A LETTER FROM FRANCE

*****

TheStudiohas just issued a special number dealing with modern woodcuts and lithographs—British and French. This is the first attempt to collect representative work of modern artists who practise wood-cutting. The revival of the woodcut in book illustration demands special discussion. This will form the subject of next month's Notes à propos of theStudioWoodcut Number.

Paris, December, 1919

FRENCHpoetry has not been renewed since the Symbolist Movement by any new and powerfully original poet. Besides, the Symbolist Movement is not finished, and it is in its spirit, in its influence, in its metric, that our poetry still lives to-day. The majority of the best French poets have passed the age of forty and come from Symbolist circles. The influence of the four Symbolist masters, of after 1870, Rimbaud, Laforgue, Mallarmé, and Verlaine, is still visible. A sleeper, like Wells's character, who fell asleep in 1898 and woke up twenty years afterwards, would find poetry much as he left it and with the same essential names.

He would see only that a reign has ended and that another head wears the crown on the coinage; but this by itself is not in the ordinary way a capital event. In his time the name of the prince of the poets was Mallarmé. To-day his name is Paul Fort; and it is very obvious that there is hardly any resemblance between the two. But our sleeper would very well remember having known Paul Fort at the Thursdays in the rue de Rome and in theMercure, and having once read five or six volumes ofBallades, among them what was perhaps the poet's masterpiece, the astonishingRoman de Louis XI. The prince has nothing absolutely novel to show except his crown.

The sleeper would then ask news of the prince who reigned in his time, and would learn that in the year when he closed his eyes for twenty years Mallarmé closed them for ever.

One of the numerous surprises of the war was the sudden return of the purest and most authentic of the disciples of Mallarmé, M. Paul Valéry, to the poetry which he had abandoned for twenty years. M. Valéry then produced that admirable pendant to Mallarmé'sHérodiadewhich is calledLa Jeune Parque, and he published in reviews a few poems that connoisseurs cut out and keep jealously as once they did the sonnets of Hérédia. The volume, which will doubtless appear in a short time, will be published by theNouvelle Revue Française, and will be a jewel of the same kind as the poems of Mallarmé, and will make the second peak of a double snow-covered Parnassus. Another disciple of Mallarmé, M. Jean Royère, has published a collection of poems,Par la lumière peints, that the master of Valvins would have loved. One finds in them a curious contrast between a somewhat cold and Parnassian form and a beautiful mobility of images which change without ceasing one into the other.

The sleeper, happy to see that the spirit of Mallarmé is still alive, would ask news of the two poets who were in 1898 the leaders of the Symbolist school, M. Henri de Régnier and M. Viélé Griffin. "They still make an honourable figure," we should answer, "but the twenty years during which you have been asleep have not added much to what is essential to their work. In 1898 they had already written all their most beautiful verses, those that your generation knew by heart, which made indeed two original visions of the world."

"I remember, also," the sleeper would continue, "two other poets who were frequently named together and who, if they did not resemble one another in their inspirations, resembled one another in their life apart and their solitary work. One of them lived in a little town of the Pyrenees, and painted there with a naive fervour like that of Francis of Assisi, and also with the irony of a shrewd observer, the things and the faces of his quiet life, the animals and the people of his small countryside. This wasFrancis Jammes. The other had made at the age of eighteen or twenty two tragic masks shining with genius,Tête d'orandLa Ville. Then he went as consul to China and elsewhere. We received sometimes from him strange things, printed at Fou-Tcheou by a widow named Rosario. This was Paul Claudel. Are they still of this world?" "Of this poetical world and of another world still: these are to-day our two great Catholic poets. These in the last twenty years have, all the same, produced new works that you could not have looked for in 1898. But they also belong to the generation that you knew, and all of Claudel was already potentially inTête d'or, as all of Jammes was potentially in the trilogy of thePoète."

"Am I myself," the sleeper will ask, "an image of this poetry? Has it, like me, been asleep for twenty years or repeating itself indefinitely?" "Not altogether, but it has added nothing essential, except this little in Claudel and Jammes, to what was germinating or flourishing in the garden of 1898." "I understand. You must have been for twenty years one of these happy people who have no history. France has lived peaceful days. And this united and undisturbed life has proved favourable to the continuity of the poetic routine?" "Not at all, O Epimenides. You went to sleep precisely when France was beginning the Dreyfus affair, which was a famous earthquake, and you wake at the moment when we are emerging from a world-wide war which has killed a dozen million men on our planet, and which has given to Europe the appearance you can see here, on the wall, on this map." "And all this has not yet produced any new poets? And, in 1919, when my eyes open again to the light, you send me back where I was in 1898, you give me again all my old poets and none but them, and the great news is that Mallarmé's workshop is open again, that the attention of the poetical world is hung on the newHérodiade, which M. Valéry is exhibiting there! That is a stupefying thing which is enough to wake up a sleeper, which might even wake up a dead man!"

"Well, my dear sir, poetry has its own logic. The war has, we know, been favourable for those who trade in iron; learn also that it has been an age of gold for those who trade in diamonds. It has pleased us to hold in our hands the diamonds of former times. But be reassured. The war has sometimes brought into the poetic light a kind of iron which is not without beauty. We have had true war poets. TheHymnsof Joachim Gasquet make a superb book. He is certainly not attached to the Symbolist Movement. Gasquet is a southerner, a classic, a man with sonorous lungs, with an unquenchable abundance of oratory. The book of this poet from Aix seems as though it were written by a Mirabeau of the trenches."

"But in 1898 I knew Gasquet pretty well, I read his verses. They resembled most closely those of Emmanuel Signoret, and they were very beautiful. Can you only quote to me these ghosts of my own time? Are there, then, no young men?"

"Here are the poems of Henri Ghéon, delicate in their harmony, pure in their emotion,Foi en la France."

"I remember Ghéon very well."

"The devil! I forgot that he also was of the group of 1898. All the same, here are some that will be new to you. Here isEurope, by Jules Romains, in which we find again the powerful and vigorous poet of theVie Unanime.

"Here is a charming little book which Louis de Gonzague-Frick wrote in pencil on his military postcards: it is calledSous le Bélier de Mars. In that book we find again the succulence and verve of Laurent Tailhade. And you will find them again, in a different form, in Fernand Fleuret'sFalourdin. It is a pity that Georges Duhamel has written nothing during the war except some admirable books of prose; but that will not prevent me reminding you of his earlier, beautiful poems inCompagnons. You would also like Charles Vildrac'sLivre d'Amour. You should certainly also read the poems, sometimesrather awkward but very original and robust, that Jules Supervieille wrote in South America. And as dessert I will keep for you that exquisite confectionL'Appartement des Jeunes Filles, by Roger Allard. Together these make a charming bouquet, but I grant you it is a small one."

Here I end this dialogue, designed to show French poetry stationary in the positions of twenty years ago. We may end by saying that in thus remaining alive and healthy, in thriving for a longer period than the Parnassian movement, French symbolism has made a place for itself which will deserve the respect of posterity. The poetic form which will take its place is not yet in sight. But that form will surely appear when the generation of our sleeper has gone down, to the last man, into slumber irrevocable.

