(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerics._)
It is a tragic coincidence that, just as RUPERT BROOKE'S now famous
sonnets were published in volume form after his own death, the
appearance of his _Letters from America_ (SIDGWICK AND JACKSON) follows
immediately upon the death of Mr. HENRY JAMES, who had written the
preface to them. Thus in one book we have the last work of two writers,
widely separated in age and circumstance, but united by a very real bond
of artistic and personal sympathy. How generous was the elder man's
appreciation of the younger may be seen in this preface; it is at its
best and simplest in dealing with that charm of personality by which all
who knew RUPERT BROOKE will most vividly remember him. Elsewhere it must
be confessed that the preface is by no means easy reading, so that one
emerges at last a little breathless upon the transparent and sunlit
stream of the _Letters_ themselves. Many who recall these from their
publication in _The Westminster Gazette_ will be glad to meet them
again. Those who knew the writer only as the poet of 1914 will perhaps
wonder to find him the whimsical and smiling young adventurer who moves
with such boyish enjoyment through these pages. There is holiday humour
in them, even in the occasional statistics--holiday tasks, these latter;
and everywhere the freshness of an unclouded vision. "Only just in
time," one thinks, sharing the happiness that his _Letters_ reflect, and
grateful for it as for a beautiful thing snatched so narrowly from fate.
* * * * *
Mrs. BELLOC LOWNDES has written a story of the War that has at least the
distinction of being absolutely fair. She has indeed got so far away
from the perhaps excusable error of painting Germans uniformly black
that her Huns in _The Red Cross Barge_ (SMITH, ELDER) are made upon the
average quite as attractive as their enemies. This by way of warning, so
that if you are in no mood to look for pearls amid swine you may avoid
some impatience and a feeling that impartiality can be carried too far.
Not by any means that _The Red Cross Barge_ is a pro-German book....
There is an attractive sense of atmosphere about Mrs. LOWNDES' picture
of the little French town in which a group of Germans are left during
what appears to them the triumphal march to Paris. Here _Herr Doktor Max
Keller_ meets and falls in love with a French girl who is looking after
certain wounded of both nations. The peaceful and picturesque air of the
little place during this quiet occupation is well contrasted with the
horrors that befall it when the draggled and drink-sodden soldiery come
surging back in their retreat from the Marne. Eventually, just as the
Germans are leaving, _Keller_ is fatally wounded, and dies holding the
hand of the enemy who has become so dear to him. One can hardly call the
tale anything but sentimental, but it is sentiment of a fragrant and
wholesome kind. In the years to come such stories will no doubt multiply
indefinitely, but there will be few more gracefully and gently told.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Corporal (alluding to knock-kneed man)._ "It's no good;
'e never looks smart. Look at 'im now--the top 'alf of 'is legs standing
to attention and the bottom 'alf standing at ease!"]
* * * * *
Mr. RICHARD PRYCE, true to the fashion of describing the childhood of
heroes at great length, has in _David Penstephen_ (METHUEN)
out-COMPTONED MACKENZIE. _David_ in fact dallied so persistently in the
nursery that I began to wonder if he would ever emerge; but, when he
does get a move on, his story is strangely appealing. His father and
mother, having ideas of their own, had excused themselves from the
formalities of wedlock, and before _Mrs. Penstephen_ broke down under
the strain of this omission _David_ and his sister, _Georgiana_, were
born. Subsequently the parents were married, and had another son. But
before this legitimate addition to the family a boating accident had
deprived the world of two cousins of _Penstephen père_, and in
consequence he inherited a baronetcy. This change of fortune affected
his views, and as time passed by he became as orthodox a baronet as any
you could wish to find in _Burke_. All of which was galling to _David's_
mother, who loved and was jealous for those children who were born to
suffer for their parents' original morals. The situation required very
delicate handling, and Mr. PRYCE is to be congratulated warmly upon the
manner in which he has developed it. Perhaps a little more humour would
have added salt to the tale, but however that may be we have a careful
study of a boy and an exquisitely sympathetic portrait of a mother. The
latter part of the book is admirable both in what it tells and in what
it merely suggests. More is the pity that Mr. PRYCE has weighed down
_David's_ childish back with too heavy a load of detail. My advice to
you is to skip some of the earlier pages, and so husband your strength
for the better enjoyment of the remainder.
* * * * *
_The Duel_ (ALLEN AND UNWIN) is a study in the GORKY tradition, by
ALEXANDER KUPRIN, of life in an obscure Russian regiment and an
out-of-the-way provincial town before the great awakening that followed
Mukden and Port Arthur purged away much dross and prepared the way for
these latter days of sacrifice and heroism. It is a mournful document, a
piece of devil's advocacy, a Russian counterpart of Lieutenant BILSE'S
_Life in a Garrison Town_, identical in temper and astonishingly similar
in some of its detail. It is clear that the author, who was for seven
years an infantry lieutenant and probably little fitted for the military
life even at its best, endured much unhappiness, for the marks of
suffering have burnt themselves into the book so savagely that the
English translation, though characterized by a crudity which might
reasonably be expected to accomplish much in the way of eliminating the
personality of the author, cannot quite rob his work of its impression
of power and intimate tragedy. Those who are not in search of light
refreshment and who will remember that this last decade of Russian
national regeneration and reorganisation has rooted up the incompetence,
the false standards, the irregular discipline and the inhuman barriers
between officers and men here commented upon, may read these bitter
chapters with profit. As for the translator, he might do well to study
one of the GARNETT TURGENIEFFS, and see how this kind of thing should be
done.