If not”, what am I “trying to do”, etc. Cher Monsieur: My propaganda is
the propaganda of all realist and almost all fine un-realist literature,
if I seek to “do” anything it is only to stimulate a certain awareness.
It would not distress me if the reader should suddenly look upon his
surroundings and upon his own consciousness and try to see both for
himself, in his own terms, not in my terms, nor in the terms of
President Wilson, or W. D. Howells, or Scribner’s, or any other patent
cut-size machine, or home-mould or town-mould, or year-mould. Voilà
toute ma petite propagande. It is so little propaganda that I am quite
content if it has no such effects, and if two or three pleasant people
are enabled to get through a dull evening more easily with the aid of my
sketches; or those of the writers whom I have brought to this magazine.
There are some people who are not entertained by Success, the Saturday
Evening Post, The Seven Arts, The Dial and all that contingent.
“Matter”, as Lewis has written, “which does not contain enough
intelligence to permeate it, grows, as you know, rotten and gangrenous.”
It is not everyone who enjoys the aroma of a dormant and elderly
corporis litterarum, nor the stertorous wheeze of its breathing.
If I were propaganding I should exhort you to get a decent international
copyright law—though as my own income will presumably never equal that
of a plumber, or stir the cupidity of the most class-hating,
millionaire-cursing socialist, I have very little interest in this
matter.
I should exhort you to enliven your universities. I should, whatever
your nationality, exhort you to understand that art is exceeding slow in
the making, that a good poet can scarcely write more than twenty good
pages a year, and that even less that this, if it be good, should earn
him his livelihood. (This problem with good augury I shall of course
attempt to solve with this magazine.) I should, if you are American,
exhort you, for your own good, to try not to drive all your best artists
out of the country. (Not that I object to living in London, North Italy,
Paris, or that my name need be dragged into the matter). I would ask you
to try to understand WHY American literature from 1870 to 1910 is summed
up in the sentence: “Henry James stayed in Paris reading Flaubert and
Turgenev. Mr. William Dean Howells returned to America and read the
writings of Henry James.” And WHY Whistler stayed in Europe, although
Chase went back to the Philadelphia Fine Arts Academy. These are simple
questions which the serious reader will not try to shirk answering.
However these matters do not belong to the body of the magazine, which
will at best, as the clubman complains, be devoted to “invention” if
there is enough invention to fill it; and at worst to active
cerebration.
Votre bien dévoué,
Ezra Pound
P. S. An american author writes to me “You mix your damn foolery with
sense, so you continue readable”. Chère Editeuse, what does this person
want? Does he wish it unmixed and therefore unreadable? Should he follow
the sign “Seek safety first!”? Read The Spectator! Does he wish “sound
opinion”, cautious statement, the New Republic’s guarded hazard that six
and seven probably will make thirteen, but that, etc...?
This Approaches Literature!
Abel Sanders:
The enclosed document may be of interest to you, as showing the true
nature of the forces against which we are arrayed.
SECRET
(Translation of a German document dated February 20, 1916, taken from a
German prisoner captured near Ypres, Comines Canal, March 2, 1916).
Committee for the increase of population
Notice No. 138756.
Sir:
On account of all able-bodied men having been called to the colours, it
remains the duty of all those left behind for the sake of the Fatherland
to interest themselves in the happiness of the married women and maidens
by doubling or even trebling the number of births.
Your name has been given us as a capable man, and you are herewith
requested to take on this office of honour and do your duty in a proper
German way. It must here be pointed out that your wife or fiancée will
not be able to claim a divorce, it is in fact hoped the women will bear
this discomfort heroically for the sake of the War.
You will be given the district of ...... Should you not feel capable of
carrying on the task allotted to you, you will be given three days in
which to name someone in your place. On the other hand if you are
prepared to take on a second district as well, you will become a
“Deckofficer”[8] and receive a pension.
An exhibition of photographs of women and maidens in the district
allotted to you, is to be found at the office of ...... You are
requested to bring this letter with you.
