bourgeois morality and a bourgeois notion of art. To this exploitation of life in the service of effect, other p l a y w r i g h t s added the b a b b l i n g s of a querulous intellect. T h e impotent opinions of immature people t a k e the place of sig nificant speech. T h e position of women, the divorce l a w s , anything that will rattle in a vacant mind, are discussed with as much charity of thought, as much understanding, as may be found in a Fabian pamphlet or a T r a d e s Union C o n g r e s s . N o ordered vision or human significance comes to disturb their sweet futility. R e j e c t i n g the false g r a c e of pre a r r a n g e d effects, these less competent exploiters have attained a g r a c e l e s s monotony. P e a c e be with them : their plays do not pay. L o w e r yet come the dealers in little problems of sex or sentiment, h a w k e r s of uninspired studies in character. T h e s e x u a l arrangements of common place people are treated with a g r a v i t y due to high matters. A p l a y w r i g h t of established reputation is permitted to v a r y the problem of m a r r i a g e and free love b y the treatment of adultery. H i s w o r k is " searching " when it is dull, " powerful " when it is pleasingly exciting. If the characters of these plays h a v e any distinction at all, it is the unenviable dis tinction of the unbalanced mind. Hysterical women and neurotics of every kind shriek their v i e w s and parade their mental impotence in the high name of d r a m a , their nervous instability providing w h a t there is of plot and motive. F r o m within advancing shadows, Hedda G a b b e r , arch-degenerate, d r a w s aside her skirts from the rabble of her following. U n d e r some form or other, s e x , in its narrow physical interpretation, is the content of this worthless problem d r a m a , d e g r a d e d offspring of the d r a m a of ideas. P a s s i o n in the true sense there is not : the passion that inspires to high deeds and noble w o r d s , and in itself is more than appetite. Distracted emotion, too

feeble to realise itself, the product of j a d e d minds and excited n e r v e s , t a k e s its place. P h y s i c a l need, repugnance, d e g e n e r a c y , complete a w e a r y tale of the exploitation of s e x . F i r s t , m o r e offending because more pretentious, come those w h o e x p l o i t it in the name of reform or intellectual satisfaction ; and through the door opened by these ignorant w o r shippers, s e x u a l d i s e a s e stalks naked in the theatre. N o power of vision or beauty of form removes it from the medical treatise and the L o c k H o s p i t a l . It s e r v e s neither art nor life, but only the g a r r u l o u s intellectual and the old maids of either s e x . T o g e t h e r with this pseudo-scientific d r a m a , one more d i s c u r s i v e burbles of sexual relations, tearing at the skeleton of a philosophy based on the unphilosophic belief that the marital and pre-marital complications of ordinary folk are of general value and interest. M e n and w o m e n of third-rate intellect expound an aesthetic disdain born of physical degeneration. T h e i r pitiful g r a v i t y would be humorous w e r e the sense of irony a l e s s rare and dubious quality. A s it is, they remain damnably dull. As stupid, but less limping, are the debauched senti mentalists of the second c l a s s . G i n g e r is hot i' the mouth, but my l o r d ' s dark e y e s are troubled. My lady is as ice-cream to her world, but when she falls on her l o v e r ' s breast her passionate breath is heard in the gallery. H e is dishonoured and flies. She follows a scene behind, and they die together, too hoarse to g o through a fourth act. Or she c o m e s too late, and must act a g a i n s t a corpse. A s u g g e s tion of noble purpose and spiritual torment m a s k s the leer of these sorry B a c c h a n a l s : perchance a c o m fortable domesticity ends the play ; perchance a spiritual crisis rids the w o m a n of her mettlesome admirer. H o w e v e r it be, the senses are glutted, the imagination starved, and the sex-obsessed look up and are fed. In two w a y s only, might the v a s t second-rate treat the subject of sexual passion and be safe from melo drama as from discursive inanity. The Love romantick is beyond them ; the power that m a d e d r a m a of incest far above them. Their prayers should be for sanity, and sense to see o v e r the top of sexual love. F u r t h e r than that, their need is grace to know that the high c r a g s are not for their slight w i n g s . S e x , for them, must needs be sub ordinate, one motive a m o n g others, a trifle or a jest. S o only may they handle it and achieve an e x q u i s i t e art, some fragile distinction. F o r the o r g y is ended ; the chalice shattered ; the wine a memory. In mediocrity and c h a o s ends the modern d r a m a of realism, reaching its last d e g r a d a t i o n in those tragedies of maudlin peasants and doss-house criminals that follow wearily the isolated p o w e r of Strindberg. D i s e a s e , poverty, c u r s e s and drink, mingle in an unnatural monotony. W h e r e the little problems merely failed to inspire, these d e p r e s s , m a k i n g w h a t is u g l y in life uglier. S o in inartistic imitation and d r a b falsity, the theatre of the N o r t h endures the hour before the d a w n . S o l i t a r y and d i m , the half-gods wait. In R u s s i a , a measure of spiritual rhythm, in A u s t r i a the g l o r y of a distinctive form : these stand at the doors of the future.
STORM JAMESON,

B O O K S on all subjects, S e c o n d h a n d , at Prices. free. N e w , 25 per cent. Discount. State Wants, Books

Half-

Catalogue 761

Bought.FOYLE, 1 2 1 ,

Charing Cross R o a d , London,

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

THE

EGOIST
H e ' s just dropped everything. H e ' s like a child. I blame his being brought up by his mother. H e ' s g o t hay down that's been rained on three times. H e hoed a little yesterday for me : I thought the g r o w i n g things would do him g o o d . Something went w r o n g I s a w him throw the hoe S k y high with both hands. I can see it now C o m e hereI'll show youin that apple tree. T h a t ' s no w a y for a man to do at his a g e . H e ' s fifty-five you know if he's a d a y . " " A r e n ' t you afraid of h i m ? W h a t ' s that g u n f o r ? "

The Housekeeper.
I let myself in at the kitchen door. " I t ' s y o u , " she said. " I c a n ' t g e t upforgive me N o t a n s w e r i n g your knock. I can no more L e t people in than I can keep them out. I ' m g e t t i n g too old for my size, I tell them. M y fingers are about all I ' v e the use of S o ' s t o t a k e any comfort. I can s e w : I help out with this bead-work what I c a n . " " T h a t ' s a smart pair of pumps y o u ' r e beading there. W h o are they f o r ? " " Y o u m e a n ? o h , for some miss ! I can't keep track of other people's daughters. L o r d , if I w e r e to dream of everyone W h o s e shoes I primped to dance in ! " " And where's John? " " H a v e n ' t you seen h i m ? S t r a n g e what set you off T o c o m e to his house when h e ' s gone to yours. Y o u c a n ' t h a v e passed each other on the road. H e must h a v e c h a n g e d his mind and g o n e to Garland's. H e w o n ' t be long in that case : you can w a i t T h o u g h what help you can be or anyone I t ' s g o n e so far. Y o u ' v e h e a r d ? E s t e l l e ' s run off." " Y e s , w h a t ' s it all about? " T w o weeks since." " S h e ' s in earnest, it a p p e a r s . " " I am sure she w o n ' t come back. S h e ' s hiding somewhere. I don't know w h e r e myself. J o h n thinks I do. H e thinks I only h a v e to say the word A n d she'll come back. B u t , bless you, I ' m her mother I c a n ' t talk to her, and L o r d , if I could . . . I k n o w she isn't holding out for terms, Nothing like that. I g a v e that up this m o r n i n g . " " It will g o hard with J o h n . W h a t will he d o ? H e c a n ' t find anyone to take her p l a c e . " " Oh, if you a s k me that, what will he d o ? H e g e t s some sort of bakeshop meals together, W i t h me to sit and tell him everything, W h a t ' s wanted and how much and where it is. B u t when I ' m goneof course, I c a n ' t stay here : E s t e l l e ' s to t a k e me when she's settled down : H e and I ' d only hinder one another. I tell them they c a n ' t g e t me through the door, though : I ' v e been built in here like a big church o r g a n : W e ' v e been here fifteen y e a r s . " " T h a t ' s a long time T o h a v e lived together and then pull apart. H o w do you see him living when y o u ' r e g o n e ? T w o of you out will leave an empty h o u s e . " " I just don't see him living many y e a r s , Left here with nothing but the furniture. I hate to think of the old place when w e ' r e g o n e , W i t h the brook g o i n g by below the y a r d , A n d no one here but hens blowing about. If he could sell the placebut then, he c a n ' t : N o one will ever live on it a g a i n I t ' s too run downthis is the last of it. W h a t I think he will d o is let things smash. H e ' l l sort of s w e a r the time a w a y h e ' s awful ! I never s a w a man let family troubles M a k e so much difference in his m a n ' s affairs, W h e n did she g o ? "

