people, never to ourselves. It is our national weakness that we try to
prescribe conduct by law, instead of seeing that the individual is
strong and truth-seeing, and leaving conduct to take care of itself,
allowing ideas to fight their own battles. If we must have a censorship,
let it be in the hands of the strong and intelligent. Let us forbid all
books which are not true. Mental and moral fibre is really vitiated by
the Florence Barclay sort of thing. People brought up on that are
enemies of light and progress. Their world is an exercise-place for
impossible ethics. Their emotion is washed-out sentiment. Courage and
vigor are unknown to them. And the worst of it is that their soft and
clinging hands are wrapped about the rest of us, as they try to drag us
down from the rain-washed skies of the morning to their stuffy
hair-cloth religion and pink-candy pleasures.
The fight between the writers and the censors is sure to grow bitter in
the next few years; both sides are getting more determined every day.
But such crises are welcomed by the adventurous. We shall end not only
by riding over our small opponents, but by carrying with us an army
awakened to the true issues of art and life.
William Butler Yeats to American Poets
The current number of _Poetry_ prints a speech that William Butler Yeats
made during his recent visit to Chicago, in which he took occasion to
warn his confreres in America against a number of besetting sins. He
said, in part:
Twenty-five years ago a celebrated writer from South Africa said
she lived in the East End of London because only there could she
see the faces of people without a mask. To this Oscar Wilde
replied that he lived in the West End because nothing interested
him but the mask. After a week of lecturing I am too tired to
assume a mask, so I will address my remarks especially to a
fellow craftsman. For since coming to Chicago I have read several
times a poem by Mr. Lindsay, one which will be in the
anthologies, _General Booth Enters Into Heaven_. This poem is
stripped bare of ornament; it has an earnest simplicity, a
strange beauty, and you know Bacon said, "There is no excellent
beauty without strangeness." ...
I have lived a good many years and have read many writers. When I
was younger than Mr. Lindsay, and was beginning to write in
Ireland, there was all around me the rhetorical poetry of the
Irish politicians. We young writers rebelled against that
rhetoric; there was too much of it and to a great extent it was
meaningless. When I went to London I found a group of young lyric
writers who were also against rhetoric. We formed the Rhymers'
Club; we used to meet and read our poems to one another, and we
tried to rid them of rhetoric.
But now, when I open the ordinary American magazine, I find that
all we rebelled against in those early days--the sentimentality,
the rhetoric, the "moral uplift"--still exists here. Not because
you are too far from England, but because you are too far from
Paris.
It is from Paris that nearly all the great influences in art and
literature have come, from the time of Chaucer until now. Today
the metrical experiments of French poets are overwhelming in
their variety and delicacy. The best English writing is dominated
by French criticism; in France is the great critical mind.
The Victorians forgot this; also, they forgot the austerity of
art and began to preach. When I saw Paul Verlaine in Paris, he
told me that he could not translate Tennyson because he was "too
_Anglais_, too noble"--"when he should be broken-hearted he has
too many reminiscences."
We in England, our little group of rhymers, were weary of all
this. We wanted to get rid not only of rhetoric but of poetic
diction. We tried to strip away everything that was artificial,
to get a style like speech, as simple as the simplest prose, like
a cry of the heart....
Real enjoyment of a beautiful thing is not achieved when a poet
tries to teach. It is not the business of a poet to instruct his
age. He should be too humble to instruct his age. His business is
merely to express himself, whatever that self may be. I would
have all American poets keep in mind the example of François
Villon.
So you who are readers should encourage American poets to strive
to become very simple, very humble. Your poet must put the fervor
of his life into his work, giving you his emotions before the
world, the evil with the good, not thinking whether he is a good
man or a bad man, or whether he is teaching you. A poet does not
know whether he is a good man. If he is a good man, he probably
thinks he is a bad man.
Poetry that is naturally simple, that might exist as the simplest
prose, should have instantaneousness of effect, provided it finds
the right audience. You may have to wait years for that audience,
but when it is found that instantaneousness of effect is
produced....
We rebelled against rhetoric, and now there is a group of younger
poets who dare to call us rhetorical. When I returned to London
from Ireland, I had a young man go over all my work with me to
eliminate the abstract. This was an American poet, Ezra Pound.