Your good work should commence immediately on this notification. A full
report of results is to be submitted by you after nine months.
Worthy of Byron
Frank Harris, New York:
Hearty congratulations! I’ve read innumerable things of Ezra Pound in
the last ten years and found nothing. He has tantalized me with the
feeling that there must be some originality to explain if not to justify
at least his preposterous name. And now in The Little Review his satiric
poem, “L’Homme Moyen Sensuel”, really enchants me: there are rhymes in
it worthy of Byron.
That “infant tick who’s now the editor of The Atlantic” is as good as
the couplet on H. Van Dyke. When he praises (Henry James, for instance);
he’s not so convincing. Still I enjoyed the whole thing immensely and
thank you for the treat.
Dry Bones
H. R., Trinidad, Colorado:
I enclose a subscription to The Little Review. Not because it is worth
it. You know it is not. But because of my appreciation of the magazine
when it first heralded the dawn of a new era. I knew the body and soul
of it then and thought it the most significant, youthful and vigorous
magazine in America. When your last number reached me I exclaimed “How
the mighty have fallen!” It attempts to speak, but the voice is too
feeble. Through its pages I find only bones, dry bones, sans life, sans
youth, sans energy.
But as long as you are at the helm of the new adventure I have faith in
The Little Review. I know it will emerge triumphantly.
Alienation
Otis A. Poole, Shidzuoka, Japan:
Sometimes I think you needlessly alienate the support of numbers of
subscribers, possessed of rudimentary ambitions toward a better
appreciation of Art in its various forms, by too roughly snubbing and
scoffing at them, because they do not immediately swallow all the new
“stuff” created in defiance of convention and precedent, without a
grimace of dislike or a rational lack of faith in its worthwhileness as
expressive of the present era’s conception of truth and beauty in all
that pertains to life as it is or might be; but “the Gods give my donkey
wings”, if herewith isn’t an extension of my subscription to The Little
Review in spite of it.
Art and the War
J. K. C., Boston:
The idea of The Little Review appealed to me immensely and I subscribed
because I wanted to be friends. Altogether I like it: especially your
article on Isadora Duncan, Ezra Pound’s stuff, and the Chinese poems.
Also the book reviews, which, to use a phrase of Leon Daudet, are not
“mere vague publicity” like most of them these days.
But I was very much surprised by the lack of appreciation and
understanding shown by your comments on Le Feu by Henri Barbusse, but
decided that you had probably never read that great book. What
distresses me, however, is in the August number. Some one from Kansas
writes congratulating you for not printing anything about “this blasted
war”. That you do not I have no quarrel with. It is a relief. But when
in a superior way you say that you do not consider the war “an
interesting or legitimate subject for Art” I cannot agree. The existence
of Art and all its traditions depends on the outcome of the war, which
is fundamentally a war of the ideal of these traditions against the
ideal of power. Read Le Genie Latin, by Gugliumo Ferrero if you have not
already done so. Think of the beautiful noble things inspired by the war
in France: for example, among many, the articles of Barres in L’Echo de
Paris and the poems of Paul Claudel. After your statement, to compare
these writings with some that you have printed is quite laughable. And
then Art needs something noble in it, and anything where noble
self-sacrifice occurs daily is a fit subject for it.
[I don’t understand what you mean by my lack of appreciation of Le Feu.
The object of M. Barbusse was to show that the immense horror of war is
not to be used for any object except for the destruction of that horror.
As for the noble elements of daily self-sacrifice, etc., etc., he says:
“It would be a crime to show the nobler aspects of war, even if there
were any.”
As for Art needing something noble in it: Art doesn’t need anything; Art
_is_ the nobility. And of course I thought we needn’t argue any longer
about the vice of self-sacrifice.
But you have clearly misunderstood what was meant by the war not being a
legitimate subject for Art. We will argue it fully in the next issue.