" Oh, that's been there J o h n Hall touch m e ? I'll say that for him, L i k e some men folk. All is, he's made his W h a t he has g o t to

for h a w k s since chicken time. N o t if he k n o w s his friends. J o h n ' s no threatener, N o one's afraid of him. mind up not to stand stand."

" W h e r e is E s t e l l e ? Couldn't one talk to h e r ? W h a t does she s a y ? Y o u say you don't know where she i s ? " " N o r want to. She thinks if it w a s bad to live with him, It must be right to leave h i m . " " Which is w r o n g . " " Y e s , but he should have married h e r . " " I know." " T h e strain's been too much for her all these y e a r s : I c a n ' t explain it any other w a y . I t ' s different with a man, at least with J o h n : H e knows he's kinder than the run of men. Better than married ought to be a s g o o d A s marriedthat's what he has a l w a y s said. I know the w a y he's feltbut all the same . . . " " I wonder why he doesn't marry her And end i t . " " T o o late now : she wouldn't have him. H e ' s given her time t o think of something else. T h e r e ' s his mistake. T h e dear knows my interest H a s been to keep the thing from b r e a k i n g up. This is a good homeI don't a s k for better. But when I ' v e said, why shouldn't they be married ? H e ' d say, why should t h e y ? n o more w o r d s than that." " And in a w a y why should t h e y ? J o h n ' s been fair, I t a k e it. W h a t w a s his w a s a l w a y s hers. T h e r e w a s no quarrel about p r o p e r t y . " " R e a s o n enough ! there w a s no property. A friend or two as g o o d as own the f a r m , Such as it is. It isn't worth the m o r t g a g e . " " I mean Estelle has a l w a y s held the p u r s e . " " T h e rights of that are harder to get at. I g u e s s Estelle and I h a v e filled the purse. ' T w a s w e let him have money not he us. J o h n ' s a bad f a r m e r I ' m not blaming him T a k e it y e a r in year out, he doesn't m a k e much. W e c a m e here for a home for me you k n o w , Estelle to do the housework for the board Of both of us. B u t see how it turns out : S h e seems to have the housework and besides Half of the outdoor w o r k , though as for that H e ' d say she does it more b e c a u s e she likes it. Y o u see our pretty things a r e all outdoors. Our hens and c o w s and p i g s are a l w a y s better T h a n folks like us h a v e any business w i t h

32

THE
B e t t e r than w h a t w e h a v e to keep them in. F a r m e r s around t w i c e a s well off a s w e H a v e n ' t a s g o o d . T h e y d o n ' t g o with the place. T h a t ' s w h a t you c a n ' t help liking about John : H e ' s fond of nice thingstoo fond, some would claim. B u t E s t e l l e doesn't mind : she's like him there : S h e w a n t s the hens to be the best there are. I g u e s s y o u ' v e seen this room before a show, F u l l of lank, s h i v e r y , half-drowned birds, In s e p a r a t e c o o p s , h a v i n g their p l u m a g e done. T h e smell of the wet feathers and the heat ! Y o u spoke of J o h n ' s not being safe to stay with. Y o u d o n ' t k n o w w h a t a gentle lot w e a r e W e w o u l d n ' t hurt a hen. Y o u ought to see us M o v i n g a flock of hens from place to place. W e ' r e not allowed to take them upside down, All w e can hold together by the legs. T w o at a t i m e ' s the rule, one on each arm, N o matter how far and how many times W e h a v e to g o . " " Y o u mean t h a t ' s J o h n ' s idea? "

EGOIST

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

" S h e lets it w o r r y her. Y o u stood the strain, And y o u ' r e her m o t h e r . " " B u t I didn't a l w a y s . I didn't relish it along at first, But I got wonted to it. And besides J o h n said I w a s too old to h a v e grand-children. But w h a t ' s the use of talking when it's done? She w o n ' t come b a c k i t ' s even w o r s e s h e c a n ' t . " " W h y do you speak like t h a t ? W h a t do you k n o w ? W h a t do you m e a n ? S h e ' s done harm to herself? " " I mean, she's marriedmarried someone e l s e . " " Oho, oho ! " " Y o u don't believe m e ? " " Y e s , I do. Only too well. I knew there must be something ! S o that w a s what w a s back. S h e ' s bad, t h a t ' s a l l . " " B a d to get married when she had the c h a n c e ? " " Nonsense! who S e e what she's done. B u t w h o , but

" A n d w e live up to it, or I d o n ' t know W h a t childishness he wouldn't g i v e w a y to. H e m a n a g e s to keep the upper hand. W e fence our flowers in, and the hens range : N o t h i n g ' s too g o o d for them. W e say it p a y s . J o h n likes to tell the offers he has had. T w e n t y for this cock, twenty-five for that. H e never takes the money. If t h e y ' r e worth T h a t much to someone else, they are to him. B l e s s you it's mostly outgo. R e a c h me down T h e little tin box on the cupboard shelf T h e upper shelfthe tin box. T h a t ' s the one. I'll show you. Here w e a r e . " " W h a t ' s this? " " A bill F o r fifty dollars for one L a n g s h a n cock, Receiptedand the cock is in the y a r d . " " N o t in a g l a s s c a s e then? " " H e ' d need a tall one H e c a n e a t off a barrel from the ground. H e ' s been in a g l a s s c a s e as you may s a y , T h e C r y s t a l P a l a c e , London. H e ' s imported. J o h n bought him and w e paid the bill with beads W a m p u m , I call it. Mind, w e don't complain, B u t you see, don't you, w e take care of h i m . " " And like it, too ! It makes it all the w o r s e . "

" W h o ' d marry her straight out of such a m e s s ? S a y it right outno matter for her mother. T h e man w a s foundI'd better name no names. John himself won't imagine who he i s . " " Then it's all up. I think I'll get a w a y . Y o u ' l l be expecting John. I pity E s t e l l e : I suppose she deserves some pity, too. Y o u ought to have the kitchen to yourself T o break it to him. Y o u may have the j o b . " " Y o u needn't think y o u ' r e g o i n g to get a w a y . J o h n ' s almost here. I ' v e had my eye on someone Coming down R y a n ' s hill. I thought ' t w a s J o h n . Here he is now ! T h i s box. P u t it a w a y . And this b i l l . " " W h a t ' s the h u r r y ? He'll unhitch."

