(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)
One of the most interesting features, to an English observer, in the
impressive spectacle of America girding herself for war is the sight
of our great Ally passing through all those phases of initiation that
to us are now remote memories. Such a phase is the coming of the
first war-books, exemplified for me by the appearance of _From the
Fire Step_ (PUTNAMS). As his sub-title indicates--_Experiences of an
American Soldier in the British Army_--the writer, Mr. ARTHUR GUY
EMPEY, has proved himself something of a pioneer. In a singularly
vivacious opening chapter he tells how, after waiting with decreasing
expectation during the months that followed the _Lusitania_ crime, he
decided to be a law unto himself, and came alone to offer his personal
service in the cause of freedom. You will hardly read unmoved (by
laughter as much as by sympathy) his story of how this offer was at
first refused, then accepted. Throughout indeed you must prepare to
find Mr. EMPEY an entirely independent, though generous, critic of
our men and methods; it is precisely this attitude that gives his
book its chief interest as a survey of all-too-familiar things from
a refreshingly new angle. I hardly suppose there will be anything in
the actual matter, from church parade to gas-attacks, which readers
on this side will not by now have seen or heard about, times beyond
number; but one can imagine sympathetically with what concern it
will all be received in the homes oversea; and after turning its
high-spirited and encouraging pages can warmly echo the admonition of
their writer: "Pacifists and small-army people please read with care!"
* * * * *
Since there is probably no writer who can approach Mrs. FLORA ANNIE
STEEL in the art of telling Indian tales about Indian people, one is
specially happy to find her in _Mistress of Men_ (HEINEMANN) with
her foot once more upon her special terrain. Not for the first time,
I think, she has gone to the records of the House of AKBAR for her
material; the result here is hardly to be called a novel so much as
amplified history, since it is really the life story of an actual
(and wonderful) woman, NURJAHÂN THE BEAUTIFUL, wife of the Emperor
JAHÂNGIR. Naturally the writer has experienced not only the great
advantages but the hazards of such a building upon fact. To explain
the marriage of your heroine with the Imperial lover by whose orders
her first husband was killed, and not to lessen sympathy for her in
the process, is a problem to test the skill of any novelist. One sees,
however, even without Mrs. STEEL'S own declaration, that it has been
for her a grateful task to set down "a record of the most perfect
passion ever shown by man for woman." This was the adoration of the
EMPEROR for his consort, an amazing romance of Oriental domesticity,
which makes the story of the pair stranger and more fascinating than
fiction. A love-tale indeed; and, since 'tis love that makes a book
go round, one may trust the circulating libraries to see to it that
_Mistress of Men_ is well represented on their shelves. As a study
of an alluring, dazzling and masterful personality it was well worth
writing.
* * * * *
There is a sad interest in the title-page of _Irish Memories_
(LONGMANS), since only by a pathetic fiction does it bear the names,
as joint authors, of E. OE. SOMERVILLE and "MARTIN ROSS," those two
gifted ladies whose association has been such a happy chance for
them and for us all. Really the book, though in part compiled from
the letters and journals of "MARTIN," is an eloquent tribute by Miss
SOMERVILLE to the partner whose death has robbed her of a friend and
the world of so much kindly laughter. But, haunted as it is by this
shadow of bereavement, you must in no way think of it as wholly a
thing of gloom. Looking back into the good years, the writer has
recalled many incidents and scenes full of that genial and most
infectious merriment that we have learnt to expect from her--tales of
the wonderful peasant chorus that one remembers first in the pages of
_An Irish R.M._, exploits after hounds (it needs no telling how well
both authors loved them), and much besides. There will be interest
also for many uninitiated admirers in the account here given of how
the famous stories came first into being. Of its more intimate and
personal side I hesitate to speak; those who loved "MARTIN ROSS,"
either through her writings or in the closer relationship of friend,
must be glad that her _ave atque vale_ has been spoken, as she would
have wished it, by her whose right it was. It will send many to
read again those delightful volumes with a new appreciation of the
sympathetic and lovable personality that helped in their making.