Also I have a long letter from Stephane Boecklin about the artist’s
relation to the war, which will be printed in the November number.—M. C.
A.]
----------
[8] “Deck” possibly meaning “coverlet”.
ART AND CRITICISM IN AMERICA
(from the New York Press)
Tribune: “Edith Wharton’s Summer (Appleton) is a masterpiece of
accurate, graceful and fascinating composition ... a climax of graphic
power is reached which has seldom been approximated in contemporary
fiction. But then—the pity of it all! the pity of it all! Was it worth
while to use such gifts, to employ such rare and exquisite an artistry,
in the exploitation of so sordid and so seamy a side of life?... If now
and then, and here and there, man must be so fallen and so lost, let us
rather ‘Walk backward with averted gaze and hide the shame.’”
Times: “Mr. Lewis’s (The innocents, by Sinclair Lewis. Harper) native
endowment is essentially Dickensian, because his mental affinity is
stronger for what is sweet and clean and bright, upward looking and
forward pressing, in human nature, than it is for the rotten, the dour
and the hopeless. He sees and duly uses these poisoned and poisonous
elements of human life, but in his estimate of the forces that inspire,
etc., etc.”
(To get the full value of the reviews of Mr. Lewis’s work one must read
his countless stories and novels. But it would be well, perhaps, to
mention that he is a rising young manufacturer of literary all-day
suckers, who turns out a novel in about the time it took Flaubert to
write a paragraph of Madame Bovary)—I. S.
Roosevelt’s “The Foes of Our Own Household”
This is an invaluable book. It is a compilation of all the outworn
thought of the last two generations.—jh.
WE WANT!
We want _monthly_ eight pages more for French, eight pages _more_ for
painting and sculpture (when extant), sixteen pages _more_ if we are to
print both the Hueffer prose series and the new novel promised by James
Joyce, at the same time. We see no reason why we should not publish
music (not criticism of music) if any happens to be written. Even our
most rabid detesters can not expect us to double our format unless we
can, at about the same time, double our list of subscribers. It is,
placid reader, up to you.
Mason & Hamlin
THE STRADIVARIUS OF PIANOS
Mason & Hamlin Co.
313 FIFTH AVENUE
NEW YORK
THE IRISH HOME-RULE
CONVENTION
by George W. Russell (“A. E.”)
and
Sir Horace Plunkett
with an American opinion
by
John Quinn
“The best, the sanest, the most unbiased and at the same time the
most eloquent discussion of the Irish Home-Rule question”.—John
Quinn.
Seventy-five cents
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, Publishers
New York
THE GREENWICH VILLAGE THEATRE
4th Street & 7th Avenue
THE
OPENING
BILL:
A Fantasy in two scenes, Behind the Watteau Picture, by Robert E.
Rogers, with Incidental music by W. Franke Harlinge.
Efficiency by Robert H. Davis and Perley Poore Sheehan.
The Festival of Bacchus by Arthur Schnitzler, translated by
Charles Henry Meltzer.
Subscription Books Now Open
Temporary Office: 133 Washington Place
By THOMAS H. DICKINSON
THE INSURGENT THEATRE
All about the artistic and practical sides of the “little”
theatres, open-air presentations, performances for children,
“modern” movements and, in general, a full discussion and
orientation of departures from tradition of the American stage.
The various organizations and their personnel are catalogued and
their contributions evaluated. Lists of plays performed are
included.
If you write, act, read or criticise, you need this book.
$1.25 net
B. W. HUEBSCH, Publisher, 225 Fifth ave., New York
Mr. KNOPF announces
LUSTRA
by Ezra Pound
This, the first book of poems by Mr. Pound to appear in this
country since 1912, opens with a number of pieces on modern
subjects. These are followed by the now famous Cathay
“translation” from the Fenollosa Chinese manuscripts. Then come
some earlier poems, and the book closes with the long and new
Three Cantos.
The volume contains much that is not included in any English
editions of Mr. Pound’s books.
