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Published Monthly

T H E E G O I S TNo. 1 . — V O L . I V. J A N U A R Y 1917. S I X P E N C E .

Editor : H A R R I E T S H A W W E A V E R .

Assistant Editors :R I C H A R D A L D I N G T O N .

H . D.

Contributing Editor :

D O R A M A R S D E N , B . A .

C O N T E N T S

P A Q B

P A S S I N G P AR IS . By Madame Ciolkowska . . . . 1 

Two P O E M S . By H. D. 2 

T H E S C E N E - M O D E L S OF N O R M A N M A C D E R M O T T . By Margaret

Storm Jameson . . . . . . . . 3 

D I A L O G U E S O F F O N T E N E L L E — I X . Translated byEzra Pound 5 

F R E N C H P O E M S . By O. W. Milosz . . . . . 5 

T H E D E A T H OFF U T U R I S M . By John Cournos . . . 6 

P A G E

E Z R A P O U N D (Illustrated). Translated from the French of

Jean de Bosschêre . . . . . . . 7 

S T R E E T L A M P S . By D. H. Lawrence 9 

D E M O - I N D I V I D U A L I S M . ByHuntly Carter . . . . 9 

A M E R I C A N P O E M S . By Max Michelson . . . . 10 

S E R I A L S T O R Y — T A R R . ByWyndham Lewis . . . 10 

PASSING PARIS

THE conferring of the No b e l (so easily spelt

"Noble") prize on M . Romain R o l l a n d has not

been taken as a compliment on the literature

of France by all his countrymen. As t yp i c a l l yv o i c i n g the two parties who, the one, approve and, the

other, disapprove, I w i l l quote two newspapers—

Les Hommes du Jour and L'Echo de Paris. The

latter heralded the news w i t h disgust :

I t appears that the committee of the Nobel prize has chosen

M . Rom ain Roll and for itsliterary reward. It had been rumoured

some time, but it was not easy to believe such information which

seemed to savour of a coarse joke. . . . Th e extremely pacifist

commission which solemnly distributes the legacy of Mr. Nobel,

the famous war manufacturer, is most scrupulous about its

neutrality. No doubt it endeavoured to avoid recompensing,

during the war, a man of science or of letters belonging to a

belligerent nation. But the whole of Europe is in flames. In

these circumstances the neutral has become a rarity of price.

Th e point was to discover themost remarkable neutral. Thu s it

was that M . Rol land occurred to the committee, of all neutrals

the most neutral, and notmerely a neutral by chance ofbirth, but

neutral byfree choice : neutral while thecountry inwhich he was

born suffers invasion and which, for its deliverance and salvation,

has spared nought. The only Frenchman who has the sorry

fatuity to keepaloof of the medley . . ."

and so on from thepen of one who has, apparently,

since he isamong us towrite this un-noble article, theluck to keep himself if not "a loof" at least on one

side of themedley, in that worthy army ofsoldiers, I

mean goaders, of the tongue and pen.

T he paragraph in Les Hommes duJour might have

been written in another planet :

Th e news of the conferring of the Nobel prize for 1915 on

Romai n Rolland is given out as ascertained. Thedecision was

foreseen. It hasearned sufficient insults to our friend to remove

a l l doubts on hispart that thesurest honour had been conferred

on him. Hedeserves it for a work of which it may be said that

it is Truth and Beauty ; hedeserves it, too, for the incomparable

courage which induced hi m from the early days of the war to keep

burning, above instincts run riot, the light that shall not fail. We

cannot here exhaust ourgratification at having been among the

first to protest against the stupidity which barked at his heels

and the infamous Press whose only purpose it is to calumniate

the pure and to soil the beautiful. As often as we could, but

not asoften as we should, we have cried: " Ro main Rolland has

remained the exemplary man, the enviable man, because bis

conscience has not vascillated, and for this reason he is of all

Frenchmen the one who most draws love to France. The future

will endorse this opinion," etc.

I do notsay that either of these views is the equit

able one, for the first is couched in such a form as to

exclude consideration ; while the second, by thesuperiority in tone over theother, tends to win the

cause rather by its comparatively alluring advocacy

than bythe unexceptionable wisdom of its plea.

L i k e so much that is over- or under-rated Au-dessus

de laMêlée is neither as good nor as ev i l , neither as

black nor as white, as it is painted. Bursting w i t hpassion, animated by quite other motives, its partisans

and critics merely use it as a bone ofcontention, as a

peg on wh i c h tohang their politics. M a ny have not

read it at all , passing their judgment on hearsay or the

title ; others who have, read it through the distortions

of their temper. In thediscussions Romain R o l l a n dis rather the pretext than the object for the display of

preferences, politics, and prejudices.T he views of the French branch of the Red Cross

Society towh i c h M . Romain R o l l a n d has handed over

the entire value of his prize remain tobe heard.

F r om the standpoint of the N o b e l prize clauses

M r. Clutton-Brock might have been, it would seem, a

l i k e l y candidate, and some of us might have cared to

elect Mr . G. K . Chesterton, whose Crimes of England,

fo r instance, shows what ought to besaid at this time

rather than what ought to be left unsaid (as in Au-

dessus de la Mêlée). This book, wh i c h has just

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2 THE EGOIST January 1917

received a faultless rendering by M . Charles Gro l l eauat the firm of Crès et C ie , may quite wel l be compared

w i t h M . Holland's far more discussed and yet far less

defined essay, for both are disti nct ly war essays and

quite otherwise than bellicose. M . Ro l l a n d has not,

as his detractors wou l d have, turned his head away

from the battle, rather has he tried to consider it

from a sufficient distance to grasp it. And he has

probably not succeeded. It is the chief grievanceone may nurse against his book.

B u t Mr. Chesterton, being a great l y r i c i s t w i t h a

most practical m i n d , wh i l e M . Ro l l a n d is a fluent

prosaist w i t h an idealistic m i n d , M .Ro l l a n d is taken

fa r more seriously than Mr . Chesterton. Here again

the form deludes. Mr . Chesterton is always in the

right because he is a poet, but M . Ro l l a n d is not

necessarily either right or wrong because he is not.

* * * *

T he deaths of S i n k i ew i c z and Verhaeren, both of

international fame, each of peculiarly national

character, fo l lowed close upon each other. Theyillustrate the theory that nationalism (in its r ac ia land artistic, not po l i t i c a l or soc ia l , expression) at its

supremest joins the universal. The production of a

national writer is so powerful, so insistent and irre

sistible that it cannot fa i l to reach far. Sink iewiczpersonified Poland, and the wo r l d claims him (his most

popular book was not his greatest), and Verhaeren's

tune was F l em i s h , yet the French are proud to cla imhi s genius in part theirs.

Those who set out w i t h universal aims fa ll into

" N o Man's L a n d . " And they are flavourless l i k eforced fruits.

* * * *

I have begun these notes w i t h quotations of somenonsense and some semi-sense. I w i l l conclude them

w i t h some full-sense by Rachi lde as she expresses

herself in La Vie for December. " I don't very wel lunderstand French as she is being spoke just now,"

she writes. " Fo r instance, I always hear about

embusqués. . . . Now I can never accustom myse l f to

this m ing l i n g of public maligni ty in people's private

l i fe [or do you mean private malignity in their publi c

l i fe , Madame Rachilde?]. Ev e r y other minute a wel l -i n f o rmed—i f i l l - f o rmed , on account of the fashion—

a well-informed lady whispers into my ear: ' H i s

cousin is the brother of the wife of the Minister's

secretary,' and then adds: ' D ' y o u catch? ' I don't

catch anything, for if he's there, that young man, heis no doubt obeying instructions, and even though the

M i n i st e r h imse l f were his cousin, he must stay there."

Some one said, "W a r changes no one : the sensible

remain sensible; the fools, fools." I fear the war

makes fools more foolish and of the wise fools too. . . .

Fo r think of al l the fol ly we have all said and writ ten—

since the war, wh i l e what might have been sense once

is not necessarily sense now. Perhaps it is a war

against sense?

M . C.

P.S.—Three books : Le Vent des Cimes by Isabelle

Ka i s e r (Perrin, Paris, 3 fr. 50). Ev e r y one knows

Switzerland but few know the Swis s . These clean-

cut stories w i l l introduce them and are worthattempting.

Un Roman Civil en 1914 by Lu c i e Delarue-Mardrus

(Fasquelle, Pari s, 3 fr. 50.) A n oblique v iew of the

war, l i v e l y and touching.

Almanack Crès (Crès, 3 fr. 50). " Specimens " in

prose and picture.

N O T I C E

Chapter V of the " L i n g u a l Psy cho log y" series by

M i s s Marsden, "Seven Related De f i n i t i o n s , " w i l l be

continued in the next issue of T H E E G O I S T .

TW O POEMS

B Y H . D.

T H E GOD

I

I A S K E D of your face :

is it dark,

set beneath heavy l o cks ,c i rc l ed w i t h stiff i v y - f r u i t ,clear,

cut w i t h great hammer-stroke,

brow, nose and mouth,

mysterious and far distant

from my sense.

I asked:

can he from his portals of ebony

carved w i t h grapes,

turn toward the earth?

I even spoke this blasphemy

in my thoughts:

the earth is ev i l ,given over to e v i l—we are lost.

II

A n d in a moment

you have altered this.

Beneath my feet, the rockshave no weight

against the rush of cyclamen,

fire-tipped, ivory-pointed,

white.

Beneath my feet the flat rockshave no strength

against the deep purple flower-embers,cyclamen, wine-spilled.

II I

A s I stood among the bare rocks

where salt lay,peeled and flaked

in its white drift,

I thought I wou l d be the last

you wou ld want,

I thought I wou l d but scatter salt

on the ripe grapes.

I thought the vine-leaves

wou l d cu r l under,

leaf and leaf-point

at my touch,

the yel low and green grapeswou ld have dropped,

my very glance must shatter

the purple fruit.

I had drawn away into the salt,

myself, a shel lemptied of l ife.

I V

I pluck the cyclamen

re d by wine-red

and place the petals

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January 19 17 THE EGOIST 3

stiff i v o r y and bright fire

against my flesh.

N o w I am powerless

to draw back

for the sea is cyclamen-purple,

cyclamen-red, colour of the last grapes,

colour of the purple of the flowers,

cyclamen-coloured and dark.

A D O N I S

E A C H of us l i k e you

has died once,

each of us l i k e you

has passed through drift of wood-leaves,

cracked and bent

and tortured and unbent

i n the winter frost—

then burnt into g o l d points,

lighted afresh,

crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf,

g o l d turned and rewelded

i n the sun-heat.

E a c h of us l i ke you

has died once,

each of us has crossed an old wood-path

and found the winter leaves

so golden in the sun-fire

that even the l i v e wood-flowers

were dark.

N o t the g o l d on the temple-front

where you stand,

is as g o l d as this,

not the gold that fastens your sandal,

nor the g o l d reft

through your chiselled locks

is as g o l d as this last year's leaf,

not all the g o l d hammered and wrought

and beaten

on your lover's face,

brow and bare breast

is as golden as this.

E a c h of us l i k e you

has died once,

each of us l i k e you

stands apart, l i ke you

fit to be worshipped.

T H E S C E N E - MO D E L S OF N O RMA N

M A C D E R M O T T

IT is possible to go round al l the theatres in

L o n d o n without being alarmed by any sugges

tion of modern ideals in stage decoration.

Once at the Savoy a play resembling A Midsummer

Night's Dream was staged in a fashion resembling, if

anything, a crazy Russian ballet. A l s o there is a

theatre at Birmingham in w h i c h the p i c t o r i a l conventions of the M u n i c h Kuns tler Theater are attempted.

A n d there are the scene-models of Mr . Norman

Macdermott to be seen in the foyer of the L i v e r p o o lRepertory Theatre. That L i v e r p o o l in Lancashire

should house them may surprise you. It need not.

It is true that they are beautiful , but then—one can

rest coffee-cups in them, and in other ways make

them useful.

Speaking very broadly, it may be said that modern

stage decoration has f o l l owed two paths. There has

been the determination to produce an i l l u s io n of

greater naturalness in the setting of plays. This has

been done not o n l y by the walling-up of those four

or five doors through w h i c h wives and maids retreated

madly into bedrooms, but by attempts to suggest an

i l l u s o r y perspective in the place of the stark absur

dities of the back drop. B ut w h i l e the master

craftsmen of the Russian Art Theatre have produced

some beautiful and some impressive settings, this

effort after naturalness does not promise the greatest

things, and has not achieved the finest. Tha t is not

to be expected from imit ation, however s k i l f u l .The significant work in the theatre is being done

by the men who have another ideal than that of

producing a successful i l l u s i o n . They have under

stood that in setting a scene from Macbeth it is not

enough to b u i l d a castle that does not obviously flap

i n the w i n d from the wings, w i t h a few men-at-arms

i n the correct costume of the period. Such a setting

is at best not disagreeably obtrusive. At worst, it

becomes the horrid medley of the production of

Ibsen's Pretenders at the H a y market, w h i c h w i t h its

noisy warriors and feudal trappings suggested nothing

more than a cinematograph film of B e o w u l f . When

the craftsman of the new idea l designs a setting for

Macbeth he attempts to express through it the spiritthat broods and mutters in the words and actions of

the two driven murderers. He attempts and achieves

simplicity—because s i m p l i c i t y , that is, the insistence

on essentials, the creation of a clear, significant

image, is the first condition of art. He attempts

and achieves beauty, because form and line are

beautiful even in the service of tragedy and sin. But

more than this, he attempts, by means of his setting,

to concentrate eye and ear on the dominant mood or

emotion of the scene, or to fashion a symbol of the

spirit beneath the external action. He attempts, in

fact, to create a rhythm of w h i c h words, action, and

setting are a ll parts. F r o m a mass of con f l i c t i ng

emotions he selects—by virtue of intellect and ofintuition, w h i c h is the intellect of the heart—the

dominant emotion, the soul of the action, thusmaking order out of disorder, and a purposeful unity

out of purposeless confusion. Mr. Macdermott 's

setting for the Courtyard scene in Macbeth has

s i m p l i c i t y , as it has beaut y; but beyond this it

expresses and interprets the mood of the scene.

F r o m the co l d grey-blue spaces of the Courtyard, steps

lead up to a great open door, through w h i c h the two

dark figures pass into a fierce flamelike glow—even

as they are passing from the ca lm of reason to their

passionate resolve to murder the k i n g .There is a danger in this insistence on line and

beauty of form—danger from the selfishness of theartist. It is always possible that the setting created

to express and emphasize the spirit of a dramatic

action may end in swallowing up the whole of the

emphasis, reducing the action to a mime, and the

words to an echo sent back from the h o l l ow vaults of

space. E v e n as in Mr. Craig's w e l l - k n o w n design,

the colossal door swallows up the anger and the

fierce-flung vengeance of E l e k t r a , u n t i l she seems a

puny wretch, mouthing and ranting to the air. It

w o u l d be diff icul t to overestimate the strength of

the impulse given to stage decoration by Mr. C r a i g .It w o u l d be unwise to leave unnoted its dangers. At

the end Mr. Cra ig , not content that his settings

should interpret the drama, w o u l d have dramawritten to fit his artistic v i s i o n . His characteristic

designs do not merely dwarf the actors, as those vast

curtains of his overpower the tor tured Hamlet : by

absorbing a disproportionate amount of interest and

emphasis they destroy the unity of the whole produc

t i o n , and put a violent end to the dramatic move

ment. Mr. C r a i g is very insistent on the need for

movement in the theatre. The tendency of his own

work is towards the purely static. Mr . Macdermott's

work—sharing the common debt of stage decorators

to Mr. C r a i g —  has avoided this p i t f a l l . Mr. Craig's

Macbeth is a feeble ghost overwhelmed by the

shadow of huge rocks. The younger artist 's setting

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4 THE EGOIST January 1917

for Macbeth holds the balance between action and

setting, and achieves a perfect dramatic harmony.

Fur the r, Mr . Macdermo tt's work shows a delight in

colour, w i t h a mastery of its uses. The glory of

sunlight, the radiance of a noon sky, the myriad-

shaded darkness of a summer night—all these are in

his models ; and as w e l l as these, a deft use of colour

to produce a p i c t o r i a l beauty, something after the

manner of George Fuchs of M u n i c h . There are twomodels for Andriev's A Merry Death. One is the

grey curtain before w h i c h Pierrot, in grey and lemon-

y e l l o w , speaks the Prologue and Epilogue. A b o v ehis head a gaunt y e l l o w mask gleams in the sombre

folds. The other is Harlequin's house. Here, al l is

a v i v i d elfin-green, at once subdued and emphasized

by a subtle use of black. The bed, set in a recess at

the back, has a green coverlet w i t h the gaunt mask

stencilled in black. The black mask stares from the

green curtain at the right and the green door on the

left. The slender, black lines of a grandfather clockthrust upwards against the curtain, two chairs, a

table, all starkly black and simple of l i n e , complete

the balance of colour. In a scene for a Salome danceis the same conventional beauty w i t h more of audacity

i n the colouring. A g a i n black is the u n i f y i n g m o t i fof the colour-scheme. A v i v i d blue light shines

behind the black pillars of the door at the back, and

the black of the two thrones set at the left, repeated

i n the black and white mosaic of the floor, gives

weight and depth to the deep orange curtains w i t hw h i c h the whole is hung.

There is another danger in the path of the modern

theatre artis t. It lies in the attempt to transport to

the stage the charm of the pictured scene. In its

more fantastic forms this has led to the creation of

such scenes as Bakst's design for Hélène de Sparte.

C r a z y shrines, and rocks ful l of grinning human and

animal faces start in barbaric colours from the back

drop. In its more convent ional forms it has prompted

various devices for g i v i n g life and naturalness to the

painted canvas by the dexterous use of l i g h t i n g .N o w it is clear that colour painted on canvas—

whatever beauty it may have of its own—can never

have either the depth or the flexibility of colour

produced by light thrown on a neutral surface. It is

equally clear that to achieve the finest effects a

theatrical craftsman should study intimately the

nature of the materials in w h i c h he must work—silks

and cloths, colour and light. Mr . Macdermo tt draws

no designs for his set tings: he works direct in the

actual material of his art, so that his scene-models,

w i t h their extraordinary i l l u s i on of space and depth,

give a clear and accurate idea of their possibilities in

the larger spaces of the theatre. A nd further, in his

recognition of the tremendous possibilities of light

i n stage settings, he stands in the foremost line of

European producers. He says of his wo rk :

" I n my own scene-models colour has to a great

extent deserted the actual canvas, cloth, etc., of the

scene and is embodied in the light thrown thereon.

There is one w h i c h , unli t, is ivory-white even to the

sky, but when lit it is bathed in a warm orange

sunniness w i t h a dry blue summer sky. Ano ther ,

unlit, is entirely a neutral grey, li t is a "s to ne wo rk "

i n bright moonlight, w i t h a warm orange light

g l o w i n g inside a great doorway. S t i l l another, unlit,

is a d u l l blue, but when lit a translucent green light

f a l l i n g down a great corr idor impinges on the purpl ish

blue of the foreground."

Impossible to overestimate the value of light in

the creation of magnificent artistic effects. M o d e r nmethods of l i g h t i n g have already a subtlety and

beauty beyond the hopes of the old stage. The

experiments of the most s k i l f u l of mechanicians and

arti sts have achieved much, and suggested more. In

this rediscovery of light the poss ibilit ies are almost

unlimited. L i g h t can b i n d together the diverse

elements of a scene : it can make the subtlest and

most impressive use of shadow: it gives suppleness

to the human body impossible in the crude glare of

the footlights : and above and beyond al l this, it can

express in finer modulations than are possible by any

other means changes of thought and feeling. It can

make v i s ib l e the spiri tual progress of the action : it

is in the highest sense a dynamic force in the theatre,harmonizing and rendering expressive every element

i n the dramatic whole.

Take, for instance, some others of M r . Macdermott's

models. The setting for the first scene of M . Maeter

l i n c k ' s Mary Magdalen is flooded w i t h sunlight—

quivering blazing sunlight—not the y e l l o w glare by

w h i c h the thousands of unenlightened and thoughtless

producers imitate it . The white p i l l a r s , w a l l s , and

railings, catch and reflect it beneath a translucent

southern sky. Sunlight again—not quite so v i v i d —floods the setting of Mr. G r a n v i l l e Barker's Prunella,

striking on the white walls of the house w i t h its

green shuttered windows. The fountain is placed to

the left, and the gateway, standing squarely at the

back, is given for once its due importance as the

entrance for the forces of change and disintegration.Conventional olive-green trees give depth to the

brilliance of the white walls and the sky—an E n g l i s hsummer sky. A g a i n , in The King's Threshold (W. B .

Yeats) white steps lead up to the flaming light

inside the black portals of the great doorway. In

the setting for The Death of Tintagiles a sombre blue-lit

corridor leads down to the great door, a quivering

metallic green door. A l o n g the corridor the g i r lrushes after her brother. In a moment she w i l l be

beating w i t h her hands in the terrible anguish of

regret. Now, w hi l e she is s t i l l unseen, the dark

shadow of her foreboding falls across the door.

One scene there is w h i c h for beauty and power of

suggestion surpasses the others. It is the setting for

a night scene in The Vikings at Helgéland. On the

edge of cliffs above the sea a group of pines standsout against the dusky blue of a night sky. They are

not black, but a deep l i v i n g brown. B e y o n d them

the darkness goes out to the edge of the w o r l d : below

them lies the unseen verge of the sea. I do not know

a more impressive or a more beautiful setting in the

work of any European producer.

In his masterly use of l i g h t i n g , and his sense of

artistic balance and harmony, Mr . Macdermot t comes

at once into line w i t h the forward movement through

out Europe. This movement towards a finer and

nobler dramatic rhy thm is seen most clear ly of al l in

the work of the stage decorator. A m o n g the dramatists who have attempted it o n l y two have achieved

a measure of success. The words and act ion of

Tchekov's plays form—imperfectly, it is true—a

rhythm through w h i c h his characters and his concept

of life struggle for expression. A nd in the changing

verse of his Œdipus und die Sphinx, Hofmannsthal

attempts to create a dramatic form responsive to

every change of mood and act ion. There are, on the

other hand, everywhere in Europe, groups of artists

who have done more than dream of harmony in

stage-setting : they have achieved it . A t the last it

may be said that when the great dramatist of the

future reaches the theatre he w i l l find the artists

waiting for him, already in possession of a supple andh i g h l y expressive means of interpreting his v i s i o n .A n d among these artists, England—for a l l the banality

of her theatres—may take an honourable place by

virtue of the work of two men, of Mr. C r a i g and

M r . Macdermott. M A R G A R E T S T O R M J A M E S O N

Peasant Pottery Shop41 Devonshire Street, Theobald's Road, W.C.