" N o , he won't, either. He'll just drop the reins, And turn Doll out to pasture, rig and all. She won't get far before the wheels hang up On somethingthere's no harm. S e e , there he is ! My, but he looks as if he must h a v e heard ! " " H o w are you, neighbour? J u s t the man I ' m after. Isn't it H e l l ? " John said. " I want to k n o w ? Come out here if you want to hear me talk. I'll talk to you, old w o m a n , afterward. I ' v e g o t some news that maybe isn't news. W h a t are they trying to do to me, these t w o ? "

" It seems a s if. And that's not all. H e ' s helpless In w a y s that I can hardly tell you of : Sometimes he g e t s possessed to keep accounts, T o see where all the money g o e s so fast. Y o u know how men will be ridiculous ; B u t it's just fun the w a y he gets bedevilled. I f he's untidy now, what will he be ! " " It m a k e s it all the w o r s e . Y o u must be b l i n d . " D o n ' t talk to m e . "

" D o g o along with him and stop his shouting ! " She raised her voice against the closing door : " W h o wants to hear your news, you dreadful fool? "
ROBERT FROST.

" E s t e l l e ' s the one that's blind.

" C a n ' t you and I get to the root of it? W h a t ' s the real trouble? W h a t will satisfy h e r ? J o h n ' s a g o o d man to s a v e , it seems to m e . " " I t ' s as I s a y . S h e ' s turned from him, that's a l l . "

The Public Ownership of the Artist.

PERHAPS Art and Soul are one, and Art and Soul are in themselves neither good nor bad. Perhaps Art exalts and transforms natural man, and man has become unnatural (or what we term civilised) because he has not realised in himself the transforming power of Art, but has sold his birth right to a mass of deputies. And whereas he might have ascended to Heaven by means of Art, he has descended to Hell for lack of it.

" But w h y when s h e ' s well off? I s it the neighbours? B e i n g cut off from friends? " " W e h a v e our friends: F o l k s aren't afraid of u s . "

T h a t isn't it.

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

THE

EGOIST

33

S u c h is my g u e s s a s stated in the December 1 5 t h issue of this journal. I said it is verifiable by experience, and the whole of my experience strengthens it. I call it my g u e s s though I doubt whether I am entitled to do so. P e r h a p s its g e r m - seed w a s born in me. I remember hearing that my father devoted almost a lifetime to the problem of the reconstruction of the w o r l d . H e followed the example of original minds and aimed to reconstruct it in his own likeness. A s a painter w h o w a s also an artist (a very rare combi nation n o w a d a y s ) he dreamed of a Utopia that should be as near pure spirit a s it is possible for a w o r l d of men to be. H e had formulated some hypothesis, but I cannot s a y w h a t it w a s . It m a y h a v e been : Art is pure spirit; the artist is a highly sensitised instrument for receiving and transmitting pure spirit. Given a world of artists and the result must be a world approximating to pure spirit. T h o u g h I use the w o r d pure let it not be imagined that I think it necessary. T o me it is a puzzling w o r d that has been devised to m a k e an absolute distinction w h e r e none exists. L e t me say instead of A r t is pure spirit, A r t is the Spirit of Life, that is, that substance which informs matter and immor talises form. T h u s Art-forms are Spirit-forms and for the matter of that, Soul-forms. Metaphysic without any definition is fiendish. And here I am in a v e r y Maelstrom of metaphysical termsSpirit, Substance, Matter, L i f e , F o r m , a l l demanding definition. I will define them as I proceed. As I said, I do not know whether the foregoing w a s my father's s u g g e s t i o n . I only know that he regarded everything really, that is, everlastingly, g r e a t in the world as of spiritual origin.

devil in a strait waistcoat. And I still feel that our descendants will discuss their descent with a m a z e ment and disgust. T h e y will repudiate us.

I need not g o into my father's plan. It w a s not so far as I know deficient in common sense ; not a stiff flattery to hollow-headed underlings, like one or t w o shallow and unworkable schemes of reconstruc tion now being ventilated in the sixpenny press. U n d e r l y i n g it w a s the truth to be found in this syllogism. The desire for material power is immoral; present-day man's desire is for material power ; there fore present-day man is immoral, and will remain so till his desire is altered. H e r e the suggestion is, I think, that as soon as men cease to call themselves men and begin to call themselves souls, the change is w r o u g h t . A n d nothing but the blindness, cowardli ness, and impolicy of " leaders " prevents the change being w r o u g h t .

This theorem led me in turn to the habit of realising the Artist a s the revitalising medium. I conceived the Artist to be primitive M a n , that is, a high order of sensational creature through w h o m the Art or Spirit-current moves harmoniously to its end in A r t or Spirit-form. Then there w a s another w a y out. I conceived the Artist to be not an imitator but a creator, and therefore nearest the shadowy creative world, that is the world of Spirit, Soul, A r t , or whatever we please to term it. It w a s clear to me that the Artist, as a creator, must h a v e a world of this sort to w o r k in, for he could not possibly w o r k in a concrete material world where everything had already been " c r e a t e d . " T h u s I came to r e g a r d the Artist as a purity, for I knew that as soon as a medium became impure all hope of its transmitting a purity is lost. It seemed to me that the difference between the Artist and non-Artist (the t w o classes into which men broadly fall) is one of purity and impurity, and it may be stated this w a y . The Artist is a corporeal personification of vital or spiritual forcea force constantly working through him which flashes a light around the Infinite. The non-Artist is a personification of material forcea force constantly working through him which reminds him of the material world and its affairs. T h e Artist exists and has his B e i n g in the Infinite. T h e non-Artist is con scious only of the world of m a n ' s five primary needs F o o d , Shelter, Clothing, T r a n s p o r t , and S p o r t (which I will analyse in a later article). L o n g a g o these needs degenerated into luxuries out of which arose the present world of accumulated survivals and recapitulations of the past in the present, a world governed by A v a r i c e and Sensual Pleasure. Thus the Artist is a spiritual symbol ; and the non-Artist is a material symbol. T h e latter is in fact an impurity running about with civilisation balanced on the tip of his nose.
. .

B u t though I a m uncertain whether I inherited the said seed-germ, I h a v e no doubt w h a t e v e r that at a very early period of my history I found myself m a k i n g g u e s s e s . H e r e is one. Perhaps there was only spirit once. Perhaps matter is devitalised or impure spirit. Perhaps there will be only spirit again. H e r e Spirit is conceived of a s Substance, and Matter a s the t y p o c o s m y apparent to the senses, and which w e call the world. T h i s w a s my earliest g u e s s and I believe it led to the theorem : Sensation is Spirit; primitive Man is a high order of sensational creature; therefore nearest Spirit. His Ego is capable of infinite extension. Intellectual Man is a low order of sensational creature, therefore remote from Spirit. He is an Ascidian plus reasoning faculty, and capable of no infinite extension seeing that intellectuality is finite. Future man will be a high order of sensational creature, i.e. man set free to his senses again. It will be seen that I held a low opinion of intellectual man. I considered him with his highest form of achievementdiscipline of thoughtas indeed no better than a poor sort of