Much of his work is experimental; his work will come slowly, he
will make many an experiment before he comes into his own. I
should like to read to you two poems of permanent value, _The
Ballad of the Goodly Fere_ and _The Return_. This last is, I
think, the most beautiful poem that has been written in the free
form, one of the few in which I find real organic rhythm. A great
many poets use _vers libre_ because they think it is easier to
write than rhymed verse, but it is much more difficult.
The whole movement of poetry is toward pictures, sensuous images,
away from rhetoric, from the abstract, toward humility. But I
fear I am now becoming rhetorical. I have been driven into Irish
public life--how can I avoid rhetoric?
Letters to The Little Review
What an insouciant little pagan paper you flourish before our bewildered
eyes! Please accept the congratulations of a stranger.
But you must not scoff at age, little bright eyes, for some day you,
too, will know age; and you should not jeer at robustness of form, slim
one, for the time may come when you, too, will find the burdens of flesh
upon you. Above all, do not proclaim too loudly the substitution of
Nietzsche for Jesus of the Little Town in the niche of your invisible
temple, for when you are broken and forgotten there is no comfort in the
Overman.
One thing more: Restraint is sometimes better than expression. One who
has learned this lesson cannot refrain from saying this apropos of the
first paragraphs in the criticism of _The Dark Flower_. Do not give folk
a chance to misunderstand you. Being a woman, you have to pay too high a
price for moments of high intellectual orgy.
Forgive all this and go on valiantly.
SADE IVERSON.
Chicago.
I am greatly indebted for a copy of THE LITTLE REVIEW. I take this
opportunity of stating that the publication is one of the cleverest and
best things I have seen. It deserves success, for it contains stuff
which will compare very favorably with the best that is being written.
G. FRANK LYDSTON.
Chicago.
Will you allow me to congratulate you on your magnificent effort in
bringing out THE LITTLE REVIEW?
I have found it very refreshing after having suffered for so long by
reading the so-called book review magazines that have no right to more
than passing notice.
You have accomplished wonders, and if your efforts of the future come up
to those put into the first number of THE LITTLE REVIEW, your success is
assured.
The best wish I can offer is that its path may be covered with roses and
bordered with the trees of prosperity.
Again congratulating you, I am, with every good wish, very truly yours,
LEE A. STONE, M. D.
Chicago.
THE LITTLE REVIEW came this morning! And I have read it all! And I love
it! Much more than I expected, to be perfectly honest! I feared
something too radical--too modern--if that is possible. If it had been
like _The Masses_--well, I can never express my contempt for that
sheet. But you're perfectly sane, intelligent, readable, and
enthusiastic--gloriously so!
Your description of Kreisler is worth much to me. It is precisely what I
have always felt about him. Paderewski, too. But I think the Mason and
Hamlin reference a little too commercial. I realize you want THE LITTLE
REVIEW to be straightforward, honest, intimate, etc., but I fear that
kind of thing will be taken as advertisement and not as a personal
belief and enthusiasm.
If I should never know anything more of Mr. George Soule than his sonnet
and New York letter I should have to like him. The man who could feel
and write that last paragraph is a splendid type.
But the whole thing is beautiful, and worth while, whether you agree
with it all or not. A thousand congratulations!
AGNES DARROW.
Dayton, Ohio.
[Of course our remarks about the Mason and Hamlin violated all
journalistic traditions. But traditions are so likely to need
violation, and diplomacy and caution are such uninteresting
qualities! What we feel and tried to say about that piano is that
it's as definitely a work of art as good poetry or good music.
Why not say so, quite naturally? We know something of the man who
is responsible for its quality of tone; he's as authentic an
artist as those musicians who create on his foundations. Is there
any reason why such an achievement is not to be mentioned in a
journal that means to devote itself to beauty? Is anything vital
ever gained by a cautious regard for "_on dit_"? Above all, if
one can discover no importance in journalistic tradition of that
type, why defer to it?--THE EDITOR.]
I haven't got over your beautiful magazine yet. Don't let anybody keep
you from making it a truthful expression of yourself--but you won't.
First of all, it's beautifully made. You couldn't have done better
typographically. It's the most _inviting_ magazine published. I like the
color and the paper label.
