The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Little Review, March 1917 (Vol. 3, No. 9)
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Little Review, March 1917 (Vol. 3, No. 9)
Editor: Margaret C. Anderson
Release date: June 23, 2025 [eBook #76359]
Language: English
Original publication: Chicago, New York: Margaret C. Anderson, 1922
Credits: Jens Sadowski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. This book was produced from images made available by the Modernist Journal Project, Brown and Tulsa Universities.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, MARCH 1917 (VOL. 3, NO. 9) ***
THE LITTLE REVIEW
Literature Drama Music Art
MARGARET C. ANDERSON
EDITOR
MARCH, 1917
On a Certain Critic Amy Lowell
Photograph of Mary Garden
Mary Garden jh.
Prose Poems: Richard Aldington
Thanatos
Hermes-of-the-Dead
Harold Bauer’s Music Margaret C. Anderson
And— jh.
The War, Madmen!
“Daybreak”
A Blow!
James Joyce
The Price of Empire
Harold Bauer’s Hands
Zuloaga
The Reader Critic
To Subscribers
Published Monthly
15 cents a copy
MARGARET C. ANDERSON, Publisher
31 West 14th Street
NEW YORK CITY
$1.50 a year
Entered as second-class matter at Postoffice, New York, N. Y.
WE
DEDICATE
THIS ISSUE
ECSTATICALLY
TO
MARY GARDEN
THE LITTLE REVIEW
VOL. III.
MARCH 1917
NO. 9
Copyright, 1917, by Margaret C. Anderson.
On A Certain Critic
Amy Lowell
Well, John Keats,
I know how you felt when you swung out of the inn
And started up Box Hill after the moon.
Lord! How she twinkled in and out of the box bushes
Where they arched over the path.
How she peeked at you and tempted you,
And how you longed for the “naked waist” of her
You had put into your second canto.
You felt her silver running all over you,
And the shine of her flashed in your eyes,
So that you stumbled over roots and things.
Ah! How beautiful! How beautiful!
Lying out on the open hill
With her white radiance touching you
Lightly,
Flecking over you.
“My Lady of the Moon,
I flow out to your whiteness.
Brightness.
My hands cup themselves
About your disk of pearl and fire;
Lie upon my face,
Burn me with the cold of your hot white flame.
Diana,
High, distant Goddess,
I kiss the needles of this furze bush
Because your feet have trodden it.
Moon!
Moon!
I am prone before you.
Pity me,
And drench me in loveliness.
I have written you a poem;
I have made a girdle for you of words;
Like a shawl my words will cover you,
So that men may read of you and not be burnt as I have been
Sere my heart until it is a crinkled leaf,
I have held you in it for a moment,
And exchanged my love with yours
On a high hill at midnight.
Was that your tear or mine, Bright Moon?
It was round and full of moonlight.
Don’t go!
My God! Don’t go!
You escape from me,
You slide through my hands.
Great Immortal Goddess,
Dearly Beloved,
Don’t leave me.
My hands clutch at moon-beams,
And catch each other.
My Dear! My Dear!
My beautiful far-shining lady!
Oh! God!
I am tortured with this anguish of unbearable beauty.”
Then you stumbled down the hill, John Keats.
Perhaps you fell once or twice;
It is a rough path,
And you weren’t thinking of that.
Then you wrote
By a wavering candle,
And the moon frosted your window till it looked like a sheet of blue
ice.
And as you tumbled into bed, you said:
“It’s a piece of luck I thought of coming out to Box Hill.”
Now comes a sprig little gentleman,
And turns over your manuscript with his mincing fingers,
And tabulates places and dates.
He says your moon was a copy-book maxim,
And talks about the spirit of solitude,
And the salvation of genius through the social order.
I wish you were here to damn him
With a good, round, agreeable oath, John Keats.
But just snap your fingers;
You and the moon will still love
When he and his papers have slithered away
In the bodies of innumerable worms.
[Illustration: Photograph of Mary Garden]
Mary Garden
jh.
What did the critics mean when they used to say that never again in our
generation would there come another Bernhardt? They didn’t mean that
there would be no other great actresses because they were writing of
actresses, all the time, whom they considered great. In an argument they
would talk largely of Bernhardt’s personality. Let them call it
personality if they are using the better Oriental meaning of the word:
Individuality. But I fear they mean only to limit something unknown so
that it may be understood. The more external nullities they bring to
prove it personality the more its unknown nature is emphasized. The more
talk there is of arresting qualities of person, acts, and dress, of
frankness and ferocity, tears and terror—the more talk there is of all
its eccentric sanities, the more it recedes and becomes definitely
itself, aloof and unnamed.
Arthur Symons tried to express it when he wrote of Bernhardt: “Two
magics met and united, in the artist and in the woman.” But after all it
is only that through the woman you feel the imminence of something as
great and impersonal as the sweep of sea and the growth of flowers. In
all the arts, whenever the magic of the artist has been united with this
other magic the possessor has been of the first great. Michael Angelo
and the dark troubled magic of him....
I wonder why, even in those people to whom has come some appreciation of
the magic of the artist, there is still so often such strong resentment
and distrust of this other magic. Because of their adventures in the
great emotions, those who have it loosen new forces of life; they
recreate the great passions; _they add something to Fate_.
Everyone feels that he has a right to a share in that which the millions
are working together in uproar to add to existence. Many long for a
share in that which the artists are making in silence for the soul. But
who is there except the artist who is willing to feel in this thing the
imminence of something beyond life and personality? Who else in the
world except the lonely insane, because of their adventures in illusions
and hallucinations, ever add anything to Fate? How easy to say that
genius is akin to madness. All great antitheses are akin: all unknown
things are mysteriously akin, as all known things are naturally akin.
But how poignantly akin are the known and unknown! Why does anyone
exclude himself from any connection with the infinite?
When I was a little child I lived in a great asylum for the insane. It
was a world outside of the world, where realities had to be imagined and
where, even through those excursions in illusions and hallucinations,
there ran a strange loneliness. The world can never be as lonely in
those places where the mind has never come as in a place where the mind
has gone. There were no books to read in this place except the great
volumes in the Patients’ Library; and I had read them all. There was no
one to ask about anything. There was no way to make a connection with
“life.” Out there in the world they were working and thinking; here we
were still. Very early I had given up every one except the Insane. The
others knew nothing about anything, or knew only uninteresting facts.
From the Insane I could get everything. They knew everything about
nothing, and were my authority; but beyond that there was a silence. Who
had made the pictures, the books and the music in the world? And how had
they made them? And how could you tell the makers from just people? Did
they have a light around their heads? Were there any of them in the
world now? And would I ever see one? One day a name came to me suddenly.