S o from a s k i n g the question, If there was nothing but Spirit once, and if Matter is Spirit devitalized, how can we return to Spirit? I came to the conclusion that the only solution appeared to be the revitalising power of the Artist. I know that some excellent personnot without guilewill inquire, " H o w on earth do you propose to set the Artist doing the good w o r k of revitalisation when he is devitalised by a social system of which he is a part and which has reduced him to s l a v e r y ? H a v e you not seen that he is that part of the v a s t social machine which society has constructed to do the opening of windows on material things for those whose vision has wasted and hands h a v e lost skill and force? H a s it not occurred to you that this v a s t system of machinery w a s actually so constructed a s to compel the Artist to move in a m a s s , to lose his identity and free-will? A r e you not a w a r e that the Artist may not deliberately choose what shall come into his mind, nor say w h a t his subject shall even tually turn into, and that he chooses according to a market which is strictly ruled by the public? Don't you know that civilised society has been t a k i n g A r t out of the A r t i s t ' s hands these many centuries, and has moulded him to manufacture the so-called A r t forms of the nation, and to endow it with colour and line to suit the whim of the m o m e n t ? H a s not civilisation closed the field of his own energies to the A r t i s t ? Is it not true that it can deal with him a s it pleases, has made him its creature, its plastic material to which it can g i v e any shape it l i k e s ? In a word has not civilisation deprived the A r t i s t of all individuality? If then the Artist is a part of a

34

THE

EGOIST

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

m a c h i n e constructed to act upon him, how in G o d ' s n a m e is he g o i n g to act upon the machine ? Tell me t h a t . " A n d I reply. " H o w do I propose to destroy public o w n e r s h i p of the A r t i s t ? H o w do I propose to detach h i m , from the machine and restore to him his o w n inner a p p a r a t u s of motive p o w e r ? H o w , in short, do I propose to re-individualise the A r t i s t ? I will tell y o u . B u t first I must tell you how the A r t i s t b e c a m e de-individualised. It involves my own story. "
HUNTLY CARTER.

On Interference with the Environment.

S long as the sight of the undisguised human figure is unfamiliar in a certain inhabited place, the person w h o exhibits it must reckon with a proba bility of stones and whip-lashes. And if anybody undertakes either the protection of that person or the protection of the public peace, the protector will h a v e trouble. M r . T u c k e r , I see, objects to what he i m a g i n e s to be my v i e w s (his imaginations are partly right) on the ground that economy, and the desire to avoid disagreements, will require any rational police a g e n c y to pay attention to as few things a s possible, and that I would increase the expenses and difficulties by g i v i n g the police more things to do. I call M r . T u c k e r ' s attention to the fact that the police are already in the business of s a v i n g themselves trouble, and that they regularly do this by prohibiting what ever is so s h o c k i n g to the feelings of the crowd as to promise to start a disturbance. T h e result is that w h a t e v e r the c r o w d objects to is prohibited by the combined forces of the crowd and the policeman. E a s t - a n d - w e s t streets in N e w Y o r k are generally not full of v e h i c l e s ; a w o m a n w a l k s along the middle of such a street because it happens to be a better pave ment than the sidewalk ; a company of street boys c o m e jeering behind her ; the policeman arrests the w o m a n for creating a disturbance. . Thereby he s a v e s himself the much more difficult job of handling the b o y s . T h e papers print it as an amusing occur rence, not a s an alarming one ; and every N e w Y o r k e r w h o reads it k n o w s that the policeman did just w h a t any policeman would be likely to. T h a t ' s w h a t you g e t by m a k i n g the s a v i n g of trouble to the police your guide : by no means a reduction in the number of things that the police arrest for. T h e present reign of restriction is distinctly the lazy m a n ' s w a y of doing things, and Theodore Roosevelt is eminently characterised by the desire to handle every difficulty in the easiest w a y . M r . T u c k e r should not i m a g i n e that by appealing to the desire to save the policeman's trouble he will g e t anything like what either he or I w a n t . B u t laziness will not soon be extinct, and the desire for public quiet will continue to be widespread. Hence the fact that exposure of the person invites fisticuffs will, as long as it is a fact, be a potent reinforcement of all a r g u m e n t s for systematically and quietly suppressing the exposure of the person. And, as it will certainly be a fact till some time after the contrary practice is introduced, any discussion of practical policies must begin by treating it as an unescapable fact. T h i s all looks as if a w o r k a b l e social order must count it legitimate to let those who object to any exhibition as obscene suppress that exhibition, what e v e r the exhibition may be, until such time as the human mind shall h a v e undergone a quite unpredict able c h a n g e . It is time to balance the argument a trifle by reminding the respectable public that if w e m a k e any pretence to uniformity or consistency, then the rule must be applied equally where the custom of

clothing is stricter than a m o n g us, and any E n g l i s h woman who g o e s with unveiled face in a M o h a m m e dan community w h e r e the veiling of women on the street is general must be held liable to the appropriate penalties of indecent e x p o s u r e . T h e parallel is rigorously correct. It is perfectly attested that the E n g l i s h w o m a n ' s face has the s a m e effect on the men of such a community a s the sight of a M a r q u e s a s Islander's whole person would h a v e on an E n g l i s h street. E n g l i s h m e n resident in such cities a s L a h o r e declare, for instance, that in driving through the city by a l a d y ' s side it is hard to resist the temptation to g e t off the c a r r i a g e several times to thrash M o h a m medans for the looks that they are seen to cast. If the rousing of such feelings constitutes a public nuisance that calls for forcible suppression, then the w e a r i n g of unveiled faces by E n g l i s h w o m e n should be forcibly suppressed in every community w h e r e even a l a r g e minority are dominated by the classic Mohammedan tradition. If shocking the moral orthodoxy of a majority is ground for suppression, then the unveiled woman should be suppressed where Mohammedans are a majority. If the matter is made to rest on the ground that L a h o r e is controlled by the E n g l i s h , and consequently E n g l i s h notions of propriety shall rule, then w e establish at least one of the points that I w a n t to insist onthat a majority, as such, has no special right to control such things : if a majority and a minority cannot agree on a modus vivendi, the strongest fighting power must have its w a y . F o r it positively cannot be maintained that the E n g l i s h standard of propriety is entitled to preference on the mere ground that its precise g r a d e of strict ness is more ideally correct than either the stricter standards or the less strict.- E v i d e n c e of such a thing is too utterly lacking. T h e E n g l i s h standard of decency in clothing is not supported by the instinct of most of the human race, nor even by a continuous uniform feeling on the right little tight little island itself. I suppose by hearsay (I h a v e never been to Europe) the words " mixed bathing " will suffice to shut the mouth of any E n g l i s h m a n w h o might claim permanence as a quality of the E n g l i s h standard. And it is hardly more than a century since the poet Coleridge saw handsome women bathing naked among men on the beach of a fashionable watering-place on the W e l s h coast, and recorded his testimony (valuable as coming from a y o u n g man at the most impressionable age) that the effect w a s not salacious. I do not see how w e can, in the end, refuse to consider the issue which this testimony raises. It is indeed certain that the sight of an unfamiliar e x p o sure of the person will produce on some beholder that salacious effect with which it is popularly credited. But it is not certain, far from it, that this effect will be produced with anything like such generality a s is supposed. Granting that w e have in the first place a community divided into those w h o are irreconcilably opposed to the exhibition of the human body and those who are incorrigibly in favour of it, the injury which the former might, on their own hypothesis, receive from such exhibitions would be problematical in extent and in incidence (and a few of the more reasonable of them will concede, in duration) ; while the enslavement of the person w h o desires to lay aside his clothes, and w h o is restrained by force from doing so, is certain and direct. If on the g r o u n d of a m a n ' s claim to control his own person one protests against compulsory vaccination, or a g a i n s t the pro hibition of the liquor traffic, or a g a i n s t any other bit of restriction which provokes a protest, the protester cannot with a decent show of consistency refuse to acknowledge that the privilege of deciding whether one will w e a r clothes is as fundamental a part of the control of one's own person as is the privilege of choosing one's own medical treatment or one's o w n b e v e r a g e s . I conclude that it is a sophistry, specious only to those who are antecedently prejudiced in its

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

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35

f a v o u r , to contend that the right of self-defence involves a right to m a k e a man clothe himself for fear of the harm that the sight of his body may do. I seem to h a v e ended with deciding a single detail of the question I set out to discuss. B u t this detail is s o dominant that few will hesitate to let its settlement settle the central question. Besides, if w e started rightly by deciding that the claim for restriction had no plausibility except when the obscenity w a s salacity, then w e might now take note that obscenity in the sense of salacity cannot be defined with sufficient certainty to let anybody know what exhibitions a rule of restriction would apply to. T h e only exhibition to which the advocates of restriction would be tolerably unanimous is the exhibition of the flesh-and-blood human body ; remove that, and the demand for restriction breaks up into incoherent discord.
S T E V E N T. BYINGTON.