Second, its spirit blows keen and with a pure fragrance. If you can
continue to show such freshness you will have gone far toward achieving
the goal Mr. Galsworthy urges--that "sleeping out under the stars" which
cleans our hearts of all things artificial.
With sincerest congratulations,
HENRY S.
New York.
I am very much pleased with the first issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW. I am
very glad to know that such a thing should be started, and it should be
both a cause and an effect of better times in literature. I shall do
everything I can to make it better known.
WILLIAM LYON PHELPS.
Yale University.
When I found that the local bookstores had sold out their first orders
of THE LITTLE REVIEW I was delighted; for it meant folks were interested
in the fledgeling. The first number deserves the praise and
congratulations of everybody interested in literature; everything in it
is fine, even unto the composition of the "ad" pages. With its fresh,
cheerful note THE LITTLE REVIEW very fittingly comes forth on the first
day of Spring. Long may it spread sweetness and light.
W. W. G.
Chicago.
There are so many things that I admire in the first issue of THE LITTLE
REVIEW that I find it difficult to decide just where to begin. It was
like taking up a copy of the Preludes of Debussy for the first time;
after playing them over and over again I found it difficult to know
whether it was what he said or the way he said it which held the greater
charm for me. I congratulate you most sincerely on the distinct personal
quality which is so evident in your magazine and you may count upon me
to rejoice with you if it meets with anything like the great success
which it so distinctly merits.
F. L. R.
Chicago.
Your new publication has just fallen into my hands. The vital thing!
I cannot begin to tell you what its pulsating, teeming import means to
me. I know nothing today in magazine form that will mean so much to
busy, thinking people.
NANNIE C. LOVE.
Indianapolis.
Please let me offer my sincerest congratulations and my warmest wishes
for the continued success of THE LITTLE REVIEW. There are numerous
points in the first issue that I should like to discuss with you; I must
warn you that you are tempting your readers and must not be surprised if
you are overwhelmed with letters, questioning, approving, and
criticising.
The foreword strikes such a splendid note! I hope no criticism will
influence you to change it.
You agree, evidently, with the point that _The Dark Flower_ suggests a
Greek classic; so do I. But, conceding that, how could you have been
surprised that countless people care nothing for it? Don't you know that
the majority of people in the world do not really "possess" the Greek
classics? Without the background of the world's thought, ages ago, and
its progress--unless we agree with Alfred Russell Wallace that we have
made no progress--can't you see that _The Dark Flower_ could genuinely
startle many people? So I beg for less sharpness toward those who do not
feel the wonder of it. The tragedy is in their lives.
For just the same reason _Jean Christophe_ belongs to a few,
comparatively. If you had never before felt the power of a great epic,
could you really grasp this one? Modern as we claim to be--and
independent--must there not be some foundation? Oh dear!--I do want to
tell you why I think _Vanity Fair_ is greater than _Succession_ and why
Ysaye's music is inspired--when I listen, at least. But one can't go on
forever.
Since the "Critics' Critic" expressed a doubt about that quotation from
Euripides and since you insisted that it sounded like a Gilbert Murray
translation, you may be glad to know that it is both. But you quoted it
wrong. It is from _Aeolus_, a lost play, and this is the correct
version:
This Cyprian,
She is a thousand, thousand changing things;
She brings more pain than any god; she brings
More joy. I cannot judge her. May it be
An hour of mercy when she looks on me.
I do agree that "a million, million changing things" is somehow more
perfect; I even agree now, though not at first, with the order of
attributes: "She brings more joy than any god, she brings more pain." On
a re-reading of _Aeolus_ I am taken with the way you misquoted it. Joy
was surely first in the Greek's life. And of course the human beauty of
the thing made me think immediately of the way Mrs. Browning "struck
off" Euripides:
Our Euripides, the human,
With his droppings of warm tears
And his touches of things common
Till they rose to touch the spheres!
KATHERINE TAPPERT.
Davenport, Iowa.
... I don't know when I've read anything so inspiring as that letter
from Galsworthy. Can't all of you who are helping to make the magazine
arrange to march up to it mentally and present your "copy" for approval
before you decide to print it?