ALBERT THIBAUDET

THENear East has been opened up by the war, and reports are coming in. The Augustinian Priory of the Holy Sepulchre, a complex of buildings, including the Calvary, St. Helen's Chapel, and the Prison of Christ, has been described by Mr. A. W. Clapham, who, being on military duty in Jerusalem, recently surveyed the ruins, and succeeded in making an almost complete plan of the Latin monastery, founded in 1114. Architectural features, both Western and Byzantine, were noticed, and the hope expressed that cleaning and repair would soon be undertaken now that the Holy Places are under British protection. In Babylonia Mr. H. R. Hall has been excavating for the British Museum at Eridu and Ur of the Chaldees. Work on the former site was begun by Mr. Campbell Thompson last year, and buildings of the First Dynasty at Ur have been discovered, dating about 2400B.C.Still earlier finds of Sumerian origin, dating from pre-Semitic times, have come to light at Tell el-Obeid near Ur, including heads of lions and panthers in copper, on a bitumen foundation, with inlaid tongues, eyes, and teeth of coloured stone and shell; and a lion-headed eagle in copper relief, flanked by stags, the group being 8 feet long and 4 feet high. Nearer home Mr. Reginald Smith has brought forward evidence to prove that flint daggers belong to the early Bronze Age in Britain, but to the last phase of the Stone Age in Scandinavia. The earlier daggers point to connection between the two areas about 2000B.C.

Since Her Majesty the Queen graciously consented to become a Patron membership has considerably increased, and now stands at 377. During the winter papers have been read as follows: By Mr. Watson-Taylor on "Joan of Arc, Her Relatives and Descendants"; by Mr. Austen-Leigh on "Editing a School Register," Eton to wit; by Dr. G. C. Peachey on "Bookplates"; and by Mr. George Sherwood on "Pedigrees and Next-of-Kin Cases," all of which were well attended, and the papers recommended for publication. A paper is promised by the Rev. T. C. Dale on "Durham Records." The lastReportof the Royal Commission on Public Records has been much discussed, and measures suggested for getting its recommendations put into practice. Recognition has been accorded by the British Museum authorities, with the result that the genealogical papers of the late R. W. Twigge, F.S.A., have been added, with the consent of Mrs. Twigge, to the Society's collection.

The Society's aim is simply to facilitate research: by making records more accessible, by forming a collection of printed books, documents, and MSS., and by making a great index on the card-index system to the less-known records of biographical fact. Application should be made for the latest Annual Report to the Secretary, at the Society's Rooms, 5 Bloomsbury Square, W.C.1.

The Committee of the Vasari Society have decided to resume the publication of their annual Portfolio in 1920 if enough subscribers are forthcoming. The Society's aim is to reproduce in facsimile fine drawings by the Old Masters from both public and private collections. While attempting in the first place to publish less-known drawings from private collections, it will not forget that the essential aim is to reproduce masterlydrawings rather than secondary pieces of historical interest, and on that account will draw, as in the past, to a considerable degree on the better-known works in public collections.

In the first ten years of the Society's work an annual Portfolio was published with an average of thirty reproductions, covering the fourteenth to the eighteenth centuries. The new series may be somewhat broader in scope in admitting the nineteenth century, and allowing "Old Masters" to include any deceased master of acknowledged excellence in draughtsmanship. Moreover, it is desired to give ampler representation to draughtsmen of the British School than has been done in the past.

To continue the annual publication at the same subscription of one guinea, it has been decided to reduce the size of the Portfolio from 18 by 15 to 16 by 11½ inches, and it is thought that this will be welcomed by members who have little space for the larger folios. It will not imply reduction in size of the reproductions, which will continue to be as far as possible facsimile in size and colour, and every effort will be made to keep up the standard of quality. Intending subscribers should communicate with the Hon. Secretary, Mr. A. M. Hind, at the British Museum, London, W.C.1. Subscriptions for 1920 will not be due until May 1st, and those who have intimated their willingness to become members will be informed before that date if the number of subscribers promised does not justify the committee in issuing the publication.

The Annual Report of the Bibliographical Society announces that the Society'sTransactionswill henceforth be published in quarterly parts, and that with a view to lessening the cost it is proposed to allow copies to be purchased by non-members and to accept advertisements. It is hoped also thatThe Library, founded by Sir John MacAlister in 1888 and edited during recent years by Mr. A. W. Pollard, the Keeper of Printed Books at the British Museum, and the Honorary Secretary of the Bibliographical Society, may be brought into the scheme, and that the quarterly numbers may be gradually worked up into a full bibliographical magazine.

At the December meeting of the Society a point of great bibliographical interest was raised by a paper read by Mr. F. W. Bourdillon on "Some French Romances." He showed how many of the woodcuts used in illustration were reproduced by one printer after another with a marked fall in quality by a method of transfer on to wood-blocks called by the technical name ofpocher, which, he submitted, may be an ancestor of the modern English verb "to poach." Mr. Bourdillon urged the importance of the comparative study of such woodcuts, and suggested that a Society should be formed for reproducing early book illustrations in facsimile.

*****

A Conference was called last January by the joint invitation of the President of the Royal Society, the President of the British Academy, and a large number of others, interested both in the production and distribution of knowledge, to frame, if possible, a scheme for a journal which should present in popular form the most recent results of research in all the chief subjects of knowledge. This Conference appointed a committee to frame a scheme, and their report was presented and adopted at the adjourned meeting of the Conference held recently in the rooms of the Royal Society, Burlington House. Professor R. S. Conway, of Manchester, has acted throughout as Secretary of the movement. The meeting approved the nameDiscoveryfor the new journal, and established a trust for its maintenance, the first trustees being Sir Joseph J. Thomson, O.M., P.R.S., Sir Frederic G. Kenyon, D.Litt., K.C.B., P.B.A., Professor A. C. Seward, Sc.D., F.R.S., Professor R. S. Conway, Litt.D., P.B.A.

The meeting further approved of the agreement made provisionally by the Executive Committee, with Mr. John Murray as Publisher, and of his and the committee's joint recommendation of Captain A. S. Russell, M.C., D.Sc., recently of the R.G.A., now of the University, Sheffield, and Reader-elect in Chemistry at Christ Church, Oxford, as Editor. The first number will be issued on January 15th, 1920, at the price of sixpence.

The Conference further considered in detail and adopted the committee's scheme for the management of the journal, of which the chief principles may be mentioned. The control of the trustees is final, but they undertake to exercise it through a managing committee, which they will appoint on the nomination of a large number of bodies, the chief of whom are the Conjoint Board of Scientific Societies, who will nominate five members, the Classical, Historical, English, and Geographical, each of whom will nominate one member, and the Modern Language Association, if, as is hoped, that also adheres to the scheme. Further the British Psychological Society and the Royal Society of Economics will appoint one member.

This, however, is only one side of the committee's constitution. It will comprise also representatives of the great Associations which represent different bodies of students and teachers, and the public libraries. Those that have already pledged themselves to take part are the National Union of Teachers, which is to nominate two representatives; the Co-operative Union; the Associations of Headmasters and Headmistresses, who will appoint one member. Similar co-operation is hoped for from the Royal Society of Literature, the Library Association, the Young Men's Christian Association, the Workers' Educational Association, the Associations of Assistant Masters and Assistant Mistresses, and the Association of Education Committees, all of which have expressed sympathy with the movement.