{End of

Series.)

Anti-Hellenism.
A N O T E ON S O M E M O D E R N A R T . " O Beloved Pan and all ye other gods who dwell here, grant that I be beautiful within myself ; and that those things I have without may be at peace with those within. Let me hold the wise man (ton sophon) the really wealthy. And may my store of gold be no more than a wise man (sphrn) may bear and carry." the risk of being considered academic and old-fashioned by all my friends, I h a v e it upon my conscience to enter what lawyers call a " pleading " on behalf of the new unfashionable and unstudied Hellenic ideal of art ; and of life, too, for that matter. F o r a few people, their philosophy, or rather their views, of art are also their views of life. A g r e a t but now unread French writer, w h o had not much more pretention to philosophy than I have, declared that it w a s the a g e that produced the w o r k of art and not the w o r k of art that produced the a g e ; to allege the contrary is as ridiculous as to say " les petits pois font pousser le p r i n t e m p s . " N o w the w o r k s of art of this agethose, I mean, which have that natural v i g o u r which belongs to the typical product of any timeare curiously far from any Hellenic conception. And since this is so, w e must presume that the a g e is unHellenic ; which is perhaps obvious enough. B u t there are t w o main kinds of art ; there is the art which is in sympathy with its time, which seeks to express the whole life of its timethat of S h a k e s p e a r e , for exampleand there is the art of B e n J o n s o n or of Theocritus, the art of men w h o run counter to the spirit of their time, or rather to the accepted artistic notions of their time. (I h a v e nothing but praise and admiration for the artists and poets w h o are striving " to render their times in the terms of their t i m e s . " B u t I would h a v e them recollect the other kind of art which seeks to create those things which the time has not.) If w e consider the main facts of intellectual development in modern times w e shall perceive the following broad facts. T h e R e n a i s s a n c e c a m e after centuries of turbulence, after centuries of conventions in morality, art and literature. F r o m the art conventions of the middle a g e s w e inherit most of w h a t w e h a v e of the picturesque, the abnormal and the grotesque. W i t h the R e n a i s s a n c e men had some sense of the old intellectual freedom of the G r e e k s , of their restless subtlety, of their blitheness, theirI must use the w o r d " klid." T h e Greeksif w e can s o far g e n e r a l i s e on a nation which produced such differing g e n i u s w o r s h i p p e d and desired for themselves and

for the arts the ordinary, normal, uninteresting g o o d s of life, such as health and beauty, and successful love and moderate wealth, and so on. T h e r e is a Greek epigram extant in which the author wishes for himself first health, and then beauty, then moderate wealth, and then to be young in the midst of friends. Such simple, uninteresting things w e may believe to have been desired by the G r e e k s quite sincerely, for the license and corruption of later Greece w a s due to contact with the sensual barbarian Eastern races. T h e R e n a i s s a n c e , however blithe and youthful it may seem to us, never recovered this old simplicity. Behind it w a s a l w a y s the haunting memory of that nightmare-like time of the middle a g e s . T h e men of the Renaissance were like men suddenly released from prison, and their new liberty led them at once into e x t r a v a g a n c e s . L e t anyone who will allege that the Greeks were unparalleled in their (to us) criminal pleasures, at least admit that they wrote and talked of "sopkrosun" and simple beauties in a w a y n o other nation has ever surpassed. And the delicate criminals of the Renaissance, though they s a n g and painted divinely, came very short of the Hellenic predecessors they worshipped. Literature became most highly developed in E n g l a n d , a sober country, which cast off its mediaeval superstition and convention very unwillingly. And the e x t r a v a g a n c e of the Renaissance w a s its own damnation ; the arts wandered off into all manner of curious floridities, and the inevitable reaction to " purism " and the " a g e of reason " resulted. F r o m that the world eventually revolted to romanticism, fetching up all the forgotten lumber and mysticism of the middle a g e s to assist it in forming a picturesque milieu. And from this " romantic " period which began somewhere in the twenties of the last century, we have further minor reactions. (Parnassians, Symbolists, Realists, Aesthetes, Unanimistes, P a r o x y stes, Imagistes, etc., you are all wonderful and of G o d ' s g r a c e divine.) T h e qualities I observe in the latest reactionary art are all unHellenic, and, if I may use the word without odium, unhealthy. T h e s e artists propose, I believe, to render, not to mirror certainly, their a g e , and j u d g i n g from their w o r k s w e must say that the a g e does not like health or beauty or simplicity or youth in the midst of friends or any such simple uninteresting things. T h e art of this a g e is tired, like that of the Byzantines, who invented conventions to excuse themselves for not attempting to emulate the art of their ancestors ; or it is wild and s a v a g e , like the art of the South S e a Islanders and of the m a k e r s of totem-poles ; or it is agitated and nervous, as no other a g e has been, and the result is the w o r k of M . P i c a s s o or M r . W a d s w o r t h , which may intrigue our eyesight but does not illuminate our intelligence. And against all this I have no word to s a y . I believe it to be all admirable and right and very fine. I pay my shilling to g o to exhibitions and I do my best to follow the latest thing in post-Whitmansplendeur-des-forces-simultaneous poetry. I trust I am not so foolish as to deride all this excellent w o r k . But sometimes, it may be after I have been pottering with folios, or going over some of those old G r e e k things which w e all pretend to have read, and of which I confess I have not read a tenth part, or it m a y be merely after a w a l k in the open air, there comes a curious attendrissement, a wonder as to whether with all this talent and brilliance and rendering of our own times w e h a v e not lost some things very simple and beautiful. (I know the artists of whom I am mostly writing here do not care especially for elegant or graceful or beautiful things, and that they love an angular sternness and power which are not the kind of simplicity I mean.) And the upshot of all this somewhat incoherent writing is that, though I admit as I h a v e admitted before the g r e a t value of, s a y , the sculpture of M r . Epstein and the painting of M . P i c a s s o and the latest poems of M r . Pound and even the w o r k s of S i g n o r