I like the article on Paderewski and the one about _The Dark Flower_.
But do be careful of "beauty" and "passion." It's easy to make them
commonplace. Also spare your adjectives a bit; you don't need an
adjective for everything. I realize that your abbreviations are made in
the interest of readableness, but however informal you want to make it
you only succeed in sounding hideously colloquial. It doesn't read well,
and it makes me feel that you're trying to achieve through the style
what ought to be achieved quite simply through the material itself. Not
that I approve of anything stilted, but you can easily overdo the other
side of it. And wouldn't it be better to leave some of the things
unsigned? People who don't know that the various Anderson contributors
are unrelated will think it's rather a family monopoly.
The Ficke poems are exquisite; and how I love Nicholas Vachel Lindsay's!
Also I like the New York letter very much, but George Soule's _Major
Symphony_ could just as well be unwritten. Poetry has to be so much
better than that to be real poetry. Another thing: I think your
quotations from _Succession_ weren't as efficient as you hoped. It's a
book that can't well be quoted except to one who knows it.
You wanted frankness, so here it is. Otherwise, I have nothing but
praise for the whole glorious undertaking!
LOIS ALLEN PETERS.
Philadelphia.
[Being a sister of the editor, Mrs. Peters speaks her mind with a
freedom that enchants us. It also helps us--though we want to
shake her for one or two of those remarks. However--may her
letter serve as a model to timid but opinionated readers!--THE
EDITOR.]
If you will allow me to be perfectly frank about your first issue, I
should like to tell you that THE LITTLE REVIEW seems rather too esthetic
in tone and spirit to avoid being "restrictive"--a wish you expressed in
your editorial. There is not enough variety in it, for one thing. For
another, some of its critical judgments are too personal--are too
largely temperamental judgments--to be of any permanent value. You seem
to have set out to exploit personalities; and there's a juvenility in
many of the articles that I'm afraid you'll all blush for in ten years.
A WELL-MEANING CRITIC.
The first number of THE LITTLE REVIEW came as a delightful surprise and
I have enjoyed reading it. I particularly appreciate the spirit of
appreciation running through the pages, which I believe will be of
inestimable service to young writers, if you are able to keep it up.
M. K.
New York.
The Little Review looks very interesting. I hope to have the pleasure of
reading it through very soon, but at the moment my small sister is
devouring it and refuses absolutely to give it up. If you are as
successful in pleasing women generally as you have been in pleasing her
you need have no fear for the success of the magazine.
J. C. P.
New York.
Professor Foster's essay on _The Prophet of a New Culture_ is
magnificent--a soul-searching, heart-breaking bit of writing, fiery and
tragic. Nicholas Vachel Lindsay's _How a Little Girl Danced_ is a
delightful thing--airy, high-minded, and full of his burning spirit. In
fact, THE LITTLE REVIEW is full of things that one reads with a keen
zest.
W. L. C.
Denver.
THE LITTLE REVIEW came to hand promptly, but I was unable to read it
until last night. That is where I made my first mistake, as I had been
denying myself a very pleasant two hours. My second mistake was in
having read it at all, as it has now become one of those eight or ten
journals which are always welcome and more or less necessary. Ten
journals each month (and some weeklies), quietly yet insistently urging
me to take them up, are like those good friends who tempt me with an
outing in Spring when work is crowding. So with THE LITTLE REVIEW. It
has with one reading become a distinctly individual friend.
W. M. L.
Philadelphia.
Your LITTLE REVIEW has just reached me. I took it home for leisurely
examination on Sunday. I congratulate you upon launching and hope that
you'll meet no adverse trade winds in your voyage. Its atmosphere is
certainly anything but editorial, and you've put plenty of your own
personality into it. And what a delightfully charming letter is that
from Galsworthy!
I should take sharp issue with you on one or two slight points could I
face you across a lunch table, but as it is, I tuck my differences away,
with a sigh of envy at your enthusiasm, and the sincere wish that you
may always keep it.
With best wishes for your good luck.
BEATRICE L. MILLER.
Boston.
I think your first number very interesting indeed, and congratulate you
on your fine start. I am always delighted with every new manifestation
of the life and enthusiasm in Chicago!
With best wishes for your future.
ALICE C. HENDERSON.