BIBLIOGRAPHIES OF MODERN AUTHORSARTHUR CLUTTON-BROCKETON. Bell. 1900. (Handbooks of Great Public Schools.)SHELLEY: THE MAN AND THE POET. Methuen. 1909.DESCRIPTION IN POETRY. English Association. 1911.WILLIAM MORRIS. Williams & Norgate. 1914. (Home University Library.)THOUGHTS ON THE WAR. Methuen. 1914.MORE THOUGHTS ON THE WAR. Methuen. 1915.[Several times reprinted. Collected from theTimes Literary Supplement.]SIMPSON'S CHOICE: AN ESSAY IN VERSE ON A FUTURE LIFE. Omega Workshops. 1916.A MODERN CREED OF WORK. Design and Industry Association. Miscellaneous Publications. 1915.THE ULTIMATE BELIEF. Constable. 1916.STUDIES IN CHRISTIANITY. Constable. 1918.WHAT IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN? Methuen. 1919.ESSAYS ON ART. Methuen. 1919.[Reprinted from theTimes Literary Supplement.](He has also written Introductions to Shelley's Works (1911); to Kenneth Richmond'sPermanent Values in Education(1917); toLetters of a Soldier(1917); and an essay onImmortalityin the Rev. B. H. Streeter's collection of theological essays (1917).)HILAIRE BELLOCProseDANTON—A study. Nisbet. 1899. Reprinted, 1911, inNelson's Shilling Library.PARIS. E. Arnold. 1900. Second Edition. Methuen. 1907.ROBESPIERRE. Nisbet. 1901.THE PATH TO ROME. George Allen. 1902. Now published by Allen & Unwin and by Nelson.[Illustrated by the author.]AFTERMATHS AND GLEANINGS OF A BUSY LIFE CALLED CALIBAN'S GUIDE TO LETTERS. Duckworth. 1903. Greenback Library.TRISTAN AND ISEULT. George Allen. 1903. (French Romances.)THE GREAT ENQUIRY. Duckworth. 1903.[A Tariff Reform satire with illustrations by G. K. Chesterton.]EMMANUEL BURDEN: A Novel. Methuen. 1904.[Illustrated by G. K. Chesterton.]THE OLD ROAD. Constable. 1904. Reprinted. 1910.AVRIL: Being an Essay on the Poetry of the French Renaissance. Duckworth. 1904.ESTO PERPETUA: Algerian Studies. Duckworth. 1906.[Both the above have been reprinted in theReader's Library.]HILLS AND THE SEA. Methuen. 1906.THE HISTORIC THAMES. Dent. 1907.MR. CLUTTERBUCK'S ELECTION. Nash. 1907.[Now published by Nelson.]THE EYE WITNESS. Nash. 1908.ON NOTHING AND KINDRED SUBJECTS. Methuen. 1908.ON EVERYTHING. Methuen. 1909.MARIE ANTOINETTE. Methuen. 1909.THE PYRENEES. Methuen. 1909.A CHANGE IN THE CABINET. Methuen. 1909.ON ANYTHING. Constable. 1910.ON SOMETHING. Methuen. 1910.PONGO AND THE BULL: A Novel. Constable. 1910.THE GIRONDIN. Nelson. 1911.FIRST AND LAST. Methuen. 1911.THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Williams & Norgate. 1911. (Home University Library.)WARFARE IN ENGLAND. Williams & Norgate. 1911. (Home University Library.)THE PARTY SYSTEM. Stephen Swift. 1911. (Written in collaboration with Cecil Chesterton.)SOCIALISM AND THE SERVILE STATE. Debate with Mr. Ramsay Macdonald, Independent Labour Party. 1911.BRITISH BATTLES Stephen Swift. 1911. Now published by Hugh Rees.[Six Monographs on Waterloo, Blenheim, Tourcoing, Malplaquet, Crecy, and Poictiers.]THE GREEN OVERCOAT. Arrowsmith. 1912.THE FOUR MEN. Nelson. 1912.[Illustrated by the author.]THIS, THAT, AND THE OTHER. Methuen. 1912THE RIVER OF LONDON. Foulis. 1912.THE SERVILE STATE. Foulis. 1912.THE HILAIRE BELLOC CALENDAR. Frank Palmer. 1913.THE BOOK OF THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY. Chatto & Windus. 1913.THE STANE STREET: A Monograph. Constable. 1913.A PICKED COMPANY. Methuen. 1915. (Selected Writings.)THE TWO MAPS OF EUROPE AND SOME ASPECTS OF THE GREAT WAR. Pearson. 1915.A HISTORY OF ENGLAND FROM THE FIRST INVASION OF THE ROMANS TO THE ACCESSION OF GEORGE V. By J. Lingard and Hilaire Belloc. 1915.[Mr. Belloc wrote a concluding volume to Lingard, covering the period from 1688.]A GENERAL SKETCH OF THE EUROPEAN WAR. Vol. I. Nelson. 1915. Vol. II., 1916.THE LAST DAYS OF THE FRENCH MONARCHY. Chapman & Hall. 1916.THE FREE PRESS. Allen & Unwin. 1918.VerseVERSES AND SONNETS. Ward & Downey. 1895.[Withdrawn from circulation.]THE MODERN TRAVELLER. Arnold. 1898.A MORAL ALPHABET. Arnold. 1899.LAMBKIN'S REMAINS. Alden, Oxford. 1898.THE BAD CHILD'S BOOK OF BEASTS. Alden, Oxford. 1897.MORE BEASTS FOR WORSE CHILDREN. Arnold. 1898.[The above five books are now published by Duckworth.]CAUTIONARY TALES FOR CHILDREN. Nash. 1907.[Now published by Nelson.]VERSES. Duckworth. 1910.[A collection including certain poems from previous books.]MORE PEERS. Verses. Stephen Swift. 1911.(He has also written numerous Introductions, a chapter in (Oxford)Essays in Liberalism, a number of penny religious tracts published by the Catholic Truth Society, and contributions to various anthologies.)

ETON. Bell. 1900. (Handbooks of Great Public Schools.)

SHELLEY: THE MAN AND THE POET. Methuen. 1909.

DESCRIPTION IN POETRY. English Association. 1911.

WILLIAM MORRIS. Williams & Norgate. 1914. (Home University Library.)

THOUGHTS ON THE WAR. Methuen. 1914.

MORE THOUGHTS ON THE WAR. Methuen. 1915.

[Several times reprinted. Collected from theTimes Literary Supplement.]

SIMPSON'S CHOICE: AN ESSAY IN VERSE ON A FUTURE LIFE. Omega Workshops. 1916.

A MODERN CREED OF WORK. Design and Industry Association. Miscellaneous Publications. 1915.

THE ULTIMATE BELIEF. Constable. 1916.

STUDIES IN CHRISTIANITY. Constable. 1918.

WHAT IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN? Methuen. 1919.

ESSAYS ON ART. Methuen. 1919.

[Reprinted from theTimes Literary Supplement.]

(He has also written Introductions to Shelley's Works (1911); to Kenneth Richmond'sPermanent Values in Education(1917); toLetters of a Soldier(1917); and an essay onImmortalityin the Rev. B. H. Streeter's collection of theological essays (1917).)

DANTON—A study. Nisbet. 1899. Reprinted, 1911, inNelson's Shilling Library.

PARIS. E. Arnold. 1900. Second Edition. Methuen. 1907.