36

THE

EGOIST

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

S e v e r i n i , M . B a r z u n and so on, I find that there is still a s t r a n g e allure about these ordinary uninteresting t h i n g s which the G r e e k s lovedhealth and beauty and youth in the midst of friends. And for myself I w o u l d w i s h to see the art of to-day, if there is to be an art of to-day, g r o w i n g out of those things, and 1 should not object if it repeated things which h a v e been a l r e a d y said, provided it re-assured me beautifully and conclusively that flowers are still elegantly coloured, and g i r l s ' lips very good to see, and the scent of hayfields and of the ocean very cordial. ( Y o u m a y s a y that it has all been done, but it would interest me to h a v e it done a g a i n in the twentieth century ; and the w o r k s of M r . F l e c k e r and M r . de la M a r e , admirable as they are, do not satisfy my wishes.) N o w it is very g o o d to be fond of E g y p t i a n things, and fond of Indian things, and intrigued with B u d d h i s m , and amorous of ChinaChinese art is delightfulthough all these things remind me a little of the s t r a n g e religious cults professed in R o m e at the time of C l a u d i u s , but I do not see why new fashions in artistic creeds should compel us to say that simple and happy and healthy w o r k s of art are entirely bad. I think some modern artists might produce a few g o o d w o r k s of art if they looked at it with the kind of feeling that I suppose P l a t o had when he wrote the short poem spoken by S o c r a t e s which I have put at the head of this. Not that I wish to hinder or d i s p a r a g e in any w a y the w o r k s of M r . Epstein or M r . L e w i s or M . P i c a s s o or M r . Pound. B u t as long a s the red apple shines upon the bough, and as long as the wild hyacinth is purple upon the hills, as long as w e like to remember that H e r m e s set upon his feet the fair imperishable sandals of gold, and that Aphrodite sate upon a throne of many-coloured marble, as long as w e like to remember the rustle of the plane-tree and the agnus-castus beside Ilissus and the cool water A n y t e s a w g u s h i n g from beneath the statue at the cross roads, and as long as we remember the roses that were sent to Rhodokleia and the golden crocuses Bacchylides g a v e to the west wind and the white violets that young L y c i d a s w o v e into a crown when he sat, roasting chestnuts in the embers, and drinking to his friend on the seafor so long, perhaps, w e may be allowed to write and paint about them in our own inconsiderable w a y , while the other more robust and clamorous art flourishes above us and protects uslet us hopewith superior benignity.
RICHARD ALDINGTON.

Pale slaughter beneath purple skies. IV.

ANCORA.

R e s t me with mushrooms, F o r I think the steak is evil.

V. CONVICTED.

L i k e an armful of g r e a s y engineer's-cotton F l u n g by a typhoon against a broken crate of d u c k s ' eggs She stands by the rail of the Old Bailey dock. Her intoxication is exquisite and e x c e s s i v e , And delicate her delicate sterility. Her delicacy is so delicate that she would feel affronted If I remarked nonchalantly, " S a a y , stranger, ain't you dandy. " VI.
GITANJALI.

Come my songs, (For w e have not " come " during three of these our delectable canzoni) Come, my songs, let us g o to America. L e t us move the thumbs on our left hands And the middle fingers on our right hands W i t h the delicate impressive gestures Of Rabindranath T a g o r e . (Salaam, o water-cress of the desert.) O my songs, of all things let us B e delicate and impressive. I implore you my songs to remain so ; I charge you in the name of these states. VII.
ALTRUISM.

Come my songs, L e t us praise ourselves ; I doubt if the s m u g will do it for us, The smug who possess all the rest of the universe. VIII.
SONG O F I N N O C E N C E .

T h e wind moves over the wheat W i t h a silver crashing, A thin w a r of delicate kettles. IX. of these poems in a crowd : in a black dead faint.
RICHARD ALDINGTON.

T h e apparition White faces

Penultimate Poetry.
XENOPHILOMETROPOLITANIA. . I.
TENZONE ALLA GENTILDONNA.

Two French Books.

II.
CANTATA.

C o m e , mY s o n g s .

A
MARvoil.

" Men poLs lois puelh

voys."
OF

ARNAUT

C o m e my s o n g s , L e t us o b s e r v e this person W h o munches chicken-bones like a Chinese consul Mandilibating a delicate succulent Pekinese spaniel. III.
ELEVATORS.

C o m e my s o n g s , L e t us whizz up to the eighteenth floor, L e t us present our most undignified exterior T o this m a s s of indolent superstition, T o this perverted somnambulistic a g e ; L e t us s o a r up higher than the eighteenth floor And consider the delicate delectable monocles Of the musical v i r g i n s of P a r n a s s u s :

invitation to excursions in the less familiar realms of F r e n c h literature is held out by a little anthology just to hand entitled " A l m a n a c h Littraire C r s . " * Besides specimens from J . - K . H u y s m a n s , Ernest Dowson (translated by S t u a r t Merrill) ; Maurice B a r r s , Lon B l o y , P a u l Claudel, R m y de Gourmont, F r a n c i s J a m m e s , E m i l e Ver haeren, Pierre L o u y s , J e r o m e and J e a n T h a r a u d , Louis T h o m a s , and some others, it comprises hitherto unpublished letters by B a r b e y d ' A u r e v i l l y and J u l e s R e n a r d , " curiosities " and anecdotes about Flaubert, Leconte de Lisle and Villiers de l ' l s l e A d a m and admirable wood-cut portraits of some of these by E . Vibert. A m o n g the more arresting contributions to the collection is a portrait-essay by the brothers T h a r a u d * " Almanach Littraire Cie, P a r i s . 3fr.) Crs." (George Crs et

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .

THE

EGOIST

37

of the man with w h o m no one shakes hands, Deihler, the public executioner, he " w h o since all time would seem to be the s a m e individual . . . there being something u n c h a n g i n g , fatalistic, almost eternal in his p e r s o n a l i t y " w h o s e profession had already puzzled J o s e p h de M a i s t r e w h o wrote " for such a man to be able to e x i s t in the midst of the human family a special decree from the Divine P o w e r w a s n e e d e d . " M . P a u l Claudel, a leader in modern French literature with a considerable following of admirers and disciples, g i v e s a criticism of M . F r a n c i s J a m m e s , that c h a r m i n g pot-au-feu poet, unreal realist, the bourgeois psalmodist whom the bourgeois does not read, w h o chants of a world where everyone is g o o d and kind and f o r g i v i n g , the comfortable country of his home, the land of Orthez and B a r n , " w h i c h , " in the words of M . Claudel, " h e knows a s Saint Simon knew the court of L o u i s X I V . " and whose every p a g e is a hymn of praise to G o d , enchanting to some, rather nauseating to others. H e is the one poet the world has ever seen " who is perfectly satisfied with his fate " n o doubt because he is blessed with a private i n c o m e ; everyone isn't. T o earn his living Villiers de L ' I s l e A d a m had to allow himself to be punched as a boxing-master : he w a s not satisfied; Chatterton, the suicide, w a s not satisfied ; it is extraordinary the influence private means and good health have on one's outlook on life. " T o him creation is i n e x h a u s t i b l e , " continues M . Claudel about F r a n c i s J a m m e s , " i t is all he n e e d s " [but who wants m o r e ? ] ; " when he has done contemplating it, he stoops tenderly over it and examines it with his short-sighted e y e " [perhaps that is just his chief fault : short-sightedness] " as with a magnifying g l a s s . " T h i s creation of which he is so fond he o'erstrides tirelessly, armed with a gun and botanist's box. T o F r a n c i s J a m m e s nothing that is, is indifferent ; to him every person he meets, from the m a y o r to the candlestickm a k e r of his village, is interesting though I suspect he has preferences for the lowly : the F r a n c i s J a m m e s school is the school of the cult of humility; " reasons for which his w o r k has such a unique human character, a social significance ; showing an epic and Christian sense of the importance and dignity of the beings surrounding u s . " In his ingenuity (is it quite innocent ingenuity?) he has committed both pearls and pebbles of poetic interpretation. T h u s a pearl from " A u bas du C i e l " : " Small and yet big is the child's soul ! Small like the keyhole whence he sees the avenue and the corn-fields between the branches, big as the breeze passing through the k e y - h o l e . " T h u s a p e b b l e : " B e r n a d e t t e ^ perambulator has four wheels like the g r e a t bear." (From "Bernadette.") Such examples of local emotion are pregnant in writers like the author of " Marie-Claire " (and much worse) one of whom at a time is quite enough. T h e unsatisfied Villiers de L ' I s l e A d a m , author of " A x e l " and " Tribulat Bonhommet " w h o used to say : " A h ! je m'en souviendrai de cette plante T e r r e ! " i s healthier. T h e following story, reminiscent of the parables O s c a r W i l d e related to M . Andr Gide, is recorded of him here : " A poor old w o r k m a n , bent with y e a r s and l a b o u r , " ran a fable he once told, " arrived in P a r a d i s e and to comfort him G o d told him he would g i v e him another life. And the w o r k m a n looking helplessly at G o d , said, ' Oh ! don't.' " And here is an anecdote about Villiers himself : " Sitting at the terrace of a caf, Villiers w a s looking dreamily at the s k y . A p a s s i n g confrre put his hand on the poet's shoulder : ' W e l l , Villiers, well, ' said the intruder, ' a l w a y s , ' and he made a g e s t u r e as of a thought ascending like a spiral heavenwards. Villiers looked at him with a distant, horrified eye : ' A n d y o u , ' he answered in a dark voice, ' a n d you . . . ' m a k i n g with his finger a similar spiral- earthwards."