Chicago.
... I've fallen in love with M. H. P., "The Critics' Critic." She's just
the sort of person I'd like to go and talk with this afternoon. Please
ask her to write a letter properly sitting on Agnes Repplier for her
_Atlantic_ essays. A very delicate, cultured, polite little woman
sitting behind a tea-table in her aloof apartment, and given over to
well-bred sneering at things she doesn't know anything about--that's how
I picture Miss Repplier.
A CONTRIBUTOR.
THE LITTLE REVIEW is here, and I have so enjoyed going over it.
It is a great first number and sets a pace that would have made most of
us breathless before we started; but anyone can know it isn't so with
you, from that last paragraph of your announcement. It was lovely!
I loved the Paderewski, too. Was there anything more wonderful than the
glory of the Funeral March as he played it the afternoon of his first
recital here this winter? I know you heard it from the way you write of
it. An emotion that brings the tears and makes the sobs struggle in the
back of your throat is always worth living through, and I wouldn't have
missed it for worlds.
With the best of good wishes.
MABEL REBER.
Chicago.
I want to tell you how very good the first issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW
is. I don't know what the succeeding numbers will be like, but you have
set a pace in this one that will demand some vigorous effort to keep up.
After that "gripping" announcement no one will doubt the real purpose of
the REVIEW and the fine optimism that is behind it. I don't have to
believe everything you are going to print, but if those who write it do,
by all means keep them together. And _don't_ let George Soule get away.
It's too early to make suggestions, but I should say that Number One is
well balanced and very readable, and I like the trick of throwing the
light on from different angles--like the Galsworthy and Nietzsche
discussions. The tone is high, and I am quite sure I never read more
intelligent reviews anywhere.
Good luck to THE LITTLE REVIEW!
J. D. MARNEY.
Springfield, Ill.
Will you let me thank you for giving me a very pleasant experience in
reading the first copy of THE LITTLE REVIEW? There are many things in
the first number which arouse one's interest, though I am not sure that
I would at all agree in all the critical judgments which are there
pronounced. Anyway, you will let me wish you all success, and wave you
my hand with the hope that THE LITTLE REVIEW shall be the biggest review
in the country.
D. W. WYLIE.
Iowa City, Iowa.
Congratulations must be pouring in on you from all sides, but I want,
just the same, to add my voice to the chorus of "Bravos" that surrounds
you.
THE LITTLE REVIEW is a triumph. It even outdoes my picture of it; and
that is saying much, for I have known it was to be something
exceptionally nice.
It is a delight to look at, showing somebody's good personal taste; and
the contents--well, I like them _lots_ more than I could say adequately
or put in this space.
Blessings on you and the heartiest congratulations to all concerned in
the making of THE LITTLE REVIEW.
MARGARET T. CORWIN.
New Haven, Conn.
I am pleased with its general appearance, and the contents are
inspiring--full of the spirit of youth. I wish THE LITTLE REVIEW every
success.
GEORGIA M. WESTON.
Geneva, Ill.
The initial number of THE LITTLE REVIEW has impressed me so favorably
that I want some of my friends also to share in its appreciation.
You surely have made a fine beginning and, in my judgment, cannot do
better than to adopt as the creed of THE LITTLE REVIEW the sound and
encouraging advice given in Mr. Galsworthy's inspiring letter.
ALBERT H. LOEB.
Chicago.
From the first page to the last book announcement I have read THE LITTLE
REVIEW with pride and delight.
Its sincerity attracts me even more than its obvious literary merit, and
its comprehensiveness and quality will appeal to all who read at
all--especially to those who go below the surface.
ALETHEA F. GRIMSLEY.
Springfield, Ill.
Thank you so much for THE LITTLE REVIEW! I liked it from the moment I
saw it, both outside and in. I like particularly the personal note you
put into your writing. It's as though you were really talking to me and
telling me how you feel about _The Dark Flower_ and Paderewski and dear
Little Antoine with his bad room that was "pretty but stupid for the
sound."
With best wishes to you in your beautiful, big undertaking.
ZETTA GAY WHITSON.
Chicago.
The "Best Sellers"
The following books, arranged in order of popularity, have been
"bestsellers" in Chicago during March: