(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
I would heartily commend to all good English women and men _The Book of
Italy_ (UNWIN), first because it will help the families of those
Italians who have left England to join their ships and regiments and
will make possible the works of mercy of the Italian Red Cross, and
secondly because it is in itself an admirable book--the most
distinguished, I think, of any of its kind published here during the
War. It tells us something of the great Italian creators and liberators,
DANTE, LEONARDO, MICHELANGELO, MAZZINI, GARIBALDI, CAVOUR--too little
perhaps of MAZZINI, than whom no movement for liberty ever had a nobler
or a saner prophet. Of the good things, besides the contributions of
distinguished Italians (a particularly interesting note on the Italian
Red Cross by Signor GALANTE claims a Neapolitan, FERDINANDO PALASCIANO,
as the pioneer, in 1848, of the Red Cross idea), let me specially
commend the spirited introduction of Lord BRYCE, the eloquent letter of
SABATIER, the memories of FREDERIC HARRISON, the quiet wisdom of
CLUTTON-BROCK, the learning (decently veiled for normal eyes) of FRAZER,
of _The Golden Bough_; the inspired prejudices, fringed with epigram, of
G. K. C. A mere catalogue of a few of the well-known writers
represented, of SYMONS, GALSWORTHY, GILBERT MURRAY, BAGOT, HICHIENS,
BARRY BAIN, PHILLPOTTS; and of artists such as BRANGWYN, SARGENT,
SHANNON, JOHN, LAVERY, RICHMOND, POYNTER, FRAMPTON, RICKETTS, ANNING
BELL, CAYLEY ROBINSON, makes its best testimonial. England has never
been other than the friend of modern Italy, for the Triple Alliance was
merely a freak of desperate diplomacy and was broken by the popular will
when Germany (be it remembered) was giving fair promise of ultimate
victory. We don't need conversion to the cause of Italy, but everything
that helps to foster and develop the comradeship of the now
_Risorgimento_ of the Allied Nations is welcome. And _The Book of Italy_
will serve this purpose excellently well.
* * * * *
More than once before now I have commented upon that almost unique gift
that Mr. JACK LONDON has of transferring physical energy to fiction. His
characters must always be about some sinew-straining business that makes
the reader ache in sympathy. However in _The Little Lady of the Big
House_ (MILLS AND BOON) the author seems to have allowed himself and his
creations an unwonted holiday. Here is no fierce struggle for existence,
but the fruits of it upon a millionaire ranche in California. _Dick
Forrest_ was the millionaire, by heritage and his own success; a great
farmer and a breeder of shires. He had a wife, the _Little Lady_ of the
title, and a Big House that was one of the most eligible dwellings in
fiction. A plain recital of the arrangements ("tweaks" we should have
called them at school) in _Dick's_ open-air bedroom makes the ordinary
home look like ten cents. Mr. LONDON certainly knows how to luxuriate
when he gives his mind to it. Moreover there was a wonderful
swimming-bath, with a concealed submarine chamber in which the _Little
Lady_ used to hide for the terror of uninstructed guests (she was rather
that kind of person), and a great music-room for her to play
RACHMANINOFF in and flirt with the Other Man. This is all the tale.
Eventually the flirtation becomes serious and the _Little Lady_ is
driven to suicide, with a death scene of rather unconvincing sentiment.
The fact is, I am afraid, that Capuan ease does not altogether suit the
super-strenuous beings whom Mr. JACK LONDON designs. They are too
energetic for it, and, lacking an outlet, tend to become melodramatic. I
hope that next time he will take us back to the muscle-grinding.
* * * * *
When the War broke out Mr. F. W. WILE, an American gentleman, was living
in Berlin as the correspondent of _The Daily Mail_. Having read his
book, _The Assault_ (HEINEMANN), I may say that I judge him to be
singularly alert and wide-awake and admirably fitted for the position he
occupied. He has no scintilla of hatred or animosity for the German
people as individuals, but he wishes to see Germany beaten. "I wish her
beaten," he says, "for the Allies' sake and for my own country's sake. A
victorious Germany would be a menace to international liberty and become
automatically a threat to the happiness and freedom of the United
States." He saw the furious transports of patriotism and hatred to which
the Berlin mob gave way; he witnessed the brutal attack on the British
Embassy, and he was himself denounced as an English spy, was arrested
and was lodged in jail, whence he was rescued only by the direct
interposition of the American Ambassador. All these incidents he relates
in a very vivid way and with a certain dry humour that adds to the
effect. His description of the manner in which, on his way to prison in
a taxi with two German policemen, he managed to destroy a telegraph code
which was in his breast pocket, is positively thrilling. Had it been
discovered on him, nothing, he thinks, would have availed to save him,
so delirious were his captors with rage and suspicion. Certainly a
delightful people. Finally he was allowed to leave Berlin and travel to
England as a member of Sir EDWARD GOSCHEN'S party. In the later portion
of this book Mr. WILE castigates us, not too unkindly, but, perhaps, a
little too insistently, for not being ready, for not realising what war
means and for being self-complacent. Since his criticisms are based on
affection for us we can make an effort to kiss the rod, especially as he
discerns signs of improvement in us. Incidentally I may add that he is,
perhaps, not altogether fair to Lord HALDANE, but, _per contra_, he
gives Lord NORTHCLIFFE a high testimonial to character and behaviour.
* * * * *
_Cordelia_ (MELROSE) is a story as agreeable as its name, or as the
pretty, if rather chocolate-box-school, picture on its wrapper. One
small defect I find in the dissipation of its interest. Beginning with
one hero, it goes on with another; and the result is some confusion for
the reader who has backed the wrong horse. But Mr. E. M. SMITH-DAMPIER
might very justly retort that this is but fidelity to life. When in the
early chapters we see the first hero turned from home by an
unsympathetic parent, and faring forth to seek romance in a new world,
it was surely reasonable to suppose that he would eventually be rewarded
by the pretty lady of the wrapper, especially as _Savile Brand_ (though
his name inevitably suggests tobacco) is a character drawn with
understanding and skill. But Mr. SMITH-DAMPIER is good at lovers. He has
another, even better, up his sleeve. This is _Peter_, the forty-year-old
American cousin, who cherishes a tender regard for _Mistress Cordelia_.
I should explain that all this happened in the time of powder, lace
coats, and witches. This last is important. Those were the days when
_Cherchez la sorcière_ was the unfailing remedy in New England for every
ill, material or emotional. It is from this, coupled with the mistaken
jealousy of her sister, that _Cordelia's_ troubles come, and so nearly
turn her story to tragedy. The main motive may remind you a little of
that grim play of witchcraft that we saw at the St. James's Theatre some
years ago. But fortunately the end is more comfortable. _Cordelia_, in
short, is a nicely-flavoured romance of old America, with at least three
unusually well-drawn characters to give it substance. I have no doubt at
all of its success.
* * * * *