Another handy little volume published by the s a m e firm is " S i x Promenades au L o u v r e ; D e Giotto P u v i s de C h a v a n n e s " by Fritz R . V a n d e r p y l with a preface by A d . van B e v e r . It is about as g o o d a guide to the picture galleries of the L o u v r e a s can be written in so concise a form. A s a guide, however, it might be a little less opinionated : as a l w a y s in matters artistic when opinions are not entirely in agreement with one's ownand where is he whose opinions on art a g r e e with our o w n ? T a k e n as a critical study this faultif fault it isis compensated for by the writer's enthusiasm for his subject. Mr. V a n d e r p y l is obviously a true and g r e a t lover of painting and without love for such a subject any amount of knowledge is worthless. W h e n people speak about artas when they do about loveit is customary to remind them that " H e who knows the T a o does not talk of it, and those who prattle about it do not know i t . " It is what the critics say to artists when they find these trespassing on their self-allotted privileges as though they who are impotent to create were alone entitled to make comment, while it is considered nothing short of the creator's duty to be silent. In the d a y s of L e o n a r d o , Michael A n g e l o , Poussin and S i r J o s h u a Reynolds there were no critics, comparatively, and in consequence, when artists undertook to explain their profession they roused no animosity in interested quarters. Latterly, artists have resented letting the critics reap the harvest they the artistssow, and art has become a bone of mercantile contention between the critic-dog and the artist-dog. " C r e a t e , " s a y s the critic to the artist, " a n d let me, who am qualified, do the talking, for when you talk, being only a creator, you talk r u b b i s h . " Surely there is as much chance of rubbish emanating from the critic as from the artist. Wonderful this modern world of ours is, wherein nothing has become a more disputed product of commerce than art. Mr. V a n d e r p y l , precisely traces this evolution to a culmination in the following p a s s a g e : " L e u r g r a n d e vertu " [that of the " primitive " or pre-Raphaelite painters of Italy, F l a n d e r s , & c ] , " celle qui les rend difficiles comprendre aujourdhui, c'est qu'ils ont pouss leur scrupule d'artiste ne rendre que se qu'ils prouvaient ; leur seul dessein tait de mettre nu leur personnalit de croyants humbles et inspirs, oubliant, souvent de signer les chefs d'uvre. E n ce temps l, les individus, dependant entirement de leur vocation et non pas des occasions qui se prsentaient, on entrait dans une carrire parcequ'on l'aimait. Il en tait ainsi pour les petits mtiers comme pour les g r a n d s . On partait pour la guerre parcequ'on a v a i t envie de se battre et on devenait clerc parcequ'on aimait s'instruire. Chacun savait selon son pouvoir et, ni la science, ni les arts, n'taient catalogus par une arrogante caste de savants solennels et mandarinants. Si la gloire venait, elle tait un avant-gout des joies clestes et non la certitude ou de la fortune ou d'une vie de perscutions. J e ne dis pas que l'artiste avait peur du sacrifice, ni qu'il ddaignait les plaisirs du monde, la richesse ou la renomme ; mais la proccupation tait autre. L ' a i s a n c e venait, avec plus de sret mme que de nos jours, mesure que l'uvre tait a p p r c i ; le peintre, l'architecte, le sculpteur, le pote, tait l'ami du noble, le plus intime des serviteurs r o y a u x , l'aim des femmes, l'enfant chri parmi les frres du couvent ; il tait mieux que pay, it faisait partie de la maison et avait ainsi tout le temps et tous les moyens d'approfondir les mystres des lignes et des couleurs. T o u t cela v disparatre ds la R e n a i s s a n c e . . . . L ' a r t devient une affaire, la concurrence commence. D a n s la cohorte de ses plus clbres servants, on trouve des dbrouillards jaloux et des arrivistes avides qui, m a l g r leurs * " S i x Promenades au L o u v r e ; D e Giotto P u v i s de C h a v a n n e s . " ( G e o r g e C r s et Cie. 3fr. 50c.)

38

THE

EGOIST
A CRITICISM O F THE
EGOISM.

January 15th, 1 9 1 4 .
PHILOSOPHY O F

dons p r e s q u e s u r n a t u r e l s , n'hsitent devant aucune c o n c e s s i o n bu lchet artistique, dans leur prdomin a n t dsir de natter et de plaire. Tels Benvenuto Cellini, S b a s t i e n del P i o m b o et A n d r del S a r t o ; tel R a p h a e l qui c h a n g e trois fois de manire en v i n g t a n s ; tel le T i t i e n qui fait du portrait ressemblance garantie. . . . " A n d it is in this direction that w e h a v e continued to p r o g r e s s , of, rather, to r e t r o g r e s s . Painters are not only jealous of each other, n o w a d a y s , they are j e a l o u s of critics, and critics are jealous of painters. E a c h one w a n t s this b i g , this inexhaustible world to himself and thereby m a k e s it little. H o w e v e r , whether as critic or artist or both, one w h o has a red-hot passion for art, has the intellectual c a p a c i t y to discern the national, local and other p s y c h o l o g i c a l c a u s e s of which the v a r i o u s expressions w h i c h art a s s u m e s are a consequence [as, for instance, when it is pointed out that Philippe de C h a m p a i g n e reflects that phase of the period of Louis X I V . which w a s influenced by the Reformation, by W i l l i a m the T a c i t u r n , by C r o m w e l l and, especially, by J a n s n i u s ;] and one w h o has the independence to m a k e some discoveries and do some distributing of laurels on his own account, is a l w a y s worth listening to. M . V a n d e r p y l is of these and his little book not only informs but, w h a t is better, s u g g e s t s .
MURIEL CIOLKOWYA.

To the Editor
MADAM,

of

THE

EGOIST.

Correspondence.
N O T E T O C O R R E S P O N D E N T S While quite willing to publish

letters under noms de plume., we make it a condition of publication that the name and address of each correspondent should be supplied to the Editor.ED.

A DULL To the Editor

MADAM,

PLAY.

of THE

EGOIST.

