(_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)
Herr HERMANN FERNAU's _Because I am a German_ (CONSTABLE) is a sort of
postscript to the widely-outside-Germany-circulated _J'accuse!_, that
vigorous indictment by an anonymous German of the Prussian clique as
the criminal authors of the War. Herr FERNAU summarises the argument of
_J'accuse!_ and if anyone cares to have at his finger-tips the essential
case against the enemy he could not do better than absorb the six pages in
which twenty-four questions put by the anonymous author to the directors
of his unhappy country's destiny are most skilfully compressed. Four
attempted German answers are shown by our author to have in common an
amazing reluctance to deal with any single definite point at issue;
and a most unjudicial appeal to popular hatred of the traitor critic. Of
course it is a cheap line to welcome as a miracle of wisdom every German
who takes a pro-Ally view. But I honestly detect no shadow of pro-Ally
bias in this book, and it is certainly no tirade against Germany. What
bias there is is that of the extreme republican against his autocratic
government. "I have read," says Herr FERNAU in effect, "this perfectly
serious and definite indictment lucidly drawn in legal form. I hope as a
German (not afraid to sign my name) there is an answer. But whereas the
Entente Powers have supported their official case by documentary evidence
we are asked to accept mere asseveration in the case of Germany. That
is the less allowable as the obvious (though not necessarily the true)
reading of the facts is against her. Silence and vigorous suppression
of the indictment look rather like signs of guilt." Yes, emphatically
a book for members of the Independent Labour Party.
* * * * *
_Beatrice Lovelace_ belonged to a family that had come down in the world,
and were now Reduced County. So far reduced, indeed, that _Beatrice_
lived with her cross aunt _Anastasia_ and one little maid-of-all-work
in a tiny house in a very dull suburb, where the aunt would not allow
her to be friends with the neighbours. However, one fine day two
things happened. _Beatrice_ got to know the young man next door, and
the little servant (whose name, by a silly coincidence which vexed
me, happened to be _Million_) was left a million dollars. So, as the
house was already uncomfortable by reason of a row about the young man,
_Beatrice_ determined to shake the suburban dust from her shapely feet
and take service as maid to her ex-domestic. That is why the story of
it is called _Miss Million's Maid_ (HUTCHINSON). An excellent story, too,
told with great verve by Mrs. OLIVER ONIONS. I could never attempt to
detail the complicated adventures to which their fantastic situation
exposes _Beatrice_ and _Million_. Of course they have each a lover; indeed,
the supply of suitors is soon in excess of the demand. Also there is an
apparent abduction of the heiress (which turns out to be no abduction at
all, but a very pleasant and kindly episode, which I won't spoil for you),
and a complicated affair of a stolen ruby that brings both heroines into
the dock. It is all great fun and as unreal as a fairy-tale. For which
reason may I suggest that it was an error to date it 1914? Such nonsensical
and dream-like imaginings are so happily out of key with the world-tragedy
that its introduction strikes a note of discord.
* * * * *
I have just finished reading a distinguished book, _One of Our
Grandmothers_ (CHAPMAN AND HALL), by ETHEL COLBURN MAYNE--a book full of a
delicate insight and very shrewd characterisation. It probes to the heart
of the mystery of girlhood--Irish girlhood in this case. I certainly
think that _Millicent_, who was a sort of prig, yet splendidly alive,
with her gift of music (which, contrary to custom in these matters,
the author makes you really believe in), her temperament, her temper
and her limitless demands on life, would have given young _Maryon_,
of the Royal Irish Constabulary, a trying time of it; but it would
have been worth it. That, by the way, was _Jerry's_ opinion, common,
horsey, true-hearted, clean-minded little _Jerry_, who was the father
of _Millicent's_ coarse and something cruel stepmother. I have rarely
read a more fragrant chapter than that in which this queer, sensitive,
loyal little man tries to cut away the girl's ignorance while healing
the hurt that a rougher hand (a woman's), making the same attempt, had
caused. Perhaps Miss _Mayne_ was really trying to trace to its source
the stream of modern feminism. She is a rare explorer and cartographer.
* * * * *
_A Rich Man's Table_ (MILLS AND BOON) is one of those stories that I find
slightly irritating, because they appear to lead nowhere. Perhaps this
attitude is unreasonable, and mere fiction should be all that I have
a right to look for. But in that case I confess to wishing a little
more body to it. Miss ELLA MACMAHON's latest novel is somehow a little
flat; not even the splintered infinitive on the first page could impart any
real snap to it. The rich man was Mr. _Bentley Broke_, a pompous person,
who had one child, a son of literary leanings named _Otho_. Perhaps
I was intended to sympathise with _Otho_. It looked like it at first;
but later, when he left home and married, without paternal blessing, the
daughter of his father's great rival, he developed into such a fool--and
objectionable at that--that I became uncertain on the matter. Especially
as the pompous parent, lacking nerve to carry out a matrimonial venture
on his own account, relented and behaved quite decently to the rebellious
pair. So the rich man's table would have, as all tables should, more than
one pair of legs under it again. Nothing very fresh or thrilling in all
this, you may observe. But the characters, for what they are, live, and
are drawn briskly enough. And there is some skill in the contrast between
a dinner of herbs in Fulham, and a stalled ox, with fatted calf, at the
rich man's table in Portman Square. Perhaps this is the point of the story.
* * * * *
So often have I read and admired the novels of "M. E. FRANCIS" that to
praise her work has become a habit which it irks me to break. But I am
now bound to say that _Penton's Captain_ (CHAPMAN AND HALL) has not added
to my debt. And the cause of the trouble--as of so many other troubles--is
the War. In her own line Mrs. _Blundell_ is inimitable, but here she is
just one of a hundred or a thousand whose fiction seems trivial beside the
facts of life and death. Apart from this defect, her story is absolutely
without offence, a simple tale of love and misunderstandings and war and
heroism, and the curtain falls upon a scene of complete happiness. Her
only fault is that she has been tempted, excusably enough in these days
of upheaval, to wander from her element, and I am looking forward to the
day when she returns to it and I can again thank her with the old zest
and sincerity.
* * * * *
As a painstaking study of lower middle-class life _The Progress of Kay_
(CONSTABLE) is to be remarked and remembered. That is not, however, to say
that it is exciting, for _Kay's_ progress consisted so much in just
getting older that I suspect Mr. G. W. BULLETT's title to be ironical. As
a child _Kay_ had some imagination and a sense of mischief; as an adult
he would have been all the better for a little military training, and
there is no disguising the fact that as a married man and a father he
was a dreary creature. I can well believe, from the air of truth which
these pages wear, that there are plenty of _Kays_ in the world to-day;
and to confess that I was not greatly intrigued by this particular sample
when he grew to man's estate is in its way a compliment to his creator. For
however much you may like or dislike the mark at which Mr. BULLETT has
aimed there is no doubt that he has hit it. Villadom, by his art, takes
on a revived significance, and _Kay's_ career encourages reflection
touched by a vague sadness.
* * * * *
[Illustration: FALSE ECONOMY.]
* * * * *
A Tale for the Horse-Marines.
"_London, Sunday._
"While a British submarine was rescuing the Zeppelin crew in the
North Sea, a German cruiser fired at it.
"The Cavalry from Salonika are pursuing the remainder of the
Zeppelin crew."--_Egyptian Mail._
* * * * *
"LONDON STOCKS.