$1.50 net at all bookshops
Alfred A. Knopf,
Publisher
New York
Modern Gallery
500 Fifth Avenue
DAUMIER
CEZANNE
LAUTREC
VAN GOGH
PICASSO
BRANCUSI
PICABIA
DERAIN
BURTY
VLAMINCK
RIVERA
BRAQUE
Mexican Pre-Conquest Art
African Negro Sculpture
EUGENE
HUTCHINSON
PHOTOGRAPHS
Fine Arts Building
Chicago, Illinois
To
the
Memory
of
“The Seven Arts”
FALL ANNOUNCEMENT OF NEW BOOKS
OF THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING CO.
Bool’s Collected Logical Works. Volume two:
Laws of Thought. $3.00.
“Here is an exact reproduction in the 1854 original, with the
addition of an index. The same is established of fundamental laws
as in the earlier Mathematical Analysis of Logic but with more
general methods and a wider range of application.”—The St. Louis
Mirror.
The Contingency of the Laws of Nature. By
Emile Boutroux. Translated by Fred Rothwell.
Cloth, $1.50.
“M. Boutroux has restored to man his thoughts and feelings that
reality and effective influence over the course of things which
common sense attributed to them.”—Baltimore News.
Geometrical Lectures of Isaac Barrow. With
an introduction by J. M. Child. Cloth, $1.25.
“The importance of this work to students of mathematical theory
goes without saying. The introduction is carefully and ably
reasoned.”—The Springfield Republican.
Diderot’s Early Philosophical Works. Translated
and Edited by Margaret Jourdain. Pp. 246.
Cloth, $1.00.
“No man with an interest in literature and life would care to be
without a reading of a fine specimen of Eighteenth Century
thought.”—The Philadelphia Inquirer.
Professionalism and Originality. By F. A.
Hayward. Cloth, $1.75.
“In view of the privileged and almost irresponsible positions
occupied by the professions and of the obscurity involving the
questions of professional superintendence and criticism this book
is of great and possibly permanent interest.”—The Pittsburg Post.
A Modern Job. An essay on the Problems of
Evil. By Etienne Giran. $.75.
“The volume is worthy of careful reading for it presents various
tendencies found in our world to-day and also shows that it is
dangerous to build one’s theology and religion in any one-sided
fashion.”—International Journal of Ethics.
Three Men of Judea. By Henry S. Stix. Pp.
112. Cloth, $1.00.
This book is not written for scholars but for those simple minded
and honest folk who have never read their Bible nor thought much
on the subject of religious history, accepting their religion
like their politics, as a sort of parental heritage.
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING COMPANY
122 South Michigan Avenue
Chicago, Illinois
Interesting New Books for Discriminating Readers
Does This Amazing Novel
Forecast the Way to Peace?
THE COMING
By J. C. Snaith
A soldier, wounded, war weary, who has learned in the trenches to
forget the meaning of hate; a village vicar, voicing the venom of
those who do not fight; and John Smith, simple, determined,
working for the brotherhood of man—around these three characters
the author of “The Sailor” has written an amazing novel of the
spiritual and ethical side of the War.
Cloth, $1.50 net
The Wind in the Corn
By EDITH FRANKLIN WYATT
Song poems of Democracy and the great Trails that sound a note of
hope and honest labor.
$1.50 net
Great Companions
By EDITH FRANKLIN WYATT
A delightful discussion of the personalities of a dozen great
writers.
$1.50 net
Out of Their Own Mouths
With an introduction by WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER
An accurate translation of official German letters and documents
which prove conclusively how and why the Prussians began the war.
$1.00 net
The Latin at War
By WILL IRWIN
An intimate account of the author’s experiences in France and
Italy during the great war.
$1.75 net
Summer
By EDITH WHARTON
A vivid story of life in a small hill town.