Some one was talking of a “wicked French actress” who was touring
America:—“Sarah Bernhardt.” Even when _they_ said it the name had a
light around it! She would come as far as St. Louis. I would go at once.
But I was too little. I had no money.... I would run away. I would walk
the whole distance to her. But she would be gone before I could get
there.... Some day I would go to Paris. Other people had got that far. I
would go on living for that.
And then she came again! I was there, the first night, sitting in the
balcony with some other art students. We had sold our futures to sit so
close. I was burning with hot excitement and shaking with cold fear
until the moment—it was _Camille_—when the long french doors opened and
she came languidly and as if from a great distance; hands extended as if
balancing her exquisitely upon an enchanted atmosphere, her suave
voluptuous tawny head bent slightly down. I threw myself mind and soul
into the waves of that caressing fiery magic which swept out to us.
After this came a new agony: the critics had said there would never be
another. There was Duse, whom I have never seen; but she has always
filled me with a restless trouble. What artist has ever so dared to
offend Art? Never in all her life as an actress did she choose a play in
which her great art could come into its own. It always seems that there
is more laid upon the artist than a willingness to serve; it is almost a
command to serve. Did Duse deny the command and by so doing add the
martyrdom of Art to a great personal tragedy? Or was it because she
tried to create an art out of nature itself that Art revenged itself
upon her through nature? As an actress she had “no resources outside
simple human nature.” As a woman she had no resource in Art.
Then a new name came across the world, with a new radiance. Not with the
glow of Duse’s halo, nor with the threat of Bernhardt’s heat-lightning,
but with the radiance of the Northern Lights it shone above the
horizon.... _Mary Garden!_ Her magics have this kind of splendor. She
has brought a new temper into the drama—something not Latin, not
English. Duse could never be unnatural; Bernhardt can never be
unsophisticated, un-French; English actresses can seldom be
unconventional. But Mary Garden.... She brings a sharp new ecstasy of
life, an inexorable sadness of love; she brings an energy that is grace
and a calm that is energy; she brings a frankness that is mystery. There
is something Norsk about Mary Garden. In her the pure metal of the mind
seems to have been annealed by an Oriental fire, adding to it a passion
without vehemence. There is something unconquered about her, as if she
came from that land where the sun shines at midnight; from that race
which never made for itself a beneficent God.
I don’t know where to begin to write about Mary Garden’s art. There is
art within art within art, and then there is Mary Garden.
First of all, she seems to be the only singer who knows that all the
arts come from the same source and follow the same laws. Critics love to
say that pure song and pure music do not express human emotion, although
drama, poetry, painting and sculpture do. What logic! Pure music and
pure song express exactly what drama, poetry, painting and sculpture
express. But none of them expresses human emotion; they express the
_source_ of human emotion. To express the emotions of life is to live;
to express the life of emotions is to make art.
I wish I could tell beautifully what a great creative artist Mary Garden
is. It is one thing for the artist to create a character within the
outlines definitely or indefinitely drawn by the composer; to put
himself in the place of the character and act as he would act. But the
creative artist _takes the character to himself_ and then creates from
his imagination in his own image—the image of his soul. The more
universal the artist, the greater his power to reveal his soul in
different images. What an infinite thing Mary Garden has shown her soul
to be: Thaïs, the Jongleur, Monna Vanna, Carmen, Grisélidis, Tosca,
Mélisande, Salome!
And so when she creates a character she recreates the opera. Mary Garden
is the only singer in opera to whom song is speech. Because in opera
song and music have been fused with drama, the voice must become a
medium for creating character, thought and emotion, together with the
hands, face and body of the actor-singer. There is no need to discuss
here what has or what has not been accomplished toward the creation of a
new art by this fusion of the arts. You have but to hear and see Mary
Garden in _Pelléas and Mélisande_ to find poetry, music, singing and
acting united so that the essence of each art comes to us with a rarer
flavor than when free. No perfect thing can lose by being united with
another perfect thing. However, it is no small task to do this in those
older compositions in which music has been written to melodrama, to be
sung by elaborate musical instruments. When the music carries beyond the
true emotion of the drama, or when it does not reach to the limits of
the drama, it is only an artist with flawless intelligence who can break
over the barrier of the score and hold the music to the emotion with a
backward line of the voice or carry it on by sheer genius to its full
task.
And what a voice! You can’t quite stand it when Mary Garden sings words
like “amour,” “pitié,” “éternel.” It breaks your heart in a strange way,
because she makes you feel more precisely our brief longing, our frail
tenderness and our deceiving hope. Many people don’t like it—the same
ones who don’t like modern painting, the Imagists, Scriabine, and the
rest. They have no idea that it is a new kind of instrument, to which
they must bring new ears. They say: Why does she sing at all? Why
doesn’t she go into straight drama?—never realizing for a moment that
she has a longer reach than Bernhardt, a stronger grasp than Duse. There
is not enough resistance for her in pure drama. She must paint the
canvas full.
Once before I called Mary Garden a great decorative actress. I am using
decoration in the sense in which it is used in painting, where
elimination and not elaboration is used to emphasize the intention of
line and color. She carries this same idea into her costumes: she can
give you the whole spirit and atmosphere of an historical costume by a
mere silhouette of its lines. And she can draw in the whole psychology
of a scene with one line of her body—the line of her walk. If she is to
dominate a situation with her intellect or her beauty she walks from the
center of her intelligence, which is the head, giving a length of line
that makes the slightest step a stride; if it is a matter of the soul
she walks from the center of her presence, which is the top plane of the
chest, moving like a Presence—not like a being; when it is love she
walks straight from her heart, with a line that repeats a pain; when it
is passion she sinks the line to a point lower than the hip, and prowls
destructively. In _Thaïs_, when she is trying to enthrall the monk, she
winds about the stage and him, bending slightly in hip and knee. Later,
in a scene of contest with him, she lifts the line to her consciousness
and stands to the height of her belief in her own beauty and power. When
she goes over to the nuns, she moves away with that beautiful
unconsciousness of action which is never so mysteriously perfect a thing
as in Mélisande.