(Close to Southampton Row)

Interesting British and Continental

: Peasant Pottery on sale :

Brightly coloured plaited felt Rugs.

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January 1917 THE EGOIST 5

D I A LOGU E S OF F O N T E N E L L E

T R A N S L A T E D BY E Z R A P O U N D

I X

H E L E N A N D F U L V I A

H E L E N . I must hear your side of a story

w h i c h Augustus t o l d me a l i t t l e w h i l e ago.

Is it true, F u l v i a , that you looked upon him

w i t h some favour, but that, when he did not respond,

y ou stirred up your husband, M a r k A n t o n y , to make

wa r upon him?

Fulvia. V e r y true, my dear H e l e n , and now that

we are all ghosts there can be no harm in confessing

it . M a r k Antony was daft over the comedienne

Citherida, I w o u l d have been glad to avenge m y s e l fb y a love affair w i t h Augustus; but Augustus was

fussy about his mistresses, he found me neither

young enough nor sufficiently pretty, and though I

showed him quite clearly that he was undertaking a

c i v i l war through default of a few attentions to me,

i t was impossible to make him agreeable. I w i l l

even recite to you, if you l i k e , some verses w h i c h he

made of the matter, although they are not the least

complimentary :

Because Mark Antony is charmed with the Glaphira,[It was by that name that he c a l l e d Citherida.]

Fulvia wants to break me with her eyes,Her Antony is faithless, what? Who cries :

Augustus pays Mark's debts, or he must fear her.

Must I, Augustus, come when Fulvia calls

Merely because she wants me ?

At that rate, I'd have on my backA thousand wives unsatisfied.

Love me, she says, or fight. The fates declare :

She is too ugly. Let the trumpets blare.

Helen. You and I , then, between us have caused

the two greatest wars on record ?

Fulvia. W i t h this difference : you caused the

Trojan War by your beauty, I that of Antony and

Augustus by the opposite quality.

Helen. But s t i l l you have an advantage, your

wa r was much more enjoyable. My husband avenged

h ims elf for an insult done him by l o v i n g me, w h i c h is

quite common, yours avenged h ims elf because a

certain man had not l o v e d you, and this is not

ordinary at all .

Fulvia. Yes, but Antony didn't know that he was

making his war on my account, w h i l e Menelaus

knew quite w e l l that his was on your account. That

is what no one can pardon hi m. Fo r Menelaus w i t ha l l the Greeks behind him besieged T r o y for ten

years to tear you from Paris's arms yet if Paris had

insisted on g i v i n g you up, w o u l d not Menelaus,

instead of a ll this, have had to stand ten years

siege in Sparta to keep from taking you back?

F r a n k l y I think your Trojans and Greeks deficient in

humour, h a l f of them si l ly to want you returned, the

other h a l f s t i l l more si l ly to keep you. Wh y should

so many honest f o l k be immolated to the pleasures of

one young man who was ignorant of what he was

doing? I cannot help s m i l i n g at that passage in

Homer where after nine years of war wherein one had

just lost so many people, he assembles a c o u n c i lbefore Pr iam's palace. Antenor thinks they should

surrender you, I should have thought there was

scant cause for hesitation, save that one might have

regretted not having thought of this expedient long

before. However, Pari s bears witness that he mis-

l i k e s the proposal, and P r i a m , who was, as Homer

tells us, peer to the gods in wisdom, being embarrassed

to see his Cabinet d i v i d e d on such a delicate matter,

not knowing w h i c h side to choose, orders every one

to go home to supper.

Helen. The Trojan War has at least this i n its

favour, its ridiculous features are quite apparent, but

the war between Augustus and Anthony did not

show its reality. When one saw so great a number

of Imperial eagles surging about the land, no one

thought of supposing that the cause of their mutual

animosity was Augustus's refusal to you of his favours.

Fulvia. So it goes, we see men in great commotions, but the sources and springs are for the most

part quite t r i v i a l and ridiculous. It is important for

glory of great events that their causes be hidden.

F R E N CH POEMS

[The following poems are taken by the author's permission from

Poèmes by O. W. M ilosz, "Collection de Vers et Prose" (Eugene

Figuière et Cie. , Paris ; 1915 ; 3 fr. 50).]

U N E R O S E

U N E rose pour la douce, un sonnet pourl ' a m i ,L e battement de mon cœur pour guider le

rythme des rondes ;

L ' e n n u i pour moi, le vin des rois pour mon ennui,

M o n orgueil pour l a vanité de tout le monde,

O noble nuit de fête au palais de ma vie!

E t la complainte, pour mon secret, dans le l o i n t a i n ,D e la citronnelle, et de la rue, et du romarin . . .

L e rubis d'un rire dans l'or des cheveux, pour elle,L'opale d'un soupir, dans le c la i r de lune, pour l ui ;

U n nid d'hermine pour le corbeau du blason ;

Pour la moue des ancêtres ma forme qui chancelle

D ' i ll u s i o n s et de vins dans les miroirs couleur de pluie,

E t pour consoler mon secret, le son

D es rouets qui tissent la robe des moribonds.

U n quart d'heure et une bague pour la plus rieuse,

U n sourire et une dague pour le plus discret;

Pour la c r o i x du blason, une parole pieuse.

L e plus large hanap pour la soif des regrets,

U ne porte de verre pour les yeux des curieuses.

E t pour mon secret, la litanie désolée

D es vieil les qui grelottent au s eui l des mausolées.

M o n salut pour la révérence de l'étrangère,

M a main à baiser pour le confident,

U n tonneau de gin pour la gaie misère

D es fossoyeurs ; pour l'évêque luisant

D i x monnaies d'or pour chaque mot de prièreE t pour la fin de mon secret

U n grand sommeil de pauvre dans un cercueil doré.

L E C H A N T D E L A M O N T A G N E

C O M M E la féconde aux larges hanches ensoleillées

Je suis,

Comme la grande et fière moissonneuse dans la paix

D e m i d i ,Comme l'épouse aux bras puissants du laboureur,

levée

A v a n t le jour,

Comme la mère des héros, vigilante au sommet

D e la tour.

M o n épaule est dans la nuée, ma tête renversée

Dans l'azur.

A u s s i l o i n que va mon regard, dans la mer éthéréeTout est calme, profond et pur.

Hommes de la v i l l e couchée à mes pieds de granit

E t vous

Q u i haletez dans le chaleur des hameaux endormis

S u r mes genoux,

Levez-vous, j ' a i dévoilé le beau visage sévère

D e l'espace,

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January 19 17 THE EGOIST 7

artists are content to wallow in the mud of reality.

I f the Pre-Raphaelites fa i led it was not necessarily

because their theory was wrong but more l i k e l ybecause their l i m i t e d genius applied its principles

externally to an acquired, not sufficiently deep-rooted

emotion.

It is hard to see how this obsession w i t h machinery

is in any way superior to the obsession w i t h sex. One

man likes a woman, another l ikes a machine. Women

were before machines. Jus t how the machine-lover

can crow over a woman-lover is something that I

fa i l to see. A t the risk of seeming irre levant I w i l lrecall a day when loi tering near a bookstal l I ran

across two books in different parts of the stall written

by two different authors and published by two

different firms : one book was entitled: Motor-cycles

—Sow to Manage Them, the other, Women—How to

Manage Them. Each writer, it may be assumed,

wrote about what he knew best; I am not sure that

the second did not have the harder task. And real ly

there is no reason at al l why one man should not

have written both books, provided he knew how tomanage one and the other. Indeed there was once

a very great artis t who knew very much about

science and made all sorts of discoveries and inventions

and even discussed the possibili ties of submarines

and flying machines in a pract ical way. This artist

"also painted a little"—to use Whistler's phrase

about a R o y a l Academician—and in some of his

paintings he showed an intense preoccupation, even

obsession, w i t h strange feminine beauty. This was

Leonardo da V i n c i , a true Futurist in that he fore

stalled modernity, and at the same time a great artist

i n that he reacted from it in his art w i t h an opposite-

ness that was l i k e the swing of a pendulum.

Some day a book may be written to show howclosely war is a l l i ed wi th sex. For the Futuris tic

juxtaposition of the glorification of war and "con

tempt for w ome n" is no mere accident. This

contempt does not i m p l y indifference, but the worst

form men's obsession w i t h sex can take, that is rape!

A n honest statement concerning Futurism's present

position was made some months ago by Russia's

most gifted Futur ist , Mayakovsky , who, after admit

ting frankly that Futurism—which contained the idea

of the coming war, for w h i c h alone it indeed l i v e d —has died in the fulfilment of the idea and therefore

lost its raison d'être, nevertheless gloats on the

"absence of a single orderly corner." "E verywh ere

there is devastation and anarchy. The inhabitantslaughed at this as at the antics of madmen, but it

proved to be a diabolic intu ition incarnated in the

stormy to-day. The war broadening the boundaries

of kingdoms and the brain compels to break into

frontiers yesterday unknown." (The grammatical

construction of the last sentence is Mayakovsky's

own.) Then he goes on to say that "Futurism has

died as a particular group, but it has poured i tselfout in every one in a flood. To-day all are Futur ists .

The people is Futurist."

Here we have a clear l o g i c a l statement of the

position of Fut uri sm to-day. Ar t, such as it is, is

indeed "up on the tow n," in Whistler's phrase. In

this mésalliance w i t h life, art has been dragged downto a position from w h i c h it must react i n the end.

A n d in this reaction lies our greatest hope. It is

nonsense to talk about obsession w i t h sex as the only

alternative to Futurism. Rembrandt and Turner

and M i l l e t and Van G o g h have shown that art can

thr ive wi thout the convention of the nude. This

does not mean that others should paint l i k e them—

for that would be plagiarism—but it does show that

great artists, "spokesmen of their time ," w i l l always

evolve i n d i v i d u a l formulae, w ithout knuckling down too

slavishly to l i fe. A f t e r al l, the Futuris ts themselves,

by forming a group and adopting a formula based on

the mechanical and industri al nature of our age, were

drifting dangerously toward an academy on new lines.

E Z R A POUND

T R A N S L A T E D F R O M T H E F R E N C H OF

J E A N DE B O S S C H E R E

I

I H A V E been able to draw a picture of E z r a Pound

i n a very few lines, w i t h the help of poor Gaudier

Brzeska. Such a few lines cannot also give the

poet's work ; one must first make a series of sketches,

then a portrait.

The sketches are an analysis of the successive

influences w h i c h he voluntar ily underw ent; the

portrait is the praise of his last book, Lustra.

There has been an odd insistence in the way Pound

has invoked the domination of the great writers.

W i t h the exception of those old writers who influenced

his youth, he has treated other poets w i t h a savage

familiarity. I can believe that some of his inspirers

might have found him disturbing, rather intemperate,often impertinent.

E z r a Pound is the bite of the champagne. It is

not the best part of the wine, but the most important .