$1.50 net
Susan Lenox: Her Fall
and Rise
By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS
“America has to its credit one more great novel, perhaps the
greatest since ‘The Scarlet Letter’.”—Minneapolis Journal
Two vols, boxed, $2.50 net
The Red Badge of Courage
By STEPHEN CRANE
New edition with an Introduction by ARTHUR GUY EMPEY “This is not
a story of war: It _is_ War.”
$1.00 net
The Quest of Ledgar
Dunstan
By ALFRED TRESIDDER SHEPPARD
An acute study of a drifter, who seeks, and in the end, finds,
himself.
$1.50 net
At All Booksellers · These Are Appleton Books
D. Appleton and Company, Publishers, New York
COLONY ART SHOP
Artists’ Materials
Oil and Water Colors
Brushes and Canvas
Smocks to Order
Interior and Exterior Decorating
Paper Hanging
Polishing and Refinishing
of Wood Work
ADOLPH KLAFF
143 Sixth Ave., NEW YORK CITY, Chelsea 1285
OLD CHELSEA
51 West 16th Street
New York City
Rooms, Suites, Floors furnished or unfurnished. Intelligent
service for busy men and women.
Table d’hote
dining-room
noted for fine home cooking.
“A bit of Old Chelsea in little old New York”
Just think!
Translations from the best of the Europeans
Original stories, poems, etc., by the younger Americans
Drawings, etchings, and other reproductions—all in the same
magazine
THE PAGAN
Unique Monthly
15 cents a copy, $1.50 a year
The Pagan
Publishing Company
174 Centre Street
New York City
THE ARTISTS’ GUILD
A NATIONAL ORGANIZATION INCORPORATED ON
A “NOT FOR PROFIT BASIS”.
Paintings, Sculpture
AND
Handwrought Objects
As security for the purchase and to ensure merit, all works
are approved by a jury.
Exquisite and Rare Gifts
The Artists’ and Craft Workers’ own organization
GALLERIES, EXHIBITION AND SALESROOMS
FINE ARTS BUILDING · CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
“Hello Huck!”
Recall that golden day when you first read “Huck Finn”? How your
mother said, “For goodness’ sake, stop laughing aloud over that
book. You sound so silly.” But you couldn’t stop laughing.
Today when you read “Huckleberry Finn” you will not laugh so
much. You will chuckle often, but you will also want to weep. The
deep humanity of it—the pathos, that you never saw, as a boy,
will appeal to you now. You were too busy laughing to notice the
limpid purity of the master’s style.
MARK TWAIN
When Mark Twain first wrote “Huckleberry Finn” this land was
swept with a gale of laughter. When he wrote “The Innocents
Abroad” even Europe laughed at it itself.
But one day there appeared a new book from his pen, so spiritual,
so true, so lofty that those who did not know him well were
amazed. “Joan of Arc” was the work of a poet—a historian—a seer.
Mark Twain was all of these. His was not the light laughter of a
moment’s fun, but the whimsical humor that made the tragedy of
life more bearable.
A Real American
Mark Twain was a steamboat pilot. He was a searcher for gold in
the far West. He was a printer. He worked bitterly hard. All this
without a glimmer of the great destiny that lay before him. Then,
with the opening of the great wide West, his genius bloomed.
His fame spread through the nation. It flew to the ends of the
earth, until his work was translated into strange tongues. From
then on, the path of fame lay straight to the high places. At the
height of his fame he lost all his money. He was heavily in debt,
but though 60 years old, he started afresh and paid every cent.
It was the last heroic touch that drew him close to the hearts of
his countrymen.
The world has asked is there an American literature? Mark Twain
is the answer. He is the heart, the spirit of America. From his
poor and struggling boyhood to his glorious, splendid old age, he
remained as simple, as democratic as the plainest of our
forefathers.
He was, of all Americans, the most American. Free in soul, and
dreaming of high things—brave in the face of trouble—and always
ready to laugh. That was Mark Twain.
The Price Goes Up
25 VOLUMES Novels—Stories—Humor—Essays—Travel—History
This is Mark Twain’s own set. This is the set he wanted in the
home of each of those who love him. Because he asked it, Harpers
have worked to make a perfect set at a reduced price.