There is nothing so thrilling in life to me as to watch this living
painting which moves in rhythm like a frieze. How I should love to see
her working out her designs against a background that has carried out
the line of intention of a poem. Imagine Mary Garden in the _Tristan_
Liebestod, coming in upon a scene in which the short lines of a
truncated castle rise from the endless planes of a black and purple sea;
a fleet of violins in the orchestra singing the Love Death and Mary
challenging all this dark negation with the one word “Tristan,” in a
voice which is a singing pain. But most of all I wish some one would
make operas for her of those exotic things that lie outside of common
experience, but which have their place in life: nature too heavily laden
or too fantastically free or too weirdly true; bright precious hidden
things, corroded jewels, heavy-hanging flowers of sleep—moon-flowers of
the day. How passionately and reverently she performed that ritual of
dark heat and sex savagery which is _Salome_.
The electric abundance of life in Mary Garden and the splendor of her
body are dazzling at first. But it is a stillness of soul, an exaltation
of passion which really stamp her. There is something inviolate about
her. Other actresses may be soulful, grave, or innocent; but Mary Garden
has authentic purity.
But what talk of all these things? I only want to say, “Ah, Conchobar,
have you ever seen her, with her high laughing turbulent head thrown
backward?”—this Aphrodite of the North, this bacchante from the sea,
this viking of the soul. There is no other who has all beauty. She is
the white sincerest pledge of deity.
Prose Poems
Richard Aldington
Thanatos
Myrrhine, we have often sung of the sharp end of life, often mocked at
death in the midst of the fierce ecstasy of our embraces.
We have heard of this savage and mysterious god from the stately words
of Homer; and we also have mourned for beautiful Bion.
We have seen death graven in bronze as a drowsy youth scattering poppies
from his delicate hands.
And all this seemed very quiet and lovely—a tender farewell to the sweet
lips of life.
But when I saw for the first time the pallid shrunken face of a dead
girl—and that girl our lover Kleone—my veins shrank with terror and I
feared through all my trembling limbs.
Let others sing gaily or yearningly of death and deck this sombre lord
with garlands; we are too timid, too frail-in-hope for that.
Others may dream of the gold islands of the happy dead or of the calm
spirits among the phantom flowers in the meadows beyond Acheron;
We can only turn aside, holding heart to trembling heart, and number the
dividing moments with close kisses, counting all time lost that is not
golden with love....
Drink, my beloved; drink from this wide silver cup; drink as the Maenads
in the pine-crowned orgy of Iacchus! Drink, drink! And as our bodies
meet tear the garland from my brow and the thin veil from my breasts.
Those who are about to die fear only chastity and an empty wine-cup.
Hermes-of-the-Dead
Myrrhine, when I was a girl in white Alexandria, I listened to the talk
of poets, and of philosophers who came to my house to buy (as they said)
“delicious remorse for five mines.”
From them, had I been another Aspasia, I might have learned wisdom; but
from poets I learned only to love and to know beauty, and from the
philosophers I learned nothing except that “Death is not to be feared.”
And this I learned no better than they, for we are all cowards at the
end.
But since I must go from you; since already the winged sandals of
Kyllenian Hermes are rustling the Olympian air for me; since in your
purse now lies the silver obol I must drop in the grim ferry-man’s
hand—listen a little to me.
When I am but a cupful of grey dust in a tall, narrow-throated stone
vase; when the mouth that sang you and the lips that kissed you are
withered and silent; when the hands that touched you have crumbled in
the funeral flames; when the eyes that lighted at your beauty are
quenched; when the ears that loved your beautiful voice are vanished;
when the frail spirit that leaped and mingled with your spirit, like two
flames, is a tenuous phantom which scarcely “is”; when life has left me:
then you must live, live for yourself, but for me also.
For my sake Eos in a cloudless sky gliding from the many-isled sea must
be more tender and more thrilling; for my sake the scent of ripe apples
in the dim-gold autumn must be keener and more odorous; for my sake the
music of Pindar and Theocritus must be more stately, more flower-like,
more melancholy sweet; for my sake the ecstasy of love must be sharper,
wilder; for my sake you must be more beautiful, more alert, more
delicate.
I shall be loveless in a scentless land, where there is no change of
light. I shall be desolate and alone and the memory of the dear words of
poets will fade from me. But if you love and live fully and serve beauty
for my sake, then some slight glow will lighten the dead sky and there
will be some faint perfume for me in the chill blossoms of asphodel.
Now loose my hand, for Hermes-of-the-Dead clasps the other.
Harold Bauer’s Music
Margaret C. Anderson
The most interesting art in the modern world, to me, is Harold Bauer’s
playing of the piano. And one of the strangest phenomenon in the modern
world is the fact that people go to hear him and talk about what he does
in terms of what other pianists do.
Now there is no connection between Bauer’s playing and that of any other
pianist who has so far come to light. The whole root and fibre of it is
different. As I have tried to say before, he has more concern with sound
than any other pianist. He loves the piano more. He believes quite
different things about its potentialities. But you needn’t know what he
believes to know that he is doing something different. You can _hear_
that, surely.
But still they babble: he does this as well as Hofmann, and this less
well than Paderewski, and this better than so-and-so. Why do they keep
on talking of what he does or doesn’t do?—as though it were a matter of
technique, this colossal art of conception? How I love to think of all
the famous pianists who have gone to the piano to reveal themselves, and
then of Harold Bauer who has brought the piano to himself, to reveal it.
It’s something like the difference between the artist and the average
man: when any one talks to you of how the struggles and agonies of the
artist mould his art you can show him that it’s just the other way
around: the artist in him is what moulds his struggles and his agonies.
And it’s something of this kind that must be said about Bauer’s
difference of approach.
As for the things he does, most of them are the things that any good
musician does: he makes his conception run just ahead of his execution,
like a switchman who regulates trains from a high tower; he makes tone
contrasts that—what do the critics usually say? Of course he does many
things better than most good musicians: he throws out handsful of color
that most of them would give their souls to achieve; he makes the piano
sing more deeply than any one else has done; he strikes chords that no
piano except his Mason and Hamlin has ever given forth; he never hurts
the sounds, and he never applies music to the instrument instead of
drawing music out of it, as even the best pianists have a way of doing.
There is less diffusion of sound in his performances; you have a feeling
that it is the most closely-thought music you have ever heard. He edits
the composition until it is flawlessly adjusted to the piano’s best
values. All these are essentials of his playing; but they are not the
“difference” of which I wish to write.
Harold Bauer uses the piano as if it were an instrument endowed with an
intrinsic “significant form.” I once heard Fritz Kreisler play some
accompaniments, and I shall never forget how he showed his feeling that
the piano has a mysterious life of its own with which he did not mean to
interfere. It was as though he simply touched the springs which set that
life in motion. Not being a creator on the piano he did not try to do
more than that. Bauer believes the same thing; but on top of that theory
he builds up the edifice of his own “significant form.” With most
pianists you have a feeling that what they want to say is interspersed
with what the piano is saying on its own account, and the result is a
muddle. What Bauer has to say is placed carefully on top of that life
growing just beneath, and the result is the most consciously-intelligent
art I have ever come in contact with.