W h i l e c o n g r a t u l a t i n g you upon the excellent quality of the first number of T H E E G O I S T , and wishing you e v e r y success, I cannot help protesting a g a i n s t a remark by your contributor " H . S . C . " in his article on L e V i e u x Colombier. W h e n referring t o the production of H e y w o o d ' s play, " A W o m a n Killed with K i n d n e s s " w h i c h your contributor incorrectly calls " Killed by K i n d n e s s " h e makes the astounding observation, " in E n g l i s h this play is d u l l . " If he be right, then e v e r y critic since the days of L a m b is wholly w r o n g . I h a v e known this play criticised on the ground that M r s . Frankfort capitulates too readily to her lover, that the conclusion is h u r r i e d ; but that the masterpiece of our " prose S h a k e s p e a r e " is dull is an assertion which is certainly new, but doubtfully true. J . A . S y m o n d s , w h o s e authority as an Elizabethan scholar and critic, is surely unimpeachable, describes this play a s " the finest bourgeois tragedy of our Elizabethan l i t e r a t u r e . " H e a r also the comfortable w o r d s of P r o f e s s o r A. W . W a r d : " T h i s exquisitely pathetic conception is carried out with dramatic force and with a manly simplicity of tone, showing true delicacy of feeling. . . . T h e subsequent scene of the actual d i s c o v e r y is thrilling in its power. T h e terrible suspense of the solution . . . might almost be termed a " prose " reproduction of the terrors of Macbeth itself." H a d y o u r contributor been familiar with the play, h e would not h a v e misquoted the title. I suggest that he should re-read it carefully, closely, prayerfully. If thereafter he should persist in his unique criticism, I fear, M a d a m , as an old Elizabethan, I should be forced to be rude.
VIATOR.

The sudden c h a n g e in the title of your journal fills me with m i s g i v i n g s : I w a s not a w a r e that the Stirnerian E g o i s m had taken so strong a hold upon you, and I hasten to b e g you to permit me to explain my disagreement with that philosophy. E g o i s m is the doctrine that the motive of every human action is the pleasure of the performer, the word " pleasure " being taken to include all forms of moral satisfaction. T h e view of orthodoxy to-day is that people sometimes commit acts of self-sacrifice. Sometimes I seem to be foregoing a big " moral " pleasure (a pleasure that, so far as introspection carries me, I am at that moment appreciating to the full) for a smaller, less noble satisfaction ; and sometimes I seem to be sacrificing a strong ignoble pleasure for the s a k e of a w e a k e r noble one. H o w will you prove to me now that in both these c a s e s I am in reality choosing in the direction of my greatest pleasure ? It is useless to tell me that the fact of my acting in a particular w a y proves the pleasure anticipated from that act to h a v e been the stronger : this does but assume the point to be proved, for it advances no reason for denying that an action may sometimes proceed in the line of the w e a k e r of t w o anticipated pleasures. It is equally useless to tell me that the fact of my wanting to perform an act is a proof that I anticipate the greatest satisfaction from that course : this a g a i n simply assumes the point at issue, since I , w h o am surely able more accurately than any outsider to appraise the comparative strength of my anticipated pleasures, decide that I want to act in the direction of a w e a k e r pleasure. Y o u will doubtless here assert, as these ingenious Stirnerians do, that the fact of my wanting to perform a particular action A rather than B indicates that there is a greater hunger within me for satisfaction A than for B . Wordsmere words. Y o u cannot possibly know my intimate hungers so well as I , and I decide that my hunger for satisfaction A is less than that for B . Y o u will ask me why I wish to perform that particular action, if it is g o i n g to afford me less pleasure than another action that is equally open to me. I reply that I want to act thus for such and such reasons, but that, so far as I am a w a r e , the performance of that action will afford me less total pleasure (moral gratification, future retrospective pleasure, or other satisfaction) than another course that is open to me. S o far as I am able to e x a m i n e and compare my desires, I seem sometimes to perform actions that will yield me small pleasures of a particular kind rather than other actions that will yield me large pleasures of a different kind, and your simple assertion that I must h a v e anticipated more total pleasure from the former actions leaves me quite unconvinced of the truth of E g o i s m . L a s t l y , you will not help your c a u s e by a s k i n g me if I anticipate no pleasure from my projected course of action. I may confess the sweet secret ; or I may assert that I expect only pain ; but I may be able most truthfully to affirm that another action would yield me more total pleasure than the one in question. Of course, as I have insisted above, if you assert that the fact that I desire to perform a particular act proves that I expect most pleasure in that direction, you cut the ground from under my feet ; but I reiterate that this assertion proves nothingit simply a s s u m e s the point at issue. S o long as there e x i s t s a man so obstinately deaf to your persuasions that he asserts that he sometimes deliberately performs actions that will yield him less total pleasure than other actions that were open to him, you h a v e no w a y of p r o v i n g the truth of your doctrine of E g o i s m to him. Hence I am of opinion that the philosophy of

J a n u a r y 15th, 1914.

THE

EGOIST

39

E g o i s m rests upon unverifiable assumption. More over, since culture consists for the most part of a relinquishment of particular satisfactions for the sake of other satisfactions, it may be useful to retain the notion that some of the people w h o m we admire may, h o w e v e r rarely, have sacrificed strong pleasures for w e a k e r ones i n the performance of some of their a d m i r a b l e actions. T h i s k n o w l e d g e assists us to p e r f o r m w o r t h y actionsweak vessels that we are. HENRY MEULEN. [ The above letter is referred to in the current " V i e w s and C o m m e n t s . " E D . ]

WOMEN : EDUCATION : MARRIAGE. T o the Editor of T H E E G O I S T . MADAM, I see that S i r A l m r o t h W r i g h t is suffering from the c o m m o n delusion that the sex problem in B r i t a i n is due to the fact that women are more numerous than men. H e thinks that women are discontented because they cannot get married, and that they cannot get m a r r i e d because there are too many of t h e m ; therefore he advises women to go to the Colonies. If S i r A l m r o t h W r i g h t were to spend a day in V a n couver, V i c t o r i a , Seattle, T a c o m a , or S a n F r a n c i s c o , he would soon get r i d of this delusion. In every one of these places, men enormously preponderate in numbers over w o m e n . In V a n c o u v e r there are 74,000 men and 49,000 w o m e n . In V i c t o r i a there are 19,000 men and 12,000 w o m e n . In all the other towns I have named the proportion is about the same. A m o n g children the sexes are nearly equal in n u m b e r s ; therefore the disproportion of the sexes a m o n g adults is considerably greater than appears from the figures I have quoted. D o educated women m a r r y in V a n c o u v e r , V i c t o r i a , Seattle, T a c o m a , or S a n F r a n c i s c o ? T h e y certainly d o not. If any man wants to see the most beautiful and vigorous collection of o l d maids that the sun ever shone upon, I advise h i m to g o and stand on the m a i n street of one of the cities I have named. In an hour's o b s e r v a t i o n , he w i l l see many of the finest-looking women of thirty and thirty-five that any man ever s a w ; and he w i l l find on inquiry that a surprisingly large proportion of these w o m e n have lived most of their lives o n the Pacific coast, and have never even been engaged, not to speak of m a r r i e d . H e w i l l find that some of the most beautiful have never even been mentioned in connection w i t h a m a n . The simple truth is that the disproportion of the sexes has not much to do w i t h the sex problem in E n g l a n d . E d u c a t e d w o m e n all over the w o r l d have ceased to m a r r y , whatever the proportion of the sexes. The same t h i n g has always occurred in highly civilised countries. In ancient R o m e marriage became so hateful that A u g u s t u s and other emperors

tried to enforce it by drastic legislation, which proved utterly futile. A u g u s t u s even got t w o batchelor poets, V i r g i l and H o r a c e , to s i n g the praises of m a r r i a g e ; but that also was futile. The R o m a n E m p i r e was destroyed by the bar barians, but modern civilisation has spread over the earth, and w i l l not be destroyed. W i s e men and women had better look the fact squarely in the face that marriage is dead a m o n g refined women. T h e vast majority of educated women have left marriage behind them for ever. If celibacy is as bad as S i r A l m r o t h W r i g h t says it is, educated women w i l l be wise to do a little more o r i g i n a l t h i n k i n g than they have done in the past. R. B . K E R R .

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