ROBESPIERRE. Nisbet. 1901.

THE PATH TO ROME. George Allen. 1902. Now published by Allen & Unwin and by Nelson.

[Illustrated by the author.]

AFTERMATHS AND GLEANINGS OF A BUSY LIFE CALLED CALIBAN'S GUIDE TO LETTERS. Duckworth. 1903. Greenback Library.

TRISTAN AND ISEULT. George Allen. 1903. (French Romances.)

THE GREAT ENQUIRY. Duckworth. 1903.

[A Tariff Reform satire with illustrations by G. K. Chesterton.]

EMMANUEL BURDEN: A Novel. Methuen. 1904.

[Illustrated by G. K. Chesterton.]

THE OLD ROAD. Constable. 1904. Reprinted. 1910.

AVRIL: Being an Essay on the Poetry of the French Renaissance. Duckworth. 1904.

ESTO PERPETUA: Algerian Studies. Duckworth. 1906.

[Both the above have been reprinted in theReader's Library.]

HILLS AND THE SEA. Methuen. 1906.

THE HISTORIC THAMES. Dent. 1907.

MR. CLUTTERBUCK'S ELECTION. Nash. 1907.

[Now published by Nelson.]

THE EYE WITNESS. Nash. 1908.

ON NOTHING AND KINDRED SUBJECTS. Methuen. 1908.

ON EVERYTHING. Methuen. 1909.

MARIE ANTOINETTE. Methuen. 1909.

THE PYRENEES. Methuen. 1909.

A CHANGE IN THE CABINET. Methuen. 1909.

ON ANYTHING. Constable. 1910.

ON SOMETHING. Methuen. 1910.

PONGO AND THE BULL: A Novel. Constable. 1910.

THE GIRONDIN. Nelson. 1911.

FIRST AND LAST. Methuen. 1911.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Williams & Norgate. 1911. (Home University Library.)

WARFARE IN ENGLAND. Williams & Norgate. 1911. (Home University Library.)

THE PARTY SYSTEM. Stephen Swift. 1911. (Written in collaboration with Cecil Chesterton.)

SOCIALISM AND THE SERVILE STATE. Debate with Mr. Ramsay Macdonald, Independent Labour Party. 1911.

BRITISH BATTLES Stephen Swift. 1911. Now published by Hugh Rees.

[Six Monographs on Waterloo, Blenheim, Tourcoing, Malplaquet, Crecy, and Poictiers.]

THE GREEN OVERCOAT. Arrowsmith. 1912.

THE FOUR MEN. Nelson. 1912.

[Illustrated by the author.]

THIS, THAT, AND THE OTHER. Methuen. 1912

THE RIVER OF LONDON. Foulis. 1912.

THE SERVILE STATE. Foulis. 1912.

THE HILAIRE BELLOC CALENDAR. Frank Palmer. 1913.

THE BOOK OF THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY. Chatto & Windus. 1913.

THE STANE STREET: A Monograph. Constable. 1913.

A PICKED COMPANY. Methuen. 1915. (Selected Writings.)

THE TWO MAPS OF EUROPE AND SOME ASPECTS OF THE GREAT WAR. Pearson. 1915.

A HISTORY OF ENGLAND FROM THE FIRST INVASION OF THE ROMANS TO THE ACCESSION OF GEORGE V. By J. Lingard and Hilaire Belloc. 1915.

[Mr. Belloc wrote a concluding volume to Lingard, covering the period from 1688.]

A GENERAL SKETCH OF THE EUROPEAN WAR. Vol. I. Nelson. 1915. Vol. II., 1916.

THE LAST DAYS OF THE FRENCH MONARCHY. Chapman & Hall. 1916.

THE FREE PRESS. Allen & Unwin. 1918.

VERSES AND SONNETS. Ward & Downey. 1895.

[Withdrawn from circulation.]

THE MODERN TRAVELLER. Arnold. 1898.

A MORAL ALPHABET. Arnold. 1899.

LAMBKIN'S REMAINS. Alden, Oxford. 1898.

THE BAD CHILD'S BOOK OF BEASTS. Alden, Oxford. 1897.

MORE BEASTS FOR WORSE CHILDREN. Arnold. 1898.

[The above five books are now published by Duckworth.]

CAUTIONARY TALES FOR CHILDREN. Nash. 1907.

[Now published by Nelson.]

VERSES. Duckworth. 1910.

[A collection including certain poems from previous books.]

MORE PEERS. Verses. Stephen Swift. 1911.

(He has also written numerous Introductions, a chapter in (Oxford)Essays in Liberalism, a number of penny religious tracts published by the Catholic Truth Society, and contributions to various anthologies.)

THEproduction by the Phœnix Society of Webster'sThe Duchess of Malfiat the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith, gave many people an opportunity to make an exhibition of themselves. In the first place, it was somewhat astonishing to find that on the Sunday night the audience, which one might have supposed to have been made up of people of some education, contained many persons who were evidently unaware that Webster wrote at the very beginning of the seventeenth century, and who had gone to the Lyric Theatre expecting to find a classical and not a renaissance tragedy. Perhaps this is being too kind to them; perhaps they thoughtThe Duchess of Malfiwas a Revue, or a Viennese Musical Comedy by Leo Fall or Franz Lehar, which, owing to D.O.R.A., could not yet be produced on the ordinary stage. But perhaps they did not even think at all, and their tittering and nudging was merely the manifestation of the vacancy of their minds. Whatever the explanation, it is certainly odd that such people should be—as they presumably were—members of the Phœnix Society. It has been said to me that this section of the audience was composed largely of the profession, to whom Sunday night is their one opportunity of the week to enjoy the role of spectator. I hesitate to believe it. I refuse to believe it, although the notorious and shameful ignorance of many actors and actresses of the dramatic literature of their own country is difficult to forget. But if this is the explanation—and it is an unpalatable one—it also accounts for the reception given—again by a section only of the audience—to Mr. Farquharson's extraordinarily fine effort to grapple with the part of Ferdinand. The rank and file of actors, like the rank and file of musicians, are notoriously poor judges of their own art. They are sound enough when it is a question of merely conventional skill. They know in an ordinary way the difference between the professional and the amateur. Mere clumsiness, roughness, or smoothness of technique they can discern and, to some extent, understand; but even in these matters it is the conventional, the accustomed way of doing a thing rather than the essentially good way of doing it that they judge by. The moment an actor goes outside routine methods he runs the risk of being ridiculed; his slightest faults and exaggerations and mistakes are fastened upon, while what there may be of insight, imagination, and power in his characterisation is completely passed over.

This is what happened to Mr. Robert Farquharson atThe Duchess of Malfi. He gave an interpretation of the character of Ferdinand which was a real creative effort of the actor's imagination. Even if he had been less successful than he was in producing the effect he aimed at, he should have met with a respectful attention from his fellow-artists in the audience. But such an attention would have proceeded from an interest in and some glimmer of an understanding of the serious efforts of an artist; whereas these people who disgraced themselves by loudly giggling at Mr. Farquharson were not obviously blind to serious art.