This is making the piano not what paint is to the painter, but what
color is to him. There’s a great difference. Even Hofmann can use the
keys as if they were paint—colors to be mixed into _color_; but to touch
them as if they were color—something already complete and living—is to
do a significant thing.
And so in the case of Bauer you are made to realize that the piano is
the thing, even more than the music that is to be played on it—far more
than the stunts that can be done with it. I believe he says something to
this effect: that the piano is the only instrument for which no
technique is demanded; and “How, if I were to practice all day, could I
possibly play at night?” I know that he has no use for the agonizing
drill of even the greatest teachers of the piano. You can imagine him
asking “Is there any longer any meaning in that? Does the sound of it
_interest_ you?” You can get any effect you want, on the piano, if you
can think clearly what effect you want. You needn’t practise six months
to achieve a chord in which the middle note sings louder than the other
two: strike it the fraction of a second before the other two and the
sound will be what you are listening for.
In January I heard his Modern Program in Chicago, and it was the most
beautiful performance on the piano I ever dreamed of hearing. The other
day in Aeolian Hall he and Casals gave a joint recital, in which Bauer
played the Schumann _Papillons_ as his solo. In almost every measure of
it you could hear effects attained by the kind of thinking I have
described—marvelous values that can be offered only by one who can
conceive greatly. But I heard musicians in the audience saying that they
couldn’t discover any new thing in this music. Casals is very close to
the soul of music, of course; but sometimes his mastery of the
instrument is unrelated to its best beauty. His playing seems not to be
built solidly on the beauty of sound; while with Bauer the emphasis is
always on sound—which means merely this: that an interesting and compact
phrasing made out of thin or harsh sound is as worthless as beautiful
tunes played on a worn-out piano.
How I love these concerts of his in which you need never think of the
magic of finger-tips—“the hand the perfect instrument”, etc., etc.,
because of long patient years of diabolical muscular exercise. Once I
believe I said that Harold Bauer was not a genius. It must have been in
that period when I thought that the genius carries around with him
always the look of being submerged in great emotions. I know now that he
is probably _the_ genius of our world—the man who has made something
entirely of his own, and something that will live not only as a
tradition of great piano-playing but as a great invention of new sound.
And—
jh.
_The War, Madmen!_
Honor:
Speculations in misery, forced famines, sweat shops, child labor,
suppression of free speech, leaks, lynchings, frame-ups, prisons....
Protection:
Millions for munitions: Starvation for millions....
Justice:
The death sentence for no crime and without trial: Conscription.....
Freedom:
The right to be free: Prison....
Glory:
Parades, cheers, flags: Wooden limbs, blindness, widows, orphans,
poverty, soldiers’ homes, asylums....
“_Daybreak_”
It would be easy enough to be disappointed in the last volume of _Pelle
the Conqueror_ if you did not go any deeper than the story.
It is so silent. All the people seem to be gone—all the people who
passed through the other books like a dark secret procession, each
carrying his story in his hands. You miss the sounds of the many, many
footsteps,—the heavy footsteps of the workers, the fagged footsteps of
the women, the searching footsteps of the children, and the wandering
footsteps of the godforsaken, which made a dull pattern of sound behind
the story of Pelle. In this book the strong confident footfall of Pelle
strikes out clear against the faint fall of those who walk beside him or
those who walk far off.
It is only when you have finished the book that the design of the whole
story becomes clear and perfect: the design back of the life of man. In
his childhood he walked with animals; in his youth he gathered to
himself knowledge and those after his own heart; in his manhood he
became a leader of multitudes; and then, forsaken by all, in solitude he
found his own soul.
For those who wish to read it that way _Pelle the Conqueror_ may be a
labor novel. But it seems to me that through all the story Nexö has gone
the stronge way of the artist and not the strict way of the reformer.
Here in the last volume he leaves the labor question,—leaves the
question as to whether Pelle’s cooperative workshop is the solution or
whether his working-men’s homes are a success—as part of something that
will work out its own fate or be worked out by the Pelles of the world.
It is not something he has been teaching or solving. It is something he
has been creating. Out of the drama of material poverty he has created
the more profound tragedy of the poor-in-heart. And as if he could never
forget them he turns to them again. With a few reluctant stories of
prison life told by Pelle he makes the prison loom against our lives
like “that dark mill over hell, grinding misery into crime.”
And then, so that _you_ may never forget, he chooses—not with that mere
truth which is life but with that absolute truth which is Art—the child
of the lovely dreaming Hanne, whom life so ironically sacrificed, to be
again a sacrifice. The story of the death of this petulant child of
little airs and sudden angers, of her pathetic and furious wrestle with
the ghastly memories of her life, bites into your heart and you are
maddened by the brutality of the life that takes away everything before
it has given anything.
I should like to tell all over again why I think this book is _the_
novel—greater than _Jean-Christophe_, _Jacob Stahl_, or any of them.
_A Blow!_
Imagine what it did to us to have Harriet Monroe say in _Poetry_ that
there is too much art in Amy Lowell’s _Men, Women and Ghosts_? Too much
art! And she is an editor and we know what kind of poems she has to
read!
I can imagine a book having all sorts of too much, but art means not too
much or too little of anything. How does Miss Monroe expect Amy Lowell
to write, if not like Amy Lowell? She has not come the way of Masters or
of Dreiser. She is really the first poet in America to express in her
writing something of that leisure from which they tell us Art flowers
best.
_Men, Women and Ghosts_ is a beautiful book, full of stately measures.
_James Joyce:_
There isn’t time for me to write about James Joyce’s _The Portrait of
the Artist as a Young Man_ in this issue. It came too late from the
publisher. So far as I have seen the whole comment of the reviewers has
been on the background for the portrait: “the social, political, and
religious life of Ireland today”, etc. But there is the portrait
itself—bearing a slight resemblance to the Playboy, a strong sensitive
romancer; and the painting of the portrait—spontaneous, masterly, free:
the color like this: “The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of
roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships
that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations.”
Next time I shall have something more to tell of Joyce,—something
thrilling and personal.
_The Price of Empire_
Richard Aldington’s two poems, with their frail reticent sadness, were
sent to us from the trenches. Why do poets keep on singing in a world
which doesn’t value them? Why does the moon keep on shining? Surely it
isn’t obligation!
_Harold Bauer’s Hands_
Have you ever noticed how Bauer brings his hands in when he comes out to
play? He carries them as if he didn’t want to brush them against
anything, for fear they would strike out music from whatever they
touched. Or as if they were precious violins that might be broken.
_Zuloaga_
There is an exhibition of Zuloaga touring the galleries of America. If
you have a chance don’t fail to see how he carries on the tradition of
Spain as a place where great painters grow.
The Reader Critic
Note
_Otto T. Simon, Washington, D. C.:_
Your last magazine has just arrived. Be happy. You are sowing seeds of
Beauty. You dig into the earth, cut the worm in two, bring the chrysalis
to the light that it may flutter its wings, and even the mole blinks and
maybe after a while may see.
“Spirit,” etc.
_Allan Tanner, Chicago:_
Why so much worship of Bauer’s art? He is a mere man who has approached
the goal of art through human effort—through such a material thing as
hard practice. Anybody will tell you that when he was in Paris he was
not even out of the ordinary in technical skill, and that he really
transgressed the piano. Those beautiful tonal effects are only
mechanical things done to perfection.
While Paderewski—that spiritual thing—who dares not even listen to his
own breathing, who makes the piano a living thing, capable of
everything. That god! who was born to touch the piano with such divine
significance that you sometimes dare not listen. With Bauer it is only
that you can listen—so wonderfully beautiful it is. It is the same with
Mary Garden. There you have that same spiritual thing. With Paderewski
it is now serenity. With Mary Garden it is the same. And Bauer can never
reach that for he is not born into it. Paderewski may sometimes play
badly—make mistakes—but that is only when something material disturbs or
penetrates that far-a-way vision—that mind which communes with space.
When Bauer expresses passion it is only that physical nervous tension.
But when Paderewski plays! It is that scarlet-colored heat which dims
the light of day!
[This sounds like my own ravings in the early days of _The Little
Review_, when I talked straight out of the air without anything to back
up my words. So I will have to excuse you. But if you’re going to talk
about “spirit”, with any meaning behind it, you will have to give up
those wild phrases like “communing with space” and “the goal of art
through human effort” and that very awful “dimming the light of day”.
I heard a woman say the other day that Marcella Craft “spiritualized”
the role of Salome because she made her a spoiled child instead of what
she really was—a woman in whom sex had become too mad a thing. How such
denials of the essence of things can become “spiritualizations” is
beyond my comprehension. I suppose, by the same reasoning, that because
Mary Garden understands that drama of “nature too-heavily laden” her
performance should be called a “materialization”. What do you mean when
you say that Paderewski has that spiritual thing and Bauer has not—is
not “born into it”? Any one with the slightest discrimination of human
values will know from one glance at the two men that Paderewski was born
with the look of a magician and that Bauer was born with the look of a
maker. Both qualities are matters of “spirit”. What vague mist is in
your mind when you talk of “spiritual”?
And what is this about transgressing the piano? As you say, Paderewski
makes the piano capable of everything. That is what nearly all other
pianists have tried to do. But the piano isn’t capable of everything. It
is capable of some very special things, and Bauer is the first man to
prove it. He has stood for that all alone in a world of ignorant
criticism. No “spirit”? And then what do you mean by “out of the
ordinary in technical skill”? Is that one of your criterions of an art?
Don’t you remember Arthur Symons saying that it isn’t what you can
perform but what you can conceive?—_M. C. A._]
Alice Groff Again!
_Alice Groff, Philadelphia:_
In answer to Clive Bell, in the November issue, I would say, _words_ are
easy. What does “significant form” mean? Who is to decide what _is_
“significant form”? An art form may be divinely significant to one mind,
and be utterly insignificant, indeed without form at all, to another.
There is only one absolutely necessary condition to a good work of art,
without which indeed no work of art can be brought into being, even; and
that is: creative artistic faculty in the mind of some one artist. There
is no human being or group of human beings capable of deciding whether
such expression or embodiment of an artist’s creative faculty is a work
of art or not. The artist alone can decide as to his own work and leave
it to evolution and time to bring a portion at least of humanity to
agree with him. Meanwhile the petty critics continually spew out of
their mouths the greatest miracles of art that have ever been given to
the world.
[Answer this now, if words are so easy. I suppose if the sun were taken
out of the universe tomorrow everything would hold its place as now and
keep on going? The universe would hold without its significant form? Do
you think we are talking of the _shape_ of a vase when we say it has
significant form?
I don’t see where you get the word insignificant out of this talk
either. You are like those people who talk about good and bad art. There
isn’t any such thing as bad art: there is Art and rotten stuff.
And who decides whether or not a man has “creative artistic faculty”?
According to your generosity any one can elect himself an artist.
You are the woman who is always writing about art being the embodiment
of an ideal. What’s the ideal in _Œdipus Rex_ or in _Salome_ or in the
_Mona Lisa_—in any of them? And speaking of ideals, what is the art in
_Uncle Tom’s Cabin_?
“I am sick at my heart and I want to lie down.”—_An Artist._]
Let Them Fight It Out!
_Louise Gebhard Cann, Seattle:_
This came out of me after reading Mr. Puteklis’ letter in the January
_Little Review_. I notice that all my socialist and anarchist friends
hold a similar view, one going so far as to declare in the course of an
argument on art with a well-known etcher that his etchings could not
live because they did not portray the struggles of the masses. Being in
principle an anarchist myself, and sympathetic towards much of
socialism, I cannot speak as an antagonist to these people but as one of
their number who sees that on this point of art’s purpose they are
mistaken.
Mr. Puteklis’s communication reminded me again of the misconception of
art’s essence noticeable among various classes of those today who
possess what they term “social consciousness”. For though it is true
that the strongest names in contemporary literature, painting, sculpture
are those of men and women who in some extreme way are opposed to the
existent social order, and the only being capable of producing profound
and significant art is of revolutionary mind, essentially; nevertheless,
we find in the socialistic university professor (as when Dr. Cox of the
University of Washington writes in _The South Atlantic Quarterly_ of
“The Distemper of Modern Art and its Remedy”), in the intelligent
working-man and the revolutionary worker, the same misunderstanding of
art that we suffer from in the well-to-do bourgeois and in the church
and other capitalistic institutions, with the same determination to
degrade art to some form of direct utility.
The communal art of the past necessarily served the emotional life of
the community. It was the “handmaiden”, as Mr. Puteklis puts it, “of
oppression and superstition”. Much of pre-modern painting and sculpture,
as we all so well know, was not painting and sculpture _per se_. It was
merely symbols used like language for information on extrinsic topics by
means of illustration.
A fallacy lurks in the too close judging of modern arts and institutions
by their ancient history. Art as part of human progress has its
revolutions. Once weak and a slave to ideas alien to itself, today, by
recognition of the truth that it is entitled to its own intrinsic life,
it is rapidly becoming muscular and self-sufficient. Those who
continually regard modern art in the light of its history obstruct the
progress of art, for in the course of art’s century-long process of
coming to itself, a transmutation took place, the precise moment of
which is difficult to seize, and the aspect engendered by this
transmutation is so different from the ancient aspects of art that many
nonplussed by it or dazzled, or blinded to ignorance of it, fail to
grasp the fact of its quite complete newness. By this one would not be
understood as saying that the history of art is illogical and contains
bottomless and wide gulfs. The modern mind deeply cognizant of evolved
art can trace relationship just as an anthropologist can trace the steps
in the evolution of man; but we all admit in this latter department of
human knowledge the looseness of judging modern man by the cave man. We
concede modern man to be an entirely different being—a being in whom the
struggle for animal existence is vastly complicated and modified as
compared to his primitive ancestor, whose motives would be unseizable by
that ancestor, and whose sensual, expressive, intellectual, moral and
æsthetic forces have attained a volume which would overwhelm to the
mereness of a wolf or a bear that progenitor. It is not for nothing that
humanity has the vision of going beyond itself—the vision of the
more-than-human. Somewhere in the history of animal life, spirit slipped
in and we have a new species. Somewhere about the time of Cézanne, or a
trifle earlier, from the old communal pictorial representations of sin,
death, Christianity, the will-to-be-itself slipped into painting and
today we are witnessing the evolution through several varieties of
manifestation of a new species of art.
We of today are not discussing in contemporary art the old art of the
Renaissance—beautiful as that revelation was. We are not discussing art
as the Greeks understood it nor as the Japanese of the past understood
it, nor the Indians. We are discussing the new species, the birth of
which we have almost ourselves witnessed.
But now we need an Emmanuel Kant, who in a _Critique on Pure Art_ will
investigate for us art’s necessary limits and authentic nature and free
it for us from its inheritance of superstition.
Truly much of the “social vision” today is blind, as blind as the vision
of any fanatic. Those who are under its spell (and one does not deny it
to be a world-renovating spell, on the whole) are determined to halt art
and shackle it with the command that it serve the “masses.” These
humanitarians are still deluded by the idea that subject is the
important part of art; they would retain art as a part of informative
literature—denying it even the right to be a literature of power—and
they would have it reduced to the level of illustration for the
propaganda of socialism and anarchy. This attitude is tyrannical, and it
is a refusal to allow art its place under the sun. Those of true social
vision should perceive that all the forces of life—and art is perhaps
the most potent—should be accepted and allowed to lift humanity along
their course.
The human spirit is broader and deeper than mere class consciousness;
for among other consciousnesses it includes the consciousness of the
rights of the masses as against those who deny those rights. If we
narrow all our activity to a direct service of social betterment, we
shall never attain social betterment, for this condition, like the
condition of happiness, or health, or any other valued state, is missed
by a too-narrow and direct seeking.
Art fulfilling itself will be an inexhaustible source of power, mental
and moral fertilization, of vitalizing spiritual life to all who come
within its influence. But art reduced to illustration of class struggle,
bound in service to mere social consciousness, will soon turn sterile
and will fail to inspire even those it serves.
It is significant that only those individualities that have attained
self-realization—true freedom—have inspired and lead humanity. The same
must be true of any spiritual movement.
Art’s strength today is in its revolutionary character. And the
revolution of art, like the social revolution which accompanies it in
the world’s awakening, will react beneficially on the human spirit,
helping it to ever greater realizations and liberations. But art, as
such, cannot even exist if ENSLAVED to the social movement.
This month really begins the fourth year of _The Little Review_, but
since we have missed several numbers on account of our eternal poverty,
and since we have a special editorial surprise for the next issue (a
gorgeous surprise), I shall just call this the last of Volume III and
let the next one begin the new year.
We are getting established in New York, and within a month can invite
you to our office.
I am too embarrassed about the prize poem to say more than that it will
really appear in the next issue. After dynamiting the judge who was
holding up the whole contest we managed to have the poems sent on to the
second judge; but it was beyond human effort to get the verdict here in
time for inclusion in this number.
The photograph on page 4 is from _Grisélidis_, an opera of Massenet’s
given this season, for the first time in America, by the Chicago Grand
Opera Company.
METROPOLITAN
OPERA HOUSE
Tuesday Evening, March 6
AT 8.30 O’CLOCK
ONLY APPEARANCE
ISADORA
DUNCAN
Cesar Franck, Schubert
Tschaikowsky
ORCHESTRA:
OSCAR SPIRESCUE, Conductor
Paul Geraldy
wrote it in French
W. B. Blake translated it
The War, Madame
Out of the trenches for
24 hours—and in
PARIS!
He couldn’t bear to go back to his camphor smelling apartment,
with its old associations—yet somehow he found himself there. How
curious his thoughts—how wonderful his re-born sense of the
beautiful, after the trench harshness.
_it costs
75 cents_
In France they say this is the best thing since the war. Write us
about it mentioning Little Review.
Charles Scribner’s Sons 597 Fifth Av. N.Y.
If Quality
matters to you,
even in a book,
ask anywhere
for Borzoi Books.
Published in New York
by Alfred A. Knopf.
_New Borzoi Books are on sale at your Bookseller’s the tenth of
each month, July, November and December excepted. Buy them from
him, but if you want a complete catalog, address the publisher,
at 220 West Forty-second Street, New York._
_Subscription Blank_
The Little Review,
31 WEST 14th STREET,
NEW YORK CITY
I enclose $1.50, for which please send me _The Little Review_ for
one year, beginning with the ____________________ issue.
Name _______________________________________________________
Address __________________________________________
_________________________________
Wabash Ave. Shop Between Madison & Monroe
State Street Shop Ninth Floor Stevens Building
The Golf Shop
TRADE MARK REGISTERED
CHICAGO
_An Advertisement Should Be_
_just as interesting, instructive and unusual as the periodical
in which it is published. We told Miss Anderson we had the
impression that readers of The Little Review might not believe
the perusal of an advertisement either edifying or interesting,
but this is not her opinion, so the results from this
advertisement will prove whether or no we should still respect
her verdict._
This shop, together with its woman’s branch de luxe in The
Stevens Building, is perhaps the most interesting store in the
country—certainly in Chicago. Street Shoes, Sports Wear and
Skating or Tennis things are sold within a delightful
environment, attended by service of the very first order. Prices
are really very moderate.
THE MARTINI TEMPERA COLORS
Have proved the “best” through their exclusive use by the best
Poster and Decorative Artists.
Have you worked with Pogany Blue, Sesser Green or Hutaf Lavender?
Circular and color card furnished on request.
We carry all Standard Makes of Artists’ Material.
FAVOR, RUHL & COMPANY
QUALITY HOUSE
425 WABASH AVENUE · CHICAGO, ILL.
THE ARTISTS’ GUILD
A NATIONAL ORGANIZATION INCORPORATED ON A
“NOT FOR PROFIT BASIS.”
Paintings Sculpture
AND
Handwrought Objects
As security for the purchaser and to insure merit, all works
are approved by a jury.
Exquisite and Rare Gifts
The Artists’ and Craft Workers’ own organization
GALLERIES, EXHIBITION AND SALESROOMS
FINE ARTS BUILDING · CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
Viola Cole
and
Paulle Gruppe
Joint Recitals
MARCH 12
CLASSIC PROGRAM
MARCH 26
MODERN PROGRAM
ORCHESTRA HALL FOYER CHICAGO
FOUR BOOKS WORTH READING
ANDVARI’S RING
_Arthur Peterson_
“In verse having the dignity, nobility, and impassioned strength
befitting a theme that has kindled the imagination of so many
poets, Arthur Peterson gives a new interpretation of the ever
thrilling and fascinating story of Sigurd and Gunther, of
Brynhild and Gudrun.”
_12^o $1.25 net_
THE WOMAN WHO WOULDN’T
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS
_Rose Pastor Stokes_
No imaginative play is this, but a stern picture of real
life—life, harsh and brutal and strong. The scenes are laid in a
mining town and before the reader passes the terrible struggle
for mere existence of a typical miner’s family. In the
development of her heroine—the girl who is big enough to look
into the future and rise above the conventions—the author
discloses more than mere talent.
_12^o $1.25 net_
THE BLACKWASH OF THE WAR
_Ellen N. La Motte_
This is war of today—not magnificent and glorious, but naked,
loathsome, as seen in an evacuation hospital a few miles behind
the French lines. These sketches are all faithfully true,
first-hand reports from the front, written in the bitterness of
the moment, not by an hysterical assistant but by a trained
scientist of world-wide reputation.
_12^o $1.00 net_
THE SEXES IN SCIENCE AND HISTORY
_Eliza Burt Gamble_
The author has shown that the conclusions arrived at by
scientists to prove the inferiority of the female to the male are
not warranted by the very facts which they themselves have
elaborated. Her investigations have covered all the accessible
facts relative to extant tribes. She displays an amazingly wide
research and the acutest of observation.
_12^o $1.50 net_
NEW YORK · All Booksellers—All Prices Net · LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
A Selection of New Books
Great Companions
By EDITH WYATT. In this delightful record of the pleasures she
found in the books of writers of genius, Miss Wyatt’s subjects
extend from the political career of De Foe to the nature study of
John Muir, and from the works of Henry James to Fabre.
$1.50 net
Great Inspirers
By REV. J. A. ZAHM. A discussion of how greatly both St. Jerome,
the most learned man of his time, and Dante were under the benign
influence of woman, and how their immortal achievements were due
to woman’s inspiration and influence.
$1.50 net
Great Britain’s Part
By PAUL D. CRAVATH. This book is unique among war books in that
it deals with the “business” side of warfare, describing in an
intensely interesting manner how modern warfare is conducted.
Price, $1.00 net
Women and Work
By HELEN MARIE BENNETT. An effort to determine whether
present-day criticism of the college girl are valid and of the
relation of a college education to the after activities of woman.
Price, $1.50 net
Pippin
By LAURA E. RICHARDS. How an orphan waif, after serving a term in
prison for theft, fights his way to self-respect and faces perils
and adventure in his effort to help others.
Illus. $1.40 net
Mary-’Gusta
By JOSEPH C. LINCOLN. Takes its place as Mr. Lincoln’s most
successful novel.
Illus. $1.40 net
Susan Lenox
Her Rise and Fall
By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS. The master story of American social
life, complete for the first time in book form. “America has to
its merit one more great novel—perhaps the greatest since ‘The
Scarlet Letter’.”—_Minneapolis Journal._
2 vols. $2.50 net per set
The Alabaster Box
By MARY WILKINS FREEMAN and FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY. The romance
of a young girl who persists in her endeavors to atone for the
misdeeds of her father, even after she is misunderstood and
suspected and actually driven away by those she tried to help.
Illus. $1.50 net
THESE ARE APPLETON BOOKS
D. APPLETON & COMPANY 35 WEST 32nd STREET NEW YORK
What Sort of Poet is Flecker?
The Collected Poems of
James Elroy Flecker
Photogravure Portrait
Introduction by J. C. Squire
_Laid paper, deckle edge, bound in terra cotta boards, with
vellum back and paper label._ Net, $2.00
Flecker died two years ago (in his thirtieth year) of
tuberculosis. He was one of the most interesting of the younger
English poets, a passionate lover of beauty in all its forms, and
a devoted servant of song. His life as a consul in the Levant
quickened him with a love of Mediterranean color and atmosphere,
and his passion for Greece makes him akin to Byron. Clement
Shorter, of the London _Sphere_, says: “I have infinite faith in
his permanent place in literature.”
“It is a unique pleasure to read a poet like Flecker, so well
fluted, so mellow, so rounded, so masterful and secure, and of
such inestimable benefit to a modern literature dubious of itself
and without formulated principles.”—_The Nation_, London.
WAR POEMS
By “X”
Net, 75 Cents
Who is “X”? An Englishman who has given two sons to the war, is
all one knows.... These poems would do honor to any hand writing
English to-day. There are sonnets of grave and mellow beauty, and
more rugged verses where the voice of mature man rises to
furious, supreme utterance, in a blazing glory of anger that
makes the blood run fast. A book of notable and superb quality.
YOUR DEALER HAS THESE VOLUMES
Garden City · Doubleday, Page & Company · New York
THE MYSTERIOUS POETS
The latest school of poetry is “The Spectrists.” It denies any
connection with all the other of the late and later schools of
poetry, the Futurists, the Imagistes, the Vorticists, etc. The
writers of the Spectric School follow the musical convention by
giving no titles to their poems, but calling them merely “Opus
I,” “Opus II,” etc. The first work of this school to be brought
out is a book of verses entitled “Spectra,” by Anne Knish and
Emanuel Morgan, published by Mitchell Kennerley.
These writers believe that Americans over-accent the personal
circumstances and doings of artists and would rather let their
work speak for them than their biographers. The publisher,
however, suggests these few biographical details: Anne Knish is a
native of Buda-Pesth, who has for the past few years lived in
Pittsburgh. She is the author of numerous critical reviews in
Continental periodicals, and of one volume of poems in Russian,
but with a Latin title, “Via Aurea.” Emanuel Morgan, the
originator of the Spectra School of Poetry, has for years been
interested primarily in painting, and is now beginning to publish
his work in verse. He recently returned to Pittsburgh, his native
city, after living for twenty years in Paris. Some years ago he
met the late Remy De Gourmont, and out of this meeting there grew
a close friendship. It was Remy De Gourmont, so it is stated, who
suggested to Mr. Morgan that he devote himself to writing and to
expression in the new form he invented. Mr. Morgan, however, does
not claim that M. De Gourmont accepted the theories of poetry
that are formulated and expressed in “Spectra.”
Mr. Morgan, in answer to many inquiries from readers who are
puzzled by Mrs. Knish’s preface to the volume “Spectra,”
contributes this brief explanation of the theory: “The Spectric
intention,” he writes, “is to let the poem, or spectrum, focus
through the surface to the heart of what is being considered.”
Mr. Morgan and Mrs. Knish are preparing another volume of
spectra, to include not only new poems of their own, but
contributions by other members of the school. Meanwhile
“Spectra,” with its strange cover, and stranger contents, is
meeting with a large sale at all bookstores.
PELLE THE CONQUEROR
_Martin Andersen Nexö_
_English translation just completed in four volumes. Each,
$1.50 net._
“When the first part of ‘Pelle the Conqueror’ appeared, in 1906,
its author, Martin Anderson Nexö, was practically unknown even in
his native country, save to a few literary people, who knew that
he had written some volumes of stories and a book full of
sunshiny reminiscences from Spain. And even now, after his great
success with ‘Pelle,’ very little is known about the writer. He
was born in 1869, in one of the poorest quarters of Copenhagen,
but spent his boyhood in his beloved island, Bornholm, in the
Baltic, in or near the town Nexö, from which his final name is
derived. There, too, he was a shoemaker’s apprentice, like Pelle
in the second part of the book, which resembles many great novels
in being largely autobiographical. Later he gained his livelihood
as a bricklayer, until he somehow managed to get to one of the
most renowned of our ‘people’s high schools,’ where he studied so
effectually that he was enabled to become a teacher, first at a
provincial school, and later in Copenhagen.
“‘Pelle’ consists of four parts, each, except perhaps the last, a
complete story in itself. First we have the open-air life of the
boy in country surroundings in Bornholm; then the lad’s
apprenticeship in a small provincial town, not yet invaded by
modern industrialism and still innocent of socialism; next, the
youth’s struggle in Copenhagen against employers and authorities;
and last, the man’s final victory for the benefit of his
fellow-workers. The background everywhere is the rapid growth of
the labor movement; but social problems are never obtruded,
except, again, in the last part, and the purely human interest is
always kept well before the reader’s eye through variety of
situation and vividness of characterization.
“The great charm of the book seems to me to lie in the fact that
the writer knows the poor _from within_; he has not studied them
as an outsider may, but has lived with them and felt with them,
at once a participant and a keen-eyed spectator. He is no
sentimentalist, and so rich is his imagination that he passes on
rapidly from one scene to the next, sketching often in a few
pages what another novelist would be content to work out into
long chapters or whole volumes. His sympathy is of the widest,
and he makes us see tragedies behind the little comedies, and
comedies behind the little tragedies, of the seemingly sordid
lives of the working people whom he loves. ‘Pelle’ has conquered
the hearts of the reading public of Denmark. There is that in the
book which should conquer the hearts of a wider public than that
of the little country in which its author was born.”—OTTO
JESPERSEN, _Professor of English in the University of
Copenhagen_.
VOLUME I. Boyhood.
VOLUME II. Apprenticeship.
VOLUME III. The Great Struggle.
VOLUME IV. Daybreak.
SOME PRESS NOTICES
“One of the most momentous books which this century has so far
produced.”—_Manchester Guardian._
“Possesses the literary qualities that burst the bonds of
national boundaries.”—_Springfield Republican._
“It is a book which posterity may well call the Iliad of the
poor.”—_London Daily Chronicle._
“The book is world-wide in its significance. It is the chronicle
of the growth of labor to consciousness of its rights and its
strength to win them.”—_New York Tribune._
HENRY HOLT & COMPANY
33 WEST 33rd STREET · NEW YORK
“A practised technical hand, and a gift for etching character
that may be compared with De Maupassant’s.”—James Huneker, in
_The Sun_.
_Mr. Huebsch presents_
James Joyce
An Irishman of distinction whose two books compel the attention
of discriminating seekers after brains in books:
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
This account of the childhood, adolescence and young manhood of a
gifted Irishman of middle-class family enables us to understand
the forces—social, political, religious—that animate Ireland
to-day. The home life, the boys’ school, the university,
politics, religion, economics and aesthetics are present or
implied so as to reveal the undercurrents of Irish character.
Psychological insight, masterly simplicity of style, and
extraordinary naturalism make this book more than a promise of
great things. Joyce stands pre-eminent among the young Irish
writers to-day.
Dubliners
Firmly etched into these pages are Irish city life, character,
types and traits, Dublin serving as background. With perfect
objectivity and the reticence of reserve power, each of these
short stories proves a tensely wrought composition, disclosing in
balanced relief some idea of situation of universal import. No
reader can fail to become a Joyce enthusiast.
_at all bookstores, or of the publisher
Each, $1.50 net_;
B. W. HUEBSCH, 225 Fifth avenue, New York
Transcriber’s Notes
Advertisements were collected at the end of the text.
The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect
correctly the headings in this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW.
The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical
errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here
(before/after):
[p. 8]: (multiple cases)
... Carmen, Griselidis, Tosca, Mélisande, Salome! ...
... Carmen, Grisélidis, Tosca, Mélisande, Salome! ...
[p. 17]: (multiple cases)
... Zoluaga ...
... Zuloaga ...
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE REVIEW, MARCH 1917 (VOL. 3, NO. 9) ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