It is the charm of the wine, its piquant though super

ficial spirit. Just for a few seconds the foam has

something w h i c h the full-bodied wine can never have.

The foam shows what the wine is l i k e . And that is

what Pound's intelligence does w i t h the wine of his

work.

I mean, for instance, that when he imitated the

Troubadours he did not take their genius from them,

but assumed the characteristics of a special fashion

of expression. He is a Troubadour, but in spite of

meaning to be faithful he is freer than his old modelsof the south.

E v e n while trying to obey a foreign inspiration

his mind was always noting a thousand modern

resemblances of thought and word, and one finds

traces of this untimely v i s ion in several poems.

He is the translator essentially unfaithful. His

active intelligence goes beyond mere bookish imitation.

When he brings the old wine out of the bott le, the

atmosphere in w h i c h he l ives , his quick mind, naturally

biting in its methods, in a word, the ardent quality

of his whole personality, are fused in the old wine,

and make this wit ty, delicate, often sarcastic effer

vescence. The wine itself, however, almost disowns

this sparkle. Pound does not interfere w i t h thegenius of foreign wor k; but whatever intel ligence and

liberty of thought, the destructive spirit, and imagina

tion can add to a work of art, that Pound adds.

One can only regret one thing, that the poet should

have used this, so personal an effervescence, on work

that is not his own; but one regrets it only in the long

poems, in the Troubadour manner, w h i c h fore

shadow the cloistered romance of Petit Jehan de la

Saintré.

A n unfai thful transl ator! Nevertheless no other

jeune has given himself so generously up to influence.

Pound thinks it is a good thing to submit to it in fu l lawareness of the fact.

This is, no doubt, true for many of us, as it iscertain that copying the best drawings of the masters

is good for the p u p i l . One must choose between

Michelangelo and A l m a Tadema, between Dante and

M i l t o n . A t about seventeen Pound admires Dante,

for must one not first admire God and the Mystery?

Before becoming united w i t h the universal Mystery,

one must worship it as an external thing. We cannot

take a young man seriously who has not adored some

formal God quite simply. It is easy to guess thatPound's depth of thought led him to find more

human and approachable masters. In any case

i t showed him M i l t o n . B ut the encumbered, heavy

rhetoric of Paradise Lost must certainly have driven

h i m to the hardness, the incisive form of the Divine

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8 THE EGOIST January 1917

Comedy. Moreover the clearness and strength of

precision struck his imaginat ion from the first. He

was always thinking about freeing himself from any

indirect construction of phrase, and w i t h a v i e w to

this he translated G u i d o Cavalcan ti. He wanted to

examine the crude, sincere manner of the poet, and

enjoyed study ing his keen method of expression ; he

admired the way in w h i c h this It ali an wrote of love and

reality, and though there are many images in Guido's

pages, they are never Pet rarchian metaphors, pret ty

enough, but w i t h no c l a i m to be anything but

metaphor.

I should be invading the province of the cr i t i c if I

here analysed the way in w h i c h Pound was influenced,

—and what were those influences?—if I t o l d all the

accidents and adventures of his literary l i fe . I couldnot, and I do not wi s h to do it . Here a poet speaks of

a poet. S t i l l , E z r a Pound's past is very near his

present; his last books are very near his first. That

is why I must speak of them rapidly, leaving it to

the good critics of the future to make impartialjudgments and comparisons, and to b u i l d up the

whole structure of the poet's work—adorned, defended,

qual i f i ed , and commentated.

* * * *

B r o w n i n g , so l id , unornamented, historical, first

charmed him by his frank s i m p l i c i t y . I think one

might say that a k i n d of rusticity in the Camberwell

poet attracted Pound's attention, but not for l ong .Pound perhaps owes his early discovery of the T r o u -badours to a young professor, who loved their poetry.*

F o r at the univer sity in A m e r i c a , one has to discover

the Troubadours, also life and art, for oneself.I n Personœ, published in the spring of 1909, and

Exultations, in the autumn of the same year, the

reader can find subtile traces of the Troubadour

influence. Bead La Fraisne, Na Audiart, A Villonaud.

Ballad of the Gibbet, etc. The names of several w i l l

help the c r i t i c . The latter may be puzzled by cer tain

strong characteristics in Exultations, work of the

first year Pound spent in Lo nd on ; but they are not

really surprising, given the way in w h i c h he was

* Pound was the first man in England to use five of the

Troubadour forms.

attracted by the qualiti es of clearness and firmness

in the old writers. Further, they are less surpri sing

if one knows the poems w h i c h he published later, and

especially those of to-day. In Exultations the v i r i l enote sounds w i t h strange and rather crude strength,

and the poet was reproached for it . The Goodly Fere

was perhaps the finest th ing in the book, w i t h Pierre

Vidal and Sestina Altaforte. Pound here shows

himse l f in process of becoming as we now knowh i m .

To the translation of G u i d o , w h i c h he undertook

i n order to free himself from a cer tain stiffness and

rudeness of style w i t h w h i c h he might be charged,

we must add his third selection of verses, Canzoni.

I n making the translation he was thinking of the

p u b l i c , of the good judge, or even of those who merely

make a c la im to be good judges. In w r i t i n g Canzoni

he did the same. The love of fighting in the cause of

liberty w h i c h one always finds i n Po un d is here very

marked, and even more so in the f o l lo w i n g collection,

Ripostes. In Canzoni the protest is s t i l l a latent

argument ; he seems to want to prove that though he

writes vers libre he is s t i l l capable of w r i t i n g in regularmetre. It is only about five years since vers libre

has ceased to be looked upon in England either as the

art of a madman or a prac tica l joker. Have not

V i r g i l and Shakespeare both written vers libre? A n d

yet t i l l Swinburne, poetry was only a r i g i d vehicle for

ideas, and nearly always for morals.

B u t Ripostes ought, it seems to me, to give its title

to the book that fol lows it . Between the w r i t i n g of the

two, Pou nd has had a revelation. He sees the w o r l din harder outline, its gr i n is changed. I find some

"sweetness" in Ripostes w h i c h is not in Lustra.

S t i l l , the value of Ripostes lies in the poet's point of

v i e w. Hi s style is formed, he awaits a shock. The

energy w h i c h we find all through Lustra is shown in

the poem called Return; and in Doria and A Girl,out of that same Ripostes of 1912, he seems, having

got his strength, to put away the old harmonies of

poetry—so wel l , too w e l l known to us.

Here is

A Q P I A

Be in me as the eternal moods

of the bleak wind, and not

As transient things are—

gaiety of flowers.

Have me in the strong loneliness

of sunless cliffs

A n d of grey waters.

Let the gods speak softly of us

In days hereafter.

The shadowyflowers of Orcus

Remember thee.

One must add to al l the successive influences

w h i c h he experiences that of the Chinese poets, as

we shall see later ; that of the youngest French poets,

and of W i l l i a m Butler Yeats, the great l i v i n g poet

to whom al l the jeunes have listened. Pou nd, no

doubt, admired him when he first came to London.

Pound was then twenty-two. A f t e r having been a

professor in A m e r i c a he embarked for Europ e. He

went to V e n i c e , where he published A lume spento i n

1908 . He only stayed five months in V e n i c e , but

has since been back every year to Italy.

Before w r i t i n g about his last book I think it is

important to point out that he has published a very

suggestive memoir of Gaudier Brzeska, and that he

was one of the Blast contributors. It is less important

to mention the studies in one volume (The Spirit of

Romance) w h i c h form a sort of thesis. They contain

a great deal of learning and knowledge—the work of

a very good scholar. Le t us go on to the very good

poet.

(To be continued)

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January 1917 THE EGOIST 9

S T R E E T L A M P S

G O L D , w i t h an inner most speck

O f silver, singing afloat

Bene ath the night,

L i k e balls of thistle-down

Wande rin g up and dow n

Over the whispering town

Seeking where to alight.

S l o w l y , above the street

A b o v e the ebb of feet

D r i f t i n g i n flight,

S t i l l , in the purp le distance

The gold of their strange persistence,

A s they cross and part and meet

A n d pass out of sight.

The seed-bal l of the sun

Is broken at last, and done

Is the orb of day.

N o w to its separate ends

Seed after day-seed wends

Its separate way.

N o sun w i l l ever rise

A g a i n on the won te d skies

I n the midst of the spheres.

The globe of day, over-ripe,

Is shattered at last beneath the stripe

O f the w i n d , and its oneness veers

O u t myriad-wise .

See d after se ed after seed

D r i f t s over the tow n, in its need

T o sin k an d have done,

T o settle at last i n the dar k,

T o bury its potent spark

Whe re days are be gun.

Darkness, and depth of sleep,

Noth ing to know or to weep,

Whe re the seed sinks in

T o the ear th of the unde r-n ight

Whe re al l is silent, quite

S t i l l , and the darknesses steep

O u t al l the si n.

D . H . L A W R E N C E

DEMO-INDIVIDUALISM

B Y H U N T L Y C A S T E R

I T H I N K t ha t if there is a general gro und on

w h i c h the war ma y be congrat ulate d, the

quickening of a uni ver sal spir it of democr atic

i n d i v i d u a l i s m wou ld be the thing . It wou ld be the

spirit breaking up large organizations and uniting

men by an act of intell igence rather th an of intel lect,

i n sma ll indi vidu ali zed democratic groups. In

England , whic h is undergoing a profound indu stri al

tra nsfo rmat ion, we kno w it is the case, for there a

movement towards the reorganization of Na ti ona l

Groups composed of indi vidu ali zed yet s o c i a l l y com

munic ati ng units, has actuall y and activ ely begun.

I n more than a theoretical way, pre-war industrial

formations are being profoundl y shattered, and there

i s , in fact, a very great promise t ha t they soon w i l l

be replaced by others set i n mot ion by somethi ng

reminding us of a re sto rat ion of the Medi aeval G u i l d

syst em upon an in dus tr ia l gro und rare ly refined by

prese nt-day econom ic an d war -ti me experiences. So

we cer tai nly are going to get, prese ntly, independe nt

an d economically complete industr ial communities,

self -subs isti ng, and self-g overned so far as these

powers ca n be at tra ct ed f rom a tot al ly wron g, but

changing, conception of c i v i l i z e d l i f e . A conception,

t ha t is, sti cking fast in abys mal quant ity, instead of

play ing happily round engaging and inspir ing quali ty .

The case of Fran ce, where social interest is con

cerned just now, is somewhat simi lar. A desire fo r

decentralization has set in motion a breaking-up

from whi ch indi vidu ali zed and economicall y complete

grou p forms may be expe cte d to emerge. The

F r e n c h grouping, however, is not l i k e l y to proceed

precisely on the same line as the E n g l i s h on account

o f i ts p o l i t i c a l an d soci al origi ns bei ng so different

from our own . En gl an d is, as yet, only dust ing the

l i d of p o l i t i c a l interests, beneath which lie concealed

our vast spi ri tua l inheritanc es. Fra nce, on the other

hand, stands uprooted from the p o l i t i c a l s o i l con

templ atin g its wondrous spiri tual inheritance. So

one may say tha t i n En gl an d the economic is s t i l l the

end ; i n Fr an ce it is the means.

Wh a t the Fr en ch decent rali zing tendency has

sprung from is really an acute discontent w i t h the

Napoleonic system of central admi nis tra tio n; a

reaction against machine-age mat er ial is m; the c i v i c

renaiss ance w hi ch caugh t Fra nc e on its crest some

years ag o; an d the more recent dis cove ry of the

secret of the greatness of Fr an ce . I believ e the

disconte nt was clearly described by J . C. Bod le y i n

his remarkable volume on France. Professor M a r k

B a l d w i n has confir med the news of the reb ir th an d

growth of a f r u i t f u l idealism urging France forward

to sp iri tua l excellence, offering it a rev alua tion of

i n d i v i d u a l freedom, an d cance lling the o pini on con

tai ned i n Mr . Bodl ey' s ver y significant book, Cardinal

Manning and Other Essays, tha t the soul of France is

sinking under the dreadful weight of strengtheni ng

materia lism an d dec lini ng force of spi rit ual ideals.

The c i v i c wave l i f t e d France in sight of the C i t y -

State idea of the early Greeks, the development of

town-pla nning and villa ge commonwealth ideals,

where the M i d d l e Ages left the m, the geogra phic

determinism of Le P l a y an d its offspri ng, the science

o f hu ma n geography, as its inventor , G. E . En oc k,

describes it in The Tropics, his import ant contribu

t ion to constr uctiv e economics. The said momentous

discovery faced France w i t h the requirements of its

nat ive genius, an d tol d it how it had grow n more and

more in spi ri ng i n the past, and might, if it l i k e d ,

continue its v i v i d career i n the future . C l e a r l y , i n

this, France had hit upon one of the choicest phases

o f its eterna l luc k. Th in k what might happen to

E n g l a n d if some one were to dis cove r the secret of

its greatness—discover its soul. The n indeed it

could score off the abo undi ng t ruthsayers who sit

ever upon its back, l i n k a S indbad , exc la iming, " B a h !

Y o u have no soul— only legs." A n d then it coul d

ask i t s e l f one or tw o str aight questions a nd l i v e

v i v i d l y ever after answer ing the m.

France has a l i f e of the sort before it . Thos e who

discovered its secret—Professor H . J . Fle ure foremost

among them—are i n v i t i n g it to pay strict atte ntion

to v i t a l facts of place and circums tanc e, and to derive

sustenance and directi on from the m. W ha t are

these facts? In sum they reveal tha t France always

has and w i l l enjoy a singular f e l i c i t y of position and

circumstance. A n d this f e l i c i t y enables it to mak e

the most effective contr ibu tio n to the spir itu al

advanc e of the West ern w o r l d . I t l i e s , l i k e a highly

sensiti zed inst rume nt of trans missi on, dire ctl y i n the

path of the great spiritual influences tha t have ever

flowed no rt hw ar d from the Medi ter ran ean . It lies i n

the pat h of En gl an d to most things t ha t can beckon

i t to spiri tual sa lvation. I t lies beneath varied and

transforming climates and in this respect is l i k e a

very finely wroug ht sensitize d inst rumen t composed

of many sensitized instruments all worki ng separately

ye t together. E a c h of the regions so fashi oned has a

distinct people, founded in peasantr y, and a distinct

l i f e of its own. Whe th er by accident or design, one

knows not, this un it y i n dive rsi ty has been special ly

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10 THE EGOIST J a n u a r y 1917

ap po in te d for the most impor tan t office conceiv able.

So that , as I say, France might always operate as the

refining agency of the Wes ter n world. It follo ws of

course tha t if the div ers it y be not mainta ine d, the

advantage which characterizes it disappears also.

So far the aforesaid central administration has failed

to mai nt ai n it. Henc e the reaction.

I have referred to the two streams of gro up dev elop

ment flowing side by side in En gl an d and Fran ce, not

so much because I wish to indi cate thei r fount and

nature, but because I feel th ey me an ever so mu ch

more to us than appears at the surface. Th ey mea n

a great deal more than any one has ventured to tell

us. Wh a t the y mean is a renewa l of individual man.

Per hap s I shal l be better und ers too d if I say a re stora

t ion of qua lit y instead of quant ity. Impressed upon

thi s prop osed new group for mati on of ma nk in d is

sur ely the ima ge of the self- contro lled, self-subsisting

individual , the econo mical ly complete man , if we

l i k e . A n image representing the reuni on of all those

fine parts of individual ma n which the gross super

st i t ion of social service has separated. Is this vision

o f coming events so fanciful in the light of actualhap pen ing s ? I th in k not. Le t me say of the new

groups tha t each group w i l l be designed to form a

un it of associated ac ti vi ty . Thi s uni t is an idea l

conceived by the very latest indus tria l and economic

reformer to promote the production by men in

highest ass ociation of the max im um amount of

energ y-weal th, or qual ity -wea lth, not money or

qua nti ty- wea lt h. So each uni t of the gro up-unit

represents so much energy, and together the group

represents the idea l sum of energy. Ye t, when we

come to think of it, all these units formi ng one uni t

together only represent an expanded unit, and all

this energy represents but an expansion of energy.

Th at is to say, an expa nsi on of the ide al ma n and his

ideal energy, or of the perfect man towards which

Na tu re ever direct s it's kin des t glance. So the uni t

o f uni ts is si mpl y the ex pande d form of ideal ma n

before se rvili ty and deputi zing arose to break him

int o infini tesi mal social pieces. N ow suppose the

present tenden cy towards con tract ion infects the new

grou ps after they are forme d. Wh a t the n is to

prev ent qua lit y squeezing and squeezing them t i l l al l

qu ant it y is squeezed out and noth ing remains but

one-man groups. Thi s wou ld be in strict accordance

with the proper directi on towards salv ation . From

State-app ropriatio n and Social-appropriation to Self-

app rop ria tio n. Hi gh er tha n this no man coul d go—

even on wings. Anyhow, it is a fascinating matter

for reflection. There I leave it.

AMER I C AN P O E M S

P O R T R A I T

LK E an old ish wooden w a l l in the summer

daylight

Y o u sta nd ; the shadows with their fleshly

glamour are gone ;

Only persistent scrutiny

W i l l find a bit of tremulous blue or a faint streak oforange

O n the veined boards.

Your soul is like the dried and sligh tly crumpled

petals

Which are your eyes.

Yet there is a small brook

W i t h many little groves of corru gated sunl ight

A n d t inged here and there with sprawls of colour :

Pale trembling blue, dashes of rose, gold and purple,

Shivering, broken as in a Chinese design,

I n which yo ur soul loves to retire : to swim coyly

Or to raise a playful spray, to inh ale the odou r.

It finds there a m i l d inebriety

A n d some strength.

- T R E E S I N T H E T E N E M E N T D I S T R I C T

•

I T were as tho ugh the eart h

Forgiving the ugly houses they bu ilt over itA n d the sidewal ks an d thoroug hfares

A n d compassionate toward the men and women

drudges

Ha d tendered them these

Strong, rugged an d lar ge flowers.

O F F !

G O D ,

Over our ugly buildings

W h y di d yo u bend out

Your beautiful ravishing sky.

Take it off.

Let them jag

The emptiness. M A X M I C H E L S O N

T A R R

B Y W Y N D H A M L E W I S

P A R T V

A M E G R I M O F H U M O U R

C H A P T E R I

SO M E days later, in the evening, Tarr was to be

found in a strange place. Decid edly his hosts

could not hav e e xpl ain ed ho w he got there.

He disp lay ed no consciousness of the ano mal y.

He had intro duced himself—now for the second

time—into Fraulein Lipmann's aesthetic saloon, after

dining with her and her following at Flobert's Restau

rant. As inexpl icabl e as Kreisl er' s former visi ts,

these ones that Tarr began to make were not so

perfectly unwelcome. There was a gli mmer ing of

meaning in them for Bert ha' s women friends. H e

ha d just wa lk ed in two nights before, as th ou gh he

were an ol d an d establ ished vi si to r there, shaken

hands and sat down. He then listened to th eir

music, dran k thei r coffee an d went away app are nt ly

satisfied. D i d he consider that his so close connexionwith Ber th a entitled him to this ? It was at al l

events a prerogativ e he ha d never before ava il ed

himself of, exce pt on one or two occasion s at first, i n

her company.

The women's expl anati on of this eccentric sudden

frequentation was that Ta rr was in despair. H i s

separation from Ber th a (or her condu ct with Kreisler)

had hit hi m hard . H e wishe d for consola tion or

mediation.

Neither of these guesses was righ t. It was real ly

something absurder than that that had brought him

there.

Only a week or ten days away from his love affair

with Ber th a, Tarr was now comi ng back to the ol dhaunts and precincts of his infa tuat ion. H e was

l i v i n g it all over again in memor y, the c entr al an d all

the accessory figures s t i l l in exactly the same place.

Suddenly, everything to do with " those days," as

he tho ugh t of a week or two before (or wh at h a d

ended o f f i c i a l l y then) had become very pleasing.

Bertha's women friends were delightful landmarks.

Tarr could not underst and how it was he had not

ta ke n an intere st in the m before. Th ey ha d so mu ch

o f the Ge rma n savour of that life lived wi th Ber tha

about them !

Bu t not only with them, but with Bertha herself he

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J a n u a r y 1917 THE EGOIST 11

was lik ewis e car ryi ng on this mysterious retrospec tive

l i f e . H e was so de light ed , as a fact , to be free of

B e r t h a t ha t he poet ized herself an d a ll her belong

ings.

O n this particular second v i s i t to Fraule in Li p-

man n's he met Anas ta sya Vas ek. She, at least, was

nothing to do w i t h his souvenirs. Ye t , not real izin g

her as an absolu te new-comer at once, he acce pted her

as another proof of how delig htful these people in

truth were.

H e had been a very silent guest so far. Th ey were

curious to hear what this enigma should eventually

say, wh en it deci ded to speak.

" H o w is Be rt ha ? " they ha d asked hi m.

" She has got a c o l d , " he ha d answer ed. It was a

fact that she had caught a summer c o l d several days

before.—" How strange ! " they thought.—" So he sees

he r s t i l l ! "

" Sh e hasn ' t been to Flobert's lately," Renée

Lipmann sai d. " I' ve been so bus y, or I ' d hav e gone

ro un d to see her. She' s not i n bed , is she ? "

" Oh, no, she's just got a slight c o l d . She's very

w e l l otherwise," Tarr answered.

Be rt ha disappears. Ta rr turns up tr anq uil ly in her

place. Wa s he a substitute ? Wh at could all this

mea n ? Th ei r first flutter over, thei r trad it io na l

hostil i ty for hi m reawake ned. H e ha d alway s been

an arrogant, eccentric, an d unpl easant person :

" Ho mm e égoïste ! Ho mm e sensuel ! " i n V a n

Benck 's famous words.

O n seeing him talking w i t h new liveliness, not

displayed w i t h them, to Anastasya, suspicions began

to germinate. E v e n such shrewd int ui tio n, a develop

men t fro m the real it y, as thi s : " Perhaps getting to

like Germans, and losing his first, he had come here to

find another." Comfortable in his liberty, he was s t i l l

enjoying, by proxy or otherwise, the satisfaction ofslavery.

The arrogance i m p l i e d by his infa tuat ion for the

commo npla ce was taboo. H e must be more humble,

he felt, an d tak e an interest i n his equals.

H e ha d be en " Ho mm e égoïste " so far, bu t

" Ho mm e sensuel " was an exaggeration. Hi s con

cupiscence had been undevelope d. H i s Be rt ha , if she

had not been a joke, would not have satisfied hi m.

She di d not succeed in waki ng his senses, although

she ha d att ract ed the m. There was no more real ity

i n thei r sex relations th an i n their other relations.

H e now ha d a closer expl anat ion of his atta chment

to stu pid ity than he had been able to give Low nde s.

It was that his artist's asceticism could not support

anything more serious than such an elementary r i v a l ,

and , whe n sex was in the ascendant , it turn ed his

eyes away from the highest beauty and dulled the

extremities of his senses, so that he had nothing but

rudi ment ary inclinati ons left.

B u t i n the interests of his ani mal ism he was tur nin g

to betr ay the artist in hi m. Fo r he ha d been saying

to himself lately that a more suitable lady-companion

must be found ; one, that is, he. need not be ash amed

of. H e felt that the tim e ha d arri ved for L i f e to

come in for some of the bene fits o f Conscious ness .

Anastasya's beauty, bangles, and good sense were

the very thing.

Despite himself, Sorbert was dragged out of his

luxury of reminiscence with out kn owi ng it, a nd

began discr imin atin g between the Ber th a enjoyment

felt thr ough the pungent Ger man medi um of her

friends, an d this nov el sensation. Ye t this sensation

was an int rude r. It was as thou gh a ma n ha vin g

wand ere d sent imen tal ly along an abando ned route, a

tactless an d gushi ng acquai ntanc e had been discovered

i n u n l i k e l y possession.

Tar r ask ed her from wha t part of Ger man y she

came.

" M y parents are Rus si an. I was bo rn in B e r l i n

and brought up in A m e r i c a . W e l i v e in Dresden,"

she answered.

This accounted for her jarring on his maudlin

German reveries.

" Lo ts of Russian famil ies have set tled lat ter ly in

Germ any, have n't they ? " he asked.

" Russians are s t i l l rather savage. The more

bourgeois a place or thing is the more it attracts

them. Ger man water ing places, musi cal centres and

so on, they l i k e about as w e l l as anyth ing. . Th ey

often settle the re. "

" Do you regard yourself as a Russian—or a

German ί "

" O h, a Russian. I "

" I'm glad of that ," said Tarr, quite forgetting

where he was, and forgetting the nature of his

occupation.

" Don't you l i k e Germans then ? "

" W e l l , now yo u re mind me of it , I do :—ve ry

much, i n fac t," He shook himself w i t h self-reproach

and gazed round benignantly and comfortably at his

hosts. " Else I shouldn't be here ! They 'r e such a

nice, modest, ass imil ative race, w i t h an admirable

sense of dut y. The y are bor n servants ; excellent

mercen ary troops, I under stan d. The y should always

be used as such."

" I see you know them à fond." She laughed in

the direction of the Lipmann .

H e mad e a dep reca ting gesture.

" No t mu ch. B u t they are an accessible and

friendly people."

" Y o u are E n g l i s h ? "

" Y e s . "

H e treated his hosts w i t h a warm benignity w h i c h

sought, perhaps, to make up for past affronts. It

appeared only to gratify pa rti ally . H e was treating

them l i k e par t and parce l of Ber tha . The y were not

ready to accept this valuation, that of chattels of her

w o r l d .The two Kinde rba chs came over and made an

affectionate demonstration around and upon Anas

tasya. She got up, scattering them abr upt ly, and

went over to the piano.

" Wh at a bi g brute ! " Ta rr thoug ht, " She would

be just as good as Be rt ha to kiss. A n d yo u get a

respectable hu m an bein g int o the bar gai n ! " H e was

not intimately convinced that she would be as satis

factory. L e t us see how it would be ; he considered.

This larger machin e of repressed, mo pi ng senses di d

attract . To take it to pieces, bit by bit, and penetrate

to its int im acy , mi ght give a similar pleasure to

undressing Bertha !

Possessed of such an intense l i f e as Anastasya,women always appeared on the verge of a dark

spasm of unconsciousness. W i t h their organism of

fierce mec han ica l reac tion s, their self-possession was

rather bluff. So mu ch more accom plish ed s o c i a l l y

than men, yet they were not the social creatures, but

me n. Surre nder to a wo m an was a sort of suicid e

for an arti st. Nat ur e, who never forgives an arti st,

would never a l l o w her to forgive. W i t h any

" super ior " wo m an he ha d ever met, th is feeling of

being w i t h a pa rve nu never left hi m . An ast asy a was

not an exception.

O n leaving, Tarr no longer felt that he would come

bac k to enjoy a diffused form of Be rt ha there. Th e

prolon gations of his Be rt ha per iod ha d passed a

c l i m a x .

O n lea vin g Renée Li pm an n' s, nevertheless, Ta rr

went to the Café de l ' A i g l e , some distance away, but

w i t h an object. To m ake his present frequentation

quite complete, it only needed K r e i s l e r . Otto was

there, very much on his present v i s i t i n g l i s t . H e

visited him regularly at the Café de l ' A i g l e , where he

was constantly to be found.

This is how Ta rr had got to kn ow hi m .

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12 THE EGOIST Janua r y 1917

C H A P T E R I I

T A R R ha d arri ve d at Bert ha' s place about seven in

the even ing on his first ret urn from Mon tma rt re. H e

hung about for a l i t t l e . In ten minut es' time he had

h i s rew ard . She came out, f o l l o w e d by K r e i s l e r .

B e r t h a d i d no t see h i m at first. H e f o l l o w e d on the

other side of the street, some fifteen yards behind.H e di d this w i t h sleepy gratification. A l l was w e l l .

Relat ions w i t h her were now, it must be clear,

sub sta nti all y at an end. A k i n d of good sensation of

alternating jealousy and regret made him wander

along w i t h obedien t gratit ude. Sho uld she turn

ro un d and see hi m, how uncomforta ble she would be !

H o w natu rall y alike in their mechanical marching

gait she an d the Ger ma n we re ! H e was a disti nct

t h i r d par ty . B e i n g a stranger, w i t h very different

appearance, t h r i l l e d hi m agreeably. B y a lit tle

manœuvre of short cuts he would get i n fron t of

the m. Thi s he did .

Be r t ha saw him as he debouched from his turning.

She stopped dead, and appeared to astonished

K r e i s l e r to be abou t to take to her heels. It was

flattering i n a way tha t his mere presence should

pr od uce thi s effect. H e wen t up to her. He r pa lm

a sent imen tal instru ment of weak, aching, heavy

tissues, she gave hi m her han d, face fixed on him in a

mask of regret and reproach . Fas cin ate d by the

intensity of this, he had been staring at her a little

too l o n g , perhaps w i t h some of the reflection of her

express ion. H e tur ned towards K r e i s l e r . He found

a, to hi m, convent iona lly Ge rma n indifferent coun

tenance.

" H e r r K r e i s l e r , " Bertha said w i t h laconic energy,

as th ou gh she were ut ter ing some fat al name. He r

" H e r r K r e i s l e r " said h o l l o w l y , " I t ' s do ne ! " I t

also had an i n f l e x i o n of " W h a t shall I d o ? "

A sick energy saturated her face, the hps were

indecent ly compressed, the eyes wide, "dul l , w i t h red

r ims.

Tarr bowed to K r e i s l e r as Be rt ha said his name.

K r e i s l e r raised his hat. The n, w i t h a curious fee ling

o f already thrusting himself on these people, he be gan

to wa lk alon g beside Be rt ha . She mov ed l i k e an

unconvinced party to a bargain, who consents to walk

up and down a l i t t l e , preli minary to a final considera

t ion of the affair. " Y e s , but w a l k i n g won't help

matt ers ," she migh t have been saying. K reis ler' s

indifference was absolu te. Ther e was an element of

the child's privilege in Tarr 's ma kin g himself of the

par ty ("Sorb et, tu es si jeune"). The re was the

c l a i m for indulg ence of a spiri t not entire ly seri ous !

T h e childishness of this turning up as though nothing

had happened, w i t h such w i l f u l resolve not to recognize

the seriousness of thin gs, Bert ha 's dram a, the s i g n i -

ficance of the a w f u l wor ds , " H e r r K r e i s l e r ! " and so

o n , wa s present to hi m. Be rt ha must kn ow the

mean ing of his ra pi d resurrection—she knew him too

w e l l not to know that . So they wa lke d on, with out

conversation. The n Tar r inqu ired if she were "q ui te

w e l l . "

" Y e s , Sorbert, quite w e l l , " she replied, w i t h soft

tragic banter .

A s th ou gh by design, he alw ays fou nd just the

words or tone tha t would give an opening for this

sent imen tal iro ny of hers.

B u t the least hint tha t he ha d come to reinsta te

himself mus t not rem ai n. It mus t be clea rly under

stood tha t Kreisler was the principal figure now. H e ,

Tar r, was on ly a pri vile ged friend.

W i t h unflat tering rap idi ty somebody else had been

found. H e r pretension to heroic attachme nt was

compr omise d. Sh ou ld not he put in for the vac ated

berth?

H e ha d an air of welc omin g K r e is l e r . " M a k e

yourself at hom e ; do n' t mind me, " his manner s aid.

A s to showing him over the premises he was taking

possession of—he had made the inspection, himself,

no doubt!

" W e have a mut ual friend, Lo wn des ," Ta rr said

to K r e i s l e r , pleas antly . " A week or two ago he was

going to int roduce me to you, but i t was f a t e d — "

" A h , yes, Low nde s, " said K r e i s l e r , " I know hi m. "

" H a s he lef t Par is , do yo u k n o w ? "

" I th ink not. I thou ght I saw hi m yeste rday,

there, in the Bou lev ar d du Para dis ." K r e i s l e r nodded

over his shoulder, indi cat in g precisely the spot on

w h i c h they ha d met. H i s gesture i m p l i e d tha t

Lowndes might s t i l l be found thereabout.

Bertha shrank in " s u b t l e " pantomime from their

affability. F r o m the glances she pawed her German

friend w i t h , he must deserve nothing but horrified

avoidance. Sorbert's astute and mischievous way of

saddling he r w i t h K r e i s l e r , accepting their being

together as the most natu ral th in g i n l i f e , roused her

combat ivit y. Ta rr honour ed hi m, clear ly out of

politeness to her. V e r y w e l l : all she could do for

the moment was to be noticeably distant w i t h

K r e i s l e r . She must dis play toward s hi m the disgust

and reprobation tha t Tarr should f e e l , and w h i c h he

refused, i n order to ve x her.

K r e i s l e r du ri ng the last few days had persis ted an d

persiste d. H e ha d dis pla yed some cleverness in his

choice of means. A s a result of over tures an d

manœuvres, Bertha had now consented to see him.

H e r demoral izatio n was complete. She could not

stand up any longer against the result, personified by

K r e i s l e r , of her i d i o t i c actions. A t present she

transferred her self-hatred from herself to K r e i s l e r .

Tarr's former relations w i t h Bertha were known to

h i m . H e resented the Eng lis hma n' s air of proprietor

ship, the sort of pleasant " ha nd in g- ov er " tha t wa s

going on. It ha d for object, he tho ugh t, to cheap en

h i s little success.

" I don't think, Herr K r e i s l e r , I ' l l come to dinner

after al l . " She stood s t i l l and r o l l e d her eyes w i l d l y

i n several directions, and stuck one of her hands

s t i f f ly out from her side.

" V e r y w e l l , Fräulein," he replied evenly.— T h e

dismissal annoy ed hi m. Hi s eyes took in Ta rr com

pendiously in passing. Wa s this a resusc itatio n of ol d

love at his expe nse? Ta rr ha d perha ps come to

c l a i m his prope rty. Thi s was not the way tha t is

usually done.

" A d i e u , Her r K r e i s l e r , " sounded l i k e his dismissal.

A " ne ve r let me see yo u ag ai n; unde rsta nd tha t here

things e n d ! " was writt en bald ly in her very bal d

eyes. W i t h iro ny he bi d good day to Ta rr .

" I hope we shall meet a g a i n " : Tar r shook h im

warmly by the han d.

" I t i s l i k e l y , " K r e i s l e r rep lie d at once.

A s yet K r e i s l e r was undisturbed. H e inten ded not

to relinq uish his acquai ntance w i t h Ber t ha Lunken .

I f the Eng lis hman 's ami abi li ty were a polit e wa y of

reclaiming pro per ty left ownerless an d therefor e

susceptible of new righ ts being depl oye d as regard s it ,

then in time those later rights would be vindicated.

Kreisler's first impr es si on of Tar r was no t flattering.

B u t no doubt they would meet again, as he had said.

C H A P T E R III

B E R T H A held out her han d brut all y, i n a sort of spas m

o f w i l l : said , i n the vo ice of " f i n a l i t y , "

"Good-bye , Sorbet : g oo d- by e! "

H e di d not take it. She left it there a moment,

s ay ing aga in , " Go od - b ye ! "

"Good-bye , i f you l i k e , " he said at length. " B u t

I see no reason wh y we sh oul d pa rt i n thi s man ner .

I f K r e i s l e r wouldn' t mi nd " —h e looked after h i m —

" w e might go for a lit tle wal k. O r w i l l you come

and have an apéritif?"

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Janua ry 1917 THE EGOIST 13

" N o , Sorbert, I 'd rather not.— L e t us say good-bye

at once ; w i l l y o u ? "

" M y dear g i r l , don't be so s i l l y ! " H e took her

arm and dragged her towards a café, the first on the

boulevard they were approaching.

She hu ng back, prolong ing the personal contact,

yet pr etend ing to be resisting it with wonder.

" I can' t, Sorbe rt. Je ne peux pa s !" pur r ing her

l i p s out and r o l l i n g her eyes. She wen t to the caféi n the end. Fo r some tim e convers ation hun g back.

" H o w is Fräulein Lipmann get ti ng o n ? "

" I don' t kno w. I hav en' t seen her. "

" A h ! "

Tarr felt he had five pieces to pl ay. H e had

played one. Th e other four he to ye d w i t h in a l a z y

way.

" V a n B e n c k e ? "

" I have not seen her."

Th at left three.

" H o w is I s o l d e ? "

"I don't kn ow ."

"Seen t he Ki n de r ba ch s ?"

"One of them."" H o w is Clare? "

" C l a r e ? She is quite w e l l , I think."

The solder for the pieces of this dialogue was a

dreary grey matter tha t Ber tha supplied. Their talk

was an unnecessary co lu mn on the top of w h i c h she

perched herself w i t h glassy quietude.

She turned to him abruptly as though he had been

hiding behind her, and t i c k l i n g her neck w i t h a piece

o f feather-grass.

" W h y di d yo u leave me, Sorbert?— Why did you

l ea ve m e ? "

H e filled his pipe, and then said, feeling l i k e a bad

ac t o r :

" I went away at tha t particular moment, as youknow, because I had heard tha t Her r K r e i s l e r — "

" D o n ' t speak to me about K r e i s l e r — don't mention

his name, I beg y o u . — I hate that man.— U g h ! "

Genui ne vehemence made T ar r have a look at her.

O f course she would say that. She was using too

much genuineness, though, not to be rather flush of

i t for the mome nt.

" B u t I don't s e e — "

" D o n ' t ; d o n ' t ! " She sat up suddenly in her

chair an d shook her finger i n his face. " I f you

mention K r e i s l e r agai n, Sorber t, I shall hate you too!

I especially pray you not to mention him."

She coll apsed, mo ut h draw n do wn at corners.

" A s you l i k e . " In insis ting he would appear tobe dema ndin g an expl anati on. A n y hin t of excep

t ional clai ms on her confidence mus t be avo ided .

"Why did you leave m e ? — Y o u don't know.— I

have been mad eve r since. One is as helpless as can

be— Wh en yo u are here once more , I feel ho w weak

I am wi th ou t yo u. It has not been fair. I hav e felt

jus t as tho ugh I ha d got out of a sick -bed . I am not

B L A M I N G y o u . "

They wen t to Fl obe rt 's from the café. It was after

nine o'cl ock, an d the pla ce was em pt y. She bough t

a w i n g of ch ic ke n; at a dai ry some salad and eggs ;

two rolls at the baker's, to make a c o l d supper at

home. It was more th an she would need for herself.

Sorbert did not offer to share the expense. A t thegate le ad in g to her house he left her.

Immediately afterwards, w a l k i n g towards the ter

minus of the Mon tm ar tr e omnib us, he realized tha t

he was w e l l in the path tha t led aw ay, as he had not

done while s t i l l w i t h her. H e was gl ad an d sorry,

doing homa ge to her an d the future together. She

ha d a fasci natio n as a mo ri bu nd Be rt ha . The

immobile short sunset of their friendship should be

enjoyed. A r i c h thr owi ng up a nd congesting of

souvenir s on this threshol d were al l the better for the

weak and s i l l y sun. O h what a delightf ul, imper

turbab le cloc kwork orb !

The next day he again made his way across Paris

from Mon tm art re at a rather earlier hour. H e

invited himself to tea w i t h her. Th ey tal ked as

thou gh pos ing for their late personalities.

He took up deliberately one or two controversial

pointe. I n a spi rit of superfluous courtesy he went

bac k to the subj ect of seve ral of the ir old t y p i c a l

disputes, and argued against himself.

A l l their difficulties seemed swept away in a

relaxed hu mi d atmosphere, most painful and disagreeable to her. H e agreed enti rely w i t h her, now

agreeing no longer meant a ny th in g ! B u t the k ey

was elsewhere. En jo ym en t of an d acquiescence i n

everything Berthaesqu e a nd Teuto nic was where it

was to be fou nd . Ju st as now he wen t to see Be rt ha 's

very Germ an friends, and said " H o w del ig htf ul " to

himself, so he appeared to be resolved to come back

for a week or two and to admire everything formerly

he had found most irr ita tin g in Bert ha herself.

Before retiring definitely, l i k e a man who hears that

th e r i n d of the fruit he has just been eating is good,

an d comes bac k to his pl ate to devour the pa rt he

had discarded, Tarr returned to have a last t ank ard

o f German beer.O r s t i l l nearer the figure, his c l a i m in the unexcep

tion able part of her now lapsed, he ha d retur ned

dem and ing to be all owed to l i v e just a little while

longer on the absurd and disagreeable section.

Be rt ha suffered, on her side, more tha n a ll the rest

o f the time she had spent w i t h hi m put together. To

t e l l the whole K r e i s l e r story mi gh t le ad to a fight. It

was too lat e now. She could not, she felt, in honour,

seek to re-entangle Tarr, nor could she disown K r e i s l e r .

She had been found w i t h K r e i s l e r : she had no

means of keep ing hi m awa y for good. A n at tempt

at suppressing hi m mig ht produc e any result. Sh ou ld

she have been able, or desired to resume her relations

w i t h Tarr , K r e i s l e r would not have left him uninformed of things tha t had happened, shown in the

most unco ngen ial lig ht. If left alone, an d not dri ve n

away l i k e a dog, he might gradually quiet down and

disappear. Sorbert would be gone, too, by tha t

t i me !

Their gran d, never-to-be-forgotten friendship was

endin g in shab by shallows. Ta rr ha d the best rôle,

an d di d not deserve it. K r e i s l e r was the implacable

remot e credit or of the sit uat ion .

C H A P T E R I V

T A R E , left Ber th a punc tua ll y at seven. She looke d

very i l l . He resolved not to go there any more.

He felt upset. Lejeun e's, when he got there, was

f u l l of Ame ric ans . It was l i k e hav ing dinner among

a lot of canny children. K r e i s l e r was not there.

H e went on a hun t for him afterwards, an d ran hi m

to earth at the Café de l ' A i g l e .

K r e i s l e r was not c o r d i a l . He emitted sounds of

surprise, shuffled his feet and blinked. But Tarr

sat down in front of hi m on his own ini tia tiv e. Th en

K r e i s l e r , c a l l i n g th e garçon, offered him a drink.

Afterwards he settled down to contempl ate Ber tha 's

Englishman, and await developments. He was

alwa ys rathe r softer w i t h people w i t h whom he could

converse in his own harsh tongue.

The causes at the root of Tarr's present thrusting

o f himself upon K r e i s l e r were the same as his later

visits at the Lip ma nn 's . A sort of bat h of Germa ns

was his prescription for himself, a voluptuous im

mers ion. To hei ght en the effect, he was being

German himself : being Be rt ha as w e l l .

But he was more Ge rm an th an the Germa ns.

M a n y aspects of his conduct were so un-German tha t

K r e i s l e r did not recognize the portrait or h a i l h i m

as a f e l l o w . Successive lovers of a certain woman

fraternizing ; husbands hobnobbing w i t h their wives'

lovers or husba nds of their unm arr ied days is a

commonplace of German or Scandinavian society.

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14 THE EGOIST J a n u a r y 1917

K r e i s l e r ha d not ret urne d to Bert ha's . He was

too l a z y to pl an conscient iously. B u t he conclud ed

t h a t she had better be given scope for anything the

re tu rn of Ta rr mig ht suggest. He , Ott o K r e i s l e r ,

might be supp osed no longe r to exist . H i s mind was

w ork ing up again for some truc ulent action. Ta rr

was no obstacl e. H e would just walk through Tarr

l i k e a ghost when he saw fit to " advance " again.

" Y o u met Lownde s in Rome , didn't yo u ? " Tar r

asked him.

K r e i s l e r nodded.

" Have you seen Fraule in L unken to-day ? "

" N o . " As Ta rr was comi ng to the poi nt K r e i s l e r

condes cen ded to speak : " I shall see her to-morrow

morning."

A space for protest or comment seemed to be left

after this sentence, in Kreisler 's s t i l l very " speaking "

expression.

Tar r smiled at the t one of this piece of inf orm ati on.

K r e i s l e r at once grinned, mockingly, in return.

" Y o u can get out of yo ur head any idea tha t I

have turned up to interfere w i t h your proceedings,"

Tar r then said. " A f f a i r s lie enti rel y between

Fräulein L unken and yourself."

K r e i s l e r met this assurance truculently.

" Y o u could not interfere w i t h my proceedings.

I do what I wan t to do i n this l i f e ! "

" H o w splendid. Wunderbar ! I admire you ! "j

" Y o u r admiration is not asked for ! "

" It leaps up involuntar i ly ! Pros it ! B u t I di d

not mean, Herr K r e i s l e r , tha t my desire to interfere,

had such desire existed, would have been tolerated.