Before the war we had a contract price for paper, so we could
sell this set of Mark Twain at half price.
Send the Coupon Without Money
L. R. S.
HARPER &
BROTHERS
Franklin Sq., N. Y.
Send me, all charges prepaid, a set of Mark Twain’s works in 25
volumes, illustrated, bound in handsome green cloth, stamped in
gold, gold tops and untrimmed edges. If not satisfactory, I will
return them at your expense. Otherwise I will send you $1.00
within 5 days and $2.00 a month for 12 months, thus getting the
benefit of your half-price sale.
Little Review
Name .............................
Address ..........................
The last of the edition is in sight. The price of paper has gone
up. There can be no more Mark Twain at the present price. There
never again will be any more Mark Twain at the present price. Get
the 25 volumes now, while you can. Every American has got to have
a set of Mark Twain in his home. Get yours now and save money.
Your children want Mark Twain. You want him. Send this coupon
today—now—while you are looking at it.
HARPER & BROTHERS, New York
A SELECTION OF BOOKS
from
THE LITTLE REVIEW BOOKSHOP
Poetry and Drama
Prufrock and other Observations, by T. S. Eliot.
Noh: A Study of the Classical Stage of Japan, by Ernest Fenollosa
and Ezra Pound. $2.75.
The Love Poems of Verhæren, translated by Flint, Symons, and
others. $1.50.
A Night at an Inn, by Lord Dunsany. 50 cents.
Psychology
Psychology of the Unconscious by Dr. C. G. Jung. $4.00.
The Psychoanalytic Method, by Dr. Oskar Pfister. $4.00.
Wit and Its Relation to the Unconscious, by Dr. Sigmund Freud.
$2.50.
The Neurotic Constitution, by Dr. Alfred Adler. $3.00.
Fiction
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce. $1.50.
Pelle the Conqueror, by Martin Anderson Nexø. 4 volumes. $6.00.
Mendel, by Gilbert Cannan. $1.50.
Dubliners, by James Joyce. $1.50.
Miscellaneous
Le Feu, by Henri Barbusse.
Chamber Music, by James Joyce.
The Works of Anatole France. Each $1.25.
Oscar Wilde: His life and Confessions, by Frank Harris. 2
volumes. $10.00.
All mail orders must be accompanied by an average of ten cents
per book for postage.
THE LITTLE REVIEW
THE MAGAZINE THAT IS READ BY
THOSE WHO WRITE THE OTHERS
Some features of the coming issues:
NOVEMBER:
Hanrahan’s Oath: A Play, by Lady Gregory
Poems from the Chinese of Li Po, by Maxwell Bodenheim
Imaginary Letters, VI., by Ezra Pound
Reproductions of Modern Sculpture and Drawings
DECEMBER:
A Letter from Remy de Gourmont
A Soldier of Humour, by Wyndham Lewis
T. S. Eliot: A Criticism, by May Sinclair
JANUARY:
Women and Men, by Ford Madox Hueffer
James Joyce will begin a new novel either in the February or
March number.
Editorials in The Little Review will respect no vested interests,
no publishers’ interests, no aged magazines and reviews, nor
staffs of the same.
THE LITTLE REVIEW BOOKSHOP
It is often impossible even in the large cities to get books on
special subjects. We can deliver to you any book on any subject.
Copies of The Egoist on sale.
In this issue is a subscription blank. Give it to some one who
wishes to subscribe.
24 West Sixteenth Street, New York City
Transcriber’s Notes
Advertisements were collected at the end of the text.
The table of contents on the title page was adjusted in order to reflect
correctly the headings in this issue of THE LITTLE REVIEW.
The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical
errors were silently corrected. All other changes are shown here
(before/after):
[p. 36]:
... I have come too late. She is dead. ...
... DR T.: I have come too late. She is dead. ...