* * * * *
I am afraid that something of the charm which, in a sympathetic
preface, M. HENRI BORDEAUX claims for _A Crusader in France_ (MELROSE)
is veiled by a rather faltering translation. I would counsel all
who appreciate the exquisitely sensitive _Récit d'une Soeur_, with
which he not unfavourably compares it, to go rather to the French
original of these letters of a young captain of the famous Chasseurs
Alpins. Captain FREDERIC BELMONT fell near the stubbornly-contested
Hartmannsweilerkopf in 1916. He was the third of his family to give
his life for France. The letters reveal a character that hardships
and dangers not only strengthened but refined. He writes with a noble
French ardour of his country in the crisis of her fate. He dreads, but
rises greatly to the height of, his heavy responsibility as Captain at
the age of twenty-one. The coveted cross of the Legion of Honour comes
to him before the end, and he wins the affection and confidence of his
men--a soldier's highest prize. A deep religious conviction unclouded
by superstition sustains his courage. He is a product of the French
Catholic tradition at its best. He writes intelligently of his work,
and with a greater freedom as to detail than our more exigeant
censorship allows; so that you get an excellent picture of the daily
life of a campaigner in the greatest of all wars. He met the English
in Flanders, admired and liked their looks and ways.... A very
charming record of a gallant soldier, a chosen soul.
* * * * *
In the first few pages of _At the Serbian Front in Macedonia_ (LANE),
Mr. E.P. STEBBING tells so many little anecdotes that I began to
wonder if he was ever going to get there. When, however, he has
got into his stride, he gives us information which is all the more
valuable because we hear so little of the Macedonian campaign. Mr.
STEBBING was appointed Transport Officer to a unit of the Scottish
Women's Hospitals that was sent to the Serbian Front. Naturally he has
much to say of the work done by these brave and untiring women. Under
exceptionally difficult circumstances their courage never failed,
and it is good to remember that their arrival at Ostrovo was of the
greatest possible service to the Serbs. That is one part of the book,
and it is well told. The other is of actual war, and here Mr. STEBBING
was given ample opportunities to observe. No one can read his account
of the taking of Kajmaktcalan without feeling the keenest admiration
for the gallantry of the Serbs. He also describes very graphically the
frontal attack by the French upon the Kenali lines in October, 1916.
The British public is too apt to look upon the Macedonian campaign
as a prolonged picnic, and for them a dose of Mr. STEBBING would be
excellent medicine. I wish someone with our own troops would do as
sound a service for them as is done here for the Serbs and French.
But let him avoid anecdotes.
* * * * *
I am a little puzzled about _A Bolt from the East_ (METHUEN). The
publishers, who surely should know, call it "A modern and up-to-date
romance, which deals mystically but boldly with the greatest and most
pertinent of all questions--'Is Life Worth Living?'" But for my own
part the greatest and most pertinent question suggested by Mr. G.F.
TURNER'S up-to-date romance was whether it could possibly have been
intended as serious. I despair of giving you any adequate idea of its
contents. There are lots and lots of characters, and, as several of
them seem to own more than one personality, it is often more than a
little hard to say who is what. The central figure is an Indian Prince
of marvellous beauty and mysterious powers, who, being jilted by the
girl of his heart, wishes to be revenged upon the human race. To this
end he employs the activities of a German Professor, who produces what
one might call a _Kultur_ of the sterility germ. However, these cheery
projects go astray, though in precisely what manner I have no very
clear idea. But the end came at a gathering where the _Prince_ played
psychic music, and a chance union of hands between hero and heroine
transmuted the former from "a dilettante" and "polished ladies' man"
to "a virile male filled with the blasting vehemence of primary
passions." Incidentally it proved altogether too much both for the
_Professor_ and his inoculated rabbits, all of whom expired on the
spot. Just about here that most pertinent question became more acute
than ever. Fortunately it was the last page but one of the story.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Visitor_. "I HEAR YOUR BOY IS IN PALESTINE. HOW
INTERESTING IT MUST BE FOR HIM TO MOVE AMONG THOSE SCENES WHERE EVERY
SPOT BEINGS UP SOME RECOLLECTION OF THE WONDERFUL EVENTS OF BIBLICAL
HISTORY!"
_The Mother_. "TED DON'T SAY MUCH ABOUT THAT IN 'IS LETTERS. 'E SEEMS
TO THINK THE COUNTRY IS SUFFERIN' FROM A FLY-PAPER SHORTAGE."]
* * * * *
"Senhor Rodrique Bettencourt will be Premier, and Senhor
Adinterin, President of the Republic."--_Dublin Daily Express_.
But is nothing to be done for Senhors Defacto and Dejure?