O h , no ! I meant t ha t no such desire existing, we

had no cause for quar rel . Pr os it ! "

Tarr again raised his glass expectantly and coax-

i n g l y , peering steadily at the German . He said,

" Pr os it " as he would have said, " Peep-oh ! "

Pro s' t ! " K r e i s l e r answered w i t h alarming sud

denness, and an alarming d i a b o l i c a l smile. " Prosit ! "

w i t h final ity . H e put his glass dow n. " Th at is al l

r ight . I have no desire,''' he wiped and struck up

hi s moustach es, " to quarrel w i t h anybody. I w i s h

to be left alone. Th at is a l l . "

" To be left alone to enjoy your friendship w i t h

Bert ha—th at is your meaning 1 A m I not r ight ?

I see."

" Th at is m y business. I w i s h to be left alone"

" Of course it 's you r business, m y dear chap.

H ave another dri nk ! " H e called the garçon.

K r e i s l e r agreed to another drink.

W h y was this Engl is hman sitting there and talking

to hi m ? It was i n the G er ma n style and yet i t

wasn't. Was K r e i s l e r to be shi fte d, was he mea nt

to go ? H a d the t ask of doi ng this been put on

Ber tha 's shoulders ? H a d Tar r come there to ask

h i m , or in the hope tha t he would volunteer a promise,

nev er to see Be r t ha again ?

O n the other hand, was he being approached by

Tarr in the capacity of an old friend of Bertha's, or

i n her intere sts or at her inst iga ti on ?

W i t h frown ing impati ence he bent f orward q u i c k l y

once or twice, asking Tarr to repeat some remark.

Tarr's German was not good.

Several glasses of beer, and K r e i s l e r became

engagingly expansive.

" Ha v e you ever been to En gl an d ? " T arr asked

h i m .

" Eng la nd ?—No —I should l i ke ~ to go there ! I

l i k e Engl is hmen ! I feel I should get on better w i t h

them than w i t h these French. I hate the F re nch !

They are all actors."

" Y o u should go to London."

" Ah, to London. Yes, I should go to London !

It m ust be a wonde rf ul to wn ! I have often meant

to go there. Is it expe nsi ve ? "

" The journey ? "

" W e l l , l i f e there. Dea rer th an it is here, I hav e

been t o ld . " K r e i s l e r forgot his circumstances for

the moment. The En gl is hm an seemed to have hi t

on a means of escape for hi m. H e ha d never th ou ght

o f En gl an d ! A hazy n oti on of its unt ol d wealth

made it easier for him to put aside momentarily the

fact of his to tt er ing finances.

Perhaps this En gl is hma n had been sent him by

the Schicksal. He had always got on w e l l w i t h

Englishmen !

The peculiar notion then crossed his m ind tha t

Tarr perhaps wanted to get him out of Paris, and had

come to mak e hi m some offer of hos pit ali ty in En gl an d.

I n a bargainin g spiri t he began to ru n En gl an d

down. H e must not appear too anxi ous to go there.

" They say, though, things have changed.

England's not what it was," he said.

" No . B u t it has changed for the better ."

" I don't believe it ! "

" Qui te true. Th e last ti me I was there it had

improved so much tha t I thought of stoppi ng.

M e r r y England is foutu ! There won 't be a regu lar

Pub. in the whole country in fifty years. A r t w i l l

flourish ! There's not a real gips y left in the cou ntr y.

Thesham art-ones are

dwindling! "

" Are the Zigeuner disappearing ? "

" Je vous crois ! Ra th er ! "

" The only Engl ish men I kn ow are ver y sym-

pathisch."

They pott ered about on the subject of En gl an d

for some time. K r e i s l e r was very t i c k l e d w i t h the

idea of England.

" E n g l i s h women—what are they l i k e ? " K r e i s l e r

then asked w i t h a g r i n . Their relations made this

subject delightfully delicate and yet, K r e i s l e r thought,

very natural. This Engl ishma n was evidently a

description of pande r, an d no doubt he would be as

i n c l i n e d to be hospitable w i t h his countrywomen in

the abstract asw i t h

his late fiancée i n ma te ri al

detail.

" A friend of mine who had been there t o l d me they

were ve ry ' pre tt y ' "—he pro noun ced the E n g l i s h

word w i t h mincing slowness and misc hievo us int er

rogation marks in his distorted face.

" Y o u r friend di d not exaggerate. Th ey are l i k e

languid nectarines ! Y o u would enjoy yourself

there."

" B u t I can't speak English—only a l i t t l e . ' I

spik Ingleesh a leetle,' " he attempted w i t h pleasure.

" V e r y good ! Y o u ' d get on sp len did ly ! "

K r e i s l e r brushed his moustaches up, st icking hi s

lips out i n a hard gluttonous way. Ta rr watch ed

h i m w i t hsympathetic curiosity.

" But—my friend t o l d me—they're not—very

easy ! Th ey are great flirts. So far—a nd then

bouf! Yo u are sent flying ! "

" Y o u would no t find anything to compare w i t h

th e facilities of you r own countr y. B u t yo u would

not w i s h for that ? "

" No ?—But, t e l l me, then, they are c o l d ?—They

are of a calcu lat ing natur e ? "

" The y are pra cti cal , I suppose, up to a certa in

point. B u t yo u must go an d see."

K r e i s l e r ruminated.

" What do you find parti cularl y attractive about

Bertha ? " Tar r ask ed i n a discurs ive way . " I ask

you as a Ger man . I have often wond ere d wha t a

German would think of her."

K r e i s l e r looked at him w i t h resentful uncertainty

for a moment.

" Y o u want to k now what I th ink of the L unken ?—

She's a sly pros tit ute, that 's wh at she is ! " he

announced loudly and challengingly.

" A h ! "

When he had given Tarr time for any possible

demons trat ion, he th awe d int o his sociable self. H e

then added :

" She's not a bad g i r l ! B u t she tr ic ke d yo u, my

friend ! She never cared that "—he snapped his

fingers inexpert ly—" for you ! She t o l d me so ! "

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J a n u a r y 1917 THE EGOIST 15

" Really? That's interesting.—But I expect you're

only telling lies. A l l Germans do ! "

" A l l Germans lie ? "

"' Deutscher-volk—the f o l k tha t dece ives ! ' is

your philosopher Nietzsche's account of the o r i g i n

of the word Deut sch ."

K r e i s l e r sulked a moment t i l l he had recovered.

" N o . W e don' t lie! W h y should we ? We' re

not afraid of the truth, so wh y sho uld we ? "" Perhaps, as a tribe, you l i e d to begin with, bu t

have now given it up ? "

" What ? "

" That may be the explanation of Nietzsche's

etymology. Although he seemed very stimulated at

the id ea of yo ur nat ion al certificate of untrut hfulnes s.

H e felt that , as a true pat riot , he shou ld react against

your blue eyes, beer, and childish frankness."

" Quatch ! Nietzs che was always parad oxal . He

would say any th ing to amuse himself. Y o u E n g l i s h

are the greatest liars and hypocrites on this earth ! "

" ' See the Con tin ent al Press ' ! Y o u should not

swallow tha t rubbis h. I only dispute you r statement

because I k now it is not first-hand. Wh a t I meanabout the Germans was that , l i k e the Jews, they

are ext reme ly pr ou d of success in deceit. No ent hu

siasm of tha t sort exists in England. Hypocrisy is

usually a selfish stu pid ity , rath er t han the result of

cunning."

" The E n g l i s h are stupid hypocrites then ! We

agree. Prosit ! "

" Th e Ger mans are un cou th but zealous liars !

Prosit ! "

H e offered K r e i s l e r a cigar ette. A pause occurred

to allow the acuter n ati ona l suscepti bilities to c o o l .

" Y o u have n't yet given me you r opini on of Ber th a.

Y o u permitted yourself a truculent flourish that

evaded the ques tion."" I wish to evade the question.—I told you that

she has tri ck ed yo u. She is ve ry malin ! She is

t r icking me no w ; or she is t ry i ng to. She w i l l not

succeed with me ! ' Wh en you go to tak e a wom an

y o u sho uld be care ful not to forget yo ur whip ! '

That Nietzsche said too ! "

" Ar e yo u going to gi ve her a beat ing ? " Ta rr

asked.

K r e i s l e r laughed in a ferocious and i r o n i c a l manner.

" Y o u consider that you are being fooled, in some

w a y , by Fräulein Lunken ? "

" She would if she could. She is nothing but

decei t. She is a snake. Ρ fui ! "

" Y o u consider her a very c unni ng and double-faced woman? "

K r e i s l e r nodded s u l k i l y .

" W i t h the soul of a prostitute ? "

" She has an innocent face, l i k e a Madonn a. Bu t

she is a pro st itu te . I have the proofs of it ! "

" In what way has she tricked me ? "

" In the way that women always trick men ! "

W i t h resentment partly and with hard picturesque

levi ty K r e i s l e r met Tarr's discourse.

This solit ary drinker , par tic ula rly shabby, who

could be " dismi ssed " so easily, wh om Be rt ha with

accent s of si nc er it y, " hat ed, hat ed ! " was so different

to the sort of man that Tarr expected might attract

her, that he began to wonder . A certa in satisfactionaccompanied these observations.

F o r that week he saw K r e i s l e r nearl y every da y.

A partie â trois then began. Be rt ha (whom Tar r

saw const antly too) did not actua lly refuse admit tanc e

to K r e i s l e r (alt houg h he usu all y ha d first to kn oc k

a good many times), yet she prayed him repeatedly

not to come an y more. St an di ng al way s i n a droo p

i n g and desperate co ndi ti on before hi m, she di d her

best to aver t a new outburst on his part. She sought

to m o l l i f y h i m as mu ch as was consistent with the

mos t absolu te refusal. Tar r, unawa re of ho w thin gs

actually stood, seconded his successor.

Kreisler, on his side, was rendered o bstinat e by

her often tearful refusal to have anything more what

ever to do with hi m. He had come to regard Tar r

as part of Bertha, a sort of masculine extension of

her. A t the café he would look out for him, and

drink deepl y in his presence.

" I will have her. I will have her ! " he once

shoute d towar ds the end of the evening, spri ngin g

up and c a l l i n g loudly for the garçon. It was all

Tarr could do to prevent him from going, with assur

ances of intercession.

H i s suspicions of Ta rr at last awo ke once more.

Wha t was the meaning of this Englishman always

there ? Wh a t was he there for ? If it ha d not been

fo r him, several times he would have rushed off and

ha d his way . B u t he was alway s there between

th em. A n d in secret, too, pro bably , and away from

him—Kreisler—he was work in g on Berth a' s feelings,

an d pre ven tin g her from seeing hi m. Ta rr was any

h o w the obstacle. A n d yet there he was, talking

and palavering, and offering to act as an inter

mediary, and preventin g hi m from acting. He alone

was the obstacle, and yet he talked as though he

were nothing to do with it, or at the most a casuallyinterested th ir d part y. Tha t is how K r e i s l e r felt on

h is way home after ha vi ng dru nk a good deal. B u t

so long as Tarr paid for drinks he staved him off

h is prey.

(To be continued)

" A P O R T R A I T O F T H E A R T I S T A S A

Y O U N G M A N "

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