Of Mr. Farquharson's interpretation I will say this. It was essentially sound and convincing. In portraying Ferdinand as a man abnormal, fanatical, and almost insane on the subject of sex, we are made to understand all his subsequent conduct. Ferdinand, as drawn by Webster, is a man of diseased imagination; he is described in the very first scene by Antonio as "a most perverse and turbulent nature"; his very language rightfrom the start is more violent, more imaginative than that of any other character in the play. Sex is an obsession with him; his first words to his sister are:

You are a widow:You know already what man is;

And his second:

Marry! they are most luxuriousWill wed twice. Their lovers are more spottedThan Laban's sheep.

He cannot let the subject alone, he is always returning to it. Earlier in the scene, when he tells Bosola that he does not wish his sister to marry again, he says:

Do not you ask the reason, but be satisfiedI say I would not.

Mr. Farquharson said these words with just the right emphasis, an emphasis that sent a shudder through one's flesh, it was so simple, so vague, and yet so peculiar.

Now, for this Mr. Farquharson ought to have been highly praised. It meant, first of all, that Mr. Farquharson had an original conception of his part; and, secondly, that he had the technique to carry his conception across the footlights. But imagination must meet imagination; if it meets nothing but dullness it might just as well be dull itself, its effect is necessarilynil; and, apparently, that is what Mr. Farquharson's noble effort did meet. It was really astonishing to find written in the daily Press the pained little grumblings of men who had been unable to discover an adequate motive for Ferdinand's conduct, and who expressed their dissatisfaction with Webster's capacity as a dramatist, after having been accustomed for many years to the dramatic genius of Mr. Walter Ellis (the author ofA Little Bit of Fluff), Mr. George R. Sims (the author ofThe Great Day), Mr. Oscar Asche (author ofChu Chin Chow), Mr. Robert Hichens (author ofThe Voice from the Minaret), and many others of equal greatness but too numerous to mention. It was perhaps an over-familiarity with the works of this galaxy of genius that led one London newspaper to describeThe Duchess of Malfiin headlines as "Funnier than Farce." The atmosphere of a genuine tragedy might easily appear "funny" to anyone accustomed to that of the average London play. One great difficulty that confronted some critics was the impossibility—after a war in which millions were slaughtered—of imagining the murder of four men. Because Webster's tragedy ends in the death of four of the principal characters, it is, apparently, farcical or funny. It never even seems to have occurred to these detractors of a great work that in Italy of the Renaissance—the place and period with which Webster is dealing—such incidents were as common as divorce suits nowadays; but it would, assuredly, be asking too much to expect people to exercise a little historical imagination who have no imagination of any sort, and who are, therefore, to be pitied for their inability to understand any play that does not contain a telephone.

On the bulk of the audience, however, Mr. Farquharson's Ferdinand made a deep impression, and the wonderful fifth scene in the second act, where Ferdinand enters with the words: "I have this night digged up a mandrake," was very nearly one of the finest and most blood-curdling things I have ever witnessed. It was just marred by a few exaggerations of gesture and crudities which could have easily been put right, but in conception and power it was magnificent. I have used the word "blood-curdling," although I know that nobody's blood curdles nowadays, least of all the blood of dramatic critics. But that is just what is wrong with them. It is no distinction to have blood that does not "curdle." The blood of an ox does not curdle—not at the tragedy ofKing Lear, norMacbeth, nor the third act ofDie Walküre, nor thePrometheusofScriabin. There must be an imagination in the spectator to take fire, and without imagination the work of a poet like Webster must of necessity appear incomprehensible:

Methinks I see her laughing—Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat quickly,Or my imagination will carry meTo see her in the shameful act of sin.

To the unimaginative these lines of Ferdinand's will seem nothing, but they are wonderful in their dramatic vividness and appropriateness. I have quoted them because it is the sort of writing Webster gives us on every page; it is not one of his purple patches. Webster's command of language is little short of marvellous. To anyone with a sense of words it is a wonderful experience to readThe Duchess of Malfifor the first time; and after seeing it played one returns to the book and finds it all ten times more wonderful still. Could anything be more utter cant than the suggestion that the plays of many modern dramatists are superior to Webster's even as literature? How many of them can be read at all, even once? It is so nearly impossible that more than half of them cannot be published, and of those that are published the perusal of a few pages leads to their prompt consignment to the dustbin. As for ever attaining that combination of great poetry with perfect dramatic appropriateness culminating in moments whenvox in faucibus hæsit, it is utterly beyond them. Such passages as:

Bosola.Strangling; here are your executioners.Duch.I forgive them:The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungsWould do as much as they do.Bos.Doth not death fright you?Duch.Who would be afraid on'tKnowing to meet such excellent companyIn the other world?Bos.Yet, methinksThe manner of your death should much afflict you:This cord should terrify you.Duch.Not a whit:What would it pleasure me to have my throat cutWith diamonds? or to be smotherèdWith cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls?I know death hath ten thousand several doorsFor men to take their exits; and 'tis foundThey go on such strange geometrical hingesYou may open them both ways.

Such passages are as abundant in Webster as dots in the novels of Mr. H. G. Wells. The only readable modern English dramatist—with the exception of Mr. Granville Barker, and possibly of Sir James Barrie—is Mr. Shaw; but one reads Mr. Shaw for his wit, and his wit, like water-ices, is, though tasty, very poor sustenance. Yet the same people who treatThe Duchess of Malfias "Farce" take Mr. Shaw's amusing buffoonery quite seriously; and there is one explanation for both phenomena, and it is the one with which I began—lack of imagination. An imaginative man does not need Mr. Shaw to show him in a play that soldiers value their lives, and there being nothing astoundingly novel in the idea, he is free to appreciate Mr. Shaw's extravagant humour; but the unimaginative man thinks, firstly, that it is some perilous and subversive doctrine, or some new and wonderful truth—according to his political prejudice—and then, secondly, when some personal experience fits Mr. Shaw's formula, looks upon Mr. Shaw as adealer in real property, and has for him that serious consideration he has for his landlord. This explains the fate of such a brilliant piece of extravaganza asArms and the Man, which Mr. Loraine has produced at the Duke of York's Theatre. Originally the darling of unimaginative intellectuals—to whom it had brought light—and the bugbear of equally unimaginative Philistines—to whom its "light" was the flame of revolution—it is now accepted by the ordinary man in the pit as an ordinary, matter-of-fact account of what war is, because the man in the pit is just back from one and recognises the likeness. The deafening applause from ex-soldiers at the Duke of York's Theatre is something to go and hear. To them Mr. Shaw is no intellectual forerunner opening up obscure paths of thought, but a man who has described exactly what used to go on in the only army they have ever known, and they have for him the serious respect they have for all retailers of materials. He is a dealer not in "fancies," but in real goods. But this "reality" is just as imaginary as the former "light." Neither Bluntschli nor Cyrano de Bergerac represents the soldier. There is, in fact, no such thing as a soldier, there are only soldiers. The intellectual has never had his "light" nor the plain man his "reality"; for, being without imagination, they cannot have these things. There is no way of truth reaching an unimaginative man; he is doomed to live under a series of illusions, only shedding one to receive another, but, by a sublime paradox, the only illusion he can never shed is the illusion that poetry is an illusion, an illusion of the senses. It is the fate of poetry, of such magnificent poetic drama as Webster's, to remain always undraped in the world of imagination and never by any protective mimicry to take the colour of its surroundings and put on a fashionable dress. This, its unique greatness, is in the eyes of the unimaginative man its weakness, because he fails to recognise in it any of the outward appearances of his daily life—in short, he fails to see his washerwoman because to him she is a washerwoman and not a woman.

It is pleasant to think that there are actors and actresses who practically, for sheer love of their art, will give their time and ability for two isolated performances of a long and difficult work likeThe Duchess of Malfi. The performance, as a whole, was remarkably good, and it seems to me worth while recording the cast here:

FERDINAND, Duke of CalabriaROBERT FARQUHARSONCARDINAL, his BrotherION SWINLEYANTONIO BOLOGNA, Steward of the Household to the DuchessNICHOLAS HANNENDELIO, his friendMURRAY KINNELLDANIEL DE BOSOLA, Gentleman of the Horse to the DuchessWILLIAM J. REACASTRUCCIOFREDERICK HARKERMARQUIS OF PESCARAROBERT ATKINSCOUNT MALATESTEBASIL GORDONRODERIGOIVAN SAMSONSILVIOCLAUDE ALLISTERGRISOLANJ. ADRIAN BYRNEDOCTORJOSEPH A. DODDTHE DUCHESS OF MALFICATHLEEN NESBITTCARIOLA, her WomanFLORENCE BUCKTONJULIA, Castruccio's wife and the Cardinal's mistressEDITH EVANSOLD LADYBLANCHE STANLEY

The Play produced byAllan Wade, in a setting designed byNorman Wilkinsonof Four Oaks.

Of Mr. Farquharson I have already spoken. Equally fine but smoother and more accomplished was the work of Miss Cathleen Nesbitt as the Duchess. Mr. William J. Rea gave a fine and convincing study of Bosola, whose "garb of melancholy" he wore with an exquisite naturalness. Mr. Rea has a beautiful voice, and I hope it gave him as much pleasure to speak Webster's wonderful verse as it gave me to hear it so beautifully spoken. Antonio is difficult to make attractive, but Mr. Nicholas Hannen might have been more successful. I thought Miss Edith Evans's Julia excellent, but the Cardinal might well have been more sinister; he has some splendid lines to speak, including the famous:

When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden,Methinks I see a thing armed with a rake,That seems to strike at me,

and they were not always as effective as they might have been. It is to be hoped that the Phœnix Society will get a large number of new members through this fine production.

*****

The French ClassicalMatinéesat 2.30 every Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon at the Duke of York's Theatre will be as follows:Les Plaideurs, January 6th, 7th, 13th, 14th, 20th, and 21st.

W. J. TURNER

Ihave before me the Christmas Number ofPunch. After a conscientious perusal of its illustrated pages, I was led to think seriously about comic drawings.Punchhas probably the largest circulation of comic papers, its position is undeniably established, it is, in fact, an institution in much the same way as the British Museum: we are accustomed to it, it exacts its quota of mirth from hundreds of thousands of people each week. It always contains some amusing things, but it is a pity that its drawings are not funnier. As comic drawings, most of them are quite valueless; they are not comic drawings but drawings of persons correctly portrayed in more or less amusing situations, the whole greatly helped by the wording beneath. Even the faces joined to the carefully-rendered bodies, with their carefully-drawn clothes (texture is felt here) and surroundings, are presented with the correct lines and expressions which a professor of physiognomy would connect with the various human emotions. The artist's personality behind these productions is rarely felt except as a stumbling-block to any progress of the absurd or whimsical. Mr. Max Beerbohm sums the matter up in his preface to a recent book of nonsense: "That a comic drawing should itself be comic seems to be a reasonable demand. Yet it is a demand which few comic draughtsmen meet. Comic drawings for the most part are but comic ideas seriously illustrated. We are shown an angry man who has just raised his stroke at golf; near him a caddie grinning behind his hand; and a view of the golf-links. Admirable! The man's stockings and knickerbockers, his cap, his collar, and tie are so rendered that a hosier would not blush to sign them. The drawing of the caddie's fingers would satisfy any drawing-master in any municipal art school. The treatment of the golf-links is faithful, sensitive, reverent. But—where does the fun come in? Through the text beneath maybe. But only for a moment. Out it goes, arrested, in the grip of the artist's firm and laborious hand."

Quite recently a friend of mine, whose drawings were more remarkable for their absurdity than for their strict draughtsmanship, attempted to obtain some work at the offices of one of our latest and most frivolous papers. The following conversation matured between him and the art editor:

Art Editor: These drawings are too queer for us, they won't go down over here.Artist: How do you mean won't go down?Art Editor: People don't understand them. They might do for France, but (mind you) they'd be queer even there.Artist: Ah!Art Editor: Now frankly (I hope you don't mind my being frank?)—(Artist: Not at all.)—You wouldn't say you could draw, would you?Artist: I should not dare to be so presumptuous.Art Editor: Well, these are the sort of drawings that children do in the suburbs of an evening.Artist: Indeed!Art Editor: Now, see here, in this drawing—you've only put three fingers on one hand. People notice that, you know. Now, if you could do us something like this (producing a third-rate imitation of Bateman figuring some gentleman of a pronounced Semitic type) we might be able to find you a job.Artist: Well, I think I won't swell the ranks of people who are doing drawings of this kind.Art Editor(surprised and suspicious): Ah, I'm sorry, I fear the drawings are no use to us, but I hope you don't mind my giving my opinion?Artist: No, no, not at all. I shall value it. And now, please, how do I get out of this building?

Art Editor: These drawings are too queer for us, they won't go down over here.

Artist: How do you mean won't go down?

Art Editor: People don't understand them. They might do for France, but (mind you) they'd be queer even there.

Artist: Ah!

Art Editor: Now frankly (I hope you don't mind my being frank?)—(Artist: Not at all.)—You wouldn't say you could draw, would you?

Artist: I should not dare to be so presumptuous.

Art Editor: Well, these are the sort of drawings that children do in the suburbs of an evening.

Artist: Indeed!

Art Editor: Now, see here, in this drawing—you've only put three fingers on one hand. People notice that, you know. Now, if you could do us something like this (producing a third-rate imitation of Bateman figuring some gentleman of a pronounced Semitic type) we might be able to find you a job.

Artist: Well, I think I won't swell the ranks of people who are doing drawings of this kind.

Art Editor(surprised and suspicious): Ah, I'm sorry, I fear the drawings are no use to us, but I hope you don't mind my giving my opinion?

Artist: No, no, not at all. I shall value it. And now, please, how do I get out of this building?

Among the hosts of illustrators working for the comic papers there are very few comic artists and more artists than comedians.Punchwould do well to relieve the monotony of its pages more often with the drawings of Mr. Bateman. There is a strength and subtlety in Mr. Bateman's line which places him far above other illustrators of this nature, while his knowledge and portrayal of types with the utmost economy of means is very stimulating: but then he can afford to be realistic also because he is above all a humorist. He possesses the faculty for letting himself go. Mr. George Morrow pleases us frequently by his gentle humour, and Mr. Haselden, a remarkable man, sustains our daily interest in theDaily Mirror. Mr. Heath Robinson is a master of whimsical invention, but I am not certain if he is not a very skilful engineer and mechanician in disguise—but certainly ingeniously disguised. Of the too regular contributors toPunchvery little need be said, and of the illustrators of the cheaper comic publications still less: the best one can say of some of them is that they reproduce drawings from Continental papers. Between the extremes of academic respectability on the one hand and feeble vulgarity on the other there would seem to be no middle course. Our humorous papers are far below the level of such papers as the GermanJugendorSimplicissimus, or the FrenchLe Rire. One feels that their draughtsmanship is more simple and effective and their humour more spontaneous. This is not a plea for mere savagery of caricature, which appears foreign to our national temperament. But what a relief it would be if one fine weekPunchwent quite mad and appeared with its print upside down, or, better still, no print at all, and if all the artists gave free rein to whatever absurdity possessed them that week!

I suppose it is natural that the landscapes of M. Matisse should have a stronger appeal to me than his other works in the Leicester Galleries. Yet, apart from any purely egotistical considerations, I think many people will agree that his landscapes play a very important, if not the most important, part in the success of his exhibition. In many of them there seems to be no striving for the accomplishment of a unique or startling design, but there is a depth of feeling in their form and a mystery in their colour that alone accounts sufficiently for Matisse's reputation in modern art. I am extremely covetous of any one or all of these pictures. Matisse, in his landscapes, is a poet as well as a painter: his intense feeling for the quiet and rather awe-inspiring moments in Nature, his rendering of the vague profusion of growth, the cool grey horizontal clouds and subtle effects of light, make him a master in this branch of his art. I do not find this intensity of feeling in his other works, they are apt to cool one's ardour after the landscapes, and we are brought to think of designper se, and confronted with a flatness of handling that is not nearly so intriguing. His largest painting,Portrait de Femmes(trois sœurs), is very noble, and the drawings should not fail to satisfy the diminishing (I hope) body of people whowillsniff at such an exhibition and utter those well-worn and unpardonable remarks on lack of draughtsmanship. Messrs. Brown and Phillips are to be congratulated on procuring for us such an interesting exhibition, and for giving us in the catalogue a photograph of M. Matisse. A glance at this likeness might still the outcries of Philistia more effectually than much argument.

Mr. William Marchant's salons, discontinued during the war, have come to life again, and the ninth of the series has been open during November and December. The Goupil Gallery has a large capacity, and Mr. Marchant seems to have gone out into all parts of the United Kingdom and gathered in a large crowd of artists, nor has he been able entirely to exclude some of the halt and the blind. A detailed criticism from picture to picture, or even from one man's group of work to another's, would be very tedious, for there are some 300 exhibits displayed in the series of rooms. The choice of work is very comprehensive, ranging from James Pryde to Pamela Bianco, from Mr. Lewis's portrait of Mr. Pound to the post-Millais backwash of Mr. Ranken.

In the Large Gallery are Mr. Augustus John and Mr. Sickert. The former exhibits two soldier portraits and No. 51,Birdie, all of which serve to remind us of his unequalled position in that branch of art. Mr. Sickert, the contemporary in age with most of the artists in this room, shines forth in his work with all the vigour and freshness of youth. His No. 49,Bridge at Bath, challenges the declining interest in the work of the more established artists in the room, while he runs level with, even sets the pace for, the younger generation.

In the First Gallery Mr. Lewis's portrait of Mr. Ezra Pound is apt to blunt our sensibilities to the other works therein. It is indeed a remarkable painting, standing like a ferro-concrete factory amidst a peaceful and rather decaying village. Of its faithfulness I am unable to judge, being acquainted with Mr. Pound solely in the pages of theLittle Review, but its hard compelling colour and the solidity of its built-up design make it a thing difficult to forget. Mr. Robert Bevan's landscape, No. 100, has a reposeful design that is very telling. Mr. Ginner's sturdy realism is refreshing, and his painting in this room is, I think, more successful in design and colour than his other exhibit.

The Third Gallery.—Here, again, Mr. Sickert's two charming paintings attract our attention, and Mr. Mark Gertler's fine portrait is essentially a picture that leaves an impression in this maze of paintings. There are besides two fine wall paintings by Mr. William Rothenstein.

The Grey Room deserves its name indeed. It is difficult to say why the standard of water-colours is so low compared to the oils: with a very few exceptions, noticeably the drawings of Mr. Albert Rutherston, we seem to have touched bottom in this room, and a very muddy bottom too, so that coming at last to Mr. Shackleton'sPeace Dayone felt there remained nothing but to burst through the skylight into the air again. The absence of line in the water-colour drawings is very depressing.

Foremost among the periodicals issued recently is Mr. Gerard Meynell'sIllustration. This is a trade circular, and as such would naturally demonstrate within its covers the printer's aspirations in the reproduction of blocks and lettering. "Circular" is not an attractive word, but Mr. Meynell is no ordinary printer, and his circular is still less an ordinary affair. To those who are unacquainted with it, I would hasten to say thatIllustrationis more like a beautifully-coloured fairy-tale book than the accepted idea of a circular. This time Mr. Meynell has surpassed himself in his efforts not merely in the turn-out of his book, which to the professional and the amateur glance must be entirely admirable, but in giving us the added interest of a Supplement containing eight reproductions of modern art.

JOHN NASH

ONEsuccess at least Covent Garden has achieved—Parsifal. It fills the house, and it deserves to do so, for it is by far the best performance that has been seen this season. The scenery and costumes, as far as could be seen from the topmost proscenium box, in which theLondon Mercurywas accommodated, were those of the original Covent Garden production. The Temple of the Grail was dignified and beautiful, the magic flower-garden ridiculous. The flower-maidens, who sang extremely well and were in themselves quite competent to look their parts, wore dresses that might have been discarded by a travelling Gilbert-and-Sullivan company, half fromIolantheand half fromThe Mikado. The swan was as ridiculous as ever. That worst trap of all for producers ofParsifal, the undressing and washing of the hero in the first scene of the third act, was painfully successful. It was a toss-up whether Kundry would not remove Parsifal's wig along with his helmet, and the struggles of the holy knight to pull his white draperies down from under his armour were comic in the extreme. There are many little hitches and absurdities in all operas which pass unnoticed, because something of greater importance happens at the same moment and distracts the attention. But these particular episodes are in themselves the most important things happening at their particular moments. It is on them that all attention must be concentrated by the audience, and if they are made ludicrous by careless handling the solemnity of the drama is very gravely impaired. It is not as if they depended upon elaborate machinery. What is required is forethought and common sense.

Miss Gladys Ancrum's Kundry was a very notable achievement. Her gestures would be the better for a little more restraint and a good deal more sense of definite design. Her singing was full of colour, and she showed great dramatic power in the use of different qualities of tone. It is a part which covers a very wide range of character-drawing; there are at least four distinct personalities in Kundry, and Miss Ancrum went a very considerable way towards distinguishing them and endowing them with life. Parsifal is one of the most ungrateful parts ever given to a hero. Pure fools may be quite attractive people in ordinary life, but on the operatic stage, especially when tenors, there is little to be done with them. Van Dyck, who was reputed the greatest of Parsifals, was corpulent, and sang out of tune. Mr. Walter Hyde did not look very boyish, but he at least sang well. Mr. Langley's melodramatic manner was well suited to the part of Klingsor. As Gurnemanz Mr. Norman Allin showed a fine voice and a dignified presence; but of all Wagnerian bores Gurnemanz is the most boring, surpassing even Wolfram in tediousness, and it is only a very ripe actor, with that quality of vocal style which may be called either unction or unctuousness according to taste, who can make the part really effective on the stage. The most sympathetic character inParsifalis Amfortas, and Mr. Percy Heming being one of the most sympathetic actors and singers in the company, it was very poignantly realised.

When we read of a new opera by Mr. Delius,Fennimore and Gerda, having been produced recently at Frankfurt with great success, it was indeed a bitter disappointment that Covent Garden could not even resuscitateA Village Romeo and Juliet. The Beecham Company performed it in a previous season, so it cannot have presented all the difficulties of a new creation. It may well have been better to withdraw it altogether than to give it badly; but if more time was wanted for rehearsal it might well have takenthe place ofNail, which reflects more credit on Sir Thomas Beecham's good nature than on his artistic judgment.

Moussorgsky'sKhovantchinahad an indifferent performance and an indifferent house. It is less popular thanBoris Godunov, and less obviously dramatic, but it has more unity of purpose and contains much better music. Both operas, however, are invariably so much cut about that the difficulty of following the story is very much increased. Mr. Norman Allin had a magnificent opportunity in the part of Dositheus, but it is not sufficient to treat it as if Dositheus were one of the conventional operatic ministers of religion. It was one of Chaliapin's most overwhelming creations; but Mr. Allin, though undoubtedly a fine singer, has far to go before he can achieve the ease and perfection of Chaliapin's vocalisation. Our singers do not concentrate nearly enough attention on the pure art of singing. They may be divided roughly into two categories: the clever ones who think that the psychological understanding of a character and the vigorous declamation of words are enough to carry them through any part, and the stupid ones who think that fine singing consists in imitating the external mannerisms of Caruso or any other Milanese or Neapolitan star. The clever ones are quite right in realising that English singing can never be achieved by trying to make a bad copy of Italian tricks. Many of these tricks do not indeed belong to the fine art of singing at all; they are merely appeals to false emotion, which excite a vulgar Italian audience just as the well-worn ballad-concert mannerisms excite a vulgar audience in England. A training in the real Italian style is without doubt of the greatest possible value to an English singer, provided that it means a thorough training in Italian literature and conversation, for that involves a study of speech-rhythms and a purity of articulation, which are invaluable to any one who makes use of his voice either as a singer or as a speaker. Pure singing and pure speaking are essential requirements to any operatic artist, and the singer must grasp the principle that his vocal technique is to be the servant of his artistic idea and not a hindrance to its sincere expression.

For Bizet'sDjamilehSir Thomas Beecham would no doubt have deserved sincere gratitude had it not been postponed until too late for inclusion in this notice. There was much that was laughable in theThe Fair Maid of Perth, but Bizet even at his lowest has always charm and, what is more important, unexpected turns of originality.

There are historical reasons for thinking that the lighter forms of opera are those most suited to the English temperament in general. Attempts are constantly being made to re-establish light opera of a really artistic kind in this country, and although no one has yet succeeded in rivalling Sullivan in this field, Sir Thomas is certainly doing an excellent work in perpetually holding up Mozart and Bizet as working models for both the English composer and the English public to study and to enjoy.

When Busoni next visits this country it is to be hoped that he will have better opportunities of being heard under appropriate conditions. The crowded and enthusiastic audiences which filled the Wigmore Hall for his two recitals showed that he might well have given half-a-dozen similar programmes instead of appearing as star turn at the Albert Hall on Sunday afternoons, and there is not the slightest doubt that the Wigmore Hall audiences were of the kind that he could play to with real pleasure. He appeared at one of the Queen's Hall Symphony Concerts as composer and conductor, and also played Mozart's Concerto in C minor. Here, too, it was impossible to separate Busoni the pianist from Busoni the composer, for the concerto was embellished by cadenzas of singular originality and loveliness. Those inserted in the slow movement were startlingly modern, but with a modernity that Mozart himself might well have achieved if he had lived to the age of his interpreter, for they were certainly designed onthoroughly Mozartian principles of composition. Two fragments from aFaustopera, on which Busoni is now engaged, gave the highest hopes of the complete work, for they were most noble and impressive musical pictures. At his farewell recital on December 6th he played Liszt's Sonata in B minor with a breadth and dignity that placed Liszt almost on a level with Beethoven. As a player of Chopin, Busoni has always been somewhat hard to accept; but the mellowing of style which the last five years have brought him was very apparent in his treatment of the Five Ballades, and still more in the Nocturne in C minor, which of all the Nocturnes is the most suited to Busoni's very monumental interpretation.

Of singers by far the most interesting has been Mme. Jane Bathori, who appeared at one of the Classical Concert Society's concerts. She has long been known as the finest exponent of modern French songs. She is also an excellent pianist, and often plays her own accompaniments, thus securing a perfect homogeneity of performance, which the best pair of partners can hardly ever realise.

The Royal Philharmonic Society, after passing through some trying moments during the war, has made energetic efforts to regain its ancient honourable traditions. With Mr. Coates, Mr. Geoffrey Toye, Mr. Adrian Boult, and Mr. Landon Ronald as conductors, it is quite clear that London has no scarcity of orchestral directors. A new departure has been made by the establishment of the Philharmonic Choir, under the management of Mr. Charles Kennedy Scott, the conductor of the Oriana Madrigal Society. The programmes of the concerts exhibit a judicious selection of classic and modern works, among which English music is prominent. The general verdict on the first two concerts was that some of the pieces chosen, both old and new, were not of first-rate importance. The compilers of the programmes were probably quite well aware of that fact. There are, in fact, plenty of works, such as Holbrooke'sUlalumeand Meyerbeer'sStruenseeOverture, to name two examples only, which certainly are not immortal masterpieces, but are none the less quite interesting and well worth an occasional hearing. Even acknowledged masterpieces have been known to suffer from too frequent performance.

A new Italian composer, Francesco Malipiero, has been very prominent in recent programmes. M. Yves Tinayre sang hisChanson Morave, Mr. Mark Hambourg played hisBarlumifor pianoforte; of his orchestral music,Impressioni dal Verowas heard at the Promenades, aDitirambo Tragicoat the Queen's Hall Symphony Concerts, and, lastly, at the second Philharmonic,Le Pause del Silenzio. No explanation has been offered of this curious title, but it may possibly bear some connection with an interesting passage in D'Annunzio's novel,Il Fuoco, in which Stelio Effrena maintains that the essence of music lies not in the sounds but in the silences that separate them. It is something of a compliment to Malipiero that his last work succeeded in rousing a Philharmonic audience to hostility. Such demonstrations are rare in this country, though their rarity is due less to broadminded receptivity than to courteous indifference. Malipiero will survive his hisses. His language is harsh and obscure, although a study of his scores shows that he has plenty of technical skill, for he is evidently dealing with emotions which he has not yet been able to express clearly, and which we have probably not been accustomed to hear expressed. Judging from the scores, it seemed that the performances, both under Mr. Toye at the Philharmonic and under Sir Henry Wood, were lacking in the singing sense. There is a temptation in these days to lay too much stress upon the strangeness of strange harmonies. They would become clearer if more attention was given to the elucidation and intensification of the strange melodies which are at the foundation of all modern music that is likely to last. There can be no doubt about the sincerity and depth of feeling in Malipiero's music, though it has not the more attractive qualities of Casella's facile ingenuity.

EDWARD J. DENT

Back to Index Next